Title: Matter Of Fact, It's All Dark (1/4)
Summary: The news came blaring through Castiel's mind; the Winchesters were dead. Knowing they were coming back was all well and good, but this was their chance to find out where God was, and Castiel had to tell them about the garden.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, nor the characters, though I love them so. Some of the dialogue in this is lifted straight from the episode "Dark Side of the Moon" though the internal thoughts are my interpretation. Title belongs to Pink Floyd.
A/N: I am always fascinated by what Castiel's doing when he'd offscreen, be it searching for God, or contacting the Winchesters in Heaven with a "hard to maintain" connection. To my knowledge, this hadn't been done before, and then the thing expanded. I also love writing Castiel and Bobby interactions. So, "Dark Side of the Moon" Cas POV.
Warnings: Canon character death, angel whump, angst, as much swearing as the show.
Sam Winchester is dead. Sam Winchester is dead.
Castiel had been standing on the corner of a plaza in Italy, when he heard the words. He'd been searching out an old monk on account of the vaguest of rumors, when he was struck with the message through his brain, loud and clear. Clearer than he'd heard in a long time.
The angel's communication was continually getting weaker since he'd been cut off from Heaven, and it was more difficult and painful to tune into them as time went on. This news, however, was the equivalent of a fog horn, blasting through his mind. He grabbed his head, and squeezed his eyes shut, trying shield himself from the sudden attack, and concentrating until the acutal words registered.
Sam was dead. People bustled by him, busy in the city streets. To them he was just a random man, perhaps he had a headache with the way he was holding his head, but nothing to notice.
They passed him by, while inside, his head was left echoing with the news.
Castiel felt a wrenching in his gut, something deep and as painful as his head had been. Grief filled him...
Dean Winchester is dead. Dean Winchester is dead.
"Ah!" Castiel could not hold back a gasp, pain flaring through him again, both in his head and heart. The angel's blaring voices and the news causing him to clench his teeth in anguish. His heart spasmed. "No..."
Jimmy rose a bit, awareness coming to him much easier these days. He impressed vague questioning concern, and Castiel hushed him mindlessly. Dean could not be dead, Sam and Dean were both so...important. It wasn't possible.
A chilling thought rushed through him, and Castiel staggered backwards to lean against the glassed shop front behind him. If they were dead, and it seemed it must be true, then where were they? Heaven? If there, they were in terrible danger. That was the angel's, Michael's backyard. It would be so easy to capture them there. It was small comfort that there was that certainty that the angels would bring them back, for Castiel feared the price. In a world where their lives depended on Zachariah and the others, Dean could be forced to say yes.
And if they were not in Heaven, but Hell...what would the angels do? Mount another siege, probably. They must get them back. But in what state would they return? Dean was changed, Castiel knew from his first time in Hell, what would a second do? Not to mention what Hell would be like for Sam, the promised boy king of the underworld, who'd refused to rule. Hell's legions would take out their anger and disappointment on the younger brother, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.
That put them in the same boat, depending on the other angels to bring them back, and fearing the price of such a feat.
But, no. They must be in Heaven. The angel's would not allow them to go anywhere else, and soon they would be back, alive again. They had to be alive to say yes, so they'd survive.
Castiel took a deep breath. Let it out.
And then sucked it in again. Dean and Sam were in Heaven. Where he could no longer go, not since Raphael had killed him. He was cut off. But, in Heaven, there was one that could do more for them than anyone. Joshua, the gardener, was said to talk to God, the only one left that anyone had ever heard of. What if the Winchester could get to him, and just ask. When would they ever have this opportunity again?
Castiel shook himself, irritated for even thinking it. It was too dangerous, it wasn't fair to even ask this of Dean and Sam. They just needed to get out of Heaven as fast as possible.
But...this could be their only chance.
Castiel straightened up, fixed his lapels, and turned around to the West. He needed to contact them, find their bodies. It would be no easy task to communicate with two specific souls in Heaven, but he thought he could manage it.
Giving no thought to the passersby in the street, he spread his wings and flew. A few people jumped and blinked when the trench coated man vanished, but soon they went about their business.
Castiel appeared in Bobby's living room, near the nook which held Bobby's low bed. Bobby was the most likely person to know where Dean and Sam had been before they were killed, and he needed to talk to him. The man was slumbering heavily into his pillow, snoring loud enough to make Castiel glad he had no near neighbors. He moved closer, and stood over the man.
"Bobby, wake up." Castiel said loudly. Bobby snorted, and rolled over but didn't wake fully. "Bobby, you are needed. Wake up!"
Bobby came awake fast, his upper body levering upright, while his lower body didn't move, the paralyzed limbs remain still while his upper ones reached easily for his concealed weapons. Castiel found himself looking into the barrel of a hand gun, and stepped back hurriedly.
"Who the hell is there?" Bobby half shouted through the panic fueled rousing, and Castiel put a hand on his shoulder.
"It's me." He said, willing the hunter to calm.
"Cas?" Bobby blinked at him, and lowered the gun. "What the hell are you doing, waking me up in the middle of the damned night? I nearly shot your damn head off! Jackass..."
Bobby turned away from him, rubbing at his face, waking further, and Castiel removed his hand.
"I have news," Castiel said gravely. Bobby looked up at him, eyebrow lowering.
"You damn well better have news," He said. Still Castiel hesitated, earning a hard glare from the older man. "Don't make me hit you, boy. What news? I don't like the look on your face."
"Sam and Dean are dead."
The blood drained from Bobby's face, faster than Castiel had ever seen that happen, and he had to steady him with his hand on his shoulder again. He took a breath, and then another, and then pinned hard eyes on Castiel's.
"What happened?" Bobby's voice was flat, emotionless.
Castiel shook his head. "I don't know, just that they are most likely in Heaven, which is the absolute worst place for them to be."
Bobby narrowed his eyes further, his face still abnormally pale. "Worse than Hell?"
"Perhaps. They will try to make them say yes. And you have no idea of Heaven's persuasions..." Castiel looked away for a moment, and then back. "I need to know where they were yesterday. When did you last speak with them?"
Bobby breathed in roughly, and cleared his throat. His eyes were still clear. "Uh, I talked to them yesterday."
"Where, Bobby?" Castiel asked urgently, leaning forwards. "If I can get to them before the other angels do, they might be able to retrieve valuable information from Heaven before they are brought back!"
Bobby stilled immediately. "Wait, what? You wanna run that by me again? Sam and Dean are coming back?"
"Of course they are, they both need to be alive to say yes, the angels would never let them stay dead." Bobby stared at him for a moment, and then whacked him upside the head.
"You knew they were coming back, and you just blurt out...you let me think...ooh, I should tan your hide, boy!" Bobby's voice vacillated through rough yelling to an angry growl, and emotion made his eyes shine in the semi-darkness.
"Where are they, Bobby?" Castiel demanded, his urgency causing his heart to race faster. The time was moving past faster than they could see, and every second Dean and Sam spent in Heaven was worse for them. Bobby, however, did not have that sense of urgency. He scooted further upright, and dragged his unresponsive legs over the side of the bed, mumbling insults all the while. Castiel stood, waiting impatiently. Finally,
"Last I talked to them, they were pulling into Scottsdale, Montana. Dunno which motel-"
Bobby's words cut off abruptly as he vanished from Sioux Falls, and appeared in Scottsdale. Scoping out which motel currently held two bodies took a moment or two, and then Castiel stood over his friends.
They were bloody, their shirts torn, chests full of shotgun rounds. Dean's face was still, white, and angry. Sam's was the same, with a shocked expression.
Seeing them unsettled him. His throat thickened slightly, his chest felt tight. He was upset. His finger trembled as he stepped closer and reached to touch Sam's cheek. It was firm and cold. Castiel frowned at his emotional response. He knew they weren't dead, not permanently, and he wasn't a human where being dead would even stop him from seeing them. This was ridiculous, and he was wasting time. He shook himself, and turned his mind to what he came here to do. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved two small vials.
The ritual he had in mind required blood from the deceased you wished to contact, as well as blood from the caster, and a healthy amount of angelic power. The last item was a little worrisome, but Castiel could not let himself think what would happen if he didn't have the power required.
Coming closer to the beds, he carefully scooped up some of Sam's blood, and then Dean's. The liquid was still wet enough to slide sluggishly into the glass containers; the sight made him feel a bit sick. It was strange, because he knew that Sam and Dean weren't there. All these were were broken bodies. Empty vessels, according to his brethren. And still, it was something sad to look at them now.
Sighing, he flew back to Bobby's house. The place was convenient. Bobby was half in his chair, dressed and with his ever present cap perched atop his head. He startled and glared at Castiel when he appeared.
"Don't you ever knock?" Bobby said. plopping down into the wheeled chair and turning it to give him a once over. "Where are they?"
"Back at the motel," Castiel replied, already moving towards the kitchen.
"I thought that's where you went! Why didn't you bring 'em back?" Bobby's voice was getting agitated...well, more so than usual.
"The ritual doesn't need their bodies, just their blood." Castiel said without turning, entering the kitchen, and grabbing a metal bowl from the top of the fridge. It was dusty like it hadn't been used in months. That wouldn't make a difference to his ritual, but he still took a moment to wipe it out with his hand. Bobby wheeling harshly after him.
"You just left them there? And what is this damn ritual you keep talking about?"
Castiel filled up the bowl with clear water from the tap, and then carried it towards the small wooden table, Bobby trailing after him. Setting the bowl to the side, he grabbed a marker that lay discarded on the surface, and began to scrawl over the already marked tabletop. He drew the Enochian lettering, the sigil was one he'd cobbled together, using his understanding of the symbols and some creativity. He prayed it would work.
"I need to contact them, in Heaven. They have access to information, and it may be our only chance to find out the truth."
Castiel touched a finger to the water, pure from the tap, and blessed it. Then, feeling Bobby's eyes on him, he drew out the vials of the Winchester blood and poured them both into the water. The glistening liquid swirled around the water in ribbons, which then mingled and turned the water a light pink.
Bobby looked up from the macabre mixture. "You can't just pop up there?" Bobby asked.
"Not anymore," Castiel said shortly. He drew a knife, and cut into his hand, letting it dribble down to mingle with Sam and Dean's. Then he recited a few phrases of Enochian, and to his gratification, the liquid began to shimmer and steam. It eddied and bubbled before settling into a mirrored surface.
"Dean," Castiel leaned forward, and slowly and clearly repeated the name. "Dean, are you there? Can you hear me?"
"Maybe the line's busy," Bobby said, and Castiel snapped him a look.
"Be silent," Castiel said sharply, "The connection is delicate."
Bobby may have grumbled about other delicate body parts, but Castiel had turned his attention back to the bowl.
"Dean, Dean, can you hear me?"
Look for the next chapter soon.