Chapter Text
THEN
“Who are you?”
“I’m the one that gripped you tight and raised you out of Perdition. I am an angel of the Lord.”
“I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos—you know.”
“Angels are warriors of God. I’m a soldier. You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in.”
“You served us well. Your work is done. It's time to go home now. Rest, Jimmy.”
“No….Claire!”
“She’s with me now. It’s in her blood as it was in yours.”
"Please, Castiel. You need to take me. Take me, please!"
"I want to make sure you understand. You won't die or age. If this last year was painful for you, picture a hundred, a thousand, more like it."
"It doesn't matter. You take me. Just take me!"
"As you wish."
NOW
Moments later, the younger Winchester brother narrowly avoided crashing into a stack of boxes as he rocketed around the corner after his brother. “What do you want me to do about it?!”
“Do something!”
“Me? Why me?” Sam vaulted over the railing of the stairs, landing on the floor ten feet below, “Where’s Cas when you need him?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Dean bellowed back over his shoulder, throwing a rusty door open with his shoulder and stumbling to a stop. Sam swung around the doorframe and nearly knocked his brother over, steadying himself as they both looked up to the man standing in the light cast by the high windows, “Cas.”
“Our deliverance is close at hand,” the robed man intoned powerfully, facing the rest of the robed people standing in the Enochian circle around the young woman on the ground. The woman was unconscious, her body draped in a white gown, her dark hair shining under the light of the candles held by the robed cultists, and her chest rose and fell slowly. “The sinners here must be smitten with the wrath of Heaven. This child will be a vessel for the angel of Earthy Divinity, Castiel!”
“Sam.” The angel said with a nod of greeting, “Dean. Do you need my assistance?”
“Chasing…” Dean managed, out-of-breath, “Wendigo….got away…gotta burn it…”
“I see,” Castiel nodded slowly. Suddenly, a bestial roar echoed through the warehouse behind them, and the hunters were instantly in motion, closely followed by the angel, racing through the door in time to see the shadow of the Wendigo beast vanish behind one of the support pillars.
“Cas, the door!” Dean yelled and the angel vanished with the sound of fluttering wings.
The robed men and women knelt around the vessel, focusing their energies in a reverent hum as their leader lifted his arms to begin the invocation. “DOOAIP ENAI, Castiel IVMD SAMVELG. MICMA MICALOZ OTHILRIT.”
He never made it to the door. He materialised again in the open, empty space of the warehouse, stumbling slightly. A tremor passed through the angel and he reached out a hand to steady himself against the support pillar, confusion breaking across his face.
“ZIRDO NOCO ABRAMG NAZPS.”
He was so cold. There was something wrong. From far away, he could hear Dean bellowing his name, but he could barely breathe. He felt as though there was something sucking the air out of him.
“VIN NONCA ASPT IZIZOP DEZ. POAMAL LONSH.” The leader sank to his knees before the prone woman, drawing a dagger from his sleeve and raising it high above his head, “BOOAPIS BVSDIRTILB VAVLZIRN TVRBS.”
Castiel gasped and fell to his knees, his blue eyes wide and vulnerable as his angelic light slowly began to blaze forth and he clutched at his chest.
The blade flashed as it plunged into the breast of the woman, blood spurting slightly as the dagger pierced her flesh. The leader closed his eyes in rapture, his voice booming forth in a command, “DARBS!”
Castiel gave a choked cry and the light blazed brilliantly for a moment before he slumped to the ground.
The room shook as a blaze of hot white light poured down from the ceiling, entering into the woman from the wound in her breast. Her body arched and the cultists gasped, their candles extinguished by the rush of the celestial spirit. The light was sucked into her body and the slash in her skin vanished, healed with no trace of a scar.
“EOL FAONTS GMICALZOMA IDOIGO.” The cultists chanted, prostrating themselves on the floor, “IMVAMAR! CANAL OM DARBS. IXOMAXIP IZIOP! OECRIMI LVIAHE!”
“Cas? Cas!” The brothers, smelling of smoke and charred skin, trudged around the corner in the general direction of the doors, “Cas, where are you?”
They saw him at the same time, sprawled on the dirty cement floor. Without even pausing to exchange a look, they broke into a run, dropping to their knees and skidding to his side, shaking him. “Cas! Cas!”
The woman’s eyes flew open.