The archangel Michael stood on the second floor balcony overlooking the stage. He had his hands folded at the small of his back, his face darkening at witnessing the entrance of some scantily clad human, demonic and angelic females. They waved to those they passed by, expressing invitations with eyes, smiles, provocative gestures. After a moment Michael glanced away with a shake of the head. It was true, the club was a beacon for sinners; upon their arrival Raphael had been more than willing to raze it to the ground. Michael had cautioned patience, tolerance. They had come for a purpose, after all. Castiel was not the only angel he wanted to bring home.
Michael became aware of his right hand trembling. He clasped his left over it to hold it in place. Though he had spent the past three years suppressing all that was Dean Winchester from this body, still the sight- no, the mere thought of Castiel- had been enough to chip away at the gag he had placed over him. Michael set his shoulders. He wasn't going to let his vessel control him. He was the most powerful of his father's angels; he had a duty to uphold in His absence. Dean Winchester would not prevent him from accomplishing his goals.
At hearing a footstep he glanced over, gave a cordial nod. "Raphael," he greeted. "Have you been able to speak to all our fallen brothers and sisters?"
"All but Balthazar," Raphael answered. At Michael's lifted brow he smoothed his surly expression. "He has secured himself in a room that is warded against all manner of creatures," he explained. "We can enter but we are powerless."
"No matter," Michael replied calmly. "Send an angel there. He will bring Balthazar to me."
"What of Gabriel?" Raphael asked. He didn't bother hiding his displeasure this time. Michael allowed it; in truth, he was just as disappointed in their wayward brother.
"Leave him to me," Michael assured him. "He has demonstrated some reluctance to coming home but he will relent. I intend to speak to him again, and Castiel, after we conclude tonight's performance."
Raphael frowned. "You are participating in that farce?"
"I am," Michael answered, and said no more. Raphael was not impertinent enough to question him, or give an opinion as to why he should not. Instead he nodded and excused himself.
Alone now, Michael's gaze ventured back to the stage. His right hand started to tremble again, very slightly.
Dean watched Castiel's face, waiting for the angel to say something. Shortly after he began his story it had started to rain, forcing them to take shelter inside the Impala. There Castiel had sat in silence, not watching him but the rain, as he listened. That had been about ten minutes ago, and still Cas had kept his peace.
Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The jug of holy oil sat between them, propped beside the box of mix tapes. During the ensuing silence he had sorted through them, remembering the instances he had first created them, approving of his selection for some, questioning it on others. He reached into the box again, biting back the urge to demand Castiel say something already. It was then he noticed a tape he didn't remember making. He pulled it free to inspect the label. The first thing he spotted was the different handwriting; the next, the date. Dean glanced at Cas, didn't miss the way the angel had looked away before he ejected the current tape and replaced it. When the first song started (Asia again) Castiel's hands tightened on his lap. His eyes shone with sadness, regret. At realizing the song's relevance Dean switched it off with a sigh.
"All right, enough with the silent treatment," he commented, turning to face him. He watched Cas eject the tape and gently insert it into the box. "I know you're gonna say something about what I did. So go ahead. Say it."
Castiel glanced away. "Your reasons for agreeing are sound. Given the circumstances, you had little choice other than to make the bargain."
"Um. Yeah," Dean said, honestly surprised by Cas's words. "Why didn't you just say before?"
Cas's head bowed. "Because I was remembering a similar discussion," he explained quietly. He didn't elaborate, nor did Dean ask him to. It was pretty obvious that discussion hadn't been a good one. After a moment Cas looked over at Dean, all sadness gone from his face. "Crowley believes you agreed to the switch. If I know you, you have a different plan."
"Hell yeah I do," Dean answered with a small smile. He patted the jug. "And this little baby's gonna help us with Balthazar."
"Yes. Trapping him will work," Castiel agreed. "But what about Crowley? Killing the demon he sends to collect you will draw too much attention."
"I'm gonna ask Gabriel to give me a hand. Make his tricks work for me for a change," he added with a smirk.
"Then we should talk to them. Doing it in Purgatory might be too dangerous," Cas reasoned.
"Well, I had asked them to meet me at the barn but..." Dean trailed off with a helpless shrug and gesture over his shoulder.
Cas looked at its ruined remains, gave a small nod. "I will transport us to Bobby's."
"Wait, Cas that's not-" Dean protested, but it was already too late. The road had become the car lot next to Bobby's house. As Cas exited the car Dean heaved a sigh. Friggin' angels.
He had just closed the door when an angry voice called out, "What the hell is he doing here?"
Dean turned to find Bobby standing behind them. He was pointing a shotgun right at Cas. And he looked pissed.
Castiel approached Bobby first. "Hello," he greeted, seemingly oblivious to the way Bobby tensed. "It's good to see you again."
"Well, the feeling ain't mutual," the older man retorted. His eyes went past the angel. "Dean, I know what this guy means to you but he's not welcome here. Not anymore."
"Bobby, put the gun down," Dean told him sharply. "It's Cas! He's one of us!"
"He hasn't been one of us since he turned his back on Sam, and if you had any sense you'd see it," Bobby countered. He glared at Castiel. "Get the hell of my property, you son of a bitch." He pumped the shotgun for emphasis.
Cas now stood across from Bobby, his hands at his sides. His face was full of regret. "I understand why you're upset. I wasn't myself after I- we- lost Dean," he corrected softly. "I was angry, confused. I thought that I was doing the right thing, for all of us. I'm sorry for all of it."
Bobby scowled. "You think saying sorry is going to make it all better?"
"No," Cas admitted. "All I can do now is make it up to you, if you'll let me."
Silence fell. Dean watched Bobby's face, wondering if he, too, was affected by the quiet resignation in Castiel's voice.
The shotgun wavered, just a bit. Bobby's expression softened. Dean felt himself relax.
But then Gabriel was suddenly there, a smirk on his face as he said, "I'm not sorry for this," and leveled Cas with a single blow. The force behind the punch sent him crashing into the Impala. Dean flinched as he watched her shudder from the impact before he glowered at Gabriel.
The archangel clapped his hands as if freeing them from a dirty substance. Sam now stood beside Bobby, matching awestruck expressions on their faces. Cas picked himself up from the ground, touched his bloodied nose and upper lip.
The grin Gabriel sent Dean's way was insincere. "Sorry. Had to get that out of my system," he explained. "Well, kids? We ready to get to work or what?"
After explanations had been given to Bobby, Rufus and Garth (who Dean wasn't entirely sure was even awake for it all), and Bobby dispatched the latter two to warn fellow hunters away from Purgatory, the brothers and two angels retreated to the kitchen. Sam had just taken Castiel to the bathroom to help clean him up. Once they had gone Dean approached the refrigerator and grabbed a beer.
"Mind telling me what that was about?" he demanded of Gabriel, twisting the cap off and tossing it onto the table with a violent gesture.
Gabriel reclined on the counter, a candy bar in hand. He peeled back the wrapping, shrugged. "If I have to explain that to you, then you're dumber than you look."
"Dammit, Gabriel, we're supposed to be working together," Dean reminded him pointedly. "Punching the guys on our team won't help."
"I'm surprised to hear that coming from you," the archangel countered with a lifted brow. "How many times did you slug Sam as a way of getting your point across?"
Dean was in Gabriel's face seconds before he realized he had moved. He stared down at him through narrowed eyes. "You listen to me, you little son of a bitch," he murmured in low tones. "Don't you dare think you can throw that in my face just cause you and Sam are buddy-buddy. You asked me to get Cas on board with kick starting the Apocalypse, I did. So whatever issues you might have with him for leaving, stow it," he said sternly. "Got more important things to worry about right now."
Gabriel sat up so suddenly Dean was forced to take a step back. But it wasn't just the abrupt movement that gave him pause. It was the intensity in Gabriel's eyes, the set of his shoulders. The room seemed charged with power.
"Do you know why Michael is at Purgatory right now?" His voice was low, edged with resentment. "It's not just to take little Castiel away from here; he's come back for all of us."
"Wait a second," Dean protested. "Michael wants to bring all the angels home? Why?"
"To welcome us all back so we may be forgiven our trespasses and find redemption," Gabriel explained with a scowl. "When I told him I wasn't interested he made it pretty clear that I had no choice. And you know what, Dean?" he said, his tone becoming more passionate. "I like where I am. I like being with Sam. I even like that you're here cause it makes Sam happy, real brother or not." Gabriel slid off the counter and stabbed Dean in the chest with a finger. "So yeah, I took a swing at my kid brother because of it and I'm not sorry."
A heavy silence fell. As Gabriel continued to stare up at Dean, he was overcome with the realization that maybe, just maybe, there was more to his relationship with Sam than he let on. What was more, he understood.
"So that's his plan, huh?" he said after a moment. "Damn. I didn't know."
Gabriel hopped back onto the counter and took up the discarded candy bar. "Now you do," he announced as he broke off a piece. "I gotta say," he said through a mouthful. "I'm really looking forward to using my horn. Be nice to see the look on his face when he realizes he doesn't know everything."
Dean cracked a wry smile at that. "Amen."
When Gabriel shot him a look, followed by a slow smile, the two of them laughed. The world was definitely a screwed up place if Dean found reason to laugh with a former Trickster.
They were still laughing when Sam returned with Castiel. Dean glimpsed Sam's bright smile as he took in the sight before he addressed Cas. He took in the bruise on his cheek, the cut above his lip. "You all right?"
"The swelling will go down soon," he explained, speaking as if getting punched in the face was normal. "We should talk to Balthazar. The auction will be over by mid-afternoon."
"Damn." Dean glanced at his watch, noted it was just past noon. "Right. We'll take care of him now. You guys get back to Purgatory. Do your play thing, whatever. Crowley and Michael can't know anything's up. Gabriel, I'm gonna need your help when Crowley sends for me."
Gabriel took a bite of his candy bar. His eyes flashed with anticipation. "Just say the word," he assured him in pleasant tones. He punctuated this remark with a wink. Sam chuckled, sent Dean a helpless smile.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Come on, Cas," he said, heading for the door. At seeing Cas send him a confused look he grinned. "You kept my baby in that barn for three years, man. We're driving."
Castiel had regained his ability to transport anywhere with a thought. But from the moment he sat in the car, and Dean started the engine with an enthusiastic cry, he realized just how much he missed riding in the Impala. When Dean peeled out of the lot, sending the car into a tailspin as he headed for the road, Cas instinctively held onto the arm rest to keep his balance. He acknowledged that the car was picking up speed (despite his senses telling him it wasn't), and leaned back to watch the scenery fly by.
At hearing Dean rummaging through the box of tapes he turned to look at him. "Is something wrong?" he asked at seeing Dean's perplexed expression.
"Looking for a tape," he answered. He kept one hand on the wheel as he searched. "It's sorta an anthem, you know. Always played it whenever I first hit the road. Can't remember which one has it though."
Castiel inserted his hand into the box, found the correct tape and presented it to him. "AC/DC 'Back In Black'. It's the third song on side A," he explained.
Dean blinked in surprise before he gave an impressed nod. "You probably know this collection better than I do," he commented, popping the tape into the radio and pressing the fast forward button.
Castiel smiled faintly. "I've had three years to memorize it. That, and you- Dean- was very fond of that tape."
"Of course he was," Dean answered absently. Once the opening riff began he beamed. "Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, and drummed his hands to the beat. Soon he was singing to it, completely oblivious to everything but the music.
Castiel watched him for some moments, then resumed his observation of the scenery. When the memories started to unfold in his mind, he met them with a small, sad smile.
Three years ago...
It had been well into the early morning by the time Dean pulled up in front of Bobby's. Castiel, like the brothers, was road weary. His exhaustion was so profound he had difficulty seeing things clearly. After Sam had shown him the bed in Bobby's study he trudged upstairs.
Once he was alone Cas shrugged out of the trench coat, drew back the covers and laid down. Some time later Dean entered the room, a duffel bag in hand. For a moment Cas thought he was just going to throw it onto the floor and sleep there, but Dean just gestured for him to move over. Cas did as bade, smiling as Dean wrapped his arms around him, felt his lips brush against the back of his neck. He stayed awake long enough to hear Dean's sleepy demand that he not steal the covers this time before drifting off.
The sound of wheels rolling across the floor roused Cas from sleep. He opened his eyes, squinted at the sunlight streaming in from the window. Dean snored softly at his back, his arm still wound about his chest, his other arm stretched beneath the pillow. Cas threaded his fingers with Dean's, smiling softly when Dean snuggled closer to him.
"So how did he take the news?" came Bobby's voice from the kitchen.
"About what we expected," Sam replied softly. Cas could hear cabinet doors opening, the rattle of plates. "What else can we do, Bobby? I started this mess. I have to be the one to finish it. You know this. Eventually Dean will get it, too."
"Yeah." There was little conviction in Bobby's tone. "What about those two lovebirds over there? When did that happen?"
"Honestly? I'm not sure," Sam answered. Cas heard the smile in his voice. "I gotta tell you, though: I'm glad it did. I've never seen Dean so happy."
"Happy, huh?" Bobby repeated. There was something about his tone that confused Cas. It was like he was satisfied yet disappointed at the same time. "It'll help, at least."
Sam gave a small sigh. "Yeah. It will."
A short silence followed. Cas waited, wanting to know what it was he would be helping Dean with. Soon Bobby gruffly reminded Sam there was work to do, and he was going to, as he put it, "Wake up the newlyweds," so they could get started.
Over the course of the next few hours, Cas didn't get a chance to think too much into what Sam and Bobby had been discussing. Like the others, he had been swept up in the simultaneous revelations of Bobby having sold his soul to Crowley, Death's expected appearance in Chicago, and the distribution of the Croatoan virus disguised as vaccine. All they had time for was preparation. And, as Dean, Sam and Bobby discussed their individual plans, Castiel couldn't help but notice the way Dean refused to meet his eyes. While he was still somewhat new at reading expressions, something told him Dean was withholding information.
Night had fallen by the time Cas found the opportunity to talk to Dean. He had gone into a storage shed behind the garage to get more supplies. When Cas appeared in the doorway just as Dean turned to face him, he jumped.
"Dammit, Cas," he grumbled, adjusting the duffel bag at his shoulder. "You're gonna give me a heart attack one of these days." He went past him- not rudely, but there was still something about his mannerisms that suggested he was keeping his distance. "I thought you were helping Bobby load the truck."
"I am. He sent me to the garage to gather more ammunition. Dean," Cas said, turning round. Dean took a few more steps before he paused. "Is something wrong? You don't seem like yourself."
"Wrong?" Dean repeated. He faced Cas, his expression stern, though his eyes flashed with emotion. "What makes you say that? Nothing's wrong except we need to stop a zombie Apocalypse and get Death's ring at the same time. When we're done with all that I get to watch my brother say yes to the Devil. Everything's awesome."
Beneath the bitterness was hurt, helplessness. It was then Cas understood what Sam and Bobby had been referencing in the morning. His expression softened. "I'm sorry, Dean," he murmured. "I know this must be- is hard on you," he corrected. "I don't want to see Sam in danger anymore than you do."
"Good." Dean's nod was short. "That's why I'm sending you with him to blow up that shipment," he announced, and strode off.
Cas stared after him. A sinking feeling settled into his gut. "Dean," he called, and again Dean stopped. "You will be going to Chicago with Crowley? To face Death?"
Dean's posture stiffened with each word Cas said. "That's the plan."
Cas approached him swiftly, grabbed his shoulder and turned him so they were facing each other. "You'll be alone. Crowley won't help you if things get difficult. You have to let me come with you."
"No," Dean told him, gripping the hand at his shoulder. He held onto it so tightly Cas felt pain. "Sammy needs you more than I do. Bobby too. I'll be fine," he assured him as he released his hand. "You gotta trust me."
"I don't trust Crowley," Cas stated. "Dean, please-"
"I said no," Dean grated, and Cas fell silent. "Yeah, I'm going to see Death but I'm not afraid; hell, dying doesn't scare me anymore. I'm going to do whatever it takes to make sure the Apocalypse doesn't go down. You gotta do the same. This is how it's gotta be, Cas. This is what we signed up for."
Cas shook his head. A painful tightening had gripped his chest, as if someone was stepping on it. "No," he murmured. "I can't let you do this."
"Well you're going to have to," Dean countered angrily. "Get it through your head already! You're an angel with no mojo, Cas. You get hurt and that's it. I can't let that happen," he said, his voice breaking a little. "I don't give a damn what happens to me, but you and Sam and Bobby? You're more important than I'll ever be."
Cas could do nothing but stare at him in silence. Though his eyes reflected pain, Dean gave a curt nod and walked off. As the distance between them grew the hurt and pain of Dean's stinging words abruptly changed to determination. In three strides Cas had reached Dean's side, gripped the other man's forearm and was pulling him around the garage.
"Cas, what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded. "Didn't you-"
Castiel didn't let him finish. He gripped the lapels of Dean's coat, shoved him against the wall and pressed his mouth to Dean's in a hard, fervent kiss. There was a brief moment of struggle before Cas heard the duffel bag hit the ground, and Dean's arms circled him tightly. Cas felt the wetness of tears on his cheeks, didn't know if they were his or Dean's.
He drew back with a ragged gasp. "You listen to me," he breathed in husky tones. "I turned my back on everything I knew, my family, my home, because I knew your worth. Because I believed in you. I've stood against those who would hurt you, and I've died to protect you. I'd do it again and again. You are important, Dean. To Sam, to Bobby, and to me. I will look after Sam as best I can, but I won't listen to you talk like that. Understand?"
It was Dean's turn to stare down at Cas in silence. Castiel had seen Dean at his lowest, most vulnerable state. But even in the deepest pit of Hell, when the muck clinging to his soul should have overcome all light, it had still pierced the veil to show Cas the way. As he searched Dean's face, the angel identified the deeply-ingrained programming that had fashioned him into an unfeeling soldier at war with the desperate hope that maybe, he truly was worth more. That he believed he was worth more.
Long moments passed before Dean slowly, almost hesitantly, placed his hands on Cas's shoulders. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He tried to speak, shook his head. Instead he leaned forward to kiss Castiel again and again before dropping his head onto his shoulder. Cas held fast to him, his eyes closing as he heard Dean struggle not to cry. He said nothing out of respect for his feelings.
They remained like that for a long time. Dean's little sobs eventually subsided, and he just let Cas hold him. Cas thought about all they had endured so far, and knew that moments like this would be the ones to soothe all the troubles that lay ahead. For both of them.
A low whistle suddenly echoed behind them. Castiel felt Dean stiffen in his arms and turned around.
Crowley stood there, a tiny smile on his face. "My, my. The things I've seen tonight," he commented in nonchalant tones. "Oh, don't let me stop you," he said as Castiel stepped away from Dean. "It looked like it was just about to get good."
Dean reached down to grab the duffel bag with sharp, jerky movements. "The hell do you want, Crowley?"
"World peace? A new tailor?" he replied in amused tones. The easy smile faded then, and he divided an impatient glance between the two. "Just in case you two forgot, there's a little job we need to take of. I suggest we depart."
Dean gave him a tight smile and strode off. Castiel watched him until he disappeared around the garage before he looked over at Crowley. "You won't let anything happen to him."
The look in Crowley's eyes indicated he knew it was a direct order, not a request. But he still smiled. "Wouldn't dream of it," he assured him. He then brushed past Cas, hands in his pockets.
The angel trailed after him shortly after. He glimpsed Dean unloading the duffel bag into the trunk of his car before he ventured back to where he left Bobby. The older hunter had a curt greeting for him- "Nice of you to finally come back,"- and set him to work. When he was handed a shotgun, it felt heavy, clumsy in his hands. For a moment he regretted his inability to use his angelic powers, but at spotting Sam talking to Dean, he stiffened his resolve. He'd made Dean a promise. He wouldn't fail him.