Eight

(CASTIEL'S POV)

It was the morning of Halloween and there was a subtle thrilling tremor coursing through Castiel's veins. Sam, Dean, and Eileen were coming to visit them today, to see the new house, to hang out. They hadn't all seen each other in months—too busy getting their new lives in order.

Castiel took extra time making the bed, smoothing out the creases in the blanket, fluffing the pillows.

"They're not gonna come see our bedroom, Cass," Brooke said, in a teasing tone. "You can clean the rest of the house all frantically like you want to, though."

He felt warmth in his cheeks, and only blushed harder once he realized he was doing it. He touched his own face, flummoxed by the heat there. He still wasn't used to a lot of things about being human. The fact that he blushed so easily and so often was foreign to him. He hoped to God—to Jack, as Brooke would say—that his blushing cheeks would not give him away the moment Dean showed up at their door.

He had never told Brooke what he and Dean had spoken about the night of the wedding, and she had never asked. It was the only secret between them—that he knew of. And both of them seemed all right with that…

"You okay?" Brooke asked.

His wife's voice brought him out of his bittersweet thoughts. "Yes, I'm… I'm fine. I'm just nervous." He turned to her, his head bowed, and held her hands.

She pulled her hands out of his grip and held his face so that he had to look at her. "Nervous is okay. You're human now. I just hope you're excited, too."

He smiled. "I am." And he was. He found himself feeling excited quite often these days, and chose to focus more on these good feelings than dwelling on the negatives of being human. Instead of dreading having to go to work every day, he focused on the feeling of excitement at getting off work, getting to go home and spend the evenings with Brooke. Instead of avoiding cooking because doing the dishes was tedious, he focused on the excitement of following new recipes and eating these creations born from his hands.

He was like a child, fresh to the world. And really hoping not to make a fool of himself.

###

Brooke was cleaning the kitchen; Castiel had offered to clean the bathroom, and that's what he was doing just then. He got done with the mirror and the counters, the toilet. The shower he left alone—he didn't expect any of their guests to suddenly feel the need to shower during their visit. He cleaned the glass front and decided that was good enough. Sighing in satisfaction, he turned on the water to wash his hands, and then realized… the floor. The floor was probably the dirtiest place in the bathroom, barring the toilet.

He stared down at his shoes, realizing that they didn't have a mop, and frowned. They'd bought a vacuum, but not a mop, which was a problem. They needed to be able to clean the bathroom and the kitchen floors; they'd have to go out and get one, or order one online. But in the meantime…

And that was why Brooke found Castiel on his hands and knees, later, scrubbing the bathroom floor with a towel and some cleaning vinegar. He didn't notice her right away, too intent in his work, but then he saw the shadow cast on the bathroom floor, and looked up. He smiled.

She was completely stiff, like a soldier standing at attention, and her face had gone red. She was staring down at him, a little open-mouthed.

His smile fell. "A-Are you all right?"

"Uh-huh," she said, blinking rapidly, and backing away.

"Brooke?" Concern flooded him, and he forgot the bathroom floor. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"You're on the floor," she said, as if that explained everything.

"Oh," he replied. Maybe she thought he'd fallen over… But, no. It should have been clear what he was doing. "We don't have a mop," he said, and sat back, wiping his perspiring brow with the back of his arm to avoid getting vinegar on his face. He looked up at her again.

She swallowed, her eyes still very wide.

He said her name again, and stood up. "Tell me what's wrong," he said, and realized afterwards that he'd accidentally used his Commander voice.

"Y-You were on your… hands and knees," she stuttered.

"Well, yes," he began, slowly, still confused. "I… You do realize I was cleaning the floor…?"

"I-I just…" She shook her head, just a little shake, and suddenly walked away.

Now very concerned, he quickly washed his hands, abandoning the wet, vinegar-covered tile, and went to the bedroom, where he found her sitting on the bed, staring into space.

"Brooke, tell me exactly what you're thinking," he said, feeling frustrated for the billionth time that he could no longer rely on telepathy to tell him why his wife reacted to things in certain ways.

She stared up at him. "God, I wish we had—

"Telepathy. Yes. Me too." He sighed and went to sit on the bed with her. "Now, tell me."

She turned her face away. "After all the trouble, I'm afraid you'll just laugh. I've made you all concerned about me."

He smiled a little, glancing away, and waited.

She sighed heavily, dramatically. "You looked really hot," she said.

At first, he assumed she meant he had looked sweaty. But then he realized what she actually meant. He squinted, his head tilting to one side. "Well, I have said that you think anything I do is hot," he began. "Maybe you simply enjoy seeing me perform manual labor."

She gave a short bark of laughter. "It's not… Well, that's hot, too, but no."

"Then what?" he asked, his voice soft. "And why was it so serious that you walked away looking like you'd… Well, I was going to say seen a ghost, but you have seen ghosts…"

"You were on your hands and knees."

"Yes?"

"In front of me."

"Yes…"

"L-Looking up at me."

He said nothing.

"And, for a just a second, before you sat back and wiped your forehead, I…" She cut herself off.

Castiel did not look at her, but smiled into his lap. "I assume this is something sexual, so I'm very surprised you're having such a hard time explaining your feelings. You've always been very up front."

"I wanted you to stare into my eyes and ask me what I wanted," she said. "Tell me you'd do anything."

Now he understood—perfectly. "We always said," he murmured, "that we both knew who was really in charge. And it wasn't me. It still isn't."

"But I've never wanted to be in charge… u-until I saw you staring at me like that, on your hands and knees, with your sleeves rolled up…"

He reached over and held one of her hands. "You're allowed this feeling—wanting to be in charge. It's okay to want… change."

She took a breath. "I don't know why I'm making such a big deal about this."

He thought about it for a moment. "You've never… liked change very much. You find your routines and you stick to them, as much as you can. Before… Before Jack became God and fixed the world, routine was a lot harder to find, so you… clung to it even more. But now routine for us is common. Maybe… you're just bored?"

"Bored of what?"

"Our sex life?" he suggested.

"Hell no," she said, immediately. "You're as hot as ever. And you might not be able to read my mind but somehow you always know exactly how to fuck me." She put a lot of emphasis on the word fuck, like she was trying to convey every sexual feeling she'd ever experienced in speaking that one word. And she looked at him, too, her eyes fiery and fierce—like she wanted him right then, and damn their guests or their housework.

He returned her stare, feeling an aching stir between his legs. Fifteen years later and she could still make him stand at attention in a second, something that often confused him early on, before he was used to this body. He wished, right then, that he still had the ability to control the blood flow inside of himself. As it was, he merely shifted a little on the bed, trying to make himself more comfortable as the beginnings of an erection strained his pants.

"So, you're not bored," he said, and held her face in his hands, staring into her eyes, searching. "But you want something different. You want to be in charge. You want to tell me what to do. Is that it?"

"I don't know," she said, her face flushed, pupils dilated. "I've never done that before."

Gripped with inspiration, he slid down off the bed and onto the floor, maneuvering so that he was between her legs as she sat there. He stared up at her on his knees. "Is this what you wanted?" he asked, a little breathlessly. "You want me on my knees?"

Her eyes flicked back and forth in little ticks, searching his face. She looked shocked. And extremely aroused.

He tried to think of what to say, what to do, but without that mental connection to guide him, he didn't know what words to use to get her past this barrier she'd put up over herself. "It can be this way, if you want it," he tried.

"A-As long as it's not all the time," she said, the words coming out in a rush.

"Whatever you want," he replied. "The moment you want me back in charge, I can do that. But you can try this if you want to."

She was silent for a long moment, and then whispered, "I don't know what to do. H-How did you do this for me for so many years? I don't know h-how to be the Commander."

He smiled a little, still on his knees between her legs. He held her hands. "You don't have to be the Commander," he murmured. And she looked so relieved that he said right after, "The Commander can just be… me. We can find a different title for you."

"Can't I just be Brooke?" she asked, her eyebrows drawing together.

"Of course," he said. "Whatever you want. I don't have to call you anything."

Her face changed, then, as she continued to stare down at him. She grew calmer, her eyes less frantic. More focused. "You want this more than I do, don't you?" she asked.

He blinked, a small sound escaping his throat. His face felt hot. Damn his humanity. He'd somehow lost the ability to remain calm, cool, and collected during these situations. It seemed the longer he was human, the more his feelings showed on his face, in his body. He'd thought he was quite expressive before, for an angel. It turned out human Castiel wore his heart on his sleeve, as well as everywhere else.

She nodded, as if he'd spoken. "I'm not into… punishment," she said, looking away from his face for a moment. "Well—for me, yes. I like being punished. You know this."

"I do," he confirmed, as she looked at him again. He stared at her in rapt attention.

"But I don't want to punish you. You've been punished enough, in real life. You punished yourself for a long time. I just… want to tell you what to do."

"All right."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Yes."

She nodded. "If I tell you to do something and you don't want to do it, just say no. There's no safe word. The safe word is no. Or stop."

He nodded. This made sense for the two of them. Even when he'd been the Commander, punishing his Whore, she'd always wanted it, and said so. Begged him for it. They'd never played games around her pretending not to want things.

She grinned, then, and he looked at her a little warily. "And if you want something," she said, "you have to beg for it. On your knees."

He swallowed. Nodded.

Her smile fell, and she looked down at him with an expression that seemed to melt his bones. "Do you understand?" she asked, quietly.

"Yes," he said, quickly, eager to please—and surprised at himself. Had this been in him the whole time? But, of course, he knew it had. They had simply never talked about it. All he'd ever wanted to do in his entire life was to please. It was only that so many of his superiors were corrupt. So many of them assumed he had a problem with authority in general, but that simply wasn't true. He had a problem with bullies who had been put into positions of authority, or those who had stolen it from others. But, in Brooke, he had found someone worthy to follow, someone in whose instructions he found… peace. He had been doing what she had told him to do for the last fifteen years, even when neither of them realized it.

For the last fifteen years, he had heard her every thought, felt every feeling, monitored every cell of her body, and had reacted accordingly. And every time he'd gone against that, things had usually fallen apart. He knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that his relationship with Brooke had never been exactly healthy. Their level of codependence was frightening at times. But she had never betrayed his trust, or used that trust to hurt him. And he had found solace in doing what she wanted. Touching her when she wanted to be touched, feeding her when she was hungry, offering his body for warmth when she was cold or upset. Now, he would have to ask what she wanted. Now, she would have to tell him. But he reveled in this idea. Because, still, after fifteen years, all he wanted to do was whatever she told him. All he wanted to do was please her. Because she deserved it; because she wanted him to be happy, too; because she wanted him to have a job he was proud of, and hobbies he enjoyed. She wanted what was best for him, and so he would do anything she wanted. Just like he always had.

And then she asked, in a small, hesitant voice, "Y… You'll still… be the Commander if I want you to… right?"

He got up off of the bedroom floor, grimacing a little at the pain in his knees—being human wasn't very fun sometimes—and sat on the bed beside her. Then he took her face in his hands, rested his forehead against hers, and said, "Of course I will. Always."

Being the Commander for her wasn't about the sex; it was about giving her a chance not to be in charge, to feel completely safe in the knowledge that someone else was calling the shots. She could stop thinking for a little while, she could stop feeling worried, she could simply… stop. And he would never take that from her, that feeling of safety. The world may not be full of monsters anymore, but she still sometimes needed to be reminded that he was right there, and he would not let anyone or anything hurt her. When he was the Commander for her, it meant that the only two people who existed in the world were the two of them, and there was nothing going on outside the bedroom. Nothing bad or scary or anxiety-inducing. Nothing but Castiel, and his voice, and his body, his words, his commands.

She nestled herself against his chest, hiding her face there, and he wrapped his arms around her, petting her hair. "Anything you need, anytime you need it," he murmured. "Just ask me."

###

A little while later, Castiel's cellphone rang.

"Dean," he said, hearing the warmth in his own voice. "Are you calling to let us know you're on your way?"

There was a pause.

Castiel's heart stuttered.

"Listen, I, uh…"

Castiel closed his eyes. "You're not coming, are you?"

"I'm sorry, man," Dean said, and he did sound sorry. But that didn't help.

"Are you all right?" Castiel asked, his eyes still closed. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"Listen," Dean said again, "I… I'm not…"

"You're not what, Dean?"

"I can't do this, Cass. I can't… keep pretending like everything is normal."

"Is… Is this about… our conversation on my wedding night?"

"What? No, man. Cass, I can't—there are no more monsters."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Castiel asked, and cringed to hear the desperation in his tone.

"For you and Brooke? Yeah. For Sam and Eileen, too. But, me? Look, all I'm good at is… is killin' things. And now there's nothing to kill, and I… I can't go to this Halloween thing and… pretend like I'm fine. It's been months and I haven't even been able to hold down a job. I drink too much, I…"

"We can help you, Dean," Castiel tried. "All of us, we can all help you. You can get through this—

"Listen, I just called to let you know that I, uh… You might not see me for… for a while. I need to… figure my shit out."

Castiel was shaking his head, slowly, his mind scrambling. "You seemed fine before the wedding. You were good."

"No, Cass. I was… bluffing. I… told myself I'd hold it together for you guys, to, I don't know, celebrate with you, or whatever. But I-I can't… I'm sorry, Cass. I… I gotta go."

"D-Dean? Dean!"

But it was too late. Dean had already hung up.

###

Castiel tried to greet Sam and Eileen with a smile when they showed up at the house later, though he felt hollow inside.

Sam pulled back after a hug, patting him on the arm. "I take it Dean called you?" he said, with a sympathetic smile.

"Yes."

"He'll come around, Cass. Don't worry. You know how he is."

Castiel nodded, pursing his lips. Yes, I do know how Dean is, he thought. I just thought maybe we were… past all that. Whatever that was. He glanced at Brooke, then, wishing with every fiber of his being that she had heard those thoughts. That she could think things back to him. He missed their silent conversations like an amputated limb, constantly reaching for a place in his mind that no longer existed.

Instead, he found himself reaching for her, physically. She was right beside him, of course, greeting Eileen, but she turned halfway into him when he touched her, an automatic movement. She leaned against his side, her head on his shoulder, still talking to Eileen, keeping her face in the woman's direction so that Eileen could read her lips.

"Can we get a tour?" Eileen asked, smiling at Brooke, and at Cass.

"Yeah!" Brooke replied, enthusiastically, and she slid out of his one-armed embrace.

He felt the cold against his side where she had been a moment before.

…

"What's this?" Sam asked, stopping in his tracks in the living room and staring at one of the walls.

There, on a big, long sheet of white paper, scrolled out like a tapestry, were a list of names.

John and Mary Winchester.

Jessica Moore.

Ellen and Jo Harvelle.

Meg Masters.

Anna.

Adam Milligan.

Balthazar.

Bobby Singer.

Meg.

Benny.

Kevin Tran.

The list of names went on and on, line after line.

"This is our… memorial wall," Brooke murmured, slowly making her way over to the list of names and reaching up to touch first Bobby's name, and then Meg's.

"You… put Meg twice," Sam noticed. His voice had gone tight and quiet.

"One for the human possessed," Brooke said, still facing the wall of names. "One for the demon killed by Crowley."

"You put Crowley on here, too," Sam said, stepping closer, studying the names.

"Yes," Castiel said, standing back, watching his wife, noting the tenseness in her shoulders. "Crowley sacrificed himself trying to trap Lucifer in Apocalypse World. The fact that the plan failed does not lessen his sacrifice."

Brooke's fingers curled into a fist, but she said nothing. There would always be pain and anger where Crowley was concerned. He had killed Meg, and Brooke had loved her. But Crowley had had a change of heart at the end of his life, and even before then, he had saved Castiel's life. Castiel knew that, to Brooke, that made her and Crowley about as even as they were ever going to get.

###

(BROOKE'S POV)

It took a long time standing in front of a mirror for Brooke to get makeup on right. Beside her, in the guest bathroom, Eileen was finishing up putting on her own costume. When they were both done, they studied one another, smiling and nodding appreciatively.

Eileen was dressed in a grey-green tank top, and tight-fitting camo pants, with two (empty) gun holsters strapped to her thighs. She had a real bandage wrapped around one arm, but the blood seeping through was fake. She'd put her hair up into a ponytail. Lara Croft.

"How's my makeup?" Brooke signed to her. She and Castiel had been practicing American Sign Language ever since Jack had changed the world. Eileen didn't seem to be going anywhere, so learning to sign just seemed like decent manners.

"You look good," Eileen replied. "But why Harley Quinn?"

Brooke shrugged, then grinned and glanced back at herself in the mirror, taking in the foundation-plastered face, the pink and blue makeup, the bright red lipstick. Her hair, up in twin ponytails, was a wig, her costume a red-and-black dress with the playing card symbols on it. She had thigh-high black boots on, too. Leather.

Turning back to Eileen, she signed, "I just want to see the look on Cass' face."

Eileen grinned.

Brooke looked at herself in the mirror again. "Do you think it's too much?" she asked, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious.

Eileen made a face. "Maybe a little," she admitted. "But it's Halloween. Everyone else is dressing up, too."

"Except for Sam and Cass," Brooke said, and laughed. "They refused."

However, when she and Eileen left the bathroom, Brooke discovered that that wasn't entirely true.

Sam and Castiel had been sitting in the kitchen, waiting, and they both stood up when the girls came to get them. Castiel's jaw nearly hit the floor as he stared at Brooke.

She found herself blushing at the intensity of his stare. Maybe her costume choice had been… a little much. She cringed a little and turned away, rubbing her arms.

"Um," said Castiel, turning to Sam and Eileen, "will you give us a moment?"

"S-Sure," Sam said.

Castiel led Brooke around the corner and into the short hallway that led to the two bedrooms. "Are you all right?" he asked, quietly.

"What?" Brooke said, immediately, staring at him in confusion. "I thought for sure you were taking me over here to chastise me about this outfit."

Castiel blinked several times. "W-Why would I do that?"

"Because it's… I don't know, skimpy?" Brooke glanced down at herself, gesturing with her hands at the dress she was wearing.

"Brooke," Castiel said, his voice very serious. "I brought you here because you were making a face like something was wrong. You could have come out of that bathroom naked and I wouldn't have said anything, other than to tell Sam to avert his eyes."

Brooke couldn't help but laugh. "You might be human now but you're definitely still an angel in your head. That's a very strange reaction to a woman walking out of her bathroom naked in the presence of company."

Castiel sighed. "Well, I don't have the same hangups as most humans do about bodies and how much skin one is supposed to show." He paused. "But, you're all right?"

"Yeah, I'm… Do you like it, though?" She gestured at herself again.

"I'd like to tear off all your clothes and fuck you against this wall, if that's what you're asking."

Now it was Brooke's turn to blink several times. A slow grin spread across her face. "Good," she said. And then she realized that he was wearing his old angelic outfit: suit, tie loose and askew, and the trench coat. The famous trench coat. She stared at him, and then said, "Cass, you can't go as yourself for Halloween."

He rolled his eyes. "Sam said that, too. But I'm not going as myself."

"Who are you going as?"

"Constantine, of course."

Brooke stared at her husband for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

###

Sam and Eileen had shown up with a projector, a laptop and a white sheet to hang down from one of the walls in the living room. Sam set it all up while Brooke made fresh popcorn on the stove and Castiel set up the seating arrangement and lit candles around the living room for mood lighting.

They all sat down once everything was set up, Brooke and Cass taking two chairs pushed together, and Sam and Eileen taking the loveseat. They were guests, so it was only fair to give them the more comfortable seats. They passed around the popcorn and candy and drinks, and watched some cheesy, campy horror movie on Netflix, with the subtitles on, and enjoyed themselves thoroughly.

Afterwards, when it was properly dark, they cleaned up and went outside to wander the neighborhood and look at everyone else's costumes. What seemed like hundreds of families and groups of friends walked up and down the streets, going from door to door to trick-or-treat, or just to check out the decorations around people's houses. Brooke had made sure that their porch light was turned off before they left, to discourage trick-or-treaters from coming to an empty house in the hopes of getting candy.

It was a good night and everyone had fun, but Brooke could tell that Castiel was a little down because Dean was supposed to be here. This entire idea, celebrating Halloween like this, had mostly been for Dean, and then he'd bailed and Brooke knew that a little of that joy had been sucked out of it for her husband.

Somehow, even now, Dean was ruining Castiel's life.

Brooke wondered if that pattern would ever break, or if she and Cass would be cursed with Dean and his… Dean-ness for the rest of their human lives.

A/N: Dean will come back, I swear. Originally, I intended for him to be part of the Halloween party scene. But I knew at some point that I planned on him leaving for quite a while to get his shit together and figure out his life. He will be back, and when he comes back, he won't be a shithead anymore, I promise!

###

(CASTIEL'S POV)

"I hope you didn't spend all night worrying about me," Castiel said to Brooke as she crawled into bed after scrubbing the makeup off of her face and getting into pajamas. He put an arm around her as she snuggled up against him.

"What do you mean?" she asked, in an innocent tone of voice.

"You know what I mean," he said. "I miss Dean, but probably not as much as you think I do. I did have fun tonight, regardless of his absence."

"I know, Cass."

"Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, I did."

He paused, and then said, a little huskily, "I liked your costume."

She chuckled into his chest. "I know. I liked yours too, Constantine."

He smiled in the dark, staring at the ceiling. "I love you, Brooke."

"I love you too, Castiel."

…

He awoke sometime in the night and realized immediately that he could not move. His heart pounded in his chest and he tried to call out, confused and afraid, but even his mouth would not open. His eyes, however, had retained their full motion, and they swiveled about the room as he continued to breathe fast, shallow breaths.

There was something crawling across the floor toward him. Something black and oozing, like tar. It pulled itself along the floor with grasping tendrils, a shapeless alien mass.

He tried desperately to move, tried to scream, tried to shake the bed at all to wake Brooke. Because he knew what that was.

"Did you think you were safe?" a voice asked, piercing his brain like a spear. It was cold and terrifying. Inhuman.

Now hyperventilating and unable to take full breaths for the pressure in his chest, Castiel managed a small groan, but it was not enough to wake his wife, who was on her side, facing away from him. His eyes flicked desperately between her and the thing that was oozing up onto the bed.

"Did you think I wouldn't come for you?" the oozing mass asked him, as it crawled up onto the blankets. Tendrils reached out and grasped his ankles, moving up his body.

He could feel its cold, gelatinous weight pressed on his legs, then his stomach, and wanted to vomit in disgust and abject terror.

Brooke, please wake up! he thought, and could feel tears leaking from his eyes. Please, please…

"I told you," that voice continued, as its body wrapped around his chest and arms, "Once you allowed yourself true happiness, once you forgot me… I would come for you." The Shadow released a creepy little giggle that echoed inside Castiel's head. "Did you think your precious son could protect you from me? I'm older than God—the original one. You think that little boy could stop me from taking you away to the Empty, hmm?"

Castiel tried so hard to drown out that voice, to stop feeling the cold, wet tendrils wrapping around his body. They were crawling up his neck now, and he tried to move his head, but he was still trapped, motionless. He could feel a steady trickle of warm tears rolling back into his hair against his temples. Brooke, I love you, he thought. I love you so much. Please, WAKE UP.

But Brooke was still as death at his side. Had the Shadow done something to her? Was she dead? Oh, God. Oh, God.

It was touching his face now. His entire body was trapped beneath its mass, and the only place left to be covered was his face. He moaned again, but the sound was so pitifully small.

His breath caught as he felt the tendrils on his cheeks. And then he felt them move up and up and up until they covered his mouth. He felt sick—they were so slimy. Then they covered his nose. And he couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe! He to fight, tried so hard to push the Shadow off of him, but he couldn't get any air into his lungs. He could feel the tendrils suctioning to the skin of his face, like it was going to swallow him, and he struggled as hard as he could, but he couldn't move.

Oh, God, it went into his eyes, pushing against his eyeballs, and he was suffocating. It didn't want to drag him to the Empty. It was going to kill him right here. Brooke, help me, please, please wake up, we were supposed to go together. This thing was going to kill him with his wife laying inches away from him, completely unaware.

Finally, too late, with the last of the air in his lungs, he released a monstrous scream, horrified by the muffled sound of it, trapped underneath the wet, sticky body of the Shadow pressed into his face.

Brooke bolted upright in the bed. "Castiel!"