CHAPTER EIGHT
AN: Massive apologies that this update was delayed so significantly as it was. I was away over Christmas and New Years at the wonderful little beachside settlement I am lucky enough to visit every year. While the local library did have wifi on offer, it was rather ragged after it was assaulted by the armies of tweens and their multitude of instagram related needs. My one attempt to upload was entirely ill-fated, and after several aborted events with a temperamental connection, I had to call it a day and wait for a later opportunity. Please, take these 11,964 words as apology. I wrote them allll for you, my preciouses.
The good news is that my extended time away means I now have a buffer of ten chapters pre-written (although requiring substantial editing) – uploads will therefore certainly continue weekly from now on until the conclusion of this work. Even better, I have written SMUT – guys, it will happen, I promise! I know... these two, they're so inept. And I was pushing and prodding them to have the feels for one another for two weeks of intense writing, and they were very reluctant to admit ANYTHING! Considering they're so blatantly in love with one another, it should have been simple. But nooooo, they just kept staring at one another thinking: "Gosh, my purely platonic pal is awesome. I'm so glad for our utterly familial relationship". Idjits. But I suppose that is why we love them – the naive suspense is utterly endearing.
For those of you that were interested, an update re: our wee stray (now "Billy", being that he is a very silly billy). He found temporary accommodation at a shelter a few hours from our home with a very kind friend, and has since been passed on again to a potential home (pending his capacity to go off leash). There has been other interest in his adoption failing that, and his foster mother was utterly enamoured of him, so she is sure a home will be forthcoming. We're so so happy he's safe and will find the kind of love and attention he deserves. Although we were devastated to part with such a gorgeous fellow, we left him very happily flirting with all the toy poodles at his foster home and feeling optimistic for his future – far better than he would have hoped for at that intersection. I hope I will have happy love family very soon.
...
2013
Dean was not prompt the next morning, but he was not so late that Jessica contemplated making good on her threat of damaging Dean's wagon. The group had just finished breakfasting – Castiel this time enjoying the creation a little more, since Sam had only been allowed limited input by Bobby – when there was a tentative knock at the door.
Despite his early appearance, without protest, Dean's demeanour was still stony. He conceded only a small "Morning", more in Jessica's direction than in anyone else's, before stiffly crossing the room and seating himself in the same position as always, directly opposite from Castiel, staring at his hands.
The group however, didn't ready themselves to suit Dean's schedule, instead carrying on with cleaning in the kitchen, and leaving Dean entirely at the mercy of Castiel's unwavering gaze. Dean appeared to imagine himself having entirely committed to his position, for despite his numerous nervous glances towards the kitchen and back to Castiel, he made no move to join them.
It may have been that Jessica had deliberately positioned herself close the doorway, and would have blocked Dean's entering that room to some extent. However, her back was to him and she was distracted laughing at Sam's having overcompensated with what she called "dishwashing liquid", which had resulted in a mountain of white froth overflowing from table and spreading itself in clumps across the floor. Bobby, sandwiched in between them, with a rag in hand, could not have glowered more severely at his circumstance.
Dean, albeit more relaxed, still studiously avoided acknowledging Castiel properly. But he was less aware of the minute adjustments that Castiel made to his wings, remaining still, rather than flinching at their slightest indication of movment. The silence, however, and the opportunity bore upon Castiel until at last, he could not bear it but to speak:
"Did you sleep well, Greg?"
Dean startled a little and didn't properly recover his composure properly before he blurted out an answer: "alright... I guess."
"I am sorry."
"S'not your fault." Dean looked away from Castiel quickly and rubbed at his nose absently, using the knuckle rather that the tip of his finger, in a way that would barely have dispelled an itch.
The sight of Dean scratching, however, made Castiel feel a sympathetic twinge in his wing, and when Dean made no move to speak again, he allowed it to slowly curl around himself, in order to slot his fingers beneath the feather and rub lightly. The feathers were a little stiff and somewhat ruffled, having been positioned so oddly against the soft seat (or couch, as he had come to understand it was called) for such a long time. Once the itch was dispelled, therefore, he commenced grooming his fingers through the feathers slowly, gently righting them and setting them in a smoother position.
"What are you doing?"
When Castiel looked up, Dean's eyes were wide and following the track of his fingers through the feathers and across the skin beneath, which flashed on occasion through the downy covering when Castiel adjusted it.
"I am grooming."
"Oh."
Dean swallowed rather vigorously and looked down at his hands. Castiel continued his ministrations in silence, rather than provoking Dean to speak when he did not wish to. He noted that Dean's breathing was louder, and Dean seemed to be aware of it too, for he consciously held it, inhaling and exhaling slowly and carefully in order to minimise his volume. Castiel continued his exercise for several minutes, suppressing the urge to speak to Dean again, but when he looked up again, Dean's eyes were unabashedly tracking the path of his hand across the feathers, and he barely registered Castiel's gaze upon him until Sam re-entered the room and seated himself next to Castiel.
"So Cas, you, uh, ready to keep going?"
"Yes, if you wish."
Jessica seated herself by Dean quickly and leaned forward, distractedly brushing her curls from her face, one leg thrumming against the floor.
"Yes, please."
Dean said nothing, but his eyes raked Castiel's face, when he thought he was otherwise occupied.
1425
Winter passed quickly and ordinarily, without extended snows. The truth was, Castiel didn't let Dean know he was safe to leave for two weeks longer than was necessary. He made excuses for it. He needed Dean to help him with a repair to the roof before he left. Or he needed a few more days to size up the safety of the forest. Or Dean needed a few more days of practice upon his leg, before he would be comfortable making the ride back to Ardus. Dean acquiesced without noting the irrelevance of the concerns in the general scheme of his impending return to Ardus.
None of those excuses held weight. In honesty, Castiel knew he was keeping Dean with him because he feared losing him, and returning to the silence of the forest once again. He'd become accustomed to Dean's presence: his grumbling and glares in the morning when he woke to the cold and the frost, his humming as he polished and sharpened his weapon and his deep, even breaths when he fell asleep in Castiel's nest at night.
It was selfish to think such things, Castiel knew. Dean missed his brother more than anything. He mentioned him at least once every day: Sam would love this, or Sam once told him that. Castiel knew he was worried about him, and was desolate that Sam would believe his absence from the City for two months would mean he was dead. At times in the evening, when he fell silent, Castiel knew to whom Dean's mind had gone.
And he missed his men too. And Jo, the pretty serving girl, and her whip-tongued mother. Even Lydia, the married woman he bedded when he was in the city – "she's a wit Cas, you'd like her". Castiel didn't know why, but he was sure he wouldn't.
It didn't help that at times he felt like Dean might regret having to leave the cottage. Dean still checked the state of weather every morning when he woke, and he took to taking Impala out for a few short circuits of their clearing to "stretch her legs". He encouraged Castiel to ride her most days too, in circles round the clearing outside his home. And he laughed at her enthusiasm for the new rider and admonished her for adopting Castiel as her second owner so easily. Her trust had been difficult to gain at first, but when Castiel had commenced riding her for Dean (his leg still being too sore to properly exercise her), he took to beating his wings as they galloped around the clearing. The mare had been exhilarated by the extra momentum, and she had since greeted Castiel enthusiastically every morning and seemed to rejoice in his riding her.
Nonetheless, despite the obvious warming in the weather, Dean made no mention of actually leaving. And when Castiel spoke of his eventually returning to Ardus (which was a rare occasion, for he didn't care to talk of it), a small crinkle appeared around Dean's eyes, like he was holding something back.
Still, after two weeks of omitting to mention the obvious, Castiel overcame his own selfishness and spoke to Dean. That morning, when Dean awoke, and went to the windows, he raised the matter:
"I think you're safe to travel now."
"Are you sure? Maybe there'll be a late winter frost or something?" Dean bent forward towards the window, trying to angle his head up at the sky and letting the tip of his nose press against the glass. His breath made small marks on the pane as he watched.
Castiel felt his stomach drop softly, wishing he could agree. "I'm sure. I've lived in this forest long enough to know the weather patterns. You'll be able to leave tomorrow." He couldn't help the muteness in his voice at the final words.
Dean withdrew and turned to look at Castiel. "That's great, Cas. That's great news." While the words were light, they seemed to weigh heavily upon him. When he breathed in, it was as if he did so with a boulder strapped to his chest. Castiel stared at him, until Dean corrected himself and flashed him a huge, white smile. "Yeah… it's really great. Finally gonna see Sammy."
"I'm sure it will be a relief for him too."
Dean grinned and gave a light laugh: "Yeah. He's useless on his own. Wish you could meet him."
"I wish I could too. He sounds wonderful."
Dean held Castiel's momentarily, before his smile dropped slightly and he looked away and itched at his shoulder absently. "Guess I better get packed up, huh?"
Castiel itched at his own kneecap in response.
"Yes, we can leave at first light tomorrow."
"You're coming?" Dean's eyes flashed back to him, eyebrows raised with the question.
"I thought…if you wouldn't mind, I would fly with you for part of the way. Just in case." Castiel kept his voice steady, remedying the lapse of before, although Dean's enthusiasm at leaving had started a twist in his gut. He understood that Dean had to return to his family. But, he hated it.
Dean's smile lost some of its vibrancy and the controlled blandness of Castiel's tone. "Yeah, Cas. That would be great." Their eyes met and held for a few seconds, and Dean's mouth opened a little, like he had something else to say, shut it again and flashed Castiel a quick, closed-mouth smile. "Better go tell my baby the good news. She's been aching for a good gallop out of the clearing."
"Of course. I'll prepare us some rations."
Dean clicked his tongue in approval, before he shuffled from the cottage, closing the door quietly behind him.
When Castiel had finished his preparations, Dean still wasn't back from the barn. Castiel left through the back exist of the cottage, and found that while Impala was in the stable, Dean was not, although she was freshly fed and watered, and her saddle was readied beside her.
It didn't take Castiel long to find Dean, anticipating where he might find him. He was down by the river, where he'd been walking each morning to give himself some exercise, skipping stones across its surface. His shoulders were hunched slightly, and he followed the path of each stone long after it had sunk, absorbing the ripples of the movement across the water's surface in hypnotic whirls.
"Are you alright, Dean?"
Dean whirled around sharply, heaving in a breath of shock, partially raising a hand. "God Cas, don't do that!"
"I'm sorry. I thought you heard me."
Dean raised his eyebrows, and let out a surprised huff of a snort. When their eyes held, he went silent again and turned away until Castiel spoke again.
"I have everything prepared for tomorrow."
"Thank you, Cas." Dean's voice was small, and a little muffled, and he leaned down to pick up another stone to send it whizzing across the water's surface. He miscalculated, however, and it went plunging into the water with a slosh, leaving a messy slash mark in the water, where before there had been symmetry.
"Is something bothering you?" Castiel took a step forward, but Dean silenced him with a mild statement.
"No. No, I'm fine."
He obviously wasn't. He was determinedly looking away from Castiel, and he seemed without the energy and enthusiasm that had possessed him for the last few days.
"Shall I leave you?"
"No. No, sorry. Just…" Dean turned around and faced Castiel, another strange smile playing around his lips. It looked forced, despite the happy news Dean had been dealt. When he saw Castiel's expression, his fingers began to thrum nervously at his thigh, and his face attempted to rearrange itself into something more suitable.
"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you don't seem content Dean."
"No. I am. I mean, I've really missed Sammy. I just…"
"What?" Castiel took a step forward less cautiously this time, although Dean leaned back, as though losing his balance.
"I just… Will you be alright? By yourself?"
Castiel pursed his lips and looked away from Dean's worried gaze
"I've been on my own a long time, Dean. I am used to it."
"Yeah, but… Well, I just… I don't like thinking of you staying alone out here."
"Is there another option, but for it?"
Dean thought for a long while. When he spoke, his voice was a growl. "No, there's not."
"It's alright, Dean. I took you in knowing you would have to return to your family. You have no obligation to me." Castiel was glad he kept his voice so even. The truth was that it wasn't alright. He didn't want to be left alone again. Being with Dean had reminded of him of what it meant to have his brothers and sisters. To have companionship. Dean was… he didn't know exactly, he'd never shared such a bond with a human. But Dean had said they were friends, and that seemed to have significance to him. And that had meant something to Castiel, and his sadness at its loss meant something too.
"I know. I just wish there was something I could do."
"We're friends, aren't we Dean?"
"Of course we are. I told you we were."
"Well… maybe, if you return to the Road at some point, I might see you, if I am nearby?"
Dean's face lit up at that, and his fingers ceased their fiddling. "I'd really like that, Cas."
Dean's smile made Castiel smile, and he felt a warmth in his lower belly dispel some of its heaviness. It was kind and comforting. It quelled the twisting feeling. "When you're gone, I'll watch the Road for you Dean. We'll see each other again."
Dean smiled wider, and his shoulders relaxed. He stood square, and bounced back and forth on his legs. "Yeah. Yeah, of course we will."
"Good. Are you ready to come inside then? It'll be a long ride for the next few days. We'll need the sleep."
"Yeah, sure. Just give me a moment?"
"I'll meet you inside."
Dean's moment took long enough for Castiel to boil some water and wash himself. He was grooming his feathers, ensuring they were prepared for flight when Dean arrived back at the cottage. While he had spent the past few months doing so in privacy, in order to spare Dean whatever mortification seemed to arrive in him, with only tonight to prepare to leave, he hurried through the task in his more usual fashion in the corner of his cottage, taking advantage of Dean's absence.
When Dean did come inside he quickly averted his eyes. "Oh… sorry."
"It's alright." Castiel quickly wrapped his feathers around himself and retrieved his shirt from where it hung on the chair beside him, slipping the panels over his back and fumbling quickly with the buttons at its front. "I'm done now."
"Oh…good." Dean avoided making eye contact for a minute more, while he bustled around the kitchen and found himself some dried fruit to snack on, chewing loudly as though to detract from the tense silence of a moment before.
"What will you do first? When you reach the city?"
Dean chewed while he thought through the answer, swallowing audibly. "I'd like to see Sammy first thing, but… there'll probably be formalities. I'll need to make a report first. Maybe we'll go out. Drink some."
"What will you say to, Sam?" Castiel warmed as Dean's eyes softened at the thought, despite his own inclination to feel sadness at the event.
"I don't know… I guess I'll tell him I missed him. That I'm sorry he had to believe I was dead for so long."
Castiel steadied himself for the next question. He didn't know why, but he felt like its answer would matter to him a great deal. Dean seemed to notice, for his eyes flickered up to Castiel briefly, but he took another bite of his snack rather than acknowledge it: "Will you tell Sam about me?"
Dean stopped mid-chew and stared at him. Castiel dropped his eyes away, afraid of the answer already.
"Prob-Probably not, Cas."
There was a long pause, where Dean seemed to hold his breath.
"I understand."
Dean swallowed hurriedly, and coughed a little as he didn't properly manage to carry out the task.
"Uh, no I don't think you do. It's not because of you, or what you are. It's because of what might happen to you if I just start telling everyone. If Alastair thought there was an easy kill out here in the forest, he'd be out here trying to mount your head on a stick."
"I'm not an easy kill." Castiel titled his head in mild confusion, at the strange logic Dean appeared to wish to employ. Was Dean lying? There had been no hint of falsehood in the past few months that would justify a lie at this point.
"No. I know that. But he doesn't. But if I said there was an Angel that looks like a human, with no claws or fangs that has a vegetable garden and apologizes to the animals he kills, that's what it'd sound like. He and his men would rip your wings off, Cas."
Castiel's wings tensed at that, and gave a few nervous flutters behind him. Dean's eyes were drawn immediately by the movement and he looked back at Castiel with an expression that clearly read I told you so. And he was correct, Castiel knew.
"Sam's my brother. And I trust him to understand. But, if he tells Ruby, it'll be all around the city in a day. And it's not just Alastair that'd want you. There's so many people that hate your kind. They'd want to take revenge on you. You've got a life here. I don't want you to have to run away." He looked around the cottage, as though demonstrating his point. It was a paltry place, but it was inhabited, and filled with Castiel's history. He nodded minutely and hung his head, although Dean's view made sense.
"And if I start spouting off about my new Angel friend in the forest, I may not even be allowed to ride out anymore. They'd think I was mad. If I don't get to leave the Citadel, I don't get to see you."
There was a pause when Dean stopped speaking, and he hurriedly took a breath to compensate for his harried pace.
"You understand, Cas?"
"Yes, I do."
"Don't worry. We'll see each other soon. There's more trading to do in Spring than we can handle. And maybe I can sneak out of the cities when we rest there. I'll just tell the men I'm bedding some girl. We can go for a ride in the forest or something, if you like…" He half-grinned hopefully, as though the rest of the smile could not follow until Castiel gave his approval.
"I'd like that."
Dean's full grin followed, bright and cheerful and energetic.
"Good, it's settled. Now come on, I need an early night with all the riding we'll be doing tomorrow. I'm still like an old man on this leg."
He clapped Castiel on the shoulder as he passed him and made his way to his bed (for that was how Castiel thought of it now, having spent enough time watching him sleep in it to have mentally re-assigned ownership). Castiel averted his eyes, as usual, while he Dean stripped and slid under the rugs.
He'd been silent for around twenty minutes, and Castiel had wrapped himself up in his wings and curled up on the floor, on his own fur when Dean murmured to him sleepily.
"You know Cas, you're nothing like a monster at all."
Castiel smiled into his wing at the sound of sleepiness in Dean's voice as he said it. He was clearly on the verge of unconsciousness.
"Thank you, Dean."
Dean grumbled a little and wriggled into the furs. When he spoke again, his voice was muffled, like he was face down against the bed.
"You're not ugly. You're sort of … mmph ..."
…
Contrary to his predictions that he'd be impeded by his stiff leg and lack of practice, Dean rode furiously and without complaint towards the Citadel. In fact, Castiel had to take more regular breaks than Dean did on the journey. If he hadn't insisted they stop for meals (in order to ease the cramps in his wings, that were put off by such exertion after their relative stagnancy) he doubted Dean would stop at all, so strong was his resolve to return to his brother. The speed was an efficient tactic though. It kept them ahead of any interested Angels in the forest. There was no sense in pursuing such a rapid target when there would soon be heavily-laden and larger parties on the Road.
By the third day, they were within half a day's slow ride of the City and set up camp for the night, by a collection of boulders that offered them shelter from the still cold winds that rose in the evenings.
Dean had fallen asleep abruptly the previous nights (the only sign that he was finding the trip draining), but on that final night, wrapped in his fur, he stayed awake, next to Castiel, back against the boulders watching the night sky and admiring it. They didn't speak, aside from a few murmurs. Though Castiel had scouted the area, they were still careful to stay quiet when darkness fell, perhaps more out of habit than anything else.
At one point, when the rock became cold in the early morning, Castiel placed one wing between the boulder and Dean's back. They were both tired and a little shivery, so neither made particular note of the fact it was the first time Dean had touched Castiel's wings. It was barely a touch anyway. Dean kept his fur wrapped around himself and his hands within it, even when he dozed off for a while before dawn. But to Castiel, it was an odd intimacy.
It wasn't the reason that Castiel had let Dean near his wings (or likely, the reason Dean had let the wings near him) – it was purely practical. But Castiel couldn't help but feel odd at the sight of Dean nestled against him, cradled by the feathers at the tip of the wing, which curled gently back around his right shoulder.
It struck Castiel as odd in itself that he felt odd about it. The gesture was familial, often seen amongst Angels who lived in smaller units together for long periods of time. Certainly, when Anna was alive, it was a position they found themselves in often and without thought.
Dean, in a way, was the closest thing he'd had to family since he'd lost the others. In sharing a home, and a presence, they'd shared a part of their souls together without even realizing it. The fact that there were odd formalities in their behavior (like Dean's general awkwardness around his wings, and his aversion to seeing Castiel, or letting himself be seen, in any state of undress) didn't negate the bond that had formed between them.
Yet still, seeing Dean snoring lightly, face turned into his feathers and nose twitching when they rustled against them, it felt different. Not in a bad way. But it made Castiel aware of the pulse of his heartbeat throughout his body, which had quickened, like he was sick or nervous. It felt bad but good at the same time, like it was leading somewhere, although Castiel didn't know where. Perhaps it was merely the reminder that none of his brothers and sisters were left to engage in the action any longer – none but he understood the complexity of the motion, even Dean nestled against him.
It was easy though, to not feel inspired to be curious about it, under the vast expanse of sky and in the gentle hum of the sleeping forest. It was easy rather, to simply feel content and unburdened, by his Father, his sisters and brothers or anything else, and just to revel in the beauty of creation when it was at rest, and at its most unassuming.
Castiel turned his head to watch Dean's slow and even breaths in and out, in a deep sleep despite his dangerous surroundings. He was almost childlike in the way he brought his hands to his chin and nestled into them, and he smiled in his sleep. Yes, Castiel mused as he turned back to stare at the inky night sky - when at rest and without any pretence, creation was at its greatest.
…
Castiel waited until Dean had saddled Impala before he told him that he would go no further. It seemed like Dean was expecting it, though his face still dropped when Castiel remained seated against the boulder, fiddling with a few of his feathers that had been ruffled by the rock's rough surface during the night.
Dean was silent while he slung his travelling bag over his shoulder, and attached his weapons to his belt. Castiel didn't interrupt. There was little to say at this point that they hadn't already discussed in the days previously.
"So this is it?"
Castiel sighed and pushed himself up from the ground, letting his wings stretch and shiver behind him, working out their stiffness from immobility the previous night.
"I'll see you soon, Dean" he said, meeting his eyes and trying (and failing) to summon up a farewell smile.
"Yeah… real soon." Dean quirked his lips in a similar attempt, although he still looked sad behind it, his lips quivering as though oscillating between a smile and a grimace.
"Uh. Cas, thank you. For everything. I-" he paused, looking embarrassed, "well, I don't know what to say. But that. Thank you."
"You know I feel the same."
Dean breathed in softly, and nodded, managing to offer a more genuine grin.
"So… Give me a month, maybe a bit longer. Meet me on the Road."
"I'll be there. I promise."
Dean nodded curtly again and extended his hand towards Castiel. Castiel responded by looking at it blankly.
"You're supposed to take it, Cas. It's a handshake. Look-" he pulled Castiel's hand and clasped it in his, not too tightly, but firm enough that Castiel got the gist. "Then we, just, shake them up and down like this."
He jiggled their hands up and down a few times. Castiel had given Dean his hand with a loose wrist, so even the mild force of the shake shook his entire arm in a strange way,
"This is a human custom?"
"Yeah. It's… well, you can do it with friends."
"It's an odd gesture."
"Yeah. Well. I, uh…Here" He kept his hand clasped around Castiel and pulled him forward, wrapping his other arm around behind Castiel's neck and let his chin rest on the back of his shoulder.
Castiel hung limply, unsure how to respond, and a little uncomfortable at the way their hands were crushed in between their chests.
"Just uh, clap me on the back or something, Cas."
Castiel did as instructed, although perhaps a little too enthusiastically, for Dean let out a small oof, before releasing him and letting his hands drop to his sides.
"Is that part of the same custom?"
"No. That one's different. You can do that one with friends too. Or family."
"Thank you, Dean."
Dean blushed a little and bit his lip. He turned away from Castiel, although he kept his eyes on Castiel's face to the last second and approached his horse. Castiel watched curiously as Dean rubbed at the back of neck awkwardly for a few moments, before he hooked his foot into Impala's stirrup and swung his other leg over her back and down her other side.
"Well, goodbye then. For now." Dean's mouth twitched in a small smile as he looked down at Castiel from atop his steed.
"Yes, goodbye." Castiel smiled back, and patted the horse once on the nose. She whickered softly, and tossed her head once, before her ears pricked up, alert to her rider's instructions.
They stared at each other a long moment before Dean whirled Impala around and squeezed his thighs along her sides. In a moment, she was off in a brisk canter. The last Castiel saw of Dean was the back of his head, as he headed into the tree thicket and towards the main Road that would take him back to the Ardus Citadel.
Castiel only spent a little more time in the clearing after that. At some point, he rose above the tree line and witnessed the black dot that was moving beyond it make its way to the road and begin to follow the path south towards the City. He waited until Dean was completely out of sight before he turned himself, and began the flight home.
For some reason, the journey home took longer, although Castiel flew later into the night and started earlier in the morning. Partly, that was due to his hunting activities. He left a trail of carcasses in his wake, leading away from the Road where Dean rode, in order to ensure his safe passage. But it wasn't just that. He did become distracted at points, and didn't fly in a perfect line back to his home. It wasn't just that though. There was a certain heaviness in his flight, and he found himself tiring quickly beneath it. On the fourth day, when he arrived home, he didn't even take the time to rearrange the furs he had fashioned into Dean's bed into his preferred nest shape. Instead, he merely fell into it, burrowing into the now foreign smelling furs and wrapping his wings around himself, and slept until the evening of the next day.
…
"Open the gates!" Bobby's roar was loud, in spite of the disbelief that laced his cry. "Open the gates! Dean Winchester is returned!"
Dean, seated atop Impala, kept his eyes fixed on the Road behind him. Although he had completed his travels without incident, he was cautious still. The final ride back had been wearying. Not only because he had barely slept the previous night, nor because he had been riding for four full days. He was tired because he'd become accustomed to Castiel's watch of the forest floor from his bird's eye view, and the safety that it provided. Without his shadow, Dean had been a mere soldier, barely armed, thundering along the Road – a prime target to any Angel in the vicinity.
He'd wondered at times if the Angel had followed him beyond the point he'd said he would not. He even suspected that Cas had concocted some scheme to ensure his safe passage. But whenever he'd glanced behind him, there had been no sign of a winged figure on the horizon. It felt strange, being out of Castiel's company so abruptly, but Dean supposed he had much to be occupied with. His usual practices had been put out by months with Dean's company, and Dean was sure Cas would have plenty to do in order to make the most of the upcoming summer months. Time was too precious for sentiment, and Cas was hardly the kind of creature that appreciated such things.
As the gates creaked open, Dean could already hear the murmur of an interested crowd that had gathered, shocked to hear his name uttered for the first time in two months. The moment he had sufficient space, he slid Imapla through the gap, relieved to find himself within the City walls and their protection once more.
The eyes of the townspeople that had assembled were wide and unbelieving. Upon his appearance, their voices hushed and they parted way for him as he rode through their mass.
Bobby's joyous cry at the sight of him rang out loud and pure above them. "Dean. You idjit! Where the hell you been?"
Dean was only partially dismounted before Bobby was gripping him by both shoulders, eyes almost brimming over and face shining with delight.
"We thought you were dead, boy!" He smacked his palms against Dean's shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"I thought I was too, at first." Dean's reply was a little muffled as Bobby crushed his face into his shoulder.
"What happened? How'd you survive?"
Dean clapped him on the arm in return. "All in good time. I promise. Where's Sam?"
"Probably up at the library. He's gonna be glad to see you."
"That's what I'm hoping." Dean's cheeks were already aching from how hard he was smiling at the sight of Bobby, and they didn't threaten to rest at the swell of elation in his chest at the thought of the fact that his reunion with Sam was mere moments away.
"I hate to cut things short-" he saluted the crowd, which had grown larger as he had heard his name called through the city streets. Grinning, he nudged Impala forward, and cantered through the city streets, past disbelieving stares and whoops of celebration.
By the time he reached the palace walls, Chuck was waiting for him, chest puffed with elation.
"By God, it's true! We heard the call halfway across the city. Welcome home, Dean!"
Dean raised his hand in greeting. "It's good to be home. Have you seen my brother?"
"He's on his way down. The moment we heard your name, they sent a runner."
Dean dismounted again, giving Impala a few appreciative strokes on her muzzle. "She's been riding a long time. Can you take care of her while I see Sammy?"
"You've got it." Chuck grinned at him, and slapped him jovially on the arm as Bobby had done. "I just can't believe it, Dean. I'm so glad you're back!"
Dean chuckled. "It's nice to know I meant so much to you all."
Chuck laughed back. "It's more than that Dean. It's-"
"DEAN!"
Sam's cry could have shattered windows, it was so shrill and excited, from the balcony of the palace's walls. With a delighted cry, he slammed his hands down on the stone retraints, and stumbled as he raced down the stairs to his brother.
When Sam bounded towards Dean, he was the perfect image of an excited puppy. His eyes were wide with wonder, and his smile was stretched so far across his face it practically severed it in half.
They met in an embrace with such force that Dean was sure he'd bruise the next day, but that didn't stop him from wrapping his arms around his brother and squeezing him with all his might.
"God, Dean, we thought you were dead." Sam's voice was muffled against Dean's shoulder as he pressed his face there, and his words came out in hot breaths against Dean's clothing.
Dean grinned against his brother. "Alive and well Sammy. In the flesh."
Sam's tight squeeze knocked the breath Dean attempted to take, leading to a slight oof as Dean reciprocated in kind.
"I thought- We all did. We had your funeral."
"I bet they were all devastated. All the palace ladies turn out for me?" Sam let out a shaky breath as he withdrew from his brother, and laughed lightly in disbelief.
"The whole damn city did, Dean. Everyone was… Oh God, I can't believe you're back." Sam pulled his brother in tightly again for another hug and Dean felt, beneath the thrum of excitement and boyish disbelief, he was trembling too.
"Can't even believe it myself."
"There's so much to tell you. I don't even know where we-"
"You can start by explaining this." Dean pulled back and raised his hand to flick playfully at the moustache and extravagant sideburns Sam was now sporting – a far cry from Sam's usual clean-shaven appearance. "Makes you look like a brothel master from Romus."
Sam grinned and made to punch Dean's shoulder, but they were interrupted by a familiar voice from behind Sam, although its owner was invisible due to Sam's extreme bulk. It didn't matter. Dean knew it. And the moment soured as quickly as it had arisen.
"Sam? Is it true? Is he-"
Sam grinned even wider and pulled away from Dean to turn around. Ruby, who stood behind him, looking flushed and flustered, and stumbled a little when she caught sight of Dean. Her mouth fell open in a stunned little oh. As she descended slightly at the knees, Sam rushed forward to catch her with a furrowed brow.
"Are you alright?" His voice was low and urgent and he leaned close to her ear as though she might struggle to discern his words.
She let him right her, and smiled up at him, letting their noses almost brush as he leaned in concernedly. "I'm fine, darling. Just a little surprised."
A beat passed between them before she looked back to Dean, a gracious smile inflating her face.
"Dean," it was said with such an affectation that it made Dean choke a little on the pretense, "I can't believe it." She held out both her hands towards him. Even in his glazed state of happiness, he still hesitated a little before taking them, needing the prompt of Sam's expectant expression.
She squeezed them tightly. "We're so happy you're home."
The lids of Dean's eyes twitched on the odd expression of plurality, but he kept his manner charming for Sam's benefit. He wanted to enjoy the moment too, and forget his dislike for Ruby temporarily (it had been so pleasant having barely thought of her for two months). "I'm glad to see you're well, Ruby."
She smiled at him, teeth and all (an unusual departure from her usual close-lipped, condescending smirk). It was disorienting, seeing Ruby so…. pleasant. Had he not been so elated in the moment, he might have suspected earlier that there was something relevant he was missing.
"I'm more than well."
Her hands dropped to her stomach and rubbed a circle over it in an odd kind of gesture. It was almost like a pantomime expression of hunger.
Sam reached out and clasped his hand over the same area. His hand was so monstrous it eclipsed both of hers clasped together. When he spoke, his voice was incredulous, and elated.
"Dean. God, I can't believe I'm telling you this in person. We- … Ruby and I, we're married."
…
Sam's little announcement couldn't have been timed better to stifle the reaction Dean had been on the verge of having. It wasn't the words Sam had uttered that had caught him off guard (although he had a few choice thoughts about that circumstance). He'd barely heard those words above the rush of blood in his ears as he'd witnessed the way Sam clasped protectively around Ruby's hands that had been laced at such an odd way at her stomach.
It had only taken moments to piece together. Sam's strange concern at a little trip, the inappropriateness of a marriage so close to Dean's 'death' and the assured little (familiar) smirk that had crossed Ruby's face as Sam had spoken. That smirk had said I've won. She had. She was holding the trump card now. The card that would -
"Your audience will be in here." The guard to his right indicated two massive wooden doors embedded into the wall, decorated artfully with an iron filigree that ascended farther than Dean's eye could make out, to the shadowy heights of the palace's roof. It was a monument built in thanks to the original Empress that had made their city, and other cities like it, safe from the Angels. An absolutely massive and exorbitant thank you; a display of opulent wealth reflected nowhere in Ardus' kingdom.
"Remind me of the proper titles?" Dean smiled weakly at the guard. "Not exactly any formal audiences with royalty in the forest, you know how it is."
The guard, unlike the rest of the Citadel, did not seem overly impressed with Dean's feat. On the contrary, he looked stern and unamused.
"The Empress Eve is Your Majesty. Her husband is His Lordship, and their daughter is Her Imperial Highness. Don't get it wrong."
Dean gulped nervously. "Not really sure I'm dressed for this kind of occasion."
The guard smirked and nodded to the guards on either side to open the doors. As they did, he muttered at Dean: "Alastair sends his regards and congratulations."
Dean's eyebrows raised, and he grinned: "Really? How is the old son of a-"
The guard ignored him and pressed the doors open, and the creak drowned out the end of Dean's query. It distracted him from following up on the odd manner of delivery of the message too, for moments later, he was being thrust forward by a hostile armored hand and onto a massive purple carpet, that lead up the middle of the room to a decorated platform at its centre. Dean barely had a moment to splutter his indignance before the doors were being slammed shut behind him and he was left stranded on the carpeted island. His brain ran frantically through the necessaries of etiquette Sam had drilled him upon, after his accession to the ranks of the Slayers. He came up short, only remembering: eyes down, shoulders straight and don't say anything unless you have to.
Dean gulped and at once dropped his head, and commenced approaching their majesties slowly, focusing his eyes on the stairs at their feet. The throne room was massive (in order to host formal ceremonies such as crowning) so the walk was a long, and slightly painful one. The only sound as Dean shuffled forward was the shuffle of his mud-caked boots along the bright red rug. He winced at the sound, and at once commenced to pick up his feet artificially to avoid it. In a room of majesty such as this, making one's presence so audible seemed like a gross affront. Dean had no idea why, but it just did.
When he was close enough to be made out by their waiting majesties, he heard Lilith's shocked intake of breath. He took the opportunity to peek a glance at the group. Lilith, as royal princess, was seated to her mother's right, dressed in the red celebration robes of royalty she was so fond of. To her left was the Empress Eve, wearing the more customary purple garb. Her eyes were narrow and her back was ramrod straight and barely rested against the throne behind her. She caught the end of Dean's look and a small twitch of displeasure was at once visible in her upper lip. On her left was Samuel Campbell, once a Slayer like Dean, but now Lord Protector of the City by both marriage and appointment. He was the man Sammy was named in honor of, having been appointed Lord Protector in the year of Sam's birth. All their eyes were on Dean, who attempted to bow shakily before them. Since he hadn't been much for ceremony, even before his stint in the forest, it was an especially poor one and Eve made a discontented little sound in her throat, before she commenced speaking.
"Dean Winchester, you have fought a great battle to return to our City. We thought you were lost to us." The Empress addressed him in her characteristically cool manner, with an empty stare.
"I thought I was too, your majesty." He kept his eyes at their feet, avoiding direct contact. Despite his status as a Slayer, he was not yet at a social position where a direct address was possible.
"The Slayer Garth told us he saw you being dragged into the woods by a creature. How did you escape?"
At the sound of Garth's name, Dean couldn't help but break code. He looked up to Lilith, his tone suddenly frantic: "Garth's alive?"
Samuel cleared his throat and Dean dropped his eyes again quickly, relief flooding from his core to the tips of his fingers for the man he had sure was dead. When Samuel did speak his voice was low and emotionless, like Eve's. "He returned to the City with one other man. He now bears the mark of a Slayer."
So Garth was a Slayer now. That was new. Not that the term meant much after what Castiel had told him about the Angels regenerating. It was a surprise. Garth was a good solider, but he was without the mass (or, Dean had thought, the skill, to take down an Angel). Despite that, it was an elating thought. For two months, Dean had believed he was responsible for the deaths of all 25 of the travelling party, as well as their animals. The news that even two had lived was enough to momentarily eclipse the guilt he'd felt since then. Of course, the guilt roared back to life only moments later, reminding him that two lives did not spare the torturous deaths that had met the other 23.
"So tell us, Dean. How did you return to us?" Eve lowered her chin and stared him down. He could feel the burn on the top of his head.
"I, uh-" He and Castiel had rehearsed this story a few times to make it sound believable, but the words were difficult for his tongue – that felt dry and swollen with nerves – to make proper sense of.
"You may look at me, when you address me, Slayer."
Dean gulped and looked up. The moment he was properly met with the full force of Eve's gaze, he wished he'd been allowed to keep his head low. Her eyes made him feel like his skin was burning with cold and frost, and he gave a small, involuntary shiver, before fixating his eyes on her right ear.
"I was trying to fight off the Angels …. Your Majesty" Mentally, he patted himself on the back for remembering to mention her title. "Got knocked off my horse. Must have hit my head because I don't remember much. When I woke up, one of them had dragged me a little way into the forest. Guess it didn't want to share its meal." He tried a faint grin at Lilith, but her gaze, like that of those beside her, was a merciless stare. "When I woke up the thing had a hold of me. I still had my weapon and I fought it off, but it tore open my leg."
"Why did it not kill you?"
" There was a man … fallen a little ways beyond me. I think the thing had gone for him first. When I woke up it was still… with him."
"Why did you not return to the men?"
"I was unconscious for a while. When I woke it was too late. The only ones left were dead, your Majesty. If they obeyed my orders, any that were alive would have lead the creatures away from the wagons and down the Road. I saw the wagons were destroyed and the people in them were dead or gone."
She nodded solemnly.
"I couldn't walk on my leg. I found my horse in the forest. She comes when I whistle, see?"
He grinned proudly to himself at that. It had taken some time for him to teach his baby that trick. She was valiantly faithful too – even when the Angels had been attacking. Cas had whistled to her, she'd come to him, though Dean was sure she'd sooner have run as far as she could in the opposite direction.
He thought of Cas again, perched on her saddle, galloping at full speed with his wings flapping behind him. Impala seemed to have loved the feel of extra speed that he brought her. He'd probably ruined her for Dean now. She'd think he was just some useless lump that sat atop her….
He stopped. They were awaiting his further explanation.
"I tried to ride down the Road, but I couldn't go at speed. But I could hear them everywhere. And I was losing blood and setting up a trail-"
"We understand why you took shelter, Slayer. But why have you taken so long to return to us?"
"I was injured. And so was my horse. We were both sick with infection. I took shelter in a cave. It got too cold to travel, with my injury the way it was. We had to wait out the snows, for I had nothing warm to protect me. We left as soon as the air changed."
The royals conversed for a few moments amongst themselves atop their platform in hushed whispers before Eve addressed Dean again.
"You are welcome home, Slayer. We will celebrate your return tomorrow night. You are dismissed."
They made no move to rise from their seats and, facing the pressure of being stared down by the three most powerful courtiers in the entire kingdom, Dean gave a curt and awkward little bow.
"Thank you for your audience."
No one responded and Eve raised her eyebrow. The gesture confused Dean and he froze momentarily, unsure if there was some kind of social decorum which he had forgotten – perhaps kissing their almightiness' feet, for instance. But, when there was nothing, he made a quick calculus, and decided leaving too early would be better than waiting out the painful silence. He sighed in relief, when he commenced walking backwards, head bowed, and their majesties made no move to stop him. From the end of the hall, he could hear the sound of the doors being painstakingly inched open again, by the unfortunate guards obliged to bear their weight on a daily basis.
The walk down the aisle was an embarrassing one, and Dean did his best to hurry without scuttling in their presence, but with his stiff leg, his gait did come across as something of a lollop. The guard that had escorted him to the room still stood outside, back entirely erect despite the heavy (and largely ornamental) garb be wore. Although he didn't move from his postured position, his eyes narrowed enough beneath his visor that Dean felt the hostility, and he decided against asking about the details of the celebration the next night.
Right. Back to reality it was then.
….
"Where are you going?"
"Balthazar's waiting down at the Brown Bear. The whole Guard is there."
Dean's glance at Sam was unapologetic, and he quickly returned to dressing himself in some of his mustier clothes, which Sam had left, still folded, in his chest of drawers.
"I thought… we might… spend some time together."
"Duty calls."
"Yes, but…"
Sam didn't finish his sentence and Dean didn't enquire as to what he had meant to say. It wasn't until he was almost entirely properly dressed, that Sam had tried to vocalize his frustration, but the attempt was immediately prevented by the sound of the door being thrown open and the musical howl of Garth's enthusiastic greeting. "DEAN!" It was accompanied by a hug the strength of which Dean could have barely anticipated. Garth's bony, weedy figure was sharp and spiky, and Dean grimaced as Garth's wrists pressed into his shoulders.
When he pulled away, Garth was practically in tears: "Man of the hour! Dean. I can't believe it."
"Woah, woah, wo-"
Dean attempted to back away, but Garth was upon him again like lighting, wrapping his arms around Dean and pinning his biceps to his sides with surprising strength. Dean was practically constricted to death before Garth let go.
"How'd you do it?"
Dean grinned, but he felt it falter, when his gaze flickered back to Sam, who still hadn't lost his disappointed expression.
"All in good time, my good man. Right now, there's more pressing matters to attend to."
Garth catcalled and clapped Dean on the back. "How long's it been since you had a drink then?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched Sam shuffle and bite at his lip. He ignored the gesture
"Too long, friend. Lead the way."
Garth whooped and slung his arm around Dean's shoulders, escorting him bodily from the room. He stopped at the threshold and turned to Sam embarrassedly. "You coming, Sam?"
Sam's mouth opened and closed several times, and he blinked rapidly before answering: "No, no. I'll… stay here. I have work to do."
Dean pursed his lips and turned away. He knew it wasn't fair to be mad at Sam. This marriage, this… urgh baby, there was more leeway in the circumstance than Dean was currently prepared to allow his brother. He knew it, and he knew he was being a brat. But in the midst of petulance, and some righteous indignation, he was loath to admit it, for the next few hours at least.
"As you wish. Onward, good sir!" Garth galloped them from the house as though they were atop their steeds and Dean couldn't help but ignore Sam's disappointment for laughing heartily at his friend, now Slayer of Ardus' antics. It felt good to have been missed.
…
It took him nearly an hour to make it to the pub. The people of the City knew his face, and he was hugged and kissed my practically every passer-by. Their eyes were wide as they questioned how he had returned from so long in the forest. If it hadn't been for Garth's hand on his arm, leading him through the crowd (who had a new deference for his orders, it seemed) he might not have even made it before nightfall.
Garth, however, brushed them aside with his gangly limbs and weak yells (for his voice succumbed quickly under the exertion): "Move aside, hero coming through!""
Upon entry to the pub he was greeted with a cheer that was even more raucous.
"The Slayer has returned!" Even above the yells, Balthazar's voice was easy to make out, as he stood on the table and greeted Dean by throwing open his arms as if he would embrace him from across the room. As he gestured, the beer from the tankard in his left hand overflowed and drenched a passing serving girl. At first she seemed fairly affronted, but upon seeing who was to blame, she concealed her expression and continued about her duties.
Balthazar, grinning at Dean, tilted his head back and poured the remaining beer directly down his throat in one long gulp. When completed, he held his arms open towards the crowds and beat his chest. The crowd laughed and applauded as he leapt down from the table and pushed his way through the crowd to Dean, clasping him in a hug that was equally as constrictive as Garth's had been. "We thought you were lost, brother."
Dean grinned as he withdrew, and slapped Balthazar on the shoulder with far more force than necessary: "Here and in the flesh."
Balthazar crowed as Dean hit him and raised his empty tankard high in the year, yelling above the cheers and whoops: "In the flesh!"
The crowed hollered excitedly and recited back: "In the flesh! In the flesh!"
Not one to waste time with pleasantries, when there was drinking to be done, Balthazar all but wrenched Dean away from Garth and dragged him towards the bar. He had almost made it there (to his grand relief – he needed a drink) when he was stopped again, and practically thrown over by Jo, who ran to him and threw her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. There were a few wolf-whistles at that, but Jo was hardly one to be embarrassed by her customers.
"Hey!" She released Dean and turned to the waiting room, whose raucousness died a little as she prepared to speak. When she did, she yelled, so loud that her voice cracked with the effort, "you will all address me with the respect my station deserves!"
Dean removed his arms from around her waist. "What's that station, Jo? You know serving wench is the highest station in the land as far as these guys are concerned."
She winked at him and slid her gaze over to Garth, who had fought his way through the waiting crowd to catch up. She kept her eyes on Dean as she approached him, turning only at the last minute to meet him, with a surprisingly tender press of lips. Immediately she whirled back, an excited grin on her face and an expectant expression.
Dean blinked once, as he processed what he had just witnessed. "Wha-?"
A second later, Jo raised her left hand, palm faced towards her, and wiggled her fingers meaningfully. At once, Dean's gaze dropped to her fourth finger, where a small, but delicately engraved thin band of silver sat there. The sound in the room dulled, as though they were waiting with bated breath for the punchline. She grinned and yelled once again: "You will address me as the betrothed lady that I am!" There were a few catcalls from the bar, and one shout of "And never was a lady finer!" Jo hid the faint blush rising in her cheeks by arranging the fingers of the same hand she had just shown to Dean in a gesture only seen used by the City's men when they were outside the watchful gaze of their wives or mothers. The room erupted in cheers again, and Garth was clapped so hard on the back by a few members of the Guard that he stumbled forward slightly.
Jo turned to Dean, elation visible through every pore of her being. Dean rushed to her and seized her in a fierce hug and pressed his face to her shoulders. "It's true, Jo. Finest girl in the City. " He felt her smile against his chest as he released her.
When she was free, Garth immediately approached and she leaned against his shoulder with an unexpected familiarity. Dean suppressed his shock at the oddness of the circumstance to reach forward and shake Garth's hand firmly. "You're a lucky man, Garth. When did this happen?"
"When I got back from the Road. Life's too short, you know?" Garth smiled sheepishly and looked down to Jo, who beamed at him.
"What he means is, I told him in no uncertain terms." Dean registered Jo's narrative, but couldn't hel but watch as Garth's eyes drifted to the floor, where his face changed to a small, secret looking smile that expressed his remembering the circumstance fondly. "Got tired of all the Guards coming in and leering at me like I'm a piece of meat. This one always came in and wanted to talk. When he came back, I told him to grow a pair and make an honest girl of me."
"And I said yes." Garth grinned from ear to ear and snaked his arm around her waist. She elbowed him playfully at the rise of a few cheers again, but not far enough that he lost his hold on her.
"We'll be married on the first night of summer. I'm so happy you'll be there, Dean."
Dean smiled in earnest at her obvious joy. "Of course, Jo. Wouldn't miss it."
She beamed at him, before removing Garth's arm from her waist, with a squeeze to his fingers that didn't go unnoticed by Dean. As she sauntered back to the bar, she turned her head and winked at both of them. Dean couldn't help but grin back. Once she was back to serving, to the celebration of those soldiers queuing there, Dean turned back to Garth.
"So that's the 'Garth', then? Just talking to them?"
"There's nothing more to it, Dean. Garth'd her good." His eyes wandered to behind the bar, where Jo was standing, laughing with the Guards assembled there. "That, and I look damn good in a uniform." He tore his eyes away from her to slap proudly at the Slayer's emblem now emblazoned across is Guard's uniform.
"I'm happy for you. Really."
"And I'm happy you're back, Dean. It hasn't been the same without you."
They smiled at each other for a few moments, before an already drunk soldier crashed into Garth and lead him away, singing drunkenly of a lady of raven hair and skin of sunshine. Garth followed amicably, and left Dean to take his leave.
It took Dean a while to take a moment for some peace. More of the Guard accosted him with hugs and cheers, and he made merry as best he could, repeating the story he had told Eve over and over until his throat ached and his eyes were watering a little with the effort of it all.
Balthazar stumbled over again too, far drunker now, and pressed him for the story when Dean had mercifully almost made it to the stairs.
"You slept in a cave, brother?"
Dean grinned and whacked Balthazar on the arm, knowing the Slayer's penchant for making light of his 'delicate' features, and complaining of his other (nonexistent) delicacies as a man of the Road; as far as he was concerned, an aversion to male nudity was a sensible behavior – there were those that would burst his head open with a rock for failing to avert his gaze quickly enough and being called a prude was a worthy sacrifice for avoiding the appearance of those less concerned.
"Sure didn't beat the beds of Ardus, my friend."
"Or the company I'm sure."
They both guffawed and Balthazar took another deep swig of his drink.
"They must have been swarming you in the winter."
Dean swallowed and kept his expression light. It was easy, especially when Balthazar was in such a state as this, to forget the extensive experience he had on the Road. Cas and he had discussed it, and he knew there were a few holes in his story, particularly if anyone became curious as to see the site he had supposedly preserved himself in, injured and without assistance, for two months. Of course, he and Balthazar were friends, so he doubted Balthazar would seek out such holes. Still, under his bright blue, light gaze, Dean was careful as he responded.
"There were days, where… I thought I'd never make it out brother."
"What made them leave? I've known them to haunt entrances for weeks on end and starve out whatever they find."
Dean took a careful drink from his flagon, being careful not to look away to quickly before he told the lie.
"They… gave up, eventually. I suppose they get hungry. And I stayed quiet, right at the back. I think they would have barely seen or smelled me."
"So you didn't see?"
"No, uh-"
"BALTHIE! A SONG!" The jubilant cry came from the other side of the room. It was matched by cheers of acquiescence and a rising chant: "Sing! Sing! Sing!"
"Alright, alright, alright!" Balthazar tore his eyes away from Dean's and made to leap atop the bar once again. Jo swatted at his feet good-naturedly, but he kept his touch light and danced away from her flicks, much to the amusement of the now-entirely intoxicated soldiers.
Dean took the opportunity to make his escape quietly and without ceremony, slipping through the door and up the stairs to the inn's rooms. He located the first unlocked room and fled into it, slamming the door behind him and pressing back against the wood, shutting his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose and out through his mouth.
It was an only too welcome opportunity for a little silence, although the sounds of the celebration downstairs were muffled only by the door. It was so strange, to be back amongst such noise and merriment, after such tranquility in the forest. It had almost been too much too soon, and Dean had found himself momentarily desperate for air and space and solace. A little solitude, even after month's with only Cas and the forest's company, was a welcome relief.
It was wonderful to be home. Truly. But it was strange to see home so changed in such a short time. He had to admit, he had been surprised by Garth and Jo at first. He remembered talking with Cas about her and sharing with him the momentary thought that when he returned he might be the man to make an honest woman of her.
When he'd seen Garth's arm around Jo's waist, there'd been a momentary flare of… something. At first, he'd thought it was jealousy, or regret. But it wasn't. Dean felt earnestly happy for them, and he couldn't help but smile as he thought of the way they had watched each other across the bar. Garth was a good man, and the way Jo looked at him…. It was unexpected, sure. But it was right. Garth was a Slayer now, one of the most highly ranked and celebrated men in the City. The fact that he would be marrying a bar maid - before the Princess' betrothal, no less - was nothing short of scandalous, even if she was better than all the ladies in the Palace put together. The fact that he and Jo were together meant it was all for love.
And Dean had seen it. In both of them. How they were both still slightly flustered around one another, and elated at the slightest touch. The way the cheers of the guard had made Jo glow, even though she'd brushed them off as vulgar.
But Dean felt something strange because of it. It tugged at his chest a little. A small, insistent nag. Like he'd forgotten something on the way here, and Garth and Jo had reminded him of what it was. Perhaps it was that, unlike Sam, he wasn't punishing him for taking solace in one another in his absence. But Sam was his brother, not his friend. He owed Dean more than he'd given.
Dean sighed and leaned forward a little bit, watching his feet. It was strange, seeing the City so changed in such a short space of time. Garth and Jo, Sam and Ruby. Sure, everyone said he'd been missed. Everyone said they'd toasted the other 23 that hadn't made it back to the City walls. But what significance had they had really? Sam had moved on, and set up a perfect life for himself quickly. Garth and Jo had found each other, and had planned for festivities only months after his death. Had anyone really been that affected?
In the forest, with Cas, it had been easy to imagine his significance. He was important to Cas, and it was obvious in everything he did. Cas was cold, certainly, but he had his own kind of warmth that Dean had steadily grown to appreciate over their months together. And it had pained Dean to see some of that warmth falter when he'd had to leave and return to the City. Back here, he was a leader, of course. But he'd been replaced, hadn't he? Replaced sooner than he'd have been buried in his grave, if indeed there was one.
In the silence of this room, the sensation wracked him properly for the first time since he'd entered the City. Worthlessness. That's what his 'death' on the Road had been. As had Rufus', and Creedy's, and Aiden's and all the others that had fallen. Momentary blips to a city as unforgiving as the Road itself. Intermittent sadnesses that interrupted celebration and festivity. Nights that had never been wracked with the chorus of Angels' screams across the empty forest – like a performance of the dying, designed to remind its audience of the inevitable painful demise guaranteed to all mortal beings and the dread that ought to accompany it.
Sure, everyone said they'd missed him. He didn't doubt that Sam had and that he loved him. He didn't doubt that Garth was glad to see him, and Balthazar looked forward to recommencing their drinking together. But his return was an unexpected joy, not a necessity. His loss was something that they'd gotten over, and whatever hole is violent death would have left had been filled. He would have suffered being torn apart. For nothing. All for nothing. He wondered idly if this was how Cas felt, when he realized his own predicament. And he chided himself at once. This wasn't anywhere near comparable to Cas. Cas who was waiting in a dank, dark cottage in the middle of the forest, for nothing but an inevitable and horrifying future that he was forced to confront nightly with the Angels' vile evening chorus. Cas, who had rescued Dean for this, knowing that the act would bring him closer to that horrendous fate. Cas, who had had no companionship but Dean for two hundred years on that godforsaken Road. Cas, who knew that he too was Godforsaken.
"Dean? Dean, are you up here?"
Jo knocked on the door tentatively, and Dean started, stepping forward quickly and wrenching it open. She blushed when he opened it, and looked away pointedly. Dean waited a few awkward moments before cottoning on. "Oh! No… I don't have anyone in here with me, Jo."
She looked into the empty room and grinned. "Thought it would have been quick work, even for you."
Dean forced a smile, although it felt more like baring his teeth, and punched her lightly on the arm. She pinched him back. Then they said nothing, and her face fell.
"You alright up here?"
Dean paused thoughtfully before he answered. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just… loud." He gestured feebly to his ears and grimaced.
Her mouth twitched: "guess you're not used to it anymore, huh?"
He smiled back at her. "Guess not. Come in."
She shuffled in quietly and seated herself on the bed at the centre of the room, patting the spot beside her. Dean chuckled at the sight – only with Jo could he be certain she meant nothing by it, and she blushed at the chuckle at his implication made, looking away to compose herself before she bit back with a typically snappy retort:
"Get your mind out of the pigs' slough, Winchester."
"Sorry Jo, I forget myself in front of a proper lady."
She swatted at him as he seated himself next to her, but her smile was friendly enough as she leaned forward to make herself comfortable, hunched over - thoroughly unladylike - and inclined her head towards him.
"Don't you dare again."
They grinned at each other for a few moments, before Dean dropped his gaze, aware that staring into the eyes of his newly-betrothed, childhood friend, while they were seated on a bed together might be a behavior he would have to avoid in future. He instead turned to look at her hands, which she fiddled with in her lap, scratching at the cuticles, in a somewhat uncharacteristically nervous manner.
Her eventual question made clear why:
"Are you alright, Dean?"
Dean bit his lip, but said nothing, instead favoring his hands and rubbing the calluses there, that had softened significantly over Winter. He felt himself blink a few times, although he was unsure of the reason why, other than to fill the silence that fell when he didn't answer.
"I know that… well, I don't know really, but… the Road is…"
Dean didn't speak.
"Being out there, it must have been-"
Dean cut across her: "I'm used to it, Jo. I was fine. And I'm back now."
She grimaced and moved her hand to pull a few strands of her light blonde hair behind her ear. She took a deep breath before she answered.
"It's just… if you wanted… to talk, about what it was like out there-"
"You wouldn't understand."
She ignored the terse tone and laid her hand on his leg. "I know I wouldn't. But Garth, he would. And Sam, he would try. Balthazar-"
"Honestly, Jo. It's fine. I'm fine. It's over now. And I'm back."
She pursed her lips and wound her hands together at her stomach.
"You know Dean, we didn't forget you while you were away."
Dean looked up sharply, and she met his eyes brazenly, knowing him for long enough to know she'd struck a nerve.
"No, I know-"
"No, I don't think you do."
He closed his mouth, knowing that now Jo had breached the topic, she wouldn't let it drop until she had said what she had to say. Good luck to Garth in dealing with that aspect of her personality.
"I know, coming back, it seems like everyone moved on. With Garth and I, and…"
She let Sam and Ruby's situation hand in the air, polite enough not to vocalize what was a privat matter, although she obviously knew.
"Yeah, well…" he raised his eyes to meet hers to meet hers.
"Don't even try Dean. We were all wrecked. All of us. You know Garth didn't just ride back here and get on bended knee. He came here straight after he arrived at the Gates, before he saw the Empress even, and he cried for three straight days. He wouldn't eat or sleep or talk or anything. Even to me. And Sam… Dean, Ruby was all he had to hang onto. He thought you were dead. We were sure of it. You know they sent soldiers to look for you and clear the bodies? They wanted to bring you home. When they couldn't find you, Balthazar stayed out for days looking. He had to come home and tell your brother that you'd been… eaten by one of those things. Sam hit him."
Dean grunted and looked down at his hands. He was ashamed, and he knew Jo was right, and the image of what had transpired made bile rise in his throat. The acidic taste was accentuated by the realization of the cruelty with which he had imagined that Sam had not mourned him at all – denying what his brother must have suffered In hiding from the party and dismissing Sam, he was being despicable. He himself had spent months living leisurely in Castiel's cottage, and while he'd occasionally addressed the question, hadn't properly thought of the words that might have been used, how Sam would have fallen to the ground crying, and what it would have meant to wake up every morning and see his empty room and imagine the vile circumstance of his death – far from home, torn to pieces, crying for his mother as he had every night of his childhood.
"You were an ass to him before you came here weren't you?"
Goddamnit, Jo knew him to well. She'd known she would have to scold him before she'd even entered the room.
She reached for his arm, but didn't bat him, like she usually would when she was reprimanding his childish ways. Instead she gave it a light squeeze. "You should go to him. I'll make excuses for you here. Don't force him to suffer more Dean."
Dean nodded slowly, and lifted his gaze to meet hers, biting his lip.
"Don't let the Road drive you crazy, Dean. We'll all be here when it's done."
She reached out and clutched his hands lightly within both her own – they were far smaller in comparison, but just as calloused as Dean's from the years they had spent training together as children.
Dean nodded curtly and left her abruptly, sliding out the back entrance to the inn and back to his cottage. When Dean arrived home, Sam was at his desk, and when he looked up, his face was a little tear-stained, and strained with the effort of reading by candlelight.
Dean let the door close silently behind him, and he held his brother's gaze for a moment, before surging forward and capturing his brother in a tight embrace. "I'm sorry, Sammy."
