Chapter 3, "Hate Song for Brains"

I used to be a spiderman

I used to be a cowboy from Hell

But not anymore

Now I'm just a clam

And I live inside this shell

Inside this shell I am

Oh God damn, I hate my brain

"Hate Song for Brains," Andrew Jackson Jihad

Cas: "You misunderstand me, Dean. Not like you think. I was praying you would choose to save the town."

Dean: "You were?"

Cas: "These people – they're all my father's creations. They are works of art.

"And yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken; and we are one step closer to Hell on Earth for all creation. And that's not an expression, Dean. It's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means.

"I'll tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul."

Dean: "OK."

Cas: "I'm not uh – a hammer, as you say. I have questions. I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore. Whether you passed or failed here. But, in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."

Dean looked away, not sure of what to say. When he looked back, he saw Castiel still sitting on the park bench, staring at him, looking uncomfortable.

"Whatever else you have to say, spit it out," Dean said, leaning back on his bench and crossing his arms.

"I don't understand," Cas replied, tilting his head like a bird.

"Obviously, you have something else you want to say – else you'd have flown off already," Dean gruffed. "So, go on. Say what you're thinking."

"Why haven't you contacted Anthony Stark?" Castiel asked, bluntly.

To Dean, the question felt like a blow to the chest. He couldn't help the flinch that passed through him and tightened his arms more against himself.

"You seem upset," said Castiel, confused. "You said to tell you –"

"Yeah, surprised me is all," Dean said, half-lying. At another point he would have to teach the angel tact. He didn't know a ton about it, but even he knew the angel could use some more. "I didn't know y'all knew – Anyway, why'd you care? I thought the big guy didn't approve of people like me. Sodomy, man shall not lie with man, yadda, yadda, yadda –"

"Again, you misunderstand, Dean," Castiel replied patiently. "Father does not discriminate because of sexual orientation. He believes that love between humans regardless of gender is something to be honored and upheld. It was men who distorted the prophets' words for their own benefit."

Well, that was news. Dean unfolded his arms and turned to Castiel in surprise, and the angel gave a small smile.

"Dean, I've held your soul in my hands," Castiel said, gently, keeping his eye contact with the man. "I know of the love you feel for him, and even now I can perceive it on your soul."

"You can see it?" Dean yelped, crossing his arms again, as if it would help. Suddenly he felt very naked.

"Only because I carried you as I raised you from perdition," Castiel assured, almost fondly. "Angels do perceive souls and perceive that you feel a strong love, as it is woven tightly within your soul; but I would be the one to know who the love is directed towards."

"So none of the others upstairs know?" Dean asked, arms still crossed and feeling overexposed.

"They do," Castiel replied, and Dean tensed again, which the angel noted. "Why are you so tense?"

"I'm not a big fan of people knowing my business," Dean grunted, turning his head away from the angel.

"Yes, you haven't even told your brother," Castiel pointed out. "Which in itself was a surprise –"

"Why was it though?" Dean snapped, glaring at Castiel. "When Sammy and I met up again, Tony and I were over. No need to drudge up the past."

"Is that why you're angry with me?" Castiel asked, again cocking his head to the side. "Because I am bringing up something you feel is in your past?"

"I don't just feel it's in my past, bird-brain: it is the past," Dean answered angrily. "You don't get it. Tony and I – look, I love the guy, I really do, OK? Love isn't enough. But I'm not good for him. We couldn't work anymore. I'd only bring him down. He deserves someone better."

"You don't think you're good enough," Castiel stated, his brow furrowing.

Dean gave out a sharp laugh and rubbed his eyes.

"Isn't that the truth?" Dean asked, then held his chin up and looked Castiel in the eyes. "I left him when he was kidnapped. I'd lost hope and just thought he was dead and gone forever. I didn't believe in him. Then when he comes back, I was too much of a fucking coward to call him. Then I learn he thinks I'm dead – and I'm glad, in a way, because I'm going to die anyway. So at least he knows I'm no longer living and doesn't get it through his head to try and track me down and get killed in the process. Cause, fuck knows that death follows me and Sammy around.

"And then – I'm in Hell. You musta saw what I became – and how you could raise me after that –"

"You spent the equivalent of 30 years being tortured, Dean," Castiel said gently.

Dean guffawed and looked away. He didn't need to be reminded. Those memories never left his sight, whether his eyes were closed or open. The pain, the blood, the smell, the laughter, on and on, day after day, year after year; until suddenly, he was the one laughing –

"I broke," Dean croaked, and then cleared his throat. "I broke and became that. I shoulda never done, but I was weak, and I just wanted it to stop.

"Don't you see?" Dean turned back to Castiel. "Even if all the supernatural shit stopped this moment, even if being with me would never put him in danger; I cannot go back to Tony. He doesn't deserve to be linked with me – he deserves better. Fuck – Tony was tortured in Afghanistan. And I became that. How could he want me to touch him, hands that tore apart flesh on the racks–"

"Your hands are brand new, as I rebuilt your body myself," Castiel interrupted.

"Oh, just fuck off already," Dean yelled, jumping to his feet.

All the children and mothers on the playground became suddenly silent, staring dumbfounded at the man who just cursed in front of all those innocent little ones.

Well, shit. Dean put his head into his hands for a second, took a breath, and then walked away from the still-staring crowd. He knew he had to get out of there before one of the well-meaning mothers called the cops on the weird cursing man at the playground. Dean felt all their eyes on him as he walked away.

He also heard the angel follow him.

"Dean, I apologize," Castiel said, as he caught up with Dean's long strides. "I should have realized you meant figuratively."

"Yeah," Dean grunted and kept walking. The sooner he got to Baby, the sooner he could get the hell out of dodge. And away from this conversation.

"I think I understand now," the angel continued. "Thank you for sharing with me."

"Yeah," Dean grunted again, then he stopped suddenly and turned to Castiel.

"You know how I promised not to tell a soul about your doubts?" Dean asked, and suddenly Castiel's face became wary. "I keep my promises, dude; don't worry. But, I was hoping you'd return the favor. Don't tell anyone what I told you, about why I'm not – about my – what I feel – especially my brother."

"OK," Castiel agreed, and within a blink of Dean's eyes, the angel had flown away.

"Castiel, what did Dean Winchester say to you when you asked about Anthony Stark?"

"He will not be contacting him."

"You are sure of this?"

"Yes. Positive."

"Good, good. Then we can move ahead with our plans."