It's six weeks and five days after Halloween that the anomaly hits. People all congregate in the town square, uttering variances of "What's this?" and "There's white things in the air." There are equal parts wonder and panic from the townspeople as the white flecks fall from the sky and accumulate on the ground.
Dean and Castiel stand apart from the throng, watching the scene from a distance.
"Have you ever seen anything like this before?" Castiel asks, transfixed by the powdery substance as it lands in his open palms and promptly dissipates upon contact.
"Never," Dean mutters, watching the sky and his surroundings suspiciously.
"It's cold," Castiel remarks in wonderment.
Dean narrows his eyes in distrust at the small water droplets collected on the angel's hands. "Maybe you shouldn't be touching that stuff."
Castiel turns to Dean and raises a disbelieving eyebrow. "That's a little difficult to accomplish." He looks pointedly at the demon's hair where the white substance has also accumulated, melting into more water droplets.
Dean glances up quickly as though he would ever be able to see the top of his head, then quickly shakes the water off. "Point taken," he grumps.
Castiel smiles at him, beautiful and happy and amused. Dean can't help smiling back, besotted as he is with the angel.
In the distance, Dean sees Lucifer actually stepping out his manor, a rare, and concerning, sight if ever there was one.
"I'll be right back, Cas," he says, distractedly pressing a kiss to Castiel's temple without taking his eyes off Lucifer in the distance.
Castiel simply watches in curiosity as Dean walks off.
"So what do you make of this shit?" Dean asks as he approaches Lucifer, his hands stuck casually in his pockets as he tries to ignore the feeling of unease in his gut. The pensive look on Lucifer's face isn't helping matters much.
"Snow," Lucifer responds quietly, almost as though he's talking to himself.
Dean forces out a laugh. "You can't just make up words to describe it, man."
Lucifer gives a slight jerk, snapping out of his reverie. He looks Dean over contemplatively.
Dean frowns. "What is it?"
"It's called snow," Lucifer answers, "and I didn't just make that up." The ancient creature stares up at the sky, brow furrowed. "I haven't seen it in centuries, and it certainly shouldn't be here." Then he turns on his heel and storms back into his manor, the door slamming shut behind him.
Dean watches after him, anxiety churning in his stomach. Something is about to happen.
The next day, when the entire town is covered in a blanket of this so-called snow, a group of strangers appears.
There are three one them, one man and two women. The man is older, gray and balding and exuding authority. The women are younger, sprier, one with fire red hair and the other with dark curls. Power radiates off of all of them like a storm wind, kicking up snow as they make their way through the town. When the man demands to speak to the town's leader, both Crowley and Dean show up. This is one of the few instances now-a-days in which Dean leaves Cas at home.
"What can we do for our guests?" Crowley asks with faux politeness and a calculating smile when they all convene in the town square. Dean simply glares at them over the mayor's shoulder.
They are being watched by eyes from all over the town, gazes felt but never seen.
"You are the town leaders?" the brunette asks skeptically.
Dean instantly dislikes her more than the rest.
"That we are," answers Crowley, all pleasantries. "I am Crowley, the mayor of this fine town, and this," he gestures behind him to Dean, "is Dean Winchester, our illustrious Pumpkin King."
The redhead quirks an eyebrow. "Pumpkin King?" Her judgment is ill-concealed.
"Means I'm the baddest bitch in this place," Dean responds, standing straight and all puffed up like a peacock.
The redhead rolls her eyes derisively. "Sure." She sounds so over the whole affair, and while Dean agrees with the feeling, he also feels insulted.
"Now, now, ladies, be polite," the man chides good-naturedly, and Dean is instantly reminded of Crowley. Great, just what Dean needs, two slimy bastards.
"We've introduced ourselves, seems only good manners that we know the names of our guests," Crowley drawls.
The old man smiles, a wickedly charming expression that raises Dean's hackles. "Of course, where are my manners. This is Anael." He gestures to the redhead. He motions to the brunette next."And Hannah." He smiles a cocky little smirk. "And I am Zachariah."
"A pleasure to meet you," Crowley says, extending his hand in offering.
Zachariah accepts, giving Crowley's hand a hardy shake. "Pleasure is all mine."
The hands fall away, but none of the pretense. Crowley trains a calculating eye on the strangers, pleasant expression obscuring shrewdness. "So what is it we may do for you."
Zachariah's face is a mirror of Crowley's. "We come from Christmas Town-"
Dean scoffs. "Never heard of it."
Zachariah's expression darkens, while Crowley shoots Dean a chastising look purely for appearances. "Dean, don't be rude to our guest."
Dean narrows his eyes at Crowley. This is bullshit and they both know it. Whoever these people are, wherever they've come from, they don't have good intentions. No one just shows up in Halloween Town. But if they want to continue this little pissing match, then who is Dean to stop them? After all, Crowley technically is in charge. Dean is little more than a figurehead.
With a flippant wave of his hand, Dean mutters, "My bad. Go on."
Zachariah's smile returns, but it's more strained this time, cracks having formed in his ceremonial mask. "Of course. Now, as I was saying, Anael, Hannah, and I have come from Christmas Town in search of the angel you all seem to have in your possession."
"The hell you want with Cas?" Dean snarls, protectiveness raring up in him.
Crowley places himself casually in front of the Knight of Hell, letting out an airy chuckle. "You'll have to forgive our dear Pumpkin King, here. He's quite fond of our Castiel." Dean wants to snap Crowley's neck when he says the word our. Castiel is in no way Crowley's, and his stomach turns sour at even the thought of it.
Crowley continues as if there isn't a tall and foreboding demon growling behind him. "Now what is your interest in him?"
"We're here to take him home with us," Zachariah states clearly, as though he has any authority here.
"Excuse you?" Dean barks.
This time it's Hannah that speaks, all righteous and stern. "He belongs with us, with his own kind."
"The fuck does that even mean?" Dean snaps.
"Perhaps it's easier if we show you," Anael says, and then there's blinding light searing Dean's eyes so that he's forced to look away.
When the light finally fades and Dean can once more look in the direction of the strangers, all three are sporting sets of great, arching wings, brilliant and stark against the gloom of the town.
Dean has never believed in angels. Castiel doesn't count. He was manufactured in a lab, created for Dean alone. To find out real, organic ones exist the same as witches and demons and monsters, it jars him, shakes him to the very core.
And they want Castiel.
"Dean, are you alright?" Cas is watching him, burning blue boring into him, concern palpable.
"Yeah, sorry, just been a long day." Dean offers a shaky smile. Cas won't believe it for a moment.
"What did those strangers want?" The angel is only trying to make conversation, to engage a disinterested Dean, but it sends a shock of pain through Dean's whole body to think on it.
They want Castiel.
"Can we talk about it tomorrow, Cas?" He comes off snippy, and immediately regrets it at the flash of hurt that crosses the angel's face. But then it's gone, Castiel's elegant features once again schooled into the indifference that was once his default. Dean doesn't care for the indifference anymore.
Dean runs a hand over the bend of Castiel's wing, garnering a shudder in response.
Castiel looks up at him, reverence in the unearthly glowing blue. "Dean?"
Dean doesn't want to talk to tonight, doesn't want to think about a life without Castiel. Not now that he has him.
Dean leans down to capture the angel's lips in a kiss at the same moment Castiel reaches up for one. They meet in the middle, and it leaves a knot in Dean's throat to think it could be the last time.
Clothes are shed, hands searching, reaching, tracing scars like scripture. They serve as a reminder that Castiel is a beacon in the dark, an enchantment to the monsters that call the town their home. He will always be in danger here. Dean cannot always protect him, the puckered, shiny flesh under his fingers testament to that.
With Castiel underneath him, wings spread wide, Dean's fingers buried in black feathers, the demon swears to do right by Castiel, even if that means letting go.
The next morning, as they're tangled up in each other and the sheets of the bed, Dean tells Castiel about the other angels, about how Cas isn't alone.
"They want to take you to Christmas Town with them, so you'd be safe among other angels."
There's the barest twitch of Castiel's wings, but otherwise Dean is met with silence.
"They said they'd like to leave as soon as possible," Dean continues, trying to ignore the insistent aching in his chest. "I'd go with you, of course, to drop you off, make sure everything is above the belt."
Uncomfortable silence falls after that, Castiel laying unresponsive against Dean. Minutes tick by, the air in the room growing oppressive. When Cas finally talks, it takes Dean by surprise.
"You wouldn't stay, though." Castiel's voice is clear when he says it, so loud in the stillness of the room as to be jarring.
Dean swallows around the lump in this throat. "Well, no, Cas. I couldn't."
"You want me gone."
Dean's heart skips a beat, stopping for the length of a breath, and when it starts up again he isn't sure what he feels more deeply- guilt or anger. "That's not-" But Castiel interrupts him.
"It's fine, I'll go." And that's it. That's the end of the conversation. Castiel gets out of the bed, grabbing clothes to get dressed. Dean has no excuse to stay in bed after that, though he desperately wants to.
Zachariah, Anael, and Hannah are waiting for them on the outskirts of the town, right in front of the treeline. They trek through the woods, farther than Dean has ever ventured, farther than Dean ever knew existed, until they come to a clearing ringed by trees with doors of varying designs on them.
Zachariah stands before one with a colorful, tree-shaped door. "Are you both ready?"
Dean nods, not trusting his voice. Castiel remains still and silent, face blank as it has been since he got out of the bed this morning. Dean wishes that Cas could only see he's doing this for his own good.
Zachariah opens the door, and a blast cold, snow-laden air passes through, chilling Dean down to the bone.
"Does the cold bother you?" Zachariah asks, smarmy smirk adorning his features.
Dean scowls. "Not at all." Castiel sighs tiredly beside him.
"Let us head on, then," Hannah says with authority.
Still smiling oh-so-pleasantly, Zachariah says, "Of course. Ladies first."
Hannah nods before walking through the door, while Anael shoots Dean and Castiel an distrusting look before following her comrade.
Zachariah waves his hand invitingly towards the door. "Guests next."
Dean can't help glaring at the old man as he places a hand at the small of Cas's back and leads him through the door.
The first thing Dean notices is white. The whole place is covered in snow, as far as the eye can see. It is both overwhelming and blinding.
The snow crunches as Zachariah steps up behind them. "Well, we should get going. Introduce you to the boss. He'll be glad to finally meet you, Castiel."
Christmas Town proper is a stunning sight, all lit up with colorful lights that reflect off the snow in a dazzling display. There's also the constant scent of fresh baked cookies, warm and comforting. The whole town glows in a happy warmth that leaves Dean feeling out of place, for he is a creature of death and darkness. He does not belong here, but, surely, Castiel, with all his well-meaning intentions and faith in others, does.
They reach the biggest house in the town, set squarely at the forefront of all. Above the door, in big, bold lettering, is a sign that reads "SANTA'S WORKSHOP".
"Welcome to the Big Man's place," Zachariah says as he opens the door. A burst of warm air flows out once he does, leaving Dean to realize just how cold he's been.
They step inside, shaking off the snow, and Dean's nose is assaulted by the mouth-watering scent of cinnamon and apples.
They're led further back into the house, finally coming to a door at the end of a long hall. It stands open to reveal what looks like an office, not so dissimilar from the one in Dean's own home, if not much cozier to fit the general feel of the town. Behind the desk sits a man with salt-and-pepper hair that continues down his kindly-looking face into a beard. Upon his nose sits a pair of round spectacles. He looks up as they approach the door.
"Do come in, come in!" he says, smile widening in greeting, standing as though to usher them in himself. He is rather short, Dean notes. Rather unimpressive beyond the bright red suit with white trim.
"I'm so glad you both could make it!" He briefly shakes Dean's hand before moving onto Cas. "And you must be Castiel! My, what a fine specimen you are! You'll fit right in here."
Castiel stares impassively down at the man, and the expression reminds Dean of when he and Cas first met. He almost wants to snicker at how disconcerted the short man looks were it not for the heaviness he feels in his chest at knowing that, yes, this is where Cas should be- in a place that looks and smells like a child's dream, among pleasant people who won't hurt him.
"You know my name, but I'm afraid I don't know yours," Castiel deadpans, still staring at, almost staring straight through, the man.
The man almost jumps, seemingly beside himself with the slip in decorum. "Ah, yes! Where are my manners today! I'm Santa Clause, the so-called big cheese around here?"
Dean quirks an eyebrow. "What kind of name is Sandy Claws?"
Hannah shoots him a dirty look. "It's Santa Clause."
Dean scowls right back at her, but doesn't argue further despite the fact he really can't hear any difference between what he said and her attempt at correction. He doesn't want to hurt Cas's chances here by being difficult.
"So you will be joining us here then, correct?" Sandy Claws is looking up at Cas, all baited-breath excitement.
Cas quickly glances at Dean, an imperceptible flash of his eyes, before turning his full attention on Sandy Claws and nodding. "It seems that way."
Dean's heart clenches painfully.
"Wonderful!" Sandy Claws shouts with a clap of his hands. "Zachariah will show you to your quarters then." He turns his attention to Dean. "Thank you for escorting him. Anael will see you back to the doorway."
"Yeah, no problem," Dean murmurs, eyes trailing over to his angel, wishing with all his might they had had more time together. But it's better this way, he reminds himself. No one will hurt Cas here.
Castiel never again looks in his direction, and Dean follows Anael out, feeling numb and disconnected from himself.
Dean isn't sure how they reach the doorways, only that one moment he's following Anael out of Sandy Claws's office, silently begging for Cas to look at him, and the next she's telling him he needs to go through the door shaped like a pumpkin. Everything in between in a blur.
He approaches the door, stares it down. This door leads to his town, his home. The door for Halloween Town is a pumpkin, fitting for the town that revers their Pumpkin King. Only he has no want of such titles any longer. It had been a nagging sensation before Castiel, but it had gone with the arrival of the angel in his life. Suddenly he was excited about Halloween again; he was excited about teaching Castiel everything he knew; he was excited about having someone to rule beside him. And now that's a future that is no more, and Dean has no one to blame but himself.
Anael's voice tears Dean out of his thoughts. "You really love him, don't you?"
He turns his head ever-so-slightly, barely looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "I do."
Her face twists into an expression he can't read, but if he had to guess, absolutely had to put a name to it, he'd say she almost looks sorry for him.
"You have a funny way of showing it, then." And then she's gone, the sound of rustling wings all that's left in her wake. Not even the snow is disturb beyond the footprints they both left in getting here.
Dean opens the door and walks through.
All Dean really wants to do upon returning to Halloween Town is go up to his room and wallow. He'll drink until he blacks out, wake up, and restart and repeat the process for however long it takes to forget the feelings he carries for Castiel (or until Crowley drags him out of his bed in order to get work done).
This is what he wants to do. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be what he'll get to do, for when he gets home, it's to find Lucifer sitting in his study as though the creature owns the place.
"The hell do you want?" Dean growls, making a beeline straight for his liquor cabinet. He has no concern over impressing the town's mad scientist. Hell, he wouldn't be feeling this way if the guy hadn't created Castiel in the first place.
"You're alone?" Lucifer intones.
Dean just snorts.
"Where is Castiel, Dean?"
"Out of harm's way." When he turns back around, bottle of whiskey in hand, he finds Lucifer watching him through narrowed eyes
"Where is he, Dean?" Lucifer enunciates each word carefully, adding an extra edge to the question that raises Dean's hackles.
. "Christmas Town, with the other angels, where he belongs."
Lucifer is full on scowling. "I'm afraid you've just sent him to a fate far worse than any he could imagine here."
Dean's heart skips a beat. "What?"
Lucifer stands in one smooth motion. "Go find Crowley. Meet me at my laboratory in about two hours. We have much to discuss and little time to do it."
Dean is left flabbergasted, a thousand questions tripping on the way to the tip of his tongue, and a giant chasm of worry opening up in his stomach. But Lucifer is gone, enigmatic as always. All Dean has left is to follow the instructions left in his wake.
"What the hell is she doing here!?" Dean shouts upon entering Lucifer's laboratory.
Abaddon grins wolfishly at him, a patchwork sight to behold, ugly black stitching holding together the body Dean had once hacked apart. "Now is that anyway to greet a lady?"
"You're no fucking lady. You're the god damned Boogie Man," Dean snarls.
Abaddon's grin only widens as she tilts her head pleasantly at Dean. The sight of the thread stretching as her once-decapitated head fights with gravity makes the Pumpkin King sick to his stomach. "And thanks to someone, now I look the part," she purrs.
"Rather that the outside now matches the inside," Crowley drawls. Abaddon sneers at him.
"Children, behave yourselves," Lucifer says boredly.
The fact that Abaddon and Crowley actually listen is a testament to the scientist's latent power.
"Now, Dean, I know you were trying to protect Castiel, but you've probably just sent him to certain death."
"What?" Dean chokes out, in utter disbelief that Lucifer can say it so matter-of-factly.
"The angels, friendly as they may appear, are an unforgiving bunch, very intolerant of change. I'm sure they view Castiel as an affront to their race. They never did have any appreciation of true art."
"And how do you know all this?" Crowley asks, raising his eyebrows speculatively.
Lucifer glances at them as though he just remembered they were there. "Because I'm an angel, myself, of course. Left eons ago. Couldn't stand their hypocritical blathering."
Abaddon's eyes rake over him as if he's a piece of meat. "You don't say."
Lucifer watches her disinterestedly. "Yes, and before you consider any of those thoughts going through your, quite frankly, fucked up head, you should know I'm much, much stronger than you."
Abaddon makes an act of pouting as Crowley asks, "Well, delightful as that is and all, what does this have to do with dear Oogie and me? It's Dean's pet, after all. And for that matter, why do you even care?"
"I care," Lucifer begins slowly, as though he's talking to the terminally stupid, "because that so-called pet is a work of art. My work of art. And I won't just let them dismantle it because it doesn't fit into their narrow view of the world. As far as where you two come in, well, you've both shown interest in him before. Don't you think it's time you backed that up? You're unlikely to see something as unique as Castiel ever again."
"Like hell I'm going to let these bottom-feeders bring Cas back just so they can torture him more!" Dean snaps.
"You don't have much choice. You and I alone are hardly a match for the whole host of Christmas Town," Lucifer states evenly.
Abaddon smirks at Dean, the sheen of her blood red lips making Dean sick to his stomach. "Sounds like you should have just left him with me from the start."
He starts plotting how many pieces he's going to cut her into this time once this is all over and done with.
The room is dark and unbearably cold, almost as cold as the air outside. Castiel has been in here since Dean left. No sooner did the angels get rid of the Pumpkin King than they were binding Castiel to a freezing, metal slab. Since then, they have not yet returned, but he has heard voices passing beyond the door.
When finally the door does open, Castiel must turn his eyes away from the encroaching light.
"It's time pull you apart, abomination." Zachariah sounds nothing if not pleased.
"I thought we were just to get rid of him quickly." Hannah sounds distressed.
Zachariah tsks. "When will we ever again get such an opportunity to study something as disgusting as this creature?"
"This is inhumane," Hannah admonishes.
"Dear girl, when will you learn we are above such measures of morality?"
"I won't be a part of this! This is not what I agreed to!"
Zachariah laughs. not cruelly, simply amused with her naiveté. "Then run along. I have no time for sensitive stomachs."
Castiel hears the quick retreat of footsteps, and he is alone with Zachariah.
Sneaking through Christmas Town proves surprisingly difficult, what with all the lights and footprints left in snow, which is why the fact they are able to do it is all the more disconcerting.
"Where do you think they've got him?" Dean hisses anxiously, ready to find his angel and get out.
Contemplatively, Lucifer responds, "I'm not sure. This place is very different since the last time I was here."
Crowley stops dead in his tracks. "Do you mean to tell me you dragged all of us out here under the guise of having a plan without actually having a plan?"
"What's the matter, mayor? Don't enjoy a little spontaneity?" Abaddon's smirk is met with a glare.
"Not when it puts my life at risk, no."
"No sense of adventure," she replies with a casual roll of her shoulders.
"Would you two shut up," Dean growls. "There's no time for this." He tries not to dwell on the fact that Cas could already be dead. He can't think like that, not if he wants to have even the slightest hope of success.
"Dean," Lucifer says, "you said Santa was a short man with salt-and-pepper hair?"
"Yeah. Real mousey guy."
Lucifer furrows his brow in concentration. "I have a thought then." He turns to address Abaddon directly. "You said you want adventure. I need you to go ahead of us to Santa's Workshop. Use whatever means necessary to to get Castiel's location out of the man calling himself Santa."
"My pleasure," she purrs, and then slinks off toward the largest building in town.
"Crowley, Dean, you follow me."
"I'm so sorry," Hannah murmurs, attempting to jimmy open the lock on a large, oaken door. "I never should have gone along in this. I thought we were doing the right thing, purging the world of a dangerous abomination. Had I known..." She chokes on emotion. "Had I known this was their intention from the start, I would fought against them."
"It's alright, Hannah. You're doing the right thing now," a comforting voice answers from the other side.
"But-!"
"No, you did what was best. If you'd fought them, you would likely have met a fate no better than Castiel's."
Conversation ceases as Hannah continues trying to open the door with no signs of success. Minutes later, after making no headway, she falls against the door with a sob of defeat.
"Looks like I was right."
Hannah spins around, immediately on the offensive. She is met with the sight of Dean, Crowley, and Lucifer before her.
She narrows her eyes at Lucifer in particular. "Do I know you?"
He finally tears his eyes away from the door to acknowledge the other angel, eyes softening almost imperceptibly. "It has been a long time, sister. I'm surprised you remember at all."
Hannah only tilts her head in confusion.
Lucifer takes five steps forward and is in front of the door, placing his palm against the wood, angel magic flaring blue under his touch.
"You won't be able to get through," Hannah insists. "Metatron's power is too strong."
Lucifer's focus is zeroed in on the force field before him. "I know all about Metatron and his power, and trust me when I say I am far beyond him. Now stand back."
Hannah takes an unsure step away from him, and yet another as power begins to radiate off the strange creature before her. Red glows all around him, blackened and tattered wings that must once have surely been a brilliant scarlet emerging from his back.
Hannah gasps. "You're..." She doesn't finish the statement, enraptured as she is by the display of such ancient power. Soon the very foundation begins to shake, the blue force field around the door flaring angrily, turning purple where the two powers converge. With a final, thundering boom the wood splinters into millions of tiny pieces, the power protecting it obliterated.
A scrawny man, all awkwardly long limbs and bone steps forward. Lucifer raises an eyebrow. "You've lost weight."
"It's good to see you, too," the man laughs, reigning Lucifer in for a hug. The angel awkwardly returns it.
"So uh... Hate to bust up the reunion, but just who is this?" Dean asks.
With one final pat to Lucifer's back, the man steps back to answer. "I'm the real Santa Clause, but you can just call me Chuck."
Dean and Crowley don't have to good graces to mask just how thoroughly unimpressed they are.
Crowley is the one with little enough manners to ask, "If they imprisoned you so easily, how can we expect you to be of any use to us now?"
Chuck's cheeks tinge pink. "Look, we all have off days, okay? When you're a parent, you'll understand."
"These assholes are your kids!?" Dean exclaims.
"All the angels are," Chuck answers.
Dean and Crowley share a disturbed look, Crowley muttering in awe, "And I thought our home was fucked up."
Chuck gets visibly flustered. "No, no! It's not like that!"
"We don't have time for this," Hannah interrupts, once again the no-nonsense woman Dean first met.
Sobering, Chuck responds, "Right, of course."
Castiel is learning that the more pain one is exposed to, the more muted the sensation becomes. Either that, or Zachariah is simply far more inept at torture than the Boogie Man, which very well could be the case considering the cheery feel of Christmas Town as a whole. No one who has lived here their whole life could possiby hold a candle to even the most ineffectual citizen of Halloween town when it comes to inflicting pain.
That by no means makes the experience pleasant, of course. Being split open from sternum to abdomen is particularly unpleasant. The pain is overwhelming, so much so that Castiel has blacked out more than once, but it differs from the Boogie Man's machinations in that it feels far more clinical than her's had. She had meant to maim and break. Castiel believes Zachariah, for all his big talk, simply wishes to understand. He gets the curiosity. Some days Castiel, himself, wishes he understood how he functions, but Lucifer had never created him to be understood. He had created Castiel for Dean's enjoyment. Enjoyment that apparently did not last the Pumpkin King long; a thought which hurts Castiel far more than the scalpel Zachariah wields.
Distantly, Castiel thinks he hears the metronomic click-clack-click-clack of heels on the wooden floor beyond the room. Perhaps Hannah has changed her mind and is returning. The thought is only further cemented when they stop outside the door.
Zachariah's presence retreats ever-so-slightly. "Who are you?" he demands. "You can't be here!"
The answering simper of, "Well, looks like I finally found the right room. And I was so looking forward to a little more goring before getting to the main course," sets Castiel's nervous system alive, amplifying his pain and panic tenfold. He could never forget the voice of the Boogie Man.
There's a shout from Zachariah, and then a harsh crack before he feels a very different sort of presence stand over him.
"Look at you all split open like a dissected frog," Abaddon coos. "The winged idiots here really have no grasp of finesse."
"Step away, Abaddon!" Dean shouts, and relief sweeps through Castiel like a sedative, though it lessens the pain none, as wholly aware of it as he now is.
Castiel hears the click-clack of Abaddon's heeled shoes stepping back and away from the table. "I was only investigating." She sounds completely unrepentant.
Warm hands are gripping his own desperately. "Shit, Cas, shit! Lucifer! What do we do!?"
"It's my fault this happened, I'll fix it," a voice unknown to Castiel answers.
A warmth spreads through Castiel, all-encompassing and comforting, soothing away his pains and anxieties. And then comes darkness.
When Castiel next comes to, he is back inside Santa's office. Before he is even fully upright, Dean has him locked in a bone-crushing hug.
"Thank god you're alright."
Castiel returns the hug in stilted movements, unsure what to do when one sends you away and in the same day saves your life.
"You have my utmost apologies, Castiel. I assure you that this was never my intention," a scrawny man in Santa's red suit addresses him. He is the owner of the same voice from earlier in the room.
Castiel squints at the man. "Who are you?"
The man's eyes widen before he offers a friendly smile. "I'm the real Santa Clause. The one you met earlier was a fake, an angel by the name of Metatron."
Castiel's only response is a lame "oh."
Santa turns to address the group as a whole, and only then does Castiel note that alongside Dean and Abaddon are Crowley and Lucifer.
"I want to assure you all that Metatron and Zachariah will be firmly dealt with, and no one from here will ever bother any of you again. I will even escort you to the Forest of Doors personally."
"You don't exactly have time for that," a short man with golden hair and even brighter golden wings pipes up, suddenly appearing beside Santa. "It's Christmas eve, and you're way behind schedule because of those two jackasses."
Santa shoots them a conflicted look, clearly warring with himself over his true obligations and what he feels he is obligated to do.
"Don't worry," Lucifer responds. "I can get us all back home perfectly fine."
Santa's face twists up in an approximation of sadness. "You're sure you won't stay, Lucifer?"
The ancient angel nods. "I'm sure. I left for a reason, after all."
Santa nods in understanding. "Of course." Heaving one final, tired sigh, the man addresses them all one last time. "Well, look, I've gotta get going here, but feel free to ever ask me if you need anything. It's really the least I can do."
The whole trip back to Halloween Town is awkward, the air heavy with pointed silence. Castiel does not even deign to look at Dean the whole way home. Even after they enter the house, Castiel refuses to acknowledge the demon's presence other than to walk around him.
Dean swallows around the lump in his throat. "Look, Cas, I'm sorry."
The angel rounds on him, eyes glowing a furious blue. "As you should be! I may be yours to do what you want with, but I thought I was more than a simple pet by now!"
Dean takes a step back in surprise. "What? Cas, of course you are!"
"Then why did my feelings not matter!?" Castiel demands.
Dean stares mutely at him, mouth gaping like a fish and unable to form words.
"You never once asked if I wished to go. You simply sent me away with strangers we knew nothing about. If you are so ready to get rid of me, only let me know and I'll leave!"
Dean doesn't have the words to answer, to tell Castiel in all the ways he needs to that he will never want to be rid of him. Instead, he steps forward and embraces the angel, not letting go even as Cas struggles against him.
Finally, Castiel falls limply against him, sagging in defeat. "I do not understand," he murmurs, bereft.
Dean takes his time answering, enjoying the feel of his angel solid and real in his arms. He presses a kiss to Cas's temple as he runs his fingers through the angel's hair.
Finally, lips still pressed against Castiel's skin as a constant reminder that this is real and his angel is here and whole and safe, Dean whispers, "Never think I don't want you, Cas. Don't you dare think that. I want you here every day that you're willing to be. I just... Look, I got scared, alright? After Abaddon. After knowing how everyone here is watching you and waiting for me to turn my back... I thought you would be safe with those guys, you have to know that. If I'd known..." He can't finish the sentence, can't finish the thought of what almost happened. It seems to be enough, though, as Castiel is finally returning the hug, face burrowing into Dean's neck.
"I understand," he answers.
The following morning, as the dawn mists start to roll out in respect of the sunrise, the sound of bells can be heard from the sky. People all over the town wander out, bleary-eyed and sock-footed, to find snow falling once more and the town lit up with colorful strings of lights.
Dean and Castiel share a smile, kissing under some sort of greenery that appeared in their doorway.
There was a time I thought this would never be finished. That time was not even 5 hours ago. But! Here it is! The follow up to, and final planned part of, my TNBC AU. I can't promise I'll never dabble in this verse again, but as of this moment, there is nothing set in stone.