Supernatural - Touched - Ch 1 / ?
Fandom: Supernatural
Story Title: Touched
Chapter Title: What is Seen
Rating: PG-13/Teen for violence and minor language
Link to Previous Chapter (yes, please read this first): PROLOGUE
Spoilers: Spoilers for Season 6, but not for Season 7. AU past Season 6's finale.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in the universe. I'm borrowing them for fun, not profit. All kudos and copyrights remain with Kripke. Also, I do not own any of the images used in the banner.
Summary: Post Season 6. It was God who finished him, God who cleaned up the mess, or at least that's what the Winchesters thought when Castiel was suddenly… gone. Four years later, though, a small boy grabs hold of Dean's hand and stares up at the hunter with bright blue eyes. Dean knows those eyes: "Cas?" What does it mean? And why is there a demon coming for them? A demon they've never met before, one who knows their names, one who wants them dead, one who is bent on revenge.
A/N: Now, onward to the "four years later"(well, actually, nearly five years, but who's counting) portion of the tale…
NOW
Chapter 1: What is Seen
The silhouette of the church was dark against the bright coral sunset. Nondenominational, unornamented, it was a simple rectangular building with a high ceiling and a slick metal cross above its sign. No high steeples or archways, no black suits and collars. Ageless steel, the walls could have been raised a month ago or a decade past. Those small details eased the tension in the car, if only slightly. Dean frowned, leaning back into the leather of the seat and staring out the windshield at the open and welcoming double doors.
The sound of modern praise, happy beats and repetition, echoed out faintly. Laughter followed. Dean's annoyance grew.
"And the guy couldn't just send it through the mail?" he asked. Not for the first time.
Sam hid his smile with one hand, pretending to study his phone. His brother's history with churches wasn't a good one, but Dean's unease was, at least, amusing. Sam wasn't sure why he didn't feel the same. He should have, he knew. He should have had a deep distaste for all things religious by this point… but Sam couldn't quite bring himself to hate it all. Especially when it was so much fun to watch Dean squirm.
"We were already passing through the area, Dean. Plus, it's a favor for Bobby. We owe him."
That last bit was enough to seal the deal. Dean grunted, begrudging agreeing that the tiny community of Frog Pond wasn't out of the way. And that they did owe Bobby. When didn't they? So if the old hunter wanted them to pick up a package from a friend, so be it.
Dean snorted. "We're not the frickin' postal service."
But his hand was already on the handle. He pushed himself out. Sam followed the move, the Impala groaning as it lost the weight of the two men. The sound of the vehicles speeding past on the four-lane in front of the building was a steady hum, but the music coming from inside was somehow louder.
"What, are they having choir practice or something?" Dean muttered.
Sam rolled his eyes, pointing out a banner with his thumb. "Bible school."
Dean groaned so that he could hide his fluster at not seeing the bright orange and green sign. Sam cracking another joke about him going blind in his old age just wouldn't do.
"Awesome," Dean voiced.
"Welcome, Winchesters!"
The brothers came to a quick, tense stop, but their muscles loosened up when they saw the source of the sound. A man was turning the corner, carrying a stack of pizzas. He was younger than Sam, his blond hair parted to one side and his smile bright. Sweat stained the collar of his lavender button-up.
"Glad to see you could make it," he continued in a faint Southern accent. "Mr. Singer told me to keep an eye out for that car of yours. She sure ain't hard to spot."
Dean raised a brow. "Brother Matthews?"
"The one and… well, probably not the only." He chuckled and shifted his weight. "Say, can one of you give me a hand?"
Dean didn't move. Sam shot his brother a quick glance before swooping in to lift the top four boxes off the young preacher's arms. "Sorry, um, we were expecting someone a little…"
"Older?" Brother Matthews didn't seem to take any offense. He shrugged and tilted his head toward the double doors. "Gotta get this food into the children before they start a riot-last year they missed s'mores night and the hymnals suffered greatly. But I've got what you need in my office-Mr. Singer said you two would probably be in a hurry to get on the road again."
Not true exactly. Their last job was dust in the wind, but Dean didn't have a problem with white lies. "Big hurry," Dean agreed, nodding along.
"That's too bad. We would have loved to have the two of you at service this week." Brother Matthews' smile grew somewhat wistful, completely ignorant of the panicked expressions that crossed the brothers' faces. "I'm sure gentlemen of your profession rarely get a chance for traditional worship. But one can praise the lord with his good deeds. And from what I've heard, the two of you do great things."
Dean followed behind the preacher. "What did Bobby tell you, exactly?"
"Not a big talker, Mr. Singer, but he knew my papa." Brother Matthews looked over his shoulder and gave Dean a wink. "Let's just say I'm familiar with the job, if only from an outsider's perspective."
Sam took a shallow breath when he stepped through the threshold. He didn't want to think about why it felt wrong, so, instead, he played the role of keen observer, staring at a table that had been stacked with gifts for an upcoming marriage. He looked past the packages, past a stack of pamphlets, and through the next set of doors that led into the sanctuary. The front few pews were filled with children in matching t-shirts. Most of them were giggling as they attempted to duplicate hand signs and sing along with a recorded number. A man and woman team was enthusiastically swaying before the kids, each holding up a yarn-haired, lip-syncing puppet.
Sam could practically hear a joke about hands up asses. He elbowed Dean before his big brother had a chance to say anything aloud. Dean was the picture of innocence. "What?" he mouthed in mock surprise. Sam simply shook his head in warning.
"They're about to dismiss after they eat." Brother Matthews was grinning at the group of children, unaware of the exchange going on behind him. His fingers tightened on the boxes. "We can drop these off in the fellowship hall and get to business."
"Sounds good. Say, maybe we can work in a deal for a slice of pepperoni-or garden lovers for my bro," Dean said. Mr. Mature. Sam rolled his eyes.
Brother Matthews chuckled. "That can be arranged… Uh-oh, looks like we lost our chance for an escape."
Both brothers froze, puzzled, until they heard the loud roar of a stampede coming from the pews. Dean had seen ghouls less excited about their meals. He braced himself as the children flooded out the doors and straight into their pastor, circling him excitedly. Muttering about politeness and servings, Matthews was pushed along by the crowd of ravenous pigmies. Puppet Master #1 gave Sam a polite smile and took the boxes out of his hands, herding the kids and her partner down the long hallway. The ring of their high-pitched voices was more deafening than Metallica at full volume.
Dean raised a brow. "Think Matthews'll escape with all his limbs?"
"Looks like pizza night is dangerous," Sam agreed, cleaning the steady hum out his ear with one pinky.
"See, Sammy, this is why we didn't send you to Vacation Bible School growin' up."
The laugh burst out of Sam before he could stop it. "Sure, yeah, Dean. That's the reason."
Sam shook his head, still chuckling, and stepped away, following the disappearing crowd in search of the preacher. Dean smirked, secretly pleased with himself for not being a bigger ass. He could save the puppet jokes for later.
The hand that caught his was a surprise. It stilled him completely, leaving him alert. His instinct was to deliver a blow, but he stopped himself, only just, and turned his gaze downward.
The boy was standing to one side, his body still partly hidden by the open door. His arm was outreached, small, soft fingers digging into Dean's palm. The top of the child's dark head of hair barely reached the man's thigh.
Dean heard Sam's footsteps come to a sudden stop. He knew his brother was returning and could guess at the confused expression upon Sam's face. But Dean didn't see any of that, couldn't, because his eyes refused to lift from the child's round face.
The boy was quiet, but he cocked his head in study of the man he'd latched on to. When he straightened, his gaze became more intense, more pleading. Dean wasn't sure when he'd taken to one knee, but he had. His free hand snaked out, grabbing the child by the shoulder, holding him in place as if he might suddenly disappear.
"Dean, what's…" Sam's voice trailed off.
Dean shook his head, telling himself no. This wasn't… Couldn't be. Shouldn't be.
But the eyes meeting his were wide, childlike, and as bright blue as a Kansas sky. They were eyes Dean would always be able to recognize. Dean Winchester never forgot his family. Never. And he certainly wouldn't forget the steady, inquiring gaze of the man who'd pulled him out of Hell.
Dean could feel his quick pulse on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed, leaning forward, unblinking.
"Cas?"
The office air was stale, thick, as if the dust off the shelved tomes had lifted into a cloud that was currently hanging over them. Sam felt as if he were choking on it. He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees, his back hunched slightly, head hanging. After a moment, he regained himself and sat up straight again, pushing air out of his lungs.
"Are you sure, Dean?"
Dean was buzzing beside him. Energy rolled off of him in waves. White-strained fingers gripped the leather arm of the chair, the other hand wiping at pale lips. Dean stared at Brother Matthews' empty desk a moment longer, trailing the open Bible facing away from them. Then he turned, blinked, and looked at Sam as if he'd suggested that they repaint the Impala purple.
"Of course I'm sure," Dean snapped. "Damn it, Sammy, did you even look at him? That kid-that kid is…"
When he didn't finish the sentence, Sam picked up. "Castiel? Our Castiel?"
"You know another Castiel, genius?" Dean rubbed his jaw again, leaning into the movement. "Shit, Sam. . . How is this even possible?"
Sam tilted his head, frowning. "I think we both know that answer, Dean."
"After what he did?" Dean winced at the memory. "I have a hard time believing it. Do you think he did it himself? To himself?"
Sam was happy he didn't have to answer that question. The door behind them opened, Brother Matthews stepping inside, his face tight.
"Cassidy is fairly upset." Brother Matthews didn't meet their eyes until he found his seat behind the desk. "Miss Maggie is sitting with him, but he won't even look at her. Do either of you gentlemen care to tell me what you did to that little boy?"
Dean's eyes widened. "Did to him? We didn't do jack, buddy-that kid isn't…" Dean paused, licking his bottom lip, and looked away.
Sam scooted forward, his voice lower. "Actually, Brother Matthews, my brother thinks he knows the boy."
Matthews nodded. "I assumed as much-after all, he called him by name. Cas-that's what the other children call little Cassidy." The preacher's face paled slightly. "This… this isn't something to do with your work, is it? If this has anything to do with someone in my congregation, I need to know."
Sam looked to his brother but Dean didn't pitch in. "We're not sure yet, but I don't think anyone in the church is in danger. It just… could you tell us a little more about Cassidy?"
Brother Matthews hesitated a moment before nodding. "I've known Cassidy his whole life. He's been coming to this church since the week he came home from the hospital. He was a premature baby, a tiny thing. The ladies passed him around like he was the most precious creature they'd ever seen."
"Let me guess." Dean's voice was raw. "That was about four years ago, give or take?"
"Yes. His grandmother brought him to us-he lives with her, Mrs. Pearl Grayson." Brother Matthews stared down at his clasped hands. "I'm afraid Cassidy's mother isn't with us. She was a troubled young woman, only seventeen. Fell into the wrong crowd, experimented with drugs. She didn't even recall who Cassidy's father was. Unfortunately, she couldn't shake her addiction, even after she knew she was pregnant. As you might imagine, it caused some complications during the birth. Cassidy survived, but she did not."
Sam smiled sympathetically, encouraging Matthews to go on. "Tell me what Cassidy is like."
Dean seemed to perk up at the request. He sat up straighter, pulling his hand away from his face.
Brother Matthews shrugged his shoulders. "He has his problems, but don't all children?"
"Problems?" Dean asked, wary.
"Pearl doesn't see it, of course, but the youth minister has pointed out his behavior on a number of occasions. She believes Cassidy might be autistic or suffering from a mental disorder. It's not uncommon in children who were born from addicts."
Sam could see the doubt in the man, and he latched on to it. "You're not so sure?"
Brother Matthews frowned. "Cassidy is quiet. Introverted. But I don't think he has a communicative problem. He seems to understand those around him perfectly…" He paused. "I think he's simply special. Like all of God's children."
"The package."
Brother Matthews looked startled by the sudden request. When he didn't immediately reply, Dean stood, holding a hand out impatiently.
"The package Bobby wanted us to pick up-hand it over," Dean snapped.
Sam shot him a look. "Dean…"
"Shut up, Sammy." Dean leaned forward, snatching a thick envelope from the preacher's hands. "Thanks-if you don't mind, we'll be on our way now."
But it wasn't a request for permission, and Dean was already turned around, grabbing the door knob. Sam scrambled to follow him.
Matthews jumped to his feet. "But Cassidy-is there something in my church?"
Dean froze but didn't look back. "You've got nothin' to worry about, padre. Little Cassidy is just a normal kid. Like you said."
Sam watched his brother disappear and hesitated in the doorway, torn. He dipped his head with an apology and followed, ignoring the question Brother Matthews belted out from behind the closed door: "But how do you know the boy?"
Because, honestly, Sam wasn't sure how to answer.
"Dean, we can't do this. We can't just leave him behind."
The Impala slung gravel into the air as it crossed into the four-lane, barely gaining enough power to not get rear-ended by the semi barreling over the black-top behind them. At this speed, the church would be out of sight, if not out of mind, within seconds. Which seemed to be the point of the near death experience. A long, angry horn sounded when the tractor-trailer passed the car.
"The hell we can't," Dean bit.
Sam released his tight hold on the dashboard, and shot his brother a glance. It was a rare occasion that Dean Winchester was willing to risk his baby just to get out of dodge. Especially from a four-year-old.
"He recognized you, Dean." Sam shook his head. "Cas recognized you. He knows what he is, has to. You remember what Anna said, about being born after her fall…"
Dean winced. Both brothers knew history was history and all things Anna was of the ancient variety. But that didn't mean that they had forgotten any part of their time with her…or running from her.
"She was only two when she started remembering what she was, Dean."
Dean shot him a side-ways glare that clearly said, "As if I needed reminding." But when Dean opened his mouth, his voice was unusually calm, a clear contradiction to his actions. "She said her father hated her. Had nightmares. I know, Sammy, I spent more time with her than you did." Dean lowered his brow. "And that's exactly why I'm doing this."
"Explain it to me then." Sam's hand slipped into his jacket pocket, ready to retrieve the cell phone, knowing that he should tell Bobby. Force Bobby to talk some sense into his brother. "Tell me why we're running away."
Dean's shoulders stiffened. "That's not what we're doing, Sam, and you know it."
Growling at the inconvenience, he pulled the Impala off the road, hissing when he ran over a piece of worn rubber shrapnel. When she eased to a stop, he put her in park and turned to Sam. "Anna had dreams, sure. She remembered little bits and pieces, but her parents got her help and she put all that behind her. Hell, Sam, if the angels hadn't started gathering around the water cooler to gossip about the two of us, she'd never have heard them. Anna would have stayed put. She'd be a graduate, married with her two-point-five bundles of joy to look forward to. She'd be normal, all that angel shit put behind her."
Sam was quiet. He looked out the windshield, staring at the pitch black night. Normal. All these years and the word normal was still spoken with the same bitter reverence.
"We don't know that for sure."
"Cas screwed us over good a few years back, Sammy. I get that. It's hard to forget." Dean stopped, as if considering his own words. "But, before that, he was our…friend. He did a lot of good things. Saved us. If he has a chance to just live like every other slob on this globe, then, I say we let him have it. Let the kid be a kid."
Sam lifted his head, studying his brother's profile. "So that's that?"
"Yeah."
"We just pretend like he's still dead?"
Dean pulled the car back onto the highway. "Castiel is dead, Sammy. And that kid, Cassidy, he'll forget he ever saw us."
Sam shook his head, frustrated, but let the phone fall back into his pocket. "Sure he will." Sam didn't mind telling white lies either.
CHAPTER 2