It was another hour or so before Sarah's breathing evened out and Castiel was sure that she was asleep, curled up in the corner of the room, head resting on one folded arm and legs wrapped tight against her body. Castiel used what little Grace he could to keep the room hot enough for her to be comfortable, but he didn't know how long that would last – the blood was pooling on the floor, seeping into the room. It seemed never-ending.
Daniel was still stroking though his wing, the touch soothing and warm and it filled Castiel's chest with love, adoration, like he used to feel when looking upon Dean's face. He still could not look at Daniel now – not after everything. He was still shaking.
"Who was it?" Daniel whispered, soft enough not to wake Sarah, and Castiel tensed up, daring to peek out of the corner of his eye to where he was sure the Hunter's gaze was focused on his face. "The woman you fell in love with – the woman you stayed behind for. What was her name?"
Castiel had to laugh – Dean, why do you pretend to be so stupid? Why do you ask all the hard questions? He closed his eyes again. "His name was Dean," he whispered, even the name, spoken out loud, made Castiel press his closed fist to his chest, made him feel like he was going to cry again, and yet brought such a wide smile to his face. Dean had always thrown his emotions into a gale he could barely coast upon.
"…Oh." He was confused. Of course he was. "Was he, um, your first owner? Or something?" And he sounded uncomfortable, trying to hide it behind a clearing of his throat. His hand had tightened in Castiel's wing.
The Angel opened his eyes, locking onto Daniel's so-familiar ones. There was no hesitation in what he said next; "He was everything," the Angel insisted, felt like his True Voice might break out of him with the force of his conviction, if he still had a True Voice. That had been lost along with Heaven. "He was my everything. The only reason this world still spins is because of the efforts of him, his brother, and his friends. He -." He had to stop, then, swallowing at the wide-eyed look on Daniel's face. Not even a spark of recognition, of love, from the soul. Nothing. Father, why?
But Daniel's hand tightened, moved from Castiel's lower back to his shoulder and squeezed tight and the Angel froze, his Grace pulsing in memory. "Tell me about him," the Hunter said, encouraging, soft, with this slight smile on his face like he knew exactly what Castiel was talking about, and it was cruel – to himself – to want to think that Dean was listening, that Dean could hear him. But he wanted Dean to be listening, and so he believed.
He had to. Belief was everything.
"I…" The Angel sighed, shaking his head in wonder, but he couldn't look away – like an insect in green amber, he was caught. Stuck. "I don't even know where to start."
"Well, start wherever you feel like starting. I'm pretty good at keeping up." A small smile, then, lifting one corner of his mouth up higher than the other. Like when Dean would be too tired, eyelids drooping, just about ready to fall asleep in Castiel's arms. His hand squeezed Castiel's shoulder again. "Share, Cas. I imagine you've kept quiet about this a long time."
It was unfair to unload all of this on Daniel – the poor unwitting human housing Castiel's mate's soul. But, Father, what if something he said triggered something in Dean's soul? What if Dean finally felt him, if Castiel simply kept talking, kept letting himself be touched like this? What if?
The hand on his shoulder was grounding. "He had a brand on his shoulder," Castiel whispered, the words coming to him and out of his mouth before he could think, and Daniel blinked, loosening his grip, but he didn't pull it away. "Right where you're touching me now. I burnt the mark into his flesh after I pulled him out of Hell."
"…Hell?" Daniel asked, softly as though unwilling to break the silence. "You've been to Hell?"
"And Purgatory," Castiel replied with a slight laugh – Purgatory. Father, that had stories within stories. "And Heaven. So has – had – Dean."
"Was he a demon?"
"No!" The notion was almost funny, that Dean would ever be that dark; his soul shone so bright, even after he had broken, that Castiel doubted even the entirety of Hell could not have spoiled him for good. No, his goodness ran too deep, too purely. Almost like an Angel. "No, he was human. He was…he was the brightest thing I had ever seen outside of Heaven. And he…he was arrogant, and insolent, and disrespectful and angry – so angry. He had no faith, nothing, believed I was nothing more than a glorified…'tax accountant', I think he called me." And Castiel laughed, this time – it was hoarse and sounded foreign in his throat, but he laughed. "And when he first saw me, he tried to stab me – to kill me, can you imagine? And he was…Father, he was everything I had been taught to hate about humanity, but I could not hate him. How could you hate something that shone so brightly?
He saved the world – he, his brother, his friends and his mentor – they all did it. Even when Hell tried to stop them. When I tried to stop them. More times than I can count. And barely anyone knows who they are anymore." They were merely legends lost in an old book now, no greater than the former Presidents or the name of God. Nothing like that existed in this world – merely Death and snow.
Perhaps that was why it had been written off. A God needs belief. There were no believers anymore.
"It sounds like this Dean was a great man," Daniel whispered after a long moment.
Castiel nodded. "He was." He is.
"And you…you lost him?"
Another nod. "I stayed behind after his brother died – they were very closely bonded and it almost tore Dean apart after Sam died, but he stayed because the world still needed a leader, to help wipe out the last of the big monsters that could come after them; teach them to shoot and Hunt and everything they would need to survive." The Angel blinked, feeling tears gathering again and took a deep breath, trying to swallow back the lump that had formed in his throat. "He died on a Monday. Maybe if he had held out for three more days I could have found him, but he was gone, and Heaven was shut and I didn't know where he was and I couldn't find him and I just…He was just gone. Souls don't just disappear."
The hand on his shoulder squeezed again, just gently, rubbing down his arm and back up in what he supposed was meant to be a soothing gesture, but it felt awkward and itched at his skin. Daniel didn't know how to soothe a weeping Angel – how could he? They didn't exist in his world. Still, the warmth against his t-shirt and skin was foreign and he missed being touched, and so he didn't pull away or tell Daniel to stop.
"Maybe the Reapers are taking people somewhere else," Daniel suggested after a long moment, just to break the silence as it became stifling, oppressive. It felt like an itch under Castiel's skin. "Not Heaven or Hell or…anywhere else an Angel knows of. For the Second Coming."
And Castiel snorted; a low, bitter sound. "And do you believe in that?" he asked, turning his head to look at the Hunter's face. "In God? In the Kingdom of Heaven? Please." Another low sound of derision escaped him then; to know and choose not to believe was one thing, but God didn't exist on this Earth anymore, of that he was certain.
Daniel shrugged one shoulder, seemingly unfazed. "Some things don't have to be believed for them to be true. After all, Dean didn't believe in Angels, right?" He paused a moment, giving Castiel time to consider that. "And yet, here you are."
With that, he let go, and the whole room felt colder now without his touch on Castiel's arm. The Hunter shifted as Castiel watched, settling down with a sigh and leaning his head back against the wall. "Get some shut-eye, Cas," he said, swallowing loudly and letting his eyes fall closed. He looked even more like Dean, then – peaceful, younger than when he and Castiel had met, when the world was not so weary and a smile came easily. "Gotta keep up your strength."
"Angels don't sleep, Daniel," Castiel replied with a slight smile.
The Hunter waved a tired hand. "Then just let your mind wander. Shut down for a bit. There's nothing you can do for now, Cas, so close your eyes and just relax."
Daniel dreamed about the same things he had been dreaming about for the past couple of days – Hunting. Under a different name, a different time; there were buildings he knew no longer existed; there were lights on that seemed to just glow there, connected to nothing. No oil lamps or gas lights or anything – just fixtures stuck in the walls. There were giant metallic wagon-like things outside, on four wheels that growled when they moved – but sleeker, shining. Not a horse or wagon in sight.
"Dean!" On instinct Daniel turned around, ducking a blow that had been aimed for his head, and he grabbed the fist, twisting it around, and shoved a blade that was serrated on one edge and covered in strange runes into the attacker's stomach. Red light flared up around the creature's eyes and mouth and then it slumped to the floor.
He let it fall, wide-eyed, taking a step back, and raised his eyes then to look on a man who was easily several inches taller than him, with long shaggy hair and a concerned look on his face, broad-shouldered, muscled, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt and leather jacket. There was a knife in one hand – long, thin and silver-looking, triple-edged and it seemed to glow with power.
The man tilted his head, this look in his eyes like he was trying to make sure if Daniel was okay, before he seemed to come to the conclusion that he was, because he turned around and hurried off, through an open door with a lock that looked like it had been shot open. Daniel ran after him, questions burning on the tip of his tongue, and he stopped when he almost ran into the back of the large man, peering around his shoulder to see what he saw.
There was Castiel.
He looked…different.
"They're all inside me." Sounded different too – colder, cooler, as though he had all the time in the world. His very voice trembled with power and it made Daniel shake, made him want to run, but he stayed.
He was in the room.
Well, not him exactly, but a man who looked very much like him; older, perhaps, and more haggard with more muscle on him, but definitely someone who could pass for his brother. "Millions upon millions of souls."
There was another man in the room – older, with a larger waistline and wider eyes, and – Daniel's eyes narrowed in recognition of the fourth and last inhabitant of the room. The suited demon that had trapped them. "Sounds sexy," Crowley said with a raised eyebrow. "Exit stage Crowley."
The room felt freezing, and the man Daniel had followed here was slipping inside, quietly on Hunter's feet. His heart was hammering and his hand was shaking around the knife but he had to step closer too – could read the pain in his lookalike's face, the cool disinterest in Castiel's – or whatever it was that looked like Castiel in this dream. Was this real? Castiel had never told him about this.
"Cas." That name drew the thing's attention, eyes sharp and cold landing on Daniel's lookalike's face. He didn't hear the next words over the rushing blood in his eyes, but he could just catch 'brother' and 'don't make me lose you', and it tore at him. This man…this man had loved Castiel, and watched something horrible happen. There was blood on the Angel's fingertips.
When Castiel smiled, it was cold and awful, and looked like he had more than one set of teeth, white glowing in his eyes. "You are not my family, Dean," he stated with an upward, defiant tilt of his head, and though his wings had not manifested here, Daniel could imagine them arching up high in power and dominion, for strength and violence seemed to seep out of every part of him, coating the air like the stench of blood and ash. "I have no family."
Then, out of nowhere, the man that Daniel had followed came up behind the thing, and stabbed him in the back. Daniel cried out, expecting Castiel to fall, to have been hurt, for the stink of blood to get worse as he watched the Angel he considered a friend crumple to the ground, but Castiel did nothing – gave no indication he even felt it.
His eyes turned to the man, and he sighed, reaching behind himself to yank the blade out. "Angel blades won't work on me, Sam," he said softly, as though scolding a child, and turned around, reaching out to lightly push away the man's hair from his face. Sam – Sam, God – was sweating, now, his face a mask of pain and effort; maybe there was something wrong with him. Maybe Castiel was doing something in his head. "I am not an Angel anymore."
"Then what are you?" Dean's voice – rougher than Daniel's own, a growl, low with pain and whiskey and long nights with no rest.
Castiel turned back to Dean, smiling a little in that non-way people do; more with the manic gleam in their eyes than any actual movement on their face. "I'm God," he said, like he was proud, happy, and Daniel could almost hear the 'are you proud of me Dean I did this for you Dean this is for you' rolling inside of Castiel's head, but he had no idea where that was coming from. "I'm the new God."
I was a God once, a long time ago.
"Castiel," Daniel whispered, though he could not possibly be heard here, because this was just a dream. Something inside of him was aching, though – the wrongness, it felt as though he had known Castiel before this, knew that something was going very, very wrong within the Angel. He felt as though Castiel had just reached for him and tried to rip out his own heart, but that that very action was more of a betrayal in itself.
Looking over to Dean, he saw that emotion on the man's face. What must he be feeling, knowing what Castiel told Daniel now…that they had loved, either before or after this – had this been what caused Dean to die? Had Castiel killed Sam and then stayed behind to repent but Dean escaped him?
"What the Hell happened to you?"
No one spoke for a long time after that, as Castiel gazed down on the three humans with the air and power of a God, and Daniel couldn't look away from the creature; strength and awe seemed to just match him, and Daniel knew that if he was in his own mind right now, he would probably be unable to stay on his feet; there was a force about Castiel that desired people to be on their knees, in worship, in prayer to him, and he had no idea where these thoughts were coming from or how he was fighting them back.
He looked away (though barely managed) to find Dean's eyes fixed on him. The man's eyes widened. Somehow he could see Daniel, though how the Hunter had no idea. And Dean's eyes narrowed, fingers twitching by his side in a way that Daniel knew was in search of a gun, and then something felt like it was ripping – snapping in two.
Fire exploded inside of his head, and he woke up with Castiel's name on his lips.
The Angel was disturbed from his deep meditation by Daniel's sudden cry – "Cas!" – and immediately was on the alert. Had Crowley returned and was back to torture or interrogate them, or had something troubled Daniel in his sleep? Castiel didn't know – he had only ever watched Dean's dreams, and had never thought of sharing something as intimate as the human mind with anyone else.
His eyes focused on Daniel, and he could immediately tell that something was wrong. The Hunter's forehead was glistening with sweat and his breaths were uneven and shaky – one of Daniel's hands had flown to Castiel's knee, gripping tight enough that Castiel could feel his nails through his jeans. His body went tense when Daniel turned to look at him.
His eyes were glowing a color that Castiel had not seen for a very, very long time. That was the color of a dormant soul, unleashed. A soul that shone under Daniel's skin, glaringly bright and almost painfully loving, pure in a way Castiel had never seen since or before.
"…Dean?" he hazarded, his voice a low, hopeful whisper, hardly daring to believe.
And Daniel smiled, this smile that Dean did when he had just come home and dropped his bags and flopped into bed beside his Angel. "Hey, Cas," he said, voice lower, rougher, so close to Dean's original. The Angel couldn't move when Daniel – Dean – leant forward, warm, callused palm smoothing out over his cheek, brushing his dirty hair from his face.
"Dean." Every fiber of Castiel's being flew at Dean's voice, at his soul shining so bright. He wanted to fling himself at the Hunter, bury Dean in his wings, remark and remake him and take him away and keep him safe forever and he had no idea how this was happening – could not move. "I…"
"Shh," Dean whispered, moving his hand to press two fingers against Castiel's mouth. His eyes were so full of love, of adoration, when they focused on his fingers, slowly dragging down to curl around Castiel's chin, raising his head up.
Desperately Castiel tried to answer Dean's soul with his Grace – knew that if they touched, their bond would be reconnected, cemented once again and everything would finally be alright, they'd be together again, and Castiel would never let him go – but blood stained his wings and his feet now and the pool was getting larger, soaking into the room, and his Grace was dull and pulsed lifelessly and he couldn't touch Dean – he was so close and he couldn't touch Dean. He wanted to weep out of helplessness. He wanted to kill – would kill to touch Dean again.
"I miss you," he finally said, making Dean smile, and blink. The soul was dying down – whatever had caused this flare, it wouldn't last long. Already he could see Daniel's body start to deflate, and no doubt the Hunter would return to a peaceful slumber as though nothing had happened. "Dean." Finally, strength returned to his fingers, and he reached forward, clutching weakly at Daniel's coat, desperate to keep hold of Dean, for just a little longer. Please, Father, just a little longer. "Dean, please."
Their kiss was hard, desperate – closed-mouthed but so, so warm, it felt like it was burning Castiel's lips. Dean's soul felt like it was trying to crawl through their skin and into Castiel, held back simply because Castiel couldn't reach out and answer him. One hand flattened over Dean's neck, the other still clutched tightly in his coat as Dean knelt over him, fingers curled into Castiel's hair and still braced on his knee for balance. Castiel clenched his eyes tightly shut, fighting back his traitorous tears. The kiss felt violent and so, so unsatisfying.
"Cas," Dean whispered when they pulled away, green eyes so full of love, and the Angel sobbed.
"I love you, Dean," he replied, stroking a hand through the man's hair before Daniel's body collapsed, limp and unconscious. Dean's soul echoed dully inside of him, tired and spent, and Castiel could still feel the burning kiss on his mouth. "I love you, Dean," he whispered again, before he gently repositioned Daniel so he was leaning back against the wall, and so that they were no longer touching.
"I love you, Dean," he said one last time, and deliberately avoided Sarah's eyes from where she was watching him in the corner of her room. She'd been awake for some time, it seemed, when Daniel's breath finally evened out in sleep.
She pushed herself upright and Castiel went tense, drawing his knees tighter to his chest and curling his wings around himself in defense. She was quiet for a long time, before; "Who's Dean?"
Castiel closed his eyes, sighing heavily. He was so very tired. "It's a long story."
"What does he have to do with Daniel?" she asked, instead of insisting he tell like he thought she would; he opened his eyes again in surprise, looking over to her. She didn't look angry, or jealous, or even upset. Just confused, like she was trying to figure out an intricate, delicate puzzle, and not like Castiel had just kissed her mate. The Angel frowned. "This 'Dean' person?"
Castiel hesitated; what could he tell her? He wanted to come clean about everything – wanted to tell both of them that Daniel housed Dean's soul and Castiel had no idea why and everything about Crowley and Dean and Sam and everything – but he couldn't. Because he didn't know. They would ask questions that he couldn't answer – and it wasn't fair, to either of them. Neither of them had asked to house Dean's soul, or to be trapped by the King of Hell, or even to take an Angel under their wing.
Then again, very rarely were things that ever happened to people around Castiel considered 'fair'.
"Is…is there something in Daniel?"
He blinked over at her, surprised that she would put it together so quickly – perhaps she was more observant than she thought. "Why would you ask something like that?" he asked, partly to stall his answer and partly because he wanted to know.
She shrugged, worrying her lower lip. "He's been different for a while," she said, with a small frown creasing her forehead. "Like he's…I dunno. Nothing like, bad different," she added quickly, holding up a hand to stop Castiel's question. "I tested him for everything. Just…I don't know. Like he's tired, but he refuses to let himself sleep. Just something off, like with your wings."
And Castiel frowned again. "My wings?" he repeated, tilting his head to one side.
"Like I was telling Daniel," she explained, waving her hand vaguely in Castiel's direction, "it's like your wings aren't meant to be there. Like something's forcing them there and they're too…solid. Too real."
He could have almost smiled at her. She wasn't even that wrong – his wings forming enough for the duller human senses to perceive it had been a side-effect of Heaven's power being shut off from him. Most of the Angels had lost their wings when their vessel rebelled, but Castiel, having no soul to expel him, had merely kept them as though they were an extension of his body. It had helped him to blend in once the Mockers had become a recognized race.
He shifted slightly, wincing at the wet, gross feeling of blood against his thigh. The stain was getting larger and larger and Castiel had the vague, hysterical thought that maybe Crowley intended to drown them in it. His Grace felt weak, human, and tired. He wanted to go to sleep. "Dean is my mate," he finally said after a long while, eyes briefly flashing to Daniel as the Hunter slept on, seemingly undisturbed as though nothing had happened. "And his soul appears to have returned. How, why, I have no idea." He couldn't stop his small, tired smile then. "Dean always had a habit of messing up the system."
"Wait, so you're telling me…" She frowned, looking back at the other Hunter. "That there's two of them in there? Or that…or that there was always this 'Dean' of yours, and that he's just waking up or something?"
"I don't know, Sarah," Castiel replied with a loud sigh. "I'm sorry. I wish I could answer, but I simply cannot. I have no answers." That was a possibility that Castiel hadn't considered – that Dean might be inside of someone who had already existed. Perhaps Dean's brightness eclipsed the other soul, or they were so closely related that Castiel had been unable to see the difference with his senses so dulled.
But it would make sense. It would make so much more sense.
Dean had possessed someone.
He turned his head away, blinking out towards the small amount of sunlight visible through the grate dripping with blood. What kind of enchantment had Crowley placed on this damned thing? It made his Grace shiver at the wrongness. "That sucks, Castiel. I'm sorry."
He turned back towards her, not having expected that. "Sorry for what?" he asked.
"That…it just sucks, is all. This." She gestured towards Daniel with a small twist to her mouth. "That you have to just sit here while your mate's stuck inside him, or whatever's happening. That you're stuck here at all. I'm sorry."
"You have no reason to apologize," Castiel replied insistently. "I am the one pining over your lover, after all."
At that, she laughed, her eyes widening as she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to cover up the sound, to avoid waking Daniel. "You think…?" She laughed again, shaking her head in a way that her long hair, ruffled from sleep, fell out around her face. For a brief moment, she reminded Castiel of Joanna Harvelle. "Oh, Angel, Danny and I aren't together like that." It was like she found the idea impossible, but Castiel was just shocked, to find out that he had been tearing himself up over something his own imagination had concocted. The mind could be so cruel. "No, we're friends from when we were younger but, I mean, pretty sure Danny doesn't bat for my team, if you know what I mean."
It took Castiel a moment. "Oh," he murmured, eyes widening slightly. Oh. Oh, Father. The Angel curled his wings a little more tightly to himself, fingers scratching down the insides of his elbows as he folded his arms over his chest. That would explain, perhaps, why Dean's dormant soul had blinded him to the rest of Daniel; perhaps the man had simply been looking at Castiel like that as himself, and not as Dean. Maybe Castiel had just assumed it was his mate's soul guiding Daniel's eye to his wings, or to his mouth or his hands when he thought Castiel couldn't see him.
"I just thought he was getting a thing for you," she continued with a small shrug. "But I guess the whole soulmate-possession makes more sense."
"You're awfully calm about this," Castiel replied, raising an eyebrow in her direction. How could she be? Castiel felt like the ground was shaking underneath him; everything had just become so much more complicated, and less at the same time. He needed time to think but he was getting a headache from the scent of blood and he couldn't concentrate and his Grace was glowing so dully and everything was happening way too fast. Until last week Dean had been dead.
"Someone has to be," Sarah said, before she suddenly went still, raising her head and frowning out towards the door. "Do you hear something?" she asked, brows furrowing in concentration, head cocked to one side to listen. Castiel joined her, but he could hear nothing aside from his own breathing and Daniel's, beside him.
Tiredly, lethargic, he shoved himself to his feet, stumbling when his tired limbs protested the sudden moment after riding for so long and so hard, and then just sitting and letting them seize, become tight. He managed to walk over to the iron door, curling his fingers around the bloody bars – it made his nose wrinkle, the scent of Mocker blood, made his very being rile against the death of something so innocent, something that he had created and loved and nurtured and protected. The door may as well be covered in the blood of humans for as much as it sickened him.
He peered outside, and could see nothing aside from the clearing that surrounded the building, a road stretching out to his left, hollowed out shells of Chicago still around him. He could not see or hear the horses, nor could he detect any signs of life.
Then, he heard a soft but weirdly familiar whuffing sound, and tilted his head down to see the bright yellow fur of the dog he had found on the road. The animal was sitting outside of what appeared to be a ring of blood, sigils drawn around the door and Castiel had to assume that was what was spelling the door shut.
The dog was looking between the sigils on the ground, sniffing at them curiously, and then it looked back up, barking again, tail wagging. Castiel curled his fingers tighter around the bars, watching the animal. It was a Hunter's dog – it had to know what the sigils on the ground were meant to mean, or at least to stay away from whatever was trapped inside. Castiel tried to push out with his Grace, but the blood blocked him and he could not.
"What is it?" came Sarah's voice, and the dog tilted its head to one side, ears perking up as it looked around Castiel, deliberately not stepping on the circle of blood.
"There is a Hunter's dog outside," Castiel said. "I think it is trying to figure out if it should let us go or not."
"A dog?" Then he heard shuffling, Sarah shoving herself to her feet and joining Castiel by the door. "Well, I'll be damned," she huffed, sounding amused, and crouched down so that she could see the dog at eye-level. The animal barked at her, tail wagging slightly again. The dog's was panting hard, and Castiel had to wonder if it had chased him all the way here, followed his scent perhaps, and why on Earth it might have done that – what misguided loyalty did this dog have for him that had made him run so fast, and so long, to find him?
And then he realized that, as an Angel guilty of the same crime, it was a stupid question to ask.
Castiel's attention was drawn when Sarah whistled lowly at the dog, keeping her hands inside of the iron door, and the dog's ears perked up again at the sound, taking a step forward. She whistled again – this time something short and sharp – and the dog barked, licking at its muzzle. She frowned, cocking her head to one side, and knelt closer, repeating the sound. It sounded like a sports whistle used when the world wasn't made of ice.
The dog looked down at the sigil of blood, then back at Sarah who had yet to move or make another sound, and then with another bark it went down and dug at the edges of the sigil, breaking the circle of blood. Almost immediately, the door was dry of Mocker blood and Castiel felt his Grace explode against his skin, finally free of the blood's taint. With a touch he was able to shatter the locks on the door and swing it open.
"How did you know to do that?" he asked her, pushing the door open and laying a hand on the excited animal, which had begun to bark again. He didn't need it drawing attention to them, and it quieted under his touch.
"All Hunter's animals are trained the same way," she replied with a shrug, going back inside to gather her coat and the weapons that had been left with her. She hesitated on touching Daniel. "Do you…want to wake him up?"
Castiel pressed his lips together, looking to the man; he knew why she was asking him this, and he didn't reply before stepping back inside, gently touching his fingertips to Daniel's shoulder.
The man woke with a start. "The door is open," Castiel said shortly, once he had seen no spark of Dean in Daniel's eyes. The man nodded, licking his dry lips and wiping a hand over his face, undoubtedly still tired. "Come. Hopefully the horses are still nearby."
And he left them, confident that they would be alright getting out of the room – he could neither see nor sense Crowley nearby, and when he cast his Grace out, glad that he finally could, he was able to sense the horses right where he had left them, calmly, patiently waiting. He went and gathered them, leading them back to the door in time for Sarah and Daniel to climb out of the room, and he handed them the reins.
"Shit, Cas," Daniel said with wide eyes when he took in the sweat and dirt coating the horses' sides, and in the light Castiel's own exhaustion and the stain of the road was more obvious. "I would have thought you'd flown here."
"I had no idea what had happened to you," Castiel replied, handing the reins over to the Hunter. "Or if I would need weapons, or how long of a journey it would have been. The horses were slow, but I managed to find you. That is all that matters."
Sarah pressed her lips together, saying nothing, and Castiel had to wonder if maybe her new reticence came from understanding; she knew now, just as much as Castiel did, and he hoped that would make her more accepting of him. It was a difficult situation that they were both in now and he hoped that perhaps they would be a little less uncomfortable around each other.
It reminded him of when Sam and Dean had finally started to confide in him. To trust him. Before everything started to go wrong.
He started, pulled out of his thoughts by a soft, warm head pressing itself into his hand, and looked down to find the dog nuzzling at him, tail wagging against the dusty ground, and unbidden he smiled slightly, petting the animal when it whined and looked up at him with intelligent brown eyes.
"So…what now?"
Castiel sighed – Crowley's words troubled him more than he would care to admit, but with his Grace so dull and his vessel exhausted, he knew he didn't have the strength to Hunt the demon down himself, and he wouldn't dare leave Sarah and Daniel exposed like that again. "We hunt the rugaru," he said, rolling his shoulders, wings arching up in determination at his decision. "Crowley is a snake covered in oil – we will never be able to keep a hold of him and most knowledge on demon kind has been lost. I doubt I would be able to summon him back with any ingredients necessary anymore, and the death toll is probably far too high from the rugaru now, even without our delay." Daniel and Sarah were nodding in agreement. "So we go for that Hunt. If Crowley wants to show his face again, let him try, but we'll be ready."
That night, they had chosen to stay in one of the houses still standing on the outskirts of Chicago. The horses needed rest, as Castiel had ridden them far harder than they were used to, and they needed food and so they were free to graze on any grain or grass they could find – and they would find it. Daniel assured Castiel that they were a resourceful animal.
Castiel managed to find and kill a rabbit, which he fed to the dog while Daniel and Sarah ate their dried meals that were in their packs, and Castiel, of course, ate nothing. The Angel instead busied himself trying to clean his wings which, over the course of the past few days since he had cleaned them, had managed to gather an impressive layer of dust, mud and blood in the feathers, caking together and sticking and making him very uncomfortable.
So much so that he had had to forsake the human t-shirt he had worn for so long, exposing his skin to the elements, because without it he could stretch just that little bit further, though it was still a pain and he couldn't reach it all. It was a painstaking procedure.
Daniel was watching him. "Do you need some help?" he asked after a while of watching the Angel's face twist in discomfort, Castiel's wings bent tight to his back to try and get at all the dirt caked into his wings.
The Angel froze, eyes widening at the suggestion. On the one hand, yes, yes he desperately needed help because there was this clump at the base of each wing that he just could not reach for the life of him – but on the other. Daniel – Dean – touching his wings? He didn't need to be a psychic to know that that was a bad idea. A horrible, horrible idea.
His Grace ached with longing.
Castiel looked to Sarah, who had stopped eating and was looking between the two of them with an expression that gave nothing away. Daniel's eyes were too dark to read on the other side of the fire, and Castiel reluctantly let his wings spread out and fall to either side of him. "Yes, please," he said, voice sounding small and nervous as he wiped his oil-stained hands on his thighs.
Daniel nodded, shoving himself to his feet and walking over to Castiel, crouching down behind the Angel. Sarah's eyes watched, still unreadable and Castiel met her gaze, nervous. But anticipation flared inside of him as well. Dean had made no secret of loving Castiel's wings, and maybe their touch – the closest thing to Grace that Dean could touch – would reawaken the soul and allow Castiel to speak to him again.
"Whereabouts does…?" Daniel's voice came, a little unsure, and Castiel closed his eyes, spreading his wings out for Daniel to see. Another Angel or a Mocker or Dean would recognize the gesture for what it was; baring his wings for his mate, a gesture of desire and submission, but Daniel couldn't possibly know, and neither could Sarah, and Castiel's secret was safe.
"I cannot reach most of the feathers near my spine," he said, fingers clenching into fists. "You need to try and coat them in my oil, and the dirt will clump up and become easier to pick out."
Daniel nodded. "Right," he said, eyes tracking down over Castiel's back as he licked his lips, and the Angel tensed when he felt the first warm touch of Daniel's hand against his wing. He sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself relax into the touch. Daniel let his hand sink into the thick, warm feathers of Castiel's wings, as though he was washing an animal or running his fingers through someone's hair – the Angel's wings were that soft and thick as to be human hair, and he could feel the small nodes of dust and dirt in the feathers. He sought out the oil; remembered reading something about Mockers having glands at the base of their wings to help clean their wings out, and he combed through the feathers, seeking the small gland because Castiel's wings, though not dry, didn't seem to shine with their usual luster and they needed more oil.
Castiel was trembling – it felt so good, so warm and safe and the Angel felt like he could weep. Every touch was Dean, stroking along his spine, warm hands curling around his flanks, soft kisses to his neck and jaw and mouth. It felt like Dean was touching him, cleaning his wings, running a hand through his hair, bracketing Castiel's body with his legs as the Angel rocked against him.
"Dean," he gasped out, the name escaping him before he could stop himself, and his eyes flew open, realizing what he'd said. Sarah was watching him, shock on her face, her eyes wide too in fear that Daniel might have heard.
But there was just warm laughter behind him, a smile pressed against the back of his head. "Relax, Angel," Dean whispered, kissing at the soft, warm skin behind Castiel's ear. "I'm here."
"Dean." It was Dean, but Castiel didn't dare look behind himself to see. He closed his eyes again – this must all just be some dream, and he was still stuck somewhere letting his Grace fade away while the Mocker blood surrounded him. But the pull in his wings didn't stop; they ceased their halting, almost tentative touches and instead Dean's fingers buried deep, sought out Castiel's oil glands with practiced ease like he knew exactly where to touch, exactly where each knot on Castiel's back would form, and which parts of his wings were the most tired, in need of the most care.
Dean tutted softly in disappointment. "Cas, you haven't been taking very good care of yourself, have you?"
"I'm sorry," Castiel whispered in reply, opening his eyes again, staring out across the fire. He couldn't move – daren't move, in case this illusion shattered and it was all in his head. "Dean, I'm so sorry." For everything – for not following behind fast enough, for leaving you, for never looking. Dean, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Dean, please.
"Shh," Dean whispered, pressing another kiss to the back of Castiel's neck, making the Angel sob, and Castiel hid his mouth behind the back of his hand to hide the sound. "It's okay, Cas, you got nothin' to be sorry for." One more kiss, to Castiel's neck, making the Angel tilt his head to allow Dean room. "But I miss you, Angel."
Castiel could say nothing to that, and Dean pulled back, and it felt like the frigid Earth was finally digging her claws into Castiel's skin; cold that had never affected him before had him shivering.
"I…think I got the last of it." Daniel's voice cut Castiel like a blade, and the Angel nodded, pressing his lips together and drawing his wings in tight from where he had spread them out – he realized at Dean's presence he had tilted his wings up, wrapping them back around his mate, and now he drew them close to his sides, shutting off the sensitive underside of them.
"Thank you, Daniel," he replied, voice hoarse, and when he wiped at his mouth he was mildly surprised to find wetness on his face, salty and burning at his eyes. "I appreciate it, thank you."
A hand clapped itself onto his shoulder as Daniel pushed himself upright. "No problem, Cas," he said, stifling a yawn behind his hand. "I'm beat. Make sure to bank the fire when you guys are done eating," he added, heading back to the other side of the camp where his sleeping roll lay, and he quickly slid inside, still fully clothed, and wrestled the blankets back around himself.
Sarah looked over at Castiel, eyes wide with disbelief. "Why does that keep happening?" she asked once she was sure that Daniel was asleep.
"I…don't know," Castiel replied, frustrated with his helplessness, his lack of knowledge. Once he had known everything there was to know, and now where was he – stuck on a frozen, abandoned planet and pining after the trapped soul of his mate. Life had made him so bitter. He ran his hands through his hair, blowing out a frustrated breath, and reached forward to try and maneuver the shirt back over his wings. "I have no answers, and it's killing me. Dean is…" He took another deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and taking a moment to be still. "We just have to stay focused on the Hunt. Everything else can wait until later."
Sarah raised an eyebrow at that. "Who would ever think that way?"
"Dean would."
That night, and the nights following, Daniel dreamed.
He was running.
And Dean was chasing him.
Through some dark, seemingly endless wood, he was running, as fast and as far as he could to try and get away, but it seemed that no matter how hard he pushed himself, how fast he ran, that Dean was always around the corner, always one step behind him, this grim and set look on his face like he was going to run Daniel into the ground if it killed him.
When Dean finally caught up, it was while Daniel had stopped by a riverbed, desperately cupping water into his mouth to try and sate his dry, burning thirst, and suddenly the other man was on him, face dirty and streaked with mud, mouth a thin line, and a blade made from one long, sharp rock was pressed against Daniel's throat, handle made of wood and bone and Dean was straddling him, holding him down with ease.
"Who are you?" Dean snarled at him, voice almost inhuman, this darkness in his eyes like he wouldn't think twice about killing Daniel and would have absolutely zero regrets after. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm…I'm…" And Daniel had no answer to that – because he knew that Dean didn't want his name. Didn't give a fuck about that. He wanted to know why Daniel had been in that warehouse, why he looked so much like Dean, what the fuck was he doing in…in where? Where was he? "I'm a friend of Castiel's!"
At that, Dean's expression shifted – the glare melted away into narrow-eyed suspicion, and the blade, though still present, didn't press quite so hard. "Oh, yeah?" Dean hissed, cocking his head to one side, baring his teeth in challenge. "Where's the Angel?"
"I don't…I don't know!" Daniel replied, because he didn't. He didn't know where the Hell anything was anymore. Dean's mouth twisted, not liking the answer. "I can take you to him though! I can, I promise." His hands wrapped around the blade, trying to fight it off, but Dean's grip was strong and unwavering; he'd taken down bigger shit than humans before, with ease, Daniel knew. Realized it when he saw the look in the man's eyes. "I can take you to him."
The other man tilted his head to one side, eyes cold and calculating. "You know what, sweetheart?" he asked, smiling wide and charming. "I don't believe you."
Daniel woke up in a cold sweat, grasping desperately at the remnants of the dream as he tried to remember what had woken him up. But as soon as he opened his eyes, the images would fade away into nothingness until he could not remember what had woken him up. But the Angel would be watching him with this wide-eyed, wary look on his face, and Daniel had to wonder just what he might be saying in his sleep.
Castiel had never been so relieved to leave a city behind – Chicago had few inhabitants that he imagined could survive there, and those that could have had to be cruel and savage to manage it. And it had been the place to harbor Death, and it felt too cold here. Ice still had her bony fingers set deep into the Earth this far North, and as they traveled south and further West, though the ice faded, the wind picked up, sending a strong gust that seemed to chill his Hunters to their very bones. The horses shivered along with their riders and at times the wind was so bad that Castiel himself had to land or ride with Daniel.
It made the going slow, but Castiel was determined to press onward – he warmed their bodies at night with his Grace and his wings, and spared enough Grace to keep the horses alive and strong. It was the least he could do and in that moment it felt like all he could do.
In the cold and the wind, Dean's soul had retreated down to almost nothing, as though it was trying to curl into a ball to keep warm. It worried Castiel, but he knew Dean was strong and if there was anyone who could survive such harsh terrain as this, it would be him.
After all, he had traveled a bit and knew about vast, deadly lands.
Finally, finally, he could spy a town in the distance into their third week of travel, where they would find shelter whenever and wherever they could. The wind was blowing them steadily backwards, enough that the horses had to keep their heads down and soldier on as though they were climbing a mighty hill, and the dog needed their bodies to stop it blowing away.
Along with the town, he could see sunlight, a break in the storms almost directly over it, and it made him hesitate – pull on Daniel's jacket until the man forced them to stop, their backs to the wind. "What is it, Cas?" he all but yelled over the high-pitched screech of the weather, and Castiel's feathers bristled; something was wrong. Something felt wrong.
"I don't…" The Angel stopped. He had no answer that he could give that would be worth denying Daniel and Sarah and the animals some much-needed reprieve. "Just…tread carefully, Daniel. Something feels weird about this."
"About a town?" Daniel asked and even shouting Castiel could hear the disbelief in his tone, but they obeyed anyway, guns cocked and drawn and resting against their horses' shoulders.
As soon as they crossed the border into the town, the wind dropped leaving an almost too-hot, humid climate behind. In the distance, tall buildings rose up and shimmered as though in a haze. Sunlight beat down as though it had a vendetta against the town, and though Castiel knew such high winds would have caused damage, the area looked pristine, as though it was a beautiful summer's day. None of the houses had fallen into disrepair; green was everywhere, on the lawns, the trees, and Castiel could hear birds singing.
Something was very wrong. Towns like this didn't exist anymore.
Carefully he dismounted the big black mare, wings unfurling slowly as he cast his eyes around, trying to take in all of the surroundings. The dog whuffed softly by his side, pressing up against the Angel's thigh and Castiel reached down to touch a hand to the top of his head, shushing him quietly. His fingers twitched with the desire to summon his Angel blade, but he could not justify using that much Grace when there was no visible threat.
"Where the Hell are we?" Sarah whispered in the almost too-quiet place, dismounting her own horse as Daniel followed suit, and Castiel wanted to tell them to get back on, to turn around and run as fast as they could; there was an inherent wrongness to this place, coloring the shadows a darker grey and making the sun obscenely bright. It was too perfect as though someone had painted this onto a canvas, some idyllic shining Paradise.
Castiel blinked, straightening a little.
"We're in Lawrence," he whispered, eyes widening, and he looked back to Daniel and Sarah, hoping to see some spark of recognition in them, but Dean's soul didn't even pulse – it was still too cold, thawing. "This is where Dean was born."
He turned back around, looking at the scene once more. It was all so wrong. Too perfect. "This is where everything started."
"Where what started?" Sarah asked, though he suspected she already knew.
Castiel smiled. "Dean and Sam Winchester…the New World…this is even where Aiden was born." He looked back to them again, smiling a little, but their faces were blank with incomprehension. "Aiden is the First, the first Mocker that ever existed." He sighed, looking back out again, wings shrugging. "I helped raise him myself."
"Cas," Daniel murmured, stepping forward and placing a hand on the Angel's shoulder. "Castiel, look at me," and the Angel did, surprised to find him standing so close, his chest almost pressed right against the Angel's arm. "Lawrence is the place where all the killings have been happening," the Hunter said, his voice low and very serious. "This place is damned."
The Angel blinked, eyes widening at that new information, before he frowned, pulling away from Daniel. "I could have told you that," he muttered to the Hunters. "But we're here now, and this place is either obviously spelled, or just happens to be in the perfect place to escape the storm." He paused again, looking at one of the houses that began the street. It looked normal; pristine and new and like nothing had ever touched it, be it human or demon or nature herself. "I need to place wards on you, to protect you. Who knows what we might find when we go further in."
"What -?" Daniel and Sarah were both cut off as Castiel reached forward and touched them both in the center of their chests, releasing twin grunts of pain as the Angel carved the same warding sigils on them that had had placed on Sam and Dean – slightly altered, of course, so that they weren't so much protected from Angels as from anything else. It wasn't Angels he feared. "What the Hell did you just do?"
"I carved sigils of protection onto your ribs," Castiel replied dryly, almost smiling – Dean had given him that exact same look. Times hardly changed, did they? Inside of Daniel, Castiel could see Dean's soul piqued in interest, investigating the touch of Angel Grace now seared into Daniel's body, and Castiel knew that if it had been any other Angel's Grace, Dean may have very well rejected it.
The bond was very strong.
"Sigils of…"
"Get on the horses," Castiel said, wings fanning the air as he readied himself for whatever ghosts might be haunting this place – dread was curling up in the base of his spine, barbed and prickling and he knew that whatever he found in this place would likely be very unpleasant. "If you need to run, then run. I'll find you two again."
"Cas, what do you think's going to happen?" Sarah asked, concern in her voice and hidden meaning in her eyes. People only talked like that when they didn't expect to come back.
The Angel sighed and started walking. "Hopefully, nothing."