The vast expanse of Purgatory offered no sanctuary. It was hunt or be hunted; an endless whirlwind of bloodlust. In the darkest depths of the eternal forest, the dead devoured one another. There was no final rest for those lost human souls, damned by their monstrous nature.
But not all monsters came from humankind. Above, in the hidden mountains of Purgatory, shrouded in a perpetual icy fog, the giants roamed.
They were the monsters of old. Leviathans, Behemoths, Hydras, and Dragons – ancient, titanic, eldritch abominations. Giants could not come to the forest, could not join the eternal battle – not in their true gargantuan forms. For even Purgatory had its rules. When these colossal beings descended from their mountain peaks, they were forced to assume humanlike appearances, bound by some unspoken primordial law.
For a bottom dweller to ascend the mountain and face such nightmares was unheard of. For a bottom dweller to return was unimaginable. No one had ever attempted it – no one except for Dean Winchester.
He hadn't found Cas up there, either. But by then, all of Purgatory had learned of Dean.
Dean had gotten used to the blank stares, the confusion, the occasional flashes of pity. In his search for Cas, he'd chased more false leads than he cared to count, following rumors and half-truths across desolate highways and backroads, always with the same question on his lips.
This was the first time the answer had been anything other than a resounding no.
"You've seen him?" Dean's voice didn't break, his knees didn't buckle. Couldn't afford to. Every nerve in his body was a taut wire, focused on one thing and one thing only. "Where is he? Where's Cas?"
The man who called himself Jesus stared back at him, blue eyes wide and unblinking. There was something unsettling about the way he held Dean's gaze, as though he wasn't looking at him but at some unfathomable horror beyond. It did nothing to ease the tension coiling around Dean's heart.
A distant series of pops rang out, a volley of shots crackling like a fireworks show far off in the night. Either someone – maybe even Sam – was pulling off a diversion, or the fight out there was getting hairy. But Dean couldn't afford to pay it any mind. Not now. Not when he was so close.
"What's going on? C'mon, just talk to me." When no response came, Dean took a slow, measured step closer, hands open and unthreatening, as if approaching a cornered animal. "Jesus?"
At the sound of his own name, the man gave a full body flinch. His lips were turning white with fear – an encroaching flight response if Dean ever saw one. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Daryl's subtle shift, recognizing, as Dean did, that Jesus was one wrong move away from bolting.
"Easy," said Dean gently. "Just breathe, man. Why don't you start by telling me what's got you so spooked?"
He kept his voice forcibly calm, holding back while every instinct told him to push harder, to demand answers. With Daryl silently standing guard, Dean allowed himself a moment to gather his composure. Whatever had Jesus this rattled was obviously serious business. The fear in his eyes was raw, almost primal.
What sort of trouble did Cas get himself into this time?
"I'm–" Jesus's breaths came in short, hitched bursts. "I'm sorry, I can't. I can't be a part of this. I'm sorry."
Dean's mouth went dry. "What do you have to be sorry for?"
Jesus was shaking his head, hands held up as if to ward off a blow. "Please, forget you ever saw me." He began to inch backward. "I can't help you."
"Woah, man, hold up," Daryl intervened, subtly shifting his stance to block Jesus' path. He gestured at Dean. "You don't understand what this means to him. If you know somethin' you better speak up."
Jesus's glossy gaze darted for an escape route, his breathing wild and erratic. "No, no," he whispered, shaking his head. "Leave me out of this."
He turned to flee, but before he could get far, the sharp click of Dean's gun brought him to a skidding halt.
"Don't," Dean warned, gun raised at Jesus' back. There was no way he could chase this guy down – not with his messed-up leg – but there were other ways to stop him. Other ways to make him talk. "It doesn't have to be like this. Just tell me what you know."
Please, his mind added desperately.
Jesus raised his hands slowly, his frame trembling. "I saved both of your lives today," he pointed out, his tone thick with accusation. "Are you really going to shoot me?"
A low growl rumbled in the back of Dean's throat. "For Cas?" He stepped closer, pressing the gun to the back of Jesus' head. "I'd do a hell of a lot worse."
"Just let me go. I don't want to hurt you," Jesus said softly, one pale eye peering back at Dean through a curtain of greasy hair.
It was the kind of self-assured boast Dean knew better than to dismiss out of hand, but before he could respond, movements caught his attention. He cursed under his breath as six – no, seven – of the undead shuffled into the clearing, mouths opening to let out low, hungry moans at the sight of fresh prey.
It was all the distraction Jesus needed. He twisted under Dean's arm, delivering a swift kick to his injured leg.
Choking back a yell, Dean staggered back, momentarily blinded by pain. A sharp hiss next to his ear snapped him back to the moment. Growling, he threw his weight into the creature, twisting his head to avoid its snapping teeth.
They hit the ground hard, Dean landing on top. Unwilling to waste a bullet, he pinned the creature in place, his free hand scrabbling across the dirt until his fingers closed around a jagged rock. With a fierce snarl, he lifted it high and brought it down on the creature's skull. It spasmed beneath him, then went still.
Teeth gritted, Dean uncocked his pistol and drew out his blade, pushing himself to his feet, blood dripping steadily down his injured leg. His muscles screamed in protest, but he ignored the pain, falling into step beside Daryl. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Jesus slipping away.
"Son of a bitch," he growled.
In Purgatory, Dean had spent months searching for Cas, but in the end, it was Cas who had found him.
Word traveled fast in that place. For weeks, Dean and Benny had been hearing rumors of chaos unfolding above – not in the mountains of Purgatory, but back in the real world, the one they'd left behind. Rumors of a brand-new apocalypse, of the dead rising across the globe. And yet, somehow, none of those undead monsters had ever found their way into Purgatory. Only whispers of their existence, of the death and destruction that awaited them back home.
Still, Dean had persisted in his hunt. He refused to leave Purgatory – not without Cas.
And then one day, Dean had heard the unmistakable flutter of angel wings. He'd turned to find Cas standing there, sprouting a beard and looking a little worse for wear but steady, serious, and most of all, sane.
"We need to talk," Cas had said then.
A lot of water had flowed under the bridge since. Now, back in the real world, surviving both the dead and the living, Dean was once again hunting for his wayward angel. But even after months of searching, he never stopped wondering if, one day, he might simply turn around at the unmistakable flutter of angel wings just behind him.
He was a slippery bastard, that Jesus. Luckily, Daryl turned out to be an excellent tracker.
What a dump, Dean thought, grimacing as he took in the state of the campsite. Even under the cover of darkness, it was a pitiful sight to behold. Garbage littered the clearing, empty liquor bottles scattered about like sad trophies. A one-man tent stood crookedly by a fallen log, a pair of booted feet poking out from its entrance.
Had Dean been in a better mood, he might've found it amusing. Having just spent hours limping after this particular asshole, irritation was about all he could muster. He sank onto the log with a heavy sigh, taking the weight off his bad leg.
The boots jerked and then scrambled back into the tent. After a few moments of awkward shuffling, Jesus poked his head outside, his hair a wild tangle. Even in the dim light of the night sky, the flush in his cheeks was evident. He stared at Dean in dismayed confusion.
"Yo, Jesus," Dean greeted, his voice laced with sarcasm, "what's the good word?"
Jesus's breath hitched. "How did you find me?" he asked, his words slightly slurred.
On cue, Daryl emerged from the shadows, positioning himself over Jesus with a gun aimed at the side of his head. A look of quiet understanding flickered across Jesus's features.
"Got myself an awesome wingman," Dean pointed out with a grin, flashing Daryl a wink.
Daryl let out a huff. "You wasted?" he grunted at Jesus, his expression a mix of disgust and disbelief.
"Not nearly enough," Jesus replied mournfully. He leaned back into the tent and pulled out a bottle of cheap vodka. He gave a mock salute before raising it to his lips.
Equally fed up with the hours they'd wasted, Daryl swatted the bottle from Jesus's grip. It hit the ground with a dull thud, spilling its contents into the dirt. Jesus stared after it dejectedly.
Leaning down, Dean picked up one of the countless empty liquor bottles scattered around the campsite and gave it a cursory sniff. "Took you for more of a wine guy," Dean quipped, not sure if he should be concerned or a little impressed. He raised his eyebrows. "You live like this?"
As it turned out, Jesus was sober enough to feel the sting of shame. He ducked his head, letting his tangled hair shield his face.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" Daryl exploded. "Damn Saviors breathing down our necks, and you're out here throwing yourself some kinda pity party?" He let out an exasperated breath. "Thought you were better'n this."
In the distance, rapid bursts of gunfire erupted once more. It had persisted well past sundown, each round shorter and more frantic than the last. If small arms could sound desperate, these certainly did. Dean took a small measure of comfort in knowing that if it really was Sam out there sowing chaos, he at least had the benefit of near invisibility on his side.
"It's the Hilltop," Jesus explained dully.
Daryl scoffed. "Don't you care?"
A sigh escaped the slumped figure. "Why bother? We're all going to die soon anyway."
"Boy, you're a ray of sunshine," Dean huffed, rubbing at the sore muscle of his strained thigh. "Look, Jesus, Paul, whatever your name is – I'm not here to preach. You wanna be left alone, I get it. Hell, I've been there. Some days you just don't feel like clawing your way up from rock bottom. Believe me, there's nothing I'd love more than to walk away and let you spend the rest of your life living like–" he waved his hand around, taking in the disheveled campsite– "this."
Some critter scurried inside Jesus' tent. Dean didn't feel like it was worth a mention. Leaning forward, he clapped his hands over his knees. "The thing is, Jesus… I need answers. So, you can either tell me what I need to know, or we can see how many bones you can live without. I suggest you make the right choice."
Jesus stared at Dean dully for a few moments, his expression vacant. Then his face scrunched up, drunken confusion giving way to a queasy look. "I'm gonna–" he gasped, leaning to the side to empty his stomach onto the ground.
"That a yes?" Dean called over the sound of Jesus' retching. Sighing, he shot Daryl with a look. "Some friends you got."
"He ain't my friend," Daryl grunted, shifting away from the splatter.
Holstering his gun, Daryl appeared to assess the situation. It was pretty clear that, despite his earlier antics, Jesus was in no shape to make a break for it now. Spotting a bottle of water behind the tent, Daryl sniffed at its contents and wrinkled his nose before shaking it in front of Jesus's bowed head.
"Get your shit together," he ordered gruffly.
Jesus let out a shuddering breath. "Why did you come after me?" he moaned miserably, ignoring the offered help. Letting out an indescribable sound, he dragged both hands through his greasy hair. "I just want to be left alone."
"What's with you, man?" Daryl said, his frown deepening. "The hell you runnin' from?"
A hollow laugh shook Jesus' slumped shoulders. "It's not hell I'm running from."
Dean had just about enough of this. He pushed himself to his feet, shoving the pain to the back of his mind. He yanked Jesus up by his sweaty shirt. "Listen to me, asshole. I don't give a crap what your deal is. Start talking, or I'll make you wish it really was hell coming after you." Anger radiating off him like heat, Dean pulled Jesus even closer and snarled, "Where's Cas?"
Jesus dangled from his grip like a ragdoll. He sniffed. "It's true, isn't it? It's all true." A tear slipped down his nose. "It's the end."
"What the hell are you saying?" Dean snapped.
"Castiel… he… he looked at me… he…" Jesus trembled in Dean's grip, his face a mask of horror. "I think he wanted me to see it."
The feeling of foreboding bubbled to a boil in Dean's gut. "See what?" Receiving no response, Dean gave the man a rough shake. "Jesus! What did Cas show you?"
Jesus squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out the memory. "Eternity," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
For a moment, Dean stared at the man, his mind racing with confusion and apprehension.
Then it all clicked into place. "Hold up – did Cas whammy you?"
Jesus' eyes fluttered open. "What?"
"I told him to stop doing that!" Relieved but also really, really pissed off, Dean let out a long groan. He let go of Jesus' shirt, smoothing it down with his palm as if to apologize for the actions of his significant dumbass.
"Let me guess," Dean started, acutely aware that Jesus and Daryl were both watching him with mounting bewilderment, "You met him, and suddenly you felt something like a – a force, or some kind of presence, am I right? One minute you're fine, and the next, you've got a glimpse into the fifteenth dimension, like Cthulhu's playing cello with your nervous system, and your whole body just – " He mimed getting zapped with electricity before snapping his fingers. "Right?"
Jesus stared at him, eyes wide and glossy.
Dean dragged a heavy hand across his face, sighing. "Yeah, man. That's not eternity. That's just Cas."
"The angel," Jesus said fearfully.
Dean nodded, clapping Jesus on the shoulder. "Exactly! You know, halo, wings, harp – the whole shebang." He rolled his eyes. "Alright, so maybe he doesn't have a harp. Actually drives him nuts when I say that."
There was a long beat. "You're full of shit," Daryl said, brow furrowed.
Dean shrugged. "What did I tell you, Daryl? People get twisted up over the angel thing, especially nowadays. They meet Cas and they start making these connections - like Jesus here did, you know? They meet him and they think it's biblical, or a sign, y'know, of the end of times, or whatever. It's not."
They were way past that one, Dean mused but ultimately decided to keep to himself. What was the point of bringing up old Apocalypses, anyway?
"The thing is," Dean continued, "is that people are a lot more sensitive these days. They get a whiff of something exotic and they go–" he spun his finger beside his temple. "My brother thinks everybody's just traumatized, but I dunno, I've seen some crazy shit. Like, really crazy shit. There was this cult we ran into, right? They've got – they're walking around in skin suits made out of the dead. Skin suits."
Dean let out a huff, frustration seeping from his very bones. "What I'm trying to say is, Jesus, man, you're not crazy, alright? You're not. But you got it all wrong. Just because an angel showed up on your doorstep, doesn't mean it's the end of the world!"
Somewhere in the not-too-far distance, the faint moans and groans of the undead echoed through the night, punctuated by the now near-constant gunfire.
Daryl squinted at him. Jesus' eyebrows rose in disbelief.
"You know what I meant," Dean grunted. He drew a sharp breath through his nose. "For the record, this whole business with the dead - some kind of bioweapon got loose, ain't nothing supernatural about it. Believe me, we checked."
"Who are you?" Jesus asked, his eyes wide and still holding that silvery sheen of unshed tears. But some color crept back into his cheeks, a flicker of life returning to his gaze.
"Someone who's been looking for a very long time." Dean offered a reassuring smile. "You don't have to be scared of me, and you don't have to be scared of Cas. Sure, he's got the angel mojo, but he's also just a guy." He sighed, almost wistfully. "A really weird guy."
"Then why are you trying to find him?" Jesus couldn't help but wonder.
Dean's lungs refused to fill with air. "Because he's my weird guy," he breathed, his whole being brimming with need. "And you're the first person I've met all year who might be able to lead me to him. So, please, man, I am begging you. Help me find him."
Eyes rounding, Jesus' mouth opened with a sharp intake of breath. Then finally – finally - he nodded. "They… they brought him to Alexandria."
"What do you mean brought him?" Dean growled, surging forward before forcing himself to hold back, to be patient. Then he noticed the sudden shift in Daryl's posture, the flare of his nostrils. "You know the place?" he asked sharply, turning to him.
Daryl grunted in affirmation, his jaw set tight.
"How far is it?"
A shadow passed over Daryl's face. "'Bout a day's ride."
Just a day away. Dean's heart drummed in his chest as he fixed his gaze on Jesus. "When was this?"
"It was…" Jesus trailed off, glancing around as if just noticing the mess surrounding them. His fingers drifted to his tangled beard. "It must've been weeks ago." He sounded unsure.
Christ, Cas really did a number on this guy, Dean thought, fighting back a surge of frustration. "You're doing good, man. Just take it slow." He took a deep breath himself. "What happened in Alexandria?"
Jesus blinked hard, like he was trying to clear the fog from his mind. "I came to find out if the rumors were true," he recounted slowly, fingers absentmindedly working to untangle his beard. "The Saviors must've brought him in, too. The children were protecting him. I–"
A chill ran down Dean's spine. The Saviors? What the hell did they have to do with Cas? But before he could process it, Daryl had already grabbed Jesus by the collar, pressing his fist firmly into his throat.
"They're alive?" Daryl demanded, spittle flying from his mouth. "The boy and the baby – the Saviors took 'em?"
Jesus coughed, his fingers gripping Daryl's fist at his collar. "The Saviors found them and brought them back to Alexandria. That's what the rumors said. It's… it's what Maggie sent me to figure out."
"And?" Daryl growled.
Jesus took a shaky breath, but he met Daryl's gaze steadily. "They're home."
Daryl released Jesus's collar. Shoulders coiled and eyes downcast, he stomped off, attempting to collect himself. Dean frowned, watching his friend with concern. It didn't take a genius to see that Alexandria wasn't just any old place – it was Daryl's home.
Rubbing his neck with a wince, Jesus nevertheless managed a small smile. "You're welcome!" he called out to Daryl with a cheek Dean didn't know he possessed.
"What's any of this got to do with Cas?" Dean asked, his fingers itching to grab hold of something – anything.
The smile faded from Jesus's face. "He came with the kids," he said, posture growing defensive as he gauged Dean's reaction, clarifying, "He was unconscious. I was there when he woke up… he was still pretty hurt."
Dean's chest flared. "Hurt how?"
"He was bitten," Jesus admitted, hesitating. "Pretty extensively, as far as I could tell."
Dean scoffed. "A bite's nothing for Cas. He could take a hundred bites and it wouldn't matter. He's not human."
Jesus held his hands out in a placating gesture. "That's everything I know, Dean, I swear."
Despite this troubling news, Dean couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. Cas was okay. Cas was safe. Well, he was probably still pretty hurt, or he would've popped over by now, but if he had enough juice to scramble Jesus' brains, then he was definitely on the mend. However the full story went, Dean would get it from him soon enough.
But first, he'd kick his ass for putting him through a year of hell. It was a matter of principle.
"When he woke up, I thought maybe he was immune," Jesus said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Like it was some kind of medical breakthrough. I offered to take him to the Hilltop to see our doctor, but Carl said–"
"Carl?" Dean asked.
Jesus shot a hesitant glance in Daryl's direction. "One of the missing children."
Daryl stopped pacing. "Hear that?" he grunted.
Only then did it dawn on Dean that the gunfire from the Hilltop had finally ceased. The realization seemed to hit Jesus too, as a look of devastation and guilt crossed his handsome features.
"What did Carl say?" Dean pressed, trying to keep the conversation on track. The Hilltop could wait; for all he knew, the silence was a good sign.
"What? Oh." Jesus shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I think he wanted me to kill someone? No, wait–that was before. I… I never got the message out."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a nice kid."
"He's a good kid," Daryl said in a clipped tone.
Jesus gave a wry smile. "Never met a teenager who wasn't a little bit of an asshole."
Daryl scowled but then nodded, relenting. "Carl's a tough sonuvabitch. Got more guts than brains, sometimes. Like his old man."
"Rick Grimes," Jesus explained, nodding. "He's their leader. Dean, I'm not sure how much you know about our situation, but all our communities have been hit hard by the Saviors." He turned to Daryl, his tone softening. "The kids are okay physically, but… things are different now. They didn't expect to find Alexandria under the Saviors' control. I think that's been especially rough on Carl."
"How'd they go missing?" Dean frowned, trying to put the pieces together.
A low growl emanated from the back of Daryl's throat. "Snatched in the middle of the damn night. Didn't find no tracks, no nothing."
Dean frowned, the gears in his mind turning. He'd just seen firsthand how good a tracker Daryl was. If whatever took those kids wasn't natural, it might've had something to do with Cas' disappearance, too. He was starting to get the picture.
"You ever catch a whiff of sulfur while you were out there?" Dean asked, running through the possibilities. If Daryl hadn't found any tracks, maybe they were dealing with something that didn't leave a trail in the usual sense. "Cold spots? Strange marks, symbols, anything like that?"
Daryl's eyes narrowed. "Negan asked about those, too," he said, an uneasy look crossing his face. "Asshole came poking around Alexandria a few months back, asking about rotten eggs, symbols, all kinds of weird shit."
Dean raised an eyebrow, the connection catching him off guard. "It sounds like the Saviors just got a lot more interesting."
"You think he's some kinda monster or something?"
"More like a hunter. It's the sort of thing we'd ask." Dean hummed thoughtfully, scratching his stubbled chin. "Knew a hunter named Negan once. Old friend of my dad's – mentor, really. But that dude's been dead for decades." He shrugged, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe this guy's his kid or something. These jobs tend to run in the family."
Jesus gave him a thoughtful look. "So you're a monster hunter? Is that what you do?"
"Something like that." Dean shrugged. "If it goes bump in the night, we're usually the ones bumpin' back."
"And that includes the Saviors?"
Dean gave a wry half-smile. "Fair's fair." He raised an eyebrow. "You're fighting back too. There's that Widow of yours."
Daryl flinched hard. "Don't call her that."
The look Jesus gave him was full of sympathy and understanding. "She never blamed you for what happened to Glenn," Jesus said gently. "Not once."
Daryl's expression darkened. "You shut your mouth."
"We were coming for you, you know," Jesus went on, brushing off Daryl's shallow growl. "It was a good plan, too. Should've known you'd manage to find your way out on your own." A small smile flickered on his lips. "Really good to see you, Daryl."
"Okay, so," said Dean, frown deepening as he tried to put the jigsaw puzzle together. "Those kids of yours," he began, shifting his attention to Jesus. "They seemed to know Cas?"
Jesus barked out a quick, dry laugh. "You could say that," he said, sounding amused. "Those kids guarded him like it was their life's mission. They chewed up anyone who even thought about getting close."
The thought of Cas surrounded by a bunch of miniature bodyguards gave Dean pause. "Huh." He tilted his head, eyeing Jesus curiously. "But you got close enough. Guess they didn't chew you up. So, what happened?"
"Castiel woke up," Jesus said simply before going pale, as if some memory had struck him hard.
"Jesus?" Dean pressed.
After a moment of slow, measured breaths, Jesus spoke, his voice laced with hurt. "He looked at me," he said softly, shuddering, "and it felt like he was peeling me down to nothing. Like I was nothing." He gave Dean a pleading look. "Why would he do that to me?"
Dean hesitated, momentarily stunned. It didn't sound like something Cas would do – not on purpose, anyway. But a groggy, irritable Cas? Yeah, he could definitely see how that might've played out. Cas might've gotten a little too heavy-handed with his powers, might've forgotten just how delicate human beings were. Probably never even realized.
Dean dragged a hand down his face, struggling to find the right words. Damn it, Cas.
"I'm sorry, Jesus," he finally offered, sighing. "I really doubt Cas meant to hurt you. Sounds to me like you got caught up in what we professionals like to call Freaking Angel Crap."
"That… somehow sounds right." Jesus managed a small, tentative smile. "At least now I know I wasn't just losing my mind. I only – "
Whatever else Jesus was about to say was drowned out as a sudden, massive explosion erupted from the direction of the Hilltop. A bright fireball shot into the sky, casting a sinister red glow over the night.
"The Hilltop," Jesus gasped, staring at the red cloud.
Dean grimaced. Now fire – fire was trouble. Unlike gunshots, which tended to echo off in every direction, fire was a bright, unwavering beacon. It would lure the hordes from far and wide, like moths to a flame.
And with Sam possibly right in the middle of it…
A low growl reverberated in his chest. He knew he had a choice to make: go after Sam, who might be in danger, or find Cas, who was hurt but, from the sound of things, safe for now. The choice was simple.
Sam first. Cas later. Then, finish off these Saviors once and for all.
"Lock and load, boys," Dean said with a grim smile. "We got work to do."