Revelations
Week Six
By Nan00k
Thanks for the reviews, guys! I've decided to skip ahead every few chapters. This story will have twenty-five chapters (including the prologue). :) I hope you enjoy them!
Today, Dean and Castiel talk, Gabriel deals with life among mortals, and someone stirs up trouble for Dean.
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Warnings: graphic violence, foul language, brief descriptions of sexual acts, religious overtones, original characters, canon/OC pairing, canon pairings, alternative universe (post season five)
Disclaimer: Supernatural © Eric Kripke/CW. I only write this mess.
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Oregon
There was nothing in fucking Oregon. Dean wasn't going to say anything at first, but after a week and a half of searching the state, even Castiel was beginning to look disheartened. Whether or not the demons had just been swarming for no reason, or Jesse had just disappeared to a new place and they had followed, it didn't matter. They weren't there anymore.
Dean wanted to curse and give up, but there was only one thing to do and that was to keep going forward. They had too much invested in finding that damn kid. Raphael was looking for Jesse as well and if he found him first… Castiel had warned Dean unnecessarily that if that happened, Raphael would easily jumpstart the apocalypse by attacking Jesse right away.
They could worry about finding him and averting said-apocalypse when they crossed that bridge. Dean was just tired and sick of Oregon.
"Screw it. Let's get out of here," he announced, unable not to be just a little irritable. Castiel had waited patiently in the Impala as Dean got gas. They were headed East again. "Please tell me you have an idea of where to go next."
"There haven't been any mass demon sightings or omens recently," Castiel answered, unapologetic, but clearly displeased by it as well.
Dean grit his teeth and withheld a long series of complaints and bitching. He wanted to blame someone for this turn of bad luck, but honestly? He couldn't have expected anything different and he knew it. Jesse Turner didn't want to be found and finding him against his wishes was next to impossible. They just… had to keep trying.
Castiel was silent as Dean seethed, probably feeling the human's agitation, but said nothing. Dean was grateful for it, but sometimes, Dean needed conversation.
Sam would have tried to distract him with legends of the Cambion situation or maybe his vast knowledge to figure out the key to finding the kid. But Sam wasn't there. All Dean had was a socially inept angel who was normally quiet anyway. Dean was grateful he still had at least one ally, but sometimes he wished Castiel was a little more human.
"You know," he began, trying to break the silence, "you never did tell me what you found at Chuck's."
The angel was quiet, but Dean could tell he was just trying to figure out what to say. "…I didn't find anything," he replied at last. "I said that before."
Dean laughed sharply. "You're a bad liar," he said, only partially in jest. Castiel had been abnormally awkward about the visit to Chuck's, saying only that he didn't find anything important. Dean had wondered what it was, but he had to trust at least Castiel to not try to pull a fast one. "I trust it wasn't about Jesse, though."
"It wasn't." Castiel blinked and then his eyes narrowed as he realized Dean tricked him into admitting he had found something at least. Dean smirked triumphantly.
"What was it?" he goaded. Castiel wouldn't keep something really important from him. At least, Dean hoped he wouldn't.
The angel didn't bend under the pressure of the questions. "It was nothing of importance."
"Liar."
Castiel made a soft sound that sounded suspiciously like a sound of exasperation. "Dean," he said shortly. He struggled to speak, most likely trying not to sound like an ass. "It was…"
Dean didn't feel anything was wrong about what Castiel had seen until a full minute had passed and the only sound in the car was from the outside, where the rain-covered highway disappeared under their tires.
Almost as if letting go of a long-held breath, Castiel nodded his head slightly. "The last chapter. Of his novel," he said. "Detroit and afterwards."
All the sound that remained was the sound of the tires running over the slick asphalt again. Dean watched the lines on the road vanished out of sight, driving, but not really seeing anything.
"Oh," he managed to say, a thousand more thoughts and feelings flying by inside his mind.
Castiel folded his hands in his lap. "I did not think you would want to read it," he said quietly.
For once, Dean thanked the angel for knowing his boundaries.
He didn't want to talk or think about it.
"…Whatever," Dean said, forcing himself to speak louder. "I don't care about his book shit if it doesn't have something useful about the future. I already know the past."
Nodding, Castiel agreed to drop it. "Exactly."
It was easier to say it. Dean suddenly didn't want to hear anyone talking now. He focused on driving, wishing it was later so he could have just stopped for a motel room to get wasted in. Castiel was thankfully silent again and the drive was uninterrupted.
For a while. Dean almost didn't hear the buzzing of his phone going off in the backseat, underneath his jacket where he had thrown it. He hadn't expected a call that afternoon, considering he had told Lisa specific times he'd be available and not on the road.
He ignored it.
That only worked for a few more seconds. Castiel shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Dean? Your phone is ringing." Captain Obvious, to the rescue.
Dean didn't even look at the angel or the backseat, where his phone was laying. "Yeah, I know."
Silence followed. "…Why aren't you answering it?" Castiel asked, desperately trying not to sound awkward and failing.
"It's Lisa." Dean cleared his throat. He didn't want to talk about this now. "I'll call her back later."
Almost diabolically, Castiel didn't seem to take the hint to shut up. "You have been talking to her more," he noted.
His grip on the steering wheel subtly tightened. "Yeah."
The phone finally stopped buzzing and Castiel seemed intrigued. Goddamn it. "How are she and Ben doing?" Castiel asked. That was about as polite as the angel got, considering he could have just popped on over there to check himself if he actually cared.
"Fine," Dean bit out, doing his best to passively show much he really didn't want to talk about it.
Just when Dean thought it was safe, Castiel ruined it. "You're testy," the angel commented, almost accusingly severe with his absurd word choice.
Dean shot his friend a heated look. "You know, you're sure being nosy today, aren't you?" he snapped, more annoyed than he should have been.
Castiel averted his gaze calmly. "It's merely conversation." Ironic.
"No, it's an interrogation," Dean said, agitated. He glanced at Castiel repeatedly. "Your turn, Cas. How are things in Heaven? They get us any actually decent leads?"
The angel hesitated slightly before hopping onto the change of conversation willingly. "Nothing yet. Heaven is still politically on thin-air—," he replied, speaking awkwardly again.
"Ice," Dean corrected automatically.
Castiel glanced at him but continued, "—but Raphael is being surprisingly open to change and advice. He is happy we have conformed to his designs."
"Ha. Right," Dean said, bitter. "What about news on Jesse?" He hoped they'd get something soon. Driving around aimlessly was too—too nostalgic. He was sick of nostalgia.
"Nothing new has come up, unfortunately." Castiel sent him a decently apologetic look. "I am sorry. Oregon was a false lead."
Dean exhaled sharply. "We keep looking. That's all," he said, as if it were a simple matter. Nothing about this, them or their lives was simple. It never was.
Castiel nodded anyway, agreeing silently to pretend everything was just sunshine and roses. "Yes."
Everything was so heavy to contemplate anymore. It had been so much simpler—so much easier—to just hunt monsters, not saving the world or something crazier. Dean needed to kill something soon, praying for some kind of monster that could die and could be found, without the risk of a cataclypsm hanging overhead.
The only thing the universe saw fit to give him now was a silent car ride southeast without a clear destination in mind or a hope to keep them going strong.
Dean hated living like this.
"Cas?" he asked, struggling to stay focused on now rather than the what-ifs of the past. They had to stay focused. They—had to.
The angel turned and met his eyes fearlessly, strong, as always. "Yes?"
Dean swallowed back unwanted feelings, like he had been doing for the best of two months now. "Thanks for not showing me the chapter," he said, honest.
Castiel's eyes, usually wide and unexpressive, crinkled at the edges. "I couldn't work the printer anyway," he replied simply.
The almost-joke caught Dean by surprise. "…Ha. Right." He looked away, smiling, despite everything.
They drove on in a silence far less stifling than it had been. Dean did his best to remember how to breathe.
0000
Castiel left as usual when nightfall came. Dean was glad the angel didn't have to sleep, because he really didn't want to have to worry about making sure his friend got rest in between hopping planes of existence. Dean could instead focus on forcing himself to getting some sleep. They would be leaving Oregon that next day, traveling south until something else popped up.
When that would be… Castiel couldn't offer many clues. Dean didn't like hanging around like that, but in the meanwhile, he guessed they could just keep looking for cases instead. There would always be monsters out there to hunt. It would keep him sharp, anyway.
That night, Dean couldn't get to sleep. He kept thinking about the things he should have been doing and he couldn't. He thought about calling Bobby, since it wouldn't have been that late back in South Dakota, but there wasn't really a point to it. Maybe he'd call tomorrow to see if Bobby knew of a case nearby…
It was nearing one AM when Dean threw back the covers and left the motel room. He needed fresh air. The area he was in wasn't very developed, but he wasn't looking to get drunk. He just—needed a distraction.
If Sam had been there, Dean would have to explain why he was so restless. Dean was glad he didn't have to explain, because he couldn't, not even to himself. He just wanted to move. Run, even. Staying still was like being in a cage.
Huh. Cage. How ironic.
Dean was glad it was September now. The cooler air from the mountains was a relief and he didn't think twice about leaving his jacket behind in the room. Maybe he could convince Castiel to join him in California for an actual day on the beach. He was pretty sure the angel had never even heard of the word "vacation" however—
He almost missed the growl behind him. The back of his neck tingled, so Dean turned around, expecting to see someone—
And he was greeted by four.
Oh, shit.
They didn't waste time with introductions. Dean reached for his knife, always at his side, but he didn't move quick enough for the first demon. He could see their black eyes glinting in the darkness as the possessed man flung himself at Dean with a yell. Dean was knocked down hard when the body hit him, but he managed to pull the knife out.
The demon howled when he plunged the knife into its neck. In a flash, it was dead and Dean scrambled to his feet. He had to get back to the Impala—a ridiculous twenty yards back in the motel parking lot—or get somewhere he could set up some kind of defensive position so he could call Castiel—
Something sharp sliced into his side and he bit back a scream of pain as he was thrown to the ground again. Looking up, he could see his blood glistening on the clawed hands of one of his attackers. They lunged and Dean managed to catch the demon's arms. The two rolled across the pavement and a fist slammed into Dean's head. He ignored the pain and tried to keep a grip on the knife. If he could just pin the fucker and use the knife—
Over the roar of adrenaline in his ears, a voice cried, "Sammy says hi, Dean!"
Dean stopped.
That was the worst thing he could have done, in hindsight. Below him, the demon moved. Dean felt a blade slide neatly into his left side, pain cascading over him like a tidal wave seconds later. He yelled out and tried to twist away, slashing out with his own weapon. The demon howled in its own pain, retreating.
Blood seeping out through a clumsy hand, Dean numbly tried to re-orientate himself. There was two demon to his right, one to his left—it lunged and he tried to dodge. He felt large hands grip into his shoulder painfully and—
Dean had no chance to scream when the demon's own blood suddenly strayed out and splashed him in the face, eyes and mouth. There was a terrible screech, which was followed by more screaming as one by one, something took out the remaining demons. Dean fell to the ground and tried to blink away the blood, unable to do much more.
Ouch.
There was a gurgle and then silence. Footsteps, light and familiar, made their way back over to where Dean was lying prone. He managed to lift his hand to wipe away most of the blood and when he finally looked up, he saw Castiel kneeling overhead.
"Dean, are you alright?" the angel asked, concerned, not a drop of blood on him.
Dean stared. "Cas…" he managed to say, his mouth bitter and dry. He hadn't swallowed any blood, but damn did it taste like shit. Peering around behind Castiel, he saw the remains of the other demons. "Holy… crap."
Castiel glanced back at the bloody mess and grimaced. "I didn't think I'd have to time to excise them first. They will heal," the angel assured him. He then turned back to Dean, frowning. "You're injured."
"Yeah…" Dean looked down at himself and saw half of his own blood covering the parts of his shirt the demon blood wasn't on. "Oh." That sucked.
As if he were withholding a sigh, Castiel said, "Hold still."
The angel reached down and touched Dean's shoulder. Almost instantly, the burning pain shooting up that arm and the dulled pain in his head vanished. The agony in his side was gone as well. Dean didn't have to inspect the injuries to know they weren't there anymore.
"Thanks," he said gruffly, adjusting his blood-covered jackets as he stood up. He wasn't about to get prissy and ask the angel to clean his clothes now either.
Castiel did his not-shrug thing, either attempting to imitate human behavior or it was just instinctual. "Don't mention it. Why didn't you call for me?" he asked, sounding curious rather than concerned. Dean was grateful for that.
Trying to remember how to think, Dean cleared his throat as they made their way back to the motel. He felt like he was walking on rubber legs. "I, uh, didn't think you'd hear," he answered. "The wards on me, and everything."
"Right." Castiel did his best impression of raising an eyebrow. "There is something called a cell phone."
Dean shot Castiel a glare. "I was kind of fighting for my life. Jesus, Cas." Since when did he know sarcasm? Great.
"Sorry," Castiel replied, not meaning it. He gestured toward the motel calmly. "Come on."
He didn't offer to help Dean get to the building and Dean was glad for that at least. Stumbling by the door after he opened it, Dean tried to turn around to get back to the Impala, remembering something.
"I should set up some wards or get stuff from the car—" he started to say.
Castiel gently ushered him into the room, ignoring the statement. "I'll stand watch," he said simply. "Take a shower."
Well, that was logic that Dean couldn't argue with. He left Castiel standing by the table and spent the next twenty minutes trying to get the demon blood off his skin and out of his hair. His clothing would be a bitch to clean up, but he'd worry about it later.
"Are you alright?" Castiel asked automatically, eyeing Dean with a blank look when the human walked out, dressed for sleep. Dean was almost fluent in angel-expressions, however. This one particular one said, You had better tell me the truth, you dumbass.
So of course, he lied. "Cas…" Dean exhaled sharply. "I'm fine."
Castiel stared at him for a long moment. Finally, he tilted his head to the side and frowned. "Liar."
Dean glared at him. He felt like shit and wasn't really interested with dealing with—with this.
"I can take it from here," he said briskly, throwing his towel onto the floor and shutting the lamp off near the table. The only light in the room was the lamp on the nightstand. The shadows in the room were all over the place now.
Castiel frowned deeply and the dim lighting made the gesture seem even more intense. "You can't stay up to watch for attacks and sleep at the same time," he chided.
"You offering to stay the whole time?" Dean shot back, not meaning it. Castiel tilted his head at the comment, however, and for a moment, Dean was afraid the angel was actually going to take him up on it. He didn't want a fucking babysitter.
"Would you rather me not?" Castiel asked, as Dean pointedly didn't look at him as he climbed into bed.
"Do whatever you want, Cas," he said, not caring if he sounded harsh. He was done with caring about anything. He didn't wait for Castiel's response or expression.
He hit the light and tried to imagine as he sank into the scratchy sheets and lumpy mattress that he was a million miles away from anything else. He tried to think about past hunts, successes and—
The last thing he really remembered thinking before the bliss of sleep were his brother's eyes peering into his right before he jumped into Hell.
0000
Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Life on Earth was different when he was using his real identity for once rather than that of a Trickster.
A lot of things had changed. Politics, the media, what was hip and what was not; he had no idea what the hell a Snookie was until Deborah invited him to watch what amounted to the most terrifying moments of television experience he had ever sat through. He was never going to New Jersey, ever again, even if his favorite tree god lived there. It gave him a dozen new ideas on how to torture wrongdoers, though; he wished he had heard of the show prior to that run in with the Winchesters a year back. It would have been a hilarious thing to see them survive indeed.
A lot of things were the same. The food was still good and the people were all the same. Gabriel liked the people. A lot. Sure, some needed a swift kick in the ass, but he wasn't going to begrudge them that now, especially after seeing how his own people behaved as of late. The two people closest to him now weren't terribly interesting, but they made do.
Bobby was… fun. The human was not afraid to say whatever was on his mind and that amused Gabriel to no end. He had no love for Gabriel, either because he was an angel or because of how they had first met at that college. Still, the old man let Gabriel hang around when he pleased to, instead of just keeping an eye on the place from the outside. And by "let," Gabriel meant that Bobby just hadn't found a Enochian spell strong enough to keep an archangel out of places he didn't want him in.
"Stay the hell out!" Bobby yelled, after discovering Gabriel snooping in his desk drawer. Gabriel had been looking for something interesting to do that day, considering Deborah got boring after a while.
When Gabriel promptly refused to leave the house, Bobby pulled out a shotgun and blasted the angel literally out the front door with repeated shots. Gabriel was too busy laughing about it to really mind and he got sweet revenge a few moments later when Deborah came running in and threw a royal fit about the violence.
Gabriel then proceeded to magically turn all of Bobby's clothing inside out up in his chest of drawers. Gabriel was enjoying dealing with humans, even if they weren't nearly as fun as the Winchesters were.
He kind of missed them, in a they-completely-screwed-my-new-life-over kind of way. Sure, they had gotten him killed with their plans, but he couldn't really blame them for his actual demise. He had been the one to challenge his brother, no one else.
They had been amusing, too. He especially missed Sam, who was just too good at angsting and making melodramatic seem like an understatement. He was just the perfect person to torment. Gabriel also couldn't deny he was mildly impressed with the dedication both boys had, going as far as they had.
Dean could be just as dramatic and sulky, but their tastes were too alike. Gabriel found it difficult to come up with ways to torture the already tortured soul, especially now that his one weak link—Sam—was gone.
It was almost ironic that the loss of Dean's brother had also been the loss of Gabriel's brothers. They really were alike, it seemed.
Dean was out adventuring for the Antichrist with Castiel, who was probably the least interesting but most trustworthy brothers Gabriel had left. They would be okay. Gabriel kept his end of the bargain and hung around Singer's house. There were only two humans there to entertain him, but for now, it would do. He enjoyed people watching, and while Bobby was only interesting when angered, Deborah was far more interesting from afar.
The girl was getting antsy. Gabriel noticed it slowly building up in her, but he was a pro at figuring out human behavior, unlike most of his brothers. Deborah was remarkably—almost inhumanly—calm about what was going on. Gabriel was grateful for that, considering he'd take a calm kid to watch over a hysterical one, but he knew that it was only a matter of time.
The panic building behind her eyes was deliciously reminiscent of the days Gabriel would feast off of emotions like those. His days as a Trickster were over but never far from memory. He had spent the last two thousand years being Loki, after all. It hadn't overridden his angelic programming, so to speak, but habits died hard.
It was hard not to make things worse when he saw her glancing out windows like a cornered animal, or when she thought she was alone and she whispered reassurances to herself. Gabriel triumphantly held back the snark and teasing he wanted to dish out. Even he knew that wouldn't be appropriate (maybe in a few more months).
That said, Gabriel found it increasingly unnerving when he heard her prayers filtering through his mind sometimes. They were never directed at angels. Gabriel had been surprised he still picked up prayers at all, after so many centuries as a Pagan god, but some things were just ingrained.
Please God… please help us with this.
Gabriel closed his eyes and said nothing, neither to dampen her spirits nor to lighten them. God wasn't going to answer her anymore than he would, either.
Sometimes, Bobby would complain about the ex-Trickster lounging on his couch or messing up his bookshelves, but even the old hunter knew there were reasons for the angel to stick around. Namely, other angels.
Gabriel could feel his remaining older brother moving. Raphael had never been his favorite, even when their family was still a family. He loved him of course, but they never agreed on anything, especially this whole world-ending thing. Raphael was taking charge completely in Heaven now and with Castiel backing down from command, things were running smoother. Gabriel refused to take up the full mantle of being the Messenger again (he sometimes used it as a ruse lately to jump up there and take a sneak peek around at the old place) and for now, Raphael wasn't pushing it.
He knew, though, that wouldn't last. Gabriel knew Raphael too well to think the other archangel would ignore Gabriel's shirking of duty forever. Raphael would come calling on Gabriel to take up his old mantle and help fulfill Greater Plans. Heaven was being fixed and the world below was being prepped for destruction.
Gabriel wasn't going to let that happen, not after losing everything else. Because, in the end? Earth was all he had left.
So, he didn't find it strange or demeaning, walking through some mortal's home, contemplating redecorating the upstairs or asking a pregnant woman if she wanted to go watch some Buffy while feasting on miracled candies.
It wasn't that strange at all.
"Are you staying for dinner, Gabriel?" Deborah asked from the kitchen doorway. Bobby scowled from the table, but said nothing.
His options weren't that much greater than hers, really. Glancing out the window as dusk rolled in, where he could see a hidden angel—very much not theirs—in the maze of cars and he could sense two more on the other side of the house, Gabriel turned back to the woman with a grin.
"Sure."
0000
"What are you doing?"
Dean threw another rock across the pond, watching it skip three times. He usually got four of five, but he was distracted by talking.
"We're looking for Jesse."
"It doesn't look like you're doing anything to me."
Sighing, Dean palmed another pebble. It wasn't flat enough to really fly across the water. He tried anyway and it sank on the second skip. Thought so.
"Well, it's kind of like looking for a needle in a haystack," he replied, frowning over his shoulder. "We're trying."
"Yeah, Cas is trying. You're just driving where he tells you to go."
"Where Raphael's informants tell us to go," Dean corrected.
"Right. Well, that's really getting you far."
Dean scowled and tried another rock. The beach had a lot of decent ones for this. He got at least four and half skips that time.
"I'm serious, man. You're not going to last if you keep pushing everything to the back burner."
"What are you talking about?" Dean demanded, focusing on another throw.
"You know exactly what I mean, Dean." The following long-suffering sigh made Dean stop. "Lisa's being way more understanding than you deserve. You can't keep saying you'll call, but then ignore hers."
Dean turned around and glared, feeling defensive. "We're a little busy saving the world, again, you know? I can't be the All-American Dad and a hunter. You know that."
"I know, I know. But that doesn't mean you can't give her a little attention every once in a while."
Dean wanted to argue, but he couldn't think of anything to really back him up. "I can't," he admitted, throwing his last pebble aimlessly into the water. He moved away from the pond's edge. "She doesn't get it that I'm not coming back, not for good. I… I don't belong with her or Ben."
Walking along the rocky beach, Dean stopped at a bench and sat down. The wood creaked beneath him and he sat back, exhausted.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he said before he could think twice.
There was no reply. Tilting his head backwards, Dean stared upwards, weak.
"I don't know what to do."
Sam smiled, leaning forward next to him, bemused.
"You're an idiot, Dean."
Gasping, Dean jerked upright. He was in another motel bed, not a beach. Breathing heavily, he sat up and looked around, looking—what, he wasn't sure. There wasn't anything or anyone out of place in the room. Outside, the first dregs of sunlight were filtering through the blinds and early-rising drivers were soaring down the freeway.
He felt like he had just run a mile through sleet; the sheets were soaked with sweat and his skin felt clammy. Dean threw back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, not feeling right laying there. He wasn't going to get any more rest after that.
He hadn't dreamt of Sam at all since that day at Stull Cemetery. Thinking about him wasn't much better, but Dean was glad his dreams had been remarkably normal and drama-free lately.
I can't afford to think about this now.
Gathering his wits and his remaining strength, Dean got up and got ready for another day of driving.
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End Week Six.
Next: Two brothers talk, Deborah finds cleaning to be hazardous, and Dean is stupid. As usual.
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A/Ns:
-"Tree God" – The Jersey Devil. They're total bros, man.
