One Step Closer. // Invites //

The climate in the Swiss foothills was moderate, and everything was unseasonably green. It was no wonder that Mary Shelly had chosen this landscape as the setting for a grotesque romantic novel. He considered how lovely it would be, if he were to take Sam and Dean under wing and bring them here, overlooking glass lakes, and watching birds together. But Dean had not forgiven him, he knows, and they are much too focused to allow themselves the beauty of his Father's creation. To say it would only breed animosity is an understatement.

So the angel in the trenchcoat went about a different route. He arrived in the Winchesters' motel room unannounced, bearing two plates with sandwiches on them. "Hello Sam. Dean," he greets formally. The genuine, bright smile on his face looks foreign. "I figured that you would like to have your strength for your upcoming endeavors." He thrusts the plates at the two men, "No added fructose or corn syrup; I gathered the wheat from a village in the Swiss foothills; The vegetables from a farm in South America; And I, myself, slaughtered the pig as painlessly as possible." He looked genuinely saddened by the memory of the pig. "Please accept this sandwich as a gesture of my solidarity."

Cas felt the warmth from Sam Winchester. What a magnificent soul that one is, like a space heater in a frigid basement. That man is the balm of Castiel's wounded heart. Cas brimmed as Sam accepted his plate, but it fell some as Dean took no action towards it, and Cas gently set it down on the table. Dean Winchester is not a man who freely gives trust, and Castiel understands that he'd not only had it but lost it, and that it will take a long time to gradually earn it back. So what can he do at this moment, other than smile and be supportive of his friends until he is forgiven? They live in a Sorry universe, engineered to create conflict, and damn if it isn't beautiful that Dean allows himself to be an agent of discontent in their relationship so that their triumph will be ever sweeter when they finally overcome this obstacle. 

But Castiel supposed thanking the man for this would be disadvantageous. Instead, he meandered curiously over to what the boys were researching, palming the vile of blood. His blood. "Has there been any progress in the search for the next ingredient in taking down the Leviathans?" Not because the outcome is particularly pertinent to him, but out of genuine curiosity of what amazing feat these parcels of humanity will be able to accomplish in the foreseeable future.

Castiel nodded to Sam, figuring that was the most predictable answer from these two men. What wasn't predictable was Dean's question to Cas. The angel cocked his head in confusion, staring directly at the elder Winchester as if the answer might be written in fine print across his face. "Well, my original creation was intended for the oversight of Earth and humanity in its early formation, but in the recent years my existence is a conglomeration of ambiguity-- which, for all intent and purposes, is the best and most human type of being there is." He was dead serious, hoping he'd met Dean's answer adequately, whether or not he believed it relevant. But... judging by the look on his face, gonna go with not. After a moment, he chuckled to himself. "You... you meant here, now, in this room with you. I am here because you are my friends and I am emotionally and, frankly, spiritually invested in your wellbeing." It wasn't a poignant declaration of love, just him stating a fact he thought was so obvious that he'd failed to see it was even a question. He smiled brightly between the two Winchesters, and fully meant what he'd said. "Also, to bring you sandwiches."

Looking pleased with himself, he glanced around the room contentedly. "We should get a pet. This room feels like its just one species short," he observed to no one in particular.

Cas's invisible wings expanded, ready to flee from the conflict rising in Dean's snappy tone. But as Dean took a cooling breath, Castiel decided against flight. Which he regretted. "Dean..." Castiel began anxiously, knowing exactly what the Winchester was really asking of him. To place himself in the line of fire, which, if he's honest with himself, isn't the problem. He's done it before many times, and for his friends, he would do it again. But the thing he fears most is himself; Helping with Dick Roman means helping them with one more thing, then one more thing, then one more apocalypse, and before you know it Castiel is once again proving that angels are incapable of handling free will. He will inevitably become the primary antagonist, and will break Dean's heart again.



For someone so typically blissed out and communicative, Castiel struggled to get any of those thoughts out. So he stared at Dean imploringly, begging for understanding. If only he could see the bigger picture, beyond Roman. But he couldn't, and it is unfair of Castiel to expect that of him. So he hung his head, fidgeting with his hands anxiously, and conceded. "I will seek out the migratory routes of the alpha vampire and report my findings."

How can you comfort someone when you are the source of their misery? Cas felt the coldness from Dean rake its fingers down his neck like a physical gust. And though it was completely expected and frankly, justified, Castiel still couldn't help but be disappointed. Do not like conflict, he thought to himself sullenly, suddenly finding those thoughts of how Dean's a fantastic instrument of this world's conflict very empty. Sam's gentle but firm suggestion didn't need to be made twice. What was once an angel became a rustle of wind, then empty silence.

But his promise was not empty. He did search the better part of the midwest, but honestly didn't have to look that far. Dead vampires were turning up where nests had once thrived. A note with an address fluttered down from the ceiling in the motel he had vacated not more than twenty minutes before. Carson City, five men dead, but hadn't shown up in the papers because the journalists were a little... lax. Even if they weren't, there's a good chance it wouldn't have made the news out of fear that the 'fanged men' would cause public fear. 

The note contained the address, attached to a bag of organically harvested honey.

Vampires are sad creatures. There are few diseases that rearrange the structure of a human soul in ways that disqualify them from Heaven. Short of damnation and lycanthropy, nothing worse could conceivably happen to a person. Well, a person who is not a Winchester. Castiel stood over the body of a vampire who'd been poisoned by the sucrose-fed human. The human, too, was drained, but still he stooped next to the lifeless body. His power circulated through his vessel, and to his palms, where he touched the forehead of the afflicted. He searched for the calls of the person's soul, and tugged spiritually, until he felt a pulse of a heart under the flesh. The overweight, lethargic woman blinked and shuddered, but did not look terrified or awestruck. "How long have I been asleep? ... ow." She touched an horrible, gaping, festering wound from the vampire bite as though she'd been bitten by a mosquito. Castiel touched the wound, and closed it. She stared at him blankly. "You should go," Castiel said simply, and the woman nodded and meandered aimlessly out the door.

Castiel sighed. For all his love for humanity, this woman is the embodiment of his worst fear. He could only pray that he will be able to assist Sam and Dean in stopping this decline into predation.