Now I lay me down to sleep… Who's dream is this anyway
Dean sighs and realizes that leaving without a clue to Cas's whereabouts was dumb. He really needs to stop acting on impulse. It always ends in complete mayhem (he particularly remembers crashing Lucifer's and Michael's little wannabe apocalypse. Remembrance of the event causes a bitter smirk to cross his features). Maybe he should call Sam, but he's been on the road for several hours, mainly to calm down and think. Sam is probably sleeping. He doesn't want to disturb his hard – earned peace unless it is absolutely necessary.
Dean has one main contemplation: What is he going to do when he finds Cas?
On the one hand the human (Castiel, human?) – formerly playing God, formerly Angel of the Lord –screwed up. The biggest understatement since Adam and Eve said "my bad" and were kicked out of Eden.
Dean won't lie. His hunter instinct says to kill Castiel. He has committed evil on a major scale, more so than many of the Big Bads they've had to face off against in earlier chapters of their messed up life story. And it's not just towards the world, (that "trying to eliminate Free Will thing" was apparently the end game for everyone who wanted power, but Castiel ought to have known better) but against the Winchesters too.
Castiel had succeeded in sending Dean down another downward spiral of self – hatred that Dean is never sure was because he felt he had failed the world again, or just another person he'd cared about.
And then there had been Sam and that wall of his. That whole year, Sam had been on the touch and go – fine one second, but then random events would spike Hell memories on overdrive. It could do different things to Sam, those memories. Cause apathy, violence, fear, memory loss.
Sam had tried to explain to Dean how his subconscious had shattered during the first taste of Hell, before he'd succeeded in putting himself together and going of to… to kill Castiel (Dean actually shudders at the thought).
Dean figures that those different parts of him (soulless Sam, pained Sam, forgetful, stupid Sam) take over whenever the memories subside, but once Sam comes to terms with whatever particular torture he'd endured (Dean is sure Sam hasn't told him the half of it, although Sam swears up and down that telling him everything helps lift the pain) the real Sam returns.
It's actually Sam's theory and he's tried explaining it to Dean on numerous occasions. All Dean knows is that he really hates the version of Sam that doesn't have a soul and had hoped never to see Sam like that again. Surprisingly, it was Sam's inability to take care of himself from time to time that stopped Dean from either going insane or just putting a bullet through his own head.
He finally felt like Sam's older brother again.
But he feels he is going of topic. The real question at present is still Castiel.
He deliberates until he reaches a motel that he can stay at – the blue conquistador (sleazy name and the man behind the counter asks whether Dean wants company, which makes him uncomfortable and means he's going to be sleeping with a shotgun very close at hand tonight). But it'll do for the night and he'll call Sam in the morning.
Just before he goes to sleep his mind has almost reached a conclusion as to the solution to the dilemma that is Cas.
So.
Hell is back in business, souls are once more rolling down the assembly line and Crowley is actually starting to enjoy some part of his job. Once you've oiled the rusty machinery you can whip your employees into proper shape and sit back to enjoy their screams with a cup of tea and a shot of something sloshed into it. There is just one thing missing to ensure Crowley's perfect day.
He's sent out messages to find out where Castiel is located. He shouldn't be hard to find. A gigantic crater, shooting star sightings. And Crowley knows that Castiel is deprived of his relationship to the Winchesters and isn't counting on any protection from their sides.
Crowley takes a sip, a little glad that he doesn't need to think about what to do to Castiel just yet.
He deserves a break.
Castiel walks outside. The sky is so dark that he can see nothing with these new eyes.
Except… He can feel a weight on his back that comforts him in this darkness. They are familiar muscles that connect via veins and strong tendrils of light and electricity that sparks and crackles with the sheer ferocity of the life that is in those bones and those frames that move so independently of what he wishes of them. They are almost autonomous beings that deign to belong only to him. He has missed them, but now he relishes their feel as feathers (that is a human word that doesn't do the actuality justice. These are not like birds) lightly stroke his cheek.
Armed with these Castiel bravely walks out into the blackness of the night.
He doesn't get far when something pierces briefly through the dark, illuminating trees and forest ground. Castiel follows the light, aware of how ridiculous that must sound outside his own head. He thinks he knows who it is.
Dean really hates dreaming. Stuff either never makes sense, creates images of things you want and you then miss when you wake up or delves through your worst nightmares and beats you around the head with them, possibly adding an even more disturbing element like when he'd dreamt of Alastair in a pink tutu. Dean will never mention that to anyone.
But it's then ones where he can't dream in friggin peace he hates the most. He'd honestly figured those angels would leave him alone by now, but there's one right behind him, following him through the day lit woods he's otherwise been traipsing so peacefully through in this surprisingly relaxing dream.
Dean decides to simply walk away from it and hope it catches the hint, but – of course – angels are about as understanding as beetles, with the added bonus that you can't just squash them when they annoy you (or try to use you and your brother to destroy the world).
Eventually Dean reaches a lake and he can't get further. He decides to get it over with and turns around to yell a bit at the thing to leave him alone for once, dammit.
The problem is that the words get lost somewhere around "can't you just…" and turn into a surprised "…"
Castiel replies with less surprise, because he did have a vague notion that the light he was following was a soul he knows very well. He cannot find an answer to Dean's lack of speech and simply manages an awkward: "Hello Dean."
Dean has a lot of questions, but there's one in particular that succeeds in shoving itself through his mouth via his vocal cords and several other implements: "Cas, what the Hell are you doing in my dream?"
"I – uh, was not aware that this was a dream," answers Castiel. "I thought this was reality."
Dean is not looking at him, but instead at the wings protruding from Castiel's back and he notices for the first time that Castiel isn't wearing his usual trench coat/shirt mix, but just the trousers and shoes. Dean isn't sure anymore whether this is a dream, but he knows that if Castiel is in fact still powerful, then he must die.
The angel blade is in his hand, (it has apparently been there all the time, but Dean doesn't think of the absurdity of the situation) but Castiel grabs Dean's arm as it swings towards his bare chest and twists until there's an audible snap. Dean falls to the ground in pain, aware of the vividness of this "maybe dream" and more of his certainty drains away, because that really hurt.
Suddenly Castiel's hand touches his arm and the pain is gone.
"I apologize. I am not aware of the strength that has been returned to me," says Castiel, but Dean doesn't accept the hand and gets up on his own. Castiel looks confused.
Realization hits Dean that this must be a dream, because he remembers lying in the creepy motel, but he still doesn't understand what Castiel is doing there.
"Cas. Are you an angel, like, out there, in the real world?" Dean tries to ask, but it sounds strange, because if Castiel is an angel how come he doesn't see that this isn't real.
Castiel doesn't understand. "Dean, this is real. Don't you see? God has forgiven me, granted me a second chance. It is the only explanation."
"No," Dean tells him bluntly. "This is not real, we're standing in the middle of the friggin woods, man, and I saw you. When you nuked those souls with your Grace. It's gone, you can't be an angel again."
"Dean. Shall we just – for the moment – agree to disagree," offers Castiel. He knows he's an angel again that power, his wings, it all feels more real than a dream would. And how would he have found Dean otherwise, without just transporting out here in the woods?
Dean is nodding, warily. He seems to be on the verge of saying something, but then: "Are those your wings?"
Castiel nods. Of course, Dean has only before seen a shadow of their real form. Although, technically this is a shadow of his wings so that must have been a shadow of a shadow. Sometimes Castiel feels that humans and their words complicate things to the extreme.
"Can I... touch them?"
"That would be ill advisable. Their power would probably liquefy you." Castiel is secretly pleased. He likes getting compliments on his wings.
Dean wonders whether he should touch them to prove his point that this isn't real, but he doesn't quite dare. They unfold and Dean sees the energy surges through the… feathers? Whatever, it looks kinda cool.
Dean wonders whose dream this is anyway, because if Castiel isn't an angel (please, don't let him be) then that would make sense, but if Castiel is human… "Screw it, it's all messed up anyway," mutters Dean to himself.
Castiel decides that this would be the best way to prove to Dean that he can be trusted again (although forgiven, liked, he is slightly less hopeful about that) and lets his wings fold against his back. Dean shrinks a little into fighting position at the movement. It is like trying to convince a wary rabbit that you aren't about to pounce.
"Dean. I have learned. I am not… filled with the souls anymore," says Castiel and is hurt to see that Dean doesn't relax.
"Yeah? What about all the stuff you did before?" Dean knows that part of this argument was used by Sam, but he wants to hear Castiel say that Crowley tricked him. Dean would be able to partly lie himself into forgiving him.
Castiel seems to struggle with what to answer, but I shouldn't be explaining myself to this mere man who I sacrificed everything for to begin with. No. That is not a trusted Cas, that is… Dean had a description once. It went something like: "These cocky sons of bitches always seem to underestimate how awesome we are, right Sammy?"
Castiel doesn't remember when Dean has said this, but it is harboured as a cherished memory from when he was still family.
Dean is still awaiting an answer.
"I have done many… regrettable things during the war. But don't you see, it is all finished. It was all for the best." Castiel doesn't want his words to come out like this, he is using practically the same arguments as before he'd been tainted with purgatory souls.
Dean is disappointed.
"Castiel. You were family once, as close as Sam, but… I will hunt you down and kill you for what you did to Sammy."
Castiel casts his eyes down. His wings move to shield him of their own accord, but the knives stabbing from the inside won't be prevented.
You're pathetic. You are letting this man, this insect provoke you. You are strong, Castiel, you were God once. We're still inside you. We'll guide you. You can become strong again, much stronger than the "Angel of the Lord." You think this year has been power, wait until you let us in again. Castiel doesn't want the voices to continue, but the way they mock his own inferiority riles him.
I'm not weak now. I don't need to be God to beat Dean.
Castiel lets his true shape exit the illusion of Jimmy Novaks body. "Dean, you cannot beat me."
His voice makes Dean's eardrums pop and his eyes have been burned from his skull long ago, but he is still barely alive. Castiel senses his shock, awe, fear, anguish and he thinks "NO" and he is Cas again, because he doesn't want to be an angel if it means he will kill everybody around him. He kneels down and tries to touch Dean's face, but it is now just a grinning cranium, laughing at Castiel's weakness.
Castiel strokes it and suddenly the woods are no longer black as Dean's soul leaves its human confinement and shows Castiel that they have been standing by a lake.
Castiel's wings seem to ask why he wouldn't want them anymore. Doesn't he love them? They stroke his cheeks again, surprised to find tears. What are these, they ask.
"It's a human thing," explains Cas. "You wouldn't understand."
Castiel awakes to find himself tangled in the bedcovers, sweating and not at all rested. Another thing he must understand about being human. How come one is tired when the act of sleeping is meant to restore your mind and body? And whose dream was that anyway?
Dean groans as he wakes up.
He really hates dreams. The details of it are already draining from his mind. Castiel was there. What the hell was he doing in his dream?
Bobby shows Sam how to mix the dough (although he isn't sure what ingredients to use, just a bit of everything) and Sam helps with the filling ("What is this stuff, it doesn't say anything on the packet. Oh well, smells good, we'll add it"). They've been baking flawed pies all night, but it's been very enjoyable. So far, they've all been more or less tasteless, apart from that one that had tasted like raw egg and salt. They are on the hunt for the perfect pie and Sam will give it to Dean in celebration for the end of their… something, because it's definitely not retirement. Just back to real, good old, back to basics hunting.
Castiel just sits for an hour. He has noticed a certain pleasure in thinking during the sunrise and he can hear birds. It makes his first day as human seem to pan out better than his first night.
The dream is perfectly etched into memory. He feels that his perfect memory is some angelic part of him that has sustained itself outside his Grace. So there may be other kept traits that were deemed too unimportant to be directly linked to his Grace and have therefore survived his Fall.
He wishes to understand the dream. He knows that there are professional dream analytics, but how can he explain that part of his dream is about the time when his angelic body was being possessed by evil souls? Possibly this will be hard. Castiel wants to find Dean, to ask whether Dean has experienced the dream, but he is afraid of seeing a Winchester. He is positive that it will only be a question of time before something or somebody that wants him dead (luckily the angels deem his Fall as enough punishment) finds him.
"Hello darling."
Castiel doesn't turn his head. He knows that running, fighting, pleading will be useless, so he ignores the voice for a moment and his thoughts wander back to the dream.
Somebody puts a bag over his head and he can't see the light anymore.
Surprisingly, this is tbc^^...