#healedserpent

The trip to Half Moon Bay was very late, but Castiel still eventually made it.

It had been interrupted by the angel tablet, Samandriel’s death and resurrection, Naomi trying to kill him, a very long convalescence and the necessity of re-learning how to fly on wings which Castiel had still not figured out how to phase off of the visible plane.  But even though Julian had to return to work, leaving the angel (and his very big brother) in Darrington, Washington, and even though they could text one another, and even though their relationship was sometimes very rocky, their mutual affection remained a real thing.

So, probably not too surprisingly, Castiel’s main goal once he did start relearning how to fly -- which involved nose bleeding and ringing ears at first, but slowly got easier over time -- was to retrieve Julian’s housewarming presents.

He had gotten them before all of this and had hidden them away in one of his caches in the anticipation of actually getting to help Julian move.  Of course, Naomi’s interference put a decisive end to that.  But the gifts were still there.

It took Castiel four days to get them and get back to Half Moon Bay, too.  Flight now was still limited, though he seemed to be getting stronger at it with practice.  He slept in a barn loft, in a shelterbelt of trees, in other places.  And he updated Kemuel that he was all right, so his archangelic brother wouldn’t worry over him, using the phone Julian had mailed him.

But finally -- and unannounced, wanting to make it a surprise -- he appeared in the demigod’s living room, wings and all, with gifts arrayed around his feet.  Including what looked like a case for a guitar.  It had been over a month now since Julian had to come back here, and Castiel had spent a worrying amount of that time pining over the demigod’s absence, even if they had made a minor mess of things.  But that yearning was real.  The seraph nearly ached with it.

“A difficult discipline, cancer.  I can’t say I know much about it, beyond a layman’s knowledge, but I know it takes a great deal of study to attain your position.”  Still, the man was indulging him and Castiel took advantage of it for the moment, tilting his head to the side. “What made you decide to become a doctor?  And a specialist in oncology?”

Apparently, relearning how to fly was going to be a trial.

Still, there was no way to relearn it by simply waiting.  And Castiel, even sheltered at Kemuel’s cabin and therefore safe, didn’t like being flightless; didn’t like the sensation of not knowing his wings could carry him to safety.  The physical presence of them kept the psychological alarm bells from ringing constantly, but he was still aware of being grounded.

His first attempt ended with him unconscious in the forest where he’d been walking, bloody-nosed and passed out for an hour.  His second attempt wasn’t any better.  At least on his third try, though, he only needed to sit down instead of pass out, but he still wasn’t going anywhere.

But he could feel, just faintly, the sparks of his grace.  It seemed he had to actively reach for it, though, instead of passively.

The rest of his time, when he wasn’t disappearing into the woods to stubbornly relearn his new landscape by himself, was spent around the cabin.  He worked with Kemuel to try to come up with wing-friendly furniture to sit on, and he figured out how to fold his wings when sitting on a flat surface by folding them down alongside himself, primaries pointed back.  He made sandwiches and held Julian’s hand and kissed his cheek, but he didn’t let his lower body get anywhere near the demigod, either.

Now, it was only a few days before Julian had to go to Half Moon Bay and go back to work; to say Castiel was dreading it somewhat -- not knowing if they would be able to keep in contact or see one another -- would be an understatement.  Another reason for him to try to re-learn how to fly.  And to stop bleeding from the nose with every attempt.  And to stop having a terrible headache with every attempt, too.

The bus stopped several times before Castiel got off of it.

The mandate of holding onto the angel tablet had overridden virtually everything; some manner of subconscious programming that was pressed upon him at his creation, forcing his mind into clarity for this mission; laying hands on it had broken Naomi’s control of him and restored at least his recent memories of her edits, and if not for the fact that he had something he had to protect, he might have found some place to curl up catatonic for what was restored.

But he did have the tablet; even in a knapsack, he could feel the power in the proximity.  There was no letting it fall into Naomi’s hands; no letting it fall into Dean’s, either.  Both would lead to catastrophe, Castiel was certain.

Even then, his mind sometimes skipped back to his brother.  Even with the tablet providing both mandate and purpose, he remembered killing Dean over and over.

Even in all of that, some part of him wanted to find somewhere and scream until the sky itself came down.

He didn’t.  He had a duty.  He could do this; he could be even slightly good by doing this, and keeping his species safe.

His mind was churning at lightspeed, but he did have at least a few thoughts beyond it: Kemuel would be watched, he was certain.  Julian might be in danger.  The boys, at least, could hide in their bunker.

So, he slipped into a phone booth and used a bit of power to get a dial tone without money -- his cellphone was missing, lost somewhere along the way -- and dialed Julian’s number from memory.

[Text: Julian] No thanks necessary. [Text: Julian] If you want to see me around. I don’t want to interrupt your work or sleep too badly. [Text: Julian] Also, I finished the sun room with my brother.