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It occurred to Castiel sometime between the motel and the abandoned barn that attempting to summon the creature that had managed to pull him out of Hell and burn out the eyes of a psychic who just looked at it could probably qualify as a suicidal tendency.
That hadn’t stopped him, of course. It would be better to summon the thing and get information than just sitting back and waiting for it to come back around and bite him when he least expected it.
Not that that exactly panned out seeing as the thing hadn’t actually showed up.
Castiel was actually seriously contemplating asking Bobby if he’d done the ritual right when the barn started to shake.
Shingles flew off the room, light bulbs exploded, and the massive wooden beam holding the door closed split down the middle. Lightning flashed and Castiel and Bobby fired half a dozen rounds of various materials into the approaching silhouette before realizing how completely ineffective that was.
Turning back to the table where all the supplies were laid out, Castiel dropped his shotgun and took the demon killing knife, twisting it in his hand until it was out of sight of the creature.
… the creature who was picking buckshot out of his chest with a grimace, “You hunters really give the best welcomes, don’t you? I liked this jacket.”
Castiel gripped the knife tighter while Bobby moved into position behind the creature, an iron poker in hand, “Who are you?”
The creature looked up, rolling a piece of buckshot between his right forefinger and thumb. Even in the dark barn, Castiel could see that his eyes were a practically impossible shade of green, “I’m the one you hauled you out of the hotbox, genius. What were you expecting?”
Gabriel probably would have had a smart reply to that, but Castiel had never possessed an overabundance of verbal wit, unlike his older brother. He was, however, extremely fast and good with knives, which was why he was perfectly capable of plunging the demon knife into the creature’s chest, piercing at least three vital organs before he’d even finished speaking.
The creature looked annoyed, amused, and smug all at once, not even staggered from the blow. He wrapped his fingers around the knife and yanked it out sharply, a flick of the wrist sending it into the opposite wall.
Then, like he’d been expecting it, he turned and blocked Bobby’s swing. Reaching out, he laid the tips of his fingers against the older hunter’s forehead and pushed. Bobby’s eyes rolled up into his head and he dropped to the floor.
Castiel could only stare as the creature turned back around.
“So. We need to talk.”
Bobby was alive, that was the first thing Castiel determined.
“Chill, I didn’t kill the old man.” The creature was sitting on the rickety table, right by all their weapons, flipping through a book Bobby had brought along and occasionally looking up at the various symbols spray painted on the walls.
“Who are you?” Castiel growled, not lifting his hand from where Bobby’s pulse pounded comfortingly under his fingers.
“You can call me Dean.”
“Yes, thank you, that’s incredibly informative,” Castiel snapped, “I mean what are you?”
Dean looked mildly impressed at Castiel’s ability to lose his temper, swinging forward and getting to his feet, “I’m an angel.”
All right. That was enough. Castiel stood slowly, lethally. “Do not. Mock. Me” he hissed, “There are no angels.”
“Oh ye of little faith,” Dean quipped mockingly. Castiel had more or less decided to give the demon knife another try when thunder cracked and lightning lit up the interior of the barn, throwing massive shadows over Dean’s shoulders and darkening most of the barn behind him. It took several seconds for Castiel to realize that those were wings.
For a few moments after darkness feel again, there was silence. Then Castiel remembered to breathe and said, “You honestly expect me to believe you’re an angel? After what you did to Pamela?”
Dean actually broke eye contact at that, looking genuinely regretful for a moment, “I told her not to look. Humans, you don’t ever listen. I told her looking at me was dangerous.”
“I am looking at you right now.”
“No shit. I had to go pick up a vessel. Got the feeling from the fact that you had a psychic try to summon me that you wanted to chat.”
A vessel? Wha- “You’re possessing someone?” Castiel hissed.
“Hey, he knew what he was agreeing to. Dude would probably thank me; he was working a nine-to-five office job and this close to taking a dive off the nearest bridge.”
There was no way this was true, “You take me for a fool.”
Dean huffed, “Like I said, you humans never listen. This was totally worth the fight through Hell to get you out.”
There it was- the reason this all had to be a lie, “Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?”
Those impossible eyes zeroed back in on him and for one horrible second Castiel felt like Dean could see straight through him. Stalking forward, Dean closed the distance between them.
“What’s wrong with that?” the creature asked, twisting his head to catch Castiel’s eye when the human tried to look away, “You don’t think you deserved to be saved?”
Castiel couldn’t look at him, “Why did you do it?”
Dean straightened up, taking a step back so Castiel could start breathing again, “Because if I didn’t, another angel would have.”
“I don’t understand.”
Grimacing, Dean explained, “I’m not exactly part of the God Squad. Haven’t been for a long time. Something’s gone wrong in Heaven and guess what, hotshot? It’s all tied to your family. They’re going to try to talk to you, Heaven and Hell, and you can’t trust either of them.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“I never said you should,” Dean said easily, before raising a hand and waving its fingers, “But you might want to remember who that handprint came from when the holier-than-thous start showing up.”
Castiel felt the burn on his upper arm throb at the reminder and tried to convince himself it had nothing to do with Dean. “I was taught angels were somewhat less self-serving than all of this.”
Shrugging, Dean said, “Things change when you realize certain members of your family are gigantic asshats. Don’t worry, Cas, you’ll get there eventually.”
If Dean hadn’t vanished right then, in a disturbance of air and sound of fluttering wings, Castiel would surely have punched him.