The black waters are sliced by a single ray of sunlight jutting through the clouds high above the gently rippling surface. The sunlight's reach just manages to cast a glow upon a drawn, clammy face deep below, all manner of life seemingly gone from its green-tinged features. Yet, it blinks. Spluttering to no avail, it blinks. Lungs are filled with the icy water, making it impossible to breathe. Limbs are flailing, pushing and grasping for the surface. Legs –weak legs - trying desperately to aid in the escape. Eyes. Bulging, dulled blue eyes which used to be so bright they could light a fire with a glance. Now they are fighting against the grit in the water. A foot catches against a rock of some kind and the surface of the lake breaks in an almighty cascade, sending droplets flying through the air. Hands grip to the grimy shore, and when all energy is exhausted, he collapses.
When he awakens once more, the sun is peering over the ridge to the east; he has slept an entire day. His aching bones creak with every concentrated movement which send jolts of pain throughout his body. The clothes that cling to his skin are still soaked through, and they let off a stench so grotesque his nose wrinkles in disgust. His trench coat is gone - all he adorns is the white shirt and black pants with the familiar navy tie hanging loosely around his neck. Sighing, he lifts himself shakily to his feet. He is alive. It hits him hard and fast. He is alive.
How?
Hadn't the leviathans ripped him apart to escape the caverns of his body? Yet here he stands. Maybe God still...no. There has to be another explanation. For now, he knows he has to do one thing.
Find the Winchesters.
...And change his clothes.
He feels bad about attacking that man for his clothes. But he hadn't really hurt him. Just left him naked and unconscious on the side of the road. His clothes are highly similar to his old ones – warm black pants, a white shirt and a black tie. The man has a white Ford Mustang circa 1978. Castiel takes that too. Luckily the tank is full. He knows where to go.
Bobby's house is in ruins. Castiel stands staring at the shell of the building that once was. Memories flash behind his eyes. What has happened here? Sadness fills him. The leviathans are powerful. Perhaps even Sam and Dean had not survived in their attempt to stop them. No. He can't think like that. This is Sam and Dean. But where can they be?
After searching through the wreckage, Castiel finds nothing of use. He is alone. Biting his lip, he looks around once more before giving up and sitting on the lid of an old, salvaged car. He has no way of finding them. Then he has an idea. After some trips to the local town, he gathers the things he needs and returns to Bobby's house. After the preparation, he throws a lit match into the bowl of ingredients...and waits.
"How in the bloody Hell are you alive?" comes a familiar, thick English accent which makes Castiel smile. He spins around to see a startled Crowley standing before him.
"I've been asking myself the very same question since I woke up in that lake," he replies seriously. Crowley's eyes widen further.
"But...you were...dead!"
"Apparently not any longer."
"But...you...you...were...dead!" Crowley repeats, and looks frightened. Castiel cocks his head to the side and wonders. Does Crowley still think he's God? IS he still God? No. He would know if he is. But if Crowley thinks so...
"Crowley, I need you to take me to the Winchesters." Crowley is lost for words. "Take me."
"Surely...you can do it yourself?"
"Perhaps I could. But you know exactly where they are, don't you?" Slowly, Crowley nods. "Take me to them NOW." It is then that Crowley laughs. Manically. Castiel frowns.
"You think you control me, sunshine? You're not God anymore. I can see that. You're not even an angel. You're HUMAN." Castiel glares.
"How dare you say such a degrading-"
"Look at yourself, Castiel! You know it!" Granted, Castiel feels very different, but surely he can't be...
"Then why haven't you killed me?" he hisses at the demon. Crowley laughs again.
"Because, Cas, you are just as helpful at getting rid of those blasted leviathans as those boys are. With you on their team...even when you're so...human...they stand even more of a chance. And then we can all go back to killing each other again. Like the good old days. Remember?" Crowley walks forwards and takes Castiel's arm. "So here."
They reappear outside of an old log cabin. Castiel can't see the Impala anywhere. This worries him.
"I told you to take me to the Winchesters," he growls. Crowley, however, shushes him. He knocks on the door. After a few seconds, it opens, and Crowley shoves Castiel out of view. He hears Sam snarl.
"What are you doing here?" Castiel watches as the demon smirks.
"That's surely not how you address someone who comes bearing gifts?"
"What are you talking about?" comes Bobby's voice from within. Castiel feels a hand grip his arm, and he is flung through the door way. Sam stumbles backwards, staring, and Bobby gasps loudly. Castiel waves awkwardly.
"Well I think I'm done here. If you need me, don't call. Because I don't care." With that, Crowley is gone.
"...C...C...Cas?" Sam stammers in disbelief.
"Sam," Cas nods, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes. It's me." Sam goes to speak again, but the door to the cabin flies open.
"Hey so they finally stock pie at the stor-" Dean's eyes fall upon Castiel and he freezes. All the bags he is holding drop to the floor in a crash. An apple bounces to Cas' feet, but he ignores it. They all ignore it. Dean stares so intensely, Cas can almost feel it piercing through him.
Silence.
"Cas." The word is barely audible. But Dean strides forwards and pulls Castiel into his chest in a solid, warm hug. "Cas, you sonofabitch." Dean sobs through his tears. Cas barely makes out what he's saying. But the emotions which Dean is pouring out through his words are almost tangible on his skin. Dean inhales deeply, and lets it out as a shuddering sigh. Dean's scent overcomes him. The dry aroma of his leather jacket. The waft of alcohol every time he moves. Cas has missed this. He never even comprehended how much he could have ever missed this. It makes him feel real. It makes him just...feel. DEAN makes him feel. They cling to one another for what seems like an age. Dean just doesn't want to let go.
"Dean, I have to apologise," Cas blurts out eventually. But Dean shushes at him.
"No. Shut up. I don't care what's happened. It's over. You're here. That's all that matters." Dean hugs him even tighter and then let's him go. "I...I have...I have something." Dean disappears into the back of the cabin. Sam and Bobby are still staring at Cas who is staring after Dean. When Dean reappears, he is carrying something wrapped in a large package. When he takes the crumpled brown paper away and lets it drop to the floor, Cas feels his heart clench when he realises what Dean is holding.
"I found it on the edge of the lake after - after...yeah Just…just c'mere." Stepping closer, Dean lets the trench coat unfold completely. He motions for Cas to turn around. Dean drapes it over Castiel's shoulders, and Cas slips his arms in the sleeves. Running his hands across Cas' shoulders, he dusts it off.
"There. Welcome back, Cas." Dean's eyes are shining. Cas blinks. A tear rolls down his cheek. He's never had tears before. His hand lifts to touch the orb of salty water, and it breaks across his fingertips. His chest is aching in ways it never has before. His hand clutches at it, making the others shift warily.
"Cas, you okay?" Sam asks. But it doesn't hurt. It is a warmth which is spreading throughout his body. He lets a smile grow across his face.
"I'm...I'm fine. I'm just fine."
And he is. These two brothers and the old drunk at the desk, no matter how dysfunctional, no matter how broken - are is home.
He lets this feeling consume him completely. As an angel, he'd never been so sensory of emotion.
He presumes this emotion is what they call "happiness". In fact, he knowsit is.
Maybe being a human wasn't going to be so bad after all.