Chapter Text

 December 2006

Dear Mr. Robert Singer, 

It has come to our attention that you do not have an executor on your will and testament. Please be aware that with the New Year fast approaching, many find comfort in providing a structure for their loved ones as a good New Years resolution. With this comfort you can quell the headaches from family members who are left with the burden of divvying out your personal belongings and after your passing. 

We have in our records a blood relation that you have bequeathed a lump sum payment to recently. We also have a record of two names listed for your various properties. As far as your other assets, if they are not allocated the state of South Dakota may take measures in distributing them appropriately. This may result in matters that would cause further disruption among those listed above that could easily be amended by making a future appointment with us. 

Thank you for your time and your years of partnership with us Mr. Singer. We appreciate your business and wish to continue this working relationship to provide the relief of knowing that your loved ones burden will be eased.  

Trustfully Yours, 

The legal offices of Long and Richards 

“Well, shit.” Bobby mumbled into his decanter of whisky as he took a long pull from it and set the glass down. The paper crinkled on the table and Rufus Turner reached to snatch it away, reading over the letter with equally alcohol soaked eyes. 

A whistle left the old hunter as he looked at Bobby back over the letter. “You have a will?” 

“Yes, unlike you, I have personal effects.” Bobby made a face and reached for the Johnny Walker the two had decided to split between them. The only spirits that they agreed were acceptable during the winter solstice. 

“Two names eh? I’m going to take a crack in the dark at the Winchesters?” Rufus grabbed at the bottle before his partner could take the last fingers for himself. “You treat those boys like your own.” 

They practically were. John had always been too busy to see what was in front of him, but Bobby hadn’t. It wasn’t the life that he had wished for any child, but when he had a chance to show even the smallest amount of paternal affection for them that he could muster, he would. In his own way. He wasn’t a father, never would be, but those were his boys. 

“But it mentioned a lump sum to some relative? Unless I have a check coming in the mail, and you and I shared a daddy we didn't know about, I’d say you have something hiding from me Bobby Singer.” Rufus waggled his brows and poured the rest of the bottle into his own glass before setting it back onto the old oak desk in the middle of Bobby’s sitting room turned office. 

“My niece,” he grunted. 

He had a niece. 

One that he had only just found out about last summer at a funeral he hadn’t expected to go to. A niece that he should have been there for. A child that his wife would have doted on had they known. A woman that had his mother’s kind eyes and red hair. His red hair. He was almost taken aback when he saw her at the time, staring at the hole in the ground and seeing parts of himself etched in her features. 

As he stared into the few drops of amber in the glass he thought about how he couldn’t rationally place the blame on anyone. How when his father was in the Korean war, his mother had an affair and the baby was placed on the steps of a church. An older sister he had never known of. Part of him resented that sister though. Because she had never known Ed Singer and his hefty belt in punishment. But, she had never known the love that was their mother either. So in a way, it was fair. 

His thoughts drifted to the funeral he had attended on his own instead of the pile of paperwork he had said he’d clear up by the end of the evening. Bills that cluttered his desk like the guilt cluttering his conscience. Stacking up and begging for collections that he could never truly provide in return for every withdrawal he made. 

“What’s your relation to the uh, deceased?” He had asked the young woman in her knee length black dress and matching tights. Umbrella clutched in her shaking hand as the summer rain cooled a sweltering Arkansas July. 

“She was my mother.” The young woman had said. He had known as much though. Her tear stained eyes rolled to Bobby there in the suit he used to play FBI Agent. It had felt disgraceful to wear a costume to mourn a woman he never knew, but he kept his chin lowered in respect. “And you?” 

“I uh, worked with Rebecca.” He lied. 

He had only just recently learned of Rebecca when a demon on a hunt let it slip that he was tasked by the King of the Crossroads to track down the Winchesters, leading them to Bobby. When Bobby slipped away with a stab wound, the demon in turn hired a witch to track Bobby down. Blood magic is a finicky thing however. When you don’t have a family, you don’t have to worry about relatives being hunted in your place. Bobby Singer found out in a single unexpected day that he had a half sister in the world. Had, a half sister. And poor Rebecca was none the wiser when a demon killed her in front of the Winchester boys in the hopes it would anger them enough to hand over the Colt. They were angry alright, and fired their own gun into the son of a bitch, but not because she was a Singer. Because they were good kids, who had a moral compass that was in the right place. 

But that poor girl stood there, clutching her umbrella, somewhere between Dean and Sam’s age, alone in a graveyard, suffering the consequences of Bobby Singer being her blood relative and the Winchesters not pulling the trigger fast enough. 

“I didn’t know Rebecca well.” He had admitted, and the girl just looked back at the dirt. 

“They say she was robbed. Held at knife point in an alley.” She sniffled and let out a puff of air. “The last time I had spoken to her, she was going on a date with some man she had met at the grocery store. Some Carl or Cole or whatever. I should have remembered.” She turned her head back up to Bobby looking devastated. He had wanted nothing more than to wrap the poor girl in his jacket and apologize but he just kept his hands shoved into his pockets letting the rain pelt him. “See, I don't believe she was robbed. They found her in St. Louis, Missouri.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He murmured and reached down, grabbing a fist full of soil to sprinkle on the casket. 

“Delilah.” She whispered and his hand stilled above the hole. The pine box below wasn’t anything to be proud of, but he imagined it’s all that this woman could afford. A single mother working as a secretary to the water company in Little Rock wasn’t exactly rolling in cash. But it was that name that made him pause. 

“Come again?” He collected his senses and released the dirt as he stepped back. His shoes squelched in the soil and ground him.    

“My name, Delilah Conner. Or uh, Lila, when I called the office.” She sniffled again and just stared at the casket of a woman who should never have been resting there in the first place. A casket that Bobby had the sour feeling in his gut he would burn the remains of for his own peace of mind after the rain cleared and everyone had left. “Yours?” 

“Robert.” He didn’t have the heart to lie again. “You have a very pretty name Delilah. I wish you the best.” He said low and turned to leave before his face could reveal another truth that he wasn’t ready to present. That had been his mother’s name. Her grandmother. Another woman who had been taken from him before he had the chance to know her properly. 

“You got a niece?” Rufus snapped Bobby’s mind back into reality and huffed a laugh in return. “Since when?” 

“Since 1981.” Bobby snorted back and stood, grabbing the empty bottle of Johnny Walker and heading into the kitchen. 

Chapter Text

April 2011 

Dean Winchester

“Dammit Bobby!” He shouted across the bench seat, hoping the words would come through the phone as baby hobbled her way down the highway.  “Look, all I want is a cheeseburger at a joint where I don’t have to worry about some bitch turning the image of my mom into a demon! I got one nearly flat tire I have to patch and you’re sending us on side errands?” 

“No,” his voice crackled back through the speaker. Sam was thumbing through an atlas in the dark trying to find the next small town that they could push the (already past her limits) car toward. “I got a connection to a woman who sells things to hunters. She might have a lead on phoenix ashes. You are headed into St. Joseph, Missouri. Get a motel, patch your tire, and in the morning you can swing by the shop. Easy.” 

“Easy for you maybe,” Dean grunted back.  

“Sure thing Bobby,” Sam quickly grabbed the phone and tried to smooth over a conversation between two sandpaper personalities. “Look, we’re just tired. Uh, tomorrow’s Sunday, will the place even be open?” 

“I’ll send her a message,” was the best goodbye that Bobby Singer could supply them with, and the line went dead. 

“Well that’s just great, another wild goose chase that will lead us nowhere.” Dean knew he was practically pouting now, but yesterday’s ordeal with Eve, seeing his saint of a mother’s face puppeted up as some demon meatsuit, and now the love of his life was slowly leaking air in the front tire while he was trying to just push himself to find a single place to sleep that would grant him the bliss of darkness for more than three hours was taking a toll on him. 

“In this case, a wild phoenix chase.” Sam pursed his lips, waiting for Dean to collect the pieces of an easy joke and when his brother was too tired to form a response Sam ran his fingers through his hair and clicked the light of the flashlight off nestled between his cheek and shoulder. “Well then, St. Joseph it is. Looks like it’ll be in ten exits.” 

Dean stroked the steering wheel in affection and then gripped it in thought before an idea came to mind. “Text Cas, let him know where we are. Maybe we can send him in for Bobby’s grocery run.” 

Sam was already mid-text when he paused, “you want to send Cas to run errands?” His eyes narrowed in on the road ahead and then back to Dean, “Cas? Who’s voice mail is still just him arguing with himself?” 

“I have a tire to patch.” Dean said plainly, leaving little room for arguments. 

“I can do it,” Sam rebutted.

“C’mon man. I know you're itching to crack open that computer and find some lore about whatever the hell was in that diner yesterday. He wants to feel useful. Give him this.” 

“He’s an angel, not a dog.” Sam corrected. 

“He’s an angel who hasn’t had a win in a while. He wants an atta boy every now and then.” Dean muttered as he switched lanes on the quiet highway in an attempt to ease the car off the highway. 

“He wants to feel needed.” Sam whispered in agreement and went back to texting the seraphim. 

“Who doesn’t?” Dean muttered back. “But what I need most is that,” he eyed a bar just on the outskirts of the exit and veered in. 

Castiel 

The Winchesters had said this was important. That Bobby Singer himself had asked to get this done. However, they were both busy with their own tasks at hand and had entrusted him to get this settled. The utmost important role he could be playing currently is helping Dean, and by proxy Sam too, with needs being facilitated and met. 

Yes. 

It didn’t matter that he was still struggling with his own sense of self importance. It also didn’t matter that he had a war in heaven he was attempting to end. Or, that he had his own internal war that he didn’t want to admit to of wondering if he was needed truly in anyone’s life. 

No. 

That was a human emotion. Humans wondered about the reason for their existence. Not an angel of the lord, and definitely not Castiel who had others depending on him. He was important. Not special. But, important none the less. At least important to the people who mattered to him, and he was asked to do this for them so he would. 

But as his eyes scanned over the simple brick and mortar building, sandwiched between a coffee shop and a comic book store, he didn’t see any warding sigils or imagery in the window denoting that this was the correct location. Black and gold foil letters stenciled on the glass with a shop name was the only connection. 

Castiel looked down at the hastily scribbled notes Sam had given him on the motel stationary. The name matched, the address matched, but his head tilted as he looked down to see the fluffy gray cat pressed flush to the inside lower window of the shop. Looking back at the door, the hours were clearly painted on the front. 

Sunday, closed.  

Today was Sunday. 

But, he had been told they would be expecting him. So, bracing himself to be met with resistance from the door he pushed and stumbled slightly as it swung open easily and bells clanked against the glass. He stood back to his height and smoothed the front of his tie into place. His eyes shifted taking in the surroundings. 

It was indeed a store. Soft music echoed on the speakers, the smell of sandalwood incense and vanilla collided against saffron from the east corner and a hint of sage from another shelf towards the back. Rugs layered on top of one another on the refinished wooden floor, large woven tapestries hanging from the exposed brick walls, and honeycomb shelves of yarn in colors that surpassed the need any human would have for a singular project. 

This cannot be correct. 

Would it be prejudiced of him to be surprised that Bobby was friendly with someone who had a shop that sold crafting supplies? Crates that held large swathes of patterned fabrics, soap making kits, and essential oils? 

What makes an oil essential in comparison to any other? Is it holy oil? I was unaware that Missouri had a market or a supplier for such but…  His mind wandered as he eyed the various amber tinctures. 

“We’re closed.” A voice called from behind one of the shelves. 

Castiel’s back straightened and he blinked at the woman standing there. Turtleneck sweater, mass produced not homemade. Jeans, also assuredly mass produced. Socks that arguably could have been homemade, and loafers that looked too clean to have been walking in the slush outside this morning. She had freckles across the bridge of her crooked nose, brown smudging under her blue eyes from a long night, and hair that was barely being held back in a half broken clip. 

“I’m here to pick up an order.” He said soft and low in the wide space, but his voice hit his own ears as unsure. 

She gnawed on her bottom lip in thought and headed behind a half finished tiled counter.  “Uh-huh. Your name?” Nimble fingers flipped open a laptop and scrolled looking through lists as he just watched her for a moment before answering. 

“Castiel.”

“Castiel?” She said flatly with a tilt to her head and he mirrored the response. 

“Yes.” 

“Just, Castiel?” 

“Yes.” 

She looked back down at her screen, and asked, “what do I put for a last name?” 

“I don’t have one.” 

“Ah, like Madonna.” She murmured to herself, rolled her eyes and he shook his head in disagreement. 

“No, that would be Mary.” 

“So, Castiel Mary?” She started typing, bent over the counter as fingers clicked on keys and he corrected her again.  

“No, virgin.” 

“Excuse me?” Her eyes widened and she looked back at him in an unexplained shock. 

There was no reason for this woman to be so confused by facts. Madonna was the Latin for the Virgin Mary. This friend of Bobby’s was the one playing name games. 

Her mouth parted, nose scrunched up as the freckles changed shape morphing into the wrinkles in her skin. “Who the hell are you to come in here like that?” 

“Castiel.”

She scoffed and folded her arms across her chest. “Cute, I don’t know who put you up to this, but get out of my store Castiel.” 

“Not without Bobby’s order.” He said firmly. This was his task, and he would find it completed. It was easy enough, and he didn’t understand why this woman was making things so difficult. 

Her brows raised, a light in her eyes then in recognition. “Singer?” 

“Yes.” 

“What the fuck,” she muttered under her breath and held up a finger as she took a phone from a hook and began to dial. Castiel, with angelic hearing, was able to hear her conversation well between the gruff hunter and clearly confused shop clerk. It rang twice, and then he answered with a chuckle. 

“Lila?” 

“Bobby, there’s some asshat here who claims to know you.” Her eyes shifted back to Castiel and she curled her back toward him for privacy. He however stood there, waiting for the package that was hopefully the salvation for the world. 

“Yeah hun, probably Dean, I sent an email last night with the order.” 

“Right,” she looked over to Castiel again and glared. 

“Winchester. Just put it on my tab.” 

She covered the mouth piece and asked, “your last name Winchester?” 

“That would be Dean and Sam.” Castiel answered gruffly and she went back to the phone. 

“No, he named them I think but this one is Castiel?” She sighed back into the phone and leaned her shoulder against the wall. 

“They sent… god dammit.” 

“You know him then?” Her eyes shifted back over her shoulder to look at Castiel, who had made a point to act nonchalant. This was something Dean had taught him. Observe without observing. So he picked up the large gray cat and began petting it pretending not to see her eyes watching him. 

“He’s harmless, just, I’ll call Dean.” 

“I don’t want to make this a big deal. I can hand off the package to this guy if you trust him.” She whispered and his head snapped back in her direction. “I don’t want another Rufus situation though.” 

“That’s why I’m here, you can tell Bobby that I-” 

She held up a hand, “excuse you, who do you think you are? I’ve had enough hunters come in here and try to railroad me.” 

Railroad? No, that wasn’t why he was here. He had to clarify. 

“I’m not a hunter, I’m an angel.” The cat rolled out of his arms and landed with a thud on his foot before scampering off to his owner’s side. 

“I’m sure that’s what your girlfriend back home calls you but every hunter is the same.” 

“I’m calling Dean.” Bobby hung up from his end of the phone but Lila, as Bobby had called her, was still watching the angel in her shop with suspicion as she placed the phone back onto the receiver. 

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We don’t do that.” His eyes narrowed in return, head tilting as he tried to keep his composure.

 Angels didn’t partake in relationships. They shouldn’t at least. How could they treat one person with that sort of intimacy over any other. Then again, Castiel was very bad at admitting he treated the Winchester brothers with more affection than his own angelic ones.  

“I’m well aware hunters don’t do that.” She returned back so harshly that it made Castiel wonder if he had misrepresented himself. 

“I am an angel of the lord.” He clarified once more, face growing stern. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a sound of discontent.

“Bobby sent a man of the cloth? You’re in the suit and everything.” She flushed from embarrassment. “Oh Jesus,” then she clasped a hand over her mouth, “sorry. Sorry.” 

Castiel’s head snapped backward in more confusion now, would it be a good time to pull out his FBI badge? Probably not. Well, he decided instead that if she was at least more accepting of that route he could go along with it. 

“Sorry father or whatever you are, uh, my uncle sends a lot of people in here and I find it’s best if I just do a direct pass off. I’ve had mix ups before.” Her snappy argumentative mood was softening and he could feel the anxiousness wash off of her. Then the words registered. 

“Uncle?” 

“Mhmm,” she nodded and clicked a few more buttons on her computer before closing it and taking a printed form from the slot under the counter. 

Uncle. 

“Look, if Bobby knows you, you’re free to stick around for a while until your friends or um, coworkers show up.” She gave an apologetic smile. “I’m going to go down to my supply room and get the order ready. Feel free to look around. If something suits you put it on the counter and I’ll just add it to Bobby’s tab.” 

He nodded back and watched silently as she went down a set of stairs into the basement. Uncle. Repeated in his mind again. Dean hadn’t said anything about her being Bobby’s niece. Then again, why would he? Castiel’s back twitched then where wings would have fluttered in revelation if he were in heaven. 

The Winchesters didn’t know.

Chapter Text

April 2011 

Delilah Conner

For four and a half years she had dealt with hunters coming in and out of her store thanks to Bobby Singer. She hadn’t known he was her relation at the funeral when she met him for the first time, but when a check for way too much money was sent to her from a legal office in South Dakota she began digging. 

Lila had fallen for the scam of going to college to receive a degree that she never ended up using all because her mother had told her that she had to, ‘do better than she did.’ After a mountain of student loans and working two jobs to pay them off while also studying in a career field she hated only to have a piece of paper in filigree with her name on it and useless financial facts floating around her head, she grew suspicious of large sums of money. People don’t just get large sums of money handed to them. Especially not Midwestern, lower middle class, women of average intelligence and equally average looks. Large swaths of money usually went to either women who came from it, or had the looks to be bought with it. That or God intervened but when had he ever before?  

Her conception had been a one off fling in Oklahoma, so it couldn’t have been gifted from a trucker father who had no idea who she was in the world, and her mother barely was able to make ends meet so she couldn’t have squirreled money away. The one lead she had was that her mother had been adopted, and the files could be open now that she was gone. That digging led her to one Robert Singer. 

With a station wagon, a new found freedom from quitting her prior work, and just enough in gas she took a chance and drove to Sioux Falls only to end up on the porch of one Singer Salvage Yard. When he had opened the door he only looked down at her and grunted. 

“You didn’t cash the check.” 

“I didn’t know who it was from.” 

“Shit.” He had ran a hand along the back of his neck and sighed. “Most people I know would just cash it.” 

“I used to work at a bank Mr. Singer.” She had said this as if it was answer enough of her suspicions, and he didn’t argue back. He had let her inside, and they talked for a bit. Then she got a motel room and came back in the morning where he had talked to her longer. This continued for a few days until finally he admitted that he sent her the money out of guilt, and then the flood gates that was Bobby Singer opened. Something, she had come to find out, was a very rare thing to happen. 

Somewhere between making dinner for him on the fourth evening, and quietly tidying up behind him when he was dealing with multiple calls in hushed whispers in another room, the man had changed from a hardened gruff stranger, to someone she could call a friend. She agreed to take the check, but only as a business partner. She however did not know much about cars, salvage yards, or hunting monsters. And he did not want her involved in any of that. Quite honestly, he seemed as if he didn’t want her involved in his life at all. But something in Bobby Singer softened when he watched her move about the small house of his. Watched his mother’s eyes as she scanned over his pantry, and his mother’s red hair swiftly be pulled up into a clip as she made breakfast for the pair of them. 

This went on for another week, the two slowly acting as if they had known one another for an entire lifetime. A stubborn uncle and a stubborn niece. But one morning when she had the brilliant idea of opening a shop close enough that she could see Bobby, and somehow find a way to help hunters like him, he shut her down. He didn’t want her anywhere near this world he kept hidden away. But what right did he have of that? This world of the paranormal and supernatural that took her only family from her. 

The following afternoon when she came to say goodbye a black muscle car was parked out front and two very tall men in flannel were on the porch. He grinned at them in a way that she recognized when he smiled at her. Jealousy rolled, because he hadn’t told her that he had family other than her. She stepped out of her car and eyed Bobby, and the old hunter eyed her back from across the lot and shook his head no before going inside. 

So she left then, opened a craft store in St. Joseph Missouri, and slowly over the months, and then years, made a name for herself with the reluctant help of her uncle where she promised not to engage in fighting (not that she wanted to). It was the perfect front, to anyone unsuspecting she sold craft supplies. No one would question why she had ordered dried organic material in bulk, why she sold various salts, oils, candles, tiny little skeletons, crystals, and twine. No one asked why she had copper bowls and also embroidery kits. It was a craft store. She was eccentric.  

In those nearly five years hunters came and went buying what they needed for summoning, banishing, detecting, and whatever else they needed. Bobby would call her, and she would send packages to him. He would on occasion come visit, but he had asked that she not visit him. It pained her inside, this new uncle that she had slowly grown to love, was ashamed of her. Didn’t want her around. Didn’t want her to meet his family. 

In all of these interactions though she had developed a way of categorizing these hunters. 

Parental Hunters: those who had lost loved ones to the paranormal, and took it among themselves to fill a role that they never had. Bobby was the beginning formula for this tag. A man who had lost everything at one point, made his own family after, and took care of them at an arms length. Parental hunters wouldn’t give you a hug, but they would give their life.

Poly Hunters: Often in a rag tag group, each one of them formed a stereotype that needed to be filled. Much like Scooby-Doo it was a collection of people that were forced together based on this lifestyle, but found comfort in themselves. Co-dependent, and often intermingling in unhealthy habits. 

Alpha Hunters: They were the best (at least in their own minds) and they wouldn’t be told otherwise. They knew everything (once again, in their own minds) and needed no one.  

Baby Hunters: Perhaps she was in the category, though she didn’t consider herself a hunter. These were young fresh to the chase hunters who had a craving for vengeance and a lustful appetite for slaughter. Baby hunters though were not always graceful, clever, or good at their craft. They just were inexperienced and excitable. 

While Lila watched Castiel from the corner of her eye he didn’t fit any of these categories. He seemed unsure of himself, going from shelf to shelf and looking over items in curiosity, so he wasn’t an Alpha Hunter. He had a look on his face as if he had all of the thoughts in the world and no one to share them with, so not a Poly Hunter. Though arguably he had companionship with these Winchesters Bobby had sent. He couldn’t be a Baby Hunter, he felt as if he had seen the world many times over but still in contradiction had more questions because of it. And it was clear he was no Parental Hunter with his awkwardness about picking up a package. So who was he? 

The only thing for certain was that her cat very much enjoyed winding himself around Castiel’s feet, and that the man was just as amused with it as the cat was. Bending down to ruffle through the fur and whisper to it in affection. He was maybe five foot ten, eleven perhaps when his shoulders straightened and he wasn’t hunched over. Eyes were so blue that she had a hard time looking away from them. Soft and sweet as he crooned to the cat, down-turned slightly and half lidded making something stir in her chest that hadn’t in a long time. Messy dark hair, as his fingers kept tugging at it. Stubble shadowed across his jaw, perhaps from being dragged out of bed on a Sunday morning to come here instead of- wait. 

What sort of priest wouldn’t be in his parish on a Sunday? 

But as she went to open her mouth and ask, two tall flannel wearing men she had seen before walked in and her face crumpled in a scowl.

Chapter Text

April 2011

Delilah Conner

One of the Winchesters was tall, the other taller even still. Lila had learned that hunters came in all shapes and sizes, though more often than not they were athletic and swift, strong and broad, or tiny and nimble. All things she was not, but these two were. Aside from tiny, that is, but parts of them very well might be. She glared at the two and imagined they probably were very small where it mattered most to men. As she stood behind the counter sizing them up, the shorter of the two with shorter hair as well, was walking slightly bowlegged which stretched his pants and made that bitter part of her flare when she realized he wasn’t tiny actually. Unless he stuffed his underwear. That made her angrier still. 

He whistled and looked around the room as the taller pinched his brows and walked up to the counter with an already apologetic smile. “We’re here to pick up an order for Bobby Singer.” 

“Name?” She said with a raise of her chin and from the corner of her eyes she noticed Castiel who held her cat to his chest close again and looked at her in question. Head tilted just slightly and eyes watching the exchange. 

“Sam Winchester.” He smiled tightly once more and shuffled around his wallet for an ID. 

“Which makes you Dean.” Her eyes shifted back to the man who was shuffling his grubby fingers through a basket of handcrafted bath bombs. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” He muttered and held up a plastic wrapped ball scented in honeysuckle and lilac. A puzzled look on his face. “Not to be,” he sucked his cheeks in before pursing his lips and motioning around the store, “obvious, but uh, how do you know Bobby?” 

Castiel’s gaze narrowed once more and she squared her shoulders getting ready for battle. “He’s a business partner.” She said sternly. And my uncle, but you don’t need to know that. Since he clearly doesn’t want me around. Unlike you fuckers. 

“I didn’t know Bobby was in the business of bath salts.” Dean sniffed a satchel and raised a brow before putting it back into the basket. “Or whatever this is?” He practically giggled as he held up an acacia wooden elongated cylinder with a ball rounded end. 

“That is a collection of massage tools from a local wood crafting co-op.” She sighed, already knowing where the jokes were headed. Castiel took the tool from his friend and inspected it like a bird would something shiny for their nest. 

“It looks like colorful plugs that men present women with in those movies you had me watch back at the-” 

“Ah! Yeah, we don’t talk about that Cas.” Dean grunted and stopped the statement quickly. 

“Is it for the same use?” He asked gruffly as his eyes squinted and he held it up for inspection.

“Shoulders and upper back muscles, or so I’m told.” She said with not much enthusiasm but he seemed delighted in the idea and placed it on the counter.  

Sam ducked his head and looked into the box she was packing. A brown parcel with shredded crinkled paper as filler, salt rimmed and extra satchels with crushed lavender and yarrow petals inside. Smaller packages of various herbs, burning material, ore, and palo santo were individually placed inside along with some soaps that she hoped would help with her uncle’s eczema that he had been complaining about and a new formula for combined salted holy water room spray. She shifted it for Sam’s view and raised a brow, “happy?” 

“He mentioned phoenix ashes?” The taller brother asked quietly and she blinked back with a guarded expression. 

“I called around to my usual suppliers, and can’t find any. The closest I have is a feather but I can’t guarantee it's from a phoenix without a witch performing a transcription spell.”

“You’re not a witch?” Dean asked in disbelief, poking his head out from around a stack of used books. “The holistic vibe is usually your guys' schtick." 

“No.” She said with equal disdain. 

“Ugh, the only thing worse than a witch is a hippie pretending to be a witch then,” he grumbled to himself as he looked over at Castiel for his input and she glowered darker still. 

“I’m not pretending anything.” She snapped back. “Sorry I’m not a mighty hunter. I sell things, you buy them.” 

A crack of a smile crossed Dean’s face and that made her rage inside. 

That’s who Bobby cared for. Hunters. That’s why he didn’t want you around. Hunters. These are his people. Hunters. Not. You. Gatherer.

A small clink against the counter took her attention away and Castiel set the cat down next to her, as well as a sample skein of orangeish red yarn, a skein of dark blue, and a skein of off white with little flecks of gold woven in. 

“These as well.” He spoke quietly and she nodded. Taking them and placing them in a paper bag along with his wooden massage stick before handing them back to the “angel.” 

Dean eyed the transaction with a raised brow and turned back to the box. “We good?” 

“Um, wait.” Sam was making mental calculations in his head and pulled one of the satchels out to investigate. “Hex bags?” He turned to Dean and the brother shrugged. 

Hex bags? Hex bags?! Like I would harm my own-

“No,” Castiel said firmly. He turned back to the brothers and shook his head. “I watched her put everything in there, and the way she spoke to Bobby on the phone,” he paused and swallowed as he mentally sorted through what he wanted to say. 

“How long have you been doing this?” Dean asked as he opened the satchel of dried flowers and salt and closed it again, placing it carefully back into the box. 

“Slinging do-it-yourself bath products or arguing with hunters that don’t use them?” She sighed back as she slipped a letter for her uncle into the box and sealed it shut with tape. 

“Ha, you’re really funny. But I’ll have you know Sammy here uses only the highest quality shampoos and conditioners. That level of glossy shine doesn’t happen naturally.” Dean snarked as he took the box from the counter. “C’mon, I’d like to get to Sioux Falls and replace the tire before nightfall.” He motioned for the door and Sam mouthed a thank you, before following. 

Castiel stood there for a moment, clutching onto his paper bag as he leaned and took a business card from the counter. The way he looked at her made her feel exposed, arms folding around her midsection as she tilted her head back. 

“Yes?” 

“You’re angry.” 

“Why would I be angry?” She asked quietly, looking down at her cat and running fingers through its fur. 

His eyes narrowed, tongue swiped over plush bottom lip in thought. “I made this more complicated than it needed to be.” 

“No,” she shook her head, “this uh, is a weird transaction. That’s not on you.” 

He paused, eyes scanning the space again. “Bobby is a respectable man.” 

“He is.” She said flatly. 

“He trusts you.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“Enough.”

“Enough.” He nodded and swallowed, as if he too felt the sentiment in his own way. 

The door opened once more and Dean popped his head in, “coming Cas?” The man in his trench coat and tie turned to follow behind his companion without another word. 

Goodbye, ‘angel.’ She thought and went to call her uncle. 

Chapter Text

May 2011

Castiel 

He finished tying off the corded yarn pieces in a pattern he had watched a small girl do in the park with her sister’s hair. One piece over another, over another, and then its partner wove within. Copper yarn, over freckled yarn, over blue. Again he repeated the pattern until the small woven band was finished. The fibers were soft and delicate, silken but wound together tightly so as not to break. Like his nerves currently, frayed but bound in fear of losing everything. 

He used his teeth to tighten the knot against his wrist and looked down at the little material trinket he’d woven together all by himself. 

How human of me. His internal thoughts groaned. But, at the time, he had been compelled to grab the yarn. Find something to keep his mind occupied on anything other than war, or violence, or anger, or rage, or damned all. 

He had to do whatever he could to keep from damning all. 

The sun was setting and while he sat on his bench looking at the families in rapture over flowers that sprung up from the Earth on their walk, at children that grinned at ducklings following mothers on the edge of a pond, he ran a thumb over that little braid on his wrist. 

“You know,” crooned a thickly accented voice that soured his mood. “The Mormons say that this place is where the garden of Eden was.” 

“Crowley.” He hissed between clenched teeth as he continued looking out at the park. 

“Why God would place Eden in the hell hole that is Missouri, is an interesting concept. I imagine the tree of truth and knowledge was somewhere between the Cheesecake Factory and the Bass Proshop.” The demon sat down next to the angel and they looked over the expanse of spring renewed Earth before them. 

“What did you want to meet me here for?” The muscles in Castiel’s back spasmed where his wings should have flared. 

“You and I have an acquaintance that resides just around the corner from this very park. The problem is, I cannot go into her residence.” Crowley started. “She has something in her basement locked away for safe keeping that I would very much like to purchase.” 

Castiel’s thumb stilled on the braided cord around his wrist and he pulled it away slowly. “How do you know Lila Connor?” 

“Ah, so you know exactly who I’m speaking of. Perfect.” Crowley collapsed his hands into his lap as he gave a little boy on a scooter that zoomed past the sidewalk a smile and winked at the mother who in turn flushed and continued on her walk. 

“I know very little of Lila. She sells things to hunters. That’s it.” He lied. 

He knew quite some bit about Lila, more than he was willing to admit to anyone. 

After his interaction with her he had convinced himself that it was in everyone’s best interest to make sure that Lila Connor had been taking correct measures to protect herself. For Bobby's sake of course. Definitely not because he was worried about her personally. After all she sold merchandise that hunters needed to keep humanity safe, that was rare to find and vital to their mission. To his duties. So if anything, she was an intricate part of his angelic contribution to keeping humanity well. He had convinced himself that God had arranged this all so that he could keep a careful eye on her. Yes. That was it. God wanted his son to keep this human girl safe. 

He had snuck back into her shop and found that under the rugs she had a very well executed devil’s trap, though some of the markings needed touching up. So, he found a paint jar and did that for her. Also, after carefully inspecting the walls he noticed a dripping mark from behind one of the strategically placed tapestries and after removing the artwork, there were the sigils he had been looking for. However, one was backwards, and that wouldn’t do. Whatever hunter put this up for her wasn’t Bobby, and was clearly incapable of keeping her safe. That had enraged the angel. It was an accident, surely, but one that could have cost Lila everything. So he cleaned the paint marking and corrected it himself. Waited for the paint to dry, and then replaced the tapestry. On top of the additional sigils that he placed under shelves and his own blood angel wardings that could be activated if need be. 

Two nights after that when he came to check again on the shop there she was, sitting on the counter waiting for him. 

“Hello Castiel.” She had said low and dark with a pistol pointed at his chest. 

“This isn’t what it looks like.” He had murmured back with his hands directed to the ceiling. 

“I don’t know what this is. But, my camera feed made it seem as if you were tampering with my security systems.” She motioned to the floor under the rugs and he quickly shook his head no. 

“I was fixing your sigils, I was trying to be helpful. Whoever put them up, they were wrong.” 

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” she muttered and set the gun on the counter. “Paul was a fuck up all the time.” 

“Paul?” Castiel felt something twist inside him that was completely unnerving. Who was this Paul that was very inadequate in this woman’s life? I should kill Paul. No. That is how demons thought. I need to stop. 

“Mmhm,” she moved from off of the counter and waved for him to put his hands back down. “Paul is, was, I don’t know if he’s even around still. Honestly probably slept his way into a vamp nest and uh sorry. Hunter. Paul is a hunter, like you.” Her face looked disgusted as she flipped the light on a nearby table casting a soft glow in the room. Finally he could see her clearly. In the space. See her in the space. Clearly. 

“Paul is not like me.” Castiel corrected as he narrowed his eyes on her, watching every small movement she made. 

“No?” She paused and raised her brow. 

“No.” Castiel wouldn’t have left this woman with inadequate sigils. He wouldn’t have made it so easy for someone to sneak into her residence unprotected while she was alone and unguarded. His eyes slid to the gun, clearly not too unguarded. But still. 

“Well, what are you doing here Castiel?” She leaned against the counter, still careful to keep the gun at arms length. A gun that wouldn’t do much harm to him but she didn't need to know that. 

“I was concerned.” 

She had only blinked and then a look crossed her face that made his heart ache, because he had seen it on the Winchesters before. Confusion at the idea of someone caring for her without exchange or monetary value added to it. 

“Did Bobby put you up to this?”  Her voice wavered and he gave a small shake of his head. He wasn’t sure if he should feel more ashamed for caring about the safety of this woman he hardly knew, or at the thrill that he was the only person who seemed to. Either way, he had convinced himself that he was going to keep doing it. 

He had left that night after checking the warnings properly and seeing that she locked the door behind her. There he stood though, watching as every light in the apartment above the shop turned off and the inhabitant inside was asleep. 

None that Crowley needed to be aware of, but his eyes shifted to the demon and he asked, “how do you know that I know Lila?” 

“One of my demons was killed outside of her shop last week by an angel.” Crowley smirked. “Now, I know you lot love intermingling with humans, but I thought to myself, ‘what is so special about a girl who sells macrame and werewolf pelts?’ Then I did a little digging and found that she’s friends with your Mr. Singer. Who in relation, is also friends with your Winchesters. Ah,” he snapped and his smirk grew into a full-fledged grin. “What angel is wasting his time playing guard dog to a woman in St. Joseph, Missouri when he is losing a war in Heaven?” 

“I’m not losing, I’m at a stalemate.” He scoffed, disregarding the actual question at hand. 

Castiel had been outside behind the shop, in the alley, waiting at near midnight when she would turn off her light like clockwork and he could retreat back to Heaven with his mind at ease that one thing in his life was going well. That Lila was safe from the world around her. But then instead, she came out in this ridiculous pair of pajamas with a trash bag in hand and headphones on taking the refuse out to the can. He had ducked away into the shadows, eyes wide in fear of being spotted once again. Bobby didn’t exactly trust Castiel currently, and didn’t need to be called up by his niece crying that the angel was watching her from the shadows. 

Her headphones were in and she was mouthing along to the words as a man approached her from the opposite end of the alley. She hadn’t even seen the man with his glowing red eyes and Castiel swiftly pulled him from the darkness and banished him on the spot with a vengeance that filled something primitive and wonderful in his veins. A feeling of righteousness as grace exulted the demon back to hell and purred in the angel’s ear that he had done a good job. It was only from the corner of his sight that he saw the second demon run away when he knew it was too late to catch up. It was kill the other, or watch Lila and he knew what was more important to him. The woman, who was unaware any of it had happened just as the light above went out and she was snuggled tight in her bed. Safe.

 “Now,” Crowley tutted, “I’m not going to ask you why you’re stalking women outside of their apartments. I have a fleet of demons who do that as a hobby and although it's not my preference for a good time, who am I to judge? No. I am simply asking that you go into the shop, and convince Ms. Connor to give you the powdered hippogriff talon she has.” 

“Why?” There was no question of if he would do it, he would so that Crowley didn’t mention his blunder to Dean and Sam. He just didn’t understand what the demon would need it for. 

“Oh, yes. About that, you and I should have a little talk about the souls in purgatory.” Crowley chuckled and stood motioning for Castiel to follow.

Chapter Text

May 2011

Delilah Conner

Lemuel purred as he rubbed against the crushed mint leaves on the floor by the shelves a grabby toddler had dumped out. His father had apologized profusely, and Lila had made light of the situation saying that if anything the fluffy cat had coaxed the little one to do it. He had a way of causing mischief that made her often wonder why she put up with the cat. She continued on helping the father though with his potential gift for his partner when the door bells clanked against the glass. 

“Afternoon! I’ll be with you shortly.” She called out while reaching for a tin of tea leaves and a glass jar on an upper shelf. 

“Take your time,” a gruff voice answered and her head ticked to the side trying to get a flash of the stranger. The back of a dark head of hair, and a tan trench coat made her suspicions correct. Which also brought something to roll in her gut as her uncle hadn’t mentioned another package so soon. 

“And it’s easy for her to figure out? She wants to be crafty but she gets a certain way when things don’t work out.” The father muttered as his toddler was squirming on his hip reaching for Lemuel who was coyly flicking his tail in an antagonizing display. 

“Oh sure, yeah. She can add whichever dried herbs she wants to the wax and then layer it with each color. The booklet will explain the process.” She politely pointed to the paper and craned her neck back to see the cat pattering off to the man in the coat once more. 

“Hello you,” he murmured gravely and scooped Lemuel up as he began picking debris from his fur. 

“Maybe just a gift card would be better,” the father groaned as he looked over the instructions and she placed her attention where it should have properly resided in the first place. 

“Or, I could put together a box for you based on everything you've told me, and you can pick it up next week. All prepackaged, and wrapped.” She cheerfully offered, trying her best to finalize a sale on something other than the bottled water from the river Jordan she had sold to a hunter two days prior.

“Would you? That would be great, yeah, okay, I’ll be in Tuesday after work.” He snatched the toddler who was now attempting to grab onto scrapbooking paper and scurried out the door. 

The store was quiet, aside from the low hum of the air conditioner and music playing on a small back speaker as she watched behind a shelf Castiel make little piles of dried mint on her counter. 

“That was very naughty of you,” he scolded the cat that was luxuriating in his touch. Curled against the man’s chest and exposing his stomach on full display. 

Way to be subtle Lemmy. You little attention whore. 

“She’s busy, and you’re making messes.” Castiel continued as he scratched the cat and set it down. Scooping the debris and looking around for a trash can to place it in.   

“And what are you doing here, angel? Don’t you have a pretend congregation to lead? Or is Bobby making you keep tabs on me now?” She finally spoke as she moved behind the counter and held the small wastebasket up for him. 

He cleaned his hands and looked down awkwardly, “I’m in the market for something.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t sell halos. But you can check the lost and found.” She batted her eyes and brought her cheek to her shoulder in a mock show of shyness. 

He swallowed, lips pursing in a thin line, and she found that her eyes dragged down the expanse of skin that was permanently stubbled in 5 o'clock shadow only to watch his Adam's apple bob and make something warm flood her veins. 

It’s just been too long. That’s all. She reprimanded herself and looked back up to those soft down turned eyes that had the weight of the world in them. 

“What would you like?” Her voice softened and she went back into customer service mode. 

He fidgeted for a moment, internal wars fought in that head of his as she waited for him to request something, anything. Then finally he said, “do you have a lead on powdered hippogriff talons?” 

“I can’t verify that I do,” she said equally as carefully. “But what I can say is I traded two jugs of holy oil from the fertile crescent itself for a bottle that a hunter claimed he swiped from a Djin in New Jersey that was labeled ground hippogriff talons. Among other butchered parts.” She drummed her fingers on the table and continued. “I shouldn’t sell you it in good conscience knowing that it hasn’t been labeled and certified. That would go against my ethics.” She tilted her head and tsked, “but, if it's for a good cause I could part with it for a favor.” 

“I’m not,” he groaned, shoulders slumped as he sighed and held his hands up. “I’m not easily accessible at the moment.” 

“That’s fine, I don’t need you at the moment.” She clarified. “But, what I do need is someone that Bobby knows well enough to watch over him when I’m not around. You’re close with the Winchesters,” and they’re obviously closer with him than I am, “so I ask that when you are around him, you make sure he’s taking care of himself.” 

His jaw clenched and he swallowed again. “You want me to watch over a middle aged adult man?” Castiel responded so flatly, like the idea was foolish and it probably was. But Bobby was the only family she had left. When he was gone, who would ask about her? Who would she call when she had a question, or just needed to hear someone’s voice that wasn’t asking something from her. 

“I want you to watch over a man who takes care of other people without a second thought. Don’t make it obvious, don’t mention me, and don’t coddle him, but make sure he looks healthy at least.” She tried to sound argumentative back. That was what strength was after all, wasn’t it? Just being able to hold your own ground. 

He only stared back at her, eyes unmoving as he watched her face go from falsely defiant, to shrinking away in self doubt. 

“I will ensure his safety,” he stopped and looked away, “when I can. When he permits me to.” 

“Thank you.” She nodded and went to the front door, flipping the sign from open to closed and locking it behind her. 

She shouldn’t be doing this, letting this stranger follow her down into her safe room. Bobby would have a field day about safety if he found out that she was showing Castiel the basement, but there was something that made her trust him. Stupidly. That bitter voice told her again, if the Winchesters trusted him so much, and her uncle trusted them, then by proxy she should too. Like a weird love triangle for her familial affections. 

“Don’t push me down the stairs.” She chuckled in a half joke and he looked affronted. 

“Wh-why would I seek to endanger you, in any way?” 

The way his eyes had shifted, brows knit and face concerned. Not about her humor, but her actual mental wellbeing. He withdrew a hand that he had extended out in a courtesy gesture, fearful now that he may look as if he was attempting to do just what she had insinuated. It made a warmth flush in her cheeks even more so than the crack in his voice had.

“I just meant, because the basement is so creepy and you…” she fumbled the punchline of her poorly executed joke and grimaced as she continued downward. “Never mind.” 

The silence between them lingered as her feet hit the concrete and she continued toward the safe, but he remained firmly planted on the stairs. His eyes scanning the red smeared painted walls as his lips moved silently whispering to no one in particular. 

“It’s creepy I know, but Bobby did it himself. Insisted on it. I don’t know what half of these markings mean.” She looked over her shoulder at him as his hand clutched at the banister with such force that the wood groaned back in protest. “You can come down here, I don’t actually think you’re going to hurt me. It was a stupid joke.” 

“I can’t.” He said gruffly and she chewed at the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting out some horrible joke again at his expense. 

After a few clicks of a lock, she shuffled around bottles and found the item she had been looking for. The poorly scrawled label indicated as such as she closed the safe back. 

“Just as I had said, I can’t verify that it is the ground talon but it’s what I was told. So, do a purifying check first for whatever you have up your sleeve or roll the dice I guess.” She wiggled the small amber bottle and placed it in his hand as he turned and retreated quickly up the stairwell and into the dimly lit shop. He slipped the container in his inner pocket, not meeting her eyes as he stood there. “Do you uh, have to run off now to some overly masculine car?” She asked quietly as she looked toward the window not seeing the impala parked out front. 

“Wh- oh. No.” His thumb tapped the side of his coat and she could feel the tension radiating off of him now. She had that effect, making men she was interested in uninterested very quickly. 

And he was, well, interesting. 

She was not. 

It’s not that Lila was unattractive. She had symmetrical enough facial features, straight teeth, and her hair was a bit messy usually but she kept it up when working. Her smile was nice as she had been told before, and she liked the little dots that peppered her cheeks. But her stomach was soft rather than flat, body pliable rather than toned, and her clothes left little red indentations on her pale skin when she took them off at night. Her jawline would have been found wanting in Ancient Greece, but in today’s view of sharp lines the lack of definition wasn’t a model of seduction. However, if she really wanted to, she could go to the bar and find a decent enough evening. Some lucky guy who would get his rocks off quickly would only have to tell her half truths and empty praises for her to feel valued in just that moment. But in the morning she’d hate herself. Not for the act, but for pretending it meant anything. That’s all she really sought out now, to mean something to someone that meant everything to her. 

Castiel however stood in front of her looking like he wanted to bolt and run. Surely not from her, she had just helped him acquire an item that was nearly impossible for her to get her own hands on. The only reason she had agreed was because of the trust she assumed Bobby had in him. 

“What are you going to use it for?” She asked quietly, trying to find some sort of line to speak with him, keep him here longer. 

“Demons.” He said flatly back and she made a mock face of surprise. 

“Ah, yeah well that would be your field of work.”

“Thank you, for this.” He tapped the pocket inside his coat against his ribs and she returned the gesture with a coy shrug. 

“That would be my field of work.” 

He swallowed again and she had to scold herself once more for the way that her eyes lingered at his throat. 

“Take your trash out in the daylight.” He broke the silence and she did a double take at the statement. 

“Um, okay.” There had been no room for argument in his words and he turned to leave. “Don’t be a stranger Castiel,” she called out and his hand paused on the doorknob. 

“I’m not.” He spoke low and then left. 

Chapter Text

June 2011 

Delilah Conner

Lila held the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she murmured back into it, “right. Yeah, Sam Winchester. Tall. Plaid. Hair. I remember. Has he always had difficulty with this?” 

“He’s been better in the past.” Bobby cleared something from his throat and she rolled her eyes, watching the sugar dissolve into her morning tea. Cream poured in and made lovely little swirls until her spoon clinked and the mixture created a homogeneous murky brown. 

“Awfully vague.”  

“That’s all you need to know.” He snapped back. 

“You’re real sassy Bobby. Asking for my help, and then you don’t explain to me how or why. You see how I can’t do much with that?” She took a sip from her tea and clicked the television on, moving from kitchen to living room as her cat Lemuel wound between her legs and beat her to his perch. “How can I make a tincture for someone when I don’t know the cause? In the medical field, that would be malpractice.” 

“Yeah, well you ain’t in the medical field.” He argued. 

“Mmm, no. Well, have fun with a doctor's appointment, I hear hunters have great insurance.” 

They didn’t, and she felt shitty for reminding him. The amount of times her ex had come to her for clean stitches and cures for ailments she had to create from a home apothecary book and a pressure cooker could make a civil war medic gangrenous with envy. But Bobby was so caught up in keeping her out of this part of his life she had to add salt to an already festering cut. The cut being Sam Winchester, and the festering being that he was in need of “sleep aids.” 

Her uncle groaned and finally relented. “He has prior mental struggles from being Lucifer’s sadistic plaything. That good enough?” 

“So the devil fucked Sam Winchester. Not much I can do about that.” She muttered only half listening to him and stifling a yawn from the early morning call. 

“I wouldn’t word it that way myself but, yeah.” He sniffed and she changed the channel again looking for something to occupy her time. “I was just wondering if you had some idea in your pantry or-” 

“One that could help with trauma built up from possession of the devil? Uh, no Bobby. Maybe a holy water humidifier by his bedside with benadryl? I heard people take that to sleep. No amount of lavender and calendula oil will help with satin.” She flipped the channel and the remote dropped with a thud. There was a man holding up a drawing of a figure in a trench coat, blood splattered on the paper, and he was rambling on as he pointed to a church on the back street with the stained glass shattered through.

“Say uh Bobby, where’s your friend Castiel?” Her voice was shaky as she set the cup on the side table and watched as the man continued on and on about how striking, in more ways than one, this God was. 

“Ah damnit, yeah he’s missing in all of this and-” 

“You should turn on the news.” She interrupted. Somewhere between dropping the phone alongside the remote and the roaring in her ears she thought she heard him call for Dean to turn their TV on in a frantic shout. He repeated her name but she continued walking to the screen as a blurry image of him from a surveillance camera was shown in hazy lines.That was Castiel. She could point out those fidgeting fingers under the sleeve of that coat from anywhere. “Who are you?” She whispered as the pads of her fingers touched over the static. “What are you doing?” 

A map went on to explain how worship services across the nation had been disrupted do to a man posing as god and slaughtering ministers along the path. 

Angel. She thought to herself. He had called himself such but she assumed it was a term of endearment. Now she wondered if it was his call sign or something far worse. Lila scrambled to her feet and reached for the cell phone again when she heard Bobby and Dean talking on the other end to one another. 

She shouted his name and he cursed, letting her know he had the phone still before she stated, “I’m coming to you.” 

There was an exhale and then reluctantly a quiet, “fine.” Before the line died.  

Castiel 

He could remember a time when people met in congregations in secret, with fear of being pursued by tribes who argued over polytheism and monotheism. Which god was the correct God. Which one had a son, which one had a sister, or which one swallowed the Earth whole. The irony not lost on him being that his father, the Father, was all of it. Every base in religion, and had no qualms with people celebrating his likeness as long as he was the forefront of it. 

Abraham split his teachings from a lone trunk to a tree. Each limb flowered, and each limb festered as well. The Egyptians chased out the Jewish. Then, it was the Romans coming after the Christians. Now, it was the Christians fighting among themselves. Well, not just the Christians to be fair but when you live in a religiously tolerant society it is hard to place blame on where it actually belongs.   

That angered Castiel, deeply. He had been able to let it simmer on its own before and evaporate over time but the more the Leviathans stirred the pot of his spirit it came to a boil. God didn’t want megachurches. God didn’t want his disciples to have private planes that spewed out noxious gas similar to that of their passengers' false prophesies. There were people on the streets starving, and people in gilded homes celebrating. 

But not every man of the cloth was inherently sinful, so Castiel passed parishes and churches, mosques and synagogues with humans inside that cared for others and left them be. They were truly doing the work God had intended. To love. For how could love be looked down upon? That is all Castiel had wanted to know, love. Humans were made to love, from love, for love and angels were made to enforce and supervise. Castiel longed for the feeling of being loved. He loved the Winchesters truly, like his brethren. Actually, more than his brethren. He had slaughtered his own for the Winchesters. And in such, he knew that some part of Dean (and he supposed Sam) also loved him in return. 

You are a god, you are to be feared reverently. You are to command and dispose of those who commit misdeeds in your name. The monsters inside him churned those words as he clung to the foundation of his being. That to love is essential and all that is good, and that he must protect goodness. When he took in the souls and monsters from purgatory he did so for good. For humanity. For love. 

He stood this Saturday afternoon inside a building that could house a hundred on the streets, and watched as a man in a suit that cost more than a family of four would spend on groceries in a month practiced his parables in attempts to make those around him feel in the word of God, but scared enough for their souls that they would donate to his monetary cause.  

“Sir, you’re not supposed to be here,” a guard came up to him in the velvet aisle and Castiel, who looked as if he had leprosy himself, reached out two fingers and tapped the giant on the forehead. The man collapsed in a chair and for just a moment Castiel debated releasing his soul now rather than let him continue on. But this man had done nothing except what he had been cornered into, and believed was right by a preacher in blood diamonds. 

He continued walking down to the stage as the electric organ was playing and the preacher, Mark Carpenter, snapped at the poor woman who was fumbling with her sheet music. 

“I have an appointment I cannot miss, and you can’t seem to get a single damn note out in order.” His southern fried accent spat out. 

“May I ask Mr. Carpenter, what your devotion will be focused on tomorrow?” The angel’s voice was low and dark but filled the room in a booming sound that made the pastor turn and bristle. 

“Why, on the good Lord’s forgiveness of us sinners.” His words came out smooth and practiced in an oily slick that made Castiel’s stomach turn. 

Smite him on the spot. You are a god now. Purify the Earth as it should be and as it once was… 

The Leviathans' words tumbled in his mind and his skin burned in cracking and peeling layers under his clothes but still Castiel held tight that humans could be forgiven if they saw the light in their errors and wanted his goodness. 

“Why are you here, are you with the paper? I’ve already told the Times about the second plane in the hangar. It wasn’t tax fraud because the church uses it for missionary work.” That greasy smile stretched falsely tanned skin into an orange crack and Castiel attempted to see the good again in this man but found him lacking. 

“Your sheep are hungry.” He stated. 

“And they are fed, but His words.” Carpenter’s smug face pinched. 

“For a man who devotes his life to the Lord, you have forgotten his very word.” Castiel countered, feeling the charge at the tips of his fingers crackle to life. 

“Praise the Lord. Blessed are those who fear the Lord, who find great delight in his commands. Wealth and riches are in their houses, and their righteousness endures forever.” This pastor was using the words from the bible to cloak his misdoings and that would not abide with the angel before him. 

“For God does not show favoritism." He countered, offering the man one more scrap of a chance. 

“And he has not, because I have worked for everything I have. God wants his children to prosper. Put that in your paper.” He scoffed back and the rage consumed Castiel in a blaze that would make hell chill. 

“For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.” He said quietly and with a wave of his fingers Mark Carpenter’s head cracked into shards. His skin split and the walls of his church where he spewed venom in the twisted words of Castiel’s father ran with blood. 

The woman at the pipe organ screamed and Castiel looked back at her with softer eyes. “You are not him.” He said as she took off running, and he wiped his own face clean and continued on his path. 

Chapter Text

June 2011 

Sam Winchester 

Sam Winchester wasn’t touch starved, he had felt a woman’s hands on his face enough times to not recoil when Lila reached out. But something in him flinched when she swiped the salve at his temples and stroked deep waves along his throat. His head rested in a pillow on her lap in Bobby’s living room and squeezed his eyes counting until it was done and over with. She was too gentle with her touch and he was too aware that she didn’t want to be in this position. 

“Do you feel any draining yet? It’ll feel like thick syrup in the back of your throat.” Lila spoke softly as she went on doing something called lymphatic draining and rubbing the mixture of beeswax, frankincense, and holy oil on his skin. 

“No.” He said tightly in response. 

“If you stopped flinching at every touch, it might help,” she spoke again lower this time and he opened his eyes seeing Dean smirking from the doorway. Arms crossed over his chest as he watched his brother partaking in a holistic remedy to help ease his mind. A method that he was very surprised to find Bobby had encouraged. 

“Sorry, maybe we can try again later.” He murmured and went to sit up when she pulled him back down. 

“We’re going to keep doing this until you’re comfortable enough to not grind your teeth.” She softly scolded. “Would you care to join us Dean, or are you going to stand there and watch?” 

“Usually I’d jump at the chance to have a woman rub her hands on me but, something tells me I should hold off and let Sammy have his turn.” He flashed a smile that made Lila dig her thumb into a pressure point a little too hard at his shoulder. Poor Sam was forced into this, and now was stuck. 

“You know, I’m very relaxed and uh, I could totally fall asleep in a dark room.” He lied. 

“Well at least you have someone playing mommy to you now. Maybe if you’re a good little boy she’ll give you a reward.” Lucifer cooed from his perch in the chair at the corner of the room that no one could see but Sam. Taunting his most depraved ideas back to him. He wasn’t needy for this woman, he was needy for attention away from something other than killing. 

Lila’s hand moved to the back of Sam’s neck and pinched thumb and forefinger along the muscles until he felt that sick gooey clog she had mentioned. He gagged and she motioned with her free hand for Dean to grab a wastebasket just as he wretched a slick film of gray matter and mucus into the trash. 

“Nice.” She sighed and he wiped his mouth clean with a tissue before tossing that in as well. “Alright, let's do that again.” 

“Again?” Dean grimaced as he looked back into the basket. “What was that?” 

“Bobby said Lucifer messed with your mind so much that you had to have some wall put up to protect your sanity." She said it so casually to Sam as she shoved his shoulders back down and worked her fingers to his neck again that it almost felt normal. “That wall came down, and your body is attempting to heal itself. I imagine that is the residual trauma that is building up in physical matter and releasing.” 

“You’re going to tell me that chakras need to be aligned next.” Dean scoffed and set the wastebasket down next to the couch for better reach. 

“You hunt ghosts with rock salt shotguns.” She rebutted, “you have seen people come back from the dead. You don’t think your body holds onto that?” 

“I, uh, shit it out.” Dean shrugged back just as Sam snapped up and spat out another oozing gray mass into the trash. 

“Hm well,” she gestured to Sam who was actively coughing more of the phlegm out. “Point made.” 

“I’m hungry,” Dean muttered and pushed off into the kitchen. 

“You’re doing good Sam,” Lila whispered as her thumb brushed along his now sweating brow. 

“Where’d you learn this?” Sam winched as she ground a knuckle into a particularly tense muscle. 

“Not all of us that want to fight should be hunters.” She said quietly, and he understood. He often felt that he had been meant for something different. 

His brother was quick to draw, and he was reserved. Sam would slit the throat of any living monster, demon, man that threatened the ones he loved but he would ask why first. Why did the thing attack, why did it feel the need to hurt, why did he need to be the one to save everyone when he couldn’t even save himself. But his brother would strike first, and never ask the questions out loud. Sam  hummed back in agreement and her grip on his other shoulder that kept him still, loosened. 

“My mother was killed by a demon. She was nice enough, she wasn’t perfect, but she was mine. She didn’t do anything to anyone to deserve that. To be found miles away from her home in the street.” She whispered and her ministrations slowed. 

“My uh, mother also was taken by a demon.” He murmured back. 

“It’s funny though isn’t it? How many of you all join because someone you loved was taken and you seek out vengeance for that. Bobby’s wife, my mother, yours, I assume you followed the same path?” 

“I was forced into it. Uh, family business. I was going to be a lawyer.” He chuckled at the idea of it now. Years of this, and in an alternate universe somewhere he was wearing a suit to work and locking away the bad guys instead of fighting them. 

“Family business,” she muttered the words back as if they were sour. “That’s why Bobby keeps me at a distance I think, but you boys are so close. But I am useful in other ways.” That last part struck him. She had plastered a smile on, one that showed false confidence in herself. 

“From what I hear, you’re very needed.” He said tenderly and she let out a little huff of a laugh to try and clear the air.  

“Anyway,” she murmured, “do you feel anymore of the build up back here?” She pinched at his neck again and he shook his head no as he sat upright. Rolling his head and thanking her. She showed him on her own neck and face the strokes she had done on him so that he could practice when he got too tense, and he couldn’t imagine that doing some simple massages would make the devil himself leave Sam alone, but it was a coping mechanism he could attempt. 

“Ask her if she does happy endings too, relieve some of the pressure and build up there.” Lucifer placed his face in the crook of her shoulder grinned. Sam tried his best not to acknowledge the vision as she continued explaining the properties of the oils he was applying. She just kept going on about ingredients and had no idea that Lucifer was perched on her like a child wanting attention too. “You might sleep better with a good tug after that rub. Or not.” 

“You should drink some water to help flush the rest out. A lot of water.” She added getting up to her feet. “I’ll get some for you.” 

“Oh, no I can manage. Thanks.” He forced his own smile out in politeness and followed her into the kitchen.  

A map was sprawled out as Dean lounged in a chair, tipping a beer down his throat. Bobby continued rewinding the tape on the TV and watching the interviewer ask about Castiel making his own personal smiting tour of the continental US. 

“So, you figure out why your friend is killing preachers?” Lila asked as she grabbed a glass and filled it with water for Sam. He thanked her again, feeling the need to clarify that she didn’t have to take care of him dying in his throat as she went around the space and refilled Bobby’s glass, and took Dean’s empty bottles placing them in the trash. 

“He thinks he’s a god now, apparently,” Dean muttered and took another bottle from the table to drown his thoughts in. 

Lila grimaced. “Did the griffin talons he get from me backfire? Because I–” 

“What?” Bobby cut her off with a look that rivaled anything Sam had seen on John Winchester as a child. 

“He came in a couple weeks ago, asked for ground griffin talons. I had a bottle, well I think I did, and gave it to him.” She said carefully as she began fumbling in the cabinets looking for a pot. 

“Why would you do that?” He snapped back. 

“He’s your friend. He’s their friend.” She gestured to Sam and Dean both who exchanged looks of confusion. “He said he needed it for demons.” 

“Crowley,” Dean sucked the air between his teeth and glared back at the TV. 

“You sent him in to get phoenix ashes, that I didn’t have, I assumed he was trustworthy.” She shrugged. 

“…And he was sexy.” The woman on the TV added in her description. It was the third time they had watched the interview, and it made Dean angrier with each passing minute.

“Why would she even say that? Why is that part needed?” 

“He is though.” Lila muttered over her shoulder as she filled the pot with water and started the stove. 

“Well, yeah, but, no.” Dean scoffed and pointed the bottle at the TV. “He’s an angel. He isn’t hot. Jimmy Novak was. And, he’s falling apart.” 

“I’d argue he’s very ho– what?” Lila stilled and her face paled as she looked back at the three slumped over the table. 

“Oh yeah, he is falling to pieces.” Dean took another pull from the beer. “Probably from whatever it is you sold him.” 

“So what, he’s possessed now?” Her bottom lip trembled and leaned against the counter looking as if she’d be sick as well. 

“He’s an angel.” Bobby spat.

“I’m sorry, I assumed it was a term of endearment.” She winced. “Like when you call me an idjit.”

“Ain’t nothin’ endearing about that angel, or when you act stupid.” Bobby scoffed and finished his glass of whisky. Slamming the cup onto the table causing Lila to retreat back to that place inside of little patience and sharp words.  

“If I wasn’t kept in the dark I would have known. Hell, if you treated me the same as the Winchesters I would have known. If I wasn’t reduced to Florence Nightingale of the Midwestern supernatural hunters, I would have known. If I wasn’t just your niece who’s mom was killed in St. Louis by a demon hunting you I would have known. If I wasn’t treated as a burden to everyone around me, maybe I would have known.” 

“Sammy, that sounds familiar doesn’t it? A demon killing a woman in St. Louis looking for Bobby… wait.” Lucifer cackled from across the kitchen as he danced over to Lila who stood red faced and glaring at a man that mirrored the same anger in his eyes, and the same regret she did right back. “Sammy, did you accidentally let this poor girl’s mom die?” 

He looked over to Dean who seemed to be making the same connection as he chewed at the inside of his cheek. “St. Louis?” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shutting down immediately and Bobby went to stand. She flipped the stove off and muttered something about needing to get more pasta for dinner as she grabbed the keys on the ring by the door and left. 

“Oof family get-togethers are always rough. You should see what Sundays with dad are like. Me and Michael and Gabriel all in fisticuffs. Still that isn’t as tense as this little circle of self pity.” Lucifer tutted and set his chin on Bobby’s unknowing head. “Looks like your uncle Bobby has been keeping secrets. Does that make it weird that I shipped her and Dean together? Cousin fuckers. I guess not, you’re not really cousins after all. Bobby’s not really your uncle. I don’t know if you remember this Sammy but your WHOLE family is dead. Well Dean excluded but it’ll happen soon enough.” 

Sam ran a hand along the bottom of his face and groaned as he looked into the glass of water but it was Dean who decided to break the tension, “secret daughter or?” 

“Niece.” Bobby grunted back. 

“Ah, nice. Usually it’s an unknown kid.” Dean clicked tongue to teeth and finished the beer in his hands as Sam was reminded once again of their own half brother still in the pit of hell as well. 

Chapter Text

June 2011 

Castiel 

He could see her forehead resting on the steering wheel of her old station wagon, paper bags filled with dinner, pie, and booze. She was parked outside of Bobby’s house, but she needed a moment to let the flush on her cheeks from her angry crying dissipate before she went inside. Castiel had witnessed the entire display. How she had pulled into the lot and looked up at the roof of her car. She had shouted something about gods and angels and demons and whatever ‘fuckass celestial monsters’ could ruin the rest of her life.  

She sniffled and looked back up at the house. That’s when her eyes caught the corner of a shadow between a set of cars, good. He wanted to lure her out and away from them for just a moment. He knew he may never see her again, but a selfish part of him wanted this time alone before he fell apart and was consumed by the leviathan instead of thoughts of her like he had been before. 

She grew curious and got out of her vehicle, walking slowly until she found him. She should have run, should have called the Winchesters, but she leaned against a rusted car and looked back.

“I saw you on the news,” she said quietly, arms folded across her chest. 

“About?” His eyes were filled with shame but not regret. He hadn’t regretted a single thing he had done so far.  

“Smiting mega churches,” she said as a tongue ran along her bottom lip, “a lady called you God, and sexy.” 

“Part of me thinks I am.” he said with more grief as he looked down. 

“Sexy?” 

His eyes widened in frustration at her taunting. “No, God.” 

Her mouth tightened in a thin line, but another smile formed and she nodded, “am I a bad person if I said that I was pleased with what you did?” 

He went to open his mouth, lips parting, and then he closed them waiting for her to say more. His chin ducked as he looked at her through a confused stare. 

“Ironic, seeing as you lead me to believe you were a man of the cloth when I first met you.” 

“I said I was an angel.” 

“Tomato, tomato.” She said the colloquialism back and shrugged. 

“Pop, corn.” 

“What?” She scrunched her nose and those little freckles bunched with it.

“We’re naming food.” 

Her eyes scanned over him, accounting for the dark circles bruising his skin, his lips cracked and deprived of water, and his skin peeling back.  

“Potato, celery.” 

“What are you doing?” She laughed and his head tilted. The sound cleaved his chest in two, causing more pain knowing he shouldn’t find such delight in it.  

“If I keep naming vegetables will you continue to laugh at me?” It was almost pitiful how he sounded like he was begging.

Leave, now. You are a god. God doesn’t want for anything. The voices slithered and hissed inside him again. 

Another beautiful sound erupted from her, warm and rounded and holy. It was uneven in pitch but joyous, and it would bring him to beg her once more for it. But then that wonderful light in her dimmed, and her eyes hazed over as her mind continued working and little memories flooded back. 

“Look at you,” she whispered as her hand reached to touch him and hesitated. “You’re breaking yourself apart.” 

“I am purging the world of those who make it intolerable. The ones who lie, and cheat, and rob those around them of their humanity.” He said stoically as his upper lip curled back. 

“You are one man, attempting to wash away the sin of humanity?” 

“I am not a man in the way you think of me.” He swallowed and huffed out a sound of pain and anguish. One certainly not worthy of God status. 

“Am I on that list? I’ve done wrong, and to God a sin is a sin no matter the size or amount.” She was nearly pouting at the idea. 

He dropped down to his knees, so exhausted, depleted of the energy it took to fight the torment inside that made him want more. “No Lila,” his voice was weary and he looked up at her. “You are good.” 

“You don’t know me Castiel,” she said quietly and ran her fingers along his hairline. “I sin just as much as anyone else.” 

He swallowed and her fingers drifted down to his neck. The stubble there hid some of the scarring and the blood that dripped down his skin. Patches of inflammation that looked just  painful as they felt as she pulled back in fear of hurting him. But a hitch in his breathing and a pleading whimper broke free for more. He leaned forward, forehead pressed to her stomach and her fingers scratched along his scalp. 

“I know enough. I will make this world a better place for Dean and Sam, for Bobby, for you.” His breathing staggered again. “But please forgive me of the things I’m going to do to make it that way.” 

“Why do you care so much about my forgiveness?” She asked bringing her hand to tug his head back up for his eyes to look into those ones in a shade of blue that was uniquely hers. 

Because something in me aches to reach out and touch your very soul. Something in me wants to know that I can care for you in no other way anyone else could. Because angels, God, doesn’t have a soul and still a part of me burns to combine whatever it is I have with yours. None of this could be said, because then she would ask after the only three altercations she had with him why he cared. Then, he would have to admit that he hid in the shadows of her apartment late at night and watched as she did menial tasks like cooking and reading. That he had slipped into her dreams and hid in the backgrounds, and made sure her consciousness woke when a nightmare came bleeding into the corners of her thoughts. He would have to admit that in only a few short weeks he had been invested in a woman he had no right to find so interesting. Worse of all he would have to admit that when he was supposed to be fighting a war in Heaven, he was making deals with the now king of Hell to purge purgatory of lost souls for his benefit. The benefit, being that hopefully there would be a safer world for the Winchesters, and for her. 

“I just do,” he croaked out and stood to his feet looking back at her with a devotion that he hoped she couldn’t recognize. 

“I’m not angry with you Castiel,” she said with an absolution he didn’t deserve. “I just don’t like where this is heading for you.” 

How dare she speak to a god in such a way, you can move mountains. You can bring fire and rain. The monsters inside clawed at his ribs and he gasped at the slashing inside his body before his eyes fluttered closed and he was gone. 

Chapter Text

February 2012 

Delilah Conner

Within a year Lila had dealt with more tragedy than she felt was allowed in such a short span of time. Just the week after her leaving Bobby’s house and heading back to her shop she was told that Castiel was gone. Nothing more than, “he’s dead. And he ain’t comin’ back.” 

The ache from that alone unnerved her. It was a hollowness inside that made her angry and lost. She knew that grief could come in many forms. When her mother was murdered there was an overwhelming sadness that had washed over her. But, unlike many in her situation she had no pull to go after the demon that took her mother’s life. Because to Lila, that is just what demons do. Tracking down that monster wouldn’t bring her mother back, but it would make her feel a sickness that enveloped her entire life if she devoted every thought to tracking it down. However when Castiel died, a man that arguably wasn’t a man and someone that she barely knew personally, there was a rage that filled her every moment. Anger at him, at the world, at God. He had asked her to be merciful and forgive him of his transgressions, but to her he had none. He was an angel, that word meant nothing to her. But after he was gone she thought of him as her angel, and that was different. She watched the clips of him on the camera as he snuck into her shop and had quietly fixed her sigils. Thought about how she saw him on the street looking at her window. She couldn’t even look at her cat the same way, the memory of how gentle the angel had been plucking at fur and talking to it. 

Then just a few weeks after, Bobby’s home was burned to the ground. Some monster that Castiel had unknowingly released onto the Earth called the Leviathan had been the cause of it all, and angrier she grew. She had offered to sell the shop, to work as a traveling supplier but Bobby had quickly turned that down. He wanted her to have a semi-normal existence, but she was well past that. She had developed feelings for a dead angel and now was in a text chat with two demon hunters that called her a cousin of sorts. 

But somewhere pulled off on the side of the road in Iowa a year after Castiel had left, Lila was draped over the steering wheel sobbing. She had gotten the voicemail in the wee hours of the morning from Sam that Bobby was in critical care, but she had been asleep. Slept in even, didn’t check her phone until 9 am when she saw that she had a missed call and a few texts from the youngest Winchester. She had called him back, only for Sam to explain very cryptically that she should come as soon as possible. 

He called again as she was halfway there, and pulled off on a two lane highway in the middle of corn fields half grown. She heard Sam’s voice low and just as broken as he said, “I’m so sorry.” 

She hadn’t made it in time. Hadn’t told her uncle that she had appreciated the few years she had with him. That she was sorry for the arguments, for feeling such resentment about his relationship with the Winchesters, for not calling more often. That she didn’t blame him for anything that had happened, that he was one of the only good people in her life. All she had was a text from him a few days prior. 

Bobby (10:42): Why are you working?

Lila (10:56): I’m doing inventory. 

Lila (10:58): Stop watching me on the cameras. It’s weird. 

Bobby (11:04): I’m always watching. 

Lila (11:08): What if I had a guy over? 

Lila (11:08): That’d be weird. 

Lila (11:09): Don’t be weird.  

Bobby (11:11): I’m ALWAYS watching. 

Lila (11:18): Love you. 

Bobby (11:20): Go to bed.  

She wiped her face clean, but still her throat burned with words she couldn’t say. She felt stupid but she called his number and it rang, rang, rang, and went to voicemail. She called again, and again, and then finally Dean answered. 

“Hey,” his voice was gruff and she sniffled back. 

“No.” Was the only word she could get out. 

“Meet us at the salvage yard.” 

“I’m in Iowa, I should be there in an hour, maybe two.” She whispered and wiped her face with her sleeve again. 

“Do I need to come get you?” His voice wasn’t rough, it wasn’t taunting, it was soft and understanding. More so than she was used to. 

“No, no I’m okay.” She cleared her throat. 

They hung up the line, and she drove. Her body on autopilot now as she went, and finally as she pulled into the salvage yard she was the first one. It felt wrong being the only one. But she stepped out and walked to the burned down rubble of a home looking out at the rusted cars that were left. She wasn’t sure she had any more tears to cry today. 

“Hey God,” she said quietly. “Uh, what the fuck?” She hung her head low and took in another breath. “Sorry, uh, let me start again. I’m not really great with the praying. You know that. I don’t do it as often as I should I guess. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t do anything. I’m not important. But Bobby was. He helped humanity. He fought a thankless fight every day. And for what?” She let out a huff of a bitter laugh. “He had the Winchesters as makeshift sons and I guess in the end they were at least by his side. But, I couldn’t even make it in time. I couldn’t even tell him I loved him again. How much I appreciated him when I didn’t deserve it.” Her knees grew weak and she fell against a broken ash stained stud that still was holding where the house used to be. “Why do you take good people when you could take the darkness instead? Why make monsters in the world for them to even fight? I don’t understand. And people tell me that I’ll get over it, that the loss will go away, but it doesn’t. It gets more confusing, and I get angry instead of thankful for their lives. For knowing them. Just when they’ll get taken again.” Those tears she thought had been dried were resurrected, as she dropped down into the dirt. Her hands quickly tried to wipe them clear but only rubbed the soot of his residence over face instead. “Please, make him a spot in Heaven. Maybe Castiel can call him to home there? Or he can meet my mom? Please…” She buried her head in her hands and let it all pour out again until she felt a set of arms hold her tight against a chest. “Castiel?” She whimpered and it was Sam who pulled her against his lap while she sobbed.   

“It’s okay,” he whispered as his hand cupped her head to his chest. 

“No it’s not,” Dean said harshly. But he was right. It wasn’t okay, it wouldn’t be for a long while.

Chapter Text

March 2012

Delilah Conner

It was a cloudy Monday and the psychiatric hospital looked like something from a horror movie that Lila would skip over quickly in a late night cable TV session. Gray, dingy, and she could have sworn a window in the upper left hand corner was flickering its lights. 

Ugh, and this place is actively in use. Hunters just go into the abandoned ones…  with no abandon… and then they shoot shit at the walls hoping it’ll help? No thank you. 

She was dragged from her train of thought when she noticed the Impala parked on the other side of the lot and Dean trudging up to the doors. Pushing off her own car she quickly followed as he met her out front. He gave a tense half smile of acknowledgement that didn’t quite reach his eyes. In return Lila pulled out the borax solution in a tiny spritz bottle and sprayed his hand with it as he reached to open the door. 

“Uh, hello?” He glared at her before wiping the fluid onto his jeans. “You mind?” 

“Sorry but they keep playing your faces on the news gunning down people in diners. I can’t be too safe.” She whispered as she put it back in her bag. 

“Leviathans yeah, we went over this.” He grumbled. “Thanks I guess for not spraying me in the face.” 

“I’m cautious, not crazy. That’s a cleaning solution, I don’t want your eyes to get burned.” She scoffed, paused, and checked his hand again. “If you're innocent.”

“I’m not innocent by a long shot, but I’m also not a parasitic swamp monster from purgatory so at least I have that going for me.” He yanked the door and they both walked through the halls of the sanatorium. 

“How is he?” She whispered as she caught up with Dean’s long strides. 

“Not his best,” the oldest Winchester snapped under his breath. Looking around at nurses who passed by and gave them questioning glares. He slowed down though so she could match his pace and looked at the canvas bag on her shoulder. 

Her grip tightened on it reflexively before she reminded herself that this was Dean. Not some stranger, not a monster, Dean. The man that slowly she was coming to know as a friend. An actual friend. Not someone who wanted something from her, but someone that he would agree to help as well if she asked. Someone who her uncle clearly loved, and she would learn to love as well. 

They turned down a hall and a short balding doctor stopped them, glasses perched on his nose looking from over the rims as he asked who they were and where they were headed. Dean, already looking annoyed at the oncoming argument, opened his mouth but Lila stepped in. 

“We’re here for Sam Winchester, this is his brother and I’m,” she paused, unsure of how she should address herself. 

“Family,” Dean grunted without hesitation. Something bloomed under her sternum like a star that would become a sun if fed with enough warmth, and she gave a small nod back. 

The doctor looked over the both of them and pointed down a hall, made some quip about visiting hours being only being permitted on weekends and afternoons but since they were already here he would make an exception. Dean halfway through the sentence took off while Lila gave an apologetic smile and followed behind. 

She stopped in the doorway when she saw him there looking so fragile and small. His large body curled into itself as he stared at the wall. Skin sunken against bone from lack of eating and bruising under his eyes from lack sleep. The healthiest of the three, now so malnourished inside and out he was almost ghoulish. 

“I hate that fucking song.” Sam whispered as he looked at the chair in the corner. “No one likes that song. If they do, they’re lying.”

“Hey Sammy,” Dean forced an awkward smile outward as he walked in. “Look who’s here.” He reached an arm out and extended it for her to leave from the shadows of the hallway and into the bright room. 

Lila cooed his name softly, “you’re not getting any sleep and then they have your blinds open? Your circadian rhythm was bad enough but they could at least give you the option to nap. Here. Let’s just make it a little cozier for you,” she moved around the room like a mother hen clucking over little things to keep her mind from seeing him struggling. He had been there to hold onto her when Bobby died just weeks prior, and now he was on his own. It wasn’t fair. “Go get him some warm water and lemon slices.” She said to Dean quietly as she tilted the blinds in the room so that they were half closed. “There, much better.” 

Dean eyed the two of them, nervous to leave her alone but she shooed him off. Sam wouldn’t hurt her, he could barely get out of his own bed. Dean of all people should know that she wouldn’t hurt his brother. She owed them more than they both realized. It had come to her realization when she was alone the week after they burned Bobby, that the Winchesters had owned more of Bobby’s time than she had. However, they had treated her as their own, had been gentle and understanding when they had realized who she was, and there was something in both of their eyes when they looked at her that resembled regret. She couldn’t figure out why, she had been the one that felt such animosity toward them. But, she would find ways to knit together the shreds of a little relationship they had. Even if it was for Bobby’s sake. 

She moved to Sam’s bed and he turned back to look at her, eyes blinking and sitting upright before his voice cracked. “Why… you’re here?” 

“Why not, I don’t have anything better to do,” she said casually and motioned for him to sit up as she arranged his pillows. “These are horrible. Sam, you can’t sleep because you’re posture is all out of line. They put a six and a half foot man in a bed for a hobbit.” 

“Six four.” He coughed and looked off back at the empty chair. 

“Really? You seem so much taller.” She squinted and eyed him playfully. “Dean is six foot. I know that as a fact because he was just at the shop and his head barely skimmed the top of the basement when he went down to get supplies.” That forced a rough laugh from him and she had to hide her own smile so she could carry on this persona of casualness. Hoping that if she acted as if she was aloof he wouldn’t feel so nannied over. “Garth came by as well, you remember him, lanky fella’, same height as Dean too but I think your brother’s boots adds an inch or two so he can make up for the height difference between you. Anyway, Garth asked about you. I said you were on sabbatical. He said that he didn’t realize you were so religious but I had to explain that sabbath and sabbatical are different things. However, both fall on the seventh. Seven days, seven years, oh I’m just rambling now.” She muttered as she eased him back down. Sam wasn’t paying attention to her though, still scowling at the chair in the corner. “Lucifer still talking to you?” 

“He’s… no.” Sam lied and she scrunched her nose back to the chair. 

“Lucy be a dear and piss off in the darkest corners of Sam’s mind so our boy can take a nap. Can’t keep tormenting a man if he’s dead,” she sighed and tucked in the blankets at his side before grabbing a new chair and sitting in it next to him. He only met her with resigned silence and chewed on the inside of his cheek as she took a tin of salve out and asked if she could massage his neck. He wordlessly moved to the side in acceptance and she asked, “what did he say back?” 

“What?” He croaked out and she repeated herself. 

“Lucifer, what did he say back?” She said it softly as her thumbs swiped under his eyes and then worked across his cheeks and behind his ears in a pattern that she hoped would loosen some of the tension in his head. 

“You,” he paused, “don’t mock me.” 

“I’m not,” she said firmly. “I can’t argue with someone who I can’t see. And you need someone in your corner fighting for you while you rest.” 

He was silent for a long while and then finally said, “he keeps doing the macarena.” 

“That is,” she dug a finger into his nape and he coughed out a mucus like rasp. “Unexpected.” 

“He’s awful.” Sam whimpered and she sighed. 

“He is the devil.” 

He hacked and she held a trashcan up to him to spit more of the phlegm from his throat. “You believe me though?” 

“Yes,” she cringed to herself as he disposed the gray matter into the trash and set it back down. “No one seeks out torture with the hope that it will end with actual torture.” She knew that he went into the pit of hell to save humanity. That he came out of the pit without a soul, was then given a soul back and with it, the joy and the lack there of that humanity provided was thrust onto him. The devil unlocked it all. 

They blamed Castiel for that misdoing, and she supposed she should too, but some part of her couldn’t help but think that if they had all just talked it through then Castiel would have stepped in and fixed it in time. What she did blame Castiel for was leaving. That is what angered her. She blamed him for falling on his knees and looking up at her in a way that no man had the right to. She blamed him for coming into her shop and looking at her with softness. She blamed him for hardening herself off to potential lovers because none of them had those down turned eyes or that pouty mouth. She had only met him a handful of times and still she blamed him for ruining her for anyone else, because he was there in the recesses of her mind. So yes, she believed the devil tormented Sam, because in her own lesser way he taunted her as well. 

“Lemon water,” Dean walked in with a steaming mug and a small box in his hands, setting it down on the table and reaching to rip the package open.  

“No, what is that?” She tilted her head and stilled her massaging to see the colorful paper in his hand.  

“Lemon water.” He said it again with an irritation from having to repeat himself.  

“Dean. That’s a package of citrus gelatin powder.” 

“What do you want from me? This is all I could find.”   

“In a hospital? Lemon jell-o?” She stood up and reached around her bag for the wrapped tea bags she had packed. “Never mind, chamomile it is.”

Chapter Text

April 2012 

Delilah Conner

Lila (4:12 pm): I was going to close up shop this weekend and see Sam. 

Dean (7:26 pm): Don’t bother. He’s checked out.

Lila (8:02 pm): But if he hears someone talk to him I’m hoping it will click.  

Dean (8:12 pm): He’s not even there.  

Lila (8:15 pm): Someone should still be with him. Mentally incapacitated or not. You’re kind of being a dick. 

Lila (8:16): More so than usual.   

Lila (9:20 pm): You’re sending me to voicemail now? Which btw your mailbox is full. 

Dean (10:16 pm): With Garth, can’t talk. 

— — 

Lila (7:02 am): Heading out. Honestly really disappointed in you. He’s your brother. :( You should be encouraging people to see him. He needs it. 

She had arrived promptly an hour after lunch so as not to upset any of the staff at the creepy old hospital. The overly sanitary smell of bleach and ammonia was enough to make her gag on a good day, but the residual burnt sulfur outside the building was an additional confusing mixture. 

Must be fertilizing the garden for spring. She thought to herself as she looked over at the slowly blooming tulips that were budding at the entryway. Clutching the tote bag over her shoulder as she walked in, signed a form at the front desk, and continued on. 

Dean had an air about him when he walked that was confident. People didn’t question his presence. He just was. FBI agent with a dumb ass rock band joke name. Sure. No questions. Agent Moon and Agent Starr? Agent Ziggy and Agent Stardust? Not a blink of an eye. She had often wondered what it would be like to have that confidence. Not to over compensate when she walked into a room by being overly apologetic for even taking up space. She didn’t want to do field work like they did, but sometimes she wondered what her false name would be. Maybe agent Lucy and one of them could be Ricky, the third Ricardo or Ball. That would be funny. But her red hair would give it away. Then again, that's the joke of it, isn’t it? Watching unsuspecting policemen and coroners nod along obliviously to a joke in their own faces. 

As her mind wandered with her feet through the halls she bumped into a nurse who was coming around the corner looking at her own phone. Lila’s face burned with embarrassment as she stumbled out an, “oh gosh, I’m so sorry. Let me move out of your way.” When people came into her own shop she was able to act with authority. It was her place. Her residence. But this was an asylum where tensions were already high and people were not exactly at their best. 

“Watch it.” The nurse snapped. Looking Lila up and down and sneering she continued on her way. 

“I- yeah. Sorry again.” Lila said tightly and went to turn the hall when the nurse squinted back over her shoulder. 

“Hey, where are you going?” 

“Room 209. I’ll be out of the way, I promise.” 

“No you’re not.” The woman said tightly. 

“Uh, yes I am? Sam Winchester, 209.” Lila blinked and pulled out the paper pass from her wallet that the front desk had given her to sign in. “Unless they moved rooms.” 

The nurse’s lips curled into a not so friendly smile and she huffed a laugh in return. “Oh, no honey. Did the Winchesters leave you out of their plans? They do that. The jolly plaid giant’s checked out.” 

“What?” Lila’s shoulders dropped and she looked back at her paper. 

‘Don’t bother. He’s checked out.’ What a fucking idiot she was. She had thought that Dean meant mentally checked out. Did that make her the bad person here? Assuming that one Winchester was making a vegetative joke about the other. Yes. Yes it most certainly did make her the shittier person. Well, she’d eat that in gas money and a waste of a Saturday. 

“When?” She questioned then and the nurse sauntered over raising a brow. 

“How do you know the Winchesters?” 

“I’m…” she sucked in a breath, “family.” 

“Uh-huh.” She snorted. “They don’t have family.” 

“Clearly they do.” She gestured to herself. “Anyone else looking after them?” 

The nurse laughed again in that way that felt icy and wrong. “Actually, yes.” 

“Oh, well, that’s good.” She said quietly and with more heart than she had meant to expose of herself. Pleased that someone else had been visiting Sam too. “Um, could you tell me how he was released?” 

“That’s confidential. Patient uh, whatever.” She said flippantly back and lifted her chin. “But you should go.” 

A head popped out of the doorway with a low little giggle and the nurse craned her neck behind her. “Go to your room Clarence.” She sighed with an unexpected gentleness that made Lila taken aback. 

The world spun though as she made eye contact with the patient and Lila’s chest caved in. Disheveled dark hair and the giddy face of an angel she had only thought about when she was in moments of weakness was a mirage in the corridor. 

“Castiel?” Her voice trembled out in a hiss under her breath and she had to dig her fingers into her palm just to feel something other than panic and the unwelcome warmth of relief from seeing him again. 

“Hm?” His smile spread and it was a look that she had never seen from him. So content and pleased with himself. “I saw the bees in the front by the window. I want to let them in but the glass keeps them out. Meg, there’s not a lever to pull on.” 

“They’ll sting you.” The nurse chided. 

“They’ll sting you.” He repeated back in the same tone. “And you.” He pointed to Lila. “And you.” He then pointed to his own chest and nodded. 

“What have they done to you?” Lila took a step forward and the nurse stepped between them. 

“No visitors.” She practically growled and Lila looked back at the angel who was looking down the hallway again. All white smocks and hair sticking up in every angle. 

“Please, I have to see him,” she begged out. “I– I know him. Please.” 

“And how do you know him?” The woman looked up at Lila, the few inches that separated them feeling like a canyon she had to cross to get to her angel. 

“He’s a friend, I know him through the Winchesters…he… I just… please.” She whispered out finally. The look in the nurse’s eyes was dark but she turned back and asked him if he was comfortable with the visitor. Castiel nodded eagerly and pointed back down the hallway wordlessly as he began walking. 

“He wants you to play with him.” She sounded beyond annoyed at this point, but not at the action. More because Lila was even there continuing on with this charade rather than just retreating with her tail between her legs as expected. 

“What?” 

“Play with him. A game, or a walk. You said you know him, entertain him.” She spat. “But I’m watching.” 

Lila quickly whispered a thanks as she sped up to meet with Castiel in the hall. He was taking the steps two at a time with a little hop on each ledge and he paused when he met her. Holding his hand out, she hesitated. He had tried this before, months even, and she had wanted to. Hand outstretched on stairs just like this on the way to her basement. But he had pulled back. He looked blissfully unaware of that moment now, and she felt a selfish pull in her to take his hand and pretend that nothing had happened. So she did. 

The sun was reaching its fingers from behind the clouds and pulling grass from the ground upward to stretch in the warmth it provided. Swallows sang out as they chased one another through bud kissed tree limbs. But all that Lila could do was stare at Castiel while he grinned half bent over a crocus patch watching as honeybees burrowed themselves between half worn down petals. 

“You like the bees.” She said quietly and he looked back up at her and nodded. 

“They all live in a collective hive, working together and content. They go out and explore on their own in ways that will benefit the hive, but on their own paths. If they find something they enjoy, they come back and tell the others in a dance of pheromones and instructions. Then those who want to see the same sights go, and come back, and are rejoined as a unit again.” He made another little giggle, that soft mouth spread into a beaming grin and her heart cracked at the joy in his face. 

“Are angels like that? Is that why you feel so connected to the bees?” She asked with a gentleness that pulled from the parts of her when she was speaking with small children that came into the store. 

He only furrowed his brow at the question and went on walking. She took that, as a no. 

“Well, what can we even speak about,” she mused. She wanted to ask where he had been. What he was doing here. Where he had gone when he died. Did he die? Then rage started again beating in her chest. The Winchesters knew. They knew, and they didn’t tell her. At some point they could have called. At any point they could have said that he had been found. They didn’t need to know the extent of the relief that washed over her, but she did deserve to know. 

“Your eyes are cloudy, your face is raining.” He said with a half moon smile as his head tilted on its axis in wonder back at her. She snapped out of her self pitying realizing that she had been crying on their small walk.  

“Yes Castiel,” she whispered and wiped away at the tears with the corner of her cardigan. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.” 

“Crying does come from eyes.” He nodded back and sighed. “This happens.” 

“Yes, it does.” She swallowed a lump down and looked at his slipper clad feet as the gravel spread under each footstep. “Do you remember me?” 

“Mhmm.” He hummed back with a lazy smile. “Minty naughty cat.” 

She laughed in her hands and sniffled, “well you and I have different memories. But yes, mint cat.” 

As the path around the perimeter continued on, he would eagerly look at the small promises of life that erupted from the ground. Pluck rocks in odd shapes, and lay them in fine lines along ant hills in the making. He sat down on the grass next to her while she found residence on a bench. Her feet tucked neatly under her thighs and he rested his temple against her knee. It was almost too intimate a gesture, but she happily accepted it, not dating to touch him back in the way she desperately wanted to. Her fingers flexed in agony with a desire to just comb through his hair. Not to even lay it flat, but to just feel it. To tug slightly and bring him to look back up at her. Instead she cleared her throat and dug around her bag. 

“So, I came here because I thought that Sam was still being treated. Apparently not, but I have something that you might find interesting, Castiel.” She spoke soft and low as to coax him into curiosity. He finally turned and those eyes that brought the heavens with them looked back to her while his chin dug into her knee. God, what she would do to be able to trace the fine lines there. To let the pads of her fingers wander over smooth healed skin and feel the course stubble under. 

“You may not remember,” she continued so her mind wouldn’t go to places that she knew was wrong. She had ventured down that path before in the dark hours alone in her bed, but now it felt so wrong with him like this. “I live next door to a comic book store. Well, did. They are going out of business. So I went in during a liquidation sale and would you know it, someone has written fan fiction of our Brothers Winchester.” They both met in matching giggles and for the first time she felt her walls crumble down. It was just her, and him, under a tree laughing like children would about gossip she had found. 

“No one told me that Sam and Dean were famous. But, I bought all of the books they had.” She pulled one from the canvas bag as well as a container of homemade oatmeal cookies. Opening the container she shook the box in his direction but he only stared up at her and shook his head. “You don’t like cookies?” 

“Cookies don’t like me.” He murmured back as he laid his cheek against her thigh and watched her close the lid. “You eat.” 

“I couldn’t eat in front of you. Not when you’re not eating. That’s rude.” She let out an awkward chuckle only hearing her mother’s reprimands in the back of her mind for over indulgence in sweets. Something that she assumed was thrust onto every young woman at a certain age who had a metabolism like hers. Like a knife that cleaved a permanent scar of warning into her frontal lobe, don’t give men reasons to not like you.

“I want to watch you.” He said adamantly, still looking up at her while he sat in the grass and his own fingers traced the lines in the wood on the bench she was sitting on. 

“You are,” she countered and put the untouched box back into her bag as she took the book out. “Would you like to listen too?” 

“Yes please,” he smiled and those eyes fluttered closed so he could consume every word from her and this stupid book she had. 

“Have the Winchesters come to visit you?” She asked carefully as she thumbed through the book and his brows pinched again. He didn’t want to answer, so she wouldn’t push on that. “Your nurse, is she nice?” She asked instead, looking off at the entrance of the hospital where the woman was on her phone. 

“She is a thorn and I am a stem. She is the stinger and I am the bee. But neither are flowers, nectar or honey.” He said in a sing-song voice that made Lila laugh. 

“Alright Shakespeare, let's get reading. This one is called, ‘Devil’s Trap,’ and apparently has my Uncle Bobby in it.”  She smiled and cracked open the spine. 

— —

Lila (7:46 pm): So I tried calling you. A lot. Why the FUCK didn’t you tell me that Castiel 

was back? That he healed Sam? And he’s with a demon? Who is Meg? What the fuck 

do we know about Meg? I had to read about Meg in a book I bought from my neighbor. I 

don’t like this Dean. I don’t like this one bit. Call me. 

Dean (9:26 pm): Sammy issssssssssssssssss hear. Here. Hear. Here. BBer. Beer. Here Beer. HOLD BEER. SAAAAAMMMMYYYY. :) 

Lila (9:30 pm): Fuck off Dean.

Dean (1:08 am): Duck

Dean (1:09 am): Boo

Dean (1:09 am): Duck

Dean (1:09 am): Duck u

— —

Dean (3:45 pm): Sorry. Liquor ghost with Garth. Will explain later. 

Dean (3:46 pm): Sam’s phone doesn’t work btw. 

Dean Burner 3 (3:50 pm): This is Sam. We’ll be at the store tomorrow. Hung over. Sorry. Plz don’t be mad. 

Dean Burner 3 (4:12 pm): PS Dean is pissy. Have pie.

Chapter Text

May 2012 

Castiel 

If he just watched in the shadows then he could imagine the time that had passed wasn’t so distant. He could pretend that it had only been a week from the time he first met her. That he hadn’t made the mistakes he did, that he didn’t let the impulses that urged him onward to win out over reasoning every single time, and he could allow himself to think he was more to her than what he really was. Some friend of friends of a relative to Lila. That’s all Castiel had surely been. That’s all that he was. An angel who had fallen from grace with the exception of his father bringing him back again, and again to only make choices that he thought was helping the people who meant most to him. 

He stood there in the dark corner of her living room while she was busy downstairs in her store cleaning up and reorganizing for the next day of sales. His heightened hearing allowed him to keep track of every footstep she made, in combination with the cat that kept batting at the pant leg of his white scrubs under his trench coat. His hand was slipped into the pocket, fingers playing with the yarn strap there finding a way to ground himself to this moment. 

When Dean had given him the coat back, he had been surprised that his friend, his brother, had held onto it as long as he had. But the little secret inside the pocket he had kept for himself still had maintained its place. 

Freckled yarn, folded over copper yarn, woven around blue yarn.

He took a deep breath in from her home, letting the smell of her things fill his lungs until all that she was filled him, and all that he couldn’t be for her leave his body instead. Carefully listening to her hum downstairs along to the radio, he padded to her room undetected and shoved both hands now into their respective pockets. It was an act from his grace itself to keep from touching everything of hers. From pressing his face to her pillow that she slept on, from making sure her blankets were soft enough to be permitted the luxury of holding her, from opening her drawers and seeing what she kept in them as her own personal treasures. He glowered as he looked at her bed there. It was large for her, easily accommodating for two people, and something in him didn’t like that. 

Was this jealousy? A souring feeling that painted his thoughts in a bitter haze at the idea someone else could fit in her bed. Even worse, was the jealousy of the bed itself. This object she needed in comfort, for sleep. Angels didn’t sleep, he had no use for a bed, but still he wanted hers. To even replace it. To be the one she laid on as she slept, to wrap her in warmth and comfort while she dreamed. To wake her from nightmares, and soothe her restlessness. He wanted to be the bed, he wanted to be the chairs, he wanted to be the rug she walked on, he wanted to be the clothes she wore, the books she read, the food she consumed. Because all of her had consumed him and it wasn’t fair that he suffered in this aching alone. It was a prison, to not be able to put a name to the feelings he had, or to justify why he had them. 

It was wrong. So wrong that he was here in her space while she was unaware downstairs. She had visited him twice more at the asylum, he hoped that she would try and visit again. Maybe the Winchesters had let her know already that he was healing, maybe this aching desire in him was proof enough that he wasn’t. 

Angels don’t have desires like this. Jealousy, yes. That was common enough. He had seen brothers fight with one another over mundane roles in their existence and wondered why it mattered to them. Now, looking at a sage quilted bedspread with a gray trouble maker of a cat lounging on it he wondered if whatever petty arguments his brethren in Heaven had could even be compared to the jealousy he felt now in a cat that could openly show affection to a human woman that had broken something angelic in him. 

“No, I don’t understand.” Her voice carried through the home and he cursed himself for getting so lost in idealizing becoming an inanimate object that he had missed when she locked up her shop and came upstairs. 

He tucked himself away in a dark corner and quietly watched from the doorway as she pulled the windows open for the setting sun without turning the lights of her apartment on. She lit a candle on the counter, and let the low light guide her. The phone pressed to her ear as she made a face of discontent. He could just pick up Sam’s voice on the other end. 

“Just be careful about your food choices.” 

“Right, well I’m making grilled cheese on sourdough for dinner, and a leftover kale salad. Is that healthy enough?” She opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine before uncorking it and setting it on the counter alongside the rest of her dinner selections. 

“That’s it?” 

“Well, no. I did make a chocolate cake but… I made it. I didn’t buy it from a store. I can’t imagine your leviathans are contaminating flour as well?” She lifted a glass cloche from the cake display on the butcher block counter and swiped a finger along the side. 

“When did you buy the ingredients though?” 

“Well uh, last week?” She murmured and brought the chocolate covered digit to her mouth. Rose petal lips wrapped around and cheeks hollowed as she tasted the small confectionery. Castiel’s fingers gripped that woven braid tighter as he watched and felt jealousy now grip at his insides over food. Food that he couldn’t even enjoy. But he wondered what she would taste like. 

“Be smart about this, they’re putting chemicals in already addictive sweet foods to sedate you.” 

“But I made it,” she whined and formed a pout. Castiel clenched his thumb back to the near point of cracking to keep from reaching out of the shadows and running the pad along that bottom lip. To see if she would take it into her mouth the way she had her own finger. 

“You can make more in the future. I know it sucks. You know how hard it’s been for Dean to not eat that gas station crap he lives on? I’m sorry.” 

“It was for my birthday last week,” she muttered and picked up the plate before scraping it into the trash. “But no, you’re right. I don’t want to be used as livestock.” 

“Birthday… yeah… uh…” The line on Sam’s end wavered and Lila rolled her eyes as she washed her hands. 

“I don’t expect you to remember my birthday Sam, don’t pretend like you did. You have more important things to juggle.” She dried her hands and went back to the ingredients. “Cheese, sourdough bread, butter, and kale salad with um,” she checked her pantry once more, “cranberries and sesame seed dressing. Does that sound leviathan free?” 

“I’d be careful of the dressing.” 

“Okay, well, keep me updated.” She murmured and tossed the half opened bottle into the trash can. “Wait, wine?” 

“Once again, if I’m telling Dean no beer… I am sorry, and uh, we can catch up next week when we come to visit.” 

“No, you’re fine.” She covered her feelings with a shroud of understanding and Castiel swallowed back the need to comfort her. After all, he wasn’t supposed to even be there. She had no one left to remember her birthday, and although Castiel himself had never experienced the human tradition he was aware that it was important. Dean had spent his time at strip clubs with copious amounts of liquor that Castiel had to quietly reset his liver from every year. Sam enjoyed going to the movies and indulging in one greasy gluttonous meal that he normally would abstain from. But what had Lila done? Worked in her shop, answered phone calls from hunters that Garth had sent her way? Maybe her birthday had been spent when she came to see him and he was still suffering from the inflicted pain he had taken from Sam.

“Call me when you get a chance, tell Dean I said hi.” She murmured back and then finished it with, “take care of yourselves. Please.” 

The call ended and she strung a line of curses to herself quietly before lighting the gas stove and melting butter into a pan. Bread toasted, cheese sizzled, and he watched the intricate dance that was this woman creating a meal to nourish herself from items that before were not combined. It was a thoughtless task for her, quickly flipping the toasted sandwich in the pan, but to him it was something divine. Watching as nimble fingers sprinkled and cut, clutched at green leaves and bruised them before laying them to rest on a plate. The way she gnawed at her bottom lip in thoughts that he knew well enough had nothing to do with the dinner she was making. The little grumble of protest as she dumped the half finished bottle of white wine down the sink. 

The stove turned off, and with her mind elsewhere the side of her hand burned as it brushed against the pan. Flesh melted, and she let out a whimper in pain. That sound broke his shackles from the shadows and he came to her side just as she reached the cold faucet and she screamed out again in surprise. 

“WHAT THE FU-” She jumped back and the look on her face devastated him. But once recognition flooded he stared into her eyes in a wordless plea to not be afraid. “Castiel, what are you doing here?” She spoke too calmly, too controlled, and it unnerved him. 

“You’re burned,” he murmured and extended a hand. Surprisingly, without thought, she handed herself over. His grace came in ribbons and folded around her skin until it brought new cells to life and left no evidence of the mark before. Her breathing stilled as she watched, but she didn’t pull away. 

“Castiel,” she repeated when he finished, “what are you doing here?” 

But his fingers lingered longer than they had to, checking to see if she had any other possible ailments he could rid her of. Seasonal allergies, ankle pain from being on her feet all day, burst blood vessels around her hip he could sense from more than likely knocking into her counter.  

“Just, let me,” he whispered and then his grace sank back into his skin. “There.” 

Her hand pulled away and with it so did his sanity. He had to angle his face away, jaw clenched and chin up as she traced one long finger against the side of her hand. Then, unexpectedly, she shakily stepped closer. 

“The Winchesters told me you died, Cas.” She whispered. “And I mourned you, I mourned you in a way that,” she took in a sharp breath through her nose and puffed it out with frustration. “But here you are, like nothing happened.”  Her eyes grew misty and she looked at him with frustration and grief. “In your clothes from a mental health ward that you what, escaped?” 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could croak out. 

“Are you even real? Is it my turn to start hallucinating people now?” A sniffle and humorless laugh escaped her as she clutched onto the counter. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m real, this is real, and someone should have been there for you.” He said low as he tilted her chin back to look at him. 

Her shoulders crumbled in and she collapsed against his chest, her face buried in the scratchy fabric of his borrowed clothes and he wasn’t sure what to do. If it was appropriate for him to wipe away the tears that threatened or if he should give her the chance to realize what she was doing and with whom. But she didn’t move away. She didn’t leave, and so he wrapped his arms around her and held close while she finally let herself be vulnerable. She was tired, he felt it radiating from her, and although her dinner was on the counter and he very much wanted her to eat, she was pressed against him and it was everything that he had never realized he had wanted. 

His hand cupped the back of her head, chin resting on the top of it, and he soothed again, “I wish I could fix this for you. Make life easier.” 

“I don’t need it to be easier,” she finally answered back, “I just need to be included. To be thought of.” Her muffled words cut deeper than she realized. 

“You are thought of, constantly.” He said as he cupped her face up to see the promise there on his own. “Almost in detriment.” His voice was lighter trying to coax her from the brink of more tears. A  little huff of air and a weak half smile formed. His thumb disobeyed its prior restraint, and dragged along the curve of it, just barely touching. “Hungry?” 

“Starving.” She admitted quietly. The breath of her voice etching its way against his skin. 

“Eat,” he nudged the plate toward her and noticed the time on the clock regretfully. She sensed that slump to his own posture and placed her hand over his before squeezing an understanding goodbye.

Chapter Text

December 2012

Delilah Conner

Lila leaned against the counter, pen in hand as she scribbled furious notes in the margins of a dime store paperback novel about her two cousins and dead uncle. Correction, her one alive cousin, the other currently missing, and a dead uncle who she only recently found out was a ghost that didn’t even bother haunting her. Then again, she had never actually seen a ghost so who’s to say that Bobby didn’t haunt her. Lemuel did hiss at the windows occasionally so perhaps it was Bobby saying goodbye. 

She had hoped it was Castiel, maybe lurking on the street again outside her apartment keeping occasional watch. Over what, she didn’t know, but he disappeared the same time that Dean did. Sam had been very forthcoming with what happened. They just vanished. Stabbed a meat suit leviathan and vanished. That was it. 

“Alternate realities could be a possibility.” She had presented as they scoured over Bobby’s belongings that she still held in the basement of her shop, and Sam had only looked down at his father’s journal skimming through the lore of it over and over again in disagreement.  

“And how would I jump through realities?” Sam had been bitter at the suggestion and she shut down inside as a result. 

Astral projection was something they could attempt, something she had recounted them trying before, but Sam dismissed the idea quickly again. To be fair, the last time he had tried it the Winchesters had a medium with them and Lila possessed no such qualities. Nor was she open to actual possession. Then again, she had considered it if it meant helping to find Dean and Castiel. But, it seemed as though Sam had given up. 

This had happened enough times to the Winchesters that when one died, that had to be the end right? If a cat has nine lives, the Winchesters surely had ten. Plus, if she hadn’t seen their blood personally she would have assumed them gods the way they ran head first into danger. Dean her Ares and Sam her Apollo, but where did that leave her? A mortal attempting to keep the fires of a family shrine constantly lit. But unlike Ares, Dean was tenderhearted at times. Especially to his detriment. He killed only to keep his own from being killed. And unlike Apollo, Sam knew when he should stop chasing something that didn’t benefit anyone. 

But what of Castiel, her holy ghost now. She would never admit it to Sam, barely admitted it to herself, but she found that throughout the day when shadows grew long or when the world was too quiet, she prayed to him. Would indulge in a fantasy that he was listening, that he could hear her little mundane daily thoughts or her questions. 

What is your favorite color, and why do I assume it’s blue? 

If you are an angel, shouldn’t you have wings? I’ve never seen them before I realized the other day when I saw a bird flying. Is that just a fairy-tale, the wings? What color are they if you do have them? Wait, you have to have them because Sam told me he had used an angel feather for a locating spell to try and find Dean and I had thought he made it up. Never mind. Anyway, I bet you have a very impressive wingspan if that matters to angels. 

Lem spilled mint again and he requested you.  

I miss you.

The honey bees are hibernating. Do you like honey? I’ll have to get some from the autumn market for you when they sell it. 

What are your thoughts on angels at Christmas? Do you even notice them, the decorations I mean. Is it rude or off-putting? I feel like if someone presented me as a sweet beautiful little thing I’d be very pleased. But then again I’m not an omniscient being that could level entire neighborhoods. But, to me you are also a sweet beautiful thing so fifty fifty shot I guess. Not little thought. I’m aware you are the size of the Chrysler building. That’s pretty big. Kinda sexy. Disregard that. I don’t know why I thought that. Sorry. 

She checked her phone again as a notification sound pinged but it was just an order email for the next week from a hunter coming by to get more holly. Her local florist connection hadn’t questioned the high interest in holly thankfully, but her fingers still burned from the amount of tying it with copper wire to wooden steaks that she had been doing. There was an influx of mischief related to who knows what, something about Jack Frost or a pagan god, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was to keep her supplies in good standing. 

There was a small feeling of disappointment though that grew out of a tiny seed from resentment planted. She had thought it was Sam. She was hearing from him less and less, and she hoped it was because he was busy with his new career as a ‘motel room repairman’ rather than him cutting off memories of his brother. 

She sniffed and went to turn the page back of her book when the door of the shop opened and she looked up. A short man in a dark suit, black wool peacoat, and tipped hat stood in the doorway. He looked around and sighed without entering. 

“I assume it’s not busy this afternoon?” A thick Irish accent poured out like whisky and she raised a brow as he continued standing just at the entryway. 

“We close in half an hour,” she said, saccharinely sweet, and placed her book on the counter. “How can I be of service?” 

“Well it’s funny you should ask that specific question, because I do need your services specifically.” He smiled back and gestured to the doorway. 

“Why are you in the cold still?” She carefully worded. The Winchesters had never told her if vampires needed to be invited in properly, but she had watched enough Buffy the Vampire Slayer to assume that the myth had to come from somewhere. 

“If I tell you, do you promise not to tell another soul?” He chuckled and leaned against the door frame. 

“No,” she said flatly but maintained that customer service smile. 

“What if I told you, I’m friends with your uncle?” He made pucker and popped his lips. 

“He had a lot of friends,” she sighed and reached her fingers under the counter to check for her holstered pistol. She didn’t like to use it, never had, but it was there and she knew that the first bullet in the chamber was silver, the second was hollow point, and the third would finish off whatever this man was. 

“No, I wouldn’t pull out that little pop gun trick I’m sure you have hidden away if you want to see your Winchesters again.” He tutted and gestured to the inside of the shop once more. “Can you be a little more hospitable to a family acquaintance?” 

“And why should I?” The smile dropped and she ground her teeth. 

“Because I can come in, your little warding won’t stop me. I will just be uncomfortable and cranky in its presence.” He blinked and made a face that she could only describe as a well get to it look.

She had every mind to try and dial Sam as a last minute effort, but she doubted he would answer. So, she moved to the iron door frame and scratched a line in the painted runes her angel had put up in a time that felt like years ago. “Better?” 

“Much,” he rolled his shoulders and stepped through as she quickly made her way back behind the counter. 

“So, a demon then?” She swallowed nervously and picked at her cuticles behind her back as she tried to keep her head held high. 

“No darling, not a demon. The demon.” He smiled and took his hat off, brushing the snow away and hanging it on a hook by the front door just as he carefully used his foot to lift rugs until he discovered the demon traps. “Crowley,” he said as he dragged a heel to scuff the paint away. “There. We can talk freely now.” With the wave of his hand the door snapped shut and locked. Every blind closed along with her throat in fear. 

“What do you want?” She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from trembling and he pouted back in a mock display of annoyed affection. 

“You,” he waggled his finger. “You don’t have to worry about me.” 

“The King of Hell?” She let out a shaky laugh. 

“Yes, see I’m here to help you, fidgety thing.” He said matter of factly and pointed to the stairwell around the corner from the main floor of the building. 

“The warding down there is etched into the stone.” She admitted and shook her head no. 

“Ah, you have mistaken me.” He walked over and eyed the book on the counter. She took the familial fan fic and tossed it in a drawer before he could reach for it. 

“But there is nothing up there you’d be interested in. I live upstairs.” 

“I’m aware.” He said, his pleasantness slowly wearing thin and gave her another look pressuring to get moving. 

“I’m not a virgin.” She blurted out, feeling her cheeks flush and he shrugged. 

“Neither am I, shall we?” 

She scrunched her nose and tilted her head as she looked over at him, "aren't you going to sacrifice me in my own home?” 

“No.” He chuckled and shoved his hands into the pocket of his coat. “That’s fine and all for when people try and get my attention. We’re going upstairs. I am going to sweep your apartment for traces of your angel friend and you’re going to go to the basement and get me something from your safe. Now, hop to it. Up the stairs.” 

“Castiel isn’t here.” She said weakly and headed in the direction he had been urging. 

“I’m well aware, his very presence gives me heart burn. No, he’s where squirrel is and I need you bunny to go unlock your door before moose comes up and ruins my plans.” 

“You’re very full of yourself,” she murmured as she trudged up the stairwell and opened her door to allow him into the apartment. 

“Someone has to be,” he muttered and followed her into the small living quarters. 

“Wait, do you know where he is?” She asked with a hopefulness that made a vicious smile spread from him. 

“I do. And I can help you get feathers and his pet back if you cooperate.” He drummed his fingers against the counter and looked around the kitchen in search of something. His upper lip curled back and he muttered to himself, “not in here.” 

“Where are they?” She dared to whisper as he strolled into her living room and he lifted a few velvet pillows from the couch tossing them to the floor. 

“Purgatory.” He sighed back. “Whats with all the crochet?” His fingers hovered over the blankets stacked over her couch and her nose scrunched again in the change of subject. 

“I run a craft store, you tend to pick up hobbies. Don’t you have hobbies? Or are you too busy being dour?”

“Yes Kate Bush I get it you’re very quirky." He grimaced and pushed a chair back to look under it. “My hobbies are similar to that of feathers’ apparently. Sifting through your things.” She had no idea what this King of Hell was talking about, but if it helped her get Castiel and Dean back she would go along with it. He bent down and swiped at a small clump of fur she had missed when sweeping and brought it to his nose. Inhaled and smiled, “that will do.” 

“I thought Purgatory was just something Catholics made up to make people feel better about their loved ones not going to Heaven.” She whispered and his face twisted. 

“Catholics? Oh no bunny, Purgatory is where monsters go. Not good people.” He flicked the clump back onto the ground and added, “plus, there are plenty of good people and Catholics alike in Hell as well. Now, where is your cat?” 

“No, no don’t take Lemuel, he’s a good boy.” She began to plead and he scoffed. 

“He is not, he’s a right little demon himself.” Crowley grunted. 

“What do you need with my cat anyway?” Lila grew defensive. This man, demon, king, whatever, was only an inch taller than her but she still looked down her nose at him. 

“Felines hold grace longer than humans do. Good reason why witches use them as familiars.” He scoffed back. 

She blinked, “I don’t know what the hell that means.” It was evident she was growing more frustrated and he grinned in amusement. 

“Good, your candy coated shell is gone. Now we can get to work. Get me your annoying hellish cat so I can extract the grace from him.” He stood there smugly waiting for Lila to complete a task she still was confused about. 

“My cat doesn’t have any-” 

“Yes, he does.” Crowley cut her off. “Whether or not Castiel told you, at some point he healed your little furry compatriot, recently it seems before his departure, and the grace will be lingering in his fur working its way out of Lionel's system.” 

“Lemuel.” She corrected. 

“I don’t care bunny, get me your pussycat now. We don’t have all day.” He snapped and she gave a quick glare as she scurried to her room and attempted to find her poor Lem who was napping peacefully on her bed. 

“He’s in here.” She called out and laid beside the cat pulling him into her arms. 

Crowley walked in and swiftly pinched a tuft from the cat’s back causing the feline to hiss and scratch at Lila’s arm before running under the bed to hide. “Point made.” 

“Normal people don’t yank fur off of him,” she scolded and rubbed at the scratch and Crowley tsked as he walked back into the kitchen. 

“In the basement I believe you have in your safe a little box that is this size,” the King of Hell held up his forefinger and thumb showing two inches. “Do not attempt the joke I know Dean would, I see it swirling around that usually blank head of yours.” 

He was right, she wanted to make a dick joke but chose not to. If he was any other demon she might, but something about his title made her second guess doing so. 

“It has carved in it an RM and a lock on the front. Hop along and get that for me.” 

“How do you know…” She paused and stared at him with her lips parted slightly mid sentence. 

“Because I gave it to Bobby a long while ago, and I know he gave it to you.” He turned to the kitchen and grabbed the cast iron pot on her stove that still had a halved apple and spices in it from the simmer pot the night before. “Go on you little ginger witch.” He hissed and she glared back. 

“I’m not a witch.” She snapped back. 

“Please,” he crooned, “I know a red headed witch just like you. Short though. Better make up. Better clothes.” 

“I… okay rude. But no, I’m not a witch. I’m a normal human woman.” She placed her hands on her hips and rebuked the allegation.  

“Go on then get my box Stevie Nicks.” He flipped the pot to empty into the sink and turned the water on to rinse it out. 

“No, I,” she paused and looked back at the man making himself home in her kitchen. “You, hunters, angels, demons, all use magic. You all make spells and potions, but you’re not all witches.” 

“You have a cat.” 

“I feel like that is a stereotype. You’re not carrying a pitchfork.” 

“Not right now no, I reserve that accessory for when I am with more interesting company.” He smirked and snatched a hand towel from the counter before drying out the pot and placing it back onto the stove. 

“Hex bags make the witch. I don’t have those.” She countered. 

“You do in your inventory.” He amended her argument and she let out a huff before retreating down the stairs to get his damned box. 

When she returned, because he was correct he did have the box waiting in the safe, he had already laid out items from her store below and was layering them in the cast iron pot. 

She placed the little box down and he gave her an, I told you so, grin before slicing the pad of his thumb and pressing it into the lock. The mechanism opened and inside was a bottle of ashes. 

“So,” she said nervously, “you’re just going to help me get Dean and Castiel back?” 

“Uh no,” he corrected. “You’re going to act as my supplier now as well until your darling boys return home.” 

“I don’t have that many connections though,” she said confused, “I imagine you have more at your disposal than I do.” 

“But I like you bunny, I know you’re trustworthy.” He lit the stove and poured half the container of the ashes inside. 

“Right,” she swallowed back a feeling that it probably was bad she was found redeeming to the King of Hell. 

“See, I know you won’t contaminate my things, I know when I ask for lamb's blood, it will be fresh and unmolested. When I ask for myrr resin it will be pure and uncut. None of this amber nonsense. You know why?” He held up the cat fur and grinned. “I am currently making a spell to reopen a human sized hatch from Purgatory for your squirrel to scurry though. When he does, he will reconnect with his lumbering brother and a little prophet I have in my possession will come running to their side. There, Kevin Tran will think that he is safe and finally decode the tablets that I need. He’s being a real ass about this and not doing as I say. I’m treating him fair enough. Feeding him, housing him, what more could a prisoner ask for. Anyway, I will scoop up said translations and all will be back to plan.” 

“You’re just telling me this? That seems like a bad plan to just tell me everything. James Bond villains do that, and then they get caught.” She winced and he rolled his eyes back. 

“One, associating me to a Bond villain is rude. I’m Irish and the King of Hell. Two, the grace left over in this spell will temporarily give me access to your short term memories. So this bit is just fun for me. I never really get to indulge in a little evil monologue. You won’t remember it. Just our deal.” He paused and then added, “while I’m at it, I can admit that I actually do have a fondness for the Winchesters. There. I said it. And I never will again.” He sprinkled in the cat’s fur and a puff of deep sparkling blue plumed from the pot. “Good night bunny.” He waved fingers, and all went dark. 

Chapter Text

May 2013

Delilah Conner

Another Christmas, New Years, Valentines, Birthday, whatever other holidays in between passed for Lila alone yet again. That was entirely her fault. If she wanted to, she could easily go out into the world and make friends. She could even go out and date. But instead she spent every holiday taking down window displays and curating new ones. Mother’s Day had been today, and she had bought flowers for her mother’s urn on a little ledge upstairs in her apartment. While she sat on the rugs in her shop, organizing through signage to put up and display, she heard a knocking on the glass. 

She ignored it, hoping that although the light was on and the blinds were closed, the customers at the window would go away. She would open again on Tuesday, and they could come back. But the knocking happened again. 

Ignore them, as soon as you open that door you’ll feel bad and help them. They should have thought about a gift sooner. 

But the knob on the door turned and she looked thinking that perhaps she hadn’t locked it after all. 

“Excuse you, we’re closed, but there will be a clearance sale Tuesday…” the rest of the words evaporated from her mind as a six foot missing man stood next to his four inch taller brother and walked in. 

“I did try to call, thankfully Sammy still has the key..” He said as she clutched at her chest and jumped to her feet. Papers scattered all over the floor. 

She shouted Dean’s name and nearly tripped as she ran into his arms. His body was solid, and there completely. Face buried against his shoulder as she clutched onto him and squeezed tightly. He let out a little grunt of discomfort and she jumped back wincing in embarrassment but he grabbed her and pulled her into a softer embrace.  

“Oh gosh, you’re probably all broken up, bones displaced, and…” she rambled and took a steadying breath to keep from falling apart herself. Her face laid flush against his sternum as his hand patted the side of her head. 

“I’m okay,” he lied. She knew it was a lie, but she also knew Dean better than to push for the truth. When they finally separated she quickly moved them upstairs. No family of hers was going to stand around a closed shop and watch her do inventory. 

When Dean finally plopped down onto the couch she took his face in her hands, rolling his neck from one side to the other and looking over every minor scrape and scratch. Her thumb just barely brushed along the bruising under his eye to check the coloring as she thought about which balms she could place on it to ease the discomfort, which tinctures and teas she could provide, and he closed his eyes for once not arguing about her fussing over him. 

“When is Cas coming?” She whispered and looked over at Sam who reflexively seemed to tighten in his seat. An almost indistinguishable shake of his head to drop the question left him and her stomach seized. 

“You got beer?” Dean asked instead, and she saw it there in his eyes. He wasn’t coming. 

She had given up her morals in the promise that he would. Both of them. Her family, her angel, she had been told he would come back. She had been secretly permitting Crowley to use her warded basement as a safe house to store his stolen items. Demons and angels alike couldn’t come in, allowing it to be the one place that was unexpectedly holding his wares. The King of Hell was coming to her for scrolls, artifacts, and any lead that would help to translate the Demon tablet all so she could guarantee them both back.

“I sure do, yeah, and I can make pie. Apple, chocolate silk, strawberry, what do you want?” She had to keep herself busy. Her smile at seeing Dean there on the couch safe and alive felt oddly wrong. Like it was cutting out the part of her that wanted to fall to the ground and scream. The absolute joy at knowing her little family was back together again wasn’t really complete with Castiel missing. 

“Don’t make me choose,” he looked up at her with suns in his eyes and a fat bottom lip. She beamed back and nodded. 

“All of them then. Order pizza,” she pointed to Sam and then added, “with my debit card. None of this false credit card nonsense. I order too much locally to have a bad reputation if it backfires.” She fished the wallet from her purse by her front door and tossed it to the younger Winchester. His eyes meeting hers and exchanging a knowing apology. 

I’m sorry. 

She swallowed any witty retort down, any questions about where Dean had been, how he got back and quickly turned into the kitchen. He just wanted to fall back into place, like he had never left. Her hands worked for her as she pulled items out of the fridge and set them out on the counter as well as finding two beers and bringing them out while Dean reached for the remote to see what was on the TV. Lounging back onto the sofa and letting himself, for the first time in a long while, feel at home. 

Happiness should have flooded her, she should have relished in knowing that her boys were back. But, they were not all back. And as she crossed into the dark kitchen she clutched onto the counter while the burn of anguish consumed her. Silent tears that dragged down cheeks like shards as shaky hands wiped them clean. She pulled two pies out of the freezer, attempting to find a new direction to take over her mind. Turning on the oven to preheat and sliding them in. But her thoughts all drifted back to soft blue eyes and a half moon smile. 

You were supposed to be here Castiel. Her mind was a boat sinking against the tempest of her thoughts and feelings as she fought in a prayer to him. You were supposed to be here. Safe. I can’t do what you all do. I don’t wield an angel blade, I don’t shoot guns, I don’t have the agility or the mindset to go out and hunt. That isn’t me. But what I do have I try so hard. It isn’t enough though is it? I can’t be that for you. I can’t be a Dean or a Sam and go track down whatever is holding you back. I can’t be a Bobby and find all the answers. I thought what I did could be enough. What can I do? How can I get you home? How can I be enough?  It dawned on her. Crowley was to blame.

“I have to grab something downstairs.” She called out. “I’ll wait for the pizza delivery driver while I’m there. Pies are in the oven!” 

The two brothers shouted back they heard her just as she took a small knife from the drawer and went running before she changed her mind. 

It took a few minutes to clean the scattered papers off of the floor, to fumble through her drawers until she found chalk, and to even go flipping through books that Bobby had left her to find a summoning spell. But, in all that time while she drew lines on the floor, set candles around her, and lit each one she walked the path to summon the King of Hell. A copper bowl in the center, nearly an entire month’s worth of sales in saffron in it, and a lit match was flaming in the chalk ring. 

“Where do I cut?” She looked along her hand and arms knowing she needed to provide some blood as a sacrificial calling. “The boys cut their hands but that seems stupid when you use them constantly.” She muttered as she slid the blade along a fatty part of her arm and dripped enough into the bowl that the spell turned the smoke an ashy gray as she spoke the written words out. 

“I thought you said you weren’t a virgin." The accent filled the room and she looked up to see him standing just feet from her. 

“I’m not.” She bit back. 

“I’m not a witch,” he said in a poor exaggeration of her voice. “Look at you little witchling in your chalk and candles summoning the King of Hell himself. Who do you think you are?” 

“An unsatisfied patron,” she glowered as she stood up. “I was promised Dean Winchester and Castiel. My angel is not back.” 

“Your angel hm?” He laughed roughly and shook his head. “It’s not my fault that Dean used his ticket to bring his little boy toy biting Benny instead now is it? I had always thought that feathers and squirrel were nesting together but,” he shrugged, “seems a little leech as wiggled his way into the Winchester’s heart.” 

“Bring him back!” She shouted, close to stomping her foot in an all out tantrum. 

“Or what?” He said coolly, “I have the right mind to send you to time out and let you know where your place is in this line up. You’re not even a Winchester speaking to me like this. You’re a quarter relative to Bobby Singer who played daddy to them. You’re not a hunter, you’re a girl with a store messing in things you don’t understand. Your angel.” He let out a low scoff. “Castiel is a dove with a broken wing. He is cast out of Heaven for being a stain to their false perfection, and too self righteous for Hell. If anything, Purgatory is where he belongs.”

“You were a crossroads demon before.” Her voice came out weak and his brow ticked upward in delight. 

“I still am bunny.” 

“What can I give you to bring him back?” Her voice cracked again and he huffed a sigh out. 

“Here’s the thing, usually I would take your soul. Easy as that. Especially one as precious as yours. But your fostered big brothers up there kill every hell-hound I send. So, there is no point to that then is there?” 

“I don’t have any skills that are useful to you, all I have that’s even worthwhile I’ve already traded to you,” she swallowed in panic. “I’d give my soul though to bring Castiel back. If that’s what it took. You can have it now even.” She looked at him as mist clouded her vision, and he looked in turn pleased to hear the begging more than she had ever seen him before. 

“You know, I might have an idea. But this is between you and me. I’ll collect when the time comes. Deal?”

“Yes,” the word escaped her and he stepped into the shakily drawn circle on the ground. 

“Give me a kiss then bunny,” he tipped her chin to look at him. His fingers were shockingly soft with her as he planted a gentle peck against her lips. “Good girl,” he took a step back, “now, I smell baked goods ready upstairs you should check on.”  A knock on the front door sounded and he clasped his hands. “Perfect timing. Pizza and pies with Winchesters. Have fun with your slumber party. Don’t stay up too late, don’t prank call cute boys, and no Bloody Mary in the mirror.” He smirked and was gone.

Chapter Text

August 2013

Crowley

Human soul extraction is a lot easier than angels make it out to be. It’s a matter of keeping it untarnished that is the tricky part. Crowley could strip the soul from a physical form in a second, pluck it out and scatter it into the abyss of his own domain. But it was the almighty angels, with their shackles on not only fun but abiding the rules they set in place keeping him from making this transaction easy. 

“I could do it myself Crowley if it is so difficult for you to keep the soul intact,” Naomi sniped as they stood over Lila strapped down on a hospital bed. 

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” He sneered, “if I remember correctly, you enjoy a long and slow fucking over.” There wasn’t a chance in Heaven, Earth, or Hell that he was allowing Naomi to work the spell. He had owed her a favor some time ago, and this was his way of getting out of a centuries long bind. A soul for a soul. But Naomi wasn’t in the market for any soul, and thankfully this human girl who had way too many conflicting emotions over an angel, was perfect to break any seal he had with Naomi. 

When Crowley had been notified that the inquisitor was looking for Castiel, he had left a trail of breadcrumbs directly to this very situation. 

Step 1: Create a need for the product in the market. Delilah Conner was close with the Winchesters. The Winchesters were close with Castiel. So by proxy he assumed that Delilah was one in the same with the angel. What was it that Dean said quite often? Something something family something something blood not being blood but how you perceive family? Crowley didn’t care. What he found though when his demons were snooping around the shop, was Castiel was snooping as well. It seemed that cupids not only struck humans, but interfered with angels alike. Poor dumb Castiel was often reported moping outside her apartment window, sometimes inside her shop when she wasn’t there, and nothing brought Crowley more joy in seeing that begging on her face when she saw that Castiel hadn’t returned from purgatory.  

Step 2: Create a small supply compared to the demand. When Crowley had reopened the rumored portal out of Purgatory he just so happened to only make it mortal sized. Humans could slip out but an angel? That would be a tough squeeze. And an angel the size of Castiel? Nearly impossible. So when Lila did beg for her soul in trade of Castiel’s safety, he had to pretend he had no use for it until he was absolutely sure that she would do anything to get her feathered friend back. 

Step 3: The final sale. The original deal he had made with her worked out in his favor already. He was keeping Holy and Demonic relics alike in a small unsuspecting basement in St. Joseph, Missouri. It was guarded against even himself, and he knew she would keep her mouth closed about it because if Sam Winchester was busy gallivanting with his new girlfriend to the point where he wasn’t even looking for his brother, he surely wasn’t keeping tabs on his cousin, or sister, or whatever the fuck she was to them. He knew Bobby Singer had been good on his word, that same trust in faith as well as an unfortunate for them trust in others was passed onto Lila as well. So, when Dean did return and find his brother, Crowley would let Kevin Tran go (the prophet believing he got out on his own) to run off and find the brothers Winchester. Make a little fort for himself, hunker down, and translate the tablets properly. Lila being kept in the dark by her family as she often was, or Crowley assumed she was as he had heard whispers of their arguments, would unknowingly lead Crowley to the translations when they were done. But this deal became so much sweeter when Castiel didn’t return and Lila nearly tore a hole through her floor to Hell calling upon the king himself. 

“So, will it hurt?” Lila trembled under her blindfold as Crowley pinched at pressure points along her rib cage. 

“No,” he lied. 

“Yes,” Naomi snapped back. “A lot.” 

He let out a huff of annoyance and rolled his head back to the angel. “I’m trying to keep her calm. What good is a fleshy body flailing pre-soul exhumation?” 

“I’ll hold still. How will this get Castiel back?” Lila flinched under the binds as he traced a thumb just at the skin of her third rib. 

“Why should we tell you?” Naomi asked coolly and Crowley sucked the air between his teeth. 

“Because of the theatrics? Naomi dear, you have to give her something. Her soul will slide out like holy oil if she knows how her darling angel will flutter home.” More gingerly than he needed to, he tucked the gauze shroud around her half naked midsection and peeled the layer back to reveal the exact spot on bare skin his essence would slide in and take it. He couldn’t  harm her, the Winchesters would soon enough find a way to flay him alive already. He had taken the precaution of blind folding her so she wouldn’t be scalded by the brightness of her very soul when it was removed. 

“Fine,” Naomi clicked tongue to teeth and took in a sharp breath. “The human soul is a powerful charge of energy. Your strong will toward helping Castiel will act as a lighthouse guiding him to us, or vice versa. We can’t be expected to charge into Purgatory and just look for him. It’s boundless. So, we will use your,” he let out a displeased grunt, “penchant for helping him that is somehow embedded in your soul to find him and bring him back here.” 

“Thank you, thank you for helping me. You really are an angel.” A tear rolled down her cheek and Crowley wanted to correct her. Naomi was an angel, yes, but she was just as wicked in her own right as any demon he knew. But it also would do no good at this point to say such things. 

“This will only be a pinch bunny,” he murmured and a scream erupted from Lila as she attempted to hold still while his being dug around her heart and found the light they needed. 

Chapter Text

Unknown Purgatory

Castiel

By nature, by creation, Castiel was a warrior. He was a fighter, he was a killer, and he could be ruthless at times. But, he didn’t enjoy it. He had brothers who found pleasure and delight in slaughtering. He had sisters who found ecstasy even in the idea of serving punishments to those who they categorized as wrong. But he didn’t. He never had. He wanted to observe, and he wanted to learn. 

His siblings had all told him that humanity had weakened him. Every angel had its place in creation, had its reason for existing. Humans bred themselves like animals, it was told, they just existed to be God's experiment. His rumored favorites among the whispers of those annoyed by their own stations. Castiel was made to be a fighter, and then a general. He was promoted, and in the beginning he had hoped one day he would belong in the ranks of the most notable in his own garrison. 

Then the Winchesters came along, and he saw devotion in a new light. Through them he discovered what a family could be without expectations. Just people who loved him for being there, not for what he was but who. Even worse to his failing angelic teachings was Lila. At least with the Winchesters they had a bond from saving one another's lives time and time again. But Lila didn’t take a monster strike for him, and she was unaware of the demons he had smited outside of the apartment for her. No, Lila for unexplainable reasons, just liked Castiel for the person he was. 

This all made Purgatory a living Hell for Castiel. He tried to make a home in the woods for himself without fighting half dead vampires and zombies but they always came, and he always killed. What was the point of a place where monsters go when they die, if they just died again? Brought back in a horrible cycle that did nothing for him. His brother Michael would have loved this land, slaughter and decay by his hands. Michael was bred for war, Castiel wasn’t. 

He had lost track of time, thinking of how Dean had looked so pain stricken as Cas held back and refused to go with him through the portal to Earth. He stayed behind to make sure Dean would survive. Part of him though stayed because of the fear that he didn’t deserve to go back. He was unwelcome to Earth after what he had done, unable to return to Heaven after he slaughtered so many of his own kind, and unworthy of the one person he wanted most to see in all of creation. How could he look at her in those bright eyes that saw only the lightest parts of him and explain that he had killed so many because he had once again failed in a plan that he hoped would be the easier way for the people he loved? He couldn’t. This was better. To forever darken his spirit with mindless bloodshed, and be thankful that angels couldn’t sleep because it would be filled with the nightmare of her hopeful face. 

But every once in a while he would hear her prayers even through the fog of Purgatory. Little whispers asking about his day, telling him to be brave because she was finding a way to bring him home. And that sweet hopeful voice was a balm to his weary heart but a thorn in his worries. 

His favorite place to go and sulk was by a riverbed. The tumbling of water against rocks sloshed his mind clean for just a moment before he had to continue onward as his scent would attract the local wildlife. Sometimes he would hear her strongest there, calling out to him, and it was an ache that he was unaware an angel could feel. Deep in his chest where a soul would have belonged if he were human. 

Today, he sat there and looked out at the water and wondered if it was on Earth what sort of fish might swim in the stream. If salmon would house their offspring here or if bears would wait for their dinners along the trees. He looked up and blinked as a soft incandescent light floated on the other side of the river. Impossible, as there was no warmth here. Not since Dean had left. But there it resided and that stirring in his chest pulled him forward. His eyes narrowed and blinked again as he tilted his head to get a better view. He found himself walking over the brook, stepping on rocks and sloshing through the icy waters to get to the other side where the light held itself in place. It floated just at eye level and the heat of it radiated against his skin. 

“No,” he growled out, anger flooding him at knowing exactly who this was. “I haven't lost my mind completely yet. You’re not here.” Or had he? He could find her soul even if he was blinded and searching all of Heaven for her. She called out to him like a siren song that he would never be allowed to act on. It was devastating to be near her, and still the greatest gift he could selfishly take. 

The little warm light fluttered closer, begging him to reach out. Telling him that he would be okay. But more than that, it fed delusions. When he was on Earth, when he saw her, he would often imagine what touching her soul would be like. Anyone could talk to her, could feel the joy in a simple smile, but no one would be able to touch her soul like he would. No one would have her like that, would feel the very essence of who she was and understand her. It gnawed away inside of him, the prospect of her being his. And it was wrong. Because what could he possibly even give her in return? He didn’t want to own her soul, he wasn’t a demon taking count or an angel adding her to a roster. No, he wanted to know her soul, wanted to feel it, and care for it, and adore it. He wanted to touch it, to touch her. But more than that he wanted to be known by her in return. Angels didn’t have souls, but when he thought of her for just a moment it felt like he did, because that burning desire lit a fire within his insides and created a new life within him. 

So, in this place where there were no correct answers, he gave in and let himself have this one moment of weakness. His hand reached and cupped the soul as it pooled against palm and sank into his skin. She filled him with hope, and desires, with her dreams, and even her fears, and within him he loved. Overwhelmingly so. He dropped to his knees and clutched at his own ribs trying to keep it all contained inside his bones as he bathed in her warmth. In her love. For he had known the love of family, but nothing like this.

“There you are,” a voice broke him from his rapture. 

“Naomi,” his voice raked against his throat like the river over the rocks behind him. 

“Hello Castiel, we have some catching up to do.” She said clipped and shackles were placed on his wrists by his brothers he didn’t see emerge from the woods. They yanked him from the ground up to his feet again and another angel took a blade, slicing the skin at his ribs as a groan cried out from him in return. 

“No, please,” the begging left him without his permission as Lila’s soul escaped his body from that little cut and found residence in a container made from the metal extracted from fallen stars. 

“You’ve grown too fond of humans, but we can use that.” Naomi tutted and turned to leave, the angel guards pushing him along with them.

Chapter Text

October 2013

Delilah Conner

Lila had been promised, upon return of her soul, that it had been untampered with. When Crowley opened the lid to the small box and it rested there in a blue haze at the bottom she asked if he had done anything with it she should take note of, and he looked back at her as if she suggested that he had blown up the moon with it. It was a soul, she hadn’t even been aware it could be taken as a physical item. Maybe it had been split into pieces and scattered across Purgatory, she had no clue. But the King of Hell only told her to lay back and accept her soul into her body before he left. 

She had gotten used to the feeling of having it back, the warmth of wanting and feeling as well as the bitter cold of fear and rejection. All of it had melded together into the person she was, and without a soul she had been blank inside. It was numbing, and at times when dealing with angry customers it was helpful. One man in particular wanted dust from a golem made from red clay in Jordan, when all she had was remnants from modern day Yemen and former Constantinople. He wasn’t happy with that, and she hung up on him. When he called her store again she very calmly told him to, “go fuck yourself or I’ll have you blacklisted in my store and any retailer that I’m associated with you crocodillian Louisiana cock sucking piece of shit.” It was the easiest thing she had ever said back to a man who threatened to stop business with her, and as she hung up the phone she went on about her day. A week later he called back telling her that the Yemen fragments would do, and he would pay for the troubles. 

That was the nice thing about no soul, no conscience and no worries. Just living in a blind state. But as her soul melted back into her bones, and seeped low into her bloodstream the wave of relief to feel came rushing in. Yes, it was nice being able to not feel guilt over constantly needing to fulfill everyone around you. Over worrying about stepping on Sam’s toes while he struggled about leaving his girlfriend (who Lila didn’t care much for but that was neither here nor there. He had been happy, even if she had her husband back from war and still couldn’t choose who she loved more, and that’s all that mattered.). Over handling Dean with bubble wrap and care because the guilt of leaving Cas behind had made him brittle. Over trying to please the King of Hell so that he would keep her secret working relationship with him quiet all under the guise of trying to get her angel back. But mostly it was the other hunters who viewed her as a stop and shop instead of a person. 

Her soul had been tampered with though. After a full day of it ruminating within her and slowly returning back to normal, there was a humming that wouldn’t subside. Like a part of her she never realized wasn’t there, suddenly grew more aware with time. 

Dean Burner 2 (9:25 am): Lost phone, use this.

Lila (10:18 am): Again? 

Dean Burner 2 (11:28 am): Duh  

Lila (11:30 am): Should I order another? 

Dean Burner 2 (11:36 am): No, we’re picking up another otw to you :) 

Lila (11:38 am): Me? Yay! To what do I owe the pleasure this time? 

Dean Burner 2 (11:40 am): We sent the case info.

Lila (11:42 am): Business not leisure. 

Dean Burner 2 (12:02 pm): Both.

Lila (12:08 pm): I’ll get a kit ready for you. :) 

Dean Burner 2 (12:12 pm): 3 plz 

Lila (12:18 pm): You find Garth? 

Dean Burner 2 (12:25 pm): No. 

In the kitchen of her apartment she had food in the oven, cooled pies on the counter, beers in the fridge, and a soul settled back into place. For just a little moment she could forget the world outside and focus on making sure everyone in her company was cared for. She enjoyed that, caring for others. It filled her with a sense of purpose and accomplishment, but mostly it made her feel needed in return. Was that selfish of her, possibly. But the Winchesters rarely had someone that wanted to nurture and fawn over them, and she rarely had someone that made her feel appreciated in return. So together they would sit on the couch and watch whatever cowboy movie Dean would pick out, and get lightly buzzed before falling asleep and waking up the next morning in her bed with her boys gone. Sam usually left a note of thanks, and when they’d return on their way back from their case and then onto the next. 

A knock at the door startled her wandering mind and she nearly slipped as she ran to open it. Fuzzy socks lost their grip on freshly waxed wooden floors, and although she knew the brothers wouldn’t care about a clean house, she did. The door swung open and she beamed at the two lumbering giants in her doorway, but it was a third head of messy dark hair and soft blue eyes that made her face heat. 

“Something smells good.” 

Dean bolted into the kitchen and she managed to whisper out, “help yourself,” as Sam followed him in. 

She had to will herself upright to keep from falling at Castiel’s feet in her doorway. He had to hear how hard her heart was pounding against her ribs. How it was nearly choking her air supply because each beat was ballooning out into her throat so it could be known to the angel that each beat was for him. 

“Hello,” he said low and gravely and a choked gasp of a half strangled laugh left her. 

“Hello Cas,” she smiled back. Another shaky laugh erupted from her. “You’re back.” 

“Yes, I am.” He nodded but something uncertain crossed his features and she swallowed back any question of how, or why. His eyes were searching her face, looking for something that she wasn’t sure she could give him. But that little black hole in her consciousness was suddenly filled. Seeing him there, safe, made her whole again. 

“Are you uh, hungry?” She asked without thinking, just trying to fill the tension between them with human learned politeness. 

“I don’t eat.” He swallowed thickly and her eyes traced over him again before she felt the red flush of her cheeks in embarrassment once more. Something that unfortunately happened often around him. 

“Sorry I, it’s, just something I, ugh never mind.” She mumbled and he followed her into the apartment where Dean and Sam had already finished half their helpings of lasagna and were shoveling out more. 

“What’s in the box?” Dean used his free elbow to tap at the crate on the counter filled with three matching canvas bags. 

“The email Sam sent,” she turned to him and pointed, “very well plotted by the way, thank you for that,” she scrunched her nose in delight as she pulled the bags out, “mentioned a vamps nest possibility. So, I packed accordingly.” 

The two brothers set their plates down and quickly picked apart the contents like children with stockings on Christmas. That pleasant warmth of feeling like she had done something right for a change filled her as they held up prefilled syringes and bottles of dead man's blood as well as other small antidotes and very finely pointed stakes. 

“What is this?” Dean grunted as he held up a small bottle of rock salts. 

“It’s salt,” she grinned back. “Just in case.” 

“It’s pink.” 

“It’s Himalayan.” She corrected. 

“I don’t care who it’s layin’. It’s pink.” He gawked and turned back to Sam. 

“Well, I have been told that it’s harder to blow away from gusts of wind than your traditional table salt. Also, it purifies the space more from the magnesium in it.” When he just looked at her back with a bewildered stare she added, “also, also, it’s coarser so there is more surface area per spreading meaning less weight for you to carry.” He reluctantly put the bag of it back into the pack and she sighed. “Look, the amount of salt your heavy handedness throws around would put the ocean itself out of business. I have nicer salts, black salt even, but that's for spell work. Use the pink salt sparingly and I think you’ll be pleased with the results. If you don’t like it, I can go back to getting you bulk kosher.” 

“Fine,” he grunted and leaned a hip against the counter as he shuffled through the other items in the prepackaged kit. 

Her eyes drifted to Castiel, he was back. Safe. Here. She wanted to lunge into his arms, to clutch him safely to her and never let him leave. What an absolutely insane thought to have over a seraph. Ownership. But she had given her soul over to find him, and in reality it was he that had all of her. Even looking at him now all she could see was the softness in their conversations before, the little whispers, and the way he had held her before he left. He was pretending to listen to Dean, eyes darting to Sam, but when she was looking away from the corner of her vision he was finally looking back. 

Did he know what she did to find him? Was he angry that she had given over her soul to the Devil’s counterpart? He clearly hadn’t told the Winchesters or they would have beaten down her door and scolded her for it. The way he was avoiding her eyes made every worry flare inside like a meteor shower of thoughts. Some beautiful and shining in the glory that was Castiel back in her home, and some destructive and violent worrying over the failure that had led him to clearly be disconnected with her. Through all of this though she knew she would never change a thing. She would have given up her body, sold her soul permanently, all for him to come back. What good was a soul if you could love someone with it and still never help them when given the option? 

“Where’s the spray paint?” Sam asked as he zipped the bag closed. 

“Oh, I found semi permanent chalk paint instead. It is biodegradable over time.” She put back her pleasantness so no one would see the thoughts that she had been gnawing on instead. 

“Chalk? We just paint the sigils on Lila,” Dean made a duh face back. 

“Yes, but in some of these places you’re defacing public property or even historical homes. There is spray paint in the side bag, but try the chalk first.” 

“Who cares?” He scoffed again and she felt that little nagging voice in the back of her head screaming, I do.  

“Lots of people,” she countered. “You only use the sigil once, and then you banish the ghost or whatever it is you are hunting. You don’t need it to be permanent.” 

“They can just paint over it again.” 

“I came up with this idea because I have seen first hand graffiti in my alley way. You know who has to clean that? Me. It’s tedious. The chalk paint lasts very well, I’ve tested it myself. But a pressure washer will remove it easily.” She snatched the bags from both of them and shoved the contents into the crate. “God, who raised you?” 

“I did.” Castiel said low and dark. 

“No Cas, she’s asking where our lack of manners came from.” Sam clarified and gave her an apologetic look.  

“Oh.” Without hesitation the angel pointed at the other Winchester. “Dean did.” 

“Good, so we all agree on father issues in this group then.” She muttered

“I don’t.” Castiel tilted his head in half confusion and half observation. 

“Your dad is God, he’s not exactly known for being affectionate.” Sam debated.

“It’s a smite first ask questions later relationship.” Lila handed the lasagna plates back to the Winchesters who eagerly accepted. 

“Actually, he’s abandoned you so, it’s just silence.” Dean added between fork fulls of pasta. 

“Well then, the church massacres make even more sense now.” Lila said under her breath as she pushed the boys back into her living room. “Go make yourselves at home.” 

“I call dibs on the big chair!” Dean scurried off with Sam behind him leaving Castiel to loom at the edge of the kitchen. 

If he didn’t want to be excited to see her, or even acknowledge that he missed her as well, fine. She would keep to herself and dwell in that ache later. Instead she reached on tiptoes for the Tupperware she saved when the Winchesters came. The ones she knew she’d never get back because they would end up in a trash can outside of a Gas n Sip two states over. A large form stood behind her and took the containers in hand before closing the cabinet and setting them on the counter. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to look at him. 

“Please don’t be angry with me,” he murmured. His hand reached out to cup her face and pull it back to look at him. 

“What would I have to be angry about?” She asked as his eyes looked into hers, searching. Always searching. She could be angry about him sacrificing himself, about how he was putting up this wall again. She could be angry about how he somehow had burrowed his way into every cell and sequence of her body and refused to leave. She should be angry at herself for all of this. Instead she asked, “how did you get out?” 

There was a long beat of silence as his thumb traced the high points of her cheek and he finally said, “I don’t know.” She wasn’t sure if she should be thankful that he was unaware, or jealous of his ignorance. 

“I’m not much of a prayer, but I did my best.” She admitted and his brows furrowed.

“That’s not true. You pray often.” He paused and then realized what she meant and pursed his lips. “Well I’m here now.”

“And you’re, okay?” Her voice cracked and it was that weakness in her coming through trying to coax him to let her into his thoughts. 

“I am now,” he tilted his chin down and his thumb stilled from its heated path. There was a heaviness when she breathed, like each intake of air was an anchor that dredged up emotion along the seafloor of her memories. This was cruel, his softness only in fear that he would put up some wall between them. 

“I missed you,” she whispered, allowing him another line into her heart, and he grabbed a hold onto it. 

“I missed you as well.” He admitted and for a moment it felt as if he was going to lean in, but it could have been her desire for any sign of affection from him clouding her vision. 

“Beer,” Sam cleared his throat as he stood awkwardly in the entryway, averting his gaze. Quickly he moved to the fridge collecting bottles and Castiel retreated to the younger Winchester’s side following him to the couch leaving Lila alone, again. 

A few minutes into Tombstone, and plates of pie passed around she settled into the couch with them. Dean in the big chair all to himself with her cat nestled at his side, Sam on one corner with his legs spread out on an ottoman, Castiel in the middle as relaxed as he would permit himself, and Lila on the other corner with a blanket draped over her and feet tucked under. The dark room only illuminated by the television, and the sounds of gunshots as well as Dean’s commentary was an odd lullaby to her nerves as her weariness sank in. But under the blanket a hand slipped to her lower back. Castiel’s eyes glued straight ahead, but his welcoming touch coerced her to come just a fraction closer to him. Against her better judgement, she did. Somewhere between the O.K. Corral and and a line about a Huckleberry she let herself close her eyes and sink deeper against him, and sometime after that she could feel fingers tracing in a figure eight on her upper back between her shoulder blades. 

She fell asleep before the end of the movie, and heard muffled sounds of feet shuffling after. A groan of protest left her as she tried to wake but she was soothed back to sleep with a warm palm brushing the hair from her face and fingers tracing along the curve of her neck. 

“You go to the motel, I’ll stay and clean up for her.” Castiel’s body hummed as he spoke and then a door shut. She went to stretch, her mind wanting to wake and her body coiling back in refusal as it clinged onto this small moment of peace. “Come on, your bed would be much more comfortable.” He whispered as he pulled her up and pressed him against him tightly. 

“No it wouldn’t.” She barely mumbled out as her eyes wearily opened and he carried her to the back of the apartment.

Chapter Text

October 2013

Castiel 

When he saw Lila in the doorway, as he stood behind the Winchesters like a shield against her surely oncoming anger toward him, he was struck with only kindness. Met with a warm welcome and open arms. He had lived well over a millennia of human lifetimes and never had anyone welcomed him home so unconditionally as in this moment. He had expected yelling, he had curses and insults he imagined to be expelled toward him, he had anticipated silence even. Why? He was conditioned to believe that was the only answer for his misdoings. 

God brought life from his oceans to the shores and Heaven went about their day, Babylon fell and Heaven went about their day, man went to the moon and Heaven went about their day. Castiel had been hardened in his lifetime, he had been molded and formed to expect only negative repercussions because he had earned only structure through his wrongs and discipline in his rights. But here was a woman, who deserved to be angry with him, and instead she was offering him food that he didn’t eat and care that he didn’t deserve.

He couldn’t bear to look at her. Not because of the tiredness etched in every line of her face or because of the sadness that lingered behind blue iris, but because she was radiant. Her light shined outward like a beacon for him to clasp onto and he would only swallow her in darkness again. What a punishment to such a beautiful soul to be coveted by him. 

The Winchesters left, Dean half drunk from a case of beer and another outlaw movie that Castiel had no understanding of, and Sam giving a very uncomfortable knowing glance back to the angel as he mentioned he would help Lila to bed. She had fallen asleep cradled against his side, and although she had done it before it felt impossibly intimate tonight.

 Angels were granted strength far beyond that of mortal men. Castiel remembered a time when he had helped to carry the mountains out of the oceans, when he had helped to pull trees from the soil to extend out and scrape the skies, but when he scooped her tired form into his arms and carried her back to bed the weight of his heart was heavier than anything he had held onto in his past. The way her amber lashes fluttered against freckled cheeks as she stirred, he wanted to trace the slope of her nose with the tip of his fingers and find them going over the rim of her petal lips that parted just so when she would look at him. He had always wondered why she did that, why her lids would grow just slightly heavier and her cheeks would bloom a color that was becoming his favorite shade of crimson. Women often looked at Dean with desire, at Sam with interest, and sometimes even himself with something hungry but there was a look on Lila's face when she would turn to him that was delicate and breakable. That alone was frightening, to be looked at in a way that was nothing less than adoration. 

He shifted her in his arms, peeling the blanket of her bed back as he attempted to lay her down for a well deserving rest, but her face scrunched into a pitiful scowl and she squinted her eyes open to look at him. 

“Yes?” He asked, setting her down in the bed that was far too big for her to be alone in. 

“You’re going to leave again.” She grumbled and he let out a small huff of air through his nose in frustration. Hands now shoved into his pockets as he clenched his fingers around the yarn braid there to keep from pulling at that little pout. 

“Yes.” 

“What if I asked you to stay?” She tilted her head, copper cascading across her pillow as she did.  

He would say yes. He would never leave. God himself would have difficulty tearing Castiel away. What else could he admit at the very idea of being wanted by her? But instead he did her the favor of saying, “no.” 

“Is it someone else?” She shrank in as she spoke and he glowered at the very idea. 

“No Lila.”

“Do you hate me then because of what I did?” Her voice trembled and he slowly got down to his knees at her bedside. His arms folded along the mattress while his eyes met hers. 

“How could I hate you?” He whispered back. What could she have possibly done that would elicit such a question? Offered him comfort when he was weary? For shame. Soothed his troubled mind when he was alone? Horrifying. Helped him to understand the human condition of devotion? That actually should have been condemned. 

“My soul is tainted now.” She sniffled and rolled over to look back at him on her side. Red bloomed around her eyes and crawled up her throat as her breath grew shaky and he could just make out the fluttering pulse from trying to hold something back. 

His eyes narrowed in on her, trying to find any connection to what she meant. Tainted? She was perfect. “No,” he roughly breathed out as his hand reached out to soothe the skin at her throat. Her breathing stuttered and his fingers drifted into her hair as he attempted to pacify both her doubt and his overwhelming need to touch her. “Get some sleep,” he murmured as he watched her eyes close and a tear escaped, becoming trapped between thick lashes as he swiped away at it for her. Rubbing the salt water into his own palm for safe keeping. 

“But you’ll leave, and what if you go missing again. What if this is the last time I have you here? I’ve already done everything I can think of to bring you back this time.” 

“Hey,” he soothed again, fingers lingering in the strands of her hair. “I don’t want to leave you, but I have to help Sam and Dean tomorrow.” He found that the words burned as he said them. Yes, he had to help his friends, his brothers even, but the way she was scared now he wondered if she meant more. He should leave, permanently, but it was agonizing to think she would be better off if she forgot about him. Lived a normal life that was worthy of her. Still he just wanted reassurance that no one else touched her like he did. Anywhere. Her body, her thoughts, her soul. No one could touch her like he would, even if he had never touched her the way she had deserved, at least not yet, and not tonight when she was vulnerable and he was unsure of his worth to her.  “I will stay though until you fall asleep, and I will promise to not die until the next time I see you.” 

“Was that a joke?” She sniffled again and a little weak laugh broke through. 

“An attempt.” He admitted. “Dean advised me that humor helps in these situations.” 

“These situations?” She sat upright, her face crinkled into something resembling displeasure. As much as he wanted to only be the reason for her joy, something in him fluttered at that little spark of jealousy that was hinted at in her reaction. “Dean is giving you advice for when you’re at a woman’s bedside and she’s begging you not to leave?” Maybe for Dean that specific situation was true, but Castiel had never had to wade through this. 

“When you are forced to confront something you don’t want to admit.” He amended. She brought her knees up to her chest, resting her chin against them as she looked back. When her eyes sought him out the world always stopped. He knew that time was not as linear as the humans had been led to believe, but with her time was in a concentrated bottle that had every moment go from both too slow and too quickly at the same time. 

 “I don’t usually beg for men to stay,” she whispered as shyness crept back into her cheeks and she looked away. 

“You shouldn’t have to,” he replied, low and soft. Waiting patiently for her to look back down at him, and when she did time stopped again. Pink cheeks and parted lips, a little confused look on her face that made him want to damn himself on the spot. She shouldn’t have to beg men to stay, because they should fall to their knees begging for her. But the very idea of anyone else being in his place made his back spasm. His wings twitched to be unfurled and wrapped around the both of them, hiding her away from any would-be suitors. 

She parted her lips wider again about to speak but stopped herself. His hand reached out and wrapped around her bare ankles where the sock had slipped down. Daring to run his thumb under the fabric and around the curve of bone there. The way her breath hitched at the contact told him enough. She hadn’t been touched while he was gone, she hadn’t sought out the solace of another, and something wicked and wonderful filled him in that knowledge. 

His conscience berated him, she wasn’t his. She could whatever she pleased. In fact she was deserving of affection and pleasure whenever and wherever she sought it out. Still something in him purred in content that she hadn’t. 

“I will stay until you fall asleep,” he conceded and she nodded back. 

In the pensive quiet she rose from her bed and went to her dresser, pulling a pair of pajamas out. He quickly turned around, remembering that humans undressed in private. He too then pulled his overcoat off and folded it in quarters before placing it on the same dresser, loosened his tie and set it on top, and sat on the edge of the bed just as he felt the mattress shift from her climbing back in. 

“Lay down,” he instructed and she gave another small nod before leaning against her pillows. He sat next to her, back propped up by the wooden headboard. She was chewing on her bottom lip nervously in thought and he craned his neck to look down at her. “Yes?” 

“Is it rude to ask about your autonomy?" She flushed again and he blinked back in wonder. 

“I have all the same working parts now as any other man.” He said carefully and she flushed deeper. 

“No, uh, wings. Angels are supposed to have wings. At least they do in the stories.” She quickly clarified and he gave a nod of recognition. 

“I have wings.” They were a little tense at the moment but he had them. 

 “Oh I,” she paused and moved to prop herself up again. A sigh left him in realization she would not be falling asleep as soon as he had hoped for her. Her eyes narrowed in on his torso as if willing the wings to appear from behind him. “I thought maybe you kept them under your coat?” 

“Under the coat?” He balked. “They’re not out.” She looked away in thought, her mind still clearly reeling from the concept. “They’re not exactly in this dimension, I have them, and they can be seen occasionally if I will them, but they’re not important.” 

“Well they are an extension of you so they are important,” she quickly corrected him. “Sorry, I, what I mean is, never mind.” 

“You’re always so quick to speak and then quick to take it away,” he said quietly as his fingers reached out and tilted her chin back to look at him. “I want to hear every thought you have, but you keep them from me in fear of judgement." 

“You don’t want to hear every thought, trust me.” She chuckled shyly. How wrong she was though. He did want to hear them all. Every mundane fact in her mind, every beautiful idea, every horrible fear, he wanted them. 

He twisted his back to her, the white of his shirt stretching against his back as he showed her the smooth lines of muscles. “They’re not visible, or even contained within my flesh but they are there when I need them to be.” 

In this position Castiel couldn’t see her face, but was slightly startled as a warm hand traced over his back. “Here, and here?” She whispered as she touched the tense sections on either side of his spine between his shoulder blades. 

“Yes,” he breathed out roughly and the muscles spasmed underneath her palms. 

“Does it hurt, not having them out?” She asked while the heel of her palm made small circles against the muscle. 

“No, it just feels like something should be there that isn’t. I can feel them, where they should be, but it’s more of a constant dull ache.” He murmured and without command his head rolled down to his chest and a moan escaped as she worked at the hardened muscle there. 

“Is this okay?” She whispered out as her hand stilled and he swallowed thickly. 

“Y–yess. Thank you.” He stumbled over his words and she reached around with her free hand to unbutton the front of his shirt. Sliding it off of his shoulders until he was only in the white t-shirt underneath. 

He had never been able to relieve the tension there on his own. Not with the little wooden prop he had taken from her store before, not from his own hands, but hers healed something deep within the bindings of his body that made his breath come out in a slow ragged groan. Her thumbs on either side digging into the flesh of him, and something bright flashed in his mind and then left. A memory, perhaps, maybe. Something just as warm reaching out and calling for him that was gone. 

“I wish I could remember how I left Purgatory,” he whispered and she continued listening and healing his sore shoulders and back with her tender ministrations. “But I do remember hearing your words.” He turned his head then to look at her and she paused. 

“A lot of it to be honest was just nonsense.” She now was using humor to try and shroud her own feelings, and he couldn’t take it anymore. Her gentleness, her kind soul. 

He turned and pulled her into his arms, bringing his face to press against her heart. His hands stretched across her back trying to cling onto any part of her he could reach as she pressed him closer in and laid down on the bed. Her fingers now wove into his hair and he breathed in the scent of her. She was something holy to him, consuming and deadly if he let her. His eyes closed as he melted into her fingers softly tugging at his hair and nuzzled against the mixture of her bare chest and sleep shirt. 

One of his hands moved from her back and splayed at the side of her breast. His thumb ran a line against the ribs that kept her beating heart in place. Right there. If given the chance, there is where in Enochian he would mark her ribs with his name. He would let it be known to humans, angels, and demons alike that she was his alone. But those were dangerous thoughts that would never be permitted in reality. So he quietly held her close, and felt her hold him in return until her breathing deepened and her touches stilled. His Lila was asleep, and he had told her that he would leave when she did. So Castiel gave himself a few more moments to enjoy her like this, and to pretend that it would always be like this, before he moved from her arms. A pitiful sound left her in sleepy protest, but she fell back to sleep as he kissed her temple and put his shirt, tie, and coat back on. 

He looked down at her, and forced all the things he wanted to say remain tucked inside his mind as he walked back into the living room. Lemuel was staring down into the alleyway through the large picture window, but as Castiel checked nothing was there. He gave the cat a little scratch between the ears, monitored to see that the tumor his grace had found before didn’t return, and whispered praises to the feline before cleaning the kitchen behind himself and going to find the Winchesters.

Chapter Text

January 2013

Delilah Conner

This time of year in Missouri was a coin toss. Mostly you could bet on snow, some days it felt like spring was encroaching, only for an ice storm to blast the region. She had wondered why she even bothered opening the shop today. Over twelve inches of snow, and her new neighbor, a US Army recruiter, only shoveled his portion of the sidewalk. Last month when Dean and Sam had come for an early Christmas sans Castiel, Dean walked over to the office and gave the recruiter a piece of his mind. This only ended in the sergeant ogling over Dean’s car and Sam staying upstairs in the apartment watching from the top window with a death glare. She had connected later after a few too many mulled hot ciders that the army uniform probably reminded him of his ex(or not)’s husband who had returned from war. Regardless, it was snowing now, and she had just finished shoveling her side and the elderly couple’s on the other. 

When she came in, she shucked off her layers and checked the clock, nearly four in the afternoon on a Saturday and not a soul had passed through her doors. Not a phone call. Not so much as a whisper of electricity flickering from the supernatural sending messages her way. It wasn’t until she was hanging her snow pants up to dry over the lower level bathroom when she heard the bells. 

“Hello! I’m about to close early, but help yourself!” She shouted out as she shook the hanger and hooked it into the frame. 

“I won’t take but a minute of your time,” a thick southern drawl poured into the room and lingered in the air. 

She walked back into the space, incense still burning on her counter as Lemuel spotted the burly man and hissed. The cat went skittering up the stairs to the apartment and she raised a brow, eyes following the animal and trailing back to the stranger. 

“Hello,” she said carefully and he nodded in return. n a fiddler cap, dark wool coat and beige Henley underneath, the man had a look to him and a drawl that didn’t fit the area. “Where are you visiting from?” She leaned against the counter and smiled politely. 

“What gave it away?” He chuckled as he drew his hands from his coat and rubbed them together. 

“Definantly not the crawfish cadence.” She grinned and drummed fingers on her counter. “What brings you up river to St. Joe?” 

“I was told you’d be understandin’ of my situation.” A distinctly metallic tang wafted off of  him as he came closer, like he was a metal sheet worker or as if he had been along the Kansas City train yards just an hour away.  

“Oh?” She asked with a feigned innocence that a broad stroke of a customer service paintbrush slapped on. It wasn’t surprising that a hunter would be coming to her in this weather with a voice like that, she would be more taken aback if he were a knitter or asking about thread. “Who referred you? I’ll have to get them a customary $5 off their next visit." 

“Dean Winchester.” He said low and soft. 

“Mm,” she hummed tightly. “Dean then?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“What’s your name so I can open an account for you?” 

“Benjamin Lafitte, ah Benny is my preferred.” He ran a hand along the back of his neck and she looked quickly for any distinguishable markings on his wrists as he moved. He had a silver chain,which was a good sign at least. 

“Benny,” she repeated and leaned in closer, “I assume that you are here because you are in good standing with Dean?” 

“Oh yes ma’am,” he nodded back. 

“Lovely,” she leaned into her spot along the counter and pulled open a drawer, slapping a pre-made request form out and sliding it his way. “Would you mind filling this in while I check the back for a moment?” 

He took the pen and nodded again as he began writing out his needs in some of the most elegant script she had seen in a while. Silver metal against fingers not burning, also a good sign. With her phone in hand she tucked herself into the stairwell and went to dial Dean but was sent to voicemail. Next was Sam where it rang because she could at least count on him charging his phone but was sent to voicemail again. Lastly was Castiel who also did not answer, was sent to a voicemail where he was repeating his name over and over again until a long dial tone screamed in her ear and was left with a full mailbox. She tried Sam and Dean’s burners and was resigned to returning to the very polite hunter who made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

He stood looking over the shop with a pretend interest, and she cleared her throat. “Have it all figured out then?” 

“Uh, well, there are a’few items tha’ were na’ listed.” He sniffed again. 

“Being?” She tilted her head back as she looked over the itemized list. 

“Quicksilver,” he said plainly and her brows knit together in thought. 

“Oh, that’s relatively easy depending on how much you need. I mean, you could go to the pharmacy and get a drop or two of mercury.” She set the form down and opened the laptop up on her counter. “But if you want more I’d have to order it. I can’t say I’ve ever had someone request that in a long time.” She gnawed on the inside of cheek as she searched through contacts at a local pharmaceutical lab. “When do you need it by?” 

“Oh I reckon tomorro’ would be fine.” He said politely and she scrolled again. 

“It looks like I can have some over nighted, it might cost a pinch but I have a guy who owes me a favor and if you’re a friend of Dean’s,” she looked the man over and her eyes narrowed again. “How do you know Dean?” 

He sniffed once more and focused on the wood grain of the counter. “He and I did quite a bit of huntin’ recently.” 

She didn’t correct the man on his timeline, Dean had only been home from purgatory a few months. But, who was she to know what and who he was spending time with. He and Sam were on the outskirts again. If they were not brothers she’d consider them a bickering married couple the way they fought constantly and made up after. 

“I see, well, I can get the rest for you today and hopefully the mercury tomorrow. Would you like me to combine the order?” She went over the list he handed her again. “Ah, not be questioning your abilities either but it looks like you’re focusing on vamps?” Her eyes trailed up to his and she swore the pupils there constricted at the mention of the word. 

“Primarily.” He admitted low and quiet. 

“I could supply you with a few vials of dead man’s blood as well. I happen to have fresh-ish stock on hand. I mean as fresh as a dead man can be. The morgue brought it over two days ago and I don’t know if you’re aware, most aren't, but it does go bad and lose potency.” 

He grimaced and shook his head, “no ma’am, that’ll be good as is.” 

“Right, sorry, I wasn’t trying to tell you how to hunt,” she smiled awkwardly. “So, tomorrow?” 

“Call when you’re ready for me,” he scratched his number down on the bottom of the order and nodded in his departure. 

The back pocket of her phone buzzed and she reached around to answer it while her eyes stayed on the hunter outside. “Hello?” 

“Lila,” the gruff sound of her own name raking across Castiel’s vocal chords make her breath stutter for a moment. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, uh,” she moved  the cursor on her mouse and watched the man on the front camera as he walked back to the alley. “Shoot,” she murmured to herself forgetting she was on the phone. 

“What is it?” He sounded panicked and part of her gloated in that. 

“Nothing,” she quickly went up the stairs to her apartment as she held the phone against her ear, attempting to catch the man as he walked in the unmonitored ally behind her shop. “A hunter came by that said he knew Dean and I wanted to check before I sold him anything.” She clarified as she strode to the window. “He’s uh… weird.” She whispered. 

“Weird?” Castiel prodded looking for clarification. 

“No, sorry,” she squinted out the window, “I’m watching him in the alleyway. He’s taking pictures of the graffiti.” 

“What is his name?” His voice grew darker as she could hear the rustling of papers on his end. 

“Benny,” she murmured back as she continued watching the man with his phone recording the images on the cinder block wall. 

“Oh,” he paused and a low sigh came through the phone, “Benny Lafitte?” 

“Mmm yes, you know him too?” She asked as she watched the hunter get into his truck and drive away. 

“He’s,” Castiel paused, searching for his words, “fine.” Then quickly asked, “was he kind to you? Did you feel uncomfortable or-” 

“He was fine Cas,” she soothed as a flutter filled her chest at his concern. 

“You should let Dean know.” 

“I tried calling already, I’ll message him later.” She moved from her apartment back to the shop below, a comfortable silence between the both of them on the phone, then finally she added. “I haven't seen you in a while.” 

There was a longer pause on his end and he said gentler than expected, “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, I know you’re busy I just, I don’t want you forgetting about me.” She chuckled awkwardly, attempting to play her desperation as a weak joke. 

“Your fears are misplaced,” he sighed and she wasn’t sure what to do with that but continued on. 

Castiel 

He was agitated after the phone call with Lila. Benny had been… fine. Did he trust the vampire? No. But Dean did, and he trusted Dean with anything and everything. From what she had gone over with him the vampire was hunting his own kind. That wasn’t unheard of, especially in rival nests. If he was out for a vendetta, at least he was taking out monsters in the process. 

But a few hours later, when the sun had been asleep for some time and humans should have been as well, he heard her prayers. At least, Castiel believed them to be her prayers. It was his name, being echoed across the recesses of his mind. A small whimpering scraped like fingers and latched onto the folds of his brain as they dragged his name out in a beautiful sound. 

Unsure of if she really needed his help, his corporal form left and hid in the shadowy corners of her dark room waiting for her to speak again. Laying in her bed, she had a quilt draped over her and the glow of a side table lamp just barely illuminating her face. Eyes closed, cheeks flushed, and mouth parted she was panting softly. It was confusing to say the least, when she should be asleep, but she whispered his name again in a needy little sound that had his own breath stuttering. His eyes narrowed in, head tilted like a bird trying to investigate without being caught.

He couldn’t move, he’d be made aware of and she would question why he was there. He could answer honestly. She had been praying his name out whether she was aware or not.  But then a little discontented groan left her as a hand slipped from under the blankets and reached for her side table. 

Fuck. 

The incense of her filtered into his den in the darkness and there was no mistaking what the residual nectar on her fingers was. She hadn’t been praying to him, she had been worshiping herself to the thought of him. His head spun and he inhaled again and tried to get his bearings but she was flooding every sensation inside of him. Part of him was furious as she reached for the small black buzzing object that had been waiting next to her bedside because he was stuck in this darkness watching while whatever that little machine was had her attention instead. But then as she shifted her bare legs from under the blanket he bit down on his bottom lip to keep from moaning in return. The taste of her was in the air, and now mixed with his blood as he bit harder down to keep from calling her name back. He pressed himself deeper into the shadows, fingers splayed against the wall trying to both keep his vision on her and not be seen.

She closed her eyes again and whispered his name in a low moan as her legs parted and her delicate fingers drifted back with that little buzzing nuisance in his place. Where he should have been. Castiel had seen enough humans and their mating rituals to know what Lila was doing. Dean had practically shoved all of his favorite films down the angel's throat when he was alone in motel rooms as “research.” But this, this wasn’t fucking as the Winchesters had called it. This was something sinful and holy at the same time. This woman was his friend, his brother’s relative, and still he wanted to break every law he had put in place and glorify her on his knees. His back twitched where his wings threatened to flare out and present himself wholly to her. To show her what she did to him.

Another moan of his name broke from her beautiful mouth and he was struggling to breath, biting on the fatty part of his palm as he watched her fingers dip into the sweetest essence of herself and languidly drag them back out. If given the chance he would devour her, drink from the cup of her and never want for anything sweeter. His own aching was evident, a heavy feeling that pooled between his legs in a way that he hadn’t fully realized, reminding him what his cock was for. It was new, and he hungered in a way he thought angels could never want for. This was all so human and still there she laid panting harder and whimpering out his name. The way it was pulled out of her hit his ears and seared his mind. 

The softness of her thighs quivered as she came closer to fall into a chasm he should have been able to catch her in, but he had to settle with only watching as she moved in faster strokes and heightened pleas to what she had assumed were deaf ears. He struggled though, breathing through his nose and panting alongside her as he watched. Then, almost too quickly she let out a small gasp, a whimpering noise, and her body melted back into the bed. Waiting just for a moment to soak in the feeling of her rushing sensations. 

Castiel could sense it all, her pounding heart, her syrupy fingers, that place between her thighs that was soaking and begging for him to drown in. He had never seen anything as beautiful as she was, satiated and tired. If he were a weaker man, he would have broken from his spot and begged to lick her clean. Pleaded for her forgiveness of watching silently and held her the rest of the night. Or maybe it was a stronger man than he who would have acted. All he knew is before she turned to get up from the bed his wings carried him quickly back to where he resided for the night. That heaviness between his legs twitching at him for attention, for a release that he had never had to obey before this. 

“Fuck,” he finally cursed out as he was alone. Rarely was it a word that he found useful but now he couldn’t think of anything that quite expressed the frustration of not having her.

Chapter Text

February 2013

Castiel 

The appeal of vampires in pop culture was confusing. More so than the appeal of pop culture in general. Dean’s love of cowboys Castiel could understand as they were from a time period before he was born. Cowboys were presented as outlaws and gunslingers much like Dean imagined himself to be, and the viewer often wanted to empathize and relate to the cowboy good and bad. Castiel had seen real cowboys however and they were not that of mythological weaponry and do goodery. No, cowboys lived by the land and survived in a culture that viewed them as lesser humans the majority of the time. They often were not heroes, they also were mostly not white men in Spanish clothes which confused Castiel when he agreed to watch so many Clint Eastwood movies on evenings that Dean was trying to escape reality. But, he would keep these notions with himself. Spaghetti westerns Dean had referred to them as, was also confusing as cowboys didn’t eat pasta, but once more Castiel knew to keep that to himself so he could momentarily see Dean happy. 

Vampires though were not usually viewed as positive entities in his world. Sam had explained once to Castiel that some people often liked the idea of vampires. There was some connection with feeling different than their peers or solitary that they could connect with. Castiel understood that at least, he was a high ranking angel out casted and looked down on by his own siblings. He was a hunter who found he couldn’t hunt on his own, and recently he was having lapses in his memory that he couldn’t account for. But the romantic aspects of vampires bewildered him. He had killed enough of them, but a part of him always empathized with the human before they had been turned. Just as a part of him always felt terribly for how Jimmy Novak had been handled. 

Even now, as Benny met with Dean at a diner inside and Sam waited with Cas in the Impala he couldn’t help but drift in wonder as to why young women in specific flocked to movies about vampires. 

“Do you think it's the intimacy of sharing blood that causes sexual tension?” He broke the silence from the back seat and Sam’s head snapped up from his book so quickly his hair swished with it. 

“What?” 

“The uh twilight?” 

“The vampire thing? You’re still going on about that?” Sam raised a brow and bit the inside of his cheek to hold in a chuckle. “Why do you care?” 

“It’s just, why? Are human women especially interested in blood letting? Is it all bodily fluids that they want to exchange or-” 

“OH! Okay, no, we don’t need to continue this.” He closed the book in a quick snap of the spine and turned to look at the angel in the backseat. “I thought Dean had you watch enough movies that we wouldn’t have to talk about this.” 

“There was blood in ‘Friday the 13th,’ and in ‘A Fistful of Dollars.’ But no intimacy with it I noticed.” He paused, racking through the sordid collection of films Dean had on hand and added, “there was in, ‘A Fist Full of Dollars,’ but that involved two women taking their clothes off with other bodily fluids and a lack of blood-” 

Sam choked on air and sputtered, “yeah, that doesn’t need to be continued. Uh look Cas, maybe it's just a human thing.” 

The angel sat in the awkward silence as Sam attempted to change the subject. His friend was wondering about Benny in purgatory, and Castiel provided half answered responses. Nothing too deep, as he didn’t really know Benny the way Dean did. But, his mind was preoccupied elsewhere. The sounds of Lila’s voice whimpering his name in the darkness still plaguing his every thought. Did she find interest in the ideas of vampirism? He hoped not. He couldn’t provide her with any sort of satisfaction that could come from the drawing of blood or receiving in that matter. But if it was something she was interested in he would attempt. Why did he care so much? Was it only vampirism? Perhaps it was just anything that wasn’t human that women found interesting in that way. An angel wasn’t human, and could easily overpower her. Maybe that was it? Oh wait, he didn’t like that idea, using force to get what he wanted. He could be dominant though, that wasn’t so bad, preferred maybe, but he wanted her to be eager. Wanted. Oh. That was a revelation wasn’t it? That she was what he wanted. All the time. But sometimes he thought about the way she snapped back at him, a little sweet thing that would get comfortable enough to be able to let her walls down when she was frustrated and not put on the act she used with her customers. And he very much liked that as well.  

Hm, human emotions can be complex, wanting can be too complex even, but the way she said my name as her fingers… 

A car door slammed shut and Castiel’s head turned back to Dean, not even realizing that the older Winchester had made it back already. 

“Sammy,” Dean handed off a to-go bag to his brother and handed a bag back to Castiel as well. The angel graciously took the greasy paper, and tucked it safely in the seat beside him knowing that he wouldn’t partake in the customary dining and driving but found satisfaction from Dean always getting him something too. 

“What did your friend want?” There was no missing the antagonistic sound in Sam’s voice.

“Well, Benny thinks that either a fringe group of cultist vampires are marking Lila’s shop or it could be teenagers that saw the last horror movie tagging the alleyway for shits and giggles instead. But the pictures he took look fresh.” He put the car in reverse and started back toward the bunker. “Either way, we should probably let her know to keep an eye out.” 

“She hasn’t mentioned anything out of the ordinary.” Sam took a quick swig from his drink and gagged. 

“They were out of lemonade so I had them get you coke.” Dean swiped the drink, taking a swig and returned it to his brother. “Diet coke. You’re welcome.” 

“I asked for water.” 

“There’s water in diet coke.” Dean looked incredulous as Castiel went back to his phone, looking through recent texts. 

“No, she had a break-in three nights ago.” He said gruffly and Sam looked over his shoulder at the angel. 

“She didn’t text me that.”  

“You don’t answer.” Castiel said in return and handed the phone over to the Winchester. 

“That’s not true, I do answer.” Sam gnawed on his bottom lip in frustration as he read through the messages. 

“No you don’t, you read it, get distracted, and then move on.” Dean snorted. 

“I try to answer.” He muttered under his breath. “Good god Cas, how often are you texting her?” 

“That doesn’t matter,” the angel reached over and snatched the phone back as both brothers exchanged a look. “She likes to talk.” 

“Looks like you like to talk.” Dean chuckled and took another drink from his brother’s cup. 

“I like to listen.” He shrugged, “and emoticons.”  

“She didn’t call the police did she?” Dean reached over and grabbed a fry from Sam’s bag and Castiel graciously handed over his own box of fries for his friend’s consumption instead. 

“No Dean, she has enough common sense to not call the authorities when she has items of the occult in her possession.” Castiel huffed back and lingered a little too long on a picture of her before shoving his phone back into his pocket. “I did direct her to give Jody Mills a call instead.” 

“Good, I say we pack up and give Lila a visit just to double check on her. I’m sure she’s fine but it would give me peace of mind to know she has a new window being installed after what looked like a smash and grab.” Sam added and Dean made a grunt in agreement. 

“I could go ahead and get there early, I don’t have to pack or anything.” Castiel offered as Dean parked. 

He turned to look back at the angel, eyes narrowing in as he said, “why are you so eager? You don’t want to ride with us?”

“I enjoy our road trips immensely, I just thought maybe with the potential threat it would be wise to get there sooner rather than later.” He tried to cover but he drew his bottom lip between teeth and bit down as Sam raised a brow back. 

“Ah, no I think an hour will be fine.” Dean eyed the angel suspiciously and they went in to pack.

Chapter Text

February 2013

Delilah Conner

“Why do you have a tarp on your window?” The thick drawl slithered through her store and Lila looked up to see the King of Hell standing there just outside of the devils trap under her worn layered Turkish rugs. 

“Someone tried to break in. Oddly though. they didn’t steal anything. I had assumed it was one of your goons that couldn’t get into the basement.” She scrunched her nose back at him and went to her accounting sheet on the laptop perched at the counter. 

“Why hasn’t it been replaced?” He bit back. 

“I wasn’t aware you cared so much for my safety.” She mumbled as she continued looking at her screen. 

“I don’t, I care about the safety of my things in your safe down below.” He gestured under their feet and she put her pen down. “The deal we have for you to keep them protected is not really working if the window is broken.”

“A window doesn’t stop demons from entering.” She countered. 

“Nor does it stop werewolves, I had assumed your Bobby was smart enough to install silver threaded glass. At least iron if he was cheap.” 

She sighed, “a window repairman is coming tomorrow. Shocking that in the winter there is such a large wait time but there is nothing I can do.” 

“Don’t you have surveillance cameras?” He pointed to the visible boxes that she knew he had turned off somehow. He always did that when he came to collect his goods. They blinked off, and he showed up. No evidence of his arrival.
“Fat lot of good they’re doing now.” She scoffed and his upper lip curled. 

“Most demons can't alter emf waves or cameras like I can.” He pointed out. 

“Well you’re very special then aren't you.” She sassed and for a moment she believed his lip twitched. Something inside of her scratched at an itch the way she was able to not play out the shop girl role with Crowley. She could let out her annoyance at customers being rude all day and play it off easily. 

“My boy next door tells me that business has been slow.” He changed the subject and she squinted back in confusion. 

“Next door? The Army Recruiter or the old couple?” 

“The US military man. He asks teens to sign their souls away every day, of course he’s one mine.” He snorted, saying it like this should have been obvious to her.  

“He’s been watching me?” 

“No bunny, your store. Once again you are of no consequence to me.”

“Well then why didn’t he find my intruder?” She rolled her eyes and turned to get the request forms out. 

“Apparently he was busy getting some freshly flunked out of community college nearly illiterate gentleman to sell his soul for healthcare. Useless but, a deal is a deal.” He tapped a knuckle on the counter and grabbed a pen as he circled the form and filled out on the bottom in an elegant scroll work, purple bottle with VX on the label/Aphrodite’s Sea Foam. 

“Speaking of young men who are being forced into labor, how is Kevin Tran?” She took the form and went to her computer, typing away a fake invoice for him. 

“Piss off,” he gritted his teeth and pointed down the stairwell. 

“That well huh?” She smiled.

“I could kill you instantly you know, and promise you wouldn’t go to Heaven.” He said flatly and she took the form as she wandered down the stairwell. 

“Kind of wish you would some days,” she said over her shoulder and closed the door behind her. 

By the time she returned upstairs there were four pairs of eyes glaring at her instead of just Crowley’s. 

“Hello boys,” she grimaced back to the angel and the Winchesters. 

“Lila?” Dean glowred back. 

“Explain,” Cas had an angel blade pointed in the direction of the demon king and she held up a paper box with pink crinkle paper flowing from it. 

“He’s here for a delivery.” She said weakly in way of an explanation. “Valentines day I guess.” 

“See boys, demons, they’re just like you. They get their Olympus pomegranate seeds from the same market as hunters.” He maneuvered his way over and extended a hand for the box graciously. 

“Uh-uh no,” Dean wagged a finger. “What’s in the box?” 

“Aside from the aforementioned pomegranate seeds, Aphrodite’s Sea Foam and a lot of salt for margaritas on Tuesdays.” He closed the lid of the package and tucked it neatly under his arm. 

“What do you want with sea foam?” Sam questioned and without a thought to close her stupid mouth Lila corrected him. 

“It’s ejaculate, actually.” 

The men all turned to look at her with horror, all except Crowley who had known exactly what he had ordered. 

“Pardon?” Sam croaked out first. 

“Well in the myth Cronus threw Uranus’ genitals into the sea, and the ejaculates mixed with foam to raise Aphrodite by creation.” She clarified. 

“All I got from that was my anus,” Dean gagged back. 

“That bottle though is primordial foam from Cyprus, assuredly Uranus’ post-mortem release if you will.” She swallowed awkwardly. 

“Friend of God actually, he used to live in a different apartment in Heaven,” Castiel said quietly. “I remember hearing a lot of cheering from his room.”

“And you ordered a few ounces of his dead sperm? I assume not to raise whales.” Sam looked nearly green at the idea. 

“Now moose, why would I want to take down Wales? Haven't they been through enough. Look what happened to Diana. That wasn’t me by the way. The royal family has an affair with lizard people so I’m told.” Crowley’s forehead wrinkled in dismay. 

“What does a virginal goddess have to do with ejaculation?” Castiel looked around the room in further confusion. 

This was a lot of layers to puns Lila didn’t have time to unpack right now. As her cheeks flushed she thanked whatever god was part of this that made Dean want answers instead of jokes. “Why do you need Cas’s uncle’s jizz and salt?” He barked out and Crowley made an incredulous face. 

“Cocktails.” 

“Cock-” Castiel began and Lila quickly slapped a hand to the counter. 

“This is getting silly now,” she nearly shrieked in embarrassment. “I sold the man, uh demon, his goods legally. Let him leave.” 

“Crowley and legally don’t mesh.” Dean snapped back. 

“I’d be careful about who you get so angsty with squirrel. You’re bouncy friend there is part of the reason you’re here yelling at me.” He rolled his head over to Castiel and smirked, “you too feathers. Both of you should be kissing my feet for all her begging.” With a quick smirk he was gone and left her to tidy up more questions in the air than she had anticipated.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean ground out. “Bobby would be rolling over in his grave right now if he wasn’t cremated.” 

“Don’t be so self righteous, Bobby kissed Crowley on the mouth too,” she argued. “I didn’t have to give up my soul though for it.” 

Castiel’s face crumpled at the sheer idea of that, brows furrowing and eyes going hazy. It broke her heart to see him look so upset that she may have tarnished the one thing he treasured. Her humanity. 

“No, you just gave up your freedom right? At the mercy of Crowley.” Sam argued as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. 

“It’s really not that bad, I supply him with specialty items just like I do you.” She said quietly, embarrassed even. She had gone into this field to be one of the good ones. One of the people that helped. Now, she was just as bad as any other black market dealer. 

Something in Castiel’s eyes hazed over, like he wasn’t even there, and she wondered if that was the final straw now, if she had made herself unworthy. 

Castiel 

It always happened in a blink. Mid conversation, a white blinding light, sudden confusion, and then memories flooded back. 

“Hello Castiel,” the smooth voice crooned at her desk. Gray suit, white hair, tight false smile. 

“Naomi,” he ground out. 

“Your host cortisol spiked, what is happening right now?” Her head tilted just slightly and he mirrored the exchange. 

“Nothing of interest.” 

“Castiel.” She said his name in a warning, next would be a threat. 

“A demon was nearby but we-I got rid of it.” 

“We?” She stretched the word out for emphasis, noting she needed more than he was supplying. 

“The Winchesters.” He grunted. 

“Ah, yes. Dean and Sam,” she sucked in the air from her teeth and stood from her desk. “What are they doing?” 

“Looking at exterminating a vampire nest.” It was all that he would allow himself to admit. Naomi could take his freedom, she could take his pain and pleasure and any sensation, but she wouldn’t take the memories and the knowledge of Lila Conner. 

“And how is that helping to find the angel tablet Castiel?” Naomi leaned against the desk and raised her brows. 

“I’m looking.” 

“Look harder,” she scolded. “Heaven doesn’t care about vampires, heaven doesn’t care about minor demons, heaven doesn’t care about the Winchesters. Find that tablet.” She tapped her finger against the desk, and his next blink was a fog of just seeing Lila look at him with that gut punch of a pout. 

“I did what I had to do, what I could do, to help.” She sniffled back to her only family as she looked away. Still trying to maintain her own composure. “I wouldn’t change it. Here you are, all of you, unscathed, and alive.” 

“For now,” Dean shot and she retracted like she had been slapped but held her chin up and echoed him. 

“For now.” 

Chapter Text

February 2013

Castiel

Dean whistled low as he walked through the threshold of the apartment pointing to a vase of mixed pinks and whites, all arranged lovingly on the counter for daily view. “Someone bought you flowers for Valentine’s day,” Dean waggled his brows and looked over the bouquet clearly trying to lighten the mood.  

“No, I bought them last week.” She said plainly and continued moving around her apartment in an intricate well worn path. Shoes off, cardigan on the hook by the door, and a beeline to the kitchen to pull something from the refrigerator for dinner in a clear track that her mind had been set on. Sam locked the door behind her and eyed the deadbolt in suspicion. 

“Eh well,” Dean winced and ran his hand along the back of his neck. He exchanged a look with Castiel of pity, as if the angel would empathize with his blunder. Castiel however had seen enough courting rituals to know that women often were gifted flowers in exchange for their time. To him it seemed an unfair payment for her attention.  He should bring her a thousand flowers picked over from a thousand years of cultivation. He could form them into a bouquet wrapped in the first papers of the Chinese and tied with thousand year old Italian lace but none of it would be worth her time. She never once asked anything of him but his own safety, his own care, and he couldn’t even promise that to her. 

“I’m surprised you’re not booked for tomorrow,” she looked at each of them and lingered on Castiel before turning back to her cooking. “Rogue cupids or whatever.” 

“Dean usually goes to the bar,” Sam gagged, “and I’m lucky if he comes home without a hangover.” 

“I resolve that issue before he wakes.” Castiel murmured and chewed at the inner corner of his lip still focusing on the flowers before blurting out again, “you bought those?” 

“Yes,” she said quickly, cutting him a look that told him not to press it further. He made a mental note just then to get her more flowers. Not because it was expected, not because he was in competition with anyone else, but because they made her happy enough to buy them for herself. 

“You have beer?” Dean cleared his throat and poked his head inside her refrigerator as she moved onto the stove. 

“Left over from the last time.” She sighed.

Sam looked back to Castiel, his eyes narrowing before he said to no one in particular. “Mind if I check your wards?” 

“Be my guest.” She muttered and then let out a small curse as a pairing knife slipped and cut along the pad of her finger. 

Castiel was at her side in a few long strides, watching as she brought the cut to her teeth and sucked at the incision. The Winchesters turned down the hall as they checked the window frames for salt, leaving him to continue watching as she pulled pressure into her cut to stop the bleeding on her own. Each sup from her lips made a grimace as she tasted the blood that flowed against her tongue. Gingerly, he took her hand and she watched him glide his own fingers over as the warm glow from his grace coated her skin and stitched the wound clean. His eyes met hers as he brought that small sliver of freshly knitted skin to his own lips and pressed a kiss there. Her breath hitched, and it reminded him of the sound that came from her in that bed that was far too large for her alone. 

“Thank you,” she whispered and he said nothing as she pulled her hand back and went to cutting again with a clean knife. 

“Why don’t you have plans?” He asked carefully. His chin raised as he chewed along his inner cheek in concentration to keep his cool. Fingers flexing in his pockets to stop himself from turning her around and pinning her to the counter, from taking what he thought was rightfully owed to him. 

No, that was wrong, she wasn’t owed to anyone. Certainly not me.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” she said quietly, unable to look back at him. “And I’m not pitiful enough to go out in search for a stupid holiday.” 

“No?” He swallowed thickly and reached for a loaf of bread she had set out. He found a serrated knife and another cutting board tucked away on the counter as he began making thick slices for her. She stilled, and watched him for a moment, before going back to her own vegetables. 

“No.” She said blandly, clearly wanting the conversation to be done with. 

“Dean does it, Sam occasionally.” 

She let out a little scoff and ignored him. He knew. This wasn’t a revelation for him that she was single. It wasn’t fair that someone like her had been alone, but the selfish part of him reveled in that. A darkness uncurled and stretched claws in satisfaction that he was the only one watching her come undone, and that she did it thinking of him. Silently she scraped vegetables into a pan and let the stark sizzle break up any conversation. But still, he pressed.

“Isn’t that what people do though, seek out companionship? What makes you wrongfully believe that you’re undeserving of someone?” 

“Maybe I just want flings. Something fast, and easy that I don’t have to think about.” She said it so callously, so matter of factly, so unlike her as she sauteed veggies behind him. It would be comical if he wasn’t aware it was just a coping mechanism to shut him out. If she and the Winchesters were blood relation, he would assume it was a family trait. 

“Really?” He ground out as he started washing the dishes in the sink for her. “You do that often then? Fast and easy?” Her shoulders stiffened and he knew that he had her cornered. 

“No,” she whispered to herself and continued sauteing. 

He knew she hadn’t been touched in a very long time by a hand that wasn’t her own. But that voice tapped at his mind again telling him that she didn’t allow anyone to touch her, because it was him she imagined on his knees. No one else was good enough. 

But neither am I. 

The Winchesters came back in, Dean tossed the empty beer into the recycling, grabbed another, and Sam set the table as Lila ladled out dinner on four plates. Four even helpings. Warmth flooded him again at the gesture, how humans fed those they loved, that they cared for, without question. How no matter the culture, no matter the time period, if you were a family you ate something made of and from love. 

When they sat together at the small table there was an awkwardness woven around them. Sam and Dean clearly wanted to ask more about Crowley but not knowing how to branch back to the topic ate in silence. Castiel brought the spoon of soup to his lips, dipped bread in the broth and chewed, as he continued on the ritual of eating things that he couldn’t taste. He appreciated the artistry of food, how spices and ingredients were supposed to mix together to create a palate like a painting of mixed colors. But for him, all he could taste was the salt in the stock, the earth from the carrots, the sweet but bitter onions, and the yeast of bread. There was no mixing of flavors, the only contrast being textural, but his heart was struck with knowing that lovingly she had pieced together a meal for them all when she easily could have told them to go elsewhere. 

“Thank you,” he cleared his throat when she took his bowl to the sink along with the others. 

“It was good Lila, thanks,” Dean agreed and pulled the last drink from his beer. 

“Yes, good,” Castiel echoed and she shot him an incredulous look. One that read back, don’t lie for my sake angel. 

“So,” she leaned against the counter with her arms folded across her chest looking back at the three men still in their respective seats at the table. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but why are you in town?”

“You met Benny,” Dean led, “he made note of some weird graffiti around the back alley of your store.” 

“Yeah, I get a lot of that.” She said dryly. “Glad Benny cares.” 

“Well it's concerning,” Sam murmured as he rotated a bottle between his palms awkwardly. 

“Not as concerning as why the hell you have Crowley doing business with you.” Dean snapped back. 

“This again,” she sucked the air between her teeth. 

“Yes, I’m not dropping it. He’s a demon Lila, a bad one. Don’t know if you’re aware of that. He’s not some jovial fuck wit.” Dean leaned back in his chair, jaw clenched as he stared at her down. “I promised Bobby we’d take care of you and-” 

“And who takes care of you?” She shot back. “Huh? Who takes care of the Winchesters? Who takes care of Castiel, the angel of the lord?” She flung her hands up. “Why do I need to be taken care of but when I try and help you I’m damned for it?” 

“Because we don’t want you to be damned Lila, that’s the point.” Sam said softly. 

“I have no one else.” She broke down inside. Weakly her hands wrapped themselves back around her arms in a hug. “No one else but you three.” 

“And we just want to keep you safe,” Sam offered but she turned her head away. Blinking back the threat of tears. 

“I was given an offer to help Dean and Cas out of Purgatory, and I took it. I have my soul back, that’s it.” She finally turned to look at them but it was Castiel’s eyes that she stared into as she spoke, “and if it comes down to it, I will always make that deal.” 

“Your soul,” he started as he tilted his head to the side in wonder. 

She cut him off with a curt, “is back.” 

“It’s not something to play with, I’ve lived without a soul Lila and it is brutal and dark. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Sam’s voice wavered. 

“Well you, me, and uncle Bobby have that in common.” She muttered and took in a shaky breath. 

“What did Crowley want with your soul?” Dean asked low and dark. His pulse quickened next to Castiel as his thumb slowly tapped in contrast on the table. 

“I don’t know,” she looked back to Castiel, “you can check though if I’m lying. It’s there.” 

He would do anything to touch the part that made her whole, to be able to feel pieces of her no one else could. The very idea made his throat bob and his mouth go dry, and still something inside sparked in connection. But he couldn’t, not in front of the Winchesters at least. They had no idea the intimacy that he wanted with her. The way his fingers would caress against her soul and things that knowing her would do to him. It wasn’t like using Bobby as a battery or finding Sam broken. It would be nothing short of adoration and worship. 

“I believe you,” his voice was gravely and raw as he looked back down at the table. 

“Well there you have it.” She said with resigned bitterness. “Now, why does your friend give a damn about kids tagging the wall behind my shop?” 

Dean and Sam went on to explain the potential threat of a possibility that a vampire cult was forming nearby. Benny had recognized some of the symbols from clans that he had ventured with years prior. Sam brought to mention that he working with Crowley as a dealer could be in tick towards that theory. But as they spoke, it took everything that Castiel had to keep from imagining his fingers sifting through her soul and letting it consume him whole until his own mind was permanently burnished with the essence of her. 

As the evening progressed, and the three of them seemed comfortable with the idea that she was safe for now, the Winchesters decided to make their way to the local motel. Castiel however, asked to stay behind. 

“It would make me feel better that someone was here, at least until morning with your broken window.” He said quietly and she gave a little nod of acceptance back. Sam and Dean didn’t argue with it, and gave their hugs in goodbye saying they would come in the morning for Cas and swing back into town after their trip to Sioux Falls. When the door closed behind them, the apartment somehow grew even smaller. 

Chapter Text

February 2013

Delilah Conner

“You really don’t have to stay,” she said between spoonfuls of ice cream. She had changed into her pajamas (strategically the one pair of flannel bottoms that didn’t have a rip, stain, or judge worthy cartoon character on them) and nestled into the couch with a half finished pint and a single spoon. 

Her original plan tonight was to finish her inventory downstairs, but that had been interrupted, and she really didn’t have the energy now to drag herself back to complete a task that could easily be put off until the morning. So, feeding that hole in her chest where her feelings slept untampered with premium caramel ice cream and whatever trashy reality show was saved on her DVR should have been the perfect end to getting scolded by the Winchesters for temporarily trading her soul. What good was a soul if it was spent crying into a cup of dairy that would make her break out the next day and tv where people are losing their humanity for money anyway? To make matters worse, Castiel was sitting just a foot away from her, stiff as a board, staring at the tv in astonishment. Or judgment. She couldn’t tell. 

“I do.” He replied gruffly and the corner of his eyes rolled to watch her slide the spoon against the ice cream and drag it across her tongue. 

“Why? Because Sam and Dean are worried about me? No. They’re worried about the store and their promise to Bobby.” She snorted and dragged the spoon from her mouth, gesticulating it towards Castiel to make a point. “They’d be just as concerned if Garth ran the store. If not more so, because they like Garth more. Better. Whatever.” 

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that.” His eyes didn’t leave the spoon as she continued on. 

“Do you think they’d even be concerned if I wasn’t Bobby’s problem?” She muttered and stabbed into the pint. 

“Why do you see yourself as a problem?” His voice softened and he tilted his head to look fully at her in question. 

“Oh my god,” she muttered to herself as she licked another chunk of caramel from the corner of her mouth. “You command armies of angels and here I am whining about my own family issues.” 

“Not anymore,” he said quietly and sat back against the couch. “We all have our own dilemmas though, and sometimes it’s comforting to have someone who will listen.” 

“Yeah but, in comparison,” she waved the spoon again indicating his were far more important than hers. “An angel who was only trying to save both humanity and heaven alike then became torn apart from the inside because he sacrificed himself for the greater good is much more worthy of complaining than a human girl on her couch moping about relationships.” 

He blinked at her for a moment and then finally asked, “who’s comparing, Lila? Not me.”

She blew out a puff of air, “okay angel,” and scooped another spoonful out before tilting the carton in his direction. “Do you want some before I put it away?” 

It was more of a customary offer, she knew he’d turn it down because what would a being who couldn’t enjoy the taste of ice cream get out of it aside from brain freeze? She watched him eat soup earlier just to satisfy some role among humans. He was fascinating in that way, how he would graciously accept his role as a bystander in customs and still partake in them. She imagined he must feel like an anthropologist in the wild, mingling with the people around and trying to find a way to link himself to whatever group would accept him in. She gladly would have a place for him if he wanted any role, as long as he was there. And admittedly she did feel warm satisfaction when he broke the bread she had made and consumed every drop of soup presented to him. It was some caveman instinct, clearly, that was programmed in her DNA to want to nurture and care for him. It was the same part of her that wanted to trace over the lines in his face and skim her mouth along his bobbing throat until the stubble rubbed her lips raw. 

Stop. She silently scolded her brain before it went too far. 

Once again he caught her by surprise as he opened his mouth and took the spoonful from her. Vanilla lingering on his bottom lip as he swiped it with his tongue and sat back letting the dessert coat the inside of his mouth before swallowing. A small hum of approval and a half smile. 

“Good?” Her voice cracked. 

“Thank you,” he nodded. 

“I can uh, get you another spoon if you want more.” Without thinking she placed the spoon back into her mouth to free up her hand in search of the carton lid. The taste of him lingering against the metal where her tongue sought out more without her permission. There was no trace of sugar or cream, but there was something sinful and holy that brewed in her gut instead. 

“No,” he breathed out. The sound of him making her skin itch with a prickling flush as she jumped up from the couch to put the carton away in the kitchen. 

The spoon clanged against the empty sink, and the freezer burned her face as she shoved her head in to just cool her thoughts but none of it was enough. 

He’s a goddamn angel. He’s not interested in you, or your stupid freezer burned ice cream. He’s babysitting you. That’s all this is. And he’s watching fucking Survivor on the couch to pass the time. You’re not even putting on the best of what humanity has to offer for him to watch. It’s fucking Jeff Probst. At least put on a decent movie, my god. I should probably stop saying his dad’s name in vain. 

It was nauseating, this entire situation. 

“Lila,” he called out from the couch and she quickly pulled her head from the freezer and shut the door. 

“Yes?” She croaked back. 

“What is so wrong with eating balut? People from the island they are on eat it, this seems like an odd issue for them to be complaining about. Don’t they need protein?” 

Jeez, the show. Yes. Okay, this will stop me from clawing at my skin in desperation of his touch. Fuck. 

She took in a breath, rolled her shoulders, cleared her throat, and walked back into the living room with the full intention of explaining how complex the systematic embedded racism was that these Americans could “survive” on an island where actual people lived and thrived eating their foods of choice and engaged in their culture. But instead she compared it to how Dean would only eat something green if it was smashed between two beef patties or deep fried and that seemed to clear Castiel’s confusion. 

The night went on and slowly closer one another inched until she was laying her head against his chest, arm slung across his lap, eyes drowsy from the soft lines that he was absent mindedly tracing along her ribs. 

“You’re tired.” He whispered in the middle of a commercial break. 

“I”m not,” she argued poorly as a yawn broke her words in half. 

But there was no room for debate as he shifted her in his arms and held her closer. Her body slumped against his, rolling closer in search of any contact she could have. Fingers crawled along the skin of her spin and a small moan of contentment purred from the back of her throat. 

“You hold Sam like this?” She quietly teased. 

“No, he’s too squirmy. But sometimes Dean.” He whispered back into her hair as he took in a deep inhale. 

“Is that a joke?” 

“Yes.”

She laughed and buried her face into his chest, his own hand moving his tie and jacket out of the way so she could be that much closer. It moved to cup at her face, his thumb tracing along her cheek, down her jaw, just to the corner of her mouth. A small hitch of his breath had her lips parting just slightly and curving her head in invitation for him to go further. To slide along her lips and see how much he would let her take from him, how much she would give eagerly in return. 

But he inhaled sharply and whispered, “bed.”  

Displeased, she did as he suggested and moved to stand, but his hand reached out and threaded fingers into hers. She squeezed, and he squeezed back. A little rush of warmth flooded again at that small gesture, at the way he tugged her into the room and pulled her blankets open for her. It wasn’t that she was in need of babying or care, but that he did it so effortlessly. That he showed her comfort in ways he didn’t need for himself. 

“How is your back?” She asked as she sat in the bed watching him close the curtains in the dim room. 

“Fine,” he murmured and stood in the corner. His thumb tracing over a small woven tie around his opposite wrist. 

“Well,” she fidgeted a little in embarrassment at the way she was now finding reasons to touch him. “Can I, I mean I liked,” she let out a small frustrated huff and closed her eyes before she tried to collect her thoughts. When she opened again he was only staring back at her from the shadows in the corner. A small twitch of a smile on his face that made her heart spasm. 

“My back is sore actually.” He said roughly. 

“I could help with that.” She offered quickly, very thankful for his opening then. 

Watching him shuck away layer after layer, fold them on the dresser, and be left in only his slacks and whatever hid underneath those made her mouth water in possibility. Lean muscle and taught skin, not a scar to be found on a man who was stabbed and cut open every other day. Fucking angels.  It was suddenly very intimidating and she felt even more insecure at her own obvious imperfections. So, pulling the blanket over her own opposing softness she spread her legs and waited for him to lay onto her so she could once more knead at the spots she imagined glorious extensions of him should have been. 

“I’m cold,” he murmured, tugging at the blanket that hid her away. 

“You don’t get cold.” She whispered back clutching at it. He softened and tilted her chin up to meet his view with his curled knuckles. 

“Pretend like I do.” He smiled at her and how could she refuse her angel of anything that he wanted. So she let go of the blanket and he crawled under before wrapping arms around her waist and nuzzling his head into her chest like he had before. It was a fine line that they walked, this absolute devotion she felt for him, and the friendship she received. The way his thumb traced over her ribs, the way her own pushed into spasming muscles along his spine, it was more intimate than anything she had experienced in her life. 

“Do you see my soul?” She whispered out into the dark room, terrified that he could very well see the small dark spot in it that she believed could be there after Crowley’s tampering. 

“No it,” he paused and rolled his head to look back up at her. Chin rested against her sternum while his soft eyes went heavy lidded. “It’s safely guarded away so no one can tamper with it.” 

“You make it sound like something valuable.” She murmured and his eyes shifted, looking into her for an answer to a question she wasn’t aware of. 

“It is.” He finally said as he laid his head back down against her chest and pressed a soft kiss to the only sliver of skin showing. 

Lila didn’t know how to take that. She wanted to think that it was her that was valuable, her that was special. But what would an angel want with a human woman? Their souls were sources of energy she had been told, things to trade. Castiel could do far better than her and her moth eaten soul. Still he continued laying there unknowingly soothing away worries with each small touch of his hand against skin until her lids grew heavy and she slept, knowing in the morning she would be half convinced she dreamed it again.

Chapter Text

April 2013

Delilah Conner

An unusually hot April morning led Lila into setting up her new misters for the planter boxes outside. If she was selling enough dried marigold petals to both organically dye yarns at home and burn in a portal to contact people beyond the veil of death, then she agreed she should be growing them herself to cut costs somewhere. The bonus of the misters as well, was that if they were pointed at her new window and the doorway. She could put a couple drops of holy water in it and not worry about demons passing her threshold. Flowers and lack of hellions? A win-win in her book. 

She could even let the front door open and the air flow openly through the shop for the first time since, well, she supposed February when the window was broken. But this time it was purposeful. The Saturday had been off to a beautiful start. She sold out her entire inventory of seedling starter kids, and had found a way to sell ten pottery home painting kits to a woman who was throwing a baby shower for her daughter. But just as she was gloating in the sprouting of good fortune she heard a disgruntled cough. 

Standing in his uniform, the Army recruiter scowled at the entrance of her door. She smiled and waved, cooed out a playful little, “good afternoon,” and continued on knowing exactly why he couldn’t come in. 

“Could you maybe,” he pointed at the misters and she cocked her head in mock confusion. “It’ll ruin the uniform.” 

Uniform. Sure. 

But she sighed and walked to the doorway flipping the switch momentarily for it to stop. They stood there in an awkward standoff while the water dripped until the hoses were empty and he finally passed through. 

“Is that necessary?” He asked sharply and she just smiled back. 

“Yes, the plants need good hydration.” 

“The plants, okay.” He scoffed and walked to the counter. “Your boyfriend hasn’t been around for a while.” 

“My boyfriend?” She balked and followed him to her usual post behind the desk. 

“Tall, dark hair, flannel,” he rolled his fingers in a circle by his head as if that was supposed to refresh her memory. In reality it described at least half of her clientele. 

“Yes, my boyfriend,” she nodded, going along with the rouse. “He travels for work.” 

“What does he do?” 

What would the Winchesters say? Not FBI, that’s stupid. Oh! “Bounty hunters.” The raised brow in front of her was enough for Lila to realize she had made a mistake. 

“Hunters.” 

“For fugitives, yeah. Criminals or uh, people on the lam. You know. He works with detectives.” She just continued on digging the hole for her grave. It wasn’t completely incorrect, the Winchesters did look for people that would be considered criminals, and they did work with detectives when pretending to be FBI. 

“I assume the one in the trench coat then is the detective he’s with all the time?” 

Oh, oh gross. He thinks I’m fucking Dean. Or Sam. Or, both? I mean I could do worse. They could do worse. They HAVE done worse. Why couldn’t Cas be the one I was shacking up with? I mean technically- 

“Though he seems to come by at different intervals.” He noted and his eyes shifted around the room almost in search of him. 

“Are you spying on me?” She tried to lightly tease and he glowered. 

“We can cut the crap here.” The recruiter rolled his eyes and knocked a knuckle against the counter. “I work for Crowley, you work for Crowley, I may not know much about what is going on here,” he gestured around the shop and raised an upper lip, “but I do know that I want in.” 

“You’re into macrame?” She pursed her lips into a tight smile. 

“I’m into getting results.” He snapped. 

“I can’t imagine a lot of teenagers sign up for the Army during spring break. Maybe this summer?” She offered and gave a small shrug. “I can’t really help with that anyway. My usual shoppers consist of middle aged women looking for a new hobby while their husbands go through their own midlife crisis.”

“And hunters.” He added with a sneer. 

“And hunters,” she sighed and nodded. No point in playing dumb now. “And Crowley.” She tacked on.  

“What’s in your basement that has it so safeguarded?” 

“Mostly mildew. You’d think all that salt I had down there would help but it really doesn’t.” She scrunched her nose at the weak attempt of a joke. 

“I may work for the King of Hell but that doesn’t mean I agree with him.” He scoffed. “You supply hunters with the very tools to kill us all off. If anything I should be hunting you down.” 

“Where would mothers get last minute tri-fold boards for their kids' science projects then? Think of the children.” She tutted back. “I need to stay in business. If I’m not supplying crafts for kids, how are they going to school and graduate for you to then enlist them? See, it’s a cycle.” 

“I want a list of every transaction from every hunter that you've made and I want to know the inventory that Crowley is keeping in that basement of yours.” 

“Cutting to the chase, I like it. Problem is I don’t have a list and I don’t actually know what he keeps down there. I put it in and he erases my memory temporarily. Like a vault in here.” She knocked on her temple.  

“Print the list.” He growled. 

“Or?” She squeaked. 

“Or I have other colleagues nearby that would be interested in screwing the Winchesters as punishment to your little games.” 

“Ah! so you do know who they are,” she blurted out. “Then you know I am not screwing the Winchesters.”  

“Everyone knows who they are.” He was growing exasperated now. 

“You read the books too, huh?”  

“The books?” 

“Never mind,” she quickly shut that down. The last thing she needed was a demon reading published fan-fiction of her uncle and kind of cousins. 

“You’re not cute with this clueless shit okay?” He leaned in and snarled. 

“I never said I was.” She countered. “Cute or clueless.” 

“I want the form printed of the aliases and their orders, the hunters and their residences, and when they come by.” He stood back at his height in an attempt to intimidate her, which worked very well, except that she really had nothing to offer. 

“Their aliases are all changing. Look half of them use classic rock band names, the others are big nerds and use comic book characters. Some of them even use actors names or characters they played. Hunters don’t normally have residences in fear of this exact reason, and most of them pass in when they are working a case. I don’t have a subscription box for hunters, it’s come and go.” She shrugged, “I can’t help you.” 

“Well, you are useless then.” He muttered and threw up a hand as he turned on his heels to walk out. “If you change your mind, which better be soon, you know where to find me.” 

“Oh I will bake cookies and bring over my clients as soon as possible.” She saccharinely responded.

“Fuck off,” he called back as he trudged out the door. 

This would be the time she should call the Winchesters, she should call Cas, but she didn’t want them worrying about her. Not when she knew that Sam was currently dealing with his own health problems that they all had been very vague about the last time they paid her a visit for a collection of supplies. Castiel was off searching for Kevin Tran, and she knew that mentioning Crowley probably wouldn’t go over well seeing as Kevin was running from the very same demon. So, she was left on her own with this. 

When the store closed she shut all of the windows, the blinds, the curtains, and took a knife to her palm. If this were not such an ordeal she would have chosen another section that was less obvious, but she needed blood and needed to be able to paint her summoning circle with it. 

After a strike of a match and six seconds her hope was dashed until a scoff followed with, “what now bootleg Winchester?” Erupted in the center of the painted star. 

“You,” she pointed with her cut hand. Blood oozing down her wrist with the new flexing motion, coating already dried rusted skin with a fresh flush of crimson. She winced as the cut fissured more and took in a steadying breath. 

“Well, once again you’ve called on me with your tainted blood. Next time sacrifice something else, anything. I don’t want to smell fuckery in the air.” He tapped his foot in clear annoyance. “I have important things to do, get on with it.” 

“Your friend next door-” 

“First of all bunny, he’s not a friend. I don’t have friends. He’s an employee.” He snapped. 

“I thought we were friends.” She returned the hostility with sarcasm. 

“Hop to it, what did Aliead do? Not pay the building's gas bill? I’m not your HOA.” 

“He’s,” she grew suddenly nervous. Maybe the threat was real, maybe this was all a bad mix up, maybe she was in way over her head. But there was no turning back now. “He is threatening me.” 

Crowley looked at her impassively, blinked, and finally said more calmly than expected, “and?” 

“You.” 

“Me?” He smoothly pointed to his chest. “What is he doing with me?” 

“He is demanding to know what is in your vault in the basement, he knows he can’t go down there. I assume it was him who broke in and attempted before. The glyphs are carved into the very foundation and walls, so he would have attempted and it wouldn’t work. He is demanding I make a list and-” 

Crowley waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve heard enough.” In a blink he snapped out of the room and appeared again with the recruiter in hand. “Hello, let's clear this up, yes? I don’t like employees fighting. I have to call HR and Hell’s Representative and Human Resources don’t exactly get along.” 

“You bitch,” the demon snarled back and Crowley seemed delighted in that. 

“Perfect, you answered it all for me.” He snapped his fingers once more and a cloud of black smoke erupted from the human corpse as it fell at her feet. She screamed, clutching her mouth as she backed into the table behind her. “Problem solved then. Is that all?” 

“You-you-you,” she stammered gripping at the table for strength to keep her upright. 

“I solved the problem. Now, don’t fucking call me again or I’ll do the same to you. The world doesn’t revolve around petty squabbles, bunny.” 

He left with the same quietness that he entered in and the room grew stagnant. A man’s corpse was on her floor quickly decomposing and she didn’t know how to take care of the situation at hand. It could have easily been her there on the ground if Crowley could make his way into her basement himself. One wrong move and he’d kill her too, she was weaker than a lot of humans let alone demons. 

She needed air, she needed a dumpster or a pit to put a body in. She needed her uncle Bobby, she needed Sam and Dean, she needed Castiel. She had none of that, but she could manage with a half formed plan.

Chapter Text

April 2013

Delilah Conner

Pull it together. Pull it together. You have a man who is actively rotting on your hardwood floors. Lila. You have to get him out. He will stain the carpet. He will bloat and explode the longer you wait. Someone will see you. Do it now. 

“But he’s so big, and arguably I’m not small, but I’m not carry a two hundred pound man strong. I’m more like carry a fifty pound bag and still complain.” She argued with herself. “But if Garth can do it… Garth.” 

Panicked, she reached for her cellphone and called his number. 

Ring

Ring

Ring

“Hey, this is Garth, if you need me call my other phone. If you don’t need me then why are you even calling… ya… uh… ya idjits.” The gleeful giggle of being able to use that word now that Bobby had passed ended the voicemail. She hung up in fear that she would just admit everything that happened in a recording. If he didn’t answer his main phone, he’d be too busy to help her. Until by some grace of god above he called back. 

“Garth!” She practically squealed in relief. 

“Lila!” He replied equally enthusiastically. 

“How far away are you from me?” She spat out quickly. 

“Uh, maybe an hour funny enough. I was working a case in Kansas City-” 

“Perfect,” she cut him short as they both had a tendency to ramble and go on and on for far too long together. “I’m calling in on a favor or two you owe me. Get here as soon as you can.” 

Lila could sense the hesitation in the time it took for him to respond. “It-uh might not be until well after midnight.” 

“Great.” She said tightly. “I’ll see you then.” And she hung up before he could argue against coming out so late. 

There would be enough time to go upstairs and change into something that she wouldn’t mind burning afterwards before Garth was there. As she shifted through her drawers she cursed herself for not carrying hazmat suits. Then, made a mental note to start supplying hazmat suits in various sizes. The disposable kind, or maybe not the plastic ones. She imagined that they would smell when they burned. Either way, some sort of smock covering would have to do. 

On her kitchen counter were the flowers that she had received not so anonymously a few days prior. A hand picked bouquet of various wildflowers not from any field in the Midwest had been laid carefully on her kitchen table tied in a yarn bow. She didn’t have the heart to cut the bow, so she left the arrangement in a vase of water and said a little prayer of thank you to Cas hoping wherever he was he heard it. It had been the third bouquet since she saw him last, and it made a familiar ache grow when she looked at them. She wasn’t sure when he delivered them, but they arrived just the same. Now however, in a pair of mismatched sweats and plastic garbage bags covering her hiking boots, that warmth turned into a pit of fear of condemnation. 

Back down in the store she scrounged up enough macrame rope para-cord to tie his body together. She gave herself a moment of praise in supplying filtered masks at least. You never knew what kind of sex pollen or death by breath monster would be nearby. Macho hunters rarely used such an accessory, so she grabbed a spare and shoved it into her pocket to force onto Garth. 

When he finally arrived she let him in through the back door to the alley. He was just standing there, tall and lanky, grinning with his hands reaching out for a hug and not a clue of what he had agreed to. But he stilled when he saw her hair pulled back in a shower cap, safety glasses, a breathing mask, torn dishtowel wrapped around her cut hand, and her already stained clothes. 

“Uh, painting?” He winced in a plea and she shook her head and led him inside. A long low whistle left him as he looked down at the tied bloated body. Skin was starting to sag at the bones, joints and fingers were broken and jagged at places where she had tied him together. His jaw had cracked where he fell and blackened blood pooled around his mouth on the carpet. Thankfully, it was already a crimson color so a quick spot cleaning would do. 

“This is it,” she pulled the mask down and gestured at the corpse. 

“What did you do?” He balked and looked back at her. 

“It wasn’t me. I mean, by proxy it was, but no.” She huffed indignantly. “He was a demon originally.”

“I thought Bobby had this place warded.” Garth’s voice cracked. 

“He did but, things happen and, yeah.” She gestured back to the man who was starting to smell putrid just feet away. “Why do they rot so quickly?” 

“Ah, ask Sam. He’s better at the lore on that than I am. We usually just gank ‘em and leave.” Lila reached into her back pocket and handed him the mask. He took it gratefully and adjusted it to fit. “So, speaking of Sam…” 

“No.” She cut off the open question. “They have their own things right now. This is just a little clean up.” 

“Well, what do you suggest we do?” His foot nudged the former recruiters leg and a squelch answered him back. 

“I don’t know, this is my first dead body disposal. I’m kind of compartmentalizing this as we go.” 

“You’re holding it together really well then,” he reached a hand out to pat her shoulder and she smiled in thanks as she adjusted the mask again. It was a lie of course, she was seconds away from vomiting something the same color as the bruising on the man’s forearms. 

The warmth of approval was short lived though when they both reached to pick up the body on either end and it sagged against the ropes. Bones cracked in its soft tissue wrapping and skin split, oozing onto the plastic of her shoes. 

“Let’s wrap it up in a tarp or rug, anything.” She wretched slightly in her mouth and swallowed the acidic feeling back down. Garth agreed and their pair quickly found a large sheet of drop cloth canvas for paintings she had to bundle the body in. “I have a large push cart?” She groaned and looked over at Garth who was giving her a sympathetic shrug. 

After two attempts they managed to pile the body completely onto the cart, and Garth pushed it along as she held the door open. Her palm had split again from where she bandaged it, and the blood was soaking through. 

This is why you don’t cut your hands when you call for demons. She mentally scolded and tried to ignore the feel of her own warm sticky blood oozing from under her bandage as she followed Garth down the dark alley. 

“Let’s hope your neighbors are heavy sleepers.” He groaned and they both looked around for a place to burn the body. 

“Most of them use the upstairs as rented office space or storage. So they should all be home, well not here home but, you know, their own respective homes elsewhere.” She mumbled with slight encouragement at their illegal activities. 

A metal dumpster sat at the end of the street already piled with tree trimmings. They both agreed they could easily start a fire in it, and with enough lighter fluid the body could burn inside. But as they both went to hoist the body up a voice crooned behind them. 

“What is this?” 

Lila whipped her head around and dropped the body back on her feet. She yelped at the contact and jumped back just as it rolled and she heard a crack as skull hit concrete. The cloth splattered out a dark mess of brain matter and putrid insides onto her and she grimaced. The woman standing on the street seemed unbothered though, delighted even at her discomfort. 

“We’re good here thanks, just taking out some garbage.” Garth said in a surprisingly even and cordial tone. “Remodeling the building, you know how messy that can get.” 

“Messy,” the unknown woman hissed in a wide smile as she looked down at Lila’s bloody hand. “I could smell you from a mile away you know.” 

“Ah damn it all,” Garth whined and dropped the corpse. “Vamps here too? You come from the Kansas City branch because I just cleaned them out. Now’s your chance to run with your tail between your legs.” 

Garth, this is a new side of you. Lila was taken off guard for a moment before three more vampires came from the shadows. 

“No sweetling, we’ve been here for some time. Watching, waiting, until you were susceptible enough for use.” The female vamp cooed as she stepped forward. Her teeth elongating as Garth tried to step in front of Lila as a barrier. One of the males swiped at him as a second knocked him to the ground. 

Well, so much for that. 

“What could I possibly help you with?” She whimpered as she tripped over the body and fell flat on her ass  against the hard ground. 

“Mmm, a list of hunters.” The head of the small group hummed back. 

“Why does everyone assume I can just print them out a list? I don’t have a Rolodex. That would be irresponsible in cases like this! I make up sales names and items for tax purposes.” She was hyperventilating now, and the blood of the corpse she had fallen against was oozing through her sweats and coagulating against her skin. 

“No you dumb bitch, you’re going to be one of us, and then you’ll make your lists.” The male vampire to the left snarled and reached for her hair. He dragged her neck back with a pop of joints and went in for the kill when the female halted him. 

“Shes coated in dead man’s blood, be careful where you bite.” 

“It’s not on her shoulders,” he muttered and went to clamp down. The sensation of blood being pulled from her body burned like acid eroding her insides. It was dark and cold, her vision growing hazy and she turned to look at poor Garth who would undoubtedly be next. 

“You have to make sure she takes in enough of yours,” another man called out when she felt fingers smash against her mouth. Lila was clenching so tightly she swore teeth were cracking, but that hand’s bruising grip was trying to pry it open. 

“Don’t break her, dipshit, we need her in one piece.” The woman smacked his hand away. “We’ll turn her back at the nest.” A sharp prick in her neck and the clatter of a metal syringe against the street was the last full sensation that she could grab onto before something thick dragged her down into the waters of semi consciousness. 

All Lila could think of was how she wished Castiel was there. How he would hold her, and make sure nothing bad ever happened. How weak she was that she couldn’t even get rid of a body without help and now had lured a group of vampires out from the blood of her cut to call on a demon just to avoid conflict. All of this stemmed from her mistakes. Her greatest being that she didn’t get to see Castiel. She sniffled a little pitiful sound and whispered his name out as her eyes closed. 

Everything was hazy around her, but under lids heavier than an iron curtain she could just make out the bright light. Only one eye was willing to open for the shadow of wings against a brick wall expanding and curling around them. Screams echoed in the alley way and then silence. Her name was then frantically being called out but she had just barely enough energy to roll her head and see him there gingerly clutching her face. His eyes still a striking blue and dulling as Castiel looked her over. Golden warmth left his palms as he checked injury wounds. 

“Garth,” she rasped out and Cas huffed an almost bitter laugh. 

“He’ll be fine.” 

Chapter Text

April 2013

Delilah Conner

The water was too hot to be comfortable, but it didn’t flay the skin from her bones or boil the cartilage holding her together so in Lila’s mind it wasn’t scalding enough to wash anything away. She didn’t remember being carried into the Winchester’s bunker. She didn’t remember the clothes being stripped from her body, or the blood being sponged away. There were small glimpses of light, the brush of fingertips,  a damp cloth against her forehead, and occasionally she stirred as she felt a thumb pull back her upper lip and press on her gums in search of something. Fangs perhaps, but nothing came out. 

When she had woken her throat was tender, one eye still felt as if it had been yanked from its socket, nose bruised from safety glasses smashed against her face, and her head was pounding. She sat up slowly, looked down to see a pair of men’s boxers and a clean flannel shirt. Someone had undressed her and taken the liberty to at least make sure she was covered again. 

Wrists are free, that's a good sign, unless... She looked down at her ankles and a sigh of relief eased out. Also free. Slowly her body shifted to the edge of the bed and the door of the dim room opened allowing light to stream through. A figure holding a tray came in, glass clinking against it, and he stilled to look back at her sitting on the bed. She had a hard time adjusting to the light as her eyes blinked slowly and he turned on the side table lamp. 

“You’re awake,” Castiel’s voice sounded more relieved than she’d ever heard him before. Like he had actually been concerned about her. Or at least her well-being enough to bring her there. 

“Garth?” Her own voice was raspy and he went back to pouring water from a pitcher and then handing it over before stopping himself. 

“Is fine, light concussion that is taken care of, but he’s back to himself. After I brought you here we disposed of the body that you were attempting to burn in a dumpster.” That concern was now replaced with a sternness she was more familiar with. He held the cup of water to her lips and the wash of cool clean nothing momentarily relieved that clawing in her throat. “We will discuss that later. But now, do you want a bath?” 

She gave a timid nod and went to stand but he cautiously halted her. His arms formed a harness at her side and steadied each shaky step as she made her way to the door. 

“Low iron will make your balance falter," he whispered and she let her head rest against him as he nearly carried her down the halls. 

The memory of his tenderness with her burned more than the water in the porcelain bathtub alone, the steam wafting up as her knees were drawn to her chest and her temple rested against them. The dull stabbing feeling of soap flowing into open cuts on her palm, the bruising on her ass, her ribs, her neck, none of it hurt as much as the disappointment did. She hardly noticed the tears as they trailed down her face, focusing on the constant reprimanding voice in her head. 

You couldn’t clean up your own messes. Not only are you just a feeble minded weak human, but you’re a screw up and incapable of doing anything right. When your mother died Bobby felt guilty at just sharing a bloodline with you. It’s probably good he’s gone too because he’d be ashamed of how you’ve handled this all. Sam and Dean only tolerate you, and Castiel? He only feels guilty that you are burdening his friends with your existence. He now has to babysit you to keep you out of trouble. And somehow even more pitiful than all of this, you think it’s because he cares. Because you care about him. Get a hold of yourself. 

She buried her face against her knees as sobs wracked her body. Insults flowed through her mind with more ease than the replenished blood in her veins. She had never been one to take the constant berating of her misdoings to actual heart. Just acknowledged she was weak in nearly every aspect of her life and moved on. Not much she could do about it after all. But now it had genuinely affected others that she cared for, and she couldn’t protect them or herself. 

Cold air prickled her skin as the door opened and closed, breaking the solitary pity party she was holding. She swallowed some of the hiccuping that her crying left her with to look up. Castiel stood there at a respectable space, eyes searching her for damages. The only major ones left were all mentally self-inflicted. That look he would give her hurt the most, the one that seemed as if he cared. He couldn’t, or at least he shouldn’t. 

“Lila,” he started as he peeled his coat off. Rolled sleeves up to his elbows and knealed beside the bath. “You called?” 

“No, I didn’t.” She mumbled and his hand reached for the untouched washcloth on the side of the basin.  

“You did,” he said reverently and dipped it into the sudsy water before running it along her dry mottled back. 

“In the alley?” She whispered as she closed her eyes and for once didn’t pull away.

“Then as well.” 

There was a silence as he slid the cloth down her shoulders, and his fingertips lingered over the bruising on her neck. She caught the way his jaw feathered and his eyes narrowed in on every injury. His hand glided over the ones that were worse off and started healing them first.

“You don’t have to do that, I know it takes a lot and you’re tired from coming to my rescue and-” 

“Please stop.” His voice cracked and he gnawed on his bottom lip in concentration. 

With each dip of his hand in the murky water she noticed the small braided cord on his wrist dampen and fray. Braided in blue, red, some speckled oatmeal color she used to carry in the shop. She had seen it a few times when his coat just barely revealed a hint of his wrist. In the moments she felt like a scandalized Victorian seeing ankles and getting a flush of arousal from the rare skin to even pick out the colors braided on them. 

Maybe it’s like that Kabbalah string. She thought as she watched it darken from water saturation. He is an angel, it’s probably religious or something. 

“I’ll be back,” his voice was rough and he stood up before she could say anything. 

The silence in the room was deafening as she just sat there stewing in both the water and her thoughts. Mostly, why he was being so kind to her. He had a job to do, he had duties to Heaven, to the Winchesters, to anyone more important. But here he was bathing her as if she were some lost lamb in the woods he had rescued from a sacrificial altar. 

When he came back he had a cup set on the side of the bath and went back to his knees, taking the washcloth and re-soaking now dried skin.  

“How long have I been like this?” Her voice trembled and his thumb ran a soothing motion along her ribs as the other scrubbed her side. 

“A day and a half,” he admitted. “I put a sign up in the window of the shop for you.” 

“My cat.” Her body tensed and he splayed a warm palm along her upper back to soothe her. 

“Is with Jody Mills, apparently she has an affinity for felines.” He rang the water out and gestured for Lila to relax her arms so he could move the cloth along her stomach, but the idea of him seeing her even more open like this only made her grip tighten. He blew a breath from his nose and tilted his head looking at her with a softness that she didn’t deserve. “What’s wrong?” 

“Everything,” she croaked out. 

“I know,” he brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear and then rested his forearms against the tub. “But let’s start with what we can handle.” 

“Apparently I can’t handle anything.” She sniffled feeling like a petulant child. 

He took her chin between his finger and thumb and just looked back at her with those warm eyes. If she didn’t know any better, she would assume that he could see into her very soul that way. Maybe he could, at least then he could know how much of him consumed it.  

“What happened to you was a horrible misjudgment, but not because of you.” He was so tender with his voice that she could have broken all over again. His tongue ran along his bottom lip before continuing. “Lila, none of this is your fault.” 

It is all my fault, she wanted to scream back. But the way he touched her with the wash cloth again, making sure that she stayed warm in the already steaming room just let her melt back into the waters she wished she could drown into and never admit to her misdoings. 

Castiel   

A demon had more strength in decency than he did right now. Yes, he was only bathing her because he wanted to show her a gentleness that she deserved as well as wanted to keep the fever she had developed and sweat out while sleeping gone, and he knew humans found comfort after being cleaned. But there was a slithering in his desires that sang out in satisfaction at every small touch. She was scarred and bruised, and although his grace was healing her body piece by piece he couldn’t stitch together the mental load she was carrying. He knew this, knew she was terrified at what had happened to her, and still heat pooled in the places his body had never felt before. Swirling like magma to heat and liquefy the untouched parts of him that reminded just what this body he held himself in could be capable of. Not only destruction, not just damage and rot, but comfort and care. He wanted to wash her troubles away and let them drain down with the dirty water. He wanted to cleanse her in the ways that she had healed his own self doubt. She had called on him in her times of need. Both in pleasure and in pain, and every time he had been there to witness. 

Silently he tipped her chin back, bringing the cup he dug out of the kitchen cabinet to waterfall down her hair and through his fingers. The sound she made as he rubbed at her scalp with the shampoo he had found in Sam’s bathroom was a knife cutting away an already frayed cord of emotional resistance. He had to hold it together, she was his friend. The Winchesters were his brothers and this was their family. Well, as much he supposed as she was his, but still. 

She is human and soft, and scared right now, and trusting, and…

“That feels so nice,” she whispered out as her neck went pliable and limp in his hands breaking his concentration. 

Beautiful. She is beautiful, and at this moment she is only mine to care for. 

“You’ll let me continue?” His voice sounded strangled but she hummed back a yes, and he reached for the conditioner. One hand working her hair still while the other read directions on the bottle. 

Follow after shampooing, wait for five minutes, rinse… 

The way her damp lashes fluttered against her freckled cheeks when he ran his thumb along the base of her neck, the soft sigh as he tugged her hair just slightly when letting himself see what he could get away with, it was destructive behavior but he had never really been all that good at resisting temptations fully. Castiel, commander of armies, fighter of wars, and servant to God always pushing the line just enough until he felt that give snap and then regretting his wrongs. But how could this be wrong when it felt better than the warmth Heaven provided ever had? 

As the conditioner coated dark copper waves that wrapped around his fingers and clung just as sap pouring from a tree would, he remembered laughing with his siblings in Heaven about Saint Paul telling women to cover their hair in fear that angels would come and be seduced by it. Seduction, like angels would ever consort with human women only because of their hair. But fuck it all, the little moan of a sigh that left her parted lips when he tugged and soothed at her hair would very well cause him to fall from grace. Maybe there was truth in the warnings, because he couldn’t look at this color and not wonder what holy thing she would be. A fiery halo of her waves framing her face as she made those noises louder beneath him haunting him as he closed his eyes. 

Five minutes of waiting for the conditioner to set was like five hours and five seconds both, but he washed it clean unsure of what would happen if it stayed in too long. Sam had wonderful hair, so Castiel would follow the directions exactly as written. 

After it was rinsed she rolled her head stretching her neck, and his fingers moved to drag down the lean column of it. She tensed as his thumb stopped just above the bruised bite mark that was left and his fingers splayed out sending a pulse of grace to heal the small pricks from teeth left behind. 

He would kill them. The vamps that did this. Hunt them down, one by one, and cut their heads off. Pile their bodies and burn them until there is nothing left. And in return, he would take their ashes and use them as fertilizer for flowers that she grew outside the store. Something good at least coming from something wretched. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as she finally uncoiled her arm just enough to let him slide the rag along it. 

“There is nothing you have to be sorry for.” 

Except quite possibly for being the only human who could understand how he felt, but he very well couldn’t say that he found similarity in how alone she felt. Or, that he wanted to be the reason she no longer felt that way.  

“This whole mess is my fault,” her bottom lip quivered and he reached out to still it. Thumb pressing to the plushness of her lips and smoothing a line along them. 

“No,” he swallowed thickly and parted his own to speak but found the words of praise he wanted to bathe her instead in evaporated. There was not a thing he could admit to that would even amount to what she meant to him. 

 Those lips he had found himself imagining in other infernal places, alone in the dark watching her sleep, puckered and pressed a kiss to his thumb still lingering there. His eyes snapped shut, his body betraying him as he whimpered her name in a pleading sound to have mercy on him. He was an angel, sure, but desire found its way to everyone eventually and want ached in them all once love was found. 

“Why are you so sweet to me?” She kissed his thumb again that refused to move knowing the feeling of her against it now.

“You deserve all of the sweetness I can never give you,” he murmured as his other hand moved to cradle her face. “I don’t want to take advantage of you Lila.” 

“I wish you would Cass,” she nuzzled against his hand and finally he broke.

Chapter Text

April 2013

Delilah Conner

In her confession to him, he had vanished. He left her there in the bath, alone. But before he did there was something wild in his eyes that had sparked when she admitted she wanted him to use her. It was beautiful and feral, and then changed to sorrow just as he left. Castiel always had to leave for something, but this was different. This was by his choice. 

Clutching the plush towel around her she quickly dried off and wandered with bare feet through the hallways of the bunker looking for him. She should go back to the room and wrap herself in blankets until she was convinced this never happened. Or, she could find a pair of clothes and hot wire a car to get herself home. That’s what the boys would do. But she was determined now to give Castiel a piece of her mind. 

He didn’t get to do this, to strip away every locked door and enter the safe padded room she kept her emotions in. He didn’t get to cradle her heart in his hands and soothe away her fears just to cause new ones. Everyone always left. Her father had left, her mother had left, Bobby had left, but somehow she had convinced herself that he wouldn’t. 

When she found him, he was sitting at a long table in the middle of what seemed like an open gathering space. Enamel coated iron stairs on either entrance, multiple computers and decades old data processing systems scattered on tables, but all she cared about was the angel who was digging his palms into his eyes and slumped over in irritation. At himself, or at her, she didn’t know but she would verbally gouge into this fresh wound between them until it was cleaned out and ready for healing. 

“I put clothes on your bed.” He murmured low and dark as he still sat there keeping to himself. 

“Thank you,” she said tightly but didn’t move. Drops of water tapped on the cold polished concrete from her hair and goose bumps along her skin begged her to be civil about this. To have an argument later when she was dressed, but a stubbornness born from long built up frustration held her in place. 

“Now Lila,” he grunted and took in a deep breath. 

“At least look at me when you’re denying me,” she snapped back.

“P-please, I– I can’t do this right now,” he stammered and tried to avert his eyes from her, turning away and shielding his gaze with a hand.

“You don’t get to do that.” Her face burned from the sudden coolness of the air against dampened skin and the flush of embarrassment. 

“What?” He groaned back and muttered something in Enochian to himself. 

“Push me away, or pretend to be some gentleman now. To look away from the mess you've made of me.” Her voice cracked. 

 He scoffed, “you the mess?”

“You don’t get to run away Cass and hide after the way you touched me.” She hated that building pressure behind her eyes, the one that reached hands down her throat and pulled out the promise of tears. “The way you looked at me like I was wanted.”  

“I’m an angel…” he started but his jaw trembled and snapped shut. He sucked in his cheeks and bit down in shame. “I am an angel.” He whispered weakly again, but to himself this time as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes once more. “And I will damn you with my affections.” 

“I already am.” The blockade in her chest fractured, the face she had tried to maintain as strong crumpled in, and her voice ached with it. “Look at me Cass.” 

In the same second that she felt like she would fall, he moved and gathered her into his arms. His fingers wove through her hair as she buried her face into his chest and the water evaporated away. The gentle tugging at the back of her head as he played in the strands, the pounding of his heart against his chest, the sharp intake of breath he took as she pressed her body even closer to his consumed her in the best way. 

“I am an angel.” He repeated again gruffly, “you shouldn’t want me.” 

It would be a sin not to. Human or angel, she didn’t care. He was just as much a part of her soul as petals to a flower. He was the sweetness in her life that fed her joy, the beauty as he opened her to the possibility of more. Castiel was love in a way that she had never expected it to be. It wasn’t driven by desires and flirtations alone, it didn’t come on powerful and in waves like an undercurrent sucking her in. It was understanding that he saw her, and she saw him, and she didn’t want to know a lifetime where he wasn’t a soft place for her to fold into and be wanted in return. 

“I should scare you,” he whispered against the top of her head. “I should frighten you as much as any monster because of the things I have done.” 

“Castiel, I worship you.” She said soft and low as her fingers loosened his tie, dropping it to the floor. A whimpering noise broke from him and crumbled his resilience. His hand fisted her hair, the other moved to cup her neck and run his fingers along her pulse. He pulled her back to look at her, eyes burning a light in them that would have frightened others but never her. 

“I have killed people, abominations and innocents alike. Angels, demons, humans, monsters, all of them. I constantly make mistakes, and very rarely do I make the right choices. I’m not someone worthy of your worship.” He broke her heart as each word came out stabbing himself like a dagger. Why couldn’t he see how perfect he was for her, and her alone?

“And I have been complicit in murder. I have sold things to the people who kill because I am too afraid to be the one who wields the knife. That doesn’t exactly make me worthy to worship you and still here I am.” She huffed out a weak laugh at how ridiculous all this was. If anything, she should be begging him to let her have his time, but here her angel was in shock that she could even think he was worthy of it. 

“With you I want to be possessive and greedy, I want to hold you and lock you away to keep you safe. I want parts of you that no one else will ever touch, and I want to mark you as my own.” His voice wavered, and as he struggled to find the words for his own confessions she undid the top few buttons of his shirt so her fingers could reach out and trace the taunting lines of his throat. “I want you in ways that are unfair. In ways that no one should ever ask for.” 

“Then don’t ask, I’m already giving it freely to you.” She pressed a tender kiss to the hollow of his throat and a weak moan in protest of resignation then turned to delight came from him. 

Castiel 

He rolled his neck back, letting her mouth trail up to his jawline as he scooped her body in his arms and set her on the table. Her tongue dragged a path over his bobbing throat and another series of pent up moans left them both. His hand tilted her head back for him. The way her lips parted and she went so pliable in his hands made him mentally restrain himself from seeing how far she would let him go. 

“You are too beautiful, you know that?” He whispered and her eyes drifted away shyly. “No, you’re the one who wanted me to look at you. Now I’m looking.” He tenderly scolded. “You are beautiful.” 

Her eyes slowly met his again, unsure and timid as his thumb brushed along her lips, testing the boundaries there. But her mouth opened and tongue glided at the pad of it causing heat to prickle along every nerve. She coaxed more, and he complied by pushing his thumb deeper and harder again her tongue. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from groaning as hers wrapped around him and sucked. What other parts of him would she be willing to do that to? The way she flicked against his digit and her cheeks hollowed, it was filthy the way he thought his cock would look so much better resting in her mouth there instead. Another long pull from her and his resistance was fraying. He took his hand back and pressed his own mouth to hers instead, trading one intrusion for another. Her lips melted back and she opened her legs wider, letting him meld their bodies flush as he tipped her neck and nearly assaulted her mouth with how much he hungered for her. 

She was life, and creation. Her taste delicate and rich at the same time. He had never had something so obsessive as the need to taste more of her. She pulled back to breathe and he moved his claiming touch down her neck. Sucking and licking at skin until little flushed bruises formed. His thumb swept over them as graced filtered out and healed it until he realized he liked those little marks. Those permanent signs of his affections for her, his adoration, his physical praise. They meant that he had been there, and that he would never leave.

The towel was dropped between her and the table and he pulled back to take her in. “Perfect,” he groaned and laid her out for him to be worshiped. His fingers both gripping at her soft flesh and tenderly mapping out the divots and planes of her body. There wouldn’t be a place she hadn’t been adored by him when this was over. 

Never over, I can’t… I can’t let this end. He was brought down to his knees at the edge of the table and he pulled her closer kissing a heated path up her thighs. 

“Cass, I–” Lila whispered out. “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Yes, I do.” He laughed to himself more than at her. He had been picturing her splayed out on her bed, fingers curled inside herself, since that night he watched the first time. He had longed for nothing more than to place his mouth where her hand had been. “I really do.” He groaned as he looked at her there as he hooked her legs over his shoulders. 

“I can touch you too.” She cooed and he shook his head.

“Not yet. Please, let me have this,” he begged, his face pressed to the side of her thigh. His eyes closed and he took just a moment to feel her. Then when he opened he could breathe in her need too. It was rich and thick, musky and purely her. Seeing Lila like this, waiting for him, watching as he pledged nothing short of fealty to her in this moment. He may have been born of God, but she was the one thing that made him weak. 

Trembling fingers reached out and traced over her reverently. His mouth punctuated each pause with a kiss up towards where he wanted to taste her most of all. “Show me what you like.” 

Her own hand reached down just inches from his face and slid between herself at the top most arch of her being. Gentle circles first, as he sat captivated by her movements. He could do that, his tongue could do that, and the idea eagerly had him lift up his hand from her thigh and bring her fingers to his own lips. Kissing and sucking the taste of her clean until she gasped. A moan left him too in satisfaction of her willingness to teach him, and he moved in to repeat the motions with his mouth where her own touch had been. 

The nectar coating his lips was the same warmth and sweetness of her skin. It was just as he imagined her soul would be, syrupy and lush. He had to fight with wanting to lick the residual taste dripping from his lips so it wouldn’t go to waste, and wanting to consume more from her directly. 

“Fuck,” he panted against the radiating heat. “You taste like…” He couldn’t form words, it was unfair because she deserved every praise he could offer. “Fuck… perfect.”  

Her thighs trembled just slightly as she laughed in that beautiful sound, rounded and full of life. “Don’t lie for my benefit Cass, you don’t even eat.” But he would, he would devour her. 

“Oh,” he moaned as another long swipe of his tongue pulled a gasp out, “but I can taste every delicious part of you.” 

His mouth explored every line and curve until he memorized the places she quivered and the sounds that brought satisfaction from him. There was a need for more though, more of her pleasure, more of her taste, more to consume. Fingers lingered at her opening, tracing the dip inside and ringing out little gasps that seemed to flood her more. The farther he pushed, the wetter she became, and he needed to taste all of it. He moved the line of exploration a little further, and when the second knuckle sunk in the way he remembered she liked it on herself, she clenched around it. 

Enochian words toppled over themselves as he showered her in affections that she surely couldn’t understand, but he was lost in the best possible way. His tongue continued fluttering against the arch of her, finger curling inside as her hands threaded through his hair. He looked up, needing reassurance that what he was doing was right, but that flush on her cheeks was brighter than any sunset and those heavy lidded eyes showed desperation for him to continue. 

Devouring her was as easy as breathing, but his cock ached in the heaviness that struggled against his pants. Dipping a second finger into her and finding a pillow softness to curl against made her groan his name but it also made that wretched part of him want to push his cock inside and find an end to his own coursing need. To stretch and fill her to completion until she was tight around him too. 

This was about her. He craved finding the parts of her that was nothing but bliss, he needed nothing more than to just show her that she was everything good and beautiful in his world. So, with the hand that had been kneading at her rounded ass he palmed that throbbing in his pants to try and subside the pressure until he knew she was well and fully satiated. 

Her back curved, little breathy gasps escaped, as he sucked just slightly at that spot where she said his name loudest when touched. 

“My sweet girl, look at you,” the Enochian slipped from him between her clenching. “The way I would fit tight and warm inside you, like you were made for me. Only me. My darling perfect girl.” 

His lips sucked again at that little spot between her thighs ringing out her shaking now, and she stammered slightly, “I’m… C-Cass… I’m…” 

Perfect. Yes, you are my darling. Perfect. He thought, very pleased that she was so lost to his touches she could hardly string together words. His own free hand palmed against himself faster as he went. Then all too quickly, it waterfalled around him in a symphony of her moans and panting breaths, and the rippling of her around his fingers. He didn’t dare stop, not when he could drag this from her for forever. She would be his, forever, whining his name out in soft mewling sounds and playing with his hair as he consumed the essence of her just like this. 

“Cass, that’s… that’s enough.” She sighed. 

He only dared to pull away from her to look up and groan out, “no. Not enough. Do it again.” As he continued his kisses now along the inside of her slickened thighs. “Please,” he mumbled against her flushed skin. Then in Enochian he begged, “again, please.” 

She tugged his hair and brought his dazed eyes back up to her own. He had never seen anything more breathtaking in his entire life as she looked down at him. “We have more time. I promise. I’m not done with you Castiel.” 

He reluctantly nodded and slowly pulled his fingers from their new favorite place, bringing them to his lips and licking them clean of her. The way her mouth parted when she watched him, the new little flush dusting the apples of her cheeks brought a smile to his own. 

“I want the taste of you on my tongue, always.” He murmured as he pulled the towel and slid her into his arms. 

“Always is a long time,” she chuckled and collapsed against him seeking out his comfort. To Castiel though, always wouldn’t be nearly long enough. He didn’t want to remind himself that she was a human, and didn't want to remind himself that her time was precious compared to his. Instead he carried her to his own bed, pulled her tightly against him, and held her while she slept, pressing kisses to her temples and thanking her for being the braver one between them.

Chapter Text

April 2013

Delilah Conner

It had been years since Lila had woken in bed with another body next to hers, and never in her entire  memory had any person been so gentle and affectionate the morning after. At least, not without a motive. Here Castiel was allowing her to lay on his bare chest while languidly tracing patterns against her skin. She pretended to still be asleep, just so she could soak in these moments before the world raised them from their dreams and assaulted them with more problems to juggle. She was nestled between his legs, her stomach pressed against his hips as his body was half propped from pillows, but that same stomach betrayed her by making a garbling sound in hunger. She hadn’t eaten in some time, at least not since she had been brought to the bunker. 

“Sleep well?” He whispered out as his fingers continued skating along her back and moved to her hairline. 

“Very, you?” Her voice was still husky and tired, but she smiled and began pressing kisses against his sternum. Her hands tickled along his ribs as he so often affectionately did to hers. 

“I don’t sleep.” His half lidded eyes looked down at her in wonder. 

She stilled at the thought though, “so you just laid here most of the night?” 

“The whole time,” he smiled and it was boyish how pleased he was with himself.

“Isn’t that boring? To just be here while I’m snoring next to you?” She pulled the blankets up and around her as she sat onto his hips, legs straddling both sides as she laid her chest flat against his. Her lips found his pulse point fluttering along his neck and a sound of content hummed out.  

“There isn’t a place on any plane of existence I would rather be. Here, listening to your breathing,” his palms skimmed up her sides. “Counting every freckle,” finger tips dotted along the lines of her arms and she giggled. “Learning every line of you.” He hummed again as he tilted his neck to the side for her, closing his eyes as she grinned against the sensitive flesh there. Her stomach grumbled again and he laughed as she nipped at his ear ignoring her body. “You need to eat.” 

“I do,” she whispered but refused to budge from her seat. 

“You need to eat food.” He argued again but also refused to move.  

“I’ll get to that eventually.” She whispered into him. His hand wrapped around her jaw and brought her lips to his, kissing soft and tenderly before she playfully nipped at his lip and he laughed against it. He pulled back to look at her. Eyes trailing across still sleepy ones and a wide beaming smile. 

“Was I okay with you last night?” He whispered and she could just detect the wavering hint of insecurity despite how precise and his thumb was as it trailed over her kiss swollen lips. 

“You’ll have to be specific,” she toyed and his eyes narrowed. 

Face pinched as he tried to think over his words carefully. “It’s just uh, I’ve seen it done but only through movies that Dean showed me and-” 

She pressed a finger to mouth and laughed softly as his eyes widened. “I really don’t want to hear about that. I’ll start comparing myself to what you’ve seen and it will all get awkward very quickly.” 

He took her wrist into his hand and kissed her palm before placing it against his cheek. “No, no. Don’t ever compare yourself to anything.”

The question was still there between them. Was he good enough? Did he meet expectations? Was he satisfactory? But he was so much more to her than he realized.  

“Castiel,” she murmured as her hand still cradled his face. His eyes searched out for some sign of approval from her. “You touch me like I’m something that’s worthy of an angel. Someone worthy of your time.” 

“There is no angel that’s deserving of this, of you.” He huffed out roughly. 

“You know I could take that as an insult,” she teased and he rolled his eyes. 

“You would.” 

He groaned as her mouth moved against his. Lips became more urgent as they consumed one another, something reminding them that their playfulness was all and good but there was more to be had before duties were called on again. 

“Now, to your question,” she grinned against his mouth as her forehead rested on his. “You were so good, that I will be expecting it again soon. I have been spoiled by you.” She kissed him quickly before his face split into a wide grin and his hands moved to hoist her hips up. “But!” She swat away laughing once more, “it’s my turn.” 

“Yes,” he eagerly agreed. “Your turn.” 

He continued trying to maneuver her back to his mouth when she realized he had no idea what she was hinting at. “No,” she whispered softly, reaching behind her and laying a hand to the thickness that was already anticipating use between his legs. 

“Oh,” came out dark and wondrous in understanding. 

Her brows knit as she watched the emotions and questions dance across his own face. Her tongue darted along her lower lip and he focused in on that little action. So you do have some idea then. She thought gleefully to herself before pressing, “do you want me to?” 

“I don’t know how good at it I’ll be.” He said regretfully. 

“I just want to take care of you Cass,” she said low and soft as her lips started along his jawline. “I want to be the one that does this for you.” 

“You’re the only one Lila,” his throat swallowed and she traced a path down it. 

She allowed her lips to go in search of any imperfection on his body and came up with the conclusion that even if he had a scar or a mark out of place, it would still be perfect on his skin. The way his chest would raise with each sharp intake of breath when her lips coasted down his stomach, the stifled sounds he kept to himself when she dragged her tongue down the divots of his hips, it was music to her ears. Her fingers hooked to the waistband of his boxers and she looked up for his approval before tugging them down. He nodded quickly, eyes blown wide and pupils expanding as she slinked down to lay between his legs and pull him free of his constraints. 

 He was thick and needy as her hand wrapped around the base of him. The other gingerly took his testicles and ran fingers along the skin as they tightened back in response. His tip was already weeping in an opalescent sheen, a promise of what was to come.

“Eager for me?” She grinned up at him and his face crumpled as a desperate sound raked against his vocal cords. “I like that,” she soothed and he relaxed as he gave a small nod in understanding. “Cass, I love the idea of being wanted by you.” 

“I do,” he croaked out in a voice that was almost pained as her hand slid up and along his shaft. “F-fuck, I do.” 

Her thumb swiped over that milky droplet forming and brought it to her mouth, tongue lapping it clean before she stroked him again. It was salt, and sweat, and him. Clean, and pure, and him. She wanted the taste to coat her, to slide down her throat, to never leave. His own hands were clutching the sheets in anticipation, and she watched his every movement, wanting to drag this out for him. When her mouth finally did make contact with his cock, it was just at the frenulum. Lips cupped around it and sucked briefly before her tongue licked at that sensitive skin. A whine broke free from him and his eyes burrowed down into hers, watching as she continued the tiny circulation against the bottom of his tip. His cock twitched, and she knew he was silently begging her for more. In answer her tongue slipped around the darkened edge and curled against it in a round motion, wetting him slowly and then meeting back to the bottom side. 

“You also taste very good,” she spoke as he just barely laid against her mouth. The hot breath from her coating his dampened skin. A shaky exhale trembled from clenched teeth, but he was so good to her. Letting her do what she wanted with him. “You can touch me if you’d like.” She whispered and he swallowed again. 

“I really can’t.” He groaned tightly. There was something that he was holding back, and even if she had to ease it slowly out of him, she would. 

Her tongue coaxed him in just slightly deeper. Slow and shallow thrusts between her lips as she sucked, and her hand matching the strokes along his shaft. She knew with his size she’d never be able to fully take him in, but a dull throbbing deep in her belly begged her to give up on this endeavor and just let him fuck her properly. He’d fit there, tight and thick, she’d make sure of it. But just as he had been so good to her, she wanted to be good for him. Let him take something for himself that she was more than willing to offer on a silver platter. That she alone would be allowed to give him.  

Her name was whispered under his breath as he fought against bucking up into her for more, and she took him in deeper as a response. Her cheeks hallowed as she sucked harder, tongue lathing at the bottom of his cock with each bob of her head, and he rolled back against the headboard watching her in nothing short of amazement. When he finally moved his hands to her hair, it was in a soft reverence, a need to touch her as she pleased him. A hum from the back of her throat in appreciation vibrated against his cock and he groaned once more. 

“Look at you,” he panted, “that beautiful mouth of yours takes me so well. Fuck, I can’t breathe when I look at you. When I feel you.” He hissed as her throat swallowed against the tip of his cock when she sank him deeper in. 

 His fingers tightened in her hair and she just barely nodded back up at him as his hips moved faster in permission, using her mouth to chase that feeling of relief. His balls tightened in her hand and she worked against him in preparation as a hot spurt flooded her mouth. Her moans mixed with his own as his panting continued in his release. She hesitated to swallow, wanting to make sure he was still coming undone before she eased with her actions. When he looked down at her with a mixture of awe and then concern. Her eyes crinkled in a smile as she reached for his hand and guided it to her throat, letting him feel as she took in and swallowed every drop of him. Every movement of her throat was earned by them both. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered shakily. His thumb tracing down still as she went back to sucking at him. “No-no.” He laughed wearily and went to pull himself out of her mouth. Milky release still coating parts of him as he did, and she licked it clean, then lapped at her own lips before laying her head against his thigh. 

“Good?” She finally asked as she savored the view of him so satiated and worn out. 

“I’ve been thoroughly spoiled,” he echoed and ran his thumb along her lips adoringly. She beamed back, but there was a voice that poked at this moment of peace she needed to answer. She wanted to be the only one who had him like this, wanted to be the only one that gave him satisfaction, that touched him this way. And she needed to give him all of her in return. 

He scooped her into his arms again, dragging the blanket over them before kissing the top of her head. They held one another for some time before his shoulders slumped and he hit his head against the back of the bed before groaning, “I hear the Winchesters.”

Chapter Text

April 2013

Dean Winchester 

“You’ve never been down here before?” Dean thought for a moment and realized, no. Lila hadn’t left Missouri since Bobby’s funeral in South Dakota. His gaze narrowed down at his half eaten sandwich when he figured now would not be a good time to bring up the fact they just saw Bobby not too long ago in Hell. They had however helped him get into Heaven, so that was a plus. But saying that her uncle was in Hell over an unexpected lunch that was already going awkwardly wouldn’t have started it off on the best foot. 

“I don’t really leave the shop much,” she said between bites of her own gooey grilled cheese. 

“So, why now?” Sam leaned against his chair poking at his salad. The loss of appetite was clearly not because of the leafy monstrosity he had chosen over a three cheese melt on sourdough crisped in a vat of Irish butter. Only the finest could fuel a hunter, and he and his brother had differing opinions on what that meant. But, Sam still nudged sunflower seeds around his plate and pretended to look as if he was eating for the sake of those around him. 

Lila’s eyes shifted over to Cass, and something in the way that the angel was looking at Bobby’s niece made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand at attention. She was searching for approval. Why did she care about Castiel's opinion of her answer? Even worse, he smiled back in that half moon with one dimple in his cheek way that he did when he got to choose a movie during down nights. She went on some story about Crowley killing a demon in her shop, about how Garth had helped her (tried to), and how Cass had swooped in like some knight on a white stead to her rescue. 

“I’m not A positive that’s what happened completely, I was pretty out of it when Cass showed up. But I can B positive that my blood is all better and I’m not a vamp.” She said with a slight smirk. 

Castiel narrowed his eyes at her, head tilting to the side in assessment before he asked, “is that a joke?” 

“Yes,” she grinned devilishly and nodded back. 

Sam looked between them all and then winced to himself before running a thumb along his forearm. 

“It was a good joke,” Lila’s nose crinkled in defense. She wasn’t aware of the trials that Sam had been facing. Didn’t know about the pain that had been lancing up his arm, but to be fair Dean didn’t know the extent of it either. He had been mostly keeping it to himself, despite his brother's incessant dig to help.  

“Next time, call us.” Dean grunted and wiped his greasy fingers clean. 

“I didn’t exactly have a choice. You all have been so preoccupied with, ‘saving the world,’ that something as minor as disposing of a body doesn’t seem worth your time.” She muttered and pushed her own plate away. “I can do things too.” 

“You are always worth my time,” Castiel glowered back. His hands moved down to his lap under the table just as her eyes met his. 

“Yeah, what Cass said,” Dean tacked on. “We’re family, family is always there. It might take us some time but we’d figure it out.” 

 Her eyes widened as she looked between them, something written there that broke his heart. She hadn’t realized the extent of his words, that much was evident. Dean had never been one to express his feelings, he was a hunter of actions. Sam did the thing with the words, not him. But it was clear when Lila looked like she had been handed the world then by something so simple as Dean’s inclusion, he knew he needed to make an effort to tell her more often. 

“What is in your basement that’s made you such a target?” Sam finally looked up and joined their conversation again. 

“Crowley made copies of the demon tablet on enchanted papyrus in case it was stolen from him again, that and some rare ingredients he uses as stimulants I think. He usually wipes my memory clean after I put them away for him, and it’s a spell to open the lock. But the overflow items are Jack the Ripper’s silk scarf, Caligula’s laurel crown, and Rasputin’s penis in a jar. The real one, not the fake one you can find on the internet.” She traced the wood grain on the table. “It’s really not anything extraordinary. I think he just likes having the option to hide things there.” 

“Or he wants the option to hide someone in you,” Cass murmured. He paused for a moment and looked back at her. “You gave him your soul willingly for purgatory after all.” 

“Within reason,” she corrected and pointed between the angel and Dean at the table. “I don’t just hand my soul out all willy-nilly.”  

He bit the inside of his cheek and let go in a tsk, “well, you’re not protected against it either.” 

“What?” Dean snapped and looked back at Lila in disgust. 

“She doesn’t have an anti-possession mark.” Castiel sighed and gave the woman across from him a scolding look. She glared back before breaking the tension with a sleepy yawn. 

“You don’t have an anti possession tattoo?” Sam balked. 

“No.” She replied flatly again. Castiel moved his hands back to the table, swirling the spoon in his black coffee. He reached over, added a hefty portion of cream and sugar and passed it across to Lila who eagerly accepted. 

Dean just stared at the angel for a moment. Eyes wandering between him and his cousin. “How do you know that?” 

“Bobby didn’t make you get one?” Sam asked again dumb founded, seemingly ignoring the more blatant question here in Dean’s point of view. 

“No.” She shrugged again between sips. 

“We’ll have to get that alleviated as soon as possible.” Castiel sniffed and placed his hands back under the table. A little look of delight spreading on Lila’s face made Dean’s brows pinch.  

“How do you know that Cass?” Dean pushed again, gawking between the three. 

“Does the size matter?” She asked Sam, bringing the cup to her lips and looking back to Castiel over the rim. 

“The size always matters.” Dean snorted at his own joke and then shook his head, “I mean– damn it! How do you know she doesn’t have one? Share with the rest of the class. We’re dying to know.” 

“I’ve never seen one.” Castiel said it so plainly, so matter of fact that Dean’s head spun. 

“And you’ve seen a lot of her then?” He pressed, sucking his cheeks in trying to hide the laugh that threatened to break. The angel refused to answer, only coyly looked back down in his lap. 

“If I get one, can it be the size of a quarter?” She ignored her cousin’s jokes and Sam nodded back reluctantly. 

“I mean you could, but it’s usually better if it's a little bigger. It heals cleaner that way and the lines are thicker so you don’t have to get it retouched as often.” 

She scrunched her nose once more and blew a puff of air out. “Placement, I don’t want it on my chest like you guys. If I have to get one I need it hidden so the old biddies that come in for quilting circles don’t gossip.” She pointed out. “What about here,” she pointed at the left side of her ribs and Castiel’s eyes darkened. 

“No.” His voice was low and he looked across the table at her with a sense of purpose that made Dean and Sam both wince. 

“No?” She squinted back. 

“Please,” he mouthed. Her brow raised and softly he amended, “I’ll explain later. But please, no.” 

She gave a small nod back and thought for a moment. 

“You could get it on your lower back. I’ve seen a couple of those.” Dean grinned. “You might like that Cass,” he teased and Sam kicked him from under the table. 

“What about two inches, and on my hip?” She put up her hands in debate and the three men seemed to agree. “I need to point out though, I don’t love that we’re all arguing about my body here.” 

“It’s for your protection,” Castiel countered and a flush hit her cheeks as his eyes met hers. 

“Okay, what the hell is this?” Dean gestured between them. “It’s weird. Stop it.” He gagged, grabbed their plates, and as he stood he saw just what was making her blush. Lila had placed her foot propped up in the angel’s lap, his thumb rubbing along her insole. The pair had something going on, and as sneaky as they had thought they were with their under the table shenanigans it was as bright as daylight to anyone with a pair of eyes. Well, aside from Sam who was probably suffering a migraine among other symptoms. Dean grimaced and muttered, “I’m calling Davie’s on the corner for an appointment.” 

“No,” Sam shot up. “We can’t take her there!” 

“And why not? If it was good enough for Garth it’s good enough for Lila. He had tetanus and was fine.” Dean made a mocking look back and clutched his chest. “You don’t think I want the best for her?” 

“He has tinnitus, that’s different.” Sam countered, “he probably would have caught tetanus from Davie’s. Plus, it was shut down a month ago because of a Hepatitis outbreak.” 

“Cass can clear that up, no problem. I had the flu two weeks ago that I swear he just high fived me and it was gone.” Dean grabbed the yellow pages on the counter and began skimming through it in search of a close tattoo shop. 

“I don’t high five.” The angel looked offended. “But yes, I alleviated your symptoms. It was just a common cold by the way. You’re welcome.” 

“Can I get a little honeybee next to it? Or will that mess up the way it all works?” Lila asked as she set the empty mug down. 

Castiel’s eyes softened as he looked back at her, “you can have whatever you’d like.” 

“Within reason!” Dean shouted as he began dialing the phone.

Chapter Text

May 2013

Castiel 

The Winchesters had dropped Lila back off at her home while Castiel was tying up loose ends in Heaven. Unfortunately, ends remained untied to the point of fraying. But, when had things ever gone as planned? He did, however, have a lead to finding the Angel Tablet. That came with conflicting feelings on if he was doing the right thing. He had after all torn Heaven apart, smote down at least half of his own, and it was his job to fix it. There was a voice he couldn’t quite pinpoint that was telling him the Winchesters were only getting in the way of that. Dean needed to be removed from the scenario completely. His conscience told him it was some sort of stress induced nonsense. Dean was his best friend, his brother, one of the only people both Heaven and Earth he could rely on. He trusted Dean with everything in him, and that included making sure Lila was safe at home. 

When Castiel returned back to Earth it wasn’t her apartment he went to first. If he was going to remake Heaven from the scorched fires he had left behind, he would have to dedicate his time to finding the tablet, solving it, and using it. Lila couldn’t be anywhere near him after, it would put her in danger and he wouldn’t allow that. As anguishing as it was, there would need to be space between them. First though, he was going to do some housekeeping. 

Benny had returned to Purgatory, so Cass was on his own in tracking down the vampire den's whereabouts. But, the somewhat vegan vampire had left Dean a collection of possible locations based on events and the cultural practices of the selected vampiric group following Lila. Dean had forwarded that to Castiel and Sam in a text chat, and between the pair they had narrowed down who the cultists were, and where. Leading Cass to walk through underground man made tunnels with graffiti marking the last residents to 1920s bootleggers. At least hundred years old and nary a human soul walked out of these tunnels alive after. The deeper he went the more the sensation in his blood picked up an eerie feeling he was being watched. 

Almost too casually Castiel took a knife from his pocket and sliced at his palm. The rivulet of blood ran sticky and warm down onto the dusty ground and a hiss spit from the shadow behind him. 

“Ah, oh no, I have cut my hand.” He blandly remarked much too loudly as he shook the blood smattering against the wall next to him. “Too bad I don’t have a bandage.” He laid the statement thickly on as he continued his false distress.    

A weak huffing -came from a man who had been following Castiel for a few minutes now, lurking where he believed the angel couldn’t hear him. He stepped forward and rolled a tongue along his extended fangs. 

“You’re alone.” He grinned and tilted his head assessing Castiel for consumption. 

“Not anymore, you’re here.” Cass’s upper lip curled as he held his bloody palm up and swiped his grace across it showing no more evidence of his injury. “Where are your compatriots?" 

“Angel,” the once college student turned monster growled. His gym t-shirt, bloodied and ripping at the neck from recent events, gave away his young age. Castiel could work with that. An older vamp may be more willing to die for his cause, this one just wanted guidance. 

At one point Cass would have considered this man an abomination, but Lila had softened his view on that after he had held her crying when she thought of the lives monsters had before they were turned. It was during a movie night of Dracula, and in between Sam groaning at Dean’s jokes and Dean passing out and snoring next to them she had started silently weeping. He brought her to his side, and she had whispered, “they were people too. They had lives, and loves, and dreams. Now they are feral and afraid. It’s not fair. It could be me. It could be anyone.” That had stuck with him, and although he was going into this nest with the knowledge that he would be striking a match and burning it to the ground in retribution for her, it was also because of her that he considered their lives and said a solemn prayer for her forgiveness. 

“You can take me to your nest and introduce me as Castiel.” He said low as his eyes burned through the darkness.

“Or I could kill you now,” the nameless vampire hissed back. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you, you won’t get a lot out of it.” Cass tried to warn. 

“I’ll get a dead angel.” 

“No,” Cass’s face scrunched as he really struggled with trying to work alongside this young monster. “You’ll just… get dead.” 

He came charging towards Castiel and with a groan and annoyance the angel unsheathed his blade. In one clean maneuver the weapon was lodged into the vampire’s chest and a screech echoed from him down the dank tunnels. He had hoped this would have gone a lot cleaner. The blade was retracted and then with another swipe the vampire was decapitated. The head rolled down with a splat neck first into the dirt. He had tried to be empathetic and kill the once man without brutality, but all he could see when he looked down was Lila in the back alley of her home, trembling and calling the name of her angel out. Praying to Castiel. 

With the back heel of his boot he kicked the head out of his walking path and continued on. It took all of two hours, twenty-seven bodies, a few personal injuries, and a ripped shoulder seam to clear out the nest leaving one struggling somewhat man in Castiel’s grip. The lump of flesh was his guide back to the office of an old train depot turned hide out the tunnels had all connected to. 

The leader of the operation had matted hair and bones protruding from his face in odd angles. He hadn’t seen the sun in some time, and it showed on his pallid cheeks as he continued shouting profanities at Castiel. But, no matter what the vampire snarled, Cass kept him tied with hands bound behind him and his own hand burned against the vamp’s neck. 

“How do you target your victims? You look malnourished for being the one calling the orders.” Cass asked as he smashed the vamp’s head into the desk causing dust motes to fly and scatter across his vision. 

“My children eat first and foremost, but when they displease me I feast from their remains.” He cackled and Castiel recoiled.  

“Cannibalism?” 

“Is it cannibalism when it is the consumption of blood and not of the flesh?” He took in a shaky breath as Castiel pressed his once cut palm against the vamp’s windpipe. 

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t consume my brethren.” He sneered, lifting the vamp by the rotten tufts of hair there and smashing him against the desk once more making a splatter of oozing rotten blood under his face. 

“No?” He laughed shakily. “I have heard of angels drinking from grace. We are not all that different, you and I. We kill our own easily for the chance of retribution, we follow our own guides to immortality, and still we struggle to survive. You may not choose to drink in your brothers’ grace, but it is done in practice, and you are foolish to not do so.” 

The very idea of taking grace from his own sent a shiver of disgust down his spine. Even under the worst circumstances he couldn’t imagine having to, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t his. But, the vampire was correct, it had been done before and in the worst situations it would be done again to sustain life. 

“No,” Castiel growled. “You do it for practice, for pleasure, and we would only resort to it in sacrifice.” 

“You angels really are holier than thou aren't you?” He cackled again as Castiel was grew restless. This wasn’t the direction of questioning he wanted. 

“Why are you targeting bars and shops across the country?” He pressed the tip of his angel blade against the vamp’s pulse point. 

“Why do you care angel?” The vampire sneered back. “You have some revenge plot bringing you here?” 

“Why are you targeting your locations?” He snarled once more and the vampire's lips peeled back to reveal blackened gums and rotting teeth in a wide grin. 

“Were you fucking some barmaid? Maybe sodomizing the stock boy we turned? You angels are so predictable.” His tongue slipped out and lapped at his own blood pooling under his nose, searching for sustenance to fuel his berating. “You’re here to help your Father’s creations, the humans, but also you hate fuck them every chance you get. We at least appreciate their chattel use as well. Why separate a warm cunt and a warm pint, hm?” 

Castiel removed the tip of his angel blade and strategically sliced a path up the vampire’s spine, hitting bone and nerve endings alike before digging the tip just at the back of his skull. “Why the locations?” His wings longed to be spread, to show his might and make this wretched thing smolder under him. They throbbed as he kept himself reined in, the reminder that he was getting answers first, not revenge just yet. 

“Wait a minute,” it was a revelation on the vampire’s face. “That little shop girl, the one with the cat in the window who always hisses at us, yes? She was yours. The timing of it works out.” He laughed back as blood seeped from the inside of his mouth and sprayed across Castiel’s coat. “My children didn’t return the other night. They had marked their symbols on the walls, denoting their property. She would be turned, and then given a list of hunters slowly one at a time for us to feed on. Working as a rot from the inside, a heart that pumps out information in blood, and with it we could take down the other nests and be like our makers from the pits of the abyss. But your little shop girl made it out with your help, didn't she? Your little human whore. The amount of hunters she takes into that place, you can’t be the only one.”  

The stench of decay from the vampire was nothing compared to the nausea Cass felt at the idea of them turning his Lila into one of them. He wanted to force his hand up into this thing's carcass and pull the lungs out of his chest, to flay him alive and tack him to the doors as a warning. Castiel could be ruthless, had trained to be in God’s very own battalion, had led armies of angels, and had housed the Leviathan inside him at one point. He could unlock that hate and let it fuel him as he desecrated this thing for so much as plotting against what was his. But, that would make him no better, and it would cause pain to fester in him as well. So instead, in a not so gentle swipe, Castiel ripped the head from the body and dropped it to the ground. That was all the kindness he promised Lila he would be for her, a clean death for someone who didn’t deserve her kindness. 

He had moved the rest of the bodies into a mound in the center of an old train depot. Benny was right in thinking it was a cult that had come back from history, but as Sam had believed it was a re-imagining of it. From what Castiel could gather on notes left behind, was instead of hunting the hunters, they would set themselves inside frequented locations. They hadn’t known though that Lila was not only a relation to the Winchesters and involved with an angel, but also colleagues with the King of Hell himself. Part of him wanted to send the information to Crowley just out of spite, knowing the demon would be territorial of Lila as well and burn down the inner workings of other nests in other states. But instead, he took pictures of the evidence, and sent them to his friends before setting the train depot and all of its contents ablaze. He was swift with the killing of their leader, he hadn’t punished him nearly as much as he deserved, but Castiel still felt some satisfaction at knowing justice had been dealt and that his human was safe again.

Chapter Text

May 2013

Castiel 

Lila had said before that tap water was fine for cats, still Castiel was measuring the filtered water from her refrigerator and pouring it into the freshly washed bowl for Lemuel after he returned with the feline from a reluctant Jody. Once when stuck in a motel room while the Winchester’s were sleeping, he had watched an infomercial about the importance of monitoring oxidation in tap water. That was in between watching an animated documentary about a fish who went missing from his father only to end up in a tank belonging to a dentist. The water mattered a great deal to that fish, and though Castiel himself couldn’t understand the difference in the water he only wanted the best for the cat. Lem was after all the closest thing that Lila was going to have to a protector while he was gone. The cat had heard the commotion and came bounding into the kitchen to protect his home after he made the rounds to check the apartment.

Good. Castiel thought, someone will have to while I’m gone. 

He placed the bowl on the ground, walked over to the cat, and carefully inspected him for any abnormalities. The little benign tumor was back, so with the smallest amount of grace he removed it just as Lila sleepily walked in. 

“Did I wake you?” Castiel stood up, bracing himself against the counter. The clock read 2:46 in the morning, and he had hoped that he could just rest next to her sleeping form in bed and heal himself before she saw him when the sun rose. If he had been smart about it, he would have gone back to the bunker or really anywhere else, but he needed to see her again after what had transpired. Needed to hold her, and know that she was his and safe for just a moment longer. 

With a yawn and a rub of her eyes she raspily countered, “I wasn’t sleeping very well anyway.” 

She went to turn on the warm glow of the lamp and he attempted to clean himself up so she wouldn’t worry about all of the blood. He forgot the bruising on his face and the crooked set to his nose though. He had enough grace to heal a cat and wipe away blood, not quite depleted, but not enough to heal himself fully. 

“Jesus Christ Cass,” she gasped as his features were illuminated and then immediately covered her mouth. “Sorry.” 

“I never met him,” he weakly winced and leaned back against the counter. 

“What happened to you?” She rushed to his side, scanning him for injury as he turned to shield the ripped sections of his shirt and the tears at his skin on the other side. 

He wouldn’t lie to her, but he didn’t need to go into great detail either with his explanation. “You don’t have to worry about the vampires marking your store anymore. They’re all gone.” 

“You should have waited for the boys, for help, for backup, for… look at you.” Gingerly her hand cupped his cheek and brought his face to hers. “Let me clean you up.” 

“I’m fine.” He nudged away. 

“You’re anything but.” She tutted, pointing for him to sit down and he held his hands in dismissal. 

“Really, you don’t need to-” 

“I want to.” She stopped him. “Let me take care of you.” 

Who was he to refuse that? 

While she went in search of a medical kit, he pulled layers off, leaving them on the chair to mend later, and stood at the sink letting the warm water run onto one of the open cuts of his arm. Watching as the bloody mixture ran from burgundy wine to cranberry pink and then clear until he moved to the other side and repeated the process. She came back and tugged him to the couch, setting him there while she knelt between his spread thighs. He sat in only his trousers, underwear, belt, and socks but he still felt more exposed than he’d like. Castiel had no qualms with nakedness, such was the body of man, but it was this openness to allow someone else to lay healing hands on him that caused shivers. 

There was comfort in their silence though, her own fingers dipping into a homemade salve and wiping it along the slashes at his stomach, then to his forearms. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that the ointment wouldn’t do anything for him, but instead he kept his eyes on her watching every small movement that she made. He could see the bandage poking from between her sleep shirt and the waistband of her shorts where she had gotten her tattoo as she reached her arms up higher. 

“How long until they said it will heal?” He gestured to the spot and she shrugged back.

“I don’t know, it itches a little.” She muttered as she ran the balm into his skin until it melted by the warmth of her touch.

“I could help with that.” 

“Don’t you even.” She scolded. This little thing compared to him, glaring daggers back. “You can’t even heal yourself right now.” 

“I’m fine.” He huffed in a chuckle and she scoffed at his amusement of her.  

“You’re slower than normal.” She reached up, traced the bruising rim on his eye, and he winced. “Ah, see? That would have been gone by now.” 

“You could kiss it better,” he murmured and her fingers stilled. 

“If you behave, I will.” She said a little breathy and his mouth curled up into a teasing grin. 

How had he lived centuries without this? Without the softness of someone caring for him? Without gentle touches, and playful words. How could he live now without moments in passing where they both knew one was thinking of the other? He could hear her prayers, and he could leave her flowers in return, but it wasn’t the same as warm skin and the presence of her. Humans were so emotional, angels had scoffed, but humans loved. They found one another in the darkest of times and still clung onto the hope that the other person wanted them too. They found happiness in just existing alongside the other. Castiel didn’t know if that was something that a soul exclusively shared, but he had to hope that it was a choice. Because she chose him, and saw something there that made her own soul sing out to his brokenness. 

“Come here,” he commanded more than asked and she scrunched her face in dismissal. 

“I’m not done.” 

“Please, come here.” He begged now, and in that pleading she put the tin away and looked expectantly at him. His head tilted, eyes softened, and her own chin lifted waiting. 

“Where?” It was his turn to give her an incredulous look and her lips twitched. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He sighed and looked at her unamused, but it was difficult as she sat on her knees beaming up at him like he were the stars and heavens above. “I want to hold you.” 

“Your ribs are all bruised,” she sighed, “I’ll hurt you.”

“No you won’t,” he rebutted almost petulantly. Her eyes scanned his mottled skin though and raised a brow. “I don’t care.” 

She stood up from between his spread legs, a sight that both pained him and he was glad for. “I won’t lay on you in this condition.” She said softly and before he could argue again she clarified, “but, you can come with me.”  

Agreeing to the compromise that worked more in his favor, he eagerly trailed behind her back to bed in the comforting darkness of her room. That bed, that was far too large for just her but perfect for him as well. She crawled into the comfort of her blankets and after removing his belt and trousers he crawled onto the comfort of her. Bracing himself on his forearms while his hips sank onto hers giggled and looked up at him. 

“What are you laughing at?” He whispered low against her ear, inhaling that halo of hair that spanned out around her pillow. Her thighs answered back with the tiniest of squeezes around his body.  

“Are you going to come home to me, all battered and bruised every night?” She mused as her head rolled to the side. He nuzzled against the crook of her neck. It felt wrong to be handed affection when he had just caused such brutality. The scent of her hair, her skin, the steady thump of her heart as she rested against him like this. It was almost too much. How could he accept this tenderness when only hours ago he had been contemplating torture to those who had put her in harms way. But, it was exactly because of that. No one would hurt her. Especially not because of him. 

“I,” he paused and a shuddering breath exhaled into her pillow. “I have to go for a while.”

She was quiet for longer than he had hoped, and with an understanding that was too good for him she said, “you’re going to find the tablet.”  

He pulled back, looking at her face and taking it all in. The clouded eyes holding back emotion to be strong for him, the apprehension of his situation there written into her features. A moment of jealousy flared in him at how understanding she was. If the roles were reversed he would beg for her to stay, to be at his side. 

“I have a duty that far surpasses my right to be with you.” He choked on the words as he said them, and she understood. “Please know if I could, I would stay here every day just like this. But I don’t want to attract attention by being in one place too long. Especially not being near you. I need you as far away from any of this as I can muster.” His hand reached up and held her face. Felt the warmth of her heated frustration that she was keeping tampered down much easier than he was. His thumb brushed along her cheek and he kissed her forehead tenderly as if trying to kiss the very mind that was running behind the wall there. 

“Where will you go?” She finally spoke again, her voice cracked in the room and his heart along with it. 

“I can’t tell you. But I’ll be okay.” He pressed his lips to her temples now, peppering soft affections down the side of her face in place of the tears he was worried would fall. “And I’ll be back when things are quiet again.” 

“You’ll hear my prayers?” She whispered timidly, and he could see that scared look of denial again. That wonder if this was his way out, his way of leaving her.  

He nudged her face to look back into his eyes with his nose, trying to coax a smile out of her. “Always.” He pressed a barely there kiss at the corner of her mouth. “I don’t want to leave.” 

Just as lips parted to say something, her face flushed and she raked her teeth against that bottom plushness instead. Gnawing away nervously when she should have been speaking. His thumb tugged it free and he silently begged to hear her words. 

“I love you,” she whispered out faintly. Her eyes searched for denial, for refusal, for anything other than what was really there.

“Yes.” He grinned back and scooped her into his arms as he kissed a path down her neck. 

“Y-yes?” She stammered. “Yes, that’s it?” 

He smiled against her neck and rolled his head up. “Yes.” 

Her eyes narrowed, that nose scrunching in irritation as she countered with, “yes?” 

“I’m sorry, I assumed it was obvious.” He craned his neck and blinked. Hadn’t every moment been evident that his love was returned doubly for her? His fingers slipped under her shirt. Dancing at that place where the side of her ribs just brushed the softness of her breast. “This, right here, is where I’d put my name on you. In you. Carve your ribs with Enochian so that everyone, man, angel, demon alike knew that you were mine.” His mouth moved to press a kiss to her skin and breathed her in as he did. “Right here, where every heartbeat could thump against my name. Where every breath you took would be guarded and safe. Because I love you. More than I should, and more than I deserve to.” He looked back through lashes at her for approval. “Better?” 

“Yes.” She whispered, slightly in shock, and his mouth curled in a teasing smirk. 

“Yes? That’s it?” 

“Yes,” she brought her hands up and slowly unbuttoned her shirt for him. Exposing that bare skin and tracing with her own hands the spot he had lingered. “I want that Cass. To be undoubtedly yours.”

Nothing would give him more purpose or pleasure than that very thought, but he was in no condition now to attempt it, and she was too sleepy and worried for his well being to agree to such permanence without a clear head. He kissed her lips with devotion, and all of the love that they openly admitted to before he collapsed onto his side and pulled her in for rest.  

Chapter Text

Delilah Conner

May 2013

“Hey God it’s me, Lila. It’s been a while, I apologize. This isn’t to recount for my sins either, I’ll do that later. I’m sure there are a lot. But, it’s probably about time to admit I’m in love with your son, Castiel. Which in hindsight is a fucked up thing to say. Anyway, if you could just make sure he doesn’t die, that would be great. You don’t really owe me anything, seeing as you’re God and all, but he’s important. More important to the world than anyone else could ever be. Not just to me. He has a tendency to put his life before anyone else's, and that won’t do. I don’t think I could handle losing him again, not now. So, if you’re taking requests, that’s mine.” She paused her mental prayer to peek at him through sleepy lashes. Castiel was wrapped tightly around her as his face nuzzled against the exposed skin there, careful not to wake her. “Thank you for listening, and thank you for him. Amen.” 

Fingers tangled themselves into the already messy dark waves that brushed against her collarbones as her angel pressed kisses to the fluttering heartbeat of her chest. She tugged him up and he grinned in a drunken gaze back. 

“You’re looking better.” She hummed and moved her fingers from his hair down to tilt his face and inspect him properly. Tracing the lean point of his nose, the perfect cupid’s bow of his lips, both were once marred last night and now preserved. 

“Your salves and snuggles have restored me.” He teased, squeezing his arms around her midsection as she giggled. He moved over her with a predatory glint in his eyes. “You’re laughing again at me, that’s not very nice.” 

“I’m not laughing at you, there is a difference.” She tsked back as her cheeks flushed from the way his hands slipped down the planes of her body. Fingers toying at the seam of her sleep shorts as he tugged them away and tossed them out from under the blankets. Large calloused palms split her legs wider for him, and squeezed at the softness of her thighs. Fingers digging in just enough to appreciate her easily opening for him. 

She wondered if with a body as perfect and unblemished as his, he saw every red raised bump and every jagged scar on her own. He was lean muscle looming over her, and she was soft. In more ways than she liked to admit. He peeled back the bandage from her hip to reveal a half healed tattoo there stark against pale flesh. 

“May I?” He looked up at her through his dark lashes and she gave a timid little nod. Grace skimmed the surface until the pink irritated skin was no more. He didn’t, however, use it to remove the scar from where her appendix was taken at twelve, didn’t flood her with grace to remove the cellulite or the the silvery lines of stretch marks at the places her body had been made womanly over time. Either he didn’t notice them, or they didn’t need healing in his opinion.    

“You make these noises when you sleep. I like them.” His voice was husky against her skin, and a ribbon hot and prickling rose along where he trailed breath up to the swell of her breast. 

“It’s called snoring,” she tried to tease back but found her voice was much more wanting as it left her. 

“No. They are little moans, and I wonder who you’re dreaming about to make all those little sounds that are only supposed to be mine.” Lips just brushed at skin and it brought a steam like dampness to her already pebbled nipple. His tongue darted out and lapped at her once, twice, and then pulled that bud between his lips and sucked with a gentle pop. “Is this as sensitive as,” fingers moved feather light circles to the slickness already at her clit, “here?”

“Not–not quite,” she trembled as his free hand palmed her breast again. 

“Noted.” He took her blushed bud between his teeth and gently tugged as a held back whimper clawed its way out of her. “Still fairly sensitive though.” He mused and soothed the little bite with his tongue again. 

“I like it,” she amended.

“I know.” He crooned as fingers dipped into that wetness of her showing the evidence in a lurid display. They curled just at her entrance, pressing down and stroking a welcome there as her hips arched pleading for more. “When I was younger, I guess you could say in the beginning, I watched as animals crawled from the sea. I saw flowers painted onto trees, and fruit ebb from those blooms. I witnessed mankind evolve, grow, create, destroy, and in it all I could never have dreamed up you.” 

She wanted to say some petty remark at how unromantic relating humanity and their destruction to her was, but she was breathless as he slipped fingers in and rippled them against the already clutching walls inside. She whispered his name out and he had to close his eyes for just a moment before continuing. 

“This perfect thing, laying under me, consuming me as I have the blessing of touching you. There is not a before, or an after, that I can ever imagine without you in it now. I am ruined by you, because of you, for the better.” His fingers stopped their movement inside and she panted trying to catch her breath. His words, his touch, his devotion, she would drown in it. Baptized by his affections. She took his free hand and brought it to that spot on her ribs. Just like him, she had been thoroughly ruined by this angel. Cast away from any man that could dare to put his hands on her. She was his, and his alone. 

“I want your promises to be permanent.” She trembled and moved to press her hand against his stuttering heart. 

“And I want you to have the freedom to choose me.” His brow fell against hers. “The freedom to always choose me. Not just in the heat of passion, not in our small moments together, but even when I am gone for longer than I would like. I want your free will, not your obedience because you think you have to.” 

Her very heart has been rewritten by his touch, and she didn’t want to know anything other than that. He had knowledge intimately of the very soul that bound her to him, and still here he was, so adoringly looking at her as if he had never touched her soul and seen the darkness there too. She let out a half laugh half sob at how she could ever choose anyone else, that would be an impossible ask. 

“You and everyone else told me that angels don’t have souls. But how can that be Cass, when I feel yours in every conversation? I feel your soul in every touch, and every choice you make. If you don’t have a soul, how can you love me in a way where I feel so thoroughly wanted by you?” 

He groaned, and as agonizing as it sounded it wasn’t one of pain. His mouth met hers, and his fingers went back to their tortuously languid strokes inside. Tongues sweeping along one another, tasting all of what she had to offer him. He could breathe life into her this way, breaking her apart just to resurrect her in his arms over and over. She wasn’t sure what Heaven was like, but it couldn’t have been much different than feeling her angel hold her like she was his very own. 

“Can I make you all breathless again like this?” He asked as his fingers moved, thumb circling at the arched tip of where her thighs met. 

She squeezed around him and panted, “I’m close already.” 

He swallowed as his head fell to her shoulder. “Tell me I can have more, please.” Even as he was appealing for access after she had readily told him that she was completely his, he still dug his palm and rolled friction into her so she could move closer to the serenity that he would hand deliver to her. “Come undone for me,” he ground out through clenched teeth as he watched her start arching her hips against him in search of more. It was when he leaned closer and whispered into her ear, “my lovely girl, just like this,” that she lost semblance of herself and went limp in his arms. Her body trembling in waves as his fingers refused to relent their delicious torture of her most sensitive parts. Pulling at that thick warm feeling that lingered in her gut and radiated out in a golden pool around her. “That’s it my perfect girl,” he groaned as his free arm scooped her closer to his chest. His mouth nearly assaulted her neck with open mouthed kisses as his fingers languidly chased the pulsing inside her. “Can I get you to do that again?” 

“Y-yes.” She panted out. “But, you too.” 

The removal of his fingers was a sudden emptiness that had never stung quite so much in her life. To have him there, and then not was bittersweet. Still, seeing Castiel pull himself free for her was something to behold. Thick and twitching with barely restrained need, the tip of his cock was a few shades darker than his skin. Slick and dewy with anticipation his thumb slid over the divot where he was seeping out already and she instinctively opened her mouth wanting it. Instead he was on his knees looking over her he stroked himself, forearms flexing with each slow pull, trying to just subside that aching until he could be sure that she was ready for him. With the morning sun casting his shadow against the wall and longing sparked. 

“I want to see you.” She rasped out. 

“I’m here?” He grunted, unsure of what she was leading at and the corner of her mouth curved upward. 

“I want to see all of you.” Her fingers fluttered outward in a little display. His eyes widened, his pumping paused, and he tilted his head as confusion swirled again in those puppy dog eyes of his. 

“I’ll frighten you.” 

“You could never frighten me.” Taking the hand that was once gripping and raising himself to fruition, she placed it over her heart as she continued, “and I want you to see all of me.” 

“I-I could hurt you.” He swallowed thickly, but his fingers flexed against her skin and gripped showing her that he too wanted to touch her soul. Terribly. 

“Cass,” she smiled back up at him, “I trust you.” 

His eyes showed an icy blue. Rings of grace filled fire burning from them as the shadows of feathered wings expanded out against the walls. He was glorious, he was terrifying, and he was deliciously all hers. 

“You’re beautiful,” Lila whispered as her eyes connected with his and his breath shuddered as if he had been hit in the chest and blown open. 

Face crumpling with something like relief mixed with anguish, he bent down to kiss her. His hand moved to cradle her jaw and deepen the kiss as he settled himself between her thighs. Lips crashing against one another, tongue swiping inside, and that warm flush of his heat grinded between hers. Moans melted from one to the other as skin glided against skin, and he stilled at her entrance. It was a hot fire against a wet heat that needed to be quenched, and with her gasp of his name he pushed himself slowly deeper. The stretching ache of his fullness made her mouth leave his for just a moment as she sought out a breath for air. His hand quickly brought her eyes to his fearful ones and she smiled back in reassurance. His breathing was rapid, from worry or pleasure she wasn’t sure, but she cupped his cheek and let her fingers scrape along the stubble in a promise. Her own body moved to guide him deeper, needing to feel how he buried himself inside and hit every nerve ending alight. Once she couldn’t possibly be any fuller he stilled, letting the feeling wash over them both at just how right this was. Her own body betrayed her, tightening back around him and he moaned her name weakly into the quiet room.  

“This is… I’ve never…” he groaned and began pulling himself out before slipping in with another deep stroke. “How are you so tight, and warm, and wet. I’ve been picturing that fuckable mouth of yours, those pretty fingers tucked away inside that sweet dripping cunt, but,” a strangled sound left as he rocked back into her and their hips cradled flush again. “You give me this now? Home. Fuck. This perfect home in you? How am I supposed to survive after this?” 

His shaking hand moved to knead at her breast, to bring her peaked nipple between fingers and tug each time her core squeezed him. It was electricity, each teasing pull, as he watched her face looking for her pleasure. If she moaned, his eyes lit in ownership of the sound, if she called his name, his smile broadened. He moved his thumb to her lips and parted them as she eagerly brought him in and sucked rough and sloppy against it. The salty taste of his skin and precum still lingering there. His thrusts inside picked up faster as a whine broke from him. His thumb pulled out, and slid down her body, all the way to her throbbing clit where he pressed and coaxed another roaring escalation of sensations out of her.  

Wet sounds of two bodies slapping against one another, panting, whimpers, moans, and her name trembling from his lips over and over as he watched her finally fall into the roaring darkness of relief and want. Stars speckling her vision as he continued his ministrations just above where they were connected, his thrusts curved to rub at that spot inside that made her bones liquefy and her core ripple against him in return until they were both one body and one soul. 

“You take me beautifully,” he groaned out. “I want you to be greedy with me. Take from me, let me give you everything you deserve.” His lips pressed kisses to her sweat slicked face as he whined again. He was holding himself back from his own release, trying to drag this out for the both of them. 

“I love you,” she whispered out in the haze of it all. 

Her hand took his and moved it back to her chest and she pushed down, like she had some way to force him to open the cavity and reach inside. He finally gave in, and in a low groaning sound his hips stuttered and the hot release of him flooded her already soaked cunt. The smile on her face felt permanent, never able to leave as he looked at her before kissing slowly and soft. 

When he rested his face to her chest, their bodies coiled together, his hand never moved from her heart. Feeling her beating for him there, searching out something more. “Touch me,” she murmured out. 

“Did I not do a good job?” His eyes closed as he traced lazy patterns into her skin. “I can learn to do better with more practice.”

“My soul Cass,” she laughed and squeezed him in an embrace. He moved to run his thumb back on that spot he had promised to put his name, his mark. “There too.” 

There was hesitation, and finally he propped himself up. Her own hands running teasing lines down his toned chest. “You would let me?”   

“I gave up my soul to find you, and when it was returned I still felt you. I think I always feel you.” 

Her hand threaded over his in confirmation and then pulled away as his grace split the very bindings of her apart and his fingers brushed the edges of her spirit. The essence that was her, all at his finger tips. There was lingering fear that what he would find would make him recoil, that he had built up a picture of her in his mind that she could never fully paint for him, but the look of love on his face as he dared to touch deeper inside was even more blinding that the light emitted from her body. There was an uncomfortable pulling sensation, like when skin is too tight and pinching, but his touch was soft and comforting. The way he was caressing the making of her was nothing short of piety and holy devotion to her alone. 

When he did pull back she had tears streaming down her face. Those same fingers that had so wickedly tempted her skin and tenderly touched her soul wiped the salty tracks from her cheeks. 

“Oh no, I knew I’d hurt you. I’m so sorry.” He rasped and pulled her into his lap. Shielding her away from the pain he thought he had inflicted. 

“No, you didn’t, I-” a soft sob left her strangled before she could continue. “I thought you’d find all my sins and hate me for it. But I still wanted you to know me.”  

“Sins?” He muttered something to himself in Enochian again as he stared into her. “Sins? You are mine. All of you, every tiny piece of you is mine to love.” He paused and traced at her ribs again before whispering, “all mine.” 

“Yours,” she nodded and that was enough for him. His hand flexed, grace poured into her skin, and an odd sensation flooded her ribs before he bent down and pressed a kiss where his grace retraced. Her heart thumping, finally, against his name there.

Chapter Text

Delilah Conner

May 2013

A week had passed of telling customers that she was sorry for the extended weekend closing of her shop. She had, ‘taken ill,’ or at least that was the excuse she went with as, ‘family problems,’ often resorted to more questions from prying members of the local knitting club. A few online orders needed to be filled from alpaca wool to Aegean serpent scales and she had her computer searching her contacts to find them. She hadn’t heard from Castiel directly the entire week, but she had woken to flowers the morning after he left, and again today. 

A bundle of orange California poppies had been placed on the counter, and then after that it was a tiny collection of white trilliums. The poppies at least she could trace to the pacific, but the trilliums grew almost everywhere, so it was hard to pinpoint where he was when he had gathered them for her. However, she still made a point to pray to him every night, and thank him in the mornings. 

Sometimes absentmindedly she found herself tracing over that rib where his name was carved inside and she wondered if it was deep enough. If he had made sure that his very marking was down into the marrow of her like his words. Adam had taken a part of his rib and made Eve, but Castiel had asked for Lila’s instead. 

As she was finishing the inventory list her phone rang with Sam’s name flashing on the screen. “Hello you,” she said softly as she walked over to the front door and closed it in a precaution just in case her conversation would take a turn for the not so public ears. 

“Hey Lila,” he sounded exhausted, but when did he not? 

“Coming my way? I can get dinner ready in about an hour.” She held the phone up with her shoulder and minimized the laptop screen, looking instead for a quick take out plan in case the boys needed more than she could provide on such short notice. Somewhere with a greasy carb laden serving, and a hefty salad option. 

“Ah no, our hands are tied at the moment.” He blew out a puff of air and his voice lowered. “Have you heard from Cass?” 

“No,” she said flatly. “From what Dean told me you have seen him more recently.” 

“He’s not answering our calls.” 

“Not even Dean’s? That seems very unlike him.” She teased and when Sam only grunted back she added, “he told me he was staying away for a while. Give him some space. Time works differently for him than us.” The recommendation was more for her than it was the Winchesters. Since Castiel had left her arms it felt like a stone was rolling in her gut and only growing larger with each day. 

“He um, just seemed weird when he left and Dean doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

“It’s Cass, when is he not weird? Just like Dean is going to be a cranky recluse and gank monsters to get over it. They’ll both come around.” She murmured and returned to her order lists. 

“I know that you’ve gotten close.” Sam said quieter this time. “And, it’s not that I’m not happy, but, he’s an angel and with that comes the complications of other things.”

“Being?” She played dumb. If this was the same Sam Winchester who had slept with a werewolf and found comfort in the body of a demon at one point, he was not one to talk. Even Dean had been with a fallen angel before he befriended Cass. The only difference though, she supposed, is that Castiel was their best friend, and that alone could complicate things. 

“Life expectancy is a big one. I don’t want to be the dad in every teenage monster romance stereotype but also, that’s exactly it. He won’t age. He will live forever and you will, well, not. Your life ends and he can go on for millennia.” 

“I don’t want to know a life where I’ve never had Castiel.” She said simply. 

“I’m not saying you don’t have to know him, just make smart choices.” 

Lila noticed then Sam hadn’t picked up what she had casually said. It wasn’t enough for her to just know Castiel. He had completely rewired her way of seeing the world, and the way that her heart was better for it. 

“What do you think Bobby would have to say about any of this?” She asked as she shifted the phone to her other ear and looked out the window. Wishing for just a moment she could see his reflection back. 

“Oh he’d be furious.” Sam chuckled on his end, “he’d threaten to kick the ever lovin’ shit out of Castiel and call us all idjits in the process.” 

She had to laugh or she’d cry. He was right, her uncle would be furious with her but not because it was Castiel. If he had been human Bobby would have loved him. She understood her family’s concerns. It wasn’t because of who the angel was, it was more of a problem of what. There was no normal future for her if she continued on this path, but she had already made her mind up a long time ago.  

“Sam,” she said carefully using the same tender voice that she used when delivering bad news to favorite customers. “I am with him. Not in person currently, but please understand.” 

There was a long silence followed by coughing and he cleared his throat, “eh dating then?” 

“Sure. If that’s what it's called.” It felt too trivial for what was between them. Dating. But it was easier for the Winchesters to digest, she’d put that label on it for them. “Anyway, you can tell Dean I guess. If he hasn’t already figured it out.” 

“He,” Sam blew out a puff of air into the speaker of the phone and made a noise of protest. “He’s kinda pissed at Cass right now so it might not be a good time.” 

“Fair,” she muttered. The angel and the humans were more brothers than they often wanted to admit. “How are you doing Sam? You sound, well not to be rude but, you sound like death.” 

He chuckled, tried to brush it off, and went on to explain the real reason for his call. They needed an overnighted package of medical grade equipment for blood letting in their PO Box as well as candles and multiple other simple items all put together for them. He said he could send over the links personally through email, and she waited to hang up until it came through. 

It was an unusual request, but she knew now was not a good time to push for questions when she had dropped an atomic bomb of her own already. He sounded stressed as it was, and she made a note in the order to include the salve he liked as well as a few medicinal items to help with whatever it was he was going through. 

That evening after the sun had gone down and she had locked her doors, after she had washed the grime from her skin and stared at the bathroom mirror, all she could think of was his name. She had slathered lotion on that half dollar sized emblem at her hip to keep the freshly tattooed skin moisturized, and after another pump of the nozzle she moved to her ribs and saturated the spot there too. There were no visible markings outside where his name resided, no sign to her human eyes that he was there, but still she rubbed lotion against it and thought of him. 

“I don’t know where you are Castiel,” she silently prayed. “But know that we miss you. All of us. You better be taking care of yourself. I need you to come home in one piece, or at least enough pieces I can put together again. Bad joke, sorry.” She sniffled a little to herself, she wouldn’t allow tears to form now. He was fine. He was an angel, her angel. She’d seen him take down much worse. “Also, I appreciate the flowers. But, you don’t have to keep doing it if it’s putting you in danger. That being said, thank you.”   

Chapter Text

Delilah Conner

July 2013

Sam (10:18 pm): Found Castiel.
Lila (10:38 pm): I’ve tried calling. Pick up.
Lila (10:42 pm): I’ve tried calling all of you now. PICK UP.
Lila (10:47 pm): ANSWER YOUR PHONE!
Sam (10:52 pm): Can’t explain. He’s not exactly in great condition.
Lila (10:54 pm): Heading to the bunker?
Sam (11:14): Yes, I’ll call when we get home.

They had found the angel on the road nearly bleeding out along some back highway. As Sam went on to explain what little he knew of the situation her insides twisted and writhed like snakes in a den all fighting for control. Anger, hurt, resentment, fear, none of it towards Castiel, but she wasn’t sure who to direct it to. The angels who were supposed to be good like all of the Sunday School lessons had taught. God, who was supposed to be listening, hadn’t answered prayers in a long time. What was the point in any of this if it always led down a path of destruction.

“Why would God even make these tablets? Demon, Angel, whatever?! What is the point?!” She yelled into the phone at a wincing Sam on the other end who didn’t deserve her wrath. He had been so sick these few weeks and here she was yelling her frustrations when he should be resting.

“Well we found Metatron, so that’s good.” He replied shakily back.

“Tron? As in man gets sucked into a video game? I have to worry about cyborg ghosts now?” She could sense an oncoming panic attack at the idea of her electronics becoming possessed on top of all of this.

“No! No, uh, Metatron. He’s the scribe of God. Was, was the scribe of God.” Sam quickly clarified.

“Why should I give a fuck about some guy who writes memos?” She shifted the phone to speaker as she searched her apartment for a suitcase.

“Well he wrote the tablets.”

“Good, I have someone to blame for all of this.” She huffed and shoved a handful of socks into the bag. “I’m driving down there tomorrow.”

“You really don’t need to worry yourself,” Sam offered back.

“I do, and I am. Look, I’m sorry I’m taking all of this out on you, you don’t deserve this. Take inventory if there’s anything you need me to bring. I have a delivery I need to sign for before noon, and then after that I am loading up my car and coming.” She paused again, “and I’ll bring pie.”

He finally relented and she could tell in his voice he was glad to have someone there aside from him acting as a buffer between his brother and Castiel. Lila on the other hand had no intention of being any sort of sounding board. She was going to put her family back together, but most of all she was going to see Castiel.

Metatron

July (the following day) 2013

The red brick row house was nestled in between an abandoned Military Recruiter office and a coffee shop. A cat was lazily perched in the window above, looking down at the angel with disdain.

What, cat, do you sense in me? Nothing nefarious I would hope. I am an angel of God after all. He snorted at his own personal joke and looked back to the building.
Marigolds bloomed bright in window boxes along with other herbs. A little apothecary of a garden right at the entrance. How… quaint. Mist wafted from an automatic setting onto the flowers, and between the aroma of the plants themselves or the water, there was a hint of something holy blooming among them.

Copper frizzy hair pulled back into a messy clip at the nape of her neck to keep the hot and muggy Missouri heat away, jeans and a plain t-shirt, the shop owner herself was nothing extraordinary. Just an unassuming woman running a craft store in the heart of America. Touching really, that Castiel– the same angel who had slaughtered so many of Heaven’s own and caused an uproar in the offices– would choose this bland human girl to be his.

But this was her, he had seen it in Sam Winchester’s mind. When the poor bumbling giant was all whoospy-daisy out of it in Metatron’s own home, he had clutched to the angel for a moment of support. That’s when the scribe reached in and for the slightest of moments poked around that garbled mush of a brain to find loved ones that he could use for personal gain. This woman, Lila Singer was it? Or maybe Conner, had been there. In those memories Sam unknowingly shared, she seemed very interested in their mutual. A few times on the couch cuddling up to Castiel.

How very lurid the little garrison leader had become.

Seeing her through the window now he could just make out Castiel’s own brand on her, his name glowing back in a periwinkle aura just at her heart.

Very romantic for a man who was kill first ask questions later when I knew of him. Well, the plan has changed and for the better.

Metatron couldn’t keep the grin from his face. The original story he was plotting was to come in here and figure out what she had in common with Castiel before trying to convince her to be a honeypot for him. Humans always had a price they would negotiate with. He assumed it would take some real elbow grease to get her up to seduction level. A little primping here, a thick layer of wrinkle cream and better posture there, but she was already marked by him.
What’s she got that’s so special about her? Metatron wondered for a moment with pursed lips as a delivery driver walked past him with a heavy box in hand. The angel quickly opened the door out of forced politeness and then followed the man inside making a point to hide in his shadow. A flick of the wrist, a little grace, and the cameras in the store blinked out.

Metatron shoved his hands into pockets as he looked at the goods for sale on shelves. Air dry clay, paints, all things he didn’t care about. Ink pots, oh! Actually, yes he did need that. He wouldn’t be paying for it though and collected them with a little clink in his fingers.

“I’ll be with you in a moment!” She called out to the angel unassumingly and returned to signing for her packages.

The driver laughed at something she said, probably a poor joke about the weather. Humans loved making jokes about the weather. ‘It’s so hot I could fry an egg on the sidewalk, or fry me too…’ The amount of times Metatron had rolled his eyes at a horrible pun in a film about the weather was enough to make him want to call up Zeus and strike down towns with lighting. But, if God did catch wind of Metatron fraternizing with minor deities he’d be put in timeout like Gabriel. And who was Metatron compared to one of God’s favorites? A bitter taste rolled in the back of his throat. He was once a favorite too. Now look at him.
“Tell your wife I put in that order for perler beads. I might not be in the shop when they arrive, but I’ll send her an email when I am.” She called as the delivery driver thanked her and left just Metatron and his prey.

He plastered on his most unassuming smile and tilted his head to the copper haired woman who was fussing with the box in front of her. A few strides up to the desk he placed the pots down and said, “perler beads, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” she nodded and quickly stashed the box under the counter. “They’re really popular with kids and make a great summer activity. Little fingers are able to move them around and make fun patterns.”

She did have a pretty smile, warm and kind. Something in her eyes that showed actual interest, like she wanted to help him out of compassion and not obligation in this stupid conversation about perler beads. Who gives a fuck about perler beads? Apparently Castiel’s girl.

“Actually, I’m looking for a woman.” He leaned against the counter and tapped, trying his best to be the role of a charming Billy Crystal to keep her engaged so she wouldn’t run when the time came.

“Who isn’t?” She coyly scrunched her nose.

He pointed back and chuckled, “ah-ha you got me there.” Stupid fucking idiot expected comeback. “No, no I’m looking for a woman who is good friends with my dear friend Castiel.”

Her smile wavered, jaw clenching as she quickly tried to amend her nerves. “Oh?”

“I have a message to send and I can’t quite get a hold of him.” He walked around the counter now, fingers twitched and the doors in the front locked.

“I don’t know a Castiel.”

“You’re a bad liar for a human girl,” Metatron sucked in the air from between his teeth. She went to move but was cornered between a bookcase and her counter. “And as mythology and the Bible, and all around men’s grumbles would have us believe, women usually are much better liars.”

“Why?” She croaked out as her eyes scanned for a weapon surely.

“I can see his name on you, and even if I couldn’t just his name alone made your eyes go all swoony.” He rolled his own, “I mean yes, he has a very nice face now. You should have seen him when I knew him. Well I mean you couldn’t, your eyes would burn out of your head, but I mean when I knew of him he was no one really special then either.”

“Why do you need Castiel?” She hissed, clutching to the bookshelf. Lila looked about ready to crash it down onto the both of them if need be.

“He’s going to help me rebuild Heaven.” He said with a smooth smile back. Her own features softened at that momentarily. “Yes, it’s everything he wants Lila.” Metatron offered a hand in politeness for her to grasp in a cordial hello, but she refused it. “He left Heaven in ruin, and now I am here to help him rebuild it. It’s his home, it’s his everything.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? You’re cornering me and I… well it’s…” Her chest heaved in breath, still unsure of where to go. She was a little lamb looking for her shepherd who would never come in time to rescue her from the wolf.

“Because I need your help too. Now, I have to make this quick because it is summer like you said, and families are bound to come in here looking for dull activities to quell the tantrums of sticky faced toddlers.” The blade kept at his side faithfully, like every good angel, dropped into his hand. He lunged and sliced her arm leaving her to attempt a scream and jump over the counter. “Shoot. I was never great with these. Hold on.”

He yanked at her leg, her fingertips clawing at the wood laminate of the counter trying to keep herself from falling. With a crack of the handle from the blade against her head she slackened just enough to drop down at an angle where he could slide the blade into her ribs. Poetically, it was just in between the spot where Castiel’s name was faithfully shining.

“There, you’ll bleed out just as he arrives.He’ll be more motivated than ever. See, between Castiel’s pet human girl and very important duties, our mutual companion is motivated by his loyalty.” He pulled the blade out and wiped it on the woman’s jeans. She was clutching at her side, sobbing out as her trembling hand revealed the blood there coating her fingers. It began pooling from her mouth and Metatron gagged. He was never one for acting on violence, he had others do that.
She let out a whimpering sound and a muffled, “why k-kill m-me?” Sloshed between bloodied gasps for breath that didn’t quite fill a punctured lung. Tears welled in her eyes, mixing and weakening the blood on her face as it fell in the red sea under her.

“Castiel likes to pretend that humanity has beaten emotions into him, but in the end nature over nurture you know what I mean? He’s an angel, he’ll always be an angel.” He clasped his hands together as he took in the scene. “He will realize that order needs to be restored. Also that humans are just as monstrous as the things that go bump in the night. I mean look at this, I killed you, for what? Vampires and werewolves at least need to eat to survive.” He clucked and shook his head. “It’s going to be very well written, really. The fallen angel thinks he’s fallen in love with a human girl. I could twist this into a tragic lamplight Little Mermaid, but instead of the girl throwing herself off the cliff, the angel will throw himself out of Heaven. I mean, they all will fall out when this continues.” His thoughts began to shift to how this would play out on paper.

“C-cas-castiel.” She croaked out and he smashed the tip of his shoe against her cheek.

“Now, we’ll have none of that praying for him until I’m done staging your death. Then I need to make sure you’re good and dead before he comes. That way he will be more broken and pliable to remold at my hands when he realizes he wasn’t fast enough. That whatever he was doing took precedence over the woman he was willing to strip his grace for.” He nudged her head to the side to look back up at him. “Which by the way, he’s going to lose anyway. He’ll be human and the whole time he won’t remember you. I’m going to lock that little memory away in his grace so that he won’t fight to turn back into an angel and visit you in Hell or Heaven or wherever the fuck you end up. But Lila, please die with the joy of knowing that Castiel I’m sure would have been willing to turn human for you if given the chance. From the memories that Samuel Winchester showed me by mistake, he was very smitten with you. If Castiel stays an angel, I’m afraid he will just retire from his work and live in eternity at your side in your own little paradise. That’s not a good plot twist or motivation for our hero is it?”

“Who-who a-are y-you?” She coughed and blood splattered against his sensible sneakers.

He released his foot, groaning as he used his grace to wipe it clean, and said with a naughty little smile, “if he does come before you die, call me Naomi.” Then, he made mocking sign of the cross, took his ink pots from the counter, unlocked the door, and went to the coffee shop next door.

Chapter Text

Castiel 

July 2013

When a plant sprouts from the ground, either by seed or by spore, it grows and produces a way to multiply. Ferns, the first plant life that Castiel remembered sprouting on this Earth after the blanketing mosses spat out by the algae of the waters, dropped their own spores and from that reproduction they continued forward growing into other plant life. Castiel always liked the ferns, how green and lush they were. He had fond memories of his older brother Gabriel sneaking him away with some of the other more inquisitive angels to bask in the delights their Father had made. In secret, Castiel would watch the ferns, delighted as they slowly changed from vascular plants, to seed plants, to then flowers. 

With the changing of the plants came also the changing of those who inhabited the plants. Animals grew, and took over the delights of the ferns from the angels, and thereafter the fruits and flowers. They consumed and then shit it out, and from their shit the flowers grew again. A weird cycle in Castiel’s opinion, but he’d never admit it out loud. He appreciated flowers, he enjoyed a nice garden, but he never noticed how horrible the cycle of a plant truly could be until he saw Lila lying on the floor of her shop wilted and in a puddle of her own blood. 

He had been a honeybee this entire time, buzzing around his flower, constantly craving the nectar of her soul. She had fed his affections and he had grown fat and happy on it. Their love was thick, golden, and sweet and had been poured into the honeycombs of their hearts between them both. She was a flower to him, as cliche as a comparison to a woman can be, but not only because she had lips like rose petals and was delicate and soft. It wasn’t only because she was uniquely beautiful and the scent of her skin lingered on him faint and wonderful. 

No, Lila was a flower to him because she bloomed in the shit of life. Her fragrance called out to him in sweet words of prayer, and even when she was bruised she still stood upright looking for someone to want to notice her the way she deserved to be seen. In a world of ferns where Castiel still enjoyed learning about them, she had been his only flower. Now he regretted even coming into her garden, her store, and speaking with her. Not because he was mourning her, he knew that flowers would never be the same to this honeybee. It was because he had done the one thing he swore he wouldn’t do and been some sort of cause for her life to end. Someone had cut his flower down faster than nature had intended, and left her wilted. Her petals, still just as captivating and lovely, were scattered and slumped onto the floor and impossible to put back together again. Forever Castiel would just be left with shit because there would be no flower again.

Her body was pressed against him tight as he buried his face into her matted hair. His own tears would do no good but still they watered her as he tried using his grace to find any life. Her soul was gone. There was nothing singing to him except his name still haunting in echoes as she had cried for him. When he arrived in the store it was too late, and now he had lost track of the time as he just held her and sobbed. 

He had felt sadness before, but it was more so for others. Sorrow over the stories the Winchesters told of their parents and the clear longing they had for them. An understanding of sadness due to tragedies like famine and disease, but this was cold. It was brittle in his bones, it was stabbing in his heart, it was bitter and angry, most of all it was consuming. He had felt fury before as well. Just recently he had found out that Naomi was controlling some of his actions in an attempt to get the tablets. That had caused a rage like no other to bubble up and boil over. When he had found the den of vampires stalking Lila he had gone in and slaughtered all of them. But this pain was vast, and he could not imagine that it would ever be quenched. 

Angels didn’t have souls, but for just a blip of his life, Lila made him feel as if he had. Now, she was gone, and with it was both his heart and soul. 

“I will be with you again.” He whispered to her in a prayer that maybe she could hear for a change. “I promise, I will be with you again, and in Heaven I will give up all of my Earthly wants and my wings, and even my grace to just spend eternity alongside you.”

The lock of the front door clicked open and foot steps came trampling in, but Castiel didn’t move. Not when Dean gripped him and pulled him away to look down at the woman that the eldest Winchester called cousin. Not when Sam tried to hug him and tell him that it wasn’t the same, but he understood the pain. It wasn’t until Dean pulled out his phone later to make calls in preparation of a proper funeral that Castiel noticed the smears of crimson on the side of the counter marking out an N-A-O-M-I. 

He had to think rationally about this, he couldn’t just up and charge into Heaven and kill Naomi on the spot. The angel blade entry point right at Lila’s ribs under his name was obvious evidence, and he was at this point fine with dying as well. But, this was bigger than him and he’d have his time at some point. His Lila needed his attention now instead. Tonight the boys wanted to burn her body, and he reluctantly agreed. 

The drive to Bobby’s now abandoned auto salvage yard was only a few hours, but that felt like the best place to do it. The entire car ride was silent as Castiel sat in the backseat holding her wrapped form. The pyre was built in the exact spot Bobby’s had been. Although he didn’t want to take a second away from leaving her again, it was wrong for it only to be wood. So, as Dean and Sam cut the nearby trees and formed the oval of dried timber, Castiel quickly gathered wildflowers from all of the places he had told himself he would take her one day when things had calmed down. With them, he made a bed of flowers at the top that was far too large for just her. The fires engulfed the wrapped form, and he had seen enough death to know that she was just a body now and felt none of this, but it still burned him to see it. 

“She didn’t seek out this life, most of us don’t, but she was still one of us.” Sam said quietly as the embers licked upward to the stars. 

“She was just as much a hunter as us,” Dean murmured back and Castiel finally understood some of the pain that lingered in his voice. 

“She would have hated being called that.” Sam laughed bitterly and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. “She was something else.” 

Castiel stared at the fire as it engulfed his world, his thumb slowly tracing over the corded braid hidden at his wrist. Out of the corner of his own eyes he could make out Dean looking to him for any words, but he was at a loss. What could he say that would mean anything? She had been taken too soon, she was loved, this was tragic, none of it felt like enough. He was seething inside for her life, she was his everything, and no one would ever feel the warm embrace that she brought again. At least, no one living. So all he could say as they watched the fires dwindle and her ashes mix back with the ferns and flowers was, “we will see her again.” And then in a silent promise to himself, and a prayer to her, “I will see her again.” 

Chapter Text

Delilah Conner

Date Unknown 

“Name, date of birth and death?” A woman with a perfectly quaffed blonde updo and a black turtleneck looked down at Lila through round tortoiseshell glasses so thick that they magnified the wrinkles on the outside of caramel brown eyes and flaky mascara. 

“What?” Lila asked, stunned, still looking at the woman in confusion. 

She sat in a tall plastic molded chair of faded crimson behind a walnut desk. A singular brass lamp was flickering, poorly illuminating a giant stack of blood stained manila folders. Various languages all printed on the files. The woman’s painted on arched brow curved even higher as she watched Lila’s head tilt and look over the names. With a swipe of a liver spotted hand she brushed the files into an invisible drawer and tapped sharp glossy nails on the desk. Ruby upper lip curled back and she tipped her chin down once more. 

“You must be one of the slow ones then. Name first dear.” 

There was an accent that Lila couldn’t place. It wasn’t quite English, it wasn't American, maybe it was transatlantic, like an old movie in black and white. But still Lila stared at her as the woman took a black cigarette from a mother of pearl case and snapped her fingers for a fire that dusted the tips of them and lit the little stick now perched between her lips. 

“Come on girl, you don’t have forever.” She took a drag and then puffed out a lilac plume from the corner of her mouth. “I mean technically you do, but he’ll be mad when I haven't processed anyone at the end of the quarter. So, tut tut.” 

“Who?” She cooed out in a soft sound and looked back at the woman. 

“You dear.” She scoffed. 

“Who will be mad?” She asked again. “This isn’t Heaven.” 

“Surely it is not,” she barked out in a laugh. “Dear, this is Hell, and the king himself runs this department which means you had dealings with him. Now, I’d like to know your name so I can check the ledger.” 

“Delilah Conner,” she murmured the name out as her head swiveled and looked at the dark stone walls that surrounded the odd mid-century walnut desk. The floor was dank and sticky with something that she couldn’t put a name to. It couldn’t have been blood, souls didn’t have bodies, but still the tacky feeling with each move of her feet as she shifted weight was annoyingly present. 

The woman with the cigarette and lovely hair shuffled through pages from a book larger than even the desk that just arrived with a small popping sound. Names upon names all scrawled in beautiful filigree lined the papers. 

“Conner… Conner… Sorry dear is that with an e or an o?” She looked back up at Lila, lips pursed around the cigarette that was dropping ashes into the seam of the book. 

“E,” she whispered back. 

“I have a Dennis Conner who made a deal for a share of property and run at Governor of Maryland in 1865 but that’s not right. Perry Conner who sold his soul to win the Texas lottery in 1984, but he was already hit by a car in ‘85. I have a Julienne Conner who sold her soul to win a pageant in 2007 but she is still living.” She moved the cigarette to her fingers and blew smoke out again this time in Lila’s face. “Would you by chance have another name? Get married? Girls love to forget they have more than one name. Boys don’t have that luxury, it’s one name and that’s it but girls, girls can run away from their fathers or their husbands depending on the name.”  

Lila never had gotten married, she assumed she wouldn’t. Angels don’t marry, do they? Would Castiel have married her? That seemed like a ridiculous question. Especially now that she was in the dredges of Hell. He wouldn’t even be able to save her. Then it hit her, she didn’t even get to say goodbye. Did he want to save her? Had her soul been so tarnished that she ended up here? He had touched that soul, told her that it was beautiful, but still it was here. He must have lied to be kind to her, that was the only option clearly. 

“Um, I, no. Legally I was Conner. But, I also was called Singer sometimes, or I guess you could try Winchester but that’s a stretch.” She said solemnly. “Neither names are blood, but I was a Singer I suppose, um maternally. She went by a different name.” 

“Singer and Winchester eh?” Her eyes lit up and she smashed the little cigarette into the book before snapping it shut. “You are in a different index completely.” A small gold foil and leather bound handbook appeared in her palm and she flipped through the pages. “Delilah you said?” 

“Yes ma’am.” She whispered and looked down. 

“Here you are,” her face split into a toothy smile and then fell. “Oh, darling, this is strange.” 

Lila shifted on her feet again, looking down at the blood soaked black t-shirt that was sticking to her frame. It was an odd sensation, being able to feel how uncomfortable the material clung onto her, but not the softness of the fabric. It was only the worst parts of wearing the shirt. The scratchy tag, a loose thread, the cold residual blood that was like cough syrup she couldn’t wash off the skin. But she had chosen that shirt this morning because it flowed when she walked. When she tucked it in the front it gave her a nice enough figure, and it was comfortable to travel in. She had chosen it knowing she’d be in the car for a few hours driving to Lebanon,  Kansas so she could see Castiel and the boys. It was one of those shirts she could toss in their very old washing machine down in the bunker and not worry that it would get ruined. All of those thoughts gone to waste, because now she hated the shirt. 

“Paul here will take you to your holding until we get this little mess cleaned up,” she crooned and slid the book into her drawer. A short and gangly looking man with a black suit came walking out. Hair close shaven and a face of contempt until the woman behind the desk made a little clicking nose with her teeth and giggled at him. “Paul dear, this is Bobby Singer’s girl, you remember him?” 

“I do,” he sniffed and looked Lila up and down. “Daughter?” 

“No, but she very well could pass the part couldn’t she? She’s got the hair, and the little bitchy look in her eyes.” The woman giggled again and nodded. Lila’s own face crumbled before recoiling as if she had been slapped. “No honey, it’s a compliment. A little spitfire like your daddy, or uncle, or whatever the Christ he was to you.” She waved a hand in the air and leaned in her chair, “anyway, Paul be a dear and take her to the waiting room.” 

“The waitin’ room?” He guffawed. “She’s a Singer.” 

“Not technically she’s not.” The woman snorted, “but what’s in a name? You share one with a saint.” 

“If she’s in the king’s book, why she goin’ to the waitin’ room?” The man rolled his eyes, cocking a hip out and pointing at Lila directly. 

“Because Paul, Crowley is indisposed at the moment, and her deal was already paid for. She shouldn’t be here.”  

“Maybe she made a deal with another demon, eh?” The one called Paul shrugged back. 

“She didn’t, and I’m not giving any of you lot bonus souls. Can’t candy coat that. Now,” her smile curled upward and she looked back at Lila with interest. “You are a very lucky little girl. You go on and watch your family in the waiting room until the King of Hell returns from his boys trist with the Winchesters, yes? Ta dear. Please enjoy the complementary snacks provided in there, as it may very well be the last time you do.” 

Lila followed behind Paul as he guided her down corridors of flickering fluorescent lighting. The stone floors clicking with every step he took of his polished crocodile loafers. It  squelched under her own feet in contrast. 

“You knew my uncle?” She asked quietly, feeling a roiling at the idea of Bobby down here. 

“Yeah, he was a piss fire, didn’t take shit from no one. Made my job a livin’ hell, pun intended.” He rasped a wheezing laugh and banged on a black sooty door listening for an answer. When there was none he opened it and shoved Lila inside. She stumbled over her feet and fell to her knees standing back up to glare at the demon with black cold eyes. 

“Was? So he made it out?” She snarked back with overwhelming joy at the prospect. 

“Yeah, your Winchesters shoved him out. Don’t think they’ll do the same for you.” He spat at the floor in an almost comical display at how evil he was attempting to act. 

“If I’m in the waiting room, I don’t anticipate they have to.” She snapped back and brushed sticky hands against her jeans only feeling the scratchy material underneath her palms. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that,” he leaned against the door frame. “That’s a big if. See, if Crowley doesn’t come back, there just might be another uproar yeah? If there is, he ain’t king. If he ain’t king, you get sent back to your dear Singer’s cell personally. I’ll make sure of that.” 

“Goodbye demon Paul,” she waved, letting him know her conversation was done. 

“Goodbye not quite Singer,” he snorted and slammed the door. 

The room was pitch black, until a mechanical humming sound turned on and her couch from childhood popped up next to her. The same brown plaid two seater sofa, an olive green throw blanket that her mother had bought from a church sale when pregnant with Lila, and the lingering smell of sulfur embedded in the fibers. Under it was the Turkish rug where she had spilled her grape juice at seven and tried to clean it up but never quite fully got the stain out. There was a small oval table with rings on it from her mother’s morning coffees every Sunday and still flaky residue of spilled cereal milk. Notably, the demons hadn’t asked of her mother, so at least she hoped that meant the woman was in Heaven. 

An old rabbit ear TV popped up across from the couch, and a TV guide paperback was on the table now. She went to grab it and saw her face there on the cover. It wasn’t a good picture of her, but they wouldn’t give her that luxury in Hell would they, that was the point. She flipped through it and saw Castiel’s channel. Quickly she bolted to the TV to punch in the numbers and it clicked on. A static filled screen, and there he was. It was only CCTV footage of him from a corner store, but he was talking with Metatron so casually it made her double over and clutch at the stab wound that still lingered a dull ache at her side. 

She peeled back the shirt and with her own eyes could see symbols glowing against her skin where his name was. She assumed it was in Enochain, as she couldn’t make out the lettering, but her index finger traced along the spot of it. He had carved just deep enough to penetrate the very soul of her. 

“Naomi is trying her best but it’s not cutting it. We need to have an angelic family meeting. Lets get the whole of Heaven together and solve this little kerfuffle you’ve caused.” Metatron’s voice was slimy and repugnant, but the look on Castiel’s face wasn’t one of disgust but instead shame. 

“I have my own issues with Naomi that will be dealt with, but,” he paused, “I suppose you’re right. I do need to solve this. It’s my fault. Everything has been my fault.” 

“I heard about your little girlfriend Castiel,” Metatron tapped his head, “angel radio was abuzz with it for all of 60 seconds. I’m sorry for your loss, but this may be for the best. She’s in Heaven, waiting for you to fix this all.” 

Castiel paused and looked down at his hands, those beautiful and perfect hands that held her like she was his own. But his eyes were dark and desperate for answers. “If I do this, I can stay there with her, after?” 

“Why not?” Metatron clapped his hands together. “If we do this you can be wherever you need to be. Think of the girl, Layla needs you to fix Heaven.” 

“Lila,” he hissed back and Metatron grimaced. 

“My bad.” 

The TV clicked to something that looked as if it had been shot through a corner cellphone lens but she couldn’t quite make out what anyone was saying. She cried out his name, slapping against the glass screen as her chest burned in frustration. 

“Cass, Cass listen to me, don’t do it. Don’t talk to him. Cass please, please.” She wailed but no one listened.