The reintroduction has been…a fiasco at best. Castiel sits in the dayroom, silently staring into the void. What was he thinking? It should not have developed this way. The icebreaker was not supposed to go like that. He has run it so many times in his head, as soon as his Grace started to tremble in the vicinity of Dean's being-the real Dean, that is. He knew it was actually him the moment Dean entered the boundaries of Indiana. Not once in his stay did his hallucinated version of Dean Winchester evoke such great resonance with his Grace. This was good, he thought, because this would be the way he tells Meg from Dean. He then rummaged through his memory, trying to recall what modern humans tend to do in situations like this, but their customs change so quickly and so randomly. Should he say to Dean salve amicus, I greet thee, or what's up homie G? At last his recollection led him to a more casual, humorous, and most importantly intimate form of welcome. He does not wish to startle Dean with too much formality-he knows for a fact that the real customs of a celestial being usually left mortals unremovable marks. The blinding of Pamela remains one of the many mistakes Castiel's lunacy holds as a torture device against him.
When Dean walked through that door with his brother, Castiel panicked like a guilty child before his furious father. Every particle in his being prayed, ever so diligently, that Dean does not yell at him in anger. Castiel had never felt so powerless, so vulnerable, so fragile in his existence, not even in the presence of God. It was as if Dean held his Grace in disposal-and he did, essentially. Castiel firmly believed that the lunacy had rendered him completely empty, save the desire to redeem himself in the eyes of Dean, and his everlasting, hardwired love for God.
And the man stood there, yet the fallen angel, after months and months of torment, still lacked the courage to approach him. Castiel's vessel stared out the window of his room, but he focused on his Grace, which shivered and twirled and writhed in protest. Castiel was not ready to face Dean. Then again, he doubted he would ever be.
"Hey, Cas," Dean said. Castiel could sense his presence in every perceivable way possible. He smelt him, that mixed, conflicting scent of sin and virtue, and he saw Dean's soul, another mixture of contradicting prowess and vulnerability. Dean was, and still is, truly beautiful in the madden eyes of Castiel. How does he compare? How does he even dare be in his presence? But the situation required, so Castiel had no choice but to turn around and greet him.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel forced a smile, though secretly he was ordering every strength in his Grace to prevent himself from teleporting away. "Sam," he added, remembering that Dean loved his brother dearly.
"Hey, Castiel," Sam responded. Castiel found solace in knowing that Sam did not blame him, or held much anger against him. Perhaps he would be so lucky as to have Dean's forgiveness as well?
"Look at you, walkin' and talkin'. That's-that's great, right?" Dean asked him. Alas, Castiel thought, this was a sign that Dean was not as angry as he imagined him to be. This was a good sign. The angel, still shaky in recovery from his lunacy, walked up to Dean Winchester, and attempted to execute his premeditated big welcome as a gesture of apology and friendliness.
He extended his finger.
"Pull my finger," Castiel asked. This was the moment he had been silently rehearsing over and over again for the last few hours. He wanted this to be perfect, to go exactly as he had planned.
"What?" Dean was completely bewildered. He had rushed his ass all the way here to Indiana immediately after Meg's call. He had to see Cas, both for this entire theological disaster and for personal reasons.
But he wasn't truly sure how he felt about Cas. He had never been an expressive man, and even he himself couldn't sort out his own emotions sometimes. He hated Cas, hated how astray he had gone, hated how Cas had more confidence in Crowley than in him, and hated how Cas repeatedly claimed to be his friend while betraying him behind his back with little hesitation. On the other hand, Castiel really was his friend, and he cared for Castiel. This knucklehead had been so obviously different from all the other celestial assholes they'd encountered, right from the start. Castiel cared about them too, and took care of Sammy's problem-even though he was the one who broke the damned Great Wall of Sam to begin with. The only thing that Dean was sure about how he felt toward Castiel was that he's still angry at him, no matter how sorry he felt for Castiel. Dean's still angry, but right now he's just confused.
"Pull my finger," Castiel insisted. There was a glistening, overly polished glimmer of fear in the angel's eyes, and however much anger controlled Dean, it was not strong enough to stop him from answering the poor man. Castiel looked excited and sorrowful at the same time, anticipation and despair both running wild on his face. Dean did not have the heart to let him down.
So Dean pulled Cas's finger, and he immediately regretted. The instant he pulled on Cas's finger, there shot a loud crash, and the light went out and the window and light fixtures shattered. Caught completely off guard, Dean looked at Castiel in surprise. The compromised angel let out a joyful laugh, and the demon turned on a lamp in tired defeat.
A supernatural fart joke? Seriously?
"Okay, just hang on, Cas. Wait. Let us catch up to you for a second," Dean pulled himself together and finally said. They're not here to send get well cards or play Dr. Phil, they're here for business. They had to find out what that damned piece of rock does before Dick Roman finds out, and Castiel might know something. However nutty he had become, he's still from upstairs and might have some info to share.
"So, you're saying you remember who you are, what you are," Sam asked.
"Yes. Of course. Oh. Outside today, in the garden, I followed a honeybee. I saw the route of flowers. It's all right there, the whole plan. There's nothing to add," Castiel answered. He tried to please Sam Winchester, sharing the goodness that he saw earlier that day. It was the best moment of today, so he thought telling them about it would be a good gesture of hospitality. He was a fast learner, observing the ways of the humans quickly. He took pride in that.
"You might want to add a little Thorazine," Sam said to Meg. It was confusing to Castiel-why did Sam respond to Meg, instead of to him? Perhaps he is giving professional suggestion to his caretaker as an exchange of good news. Yes, that must be it. He was happy to know that Sam still cared for him, after all the things he had put him through. Though his deepest bond goes to Dean, Sam is still considered a very valuable friend, whose forgiveness is always much appreciated.
"Right? He's been like the naked guy at the rave ever since he woke up. Totally useless," Meg responded. Castiel had not paid much attention to her since Dean arrived, and, truth be told, he did not dare to, either.
He could not foretell what would happen to his hallucination in the company of the real Dean. He feared that the result would be catastrophic-and it was. Meg was still Dean, though in comparison, he had become obviously different from the real deal. His own Dean was a lot friendlier, much more loving, and so…forgiving. He knew that despite his greatest effort, the real Dean did not appreciate his gestures, and was merely being politely calm. Castiel was an angel, after all, and as such could easily see through human emotions. Dean was still extremely angry at Castiel, though he tried greatly to conceal it. The conflict between his own Dean and the real Dean Winchester manifested through Meg's appearance, and the hallucinated Dean began to morph into something of an intermediate. He was both demonic and human, painful and persistent, loving and furious, all at the same time. Dean was beautiful, more beautiful than the actual Dean, and that made Castiel's born-again sanity tremble dangerously.
"Will you look at her? My caretaker. All of that thorny pain. So beautiful."
"We've been over this. I don't like poetry. Put up or shut up," Meg snapped back. Castiel was saddened by her reaction, but he must concentrate on the actual Dean as of right then. Things were getting very delicate, and he must handle it with extreme care.
So, he answered swiftly the many questions Dean and Sam threw at him. He even raised enough courage to hug Dean-of course, he did not forget to include Sam, who is a good friend, but his primary focus was to show Dean his most sincere apology. Castiel remembers watching over the first humans who showed each other affection thus. Today, he rejoices to know, the custom has not lost its meaning. "Oh, I love you guys," Castiel said as he embraced the two beautiful Winchesters.
"Oh. Uck. Okay. All right. Okay," Dean awkwardly responded to Cas's abrupt group hug. He should've known that this nutty angel would turn anything into an awkward hug. Dean could feel Cas's arm wrapped around him, and he noticed that Cas was surprisingly clean, and smelt good. It was kind of a surprise, because before coming in, he thought Cas would be in a much worse condition. Right before Meg let them in, he told his little brother that he wasn't exactly "fired up to see what's left of the guy."
"You think he remembers at all?" Sam asked, and Dean saw in his eyes the same worry that troubled him too.
"That, and I'm guessing whatever kind of hell baggage he lifted off of your plate. It's not gonna be pretty," Dean replied, and then Meg showed up, and here they were, in the middle of a continental awkward group hug. Balls.
"Yeah, yeah. You-you said something about 'The Word.' Is that what's written on there?" Sam pats Castiel on his back gently and inquired. Castiel panicked again, because this time he had no answer in stock. He had no idea how to read the Words of God, but he did not want to disappoint Sam and Dean, not again.
Thus, Castiel, an angel of the Lord, spat out one random piece of information on the top of his head and told Sam: "Did you know that a cat's penis is sharply barbed along its shaft? I know for a fact the females were not consulted about that."
"Cas, please, we're losing ground out there, okay? We need your help. Can you not see that?" Dean was angry. Very angry, but he worded himself well, as he always had. Castiel lost the courage to look at him again, and stole a quick glance at his own Dean, standing by his right side. Castiel wasn't sure which one he preferred-the perfect Dean, or the Dean before him, furious at him but at the same time caring enough to not unleash all the hidden wrath beneath that handsome vessel.
Castiel knew that it all had to be resolved at some point-he couldn't always see two Deans at the same time. He had to make a choice, but the entirety of his Grace wanted to avoid the ultimate dilemma. This image of perfection in his mind was surely a wretched legacy of the lunacy he just woke up from.
That's when everything went horribly wrong.
"Okay, this all sounds bad. What are you two jackasses doing with the Word of God? Let me see that thing," Dean demanded and stepped toward Dean.
"Back off, Dean," Dean said, his eyes squinting slightly in alert.
"Come on, it's my ass, too," Dean insisted to take the Word of God, but Dean wouldn't let her.
"Back off," Dean growled as he held the Tablet tightly. Castiel's juvenile sanity struggled very hard to stay intact, but the image of two Deans fighting each other was simply too much. The intensity of the situation continued to worsen as Castiel found it increasingly more difficult to remain calm. He did not like this at all, Dean fighting against Dean, all because he failed to decipher the Words of God. Castiel began to feel the lunacy building inside of him again, gaining more strength as his Dean and the real Dean argued.
"Damn it! Enough of this 'demons are second-class citizens' crap!" Meg's complaint was the last straw that struck Castiel down. His Dean, a demon? But he just barely convinced himself that both Deans were equals. He was trying to find a balance between the two, but Meg's reminder shattered all his efforts.
"Don't like conflict," he said, and zapped out of the room, where solitude may bring him comfort. Today is not a Thursday, it is not Castiel's day.
＊＊＊
"What the hell was that?" Dean exclaims in frustration. He already expected that Cas would be bad, but not in this way. Cas could be anywhere now, with his angel zapping abilities and all. Damn it, Cas! What is he thinking?
"You heard him. He doesn't like conflict. He's down in the dayroom now. I guarantee it," Meg says. It frustrates Dean even more that Meg should know so much about Castiel. He and Cas used to be best pals, and even though all those crap happened between now and then, Dean still cannot accept the fact that a demon knows more about Cas than he does.
He frowns and decides that this is not the time to get all jealous. They need answers. They need it now. "All right, I'll go handle Cas. Sam, will you please pick up the Word of God?"
"Yeah," Sammy says, and Dean immediately leaves the room. He simply needs to see Cas right now, to see what he remembers and what he has to say about…about all this crap. He needs to know more about this Metatron that Cas mentioned earlier. There is nothing more important than their mission here right now.
Dean runs down the hallway, quickly searching for the dayroom. The ward is empty, presumably because all the mental patients are resting already. The building smells of wet concrete and freshly cut grass, which is quite pleasant, but Dean has no time to enjoy the scent. He must find Cas, and he must find him quick. Crazy thoughts appear and disappear in his mind, racing each other until his heart starts to pound heavy. Has Cas completely lost it? It certainly seemed so, back in the room. Why was he acting like this? Even Sammy didn't act like a crazy hippy when he carried the insanity. There must be something really, really wrong with Cas. What if he completely loses it and starts hurting people? With all the angel mojo he has on him, Dean worries that maybe one day he will have to put Cas down like he has to with all monsters. Will Cas become a monster? Goddamn it, Cas.
Dean finally finds the dayroom toward the end of the Hall. The door is half ajar, but the room is dark and unlit. He holds up his gun-you can't ever be too careful dealing with supernatural crap-and carefully pushes the door fully open. Once he makes certain that the room is safe, he swiftly flips the switch and turns on the light. It turns out to be quite spacious, with numerous tables and chairs there and here. Having been in a funny farm before, Dean knows that this is where the crazies, at least those who are still able, socialize with each other. He quickly glances through the tables, and finds Castiel sitting in front of one of the tables silently, with his back to Dean. He cannot make out what Castiel is doing, hell, he can't even understand Castiel at all at this point. When have these jobs turn into endless series of crap that just won't stop? It used to be so simple, burning bones and going Chuck Norris with 'em vamps. Now he has to deal with a nutty angel.
Dean walks up to Castiel, and sees him mumbling something quietly, his eyes staring down at the floor. This sight evoked some pity and sadness in Dean, and for a very brief moment he hesitated to say anything. What should he say? Castiel has completely lost it now. He saw this coming. He knew that it was too much on Cas's plate, even for an angel. Dean saw what it did to Sammy, and he remembers all that Death has told him about this madness. He looks at Castiel's face, the almost childish looking sorrow on it, and just how lost the angel looks right now. An angel of the Lord sits before him, and he cannot think of anything to say that might cheer him up except "I forgive you." But that can't happen, Dean can't lie about this. He's still angry, furious even, at what Castiel has done. He trusted Crowley more than he trusted Dean.
"You realize you just broke God's Word?" Dean finally says, but he regretted it as soon as it came out of his mouth. He meant to talk business, but why did it have to come out this way? Castiel looks even sadder now, his eyes avoiding contact with Dean's. Damn it, Cas, why won't you look at me?
Dean grabs the nearest chair and sits himself down across Castiel. He can't stand looking at Cas like this. "It's Sam's thing, isn't it? You taking on his, uh, cage-match scars. I'm guessing that's what broke your bank, right?"
"Well, it took... everything to get me here," Castiel says. Dean isn't sure what he means-is he saying that he doesn't have enough mojo to zap around anymore? Dean feels a frustration building up in him. Time is a luxury he can't have right now. He needs direct answers, answers that will set everything straight.
"What are you talking about, man?"
"Dean, I know you want different answers," Castiel truly wishes that Dean can understand. When he teleported away from that room, he did not come directly to the dayroom. Instead, he escaped to a random field in central Australia, where it was day and very heated. He sat there in the open, contemplating, recollecting every detail of the fiasco he just made of his reintroduction to Dean and Sam. Dean must be even angrier now, but Castiel simply couldn't stand the conflict between his two Deans. But he also heard what Dean was talking about-the Word of God has been unearthed, and there must be angels chasing after it. The prophet will come, and with the archangels all dead (Castiel winced again at this horrible atrocity that he himself caused) who knows what the Heaven will send them. He must go back and protect the Winchesters. He owes them that much.
It took everything for Castiel to go back to that mental ward. It took the Winchesters.
"No, I want you to button up your coat and help us take down the Leviathans. Do you remember what you did?" Dean keeps asking.
Castiel opens his mouth, but words fail to pour out. What Dean asks for are the memories of damnation, of absolute horror and chaos. His vessel deteriorating, his Grace tainted with the Leviathans' greed and hunger, and all those men and women and angels he butchered-all these come twirling and growling and writhing in him. Castiel opens his mouth and tries to speak, but he simply cannot. It is as if all the horrible things he did have clogged this vessel, allowing nothing to come in and nothing to go out.
In desperate defeat, the angel holds up the nearest board game and arranges it on the table. During his days here he has had some fortunate episodes of consciousness in the dayroom, where all the patients are encouraged to socialize with one another, or at least be in the presence of peers. Meg would have no patience doing anything with him, of course, but Dean often stood behind him silently. He has always wanted to interact with Dean in a less stressful situation. His previous encounters with the Winchesters have always taken place in times of dire needs. He never could have the opportunity to-how would Dean word it-hang out with the Winchester boys.
"Do you want to go first?"