Arias: Discovering Connections

 In which Jeremiah and Sarrin learn they have far more in common than they think.

In Which Lt. Non and General Astra search for one family member and learn of another.

In which a very frank conversation between three friends at the D.E.O changes the world.

Chapter Text

Jeremiah walks into Sarrin's room. She is clearly somewhere else in her mind. Not frantic, but completely and totally in another room and another time. She sits on the floor and her eyes slowly become present.
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude.”
“Jeremiah you never have to apologize to me for something like that. I like being able to share. It's in my nature to have very thin boundaries.”
“In that case, it didn't seem like you were caught up in a memory.”
“That's one gift of my people. What we see in our minds eye, if we work at it, is as real to us as the physical world.”
“Are you like Xavallens then?”
“You know about Xavallens?” Jeremiah simply nods. “You've met one before?”
“Is it really that rare? Are they really that rare?”
“It's rare to meet one anymore. Let alone for someone on a planet tucked in its own little corner of space to have met -if I'm hearing the missing notes correctly got to know- one. Their home-world was destroyed almost 300 years ago. Most of them are nomadic. But some have established themselves as minorities on a few other planets. And three thousand years ago Atraxi, Enkarens and Xavallens were one species on one planet, one continent even. The Enkarens left for the distant shores and spent so much time among themselves... it's why they look so much like themselves: they didn't have anyone else to procreate with. We went to Thelia and Atridia, neighboring continents and were still very much part of each-others lives. That's why my people and Xavallens look so much like each-other. By the time any of us reached for the stars, Enkarens didn't look like us anymore. They looked like...well they literally were a concentrated version of what all of us had been. I'm not sure how literally to take the story but it is TRUE. No one knows exactly when we reached for the stars, or even if we left together. The races my people found must have been a lot like our own because our genes haven't faded.” She brushed the turquoise fish scales at her temples. “It's the one external difference between my people and Xavallens. We figure genetically it's a sign of genes hat have gone dormant in Xavallens. And the greater of our powers along with it.”
“Okay, not sure what you mean there, Nikita had powers.”
“Nikita, male or female?”
“Female.”
“Well Xavallens are still low-level empaths, but it really is diluted compared to us. I'm not being mean I'm letting you know that my people are intense, immediate empaths. Any person in the room affects us, and we feel everything as if it was a part of us. I feel crap as if it were my own.” She rubbed her right wrist with her left hand. “Xavallens sense things, we experience them. I don't mind experiencing what you and J'onn give me. And J'onn's mental abilities allow him to put up certain barriers so I don't sense everything about him all at once. Even when it's not bad or unpleasant it's overwhelming.” She lay on her stomach as if settling down with a good book.
“I take it those abilities are enhanced or amplified in the Enkaren genome now?”
“How do you mean?”
“You said Enkarens were the extreme of themselves—yourselves. And if all of you had the genetics for these abilities...”
“Yes, you are right. Outside of my people and Xavallens, Enkarens aren't recognized as having anything to do with us. They have this ability that is known as traumatic hypnosis. An Enkaren can absolutely make you believe that whatever surroundings they feed into your minds eye is real. A more intense version of what I was doing when you walked in here.”
“Would a half-breed still maintain these abilities?”
Sarrin stared at him. “A half-breed Enkaren? If the other half is a compatible species.”
“What about half-human?”
“No one would try that. No one bothers with Earth.”
“Are we truly such a in-the-middle-of-nowhere planet in the cosmos?”
“Well, no so much. It's more your rationality... which is not the right word. How you think of yourselves as being alone in the cosmos and how much we would have to prove that we are at least your equals. Some of us, like my people or Euphorians, can mostly blend in here. But J'onn in his native form. Well let's just say if he couldn't look more human than he does, he'd never leave his house in the morning."
“Are we really so backwards, so tucked into our own little corner of the universe, that everyone else avoids us?”
“You mean why would a few members of a nomadic race not settle on Earth?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“I imagine they would but again, they look like you. I mean they look as much like you as Kryptonians don't they? And she certainly would not have had any externally discernible powers that would draw your attention. How did you know what race Nikita even was?”
"Because every single time she met someone new she would put her left hand to her heart, fingers spread apart and say 'my name is Nikita. I'm Xavallen." But I have no idea what it means." He found himself struck by another thought. “You compare them to Kryptonians specifically.” Jeremiah said in a strange voice.
“I was born on their planet.”
Jeremiah's face went completely slack. Sarrin's expression became withdrawn.
“I take it you have some bad memories of that place?” Jeremiah said finally.
“You take it In-correctly.” Sarrin replied. “I was still a child when I left. And most of my memories of that place are actually pretty decent. It is a noble memory, not a sad one that gives my face this look.” She picked up the clipboard from under the coffee table and began drawing. “I was 8 years old when my mom and I fled the planet. Here.” She handed Jeremiah the clipboard. With a single symbol, drawn in purple. “I've never been much of an artist but someone wearing this symbol broke the law saving my mother and I.”

(Larger than normal Superman symbol with elongated S)

Jeremiah picked up a darker pen and began drawing a symbol on the clipboard.
“Are you sure it wasn't something like this?

(Proportionate Superman symbol with properly placed 'S')

“What in the name of whatever God you believe in.”
“I have an adopted son. When he was 12 years old he found a small trunk filled with things from his past. Including a one-piece suit with this symbol on it, like a breastplate. Can you tell me what it means?”
"It's his family crest.” Notes the confusion on Jeremiah's face. “Kryptonian family units are Houses...the lesser houses would wear thier symbols on the cuff of thier shirts, near the wrist. The 'nobler' houses would wear them on their chest." Sarrin looked away, clearly saddened by the memory. "Trying to leave the planet had been declared 'inciting panic based on groundless suspicions'...until the day the skies tuned red and the ground beneath us began to shake. My people were...unimportant. Pushed to the side during the evacuation. Someone wearing that symbol helped my mother and I on one of the transports. But he stayed behind. I didn't recognize the crest. I never learned his name."
“My son's Kryptonian name is Kal-El. It was in the message.”
“A son of the house of El. That's comforting...somehow.”

“If it's me you want, take me. I make myself your prisoner, willingly. Just please, don't hurt her anymore.”

(Declaration of intent for the scene; not dialogue)

“No, leave her alone!” Jeremiah cried. He reached up and was faced with guns from two alien soldiers. “Take me, please.”
“We cannot let her go. We cannot risk her running back to her superiors..”
“Her friends.” Jeremiah corrected automatically. “She has no 'superiors'. Only friends and fellows. One particularly close friend.” A second solider stepped forward. Is that you?"
Jeremiah shook his head sadly. "Well, how close are we to her friends?”
“I won't betray them. And I will not let Sarrin out of my sight.”
“Then you're coming too. Which direction is their camp? Hopefully we will be going the other way.” Jeremiah hesitated.
Sarrin stood. “Jeremiah. They are sincere. And more determined than violent. I don't think they have any interest in Arias.”
The first solider nodded. “I can assure you that much is true. I am to bring you to our superior. Come. Now.”
Jeremiah stood, and watched Sarrin be blindfolded. “You, up here. Your friend will be safe with Jarron Dax.” There did not seem to be anything to do but fall in line with this order.

“We should learn each-others names. My name is Jeremiah, this is Sarrin.”
“I am Lieutenant Non. This is General Astra.”
“You're not from here either are you?”
“We are not.”
“So, what happens now?”
“Now we find out what your friend knows about a friend of ours.”
“It's been two weeks.” Jeremiah thought to himself. “every time they take her and she's gone for hours. Why don' they ever question me? They must be looking for answers they think only another alien can provide. But what are they doing to her? Every time they bring her back, she can barely move. 'no that's not right' he forcefully corrected himself. 'She's dazed and disoriented but it is not fair to say she can barely move.' “Why does she defend them?” He pondered aloud. The guard looked more closely at him. Jeremiah faced the man more directly. “What is it about Astra that has Sarrin so deferential to her?”
“GENERAL Astra inspires loyalty. Lt. Non commands it. The Atraxi very wisely does not resist their presence. I mean, why wouldn't she?”
“Atraxi...You're Kryptonians!”
“What of it?”
“I assumed you were White Martians, or Enkarens. That you were looking for J'onn, someone from Arias. Well, this explains a lot. Not everything__but a lot of it.”
The guard stepped aside when Lt. Non brought Sarrin back into the compact, comfortable room that served as their cell. “It's alright, just tired. It's been 31 hours.”
“Not sure I understand. But I understand more than I did.” Sarrin instantly fell into the most peaceful, motionless sleep Jeremiah ever imagined witnessing. He had to admit that was probably normal for Sarrin's race. He sat down against the rear wall of their cell and tried to sort his thoughts. General Astra and Lt. Non might well be married. But they were soldiers first: they addressed each-other by rank in front of their guests. The outlines they wore on their left breast was probably military insignia. They bore no family crests. So either they had been dis-commended, or they were not from one of the great houses, as Sarrin once described Kryptonian families.
“36 hours. 36 hours.” Sarrin muttered, sitting up.
“I'll ask you about that later. I think I understand why you keep defending them. ALL Kryptonians were your 'superiors' back on their planet, weren't they?”
“Just so.” Jeremiah gave a sort, entreating look. “If I had been two years older when everything happened, I'd still have a dark blue cloth above my elbow indicating which great house I served. They are Kryptonians. It wouldn't occur to me to question their honesty. Unless my empathic abilities told me otherwise. And I sense no such matter.”
Non returned ten minutes later. Jeremiah stood between him and Sarrin, his hand stretched to Non as if putting distance between himself and hideous danger. “Leave her alone.” Jeremiah declared with a forcefulness that caught Non's attention.
“That's quite a change. To see that you have a spine as well as a tongue.”
“I intend to use both. Please, whatever you want from her, take me instead.” He seemed to consider the man in front of him. “Would it do any good to beg for it?”
The flat tone of his voice made it hard to determine if it was an inquiry or an assumption. Non stared at him and he levelly returned the stare. Finally Non shook his head. “That you are willing to do so tells me enough. Come with me.”
“You seem different today Mr. Danvers.” General Astra prompted him.
“You're Kryptonians. It's the only thing that could explain Sarrin's deferential attitude. You have no interest in any of my friends do you...the ones at Arias.”
“Not unless one of them is a blonde-haired young woman energized by the sun.” Jeremiah's head perked up. “Where is she?”
“I don't know who you're looking for.”
Non delivered a fierce backhand to Jeremiah's jaw. “Where is she?!”
“I don't know who you're talking about.” Jeremiah insisted just as fiercely. Non took a threatening step closer. “I don't think you would have me lie.”
“This place you talk about, Arias, does it live up to its name?” Astra inquired.
“Extremely so General.” Jeremiah replied.
“You live in a sanctuary for peaceful aliens.”Lt. Non interjected.
“For almost 5 years. What of it?” Non did not reply, nor did he need to. Jeremiah continued on his own. “J'onn leads a group of vastly different species. Some look very closely human, like Sarrin. Some look completely human, either by choice or genetics. Some have powder blue skin and golden-tinted eyes. Are you looking for one of them?”
“We're looking for one of our own. A woman who'd be wearing this symbol.” Non tossed Sarrin's notebook to the ground. It fell open to a very familiar page.
“The house of El?” Jeremiah breathed. General Astra started. “Are you FROM the house of El?”
“You know it?” She demanded fiercely. “What do you know of it?”
In response Jeremiah held his right hand up, all four fingers bent toward his palm, his thumb against the side of his hand. He was taking an oath. “My son, Elias would wear this symbol. His Kryptonian name is Kal-El. It was his 12th birthday when we found the ship that brought him to Earth and learned this much. But I didn't know the significance of the symbol until I came to Arias and met Sarrin. While she was born on Krypton, she is not herself Kryptonian. She's the one who drew this symbol. She couldn't read it either, but it meant the world to her. A man who wore this on his chest saved her life when Krypton was destroyed. She was, only a small child at the time. So the symbol was understandably burned into her memory. All these things I swear to you.”
General Astra's features softened. "I'm looking for Kara Zor-El. She is Kal-El's cousin."
"And you are her family." Jeremiah surmised.
"Yes. She's my niece. We..my husband and I don't wear that symbol because neither of us are of the house of El. Kara's mother and I were sisters." Astra's gaze became rather fixed. "You don't know what that means?"
“I haven't seen anyone wearing that symbol except my son. I've met no other Kryptonians...until now.”
“We traced the trajectory of her pod to Earth. She might be living as one of you. And might not understand her name and origin.”
“And she might never have learned it.” Jeremiah intoned. "May I ask you a question?" Astra nodded. "What was Kal-El's father's name?"
"His name was Jor-El. Kara and Kal's fathers...were brothers." "This is making a ridiculous amount of sense." Jeremiah whispered.
"Kal-El is the only Kryptonian known on this planet?"
"I haven't seen him in five years. Maybe he's learned otherwise. But when I last saw him, he wholeheartedly believed he was the last of his kind."
"How can a father not speak to his son for so long a time?!" Non queried.
"I...I Can Not leave Arias."
“WHAT?” Astra and Non asked, completely in sync with each-other.
“I am under house arrest at Arias. J'onn will not permit me to leave and I would not try to escape. I swore on oath that without his order to the contrary, I would not leave his side. He has told me that I am free to move about Arias as I please, so long as I do not attempt to leave the place. On Earth that is called house arrest.”
“Then what are you even doing outside its borders.” Non demanded.
“fair question" Jeremiah thinks to himself. "It was a favor to J'onn. Sarrin has not set foot outside the village in more than 30 years. She is...precious to him. And for the brief time I'm out here, she is my responsibility. I see it as my duty to him, to protect one of his closest friends. I do not know how I could face J'onn if I let anything happen to Sarrin. My son believes I'm dead. And it must be so. Hank Henshaw, believes I'm dead, for which I am grateful. Sarrin and I...home for us is Arias, with J'onn and our friends. And I am telling you, if any Kryptonians other than Superman were known to exist, they would be known to us, to The D.E.O or to Arias. I've given you as much of an answer and I have. Please, let us go back.”
“How did you come to be, as you are?” Non queried, half to himself.
“What are you doing to Sarrin?” Jeremiah countered. “I won't say another word until I know for certain that she is safe and unharmed.”
“You have the right priorities.” Lt. Non observed.
“I was a solider before coming to Arias. But that is not an answer.”
“Sarrin is safe. We've interrogated her yes. But it has never been torture. We had no reason to hurt her.”
“She came back to you exhausted every single time.”
“Because she was falling asleep Jeremiah.” Lt. Non offered patiently.
“What?”
“Her people are awake for 31 hours and sleep for five hours. There is nothing that can keep them awake a second longer. There is nothing that can wake them up a second sooner. We brought her back to you any time she needed to sleep.”
“That's why she kept talking about 'it's been thirty-one hours.” Jeremiah took a reassured breath and voiced another thought. "You truly have no interest in Arias? You are not...pursuing J'onn?"
"I do not even know who that is." Astra confirmed.
"Then I am not betraying him by leading you there. If anyone outside the D.E.O can help you...it's him."

THIS is Hank Henshaw and a stranger named Mon-el talking to Nikita!

 "I'm still not convinced that in every species no matter how horrible there is room for improvement. But the stories of my people, especially our sacred texts teach that in every species in the galaxy there are exceptions.  That no matter how uniform thier behavior or single-minded thier philosophy, there are always those who's natures run counter to the mainstream. We call them 'horrata'. It means 'an exception to the rule. And not just a minority. A star in the ashes. But all this is in the positive, and it goes the other way too.. White Martians are in general ignorant, arrogant assholes, but I cannot deny there might be some that do not want to be defined by hatred and actually resist the 'truth' that they deserve the world and everything in it.  Human's don't understand this because you are so multi-faceted and so individualistic that the only consistency in your entire race IS variety. We...you have a reputation for being self-focused and self-important. The strive to improve your own situation your ambition and...well this is on an entirely individual basis, singular, ego-driven, self-improvement. And of course that's all true but what is so easy to miss is that individualism allows for an unheard of, and for most cultures unfathomable amount of diversity.
 Most species are known by a tendency or a proclivity. Whether they are known as a race of weapons manufacturers, of warriors or the equivalent of Franciscan Friars --my race is by the way would be in that list-- they are all known and defined by that quality or trait or choice. You could say 'there is some soul of goodness in things evil', but the reverse is just as true. Horrata is exceptions to the rule regardless of whether the rule is virtue or darkness. You cannot put a race into one box or the other, ever. no matter how big the box is, no matter the label, not everyone fits into that box. I have never found a planet where this was so completely true. But it's like, because you don't have boxes, you don't understand how hard...and rare...it is not to live in one."
"I get the feeling there's more you want to say." Mon'el told me easily, if slowly.
"Everyone has good and evil inside of them and you can't put people into a box of virtue and light any more than you can a box of Evil and Darkness. Many would label Hank with the latter. In my experience 'finding a soul of goodness in things evil' is the only time this truth is even considered, or thought upon. As I said the reverse is also true. I can't put someone into a box labeled 'pure light, goodness and truth',  But if I could, Jeremiah would be in it. He is the only human like that I ever knew.” My voice resonated with sadness and I closed my eyes.
"I can't argue with you there." Hank said in a low voice.
I looked over at Mon'el who very politely wasn't saying anything. Perhaps it was closer to genuine consideration than manners. “Jeremiah was the D.E.O. Agent who broke me out of this place, almost 2 years ago now...and died in the line of duty several months later. Hank came looking for me, told me of his death, and asked me to work with him.” I stared at Hank and he stared right back at me. “I am sorry, it is not my place. It really does have to come from you.”
“Jeremiah was...a courageous as well as a noble man.” Hank began slowly. “For own own completely personal reasons, neither of us would question it...or him. I never thought much of him but he showed he could put his duty above his personal feelings, acknowledging but overcoming what he thought of me as an individual, to defend his commanding officer. He died saving my life. And when I came back I asked for Nikita's help, to make sure I never misjudged anyone quite as badly as I did Jeremiah Danvers.”

Elana is of a race called Enkarens, well she is a half-breed but identifies herself as one of her mother's people. She can give people images or videos in thier minds eye if she maintains the connection, like they were watching a movie or in a holodeck. She's explaining that if she were entirely of her mother's people this would be a full immersion experience, indistinguishable from reality. Where ever they would put one, one would literally believe they were there and it was real. To other races in the galaxy this ability is known as 'traumatic hypnosis'. It's an misnomer, but an understandable one." She says. Her race are such fierce and capable warriors, this is assumed to be the only way they'd use that ability: to bring enemies to their knees. Her friend suggests that might not be because of the Enkaren race at all. But because other alien races are such single-minded warriors and conquerors. They would use a gift this way, it is what makes sense to them. It is the only 'sensible' thing to do according to thier mindset. Think not so much 6 mice each seeing parts of an Elephant and calling it something else. More like 7 mice seeing an entire elephant and still coming to 6 different conclusions about what they're looking at.

When I wrote down the scene of Henry Allen and J'onn Jo'nzz (And I jsut realized I haven't posted that yet I am SO sorry) I wrote their host as someone other than Nikita because I didn't want to involve her in the story. I didn't want to force this stand alone scene, unrelated to any other work into the narrative. And when J'onn Jo'nzz of Earth 9 had a companion, an alien at Arias that *could not* be Nikita and later spoke with a visiting Elana, I used that story/memory as an unneeded explanation for the connection between this young, quiet alien and the green Martian J'onn Jo'nzz. But then I got far enough in the story that J'onn and Jeremiah came back to the D.E.O and realized I could not play Nikita and J'onn as complete strangers. In that moment, back in the young girl's apartment with a human named Henry and an alien named J'onn Jo'nzz, thier host never called herself by name. I called her Atraxi for the very reason that this was not part of the same narrative... which now it actually IS. Solving both problems simultaneously, When J'onn returns with Jeremiah to the D.E.O he will recognize Nikita as that same human-looking alien who gave himself and Henry Allen shelter and with whom he had an epic 'open mouth insert foot' experience. This will have the important benefit of no longer dismissing the scene I wrote with Henry and J'onn. And also allowing for SOME type of connection to exist between J'onn and Nikita. Before being taken to the D.E.O Nikita went by the human name of Sasha Jordan Scott.

Good Deeds Returned (SPN)

AFTER being attacked by a vampire who for some reason took no pleasure in the feeding (and left him alive) Dean brings said vampire to his home. Castiel is...different.

"Well Castiel do you need a place to stay?”

The man – for in That moment Dean thought of him as a man – stared at him, uncomprehending.  "I think we both need to get out of here, preferably without being seen. Come on, I'll take you to my place."

Despite being the one with the bleeding gash in his neck, Dean found himself carrying Castiel into his motel room. Castiel fell into the metal dining chair, dazed. Dean let him sit there quietly while he went into the bathroom for the first aid kit. His first instinct was of course not to let his guest out of his sight for a second longer than he had to.

Somehow he got the impression the only thing he was in danger of from Castiel was that the man would run away into the night.  So he patched himself up in front of the bathroom mirror, cleaning and dressing his wound as efficiently and effectively as if it had been his whole profession. He returned to the living room to find Castiel staring at him, his eyes hollow and sad.

"If you're going to kill me, just give me a quick death."

Dean was floored. Not at the request as much as the realization that he wasn't even considering what should have been a common sense course of action. The man was staring at him, his eyes icy blue, his voice pleasant, and pained. “I know you're a hunter. I know your kind. I won't stop you. But please, just kill me and be done with it.

Dean knocked him out with one blow.  When Castiel woke up, he was tied to the chair he'd fallen asleep in. Dean was standing a few feet away from him, holding a silver knife in one hand and what he could only assume was a flask of holy water in the other. His face set with determination, permitting no emotion.  “Here's how it's gonna play. I'm gonna ask you some questions, about you, vampires in general. You tell me what I want to know, you get a quick death like you asked. You screw with me...or lie to me, and things will get very unpleasant...for you.”  He traces the point of the knife down Castiel's jawline  Capiche?”

“I capiche.” Castiel replied, nodding faintly.

Dean stepped back to give himself space to move, and a better view of his...whatever the hell Castiel was right now.<br />

“Okay to start with the obvious, were you targeting me?”

“As a hunter?” Dean nods. “No.”

“Then why me?”

“Your strength. I sensed your strength vibrating off of you. You are powerfully alive.”

Whatever Dean had been expecting to hear, this clearly wasn't it.

“You figured I could survive you feeding off me.”

Castiel could not tell for certain if this was an assertion or a question. Deciding it didn't matter, he shook his head gently. “Take from it what you will.”

“When were you turned?”

“1508.”

It was a good thing Dean was trained by the absolute best hunters or he would have choked on air. “Are you serious?”

Castiel cocked his head to one side, as if surprised. “I wouldn't lie. Threat against my life or no, I wouldn't lie.” He swallowed hard, the defeated tone in his voice returning. Barely looking his captor in the face he added morosely. “And anyway, why would I risk it?”

“I'll accept that.” Dean stepped back, his eyebrows crinkled in thought. “What happened last night?” It was clear by the way his head jerked back, that he had surprised himself with the question.

“Blood loss wasn't the only thing making you weak in the knees, was it?”

Dean clutched harder at the handle of the blade. How the hell did this vamp understand him so completely? And why didn't It bother him more? “How do you know that?”

“Blood is life-force,” Castiel responded, as if stating a well known fact. “The very essence of who you are is in your blood. I learned a lot about you from the feeding.” He cast his eyes immediately to the ground. Worried he'd angered the man, terrified the borderline admission had sounded like a taunt. “Forgive me. I didn't mean that...the way it must have sounded.”

"Continue your story." Dean said with considerable patience.

Castiel looked up again, at least as high as Dean's chest. He took a calming breath before obeying. “For us feeding is an extremely sensual experience, intimate and intoxicating. The...victim isn't always immune to it.” Castiel's calm eyes suddenly became over bright. “I do not know how to beg your forgiveness. But I AM sorry. Please believe that.”

Finally they had gotten to the heart of the matter. One of them anyway. “Is that why you're so eager to die? Because you believe you deserve to be punished?”

“It's not that I'm eager to die.” Castiel answered fiercely. “I am not eager to die. Merely expecting it. And I learned to live without fear of death long ago.”

“Well that I can understand.” Dean remarked. He turned around so Castiel couldn't see him smile. “A man who fears death has already died many times. And you've been around long enough to know that.”

“Yes, exactly.”

Finally Dean decided he'd had enough. Facing the vampire again, he held the knife at Castiel's torso, the left side of his ribs. Castiel's face wide slack. And although he had enough self control not to plead aloud, his eyes began pleading wildly. 'No! No you said that if I answered your questions.'

...Dean cut the ropes.

“Get out of here.” Dean commanded, his voice calm and controlled.

Castiel pulled the ropes off of himself, got to his feet, but made no move to leave.  “I don't understand.” He admitted.

“I needed to know what the deal was with you. And I didn't think you'd tell me in casual conversation. Well now I know. You're a vampire, but you're not a monster. I still haven't figured out what makes you different. But I have my answers. Anyway it seems pretty stupid to kill you after you spared my life.”

"Dean I'm gratified. No that's not the right word. Grateful. Grateful beyond words. But I can't leave."

"Cass, I mean Castiel I don't think you understand I'm not..." He had been about to say 'I'm not joking; you're free' or 'I'm not going to hold you here', or words to that effect but he never got the chance.

"...No I mean I CAN'T!" Castiel interrupted, gesturing wildly to the window. The sun was shining brightly in a nearly cloudless sky.

"Yeah. That...that is a problem."

Guardian Angel

Not my work but a serious inspiration and I wanted a record of it. Note: Dean and Sam saw Castiel fall form the sky years ago. Cass was surprised that a human with no belief for the lord would help an angel. He left once he was healed and now, years later has properly truly FALLEN in order to become Dean's Guardian Angel.

When the coffee maker whirred to life, Dean checked his phone. He had a text from Sam, a picture of one of his 100% test results and a text saying he got a few messages from Garth the night before. Dean felt himself blushing a little because apparently Sam was proud of Dean for actually taking Castiel out on the town. He also had a message from Bobby, just checking in on him. Dean texted his boss back and let him know that everything was good and they got home safe the night before

“Hrnnngh.” Castiel groaned as he stretched out on the couch. Den set his phone down and looked over. From where Dean stood, he could see arms stretched out over the back of the couch, feet sticking over the armrest and a mess of dark hair. Blue eyes popped up over the back of the couch and honed in on Dean. “Ah, good morning, Dean.” Castiel hummed in his rough voice. It sounded like his already rough voice was now tossed in gravel and heavy with sleep.

“Mornin’, Cas. Did I wake you?” Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat to the sound of that rough tone. No, Dean refused to get a boner just from someone’s morning voice. He refused.

“No, you didn’t.” Castiel answered, he sat up and stretched his arms out again. It had to be a good stretch because he groaned softly. “The magnificent scent of coffee woke me.” Castiel said with a small smile, he rose from the couch.

“Uh, did you sleep good?” Dean asked, he turned and grabbed their coffee cups from the strainer by the sink. “I’ve been thinking about buying a futon or something for you.” Dean said, trying to keep his mind off of the gravel sweet voice that seemed to tickle the very base of his spine.

 

“I slept alright.” Castiel answered, he walked into the kitchen. “What is a futon?” Castiel questioned with a tilt of his head. Gravel voice and cute-as-could-be head tilt? Dean had to bite his tongue.

 

“A futon is a couch that turns into a bed,” Dean answered, he set the mugs on the counter and looked at the disheveled angel. His borrowed clothes were wrinkled from sleep and the sleep pants he also borrowed were low on his hips. Dean was only drooling because he bit his tongue, surely.

 

“I find the couch suitable.” Castiel said, he leaned his crossed arms on the counter. Dean smiled a little at him, “though a bit more space would be nice.”

“I could get one for the living room or have one put in the office.” Dean told him, “that way you could have your own room sort of.”

“My own room?” Castiel questioned, his eyes on the coffee maker humming beside Dean.

“Yeah. Your own room, that gives you some… privacy, y’know? And I won’t accidentally wake you if you’re asleep and I need to go to the bathroom.” Dean explained with as much discrepancy he could manage. Did Castiel even know he had a dream that had him moaning last night? Was the angel aware that Dean had gone into the kitchen for pills and heard the fluttering breaths?

“You haven’t woken me up.” Castiel said, he looked Dean for a moment. “Do you mind if I stretch my wings?” He asked with a hint of awkwardness, like he was expecting a quick ‘no’.

“Cas, I’d love if you stretched your wings.” Dean answered, “I told you before, as long as it’s just you and me you can have your wings visible.” Dean told him with a smile. And Dean meant it, he would give anything to see those glorious limbs any moment he could. Castiel blushed faintly, looking back at the coffee maker. Dean would do anything just to see Castiel comfortable really.

 

“You’re sure?” Castiel asked quietly, uncertain.

 

“Castiel, I think your wings are awesome. They’re beautiful and I don’t mind if you’ve got them out.” Dean told him sincerely. Castiel glanced up at him through his lashes, “you’re not going to make me uncomfortable or anything. When we first met you had wings and a knife to my throat, it’s gonna take a bit more to scare me now.” He said with a smile. Castiel blinked at him and took a deep breath, uncertainty waning.

 

There was a shift in the pressure of the room. Dean felt static rush like a wave of water over his skin. Then, glorious black wings stretched out across the span of the kitchen. Glossy, iridescent black wings with an amount of feathers Dean couldn’t possibly count. They ruffled slightly as the large limbs outstretched and then folded in comfortably against the angel’s back.

 

“Do not worry about your shirt, I can use some of my power to mend it.” Castiel said, he craned his neck to look at his back. Sure enough, the black wings had slotted through a slit in the borrowed shirt. The feathers were puffed out where they came in contact with the fabric, but no damage was done to the downy fluff.

 

“I’m not worried about my shirt.” Dean said softly, his eyes taking in the velvety black wings before him. The coffee maker beeped and he tore his gaze away. He poured the coffee into the mugs, the dark liquid beautiful but it had nothing on the jet black appendages in the room.

 

“Also, I don’t think I ever apologized for that night.” Castiel said thoughtfully as Dean put the coffee mug in front of him. Dean raised a curious brow, unsure of what the gruff voiced angel meant. “For threatening to cut your throat.” Castiel clarified sheepishly.

 

“Oh!” Dean almost laughed. He picked up his mug and blew on the steaming hot liquid. “I don’t blame you, Cas. I probably would’ve done the same!” Dean told him. Castiel looked at him, smiling softly, blue eyes sparkling.

 

“You never cease to amaze me, Dean.” Castiel said as if it were just a simple comment. Dean felt his ears turn red and his tongue burnt on his coffee, but the pain was drowned out by the fire in his heart. “I could have acted without defense back then. You were a teenager, what harm could you have caused me?” Castiel murmured, “well, I suppose you could’ve done some damage if you needed to.”

“Cas, I wasn’t sure if you were an alien or not.” Dean chuckled, “you had wings, man. You still have wings! You fell from the sky in the middle of a field, you can’t blame me for being a little curious and scared.” Dean said, his mind wandering to the crazy storm.

 

“I still should not have drawn a blade on you.” Castiel sighed, he sipped his coffee. “I felt that if I had hurt you a lot of things would be different right now. I would have been punished too.”

“What are those sword things, anyway?” Dean asked, he wanted to pull the solemnity from Castiel. The angel quirked an eyebrow and looked at him. “Raphael had one too.” Dean pointed out.

“They are blades. Not quite a short sword, not quite a dagger. Forged by God for us angels to defend ourselves if the situation arose.” Castiel answered, he lifted a hand with a flick of his wrist he was holding the silver blade. “It is the only weapon in creation that can truly harm another angel, not counting demonic weaponry.” Castiel told him, he balanced the blade on two fingers. The weight was even along the silver, no tilt or wobble.

“A weapon that hurts angels?” Dean asked incredulously. It felt a little ridiculous that God would create a weapon that could hurt His Heavenly host. Castiel flipped the blade in his hand, offering the handle to Dean.

“Yes, hurts and potentially kills.” Castiel answered, he looked at Dean’s expression. Surprise and shock toward the blade. Dean hesitantly took it, the handle was the same material as the blade, only wider in girth. There was a lip for the guard and a small flare at the base for the pommel. The weight was nothing more than a few pounds, almost weightless and balanced to feel light.

“Isn’t that sort of… I dunno, macabre? He made a weapon just for angels to fight one another?” Dean said as he examined the blade. There were no blemishes on the silvery metal. It was as if God had forged it himself, and He did. Pristine and proper, no blemish, score, or stain, ruined the reflective surface.

“Yes,” Castiel said, his eyes watched in wonder as Dean flipped the blade under a scrutinous gaze. “I believe God knew there would arguments and fights between the angels in time. Thus he created a weapon for us to ‘duke it out’. No angel has died because of it though.”

“What happens if you get hurt by it?” Dean asked cautiously. He was holding the only known item that could cause actual harm to Castiel and honestly that scared him. Castiel was trusting him to hold the very item that could potentially kill him. Castiel trusted him. Castiel trusted that Dean wouldn’t lunge forward and pierce the silver blade through his chest.

“Well, you saw me when we first met.” Castiel answered, “the blade can pierce through my skin and instead of blood it is Grace that comes out.” Castiel told him, he sipped his coffee. Dean twisted the blade in his hand, the lights from the ceiling shot off of it in reflective angles. On the far wall of the kitchen was a rainbow of colour spread along the wall.

“Your Grace.” Dean murmured, he looked again at Castiel. “How… well, how is it now that you’ve Fallen?” Dean asked. He set the blade down on the counter, it rolled back and forth slightly before coming to a steady stop.

“Dean,” Castiel started. His brow furrowed and his feathers ruffled as his wings twitched. “Dean, I…” he trailed off, struggling to find words. Seeing him troubled and uncertain pulled at Dean’s heartstrings, it was almost as if he could feel it himself.

“You’re not dying or anything, right?” Dean asked worriedly. Castiel cracked a mile for a second and shook his head.

“No, I am not dying.” Castiel answered, he took a deep breath. He set the coffee mug down and his expression hardened. “I have lied to you.” Castiel told him with an expression that should be unreadable. But Dean could read it, regret and shame, care and hurt.

“A-about what?” Dean asked quietly. Was Castiel not his guardian angel after all? Did Castiel not really Fall? What could the angel be lying about? It was making Dean nervous.

“Balthazar did not call upon me. I sent word to him.” Castiel answered, his eyes bore holes through the centre of Dean. The mechanics’ heart beat in a rhythm he didn’t know possible. “He did want to see how I was adjusting, but I wanted to ask him some questions.” Castiel said slowly.

“You could’ve told me that.” Dean said softly. Castiel wet his lips, his wings twitching as he took a nervous drink from his mug. “Oh, there’s more to it.” Dean murmured, taking a deep breath.

“My Grace will never fully replenish, Dean. When I Fell… I left a mark on you. I left a mark with my Grace and with that, I imprinted a portion of it upon you.” Castiel explained, his eyes drifting down to the blade on the counter. Dean stared at the angel so hard that if he had lasers for eyes, Castiel would be cut in half.

 

Dean was suddenly aware of the hand print on his left shoulder. He thought about the hospital and the rest of his burns that stung like sandpaper rubbed him raw, but the mark on his shoulder was soothed as if it were covered in balm. His ribs had mended at an impossible rate as well, including his wrist. Was that because of what Castiel left inside of him? An imprint of Grace. A fragment of angelic power.

“I…” Dean trailed off, he didn’t really know what he wanted to say. The only thing he could compare the situation to was a soap opera where one character confessed to giving their love interest an STD. Though this was nothing compared to that, this was an angelic power, Castiel’s Grace, not a sexually transmitted disease; at least he was pretty sure it wasn’t similar.

“I do not wish to make you uncomfortable, Dean.” Castiel said quietly. Dean looked at the angel’s face, he could see the shame and pain on his face.

“No, I’m not uncomfortable.” Dean told him and it was mostly true. He wasn’t uncomfortable, at least he didn’t think he was.

“Because of this… imprint… you and I share a profound bond.” Castiel said, he worried his lower lip with his teeth.

“You’re my guardian angel now, so that makes sense.” Dean murmured, he carefully picked his coffee mug back up. Castiel looked conflicted, as if the information he was trying to share was hard for him to bear.

“Your first night home,” Castiel started with a frown, “you had a bad dream. I… I could sense it, Dean.” Castiel told him, his eyes not quite meeting Dean’s.

“Sense it?” Dean asked quietly. He felt uneasy, but he couldn’t quite understand why.

“Yes, sense it. I could feel your… discomfort.” Castiel answered, he took a drawn out drink of his coffee. “You and I are connected in a very literal sense.” Dean stared at the angel, gobsmacked, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, and absolutely mind boggled. Castiel turned white as a ghost, to red, to a soft shade of pink. His blue eyes burned into what might have been Dean’s chest as he refused to make actual eye contact.

“What do you…” Dean trailed off, it made sense to him. The empty feeling in his chest, the hollow pain like part of him was missing. It was because of his ‘profound bond’ with Castiel. The two of them were connected on a spiritual, Heavenly, mental level. There was some sort of Heavenly binding wrapped around Dean’s very soul, cemented in angelic Grace and pulling him toward Castiel. It explained the sudden feelings that Dean would get, the ones that didn’t feel quite like his own. He too was sensing Castiel.

 

“Dean, I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Castiel told him, his face drooped with sadness. “I wasn’t even entirely sure until I spoke with Balthazar.” Dean looked at the Fallen angel, his guardian angel. He wasn’t mad, he didn’t have a reason to be mad. He felt a pain in his chest like grief and regret, a feeling that he now understood wasn’t his own.

“Cas, slow down.” Dean said with a forcefully light laugh. Castiel closed his mouth, his wings folding in tight, feathers lying flat, blue eyes locking onto Dean’s green.

“If you are angry with me, I understand.” Castiel said quietly and Dean could feel the apology in his words. All these feelings, all of it made more sense now. His imaginary need to be near Castiel made so much sense. It made sense but Dean knew in the very depths of his being that he would’ve felt the need even without their ‘profound bond’.

“No, I’m not angry.” Dean said, he took a big-probably too big-gulp of his coffee. He set his mug down and cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’m angry, at least.” He mumbled, he ran a hand across his face. “Cas, how much of me do you… feel?” Dean asked and boy was he impressed at himself for asking, but also more than ashamed.

Castiel stared at Dean silently for enough time that Dean thought he was going to go bald. Castiel finished his cup of coffee and stretched his wings nonchalantly, if one could call a stretch that made wings shake nonchalant. Dean felt a bubble of anger, not quite anger but flustered frustration forming in his chest.

 

“Castiel!” Dean said and his voice was a bit louder than he intended. The Fallen angel snapped his eyes back on Dean and turned a shade of pink Dean would consider rose gold.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Castiel said bashfully. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, “I realize I should have told you sooner.”

“Cas, I’m not mad.” Dean told him again and he bravely reached out his right hand to touch Castiel’s arm. Damn, his forearm was muscular. Muscles and lithe, it looked lean and thin but it was definitely hiding a layer of muscle that could probably lift a freight train with ease. Castiel took a deep breath, a glance at Dean’s hand on his arm, and then at his face.

“I did not mean for this.” Castiel murmured, “I only meant to protect you.” the expression on his face just hurt Dean to his very core. The angel Fell for him and accidentally connected their souls or whatever, how could he possibly be mad? Dean set his empty mug down and took a deep breath.

Dean’s green eyes grazed over Castiel’s face. His sharp cheekbones, angular nose, square jaw, the stubble that never seemed to need tending to. Blue eyes, so blue they made the oceans look dirty. So blue the sky was put to shame. So expressive it made Sam’s puppy dog eyes whimper. Wings, blacker than night and trembling with uncertainty. Endearing uncertainty.

“If you think I’m mad or upset, you’re wrong.” Dean finally managed to say. “Cas, I like having you here. Profound bond or not.” Dean told him sternly because he sure as Hell meant it.

“I’m not trying to manipulate you… I’m not trying to be like Raphael.” Castiel started rambling. Dean could see the spiral before it even began twisting.

“Cas.” Dean said, he pushed himself away from the counter and walked around. His right hand gripped Castiel’s left shoulder. He didn’t even realize he was mimicking the mark on his own shoulder.

“Dean?” Castiel replied quietly. His voice was so quiet, so diluted, that Dean realized it didn’t have a single beat of the power he knew Castiel commanded within him.

“I’m not mad. I’m not upset.” Dean repeated with as much intensity as he could. Blue eyes burned into green, worriedly hitting a titanium wall. “Castiel, the moment I met you… It’s like… it was magical.” Dean said awkwardly, but finally saying it aloud. He shifted back on his heels and rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably with his brace. Was he really about to do this? Confess his most likely irrational feelings?

Castiel looked at Dean, his expression guilty and also curious. Innocent and willing to learn. Dean could tell then and there that Castiel didn’t mean to leave the mark on him, he didn’t mean to leave a piece of his Grace within him. Castiel was just as innocent as Dean was.

“Since you’ve been back… every time I go somewhere that you’re not, it’s like a piece of me is missing.” Dean told him after a moment more of consideration. Castiel tilted his head a little. “It’s obviously not my imagination either.” He added with a faint smile and shrug.

“I’ve felt it too.” Castiel said quietly, eyes lowered. Dean gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, Castiel took a sharp breath inward. “I fear I am the reason that Heaven is in disarray.” He murmured, eyes hesitantly looking to Dean.

“Because of this?” Dean questioned.

“Yes, because of this. There has never been a human with angelic Grace before.”

 

“Is it going to kill me?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Is it why my ribs are practically healed?”

“I believe so. You are indeed healing at an extraordinary rate.”

“Is it going to hurt you?” Dean asked and Castiel looked at him hard. Dean pressed his lips together, his hand falling from Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas,” he said quietly, worriedly.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Castiel answered after a moment, “I cannot know for sure.”

“Can you just… take it back?” Dean asked, he looked down at his chest. He could feel a small roiling bit of anger forming in his chest and it certainly wasn’t coming from him. Castiel frowned at him, shaking his head. “You don’t want to, either.” Dean whispered, understanding the anger from Castiel.

Heart with Loving Heart United #420

 In the old blue hymnal #420 was Heart with Loving heart United. I loved it because it was more about how we should treat each-other, in obedience to God's will than how we should be as human beings, children and the creation fo God.

But there was one verse, "may we all so love each-other and all selfish claims deny. So that each one for the other will not hesitate to die." And I sung it every time putting more space between the all and the so because it wasn't "also" and I thought that was important.

"May we all SO (thusly, to that extent) love each-other.  the same way the verse described the way Christ loved us. 

Whenever I can I write examples of that. But leaving Christ completely out of it. Here are a couple of the better ones.

“May we all SO love each-other. And all selfish claims deny.”

'Will this be our life now? it's better than it was, especially for her. And that's what matters.'. The alien would come, feed us, ask us a few simple questions and then leave. He never did anything more TO me than shove me against a wall or punch me in the chest when I was 'being implacable'. But he actually, well, took care of us. And I was having trouble making heads or tails of him.

“This is...I don't even know how to finish that sentence.”

“Nikita calm down, you'll only exhaust yourself.”

“You're right. It's just our host, for lack of another word confuses me.”

“How do you read him? I mean I know you can, a lot better than most.”

“I'm not a telepath. I can sense someones' motivations and intentions, and any strong feelings. That's about it.”

His motivation is what I'm trying to figure out. For holding us prisoner the past month, he doesn't seem particularly interested in us.”

“He's trying to make sense of us. More specifically, of me.”

“Does he know who you are?”

“That I'm an alien. The rest? He has a nearly accurate picture of things. I'm starting to suspect I'm 15 degrees off of everything I know about him.”

“How do you mean?”

“Either he's extremely a-typical for his race or I got the two confused to begin with. But he would've had longer than I did to learn otherwise.”

Jeremiah looked sad. “I take it by 'to learn otherwise' you mean 'to learn what living on Earth would have taught him'.” Nikita nodded solemnly, her straight auburn hair shaking slightly with the motion. “How long have you had to learn the ways of Earth?”

“I first landed on Earth not too long before you landed on the moon.”

“You do not look that old. Two, how much older do you think he is?”

“My people live about 120 years. He's been here for at least 300 years.”

“Okay how do you know THAT?”

“He's Martian. No matter what else he is, he's a Martian. Which...I hate being so clinical but Mars has been...inhospitable for the last 300 years.”

“Wait, are you saying that depending on which race of Martian he is...”

“Jeremiah, if that man wanted us dead we'd BE dead.”

“Then why the hesitation?”

“I'd rather believe the way he's been talking is a result of living on Earth for the last 300 years and not because I got wrong which race of Martian was which.”

“Okay, you really do need to sit down and vague out.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” Nikita's head dropped as she pulled her feet close to her hips as she entered what he knew to be a meditative state. Her knees were almost as high as her head. She could've been asleep except her eyes were moving. It was a pose she maintained into the next morning.

Jeremiah could sense something was wrong. The man's eyes never left Nikita's face. “Come with me, now.” He said to Nikita. “I'll not ask again.”

Jeremiah stood beside his friend, his attitude protective. “Leave her alone.” J'onn raised his hand as if to backhand Jeremiah. But seemed to think better of it in the last second. “Whatever you have planned for her, take me.”

“If I plan to take her and execute her. Do you still volunteer?”

“I would not. But I know you're going to. Nikita was right, if you wanted either one of us dead we'd BE dead by now. If you wanted us hurt we'd be beaten black and blue. What you want from either of us is answers.”

“And it's about time I get them.” He grabbed Nikita's wrist and began dragging her to the door. Jeremiah put his hand on the man's shoulder and forcefully pulled him away. “Your actions are heroic, if exceedingly unwise.”

'What do you want with her?' Why the sudden interest in her?' 'Leave her alone you animal!' These expressions stretched themselves across Jeremiahs face in about 2 seconds. But he said none of these things. Instead he held out his hands in an emphatically non-threatening posture. “Sir, and I call you that because I have nothing else to call you. I swear on my life if you hurt her, my restraint will go right out the window. I will probably die trying to put you on the floor. But if you let her go, you can do whatever you want to me__in payment of that debt.” This speech did not have quite the effect he'd intended. The green-skinned Martian backed away from his human charge and cast down his eyes. “This surprises you?”

“Yes. What IS she to you? I mean...who is she to you?”

“Someone who has been tortured for years by a man far more blind than I have words to express. A man I served under for years and at one time looked up to. And I would die before I let her come to harm again. If there is one truth of which I need no convincing it is that she is innocent. And that she is precious to me. I can't understand it. But PLEASE, she has been through enough, let her alone.”

“You've learned I'm not Enkaren. And not the threat you feared. You must have thought HE was. Why? More relevant question...Phobos or Deimos?”

“You know the difference?” The Martian was astonished beyond measure.

“I know who they are. I don't know which is which. That was the problem. 'In the early days of Mars there were two brothers, Phobos and Deimos. Their rivalry and bloodshed was the reason for the split of the Green and White Martians.' I learned that from an Enkaren woman I once knew here on Earth. From which I understood that Phobos and Deimos were like Ishmael and Issac from the Bible. Except they split along such divergent paths they became two separate races rather than founding two separate religions. I never learned who was whose progenitor.”

“You never knew if my kind were...Ishmael or Issac?”

“I've never met your kind before in my life. And the White Martian I met was Hank's favorite example of how dangerous aliens could truly be. She'd been in that cell for over a decade when I met her. No one could hold completely to their morals after that.” She spoke with unrestrained bitterness. “Henshaw was a Creech-ta. If not a Chrish-naka Sareth. Until now you seemed equally blinded.”

“And f you had known I belonged to Deimos... you would have...”

“ 'Deimos Pah, Tar-ek Ni-cha.' would have been the first thing out of my mouth when you entered the room.”

Jeremiah raised his hand. “Could someone provide me with a translation, please?”

“What she said was that I've failed or disgraced the name of my progenitor.”

“Deimos?” Jeremiah guessed.

Nikita nodded. “Phobos and Deimos are the two progenitors of the Martian race. White Martians are monsters. I was reasonably certain of that because of my other alien friends. I just never knew who came from whom.”

“How in the name of rational thought are you speaking the Enkaren language so naturally if you are not, yourself Enkaren?!” J'onn exploded with feeling.

“Because it's my native language!” Nikita replied, openly laughing at him.

“But you...you're not...” He rubbed his left forefinger against her temple, as if tracing something that shouldn't be there. “Are you Xavallen?”

“Why should that be of particular interest to you?”

The alien bowed at the waist and backed away from Nikita. “I...my name is... J'onn Jo'nzz. I must humbly beg your pardon.” He walked away without another word.

A couple of hours later, Jeremiah walked up the stairs and into the dining room. Where he saw J'onn sitting thoughtfully. “I'm hoping you can tell me. I don't know any of these people. These races.”

J'onn didn't mind. In fact he seemed rather pleased with the request. “Enkarens and Xavallens are sibling races to each-other. Enkarens are – genetically speaking in trouble – but also far superior to humans in most respects. Apparently, along with the Atraxi, they speak the same native language.”

Realization blanketed Jeremiah's face. “She doesn't make sense for an Enkaren.”

J'onn nodded. “Xavallens are a protected species. Their home world was destoyed 200 years ago. Most of them are nomadic. But some have assimilated, to varying degrees, into other cultures. Jeremiah. Well for one thing may I call you that?”

“Of course.”

“For 16 of the 23 major powers in these galaxies, if I had known what she was, my interrogation of her without cause against her, most especially without defiance sent would have been a crime.”

“Is that why this whole thing came screeching to a halt?”

J'onn looked at him rather oddly. When he spoke, his voice was soft and deliberate. “It came to a halt because I thought she was an Enkaren who you were keeping silent. Because in that moment,” He moved his hands out and apart like Jeremiah had done. “You proved yourself to be a GOOD man. And I realized I never should have laid a finger on you in the first place.”

“J'onn, you talk as if you've been a monster to us. You were nothing of the kind. You've been good, decent, kind, even hospitable to us since we woke up in your house. The rest of it was as much my fault as it was yours. And it's not like I didn't agree to this.”

“Minister, high minister, hear us for justice.” A woman said urgently.

“Show me.” Answered a man with short-cropped hair and a golden chain. He followed the woman. Samuel followed at a distance.

“If the Kaylar are not driven they will not work.” A soldier insisted.

A man restrained by ropes pushed in. “If their work lags it is because they are not fed.”

“You seem strong enough.” The minister countered.

“My work takes strength so they treat me better. Which isn't saying much.”

“You insolent little..” The solider said lifting what might have been a club.

“HOLD!” The Minster called out. He grabbed the weapon from the guards hand and held it loosely, pointing it at the floor to indicate punishment was not intended. “You know it is death to strike one of the Valar?”

“I know it.” The man confirmed.

“Yet you struck him, why?”

“To save the old woman.”

“How does one achieve the other?”

“They wouldn't stop for her. I knew they'd stop to save his so I put him in the way.” He looked the minister in the eyes. “I wanted to save her life.”

“At the cost of your own.” The minister observed. “What is she to you?”

“An old woman.” The man answered simply.

The Master Builder walked up to stand beside the Minister. “Lord Prince, give this man the death he deserves.” He said coolly.

'The minister is also a prince. That explains their reverence for him'. Samuel thought to himself.

“Why? The man has courage. You do not speak like a field Kaylar?”

“He who created us created all of us. We needed no help with the rest.” The man said, as if repeating a mantra. “In other words, God made men, MEN made this world what it is.”

“Of which God do you speak?” The Prince asked earnestly.

“He who made the stars and the planets, the soft winds and the thundering rains. He who created both brilliant and foolish four-legged creatures and the birds of the air. And who created both of us.” He said looking at the prince with intention.

“An all powerful God?”

“Very much so. My people wait for the day when God's messenger will pull the scales off of your eyes and straighten our backs.”

“Lord Prince this man speaks Treason.” the Master Builder said entreatingly.

“I speak of what I honestly believe will be a better day for both your people and mine. How is that treason?” The man insisted, pushing against the ropes that still held him back.

“I could not have answered better myself.” The Prince agreed. He tossed the birch-rod looking-thing to one of the nearby soldiers. Turning to the chief solider, the one who had first objected, ordered simply 'release him'. The soldiers at once began undoing the ropes amid gasps of surprise, some coming from the soldiers. The instant he was free, the man fell to his knees. He reached for the Prince's hand but stopped himself before making contact. “May God in his heaven bless you, Noble Prince. May I be permitted to one day repay you for this kindness.”

“What is your name?”

“Nathaniel.”

“Well, Nathaniel, go home, quickly. And from now on you will be__” Nathaniel visibly tensed, uncomfortable at the thought of being called away from his people, even as a reward. “__under my protections and in my debt.”

“Thank you Exalted one. God protect and defend you against all harm.” Nathaniel exuded. Both the prince and the woman knew he thoroughly meant it.