Interlude VII:

Castiel stared up into the hot sun, the overwhelming brightness causing his mortal eyes to squint. Prisms of color wavered on the periphery of his vision, and despite the enjoyable warmth on his face, he had to look away.

He stood on Bobby Singer's front porch, listening to the sound of cicadas and distant traffic, and for a brief moment felt peace.

It was shattered when the door behind him banged open, and he turned around; the movement was languid, and lacked any instinct for fear.

Ellen Harvelle was leaning in the open entrance, cleaning a glass with a rag and watching him, one eyebrow arched and the ghost of a smile on her face. The laugh lines around her brown eyes were as he remembered them, and the heat plastered strands of her long hair to her cheek. "You forget what you came out here to do, son?"

Somehow her presence there made sense, and so when Castiel answered her, it was in the same casual tone she had used. "No. I was merely…taking pause to enjoy the sunlight. The sensation is very different as a mortal."

"No kidding," Ellen snorted. "Wait around in it a bit longer, and you'll notice just how different it is." She flicked the rag at him. "Which is why you need to go out there and get that boy of yours in here before he gets skin cancer. My daddy had that, and let me tell you, it's not a pleasant way to die."

Her words were puzzling, with no context or reason, and yet he nodded and started off down the rickety stairs. The movements were slightly constricted and uncomfortable, and he realized as he crossed the yard that he was once again wearing Jimmy's trenchcoat and suit, even though the Winchesters had long since relegated the latter to the back of the Charger.

That car was nowhere in sight, he realized as he looked around the veritable jungle of scrapped chasses and dust. Still, he could hear the sounds of tools around one of the columns of scrap metal and rubber, and when he turned the corner he forgot the discomfort his too-warm clothing caused him.

Dean was standing in front of his car – the Impala, not the Charger – his back to him as he took a long pull from a bottle of beer. He was shirtless in the summer heat, and even in this distance, Castiel could see the sweat glistening down his neck and back.

He swallowed, feeling the not quite comprehensible urge to run his tongue along the dip between Dean's shoulder and neck.

As usual, Dean seemed to sense him before he got very close, and turned around with the thrilled grin that Castiel so rarely saw. "So, decided that wasting your day researching with Sam was too boring after all?"

"Ellen sent me to bring you inside," Castiel answered, eyeing the amulet that rested against Dean's bare chest. The patch of flesh beneath it was a shade lighter than the rest of what was exposed, suggesting he had been outside for a while. "She mentioned something about skin cancer."

Dean made a dismissive gesture. "Once you've been to Hell, your perception of skin burns changes a bit."

Castiel's eyes slid to Dean's left shoulder, feeling the usual sense of dismay that he could no longer sense the spiritual brand there. If it was still there, given his current graceless state.

Dean appeared to notice his expression, because he cleared his throat.

"Well, you're out here, which is the important thing," he said, taking another pull of the alcoholic drink. "Today's the day, buddy."

Castiel blinked, momentarily distracted by Dean's lips around the mouth of the bottle, before asking, hesitant, "What day?"

"Well, I keep saying we've got to educate you in being human, but with things so crazy it never happens – so, cars or tunes?"

"I do not understand."

Dean rolled his eyes, setting the bottle down beside the left front wheel; Castiel tracked the movement. "Either we're teaching you how to care for my baby today or we're working on your sad, sad lack of musical taste. Take your pick."

Castiel thought about both for a moment, memories of watching Dean working with Sam on the car and of the close proximity that entailed. Distracted as he was by his charge right now, it would not be wise.

"Music," he said after a moment's deliberation. There was less of a chance of trouble there.

"Chicken," Dean accused lightly, but motioned for Cas to come follow him.

To his surprise (and the rebellious approval of his body), Dean ordered him to sit in the passenger seat of the car while he took his own customary spot. Before Castiel could argue, Dean was pushing in one of his tapes and the melody of a song Castiel had heard before but did not know the title of began to play.

"If you don't take anything away from today, you'd better remember this," Dean cautioned him, wagging a finger at him. "Zeppelin rules."

It was something he had said before, but not to Castiel, he knew.

Castiel tilted his head to one side, attempting to pick out the qualities which Dean seemed to enjoy so much. The music was rhythmic and hypnotic, in a way, despite the prevalence of a sound Dean called a bass guitar and the crooning, grating voice of the singer. The song was a far cry from the hymns of the Host, but Castiel enjoyed it none the less.

"Dude, you are so overdressed right now," Dean chuckled suddenly, and reached for Castiel's tie. "You look like you're about to die of heatstroke. It's making me warm."

Castiel's mouth went dry as Dean deftly undid the knot of fabric, tossing it into the backseat and after a short pause, began to tug off the trenchcoat as well. He let him, feeling the warmth of Dean's fingers through his cotton shirt.

Despite the heat, a shiver worked its way up his spine and into his limbs.

Dean stopped before he had managed to get the coat completely off, and stared, gaze searching.

There was a long moment where there was nothing but the sound of the music and Castiel's own shallow breaths.

When Dean leaned in and pressed their lips together, Castiel's body seemed to melt. He felt and heard the embarrassing little moan at the back of his throat, but realized he didn't care. Dean's hand was gently clasping him by the hair, as though using each strand as an anchor, and his tongue was taking advantage of Castiel's parted lips. He tasted of alcohol and dust and Dean –

Castiel felt warm all over, and his mind was nicely hazy. The growing hardness in his lap was no longer such a foreign feeling, and he lazily pressed against the fabric of his pants, enjoying the little bursts of pleasure at the contact.

Dean managed to maneuver himself into Castiel's lap, legs splayed tightly on either side and for a moment, Castiel's mind offered him the completely useless fact that it shouldn't have been possible. Two grown men shouldn't be able to comfortably fit within the front seat of a vehicle, especially not given their current activities, despite the general roominess of Dean's car –

Dean ground his hips downward, and the press of his clothed erection against Castiel's completely eradicated any more useless thoughts.

He wanted to ask – to beg – Dean for something, but even if Dean's tongue wasn't busy grazing along the inside of his mouth, Castiel wasn't sure if he would even be able to formulate the words.

A sudden tap at the window stole Castiel's attention, and he broke the kiss, head whipping around to seek out the source.

Balthazar stood outside of the car, his vessel's face appearing half-disgusted and half-amused.

"So, this is what you dream about?" his brother asked him.

And then, just as suddenly as the interruption had occurred, everything around him disappeared. Dean, the Impala, the salvage yard –

They faded before Castiel's eyes. For a moment he saw the landscape where the scrapped cars had sat, but there was no cover here save for a few crumbling ruins of brick and stone. Sand covered everything, glowing with heat. Beyond that he saw an ocean – or what had once been an ocean but was now nothing but dunes of salt save for shallow puddles in the distance that seethed with heat. The very air lay thick, hot, and motionless, but not in the same pleasant manner as before.

"Interesting venue," Balthazar remarked, looking around at the desert they were suddenly standing in. Or rather, Balthazar stood while Castiel sat in the sand, trying to ignore the uncomfortable and embarrassing evidence of his previous activities.

Realization that he had once again lapsed into such a dream about Dean made his stomach clench uncomfortably. And that Balthazar had seen it made it all the worse.

Suddenly Dean's aversion to what he called 'dream-walking angels' made sense.

"Well, I guess I was right about why you gave up your grace," Balthazar went on, sounding infuriatingly smug.

Castiel felt the blood rushing back up from his lap to fill his cheeks. "This was not the reason! I never wanted…this…before – it is this body that –"

"Save it, brother," Balthazar snorted, "You can justify your little interspecies romance all you want, but it doesn't change the fact it's causing us problems."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked, getting to his feet and self-consciously straightening his clothing. Inexplicably, he was wearing the tie again and the trenchcoat had smoothed out, its folds mercifully hiding the evidence of Castiel's recent activities.

"That stunt you pulled to get lover-boy's brother out of the Cage? You inadvertently turned the bastard you dealt with into an archdemon."

Castiel stared, frowning for a moment as his mind attempted to categorize the statement. He had to think for a spell, the knowledge long since filed away in the recesses of his brain. When understanding set in, though, he felt dread begin to grow in the pit of his stomach. "No…that's not…possible."

"Well, I'm here to tell you that it is," Balthazar said with a scowl. "And if we don't find a way to get your grace back soon, then your little human sexual awakening will be the least of your problems. Or have you already forgotten what happened the last time?"

"Of course not," Castiel maintained coldly, insulted that Balthazar would think such a thing. "But I will still not take back my grace."

"Cassy, if it's about –"

"It is not," Castiel growled. "Even if I could retain my grace without invalidating my deal, do you understand what would happen? If what you say about Crowley becoming an archdemon is true, it will twist me into something that is as much a threat to Heaven as he is. If anything, the grace must be destroyed."

"But you would be trapped as –"

"I will live with that," Castiel deflected. "It is the path I chose."

"A path which leads to you being reaped by Death in the end," Balthazar protested. "It's not worth it."

"I have said enough on the matter."

They stared in silence for a long moment, before his brother looked away.

"Well, then, any idea of how to kill an archdemon?" Balthazar asked resentfully. "Because my sources are stretched a little thin these days and with Raphael stepping up his game…" He trailed off, turning somber. "He has killed Remiel."

Where Castiel had felt warmth before, now he felt as though he had been turned to ice. "No."

"Yes," Balthazar said, bitter. "And he has taken the Staff. You know what that means."

"He intends to open a portal to Purgatory," Castiel murmured out loud, toneless.

"Only one reason to do that," Balthazar nodded, grim. "It seems he's serious about Take Two of the Apocalypse." He made a face. "So, we now have to decide whether to focus our attention on big brother or the abomination downstairs."

"There is still a chance we can weaken Crowley," Castiel put forth cautiously, trying to ignore his own guilt for the moment – and the nagging suspicion that even knowing what he knew now, he still would have made the deal. "Even if he is an archdemon, he cannot be a true one. Not in the strictest sense, anyhow, those must be born."

"Now you're just splitting hairs."

"If we act quickly enough, we can divide his demonic and archangel essences for a window of time. It might give us a chance."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Balthazar questioned.

Castiel made a face, his human mind providing maddening blocks against his usual logical way of thinking. Emotions and fears warred with each other for supremacy as he tried to plan, and after a moment he was forced to give up.

"We will cross that bridge when it comes," he said after a moment. "As it is, I am more worried about Raphael's latest move. It diminishes the time we have – how goes Gabriel's attempt to regain his grace?"

"Last I heard, he and the pagan strumpet were in Montreal and closer to diabetic coma than retaining his grace," Balthazar said dismissively. "He keeps ringing up his little mortal family – which leads to them going at me with the awkward questions whenever I stop in. Between them and the old hunter…" He rolled his eyes. "I don't know how you stand it, Cassy. I feel like strangling them all."

Castiel felt the corner of his mouth quirk, remembering how frustrated Dean had, and sometimes still, made him feel. "That is an understandable reaction. Humans are trying."

"The child annoys me the most. The other day she asked if she could see my wings," Balthazar went on, sounding disgusted. "I almost showed her, just to watch her eyeballs dribble out. I think her mother clued in, because she shut the little brat up." He offered a satisfied smile. "I suppose she is less of a waste of space than I first envisioned. Not bad looking, either, for a monkey."

Castiel frowned. "Were you not just warning me –?"

"Yes, well, that worked out so well, didn't it?" Balthazar deadpanned. "Anyhow, if I even cared for such an entanglement, Gabriel would snip off my dangly bits and feed them to the Leviathan. I prefer my intrigues to be purely pleasure based – and with more people involved."

Castiel made a face. "I believe this is what Dean would classify as 'too much information'."

"Oh, that's adorable," Balthazar simpered. "You're trying to talk like him. You know, that's going to be a little awkward when Raphael restarts the Apocalypse. I somehow doubt he'll be giving you his blessing to bang Michael's meatsuit."

Castiel glared, opening his mouth to point out that the entire situation with Dean was an impossible one and that his dreams were obviously just fantasies concocted by his mortal brain and body. He thought better of it a moment later, because Balthazar had a mulish look on his face which suggested he was waiting for Castiel's feeble defence, and so Castiel forced himself back to the matter at hand.

Neither of them could hope to stop Raphael at the moment, not until they knew exactly what his next move would be. Creating the circumstances for the Apocalypse had been difficult the first time, Castiel understood, but to manage it now would require additional interference from on high.

"What we need is for someone to keep us informed of his progress," Castiel said after a moment. He offered his brother a meaningful look.

Balthazar stared at him, and then his eyes narrowed in understanding. "You have got to be kidding me."

"You would be best suited," Castiel replied reasonably. "Of all of us in the garrison, subterfuge and survival was your strength."

"Exactly," Balthazar cried. "Which is why going over to Raphael and playing the double-agent isn't going to happen – because it's suicide!"

"I do not think so," Castiel shook his head. "The situation of the archdemon changes that. The last time, the entire Host needed to band together to defeat them, regardless of individual sentiments on the matter. You could conceivably go to Raphael, tell him that you trust his vision of Heaven more than the possible destruction an archdemon would rain down. He already knows of my defection, and so you could also tell him of my role in the archdemon's creation."

"He's going to want more than that to prove my loyalty," Balthazar pointed out unhappily. "And if he decides I'm not trustworthy? Do you know how long he will lock me away? Much longer than you were up there, I guarantee."

"Then we will have to plan for that," Castiel answered calmly. "We will figure this out. There is a way, Balthazar, there is always away."

Dean's words had become like a mantra to him.

"Ah, that must be the very human sense of false hope I've heard so much about," Balthazar sighed, rubbing his temples in a very human gesture. "How depressing." He straightened his shoulders. "Well, let's get to the planning then, before you wake up. Unless you were hoping to finish off the little scene I interrupted earlier?"

Castiel blushed and scowled. "I already told you – "

"Yes, yes, deny it until you're blue in the face, why don't you," Balthazar cut him off gravely. "More's the pity, that. I don't think I've ever seen you have actual fun before."

A huge 'thank you' goes out to those of you who have been reading along so far and who have taken the time to review, most especially: 222Raavens, aadarshinah, angelstryke, Anna, ashwingsmokefeather, Blasphemoos3, bleachcreep21, Busie, Crimson Vipera, darkburning, darkphoenix2345, DoctorKibbles, Effective Immediately, elenathehun, EricNorthmanIsMySoulMate767, Fallen Seraphim, girlnineteen, Isis the Sphinx, Jade Chase, jasnrob, jazzy, jdluvva, justine82, kaddabo, kai, Kirilin, Kiyomisa, lasersforeyes (Shane) Lenore, Leoooo, Lendiscus, Lil Kitsune-chan, LonelyElf, Melacreature, mercurybard, Michele, mushimadarame, netherlady, Omri00, pinkskyline, PopsicleOfDeath, primarycolours123, romie, ruvy91, Sadie, shajs, Shay473, sonofafluffymuffin, vastrea and xoxo.