There's a scene in this chapter that I cried upon while writing. No kidding T_T.
Chapter 10
Dean tried to remain calm, and surprisingly, it wasn't difficult at all. Quite the opposite, all his tension was slowly flowing away. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the newly-found incarnation of Death, the ex-reaper Billie, was right in front of him. After releasing all the trapped ghosts in Meadow's House, Dean couldn't find any other worry to latch onto, and that in itself should have been worrying, but... there was not enough fight left in him to care anymore. Yeah, the Veil tended to cause that effect when you were dead.
"Well, I figured with you in charge, there's no going back for me," Dean said, attempting to joke about it.
Billie, however, didn't seem willing to take nonsense from him.
"That doesn't sound like the Dean Winchester I know and love," she stated, walking around him to the shelves of books. "The man who has been dead so many times but it never seems to stick? Maybe you're not that guy anymore, the guy who saves the world, the guy who always thinks he'll win no matter what. You have changed, and you tell people it's not a big deal. You tell people you'll work through it, but you know you won't. You can't, and that scares the hell out of you. Or... am I wrong?"
"What do you want me to say? It doesn't matter," he smiled sadly, blurting what he believed to be true. "I don't matter. I couldn't save Jess, I couldn't save Cas... I can't even save a scared little kid. Sam keeps trying to fix it, but I just keep dragging him down. So I'm not gonna beg, ok? If it's my time, then it's my time."
"You really believe that," she noted, bewildered. "You wanna die. Is this because Castiel isn't with you anymore? I do wonder."
The hunter went rigid, his jaw hard and his eyes murderous.
"Shouldn't you know that, Death? Isn't your job now to keep track of living and dying people? Tell me, who was the lucky reaper to guide him to the afterlife?"
"Angels are different beings, Dean. No reaper gets to them, because they vanish on their own. They don't cross nor remain in the Veil after they die. There's no afterlife for them."
"Then what...?" Dean started to ask, but almost immediately a warning picked his memory. "That was it, right? The 'cosmic consequences' you mentioned if our deal was to be broken."
Billie nodded slowly, confirming his suspicions.
"This universe has rules for a reason, and Winchesters are an affront to it," she explained. "When we made the deal, I pulled some strings for you and set a cycle in motion, that should have ended with one of you disappearing forever that night. Once initiated, the cycle couldn't be stopped. And then... your angel interfered."
"And the cycle got stuck?"
"Precisely. Imagine it as a clock," a small smile played on Billie's mouth. "We made a deal at midday, you got out at three, and Castiel killed me at six. But it doesn't mean the clock stops working, Dean, in the same way you can't stop time in a hourglass. So through seven, eight, nine and etc., the cycle continued in any way it could... until the clock struck midnight and a promised death was served."
Dean inhaled deeply, closing his eyes in despair, finally getting the complete picture. Of course, as usual it had to be more or less his fault that Cas was dead. If Sam and him had been able to escape from prison on their own, without Billie's help, Castiel wouldn't have killed her and he very possibly would still be around.
"But why? Why Cas? Why not me or Sam?"
"Because Castiel was the disrupting factor, even if he had no part in the deal. By killing me, the reaper in it, I wasn't there to collect any of your souls, so your lives couldn't be taken."
"You're basically telling me..." Dean stuttered, "that Cas' death was unnecessary. He could have survived the fight against Lucifer, right?"
"Who knows what other outcomes could have been possible," Billie answered without committing, uncrossing her arms and signalling the vast shelves. "It's the same for you, Dean. Every notebook on this particular shelf tells a version of how you die, you specifically: heart attack, burned by a redhead witch, stabbed by a ghoul in a graveyard... and on and on. But which one's right? That depends on you, on the choices you make. But unfortunately, none of these books says you die today."
The mourning man frowned, unsure how to interpret the new Death's words.
"Come again?"
"Since I got this new job, I stand witness to a much larger picture. Do you know what I see? You and your brother, you're important. You have work to do, that's all you need to know. And trust me, having my eyes opened to the necessity of any human, specially Winchesters, is not a thrill. So, you wanna die, but I say keep living."
Dean swallowed, pondering his options, and decided to accept the ex-reaper's suggestion. If none of the many books there said today was his day to R.I.P., then so be it. There was always time to die on another date. But since he was already there, if he could find out just a little thing...
"Hey, I need to know, for Sam. Is Jess-?"
Before he could finish the question, Billie twisted her wrist and Dean found himself alive again, gasping loudly to get some air back in his lungs, with his brother behind patting him on the back..
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Several hours later, deep in the night, the tired brothers were on their way back to the bunker. Dean was driving as usual while Sam slept beside him, probably too shocked with the news about Billie to even try to remain awake after a hell of a day; he however needed some coffee to keep going, and so, pulled away the moment he saw the neon sign of an Open24h by the next fork.
Horrible as the cheap coffee tasted, it was still welcome.
Dean sat on his Baby's hood, alone in the parking lot, sipping the warm beverage and looking upwards. The stars were blinking beautifully. He could remember a lot of times when he or Sam or Dad were sad and depressed, but too proud to admit it; then one of them would suggest to stop for a while and stargaze. Just that, simply stargazing and chilling out (sometimes quite literally when it was winter) in the quietness of the night, and somehow it made them feel better.
Castiel liked the stars too, Dean knew. Well, the angel liked almost everything in Creation... but he had enjoyed stargazing with them, that he had said.
"Hey Cas, are you in a star now?" Dean whispered to himself. "I... I don't want to believe you simply disappeared. It wouldn't be fair, after everything you did for us. After everything you gave up. So maybe... you became something else. That's possible, right? You're still there, somewhere. Somehow. You're not gone, just... changed into another thing. A star would be fitting, they bring light into darkness. They're pretty."
The first sniffle took him by surprise. He hadn't notice how dramatic his self-speech was being.
"Dammit, I need to be drunk for this," he chastised himself, rubbing his eyes. "Should've taken a beer."
To his chagrin, rubbing his eyes only caused them to be more sensitive and wet. He sighed in defeat, knowing it was a lost battle, and allowed some tears to run free down his cheeks. And then, something he had just said hit him full force.
Darkness.
Could that be the solution he so desperately wanted, needed? Would he dare, for Cas, and to fuck with whatever Sam thought? Damn, yes.
"Amara," Dean prayed in a low voice, steadying his breathing. "Uh, hello there. I... I hope all's good with Chuck, whatever you two are doing, and... I'm not even sure if you can hear prayers, but this, I thought it worthy to give it a shot. So please, if you can, I... I'd like to make my wish. I don't have the pearl with me right now, but is that really important if you hear me? Well, here it goes: I want Cas back."
Dean waited for a minute, expecting some kind of reaction, anything at all. But nothing happened.
"Hum, ok... Maybe I need to rephrase that in a certain way?" he swallowed, leaving the empty papercup of coffee on the hood and joining his hands in prayer, head slightly bowed down and eyes closed. "I pray now to the divine Darkness, who with immense generosity offered to grant me whatever wish I wanted. Now I ask for that promise to be fulfilled. I formally wish that the deceased angel known as Castiel is brought back to the world of the living, from wherever he might be. Please?"
After that, another minute of waiting made no difference at all. Perhaps he really needed to have that black tear in his hand to make it usable.
"Dammit!" he cursed.
Giving up, Dean threw the cup in the trash can and got back in the car. He scoffed at his still asleep little brother, before starting the engine and driving back to the road.
Unbeknownst to Dean, there were several reasons why his wish had failed. One of them was, obviously, he really needed to be in possession of the pearl in order to harness Amara's gift; another one was that not even the Darkness had any power over the Empty. But the third and possibly most important reason, was that she couldn't grant what had already happened.
Castiel was out of the Empty and back in Earth, but Dean wouldn't know that until an hour later, when an unknown number called his phone.
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It was nice to be back at the building he called his home nowadays, and back with his family. Castiel smiled fondly, looking around his room and checking that everything was still in place. Not that he had many belongings, but there were a few trinkets here and there that he had collected from his adventures with the Winchesters. They were precious souvenirs to him, and they held important memories.
"Hey, buddy. All ok?" Dean asked, coming through the door. "You need help before we run to Dodge City?"
"No, Dean, thank you. You know that I do not have any kind of necessity for luggage."
"Well, you... you're still going to pack up anyway, like the rest of us," Dean insisted almost timidly, going to the old dresser and opening a large drawer. "See? Here's the suit for the FBI performances that I always tell you to leave hanging on the door, unless you intend to learn how to iron it yourself."
"I apologize, Dean."
The hunter stopped for a second, but didn't turn around. Instead, he closed the drawer and opened another smaller.
"And you have to bring fresh underwear," he mumbled. "I know you use your mojo to keep yourself clean, but still. Clothes get dirty even from air. You know, because pollution and all that."
"Dean," Castiel called him softly, coming closer.
"Look at this, only three tees, and they're actually mine," Dean complained, but didn't take the tees back. "Even the kid has already more clothes than you."
"Dean!" Exasperated, the angel grabbed Dean's left shoulder, where the handprint used to be, and turned him around. "Why are you not looking at me? Since I greeted Jack and you decided that we should follow his case, you have been avoiding me."
"Cas, I..." Dean tried, but got stuck.
He wasn't able to voice the words out, everything he needed to say and wanted to convey to the seraph. After all, he had always been a man of actions.
Dean also grabbed the angel's opposite shoulder, caging them both at arm's length, but it wasn't enough reassurance. He craved the feeling of Castiel's solid, tangible, real figure near him. His hand slipped down the angelic arm, the texture of the trenchcoat so familiar to him, until reaching the other's fingers. He pulled gently at them, and instantly Dean got an armful of celestial beatitude against his whole body.
Castiel let him do as he pleased, the need of comfort a very well known feeling to him.
Breathing softly, Dean rested his head against the angel's neck and inhaled slowly, closing his eyes and drowning in the ethereal smell. Castiel smelled of things that were merely poetic, things that humans couldn't actually smell. In the vessel's skin there was sun, and rain, and thunder. The warmth of the body collided with the sensation of smelling the wind, and Dean loved it. He didn't know if all angels emanated similar odours, but either way he couldn't care less. To him, it was something only Eau de Cas.
Feeling suddenly bold, Dean's hands travelled from Castiel's back to his waist, where they tugged at the shirt until getting the hem out and slipping inside, seeking skin. They rested there, fingertips drawing circles and occasionally brushing upwards.
"Dean?" Castiel called him, worried.
But Dean didn't hear him. He began kissing his friend's nape as far as he could reach, nibbling and tasting the neck, lips leaving small wet spots. His breathing had picked up its pace, almost panting. His hands were becoming more and more curious, sliding under Castiel's shirt up and down, and about to reach his chest. Then he started shaking.
"Dean, stop," Castiel ordered, trying to disentangle himself from the intimate hug.
"No. I need it. Please, Cas."
"Dean... Dean, listen to me. Hear my voice," the angel cooed tenderly, stroking the hunter's head. "We are extremely close at this moment, and I... I perceive very clearly that this is not what you think it is. Dean, you are not even aroused."
Castiel's words made him stop his tender ministrations, but his breathing remained out of control. It was true, though. He wasn't hard in the slightest.
"This is anxiety, Dean. Try to calm down," Castiel said, holding his beloved human in his arms. "I am back here with you, and I am real. I am not going to disappear again. Breathe with me."
Practically clinging to the seraph, Dean obeyed. His head went on loops for a couple of minutes, dizzy, but eventually he regained control of himself.
"I'm good now," he spoke lowly, letting go the angel and looking at him. "Thanks. I... I missed you, Cas. Missed you so damn much."
"I knew it, Dean. I also heard you wishing me to a star," Castiel said, touched. "I appreciate the beautiful sentiment. I fought to be back, and listening to you still praying to me, for me, even when you believed me dead again... I desired so strongly to return to Earth, and to you."
Just to prove his point, Castiel pecked him tenderly. And Dean finally smiled.
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'Don't do anything stupid', Dean had asked of him. And as much as Castiel tried to follow his instructions whenever he could, the hunter seemed to forget that sometimes stupid was the only available course of action. Like right now, having Duma's blade to his throat.
"Please, Castiel," she begged him regretfully. "Just for one last time, stand with us to protect our kin. I don't really want to force you, but you don't know how desperate is the situation in Heaven."
"No, Duma. You are the ones who don't understand how important the promise I made is. You only want Jack for his potential."
"His potential, if channelled adequately, might be the only thing capable of saving us all, Castiel!"
There was desperation in her voice, and a bit of remorse. Castiel felt the barely perceptible tremble on her blade hand, and he... he believed her. Whatever was happening upstairs, Duma desired there was another way to solve it. However, enslaving Jack was not an acceptable method.
"I'm sorry, Duma, but I can't," Castiel answered. "And I'm also sorry for doing this."
Despite all his reassurances to Dean when he had wanted to accompany him, Castiel wasn't that confident about the meeting as he feigned to be. Even while looking around frenetically for a missing Jack, the seraph had been cautious enough to set a back-up plan. Or better said, a flee plan.
In a fast move, he grabbed the edge on his throat with a hand and slid his palm over it, cutting it harsh enough to draw blood. With his other hand, he busted open his shirt and smeared the red liquid on the sigil that, once again, he had carved in his skin. The light flashed instantly, sending the angels away and leaving him alone in the playground.
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Several weeks had passed.
Slowly and painfully, Jessica turned her neck around, trying to work off some of the knots that invaded her abused and tortured body. Not that she achieved much, though, considering she was locked in a tiny cell without barely any food or water to keep her alive. Almost no space around and having to sleep on the cold bare floor did that to a human. She couldn't even understand anymore how life was without her every muscle yelling in pain whenever she attempted to move.
Oh, how much her transient mental alienation had cost her. You dare to slap the Devil just once, and you get thrown into Hell. Well, more or less.
Speaking of the Devil, where was he? After arriving to this apocalyptic world, being chased by him, almost being raped by a stranger and consequently being saved by Lucifer, another angel had found them: Michael, apparently the big brother of the family. They had fought and Lucifer had been captured, same as her. Not that she missed him, but it worried her not to know what happened, because whatever it was, she most likely was next on the list.
There was blood on her clothes and dirt under her nails. Her whole body shuddered in fear every time she heard steps on the hallway.
"If Sam was here, we could play to match some of our scars," she spoke to herself, trying to cheer up. "Some of these are definitely going to be permanent."
Jessica thought about Sam, if he was ok, if he was safe. Did the rift close in time to protect him? And Dean? With Lucifer out of the picture, what new enemy could have showed up? She thought about the nephilim, that poor innocent baby, and hoped the best for him. Sam was probably taking care of Jack, because he was that good. She imagined him changing diapers and singing lullabies; it made her smile a little, because Sam was not one to sing. Neither one to cook, so Jessica was pretty sure that Dean must be the one preparing the milk bottles.
Was Sam mourning her? Did he believe she was dead again? Had he...?
A loud thump outside her jail interrupted her musings. With barely any real curiosity, Jessica turned her gaze to the other side of the grill and saw someone new, someone who wasn't there a second before. A young man was getting up, no more than a teenager, with blond hair and innocent eyes.
Innocent golden eyes.
"Kaia?" the boy spoke, looking around. "Kaia, where are you?"
Jessica got closer to the grill and peered around too, but as far as she reached to see, there was nobody else there. The boy was alone.
"Who are you?" she asked, startling him. "How did you get here?"
"I... I'm looking for someone," he answered, staring at her intently.
"This Kaia?"
"No, she... she was the one helping me coming here, but I don't feel her presence. She must have stayed behind, in our world," he explained. "Are you... Jessica?"
"Yes?" she confirmed, confused. "How do you know?"
"So I've found you," the boy grinned so happily, like seeing the sun after a rainy day. "After all the searching and failing, at last I've located you!"
"What are you talking about? Who...?"
"I recognize your essence. I remembered it very well." The boy came closer to her, touching lightly the grid of the cell. "You were the first person to hold me when I was born. I sensed sadness, but also hope... and tenderness. I'm Jack."
"Jack?"
Jessica frowned, bewildered. What Jack? The only one she could think about was... Kelly's son. She had in fact held him, but that Jack was only a baby. It couldn't be this same boy, right? Unless... unless her mind was playing tricks on her. How much time had actually passed? She had calculated several weeks, but this boy looked about to be of age. Or, was this Jack even really there?
"You can't be, Jack is only a baby. Are you even real?"
"I am. I grew up fast, but it's me. You got lost, and... I've come to bring you back home. With Sam and Dean and Castiel."
"Cas is dead," she stuttered, her head filled with doubts.
"No, he's not! Well, he was, we even burned his body. But he came back, just like you. They also thought you were dead and you're not." His voice had gradually became a murmur. "Why are you crying? I thought you would be happy."
The woman rubbed her cheeks, blurring wetness and dirt over her gaunt face.
"I am happy. It's only that... it will be so heartbreaking when I wake up."
"You're not dreaming," he stated as a matter of fact.
Stepping to action, Jack grabbed the padlock of the cell and melted it with his bare hands until it fell. He then pushed the door open and went in.
"Come with me, Jessica," he asked, opening his arms. "This time, I'll be the one holding you. And as soon as we figure out how, we'll go home."
Home... back to Sam? Even if it was only a dream, that was exactly where she wanted to be. Maybe, if she managed to be asleep a little while more, she would see him again.
Her choice made, Jessica draped her arms around the golden-eyed boy and closed her eyes, sighing wistfully. A flapping sound of wings was the last thing she heard before falling into unconsciousness.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
