Chapter Text
When Castiel felt Death calling for him, he knew that something had gone . . . awry. Dean was pacing, worry etched onto his features, and Castiel made sure to leave the room unhurriedly so as to not draw the hunter’s attention. He was tense enough, any extra worry may cause his brain to . . . overload.
The basement was silent, but there certainly was something different, something resonating inside Castiel’s grace. When he opened the heavy door to the safe room, it was as if something inside him snapped open, allowing old instincts to drive him. He was pretty sure that his true self could be seen within his vessel as he hurried into the room, but any worry that may have caused was overshadowed.
The young grace (nestling, fledgeling, child, baby, vulnerable-needs-protection!) nestled into Sam Winchester’s body was crying out in fear, squirming in Death’s tight grasp. Part of the angel wanted to defer to the elder being, but instead Castiel snarled at Death, reaching with everything in him for the child in distress. His whole being pulsed with ‘need-to-care-for, protect, keep-safe, nurture-’. Death pursed his lips, but laid the nestling into the angel’s outstretched arms (this physical form was too big for the infant grace, too unruly and too hurt, memories of pain and damage in the muscles and brain matter). It was the work of a moment of grace to turn back the clock, bring the flailing grace-being into harmony with the physical vessel.
It reached for him clumsily, longing to connect, and Castiel accepted without thought, cuddling this newly heightened consciousness close. This infant has gone through so much pain that he is scared by the lack of it, scars lancing through its grace and what appeared to be the remnants of a soul. The grace seemed to recognize him, giving out a too-loud greeting of Castiel-love-safety-shygreeting-loveyou-helpme-don’thatemeplease-.
Castiel cooed to the infant, cuddling him closer now that the physical form allowed for him to do so more easily. That this child should feel so afraid of hatred from its own kind-
That was where Castiel’s brain seemed to start working again. Because this child had been (was) Sam Winchester, who had seen so little worth in himself that he had thrown himself into damnation. Sam Winchester, who had seen no love from angels, because true love was unconditional, like the Father’s love. No, no-sad, don’t-blame-you comes the communication from the little being before him, and Castiel’s grace sings with sadness and relief. It has been so long since an angel had been born in heaven, and feeling the vulnerable trust this new creature had in him went a long way towards healing the hurt caused by his slow fall from Heaven.
“What the Hell-” a voice came from behind him, and Castiel felt his tenuous grasp on the human world falter as he turned on the intruder, wings instinctively flaring in a display meant to intimidate. Dean took a step back, hands going up, and Castiel let his wings relax a bit, instinct to protect his young charge appeased.
Death swept forward in that moment, haughty face smooth and calm. “Dean Winchester,” he said, “calm yourself or you will upset Samuel.” (Samuel, the name of an angel, meaning ‘God has heard.’ Castiel marveled that he had not paid attention to the name before.)
Dean’s expression was total disbelief as he stared at the small form in Castiel’s arms, and Castiel took a quick moment to notice the actual physical form the young grace is now inside. It looked older than it should given the age of the grace, perhaps close to a human 4-year-old. Jealously, Castiel wanted Dean to look away, to leave so that he could bond with the new fledgeling. Dean had had long enough with the child, it was Castiel’s turn now.
Samuel’s grace rippled when it noticed Dean’s soul. Mother-father-brother-caretaker-love-protector-Dean was the blast of feeling from the child, but Castiel felt the infant grace cling even tighter to his, as if afraid. A specific fear split through the grace as the nestling drew itself and its senses inward, tucking itself away from the world.
Ignoring Dean for the moment as Death swept the hunter inexorably away, Castiel let his grace brush against the child, trying to coax it to open up.
“No!”
That . . . that wasn’t the emotion-heavy, wordless communication Castiel had been getting from the child. That was Enochian.
“Samuel?” Castiel pulled his awareness into his vessel, tightening his hold on his charge. But the outburst seemed to have been a one-off, the body gone still in his arms even as Samuel’s grace roiled. Gently, Castiel let his wings manifest into full physicality, wrapping them around the nestling angel in his arms. He hoped to bring some comfort, prompted by his own memories of being swaddled in such a way by his own caretakers. The brush of feathers caused the nestling to look up, and Castiel was caught by tear-filled eyes. Those eyes expressed so much sad, scared emotion, that Castiel very suddenly realized what Dean meant by the term ‘puppy-dog eyes’. There was indeed a similarity between Sam’s hazel eyes and those of a sad canine.
Tears began sliding out of the eyes and down soft cheeks as Samuel looked up at him. The boy’s breath hitched between breaths, a kind of overwhelmed expression on his face. “Samuel?” he asked again, trying once more to brush his grace against his new sibling.
This time, something (memory, impressions) was pressed into his grace from the young mind, and Castiel paused to consider it. (darkness and pain and get-small-so-you-don't-hurt and the surrounding presence of God’s most powerful warriors-) Something slid into place. That (abominable) cage had been built to house (punish) Lucifer, had fed off of his grace to do so. With the extra grace of Michael included, the cage must have become even crueller. With nowhere to hide, this infant grace knew nothing but pain. The lack of it must have been overwhelming (or would it be underwhelming?).
Death re-entered the room. Samuel started crying, hiccuping sobs falling out of his mouth.
Face wrinkled in consternation, the primordial being gestured to the nestling. “He will not be able to do what he needs to like that,” he said, and Castiel tucked his wings even tighter around Samuel, trying to hide him from view. “No need to be protective Castiel,” Death said flippantly, and Castiel just barely kept himself from snarling. “All I mean to do is awaken some of his human mind under all of that grace, give him a way to process this world.”
Still, Castiel hesitated. A small hand had grasped at one of his feathers, holding tight even as the tears continued to fall. “It won’t make things worse?” he asked.
“It is necessary.”
Castiel could feel Death’s power begin to weigh on him, firmly but insistently. He could not fight this, and the power expressed to him that things would be worse if he tried. Gently, Castiel released his feather from Samuel’s hand, even as the infant grace cried out and retreated away again, frightened by the world. (Frightened by a lack of pain.) As soon as the angel’s wings were parted enough to expose the child, Death pressed a finger to Samuel’s forehead.
The body did not change much, perhaps a couple years older; from an infant to a toddler. (Castiel was not good at human ages.) But suddenly, there was an awareness that had not been there before.
“Cas’iel?” asked the boy, tongue clumsy in his mouth. Death drew away.
“Samuel?”
“What . . .” the voice was high, young.
“I will send Dean in,” said Death, and left the panic room. The boy left speech behind for the emotions worry-anxiety-hope-self disregard-exhausted.
Castiel cuddled the young body close, feeling more keenly than before the human mind trying to make sense of the world he was in. The grace still roiled, scared and confused, but there was less uncertainty to it.
“Cas?”
“Yes, Samuel?”
“Is this . . . real?”
Castiel knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should be worried about the mix of English and Enochian, but he was too relieved that the boy was speaking words out loud, rather than just the jumbled emotions flaring in his grace.
“Yes Sam, this is real.”
Big eyes looked up at him. “Dean?”
“He is on his way.” The whole vessel relaxed at that, as if the only thing holding it tense had been a lack of his human brother (which wouldn’t surprise him). Castiel placed one hand under the suddenly floppy head, worried about the fragility of the human form. Young humans were even more fragile than mature humans! No angel this young had ever been en-vesseled, what if something horrible happened to Samuel because his body became injured? One of Samuel’s hands wrapped around some of his feathers again, and Castiel made sure not to dislodge that hold as he adjusted his grip on the vessel.
“What the fuck happened.” The words said question, but the tone (Castiel was getting good at recognizing Dean’s tones!) said nothing but ‘danger’.
Scared-shame-love me please-Dean-Dean-Dean , came from the form in his arms, and Castiel sent a swell of love and support to his newest sibling.
“Be kind,” he snapped at Dean, being careful to keep his anger from showing in the grace he had wrapped Samuel in. “Your brother has been through something you cannot fathom. That he still exists at all is no minor miracle.”
“What did you do to him?!” Ah, so Dean’s animosity was not towards Sam, but rather towards Castiel himself. Good.
Luckily, Death answered. “Your brother has spent thousands of years in a cage, nothing between his soul and arch-angel grace. As such, he has essentially become an angel himself.” Dean spluttered. “And since angels mature at a much slower rate than humans, and his grace is still new, Samuel is going through a second childhood.”
Dean threw his hands up in the air, and there was something amusing about the consternation on his face. “This could only happen to Sam,” the human muttered. Castiel was confused.
“Of course, no other human has ever been locked in the Hell-cage,” he responded. Dean rolled his eyes at him, which he had learned meant the human was exasperated or annoyed.
“Not what I meant.” Dean’s eyes focused on Samuel in Castiel’s hold. He held out his arms. “Give him here.”
Castiel’s instincts rebelled, because no, this human could not possibly know what a precious being this child was, but . . .Samuel was leaning out of his arms, hands reaching for Dean.
Reluctantly, Castiel let the child go.