Title: I Call Out Amidst of All the Fallout (Chapter 2/?)

Author: Taya

Pairings/Characters: Eventual Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Balthazar

Spoilers: Up to 6.22. Some plot points are based loosely on future spoilers and comments made by the cast.

Warnings: No beta, so all mistakes are my own. Creative use of commas.

Rating: R (just to be safe)

Word Count: WIP (3700 for this part)

Author's Note: The title is from the Steve Carlson song "Love You or Leave You." Jensen wrote the line, "In spite of it all I call out amidst of all the fallout." Steve said it's his favorite line in the song. It's mine as well.

Summary: Dean has a one-on-one with God and a heart-to-heart with Sam, as they all try to figure out what to do about their "Cas Problem."

Chapter Two: Like a Holy Rolling Stone

For a moment the only sound in the yard was that of Dean's labored breathing.

And then…

"Hey Dean."

Dean spun around quickly, eyes going wide as he looked upon the new arrival.

"Chuck?"

"Hi," Chuck said, giving Dean a little wave.

"What are…" Dean began, before his brain finally caught up. "Oh my God."

"Hey, right in one," Chuck said, smiling.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean replied, dumbfounded. "You're God?"

Chuck nodded. "Yep."

"For how long?"

"Gosh," sighed Chuck, scratching his head. "I don't really know exactly. I mean, it's been a really long-"

"No," Dean interrupted, "how long have you been Chuck?"

"Oh," Chuck said. "About forty years now."

Dean just stared. "You mean you've been here this entire time?"

"Well, technically, yeah," said Chuck, rubbing the back of his neck. "But if it makes you feel any better, I didn't know I was God the whole time."

Dean just shook his head, as he began pacing around the salvage yard. This was crazy. This didn't make any sense. Was he really standing here in the middle of Bobby's yard, in the early morning hours, having a conversation with God? He needed to sit down.

"I need to sit down," Dean said out loud. He took a seat on the tailgate of an old rusted Ford, and buried his face in his hands.

After a few minutes, he looked back up at Chuck-God-Jesus, this was nuts.

"Okay," Dean said, taking a calming breath. "I need you to explain this to me. From the beginning."

Chuck took a deep breath and took a few steps closer to Dean. "Well, in the beginning I created the Heavens and the Earth."

"Don't be cute," Dean snapped angrily.

"I'm trying to tell you how I got here, Dean," Chuck said patiently. "Before I brought this world into existence, I had to know how I was going to end it."

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Because I knew that I couldn't do this job forever," answered Chuck. "So I wrote an end to the story. The world would end with Michael and Lucifer taking you and your brother as their vessels, and destroying the planet as they waged war against each other. At least, that's how it was supposed to happen," finished Chuck, looking slightly irritated.

"That still doesn't explain how you became Chuck," said Dean.

"I was born like this," Chuck began. "About forty years ago I decided that I wanted to experience the apocalypse alongside humanity—to show my solidarity with them."

Dean snorted, and Chuck shot him a glare.

"So I fell."

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him. "Fell?" he asked. "You mean like Anna fell?"

Chuck nodded. "I made sure everything was in order upstairs, and then I fell. I was born nine months later as Chuck Shurley. I had no memory of being God, no clue that I'd ever been anything more than human…until I started having those visions.

"They were strange. Even after I'd learned that I was seeing the future, I still couldn't shake this weird feeling of déjà vu. Like I'd had these visions before." Chuck sighed. "It wasn't until the end that I realized the truth. When I had a vision of you and Sam stopping the apocalypse. The wrongness of it all was like a shock to my system. Suddenly I was me again."

Chuck finished, staring at Dean expectantly.

"So, what?" Dean asked angrily. "Things didn't go the way you wanted, so you just decide to check out?"

Chuck shrugged. "Pretty much. Yeah."

"But the world's still here! And it's a mess!" Dean said indignantly, jumping down off the truck. "Your kids went to war with each other. They tried to restart Armageddon."

"Hey, don't drop this turd in my lap, man," said Chuck. "This is your doing. I had the end of the story all written out. You're the one who decided to burn the pages. You're the one who ushered in the era of free will, for humans and angels, and this is what they did with it."

They both stared at one another angrily. Chuck was the first to look away.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I'm done. Retired."

Dean was silent for another moment, as he looked out towards the horizon. The stars were growing fainter as the night slowly gave way to morning.

"Those souls are going to destroy Cas," Dean said quietly. "And everything else along with him."

Chuck just nodded. "And the world will end just like it was supposed to."

Dean ran a hand down his face, as he struggled to fight back tears.

"So you're not going to save Cas?"

"I already saved Cas," Chuck said irritably. "I brought him back after Lucifer killed him. I brought him back for you. And you chose to go to Lisa's. And Cas chose to return to Heaven." Chuck spread his arms out wide. "This is what you wanted, Dean. No destiny. No fate. No plan. Nothing but free will and choice."

"So choose to help me then," Dean said desperately, stepping closer to Chuck. "Choose to save Cas."

Chuck just stared at Dean sadly.

"Look," Dean went on, "I really don't give a crap what you do after this. If you wanna drink margaritas on a beach somewhere until the end of time, that's your business. But I am begging you, please, save Cas."

Chuck continued to stare at Dean, and Dean held onto his gaze like a lifeline, afraid to look away for fear of drowning.

Chuck tilted his head and looked into his eyes like he was searching for something, and in that moment he reminded Dean so much of Cas that he felt his heart clench painfully.

Finally, Chuck looked away. "There's nothing I can do for Castiel," he said. "The only person who can help him now is you."

"How?" Dean asked hopefully.

"Well, this is going to sound really cheesy, even for me, but…with the power of love."

Dean stared at him blankly. "What does that mean?"

Chuck sighed. "No one can force Castiel to give up those souls. He has to choose it. And you're the only person who'd be able to convince him to do that."

"Why?"

"Because, Dean, you are the thing that Castiel loves most in the world."

Dean felt a sudden tightening in his chest, and had to look away from Chuck. He wanted to deny it. Say that there was no way—someone who loved him would not be capable of causing him so much pain.

But somewhere behind the wall that Dean had erected to place anything having to do with "feelings", he knew that it was true. Every lingering glance, every unspoken word, every unfulfilled desire really came down to two simple truths: Cas loved Dean and Dean loved Cas.

He took a calming breath, and turned back to face Chuck.

"What do I have to do?" he asked.

"You need to convince him to fall." Dean's eyes grew wide at that. "By casting out his grace, Castiel will cast out the souls as well."

"So, what? He'll be born as somebody else and not remember anything?" Dean asked, fearfully. He won't remember me?

"No," said Chuck, shaking his head. "Castiel already has a vessel. He'll fall to Earth in that form and his memories will be intact."

Dean nodded, as he resumed his pacing.

"Okay," said Dean. "Okay. So, I just have to convince him to fall? That seems pretty straightforward."

"It's not," said Chuck, causing Dean to stop his pacing. "Even if you can convince him to fall, there will be consequences."

"What kind of consequences?"

"It won't just be Castiel's grace that falls to Earth, but all of those souls as well."

"Isn't that kinda the point?" asked Dean.

"You don't understand. By removing those souls from Purgatory, Castiel sort of…reanimated them."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked warily.

"It means that when those souls reach Earth, all one would need to do is find a vessel to take possession of, and boom—a monster is reborn. And not just one—millions."

Dean just stared at him, horrified.

"Is he worth it, Dean?" Chuck asked, as Dean turned away, fighting to keep down the bile in his stomach. "Is he worth unleashing millions of monsters upon humanity? You know better than anyone the type of pain that will cause. The families that will be ripped apart."

"Okay," Dean choked out, tears in his eyes. He took a moment to calm himself down. "But if I don't do anything, there's not gonna be a world here at all," he said desperately. "Isn't a planet with monsters better than no planet at all?"

"Is it?" Chuck asked quietly.

Dean turned away, wiping tears from his face. How the hell was he supposed to make a decision like that? A decision that, one way or another, was going to affect every other person on the planet.

Dean took a deep breath, and turned back around to face Chuck…

…only to find himself alone.

Later that morning, after the sun had risen and the shadows receded, Dean relayed to Sam and Bobby everything that had happened.

After some initial disbelief and several interruptions—"Chuck? Are you kidding?"—he finally managed to tell them the entire story.

After Dean finished, the three of them sat in silence before Bobby finally spoke up.

"Well now we gotta kill him."

"Bobby," Sam said quietly, as Dean just shook his head and looked out the living room window.

"What? We can't just let him explode the whole planet and we sure as hell can't sit back and watch while millions of monsters get reborn," Bobby said angrily. "If you idjits got another option, I'd love to hear it."

Sam was quiet, but Dean knew is gaze was turned on him. He couldn't bring himself to look away from the window and into those sad, puppy dog eyes.

"Dean?" Sam asked quietly. "What do you want to do?"

What did he want to do? He wanted to get stinkin' drunk and not think about monsters or angels or love or the end of the world. That's what he wanted to do. He wanted to drink until he stopped feeling like Atlas, with the weight of the whole freakin' world on his shoulders.

So that's what he did.

Despite it being only ten-thirty in the morning, Dean left Sam and Bobby sitting there, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and walked out the back door.

He drank all morning and well into the afternoon. Sam and Bobby did a good job leaving him to his own devices—or vices, in this case; and whenever he did come across them conspiring quietly in a corner, he was simply too drunk to care.

Dean had started drinking to clear his head, but if anything, his mind was now on overdrive and his thoughts all the more jumbled. He tried very hard to keep from thinking about a certain angel-turned-God. He really did.

Which is why, when Sam found him later that evening, sprawled across the couch and peeling the label from his empty bottle, he most definitely was not thinking about blue eyes, soft hands, and sex hair. Nope.

Boobs.

He was thinkin' about boobs.

"What?"

Dean turned his head to look at his brother. Sam had taken a seat in the armchair opposite the couch, a beer of his own resting on his knee.

"Hmm?"

"Did you just say 'boobs'?"

"No," Dean said defensively, turning his attention back to his bottle.

Sam just laughed at him.

"Hey Sammy," Dean slurred, after a few minutes of silence. "Can I ask you a homothetical question?"

Sam choked on his beer, causing Dean to glance over at him.

"Uh…" Sam began. "A hypothetical question?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. That's what he'd said.

"Sure," smirked Sam, leaning back in his seat.

Dean continued to pick at the label on his bottle as he spoke. "Do you think it's possible for one dude to be attracted to another dude without being gay?"

Sam just stared at his brother.

"I mean attracted sexually," clarified Dean, turning to look at Sam. "Like, he wants to-"

"Yeah yeah yeah. I got it," interrupted Sam, quickly. "Uh…" He took a deep breath. Were they really having this conversation?

Dean just looked at him expectantly.

Okay, I guess they were.

"Well," Sam began, scooting forward in his seat, "in most cases, I would say no. But…if, say, we were talking about you and Cas…homothetically, of course," added Sam, as Dean nodded, "…then I would say yes. It's possible."

Dean just stared at his brother.

"How's that different?" he asked.

Sam just laughed. "Are you kidding? How isn't it different?"

Dean sighed softly, and went back to playing with his label. Several minutes passed where they simply sat there quietly.

"We almost slept together once," whispered Dean.

"Oh yeah?" Sam smirked. "When?" He was mentally preparing to store this information away for future use—one of the privileges of being a little brother.

"Right after Stull," Dean answered.

The smile vanished quickly from Sam's face. Dean went on.

"We stayed in that cemetery all day. They couldn't get me to move. Or maybe they didn't bother tryin', I don't remember. I just know it was late in the afternoon when we finally got on the road. I don't know where I was going, I just drove. Cas was with me.

"And then he wasn't. I thought that was it. I just kept driving. Only stopped twice—once for gas, once for liquor."

Dean paused for a minute, a sad smile on his face.

"I drove until I couldn't see straight," he continued. "Then I had to stop."

Dean swerved the Impala through the motel parking lot, eventually bringing it to a stop across two parking spaces. Bobby parked smoothly beside him and hopped out of his truck, watching as Dean seemed to be struggling with the door handle.

He eventually made it out of the car, finishing the can of beer he'd been drinking and tossing it aside.

Bobby gave him a disapproving look, but Dean just stared back, daring him to say anything. Bobby sighed and turned away.

"I'll get us a room."

"Two rooms," said Dean, his voice rough from nonuse.

Bobby stopped and turned back around to face him.

"Two rooms," Dean repeated.

Bobby was silent for a moment, as he looked at Dean.

"I don't think you should be alone tonight, son," he said softly.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Bobby," he said, irritated. "I'm too exhausted to kill myself tonight, alright?"

"Well you'll forgive me if that doesn't exactly put my mind at ease."

They both fell silent once more, as Bobby stared at Dean and Dean stared at the ground.

"I just don't want anyone else sleeping in Sam's bed yet, okay?" Dean said, his voice barely more than a whisper. His throat was sore, his chest ached, and his eyes stung with the tears he'd been holding back all day. He just wanted to drink some more and pass out.

"Two rooms then," Bobby said quietly, as he walked away.

An hour later and sleep had still failed to find Dean. He lay fully clothed on top of the comforter, an empty bottle of Jack held loosely in his hand. The alcohol had been meant to act as a distraction—a wall—something behind which to place all thoughts of Sam. It wasn't working. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was his baby brother falling into Hell.

So now, here he was in a drunken stupor, staring up at the ceiling and trying to see images in the water stains.

That's when he heard it. A sound he never thought that he would hear again. Dean let his head fall to the left. Cas was standing in front of the window, his silhouette framed by the neon light outside.

"I thought you left," Dean said gruffly.

Cas shook his head as he approached the foot of the bed.

"I had some things to take care of first," he said quietly, looking down at Dean.

The sadness in the angel's eyes was more than he could bear, and he looked away. Dean was about to ask Cas why he was here, when he was suddenly distracted by the angel reaching down to untie his boot.

The question got lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth, as he became preoccupied with Castiel's long fingers undoing his laces.

"You need to sleep," Cas explained. He lifted Dean's leg from the bed and gently removed the boot from his foot, before letting it fall to the floor. He held Dean's foot for a moment longer, before setting it back on the bed and turning his attention to the other boot.

Dean had found his distraction.

As he watched the angel's hands, his mind was bombarded with images. Every thought and feeling he had struggled to suppress over the past two years came flooding in. And Dean let them.

He thought about how it would feel to have those hands on other parts of his body—every part of his body.

Dean looked at Cas's mouth as he felt himself begin to grow hard in his jeans. He imagined the feel of those lips around his cock.

Dean's breathing sped up as Cas moved closer. Having finished removing his boots, Cas now took the empty bottle from Dean's limp hand and set in on the bedside table.

When he turned back towards the bed, he reached his hand towards Dean's forehead. And that's when Dean acted.

Grabbing his wrist, Dean pulled Cas down on top of him and then quickly rolled them over so that he had the angel pinned beneath him. Dean buried his face in the crook of Castiel's neck and breathed in the delicious scent. He could feel his dick hard against Cas's thigh and he ground his hips down sharply, making himself moan. This is exactly what he needed.

"Oh God, Cas," Dean groaned, as he began thrusting rigorously against the angel. "Fuck."

"Dean?"

He froze.

Cas hadn't spoken his name in lust or love or encouragement. It was the confused question of a creature who wasn't exactly sure what was going on.

Dean pulled back enough to look at him. His eyes were wide and questioning, and Dean was reminded forcibly of just who it was that he had trapped beneath him-who it was that he had wanted to fuck until he couldn't feel anything.

Dean felt disgusted with himself.

"Shit," he said, his voice cracking. He pushed himself fiercely from the bed, and hurried to the bathroom. He barely got the lights on before he was vomiting into the sink. His hands gripped the counter tightly, as he emptied the contents of his stomach.

When Dean had finished his throat was raw, and when he looked up at his reflection he saw that his face was wet with the tears he'd been holding back all day.

He stared for a moment longer, before striking out with his right hand and smashing the mirror to pieces. The sound of breaking glass echoed around the tiny bathroom as Dean crumbled to the floor. His back against the wall, he put his head in his hands and cried.

He was vaguely aware of Castiel coming in and sitting on the floor beside him. The angel didn't say anything. He just sat there as Dean sobbed, their shoulders pressed firmly together, grounding them both.

Later, after Dean's tears had subsided and his breathing slowed, Cas took his bruised and bleeding hand in both of his own. It took only one touch for the blood to fade and the bones to mend, but Cas continued to hold Dean's hand in his lap, his thumb drawing soothing circles upon his skin.

Dean didn't know how long they sat like that. It may have been minutes. It may have been hours.

When Cas finally spoke, his voice was quiet. He sounded hesitant and, there was no other word for it, broken.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked, his voice cracking. "I can stay."

Dean closed his eyes tight against the fresh tears that threatened to fall. Of course he wanted Cas to stay. He wanted to get on his knees and beg him to. He wanted to tell him that he couldn't do this alone. He was too broken. Too weak. Yes, he wanted to ask Cas to stay. Which is why he couldn't.

Dean just shook his head, as he focused on the feel of his hand in Castiel's.

"That's probably not a good idea," Dean said quietly. "You deserve to go home, Cas. I mean, it's my fault you had to leave in the first place." Dean felt his chest clench painfully. "I'm poison, Cas," he choked out. "Everybody I love dies. So you should just get as far away from me as possible."

Dean pulled his hand out of Cas's grip and stood up, leaving the bathroom. A few moments later he heard a flutter of wings, and he knew that Castiel was gone.

Dean didn't look back.

When Dean finished, Sam just stared at him sadly. He didn't know what to say.

Thankfully he was spared having to say anything at all when his brother turned to look at him.

Dean's eyes were clouded with tears, but when he spoke his voice was steady.

"I can't kill him, Sammy. I can't do it."

Sam nodded. "I know," he said. "It's okay, Dean. We'll save him."

Dean turned to look out the window at the night sky. "And the souls?"

Sam followed his brother's gaze. He tried to imagine a world with more monsters—millions of more monsters. It would never stop. They would be hunting for the rest of their lives, which considering what lay ahead of them probably wouldn't be that long.

Sam swallowed thickly and looked back at Dean, when something caught his eye. The sleeve of his t-shirt was riding up slightly, and Sam could just make out the faint outline of a handprint on his shoulder. The mark that Castiel had left when he'd raised Dean from Hell—when he'd brought his brother back to him.

"Whatever the consequences," Sam began, "we'll deal with them. Together."

Dean turned from the window and looked his brother in the eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. He didn't know if it was the alcohol, but he suddenly felt like everything was going to be okay.

TBC