The Desired Effect

Chapter 4: Dreams Come True

Dean—never one for silent meals—said, "So, maple bars and whiskey, huh? You got some stories you're not telling us, Cas?"

Cas replied by popping a frozen blueberry in his mouth and lowering his head. Sam read the motion as one of dejection, but Dean scoffed and took it as Cas ignoring him again. In a huff, he loaded his plate with goodies and ambled over to the bed closest to the bathroom, plopping down on it with gusto. He picked up the remote from the bedside table and turned on the TV.

Sam smirked over his sandwich. "You better not choose any crap."

"First one to the remote gets to pick, bystander shuts his cakehole," rattled off Dean quickly, a phrase he had uttered so many times in so many variations that it came out instantaneously.

Castiel feigned disinterest, but Sam could tell that he was watching the two brothers closely. So Sam decided to play a little game.

He took his plate and sauntered over to the opposite bed, mirroring Dean by propping himself up against the pillows and continuing to rib his brother over his programming choices.

"Dr. Sexy MD? Really?"

"The characters are compelling!" Dean protested.

"Yeah, if you've recently been sedated."

Sam watched Castiel out of the corner of his eye as the angel slowly pivoted in his seat. He observed them a few moments more before picking up his soft drink and wandering over to the beds. Sam pretended not to be in suspense over which bed Cas chose to sit on.

Then Cas sat right next to him. Sam shot a glance at Dean and read the masked hurt on his brother's face. This was unheard of. Dean and Cas were buddies. What the hell had happened?!

But no matter how much Castiel's small betrayal had hurt him, Dean carried on with his usual TV commentator banter, especially during commercials. Sam and Dean improvised back and forth, making a game of picking on the random TV shows Dean flicked to.

Ancient Aliens had to be their favorite. Sam groaned when Dean settled on it.

"Not this again!" he whined, although he was secretly delighted.

"This show is excellent, Sammy. Shut up."

Castiel scratched his right leg unconsciously, turning a questioning eye to the younger brother. "Why do you dislike this show, Sam?"

Sam sighed. "There's this guy on the show—"

"—the aliens guy," Dean cut in, grinning, his hands gesticulating wildly.

"—and he thinks that pretty much everything that happened a long time ago was caused by aliens."

Castiel blinked, seemingly still confused.

"You know… E.T., The X Files, little green men?"

Realization finally came over the angel. "I see."

"It's totally bogus, but Dean loves torturing me."

Dean stuck his tongue out at his brother. "This show is the best for drinking games."

Sam scoffed. "When was the last time you played a drinking game, Dean?"

"Last Thursday, at 2:00 in the afternoon, when you were at the library."

Sam laughed, and they settled down to watch the episode. Ironically, the show was about how old texts in the Bible outlined UFO technology and the presence of extra-terrestrials in ancient Israel. Turns out angels were really aliens.

"How about that, Cas?" Sam quipped then turned around when his friend didn't respond.

"Hmm…?" Cas murmured softly.

The angel's head was tilted back against a pillow, and he looked completely drained of energy. His eyes were glassy and only half-open.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean abruptly leaned over in his bed, eyes flashing concern.

"Cas?" Sam leaned over him, shaking the angel gently.

Castiel blinked slowly, focusing on Sam with a bit more lucidity, but his voice was still small and far-away sounding. "This show is… not historically accurate…"

Sam suddenly figured it out. "It's the allergy medicine," he said to Dean.

"Feel…so…tired," Cas said in a whisper.

"Just go to sleep," said Dean gently. "Don't try to fight it."

Cas must have heard the words, but again he looked at Sam for direction and permission. Sam nodded, and Castiel's eyes slipped close.

Carefully, Sam moved Castiel so that he was in a more comfortable position and pulled an extra blanket over him while Dean turned down the volume on the TV. His older brother stood up and approached Castiel's prone form warily.

"You think he's gonna be okay?"

Sam looked down at the sleeping figure, eyes closed, breathing husky but steady.

"Maybe another dose of allergy medicine, and then we'll try him on new antibiotics."

Dean crossed to the hidden stash of whiskey and poured himself a drink in a paper cup. It was only a little after noon, but they had all had a rough morning.

He sipped his drink and sat back on his bed. "Why don't you head back to our motel, Sam? Look into those interviews we were gonna do today with the witnesses. I'll pick up some different medicine for Cas and stick around a few days until he's better."

Sam had had just about enough of Dean trying to take over. The truth needed to come out eventually. "Why don't you want me around him?"

Silence hung in the air. "Would you believe me if I told you that keeping Cas safe was only possible if he stayed far away from us?"

"That's crap, Dean."

Dean shot back, "That's the only way he's not gonna get hurt, and you know it!"

Sam struggled to find words to express his frustration with his brother at the moment. "Even if that might have been true, today only proves how helpless he is." Both of them looked down at the sleeping once-an-angel, vulnerability seeping out of his frail body. "Dean, he's like a child sometimes. He's new to this human stuff, and until he learns how to protect himself as a human, we have to look out for him."

Dean looked down, as if ashamed. "Cas is so proud though. It's weird to think that he was once so powerful—strong enough to pull my ass out of hell."

"Biggest mistake of his life," Sam teased. His older brother looked up at him, and the tension instantly broke in the room. Dean laughed freely, and Sam did too.

Then something happened.

Sam had experienced similar occurrences ever since the events of the third trial. It was as if his vision skipped a few paces into the future—catching Dean with a completely different expression on his face than the one he had just been wearing. Dean had been laughing only a second before; now he was looking down at Cas somberly.

Sam scratched his head. He must be tired—the stress of the morning was beginning to take its toll on his brain.

"What I'm trying to say is: Just let me help you take care of him for a little bit."

Dean nodded, jerking slightly, as if Sam's words had caught him off guard. He suddenly appeared devastated.

"Hey," Sam said, coaxing him.

Dean looked up, questioning.

"Have some more whiskey."

His brother chuckled, setting the cup down. "No, I have to go get the new medicine." And he left the motel room soundlessly.

Sam checked on Castiel again to make sure the angel was comfortable, and then he went about clearing up the food. He sat outside in the glorious reprieve from rain and ate an orange, then went back inside and sat on the bed Dean had previously occupied, taking out his laptop and doing some more research on ghouls, as Dean had suggested, anything that might help them while they were waylaid with Cas.

Dean showed up less than an hour later, and Sam realized how comfortable he felt with all of them together again. It just felt right somehow.

"He wake up?" Dean asked immediately, taking out a fresh pill bottle of antibiotics and setting it on the table by the door.

"No, he's been dead to the world," said Sam.

Dean tossed his brother a giant pack of peanut M & Ms and jumped to sit next to him in bed, whiskey bottle in hand.

"Want some?"

"No thanks. I was just about to make some tea."

And that's how the rest of the day went: pure bliss. Dean channel surfing and making fun of the home shopping networks. Sam browsing the Internet and chiding Dean for getting too loud. It was almost like they were young again, left in a motel room for a few days on the weekend while their dad was away on a hunt. Sam got up every now and then to check on Cas, and Dean checked on Cas every five minutes. They ate snacks instead of meals, and Dean eventually passed out around midnight. Sam draped covers over him, turned off the TV and his laptop, and finally succumbed to sleep too, next to Dean. The last thing he remembered thinking before closing his eyes was: I got my brother back.


Castiel woke up a little after 12:30 AM to complete darkness. For a moment, he had forgotten where he was and instantly felt afraid of something about to attack him—renegade angels, perhaps, or conniving vengeful demons, or both. But then he heard the faint snores and sound of peaceful breathing beside him, and he remembered.

He was alone in a bed. Through the dim light of red electric numbers on a nearby alarm clock, he could make out Sam's and Dean's sleeping forms in the bed to his left. Castiel swallowed a painfully dry throat and attempted sitting up. He felt better, aside from still not being able to breathe properly through his nose. An itch along his spine caused him to spasm and begin scratching on various places all over his body. A second later, he recalled his allergy to the antibiotics and willed himself to stop scratching. He sighed quietly. Being a human was so difficult. Castiel tried to imagine what would have happened if Sam and Dean had not come to his rescue, and the thought left him shivering.

Slowly he stood up, swaying slightly and clutching the corner of the bed for support. His head felt too hot and his throat was sore. He shuffled to the bathroom sink to a fill a cup with some water. Inadvertently, he caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror when he turned on the light and marveled at the pink tinge of his skin. The rash was clearing up, but it wasn't completely gone. Probably why he was still itching. Dark circles still ringed his eyes and made him blink to see if the strange figure would go away. But it didn't. There he was—still sick and weak and ashamed to be in the same room as the Winchesters.

Why had Dean helped him when it had been so clear that he wanted nothing to do with him? Castiel couldn't blame the man. Practically every time Castiel had gone to the brothers it was for help or because he had made a monumental mistake he needed their help in fixing. Castiel felt his shame spread over him, more painful than the rash already affecting his skin. He should just go.

Castiel stumbled but managed to pad to the door of the motel room without waking the Winchesters. He could step outside and run away. But where? He wouldn't be able to return to his job because they knew where he worked now. Castiel would be able to survive being homeless, but it wasn't a way of living he had been particularly adept at. In fact, he had almost died last time he lived on the streets. Indeed, it was only a matter of time, if he was homeless, that an enemy would find him…

Castiel would take his chances. He opened the door and stared at the blinding rush of water as it poured outside, thick sheets of rain blowing cold wind and water into his face. Despite the inclement weather, Castiel was prepared to brave it to avoid Dean…when he noticed something.

In fact, it was something he noticed was missing. Sigils. Protective sigils. Sam and Dean had never marked the doors. Which meant that they might be more vulnerable if he left, even if he left the gun Sam had lent him. By comparison, he had an angel blade. Castiel looked back uncertainly at the two still forms, sleeping peacefully, and he slowly closed the door. He couldn't leave them alone and unprotected like that, even if Dean didn't care about his own fate.

With that, Castiel grabbed his cell phone and the bottle of allergy medicine and went back to the bathroom. Being as quiet as he could, he dialed his work phone and left a message for Nora, saying that he was still sick and would have to miss another day. Then he swallowed two of the allergy pills, turned off the light, and grabbed his angelic weapon.

He pulled up a chair from the table by the window and sat in the darkness, watching the brothers sleep and feeling peaceful for the first time since he woke up. After all, he had a purpose now—protecting the Winchesters. This was something he was relatively good at. It had been the main function for his creation, after all.

Castiel didn't know how long he sat, guarding the men, until the coughing started again.


Dean woke up to harsh hacking—a lung rattling, that I've-been-smoking-a-pack-a-day-for-fifty-years sound. It jarred him out of bed immediately, walking around to Sam's side of the bed to turn on a light on the nightstand. Yellow light warmly flooded the small room and illuminated the figure sitting on a chair close to the beds, next to the TV stand.

"Cas?" Dean said groggily, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He checked the alarm clock, and it read 1:00 A.M.

He cursed softly, noticing Sam roll over in his sleep. His little brother mumbled something unintelligible, then—"Dean?"

"Go back to sleep, Sammy," Dean said reflexively, and his younger sibling complied right away, rolling back over like he was five years old again.

The coughing, however, had not stopped. Dean, a bit more awake now, rushed to the smaller man, and placed a soothing hand in the small of his back.

"Easy. Easy, Cas. It's all right. Let me get some water." Dean staggered to the table and brought back the nearest cup without thinking. Cas took a large gulp and instantly wheezed, spluttering with a choked cry.

Dean grabbed the cup and winced when he smelled its contents. "Whiskey! Sorry, Cas!"

The ex-angel's eyes were watering as Dean ran around the room to grab a different cup and some water. How many times was he going to screw up? How many times would Cas get hurt in the process?

Dean eventually got a water cup, and Cas drank from it greedily, the course coughs eventually dying out. Dean knelt beside him, rubbing his back.

Cas rasped, "Thanks.'

Maybe it was due to tiredness, but Dean almost didn't notice that it was the first time Cas had directly spoken to him in 12 hours. The fleeting recognition ended when Dean saw just how haggard Cas still looked—although his rash was clearing up, he remained pallid.

"You warm?" Dean asked rhetorically, reaching up to place a hand on the man's forehead. It was slightly above average. "When your rash goes away, we'll get you the new antibiotics."

There was a moment of silence, then Cas said: "I thought you…didn't want me."

Dean felt his own face go hot. "No, no, it's not that at all. I wanted you to stay away from me so I wouldn't end up harming you anymore."

Castiel sighed, his eyes glassy and confused. "That makes no sense. I was an angel of the Lord. I can take care of myself."

Dean's first instinct was to respond sarcastically about the number of times he had to drag Castiel's ass out of Purgatory, or a nest of murderous angels, etc., but then he thought better of it.

"I know, Cas. It's just…Anyone who has ever been close to me eventually gets hurt. You…You almost died the last time I saw you because of me. I don't want that to happen again."

And even though it was clothed in a lie, part of Dean believed what he said to be true.

Castiel coughed once—gratingly—and then rocked back in his seat, settling down. He eyed Dean in a softer manner.

Dean wasn't going to apologize, but the words suddenly slipped out: "Cas, I'm sorry."

Castiel's eyebrows arched in surprise. "It's all right, Dean—"

"I'm sorry for abandoning you when you needed us the most. I'm sorry for backing out on our friendship and neglecting you… I'm sorry for letting you down so bad that I wasn't the first one you called when you needed help." It all came out in one breath before Dean could stop to check his emotions. Tears threatened to slip out from beneath his sleepy eyelids. But when he looked at Cas, he realized he didn't need to cry; the angel was crying for him.

"I forgive you," Castiel said.

They sat that way for several minutes, Dean's hand on Castiel's back as the man worked through his feelings. Then, Dean had to ask the inevitable:

"So—what were you doing just now?"

"I was going to run away," Cas said, his words slurring a bit.

Dean listened to the rain pounding on the roof mercifully. "Good thing the weather stopped you."

"It didn't," Cas said pointedly, to Dean's surprise. "I needed to protect you."

Then Dean noticed the angel blade on the floor by Castiel's feet. He picked it up and set it on the table as Cas blew his nose miserably.

"My hero," Dean said. "Let's get you back to bed. But first, more allergy medicine."

"Already took it," said Cas, his eyelids beginning to droop spectacularly now.

"Ah, that would explain your narcolepsy impression," Dean said dryly, grabbing Castiel by the shoulders as he attempted to stand. Dean had anticipated the maneuver wouldn't go so well, and Castiel's legs went out from under him.

"What happened?" Cas mumbled, his face creased sweetly in innocent confusion as Dean took on the majority of his weight.

"Time for bed," said Dean cheerfully. "You can try out for the ballet again next year. Chicks really go for dancers."

Castiel let Dean guide him to bed, his eyes mostly closed now. "Would I be a good dancer?"

Dean cleared his throat to stifle laughter. "Cas, you'd be the next Baryshnikov!"

Once the former angel was in bed, Dean pulled the covers around him, just under his chin. And though his words were nearly unintelligible, and his eyes were now closed, Cas said, "Stay with me."

Dean stopped in his tracks and paused to turn out the light. He knew he could never fully come to terms with his own guilt that night, but it was almost as if Castiel was making things right; just forgiving him had already lifted some of that tremendous weight off Dean's shoulders. Drowsiness began to drift across the Winchester's vision, and he said, "All right," sliding in beside Castiel as he turned out the light. In his sleep, Cas turned towards Dean on his side, and Dean didn't move one muscle. All three of them were together, and they were safe. That's all that mattered.


Castiel woke up the next morning to find himself alone. His heart immediately leapt out of his chest with fear and panic until he spotted the note on the pillow where Dean had slept last night. He moved his hand sleepily to grab the note, noticing the pill bottle it was wrapped around. Castiel carefully unfurled the note and read Dean's zig-zagged handwriting.

Cas—

Take two pills twice a day. Have left food for you and paid your rent for the week. Will call you later tonight after we get done with this hunt. Call me if you need anything.

Dean

Castiel felt a simultaneous rush of gratitude and sadness after reading the note. On one hand, at least Dean had left a note, but on the other hand he hoped that they had parted on better terms. He grabbed a banana from the table and slowly ate it in bed, then swallowed two of the antibiotic pills. The rest of the day, Castiel remained mostly in bed, enthralled by the plethora of TV programs at his fingertips, eating now and then, and napping off and on.

He kept his cell phone by the bed just in case Dean called, but the line remained free. At around seven o'clock, Cas realized that Dean probably wasn't going to call.

Then he heard a knock on the door.

Castiel almost forgot to look through the peephole in his excitement at having company, and when he opened the door he had to hide his obvious enthusiasm.

"Hello, Dean!" His face felt flushed, his vision suddenly blurring.

The older Winchester shifted the sack of groceries in his arms to one hip, reaching out with his free arm in concern. "Cas—you okay?"

"Y—yes," Castiel said, looking away to try and hide his emotion. "I just didn't think I'd see you again."

Dean's face visibly paled, and he attempted a crooked grin. "You know that's not my style. Not really."

Cas moved aside as Dean awkwardly shuffled inside the motel room, depositing the bulging sack of groceries. "Sam drove me to the store for you… We caught the ghoul! I thought some post-ganking celebrations were in order."

While Dean busied himself with laying out all the edible treats, Castiel stood alongside him, silently watching. He wanted to thank Dean, but the appreciations died in his throat. As his mind cleared, Castiel found it racing from one improbable situation to the next. Dean cared. Then he didn't. Now he does. The answer seemed to lie squarely with someone currently missing in the vicinity.

"It's Sam, isn't it?" Castiel said quietly.

Dean froze, turning around, paper bag crinkling. His hands remained outstretched, eyes narrowed.

"Cas—" he began.

"It was Sam all along. Not me. I can't be around him. Why?" Castiel was thinking out loud now, his mental capacities fully returning from weeks and weeks of sickness. But with the clarity came the predictable cold chill.

Dean spoke very quietly, his words merely whispers, but they were precise and intense. "I can't tell you."

Castiel said, "Leave."

Dean didn't move an inch. His hands remained palms-down, trying to diffuse the situation, but his eyes betrayed the truth of his words. In the end, Castiel believed Dean because of his eyes.

"I can't tell you, but let me help you."

Castiel took a deep breath, wanting to go along with Dean despite his instincts. "You're leaving after tonight, I expect. And I'll stay here, in the dark."

"What I said before is true. I don't want you to get hurt. What we do, Cas, it's… It's gonna kill me one of these days. I can't let that happen to you."

Silence.

Dean licked his lips. "I convinced Sam to go on a hunt a few towns over. We'll stay in Idaho or a neighboring state, and I'll come to see you as often as I can. Trust me."

Castiel thought back to the past few months, to sleeping in a cold locker room, the smell of bottom-of-the-pot coffee and toilets. He felt like he had lost his faith a long time ago.

"Trust me."

But he couldn't lose his faith in Dean Winchester.

"Okay."

The next day, Castiel went back to work at the Gas-N-Sip. It was the first time in over a month that he could breathe through his nose, and he relished the smell of fresh rain. He had decided to stay at the motel for a few more weeks until he could save up enough to find a cheap rental somewhere. He worked through the day differently; Castiel continued to put care and effort into his job, but he was also looking forward to a warm bed now, the entertainment of cable TV, and the possibility of seeing a friend.

Deep down, Castiel still doubted that the man would show up. Nevertheless, he heated some microwavable meals, tossed a salad, and opened two single serving containers of cherry pie he had purchased from the convenience store.

It was 7:30 PM, and Castiel waited, his ears pricked for any nearby engines or car doors slamming. He must have dozed off when he heard a familiar knocking. Racing from his seat on the bed, Castiel flung open the door to find the man he had rescued from Hell standing there, a soft smile on his face.

"I hope you bought pie, 'cause I've had a hell of a day."

Castiel beamed and ushered him in wordlessly. In that moment, his trust was solidified, and he knew it would never waver again.

After all, Dean Winchester had showed up.

Fin.

A/N: This is where the original ending of this fic was, but I am in the process of writing an epilogue chapter I will post next week. Thanks so much again for your reviews! I always appreciate them. Hope you enjoyed!