A/N: Hello! This has been haunting my head for some time, so I wrote it down. It's supposed to stand alone, but I may be inclined to write more at some point (no promises)! Hope you enjoy this, whoever you are, and I hope you have a lovely rest of your day.
He wanted to create. Every lifetime, every reincarnation, there had been death and destruction. He wanted a change. He wanted to create.
He remembered, he always did. He used to resent knowing, but now he was thankful as the memories sometimes would slip out of his grasp, and when they came back to him, hazy and blurry, he'd cry with relief.
He didn't want to forget, because then he didn't have hope.
But this lifetime, this time it was going to be different.
The worst was when he didn't find them. He'd live through that life searching, aimless, wandering, always trying to find them. But they were sometimes elusive and sometimes not even in existence.
He wished for the days when his Grace would find them for him, their souls familiar and his wings flapping seamlessly to their location.
But that was then.
From the age of four in this life, he wanted to paint. He had a great talent for, it, but that wasn't for a lack of practice. He'd spend hours in front of the canvas with brushes just painting things.
He tried not to focus around them and their story, knowing that it would be best to keep his memories a secret. But he kept his own private sketchbook full of green eyes, freckled cheeks, and calloused hands.
He waited, he bided his time. He went through school and finished with his art degree before starting on the project that would change it all.
This time he wasn't going to look for them, and instead he would call to them through his work. And they would find him, no matter what. He knew they would.
And so he painted. He bought everything he needed and shut himself away, finally letting go, and the scenes came out, memories finally sharp and clear in his mind.
There was the Righteous Man leaning up against the Impala, his eyebrow quirked in an amused manner while his brother stared through the window in wonder, sitting in the passenger's seat.
Scenes of hunting, hotel rooms, hugs and faces of all emotions.
And then, slowly, he added himself into the mix. It was hard. He hadn't had wings in a long, long time, but he couldn't help himself. He painted himself flying above a bridge, head thrown to the side and wings out, one leg bent with the other straight, as if he'd just pushed off the ground. He painted himself into scenes with them too. All three of them peering at a book, walking down the street together, and in FBI gear with their faces blurred out for the badges in focus with fake names of rock stars depicted on them.
He painted and painted and painted until there was only one scene left.
It started with red. He took the biggest canvas he had bought and painted the edges of it with red, and from there it all came out. He didn't eat or sleep for two days, letting the paints speak for themselves as he lived in his memories. And when he resurfaced, he knew.
It was complete, and he was ready to share.
"Hey Cas, are you ready?" It didn't matter how many lifetimes when by, he always had the same name, and he always looked the same. It was true of the others as well.
He turned to his assistant, who was a lovely woman named Natalie Smith. She was not one of them, but she had wormed her way into his heart.
"I think I am as ready as I can be." It had taken him another six months after he finished the last painting to get back into society- he felt isolated and old and exhausted. But when he was finally okay again, he tried his best to get a gallery set up for his work.
He didn't want to sell his pieces, but that was how the word got out, so he was forced to put price tags on all his work and show it to those who might be interested. In this way, he found Natalie, and she set him up with a woman who dealt with pricey art shows. He didn't pay much attention to it, it wasn't that important, but he was surprised to recognize her face.
The first one of them he met- Bela Talbot.
Not his favorite, but it grounded him. If she was there, then the rest of them might be too. Thankfully, she was only in one or two paintings, and never was the main focus. She didn't look at his work either, with a recommendation from Natalie and sending out one of her employees, she was convinced.
"Well, come on then. Time for your big night."
He swallowed, taking a deep breath before following Natalie out of the back room. He looked around as they walked, his eyes flowing over his paintings on the wall, their tones ranging from light to dark as the memory had served.
He didn't expect anyone to be here that he recognized, and tried to tell himself that it was okay if it took awhile.
He and Natalie met Bela at the front of the gallery in the cool night air.
"Hello Cas. I'm looking forward to seeing you work, Jeremy told me it was amazing."
He looked at her steadily, "I am glad you are enthusiastic about seeing what I've done."
She smiled at him, genuinely, and it surprised him, but he managed to keep the shock off his face. "I brought a couple friends who wanted to see your work. I hope you don't mind. When Jeremy speaks highly of art, I know it's fantastic."
His heart sped up a fraction. She was bringing people, he might know them. They might be…
The grin he wore rivaled the brilliance of the stars. "Thank you Bela. I hope that they might like my work, and that they think all the time I've put into Supernatural is worthwhile." He kind of hated that he named the exhibit after the horrid books that haunted his mind, but it was the only thing that felt right. Anything else was too intimate or not enough to express what he'd captured.
"I'm sure they will. I'll introduce them to you, but first, you should open up. People are waiting- me included!" He nodded at her insistence and went out to the crowd. Natalie handed him a mic.
"Hello everyone, I'm Castiel, and this is the opening night of my Supernatural gallery. It depicts the journey of two brothers and everything they went through to save the world. Of course, they had some help along the way, but they had to rely mostly on each other and their bond." He wondered about all the paintings that didn't make it into Supernatural, the ones of light and happiness and him- laughing and smiling and-
He shook his head. "I hope you enjoy the exhibit. I'll be around, if you have questions, and so will my agent, Natalie Smith, and our wonderful gallery host, Bela Talbot." He opened the door and gestured inside.
"Please, come in!" Then he lead the way, exposing the things he held closest to his heart to a herd of strangers.
He felt out of place. All the people milling around, looking at his art, critiquing it and talking about hidden meanings.
The monsters don't mean anything! He wanted to shout. They're real, but they don't mean anything! It's him. He's the one who matters, him and his brother.
He didn't though, and made polite conversation with those who asked him questions.
"Who's the inspiration for your work?" One woman asked.
He felt himself simultaneously crumble and become stronger. "They came from and are themselves. I was just a mere vessel in letting the world see them." It was as close to the truth as he could bear.
And so he ran, diving into the back room, away from his paintings, his feelings, his pain and his loss and his-
"Cas? I think you need to come see this." Natalie's voice had never taken on this tone. It was flat and urgent, and her eyes were flashing with confusion.
"Natalie?" He was tired, and he didn't understand why she would be so worked up.
"Don't question me right now. You just have to see this. Right. Now." Hope that it was someone he knew flared once more, the candle becoming a small campfire, flickering steadily higher.
He got up and followed Natalie out back into the throng, and she lead him to the front, where the entire wall was encased in one painting. The most important painting.
And, standing there was a man. He was facing the painting, his brown leather jacket just a tad too big and his head of dark blonde hair was tilted back, taking in the scene.
The canvas was red, filled with flickering flames of hellfire. In the middle stood a broken man who had a haunted look in his eyes, but he was being lifted by an angel with black wings and a fierce, protective glare, looking upwards toward the one beam of light striking through the painting.
The man didn't need to turn around. He knew who it was the moment he saw him.
He wrenched away from Natalie's grip, his breath coming out in pants.
"Dean," he called, his voice incredulous and hoping and wanting.
The man slowly turned around. His face was present all around the room in the paintings on the walls, but it was the most beautiful in person.
"Cas? Castiel?"
It never got old, meeting up with Dean. Every lifetime that Castiel found Dean, it was as if it had been one thousand years and they were finally reunited.
Castiel smiled, his eyes full of tears. "Yes, it is me. I found you, Dean. I will always find you."
They were walking toward each other, crossing the giant expanse of the room.
"Cas, I'm confused though, there's all this in my head and-"
Castiel's voice was gentle in reply, "I know Dean." This happened sometimes, Dean wouldn't have the memories that Castiel did until they met. Cas knew how to handle it, but this time was different. Instead of talking Dean through all the memories, he could show him.
It would finally be okay. They were together. And together, they were complete.
They were enraptured with each other, wrapped in each other and content in the presence of the other.
They strolled down the halls, Cas's voice lowly explaining each painting, his low gravelly tones just loud enough for Dean to hear, while for others surrounding them it faded into white noise.
"So, where's Sam?" Cas eventually asked, curious about the whereabouts of one of his good friends.
Dean smiled. "He's friends with Bela, actually. He was the one who made me come here tonight."
"Well I'd like to go and thank him, because without his interference I would not have seen you again so soon. Also, I bet that he is a little, uh, overwhelmed by all the paintings-"
"Freaked the fuck out, more like. Knowing Sammy, he's probably had a heart attack!"
Cas laughed in agreement, feeling tension roll out of his shoulders. He knew there were still things that needed to be said and explained like there were in every lifetime, but that could wait for a little longer. They just needed to find Sam.
They only had to meander for a little bit until Bela found them, panting and out of breath. She pointed at Castiel right away. "How the fuck did you do this?" She sounded pretty pissed, and even though she was in a fancy dress and high heels, she looked quite intimidating.
Dean took a half step in front of Cas instinctually. "He was trying to get to Sam and me. We're here now, so mind telling me where that moose is?"
Bela looked at him for a moment, stunned that he was defending a stranger, or rather, who she thought was a stranger. But Cas knew their relationship was beyond her comprehension, and she should be worried in most circumstances, but these were not said normal circumstances.
"Uh, yeah, I think he's in the back room, got Natalie to take him there. He's a bit overwhelmed," she shoved out.
Dean chuckled quietly. "Told you he'd freak the fuck out," he whispered to Cas. Raising his voice, he asked Bela, "He didn't faint or anything, right? I'd hate to have to take that girl to the hospital." Cas knew that tone, the one that said he was worried but he wouldn't admit it.
"No he's okay." Bela turned to Cas again, pointing a steady finger at him. "Don't think you're getting out of this just because Sam feels ill. You still have to explain all..." she waved her hands about, "everything!" Then she stalked off before either of them could get the last word.
"I see she remains largely the same in this life," Cas remarked before leading the way to Sam's location. It seemed odd to him that he'd been worried in this very room a mere hour ago, and now he was here with Dean at his side looking to comfort Sam. The thought of it made him smile- not that Sam was disoriented and shocked, but that he was here.
Cas paused outside the door to back room, feeling unsure. "Dean, perhaps you should go in first, and I could come in at a later time," he suggested.
Dan threw Cas a look that said really. "Cas, you're family. You're coming in. Besides, you remember more things than I do and it'll be easier to explain them for you than me."
Dean's logic made sense, Cas knew that, but he was still worried about the possible outcomes of the situation.
Dean watched as his head tilted down and to the side, his eyes sweeping the ground. Then Dean knew he had to intervene. "Cas, this is Sam. You know him, and he's sitting there having a panic attack. I almost had one too, you know, but Sam's a girl so he needs us there. Come on, we're going." He took Cas's hand and then they were pushing themselves through the door.
Natalie looked up at Castiel and Dean, as she was crouched over Sam, who was on the couch, facing away from them. "I let you go away with that one, but I didn't know there was another. You should have told me, I found him hyperventilating near the shtriga painting, and Bela was yelling at him asking about you." Her glare turned harsh. "There aren't any more, right?"
Castiel smiled sheepishly. "Um, maybe? I don't know if they're here tonight." He looked to the side and gripped the back of his neck.
"I'm his brother, how's he doing?" Dean finally butted in, curious about Sam.
"He's fine, and he can talk for himself," Sam insisted, sitting up so that he could glare at Dean over the back of the couch.
Then he locked eyes with Cas and his eyes became wide with shock. "You're Castiel," he stated.
Castiel nodded. "Yes, Sam. That is my name. I did not know you would be here tonight, otherwise I would have given you some warning. However, this was exactly my intention- to draw you here to me, so all of us could be reunited."
Natalie looked at them curiously. "You never mentioned that these guys were your inspiration, Cas, not to mention, why would you want to reunite when you've obviously seen them recently due to how they look in the paintings?"
Cas looked at Natalie, tilting his head. His eyes were sorrowfully blue, knowing and sparkling with wisdom. "You would not understand, Natalie, but I appreciate your concern. I will give you an explanation later, if I can come up with a short synopsis that you will comprehend."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas means that there's thing thing called the Internet and he's seen pictures but we haven't seen each other for ages. We didn't even know this was his art show until we stepped in here and saw our faces everywhere! Or, that's how it was for me, Sammy ditched. So, ignore Cas, he's dramatic like that sometimes."
Natalie looked skeptical, but she accepted Dean's story before claiming that she needed to be outside to check up on all the people who came to the show.
After she left, Sam got up off the couch and crossed to Cas. He started with, "So, wanna tell me how the hell this happened? I walk in here and I see myself splattered all over the walls, then I remember all this shit like it's real, and it overpowers everything and soon I'm against the wall with Bela yelling at me. Then Natalie got me back here. So, was that all real, or what?"
Cas took a deep breath, letting the air completely flow out of his lungs before speaking again. "We have all lived many lifetimes," he began, his voice solemn and deep. "Things vary each lifetime, for instance our gender and ages. In some lives, you and Dean are not siblings. I am born first, mostly. And, I remember. I remember all the past lives we have lived through, or rather, the important ones. I inherently know you, both of you. Therefore, I try to find you. It never feels right until I do. Thankfully, most of the time, you are together. Also, when you meet me, a large percentage of the time, your memories come back." Cas smiled there, lighting up the room. "I am very happy you remember this time, even if it's hazy. It usually gets better with time.
"Anyway, in the first lifetime, I was an angel, and you two were hunters. Sam and Dean Winchester, and the Angel Castiel of Thursday. We were quite the trio," he deadpanned, "of course, we all died our fair share of times. And stopped the apocalypse a couple times too." He looked at their faces, and both were perfectly serious, which made him a little happy. Winchesters never change, he thought giddily.
"Well, lighten up, we're alive aren't we? I'm here with you, right?" Cas threw his arms to the sides, letting the feeling of carelessness enter and consume him.
"Well, I guess his 'people skills' are no longer 'rusty,'" Dean remarked.
Cas and Sam just rolled their eyes, understanding the joke but not wanting to give Dean the time of day.
"Oh!" Cas looked toward Sam as he remembered something. "I would like to thank you for coming tonight, I heard you dragged Dean here, and I greatly appreciate getting to meet both of you so soon." His smile dimmed. "I was expecting it to take a while for word to reach you about the paintings. I am happy that was not the case, however, how did you get to be here?"
Sam flicked his gaze over to Dean before answering with, "We came to visit Bela and some other friends, we hadn't seen them in a while. And, since we were here, Bela invited us to come to your opening. She told us we'd have fun, and I believed her, but of course Dean didn't. I had to drag his ass here, and you're welcome for it."
"Yeah, yeah Sammy, shut it." Dean muttered, swatting halfheartedly at his brother's shoulder.
"Then you know what happened from there. It's just…" Sam gestured with his hands in a circular motion, "It's just a lot to take in." He finished lamely, his hands falling limp on his lap.
"You got that right," Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Captain Obvious back at it again!"
"Shut up Lieutenant Sarcasm," Sam grumbled in reply.
"Well!" Cas decided it was time for him to interfere, "This has been pleasant. I should return outside to sell some paintings." He made a face. "I don't want to sell any. They mean a lot to me." He wasn't sure why he admitted that the paintings meant so much, but these were the Winchesters, the people he felt the most comfortable around. So, he felt the need to overshare.
The paintings were too close to his heart, depicting memories of their first lifetime, the one that was always the most vivid and memorable. The one that created the bond that they shared, when they all had died and lived for each other and the sake of the world around them.
Cas tilted his head down and to the side, his eyes sweeping over the carpet. He felt a shiver crawl its way over his skin, wrongness and the feeling of being looked at radiated through his being.
"They get to see me," he whispered. It was all out there on the canvases, and he was exposed.
Cas felt a hands on his shoulders, one belonging to Sam and the other to Dean.
"It's okay Cas. You did it to get to us, maybe this'll bring in more people we know. Ellen, Jo, Bobby… We don't know yet, this could be fantastic," Dean commented. His voice sounded normal to the untrained ear, but Cas could hear the strained stilt to the end of it that signified his worry.
He glanced up to Dean and smiled slightly. He took a deep breath, then nodded. "Yes, you are right. I really should go back out. It looks bad, I think, if the artist is not present at his own art show." He stopped for a minute, thinking. "You might want to stay here. I am not sure how people will react seeing you and matching your faces to my paintings."
"No!" Sam blurted, causing Cas and Dean to turn to him, confused. "I mean," he continued, "we will come to support you. We haven't been with you and we're not going to leave just yet. Besides, this will probably help us sort out some of the memories back here. I'm a little confused with all this stuff jammed in my brain still."
Cas nodded. "Fair enough. Follow me, then." And he lead the way from the safety of the back room back out into the crowd of people who would question him about how he came up with the idea of Supernatural. But that was okay. He could deal with it, because now he had his best friends at his side. They were together at last.