Title: The Curse of Bittersweet Kisses
Chapter 7

~~~~~~~~~~

There had been no compassion in his eyes. That was perhaps the worst of it for Ellen and the thing she kept returning to the days after her short chat with Castiel. The being she’d briefly known was gone and she honestly wasn’t sure how to approach him again. She’d gone out there with good intentions and a plan and with just a few words and glances from him, she’d discarded that plan.

It had been quickly apparent that he wasn’t going to listen to her no matter what she said. His quotations from the Bible told her that. Why should “the potter” listen to “the clay” and all that. He was living in his fantasy about being Cas Almighty God, unwilling to consider that perhaps he’d better look out for some karmic retribution in the future. Ellen thought that when it finally came, and she had no doubt it would eventually, it’d be a humdinger of a whipping. Some day, Castiel was going to get quite a spanking because Ellen didn’t believe he was God. He was a messed up former angel hopped up on Purgatory souls thinking he was God.

Lordy, this is fine mess we’re all in, she thought, casting a glance towards the desk, where Jo had begun spending most of her days and evenings.

Jo and Dean were doing a fine dance around each other while trying to look like they weren’t. It was helping that Dean and Sam were gone on jobs at present, but Ellen wondered how Dean and Jo were planning on convincing Castiel they were buckling down per his orders. It was obvious, to Ellen at least, that nothing was happening between them. Maybe a kiss or two if anything.

It wasn’t her business though. She turned as much of a blind eye as she could to their relationship boundaries. While she understood what Castiel wanted from her, reigning Jo in wasn’t her task anymore. Jo was a grown woman and, as much as Ellen hated to admit it, could handle whatever consequences came about from her actions by herself. Still, she made sure to give the appearance of compliance by saying cautioning words that brought either a roll of Jo’s eyes or a sigh when she thought Ellen wasn’t looking.

She was watching something on the computer screen right now, a yellow legal pad to one side. Periodically, Jo would jot down notes, an expression of intense concentration on her face. Ellen knew she could set a bomb off beside her daughter right now and Jo would only glance at whatever carnage ensued before returning to her self-imposed task.

And what was that task? Ellen had asked out of sheer curiosity and gotten an earful about female stereotypes and clueless supernatural beings before Jo admitted she was watching old sitcoms and dramas from the Fifties and Sixties when she wasn’t continuing Sam’s research on methods of killing obscure beings. Hulu and Netflix were getting a lot of traffic from her at all hours of day and night. Her notes on the legal pad? Pages of describing how the women had talked, dressed, and behaved. Ellen had tried to tell her it was all fiction and to take it with a grain of salt, to which Jo replied with a calm smirk, “like he’ll know the difference,” the ‘he’ in question being Castiel. He wanted Dean to have a proper wife and Jo had decided she’d give it to him in an effort to make Castiel complacent enough to relax his vigilance on them.

Heaven help them all. She could almost see Castiel’s pleased smile. Ellen only hoped Dean would see the humor in it like Bobby was.

Her glance turned to the window and she leaned close to look out in the direction of where Bobby was working today. That man was as bad as the boys sometimes. He was encouraging Jo in it. He’d even gone up to his attic and brought down a box of clothes and linens for Jo to do what she wanted with them. His reasoning was that it was keeping Jo occupied and out of trouble until they could all get a good handle on the situation.

Ellen thought they already had a handle on it. They were screwed, what more was there to consider?

She sighed and sat down at the table with another cup of coffee, flipping open the file she’d been working on. So far, all she had was a bunch of speculation and maybe wrapped up with the pretty bow of possibility. Not her most promising case, but it was something to keep her busy.

“What do you think?” Jo was standing in the doorway, a frilly apron tied around her waist. She twirled. “Too much or just enough? There are a couple others in the box, but this is the girliest.”

“Why do you need to wear an apron? You don’t cook unless I make you.”

“You know why.”

“Stereotype, Jo. You’re getting carried away with this.”

She took off the apron and slid into the chair across from Ellen, dumping the apron on the table. “I’ve not yet begun to get carried away.”

“Oh?” She raised her brows. “You got more plans?”

“By the time I’m done he’ll think I’m wife of the century and the best idea he’s had since he’s been…you know. Almighty.”

“Be careful,” she warned, seeing Jo’s reckless streak beginning to come out in the open. “I don’t want any incidents.”

“Neither do I. Of course I’m careful, mom. He can’t say I’m not trying either, because everything can be for Dean’s benefit. I’m watching these shows, but I’m only trying to understand how a wife should act. The proper wife, like Castiel wants me to be for Dean. If I cook for Dean, he’s getting a proper meal. If I dress like them, it’ll appeal to….” Jo broke off, a tiny flush spreading on her cheeks. “Never mind.” She dragged the folder closer. “What are you working on?”

She got the idea though. Appeal to Dean’s libido was what Jo meant. Ellen had long suspected Dean was the type of guy to appreciate the different ways women dressed -- or undressed. If Jo appealed to the libido, it’d make their interactions more convincing. “Looks like a vengeful spirit, but I don’t have nearly enough to go on even with research. Just a few clippings. It was a way to get my feet wet before diving.”

Jo was all business, slowly going through the clippings. She tapped her finger on one, turned to another, frowned and shook her head. Probably seeing what Ellen did: a folder of nothing to go on. “Any local legends that fit?”

“I do know how to do this, you know. No, no legends, no stories of any kind, just the current reports. Only thing of interest is the unsolved triple homicide from eighty years ago, but even that doesn’t fit.”

“Go check it out.” She returned the folder to Ellen. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Jo.”

“What? I’m not nearly ready to implement any of my strategy and besides, I can’t implement until Dean and Sam come back and that’ll be at least another week, maybe two or three. Go hunt. You deserve to do this. You want to go, then go. You got the Cas seal of approval even.”

She left the next morning, glad to be heading back into familiar territory.

~~~~~~~~~~

A month passed. Three weeks of that month, Dean and Sam were on the road. Sam’s hallucinations continued daily and Dean, desperate to find some sort of pattern and therefore anticipate them, began to chart them in earnest. The average appeared to be two a day, usually Lucifer and sometimes lasting half the day, which was an increase in length save that one day when Dean had confronted Sam over them. Occasionally, the cryptic Chuck hallucination appeared, telling Sam things like ‘focus’ and ‘look at it all objectively and you’ll see it’.

Focus on what? Look and see what? What was he supposed to be seeing? Was it something about Castiel or something about himself? Could be either, both together, or neither. Chuck seemed to be trying to give Sam some sort of direction, but it’d be far more helpful if the hallucination would say things straight. The idea that one hallucination could be warning Sam about the other stayed with Dean, an idea he couldn’t shake. Sam had indicated that Lucifer wasn’t aware of the second hallucination. That alone brought up more questions about the working of Sam’s mind at present, questions Dean had no answer for. He still had no idea what Chuck was supposed to represent -- if anything.

If Sam wasn’t hallucinating people, he was hallucinating hell itself. He’d admitted to thinking their motel room was on fire more than once and had thought he was being tortured by not just Lucifer, but Michael as well. His description of being tormented by two pissed off archangels had given Dean flashbacks to Alistair’s attentions. They’d had to leave that motel. Constant screaming in the middle of the night hadn’t endeared them to anyone there.

They kept on the move those weeks, stopping only when a case presented itself, Dean reluctant to head back to Bobby’s and the whole crap storm that was waiting there. That’s what the situation with Jo was, a crap storm that could bury them all if he and Jo were unable to convince Cas they were complying with his orders.

Castiel didn’t like it when his orders weren’t obeyed. He liked to play the wrathful God card and was getting rather good at it.

If Dean wasn’t dreaming about hell, syncing nicely with Sam’s nightmares and hallucinations, he was dreaming about all the things that could go wrong with Jo and Ellen, especially Jo.

He hadn’t planned on kissing her, not like that. He’d known they had to sell the ‘relationship’ to Castiel, yet a part of him hadn’t understood what actually kissing her meant.

Dean turned his face into the shower spray and let the water wash down him.

It meant he could easily get as attached to her as he had Lisa, maybe…maybe even more attached. Every kiss was going to build that attachment because he really was desperate for something good in his life right now and Jo Harvelle was good. She’d always been something good, a breath of innocence, of sweetness. Growing as a hunter hadn’t taken that from her.

Jo wasn’t like Lisa. She wasn’t going to sit back and try to keep him calm by downplaying the danger he knew was out there because she didn’t understand it fully. Jo understood the danger. She’d ask how bad it was, accept it, and plan with him how they were going to deal with it, like now. She wasn’t going to be content keeping home fires burning. She’d get herself back in somehow despite Castiel’s mandate and was likely working towards that end already. She wasn’t Lisa, was as far from who Lisa was as the sun was different from the moon.

Kissing Jo had been an impulse right then, one that had ended in the realization that, even though he was still grieving for the loss of his year with Lisa, he wanted to kiss Jo again, really kiss her. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, and feel her response. He wanted her to press against him, whether she meant it or not. Castiel was actually right, he thought, hating that truth even as he acknowledged it. Physical need was definitely there and Jo caused a rise. If he closed his eyes, he could easily picture her bare back with the covers riding low or that vulnerable look she had first thing in the morning when she opened her eyes.

He even yearned a tiny bit for a timeline where they could try the relationship thing without Castiel’s order…and without her death to begin with. Dean yearned for a different life completely.

Maybe that was his problem. Maybe he’d been wanting what he didn’t have so much that he never saw what was already there until it was gone.

The thought made him lean against the shower wall and he groaned, staring down at the gold band on his finger. The last thing he needed right now was to start thinking they could have something together. Castiel’s declaration of their ‘marriage’ meant nothing. He didn’t need to start thinking it did. They weren’t married, they weren’t a couple, and it wasn’t possible with the sort of life they all led. He knew it.

But knowing didn’t mean he couldn’t wish just a little for that life they’d never really have. Trying to have that life was the mistake he’d made with Lisa. He wasn’t going to make it with Jo, too.

They returned to Bobby’s house at the end of those weeks to find Jo at the desk, books piled around her and her doing some sort of research while Ellen slammed things around in the kitchen and mumbled about her idiotic, reckless daughter.

Bobby was on the couch, calmly reading the paper, like this was an everyday scene.

Dean approached him. “Don’t everyone greet us at once.”

“What’s going on,” Sam asked, setting his bag down.

“Talk some sense into her,” Ellen called out.

“Jo took up Sam’s research on killing divine beings while you were gone,” Bobby turned a page of the paper with an unconcerned air, “you know, since Cas is off healing the sick in Africa rather publicly.”

They’d known that. It had been on all the news for days, images and video of Castiel working his way through villages, people trailing behind him like he was the Pied Piper of Hamlin. There’d been close-ups of him with children and of him sitting with the elderly. His people skills appeared to be improving. There’d been long reports of him addressing the world, much of it live, and his church was scrambling to get people over to where he was to show how supportive and in tune they were with God Cas.

Jo suddenly sat back and stared at them. She licked her lips and frowned. “When did you get back?”

“A couple minutes,” Sam replied.

“Cas still on the live broadcast?”

“No,” Ellen came to the doorway, wiping her hands on a towel. “I told you half an hour ago he disappeared, but oh, no, you had one more thing to look up.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, crap!” She began slamming books, shoving papers in a folder, and tidying the area. Quickly, she had the desk fairly neat and got up. She was wearing some sort of old-fashioned dress with an apron tied around her waist.

It wasn’t Halloween, so Dean wondered what the explanation was. He suspected he was going to get one soon. Not that it didn’t look good on her. It did. It just wasn’t her normal style of clothing. When she wore a dress, it was short, tight, and black. Dean glanced at Sam.

Sam’s eyes widened at her outfit and he chuckled. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks.” Jo came to Dean and hugged him like she did that every day. Raising up on tiptoe, she pressed a kiss to his lips and smoothed his shirt. Her bright smile reminded him of Philadelphia of all things and he smelled a faint whiff of what he thought was mothballs mixed with her perfume. “How’d the hunt go, sweetheart? Was it good? Did you kill whatever it was? Save the damsel…or whatever the male equivalent is? Tell me all about it.” She half turned, directing the same smile briefly in Sam’s direction. “Hi, Sam. You’re looking rested today. Are you sleeping?”

“Hi.” He held up a hand in greeting. “Uh…yeah, I’m sleeping. Sleeping pills about every other night for the past week.”

“I force feed them to him,” Dean said. After the pissed off archangel hallucination, Dean had gotten sleeping pills for the both of them. He’d had to do some fast talking to get Sam to take even one of the pills, but when he finally had (probably to shut Dean up), it had given Sam a reprieve at night. He slept through instead of waking to hallucinate dangerous things around three. Of course, he couldn’t take them every night, but a night here and there with good sleep could only help the situation in Dean’s opinion. They’d both had a few good nights now.

“So, Dean, did you get hurt? Need a shoulder rub? Back rub?” She slid her hand across his chest and with a quirked brow asked, “something else rubbed?”

Bobby coughed and turned another page of the paper.

Ellen slammed a cupboard door.

“No, I know exactly what my man needs after a hard couple weeks out on the job.” Jo pulled away, went into the kitchen and returned a moment later with a bottle of beer. “Here. Ice cold,” she coaxed in a sing-song voice.

“Cas been by to visit recently,” Dean asked, recalling that offer he’d made to change her mind.

“Nope,” Jo replied, smile still bright and now mildly unnerving in cheeriness.

Dean took the bottle. “You…smack your head on something while we were gone?”

“No.” She went back to smoothing his shirt across his chest. “But I did watch a lot of hours of Fifties and Sixties family sitcoms on the computer to really understand my new role in life.”

“Uh-huh. You know he doesn’t usually get sarcasm either, right?”

Jo’s bright smile faded a little. “I know he won’t get it, but it makes me less angry at him and the whole situation, so just go with it, okay, sweetheart?” She patted his chest.

Ellen was shaking her head and he got the impression Jo had been practicing this routing for three weeks. Dean smiled, as overly cheery as Jo was being. “Sure thing, honeybunch.”

“Oh, don’t encourage her,” Ellen snapped. “Of all the bad ideas she’s ever had, this is high on the list.”

“Why do you say that, Ellen?” Sam stepped over to her, perusing Jo with amused eyes as he passed her. “Looks harmless.”

“Yeah, looks. It started out fine, I’ll give her that, but this?” She gestured. “This isn’t my daughter and he’ll know it. Drop the Stepford Wife act, Jo. You have to be yourself.”

Jo’s glance slid sideways in Ellen’s direction. “Mom.”

“Joanna Beth.” Ellen crossed her arms. “Will use the brain I know you have? I didn’t raise a stupid kid.”

With a sigh, Jo admitted, “maybe the dress is a little much, but if Dean likes it….”

He opened the beer, took a swig, and held up his hands. “This is your thing, not mine.”

She leaned in close, raising up on tiptoe to put her cheek by his, and whispered. “It could be our thing.” The remark was flirtatious, but he got the feeling it was just for effect should Cas be there listening.

He turned his head a fraction, noticed that while her voice was full of flirt, her gaze wasn’t. He was right. All for effect. She wanted him to play along a little. “It is a pretty dress,” he conceded.

Leaning back, she put her hands on her hips. “If you say change back into jeans, I’ll go change. You know, to keep my man happy.”

Sam snickered.

“Don’t change the way you dress for me.”

Ellen grunted. “It’s settled then. Jo, go change and help me get dinner on the table. I’m sure the boys are hungry and I doubt they’ve had a proper meal since they left.”

Jo went to the stairs and started up them. It looked like she was even sashaying a bit and Dean admired the view until she was out of sight.

“Some mood she’s in today,” Sam remarked, taking off his jacket and hanging it up.

Bobby lowered the paper. “Same mood she’s been in the past week since Ellen got back.”

“Where’d you go,” Dean asked, going to the table and sitting down. Ellen was already filling plates. She took one in to Bobby before stopping to answer.

“Found a job to go on. It was nothing much, but it kept me busy. Felt good to be out there.”

“I’ll bet it did.” Sam moved to help Ellen and seemed surprised when she shooed him away.

“Go sit. This is Jo’s job. Let her get this all out of her system.”

When Castiel arrived, it was almost as though Jo had planned the scene. Dean had a plate in front of him piled with food (a traditional meatloaf dinner with all the fixings), a beer to one side, and Jo was standing behind him slowly rubbing his shoulders. She was good at it, too.

He wondered just how many of those shows and movies she’d watched and what he could expect the next couple days as they regrouped.

Sam was across from him at the table and Ellen at the end between them, while Bobby was in his chair eating off a tv tray. The table really wasn’t big enough for all of them, what with the one end piled with phone books, books, and papers.

“This is an excellent beginning,” Castiel remarked. “Far more already than I’d hoped to see.”

Jo’s thumbs really attacked one knot by Dean’s shoulder blade, as if in response to Castiel’s pleased musing. His back already felt more relaxed than it had in weeks. If Jo kept it up, he might not need a sleeping pill tonight.

“I’m pleased with these efforts.” Castiel’s attention was on Jo, his smile so smug that Dean imagined Jo wanted to kick Cas in the teeth -- while wearing steel-toed boots. “You look very nice, Jo.”

Yeah, he still didn’t get sarcasm. Dean took a swig from his beer.

“Thank you,” Jo replied, all sweetness and light while her thumbs were taking care of those knots in Dean’s back with quick efficiency.

Sam’s fork clattered against his plate.

“This is as it should be. A cohesive unit.” Reaching around Ellen, he set a rectangular box beside her plate. The box was about the size of a business envelope and several inches in depth. “A present for you, Ellen.”

With a startled glance up at him, Ellen opened the box, her lips parting as the contents were revealed. Dean saw slips of paper, pictures, and Ellen drew out a wedding band that he realized must have been Bill’s. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you is the usual response,” Castiel prodded, still looking smug.

“Well, thanks. I’d wondered what happened to these.” She held up a picture so first Sam, then Dean and Jo could see it. “Bill holding Jo. She was only a few days old.”

Castiel’s attention slid back up to Jo. “While the trivial items from your life are best left behind, the things most important to you should be returned. Those things are important to you, Ellen.”

Jo’s hands faltered against his back, the massage slowing until it stopped altogether.

One hand dipped into his coat pocket and Castiel held up an item so they all could see it. Ellen gasped. It was the knife Jo had carried, the one that had belonged to her father. Slowly, Cas set it on the table. “For you, Jo. This is the possession you meant when we spoke that day?”

She slid into the chair beside Dean. “Another bribe,” she asked, her voice quivering just a little.

“A gift. Accept it or no, it won’t be taken back. I thought on what you said and on the items you’d carried. This was the single thing that meant the most to you. Am I in error?”

“No.” It looked like it pained her to admit it, her calm expression slipping.

“Then you want it back?”

Jo stared at the knife, then at Castiel, her poker face beginning to slide away completely now. Her lips tightened. Dean could see the desire to grab the knife in her eyes. “I can’t accept it,” she said, crossing her arms.

Dean understood the motive behind the gift as quickly as Jo had and was sure Sam, Ellen, and Bobby did, too. The knife hadn’t been meant for a gift, not really, but rather a test of what she’d do and where she was in acceptance of that reason he’d raised her. Would she take it and attack? Take it and bide her time? Or let it go and her past with it?

His hate for Castiel increased. This test was sadistic. Mean for the sake of being mean. He was throwing it in her face that she wasn’t supposed to be hunting anymore, trying to break her spirit and it was all Dean could do not to say anything. He could see that same restraint on Ellen and Sam’s faces.

Castiel moved around the table and crouched down beside Jo. “Why is that,” he asked in a pleasant tone. The smugness had gone from his eyes and what was left was the cold, cruel taunting light that was usually present when he worked at Sam. “Why can’t you accept your father’s knife? Isn’t it your most prized possession?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Because if I take it, you’ll think I plan on hunting whether I really do or not.” Jo shook her head as she opened her eyes. “This isn’t a gift for good behavior or a bribe. It’s trap.”

“A test. One you’ve passed.” Raising a hand, Castiel touched her cheek. “Sharp as ever, I see. Remember your place.”

It was a warning, clear and simple.

Now he stood. “Dean, you’ll keep the knife for her. I think it’s fitting that her husband carry it.”

Getting up, Jo hurried from the room, and up the stairs. A moment later, the bedroom door slammed.

Reaching out, Dean picked up the knife. He looked at Ellen, who gave him a slow, weary nod of consent. Across from him, Sam stared at Castiel. He had the oddest feeling that it wasn’t just Sam looking out of his eyes right then. Calculation flared quickly and was gone, Sam returning his attention to his food.

When Dean glanced back towards Castiel, he found him gone. Feeling rebellious, he followed Jo up to the bedroom and tucked the knife safely away in one of the hidden pockets in her favorite jacket.

“You’re not being a very good husband,” she remarked with a tired smile at the gesture. “You’re supposed to keep that for me.”

“Yeah, well…. Best you learn I’m a bad seed now, right?” He laid the jacket aside. “It’s yours, Jo. I won’t take it away.”

“I know.” She sighed and slumped a little. “Does he even realize how he’s contradicting himself? The giving with one hand and taking away with the other? What’s the point?”

The taking away appeared to be focused on Jo and Sam at present. “I think he’s still too full of himself to understand that, but I think his point is to break you down. Make you compliant.”

“He reminds me of a pagan god I met once.” She sat up straight and turned her head to look at him. “I killed that god.”

“Maybe we’ll kill this one.”

He stayed there with her instead of going back downstairs, giving her a recap of the past weeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t wanted to discipline Jo Harvelle. She’d been doing what she was supposed to, yet Castiel knew she needed a firm hand and preventative measures. She was a strong-willed woman and he knew also that Dean would let some matters slide that he shouldn’t let slide simply because he cherished that trait in her. Dean liked her strong will.

So, he made it clear once more what her status was and once he was certain she’d gotten the message, he took a tour of the area, noting one of his churches had been started in town, before returning for the real reason he’d come: Sam.

Sam Winchester was a problem.

Jo’s streak of hard-headedness was mild compared to the trouble Sam was.

Castiel did know just what Sam meant to Dean and that making him whole would put Dean in a state of pure joy. He wasn’t stupid. He understood that. He understood what fixing Sam would mean.

But he couldn’t get over Sam stabbing him in the back. Nor could he get over how Sam looked at him sometimes, like he knew everything Cas had done to get where he was and was judging him on those things. Sometimes, he thought it wasn’t even Sam looking out of those eyes, yet he knew it was Sam at the same time.

A part of him, a small part, admitted that he wished he’d never raised Sam to begin with. That part raged with jealousy.

Cas now knew that jealousy was what he’d felt towards Sam all along, from the very moment he’d realized how important Sam was to Dean. He’d always been jealous of Sam on some level, which had surprised him at first to understand. As an angel he shouldn’t have felt jealousy, yet he had. It was why he’d been so reluctant to embrace Sam as a friend the way he had Dean and why he’d held himself back for so long. He’d wanted to be the one with the special bond with Dean. Becoming God had shown him all of that. He’d finally understood his own motivations.

He was jealous…but he’d still raised Sam for Dean because it was what Dean had wanted the most.

Now, he accepted his jealousy.

He was a jealous God, but even a jealous god had to accept his subjects had others in their lives and Dean had Sam. He wanted him whole. Castiel knew it was Dean’s current wish. If he fixed Sam, Dean would be in his debt, as would Sam. The two would owe him and be grateful. Castiel wanted that gratitude.

However…. Castiel frowned. He’d been trying to fix Sam. Every time he’d touched Sam since becoming God he’d attempted to fix him and only made it worse somehow, a puzzling thing he couldn’t begin to explain. He was God and had a problem he couldn’t fix. He had to fix it somehow or accept that maybe, possibly, he wasn’t God after all. The only acceptable option was to fix him and it had to be merely that he hadn’t figured out the proper way yet because he was God.

Hence…Sam was a problem.

Castiel stood over Sam, watching him sleep. Why couldn’t he at least put up a wall like Death had to contain the hallucinations? It should be a snap to build. After all, he’d raised Ellen and Jo just fine. Sam’s mind should be nothing, but….

There was resistance.

Each time he tried to fix that and put him to rights, the resistance shifted, like a bullet he couldn’t quite grasp to dig out or oil sliding about in water. It wasn’t that he wasn’t trying hard enough or that he didn’t have enough power. He should have the power. Sam’s mind should be nothing and yet….

Crouching down, he stretched out a hand, intending on attempting once more to fix the problem.

Something fell behind him and he swiveled towards the sound. There was no one there, yet in the middle of the floor was a book. Castiel peered about the room, feeling like he was being watched, which was bizarre. He was the new God. He should be able to see any one or thing that was there and there was only thin air. So how did that book get there? It was too far in the center of the room to have fallen from the desk or shelves.

Doubts assailed him and he reached out, picking up the book and standing. He held it in both hands, studying it.

It was a Bible, very old and written in tiny print. The lettering was gold, the cover leather.

He swallowed hard. Picking it up felt very much like he was accepting a challenge. Strange. He was setting it on the desk so he could return to trying to fix Sam when a sharp pain pierced his belly. He pressed a hand to it, grimacing. At the second pain, he dropped the Bible and hurried outside, barely reaching the night air before vomiting up gobs of gray that looked like pudding.

He couldn’t stop the heaving, falling hard to his knees.

Panic assailed him and he groaned, wanting it to just end already. With a final choking cry, it did end, a sour taste in the back of his mouth. The globs coalesced into a single puddle and arced up into the sky like all the others had done.

This isn’t normal, he thought, fear beginning to really churn inside him. He felt weak and tired, drained. Nausea churned in his stomach and he pushed to his feet, staggering when his legs felt weak. He pressed a hand to his stomach and swallowed hard.

He felt as though he’d failed his first duel against an opponent he’d never seen, the familiar sensation of humiliation sliding through him. Raphael had once made certain Castiel knew what humiliation felt like and this was humiliation of an even higher degree. Somehow, someway, he’d just been punched.

Bewildered by that, Castiel fled to another location.

~~~~~~~~~~

The whisper was soft, coaxing.

The voice was there before the images began, gentle and welcoming, calling to him.

Sam dreamed of a hallway. It was a long hallway, softly lit, with a tile floor, beige walls, white ceiling, and doors lining both sides. Those doors were closed. At the far end he could make out a final door, open. A brighter light spilled into the hallway from there. Bricks were scattered about on the floor. He could see that most of the bricks were at the far end, smell the dust. As he stood, the light dimmed, a buzzing sound beginning, the sort of buzzing from a fluorescent light about to burn out. A reddish haze took over his vision and he smelled the coppery scent of blood. A shadow fell on one side of the hallway and grew, angel wings, large and wide, distorted by the light. He whirled….

A thump woke him. Sam opened his eyes. He saw Castiel crouched down, facing away from him. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to know what Castiel was doing there while they slept and especially what he was doing there beside him.

He saw Cas move towards the desk, something in hand. That something dropped to the desk as Castiel hurried from the house. It looked like he was in extreme pain and Sam hoped that was true. He hoped Castiel was having some consequences for the things he’d been doing and that he was in agony. There was the sound of someone clearing his throat and Sam glanced back at the desk.

Chuck was there, leaning against it with arms and ankles crossed. His gaze was concerned. “Keep your focus, Sam. One thing at a time. What aren’t you seeing here? What aren’t you remembering? You know more than you think.” He moved to the window and looked out, then disappeared.

The implication was that he was blocking out something important or could see it already yet didn’t understand the importance. Frustration welled up inside him and he got up. There was no way he was getting back to sleep now. He found the folder he’d been putting his notes in and opened it up. No time like the present to see if Jo had managed to add anything.