Fourteen

"What was He like?" Castiel asked Metatron, as they all sat at a bus stop across the street from a bar in Texas.

The Scribe of God was reading a small book, and hmm'd distractedly. He looked up. "Who? Oh, God?"

Castiel said nothing, and waited.

To be honest, Brooke wasn't all that interested in hearing about God, or how He truly was. She believed, of course. How could you not when your husband was an angel? But she had no interest in learning about God until she died and actually got to meet Him face-to-face. In the meantime, she enjoyed the mystery of it. Much of her relationship with God was through Scripture. She did not necessarily take the Bible as Law, but she found comfort in the poetry of it.

Castiel, on the other hand… Well, his relationship with his Father was complicated. He had spent so many years believing he was doing God's work, only to find out that whoever had been in charge of him had been making up their orders. No angel had seen God in a long, long time. It made sense that an angel, so devout, so intent on completing his mission for—whom he thought to be—God, only to find out that it had never been God all along, would want to know what his Father was truly like.

"He was… pretty much like you'd expect," Metatron said. "Larger-than-life. Gruff. Bit of a sexist."

Castiel turned away in disappointment.

"But fair!" the Scribe continued, seeing the look on his face. "Eminently fair."

Castiel nodded, but the dull throb of disappointment continued to ring through his mind. Metatron's answer had been so… lacking.

All was silent, for a moment.

"The next trial," Castiel said, "what does it entail?"

"It's across the street," Metatron replied, pointing to the man outside the bar, sweeping the front steps. "His name is Dwight Charles. I've been listening in on the angel radio. Cupid frequency, actually. And he is the next on their list."

"Their list?" Cass repeated.

"To do the horizontal mambo."

Brooke laughed.

Castiel turned and stared at her on his left, then turned to the right and stared at Metatron. "What?"

Brooke rolled her eyes. "To fuck," she said.

"Oh," said Castiel.

"Well, to find love, actually," said Metatron. "He's slotted to be dinged by Cupid's arrow within twenty-four hours, which is good for us because the second trial is retrieving Cupid's bow."

Castiel stared across the street at the man, Dwight Charles. "No killing?" he asked, and Brooke felt the awful regret in his mind and heart, from having to kill the Nephilim the day before. She reached over and held his hand.

"No killing," Metatron confirmed, though his tone of voice suggested that he felt exasperated by Castiel's unwillingness to kill anyone else.

Brooke liked to think that such an unwillingness suggested a strength of character, rather than a lack of it. There was a time in which you would have killed anyone, without question, she told him. Be proud that you've changed that part of yourself.

Castiel glanced at her and smiled a little, almost bashfully.

###

Before they went inside the bar, Castiel took a newspaper from a stand. As the three of them then settled into their seats at a table in the corner, he began to read the paper. Brooke peeked over his shoulder for a moment, to look, but otherwise left him alone. She sat silently, patiently, in her chair. It still held true, even after years, that just being near Castiel was enough—though a constant mental connection to him was probably most of the reason for that; there wasn't need for much talk if you always knew what your partner was thinking.

Metatron, however, fidgeted in his chair after about a minute, as if he could not stand the silence. "What are you reading?" he asked, sounding exasperated.

"Personal advertisements," Castiel said.

Metatron made a face like, And…?

Castiel's eyes flicked up from the newspaper and saw the Scribe's confusion. "The faster that man finds love," he explained, motioning towards Dwight Charles, who was no longer sweeping the front steps and was now wiping down the bar, "the faster the Cupid will come."

Brooke glanced at Dwight Charles again to see that he was signing off on a package, now, a delivery man standing and waiting on the other side of the bar.

"Trust me," Cass told Metatron. "I'm friends with friends who do this for a living."

Brooke glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye, smirking at his level of confidence.

He felt her amusement and turned to look at her. "You doubt me?"

She only smiled wider. "You're not known for your people skills."

He looked away from her, a little embarrassed, and muttered, "I'd like to think I learned a thing or two…"

Brooke continued to smile at him. You certainly wooed me, she told him, silently. But if we did it your way, people wanting to find love would simply stare intensely at everyone who came near them until somebody reacted by going all weak in the knees.

Slowly, Castiel turned his head to stare at her, and then lifted his chin and looked down his nose at her in that way he did when he was being smug, or when he was angry, or horny. His eyes were like glaciers, and one brow was lifted in a perfect arch.

Brooke simultaneously wanted to burst out laughing and throw herself at her husband. Well, look at that, she said. It's a good thing I'm sitting down, 'cos I think my knees are all wobbly.

Castiel responded by doing that thing where he smiled without smiling, one corner of his mouth lifting, perhaps, a half a centimeter, his eyes twinkling.

"You two are insufferable," Metatron said, across the table.

Feeling as if she were coming out of a daze, she turned and smiled at him. "Hmm?"

Right at that moment, Dwight Charles walked up to the table. "Help you gents?" he asked, and then inclined his head toward Brooke. "And lady?"

"Yes," said Castiel, speaking up immediately.

Oh no, thought Brooke.

"Would you say that you're looking for uh, a partner in crime…"

Stop, Brooke thought.

I got this, Cass thought back.

Metatron stared at him, then stared at Brooke, then stared awkwardly out the window.

"Or, uh," Castiel continued, glancing at the newspaper again, "someone who's into nurse roleplay—

Fucking stop—

"—and light domination?"

Kill me now, Brooke said, quietly, while contemplating her life choices.

There was a very awkward pause. "Brother," the bartender finally said, "it's ten a.m. on a Tuesday."

"Please excuse my husband," Brooke piped up, loudly, and laid a hand on Castiel's arm, digging her fingers into it. "He was dropped on his head as a baby."

"Uhh," Metatron said, "we'll have three drafts, please." He turned and stared at Castiel, giving him a What-the-fuck look.

The barkeep was still staring at Cass. He sniffed and said, "Comin' up," then turned and walked away.

Brooke stared at Castiel until he finally turned to look at her. "I don't think I've ever wanted to punch you in the face more than I do right now," she told him.

Metatron stared between the two of them, then settled on Brooke. "He's not the most subtle tool in the shed, is he—

Angels appeared out of nowhere and yanked Metatron up out of his seat.

Brooke and Castiel both stood up, quickly, pulling angel blades from coat pockets.

One of the angels to appear was Naomi. "Kill him," she ordered, staring at Castiel.

At the threat to her husband, the Grace in Brooke's blood and bones rose so quickly it nearly boiled over. She wanted nothing more than to plunge her blade into Naomi's face—over and over again.

Calm, Castiel warned.

One angel began to approach him, but a gunshot suddenly rang out from seemingly nowhere, hitting one of the angels in the shoulder.

Brooke whipped her head around to see the bartender that Castiel had harassed earlier wielding a rifle. He stared down the barrel at them all. "Next one won't wing you," he warned. "Take it someplace else."

Fuck, said Brooke, because she knew what was coming.

The angel that had been shot disappeared and reappeared behind the man, grabbed him by the shirt and threw him into the shelves full of booze.

"Let him go," Castiel growled at Naomi, glancing at Metatron who was still being held by multiple angels.

She turned and stared at him. "Haven't you caused enough harm already?"

He began to walk around the table, toward her, and Brooke followed.

"Stop," Metatron said.

Brooke squinted at him, wondering why he would prevent himself from being possibly saved.

"Please, both of you," the Scribe continued. "Don't make this any worse. Please."

Castiel stopped, and a moment later, they were all gone.

Brooke, the Grace still boiling in her blood, stabbed her angel blade deep into the table in frustration, yelling wordlessly.

Castiel grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. He said nothing but the look on his face was one of confusion and worry—for her.

Breathing heavily and trying not to hulk out, she ground out through her teeth, "She used us. Both of us, Castiel. I'm gonna fucking kill her!" Flashes, images, memories of that night, when they had tried to rescue Samandriel ran through her head. The pain and torment that they had all experienced. Samandriel's pain via Crowley, which had set off a chain-reaction in Castiel and Brooke, pulled the floor by memories of trauma, by their own pain. Pain at the hands of Naomi.

Brooke's vision went white with rage, the Grace expanding inside her. Her ears rang with that high-pitched whine. She felt herself pulled into Castiel's arms. For some indescribable amount of time—minutes? hours?—she saw and heard nothing but the power of the Grace in her, fueled by rage. Then, slowly, it began to fade.

Castiel, himself, was upset and distracted. Even still, he held her and stroked her hair, pulling lightly at it, and though he did not murmur the words aloud as he would have if he were calmer, she could hear that slow chanting Enochian in his head, shushing her, soothing her.

Thank you, she thought, stepping out of his arms.

Silently, he acknowledged her, though he was thinking ahead about what to do now.

I'm sorry, she thought.

His mind stilled and he looked at her, then cupped her face in his hands and brought his forehead down to hers. No, he told her. Do not apologize for the anger and hurt you feel toward an angel who tortured both of us. I am angry, too. I've simply been alive much longer than you have, and have more practice controlling my Grace.

Brooke took a breath, nodding.

"Now," Castiel said, aloud. "We should get to Dean. He can help us."

She nodded, but stopped him. "Go fix the poor bartender, first," she said.

###

Brooke looked around at where they were when Castiel teleported them away from the bar. They looked to be in the middle of nowhere, beside an old, run-down church. Dean was leaned over the Impala, halfway inside the trunk, rustling around with something.

Next to her, Castiel, said, "Dean, I need your help."

Dean flinched, looking up, but his body remained inside the trunk.

"He means hello," Brooke muttered to the Winchester, glancing at him.

Dean looked between the two of them. "Little busy, Cass," he said. "Take a number."

"I'm afraid this can't wait," Cass replied. "Naomi has taken Metatron."

This seemed to interest Dean, who finally stood up and looked at Castiel properly. He glanced at Brooke. "Did you tell him about Metatron?"

"Didn't need to," she replied. "He came to us."

"We've been working with him on the angel Trials," Castiel supplied.

"The what?"

"We're gonna shut it all down—Heaven, Hell, all of it."

…

"Metatron?" Dean said. "The guy who was full-on crazy, cat-lady-hoarder angel yesterday—now he wants to save Heaven?"

"Yes, he wants to," Castiel replied, nodding. "But I'm the only one who can."

Dean looked away, as if he thought that Cass being the only one who could save Heaven was utter bullshit.

"I can't fail, Dean, not on this one. I need your help."

"You've got Brooke, don't you?" Dean asked, standing up. He'd been sitting on the edge of the open trunk. "Isn't she enough?"

Brooke smiled, just a little, at the accidental compliment Dean had just given her.

Castiel hesitated, glancing at her.

She smiled indulgently at him. "You can say I'm not enough. It's okay."

"No, it's—it's not that. Look." He turned back to Dean. "It would just be easier if everyone were involved."

"Look, Cass," Dean said, shaking his head. "That's all well and good, okay. But you're asking me to leave Sam and we've got Crowley in there tied and tressed. Now, if anyone needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam."

Sam suddenly appeared behind Dean.

Brooke glanced awkwardly at the younger Winchester, smiled a little, then looked away.

"You should go," Sam said.

Dean rolled his eyes and turned to face his little brother. "Oh, what, and leave you here with the King of Hell? Come on."

Sam glanced back at the church, and then looked at Dean again. "I got this. And if you guys can lock the angels up, too… that's a good day."

Finally, Dean relented, but he wasn't happy about it.

Maybe we really should leave Dean here, Brooke thought.

And there was a small part of Castiel that agreed with her, but a bigger part of him that did not want to listen. That part of him just wanted his relationship with Dean to finally be mended, want Dean to look at him like a friend again, without malice or anger.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" Brooke asked Sam. She did not feel comfortable leaving him on his own.

"I'll be fine," he insisted, though that did not make her actually believe him.

"I could stay," she offered, on a whim.

"That defeats the purpose of coming here," Castiel spoke up. "The point was to have both of you."

Brooke smiled a little at his wording choice, but nodded her assent. "Fine," she said, softly.

Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder, and a hand on Dean's shoulder, and they whooshed away.

###

Kevin leaned down over the angel tablet and laughed mirthlessly. "Okay. It's the angel tablet, which I've never laid eyes on in my life." He glanced up at the three of them and shook his head, then pushed off from the table and went over to the decanter in the corner. "You want a translation in, like, six hours, when it took me six months and a dead mom to translate a piece of the demon tablet?"

He poured himself a glass of some sort of amber-colored alcohol (Brooke did not really drink so she had no idea what it was). "And according to your own words this morning," he looked at Dean, "this is not what I do. It's what I did." He sat down, glass in hand. "You told me I was out, Dean."

"Yeah, well…" Dean began, but Kevin cut him off.

"And if this is gonna be the 'guys like us are never out' speech, save it!"

Castiel was suddenly in front of Kevin and yanked him up out of the chair by his shirt, pulling his face in close. The glass in Kevin's hand fell and shattered into a million pieces on the floor.

Rolling her eyes, Brooke quickly stepped forward and shoved Castiel away, breaking the angel's contact with the Prophet. "Don't make me manipulate your Grace, Cass!" she warned, one arm thrown across Kevin's body in protection. "Kevin's one of us. He's a friend. Use your words."

Castiel breathed sharply, staring at Brooke in surprise and annoyance.

"Don't give me that look," she snapped, raising an eyebrow. "Use… your words."

Castiel's angry gaze landed on Kevin. "Dean's right," he growled. "There is no out. Only duty. You are a Prophet of the Lord, always and forever…" He paused. "… Until the day you cease to exist, and then another Prophet takes your place." He turned and pointed to the angel tablet on the table. "Now, are you clear as to the task before you?"

Kevin said nothing.

Brooke glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "I'm pretty sure if you don't say yes, Cass will somehow get around me and throw you at the table. He's thinking about it right now." And he was.

Castiel stared at Kevin with glacial eyes.

Kevin nodded mutely, and walked in a daze to the table, bending down to look at the angel tablet.

"Then do it," Castiel demanded. "Let's go," he told Brooke and Dean.

Brooke shook her head at her husband in irritation, but allowed herself to be teleported all the same.

###

Brooke sat with Dean at the bar. Castiel had been gone for, perhaps, half an hour already, looking for some woman to thrust into the arms of the bartender. They needed to get Cupid's bow, still, since shutting down Heaven was the only way that Castiel could think to rescue Metatron in the long-term.

Dean sat, drinking a beer, and mostly ignored Brooke, but finally he turned to her. "Why does Cass need me here?" he asked. "He keeps insisting he needs us both, but he went off on his own to find a woman for this guy… Why are either of us here?"

Brooke shook her head at him, smiling in amusement. "Castiel…" She wanted to say, Castiel loves you, but that wasn't her secret to share. "He doesn't want you to be mad at him anymore, for going off with the angel tablet by himself. He…" She looked away, trying to find the words. "He just wants your forgiveness, that's all. He doesn't need you here, physically, to help him do this task. He just… He needs you here, with him. As a friend."

Dean went silent, swigging more beer.

Brooke knew that Dean was not a touchy-feely-type person, and that hearing about Cass' feelings, even second-hand, through her, was probably awkward for him. But she didn't really give a shit. She believed that men had a right to their feelings, just as much as women, and that the "tough guy" act was stupid and unnecessary. Besides, Cass was Dean's best friend. She knew Dean couldn't stay mad at the angel forever, so she was hoping that by talking to him about it, he might forgive him just a little faster.

A minute later, Castiel walked through the doors and joined them at the bar.

"Anything?" Dean asked, and his body language seemed looser, as if he were trying to take Brooke's words into consideration. "You've been gone long enough."

Castiel settled into his seat a little more and made a frustrated face. "No. There was one female but…"

"But what?"

"… I don't think she was female."

Brooke chuckled and nudged Cass with her elbow. "Listen," she said, "you sound really creepy and clinical using that word. You've been around humans for like seven years, now. Call women women. Not females. We're not dogs."

Cass gave her a look, somewhere between annoyance and confusion. He was still kind of pissed at her for shoving him off Kevin, earlier.

Brooke shrugged.

"Anything here?" Castiel asked Dean.

"Free drinks," the Winchester said. "Your, uh, buddy over there thinks you saved his life."

Castiel looked past Dean, towards the barkeep, Dwight, who was looking their way. Do you want a beer? he asked Brooke, silently.

No, she said. Her husband might be annoyed at her, but it was sort of impossible to have a prolonged fight with someone who knew all your thoughts and feelings.

Cass held up two fingers at Dwight.

The man nodded, smiling, and went to get two beers.

Dean, in the meantime, plopped the beer he'd been saving for Castiel down in front of the angel.

Cass noticed, then, that there was already an empty beer bottle next to Dean. "Do you really think it's wise to be drinking on the job?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at him. "What show you been watchin'?" he asked.

"We're always on the job," said Brooke.

Castiel nodded, realizing how true that was.

"Talk to me," Dean murmured to the angel, glancing, for a moment, at Brooke, probably thinking about the conversation they'd had before Castiel had walked in. "Are you sure about this?" He took a swig of beer. "I mean, it's one thing, me and Sammy slamming the gates to the Pit, but you—you're—you're boarding up Heaven. And you're locking the door behind you."

Castiel took the beer bottle that Dean had put in front of him earlier and took a small sip. "Yeah," he said, nodding, his voice low and serious. "I know."

"You did a lot of damage up there, man. You think they're just gonna let that slide?"

Castiel sighed and placed the bottle back on the table. "Do you mean do I think they'll kill me?" he asked. "Yeah, they might." He turned and looked at the Winchester.

"So, this is it," Dean murmured. "E.T. goes home."

Cass drew his brows together in confusion.

Brooke was about to explain the pop-culture reference, when a woman walked into the bar. As an exchange took place between the woman and Dwight Charles, Brooke's mind wandered. She and Castiel had never, exactly, spoken about what would happen if he succeeded in slamming shut the gates of Heaven and locking all the angels inside. That "big family meeting" that Metatron wanted… it could take years to resolve itself. It could take decades, millennia. Time in Heaven worked differently than time on Earth, and angels did not age.

Brooke had accepted, some time ago, that being married to an angel meant having to deal with a lot of unknowns. Hell, being a Hunter meant the same thing. Either one of them could die at any time. But she had never really thought about the fact that Castiel could be stuck up in Heaven for… forever, trying to sort out the angel problem. Heaven was one of the few places she could not go, for a human, taken up to Heaven, alive, would die, instantly, upon arrival. It was one of the few places in which she could not follow Castiel.

Quietly, mostly to herself, she thought, And Ruth said…

Castiel was getting up off his stool, and Brooke realized she hadn't been paying any attention to what had happened with Dwight. The angel laid a hand on her shoulder as he moved past, and she heard him think, Entreat me not to leave thee. It was his way of letting her know that he acknowledged her fear that he would leave her for, perhaps, the rest of her life, when he returned to Heaven. They did not have time to speak about it, then, for they had to get Cupid's bow, but Castiel could, at least, let her know that he did not want to leave her.

Brooke trailed after Castiel and Dean as they made their way out of the bar, following the woman. Why the woman? she asked.

She's the Cherub, Castiel said.

What? Brooke was shocked. She's an angel and I didn't notice? Since when does that happen?

You just weren't paying attention. Look again.

Brooke squinted past Castiel, at the woman, and could suddenly see the backlit glow around the edges of her body. She's trying to hide herself.

Yes.

###

"Hello, brother," the Cherub said, when they finally caught up to her.

"Give us your bow," Castiel demanded, without preamble.

"What?" she asked.

Castiel, who took her confusion for defiance, slipped his angel blade down his coat sleeve and gripped it in his hand. He took one step forward.

Brooke immediately barred his way, throwing her arm out in front of his chest.

Dean, also, stepped in front of him, saying, "Whoa, whoa, hey."

Castiel glared at the two of them.

Dean glanced at Brooke, then looked at his friend, his hand still on Castiel's chest as a deterrent. "Talk first," he said. "Stab later."

Brooke, who was thinking of her husband's earlier interaction with Kevin Tran, raised her eyebrows at him. See, she said. Even Dean isn't as fight-y as you. What the hell's up with you? I thought you didn't want to kill anymore.

Castiel, for his part, had the decency to look chagrined. Awkwardly, he opened his coat and put away his angel blade.

###

"I've been afraid to go home for some time now," the Cupid confided in them. "Orders used to come once a day, and now it's chaos. It all seems to be breaking down."

Because of me, Castiel thought, looking away.

The Cupid looked up at him. "And you think you can fix that?"

He nodded and said, quietly, "With time, yes."

She looked at him for a moment longer, and then held out her hand, palm-up. A tattoo of a bow and arrow, raised on the skin, appeared in her palm. "Take it, then," she said.

Castiel sighed and took the angel blade back out of his coat.

Brooke and Dean both looked away as he cut the bow from her hand.