Title: Small Mercies
Author: unlimitedunknown
Rating: PG-13 to R (if only for mature topics)
Inspired by:Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Summary: "I know your fears Dean, but they have passed. There will no longer be a place for them afterwards." Castiel says gently. He murmurs a prayer in a long-forgotten language; he knows time strengthens all things. In a moment they are gone.
"You are an idiot," were the first words out of Castiel's mouth when he finally finds Dean. Dean drops his mug in the sink in surprise; it does not break. He watches as the liquid disappears down the drain. It brings back a memory, Sam talking about objective-correlative, how it would be just perfect if it rained when he finally defeated Lucifer. The thought brings a lump to Dean's throat, and he is reminded of his new weaknesses.
Forty years ago, the Apocalypse was averted. Lucifer was not sent back to hell; he ceased to exist. Dean remembers that moment, the sword – a literal one – going through his chest, because he cannot do it, not even with Michael inside him. Sometimes, when he dreams, he still thinks of Sam's eyes – the real Sam – showing through. He imagines Sam felt horror then; he cannot let go of it even when it ceased to matter. There was no greater sacrifice; at that moment, he was filled with a might greater than Michael's, and it was one he had known all his life. But his body should not have survived. Now he wonders if it was better that his body did not survive the Apocalypse.
"I apologize, Dean. I did not intend for things to turn out this way." Castiel said, his voice softer now in penance. His words were weighted with repetition. Dean does not say a word but looks at Castiel with the despair Castiel only wished to spare him from. "Those years… I know you would not have traded them for anything." Castiel wishes he could keep the regret and bitterness from his voice. He knows Dean knows anyway; the absolute knowing reminds him of his Father, but Dean never asked for his obedience.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way, Cas," Dean replied, finally, and his voice was hoarse from disuse. Dean knows that Castiel feels his despair; he feels Castiel's emotions now. Most of the time, they are tempered, like now, Castiel holds on to it with a tight leash. Even in these things, he protects Dean. There are times though, and he flinches at the thought, when Castiel's anger overrides his protection and Dean is stunned by the intensity of how Castiel now feels. And all for him.
Forty years ago, God showed himself once more through Dean's willing sacrifice. It was not just that he died for Sam once more. It was that he refused to kill him even when he could have, and arguably should have. This was what Castiel told him when he woke up in the crater, which used to the battlefield, in Sam's arms: Sam who was alive and crying, and whispering sorry over and over again. All around him, there were signs of life; the vessels woke up disoriented but happy. Sam's hand remained clamped around his elbow, his face buried in Dean's shoulder. Dean laughed for hours afterwards; they had all survived. He did not notice Castiel looking away, looking lost and confused. He wished he noticed sooner.
He almost noticed too late, how, when Sam was graying, he remained youthful. He managed to ignore the fact that not all vessels survived, and they were not healed nor brought back to life. But he remembered all that when he realized that his survival too was not an act of mercy. In the middle of Bobby's salvage yard, which they inherited, he summoned Castiel. Sam turned his eyes to the ground the whole time, quiet and apologetic. Castiel appeared unlike his usual self; his hair was frazzled and he seemed ill-contained in his corporeal form. Dean almost forgot the question in face of this. Castiel managed a smile to his look, and responds simply with, it has been a while, Dean. I have been watching over you. Finally Dean asked Castiel, how did I survive a sword lodged in my chest? And Castiel answered with his wings and his grace and his real form. Dean knows Sam probably had his eyes closed the whole time, just basking in that terrible and beautiful light. Dean saw Castiel though, and felt him not only in his mark, but everywhere. His whole body tingled with an awareness and familiarity, and he remembered that voice. He saw the threads of Castiel's grace all over his body, where it healed and stitched together what humans cannot. He understands it too, not like that powerful love which God came with, terrifying and unknowable. Merciful. This he understands as more human; this is that love which allowed him to give up his life for Sam in the first place. Funnily, nothing good came out of that too.
He watched as Sam aged, and finally, he watched as Sam died. He had to hold him in his arms, knowing this time there was nothing he can do about it. This happened almost two months ago; he has managed to evade Castiel since. Until this morning. He looked at himself in the mirror and he felt Castiel's thinly-veiled anger and frustration. Since the summoning, Dean saw every thread of Castiel's grace in him – sometimes, when he thinks of it hard enough, his eyes turn that shade of blue. It does not come with the timelessness Castiel has though; he laughed when he realized he actually had the time to pull it off. He feels Castiel's emotions with such intensity, because this is what Dean gave him, long before Castiel healed him a second time with his grace, and which he cemented afterwards. Dean wonders if Castiel can feel his despair.
He looks at the angel now and knows that he must. The burnt hex bags fill the room with an acrid smell. This was just another nameless motel. For the first time, Dean is frightened by his placelessness. Castiel must have sensed the fear, he always does Dean thinks, because he stepped forward closer to him. He exuded patience in his every move, like he had all the time in the world. Dean's lips turn upwards in a sneer at this but Castiel does not stop until he is in front of Dean. All of Dean's desire to hurt him evaporates into nothing. Dean grasps at Castiel coat – the same coat still – and steadies himself.
"If you would like, we can do this now." Castiel says, his voice kinder than ever, unlike when he started out in this world. He has even learned the proper inflections, Dean notes.
"They're all gone, Cas. I can't, I don't know how…" Dean trails off. Castiel hand rests on his elbow, almost gripping but not quite. Dean feels the threads of Castiel's grace move on his – he has no other word for it – soul.
"I know your fears Dean, but they have passed. There will no longer be a place for them afterwards." Castiel says gently. Dean hears the truth in his words. His head rests on Castiel's shoulder. In his mind though, he does not think of the future – or any future – but his past. The thought makes his gut clench in fear. Even in his immortality, Dean knows he will always be human. He has never hated it so strongly until now. He forces himself to think of Cas.
"It will hurt, like a butter knife to your kidney," Dean said. This is his usual attempt at humor, Castiel knows. They both do. Castiel can feel his fear, and he only wants to soothe him.
"We do not have kidneys." Castiel responds. He feels Dean smile against his shoulder; or perhaps his grace knows even the smallest of Dean's reactions. "I will not leave you here. I will find you; it cannot be any other way."
Dean knows this already. They have gone over this, when his anger finally subsided, which was at the time when Castiel saved Sam during one of their hunts. Afterwards, they rested inside a cabin, Sam more than the both of them. The silence was thick until Sam finally asked Castiel, where do angels come from? Dean snorted at the question, asked Sam if he also had a concussion. Castiel responds slowly, thoughtfully, not because they should not know, but because in this case, their knowing might fuel Dean's anger. They come from prayers, Samuel. Centuries of accumulated prayers; the Father has given humans the ability to create. They are all the good parts of the human soul left behind throughout time, where souls combine, where they are lost and have gone astray. It explained a lot too, at that time, like why Cas was so familiar to Dean. It also explains why Uriel and Zachariah were such – in Dean's words – douchebags.
In the centuries following, when even their story becomes a myth, Dean knows that somehow, Castiel's grace will find a way to come together. It will inevitably bring Dean along with it. Dean hopes that no part of him wanders in hell; or no more of him will wander there. He has no doubt that Castiel will prevent it from happening.
Dean's hand tightens around Castiel's coat. "Do it."
Castiel smiles, even as he knows it will hurt. Giving is something he has learned to do. Both his hands come to rest on Dean's shoulder gently. He murmurs a prayer in a long-forgotten language; he knows time strengthens all things. His wings burst forth, and it takes on its real form, wrapping around himself and Dean. In a moment they are gone.
At the same time, there is a knock against the door. It is the motel manager calling for a Dean Winchester. But he is no longer there, nor in any place at any given time, really. The motel manager screams as the windows shatter and a bright white light fills the whole area. It becomes a monastery, a sacred place sometime in the future. The objective-correlative is distinct; somewhere else in the world, people watch a falling star through the sky and send a prayer upon seeing it. In the middle of a crater slowly filling with water some place else in the world, a tree grows overnight. It should not have been possible; years afterwards, nobody can explain how it survived but it only grew sturdier through time. In some reality, all at the same time, two children are conceived. In the future, they will meet. This is the greatest mercy God knows how to give.