September, 2011
He showed up in Castiel's office without warning. Just opened the door, walked right in, and there was his past, standing right in front of him.
"Uriel," he ground out. "What are you doing here?"
"It's simple, Castiel. We want you back. Raphael has been looking for you for some time. We want you to command your old garrison."
"Anna won't take too kindly to that, I'm sure."
"Anael has fallen. She is not of your concern." Uriel smiled. "I know you miss it, Castiel. The battle calls to you. You miss having orders to follow. You always were so obedient before this mess with the Winchesters."
"I'm not going back, and I will ask you once and only once to leave." Castiel didn't show his fear, but it was a very bad sign that they'd found him. They were dangerous. Perhaps not to him, but to Dean and to Sam, and he couldn't bear it.
"Think about it. Before we have to get persuasive." Castiel knew exactly what he meant by that, and it was enough to raise goosebumps.
After Uriel left, the feeling of despair stayed.
Three Weeks Later
Dean was at work, one of the mornings Castiel had off, when he liked to sleep in a little, shower long enough to relax just a little (he needed it these days), and spend time with his coffee. He was just pouring it into his cup when he heard the voice behind him.
"Isn't this domestic? He really has you well-trained, doesn't he?" Castiel turned, shoulders stiffening in fear. Raphael himself. Very, very bad sign. "Pity. We'll have to cure you of your laziness."
"Raphael, what brings you?" The commander's eyes were fierce, bright. Castiel knew that he could be killed in under a minute by the man.
"It's been a long time, brother. We've lost so many of our family. Some by your hand, some by the Winchesters, some by others. Our numbers are dwindling. This is my formal offer to come back and rejoin the ranks. I suggest you take it freely."
"And if I refuse?" Raphael gave him a look that was sure to bring a weaker man to tremble.
"I would highly recommend that you don't."
Castiel tilted his chin up in a gesture of defiance, something he'd learned from Dean. "If you kill me, you won't have me on your side. You aren't thinking this through."
"Oh, I won't kill you, Castiel. I'll kill that Winchester right in front of you."
"If you do so, I won't stop until I've killed you. I will destroy anyone you send for Dean."
"I'm well aware of your weakness for him. That would be why he won't be the first Winchester to die. Sam will go first, and Dean will watch. He will know full well that it was your doing. Then, I will kill him."
"You aren't the only ArchAngel in San Francisco, and you'll face him, too, if you kill Sam. We will end you."
"You think I haven't been keeping tabs on Gabriel? I am not a fool. He's grown soft, weak. He will die as well. Understand, Castiel, that I will not hesitate to kill everyone you know, and slowly. Even if you manage to retain the strength of will to fight me after I kill them, they will still be gone. Dean will be dead, and he will die hating you. Can you bear it? You have such a weak heart; I don't think you can. But you don't have to. Join me, and you will not have to worry for their safety. I can have them protected, even. All you have to do is say yes."
"Yes," Castiel said after a moment. He couldn't live if Dean were to die; it was the only option.
"You have three weeks. Meet here." He passed a slip of paper to him, and when Castiel looked up from it, Raphael was gone, and Castiel was alone, as he would be soon.
It wasn't a choice at all, and that was the problem. Dean didn't understand the concept of not having a choice. He was too free, too defiant, and Castiel knew for certain that if he explained it to Dean, he would claim that he could take care of himself and Sam and that Castiel was insane for not fighting back. There were times, however, when one had to examine the battlefield and choose not to fight until they had the upper hand. Castiel just needed to get that upper hand.
That was why he called the one person who he could drag into the mess without worrying for their safety, someone who knew the tricky ground he was walking when it came to the angels. Someone who, hopefully, might know how to fight back, underhanded as it might be.
Crowley answered on the third ring.
Three Weeks Later
Procrastinating was both accidental and inevitable. It wasn't as if Castiel was excited about the prospect of easing the separation for Dean. Crowley's plan would take at least three years to complete, and Castiel did not have the heart to make Dean wonder after him about how it was progressing or when he'd come home. Better yet, it was very likely that there was be surveillance on him, and if Castiel breathed a word of the plan, it would crumble. Dean couldn't know. To tell him would be to forfeit his life. The best he could do was to make it easier for him.
Something Castiel had noticed right away on meeting Dean Winchester was his incredible capacity for both love and hate. His love for Sam was unwavering, unconditional, and his hate for anyone that had threatened them was equally as devoted. Castiel knew that the quickest way to make Dean hate him was to threaten Sam, but he knew he had to make it out of the apartment alive, which, despite his strength, he quite possibly wouldn't if he did so.
If what Sam and Gabriel had said countless times was anything to go by, Dean cared for him. Platonically (Sam and Gabriel would argue against this, but Castiel couldn't even comprehend the idea of Dean returning his feelings), but it was a strong, profound bond that they shared. If Castiel himself could hurt him emotionally, directly, it would no doubt be enough to make Dean hate him, which would make the whole business easier. Then, in three years, when the plan was complete and a good portion of Dean's hate wore off, Castiel would explain everything, and they would be able to pick up where they left off, if not for a few hiccups.
It took him half an hour to steel himself enough to actually go through with it.
"I'm leaving," he said, glad the words didn't sound as horrible as they tasted.
"You don't have work until tomorrow." Oh, that look of confusion was almost too much. Castiel didn't think he'd have to explain so much. He'd hoped not.
A lead weight in his chest, he forced his mouth to pronounce: "No, I'm leaving you, Dean. I'm leaving you." The way Dean crumpled made Castiel inhale sharply and nearly take it all back, tell him everything. But he couldn't. It was for Dean. He had to do it for Dean.
For some strange reason, Dean pinched himself and began looking around the room wildly. He looked like he was fraying at the seams. Castiel could hardly bear it.
"I have to do this, Dean," he said, hoping it might be the last thing he had to say.
"Bullshit." That was not quite what he had expected, but he should have. Defiance. It was there, the tilt of his chin, the challenge, and soon, the anger. That was what he needed. That was the response that would save them both. Anger. Rage. "What the fuck are you talking about? Cause it isn't funny."
Castiel forced himself to be a little casual, like it was something he was comfortable with. "I've packed. I'm leaving. It isn't up for discussion, but I thought I'd tell you in person."
Dean grabbed him by the shirt. "What the fuck? No. Why? Why the actual fuck would you pull something like this?" He was too desperate. The anger was gone. No, he needed it back, he needed the rage if they were ever to get through it whole. There was only one thing to do - direct assault. Destroy his character, break him down with words. That had to bring the rage back.
"You. Because of you. I can't take it anymore. You're using me because you're lazy and you don't want to find someone who might love you, so you use me. You won't let me have normal relationships. You don't want me to be happy. I'm done. I'm out." The frightening thing was, some of it was actually vaguely true. It wasn't healthy for them to stay together, not with Castiel barely able to see past the ache in his chest when he saw Dean, that knowledge that he loved him more than he cared to admit ever, and Dean would never, as long as they lived, feel the same. The closest he could come was making it impossible for Castiel to be happy with others. It was a recipe for destruction.
"No. No, you can't do this." Stop breaking in front of me, Castiel wanted to say. Snap back, fight back, just stop breaking. He couldn't handle it.
"I can and I am. I'm not some toy, Dean. You can't just throw me away when you're bored. I have my own life, and at least where I used to be, I had respect. Honestly, I was better off under Raphael." There it was, the hint that he would go back to a life he hated more than anything to escape him. That had to be enough.
Dean threw his weight against him, getting him against the wall, and Castiel just let it happen because he couldn't bring himself to fight back. Not when he deserved it. Dean was grabbing at his shirt, his own shirt (Castiel had thought it might hurt him more to see it on him when he was leaving). Their faces were just so impossibly close, and for a thrilling, breathless moment, Castiel thought Dean might kiss him, like he did long ago, on a hotel couch, when he fooled him, just for a few seconds, into thinking that Dean wanted him too. If he did it, Castiel wouldn't have been able to go through with it. One kiss, and the whole plan would go up in flames. He'd take Dean and Sam and Gabriel too and they'd run, fast and far, and just keep running. They'd be caught and killed, and all for the price of a kiss.
The kiss didn't come, not yet, because suddenly, those lips that Castiel still half-remembered the feel of were moving.
"Don't leave me, alright? Look, I can make it right, just don't leave me, not for them. Please. I'll do anything, okay? I can't-I just can't let you go." They couldn't be so close. It was tearing Castiel apart, the hint of the one thing he wanted, how it was about to ruin the one thing he needed, that being, Dean, alive. He couldn't let it happen, had to break him down a little more, and maybe Dean might turn angry again, not this.
"I can't stand you. I don't like you. You're just an immature boy who forgot to grow up. You're so desperate for someone to cling to, you'll take anyone. Sam. Myself. Bobby. You need someone to define who you are, and I can't be that for you anymore. You've made it so that you're my only option to be happy, but I'm a distant second for you. Sam will always come first, no matter how many times he's let you down, and you've never even witnessed what I've done for you. I just can't do it anymore." It felt, to Castiel, like he was actually telling the truth about himself at times, and the whole mess was all sorts of wrong. Castiel was feeling the worst nausea he'd felt since the morning he married the man whose heart he was breaking.
"That's not true! Sam needs me. You don't need me. It's different, I swear. Just stay."
"Dean Winchester, I loathe you.-" lovelovelove, why couldn't he just tell the truth? "-The last thing I want is to stay here another second. I'm leaving. I'm gone. Accept it." Cas pushed him away gently, tenderly, afraid he might break him, fetched his luggage from his room, wishing he were in a dream.
But there was Dean, looking so broken and hollow, just one touch would make him fall into dust. It was that one touch that Castiel knew he needed to make it work, and that was what would kill him, too.
Castiel poured every feeling he'd never felt for Dean into what he knew would have to be his last look at him. "This is pathetic."
"Come on, Cas, we can fix this." Dean had to see that his eyes were a second away from leaking, given the burn, and Castiel nearly lost it when he saw a single tear roll down his face. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Where was the anger? The hate? Anything but this. He couldn't handle Dean's sorrow.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "It's not broken; it's just gone. There's nothing to fix. Go indulge in some self-pity; I know you're longing to." How his feet managed to carry him across the threshold, he had no idea, seeing as all he wanted was to stay, but he couldn't hurt Dean like that, couldn't let him hurt physically, so he left.
At the curb of the apartment building, he sent a text message to Crowley. It's done.
It was, and Castiel was, too.
The thing about being a soldier was that it wasn't always a full-time job. As leader of his garrison, he was the one who received the orders first, so he knew when they'd be occupied and he had easy access to transportation.
It was four months before he went back to San Francisco, enough time to ingratiate himself with his new boss and begin to line up the dominoes Crowley had given him. Crowley was not a good man, hardly trustworthy, but they had similar goals, and he was more than able to have men keeping tabs on Dean for him.
When Castiel landed, he was given a location and a car, and in the end, he spent seven hours outside of Lisa Braeden's house. He saw Dean playing with the boy, some sport (he didn't know them well enough to differentiate), and Dean was smiling. He watched them eat dinner, a dinner that Dean helped cook, and still, he was smiling. He watched Dean make love to the woman in her bed, watched her have Dean the way he never would, and it hurt, all of it hurt.
Castiel watched them for a week. The troubling thing was that their Dean was not the Dean Castiel had known. He was a little too carefree, a little too eager, and too in-control. When Dean and the woman made love, he was above her, or he was in control of their motion. He was afraid, Castiel saw, when they moved together in her bed. He was afraid of her because if he let her be the one to set the pace, she would have power over him, and he didn't trust her enough for that yet. It was written all over his face, the careful, determined fear. It wasn't that he wasn't treating her well because, from what Castiel could tell, she was more than enjoying herself, but she didn't have him.
(Castiel had had him. Dean had said it himself that if they had copulated, he would be on the receiving end. It meant Dean had trusted him, and he had. Castiel was the only one alive who knew the extent of Dean's issues with intimacy, and that woman would never come close. She would never be able to have all of him.)
It seemed as if Dean was perfectly fine, however, even if he was perhaps too happy. Maybe he had just never been as happy with Castiel. Maybe that was it. Or maybe he was just faking for these people where he'd never faked it with him.
Thoughts like those made him feel as if he were retching from the base of his soul.
Castiel would visit every few months. Every time, he'd watch Dean, and Dean would be happy. A few times, he'd find Dean waking up from a nightmare, but the woman didn't comfort him as well as Castiel could because she didn't know how. Sometimes, Dean would just drink, and he wouldn't know why. He drank until he looked miserable, and then seemed to wallow in it. Castiel wanted to ask him what he was thinking, but he couldn't, he never could. He had to give up on loving him until it was safe.
Crowely had been wrong, after all. Things moved much faster than he'd thought. Castiel himself was enough to spark an insurgency amongst the ranks. Angels would come to him, would whisper to him in the dark, to ask what it was like, being free. His second-in-command, Rachael, warned him against it. She cared for him, enough to want him to protect himself by keeping his mouth closed, but he told those who would listen that the point of life was not to follow orders, but to choose. Some paid attention, some would not, but at times, it hardly mattered. Sometimes his words tasted bitter in his mouth because he knew that to choose sometimes meant to choose wrong, sometimes on purpose, or to choose right, even if it meant to hurt.
He let his words spread across the ranks in whispers, fly across sands and tundra and jungles and rivers and mountains and cities. It worried him, how fast the idea was spreading, for Raphael was vigilant and would learn soon that his brothers and sisters were beginning to think and to question, and the one name common to their lips was Castiel.
There was danger in it, and there was victory. Every now and then, a small group, no more than three or four, of those most loyal to Raphael might go missing in Sudan, or North Korea, or Cuba, and the whispers would turn smug and proud. But he never wanted to kill, and they didn't understand that because they were all killers. Castiel had ached each time he'd killed a brother, he still ached for them. That their private war meant they had to kill their own filled him with rage, with righteous anger, that this was what they were pushed to. He knew they would have freedom, and soon, but not until after their hands were soaked in the blood of their kin.
Castiel saw the ring on Lisa Braeden's finger too late. His first thought was that she was being unfaithful to Dean, but he quickly realized the truth. Dean wasn't supposed to move on that much. Not when power was shifting so rapidly, Castiel could taste the victory, just months, just a few months, and he'd be able to come home. But it seemed Dean was finding a new home, even if once, he'd found Dean lying in his bed back at their own apartment, oblivious to the dust in Castiel's room, lying there like maybe he missed Castiel, too. If it weren't for the ring, Castiel might have believed it, but before he could become too immersed in the weight of his sorrow, he was called away again.
In Castiel's hour of glory, he felt leaden. They were so close, it was as if time were pulling him backwards, dragging him away from the last thing he needed to do. Rachael was by his side, and they were in Somalia, their backs pressed against the rear wall of the large house Raphael was using as his command center. Castiel had some of his own men inside, though he wasn't sure how many, and they would ease his and Rachael's passage inwards to Raphael's inner chamber.
It took half an hour, a good chunk of it spent hiding, before they were at the right door. Staring at the wood, Castiel heard Crowley's words in his mind. If you cut the head off the snake, the rest will follow. This was what they needed. It was so simple. All Castiel had to do was kill Raphael, and it would be over with. The ranks would fall in line behind him, and he would set them free. Simple.
He was not prepared for what he saw when he flung open the door.
Raphael behind a large desk, as expected, but his guest's presence was something of an enigma.
"Really, it's a bloody sauna in this country. I suppose you mouth-breathers could use that as an excuse for your complete lack of subtlety. A prancing moose could have got the drop on us better." Crowley's eyes flashed, like he was enjoying a private joke. Castiel supposed he was, considering his obvious betrayal.
"You're right on time; I've just had a very enlightening conversation with my new friend," Raphael said calmly, sipping an iced beverage.
Without moving obviously, Castiel pressed a button inside his jacket cuff. "I feel I should be more surprised at this turn of events," he said casually. His hand went to the small of Rachael's back, giving her the signal. They had five minutes to leave before the place went up in flames. Five minutes to make sure Raphael stayed behind.
Raphael leaned forward in his seat. "I hope you didn't think you were getting away with anything. I've been aware of you for months, Castiel. It was perhaps the most ill-thought-out plan I've been witness to. You should be ashamed." Castiel stared at him hard. "I'm going to destroy you, you know. You're rather more of a nuisance than I'm going to let live." Castiel fought the urge to look around. They needed to get out, and soon. There was a flashbomb in his pocket, but it would be difficult to get to and still retain the element of surprise.
Raphael stood and walked over to them. He was certainly taller that Castiel, but it wasn't his height that was intimidating. It was his eyes. He had the most hateful eyes Castiel had been on the receiving end of.
"You have no power here, Castiel. You are nothing." Raphael smirked.
Rachael threw herself into him bodily, shouting something Castiel took to mean "Now", and he threw the flashbomb, covering his eyes with an arm. A split second later, he drew it away, finding Raphael and Rachael grappling blindly on the floor.
"Run," she hissed when he tried to pull her away. "I'll hold him."
"No. Come on. I'll seal the door behind us. I'm not leaving you behind." He pulled her up by the shoulder, helped her to her feet, and guided her from the room. Outside, he shut the doors and wrapped Kevlar rope around the handles, tying it off tight so there'd be no out for Raphael unless he happened up on an axe or an automatic weapon. "I'll guide you," Castiel said, taking Rachael by the arm and leading her quickly as possible to the exit. The had to clear a certain area to escape the blast radius, and their time was quickly running out.
Down the stairs, through hallways, he pulled her along as quickly as he could, breathing a sigh of relief when they hit the back door of the house and an open field behind it.
"Run," he commanded, breaking into a sprint, hand wrapped around hers, keeping her behind. Their feet pounded the uneven ground, knees lifting high to avoid tripping, the way they were trained. They sprinted like machines, not acknowledging their burning lungs or legs. They ran and ran and ran until Castiel was sure they were more than far enough away. He slowed to a stop, panting, and turned around to watch.
A few seconds later, the house burst from its foundations, flames spreading hundreds of feet in every direction. The sound of the explosion was a physical thing, and a few seconds after the blast, he felt a puff of air on his face.
Minutes later, a helicopter rose, only to combust from within. Castiel had planned ahead when making his back-up plan - several trucks in the area were wired with explosives as well, and would be going off in the next few minutes. There was no way Raphael could possibly survive. It was a weight off his chest and shoulders, the end of an era.
Castiel pulled out his radio. "Barachiel, do you copy?" Static for a second, then,
"Here. Over." More static. "Is it done?"
"It's done." He relayed their coordinates, specifying that a medical officer be on the helicopter. Rachael was still blind and probably partially deaf. She should fully come to her senses within the hour, but he wanted to be sure. She nearly gave her life for him, and that was not something he took lightly.
In the end, when it was time for Castiel to go home again, when the date on his watch was nearing the day he'd seen Dean and Lisa Braeden set aside for the wedding, it was Rachael he took with him. Theoretically, with the entire force falling into anarchy, he should have left his second-in-command behind to be sure that World War III was not begun while he was away, but he wanted her to come with him. She was the only one of his brothers and sisters he considered to be a friend. Not a logical decision, but an emotional one. Dean would appreciate that.
Castiel had told her all about Dean months before. In fact, she was the only one he'd trusted with the secret of where he went when they finished each mission. She didn't understand love the way he did, in the practical sense, and not hardly in any other sense, but he'd introduced a little humanity with a few DVDs he picked up in London and Paris, a little education on love. It had taken her some time to understand what the feeling meant, what it meant Castiel would do for Dean (that being anything) and how that affected everything Castiel did. She thought he was eccentric for marrying him, a normal man, not just in theory, but when he was convinced that Dean could never return his feelings. No, she didn't understand fully, but she knew him better than any other he'd spoken to since Dean, and he needed support if he was going to watch Dean marry a woman.
The decision was made accidentally, as by the time their plane landed in Kansas and they'd made it to Lawrence, it was late at night and the wedding was in the morning. Castiel found a motel so that he and Rachael could get the first sleep they'd had in thirty hours. He'd had the good sense to call Sam at the airport before he'd left Rome, just to gather a little information on when and where the ceremony would take place. Sam, thank goodness, had accepted his admission that there had been blackmail involved in his sudden departure and a promise to explain in detail later and had told him what he needed to know.
Rachael came with him to the wedding, and they'd entered the church after most of the crowd, hanging in the back, out of sight. Castiel pointed out Dean at the altar.
"He's very good-looking. I can understand why you're infatuated with him."
"He is. And he's more."
"He looks afraid. Are you certain he's as eager as you say?"
Castiel watched Dean shift, look at Sam, shift again. "It's possible he is less than enthusiastic, but he was nervous when I married him. To be honest, I have no idea what that means."
"You don't want him to go through with this, do you?"
"Of course not, but if it will make him happy, then I have no choice."
"You always have a choice. You taught me that." She held something out to him. A folder. He opened it, seeing a marriage license that he definitely remembered signing. How she'd come by it, he had no idea, but Rachael was resourceful.
"Thank you." What he would do with it was not a decision he'd made, but he held onto it.
The wedding march began to play, and Lisa emerged through the doors. She looked beautiful, and perhaps Castiel resented her for that a little. She was lovely and she had the life Dean wanted to be a part of. A life where Castiel was not even a thought.
"They have a point in weddings where they ask for objections, correct? A person who loves one of those to be married objects so that they may be happy together. That was what I gathered from the movies."
"Sometimes, I think. We omitted it in our nuptials. They might do the same."
"If they don't, you should voice your objection." He looked at her sharply. "You love him. Legally, he's yours. You have more claim to him than her. It makes sense that you would object."
He considered it. "I suppose I will." But even if things were to proceed in the best possible way, there would still be loose ends to take care of. "If he will take me, will you assume command?"
"If that is what you wish."
"Wish me luck," he said softly, even though he knew she would not understand the phrase. Then, in a louder voice, he said clearly, "I have an objection."
After Lisa had left him alone in the sacristy, Castiel went on a quiet mission to find Sam. He needed an ambassador to talk to Dean, it seemed, as he'd finally progressed into the angry phase. That did not bode well. He was supposed to have passed through that phase a year earlier. Castiel had counted on him to have "cooled his heels" so that maybe they could converse. It seemed very unlikely that he'd be able to have a civilized conversation with him. On top of that, there was the fact that, despite everything, he didn't dislike Lisa. She was far more polite to him than he would have been in her shoes. Where Dean was concerned, he was not fond of sharing, and hearing about someone else would have driven him mad, the way Lisa did. She'd surprised him.
Finally, he spotted the taller Winchester brother. "Sam! I've been looking for you." Sam turned abruptly, then rushed to him.
"Cas! Jesus! What happened in there? I heard the wedding is off."
"It is. Lisa has decided that she needs time to process and has instructed me to talk to him." Rachael sidled up to them.
"I had not expected Dean to run. Is this not the part where you embrace amorously and kiss to swirling music?" she said, and for a second Castiel realized how Dean must have felt about him on occasion. The feeling of seeing someone without a grasp on the differences between fictionalized life and real life. It was very nearly surreal.
"That's only in the movies. Real life is often far more disappointing," he told her, then turned to Sam and Gabriel, who'd just joined them. "Sam, this is Rachael. She is my second in command. Rachael, this is Sam Winchester and perhaps you will remember Gabriel?" She tilted her head at Gabriel for a moment.
"Your cheekbones and chin are different from how they were when you were last with us, as well as your hairline. You've aged. I think I remember you being taller."
"You were a kid; of course I was taller," he snapped. "Not that I didn't adjust my height a little after leaving." Sam looked at him, surprised. "I was 5'10" when I left. They'd be looking for someone between 5'10" and 6 foot. I settled for 5'8". Much safer."
"This is all very informative," Castiel said with a sense of urgency, "but I need to ask: Sam, will you talk to Dean on my behalf? I need to converse with him. I have a lot to explain."
"I'll talk to him. Here, let us go find him. We're staying at the Claremont, downtown. His room is 531. He'll be there sometime tonight, just let me go find him and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." Sam wrapped his hand around Gabriel's shoulder, starting to steer him in the direction of the exit.
"Thank you."
"No, thank you. I was starting to worry you'd never come back." He offered a smile to Rachael. "It was nice meeting you." They walked away, and Rachael looked at him curiously.
"Are they having intercourse?"
"Yes, though you shouldn't say such things in a church, I have been told."
"They make an interesting couple."
Cas smiled a little, thinking about it. "You haven't even seen much of them yet." He glanced around. "Come on. We should pay a visit to the Claremont."
Greetings, readers!
I'd like to thank you for hanging in there thus far. It means so much to me that people have been reading, and I especially thank you if you've dropped a review to tell me what you think! I love all of you!
Story-wise, you have about seven chapters to go, I think. There's some ups and downs ahead, to be sure. You haven't quite seen the last of Lisa yet, and there's some twists and turns. I hope you plan to keep reading! :)