"The past beats inside me like a second heart."
― John Banville, The Sea
May 26, 1984
At little more than a year old, Sam Winchester had neither the articulation nor the cognition to explain why he didn't like the shadows on the ceiling, but they were not good. Big brother was good. Airplane noises and spoons were good. These shadows were not.
Summer had started with enthusiasm, and the motel's air conditioning had died on day one of what was to be a six-day stay. The heat didn't starve his small family of any sleep, however. He could hear his father's snores from across the room. Feel the shift of sheets, the sweat-sticky arm of his brother, every time Dean rolled restlessly in the bed.
And then there was the ceiling fan.
Whip whip whip!
Sam watched as it spun, not fast enough to make the blades become a blur, but endlessly moving, stretching long, dark arms across the room. It wasn't the fan's fault that Sam was scared, though. The nightlight was to blame. Its glow flickered and waned, making those not-good shadows of the ceiling fan's blades twist and lunge, dancing ever closer, teasing memories he couldn't even know he possessed.
He didn't like those shadows. Wanted them to go away. And so, he decided to cry.
"Shh," someone hushed.
Sam's lip was trembling, but he hadn't yet had the chance to make a noise. Already he was forgetting his plan to bawl, distracted by the face peering down at him. It wasn't a smiling face, but he immediately decided it was a good face. Sam gurgled happily in greeting.
Castiel didn't respond. He simply watched, observing this family as he had the millions of others who had come before. This family was not special. The father was a hunter, which made him somewhat unique, but ultimately, he was just another mortal, serving his mortal purpose. Just like any farmer or doctor or homeless person on the street. Just like these two children.
Which is why he couldn't understand why he was drawn to them.
He might have contemplated on it further, but suddenly, something smelled bad. Really bad. Below, Sam looked as surprised as Castiel felt at the unexpected pungency of the room.
Lips flattened, the angel reached down, poking the side of the fat diaper.
Dean had begun to stir, but grew still once the air cleared. Sam, clean and dry, yawned.
Humans were designed to be very strange.
Castiel touched the nightlight as he left. The light quieted, stilled, and the baby joined his brother in slumber.
August 14, 1989
"Shit, ow! Son of a bitch!"
Dean hopped back on stockinged feet as the small pot boiled over, making the grill below hiss and pop.
"You're not supposed to say those words. Dad said so." Sam, seated at a crooked linoleum table a few feet away, picked his bookbag off the floor, just to be safe. He didn't want his homework to get messy.
"Yeah, well, Dad's not here." There was a loud clang as Dean threw the pot in the sink. Dark feathers of smoke had begun to curl upward from its sticky contents, and with another curse, he rushed to open the windows. Nevermind swearing. If he set the fire alarm off and people showed up to find him and Sammy alone, then he'd really be in trouble.
When he turned back around, he found Sammy standing on his chair, which was now pulled up to the sink, and wrinkling his nose at the mess.
"Do I have to eat that?" he asked.
"You're the one who wanted SpaghettiOs!" Dean grabbed a handful of paper towels and began wiping at the mess left behind on the stove. He had half a mind to leave it there. Not like this place had been cleaned any time in the last decade.
"I don't think they're SpaghettiOs anymore."
Dean joined him at the sink and looked down.
"... we've got half a box of ho hos and two donuts left in the cabinet."
"What kind?" Sam asked.
"Chocolate and plain."
"Can I have the chocolate?"
"Promise you won't tell Dad about me swearing?"
"Deal!"
Dean snatched up the snacks and both boys raced one another to the other room, where the TV awaited. As they began binging on sugar and cartoons, a breeze passed through the open window, tipping the near-empty roll of paper towels. It rolled with casual indifference toward the stove's grill, still hot, and caught aflame.
Seconds later, it was snuffed out between two fingers.
"Cassie, what are you doing?"
Castiel wiped his blackened hand on a spare piece of towel. "This almost caused a serious fire."
"That's not what I meant." Balthazar pulled the roll from Castiel's hands and waved it in front of the other angel's nose. "What do you think you're doing, stopping the fire? That's not up to you to meddle."
Castiel frowned. He had no answer. "Why are you following me?"
"Because if you get in trouble, we all will. Naomi still has a halo up her ass from the last time you disobeyed orders." From the other room came an explosion of giggles. Cas's eyes followed the noise, making Balthazar's follow suit. "You know these kids?"
"No," Castiel replied. Honestly. "I've never seen them before."
Balthazar grabbed his arm and gave a tug. "Good. And best you never do again, unless you want to get put on Covenant guard duty." He shuddered at the thought. "Another century's worth of staring at that old box for punishment and I'll lose my mind. Let's go."
A few hours later, Dean was scolded when John couldn't find the paper towels to finish cleaning up the mess.
November 2, 1983
"Castiel. Where do you think you're going?"
To find a vessel, he thought. To find a form. He needed one. Now. It was important. Not because of commands or logic or even awareness of what was to come. He simply knew.
But he only answered, "Nowhere."
Naomi, if of flesh and blood at the moment, would have sighed. She wished their father was still with them. Perhaps he could explain why one of the most valuable soldiers of the garrison was also one of the least predictable, not to mention the least easy to manage.
"You can't. Not right now. We have an important mission for you."
Castiel felt dread. He had no palms to sweat, no neurotransmitters to influence a sense of anxiety, but the apprehension was there, pressing in, like an attack of claustrophobia. Somewhere, somehow, something was wrong. Someone was in danger. He couldn't say who or how, but he was sure he was right.
"Castiel, are you paying attention?"
Reluctantly, he conceded. Naomi was right, after all. He had been allowing himself to be too distracted over the years. Humans had their purpose, and he had his. He was an angel of the Lord, created to serve.
And serve he would.
"Yes, my apologies. What are my orders?"
(More or Less) Present Day
"Man, haven't seen one of these in a while." Sam grinned and blew the dust from an old VHS tape.
"If this turns out to be Bobby's secret stash of '70s porn, I'm gonna be sick." Dean took a long swallow from his beer, figuring he was in for another afternoon of intolerable boredom in the musty cabin. "I'm all for variety, but the bushes grew a bit too wild in those days, if you know what I mean."
"What do you mean?" asked Cas.
Sam gave Dean the look. The one that said: Do you think we can go one day without teaching him something we're gonna regret?
"Nevermind, Cas. It's not going to be porn," Sam said. Popping the tape in the VCR, he hoped to God he was right.
"Well, whatever it is, it better be interesting. I'm sick of lying around here." Dean nudged the bag of frozen peas resting on his knee.
"Should have thought of that before busting up your leg. Guess you're getting old." Sam's smile renewed at the finger Dean waved in reply.
"I can try healing you—" started Cas.
"Nah, man. I'm fine. You nearly got wiped out, too. Save up your mojo for when we really need it. In the meanwhile, we've got Nurse Ratched over here to keep us comfy."
Sam snorted. "Yeah, keep it up, and the only take-out I'll be picking up for the rest of the week is going to be from the Farmer's Market."
It was the one threat Dean wouldn't challenge. He knew Sam would make good on it.
During the banter, the gears of the VCR turned, begrudgingly pulling an image into focus.
"Is that the two of you?" Castiel asked, pointing to two small faces that came and went across the glass.
Both brothers looked to the 13-inch boxset sitting on table. The picture was grainy, and bursts of static kept interrupting the audio coming through, but it was enough to strike them both silent.
The screen filled with a shaky picture of an outdoor, makeshift birthday party. Bowls of junk food littered an old table covered with what might have been a kitchen curtain. It was a cornucopiae of all the crap that parents usually didn't want their kids to eat, and smack in the center of it all, was a blue-trimmed cake topped with 8 candles.
"Bobby, you even getting them in the frame?"
Castiel didn't recognize the voice, but he heard Sam's breath catch, saw Dean swallow.
"The hell if I know! I hate these damn things! What business anyone got recording anyone else, anyway? If I wanted to be in Hollywood, I'd be making myself pretty instead of hanging out here with you lot. G'damnit, now it's beeping at me! John, take this thing before I break it."
The view shook as the camcorder passed hands, and seconds later, two young boys were laughing and waving at the screen.
"Sammy, you going to sing Happy Birthday to your big brother?" John called.
"No," Sam replied, reaching barehanded for a swipe of frosting, but he collapsed into a fit of giggles as Dean started tickling his ribs.
"Alright, then guess I'll have to. Don't complain when you hear how bad I—" John was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing offscreen. The camera, still rolling, was set on its side at the table.
From that point, there was little to see over the next few minutes. John came partially back into the frame as he receded into a cabin that stood in the background. Bobby was quick to follow, moments later, when the shouts began. Meanwhile, the boys sat, quiet, staring solemnly after them both, but it wasn't long before Dean shuffled from his seat.
"Sammy, stay here. I'll be right back," Dean instructed, and then he ran off to the house.
To Sammy, this was a great plan. The inside of Bobby's cabin smelled funny, and out here, there was fresh air, sunshine, the most delicious cake he had ever seen, and…
The small boy's head whipped around, his face flushing with excitement.
...in the distance, a dog was barking.
It was a deep bark, so it was probably a big dog, but it was a cheerful sort of bark. The kind that belonged to a dog that would love to roll with him in the grass. Or maybe let him rub its belly.
Dean's command entirely forgotten, Sammy plopped himself from the kitchen chair he had been sitting on and starting running, as fast as his toddler legs could carry him, to the sound. But before he could reach his goal, he heard the screen door of the house crash open.
"John, get back here! You gonna go running off like that in the middle of your kid's birthday?!" Bobby shouted.
"I don't have a choice! This could be the lead I've been looking for!" John bellowed back.
Sammy froze. He knew that tone of voice. That was Daddy's "work voice," and when he used it, you had to listen and be good. He suddenly remembered he wasn't supposed to be out of his seat, but the table seemed so very far away. Eyes darting, he scurried for the quickest hiding place he could find, which happened to be under the back of the Impala. It was easy enough to crawl into the protective shadow of the back tire, his cheek pressed to the rubber as he tried to see what was happening.
"Jesus Christ," Dean exhaled, back in present day. He either ignored the pain in his leg or didn't feel it, shifting to the edge of his seat. He looked to Sam, as if he needed reassurance that what was unfolding on the TV set had a happy ending.
They all watched as John barreled out of the house. He was in miniature, in too great a distance from the camera, but they could see the spark of sunlight off his keys, imagine the feel of the car jumping as he violently yanked its door closed behind him.
Further to the left, Dean and Bobby had come out onto the sagging porch. Bobby was shouting something after John, but in the present-day cabin, all Sam, Dean and Cas could hear was the rev of the engine.
"The hell is this?" Dean waved his hand at the television. "Shut this thing off! What if there's some kind of Ring-u shit happening here!"
But Sam was waving his hand to silence him.
"No, no, it's okay. Look."
Just as the Impala was about to peel away from the dirt driveway, there was a scurry of color as Sammy darted out from behind the tire, dropping safely into the grass on the opposite side of the car. He vanished from view as the Impala roared, her engine as hot and eager as her driver as she took off down the road.
Bobby was saying something to a sullen-faced Dean, who was staring forlornly after his father. It wasn't until the dust cleared and they turned to walk back to the cake that they noticed Sam was missing.
Scowling, Bobby wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his cap and jogged back to the table. The camera nearly toppled as he searched underneath for the missing child. Nearby, Dean had cupped his hands to his mouth, his voice angry but his eyes panicked as he shrieked Sam's name.
Observing all the fuss from where he lay in the overgrown grass, Sammy frowned, not understanding all the confusion. Dean seemed mad, which was odd, given what had just occurred. At first, he thought it might be better to stay low until everyone looked less angry, but then he saw his brother swipe his sleeve against his eyes.
"Dean!" he called, waving.
Dean spun around, putting his back to the camera, but the relief he felt was heard in his excited cry of "Sammy!" He raced across the lawn and helped the smaller boy to his feet.
By the time they returned to the table, both of their faces were flushed.
"What were you doing over there?! I told you to stay put!" Dean admonished.
"No you didn't! You told me to run!" Sammy cried.
"Did not! I said to stay here!"
"Yeah, but then! Then you told me to run! So I ran!"
"All right, all right. There's been enough hollering today." Bobby put his hands on the back of both boys' necks and gently guided them to their seats. "We've got a birthday to celebrate, don't we?"
Dean wasn't ready to forgive, not with his heart still galloping in his chest, but then he saw the tears tracking down Sammy's cheeks. Just a few little drops, but they were enough to extinguish his temper.
"Hey." Dean nudged his brother's thin shoulder. "Sing 'Happy Birthday' for me and I'll let you have the first piece."
Sam sniffled. "How big?"
"Big as ya like."
"Hold up!" The world rolled as Bobby got his hands on the camera again. "Let's record this for your father."
As the celebration resumed, the three men watching the video all gave silent thanks, each of their own kind, for the peaceful ending.
"I remember that," Dean said, finally. "I didn't know you nearly got your head crushed in, but I remember you disappearing. Scared the crap out of me. Good thing I didn't know the whole story."
"Yeah… yeah, I think I remember it, too." Sam's brow creased. "But what was that about you telling me to run? You were nowhere near me."
Dean shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe you imagined it. Or maybe that premonition thing of yours was having an early start before taking a hiatus. Who cares, so long as you were okay."
Sam wasn't convinced, but he was willing to let it drop. They came too close to death too often in recent months to spend time dwelling on near escapes of the past. At least, not when his stomach was growling.
Stretching, he pulled himself up from the floor, figuring it was about time he grabbed them all some dinner. Maybe he'd get Dean a McSalad Shaker, just to screw with him.
"I'm gonna head out and get our — hey, Cas. What's wrong?"
The angel was still staring at the screen, despite it having gone dark. When his name was called, he started, like a kid caught daydreaming in class.
"Our home videos put you to sleep?" Dean asked.
"No, I just…" A thought tickled the back of Castiel's mind, but it was one he could not put form or words to. The more he reached for it, the further it faded.
"Yo, Cas." Dean waved a hand in front of his face.
"Hm? The cake looked good," Castiel murmured.
Both brothers stared mutely at the angel.
Cas coughed, embarrassed. Like a fish off a line, the memory swam from him, until he was no longer sure it was ever there to begin with.
"The um… birthday cake. You should buy some of that while you're out, Sam. Even if I can't enjoy the taste, it'd be nice. To celebrate," he said quickly.
Sam raised a brow. "What are we celebrating?"
"Reunions," Castiel said after a moment of pause. "It's been a long time since we were like this. Saving things. Together."
"Works for me," Dean declared. "If it means dessert, I'm in." He moved to stand, forgetting his injury, and crashed back to his seat on the sofa.
"Shit, ow! Son of a bitch!"
Castiel wasn't sure why, but it made him smile.