Hello to you all! Wasn't "Soul Survivors" such a great episode! I was so thrilled with it that I was inspired to write a fic based on that one scene. You know what scene, and if you don't reading this will make it clearer to you.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and everything belongs to something else.
Enjoy!
Snapshots:
"It's over Dean… It's over."
No matter how many times he replays that scene in his head, he is never tired of the deep rumble of his angel's voice. It's probably only one of the few memories he has from being a demon. He still can't believe it, but Sammy and Cas were pretty adamant about his trip to the dark side with King Crowley, of all people. But since the time he was untied from the chair and now, he's had some flashes of the past couple of weeks: a drink here, fight there, and many awful renditions of karaoke classics.
But that tight grip that Castiel had on him, that was the first one that came back to him: maybe because it was so recent, or maybe for other reasons… he's not going to think about that now. He's supposed to be resting, and the trend his thoughts are going are going to leave him restless. But still, without his angel's hold on him… who knows what he would have done. Well, they do, but it's not pleasant.
When Castiel gripped him, eyes burning with an intensity that he could feel on the back of his head, the swirl of human and demon inside of him quieted down. It was like the inner war that was fighting for control in his body took an armistice, and settled down for peace. It reminded him of the first time he met the angel, when he was ripped from the tortured screams of the damned and thrust back into his body.
"Dean?"
He looks up, and sees Sam standing there, a bag of fast food in one hand and… well the other one still in its cast. Dean needs to ask about that one, but for now he'll let it drop. It's not that important at the moment. What is important is the greasy food that is calling to his empty stomach. Who knew that living on a diet of alcohol and sass didn't leave much in his grumbling gut.
"Sammy," Dean says, with the usual fondness that the cold, taunting, spiteful version was obviously without, "glad to see you made it back in one piece-well, as you were before."
"Oh shut up," Sam rolled his eyes, pulling up a chair as the corners of his mouth lifted in an obvious grin, "Jerk."
"Bitch," Dean replies automatically, joining his brother at his desk, pulling out the food for his temporarily handicapped brother.
"I could have done that myself," Sam grumbles half-heartily, the weight of today's events finally settling over him in a cloud of exhaustion.
"Yes, you could have," Dean agrees, "but I would have liked to eat before one of us dies again, which knowing us won't be that long."
"Now don't spoil dinner with that kind of thinking," Sam chastises, "death doesn't go well with food."
Dean chuckles, "Oh you'd be surprised."
"What was that?"
"Nothing Sammy, eat your rabbit food."
Sam has his fork in hand, and is about to plunge into the leafy greens of the "healthiest" salad he could find at this time of night. However before he could even savor the vegetable, the continued rustle of the bag shatters the atmosphere of relaxation. He sighs, puts his fork down, and looks up to see Dean looking around the bags, trying to find something.
"Dean, that's it. If you were more hungry I would have gotten another slice of pie but-"
"No, no," Dean cuts off, slumping into his seat, "I was trying to find Cas's food. He is eating with us… right?"
Sam can see the hopeful glint in his brother's eyes, and hates that he has to squash the fire of hope that was only starting to kindle.
"Actually…" Sam trails off, and Dean's flame already has water being poured over it, and his smile falters. "Cas had to leave, he left just as I got back. There's still stuff that he needs to do in Heaven, and that Hannah girl was looking a little restless, so they had to get going."
Dean's head is slumped, shoulders hunched, hands twisting and fumbling with each other as he looks at the empty plastic bag. He knows that Cas had to go on his way, that there were still runaway angels and his missing grace but… did he have to go so soon? From what he heard, he was doing his best to get to him as fast as he could, and in such a terrible condition. If Dean was with him, there was no way he would have let Cas out of his sight if he was that sick-
"Dean?"
He looks up, green eyes into hazel, as Sam gives him a reassuring smile. "He did tell me to tell you goodbye, and that he will keep in touch. Remember, this isn't the same angel we met in the beginning: he's starting to get a good grasp on humanity and our technology."
Memories of the baby angel, the one that they stopped the apocalypse play in his head on a montage, comparing him with the man he knows now. How can someone change so much in such a short amount of time? But, he guesses, that is what time can do to you. It gives and it takes, and you just have to accept it.
"Hey Sammy," Dean rasps out, throat dry all of a sudden, "d'you think you can get some beers. Nothing like a Winchester dinner if you can't drown your worries in a little whiskey."
"Do you think your liver can take it after what you've put it through these past six weeks?" Sam asks, but is already starting to get up.
"There's no amount of liquor my body can't handle!" he calls back at the retreating form of his brother. As Sam's moose-like footsteps grow smaller and smaller, Dean gets up from his place and makes his way over to his bed. He casts a quick glance at the photos on his nightstand, but then turns to his mattress. He reaches underneath the memory foam to pull out a more worn picture, corners bent from all the different hiding places he's put it through.
It's a simple picture, one he took while the person who was the subject of the photograph was not aware. It was from when their angel was running on empty during their little escapade into the past. He had the camera, and the opportunity was perfect: it's not everyday an angel of the Lord is sleeping in front of you. He thought Cas looked so vulnerable, yet peaceful. His face was smooth of all the worry lines Jimmy had accumulated over the years and he looked… human. It was really adorable-
He stops his thoughts when he's midway through caressing the faded photograph.
He can hear Sam's returning steps, and quickly places the prized picture back in its hiding space before sitting back in his seat.
Sam returns and eyes Dean skeptically for a minute, which has Dean rolling his own eyes.
"C'mon, Sammy," he grouses, "it was only, like, two minutes, nothing happened. I didn't become a demon again in that time."
"Well I'll take your word for it..." Sam starts, "Christo!"
Dean seizes for a minute, and Sam's eyes widen for a half a second, until he can see Dean suppressing laughter, and Sam slips on his bitch-mask.
"You jerk! I was ready to throw Holy Water on you again!"
"It's your fault for being gullible, bitch. Now, what did you get me?"
"Pie, obviously, but I also got you a bacon double cheeseburger, sound good?"
Dean eyes his food for a minute, blue eyes flashing through his mind like the tide, being pulled in, then back out into the sea that is his memories, before looking up at Sam. "It sounds fantastic, Sammy."
On the road from Lebanon, two angels sit in the car in silence, the female looking out the window while the male just keeps his eyes on the road with a small smile on his face.
"Castiel," the woman pipes up, "why are you smiling?"
"It's nothing Hannah," Castiel replies, waving her off.
"Is it really nothing?" she asks, "Or is this one of those human things where you lie to hide your true feelings?"
"Well-it," Castiel stammers, "you sure are starting to grasp the workings of humanity quickly, I'll give you that."
Hannah laughs it off, distracted for the moment from her pursuit of an answer.
But what Castiel will never tell her, is that the reason he's smiling is that before leaving, he was able to snag a little parting gift: a small photograph from Dean's collection, of the hunter himself, and no one else.
Thank you for reading and please, if you want, review. But nice things only! Any mean reviews can be written out in paper, and shipped directly to your nearest garbage can.