AN: Hi guys :D I want to thank all of you for reading and reviewing. This is the first fanfic I ever published and it's good to see that you like it. I'll try to find a beta-reader to further improve this fic.
Chapter 4.
As they got closer to their destination, traffic got progressively worse. It seemed like the heat drove everybody mad and they actually witnessed two accidents, one of which was apparently lethal for the driver of one of the cars involved. Dean and Sam both did their best not to look too closely at the bloodstains on the road as they drove by. The older hunter's mood darkened after this. He had never been one to stay silent when other drivers annoyed him with their stupidity or recklessness, but this time the trail of curses spilling from his lips just didn't seem to come to an end any time soon. Not even blaring AC/DC at top volume seemed to take his mind off things, so after a while, Sam banned him to the passenger seat and took over the wheel. At first Dean wanted to put up a fight, but in the end he was defeated by his brother's stern bitchface.
Damn, how he hated to be put in his place!
A little rest, however, seemed to be precisely what the older Winchester needed. It was a little cooler now, that the sun had finally set, and the low hum of the engine combined with the familiar scent of his one true home put Dean to sleep far easier than he would've expected.
His dream was far more intense than was common for him. He was standing on the edge of a cliff, arms spread wide, and facing the calm sea. A cool breeze was softly tugging on the feathers of his huge, majestic wings. He felt so powerful, so in control of himself. Nothing went by him unnoticed. He could smell the salt in the sea, the dry grass his bare toes dug into and the pleasant scent of rosemary bushes and thyme. Dean instinctively knew that if he jumped now, threw himself off this cliff, he wouldn't fall but soar up into the endless sky and his wings would carry him wherever he wanted. This, he felt certain, was freedom.
"You're wrong, Dean. These wings, they won't bring you freedom. All the power means nothing if you can't choose what to use it for."
Dean turned around to face Castiel, who sat on the ground, propped up against a small tree and clutching a bleeding wound on his chest. There were no traces of the Angel's wings. He looked perfectly human in fact, wearing jeans and an old plaid shirt.
"You chose what to use it for! You helped us stop the Apocalypse. You did the right thing."
Dean worried about his friend. It wasn't normal for Castiel to be like this, to be so very human. He should be invincible, strong and full of righteous wrath, like the Angel he was supposed to be. He wanted to cross the short distance between them, to crouch down next to Cas and comfort him. Only he couldn't. He just stood there, watching, listening, hyper aware of everything around him.
"And what for? Angels are not supposed to feel, to love…to make mistakes. In my pursuit of freedom and happiness I did the unspeakable. I fell in every way imaginable, I betrayed all those I love and I can never redeem myself. There is no way back for me and I fell so far that I'm even below humans. I'm more of a demon with wings and the memories of a Heaven that will never be the same for me…that will never be enough for me."
"Is that why you are here? So you can be human in my dreams?"
"I'm here to bleed, Dean, to suffer and to receive my punishment. These are your dreams but I can take all your pain, all your memories of Hell, all your self-hate and anger and load it on myself. I can strip you of all your doubts and fears here and make you into the perfect, righteous Angel I was supposed to be."
"This doesn't look like Hell to me."
"You don't see this dream like I do, and for this I'm more than grateful."
Dean jerked awake, breathing heavily and blinking a few times in confusion. He could still feel a faint tingle in his shoulder blades where only seconds ago had been his wings. It took him a few moments to realize he was still in the Impala.
"You okay, Dean? Bad dreams?"
Sammy's voice was like a safe line, dragging him back into reality, comforting him…soothing him. He had forgotten his dreams the second he opened his eyes, but something of them, a distinctive feeling of uneasiness and melancholy, still clung to him.
"Yeah, I guess so. I can't really remember."
"We're almost there and Phil called again a few minutes ago. He said there's pie waiting for us when we arrive."
"May the Flying Spaghettimonster bless this wonderful man!"
They laughed in unison then, and soon the unsettling feelings the dream had left Dean with disappeared entirely. Sam parked the Impala in the driveway in front of the small, white house. The brothers liked their new home base. It was rather narrow but it had a top floor with big windows and a beautiful front porch where Phil was already waiting for them, sitting in his rocking chair. He was a short man in his late fifties with a round, friendly face and dark eyes that stood a little bit too far apart. His receding hair was cropped short and had once been blonde before turning into a rather dirty looking grey. If it wasn't for his impressive muscles and the multiple scars on his arms, one would have never guessed that this old man was once a skilled and dangerous hunter.
"You boys left me waiting for quite some time. Good thing I already had dinner or I'd have eaten your pie."
Despite having lived in Louisiana for such a long time, Phillip Hartigan still didn't have the proper accent. He had told them once that he'd only come here for his studies and because he didn't want to stay in Tel Aviv where his wife had died. Dean and Sam both found it kind of odd how most male hunters seemed to have lost their wives, but in Phil's case, it wasn't a demon or a monster that made him a widower, but depression and suicide.
"Traffic was Hell, I tell you. We've been on the road far longer than expected. Oh and don't threaten to eat the whole pie when Dean's around. That's seriously no joking matter."
They all laughed then (though Dean mentioned once again that pie really was serious business for him) and went inside where three plates of peach pie already waited for them. They were eating in the living room since the kitchen was too small for all three of them, and Phil got each of the brothers a cold bottle of Czech Budweiser (no crappy American beer in my house, boys!) and a sprite for himself. Sam was telling their friend about their last hunt and what the witch's cursed blood did to Castiel, Dean, on the other side, mostly stayed out of the conversation. His younger brother had known Phil far longer than he had. They had worked together getting Dean and the Angel out of Purgatory, which took almost a year, and the thus resulting closeness between them still felt somewhat strange to the older Winchester. Unfortunately it turned out that Phil knew just as little about this kind of curse as they did, and so the topic of their conversation advanced to more urgent matters.
"You see, I actually didn't want to bother the two of you with this case. I know you need a little rest every now and then and the past few months weren't exactly easy, but this is kind of personal."
Phil let out a heavy, drawn-out sigh, eyes narrowing a little as he searched the gazes of the brothers, so they would see just how important this particular matter was to him.
"My daughter is down in New Orleans, visiting a friend, but I haven't heard from her in three days. She's a big girl and it's not uncommon for her to just wander off on her own without telling anybody, but in the light of the recent events down there I really worry about her. I taught her how to defend herself but she's not a hunter. I actually came here to Arcadia to ask another one of my friends who lives nearby to help me, but he doesn't answer my calls and I'm starting to think that something's really wrong here."
The brothers shared a quick look. It was hard to miss the desperation in Phil's voice and his story really was rather unsettling. Whatever it was, that was going on in New Orleans, it certainly wasn't normal. Once again, it was Sam who reached out to the older man, gently patting his shoulder, and assuring him of their help.
"Don't you worry, Phil, we'll drive south first thing in the morning. We'll find your daughter and then we'll deal with that little zombie problem. After everything you did for us, this is the least we can do."
Sometimes Dean envied his brother for being so good in the feelings department. His brother could just look at this old man and take away all his worries, while all he could do was eat his pie in silence and feeling perfectly useless.
"Thank you, boys, you two are my last hope. I've become quite rusty, I'm no longer the hunter I once was and doing this alone would probably kill me. I was thinking…uh…maybe you could call this Angel-friend of yours? Maybe he can just zap us down there to save some time."
"No Phil, I'm sorry but we can't do that. You see, Castiel was pretty weak after that curse hit him. I doubt that he could help us."
Okay so that was a lie and the look Sam gave Dean wasn't exactly nice, but the older Winchester didn't see much of a choice in this whole affair. The last thing he wanted right now was Cas hanging out with them, not after everything that had happened. He still couldn't come to terms with his feelings and he knew the Angel would expect him to finally have that promised talk…for which he really wasn't ready.
"You shouldn't be lying to your friend, Dean."
They hadn't heard the familiar flutter of wings this time, since Cas had appeared in the kitchen instead of the living room, but there he was now, stern face, impossibly blue eyes staring at Dean like he wanted to devour the hunter with his gaze and hands buried in the pockets of his trench coat.
There was something more though. The air around Castiel seemed to waver and shimmer with heat and energy, and as Dean squinted his eyes, he was sure he could make out the faint shadows of huge wings.