Perception

Sigils

Returning to the hotel room brought Castiel an ache to his chest. It was empty. They hadn't waited for him. Dean hadn't waited. His fists clenched and he let out a slow breath. Before he had raised Dean from Hell, Castiel hadn't felt emotions like this. They were diluted and weak, once upon a time. Barely strong enough to affect decisions, and even then, it was minimal. 

Sometimes, he missed it. 

Closing his eyes, he located the brothers quickly. They were already speeding out of Canada, into Washington. Had he really been gone so long that they got to the states already?

Castiel opened his eyes and spread his wings. Time to confront his asshole boyfriend.

...

"You think we can find some sparkly vampires?" asked Dean, grinning sardonically at Sam from the driver's seat. 

Sam glanced over from where he was staring out the window. "Dude, how do you even know about that?"

Dean adopted his defensive face. "They won't stop playing the one where the pasty dude and that depressed chick do the dirty."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm sure."

"Hey, I'm te--"

There was a flutter of wings and suddenly the last person and the first person Dean wanted to see was in his backseat. He almost swerved into the other lane.

"Damnit, Cas! That better not turn into a regular thing," he shouted, stroking the wheel of his Impala apologetically. 

Castiel looked sharply at Dean, before a slow smile spread across his face. "Okay, Dean. I'll call ahead."

Dean was still unused to his newly-deepened voice and jerked again. His eyes met the angel's in the rearview mirror and held there. The ancient blue eyes shined with a knowledge that only a creature as old as time could hold, but also a new emotional standpoint that a child would normally have possession of.

His eyes fell back to the road, but he extended a hand behind himself. Castiel placed his hand in Dean's and Dean squeezed it, before releasing it and returning both hands to the wheel. Castiel leaned back with a smile to rival the sun.

Sam thought it smart not to comment on what he just witnessed and instead went for a safe approach. "After you left, demonic activity went down to zero. We're heading down to a case in Utah," he said. "Vampires, we think."

"No," Castiel said, "you need to go to Bobby's."

"Why? Something wrong?" asked Dean, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. He turned off on an exit to take them east.  

"No, but there will be within the next day or so. Michael the archangel will have something to say about my thwarting the apocalypse with familial authority." Both brothers looked back to the angel. "The Antichrist is my nephew."

Dean nodded in acceptance (he'll realize later that he's dating the Antichrist's uncle and freak out a little bit), but Sam spoke up. "Wait, I read up on angels when we found you, and every source I found said that Lucifer has been in the cage since he was banished from Heaven. How did he go about having a kid?"

"Salpsan was not borne of a blood mother. He is an extension of Lucifer's tattered Grace."

Dean made a considering sound. "Does that mean all angels can have kids?"

"Theoretically," Castiel said hesitantly. He didn't want to give Dean any ideas. "It's generally frowned upon."

"Why?"

"That's how one gets the Antichrist."

...

Bobby greeted the trio with a slap to the back of the head each. He cradled his hand discreetly to his chest after Castiel's hit. The man walked with more grace now, a confidence that he lacked when his boys had first stolen him from the nuthouse. 

"Not that I'm not thrilled you're here," said Bobby, "but why are you?"

"Cas has his mojo back," Dean called from the kitchen, where he was getting a beer.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Cas took care of that problem in Alaska, but now we have an archangel after us."

Bobby glared. "Why the Hell'd you idjits bring the wrath of God to my doorstep?!"

Dean came back with a sheepish smile. "Because we love you?"

"Michael is much more powerful than me. By myself, I would not be able to stop him. He's already punished me once, he won't stop at memory and Grace repression again," interrupted Castiel before Bobby could hit Dean again - or worse, take away his beer.

"When did he start smoking?" Bobby mutter, sinking into his couch. "So what do you expect me to do about it?"

"We call Crowley, first." Castiel started for the panic room.

"Why?" asked Dean incredulously, following Castiel regardless. Sam and Bobby felt less inclined to follow like a faithful dog.

"He likes me."

...

"Castiel, you giraffe."

Castiel looked affronted. "Crowley, you told me--"

"But that doesn't mean I'll help you against Michael. Are you daft?" said Crowley in that infuriating calm Dean wanted to strangle out of him.

Castiel sighed exasperatedly, a very human gesture. "We won't release you if you don't, Crowley. You really have no choice in the matter."

"What ever happened to Team Free Will?" Crowley asked dryly and gave a bitter smile. "Fine, I'll help to the best of my ability. But at the first sign of trouble, I'm leaving you idiots to fend for yourselves."

Castiel nodded and turned to a little notebook Bobby had gotten him from upstairs. He scribbled on it before ripping it out and shoving it in Dean's hand. "Draw this around the house in blood. It's an Enochian sigil, altered to repel archangels exclusively."

Hesitating, Dean said, "Cas...?"

"Go," Castiel insisted, leaning up to press a kiss to Dean's cheek. "Michael will be here soon. We have much to do." 

Dean's stare lingered for a moment longer, before he pulled the angel in for a desperate kiss. He pulled away and charged up the stairs, his brother behind him. Bobby didn't look particularly phased and Crowley whistled.

"Nice catch," he mused, a grin curling onto his face. "Can we make friendship bracelets next?"

Castiel ignored him in favor of pulling the demon knife out of his pocket and pressing it into Bobby's hands, along with another piece of paper. Bobby looked at it and nodded dutifully, going up the stairs as fast as his old bones could carry him. 

"Now," said Castiel, unbuttoning his shirt, "we have work to do."

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. "This isn't what people with friendship bracelets do, Feathers."

Castiel picked up an iron knife from the table and handed it to Crowley, giving a look he probably learned from Sam. "Are you daft?" he mocked - something he probably learned from Dean. He patted the same spot the brothers' anti-possession symbols were. "I need a little help with this."

"I thought we agreed I wasn't going to cut you up?" At Castiel's continued look, he sighed. "Fine, give me the paper." He took the torn notebook paper from Castiel's outstretched hand and studied it for a long minute. "Why can't this go upstairs with the other sigil?"

"I want to keep it with me."

"It won't effect you?"

"I took certain precautions."

Crowley's frown deepened. "Any reason why?"

Castiel paused, eyebrows furrowing. "I want to remember."

Snorting, the demon said, "You realize you can't physically forget, right? You're a bloody angel; you haven't forgotten that again, have you?"

"That sentence is contradictory," said Castiel in way of answering. 

"Whatever you say, angel-face."