-A/Ns: Thank you all for the ridiculously awesome flood of feedback to last chapter. I would have had this chapter up sooner, but this is the earliest I could do. And I should so be asleep right now .
-Chapter Warnings: Okay, so, I wrote last chapter and this chapter in the same go, and when I finally got to Castiel, I went from accidentally writing ridiculous innuendoes (not kidding, first few were totally accidental) to throwing them left and right because, screw it, I can and we've waited forty chapters for this, damnit! ;)
So….uh… to those not Destiel Fans who I told last chapter to stick around cuz it's totally subtle…..my bad? Hopefully you enjoy the humor of Dean's entirely unfortunate situation ;)
-Actual Chapter Warnings: Implications/Innuendos/over-the-top hinting at pre-slash Destiel, along with some serious Dean flustered-ness, and a lot more gay [insert jazz hands here]. No actual slash but, oh boy, Bobby's gonna poke some fun and Sam's starting to catch on.
On a less fun note…. kind of one hell of a cliffhanger on this one and that whole don't freak out thing re-applies as we resolve our little character-twist-vessel-crisis.
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The Road So Far (This Time Around)
Season 2: Chapter 11
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Sam was flagging. Justifiably, in his opinion, though he'd be damned if he was going to let any of it show.
He'd recovered a lot over the last five days. A far cry from the shaking, weak mess who could barely grip, let alone use, a crowbar. But waiting around for an angel in an old, poorly insulated barn had done him no favors (despite the growing summer heat, the May nights were still in the fifties). It was also way later and longer than he'd stayed up for a pathetic number of days now. Despite his recovery, he was still taking cat naps through the day, sleeping hard and heavy for more hours more often than he was happy to admit.
The wait had ended up being humiliatingly exhausting. All he'd wanted to do was lay down, and he knew he was in trouble when the straw-strewn ground started looking good. He'd refused to go lie down in the car like Dean had offered several times once Sam was no longer able to hide the minute trembling in his hands (his brother finally reduced to just muttering it beneath his breath as the hours ticked on). Now, the heat of the flames had him breaking out in a sweat out while his body kept trembling as his internal regulation went haywire. It left him a weak, shaky mess confronting the strongest, certainly the most intimidating, supernatural creature he had ever met.
How Dean just stood in front of the angel, like he couldn't feel the tension in the air, the power radiating off the pissed off being, or that intense blue glare, Sam didn't know. He certainly wasn't feeling as strong as his brother right now. He was barely keeping his gun level, and he knew with that trembling in his hands, however fine it was, he'd be an unreliable shot at best.
The kickback from his handgun would probably land him on his ass right now. Pathetic.
He refused to bow to it, however. He wasn't going to leave or show this weakness, especially not a weakness caused by demon blood. It didn't matter how Dean had tried to reassure him, didn't matter if he knew this wasn't his fault. He would not be the 'boy with the demon blood' this time. He would not be an abomination to the angel standing in front of him. He promised himself that much.
"Sam," Dean called slightly over his shoulder, though he no longer had his back completely to them now that he'd stepped to the side and given himself a little more breathing room. "Put the fire out."
Sam blinked at the request. They'd brought a fire extinguisher with them, though they'd hidden it in the back of the barn so it wouldn't give away the trap. Not that Dean actually thought the Castiel of this time knew what a fire extinguisher was. Or maybe he would know but a trap probably wouldn't occur to him right off the bat. As far as his brother had said, the angel hadn't been too hip to modern stuff, at least not in his first few months on Earth.
However, Dean never actually expanded on his plans for the extinguisher, or the fire itself. Only that they needed to trap the angel so he couldn't run off to Heaven before they'd talked some future sense into him.
Sam may not be an expert, but he had kind of expected (still did, actually) that would take more than a handful of sentences and some manboob fondling. But what did he know? His best friend wasn't an angel of the Lord. At least, not yet.
Bobby balked aloud and unabashedly at the proposal, never losing his grip on the shotgun. He cast a look at Sam that clearly said 'don't you listen to that foolheaded brother of yours, ya idjit. Yer both idjits. That angel's an idjit too.' Sam turned back to Dean with conflicting orders and a look that said he was clearly backing Bobby on this one.
"It's okay, he's with us." Although the words were spoken to Sam, they were clearly directed at the angel, even though Dean somehow did so without taking his eyes off of Sammy or his shaking hands. "Right, Cas?"
Castiel tilted his head to the side slightly again, pupils dropping to the hunter's chest for another drawn out moment. When he looked back up, it was with the weirdest mix of perplexed conviction. "I…believe I am."
So, the younger Winchester stumbled his way to the back of the barn to retrieve the extinguisher, although he was still working through his list of reasons why it was a terrible, terrible idea. He tried to hide the fact that he almost tripped on weak legs the best he could. He was pretty sure 'the best he could' wasn't very good at all, considering the looks Dean and, oh crap, Castiel too, were regarding him with once he returned.
He ignored them both, particularly his brother, though the scrutinizing eyes of the angel were perhaps worse in many ways.
Abomination.
Boy with the demon blood.
Addict.
Sam hefted the extinguisher in his arms, pulled the pin, and depressed the trigger. The holy oil doused easily; once a part of the circle was broken the rest seemed to snuff itself out. It allowed Sam to set the hefty metal canister onto the floor a bit sooner, which was good because he was pretty sure he was only a couple minutes away from dropping it.
Damn, he really thought he'd come further than this.
At first, Castiel did not react to the diminished flames or his newly found freedom. Even as Dean backed off a couple steps, breaking past that circle of scorched ground, the angel remained still, staring at the youngest Winchester. Under that piercing gaze, head tilted like a curious bird, and body unmoving in a way that was very not human, Sam felt incredibly self-conscious. Dean looked about to interfere, glancing between the angel and his brother, when Castiel stepped forward with an intense purpose that frankly frightened the young man barely standing on his own two feet.
"Cas, wait-" Dean went to grab the angel's arm but only pinched tan fabric. Bobby stepped right in between the angel and his boys, barrel of his gun pressed straight to Castiel's chest and his own body blocking the way in a suicidal move worthy of the Winchester family. Somehow, despite all that, Sam still found two fingers pressed to his forehead, even as he leaned back at the sudden proximity and unexpected contact.
"Bobby, don't!" was all he heard before something warm and fresh and healing spread through him. He gasped in surprised, the sound drowned out by the blast of a shotgun way too close for comfort. Sam stumbled away from the gunfire instinctually, and blinked in shock as his legs held steady beneath him and his lungs expanded free of the tightness and ache that had been weighing heavy across his chest for days.
"What?" he whispered, barely getting the syllable out, as the reality of what happened refused to register in his bewildered mind. The first thing he could think to do was raise his dominant hand – his shooting hand – and stare at the outstretched limb, fingers splayed at chest level, steady as a rock. No tremble, minute or otherwise.
Sam forgot how to make his lungs work. For the first time in days he had the full lung capacity and muscle strength to do it, and he just couldn't breathe. He hadn't wanted to admit it, even to just himself, but the persistent trembling for days now had started to eat at him like rot. The other symptoms had all lessened while the tremor remained. You couldn't be a hunter with a shaky gun hand. You couldn't kill demons who could disappear in the blink of an eye. You couldn't stop the apocalypse as a handicapped, ex-addict with the shakes.
He patted himself down absently, realizing that the residual pain in his bones and joints and muscles, lingering for days, was completely gone. He felt good. He felt strong, but not like he had on the demon blood. This strength felt like himself and, he realized, blinking away the watery emotion that rebelliously filled his eyes, he felt clean.
"Sam?" His older brother was still holding Cas's sleeve, for all the good it did them. Sam stared at the picture the three of them made for a moment: Dean clutching the angel's coat like a child, Bobby's shotgun braced in his shoulder, barrel still smoking, while the old hunter stared in shock at the ease with which the angel had gripped the barrel and forced the gun to the side, harmlessly shooting buckshot and salt into the already crumbling ceiling. Castiel seemed oblivious to both of them and their surprise, standing like an unmovable statue regarding the healed Winchester.
"Dean?" Sam echoed vaguely, still surprised at the healthy feel of life in his bones. He stared down at his hands again, amazed.
"He heal you?" Dean asked kind of cautiously, though it was obvious from the growing smile on his face that he already knew exactly what the angel had done.
"He can do that?" Still dazed, Sam sort of mumbled back, the question rather wasted, since the answer was obvious.
"Partially," Castiel interrupted, hand still on the gun, arm still (sort of) restrained by the older Winchester. He hadn't bothered moving, standing there like some wax sculpture in a sleepy-time tax accountant getup. "I could not cleanse you of the infection entirely; the demonic taint is too rooted in your blood. A small amount remains."
Sam fought off the wince, but was somewhat relieved that the angel's tone remained completely neutral about the infection that rotted beneath his skin and made him not completely human. And, in Sam's opinion, not completely good either. But that was an internal discussion for another night. Dean looked pretty darn pleased with Castiel's neutrality as well, standing there grinning like a kid at his sixth birthday party when all his friends – even the ones who lived really far away – showed up. Not that either of the Winchester boys knew what a birthday party was actually like.
Castiel turned towards the older of the two brothers, releasing the shotgun so Bobby could finally lower it. He immediately looked to Sam, eyes wide and filled with parental concern.
The angel raised his hand, fingers splayed and palm hovering over Dean's chest once more. "May I?"
Dean fumbled with the sudden return to uncomfortable territory, unable to stop himself from glancing at the others. But he couldn't deny the way his chest flipped and sung at just the possibility of that connection again.
God damn chick flick crap.
"It's your grace, dude," he replied with forced nonchalance, eyes darting again to his surrogate father figure, who was giving Sam a quick once-over and hunter-esque run down to make sure Cas hadn't done more than heal him. So far, it looked like the gruff old man might finally not shoot the angel as soon as he got the chance.
Then that hand was pressing against him and his chest was flipping the fuck out, and Dean had to work hard to breathe through the warmth and overwhelming happy. Which was just friggin' ridiculous.
Castiel stood solid for several long, silent minutes as he stared straight past his fingers, through Dean's chest to the grace settled beyond. His expression slowly tightened, eyes narrowing and brow beginning to pinch as that focus deepened.
As the moment dragged on to the point where Dean was thinking an awkward cough or throat clearing was definitely in order – anything to make the angel realize he was standing practically flushed against him, hand on his chest like a friggin' damsel – Castiel pulled his hand back.
Or, at least, he tried to.
The angel's hand drew back, palm and fingers spread wide and straining, and Dean's chest followed without his consent. Though the hand on his chest remained flat against him, the hunter felt the pull as surely as if the angel had fisted his shirt and tugged him closer. He leaned into the weight a few inches before he realized what he was doing and started drawing back.
Cas frowned at his hand, stuck flush to the hunter like he'd glued it there, and tried again. Dean just moved with the limb, no space created between the angel's palm and his chest. He had to take a step forward that time to counteract the sharper tug.
The hunter stared wide-eyed at the physical connection between them, oblivious to the equally panicked eyes of his family beside them. Castiel's face screwed up in concentration and Dean let out a little gasp of surprise as the pull behind his sternum manifested like a bowling ball rolling straight into the wrong side of his body. A warm, wriggling bowling ball that Dean suddenly realized was Castiel's grace.
His friend only frowned and tugged harder.
"C-Cas-" Dean was finding it a little harder to breath at the uncomfortable pressure that continued to build with each of the angel's failed attempts. He wasn't exactly sure how to phrase his concern as anything other than 'I don't think it wants you doing that, buddy.'
The angel's eyes sharpened into that dangerous land of righteous I-Am-An-Angel-Of-The-Lord-And-You-Will-Listen-To-Me, and he pulled hard enough to make Dean stagger forward with a weak cry as that heavy mass tried to get from the inside to the outside, Alien style. Sam and Bobby were between them almost immediately, fast enough that if Dean hadn't been dealing with something kind of terrifying and definitely painful at the moment, he would have been impressed and just a touch honored. Sam caught his brother before he could hit the deck and probably give one of his knees a real good tweaking. Bobby bodily shoved Castiel away, staunchly planting himself between the entity and one of his kids once more. He didn't bother training the shotgun on the angel – not enough distance between them to do so and no point anyway, he was realizing – but kept it raised as a warning barrier, even knowing it was nothing but a peashooter to his opponent.
There wasn't a need, it turned out, as Castiel allowed himself to be pushed and stayed there. His expression was just as surprised as the others, eyes blown wide as he stared at the gasping hunter and tried to process what had just occurred. The angel obviously needed a minute himself, shaking off the after effects as he straightened once more.
"I-" he cut himself off, clearly out of sorts still. "My apologies. I sought to alleviate you of my grace."
Dean managed to right himself from his half-bowed position, hand pressed to his sore chest. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he didn't know if that was him or Cas in there ratcheting up his blood pressure. Could have been from fear or the actual physical danger that had left his torso feeling like it had taken a cannonball to the chest, only in reverse. Either way, Dean promptly ignored the way his chest constricted at the very idea of losing the warmth buried happily in there (not happily, that's friggin' girly. My chest doesn't do girly. It's just buried in there, damn it.)
"Yeah," he wheezed out instead, giving a light cough to clear his recovering lungs from their tightness. "I'm guessing Dorothy didn't want to go back to Kansas."
Castiel immediately tilted his head to the side. "I do not understand that reference."
Dean could kiss him, he really could. No, wait, scratch that. Dean could hug him, he really could. Dudes hugged all the time.
"It seems I cannot extract it," Castiel continued, oblivious, but looking bereft at the perceived failure. "Your soul is inexplicably tied to the fragment. It will not release it."
Bobby immediately huffed, still standing as a human barrier and not looking like he would be moving anytime soon. "You telling us Dean's got an angel's soul wrapped around his?"
Dean fought off the flush that tried to heat his cheeks. There was no wrapping involved here, damn it. This wasn't some rom-com snuggle up. Cas was just inside him, alright? No, shit, that's not what he meant. Damn it, he had not just thought that. He'd thought… uh… Cas was just…he was riding around in his chest, alright? Jesus.
Castiel turned from staring at Bobby to staring at Dean, confusion and a little concern starting to change that stoic expression spread across his features. It didn't last long (just enough for Dean to start panicking about the angel reading those pesky surface thoughts and oh, yeah, they were going to have to have that talk again) before Cas retrained his intense gaze on the older hunter. "That is a… crude analogy, but not entirely incorrect. Angels do not have souls, nor are we capable of…wrapping around anything. However, our grace is our essence and, as such, could be considered equivalent."
"So…yer essence is all up in Dean's business?"
The older Winchester let out an undignified sound that was in no way a squawk – no way – and followed it up with one hell of a glare in his surrogate father's direction. This night just kept getting better and better, didn't it? Thank God that Castiel, at least, remained oblivious.
"The slice of grace within Dean's soul is very small: an almost unnoticeable sliver, unless you are looking for it. It should not have had the power needed to integrate with a human vessel." The angel frowned, eyes shifting down to the Winchester's chest once more. "Even if it did, Dean's soul should have acted as a barrier. They should have remained separated as the soul rejected the presence of foreign power once its trip through the timestream was complete."
Castiel just stood there frowning at his rib cage and Dean could suddenly empathize with bugs and frogs and whatever else kids pinned down and dissected these days.
"For the grace to resist rejoining mine so strongly, I suspect Dean's soul initiated the integration and is now refusing to let go."
Well that was just insulting. He was Dean Friggin' Winchester, damn it. He was not clingy.
Bobby snorted something unseemly, which had Dean glaring at him again, but the more distressing reaction was Sam's climbing eyebrows. The kid was clearly starting to catch on to Bobby's amusement. Dean opened his mouth to cut that off right at the head, here and now, damnit, when Castiel looked up at him rather than down at his chest.
"It is most unusual. You would have to be intimately familiar with my grace for such a coupling to occur." Those blue eyes never left his as he moved around Bobby to approach Dean, who didn't try to stop him (and damn it, now the old man was going to side with the angel?!). That was his excuse for why he practically jumped out of his skin when Castiel's hand found its way back to his chest.
What a friggin' site they made, the pair of them. Why was it his feet refused to listen to his screaming head (back the fuck up RIGHT. NOW.) all because his chest was back to melting into a pile of useless, humiliating goo.
"Have I – the me from your time – put a part of myself inside you before-"
"Okay, you know what-" Dean cut in before Cas could fully finish that flat out ridiculous line of questioning. It was too late, though. Bobby damn near choked on his own saliva, covering it with a coughing fit and gesturing at the dust and straw on the floor as a piss-poor excuse. Castiel turned his head to stare at the ailing hunter in confusion and the beginnings of concern. Sam, meanwhile, was biting his lip trying not to laugh, arms crossed over his chest as he stared expectantly and with no small amount of glee – evil, ugly, smug, son of a bitch, little brother glee – in his eye.
Dean's legs finally got the message from his all-out-screaming brain and the hunter backed the fuck away from his friend, whose hand was still splayed against his chest. Dean shoved the disappointment from the loss of that touch down so hard and so fast, the soles of his feet hurt from it. As well they fucking should.
"I didn't realize you were into having angel parts inside you, Dean," Sam offered almost casually. Nonchalantly, even. The bastard.
"It would be unhealthy if he was," Castiel interjected, completely serious, because angels didn't fucking do sarcasm. No, scratch that. Almost every angel the Winchesters had ever encountered – would encounter – had no problem with sarcasm. It was just this angel (of course).
Said angel was turning back to him, concern and a little bit of horror bright in his eyes at the implication that Dean was partaking in angel grace like it was mother-friggin' cupcake and he was a fat kid in a candy shop. "I have no idea the consequences of merging grace with a human soul, but I doubt they are good. If the me of your time has been inserting himself into you-"
By that point, Bobby gave up trying to hide that he was flat-out dying, attempting his darnedest to snort and choke his way into an early grave. Worse, Sam was only a few steps shy of joining him, not so inconspicuously wiping at the corner of his eyes as he laughed outright. Ignoring them both, because fuck that, Dean proclaimed, loudly, "You raised me from hell, you stupid son of a bitch!"
Castiel, concerned gaze turned once more to observe what he perceived as two ailing humans having inexplicable trouble breathing, snapped his head back around so fast the motion was nearly a blur. It made Dean choke on whatever words were left on his tongue because, damn, that was not exactly how he'd meant to break that particular sheet of ice.
His brother and Bobby managed to quiet down as well, composing themselves rather quickly given their previous state. Of course, now they were serious. Typical. But Sam hadn't heard the entirety of this tale yet, and Bobby had only gotten the cliff-note version.
Cas was still staring at him, eyes wide, before that blue gaze sank, so damn slowly, to his heart and the eighty-year-old soul hidden beneath.
"Your soul has been in Perdition," he practically whispered, vessel sucking in a breath it didn't need. Castiel didn't know how he had missed it before. Well, yes, he did; he had been justifiably distracted by the presence of angelic grace – his grace – where such a thing should not be.
But now that he was searching for it, Castiel could see the scar as clearly as the rest of the dancing ball of light and life. A dark blemish that ran the length of the otherwise bright and astonishingly good soul. The fragment of grace sat, heavy in the crevice like molded clay, filling the expanse left from years in Hell, burrowing into the edges to seal off the crevice from the rest of the human's soul. Protecting it. Trying to fix it, like such a thing was possible. Castiel was not in a place to evaluate the plausibility of such a decision, made by a version of himself he hardly recognized.
The edges of the mark where the sliver clung to had traces of the same essence, only older: faded and grown into the fabric of the soul as if it had been there at its construction. No, its re-construction. He had remade the bindings of this soul. He had meshed together the broken pieces, irreparably altered and shattered by their time in Hell, and bound the revitalized life to the human flesh that stood before him. Castiel resisted the very un-angelic need to step away from that realization and all that it entailed.
"Sold my soul to save my brother," the man was answering the question Castiel hadn't asked, and the angel used the distracting sound of his voice to draw his attention away from the chaos and panic overtaking his mind.
Dean's answer was rote. Calm. Even. Simple fact. Green eyes darted over to his brother's, meeting the uncertainty, the fear of a terrifying future, and the determination to never see it come to pass, all in one. With a nod to Sammy, Dean turned back to his (hopefully) future friend, who was looking incredibly freaked out.
Well, at least that's how he looked to the only person in the barn able to read him that well.
"Do you know what breaks the First Seal, Cas?"
Castiel found his vessel trying to swallow, unnecessarily, around a large and painful lump in his throat that had not been there seconds ago. In fact, there were many growing causes for alarm happening with his current host. There was a dampness to his palms, the heartbeat was growing erratic, and his stomach felt as though it at a pit as concave as the lump in his throat was convex. He checked James Novak over quickly for the source of the disturbance, but there was nothing ailing him. Nothing to pinpoint the flush of heat or pounding heart. Nothing to further distract from the damning words the Dean Winchester had spoken.
"So it is time," Castiel spoke softly, gaze dropping off to the side. It explained the increased presence of demons on earth, why they had appeared so quickly and in such great numbers when he and Balthazar had touched down. It explained other things too, things he hoped didn't need explanations. "There have been rumors in Heaven. My superiors were investigating the possibility."
"They're in on it." Dean winced at the way Cas's eyes locked on him. The fierce 'no' in that gaze was something he knew he was going to have to break. "I'm sorry. Read my memories, use your mojo on me. It's the truth. I'm the Righteous Man, Cas. In two years I break that seal, and Heaven doesn't lift a finger to stop it."
Castiel realized, as he began to identify the growing pit in the bottom of his borrowed stomach as horror, that he didn't need to read Dean Winchester's mind. He believed him. Which was unsettling in a way he was unsure he had ever before experienced. He knew the man before him wasn't lying. He could sense it, without trying, and more than that, he just knew. It may have been the grace within the man's chest oscillating with his own, or perhaps the influencing fraction he had absorbed when trying to remove it. It could have been that he'd known Zachariah was lying all this time, though he hadn't known quiet what to call it or just how big the lie was.
Still, it should take more. He should need more to be so wholly convinced, to so readily accept this man's horrific words as truth.
A truth that was… enormous. The implications alone were… well, apocalyptic. This was something that needed proof, not the whim of a mere feeling. Feelings he shouldn't even possess. Castiel had always been different. Built wrong, he sometimes thought. Angels did not operate on feelings. They investigated. They were precise. They processed and assessed. And then they reported their findings to Heaven, as was their duty. A soldier had no use for feelings.
"I believe you," was what he heard himself say instead, voice coming out far rougher than he'd intended and not forming any of the words he had surely been thinking. It was frustrating, the way this body betrayed him when he was certain he had complete control over it.
The angel squared his human shoulders. This was no time for fear or uncertainty; he was a Warrior of God. A little voice in that back of his mind (with an unnecessary British lilt) decided to suggest that this was the perfect opportunity for uncertainty. Very definition of the right time, in fact.
Castiel pushed Balthazar's voice back down. This was not a time for wishful thinking or nostalgic dalliances or for voices of dead brothers to be speaking about in his head. He was a warrior of God, and whether or not he had known it going into the summons, he now had a mission. Castiel could not act until he determined the human's words as truth or fiction. ('You already know it's the truth, Cassie') ('Stop speaking, Balthazar. You're dead and I've things to do.')
So, the angel focused on that small wisp of grace he had managed to ease away from the human who had held it so close and refused to release the rest. The drop of power might have been near nothing in comparison to the vast ocean the rest of his grace comprised, but it was, by the very nature of angelic essence, an ocean unto itself. In this case, an ocean with a message in a bottle floating along the top.
"The Darkness?"
Dean straightened at Cas's unexpected rebuttal. The angel had done that thing where he turned inward, gaze not focused on anything and eyes just a little glazed over with otherness. That slight, not human thing that all supernatural creatures seemed to possess in one way or another. Dean assumed he was working through the giant-ass bombshell he'd just dropped on the guy. You know, the one that had taken months, a battle-to-the-almost-death-of-his-vessel, bible boot camp, and a painful, final confrontation in a room decked out by friggin' Louie the XIV, before Dean had finally gotten through to Cas last time.
God's sister wasn't exactly what he'd been expecting the angel to come back with.
"You remember?" he asked, trying and failing to quash the hopefulness in his voice. But Castiel was already shaking his head in the negative.
"I was only able to absorb a fraction of the grace left within you. It contained information, not memories," he gave as an answer, eyes still a tad too unfocused to be entirely in the here and now. He seemed to be struggling with the words of a language he spoke fluently but not culturally. "My future self left…a note? Is that an accurate analogy?"
"Yeah, that works." Dean nodded, because it did, near enough. He absentmindedly rubbed at his chest, where the skin was still warm and the grace beneath had finally calmed the fuck down, apparently cluing in to the tone of conversation going on. "So you can't get the rest out, huh?"
He didn't know if he was asking out of disappointment or relief.
Castiel shook his head once more. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Dean's answer came way too readily for that previous emotion to ever be disappointment. He chose to ignore the side-eye his family was giving him and then promptly moved the hell on. "Did the note say anything else?"
Cas straightened in a way that screamed military training, like he'd just been handed his marching orders rather than a chunk of what was essentially his soul carrying a note from the future. "It said to trust you. To assist the Righteous Man and stop the Apocalypse."
Dean couldn't really quantify the relief that flooded him at those words. From the reaction of the rest of his family, the feeling was felt all around. Given that he might have implied anything from death to imprisonment by Heaven as a possible ending to this meeting… well, Dean could hardly blame them for breathing a sigh of pure relief.
Until he noticed that look in Cas's eye. That look he got every time he knew he had to disappoint Dean. This angel probably wasn't very familiar with it yet, but Dean could spot that thing from a mile away, mid battle. It was the look Castiel had given him in Zachariah's holding room when he'd begged the angel to give up everything to save Sam. Not the world. No, Dean knew what he'd been asking and it hadn't been for the sake of the world or for what was right, as much as he swore it at the time. It had been for Sammy, and the look Cas sent his way, the look he was wearing right now, said he knew it.
"You can't, can you?" Dean offered, since Cas looked like he was struggling to say anything at all.
Those blue eyes looked away, down to Dean's chest again. The hunter felt more than saw his brother come up beside him, just over his shoulder. He knew the sasquatch had to be tense, that worried little frown pinching between his eyes. Sam knew the consequences of this particular angel not playing ball, which sounded dangerously like what was about to happen.
"Cas?"
"That is not my name." The angel still wasn't looking at him, and the response was miserable, as if it was the only fight he had left. Dean didn't like being the reason his friend sounded that way. He'd done it an ample number of times in the years he'd known the angel. Certainly long after Cas knew him well enough to know what he was in for each time. It was a new and quite particular variety discouragement to cause that in a Castiel that had known him all of twenty minutes.
So Dean didn't scoff at that fact that yes it was his name, but he didn't correct himself, either.
"I need time," the angel supplied finally, taking a breath he didn't need as he squared his borrowed body and faced the three hunters with as much resolve as an angel in the middle of a crisis of faith could have. "I…I need to process this. It is a lot of information to assimilate. I need…"
"Time to think," Sam supplied helpfully, a far more gracious and understanding expression on his face than his brother's. Sam turned to Dean, that look growing a hell of a lot more expectant, which just wasn't fair in Dean's. "We can understand that."
"Yeah, alright," the man from the future grumbled, trying not to take it personally that Cas wasn't prepared to drop everything he'd ever known, including his home and his family, for some guy he'd just met. Really, Dean could understand all of that. He'd just…hoped. Stupidly. What else was new in this damn timeline he was doomed to repeat. "Take whatever time you need. When, uh, when you've made up your mind, you can meet us at Bobby's."
He rattled off the address, and Castiel nodded solemnly, committing the information to memory immediately. The angel stood there another moment, silence stretching between the three in a way that he understood was incorrect but did not have the wherewithal to identify as awkward. Castiel was just about to leap into the ether, the conversation obviously concluded by the lack of further discussion, when Dean Winchester spoke again.
"Cas, wait."
The tension in his wings, gripped close to his true form but angled in preparation to catch the currents of the ether, dissipated with a single thought. He lifted his head and trained his borrowed eyes on the man he had sent through time, who was staring at him with something very akin to desperation but looked a lot more like anger.
"Yes, Dean?"
Something shook loose in those green pools, and Castiel tilted his head. Humans made such little sense, and he did not understand how something as simple as the hunter's name could so quickly distract him of whatever fears he'd had. The man's surface thoughts were of little help, as Castiel had no idea what a 'catchphrase' was.
"I know you need time," the hunter started speaking, drawing the angel's focus back. He really needed to strengthen control over his wandering thoughts. It was unprincipled and inexcusable. And worryingly akin to the voice of his deceased brother. "Whatever you choose, I get it, alright? But you can't tell Heaven about this."
Blue eyes locked on the human instantly, and whatever focus Castiel had been lacking before was suddenly laser-sharp. Dean winced beneath that gaze, knowing what he was asking but, in true Dean Winchester style, he didn't care. The world was kind of depending on Cas not running off to tell Heaven all about this powwow, and that was all Dean needed to be demanding about it. He opened his mouth to say as much, probably as unhelpfully as possible, so it was a good thing Sam beat him to it.
"Did the note say what's coming?" Sam's words were softer, more understanding, and definitely not what Dean would have blurted out. He sent his kid brother a look that was probably as annoyed as it was thankful. The returning bitchface said Sam got the message (#9: 'You're really bad at this, so shut up and let me do the talking.')
Castiel's piercing gaze shifted to the younger Winchester, and Dean managed not to wince again, but just barely. Sam handled the sudden, intense scrutiny with grace, though Dean knew the kid well enough to see how nervous he was. Beneath it all, sometimes Sam was still that thirteen year old kid in his freshman year at his fourth high school in as many months, who just wanted people to like him.
"Did it say how everything turns out?" Sam clarified, for lack of anything else to do under that harrowing stare. The angel nodded, though he looked particularly wrecked to do so, and Sam couldn't help wondering if it was even possible for a human body to move that solemnly, like living stone, or if it was purely an angelic thing. "Then you know we can stop it. We're going to stop it. But right now, Heaven wants the apocalypse to happen; they'll try and force it. If they find out Dean's from the future, that he knows it's coming and can stop it…"
Sam glanced to his brother. Dean gave him a barely perceptible nod to keep going.
"I know we're asking a lot of you." The younger Winchester turned back to the angel who, though his expression had hardly changed, looked even more wretched with each damning truth Sam was speaking. It was something about his eyes. Sam couldn't explain it, and now he knew why Dean hadn't even tired. "You barely know us-"
"I know enough," Castiel cut him off, rock-gargled voice deep and without hesitation, despite the expression that hardly matched that sureness. In fact, he looked like he hadn't even meant to say it aloud, which was almost comical on the stoic angel. Sam blinked, though, because that sounded like they'd just won him over. At least, maybe on the not-reporting-back-to-Heaven clause, which Sam honestly thought would be the hardest fight.
Distractedly, he wondered what that note could have possibly said to cause the angel to believe them. Whatever it was, it must have been convincing, because Castiel straightened to his full height, which was nothing on the brothers, particularly Sam, of course. Still, he presented like a stone wall and Sam didn't doubt for a second that there was little in this universe that could take the guy down.
"I understand. I will return in an hour with…" Castiel paused, once again at loss for the word he was looking for, only now realizing he was not entirely sure what it was it was he was agreeing to return with. He had just agreed, against every aspect of his training, of his duty, of his own creation and purpose, not to report back to Heaven. Now, though…. These men would expect a resolution, he supposed. A decision as to whether or not he was…what?
You're with us. Right, Cas?
With them. That was the question they were asking.
It's okay. He's with us.
Which meant… not with Heaven.
Castiel supposed this was what panic felt like, or as close to it as an angel could come. He shouldn't be feeling anything like this at all, but that only seemed to be worsening the problem. What he needed was time and distance and silence.
Most of all silence.
He should seek revelation. Surely God would have something to say on this matter. Guidance, at the very least, though command would be preferable. Of course, none in the Host had heard from their Father in some time, but surely this – the Apocalypse, a flagrant disruption to time-space continuum, the dissolution of a plan He had written to fruition – surely that would be worthy of His attention.
Castiel could not move forward without his Father's consent. He could not disobey the will of Heaven, unless they had truly broken from their Father's hand. Only then could he return with whatever it was the Winchesters were expecting of him.
"I will return with an answer," he finally supplied, though that didn't sound quite right. He was at a loss for what else to say, however, and decided rather than taking the time to further question it, or wait for one of the humans to supply it for him, it would be best to take his leave. Castiel was a second away from launching into flight – he needed that silence and peace now – when distress flared from the grace that wasn't his and wasn't in him. He very nearly stumbled from a completely standstill position and managed not to from sheer will power and a counter flap of his wing.
Castiel looked down at his grounded vessel to find Dean Winchester's hand wrapped around his wrist. The angel stared at the fingers curled atop the tan coat that Jimmy had put on as he left his house, hoping not to wake his wife or child as he spoke with the angel asking him to say yes. How strange the touch felt, now. Castiel had not taken a vessel in a century or more, and angels did not share physical contact in the same way as humans.
Focus, he (and apparently Balthazar) thought. Castiel raised his eyes back to the hunter.
"Cas." Dean started to speak and then faltered, even as the angel tried to assess what had caused that flare still echoing through both of them. Dean continued to flounder, tongue working but no words coming forth. Castiel's eyes narrowed as he sorted through surface thoughts for the cause of this new, baffling distress keeping him from his silence and revelation.
'Claire.'
The name meant nothing to him, but it stirred something deep within his borrowed skin. It took the angel a moment to realize the sensation was Jimmy Novak, waking, and he frowned at the change. He did not like to cause unnecessary strain or stress to those who served as his vessel, and he knew that containing an angel was not an entirely pleasant experience.
He was just about to push the human soul back into peaceful slumber when Dean spoke.
"You can't stay in that vessel."
His teeth ground together in a way Castiel knew, though he was unsure how, meant the man did not like what he was having to confess. His body was rigid and there was a fight in his stance. Were it anyone other, Castiel would be preparing to physically defend himself. In this human, however, he understood it as resolve. Pure stubbornness of the Winchester family line, which Castiel was unlikely to win against. In conclusion, Dean disliked asking what he was asking, but he would not back down from this request. No, that wasn't right. Demand. Dean Winchester did not request things when he was like this.
How Castiel knew any of this was baffling and deeply troubling. He was beginning to think that fragment of grace had more than just information.
"That guy, Jimmy, he's got a family," Dean continued, still through gritted teeth, still clasping Castiel's coat. "A wife and a kid. Damn it, Cas, he's got an awesome kid. And if he doesn't go home to them… it's gonna fuck 'em up. Bad. They don't deserve that; Claire doesn't deserve that."
Castiel stared, surprise flaring within him, at the desperate, pleading, goodness of this human. He could not explain it. He had met many humans throughout his millennia of living, and many of those souls had been good. But Dean Winchester's shone brightest of all his Father's creations he had yet seen. He had grossly overlooked it in that house some time ago, before a Baku had made itself known and demons descended.
Now, though, he was baring witness to what he had missed, because he could feel the ache of Dean's request. It was buried deep in the human's words, and that drop of borrowed grace was translating what he could not decipher for himself. Dean held some unknown attachment to this vessel that Castiel did not understand. It seemed to center around the tan article of clothing he was currently grasped onto, but that made little sense to the angel.
Furthering the grief eddying through his conscience were thoughts a young woman, blonde and fierce and foul-tempered, but Dean's emotions towards those memories were fond and proud. This was clearly Claire, aged to the time that Dean had been sent back from, and he obviously held some parental love for this child. That relationship would not exist if James Novak were returned to his family. Still, Dean asked (no, demanded) not for himself, but for her sake.
"You gotta find someone else, man. Someone without a family to leave behind or a life to fuck up."
Dean's tone was adamant. Castiel understood his request. For deep within his borrowed body, Jimmy's soul rejoiced at his beautiful daughter grown up, and yet simultaneously wailed in terrible grief, seeing and hearing all that Castiel did. The angel was humbled by the human's love and pain, as he was humbled by the honorable soul his Father had chosen to bare the weight of being the Righteous Man.
However, Castiel did not believe Dean understood what it was he was asking. The difficulty of such a task – the improbability of success – outweighed the sentiment and honor behind it a dozen times over. The angel tried to say as much. "What you're asking is difficult."
"I don't care," Dean cut in sharply, causing the angel to stare. "Get it done, Cas. You can't stay in Jimmy; Claire deserves a father."
Behind him, Bobby cleared his throat and Sam made an aborted nudge at his back. Dean caught both, but he didn't care. This was non-negotiable. Claire Novak wasn't going to end up losing her father and her mother twice. Castiel could go find some old geezer on the edge of death with no family to abandon or be hunted down by demons should shit go south (which it always, always did).
"Ask him," he said instead, no less fiercely, as he nodded at Castiel. "Ask Jimmy. Claire's an amazing kid, and she's going to grow into a kickass woman, but she deserves a life with her parents. She deserves a childhood. Don't take that away from her twice, Cas."
Castiel hardly needed to converse with the soul he guarded to know his answer, but he did so anyway. James was his charge, and as such, his health and well being were Castiel's responsibility. Jimmy was an honorable man; the angel knew he would not renege on their agreement to serve as his vessel, but Castiel could also tell he wanted to. The sheer panic flaring through the soul in painful bursts was enough for the angel to understand how desperately James Novak wished to return to his family, despite his noble desires to serve God and Heaven. Castiel was quickly becoming certain that nothing else would calm the agitated soul, and this current state of alarm was hardly healthy. As his charge, Castiel had no other discourse but to return him to his family to ensure his well being.
'You keep telling yourself it's for that soul in your chest.' That British voice was back. 'And not to see those pretty green eyes go all mushy again.'
"I understand," Castiel announced, firmly ignoring his dead brother's voice in his head, half of whose words he didn't understand anyway. How a voice in his head could say things he himself did not know the meaning of was beyond him. He may have promised not to report these proceedings to Heaven, but he was very seriously considering reporting Balthazar's voice, if only to be free of it. "Your request is neither easy nor pertinent, but I will do what I can to fulfill it."
Then he was gone.
-o-o-o-
Sam was the first to break the silence that settled in the sudden absence of the angel. (And thanks for the warning on that one, Dean. 'Angels can teleport,' that's all you had to say. Jerk.) He skewered Dean with a look that was one part little brother, two part bitchface (mostly #5: 'Did you really just say that?' with a hint of #7: 'Really, Dean. Really?')
"What?" the older of the two rebuked defensively, rolling his shoulders as he tried to release some of the built up tension he hadn't even realized he was carrying throughout that encounter. It could have gone a lot worse, he supposed. Could have gone better, too.
"You don't think that was a little…"
"What?"
Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed, and shrugged defensively, "I don't know, harsh?"
Dean scoffed, looking at Bobby, but the older hunter wasn't exactly rearing to back him up. He gave an apologetic one-shouldered shrug that pretty much said, 'yer brother's got a point, kid.' Dean looked back at Sam, annoyed that he was more annoyed than he should be. "Seriously? The guy's an angel. He can take it."
"Maybe your Cas could," Sam answered, shaking his head, "but that Castiel doesn't know us yet, Dean. You pretty much demanded he go find another vessel, something you told me aren't just hanging out on every street corner."
"He can't stay in Jimmy," he argued immediately, again more defensive that he knew he had a right to be and unsure why he was so damn frustrated by Sammy calling him out on this and Bobby backing him up. "You don't know Claire, but she doesn't deserve this life, Sammy. She's gonna grow up normal this time. Don't you get that?"
"No, I get it, Dean. I do." Sam sighed, some of his bitchface slipping at how damn desperate his brother was looking under all that hotheadedness. Dean had always had a soft spot for kids, even if he tried to play it off like he couldn't stand them. It only got worse with kids caught up in the wake of the supernatural, like he had been. "I'm just saying, we're asking the guy to turn his back on his home, his family, without much more than our word that he should. You could at least be nice about it."
Dean was halfway to telling them they didn't have time to coddle the guy, words already formed and flowing from his mouth, when he realized that wasn't true. For once in their lives, they weren't on a ticking time bomb of a deadline to the next end of the world as they knew it. They had the time to do this right, and Dean just hadn't wanted to… what? Patiently wait for his friend to come around?
He'd never been great at that, though. Even he knew that when it came to Cas, he wasn't the most patient or understanding guy. He'd seen firsthand how maybe not-well Cas handled expectations he couldn't possibly live up to.
Dean sometimes forgot that his friend was so much more than just an angel. Sometimes he got lost in how powerful Cas was, how seemingly untouchable and, yeah, a handy guy to have in your corner. But he also remembered plenty well – well enough to wish he didn't – the times when Cas hadn't been that angel. When he had been hurting, down for the count or struggling with things no angel was ever meant to deal with, like PTSD or Falling or becoming the new Lucifer in the eyes of his entire family. Things he had walked right into for the sake of saving the world. No, that wasn't right and Dean knew it. It wasn't the world Cas cared so much about, it was the Winchesters. Always had been.
Maybe seeing that all-powerful, entitled dick from seven years ago, the one who wasn't ready to lay down on the wire for him and his brother yet, had kick-started those old fallbacks.
'I needed to be useful.'
Dean swallowed down the reactionary noise at that memory, of a dead angel standing on a dock in his head with that miserable look on his face, claiming he'd unleashed Lucifer on the world, let the damn Devil possess his body, so he could still be something to the Winchesters.
Instead of doing what he really wanted to do (which was swear like a sailor and maybe break a few things with his fists until his chest felt better), Dean let out a frustrated, garbled noise and ran a hand through his hair. Alright, so Sammy had a point. Maybe demanding shit of the angel they'd only just met wasn't the coolest move.
He'd apologize to Cas when he came back in whatever grandpa skin he found.
Of course, all of that went right out the window when Castiel flapped into existence in Bobby Singer's living room exactly fifty nine minutes later, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and possibly the most gorgeous woman Dean had ever laid eyes on.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
-A/Ns: Before anyone goes freaking out, lemme esplain! (For those of you not freaking out, feel free to skip the novel-length author's notes and review instead ;)
-No Jimmy? Not yet, I'm afraid. First things first: this isn't permanent. We *will* be seeing Jimmy Novak (as Cas) again. In the meantime, why did I do this? Well, when I started the story, I made a commitment to stay true to the characters. I take great pride in writing them believably, but it comes with consequences. One day I was thinking up how Claire was going to end up in the story, and it was like I hit a brick wall of 'oh shit.' Once Dean thought about Claire and what losing her dad did to her, he would never let Castiel stay in Jimmy.
Well, crap.
So that was that. I realized I had a problem on my hands. I could get rid of it the easy way: have Cas refuse or find some reason why he couldn't leave Jimmy. But if there is one thing I've learned in storytelling, it's that limitations breed creativity. If you throw away an idea or use a shortcut because it's convenient, your writing will suffer. So here we are! Castiel needs a new vessel.
…..Great, so now what?
-Why A Female Cas? I decided pretty quickly that if *I* couldn't have Misha!Cas, I was gonna screw over Dean so hard his boner- I mean bones would hurt. Because I'm a dirty rotten author and he's a stubborn douchebag for making me lose out on Misha. So I'm gonna put that best friend of his that he has questionable emotions about right in front of him in a body he can't ignore (and let's be honest, if Chuck ships it, he'd totally pull this dick move too). Which leads my next point, actually.
-But…but…where's my Destiel?! This story is still ultimately Destiel (and despite what you read above, it's still gonna be the slowest burn on the planet) and it will be M/M by the end. However, here's the second half of my reasoning for this choice: from everything I've seen in the show and the character analysis I've done on Dean, he's not actually gay(Non shippers sticking with this story for the content not the romance, rejoice! ;P)
But *GASP* you said this was Destiel! You said you liked Destiel! Lolz, don't freak out: it is and I do.
Here's my thinking (and I've done a lot of it). Dean has never shown physical attraction to a guy on the show. He's certainly not homophobic (he's been fairly open about man crushes, his siren was a male, there was that gay hunting couple he had no problem with, and he's generally very sex-positive). At best, he could be bi, but I think that physical attraction is still missing. Like I said, when I decide to stick to a character, I do it thoroughly. So, how does someone like me think Destiel is a thing? Well, I believe Dean is emotionally in love with that angel, or, at the least, all those emotions are there but they may not have taken the shape of love yet. Because a relationship usually requires a physical side (and Dean's a physical guy) something has to change for that love to develop or be realized. There needs to be either a physical push or a mental one. It's why, personally, I feel a lot of Destiel stories are OOC for Dean, because they don't explain or take into account the gap in his character from 'not physically into men' to suddenly 'very physically into one man'. And that gap is totally fillable, you just need a push. Which is what we're doing here.
-Welcome to my Push: So far, Dean's been able to utterly ignore any emotion towards Cas that might border on the 'more than friends' bit, because he's written it off as close (very close) friendship due to a lack of physical attraction. But put Castiel in a body he can't deny being attracted to, and he's going to start rethinking some of those pesky emotions he's got. I assure you, his panic will be downright adorable, as many of you are probably hoping for. And right around the point where he finally gives up and accepts that he wants Castiel, I'm gonna throw our favorite angel back in a male body and maniacally laugh as Dean has a mid-life, mid-apocalypse, straight up identity crisis. (You know Chuck would do it to, don't deny it.)
In other words, Dean was asking for it; it's his fault we lost Misha!Cas to begin with!
Plus, I've got more than one scene of Castiel going to Sam because he does not understand why Dean's avoiding him *again*. And Sam gets to explain sexual repression and emotional constipation to a genderless angel XD
-Character Study: The third and final reason I decided to do this is that, as an author, this is an awesome challenge. Angels have no gender, which means that there should be absolutely *no* difference between Cas and Fem!Cas. You shouldn't even notice if I do it well, and that is going to be a hell of a thing to get right. See, some of you may have guessed this already, but I'm, well, human. Yup, I said it, now you all know. And as many of you may also know, humans have male and female genders, which means I have a gender bias by default, whether I like it or not. We use different descriptors for men and women; the two primary genders speak, move, and act differently. So I've got to somehow drop *all* of that, twenty plus years of societal training, and write a genderless character. I'm excited, guys. And you all better keep me on my toes about how I'm doing, because I won't always get it right.
(case in point, be prepared for me to mess up a lot in the beginning and still refer to Cas as 'he'. It's ingrained in me. This is gonna be tough.)
(Also, I need to add that I know there are many, many more than two genders and I do not mean to exclude anyone by only mentioning the stereotypical male and female for this argument. I do my best to be a very inclusive writer and ally, but please call me out if you see otherwise! No other way to learn to be better :)
-You Done Blabbing Yet, Woman? Almost. In conclusion, what I'm hoping is that, this far into this little beast of ours, I have:
1. Hooked you all well and good by now and you'll just have to stick it out because you gotta know how this time-screwy story is going to end (and oh, the places we'll go first!)
2. Proven that I have the writing chops to maybe, just maybe, pull this off. (That's a real maybe guys, not sarcasm. Like I said, I'm nervous about this, too!)
(Side note: this doesn't even cover #3: You're totally fine with/actually excited about this twist and you only read the author's notes because you like it when I babble.)
Anyhoo, I get this may not be what some of you signed up for. After consulting several other writers and friends in an absolute panic over this decision (certain I was going to piss off readers and have people mad at me for not putting this sort of stuff in warnings at the start of the story), the overall response I got was write the story you want to write.
So that's what I'm gonna do. And that story comes with these kinds of twists. I'm excited for it, and I hope you all join me for that ride. Also, Congrats on getting through the two whole pages of Author's Notes. Have I mentioned I'm verbose?
-Reviews: I would love love love to hear your thoughts on this, so send them my way! And if you are upset about this choice, or disagree with it or anything I've said, please remain civil in your comments. I would still like to hear them.
-Up Next:We get things from Castiel's point of view as he goes through the realization that he already has an answer, he just has to get over how badly it's freaking him out. To be fair, it's freaking Dean out just as much, too.
-Heads up: no post this Sunday as I'm still only a couple chapters ahead of this one and putting up two chapters in one week is the opposite of helping that situation XD