aerilex

Title: The Stillness; Chapter Two- The Valiant
Author: Aerilex
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Friendship/Pre-slash
Rating: PG
Characters: Castiel, Dean, Sam, Bobby, random angel baddies
Word Count: ~1140
Disclaimer: Author does not own the characters and is making no profit off this fan-made story
Warnings: None so long as you know Balthy.
Summary: Castiel is careless, and this is what happens.

Chapter One

Castiel sidesteps and turns, feathers aquiver as he sweeps out of the way of the angel sword that threatens to cut deep into his shoulder. He is in the outer sphere, moving between the Realms of Heaven on his way from a battle; he is foolishly, recklessly alone. His lieutenants as have scattered under the order of Balthazar, regrouping and out of reach of his call—the outer sphere has always made it difficult to reach out with angelic Grace, much of the reason he’d naively thought himself safe here. It is completely by sheer dumb luck that Raphael’s soldiers have happened upon him at all.

He curses the fact that he has seemingly inherited the Winchesters’ magnetism for trouble and chaos.

Then he curses himself for even the momentary distraction of thought as he dances out of the way of a second blade while parrying and blocking a third. Twisting his body, he grasps his brother’s wrist before Anafiel overpowers him. He has never been a good fighter, and is in fact a much more capable tactician, tracker, creator of Devil’s Traps and weaver of Enochian spells. He has also always been good at manipulating his Grace.

Until it started to fail him. Again.

He is quickly becoming overwhelmed, pushed now into simply dodging backwards on the pull of his wings as his brothers try to flank and close in upon him. He has to somehow reduce their numbers, but his nerves are frayed and his strength wearing thin from the battle he only just left.

He thinks vaguely that Dean would say he is beyond fucked.

And again, his thoughts have betrayed him with a distraction. He has no need for the disruption that thoughts of Dean offer at the moment. With a burst of strength he thanks his Father for, he sweeps his Grace out and pushes against his three brothers. It is enough force to send them stumbling, leaving him a brief moment to breathe and fly, his wings stretching as he steps backwards to shift through space.

A sharp tearing burst of white hot agony rips through his back as Sabrael catches his wing and jerks on it, tugging him hard and pulling him back. His breath stutters as space and time wrinkle around him for a moment before it all straightens and snaps back into place. His hands scramble for purchase against Sabrael, trying to free his wing and shove the other angel away.

He forgets about Anafiel and Apolloin until they become part of the frenzied tangle of wings. Suddenly it becomes more about a teeth-gnashing fight to avoid silver blades than it is about freeing his wing, though the agony is nearly unbearable. Apolloin, the stronger of the three from Raphael’s garrison, wrests Castiel’s clutching fingertips from Sabrael, whose hand is free to draw back and plunge the blade downward—

Instinctually, he reaches for the power of the first Weapon that comes to mind—the Perpetual Flame, hidden within a small metallic cylinder not unlike Dean Winchester’s Zippo lighter, and twists the cylinder to release the Weapon just as the silver angel’s blade pierces—

Descend. Fight. Demons. Twist. Cold. Fire. Burn. Burn. Burn. Scream. Agony. Terror. Flesh. Wings. Tear. Hurts. Hurts. Hurts! Descend. Fight. Demons. Twist. Cold. Fire. Burn. Burn. Burn. Scream. Agony. Terror. Flesh. Wings. Tear. Hurts! Descend. Fight. Demons. Twist. Cold. Fire. Burn. Burn. Burn. Scream. Agony. Terror. Flesh. Wings. Tear. Hurts—hurts—hurts! Descendfightdemonstwistcoldfireburnburnburnscreamagonyterrorfleshwingstearhurtshurtshurts, oh Father it hurts! FatherhelpithurtsithurtsithurtssomuchpleaseFatherbloodbloodbloodbloodbloodbleedingbleedingrippingtearingbleedingwing—

The flaring of blue flames bursts outward, then there is an explosion of luminescence. He hears the screaming of his brothers before they are swallowed within the white, white glow of the Flame and the heat threatens to consume his Grace, and he knows immediately—something is wrong—something is not right…but the pain in his wing and shoulder is too great, too sharp, too much and he can’t—he just can’t… His Grace quivers and curls, responding to the sound of his true voice crying out, begging for his Father to save him. He is soon reduced to a quivering mass of whimpering flesh and by the Saints he had never thought his true form could hurt so much—!

Dear Castiel most high, hear and…um, crap, forgot how this one goes.

No, Castiel groans mentally. No, Dean, not now. Please. He can’t right now. He can’t. And when Dean persists, he realizes that he will anyway.

Hey Cas, this is one of the important ones. We kinda need your help down here. Got some new info on the evil bitch who’s out to gank us all, and…well, Bobby’s still kind of going through a rough patch over Rufus and all, and he’s been hinting but, y’know…he won’t outright say, but he’s worried about you. Think you can spare a minute for us to fill you in on Eve?

Castiel listens intently as he shifts his tattered wing. The joints catch and creak, the wing jerking as it tries to straighten itself out. He can’t move and he can’t not listen to Dean’s voice. He has always, always been powerless against Dean’s prayers.

His wing is shattered, pummeled and pierced under the combined strength of his vanquished brothers. Castiel knows that he would have trouble flying to Dean, that he has too little strength.

And then his Grace twitches, responds to the nearness of another angel. He casts all his power into sensing the identity of his unknown brother, and his senses close off for a moment, then two.

It is not one of the angels that has allied themselves with Castiel.

His breath comes in rapid pants as he twists his body, pulling himself into a half-crumpled heap. He has to move. He has to go. He wills his wings to follow his instruction, wills his body to shift, but the pain is excruciating and it leaves him unbalanced. The angel is growing nearer, and he has to go somewhere, anywhere… He realizes vaguely that Dean is still praying to him.

Look, Cas, I know you’re busy leading your little Anti-Apocalypse Rebellion up there and all, but it’s been a few weeks now since that whole stupid fake-world crap, and…I’m not mad anymore. Well, okay. That was a lie. I’m still kinda pissed, but not at—not at danger, Will Robinson levels anymore. More like a 2 outta 10 here, so. I mean, as soon as you get a ‘moment of respite’ or whatever—

He latches on and reaches, gathers all the shattered Grace he can muster and then the world tilts on its axis and he drags his way through the space between him and his true place by the side of Dean Winchester…

…Another thought he isn’t supposed to let distract him, he recalls vaguely as nerves tighten and pain clenches his body up tight.

Chapter Three