The Witch and The Hunters

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Page count: 9

Bobby and Sam both jerked towards the sudden flare of Grace as Castiel appeared in the living room—only this time, he wasn't alone.

Hermione lay limp in his arms, mumbling and writhing weakly, her condition visibly worse than Dean's. Even from across the room, they could see the weight she'd lost, the waxy sheen of her skin, the sickly grey beneath her sweat-soaked shirt. If not for the faint sounds leaving her throat, she could've passed for dead.

"Cas? What the hell's going on?" Sam demanded, voice sharp with fear.

Castiel didn't answer.

He simply walked toward the couch—where Dean lay suffering, barely conscious—and stopped beside him.

Before either man could say another word, a sharp crack sounded. Harry Potter materialised beside them, wand in hand, green eyes blown wide with worry. His gaze snapped to Dean—pale, sweating, trembling—and his stomach dropped.

"You too?" Harry breathed.

Sam swallowed. "Yeah. Him too."

Castiel stared down at the couch, clearly confused by the size of the furniture versus the two unconscious people he intended to place upon it.

Harry didn't wait for him to ask.

With a flick of his wand, the couch rippled and transformed into a double bed.

Castiel lowered Hermione beside Dean and stepped back silently.

The room held its breath.

Hermione's and Dean's restless mumbling—each calling the other's name—stopped instantly. Their bodies shifted toward one another in unison, as if pulled by a magnet. Hermione pressed into Dean's side; Dean's arm twitched and settled against her waist.

Their groans eased. Their breathing steadied. Their faces relaxed for the first time in days.

Harry, Sam, and Bobby exchanged looks of shock before turning to Castiel.

"What the hell is going on?" Harry demanded, voice thin with fear.

Castiel finally tore his gaze from the sleeping pair.

"I believe," he said slowly, "there is more to their relationship than meets the eye."

"You don't say?" Sam snapped, keeping his volume low so he wouldn't wake them. "Cas, you haven't seen them together. Not like I have."

He gestured wildly at the bed.

"The guy almost killed twenty-three men because they touched Hermione! She killed a Lamia for kissing him. She killed a witch for threatening him. Dean listens to her. Watches her read like she hung the damn moon. And she—she's just as bad! They're jealous, possessive, borderline feral and—AND— sex! They're like bunnies! Constantly! This isn't normal!"

Bobby blinked. Harry blinked harder. Even Castiel stiffened—though he tried not to.

Sam wasn't done.

"I've never seen Dean act like this with anyone. Ever. Not in thirty years."

Silence.

Castiel blinked once. "Your assessment is... largely accurate."

It wasn't entirely true that he hadn't observed anything. He had noticed a strange resonance when Hermione and Dean first met—a hum of something ancient and potent. And he had been drawn to the explosion of power the night they first slept together. He'd spent hours painting Enochian wards around Hermione's building to hide the surge of magic and Grace from Heaven and Hell.