Chapter 12: The only fault
Dean's POV
2018-2022
2018
'Buy land, they're not making it anymore,' Mark Twain had said once upon a time. It was still true today, so Dean didn't protest when Cas suggested that they buy the land next to the river whereupon the abandoned house stood. It was a spot Dean loved and Cas knew this, which is probably why he took note of the for sale sign. It made their new life even more real. Actually owning a house and a piece of land, even though the house was little more than a dump. Bobby promised to help them renovate it, but it could take some time. That didn't matter, Dean thought, because they had plenty of time. Life was good. Until it wasn't.
The first sign of trouble was when Castiel was attacked after working at the bar. Dean was watching over Rose and Amy, while Sam and Miranda were out on a date, so Castiel was alone. This time, however, he remained unhurt and his two attackers were the ones who got hurt, though they managed to get away. Castiel was pretty excited about fighting them off. Still, Dean was worried.
A week later, the bar burned down. A Molotov cocktail was thrown through the window into the bar and with all the flammable liquids around it was a wonder everyone managed to get out alive. Two suspects were apprehended and that same evening Dean and Castiel met Danny at the police station. They were supposed to look at the suspects and see whether they recognised them. The police was confident that they were the arsonists, but they couldn't find a motive.
'I'm officer Jones and this is officer Hernandez. Follow me,' the police officer introduced himself and his partner. They shook hands. Dean discovered that he was a bit nervous about the proceedings. The last time he had been in this police station was when they had reported the assault on Castiel almost five years ago. Since Castiel couldn't describe his attackers, Dean had thought the whole exercise was futile, but Sam had insisted. The hospital had sent an assault kit with evidence gleaned from Castiel's battered body, including foreign DNA and clear photos of Castiel's facial injuries and the X-ray of his broken ankle, to the police station. They had not heard from the police after that.
'Is that your boyfriend?' the black haired suspect leered at Castiel as soon as they entered the interrogation room. Dean wondered about why they weren't behind one of those one-way mirror thingies, but maybe he had seen one too many cop movies. The other one, with dirty yellowish hair, tried to get his stupid friend to shut up by kicking his shins.
'Shut up, you moron!' he yelled at his partner in crime. Jones restrained him, while Hernandez stood behind the other criminal. So, they know Cas, Dean thought. Perhaps they were the ones who attacked him a week before? It wasn't until he looked at Castiel, that he realised something was seriously wrong. Castiel had shrunk back against the wall and there was a hurt in his eyes that Dean couldn't place.
'Cas?' Dean asked.
'It's them,' Castiel said, 'From last week. But also... the voices, I recognise the voices. From before...'
Before Castiel was finished speaking, Dean had driven his fist into the face of the black haired suspect. Though his hand fucking hurt, he relished the sound of something breaking in the man's face. Please, let it be his jaw, he thought, and raised his fist again, but he was pulled back by officer Jones. From the corner of his eye, Dean saw how the yellow haired one moved, but was floored by Danny's massive fist. Hernandez straightened the black haired suspect, who was moaning in pain to Dean's delight, and glared at Danny. Danny shrugged.
'What? He tried to escape.'
'Fucking fags,' the yellow haired one mumbled. He spit out a blob of blood and a thick stream of blood and saliva dribbled from his mouth. Castiel came forward. Jones loosened his grip on Dean and his hand shot out to prevent Castiel from harming the suspect further, but Castiel calmly waved it away. A bubbly trail of blood trickled down the homophobe's chin as Castiel kneeled down beside him. Dean watched him, worried.
'You're going to prison for a long time,' Castiel said and he smiled at his attacker, 'I suggest you adjust your vocabulary accordingly.'
His hands trembled slightly when he dusted off his jeans, but otherwise Castiel seemed alright. They were quickly escorted into another interrogation room. Dean kept flexing his hand, because it still smarted, but it had been worth it. He grinned at Danny and Danny's eyes twinkled.
'I gather you know them,' Jones dryly deduced, when they were all seated. With what could only be described as light vexation, he opened his notebook and started to type.
'They attacked your friend? Name?' he asked Dean. Without thinking, Dean answered, but Castiel nudged him.
'You might have more success if you look for Jimmy Novak. I had a different name at the time. We reported the crime at this precinct. Assault. It was a hate crime,' Castiel explained. Under the table, Castiel's hand found his and softly caressed the swollen knuckles.
'Yeah, he was walking while gay,' Dean sarcastically added. Jones pulled up the file. Dean turned away from the vivid photos and instead focused on the feeling of Castiel's fingers lightly brushing over his painful hand.
'I see. Might this be the same reason they set the bar on fire?' Jones asked. His hands were busy entering new information into the file. Danny had crossed his arms and Dean felt sorry for him. The bar had been Danny's life and now it was gone.
'Well, they do still seem to harbour animosity towards people of my particular sexual orientation,' Castiel said and Jones' gaze flickered over the former angel trying to detect sarcasm. There was none there. There rarely was. What was there, was the faint tremor in his voice, which Dean didn't fail to notice. It made him want to get up, throw open the door and bash in those assholes' faces good and proper.
They told officer Jones everything and he diligently typed away. Dean had visions of going to court with Sam as the D.A., despite the fact that Sam hadn't even passed the bar yet, and pummelling those guys into submission. Instead, Jones said they probably wouldn't go to court. The evidence for their involvement with the fire was overwhelming and if the DNA of one of them matched the DNA taken from Castiel's face they would do time for that too. They'd most likely plead guilty in exchange for a deal, but no sensible prosecutor would settle for anything less than 15 years.
That was not so bad, Dean thought. This time nobody had gotten hurt who didn't deserve to be hurt and the assholes would be behind bars. Yet, the bar was still destroyed and Danny's insurance on it wasn't enough to restore it or buy another bar. He apologised profusely to Danny about that, but Danny pretended not to mind. However, Castiel and Dean were also out of a job and it wasn't easy to find new ones. The economy was teetering on the brink of another crisis. There was no money to work on their newly acquired house and they only had enough money left to hold out for at the most half a year.
Uncharacteristically, Dean wasn't worried. The big bad thing for that year had already happened, he figured, so they were done for some time. If push came to shove, they'd sleep in the Impala and start hustling people at pool again. They'd be alright, because they had each other. The misery couldn't get any bigger. That was when Miranda got ill.
She sometimes jogged with Castiel and Castiel was the one who told Dean that he was afraid something might be wrong with her. He told Dean about her shortness of breath and her weight loss. Dean didn't think anything of it. Whenever he went running with Castiel, he suffered from shortness of breath too. As for the weight loss; she was a doctor. Wouldn't she be the first to know if something was wrong?
With two young children at home, a husband hard at work to become a lawyer and her own demanding workload, maybe Dean shouldn't have assumed she would be on top of things. Afterwards, he blamed himself for dismissing Castiel's fears and not forcing Miranda to see a doctor, because when she did it was too late.
She was diagnosed with non-small-cell lung carcinoma, stage four. She'd not smoked a day in her life. When Sam told them, he started to cry and Dean couldn't move. Castiel was the one who had to comfort his brother. The tumours had spread. Surgery was out of the question. They tried radiotherapy and chemotherapy, despite their doctor's reluctance. On the web, Dean discovered that the prognosis was bad. The survival rate was 1 percent. Still, she could be that one percent. She could beat the odds.
As the weeks went by and Miranda became paler and weaker and frightfully thin, Dean started to accept the facts. He would watch over Rose and Amy, while Sam was at the hospital, and he'd be half in tears the entire time. Thank God, the girls were too small to understand what was going on.
Thursday evenings became depressing affairs. They would convene at Sam's and speak quietly so as not to wake the girls. Sam would talk in an artificially chipper, not quite there voice about how well Miranda was doing and none of them dared to contradict him. They'd sip their beer and think about what would happen to Sam if Miranda died and whether they should prepare him. However, even Miranda wasn't allowed to talk about that, so what chance did they have of convincing Sam of what was inevitably going to happen?
It wasn't until the doctor point blank told Sam that Miranda had at most a week to live that Sam broke. Dean had to hold him back or he would have attacked the doctor. In the car on the way home, Sam was silent. Dean thought about all the times he had lost Sam and how that had felt as if he lost a piece of his soul, a pound of his flesh. The difference was that he had gotten him back. Every time Sam died, Dean had gotten him back.
Was that an option? Could they stop this? Was there some sort of supernatural loophole that could prevent Miranda from dying? After dropping Sam off at home, Dean visited Bobby. The old hunter didn't seem surprised to see him.
'I figured it would be either Sam or you. Come on in,' he said and Dean went inside. The library/living room was a mess. Crumpled and torn pages were strewn everywhere. The floor was littered with pizza boxes. It looked like Bobby had been holed up here for weeks. There was not even a semblance of order left. Dean looked at Bobby.
'I've called everyone I know. I've read every book. There is nothing. The only way is to make a deal. Do you think Sam would do that?' Bobby asked and Dean saw the fear in the hunter's eyes. They both knew that at this point, Sam was capable of everything. Even selling his soul to save Miranda. Hell, Dean had done that too – he had literally done hell - and despite of all the crap that was the result, he still felt he had made the right decision.
'Right now, I wouldn't put it past him,' Dean sighed. He left Bobby with a promise to watch over Sam and make sure he didn't do something stupid. Maybe this was a good thing. That death was irreversible. It wasn't healthy to see and talk to your entire family after they had died and to keep bringing people back from the death. This was what normal life was: people got sick and sometimes they got better and sometimes they died. This just happened to be one of the latter times. Yet, Dean thought, what if it had been Castiel?
He wouldn't be so accepting and 'oh, how quirky life is' if it was Castiel. He would tear the world apart looking for something to make him stay.
When he arrived home, he was alarmed when he found the door ajar. He drew the knife he kept in his back pocket.
'Cas?' he called out as he nudged the door open with his foot. Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise in the bedroom and when Dean rushed there and threw open that door, he dropped the knife in shock. Sam was standing with his back to the wall and Castiel had a baseball bat pressed to Sam's throat.
'What the hell is going on?'
The room was trashed. The door of the closet had a hole in it. The mirror was shattered. Splinters from the broken cabinet clung to Castiel's woollen sweater. The bed had collapsed; its mattress was lying half on the bed frame and half on the floor and one sorry broken wooden leg from the bed dangled in the air. There were shards of glass on the carpet and glittering in their hair.
'He tried to...' Castiel growled, but Sam kneed him in the stomach. Recoiling in pain, Castiel stumbled backwards and Sam pushed him onto the bed. Now Dean could see the dark bruises forming on Castiel's neck. For a moment, Dean didn't know what to do, but then he stepped in between them to protect Castiel.
'What did you do?'
Sam didn't answer him. His eyes – crazy eyes: like really hot chick crazy eyes, Dean thought – skipped from Dean to Castiel and back again, until he screamed in frustration and stalked into the living room. Dean wanted to go after him and demand an answer, but Castiel stopped him.
'Dean, don't,' Castiel croaked. One hand went up to touch his mangled throat, but he prematurely aborted the motion. He got up from the bed and Dean gingerly touched the angry marks of strangling fingers on his neck. They both winced. Castiel was the first to enter the living room. Dean followed him and Sam was sitting on the couch. He looked ashamed, yet furious. Ready to boil over at any moment.
'What the fuck happened?' Dean demanded. Sam raked his hand through his dishevelled hair. The gesture was aggressive. He pointed a trembling, accusing finger at Castiel.
'He won't do anything. I've asked him, but he won't,' Sam gritted out. The desperation in his voice nearly killed Dean. He glanced at Castiel, who was applying a bag of frozen peas to his throat. Dean's lover looked saddened. His blue eyes were full of pain and Dean was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his physical state.
'About Miranda?'
Sam nodded and licked his lips. His eyebrow was split and his right cheek was smeared with the blood trickling down from it. Apparently, Cas' fight training had really paid off.
'I've asked Bobby,' Dean said and Sam's head snapped up, hopefully, 'He hasn't got anything either.'
Castiel sighed softly and Sam bowed his head in defeat. His brother buried his face in his face, probably further messing up his face and Dean thought he might be crying, but his shoulders were still. After a few sharp inhales, Sam took away his hands and looked at Dean with determination.
'I'll make a deal,' Sam simply said. Dean wanted to punch him into next week. What the hell was Sam thinking?
'She wouldn't want that,' Castiel whispered. His voice was still hoarse and Dean could see the pain it caused him to speak. Sam's infamous bitch face appeared and he got up from the couch. He looked like he was about to lay into Cas again, so Dean blocked his path.
'How do you know what she wants?' Sam protested. And that was about all Dean could take. To come into his home and attack his boyfriend because he couldn't help; that was already too much, but to think about making a deal... To actually seriously consider that, as if that was some sort of solution...
'How do you not know? Remember when I did that for you?' Dean shouted. Sam backed away as if struck.
'Dean...' Sam pleaded, but Dean was having none of it. He poked his brother's chest and Sam walked backwards until he was up against the wall. Suddenly, Sam was not the angry one anymore. It was scary and comforting at the same time to Dean to feel all the old familiar feelings returning. Anger and guilt and fear; it was all there. What if Sam made a deal? Miranda would be right here; knowing that Sam had died for her and for the first time Dean realised that this was not a good thing.
'Yeah, you were so grateful, weren't you? And it worked out so well for everyone involved, didn't it?' he hissed and Sam cringed.
To have someone else die for you that was, yes; love, but a twisted kind of love. Because the person you left behind would feel guilty. So guilty. Like Sam must have felt after Dean went to hell for him. It had driven Sam nearly crazy. He had taken up with Ruby and used his freaky exorcising mojo without thinking about the consequences, all in an epic quest for vengeance. Look where that had gotten them. Lucifer, the apocalypse, the loss of Sam's soul, Cas declaring himself God.
All little pieces fitting together to form a fucking puzzle and the first piece had been Dean's sacrifice. A sacrifice which hadn't been a sacrifice at all. It was purely selfish. He hadn't believed he could live in a world without Sam, so he had acted almost without thinking. Dean swallowed. He was beyond happy that Sam was here right now to yell at, but maybe he should have tried. Tried living in a world without Sam. Other people did. Children buried their parents, parents buried their children, lovers buried lovers and brothers buried brothers. Why couldn't he have buried his brother?
'Miranda is going to die. Bobby can't help, Cas can't help...' Dean coldly stated. Sam's shoulders slumped and his gaze turned towards Castiel again.
'But Cas, you're an angel. Surely, you can do something,' Sam begged. Instead of a finger poking into Sam's chest, Dean's hands were now the only thing keeping Sam from falling over.
'He was an angel. Operative word being was. And it doesn't work that way. Up there they don't interfere with fate,' Dean continued and, as Sam shuddered at hearing the word 'fate,' he added, 'This is happening. You can't keep avoiding it. You have to think about it.'
'I have thought about it! About what I'll do. I don't have a job. I've still got two years before I get my degree and I can take the bar exam. What will I do with Rose and Amy? I can't take care of them and study. I can't keep the three of us. Miranda was the provider. Is. Damn it! Is,' Sam insisted and Dean realised that Sam hadn't accepted the reality until this day. He had quietly thought about making arrangements for later, but he hadn't really thought about what it all meant. Dean guided Sam to the couch and pushed him into a sitting position.
'See? See what I mean? I think about the money. I don't think about what living without her will be like, because I'm a bastard. I am a bastard. This is all my fault. I forced her to go through chemo. I shortened her life and made the remaining time worse.'
There were tears in Sam's eyes and Castiel whimpered. Dean couldn't look at either of them or he knew he would start crying like a little bitch too. So, he focused on the wall and squeezed his brother's shoulder. He made his voice steady and rational, which was hard, but it had to be done. One of them had to be the sensible one. It said a lot about the seriousness of the situation and how screwed they all were that he was the designated voice of reason, Dean thought.
'First of all, you couldn't force Miranda to do anything if you pointed a gun at her head, so calm down with the blame. Secondly, no matter what, the time she had left would have been awful. If it hadn't been for the chemo, the cancer would have eaten away at her,' Dean said. Not that it would do any good, saying all these things. They were true, but that would do nothing to dissipate Sam's guilt.
'The health insurance doesn't cover everything. I'm... we're nearly out of money. I'm doing it again. I'm a bastard,' Sam protested and his shoulders started to shake, but he didn't make a sound. Dean squeezed harder, but Sam kept trembling.
'You're thinking about practical things, because it's easier, Sam. Not because you're heartless. And you don't have to worry about any of that. I'll take care of you, Sam, like I always have. We'll take care of you,' Dean promised. He forced himself to look at Castiel. His lover or soul mate or whatever the hell you want to call it had placed the bag of peas on the counter and was dabbing at his eyes.
Man, if Cas is crying we are really fucked, Dean thought, but through his tears the former angel nodded. They would take care of Sam and Rose and Amy. Dean swallowed again. He felt like someone had tried to strangle him too; it was that painful and hard. His eyes stung, but he shook the feeling off. Sam looked up at him.
'She's still here and I already feel... I just don't want to feel like this for the rest of my life. Does it get better?' Sam asked. His voice was little more than a whisper. Dean stifled the urge to laugh, because how the hell would he know? Cas stared at him too. As if he had answers. It was as if they didn't know him. He was probably the least likely person to have the answers to life's biggest questions. When Sam was in the cage and Cas was not there... Did that get better? Yes and no.
'What was it like with Jessica? Did that get better?' Dean asked. It was one of the things he hated: answering a question with a question, but it was the best he could do right now. Sam sighed. Even that sigh came out ragged and pained.
'I don't... I just got through the days, surviving and eventually I started living again,' Sam answered.
'You just go on,' Dean said. Perhaps it was something he knew, because he had tried to do that with Lisa and Ben. He had tried to do that after Castiel declared himself God. And Sam had done that after Jessica and after Dean was shredded by the hellhounds. Their method wasn't exactly healthy, but to a certain degree it worked.
'I would have been with her all my life, Dean. All my life,' Sam sobbed and Dean embraced him. Dean stared at the wall, squeezed his eyes shut and thought about Cas. Cas was everything he wanted for the rest of his life; at least that was what Dean had thought. Now he realised that there were a lot of things he wanted, a lot of people whom he felt responsible for, a lot of people who needed to be happy before Dean was happy. How the hell did that happen?
One day there was just Sam and then there was Bobby. Completely unexpected, yet not a surprise at all: Castiel. And now Rose and Amy and even Danny. Miranda too. Somehow this burden was heavier than to hold the fate of humanity in the palm of his hand. Humanity was faceless. These people he loved weren't.
'I know,' he whispered. Dean didn't know who Sam was talking about; Miranda or Jessica, but it didn't matter. Curiously, it didn't matter. They were both gone. Miranda too. Gone for good, while she was still here. Behind him, he could hear Cas switch on the electric water boiler. Tea; that was Castiel's solution for every stressful situation. He figured he should be happy that Cas hadn't offered Sam a massage. But Dean liked tea-making Cas. It reminded him of the old Castiel. Cute and clueless; the man always underneath the angelic crap. The man he loved.
Sam cried for what seemed like an eternity, while Dean said stupid, meaningless things like 'there, there' and 'it's going to be alright.' The latter wasn't even stupid; it was just a lie, but while Sam must have known this, it comforted him. Eventually, he dried his eyes and meekly went home. Dean sat down on the couch, exhausted and rubbed at his eyes. Castiel quietly sat down next to him.
''Good things do happen.' You said that,' Dean mumbled and Cas kissed his hand.
'I know what you mean. They don't last or they happen to the wrong people. I remember the book and Atropos and believing there was a system. It seems like organised chaos now. Arbitrary,' Castiel said. Dean didn't think he could ever get behind fate. Mysterious ways; my ass, he thought. Nobody had any idea why things happened.
'It was a nice offer of you, Dean, but...'
'Cas, I know, but he's broken.'
'And we're broke.'
'I know.'
(***)
Miranda died. The funeral was sober, simply because between the three of them they couldn't afford a lot. Sam and Rose and Amy moved in with Dean and Castiel, because that saved them money in rent. Their apartment wasn't big enough for three adults and two children, but they managed.
For Dean and Cas living in a car and hustling people at pool might be an acceptable lifestyle, but it was less so for a studying father of two. There were no jobs on the horizon. Dean wanted to hustle, but he was afraid to leave Sam alone with the girls. His brother was perfectly capable of leaving the door open and not noticing one of the girls wandering outside, so either Dean or Cas needed to be there. To watch over Rose and Amy and to watch over Sam. Dean refused to let Castiel hustle alone, because of the angry duped people and Castiel responded by refusing to let Dean go off alone.
One Thursday evening, Dean vented to Bobby, because they only had one more month of rent left and they were thinking about selling a car. Either Sam's Mustang or Dean's Impala. Sam couldn't care less. Dean had watched as Sam had started to disappear. All he did was study. Whenever he looked at his daughters, there was a vacant, indulgent expression on his face that made Dean want to kick him. Bobby didn't approve of Sam escaping into his law books, but Dean didn't know what else to do.
'Taking care of two kids on your own is difficult enough without having to get a law degree and mourning your recently deceased wife. He's broken, Bobby. I don't know whether this is the right thing to do, but I hardly dare to leave him alone with Rose and Amy. So, for now, let him focus on school and we'll take care of the kids.'
The following Thursday, Bobby arrived early, carrying a duffle bag and an envelope full of money. He told them he had sold his house and the salvage yard and was moving into their house by the water. Using the money from the sale, he was going to fix up that house, so they could all live there. Dean protested that the house by the water was a dump. Bobby countered that it was probably better than where he used to live. Castiel said they couldn't accept the money, though his eyes seemed to ask Dean to remind him why this was the case.
After a prolonged tense and angry conversation, Dean put his foot down.
'We can't let you do that,' he shouted. Bobby simply took a beer from the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table.
'Too late; it's already done. I've worked too hard on those cars to have you idjits sell them.'
2019
Dean woke up nestled in Cas' arms and yawned lazily. In the kitchen, he could hear Sam admonishing Rose and Amy and telling them to keep it quiet. Naturally, the girls didn't listen. Light filtered through the curtains and Dean caressed the arm slung over his chest softly with his thumb. This is pretty good, he thought, I am... With a bolt that startled Castiel out of his light sleep, Dean sat up straight.
'I woke up and I realised I am happy,' Dean admitted. That was a horrible thought. How could he think that?
'That's bad?' Castiel asked. His fingers fluttered onto Dean's stomach and pulled him back into a warm embrace.
'Yes, because I made a list of people who need to be happy before I can be happy and almost all of them are miserable. Miranda is dead, Rose and Amy miss their mother and don't really understand that she's dead, Bobby has given up his life to help us out, Danny has lost his bar and Sam is fine...for someone who recently lost his wife. The only one happy is you.'
'And you,' Castiel pointed out. He was playing at being obtuse again; Dean knew that. Cas had the dubious ability to know what Dean was thinking and feeling before Dean knew himself. It was almost as if his angel telepathic thing had never been removed and he still knew Dean's every thought. It was nice to be so connected to another person, but also a bit worrying. Being one was wonderful, but Dean also wanted to be himself. Luckily, Cas understood this and sometimes pretended he didn't know what Dean meant.
'I feel it isn't right. For so long, I've gauged my happiness by watching how happy Sam was. It was co-dependent and unhealthy and everything, like Lisa said. And now you're that person for me. As long as you're alive and happy and with me, I'm happy,' Dean said and he immediately felt like a sappy idiot.
'That's a bit crazy, but isn't love crazy? Didn't someone sing about a crazy little thing called love? I know you worry about Sam and the girls and almost everyone we know constantly. It's alright to feel happy occasionally, Dean. You're certainly not a sentimental idiot for feeling that way about me. I feel exactly the same about you,' Castiel comforted him.
Dean turned around and kissed those lips. When he fell in love with Cas, it felt like it would last forever, but Dean wasn't fooled by that feeling. That's what falling in love always felt like. It was hormones and pheromones and neurons firing. It wasn't real. This was real. Just having Cas there and Dean's fucking heart hammering every time they touched. Every time Cas spoke to him. Every time Cas smiled at him.
It was comfortable, like an old sweater. Yet, it was also epic, because Dean thought he understood what Cas had meant when he had lost his grace. Cas had been more than just his body. Well, Dean's love for Cas was bigger than his body or his mind. It stretched out before him and behind him, covering the entire earth. It was all-encompassing and Dean thought it would hardly be possible for it to end. Not even when he died. It would live on. Eternally. Sappily.
'You have my heart, so don't hurt me,' Dean whispered into Castiel's mouth. There it was again. Cas was the only one who could make him say embarrassing lovey dovey shit like that.
'Dean, don't be ridiculous. I can never hurt you. Not again. If I hurt you I hurt myself.'
'So, really, being nice to me is just self-preservation? No, Cas, not there. Stop it. Ah, yes, there. Right there. Don't stop. I love you.'
2020
People Dean had seen only twice in his life – at Sam and Miranda's wedding and at Miranda's funeral – helped them. Friends of Sam from university came by and helped flatten the yard. Danny assisted with getting the right building permits. Miranda's parents watched over Rose and Amy while they worked on the ground floor. Other members from Miranda's family assisted with the roof and regulars from the bar came over one long weekend to put the finishing touches to the house. In the end, it cost a lot less than Dean thought it would and it was finished quicker too.
There were some awkward moments, when people stumbled upon Bobby moving in his collection of occult books or a chest of weapons. Miranda's father, William, walked in on a pretty hard to explain conversation.
'Put the phones really high,' Dean told Bobby as he was installing his phones.
'Why?' Bobby asked, frowning and jerking on what Dean supposed was a phone line. His hand was halfway in the wall. Dean was grateful to Bobby, but to think of all of them living in one house was a bit anxiety inducing. He vividly remembered that time when they had waited for Castiel to become human and how much Bobby had wanted them out of there. Add two little girls to the mix and Dean was pretty sure their lives would rival hell.
'Because I don't think anyone's going to believe we're CIA or FBI if a toddler answers the phone,' Dean explained and William chose that moment to come into the kitchen. Bobby kept pulling at the cable and cursing. Quickly, Dean took William aside and mumbled something about Bobby being a weirdo. It was what they did.
When Danny had discovered the EMF, Cas had pointed towards Bobby and tapped his head. Now whenever someone found something related to their previous life, they all pretended that Bobby was a little crazy. It pissed Bobby off, which was a pretty nice bonus, as far as Dean was concerned.
(***)
Towards the end of 2020 they moved into the house and it wasn't nearly as bad as Dean had expected it to be. Sure, they had virtually no privacy and if he wanted to take a proper shower with Cas he needed to lock the bathroom door, but other than that it was ok.
The worst moment was when Amy asked when her mother would join them. Dean lifted her up and put her on the kitchen table and tried to explain again. He didn't like to use euphemisms, like 'gone' or 'went to a better place,' because the first indicated to a child that Miranda might come back and the second wasn't true. So, he told Amy that Miranda was in heaven. Amy seemed to understand that. Luckily, she didn't know heaven was a pretty crappy place.
2021
Water was cascading down Dean's back. Their new shower was awesome. It was much roomier than the one they'd had at the apartment and it was just Cas and his, which meant Sam was never complaining that Dean was taking too long. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his shoulder and shoved him with his back against the tiles. Opening his mouth to protest, Dean swallowed some water and coughed.
'Cas! Fuck, don't scare me like that,' Dean snapped, but he was immediately appeased when Cas kissed him and nibbled on his lower lip. Pushing his entire body flush against Dean's, Castiel started to whisper in Dean's left ear.
'I love your lips, around me,' he said and kissed Dean again. Then he softly bit Dean's nose.
'I love your nose, it's a piece of art,' he mumbled and Dean tried to keep from blushing. Cas often said that about various pieces of his anatomy, but Dean still hadn't figured out how to react. It was too much praise and made Dean feel weird. Castiel moved his hands down and lightly suckled Dean's right and then his left shoulder.
'I love your shoulders, because you always carry the burden. I remember when you were in the hospital and you said that we were doomed if we relied on you. It was confusing, because it was as if you didn't know yourself at all. I knew you loved me, but it was tucked away under layers of denial,' Castiel continued in a low timbre. His words and kissed travelled through Dean's body. They made his scalp tingle and his toes curl.
'Ah, my, I fuck guys, but I don't love 'em phase,' Dean interjected nonchalantly, while Castiel licked his collarbones in long, slow strokes. It was all Dean could do to keep from moaning.
'Yes, and it was as if you didn't understand. It was important to... win; for lack of a better word, but it was at least as important to do everything you could do. You did your best. You tried. You always do. Even when it costs you everything. That's why I love you.'
Raising his hands, Dean cupped Castiel's face and leaned in to kiss him, but Castiel took his hands and covered them with kisses and gentle bites and furtive caresses of his tongue. New erogenous zone: hands. With Cas, Dean was forever discovering more tiny places where something as simple as a kiss would hit just the right spot and almost make Dean come.
'I love your hands, because they wake me in the morning, because they are soft and hard like you,' Castiel murmured and then he sank to his knees and began, 'I love your...'
'Cas, come here. It's my turn,' Dean urged and pulled his lover to his feet. He reserved their positions, so Castiel was standing with his back against the tiles. They kissed and Dean sucked Castiel's lips into his mouth. He grinned when Castiel moaned.
'I love your lips, because they kiss me all tender and shit without making me feel like a pussy,' Dean said as he kissed the tip of Castiel's nose. It was true. With anyone else, this would all feel incredibly humiliating, but with Cas it was business as usual.
'I love your nose, sometimes it is the only thing keeping me from punching you,' he invented. That was less true. Sometimes Cas could be infuriatingly reasonable, but Dean couldn't imagine hurting Cas. Like Castiel had said; it would be like hurting himself.
'I love your shoulders, because you always lighten my burden by shouldering half,' Dean admitted as his teeth grazed across the smooth skin of Castiel's shoulders. Taking his time to nip at the tender hollow just above Castiel's collarbones, Dean took Castiel's hands and slipped his fingers one at a time into his mouth. The soft suction seemed to drive Castiel crazy and the wet sound as they popped out and Dean's lips released them was strangely arousing.
'I love your hands, because of how they braid Rose's hair and yet also do unspeakable things to me,' Dean said and he sank down. The tiny mosaic tiles were almost soft underneath his knees as Dean placed small kisses across Castiel's tense stomach muscles.
'I love your abs, simply because I'm shallow,' Dean concluded. Hopeful, Cas looked into his eyes, but Dean merely waited. As if he had forgotten what Castiel had said about his lips. Finally, Cas spoke.
'Aren't you going to tell me why you love my...' Castiel asked, but Dean interrupted him by softly engulfing the uncommented-upon organ with his lips. Cas moaned and fisted Dean's short hair. Slowly, Dean swirled his tongue around.
'Cas?' a pip squeaky voice asked from outside the shower, but inside the bathroom and Dean nearly chocked. Damn it, Cas hadn't locked the door. Carefully and grateful for the fact that nothing about the shower was see through, Dean pulled back and stood up.
'Yes, Rose?' Castiel asked. Dean leaned against him and buried his face in Castiel's neck to keep from laughing. It wasn't as if the girls didn't know that they were a couple, but a visual presentation at the age of 5 probably wasn't... prudent.
'Whatcha doing?' Rose asked. Dean could imagine her sitting on the edge of the bath and swinging those little stick legs every which way. 'Whatcha doing?' was her newest favourite phrase along with 'why not?' whenever one of her requests was denied.
'I'm...' Cas began, but lord knows what he was going to say, so Dean covered his mouth with his hand and thought of something to say. He hadn't forgotten that masturbation question in front of Bobby and Sam and that poor waitress.
'Cas is helping me wash my hair,' Dean eventually said. After a short silence, wherein Dean wondered whether it had been wise to reveal that he was also in the shower and how smart five year olds actually were, Rose spoke again.
'So it doesn't get in your eyes?'
'Yes, exactly,' Dean confirmed, relieved. Rose didn't seem surprised or fazed by his presence in the shower at all.
'Because that hurts.'
'Yes, it does.'
'Okay, bye,' Rose called, satisfied by that account of their activities, and Dean heard the bathroom door close. Quickly, he darted out of the shower and locked the door. Ducking under the warm water, he saw Cas mouthing sorry to him, but all incriminations were instantly forgotten when Castiel pulled Dean towards him. They kissed and Cas' hands trailed over Dean's back. Life couldn't be better, except for one little thing. Two girls without a mother and one brother without a wife.
2022
'Dean Winchester speaking,' he said and for a moment he was concerned whether he'd perhaps picked up one of the hunter assistance phones and wasn't supposed to be Dean Winchester, but someone with the CDC. He sighed as he saw that the phone was on the kitchen counter and not placed high up against the wall. No, it was alright to be Dean Winchester.
The beer was starting to cloud his mind and Rose and Amy's excited shrieking outside didn't help either. Thankfully, Sam was slowly reverting back to normal again or Dean would have worried about the fireworks. The Sam from the previous years would probably have let Rose and Amy light the firework if they'd asked nicely.
'Hi, it's Sarah Blake,' a female voice on the other side of the line introduced herself. That name was vaguely familiar. Something from the past. The pause that followed indicated that Dean's suspicion was right; the woman expected Dean to recognise her name.
'I'm sorry. Should I know you?'
'I don't know. Do you have a younger brother called Sam?' the voice asked. That seemed like a strange question. Unless she was checking to see whether he was that crazy hunter Dean, because 'Do you have a younger brother called Sam?' sounds a whole lot more sane than 'Do you happen to hunt monsters and demons?' Or he was making this all up and it was just someone who needed to speak to Sam and could only find Dean Winchester listed in the phone book.
'Yes. What is this about?'
'There can't be too many of those,' the voice mumbled, before continuing loud and clear, 'Alright, if you're not who I think you are this is going to sound insane. Almost fifteen years ago there was a haunted painting and a ghost with a creepy doll and I kind of helped you and your brother with it. Do you remember?'
Wheels started to turn in Dean's head and he did remember. The slit throats and the little psycho girl. Sam had nursed a crush on her. Not the psycho girl, but the woman he was talking to now. The one who had helped them.
'Ah, you're the gallery chick,' Dean sighed and she let out a little relieved and amused chuckle.
'Well, auction chick, actually. Sarah Blake. I was wondering whether you and Sam still do that sort of thing, because I think there are vampires here,' she explained. Sam rarely did that, but Dean or Castiel often went with Bobby. It was a nice way of letting off steam and it kept them in shape in case of another apocalypse.
'Yeah, sometimes. So, what seems to be the problem?' Dean asked. He pulled a note block towards him and jotted down the word vampires and drew a pair of fangs.
'They are killing people and drinking their blood. That's standard for vampires, I guess. Now probably isn't a good time with it being New Year's Eve, but I thought maybe you could come over sometime next week. You and Sam could stay at my house, if you want to.'
'That would be great,' Dean asked. He wrote down her address and listened to bits of her life story. Abridged, Dean suspected, but then again he'd leave some stuff out of his own life story too. When he had taken down everything relevant to the hunt and some irrelevant yet still important stuff, an awkward pause followed.
'So... how is Sam doing?' she inquired, haltingly. It sounded casual. Perhaps too casual.
'Fine.' Fine, considering. Fine, except for one thing. Fine, for someone whose wife has died. As Dean looked at her address, a thought occurred to him. Maybe he could make Sam's life just fine again, without having to add a 'but.' He promised Sarah they'd phone her before coming and hung up. Outside the fireworks were popping and cracking and bursting. Maybe Dean could make the New Year good for Sam.