They weren’t her woods. Her family wasn’t here – no nymphs were here. It was a pocket of forest too close to civilisation, and nymphs were here. It was a pocket of forest too close to civilisation and nymphs would choose to avoid that wherever they could. They knew nothing about Thanksgiving or telescopes or the fact that the world might be ending soon and they were happier for it.
But Mrs Butters – because that was, at least partly, her name, now, it was how she thought of herself – would keep looking. They would be somewhere out there and she either had all the time in the world or the world had an expiration date fast-approaching she could do nothing about.
She knew she was being watched for about two hours before he showed himself.
The angelic energy within Jack was new, volatile, powerful. This angel was… tired, though he appeared to be a handsome man that was sure of himself.
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“Good afternoon,” she said. She could flee, surely, but an angel could find her. And she wasn’t certain yet that this one wanted her harmed.
“Hello.”
There was a tension to the angelic right arm. She suspected they were gripping an angel blade within the sleeve of that trench coat. “My name is Castiel.”
She smiled, feeling an unfamiliar twinge of nervousness. “Oh, you’re Jack’s…” she swallowed, “his father, aren’t you?” She bit down on her lip, carefully thinking through her next words. “You weren’t at home. They missed you.”
“I heard you were looking after them. For a time.”
“I wanted to look after them, I really did.”
She tried again for a smile to return him. His own smile was far from comforting. “It had been so long since I’d had any kind of family to look after. “I just wanted to keep them safe.”
“I can understand that,” he said slowly. “I want to do that too.”
Mrs Butters knew then that she would have to leave. She recognised that surety of purpose as clearly as her own reflection. She was going to see the woods in Europe, that had been her plan next. She snapped her fingers, expecting the unbearable expression on the angel’s face would fade away from her. But it didn’t.
The angel sighed, as though disappointed in her. “Mrs Butters, after hearing how you were able to hurt Jack, I was not going to come looking for you without taking some precautions taken first.”
Carefully, Mrs Butters let her eyes roam around the clearing she had found herself in. The way the stones had been arranged – so intricate, yet so easy to miss… “Ah.” It was impressive work. She pulled herself up straight and tried not to feel as trapped as she was. “Well done.”
He took a deep breath in that she knew all too well was only for show. And angel! In woods that should have offered protection for her.
If only those woods had not been abandoned.
“It’s not that I’m seeking vengeance, though I was, as you can imagine,” he explained, walking slowly towards her, “upset to hear how my family were threatened so easily while I was away from them. You were trying to torture and kill all the things I care most for in all the world.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, knowing there could be nothing else to say, nothing that could stop this righteous force of rage and vengeance. Worse, she could not fault it.
He stopped, his feet about a metre away from her own as his wide eyes searched her face. “I believe you. But you know where they live, and you know how to bend it to your own will far better than they could. They’ve had so little places to be allowed to be safe in, in their lives. I want them to hold on to this as long as they can.”
“Are you going to kill me?” she wasn’t quite aware of deciding to ask the question. For a treacherous moment, she wondered if she might be a family she could recognise.
The longer he stared at her, head cocked carefully to one side like a scientist admiring a specimen (and oh, she knew that look) the more achingly aware she became of her own body, and every part of it that had, or had not ever, felt any discomfort, any pain.
She had never met an angel. She wondered if he would transform a little to hurt her, if some of the incomprehensible broiling form beneath his vessel would reveal itself when he held his blade with purpose.
“No,” he said. “What I’d like to do is remove the memory of the bunker’s location from your mind.”
“Why not take all of my memories? Or kill me?”
“I’ve had both done to me. Neither stuck. And I’m trying not to be the person who would do harm like that.”
She smiled. “I understand now. What made Jack try so hard to be good.”
He looked moved as he nodded again and took another step towards her, but she held out a trembling hand to stop him. “No offence, but things go wrong a lot, fiddling around in brains, don’t they?”
He said nothing, but she saw the admission in his eyes.
“So if I could just ask, before – how are things going? With Eileen?”
“I believe Sam still communicates with her regularly.”
She nodded, trying not to think about having another person rifling through her mind. “I’m glad he had someone. And Dean, is he -” She opened her mouth, then stopped. “I was never sure of his preferences. But I hope he finds someone like that. Though I suppose they both have you, don’t they?”
She wasn’t sure what to make of his expression now.
“They do.”
“You know,” she said hurriedly, staring at his open palm outstretched towards her, “I wouldn’t mind terribly if you took all of it. I would be sad to forget all my boys, but I don’t like thinking about what was done to me, what I – I almost did to them at the end. Could you, Castiel?”
He smiled, and though it was kind, it was anything but soft. “I want you to remember what you did, what you almost did.” He laid his hand down on her head and Mrs Butters felt pain, pain like nothing Sinclair and all his paltry toys and tricks had ever mustered from her.
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Dean: You sure you're all right?
Castiel: Yes. Are you? There's something different about you.
Dean: I'm fine.
[Castiel grabs his arm and pushes up his sleeve revealing the Mark.]
Castiel: What have you done?
Dean: It's a means to an end.
Castiel: Damn it, Dean.
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Dean: You should've come to us for help, Cas.
Castiel: Maybe. It's too late now. I can't turn back now. I can't.
Dean: It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!
Castiel: Dean, it's not broken! Run. You have to run now! Run!
I'm only gonna say this once. If you touch a hair on their heads, I will tear it all down. Our arrangement -- everything. I'm still an Angel, and I will bury you.
