[DCBB-FIC] Castiel Rising; NC-17; The Blood
The Blood
Castiel still thinks of Dean, even now that Famine’s influence has been completely eliminated from his soul. But he can handle these thoughts because they no longer drown him, and Castiel can remember that there are things more important than how Dean’s neck tastes. Not to say those thoughts aren’t pleasant-they are-but it’s hard not to feel bitter and irritated that he doesn’t know how much of his… feelings are returned.
Castiel wishes Meg was still there. Then he could test how deep his attraction for Dean actually was and if there was any hope of recovery. She’d probably mock him for it, laugh at him, then try to talk him into sleeping with her.
He misses her, which surprised him. But he knows that staying here, when Lucifer has no qualms of throwing demons or even himself into the line of fire just to keep them out of the way, is too dangerous for Meg. She was his first non-familial friend, and he can’t help feeling protective.
Protective. It’s something he’s discovered about himself after everything. He’s a little surprised just how far it extends. He’s protective over Meg, Sam, Dean, and Lucifer, but also over his other brothers, the ones still in Heaven, the ones who don’t know.
He wants them to have what he has. Choice. Will. The ability to truly fight for what they believe in. He wants them to want until it hurts, and then beyond.
And he doesn’t think that Michael, Lucifer, or Dean honestly care about that. But, at least, Lucifer’s influence saved Castiel. He knows that Lucifer can bring that out of his brothers, even if he’ll kill those that don’t fall in line. Michael cares nothing for angels except that they make good little soldiers. And Dean… if given the opportunity, Castiel isn’t sure he wouldn’t merely kill all the angels. And, if Castiel has to choose between humanity and the angels, he will choose the angels.
No matter how his gut twists.
“Castiel, do you have a moment?”
Castiel turns around, smiling, as Lucifer walks across the beach. Lucifer smiles back at him, a small smile on his ever-peeling and flaking face, but it still warms Castiel and he turns back to watching the sunset across the water. “Of course,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What do you need?”
“Nothing too dangerous, I hope,” he says, settling beside him. Castiel looks at him and frowns. Lucifer sighs. “I’ve been sending some troops to the, oh, Prairie Creek Redwood State Park, in California for the past few weeks, while you’ve been…” He trails off, tilting his head slightly. “Well, while you’ve been afflicted,” he says, and grins a little at Castiel. He looks over the water and continues. “I haven’t heard from any of the groups I sent out.”
Castiel narrows his eyes, watching his profile. “You want me to find out what happened to them.”
Lucifer nods. “And just find out,” he says, shooting him a sideways look. “Unless whatever is attacking them comes after you.”
Castiel goes silent, furrowing his brow. “You think it’s one of Michael’s forces.”
“I think it might be a small force of angels, or it could be a camp of human hunters,” Lucifer corrects, holding up a finger. “Either way, I don’t want you to engage them unless you have to.”
Castiel smiles at him, but moves his burned hand and feels the scar tissue pull and tug. “I understand.” He spreads his wings and sees Lucifer watching them, and hem can’t help but wonder if Lucifer would be so concerned if he knew the truth. It’s not something he wants to linger on, so he just nods his goodbye. “I’ll return soon.”
Lucifer smiles sadly. “You said that before,” he says.
Castiel just looks away and takes to the sky. He looks back at the sunset before turning around and heading to the east, from one coastline to the next. He flies again over the country, watching the world blur from cities to forests to deserts to cities to forests again. As he flies, he senses something holy beneath him, like an angel’s grace, but it vanishes before he can be sure. Intrigued, he touches down next to a giant redwood tree and looks around the forested area, trying to listen.
He hears his attacker just before he’s struck, and Castiel jerks himself around and grips the arm that has an angel sword extended toward him and the weapon goes flying one way as Castiel and his attacker start tumbling the other. He manages to pin his attacker and flares his wings, glaring down at the blond man beneath him.
The blond man with violet wings.
The angel stares back at him, mouth dropping open, and his vessel’s eyes flash neon green before he leans up, pushing against Castiel’s restraining arms.
“Cassie?” he says, slowly, eyes flicking to his wings and back to Castiel’s eyes.
Castiel’s eyes widen and he tilts his head. “Balthazar?”
The man’s face breaks into a smile and he lunges forward, pushing past Castiel’s weakened grip, and wraps his arms around him. “Cassie!” he shouts, laughing, and buries his head into Castiel’s shoulder.
Castiel can’t help but smile in return and roll them over, returning Balthazar’s death grip as his shoulders land hard on the ground. “I never thought I’d…” he whispers, clenching his eyes shut, and wraps his wings around them. “I missed you.”
Balthazar pulls away, looks at the wings currently enfolding him, and his face crumples. “Oh Cassie,” he says, turning back to him. “What did you do to your wings?”
Castiel’s smile slips into something darker. “Nothing compared to what I’ve done to my grace.”
Balthazar looks at him, narrowing his shocking neon green eyes, and Castiel just lays there, waiting for the inevitable recoil. Instead, Balthazar focuses on Castiel’s eyes and draws his wings up, stroking them over the membranes of Castiel’s.
“Tell me everything?” he asks, face softening.
It takes Castiel a moment to realize no one’s ever asked him that before. His fingers clench tighter to Balthazar’s shoulders and he nods. “Yes,” he whispers. “Where should I begin?”
“At the beginning obviously,” Balthazar says with a smirk.
Castiel smiles wider once again.
-----
They’ve untangled themselves by the time he’s finished, sitting side-by-side on a small, dead redwood. Balthazar looks at his hands, picking at his fingernails, and Castiel can’t help but feel nervous. He doesn’t want Balthazar to hate him, almost as much as he doesn’t want Lucifer, or Dean, to hate him. Balthazar nods once, and finally raises his head.
“I thought about you constantly,” he says at last, looking back at the forest. “And not just because of all the new rules Michael and Raphael put in place after your little swan dive.”
Castiel smiles down at his hands. Balthazar nudges his shoulder, and Castiel looks up at him. “Hopefully nothing too extreme?”
Balthazar winces, tilting himself to the side as he looks over the forest. “Well,” he says, drawing it out, “angels are no longer allowed prolonged contact with archangels, which was a stupid rule because Gabriel was gone, and Lucifer only hung around with you.” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “After Zachariah took over punishments, they became… unbearable, Cassie,” he murmurs.
Castiel’s wings quiver. “Zachariah controls the punishments?”
Balthazar laughs, and the sound of it makes something inside Castiel ache. “He takes a special pleasure in making the naughty little angels behave.” He closes his eyes, folding his hands. “There were times, afterward, that I wanted to follow you.”
Castiel huffs. “I could’ve used the company.”
Balthazar lets out a small laugh. “I could imagine,” he says, smiling at him. It fades away after a moment, and he looks down. “I’ve left Heaven, Castiel,” he says.
Castiel snaps his head up, staring. Balthazar rarely used his full name when they’d served together, and that’s what catches his attention first. Then the rest of what he said hits him. “Balthazar?” he says, tilting his head.
Balthazar smirks at him, wings coiling closer to his shoulders. “You inspired me to take the plunge, and make a choice.”
Castiel reaches out, touching his shoulder. He wraps his wing around Balthazar, raising an eyebrow. “Anael seems to have inspired rebellion in her ranks.”
Balthazar lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “She certainly did.” He swallows, looking down. “You… won’t tell Lucifer. Will you?” He gives Castiel a wry grin. “He’s not… big on people who don’t want to join up the cause.”
Castiel shakes his head, the idea instilling a sense of horror in him. “No,” he says, curling his wing tighter against Balthazar. “No, I won’t.”
Balthazar grins. “You started this, you know,” he says, poking his wing into Castiel’s side. “Despite Michael and Raphael running around denouncing everything you said, you made us wonder. And then you made me want.”
Castiel stares at him. “I did that?” Not Lucifer. Not an archangel. Castiel.
Balthazar seems to see his disbelief and just smirks at him. “You did,” he says. Then he leans back, flicking his wings up. “I said, ‘If Cassie can do it, it can’t be that hard.’ So I did it, too. And then I faked my death and hid in this forest like a crazed wood nymph to keep off of Zachariah’s radar. I hope you’re pleased.”
It’s like someone turned the lights on in Castiel’s life, and he exhales. He doesn’t need Lucifer to save his brothers. They don’t need help. They just need… an example. Which humanity can provide.
Castiel smiles, looking over at Balthazar, and feels lighter than he has in a long time. “Very pleased,” he says, wings quivering. “I’ve realized something.”
Balthazar just grins. “Are you going to run off now?”
Castiel smiles back. “Yes,” he says. “I have… a lot to do.”
Balthazar looks down before lunging forward and wrapping Castiel in a tight hug, tangling their wings for a moment. “Take care of yourself, Cassie,” he says. Castiel returns his grasp and closes his eyes.
“You, too,” he says, and pulls away. Balthazar’s eyes flash green and nods.
Castiel rises from his seat and into the air, watching Balthazar slowly disappear into the foliage, then turns to the sky and towards the beach where he knows Lucifer is waiting for him to return. He lands in the exact spot he took off from, and finds himself looking at a night sky over the ocean instead of a sunset.
It’s an ending.
“Castiel,” Lucifer says, and Castiel looks back at him. He stands there, hands hanging by his side, and Castiel feels how long this has been building within him. He turns and walks to him, hands in his pockets. Lucifer smiles. “Did you find it?”
Castiel pulls one of his many angel swords out of his coat and passes it to Lucifer. Lucifer looks at it, and Castiel merely frowns. “I was attacked by a single rogue angel,” he says. “I dealt with him.”
Lucifer nods, sighing. “I understand,” he says.
“No,” Castiel says, shaking his head, steeling his courage, “I don’t think you do.”
Lucifer’s brow furrows. “Castiel-”
“I can’t do this anymore, Lucifer,” he says, staring. “I don’t… I don’t believe in the cause.”
Lucifer watches him, twirling the sword in his hand. “Are you sure?”
Castiel doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
Lucifer looks down at his hands, at the sword, and holds it out to him. “Alright,” he says. “Good luck, little one.”
Castiel blinks, shaking his head. “That’s… that’s all?”
“Yes,” Lucifer says, and pushes the handle of the sword into his hand. “When the end comes, and you’re forced to choose between Heaven and Hell, I know you’ll come back. There’s nothing else out here for you but me.”
Castiel closes his eyes, pulling the sword to himself. He nods, looking up at Lucifer and reaches forward, grabbing his wrist. Lucifer meets his gaze and Castiel swallows. “You know that, no matter what, you are my brother, and I will love you more than anything.”
Lucifer closes his eyes when they flare gold, and his wings curl in tight. He nods, and Castiel feels a momentary surge of guilt.
“Good bye, Lucifer,” he says, stepping back, and takes to the sky. He has an annoying human to find.
-----
“How did you get this number? And what’re you calling me for?!”
Castiel blinks, brow furrowing, and clears his throat. “Your number was in Dean’s memories, and you are Dean’s family,” he says. “He isn’t answering his phone, and I don’t know how else to contact him.”
Robert goes very quiet on the other end of the line before exhaling loudly. “Shit. Okay. You’re probably the only one who can help anyway.”
It sets Castiel’s nerves on edge. “Robert, what is it?”
“It’s Bobby, yer Holiness,” Robert grumbles. “Anyway, there’s a problem. I can’t get a hold of the boys either. And-”
Bobby goes silent, and Castiel stretches his wings, staring across the highway he’s standing beside. “Bobby,” he says, voice rough, “what?”
Bobby takes a shuddering breath. “There are some rumors that a couple of hunters killed them.”
The streetlight above Castiel’s head shatters. It takes almost everything Castiel has to prevent himself from destroying his cell phone, and he takes a shuddering breath.
“Where are they?” Castiel growls, and the shards of glass at his feet rattle.
“The Super 8 in Taylorville, Illinois.”
Castiel hangs up the phone and is blazing across the land before a second has passed. The town, then the hotel, come into his vision. Then he can smell it.
Blood. Death.
Horror fills his chest as he flies into the building, following the familiar odor of holy water, salt, and gun oil. It’s the same path as the blood and death.
He knows before he flies into the room. He knows, and, yet, when he materializes inside Dean and Sam’s room, the electronics all flare on at once and explode in a shower of sparks and he can’t make a noise.
Dean is dead, his blood splattered against the walls and the sheets, his pillows and face. Sam is dead, too, and Castiel does feel an odd sort of subdued sense of loss, but it’s nothing compared to the crushing pain of seeing Dean there, breathless, eyes half-open and unseeing. It might break him, knowing all his self-revelations are for nothing.
If he hadn’t left Dean after their fight with Famine, this wouldn’t have happened.
He restrains himself from exploding, destroying everything in the room, and walks over to Sam, unable to look at Dean again. He touches Sam’s bloody chest and narrows his eyes. Bullet wounds. He smells the air, catching no sign of sulfur. He can smell human odor, and the lingering trails of their souls.
Castiel could find them. He could find them and tear them limb from limb. He could drag them to Hell and let them simmer. He could gut them, spread their still-connected organs out, and let them bake in the sun.
Castiel feels his wings arch with the want of killing, but he can’t, not until he finds some way to save Dean and Sam. And, while he can’t do anything for them, he knows someone who can. He pulls a bowl out of one of their bags and finds pieces of chalk. The ingredients are easy to scrounge up-eerily, from Sam’s bag, which doesn’t make Castiel feel much better about the younger Winchester-and he quickly performs the summoning ritual.
A stream of sparks fly from the bowl and Castiel closes his eyes, feeling the magic swirl. He listens carefully, and doesn’t wait long for a fluttering noise to arrive. He smiles weakly, looking over at the door, and hears a muffled grumbling.
“This had better be you, Cassie,” Balthazar says as he opens the door. He frowns, sniffing, and his nose crinkles. “What is that dreadful smell?”
Castiel turns slightly, looking back at the beds. “I left Lucifer’s force,” he says as Balthazar moves to his side, “and when I arrived here…”
Balthazar makes an amused noise. “I don’t know whether that’s just some seriously bad luck, or if Dad is trying to give you a sign.”
“Bad luck,” Castiel says. Then he looks at Balthazar. “Can you do anything for them?”
“Sorry Cassie,” Balthazar says, shaking his head. “I’ve been gone from Heaven for several weeks now. No Heavenly healing.” He pauses, looking at the ground for a moment, then lifting his gaze, smirking. “But there could be something else.”
“Do it,” Castiel says, already reaching out with his grace to find the murderers.
Balthazar sighs. “You’re going to go all vengeful angel, aren’t you?” Castiel says nothing, spreading his wings. Balthazar pouts. “You get all the fun.”
“I’ll be back soon,” he says instead of responding. He shoots into the sky and follows the lingering trail of guilt and blood.
The trail takes him away from the city and deep into the surrounding forests. He goes lower and slower, the scent getting stronger as it clings to bark and leaves instead of wafting into the air. The sounds of human activity suddenly start to grow instead of weaken, and Castiel knows he’s found them. He’s shifted into his more draconic shape before he realizes, and he digs his nails into the bark as he approaches firelight, human voices ringing out. He can smell seven individual odors, and it makes his blood boil.
A man’s voice catches Castiel’s attention. “So they’re both dead?”
“I told you,” another man says, and the scent of guilt gets stronger for a moment, “we checked. Walt shot them both and we checked their vitals. They’re both gone.”
“But you left the bodies. That kinda shit’s what makes ghosts come around, Roy,” a woman snaps. “Should’ve burned them.”
Roy’s voice stutters at first. “That’s what I told Walt, but-”
“They didn’t deserve a hunter’s pyre,” another man spits, bitter, angry.
“Deserving it doesn’t matter,” says yet another man. “Dirty business. I don’t like it.”
“Well,” starts another man, “we still haven’t talked about what to do with old Bobby Singer.”
“He’s an old man,” another woman says. “He’s got no part in it, and he’s too broken to do anything about it.”
“But he knows people. Lots of people.”
“Is this what we’re going to turn into?” the same woman says. “A group of hunters out to protect ourselves instead of civilians?”
“I don’t really fuckin’ care,” the bitter man snaps. “Sam and Dean are both dead. The world’s a better place.”
It’s all Castiel needs to hear. He leaps down from the trees and slides into his other shape, smaller, scaled, bipedal, clawed, fanged, and nearly as inhuman as his other, because Castiel doesn’t feel at all human in that moment. The seven hunters turn their guns on him at once, but instead of being blinded by Castiel’s form, they merely squint and blink.
He doesn’t want to think about it.
A blast of rock salt strikes his chest and bounces off harmlessly, and he bares his teeth at them.
“The fuck is that?” a red-haired woman shouts, pulling a golden dagger from her belt. “Did we stumble onto a demigod’s territory?”
“Is that a dragon?” one of the men-older in age, hair graying-says.
Castiel flares his wings wider and walks forward. “Nothing so simple,” he says, and his voice rattles the very air around him. He sniffs, finding the scent of Dean’s blood, and looks over at the one who reeks the strongest of it. The clean-shaven man pumps his shotgun again and Castiel stretches his fingers. “You took something from me.”
“Fuck, Walt,” Roy hisses, inching closer to Walt, “what did you do?”
“Nothin’,” Walt says, nose scrunching. “I’ve done nothin’ to you or any of your kind.”
Castiel bares his teeth again. “You killed my lover,” he growls, and Walt’s eyes go wide.
“Oh shit,” he breathes, and Castiel lunges. He tackles the man to the ground before morphing into his full shape, digging his front claws into Walt’s shoulders and taking off amidst the blasts of shotguns. Walt screams as Castiel takes him into the sky, from pain and fright. Castiel feels him attempting to stab through his hardened scales with some blade, so he opens the eyes of his Godface and stares down at him, who slowly lifts his gaze.
“It’s unfortunate that Alistair is dead,” Castiel says, leveling out his flight. “I would have brought your soul to him myself.”
And then he lets Walt go.
His screams echo through the forest for several second longer before the crunching noise of his bones reaches Castiel’s ears, and the scent of death oozes out. Castiel dives down, looking for his next victim, and sees Roy standing over Walt’s body. When he turns his eyes upwards, wide, frightened, stunned, Castiel knows who will die next.
Castiel is his Father’s son, and he, too, knows of wrath.
-----
When Castiel returns to the hotel room, Balthazar takes one look at him and whistles. “Have fun?”
“A little,” Castiel admits, stretching his wings out further. He looks at the beds, feeling his heart clench at the sight of Dean’s and Sam’s still bodies. Balthazar did clean them of blood, though, which Castiel appreciates. “Is there anything you can tell me?”
“Well,” Balthazar says, shifting on his chair, “they’re in Heaven, and I’ve spoken with both of them.”
Castiel blinks. “Did they believe you?”
Balthazar smirks. “Oh, Dean was a bit hesitant, but then I pointed out it was either me or Zachariah, and at least I was willing to talk face to face.”
“He probably didn’t appreciate that,” Castiel says, frowning.
Balthazar snorts. “Oh, not at all!” he says, grinning. “But he listened, and I told him to find Joshua.”
Castiel’s brow furrows and he leans against a nearby wall. “Joshua? The… gardener?”
Balthazar’s smile turns fond. “Good to see you remember some of the place,” he says, then nods. “Yes, the gardener. Rumor has it God’s been chatting with him for some time now. Thought if anyone could get them out of there, maybe Joshua could put in a good word with Father.”
Then Dean shoots up in bed and gasps in a lungful of air, Sam coughing beside him. They both blink at each other before turning wide eyes from Balthazar to Castiel. Balthazar just smirks.
“Welcome back from the dead,” he says. He looks skyward, mouth thinning. “And that probably means Zachariah is on the hunt for yours truly.”
Castiel steps forward, laying a hand on his shoulder. When Balthazar meets his eyes, Castiel says, “You could stay with us.”
Balthazar laughs, raising an eyebrow, and waves his hand through the air. “Don’t be silly,” he says, smirking. “You three are in the smack-dab-middle of all the danger.”
Castiel can’t help the small smile that slips onto his face. “I know. Thank you for everything.”
Balthazar’s smirk slides off and he wraps Castiel in a hug. “Goodbye, Cassie,” he says. “I hope we both survive this.”
“Stay safe,” Castiel says as he tightens the hug. Then Balthazar gives him a pat on the back and pulls back.
“My one and only goal,” Balthazar says, smirking again, and flies away.
Castiel watches him leave for a few moments before turning around and looking at Sam and Dean, both still sitting on their beds, stunned. Sam has his head buried in his knees and Dean just stares at the air in front of him.
“God doesn’t give a shit,” Dean says suddenly. Castiel blinks, tilting his head. Dean looks over at him, eyes watery, and shakes his head. “He doesn’t want to help. Doesn’t care.”
Castiel nods, looking away briefly. “I know.”
“Fuck,” Dean says, voice cracking. “Are we really all that’s willing to fight?”
Castiel frowns back at him. “We’re all that we need.”
Dean laughs, wiping his hands down his face. “You’re not even on our side,” he says, staring wide-eyed at him. “How can you say that?”
Castiel shrugs. “I’ve left Lucifer’s service,” he says. Sam’s head snaps up and he stares at him. Dean just blinks. Castiel nods. “I’ve come to join you.”
“Seriously?” Sam says. Castiel nods, and Sam shakes his head. “I remember what happened the last time you did that. When you went to the past?”
Castiel nods. “I remember. And the same thing will happen again. Although slower, as I assume I won’t be time-traveling.”
Dean laughs, eyes still wide, tearful, and slowly pushes himself to his feet. Sam looks on nervously. “Oh fuck, Cas,” Dean whispers, walking forward. He wraps his arms around Castiel and just sags against him, resting his chin on Castiel’s shoulder. “You’ve just signed your death warrant.”
Castiel returns the embrace, partly to comfort him, and partly to keep him from sliding to the floor. “This is what I want.”
Dean laughs and weeps at the same time, and Castiel just holds him. It’s all he can do.
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