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Dean glanced up from his mindless doodling as the door to the homeroom was pulled open, with only a few seconds to spare before the final bell of the morning rang out, announcing that anyone unlucky enough to still not be seated, was now to be officially considered tardy. He was expecting to see a familiar face, considering that the microscopically tiny town of Spain rarely got visitors, let alone new families moving into its borders. But what greeted Dean’s bored gaze was something that he had never experienced before. Or had even thought might be within the furthest realm of remote possibilities. The new boy was tall, although not quite as tall as Dean, and quite slender. His thin shoulders were hunched over, as his body curled around his pile of books, acting like he was going to use them as some sort of shield to defend himself from the slings and arrows that were often hurled at brand new classmates. He was dressed like any other ordinary student, a very tight and (thankfully) rather thin t-shirt with some weird emo band logo on it, dark jeans that Dean was absolutely certain came ripped and torn fresh from the store, and a pair of purple Chuck Taylors. His short, slightly wavy dark hair was messy, like he had been running his fingers nervously through it for hours on end, his features were almost delicate; but what made Dean draw in his breath and then forget to exhale were his gloriously brilliant blue eyes. They seemed to shimmer, as if they were lit from within. Dean watched as the gorgeous boy walked up to the teacher’s desk, speaking in the softest tone, as that dainty boy conversed with the perpetually grumpy Mr. Astair. Dean saw the boy draw in tighter upon himself as he spoke to his new teacher, before Dean saw Mr. Astair point one long and crooked finger at the desk that sat right next to Dean, and then the fragile-looking new boy was walking towards him. He quietly slipped into his assigned seat, placed his pile of books on his desk, and then turned towards Dean, with a naïvely hopeful look on his face. Dean had to pause for a moment, as he tried to figure out what was happening. Because, first and foremost, Dean was cool. That was simply an inarguable fact. Much as Sam might like to begrudge Dean his popularity at times, even his little brother could acknowledge that Dean was simply awesome. Right up until the moment that the insanely cute new boy opened his mouth and spoke. At that point, every single attribute that had ever helped, in even the smallest way to contribute to that status, well, it went up in an incredibly all-consuming burst of flames. “Um, hi. My name’s Castiel. Mr. Astair said that you could show me around. Help me find my way.” Dean was dumbstruck for an instant, as he couldn’t even begin to figure out how that magnificently, deeply rumbling, and sweetly gruff voice was coming out of the glorious twink that was sitting across from him. His ability to speak the English language with any sort of skill or discernable ability, flew right out the window. He blinked his emerald-green eyes a few times, and swallowed hard, before he finally managed to get out a truly pathetic squeak that vaguely resembled, “Um, yeah, sure.” So much for making an excellent first impression, Dean thought bitterly. Dean watched as Castiel blushed a glorious shade of pink at his ineloquent response. But then the damned bell that heralded the start of the school day rang out, and Mr. Astair pushed back his wooden chair with a screeching scrape, and began to speak, “Class. Your attention please.” Dean barely managed to contain his groan, having always wondered what horrible fate had befallen his homeroom teacher that his voice was that nasally sounding. “We have a new student joining our school today. His name is Castiel Novak, and his father is going to be managing the local grain elevator. So, I’m sure that many of you will be running into him away from school.” Dean knew the place, having delivered plenty of grain there ever since he had gotten his driver’s license when he was just fourteen. One of the joys of living in a rural state was that most children helped out on the farm, generally starting at a very young age. Dean had been helping his father, John, with the family farm for as long as he could remember. Living out his extraordinarily boring life. Where nothing interesting had ever happened, not even once. Oh, maybe a cow might break out of their pasture and go for a stroll down main street every now and again, but otherwise, Dean couldn’t even begin to imagine anything exciting having ever happened over the course of his very short existence. Dean glanced over at Castiel once more, seeing the look of apprehension on his face, and feeling this inexplicable urge to reassure the boy that everything would be just fine. Exceptionally boring, to the point that you may contemplate gouging your own eyes out just for the potential entertainment value, but fine. But the bell was ringing, and then they were moving off to their first period class of history, which honestly, Dean felt was a terrible topic to teach in such an insignificant town. As if it was taunting them. Letting them know that there was a whole, great big world out there, and that they, the denizens of such a small and irrelevant little town, would have no impact on it whatsoever. No matter how hard they might endeavor to make a difference in the world, it would simply never happen. Such were the rules that governed small-town life. The day had seemed to fly by, one meaningless class after another, Dean always finding himself sitting next to Castiel. Who always seemed to be talking, with no reprimand whatsoever coming from any of their teachers. He was talking about absolutely everything, and also, nothing all at once. But Dean was starting to get used to the constant background hum of his magnificent voice. That softly gruff voice was beginning to soothe Dean, in some undefinable way. Offering him a modicum of comfort that had often been such an elusive part of his reality. In what felt like the blink of an eye it was two weeks later, and they were shyly holding hands by the side of the grain elevator as Dean waited for his father’s hoist truck to be unloaded. Patiently waiting on the technicians as they measured the moisture levels, the protein levels, and worked to determine the overall quality of the grain that Dean was delivering. So that it might be sent to the most appropriate factory, to make the most beneficial product, so that someone, somewhere, wouldn’t go hungry. Dean couldn’t help but to stare intently into those mesmerizing blue eyes, feeling like he could just drown in them, felt like they would always be there, aiding as Castiel watched over him, helping to keep him safe from any mysterious harm that might threaten to befall him. Castiel was speaking again, going on at length about the safety features that his father was planning on implementing at the earliest possible moment, due to the inherent risk that could be associated with a place that one would never assume could have any dangerous elements lingering about it. Sometimes, the very smallest of things can make all the difference in the world. The tiniest speck of dust, when gathered together with a multitude of its brethren can become an explosive and potentially life-ending hazard. Prior to the utilization of massive air circulation systems in the early 1980’s, and the advances that were made by simply scheduling regular cleanings of the various chutes, elevators, conveyors, and lifts that all worked in a seamlessly coordinated effort to move all the various loads of grain, first from the truck that brought it to market from the farm that grew it, then to the railroad car that shipped it to the factory that would process it and begin to turn it into the food that was consumed every day all over the world. The simple fact of the matter is that the grain itself was not clean. From the very first moment, when the combine header strips the kernel out of its dry sunbaked husk, an incredibly fine dust is created that can linger in the air and attach itself to anything it finds nearby. As that grain then moves from point A to B to C to D on its journey, that dust will continually separate and gather back together once more, clinging to whatever surface that it can find a foothold. Without the proper maintenance and a strict adherence to a proper cleaning schedule, it’s a lurking tragedy that’s waiting to befall the unwary. When Castiel’s father had inspected the elevator on his very first day, Charles had failed to open all of the pertinent doors, or else he would have shut down the elevator at that very instant, not allowing it to reopen until after it had been thoroughly cleaned and re-inspected. So, as Dean leaned back against the cool corrugated steel of one of the many huge silos that made up the Farmer’s Union Co-Op Elevator, he simply had no idea how close to tragedy he was. Or exactly how fast it could unfold. In just seconds he went from daydreaming about a life spent with the fascinating boy with the splendidly brilliant blue eyes, to clutching Castiel’s arm tight as they were fleeing for their very lives. The elevator head had been running for several hours already that day, and the worn belt was slipping with each rotation, causing it to rub against the wooden support beam. The heat that was being generated from the friction was just enough, that when that insubstantial speck floated down and landed on the overly heated pine board, it instantly vaporized, and set off a chain event that soon had all of the dust igniting within mere moments. The initial explosion blew the top lid off of several of the massive silos, and without the upper-level support, the sheer weight of the grain within them forced its way out, splitting them open like they were constructed out of tissue paper. While one kernel of grain is small and harmless, when fifty thousand bushels of grain begin to rain down, they will rapidly overwhelm any pitiful defenses that might exist. Dean was struggling to keep his rather tenuous grip on Castiel’s slender arm as they ran across the swiftly vanishing clearing, dodging the wildly twisted car-sized falling pieces of metal, avoiding the waterfalls of grain as best they could. But their best efforts simply weren’t good enough. Dean felt both of Castiel’s hands on his back, directly between his shoulder blades, as he pushed Dean with a force that shouldn’t have been possible. Dean was suddenly catapulted through the air, crashing down almost two hundred feet away from where he had been when Castiel had propelled him forward. Dean rolled across the uneven ground a few times, before he finally caught the grass clumps with desperately grasping fingers and drug himself to a stop. He turned back just in time to see Castiel being swallowed up as a wave of wheat swept over his head, and then it just wouldn’t stop, wave after wave piled on. Dean leapt to his feet and tried to run back, but he was caught by the strong arms of some bystanders, railway workers who had come out of the caboose to see if they could help to rescue anyone from the unfolding tragedy. Unfortunately, it was far too late for that kind of a miracle to come to pass. The blaring sirens of the volunteer fire brigade could be heard in the distance, and Dean watched in utter horror as the flames leapt high against the cloudless midday sky. The screams that were being ripped from his throat were barely recognizable as human, but he couldn’t stop calling out Castiel’s name. Couldn’t stop hoping that the precious boy that had become such an important part of Dean’s life had found some shelter under those all-consuming and endless waves of grain, like a capsized boat could save a potential drowning victim, if only they could stay calm enough to conserve their air until they were rescued. As the day wore on, it became less and less likely that that doubtful scenario might miraculously come to pass. Dean finally heard a familiar voice, as Sam wrapped his thin arms around his older brother, trying to calm him, but it was not to be. Dean woke up in a hospital bed and saw his father’s bowed head as he sat on the chair next to the gurney. Sam stood in the corner, arms crossed over his slender chest, as he looked out the lone window. That open window let in nothing but darkness, for it was a bleak night without even the benefit of the moon to grant any sort of reprieve from the crushing weight of his broken soul that had shattered into a million jagged little pieces. Dean felt as though Fate herself had picked it up and then thrown it down with a cruel laugh, as she reminded him that he was nothing, would never amount to anything, and would never be allowed to have anything joyous and wonderful in his rather bleak life. “What,” Dean paused as he was forced to clear his throat against the sudden tightness he felt there, “what happened?” John’s bowed head came up, his whiskey-brown eyes full of worry and concern for his oldest child. With a small cry, Sam was rushing over to his side, throwing himself across his older brother as he hugged him tightly, just before the sobs started to wrack his young body. “The elevator exploded. They’re still digging bodies out, but you seem to be the only… the only one who lived.” Dean blinked back tears as John ran one trembling hand through his already tousled dark hair, and then over his quivering mouth as he drew in a deep breath, before his father came forward and joined in the hug that Sam couldn’t seem to stop giving to Dean. But Dean had to know, he just had to. “Castiel, did he, um, make it?” Sam’s muffled no was the only response that Dean received. Dean closed his eyes, let his arms come up, one wrapping around his trembling baby brother, one around his father’s heaving shoulders as the ceaseless stream of tears had begun to flow down his freckled cheeks. John and Sam went home eventually, but Dean remained as the doctors had wanted to keep him for overnight observation, just in case. With his family now departed Dean was left alone, with just his troubled thoughts to keep him company. The radio that Sam had brought him was playing some old rock song, otherwise it was perfectly silent in the hospital room. Dean sank into the depths of his despair, his terrible misery almost more than he could bear, as he was unable to begin to understand how Castiel had been able to push him with such force, to make sure that he lived while everyone else had perished. They hadn’t simply died, all quick and easy like. No, they had suffocated, or more like drowned as the grain would have flooded into every available orifice. Left them choking on the wheat that had been intended to feed the many peoples of the world. Dean rolled out of the hospital bed, carelessly removing the IV as he got his feet under him, the gray hospital socks with their rubber grips on the sole helping him to not slide across the slippery floor. He wandered down the empty halls, feeling the invisible tether that seemed to be guiding his footsteps, leading him into the basement, right up the double doors that were stenciled in bold black lettering. MORGUE. It was ugly and blocky and only added to the sorrow that was trying to devour him from the inside out. Dean’s hand trembled as he raised it up, and pressed lightly, feeling the door swing open from the gentle pressure. The cold and industrial looking stainless-steel table sat in the middle of the utilitarian room, draped with a pristine white sheet, and even though Dean couldn’t see who was under that sheet, he still somehow knew. Instinctively. Intuitively. With some innate sense that had been activated within the last two weeks, and that now was utterly useless. He pulled back the thin material carefully, with a gentle care and an esteemed reverence that felt so very natural to him. As if he had known the magnificent young man his entire life, instead of only just a handful of days. His pale, delicate skin bore the pockmarks from where all of the wheat kernels had been pressed against it, as it had stolen his life away from him much too soon. The thick, dark lashes lay in their final resting place against his thin cheek, forever closed. Dean felt such profound sorrow that those amazingly brilliant blue eyes wouldn’t be able to look out upon the world with wonder ever again. The first soft drop of wetness landing on his dear friend’s thin shoulder was the first hint to Dean that he had tears streaming down his face. But that wasn’t quite right, for Castiel had been so very much more than a dear friend. At least, he would have been. Dean was quite certain that Castiel would have ended up being his everything one day. But no longer. Dean suddenly collapsed to the floor, as his legs gave out, no longer able to support him, his thin arms wrapping around his narrow waist as he sobbed out his heart-wrenching grief, quite unable to understand why the universe would bring him so close to happiness only to rip it away so cruelly. Dean finally fell asleep, lying there on the floor, under the table that held the corpse of his one true love. Just knowing that even if he ended up living to be a hundred years old, he would never be able to find anyone who could possibly complete him as perfectly as Castiel had. ***** The demonic beast that seemed to be reveling in the pain and misery that he wrought on others smiled cruelly, as his thin, greasy fingers threaded through the short, dark wavy hair and clenched tight before they pulled the bowed head up. “Do you see?” The nasally whisper sounded in Castiel’s ear, as he tried to turn his head away, “Do you see how he suffers?” Castiel did indeed see, truly he did. There was simply no way that he couldn’t. Chained in the heavily warded stockade as he was, looking on as Dean thrashed and whimpered, as he sobbed and cried out for the angel that he couldn’t even possibly know yet. As he pleaded for Castiel to be returned to him, begged that he might be taken in Castiel’s place. It was all that Castiel could do not to snarl at the godless monster that held them, knowing that it would change nothing, except to possibly make the torture that Dean was suffering to be made even more heinous than it had already proven to be. Alastair was an ancient being, one that had been around since the initial waves of demons had been created by Lucifer’s own hand all those eons ago. His cruelty knew no bounds, and he was determined to destroy the righteous man. To draw him into his web of ceaseless brutality so that the first seal might be broken, so that the demons might be able to take the first steps towards the apocalypse so that they could raise their Lord and Savior from his prison deep within the bowels of hell. But Dean Winchester had held firm, refusing to surrender to his baser urges and desires. Alastair had been torturing him for almost forty years already, and still, he had remained stalwart in his refusal to torment another helpless soul. Castiel’s entire garrison had been captured, and he was the lone survivor. Now held prisoner, his vessel’s image being used to cause untold distress in the almost broken mind of the one righteous man in all the cosmos that could bring about its utter destruction. Castiel knew that he needed to act, and he needed to do so swiftly. Not only to save the mission from certain failure, but to save the pure soul that was being ravaged right in front of him. “I know, I could always bring you back, and then let him see you die again. Hmmm. I like the sound of that.” Castiel could only glare at the demon, knowing that he was presently helpless. So, it was with a singular purpose that he issued his desperate prayer, knowing that he had been clearly forsaken by heaven. Choosing to seek assistance from the one who would hopefully be able to rescue them. If he were still alive. But more importantly, if he could be convinced that he was still needed. That the world he had forsaken heaven for was worth his further efforts. And if he could be convinced that he needed to set aside his unhealthy proclivities long enough to see to the continued existence of all the many glorious works that their father had wrought. “Gabriel, please. I beseech you.”
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Dean dropped his ragged canvas backpack onto the desk in his cluttered dorm room, as he turned and was caught up in a hug that was closer to being strangled by a rampaging octopus than a simple show of affection from his snot-nosed little brother. “Come on now. I’ll miss you too, Sammy.” Dean could feel the nod against the side of his neck just before Sam broke away. “You better write, or call. Or both. You hear me? I need to know about all of your misadventures.” Sam’s wide smile left his dimples on display, as he glanced around the small dorm room that would be Dean’s home for the next nine months. Who would have guessed that when he applied himself, he could be just as smart as his little brainiac of a brother? It also didn’t hurt that he had become the captain of the rowing team and had gotten a full athletic scholarship to one of the most prestigious institutions of higher learning in the entire world. Sam had been adamant that he needed to escort Dean to England so that he could help his older brother get all settled in. But Dean had known better, accusing Sam of just using him so that he could get a better look at Oxford’s world-renowned library. The blush that had crept up Sam’s cheeks had been all the confirmation that Dean had needed. “Yeah, yeah Sam. I’ll email every day. Send you pictures of the stacks.” Dean laughed heartily as he gave his little brother one final hug, and then turned to give his parents a final farewell. Mary had tears in her soft blue eyes as she pulled her oldest son in close for a final warm hug. “Now you take care of yourself. Study hard. Practice hard. But still have fun.” She cupped his face in her hands as she pulled back and looked into his emerald-green eyes, “And don’t get so wrapped up in school that you don’t take the time to meet someone special.” Dean felt the flush creeping up his face as she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and then pulled away, wiping tears from her eyes. “Well, I’ve never known your mother to give out bad advice, so yeah, take the time to enjoy this life. You hear me? You’ve worked so hard, and we’re so proud of you.” John’s warm words were flowing over Dean, filling him with such a sense of pride, as he was then pulled close and given a quick hug, while his father’s large hand clapped him on the back. “I’ll make all of you proud, if it’s the last thing I do. I promise.” Dean responded just before he cleared his throat against the sudden lump that was forming there. As a family, they had all walked down to the courtyard that was directly in front of Dean’s dorm, and Dean had gotten one last round of heartfelt hugs before they had piled into the tiny hackney, that was England’s version of a taxi, and been on their way to Heathrow International Airport, and then back to the U.S. and all Dean could think about now was where he might be able to find a decent bacon double cheeseburger before he expired of starvation. One quick Google search later, and Dean was at a little restaurant a few blocks from campus, Tommi’s Burger Joint. Funny thing was, they weren’t lying, even a little bit. This bastion of all things American, near the heart of the revered institution that was dedicated to maintaining the most widely accepted stereotypes of all things British, had absolutely lived up to their name. Dean knew that he had just found his new home away from home as he devoured the absolute deliciousness of the amazing ‘patty’ and the fries, nothing French about them here in England, although in most restaurants they would probably be called ‘chips’. But Dean could make these little sacrifices with his vocabulary as long as he was able to enjoy the glory that was an American-style burger from time to time. It wasn’t like he would be able to enjoy this kind of food all the time, he had to stay in somewhat decent shape so that he could lead the crew team to multiple victories in tournaments all over the continent. With a contented sigh, Dean headed back to his dorm room, needing to finish unpacking before classes started the next day. Because first thing in the morning he would need to meet his teammates and the coxswain. Which would more than likely lead to a practice session, and Dean needed to be rested so that he could impress his soon-to-be crew mates. ***** Dean had to blink a few times. Then rub vigorously at his disbelieving eyes. Because the vision that was standing in front of him just couldn’t be real. Because no one individual could possibly be that incredibly attractive. Seriously, it just couldn’t even be humanly possible. Not unless heaven was missing an angel, and there was a good damn reason that that was a super cliched line that only losers used. Dean stared into the most gorgeously blue eyes, that were framed by the thickest dark eyelashes, that graced the most perfectly formed face he had ever seen. Even his five o’clock shadow was amazing, and it was six o’clock in the morning! His deep voice was causing shivers to race up and down Dean’s spine and it was taking every single ounce of his very concerted effort to not simply leap across the space dividing them and have his way with this incredible man. For a reason that Dean couldn’t quite put his finger on, he felt as if he knew this Castiel already, like they had lived a life together before, and this was simply them finding each other in the very next cosmic reincarnation. And now that they had, they could simply resume from where they had left off. Castiel had been speaking from the very moment that Dean had laid his eyes upon him, and as each syllable of every word washed over Dean, he became more and more enamored of his coxswain. Before Dean even knew what was going on, they were seated in the boat, and then the team was going through their practice routine, which left very little time for Dean to flirt as he so desperately wanted to, and just like that, he was snuggled into his dorm room bed, his first day assignments all completed, and he began to have the most remarkable dream. Castiel was there to greet him as his eyelids gently fluttered closed, to whisper such incredibly wicked requests against the shell of his freckle-covered ear, to plead so sweetly as he asked if Dean could please see about fulfilling all of Castiel’s long-held desires. That he holds him close and never lets him go, that if he would just hold on, that Castiel would get him out. That if he could just be strong for a little while longer, that his diligence would be rewarded… Dean woke with a start, glanced over at the clock radio and saw that it was due to go off in just another three minutes. Deciding that he didn’t really need any more sleep, so he turned it off and began to prepare for his busy day ahead. He could barely make it through the rowing practice, his blazing emerald-green eyes never once leaving Castiel as he called out the commands that helped the team to complete their circuit in near record time. Dean stumbled through the remainder of his day, not truly knowing what he was doing or where he was going. Towards the end of the day, he found himself in the library, needing to check out a book for a research paper that he had been assigned to him, one that sought to prove that angels were real. That resulted in Dean pulling out his cell phone and calling his know-it-all little brother. Sam answered eventually, sounding a little sleepy, as apparently Dean had quite forgotten about the time difference, and Sam had guided Dean through the Dewey Decimal System with the absolute bare minimum of head-splitting yawns. With a deeply heartfelt thanks Dean hung up the phone and then began to leaf through the massive tome that he had found lying on the shelf in the furthest reaches of the library. Thankfully it was illustrated, and Dean was making rapid progress while he was taking copious notes, when it all suddenly ground to a halt. There on the page, was a large, full-color illustration of the angel Castiel. This ‘Angel of Thursday’ must have inspired the parents of Dean’s coxswain, because the similarities were simply too overwhelming to ignore. He was the ‘Shield of God’ and described as a protector. Much as the Castiel that Dean had met earlier helped to guide the team, keep them on the safest path, protected them from dangers that the rest of the team might not be able to look up and see as they are too focused on the task at hand. Both were there to aid and comfort others, and both would never let anything keep them from seeing their responsibilities through to completion. Dean had to sit down as all of the air seemed to have gotten sucked out of the room just then, and all he could do was take deep calming breaths until he finally had some semblance of control once more. Dean had gathered his notes, and then quickly slid the tome into his worn backpack, just needing to be able to look upon the image that was contained within as often as he needed to. It was as if he would simply perish if he were not allowed to keep it close. As Dean fell into a troubled sleep that night, he was once again greeted by Castiel, who was now relentlessly pleading with him to remain strong, to not give up hope, to keep fighting with every single fiber of his being against the demon that held them both captive. But none of that made any sense. Dean tried to calm himself, but all of the various techniques that Sam had taught him over the years were having no effect whatsoever. In fact, it only seemed to be making matters worse. Superbly strong arms were surrounding him then, drawing him closer to the lean body that was wrapped in corded muscles, that was promising to show him every single pleasure known in heaven or on earth, and that deliciously rough whisper was sounding in his ear, as it pleaded with him to just hold on a little bit longer. That help was indeed on the way. Even without the disturbing dreams, Dean felt terrible the next morning as they began to row the boat out onto the River Thames. For some inexplicable reason, many of the members were not listening to the coxswain and they were actively rowing against the others, and it was just then that the boat hit something in the water, and they were all thrown overboard. Dean surfaced in the freezing water and began to count heads that were bobbing up and down in the river. A sense of dread filled him as he realized that they were short by one. “Castiel! Castiel!” His frantic cries were met with utter silence, and Dean found himself diving into the murky water again and again as he searched for his lost friend. But Castiel was nowhere to be found. Dean swam for what felt like hours, until his arm and legs felt like leaden weights that were threatening to pull him under to his own untimely demise, but he was unable to locate Castiel, who seemed to have been sucked down into the complete and total darkness. Dean was so exhausted from his fruitless search that he was loaded up in the ambulance and taken to the local hospital. As the sedation began to take effect, he could hear the music playing softly in the background, filtering down from the overhead speakers, that same old song from the last time he had been hospitalized. But when was that? And, why? As Dean sank down into the merciful embrace of unconsciousness, he had to wonder why this all seemed to be so damn familiar. Where and how had this happened before? Dean woke with a start; the music was now softly playing from the little transistor radio that was on his bedside table. It was that same old song that he had sung a million times before when he was a kid, but then he remembered what had caused him to be where he was. With a singular purpose, he got out of the bed, and made his way to the basement, and as the feeling of déjà vu washed over him, he found himself standing in front of the swinging double doors, but this time they were so slightly different. MORTUARY. That was how the British dealt with death. A softer word. Dean steeled himself and pushed through the doors, finding his worst nightmare all laid out in front of him. Not only was Castiel laid out on a slab, but his entire family as well. His father John, his mother Mary, and his annoying little Sammy were all propped up. Their heads were supported on the hard, little plastic stands, and their pale skin and waterlogged bodies all seemed to indicate that they had drowned. But this was impossible! They had made it home. They hadn’t even been here at Oxford today; how could they have drowned and then been brought here? Dean stopped at Castiel’s slab and used his trembling fingertips to gently trace over the delicate features of the most beautiful man that he had ever met. The tears had started then, not for his family, but for this near stranger. Even if Dean had felt some sort of profound bond with the man, that shouldn’t have excused his lack of distress over the bodies of his immediate family members. Dean had fallen across Castiel’s cold form then, trying to hold him tight as one sob after another was torn from his violently shaking body, as he tried to make any kind of reasonable sense of this senseless tragedy. But it was not to be, and as he slid to the floor and curled up into a ball, all he could do was mourn the future that would never be allowed to come to pass. ***** Castiel shook the entire stockade as he tried to use a surge of power to shatter it into a million pieces. “Know that I shall take you to heaven and you shall be punished for this grave offense.” His roared threat was ignored, as all of his other warnings had been as well. The only response was the grating laughter that he never, ever wanted to hear again. “Oh! Look! Is he crying? Is that what I see? Do you even know how close he is? To finally breaking? To submitting to my will?” Alastair had gotten close, too close as he had taunted the captive angel. Castiel had brought his head down sharply, smiled with no small amount of satisfaction when he heard the crunch of the vessel’s nose, relaxed infinitesimally when he heard the curses pouring forth from between those thin lips. “Laugh while you can. Do you know who his first victim will be when he finally can’t take the pain and torture anymore? When he finally agrees to stop being the righteous man and begins to torment others for me?” Castiel watches Alastair walk away, leaving them in this horror-filled chamber all by themselves for just a moment. “Dean! Dean! Please, hear me! You must remain strong! You must continue to fight! Please, Dean!” But his anguished plea went unanswered, as it usually did. ***** Sam threw down the old leather-bound book as he heard the knock on the door, leaving it to lie open on the kitchen table in the crappy motel room that he had been spending the last few days in. Needing a safe place to be able to do the necessary research so that he might be able to figure out how he could rescue his dead brother. The one that wouldn’t even be in this position if Sam hadn’t of gone and gotten stabbed in the back and died first. But such was the life that he had been given, and now he needed to piece together a workable solution so that he could rescue Dean, even if he didn’t have the first clue where to begin. Sam peered through the peephole, spotting a diminutive man, with sandy-brown hair, and honey-gold eyes. He opened the door slowly, until he could fill the empty space with his large frame, then asked, “What can I help you with?” Sam looked on as the man blinked, looked at the slightly crumpled paper that he was holding in his hand, and then swallowed hard before he spoke. “Are you Sam Winchester? Because if you are, then I have a package for you.” Sam’s hazel eyes finally noted the plain box that was tucked under the man’s arm. “Who sent you?” he asked as he watched the stranger carefully, trying to anticipate any danger that might suddenly creep up. “A very old acquaintance reached out to me, asked if I could deliver this to you. Thought it might prove to be useful.” The gentle voice rolled over Sam, and he just felt a peace that he couldn’t rightly explain at that moment. But lacking any evidence to the contrary, he calmly stepped aside and allowed the stranger to simply stroll into his room, watching as he went straight to the table with all of the ancient tomes spread out across it. “Well, well, well. What have we here? An educated hunter. Who woulda thought it possible?” Sam stiffened at the insult, knowing how some of the elite viewed those who actually went out and did the dirty work that they felt was far beneath them. But he also knew that he was in over his head, and he wasn’t going to turn away assistance, no matter how annoying they might prove themselves to be. Sam pauses then, shakes himself mentally, realizes that he needs more information about the irksome man who he has allowed into his room. “And you are?” Sam asks as he arches one chestnut-brown eyebrow high, hazel eyes boring into the stranger as he stands there with his hands on his hips. “Well, just like you I’ve been lots of different people, it just depends on what day of the week it is. But if you want me to answer, you can call me Gabriel.” Sam waits, seeing the smirk spread over the small man’s soft features. “So, no last name?” Sam lets the sarcasm edge in, so that the interloper might know that Sam is less than amused by his presence. “Nope. Just like Madonna and Cher, one name is all I need.” Sam swears he sees the briefest flash of light as Gabriel turns away, but then he is pulling out a chair and situating himself at the table. “You want to show me what you’ve managed to piece together so far?” Sam rolls his shoulders as he makes his way across the room, cracking his neck before he sits down and reaches for a tome on demons and their potential abilities. The hours pass quickly then, as Sam and Gabriel sit shoulder to shoulder, going through one ancient tome after the next. Several theories are written down, most are quickly crossed off of the list. By the time Sam finally lets loose a yawn that nearly rips his head clean in half, Gabriel lays a hand on his broad shoulder and suggests that Sam go get some rest. For some reason, Sam doesn’t even try to argue with his new friend, simply gets up, walks the few feet to the bed, and crashes down upon it, falling into a deep sleep within moments. ***** Gabriel quickly waves away the masking spell, as he then conjures all of the required materials and concentrates on finding the only angel in all of creation that he would risk the wrath of heaven to help. Within moments, he can see Castiel, bound by the warded stockades, his head bowed as he pleads, asking that Alastair just stop tormenting Dean. Gabriel focuses on the soul that is bound to the table opposite Castiel, really looks into its depths, and is shocked by what he sees. A man so pure, that his corruption will bring on the apocalypse. But he has been resisting, putting forth some rather valiant effort to not give into the temptation of being able to make all of the unremitting pain stop. To be set free so that he might do to others what has already been done to him, so many times over already. Gabriel looks into Alastair then, knowing him for the truly heinous bastard that he is, knowing that if anyone would be able to break a pure soul, it would be him. That he has not a single drop of humanity remaining in his own twisted soul, that he would gleefully torture his way through every single being that populated this perfect little marble. Gabriel can see the bond that has formed between Castiel and Dean, can feel the heartache that his dear comrade is suffering, knowing that he would gladly sacrifice himself a billion times over if it would bring relief to the mortal that he holds so very dear. But Gabriel has never been one to back down from a challenge, especially one that will muck up all of heaven’s very well-laid plans, and from the little time that he has spent with Sam, he knows that both brothers are special, that they are more than meets the eye, and will need to be protected. Lest the host of heaven descend upon them and force them to do utterly unthinkable acts. Gabriel keeps going through his purloined tablets, the ones that he had smuggled out of heaven eons before, just knowing that one day they would prove to be invaluable for some greater purpose. Just hoping that he could crack the code before it really was much too late.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The wind was blowing hot and dry, as it usually did at this time of year. Dean turned his face towards the sun, feeling the relentless heat beat down upon him, knowing that his freckles would bloom to life quickly if he didn’t put on some sunscreen before too much longer. He wasn’t quite sure what had possessed him to decide to take a hike today. Maybe it was simply that after he had gotten back from the land of perpetual rain and frequent lack of anything that resembled sunshine for weeks at a time, that he had needed to come to a place that would be nothing but dry air, and a scorching sun that would remind him moderation was the key to enjoying any aspect of his life. His time at Oxford had ended with a college degree, and the desire to never again go anywhere near a boat. After he had lost everyone that he held dear, he had buried himself in his studies, and managed to make the Dean’s list every single semester that he had attended one of the most prestigious centers of higher education that had ever been founded. It had been relatively easy, once he actively tried to isolate himself from every single other person on the planet. To not grow close to anyone, because all that that had led to was heartache and sorrow. The time when he would no longer be able to look into an amazing pair of brilliant blue eyes, that were so incredibly expressive, that were so full of life, love, and hope. That had looked upon Dean like he was the singularly most significant creature to have ever been brought into existence. But that was so very far in the past, belonging to a time that was best forgotten. Because thinking upon it could only cause fresh pain and heartbreaking sorrow to flow freely. To well up and suck Dean down into the hurt and trauma that was the everyday occurrence that his life had devolved into. So, now he didn’t interact with others, pointedly went out of his way to ensure that he could make it through the entire rest of his life with as little interaction as could be gotten away with. Thanks to his newly acquired computer skills, he was going to be working remotely, writing reports, looking up information from the digital archives, and sealing himself away. As it should be. That way he could never form another attachment, never come to feel a profound bond forming with another living being. He could simply live out the entirety of his existence totally and utterly alone. Dean stopped as he dug a bandanna out of his back pocket, and then mopped it across his brow. Wiping away the sweat that was flowing much too freely, knowing that he needed to hydrate or else he would soon perish from heat stroke. From all that he had read, it was an altogether entirely unpleasant way to go and one that should be avoided at all costs. Dean closed his eyes, as he thought back to that horrible day when a lack of water would have been a godsend, would have allowed Dean to grow to know the one person in all the world that he had wanted to get to know as intimately as possible, maybe even live out his life by his side. Walking hand in hand, on some sandy beach, as they picked up the tumbling shells out of the flowing surf, stopping them from being washed back out to sea. Adding the ones that they wanted to keep to the little netted bag, so that they could be added to a picture frame, that would highlight the strip of photos that the little photo booth had given them in exchange for five dollars. As they would have squeezed themselves into the booth, as they would have smiled brightly, with obvious love shining in their eyes, as their hands sank lower, to tickle all of the sensitive spots that they fought valiantly to keep defended from the other. As they would have come together for a chaste kiss, just a gentle press of soft flesh, as his perfect cupid’s bow was met by lips that forever seemed to be in need of a fresh coat of Chapstick. His freckle-covered hand would have slid up into the soft raven-dark hair, just to hold him secure, so that he could linger in the kiss, not allow it to end. Not until they had to. Dean drank down a few deep swallows from his canteen, swiped at the tears that were now mixed in with his free-flowing sweat, and pulled out his map. Checking it against the compass that he had taken out of his backpack. Knowing that he needed to stay on the path, that to wander out into the wilderness could only end badly. But even as that thought made its way across his mind, he heard something, a cry for help. Coming out from behind a split in the trail, leading away from certainty and directly into the vast unknown. Dean hesitated, for several moments, but then he heard it again. A deeply gruff voice, that seemed to be calling his name. Dean shook his head, to clear it, knowing that it was impossible, what he thought he was hearing, but the pull was irresistible. He simply had to know. Dean stooped over to pick up several small rocks that were on the side of the trail, all smooth and polished, clearly out of place. Then he began his trek towards the offshoot branch of the route, stopping at intervals to place a rock directly in the middle of the path, so that he could find his way back. The voice was louder now, and Dean shook as it worked its way over him, sank into him and became one with every nerve and fiber that made him a complete being. Dean started running, his legs eating up the distance as he advanced across the wilderness, zeroing in on the voice that was growing louder, and even more distressed. He skidded to a stop, just as he had crested a small hill, and saw the one person he had never thought to be able to see again. But there, bound spreadeagled on the ground, wearing nothing more than a faded Oxford crew uniform, and being held in place by a series of stakes connected to thick rope, was his precious Castiel. The absolute love of his rather short life that had been ripped away from him by a cruel twist of fate. Dean’s mind reeled as he tried to figure out what was going on. This wasn’t even possible, it couldn’t be. Castiel was dead. Dean had seen him on the slab. Hadn’t he? But Castiel called out Dean’s name once more, and he was quickly racing across the rocky ground, trying to get to the man he loved more than anything or anyone. “Castiel? Is that really you?” His gravel-rough voice was shredded, and he realized that he must have been screaming Castiel’s name as he had plunged recklessly down the path, trying to get back to what he had thought had been lost to him. “Dean! Please, help me. Cut me loose.” Dean met the brilliant blue eyes, took in the red welts that crisscrossed his torso and legs, and wondered who had hurt this incredible man. Dean’s knife was quickly cutting the bonds, and then Castiel was free, and Dean simply couldn’t stop himself. Just had to know, after so many years of dreaming and fantasizing about this moment, he had to know. Dean leaned in and let his own plush lips brush over the full chapped lips, heard the soft gasp that escaped, before a hand was sliding up and into his hair, and then he was being held in place as Castiel was doing his very best to ravish his good Samaritan. Dean found himself being held within powerful arms, which made no sense, as Castiel was smaller than Dean, not by much, but he was definitely far daintier than Dean. Where had he gotten such incredible strength from? Dean was rolled then, and he felt a thigh lodge itself between his own, and he wanted nothing more than to see this to its logical conclusion, but just then the first drop of rain hit the hand that was wrapped up in Castiel’s hair. Dean broke away from the kiss that he had waited a lifetime to enjoy with a small, frustrated growl and looked up towards the now extremely cloudy skies. A bolt of lightning struck nearby, hitting an already dead tree, barely over a hundred feet away from where they lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, the deafening crack of thunder reverberated with enough force that Dean’s ears were ringing. He saw that Castiel was trying to speak to him, to let him know what to do, but he couldn’t understand any of it. Castiel’s hands were wrapped around his brawny biceps, and then he was bodily pulling him up, and before Dean knew what was happening, they were fleeing back up the path that Dean had followed when he had begun his search for Castiel. They were quickly back on the main trail, but they had a new problem. The rain was now coming down in driving sheets, and Dean could barely see more than a foot in front of him, yet he could still feel. He felt the warmth of the body that was guiding him, he felt the innate strength that was bound within the powerful frame, he felt the unremitting love that was flowing across to him, as his hand was held tight, as he was being so fiercely protected by the one being in all of the universe that Dean truly believed would sacrifice everything just so that Dean would remain safe and sound. When it rains in the desert, it comes down quickly. Thus, the greatest overwhelming risk that you face is drowning, because the water cannot be absorbed at a rate that is anywhere even remotely equivalent to how fast it is falling. Add to that equation that when you are surrounded by rocks and boulders, they quickly become channels that help to guide the water to the nearest available river. Dean could feel the water getting higher and higher, fast approaching his knees. It was also developing a current as gravity was helping it to flow ever faster. Castiel had an iron grip on his arm and was more or less dragging Dean up the steep incline rather than assisting him, but Dean didn’t mind. Not one little bit. Because as long as he could feel that hand on his arm, he knew that his love was alive. And that was the only thing that mattered at this very moment. With a less than gentle pull, Dean found himself in a dry cave, now out of the torrential downpour. Dean was being wrapped up in strong arms once more, and lush lips were pressed up against his own, and a sleek tongue was seeking entry, and Dean wanted nothing more to see this through to completion, but they really did need to ascertain if they would be safe here. That this cave would indeed be secure enough to protect the both of them from the raging storm that was barely being held at bay. “Please, Dean. Let me take care of you.” That gruff voice washed over Dean, and then he couldn’t even think anymore. As hands were running up and down his back, as clothes were being removed, and he just couldn’t stop kissing the one man in all the world with whom he felt such a profound connection. An inexplicable bond that had seemed to exist since a time before Dean had even been conceived and brought into this tumultuous world. It got fuzzy then, as Dean clung to Castiel, as he began to plead, to beg for everything that he had ever wanted in this life. The sudden blast of flames that surrounded them was unexpected. Castiel pressed Dean back towards the entrance of the cave, and suddenly Dean was out in the downpour once more, the now thigh-high water washing him away in just a moment. Dean heard the screams, saw the burst of light from behind the curtain of water, and then he was bobbing along as he raced down the side of the mountain, captive to a river that had only sprung up in the last fifteen minutes, and would be long gone by the dawn. Dean continued screaming for Castiel, but soon he had to focus all of his concentration on keeping his head above the still rapidly rising water. It was over far too quickly, even though it seemed as if it had taken hours, but Dean was washed out onto an open plain, and he caught the side of a boulder that was well above the current water line. He crawled up and out of the runoff, and then curled around himself for warmth, knowing that the rain was driving away all of the midday heat that Dean had been enjoying less than an hour prior to the furtherance of his endless nightmare. That no matter how hard Dean tried, he would simply never be able to break out of the endless cycle of death and sorrow. Dean must have passed out at some point, because he woke up to find himself strapped to a backboard, as he was being raised up and into a rescue helicopter. Now wrapped up in a scratchy wool blanket, as he was poked and prodded. He could barely find it within himself to respond, and soon an IV was started, and then he was blessedly unconscious once more. When he woke yet again, he was in yet another hospital. Bright neon signs were visible out his single window, proclaiming to the world that every single casino within the city of Las Vegas had the loosest slots in the state. Dean simply rolled over, not giving even a moment’s thought to the tubes that were helping to keep him alive, and then the tears began to flow. It was simply too much! Again! How did this keep happening to him? The song that was playing softly over the radio was the only measure of comfort that he could find, but how was that supposed to be enough so that he could keep on keeping on? Dean thought back to the cave, to the flames that had poured out of the scaly beast that had called that cavernous space home, that had set up a lair in a place where he should have been safe from unwanted disturbances. But that, of course, was not what had happened. Instead, Dean had lost his love, again. The urgent words couldn’t penetrate his consciousness, not anymore. Dean was shutting down. His will to live, leaving him. After all, what was there to live for, when his beloved was dead? ***** Castiel’s muscles strained and bunched as he raged, swearing vengeance upon all who held him and Dean, as his grace tried to escape the ancient warding of the stockade that still held him prisoner. As he tried to close the distance between the precious mortal and himself. He could feel the pain radiating off of Dean like a living thing, could feel the hopelessness that was welling up and taking over. That was driving out the will to say no. To continue to refuse Alastair’s disgraceful offer. The bastard demon, whose greatest pleasure came from the tortured pain and eternal suffering of others, simply laughed, as he always did. “Come now, Castiel! You know how this will end. He will break, and then you will break. Because this dear, sweet boy will become my single greatest achievement! I will teach him every devious trick that I know!” Alastair smirked as he closed the distance between them, although he had learned his lesson, and he stayed a few steps back from Castiel as he continued to taunt him. “And when he is done with you, I will have my very own angel that will roll over and do all the tricks that I command it to do!” “No! That will never happen! Dean is the righteous man! He will never fall for your schemes!” Castiel was shaking from the impotent rage that was coursing throughout his body as he bore witness to the devastation that Dean was feeling, how it was multiplying exponentially each and every time that he thought Castiel was being taken from him, ripped away cruelly from one who had already lost so much, had already sacrificed all on the simple hope that he was doing the right thing, in a desperate attempt to save the life of another. What was worse, was that Dean no longer believed anyone was trying to save him. That he was all alone in the universe, with no celestial being desperately trying to rescue him. That his only hope was to give himself over to the vile demon who was tormenting him with only one purpose, so that the end of days might be brought forth and the earth would sink into darkness as its complete and total damnation was implemented. “You have so much faith in my lovely pet. It’s amazing to watch you, as you try to rely on a feathered brigade of brethren that have clearly abandoned you.” Alastair wipes a tear from Dean’s cheek then. “Oh, the glorious anguish that you will feel when I turn him. And you’ll have a front-row seat to all of it.” Castiel roared, as his power surged, and for just a moment, he felt that small glimmer of hope, as the accursed warding flickered, as the bonds that held him weakened. But just as quickly as it had come, it was gone. And of course, Alastair had missed absolutely none of it. “I’ll have to see that that warding is strengthened, immediately. Can’t have you breaking free. Ruining all my fun.” With a flick of his hand, Castiel was thrown back and held, as several demons descended upon him. In short order his stockade had been fortified, and he was being dealt a number of vicious blows from the demons that held him captive. Castiel prayed silently, once again pleading for any kind of aid and assistance to be granted unto him. Hoping that heaven’s most sought-after archangel was doing all that he possibly could. Because Castiel was now quite certain that anything less than that would be a waste of time and valuable resources. ***** Gabriel glanced up, flicking his hand once more, sending Sam back into a deep slumber. The stone tablets were proving to be far more of a challenge than Gabriel had initially thought that they would be, but at long last, he was finally onto something. Now he simply needed to translate some dead languages, make a small sacrifice, and all would be right with the world. He grimaced as he translated another section. Amended his list slightly, adding in another sacrifice. Wondering where he might be able to find a willing playmate at this late hour of the night. Smiling, as he knew exactly where he could start looking.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dean felt the sharp jolt as the Jeep crossed over the rumble strip on the edge of the highway, alerting him that he was roaming dangerously out of his lane. He had just passed the sign that announced that the two-lane blacktop had delivered him to his final destination. The Welcome to Needles sign, which proudly proclaimed a current population of 4,903, was the very last thing that Dean needed to focus on right now. It only reminded him that the one that he wanted added back into the population was no more. Well beyond his abilities to help in any way, shape, or form. This trip was all about Dean finding himself, of his attempts to try to reintegrate back into the world. Dean had turned his back on the world, and he had paid a heavy toll for that choice. After he had been released from the hospital in Las Vegas, the first thing that he had done was jump into his trusty Jeep and hit the road. The fact that the vehicle just seemed wrong, especially after so many years spent abroad where he had never driven himself anywhere, always jogging or taking a hackney as it was just too expensive for a university student to try to maintain a vehicle in England. But this old Jeep, which had been new sometime in the 1950’s, was what Dean could afford at the moment. Dean pulled his vehicle into the parking lot of the ABC Motel and parked in front of the office. Hoping he had enough money for a night, knowing he could always hustle pool if he absolutely had to. One of his roommates had shown him how, always preferring to pick on the Scottish or Irish that wandered into the English pubs. But Dean had not had those compunctions, and he preferred to stick it to the Brits anyway, so he had moved from one indistinguishable dive bar in London to another and had always managed to get away with his shenanigans with no one being any the wiser. The front desk clerk was eighty if she was a day, and quite severe. Dean had dug deep and dredged up a warm smile while he flirted shamelessly with Celeste, and he soon found himself in a room with a single queen-sized bed, a vintage design that had clearly seen better days, and enough hot water that Dean could get through a ten-minute shower without having to adjust the temperature even once. The kitchenette was spacious, not that Dean had any food to place in it. A quick Google search and Dean was on his way to a bar that was only three blocks distant. The balls rolled across the felt in a predictable pattern, and soon Dean was flush with cash once more. He really hadn’t even had to hustle anyone, given how fall-down drunk everyone seemed to be. Dean had thrown down some money for his beers, collected his winnings, and then skedaddled as quick as could be. He just wanted to curl up in his somewhat clean bed, to lay down his weary head, hold a pillow tight, and then cry his eyes out. To try and begin to figure out how his beloved Castiel kept coming back to haunt him in his new tortured reality. Dean ordered a pizza once he was in his room and took another quick shower while he waited for it to be delivered. He had dressed in a pair of pajama pants, and an old Three Dog Night t-shirt as he waited. Dean smiled as he thought back to the day that he had gotten it for Sam, as he had dug through so many bins in his effort to find something appropriate for his little brother to wear on the first day of junior high school. Sam had worn it, even with as large as it had been on him, but of course he had also worn a chambray button-down shirt over the top of it, but Dean had still known it was there. Still knew why Sam was humming that song as Dean had picked him up in the Impala and driven him back to the family farm. It hadn’t taken him long to find the tape in his horrible mishmash system of old shoebox cassette tape management, but soon the rich melodies, the soothing harmonies, and the occasionally somewhat warning-filled lyrics were pouring out of Baby’s speakers. They had sung along to the tape, one song after another, Mama Told Me Not To Come, An Old Fashioned Love Song, Out In The Country, Celebrate, Shambala, Black & White, The Show Must Go On, and of course, their favorite, Never Been To Spain. Dean froze, as the memory unfurled, as he focused on it, as something seemed to be incredibly familiar. Something important, but not readily apparent. He felt uncertainty tear at him, as his confusion grew, as he tried to understand the elusive component that was trying to make itself known to him. Blinking back tears as the frustration grew. Because, no matter how hard Dean tried, it had still remained just outside of his grasp. The sharp knock on the door drew his attention back to the here and now, and Dean walked over to answer it. But as the door swung open, and he took in the improbable sight that greeted his dazed eyes, he was at a loss to even begin to explain the image that was filling his vision. Because what he was seeing was impossible. Simply beyond the ability of reality to be true. The pizza man, from the Divine Pizzeria, was tall and slim. His clothes were incredibly form-fitting, and even though Dean was quite certain that he had read somewhere that wearing horizontal stripes was supposed to be unflattering, the red and white stripes of his uniform shirt did nothing to detract from the spectacular body that was lurking under them. Brilliant blue eyes met his own emerald-green orbs, his lush lips broke into a wide smile, and the dark stubble that graced his cheeks was simply perfection.
Dean could only stare intently as he was unable to move, unable to think, quite certain that the world could end, and he wouldn’t even notice at that moment. But when the perfectly gruff voice announced his total, all Dean could think about was every horrible porno that he had ever watched over the course of his life as the next words were softly uttered, “Um, how much for you?” The words fell out of his plush lips before he could even begin to consider the potential repercussions, but luck was with him today, as the pizza man smiled broadly before he responded, “For you? On the house.” Dean was being pushed back into the room then, as the pizza box hit the table and was promptly forgotten, because all that Dean could hope to focus on were the nimble and amazingly strong hands that were on his body. That were guiding him towards the bed, that were running over every single amazing part of his delectable body, that were pulling at his clothes, that were acting as if they were on a very determined and single-minded mission from God himself. Dean was trying to draw in air, but Castiel’s sleek tongue had taken up permanent residence and Dean wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize that incredible action. Before he could even begin to figure out what was actually going on, they were gloriously naked, and Dean wanted to look down, to see, to know, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it, afraid that if he broke eye contact, even for a moment, then his amazing other half would vanish in a puff of smoke. Tears were streaming down his face then, and finally, Castiel was speaking, assuring Dean that he would make everything alright, that if Dean could hold on just a little bit longer, Castiel had a plan, that they would be rescued from the nightmare they had found themselves trapped in. That they were so close to freeing themselves, but Castiel needed Dean to hold on, to withstand the torment, to weather this seemingly never-ending storm. And if Dean could do that, then they could finally be together. Dean buried his face into the side of Castiel’s neck, and then they were on the bed, under the covers, and just clinging to one another. Dean was shaking and trembling, in near hysterics as he continued to sob against the broad shoulder that he was clutching much too tight. Clinging to this wondrous man, who always seemed to be there to comfort Dean, to reassure him, to guide him, to protect him, to shelter him in his time of need. And even though Dean remembers a mostly happy childhood, growing up on the family farm, with a loving mother and father, and a somewhat annoying, but still awesome little brother; he just feels like all of that is simply wrong somehow. Like he had had to fend for himself sometimes. That he had been depended upon to care for Sam. That his mother hadn’t been around as much as she could have been. That his father had heaped too much responsibility upon him, while he had still been much too young, and even as hard as Dean had tried, as quickly as he had obeyed all of the orders that had been given to him, he had never been able to please his father. Not entirely. But, this total stranger, this blue-eyed mystery man accepted Dean just the way he was. Never scolded him, never rebuked him, never told him he was worthless. Never left him all alone in the world with an unreasonable burden having been placed upon his too-young shoulders. Castiel accepted Dean just as he was and praised him for simply existing in the world. Didn’t tell him he was a disappointment, a waste of space, or the worst burden that had ever been placed upon the world. He felt seen with Castiel, he felt loved, he felt cherished, and he felt validated. But he couldn’t explain all of the strange events that always surrounded Castiel’s appearances. How he kept dying, only to reappear at a later date once Dean had thoroughly mourned him. How nothing Dean did was ever enough to save him. How even though they had never actually done anything, there were so many disjointed memories, that if Dean concentrated, he could almost describe what Castiel looked like in all of his naked splendor. But now, even though they were both clearly naked in a bed, in a motel room with a reasonably comfortable bed, the only thing that Dean could do was cling to Castiel and cry. How did this make any kind of logical sense? The first tremor rippled through the bed then, as the pictures that hung on the wall shook ever so slightly. Dean hiccupped, and glanced up, knowing that something was wrong, just not what. Another tremor shook the room, but this one didn’t stop. The cupboards in the kitchen fell off of the wall with a thunderous crash, the front wall of the room split wide open, and bricks began to fall down onto the roiling ground, the light fixture flickered and then crashed to the floor. “It’s an earthquake. We need a doorway!” Dean’s brain had finally started to process, to spit out an answer to what was going on around them. Castiel was pulling Dean out of the bed and shielding him with his body as the room continued to fall apart around them. They stood there, in the bathroom doorway, watching as the tremors became even worse, as they sought to completely destroy the entire building. To render it nothing more than a broken pile of rubble. Dean heard the wet splat, as the wall fractured completely, looked behind him to see that Castiel was no longer there, having been reduced to barely more than a footnote in history as a large chunk of the concrete ceiling had landed on him. Dean began to scream then, his trembling hands threading into his short hair, as his mouth fell open, and he let loose sorrowful wails that would have broken anyone who had some basic semblance of understanding of the general concepts of care and concern. It all became too much for Dean to bear, and he collapsed to the floor, not even realizing that the earthquake ceased as soon as he lost consciousness. ***** Castiel heard the soft whimpers and pained screams coming from the other side of the room, where Dean was laid out on the table. Alastair was standing over him, whispering in his ear. Making his offer. That he would make it all stop, if only Dean would simply pick up a blade, and start carving. Alastair would make it so easy for him, he wouldn’t even need to look at his first victim, just sink the blade in and twist it. To bring pain to someone who deserved it, because otherwise they wouldn’t have ended up in hell, after all. Castiel watched, horrified as Dean seemed to be wavering. As if he were giving the matter some thought. As if he were truly considering becoming some mindless torturer of the innocent, helpless, and weak. Castiel raged, twisted, and writhed. Trying to free himself as he had countless times before, but at that moment, he felt it. The surge of power that was not his own, the power of another that was being lent to him. Flowing through his limbs and helping him to do what he had been so desperately trying to do. With one final heroic effort, the stockade shattered, and Castiel stood up, eyes flashing a fantastically luminous bright blue as his grace manifested, as his wings cast their magnificent shadow on the wall behind him. But it was not his wings that were, no, the wings of an archangel unfurled and left all who saw it shown drawing in shocked breaths. Just before they began to disintegrate in the very next moment. Alastair bellowed out a cry that was meant to raise the alarm, to call the demonic hordes to rain down upon the invader in their midst, but it was not to be. He was bound within the carefully crafted box, its warding and rune work having only just been completed by the incredibly precise hands of a skilled artisan, who had not even known the true importance of the piece that he had been working on. Castiel quickly flicked the temporary prison away, knowing that Gabriel would make certain that both it and its contents would never be heard from again. Castiel quickly freed Dean, slicing through his straps, and quickly healing all of the wounds that littered his soul. He felt such incredible joy as he was finally able to bring some small comfort to the soul that he would quite gladly lay down his immortal life for. Castiel’s form quickly enveloped Dean’s battered soul then, giving him shelter, so that Castiel could do what needed to be done. He could feel the pull from the portal that would lead them to freedom, could hear its soothing melody singing to him as he began to work his way across the vastness of hell. His angel blade was rapidly stained with the blood of many demons, and countless more fell as he sent out waves of grace. Castiel’s only concern was that he had never expended this much grace in a sustained attack before, would he be able to keep going? To persevere until he finally reached his ultimate destination. The voice was unexpected, the soothing one that Castiel had used to listen to for hours at a time, as he had lectured his dear friend on the failings of their father. “You think I wouldn’t’ve given you enough of my badass mojo to get the job done? What kind of an archangel do you take me for?” Castiel smiled warmly then, for the briefest moment, before it melted away and was replaced by the single-minded determination that had always made him an exemplary soldier. One of God’s very best. By the time Castiel reached the portal, entire legions of demons were no more, many had simply fallen back, unwilling to risk incurring the wrath of the angel that was slaughtering so very many of their brethren. But one set of eyes watched with an all-consuming and impotent rage, knowing that now was not the time to strike, that her immortal life needed to be protected until the proper moment. When that time would be was now anyone’s guess, but she would do what was necessary so that she would be there when the instant was finally right, when her death would herald the one who would elevate them all beyond what they were now and help them to overrun heaven once and for all. ***** Sam sat in the Impala, long fingers drumming on the steering wheel, occasionally glancing over at the eccentric man who had come to occupy so much of his time and efforts, as he knelt in the intricately drawn circle, with its many strange symbols that had been painstakingly replicated from the drawing that he had turned over to Sam but hours earlier. They had left the much nicer motel room that Gabriel had insisted they needed, because if he had to share space with cockroaches – which Sam had to admit had been a very real possibility with the dump he had been staying at – then he would be unable to focus, and all would be lost. Sam hadn’t required any further clarification, simply knowing that Gabriel had been speaking of his big brother and their now joint attempt to save him from an undeserved fate that was far worse than any death that he might have previously suffered. The tendrils of blue light had begun to creep out of his back, simply erupting through his clothes, and they quickly worked themselves together, until they began to form what looked like wings. Sam swallowed hard as he pondered exactly what he had managed to get himself into, but again, that strange calm washed over him in that moment, and he relaxed back into the bench seat of the only true home that either he or Dean had ever known. Sam watched as the glow became brighter and brighter, and if Gabriel hadn’t of had the presence of mind to transform the Impala into the world’s safest bunker, Sam surely would have been blinded and then burnt to a cinder as he took in the unmasked glory that was an Archangel of the Lord at his full and magnificent power. ***** Once the connection had been established, Gabriel stayed focused on Castiel. First taking the now imprisoned Alastair off of his hands, and then helping to guide his dear friend across the vast wasteland that was what his brother had wrought with his very own two hands, and a twisted desire to show their father that he had been wrong. That his petulant child had been correct in his assessment of the hairless apes, and that they would be the cause of the ruination of their father’s most glorious work. Gabriel had never agreed with Lucifer, seeing the humans for what they were, incredibly talented and extraordinarily gifted forces of nature that had the potential to go either way. To be protective, amazing, and wonderful; or to be destructive, brutal, and wreak havoc with absolute carefree abandon. But Lucifer’s determination to interfere had helped to drive Gabriel away, to hide out in the vastness of the cosmos, for untold eons. But even he had been unable to stay away, not when the only angel he still had any care for had sent such a heartfelt prayer to him. A broken plea that carried the weight of the world within its words. Gabriel focused once more, feeling the surge of power, knowing that Castiel was almost free, that he would be stepping through the portal at any moment. Bringing his most precious cargo back to the land of the living. It was then that the real work would begin. Then the true test would be taken. Gabriel had tangled ever so briefly with Alastair before, many millennia prior, and he still bore the scars of the encounter. What hope was there that a mortal would have been able to fare any better?
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Lake Keystone didn’t really have a beach, not like real lakes anyway. Yet Dean still found himself laid out on a plastic beach chair, taking in the boaters, fishers, and jet ski riders as they crisscrossed the placid surface in search of their next adventure. What was little more than a widening of the Arkansas River was where Dean found himself this fine afternoon. No need for sunscreen as the many tall trees provided plenty of foliage that blocked out any direct sunlight from landing on Dean’s pale and generously freckle-covered skin. But Dean was enjoying his day off, having driven up from Oklahoma City in the borrowed old Lincoln Continental. He had taken to calling it the pimp-mobile, as it had clearly seen its best days many years prior. But the engine still ran, and it would get you from point A to point B in a fairly reliable fashion. It may lack all of the bells and whistles, but it more than made up for it in solid dependability. Which was something that Dean needed right now, because after the last few years, with the utter emotional tumult that he had endured, he just needed a little quiet, a small bit of relaxation, after so much pain and drama. Dean cracked open a beer, and drank deeply, savoring the slightly bitter aftertaste, just needing it. As he set it to the side, he picked his book back up, some dusty old novel that Sam had always wanted him to read, about an angel that fell in love with a mortal and risked his eternal life just to be with him. It had sounded pretty farfetched as far as Dean was concerned, but Sam had insisted that it never hurt to broaden one’s horizons, so now Dean sat and read. Not that he would ever see his little brother again, after he had passed away right along with their mom and dad. Dean still couldn’t understand how they had somehow gotten tangled up in the boating accident that had claimed Castiel the second time. Dean closed his eyes against the bitter pain that had taken root within him. Castiel. The one being in the whole entire world that Dean was destined to never be able to have. The one perfect creation that would always be ripped away from him. Over and over and over again. Who showed up at the oddest moments, but who had always comforted Dean when he had needed it the most. But he wasn’t here now, and he never would be. Fate had been determined to rip them apart, to separate them, to keep their happily ever after from coming to pass. First when he was just a teenager in the little town of Spain. Then when he was off on his first big grown-up adventure exploring the world in England. To have lost him during a torrential downpour near Las Vegas. And finally, to see his love taken during an earthquake in Needles. And now, Dean sat in the middle of Oklahoma, missing him more than he had ever thought he could miss anyone. The song changed on the radio then, the soft melody beginning to wash over Dean.
Well, I never been to Spain
But I kinda like the music
Dean smiled, as he remembered Mary always chiding about such improper grammar. How it should have been I’ve not I. How songwriters should be aware that they are fostering lifelong habits with their word choices.
Well, I never been to England
But I kinda like the Beatles
Something began to tickle at the back of Dean’s mind…
Well, I headed for Las Vegas
A headache was rapidly taking shape, pounding against the inside of Dean’s skull…
Only made it out to Needles
Can you feel it? Must be near it
Dean looked up then, as he clutched his pounding head between both of his hands. Trying to make it stop, to keep the pain from overwhelming him.
Well, I never been to heaven
But I been to Oklahoma
Oh, they tell me I was born there
But I really don’t remember
The song was building now, all of the background singers joining in as the various instruments crept towards the crescendo. He felt gentle hands cover his own then, and that gruff voice was sounding in his ear, even as he shook his head, not wanting to see, not wanting the experience of having to live through losing him yet again.
Never gonna lose it
I can’t refuse it, whoa
Dean brought his emerald-green eyes up, meeting the brilliant blue orbs of the one true love of his life, knowing that it couldn’t possibly be. That this was just another brief moment of respite, before it would all be cruelly ripped away, and then Dean would be alone, again. Left to suffer through another painful funeral. Another sorrowful memorial service. Another perfectly bland summation of an utterly incredible man that had helped to shape Dean’s entire existence. “No Dean, I’ll never leave you again. But first, I need you to wake up. I need you to fight, one last time, to rejoin the land of the living. Can you do that for me?” Dean shivered as the warm words rolled down his spine, as he tried to make any kind of sense of the crazy that was threatening to overwhelm him. Because the pain was now being accompanied by flashes of terrible images, of Dean holding a grievously wounded Sam in his arms, after his little brother had been stabbed in the back. Of Dean, desperately negotiating with a black-eyed demon bitch, as she had laughed and mocked and then only given him a year to live. Of Sam, holding Dean close as the life drained from his broken body, as it had become painfully clear that the hellhounds had done their duty on Lilith’s behalf. But then, other memories surfaced, of his father towering over him, as he handed a four-year-old his six-month-old baby brother, pressing him into his small arms, as he shouted for Dean to get Sam out of the house to safety. Of how he had paused ever so briefly and looked back up, seeing the nursery on fire through the window, as they were both snatched up by John as he ran out of the front door of their now broken home, carrying them to safety. How they had sat on the hood of the Impala, as the firemen put out the blaze. Then it turned into a series of motel rooms, of caring for his brother, because their mother was gone. Stolen from them by a yellow-eyed demon. They had learned to fight, to scrape by, to survive. It was the only life they had ever known. And then John vanished, and Dean was forced to tear Sam away from everything that he had come to know. They had found their father, but then lost him as he sacrificed himself to save Dean, to bring him back from a death that he had helped to cause once the yellow-eyed demon had possessed him and he had broken Dean’s fragile body from the inside out. Dean jerked back, not understanding. He had grown up on a farm. He had been with his entire family for most of his life. He had gone to college. Then he had lost them. And Castiel, he had lost Castiel… So, so, so many times… “No, Dean! I’m right here! Look at me!” Dean focused back on the shouted voice, trying to make sense of the mad jumble of images that were flooding into his brain. But it was just so incredibly difficult. Trying to bring some semblance of order to the incomprehensible. “Dean, please! Listen to me, hear what I say.” Dean slid one hand down, and then laid it upon the firm shoulder that was so near to his own. Squeezing gently, then harder as he could feel the firm resiliency of the flesh that lay just beneath his fingertips. “Dean, I need you to wake up now. You have to go back. To break free of this nightmare. Can you do that for me?” Dean heard the urgent plea, but wondered how it would be twisted this time. How it would be warped, and then thrown back at him as some kind of wretched torment. Soft lips were pressing to his own then, just a gentle chaste kiss. His eyelids fluttered down, as he savored this moment, knowing that it would be gone all too soon. Dean pressed himself closer to Castiel, needing the comfort that the contact was giving him. Needing, just needing. Anything really. The smallest offering would be gratefully received. The tiniest crumb would be more than sufficient to sustain him through the long dark nights, when he curled around his pillow and cried himself to sleep. “No, Dean, it will never need to be like that. Please, believe me. Trust me.” The naked plea washed over Dean, causing him to clutch onto Castiel and draw him impossibly closer to his quivering body. To wrap his arms tight around the figure that was so frequently a part of his life, yet Dean just somehow knows, he’s never actually met. He has felt him, he has sensed him, but he has never actually been where he is, not truly. Somehow Dean knows this, on some base level that defies all logical explanations, Dean knows that Castiel is still more a figment of his imagination than an actual flesh and blood object in his current reality. His whispered plea is heartfelt, being scraped up from the very depths of his soul, “Please, please Castiel, don’t let this be a dream, or a nightmare. Let this be real. Please!” Dean can feel those powerful arms wrap around him even tighter, feel a burning sensation on his shoulder, as the hand that grips him tight is now leaving a mark, for all to see. To show that Dean Winchester had been claimed. That he belonged. That he was cherished by someone in this universe. That a being existed that would revere him, and hold him close, and never let him go. Who would protect him and keep him safe. Giving him the only sense of security that he had ever known in his pain-drenched existence. Dean tried to pull away then, knowing where this was going. Knowing that there was only one conclusion that could be reached if he was involved in a given situation. But Castiel refused to let go, and he spoke once more, no longer pleading, now simply a naked command that flowed over Dean and forced him to comply. “Look. At. Me.” Dean raised his face and was met with brilliant blue eyes that were now lit from within. That blazed with an inner fire. And then magnificent wings were unfurling from Castiel’s back, spreading wide as they seemed to shake themselves. A glorious mix of white, black, and gray feathers, that all seemed to live harmoniously in each other’s company. Dean felt his hand sliding down, over the shoulder that it had been resting on, feeling the sharp protrusion from Castiel’s back that was covered in downy softness. “I am an Angel of the Lord, and I was sent to rescue you. To bring you back, so that you might continue to fight for those who are desperately in need of a champion.” The booming voice resonated, bouncing off of every available surface, reverberating until it filled Dean with a profound sense of calm. “I have to send you back to your body, so that you might be resurrected back into this world. Sam will be there, waiting for you.” Dean shook his head, just knowing that that was impossible. Sam was dead. “No, Dean. Your brother is alive, and he has been working quite frantically to bring you back. Now please, trust me, once more.” Castiel’s hand had slid up the side of Dean’s face, curling around his jaw, holding him still while his emerald-green eyes sought out a recognizable truth. “You must go now. I cannot ascend until I have sent you back to your body, otherwise you would become trapped.” Dean felt the tender kiss that was placed on his furrowed brow, felt the thumb that wiped away his tears, and then closed his eyes, and trusted in Castiel. ***** Sam stared at the gravesite. The one that he had painstakingly dug for his big brother a little less than four months prior. Gabriel was off, gathering supplies for the last part of the spell, and that left Sam to do this final task by himself. To dig up his brother’s grave. It wasn’t like he and Dean hadn’t done this exact same thing a few thousand times before, it wasn’t even that he was out of practice, having done several salt-and-burns since Dean had been stolen away from him by Lilith and her demonic pit bulls. It was just, Sam had never dug up a loved one before. They had always been strangers, who had gone bad and now needed to be put down before they could harm another. To disturb Dean’s final resting place, Sam just needed a moment to gather himself. To ask for forgiveness for the actions that he was about to take. The shovel sank into the soft dirt; Sam placed his heel on the edge of the blade, helping to push it in, before he straightened, adjusted his grip and then pulled away the first shovelful of dirt. A single tear rolled down his cheek, and he just prayed that this was what he should be doing. That Gabriel would be proven correct, and that he would be able to retrieve Dean, as he was intended to be. Because if some zombie came popping up and out of this grave, Sam wasn’t sure what he would do then. Not knowing if he would be able to take his now corrupted brother back out of the world that he had just fought so hard for him to be able to rejoin. The pile of dirt grew higher and higher, as Sam sank lower and lower into the earth. Not stopping until he finally heard the scrape of wood against the metal shovel blade. Sam threw the shovel up and out of the hole, and then bent back down, swiping away the remaining loose dirt with his bare hands. Until he had finally revealed the planks that were all that remained of the separation between himself and Dean. Sam sank back, and sat on his heels, hearing Gabriel’s words, the ceaseless chanting that he had been doing for the past few minutes. When Sam had asked what it was for, Gabriel had simply responded that it would guide Dean’s soul back to the proper place, so that he might find his body faster. Sam waited, patience having been worn very thin, still not quite understanding how he was so blindly obedient to every instruction that Gabriel had given him. Still not absolutely certain that he really knew who Gabriel even was, just knowing that he had been helping Sam, and that he was as trustworthy as any unknown being that Sam had ever encountered before. ***** Gabriel kept chanting the Enochian spell, the one that would guide both Dean’s soul and his borrowed grace back to this empty field in the middle of Nowheresville, Oklahoma. When they had pulled up to the edge of the tree line, Gabriel had asked after the reason that Sam had buried Dean here, and Sam had become too emotional to speak. So, Gabriel had said it was alright, he didn’t need to know. But once Sam had turned away, he took a peek inside the Sasquatch’s grapefruit, and then he wished that he hadn’t. Mortals are funny little things, who can frequently surprise even the most jaded archangel. But what Gabriel had witnessed was simply one of the most amazing actions that any human had ever taken for another. The memory of the burial was a painful and sorrow-filled affair, complete with multiple broken shovel handles, uncontrolled sobbing, and a dear friend helping to complete the task at hand. Gabriel could feel the deep admiration and paternal love that Sam felt for Bobby Singer, and he knew that the gruff old man had stepped in after Sam and Dean’s father had failed them, on more than one occasion. But the reason that this spot had been the one that was chosen as the final resting spot for his dearly departed brother, well that was what had caused even a mischievous little prankster like Gabriel to tear up. Gabriel could see the original memory playing through Sam’s head, how Dean had driven them to this abandoned spot in July of 1996, how he had a load of every damn kind of fireworks in the trunk of the Impala, and how he and Sam had spent hours shooting off every single colorful explosive that Dean had been able to get his hands on. Both brothers had worn huge smiles on their faces, as they watched the night sky light up as Roman candles, artillery shells, bottle rockets, and so many more had been lit and then streaked across the moonless expanse. It had been a memory that both had cherished, a time when they had been able to break away and just enjoy a perfectly normal experience. One that wasn’t covered in blood and gore. One that they didn’t have to put up warding to protect against it. One that could be recounted to perfect strangers without any fear that they would be found to be strange or weird. It was simply two brothers enjoying life. As it should have been. Gabriel had swallowed against the rapidly forming lump in his throat, wondering how these two brothers had managed to survive it all. To make it through to the other side and still have some semblance of sanity lingering about themselves. One who was still so pure and righteous that his corruption was needed to bring about the start of the apocalypse. Gabriel could feel the pulse then, the swell of energy as it surged beneath their feet. Knew that Dean’s soul was almost back in its proper place. Gabriel guided it, helped it navigate the treacherous path, and then, the gravesite of the righteous man was lit from within. Gabriel could hear Sam’s cries, as he tore the coffin lid away, as he embraced his no longer dead brother, as the tears flowed, and the hugs seemed endless. Gabriel was quickly enveloped in the stream of his grace, as he opened his mouth, and it flowed back up and in. Giving him back his strength and abilities. With a simple snap of his fingers, Sam and Dean were cleaned up and seated in the Impala, and then as one, they turned towards Gabriel, who simply waved, and then winked out of existence. Needing to check and see if his dear friend had made it out as well.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Dean rolled over in his bed, heard the blessed hum of the air conditioner. Stilled for a moment as he tried to discern what was true about what his senses were telling him. Simply not able to trust his own perceptions, not yet anyway. It had taken Sam the better part of six hours to convince Dean that they had never grown up on a farm, had never lived in South Dakota, and that Dean hadn’t gotten a full ride to Oxford, although Sam said he knew Dean could have if he had ever bothered to apply himself. He had to recount most of their lives growing up, and it was then that Dean finally started to find acceptance of what he was being told, because it no longer sounded so bizarrely fantastical. Nothing of what Sam was telling him was so outside the bounds of reality that it left Dean questioning his sanity. The problem was that once Dean closed his eyes and went to sleep, he had been met by a pair of gorgeous blue eyes that had stared right back at him as a large hand had reached up and gently cupped his face. As lush lips had moved to tenderly kiss his own, as he had found himself being held so carefully, fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck, one large hand softly caressing the small of his back, words of love and devotion beginning to be whispered to him in that gruff voice that he simply couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he might try. As the hands would shift, to wipe away his tears, as clothes would simply vanish, and then, then… he would wake up. Every single time. Dean never got to see what might have happened next, never got to know what the next step might have been. Only knew that he woke up frustrated and feeling like he had been shattered into a million tiny little pieces. Abandoned. Sam had been trying to cheer him up, had played all of his favorite music on the way to Flagstaff, and was right this minute planning their step-by-step visit to the Grand Canyon, knowing how much Dean had always wanted to see it. But none of that was what Dean wanted. Yeah, the Grand Canyon would be cool, awesome, and amazing. But it didn’t have fantastically riveting blue eyes. It didn’t have a gruff voice that oozed into every single pore and refused to leave. It wouldn’t look at him like he was the sun, and he had hung the moon and the stars in the night sky. It wasn’t Castiel. Even for all of its grandeur and majesty, it just couldn’t compare. And how was he supposed to explain to Sam that he had met someone and fallen hopelessly in love with them while he had been suffering from a temporary case of death while being tortured by the most renowned sadist in all of hell? That simply wasn’t a topic of conversation that he had ever thought that he would need to learn how to have. So here he sat, pondering what to do. Indulge Sam and have an adventure, to show him that he was back and that he was just fine or hit the books and try to figure out what his last vision with Castiel had meant. Wings? What glorious creatures have wings? Dean had been around long enough to have seen a wide and varied array of supernatural creatures, but the number that came equipped with wings was pretty limited. And the blue light? That had been wildly different as well. Dean threw his arm over his eyes, as he pulled the covers up, trying to conceal as much of himself as he could, like that might keep the uncertainty and confusion at bay. Sam came into the room just then, carrying a couple of bags from a nearby burger joint, and a six-pack of beer. Dean could hardly manage to drum up any enthusiasm for the treat that he knew Sam had gone out and picked up special, just for Dean. Yet another one of his ‘welcome back to the land of the living’ door prizes that Dean was having trouble accepting. He sighed deeply, and rolled over to face Sam as he dug through the bags, sorting through the small mountain of food that he had procured for them. “So, tell me about this Gabriel again. Who was he? And what did he do exactly?” Dean sees the squinted eyes, knows Sam is doing mental calculus to try to figure out if Dean simply doesn’t remember that they had had this conversation, a dozen times already, or if he is simply wanting to hear all of the information yet another time, so that maybe he will pick up on something that he had missed previously. Sam sighs, brings over a bacon double cheeseburger, which he lays on the nightstand in between the beds, pops the lid off of the beer bottle and hands it to Dean as he sits up. “So, what did you want to know, exactly?” Sam’s tone is even and calm, if he’s even slightly frazzled by the request, he’s hiding it well. “Well, the part where he just shows up at your door, says someone sent him and you just let him right in. How about we start there?” Dean can see the tension creeping into Sam’s frame, as if this is a question that he himself is still trying to puzzle out the answer to. “I know that it doesn’t make a lick of sense. Trust me, I know. But there was just something about him that was vaguely familiar, and non-threatening, and I just felt this overwhelming urge to trust him. And yeah, I know how that must sound, really, I do, but he did help. Or at least he didn’t hurt anything. As far as I can tell.” Sam stops and runs one large hand through his shaggy mop of chestnut brown hair, rubs the back of his neck, and then meets Dean’s eyes. “It was like everything seemed to flow so effortlessly, and he had all these perfectly logical answers to every single question I would ask. And if,” Sam pauses as he looks down for a moment, swipes at his eyes, “if you would have seen him, he was so worried about someone. Almost as much as I was worried about you.” Dean swallows hard at that admission, knowing exactly what actions he had taken when he had thought that death had taken Sam away from him. Knowing only too well how desperation could drive a perfectly sane and rational person to commit to rather insane actions once the life of someone they had vowed to protect had been endangered. He cleared his throat harshly before he asked, “So, where did he go then?” “Dean, you saw everything I saw. One second, he was standing there, and then he was just gone. I know he had some kind of powers, but what kind? I don’t know. And who he was? Don’t know that either.” Sam took a swig of his beer, and then a bite of his own burger. Dean was simply too tired to think about anything else at the moment, so he did the same. Once they were done eating, Dean tried to watch some movie based off of a graphic novel, so hey, how bad could it be? Dean had missed the very beginning of the movie, but it featured Keanu Reeves as some supernatural protector with a bad case of impending death, and enough attitude to make all of the creatures he was fighting give him the respect that he was due. Dean was watching as this tall, dark, warrior of God had entered the room, spoken to the intermediary, and then patiently waited for the figure standing in front of the fireplace to be ready to deal with his request. Dean gasped as the visual filled the screen, as a glorious set of wings expanded, as she was greeted with the name of Gabriel. “Sam!” Dean called out, rather anxious to determine if he was the only one seeing what he thought that he was seeing. “Yeah, Dean?” Dean could only point a trembling hand at the screen in front of him. “Did you see? Did you see the wings?” His voice was shaking now, suddenly overwhelmed by the possibilities. “Yeah, Dean. It’s a movie. It’s a special effect.” Sam had come over to kneel down in front of Dean, to grasp his other hand, offering what little comfort he could. “No, but the name. Did you hear the name?” Sam looked back at the movie that was still playing and used the remote to turn up the volume. Turned back to Dean, as once more the winged creature with the now glowing eyes was called Gabriel. “Wait, Dean, seriously?” “I don’t know, Sam. But with everything else that’s been going on, it’s the least crazy notion I’ve heard.” ***** Dean had finished watching the movie, while Sam was on the phone with Bobby, making sure that the old hunter didn’t catch on to the fact that the previously dead child he had taken in so long ago was now back amongst the living. Sam stopped occasionally to watch a part that would reference specific biblical lore. Getting an earful from Bobby the entire time that he was getting all carried away with his foolish notions. But Bobby would look into it his own damn self. Dean had ended up going to a gas station across the way and buying a copy of the movie from the used DVD rack. He had returned to the room, and then proceeded to watch it twice more on his laptop before he had finally fallen into a troubled sleep. Sam was asleep at the kitchen table, drooling onto his arm. But Dean needed to know, needed to ask the one soul in all of creation that might be able to give him some sort of definitive answer. Castiel. He closed his eyes, and then felt the welcoming warmth of strong arms as they wrapped around him, as soft lips met his own in an achingly tender kiss. Dean opened his emerald-green eyes and met the brilliant blue that he would never once not instantly recognize. But he needed to ask, he couldn’t get distracted. Not now. Not when he might be close to getting an answer. “Castiel. Please, I need to know. What are you?” Dean watched as Castiel seemed to freeze, as he continued to gaze into Dean’s eyes as if it were the only act that could bring joy to his existence. “Don’t you remember?” The gruff tone washed over Dean, and he flushed, wondering if this was a conversation that they had had at one point, and he could simply no longer remember it. “I don’t remember you telling me. But I had a guess, and I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy, so, can you… just… please? Tell me?” Dean’s hands had come up and were wrapping around Castiel’s shoulders, then sliding down, trying to feel what he thought he might have felt once before, a protrusion covered in some sort of downy softness. Castiel was looking deep into his eyes, when he frowned for a moment, “I’m so sorry. My friend took some of your memories, when he sought to hide himself. Because I had indeed told you, but I will happily tell you once more.” Dean waited with bated breath as a soft pink tongue flicked out and wet the lush lips that Dean could spend hours kissing. “I’m an Angel of the Lord, Dean. I was sent into hell to rescue you. I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” Castiel’s hand moved then, and two fingertips were pressed to Dean’s brow, as he uttered one word, ever so softly. “Remember.” The images began to flood into Dean’s mind. The false life that he had led, the many times that he had been tortured watching Castiel die in front of him, Alastair being captured, Castiel racing across the breadth of hell, slaughtering countless demons as he fought his way to freedom, all the while protecting Dean from any harm. How he had brought Dean back to his body, and then the image of Gabriel flashed through his mind once more, and like a bolt out of the clear blue sky, Dean knew who Gabriel was. Not only as the archangel, but as the Trickster that he and Sam had encountered and wrangled with on two prior occasions. Dean jerked back for a moment, and then his eyes flew open wide, as he took in Castiel once more. Noted the glow that seemed to surround him, the hint of the wings that were tucked up and hidden away against his graceful back, the broad shoulders that were covered in sinewy muscles, the powerful limbs that had protected Dean from every kind of harm. But then Dean’s eyes came up once more, noted the five o’clock shadow, the dark brows that could wing their way upwards when Castiel was surprised by something that Dean had uttered, the cheekbones that were perfectly sculpted, and it was all that Dean could do not to simply melt into the bed. “But… how could… you… feel that… for… me?” Dean felt a thumb running over his freckle-covered cheek then, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall. Simply too amazed that such a glorious being could be interested in him, especially in that way.
“How could I not feel a deep and abiding love for you?” Castiel placed a gentle kiss on Dean’s forehead and then pulled him close, letting his voice flow over the mortal that he held so tightly. “You are a truly amazing man. Not a perfect man, but a virtuous man, a righteous man. One who could stop the apocalypse simply by being strong. By persevering and carrying on. By exemplifying the best characteristics of humanity.” Castiel paused, cleared his throat before he spoke again. “I think you should know a little something about me as well. I was never the best angel, I questioned orders, I had a tendency to think for myself, and I helped my dear friend to hide from all of his duties. Because he felt an affinity for you and all of those like you. And he never wanted to help dole out divine retribution ever again. Especially when it had not been truly earned.” “You see, humans were given free will, but when they used it, they were then punished for disobeying their God. I found Gabriel after one such instance in Egypt, and I helped him to hide away. To cloak himself so that he couldn’t be found. But he could never truly stay away, and he came back disguised as Loki. I believe that you and Sam have had many dealings with him, and I know that he regrets having brought about your untimely demise so very many times. But what he didn’t know then was how crucial that you would prove to be. And once he did, he answered my prayer and helped me to rescue you. To thwart Alastair, to save us both, and to reunite you with your brother. So that you might be able to continue helping those that are in such dire need of assistance. As it should be.” Dean is shaking now, trying to burrow into the angel that holds him so tenderly, who has vowed to love him, and who has risked all to save him. But how will they do this? How will they live a life together? “Don’t worry about that now, Dean. Just rest assured that I will be with you soon. That I will always be there when you have need of my assistance. I just ask for your patience.” Dean nods, so overcome with emotion that he is unable to speak. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought that he would be able to find love, let alone love with his very own angel. Who would feel that he was worth cherishing, protecting, and devoting his existence to a gleeful worship of all things Dean Winchester. He snuggled in, finally feeling safe and secure enough that he could relax into a peaceful slumber. He did not feel the fingers that threaded through his hair, the lips that pressed against his forehead, the arms that held him tight. All Dean knew was that he had found his other half, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep him by his side. ***** Sam was staring at him, mouth hanging open, eyes open comically wide. “What is it, Sam? Didn’t think I could snag one of heaven’s finest?” That brought on an instant scowl, and Dean had to dodge a swinging open-palmed smack. “Don’t be an idiot! Of course, it’s not that. It’s, I mean, I spent days with an archangel! We both tried to kill a damn archangel! Or did you forget what we tried to do to the Trickster when we thought he was just some irksome little demi-god?” Dean frowned for a moment, realizing that yeah, that part of it had slipped his mind. They had tried their damnedest to serve up some karmic justice on a live and in-the-flesh archangel, he was pretty sure that had to be one of those ‘go straight to hell’ offenses. Even if the archangel in question had been in hiding, you still don’t do that. Seriously! What the hell had they been thinking? Who would listen when they tried to justify their actions, to explain why they had done what they had. “Ya know, I have some thoughts on how you boys could make up for such reprehensible behavior.” Sam and Dean both jumped up and turned towards the bathroom door, seeing Gabriel leaning up against the doorframe, a lollipop twisting between his lips. “I am just so, sorry, I mean…” Sam’s stammered apology was cut off when Gabriel raised his hand and then looked over towards Dean. “So, you ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Dean stared at Gabriel, and then slowly nodded, hoping that this would be the day that he was finally reunited with his missing other half. That this would be the day that the gaping wound in his chest was finally healed. That this was the day that he could hold his love in his arms, and it wouldn’t simply be a dream.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
The remnants of the small Texas town that had once been known as Heaven were very easy to miss. Having been abandoned sometime in the early 1930’s after they had failed to secure the position of county chair. Even the state-of-the-art rail line couldn’t keep the settlers from flocking to the nearest town over now that it had stolen all of their potential glory. But that was then, and with just a few quick snaps of his fingers, the now had been well worth the wait. The art deco hotel with its miles of brightly lit neon signage was wildly out of place in the west Texas plains, but as Sam, Dean, and Gabriel were the only ones that could actually see it, no untoward comments were made. “Sam, can you do me a great big favor?” Dean looked over to see Sam glancing at Gabriel with obvious trepidation, but he still nodded. “Excellent!” With a snap of his fingers Sam was gone, vanished in the blink of an eye. “Where the hell did you send him?” Dean asked as he turned on the archangel, fists clenched by his side. “No worries! He’s just getting a good nap is all. Besides, you need to get to room #401 pronto. There’s someone there that you’ve been dying to meet.” With a wink, Gabriel vanishes into the midday heat. Dean notes that the Impala is the only car parked on the street that runs in front of The Crazy Cat Hotel. He decides that after all that Gabriel had done to rescue Dean and Castiel, he wouldn’t just hurt Sam now, so he takes a few deep breaths, decides to trust someone for once in his life, and pushes his way through the revolving doors. The lobby is as plain and drab as any hotel entrance that Dean has ever wandered into, he wonders about the mismatch for just a moment, before he feels the invisible tether tug at him, and then he is taking the stairs two at a time. He reaches the fourth floor quickly and follows the signs until he is standing at the end of the hall, heart pounding rapidly in his chest as he reads the emblazoned room number. He doesn’t know whether to knock, or to just go in, when the door simply opens on its own. The gap slowly becomes wider, until Dean takes a step inside, and can’t believe the sight that greets him. Castiel is standing there, in a rumpled suit, his blue tie done up badly, and twisted backward. The tan raincoat is hanging open, and Dean can’t even move. Just taking in how Castiel now looks so much like the movie character that Dean had watched on his crappy motel television set just the night before. He had to wonder if this was yet another delusion. He can feel the tears pricking at his eyes, as he takes in the painfully human-looking angel. The one that could easily pass for a holy tax accountant. But in the next moment, Castiel is right there, a hand cupping his jaw, as he leans in, brilliant blue eyes searching Dean’s tear-filled green orbs. “What? What’s wrong?” Dean lays a hand on the narrow waist that is now so close to him, fingers clenching in the folds of the overcoat, trying to find the words, terrified of what the answer will be. “Is it my attire? It was all you could think about last night, I thought you would like it.” Dean simply flings himself at his angel, needing to hold him tight, feel his warmth against his body. “I can change it.” “NO!” Dean’s voice is muffled by his face being buried in the side of Castiel’s neck, but the panicked emotion being conveyed is coming through loud and clear. “No, please. Don’t change a thing.” Castiel pulls back ever so slightly, gazing deep into Dean’s unblinking eyes. “Human emotions can be difficult at times.” All Dean can do is nod at that soft comment. “Very well then, I sensed that there was something specific that you wished to do with me. Would you like to begin?” Dean can only stare, completely dumbfounded for a moment. But then it occurs to him that sexy small talk might not be a subject that is taught at Angel University. “Um, yeah, but… I mean… can you… give me a second?” He notes the slight narrowing of the eyes, Castiel’s head cocking to the side, and then a small smile plays across the lush lips that Dean wants to kiss so very badly he thinks he might vibrate right out of his skin if it doesn’t come to pass. “How thoughtless of me. Of course.” Castiel gathers Dean close to him, slotting a firm thigh between Dean’s, his hand sliding down and resting on the small of his mortal’s back as his hand begins to rub gentle circles into the tense muscles. Dean can feel himself melting against the strength of the form that is holding him so carefully, just patiently waiting for Dean to be ready. “Gabriel gave me some educational films to watch. Told me to pay special attention…” Castiel was cut off as Dean’s plush lips met his own, as his sleek tongue sought entry. Dean’s arms wrapped around his angel even tighter then, as he kissed him with just a touch of desperation. “Please, can we please not talk about Gabriel? Or Sam? Or hell? Or any of that? Can we just get to the happy?” Dean can hear his voice waiver as he asks his heartfelt plea, feeling the urgent desire to pull away until he can drum up some semblance of control. Too gather up all of the shattered pieces of his psyche and simply begin again. “Indeed. Here, let’s lay down.” Dean feels the warm hand on his elbow, as they walk towards the king-size bed, Dean shrugs out of his coat and toes out of his boots, before he lays down on the bed. Closing his eyes as he hugs himself, arms wrapped tight around his waist, as he begins to rock himself ever so slightly. Castiel is by his side in just a moment, tan overcoat, suit jacket, and shoes now gone. He faces Dean, and then pulls him close, which is when Dean does his best koala bear imitation and tries to burrow into his angel’s gently radiating, blessed peace. Then it became as it had always been, Castiel’s deep and gruff voice washing over all parts of him, offering him the comfort that he had so desperately needed since the night that he had run out of his first childhood home with baby Sam clutched tight in his small arms. Ever since the night that his entire world had crumbled, and he had learned with terrible certainty that truly evil things did exist, and that they were willing to do wretchedly godawful things to even the most innocent beings in the world. Dean simply couldn’t hold back then, as Castiel drew him in and held him close, and the tears that he had always been afraid to shed, for fear of looking weak in front of monsters or worse, his father, finally began to flow. As all of the pain and misery was leaching from his body, as all of the horrible memories from his time in hell were pushed down and sealed away under lock and key. Castiel spoke soothingly to Dean the entire time, the deeply gruff rumble that was his eternal voice washing over Dean as his large hands were rubbing comforting circles and his trim nails were softly scratching over Dean’s shaking back, as one heartbreaking sob after another welled up from deep inside and was released. Dean couldn’t be certain how long they lay there, with him eagerly accepting every single drop of the generous consolation that was being doled out to him from his very own personal Angel of the Lord. Dean didn’t really want to fall asleep, especially not now that he was finally being held by the real Castiel and not some dreamt up fantasy version, but after all of the pain, torment, and trauma that he had been through, as his body was finally allowed the peace it had so desperately sought ever since the night his mother had been torn away from him, it relaxed after being convinced that it was perfectly safe, for possibly the first time ever, Dean’s eyes closed, and his breathing evened out, and without a worried thought troubling him, Dean fell asleep. ***** Castiel felt the moment when Dean slipped into a restive and peaceful slumber, knowing all of the pain that his beloved mortal had finally allowed himself to release. Castiel had watched as so many horrific memories had rolled through Dean’s mind, how some of them were from his time on earth, and how so many more were from his time in hell. But no matter where they originated, they always contained the certainty that he had failed someone, somewhere, at some point in time. Castiel would need to fix that, to assure Dean that he had persevered, under extraordinary circumstances, again and again. That there was a callously diabolical reason that he had been made to endure such wretched torment, and that it simply wasn’t his fault. That hell’s scheme to resurrect Lucifer had all depended on Dean being corrupted, on the righteous man falling to temptation. Castiel needed to make sure that Dean knew that he hadn’t failed anyone. That his strength was what made him one of the rarest beings in the entire universe. Castiel also needed Dean to know that he was loved. By a being that was willing to cherish him, devote their life to him, and who would stay by his side until the end of time. Without needing to make any changes to the incredibly and perfectly imperfect man that he was. That the profound bond that inexorably linked them together could never be broken, could never be severed, and would prove to be the only truly indestructible phenomenon that had ever been wrought in this universe. As it should be. ***** Dean curled into the warm body that was still wrapped so very tightly all around his own, the body that had never once been there when he would finally wake up, that had only ever existed in his dreams. But it was there now, and it was firm beneath his barely trembling fingertips, and he heard the rumble coming from deep in that slim torso, as he shifted slightly and then a hand was cupping Dean’s jaw, and those beautifully chapped lips were covering his own. Dean’s eyelids fluttered closed, as he felt himself being drawn in, adjusted so that a thigh could slot between his own. Gentle fingers slid into his short dirty-blonde hair and held him as those lush lips began to ravish his own, in the tenderest possible way. Taking them prisoner and vowing to never let them go. They kissed, possibly for hours, sleek tongues seeking out the other’s hidden flavor, exploring and discovering one another. Dean pressed in impossibly closer, hands beginning to roam, to slide over the taut body that he was finally being given the opportunity to learn. Fingers began to slide into the gaps between the buttons of his rumpled dress shirt and found the smooth skin that was hidden underneath, beginning to pop them open as he went. Dean groaned as he found a responsive nub, fingertips eagerly brushing over it, heard the soft moan that was given back to him as it hardened and peaked. Dean’s hands were urgently pushing the shirt back over his angel’s narrow shoulders, caressing the warm skin that he found underneath, wanting so very desperately to flick out his tongue and taste it. Castiel’s hands began to mirror Dean’s, slowly removing his clothes, piece by piece. Fingers gently digging into the flesh that they discovered. His angel’s fingers were never timid, but they were cautious, as they learned all that they could, because even though Castiel had held Dean’s very soul within himself, he had yet to lay hands on the form that would be by his side forevermore. Dean’s hands landed on the belt buckle, and paused ever so briefly, his slight fear eased away as Castiel’s hips thrust forward, blindly seeking more. Dean had unbuckled his own belt a million times before, and countless others. But that was usually when he had urgently needed a tourniquet to stop the bleeding from some unforeseen wound, he had never done this while seeking a deeper joining, not with another man. But then, Castiel may appear to be human, but he most certainly wasn’t. And Dean could feel the strange power that was flowing out of his angel, wrapping all around him and seeking to slip inside, as if he was trying to ease Dean’s jangled nerves. The belt finally came free, and then the pants button popped, the zipper was lowered, and Dean’s hand was grasping a throbbing cock, that was not his own. The passionate groan penetrated every inch of him, as Castiel threw his head back, hiding absolutely no part of his blissful response from his beloved mortal. Dean’s fingers began to tentatively explore, gathering some of the precome that had already beaded out, smoothing his strokes. But what Dean had not been expecting was that Castiel would be a quick learner, or that he would be able to multitask with the very best. Dean was finding it incredibly difficult to concentrate, now that Castiel was being such an active participant in the evening’s activities. Dean lowered his other hand, wrapping it over Castiel’s and breathed out a gentle request. “Um, stop, for just a second, please.” Castiel complied instantly, and Dean moved their hands then, peeling them away, as he pushed in with his own hips, until both of their rock-hard cocks were pressed up against the other. Dean guided both of their hands back and into position, before his husky voice whispered, “Follow my lead.” Dean had to wonder if Castiel was cheating somehow, as one their hips thrust up and in, both hands wrapped around both of their cocks, dual groans of utter satisfaction filling the air as the friction worked them ever higher. Dean was soon panting, as he felt his balls drawing up, knowing he didn’t have long left, so he leaned in for yet another urgent kiss, sighing deeply as his angel met him halfway and they were soon lost in the overwhelming joy of having found their other half, the being who some seamlessly completed them in every conceivable way. Dean’s hips stuttered, and then his release was shooting out, coating their bellies. Castiel came just a few moments later, his free hand wrapping around the back of Dean’s freckled neck, holding him still as he plundered the mouth that was so very willing to be used in such a manner. They were both gasping for breath when Dean finally broke the kiss, their hips having stilled, and then Dean felt strong arms wrap around him and draw him close. Heard the tender words, in that eternally gruff voice, that were whispered into his freckle-covered ear. “I love you, Dean Winchester. From this moment until the cosmos ceases to be.” Dean had to take a moment to examine that statement, first because of the oddity of using his full name, and second, because a damn Angel of the Lord had just professed his undying love to a mortal. A broken and flawed mortal at that. “I love you too, Cas. For every single second that I can.” Dean heard the soft sigh, felt the wave of power wash over him as they were both instantly cleaned up and made presentable. “So, that was sex. I have always wondered about the mortal fascination with it.” Dean couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up and out of him, realizing that his angel may have been circling the block for several million eons already, but he clearly still had a lot to learn. “Nah, Cas, that wasn’t sex, that was a really good hand job.” “But we both ejaculated, what more could there be?” The smile that spread across Dean’s face would have been a warning to any other being, but to Castiel, it was simply a promise that he would be well and truly educated before the arrival of the new dawn. ***** Dean smiled as he snuggled in closer to Castiel, as he remembered all that had passed between them throughout the course of the very long night. How once Castiel had been given proper instruction, he had only been too happy to comply. Always seeking guidance and proving that he could improvise with the very best of them. Dean had been reassured over the course of the glorious night that he, and he alone, had ever earned the kind of devotion that Castiel was doling out with such generosity. Their bodies had writhed together as one, had almost merged into a singular unit, as the pleasure had peaked, as the profound bond that had already existed between them was made ever stronger. So, now, as Dean was held once more within arms that would defend him from every evil, he could only rejoice at having finally found what he had never thought he would be worthy of. Their breakfast had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, and Dean had eaten ravenously while Castiel had smiled indulgently and watched the pancakes, bacon, and eggs disappear at a startling rate. They had cleaned themselves up in the bathroom, and then they had gotten dressed, before they strolled out to meet up with Gabriel, and hopefully Sam. “Well, well, well! Look what the cat dragged in! Here I thought I was gonna have to send in an entire garrison of angels to rescue that poor boy.” Castiel’s only response was to give Gabriel a dour frown, before he turned back to Dean, reached out a hand, and laced their fingers together as he drew Dean closer to him. “Mind telling me what happened to Sam?” Dean saw the smirk ghost over Gabriel’s lips, before with a snap of his fingers, Sam was standing in the hotel lobby, clearly having just woken up, and having the worst case of bedhead that Dean had ever witnessed. “What happened?” Sam asked as a yawn tried to split his head clean in two. “Not much. But I think I picked up an all-powerful boyfriend while you were sleeping your life away.” “Seriously?” was all that Sam could muster before he was drowned out by Gabriel’s fake snoring. A sharp poke in the ribs later from Castiel, and Gabriel was back to as near too serious as he could get. “So, anyhoo, I’ll let you kids get back to your lives now, and Castiel?” a pause as he stared at the angel that he has always been the closest to, “Lose my number. Seriously, how many times do you expect me to rescue your ass?” With a snap of his fingers, Gabriel was gone, and Sam, Dean, and Castiel found themselves in the Impala, somewhere on a two-lane blacktop in Western Texas, driving towards who knows what. But as reality settled in, Dean found that he really didn’t mind it at all. He had escaped hell, he had gained a love for the ages, and his little brother was all in one piece. Meaning that the one directive that had been laid down since he was old enough to make lasting memories, well, he hadn’t failed to uphold it. John Winchester could be proud of his eldest. That he had kept the family together, and that he had even expanded it by one eternal being of extraordinary abilities. “So, where do you wanna go first?” “Well, did you want to see heaven? The real one?” Dean could only smile, knowing that his already incredibly turbulent life was never going to be the same again. The End