Chapter Text
Castiel looked around the modern office, gleaming vindictively under the hard white lights. He’d never been here before. Maybe this was a Heaven borrowed from a dead dentist. Not that Castiel had ever had a dental checkup in his entire existence- he wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly thought of dentists and drills. Not when pain, imprisonment and death were hovering in the wing, ready to come on stage.
A door opened at his back. Castiel started to look over his shoulder, but the two angels on either side of him tensed just a bit. Castiel kept his gaze resting straight ahead on the desk brutally cleared of any hint of clutter.
“Good day, Castiel,” said the angel making her way around their group to the high backed leather chair.
“Naomi.”
“Please, do sit.”
Her gesture indicated an object that Castiel had assumed was a cut-away model of tooth enamel. It was a white plastic bucket with one side removed. It could conceivably be used for sitting, though it looked remarkably uncomfortable.
Castiel, whose vessel could stay on his feet for several centuries if he so chose, looked back at the desk. “It is customary for prisoners to stand while they are sentenced.”
Naomi’s expression did not flicker. “Have it your way.”
In the mundane slice of dimension that contained the office, her vessel clasped its fingers together primly on the desk, while in the higher spheres, swirls of her Grace and Being became prim and self-righteous right on cue. “Your crimes-“
Castiel listened, but his thoughts were not in that room. They were back on earth.
At least he’d been able to see Dean and Sam Winchester one last time, when he’d helped them rescue Kevin Tran and the next prophets.
”- of course we could have just left you in Purgatory, but we-“
And he’d talked with Dean. Dean. His friend had carried so much guilt over ‘abandoning’ Castiel back in Purgatory- how had he ever gotten that notion into his head? If only for that, Castiel was grateful to have gotten away from that place of monsters - even if his path was going to end here shortly. But it’d given him that chance to talk with Dean and take away that ugly biting guilt. He’d explained the concept of penance before Naomi and her guards showed up.
”- frightful mess-” said Naomi.
If it turned out that this was the last thing Castiel would ever do on his Father’s earth, lifting a little bit of suffering off of Dean Winchester’s shoulders was as fine a final act as he could wish for. Now he was ready to fulfill his penance.
“Do you have anything to say in response to these charges?”
“No.”
“Good. So here is our verdict.”
Castiel wondered which of the two soldiers at his elbows would be asked to do the deed. He didn’t know them. They belonged to Naomi’s outfit, not one of the garrisons. That was good. He didn’t want one of his comrades to be given the task of putting him down.
“You are, of course, demoted. Your powers will be sealed and restricted accordingly.”
Castiel’s attention was fully on her for the first time since she sat down. Demoting him before killing him seemed needlessly redundant even for an unctuous bureaucrat like Naomi.
They weren’t going to execute him? Were they going to throw him in the Eternity Prison to rot alongside Heaven’s few lifers?
“In fact I would rather not have you anywhere in Heaven at all. Your mere presence could sow disruption. Many are still righteously angry with you.”
He was going back to Earth?!
“I have the perfect job for you. Guardian to a couple of hard-headed humans who seem to get into way too much trouble unsupervised.”
Castiel now wished he’d taken the chair. His greater Being did not need it but his vessel felt unaccountably weak at the knees.
“Sam and- you are talking about Sam and Dean?”
“Indeed.” Naomi’s expression and Intent were still nice and tight and tidy, but a definite note of sourness spread through her demeanor like wine turning to vinegar. “I am not letting those two wander around without careful management from now on. We never even needed a plural to the word Apocalypse until those vagrants came along.”
“That would be because they stopped the first one,” Castiel pointed out.
That did not earn him any favors, not that he was courting any.
“They need a nanny,” Naomi concluded acerbically. “You will do. Keeping them out of world-ending trouble is primordial. Keeping them out of my hair is appreciated. Keeping them safe is optional, but I am sure you will do your best in that regard.” One of her guards smirked, a faint fleeting expression that’d befit a king of Hell better than a servant of Heaven.
“And this is my punishment?” Castiel asked, disbelieving.
The multi-winged vibrant being of energy and particles that was Naomi gave what would be a smile in another more sundry dimension. On Earth it would have been an unpleasant smile. The actual expression that crossed her Being and Intent would have started an ice age if it were actually allowed anywhere near the mortal plane.
“There is, of course, a condition.”
---
It took both guards to restrain him.
“No! Unacceptable!”
Naomi did not seem surprised or affected by his reaction.
“I refuse!”
Naomi hummed.
“That is a- a violation- it is wrong!” A third guard was now at his back. Castiel was too rabid to wonder where she had come from or to care that there was a sharp tip of an angel blade pressed into his spine.
“Are you done?” Naomi had the gall to ask.
“It is too dangerous! You could destroy them!”
Naomi poo-pooed the very notion. “I am hardly striking at their Achilles heel. In fact it may be all bone in there. And I think I need to straighten out a misconception. This is not open to debate. This is not a choice. This is not even going to be avoided if you take Option B and go rot in a cell on Lifer’s row. This - is - going - to - happen. These two walking disasters are going to be dealt with one way or another. You can watch over them if you choose your demotion and semi-exile. Or you can rot in a cell. I believe the one between Samael and Gadreel is now open. I will be by at some point to inform you of the demise of these two Winchesters in that case. I understand there is a running pool among my crew as to how long they’ll last on their own. I believe best odds are on nine months and ten days. I personally think that is generous.”
The tip of the blade cut into Castiel’s Being and the flesh of his vessel. There were more guards behind him now.
But the threat to Sam and Dean was what forced him to regain his control.
“This is wrong.”
“It is the judgment of Heaven,” was the only prim answer he got. “Do you accept your new rank and charge?”
“...Yes.”
Naomi smiled like a dentist and Castiel could almost hear a faint buzz, high and keen-
Yes...The problem with knowing that his father has ‘pulled a runner’, in Dean’s colorful idiom, was that Castiel could not even add, ‘may God forgive me’. And he would not forgive himself anytime soon. And his friends would never be in a position to forgive him ever again.
Castiel reminded himself grimly of the list of his crimes, recently recapped courtesy of the bureaucrat in chief over there. He deserved this. Sam and Dean did not, though Castiel was sure he was the only one of the entire Heavenly Host who would agree on that.
Penance indeed.
---
Dean was leaning a hip against the formica of the motel table, illustrating his words with gestures of his beer bottle. Sam was on one of the beds, removing his shoes.
They both jumped when Castiel alighted between them. The beer sloshed and Sam thumped a boot sole into his chest as he tried to reach for a blade in his jacket.
“Cas!” They look immensely relieved and pleased once they recognized him.
“What did I tell you about sudden landings? Phone ahead, man.” And then Dean unexpectedly strode up and gave him a clap on the shoulder, eyes searching his. “You okay?”
Castiel nodded. “I am fine.”
“Oh. Good. When that tight-assed bitch Naomi dragged your hump off to the pearly gates- she promised you’d get a fair shake and she wouldn’t do a number on you, but still, I - we were kind of worried.”
“I am fine,” Castiel repeated. He hadn’t realized Dean knew Naomi’s name, or what she did in Heaven. Had he said something about her to the Winchesters? They had met her briefly. She had appeared before them - along with half a dozen guards - to collect their wayward angel right after he’d gotten out of Purgatory and helped the Winchesters rescue Kevin Tran and the next prophets. But he hadn’t taken the time to introduce her. Had he? His memories of slowly drifting back to Earth from Purgatory and his first few days back were fuzzy. It was only a few weeks since he’d been running for his life from Leviathans in their domain, but it somehow felt like much longer.
Dean was examining him carefully. His hand was still on Castiel’s shoulder. “You get a bit of an ass-reaming up there?” Then he checked himself and grimaced. “Again?”
“No. Yes, a bit. But no worse than I deserve.”
Dean scowled and Sam sighed. “Cas...”
“But she did let you go?” Dean asked, abrupt and eyes narrowed.
“Oh yes. I am done with my, uh, ass reaming.”
The tension cracked under sudden amusement. Mentions of anything below the belt and above the knees seem to breed either hilarity or acute embarrassment in humans, and Castiel had never been able to predict which it would be.
“Let’s not talk about dicks with wings and other things,” Dean stated, walking away to settle himself into the rolling chair in front of the cheap table. “Sam’s all better as you can see, I’m good, you’re good, we’re all good and Heaven can take a leap. Want a beer?”
“No.” Castiel’s eyes flickered to Sam, who looked tired and wane but otherwise uninjured. “Sam? Have you been-”
“Right, right, if you wanted a beer, we’d need to get you a dozen kegs. But man, you just got out of jail by the sound of it, we should buy you booze and strippers.”
“It was only what, three weeks?” Sam objected. “I think you have to do at least a year of hard time before you qualify for booze and strippers.”
“We wouldn’t know, we cracked out of the joint after three days - “
The talk washed over Castiel like a memory of warmth and comfort. Those many months in Purgatory without Dean...Castiel had missed him so much it had felt like his vessel was missing a limb, and internal organs besides, like he was hollow and incomplete, a wounded creature waiting to die. This place...this motel room with its fug of cleaning chemicals competing without a hope against more organic components, this felt more like home than Heaven had for awhile now.
“Are you two back from a hunt?”
Sam burst out laughing unexpectedly and Dean hurled a bottle cap at him.
“Oh man! Cas! You’ll never believe it! Dean was a dog!”
“Shut up!”
“I played fetch with him!“
“Sammy, swear to god-“
“A dog? Were you under a spell?”
“No- I mean yes, I was - it was something Kevin found for us. You see, we had this case, start of the week, the only witness was a dog-“
Part of Castiel’s attention split from his friend’s words and reached through the Ether. ‘Naomi? What about Kevin Tran?’
‘You do not need to concern yourself with the Prophet.’
‘Isn’t he going to be a hitch in your plans?’ Castiel asked neutrally, burying deep his hope that it would be.
‘He imprudently went for a walk earlier today. He has been collected. He will be kept safe and free from distractions from now on. We were not going to forget such a detail.’
‘Of course you weren’t.’ Damn it.
“That sounds disturbing,” Castiel said gravely to Dean as the mission’s recap concluded. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, it’s in the rear view mirror. Though I almost miss the mutt. After that we took a detour to this place ‘cause we heard about some guys getting their throat slashed, but turned out not to be our thing. Gang stuff.”
“What else have you been up to while I was in Purgatory?”
Dean paused with his beer at his mouth, tilting his head as if puzzled by the question.
‘Castiel!’ came a vinegary command. ‘Why are you lingering? You insisted on doing this part yourself-‘
“Have you had any more troubles with demons? Or angels?” Castiel asked, because a part of him needed to hear that at least a tiny shred of all this was a good idea...
“Other than the Gates of Hell?” Sam’s muttered words ended in an unpleasant noise in his throat.
Dean looked over sharply. “Cut that out.”
“But-“
“I said, cut that out.”
Castiel looked from one to the other, judging the tension. Gates of Hell?
The silence threatened to grow heavy.
‘Castiel-’
“Have regular monsters returned to their normal predation patterns? Are you still seeing disruptions from Eve or the Leviathans?”
A faint flicker crossed Dean’s expression. The question appeared unexpected to him, yet he seemed keen to answer it and get away from some words left unsaid between him and his brother.
Castiel sat on Dean’s bed and listened to his friends tell him all about new werewolf behavior, about trying to track the Alpha vampire - without success - and ghouls and wraiths and revenants. A tangent brought them to their friend Charlie and another dimension opening in something they called ‘the bunker’. They acted like they expected Castiel to know about this place. Castiel opened his mouth to ask for specifics -
But then Naomi’s voice like a buzzsaw at the back of his cranium reminded him that this one bright light in his existence now had to be extinguished.
“I missed you while I was in Purgatory,” Castiel said, interrupting Sam’s description of a ‘souped up djiin’ that had also ‘tangoed with Charlie’.
The brothers looked at him with the air of men used to his mannerisms and sudden non-sequiturs.
Deep inside his Being, Castiel felt an indefinable ache suddenly get worse.
“Yeah, yeah, we missed you too, Cas.” Dean waved as if the words had been annoying gnats he was shooing away, but then his eyes on Castiel became sharp. “You’re bringing up Purgatory a lot. You still getting nightmares about that place? Do angels even have nightmares?”
“They don’t sleep, Dean,” Sam pointed out.
“Yeah, but they-“
“I can help you from now on.”
Dean’s eyebrows curved up. “That a fact?”
“You are brilliant hunters. You’ve already adapted to the change in patterns of your regular prey. You will adapt to other changes just as quickly and you will continue protecting this world from the things out of Purgatory. And I will be there to protect you.”
Dean stared, then quickly dropped his gaze on his beer and seemed to take inordinate care in peeling a corner of label off the glass. “Yeah? You run that past the halo brigade? Bet that went down well.” His voice was oddly gruff and he did not look up.
Sam snorted, but his gaze stayed on Castiel, steady and puzzled. “You okay, man?”
Castiel did not answer. He stood up and walked over to Dean. He put his hand on Dean’s shoulder and got the widest-eyed look ever.
“I will miss you,” said Castiel softly, and touched Dean’s forehead before the hunter could do more than open his mouth.
Dean slumped in the chair, bottle slipping through his fingers and clattering to the floor.
“What the-”
Castiel was at Sam’s side the next second, hand reaching out, and then catching his tall friend before the latter could measure his length on the soiled motel carpet.
He arranged them both on their respective beds. Naomi was there when he straightened up.
“Finally. I expected a soldier of your caliber to be more concerned with deadlines and timetables, Castiel.”
Castiel decided he really did not like the way Naomi pronounced his name. It sounded like the bite of a drill going through wood to hit a steel rivet. He straightened out Dean’s legs, and then took off his boots.
“Stop pampering them,” Naomi sniffed, drawing up the chair between the two beds. She gave the floor a disapproving look, and aimed an even worse one at Sam’s bag of dirty clothes and underwear lying in the way.
“This will take awhile,” she said, settling down.
“I could assist-“
“Absolutely not. This is going to be hard enough even for one of my considerable skill and experience, and despite the simplicity of their, ah, minds, for want of a better term. Let me work in peace or we will have an accident, and you do not want that, do you, Castiel?”
Not only was her way of saying his name irritating, but she probably knew it if the way she used it so much was any indication.
On another dimension, her Grace flared out and covered the two sleeping men like angel’s Wings. Or like a sheet at the morgue, Castiel thought bitterly.
As if hearing his thoughts, she glanced up. There might have been the faintest hint of softness in her eyes.
“You are doing the right thing. This really is the best option all around, even for them. I would say especially for them. Now go away. I do not think you want to be here for this.”
“I will stay.”
“Are you sure? The process is not always-“
“I will stay.”
“Have it your way.”
---
The phone on the bedside table rang a wake-up call - and found itself propelled onto the floor a split second later.
Dean froze with his hand still lifted and made a painful “Ugh” sound, eyes screwed shut.
Sam stirred and winced.
“Th’hell...Dean, stop shining a light ‘n m’ face...”
Dean stared at the wall near the headboard, blinking and bleary. Then he straightened up in stages.
“What...did we drink last night?”
“Hmf,” was Sam’s answer.
”...Did we do Jager bombs? We did Jager bombs, didn’t we. Fucking Jager bombs.”
“Hmf.”
“Or else it was that dog potion. Swear I still taste it four days later...”
“Hmf.”
“Come on, wake up, bitch,” said Dean with the attitude of one who knew the best remedy for misery was company.
The brothers scraped themselves off their respective beds, sleepwalked through morning ablutions, got their shoes mixed up briefly, sorted themselves out, insulted each other on automatic, started packing.
“Back to the bunker?” Sam said with a yawn.
“Yeah. No, wait, we were going to stop in Brookfield on the way.” Dean gestured vaguely with his toothbrush kit. “’Cause of that thing with the thing. That-...the bit about the bodies in the cemetery getting dug up. Maybe ghouls.
“Oh right. Forgot.”
Dean straightened from stuffing his kit in his bag to stare blearily at a decorated print pinned above the bed. Sam’s had another.
“What’s this?”
“Homilies,” said Sam without looking around. “Saw them last night.”
“Guardian angel pure and bright, guard me while I sleep tonight,” read Dean, and scoffed. “Angels. Right. Sorry, Hallmark, they don’t exist. Give me a line of salt any day.”
‘Yeah. Pity.”
“Pity? Really? Aw Samantha, still got room in your heart after believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny?”
“Bite me. I know there’s no such thing as angels, but it’d have made dealing with the Apocalypse a whole lot easier.”
“Yeah, would have helped having somebody on our side when sticking Lucy back in his cage rather than you, me, Bobby and a whole lotta nothing. And the fucking Leviathans too. Yeah, it’s just us. Angels watching over us- doin’ a crap job then,” Dean said, dumping his duffel onto the small table near which Castiel was standing.
“Yes, Dean, I agree,” said Castiel
Dean scowled as he picked up an empty beer bottle that had tipped over and spilled a few drops when the table shook. He tossed it into the bin.
“Dean, don’t, those recycle.”
“Get Al Gore to do it.”
“Dean-“
Dean walked by less than three inches away from Castiel, the usual essence of the man brushing the angel’s senses: gunpowder residue, sweat, molecules of food and engine oil and the soft light of a much-battered soul standing strong more out of pugnacious habit than any inherent rectitude.
Dean did not register his presence in the slightest.
“I have done an inadequate job in the past. I have put you in danger as many times as I have gotten you out of it. Probably more. But from now on you will both be protected.”
From the shadows. From the demons that might still stalk them. And from knowledge of things that would rope them yet again into more and more problems.
Protected by Castiel. And from Castiel.
It was more than penance. It actually made sense.