SIX SCENES FROM A NEW BEGINNING
The Winchester brothers spent three months at Bobby's, making the myriad tiny adjustments necessary to adjust to life after permanently switching bodies and having killed the demon that had murdered their mother and Sam's girlfriend.
Both were tanner, their hair lightened from long hours outside. They sparred and talked for long hours about their futures - amazed they had options now. With the Yellow-Eyed Demon dead and his plans for Sam thwarted, their whole lives were open to them now.
Sam had cut Dean's hair again, as it had grown ridiculously fast into his eyes. Dean looked younger with it short - like the body he was in was 18 instead of 25.
Sam was letting his hair grow out. He now had bangs starting to creep onto his forehead - dirty blond without all the goop Dean used to put into it - and nearly touching the tops of his ears. Impossibly, he also looked younger with his lengthening hair.
Dean wasn't mildly allergic to onions anymore, and Sam wasn't mildly allergic to beans. They each could eat their favourite foods now without turning the Impala or their room into Stinkbomb Ground Zero.
Sam learned how to filter out the extra input from Dean's heightened hearing. Bizarrely, it had been a TV show from the 90s that had given him the key. Dean - for his love of movies - had never been a TV-watcher if it didn't come on late at night on a local station (hence his love of Star Trek), so it had been little surprise he'd never seen it. The show was about a cop with five heightened senses, and he controlled it by picturing a dial in his head that he adjusted as needed. Sam tried it, and to his delight it worked.
Dean learned to tell the difference between his two kinds of visions - pre-cog and post-cog. And he learned how to manage the headaches. Sam told him about the hearing dials, and he found to his delight that they also worked for pain.
Sam wasn't too thrilled with that idea. Neither was Bobby.
Dean learned how to fold his larger body into and under the Impala efficiently, so he could still commune with his 'Baby'. Sam learned his smaller reach and stature could be used to his advantage - especially since he found out Dean's wide emerald eyes were as much a weapon as his former puppy-dog ones when teamed with Sam's faux innocence.
Dean found the drums in a corner of the oldest barn. He was astonished to find them. He had thought Bobby had gotten rid of them years ago.
He wondered if he still remembered how...
Sitting down behind the kit, Dean puttered around for a bit before going to the house and bringing out a boombox. He put on a tape and began to play along. Soon, it was like he'd never stopped playing. Like it had never hurt his ears to play.
And outside the barn, just like when they were younger, Sam sat propped against the wall. He dialed back his hearing and enjoyed the music his brother was making. Before he realised what he was doing, he was singing along.
"You've got me captured, I'm under your spell,
I guess I'll never learn..."
Watching them from the window, Bobby smiled.
He knew all it would take was somewhere safe and they'd quickly adjust.
The blond stared in naked shock as Castiel took a long pull from a silver flask he'd produced from one of the copious pockets of his trenchcoat. "What's that?"
"Jack Daniels." He held the flask out. "Want some?"
A quirk of the lips, and the blond took the flask. He took a long drink and looked at it, then at Castiel. "Since when do you drink?"
"My charges...were quite the influence." He sighed. "Thank you for all your assistance. Now I must finish what remains to be done."
"Wait what do you mean 'what remains'?"
Castiel gave him a long, measured look. Then he said, "There is an unholy alliance that will soon be formed. It must be stopped. And there is another that was once formed to manipulate – it must be formed again for the right reasons. To help instead of manipulate."
The blond raised an eyebrow. "O...kay. Give me the particulars."
That caused an honest-to-goodness double-take. "What?"
Uncurling his legs from beneath him, the blond leaned forward. "Tell me what you mean. What we have to do."
"'We'? I can't ask you to—"
"You needed my power to switch them."
"And I'm grateful. But this—"
"So. I'm already involved. Besides." And he went surprisingly serious. "You're my little brother. So talk."
Castiel studied him. Then he nodded.
And talked.
"So," Dean asked conversationally as they washed the Impala. "You gonna head back to school?"
Sam paused, looking at him. Then he resumed soaping up the driver's side doors. "Nah. I think that's door's closed," he sighed as he stood up from the crouch he had sank into to reach the bottom of the doors.
"Because you look like me now?"
"Because I was running. Trying to be 'normal'." He made the quotes around the word with the hand holding the soapy rag. "There's all sorts of normal, Dean. This life – it feels normal now."
Dean studied him for a moment, then picked up the hose and rinsed off the soap as he asked, "Any thought as to what you wanna do?"
"Kind'a thought maybe we could pick up where we left off."
Dean shut off the hose. "But Old Yellow Eyes is dead. Mom...Dad...even Jess..."
"They're avenged. I know." Sam took a deep breath. "But that world's still out there. There could be a hundred million families affected like we were – haunted and afraid."
"I know," Dean said, shaking his head and running a damp hand through his hair. "I was thinking – maybe it's time to get back on the rails."
Sam nodded. "Yeah – I've been thinking the same thing. Get back to the Family Business."
Dean smiled, feeling his shoulders straighten a little. "When do you wanna go?"
After a moment of thought, Sam looked up at his brother. "Monday."
Dean nodded. "That'll give us another weekend here – to load up and restock. Good thinking!" He walked toward the house, following the hose. "There's just one more thing to do, then."
"Yeah?" Sam asked. "What's that?"
In one fluid movement, Dean spun on his heel and brought the hose up, turning it on and thoroughly soaking Sam.
Sam roared, diving for the second hose. In seconds, the battle had been joined.
The commotion drew Bobby to the window. He stood, watching them laugh and play in the water and mud they were creating like they were kids again. "You pair of idjits," he chuckled fondly.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Angels didn't need to sleep, per se, but Castiel had been human a long time. He still thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of laying down, being covered by warmth, and just closing out the world awhile.
Right now, he was curled on the bench they had been sitting on. His trench coat was his cover – with his legs curled underneath, it covered him fully – and his black underjacket was folded into a pillow.
He waited, wrapped in warmth and comfort, until he heard his older brother's voice. "Castiel?"
"Over here." He sat up, reluctant to leave the warmth of the nest he'd made. But he blinked in shock to see who had arrived with his brother. "You."
He nodded, the older man he had envesseled smiling slightly. "This believer allowed me the use of his body to communicate with you, Castiel. I did not want to believe you at first."
Castiel nodded, standing up. "It is a truly unbelievable story." He stood there in his shirtsleeves, the trenchcoat abandoned to its role of blanket behind him.
"But now we have proof. Gabriel here took me and I saw Zechariah attempting to contact Lilith with my own eyes. He has truly lost his mind, Castiel – trying to begin the Apocalypse prematurely. Dealing with Lilith to do so. How long would they have lied to us?"
Castiel closed his eyes – and remembered. Remembered the three years of hell on earth and a divided heaven. Remembered it all.
He heard the newcomer suck in a horrified breath. Then gentle fingers touched his cheek and he opened his eyes. "I understand," he said in a whisper, looking into Castiel's deep blue eyes. "Your decision to return back in time to stop this... was based in love."
"Yes," Castiel whispered.
"You were willing to risk wrath - destruction – for the love of two brothers. Why are they so important, Castiel?"
There was not an instant's hesitation. "They are my family. They took me in when I was cast out. No matter what I did, they showed me love. They showed me that, flawed as they are, family is everything." He raised his chin. "They embody protection and care. They MATTER. To me and to everyone they have touched." He spread his hands and finished in an awed whisper.
"They are the purest of loves, Michael. They are FAMILY."
The old man smiled and tilted his head, putting the palm of his hand on Castiel's wavy dark hair. "Your motives are pure. Your actions have set into motion things that will be less destructive than the Apocalypse, but will test this bond you claim to see."
Castiel nodded. "I understand. What shall happen to me?"
"Your other plan – yes, Gabriel informed us of that as well."
Castiel's eyes canted to the blond, who spread his hands. "What can I say? I've got a big mouth."
"That you do," Castiel shot back without thinking about it.
The older man laughed. "And you have truly become brothers as well. I approve. Castiel. Your other plan has been approved. They will need guides. You shall be one. She shall be another. You shall remain here – with your memories of what shall no longer be – and you shall grow with the Winchesters."
"And me?" the blond asked.
The older man smiled. "You shall take care of your impulsive little brother, Gabriel." And, with a flash of light, he was gone.
They looked at each other for a few moments, then Castiel began to smile.
"You do, and I'll make sure you have a mullet!"
"It'll be worth it. So you have to take care of me now."
"Cas, I'm warning you-"
"Are you certain you shall be able to – Dean?"
The mullet was, indeed, worth it - for the pure incredulous rage that the tease generated on his older brother's face at the comparison.
Besides, it wasn't as if he kept it for more than two days.
Not even the Trickster could bear the awful sight for longer than that.
Dean scanned the arsenal, mentally cataloguing everything there and making a list of what they still needed to load. Hearing someone walk up, and recognising the tread that bowed legs forced, he didn't look around before he spoke. "We need bolts for the crossbows and sanctified iron."
"I'll keep those in mind," Sam said. He was carrying two duffels and he had a backpack slung over his left shoulder. "Anything we need?"
"Nothing we can't make," Dean said, closing the compartment and reaching for one of Sam's duffels. "Salt shells and holy water, as always. We're fine on silver bullets for now." The sheer weight of the duffel surprised him, as did the "CLANK!" it made when he threw it in the trunk. "Dude, what the hell did you PACK?"
Sam grinned and unzipped the duffel. Dean frowned as he saw the various lengths of pipe. Sam's grin only grew as he set the backpack in the trunk and opened it.
Dean's jaw dropped. Drum pads. Sticks. An electronic controller. Headphones. "Sammy..."
"All paid for. Free and clear," Sam interrupted. "It's fully adjustable – so if there's not room in a small space, it can be built vertical and it's expandable enough to fit your Gigantor proportions." He smiled as the old tease – new still when addressed to Dean – failed to penetrate the shock. "And it's a full kit, Dean."
"But...why?" Dean breathed. "It's an unnecessary expense-"
"And why's that?" Sam bit out. "Because it's for YOU?" At Dean's flinch, Sam gripped his shoulders. "Dean – look at me!"
When the hazel eyes met his now-emerald ones, Sam continued, "For as long as I can remember, you have done and done and DONE for me – and NEVER asked for anything of your own. So I got you something that's ALL YOUR OWN. It didn't start off belonging to anyone else. It's something YOU know how to do that I don't. It will fit easily into the Impala and in any hotel room. It's all paid for. And there's headphones, so it won't hurt my ears!"
Dean just stood there, his mouth hanging open, as Sam took apart each and every objection he had.
"Oh, yeah. Here." He handed Dean the silver ring that had adorned his right hand for years. "I had it re-sized. It should fit easily now."
Dean slid the ring into its accustomed place. "It fits," he said, turning his hand over and over. The bracelets, they'd traded the night after Cold Oak. Now, he had his ring back.
He shook his head, marveling. Sam had accepted this – reversal – far easier than he had. Dean had had to go through a horrific purification to rid his system of demon blood. He had spent a night and a day in Cold Oak, watching kids die – and he and Sam had avenged their parents and Jess. All without Dean having really accepted what had happened to them.
And now – though he'd never look the same – his little brother was helping him adjust.
The jewelry. The haircuts. The larger, lower creeper and toolgrips sized for Sasquatch hands. And now, a full – if small – drumkit.
It felt like Sam was putting Dean Winchester back together. One piece at a time.
Sam drew a leather cord from his pocket, and Dean gasped softly as he took his amulet from his brother. As it settled over his head and he felt the familiar tap on his chest, he had to take a moment to get his emotions under control.
The final piece clicked into place. Hazel eyes closed as Dean Winchester completely settled into his new skin.
"You okay, there?" Sam quipped. "You want me to leave you alone? Maybe a cigarette?"
Dean opened his eyes, laughing. "Shut up and let's go, bitch!"
Sam's answering grin was full of joy. "Whatever, jerk!"
They got in and waved good-bye to Bobby, who grinned as he watched his dogs playfully chase the Impala – and his boys – until they were out of sight.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There were very few places that Castiel could not go in his envesseled form.
Hell was one of them.
So he left Jimmy asleep in a motel room wiht Gabe on guard - with severe reservations about it - and flew.
He was still marveling that Michael had not been angrier at him for all that he had done. But he seemed to be more in shock over Zechariah's madness than Castiel's misdeeds.
Besides, Gabe knew Michael better than anyone. And he had assured Castiel that, since Michael had granted forgiveness to his little brother, he would not be rescinding it.
Castiel had made Gabe swear to it.
In Enochian.
Twice.
Castiel paused on the threshold. He reached out with all his senses - into the fire and the darkness and the fear and the hate and the loneliness and the pain and the regret and the...
Ah, there she was.
He strode forward, through the chaos, focused only on her. On her tainted soul and bitterness and grief.
On the bright flare of goodness that still stubbournly burned inside her demon-turned heart.
On the woman who just wanted to help and had paid a horrible price for it. On the demon who remembered being human.
This was his secondary plan. To give his charges a guide - and to perhaps save two hell-bound souls in the process.
She turned to face him as he approached, her soul riven with blood and bruises and her eyes black as coal. She flinched at his grace, and a pitiful moan came from her mouth as he held out his hand.
"Ruby," he intoned. "We have need of you."
Her eyes canted downward to his hand. She froze for a long moment, breathing hard from pain.
Then her tainted hand flashed out and gripped his tightly. Smoke rose from the contact as yet another odor of burning flesh poured into Hell. But she held on, raising black eyes to meet his blue-white ones.
"I'll do anything," she whispered. "Anything. Just...make it stop."
"Close your eyes." When she did, he tightened his grip on her hand.
And jerked them both upward and into the clean air of earth.
She became smoke and hovered over her own grave. His voice purred in her consciousness. "You are to obey me precisely. If you do not, you will be returned there."
The smoke shuddered.
"You will be sent to a certain man. You are to possess him only until a certain woman dies of natural causes. You are to allow the family a time of grief and to bury her, then she is your vessel. You will be shown her. I will take you to the man now."
The smoke followed the gleaming light down the road to a funeral home. A tall gentleman with a balding head and silver hair stood there, eyes closed.
"We are here," Castiel intoned. "Are you ready?"
The smoke withdrew, visibly startled.
"Yes," Castiel said. "He has volounteered. He is to remain unharmed and to be normal. You... are just to ride shotgun until your vessel arrives. Do you understand?"
Slowly, it bobbed up and down.
"I am ready," the man said. "May it be unto me as you have spoken."
"Then open your mouth, son."
The man opened his mouth and Castiel said, "It is all right, Ruby. Begin your time of service to the side of good."
The smoke hesitated. Then it rolled and gently poured down the man's throat.
He opened coal-black eyes. "...wow," he said, looking down at his own hands as the glimmering light moved behind him to spare those eyes. "Gotta say, this ain't half bad. How long do I have?"
"Days, maybe hours," Castiel said. "She is fading."
"I'll wait, then. And..." Teeth worried a bottom lip in a very female gesture. "Thank you. I hope I don't let you down."
"You won't. I have faith." And he vanished, heading back to his own vessel.
Black eyes scanned the sky and a deep sigh came from the tortured soul. "I'm glad one of us does," Ruby whispered with her male voice, as a tear slid unnoticed down a wrinkled cheek.
THE END