-Summary: It's the end of the world and they've got one last card to play. Castiel sends Dean back: back before everything. Now he has time to stop what's coming, but no friggin' clue how to do it. Time travel should really come with a manual. TIMELINE AU
-A/Ns: Okay, couple of things. First, this chapter ended up being 29 pages long (almost three times the length of our usual chapters) because I'm friggin' verbose. I had to split it up, and I'm not happy about it. There's a character twist that spans both parts and should really be read together. However, I ran out of editing time this week and absolutely could not decide if I should hold off another week to post both chapters at once, or post this today. So here's the deal; You get part I now, and I'll post part II as soon as I finish editing it, rather than making you all wait a week.
Until then…uh…nobody freak out.
-Freak Out? Yeah, about that. Welcome to the first of two planned Story-Twists-That-Make-the-Author-Incredibly-Nervous. Oh, what fun we'll have. What I ask is that you don't completely freak out (if you're going to freak out) until you get to the author's notes at the end of Part II. I have (what I think are) very good reasons for this twist, so hopefully you give me the chance to explain!
Actually, three readers have already sort of meandered into it accidentally into their awesome reviews, which has made me feel so much freaking better about springing it on y'all. I think you all will understand why immediately, but [insert self-conscious shrug] I'm a paranoid people-pleaser who's terrified you're gonna hate it.
-Chapter Warnings: We FINALLY get Castiel! Which means we FINALLY get the first splashes of Destiel! Don't get too excited, it's not too much more than the show has at this point ;) Our boy's still knee-deep (more like neck-deep) in the good ole' river De-Nile.
For those of you who are not Destiel Fans but have stuck with us this far, keep sticking! I promise, we're still in slow-burn territory and, outside of Sammy and Bobby poking fun, we will be for some time.
-Actual Chapter Warnings: Light innuendos and implications of pre-slash Destiel, along with some chick-flick moments, a little pectoral fondling, and a lot of Dean trying his hardest to ignore those things. Oh, and a lot of swearing as Dean realizes something kinda important.
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The Road So Far (This Time Around)
Season 2: Chapter 10
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Summoning an angel was, perhaps, the most anticlimactic experience of Sam's life. That may only be because he'd certainly built up the confrontation in his mind, what with Dean's procrastinating, nervous fidgeting the entire time they set up the barn, and Sam's own doubts about Castiel being on their side, despite Dean's many reassurances that he was – would be – their best friend and they couldn't do this without him. Despite of all that, or perhaps because of it, Sam was rapidly losing regard for any danger this angel apparently posed, considering they were going on hour two with no sign of him.
"Are you sure you did the ritual right?" he asked Bobby, a slight whine in his voice. The look the old man shot him wasn't nice, and Sam grimaced apologetically.
"Relax, guys," Dean said from his spot on one of the only surviving pieces of furniture in the barn; an old farm table with one missing leg that they'd propped up with mildewing hay bales. The bowl of spell ingredients sat beside him, flames long since burnt out and smoky scent of singed herbs gone from the musty air. Dean swung his legs back and forth like a four year old, twirling a knife into the tabletop and digging himself a decent little hole (like an adult with the maturity of a four year old). "He's gotta find a vessel. It'll be a while."
Which was reason three to summon the guy at night, actually. If Jimmy was asleep, Cas would probably have an easier time visiting him and convincing the guy to say yes. Of course, even adding buffer time of Cas having to find a vessel kinda last minute (Dean figured Cas had had a couple of days of trying to communicate with Dean before giving up and searching for a vessel last time), this was still way longer and Dean was starting to worry the angel wasn't coming.
The spell he'd used an hour and twenty minutes ago didn't demand the angel's presence so much as strongly suggest he should show up. Dean knew how to strengthen the summons to one that could not be ignored, but he was hesitant to do so. They'd used that method when he and Cas had bullied Raphael into showing his ugly mug during the apocalypse, which had unpleasant memories enough. However, Cas had warned him at the time that such a thing was just rude in heavenly society, and therefore a surefire way to piss an angel off.
Castiel was already going to be not-very-happy to hear about the upcoming apocalypse and Heaven's role in it. Then there'd be the whole holy fire bit, too. Dean really wanted to reduce any other factors likely to piss off the nerd angel.
"Well, how long is that gonna take?" Bobby asked, huffing in annoyance as he mindlessly tapped the shotgun laid out across his legs, despite the fact that Dean told him he wouldn't need it. No hunter was dumb enough to go into a situation unarmed, no matter what that situation was. "Should we leave a note?"
Dean rolled his eyes at the sarcastic suggestion, but even his patience was starting to wear.
"So…" Sam shifted awkwardly against the old barrel he'd dragged into the center of the room once he'd realized this was going to be a while. "He's going to show up possessing someone?"
Dean immediately got the unease in his brother's voice. He hadn't been a big fan of the angelic method of visiting Earth much himself, though nowadays (or…er…future-a-days) it was such a commonplace thing that he stopped thinking twice about it years ago.
"It's voluntary," he supplied, hoping to ease the kid's conscience a bit even as his own started perking up. "Angels have to get permission to enter a vessel."
"What poor SOB says yes to being possessed?" Bobby snorted derisively, shaking his head at the prospect. Dean just shrugged.
"A religious one, apparently."
Sammy wasn't looking any more comfortable with the idea, and Bobby let out another disbelieving huff. "And what? They forfeit up their life to be some angel condom until the thing's done with its grand ole' tour of Earth?"
"Or till the humans kicks 'em to the curb," the man from the future offered with another shrug, but the movement was tense, shoulders hunched forward and his words a bit too clipped to be as relaxed as he'd been going for. The hunter was unaware of the defensive body language and growing aggression in his tones, but he was getting antsy as they stayed on the subject of vessels.
Or maybe it was just Bobby referring to angels as things (and yeah, alright, Dean probably would have referred to about 99% of that population in a similar manner, but it was the 1% currently poking his conscience with a stick.)
"Are they awake? Like demonic possession?" Sam was staring at him, eyes somehow wide with curiosity while simultaneously filled with mounting worry. He was clearly upset by the idea. He'd never been possessed – not in this timeline – but he had seen the victims (survivors) and he knew their horrific recounts of seeing everything, feeling everything, but having no control over their own bodies.
"For parts of it, I think." Having never actually served as a vessel, Dean couldn't speak from personal experience. However, he remembered Jimmy Novak's opinion of angelic possession well enough, along with his relieved desperation to be over and done with it. "They can't shield all of it, but I know Cas tried with Jimmy. Guy said it was like being strapped to a comment."
"Jimmy?"
"Cas's vessel," Dean responded to his brother, but his words were distant, distracted. His brain was busy thinking about all the other angelic vessels he'd met over the years, but he couldn't come up with a single one outside of Jimmy that they'd actually talked to. Which was pretty incredible, given how many angels they'd met. How many they had killed. Sweat was breaking out across Dean's palms as he counted back through each angelic encounter he'd had. That any of them had had. The body count of vessels, innocent humans who said yes to serve what was a just and noble cause in their minds, was piling high. Higher than he should ever have let it.
The only two he'd known to survive their ordeals were Jimmy, who they'd talked to the one time he'd gotten away, and that poor son of a bitch Raphael had possessed. Jimmy ended up forced back into servitude to save his family, who had been hunted by demons the minute he earned his freedom, and in the end he'd died a vessel as well. Blown up by an archangel. Never mind the other guy, who ended up comatose in a hospital. And that poor SOB would be lucky if he died peacefully in that place and not under the blade of some demon seeking information he couldn't even process after the angelic lobotomy he'd survived.
Quite suddenly, Dean couldn't get enough air.
"So…this Jimmy guy is going to offer up his body because we're summoning Castiel?" It wasn't the only thing Sam asked, unease winning over his natural curiosity as he let lose a barrage of questions Dean was barely hearing. "You said Cas was still with you in 2016. That's- that's ten years from now. Does he even know what he's getting into?"
Dean wasn't paying attention, though. His brain was stuck on a single thought that, once thought, couldn't be un-thought.
Claire.
"Dean?"
Claire Novak. That badass woman warrior, that pain in his ass kid, that beautiful young lady who had grown from a life of pain and ugly into something truly awesome. Dean loved her, like a daughter-baby sister combo. Like he'd loved Ben; like he'd loved Jo. Like he'd loved Charlie. Even if Claire tried to drive him (and Jody and Cas) up a tree and grey on a monthly (sometimes weekly) basis. That incredible young woman who was becoming one hell of a hunter under his (and, yeah, fine, okay, Jody and Cas') tutelage. The girl who was hell bent on hunting down the supernatural baddies of the world and saving people, like she hadn't been saved, when an angel came and took her father from her. When her mother followed after in a foolish attempt to get him back. When she was left an orphaned teenager, jumping from foster homes to detention centers, running from deadbeats to douchebags looking for a family to fix the one she'd lost.
All because Castiel had taken her dad from her.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit!
Dean couldn't breathe. He'd just rung the dinner bell, invited the angel to take Claire's father from her again. Years earlier, actually. She'd been, what, ten, eleven the first time? Great, now she'd lose Jimmy at eight.
What the fuck had he been thinking?
He was taking away a kid's – an amazing kid's – childhood, ruining it and setting her up for a shit future of hurting and hunting and loneliness. Even with Jody and Alex making up their odd but endearing little family, even with Cas and Claire forming some sort of awkward friendship in the face of her missing father, even with Sam and Dean there whenever she needed them, none of that could ever make up for an honest to God childhood, a loving mother and father, school and homework, first dates and prom and friends; a normal life.
No one deserved the road of a hunter, not if it was preventable, and Dean could have damn well prevented it by leaving Cas out of all of this.
God, his chest hurt just thinking it, and he knew he couldn't follow through. He needed Cas; he could not do this alone. He'd reached the end of his rope, and he'd spent enough years hunting and facing down ends of the world to know when he was out of his depth and in need of help. But he couldn't take Claire's father – her childhood – away from her, either. Not if there was an alternative.
Son of a bitch.
They were going to have to find Castiel a different vessel. Someone who wouldn't leave behind a kid, a family or loved ones who would miss him when he followed the Winchesters to the end of the world.
"Son of a bitch!" he swore, ferociously, just under his breath.
Sam didn't have a chance to question the sudden exclamation, though worry and irritation was written clearly across the wrinkles of Dean's brow, because of course, of course, the single working light in the barn chose that moment to start flickering, and the wooden slats making up what was left of the roof above them began rattling in the building wind.
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Both Sam and Bobby had their guns up and trained on the barn door. Dean jumped off the makeshift table, heart thumping against his ribcage so loud he was sure the other two could hear it. He stepped up between them, eyeing his brother's handgun and Bobby's shotgun with trepidation.
"Don't shoot him," he said suddenly, eyes and words desperate as he met Sam's confused brown gaze over the curve of his shoulder. Dean licked his lips nervously. Cas could take a bullet or a shotgun blast, but what about Jimmy? He could just heal him, heal his vessel, right? Still, Dean was suddenly really uncomfortable with testing that theory.
He'd never been so happy to have lost the Colt.
Even if the normal guns couldn't hurt him, there was the slim chance that shooting him would piss him off and he might take flight before they could stop him. What if he left with Jimmy, back to Heaven? What if Claire lost her father extra permanent this time because he was a fucking thoughtless idiot?
Of course, a knife straight to the heart hadn't exactly translated into 'fly away!' for the angel last time. At that time, though, Cas had been on a mission from God, not summoned without explanation in the middle of apparent 'peace times.'
Dean settled his hand atop the site of his brother's gun. He didn't put any pressure in the grip, didn't force him to lower the weapon or try take it away, but the gesture was clear. "Just don't shoot, alright?"
Sam looked loathe to acquiesce to that, but he gave a hesitant nod all the same. His gun lowered a couple inches, but he kept it gripped tightly between his hands, still held out in front of him. Bobby had no such reservations, shotgun tucked securely into his shoulder and raised right on the door. He wouldn't shoot unless whatever they'd summoned gave him reason to, and Dean just had to pray an overly prideful, slightly dick angel wasn't reason enough.
The wind was picking up, the barn doors rattling in the howling gusts, the roof shaking above them, dust and bits of rotted wood shaking loose to rain down on them. The single light gave a high pitch, electrical whine before it exploded spectacularly, glass tinkering to the straw-hewed ground.
All three hunters jumped at the flare and shattering glass, the barn falling dark around them. Lighting struck outside, blue-white light flashing through the barn, illuminating their silhouettes against the dark backdrop.
There definitely hadn't been a storm in the forecast for tonight.
"Balls," Bobby breathed out against the butt of the shotgun, grip tightening on the trigger and barrel. Dean cast him a precautionary look, but the old hunter wasn't watching and he probably wouldn't have bothered responding even if he had.
Castiel's entrance was just as dramatic as the first time. The doors burst inward with another brilliant flash of lightening. The smell of ozone and charged electrons filled the barn. Hay and dirt swept across the floor beneath their feet, swirling about in the tumultuous winds that only settled once the angel crossed the threshold of the old barn.
Bobby adjusted his grip on the gun in warning, but the man that entered the barn was oblivious to the very clear threat. His fervent blue eyes were locked solely on Dean and did not stray. The older Winchester's hand was still resting atop Sam's gun, and the young hunter struggled not to raise it back up to train on the thing now in the building with them.
Dean had been half right with his Holy Tax Accountant description. He'd gotten the tan trench coat, dark, messy hair, and intensely blue eyes dead on. Sam was pretty sure the navy and white striped pajama bottoms and old grey t-shirt were a little more off-menu than normal for the stoic angel, though. The fuzzy maroon slippers definitely were.
Despite the unintimidating form, the being they'd summoned in front of them, now strolling toward them, was powerful. The air damn near crackled with it, his gaze all but glowed from it, and every step closer might as well have been accompanied by individual lighting strikes for all the charge in the wide open space.
It was suddenly not hard to believe this wind-swept, slipper-wearing, tax accountant was an angel on mission from God himself. Especially not when he locked that unwavering, single-minded focus on his older brother.
"Dean," Sam breathed out, the name half question, half warning. Every muscle in his body screamed to shoot it. Black hair, and the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Just like Missouri Moseley said, and suddenly he couldn't quite get over how much sense it made for Dean to be afraid of this thing. Sam's grip on the barrel of his gun only tightened and, against every instinct his life and father had trained or bullied into him, he took his eyes off of that powerful creature to look at his big brother.
There was something heartbreakingly hopeful in his gaze, locked as surely on the angel as the gaze he was receiving back, and Sam found himself lowering his gun before his brain could protest in a voice that sounded a hell of a lot like John Winchester.
Castiel stopped several feet from them, ethereal eyes finally moving to the other men in the room and carrying the weight of Heaven behind them. In response to that intensity sweeping over both of them, the two men not from the future nor familiar with the supernatural badass standing in front of them, stiffened under the inspection. With weapons drawn, game faces on, shoulders up, they presented a formidable wall of strength and intimidation for any of the supernatural community.
Except, perhaps, the angel standing before them.
"Why have you summoned me?" Castiel asked, and Sam blinked, surprised at the deep voice. He hadn't expected the holy tax accountant in front of him or the guy his brother described to have a voice that gargled gravel every morning and smoked three packs a day.
Metal clicked and Sam looked over Dean in time to see him raise a lighter, thumb flicking the wheel and spark igniting.
"Sorry about this, Cas."
The flame danced through the air as the Zippo fell to the straw-strewn dirt beneath them. All three hunters stepped back – two hurriedly and one regretfully – as flames leapt to life, tracing a circle of oil poured long before the angel it encased had arrived. The heat was strong, far stronger than a normal fire would produce, and Sam and Bobby staggered another half step away, leaving Dean standing out to confront the suddenly stormy angel alone.
Although Castiel did not move, the way he canted his head to gaze at the circle around him gave off the impression of a predator all but stalking the flames in a slow circle. Sam could feel more than see just how close Bobby was to shooting him out of pure instinctual need. The way those now fierce eyes settled back on his brother, Sam could hardly blame the older hunter. There was the Warrior of God his brother had spoken of, and he had not done him near enough justice in his descriptions or his warnings.
Castiel's eyes flared angrily at the man – men – imprisoning him. The circle was wide, far larger than they should have made it, giving him the freedom to move without risk to his wings. A mistake they would regret, he would make sure of it as soon as he found the weakness in this entrapment.
"What is this?" that deep voice boomed. Bobby swore under his breath and Sam struggled not to take another step away from the low, seething outcry that was followed by a flash of lightning from inside the barn. Shadows tore up the old walls and Sam did stumble back as the darkness took the shape of huge, looming wings.
Shit, Missouri Mosely had it right all along. This guy was worth fearing. Sam had never encountered power like that, nor presence. His eyes alone said it all, and Sam now understood the awe in the psychic's voice when she'd described them.
Dean hardly seemed phased, though, and Sam tried to find his own resolve in that. Just the way his brother stood there, looking half a second from cracking open a cold one with a shrug as he discussed the pros and cons of various machete brands, the expression on his face more annoyed at the dick show of power than intimidated by it in the slightest. That, or given the nervousness he'd been displaying all week, it was one hell of a good mask. Sam could not deny the impressiveness of either one, since he was embarrassingly close to needing a new pair of pants.
"We need to talk," his older brother spoke firmly, the listen-to-me-if-you-want-to-live hunter voice cranked to full-power.
In reality, despite his Dean-perfected disinterested façade, the man from the future was pretty much right there with his brother in terms of needing a change of clothes, although his was less from fear of the impressive being in front of them so much as what was riding on Dean not fucking this up. A.K.A. their entire future and the end of the world. No pressure. It was not helping that he had forgotten how much of a dick First-Time-Cas could be (he really hadn't, but he might have been a little too hopeful thinking maybe he'd exaggerated the memories over the years).
Castiel's eyes narrowed at the obstinate human standing before him. The man who had prayed to him relentlessly for months, more often than not impertinent in his demands. For whom he had broken Heaven's rules, in part to fulfil a misplaced curiosity. A choice that had led to the death of his brother and friend.
"Who are you to command me?" the angel challenged, once more eyeing the flames at his feet, looking for the weakness or error that would allow his escape. This time, he would be reporting his infraction to Heaven right alongside this ridiculous and unheard of behavior of a hunter summoning and imprisoning an angel of the Lord.
Dean huffed in response, the sound as incredulous as it was genuinely amused. Staring at his best friend – or the guy he hoped would once more become his closest friend, ally, family – the hunter couldn't help himself. "I'm Dean Friggin' Winchester."
The angel looked unimpressed, expression unchanging from the intense, near blank wall of stone that was Old-Testament Cas. Pre-Winchester-Gospel Cas. Dean could only internally shrug. Future Cas would have thought that was pretty damn amusing.
"This's my brother, Sam, and our friend, Bobby," he said instead, pointing over his shoulder at his brother and jerking his head towards his surrogate father, who was looking mighty twitchy with that shotgun. Realizing the current conversation needed to start going places, lest Bobby get an itchy trigger finger, Dean pulled his game face on. "Look, Cas-"
"That is not my name," the angel returned immediately, and Dean couldn't stop his eyes from rolling (so much for game face).
"Castiel," he bitched back with emphasis that had the angel tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. "Happy?"
Those blue eyes narrowed again, which seemed to be answer enough that no, he was not happy. Dean couldn't help but think his Cas would have pointedly slid his gaze to the flames, with all the sass and eyebrow action that came from being a Winchester.
"Look, I'm sorry for summoning you and for the, you know, holy oil," Dean conceded with a glance at the flickering fire, which Castiel matched with one of his own, albeit it was a far more cautious, infuriated gaze. He'd kind of hoped the extra large ring would maybe be seen as the peace offering it was. But, yeah, considering it was still one hundred percent imprisonment, no matter the leg room, he'd known it had been a pipe dream kind of hope. "Trust me, it's as much for your protection as ours."
"I am an angel of the Lord," Cas answered, drawing up to his full height, which seemed so much more than the six feet of vertical space he actually occupied. "I do not need your protection."
Damn, but was Castiel bitchier than he remembered. Memory wasn't exactly the most reliable of the senses, Dean knew that better than anyone, but maybe he had gone into this relying a little too heavily on what he thought he knew. This wasn't his Cas, though. This wasn't even the Castiel he'd first met. That angel had raised him from Hell, fought through fire and demon alike to raise the Righteous Man because he honestly believed, with everything he was, that he was doing God's good bidding.
This angel had just been pulled down from Heaven on an unwarranted summoning and trapped in something that could very easily kill him if he so much as tripped.
Dean bit down on the edge of his tongue as he stared at this proud, angry, and honestly confused angel with a sudden lack of understanding and utter uncertainty. Well crap. He kinda hadn't factored this totally predictable can of worms into the conversation, and now had no clue how to proceed.
"I need you to look at me," he blurted out, wincing as soon as he'd said it, but also knowing there was no way he was taking it back, chick-flick meter maxing out at 10 or not. The whole point of summoning Cas into a ring of holy oil was to get him up to speed, and that wasn't gonna happen by talking. "Really look at me, Cas….tiel."
The angel continued staring at him, unblinking. After a long moment of silence, the barn so deathly quiet but for the crackle of burning oil, Dean let out an annoyed growl.
"My soul, Cas." He couldn't help but roll his eyes at his entirely too literal friend. "Look at my soul."
Bobby made an immediately distressed sound cleverly disguised as disgruntled, shotgun still sharp in his shoulder and pointed straight at the angel. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a warning of, "boy," but Dean only held his hand out to the side and tried to back him down with a small flapping motion. He never took his eyes off the angel, whose gaze had settled directly on the hunter's chest. Dean tried not to squirm under the scrutiny of a guy who could see clear through him. Hell, who he'd just asked to see clear through him.
Cas tilted his head to the side suddenly, a light frown pinching his eyebrows together in a move so fucking familiar as to be physically painful for the man from the future. "You are not from this time."
He could hear the shuffle behind him, the deep intake of quite breaths from the rest of his family and, yeah, okay, that was fair. It was one thing to suspect your brother was from the future, another to hear him admit to it, and an entirely new experience to have some stranger confirm it in what was practically the first words out of his mouth.
"Deeper," he ground out because damn it, he already knew that part (you're the one that did it, assbutt.) What he needed Cas to see, what he himself needed to know, was buried beneath that. You already know the truth, Dean, you just want to hear it from someone who's not a demon) (whoa, déjà vu…God damn it, God! Come on!)
Dean pulled out of his internal ranting at friggin' primordial, all-powerful, memory thieves to look back at his angel just as Cas's eyes snapped up to lock on his, wide as he had ever seen them. The celestial creature took a step back out of shock, which might as well have been a rock stepping out of the way for an ant, as Dean well knew what it took to physically move something like Castiel when he didn't want to be moved.
"H-How?" the angel asked and Dean already knew. He'd always known, damn it.
"It's grace, isn't it?"
Castiel's searching eyes darted between his own, then down to his chest, and it was all the confirmation he really didn't need. Dean caught the way Castiel's hand twitched at his side, raised for only a moment towards him – to touch his chest, to connect with that grace that was surely his – but he pulled back when the heat of the flames reached his vessel's skin.
Watching the angel watch his soul, the paradox of heart-aching familiarity and the possibility of the completely unknown, Dean made a stupid decision and he made it easily. With two steps, he was through the flames and within the circle of oil, coming face to face with his angel. Castiel didn't move even an inch (of course he didn't), bringing them almost chest to chest.
Oh well, like Dean wasn't uncomfortably used to having no personal space around the guy, even after years of trying to teach him the difference. He tried to ignore the heat that crawled up his back, having nothing to do with the burning holy oil, at the thought of Sam and Bobby seeing it for the first time all over again, though.
Of course, given their cries of surprise and cursing, respectively, along with the shuffle of a second gun joining Bobby's, trained on the scary-ass, unknown, soul-reading creature Dean had just put himself flush up against, the awkward intimacy of the situation was probably not what his family was worrying about so much.
Castiel wasted no time, raising his hand and splaying his palm across Dean's t-shirt, encompassing as much space across his pectorals as he could (Damn it, should have done this alone. Fuck Sam and his dynamic duo, the last thing this utter chick-flick moment needed was a god damnaudience) The angel's hand was warm – no, scratch that, his hand was hot, and holy shit it was like the warmth that had been in his chest for months now was doing backflips now that it was so close to its actual owner. It was like butterflies in his god damn heart and no, fuck you very much, he was not going to read into that, shut up.
Dean had to swallow hard – way harder than he should have had to, damn it, he was fine – as he watched Cas's face, those blue eyes widening as the connection instantly formed between them at the physical contact. (And, yeah, no way the angel wasn't feeling it, what with the way his eyes were practically glowing and he looked more freaked than he had at that brothel.)
"It's yours," he said with a rough voice and then practically choked on the words. That heat flaring up his backside friggin' quadrupled. Shit, that was not something he ever expected – meant – to say, especially to another dude. Especially to another dude while his heart was doing backflips and front flips and sideways flips in his chest while butterflies danced around his rib cage like it was a god damn midsummer night's dream (What, he reads (besides, they made a movie of that one.))
And he absolutely did not hear a stupid school girl in a dumbass skirt and a dumbass beret, with a dumbass, smug smirk on her face as she winks at him and says 'Subtext!'
Fuckity fuck fucking fuck. This was ridiculous is what it was. Still, he didn't move away from that hand and he really kind of hated himself for it. Just a bit.
"Cas?"
The angel finally took a step back, pulling away and looking just as damn reluctant about it as Dean felt. His insides sunk and sagged at the loss, and the hunter rubbed at the warm skin under his t-shirt to try and diminish the weirdly hollow, disappointed feeling that he internally insisted was not his own.
"The grace is mine," Castiel confirmed, blue eyes locking on Dean's and somehow drying out his entire mouth. "However, it is not from me."
Dean could only nod. That made sense, he supposed. Still, he felt it necessary to tack on, "Not yet, anyways."
"I…I sent you through time." The angel's shoulders dropped somewhat at the confirmation-slash-admission. The mix of emotions was a muddled mess on his face as he stared at Dean's chest in both awe and utter confusion. "I do not understand."
Still, there was something about the human before him, who had sent months of prayers and blasphemies, who had entered his prison voluntarily where Castiel could kill with a single move, who carried a sliver of the angel's own grace in his chest. No, Castiel did not understand, but the ever yearning curiosity and need to understand outweighed every other logical thought in his head, and he knew he would not pass further judgment on these men without answers first.
"Explain."
The human huffed out a half laugh, but his body language immediately loosened. He was even smiling as he stepped away and to the side. It opened the angel up to the weapons the other two men carried, but Castiel was neither worried nor bothered. The firearms could not hurt him, and he suspected if they were going to attack, they would have done so already, despite the obvious uncertainty in their tense stances.
"How much time you got?" Dean asked glibly, pulling the angel's attention back to him. There was a giddiness about him, a definite mix of Castiel giving them a chance and the still fuzzy warmth beneath his sternum. "Cuz that's a long story."
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-A/N: Don't freak out! But do yell at me. I hate where this ended too, but I am legitimately out of time; I'm actually late to a screening of Incredibles II, posting this from a café across the street from the theatre . But my friend (and a reader/fan :D) sitting next to me waiting to go to the movie while I have a panic attack about whether or not to post just told me to friggin do the thing cuz she'd rather have Cas sooner than wait. So…blame her? Yeah, let's go with that XD
I will get the next chapter and the resolution of the twist up as soon as it's been edited. Probably by Wednesday, though if you all yell at me lots you know it might happen sooner cuz excited fans may as well have me wrapped around their little pinkies -_-
Cheers till the next chapter!