FIC: Pulling Out The Nails, Chapter 11: Trespass [12/20]
Back to 10. Lull, or go to the Masterpost.
"Dean."
The hiss was soft, but fierce, and Dean was a light sleeper; he sat bolt upright, already reaching for the loaded gun on his bedside table. Castiel hovered beside his bed, tense, his eyes on the door, a hand stretched out to touch Dean's shoulder.
When Dean opened his mouth to ask what was going on, Castiel shook his head. "Quiet," he murmured, his deep voice the softest possible rumble. "There's another spirit on her way in. I believe she's alone, but it would be best if you were not where she expected to find you. Go." He nodded at the window.
"And what?" Dean whispered back, vehement. "Leave you here to deal with her alone?"
Castiel's blue eyes glowed up in the darkness of the room. "I'm not helpless," he said.
"Neither am I. I'm not going to run and hide while you fulfill your death wish." Dean kicked back the sheets and vaulted out of bed; he'd long since gotten in the habit of sleeping in jeans, uncomfortable as it was. "Besides, I'm the tastiest bait there is. We'll set a good trap."
"This is a bad idea," Castiel growled, following Dean to the closet like a determined hound. When Dean pulled a silver net down, though, he took a step back, putting distance between himself and the damaging substance. "She's strong, Dean, I don't know that silver will hold her-"
"Djinni," Dean interrupted, "or afrit?"
"Djinni," Castiel confirmed. "But a higher level than me, and fresh. They don't usually summon her." He wrinkled his nose. Whoever the newcomer was, Castiel was not fond of her.
"We're fine," Dean reassured. "Has she gotten past the security line? That should hobble her, at least."
"She flew in," Castiel said, back to anxiously watching the door. "Too far above the line to catch any of its detonations."
Dean cursed, infuriated by the failure of his brand-new security system, and shook out the silver net. "If something goes wrong," he said, refolding the silver into a useful shape and slipping it under his pillow, "go alert Sam, and encourage them to leave, right now. Two damn weeks of relative peace," he added in a mutter, resettling the blankets with enough room for him to crawl back in. He pulled another net from the closet, keeping it clenched tight in his fist. "And now they come pouring out of the woodwork."
"Azazel must be scouting for me," Castiel muttered; he looked half-ashamed, Dean noted, his eyes on the floorboards. "He wants to determine whether I am truly dead, or just trapped. If he discovers it's the second, Meg will likely have orders to kill me herself."
"Meg?" Dean repeated, frowning. "Megaira, you mean?"
"The same," Castiel agreed, still looking at the floor.
"Cas," Dean said, taking a hesitant step forward, "it's not your fault-"
Castiel's chin jerked up; his blue eyes glowed again as his head turned swiftly to the door. "She's here," he hissed.
"Out of sight," Dean murmured, too quiet for any human to hear him, but Castiel would. "Follow my lead."
To his credit, Castiel only wasted a fraction of a second glaring before he shrank down, a housecat again, and bounded lightly beneath the bed, where his true form wouldn't give him away immediately. It was nauseating to watch that massive creature squeeze in under the mattress, with not so much as a feather poking out to indicate his presence. Castiel had guessed Dean's plan, it seemed, and he wanted to be in a position to help. Dean tried not to let that give him the warm and fuzzies. There was a hostile spirit in his cabin.
Again.
The floorboards in the hall creaked. Meg-a well-renowned, particularly slippery djinni, one with a nasty reputation for eating masters that gave her any leeway at all, disarmed by her devastating looks and slow smile-had taken shape once beneath the crack under the front door. Dean settled back under the covers with his head hidden beneath the fall of sheets, the silver net clutched in his hands, and waited, breathing softly and evenly to get his heartbeat under control.
His bedroom door opened without a sound, but he felt the displacement of cool air. Swift, slight, she strode to the bed, leaning down to examine the shape apparently sleeping there. "Dean, Dean, Dean," she murmured, and he felt a hand clenched around the blanket, prepared to fold it back in order to consume him.
From beneath the bed, a scuffle heralded Castiel's attack; he hooked a paw around her ankle and yanked, hard. She went down in a jumble of essence and projected form, with the softest huff of surprise, and Dean was out from beneath the covers fast enough to throw the silver net over her. She thrashed, fighting the burn against her essence, but Castiel gave her a good shove, one that pushed her deeper into the net's folds, and Dean yanked the drawstring tight, trapping her.
A few moments more of thrashing knocked her out cold. She didn't lose form, though the beautiful woman she impersonated was burned, now, the imprint of the net everywhere her bare skin had been. Her neck and face were a tapestry of angry welts, and her hands had fared much worse, the skin red and inflamed on every inch of her palms and fingers. Her dark hair, spilling over the silver and floorboards, smoked faintly in places. Her true essence had taken much worse damage, though her tentacles and multitude of burned masks had not looked very appetizing to begin with. Dean pulled the extra net from beneath his pillow, just in case, and sat at the edge of the bed, watching the spirit for signs of movement.
Castiel dragged himself from beneath the bed, carefully skirting the net, and returned to Dean's side. "Are you all right?" he asked, resting a heavy hand on Dean's shoulder.
"I'm alive," Dean croaked, and didn't add, thanks to you, because he was unsure how Castiel would react, and he wasn't sure what he didn't want to see more: a look of smug superiority, or an expression of deep relief.
He got the second one regardless, and rested his face in his hands for a few moments, elbows on his knees, until it went away.
*
Castiel watched as, in the predawn light, Sam helped Dean drag their captive back to the room that he'd once been imprisoned in. Jess stood in the hallway, her light blue eyes tired and worried as they opened the door to the iron cage and rolled the djinni in. Castiel drifted toward her as the brothers conversed in low voices.
"I don't think we've been introduced," Jess said, a kind smile turning up her lips even though it was early, and she was clearly exhausted. "I'm Jessica."
"Castiel," he returned, politely enough, though he itched to get out onto the grounds and inspect the skies for activity on the higher planes. It wasn't like Azazel to send a second, single attacker; if he failed at first, he usually attacked in force, so that there was no possibility of a repeated failure.
"Thank you," she said, reaching out to clasp his elbow, "for looking out for Dean."
He glanced back at her, his attention caught. She was sincere, her lips trembling a little, but she held firm.
"You could have just let him die," she continued.
"I'm not so eager to go back to Azazel," he replied, confused.
"Of course," she said, her smile more amused now, her eyes dancing with mirth. "That's all."
"That's all," he echoed, frowning, and she let him go with a little shake of her head when Dean called for him-not a command, but a request. Sam passed him on his way in, making a beeline for his wife.
"You should have stayed in bed," the younger Winchester scolded.
"You know me," Jess replied, her voice teasing. "I hate missing out on the excitement."
As Sam ushered her out, Castiel went to Dean's side. The man stood stiff and tall, even considering his would-be assassin; it had been no different two weeks ago, when Castiel had been the one tied up. Meg, however, would be less comfortable. With the silver still wrapped tightly around her, it was unlikely that she would wake again before she died.
Dean folded his arms over his chest, staring her down. "Advise," he said quietly, with no air of demand in his tone.
"If she's allowed the opportunity to do so, she will escape," Castiel warned. "She will return to Azazel, she will tell him that you and I are both still alive, and he will call down what forces he can summon to decimate you."
Dean ran a hand over his face, fingers flexing. "Will she have information?" he asked, flat now.
"Maybe," Castiel said, considering the burns with distaste. "Maybe not. Is it worth the risk of letting her wake?"
"I don't know unless I know what she might have," Dean replied, a hint of frustration seeping into his voice. "And I don't know how the camp will take the news that I've killed one of your kind, so soon after letting you live. It sends mixed messages." He didn't smile.
"You're not considering leaving her alive," Castiel said, aghast. "You know of her, surely you understand-"
"I know how dangerous she is. She isn't like you." Dean patted Castiel's shoulder absently. The djinni frowned at the contact; Dean hardly seemed aware he was doing it. "She's one of those pure-chaos souls, no ideology to guide her at all. But I can't discriminate based on what she does, Cas. Kinda goes against the whole principle of this little community." He grimaced, as though he knew this was very weak reassurance.
"If you let her live, she'll kill you," Castiel said firmly. "I can't let you."
Dean's eyes snapped to his, his awareness returning suddenly, and his fingers tightened hard on Castiel's shoulder. If the djinni had been a mortal man, it would have bruised. He winced accordingly.
"If word gets out that you murdered her while I was sleeping, they will be even less kind to you," Dean said, fierce and low. "Understand? Let it lie. I'll make a Mournful Orb, and she'll be trapped, and that's that."
"Not here." Castiel was vaguely aware that he was pleading. "Don't keep her here."
Dean heaved a tired sigh. "Where else can we put her? I can't ask any of my people to harbor a violent spirit in their midst. She stays. If you don't want to hang out with her," and a smirk turned up his lips at this, trying for a struggling humor, "you can stay in my office or my room. No big. Pretend she's not there."
"That is easier said than done," Castiel said balefully, turning to glare at the prone form in the iron cage. "If you want her to live, you'll have to remove the net."
"Eventually," Dean said lightly. "We'll let her sweat a while first."
"I'm glad your common sense has not deserted you entirely," Castiel snapped, pulling away from Dean's hold. Something in the man's eyes shuttered at the motion, closing off.
"You're free to move," he said, with no inflection to the words. "If you'd rather stay with Sam and Jess, and they'll have you-I'm not keeping you here."
"Don't be ridiculous," Castiel said angrily. "I'll watch over you. Humans are unfortunately vulnerable while they sleep."
Dean fought the smile, but warmth spread back into his green eyes, giving him away. "That so," he said, as though teasing.
"You are in an infuriating mood," Castiel grumbled. "I'm going to read in your office until it passes."
He made for the door, and it had almost fallen shut when he heard Dean's voice, soft and sincere, murmur, "Thanks, Cas."
He ignored the resigned flutter it caused in his essence. Already, he had invested himself too deeply, and this was how the man repaid him-by harboring a dangerous spirit the next room over, someone who could thwart their safety if given an inch to maneuver. He had long since accustomed himself to the feeling of helplessness, but this, somehow, was a new and terrible low.
*
Castiel had known before that Dean did not sleep well, but knowing it and watching it were two entirely different things. The second was like little pricks of silver, nettling him until he couldn't focus on the job he'd been captured to do.
"Dean," he said at last, distracted again from his watch at the window, "if you don't settle, I will settle you myself."
A tired, stifled laugh rose up from the blankets. "Will you," Dean replied, his voice vaguely challenging. "Well, I hate to break it to you, Cas, but some people can't just fall asleep at will. I've got a lot on my mind."
"Like the dangerous spirit shackled not twenty feet away," Castiel agreed, distinctly grouchy at the thought. He'd thawed over the afternoon, but it wasn't as if Meg's presence didn't still rankle. He'd encountered her more than once in his lengthy existence, and she was unpleasant every time, going out of her way to cause excess pain and irritation. It was above and beyond the call of the ordinary spirit. Even her presence in the Other Place was disruptive.
He didn't like to imagine the dissension she would sow if allowed to remain in camp.
"Among other things." Dean's sheets rustled. "Two assassination attempts. It's enough to go right to a guy's head."
"This is not a joke, Dean." Castiel's patience was limited tonight. He scanned the higher planes, worried that he would miss a marid-if Azazel had the resources to summon one so soon, which was unlikely, but the paranoia that came of guarding a man like Dean would get to anyone.
"The really funny things never are, with you. Look, you're freakin' me out, all tensed up on that window like that."
"I'm a cat," Castiel replied imperiously. "Pretend I'm looking for mice."
"That doesn't really work, since I can see your actual form, and all," Dean pointed out. "Just come down from there. Christ, this is why Sam and I had to stop sharing a room," he added in a mutter, more to himself than Castiel.
The djinni bristled, but leapt lightly from the windowsill. Without invitation, he clawed his way up onto the bed, sprawled over Dean's feet, and rooted himself there, hoping Dean would take this as an invitation to stop shifting around and distracting him from his job.
"It's not that I'm ungrateful," Dean grumbled, settling deeper into the covers. "I am. Grateful, I mean. I would have been digested by now if you weren't looking out for me. But if you want me to sleep-"
"I can keep watch from here," Castiel interrupted, kneading his paws into the quilt. "Go to sleep, Dean."
"You say it like it's easy," Dean joked feebly, his head flopping sideways on the pillow.
Castiel purred, forcefully, more emphatically than the average housecat could. Dean's eyes drooped; his toes twitched, jostling Castiel's form just slightly.
"That's cheating," Dean accused sleepily, his words stretching through a yawn.
Castiel scanned the planes and, finding all quiet, purred again. The white noise accomplished what little else could; within moments, Dean was snoring softly, his muscles limp. Castiel went on scanning the planes. He, after all, didn't need sleep, and he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.
Forward to 12. Safe.