This thing was such a pain in the ass to edit and I'm still not sure how it'll turn out. The AO3 version is formatted better, though, if anyone cares enough to hop over to there.
"Castiel? After you left Heaven, when did it start to feel like…like you fit? Like you…belonged here?"
He thinks for a moment, noticing the wariness, the loneliness in Mary's eyes, like she's all alone in a world she doesn't understand, like she'll never find a home or sanctuary in the unfamiliar world she was not designed to experience. He finds that he recognizes all that in himself, recognizes that even after eight years, he still feels like that—every single day.
"Well, I'm still not sure I do." 'I'm not sure I ever will,' he doesn't add, but the words make him ache, anyway, and he doesn't understand why, because he wasn't designed to feel. Angels are supposed to be emotionless and objective, unfeeling and efficient.
So, then, why does he seem to have the same emotions humans do without the warmth of a soul or a family or love to go with it?
It's all his fault. He'd known for quite some time that Jack wasn't well, and after watching how he'd just turned Felix into dust like it was nothing just because the snake was ill… He should've said something. He should've told Dean or-or Sam, but he…he didn't.
'You're dead to me.'
Dean had only just begun to trust Jack after he'd vanquished the alternate Michael, and he couldn't bear to burden Dean with potentially (hopefully, but evidently not) unfounded concerns about the young nephilim. So he'd kept it to himself in hopes that the issue would go away—just as he had with the deal he made with Crowley when they were looking for Purgatory, and when he'd been hiding the Angel Tablet underneath his own flesh, and, more recently, his deal with the Empty.
He hasn't learned anything. He still continues to cause nothing but pain and suffering as he hurts those closest to him. And now Mary's paid the price. Mary, who'd only recently come back from the dead and only just started gaining Sam and Dean's trust, has been killed, and it's all his fault.
'But I swear, if he did something to her, if she's… Then you're dead to me.'
Poor Jack was too young and too afraid to know how to deal with his actions and what they truly meant, only knowing that he'd done wrong and that he had to fix it quickly. So Jack tried to take the coward's way out and conceal his sin with another sin, hoping to do so before anyone knew Mary had died, hoping he would be able to fix everything without the Winchesters finding out, hoping to keep the only family he's ever had together.
But the consequences had caught up with Jack and his actions were displayed all across the cabin's floor, Mary's corpse lying there for all to see as Jack tried to bring her back using dark magic. Castiel's never felt as much anger and despair and loathing directed at him as he had before they knew Mary had died. Then he felt a smaller dosage as they watched Mary's body burn away during her hunter's funeral.
'No, he knew! He knew something was wrong with the kid. He knew it, and he didn't tell us! He didn't even tell us!'
He doesn't blame Dean for his harsh reaction. He'd lost his mother when he was four, and had only just gotten her back, only to have her ripped away again. Castiel could've prevented it—should've prevented it, should've just talked to Jack instead of sitting back and hoping he'd be okay and not interfering in fear that he'd only make everything that much worse, just like he always does when he interferes.
So he doesn't blame Dean for hating him. He kind of hates himself, too, wondering for hours on end why he hadn't acted, why he hadn't done something, why he hadn't ended it all years ago when he'd admitted to having those types of thoughts to an unmoving and uncaring Dean, who'd never brought it up again. And now he's failed Dean, and Jack, and Sam and Kelly and Mary—
'No, no. Don't even say it. Don't even say her name…'
But it's going to be okay. He has a plan to bring Mary back, and he will see it through—if it's the last thing he does. He just hopes it'll…be enough that Dean won't be so angry with him, afterwards. That he won't be dead to him when he really is…gone…
He forces down the feelings, fingers tightening on the steering wheel from where he's driving out to make things right, away from the Bunker, away from the Winchesters, away from anything that can sway his judgment.
He has to do this. This is the only way he can begin to atone.
Castiel's phone rings from where he'd tossed it into the backseat over an hour ago, though he'd never turned it off, selfishly liking the idea that they'd even consider speaking to him again. Then, when it doesn't pick up, it buzzes. He ignores it, knowing it's likely Dean again, likely attempting to apologize for his harshness, because Dean is kind and loyal and doesn't betray his family every other year with his own stupidity.
And that's why he can't answer the phone. Castiel knows that if he were to pick it up and see Dean's picture or hear his words, his resolve will crumble. So he ignores the waiting apology that he doesn't, silences his angel radio and any prayers that might come through, and drives, as he'd been doing for the past few weeks.
Two weeks ago, he'd heard of this man some time ago from a hunter. A collector of sorts, the man supposedly had a way to bring people back from the dead. He supposes he should've expected the man to be a fraud, only seeking out attention and things—or beings—to add to his collection. Thankfully, the man was rather inept with his angel warding, and Castiel was able to escape the warded glass contained within the hour, releasing the other monsters on his way out. He's pretty sure they murdered the man.
A few days after that, he'd gone to a witch in New Hampshire who claimed she could do it, but failed to deliver. He'd spent an entire day praying to the God that neither hears nor cares before finally deciding to go to Rowena, who'd been there when Jack tried to bring Mary back. But Rowena just said she couldn't do anything without a body.
So, out of options, he's on his way to Heaven to plead his case. The playground with the magical sandbox comes into view more quickly than he thought it would. He gets out of the truck without looking at his phone and stands by the sandbox, waiting for someone to come down.
"Back so soon?" Duma asks with an amused lilt in her voice.
"I'm here to talk. Take me to Naomi."
"I don't know if Naomi's—"
"Duma," he interrupts, stepping closer. While he'll usually tolerate the other angels' games, he's simply not in the mood. "Take me to Naomi. I have an offer to make her."
Duma just gives him a strange look, but finally relents. Castiel follows her through the portal and into the empty hallways of Heaven, more silent now than ever before with so few angels left. Naomi is standing in what used to be God's throne room, waiting for them with her arms behind her back and her wings tucked primly behind her, posture straight and perfect and expression cold and empty.
"Castiel. What a pleasant surprise. I'm guessing you're still as useless as before regarding the situation with jumpstarting Heaven, hm?"
"I'm here to make a deal," he says, calm and solemn.
"Oh?" Naomi looks momentarily intrigued. He remembers her having the same look when she was poking around in his head, not re-educating, merely prodding for the fun of it. It makes him feel…nauseated…
"Mary Winchester recently passed away, as I'm sure you know."
"Yes, I heard about that," Naomi replies with a subtle smirk. "Condolences."
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "You have no use for one human soul, but you could use another angel up here to…keep the lights on." Castiel resolves himself once more. This is his penance. This is how he atones, even if his fate is to live the rest of his unending existence in Heaven's prison. "Therefore, I offer myself in exchange for Mary Winchester. I'll remain here if she goes free."
Naomi looks at him, puzzled, and Duma just frowns. "Why would you do that?" the latter asks.
"Sam and Dean need her," he replies simply, finally speaking the painful truths he's tried not to acknowledge for so long. "They don't need me—they never really have. I've…overstayed my welcome. It's time for me to move on."
He never understood the conditions of the Empty's deal. It said it's going to take him when he's truly happy. If the Empty is truly a cosmic being with infinite knowledge that knows everything there is to know about any being that's been sent there after death, then why would it create such foolish and impossible parameters? Doesn't it know he's never been truly happy before?
"I don't know what's gotten into you, but I can't accept a deal like that, Castiel." The older angel steps away from him, moving to stand by what's made to be a window, though there's nothing to look out to. "You've forgotten just how many times I've been inside your head. I know where your loyalties lie, and where you'll only make messes for Heaven to clean up, and this is a disaster waiting to happen."
"Not to mention all the reapers that will demand answers," Duma adds. "Upsetting the fragile balance of life and death tends to have…consequences."
"Cosmic ones, even." Castiel goes pale, but Naomi just turns and flashes a coy smile. "I'm sure you know a thing or two about that, don't you, Castiel?"
He hesitates, hating himself for it. But the memory also makes him remember lying on Ramiel's floor, choking out 'I love you' through all the thick, black tar flooding his eyes and mouth. He remembers how no one said it back, how he's never heard anyone tell him that before, so he insists, "Even if I'm just occupying one of the prison cells, I'll be of more value to you than one human soul."
"Yes—until the Winchesters come up here, looking for their wayward lap-angel," Naomi refutes. "That's just a disaster in the making, and I refuse to watch you create yet another mess for Heaven to clean up. Now, why don't you go answer your boyfriend, already? He's been praying to you non-stop for days. Surely, humans need to sleep eventually, don't they?"
"Naomi, please," Castiel persists desperately, afraid of what might happen if he returns from his secret mission empty-handed. "I can be of use—"
"We don't want you, Castiel," Duma cuts in bluntly. "I assumed you were used to the feeling enough to recognize it by now." She turns away, wings shifting behind her in a way that mimics human laughter, even though they don't make a sound. "You're just lucky there aren't enough angels left to afford killing you off."
Castiel leaves after that, stopping only briefly to peek into Mary Winchester's Heaven, invisible to the human eye. She's curled up on the couch between John and a young Dean, an infant Sam in her arms sucking on his fingers. She's laughing at something John had said, and little Dean's eyes are locked on his little brother, looking at him like he's the best thing the world has to offer.
He leaves Heaven quickly and drives about halfway back to the Bunker before pulling over on the side of the road and putting his head against the steering wheel. Finally, out of options, Castiel calls for the Empty, saying he wants to talk. A minute later, the passenger seat is occupied by Dean—well, the Empty dressed up as Dean.
"You rang?" The phone rings again in the backseat. Castiel ignores it.
"How much control over Heaven do you hold?"
"Only where the angels go, Cas. Why? Were you thinking of making another deal to hide from your so-called family, hmm? I'm afraid you have nothing left to offer, sunshine." He grits his teeth, which makes the Empty laugh in a cruel mockery of Dean's beautiful laugh. "Oh, how sweet!" it croons, its face morphing into Mary's, complete with burned-out eye sockets typical of a victim of an angelic smiting. "The angel that thinks it's people! I told you there was nothing for you here!"
Castiel bites his lip to keep from saying anything and yanks the volume dial on the truck's radio, blasting obnoxious pop songs and ignoring the Empty until it finally disappears. Even after the cosmic entity disappears, he keeps the radio playing in hopes it'll block out the more intrusive and unproductive thoughts clouding his mind.
If Mary were in Hell, he'd be able to simply raise her up, as he'd done the other two Winchesters the world has been blessed with, but since she's in Heaven, it's not as simple. He supposes he can try to contact the Darkness—Amara—and ask her to resurrect Mary again, but he's not sure how to get in touch with her, let alone what he might be able to offer in return.
Finally, after sitting in the truck for hours, brainstorming but coming up with nothing, he acknowledges that he's just failed the Winchesters—and poor, innocent, confused Jack—again and shuts off the radio. He turns and retrieves his phone from the backseat, briefly noting the number of calls he's received as he dials Dean's number.
"Cas," Dean offers as a greeting, voice tight.
"Hello, Dean," he manages to say anyway.
"What, you disappear and don't pick up for two weeks and now it's 'hello'?" Dean asks incredulously. "I don't think so. Unless you got any jack on Jack, get your ass back to the Bunker pronto."
He sighs, having been hoping he wouldn't have to be involved in any plans to hunt down Jack. Jack is…sensitive, and only a child. He needs to be nurtured, and he needs space and time to think and develop into his own person. At least, that's what those parenting books had said, along with the note that you could never have too many diapers.
Castiel sighs almost wistfully. He remembers the joy of knowing that the future savior of the world was growing and developing, remembers feeling Jack kick as human infants do and pulsate his grace out in search of comfort as young angels do. He knows Jack has a very important role to play, but he can't help but wish Jack had been given a childhood, too.
Even though Jack is soulless, Castiel knows he can still play that role. Jack isn't bad, just…confused. He needs time to understand the intricacies of life, of how things suffer all the time and how that does not warrant their death. If he could talk to Jack…maybe he could make everything okay. After all, angels don't have souls to act as their moral compass, and he likes to think he understands how said intricacies work…
But he doesn't, not really. He can't possibly understand anything about humans if he's still just spending each day hurting those he cares about and destroying the ones he loves. He'll never be human. He'll just be…the angel that ruins everything he touches. The angel that thinks he's people. The angel that keeps returning to his master no matter how many times he's kicked and yelled at and shoved to the corner.
So he sighs and ducks his head and starts the truck, fighting down a new wave of guilt, knowing he'll never get anywhere if he allows himself to dwell on it. "Of course, Dean," he replies, even though he wants to do nothing less than return to the Winchesters empty-handed and valueless. "I'll be there shortly."
Dean hangs up without replying. Castiel turns the pop music back on quietly and rests his forehead against the steering wheel, wishing, not for the first time, that the terms of the Empty's deal could've been to take him when he's most miserable, could've been something obtainable.
True happiness. He doesn't know the meaning of the word.
Then again, angels aren't supposed to feel, anyway.
When he finally returns to the Bunker, the first thing he's confronted with is Dean's angry face. "What the hell, man? Where the hell have you been?"
"Dean," Sam cuts in with a heavy sigh and a disapproving look. Dean swivels to look back at him, and Castiel can practically see the tension between the two of them.
He looks away, eyes instead finding the table that has—had—two pairs of initials carved into it the last time he saw it. Now, there are three, as 'MW' joins the other two. They must've written her name on the table sometime while he was gone…and try as he might, he can't look away.
The initials of the mother they only knew for a few years, permanently placed on the wooden table. He…he wonders why his never joined it, at any point. He's known them for so much longer, and they said he was family, but… Evidently, Mary, who had betrayed them numerous times in the short amount of time that she was back, was family, and he, the angel with the crack in his chassis that breaks everything he touches…isn't.
True happiness. He's never even felt regular happiness before. Maybe when he was insane, following honeybees around and ignoring the mountain of sins he still has yet to atone for, he came…close. But he mostly just remembers being lonely. Sam and Dean didn't want him then, either—a clear forewarning for when he became human and useless and they threw him out all over again.
Even if the circumstances called for it that time, they showed that they were capable of it long before he Fell, and they're still showing it now. If his powers keep dwindling and getting weaker, he has no doubt they'll kick him out again. He's becoming tired and weary and knows it won't be long now.
In their minds, he's probably already gone, kicked out and mentally forsaken just like Jack is now. Dean said he's dead to him. Sam held him back and prevented him from trying to console Dean, which admittedly likely saved him from receiving a few more harsh phrases he'll never forget. He's always been known to take words to heart, even long before he met the Winchesters.
'Then you're dead to me.'
He must be to Sam, too, since the tall, kind man couldn't even find it in himself to look Castiel in the eye. They'd both gotten into the Impala and left without him, leaving Castiel to watch Mary's pyre burn away until there was nothing but ash left, decorated by the tears of a broken angel that couldn't find it in him to cry until he was alone, because he knows that whatever sadness he felt was nothing compared to what Sam and Dean must've felt.
"Cas," Dean snaps, sounding like he's had to repeat it a few times. Castiel's eyes snap up to meet his, even though Dean isn't quite looking at him. "Where were you?"
He could say many things that wouldn't be untrue. Heaven, earth, a glass container for all of an hour. Instead, tired of lying, he replies, "Looking into different ways to bring Mary back." Sam and Dean both freeze, eyes going wide, so he hastily adds, "I've failed, of course. The human was useless, as was the witch. Rowena didn't want involved, and Naomi didn't want to make a deal, and—"
"You were…trying to bring Mom back?" Sam whispers, stunned.
"I failed," Castiel reiterates quickly. "I couldn't find anyone willing to—"
"To what? Exchange yourself for her?" Dean shakes his head, looking upset again. "What the hell, Cas. Don't you think this is the kind of thing we should—oh, I don't know—talk about?"
"Why?" he asks, puzzled. "I didn't think you'd care."
"What?"
"I'm dead to you, remember? What difference does it make?" Castiel forces the emotions he shouldn't even have away upon seeing Dean's face, the man looking like he'd just been punched in the stomach. What is wrong with him? Dean feels guilty about everything regardless of if it's his fault or not. How dare he say such a thing? "That was…out of line. I apologize. In any case, I failed, so—"
'—so we can forget it even happened, like you did when I admitted I was contemplating suicide. Like you did when you kicked me out when I was human and vulnerable and useless to you. Like you did when I was insane before that, unable to cope with my own actions in addition to Sam's trauma from Hell.'
Castiel sighs, weary and exhausted as his whole world crumbles down around him. In one fell swoop, he'd lost Mary and Jack and Dean, and he's not really sure where he stands with Sam now, but… "In any case, we should…focus on finding Jack. I believe we can still help him. He just needs guidance."
He expects Dean to snap at even the utterance of the nephilim's name. He expects the strangely concerned expression to melt right off his face and, soon after, Sam's. He hopes, stupidly, that they'll be able to talk about this, talk about saving Jack and helping guide him on the right path. After all, Castiel's been on dangerous paths before, and they never…never quite gave up on him. Why should Jack be any different? If anything, he's much less deserving of any punishment or harsh judgment. He's…he's just a child, after all, no matter how little he looks as such.
"Cas," Dean begins, voice fragile, and Castiel knows what's coming next. "I—"
"It's all right," he interrupts swiftly, knowing those words are the last thing he should ever hear, and not because of the Empty. To absolve his guilt is to relieve him of his duty, of his cause, to take away what makes him…human-adjacent. He's discovered over the years that he needs that guilt in order to keep pressing forward, or else he would've killed himself years ago. Another thing the Winchesters accidentally taught him. "You're already forgiven. But we need to focus on finding Jack and helping him."
Even if he did allow Dean to apologize, it wouldn't actually fix anything. Dean still looked him in the eye and told him he was dead to him, placing all the blame for Mary's death on his shoulders alone. And while Castiel knows it is his fault and would much rather be seen as 'the one at fault' than Jack, he also knows Sam and Dean had seen some of the warning signs, too. They're a very observant pair, for a couple of humans.
But Dean didn't waste a second to pin all the blame on him and didn't bat an eye at his declaration, even as Castiel tried to…defend himself, maybe, or maybe he was just trying to clear Jack's name further, absolve the young nephilim of the guilt he can't even properly comprehend now that he's soulless.
'Then you're dead to me.'
Maybe it's for the best, anyway. Maybe this way, it won't hurt as much when Castiel finally dies for the last time. Maybe Dean's felt that way for a long time but never had a reason to say it. It would explain why he'd never said anything when Castiel admitted he was thinking about committing suicide. 'You're dead to me' is basically the same thing as 'I want you dead,' really.
"Cas, you can't just forgive me and we ignore this," Dean says with a frown.
"Why not? We've done this plenty of times before."
"What Dean means is," Sam begins, shooting his brother a look, "that he's sor—"
"It's all right. It's in the past," he interrupts. "But we need to—"
"—say we're sorry, already, damnit," Dean cuts in quickly, and Castiel stills. He can only remember Dean actually saying that one time, and it was either that, or watching Crowley drive spikes into what was effectively Sam's head. "I'm sorry. 'You're dead to me'? What the hell? You gotta know I didn't mean it."
He knows Dean's apology is sincere and his regret is steep, but…given a duplicate opportunity, possibly one involving Sam this time, Castiel knows all the blame will be swiftly thrown at him again. And he'd rather shoulder the guilt than watch Dean drown in it, of course, but that doesn't make hearing the venom spat in his direction any easier, and Castiel knows that it'll only become harder to bear the more the world falls apart around them while they're powerless to do anything to stop it.
True happiness.
He still nods, desperate to get away from the apology before it fully sinks in and his subconscious basks in it, thinking he's not to blame for even a second, because he is. Mary's death is his fault and Jack's soullessness is his fault and the angels Falling was his fault and he should never allow himself to think otherwise.
Mildly, he replies, "Of course, Dean. As I said before, you're already forgiven." Dean will always be forgiven, no matter what he does. He'd forgiven him even after being thrown out as a human, knowing (hoping, praying) that Dean must've had a reason, that he wasn't just abandoning him because he was worthless.
Dean just scoffs, and Sam watches silently from the corner. "Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn't be."
'You don't think you deserve to be saved…'
"Well, you are."
"And you are, too."
Castiel starts shaking his head, but stops. Perhaps Dean needs to say this in order to move past it. "Very well."
Dean's jaw tightens. "Why the hell were you trying to exchange yourself?"
He sighs, growing tired of going in circles. "She's your mother, Dean, and you were—are—devastated by her loss."
"And, what, you don't think we'd be 'devastated' by your loss?"
'I mean, we have a lot in common. Our names rhyme—that's a big one. I look good in a trench coat too. And…we're both expendable.'
His eyes drift back to the table without his consent, lingering on the recently added 'MW'. It's stupid, he knows, to long for such a thing. He doesn't even have a last name, so it'd just be one lonely, out of place 'C'.
'Well, that's why we're here, right? I'm a number cruncher and you… Like I said, I've heard the stories. You help, but Sam and Dean Winchester are the real heroes.'
He never knew Ambriel in Heaven, but the fact that she knew this only through hearing stories… And he knew it, too. That's why he said yes to Lucifer. He saw a way to be useful in a way that he couldn't with his nearly-human emotions and sentimentality and his dying grace, so he took it. Sam asked why. Dean never bothered. He knew he wouldn't be missed, anyway.
'So, if the Darkness is still alive and she's pissed, and she kills us…no big loss. So sure, maybe we're not super important, but we do the job. You know…I think there's nobility in that.'
Now, the only thing that can probably kill him is the Empty; he doubts he'll be granted a resting place if he commits suicide, and he refuses to simply go down without an enemy in sight, anyway. No, if he's going to die, it's going to be to protect the Winchesters. And if that doesn't eventually kill him, he supposes he might just be immortal, incapable of being killed and destined to walk the earth forever, all alone for the rest of time.
True happiness. This could be a great gift, if he uses it correctly.
"Cas," Sam begins, drawing his attention. "Why'd you think we wouldn't care if you…if you left?"
'You spineless…soulless son of a bitch. What do you care about dying? You're already dead. We're done.'
'I don't understand that reference. But I'm telling you, taking this trip—with passengers, no less…it'll weaken me.'
'Oh, well, that's great, 'cause without your power, you're basically just a baby in a trench coat.'
'I deserved to die. Now, I can't possibly fix it…so why did I even walk out of that river?'
'I'm sorry. This isn't a problem I can make disappear. And you know that. …but I may be able to shift it. …Yeah, it would get Sam back on his feet. It's better this way. I'll be fine.'
'Well, you know me. I'm always happy to bleed for the Winchesters…"
'Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas—clean up your mess!'
'If we attack Dick and fail, then you and Sam die heroically, correct? …And at best, I die trying to fix my own stupid mistake. Or…I don't die—I'm brought back again. I see now. It's a punishment resurrection. It's worse every time.'
'Because if I see what Heaven's become—what I made of it…I'm afraid I might kill myself.'
'What have I done to you?! Do you have any idea what it's like out there? There's blood everywhere, and it's on your hands. After everything you did—to us, to Heaven. I fixed you, Castiel. I fixed you!'
'You're the famous spanner in the works. Honestly, I think you came off the line with a crack in your chassis. You have never done what you were told…not completely. You don't even die right, do you?'
'You can't stay.'
'Because you're warded? The same way I find all my patients—I just followed the sound of your pain. You have no idea how loud it is. I could hear you for miles. …Is that what you think you're doing, Castiel—the best you can? Well, I'm sorry. But if this is the best that the famed Castiel can do, you're a more urgent case than I thought.'
'I used to admire you. You failed more often than you succeeded. But at least you played big. Now what are you doing? Burying your head in the sand. Right when your kind needs you the most. You say you want to live, but you can't see what I see. By choosing a human life, you've already given up. You…chose…death.'
'No! I would rather die than owe my life to you, Castiel. You play at being noble, you play at being one of us. But I look into your eyes…and I don't see an angel staring back at me.'
'Oh, that's right—to save Dean Winchester. That was your goal, right? I mean, you draped yourself in the flag of Heaven, but ultimately, it was about saving one human, right?'
'You think I didn't notice? You are broken, Castiel. You were always a bit of a Nancy, but this? You have gone full wuss. I don't know what it was that happened, but whatever it was, you are scarred…deep—paralyzed by trauma, by fear.'
'I mean, it must suck being everyone's tool, manipulated and used by the angels, by your enemies, by your friends. You thought if you could get your grace back, it would help fix you, but it hasn't!'
'Next time, I won't miss…'
'That so? 'Cause, near as I can tell, when you have to choose between Heaven and the Winchesters… So, see, you're not my brother. And if I had it my way, I'd take this blade, stick it in your heart…and call that a damn good day.'
'You help, but Sam and Dean Winchester are the real heroes. So, if the Darkness is still alive and she's pissed, and she kills us…no big loss.'
'She's right, you know, you are expendable and weak. And why God took a special interest in you, I'll never understand. My Brother always did have horrible taste in men.'
'Blue eyes, you're not even worth the effort…and no offense, but you look a bit used up. Plus, I have a job for you.'
'You know, when I knew Castiel, he was a soldier. He was a warrior. He was an angel's angel. Now look how far he's Fallen. …No wings, no home… Just a ratty old coat and a pair of poorly trained monkeys.'
'But I don't regret what I did, even if it costs me my life.'
'I have tiptoed through all your little tulips. Your memories, your little feelings, yes. I know what you hate. I know who you love, what you fear. There is nothing for you back there.'
'I-I want you to suffer. I want you to go back to-to your normal life and-and then forget about this and forget about me. And-and then, when you finally give yourself permission to be happy, and let the sun shine on your face, that's when I'll come. That's when I'll come to drag you to nothing.'
'But I swear, if he did something to her, if she is… Then you're dead to me.'
He glances away. "It was a…miscalculation. It won't happen again."
He supposes it makes sense. He still has his grace—however weak—so he's still useful to Sam and Dean. Perhaps he doesn't hold as much sentimental value, but, objectively speaking, he is more useful than Mary, if only because of his powers. Even though his wings are haggard and broken, he's still an angel, and as long as he has that, he can pretend it's okay to burden the Winchesters with all the problems he drags back to them, like a cat bringing home its prey to sit and rot on the doorstep, disgusting and unappreciated and accepted for sentimental reasons.
He wonders if they'll ever forgive him, after he's gone, for taking up so much of their time and offering so little in return.
"No, c'mon. Talk to us, man."
The last time Dean said that, Castiel said he would likely kill himself if he saw the destruction he'd caused in Heaven. Dean hadn't reacted then or brought it up since, but perhaps he just wants to hear it, even if he doesn't do anything about it. Humans are…strange like that, like how they insist on bidding one another a 'good night' even though the phrase doesn't affect the subconscious state in which dreams are formed.
"I'm not sure…what to say." 'What you want me to say.' "I just thought your mother was," 'worth more than me in your eyes,' "important to you, so I wanted to bring her back, if possible. I can only fathom how difficult it must be to see your mother burn twice in one lifetime…"
Part of it was also to prove his worth, but he'd failed in that aspect, too, so he sees no point in bringing it up, no point in reminding the only friends he has left of how little he has left to offer them.
And anyway, he knows his logic isn't flawed. After all, Mary's name is the one now carved into the table, and they'd given Mary a room and given her a Christmas gift even while she was working with the British Men of Letters and—even if he has no need for a room and he doesn't even sleep and has no need for material objects, it would've been—nice to…to have, in the ways an angel shouldn't even want. But he does.
"Not that we don't appreciate it, Cas, but—"
"What the hell?" Dean interrupts. "How can you just trade your own life like that? 'Oh, so sorry your mother died. If you need me, I'll be trying to switch our places so that you can mourn my death, too'?"
Castiel squints at the man, having never thought the Winchesters would even mourn his death. Then again, humans are sentimental… Dean had sort of mourned Crowley's death, so he supposes it shouldn't be such a surprising thought. "You gave up your life for Sam from the time you were four years old. I fail to see how this is any different."
"It just is, okay? And you barely even knew Mom."
"That doesn't matter. You two missed her—"
"We would've miss you, too, dumbass!" Dean finally snaps, and Castiel falls silent. "Seriously, you think we wouldn't?" When he doesn't respond, the man's face crumples. "Seriously? Cas, we—I… You're family. You know that, don't you? Know that we'd miss you if you were—gone?"
Castiel's eyes drift back over to the table with the three names of the Winchester family carved into it. "I understand that it may be…difficult—"
"Cas, you're like a brother to me," Sam cuts in. "You've seen me when I lose Dean. How do you think it feels to lose you?"
"I…"
"I'm even worse," Dean admits with a strained half-chuckle, eyes watery. "Hell, I'm a damn wreck. Ask Sammy. Practically walking around with an alcohol IV, drinkin' myself into an early grave and punching everything in sight. Then when you come back…"
Castiel remembers returning from death last time, remembers the case in Dodge City and how happy everyone seemed—especially Dean. He'd assumed it was because the case was cowboy-oriented and he'd gotten to wear a cowboy hat professionally, like Castiel knew Dean had been fantasizing about all those times they've watched Tombstone together. Now, he…he thinks it goes a little deeper than that, deeper than even joy at having a useful tool repaired and ready to use again…
"I can't do this without you, man. I don't want to," Dean continues, voice shaking. "I-I just lost Mom. I can't lose you, too. I can't lose you again. I'm tired of everyone I—care about dying all around me."
Sam nods encouragingly beside Dean, eyes also shining in the warm golden glow of the old lamps, so Castiel nods slowly, accepting the unfamiliar idea. "All right. I'll…stay. For as long as you need me." Or as long as he's able to, with the impossible threat of the Empty looming over him. "I…" It wasn't received well last time, but maybe now… "I love you—both of you."
"Yeah. Us too, buddy." Dean inconspicuously wipes his eye. "Even if we got a crappy way of showin' it."
Without another word, Dean draws him into a tight hug, squeezing hard enough that it would've hurt a human. Castiel clings on just as tightly as Sam envelopes him from behind, squishing him between the Winchesters. He can't remember ever feeling so safe and loved before, even if they can't exactly say it back, thanks to John Winchester's teaching. But that's okay. They express it in other ways.
Later, the three of them gather around the wooden table Castiel had been staring at earlier, a round of beers distributed quickly. They talk about some of the memories they have of Mary, leaving the less pleasant ones out of the conversation. Sam talks about reading through The Great Gatsby with her and sharing observations about the similarities between Tom and John. Dean talks about playing puzzle games with her on their phones and teaching her how to text.
"What about you, Cas? Any good memories with her?"
The first one that comes to mind is when the two of them had returned to the car after a vampire hunt. Mary had miscounted the number of vampires and had gotten hurt, but was still too cautious around him to allow him to heal her. He didn't take it personally, instead watching how she dug into her food like a ravenous bear, how Dean ate exactly the same way, when it was just the two of them…
'I know you know this, Mary, but, um, Sam and Dean—they're-they're glad to have you back. Whatever you still have to deal with, and however long it takes, you should know they're happy. I mean, finally, they don't have to be so, um…so alone…'
Castiel had never had a mother, but Mary… Even when she was too afraid of him to let him touch her and heal her, he still felt…warm. Their late-night talks as he showed her how to use the coffeemaker. Their talks about how much the world has changed and how it was always changing around them, whether they liked it or not. Their talks about Sam and Dean. Their tense camaraderie during the time when Sam and Dean were taken away. Their shared love of Sam and Dean and, later, Jack…
"She asked me to explain how to use the laptop once," he recounts, instead of any of those private, sacred memories. "She misclicked with the computer mouse and drug the Google Chrome icon into the trashcan icon. Sam had to explain that the web browser was not deleted, only hiding. I still don't trust laptops…"
"At least Mom knew how to clear her history, unlike someone," Sam grumbles, eyeing his brother up. "Seriously, do you have any idea how often I have to bleach my eyes when I'm trying to look through there for a news article I found a week ago?"
Sam and Dean bicker and recount and enjoy one another's presence, but eventually, all good things come to an end. Eventually, Dean sits back in his chair tiredly, swirling the contents of his nearly-empty beer around solemnly. Sam seems solemn, too, and Castiel can't figure out what changed. He wonders if he's done something…
"Still dunno what we're gonna do about Jack," the man finally sighs. "Kid's a mess. He hasn't been right since he sorta died and we pulled him back. Maybe…maybe we should've just left him there."
For a moment, he considers telling Sam and Dean about his deal with the Empty, about what he'd sacrificed for the boy Dean seems eager to forget about, following his mother's demise. He knows he probably should tell them, at some point, but… No. It won't matter, anyway. To achieve true happiness…it's unfathomable. Angels aren't meant to be happy, or sad, or do anything but obey and serve and follow orders. Castiel's always been a bad angel, but he can at least do his best to serve the Winchesters until either his or their dying breath.
And after that…well, at least his death wouldn't be by the Empty's hand. Or maybe, with Heaven as destroyed as it is, he'll be allowed back in. He'd be able to watch the Winchesters from afar and make sure they're happy, because if anyone deserves happiness, it's them. And he knows if he interacts with them, all he'll do is find some way to screw it up. He always does.
His own happiness is nothing compared to that of Sam and Dean and Jack, and he'll gladly continue serving them long after they pass, even if they never know he's still around. It'd be better that way, he thinks. Just like he told Jack. Humans pass so quickly, in the eyes of an ageless celestial being. He just has to enjoy his time with them (take up their time, waste their time) as much as he can, and reminisce about the best memories when they're gone.
'Dean Winchester is saved.'
'And why would an angel…rescue me from Hell?'
'Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?' His first confession…
'It was a witch, not the Tet Offensive.' His first smile…
'Just so you understand…why I can't help.' His first surrenderance unto Dean…
'Don't look at me, it was his idea.' His first friend, unafraid to jokingly throw him under the bus in a way an angel wouldn't dream of mimicking…
'Daddy ran away and disappeared… He didn't happen to work for the post office, did He?' His first inside joke (though he mostly just thought Dean had some sort of a wish for death, at the time)…
'Don't ever change.' …his first crush…
'Dean and I do share a more profound bond…'
'I know you never did anything but try to help. I realize that, Cas, and I'm grateful. We're all grateful. And we're gonna help you get better, okay? No matter what it takes.' Even after he betrayed them…
'Sorry, but I'd rather have you. Cursed or not.' …even after all the destruction he'd caused…
'Damn, it's good to see you. Nice peach fuzz.' …even after all he's hurt them…
'I prayed to you, Cas. Every night.' …even after he ignored their calls…
'Cas, we're getting out of here. We're going home.' …even after avoiding them and their help…
'We'll figure it out. Cas, buddy, I need you.' …even when he deserved it the least…
'Let me bottom-line it for you. I'm not leaving here without you. Understand?' …they never let him stray too far from home.
'I could be your third wheel.' His first case…incompetent as he was… (He likes to think he's a little better now.)
'Cas. I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Cas… It's me. We're family. We need you. I need you…'
'The part of you that overreacted, that cares so much? That's what makes you special.'
'You have a guinea pig? Where?' (They still are one species short…)
'Now's the part where you hug back.' The first time he hugged back…
Always there to teach him, whether they acknowledge it or not (they usually don't).
'I ain't exactly a role model.'
'That's not true.'
They've always been there, even when they had their doubts about him.
'Cas, you just gave up an entire army for one guy. No, there's no way that you blew those people away.'
'You really believe we three will be enough?'
'We always have been.'
There was a time where he didn't understand it. Now, he tries his best to repeat it. He fails, of course, since the concept of caring for others beyond just their usefulness was completely foreign, not so long ago. But the Winchesters…they lead by example.
'Hey, Cas. Everything all right?'
'Cas, you've got one job to do and that's to heal. You understand?'
'…but right now is the time for you to focus on getting better. This is just a milk run. We got it. So…try and relax. Read a book, watch some Netflix. …Go to my room, turn on the TV. You'll figure it out.' Invade my space, enjoy yourself. (Netflix is rather enjoyable, even the 'crappier' elements.)
'Okay, forget Rowena. Where are you?' Forget the mission, where are you?
'But you're always there, you know? You're the best friend we've ever had. You're our brother, Cas. I want you to know that.'
'Morning, sunshine. Some coffee?'
'My shy, but devastatingly handsome friend here…'
'We are fighting. We're fighting for you, Cas.' Even when he begged them with what could've been his dying breath to run, to fight, to save themselves…
'And like you said, you're family. And we don't leave family behind.' …they refused to leave him alone.
'Welcome home, pal.' Home. He's surprised he didn't cry.
'Well, I said I needed a big win. We got Cas back. That's a pretty damn big win.'
'Well…it's good to have you back, Cas.'
'It's a gift. You keep those.' His first gift… He listened to it every single night, using his grace to make the mixtape play whenever he was away from the Bunker.
The Winchesters… No matter how many times he's wronged them, they always come to his defense, even after he killed Billie and was threatened with 'cosmis consequences'.
'What Ishim said…you're not weak, Cas. You know that, right?
'I mean, obviously you've changed, but, it's all been for the better, man.'
'And you have been with us every step of this long, crazy thrill-ride. And no matter how crazy it got, you never backed down.'
'And that takes real strength.'
His'real' family in Heaven may not care for him, but he has no doubts that no matter how he hurts them, he'll always have one here.
'Castiel. They were never alone…they were never alone…'
"We'll…we'll figure something out," Castiel says quietly. "We always do, somewhere along the line."
Sam nods, determined and looking hopeful for the first time in days. Dean, meanwhile, hides a smile behind a beer, no doubt recognizing the statement for what it is: a promise to be there, to help Sam and Dean save the world by doing what he can. A promise that everything will turn out okay, even if it might not seem like it at the time.
'We're making it up as we go.'
That's just the way of the Winchesters; often underprepared and rash, but always loyal and endlessly devoted to those they care about. And even if Castiel isn't actually a Winchester, well…judging by the 'CW' that's joined its family on the wooden tabletop after he'd been staring at the latest addition for too long, he's loved as one, anyway.
'When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!'
The angels had never really understood. They think their knowledge holds a candle to God's, but they don't even understand what the humans, what even the demons, understand. Castiel hadn't been lost when he raised Dean from perdition, he'd been found.
He gave up his garrison of angels to serve alongside humans, fighting for his own cause for the first time ever. Fighting out of love instead of obligation. He gave up Heaven to find his home. He gave up his kin to join his family. He gave up his God to serve Dean. He may have only rescued Dean from Hell because he was ordered to, but he continued to save him time and again against Heaven's orders, against anyone's orders.
Sam had gone from The Boy with the Demon Blood to a brother and close friend. Jack had gone from a nephilim that might destroy the world one day to the one that will save it—he can just feel it. Mary had been the closest thing he's ever had to a mother, filling a void he hadn't even realized was there. And Dean…well… The title 'Righteous Man' isn't nearly enough to completely encompass just what Dean means to him. He doesn't think there's a word in any language that does.
He may never allow himself to have true happiness, and the angels may never fully understand his choices, but he figures this is close enough to what Heaven should be that he doesn't really care. Maybe, with time, he might even be able to feel like he's finally right where he belongs.
