Chapter Text
Dean woke to a headache and guitar riffs. His mouth tasted metallic, a penny on his tongue.
“He…*chough*...llo?”
“You sound like shit. No get your ass to my house before I have to drag you here boy.”
“Bobby?” Dean sat up slowly, regretting it more every inch as the blood drained from his skull, “uuuuunnnggggh.”
“Yeah, it’s Bobby, what the hell happened to you?” Bobby’s voice grated his ears and the sun streaming in through the window burned his eyes with its orange glare.
“A bottle of Jack happened to me, and honestly I’m doing pretty well all things…*hiccup* considered. What’s up Bobby?”
“I had a visitor last night. Dean, get your ass in that damn car and haul it back here.” Bobby’s voice was seeping with concern that had Dean’s skin prickling against the cool morning air.
“Bobby, what happened. Are you hurt? I’m on my way.” Dean shoved his clothes into the duffel at the foot of the bed without any care and washed several Advil tablets down his throat with water from the tap. “Bobby? Are you okay?”
“Dean I’m fine. Just get here and I’ll explain. I just need to look at ya.” Telling Dean about Cas over the phone would send him on a wild goose chase which could only end in hopelessness and desperation, though Bobby wasn’t sure why he knew that. The desperation in his voice he couldn’t hide despite how he tried. “Just get here in one piece.”
The click of the call disconnecting happened before Dean could even process what Bobby had said. There was a sadness and a fear to his voice Dean hadn’t heard since--that hadn’t been there for over a year. Something must be really wrong for him to be so damn broken up.
Dean left a couple of bills on the nightstand in apology for the disaster of a room he left behind, the smell of whiskey and sweat would probably linger for a while. Dean knew he’d be back to finish the story, not at this motel it would seem. He had to finish the story. But Bobby came first; the old grouch was all he had left in the world, and Dean couldn’t bear it if he lost the one thing holding him up.
The impala tore onto the road with a growl that flushed a cloud of birds from the nearby trees, sending them squawking into a frenzy. The sun glared onto the hood and the wind rumbled in through the open windows that classic rock blared out of, but the driver noticed none of these things. Just like he failed to notice the presence in the back seat or the slight flicker between stations when the car started up. No, Dean was lost to his thoughts.
Bobby wouldn’t call out of the blue like that. Something had to have happened. For a split second Dean wondered if something to do with Sam had come up. Maybe he’d escaped hell, or Bobby found a way to bring him back. His promise to Sam was already broken; what would it matter if he could bring him back? What if he could have his brother again? The thought of even part of Team Free Will, he smiled at the memory, back would be worth more than a million souls.
The thought of Team Free Will tugged Dean’s thoughts to the realms he tried to block out. Blue eyes. Black wings. Dean wished more than ever for Cas to answer him. The loss of his best friend hurt more than losing Sam. His brother was gone, in the cage with no escape. Cas... Cas was alive and stronger than ever. He chose this, to leave Dean alone on earth with a broken soul, a broken shell he’s called him. That was definitely the case.
Something wet on his lips brought Dean back to reality, there were tears openly flowing down his cheeks. Why did he only cry when thinking about Castiel? Did he really mean so little to the angel?
The countryside tore by as Dean kept driving, he only stopped for gas and food and pulled into a parking lot in Illinois for a few hours of shut-eye under stars that he couldn’t bear to look at. For the first night in a long time Dean went to bed without a prayer, instead, he went to bed with a hole in his heart and tears in his eyes.
CASTIEL’S POV
Dean was broken, that was clear. Cas yearned to reach out to him. As Dean slept he covered him with his wings again. The man slept soundly, his jacket curled around him as he lay back across the seat. He shifted, a dream playing out across his face; the expressions Dean made, faces of fear and desperation, made it clear the dream was not pleasant. Cas was tempted to try and reach out, into Dean's conscious and soothe his sleep, and as he slid a hand towards Dean’s head to do just that, the man shifted again. The move forced the tight black sleeve of the shirt up to Dean’s shoulder, exposing the faded handprint from so long ago.
The memory of battles, of the pain of hell, sharpened in Castiel’s mind. He lost himself to the tortures endured all for one man. Hell had left its mark on Dean, but so did he. Looking down Cas realised his hand had found the mark without him noticing. Dean’s skin was warm, soft and gentle underneath his cold palm; the tan in stark contrast to the white of Castiel’s vessel.
--3 years ago (or something like that)--
Heat blasted Castiel’s form as he plummeted down. The cacophony of screams, both vicious and agonous, assaulted him from all sides as the energy radiating outward vaporized everything in its path. Castiel spared no thought for the souls, demon or human, that were destroyed; his mission was clear. Rescue the honourable man. Return him to Earth. Return him to faith. This was a mission that could not be failed. This was for the world. This was for the triumph of Heaven.
Castiel’s grace pierced through the veils of hell. White light conquered the hellish hues of red and green and black that engulfed each personal hell. Souls cowered from the grace and demons charged. The ones that were strong enough to withstand the angel were met with weapons slicing through space with a precision that only comes from centuries of wielding and fighting without thought given to the consequences.
Downward still the angel plummeted, down through the layers of hell not knowing what awaited him when he reached his goal.
The chains gave way as he slashed into Dean Winchester’s hell. There was a young girl stretched out across a rack, nails slowly piercing her skin from all directions. She didn’t scream or cry out, she was simply paralysed. When Castiel approached her face turned peaceful and she was vaporised within seconds. Only the man with black eyes and a scalpel was left. He stood, poised with anger, ready to attack the being towering over him. Castiel dimmed, his grace retracting from it’s battle formation and forming itself into the vessel of the angel. The towering creature condensed into a tax accountant, albeit a glowing tax accountant, with a hand outstretched to the man.
Dean was bloody, shaking with what could only be a combination of fear and rage but when Cas looked in his eyes the black faded to the most brilliant green he’d ever seen. Blue and green locked for just a moment, and Castiel’s grace yearned to reach for the man with the kindest eyes the angel had ever seen. The moment passed. Black came back and Dean pounced. A simple touch was all it took to knock the man unconscious, but there was still much to do. The hunter hadn’t completely converted to a demon, the humanity of him still lingered in the centre of his soul, a warm tender glow brighter than any other human soul in hell. Castiel had moments to act before the legions of demons would be on him again. He thrust a hand straight through the hunters chest and began to fuse grace with the demon’s soul. The human glow at the centre began to grow, warmth mixing with the grace and forcing black smoke to well up and away from the body. The soul continued to grow, brighter and warmer until it filled the man and radiated from him. It was the brightest soul Castiel had ever seen. Pure and untinged, even after Castiel recovered his grace the soul burned, a never ending light in the darkness of hell.
Demons howled and crashed against the personal hell of Dean Winchester, but Castiel took no notice. No. He memorised the soul in front of him, hoping one day he would see it again.
With a sigh, Castiel's vessel faded and the towering form of the angel took its place; his grace hardened into the shield of pure energy and in the very centre was the hunter, nestled between two small black wings. With a mighty battle cry, the angel shot up through hell like a bullet speeding out of the darkness and into the light.
Castiel left the soul in its body, buried in soft brown earth. He placed it gingerly not noticing the lingering touch of grace and soul. The final touch, a mark of heaven. Castiel took his vessel's hand and gripped Dean's shoulder. Flesh sizzled. Grace seared a mark, a handprint on Dean's shoulder claiming him for heaven, or that's what Cas believed then. The hand of God.
--Now--
The handprint was warm under his palm, Dean's soul glowing even brighter with the touch. It was nearly blinding. The warmth filled Cas with every touch, it drew Cas in no matter where he was in the universe he could always feel Dean Winchester’s soul. Here, watching over Dean, was where Castiel felt at peace.
With a flush of wings though? Everything changes.
“Hiya Cassie.” The always mildly irritated voice rang out from the dark.
GABRIEL'S POV
Ever since Lucifer went to hell, things had been, well, hell. Gabriel was on the run, but not really. He was on the run by staying in one place.
The door of a van slammed and Gabriel hid in the shadows as the gruff old man pulled a pile of books from the back seat and threw them into a now out of use wheelchair. The man grumbled to himself as he struggled to wheel the chair into the house, thankfully he left the ramp up on the side of the porch; it made runs like this much easier. Lately Bobby had been on a research kick about the cage, an idea planted by Gabe of course. Drop a little gossip here, spread an outright lie there, he plants the seeds and, he can't help it, watches them grow. His favourite plaything was in hell, and he'd do anything but go through actual hell to get him back. Or so every other angel thought.
This was why Gabriel was in hiding. With the command of Michael gone, it falls to him or Raphael to step up and be the big man. Ha. Gabriel will take no part in that thank you very much. He's in witness protection. Besides, there's no fun in heaven; the humans there are all so boring. No one to trick or toy with. It's positively disgusting.
Bobby's shotgun cocking pulls him out of his thoughts long enough to see Castiel hastily utter something before flying off. What is Cassie doing here? He shakes with excitement as his brother has finally made an appearance, meaning of course that something has changed. And change is F.U.N.
Bobby is grumbling something about angels being dicks. Accurate. He grumbles about Dean being an idjit. Accurate, and a word Gabriel has taken quite a liking too. Then he grumbles about having nothing better to do than father the broken man. Accurate. Bobby's three for three so Gabriel decides to play a game called Hunter Recon. In the span of about a minute, he visits every hunter, or group, this side of the Atlantic to scrounge for words of the Moose. Nothing. Dammit. Though he did find out that Ash discovered his last little weekend away in Vegas; who could blame him for having some fun in a land of people who deserve their just desserts. Besides, he had an hour off.
After returning to Bobby's, he sadly perches on the older man's sofa and sucks on the lollypop he stole from a very snotty child two states over. It was raspberry flavoured. Gabriel was pleased.
The next morning Bobby calls Dean; so that's what this was about. Gabriel quickly lost interest until later in the day when he heard Bobby grumble the simple expression "get laid already". Now that was something he agreed with despite not knowing the context in any way. Perhaps Bobby needed to get laid? Gabriel could do that. Then the man uttered "Idjits, the both of them". SO. This was about Cas and Dean. Maybe he needed to pay his little brother a visit.
CASTIEL'S POV
"Gabriel." Blue eyes narrow at the trickster, a half-finished lolly hanging from his lopsided grin. "What do you want."
"Hello to you too. Jeez, what got your feathers in a wad?" Castiel frowned at this.
"My feathers are in pristine condition; I groomed them yesterday." He never did understand Gabriel's sense of humour.
"Why are you here?"
"Ah, down to business I see. I just wanted to know if there have been any updates on the Cage." Gabriel quieted at that, his eyes turning sad and hopeful as he teased the lolly with his tongue.
"Sam's soul is still very much locked in the cage. Can't you feel it?" Gabriel nodded. "Why Gabriel? Please don't be thinking of doing something stupid."
Gabriel's false mortification was only half-hearted. "Even I wouldn't be stupid enough to try to pop that box Cassie. We already had Armageddon, I don't exactly love the idea of having it again."
The silence that answered him spoke more than any words. The war was lost and won. All sides gained and lost. The next war started. Castiel just wished he hadn't lost Dean.
"His writing is good, you know." Gabriel broke the silence while looking at the hunter asleep in the impala.
"I wish he wasn’t writing though. I know what comes when he is finished." Cas let the edge creep into his voice.
"It's still good. Too bad he had to be born a hunter. He'd be a hell of a horror writer." The easy silence eased over them again. "He's going to Bobby's." It wasn't a question. They both knew by now that Dean couldn't be stopped on his little expedition down the lane of time, just delayed.
"Yes. He had a bad night. Bobby might help." Nothing more was said between them that night. It had all already been said, and the two angels knew where they stood. They sat on the hood of the impala, under the stars, the way their hunters had for so many years. Both prayed, to different people and about different things, but that night the two angels prayed for their hunters.