WIP Fic: Hour of Need (1/6)

[briarwood]

Title: Hour of Need
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Mature
Pairing(s): Anna/Castiel, Haley Collins/Kat
Genre: AU
Warning(s): None for this chapter. The story as a whole contains some stuff which isn't usually warned for, but which squicks me out, so (highlight to reveal) fair warning - this story involves pregnancy and childbirth. And also zombies :)

Summary: Lucifer has his chosen vessel and is stronger than ever. Dean fights on with his small band of allies, but it seems there is little hope. In a desperate attempt to help him, Castiel enlists Anna to raise John Winchester from the dead. Her success has consequences none of them could have predicted. Sequel to When The World Is Burning.

Notes: I'm almost finished writing this one. Normally I would wait and post when it's finished, but I decided to post chapter one so I won't be tempted to enter it for spn_j2_bigbang It would be a royal pain in the arse to categorise for the big bang anyway, since it's got both het and femslash pairings.

HOUR OF NEED

The thing is, John Winchester was never supposed to be a player. He was supposed to be the redshirt: the character who’s important to get the plot going, but who gets killed at the beginning of act two, when he’s no longer needed. But it didn’t work out that way.

Everyone thinks John’s story started in 1983, when Mary Winchester was killed. That’s wrong. Things happened to him earlier than that and from his point of view the story began the day he first met Mary Campbell. But John’s part in the apocalypse really began in January 2004. That’s when he got himself shot hunting a skinwalker on an Arizona res. Dean, who dug the bullet out of his daddy’s shoulder and patched him up, went on to the next job alone, proud as hell that John trusted him to hunt without his backup.

John holed up in a motel while he healed. He lived on painkillers, whiskey and pizza delivered to his door and for six days left the room only when he needed more ice to numb the wound.

On the seventh day, someone knocked on his door. John Winchester, professional paranoid, opened the door with a loaded gun in his hand. He found a teenage girl standing there. She looked up at him, smiled and said, “Hi, John. I’m Karen. God sent me.”

The first thing John did was look for her pimp. I probably would have done the same thing myself. Then he got really suspicious. It didn’t help that he was registered at the motel under one of his ridiculous aliases, yet she knew his name. Like I said, professional paranoid. He must have subjected her to every test for supernatural contamination that exists, and a few extras he invented on the spot, before he let her even talk to him. It made no difference: Karen was just what she appeared to be: a human girl of fifteen, scared out of her wits by the big, bad hunter.

It was a slight exaggeration to say that God sent her to John, though to be fair to the kid, she didn’t know that. It wasn’t God. It was a fallen angel who, centuries before, had been God’s messenger.

(Handwritten notes discovered among the papers of Chuck Shurley aka Carver Edlund.)

John ignored the ache beginning in his back and leaned over the car again, determined to finish this job before he took a break. He had removed the engine to repair it, and he was just reconnecting it ready for a test. He swore under his breath as his fingers encountered a sharp edge somewhere. He withdrew his hand to see a small bead of blood forming on one finger. He shook his head; it was nothing.

A movement on his right side caught his eye and John glanced up to see Mary walking into the workshop. He smiled and took the time to wave, but then returned to work. He didn’t like to leave a job unfinished. It took only a few moments to finish reconnecting the engine. He set down his tools, walked around the car and sat in the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition. The engine wheezed a little, then fired. John smiled, satisfied, and shut it down. He left the key on the dash and walked toward Mary.

She was wearing white: a knee-length dress that was light enough to catch the smallest breeze. Her long hair was loose around her shoulders. She was looking great, the pregnancy just beginning to show.

“I thought I’d bring you lunch,” she announced, holding up her bag.

John didn’t touch her, though he very much wanted to. “Just give me a moment to wash up,” he suggested. He would never hear the end of it if he got oil on her white dress. “I’ll meet you in the office.”

He stripped off the stained coverall and washed his hands quickly. Returning to the office, he found Mary waiting, leaning back against the oversized desk. He took her into his arms and kissed her. For a long moment, lunch was completely forgotten. John held her close while they kissed, loving the softness of her body in his arms, the silky fabric of her dress against his palms. He drew her tongue into his mouth and heard her moan softly. John drew back with a smile.

Mary’s face was a little flushed. “John,” she said softly, “not here.”

His smile became a satisfied grin. “Later, then?”

“Honestly, John!” she tried to feign exasperation, but he could tell she was happy. He kissed her again, a quick touch of his lips to hers, then he released her.

While he ate, they talked of unimportant things: weekend plans, local gossip and what was on TV tonight. Through the office window, John saw a new car turn into the garage lot. She was a beauty: a 1953 Cadillac, bright red and shining. Her engine purred as she slid into a parking space, perfectly tuned. A real work of art.

“A new customer?” Mary asked.

“Could be. Doesn’t sound like there’s anything wrong with her, though.” John rose from his seat and kissed Mary’s cheek. “I’ll see you later, love. Thanks for lunch.”

“Don’t be late,” Mary smiled: a promise.

John smiled back, then headed out to the parking lot. He was so caught up in admiring the car, he didn’t even notice the driver until she stepped out of the car. She was young to be driving a classic car; John estimated she couldn’t be older than 21. She was not, to his eyes, beautiful, but her appearance was striking. She was tall and thin, her long hair almost as red as the car she drove. With a dye job that vivid, she certainly wasn’t from Kansas.

“Hey, there,” John called. “I’m John Winchester. Car trouble?”

She smiled uncertainly. “I think so. She’s running perfectly, but I can hear this rattle...”

“Let’s take a look. Can you tell me where the rattle is coming from?”

“Somewhere under the hood, I think.” The girl reached his side. “I am so sorry, John.”

John met her eyes, wondering what she meant. What did she have to be sorry for?

She raised her hand and gently touched his face.

John started to pull away, but then the window in his mind opened and he knew. He knew everything.

“I am so sorry,” she repeated, deep compassion in her dark eyes.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Anna. I am an angel of the Lord.”

It was preposterous, impossible, but John could not doubt her words. He swallowed. “Is this...Heaven?”

She smiled and gave a small shrug. “Not what you expected?”

He shook his head. “Not sure I ever expected Heaven.”

“I’m here to ask you to leave. For the sake of your sons.”

“You know my boys? Are they...?” John’s mind raced. He didn’t even know what year it was, if that even had any meaning here.

“They are alive,” Anna said, “but things are bad, John.” She lifted her hand again. “It will be quicker to show you, if you will allow me.”

John nodded. “Okay,” he agreed.

Anna raised a hand and touched him in the centre of his forehead.

Castiel held Jo’s broken wrist between his palms and concentrated for a moment, knitting the bones together. He felt her relax as the pain eased.

Jo smiled and withdrew her hand from his. “Thanks,” she said, rubbing the healed wrist.

Castiel nodded. “You are welcome.” He was glad it had worked. He knew his abilities were fading; he could no longer draw on the power of Heaven, and the resources of his own grace were not infinite. It would not be long before the ability to heal left him. He needed to warn Dean before that happened, but now was not the time.

Dean had taken the ornate lid off the font and was using the holy water to wash the blood from his hands and the demon-killing knife. There was almost certainly a tap somewhere in the church, a better source of water Dean could have used, but Castiel did not object to Dean’s choice. The added protection of holy water on his skin might be needed. Dean finished what he was doing, dried his hands by wiping them on his jeans and turned toward the rear of the church without looking at any of them. He walked away, leaving the others to secure the building.

After a moment, Castiel followed him. Dean found the door to the sacristy and walked through. There was a wooden bench beneath a stained-glass window depicting Christ in Gethsemane. Dean sat there, leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. Castiel sat beside him. Dean gave no sign he was aware of the angel’s presence. He wouldn’t speak to Castiel. He rarely spoke to any of them, but Castiel remained, knowing that Dean found some comfort in this silence.

It was almost an hour before Dean sighed heavily and opened his eyes. “I’m okay, Cas,” he said. “Go check on the others, will you?”

He wanted solitude, Castiel understood. He rose from the bench and left without a word.

Bobby had a canvas laid out in the middle of the aisle and was cleaning blowback out of the guns. He worked methodically, one piece at a time, reloading each weapon as he finished reassembling them.

Jo was re-arranging the furniture, dragging the heavy pews to the sides. They were too heavy for her, and she was sweating with the exertion. The girl was still too gaunt, her skin stretched too-tightly across her thin frame. Castiel saw more than her physical frailty, however. He saw the taint in her soul, but he could not see the source of it. Dean believed it was the result of her ordeal at the hands of Lilith’s demons: Jo was held and tortured for nearly two months. But the scar on her soul was something more. Castiel suspected she had made some kind of deal to secure her freedom. She had not sold her soul to them; that would have been clear to his sight. But the demon still had some hold on her, and Castiel worried about what that meant. Dean refused to hear his warning that he shouldn’t trust the girl. All Castiel could do was keep watch. And he would.

Ellen came in with a pile of cloth in her arms, and Castiel understood, then, why Jo was moving the pews. They were building beds. Two pews pushed together created a level platform. Castiel considered for a moment, still a little uncomfortable with this. They were on consecrated ground, but no one would worship in this church again. He moved forward to help. Between them, he and Jo built four makeshift bed platforms. Ellen used rugs, curtains and altar cloths as padding and pillows. It was adequate, and better than sleeping on the cold stone floor.

Bobby snapped the shotgun closed. “I’ll take first watch,” he offered.

Castiel studied him for a moment. The day’s battle had been hard on Bobby; though he was not injured, the man was exhausted. He seemed to be operating on sheer iron will. It was unnecessary.

“I don’t sleep,” Castiel pointed out. “I will watch.”

Bobby’s grateful look confirmed Castiel’s earlier diagnosis. He didn’t argue, but moved toward one of the makeshift beds, taking the shotgun with him.

Dean was still in the sacristy. Castiel was aware of him every moment, whether he could see Dean or not. Dean sat slumped on the bench where Castiel had left him. He held a gun across his knees and was staring at the opposite wall, unmoving. Castiel knew the pain in Dean’s soul, but this was a wound he could do nothing to heal. The loss of his brother changed him. There was a bed waiting for Dean, but Castiel knew he would not use it. He was going to stay on that bench until dawn, or until he passed out.

Castiel waited, his awareness divided between his task of keeping watch and his shared vigil with Dean.

It was an hour before dawn when Castiel became aware of someone outside the church. Ellen, Jo and Bobby were sleeping. Dean, too, was finally sleeping on his lonely bench. Castiel moved toward the church doors, listening cautiously. He heard a single person moving outside. A person moving slowly, perhaps injured. A person who tried the large door but found it blocked.

Castiel sensed no evil, and this was a house of God. If someone outside needed sanctuary, he felt obligated to provide it. Castiel removed the bar from the door and opened it.

A man stood there, cradling an unconscious woman in his arms. Except, she wasn’t a woman, exactly. She was an angel.

“I think the journey was too much for her,” the man explained. “She collapsed when we...landed.” He looked up, pleading silently for help and met Castiel’s eyes. “You’re Castiel. She said I would know you. I’m – ”

“John,” Castiel said, for who else could this possibly be? “I know.” He opened the church door wide and gently gathered Anna into his own arms. She had done it. She had raised John Winchester from the dead. But at what cost?

“Come with me,” Castiel instructed. He carried Anna to the bed Ellen made up for Dean.

Behind him, he heard John re-bar the door before he followed. Castiel laid Anna down and touched her forehead to examine her. Her skin felt cold and the light of her grace was very dim. She had just come from Heaven; her grace should have been shining like a sun in her heart. Something was very wrong.

“Where is my son?” John demanded, his voice quiet but determined.

“Dean is in the sacristy. I won’t stop you going to him if you must, but this is the first time he’s slept in three days. ” Castiel stroked Anna’s pale cheek. She didn’t stir.

“Will she be okay?” John asked him. He looked toward the sacristy, his eyes anxious.

“I don’t know,” Castiel answered honestly. He was studying John as he spoke. He knew so much about this man, but he didn’t know him. He and Dean had the same eyes. “Please,” Castiel said, “let him sleep.”

John nodded. “I can wait.” His eyes returned to Anna. “She won’t...angels can’t die.”

“We can die,” Castiel disagreed. “We don’t age or sicken, but we can be killed and we can choose to fall and become mortal.” As Anna had done, once. Castiel stroked her cool cheek once again. “Anna expended a great deal of power to bring you here, and she cannot return to Heaven if what she’s done is known.”

“No way to recharge, you mean,” John nodded slowly.

“That’s correct.”

John laid a hand on her forehead, then touched her neck, feeling for a pulse. “Should her pulse be this slow?”

Castiel checked for himself. “No.”

“It seems like hypothermia. Do you have more blankets?”

“They are all being used.” Castiel gestured to the other beds.

Then Bobby’s voice interrupted them. “Not any more.” He climbed down from the makeshift bed and gathered up his bedding.

“Bobby,” John said, his voice carefully neutral.

“I didn’t think they could really do it,” Bobby said. He set the bundle in his arms down on Anna’s bed and began tucking the rug around her.

“You mean you hoped they couldn’t,” John suggested.

Bobby ignored the comment, looking at Castiel. “For hypothermia, one of us would get in there with her,” he said.

Castiel understood that Bobby wasn’t volunteering. He considered. It wasn’t warmth that Anna needed, though it might help. She needed energy. She needed Heaven’s grace. There was only one person who could give that to her: Castiel himself.

Dean jerked awake, grabbing for his gun before he realised he was alone. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his neck, trying to ease the kinks out of stiff muscles. He checked his watch. Almost seven. He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but it would have to be enough. Dean climbed stiffly to his feet and stumbled back toward the main nave of the church.

In the doorway, Dean paused, listening to their voices. He could hear Castiel and Bobby talking quietly, which he guessed meant either Ellen or Jo, or both of them, was still sleeping. But then he heard a third voice. A male voice.

Dean jacked a round into the chamber of his gun and clicked the safety off. He walked in with the gun at his side, but his finger on the trigger. If they’d let some stranger in, he was going to rip them a new one. The man had his back to Dean, so it was Castiel who first saw him coming. Cas nodded toward him and the man turned around.

Dean reacted without thinking: he raised the gun. He was squeezing down on the trigger when Castiel stepped in front of the thing in his father’s shape, shielding him.

Bobby raised a hand in a stop gesture. “Dean, wait. It’s really him.”

The man who looked like John Winchester watched him calmly. “I warned you he wouldn’t be happy to see me. Hello, Dean.” He moved around Castiel, making himself a target once more. “Go ahead, son.” He spread his hands. “It’s the least I deserve, considering our last conversation.”

Dean kept his gun trained on the imposter’s chest. “What was our last conversation?” It wasn’t much of a test, but it was the best he could do at short notice. Sam knew part of what John told him that day at the hospital, but not all of it. There were things Dean had never told anyone.

“It was in the hospital, after the car accident. You had just woken up from a coma. I told you about when you were a little boy, how you helped me when I came home from a hunt. I told you I’m proud of you. You asked me why I was saying it and said I was scaring you. I should have known I couldn’t hide it from you, Dean, but I couldn’t leave you without – ”

“That’s enough,” Dean interrupted. He lowered the gun and walked toward them, trying to take it in. He had become accustomed to the impossible, but this... He looked at Cas, who stood tensely at John’s side. “You did this?”

“No.” Castiel glanced toward one of the improvised beds and Dean saw it was occupied. Anna! Then he noticed the other beds were empty.

“Where are Ellen and Jo?”

“Checking the perimeter.”

Dean nodded. He took a breath, getting his thoughts in order. He pushed the shock aside; first, he had to make sure everyone was safe. They depended on him.

“If it’s safe, get the cars loaded up. We need to get out of here.”

Bobby gave him a serious look. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he admonished, then turned to go.

Dean looked into his father’s eyes. He had never felt so conflicted. Part of him didn’t want to believe this. Part of him wanted to punch the son of a bitch, but he knew that if he let himself start swinging he wouldn’t stop until someone stopped him. Another part of him was so happy to see his Dad, there were no words for it. Dean’s vision blurred and he felt a single tear spill from his eye.

“Dean,” John said and then they were holding each other, so tightly it hurt. John’s bearded cheek brushed Dean’s neck. Dean inhaled and smelled gun oil and leather and sweat. His father. His chest swelled with both joy and heartbreak at once because why now, why only now when it was too late for Sammy?

When they broke apart, John’s eyes seemed a bit too bright, as if he, too, were holding back tears, but Dean must have imagined it. He had never seen his father weep. Not since Mom...and only once, even then. They stared at each other, John still holding Dean’s shoulders. Dean had no clue what to say. How do you greet the man who went to Hell for you? There was a certain irony in the question, but Dean couldn’t remember the first words Sam said to him in their parallel situation.

Dean opened his mouth and what came out was, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dad, I screwed up so bad – ”

“No,” John interrupted, in a tone Dean knew would brook no argument. “No, son. You didn’t. You did everything I could have asked. I’m the one who failed. I always meant to warn you both, but in the end I ran out of time.”

Meant to warn us. Dean felt a spark of anger. “How much did you know?”

“Everything.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

John spread his hands helplessly. “Tell you that your brother was going to bring on the Apocalypse? What would you have done, Dean? Would you even have believed it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe not,” Dean admitted. It was hard to remember Sam as he was then. The little brother who left them for college. The Sam who grieved for Jessica and wouldn’t kill humans, no matter how much they deserved it. The Sammy who died in Cold Oak.

John nodded as if he heard Dean’s thoughts. “Anna filled me in, but there’s a lot she didn’t know. You’ll tell me your side of it?”

“Sure,” Dean agreed, but added, “when we get back to Bobby’s place.” Why did Anna bring Dad back? There seemed only one reason that made sense. Dean was almost afraid to ask, but he had to. “Dad? Can we save Sam?”

John closed his eyes in pain. “I don’t know, son. I just don’t know.”

Driving the Impala with Dad riding shotgun was weird as Hell. Even when they were hunting together, it never happened: Dad always drove. Except once, when Dad was too badly hurt. Then, Dean sped through the night, desperate to reach a doctor they could trust before Dad bled to death. He made it – barely – only to have Dad rip him a new one because he hadn’t gone after the rest of the pack first.

In the Impala’s back seat, Castiel sat with Anna unconscious in his arms. She was so pale, to Dean she looked dead, but she was breathing and Castiel insisted she would recover. Cas cradled her, occasionally touching her face, his expression revealing the doubts his words denied.

None of them spoke much on the journey.

“What’s wrong with her?” Dean asked as he helped Cas lift the still-unconscious Anna out of the car.

“It took a great deal of power to restore your father, Dean. She used too much.” Castiel took her from Dean, lifting Anna easily in his arms.

“Can you do anything?” It wasn’t the question Dean meant to ask. He wanted to know if she would live.

Cas gazed at Bobby’s house as he considered the question. The house was dark and empty: Bobby, Ellen and Jo were probably a few miles away yet.

“Perhaps,” Castiel said eventually, “but it would put all of you at risk.” He frowned, then turned his eyes to Dean. “Your iron room. May I use it?”

Dean didn’t hesitate. “If it’ll help her, sure.”

“Iron room?” John asked as they walked toward the house.

“We call it the panic room. Bobby built it. The room is iron, painted with salt: walls and ceiling. The whole floor is a devil’s trap.” Dean opened the door for Cas, and then followed him down to the room in question.

Castiel laid Anna down on the cot. He straightened and turned to the two men. “Lock the door, and seal the door at the top of the stairs, too. Do not go near the air vent while we are inside. Do not come down here for any reason. Do you understand, Dean?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I will try to share my grace with her. But I cannot do so from within this vessel. Do you understand?”

Dean remembered Pamela screaming with her eyes on fire. He nodded grimly. “I get it, Cas. We’ll stay out of the way.”

John slowly walked around the perimeter of the room, examining the research displayed there. Dean watching him for a moment, expecting questions, but John didn’t say anything.

Castiel lifted Anna into a sitting position and slipped the jacket from her shoulders. He laid her down again. Her body moved like a dead weight. Cas moved to the other end of the cot and began to unlace her boots.

“Geez, Cas, she’s unconscious,” Dean objected. Was he going to undress her completely?

“If she were awake,” Castiel answered, “this would not be necessary.”

Dean shook his head. It was too much to expect him to understand. But Anna was more human than most angels; she might not be okay with this, even if Cas was trying to save her life.

“I guess so,” he agreed. “Dad, let’s give him the room.”

John turned away from the display. “Sure.” He headed for the door.

Dean hesitated a moment longer, then wished Castiel luck and locked him in with Anna and followed his father up the stairs to the house.

It would be so easy to let himself slip back into his old patterns with Dad. Part of Dean longed for someone else to take charge, to lift the crushing weight from his shoulders. He was used to following Dad. He trusted him as a hunter more than anyone else.

But he also knew he could never again be Dad’s good soldier boy. Too much stood between them now: the pain of those months after John’s death, the knowledge of how much John concealed from his sons. That final warning: you have to save Sam, because if you can’t, you might have to kill him – a prophecy so perfectly fulfilled that Dean was afraid to think about much Dad must have known.

Because now, Dean was faced with exactly that. Sam had become, literally, the Devil.

“Dad,” he began, meaning to say something about Sam.

John leaned back against the wall, his body partially blocking Dean’s way back to the others. He looked down at his hands, the fingers of his right hand straying to caress his wedding ring. For the first time, Dean noticed the ring was missing.

“It wasn’t your failure, Dean,” John said, his voice quiet, but determined. “It was mine. I underestimated the demon.” He raised his head, meeting Dean’s eyes with a rare look of pride. “You killed him. You didn’t fail.”

Dean felt a familiar churning in his stomach. “You don’t know what I’ve done.” He swallowed, but it was time to confess. “It wasn’t Sam who started all this, Dad.”

“You broke the first seal. Yes, Dean, I know.” John looked down again. “It never should have happened.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean choked on the words, because he knew sorry didn’t cut it. Sorry was what you said when you didn’t clean a weapon right or you slipped up in a fight. Ending the world was beyond sorry.

John stared at him, his mouth open with surprise. “Sorry? No, son. It was my fault. If I’d done right by you, it never would have happened.”

“I don’t understand.” Dean frowned. He knew Dad kept things from him but this... Then a possible interpretation of his father’s words came to him, and Dean sighed, accepting the condemnation. He nodded. “You should have let me die,” he agreed.

The next instant Dean’s back was against the wall, John’s fists balled in his shirt. “No! God, Dean, that’s not what I meant.” He raised both hands and held Dean’s face between them. “I could never have let you die, Dean. You are my son. The price I paid, it was nothing. I would do it again in a heartbeat, if I had to. Believe me.”

Dean wrenched away. “How do you think that makes me feel? I know what you paid, Dad! I never wanted that.”

Behind him, John drew a deep breath. “Yes, you know what it cost me. But you don’t know everything about why. It’s time I told you everything.”

“It doesn’t matter any more,” Dean whispered brokenly. Nothing mattered. The world was going to end, and the only way to stop it was for Dean to kill his own brother. It was the one thing he couldn’t do. The one monster he could never hunt.

Was that why Castiel and Anna brought Dad back? Did they think he would kill Lucifer? Dean turned back to face his father, the dreadful suspicion approaching certainty.

“Dad. Why did they bring you back?”

A fleeting look of confusion crossed John’s face. “Anna told me it was for the sake of my sons. I assumed you asked her...but you didn’t, did you?” Suspicion replaced confusion and John glanced, narrow-eyed, toward the staircase leading to the panic room.

“No, I didn’t.” Dean stepped into John’s way. “You can’t go down there, Dad. We’ll have to wait until they’re done.” He nodded toward the door. “Let’s join the others, okay? We can finish this talk when Cas is back.”

The house was still and quiet.

In the bed beside him, Jo slept, her breathing soft and even, her mind mercifully free of the nightmares that usually plagued her. Dean, however, could not sleep. He eased out of the bed, careful not to disturb her as he pulled on pants and shoes. He crept from the room. He could hear Bobby snoring in the next room. Dean needed no light to find his way in the dark; the house was so familiar to him now that his body remembered the way. He made his way down the stairs slowly, careful to avoid the creaky areas.

In the main room below, John slept on the couch. Dean considered waking him, knowing Dad wouldn’t object, but he wasn’t really ready to continue their earlier conversation. His steps led him instead toward the panic room.

At the top of the steps, Dean paused, remembering Castiel’s instruction: don’t come down for any reason. But he was worried about Cas and Anna. Dean hadn’t asked if there was any risk to Castiel in what he planned to do, and he should have. He’d expected whatever it was to take a few hours at most. There had been no sign of the two angels since Dean locked them in. So Dean disobeyed Castiel and descended the steps to the heavy iron door. He didn’t open the door, just stood outside, listening, hoping his friend was alive in there.

Dean heard only silence. He saw no hint of angelic light. It was possible the room was empty, of course: Castiel didn’t need doors.

The lock was cool under his hand, and Dean was about to open it when he heard Anna’s voice from within.

“Castiel?” she said, sounding confused and disoriented. She must be just waking up. Then she spoke again, alarmed: “Castiel!”

“This was the only way,” Castiel answered her. He sounded apologetic.

For a time, nothing more was said. Dean heard the sounds of movement, the creaking of the cot springs.

Then Castiel said, very softly, “It is forbidden.”

And Anna replied, “So is everything we are doing, Castiel.”

The sounds that followed were as unmistakeable as they were surprising: motion, heavy breathing, Anna’s voice moaning in pleasure. Finally Dean heard Castiel cry out, a short, incoherent cry followed by murmured words Dean couldn’t make out.

Dean was smiling to himself as he ascended the stairs once more.

To be continued...

Comments

[jebbypal]

\0/ Looking forward to seeing how it develops.

[briarwood]

Thanks!

[birggitt]

Oh, this is so good!
I'm really intrigued about what Castiel and Anna are planning, why they bring back John... And about all those things that John didn't share with his son.
I'm so looking forward to the next part!

[briarwood]

Thanks!

The why is answered at the end of When the World is Burning - this is a sequel. As for the rest...some of it will be answered in this one, but there's a third story in the series and most of the stuff about John will be in that one.

I'll try to get the next part up soon.