Oh, What A Bad Idea (A Supernatural Fanfiction)

Nine

When Sam and Dean got back, and they didn't bring me back anything, they told me how they had a run in with a few demons at the diner and how they were afraid of what ever Castiel was, and how Dean was using the fact that it had dragged him out of hell as leverage, which I scorned him for. Dean also mentioned the bright idea of summoning it, which I lied and said I would think about it so he'd get of my case. After story time, we just hung around. Sam did research, which I occasionally glanced at, and Dean helped some. In the end, I fell asleep to the tv on Sam's bed, which I knew I'd get shoved out of later, but didn't care.

It was fine until the late night, when Dean had fallen asleep. The tv, which Sam switched off soon after he saw I was asleep, came back on and the radio went crazy, like they do in alien movies. This woke Dean and I up and we were on our feet, gun in hand, ready to fight. We looked around the room for signs of anything, but the sound hurt to much. It was high pitched and loud; louder than dropping something in the shower. I collapsed first before Dean did. Both of us covering our hears, trying to block it out with no success. When the mirror on the ceiling shattered and came crashing down and the windows and tv broke, good ol' Booby came in and dragged us out.

We were in the car and confused as all hell where Sam had gone, so Dean called him. Sam said he couldn't sleep and went out for a burger, and Dean said we were gonna go get a drink. Something is up. After that little chat, Dean said we were gonna summon Castiel. Bobby wasn't happy and argued, but lost when Dean said we had very good chances; I doubted that, but didn't argue. I was too stressed and just wanted this all over with, and I trusted Dean's judgement.

We went back to what looked like a very small airplane hanger and spent an hour painting traps, symbols, talismans, you name it, on the walls and floor. We had brought in some weapons that would work on anything we could think of, as well. We were ready. Bobby kept saying that it was a bad idea, but Dean didn't budge. So Bobby started the ritual.

For a long while, there was nothing. Dean was questioning Bobby's ability to do it right. I was secretly glad. But then there was crashing and banging against the small building, like a real bad storm almost. We got into a fighting position Dean thought maybe it was just a storm. But, of course, the lights sparked, the barred doors opened, and a man in a trench coat and tie walked in, bypassing all of the traps, all of everything we spent so long on. We started shooting it with every bit of skill we had, but it kept walking. Dean abandoned his gun for Ruby's knife, which kills demons. It walked right up to him, "Who are you?" Dean asked, brandishing the knife.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight, and raised you from perdition." It said, an unreadable expression on its face.

"Yeah, thanks for that." Dean said and stabbed its breastplate.

It didn't flinch, just pulled the knife out and dropped it. Bobby tried to hit it with a tire iron, but it caught it mid swing. It held on, and so did Bobby. So it turned them around, got Bobby within arms reach and touched his forehead. Bobby fell to the floor.

No. No. No. You don't get to do that. "You son of a bitch." I was mad now. You can't just kill Bobby Singer. He was my friend. My eye brows were pinched and I held gun tight. It wasn't aimed at it, it just gave me comfort.

It ignored me, "We need to talk, Dean." It glanced at me, "Alone."

"No. She's with me." Dean said. It said nothing, just moved over to the weapon covered table.

I bent over and checked on Bobby while I had the chance. He had a pulse and he was breathing, "Your friends alive." It said. Dean looked to me and I nodded, agreeing.

"Who are you?" Dean said, just as angrily as I felt.

"Castiel." It said simply, going through our books and John's diary.

"Yeah, I figured that much. I mean, what are you?" Dean asked.

It looked up to give his its attention, "I'm an angel of the lord."

Sure. "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

It turned and walked forward a step to Dean. It was now completely serious, "This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." Then lightning struck and lit up the room. It stood there looking mighty. Then it extended black, shadow-like wings. Cute trick. I was not convinced, but Dean seemed to be. There had to be something that explains it. Maybe some other type of demon from another part of the world or something.

"Some angel you are." Dean started, "You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

It looked...guilty, and walked forward a few more steps, "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans. And so can my real voice. You already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel? That was you talking?" It nodded, "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

It again, looked guilty, and nodded, "It was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now, huh? A holy tax accountant?" Now, Dean, with the jokes?

"This? This is a vessel." It fiddled with its coat.

"You're possessing some poor bastard?" I didn't even think of that.

"He's a devout man. He actually prayed for this."

"Pal, I'm not buying what you're selling. So who are you really?" Least I'm not alone in this.

It was confused, "I told you."

"Right. And why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean." It said and moved within arms reach of him. I stood and took my spot by his side, gun still in hand.

"No in my experience." Dean admitted.

"What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved." It said.

Dean huffed, "Why'd you do it?"

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."