Fic - She Ain't Heavy, She's My Brother
Jan. 17th, 2010 01:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zoemathemataTitle: She Ain’t Heavy, She’s My Brother
Author: zoemathemata
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas, with a helping of brotherly bonding between Cas and Metatron.
Spoilers: Season 5
Warnings: Blatant disrespect for all kinds of history/mythology
Word Count:~6000
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Castiel finally (!) gets some angelic backup in the form of his brother, Metatron. They go to Antarctica, watch some penguins, have some bonding time.
A/N: Because being human is not so bad. And I thought someone with a more relevant background needed to tell Cas that.
A/N2: Though it’s not stated anywhere explicitly in the fic, I consider this a sequel of sorts to "Stardust and Milkshakes." I imagine that after their conversation with her, God called Metatron and (in her gentle God-like way) informed Metatron of how Cas was doing, leaving the choice to Metatron what he/she would do about it.
A/N3: And I'm pretty sure I just got myself a new verse, so I'm tagging this one the brothers!verse
My Beta and Creative Consultant:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
neros_violin. She's a triple threat. She fixes typos, grammar AND plot.
The knock at the door was sharp and precise. When you’re a Winchester, and you’re in the middle of an apocalypse, you take your gun and your knife to answer a door. Dean looked once at more at Sam who already had his gun ready and at his side.
After all this time you would think Dean would be ready when it’s a woman at the door, but somehow he always expects men.
“Hi!” she says brightly, her smile is full of teeth and glossy pink lips. She’s mid-twenties, he figures, but she’s got her hair in dual pigtails high on either side of her head. She kind of reminds him of a chick he’s seen on TV, with blunt bangs straight across her forehead and pale, almost-green eyes. She’s wearing a biker boots, patterned tights, a somewhat modest fluffy blue skirt and a sunshine yellow top.
“Can I help you?” Dean says gruffly. It’s his piss off and leave us alone voice and it usually works wonders when paired with his fuck off and die gaze.
“I sure hope so,” she says earnestly. “I’m looking for Castiel.”
Ruby’s knife is embedded in her chest before she even has time to blink. She looks down at the knife and back up at him. “Seriously?” She pulls it out and hands it back to him, hilt first. Sam’s beside Dean now, gun drawn and pointing at her. Her gaze flick over to the gun and then to Sam’s eyes.
“You can try. If you want.” She shrugs and Sam pulls the trigger.
It’s kind of like The Matrix only the bullets don’t stop in mid air and fall, they just disappear.
“Sorry boys, I’m full on angel. But I swear I just wanna talk.” She’s holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Which one of the dickless wonders are you?” Dean asks and Sam shifts a little behind him.
“Metatron.”
Dean huffs. “That’s doesn’t even sound angelic.”
She actually looks a little hurt at that. “I know. Most everyone else got the ‘e-l’ names. Ariel, Azrael, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, Raphael, Castiel… are you seeing a trend?” She says almost droningly as she ticks them off on her fingers. “But I got Metatron. As if I wasn’t already different enough.” She then turns back to Sam. “The sigil won’t work on me either.”
Sam totally looks like he just got caught stealing from the cookie jar and he looks up at the half formed bloody sigil on the wall. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t just believe you,” he says, continuing on with his work.
“Knock yourself out. Gotta do whatcha gotta do.” She elbows her way past Dean and tosses her ‘Hello Kitty’ purse on the bed and has a seat, kicking one booted foot over the other and bouncing it up and down. The buckles and snaps on it make a soft ‘jingle-jingle’ sound as she does. “Your angelic handwriting’s pretty good,” she says as she looks up at the sigil Sam’s finishing. Sam doesn’t say anything as he presses his palm flat to the symbol and nothing happens.
No flash of light. No sound vortex.
“I know,” she nods. “Zip, zilch, nada. I’m a speshul snowflake.” She leans back on her hands. “So, Castiel. Is he around or…?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dean says sarcastically. “You thought you would just walk in here, declare yourself and angel and we would what? Hand him over?”
“Look, I get that you’re suspicious. I know that most of the other angels are dicks, okay? And while some aren’t as bad as others, you must admit you have a special knack for bringing out the shit in heavenly creatures and people alike.”
Well, Dean might have to give her that one. Sam coughs into his fist not-so-quietly.
“But, I just want to help him out.”
“Yeah, well you sure took your sweet time about it. Where the hell have you been?”
She scowls at him. “It’s not exactly easy trying to find a someone who is a: religious enough to believe, b: willing to be a vessel and c: okay with the whole part where after I take possession I’m gonna go find the second most rebellious angel out there, number one being the Morning Star, and the two guys who jump-started the apocalypse.” She rolls her eyes. “Honestly.”
“You don’t seem very angelic,” says Sam.
“I told you, I’m different.”
“Different how?”
“I used to be human. You know, before.”
“Before what?” asks Dean.
“Before I angeled up.” She looks put out. “Why don’t you ask Castiel all this? He knows who I am. Here,” she unzips her fuzzy pink purse with its white cat face and starts rooting around in it. Sam pulls his gun out again and Dean readies the knife, but all she pulls out is a rhinestone studded pink cell phone and she starts pushing buttons. “Now where is the thing where you get your own phone number…fuck, technology… used to be when you wanted to talk to an angel you had to go climb a mountain or cross a desert… aw hell, where the fuck is it?”
Sam reaches out to help. “Here, if you…”
He’s cut off by Dean smacking him in the back of the head. Sam snatches his hand back and shoots Dean a dirty look. They have the kind of conversation with no words that only siblings can have.
What the fuck?
What? I was just gonna help.
Seriously? Seriously?!
Like your plan of standing there doing nothing was so much better.
“Got it,” she says finally and she looks up at them. “I’ll give you the number and next time you see him or talk to him, just tell him to call me, okay?” She starts rattling the number off and thankfully, Sam has the presence of mind to put it into his own phone. He actually pauses for a moment and wonders what name he should put it under. He settles for ‘M.’
She gets to her feet and they can’t help it, they take a step back.
“Where are you going?”
She smiles as she slings her purse over her shoulder. “Anywhere. Everywhere. I haven’t been human in over 3500 years.” She gives a girlish shriek of glee. “I haven’t actually decided where I’m gonna go first! Just tell Castiel to call me.”
She’s gone.
***
They call Cas and get his voicemail. Even though it’s not the first time it’s happened, it always makes Dean grin a little. Sam had taught Cas how to set up his mailbox and Dean always has to stifle a laugh.
”You have reached Castiel’s phone. Please leave a message and I will return your phone call as soon as I am able.”
Dean doesn’t bother identifying himself, he never does. “One of your angel buddies showed up here and claims to want to help you. Megatron.” He frowns as he sees Sam waving at him and mouthing something. “Oh, Metatron,” he corrects. “So like the Transformer, but different. Anyway, call me.” And that kinda sounds lame, like he’s waiting around for Cas to call him. “You know, call us me and Sam. Both. Either. Look it doesn’t matter. Just call. Or you could come by,” he continues inanely rattling off the motel location and room. “Whatever. It’s cool. And…” He finally decides to hit the end-call button before he can sound more idiotic. “Fuck,” he blurts at his phone.
Sam is laughing and not even trying to hide behind his laptop screen while he does it. He’s hitting the google hard, reading up on Metatron. “I thought you guys had figured this out and were an item now.”
“Shut up, bitch.”
***
“And he said nothing more?” asks Castiel.
“Dude. I told you already. That’s it. And your boy Metastasis…”
“Metatron,” intones Castiel.
Dean waves a hand in annoyance. “Whatever. Your boy is in a girl suit.”
Castiel frowns. “I fail to see what relevance that has.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t wanna tell you what to do…”
Sam snorts. He can’t help it. And when Dean gives him the hairy eyeball Sam gives him a bitchface right back.
“...but seriously, are you gonna call him? Her? What-the-fuck-ever?”
Castiel looks down at his phone where he has pre-punched the number in. He stares at the glossy LCD screen like it holds the answers to the universe. “I am… uncertain. Metatron is thought to be the scribe of God.”
“Don’t you know?” asks Sam.
At this Castiel looks somewhat sheepish. “Metatron and his brother, Sandalphon… they are… unlike other angels and… it may be… perhaps…”
“You wouldn’t let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games?” Dean’s eyebrow is raised. Castiel purses his lips and tilts his head in confusion.
“Uh, he means that you guys didn’t, you know, hang out,” clarifies Sam.
“No,” replies Castiel simply. “Under the orders of God, Michael raised Enoch and his brother Elijah and clothed them as angels, transforming them into Metatron and Sandalphon. The host… we… it was a highly singular situation. Many still grieved the abyss in our ranks that Lucifer had left when he proclaimed he would not love humans before God. Then here before us were mortals, raised up to be divine. Shortly thereafter, when it became apparent that they would not be folded into the ranks, Metatron and Sandalphon disappeared and there were rumors my Father had called them for his Holy Work. It was said that Metatron was called forth to be a scribe of the Word and Sandalphon was given the role of accepting the prayers of the mortals. Such tasks were… no angel had received such tasks as these before.”
“So you guys basically shunned them until your daddy had to pull them out and give them special jobs so they wouldn’t feel bad about it?”
Castiel lowers his eyes and blinks. “It is shameful, I know.”
“Dude, I’m not…” Dean pats him ineffectually on the shoulder. “Little brothers are a pain in the ass, if anyone gets it…”
“Dean!”
“What? I’m just sayin’!”
Sam wonders how hard it is to mask the smell of Nair in shampoo. He shakes the thought away and his attention back to Cas.
“Look, Cas, I dunno. He… she… whatever. It seemed like she just wanted to talk.”
Castiel stares at his phone again forlornly.
“You don’t have to meet up, you can just chat it out. See how it goes,” Sam encourages.
“But if you do wanna meet and it all goes south, how do we put this bitch down?”
***
Sam nudges Dean in the shoulder. “How do you think it’s going?”
They are watching Cas stand in the corner and talk on the phone. It should be like watching paint dry but Cas had looked so hopeful as he dialed that Dean couldn’t take his eyes off him.
“I knew I should have learned to read lips.”
Sam snorts. “That’s kinda funny since you stare at him often enough.”
Dean slaps him on the back of the head.
“Fuck! Dean!”
“Shut it.”
Castiel seems to be agreeing to something and then…
Holy crap. He’s smiling. Just a little one, but it’s a smile. Dean feels a smile break across his face too.
Castiel carefully pockets his phone and then steps back toward Dean and Sam.
“Well?” asks Dean.
“I have agreed to meet with Metatron. While she could simply return here, she said she would agree to any location of my choosing if that would make me feel more comfortable.” Castiel frowns slightly as the idea of anything being comfortable or not is still new to him, but he deferred to Metatron since the angel had once been human.
Dean claps his hands together. “So, where are we meeting?”
Castiel is silent as he looks at Dean for a moment. “I did not realize you would wish to attend.”
“Of course we’re gonna go,” Dean exclaims. “You need backup.”
Sam doesn’t add that they hadn’t been able to do much before when Metatron arrived. They knew the demon knife didn’t work on angels, and the sigil hadn’t worked either. The only thing Sam’s ever heard of anything working against a fully powered angel was another angel.
Although if it is a trap, Castiel is pretty much already screwed. Metatron knows where he is or at least, where the Winchesters are. He could have simply taken them hostage and waited Castiel out. Sam’s thinking too much, he knows that, but he can’t stop. He can’t not think of all the possibilities.
“I am sorry Dean, but we are meeting some distance from here. Antarctica.”
“What? Why?”
To give us time to get away in case he’s wrong, thinks Sam. Or to minimize the damage done if they decide to duke it out.
“Metatron indicated she would like to touch the penguins.”
“I thought you said that you got to choose the place,” asks Sam.
“She did say that I could, but when I indicated I had no preference, I asked where she would like to go. She stated that she would like to touch the penguins.”
“If she’s all angeled up why doesn’t she reach out and grab a penguin whenever she wants?”
Castiel shifts back and forth on his feet for a moment. “It is different, in a vessel. Things are… tactile. It is not the same when we are not in vessels.”
“Trap,” Dean declares, tossing his hands in the air. “I smell a trap.”
“I do not believe it is a trap.”
“Dude, seriously?”
“Dean.” Castiel is serious. He’s using his Dean tone, Sam thinks.
“Cas.”
Sam’s eyes dart back to his brother. Dean is throwing the tone back at Cas. Interesting. It’s like watching a tennis match.
Mexican stand-off. In one corner: Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Other corner: Dean Winchester, Stubborn Mule.
“You do not like teleporting.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t do it.”
“I do not require your assistance.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t go.”
“I will not take you.”
Dean’s mouth opens and closes and opens again. His eyebrows screw up and down. It’s kinda like when they were stuck on the chinese game show.
“You can’t go by yourself,” Dean blurts.
“I can and I shall. Metatron is my brother and I shall meet her. If it is a trap, I will do what I have to do to survive. But I do not believe it is a trap.”
“Isn’t she like, you’re half-brother?” asks Sam. “Because he was human? Or maybe a sister?”
“She is an angel. She and Sandalphon are not like the others, but they are angels nonetheless.”
Dean is pissed off. “And look how that’s turned out so far. It’s a bad idea.”
“I will be late. I must leave.”
“What now?”
“Yes, now.”
Dean makes a move to reach out and grab Cas’ trench-coat, but then his eyes dart over to Sam quickly and he hesitates.
“I… well… uh…” Dean’s trying to push something out and Castiel is tilting his head waiting. Finally Dean glares at Sam.
Sam stares back for a second. “What? Oh! Fuck, yeah, I’ll just… I gotta grab something… from the car… be right back… in like two…” Dean shakes his head once. “Or maybe five? Yeah, five minutes.” Sam gives Cas a tense smile. “So,” he says awkwardly. “Good luck,” and then he chucks Cas on the shoulder. “I hope you and your brother… hit it off.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
Sam makes a not-so-discreet exit and Dean is left with his fists jammed into his jean pockets, head titled down, eyes glancing up.
“You wish to say something?” asks Castiel patiently.
“Uh, well, you know. Wanted to wish you… luck and… stuff.”
Eloquence thy name is not Dean Winchester. But the effort he is putting forth makes Castiel warm in his chest.
When Cas doesn’t say anything, Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, how long you think you’ll be gone?”
“I do not know,” Castiel says, his brows drawn together.
“You know this dude well? I mean, well enough?”
“Not at all, actually. I know of her. But…” he sighs and it’s so human it takes Dean by surprise. “But I do believe that if anyone would wish to assist me, it could be her. She was once mortal. She likely has a special affinity for humans.”
“Mud monkey lover.”
“I have never thought of you as that.” Castiel’s voice is soft and low.
“I know,” says Dean, equally soft, equally low. “So, you’ll, uh, be careful? Right?”
“Of course.”
Dean nods. “Right, of course. Well…”
He gets cut off as Cas leans forward awkwardly and presses his lips to Dean’s. Sam wasn’t wrong earlier when he said he thought Dean and Cas had figured this out and were an item. They have figured it out. Some of it. Part of it.
Okay, so they haven’t so much “figured it out” as they have figured out that they have stuff between them to figure out. They were working on what that meant. And since neither one of them was going to win any Share Bear Certificates, it was slow going.
It’s possible glaciers had crossed the poles at faster speeds.
But they’ve got kissing down. As long as they can start kissing. There’s always some hesitant, uneasy shifting or jerking until their lips finally meet. After that it’s hot slides of tongue and hands grabbing at each other, sometimes harshly, sometimes cautiously.
This is one of the cautious kisses. A You be careful kiss answered by a Of course I will kiss. Dean steps in closer and one of his hands comes up to cup Castiel’s jaw, the other snakes under Cas’ arm and around the small of his back. Castiel settles his hands on Dean’s hips, just where the denim hangs a little low. They mouth at each other, both of them thoughtful about and attentive to what they are doing. The tips of their tongues touch delicately, almost skating over one another. Their lips touching say what lips speaking can’t. I’ll miss you and worry, followed by I will miss you too and will return.
Cas breaks it off first. Eyes downcast at Dean’s lips as he speaks. “I will be late.”
“Yeah.” Dean nods. “Yeah,” he says again, quieter. “So, how will I… maybe you could… never-mind.”
“I will send you a message letting you know if it is going well.”
“That’d be cool.”
“I am nothing if not ‘cool’.”
Dean has just enough time to realize that Cas made a joke before he’s gone in a rush of wind and sound.
***
He looks around at first and doesn’t see anyone. He has no idea what he should be looking for since Dean’s description of “Punky Brewster grown up but not” means nothing to him.
Then he sees her.
She doesn’t look up as he approaches, she is focused on the lonely penguin egg in front of her. It’s slightly cracked and frozen. It looks like it has been there for some time. He stands over her for a solid five minutes. It is irrelevant to both of them, time is different for angels and neither minds.
“Didn’t make it,” she says sadly. She pets the shell lightly, touching only the tips of her fingers to it. With a soft sigh, she stands.
She is nearly as tall as him with her boots on. Of course, Castiel has no interest in her outfit and doesn’t care that she’s in a red poodle skirt and black cashmere sweater, matched (or unmatched as the case may be) with long, scarlet feathers strung through her pigtails. They bob and sway in the light breeze. He knows she does not mind the cold at all. He does not mind it much.
“Hello, Castiel.”
“Hello, Metatron.”
They stare at each other. Her eyes are green, but not like Dean’s. They are a faded green. A green that wishes it were more. He sees the angel behind her eyes. Once he has, once she is sure that he knows her to be an angel, she finally moves.
“Aw, c’mere ya big lug,” she says with a grin and pulls him into a fierce embrace. He awkwardly returns it, having learned the actions from Dean. The feathers in her hair tickle across his ear. She throws herself into the hug and he is surprised by the weight of her. She pulls back, still holding his hand. “Let’s go find some penguins!”
She shifts through time and space, pulling him into her slipstream. He realizes only now, in the crux of this split time, that his own teleporting has gotten somewhat… slipshod. Metatron’s movement is bright and crisp and he can feel the difference from his own. The changes have been so slight, he hasn’t known them until now.
They land, about two hundred penguins near by.
“A rookery of penguins. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? A flock of seagulls, a sloth of bears, a wake of buzzards, a school of fish.” She shakes her head. “Humans are so interesting!” She is staring at the penguins with glee.
She lets go of his hand and he misses the contact. He follows when she takes a step toward the birds.
“I’m gonna touch one. I’ve got to know what it feels like.”
The penguins are unconcerned, unimpressed by her. Whether it’s because she is divine or they simply do not care, Castiel is not sure. She gets close to one and hunkers down, staring at it, tilting her head from one side to the other as she studies it. She finally reaches a hand out and touches the belly of the penguin lightly. It preens.
She looks back at Castiel and her smile is brilliant. She crinkles her nose in amusement.
“Don’t just stand there. C’mon!”
He wants to ask her why she came to him, why she wants to speak with him. He wants to ask if she has received revelation. If any angels have received revelation. If his name has become a blasphemy, a curse to other angels. Is he ferociously hunted? Do they even care? He is not sure which is worse. That he may be pursued relentlessly by his brothers or that his rebellion is so futile, so ridiculous, they do not even care. Has she heard of Lucifer? Does she know where he is?
Has she seen the face of God?
He crouches next to her and strokes the black feather at the neck, following down where they turn white. It is… he frowns.
“It’s slidey, right? It’s not quite soft, but it’s not hard. If it was greasy, I would say oily, but it’s not. Although you can tell it repels the water. It’s dense. Toasty warm. And where it turns from black to white…almost a perfect horizontal line. Amazing!” She turns to look at him. “All the things I know as an angel, all the things I have seen and yet, I’ve no idea how those feathers know to change color in the exact same place on every bird.” She looks back at the penguin. “Our father is truly mysterious.”
It’s on the edge of his lips to ask if she’s seen him.
He’s afraid to. Afraid the answer is no. Afraid the answer is yes. So he only nods.
“I can’t believe their flippers used to be wings. Do you think they have any sense they used to be able to fly?” She touches one of the flippers and he mirrors her movements. “They can hold their breath for twenty minutes.” He knows all these things but finds he likes listening to her speak. She stands and he follows. “Look how awkward and funny they are on land.” She points to a group of penguins waddling about. Their bizarre shuffle-slide-hop seems hopelessly exhausting. “But when they get in the water…. Whoosh.” She makes a wide, sweeping arm swing to accompany her words. “Beautiful.”
They watch the birds. He doesn’t know how long. He feels as though she is waiting for something. At first, he can’t stop wondering what she is waiting for, but finally he gives up and just observes the avians. He remembers vaguely when they used to fly. They would dive through the air, sailing on the wind. He has only a blurry recollection. It was not important to him at the time and it was only one of hundreds of thousands of millions of things that he knew but took no real note of. Now they are flightless. They trod slowly back and forth, wobble and sway. Then the graceful swoop as they slip into the water and the speed at which they careen out, fish in their beaks. They are not entirely meant for air, land or water.
“They are in-between,” he says lowly. “Stuck.”
She tilts her head. “Could be. But I would say that they are right where they want to be. Enjoying both.” Silence falls again. She tips her head toward him. “They do all right.”
Neither of them says anything further for a long while. The penguins continuing eating, frolicking and milling about. They coo and squawk, their strange tonal sounds carry well across the landscape. The wind blows. Metatron leans into Castiel and he lets her, the length of her arm presses up against his. The sun sets. The moon rises. The ice and snow are bathed in silver light.
He has missed this. The silent companionship of his brothers when time has no meaning. Although Metatron is different. Castiel cannot hear her presence as he hears the rest of the host.
“I do not hear you,” he says. It has been hours since either one of them spoke.
“I do not hear you either,” she says simply.
“Why?”
They are both staring out across the landscape, leaning slightly against one another but not looking at each other.
“When I was turned,” she begins slowly, “when Michael altered Elijah and I, we were entirely ill-prepared for what we had become. Although our state had been changed, our consciousness had not. We still thought as humans and the heavenly host… having the host inside our heads, hearing the host inside our minds… To you it is a comfort. A constant. To me it is an intrusion, lurking in the corners, always watching, always listening. When Elijah and I became angelic, we requested…” she frowns. “We begged to have our minds left to ourselves. Human consciousness left solitary in angelic vessels.”
He questions her use of the word. “Angels do not have vessels. We simply are.”
Her lips curl in a wry smile. “You’ve always been an angel. When I was transformed, I did not think of my angelic form as my own. It was the vessel I wore, the divinity I cloaked around my mortality. I had a mortal lifespan as a human and I’ve had over thirty-five hundred years as an angel. I should not remember as much about being mortal as I do. I should not identify as much with humans as I do. But I am a landed immigrant, and although I speak my new language fluently and perhaps better than some of my brethren, I will always speak it with an accent.”
She places a hand on his arm and turns to gaze at him and in the moonlight her eyes are sterling and bright. “I don’t know if you will find my presence a comfort or a burden. I’m not like you. I am not like the brothers you miss. But I know what it is to become something you don’t understand. I have known longing in my heart for what I once was. And… and I did not wish for you to be alone. I wish to be a brother to you. Not as the other angels are, but only as I can be with my human nature. I offer that, if you will have it.”
She releases his arm and goes back to standing next to him silent and still, the sides of their bodies still touching. She does not press for an answer. She does not ask what he is thinking. She stands beside him and they stare out across the frozen night.
The night is not long, nor is it short. It is irrelevant to them. Hours pass unnoticed. The sun crests over the snow, tossing down sparkles of light carelessly and beautiful. Pink and orange darts breaking up the blue and white of the dark.
“Emotions are not new to me, but the intensity with which they overcome me now is… difficult,” he says finally.
She huffs. “No one said feeling was easy.”
“I am…” he struggles. “You have shamed me with your generosity. With the spirit of your offer. You do not know me and yet, you are here. You came.”
“I don’t want you to feel shame.”
He looks down at his shoes which have become encrusted with ice and snow. “But I feel it. I knew of your transformation when it occurred and I did nothing. I was not a brother to you.”
She shrugs. “Like the penguins, I do all right. And you forget, I always had Sandalphon.”
“May I ask, where is he? Do you know?”
“I know where he is,” she says simply. “He knows where I am. Like me, he is following his heart.”
“I would very much like your companionship.”
She smiles and bumps her shoulder into his. It’s an odd gesture of camaraderie that he wasn’t expecting and his eyes widen as he rocks sideways slightly from the jarring motion. He hesitates a moment and then copies the gesture, knocking his shoulder back into hers. She chuckles.
“Your humans will be missing you. The shorter one in particular, I think,” she says.
Startled at how easily he has forgotten human time frames, he reaches cold fingers into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
He has six new text messages.
How goes it?
U ok?
Stop ignoring me.
Srsly where r u?
Youd better be dead.
Fuckit didnt mean that last one. U ok?
Metatron has been leaning over his shoulder reading. He looks up at her and she flashes him a sheepish look. “Sorry. I’m nosy.”
“I should return.” He slips his phone back in his pocked. He wavers for a moment, unsure.
“Why don’t you call me once you have talked it over with them and had a chance to think on it. As the humans say, you should sleep on it. We can see how it goes from there.”
“Dean. And Sam. Their names.”
She nods. “Talk to Dean and Sam. And take your time. I’ll be…” she waves her hand. “Around. Leave a message if I’m out of range.”
“Where will you go?”
“Africa. I think. Did you know hippopotamus are mean fuckers? I’ve got to go see one up close. Also, male peacocks show their feathers when they are courting but sometimes if they are enraged as well. I wonder if I chase one, if it will make him mad or if he will be interested in me enough to show its feathers.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m gonna find out.” She takes a step away from him, a courtesy of human nature so he is not disturbed by her transport, he realizes. “You should bring Dean something. To apologize.”
“For what?”
“For not answering his messages. And don’t tell him it was my idea.”
She’s gone.
***
The Winchesters are still at the same hotel. When he appears in the room, Dean jumps slightly, the phone on his lap falling off to the floor with a thunk.
“Jesus, where have you been?”
“Antarctica.”
Dean narrows his eyes at him as he hops off the bed and stands in front of Cas. “Yeah, dead in Antarctica for all I knew, with the angel spike of death through your throat. I thought you were gonna update me?”
Oh, fuck, he totally sounds like a nagging housewife.
“I am sorry, Dean. I lost track of time.”
“Whatever,” Dean huffs. He can be cool about it. He’s not a nag. He’s so not.
He realizes he standing with his hands on his hips and he drops them immediately. He stares at Cas, Cas stares at him.
“Where is Sam?”
Apparently, Dean is a bitchy mofo when he’s worried because Sam had grabbed his laptop and announced that he would be back half past ‘when you learn to stop bitching and whining and not take it out on me-o’clock.’
Or something like that.
“He, uh, went to the library. Or a coffee shop. Or a diner or something,” Dean mumbles. “So, uh, how did it go? You’re still alive so…”
There it is again. The Cas Smile. Small upward curve of the corners and just a hint of teeth.
“It went well. She is not like my other brothers.”
“Thank god.”
“Yes.” Castiel nods once firmly.
“So, she gonna help us with the apocalypse or what?”
Castiel furrows his eyebrows. “I did not ask.”
“What? What the hell did you talk about this whole time?”
“We did not speak much actually. She told me about herself. I touched a penguin.”
Dean is staring at him. “Dude, sometimes you’re, like, way out there.”
“I told you, I was in Antarctica.”
“No, I … never mind.”
Castiel pulls out an object from his pocket and hands it over to Dean. “This is for you.”
Dean takes it and rolls it over in his hand. It’s a rock. Which is… well, weird. It looks like any other rock. It fits in the palm of his hand and is vaguely round.
“Uh, thanks?”
“I gathered it in Antarctica. It is a meteor from Mars. It is one of the oldest pieces of the solar system.”
Wow. That’s kinda cool.
“Space rock.” Dean rubs his thumb over the rough surface.
“Yes. It is very rare. And I am sorry I did not send you a message.”
Dean smiles and looks up through his eyelashes. “Is this an apology rock?”
“It is.”
“Thanks.” It’s not a question this time around. “C’mon, I need to eat something and you can tell me all about penguins and your brother.”
“Penguins used to fly but they don’t anymore. Now they are land based and swim in water.”
“Shitty,” Dean replies absently as he stuff his feet into his boots.
“I don’t think they mind. They are content being what they are.”
Dean’s patting his pockets in search of his keys. “I’m happy for them. Fuck, where are my keys?” He finally finds them deep in the pocket of yesterday’s jacket. Now that he’s found them, he goes over in his head what Cas has just been saying. He fiddles with this keys, spinning them around the ring. “So…” he drawls out. “Penguins are cool with it?” He steps forward into Cas’ personal space. He feels nervous about the answer.
Cas relaxes his posture slightly, but doesn’t move back. He no longer holds himself ramrod straight when they are standing close. It’s a funny thing, a little thing, a thing that people do automatically that Cas had to learn. When someone you like is in your personal space and you want to welcome them into it, you don’t have to move back, but you do have adjust your body slightly to make allowances.
“I believe the penguins are happy.”
ETA - this just in... penguins give each other rocks as a show of an intent to mate! OMG. this was total happenstance on my part but I love it SO HARD. Thanks to the commenters for pointing it out!
Penguin Love
TBC
Author: zoemathemata
Rating: PG-13
Genre and/or Pairing: Dean/Cas, with a helping of brotherly bonding between Cas and Metatron.
Spoilers: Season 5
Warnings: Blatant disrespect for all kinds of history/mythology
Word Count:~6000
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Castiel finally (!) gets some angelic backup in the form of his brother, Metatron. They go to Antarctica, watch some penguins, have some bonding time.
A/N: Because being human is not so bad. And I thought someone with a more relevant background needed to tell Cas that.
A/N2: Though it’s not stated anywhere explicitly in the fic, I consider this a sequel of sorts to "Stardust and Milkshakes." I imagine that after their conversation with her, God called Metatron and (in her gentle God-like way) informed Metatron of how Cas was doing, leaving the choice to Metatron what he/she would do about it.
A/N3: And I'm pretty sure I just got myself a new verse, so I'm tagging this one the brothers!verse
My Beta and Creative Consultant:
neros_violin. She's a triple threat. She fixes typos, grammar AND plot. The knock at the door was sharp and precise. When you’re a Winchester, and you’re in the middle of an apocalypse, you take your gun and your knife to answer a door. Dean looked once at more at Sam who already had his gun ready and at his side.
After all this time you would think Dean would be ready when it’s a woman at the door, but somehow he always expects men.
“Hi!” she says brightly, her smile is full of teeth and glossy pink lips. She’s mid-twenties, he figures, but she’s got her hair in dual pigtails high on either side of her head. She kind of reminds him of a chick he’s seen on TV, with blunt bangs straight across her forehead and pale, almost-green eyes. She’s wearing a biker boots, patterned tights, a somewhat modest fluffy blue skirt and a sunshine yellow top.
“Can I help you?” Dean says gruffly. It’s his piss off and leave us alone voice and it usually works wonders when paired with his fuck off and die gaze.
“I sure hope so,” she says earnestly. “I’m looking for Castiel.”
Ruby’s knife is embedded in her chest before she even has time to blink. She looks down at the knife and back up at him. “Seriously?” She pulls it out and hands it back to him, hilt first. Sam’s beside Dean now, gun drawn and pointing at her. Her gaze flick over to the gun and then to Sam’s eyes.
“You can try. If you want.” She shrugs and Sam pulls the trigger.
It’s kind of like The Matrix only the bullets don’t stop in mid air and fall, they just disappear.
“Sorry boys, I’m full on angel. But I swear I just wanna talk.” She’s holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Which one of the dickless wonders are you?” Dean asks and Sam shifts a little behind him.
“Metatron.”
Dean huffs. “That’s doesn’t even sound angelic.”
She actually looks a little hurt at that. “I know. Most everyone else got the ‘e-l’ names. Ariel, Azrael, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, Raphael, Castiel… are you seeing a trend?” She says almost droningly as she ticks them off on her fingers. “But I got Metatron. As if I wasn’t already different enough.” She then turns back to Sam. “The sigil won’t work on me either.”
Sam totally looks like he just got caught stealing from the cookie jar and he looks up at the half formed bloody sigil on the wall. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t just believe you,” he says, continuing on with his work.
“Knock yourself out. Gotta do whatcha gotta do.” She elbows her way past Dean and tosses her ‘Hello Kitty’ purse on the bed and has a seat, kicking one booted foot over the other and bouncing it up and down. The buckles and snaps on it make a soft ‘jingle-jingle’ sound as she does. “Your angelic handwriting’s pretty good,” she says as she looks up at the sigil Sam’s finishing. Sam doesn’t say anything as he presses his palm flat to the symbol and nothing happens.
No flash of light. No sound vortex.
“I know,” she nods. “Zip, zilch, nada. I’m a speshul snowflake.” She leans back on her hands. “So, Castiel. Is he around or…?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Dean says sarcastically. “You thought you would just walk in here, declare yourself and angel and we would what? Hand him over?”
“Look, I get that you’re suspicious. I know that most of the other angels are dicks, okay? And while some aren’t as bad as others, you must admit you have a special knack for bringing out the shit in heavenly creatures and people alike.”
Well, Dean might have to give her that one. Sam coughs into his fist not-so-quietly.
“But, I just want to help him out.”
“Yeah, well you sure took your sweet time about it. Where the hell have you been?”
She scowls at him. “It’s not exactly easy trying to find a someone who is a: religious enough to believe, b: willing to be a vessel and c: okay with the whole part where after I take possession I’m gonna go find the second most rebellious angel out there, number one being the Morning Star, and the two guys who jump-started the apocalypse.” She rolls her eyes. “Honestly.”
“You don’t seem very angelic,” says Sam.
“I told you, I’m different.”
“Different how?”
“I used to be human. You know, before.”
“Before what?” asks Dean.
“Before I angeled up.” She looks put out. “Why don’t you ask Castiel all this? He knows who I am. Here,” she unzips her fuzzy pink purse with its white cat face and starts rooting around in it. Sam pulls his gun out again and Dean readies the knife, but all she pulls out is a rhinestone studded pink cell phone and she starts pushing buttons. “Now where is the thing where you get your own phone number…fuck, technology… used to be when you wanted to talk to an angel you had to go climb a mountain or cross a desert… aw hell, where the fuck is it?”
Sam reaches out to help. “Here, if you…”
He’s cut off by Dean smacking him in the back of the head. Sam snatches his hand back and shoots Dean a dirty look. They have the kind of conversation with no words that only siblings can have.
What the fuck?
What? I was just gonna help.
Seriously? Seriously?!
Like your plan of standing there doing nothing was so much better.
“Got it,” she says finally and she looks up at them. “I’ll give you the number and next time you see him or talk to him, just tell him to call me, okay?” She starts rattling the number off and thankfully, Sam has the presence of mind to put it into his own phone. He actually pauses for a moment and wonders what name he should put it under. He settles for ‘M.’
She gets to her feet and they can’t help it, they take a step back.
“Where are you going?”
She smiles as she slings her purse over her shoulder. “Anywhere. Everywhere. I haven’t been human in over 3500 years.” She gives a girlish shriek of glee. “I haven’t actually decided where I’m gonna go first! Just tell Castiel to call me.”
She’s gone.
***
They call Cas and get his voicemail. Even though it’s not the first time it’s happened, it always makes Dean grin a little. Sam had taught Cas how to set up his mailbox and Dean always has to stifle a laugh.
”You have reached Castiel’s phone. Please leave a message and I will return your phone call as soon as I am able.”
Dean doesn’t bother identifying himself, he never does. “One of your angel buddies showed up here and claims to want to help you. Megatron.” He frowns as he sees Sam waving at him and mouthing something. “Oh, Metatron,” he corrects. “So like the Transformer, but different. Anyway, call me.” And that kinda sounds lame, like he’s waiting around for Cas to call him. “You know, call us me and Sam. Both. Either. Look it doesn’t matter. Just call. Or you could come by,” he continues inanely rattling off the motel location and room. “Whatever. It’s cool. And…” He finally decides to hit the end-call button before he can sound more idiotic. “Fuck,” he blurts at his phone.
Sam is laughing and not even trying to hide behind his laptop screen while he does it. He’s hitting the google hard, reading up on Metatron. “I thought you guys had figured this out and were an item now.”
“Shut up, bitch.”
***
“And he said nothing more?” asks Castiel.
“Dude. I told you already. That’s it. And your boy Metastasis…”
“Metatron,” intones Castiel.
Dean waves a hand in annoyance. “Whatever. Your boy is in a girl suit.”
Castiel frowns. “I fail to see what relevance that has.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Look, I don’t wanna tell you what to do…”
Sam snorts. He can’t help it. And when Dean gives him the hairy eyeball Sam gives him a bitchface right back.
“...but seriously, are you gonna call him? Her? What-the-fuck-ever?”
Castiel looks down at his phone where he has pre-punched the number in. He stares at the glossy LCD screen like it holds the answers to the universe. “I am… uncertain. Metatron is thought to be the scribe of God.”
“Don’t you know?” asks Sam.
At this Castiel looks somewhat sheepish. “Metatron and his brother, Sandalphon… they are… unlike other angels and… it may be… perhaps…”
“You wouldn’t let poor Rudolph join in any reindeer games?” Dean’s eyebrow is raised. Castiel purses his lips and tilts his head in confusion.
“Uh, he means that you guys didn’t, you know, hang out,” clarifies Sam.
“No,” replies Castiel simply. “Under the orders of God, Michael raised Enoch and his brother Elijah and clothed them as angels, transforming them into Metatron and Sandalphon. The host… we… it was a highly singular situation. Many still grieved the abyss in our ranks that Lucifer had left when he proclaimed he would not love humans before God. Then here before us were mortals, raised up to be divine. Shortly thereafter, when it became apparent that they would not be folded into the ranks, Metatron and Sandalphon disappeared and there were rumors my Father had called them for his Holy Work. It was said that Metatron was called forth to be a scribe of the Word and Sandalphon was given the role of accepting the prayers of the mortals. Such tasks were… no angel had received such tasks as these before.”
“So you guys basically shunned them until your daddy had to pull them out and give them special jobs so they wouldn’t feel bad about it?”
Castiel lowers his eyes and blinks. “It is shameful, I know.”
“Dude, I’m not…” Dean pats him ineffectually on the shoulder. “Little brothers are a pain in the ass, if anyone gets it…”
“Dean!”
“What? I’m just sayin’!”
Sam wonders how hard it is to mask the smell of Nair in shampoo. He shakes the thought away and his attention back to Cas.
“Look, Cas, I dunno. He… she… whatever. It seemed like she just wanted to talk.”
Castiel stares at his phone again forlornly.
“You don’t have to meet up, you can just chat it out. See how it goes,” Sam encourages.
“But if you do wanna meet and it all goes south, how do we put this bitch down?”
***
Sam nudges Dean in the shoulder. “How do you think it’s going?”
They are watching Cas stand in the corner and talk on the phone. It should be like watching paint dry but Cas had looked so hopeful as he dialed that Dean couldn’t take his eyes off him.
“I knew I should have learned to read lips.”
Sam snorts. “That’s kinda funny since you stare at him often enough.”
Dean slaps him on the back of the head.
“Fuck! Dean!”
“Shut it.”
Castiel seems to be agreeing to something and then…
Holy crap. He’s smiling. Just a little one, but it’s a smile. Dean feels a smile break across his face too.
Castiel carefully pockets his phone and then steps back toward Dean and Sam.
“Well?” asks Dean.
“I have agreed to meet with Metatron. While she could simply return here, she said she would agree to any location of my choosing if that would make me feel more comfortable.” Castiel frowns slightly as the idea of anything being comfortable or not is still new to him, but he deferred to Metatron since the angel had once been human.
Dean claps his hands together. “So, where are we meeting?”
Castiel is silent as he looks at Dean for a moment. “I did not realize you would wish to attend.”
“Of course we’re gonna go,” Dean exclaims. “You need backup.”
Sam doesn’t add that they hadn’t been able to do much before when Metatron arrived. They knew the demon knife didn’t work on angels, and the sigil hadn’t worked either. The only thing Sam’s ever heard of anything working against a fully powered angel was another angel.
Although if it is a trap, Castiel is pretty much already screwed. Metatron knows where he is or at least, where the Winchesters are. He could have simply taken them hostage and waited Castiel out. Sam’s thinking too much, he knows that, but he can’t stop. He can’t not think of all the possibilities.
“I am sorry Dean, but we are meeting some distance from here. Antarctica.”
“What? Why?”
To give us time to get away in case he’s wrong, thinks Sam. Or to minimize the damage done if they decide to duke it out.
“Metatron indicated she would like to touch the penguins.”
“I thought you said that you got to choose the place,” asks Sam.
“She did say that I could, but when I indicated I had no preference, I asked where she would like to go. She stated that she would like to touch the penguins.”
“If she’s all angeled up why doesn’t she reach out and grab a penguin whenever she wants?”
Castiel shifts back and forth on his feet for a moment. “It is different, in a vessel. Things are… tactile. It is not the same when we are not in vessels.”
“Trap,” Dean declares, tossing his hands in the air. “I smell a trap.”
“I do not believe it is a trap.”
“Dude, seriously?”
“Dean.” Castiel is serious. He’s using his Dean tone, Sam thinks.
“Cas.”
Sam’s eyes dart back to his brother. Dean is throwing the tone back at Cas. Interesting. It’s like watching a tennis match.
Mexican stand-off. In one corner: Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Other corner: Dean Winchester, Stubborn Mule.
“You do not like teleporting.”
“Doesn’t mean I won’t do it.”
“I do not require your assistance.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t go.”
“I will not take you.”
Dean’s mouth opens and closes and opens again. His eyebrows screw up and down. It’s kinda like when they were stuck on the chinese game show.
“You can’t go by yourself,” Dean blurts.
“I can and I shall. Metatron is my brother and I shall meet her. If it is a trap, I will do what I have to do to survive. But I do not believe it is a trap.”
“Isn’t she like, you’re half-brother?” asks Sam. “Because he was human? Or maybe a sister?”
“She is an angel. She and Sandalphon are not like the others, but they are angels nonetheless.”
Dean is pissed off. “And look how that’s turned out so far. It’s a bad idea.”
“I will be late. I must leave.”
“What now?”
“Yes, now.”
Dean makes a move to reach out and grab Cas’ trench-coat, but then his eyes dart over to Sam quickly and he hesitates.
“I… well… uh…” Dean’s trying to push something out and Castiel is tilting his head waiting. Finally Dean glares at Sam.
Sam stares back for a second. “What? Oh! Fuck, yeah, I’ll just… I gotta grab something… from the car… be right back… in like two…” Dean shakes his head once. “Or maybe five? Yeah, five minutes.” Sam gives Cas a tense smile. “So,” he says awkwardly. “Good luck,” and then he chucks Cas on the shoulder. “I hope you and your brother… hit it off.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
Sam makes a not-so-discreet exit and Dean is left with his fists jammed into his jean pockets, head titled down, eyes glancing up.
“You wish to say something?” asks Castiel patiently.
“Uh, well, you know. Wanted to wish you… luck and… stuff.”
Eloquence thy name is not Dean Winchester. But the effort he is putting forth makes Castiel warm in his chest.
When Cas doesn’t say anything, Dean clears his throat. “So, uh, how long you think you’ll be gone?”
“I do not know,” Castiel says, his brows drawn together.
“You know this dude well? I mean, well enough?”
“Not at all, actually. I know of her. But…” he sighs and it’s so human it takes Dean by surprise. “But I do believe that if anyone would wish to assist me, it could be her. She was once mortal. She likely has a special affinity for humans.”
“Mud monkey lover.”
“I have never thought of you as that.” Castiel’s voice is soft and low.
“I know,” says Dean, equally soft, equally low. “So, you’ll, uh, be careful? Right?”
“Of course.”
Dean nods. “Right, of course. Well…”
He gets cut off as Cas leans forward awkwardly and presses his lips to Dean’s. Sam wasn’t wrong earlier when he said he thought Dean and Cas had figured this out and were an item. They have figured it out. Some of it. Part of it.
Okay, so they haven’t so much “figured it out” as they have figured out that they have stuff between them to figure out. They were working on what that meant. And since neither one of them was going to win any Share Bear Certificates, it was slow going.
It’s possible glaciers had crossed the poles at faster speeds.
But they’ve got kissing down. As long as they can start kissing. There’s always some hesitant, uneasy shifting or jerking until their lips finally meet. After that it’s hot slides of tongue and hands grabbing at each other, sometimes harshly, sometimes cautiously.
This is one of the cautious kisses. A You be careful kiss answered by a Of course I will kiss. Dean steps in closer and one of his hands comes up to cup Castiel’s jaw, the other snakes under Cas’ arm and around the small of his back. Castiel settles his hands on Dean’s hips, just where the denim hangs a little low. They mouth at each other, both of them thoughtful about and attentive to what they are doing. The tips of their tongues touch delicately, almost skating over one another. Their lips touching say what lips speaking can’t. I’ll miss you and worry, followed by I will miss you too and will return.
Cas breaks it off first. Eyes downcast at Dean’s lips as he speaks. “I will be late.”
“Yeah.” Dean nods. “Yeah,” he says again, quieter. “So, how will I… maybe you could… never-mind.”
“I will send you a message letting you know if it is going well.”
“That’d be cool.”
“I am nothing if not ‘cool’.”
Dean has just enough time to realize that Cas made a joke before he’s gone in a rush of wind and sound.
***
He looks around at first and doesn’t see anyone. He has no idea what he should be looking for since Dean’s description of “Punky Brewster grown up but not” means nothing to him.
Then he sees her.
She doesn’t look up as he approaches, she is focused on the lonely penguin egg in front of her. It’s slightly cracked and frozen. It looks like it has been there for some time. He stands over her for a solid five minutes. It is irrelevant to both of them, time is different for angels and neither minds.
“Didn’t make it,” she says sadly. She pets the shell lightly, touching only the tips of her fingers to it. With a soft sigh, she stands.
She is nearly as tall as him with her boots on. Of course, Castiel has no interest in her outfit and doesn’t care that she’s in a red poodle skirt and black cashmere sweater, matched (or unmatched as the case may be) with long, scarlet feathers strung through her pigtails. They bob and sway in the light breeze. He knows she does not mind the cold at all. He does not mind it much.
“Hello, Castiel.”
“Hello, Metatron.”
They stare at each other. Her eyes are green, but not like Dean’s. They are a faded green. A green that wishes it were more. He sees the angel behind her eyes. Once he has, once she is sure that he knows her to be an angel, she finally moves.
“Aw, c’mere ya big lug,” she says with a grin and pulls him into a fierce embrace. He awkwardly returns it, having learned the actions from Dean. The feathers in her hair tickle across his ear. She throws herself into the hug and he is surprised by the weight of her. She pulls back, still holding his hand. “Let’s go find some penguins!”
She shifts through time and space, pulling him into her slipstream. He realizes only now, in the crux of this split time, that his own teleporting has gotten somewhat… slipshod. Metatron’s movement is bright and crisp and he can feel the difference from his own. The changes have been so slight, he hasn’t known them until now.
They land, about two hundred penguins near by.
“A rookery of penguins. Did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? A flock of seagulls, a sloth of bears, a wake of buzzards, a school of fish.” She shakes her head. “Humans are so interesting!” She is staring at the penguins with glee.
She lets go of his hand and he misses the contact. He follows when she takes a step toward the birds.
“I’m gonna touch one. I’ve got to know what it feels like.”
The penguins are unconcerned, unimpressed by her. Whether it’s because she is divine or they simply do not care, Castiel is not sure. She gets close to one and hunkers down, staring at it, tilting her head from one side to the other as she studies it. She finally reaches a hand out and touches the belly of the penguin lightly. It preens.
She looks back at Castiel and her smile is brilliant. She crinkles her nose in amusement.
“Don’t just stand there. C’mon!”
He wants to ask her why she came to him, why she wants to speak with him. He wants to ask if she has received revelation. If any angels have received revelation. If his name has become a blasphemy, a curse to other angels. Is he ferociously hunted? Do they even care? He is not sure which is worse. That he may be pursued relentlessly by his brothers or that his rebellion is so futile, so ridiculous, they do not even care. Has she heard of Lucifer? Does she know where he is?
Has she seen the face of God?
He crouches next to her and strokes the black feather at the neck, following down where they turn white. It is… he frowns.
“It’s slidey, right? It’s not quite soft, but it’s not hard. If it was greasy, I would say oily, but it’s not. Although you can tell it repels the water. It’s dense. Toasty warm. And where it turns from black to white…almost a perfect horizontal line. Amazing!” She turns to look at him. “All the things I know as an angel, all the things I have seen and yet, I’ve no idea how those feathers know to change color in the exact same place on every bird.” She looks back at the penguin. “Our father is truly mysterious.”
It’s on the edge of his lips to ask if she’s seen him.
He’s afraid to. Afraid the answer is no. Afraid the answer is yes. So he only nods.
“I can’t believe their flippers used to be wings. Do you think they have any sense they used to be able to fly?” She touches one of the flippers and he mirrors her movements. “They can hold their breath for twenty minutes.” He knows all these things but finds he likes listening to her speak. She stands and he follows. “Look how awkward and funny they are on land.” She points to a group of penguins waddling about. Their bizarre shuffle-slide-hop seems hopelessly exhausting. “But when they get in the water…. Whoosh.” She makes a wide, sweeping arm swing to accompany her words. “Beautiful.”
They watch the birds. He doesn’t know how long. He feels as though she is waiting for something. At first, he can’t stop wondering what she is waiting for, but finally he gives up and just observes the avians. He remembers vaguely when they used to fly. They would dive through the air, sailing on the wind. He has only a blurry recollection. It was not important to him at the time and it was only one of hundreds of thousands of millions of things that he knew but took no real note of. Now they are flightless. They trod slowly back and forth, wobble and sway. Then the graceful swoop as they slip into the water and the speed at which they careen out, fish in their beaks. They are not entirely meant for air, land or water.
“They are in-between,” he says lowly. “Stuck.”
She tilts her head. “Could be. But I would say that they are right where they want to be. Enjoying both.” Silence falls again. She tips her head toward him. “They do all right.”
Neither of them says anything further for a long while. The penguins continuing eating, frolicking and milling about. They coo and squawk, their strange tonal sounds carry well across the landscape. The wind blows. Metatron leans into Castiel and he lets her, the length of her arm presses up against his. The sun sets. The moon rises. The ice and snow are bathed in silver light.
He has missed this. The silent companionship of his brothers when time has no meaning. Although Metatron is different. Castiel cannot hear her presence as he hears the rest of the host.
“I do not hear you,” he says. It has been hours since either one of them spoke.
“I do not hear you either,” she says simply.
“Why?”
They are both staring out across the landscape, leaning slightly against one another but not looking at each other.
“When I was turned,” she begins slowly, “when Michael altered Elijah and I, we were entirely ill-prepared for what we had become. Although our state had been changed, our consciousness had not. We still thought as humans and the heavenly host… having the host inside our heads, hearing the host inside our minds… To you it is a comfort. A constant. To me it is an intrusion, lurking in the corners, always watching, always listening. When Elijah and I became angelic, we requested…” she frowns. “We begged to have our minds left to ourselves. Human consciousness left solitary in angelic vessels.”
He questions her use of the word. “Angels do not have vessels. We simply are.”
Her lips curl in a wry smile. “You’ve always been an angel. When I was transformed, I did not think of my angelic form as my own. It was the vessel I wore, the divinity I cloaked around my mortality. I had a mortal lifespan as a human and I’ve had over thirty-five hundred years as an angel. I should not remember as much about being mortal as I do. I should not identify as much with humans as I do. But I am a landed immigrant, and although I speak my new language fluently and perhaps better than some of my brethren, I will always speak it with an accent.”
She places a hand on his arm and turns to gaze at him and in the moonlight her eyes are sterling and bright. “I don’t know if you will find my presence a comfort or a burden. I’m not like you. I am not like the brothers you miss. But I know what it is to become something you don’t understand. I have known longing in my heart for what I once was. And… and I did not wish for you to be alone. I wish to be a brother to you. Not as the other angels are, but only as I can be with my human nature. I offer that, if you will have it.”
She releases his arm and goes back to standing next to him silent and still, the sides of their bodies still touching. She does not press for an answer. She does not ask what he is thinking. She stands beside him and they stare out across the frozen night.
The night is not long, nor is it short. It is irrelevant to them. Hours pass unnoticed. The sun crests over the snow, tossing down sparkles of light carelessly and beautiful. Pink and orange darts breaking up the blue and white of the dark.
“Emotions are not new to me, but the intensity with which they overcome me now is… difficult,” he says finally.
She huffs. “No one said feeling was easy.”
“I am…” he struggles. “You have shamed me with your generosity. With the spirit of your offer. You do not know me and yet, you are here. You came.”
“I don’t want you to feel shame.”
He looks down at his shoes which have become encrusted with ice and snow. “But I feel it. I knew of your transformation when it occurred and I did nothing. I was not a brother to you.”
She shrugs. “Like the penguins, I do all right. And you forget, I always had Sandalphon.”
“May I ask, where is he? Do you know?”
“I know where he is,” she says simply. “He knows where I am. Like me, he is following his heart.”
“I would very much like your companionship.”
She smiles and bumps her shoulder into his. It’s an odd gesture of camaraderie that he wasn’t expecting and his eyes widen as he rocks sideways slightly from the jarring motion. He hesitates a moment and then copies the gesture, knocking his shoulder back into hers. She chuckles.
“Your humans will be missing you. The shorter one in particular, I think,” she says.
Startled at how easily he has forgotten human time frames, he reaches cold fingers into his pocket and pulls out his phone.
He has six new text messages.
How goes it?
U ok?
Stop ignoring me.
Srsly where r u?
Youd better be dead.
Fuckit didnt mean that last one. U ok?
Metatron has been leaning over his shoulder reading. He looks up at her and she flashes him a sheepish look. “Sorry. I’m nosy.”
“I should return.” He slips his phone back in his pocked. He wavers for a moment, unsure.
“Why don’t you call me once you have talked it over with them and had a chance to think on it. As the humans say, you should sleep on it. We can see how it goes from there.”
“Dean. And Sam. Their names.”
She nods. “Talk to Dean and Sam. And take your time. I’ll be…” she waves her hand. “Around. Leave a message if I’m out of range.”
“Where will you go?”
“Africa. I think. Did you know hippopotamus are mean fuckers? I’ve got to go see one up close. Also, male peacocks show their feathers when they are courting but sometimes if they are enraged as well. I wonder if I chase one, if it will make him mad or if he will be interested in me enough to show its feathers.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m gonna find out.” She takes a step away from him, a courtesy of human nature so he is not disturbed by her transport, he realizes. “You should bring Dean something. To apologize.”
“For what?”
“For not answering his messages. And don’t tell him it was my idea.”
She’s gone.
***
The Winchesters are still at the same hotel. When he appears in the room, Dean jumps slightly, the phone on his lap falling off to the floor with a thunk.
“Jesus, where have you been?”
“Antarctica.”
Dean narrows his eyes at him as he hops off the bed and stands in front of Cas. “Yeah, dead in Antarctica for all I knew, with the angel spike of death through your throat. I thought you were gonna update me?”
Oh, fuck, he totally sounds like a nagging housewife.
“I am sorry, Dean. I lost track of time.”
“Whatever,” Dean huffs. He can be cool about it. He’s not a nag. He’s so not.
He realizes he standing with his hands on his hips and he drops them immediately. He stares at Cas, Cas stares at him.
“Where is Sam?”
Apparently, Dean is a bitchy mofo when he’s worried because Sam had grabbed his laptop and announced that he would be back half past ‘when you learn to stop bitching and whining and not take it out on me-o’clock.’
Or something like that.
“He, uh, went to the library. Or a coffee shop. Or a diner or something,” Dean mumbles. “So, uh, how did it go? You’re still alive so…”
There it is again. The Cas Smile. Small upward curve of the corners and just a hint of teeth.
“It went well. She is not like my other brothers.”
“Thank god.”
“Yes.” Castiel nods once firmly.
“So, she gonna help us with the apocalypse or what?”
Castiel furrows his eyebrows. “I did not ask.”
“What? What the hell did you talk about this whole time?”
“We did not speak much actually. She told me about herself. I touched a penguin.”
Dean is staring at him. “Dude, sometimes you’re, like, way out there.”
“I told you, I was in Antarctica.”
“No, I … never mind.”
Castiel pulls out an object from his pocket and hands it over to Dean. “This is for you.”
Dean takes it and rolls it over in his hand. It’s a rock. Which is… well, weird. It looks like any other rock. It fits in the palm of his hand and is vaguely round.
“Uh, thanks?”
“I gathered it in Antarctica. It is a meteor from Mars. It is one of the oldest pieces of the solar system.”
Wow. That’s kinda cool.
“Space rock.” Dean rubs his thumb over the rough surface.
“Yes. It is very rare. And I am sorry I did not send you a message.”
Dean smiles and looks up through his eyelashes. “Is this an apology rock?”
“It is.”
“Thanks.” It’s not a question this time around. “C’mon, I need to eat something and you can tell me all about penguins and your brother.”
“Penguins used to fly but they don’t anymore. Now they are land based and swim in water.”
“Shitty,” Dean replies absently as he stuff his feet into his boots.
“I don’t think they mind. They are content being what they are.”
Dean’s patting his pockets in search of his keys. “I’m happy for them. Fuck, where are my keys?” He finally finds them deep in the pocket of yesterday’s jacket. Now that he’s found them, he goes over in his head what Cas has just been saying. He fiddles with this keys, spinning them around the ring. “So…” he drawls out. “Penguins are cool with it?” He steps forward into Cas’ personal space. He feels nervous about the answer.
Cas relaxes his posture slightly, but doesn’t move back. He no longer holds himself ramrod straight when they are standing close. It’s a funny thing, a little thing, a thing that people do automatically that Cas had to learn. When someone you like is in your personal space and you want to welcome them into it, you don’t have to move back, but you do have adjust your body slightly to make allowances.
“I believe the penguins are happy.”
ETA - this just in... penguins give each other rocks as a show of an intent to mate! OMG. this was total happenstance on my part but I love it SO HARD. Thanks to the commenters for pointing it out!
Penguin Love
TBC
