Seagull, by Bad Company

Because I'm too nice to let you wait in suspense and also because I wanna know what you guys thinks of this: the next chapter! You shouldn't need too many tissues.

"Cas?" He called out. His head pounded, and for a moment it was nothing more than the simple desire for (nearly) human warmth, as well as an angelic hangover cure, that made him call.

There was no answer.

"Castiel?" He called a second time, his voice cracking. The realization flooded him: he's not here. And as if the swirling flood wasn't bad enough, a whirlpool formed in its wake; why?

His heart beat faster. "No, no, no." He whispered to himself. "Not gonna freak out." He walked stiffly down the empty – empty! – halls to the kitchen, where he swiftly swallowed half his stash of anti-hangover pills with a swig of whiskey. Is that ironic? He wondered. And that sent a twinge through his side, because Cas never got irony, and Cas wasn't here. He was gone.

Gone. He turned the word over in his head, staring at the blank wall. By no desire of his own, apart from some half-hope that Cas might be there, or a masochistic urge to see that he wasn't, he unconsciously turned and started to walk to the cassette room. He stared at the cassette desk. It was a dusty old thing. Some of the plastic was cracked. Bad Company, he thought. That'll calm me down. He frowned, noticing there was always a cassette in there. It was his mixtape, he noticed when he pulled it out. Wound all the way to the end. Which meant Cas had listened to the whole thing before he left. Dean mentally went through the songs they hadn't listened to together – Feels Like Love, Survivor (cheesy, but come on!), Carry On My Wayward Son, Kansas (there was something epic there, something he thought Cas might relate to), and finally, Learning to Fly, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. Cas knew what he was talking about now, that day in the woods.

Jesus. He shoved the Bad Company cassette in, and his fingers trembled as he fast-forwarded blindly, hoping for something that would ease his mind, something with minimal lyrics and a catchy guitar lick –

But of course, it was this. He closed his eyes as the sounds of the twelve-string guitar gently strummed over him, and a single tear slid down his cheek.

Don't overreact, he raged silently. There could be a thousand reasons Cas had left. Seriously. Maybe he wasn't even gone. Maybe he was outside, or was locked in some room somewhere, reading. He hadn't even looked. Maybe Cas just went out, or got bored of watching Dean sleep – that was perfectly possible, right? Maybe he was off somewhere, watching the bees.

The tear left a sticky track down his face and hung, poised, on the edge of his jaw. He wiped it away savagely before it could fall. Because Cas wasn't here, goddamnit, and he wasn't out looking at flowers, and that meant there was no one to grab his wrist and stop him from wiping his tears away, no one to tell that the tears weren't always bad. "Goddamnit," he swore. This is what happens when you love something, he thought, hollow inside. Gone, gone, gone. More tears started welling up, eager to take their companion's place. "Fuck." So Cas was gone. That was… that was fine, wasn't it? Cas had wings. He could fly wherever the hell he wanted, Dean had always told him that, from the beginning. He wasn't under any obligation to stay. He probably just got bored of Dean's mortal charms, or something, and was off on an angel safari. And if he was doing that, then there was a chance he'd come back. Right.

And that was just the kind of argument he could've convinced himself with before Cas had come to the Bunker. Before everything between them. He could've brushed it off, found himself a case and drowned the spasm of pain and worry in a waterfall of whiskey. But the things that had passed between the two of them – Cas knew he loved him, needed him, goddamnit, needed him! All those times, Cas had stayed, because they needed each other. Cas wouldn't leave, not like this, not after everything. Things had changed. He gritted his teeth.

So... once more with feeling, why?

Seagull you fly across the horizon

Into the misty morning sun

Nobody asks you where you are going

Nobody knows where you're from

Dean wrung his hands. Because if Cas hadn't left for any of the reasons Dean had already thought of, which he wouldn't, God, he couldn't, then that meant something bad had happened. Something dangerous. Which meant Cas could be dead. Fuck, he could be dead.

Desolation stole over him, icy and relentless. That wasn't… it couldn't… no. He stared up at the window, searching the blue desperately for anything, for any shred of hope hidden in the ribbons of cloud.

Hope is the thing with feathers. The phrase floated to him, for a moment unknown, and then he remembered. Emily Dickens. Cas had read it to him – said – Jesus, he'd said without it, he might not have come back to Dean. Dean gulped, tears breaking from above his eyelid and streaking down his face. Hope is the thing with feathers, he repeated, like a mantra. And abruptly, on the third time through – hope is the thing with feathers! – his heart broke. Because it was true, all too painfully accurate in ways it was never meant to be. Cas was his hope, his 'thing with feathers', those fucking beautiful wings he might never see again. Cas had dragged his sorry ass up from hell, showed him light, saved him more times than he could count, when he was gasping what he thought would be his last breath and called out to Cas – he came. Cas had showed him faith. Had showed him this aching, awful hope inside him.

With the realization, another recollection floated back to him. It was fuzzy and whiskey-tinged around the edges, from last night. "It's about free will. How do I… how do I know…"

"Jesus, Cas." He breathed. He raised a hand to wipe at his wet cheeks, and frowned. There was something on his hand. He held up his palm. In smudged, scrawled black letters, it read:

'Dean.

I will return.'

That was it. Four words, in Cas' writing. He let out a shaky laugh, and methodically cleaned the tears from his face. That was a promise. He had to believe it.

There is a man asking the question

Is this really the end of the world?

Seagull, you must have known for a long time

The shape of things to come

"I'm the man," he said dumbly, lost in the lyrics. "Asking. Cas, you better be coming back, you sonofabitch…" A sob worked its way into his throat, making his chest ache. "Why didn't you tell me you were goin'?" He asked, staring at the light beams filtering through the dust of the room, voice almost inaudibly soft.

A soft flutter of wings sounded through the room, starting up a cacophony in Dean's chest. He jumped to his feet and saw Cas, in his ugly trench-coat and all his glory, before him. Dean froze. The irrational thought that if he moved, Cas might fly away again, like a startled bird, bubbled up. Maybe it was the way Cas was leaning to one side, or how he wouldn't meet Dean's eyes, or –

Cas lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Dean, nearly clawing at him as he gripped the hunter, breath labored. Dean immediately returned the embrace, glad for how tight Cas was holding him, glad for how it made his ribs ache and he could scarcely breathe. It was real, concrete. Cas was here. Cas was back. "Fuck, Cas," Dean muttered, crushing his lips to Cas' head and burying his nose in Cas' black hair. Closing his eyes.

"Hello, Dean." Cas said, muffled against Dean's chest.

That was all it took. Dean started to cry. And found that he couldn't stop.

Now you fly, through the sky, never asking why!

And you fly, all around, till somebody

Shoots you down.

Seagull you fly across the horizon

Now he was the one clawing at Cas, clutching at his trench-coat, sobbing out, "You sonofabitch, where were you? Where were you?" Cas held him for a minute, steady, solid, so good.

Then he said, "Heaven."

The word nearly knocked Dean's tears out of him. Nearly. "Heaven? Why would you – why did you go there?" There was an edge to his voice now, a hint of that dangerous tone he used so effectively when torturing confessions out of demons. It seemed to say, Tell me, or so help me God.

Cas pulled away, slightly, blue eyes cast towards the floor.

"Cas." Dean said, his voice ragged. "Why were you in heaven, and why do you look like you came through Hell on the way back?" It was true. Cas looked pale, and upon closer inspection, he was shaking.

"I went to confess my sins and be put on trial for them."

"You what?!" Dean hissed, grabbing Cas by the lapels of his trench-coat, hauling him closer and holding him on his tiptoes. He opened his mouth to say more, to yell at Cas, punch him maybe, but instead he just pressed his lips closed, withholding a sob.

"It's not what you think," Cas managed, staring into the fiery depths of Dean's eyes. "Dean," he sighed wearily. Dean unclenched his fists. Let Cas go.

"Sit," he said numbly, gesturing towards the chair. Cas ignored it and sank to the floor instead, suddenly overcome. Dean was only a moment in sliding down beside him. Letting their shoulders touch.

"I'll admit," Cas said haltingly. "That I was considering this action when I first came here. When you found me that day. At the time, it would've been a suicide mission, lying across the divine train-tracks. You showed me something better – not only the ways of humanity, but your ways, which I became…" Cas trailed off. "Rather pleasurably enraptured by." In spite of everything, Dean's lips twitched up into half a smile. "I started thinking, though. Maybe it was when you asked me if I missed it, our essences mixing together, in a way which ordinarily they can only do on the metaphysical planes – Heaven and Hell, not Earth or Purgatory. Maybe it was before that. It made me think just how much I would lose of you, when you…" Castiel steeled himself. "Died."

"That was why you agreed to do it," Dean realized. "In the Garden. You thought you might never have a chance to again."

"I wanted you to know what it felt like," Cas confessed. "That was probably selfish. But I…" his mouth curled into a small smile. "I wouldn't change it. Anyway, I began to wonder if my motivation for putting myself before the angels before was wrong, but if perhaps the action itself was the right one."

Dean closed his eyes. "How in holy hell are you still alive?"

Into the misty morning sun

Nobody asks you where you are going

Nobody knows where you're from

Now you fly through the sky, never asking why!

And you fly all around, till somebody

Shoots you down

"I went before them. I asked for a trial. Some of them wanted to kill me outright, but the majority were fair. That surprised me. I confessed my transgressions, in every last detail. Every angel I had killed, and why. The things I had done on Earth. After it was all said and done, many still wished me dead. And then someone stepped forward. It was Joshua," Cas said, smiling and shaking his head. "Come out of his garden to hear me speak. He asked me why I had laid myself at their mercy, and pointed out that such an action in itself showed the desire for forgiveness."

"Joshua. The dude from the Garden?" Dean asked.

"Yes. Do you know he built that Greenhouse, Dean? Our Garden? He designed it to give faith to lost souls. He is a good brother." Cas looked at his hands for a moment before continuing. "I told them what I could – explained it, to the best of my ability…" he trailed off. "I only got two words out."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, feeling his pulse beat in his throat.

"Dean Winchester." Cas said. "Joshua, and a few others spoke out in my favor. They were few, but I… I hadn't expected any. Others claimed that for an angel to love a human was blasphemy and that I ought to be punished for it. Eventually, the sides came to a compromise. I was to serve a sentence, as it were, and be stripped of certain things."

"Things, Cas? What things?" Dean asked, searching Cas' face wildly for any clue. He resolutely tried to ignore the idea that Cas had done this for him, because that would just be another time he endangered Cas' life.

Seagull, you fly

Seagull, you fly away

And you fly away today

And you fly away tomorrow

And you fly, away

Leave me to my sorrow

"They took my ability to kill using my grace. I'll be less useful on hunts.." Dean shook his head, hoping to reassure Cas with the gesture. Cas continued. "My ability to hear angel radio, to time travel, a few other things. I can still fly, and heal, and hear prayers. Taking those would have been… I would no longer have had any claim to the title of angel. I can pass into Heaven, but only through Joshua's Garden, and I can never return there permanently, with the other angels. I am forbidden for seeking direct contact with other angels, but not from returning it. If I interfere with their plans in any way, I will be put to death. If I transgress in any way…" Cas waved a hand. "That's not of import. If I have to stop them doing something, it will be important enough the consequences won't matter."

"There's more," Dean said.

"Yes. When angels die, their essence returns to Heaven, not as a being exactly, but the energy which was contained in their grace fuels Heaven. Mixes with divinity. They're not meant to have any retained sense of consciousness. When I die, the energy from my Grace will spread through Earth. My being, my consciousness, will be reduced to essentially a human soul. The fate of that will be decided by a further Tribunal – heaven, hell, perhaps even Purgatory. They thought that was a punishment," Cas laughed, tilting his head up to gaze at the ceiling. "They thought that having my grace spread through the earth, the trees, the flowers, that that would be a waste of a seraph. And to reduce my essence to a human soul, instead of the vast, expansive, celestial scope – they thought they were shedding dishonor on me." Dean blinked. "I suppose, from their point of view, they are."

"You're saying that, when you die, your soul or whatever, will go up to heaven?" Dean asked, voice trembling with hope, that wonderful, terrible, thing with feathers.

"Possibly. Assuming they don't decide better of it." Cas said.

"With… me?" Dean asked.

Cas looked over at him, eyes flashing, and said unequivocally, "Yes." The lump in Dean's throat dissipated. "I've been directed to spend my time on Earth hunting demons and monsters. Doing their dirty work, I suppose. For the rest of my, nearly eternal life, they told me I must wander like Cain did, slaying evil where I find it."

A furrow appeared in Dean's brow. "They want you as like, a rogue hunter or something? After they took away your ability to kill using your mojo? Are you sure you… I mean, signing up for thousands upon thousands of years of this?"

Cas regarded him steadily. "I suppose they thought that was… ironic." Dean almost laughed. "And yes. Dean, I don't regret anything I did today. I was judged by my brothers and sisters and some spoke in my defense. I was granted a far better punishment than I could have hoped for, and at the end of everything, I will find you waiting. Not even dying an aeon of deaths could turn me away from that." Cas didn't meet Dean's eye when he said that last part.

"Cas?" Dean asked.

Cas stared at where their knees brushed. "They made me relive every death I had ever caused. It took a long time."

Blank, glassy shock before murderous hot rage. "They tortured you. As penance."

Cas looked firmly up into his eyes. "Dean. It was justice. For all the people I've killed. It was hell, absolute hell, which I caused, unjustly, by doing the wrong things. I kept wondering if perhaps you would come and pull me from my private hell – and I – I remembered that I had promised to return. At the end of it… Now… I feel… absolution." Cas' eyes were open and honest and yes, they had the tinge of death and pain in them, but there was also something stronger there.

"You're telling me that today you risked your life, signed up to be a hunter for the rest of your life, and died thousands of time, all because of-"

Cas silenced him with a stony glare. "Dean. You may not understand now, but what I did – it was the right thing. I have finally paid for the death and destruction I caused. I have been judged by my brethren and I – I have not been found wanting. The punishment was not an injust one."

Dean dropped his gaze. In the face of all of it, he couldn't be angry. Maybe at the angels, but not at Cas. "You were brave," he said hoarsely, resting his head on Cas' shoulder. "So brave."

"There's… there's one more thing."

"Yeah?" Dean scarcely dared to open his eyes.

A crackle of electricity forces him to. He blinked. Black wings unfurled and wrapped around him. Black? "Cas, what-"

"They changed the color of my wings to… mark me. As different." Dean swallowed, another swell of anger at the heavenly dickbags with wings washing over him. Dean ran his fingers over the shining, ebony feathers instead. Cas didn't need an outburst of anger.

"They're beautiful, Cas." He said firmly, and saw Cas relax imperceptibly. "You're not any different to me."

"Thank you," Cas said, voice low.

It was all quiet. Then, in barely more than a whisper, "Why didn't you tell me you were going?"

Cas sighed, and rested his head on Dean's. The answer hit Dean right in the core of him and still, he couldn't be angry. Could only watch as Cas stopped him from wiping his own tears away. "Because I couldn't bear for you to try to stop me, and I couldn't bear to stay only to eventually slip away."

Seagull, go on and fly

Fly to your tomorrow

And leave me to my sorrow, I.