[A/N: My computer crashed and I lost the beginning of this chapter and had to start over, or I would've had it up sooner! And I'm not entirely sure I like this chapter much better than the last one, but I wanted to update to keep this story alive. And I'm eager to get to the end of this just to see the reactions, especially since I'm getting pretty close to the end now. We're almost there, and you guys won't be happy I know…sorry in advance about that.]
[One person in particular has made me very happy: Ivan Alvarado. I want to give a shout-out to him for his comments, they make me so happy. Thanks, Ivan, thank you so much for your service. And thanks for taking the time to read (and re-read as necessary) my story. It means a lot to me that you would devote some of your leisure time to this, so rock on! I hope your life doesn't suck too much and here's to things looking up soon! :)]
[Also, I'm not gonna lie—this week's episode messed me up inside…I won't say anything in case anyone is behind, but OH MY GOD such feels! I cried…what did you guys who saw this week's episode think? How do you think they're going to proceed from here? I'm seriously starting to worry….]
[For this chapter, the perspectives will kind of jump around, so to make it easier I've labeled each part with the character's perspective. It takes place immediately after the last chapter in Heaven for Cas, but a few hours ahead on Earth with the Winchesters for reasons that will become apparent as you read. Our special guest star will be revealed near the end of the first part of the chapter. Any questions or confusion, feel free to message or comment and I'll be more than happy to explain. I'm not sure I like this one much better than the last one, it's been hard to get into the flow of my writing, but I'm doing my best and I hope you guys are enjoying it…some feedback to let me know how I'm doing would be great ( hint hint ;) :P)]
[That's all I have for now, I guess. On with the chapter!]
Chapter 7
Gabriel
He hadn't been involved in Heaven's affairs since he had fled eons ago, back when Earth was still new and he was tired of the war between his siblings, tired of watching them fight each other over something as simple as free will. It was obvious to him who was right, but he refused to pick a side because it would only encourage the fighting. As each side had grown increasingly enraged with him, he realized that he couldn't remain neutral as long as he stayed home, and he had run. He forged a new body for himself, and he disappeared.
He stayed gone for a long time.
Even now, he wasn't sure why he chose to help. It was only asking for trouble, assisting these humans. But there was something about these Winchesters—he knew they were important to Heaven, chosen vessels for the Apocalypse and all that, but there was something else about them.
They had pure souls. Purer than any other humans Gabriel had seen since the beginning of Creation.
They intrigued him. So for a long time, he watched them. And when he realized what was going on between his brother, Castiel, and the older Winchester, he had to laugh. It was a rare situation, though not unheard of, for a human and an angel to fall in love. It took a special human for that to happen—there must be something beyond just the pure soul that drew Castiel to Dean, and once Gabriel realized that there was something more going on here, he felt obliged to help, just to see how things would turn out for them.
After offering his help to Dean, he made himself invisible with a snap of his fingers and followed the man inside. He noted the weary trudge and the slump of Dean's shoulders as he flopped next to his brother, Sam, on the shabby couch. Sam glanced up, and Gabriel could clearly see his concern for his older brother in the bright hazel eyes.
He sat on the table, next to a scattered pile of papers and a brightly lit laptop they seemed to be using to track demonic activity, and settled in to listen to their conversation.
Sam
Sam glanced up as Dean came in and flopped beside him on the couch, not looking him in the eye as he mumbled, "I may have found some help" before Sam could ask for the millionth time how he was. He knew Dean was sick of answering that question, but he was worried—Dean was eating even less than before, and he wasn't sleeping. He wandered the house and junkyard almost like a spirit, not speaking or paying attention, always staring off into space on the rare moments he sat still, never really here, and it was really starting to freak Sam out. If Castiel didn't come back soon, Sam wasn't sure what they would do to snap Dean out of this depression he had fallen into.
So the news that there might be some progress had Sam brightening a bit in relief. "Really? That's great!" he enthused, wondering why his brother looked so nervous about sharing this information. "Who is it?"
Dean pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on his lap absently as Sam waited impatiently. Finally, after a long moment, Dean exhaled slowly and said quickly, "The Trickster," staring at his brother warily, obviously anxious about how he reacted.
There was a long moment of silence while Dean just watched Sam's expression go from confusion to shock to outrage in rapid succession.
"You can't be serious," he said furiously from between his teeth. He recalled the Mystery Spot with a wince, watching his brother die a hundred and three times and ways—he had counted every one—while he was powerless to do anything but watch, slowly going insane each time he woke up to that damn song…he shook his head as though trying to physically shake off the memories, though he noticed his hands shaking faintly as he spoke. "You want us to trust the Trickster? Are you insane? Of all the people, Dean, why him?" His voice rose as he spoke, until he was practically shouting at Dean, who just stared at him helplessly. This scared Sam almost as much as it worried him—Dean was not one to passively sit by while someone insulted him. He should have been throwing punches and insults in equal measure, but he just sat there with sad eyes. It spoke volumes to Sam about how much of a wreck he was about Castiel's absence.
"I don't like it any more than you do, Sammy," Dean said tiredly. "But I don't see many other options. He's powerful, and he said he would help us get Cas back. He's in prison, Sammy, that's why he hasn't come back." Dean ran a hand through his hair, a familiar anxious habit, but his pleading eyes did nothing to soften Sam's anger for once.
"Dean, we can't trust him," he insisted. "He's a murderer, a liar, a—"
"An archangel," interrupted a slightly smug familiar voice. Both boys' heads whipped around as they turned to stare at the source. Sam felt fury rise in him as he saw the Trickster sitting on Bobby's table, scattering the research he had worked hard to gather, casually licking a lollipop and looking like he had every right to be there. He snorted and glared at that stupid, smug face with eyes the golden-brown color of honey, and he recalled the last time he'd stared into those eyes as his own had filled with tears. His fists clenched on his lap, and he opened his mouth to get the hell out of here, he didn't care what Dean said, they could find Cas somehow without his help, but Dean spoke first.
"What do you mean, 'an archangel'?" he demanded, staring just as intently as Sam, but without the anger.
"Exactly that, kiddos. You know me as the Trickster, but my actual name is Gabriel." He smirked at Sam as he spoke, and Sam wanted to break his nose.
"If you're an archangel," he demanded coldly, ignoring Dean's glare, "then why the hell are you on earth causing so much trouble when you should be doing Heaven's work?" He crossed his arms. He didn't believe this guy. He was a liar, a murderer, and he wasn't about to trust him with Castiel's life. He dimly realized that he was shaking with fury, but he didn't care.
"The long story is I ran away from home ages ago—family feuding got ugly and I was sick of it." He waved his hand dismissively. "But that's not important right now. What is important is that you need my help to save my little brother."
"No, we don't," Sam snapped. He glared when Dean punched his arm and contradicted him, "Yes we do!"
The stupid Trickster had the nerve to look amused at their arguing, which only fanned the flames of Sam's anger. "While you two bicker, Castiel is in prison. Probably bored, probably miserable, probably lonely. You knuckleheads have no hope of getting into Heaven's prisons undetected, not to mention you'd never manage to break him out and escape. I, however, can get in, bust him out, and get out before they even know I'm there. So unless you want to leave Cassy to rot, you should accept my help. What's it gonna be, kiddo?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at Sam and sticking the lollipop back in his mouth.
Sam was about to tell him to go screw himself, but one look at Dean's face stopped him cold. There was pain in Dean's eyes, and fear. They said what his mouth wouldn't, Sammy, please…, and that begging showed to Sam just how important it was for them and how badly Dean wanted him to say yes.
He didn't like it. In fact, he hated it. But as he looked into his brother's eyes, Sam knew what his answer would be. He took a deep breath and looked at the Trickster—he'd think of him as Gabriel, the archangel, when he brought Castiel back and proved he was telling the truth—coldly, nodding slowly, noticing Dean's face light up in relief out of the corner of his eyes.
"Go get Castiel out of prison. Please," he added grudgingly when Dean elbowed him.
He hopped down from the table. "One jail break coming right up. See ya soon, kiddos."
And with a snap, he was gone. Sam sighed in relief and finally relaxed, closing his eyes and hoping desperately that he hadn't just gotten Cas into more trouble.
Castiel
Castiel wasn't sure how long he'd been imprisoned. When nothing changed and no one came to visit, time was hard to judge. He tried conversing with Gadreel, but his fellow prisoner either couldn't hear him or was refusing to acknowledge him, so it passed in silence.
In a way, Castiel supposed he deserved nothing less than his current imprisonment. He had broken the rules…he had rebelled. The knowledge filled him with shame each time he recalled his actions, but he also knew that if he were given the chance to go back, he would have done nothing different. Yes, he had disobeyed Heaven, but he had done what he had thought was right, and he did not regret that.
He tried counting his heartbeats. They were steady, rhythmic, and it gave him something to focus on. He also found that focusing on breathing helped him remain calm, almost like meditation.
With his head leaned back against the wall and his eyes shut, the seraph tucked his dark wings around himself like a cocoon and counted each thump of his vessel's heart, listened to each breath whistle in and out of his lungs, and he tried to keep his mind clear.
Dean's prayers were the best and worst part of his imprisonment. He smiled when Dean updated him on Sam's condition, glad that Sam had made a full recovery, only to sigh raggedly when Dean continued that they would wait for him at Bobby's for a few days before moving on. Each day that the angel failed to show up, the hunter's prayers grew more impatient and demanding, always with a slight undertone of worry.
After what Castiel judged to be roughly a week, based on the number of heartbeats that had passed and the amount of times Dean prayed to him on average, the hunter was regularly cursing his name and demanding he come back already. It almost physically hurt Castiel that he was unable to come to Dean when he called.
When Dean prayed to Heaven in general, demanding that they return his angel, Castiel felt his heart splinter, and he wanted to sob.
When Sam prayed to him, it was almost as bad. The younger Winchester begged Castiel to return, if only to calm his brother down, and expressed the hope that Castiel was okay. The concern was touching, and it caused a dull throb in his chest that left him aching and morose.
He missed Earth.
He missed all the colors. Everything he could see was white, and while it was beautiful in a way—so pure and clean, untainted and almost perfect—it was boring after a while. There was no variety. Everywhere you looked, it was the same. Just…white. On earth, the trees and the flowers and the sky and the people formed a thousand colors that clashed and mixed like a painting, and it was all vibrant and alive and brilliant in a way that Heaven, with its clean purity, could never hope to mimic.
He missed the smells, too. The prison was devoid of any scent he could identify beyond the lingering Earth aromas clinging to his clothes, and even that was fading.
Most of all, though, Castiel missed the people. He missed hearing a thousand voices talking over each other, laughing and crying, swearing and singing and shouting and soaring over each other until they all blended together into a pleasant background noise that became what he thought of as the soundtrack of Earth. It was oppressively silent here, almost smothering. If Castiel hadn't been so miserable, he would be bored. He wanted to talk to Dean, hear Sam laugh, listen to…what was the name of that band Dean loved? Some random letters he couldn't recall…but they had enjoyed singing together, that last fateful night together as they drove in the Impala.
In that moment, as their voices blended together over the top of the radio with Sam's snores in the backseat, Castiel had never felt closer to anyone, nor had he ever felt so happy. He had felt like he belonged, in a way he had never found among his brothers and sisters. In Heaven, he was always the odd one out, the strange little seraph who was strangely obsessed with the humans and their strange habits. He had been content, but he had always felt out of place, like he didn't belong.
With the Winchesters, that feeling had been replaced. He had found his place just in time to be ripped away from it, and the knowledge left the angel feeling more alone than before.
Castiel closed his eyes. Thinking of Earth only hurt, now that he couldn't go back, so he resolved not to think anymore. He focused once more on his breathing, and he counted each beat of his heart until he lost his thoughts and only the steady thump remained. As his thoughts cleared, the pain fell away, and he was momentarily at peace.
Of course, when his cell walls exploded, that peace was shattered.
Castiel's eyes flew open as he leapt to his feet, wings flared out defensively. He glared through the smoke and rubble at the figure he could vaguely make out. It was laughing madly—it sounded almost insane with glee.
"Oh, man, I haven't done anything that fun in ages!" a familiar voice crowed, and the Castiel felt his eyes widen in shock. He hadn't heard that voice in eons, but he recognized it immediately. But…it couldn't be…he wouldn't return to Heaven.
His suspicions were confirmed, however, when the dust cleared, revealing a grinning face surrounded by wings—glorious, radiant archangel's wings in various shades of gold and rich dark brown, almost like a hawk's—and gold-brown hair. Castiel's jaw dropped, and he could only stare for a long moment. When he finally found his voice again, he could muster only one word.
"Gabriel?" he demanded incredulously.
"Hey, bro. No time to explain—the alarm's gonna sound any second, so we gotta go," he said with an impish grin. Grabbing Castiel by the arm, the archangel dragged the seraph from the cell.
"Wait," Castiel protested, dragging his feet and glancing back. Gadreel had finally chosen to acknowledge his presence, and was watching with forlorn eyes. Gabriel followed his gaze and snorted.
"Cassy, tell me you're not serious."
Sending him a withering glare at the nickname, he nodded. "He doesn't deserve this, Gabriel," he insisted. With a put-on sigh and a slightly exasperated look, Gabriel snapped his fingers and another explosion destroyed Gadreel's cell as well. The angel stumbled slowly from the wreckage, staring at Castiel, who answered the obvious question before he could ask it.
"No angel deserves to be imprisoned for using the free will Father gave us," he said firmly, embracing his brother, who after a brief hesitation returned the hug. Their wings brushed together, and for a few moments their Graces reached out and brushed together, sharing a mutual understanding and forming a new bond between them, and Castiel couldn't help but smile in pure joy.
Gabriel tapped his foot impatiently, reminding both angels of their limited time. They separated and, exchanging quick grins, parted ways, Gadreel vanishing to Father knows where, Castiel rushing off with Gabriel, following his lead.
As he slipped through time and space, his wings beating rhythmically in time with his brother's beside him, Castiel felt his excitement grow as he realized they were heading to Earth. He was going to see Dean again, and the knowledge overjoyed him.
He knew things wouldn't be easy after this, but he also knew that any trouble he was in was worth it to be free.
Dean
Gabriel was taking too long. It had been hours. Was it supposed to take this long? Dean didn't think it was supposed to take this long. He was getting worried. He paced restlessly in the kitchen because Sam had kicked him out of the living room, saying he was being disruptive.
Sam. His attitude wasn't helping. Every time Dean would throw out some innocent, speculative comment about the Tricks—about Gabriel, his little brother's face would go cold and shut down, and he'd refuse to say a word until the subject was changed.
Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, glancing out the window. It was getting late—the sun would be down soon. Gabriel had promised he would get Cas, but he didn't say how long it would take…maybe he should call it a night and hope the angels would be back in the morning. He couldn't imagine sleeping, though, when the anticipation of seeing Cas again was so strong it was almost tangible in him, making him restless and anxious despite his exhaustion.
He kept pacing.
He paused every other round of the kitchen to rummage through the fridge, not out of hunger but just for something to do. Eventually, he grabbed a beer and cracked it open. He took a swig, making a face at the taste, but continued to drink as he paced.
Step, step, chug. Step, step, step, chug.
After finishing the first bottle, he cracked open another. Then another, and another, and another. Around the bottom half of the fourth bottle, he started to feel woozy and light-headed, and as he cracked open the sixth the room was starting to spin. But even being slightly drunk didn't help him feel any better. Actually, he felt worse, because he knew that Cas didn't like it when he got drunk and Cas would be unhappy if he came back and found Dean in this state, and Dean didn't want Cas unhappy.
He didn't know what he wanted when it came to Cas, but unhappy was definitely not it.
Thinking about Cas in his drunken state made his spinning head start to ache, and it made him feel fuzzy and slightly guilty and confused and sad and happy and…and a million different emotions that all crashed cataclysmically together into one huge mess of emotion that he didn't know how to name and didn't know what to do with. All he knew was that it confused him and he didn't like to think about it for some reason he couldn't quite recall at the moment.
He set the bottle down on the counter among countless others—Bobby was probably too busy saving their asses and bailing out other hunters to clean up—and staggered a bit as he exited the kitchen, suddenly unable to stand being in there for another moment. He ignored Sam and kept going right to the front door, staggering outside and inhaling the fresh, rapidly cooling evening air. He sat on the steps of the front porch and closed his eyes, leaning against the railing, and let his thoughts just wander in no particular direction.
He wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, but when he opened his eyes again it was dark and the stars were out, so it must have been quite a while. He was shivering a little, and his head still felt fuzzy. He couldn't remember why he was outside, so he stood and staggered back inside, falling on the couch. Sam glanced up at him with a frown that he ignored, choosing instead to stare at the ceiling.
Sam said something to him that he didn't catch, so instead of responding he just grunted and closed his eyes. He heard Sam sigh, sounding irritated, and soon the sound was followed by the click of keys as he went back to his research. The sound was familiar, reminiscent of their countless nights together on the road—just the two of them against the world, reminding Dean of a simpler time in his life, before the angels and Lucifer and all the other crap that had happened the last year or so—and it lulled Dean into a doze, not quite asleep but not fully awake either.
After a while—God knew how long, and Dean didn't particularly care—a click was heard as Sam shut the laptop. Dean didn't even bother to open his eyes as Sam stood, pausing briefly by him, probably considering dragging him to bed and then deciding against it, shuffling upstairs instead. The floorboards in the ceiling creaked, and then the house was silent. Dean idly wondered where Bobby was—had he vanished on another hunt while he'd been too preoccupied to notice? It was possible—but his mind was too fuzzy to focus on anything for long.
He opened his eyes, but it was too dark to really see anything clearly, so he closed them again. The silence of the house would usually bother him, but at the moment it was peaceful. He didn't have to talk to anyone, didn't have to ignore the worried looks and pretend to be fine. He could just relax, which was a nice change of pace after the last couple of days.
As he relaxed, he felt like he was drifting, floating away, disconnected from Sam, from Bobby, from everything and everyone he usually worried about. It was a liberating feeling, not feeling responsible for everyone and everything for once. He wondered through the alcohol-haze why he felt like that was his job, but he didn't bother trying to figure it out, just let himself drift and sink into the fuzziness of his mind, and he slept.
Castiel
He landed lightly in the living room where he'd left Dean—roughly a week had passed on Earth if his estimations were precise, though he could be a day or two off—and was assaulted by the smell of alcohol and the sound of snores. Using his Grace rather than his vessel's eyes, he saw Dean's soul, familiar and radiant as ever, flare up. Dean was sleeping on the couch, probably having consumed copious amounts of alcohol. Again. Usually that would irritate Castiel, but at the moment he found it so human, a familiar habit of Dean's, that it was soothing to him.
It was dark, so it made sense for them to be asleep, but still, Castiel was slightly disappointed. He had been hoping to speak with Dean—Michael's words were still echoing in his head, and he wanted an answer—but Dean so rarely slept…he was reluctant to interrupt him when he seemed to be resting peacefully. But he also didn't want to leave.
Gabriel had promised he would shield this house from Michael and the others who would be searching for him, so he and the Winchesters would be safe for the night. At the moment, spending the night with Dean—as he had so many nights previously—sounded much better than anything he could think of. The couch was small, though, smaller than any bed they had ever shared. Recalling all the times Dean had grouched at him and the many lectures about personal space, the angel couldn't bring himself to lie down in the small space between Dean and the back of the couch, no matter how badly he might want to. Instead, he sat on the floor, leaning his head against the couch. He didn't need to sleep or rest—he had done almost nothing else for a week in that accursed cell—he just wanted to be near Dean.
He smelled familiar, like soap and leather and something that was just purely Dean, some aromatic mix of his hormones and his skin, speaking to Castiel of familiarity and comfort and home. As the smell wafted to the angel, he breathed it in, and he felt like he'd come home.
This. This was home, not Heaven, where he felt isolated and estranged, he realized with a jolt. Here on Earth, fighting by the Winchester's sides, was where he belonged. As the realization settled over him, Castiel felt the rightness of it, and he knew he understood for the first time why Gabriel had left Heaven, and why he'd never come back.
As he settled next to Dean, listening to the steady breathing and watching his glimmering soul shine through the darkness, he knew with a grim certainty that he would do anything to defend his new home.
He would have to tell Dean in the morning of all that had transpired. But for now, he would let them rest.
Gabriel
Castiel was a funny little guy, but Gabriel liked him. He was so naïve it was kind of amusing, but he was also blunt and had no censor from his thoughts to his mouth, which Gabriel approved of.
He knew that the angels would be hunting for Castiel by now, so he had promised the little seraph that he would protect the house from the angels for the night. He didn't know what he would do come morning, but he didn't worry. He was used to improvising.
So here he was, sitting on the roof of Robert Singer's house, watching the stars and using his Grace to shield the place and all its inhabitants from the hunting, probing Grace of Michael and all his little sycophants. Each time Michael came near this place, Gabriel's Grace surged with the power of a nuclear arsenal, and he would retreat hastily.
It was tiring, but knowing that Cassy and the Winchesters were safe meant it was also satisfying.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd cared so much about anyone but himself. It was strange, but also familiar, reminding him of the time before he ran, when he wasn't a selfish, loathsome coward, so he was alright with it for now.
He would wait and see how things developed, but he had a feeling that he was done running. He'd finally found something he cared about enough to stick around.
Smiling at the thought, the archangel watched the stars and continued his vigil through the night.
[A/N: So yeah. Sorry this chapter was shorter than the last two...Did you like Gabriel's cameo though? Should he come back again in the next installment? I haven't quite decided if he'll be back in the next chapter yet, but he'll most definitely be in the sequel, but I doubt any Sabriel will leak through (it's possible but not likely since it's a Destiel fic).]
[I'm sorry for how awkward and sloppy the ending of this chapter was, I know it sucks but I couldn't think ofa better way to end it. Sorry sorry sorry so sorry guys! I'll try to make the next chapter better, since it'll be the last chapter. And there will be an epilogue following it, but that'll be it for this story. Then the sequel, whoo! (See my profile page for more info on that.)]
[That's all I have for now. Peace out bitches, and DFTBA!]
—Makky
