CHAPTER TWENTY

1425

Contrary to his promise that it was not, upon waking to an easy and bright forest, so cheerily ignorant of his circumstance, it felt as though last night had been the farewell. But faced with Dean's bright smile across the campfire, and his cheerful offering of overly-charred toast, Castiel could not help but mentally obscure the threat of approaching darkness, in favour of a small smile and an easy, contented sigh of gratitude.

Dean blushed as Castiel stared at him over the fire, and eventually dropped his toast to the ground, murmuring "damn you", before jumping over the top of its low flames and pressing his lips to Castiel's, grinning and laughing against him as he pressed him back into the forest floor.

It might as well have been that last night was like any other night. No funeral, no first time intimacy, no frantic, desperate promises and most importantly, no farewell. They could have been a long-time married couple lying in bed on a Sunday morning, enjoying the promise of a lifetime. Dean's kisses were easiness, joy and promise, and even if Castiel's fears still clung to him like a heavy cloak of thunderclouds, they were forced away from him by Dean's warm and playful touch.

Dean was unaffected by Castiel's worry, as he leisurely let a hand slide under Castiel's shirt to trace small circles there, and his own name with a joking smile. When he came across the dried remains of the night before, his mood changed, and with a bite to his bottom lip, he had his hand down Castiel's breeches and was stroking him leisurely, teasing him with kisses in between Castiel's gasps and keens. Castiel came with a wrangled cry, smothered with a kiss from Dean, and a nuzzle to his cheek.

When, dizzy and starry-eyed, he murmured the words he'd said the night before again, Dean smiled with a radiance beyond measure and fell on top of Castiel, kissing him for all he was worth against the forest floor. The snap of twigs in the forest had them springing apart before Castiel had had the change to do as he desired to Dean, and when it emerged that it was no more than a hare, they both laughed. Nonetheless, Dean was a little more on his guard after that, and whilst he accepted Castiel's kisses willingly enough, his eyes were focussed on the forest around them and he wriggled away from any more intimate touch.

Castiel eventually departed for the river to wash himself, and while Dean surveyed his stature as he left, he held back from accompanying him, saying they didn't have time to be in the river "for hours". When Castiel returned, Dean was polishing his sword by the fire, but at sound of Castiel's approach he stood up, sword at the ready and prepared for a fight. "Cas?" He whispered uncertainly, as his hand went to his waist to retrieve another dagger, before lowering them when he saw Castiel emerging from the treeline. He relaxed back to the cave mouth, rubbing his eyes a little tiredly, and grinning as Castiel approached: "next time, I'm coming with you. I just spent twenty minutes worrying over nothing."

Castiel sat beside him and leaned against Dean in reassurance, before retrieving a few of his own weapons to sharpen. Dean continued with his sword for a few moments, before holding up the blade for his inspection.

"Beauty, isn't she? She was my father's."

Castiel approached and extended his hand for the sword with curiosity, and Dean let the heavy hilt drop into his waiting palm. He performed a few quick movements with the blade, smiling at the light hum it made as it carved through the atoms in the air before it. "Exceptionally well made, for a human blade."

"For a human blade?"

Dean seemed utterly offended at once, and reached forward to snatch the blade from Castiel, continuing to rub it with his rag as though Castiel's touch were a contaminant. "You'd be lucky to carry a blade like this."

"I would," Castiel confessed matter-of-factly, and he paused until Dean ceased his petty cleaning and looked back up at him, "but it would not be as suited to me as a blade made for my own kind, as I carry."

He pressed the heel of his hand to the hilt of his own preferred blade at his waist. Dean raised an eyebrow and his mouth twitched.

"That pithy thing?"

"This pithy thing has defeated you more times than you could count in our training, Dean. You ought to show it respect."

Dean rolled his eyes, and rolled his blade across his palm, so that the hilt was properly placed for his grip. "Proper blade needs some weight behind it if you ask me."

Castiel merely gave him a blank look as response, and Dean chortled before lowering his weapon and extending his hand for Castiel's.

"Alright. Let me see then."

Castiel approached without drawing the blade and seated himself beside Dean on the log. Dean nudged him a few times to taunt him into producing it, but when Castiel didn't respond, he rolled his eyes and pulled him in for a quick, sloppy kiss. Against his lips, grinning, Dean murmured: "you know how much I like your blade. Can I see it?"

The innuendo wasn't lost on Castiel, but he withdrew the blade from its scabbard with a blank expression and passed it to Dean, who chuckled lightly but otherwise continued seriously enough, holding it in front of him contemplatively. "You say these were made just for angels?"

"My father's hand, by all accounts. Each one is manufactured specifically for its wielder."

Dean paused for a moment, seemingly uncertain as to whether he was permitted to do so, until, with a small encouraging nod from Castiel, he twisted the blade in his hand, so that the point moved in a perfect circle through the air. He performed a few deft movements with his wrist, twisting and cutting as though severing the spine of a person, before thrusting forward in a pointe stance.

"It's kinda like you, isn't it?"

Castiel peered over at Dean, who met him with a comfortable green gaze and an unfazed expression. "What do you mean by that?"

"Smooth, silent, understated. But strong and… deliberate? I'm not sure, it's a good blade Cas."

He handed it back abruptly and without ceremony, and passed Castiel the rag with which he had been polishing his own sword, before leaning back and twisting his neck – releasing a few cracks generated the night before.

"Once this blade could kill any living being that walked this earth."

Dean's brow furrowed, and he looked back to Castiel, pouting slightly. "Even Angelus?"

Castiel nodded minutely and scrubbed hard at the metal, working away dried blood from a hunt a few day's before.

"Not now. It's as useless against them as your blade. But, before the Fall, it was the only way to kill an Angel."

Dean nodded and leaned in close to Castiel, moving a hand to the small of his back and letting it rest there. "Did you ever kill one with it?"

"No. I was never commanded, and it would have been a betrayal of my kin to do so."

Dean nodded and moved his thumb in circles across Castiel's back slowly and certainly, offering a small but entirely necessary comfort. Castiel knew it would do him better to cease to speak of his brothers and sisters, and the time before the Fall – any conversation was inevitably a sacrifice to his well-being. But, in light of what he had seen the night before, it felt like a last disclosure. Dean would soon be one of very few humans to carry with them knowledge of the Angelus pastime, and the fact they had once been anything other than howling beasts. And however much time there was left, Castiel wanted him to inherit what he could.

Dean sensed the change in his mood, at once standing and extending his hand for Castiel to follow. Castiel let his hand be taken and his weight be heaved up from the log, although his eyes were still momentarily glazed over with the memory of how things had been before, and the hope that had remained when he had thought that his blade might have been the solution to his brothers and sisters' plight as fallen. But it had not been, and now it was little more than a useless toy against inevitability – fallen as he.

Dean squeezed Castiel's hand tight and pulled him forwards, across their campsite to where Impala was grazing quite contentedly by the river. He picked up her bridle silently, and she willingly let him prepare her for the ride, though he left the saddle where it rested atop a rock beside her. When he was done, he nudged Castiel towards her, until he was pressed up against her flank, looking back at Dean quizzically.

"Go on then."

"What?"

Castiel placated the mare with a quick touch to her side, as she bristled in anticipation of the ride. Dean merely rolled his eyes and gestured to her bare back.

"You made me a promise, Cas. Now get on the horse."

Castiel looked to the ground apologetically before doing as he was ordered and preparing himself to mount the mare. Dean gave him a leg up when the task proved difficult without her saddle, and Castiel settled himself across her back, jostling for comfort.

"You ever ridden bareback before?"

"I have not."

Dean paused for a moment, mouth half open, before he snorted, and slapped Impala lightly on the back flank, joking: "you'll learn quick enough."

He needn't have bothered, for the mare was waiting for permission, and she started forward briskly, circling Castiel around the clearing. Dean crossed his arms and watched them take a few circles, mouth twitching as he appraised them. Eventually, when they were at the far end, he yelled: "take her for a proper ride, Cas!" and gave a high whistle, which started Impala forward in a gallop.

Without the saddle, Castiel almost lost his seat on her, and was forced to give a quick flap of his wings to stay atop her back. The hint of the speed promised in those wings invigorated her, and at once she started forward with enthusiasm. The burst of speed had the same effect, and he was forced to move his wings again to correct his seat. With her excited whicker he beat them once again, before she lead them through a grove of trees and back to the river, following the grassy patch that ran along there for several miles.

Free of the tree covering, Castiel beat his wings properly, and allowed her free reign to lead them along her preferred path. She plunged her head forward and beat on harder, drawing on each thrust of Castiel's wings to speed forward faster than she had ever managed before. Despite her frantic breaths and snorts, he could feel the beat of adrenaline beneath her skin, tingling and sweating with exhilaration.

The excitement was infectious, and it was obvious why Dean had insisted Castiel take Impala out for a ride, without explanation. Atop the mare, as they sped across the river, Castiel somehow felt more a part of the forest – more akin with its essence, as he felt simultaneously present everywhere and nowhere. The gusts of their path were fresh and tasted of everything in the forest – dirt, water, smoke, rot and new life, all at once, and Castiel's skin came out in goosebumps at the overwhelming sensation of their speed against it.

His heart pounded too with the recklessness of letting the mare a free path. She nimbly darted amongst the rocks, catching their weight where the ground became uneven and steering them a wide enough berth so that Castiel's wings could remain at their full span.

Eventually, some miles down the river, she slowed, first to a canter, then a trot, until eventually she plodded happily to a stiller patch of river and lay her head to drink. The forest was quiet, aside from the hum of cicadas and birds – past the point in the morning of official chorus, but still chattering. More than anything else, Castiel was aware of the pound of his own heart and the exhilaration in his breathing, and the way he suddenly seemed full of boundless energy. Had Dean been with him at that moment, Castiel thought he might have crushed him with the sudden enormity of everything he felt for him. More than what he had said the evening before, although that for Dean had seemed to be the supreme declaration. But Castiel loved his Father, and his brothers and sisters, yet none could compare to what he would do for Dean if he asked. I think I exist for your sake.

He let the mare amble back to Dean, although he was almost tempted to take the skies to make it back more quickly. But it would naturally ruin the occasion of his return if he should leave the mare in the forest. No doubt she was capable of caring for herself, but the risk was a silly one for a few lost moments. He promised Dean and he was now utterly certain that he intended to keep that promise – he would live for him, as though there were naught else to care for. And as long as Dean were there to care for him, he swore to offer him all that he had.

It took perhaps two hours to return, and Dean had evidently been training in the interim, for he had divested himself of his shirt and was lying, sweating in the sun, in the clearing. He was less concerned than he had been this morning at Castiel's arrival, presumably comforted by the sound of hoofbeats, but he stood as they made their way back to the clearing, and waved for Castiel's return. Castiel let the mare approach Dean, but when she became diverted by an interesting looking patch of grass, he dismounted her with haste and rushed towards Dean, arms reaching forward.

Dean laughed quizzically at first, but was silenced by the press of Castiel's open-mouthed kiss against his lips, and the twist of their tongues together. A tree behind him provided the source of balance that Castiel determined they needed, and he pushed Dean up against it with careful enthusiasm, before slotting immediately to fill the gap of Dean's hip where his stomach sloped slightly inward and pressing them together.

They pulled apart a few times to smile at one another, Dean evidently aware of the success of Castiel's impromptu trip. His eyes crinkled and he smiled so wide his upper lip pulled back far above his teeth and left his pink gums on display. He ran his fingers across Castiel's face tenderly and dropped playful kisses on his nose in between the passionate ones, opening and closing his mouth in aborted platitudes, which then became small gasps as Castiel dropped his hand and began stroking Dean through his breeches in imitation of the touch he had received the night before.

There was passion there, and Castiel was aware of the simultaneous thrum of their beings with unbridled contentment beneath their skin, and the way their heartbeats seemed to sync as he mouthed at Dean's pulse point and traced his tongue there. But there was playfulness too, and a genuine delight that seemed to characterize the engagement – little laughs, nose nudges and so many smiles. There was time, and promise that passion and lack of restraint could come later. That everything could come later, and be realized over and over and over again.

Dean was a patient teacher, and when Castiel undid his breeches with uncertain fingers, he wrapped his hand around his and showed him the pace and tightness he preferred, and how Castiel could elicit gasps and keens from small touches here and there, and clever points of pressure. They kissed for the duration, even though at times Dean's lips became paralyzed by sensation, and he could only huff contentedly into Castiel's mouth, and Castiel moved his lips elsewhere. When he eventually came, he did so with his tongue deep inside Castiel's mouth, and a smile at his lips. And when Castiel withdrew to appraise Dean's flushed plump lips and sweating brow, Dean pulled their lips together as if for another kiss, but stopped short to murmur "I love you." Castiel felt the words in the movement of Dean's lips against his, and then in every kiss thereafter until they had both slid down the tree and Castiel was straddling Dean's waist, kissing him lightly while Dean rubbed small circles into the flesh of his bare hipbones where he had rucked Castiel's shirt up.

They didn't speak for much of the afternoon, apart from of mundanities. Most was spent side by side, watching the afternoon sun pass across the sky, and tracing words and shapes into the skin of one another's hands and arms until Dean fell asleep for an hour or so. When he awoke, he did so to find Castiel had packed his gear for him, and cleared their campsite, and he kissed him softly in thanks, and murmured another "I love you" into his neck.

There was little ceremony or disappointment in their farewell, except for a few kisses before Dean mounted his mare, and Castiel pressed a kiss to her neck in farewell too. He looked up to find Dean glowing at him, and was forced to support almost all of Dean's weight as he slid partially out of his saddle to press one final kiss to Castiel's lips.

"Worth it," he protested contentedly, as Castiel was forced to push him back up into his saddle and calm an irritated Impala, who was frustrated at having so childish a rider, and swatted at his backside with her tail pointlessly. Castiel shared her disdain playfully with an arch of his eyebrow and a shake of his head as Dean shrugged, unfazed.

"I'll see you on the Road on the way back. And I can try and arrange something for Winter. At least for a few weeks, once I'm back in the City."

Castiel smiled and nodded, unbothered by the prospect of a three month break during Winter when he and Dean still had so many nights together before Dean returned to the City. And the spring nights when that followed. And Summer. And years and years to follow, as long as Dean wanted them. Darkness be damned

Dean winked once and reached out to squeeze Castiel's proffered hand before he rode through the clearing, eyes confidently forward, knowing they would be laid upon Castiel again soon enough, and back towards the City.

…

They did meet every night. They were short meetings, generally, and borne mostly in silence of the vicinity of Dean's men. Until the final night, at least, when Dean felt confident, so close to Ardus, to leave the men for an hour and escort Castiel further out into the forest, where he kissed him with a week's worth of contained desire, and rutted against him until they were both naked, covered in sweat, and tingling beneath the stars. Castiel had to push Dean away from him and send him back to his men, for Dean sleepily tried to entwine them both and spend the night beneath the tree canopy, but he sent him away with a kiss and a promise that had Dean flushing bright red, and stumbling into a tree on his departure.

They agreed that Dean would be too busy within the City for the next few weeks for Castiel to bother waiting outside Aruds' Gates for him. He would have to debrief the Lord Protector, the Royals and his men on the year's activities, and there would be many celebrations at which he would be required to celebrate the year's trading. Dean suggested after that he might be able to disappear to a "brothel" for one or two nights, and they could meet outside the City walls within the first few weeks of Winter. The snows would not commence for another few weeks after that, so they could discuss how best to see one another, when Dean knew his schedule. In the meantime, Castiel could return home, and prepare for the snows, and Dean promised he would bring sufficient food supply to assist Castiel with that too, since his preparations had been rather undone over the course of the year by Dean's presence.

It took Castiel his usual three days to return home, and he was pleased to find upon his arrival that there were relatively few repairs to carry out prior to the change of season. Dean had done good work on his home over the year, and there were few leaks, and a reasonable supply of food in the interim. He was forced to disassemble Dean's bed and return the furs to his nest, in anticipation of the nights growing cold quickly, but he figured Dean would scarcely mind, since he would have campaigned to share the nest in any case.

There was little boredom in the first week alone, for Castiel had inventory to take, and tasks to plan for the Winter. There were plenty of activities he delayed for the season, and given the time he had spent with Dean during the year, there were a backlog of items to keep him busy well into the colder months. In fact, it was almost a stretch to hunt for meat as he did in the early evening, both to feed himself and the Angelus, so occupied was he in the day. The first few nights he was unsuccessful and forced to leave the feeding post unattended. In the absence of flesh, the Angelus did not attend to his cottage. He did not even hear them across the forest at night.

Things became strange on the fourth night, though, when he did manage to make a kill and left the meat on the feeding post. Still, with fresh blood in the air, there were no screams of the Angelus. Castiel barely noted that, for the silent skies meant he fell asleep quickly and contentedly. It was not until the next night, when he returned with a second kill, that he noted only flies had touched the first. He left the second kill there and smeared a little more blood around the area that night, and this time waited for the howls in the evening. Still, none came, and on the following morning, he took to the skies in search of the location of his brothers and sisters. He saw a cluster up in the mountains in late afternoon, but they were few and offered little explanation as to the location of the others. He travelled in a wide circumference across the forest with little sign of life, apart from one or two lone creatures hovering at the ground below, feasting on their own kills. Castiel knew that the Angelus were often found in close vicinity to one another, even if they did not live in packs, and the absence of so many was slightly perplexing. Still, on the third night, he left a much larger kill for their benefit and stayed to observe the post.

It was not the first time he had done so. As part of his cautious experimentation with Gabriel and Anna, years ago, they had monitored the effects of their feeding practices and had come to observe that the creatures were far more docile when a meal was on offer. Although there had been one or two incidents where the group had not observed quietly enough, in general they had found that a sated Angelus was of lesser danger than an unfed one, and had grown comfortable with those in their area, that they considered "domesticated" (although they were careful to skip around that word wherever possible).

The sky was quiet until past midnight, and while Castile heard a few rustles, none appeared until early morning, when he conceded defeat and made his way carefully and quietly back to his cottage. The path before him was dark and twisting, though he knew it well enough from so many nights here that he didn't require sight to manage it, placing his feet unconsciously, and thinking only of the warmth of his nest and the comfort of a little light to see by.

It was in that preoccupation that he missed the first signs of the fact that he was being stalked. The creature followed the rhythm of the pad of his own feet on the ground and so its movements were initially indiscernible. Its breathing was soft and in time with the gusts of winter wind that had started the blow through the night from the mountains, leaving behind traces of the temperatures that would soon follow. And so, it was not until it chose to reveal itself to him, by placing itself ahead of him on his path that he had any sentience of its presence at all.

At the sight of its shape before him, he froze and lowered himself slowly to a crouch, hoping that he might have been the first of the pair to witness their meeting. But the creature's stoic position suggested that he had not, for it did nothing to move, staying frozen in the centre of the path. As carefully as he could, Castiel brought his hand to his waist, moving it inside his fur and taking hold of his blade. He was careful not to extract it before he was required, in order that the creature would not be aggravated, but he descended carefully to a fighting stance.

Still, the creature stood still and appraised him, although it wheezed lightly in response, and the foreign sound of its presence was suddenly made clear in the silence surrounding them.

Castiel made a minute movement to back away, and follow the path he had taken back to the feeding post, in hopes of encouraging the creature there, but at the tiniest movement of his foot back across the path, the creature jolted in a threat and he froze beneath its glare.

They stared at one another for some time more, Castiel unable to make out its face in the darkness or its intentions, and unable to formulate a plan for escape that did not aggravate the creature and provoke a confrontation where it was unnecessary. The creature made that decision for him, by standing up straight on its back legs and spreading its wings. It did not make to move towards him, as he thought for a moment, causing him to draw his weapon, but instead opened its mouth in a howling screech that shook the roots of the trees around them and caused Castiel to stumble backwards slightly.

The weapon was enough to provoke the animal, and a second later it was upon him, mouth open and foul breath stinking as it clapped its jaws at him, promising him that he would be crushed beneath them should he find himself too close. He thrust out with his blade, by the creature rolled away, and used its claws to swipe at the offending arm. The grab made its mark and Castiel fought back a yell as the skin tore beneath his fur and blood rushed from the wound. He quickly moved the blade to his other hand, the first now ineffectual with the pain of the wound, and quickly thrust again, this time managing to stake one of the creature's wings and causing it to fall back. It was the only opportunity he had to make his escape, and he did so at a run, using his wings to propel himself forward to the sanctuary of the cottage. The creature writhed behind him in anger for a few moments, before correcting itself and turning to follow him, howling again, and this time provoking a responding chorus from somewhere deeper in the forest. Castiel stumbled slightly and the Angel managed to claw at one of his wings. The claws sunk deeper this time, and tore the skin at the tip in half. Deprived of the opportunity to hook itself into him by the delicate skin, the Angel fell behind for a moment, and Castiel managed to surge ahead slightly, gasping as the pain in the nerves of his wing caught up to his brain and at once sent a burn up the entirety of the wing and made it tremble uselessly.

The howls grew louder as he approached the cottage, and the Angel closed the distance between them once again. In a frantic dash, Castiel was able to make it inside the cottage, and drop a board across the doorway to buttress it before the creature made contact, ignoring the fake sigils designed as a distraction, and pounding on the wall in fury. He hurried to the kitchen and grabbed at a chair there, racing back and wedging it beneath the handle of the door. The Angelus pounded and scraped more furiously and the chair quivered beneath the strain of the force exerted upon it.

They waited out a stalemate for a minute as the Angelus struggled with the door, before it moved to the windows. They were small, designed in a way to prevent intrusion, and while the Angelus smashed its claws through the glass with ease, it was unable to breach the stone construction of the walls and returned to the door, howling in frustration. Castiel utilized the time to reach for more weapons, setting himself at the back wall of the cottage, and placing his blades beside him, arming himself with knives to throw and a bow. The sounds of other Angelus arriving in the clearing beyond his cottage, however, were enough to cause him to rethink that plan, and as a second pair of claws commenced pounding at his door, he stumbled over to his nest and wrenched a fur aside, revealing a small entrance to a cavern beneath the home. Dragging his weapons with him, he stuffed himself through, dragging on the damaged muscle of his wing, and half falling as he forgot the injury to his arm and tried to place weight on it. As he reached upwards to pull the door down above his head, a third pair of claws joined the first two, and the door burst open.

He dropped the trap in time to avoid seeing the Angelus breach the sanctuary of his home, dragging a fur back across the door in the hope of covering it from their sights. A bolt was all that existed between him and the creatures, far less strong than the door at the entrance to his cottage, but he secured it quickly anyway and leaned back from the door, drawing his blade and holding it at the ready.

This cavern was designed for circumstances such as this – as a last resort, where his only hope would be to hide from the creatures, and where attempting to fight his way out was suicide. The space was small and cramped and equipped with rotting food supplies he hadn't replaced in years, imagining (after so long undisturbed) he'd never be required to use them. In light of the fury that raged on the floorboards above him, he considered that such a lack of attendance might be his undoing.

Above him, the Angelus poured into the cottage, and tore at the walls and floor in an attempt to discern his whereabouts. He heard the shattering of his few cooking utensils as they raided the kitchen area, tearing things apart in their fury and thirst to get to him. The furniture followed as more seemed to appear enter the home, and he heard the crunch of splitting wood as they tore apart his table and chairs. There was a collective howl as they burst through into the cellar, to find him not there, which was quelled for a few minutes when they discovered his stock of remaining meat.

At first, Castiel hoped that might be the end of it – that they might be sated and leave the area, forgetting the scent of his fresh blood. And for a few minutes, when silence fell as they devoured his savings, he almost believed that to be the case. Until he heard the smell of a sharp intake of breath, and then the stuttered inhales that marked the fact that the creatures were scenting him. They prowled along the floor and the walls, attempting to discern where his scent was the strongest. That search led them to the nest easily, and they tore at his furs there, clearly enlivened by the concentrated scent of himself and Dean in the materials there. He pulled his wings around himself as tight as he could, in attempt to mask the sound of his heart pumping blood through his veins in terror and smother the smell of humanity still in his skin. It seemed enough to hide his scent sufficiently that they attributed it to the furs, for eventually they took to prowling the floor and the walls again, although their fury at having not found him manifested in boards being ripped up and rocks being torn at as they assaulted his home in anger.

It wasn't until dawn that the party departed, whistling lightly to each other, and hacking out growls. He heard them chorusing at the feeding post, and then the sound of the group departing in flight – for the volume was so significant by that stage that the flap of their wings in unison was audible even from his home. Regardless, he waited until afternoon to leave his cavern, and only then in search of supplies to manage his wounds before he descended there carefully, trying to avoid looking at the destruction around him.

In the darkness of the cavern, he stitched together his torn skin without anesthetic, and bandaged the wounds with a few ragged shreds that he had left of bandages, the rest having been rendered useless by the claws and mouths of the Angelus. Blessedly, a small bottle of antiseptic had been spared the ruin, and he was able to purge the wounds of the worst of filth before closing them, before he lay back in the cavern, eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to turn his mind to the warmth and exhilaration of Dean's embrace as tremors began to take hold of his body, and his Grace began to throb urgently within him.

…

The mood of the City had changed when Dean returned. He knew it before even the Gates were opened. Above the ramparts, the archers were stony, and none responded to his wave of greeting as he approached the City. The Gates were slow to open, and when they were, the square was silent and empty, except for a few pale-faced boys who nodded to him as he dismounted and led Impala through into the square. He requested water for her, and one of the boys nodded and departed quickly, while the others shuffled awkwardly under his witness.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

They shook their heads and departed quietly as the other returned with a pail of water, and politely inquired whether Dean would need anything else. When he shook his head, that boy scarpered too, before Dean's brain caught up with him to ask as to the whereabouts of Bobby, and why one of the boys had his circle of keys suspended from his belt.

The streets were silent as Dean lead Impala to the stables. Chuck was there, but he fended off Dean's questions with a pleading look and insisted that he hurry to his brother's chambers instead – Ruby had gone into early labor and his brother was waiting out the birth alone.

Sam was pacing in his chambers when Dean arrived, and he looked stricken when Dean appeared in the doorway, all but crumbling as his brother advanced forward and hugged him tightly.

"What's happened? Has something gone wrong with the baby?"

"No. No, I don't think so. Just early, that's all. I haven't heard anything for a little while. The cramps started this morning, but the midwife said everything was in order. Shouldn't be long now."

Dean stared at his brother for a moment before looking around the room. There was little different to account for Sam's suddenly mild attitude and his pale expression, except for the strange kind of silence which seemed evident in the room. He moved back to the doorway, closing it, but poking his head out first and noting the total absence of any kind of presence or sound in the hallway at all.

He turned back curiously, looking at his brother, who had descended to a chair and had his head in his hands. Dean moved back to him quickly and dropped to his knees, reaching for his brother's arm: "Hey Sammy, it's alright. Babies come early all the time. It's only a few weeks, nothing to be concerned about. You're going to be a father really soon."

Sam looked up sharply, eyes rimmed, not with red, but something that spoke to disaster, and there was a quiver in his lip.

"No one told you, on your way here?"

"Told me what?"

Sam gaped at him for a moment before swallowing and looking around desperately, as though someone else would take the mantle of whatever horror seemed to have stopped the City's heart.

"The whole City has disappeared! When I got here, there were only a few kids at the Gates, and Chuck told me to come straight here."

Sam's forehead creased and his breathing quickened as he watched his brother, struggling to get words out as his face began to tremble.

"They're… they're at the Church."

"What the whole City?"

Sam nodded incredulously, and fell backwards in his chair, shaking his head and shivering lightly. He reached a trembling hand to stroke at his beard, twisting at the skin as though he were angry at it, before dropping his hand and clenching it into a fist.

"The Empress and the Lord Protector… they're dead."

…

"What?!"

"Three nights ago. They both collapsed at the High Table during a banquet for the courtiers. I was there, on behalf of Ruby. Something they ate… it had been poisoned."

Dean ceased breathing momentarily and stared at his brother. For a moment, he swore his heart stopped beating. "What?"

"They have someone in custody. This kid… he can't be more than 10. They're saying he did it. That he confessed."

Dean fell backwards on his heels, until he was seated on the floor, shaking his head and bringing up a hand to cover his mouth, curled open in an expression of horror.

"I don't understand."

"We saw them fall. It was so quick. They started shaking and twitching. And then… their eyes turned black and they started frothing at the mouth. By the time the doctors appeared, they were already dead. No one else even got sick."

"But… someone tastes their food, in the kitchen. Always. A maid told me."

Sam nodded slowly, face paling.

"I know. They said it was fine. They had the cook and the taster arrested. They were set for execution before the kid came forward, saying he'd done it. The runner who delivered the food to their table."

"Why?"

Sam shook his head again.

"He says it was him, but it wasn't. He couldn't control it. And that he didn't want to kill them. He tried to stop it, but he couldn't."

Sam brought a hand to his mouth and stroked his thumb across his lips.

"When Ruby heard…Dean she's devastated. She loved the Empress. And the Princess. She's been sick for three days. And suddenly the baby is coming, the day of the funeral. We had to send for a midwife from the edge of the City – there aren't any doctors in the Palace."

Dean scrambled forward and clutched his brother's shoulder. "It's going to be alright, Sammy. Babies get born all the time, no problem. She'll be fine. I promise."

Sam leaned forward and pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "I don't even know anymore, Dean. I-"

There was a soft knock at the door and a moment later, a dark-haired, kind-looking woman poked her head through the door.

"Tessa?" Sam stood up at once and advanced urgently, "Ruby, is she..?"

Tessa smiled blandly, and nodded, reaching forward to support some of Sam's weight as he fell forwards slightly in relief.

"She and your baby are both fine. A healthy little boy." Her voice was soft, and very caring, but Sam barely seemed to register it as he nodded and fell against the wall, shaking slightly, and Dean stumbled forward to catch his brother as he began to fall backwards.

He looked to Tessa pleadingly, who seemed sympathetic, but unperturbed.

"Can we see them? I think my brother needs his wife."

Tessa nodded again and threw a cautionary glance at Sam. "Of course, follow me."

It took three attempts to pull Sam from the wall and help him stumble through the palace, up a flight of stairs to the one room which appeared to have any sign of life. Inside, a teenage girl wrung out a bloody towel in a dish of water, and a small gurgle was heard just beyond the doorframe. At the sound, Sam seemed enlivened at once, and he hurtled towards the doorway, pausing momentarily, and clinging to it desperately.

"Is he?"

Ruby's voice cracked on the other side of the door, and Sam rushed to it immediately. "Oh, my love!"

By the time Dean made it to the door, Sam had rushed to Ruby's bedside, and had her face in between both his hands. Their foreheads were pressed together tightly and Ruby was murmuring lightly against Sam's lips as he nodded, pinching his own together.

In Ruby's arms, attached firmly to her breast, was a small, wrinkled and bright red baby, eyes closed as he suckled on her lightly. He was a tiny thing, far smaller than Dean had pictured, and he seemed almost alien in his confused, weak movements.

Sam finished speaking with Ruby and looked to her arms, reaching forward lightly and running his thumb across his son's cheek, before leaning back towards Ruby and kissing her on the lips, smoothing back sweaty tendrils of hair from her face.

Tessa cleared her throat, but the couple didn't look to her, so instead she turned to Dean officiously. "He's feeding, which is good. Some take a little while to go to the breast straight after birth. And he's been looking around, so we know his head is working fine. He'll go to sleep for a few hours after this, and it would be best to make sure Ruby rests. By that stage, the Palace healers should be back and they can take care of her."

Dean nodded, although only vaguely comprehending the instructions, as he stared at the small human in Ruby's arms.

"And Ruby is fine?"

Tessa nodded and crossed her arms in front of her. "She did very well, all circumstances considering."

Dean nodded again and looked to Tessa, catching her sad smile as she watched them. "A sad day to be see one's first of the world."

"Tessa?"

Tessa looked over to see Ruby adjusting her grip around her son, who had withdrawn from her breast, and seemed to be falling asleep in her arms. Tessa moved forward and took the baby from her, cradling him against her chest for a moment before turning him to that his chin sat on her shoulder and rubbing his back lightly. Ruby smiled blearily at the child before her eyes started to droop closed and she leaned back against the pillows. Sam went to rouse her, but Tessa shook her head. "She's fine, she just needs a few minutes of rest."

Sam nodded and curled into the bed beside her, kissing her cheek as he watched the baby in Tessa's arms. Tessa passed him the child soon after, and showed him how to hold him correctly. Sam performed the task admirably, and nodded to Dean to encourage him to sit beside him and rub the base of the child's feet lightly. When tiredness overcame Sam momentarily, he passed the baby to Dean and allowed him to stroke the infant's cheeks.

"He's beautiful isn't he? As beautiful as his mother."

Dean smiled and nodded, adjusting his grip on the baby so that it curled into his chest. When Ruby woke, she looked around frantically for her child, before seeing him in Dean's arms and relaxing visibly. She leaned across her, now sleeping, husband, and pressed a small kiss to the child's forehead, but let Dean continue to hold him for a little while longer, until she asked with a polite smile whether she could have her baby back, and Dean had to stifle laughter to prevent waking the child, before passing him back to his mother's arms.

Tessa stayed, monitoring the baby, until the Palace's healers arrived, at which time they shooed her and Dean from the room unceremoniously, removing the baby for bathing and feeding by one of the Palace's wet nurses. Ruby seemed slightly perturbed by the latter, but a sharp word from the healers had her biting her tongue and Sam wrapping an arm around her to silence her and murmuring in her ear.

Tessa walked with Dean back to his cottage, en route to her own, she said, and quelled his nerves with some well-placed advice regarding child-rearing on the way: "it's always terrifying the first time, but you will be a wonderful uncle", before continuing on her path. Back at the cottage, Dean found himself in an empty room, situated in a silent city, a little unsure as to how he found himself in that circumstance, and utterly directionless in what to do in a world so changed.

Eventually he decided on eating a little and sleeping, washing only briefly before tumbling into bed and smothering his face in his pillow. He had only a little time, before sleep consumed him, in which to think of Cas, and the prospect of his elation at Sam's son having been born healthy and well.

…

2013

Greg failed to answer further phone calls the next day, or the next, although it seemed that Jessica made some kind of contact, for, from her room, the sound of an aggravated lecture occurred once or twice a day. Sam explained she was leaving "messages" for Greg, which he would hear at some other point, if he chose, and could listen to without alerting Jessica.

Jessica returned on both occasions looking irritated and prickly, and even in her attempts to control herself in their presence, her rising anger and simultaneous concern as to Greg's whereabouts became more evident.

Castiel chose not to inform her that Greg had been in contact with Bobby, although he suspected she knew, given that the way she pronounced "Mike" on recent occasions spoke to some sense of betrayal. Despite her aggravation, however, she, and the rest of the group, refrained from discussing the subject of Greg with Castiel directly, and grew awkward around him when his name did emerge in conversation.

It wasn't until the third day, when Castiel addressed the matter directly, that they conceded his existence at all, when he politely requested Sam: "Keith, may I use your phone please?"

Sam explained the mechanism of leaving a message well enough, and put the phone on "speaker" to guide Castiel through the process. As anticipated, Greg did not "pick up", as Sam put it, although Castiel was momentarily confused when he heard Greg's voice emerge through the speaker so that all of the room could hear it, requesting that they "leave a message, or whatever". Castiel swallowed nervously at the tone which Sam had explained would signal his opportunity to speak, and stuttered as he attempted the words that he had rehearsed so thoroughly.

"Greg. It is Castiel speaking… I am… I am sorry for the way in which I offended you at our last meeting… I hope that… I would appreciate it if you would return to….I have missed speaking with you. Please…if you are willing, return to this motel. I have… I have watched some more of the films which your sister recommended, and I found them greatly entertaining. I… Thank you, for…" he trailed off and allowed Sam to take the phone from him and end the discussion.

When the rest of the group had departed the room, Jess slid closer to Castiel on the couch and took his hand. "You ok, Cas?"

He nodded slightly, but said nothing.

"You and Greg, I know you're friends, but-"

She stopped as Castiel leaned forward suddenly, snatching his hand from hers and pressing his palms to his temples and grimacing. For a second, a momentary flash, he heard the ring of voices, thousands upon thousands, echoing in a space filled with millions of unfamiliar voices that Castiel was not yet acquainted with. There were rings and trills that Castiel did not know, but beneath that, in the snippet he was treated to, he heard a sound that he had not even imagined for hundreds of years – a hymn, a chorus: "Praise be to God on high", before the sound cut out sharply.

"Cas, what-"

Castiel silenced Jessica, holding up one hand as he attempted to reach for his Grace again, and force it to retain its attention to the heavenly chorus that he had just witnessed. For a moment, when he located it, he felt it hot and active, pulsing with vibrant energy, but upon his touch it recoiled and fossilized again, freezing in its action and remaining immovable.

He leaned backwards breathing in heavily, calming himself as he attempted to stroke it back to activity, but when it refused to respond, he gently withdrew and calmly opened his eyes to where Jessica, and now Sam and Bobby were watching him with concern.

"Cas, you ok?"

"Yes, I-"

He stopped as he saw the way they stared at his face, and then his shoulders, with a mixture of horror and incomprehension.

"Oh my God, Cas." Jessica gaped as she withdrew from him slowly, eyes slightly uncertain as she looked from him to Sam urgently.

"What is it?"

"Your face, it's…"

Sam leaned forward and grabbed Castiel's arm lightly, leading him to the bathroom and depositing him in front of the mirror silently. Castiel leaned forward as he stared at himself, confused for a moment as to what he was meant to be seeing, until it struck him that the fact he looked familiar was unfamiliar. The scars and disfigurement on his face were gone, and it was as it had been hundreds of years ago.

His fingers scrambled hastily to unbutton his shirt, and pulled it open to reveal fresh, pink skin, where there had been a cruel cross-hatching of scars. Jessica gasped behind him, and accidentally bumped into one of his wings as she stumbled. The thought had him pulling his wings forward and checking for deadened, ruined feathers, but instead he found only rich, thick plumage, of better quality than he ever remembered since he fell to Earth.

"Cas, what happened? Did you…?"

Jessica's voice trailed off uncertainly as she attempted to find the words to express her confusion, as Castiel turned to look at her, voice swelling with elation and promise.

"I think it may be, Jessica, that my Grace is returning."