Song Remains the Same

Chapter 113 / Hunteri Heroici

"Heroes are made by the paths they choose, not the powers they are graced with."
- Brodi Ashton

Not even a full two minutes after Cas reappeared in the Impala, Dean's phone rang. He didn't seem to recognize the number but he answered nonetheless in a tired, wan tone. He probably thought it was going to be Mrs. Tran again.

"Hello?" His face abruptly registered intense shock not even a second later and his voice shot up a couple octaves. "… James?" Cas and Sam both looked at Dean, who was suddenly panicking a little. "Hey! Uh—yeah, no, I can talk, I can talk," he said, words stumbling out of him like a waterfall as he slammed on the brakes and jerked the car over to the side of the road to a dead stop. "Just hold on a second—" No sooner had he said that than he got out of the car, shut the door, and walked off ahead of the car in a hurry for privacy.

Left alone, Sam and Cas shared a weighted silence for a moment. Sam watched his brother pace back and forth a dozen paces in front of the car and he wondered what he and Jamie were talking about. Dean had definitely had her on his mind lately and had been kicking himself for 'running her off' as he put it. Maybe this would give him closure. Or maybe Jamie wanted back in. Wondering if maybe they were about to add a fourth person to this ragtag group of theirs, Sam glanced back at Cas, who was staring with a very odd, tense expression at Dean. Hesitating, Sam wondered whether or not he should say anything at all. But concern for his friend won out. "You okay, Cas?" he prompted carefully.

Castiel's tortured blue gaze glanced at him briefly before falling away guiltily. "Everyone needs to stop asking me that," he muttered evasively, setting his gaze on the window beside himself. "I'm fine."

A little stung and wondering privately if Cas blamed him in some way for everything that had happened to Alex, Sam nodded stiffly and accepted that Cas didn't want to talk to him. Feeling very alone with his very overwhelming grief and pain, Sam was forced to swallow it down and remain lost in his own sadness and confusion. He again wondered why both he and Dean were turned down when they attempted to sell their souls for her. He wondered why Cas wasn't ripping apart Heaven and earth to find a way to bring her back. He wondered how Dean could be so… fine. Fine wasn't the word. But after initially finding out and actually showing emotion about their sister's death, Dean had withdrawn and compartmentalized and shut down. And Cas was trying to do the same thing. It hurt. It didn't seem right. But who was Sam to judge how someone else handled their grief?

He missed Amelia abruptly. She'd been a comforting presence, or at least a haven from the storm. Most of the time. There had been pain, too… especially toward the end. Sam got more and more dismal as he thought about her. He'd thought he found someone. Finally, finally found someone. But now there was only the empty, lonely feeling again. Funny thing—he'd tried calling her a couple days back (bad impulse decision, maybe) but the Amelia Richardson he found in the online phone book for Kermit, Texas was an elderly woman. He guessed maybe his Amelia wasn't listed in the phone book. Why had he erased her number from his phone? He didn't even remember doing that.

That Evening
Oklahoma City PD

After Dean got off the phone with Jamie, he got back into the car and started driving again like nothing had happened. When Sam asked about the phone call, Dean just said she called to check in and say hi and that she wasn't going to be meeting up with them. He didn't volunteer any more information and obviously didn't want to talk about it—but he had spent about fifteen or twenty minutes on the phone with her and there was clearly more to the story. However, Dean closed the subject and Sam let it go albeit a little jealously—Dean had talked to her on that single phone call more than he'd talked to Sam in the past few days.

One six hour car ride later and the boys were kicking off their investigation into a strange local death like they very often did: dressed in their FBI blues. There was an odd comfort in that familiar old routine of theirs. It made things easier somehow to assume different identities and disassociate from who they really were and what they were really going through. With Cas tagging along, they got in to see the body in the morgue like they always did: by flashing their badges and keeping it all business.

A female detective escorted them in to where a body was lying on a stainless steel table covered in a sheet. "Coroner said his heart was ejected from his body," she explained in a detached, lofty professional tone. "Got some air, too—they found it in a sandbox." She paused and then explained the sandbox comment. "It went down at the local park, but I'm sure that information was on your initial report."

"Right, of course it was. Any idea what happened to him, Detective?" Sam questioned, digging for more information.

Without missing a beat, the wan detective shot Sam a look. "A lot of people are thinking drugs, Agent Nash—an assload of drugs." Well, at least she was honest.

Cas shook his head and spoke to Dean furtively. "There are no narcotics in that man's system… his molecules are all wrong."

Speaking a little louder to cover up Cas's mumbling, Sam competed for the detective's attention. "But you don't think that, huh?"

"Well, never seen an eightball do this," the detective said, then pulled back the sheet covering the corpse. Dead center of the dead man's chest there was a cookie-cutter heart-shaped hole.

"Wow," Sam managed, his eyebrows up high as he exchanged a glance with Dean. He hadn't seen anything quite like that before. "Yeah no, me either. And uh, who called this in, again?"

"Friend of his named… Olivia Knopple," the detective said, flipping through her case file on the matter. "She saw the whole thing." Her phone began to ring and she briskly pulled it out and looked at the called ID. "Ah, crap. I have to take this. Here's everything we got." She handed over the case file. "Knock yourself out."

"Thanks," Sam said.

Dean stopped the detective. "Listen, you see anything weird, anything out of the box, you give us a call," he said, handing over a business card.

Eyeing the card skeptically then Cas, the detective smirked. "Whatever you say, Scully." She put the phone to her ear and headed out of the room. "Detective Glass. On my way."

As Sam flipped through the file with a studious frown on his face, Castiel eyed the corpse closely, drifting a little closer as Dean did, too. "I can't sense any EMF or sulfur," the angel said, drawing a couple of dubious looks from the Winchesters. It was odd to hear him saying what they usually did. He was really trying to prove himself and be helpful. Cas squinted and leaned closer to the victim. "Mr. Freleng's arterial health is, uh, excellent." He leaned down over the dead body and sniffed. "Hm. He did recently suffer from a…" he frowned and snuffed again "...mild, uh…" his frown deepened. "What is that?" It suddenly came to him and he stood up straight. "…Bladder infection."

"Cas, stop smelling the dead guy," Dean said, a little on the done side.

"Why?" Cas asked in all innocent honestly. "Now I know everything about this man. So we can—"

"Then do you also know he was having an affair?" Sam interrupted, looking at the angel from over the top of the file he was reading.

Cas looked shocked and then confused. "What?"

"Yup," Sam said, nodding grimly. "According to Olivia Knopple, the two of them would meet at the park every Thursday at twelve forty-five, walk to the Moonlight Diner where she always ordered a Caesar salad, dressing on the side. They would chat about everything, and she'd be back on the road by one thirty." He gave Cas a significant look.

"…You don't think she's telling the truth," Cas surmised, although he obviously wasn't sure why.

"Nope," Dean said, already on board with his brother. "Too much detail. Sounds rehearsed."

"Plus, we drove past the Moonlight Diner on the way into town," Sam said. "It's attached to the Moonlight Motel. So… obviously… it was more than salads and good conversation between Greg and, uh—" he looked at the file again, "Olivia."

Dean was already formulating the scenario that led to this man's death. "Okay, so, let's say that, uh, Gary here's on the prowl, but he's playing it safe because…" he lifted Gary's left hand up—there was a wedding band on the ring finger. "...dude's married. Doesn't want anyone to see his ride parked out in front of a by-the-hour fleabag."

"So he stashes his car at the park across the street, meets Olivia there," Sam added.

"His wife probably found out about it and it broke her heart," Dean continued.

"So she breaks his," Sam finished, eyeing the corpse grimly. "Sounds witchy."

"Yes it does," Dean agreed flatly then sighed in reluctance. "Well, I think we know who we're visiting next." He yanked the sheet back over the dead body unevenly and headed out without anything further, leaving Cas staring at the table in quiet confusion.

Sam was just about to follow his brother when Cas's voice made him pause. "Unfaithfulness," the angel muttered faintly, like the word itself appalled him. "This man, going against his vows to his wife… it's unimaginable. In a thousand years, I would never—" he stopped talking abruptly, catching himself in mid-sentence. He looked up at Sam, whose heartbreak was written all over his face. And then without another word, an emotionally barren Castiel turned and followed Dean out of the room.

Thirty Minutes Later

"I–I don't understand," Mrs. Freling said. She wore black to symbolize her mourning and she sat at her kitchen table as Dean leaned on the chair back opposite her. "Gary had a heart attack. Why would the FBI—"

"The parks are government property," Dean said, cutting off the questions before they started. "Like we said. We just got a few questions for you."

Visibly upset but willing to cooperate, the young widow nodded her dismayed consent. Her home was nice—new construction and full of expensive-looking furniture and decor. Even though she was grieving, she had taken the time earlier that day to curl her hair, apply makeup, and dress nicely. All things the Winchesters noticed immediately and filed away in their minds for later. Watching at a respectful distance, Cas was silent and stern as Sam sauntered forward, taking his brother's cue. He usually did this part. "Mrs. Freling—is there any way Gary might have had secrets?" he asked gently. "Something maybe he was hiding?"

Mrs. Freling's sad expression became confused and a little offended. "Hiding?" she repeated. "Like what?"

Just then there was a soft knock at the door and the sound of someone letting themselves in. "Deb?" came a soft call. Mrs. Freling stood up as a young woman with long straight blondish hair walked in carrying a casserole.

"Olivia!" Mrs. Freling exclaimed, and the two of them embraced like dear friends and began crying.

Dean did a double take. "…As in mistress Olivia?" he asked lowly to Cas.

"This is… awkward," the angel observed, an expression of slight chagrin on his face.

The two women parted but Mrs. Freling had an arm around Olivia, who was still crying softly. "I'm sorry," she apologized to Dean. "What did you think Gary was hiding?"

Ever the tactful one, Castiel pointed directly at Olivia. "That he was sleeping with her."

Sam and Dean both looked at Cas like they were thinking really? even as Mrs. Freling's arm fell away from Olivia, who had become entirely red and embarrassed. And then Mrs. Freling shocked them all. "…I know," she said with a heavy sigh.

An uncertain silence held for a couple of awkward beats. "You know." Sam repeated.

Albeit a little uncomfortably, Mrs. Freling explained. "Gary and I—we… had an arrangement," she said delicately, looking at Olivia for support—the younger woman nodded, but her cheeks still burned red. "He was seeing Olivia, and I was spending some… time… with our neighbor Pete."

Dean and Sam's eyebrows were both high up as they realized this was some kind of open marriage deal.

But Cas looked like he had never heard anything more heartbreaking in his life. "I'm—I'm sorry," he said, addressing Mrs. Freling and seeming confused like he must have misunderstood what she meant. "You… you were married to each other? One of the most sacred relationship bonds there is and you both… sought love in the form of intimacy outside of the other?" Markedly more uncomfortable at his intense questions and tone, the disbelief and the hurt he was speaking with, Mrs. Freling withered a little. "I… I don't understand," Cas said earnestly. "Why would you want to take a man other than your husband to bed? Didn't that—that hurt him? Didn't it hurt you?"

Side-eyeing Cas loudly, it was hard to say if Sam and Dean or the two women in the room were more uncomfortable or put on the spot. Olivia cleared her throat and looked for any excuse at all to escape the current situation. "I'll, uh—I'll put this in the kitchen," she said with a nervous grin and laugh, indicating the casserole she still carried.

Also looking for a reason to get away from Cas, Mrs. Freling sprung at the opportunity. "I'll help!" And the two women fled the room, leaving the men to themselves.

They had barely left before Dean was getting on to Cas verbally. "Cas, man, dial down the Oprah guilt trip stuff!"

"I don't know who that is," Cas said blandly, and he seemed very morose. "But this woman… I think it's safe to say she's not a witch."

"Psh, yeah," Dean agreed flippantly. "Just the best wife ever."

Cas looked at Dean as if he had been deeply wounded. "That is an incorrect statement."

Realizing how thoughtless his comment was, Dean's face fell. "Sorry, Cas. I didn't mean—"

Cas shook his head, cutting his friend off. "I know."

It seemed like every time they turned a corner, the topic of Alex came up. Pain playing on repeat. Sam cleared his throat quietly after the silence became unbearable. "Okay, so if it wasn't witchcraft, what killed her husband?"

Dean made a face, thoroughly exhausted and emotionally drained. "Dude, who gives a fuck?" he muttered.

Cas looked similarly disheartened. "…I thought we did," he said.

Dean brushed past him. "I just wanna get out of this freaking suit, man."

Later

Too bad for Dean they got called out by Detective Glass right as they left the Freling residence. Downtown a man had killed himself by walking off the top of a tall building, but the odd thing was that he had apparently hovered in the air twenty stories up for a solid ten seconds before he plunged to his death. At least ten witnesses had seen it. When Dean commented that these deaths were sort of cartoony and 'Bugs Bunny' in nature, Castiel had been confused and asked if they were hunting a rabbit insect hybrid. So, now while the boys slaved over research and tried to figure out what sort of supernatural force was behind these loony deaths, Cas watched cartoons in a sort of research of his own. Dean had suggested it, saying that Cas needed to know what a damn cartoon was and no one had lived their life until they had seen Looney Tunes a few times.

Sitting on the bed in front of the TV, Cas watched cartoons with a studious expression, like he was analyzing them. When the show ended, he turned off the TV using the remote like he'd been shown and he was quiet. "Well?" Dean asked offhandedly, glancing up from the pages that were currently making his eyes cross. "What'd you think?"

Deeply thoughtful, Cas contemplated the floor for a few seconds. "I think I understand…" he said grimly. "The bird represents God. And coyote is man, endlessly chasing the divine, yet never able to catch him." He looked entirely down in the dumps about it. "You said it was supposed to be hilarious but… it just depresses me further."

Sam offered Cas an understanding, sympathetic smile. "Grief tends to do that, Cas," he said. "Anything and everything makes you sad. Even stuff that's supposed to make you smile."

Dean sighed and threw a hand up and quit leaning over Dad's journal. He was at his wit's end. "Well. I got no idea what we're hunting," he said wearily, giving up for the time being. "Maybe it's a Tulpa. Maybe it's some—some crazy god who watched too much Robot Chicken." He sighed and let his lips pffbt-pffbt in frustration.

Sam seemed the same—he was doing internet research and looked pretty out of answers himself. "Yeah, I dunno, Dean," he muttered.

Dean slapped Dad's journal shut. "All right, well, I'm gonna call it." He was tired and ready to get some shut-eye and stop thinking for a few hours. He glanced over at Cas, who was poking through one of their duffel bags curiously. That's when Dean realized this could get awkward fast. "Uh… so, there's two beds and three guys," he said then tried to joke around about it. "Houston, we have a problem."

"There's no problem, Dean," Cas said plainly. "I don't sleep." He hesitated and then in heartbreaking earnestness, he offered the only thing he could. "I'll… watch over you both."

Dean swallowed down an immediate hell no. He didn't need a babysitter and no offense but being watched while sleeping was creepy. Sam however accepted Cas's offer on principle. "Thanks, Cas," he said, even though he obviously thought it was a little weird, too. "We appreciate it."

"Well yeah but—" Dean began in protest.

Cas was standing up, holding a hand to his temple and grimacing almost. Was something hurting him? Dean's protest was forgotten. "Something's coming across the police band," Cas muttered, frowning deeply.

"Wait, you can hear that?" Sam asked in mild awe.

"It's all waves," Cas said in slight irritation, holding up a hand as if to say be quiet. He shut his eyes and listened a couple seconds longer and then opened his eyes and looked at the boys. "A bank has been robbed. It… sounds loony."

Later That Night

After meeting Detective Glass at the bank crime scene where a one-ton anvil had dropped out of nowhere and crushed the security guard into a bloody pulp, the Winchesters definitely agreed it was another loony mystery. Add to that how there were two huge black circles painted on the walls of the bank and no signs of forced entry whatsoever and the plot was really beginning to thicken. Sam had asked the detective if he could take a look at her files concerning other recent robberies which had taken place and been similar to this one (the black hole robber, they were calling him). Detective Glass took him with herself to the station, which left Dean and Cas to scope out the crime scene. They didn't find anything else really and headed back to the motel after coming up blank.

The car ride was silent. Dean put on some music low in the background to try and cover up the silence. But Cas had something on his mind and after five minutes of no talking, he finally asked his most somber and heartbroken question out of the blue. "Why don't we talk about her, Dean?"

If Dean was startled by the question, he didn't show it. He just tightened his jaw and kept his eyes on the road, staying outwardly unaffected. "Because right now ain't the time."

Castiel looked at his friend sidelong with defeated and confused eyes. "Why not?"

"Because I can't." Dean's voice had gotten a whole lot more forceful. And then he took a second and made himself be less harsh. "I just—I just can't, Cas."

The angel was silent for a long moment and eyes old as centuries searched the dark, passing scenery. "I miss her, Dean," he finally said, his voice catching on a choked throat.

Dean's hand was so hard on the wheel that his knuckles were white. "Yeah Cas," he managed, over-focusing on driving and looking occupied. "I do too."

Cas spoke of her like she was the most important thing to him in all of existence—like he would never recover from her loss at all. "She was my best friend," he whispered, his eyes glassy and tearful and staring into nothing, his eyebrows furrowed and bent upward in pain. "My… my everything."

Dean's face wavered and emotion began to show through the mask he was trying to wear. And he finally looked over at the angel as he let himself be real for a second. "Cas man, there's gotta be something you can do," he managed through a weak voice. "Come on. You're a freakin' angel, you pulled me outta Hell—wrack your brain, there's gotta be a way to—"

Without warning, Castiel was wooden and glazed over almost like a switch had been flipped. "No," he said in a steady low voice. He even sat differently and there was something inherently unrecognizable about him. "There is nothing." He was unaffected and inscrutable. "You're right Dean. We should not speak of her." And then he turned his head away and looked out the window, refusing to acknowledge Dean for the rest of the car ride.

Once they were back to the motel room, Dean proceeded to pull Sam's laptop out and try a few searches of his own. Maybe Sam had missed something, he reasoned. So tired he could barely keep his eyes open, Dean made himself read about Tulpas even as he dreamed of sleep and rest and brighter, happier days. Yeah right. Dean scrolled downward with glazed eyes and barely read the article he'd pulled up.

"Your father... had beautiful handwriting," Cas said quietly, and Dean looked over at the angel who looked more like himself again. He was sitting on the further bed and paging gently through Dad's journal with a soft look on his face. "Almost as beautiful as your sister's," he said, obviously happening upon a page she had written. Cas stopped paging through—he was looking at the journal with a warm expression on his face that was tainted by the whispers of pain. "Have you seen this drawing of me?" he asked softly, then showed Dean a page that the hunter was very familiar with. The angel entry. Alex had put it together back in, what, 2007? 2008? Wow, that seemed like a lifetime ago. Sketched beautifully in rich black ink beneath the spidery 'Angels' title she'd penned, a moody drawing of Castiel.

"Yup," Dean confirmed, struck by reminiscence of better times. Funny that 'better times' for him meant the apocalypse. "That was back in the day, huh? When she thought you were just another creeper in a trench coat."

Cas's fingers traced over the sketch of himself as the softest and most bittersweet smile lifted his mouth. "It's so strange," he said in a voice thick with love and reflection. "How two people can start off as strangers and end up…" he trailed off and didn't finish his sentence because his fondness had taken a sharp turn into despair. He tried to soldier through it and not show his emotional duress. "The detail is remarkable," he said, trying to sound less sad. He continued onward and looked at other sketches and drawings she'd marked into the book. "The artistry. She was very skilled."

Dean watched Cas with the journal and a wave of sadness and nostalgia and longing pulled at his heart all at once. "Yeah," he said softly, remembering Alex and all the sketchbooks she'd torn through in the years on the road. "She took after Dad like that. He was a pretty talented artist, actually." Dean cracked a little smile. "Sam and I are crap, heh." They were lucky if they got stick figures down on the paper. "But… I mean, to be fair, she had a lot of time to practice. I think drawing was her way of talking before she could talk, you know?" He smiled to himself sadly, full of warm memories and happy times that had been so real once. And then his smile faded, reality washed over him again, and he remembered that she was dead and there was nothing he could do about it. That thought was so fucking terrifying and awful that he couldn't even begin to face it, so he shoved it away and just kept doing what he had been doing: pretending she was somewhere else. Just gone for awhile. And as long as Dean had other things to do with his time and focus on, he would be okay. Finding the other half of the tablet was first and foremost in his mind right now. Talking to James today had been something that spurred him onward again. She was still alive but sounded pretty depressed and said she couldn't meet up with him yet like he wanted to. Her reason? 'I just… I just can't. I'm so sorry.' He didn't understand. He just wished they could just be in the same place. A hug would change his life right about now. But he understood she was going through a lot and he'd run her off. So that was the bed he'd made, and he just had to lie down in it.

Switching his focus to something else, Dean eyed Cas closely. He couldn't help but worry. A lot. Cas was off. Yes, he was grieving and sad, but something about him was just not quite right. The deeply emotional outbursts that kept being followed by emotionless robot-Cas were bizarre. Hopefully it was nothing, but Dean wasn't entirely sure. "How you feeling, Cas?" he ventured, closely watching the angel page through the journal.

"I'm fine," Cas answered automatically.

Dean leveled him with a that's bullshit look. "And I'm the King of England."

"Dean, I'm fine," Cas insisted, looking at Dean surprisingly hard in the eyes for emphasis—he was sending a very clear message: back off. "We have work to focus on. Don't worry yourself on my account."

"Who are you, me?" Dean retorted moodily. "You wanted to talk, so let's talk." All he got was a brief and grudging glance but he charged forward anyway. "Look, there's something bothering me. Don't get me wrong. I'm—I'm happy you're back. I am. But it's just… I've been thinking about this whole mysterious-resurrection thing—it always has one mother of a downside."

Interest caught, Cas looked at Dean with a slight dread. "What are you saying?"

"That we need to figure out who or what brought you back," Dean said. "I mean, you know just suddenly being topside is hella freaky, right? That doesn't just happen. You don't just get disappeared outta Purgatory without a reason." He lost some of his gusto because of the next part he had to say. "Especially after—after Alex shows up sick. People don't get sick in Purgatory—so… so what's that all about?"

Cas closed the journal, his expression showing wretchedness. "I don't know how or why. But I know what I saw. And I'm telling you the truth. About everything. I don't know how I got out." He looked at Dean with pleading eyes.

"I know," Dean said honestly. "I believe you. I don't think you're lying, if that's what you're trying to say."

That obviously meant a lot to the angel. "Thank you," he said softly, then took a couple of tensely thoughtful seconds. "So. How do you propose we find out the circumstances of my removal from Purgatory?"

"Maybe you take a trip upstairs," Dean suggested.

Cas looked like Dean had suggested something absurd. "…to Heaven?"

"Yeah, poke around, see if the God squad can't tell us how you got out," Dean said. "Check and see if, I dunno, any of your buddies can do something about the… the sister situation." Saying that was like pulling teeth.

Avoiding Dean's gaze, Cas stared at one of his own knees. "No."

Confused at the unwillingness, Dean tried to appeal to his friend. "Look, man, I–I hate those flying-ass monkeys just as much as you do, but if there's even a chance that, that she could—"

"Dean!" Cas explained in surprising forcefulness. "I said no!" And visibly upset, the angel looked away.

So it was like that, then. Dean closed the laptop and walked over to Cas, a man on a mission. He sat across from Cas on the other bed and gave the angel every ounce of his attention. He wasn't gonna let it go until he knew what was going on. "Talk to me," he said firmly and waited, leaving Cas no choice but to engage.

The picture of self-loathing and guilt and misery, Castiel finally began to explain his odd behavior and his anti-Heaven attitude. "Dean, I... when I was... bad... and I had all those things—the… the Leviathans... writhing inside me... I caused a lot of suffering on earth, but I devastated Heaven. I vaporized thousands of my own kind, and I–I–I can't go back."

"'Cause if you do, the angels will kill you," Dean supposed grimly.

"No," Cas replied plainly. "Because if I see what Heaven's become—what I—what I made of it... and most importantly the one person who's missing from it… I'm afraid I might kill myself." A little startled, Dean's mouth fell open as Cas continued. "And at this point that seems like the best idea to me, if I'm being honest," he said quietly, still holding the journal in his hands. His eyes went to it and his voice lost strength. "Being here without her is like existing without lungs," he managed just above a whisper. "It's not possible, and yet somehow... here I am." His face worked hard as he shook his head. "This is all wrong." Cas got more and more upset. "I don't think I can do this after all. Hunting, trying to pass myself off as a hero. I'm nothing. And I'm certainly not a hero. Not in the least." He suddenly stood up fast in deep dismay, and the journal he'd been holding fell to the floor. Pages and loose leafs scattered out in a mess when it hit the ground.

Cas looked down in a breathless daze of grief at the mess he'd made… and then with a frown he slowly bent and took hold of one piece of paper that caught his attention. As his pained eyes read whatever was on that page, Dean silently began to clean up the mess the angel had made. He squatted as he put the journal back together and gathered the loose pages. He frowned as he came across things he'd never seen before. He found a remarkably detailed pen drawing of the Impala done in crosshatch, an unfinished charcoal sketch of a man in a jacket walking away (it looked like Dad, actually), and a goofy, cartoony colored drawing of Sam with antlers and the caption 'Happy Birthday, Sam! No wonder they call you Moose.' It was dated a few years ago. He also found a water-stained 4x6 of the twins from their early teen years (Sam carrying Alex piggyback style as she put on an overly-bored face and he pretended she was too heavy for him). He hadn't seen that picture in forever but remembered it instantly when he saw it. He'd taken it, after all. Confused, Dean looked at the journal. Was there some kind of secret pocket or flap in the journal where Alex had some hidden items?

"I'm s-sorry," Cas said, and Dean looked up, realizing something was very wrong from the tone in the angel's voice. Cas was clutching the piece of paper he had picked up and he was shaking—crying. "I c-can't do this," he said, backing up even as Dean stood. "I need… I need… I need to get away from here. I have to change this. I can't do this anymore, it's not right."

It sounded dire and maybe morbid, too. "Wait, Cas—!" Dean protested, trying to stop him. But it was too late. The angel disappeared into thin air. "Son of a bitch." Dean let out a frustrated sound and jammed a hand through his hair. There was literally no telling where Cas had gone or what had been on that paper to drive him to suddenly leave. And because of what the angel had admitted to him just moments ago, Dean was of the mindset that Cas's life was on the line. "Don't kill yourself, Cas!" he shouted at the ceiling. "You hear me?! We can get through this, dammit!"

Tipsy's Liquor World
Littleton, CO

He wasn't going to kill himself. But he was going to do something he knew he shouldn't do. And before he did that, he had to get drunk—wasted, as Dean might say. He had to numb this pain and stop feeling so much. The last time he had been under alcohol's influence was years ago. At the Vatican. With her. And Cas stifled another sob as he stumbled down a dark aisle full of booze in the closed alcohol shop. In his hand, he clung to the paper from John Winchester's journal. In Alex's hand writing on a wrinkled, worn piece of paper, a poem she had written. Even though it would cause nothing but more pain, he stopped mid-aisle, leaning with one hand for support as he read it again, trying to be close to her the only way that was left: by seeing the words her hand had left on a page, by reading her thoughts. Thoughts about him.

Lonely
the only word I knew.
The song of silence
on repeat my entire life.
An ache in my bones,
a stone in my heart,
a mark on my soul.
My curse. My fate.
And then you.

My harsh edge met
your sweetest curiosity.
You felt the slice
of my bitterness,
and yet you stayed.

My anchor.
My prayer.

Everything I have is yours.
You are my greatest friend,
my deepest love,
my endless dream,
my beautiful angel.

It was dated April of 2010, which meant it had to have been written right before they were married. Castiel was in tears, clutching that piece of paper like it was the only thing worth holding onto in the world. He was overwhelmed completely by grief, guilt, and agony—she had loved him and look where he had gotten her. She had thought the world of him and he had let her perish. Stifling teary noises, Cas decided consequences be damned. He folded the paper up with trembling hands and put it into his pocket then began to semi-frantically take in the many options in front of him. Vodka, tequila, whiskey, bourbon. Which one would work the fastest and last the longest?

He was going to travel back in time. He was going to change it all. He didn't even know what point he would choose to return to, but he was going to find a way to change this. All of it. And he didn't care if the universe were ripped in half or who might die when he altered fate like that. It didn't matter. Alex Winchester would live even if it killed him and others. And if time travel didn't work, he would rip out his Grace and take the human soul given to him and trade it for her life. And if that didn't work either, he would kill himself. Because living without her and living with the knowledge that he had failed so completely was beyond him. He couldn't fathom it. He was nothing but a curse on her life.

Needing to quench the pain, Cas reached out and grabbed a huge bottle of vodka.

And then, a nearby but unfamiliar voice stopped him.

"Bad idea."

It wasn't an unpleasant or hostile tone, in fact, it was gently corrective and kind in nature. Startled out of his tearfulness, Cas turned to see the source of that voice. A young man he did not recognize stood close, a few paces away. The stranger was early to mid twenties, just slightly taller than Cas. He wore dark jeans, rugged work boots, and a faded shirt underneath a heavy zip-up hooded jacket. Standing with a posture that suggested he was confident and at ease, his expression showed that he was mentally sharp but also, perhaps, a little bit of trouble or a bit of a jokester. Cas stared, his face falling into an expression of gaping confusion. Was it just him or did this boy—young man—look remarkably similar to… himself? Same tousled hair style. Similar facial features, same clefted chin, same body build. Unmistakably vivid blue eyes. His skin was a bit fairer than Cas's and his features softer, his eyes a little bigger, his hair color a little lighter. But the resemblance was remarkable. At Cas's dumbfounded stare, the stranger smiled obligingly albeit sadly—he saw Cas's shining cheeks. "Hi," he said in a deep, steady voice that almost could have been fond.

Becoming guarded—this stranger must be an enemy—Cas all but glared. "…Who are you?" he demanded, his eyes drilling into the young man harshly. A thousand possible explanations for who he might be and what sort of harm he intended flitted through Cas's mind. "Why are you here?"

The stranger didn't seem very affected at all by Cas's reaction. In fact, he was mildly and ruefully amused by Cas's tone and questions. Walking closer at an ambling gait, the stranger gave the angel a small smile. He seemed unnervingly perceptive and assured, and Castiel did not like that.

"I'm… here to talk you off the ledge, guess you could say," the young man said, taking the bottle of booze right from Cas's hand. Staring at the gall of this person, Castiel's face was scrunched into a disgruntled frown as the stranger turned the bottle to look at the label and then made a face like he was glad he'd intervened when he did. "Eugh. Yeah uh this brand sucks, don't waste your time," he advised. Without anything further, he tossed the bottle over his shoulder haphazardly, letting it crash onto the floor and spill everywhere. The sharp, cloying scent of alcohol hit Cas's nose as he stared incredulously at the impertinent stranger in front of him. The young man had switched facial expressions—he now looked focused and empathetic, solemn. "Listen, I know what you're thinking about doing," he intoned gravely. "And I have a message for you."

In no mood for trickery—of the high opinion that Crowley was somehow behind this—Castiel abruptly seized the young man by the front of his jacket, whirled him, and slammed him into the shelf of alcohol. Bottles went clattering and smashing to the floor. "Who are you?!" Cas demanded loudly, angrily.

Appearing only mildly offended at the attack, the stranger held his hands up in a gesture of peacefulness. "Hey, easy!" he protested, making no moves to defend himself, instead... Cas balked. Was this boy... laughing?

Shaking him, Cas leveled him with his most furious glare. "Who sent you? Was it Crowley?"

The question made the stranger scoff in a way that was both dismissive and entertained. Somehow, this boy didn't seem bothered that at any moment Castiel could obliterate him completely. "No, Crowley didn't send me," he said, then looked the angel in the eye plainly and said something that made Cas freeze in place: "You did."

Cas's tight hands loosened as his glare fell into a confused expression. "…Pardon?"

The boy commiserated in a maddeningly cheeky way. "I know, right?" Conversational to a strange degree when you considered that he had super-human strength hands clutching him tightly, the stranger grinned like he was sharing a joking moment with a friend. "Trust me, I thought you cracked your head too when you sent me here." He glanced down at Cas's hands significantly. "Now uh if you don't mind…?" He waited, his crystalline blue eyes darting up to Cas's. While Castiel was stilled, and had to admit there was... something here to this somehow... he didn't let go. The young man sighed lengthily and reached down. With shocking ease, he pried Cas's hands away, stunning the angel anew.

He tried to resist the boy's grip, but he found the seeming-mortal to be vastly stronger than himself. And Castiel was strong. Stronger than strong. Staring in awe at the unassuming young man who looked so very much like him, Castiel found that his voice was soft and stunned as a new possibility began to come to him. As he looked at this person much more closely. "Not an angel and not a demon," he breathed, looking the young man over very closely indeed. And not human either, even though he appeared to be. "What are you...? How are you so strong?"

There was a roguish sparkle to the stranger's eyes and he half-grinned, half-smirked. "I eat my wheaties."

Castiel squinted, abruptly disconcerted. "…What are these wheaties you speak of?"

The young man almost rolled his eyes. "Oh come on, Da—" He abruptly cut himself off. "Dude." His mouth was in a thin line. "Wheaties. The breakfast cereal?" He squinted briefly in thought, studying Cas quietly, then he muttered almost to himself: "I guess this is before you started eating, isn't it..."

"Before I... what?" Cas felt his head tilting to the side slightly as he contemplated this stranger with a growing sense of dawning wonder. But if his beginnings of this theory were true… that meant…

A crash sounded nearby and several bottles of alcohol went rolling somewhere behind the stranger. A soft swearword sounded and the young man turned at the sound, his expression abruptly showing concern. Cas peered past him and saw the source of the crash. Hiding in the shadows there was a teenage girl with long, dark hair. When the light caught her features, Castiel went still completely. For a heartbeat, he thought it was Alex. She was tall and petite, she wore a thigh holster where a very interesting blade was strapped. In jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt with a cargo jacket, she almost could have been Alex if you only glanced at her. Whoever she was, she was currently frozen and wincing as bottles rolled around her feet near where she'd knocked into. "…Oops," she said in grimacing apology, looking embarrassed at her stumble. Castiel stared, entranced, mystified, awestruck. Her eyes were the same as the other stranger: bright blue.

The male stranger, seeing that she wasn't hurt, became mildly annoyed. "Good one Captain Klutz. What happened to being quiet and watching?"

"It's dark in here!" she defended, giving him a catty look. "And not all of us have super powered laser night vision."

Rolling his eyes faintly, the young man folded his arms. "Yeah, not like you remind me all the time," he muttered.

A little beside himself at the strangeness of the current moment, Cas stared at the girl then looked at the boy for explanation. "Who is this?" he asked.

The boy smirked her way briefly. "She's here to keep me outta trouble. Well, to try to keep me out of trouble." He chuckled and shook his head. "You always try and send her with me on jobs and it never works, but hey. Your sense of optimism is commendable."

But Cas just stared, taking in this boy's face, his mannerisms, his companion. "… W-why do you look so much like me?" he asked, in a slight daze. "And why does she look so much like—"

"Good question," the girl interrupted, her tone surprisingly on the assertive side—she came forward and gave her brother a sharp side eye like she was silently chastising him before she refocused on Cas and became softer, her eyes looking at him questioningly. "But, here's a better one. What are you doing in this dump?" She sounded concerned for some reason.

Cas felt a little ashamed about the truth. "I'm… here to get wasted," he muttered, phrasing it in the way the Winchesters would.

At his declaration, the girl looked like she had never heard anything more bizarre. "Wh—" Her eyes stayed on Cas as she spoke out of the side of her mouth to the boy, who looked a little thrown off: "He left out that detail..."

Still working on his theory privately with a thumping heart, Castiel looked at them both carefully. Surely it couldn't be what he thought. But maybe it could be. "You… you said I sent you?" And the more he thought about it, who else could they be? "I take it I know you," he said slowly. "Both of you."

The young man quashed an amused smile. "Ju-uuust a little bit." Was that... sarcasm?

Castiel swallowed as his heart sped up further. "…W-what year are you from?"

The brother and sister—it's clear that's what they were—looked at each other silently, obviously trading some sort of wordless communication before the brother began to speak. "Okay so this is what I'm supposed to tell you, and sorry if it's really fast but we're on a time crunch: Things aren't what they seem right now. Under no circumstances are you to use time travel right now—just keep your head down and wait." There was a small stretch of silence.

"You left out the last part," the stranger's sister said under her breath.

The boy seemed to remember. "Oh yeah," he said with mild chagrin, sending a brief thankful look her way. He got a tiny, long-suffering smile from her before he fixed Castiel with another long gaze. "You told me to tell yourself that, uh..." he seemed a little confused and curious about this part: "She's not dead."

It was like there was no air in his lungs. "Who isn't?" Cas breathed, daring to hope.

The boy shrugged, studying Cas closely. "Dunno. You said you'd know what I'm talking about." He sighed in brief frustration, seeming to let go of his curiosity. "You guys never tell me the full details on stuff." He cracked a sudden grin, showing a broad, handsome smile. "It's funny though, huh? Me, time traveling back here to tell you not to time travel."

Funny? Castiel couldn't find the humor in it. Irony he could identify, he supposed. The quiet sister was watching him with her keen, startlingly blue eyes. "Promise not to do it," she said softly and intently. "The time travel."

His heart was thumping so hard he thought it might burst out of him. "Why should I promise anything?" he asked softly, confused. Hope ached painfully inside of him.

"You said you'd say that," the young man said, then gestured with his hand a few times as he spoke, indicating that there was a list that went on forever. "Because something about time discrepancies blah blah blah and black hole whatever and fabric being ripped apart in the universe or—yeah, I dunno, I always space out when you start to lecture me with your science professor stuff, sorry."

In a literal state of mind, Cas missed the fact that the young man wasn't being literal. "I'm… not an educator, I assure you."

The young man's eyebrows raised up as an amused smile grew. "There he is," he said.

Cas was befuddled. "There who is?"

Of all things, a rich, genuine laugh bubbled up and the young man's grin lit up the entire room and crinkled his eyes as he shook his head. "Didn't think it was possible for you to be any less cool than you already are," he said, but it didn't seem like an insult, it almost seemed... like a fond observation. "Makes me wonder how the hell you got Mom to fall in love with you." Cas's face went slack. The young man realized his slip the second he'd said it and he went stiff. "Ah shit."

His sister gave him a look that seemed to indicate she was absolutely floored by his stupidity. "CJ!" she admonished, then groaned. "I told them not to put you in charge of this!"

"Well, it's a legitimate question!" he defended, then gave her a very pointed look. "And you just said my name, dude—Dad told you not to say my name or yours." Startled, clearly mentally backtracking and realizing he was right, the unnamed girl took a long, uncomfortable beat before she drew her mouth into an apologetically grim line and muttered a swear word under her breath. Cas just stared with an open mouth and a confused expression as the young man, apparently named CJ, gave Cas a playful look and leaned closer by a fraction as he indicated his sister. "Her name's Fred, for future reference." He got a look like an iron spike for that comment. CJ chuckled at how easy it was to goad her.

"That's not my name," she muttered, more to Cas than anyone else.

But Cas had only heard and latched onto one thing: "...Who is your mother?" he asked faintly, daring to hope, needing to know. "Please."

CJ became more serious. A little bittersweet. "Look, uh… I mean I think it's pretty obvious by now, and we were supposed to, you know, be mysterious." Nervousness shimmered across his face. "I don't wanna mess up the space-time whatever by saying the wrong thing or giving you too much information, okay?" He drew himself up a little taller and despite a sudden turn toward regret—he made it clear that the interaction was nearing its end. "We gotta go. You got the message, our deed here is done." He nudged his sister with a shoulder. "Come on." He retreated a few steps.

But she didn't go with him. "Wait." She came a little closer to Cas, a bit cautiously and tentatively. Cas was unable to look away from her. The resemblance she bore to Alex was heartbreaking. She wet her lips, trying to find words to say, but nothing came out. Searching her blue eyes that were so much like his, Cas saw a quiet fierceness to her, a steadfast quality. Wordlessly, the girl hesitantly let her hand reach out toward him—as if asking a question. Without a thought, Castiel answered in kind, his fingers reaching forward to brush hers. Sentiment surged, he felt a connection to her, and it was unmistakable. He felt it somewhere he couldn't explain. He knew who they both were, without question. Castiel's fingers fell away from the girl's as breath seemed to escape his lungs. But his eyes remained locked on hers. There was a keenness to this girl, an undeniable brightness and intelligence. She seemed to be putting the pieces together. "Is... do you think it's her that's dead?" she asked, seeming genuinely confused and even fearful. She looked young, maybe in her early teens—and a myriad of questions about what she knew and didn't know, who she was at this point in her life flashed across Cas's mind. He didn't know how he could feel such tenderness and love for someone who was a stranger, but he did. Both of them. And now he knew it was his time not to say too much. Silent and watchful, CJ came back a bit closer, suddenly behaving very differently: where there had been lightness and a more cavalier approach, he was now intent and interested, even apprehensive. Under the two worried gazes, Cas thought quickly.

"I think that's a question for me... in a different time," he said slowly, still absolutely confounded at what was happening. Feeling so much emotion he thought perhaps he could burst into pieces.

CJ nodded and exhaled heavily, accepting it however reluctantly. The two men's eyes met, and unguarded worry was in the younger's expression. He hesitated. Then seemed to throw some caution to the wind. His voice was a scant whisper. "Be brave, Dad," he said with surprising vulnerability. Dad. Castiel's heart melted into overwhelmed emotion, and his eyes filled with the feelings he couldn't hold.

He heard himself exhale. "I, I don't understand this," he said breathlessly, wondering if that was what it was like to dream. "Am... I already drunk?"

CJ pressed a smile away as his eyes crimped as the girl—Fred?—chuckled fondly way at him. CJ couldn't keep his head from shaking as a fond, rueful smile grew. "You wish, old man." There was a certain tenderness to the words. A tenderness that Castiel felt too.

It truly was a moment beyond words. With a welling chest, Cas looked at his son and daughter. His son and his daughter. Never before had such emotion been inside of his heart—the kind of feelings that would burst him completely. His eyes began to sting with tears that sprung to life out of the huge emotions he felt.

A beeping sound emanated from CJ's wrist. He looked at his watch and seemed to have a realization. "We can't stay any longer." With a regretful look at Cas, CJ hesitated and then reached out and offered his hand for a shake. "So, I guess… seeya around." He sounded bittersweet.

Slowly, in a dreamlike state. Cas reached out and gripped his son's hand. He had a strong, firm, solid handshake, but surprising emotion showed in the young man's eyes—like maybe the intensity of the moment and what it meant to Cas was getting to him, too. "See you around," Cas repeated quietly, wondering what CJ stood for and what kind of father he would be to this young man in the future. It was so unspeakably surreal to Cas. So important. So life-changing. And then they let go.

Fred—no, not Fred—whatever her true name was, hung back and gave Castiel a soft, knowing smile. Still reeling, Cas memorized their faces as an amazed, dumbfounded smile grew. CJ gave Cas a knowing, almost sly look as he reached out and touched his sister's shoulder—and then without warning and without a sound, the two of them disappeared. How did he do that?

In the dark and alone, all Cas could hear was the sound of his own breathing.

Overcome by so many emotions and feelings, Cas felt a smile coming over his face despite the tears in his eyes. Had that… had that just happened? Somehow… he didn't understand how… Alex would be back. She had to be. The visit that had just occurred proved that. And they would have children. Children. It was all too much for him—it gave him a burst of hope so intense and contagious that he could have laughed, cried, collapsed. And suddenly of one mind and mission, Cas set aside everything else. Determined to find out where his wife was and how to get her back, Castiel prepared to go to Heaven, the place he had been avoiding for reasons he didn't remember. And then for even more reasons unknown, that desire and determination to go to Heaven was abruptly erased and he found himself thinking no—I will not go there. Not sure of why he felt that but knowing that if he went to Heaven bad things would happen, Cas instead stared around at the abundance of alcohol around him and he suddenly forgot what had happened.

He reached for a bottle of alcohol—he had come here to drink right?—but something in him said no. He would disappoint someone if he drank that. So he took his hand away and stared hard at the broken bottle on the floor nearby. Had he done that? Why couldn't he remember…? He suddenly realized that he couldn't remember the past fifteen minutes at all. It was gone from his mind—a blank space. After standing there for thirty more minutes, Cas could still recall nothing but knew he had decided not to time travel and not to rip out his grace. Something told him to wait. Bide his time. But why? He wasn't sure. And inside, he felt broken. Something was wrong. Missing. Unfixable. And that made him sadder and sadder still.

About forty-five minutes after he'd left, Cas reappeared into the motel room he'd left Dean in. Sam had returned and the boys were in solemn conversation at the table. At Castiel's reappearance, they stood up in concerned unison. "Hello, boys," he greeted, and he thought he had something to tell them—but he couldn't remember what.

"Cas!" Dean said, eyeing him closely with a worried and relieved expression. "You okay?"

"Yes," the angel replied evenly. "I just needed to…" abruptly, he stopped mid-sentence and frowned. Just needed to what? A voice in his mind that he didn't recognize echoed and then disappeared.

Don't talk about anything but the job. Act like everything's normal or you know what I'll do.

Without understanding why he was obeying that voice without question, Castiel's tone lost emotion and became factual. "I feel better now, thank you."

Sam and Dean both reacted with slight narrowing of the eyes when Cas became so wooden. "…You sure?" Dean prompted doubtfully, scrutinizing Cas closely with a frown. "'Cause when you left here, you were kinda… I dunno, like super upset." To say the least.

As if he were rehearsing lines, Cas spoke blandly, disconnected from what he was saying. "I took some time. I got myself together. I would prefer not to talk about it." Very sure something was incredibly wrong but not sure what, afraid that he was losing his mind (again), Castiel fell into deeply troubled silence. He didn't understand why he felt so disjointed inside.

Sam contemplated him a couple beats longer, glanced at Dean, then decided it had to be business as usual and that Cas's odd behavior was just a manifestation of grief. "Well, we got a new problem to figure out," he said, his tone indicating that Cas had some part in helping do just that.

"Yup, got a lead. We're going to the local retirement home to see what we can see," Dean said, then offered the smallest rueful smile Cas's way. "Could use your help, Agent Stills."

Cas nodded, barely there at all. "Of course." His mind was somewhere else. But where… he wasn't sure.