Castiel stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the stars. It was quiet now, the remainder of the late-night crowd having left shortly after his last client stirred from the bed to go into the bathroom. He acknowledged his exhaustion- the act of tagging souls was a weary one- but sleep would elude him for at least a few more hours. Eventually he would fall into a dreamless slumber before Balthazar would wake him in the morning, and he'd do it all over again. Rare were these moments of peace; he cherished them like they were the last ones he'd ever experience.
The scent of brewing coffee drew him from sleep. Castiel lifted his head, squinted toward the tiny kitchen across the way. Dean stood there in a black tee shirt and shorts, humming a song as he set two mugs on the counter. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Cas's. A smile touched his lips, reflected in his eyes.
"Morning," he greeted cheerfully. "Now get your ass out of bed already. We gotta hit the road soon."
Cas sat up and pushed the covers aside. A chill passed through him when his feet touched the cold floor. He drew his foot back, then gently placed it down again. His weakened state had allowed him to experience so many sensations. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of knowing what it was like to feel cold.
Dean poured the coffee into a mug, added a few sugars and a splash of milk (most of which got onto the counter), then strode toward Cas. Their fingers brushed when he accepted the mug. As Cas looked into his eyes, saw that soft, familiar smile touch Dean's lips, he knew he preferred feeling warmth to cold.
A pair of arms slid around Castiel's waist, gave him a gentle squeeze. She murmured something to him- it could have been anything for all that he cared- and brushed her lips across the back of his neck. There was a soft, lusty giggle, a promise to return next week before she inserted an envelope into his back pocket. She patted his bottom, gave an appreciative sound and drifted away. Cas waited until the door closed before he pulled the envelope free and threw it on a nearby table. It landed atop the small pile of trinkets given by other clients, the force behind the throw nearly knocking it over.
He resumed his study of the stars, thinking again about where he had been, and where he was going. How sure he had been when he first decided on this course of action. Then, the hope of success had been enough to keep his thoughts from drifting too much into all he was subjecting himself to. Every client he met, be it for nothing more than a friendly ear to more base pursuits, was merely a means to an end. Even participating in that ridiculous dinner show hadn't swayed him, despite how sensitive he was to the subject matter.
Three years later, however, that hope had transformed into a faded glimmer, leaving him nothing but bittersweet memories accompanied by remorse, shame, and a sense that he was a fool. Castiel, former soldier in a garrison of Heaven, close confidante to a very special pair of humans, now in the soul business for a demon. A disgrace to his brothers and sisters that not even the fallen could stand to look him in the eye. On the other hand, the demons looked upon him with ironic amusement. The monsters considered him a plaything, one to be pursued, loved, eaten, or killed. He heard that the alpha vampire himself joked about turning him so he could keep the pretty, melancholy angel all to himself. As time wore on, Cas would have considered accepting such a proposal, if only to escape the prison he had made for himself.
But tonight had changed all that.
Castiel's pulsed raced at the memory, and he laid his hand over the watch- Dean's watch- as he drew in a deep breath. A smile touched the corner of his mouth, and for a moment he was surprised by the reaction. For the first time in years he felt that hope come surging back. It hadn't mattered that Dean was not his Dean; just seeing him again, being able to hold him, feel him, breathe him in, cut through the despair weighing him down. Though long having believed himself incapable of looking for signs anymore, tonight was different. Tonight meant something. He wasn't going to let it get away.
There was a swift knock on the door. Before Cas could answer it opened, admitting Balthazar. He greeted Cas with a sunny smile, held up the decanter and glass in hand. "Another night of success, eh Cassy? Let's drink on it. Oh," he said, studying Cas intently. "What's this? Something has put some light back into your eyes. I think I saw it in her eyes too," he added with a mischievous smile.
"I wouldn't know," Cas responded, turning away from the window to join Balthazar.
The angel approached the mussed bed and plopped himself onto it with a flourish. He laughed as he poured a glass. "Of course you wouldn't," he remarked casually. "These days I think you're walking around with your eyes closed. Going through the motions, as the humans say."
Cas accepted the glass and downed the contents. He grimaced a little- he hadn't quite gotten a taste for brandy- and sat on the bed. "It's nothing," he murmured. "It'll pass."
"I have heard you say that so much I could set it to music and dance to it," Balthazar drawled, filling his glass again. "And this is why you need a drink. Let those demons go." He smiled at his own joke.
Cas managed a wan smile. "I'll try."
Balthazar smiled again. "And for all the tomorrows after," he remarked sagely. "So, I heard something very interesting tonight."
"What's that?" Cas asked, about to take a sip.
Balthazar stretched lazily on the bed, the decanter tucked against him. "Oh, nothing much. Just that the boss is going to be entertaining some upper class visitors soon."
Castiel's hand froze in mid-motion. He sent the other angel a surprised look. "What?" His voice was so soft he barely heard himself. "Why?"
"My guess is that your venture down here has finally gotten their attention. Cheers," Balthazar explained, plucking the glass from Cas's nerveless hand and finishing it off. He smacked his lips and lowered the glass. "I'll find out, don't worry. Secrets don't stay secret around here for very long. This place has a lot of eyes. Like the ones that saw you talking to Sam Winchester."
Cas met his gaze. Balthazar was smiling, as if challenging him to deny it. "I was," he admitted.
"What did he want?"
"Just to talk. We didn't speak for very long."
"Long or short, it was enough for you to show something a little like excitement." He studied him for a moment, the easy humor that was his trademark giving way for genuine concern. "Still pining for the old days, are we? Of course you are," he amended before Cas could speak. "Even if our visitor is him, you won't get the chance for a one on one. We're both outcasts. You may as well get used to it."
Cas looked away, his hands tensing at his sides. He knew Balthazar spoke the truth. The likelihood of a meeting with Michael was next to impossible, especially now.
He took a moment to collect himself. "I'm not giving up hope, Balthazar," he stated, rising from the bed. "I will have an audience with him."
"And if he decides to kill you?"
Cas looked to the stars. "Then he kills me."
There was a moment of silence before Balthazar gave a weary sigh. "All right, all right. I think you're crazy to even try but I'll keep my eyes and ears open for you. Anything to get you to stop being so dismal."
At this Cas turned to give him a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Balthazar."
"Don't thank me yet," he commented, rising from the bed. He presented the decanter and glass. "Keep this. Something tells me you're going to be needing it."
Again Cas smiled, nodded and extended his hand. Balthazar shook it, his smile helpless before he vanished.
Alone now, Cas set the decanter down on the table nearest him before venturing for the small refrigerator in the corner. After withdrawing a six pack of beer he projected himself to where he'd meet Dean. While it wasn't the one he wanted to see above all else, he still found comfort in it.
Dean made his way down the path, annoyed at the double whammy of being angel zapped from Bobby's and the fact that he had no real clue as to where he was headed. The only thing Gabriel told him was to start walking. As he swept his gaze across the empty plains, he scowled. Friggin' angels.
The road curved ahead, running along the edge of a cornfield until ending at a dilapidated barn. Dean was ready to keep moving when he noted the demon wards painted on the door. Keeping a wary eye out, he started toward it, all the while wondering what kind of story he'd get from Cas. If it was anything like what he heard from Gabriel, Bobby and Sam, it'd be difficult for him to swallow. Particularly the bit about his letting Michael use him. His thoughts went back to that day in his father's storage unit; not even Zachariah breaking both Sam's legs, taking his lungs and giving Dean cancer had been able to convince him to say yes. His convictions had simply been too strong.
So, then, what had been stronger than his beliefs? What could have driven this world's Dean to say yes?
The barn door stood open a bit. Inviting him in. He spent a moment gathering his composure, exhaled and crossed the threshold.
As soon as he stepped in, he was treated to the sight of Castiel sitting on the hood of the Impala, a six pack beside him. The first rush of joy at seeing his baby in one piece brought a smile to his face, but it was the song Cas was listening to that drew his attention.
"Asia? Really?" Dean remarked with a small smile as he closed the door. Wards were painted on it, the fresh coating covering the old ones underneath.
Cas looked up at Dean. For a moment, his entire face lit up. The overwhelming joy Dean saw in the angel's eyes simultaneously pleased and embarrassed him. But then sorrow and regret chased the light away, and Cas smoothed his expression.
"Yes," he said, and gestured for the radio. The song cut mid chorus. "It has special meaning."
"It should. It's a good song," Dean approved. "Since when do you like the same music I do?"
Cas's smile was sad. "There are a lot of things I like because of you- him," he murmured.
It was the correction that reminded Dean why he had come here. That nothing about this meeting was normal. He watched Cas slide off the hood and run a hand through his hair. It was with a slight start that he realized Cas wasn't wearing the black suit or oversized trench coat. Barefoot, in tattered jeans, a faded tee shirt, a black watch at his wrist. It all made him so very...human.
"I got some of the story from the others," Dean began, choosing his words carefully. "Mind, uh, telling me yours?"
Cas selected a bottle, twisted the cap off and presented it to Dean. For a moment he hesitated. He had opened it exactly the way he always did.
"That depends on what you want to know," Cas responded quietly as Dean accepted the bottle.
The question Dean wanted to ask most of all, and the answer to it, coupled with the memory of their meeting in the dressing room, made him shift in place. He couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable with the truth or he was still shocked by it all. His money was on shock.
After taking a healthy swig for courage, he managed a slight, if somewhat surprised, smile. "Well they said that sometime during the Apocalypse me and you- I mean you and the other me- uh. Hooked up."
"Yes." There was a world of sorrow in his reply.
Dean couldn't help but react to how distraught Cas looked, but he needed to know. "When did it happen?"
"On a Sunday evening three years and eight months ago," Cas answered. The irrefutably logical response seemed to be more than just Cas's typical reaction to those kinds of questions. There was powerful emotion behind the words, as if he had done nothing but reflect on the time since. Dean could very well relate.
"Things were difficult between you- Dean, I mean- and Sam. He had been hunting alone for a week or so. My search for God led me to Raphael's vessel. I went to Dean for help."
"Yeah, I remember. So did you piss off that girl too by telling her about her dad?" Dean asked with a small smile.
Cas regarded him curiously. "There was no girl or a revelation about her father," he answered. "When I found him, he was alone in the motel room, drinking. He was distressed over Sam. Looking back now, I believe he was greatly relieved to see me. As was I," he added, softly this time. "And it wasn't just because I knew he was the only one who'd help me. As an angel, I was supposed to be beyond things such as human emotions. Dean...Dean changed all that. That night, everything made sense. For both of us."
As Dean absorbed the implications of this statement, he couldn't help but notice the way Cas's gaze lingered on the backseat of the car. It brought forth a rather poignant memory of Anna Milton, and he cleared his throat. "So, ah," he began, meeting Cas's eyes when he looked to him again. "You're saying that on the night before we- you two I mean- found Raphael you, ah. You know," he said, unable to say the word, even though his pulse quickened for reasons he could not identify.
"After several viewings of pornography in order for me to gain a better understanding of what was expected of me, yes," Cas answered forthrightly, and Dean had to look away to hide his eye roll, his flushed cheeks. "Even with the instructions I learned from the pornography, it was very clumsy. Awkward. Still I wanted to make a good impression. But he laughed so much." He paused to smile, his eyes turning distant. "Hearing him laugh affected me. I was happy, and I knew what happiness was. It was incredible. For the first time I felt that the end of days would be worth experiencing so long as we remained side by side."
It was Dean's turn to reminisce about that day in the garage, and his admitting to Cas that he'd rather have him, cursed or not. His heart twisted with pain at the memory, the recollection that while he was here, listening to this Castiel's love story, the Cas he knew was still somewhere in the real Purgatory.
"It's why it hurt so much when Dean nearly said yes to Michael."
This drew Dean from his thoughts. When he glanced back at Cas he saw a hint of anger shining in his eyes. His hand trembled, very slightly, as he took another drink.
"The alley," he guessed, and Cas nodded. "Hey, he got the message right? A beating will do that."
Cas's face hardened. "You don't know how much it hurt to do that. How it threw everything I had given up right back in my face. How it tarnished what we had just made together. I went to that abandoned building knowing it was to my death because I couldn't watch him fail."
The harsh edge in Cas's voice sobered Dean. "Hey," he said softly. This was a pain they both shared, and in lieu of his other self being here, he had to be the one to reassure the angel. "If this Dean is anything like me, he was hurting too. He was happy to know you were alive, right?"
Cas looked down at the ground. "I didn't know that at first. He drove down to the hospital to get me, and we checked into a local motel for the night. I slept most of the time. When I woke up, Dean was sitting beside me, and he just had this...look on his face. It wasn't until he said, 'You scared the hell out of me back there, Cas,' that I understood what the look meant. After that we-"
"Yeah, I get it. Big happy ending," Dean interrupted as gently as he could. It was obvious Cas could go on all night about this. "I'm guessing you guys hit up Chicago and Detroit next."
"Yes."
"And when Lucifer got a hold of Sam, you two went to the showdown. Michael was waiting for you."
Again Cas answered in the affirmative. His gaze again went to the backseat, his throat flashing as he swallowed.
An uneasy silence stretched between them. After a time Dean's face softened, and he took his place beside Cas.
"Talk to me," he requested. "What happened at the showdown?"
The angel flinched a little, as if he had been struck. He took a drink and, quietly, sadly, began his story.
Three years earlier...
Dean flew down the highway, his hands fastened on the steering wheel like it was a part of him. Castiel, whose weakened state allowed him to correctly interpret the car's speed as fast, gripped the edge of the seat with both hands. He studied Dean's stern, determined features, could see the pain he hadn't been able to conceal. Cas wanted to say something assuring, flippant maybe (his sense of humor had been improving thanks to all the movies he'd been watching)- anything to relieve the tension in the car. But he also knew it wasn't the right time. The decision to go after Sam and Michael had been made after a heart-wrenching scene in Detroit, one fueled by equal parts desperation and determination to be there for Sam. Cas had not hesitated when Dean proposed the trip; there was no other place he needed, or wanted, to be right now. Judging from the occasional small smiles Dean sent him, Cas knew the feeling was shared.
Dean turned down a side road so fast Cas slid in place. He maintained his balance despite his heart having jumped a beat. The car bounced and shuddered along the dusty road, but when it started to make a peculiar, chugging sound Dean groaned.
"Oh no, not now, baby," he murmured.
Cas was immediately alert. "Is something wrong?"
Dean slowed the car to a stop and cut the ignition. "She just needs a drink," he said as he turned round to rummage in the backseat.
Cas frowned thoughtfully. "The car feels thirst?"
A slight laugh echoed from the backseat. The look Dean sent him was one of exasperated amusement as he sat upright, a bottle in hand. "She does when I forget to give her a pick-me-up," he answered, pushing the door open and getting out.
The angel nodded, though he still didn't understand. "Let me help, Dean," he offered, exiting the car and joining him at the hood. He watched Dean slide his hand under it, muttering to himself before he gave a little exclamation and popped it open. As he went to raise the lid the clasp on his watch caught on the edge.
"Dammit. Cas, hold onto this for me," Dean requested, slipping the watch free and passing it off.
Cas tucked it into his coat pocket, his gaze thoughtful as he watched Dean upend the bottle into a compartment inside the car.
"Her drink?"
Dean gave a half smile. "Yep. We'll be ready to roll soon."
"All right."
At seeing Cas hadn't moved Dean sent him a questioning glance. "You just going to stand there and watch?"
There was no hesitation. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I want to learn. Back in Detroit Sam asked me to look out for you. He said that you once asked him to take care of her, and I want to do the same if-"
Dean set the empty bottle down, hard. "Dammit, Cas," he growled. "What did I tell you last night?"
"Before or after we-"
"We're all walking away from this," he interrupted. "You, me, Sam, and we're not looking back. Those flying monkeys aren't going to get the chance to use any of us. Understand? I mean it, Cas," he stressed. "I'm not letting anything bad happen to us."
Cas searched Dean's face, could not help but be affected by the passion in those words, in those eyes. It made him feel as empowered as if he were at full strength. "I understand."
When Dean smiled, it chased away the darkness that had clouded his eyes. He clapped his hand on Cas's shoulder, gave it a squeeze before he drew him against his chest. As with everything he'd come to expect from Dean, it was a swift but meaningful embrace. The pressure of his hand against the back of Cas's head, the arm about his shoulders holding him ever closer, spoke louder than anything either of them could have said. And when Cas squeezed Dean back, and he heard him give a small sound of satisfaction, he closed his eyes with a little sigh.
Together, then. As it should be.
As Dean drew back Cas glanced past him and stiffened. He spoke Dean's name softly, squeezed his shoulder. He turned round, his face darkening at the figure standing a short distance away.
Adam- Michael- watched them in silence. Though he made no sudden movements, Cas did not let his guard down. He sought the angel blade tucked against his side. He saw Dean move for his holstered pistol.
"There will be no need for that," Michael announced calmly. "I've come to discuss matters."
"Yeah, well, we ain't interested," Dean countered with a scowl.
Michael's eyes flashed. "Make no mistake. I could reduce you both to ashes with a mere thought."
His tone hadn't changed, but Cas could hear the warning, and stepped closer to Dean. His fingers grazed the hilt of his blade.
"It would be wise to employ some discretion and listen," Michael continued. "There is more at stake here than you realize."
"Like what?" Dean challenged. "Your crazy brother's already wearing mine, and you're standing there talking to us in my half-brother's body. So unless you're here to say you're backing down we got nothing to talk about."
Michael bowed his head, slightly. Cas immediately stepped in front of Dean and drew his blade.
"Cas, what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded in a harsh whisper.
"I'm only asking you this once, brother," Cas called out. "Don't delay us."
The archangel turned his gaze to him. "Castiel." He spoke his name with disdain, and despite himself, Cas felt a shiver run down his spine. "You have forsaken us. You no longer have the right to call me brother. But I yet have some use for you," he decreed, and gestured.
A sharp, rending sensation gripped Cas's abdomen. He doubled over with a cry, one hand instinctively going to his middle as he dropped the angel blade. Blood streamed between his fingers.
"Cas!" Dean cried, seizing him by the shoulders and forcing him to look up at him.
Cas met his gaze, wide-eyed, managed to gasp out Dean's name before dropping to his knees. Dean went to a knee as well, his grip on Cas's shoulders like iron. With every passing moment, Cas felt his strength ebb. He fumbled for Dean's hand, tried to speak.
"Ssh, don't talk," Dean advised in strangled tones. Anguish competed with the anger in his eyes. "Just hold on. You hear me?" he demanded, shaking him.
Cas drew in a shaky breath. Already his vision was starting to spot. Colors faded, losing their brilliant hues. Shadows seemed to creep across Dean's face.
"Dean..."
"No, you're gonna be okay, I promise," he murmured. When Cas's head drooped Dean drew him to his chest. Cas could feel his body tremble as Dean repeated his vow.
"Castiel will not survive much longer," Michael stated, and Dean quickly jerked his head round. The archangel walked toward them, slowly. "I now present you with a choice, Dean Winchester: allow me the use of your body so I can put an end to Lucifer's return, or not only will Castiel die but Sam and Adam, as well as half the population. And it will all be on you."
Dean clenched his teeth in frustration before looking back at Cas. At seeing the torment in his eyes Cas managed to take hold of his collar. Fighting through the weakness, the darkness, he shook his head.
"...no," he whispered in no voice at all. "Don't do it..."
Dean grimaced in pain. "Cas, I-"
Somewhere from deep within came forth a surge of strength, and he gave Dean a rough shake. "No," he repeated firmly. "Get to Sam...save him..."
Michael now stood behind them, his gaze traveling from Cas bleeding to death on the ground back to Dean. When the hunter suddenly doubled over Cas rasped his name.
"I am not as enabling or patient as Zachariah," Michael said as Dean slid to the ground with a grunt of pain. Cas, lying beside him now, saw a similar wound had appeared on Dean's middle. Despair cut through him, and he sent Michael a pleading glance.
"Stop this, please...!"
"It will stop when he has accepted the role we intended for him."
"Go to hell," Dean rasped. "I'm not doing it..."
Michael knelt next to him, touched his shoulder. He leaned in close to whisper in his ear. Dean tried to jerk away, but Michael's grip held him in place. After some moments Dean's eyes fluttered closed, resignation crossing his pain-stricken face.
Fear gripped Castiel's heart. "No," he breathed in dismay. He groped for Dean's hand, touched the edge of his coat sleeve instead. "Dean..."
Dean's throat flashed as he swallowed. He didn't look at Cas. His gaze was fixed on Michael.
"You son of a bitch," he muttered. "Swear they'll be safe..."
Michael bowed his head. "It will be done."
"Dean!" Cas spoke a little louder, desperate to have him look at him. Again he sought his hand.
Dean's hand clenched. Blood had started to pool beneath him, darkening the ground. He had gone ashen in what seemed like a few seconds. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath.
At last he looked up at Michael. "Do it."
"No!" Cas spared Michael a quick glance, saw him reach for Dean's brow. Forcing himself to his elbows, he managed to drag closer to where Dean lay. He thrust his hand out, his passionate cry of Dean's name lost as brilliant light washed over them. The last thing Cas saw was Dean's profile highlighted by Michael's Grace before he was forced to avert his eyes.
When the glow receded Cas saw Adam's body crumpled on the ground. Trembling, he lifted his gaze to Michael. He now stood above him. The front of his shirt was stained with blood. He locked eyes with Cas, but there was no warmth or familiarity in his expression. He was remote, cold.
"Michael, please," Castiel begged, one hand pressed to his middle, his blood warm and sticky on his hands. "Don't do this. Let him go."
"He has made his choice, Castiel," Michael replied in Dean's voice. To be addressed in such a cold, dispassionate manner cut Cas to the core. "Do not worry. I shall honor my pact," he said, leaning forward. When he pressed his fingers to Cas's brow he shuddered, then grunted in pain as his wound resealed itself.
Michael then stood upright, his face cold. Hard.
Cas paled. "Brother..."
"Goodbye, Castiel. I cast you out of Heaven, of our family, for your transgressions. Paradise will remain closed to you, forever."
So stunned by this sentence, Cas didn't find his voice until after Michael vanished. He shouted for him, over and over, with only his own echo responding to him.