Bela/Castiel for the prompt meme
The song that came on shuffle mode was Dessa’s “Seamstress”.
Bela released a shivering breath; a new thunderclap jolted her, making her eyes jump once more to the angel in her trap.
It looked deceptively normal, brought to her in the appearance of a man. The wind coming from the violently opened windows made the overcoat and tie float eerily around him, and eyes as a blue and a striking as the lightning bolts that threatened the structure of the cabin watched her like a hawk while she completed the spell.
It was fairly simplistic. The ritual demanded a chant in an ancient language she couldn’t understand, so Bela had scoured the earth for a trustworthy translation and pronounced each syllable slowly and meticulously. But it only required three ingredients. The grateful tears of an exorcised demon host swam now in her bowl; the blood of the doomed spellcaster flowed from her the cut in her arm, filling it nearly to the brim.
She stopped the bleeding as best as she could with trembling hands and stood up to gather the last ingredient: a drop of angelic grace.
Bela was keenly aware that her actions were the definition of a Hail Mary. There was little to no reliable evidence of angelic existence; nonetheless, in her line of work rumour counted just the same, and she had put her faith in the endeavour the way her mother had wanted Bela to when she tried to raise her to be god-fearing.
Maybe it even worked in the end. Each step reminded Bela of all the ways the creature could end her life if it wasn’t contained.
She put the bowl right outside the intricate sigils on the floor. It wasn’t necessary to explain herself again, but an involuntary pleading expression coloured her features. The angel nodded once; its eyes never left her as he drew a silvery blade out of thin air --Bela took an unconscious step back-- and prickled its own fingertip. A drop of pure light fell and drowned in the vastness of her own blood.
Bela’s chant picked up, steady and stubbornly determined as she coated her arms, her chest, her face --all of her, with the mixture. The lights of the candles wavered ominously when she uttered the last words and her body shone a blinding golden light, exactly like the grimoire had promised her.
She contained the tears of relief that threatened to spill and reminded herself that this might not be a permanent solution. The spell merely promised to render its caster undetectable to demonic creatures, as invisible to hellhounds and they were to her. It didn’t make any assurances about the state of one’s soul. The rules of crossroads deals played in favour of the house: a premature death at the hands of something other than its most violent servants was no excuse to break the contract.
But this bought her time. And she damn well deserved that.
Bela walked to the edge of the sigil with a knife in her hand to repay the help; she hesitated at the last moment. What was stopping the creature to take revenge if she let it free?
Just as she thought that, long legs moved at the periphery of her vision, and the angel walked out of the circle.
Bela stood up, almost stumbling in her rush. The angel took a step towards her, slow and sure, as a predator stalked a prey it knew to be doomed, as it would eventually yield to exhaustion. It was of no relevance: Bela was paralyzed, the soles of her feet frozen to the ground. Her eyes closed against her will when it raised an arm; a palm lay against her forehead, fingers pressing into her scalp, and two tears ran down her face because she knew this was the end.
A warm and pleasant sensation travelled through her body, ending in a sting on her forearm, where the blood-flow cut abruptly.
She opened her eyes in shock. The angel’s palm was coated with her blood where it had pressed against her head. Amidst an impassive expression his eyes regarded her with curiosity one last time. Between one blink and the next, he was gone, leaving Bela to release the tense sob stuck in her neck, as the realization that he could’ve walked away at any point dawned on her.