Fate Comes on Dark Wings, Part 6
This time, trouble was six feet tall, skinny with a too-big T-shirt dangling off of him, and a habit at staring intensely at everything. Literally, everything. He was staring out around at all the junked up cars when the door opened, just a few steps behind the boys, and then his head whipped around to look Bobby up and down. Bobby returned the stare. "You wanna tell me who your pal is?"
Sam exhaled shortly, a sigh of long frustration. "It's...kinda a long story." The brothers exchanged glances briefly. "There are a couple of things we need to look up...we were wondering if we could look through your books," Sam continued
The skinny guy said nothing. Just stared.
"Yeah, well, come on in," Bobby said. As the boys gathered in the living room, he ducked into the kitchen to get them a couple of beers. On a hunch he spiked the skinny guy's bottle with a little holy water. Trouble sighed when Bobby handed the beer to him but drank without a complaint. He rarely touched it again during the conversation that followed.
Bobby had been on some pretty bizarre hunts in his time, but this story took the cake. Flashes of light, miracle cures, impossible creatures--apparently Trouble was a monster never mentioned before in hunter lore. He explained himself with the silliest story Bobby had ever heard. "You idjits really expect me to believe this?"
There was a look of mildly constipated frustration on Dean's face. "I know it's ridiculous, but you think we'd've come to you if, you know, if there hadn't been..." He trailed off, gesturing in a futile attempt to convey his thoughts. "All this weird stuff's been happening, and I sure as hell don't know what to make of it. Thought you might have some idea what's going on."
"I know it sounds absurd," Trouble said suddenly. He had barely spoken before, only interrupting to correct the occasional detail. "But you're hunters. You know that the stranger the story is, the more likely it's true. People usually go for the more believable story when they're lying."
"Yeah, and sometimes a moron mistakes a goat for a unicorn," Bobby retorted.
"Just check the lore on Azazel and Lilith, it'll back me up--"
"We already said we'd do that," Sam interrupted, exasperated.
"Even if you're right about Yellow-eyes's name, it doesn't mean the freaking Apocalypse is nigh," Dean added.
"Look, you have to admit that Azazel has something big planned--"
"Will you all shut your mouths for a moment?" Bobby shouted over the rising argument. To his surprise,the boys obeyed. Bobby turned to Trouble. "Listen, why don't you take a walk while I talk things over with the boys," he asked. "Outside. You look like you could use the sunshine." To his mild surprise, the guy got up without a word. A few moments later the front door slammed."Alright, now that he's out of the way, why don't you tell me what really happened."
"We did," Sam said flatly.
"So this guy tries to kill you with some crazy mojo, and now you're trying to help him?"
"Uh. See, uh.." Sam flailed around for an explanation for a few moments before getting out, "Honestly, Bobby, I don't know what else to do with him. He's fixated on us. Well, on Dean." His mouth twisted. "He'll probably hide in the Impala again when we leave."
"So you're trying to dump him in my lap."
"Noooo, we just--" Dean's protest died at Bobby's frown. "Alright. We want him off our hands. I think the first step is figuring out what he is. You got any ideas?"
"My best guess? He's some kind of demigod. Every so often you run into a pagan god hanging around long after the good old days. He doesn't act like one, though. Doesn't seem nearly vain enough, and no god worth his spit would claim to be an angel."
"Maybe it's a survival tactic," Sam suggested. "Like that vampire nest from a couple months back. They were feeding on animals instead of humans," he explained.
"Dude, he blew up a crypt and fed us a bullshit story. That is the worst way to fly under the radar."
"Okay, so he's got an agenda."
"No shit, Sherlock!"
"Whatever Castiel wants, I don't think he's hostile," Sam mused. "He keeled over fixing me. He wouldn't've done that if he was planning to kill us."
"He's terrified of you, Sam. He looks at you like you're a thing."
"Yeah, I know." Sam shifted uncomfortably.
"Sam's right," Bobby said. "Whatever Castiel is, he doesn't mean any harm right now." Every instinct he had screamed against this makeshift solution, but it seemed to be their only option. "You boys are gonna stay here a couple of days anyway. We'll keep an eye on him and figure out what to do from there."
When they told Castiel their decision, he smiled slightly. "Thank you for keeping your promises," he said, deadpan enough that Bobby couldn't tell if he meant to be sarcastic. The boys didn't quite meet his gaze.
When Bobby came downstairs the next morning, he found breakfast waiting on the kitchen table, the dirty dishes cleaned, and a note in small, neat handwriting: Need to fix myself. Be back in the evening. He spent the day calling every hunter he knew. When Castiel returned and went straight to the kitchen to fix dinner, Bobby discarded his original conclusion. Pagan gods could be friendly, but they sure as hell didn't do chores.
"Why are you doing this," Dean demanded when they sat down to eat.
Castiel looked baffled at the question. "You need to eat."
"I can feed myself, thanks. Ow!"
"What Dean means," Sam said, kicking his brother under the table, "is thank you."
Dean couldn't stop picking at Castiel that week. Not from any provocation, but for what he represented. Bobby and the boys spent most of the day picking through demonologies and Middle Eastern folklore, and more and more it seemed like Yellow-eyes and Azazel were the same demon. And if that much of Castiel's story was true, then other parts might be as well. As the week went on Dean spent increasing amounts of time working on cars in the yard or looking for new work, calling Sam and Bobby a bunch a geeks, saying all that research would send them to the looney bin. Bobby put up with his bitching for a full day before putting the boy in his place. Every man had his own way of dealing with bad news, but the least he could do was to keep himself from inconveniencing other folks.
As for the person responsible for starting this mess, he stationed himself in a living room corner with some of the oldest, most esoteric texts in the house and only stirred to get other books. Sometimes he sat for more than an hour, staring into space. And every morning breakfast was waiting for Bobby when he came downstairs, the kitchen cleaner than it had been in years. The laundry turned up clean when he left it out, too.
One morning Bobby woke up in time to catch Castiel frying bacon in the kitchen. "Morning."
Castiel didn't turn around. "Morning. You're up early."
"Woke up early." Off to the side, toast popped out of the toaster, floated away and onto a plate at a gesture. Bobby had never seen anything like this creature before; angel was as good a name as Bigfoot. "You were right about Yellow-eyes."
"Thank you." Castiel dumped the bacon onto a second tape, the burner flickering out untouched.
Just because one part of his story was true didn't mean that rest was true as well. But Bobby knew deep in his gut that something big was on the horizon. Suddenly the end of the world didn't seem so impossible. "We're on the verge of the Apocalypse?"
"More like the verge of the verge. Azazel's got some big hoops to jump through. But he's smart as fuck and has had ages to plan." Castiel brought the dishes to the table, then stood back, folding his arms and frowning. "Things are so different here. What he's doing to the children here, it's nothing like what happened at home. Even the children are different."
"Yeah? What happened?"
"He picked a favorite and pointed him in the direction of the other special kids. Once a special child accepts his abilities, he grows exponentially more powerful. Once the proxy got started, he never lost his momentum."
Great. Some day some souped-up jackass might come knocking down doors looking for Sam. Business as usual for the Winchesters, Bobby supposed. "You say you're an angel." Castiel nodded. "Where's Heaven in all this?
"Expect that Heaven wants the Apocalypse. They did in my world." There was no mistaking the bitterness in the angel's voice. "I've tried to contact my siblings here, but no one's picking up the phone. It's possible that they are reluctant to get involved--we are strongly forbidden from interference on Earth until the Apocalypse--but it's better to assume that the archangels couldn't give a flying fuck about humanity."
"They don't--And you're only mentioning this now?!" Bobby slammed his palms down on the table. He had half a mind to throttle the other man.
Castiel flopped down in one of the chairs, suddenly looking tired. "You didn't believe my story. I thought I'd wait until you'd listen to me. I'll tell the Winchesters before they leave."
"You're staying here?" Bobby asked, incredulous. Watching Castiel watch the boys, he had assumed the angel would insist on going with them, possibly by force.
Castiel dropped his eyes to the table. "...I will leave if you want," he said after a moment, voice low.
"Oh, pull yourself out of your pity party," Bobby said grumpily. "You can stay here." And to his surprise, he meant it. "On one condition: you're gonna find a way to kill Yellow-eyes that doesn't involve a gun we don't have anymore. You waltz in here known answers to questions it took John Winchester years to learn to ask, I figure you know how to put down demons permanently. We're not sitting back on our asses waiting for the Apocalypse. I don't care if you need to build the damn Colt from scratch--you're finding a way to kill that bastard. Deal?"
The angel cocked his head, examining Bobby with a canny eye. "Deal."