In the Angel's estimation, the motel room was barely habitable for human beings.
The colorful but faded floral wallpaper was a relic from this reality's 1970's, and the tiny, round-screened television with the rabbit ears seemed to be even older. The wood of the ubiquitous and apparently functionless half-wall room partition was marred with a million tiny scratches. The carpeting had worn through in one spot, and the manager's solution had been to cover that spot with the creaky bed frame with its sagging mattress, threadbare sheets and harborage of bed bugs (which the Angel had standing orders from his Master to destroy wherever he found them, and which he had thus promptly eradicated).
Dean noticed none of it. He never did. He could have asked his Angel to do any number of things to improve the place, from fixing the shower pressure in the bathroom to eliminating the air freshener dressed mildew near the imperfectly sealed window. But motels didn't bother Dean and it never seemed to occur to him to use his Angel for something so trivial as fixing the squeak in the bed springs.
Truth be told, Castiel appreciated that. It was his greatest assurance that he belonged to a man worthy of his respect, one who would not force him to bear witness to atrocities, or to commit them himself. He could hardly credit the transforming of a single beaten down Angel into a dog as an atrocity, especially not in this reality, where things most heinous seemed to be considered mundane.
Unspeakable acts were done in the rooms adjacent to theirs, some with consent and others without, not all of them sexual in nature, but enough to make Castiel squirm, for that whole aspect of humanity made him feel unclean in his essence whenever he was exposed to it. He never would get used to it, though an Angel could hardly spend a day in the presence of a human without being exposed to such things, even in his own reality. But at least at home it was a relatively clean thing. In this reality, it often seemed to take on an animal aspect, or even (unsurprisingly) a violent one.
Of course, this didn't bother Dean either.
When the trail had inevitably gone cold after Wisconsin, they'd spent a couple of days just cruising around, trying to come up with ideas, and it was during an idle stop to pick up the essentials of road travel that Dean had discovered dirty magazines. He was thrilled, much to Castiel's dismay. He'd picked up over a dozen of them since, saying that he had to make a collection to take back with him, since he had no plans to ever return to this reality. Castiel felt certain that in that direction lay Corruption, and he wanted all the more to get out of here, sooner rather than later.
But, of course, they couldn't go without Sam and Luke. Frustrated by the lack of progress in finding Sam, Dean had decided abruptly to take the day off. At least, that was the excuse he gave. Personally, Castiel was convinced it was because he'd discovered pay-per-view.
At least in a motel room there weren't any people around to stare at Castiel and ask him idiot questions or try to take a piece of him as a souvenir or, worse, destroy him using primitive mortal weapons that wouldn't have bothered a ghost never mind an Angel. He was in no danger from such people, and it was a simple enough matter to wipe their memory of him, but it was still a tiresome thing, and anyway it made him uncomfortable.
"Castiel..." the expected voice at long last, an Angel voice, the only one that would address him specifically, for it was the only one who knew he was here.
"Luke," Castiel replied neutrally, "Where have you been?"
"Here. There. Everywhere," Luke said with his usual cheeky evasion, "This world is fascinating, Cassie. So many things are different here, but even more things are the same."
"I've seen it," Castiel muttered darkly, "It's a cruel, depraved place."
"YOU would think that," Luke told him irritably, "You hate for anyone to have fun."
"Fun? You think this place is FUN? Have you seen what they do to each other here? Have you heard the way the Angels whisper when they're not busy shouting? Luke, what is your idea of fun worth if it has to go through all of this… horror to happen?" Castiel demanded.
"I didn't contact you for a debate," Luke said firmly, which was Castiel's cue that he'd struck a point in the eternal struggle against Luke's likeness to a human child when it came to irresponsibility, "Tell me where you are, so Sam and I can join you."
A command.
Castiel hated taking orders from Luke. Luke was a disgraceful Angel, one banished to Earth for his insolence and arrogance, among other things. But he had not been demoted, because he was still a favorite of Heaven for Lord knew what reason. Thus, he was bound to an Earthly Artifact, yet he remained powerful enough to issue commands to Angels like Castiel. And he loved doing that. Luke knew that Castiel and Dean were looking for him and Sam. He didn't have to make it a command for Castiel to tell him where they were, but he chose to because it made him feel big and powerful.
Rebelliously, Castiel half-considered finding out if he could resist such a command here in this reality. Maybe if he ignored Luke long enough, and Dean settled into the acceptance that they were never going to find Sam, then Castiel could be free of that unruly pair of irritants. Then he sighed, knowing that was just wishful thinking, which never ended well for anyone, least of all Angels. Dean would never give up the search. And anyway, even if he did, Castiel suspected he would not like the man he would become for having done so. There was nothing for it, Castiel told Luke where they were.
Moments later, Sam and Luke appeared right between Dean and the television screen.
"Hey!" Dean objected, angry at the interruption; then he blinked and found a new reason to be angry, "Where the hell have you two been? We've been all over this planet lookin' for you!"
Luke and Castiel exchanged looks, and silently agreed to wait outside the motel room. Much as the two Angels detested each other, they hated it when Sam and Dean fought even more. Besides, a man with an Angel with the power to alter minds and memories near at hand might in the heat of the moment decide to do something he would live long enough to regret.
As soon as they were outside, Luke exhaled into the night air under the street lamp, delighted with the plume of frost his breathing generated. Castiel was less enamored with it, though it was perhaps a little bit because he was jealous. It was one of those tiny, minor things that showed the difference between them. Castiel could of course generate frost, but not simply by using his vessel's respiratory system. That was something higher level Angels could do, which allowed them to more convincingly pretend to be human during crisis situations when they didn't want to reveal what they were. Luke could also produce sweat, and he could cry and, though he never had any particular reason to do either, he liked to do both whenever the occasion would have called for it in a human. Castiel could do neither, though neither sweating nor crying seemed nearly as enjoyable as producing breath frost.
Castiel decided to let some of the air out of Luke's proverbial balloon, "So, I see Sam found you. Is it safe to assume that the matter is finally settled?"
Luke's frown and the darkened look in his eyes was sufficient answer. He hunched his wings unhappily. Castiel felt satisfied with that result. Luke had caused a lot of trouble, though admittedly he had done it with Sam's help. But Castiel couldn't take his frustrations out on Sam, not unless he wanted to have Dean throw his amulet into the deepest part of the ocean, where no one would find it for a very, very long time. That made Luke the only viable target for his ire.
"He still won't give me a definitive answer," Luke said miserably, but then (rather annoyingly), he brightened, "But he did come here looking for me, so I think there's still hope."
Castiel sighed deeply, "You never give up, do you? Hundreds of men since the Beginning, and you're still optimistic that someday you'll get that Yes. But answer me this, Luke, what would you do with it if you had it? Go back to Heaven? Put yours wings away for good? What?"
"Oh come on, Cassie," Luke said, "You and I have known each other long enough for you to know the answer to that without my having to tell you."
"You mean we've known each other long enough for me to have heard every unclean thought you've ever had, and to watch you promise and tease and then move on when you don't get what you want," Castiel retorted, "You can't tell me Sam's any different from the others."
"He is!" Luke snapped, his eyes flashing with sudden anger.
Castiel decided to dial it down a notch. He didn't fear Luke's wrath, not really… but he was the weaker Angel here, and Luke was strange, not like other Angels. Surely he would never be violent, but… sometimes Castiel wondered, just enough to make him cautious.
"Sam is mortal," Castiel said in a controlled passive tone, "Just like the rest of them."
"And I could be too," Luke pointed out.
"But would you?" Castiel asked, eyes narrowed, "Would you really give up all that power? The opportunity to go to Heaven? Everything? Just for the sake of one man saying Yes to you?" Castiel shook his head, "No. I don't think so. I've known you too long. You're a manipulative serpent, Luke. You always have been."
"This time is different," Luke insisted, but Castiel had seen the flicker in his eyes, and knew Luke was doubtful of his own intentions, not so sure of himself as he pretended.
"And you've said that before too," Castiel reminded him harshly.
"What do you care anyway?" Luke spat, "I've seen the way you look at me. You're jealous, Castiel. For all of your posturing and attachment to your dull, plodding sense of duty, you can't help the envy you feel. I'm older than you, and more powerful in every way. If I got my answer, I either wouldn't be, or I'd be somewhere far away from you. Possibly both. That should make you happy."
Castiel was annoyed to be so easily read by Luke, but hardly embarrassed. If Luke wanted to, he could rifle through Castiel's mind without bothering about permission. He never had, Castiel knew, but he could. There was no shame in recognizing that he was of a simpler make than Luke, especially since Luke had strayed so far from what an Angel should be, while Castiel stayed the course intended for him. Castiel might well be the lesser Angel, but only in power.
"What makes you think I would ever be happy about an Angel using a human to accomplish his own selfish ends?" Castiel asked, "It goes against everything I believe in."
"You really do have that Holier Than Thou stick shoved way up in there, don't you?" Luke scoffed.
"I just accept my purpose in our world," Castiel said, "Why can't you?"
Luke did not look at him, instead regarding the stars in the sky thoughtfully.
"Don't you think," Luke mused aloud, "That an Angel could have purpose and be free?"
"If you were free, the only purpose you'd serve would be your own," Castiel retorted acidly.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Luke said, looking at Castiel and adding earnestly, "Cassie, it's not like I want to start an Apocalypse or anything radical like that."
"No," Castiel snapped, "You'd just break Sam's heart, and in doing so break Dean's too, and then I'd have to live with the consequences of that. Not to mention what Heaven would have to say about it. I could lose my wings, and not in a good way."
"Ah," Luke smirked, "Now we've come to it. Just like always, you're more worried about you than me or the Winchesters or anyone else. You pretend to care about humanity, but it's really just yourself. That's why you've never been promoted, Cassie. That's why you'll always be bound."
"Think what you want," Castiel told him, "Your opinion means nothing to me."
"Doesn't it?" Luke asked innocently, "Then why have you flapped a half dozen storms into being in towns all around us while we've been talking?"
Castiel, abruptly aware of his spread wings, folded them sulkily. As usual, he'd let Luke needle him. Luke could rub his feathers the wrong way better than any other Angel he'd ever met, and somehow Luke always seemed to come out on top. Castiel's feathers were puffed out in his agitation, and he had to consciously will them to smooth down before speaking again.
"Argument is pointless," Castiel said, "Whatever I say, it won't affect what you believe. It never has."
"And yet, somehow, you and I always wind up arguing, don't we?" Luke inquired, then smiled sardonically, "Funny how that seems to work out. I wonder if we do the same thing in this reality."
The reminder of the Other Castiel stung unexpectedly, and he flinched, though he wasn't sure why. Certainly he was not invested in the fate of that Other self, nor did he feel the least bit guilty about what he'd done. He'd followed the command of his Master and, knowing what he did now about this reality and its brutal Angels, he figured that the Other would have killed Dean given half a chance. But still… his mind flitted back to that moment, when he'd locked eyes with the Other, when he had seen… seen and felt… the Other was less powerful than him, more erratic, and seemingly very lost. But… but there had been something about him. He had something. Something Castiel did not. Something that was, perhaps, greater than all the rest of it, than anything that Castiel could now imagine. But Castiel had recoiled before finding out what that was, for he feared knowing. Whatever that something was, the Other had allowed himself to be humbled and degraded and tortured and killed for it, with never a backwards glance, nor a flicker of regret.
What could make an Angel feel that way? Especially an Angel in a reality as cold and dark as this one?
Luke noticed Castiel's stricken expression, and Castiel's prolonged silence spoke volumes. However, before Luke could ask Castiel, Sam gave voice to the question in a furious and horrified shout that carried all the way out into the frosty night where the two Angels stood.
"What have you done!?"