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Castiel came in a short time later, smiling when he caught sight of his friends. It had been some time since he and the hunters had all gathered without the inclusion of female company. He had absolutely no complaints about the past few weeks largely spent exploring the intricacies of his first love affair, but he was starting to miss the sense of camaraderie that seemed unique to Team Free Will.

Bobby looked to have recovered from the hurt that Death had unintentionally inflicted, Dean was relaxed and apparently none the worse for his sojourn in Hat Shore, and Sam hadn't looked happier in all the time the angel had known him. It promised to be a good night.

"Hello," he said on the heels of Dean's question, walking up to join them.

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“Just wonderin’ where your slow ass was boy,” Bobby cracked. “And tryin to figure out why Stretch here,” he kicked Sam’s feet off the table, “has been grinnin ear to ear like a damned idiot for the last few days.”

The old hunter hadn’t felt this good in a long time. The boys were safe, whole, and for once they weren’t having drinks while trying to kill some horrible monster or try and save the world. Tonight, it was just family and that was mighty fine with him.

“Hey!” Sam could only muster a half-hearted protest. “Like I said, I’ve had good reason to be happy. Isn’t that good enough? Sookie’s.. nice.”

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"That's cause Sam's gettin' some from a hot blonde chick." Dean grinned wider as he put his own little spin on his brother's happiness, couldn't be too soft on the outside after all, he had his reputation to think of.

"Took you long enough." He looked up at the angel as he stepped up to the table "Now which one of you am I whippin' in pool first?" Dean took a long swig out of the beer.

He flashed his brother a grin, he figured Sam would jump at his offer first "Or, we can play me and Sammy versus you and Cas, make it a friendly wager?"

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"I haven't played pool before," Cas noted, glancing at Bobby, then back at the others. "I have no objection to that arrangement. If someone would explain the rules?"

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Bobby snorted, "Hell Dean, I've been hustlin pool since before you were old enough to stand. You're on kid." He got to his feet and handed Cas a pool cue. "Yeah, it's easy enough Cas," the hunter said. An angel playing pool. This should be interesting. "I'll explain as we go."

"Jerk," Sam muttered at his brother, smacking him in the back of the head as Dean went to set up the game. He and Sookie hadn't moved that far along in their relationship and he was enjoying the rather comfortable pace of it.

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"Let's see what you got old man" Dean smirked as he got up out of his seat. It felt good to see Bobby out and about, he felt bad that he had let things go on as long as he had. His time in that house had been hard on more than just him and Dean was determined to find the hat at some point and twist it's pointy little top for messing with his family.

"He knows how to find the hole now, he should be able to get it, right Cas?" Dean cocked his head to the side as he flashed that cocky smirk at the angel.

Right about that moment Sam whacked him the back of the head and Dean grimaced, then grinned "Bitch." Dean honestly didn't want details, he would just enjoy ribbing the angel and his little brother about the new women in their lives from time to time. Life was good and Dean was going with it for the moment, he was the only one who needed to worry about the what if's let them have their time.

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hunter-returns.livejournal.com - Date: 2011-03-15 01:09 am (UTC) - Expand

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It wasn't easy for Death to find her way back to her realm without her sigil. Which isn't to say that it was impossible; it was simply a little trickier for her to negotiate the trip, especially around the powerful magic that warded the entire school. The additional power housed in her sigil would have made the attempt easier, but she saw no reason to disturb Castiel or the Winchesters for the evening to retrieve it. Other powerful entities had negotiated ways to Hogwarts and back, so it was only a matter of time before she managed the same.

There she spent a few hours making sure that things were in good order, and that the spirits of the dead were still being borne to the sunless lands with care. She even took the time to make a few rounds herself; because while she was enjoying her time at the school immensely and had absolutely no desire to leave, she was still bound by a powerful obligation to those that had passed.

Satisfied with her work, and eager to return to the school that she was already thinking of as home, Death was surprised to find a house elf waiting for her outside the door to her room. The creature was shifting impatiently from one oversized foot to the other and without preamble, shoved a crumpled note into her hand before disappearing with a glare and a quiet pop.

Death - find Cas. He needs you. Will explain later
-Sam

A cold knot of dread settled in the pit of her stomach when she read those words. How long had that note been waiting for her? Why hadn't anyone called? Why hadn't he called? She would have heard.. Setting the questions aside, she closed her eyes made directly for Castiel’s room.
Heralded by wingbeats, she took a deep breath and tried to collect herself before knocking gently on the door.

"Castiel? Jimmy?" She tried to keep a note of fear out of her voice. When there was no reply, she swung the door open.

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Firewhiskey. It had to be. Cas had known from the beginning the stuff was potent. He just hadn't realized it was concentrated liquid evil.

His head had started to hurt when Dean ran into him, had only gotten worse as he'd retched up what felt like everything he'd ingested since he arrived at Hogwarts, and now the pain was so severe it had him completely immobilized and wishing his skull would just split open and get it over with.

Getting up to turn out the light or get a drink of water was out of the question. So was keeping down any sort of medication. He'd tried, before the headache had knocked him flat, and his stomach had violently rejected it. The acute physical misery alone would have prevented him from sleeping, and the memory of that furious, betrayed look on Dean's face would have made it impossible anyway.

The angel flinched at the soft knock on the door and the sound of Death's voice. He hadn't wanted to go to her like this; it would only worry her, and if he could just hold out until the headache subsided a little he'd be all right. But now that she was there, he couldn't say he wasn't glad.

"Hello," he whispered hoarsely, one arm flung across his eyes to block out the light. "I'm sorry. 'm not...very good company right now."

Edited Date: 2011-03-15 02:18 am (UTC)

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She felt her heart sink at Castiel’s pitiable state and quickly closed the door behind her, dousing the lights a moment later. “Oh guys."

Death crossed the floor to sit on the edge of the bed. The less than pleasant smell told gave her at least some idea of what was wrong. It didn’t explain everything, or the frantic nature of Sam’s note, but first she had to make sure he was all right. The rest would have to wait. "Why didn't you call me?" she asked her voice thick with worry.

While she had never been drunk herself, time spent around more experienced souls like John Constantine and Hob Gadling gave her at least an idea of what she needed to do. Rather than summon a house elf, she focused her power and manifested a small glass of water. Her fingertips were cool and gentle on his forehead, “Can you sit up a little? Your vessel’s dehydrated, Jimmy needs some water.”

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"I know. I tried. Head hurts," he muttered, but he gathered himself and propped up on one elbow with an effort, hoping he could manage that much without--

It was a good thing his stomach was already empty. He clapped a hand to his mouth and gagged, waiting several long, intensely distressing moments before the nausea and the accompanying spike of pain receded enough that he could try a few small, cautious swallows. The water did seem to help a little almost immediately, but he couldn't handle much at a time and soon put a hand over the glass, sinking back onto the bed with a groan.

"Thanks. Too much firewhiskey," he said by way of explanation. "And Dean--he's so angry with me." The aftereffects of the liquor meant nothing. He'd shake them off soon enough, but the damage he feared he had done to the friendship he valued most could take a long time to heal.

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Death slipped a supporting arm beneath his shoulders as he struggled to rise. When he pushed the water away, she helped ease him back down, setting the water within close reach.

She wanted to gather him into her arms, to hold him and soothe his pain and distress away, but given the rather perilous reaction he had in attempting to sit up, she was afraid that it would only make him feel worse. Instead, she swung her legs onto the bed, curling as close to him as she dared, trying to offer what comfort she could simply with her presence. Her fingers traced the side of his cheek with a light, feathery touch.

“Why is he angry? What happened?” she asked gently.

If Dean had something to do with this, they were going to have a little chat in the very near future.

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He drew a long, shuddering breath and let it out again. "I told him about something I did. Before I rebelled, before Lucifer rose.

"He--he and and Bobby had Sam locked up so he couldn't kill Lilith and break the last Seal." He shut his eyes tightly, rubbing his temples. Would she be angry too? How many people had she been called upon to collect because of what he had done? "I let him out. On Zachariah's orders. I allowed it to happen."

His voice caught in his throat as he tried to carry on. "I promised Jimmy I would protect his family, and demons had them--all three of them--and they wouldn't let me help unless I did what they said. Not just that, either." He turned his head away, tears welling up. "I gave Anna to them. She trusted me, and I turned her in. The next time I saw her they'd broken her so badly she was trying to kill Sam, and Michael, he--he burned her alive, and--" He broke off with a sob, clutching at his head with both hands. "God, my head--"

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Oh yes. She and Dean were going to talk.

The look on her face was utterly heartbroken as she slowly drew him into her arms, giving him enough time to pull away if the movement made him ill again. They had never really spoken of the time before Castiel rebelled. He had simply indicated that there were things he had done that he wasn’t proud of, and Death had never pressed the issue. Everyone had those moments in their lives, and she understood that.

Goddamn higher orders of angels. Zachariah was gone, even if the damage he had wrought wasn’t. She wasn’t a creature easily disposed towards hate, but in that instant, she hated Zachariah, and she hated whatever force wrote in Destiny’s great book that three good souls would have to suffer so much. Castiel and Dean and Sam, they didn’t deserve what had been pushed upon them. It wasn't fair.

She shushed him gently, “You did it to protect Jimmy, he can’t fault you for that.” Dean could be a little rough around the edges, sometimes downright crude, but he was fundamentally a good man who made it his mission in life to protect others. How he could blame Castiel for that was beyond her reasoning. Tenderly Death brushed his tears away, “And if Sam doesn’t hate you for it, then Dean won’t either. Just give him time to calm down,” she soothed.

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His stomach roiled again, a little, but he needed the comfort badly enough to force it down and turn into her warmth. He'd never cried in front of anyone else before (and only once when alone, perhaps not coincidentally when he was also profoundly drunk,) and wouldn't have started now no matter how upset he was, but the pain in his head became excruciating when he tried to suppress the impulse. Thankfully, though, once he'd stopped fighting it the fit didn't last very long.

"It's worth being angry about," he said finally, huddling in close. "I'd think less of him if he wasn't." But she was right; he should have more faith in his friend. He had known Dean to forgive more terrible trangressions. And when he'd done those things he had still been under Heaven's sway, a tool in Zachariah's hands. That was certainly nothing to be proud of, but it wasn't quite the same matter as if he'd been acting as a free agent, either.

Everything just seemed worse right now than it really was. He was never touching firewhiskey again as long as he lived. Either some ingredient in the stuff or something about the enchantment that had been placed on it was downright poisonous, at least to him. Some random incompatibility born of crossing different planes of existence that operated under different rules, maybe.

But the room was dark now and quiet, he'd made it past what he hoped was the worst part, and everything about Death's presence was soothing to him. "Could I have a little more water, please?" he murmured. Sleep might be possible if he lay quiet a while and eased his vessel's parching thirst.

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Sam woke up with a grimace and a strangled groan. His head was pounding, his stomach roiling.. the fuck did they do the night before? He lay on the couch, his eyes screwed shut against the light and remembered the fight and what Cas admitted.

Cas. Shit.

He staggered to his feet and took a few deep slow breaths to make sure he wasn’t going to get violently ill. While he wanted to do nothing but get some water and sleep his hangover off, he had to find Castiel and talk to him. Sam glanced down at his brother who was still snoring, one arm flung over his eyes. Dean would track down Cas when he woke up, no sense in waking him and subjecting him to a violent hangover any sooner than necessary.

--

The sound of soft knocking stirred Death out of her reverie. Castiel didn’t so much as stir when she gently slipped free of his arms and walked quietly over to the door. Sam.. looked like hell. They must have more than overdone it the night before. He leaned against the doorframe, pale, his eyes wide and worried. “Hey. Cas, is he.. is he okay?”

“Hey Sam. He’s sleeping right now. C’mon in and sit down before you keel over,” she said with a gentle smile.

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Cas was still deepy asleep when the knock sounded, and though he was dimly aware of that and the voices, it took him several minutes to connect the sounds with the likelihood that he should wake up and investigate. Once he had, he turned slowly onto his back with a grimace, rubbing his face.

The splitting headache had subsided to a dull, nagging throb at the back of his skull, and his stomach seemed inclined to behave itself, though the ordeal had left a nasty taste in his mouth and a general fuzziness that would probably take some time to shake.

"'lo Sam," he muttered, voice gravelly. "I'll get up, gimme a minute..." All right, maybe a few minutes.

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Sam smiled wanly at Cas, “Take your time, man.” He sat down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Shaking off a hangover always took him a few hours and this one was shaping up to be a doozy. But he had survived far worse hangovers, this one would be no different. The fact that Cas’s room was cool and dark helped immensely. His eyes slipped shut and he waited, hoping that the room would stop swimming before Cas got up and they talked.

Death manifested full glasses of water for them both, passing one over to Sam, leaving the other on the bedside table for Castiel. She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be outside, call if you need me,” she murmured.

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He smiled his thanks and levered himself slowly upright as she exited, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head cradled in his hands for a minute or two before dropping them and looking up. "Are you all right?" he asked, reaching for the water glass. Sam looked like he felt.

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Typical Cas, worrying about everyone else even when he was in worse shape. Sam quirked a small smile and sipped at the water. "I've, um, I've been better. But it's just a hangover, I'll survive." He looked down, rolling the half empty glass between his hands.

"That's, ah, that's not why I really came here though. I mean I'm glad you're okay and I'm glad that she got my note, but.." he trailed off, grimacing. Talking too fast only made the headache worse. He needed to slow down. Sam took a deep breath. "I wanted to talk about why you let me out that summer."

He held up a hand to stave off any additional apologies or protests on Cas's part. "I'm glad you told us, Cas. I am. Look, there are things I did that summer that I can't ever really hope to apologize for, to any of you," he said slowly. Because how did you apologize for letting a demon manipulate you so easily? Or starting the Apocalypse? You really couldn't, and God knows he had tried, but there weren't words for what he had done.

"But Dean and Bobby, they.. they still forgave me for it. For everything. So I can't say that it's okay, because we both know that it's really not. But I can say that I forgive you Cas. Because that's what family does. And I am so sorry that Jimmy had to suffer for it. And Dean.. he will too, once he calms down."

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He listened silently as Sam spoke, some of the lingering heaviness lifting from him at the young man's words. Sam understood, better than most, the need not only for forgiveness but for atonement. It wasn't unfair or unkind that Dean should be angry, or that Sam should acknowledge that what he had done was not excusable; it was necessary and just. Without facing up to the gravity of his actions and paying for them, if only with one night of utter misery, there was no way Castiel could ever forgive himself.

"Thank you, Sam," he said when his friend had finished speaking. "Don't misunderstand me, though. Zachariah didn't set Jimmy and his family up to be caught by the demons, he only seized the opportunity when it came to him." He sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. It might be splitting hairs--the whole situation had been Zachariah's fault, directly or indirectly--but even after everything he had done, Cas refused to lay more evil at his superior's door than he was rightfully due. "And I wasn't delayed long in getting there once he did."

To say that he had folded when those hoarse, angry shouts reached his ears would be too kind. Crumpled would be nearer the mark. He'd fallen all over himself agreeing to Zachariah's terms, and the dying flames of the circle had come perilously close to singing his wingtips on his reckless Earthward flight.

Not just for Jimmy's sake, though he neglected to mention it. It had been no great feat to work out that if Sam and Dean had been on their way to meet him, they had probably found Jimmy, and that they would try to protect him if they had. That was, after all, what they did. So while he hadn't known, he had feared (correctly) that he would find the boys up to their necks in exactly the same danger that had his vessel crying out so desperately for his help.

"I imagine you're correct. How is Dean?" he added. "If I'd realized he intended to hurl himself at me like that, I would have arranged to be elsewhere." The collision had shaken him up badly enough that he knew it must have left his human friend in poor shape.

Edited Date: 2011-03-17 05:16 am (UTC)

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In truth, it really didn’t matter to Sam one way or the other who was at fault for putting Jimmy’s family in danger. The guy seemed to get screwed over at every opportunity just because he happened to say yes to Cas. It seemed to be a running theme in their lives; anyone who tried to help them – Jimmy, Pamela, God there were so many - inevitably wound up getting hurt or even killed. In his darker moments, Sam wondered with no small degree of bitterness that they had any friends at all.

He shook himself out of that line of thought, it wasn’t productive and it sure as hell wasn’t why he was there. “I get it Cas, but still, it seems like every time Jimmy wakes up it’s because something terrible is happening. And I get why he’s not exactly thrilled with me or Dean either, and I’m sorry for that. He doesn’t deserve that kind of grief,” he concluded with a heavy sigh.

“Dean? He’s still sleeping it off but he’ll be fine. His head’s a lot harder than it looks.” He sympathized with Cas, having been on the receiving end of one of those drunken tackles more than a few times over the years. They hurt like hell the next morning. Sam smiled a little, “A few cups of coffee, a fistful of aspirin and a good starchy breakfast and he’ll be back to normal.”

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