SPN Fic: On the Shores of the Great Lake
Jan. 11th, 2010 10:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
errant_janeTitle: On the Shores of the Great Lake
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 11,000
Warnings: Adult content
Spoilers: Vague S5 spoilers
Summary: The problem with the war between Heaven and Hell is that it’s never actually over. The problem with being one of God’s chosen warriors is that you can always get called back into the fray.
Author notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
deancas_xmas (additional author notes at the end). I'm re-posting it here because unmasking was this evening and I'm OCD like that. *grins*
Thank you so much to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aggybird, ethrosdemon and pikasafire for audiencing and beta duties. ♥
On the Shores of the Great Lake
The relationship between the hunting community and the Church is complicated at best. Hunters are seen as something tainted but necessary. They are the ones risking their lives and souls to keep the demons at bay the best they can so that the rest of the population might keep their pious hands clean.
Castiel has long preferred the company of the hunters over the faithful. This has very little or everything to do with Dean Winchester, depending on the century.
It's been a thousand years and Castiel has seen humanity fall into a sort of dark ages in the wake of Detroit, swept up in fear and religious fervor, the development of technology grinding to a halt in favor of ritual and superstition and still they are helpless to be anything but casualties in the unending skirmishes between Heaven and Hell.
Lucifer has tried to rise three separate times, but no vessel has been strong enough to contain him and the End of Times battle that should have been decided long ago never comes.
***
David Joseph broke with the church when he was five years old. Other hunters laugh when he tells them that because it's a point of pride in their community— whey they called bullshit—and nobody quite believes him when he claims to have known at that young an age.
But DJ remembers it clearly.
He was in Sunday school, excited because they were learning about the Winchester Gospels. His momma had told him about them, of course. The Winchester Gospels revealed how the demons were released into the world, how God's angels fought and tried to bring Paradise to humanity and how humanity turned their backs on God instead.
All of which was beside the point, in DJ's mind. It was his favorite Bible story because it had a lot of action and monsters and cool battles. He'd been waiting for them to talk about it in Sunday school forever and the day had finally come.
Caleb was in his lap, giggling and happy as DJ absently tickled his tummy. Even though at six months Caleb was too young to understand the story, his momma handed him over when she dropped DJ off, saying that it was never too early to learn about God. But DJ knew that it was just because Caleb didn't cry with him like he did when he had to go to the regular service with their parents.
Miss Daniels was talking about Sam and Dean and how they refused the angels. How they let the demons take over by choosing their mortal family over God.
"What should Dean have done, class?" she asked and half a dozen hands shot up.
Rebecca Thompson got to answer. She folded her hands primly and said, "Dean should have agreed to become a holy vessel and stopped his brother and Lucifer's evil from taking over the world."
"How would he do that?" DJ asked without raising his hand.
"By killing him, stupid." Rebecca turns to give him a dirty look.
"Rebecca! David!" Miss Daniels said.
"The angels wanted him to kill his brother?" DJ asked, frowning.
Miss Daniels shook her head. "They wanted him to fulfill his destiny by giving himself over to Michael, the archangel, and allowing him to banish Lucifer from our world forever."
"By killing Sam," DJ insisted.
"I think you're missing the point, David," Miss Daniels said gently. "It was the destiny they were born into. They were meant to bring Paradise to all of mankind. Sam by walking the path of darkness, Dean walking the path of light."
DJ nodded at this, knew better than to argue, but all he could think was, But he was his brother. He looked down at Caleb, who promptly grabbed onto DJ's finger and waved it triumphantly around in his fat little fist.
There was no way, DJ thought. No way he would ever hurt Caleb, not for the world. God himself could come down and beg and DJ would still cradle Caleb away from anyone or anything that would try and hurt his brother.
He froze, waiting for something to happen. For God and his angels to come down and smite him for such a blasphemous thought. But nothing did. Miss Daniels kept talking and Caleb kept smiling and the world kept on turning just as before.
It was the exact moment DJ knew the whole God thing was crap. That the stories the church told were just there to make people feel better, to make them believe the angels would eventually come to banish the demons from their world once and for all. Because no righteous angel would ask someone to kill his brother like that.
"Miss Daniels?" DJ raised his hand this time, cautious and wary. Afraid she might see through him to the rebellious thoughts rolling around in his head.
"Yes, David?"
"What happened to the angel?"
She shook her head in confusion. "Which one?"
"The one who helped them? Sam and Dean."
"Oh." She waved her hand dismissively. "He was banished from heaven for his sins."
***
Castiel hadn't so much been banished from Heaven as stationed on earth indefinitely, stuck by the Host in a celestial time-out.
What they wanted to do was destroy him, of course. But they'd already tried that. It didn't stick and nobody knew why. Family gatherings had been awkward for awhile, but for all of their dismissive bravado that God was dead or otherwise missing, Castiel's brothers didn't want to risk His wrath on the off chance they were wrong.
"So, are you a hunter or something?" the boy—they all seem like children anymore—asks as he pulls on his pants.
"Or something," Castiel says, amused. "Why do you ask?"
The boy tugs his shirt over his head then does that one-shouldered shrug that caught Castiel's eye in the first place. "In my experience, hunters are the best lays. They're the only ones who don't fuck like God's watchin' over their shoulder, judging their performance."
Castiel laughs and pulls the boy back onto the bed. "Of all the things I can tell you with absolute certainty, believe me when I say, if there is a God, he doesn't care about any of this." He punctuates the statement by undoing the button of the kid's pants.
"I just got dressed." It's a weak, token protest.
"Hmm," Castiel says as he pushes his shirt up. "I imagined that was simply so I'd have the pleasure of undressing you again."
To say he's gone native over the past thousand years is something of an understatement.
***
DJ was sixteen when he first read the Edlund Prophecies. He still didn't hold too much stock in ancient stories, but something about them stuck with him, these books that the Church didn't officially recognize, despite them being the supposed source material for the Winchester Gospels.
He'd been a hunter for two years by that point and knew all about the hypocrisy of the Church.
The Edlund Prophecies were a revelation to DJ. They took two characters from a vague biblical story and filled in all of the details of their lives. What they looked like, how they fought and loved, the things that made them laugh or hurt. Complex and imperfect, sympathetic and interesting and DJ felt it in a way that he couldn't quite explain. When he read about them, he felt like he knew what they went through, like he understood them.
Where the Winchester Gospels showed Sam and Dean choosing each other over God and how wrong they had been in that, the Prophecies told the story of brothers, of family and what that meant. It was a story about love, steadfast, true and unbreakable and that was where the Winchester Gospels always failed to make sense. DJ could not understand a God that would condemn that sort of devotion.
Maybe it was blasphemous, but DJ got it because there's not anything he wouldn't do for Caleb and he knows that Caleb feels the same. He is the only one DJ's ever trusted to have his back on a hunt. Which is why he believes in Sam and Dean more than he ever did in God.
They are, at least, something he can begin to understand.
***
Hunter bars are all the same the world over in every way that matters. They all have an unseen foundation of salt and iron, wooden ceilings and floors with Devil's Traps carved into them and a freezer stocked with ice made from holy water. Hunters tend to err on the side of caution in all matters these days, but especially with regard to those spaces they see as havens.
A few have sigils to keep angels out as well in preparation for the next time Lucifer finds a suitable host, but most forgo that. They figure if Lucifer's out again, they have bigger problems and the sigils mean you run the risk of offending the good guys. If you believe they actually exist. The jury is still out on that one as far as most hunters are concerned.
This place could be one of a thousand bars built in the past nine hundred years— foundations, wards and a wary clientele. The difference is that it sits on the shores of the Great Lake, which encompasses what was once the state of Michigan as well as parts of Ontario, Wisconsin and Ohio.
Perversely, Castiel likes it. There is an air of expectancy that wasn't here two hundred and fifty-three years ago, which was the last time he could bear to visit the area. He can't quite account for the feeling, but that's more often the case than not these days, so it doesn't really bother him. Maybe it's just been long enough.
The past is something that sits heavy on Castiel's mind. There are times when he can go years without thinking about it directly; there are times when he can't even go hours.
He doesn't have the hubris to believe that he alone derailed the Apocalypse, but he can't deny the hand he had in it. Whether or not he chose correctly, the decisions were never his to make. Despite, or perhaps because of that, the days where he regrets his actions are surprisingly few. Even now, in his very real isolation, his consolation is the same as it has always been.
Dean Winchester would never have said yes.
Which doesn't make Castiel's disobedience any less significant. Today, in this place, he feels acutely the weight of his decisions as he slides up to the bar and orders a whiskey. The bartender places it in front of him with a wink and a flirty smile before she moves off to take the next customer's order. He half-listens to their banter; the customer hitting on her without any real intent, her shooting him down with a laugh as she walks away, the dance obviously familiar to both of them.
Castiel considers his drink for a moment, bows his head and says with both sincerity and no small amount of irony, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
The guy next to him snorts and says, "Yeah, who hasn't?"
Castiel turns to raise his glass in a toast to that, but the cheers dies on his lips when he gets a proper look at the man. "Dean?" he asks instead.
He's younger, physically, than he was when Castiel knew him, similar enough features that he is obviously his own descendant. But it's not the green eyes, the smattering of freckles, or the more-than-passing resemblance genetics can't quite account for that has Castiel frozen.
It's Dean standing in front of him, of that he has no doubt. Dean, whose soul Castiel would recognize among all the souls that have ever walked the earth. Here, incongruous with the world as Castiel now knows it.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Dean says. His smile is still in place, but his eyes have narrowed slightly, sharp and wary.
"I overheard the bartender address you," Castiel says, hoping that this actually happened at some point. "I am Castiel." He doesn't even consider giving an alias.
Dean quirks his eyebrow. "Why not?" He looks Castiel over and smirks. "You have the right look, anyway. You a believer, then?"
"Some days more than others," Castiel says distractedly. Dean is here and Dean does not know him. This raises more questions than Castiel can even start to answer right now. Why is he back? Is Sam back as well? Was this the doing of his brothers, or do they even know? "You're not a believer?" he asks when realizes Dean looks like he's about to turn away. "In the Edlund Prophecies?"
"They're good stories," Dean says. He looks Castiel over again, this time with intent. "Not many people around here would go by Castiel."
"Nor would they go by Dean," Castiel counters, realizing that this must not be his actual name.
"What can I say? I'm not like all the other boys." His smile is intimate, startling and familiar. It is one that has never actually been directed at Castiel.
It makes Castiel's skin prickle with awareness, not entirely foreign but completely disorienting in this context. "Neither am I," he finally says.
The bartender walks by then, setting a tab down on the bar. Dean folds some bills around it and slides it back to her with a wink.
"You in town for a few days?" Dean asks, turning back to Castiel. "I've got an appointment tonight, but I wouldn't mind continuing our theological discussion at a later date."
Panic swells in Castiel's chest at the thought of Dean walking out of here, but he clamps down on it. He expands his awareness, realizes he can find Dean now that he knows, and smiles with relief. "I'll be here tomorrow."
"Good." Dean nods. "Until then." He waves at the bartender, then turns and leaves.
Castiel watches him, stares at the space he occupied for long after he's gone.
"He has that effect," the bartender says, setting a drink down behind him.
"Yes," Castiel says as he turns, focusing his attention on her. "I would imagine so." He stares stupidly at the drink, unable to remember ordering another one.
"From Romeo," the bartender supplies. "His formal statement of intent. Cocky bastard."
It is entirely possible, Castiel thinks, that what he is feeling right now is hope, which is foolish. Reckless at best, because Dean's presence back in the world can be nothing but ominous: a do-over has been called and the chess board reset.
A millennium later and they're right back where they started, with Castiel still in the dark about Heaven's plans and Dean with no knowledge of whom or what he truly is.
***
The girl hasn't even left the room yet and DJ's already forgotten her name. Normally he would feel bad about it, but tonight he's too distracted. His mind keeps wandering back to the stranger at the bar with the bright blue eyes who named himself after an angel that ranks in popularity only slightly above Lucifer.
It's not really a surprise that the guy gave a fake name. They're pretty standard in the community and DJ has been going by "Dean" since he was sixteen. Caleb is the only one left who knows his real name. He wonders, though, why the man chose Castiel. Did it end with the physical resemblance, or was there something more to it? Did he, like DJ, feel that the Bible had gotten the whole story wrong?
"I had a good time," the girl says, distracting DJ from his thoughts. "I'll see you around?"
"Sure thing, sugar." DJ smiles and doesn't bother getting up from where he's sprawled on the bed when she leaves. He has a few hours before Caleb is supposed to be back and while he should use that time to do something productive, like check their ammo supply, clean the guns, or shower, he decides to take a nap instead.
His dreams are weird, muddled and indistinct, but threaded with a sense of urgency that DJ can't quite parse. He wakes up at the sound of the door opening and the dreams fade quickly until the only thing he remembers is the sound of someone saying his name, overlaid with the look the guy from the bar gave him. Like DJ was the Second Coming.
"Hey," Caleb says, shutting the door behind him and then giving a cursory glance to make sure all the wards are intact.
They've had this place for a few years. It's a home base of sorts, a room with two beds, a bathroom, a kitchenette and a storage closet. Not much by the standards of civilized folk, but it's the next best thing to paradise as far as he and Caleb are concerned. It's theirs and it's as safe as a place can be, second floor of a Hunter's Building that they were lucky to get in on. Rent is paid in jobs and Caleb and DJ have a reputation for being really fucking good at what they do.
"Have fun?" DJ asks, sitting up and stretching. He grabs his boxers from their place on the floor and slides them on under the covers, more because of the cold than any pretense of modesty.
"Yeah." Caleb has that stupid, silly grin on his face that he gets whenever they're here and he has a chance to see Abigail.
Relationships aren't really doable in their line of work, something DJ pointed out up front when Caleb insisted on joining him. It's not fair to anyone, which doesn't mean it doesn't happen and DJ can't really begrudge Caleb his moments of romance.
Abby is a smart girl, a good person and she knows how this works. She doesn't hold any expectations or demands over Caleb. She seems happy enough being his connection to the outside world, being the thing for him that is not hunting or demons or family.
DJ can't begrudge him that, either.
"So, I stopped at the diner for breakfast," Caleb says. "Heard some rumblings about omens down in Missouri if you want to head out today?"
Normally, DJ would be all over it, but he keeps thinking of the guy. He scratches the back of his neck as he slides out of bed and picks up his pants. It's not quite winter yet, but it's chilly enough for him to hunt down some socks, too. "Maybe we could wait a couple days?"
Caleb gives him a look. "Oh yeah?"
"Got a date with an angel," DJ says. He tells him about the guy, without getting into the intensity of his gaze or the way he'd said his name. Pretty much he keeps it at, "Hot guy with blue eyes who calls himself Castiel."
"Okay, then," Caleb says in his, Whatever, you can get laid anywhere tone of voice, but since they are here, he's not going to argue. "In that case."
"Back to see Abby?" DJ asks and Caleb just smiles. "Be back about this time tomorrow," DJ says as Caleb tosses him a wave over his shoulder.
He's hungry and in need of a shower, debating on which to do first when someone knocks at the door. "Forget something?"
But when he opens it, it's not Caleb. It's some guy DJ's never seen and he's smiling in a way that immediately knots DJ's stomach.
"Dean," the man says, stepping into the room. He can't be a demon, wouldn't have gotten in the building if he was, and the fact that he's just passed through all of the wards rules out a whole lot of other things but the guy is bad news. DJ can feel it.
"Can I help you?" DJ crosses his arms over his bare chest and tries not to come off as uncomfortable as he feels. The hairs on his arms stand up when the guy looks directly at him.
"I certainly hope so." His smile is really fucking creepy. "I'm really hoping that you'll be more helpful than last time."
"Not sure I know what you're talking about."
The man regards him for a moment and tilts his head. "You really don't, do you? You have absolutely no idea." He seems to consider this while DJ feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin from the tension. "I'll help you out with that, then."
Before he do anything to stop it, the man reaches out and presses two fingers between DJ's eyes and there's a moment of nothing, a pause where the man says, "We'll talk later."
Then it hits, information, a lifetime of memories crammed into his mind in a single moment. He feels like he's been split in two and then fitted back together in a space that's too small, too tight. It's overwhelming, everything he's ever known of the world juxtaposed with everything he thought was a lie, a story. A horrible fairytale that was, in truth, his life.
His nose is bleeding. It's a vague, bleary realization, the last conscious thought Dean has before he passes out.
***
Castiel spends the day in something amusingly close to a frenzy. Dean's presence makes everything click and Castiel realizes that he has been getting steadily stronger, more powerful in a way that only happens with the return of the Host. This is the strongest he's been since Detroit and he was stupid not to realize. Careless.
He flits around the world, trying to find information, any signs of a prophet, without alerting his brothers to his actions. The truth his, he has no idea whether or not they know that Dean is back, if they are drawn back to the battleground more on instinct than knowledge.
It would be a stretch to say that Castiel's faith in God has been fully restored, but he does not believe that finding Dean now, like this, is any sort of accident.
In Jerusalem, he runs into Gabriel.
"Aloha." Gabriel studies Castiel for a moment and then says, "Well, well, well. Aren't we in quite the tizzy?"
There are times when Castiel thinks that he and Gabriel should be closer, circumstances being what they are. Both of them disconnected from Heaven in a way that was never entirely by choice, but too deliberate to be anything else. Now, however, is not one of those times.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Castiel tries to think of a way to extract himself from the situation quickly. He is distracted enough to make dealing with Gabriel dangerous. Gabriel sees everything.
"You haven't noticed?" Gabriel quirks his brow. "Surely you have, feeling all peppy with angel juice. Something big is in the works." He narrows his eyes. "You know something."
"I know a lot of things." Castiel winces at the obviousness of his evasion. "Who knows what they are planning now?"
"Come now, brother." Gabriel slings an arm around Castiel's shoulder in false camaraderie. "I know you too well. You're not usually this excitable. Tell Uncle Gabe what's going on."
"What concern is it of yours?" Castiel shakes him off and glares. "You made a point long ago of removing yourself from it all. What is it you want now?"
For a moment Gabriel looks tired. "I want what I have always wanted, for this to be over. My question is, how can you not want the same?"
The simple answer is, of course Castiel wants the same. He is an angel like any other in that respect. Despite his years among them and the wonder of creation that they represent, Castiel does not think that the cost of so many human lives is too high as to outweigh the promise of Paradise. The problem is that human lives are not the asking price to peace.
Castiel cannot answer Gabriel's question, because it would mean admitting that he'd rather spend thousands of years wandering aimlessly than pay what Heaven is asking. Dean Winchester is the only thing in creation that Castiel cannot knowingly sacrifice.
It is wrong, he knows. This is what comes back to him time and again in his struggling faith. How could he be created so flawed as this by his infallible Father? What possible good could come of Castiel's willingness to prolong the suffering of humanity to spare one man?
At the same time, it is something he thinks they should all understand. Even Michael, when Lucifer was cast out of Heaven, could only bring himself to cage him rather than kill him. Why anyone would ask this of Dean is beyond Castiel's comprehension.
Even the weariness in Gabriel's eyes speaks to this, the pain of watching their family torn asunder and all Castiel can think is, who is this God who would end family strife with more of the same? Why would their Father demand this from any of them?
He's been silent too long and Gabriel's expression suddenly turns angry.
"It's like that, then? Still?" He takes a step closer. "At least I had the decency to remove myself from the game. What is it you hope to accomplish here, Castiel?"
"I do not know," Castiel says honestly.
"Well, then." Gabriel nods. His mouth goes flat in disapproval. "Until next time."
Castiel is left standing alone in an alley in Jerusalem, trying desperately to figure out if there is hope left in the world for anyone.
***
Waking up feels something like wading through layers of quicksand. Every time he makes an inch of progress, something else comes to suck him back down. Mom's death, Dad and the demons, Sam dying. His deal and Hell. So many years in Hell. Angels and the Apocalypse, Sam and Detroit, betrayal and death.
It is fully dark outside by the time Dean can open his eyes. He's on the floor, a puddle of blood, tacky and cold underneath his cheek. His head is throbbing and every other part of him aches as well. When he finally manages to stand, his stomach decides to revolt and he barely makes it to the bathroom, which doesn't end up mattering.
There's nothing in him, so he sits there dry heaving as he tries to block out the memories of the last few moments of his life. The realization that Sam had lied to him again, lied to them all, that he was about to say yes to Lucifer, the flash of the archangels' arrival and then nothing.
Dean tries to get up again when he's finally able to think of it without gagging, that his death was the result of a betrayal by the one person he had spent his life trying to protect. Then he remembers Castiel at the bar. Castiel, then Caleb and it brings him to his knees again. He must be on the same path with the same ugly end awaiting him, the brother he's trusted all his life simply waiting for the right time to plant the blade in his back.
No matter how hard he tries, he can't come up with another explanation for any of this. This is his second chance, his opportunity to get things right. Except that the thought of saying yes to Michael, if that was even still an option, makes his heart ache. The possibility of him hurting Caleb in any capacity is unthinkable, too painful to even try and examine directly.
He thinks of Castiel again. Castiel, his mind insists and Dean finally realizes that he is supposed to meet him tonight. It is entirely possible that Castiel is at the bar right now waiting for Dean and that's what finally propels him to his feet and into the shower.
His actions are quick and perfunctory, shower, dry off, dress. All he can think of is getting to Castiel, he has no plan beyond that. Castiel will make sense of everything. It is the all Dean has to cling to, the only thing he can focus on without feeling like he's drowning.
Sure enough, Castiel is there, sitting in the corner at the bar, absently sipping his drink. He focuses on Dean as soon as Dean spots him. His expression is completely unreadable and Dean is suddenly mad, so fucking angry that he's shaking with it. Castiel is here and he knew, he recognized Dean and he didn't do or say a damn thing about it.
Something of his anger must be apparent, because Castiel stands as Dean approaches him. "What the fuck—"
It's as far as he gets before Castiel has him pinned against the wall, one hand at his hip, one hand on his neck, his thumb at the hollow of Dean's throat with enough pressure to make breathing a little bit of a struggle.
"It seems you've got your memories back," Castiel says, his voice low and even, his lips brushing against Dean's ear. "I realize this must be disconcerting, but I assume that you remember enough of this life to know that causing a scene here would be ill-advised. Nod if you understand."
Dean scans the bar and realizes that right now, the way Castiel is holding him, this looks like the beginnings of a tryst. Nobody can see him testing the steel of Castiel's grip and he stops trying when he realizes Castiel is right. Dean Winchester may be less reviled among hunters than civilians, but he is nobody's hero. He nods with what little movement Castiel allows him and the pressure on his throat eases.
"Do you have some place where we may speak freely?" Castiel steps back far enough that Dean is looking him in the eye. They are roughly the same height which, for whatever reason, takes the fight out of Dean completely.
"Yeah." His voice comes out rough and he clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, I have a place a few blocks down."
Castiel steps back completely then, pulls some money out of his pocket and throws it on the bar without looking. Dean moves away from the wall, manages not to jump when Castiel's hand falls to rest on his lower back. It stays there until they're out of the bar, so Dean guesses it was just for show.
"This way." Dean nods his head and they start off towards his building in silence that quickly becomes unbearable. "So, uh. What have you been up to over the past..." He trails off with the realization of how long it's actually been.
Beside him Castiel shrugs easily. "I finally tried sex."
"Kudos on that," Dean says automatically. Another memory surfaces, Castiel in the brothel and Dean actually chuckles. "How long did that take you?" He sees Castiel's lips twitch into a smile out of the corner of his eyes.
"About a hundred years. After." Castiel's smile is gone and silence falls between them again.
It strikes Dean as funny as he lets them into the building that he'd intended to end the night here under entirely different circumstances. Yesterday seems a million miles away.
The world is completely different now from both the lives Dean has led and he is surprised to realize that the only thing grounding him is the alien presence of the man beside him.
***
Castiel steps into the room ahead of Dean. He can feel the residual energy of an archangel's presence. There is a sticky, coppery smell in the air and Castiel locates the source immediately. He looks to Dean, his eyebrows raised.
"Oh, yeah." Dean shrugs. "Nosebleed from the mind-rape. Didn't think to clean it up."
The spot disappears, quick as Castiel's will as he watches Dean pace. Something is not right, beyond the obvious. Dean is off somehow. "What happened?" he finally asks. "What do you remember?"
Dean stops and looks at him. "Which one of those you want answered?"
"Both."
"Zachariah," Dean says finally. "I think it was Zachariah."
He doesn't say more, but Castiel can guess, can read Dean well enough to know how it happened. Zachariah forced his memories on him, violent enough that Dean was accurate to call it mind-rape. It is a testament to the man Dean is that he's even coherent after such an experience, that in his zeal, Zachariah hadn't broken the weapon he so desperately wanted to wield. But maybe that had been his intent.
"I remember everything." Dean starts pacing again, abruptly stops and stalks over to Castiel. "Everything. I remember Detroit. I remember Sam fucking selling me out for whatever Lucifer promised him. I remember—" He stops, looks away, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
"Dean." Castiel shakes his head, trying to figure out Dean's version of events. "Your brother did not sell you out. Dean!" he says louder. He waits until Dean is looking at him again to continue. "He never said yes to Lucifer. You did not die in Detroit."
"We didn't?" Dean looks confused, sounds so hopeful that Castiel doesn't want to correct him.
"You didn't," he says softly.
"No." Dean shakes his head and backs away. He keeps moving until he hits the bed and sits down hard. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't have left him there to die. No fucking way!"
The pain in Dean's voice, raw and bewildered, scrapes over Castiel and in it he is beginning to understand the scope of Zachariah's plan. "I gave you no choice."
"Cas," Dean says and Castiel realizes Dean is waiting for an explanation.
"Sam died in Detroit trying to stop Lucifer. When I realized his intentions, I removed you from the battlefield." Castiel feels no guilt in this. It was the only promise he ever made Sam. "I told him I would keep you safe."
"I. What?" Dean looks stunned.
"He found his redemption. He removed himself from the equation and without his true vessel, it was only a matter of time before Lucifer—" Castiel motions with his hand to represent Lucifer's inability to stay within the mortal realm.
"What?" Dean asks again. He rubs his hand over his face and looks back up at Castiel. "What happened to me, then?"
"I can unlock the rest of your memories if you wish." When Dean starts to shake his head, Castiel says, "It can be done without pain. It would be like a dream. You had some peace, Dean. You should know that there were good times."
"How?" Dean asks, the one-word question encompassing Dean's complete inability to fathom a life that does not include Sam.
"May I?" Castiel takes a step closer and Dean flinches, then visibly steels himself and nods. "I will be here when you wake," he says as he presses his fingers to Dean's forehead, his other hand coming around to press between Dean's shoulders, catching him as he slumps. Castiel lays Dean down gently on the bed and waits.
***
The first thing Dean does is trash the Impala, destroys it beyond repair because Sam is not coming back and Dean cannot bear to ride in it alone. He made a promise to Castiel, before telling him to fuck right the hell off, that he wouldn't do anything stupid like hurt himself, but he figures this doesn't count.
What's a little more emotional damage in the grand scheme of things? Dean doesn't even feel it. Sam is dead and Dean is numb from the inside out. He's done. Done with everything. Hunting, the Apocalypse. He doesn't care. Fuck the world and everyone in it.
The next thing he does is steal a car and drive aimlessly across the country. At least, he intends it to be aimless, but he finds himself stopping in the places they'd been. The places where they'd helped people, saved people, made their stupid, pathetic lives better for a time. It registers on an intellectual level, at least. His mind tells him he's grieving.
Dean thinks grief is too small and petty a word for the void that's consuming him.
He's at a park days, weeks, months later. He has no idea, but the place is familiar. They helped someone here, though Dean can't call any specific case to mind. He isn't even really trying.
Someone bumps into him, jostling him out of his thoughts. "Hey, mister, can you, um."
All Dean can see from his vantage point is a mop of brown hair and when he looks up again, there's a group of boys standing in a semi-circle, clearly confused about what to do now that an adult has been introduced into the equation.
"You guys need something?" Dean asks sharply, resting his hand on the shoulder of the kid next to him to reassure him that he's not included in that. It's amazing, he thinks, that he can still feel the hot spike of irritation about something so stupid as kids being bullies.
They mutter amongst themselves and disperse. Dean watches them go with narrowed eyes, almost forgetting about the kid until he speaks again.
"Thanks."
When Dean looks down to say no problem the words get caught, his chest tightens painfully until he can't actually draw a breath because it's Sam looking up at him.
"Hey, are you okay?" Sam wrinkles his nose and looks concerned and Dean is certain he's finally lost his mind. Reality has left for parts unknown and Dean is here again with his kid brother, all blessedly whole and innocent.
"I'm." Dean tries to work out another word, but it won't come. Maybe he's died and he missed it somehow.
"Can I stay with you until my mom comes?" the kid tries, and that seems to break the spell.
Dean can see the differences now, how his hair is a little darker, his nose a little narrower, but Jesus. This kid is almost an exact copy and something in Dean cracks as he sinks to sit in the grass. "Sure, yeah. You can stay for as long as you need to."
"Cool." The kid flops down next to him, completely oblivious. "I'm Alex," he says and then goes on from there, chattering happily about nothing Dean can comprehend while Dean stares in a way that would probably seem really fucking creepy if anyone cared enough to observe them.
Everything starts to make sense when Alex jumps up suddenly and says, "Mom!"
A few names click through his mind before he settles on the right one. "Sarah."
The haunted painting, not too long after Stanford when Dad wasn't dead, just missing. Sarah Blake, tough as nails, brave and sexy as hell and gone for Sam as soon as they met. She seems as surprised as Dean is to find herself in this moment.
"Hey, buddy," she says, addressing Alex. "Can you go get in the car? I'll be there in a sec." She hands him the keys and he looks between her and Dean for a minute before running off to do as she asked.
"Dean," she says finally. "Hi."
"Is he?" Dean nods towards the car. He can't even finish the question.
"That obvious?"
"He looks exactly like him. Like he did. Fuck." Dean rubs his hand over his face and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Oh god," Sarah says faintly. He hears her sit down next to him and for one overwhelming moment, Dean thinks he might not be able to keep from breaking down and sobbing right there. Tears are sliding hotly down his cheeks and he keeps his thumb and forefinger pressed against his eyes.
They sit in silence for awhile. Dean takes several deep, shuddering breaths in an attempt to speak and finds that he can't. He hasn't cried once since Detroit, he hasn't been able to.
"I thought about tracking you guys down when I found out," Sarah says quietly. "I didn't ever intend to keep it from him, but I thought." Her arm brushes against him as she shrugs. "What you guys did was too important. I didn't want to distract him from that."
"You didn't want Alex brought up knowing what we know," Dean says, finally finding his voice. He rubs the heels of his hand against his eyes hard and then blinks them open, stares straight ahead rather than looking at the woman next to him.
"Maybe a little of that too," Sarah admits. "Can you blame me?"
Dean shakes his head. "I'm done with it." By now, the world knows that something is up. The destruction of Michigan was too big a clue for anyone to ignore. Surprisingly, very little has changed in people's daily lives. Bills still have to be paid.
"Does that mean you can hang out for awhile?" Sarah asks.
"You want me to stay?" Dean does look at her then and her expression is nothing but open and genuine. "Really?"
"You're Alex's uncle," she says like it's that easy and for a moment Dean can see their entire path laid out in front of him. He's already half in love with Sarah and he can have that life, the one Sam so desperately wanted. All he has to do is say yes.
"Sure." Dean nods slowly. "Got nowhere I need to be." And just like that he has family again.
***
The sky is starting to grow light when Dean finally stirs and Castiel watches warily as he sits up in bed, uncertain of what sort of reception the rest of his memories will yield.
"Thank you," is all Dean says.
Castiel nods.
"So, I haven't eaten in a few days." Dean's stomach rumbles loudly as if to illustrate the point. "Do you do food now?"
"I could eat," Castiel tells him, which admittedly isn't an answer.
They head to the diner that operates in the hours the bar isn't open. Early as it is, it's already busy and Dean eyes Castiel suspiciously when a booth suddenly empties for them. Castiel only shrugs and picks up the menu.
"Hey, Cas," Dean says after they've placed their order. "Do you know if, I mean, is Caleb—"
"You want to know if Sam has been reincarnated as well," Castiel finishes for him. Then he asks, "Would that make a difference? In your affection for Caleb?"
Dean looks down at his thumb, picks at the skin around the nail. "No," he says. "It wouldn't, I guess."
Which is and isn't a lie, Castiel knows. He can feel it. The way Dean misses Sam is like a palpable, living thing, made stronger, perhaps, by the memory of a lifetime spent without him.
"If he is, do you wish for him to know?"
"What?" Dean looks up sharply at that. "Don't put that on me, Cas. I can't make that decision for him."
"He can't make that decision for himself," Castiel says. He already knows Dean's answer.
When their food arrives, they eat it in silence and then make their way back to Dean's room to wait.
***
Dean still has a lot of processing to do as he waits for Caleb to return. He paces back and forth, his mind whirring through his lives as he tries to make sense of it. Every once in awhile he'll catch on something, Caleb's first hunt with him after their parents died, the birth of his daughter, the day Caleb met Abigail, the last great prank war he and Sam got into, a future that never came to pass and the strange little details of the one he now lives in.
Every time he formulates a coherent question to pose to Castiel, ten more crop up in its wake before he can get the first one out and his mind starts whirring again, faster than before. Castiel has long since given up watching him and is stretched out on his bed, his eyes closed. Dean's not sure if he's actually sleeping, if that's something Castiel even does.
The world seems to freeze when he hears the door open and he turns to find Caleb there and he knows. It's so obvious now that Dean wonders how he could have even questioned it.
"Hi," Caleb says. "Should I come back?" He looks pointedly at the bed and Dean turns to see Castiel sitting up, a questioning look on his face.
"No, um. No." Dean refrains from pacing again and jumps right in. "If I knew something about our past, something I knew you could know, you would want to, right?"
"What?" Caleb asks and Dean realizes with a start that in this life, he is still so young. Only eighteen, just a kid, despite the fact that they've been hunting together for years and it makes Dean feel ancient.
"If you had the chance to know something, something huge. Like, life-altering big, would you want to?" Dean can't think of a better way to ask it. He wants Caleb to say yes. "Even if you can never unlearn it?"
"Hey," Caleb says softly, glancing over at Castiel before focusing on Dean again. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."
"I'm not so sure about that." Dean scratches the back of his neck and looks away. He can't make this decision for selfish reasons and all he has right now are selfish reasons.
"DJ, if it's something that big, if you're in it already, then I am too. So what you're really asking me is do I want to know what it is we're dealing with, right?" His eyebrows are raised and he's using his my big brother is an idiot voice.
"Right," Dean says. "Okay. Just, trust me, right?"
"Of course," Caleb says, his confusion apparent.
Dean nods at Castiel, watches Caleb's wary look as Castiel approaches him and press his fingers to his forehead. Castiel catches him easily before he falls and carries him over to the bed.
Dean resumes his pacing and tries to shake the feeling that they just violated his brother in some way as Castiel returns to his place on Dean's bed. His mind is spinning again, but all he can actually think is, "Please don't let Sam hate me for this."
An hour or so passes before Dean gets tired and flops down on the bed next to Castiel. "How long will this take?" He's grateful that Sam isn't going through the information dump he got, but the wait is excruciating.
"A few more hours, maybe," Castiel says.
"Hey, Cas?" Dean props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Castiel. He still finds him attractive, he realizes, and it's weird to think of his old sexuality blending with his new and arriving at this conclusion. With the exception of Sam, there is nobody in the world who knows Dean so well as Castiel does. "I'm glad you're here."
Castiel opens his eyes and where Dean felt so incredibly old with Caleb, he suddenly feels unbearably young under the weight of Castiel's gaze. "That is nice to hear," Castiel finally says. Dean feels like he's missed something.
"I just mean, thanks, I guess," Dean says badly. His fingers itch to touch Castiel's face, trace the line of his jaw, run his thumb over the curve of his bottom lip. Before he can give into the urge, however, Castiel sits up and moves away from him.
"This is just the beginning, Dean," Castiel says seriously. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair and it takes too long for Dean to realize that's weird because it's such a human gesture. "You and Sam here, this is just the start."
"Yeah, I know." Dean nods. "I know that. I just need to talk to him first. Before I can think about any of the rest of it."
They fall back into silence, but Castiel doesn't lie down again. He sits there with his arms hooked loosely around his knees and his eyes shut, his expression seemingly serene. Dean watches him openly until he hears the sheets rustle on the other bed.
He turns in time to see Sam blink his eyes open, says nothing as he stands and waits for Sam to look at him. "Hey there, Sammy," is what comes out once he does.
"Dean?" Sam asks. Then he's up, wrapping his arms around Dean in a hug so tight that Dean is ready to dismiss breathing as more of a luxury than a necessity as he returns it. "Jesus," Sam whispers.
"Right?" The strain in Dean's voice must register, because Sam releases him a little, but doesn't let him go. "I didn't know if I should tell you," Dean confesses now while Sam isn't actually looking at him. "I just—I wanted to see you again."
"Yeah, no. Yeah, Dean." Sam pulls back and he looks so fucking happy, like their lives are full of sunshine and rainbows and Dean can't keep his own stupid grin off his face. "God."
"Yeah." Dean nods in agreement. "Hey, Cas," he starts, but when he turns he realizes that the bed is empty. Castiel has disappeared.
***
Castiel needs a few days, he decides, to meditate on things and figure out where he must go from here. He ends up in Nepal and makes it almost a day before he figures out that this is the first time in a thousand years he's felt the need to go somewhere to feel isolated, which makes it seem more like running away than anything else.
The problem is the memory of Dean's happiness that keeps twisting through his gut, the moment of simple, uncomplicated joy that radiated from Dean when Sam woke up and said his name. It's not jealousy, not quite. Or maybe it is, but it's not only that. It is jealousy mixed with despair, the urge to protect Dean from the realities they now face and the desire to be, in some small way, the source of his joy.
It is so readily apparent in this how far Castiel has fallen. How like them he has truly become. He had no real defenses against Dean before, when he was walking among humanity for the first time in two thousand years. What hope does he have now when he's spent the past thousand learning empathy for them?
"If you were waiting for the panic to set in, congratulations," Dean says, looking up from his research materials when Castiel appears in front of him. "Zach stopped by while you were gone."
Fear grips Castiel for a moment, but he can detect nothing other than tense annoyance behind Dean's words.
"I got the impression he wasn't too happy about you filling in the gaps for me." Dean shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Man, are you in trouble. I'm guessing nobody ever told him that a roofied yes doesn't count as consent?"
"A technicality I'm sure he never considered."
"Tell me you have a plan."
"Where is your brother?" Castiel asks, ignoring the question completely.
"At the bar, talking to some of the other hunters." Dean gets up from the table he's working at and walks over to him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Cas, tell me you have some sort of plan."
"I do not," Castiel admits. "I know even less of what is planned this time than I did the last." His search for a prophet had come up empty and Castiel wasn't exactly receiving Revelations these days.
Dean looks appalled. "You've got to be kidding me. After all this time you've got nothing? What the fuck have you been doing the past thousand years?"
"Don't," Castiel warns in a surprising rush of anger. He reaches out, twisting his fist in the front of Dean's shirt. "I have been stuck here alone, cut off from everything that was once a part of me, anything that might provide some familiarity or comfort. I have watched humanity regress; I have felt their suffering daily with the weight of the knowledge that I had some hand in it. I have borne it all with no hope—" He stops, unable to complete that thought in the face of Dean's stunned expression, and lets him go. His anger drains away as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling unspeakably tired.
"Do not presume that you could know what it has been like for me."
"Cas." It's a plea, enough to keep Castiel from turning away. "I'm sorry," Dean whispers, wrapping his hand around the back of Castiel's neck, gripping him tightly as if Castiel could not disappear from under his fingertips if he wished.
Castiel feels caught all the same. He knows he should walk away right now but the moment passes and he stays where he is. "Dean." Like the name is an answer if he could just find the right question to ask.
He's not sure which of them leans in first, thinks maybe it's a mutual decision because suddenly they're kissing and whatever it is between them flares and burns bright at the contact. Castiel has never been this hungry for something so wholly selfish. Want is a sensation he knows only in the context of Dean.
Regardless of who started it, Castiel is the one who guides them toward the bed. Sex has always been something to pass the time for him, but maybe it has all been leading up to this. This moment of pressing Dean down onto the mattress without breaking their kiss, the feel of Dean writhing underneath him, his hands clutching at Castiel's back. It is the first time in Castiel's experience that he sees this physicality for the miracle it is and he is struck anew with the wonder of his Father's most beloved creation.
"Yeah," Dean says, pulling away to scoot back further onto the bed. "So when you said you did the sex thing, you meant more than once, huh?"
"I meant more than once," Castiel confirms. He strips off his shirt and then kneels on the bed between Dean's legs.
"Oh God," Dean says and Castiel winces.
"If you could refrain from invoking my Father's name…" He undoes the button of Dean's pants and tugs them off, then the boxers as Dean struggles out of his shirt.
"Sure thing," Dean says, then he laughs. "How do you avoid that with other people? I mean, really."
"I tune most people out," Castiel tells him honestly. He sits back on his heels, takes in the sight of Dean spread out in front of him and thinks he has never seen anything quite so beautiful. "I don't want to do that with you."
"Fuck." Dean reaches out, grabs at the waist of Castiel's pants and tugs. Castiel moves over Dean's body, more than willing, and kisses along the curve of Dean's neck. "Tell me fuck is okay," Dean says with a gasp, arching against him. "'Cause I'm gonna need something, man."
"Fuck is acceptable," Castiel says.
"Thank fucking—" Dean stops, smiles. "You," he finishes and Castiel laughs.
Happiness bubbles within him, fills him completely as he murmurs Dean's name, bends down to kiss him again, slow and thorough. Castiel loves Dean, has been in love with him since before he knew he was capable of such a thing. If all he gets is this moment to truly enjoy the experience, it will be enough.
He runs his hands over Dean's sides and smiles against his mouth when Dean shivers at the touch. When he feels Dean's hands tugging to get his pants open, Castiel considers simply making the rest of their clothes disappear, but decides against it. He relishes the feel of Dean's hands on him as he gets the zipper undone and pushes the pants down over his hips.
Castiel fudges it a little once they're down around his thighs, impatient for the press of Dean's skin against his and Dean's huff of laughter as Castiel's pants hit the floor somewhere across the room lets him know he wasn't quite successful in his subterfuge. The way Dean groans into his mouth as Castiel settles back over him leads Castiel to believe he doesn't truly mind.
There are so many things Castiel wants to do here. He wants to taste every inch of Dean's skin, wants to bite and suck, leave his mark in secret places that Dean will feel and remember days from now. He wants to sink into Dean's body, feel the stretch and heat of him around his cock. He wants to feel the sweet friction of Dean thrusting into him. Castiel wants to overwhelm Dean with everything he has learned in the time Dean has been away.
But he can't give up the dizzying wet heat of Dean's kisses, the intimacy of their shared breath and the taste of the sounds Dean makes as Castiel rolls their hips together, their cocks pressed between them, sliding against the sweat-slick skin of their bellies. It is enough for both of them, it seems. Perfect in ways Castiel couldn't begin to imagine as Dean's hips stutter against his, his hands smoothing over Castiel's back, pressing and pulling him closer.
"Fuck," Dean says against Castiel's mouth as his movements become more urgent. "Fuck. Fuck. Yeah. So good," he says in short, breathy pants. "Oh." Dean threads his fingers through Castiel's hair and yanks hard, crushing their mouths together. When they break apart he says, "Fucking hell," and the sound of his voice like this is the most intoxicating thing Castiel's ever known.
Then Dean says, "Cas," rough-edged and broken and Castiel's hips snap forward one more time as his entire body shudders with the force of his orgasm.
"Holy shit, so—" Dean kisses him again instead of finishing the thought, his body twisting urgently against Castiel. He pulls back enough to bite down hard on Castiel's lower lip.
Castiel grabs Dean's hips, pulling them tight against his own and Dean gasps his name again, arching his neck as he comes.
"Dean," Castiel murmurs, bending to kiss the exposed line of his throat. He smiles when he feels Dean shake in response.
"Yeah," Dean says, eyes closed, his voice still rough and breathless. "We're definitely gonna be doing that again."
"And then some," Castiel agrees.
***
There is a point of awareness before Dean reaches full consciousness— he is suddenly alone in bed where a moment ago there'd been a warm body pressed up against his back. Then the door clicks open and Dean actually wakes up, laughing to himself as he realizes Castiel has disappeared so as not to be caught by Sam.
Dean wonders if he's protecting Dean's maidenly virtue or his own.
"Hey, I got a few leads, but they're pretty vague," Sam says. "Omens point to Lucifer trying to rise again, but nobody can get an exact read on where." He stops and looks at Dean, frowning. "Did you take a nap?"
"Not exactly." Dean grins. He has no idea where his pants are.
"Don't tell me," Sam says.
"Sex with Cas," Dean supplies anyway. "It was good. I mean, like." He waggles his eyebrows. "Good."
"God, Dean," Sam groans. "What part of 'don't tell me' were you not clear on?" He bends over and picks up Dean's pants, chucking them at his face. "Get dressed. The world is still ending."
"World's been ending for awhile." Dean can't stop smiling. It's ridiculous. "Hey, Sammy, you ever tried to not say 'God' or 'Jesus' during sex? It's harder than you'd think."
"So help me, if you do not shut up right now," Sam threatens.
"You'll what?" Dean asks, pulling on his pants.
Sam raises his eyebrows, tilts his head and smirks meanly. "I'll will cockblock you from now until the end of time."
Dean freezes. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
"Consider the subject dropped," Dean says, realizing that Sam is both stubborn and obnoxious enough to do it. "Seriously, though, try the 'God' thing next time. I'm pretty sure I almost bit my tongue off three times stopping myself."
"I hate you so much right now," Sam says, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
"I'm awesome and you love me!" Dean yells after him.
***
"You've really stepped in it now."
Castiel sighs. It was only a matter of time before Zachariah found him, it might as well be here, looking out at the serene waters that cover the battle-scarred earth.
"Do you have no shame left? Does nothing of Heaven remain with you?" Zachariah stands in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. "Was fucking him worth all that you've lost in your disobedience?"
"Is there a point in this, or do you simply wish to scold me?" Castiel asks, his jaw clenching in anger.
"What good do you think you accomplished in giving Sam and Dean their memories back? Is it your wish to recreate the disaster that happened here?" He gestures toward the water.
"It is my wish that the free will given them is upheld."
Zachariah smirks. "Indeed?"
"Did it ever occur to you that this lesson was not for them?" Castiel asks. "That their capacity for love, for forgiveness, is something that our Father wishes us to learn?"
"Their capacity for love?" Zachariah sounds outraged. "How could you still be so naïve after all this time? Their capacity for love is matched equally by hate, violence, depravity. They are vicious creatures—"
"With endless opportunities for redemption," Castiel cuts him off. "Does that register so little with you? Do you never wonder why our Father would afford them such?"
"Our Father left a long time ago, Castiel."
Castiel stares out at the water, feels the wind kick up, whipping around him, though the cold does not register. "Then why am I not yet cut off from Heaven entirely?" he asks softly. "What stays your hand in that?"
The howl of the wind is his only answer. Zachariah is gone.
***
"Maybe you could just read that to Lucifer and bore him to death," Dean says, interrupting Sam's narrative.
Sam scowls at him. "Could you at least pretend to take this seriously?"
"I am, Sam. It's just, don't you think that if there was a way to defeat Lucifer in any of the religious texts in existence, someone would have found it by now?"
"Dean is right." Dean turns, startled to find Castiel standing there, his face drawn and serious. "Michael's sword is the only answer you're going to find in religious doctrine."
"And we are against that," Dean says. "We're still against that, right?"
Castiel looks surprised by the question. "Of course," he says like it's obvious and Dean can't help himself. He walks over and tugs Castiel into a kiss, quick and fierce.
"Hey," he says when he pulls back.
"Hello," Castiel says, smiling. He rests his hands on Dean's hips and leans in, kisses him focused and intense enough that Dean almost forgets where they are.
"Really?" Say says somewhere behind them. "Can you guys just not right now?"
Dean would gladly keep going, if only to spite him, but Castiel breaks the kiss and says, "I apologize," to Sam.
Sam makes a hrmf noise. "If not the texts, then what?" he asks Castiel. "I mean, if you have some insights to share with the class, some idea of where we go from here, I'm all ears."
"I have no answers," Castiel says, looking first at Sam, then Dean. "I can only suggest that you hold fast to who you are. That we continue to fight for as long as we can."
"Yeah?" Dean smirks through the spike of panic. They have no plan, no allies and it's a jarring thought, that this is the start of their freefall into complete chaos. "Kick some ass and take some names, huh?"
"The taking of names will not be necessary," Castiel says, his eyes sparkling.
Dean's panic dissipates slightly as he laughs and he thinks that maybe the freefalling sensation has nothing at all to do with their war.
"You're both insane, you know that, right?" Sam asks. He's looking between them, his eyebrows raised. "I mean, like, completely certifiable."
"I suppose we could always try and use our words, Sammy," Dean says. "I'm just not sure how effective that would be."
"Fuck you." Sam rolls his eyes, but he can't hide his smile. "Whatever. Where do you suggest we start, oh fearless leader?"
Dean shrugs and gives Castiel a sidelong glance. "That mean you're all in, then?"
"For as long as you wish," Castiel says and it makes Dean's breath catch a little. He has no idea what to do with that.
Sam groans and starts hitting his head on the table.
"C'mon, Sam. Don't be like that," Dean says, tearing his eyes away from Castiel to look at his brother. "I mean, worst case scenario, we fuck it all up and have to get the band back together in another thousand. We'll get it right eventually."
Castiel, of course, is frowning at him. "Perhaps we should try and get it right this time."
"As far as plans go, that's a little simplistic," Dean says. He thinks about the possibility Castiel here alone again, waiting for another chance that might never come to pass and adds, "But I think we can work with it."
It may be the end of the world again, but it feels more like a beginning. Dean is feeling remarkably optimistic about the whole endeavor.
"Good," Castiel says, his expression suddenly determined and fierce. "We've got work to do."
***
End Notes: As this was written for a fic exchange, I can’t take credit entirely for the idea. The story was written forhere4castiel and the prompt I was working from was as follows:
I am quite awful at challenges and have generally banned myself from doing them, but apparently offering to pinch works for whatever reason. I had a lot of fun writing this one.
Anyway, yeah. Thank you for reading!!!
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 11,000
Warnings: Adult content
Spoilers: Vague S5 spoilers
Summary: The problem with the war between Heaven and Hell is that it’s never actually over. The problem with being one of God’s chosen warriors is that you can always get called back into the fray.
Author notes: Written for
deancas_xmas (additional author notes at the end). I'm re-posting it here because unmasking was this evening and I'm OCD like that. *grins*Thank you so much to
aggybird, ethrosdemon and pikasafire for audiencing and beta duties. ♥On the Shores of the Great Lake
The relationship between the hunting community and the Church is complicated at best. Hunters are seen as something tainted but necessary. They are the ones risking their lives and souls to keep the demons at bay the best they can so that the rest of the population might keep their pious hands clean.
Castiel has long preferred the company of the hunters over the faithful. This has very little or everything to do with Dean Winchester, depending on the century.
It's been a thousand years and Castiel has seen humanity fall into a sort of dark ages in the wake of Detroit, swept up in fear and religious fervor, the development of technology grinding to a halt in favor of ritual and superstition and still they are helpless to be anything but casualties in the unending skirmishes between Heaven and Hell.
Lucifer has tried to rise three separate times, but no vessel has been strong enough to contain him and the End of Times battle that should have been decided long ago never comes.
***
David Joseph broke with the church when he was five years old. Other hunters laugh when he tells them that because it's a point of pride in their community— whey they called bullshit—and nobody quite believes him when he claims to have known at that young an age.
But DJ remembers it clearly.
He was in Sunday school, excited because they were learning about the Winchester Gospels. His momma had told him about them, of course. The Winchester Gospels revealed how the demons were released into the world, how God's angels fought and tried to bring Paradise to humanity and how humanity turned their backs on God instead.
All of which was beside the point, in DJ's mind. It was his favorite Bible story because it had a lot of action and monsters and cool battles. He'd been waiting for them to talk about it in Sunday school forever and the day had finally come.
Caleb was in his lap, giggling and happy as DJ absently tickled his tummy. Even though at six months Caleb was too young to understand the story, his momma handed him over when she dropped DJ off, saying that it was never too early to learn about God. But DJ knew that it was just because Caleb didn't cry with him like he did when he had to go to the regular service with their parents.
Miss Daniels was talking about Sam and Dean and how they refused the angels. How they let the demons take over by choosing their mortal family over God.
"What should Dean have done, class?" she asked and half a dozen hands shot up.
Rebecca Thompson got to answer. She folded her hands primly and said, "Dean should have agreed to become a holy vessel and stopped his brother and Lucifer's evil from taking over the world."
"How would he do that?" DJ asked without raising his hand.
"By killing him, stupid." Rebecca turns to give him a dirty look.
"Rebecca! David!" Miss Daniels said.
"The angels wanted him to kill his brother?" DJ asked, frowning.
Miss Daniels shook her head. "They wanted him to fulfill his destiny by giving himself over to Michael, the archangel, and allowing him to banish Lucifer from our world forever."
"By killing Sam," DJ insisted.
"I think you're missing the point, David," Miss Daniels said gently. "It was the destiny they were born into. They were meant to bring Paradise to all of mankind. Sam by walking the path of darkness, Dean walking the path of light."
DJ nodded at this, knew better than to argue, but all he could think was, But he was his brother. He looked down at Caleb, who promptly grabbed onto DJ's finger and waved it triumphantly around in his fat little fist.
There was no way, DJ thought. No way he would ever hurt Caleb, not for the world. God himself could come down and beg and DJ would still cradle Caleb away from anyone or anything that would try and hurt his brother.
He froze, waiting for something to happen. For God and his angels to come down and smite him for such a blasphemous thought. But nothing did. Miss Daniels kept talking and Caleb kept smiling and the world kept on turning just as before.
It was the exact moment DJ knew the whole God thing was crap. That the stories the church told were just there to make people feel better, to make them believe the angels would eventually come to banish the demons from their world once and for all. Because no righteous angel would ask someone to kill his brother like that.
"Miss Daniels?" DJ raised his hand this time, cautious and wary. Afraid she might see through him to the rebellious thoughts rolling around in his head.
"Yes, David?"
"What happened to the angel?"
She shook her head in confusion. "Which one?"
"The one who helped them? Sam and Dean."
"Oh." She waved her hand dismissively. "He was banished from heaven for his sins."
***
Castiel hadn't so much been banished from Heaven as stationed on earth indefinitely, stuck by the Host in a celestial time-out.
What they wanted to do was destroy him, of course. But they'd already tried that. It didn't stick and nobody knew why. Family gatherings had been awkward for awhile, but for all of their dismissive bravado that God was dead or otherwise missing, Castiel's brothers didn't want to risk His wrath on the off chance they were wrong.
"So, are you a hunter or something?" the boy—they all seem like children anymore—asks as he pulls on his pants.
"Or something," Castiel says, amused. "Why do you ask?"
The boy tugs his shirt over his head then does that one-shouldered shrug that caught Castiel's eye in the first place. "In my experience, hunters are the best lays. They're the only ones who don't fuck like God's watchin' over their shoulder, judging their performance."
Castiel laughs and pulls the boy back onto the bed. "Of all the things I can tell you with absolute certainty, believe me when I say, if there is a God, he doesn't care about any of this." He punctuates the statement by undoing the button of the kid's pants.
"I just got dressed." It's a weak, token protest.
"Hmm," Castiel says as he pushes his shirt up. "I imagined that was simply so I'd have the pleasure of undressing you again."
To say he's gone native over the past thousand years is something of an understatement.
***
DJ was sixteen when he first read the Edlund Prophecies. He still didn't hold too much stock in ancient stories, but something about them stuck with him, these books that the Church didn't officially recognize, despite them being the supposed source material for the Winchester Gospels.
He'd been a hunter for two years by that point and knew all about the hypocrisy of the Church.
The Edlund Prophecies were a revelation to DJ. They took two characters from a vague biblical story and filled in all of the details of their lives. What they looked like, how they fought and loved, the things that made them laugh or hurt. Complex and imperfect, sympathetic and interesting and DJ felt it in a way that he couldn't quite explain. When he read about them, he felt like he knew what they went through, like he understood them.
Where the Winchester Gospels showed Sam and Dean choosing each other over God and how wrong they had been in that, the Prophecies told the story of brothers, of family and what that meant. It was a story about love, steadfast, true and unbreakable and that was where the Winchester Gospels always failed to make sense. DJ could not understand a God that would condemn that sort of devotion.
Maybe it was blasphemous, but DJ got it because there's not anything he wouldn't do for Caleb and he knows that Caleb feels the same. He is the only one DJ's ever trusted to have his back on a hunt. Which is why he believes in Sam and Dean more than he ever did in God.
They are, at least, something he can begin to understand.
***
Hunter bars are all the same the world over in every way that matters. They all have an unseen foundation of salt and iron, wooden ceilings and floors with Devil's Traps carved into them and a freezer stocked with ice made from holy water. Hunters tend to err on the side of caution in all matters these days, but especially with regard to those spaces they see as havens.
A few have sigils to keep angels out as well in preparation for the next time Lucifer finds a suitable host, but most forgo that. They figure if Lucifer's out again, they have bigger problems and the sigils mean you run the risk of offending the good guys. If you believe they actually exist. The jury is still out on that one as far as most hunters are concerned.
This place could be one of a thousand bars built in the past nine hundred years— foundations, wards and a wary clientele. The difference is that it sits on the shores of the Great Lake, which encompasses what was once the state of Michigan as well as parts of Ontario, Wisconsin and Ohio.
Perversely, Castiel likes it. There is an air of expectancy that wasn't here two hundred and fifty-three years ago, which was the last time he could bear to visit the area. He can't quite account for the feeling, but that's more often the case than not these days, so it doesn't really bother him. Maybe it's just been long enough.
The past is something that sits heavy on Castiel's mind. There are times when he can go years without thinking about it directly; there are times when he can't even go hours.
He doesn't have the hubris to believe that he alone derailed the Apocalypse, but he can't deny the hand he had in it. Whether or not he chose correctly, the decisions were never his to make. Despite, or perhaps because of that, the days where he regrets his actions are surprisingly few. Even now, in his very real isolation, his consolation is the same as it has always been.
Dean Winchester would never have said yes.
Which doesn't make Castiel's disobedience any less significant. Today, in this place, he feels acutely the weight of his decisions as he slides up to the bar and orders a whiskey. The bartender places it in front of him with a wink and a flirty smile before she moves off to take the next customer's order. He half-listens to their banter; the customer hitting on her without any real intent, her shooting him down with a laugh as she walks away, the dance obviously familiar to both of them.
Castiel considers his drink for a moment, bows his head and says with both sincerity and no small amount of irony, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
The guy next to him snorts and says, "Yeah, who hasn't?"
Castiel turns to raise his glass in a toast to that, but the cheers dies on his lips when he gets a proper look at the man. "Dean?" he asks instead.
He's younger, physically, than he was when Castiel knew him, similar enough features that he is obviously his own descendant. But it's not the green eyes, the smattering of freckles, or the more-than-passing resemblance genetics can't quite account for that has Castiel frozen.
It's Dean standing in front of him, of that he has no doubt. Dean, whose soul Castiel would recognize among all the souls that have ever walked the earth. Here, incongruous with the world as Castiel now knows it.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Dean says. His smile is still in place, but his eyes have narrowed slightly, sharp and wary.
"I overheard the bartender address you," Castiel says, hoping that this actually happened at some point. "I am Castiel." He doesn't even consider giving an alias.
Dean quirks his eyebrow. "Why not?" He looks Castiel over and smirks. "You have the right look, anyway. You a believer, then?"
"Some days more than others," Castiel says distractedly. Dean is here and Dean does not know him. This raises more questions than Castiel can even start to answer right now. Why is he back? Is Sam back as well? Was this the doing of his brothers, or do they even know? "You're not a believer?" he asks when realizes Dean looks like he's about to turn away. "In the Edlund Prophecies?"
"They're good stories," Dean says. He looks Castiel over again, this time with intent. "Not many people around here would go by Castiel."
"Nor would they go by Dean," Castiel counters, realizing that this must not be his actual name.
"What can I say? I'm not like all the other boys." His smile is intimate, startling and familiar. It is one that has never actually been directed at Castiel.
It makes Castiel's skin prickle with awareness, not entirely foreign but completely disorienting in this context. "Neither am I," he finally says.
The bartender walks by then, setting a tab down on the bar. Dean folds some bills around it and slides it back to her with a wink.
"You in town for a few days?" Dean asks, turning back to Castiel. "I've got an appointment tonight, but I wouldn't mind continuing our theological discussion at a later date."
Panic swells in Castiel's chest at the thought of Dean walking out of here, but he clamps down on it. He expands his awareness, realizes he can find Dean now that he knows, and smiles with relief. "I'll be here tomorrow."
"Good." Dean nods. "Until then." He waves at the bartender, then turns and leaves.
Castiel watches him, stares at the space he occupied for long after he's gone.
"He has that effect," the bartender says, setting a drink down behind him.
"Yes," Castiel says as he turns, focusing his attention on her. "I would imagine so." He stares stupidly at the drink, unable to remember ordering another one.
"From Romeo," the bartender supplies. "His formal statement of intent. Cocky bastard."
It is entirely possible, Castiel thinks, that what he is feeling right now is hope, which is foolish. Reckless at best, because Dean's presence back in the world can be nothing but ominous: a do-over has been called and the chess board reset.
A millennium later and they're right back where they started, with Castiel still in the dark about Heaven's plans and Dean with no knowledge of whom or what he truly is.
***
The girl hasn't even left the room yet and DJ's already forgotten her name. Normally he would feel bad about it, but tonight he's too distracted. His mind keeps wandering back to the stranger at the bar with the bright blue eyes who named himself after an angel that ranks in popularity only slightly above Lucifer.
It's not really a surprise that the guy gave a fake name. They're pretty standard in the community and DJ has been going by "Dean" since he was sixteen. Caleb is the only one left who knows his real name. He wonders, though, why the man chose Castiel. Did it end with the physical resemblance, or was there something more to it? Did he, like DJ, feel that the Bible had gotten the whole story wrong?
"I had a good time," the girl says, distracting DJ from his thoughts. "I'll see you around?"
"Sure thing, sugar." DJ smiles and doesn't bother getting up from where he's sprawled on the bed when she leaves. He has a few hours before Caleb is supposed to be back and while he should use that time to do something productive, like check their ammo supply, clean the guns, or shower, he decides to take a nap instead.
His dreams are weird, muddled and indistinct, but threaded with a sense of urgency that DJ can't quite parse. He wakes up at the sound of the door opening and the dreams fade quickly until the only thing he remembers is the sound of someone saying his name, overlaid with the look the guy from the bar gave him. Like DJ was the Second Coming.
"Hey," Caleb says, shutting the door behind him and then giving a cursory glance to make sure all the wards are intact.
They've had this place for a few years. It's a home base of sorts, a room with two beds, a bathroom, a kitchenette and a storage closet. Not much by the standards of civilized folk, but it's the next best thing to paradise as far as he and Caleb are concerned. It's theirs and it's as safe as a place can be, second floor of a Hunter's Building that they were lucky to get in on. Rent is paid in jobs and Caleb and DJ have a reputation for being really fucking good at what they do.
"Have fun?" DJ asks, sitting up and stretching. He grabs his boxers from their place on the floor and slides them on under the covers, more because of the cold than any pretense of modesty.
"Yeah." Caleb has that stupid, silly grin on his face that he gets whenever they're here and he has a chance to see Abigail.
Relationships aren't really doable in their line of work, something DJ pointed out up front when Caleb insisted on joining him. It's not fair to anyone, which doesn't mean it doesn't happen and DJ can't really begrudge Caleb his moments of romance.
Abby is a smart girl, a good person and she knows how this works. She doesn't hold any expectations or demands over Caleb. She seems happy enough being his connection to the outside world, being the thing for him that is not hunting or demons or family.
DJ can't begrudge him that, either.
"So, I stopped at the diner for breakfast," Caleb says. "Heard some rumblings about omens down in Missouri if you want to head out today?"
Normally, DJ would be all over it, but he keeps thinking of the guy. He scratches the back of his neck as he slides out of bed and picks up his pants. It's not quite winter yet, but it's chilly enough for him to hunt down some socks, too. "Maybe we could wait a couple days?"
Caleb gives him a look. "Oh yeah?"
"Got a date with an angel," DJ says. He tells him about the guy, without getting into the intensity of his gaze or the way he'd said his name. Pretty much he keeps it at, "Hot guy with blue eyes who calls himself Castiel."
"Okay, then," Caleb says in his, Whatever, you can get laid anywhere tone of voice, but since they are here, he's not going to argue. "In that case."
"Back to see Abby?" DJ asks and Caleb just smiles. "Be back about this time tomorrow," DJ says as Caleb tosses him a wave over his shoulder.
He's hungry and in need of a shower, debating on which to do first when someone knocks at the door. "Forget something?"
But when he opens it, it's not Caleb. It's some guy DJ's never seen and he's smiling in a way that immediately knots DJ's stomach.
"Dean," the man says, stepping into the room. He can't be a demon, wouldn't have gotten in the building if he was, and the fact that he's just passed through all of the wards rules out a whole lot of other things but the guy is bad news. DJ can feel it.
"Can I help you?" DJ crosses his arms over his bare chest and tries not to come off as uncomfortable as he feels. The hairs on his arms stand up when the guy looks directly at him.
"I certainly hope so." His smile is really fucking creepy. "I'm really hoping that you'll be more helpful than last time."
"Not sure I know what you're talking about."
The man regards him for a moment and tilts his head. "You really don't, do you? You have absolutely no idea." He seems to consider this while DJ feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin from the tension. "I'll help you out with that, then."
Before he do anything to stop it, the man reaches out and presses two fingers between DJ's eyes and there's a moment of nothing, a pause where the man says, "We'll talk later."
Then it hits, information, a lifetime of memories crammed into his mind in a single moment. He feels like he's been split in two and then fitted back together in a space that's too small, too tight. It's overwhelming, everything he's ever known of the world juxtaposed with everything he thought was a lie, a story. A horrible fairytale that was, in truth, his life.
His nose is bleeding. It's a vague, bleary realization, the last conscious thought Dean has before he passes out.
***
Castiel spends the day in something amusingly close to a frenzy. Dean's presence makes everything click and Castiel realizes that he has been getting steadily stronger, more powerful in a way that only happens with the return of the Host. This is the strongest he's been since Detroit and he was stupid not to realize. Careless.
He flits around the world, trying to find information, any signs of a prophet, without alerting his brothers to his actions. The truth his, he has no idea whether or not they know that Dean is back, if they are drawn back to the battleground more on instinct than knowledge.
It would be a stretch to say that Castiel's faith in God has been fully restored, but he does not believe that finding Dean now, like this, is any sort of accident.
In Jerusalem, he runs into Gabriel.
"Aloha." Gabriel studies Castiel for a moment and then says, "Well, well, well. Aren't we in quite the tizzy?"
There are times when Castiel thinks that he and Gabriel should be closer, circumstances being what they are. Both of them disconnected from Heaven in a way that was never entirely by choice, but too deliberate to be anything else. Now, however, is not one of those times.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Castiel tries to think of a way to extract himself from the situation quickly. He is distracted enough to make dealing with Gabriel dangerous. Gabriel sees everything.
"You haven't noticed?" Gabriel quirks his brow. "Surely you have, feeling all peppy with angel juice. Something big is in the works." He narrows his eyes. "You know something."
"I know a lot of things." Castiel winces at the obviousness of his evasion. "Who knows what they are planning now?"
"Come now, brother." Gabriel slings an arm around Castiel's shoulder in false camaraderie. "I know you too well. You're not usually this excitable. Tell Uncle Gabe what's going on."
"What concern is it of yours?" Castiel shakes him off and glares. "You made a point long ago of removing yourself from it all. What is it you want now?"
For a moment Gabriel looks tired. "I want what I have always wanted, for this to be over. My question is, how can you not want the same?"
The simple answer is, of course Castiel wants the same. He is an angel like any other in that respect. Despite his years among them and the wonder of creation that they represent, Castiel does not think that the cost of so many human lives is too high as to outweigh the promise of Paradise. The problem is that human lives are not the asking price to peace.
Castiel cannot answer Gabriel's question, because it would mean admitting that he'd rather spend thousands of years wandering aimlessly than pay what Heaven is asking. Dean Winchester is the only thing in creation that Castiel cannot knowingly sacrifice.
It is wrong, he knows. This is what comes back to him time and again in his struggling faith. How could he be created so flawed as this by his infallible Father? What possible good could come of Castiel's willingness to prolong the suffering of humanity to spare one man?
At the same time, it is something he thinks they should all understand. Even Michael, when Lucifer was cast out of Heaven, could only bring himself to cage him rather than kill him. Why anyone would ask this of Dean is beyond Castiel's comprehension.
Even the weariness in Gabriel's eyes speaks to this, the pain of watching their family torn asunder and all Castiel can think is, who is this God who would end family strife with more of the same? Why would their Father demand this from any of them?
He's been silent too long and Gabriel's expression suddenly turns angry.
"It's like that, then? Still?" He takes a step closer. "At least I had the decency to remove myself from the game. What is it you hope to accomplish here, Castiel?"
"I do not know," Castiel says honestly.
"Well, then." Gabriel nods. His mouth goes flat in disapproval. "Until next time."
Castiel is left standing alone in an alley in Jerusalem, trying desperately to figure out if there is hope left in the world for anyone.
***
Waking up feels something like wading through layers of quicksand. Every time he makes an inch of progress, something else comes to suck him back down. Mom's death, Dad and the demons, Sam dying. His deal and Hell. So many years in Hell. Angels and the Apocalypse, Sam and Detroit, betrayal and death.
It is fully dark outside by the time Dean can open his eyes. He's on the floor, a puddle of blood, tacky and cold underneath his cheek. His head is throbbing and every other part of him aches as well. When he finally manages to stand, his stomach decides to revolt and he barely makes it to the bathroom, which doesn't end up mattering.
There's nothing in him, so he sits there dry heaving as he tries to block out the memories of the last few moments of his life. The realization that Sam had lied to him again, lied to them all, that he was about to say yes to Lucifer, the flash of the archangels' arrival and then nothing.
Dean tries to get up again when he's finally able to think of it without gagging, that his death was the result of a betrayal by the one person he had spent his life trying to protect. Then he remembers Castiel at the bar. Castiel, then Caleb and it brings him to his knees again. He must be on the same path with the same ugly end awaiting him, the brother he's trusted all his life simply waiting for the right time to plant the blade in his back.
No matter how hard he tries, he can't come up with another explanation for any of this. This is his second chance, his opportunity to get things right. Except that the thought of saying yes to Michael, if that was even still an option, makes his heart ache. The possibility of him hurting Caleb in any capacity is unthinkable, too painful to even try and examine directly.
He thinks of Castiel again. Castiel, his mind insists and Dean finally realizes that he is supposed to meet him tonight. It is entirely possible that Castiel is at the bar right now waiting for Dean and that's what finally propels him to his feet and into the shower.
His actions are quick and perfunctory, shower, dry off, dress. All he can think of is getting to Castiel, he has no plan beyond that. Castiel will make sense of everything. It is the all Dean has to cling to, the only thing he can focus on without feeling like he's drowning.
Sure enough, Castiel is there, sitting in the corner at the bar, absently sipping his drink. He focuses on Dean as soon as Dean spots him. His expression is completely unreadable and Dean is suddenly mad, so fucking angry that he's shaking with it. Castiel is here and he knew, he recognized Dean and he didn't do or say a damn thing about it.
Something of his anger must be apparent, because Castiel stands as Dean approaches him. "What the fuck—"
It's as far as he gets before Castiel has him pinned against the wall, one hand at his hip, one hand on his neck, his thumb at the hollow of Dean's throat with enough pressure to make breathing a little bit of a struggle.
"It seems you've got your memories back," Castiel says, his voice low and even, his lips brushing against Dean's ear. "I realize this must be disconcerting, but I assume that you remember enough of this life to know that causing a scene here would be ill-advised. Nod if you understand."
Dean scans the bar and realizes that right now, the way Castiel is holding him, this looks like the beginnings of a tryst. Nobody can see him testing the steel of Castiel's grip and he stops trying when he realizes Castiel is right. Dean Winchester may be less reviled among hunters than civilians, but he is nobody's hero. He nods with what little movement Castiel allows him and the pressure on his throat eases.
"Do you have some place where we may speak freely?" Castiel steps back far enough that Dean is looking him in the eye. They are roughly the same height which, for whatever reason, takes the fight out of Dean completely.
"Yeah." His voice comes out rough and he clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, I have a place a few blocks down."
Castiel steps back completely then, pulls some money out of his pocket and throws it on the bar without looking. Dean moves away from the wall, manages not to jump when Castiel's hand falls to rest on his lower back. It stays there until they're out of the bar, so Dean guesses it was just for show.
"This way." Dean nods his head and they start off towards his building in silence that quickly becomes unbearable. "So, uh. What have you been up to over the past..." He trails off with the realization of how long it's actually been.
Beside him Castiel shrugs easily. "I finally tried sex."
"Kudos on that," Dean says automatically. Another memory surfaces, Castiel in the brothel and Dean actually chuckles. "How long did that take you?" He sees Castiel's lips twitch into a smile out of the corner of his eyes.
"About a hundred years. After." Castiel's smile is gone and silence falls between them again.
It strikes Dean as funny as he lets them into the building that he'd intended to end the night here under entirely different circumstances. Yesterday seems a million miles away.
The world is completely different now from both the lives Dean has led and he is surprised to realize that the only thing grounding him is the alien presence of the man beside him.
***
Castiel steps into the room ahead of Dean. He can feel the residual energy of an archangel's presence. There is a sticky, coppery smell in the air and Castiel locates the source immediately. He looks to Dean, his eyebrows raised.
"Oh, yeah." Dean shrugs. "Nosebleed from the mind-rape. Didn't think to clean it up."
The spot disappears, quick as Castiel's will as he watches Dean pace. Something is not right, beyond the obvious. Dean is off somehow. "What happened?" he finally asks. "What do you remember?"
Dean stops and looks at him. "Which one of those you want answered?"
"Both."
"Zachariah," Dean says finally. "I think it was Zachariah."
He doesn't say more, but Castiel can guess, can read Dean well enough to know how it happened. Zachariah forced his memories on him, violent enough that Dean was accurate to call it mind-rape. It is a testament to the man Dean is that he's even coherent after such an experience, that in his zeal, Zachariah hadn't broken the weapon he so desperately wanted to wield. But maybe that had been his intent.
"I remember everything." Dean starts pacing again, abruptly stops and stalks over to Castiel. "Everything. I remember Detroit. I remember Sam fucking selling me out for whatever Lucifer promised him. I remember—" He stops, looks away, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.
"Dean." Castiel shakes his head, trying to figure out Dean's version of events. "Your brother did not sell you out. Dean!" he says louder. He waits until Dean is looking at him again to continue. "He never said yes to Lucifer. You did not die in Detroit."
"We didn't?" Dean looks confused, sounds so hopeful that Castiel doesn't want to correct him.
"You didn't," he says softly.
"No." Dean shakes his head and backs away. He keeps moving until he hits the bed and sits down hard. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't have left him there to die. No fucking way!"
The pain in Dean's voice, raw and bewildered, scrapes over Castiel and in it he is beginning to understand the scope of Zachariah's plan. "I gave you no choice."
"Cas," Dean says and Castiel realizes Dean is waiting for an explanation.
"Sam died in Detroit trying to stop Lucifer. When I realized his intentions, I removed you from the battlefield." Castiel feels no guilt in this. It was the only promise he ever made Sam. "I told him I would keep you safe."
"I. What?" Dean looks stunned.
"He found his redemption. He removed himself from the equation and without his true vessel, it was only a matter of time before Lucifer—" Castiel motions with his hand to represent Lucifer's inability to stay within the mortal realm.
"What?" Dean asks again. He rubs his hand over his face and looks back up at Castiel. "What happened to me, then?"
"I can unlock the rest of your memories if you wish." When Dean starts to shake his head, Castiel says, "It can be done without pain. It would be like a dream. You had some peace, Dean. You should know that there were good times."
"How?" Dean asks, the one-word question encompassing Dean's complete inability to fathom a life that does not include Sam.
"May I?" Castiel takes a step closer and Dean flinches, then visibly steels himself and nods. "I will be here when you wake," he says as he presses his fingers to Dean's forehead, his other hand coming around to press between Dean's shoulders, catching him as he slumps. Castiel lays Dean down gently on the bed and waits.
***
The first thing Dean does is trash the Impala, destroys it beyond repair because Sam is not coming back and Dean cannot bear to ride in it alone. He made a promise to Castiel, before telling him to fuck right the hell off, that he wouldn't do anything stupid like hurt himself, but he figures this doesn't count.
What's a little more emotional damage in the grand scheme of things? Dean doesn't even feel it. Sam is dead and Dean is numb from the inside out. He's done. Done with everything. Hunting, the Apocalypse. He doesn't care. Fuck the world and everyone in it.
The next thing he does is steal a car and drive aimlessly across the country. At least, he intends it to be aimless, but he finds himself stopping in the places they'd been. The places where they'd helped people, saved people, made their stupid, pathetic lives better for a time. It registers on an intellectual level, at least. His mind tells him he's grieving.
Dean thinks grief is too small and petty a word for the void that's consuming him.
He's at a park days, weeks, months later. He has no idea, but the place is familiar. They helped someone here, though Dean can't call any specific case to mind. He isn't even really trying.
Someone bumps into him, jostling him out of his thoughts. "Hey, mister, can you, um."
All Dean can see from his vantage point is a mop of brown hair and when he looks up again, there's a group of boys standing in a semi-circle, clearly confused about what to do now that an adult has been introduced into the equation.
"You guys need something?" Dean asks sharply, resting his hand on the shoulder of the kid next to him to reassure him that he's not included in that. It's amazing, he thinks, that he can still feel the hot spike of irritation about something so stupid as kids being bullies.
They mutter amongst themselves and disperse. Dean watches them go with narrowed eyes, almost forgetting about the kid until he speaks again.
"Thanks."
When Dean looks down to say no problem the words get caught, his chest tightens painfully until he can't actually draw a breath because it's Sam looking up at him.
"Hey, are you okay?" Sam wrinkles his nose and looks concerned and Dean is certain he's finally lost his mind. Reality has left for parts unknown and Dean is here again with his kid brother, all blessedly whole and innocent.
"I'm." Dean tries to work out another word, but it won't come. Maybe he's died and he missed it somehow.
"Can I stay with you until my mom comes?" the kid tries, and that seems to break the spell.
Dean can see the differences now, how his hair is a little darker, his nose a little narrower, but Jesus. This kid is almost an exact copy and something in Dean cracks as he sinks to sit in the grass. "Sure, yeah. You can stay for as long as you need to."
"Cool." The kid flops down next to him, completely oblivious. "I'm Alex," he says and then goes on from there, chattering happily about nothing Dean can comprehend while Dean stares in a way that would probably seem really fucking creepy if anyone cared enough to observe them.
Everything starts to make sense when Alex jumps up suddenly and says, "Mom!"
A few names click through his mind before he settles on the right one. "Sarah."
The haunted painting, not too long after Stanford when Dad wasn't dead, just missing. Sarah Blake, tough as nails, brave and sexy as hell and gone for Sam as soon as they met. She seems as surprised as Dean is to find herself in this moment.
"Hey, buddy," she says, addressing Alex. "Can you go get in the car? I'll be there in a sec." She hands him the keys and he looks between her and Dean for a minute before running off to do as she asked.
"Dean," she says finally. "Hi."
"Is he?" Dean nods towards the car. He can't even finish the question.
"That obvious?"
"He looks exactly like him. Like he did. Fuck." Dean rubs his hand over his face and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Oh god," Sarah says faintly. He hears her sit down next to him and for one overwhelming moment, Dean thinks he might not be able to keep from breaking down and sobbing right there. Tears are sliding hotly down his cheeks and he keeps his thumb and forefinger pressed against his eyes.
They sit in silence for awhile. Dean takes several deep, shuddering breaths in an attempt to speak and finds that he can't. He hasn't cried once since Detroit, he hasn't been able to.
"I thought about tracking you guys down when I found out," Sarah says quietly. "I didn't ever intend to keep it from him, but I thought." Her arm brushes against him as she shrugs. "What you guys did was too important. I didn't want to distract him from that."
"You didn't want Alex brought up knowing what we know," Dean says, finally finding his voice. He rubs the heels of his hand against his eyes hard and then blinks them open, stares straight ahead rather than looking at the woman next to him.
"Maybe a little of that too," Sarah admits. "Can you blame me?"
Dean shakes his head. "I'm done with it." By now, the world knows that something is up. The destruction of Michigan was too big a clue for anyone to ignore. Surprisingly, very little has changed in people's daily lives. Bills still have to be paid.
"Does that mean you can hang out for awhile?" Sarah asks.
"You want me to stay?" Dean does look at her then and her expression is nothing but open and genuine. "Really?"
"You're Alex's uncle," she says like it's that easy and for a moment Dean can see their entire path laid out in front of him. He's already half in love with Sarah and he can have that life, the one Sam so desperately wanted. All he has to do is say yes.
"Sure." Dean nods slowly. "Got nowhere I need to be." And just like that he has family again.
***
The sky is starting to grow light when Dean finally stirs and Castiel watches warily as he sits up in bed, uncertain of what sort of reception the rest of his memories will yield.
"Thank you," is all Dean says.
Castiel nods.
"So, I haven't eaten in a few days." Dean's stomach rumbles loudly as if to illustrate the point. "Do you do food now?"
"I could eat," Castiel tells him, which admittedly isn't an answer.
They head to the diner that operates in the hours the bar isn't open. Early as it is, it's already busy and Dean eyes Castiel suspiciously when a booth suddenly empties for them. Castiel only shrugs and picks up the menu.
"Hey, Cas," Dean says after they've placed their order. "Do you know if, I mean, is Caleb—"
"You want to know if Sam has been reincarnated as well," Castiel finishes for him. Then he asks, "Would that make a difference? In your affection for Caleb?"
Dean looks down at his thumb, picks at the skin around the nail. "No," he says. "It wouldn't, I guess."
Which is and isn't a lie, Castiel knows. He can feel it. The way Dean misses Sam is like a palpable, living thing, made stronger, perhaps, by the memory of a lifetime spent without him.
"If he is, do you wish for him to know?"
"What?" Dean looks up sharply at that. "Don't put that on me, Cas. I can't make that decision for him."
"He can't make that decision for himself," Castiel says. He already knows Dean's answer.
When their food arrives, they eat it in silence and then make their way back to Dean's room to wait.
***
Dean still has a lot of processing to do as he waits for Caleb to return. He paces back and forth, his mind whirring through his lives as he tries to make sense of it. Every once in awhile he'll catch on something, Caleb's first hunt with him after their parents died, the birth of his daughter, the day Caleb met Abigail, the last great prank war he and Sam got into, a future that never came to pass and the strange little details of the one he now lives in.
Every time he formulates a coherent question to pose to Castiel, ten more crop up in its wake before he can get the first one out and his mind starts whirring again, faster than before. Castiel has long since given up watching him and is stretched out on his bed, his eyes closed. Dean's not sure if he's actually sleeping, if that's something Castiel even does.
The world seems to freeze when he hears the door open and he turns to find Caleb there and he knows. It's so obvious now that Dean wonders how he could have even questioned it.
"Hi," Caleb says. "Should I come back?" He looks pointedly at the bed and Dean turns to see Castiel sitting up, a questioning look on his face.
"No, um. No." Dean refrains from pacing again and jumps right in. "If I knew something about our past, something I knew you could know, you would want to, right?"
"What?" Caleb asks and Dean realizes with a start that in this life, he is still so young. Only eighteen, just a kid, despite the fact that they've been hunting together for years and it makes Dean feel ancient.
"If you had the chance to know something, something huge. Like, life-altering big, would you want to?" Dean can't think of a better way to ask it. He wants Caleb to say yes. "Even if you can never unlearn it?"
"Hey," Caleb says softly, glancing over at Castiel before focusing on Dean again. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."
"I'm not so sure about that." Dean scratches the back of his neck and looks away. He can't make this decision for selfish reasons and all he has right now are selfish reasons.
"DJ, if it's something that big, if you're in it already, then I am too. So what you're really asking me is do I want to know what it is we're dealing with, right?" His eyebrows are raised and he's using his my big brother is an idiot voice.
"Right," Dean says. "Okay. Just, trust me, right?"
"Of course," Caleb says, his confusion apparent.
Dean nods at Castiel, watches Caleb's wary look as Castiel approaches him and press his fingers to his forehead. Castiel catches him easily before he falls and carries him over to the bed.
Dean resumes his pacing and tries to shake the feeling that they just violated his brother in some way as Castiel returns to his place on Dean's bed. His mind is spinning again, but all he can actually think is, "Please don't let Sam hate me for this."
An hour or so passes before Dean gets tired and flops down on the bed next to Castiel. "How long will this take?" He's grateful that Sam isn't going through the information dump he got, but the wait is excruciating.
"A few more hours, maybe," Castiel says.
"Hey, Cas?" Dean props himself up on his elbow and looks down at Castiel. He still finds him attractive, he realizes, and it's weird to think of his old sexuality blending with his new and arriving at this conclusion. With the exception of Sam, there is nobody in the world who knows Dean so well as Castiel does. "I'm glad you're here."
Castiel opens his eyes and where Dean felt so incredibly old with Caleb, he suddenly feels unbearably young under the weight of Castiel's gaze. "That is nice to hear," Castiel finally says. Dean feels like he's missed something.
"I just mean, thanks, I guess," Dean says badly. His fingers itch to touch Castiel's face, trace the line of his jaw, run his thumb over the curve of his bottom lip. Before he can give into the urge, however, Castiel sits up and moves away from him.
"This is just the beginning, Dean," Castiel says seriously. He sighs and runs his hand through his hair and it takes too long for Dean to realize that's weird because it's such a human gesture. "You and Sam here, this is just the start."
"Yeah, I know." Dean nods. "I know that. I just need to talk to him first. Before I can think about any of the rest of it."
They fall back into silence, but Castiel doesn't lie down again. He sits there with his arms hooked loosely around his knees and his eyes shut, his expression seemingly serene. Dean watches him openly until he hears the sheets rustle on the other bed.
He turns in time to see Sam blink his eyes open, says nothing as he stands and waits for Sam to look at him. "Hey there, Sammy," is what comes out once he does.
"Dean?" Sam asks. Then he's up, wrapping his arms around Dean in a hug so tight that Dean is ready to dismiss breathing as more of a luxury than a necessity as he returns it. "Jesus," Sam whispers.
"Right?" The strain in Dean's voice must register, because Sam releases him a little, but doesn't let him go. "I didn't know if I should tell you," Dean confesses now while Sam isn't actually looking at him. "I just—I wanted to see you again."
"Yeah, no. Yeah, Dean." Sam pulls back and he looks so fucking happy, like their lives are full of sunshine and rainbows and Dean can't keep his own stupid grin off his face. "God."
"Yeah." Dean nods in agreement. "Hey, Cas," he starts, but when he turns he realizes that the bed is empty. Castiel has disappeared.
***
Castiel needs a few days, he decides, to meditate on things and figure out where he must go from here. He ends up in Nepal and makes it almost a day before he figures out that this is the first time in a thousand years he's felt the need to go somewhere to feel isolated, which makes it seem more like running away than anything else.
The problem is the memory of Dean's happiness that keeps twisting through his gut, the moment of simple, uncomplicated joy that radiated from Dean when Sam woke up and said his name. It's not jealousy, not quite. Or maybe it is, but it's not only that. It is jealousy mixed with despair, the urge to protect Dean from the realities they now face and the desire to be, in some small way, the source of his joy.
It is so readily apparent in this how far Castiel has fallen. How like them he has truly become. He had no real defenses against Dean before, when he was walking among humanity for the first time in two thousand years. What hope does he have now when he's spent the past thousand learning empathy for them?
"If you were waiting for the panic to set in, congratulations," Dean says, looking up from his research materials when Castiel appears in front of him. "Zach stopped by while you were gone."
Fear grips Castiel for a moment, but he can detect nothing other than tense annoyance behind Dean's words.
"I got the impression he wasn't too happy about you filling in the gaps for me." Dean shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Man, are you in trouble. I'm guessing nobody ever told him that a roofied yes doesn't count as consent?"
"A technicality I'm sure he never considered."
"Tell me you have a plan."
"Where is your brother?" Castiel asks, ignoring the question completely.
"At the bar, talking to some of the other hunters." Dean gets up from the table he's working at and walks over to him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Cas, tell me you have some sort of plan."
"I do not," Castiel admits. "I know even less of what is planned this time than I did the last." His search for a prophet had come up empty and Castiel wasn't exactly receiving Revelations these days.
Dean looks appalled. "You've got to be kidding me. After all this time you've got nothing? What the fuck have you been doing the past thousand years?"
"Don't," Castiel warns in a surprising rush of anger. He reaches out, twisting his fist in the front of Dean's shirt. "I have been stuck here alone, cut off from everything that was once a part of me, anything that might provide some familiarity or comfort. I have watched humanity regress; I have felt their suffering daily with the weight of the knowledge that I had some hand in it. I have borne it all with no hope—" He stops, unable to complete that thought in the face of Dean's stunned expression, and lets him go. His anger drains away as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling unspeakably tired.
"Do not presume that you could know what it has been like for me."
"Cas." It's a plea, enough to keep Castiel from turning away. "I'm sorry," Dean whispers, wrapping his hand around the back of Castiel's neck, gripping him tightly as if Castiel could not disappear from under his fingertips if he wished.
Castiel feels caught all the same. He knows he should walk away right now but the moment passes and he stays where he is. "Dean." Like the name is an answer if he could just find the right question to ask.
He's not sure which of them leans in first, thinks maybe it's a mutual decision because suddenly they're kissing and whatever it is between them flares and burns bright at the contact. Castiel has never been this hungry for something so wholly selfish. Want is a sensation he knows only in the context of Dean.
Regardless of who started it, Castiel is the one who guides them toward the bed. Sex has always been something to pass the time for him, but maybe it has all been leading up to this. This moment of pressing Dean down onto the mattress without breaking their kiss, the feel of Dean writhing underneath him, his hands clutching at Castiel's back. It is the first time in Castiel's experience that he sees this physicality for the miracle it is and he is struck anew with the wonder of his Father's most beloved creation.
"Yeah," Dean says, pulling away to scoot back further onto the bed. "So when you said you did the sex thing, you meant more than once, huh?"
"I meant more than once," Castiel confirms. He strips off his shirt and then kneels on the bed between Dean's legs.
"Oh God," Dean says and Castiel winces.
"If you could refrain from invoking my Father's name…" He undoes the button of Dean's pants and tugs them off, then the boxers as Dean struggles out of his shirt.
"Sure thing," Dean says, then he laughs. "How do you avoid that with other people? I mean, really."
"I tune most people out," Castiel tells him honestly. He sits back on his heels, takes in the sight of Dean spread out in front of him and thinks he has never seen anything quite so beautiful. "I don't want to do that with you."
"Fuck." Dean reaches out, grabs at the waist of Castiel's pants and tugs. Castiel moves over Dean's body, more than willing, and kisses along the curve of Dean's neck. "Tell me fuck is okay," Dean says with a gasp, arching against him. "'Cause I'm gonna need something, man."
"Fuck is acceptable," Castiel says.
"Thank fucking—" Dean stops, smiles. "You," he finishes and Castiel laughs.
Happiness bubbles within him, fills him completely as he murmurs Dean's name, bends down to kiss him again, slow and thorough. Castiel loves Dean, has been in love with him since before he knew he was capable of such a thing. If all he gets is this moment to truly enjoy the experience, it will be enough.
He runs his hands over Dean's sides and smiles against his mouth when Dean shivers at the touch. When he feels Dean's hands tugging to get his pants open, Castiel considers simply making the rest of their clothes disappear, but decides against it. He relishes the feel of Dean's hands on him as he gets the zipper undone and pushes the pants down over his hips.
Castiel fudges it a little once they're down around his thighs, impatient for the press of Dean's skin against his and Dean's huff of laughter as Castiel's pants hit the floor somewhere across the room lets him know he wasn't quite successful in his subterfuge. The way Dean groans into his mouth as Castiel settles back over him leads Castiel to believe he doesn't truly mind.
There are so many things Castiel wants to do here. He wants to taste every inch of Dean's skin, wants to bite and suck, leave his mark in secret places that Dean will feel and remember days from now. He wants to sink into Dean's body, feel the stretch and heat of him around his cock. He wants to feel the sweet friction of Dean thrusting into him. Castiel wants to overwhelm Dean with everything he has learned in the time Dean has been away.
But he can't give up the dizzying wet heat of Dean's kisses, the intimacy of their shared breath and the taste of the sounds Dean makes as Castiel rolls their hips together, their cocks pressed between them, sliding against the sweat-slick skin of their bellies. It is enough for both of them, it seems. Perfect in ways Castiel couldn't begin to imagine as Dean's hips stutter against his, his hands smoothing over Castiel's back, pressing and pulling him closer.
"Fuck," Dean says against Castiel's mouth as his movements become more urgent. "Fuck. Fuck. Yeah. So good," he says in short, breathy pants. "Oh." Dean threads his fingers through Castiel's hair and yanks hard, crushing their mouths together. When they break apart he says, "Fucking hell," and the sound of his voice like this is the most intoxicating thing Castiel's ever known.
Then Dean says, "Cas," rough-edged and broken and Castiel's hips snap forward one more time as his entire body shudders with the force of his orgasm.
"Holy shit, so—" Dean kisses him again instead of finishing the thought, his body twisting urgently against Castiel. He pulls back enough to bite down hard on Castiel's lower lip.
Castiel grabs Dean's hips, pulling them tight against his own and Dean gasps his name again, arching his neck as he comes.
"Dean," Castiel murmurs, bending to kiss the exposed line of his throat. He smiles when he feels Dean shake in response.
"Yeah," Dean says, eyes closed, his voice still rough and breathless. "We're definitely gonna be doing that again."
"And then some," Castiel agrees.
***
There is a point of awareness before Dean reaches full consciousness— he is suddenly alone in bed where a moment ago there'd been a warm body pressed up against his back. Then the door clicks open and Dean actually wakes up, laughing to himself as he realizes Castiel has disappeared so as not to be caught by Sam.
Dean wonders if he's protecting Dean's maidenly virtue or his own.
"Hey, I got a few leads, but they're pretty vague," Sam says. "Omens point to Lucifer trying to rise again, but nobody can get an exact read on where." He stops and looks at Dean, frowning. "Did you take a nap?"
"Not exactly." Dean grins. He has no idea where his pants are.
"Don't tell me," Sam says.
"Sex with Cas," Dean supplies anyway. "It was good. I mean, like." He waggles his eyebrows. "Good."
"God, Dean," Sam groans. "What part of 'don't tell me' were you not clear on?" He bends over and picks up Dean's pants, chucking them at his face. "Get dressed. The world is still ending."
"World's been ending for awhile." Dean can't stop smiling. It's ridiculous. "Hey, Sammy, you ever tried to not say 'God' or 'Jesus' during sex? It's harder than you'd think."
"So help me, if you do not shut up right now," Sam threatens.
"You'll what?" Dean asks, pulling on his pants.
Sam raises his eyebrows, tilts his head and smirks meanly. "I'll will cockblock you from now until the end of time."
Dean freezes. "You wouldn't."
"Try me."
"Consider the subject dropped," Dean says, realizing that Sam is both stubborn and obnoxious enough to do it. "Seriously, though, try the 'God' thing next time. I'm pretty sure I almost bit my tongue off three times stopping myself."
"I hate you so much right now," Sam says, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.
"I'm awesome and you love me!" Dean yells after him.
***
"You've really stepped in it now."
Castiel sighs. It was only a matter of time before Zachariah found him, it might as well be here, looking out at the serene waters that cover the battle-scarred earth.
"Do you have no shame left? Does nothing of Heaven remain with you?" Zachariah stands in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest. "Was fucking him worth all that you've lost in your disobedience?"
"Is there a point in this, or do you simply wish to scold me?" Castiel asks, his jaw clenching in anger.
"What good do you think you accomplished in giving Sam and Dean their memories back? Is it your wish to recreate the disaster that happened here?" He gestures toward the water.
"It is my wish that the free will given them is upheld."
Zachariah smirks. "Indeed?"
"Did it ever occur to you that this lesson was not for them?" Castiel asks. "That their capacity for love, for forgiveness, is something that our Father wishes us to learn?"
"Their capacity for love?" Zachariah sounds outraged. "How could you still be so naïve after all this time? Their capacity for love is matched equally by hate, violence, depravity. They are vicious creatures—"
"With endless opportunities for redemption," Castiel cuts him off. "Does that register so little with you? Do you never wonder why our Father would afford them such?"
"Our Father left a long time ago, Castiel."
Castiel stares out at the water, feels the wind kick up, whipping around him, though the cold does not register. "Then why am I not yet cut off from Heaven entirely?" he asks softly. "What stays your hand in that?"
The howl of the wind is his only answer. Zachariah is gone.
***
"Maybe you could just read that to Lucifer and bore him to death," Dean says, interrupting Sam's narrative.
Sam scowls at him. "Could you at least pretend to take this seriously?"
"I am, Sam. It's just, don't you think that if there was a way to defeat Lucifer in any of the religious texts in existence, someone would have found it by now?"
"Dean is right." Dean turns, startled to find Castiel standing there, his face drawn and serious. "Michael's sword is the only answer you're going to find in religious doctrine."
"And we are against that," Dean says. "We're still against that, right?"
Castiel looks surprised by the question. "Of course," he says like it's obvious and Dean can't help himself. He walks over and tugs Castiel into a kiss, quick and fierce.
"Hey," he says when he pulls back.
"Hello," Castiel says, smiling. He rests his hands on Dean's hips and leans in, kisses him focused and intense enough that Dean almost forgets where they are.
"Really?" Say says somewhere behind them. "Can you guys just not right now?"
Dean would gladly keep going, if only to spite him, but Castiel breaks the kiss and says, "I apologize," to Sam.
Sam makes a hrmf noise. "If not the texts, then what?" he asks Castiel. "I mean, if you have some insights to share with the class, some idea of where we go from here, I'm all ears."
"I have no answers," Castiel says, looking first at Sam, then Dean. "I can only suggest that you hold fast to who you are. That we continue to fight for as long as we can."
"Yeah?" Dean smirks through the spike of panic. They have no plan, no allies and it's a jarring thought, that this is the start of their freefall into complete chaos. "Kick some ass and take some names, huh?"
"The taking of names will not be necessary," Castiel says, his eyes sparkling.
Dean's panic dissipates slightly as he laughs and he thinks that maybe the freefalling sensation has nothing at all to do with their war.
"You're both insane, you know that, right?" Sam asks. He's looking between them, his eyebrows raised. "I mean, like, completely certifiable."
"I suppose we could always try and use our words, Sammy," Dean says. "I'm just not sure how effective that would be."
"Fuck you." Sam rolls his eyes, but he can't hide his smile. "Whatever. Where do you suggest we start, oh fearless leader?"
Dean shrugs and gives Castiel a sidelong glance. "That mean you're all in, then?"
"For as long as you wish," Castiel says and it makes Dean's breath catch a little. He has no idea what to do with that.
Sam groans and starts hitting his head on the table.
"C'mon, Sam. Don't be like that," Dean says, tearing his eyes away from Castiel to look at his brother. "I mean, worst case scenario, we fuck it all up and have to get the band back together in another thousand. We'll get it right eventually."
Castiel, of course, is frowning at him. "Perhaps we should try and get it right this time."
"As far as plans go, that's a little simplistic," Dean says. He thinks about the possibility Castiel here alone again, waiting for another chance that might never come to pass and adds, "But I think we can work with it."
It may be the end of the world again, but it feels more like a beginning. Dean is feeling remarkably optimistic about the whole endeavor.
"Good," Castiel says, his expression suddenly determined and fierce. "We've got work to do."
***
End Notes: As this was written for a fic exchange, I can’t take credit entirely for the idea. The story was written for
here4castiel and the prompt I was working from was as follows:2. As an alternative want, I could see our boys not quite saving the world in 2010. Killing Lucifer, but not really killing him. So in 3014-ish, the off-spring of Sam and Dean (or, an echo of some sort) are up and kicking. And, they know all the mythology of Sam and Dean Winchester. And, they know at some point the angels will show back up, and they'll need to kill Lucifer.
I am quite awful at challenges and have generally banned myself from doing them, but apparently offering to pinch works for whatever reason. I had a lot of fun writing this one.
Anyway, yeah. Thank you for reading!!!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-12 05:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 12:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-12 05:40 am (UTC)AT FIRST, I WAS LIKE, WHAT? WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? WHERE ARE MY BOYS??? And then, BAM, awesome is born. *shaking from the adrenaline rush*
<3^infinity
(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 12:18 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-12 06:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 12:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-12 08:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 12:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-12 07:05 pm (UTC)IHe froze, waiting for something to happen. For God and his angels to come down and smite him for such a blasphemous thought. But nothing did. Miss Daniels kept talking and Caleb kept smiling and the world kept on turning just as before.
It was the exact moment DJ knew the whole God thing was crap.
And and and
"Aloha." Gabriel studies Castiel for a moment and then says, "Well, well, well. Aren't we in quite the tizzy?"
There are times when Castiel thinks that he and Gabriel should be closer, circumstances being what they are. Both of them disconnected from Heaven in a way that was never entirely by choice, but too deliberate to be anything else. Now, however, is not one of those times.
And freaking everything Gabriel, really. I love that he's still kicking around on the little mudball, still can't quite go home, spite piled atop bitterness.
And I can't not quote this entire thing:
He turns in time to see Sam blink his eyes open, says nothing as he stands and waits for Sam to look at him. "Hey there, Sammy," is what comes out once he does.
"Dean?" Sam asks. Then he's up, wrapping his arms around Dean in a hug so tight that Dean is ready to dismiss breathing as more of a luxury than a necessity as he returns it. "Jesus," Sam whispers.
"Right?" The strain in Dean's voice must register, because Sam releases him a little, but doesn't let him go. "I didn't know if I should tell you," Dean confesses now while Sam isn't actually looking at him. "I just—I wanted to see you again."
"Yeah, no. Yeah, Dean." Sam pulls back and he looks so fucking happy, like their lives are full of sunshine and rainbows and Dean can't keep his own stupid grin off his face. "God."
And also
Castiel fudges it a little once they're down around his thighs, impatient for the press of Dean's skin against his and Dean's huff of laughter as Castiel's pants hit the floor somewhere across the room lets him know he wasn't quite successful in his subterfuge.
I find it morbidly difficult to accept really happy, joyful sex with these guys, but I believed this entirely and it did things to my insides. Good things.
And, because there is no ignoring Zachariah and how awesomely you've pinned down his smug viciousness, and then kicked him in the nuts with it, there's THIS:
"Did it ever occur to you that this lesson was not for them?" Castiel asks. "That their capacity for love, for forgiveness, is something that our Father wishes us to learn?"
And, yeah, god this is long. Sorry, one more thing:
"C'mon, Sam. Don't be like that," Dean says, tearing his eyes away from Castiel to look at his brother. "I mean, worst case scenario, we fuck it all up and have to get the band back together in another thousand. We'll get it right eventually."
In brief, holy shit. This floors me, and I love it. Thanks for writing.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 12:38 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 01:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:35 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 05:37 pm (UTC)Thank you for sharing this.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:36 am (UTC)Thank you for reading!!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 07:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-13 08:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:40 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-14 07:18 am (UTC)I loved this.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-14 08:44 pm (UTC)This is one of those stories where I am almost torn if I'd like to see more--like, I like these versions enough that I'd like them to actually fight and get it right this time; and yet you have caught this perfect moment with all the potential and possibilities that it's perfect just as it is...even with us not knowing what's going to happen.
Thank you!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:52 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-15 08:19 am (UTC)This was so absolutely amazing, I loved every bit.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-16 09:11 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:55 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-21 01:57 am (UTC)Also:
"Get dressed. The world is still ending."
I do approve of this line and want to steal it *shameface*
(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 12:57 am (UTC)*laughs*
Here from re(c)-hymenated
Date: 2010-01-21 05:00 pm (UTC)Re: Here from re(c)-hymenated
Date: 2010-02-01 01:04 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-01-24 04:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-01 01:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-05 12:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-07 06:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-02-16 01:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-03-26 08:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-06 10:50 am (UTC)you did a brilliant job with this story, it's perfect!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-08-28 10:31 am (UTC)'Castiel looks surprised by the question. "Of course," he says like it's obvious and Dean can't help himself. He walks over and tugs Castiel into a kiss, quick and fierce.
"Hey," he says when he pulls back.
"Hello," Castiel says, smiling. He rests his hands on Dean's hips and leans in, kisses him focused and intense enough that Dean almost forgets where they are.
Those lines are just amazing, so sweet but so perfect!
(no subject)
Date: 2010-12-25 12:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-01-14 05:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-03-04 09:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-06-08 04:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-09-01 05:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-12-09 05:41 am (UTC)it made me want to laugh, cry, snap, and just relax throughout
it was beautifully written and the idea is amazing!
please consider getting this pubbed
sending you a PM now =D
thank you for sharing! =D
Kris
(no subject)
Date: 2013-05-01 01:29 am (UTC)