Hello all! I am making my debut in the world of Supernatural with this MADNESS. No, seriously, THIS IS WEIRD. This is actually a dream I had last night, and I typed up the entire thing in seven hours. Part two will be posted sometime tomorrow.
Have fun, and try not to lose your mind. Unless you want to.
888
Castiel is driving the Impala.
It's not that he remembers taking the steps required to get to the Impala, or that he recalls any event that that led to Dean saying "sure, you can drive!" He simply becomes aware that he is driving. Only it's not the Impala he knows so well. This one is a convertible, and a manual. Dean's is automatic. Castiel knows this because Dean spent two hours explaining all the things that make his baby run, and Castiel listened intently because he loved the sound of Dean's voice, and he knew it made Dean happy.
Dean is in the passenger seat. His arm is stretched out along the door, fingers playing idly with the locking mechanism that's too close to the side mirror. It should be near his shoulder, Castiel thinks. He glances towards it, tries to turn his head, but his body is locked in place. The gas pedal is on the floor, but he's guiding the car down an open two lane road with an ease that would suggest he was going much, much more slowly.
There's something wrong with the road, but Castiel can't figure out what it is when he can only stare straight ahead.
"Dean?"
Dean's fingers stop playing with the lock. He turns towards Castiel almost lazily, his whole body languid and at ease against the leather. Half-lidded green eyes regard him with an expression Castiel can't read, and that bothers him immensely. He's usually very good at reading Dean, even if he doesn't always respond correctly. "Yes, Cas?"
"Where... what happened? Why am I driving?"
Dean chuckles, and says nothing.
Castiel hates feeling afraid.
Once again, the angel tries to look around. His eyes land in the rear view mirror, and that thin strip gives him just enough of what he needs to realize what is wrong. There are two strips of land on either side of the road, and then nothing but sky. It feels too close, too vast, like it's coming down to swallow them, like maybe he's driving this fast because he's trying to run from it. Panic wells in his chest and makes him breathe harshly. Having the wrong grace has made him so much more susceptible to human emotions, and he can't push them back like he once would.
"S'okay, Cas," Dean says suddenly. A hand slides onto his shoulder and rubs in small, warm circles. "Don't look at the sky. Watch the road."
Why? Why watch the road when his hands are moving the wheel without his consent, when he can stare at the patches of black fading darkly into blue and still guide the car through its twists and turns. His grip on the wheel is white-knuckle tight, and his knee is aching as he pushes the gas pedal impossibly harder.
"Hey." Dean brushes fingertips over his cheek, and the touch is affectionate, soothing. "Sh. Cas, you really need to look at the road. Trust me."
Castiel does. He trusts Dean more than anything, despite their history. So he tears his eyes away from the changing sky and stares hard at the lanes of pavement ahead of him.
Instantly, he calms.
"What is happening?" Castiel asks tightly. He tries to remember what came before this, but he can't. He reaches back further and remembers yesterday. Yesterday, he listened to Dean talk about his car. Yesterday, he leaned against the driver's side while Dean opened the hood. It was hot, and the hunter took off his shirt, baring arms slick with sweat. Castiel was strangely fascinated by it, and when he reached out to swipe a finger across a bicep, he was so surprised that Dean only cast him a side glance and laughed.
Yesterday, Dean herded him into the Impala after they fixed a problem with the engine, dragged Sam away from what he insisted was some fascinating lore on djinns, and took them all into town to get ice cream. Castiel had never had ice cream before, and the sheer amount of flavors available at the Baskin Robbins overwhelmed him. Dean threw an arm around his shoulders and pointed out his own favorites until Castiel chose cookies & cream and strawberry, which Dean said was a horrible mixture but Castiel found delightful.
Yesterday, Sam teased Dean about losing his personal space boundaries, and Dean declared Sam was jealous and left his arm around Castiel all afternoon.
Yesterday, Castiel fell asleep on the couch watching Doctor Who, and woke up in the morning with Dean leaning over the back of the couch, smiling at him.
So he did wake up. Castiel knows he woke up. He even vaguely remembers Dean bringing him breakfast. The last thing he can clearly recall is the discovery that he hates bananas, and then he was just... here.
And Dean is far too calm. Something is very wrong.
In a strange burst of knowledge, Castiel realizes there is no sun. The sky ahead of him is blue, and the sky behind him is black. There are stars dotting the space on either side of the road, and Castiel feels sick. He wants out of this. He wants to wake up on the couch with Dean smiling down at him.
Maybe he had a reaction to the banana and this is just a very strange, very bad dream.
"That'd be frikkin' great," Dean says with a sigh. "Eyes on the road, Cas, seriously. I'll tell you when you can look."
Castiel becomes aware that the road is gradually sloping downwards. He doesn't want to think of what it might be going down into, but he thinks it must be oblivion. There is nothing but the sky, where else would the road lead? They're going to drive right off the edge, and Castiel can't stop it.
"Dean, please!" Castiel cries, the fear returning so sharply that it chokes him, stings at his eyes and makes him squeeze them closed against what has to be a nightmare.
"I can't," Dean whispers. "Fuck, Cas, I'm sorry. You're on your own here, for the most part."
That is an angel's worst fear. Being utterly alone.
Castiel tears his eyes open. It may not be the right Dean, but it's still Dean, and the sight of him anchors the angel. It's only as he turns to fully take in his features that he realizes he did turn, that his head is now loosed from whatever grip held it so tightly. He looks out past Dean even though the hunter is shaking his head, and sees water. Water is lashing at the edges of the land, and wherever it touches, the earth disappears.
Frantically, Castiel casts his eyes to he rear view mirror. The water is surging up behind them, crystal clear and eating away everything they've driven across.
"You weren't supposed to look yet," Dean says sadly.
"What is happening?" Castiel cries helplessly. He tries to yank his hands away from the steering wheel, but they won't budge. They've turned to stone against the leather, and the water is going to eat that away, too.
Dean sighs. He reaches over the edge of the door, and returns with a handful of water. It really is perfectly clear, and there is no sun to cast any kind of shine across it. "You know, a lot of origin myths claim that creation began in the water," Dean says absently. "Maybe it ends in the water, too."
Dean spills it over his palm, and Castiel stares in horror at the hole in his hand. Another appears in his jeans where it splashes across him, and more spot the seat of the Impala. He's going to be sick. The emptiness is making him crazy, makes him want to scream, but he can do nothing but stare.
"Just keep going, Cas," Dean says thickly, and Castiel sees a tear trail down his face, erasing skin as it travels.
Castiel does scream, then. In rage at his helplessness, in horror at Dean's body slowly vanishing.
The water is right behind them now, reaching for them almost lazily, but it never quite touches the Impala. Castiel refrains from looking away from the road again, and he can't bring himself to look at Dean at all, not with those pieces just torn away from him, holes of non-existence mocking the rest of his form.
There's nothing he can do. He keeps driving.
The blue of the sky eventually fades, and there are nothing but stars. Castiel expects the water to catch up to them when they begin to veer sharply downhill, but it doesn't. It stops right at the top and just hovers there, weaving gently as though being caressed by the wind. That frightens Castiel more than if it had just followed them down.
"Dean," Castiel whispers, barely forcing the name past a throat tight and choked.
"I know, Cas," Dean says, and he sounds angry and terrified all at once. "I'm so sorry, so sorry you have to do this alone."
Castiel wants to say he's not alone. Dean is here. Only Dean isn't, not really. The tears in his existence scream the reality of that in his face.
"Almost there," Dean whispers.
"Where?" Castiel begins to pant again, heart racing with fear. "Where, Dean?"
"The end," Dean answers, and stretches one hand forward to indicate the road.
Which is, indeed, ending.
The road just... stops. Drops away, not broken or cracked, simply done. There is water everywhere, but unlike the water above this water is angry, thrashing waves that crash against the edge and scream fury into the last bit of land that won't give way. Castiel cries out again as the car roars towards it, can't take his foot off the gas, can't stop!
The car goes over the edge.
A huge sound, a tearing and cracking, the earth splitting away. A massive tree root explodes from the edge of the road and stretches out over the water. Tires strike the rough, grooved wood with a loud squeal and Castiel finds himself driving across it, straight for the tip that extends beyond the water and into nothing.
"Cas!" Dean's body that has been so relaxed is suddenly in motion. He's across the car and pressed into Castiel, one arm around the angel's shoulders and another around his waist, squeezing so tightly that for just a second, Castiel can see nothing but him. "It's okay, Cas! All you have to do is wake up!"
A scream like a banshee and a siren rolled into one pierces Castiel's ears, his mind. He screams back in utter agony, blood red exploding across his vision as the car drops off into nothing.
The last thing he hears before the blackness swallows him is a faint, desperate, "I believe in you, Cas."
888
Castiel wakes up.
He's lying face down on a white floor. He can hear the murmur of voices around him, and a steady kind of click click click against the floor that stops almost as soon as Castiel begins to focus on it. He forces his eyes open and realizes his clothing is gone. In it's place is something white with gray threading, something thick and loose that reminds him of a dog's skin. It is uncomfortable against his own skin, like it's trying to sink and and replace it, so he reaches down to tug at it.
"Sorry, it won't come off," a wheezy voice says above him. "Marks you so the others know you have to be here. Probably very uncomfortable for someone with your form, but don't pay it much mind. If you do, it'll only take advantage of it."
Castiel pushes himself onto his knees, and lifts his head to find a bulldog standing in front of him. An old bulldog by the look of it, with graying fur and legs that are shaky and barely holding up his weight.
"Did... you just talk to me?" Castiel asks hesitantly.
"I did," the bulldog replies. "You picked the wrong fragment to pitch yourself into, but I'm sure we can get you out again. Maybe."
"You can't be certain and uncertain at the same time," Castiel points out. "That is a paradox."
The bulldog nods. Its jowls and ears flop as it does so, and the amusing image is a relief after the ordeal in the Impala. "Normally that would be the case, but not so anymore. Quite confusing, I admit."
Castiel nods absently, and pushes himself up onto his feet. Everything around him is white, with only hints of gray to break the monotony. There are animals all around him, mostly dogs, but he also sees an ostrich, several cats, and a single squirrel, and they all look like they are about to fall apart at the seams. None of them are holding still but the bulldog, and they all keep chatting away about things he can't seem to understand.
"We're here to hold it off," the bulldog says when Castiel looks down with confusion set deep in his eyes. "Can't do it indefinitely, but we can keep it at bay a little while longer. Do you understand?"
"No," Castiel replies helplessly. "I don't."
The bulldog nods sadly. "Unfortunately, I can't help you there. Not much. Not at all. You'll be witness to it soon enough." The dog trots forward and bumps his head against Castiel's knee. "We'll be friends, while you're here. I can protect you from the fear for a short while, but then you're on your own again."
Castiel was just so grateful for a friend that he fell to his knees once more and began to scratch behind the dogs ears. The bulldog let out a deep groan and leaned into it happily. "Where is Dean? He was in the car with me."
The angel suspects he doesn't have to explain how he got here. He suspects explanations are useless.
"Ah, can't help you, not a bit, just a little." The dog tilts back his head and his tongue lolls out. Castiel keeps scratching, almost feels compelled. "There is a key, and you already know of it."
The ostrich Castiel spotted early totters towards them. It stretches out its long neck and runs its beak through Castiel's hair, very gently, like it's preening him. "Tonight is your time," the ostrich says to the bulldog. "Not long to give him rest."
The dog nods. "Of course. But enough. Must be enough, or it will not be."
Castiel wants to ask their names, but somehow he knows they don't have any. So he lets the ostrich preen him, and pets the bulldog, and lets the strange, blanketing calm they are causing wash over him in thick, welcome waves.
He walks with the bulldog later, with no memory of how they got there, but here it doesn't scare him. The rooms are all squares of white, with white stairs in sets of three and glassless windows where cats sleep on the sills. Castiel knows he can't stay here. There's a niggling sensation in the back of his mind, and he keeps hearing Dean's voice: I believe in you. It disturbs him that Dean isn't here now, in any form, but the calm these creatures are gifting to him keeps the worst of it away.
Castiel drifts, and occasionally pets the bulldog. He listens to the cats talk about fragments, but they never mention what is fragmented. The dogs seem to agree, but not on what is broken, or if they can even truly say that it is broken. The cats are realists, Castiel thinks distantly, and the dogs are optimists.
The bulldog eventually leads him to a room that is different. There is a small bed, low to the ground and colorless, against one white wall, and a hole of deep darkness in the center of the room. The animals are gathered there, and the ostrich is standing by the hole, gazing solemnly into it. The bulldog trots to the bed where it lays down, seeming exhausted, and Castiel follows because he feels that he should.
"It is bigger," the ostrich says quietly. He looks up sadly at the dog. "Your sacrifice may mean nothing."
A long tongue lolls out, and Castiel reaches out to scratch between the dog's ears. He feels disconnected from what is happening, an observer. Even the fur beneath his hand is distant, barely felt.
"It means nothing, and everything," the bulldog replies calmly. "One more may be all that is required. Just a thought," and here the dog tips his head back and stares straight into Castiel's eyes. "Just a thought. A fragment."
He's being told something, the angel realizes. That one sentence is important, but he can't for the life of him discern how.
"Take a moment," the ostrich says, and the dog rolls onto his back. Castiel reaches down and rubs a palm across his belly, and the bulldog lets out another one of those deep, satisfied groans and kicks his back leg rhythmically against Castiel's knee.
"Time," the ostrich says, and the bulldog stands. It trots with seemingly no concern to the hole, and steps into its center.
The fear returns. Castiel cries out, reaching for the animal as it begins to fade. It twists back to see him, and its eyes are a vivid green.
"Yesterday," it says, in a gruff voice that is not its own. "I warned you that bananas are disgusting."
"DEAN!"
888
Castiel wakes up.
He is sitting on a staircase, leaning against the railing, head tucked onto his knees. He lifts his head sharply, and blurts out, "It was just a thought!"
"What?" A voice that is at once familiar and unfamiliar calls out.
Castiel scrambles to his feet, grasping at the railing as excitement makes him feel weak. A thought, they were just thoughts! Fragments of thought! Except... he shakes, hands gripping the railing tightly. No, that's not all it is. But it is a piece.
The hands on the railing are different. He gazes at them a moment and realizes they are thinner, lighter than his own. He looks down at his body and oh, interesting. He has breasts.
"Cas? You fall asleep on the stairs again?"
"Sam?" Castiel asks quietly. It sounds like Sam, but more feminine. His own voice sounds softer, less gravely. He's wearing the same clothing, and when he reaches up his hair is cut the same, but his face feels smooth and rounder than his own body.
"Yeah, I'm in the kitchen. Or the living room. Crap, will you quit changing them around!"
Slowly, Castiel walks down the stairs. He is barefoot, and the wood feels too real beneath the soles of his feet. "I'm sorry," he calls without really knowing why. "I don't mean to."
A figure steps out into what appears to be a library. There are shelves upon shelves of books, in a small, cozy space, and Castiel thinks Sam would love this. He'd spend hours in here reading while Dean avoided the place entirely and called him a nerd.
The figure looks like Sam, but just like Castiel, he is in a feminine form. Same height, same long hair, same wide, infectious smile, but with wider hips and a bountiful chest. "You okay, Cas?" Sam asks.
Castiel nods, slowly. On a hunch, he asks, "Where is Dean?"
Sam rolls hi- her eyes. "Not that again! What's with this Dean fantasy of yours, lately? We don't even know anyone called Dean."
We do, Castiel thinks desperately. We know him too well.
"I... must have been dreaming," Castiel says slowly. He scrubs a hand across his face, and finds it curious that he's come to consider himself male enough that he can't switch pronouns despite his current form. He never applied a gender to himself before he took a vessel, before he became human. "What are you doing in the kitchen?"
Sam rolls her eyes. "It's the living room again, so nothing. Will you come switch it back? I was trying to make tea, and I don't know how you move them around."
"Yes... alright." Castiel has no idea how he's going to switch them around now, but he follows Sam into a large room, darkly painted, with a thick rug a color he's never seen before, and no furniture. There is only a single lamp, in the center, and it is blinking in a steady rhythm that Castiel recognizes as SOS.
Whatever is happening, Castiel realizes with a shudder, he's running out of time.
The angel blinks, and in thinks he'd like this to be a kitchen again, and then it is. There's a long counter in the center of the room, stretched over black and white tiles, and more counters along the walls. Sam sighs happily and takes a steaming teapot from a red circle on the counter. "Thanks, Cas. I know you don't mean to switch them, I shouldn't get mad."
"It's alright," Castiel says absently. He reaches out and runs a hand over the counter. It feels smooth and cool, like marble. Everything feels real here, too real, and he's not even sure what that means. He just asked a living room to change into a kitchen, and yet it feels... normal. Comfortable, even, like he's always had this ability.
"Sam?" Castiel walks over to stand beside Sam at the counter. She lifts a large green mug with a leaf on the handle to her lips, but tilts hazel eyes down to indicating she's listening. "Do I ever... move anything else around?"
Sam takes a sip and sets the mug down on the counter, chuckling. "Of course. Every time you think of this Dean chick you move something. Last time it was my whole bedroom. You replaced it with the neighbor's cat room, remember? Sonya was pissed."
And, oddly, Castiel suddenly does remember. He remembers sitting on the stairs where he woke, daydreaming about a feminine version of Dean, who was showing him how to put the Impala's engine back together. In his drifting he hadn't been concentrating enough on his more subconscious thoughts, and he'd switched rooms around without realizing it.
The memory sits there in the forefront of Castiel's mind, and he feels sick.
"You okay?" Sam reaches out and wraps a hand that's still huge around Castiel's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay, she forgave you, remember? She was just so scared you hurt Mr. Fizzles, and – "
"What did you say?" Castiel asks sharply.
Sam blinks. "Um... Mr. Fizzles? Her cat?"
No. No! Mr. Fizzles was a sock puppet! Dean told him about Garth and his sock puppet once while he was drunk! They were having a quiet night, Sam had gone to bed. Castiel had been made to watch Star Trek: The Original Series for five hours, though he was actually enjoying it quite a lot, and Dean, who rarely drank anymore, downed a bottle of Jack Daniels and started talking. A lot. Garth, Castiel found out, was someone Dean secretly kind of adored. He talked about the guy for nearly twenty minutes, relating the entire story of the sock puppet. Castiel remembers gazing at Dean's face, watching him drift off, his words trailing away as he slumped into the couch, and feeling so much fondness swelling in his chest that he felt it couldn't be contained.
"Mr. Fizzles knows you're lying," Castiel whispers, and the line catches in his mind as real.
Sam's face twists in on itself, a grotesque, warped mask. The entire world rips out from under Castiel's feet like so much tissue paper, and he hears a scream of fury just like the waves that had tried to consume the last shred of land.
He's floating in black. There are fragments all around him, shreds of light and mass. Doorways. Castiel wants to reach for one, but he's afraid. He's afraid that if he moves, his progress will be slowed. He's done something right, but he doesn't know what comes next.
There is a key, and you already know of it.
I believe in you.
Dean. Dean is the key. He has to find Dean!
888
Castiel wakes up, but he knows he's still in the wrong place.
He's on a boat. He's sitting on the floor, leaning back against a crate. There's something twisted through the floor of the boat, appearing and disappearing repeatedly like a large brown snake. Castiel reaches out to touch it, feels the deep grooves and wonders what it is, why it's here.
Why is any of this here?
"You awake, brother?" someone asks in a Louisiana accent. Castiel looks up. The vampire Benny Lafitte is standing above him, arms crossed, gaze oddly amused as he stares down at the angel.
Benny never called him brother. That title was reserved for Dean.
"I don't know," Castiel says, and he feels like he's about to cry with the knowledge of it. He chokes it back and climbs to his feet. The sound of water splashing against the boat causes immediate panic, until he leans out to look and sees the blue-gray waves. It's not the anti-creation that came to consume them in the first world. It's just water.
He's so relieved he nearly sinks back onto the floor.
The boat pitches, and the limb-like thing through the boat groans and twists, tightening its grip. Castiel stares at it hard. He knows what it is, he thinks, but the memory is eluding him.
"That'll happen here," Benny says. "Funny, you jumpin' into this piece. Woulda thought you'd grab hold of that bit of crazy."
"This whole thing is crazy," Castiel mutters. He slides his palms over his eyes and wishes he would just wake up beside Dean. The fear and the confusion are wearing him thin, so thin he feels one good gust of wind will blow him away, and he'll cease to exist.
Benny laughs. A warm hand lands on his shoulder. "Yeah, but the question is, which is the right crazy?"
Castiel stares at the... the... what is it? A living brown limb? "I don't understand," he sighs.
"That's alright, brother." Benny slides an arm over Castiel's shoulders and pulls him in. The angel's so tired he lets it happen, even rests his cheek against Benny's chest. "You can just let go now, if you want to."
Castiel sighs again, relieved. Yes, he'd like to let go. He's so tired. Benny feels warm and safe, the rocking of the boat is comforting. He hears a groan in the distance, something agonized, but he ignores it. So tired...
Something grabs hold of his ankle. Castiel looks down through heavy eyes and sees the very tip of the... the root. It's the root from the first world, circling around, gripping until pain rockets up his leg and makes him cry out. Benny stumbles back, and his face twists and warps just like Sam's did.
This time, there's nothing but black, and Dean's voice.
I believe in you. You have the key, Cas, you have it!
"You're the key," Castiel murmurs. He feels like he's floating just above the water, the anti-creation that's coming to claim him.
He hears a frustrated sort of growl, the kind of sound Dean makes when he's not getting through to someone. I'm only part of the key, Cas. I know you're tired, fuck, I know you're so tired, but Cas, you have to move! Think! What do you know right now?
Castiel doesn't want to move, or think for that matter, but Dean is asking him to so he does. "I know... I have a key. I know you're here, somehow, but you can't help. I know something is trying to stop me. Something wants me to let go. I know the root is important. I know my memories are important."
Mr. Fizzles knows you're lying. A laugh echoes around him, purely Dean, and it makes Castiel smile. That was gorgeous, Cas. What else?
What else? He doesn't know anything else. He just wants to sleep. He just wants to stop, please, let him stop...
Cas!
The angel blinks rapidly, and feels something just brush his fingers. He looks down. The water is right there, it's nearly on him.
"I know I'm never in the right place!" The words come out a scream as panic sets in again. He tries to move away and can't, he's caught and he's about to be consumed.
A hand breaches the darkness and reaches for him. Without hesitation, Castiel grasps it.
888
Castiel wakes up.
And he's still in the wrong place.
He's standing on a beach, feet bare and toes digging into pure white sand. He's wearing ripped jeans and no shirt, and the bulldog is trotting towards him, looking younger and refreshed. Its legs are wet, and when it stops it bumps its head against Castiel's knee like it did when they first met.
"Hello," Castiel murmurs. "I thought you were gone."
The bulldog tilts back its head and beams up at him. "I would have been, but you held on to me."
"I... what?" Castiel kneels down to pet his friend - and this dog, he thinks, really is his friend. It's not like the others asking him to relax, to stop fighting. The dog merely offers a reprieve, and asks him to keep going.
The bulldog licks Castiel's hand, and then bends its head to lick both of his bare feet. Castiel immediately thinks of the stories in the Bible where women would wash Jesus's feet, and he recoils. He is in no way deserving of that kind of reverence and affection.
"Stop," the bulldog says, and Castiel freezes. The dog licks his feet again, twice more for each. Three is a powerful number. Castiel feels dizzy.
"Can you keep going?" The bulldog asks, and Castiel nods slowly. He feels like he could do anything right now, and he's not even sure why.
"Remember to listen to Dean," the dog calls as the world fades out.
888
Castiel wakes up, and he's... closer.
He's standing on a road, his feet still bare. He can feel the tops tingling from where the dog licked them, and he feels oddly energized. Mountains make a swift climb towards the sky, the road cutting up and through, and he recalls this place as the base of a pass he'd taken with Sam and Dean as they headed for a hunt in Missoula, Montana. There was a pull-off near the top, and Dean insisted they stop and take a picture. He got one of Castiel hanging over the railing, amazed at how high they were and forgetting for a moment how fragile his body could be now, while Sam held on to the back of coat and laughed.
The angel starts walking. There is no one here, no life at all aside from the trees. They stand perfectly still, no wind to caress their needles. Castiel is okay. For now, he's alright, and he's going to hold on to that feeling for as long as possible, despite the eerie silence.
I believe in you.
It's whispered against his ear, and Castiel closes his eyes even as he keeps walking. "I wish I believed in myself," he murmurs aloud.
He reaches the place where Dean parked, and the Impala is there. The engine is running, a low rumble in idle. He reaches out and smooths a hand across her surface, the metal hot under his palm. Castiel walks to the railing and places both hands on it. He remembers the feel of Sam hanging on to him, of Dean laughing in the background, and wondering if this is what family feels like. Real family.
Something hot and right surges through his entire being, and he hears a scream in the distance.
The Impala.
Castiel whirls and climbs into the driver's seat.
Too late. The water comes from out of nowhere, surging up from under the road and consuming it, wiping away its existence like it was nothing more than a dry erase marker on a white board. Castiel tries to turn the car, but once again he's locked onto the road, unable to turn even his head.
The earth cracks and splits, a huge groan rents the air. Castiel can hear the screaming in the distance, and then he's flying off the end of the root that has stretched out to send him away from the water.
888
Castiel wakes up, and he knows.
He is the other half of the key.
A triumphant yell fills the air. Castiel briefly catches a glimpse of green eyes. He doesn't understand, how can he possibly be the rest of the key?
"What do I do?" he calls desperately.
He's back in the driver's seat of the Impala. Dean is back in the passenger seat, arm slung over the car door, but now he's leaning towards Castiel, the fire of excitement in his vivid gaze.
"I can't tell you," he whispers fiercely. "Think. What have you done every time you come to a new place?"
"Wake up," Castiel replies immediately. The water is behind them, but suddenly Castiel is furious. He's not going to let it beat him!
"And what do you have to do to wake up?"
Castiel hesitates, and then says quietly, "Fall asleep."
"Right. But that's not working, is it?" Dean stares at him, hard. His fingers are gripping the side of the door, and Castiel sees his entire body begin to shake.
"It's not enough," Castiel realizes. "Sleep... that's what they all want me to do. Sleep and not wake up. That's what ends it."
Dean is nodding frantically now, so Castiel keeps going. "I have to wake up in the right place, completely. But I've been trying, Dean, I don't under..."
And then he does. It smacks into him with such clarity that he can't believe he didn't see it before. That's why he can't move his hands on the wheel. That's why the root keeps saving him.
"It's keeping everything together," Dean says sharply. "The tree. You know which one."
The tree of life. Its roots. Its roots are holding the last shards of whatever was happening together, keeping him from falling until he could figure out what it was he had to do.
"I have to die," Castiel whispers.
Dean swallows hard, and nods once.
And suddenly Castiel can move his hands. He yanks the wheel to the right, and straight into the root that rises up out of the ground to meet him.
888
Castiel drifts.
He is weightless. The tiredness in his bones is gone because he no longer has bones. He feels somewhat like he does in his true form, but somehow more and less at the same time. He is in darkness, but it is not threatening. It's... good. Very good. It's restful.
"I'm glad," a voice says, and it sounds like the bulldog. "But you're not done quite yet, I'm afraid."
"No." Castiel is surprised he has a voice, considering he doesn't have a body. He does, however, appear to have a mind, or perhaps this is just his soul. "But I don't know what comes next."
"That's alright, I can help you now." The bulldog trots into view, padding along on the darkness like it's a solid thing. "I can't tell you what happened. Well, I could, but I'm not going to. Sam will do that for me. Dean really has been here the whole time, just like you thought, but you were the one that had to do this."
Castiel wants to nod, only he doesn't have the form to do so. He thinks the bulldog sees it anyway. He doesn't know why he had to do this, but he knows Dean will explain it to him.
"What do you remember? Before you became aware of driving in the Impala the first time."
"Dean," Castiel says immediately. "And bananas. I don't like bananas."
The bulldog barks a laugh. "You are still in the kitchen, Castiel. You never left it. You just fought and won a war in 32 seconds. Well, you've nearly won the war. You have one more step you need to take, and I think you know what it is."
Castiel thinks he does, too, but he can't quite grasp it. "When it's done... what will have happened?"
The dog comes forward, and suddenly Castiel is aware of his body. He feels the lick he gets across one cheek, and it makes him smile. "You'll have saved not just the world," he says. "But all of reality. Those fragments? Those were shreds of everything tearing apart, held together by the tree, and your mind. I think you noticed that when you realized you could affect Sam's world."
Castiel nods. "I didn't do a very good job."
"On the contrary, you did an excellent job!" the bulldog protests. "You were affecting them simply by breaking free of them. Every time you touched another fragment, you brought it a little closer to what you knew to be reality. It's almost time to wake up now, Castiel. Really wake up. There's something you have to do once you are awake, and you have to do it very quickly. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Castiel smiles again. "Yes, I understand."
888
Castiel wakes up.
He's finally home.
TBC