Author: TwinOne (@twinone1221)
Artist: Callion (@as-lost-as-sams-shoe)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Featured characters: Castiel, Emma, Dean Winchester
Featured relationships: pre-slash Castiel/Dean Winchester
Length: 12,000 words
Tags: Alternative Universe - Modern Setting, Castiel is Emma's Parent, Firefighter Dean, Adoption, Accidental Adoption Reveal, Meeting biological family, Hopeful Ending, Kidfic
Summary:
Emma Novak never thought she was adopted. When her grandmother accidentally reveals she never was her parent's biological daughter, she asks her dad to help her find them. Castiel agrees and they drive out to Lawrence, Kansas to meet Dean Winchester.
I decided to cope with the AO3 by writing a bit on my Jegulily WIP but then I got distracted and now we have this (no idea if it's the beginning of a new WIP or a oneshot) For @castiels-husband
Castiel is bloody and the only Angel of their platoon left. A dozen of their eyes are blind, their left wing is broken, one of their heads has been twisted almost entirely off, and they don't have much grace left - so far from the host they are reliant on their own reserves and years of relentless fighting haven't given much time to regeneration and rest.
All that is worth it because finally they have found her. The rightous man. The Michael Sword.
Dean Winchester is in the middle of ripping a soul's intestines out of their mouth when Castiel finds her.
Her Soul is twisted and ugly but beneath the surface there is a light so beautiful that Castiel understands how one mere human could be the perfect Vessel for Michael.
She stares at Castiel with terror and awe and tries to flinch away when Castiel reaches for her but he manages to scoop her up in their hands, holding on tight.
Then they tense their wings and up they go.
Dean Winchester cowers in the cave of their hands so many emotions falling from her and Castiel tries to soother her with their Grace but she flinches in pain instead and they can see the Mark their attempt left on their Soul.
They have almost overcome the first Circle of Hell when Castiel can feel their Grace re-connecting with the Host and power sweeps through them. Their left wing heals, their eyes regain sight, their twisted head comes back to conciousness and finally they have enough grace to create a body for the Righteous Man.
They return to the bones of the Righteous Man and look deep in Dean Winchesters soul for the body and then atom by atom stitch it into reality based on that image.
They begin with the skin, sun-tanned and freckeled and whole, growing it around the bones. Secondly, they re-new her Bones and re-grow her rotting Organs and Muscles. Her Eyes and Hair they do last before pushing her soul - reluctand after spending fourty years without - against the Body until it enters.
Satisfied, with their work done they call out to their siblings so they know it is Done.
When they return to the Righteous Man she has gone to a Gas Station but instead of answering Castiel she lies down to rest before Calling Robert Singer.
Castiel follows Dean Winchester on her journy to first Robert Singer and then Samantha Winchester.
Samntha Winchester is already well on his way to becoming Lucifer's Vessel. Drinking Demon Blood and having relations with a Demon. Castiel finds it hard to look at her and instead focuses on Dean Winchester, her soul so bright and beautiful.
The three of them go to a Psychic and Castiel warns her but she forces them to show her their True Form and her eyes burn out.
After that Dean and Samantha Winchester go to a Diner where Demons lie and after Dean safely leaves Castiel takes care of them.
Then, when Dean Winchester is alone they try and talk to her again but once more she ignores Castiel. It is frustrating and Castiel decides that to ensure she listens they will need to procure a Vessel.
Jimmy Novak is the oldest alive member of her Vessel Line and Castiel decides she is the best option. She is very devout and loves her Wife and Daughter, wanting only that Castiel keeps them safe.
Having a Vesses is an interesting sensation. Castiel has never felt so small and vulnerable but at the same time they are more powerful than ever, now that they are able to interact with all humans.
With their Vessel procured they follow the call of Dean Winchester summoning them and finally, she looks at them and doesn't ignore Castiel.
(For those confused by the Genders: Dean and Sam are Female, Castiel (and all angels) is (are) non-Binary, Jimmy Novak is trans (mtf), the rest are (as of yet) the same as in canon)
There's a middle-aged woman complaining about the foam in her latte, a guy with his bare feet up on the chair across from him, and a kid licking the pastry case (he might belong to latte lady, but the nearby neighborhood women's group is meeting right now so nobody really knows).
Rating: General Audiences; Ship: Pre-Destiel; WC: 3,219
POV Outsider (Original Male Character); full tags on AO3 or below the cut.
Summary: Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A lot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper. It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.
In which: Jerry Wallace encounters Dean Winchester, supposed Satanist.
On AO3 Here (or read under the cut!)
Full Tags: POV Outsider, This poor cemetery guard doesn't know what to do about Dean Winchester, Dean seems insane, BAMF Castiel, Early Seasons Dean and Cas, Pre-Relationship Dean and Cas, Pre-Friendship Dean and Cas, somehow they still manage to flirt though, POV Character is briefly threatened by Dean Winchester but it all ends OK,Humor
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Jerry Wallace has seen a lot of satanic rituals. A Iot. Candles and daggers, pentagrams, hoods and chanting; you name it, he’s seen it. As the head of security — and only guard — of Sullivan Cemetery, he’s bound to have run into the occasional devil worshipper (and worse. People dig up graves for really unsavory reasons). It doesn’t even faze him anymore. There’s not much Jerry Wallace hasn’t seen.
But tonight, as he sweeps his flashlight back and forth across the dewy grass, making his rounds and sipping on his steaming coffee, something stops him short. He narrows his eyes and cocks his head to listen. There’s a scuffling sound up ahead, from just outside the Bennett mausoleum. It sounds too big to be any of the usual animals. Humans, then. Jerry sighs. He was hoping for a quiet night, so he could make himself comfortable under the lamp at the cemetery entrance and read the book his teenage son, Andrew, had lent him. Cemetery Boys, it’s called. Jerry finds it fitting.
A man’s rough voice rings out from around the corner of the mausoleum. “Dammit, Sam, you can’t give me any hints?”
Jerry blinks at the audacity. Who sneaks into a cemetery at night and doesn’t even try to be quiet about it? He decides to give these particular satanists a little scare, just to teach them a lesson. He switches off his flashlight and gently sets his precious cup of coffee on top of the nearest headstone. Time to have some fun.
He sneaks on silent feet across the grass, clutching his flashlight tight in hand and deciding which tactic he wants to use. The reliable old jump scare? Flashlight beam to the face and an earsplitting yell — it’s worked well on thrill-seeking teenagers in the past. Or the more tricky option, creeping around and making ghostly sounds to unnerve the trespassers so thoroughly that they leave? More time investment, but also more amusing in the long run — Jerry decides on Option Two.
The wall of the mausoleum gives him excellent cover to start his performance. He sidles up along it, to the very edge. The intruders are just around the corner, and it sounds like one of them’s rummaging around in a bag of some sort. Jerry rolls his eyes. Probably some weirdos with spray paint, here to deface the walls of the mausoleum with symbols that take ages to wash off. Jerry opens his mouth and is about to emit his first long, ghostly moan, when the same voice as before pipes up again.
“Picking the lock didn’t work, Sam, I’m telling you, it’s gonna take longer. You gotta hold her off.”
The other person — Sam — doesn’t reply, though. Jerry furrows his brow. Who’s being held off? He decides to get a better picture of the scene before initiating his plan. Very slowly, he pokes just the right side of his face around the corner. The front of the small white building is washed in moonlight, the nearest lamp a ways down the path.
There’s a man crouched outside the mausoleum, maybe in his late twenties, from what Jerry can tell in the low light. He’s wearing an oversized leather jacket over a patterned shirt, with jeans and sturdy-looking boots. His short hair is spiked a bit in the front.
He doesn’t look like a satanist. Jerry stays very still, breathing shallowly and watching.
The man has both hands in a medium-sized duffel bag, rooting around. The contents of the bag are clanging and thudding. With a triumphant exhale, the man stands up, crowbar in hand. Jerry balks. This is already a step beyond chanting and spray paint. Again, nothing he hasn’t seen before, though.
What Jerry couldn’t see while the man was crouched, that now makes itself clear, is that he has a mobile phone pressed between his shoulder and ear. As the man advances on the door with the crowbar, he barks into the phone, “Update, Sammy. You still kicking?”
Jerry can’t make out Sam’s muffled response, but it obviously displeases the man, because he whacks the crowbar against the mausoleum door with a frustrated growl. “Watch your back. Figure out what the hell I’m supposed to burn!” He flips the phone shut and stuffs it into his jacket pocket.
This is getting stranger and stranger. Jerry watches as the man goes to town on the mausoleum door, an offense that Jerry would usually be more inclined to stop from happening. Something about this man, though, about the way he carries himself and the way he talks, is holding Jerry back.
He’s very glad about his decision to stay put about ten seconds later, when the man drops the crowbar to the ground with a clang and pulls a gun out of his jacket. Jerry doesn’t even carry a gun. His heart starts beating and his palms prickle with sweat. He didn’t sign up for this. Who brings a gun to a cemetery?
The man steps back a couple feet, points the handgun at the lock, hunches his shoulders, and fires. Jerry barely has the wherewithal to throw himself back around the corner and press his hands over his ears before the shot goes off. He feels it reverberate through the wall, twice, as the man fires again. Fully out of sight now, Jerry gingerly lowers the zipper on his jacket and reaches into his chest pocket for his radio. He needs to call this in. This is way above his pay grade.
“Dammit!” the man yells. The gun must’ve been ineffective. Jerry mentally pats himself on the shoulder. He requested upgrades to all mausoleum locks after a series of break ins last year, and it looks like the security company came through.
Jerry hears the keypad of the mobile phone beeping as the man punches in a number, then there’s muffled ringing. Jerry uses the sound as cover to pull his radio out and to inch his face around the corner again so he has a visual of the scene.
The man’s phone rings and rings. With another frustrated yell, the man slaps it shut and paces back and forth in front of the door, one hand running through his hair, the other still holding his gun. After a few moments, he stops in his tracks. He’s facing Jerry’s direction, silvery moonlight throwing his cheekbones in sharp relief. He looks like a respectable young man, really. Jerry wonders where he lost his way.
There’s a set of complicated emotions working their way across the man’s face. His eyebrows are pinched in concentration, eyes squeezed shut, lips moving as if he’s talking to himself. This lasts about ten seconds before he throws up his hands and glares at the sky.
“Oh, come on!” he shouts. “Get your harp-toting ass down here! Castiel!”
Jerry, who prides himself on never swearing, thinks: What the fuck.
The man is obviously disturbed. He needs a doctor. Jerry glances down at the radio in his hand, and presses the emergency button. He can’t afford a conversation with dispatch; the man will overhear. This will at least get someone out here.
When Jerry looks back up, he twitches. There are now two men in front of the mausoleum. The newcomer is wearing a long trenchcoat and standing stiffly. He’s facing away from Jerry, looking at the gunman, sensible shoes planted hip-width apart. His messy dark hair blends into the shadows.
Where on earth did he come from? Jerry darts his eyes around. The mausoleum is on a slightly raised part of the cemetery, visibility clear in all directions. Even if the trenchcoat man had approached from the opposite side of the building, Jerry would have seen him.
“Cas,” the gunman says, voice heavy with something like — relief, perhaps? His tense posture relaxes slightly and he claps the trenchcoat man on the shoulder. “You took your time,” he accuses. “Can you open those doors?”
The trenchcoat man, Cas — is this Castiel? Jerry cannot keep up — turns slightly to regard the doors.
“This is why you prayed to me?” Cas’ voice is deeper than the gunman’s, rougher. He speaks like a robot. “Heaven is at war, Dean. You call me to help you break down a door?”
Jerry’s brain is spinning. Are these… actors? Cosplayers? He learned about cosplayers from Andrew. Some of them do have very elaborate costumes. Jerry squints at Cas’ back. This doesn’t look like a costume, though. Cas looks like a tax accountant. Like he should be at home with his family at this time of night.
“Sam’s in trouble,” Dean’s saying, an ever-so-slight pleading edge to the words. “I gotta get in here, Cas, or he’s gonna meet a real bad end. I know you’ve got the mojo, come on!”
“I do not exist to do your bidding,” Cas replies. He strides over to the doors, though, trenchcoat flapping around his calves. “I do not serve you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re a warrior.” Dean’s hovering at Cas’ shoulder. “Can you blast ‘em?”
Cas lays a hand on the doors, long fingers splayed against the metal. Jerry glances down at his radio again. The red button is flashing, indicating that he’d called for help, but he can’t hear any sirens yet. He hopes they send enough officers for two grave-desecrating weirdos.
“Stand back,” Cas says. “And tell the man behind the wall to stand back, too.”
“What?” Dean’s head whips around.
Jerry hastily pulls his head out of sight, heart racing. Oh, no. He’s seen enough. He can ID these two for the cops later. He doesn’t need to be on the scene.
He turns heel to run, but makes it only two steps before a hand grabs his collar and yanks him back. The air is knocked out of him and he yelps, feet scrabbling on the pavement as a strong arm drags him around the corner. He lands on his butt in front of the doors, palms scraping on the ground. He quickly raises one over his head in surrender.
“Please— please, I have a family!” He keeps his eyes averted. Dean’s boots are inches away from his legs. “Don’t hurt me, I won’t say a word, I promise!”
“You the guard?” Dean crouches down in front of him. Oh, lord, the gun is trained on Jerry’s face. He whimpers and nods.
“Great. Give me the keys to the doors. Stat.” A palm appears in front of Jerry’s chest, held out in expectation. He hesitates. Isn’t that aiding and abetting?
No way. He’s at gunpoint. He nods again, fervently, and fumbles in his pocket for his ring of keys. His hand shakes violently as he drops them onto Dean’s outstretched palm. He sneaks a peek up at the men.
“Cas,” Dean says, tossing the keys to the trenchcoat man. “Figure out which one it is. I’ll deal with him.”
Cas catches the keys. “So, you do not want me to break the doors?”
“No— just—” Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, lips pressed together. “Just unlock them.” Cas scowls, but begins slotting the various keys into the mausoleum lock.
Dean turns back to Jerry and waves a hand in front of his face. “Hey,” he snaps. Jerry meets his eyes, conscious that he must look utterly terrified. He hopes it’ll appeal to any sense of humanity in this gun-toting lunatic.
“Whatever you think I am, I’m not,” Dean says, quickly and gruffly. “I’m not some pervert tryin’ to get my rocks off with Sleeping Beauty in there. I haven’t got time to ease you in slow, so here it is: ghosts are real. There’s one after my brother. I can gank it, but I gotta burn some hair or somethin’, something keepin’ it here. That’s all. Once Cas opens the doors, I’ll be in and out. We don’t have to get nasty. I’m even saving your doors from gettin’ blasted, as a favor. ”
Jerry picks and chooses what to process of that. “You have a gun pointed at me.”
Dean glances at the gun, like he’s just now realizing he still has it trained on Jerry. He lowers it. “Sorry. Had to let you know I’m serious. You gonna let me do my thing, or we gonna have a problem?”
The police will be here soon, Jerry thinks. It’s not my responsibility to stop this maniac.
“No problem,” he says. Dean nods once, satisfied, and in that moment, the lock clicks. The doors swing open heavily. Dean springs to his feet and races toward the mausoleum.
“Awesome, Cas!” he shouts, slapping a palm against Cas’ chest as he passes. Cas looks after him, a bemused expression on his face.
“I don’t know what to burn!” Dean hollers from inside.
Jerry is so far past trying to understand any of this. He nurses his scraped palms, huddling on the cold pavement and thinking of the book Andrew gave him. He wanted to finish a few chapters tonight so they could talk about them over breakfast tomorrow. He hopes he gets the chance.
Jerry is tough, but his eyes sting a little as he thinks about it.
“Dean is a good man,” Cas suddenly says, in that mechanical way of his. “Righteous. He won’t harm a human.”
Jerry stares at him in disbelief. There’s nothing he can say to that, beyond “Okay.” Cas just nods, and turns to gaze into the darkness of the mausoleum. There’s a lot of scraping and clattering echoing from the room inside, as if Dean is dismantling the place. He probably is, Jerry thinks miserably as the sound of breaking glass reaches his ears.
Dean comes storming back out of the room, assorted items piled in his arms. Jerry recognizes the doll that’s usually propped up behind the glass of the Bennett daughter’s crypt, and a locket that hangs behind the mother’s. A whole array of other personal effects that Jerry spends his nights guarding also end up on the pavement at Dean’s feet. Dean dives into his duffel bag, pulling out a can of gasoline. He douses the whole pile in the acrid-smelling stuff — Jerry’s nostrils sting and he coughs, scrabbling a little farther away. Dean pulls a lighter out of pocket and flicks it several times, cursing when it doesn’t ignite.
“Allow me,” Cas says, stepping forward. He pauses. “Close your eyes.”
Jerry throws an arm over his eyes without a second thought, just catching sight of Dean doing the same. His jacket sleeve does very little, though, to shield his eyes from the brilliant blue-white light that rips through the darkness. It feels like a bonfire, there one moment and gone the next, leaving the tips of Jerry’s hair singed. He cowers, eyes pressed shut, heaving huge breaths.
“Damn, Cas,” Dean says, voice tinged with awe. “Thanks for the assist.”
Jerry lowers his (slightly smoking) arm and peers at where the pile of belongings once lay. It’s completely gone, reduced to ash, just smoldering dust on the pavement. How on Earth—
In that moment, Dean’s mobile phone rings. He frantically plunges a hand into his jacket and rips it out, flipping it open.
“Sammy?” he asks sharply, pressing the phone to his ear. The voice on the other end mumbles something and Dean sags in relief, dragging a hand over his face. “Close call, huh? Yeah, glad it worked.”
Jerry tunes out the rest of Dean and Sam’s conversation. His eyes travel from the smoking pile of dust, to Cas (who’s standing motionless, staring at Dean), to the open mausoleum door, to his own hands, trembling in his lap. A light catches his eye off to the side and he follows it, realizing it’s his radio, abandoned on the pavement, red emergency light still blinking steadily. He gazes at it like a lifeline.
“Is that— Did you—” Dean’s voice is suddenly closer, right next to Jerry, and he quickly looks up. Dean’s looking at the radio, too. His phone is closed in his hand; he must be done talking to his brother.
“The cops coming?” Dean demands, gesturing at the radio. Jerry doesn’t want to let on, he doesn’t, but faced with this strange, complicated, definitely violent person, he can’t hold out. He nods.
“Dammit,” Dean mutters. Just then, the first siren wails in the distance, growing louder by the second.
Finally.
Dean groans and rushes over to his duffel bag, throwing the can of gasoline back in and grabbing the crowbar off the ground to toss that in, too. “Leave the keys, Cas,” he snaps at the trenchcoat man, who still has Jerry’s key ring dangling from his fingers. Cas drops the keys on the ground.
“Can you zap me to my car?” Dean hoists the duffel over his shoulder and faces Cas. “I won’t make it if I run.”
Cas steps closer to Dean, until he’s right in front of him. Their noses are just a few inches apart. Jerry, with nothing else to do but wait for his rescuers, watches them. Dean takes what looks like a shaky breath. His eyes flick down to Cas’ mouth. “You gonna stare, or you gonna help?” he asks, but it comes out small, a weak attempt at bravado.
Cas reaches out and places his hand over Dean’s left shoulder. “I’ll go with you,” he says, deep and measured, and in the next second, they’re gone. Just gone.
Jerry could swear he heard the flapping of wings. He sits there, numb, staring at the spot where they vanished.
Eventually, the yellow beams of flashlights dart across the front of the mausoleum and voices break through the fog in Jerry’s brain. A hand lands on his shoulder. “Sir, are you all right?”
He’s saved.
There’s a lot of questions from the responding officers, a lot of Jerry having to recount what he saw, picking and choosing details — which of course renders his story utterly implausible — and a lot of nobody believing him; there’s a breathalizer test — humiliating — that of course comes back clean (whether that’s better or worse for him, Jerry’s not so sure), and a round of paperwork, and finally, finally, Jerry is allowed to go.
He stumbles down the cemetery path in a daze, passing his long-cold cup of coffee, still perched on its headstone. He snags it and throws it away in the trash can at the cemetery gates. The officers said they would lock the mausoleum and the security station; Jerry was supposed to go home. He stops briefly at his station, though, to grab Andrew’s book.
He’s not quite ready to go home yet. He’s not sure what to say.
Jerry makes himself comfortable in the front seat of his car, overhead light on, and cracks open his book. He starts to read.
Pairing: Pre-Dean/Cas, Gabriel/Meg
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 6.5K
Warnings: Major Character Injury, Graphic De
Written For: nickel’s Storytime, AMOK2020 (Day 3), and the new Runaway series.
On Ao3
Dean loved working the overnight shift. It was quiet, Dr. Vaugier let him use one of the monitors to watch Dr. Sexy, and honestly, he enjoyed the laid back nature of the job. He absolutely loved what he did for a living, as it was better than what his father had trained him for, but there wasn't much money in the business, and scrubs cost a lot.
"Dean?" Dr. Vaugier came around the corner, and he pulled his feet off of the chair next to him. "Dean, Sam just called. He and Benny are coming in."
"I take it you need me to set up a bed?" Dean pushed himself out of his chair and stretched up, letting out a soft moan as he loosened his limbs.
"Please. And you seriously need to move around more. Don't make me regret letting you have a TV on." She winked and opened the door into the supply room. "Four and Six are open. Your choice."
Dean walked out from behind the desk and headed down the hall to room six. Despite it being further away from his desk, it was closer to where Sam and Benny would bring in their patient. It totally didn't have anything to do with the Doc's comment about him needing to move more.
As he slipped in the room, Dean flipped on the light switch and looked around. He had done a thorough wipe down of the unit when he started the shift. However, the bed still needed to be made up, and depending on the patient's state, he would need to prep for any possible damage to the room.
Dean laid out the sheets, wrapping them around the bed and leaving a pair of pillows on the side. He wasn't sure what form the patient was coming in, so it was always best to make the pillow optional.
A knock sounded on the door, and Dr. Vaugier walked in. "Almost done, Dean?"
"Yeah, Maddie." Dean pulled down a tray out of one of the cabinets, setting it down on a nearby cart. "Did Sam say what we're looking at?"
"Shifted Were, silver-laced buckshot. Sam's fairly certain the Hunter only clipped the wolf, but silver..." Dr. Vaugier, Madison, nodded solemnly. "We'll need to work fast."
A few minutes later, the sounds of the modified ambulance came into earshot, and Dean met the vehicle at the emergency entrance. "Sammy! Benny! Room Six. Let's go!" Dean clapped his hands and almost laughed at the bitchface his brother shot him.
"You know, you could come and help us, Cher," Benny replied as he opened the ambulance doors. "Get this guy inside faster."
"That's why I'm here. Maddie's getting her special gear since I hear we're dealing with silver." Dean walked up to the rear and took one side of the stretcher the Were was on. "How'd you even find out about this guy?"
"His brother was with him. He was able to shift back and call dispatch." Sam hopped out of the back of the ambulance. "The hunter was smart, stood downwind, had injured a deer to attract them." He grabbed the end of the stretcher and helped carry the stretcher. "I told him where to come, but he wanted to go warn the rest of their pack first."
"We have a new pack in town?" Dean stared down at the beautiful black wolf he was helping to carry. "Does Maddie know?"
"Not sure, Cher." Benny shook his head. "Could be a nomadic pack passing through."
The trio carried the litter into room six and carefully shifted the wolf onto the bed. Under the bright lights, Dean had, unfortunately, a better view of extensive damage on the wolf's rear flank. "Holy shit." He carefully ran his hand through the fur and pulled some silver out of the thick coat. "Fuck. Maddie can't work with this. This'll eat right through her gloves and then her skin." He dropped the buckshot into the tray he pulled down earlier. "Did you get this guy's name?"
"Uh... it's something strange." Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Castle? Casteel? His brother was understandably frantic."
"Cas it is then." Dean grabbed a comb and started pulling it through the wolf's fur. "Sam, go warn Doc that I don't think she should be on this one. Benny, glove up for me?"
Benny nodded as Sam headed out of the room. "Cher, tell me. We gonna be able to save him?"
"You help me out, he'll be just fine." A loud commotion came from outside of the room, and Sam peeked his head in.
"His brother and a couple members of his pack showed up. Madison's going to speak with them, considering she's lead of her own pack, and I'm going to back her up since I helped bring him in. You two gonna be okay?" Sam looked back and forth between Dean and Benny.
"Yes, Sam. You go back up your girl. Benny and I got this." Dean noted the bright blush in his brother's cheeks as he slipped back out of the room. "One of these days he'll actually ask her."
"Doubtful. Wish he would, though. Boy pines after her like a dog whimpers for scraps." Benny gently patted the wolf's neck. "No offense, brotha."
"Don't think he heard you, Benny." Dean closed his eyes for a moment. The amount of fur and blood was making it difficult to find all of the buckshot, and time was of the essence. "Benny, bottom cabinet, closest to the wall, there should be some electric shears in there." He shook his head. "I hate to shave off his fur, but I think his life is more important at this point."
"Agreed, Cher." Benny quickly grabbed the shears, plugging them in before handing them over to Dean. "What you need me to do."
"Get your Vamp on." When Benny stared at him in confusion, Dean clarified. "I mean, be prepared to hold him down. While I know he's unconscious, there's a slight chance he'll wake up. I need you to hold him down, cause he's in too weak of a state to put under."
Benny nodded, and leaned over the wolf, carefully pinning him down to the bed. "You could have just said that first, you know."
"I know." Dean turned the shears on and waited for a moment to see if the wolf - Cas, he reminded himself - would wake up. When there was no movement, other than his chest going up and down in shallow breaths, Dean moved quickly to clear the fur off the injury.
"Dammit, Cher. That looks worse without all that fur." Benny commented, gently running his fingers through the wolf's scruff.
Dean ignored the fact that Benny was right, cursing the asshole that shot the gorgeous Were beneath him. "His breathing is becoming labored, Benny. Get him hooked up to oxygen?" Dean continued plucking out the buckshot he could find. "I may have to use my other skills for this."
"I'm surprised you're not using them already," Benny commented as he slipped the muzzle over the wolf's snout.
"You know I'm all about consent with my powers, Benny." Dean cursed as one of the silver balls slipped out of his grasp. "Fuck. He can hate me later." Dean placed his hand gently on Cas and started speaking an incantation aloud. He felt his power surge through his hand and into the wolf, and then Benny shuffling at his side, most likely to keep the wolf stable.
Dean felt each of the remaining pieces of buckshot push out from under the flesh and skin. His heart broke, as he realized this Hunter was most likely not out for the kill, but to maim and then capture. As the last ball came free and clinked onto the ground, Dean did a quick read of Cas, seeing how much got into his bloodstream.
"Dean?" Benny questioned. "He's startin' to bleed kinda heavy there."
Nodding, Dean refocused his energy, forcing the skin to mend back together. He stumbled backward and would have fallen if it weren't for Benny throwing his arm behind him and catching him. "That's all I can do right now."
"Cher, you've done enough." Benny guided Dean into a chair. "Stay here, I'm gonna go grab Sam, he can help you out. The blood..." He spun his finger around the room, gesturing. "It's getting to me."
"Go, Benny, you're fine. Sam can spare some of his reserves to catch anything I may have missed." Dean slunk down into the seat, removing the bloodied glove off his hand. He carded his fingers through his hair and watched Cas' breathing steady out while waiting for Sam to come back.
"Dean?" Sam stepped into the room and looked at Dean before looking at Cas on the table. "You did use your powers. I thought I felt that." Sam walked up to Dean and pressed two fingers against his older brother's temple before whispering a spell.
A cold surge ran through Dean. "Dude, don't worry about me. It's nothing that a day's worth of sleep can't replenish. Make sure I didn't miss anything on Cas there."
"Yeah, I'm allowed to worry about you too. The patient feels stable, you're about to pass out." Sam sighed and turned to go check on the wolf. "Spoke with his older brother Gabriel, the one who called dispatch." Sam's magic flowed through the room as he did his own scan of Cas. "His pack was chased out of town a few states over when the town blamed them for a bunch of wendigo kills. Apparently, the victim's families hired a couple of hunters to track them down."
"Not..." Dean questioned, raising his eyebrow.
"They don't know who. And if it's him, he knows he can't come into limits." Sam's magic faded and turned to face his brother. "Looks like you got most of it. I still felt a few minuscule traces, but nothing lethal."
Dean nodded tiredly. "Let me clean up in here." He pointed down to the silver buckshot on the floor. "And then his brother and other pack members can come back and see him." Dean pushed himself to his feet and started working to make the room safe for the other weres.
A few minutes later, Dean collapsed back into the chair, before calling out to Madison. As she entered the room, she let out an audible sigh of relief. "Dean, thank you..." She looked down at him. "He smells like he's recovering."
"I didn't realize that it has a scent," Dean commented, tapping the side of his nose.
"It does, he's at rest and not stressed out." Madison crossed to Cas' bed and pulled back the blanket. "Sam and Benny said you used your magic. It looks good. Shame you don't use it more." She crossed back to the exit. "You getting up, or are you staying put?"
Dean waved Madison off and stayed put in the chair. If the pack really wanted him out of the room, he'd leave. But honestly, his limbs were starting to feel like jelly, and he'd probably need to be sent home early. Dean hadn't been kidding about possibly needing twenty-four hours of rest after that.
"Cassie!" A short, blonde man ran into the room, followed by a short brunette female and a statuesque redhead. "Dammit, Cassie."
Dean stayed quiet, not wanting to interfere when the redhead offered her hand. "I'm Anna. You must be Dean."
"That's me." He offered a tired smile and shook her hand. "My apologies for not standing up."
"None needed. Dr. Vaugier said you almost completely depleted your power saving Castiel, and I can feel it." Anna offered a small smile of her own. "We're grateful for your assistance."
"This is my fault. I should have told him to stay behind." The guy was grabbing on to Cas' scruff and crying into the jet black fur.
"Gabe, you know he would have fought you on that. Leader or not." The short brunette turned around and joined Anna. "Thank you, Dean. I'm Meg, and this is our pack leader, Gabriel. He and Castiel were out hunting when they were ambushed."
"You all are very welcome. Cas didn't deserve that, and I wanted to make sure he survived." Dean rubbed at his eye. "I know Maddie would have helped, but I'm sure you know why I wouldn't let her."
Gabriel finally turned around and acknowledged Dean. "She's a good soul. Not often you see a female pack leader with such kindness. They're usually cold, like Naomi." Dean made a mental note of the name as Gabriel continued. "She's offered us sanctuary in town if we want to stay."
"Sounds about right. You won't be the only pack in town. You'd be the fourth. We've got a nice little sanctuary going on here." Dean watched as Gabriel kept glancing back and forth between him and Cas. "We'll be here until seven when Dr. Fitzgerald and his wife take over for the day shift if you want to go get some rest."
"Gabe?" Anna questioned. "Do you want me to stay, and you can go get the pack gathered?"
The blond Were hung his head and let out a heavy sigh. "Please. While I trust Meg and you to handle the rest of the pack, I think they'll probably want me there."
"I promise that I'll be here to keep care over him for you, Gabriel." Dean patted the chair next to him, gesturing for Anna to sit. "Go, make sure your pack is okay. Give them some updates, let them know that Cas is going to be okay."
"Cas?" Gabriel raised his eyebrow.
"Sorry, I'm not 100% sure how to say his full name, and I like to know who I'm helping." Dean cringed, suddenly worried that he crossed a line.
Gabriel shook his head. "Nothing to be scared about, Dean. Just caught me by surprise. Already endearing yourself to our pack." He held out his hand to Meg. "Come with?"
"Of course." She waved to Anna and Dean before exiting the room behind Gabriel.
After a few moments of silence, Anna spoke up. "You know, you don't have to stay. You've done so much already, and his healing abilities are kicking in." Just as he had done earlier, Anna tapped the side of her nose. "I can smell how much power you put into healing him. I don't know how you're still going."
"Barely, and pure stubbornness." A knock at the door and Benny stuck his head in. "And if Benny has what I think he has, a crap ton of coffee."
"You got that right, Cher." Benny stepped in and handed a travel mug to Dean. "It's my brew, so you know it's the good stuff." He nodded politely at Anna before looking back at Dean. "I left the thermos at the desk if you need more, but Sam and I need to get going. Sounds like Amy's going into labor."
"Thank you, Benny. I'll swing by the maternity ward before heading home." Dean took a deep drink of his coffee, sighing contently as the hot liquid warmed him.
Anna chuckled. "You sound like you've found your happy place."
"It will be when Cas wakes up." Dean winked at her before taking another drink.
...
Several hours later, and Cas still hadn't woken up. With his shift coming to an end, Dean was nervous. His thoughts were racing at a mile a minute. What if he had missed something, what if there was something more he could have done? He had moved to the desk to work on Cas' chart and paperwork, so Bess and Garth would have information to review when they came in. While he would still take the time to talk to them and pass off his charge, for some reason, he needed Cas to be taken care of. More than any of the other patients he had helped before.
"Dean-O!" Garth entered through the emergency bay with Bess next to him. "I hear we had something big happen overnight?"
"Were hit by buckshot. Intentional, it was an ambush with silver." Dean focused on the paperwork in front of him, making sure to get every detail down. "His older sister is in there right now. Their pack leader accepted sanctuary from Madison. She was going to talk to you about your pack, and then reach out to Kate and Michael about their pack."
"Shoot, there's plenty of room for another pack. I hear that they're on the run for something they didn't do. So why would we say no?" Garth wrapped his arm around Bess and gently squeezed her.
"And I'm sure Kate and Michael will be on board," Bess added, before leaning up and kissing Garth on his cheek. "Are you okay if I go check in on Amy real quick before taking over? I just want to see if there are any updates on her status."
Dean nodded and waved to Bess as he leaned back in his seat. Garth sat on the edge of the desk and rested his hand on his knee. "How are you doing, Dean? Really? You look like you've been going nonstop."
"Just tired, Garth."
"Right, and the fact that I can smell your magic all over this wing has nothing to do with that?" Garth leaned forward and took a deeper sniff. "Huh, you're anxious, aren't you?"
"Why would I–" Dean was interrupted by Anna sticking her head out into the hall.
"Dean! Castiel is shifting back to human form!"
Dean pushed himself out of his seat quickly, finding a sudden and much appreciated second wind. He entered room six to find a slightly shivering, presumably naked, human laying where a wolf had once been. "Garth, heating pad, please."
Despite being the doctor, and Dean being the nurse, Garth didn't hesitate and reached into one of the cabinets to grab an electric blanket. He unfolded it, handing a side to Dean, and draped it over Cas before plugging it in. "Let's get this turned on, and get him warmed back up, shall we?"
"Anna, this is Dr. Fitzgerald, the one I mentioned would be taking over this morning. He and I were just going over what happened last night."
"You're another Were." Anna tilted her head and smiled before looking at Dean. "You really weren't kidding, were you?"
"Nope." Dean shook his head as he found Cas' pulse. He took a moment to count - and maybe admire the man's hair and face - before continuing. "Just like I was telling you last night, this town has a little bit of everything. Werewolves, Vampires, Kitsune, Witches..." He winked. "Maybe if you guys stick around, you'll even get to meet the Phoenix who lives in town."
Dean reached into a drawer on the medical cart, pulled out a stethoscope, and wiped it down before putting it in his ears. He placed the chestpiece against Cas' back and listened before nodding contently.
"He sound good, Dean?" Garth asked.
"Yeah, the shift didn't throw off any of the human vitals. He's going to be fine." Dean slowly and gingerly started to pull back the heated blanked and sheet off of Cas' thigh, and swallowed down a startled cry as he got to see the rest of Cas' human physique. "His regenerative powers helped a lot, but he may have a limp for a week or so." Dean pressed his fingers into Cas' thigh and frowned. "Yeah, there's still some muscle damage that needs to be repaired."
"But he's going to recover?" Anna asked, her voice slightly quivering.
"If Dean says that your brother is going to be fine, I believe that your brother is going to be just fine." Garth flashed a toothy smile that Dean learned was actually meant to be comforting, not intimidating. "I'm going to send Dean home so he can rest, though."
"Thank you, Dean." Anna wrapped her arms around Dean's neck and hugged him. "You've kept our brother with us."
Dean felt his cheek turn bright red. "You're welcome." He waited until Anna let go before heading back out to the desk. Bess was sitting in the chair he had vacated to go see Cas. "He shifted."
"Is he awake?" Bess smiled sweetly.
"Not yet." Dean pointed down at his notes. "Wanna add on for me?" Bess waved the pen before bringing it down to the chart. "The patient shifted back to human form while unconscious. The temperature dropped, as expected, an electric blanket has been applied to help the warm-up process. The patient remains unconscious, and after a check of the wound site, should make a full recovery within..." Dean hummed in thought. "Within two weeks."
"Overestimating again, Dean?" Bess looked up.
"There's some muscle damage that will take some time to repair, and while it's not extensive, he is a Were. You guys don't understand rest." Dean winked before tapping on the desk. "Hey Bess, give me a call if he wakes up before I get back in tonight?"
Bess looked up, her confusion apparent. "I mean, I can, but why? Considering it's a wound with silver, we won't let him out before tomorrow."
"Honestly?" Dean shrugged. "I don't know." He stretched up before leaning back down to grab the remainder of his coffee. "You know if they're letting people see Amy, or should I wait 'til tonight for that?"
"I'd wait until tonight, she wanted to try and get some sleep before that little kit comes." Bess practically bounced with excitement. "Between you and me, I hope they need me over there."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't ever change, Bess." He gave her a salute. "Tell Garth I'll see him either tonight or if Cas wakes up."
…
Everything smelled wrong. It was sterile, clean, with a scent that reminded him of antibacterial soap. And his bed. When did his bed become so hard?
Castiel rolled over, and the light blinded him through his closed eyelids. He lifted his arm up, groaning at the sheer heaviness of it, before draping it across his face.
His skin smelled of Hickory and Whiskey. What the hell.
Castiel groaned as he slowly started to open his eyes behind his arm. He could hear Anna call for someone, Fitz? There was no Fitz in their pack. Castiel licked his lips, surprised at how dry and chapped they felt. "Anna?"
"Castiel!" He felt his sister squeezing his arm. "You're awake!"
"You make it sound like that was almost not a possibility." Castiel slowly started to slide his arm off his face, allowing more light into his eyes. "What's going on? Where am I?"
"Oh, Castiel." Cas finished removing his arm as Anna squeezed him tightly. He realized then that he was lying in an elevated bed and not his own. "What do you remember?"
Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to remember, before the visions of a forest flooded his mind. "I was about to shift."
"You don't remember anything from after you shifted?" Anna's voice trembled, and Castiel found himself oddly unnerved. "Do you remember going hunting?" Cas shook his head, and he heard Anna's heartbeat speed up. "I need to go grab the doctor."
"Doctor?" Castiel called out to departing ss. "Whtepat happened?" He opened his eyes and tried to push himself up to a sitting position. "Where am I?"
"Sioux Falls Cryptozoological Health Center." A new voice - a fresh scent - entered the room. "Or as we lovingly call it, The Cryptohospital." Castiel looked at the man who had entered, taking in his lanky features. "Glad to see you're finally awake, Castiel. You're family's been worried about you."
Castiel shook his head in confusion. "Why am I here?" He took another sniff and looked at the doctor. "Are you?"
"A Were?" The doctor smiled. "I am. Dr. Fitzgerald, but you can call me Garth." He held out his hand.
"I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I don't even know why I'm here." Castiel took Garth's hand, and gingerly shook it. "What's going on?"
"Anna mentioned that you don't remember anything post shift. That may be because you shifted back to human form while unconscious. It's been known to happen in injuries of your caliber." Garth flipped a paper over on a clipboard and took a moment to review it before looking at Castiel again. "Your sister is calling your brother, so I believe he'll be here soon. He's been worried sick since you were brought in last night."
"I've been here since last night?" Cas ran his hand down his face. "Can I sit up?"
Garth pushed a button on the side of the bed. "Of course you can. Don't blame you. Those lights are horrendous."
A knock on the door drew both of their attentions. "Garth, Dean asked that I called him when the patient was awake. Should I do that, or wait for the rest of Castiel's family arrives."
"Call him in about 30 minutes. That'll let me check our guest over here, time for his family get here, and hopefully, Dean will sleep more." The woman left, and Garth turned back to face Castiel. "Dean was worried sick about you last night."
"Who's Dean?" Something about that name stirred something in Cas like it was engraved into his being. "I should know Dean, right?"
Garth shook his head. "From his and Dr. Vaugier's notes on your charts, you were brought in unconscious, and you haven't woken up until just a few minutes ago. Unless..." Garth flipped through a few more papers. "Dean did use his magic to heal you. You may be feeling a few remnants of his spell work."
"Spell work?" Castiel tilted his head to the side. "What do you mean, spell work?"
"Dean is one of our nurses on staff. And the guy who saved your life." Garth replied, writing something down. "Almost passed himself out using all his mojo on you."
"Saved my life!?"
The doctor started to speak when Anna came back in, followed by Gabe and Meg. His older brother rushed over to him, nearly knocking over the doctor. "CASSIE!"
"Gabe?" Castiel gasped as Gabe squeezed the air out of him. "What's going on, why am I here?"
"You really don't remember?" Gabe's face fell, and Meg came over to rub his back. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."
"It seems that he only lost his memory from his time as a wolf. I don't think it would hurt if you told him what happened." Garth spoke up before looking at Castiel. "I'm going to check your vitals, then I'm going to call Dean since he wanted to be here when you woke up."
Castiel nodded before turning to his brother. "What happened, Gabe?"
"Anna said you only remember right before you were about to shift?" Castiel nodded, and Gabe continued. "We needed to hunt. I said I was going, and you insisted on coming along. Someone to watch my back."
"That sounds like something I would say." Castiel raised an eyebrow.
"We headed out into the woods nearby and caught the whiff of a deer. It had been set up for us to catch, like a trap. You took the silver buckshot that was meant for me." Gabe hung his head. "You went down like a sack of potatoes, and I thought you were gone. I went berserk and went after the Hunter who hit you, but he ran off."
"Clearly, I'm not dead."
Garth tapped him on the thigh. "That's cause you got hit in the hindquarter. The initial silver impact took you down, but it was all removed before too much got in your bloodstream."
"How?" Cas tilted his head and squinted at the doctor checking his thigh. "You're a Were. It would have hurt you."
"Would have hurt our nightshift doctor too. But! That would be where Dean enters the story." Garth winked. "I'm gonna go call him now."
Castiel waited until the doctor left. "Continue the story, please?"
"I shifted back to human and dragged you to the side of the road. I called the local Cryptid Emergency Line, and they sent an ambulance to come and get you. I ran back to the pack, told them what happened, and left Balthazar in charge while Me, Meg, and Anna rushed here." Gabe frowned. "It's my fault you're here."
"No, it's not." Castiel smacked his brother upside the head. "You didn't shoot me."
"But you were protecting me." Gabe rubbed at the spot Castiel hit.
"As is my job as Den Protector, assbutt." Castiel frowned and looked at Meg and Anna. "You two have been trying to tell him that, right?"
"I have," Meg spoke up. "Anna hasn't left your side."
Castiel looked at his older sister in awe. "What?"
"Well, Dean stayed until his shift was over, and they practically forced him to go home." Anna smiled. "I can still feel his magic in the room. Almost like it's watching over you."
"I..." Castiel closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's an extraordinary feeling I'm experiencing right now."
A knock on the doorframe caused the pack members to look at the door. "Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt, but I just wanted to check in."
"Dean?" Castiel wasn't sure why he was asking when he knew that the man in the doorway was the one who saved him. He could feel the magic in the air grow more robust, and what had been a faint hint of Hickory and Whiskey washed into the room and over Castiel.
"That's me." Dean nodded and walked in the room, the rest of his pack moving out of his way. "Glad to see you woke up, Cas. You were still out cold when I left this morning."
Castiel looked over Dean, studying the way his light brown hair stood up, how his freckles were dusted over his face... How purely green the eyes watching him were. Realizing he hadn't responded to Dean's statement, Castiel stumbled over what to say. Thank you didn't seem to convey enough. Not with the rampant curiosity inside him.
"Well, let me tell you again how thankful we are." Anna jumped in, and Castiel had never been more grateful. She turned and winked at Castiel before addressing Dean again. "You saved our brother, and you're showing him a level of care that I don't think we've ever seen from someone outside of the pack."
Dean blushed, and Castiel was amazed by how much his freckles stood out. "Well, I figured his pack needed him, so I made sure to uh..." Dean scratched at his temple. "You know, that sounded better in my head. So, um. I'm going to uh. Yeah. I'm going to go get ready for my shift." He pointed over his shoulder and stumbled over his feet, causing Meg - of all people - to giggle.
"Well," Gabe waited until Dean had exited the room. He wrapped his arm around Meg's shoulder and shook his head. "Is it just me, or do we have two very smitten men on our hands."
"Two very smitten men." Anna nodded in agreement. "There's a new scent in the air, one that I can't put a finger on. Well, I can. But it's better to let Castiel wallow."
"Didn't I almost just die?" Castiel asked exasperatedly.
"Dude, Cassie. The smell is coming from you." Gabe shook his head. "You smell content."
"Fuck off, Gabe." Castiel sat back against the bed, staring at the door. "I don't know what's going on."
Meg tapped Gabe's hand. "I'll go grab the doctor."
"What? Why?" Castiel watched as Meg walked out of the room.
"Because of the way you and Dean just interacted." Anna took Castiel's hand into hers and squeezed. "Dean's a witch, Castiel. And while Dr. Fitzgerald and Dr. Vaugier both assured that Dean is one of the best healing witches in the country, he almost passed out healing you. Apparently, that amount of spell work can cause some interesting side effects."
"Like...?" Castiel inquired.
"Like, maybe he tapped into his life source to heal you, instead of yours," Gabe suggested.
"Or maybe he confused you in some way..." Anna added. "Like by making a bond between the two of you."
…
Dean stood in the locker room and ran his hand down his face. He knew that Cas was gorgeous, Dean had examined him after all. But what he hadn't expected was the way that there was an instant pull from the werewolf.
And that meant he fucked up. Big time.
There was a reason Dean was reluctant to use his magic when doing extensive injuries and wounds. His mother made a point of hammering it into his head when Dean showed his power, and then again in Sam's when his powers manifested. Every witch capable of healing magic forms a bond with the person they heal. The bond allows the transfer of energy from a witch to their patient. With the extra power from the witch, the injury heals faster.
Something like a fever or a headache? Two fingers at the temple, push small amounts of power through.
A broken bone? Set it first, don't ever use your magic to set and heal.
Loss of blood or extensive blunt force trauma? Do everything you can outside of healing first, then use your magic.
There was a reason healing witches were becoming fewer and fewer. It was too risky. Even ones like Dean and Sam, who had the white magic passed down to them, often found ways out of being forced into medical careers. The risk was high, and the reward too low. But for Dean, and eventually Sam, they wouldn't have had it any other way, both needing to follow in their mother's footsteps.
Now, Dean stood, staring at himself in the mirror, wondering if he followed too closely to his mother's footsteps. He leaned forward on the sink and stared at his own eyes, hoping some kind of answer would reveal itself. Poor Cas couldn't even agree to the healing that Dean poured into him, being both in wolf form and unconscious.
"Dean?" The door to the locker room opened, and Madison walked in. "Sam said you came in early."
"Yeah, Cas woke up. I wanted to make sure there were no ill effects from... you know." Dean pushed back off of the sink and walked over to Madison.
"And?" Madison crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at Dean."
"And I did what I'm not supposed to do, okay?" Dean threw his arms out in defeat. "I couldn't just let him die. They tried to trap and kill him and his brother. Because they're Weres, and they were framed for Wendigo kills."
"Dean." Madison placed a hand on his arm. "No one blames you for going above and beyond. You saved his life. He may be a little in awe just because of that. And unlike what happened with your mother, if it did happen, you're under no means necessary to pursue any bonds." She softly patted Dean's cheek. "Now, don't make me wolf out and drag your ass out to your brother."
"That's not nice, Maddie." He walked past her. "I don't witch out on you."
"You do. Every day, Dean."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, then how can I make it up to you?"
"It's not necessary." Madison shrugged. "But you could go convince your brother to ask me out. He's not as subtle as he thinks he is."
"I tell him that all the time." Dean shot a pair of finger guns at her before walking out onto the floor. He walked over to the nurse's desk, sat down, and pulled out the charts about their current patients. As he read over them, his gaze kept flicking up to the monitor for room six.
Cas was alone with Anna. Gabriel and Meg probably had to return to their pack. Their absence reminded him to ask Madison what Kate and Michael had said in regards to a fourth pack settling into Sioux Falls. Dean looked back down at the charts in front of him. A broken leg in room two and stitches needed in room three.
As he wrote down some notes on each chart, Anna's voice startled him. "Dean?"
"Hey, Anna." He set his pencil down and ran his hand down his face. "What can I do for you?"
"We wanted to ask before he did it, but is Cas allowed to shift?"
"He's a wolf, Anna," Dean replied, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.
She shot a glare at him. "He is, but we didn't want to just assume. He's feeling odd, and he thinks if he shifts, he'll be okay."
"Right." A pang of guilt came over Dean. "Every room is made to be able to handle shifts." He pointed up at the monitor. "We can watch from here to make sure he goes through it okay. Is it safe to assume he keeps his mind when in wolf form?"
"We're pureblood, yes." Anna nodded. "So, you lock him in while he's shifting, and then... what?"
"We prefer to check vitals first, then he can shift, and we'll recheck vitals to make sure there wasn't any injury or stress. He can stay in there, or he can come out to the desk here while in wolf form." Dean pointed to a spot next to the desk. "When he's ready to shift back, he can go back in, we follow the same process."
"Will you come and take his vitals then?" Anna looked like she had no issues resorting to pouting if need be, and Dean let out a sigh.
"I..." He looked down at his charts and nodded. There went the idea of keeping his contact with Cas to a minimum. "Yeah, give me a minute. Need to get Dr. Vaugier to keep an eye on the monitors."
"I'm here." Madison walked down the hallway. "What's going on?"
"Cas asked to shift," Anna replied. "Dean said he has to take vitals."
Madison nodded, and Dean gave her a pleading look. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows mischievously. "Go ahead, Dean, I'll look over the charts."
"Let's go." Dean pushed himself out of his chair and followed Anna back to room six. As they entered, his heart fell. Cas was curled up on the bed facing the wall. He had been so set on not watching Cas' monitor, Dean had neglected to notice that Cas wasn't right. "Cas?"
"Dean?" Cas sat up quickly.
"Hey, Cas." Dean gave a half-hearted smile and crossed to the medical cart in the room. "Anna tells me you want to shift?" Cas nodded enthusiastically, so Dean continued. "Cool, that's fine. Let me just take a few vitals, grab this cart, and then Anna and I will step outside, okay?"
"Thank you, Dean." Cas smiled, and Dean felt his heart swell with emotions new and old. He was so very screwed.
Noctuary: a record of what passes in the night; a nightly journal.
In the early days of his childhood, before he knew of monsters and demons and things that went bump in the night, Dean Winchester kept a diary.
Most of the entries were normal—just documentations of everyday life.
Dad taught me the proper way to throw a baseball. I can’t wait until I can start playing for reals.
Today we made apple pie for Thanksgiving, and mom let me have the biggest piece.
Sammy read his first book today. He’s going to be smart, I can tell.
He would write an entry every night, just before he went to bed, and he did so for many years. Every day written down, in a special journal that Dean kept in a box under his bed. To him, it was just a nice routine, a bit of fun.
Until all of a sudden, it wasn’t.
It began when Dean was ten.
Dear diary.
I think there’s something in my closet.
The door opens without me touching it, and sometimes I hear noises coming from inside. My room feels cold some days, and it moves around while I’m asleep. I keep my eyes closed really tight when I can hear it, and hope that it will go away.
When Dean tells his dad, John laughs it off. “There’s no monster hiding in your closet, Dean. Monsters aren’t real.” To placate him, though, John wedges a chair under the closet handles that night before Dean goes to sleep. “There you go,” he says jokingly, “the monster can’t get you tonight.”
Dean is relieved. That night, he doesn’t write in his diary.
In the morning, when he wakes up, his chair is back under his desk as though it was never moved in the first place.
~
Dean’s dad doesn’t believe him when he tells him about the monster, and his mom doesn’t listen at all, just brushes it off as his overactive imagination. His diary becomes his only outlet.
Dear diary,
I heard the monster tonight.
Dear diary,
I’m scared. Please send someone who can help me.
Dear diary,
Dear diary,
Dear diary.
~
Dean writes in his diary for weeks. And in those weeks, the darkness he can feel lingering in his closet spreads dark tendrils of fear into his room. Things move, deep growls rumble through his room at night, lights flicker on and off—but it never touches Dean. Just lingers.
What it’s waiting for, he doesn’t know, but he knows it’s there, even though the closet is always empty whenever one of his parents open it.
For weeks, the thing spreads, and nothing happens.
And then one night, everything happens at once.
~
It’s very late on a Sunday night, and the whole house is asleep.
The whole house, bar one.
Dean had almost been asleep when he’d heard it—the sound of claws rasping against wood, something dragging, slithering. The sounds are coming from his closet.
He pulls his covers up over his head and trembles, hoping the blankets will muffle the sound that only he seems to be able to hear—but they don’t. The scraping gets louder. He can hear the monster breathing, and fear wraps around his heart in a cold grip. The monster has lain dormant for so long that Dean can’t even begin to imagine why it’s here, or what it wants from him.
He knows, though, deep in his heart, that whatever its plan…
It’s happening tonight.
The closet door creaks as it slowly, slowly swings open.
Dear diary, Dean thinks. Please, I need someone to help me, I’m—I’m so scared. Please help me.
And then he hears something else.
Something new.
It’s like a hum, except made of a thousand different voices each singing a slightly different tune. They blend into an overwhelming harmony that at first makes no sense, but slowly… the sounds recombine into syllables, and then into words, and then Dean can hear.
“You’re sure this is the place, Castiel?”
A second voice speaks, now, in a different harmony, made of a thousand new voices. Dean likes this one better than the first. “Yes. I can feel it. There is something sinister in this house, Anael, of such intense malicious intent and so strong that I can feel its power growing with every passing minute. We must hurry.”
Their voices are in Dean’s head, but somehow he knows that these people—are they people? Whoever, or whatever, they are—are nearby.
He holds his breath. In his closet, the monster growls again, louder and deeper than Dean has ever heard it. The house is otherwise silent, creaking occasionally in the wind, his family surely all fast asleep. A cold sensation starts in Dean’s toes, slowly creeping upward along his legs. The wooden end of Dean’s bed creaks and snaps beneath the strong grip of claws, and he trembles harder.
Please, please, please. Help me.
And then the windows of Dean’s room shatter inwards.
His head still tucked under his blankets, Dean is protected from the shards of glass that rain across the room, but he hears the monster screech horribly. The sound is like talons on metal, and he cries out as the pain of it lances through his head.
“Protect the child!” the first voice orders, and all at once, Dean feels the cold that grips his body subside. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and stays where he is, curled into a ball beneath the covers. Whatever is going on out there, he knows he doesn’t want to look until it’s all over.
The monster shrieks again, knives and nails and the screams of so many tormented people, but this time there are words laced into the earsplitting sound. “Mine,” it snarls, in a voice so awful that every single one of Dean’s hairs stand on end. “My chosen prey. You angels have no right.”
The harmonic voices come again, filling Dean’s head with light and sound and more stimulation than he can possibly take.
“He has prayed. He is protected. Leave this place.”
“Not until what I get what I have been waiting for. Preying on. Biding my time to consume. You will have to kill me before I give it up.”
“So be it.”
Dean’s mind implodes.
He covers his mouth with his hands and screams silently as the room explodes with cold— light—sound—darkness. Everything changing, too quickly for him to process and so overwhelming. He shakes under the blankets as outside his protective cocoon, the two voices—angels? Could it be?—fight against the monster that has been lingering at the edges of his nightmares for so long.
He is protected.
The noise—the unearthly screeching, and the sound of bells and voices so loud that Dean’s ears must be bleeding—continues and continues for a timeless age, until the foundations of his house creak and groan and shake, until Dean can’t take any more, until—
All of a sudden, it stops.
There is silence, and then the second voice says, “Track the creature, Anael. Don’t let it escape. I will tend to the child.”
Dean is blissfully empty. Free of unbearable cold or burning heat, earsplitting sounds or lights so bright they seem to have burned themselves into his mind, despite his eyes being so tightly closed. For one pure moment, he just is.
Slowly, shakily, he uncurls from his defensive ball and opens his eyes.
From under the edges of the blankets that he’s pulled over himself, Dean sees a soft, blue, glowing light.
“Dean Winchester?”
The voice seems… softer. It’s still a thousand different voices in his head, all combined into one, but the words are quiet. Tentative. Whatever is speaking to him, it doesn’t want to frighten him.
When Dean blinks, his lashes are wet, and he realizes he’s been crying. “W-what?” he whispers quietly. His voice shakes.
The light outside his blankets shifts and brightens. “You can… you can hear me?”
It sounds almost surprised.
“Yes,” Dean says quietly. He curls his fingers around the edge of the blankets, and the glow gets brighter as he lifts them up just a little. “I could hear you, and—and the monster.”
He wants to see the angel, and he sits up, pushing the blankets off himself.
“Wait—“ says the voice as he moves, but it’s too late.
For a few seconds, the blue glow filling Dean’s room is too bright, to the point where he has to squint against it and hold his hand up to his eyes to shield them. And then it slowly fades away, and Dean’s eyes widen at the sight before him.
Crouched in Dean’s room is a creature so big that it shouldn’t possibly be all fitting in here—and indeed, the room feels off, like it’s been modified and stretched and manipulated just to be able to accommodate this… angel.
It has three heads; one lion, one crow, and a human one in the middle that watches Dean with ethereal, blue, too-large eyes. It has paws and hooves and feet and it’s so squished into Dean’s room that he can’t see just how it all fits together, but the one thing that stands out are the two blue-black wings pressed against the walls of Dean’s room.
They shift and sparkle, constantly moving, stars and galaxies confined within those ink-dark feathers as though this creature holds the entire universe on its back.
Dean can only stare, completely lost for words.
The angel blinks once, slowly, then leans in closer to Dean. None of its mouths move, but Dean clearly hears it say in his head, “You can see me?”
“Of course,” he replies, like it’s the plainest thing in the world. “You look nice. I like your wings.”
In Dean’s mind, there is a sound like bells and wind chimes. The angel is happy. He smiles.
“Thank you for saving me from the monster. Mom and dad thought I was lying about it, but I told my diary. Is that why you came?”
“We came because you needed us, Dean Winchester,” the angel says in his head. “You are protected.” It reaches out one huge paw and settles it gingerly on the end of his bed.
Dean puts his hand on the glowing, blue fur. It feels soft and solid, but a shiver runs up his arm, and a taste like static electricity sparks across his tongue. When he looks back up, it almost feels like the angel is smiling.
“I am the angel Castiel,” it says. “I must go now, but I am sure we will meet again, Dean Winchester.”
It spreads its wings, and they ripple with the shifting of a million tiny stars and galaxies. The room is filled with a flash of light, so bright that Dean finally has to close his eyes against it, and when he opens them, the angel is gone. His hand falls to the bed.
The house is silent once again, as though nothing had ever happened.
At the foot of Dean’s bed, though, balanced atop the quilted covers, lies a single black feather. He picks it up and runs his fingers along its length; it feels impossibly, ethereally soft.
