priorcommitment | friends, i have to tell you: they sent me on a mission down to earth

There are many things in life that Ishiah frequently regards as superfluous. Gestures that have little meaning outside of what people choose to attribute to them. Money that gets spent on presents that have little practical worth. But in the time that Ishiah has spent on earth, he's come to acknowledge the value of symbols. The white hyacinth has no inherent properties that will bring Dean Winchester back to full health, no powers of healing, but the symbolism it carries is not without worth.

Either to himself or to the healing.

Years ago, a young man strode into Robin Goodfellow's life without any prior warning. It was a young man that Robin had known before, time and time again, in other lives, under other names, but this encounter was perhaps the one which elevated their relationship to a point which it had never met before. Friendship was the reason, lives interwoven and love exchanged. And Ishiah was there to witness it, to see all the ways it changed Robin; although for a long time, Ishiah wasn't sure whether or not to say that it was a change for the better, these days there's a soft fondness in that area of his chest that he can't rid himself of. An inherent love for man and all its flaws, no matter how tangled lives became.

Caliban Leandros was swept away, used by a host, and with no promise of being able to return to who he'd once been, his family had put everything on the line to save him. Robin included.

Somehow it's worse this time, because Robin didn't even get the chance to try.

Ishiah stands at Dean's door, knocks sharply on the wood, carries a potted plant in his arms and a hope for forgiveness, because for the first time since he arrived in Darrow, he truly feels that he's failed someone.

More than one, even.

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"Slipping," says Dean, and wouldn't have thought he had room for anything colder to settle in his chest, but when he opens the door wider for Ishiah to come in, his face is grim. Time had been unreliable when he was possessed, more and more moments stolen from him until Dean was all but gone, peeking out at the world around him in only the barest glimpses. Stretched and hollowed in every possible way, he hadn't had much time to hope for salvation, but it angered him now, how much sooner he might have been saved, how many lives might have been saved, if Robin and Ishiah had known.

"Sometimes it feels like this place has it out for me personally," he says, taking the flower to the window, high where Annie can't reach. She's out now with Castiel, but her presence is all over the apartment, hairs and toys and little beds. Dean hasn't had time or energy to put up all his wards yet, and one arm trapped in a cast wouldn't have allowed for much, but Cas has burned devil's traps into very nearly every surface, and he feels safe enough inside his own walls.

"Maybe it's for the best," he says. "Everybody I did know that I came near only got hurt."

There's no point in arguing against the emotion that comes across in Dean's expression, because Ishiah is pretty sure that he can't stave off his own anger. He tries, and especially hard now that he considers himself so largely responsible for Robin's well-being — when the two of them feed off one another's turmoil, little is left standing in their wake — but the truth is that the tighter he feels the leash looping around his neck, the more determined Ishiah is to drag a tear through Darrow and find his way out. He's angry. No other feeling could have arisen out of being kept from protecting those he cares about.

"It's not for the best," Ishiah says, brows furrowed in determination. "Even though keeping Robin safe is my top priority, I have to admit that our free will is more important. If he wanted to put himself in danger's way for the sake of helping you, he should have been able to do so. The same can be said for myself. If it's happened once, it can happen again."

The air around Ishiah's body grows slightly hot, crackles with his anger with a snap of heat. "I feel my memory riddled with blanks or alterations. But I can't even pinpoint what possible motivation could have resulted in all of this, other than perhaps someone exercising a sick sense of humor."

Dean's well used to displays of angelic power, and he doesn't flinch, though a part of him shrinks with unease at the sudden heat. He's all too aware of his humanity of late - hell changed him, but he's not a demon, and his body is as fragile as the rest of his kind, however many supernatural beings have had their hands on him in the last few months.

A few months, spent without so many Dean's come to care about. It happened slowly but surely, almost entirely against Dean's will, but when he thinks about it now, how long it's been since he's seen Robin, Dean finds he misses him. "Yeah, well," he says, "Demons don't have the monopoly on sadism, and this isn't the first snowglobe I've been trapped in."

With so long to root around in Dean, the demon had shaken some memories loose. They're as tangled as ever, but they're there, waiting to be unraveled. "That island they talk about, from what I remember, it was like this, too. Putting us through the ringer just to see what we would do."

This isn't the first time that Ishiah's heard of the island, and he's sure that this won't be the last. Although Ishiah himself harbors no intimate knowledge of such an island, he's more than well aware of travel across dimensions, and the fact that some worlds are far harder to escape than others. If anything, Robin's involvement with Caliban Leandros resurfaced that fact with alarming speed, ripping open a thin veil and threatening to release Auphe on a world that was utterly unprepared to stand against such destruction.

Compared to those hells, Darrow is in no way as bad, except on one front: knowledge.

It's hard to come by.

Changing the subject, Ishiah draws slightly closer, his countenance calm again and the air around him settling.

"What was it about this demon that slipped by your defenses, Dean?"

"It was old," says Dean. "When it was in me, it was like thinking through soup, but that thing remembered the pharaohs. It was one of the most powerful I've ever come across, and smart."

And here Dean sighs, because even with all that, it should never have gotten into him. "And I didn't exactly have my defenses up like I should have. I took down my wards, tried to be a civilian for a while. And I must have scratched by anti-possession tattoo without noticing, because it got in me, and branded me up so it couldn't get yanked out again. I don't know when it happened. To tell the truth, I don't remember a whole hell of a lot at all about the last few months."

"The oldest demons are certainly the most cunning," Ishiah agrees quietly, concern flickering across his face. If there are demons of that age in the city, maybe it stands to reason that both he and Robin should keep an eye out. Perhaps even take action of some sort, rather than waiting around as per usual. Nothing about Darrow screams a neutral ground. That type of peace hasn't been earned.

Which makes all the difference.

"I assume Castiel's gone to greater lengths to ward your body against threats. I can try and see what I can do as well, although the demons I'm most accustomed to are very different than yours. Possession is not a problem so much as passive influence."

"Devil on your shoulder kind of deal?" Dean surmises, and terrible as that might be, all he looks is jealous at the thought. "Where I come from, they force their way inside of you in every way, wear you like a shell and ride you hard until your body gives out, and even that doesn't stop them. But I think I'm safe from possession for now. Used to just have the tattoo."

He pulls back the collar of his shirt. "But I'm pretty sure Cas branded the charm right into my bones." Dean blinks, thoughtful. "Next to the Enochian that shields me from angels. Could be that's part of why you didn't sense anything up with me."

"Devil on your shoulder, convince you to do things you'd never imagine doing, and it rarely benefits them to keep you alive," Ishiah replies with a slow, steady nod. The demons that Dean's familiar with sound just about as bad, but it's just different, either way. He doesn't bring up what immediately comes to mind — the wracking guilt some get when they end up persuaded by the demons Ishiah knows. Because there's no trace. No indication that a veil has been thrown.

Just the aftermath, driving people mad.

"Enochian charms would certainly make it harder for me to sense you," Ishiah says then, quickly moving topics. "How does Castiel still manage to keep track?"

"Prayer," says Dean. "It shouldn't work, and it doesn't always, but sometimes it does. He says we have a more profound bond than most." Dean shrugs, looking away with an unaffected air he doesn't feel.

"He pulled my soul out of hell, put my body back together. I guess that was enough." Peeling back his sleeve this time, Dean shows Ishiah the handprint. "Had his mark ever since. And when all else fails? Cellphones."

Ishiah listens to all of the possibilities that Dean suggests, thinking about any impact that they've had in his ability to connect with people as an angel. The link to prayer is easy enough; as a telepathic angel, the ability to pick certain words out of the noise was a fairly significant one. Ishiah supposes that listening for a certain voice in particular would have helped it hone further still.

"Unique cases arise sooner or later, I suppose," he muses, nodding solidly. "It's good that you have someone to look out after you. And it sounds like you've helped him gain perspective in return."

friends, i have to tell you: they sent me on a mission down to earth

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