Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This time was different.

He could still feel the echo of his own voice as it had rung out across the bunker, spread out and amplified by the ceiling and walls. The words themselves seemed oddly distant now, as though they had occurred during some kind of nightmarish daydream brewing in that celestial head of his. But he knew that they weren't. What had happened this time had really happened. And every single part of it hurt like a bitch.

Somewhere between the slam of a heavy door and Dean screaming at him to just wait, Jesus, fucking wait a second, Cas, he had ended up stumbling into a dark city, wings unable to carry him any further in this state. Neon lights were the only source of illumination as he walked blindly towards the first building he could find. His thoughts were a mess, a jumble of incoherence mixed with pain at the resounding reminder that he had wasted years rebelling, dying, pleading, and falling for nothing except a dismissal of his worth. The idea had a death grip on his heart, squeezing it like a stress ball in rhythm to the rise and fall of his chest.

It was the tail end of their conversation that had got him, a conversation Cas had initiated because he thought he knew how it would end. Maybe that was the worst part of all of this: that he had presumed he knew right. Because, boy, had he been wrong. He had been wrong in every conceivable way about what he thought was fact. He’d definitely known his own facts and his own feelings, and had assumed the remaining evidence could only point to one conclusion, a conclusion that he’d acted on, which was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

And now he was in LA, pushing the glass doors open to some overly pricy and excessively sleazy hotel and practically slamming his hand down on the counter, money in palm, before the tattooed receptionist could even mumble out a greeting. "H-how long?" She finally managed to feebly inquire, taking due care to avoid the cold eyes of the angel standing before her.

"We'll see," Cas responded in a quiet tone, barely paying her attention, and taking in the scenery around him. He wanted to do something utterly insane, not for the first time, just so the events of the past couple hours would fade into a dull alternate reality, and he could go on living his life, and believing in his convictions. But Cas was, unfortunately, not inherently impulsive, and even checking into some random, shady joint in the city of sunshine and sin couldn't change his lack of imagination.

Was this why Dean--? He asked himself, before nearly biting his tongue. Despite the inquiry, the result would be pointless. He couldn’t change who he was. He didn't want to, not like this, even if it was within his power. True, he had changed the past few years with the Winchesters, but they had that effect on people, places, things. It was impossible not to be moved by Sam's unfailingly sympathetic heart, those pitiful puppy eyes, and his drive to never give up. And Dean, well...Cas didn't even need to mention anything about Dean. The guy had done something weird to Cas’s heart from the moment they first met each other, when Dean was screaming some horrific expletives in hell and Cas was trying to fight with him to raise his dumb ass back to Earth. It didn't feel very profound at the time, their bond. Cas fought the urge to smile at the thought, a notion quickly swallowed up by the frown replacing it. Things had seemed like they had changed since then, but it didn't mean they had. It didn't mean Cas meant any more to Dean than he did when the two were face to face with one another for the first time in a garage and the hunter had attempted--rather pathetically--to kill him with the demon blade.

That thought still stung. It was a fresh wound, he supposed, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his chest and glancing at the moderately sketchy snack machines lined up near the bathrooms. The whole first floor of the venue was lit cheaply and reeked vaguely of sex, drugs and sweat. It reminded him of the Winchesters, but then, so did everything. It was going to take a while before he was able to look at anything again without associating them with it, if it could even be done. Perhaps, he would’ve been better off making haste towards heaven, and settling back into his obedient position as one of God's soldiers, but the taste of that idea left him more bitter than staying, somehow. For whatever reason it was, Earth would remain to be his home for now, never mind how utterly alone he felt.

"Well, well, well. Does my impeccable eyesight deceive me or do I spy with my little eye the little bother I never wanted? Castiel, bro, how you doin’?"

The angel found himself whirling around, even though he already knew the voice like the back of his hand. His memory didn't disappoint. The sight, however, of his older brother did, as it always had been ever since he had learned of how exactly the golden-haired, radiant archangel Gabriel had escaped the clutches of heaven without opting to fall from grace. The brutal death he’d suffered at the hands of Lucifer years ago seemed to treat him well. Gabriel looked no different than when the two had last met, when he was tossing Sam and Dean into television shows left and right for no good reason other than to play his twisted little game of forcing their hands.

That had been during the apocalypse, years ago, but the whiskey-eyed archangel hadn't aged a day, unsurprisingly. He still wore that nape-length golden hair and mischievous grin that had earned him the title of Trickster. Castiel had looked up to him as a role model, before the first war of heaven, when Lucifer and Michael had it out, but somewhere around that time, Gabriel had suddenly stopped showing up to Sunday dinners, no excuses offered, and disappeared soon after. And although Cas wasn't one to hold a deep-seated grudge, he loathed him ever so slightly for that: taking the easy way out. It was such a Gabriel thing to do, opting for the escape. He had left them all worried, wondering, wandering. The war had been a trying enough time without losing yet another sibling to the dysfunction of the angelic family.

Such fond memories, Cas thought bitterly, mouth set into a firm line as his eyes settle on the Trickster. "Gabriel," he stated evenly.

His brother's face was lit up like a neighborhood on Christmas Eve. "Cassie! So good to see you! Why the long face and loner pose? Did you forget to bring along the boyfriends on the company vacation?"

Cas supposed his face must've reacted before he got a hold of his emotions, because Gabe's expression twisted almost as soon as the words left his mouth. "Cas?" He repeated again, after a moment of silence. The smile was gone, a deeply set frown in its place. "Is something wrong? Where are Sam and Dean?"

Their names together, phrased like that physically pained Cas in a way he didn't even think was possible until after the stinging in his chest started. He reached up hesitantly and gripped the lapels of his trench coat, breaking eye contact if only to regain what little control he had left in his body. He absolutely was not about to have this conversation, not with anyone, and certainly not with a sarcastic, absentee brother he barely acknowledged existed. He was not ready to tell the truth. He couldn't even face it. None of it felt real yet, and frankly, if it hurt this badly already, Cas wasn't 100% sure he would be able to handle it when it did sink in.

"I...I am on my own," Cas finally responded, surroundings practically fading into black and white around him. Reality was beginning to sink in. The words echoed around his mind, louder this time, and with feeling, and they felt like literal angel blades jammed into his chest.

It was amazing, what four simple words could do. Cas had killed thousands of his own kind, murdered them with his bare hands and a single blade, and that was still something that haunted him, but the weight of genocide seemed to fall lightly in comparison to the crushing load of five simple words, uttered by Dean Winchester, in the course of a ten-minute conversation. He couldn't even breathe when he first heard them.

Gabriel was suddenly a lot closer than before, shoving him up against the nearest wall and grabbing his chin with the force of a hurricane. It didn't take longer than a second for Cas to remember just how strong his brother actually was before the trickster began speaking, "Cassie. The Winchesters. Where are they? Are they in trouble? Are you in trouble? Level with me, Cas. I can lend you a helping hand, but only if you fess up to what the hell's going on with that deer in the headlights look you got happening."

The words seemed to come out automatically, mechanically programmed to report the situation at hand, without feeling or idea. They felt a million miles away from Cas, who was roughly two minutes away from dissociating into a completely different dimension.

"I was wrong...about how the Winchesters think of me. Therefore, I have decided to undertake the task of becoming a hunter on my own."

The hunter part was a lie. A bold-faced, semi-automatic lie to cover up the fact that Cas had no fucking idea what he was doing, why he was here, except that he was emotionally bleeding out and that he had no idea what to do next. He had no idea who he even was. Who was Castiel, if not angel to the Winchesters?

Gabriel cocked his head to the side, then slowly released Cas and turned around, hand coming up to stroke some imaginary goatee. Cas stumbled slightly, leaning against the wall. He was in excellent cosmetic condition, yet, the words he'd just said had left him reeling, both mentally and physically. So this was it sinking in, then? The realization that he was alone again?

"A hunter, huh? Well, I tell ya what, Cassie." The archangel turned on his heel in the middle of stepping forward, just in time for Cas to mask the pained expression on his face, and strode ahead to meet his taller, younger brother with a grin. "That sounds like a humbling experience, even for you. But thing is, I worry about you out there, all by yourself. Which is why gotta I insist that I come with."

Pause. Castiel had to press a button on his inner monologue of suffering in order to address what had just been said by one of the most arguably self-centered angels he knew. "…I’m sorry, what? G...Gabriel...why? That's unnecessary. I assure you, I am fine by myself."

"Physically? Sure you are, kiddo! But mentally? Ah jeez. You are a living, breathing train wreck, lil bro. It doesn't take a damn mind reader to see that you've been put through hell and back again, if you catch my reference."

The blue-eyed angel barely had time to scrunch together his eyebrows in confusion before Gabriel continued, sounding rather exasperated, "You know, Cas, if they can't appreciate you, you should find someone who does. Just sayin'."

"If you are referring to Sam and Dean, then--"

"Who the hell else would I have been talking about, Castiel?!" The trickster dropped his voice to a growl. "I know why you stuck around for them. Why you protected them. Risked everything for them. I almost think it's admirable, how much you care. But I have eyes, you know. And you...you care too much, Cas. It's not within their emotional capabilities to return the favor to you."

"Says who?" Cas replied, voice taking on a confrontational tone as he approached the trickster with his shoulders set in a mutinous stance. Gabriel didn't move a muscle, eyes fixated on Cas's blue gaze. They seemed...almost disappointed.

"You still wanna defend them, huh? That's...pathetic. Honestly. You should respect yourself more than that. I know you're a sucker for lost causes, always have been, but dammit, Cas, fucking respect yourself at least a little. Stop defending them. What was it, even? Did you tell him? Is that why you are here alone?"

"Tell whom what?" Cas replied, feigning an innocent tone. It was the most expressive he'd sounded since the knock-down drag out fight he'd had earlier with Dean, and there wasn't even a reason for it. He knew he couldn't fool Gabriel, someone whose entire survival hinged on deceiving other people in cruelly ironic ways. He couldn't trick the trickster, and there was no use trying to, but there he stood, feet digging firmly into the cheap paneling of the hotel lobby floor as he stared daggers at his older sibling.

Gabriel held his poker face like a champion. Years of practice, Cas figured, fighting a grimace. It wasn't like he himself didn't have training to back it up as well.

"You're pathetic," Gabe decided, within a minute of intense eye contact, furrowing his brows together before turning and shaking his head with exasperation. "You're just...wow. Something else entirely. Okay, Cassie. Deny it allllll you want, but we all know how the story ends. Everything always comes out before the close. And you are not helping prove your sanity to me at all, so I guess that means I just have to come along with you on this, huh? Cassie, Cassie, forcing my hand. Oh well, it's what a good brother must do, I suppose."

Despite the substantial metaphorical weight bearing down on his shoulders, Cas was still able to dig into his mind and emerge with an impressive amount of disgust for Gabriel's attitude. "How pious of you," Cas muttered, gazing cynically at the shorter angel, who had dropped the annoyed act in favor of grinning like a madman, thrilled with the new role of being the protective, paternal older brother. "But I neither need nor desire your help. My mental state is fine, and putting that aside, I would find your company to be more grating than soothing."

Gabe faked an astonished, hurt expression, hands fluttering over his heart as he stepped backwards dramatically, announcing, "So mean! Who put cyanide in your Cheerios, Cas? Because I'm pretty sure you drugged yourself, from the looks of you. There is only pain in loving humans, after all, and you had plenty of opportunities to step back." The humor, the drama, the playful tone was gone. A single glint remained in those golden eyes as the very presence of the trickster seemed to expand and cover the room in a tense aura. Gabriel took a step forward, gaze trained on Castiel, eyes narrowed into calculated slits.

"So what happened? He read you the ol' 'It's not you, it's me' act? I love that one. It's timeless." The words cut like the jagged edge of a freshly sharpened blade, and Cas tried not to let it show as the angel crept closer, still watching him carefully.

"Or was he completely disgusted with you? Absolutely revolted, terrified even, that somehow like you could feel like that about him? Because you know, I'm still amazed you settled for his angst-ridden ass when you could have literally anyone you wanted. No, really, why would you settle for him, when you could have better? When you could be loved back?"

"Stop. Stop talking." Cas was the first to break eye contact, unable to keep even his hands steady as he shoved them into the pockets of his trench coat, funneling all of his available energy into keeping the rest of his body still. He couldn't even focus on trying to lie anymore. As he had known earlier, it had been a pointless, wasteful effort, but what did time matter to him? There was, after all, no one with whom to share an eternity now, so what use did time have to a celestial powerhouse like Castiel? "Please stop. You are...correct."

The threatening presence of the trickster, of a masquerading archangel at work in his most comfortable environment was gone within a single second, and there stood Gabe, whose expression had yet again shifted, but this time to something unreadable. "Am I? You sure about that?"

"I..." He wasn't certain how to respond to that. Whatever mind games Gabriel was interested in playing tonight, Cas wanted no part in them. "I know so. He...they...don't need me anymore. And I do not need them. Therefore, I am going to do something productive for the people of this planet and become a hunter, since it is an occupation in which I have at least a moderate amount of experience."

"Not to mention a shit ton of celestial grace from Dad himself," his older brother snorts, sounding somewhere between amused and sarcastic. "You know what? I believe you. I think you'll do just fine on your own. But, just so be safe, I'm gonna tag along."

It was difficult to suppress a groan on part of the taller angel, who was suddenly beginning to get a bit of a headache, entirely Gabe's fault. He pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, questioning how quickly the situation had gone from bad to worse in his commute from the bunker to here. One moment, he felt like his very life force was being ripped out of his chest, the next, he was standing in a questionably clean, suspiciously cheap hotel in Los Angeles, feeling arguably the same but now with the promise of embarking on some dumb, philanthropic journey to become a hunter with his older, absentee, and also dead brother. Not that the last part of that statement was relevant. Gabe had faked his death so many times, it hardly seemed important a detail to mention.

And during all of this, he could still hear Dean's words ringing in his head. Not his last words, no, because Cas hadn't even been listening to those. They passed right by his ears after Dean had spoken a statement that completely broke 10 years of friendship. Whatever happened afterwards, Cas was physically present for but missing in every other sense. The emotions still tangled in his throat when he attempted to swallow yet another painful lump that was a side effect of attempting to remain put together in front of Gabriel. He had struggled at first to even open his mouth when he was face to face with Dean, but when he had, the thoughts seemed to roll off his tongue, as though he had been saying them for years. And he had, never mind having not voiced them until today.

I love you. I love you. I love you, Dean Winchester.

And what a waste it had been, loving Dean Winchester, he wanted to yell. Giving up everything, sacrificing his grace, his mind, his loyalty and even his life just for some freckled, pretty-eyed human with daddy issues? Only someone with a true hero complex would dare fall for such a mess as one of the Winchesters. But on the other hand, he couldn't fathom a world where he didn't love him, or, for that matter, both of them. Deep inside, Cas knew this had been a necessary task: throwing away his old life for two emotionally damaged humans and becoming equally damaged as a result. It had been God's will, all along.

Or so was the only thought currently keeping him from having an utter existential meltdown.

In the middle of his musings, Gabriel had vanished, and upon zoning back into the situation, Cas made the relatively futile error of beginning to think that perhaps he was off the hook until the angel reappeared, clutching a set of keys with a devilish grin. Taking notice of his brother's spaced out, borderline disapproving expression, he said, "No worries, lil bro! Our new wheels were procured using completely legal methods! Well. Mostly."

Cas knew better than to question it, and instead resorted to sighing. He had dug himself a hole for sure. The only thing to do now would be to bear the heat of the split-second decision he had made, since Gabe had now hitched a ride on his train to nowhere.

“It’s no Chevy Impala, but it’ll do for now. Still the coolest ride in this parking lot, not that that’s saying much with this crowd.” Gabe scoffed. His haughty tone reminded Cas of this film he’d once seen. Mean Girls. He’d missed most of the jokes in the movie, so Sam had frequently stopped to explain, during which Dean was narrowly hiding his amusement. He would never admit to liking “chick-flicks,” but his face almost always betrayed him whenever the three happened to catch one on television. The slight upturn of his lips at the edge, the way his eyes seemed to soften and illuminate at the same time—

“So are we going or nah? Hey. Lady. Give my brother here a refund. As it turns out, he isn’t going to be catching crabs here tonight.”

…Right. Hunting. With Gabriel. Cas turned just in time to catch a set of keys flying at his face as his brother made his way to the counter, leaning over with a smooth motion to gesture towards the tattooed receptionist. Another sigh.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire he went.

Chapter Text

"So, Cassie. Lemme take a stab at how this works. We find a case, we solve it, then we get food and laid by the pretty guys and gals of the town or city. Am I right? Or is the fun part first?"

Barely ten minutes into their journey towards an as of yet undecided destination, and Gabriel still hadn't ceased his unnecessary chatter. On one hand, Castiel found it to be a useful distraction from the feral gnawing going on in his chest, but mostly, he was annoyed by the constant, one-sided banter offered by the angel in the passenger seat. Even a series of one word answers had yet to quell the trickster's overly talkative behavior. "You would be correct in assuming the first order," Cas replied neutrally.

Gabe pushed back the seat in the 2006, navy blue Honda Civic he'd filched from the parking lot of the dingy L.A. motel and propped his feet up on the dash. Had this been the Impala, Gabe would've likely been murdered for this heinous act, but they weren't anywhere near the Winchesters or Baby now, and the price for dirtying up the dashboard in this vehicle wasn't set by anyone thus far. Would this car come to mean as much to them? Cas couldn't help but wonder, eyes trained on the miles of darkness yet to go on the road ahead.

It was difficult to come to terms with the idea; not that a car could hold the emotional equivalent of a person's entire childhood, but that the two angelic, estranged brothers were on their way to make their own history out of a vehicle. Hunting, Cas thought to himself, almost with a note of sarcasm. Was that honestly the best future plan for himself he could come up with on the spot? He could've chosen any excuse, and this is the one he went with.

Hm. Maybe if he'd just announced that he intended to pursue accounting, perhaps he would've been able to avoid the annoying and now singing Gabriel, who had taken to performing an air guitar solo out of the corner of Cas's eye.

"I run too far away from you. It don't matter where I've been. I run around the world from you. Here we are again." Gabe belted---rather melodically--as he took one hand and outstretched his fingers toward the front windshield, casting a soulful look at his brother with furrowed brows. The whole scene was worthy of a hefty sigh, but Cas was well aware that there were at least another couple hours left in the car, not even counting those spent on the case he had yet to find, so he would have plenty of time to voice his obvious exasperation later, when perhaps it truly began to grate on his nerves.

Gabriel, as usual, responded poorly to being ignored. "So you gonna talk about why you're running away from your problems, or nah? I mean, I got time, so if you want to put it off, that's fine but I am impatient and nosy, so you know I will eventually find out."

"I'm not getting into detail. Not with you. Now or ever."

Gabe placed his hand very solemnly on his chest, looking stricken. "Why must you wound me with this lack of faith?! C'mon, Cas. We're bros."

"I have at least several thousand other brethren that could utter that same statement in truth. Our intertwined bloodline does not make me like you more."

"Ha," the Trickster snorted, with eyes narrowed, cheerful nature seeming to dissipate minutely. "Don't worry, Cas. All of heaven is aware of where you place your allegiances. And it definitely isn't with them."

Castiel tensed up immediately, hands tightening around the steering wheel. He glanced upwards at the rear view mirror, nearly flinched at his own appearance, and then returned his eyes to the road. It would be easier, choosing to altogether ignore Gabe's reference to his unfailing oath of duty to the Winchester brothers than to even nod in response. Because right now, it felt like a mistake, to have stayed so long with humans who cared so little for him. Loathe as he was to say it...perhaps Gabriel was right about him being pathetic. Maybe he was just a tad pitiful, pining so long for a future that simply couldn't exist. It was foolish to even bother, and yet...

...he must have really enjoyed the taste of heartbreak, to stay that long and keep that relentless hope. Well, now it was certainly quashed. No worries, as Gabe had mentioned earlier. No longer did Cas think he had any chance at finding a family in the brothers he had died protecting, but that did leave him at the difficult crossroads of where to go next, both psychologically and physically.

He needed to find a case. Preferably in close enough proximity to their current location that he wouldn't need to spend 6-7 hours in a car with Gabriel, avoiding his passive aggressive taunts and being forced to endure song after song of ballad-inspired belting. Surely they could find something within a few hours distance, especially if it was in a major city. They were in California after all. Something sketchy had to be happening somewhere. It would be more suspicious is if there wasn't.

"I suppose it was a little rude of me to say that, considering you just got dumped. But, to be fair, you never really stood a chance."

Cas about slammed his foot on the break right then and there, solely for that last comment, ready to withdraw his angel blade and plunge it into his brother's rib cage, because again---fresh wound---but resisted the urge using every possible ounce of grace in his body and instead managed to restrain himself to only turning his head and offering Gabe a death glare. The archangel didn't pay it much mind, simply raising an eyebrow and shrugging as he turned to gaze out the window at the mile markers they passed on their way to nowhere.

"Not that that means they didn't love you, of course."

Screech. The car skidded to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, Cas risking the brakes locking on him as he forced his foot down on the peddle, this time abandoning the wheel and gripping the seat with a feral hold to look at Gabe. "Shut up. Please. Either get out of the vehicle and leave me alone, like I asked of you to begin with, or don't speak. It’s fairly simple."

His brother's only reaction was a slow blink and neck scratch before meeting Castiel's omniscient blue eyes with his own whiskey-colored ones. "Okay then. And by okay, I mean no. You are a fool. All of you are fools. Absolute bone heads. This all sounds like some big misunderstanding, and you getting your panties in a twist over it only makes it that much worse. Listen, I only came with you this far because I thought you would eventually snap out of it and go back home with your tail between your legs, if not only to avoid me. But it appears, somehow, that this situation is much worse than I previously assumed."

"Than you assumed?" Cas liked to think he was above getting overemotional, particularly in the upset variety, but today had been full of disappointment, and he refused to hear any more of it, including from his own family. "My life is none of your business, Gabriel. My reasons for leaving the Winchesters are my business. Not yours. Fuck off."

"Castiel." Gabe closed his eyes and sighed, leaning his golden head against the back of the leather seat before letting them open again, glimmering little slits of a hazel-brown glowering slightly at the dark-haired angel. "You don't get it. I agree, it's not probably not my place but, seeing as I care about your dumb, oblivious ass, I'm just going to have to come right out with it since you're too dense to realize it yourself: Cassie, Dean Winchester does think quite fondly of you. In fact, his thoughts about you sound suspiciously close to early Maroon 5 lyrics. Frustrated, sexual, and awkward to listen to without feeling a vague sense of embarrassment."

Does he even think about what comes out of his mouth before he opens it and starts spewing nonsense? Cas thought, mouth twitching as his sights traveled down to Gabe's neck, where a slight red patch had appeared from where the angel had been itching earlier. "I would like you to stop talking. And I would really like you to stop lying, if that's at all possible. If not, I must insist you get out of the vehicle."

"Ah, but I'm not even lying! That's the beauty of it. Not that you'd be able to see, considering that your head is thicker than the ten layers of clothing you normally wear. See, Dean-o, he's repressed, but the thing is, that doesn't mean he doesn't have the hots for you. It just means he'll never admit it."

What is even the point of this conversation? Cas wanted to ask, but instead kept his mouth shut and turned away, placing his hands back on the wheel and staring at the road with glassy eyes. Tentatively, his foot found the gas and pressed gently, so that the car began to glide forward again.

"Are you just going to pretend like I'm not here?" The trickster shifted in his seat, readjusting his position for comfort and took to then passing unwarranted glances in the direction of the driver's side as he continued to speak, "And here you are, calling me childish! Ugh. Idiots, as always. Fine. Destroy yourselves. See if I care."

"I am conveniently aware already that you have no love for anyone but yourself." Cas replied in an even voice, relieved that the conversation sounded like it was at a momentary close. Even if it were to be reopened at some point, that would be manageable, provided it wasn't right at this moment, when Cas was still practically bleeding from every emotional orifice and trying to drive simultaneously. He would take what he could get.

"Okay, wow.” Gabe huffed, crossing his arms for not longer than a few seconds before reaching in his jacket to pull out a smartphone and focus his attention—finally—on something other than Cas's slowly occurring mental breakdown. "So you got a case in mind yet or are we just testing how long you can be in a car with me without threatening my life?"

"The latter, for now."

"Gotcha. Soooo...uh...what should I Google? Potential witch hunts? Disappearing mutated babies? Man explodes from eating too much cake?" The archangel's fingers tapped impatiently against the bright screen, drumming together in a precise rhythm as he looked eagerly to Cas, who remained thoroughly impassive with the wheel turned slightly in anticipation of the curve ahead.

"Anything that seems out of the ordinary."

"Uh, no offense, but we don't exactly hang around in the same circles, bro. What's weird to you is probably a regular Friday evening for me."

"Murder is a Friday evening?" Cas questioned, raising an eyebrow as he cast a wayward glance in Gabe's direction.

His brother met it with indifference, shrugging and mumbling, "I suppose murder is a bit unusual. I'll look for that." On cue, his fingertips swiped across the screen then began to pitter patter. The next few minutes passed in silence, excluding the smooth hum of the classical music station Cas had picked out after growing exhausted of Gabe's loud and frankly grating back-up vocals.

Minutes eroded into hours, and soon, Cas found himself wishing that Gabe had kept on yammering, just so he wouldn't have to deal with the heavy reality now perched on his shoulder like some hideous gargoyle. His hands tightened ever so slightly on the wheel, shoe gently releasing on the gas and allowing them to carefully coast. He couldn't shake the thoughts from his head. Dean's face when he'd said the words. How, for a moment, he thought he saw a genuine smile form in those crystal green eyes, and something purely happy emerge, before the man's expression shifted to one of borderline contempt.

'The hell? Cas, you don't mean...?'

'Y-Yes. I do, actually.' Cas had been swallowing back his fear at that moment. He was a celestial terror, a force of nature, a hurricane contained in a human body, but with infinitely more strength, and he was absolutely terrified in that second. 'I love you. I have for a long time.'

And he should have been, considering how things had turned out.

Gabriel was suddenly speaking.

"—and I get that you like the Planets, Cas, but seriously, let's listen to something composed in this century." He was reaching for the radio dial, and with a single swift movement had turned the channel to the top twenty hits, then bypassed it in favor of the local alternative station and withdrew his hand with a satisfied smirk. "See? Already better. So what do you think of San Francisco?"

Like that, Cas was lost again. "San Francisco," Cas stated, feigning understanding. "Yes." Unfortunately, he was rather bad at faking, always had been. But Gabe was nothing short of duly amused by the blank look on his brother's face and shoving his phone screen at him, the web opened to a tab on a recent news story.

Cas leaned in, scanning the headline. Teen Reported Missing After Visiting Local Haunted House. It could've been unrelated to the paranormal, judging by the title, but upon further inspection of the article, the circumstances seemed a bit suspicious for mortal foul play. The girl, Melissa Hoffman, had disappeared after sneaking out three nights ago with the intent to visit the famous 'McCuskey Murder House' with her best friend, Satira, and never came home, while the friend stumbled home in the morning--looking severely shaken up in bloodstained clothing. There were no other details mentioned in the article, but Cas was willing to look into the case, even with the 50/50 odds that this was out of their usual purview.

"This sounds promising. We'll start heading in that direction." Cas made to return his attention back to the route, when Gabe frowned, visibly displeased with his reaction. "What?" He inquired gruffly. They were sitting in the middle of the road. Now was not the best time for yet another archangel temper tantrum.

"It's nothing. We're only about twenty minutes out. Let's get to it. The sooner we Ghostbusters this, the sooner you realize you can't run away from your problems." Gabe reclined his seat, planting his feet up on the dash and crossing his arms behind his head.

"Rich advice, coming from you," mumbled Cas, pushing on the gas to speed them along. The whole irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. If Dean were here, he would probably use some movie reference to describe it, but either way, there was a certain bothersome quality to the way Gabe insisted he own up to the situation when the trickster himself ran away from home and forged an entire new persona just to avoid dealing with Sunday dinners in heaven.

"Yeah, whatever, Cassie. Anyway, can you pick up the pace? This isn't even the speed limit. I could've looped back and forth a thousand times at this rate flying."

Cas opened his mouth to protest, then shut it. The effort would be pointless, much like this entire journey thus far. Though he loathed to admit it, Gabe was right about running from his problems. The Winchesters would catch up to him, like they caught up to every other issue in their lives, with time and reluctance.

Which left him slamming on the gas to shut Gabe up, and narrowing his eyes to focus on the road, intending to forget about the metaphorical demons chasing him.

Maybe he couldn't run. But he sure as hell could try.

Chapter Text

Sam awoke to the sound of a 1000-day long nightmare on the radio. As soon as the first three chords hit, his eyes shot open and he was scrambling across the floor, nearly tripping down the stairs in the race to destroy whatever was making that horrible racket. The culprit was, of course, Dean, as he downed a glass of orange juice and pored over a vast array of newspaper clippings pinned to the cork billboard the two had found at a yard sale several weeks back. He stood right beside the blaring radio, surprisingly still, when Sam bust into the room and ripped the cord to the machine out of the wall with a fierce hand.

“Dude, what the hell? That was Asia.”

Sam merely shot him an asinine glance before turning to the crime board, which amazingly hadn’t been this full last night, meaning that Dean had stayed up late genuinely working instead of surfing the web for busty Asian beauty porn. That in itself would’ve been a miracle, let alone considering the fact that Dean didn’t need to be doing anything like this. Ever since heaven had calmed down and Crowley had regained control of hell, the brothers’ lives had been…well…somewhat normal. They were still hunters, of course, which wasn’t normal at all, but in comparison to the last few years of demon fighting, causing and then stopping the apocalypse, entrapping the leviathans in purgatory, and enduring the trials, Sam thought this was much more relaxed.

Now, they merely worked minor cases, much like when John was missing. That time felt like an eternity ago, considering all they’d mucked through in the past ten years. The fact that they were even alive was amazing. Every morning since things had returned to an acceptable norm, Sam had woken up and thanked his lucky stars. Excluding this morning of course, since “Heat of the Moment” represented one of the most irritatingly complex characters the two had ever come across, and even though Gabriel was dead, his memory lived on through Sam’s impeccable recollection of the ‘1000 Tuesdays.’ Most reluctantly.

“Tuesdays, remember?”

“Oh. Right. Tuesday.” Dean’s voice sounded even drier than usual today, another strange occurrence in what should be a simple day for them. Instead of following his response up with an explanation of why he stood leaning against the counter and observing last night’s work, or rather, why he even bothered making the effort of creating this collage of cases, Dean was silent after answering. Again, unusual.

Sam didn’t like where this was going. A decade of nothing but hell and back again, angels and demons, and miscommunication errors was too damn many. He wasn’t taking another second of it. “Is Cas not up yet?” he inquired, taking a stab at trying to maybe pinpoint why Dean was acting so weirdly.

“Guess not. Either that or he’s out.”

Anyone else would have missed it, that hesitant pause before Dean replied, and the slight attempt to swallow what was no doubt a bundle of nerves sitting in his throat. But not Sam. “Did you two fight?”

“Don’t phrase it like that, Sam. Cas and I are not a married couple.”

“Might as well be,” Sam shrugged, making his way over to the fridge and pouring himself a glass of apple juice. The absence of alcohol in the house was a refreshing feeling, both for Sam’s tastebuds and for Dean’s liver. No more were the days of waking up and taking a swig of Jaeger to get acquainted with the sunshine.

Dean looked over at him for the first time since he’d rushed downstairs and yanked the plug from the wall, eyes narrowed into bright green slits and brows furrowed, but said nothing for a moment. “Do you remember…uh…those gay hunters Dad encountered way back when?”

That was certainly an abrupt change in topic. Sam sipped on his apple juice, searching his memory for what Dean spoke of, finally landing somewhere between age 7 and 8, when they were staying in Topeka for a case concerning a lone vampire on the loose. “Right. The young guys. Maksim and…Arturo? What about them?”

“Dad had a pretty negative opinion of them, didn’t he? Do you remember why?”

This conversation was taking an interesting direction. Sam had to wonder what was up with the sudden redirect, but knowing Dean’s train of thought, this was somehow related to his argument with Cas. “Yeah. It was the fact that they were gay, Dean. Any particular reason you want to bring up Dad’s raging homophobia?”

“N-no. Of course not. I just…I mean, how do you feel about it? Homosexuality?”

“It is what it is. I’m fine with it, Dean. Are you?”

“O-of course. It’s none of my business what people get up to in their spare time. I’m not saying I want any part of it though, you know. Just…”

Sam couldn’t hold in his laughter any longer. “Dean!” he chuckled, unable to help himself. “Is this about your feelings for Cas?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

The younger Winchester sibling set down his now empty glass of apple juice and joined his brother against the counter with a barely concealed grin. He was unspeakably thrilled that this conversation was happening. It was about damn time, too. Six years of this bullshit. Six years of awkward eye-sex and it seemed like Dean was ready to admit that homosexuality existed, which was a major step towards him acknowledging that the long standing sexual tension between him and Cas also existed, and for a reason too. Sam had been waiting far too long for this.

“I don’t have ‘feelings’ for Cas, whatever that means. What have you been smoking, Sam? I’m a chick magnet, in case you forgot.” Dean didn’t meet his eyes as he spoke. “Also, Cas is straight, far as I know.”

Dean was as shallow and transparent as always. It was a joy to know that as long as he’d known him, his brother never fundamentally changed. “You know…just because Dad thought dudes liking dudes was a sin doesn’t mean you have to. You can’t change who you are. And if you like Cas, go for it. Where is he?”

“I…” Dean’s hands tensed up as he met Sam’s aqua eyes with his own green ones. There was a sense of slight panic in them as gazed at his brother, his brain coming up with words then discarding them in favor of others until he settled on a sentence. “I…I don’t know. Listen, Sam. Cas and I are not like that, alright? I’m not gay.”

“Right. So Cas is where?”

“…Again, I don’t know.” Dean threw his hands in the air, glancing back at the corkboard. “We had a…misunderstanding last night and then he popped off to Godknowswhere. Well, if God wasn’t a deadbeat dad, he’d know where.”

“Ah. I see.”

He didn’t. He had a working theory of course, but for it to be correct would mean something irreversible, because if Cas revealed his feelings to Dean and Dean rejected them…well…that was bad news, to say the least. Six years of experience told him Cas was more than willing to throw himself on the chopping block for Dean, no matter what the circumstance was, but even Cas had a limit, and this might very well have been it. “How bad was the misunderstanding?”

“It felt pretty bad, Sam. I don’t know…I don’t know if he’ll come back on his own. Hence, the devil’s trap of paperwork here. I’m trying to find out where he might have went. He’s productive when he’s working through something, so I figured he’d be on a case, but…there’s so many possibilities. And he can just pop in and out, no problem, which makes getting there in time a real challenge.”

The worry in Dean’s tone didn’t go unnoticed as Sam walked forward and squinted at the numerous cases pinned to the board. There were multiple per state, but there was still criteria they could use to narrow it down. “Did you try praying?” He asked, eyes scanning over a series of mysterious deaths in South Dakota.

“’Course I did, Sam. He’s either ignoring me or the angel hotline is down at the moment. Probably the former.”

“Sure, maybe if I was calling, but not you.” His gaze traveled over the map and post-it notes to the next most pressing cases, which sounded suspiciously like a wendigo. “You guys got that profound bond crap going on, or whatever. Must be nice to have your own personal angel.”

“Ugh, really, Sam?” Dean approached from behind, taking a stance beside him and speaking to the West Coast, “You’re gonna bring that up now, when Cas doesn’t even want to talk to me? Trust me, man, it’s not as fun as it seems. Besides, most of the winged asshats suck anyway. Cas is one of the only decent ones.”

Sam snorted. “Maybe to you. Some weren’t as bad as others. Most of them are dead now though, so I suppose it hardly matters.”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed, tipping his head back and closing his eyes for a moment before returning them to the southern part of California. “That Gabriel, man. He had style, that’s for sure. First angel I’ve ever met that hasn’t immediately made me want to deep fry his wings.”

“That’s ironic, considering he’s the one who ended up killing you 1000 times and then throwing us into TV land.” Sam was reminded again of ‘Heat of the Moment,’ before hurriedly shaking that thought from his mind and continuing to examine the map. He could go ahead and eliminate cases in the surrounding few states based on his theory, because assuming Cas ran, he would have ran to the extremities of the country rather than a couple hours over, simply for the convenience of operating in a Winchester-free zone for longer before they caught up to him.

Dean smirked. “Yeah, I guess. Still, the guy was oddly charming. And Anna was alright, before she decided to go all Terminator on your ass. After that, not so charming.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed a shiver shoot down his brother’s spine and an unpleasant expression pass his face. “Hard to believe I did that.”

Sam paused in the midst of compiling East Coast cases Cas could have been working to stare at his brother, wondering if he’d somehow misheard. “Sorry, what? It sounded for a second there like you slept with Anna.”

And there it was. The neck scratch and avoidance of the eyes that signaled that Dean had committed something he’d rather not sheepishly admit to having done. “Dean!” Sam exclaimed in disappointment. “When did you do that?”

“Like, when we met her, dude. She was hot, before we knew she was a double agent. I didn’t realize at the time that she would later be busting in doors trying to murder my family. That’s more your type than mine, anyhow. But yeah, we did it in the back of the car.”

“Gah! Dean! Did not need to know! I have sat back there! Jesus!” The need to take a cold shower washed over Sam like a light drizzle of bricks. His skin felt ready to crawl off his body and go die in a sewer. He didn’t want to think of Dean having sex, period, but knowing that he’d banged Anna in the back of their car they’d had for as long he could remember was simply too much. The urge to vomit was strong.

Dean was still lost in la-la land. “That was when I still had the handprint, too. You know, from when Cas pulled me from hell. She was oddly obsessed with touching it while we…you know. Probably should’ve taken a hint right then and there that the chick was batshit.” He offered a shrug in response to Sam’s queasy expression. Ugh. He was relieved he hadn’t eaten anything this morning yet, because it probably would’ve been upchucked at this point.

“TMI, dude. Back to the case, please?” Sam struggled to push down the gross images in his head and instead trained his train of thought on the right side of the corkboard, running a finger down the coast. “So, I figure he’s either here, working this disappearance in Maine, vamp attacks in West Virginia, or weird cause of death case in Florida. On the other hand, there’s also the west coast. What’s over there?”

“Uh…let’s see. Missing hearts in Oregon. Some suspiciously ritualistic murders in Sacramento, a disappearance in San Fran, and a bizarre, unrelenting plague in Arizona. Which of those sounds like Cas to you?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know man. You’re the expert. What does your profound bond say?”

“Cut it out, man. I’m telling you, Cas and I aren’t like that.”

“Suuuuuure, you aren’t.”

“We’re not, Sam.”

“Okay, Dean.”

So maybe not now, they weren't. Depending on whether or not they could find Cas. But if--no, when--they did, these two were hashing it out, once and for all. Six years was a long time. Too long. Way too long. And Sam was ever so tired of being the third wheel to the couple that didn’t realize they were a couple. Today was the day he took a stand against it. And damn, was it about time.

Chapter Text

California was not in Castiel’s list of favorite places. The sun beating down on his back, trying to scorch his flesh through the layers of his trench coat, suit jacket and collared shirt was uncomfortable, especially considering how gleefully his brother was trotting around, having ditched his usual plaid and winter coat for a lightweight black suit. They stood currently on the porch of Melissa Hoffman’s family home, where Gabe rolled back and forth on his heels as they waited for Cas’s knock to incur a presence at the doorway. About a minute and a half passed in silence before their wishes were answered, and a middle-aged woman strongly resembling what Dean usually referred to as a “PTA mom” appeared.

Her wide brown eyes stared at them in confusion, before Cas began speaking, “Hello. Are you Mrs. Hoffman?”

“Parsons…” She moved back slightly, closing the door behind her before returning her attention to them. “Frank and I are divorced. I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“Well,” Gabe chimed in, earning a sharp glance from Cas as he took a step forward, and pulled out the fake FBI credentials he’d popped out of thin air earlier, “I’m Agent Davis and this is Agent Gillespie. The Bureau sent us down here. We had some questions about your daughter, Melissa.”

The woman’s expression immediately morphed from shock to poorly concealed grief. It was a face Cas had seen many times before on cases. Mrs. Parsons had already given up on Melissa. It was evident from her eyes as she turned and gestured for them to come in.

“Who are Davis and Gillespie?” Cas mumbled under his breath as the two trailed the mother in to the living room and took a seat. He nodded as she announced in a quiet voice that she would go grab some tea for them, then shuffled into the kitchen.

“Miles Davis and Dizzy Gillespie? Two of music’s finest? Man, Cas, the Winchesters didn’t know the true classics did they? We’ll have to introduce you to jazz. Don’t worry. It’s up your alley.”

Somehow, Cas doubted his words, but had to leave that train of thought for a later time because at that moment, Mrs. Parsons reentered the room, carrying a tea tray with cups already poured for the two agents. Cas nodded a polite thank you and reached for his, taking in the scenery. The room was fairly modern. The house had likely been built in the 1970s based on the paneling and room styling, but the decorative taste of what must’ve been Mrs. Parsons was some kind of art deco-country hybrid. Unusual, and not Cas’s preference, but he supposed ‘to each their own,’ as the Winchesters sometimes said.

“Your daughter is 16, right? Goes to the local high school?” Gabe was rattling off the common introductory questions while Cas observed. Something still didn’t feel right about the room, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Mrs. Parsons nodded, avoiding both their eyes. “Has she been acting strangely recently? Withdrawn?”

Gabe was uncharacteristically on task, something Cas couldn’t help but note as impressive, considering his brother’s usual carefree personality. Sometimes he forgot about this part of Gabe, though. It was easy, when much of his time spent with his brother as a child was in nonchalant circumstances. Gabe had played a large part in Cas’s upbringing, many, many years ago, teaching him how to fly, different languages, and the ancient lore that comprised God’s will before he’d flown the coop during Lucifer and Michael’s final face-off. All of those memories had been with the smiling, jovial Gabe he normally saw. But occasionally, from time to time, he had seen the grin drop to a fierce flat line and Gabe turn into the archangel Gabriel, wingspan towering over those he deemed a problem.

Maybe he was being a bit ungrateful, treating Gabe like some kind of disgraceful coward. Many angels deliberately fell during the conflict. However, archangels were special. They weren’t allowed to cop out, even if they really, really wanted to, because they were one of a kind, or, God’s finest, so to speak. Yet, if Gabe felt anything like Cas did right now, the younger angel couldn’t possibly blame him for taking the easy way out. He would’ve wanted to, as well.

Hell, he currently was. The very idea of being close to Dean at the moment put his stomach in rows.

“Thank you. Agent Gillespie, do you have any questions for Mrs. Parsons before we leave?” Gabe was speaking now, to him, and Cas realized abruptly that he had been zoning out for the past several moments. Shaking his head slightly, he stood up, straightening his back.

“Not at this time. We will be back if we need anything else.” Cas bowed his head slightly, rebuttoning his suit jacket and offering her a hand, which she gingerly shook, still refusing to look at either of the angels.

The two then turned and promptly exited the house in silence, Gabe having to make an effort to keep in pace with Cas considering their height difference. “What is it with teenagers?” he said, reaching for the car door and peering over at Cas on the other side. “They’ve already got the hormones and the pimples and now they have to go tempting fate by checking out legitimate horror stories? Jeez. You’d think the zits would be enough suffering.”

“So there is a history of death in the house?” Cas inquired, placing his hands on the top of the vehicle. “You’ve researched?”

“Pfft, no. As if. You’re the expert here. I’m just taking a guess that we’re either dealing with a runaway kid, a human serial killer, or some poor sap trapped in the veil with no cable.”

“You seem to be to implying that the veil has the potential to support cable,” Cas pointed out, opening the door and settling into the driver’s seat. Gabe sighed and took his place in the passenger’s chair, hand hovering before the radio, ready to change the channel as soon as Cas turned the keys in the ignition.

Even the quick reflexes of an archangel were no match for the radio, which roared to life with the sound of Taylor Swift before Gabe roughly threw his fingers on the dial and whipped the volume down. “Mother of dad,” Gabriel muttered under his breath, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Something about it was almost comical, and Cas had to fight from smiling as he gently changed the station and pulled out of the Parsons’ driveway.

“I wonder if the original owner of this car has any decent CDs,” Gabe voiced, still notably quiet compared to his usual blare. He took to then opening the glove compartment and shuffling around some paperwork, before emerging with a small stack of thinly sleeved discs. “Ah-hah! At least someone still uses CDs. It feels like the world is all Bluetooth and auto-tune now.”

Cas had no idea what that meant, but elected to ask anyway, “Anything good?”

Gabe frowned, fingers sliding over the nearly transparent surface of the sleeves as he removed each from the top of the pile to shift them to the bottom. “Let’s see. The Dandy Warhols. Linkin Park. Is that…ugh, really? My Chemical Romance? Last time I checked, this car was stolen from a sleazy hotel parking lot, not a defaced mini-mall full of Hot Topic rejects.” Cas glanced over to catch his brother in the middle of what was definitely an unamused eye roll before turning back to the road, wondering how in the world Gabe had obtained all this human knowledge. Was being the trickster that immersive? “What’s this? Eh? Hey, the White Stripes. I can dig that. Thoughts, Cas?”

“I don’t…know what you’re talking about. What is My Chemical Romance?”

“Trust me, you’re better off not knowing. The White Stripes are pretty cool. We’ll just pop this baby in and drive. Sound good?” Gabe leaned forward and edged one of the discs forward into the mouth of the stereo system attached to the dash of the car. Immediately, the CD started up to what sounded like an engine rumbling, fading soon after into a grungy guitar beat. “Hey, Cas, did the mom seem weird to you too?”

“A little,” Cas replied, eyes on the road. They would be visiting the house of the best friend next, but it was a good fifteen minutes out from Melissa Hoffman’s house. “Where is the father? Do you think he’s…ah…what’s the word…? Absentee?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Dunno. If he is though, she can join the Deadbeat Dad Club.” He smirked, although it lacked the usual charm and nonchalance Gabe seemed to exude. In fact, it seemed more…sad…than anything else. Castiel had been assuming that Gabe had long ago given up his emotional connections to their family, but perhaps that wasn’t the case. It was difficult to tell, considering Gabe very rarely told the truth.

“Gabriel…” Cas spoke softly as he rounded the bend, closing in on the street where Satira Santiago lived. “Thank you. For taking care of me when we were younger.”

He saw the archangel wave him off before he had even began explaining. “Don’t, Cas. It’s cool. You don’t need to thank me for being a decent sibling, even if the rest of ours sucked.”

“You say that, but if it had not been for you, I fear no one would have stepped up to the job. Or, worse, Michael or Lucifer might have.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel as the memories began to filter through his mind, bits and pieces glimmering amongst the gigantic mess in his head. A powerful train of emotions ripped into him as each came and went, all in a flurry of motion. Flying lessons with Gabriel. The confrontation to start a war in heaven. Lucifer’s fall. Receiving his mission from his superiors. Castiel, you were born to save the righteous man, they had said, towering before him in their divine forms, and now the time has finally come for you to complete that task.

Despite not being wholly human, and not having ever felt the slightest twinge of sickness before as an angel, Cas was suddenly overtaken with nausea at those words. It wasn’t the words themselves, either. It had been the action they spoke of, the action he had taken that resulted in his eventual fall from grace, metaphorically and literally.

“Ehh, I don’t know about that. Sure, maybe Luci used to be a little paternal back in the day, but not at the point you were born, Cas. Him and Michael had already started their petty slap-fighting ages before and were gearing up for the showdown by the time you spontaneously poofed into existence.”

As the car rolled to a stop, Cas nudging his foot into the brake and shifting the car into park, he found himself wanting to ask more about those days, before the second generation of angels was created, but the words were better suited for another time. Gabe was up and out of the car before he could’ve opened his mouth to speak anyway, stretching his limbs like they had just reached the end of a cross-country road trip, and grinning with a bright smile.

His golden wings, translucent to humans, seemed to flicker in and out of the sunlight, reflecting hues between yellow and brown with a radiant elegance as he turned around and looked at Cas, who was still absorbed by the memories dancing around his slowly slipping mind. “Yo. Bro. You good?”

“Yes. Of course.” Cas had learned to be a decent enough faker when taken aback, provided he wasn’t pressed for anything beyond a simple response. He straightened his tie and strode ahead in front of his brother, walking up the concrete pathway to a small house parked in the suburban outlands of San Fran. Gabe followed in suit, and Cas didn’t miss the eyes burning accusatorily into his back as he knocked on the door. No response.

“Ugh. Don’t these people have any sense of punctuality? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with arriving late to the party, but jeez, we’re practically bringing the party to them.” Gabe had never had any patience in the entire time Cas had known him. Maybe it should’ve been comforting, that his brother didn’t change, as was evidenced by the way Gabe fidgeted as they waited, eventually resorting to walking up and down the pathway repeatedly while muttering foul words in Enochian all the while, but Cas didn’t find himself growing any more fond of it now than when he was younger.

Not more than three minutes passed before he had reached his tolerance for tardiness and ended up right back on the doorstep, this time staring at Cas directly and inquiring in a serious voice, “Can we break down the door now? This is a waste of time.”

It was an interesting logic for an angel to bring up, considering they were ageless and had no set expiration date, save for being smote or struck down by God himself. Regardless, Cas managed a shrug and took a few steps back before rushing the door and slamming his shoulder into it, the wood panel giving way as he stumbled into the house. Gabe slipped in past him, but not without casting a dirty glance in his direction and mumbling something like, “Show-off,” before edging further into the dark hallway with light footsteps.

There were no immediate indicators that the family in question was present, excluding the car in the driveway and lights that had appeared to be on from the outside until the two reached the living room. Blood painted the floor and parts of the right wall, spattered across the mirror in an abstract, senseless pattern. In the sections that remained untouched by the carnage, Cas could see bits and pieces of the disastrous room reflected in the glass, including what must have been Satira and her parents slumped over the living room and partially broken coffee table. He had to admit, the whole scene was a gruesome sight, even for an angel.

“Well. Looks like Casper the Unfriendly Ghost isn’t responsible for this, unless I’m missing something.” Gabe was unfailingly poker-faced as he stepped carefully into the crime scene and knelt down to examine the body of what must have been Satira. She looked much different in the photo provided by the news site, all smiles and dimples, skin gently sun kissed by summer rays. It was in great contrast to her now pale form, draped across the coffee table with glassy brown eyes open and still, a huge gash running from her left collarbone down to her right hip.

“I think a human is responsible for this,” Cas said absently, unable to tear his gaze away from the image. It was difficult to cope with the idea of human savagery, even if it had been around since the dawn of mankind. Cas was used to seeing humanity err on the side of good, rather than for blind, selfish, senseless violence. But, these marks were unlike any he’d seen inflicted by monsters—at least, ones of nonhuman species—so it could be safely presumed that what they had on their hands was none another than straight-up murder.

“Unsurprising,” Gabe replied, feigning a melodramatic sigh as he stood in the center of the bloodshed. “Well, somebody obviously has anger management problems. You think the same person is responsible for Melissa Hoffman’s disappearance as well?”

“It’s too soon to tell.” If there was one thing Cas had learned from unhealthily binge-watching crime shows while sick, it was that making a decision too early could lead to incrimination of the wrong person. In fact, jumping to conclusions had gotten Cas himself in hot water a lot recently, so he would’ve preferred avoiding the situation altogether, but seeing as they were already here, there was no reason not to continue the case.

Plus, he could perhaps employ the information he’d picked up from his Law and Order marathon and use it towards locating whoever was responsible for this heinous act. That would make the time he spent ill in bed as a human seem almost productive rather than wasted hours he could have spent doing something—anything—else.

The older angel gave the room a final onceover, then returned to stand beside Cas. “I feel like we should call someone and report this.”

“Then we’ll just be suspicious characters who broke in the door of someone else’s home and coincidentally uncovered a murder scene.”

“We’re FBI agents though, aren’t we?” Gabe inquired, pulling out his badge and raising his eyebrows innocently. “No one would suspect the FBI agents of having murdered random civilians in cold blood without having good reason, based on legal principle. Besides, I can get us out of any trouble with a single snap. Don’t worry, Cassie. I got this.” The Trickster grinned, leaning forward slightly and cocking his head to the side, and Cas felt a small amount of frustration begin to pool in his gut. Gabriel had always been so charming. He truly could worm his way out of almost every situation he’d created, excluding one particular incident with Michael, but Cas had never quite gained that trait in all of his years of celestial existence. Was it because he was a soldier and Gabriel was a messenger? After all, a warrior of God wouldn’t need the talent of charisma when his sole use was the craft of the blade, right? Was that the logic of his father when deciding which of his children should be competent in social matters?

It was safe to say that Cas didn’t really believe he had any talents unless his knack for fucking everything up qualified as one. He felt that talent pretty hard, especially as of the past few years. Coincidentally, as soon as he was given his orders from heaven’s higher-ups to reach down and pull the Righteous Man from hell, his life had begun to dramatically slide downhill. Getting involved with the Winchesters was starting to feel like more and more of a mistake now, just as it had in the beginning, when the two had enticed him to fight on the side of humanity rather than on the side of everything he’d thought to be true. He’d betrayed his family, friends, and the only life he’d ever known because of the coercion of two idiots on a quest to save the world that they were responsible for breaking in the first place. It was naïve, no, stupid of him to expect them to reciprocate the gesture for him. The two were only truly codependent on one another; he was just another stranger to their world, another sacrifice in the pursuit of fixing the Earth, and the name of another casualty on a list that would be inevitably forgotten.

He, too, would inevitably be forgotten. And like that, the spell seemed to break, the guilt of not being enough, of not doing enough for the Winchesters shattered. How dare they, after all he’d given up for them? No. Wait. Not them. Dean.

All those stolen glances, long-held stares of sexual tension meant nothing? The innuendos that the hunter had made around him, nothing? Was all of that some kind of elaborate ruse for Cas to find himself unable to leave? Did Dean even realize how easy he was to fall in love with? He wondered. It felt as though he’d been played with every interaction the two of them had had, if this was what it all amounted to: a lot of lies, cat and mouse and trickery.

Did he mean anything to them? Or did he misinterpret that too?

“Gabriel,” he spoke suddenly, startling both himself and the archangel, who had been watching him muse for the past few minutes, seeing a whirlwind of emotions cross his face in anticipation of a response to the question he’d asked earlier. The golden-haired trickster blinked once, unsettled slightly by his tone.

“…Cas?” He asked, hiding his uncertainty under a half-hearted smile.

“Castiel. Or, Cassie. It doesn’t matter. I need to make a request of you.”

“Yeah?” The concern was ever growing in his throat as he replied. The look on his younger sibling’s face was completely concealed, which would be worrisome alone considering Cas usually carried his emotions on his sleeve, but combined with the dull, dryness in his voice, Gabe was convinced that something was in fact, very, very wrong.

“I would like you to never lie to me again.”

…Odd. “Eh? I haven’t been lying to you, Cas. What are you—“

“Castiel,” his brother repeated. “My name is Castiel. They used to call me Cas. But I don’t work for them anymore.” Cas held his head up high, back straightening. The visible parts of the mirror nearest them caught a flash of raven black wings as they extended and then folded back inwards, fading into the scenery once more. “My name is Castiel, and I am an Angel of the Lord, and, as the hipsters say, the Winchesters can,” he pauses briefly to throw in air quotes, “’Get wreckt.’”

Had Gabe not been moderately disturbed by everything that had just left Cas’s mouth, he would’ve stopped to admire the trainwreck that was his brother’s lack of pop culture knowledge, but instead, all he was able to choke out was a single, “Huh?”

Oceanic blue eyes previously fixed upon some object across the room finally met his at that moment, nearly taking Gabriel aback with the sheer amount of resentment in them. “I deserve better than this. For what I’ve given up, I deserve better than for Dean Winchester to tell me that he doesn’t care about me.”

The sound shot like bullets around him. So that’s what the words had been, huh? Gabe mused. ‘I don’t care about you’. ‘Not like that’ probably followed soon after, but Cas had likely ignored that. And since Dean had had his head stuck in his ass since birth, he probably wouldn’t have thought to rephrase to a better wording so Cas didn’t fly off the deep end—literally. Still, even though all of heaven could’ve predicted Dean’s response, it didn’t help soothe the anger beginning to wrap itself around Gabriel’s chest. Cas was right about one thing at least: the audacity of that muttonhead, turning down the best thing that ever happened to his sorry, angst-ridden ass? Ridiculous. Unwarranted. Thoughtless.

And Gabriel had been fooled just as well as Cas. He thought for certain that the green-eyed hunter carried a torch for the angel, especially of after six years of playing ring around the rosy of death with the guy. Was he wrong about that? Millennia of reading humans aside, he thought Dean read like a satiric children’s picture book. Was that not the case?

It took less than thirty seconds for Gabriel to decide that Dean Winchester would pay for his foolishness, and even less than that for him to grab Cas by the sleeve and grin. “You’re damn right you do, buddy. What do you say we go solve a murder?”

“Let’s,” Cas responded, eyes still filled to the brim with intensity. “We’re going to CSI: Miami this bitch.”

Oh, good Dad. Cas, what kind of TV did they have you watching? Gabe had to fight himself from saying anything snarky, and instead smirked. No matter what kind of dreadful television those two morons had Cas watching before, that era was over. No more were the days of Winchester or heavenly interference. Castiel was correct in deserving better, not just from Dean, but also from Gabriel.

The archangel was indebted to his younger sibling, for the years they didn’t spend together, and in an odd way, he felt responsible for the current predicament due to that. So he was going to salvage what he could and differentiate the future from the past, for both of them. This was a new age, of jazz and decent TV and him getting the brother role right.

"You know it, Castiel.”

Chapter Text

Sam was accustomed to silence on road trips. Oftentimes, he and Dean would take turns driving if they were running short on time or one hadn’t slept well, and the other would usually curl up in the passenger seat and zone out for hours, sometimes lapsing in and out of consciousness until they either switched shifts or reached their destination. So, in a way, the past five hours of eerie quiet between the brothers shouldn’t have been unusual. There was nothing of great importance they could be talking about, since the world was taping itself together for now, with the help of Crowley and the newly installed council in heaven. But something felt wrong about this calm. Despite the universe not being in eminent danger, their lives were still being threatened with something, and that was the absence of their best friend, and the third addition to their family, Castiel.

Sam was certain of it now: Cas had most definitely confessed to Dean. And this wasn’t because Dean told him, because that would be completely out of character for him to outright admit something like that. He would be too embarrassed, Sam figured, especially since Dean returned those feelings. He hadn’t spent six years of his life watching those two make the eyes at each other for nothing; Sam knew Dean loved Cas. But the question was, did Dean know he loved Cas?

Probably not like that, so their conversation had presumably went south very quickly. And Castiel, for all of his good qualities, for being loyal and brave and noble, had been through so much with them, the chances of Dean making one stupid, unintended comment to send him bolting wouldn’t be surprising, especially considering how thoughtless Dean could be when he was uncomfortable.

It was their father’s fault that he was like this. Beyond Dean just being Dean, he was an extension of John, or at least, he tried his best to be. How Dean couldn’t despise the man even a little was a concept that even Sam, an honors student at Stanford University, one of the top schools in the country, couldn’t understand. John had forced this life on them, and maybe it was for their protection—that, Sam could acknowledge as being arguable—but the way he treated Dean was anything but justified.

It was almost like how heaven treated their own, which was a sick thought, but after dealing with the winged scumbags for years, Sam no longer had room in his heart to believe in an upstanding higher power. Foot soldiers, like Castiel, for instance, were considered cannon fodder. And maybe John wasn’t that detached to his first son, but Sam had always felt the admiration from afar that Dean had for their dad. Yet, as Sam drifted farther away from the family business, and Dean leaned into it, John had only ever showed any interest in preserving his relationship with Sam, a one-sided effort.

As a result, Sam unfortunately knew, deep in his heart, that Dean didn’t think he had any business beyond being a soldier, which was maybe the most frustrating part of all of this. The two—later three—of them had been working together for the past five, ten years to put the family business to rest, once and for all, and now they finally, finally had. Dean Winchester no longer had to be a soldier. He could have the normal life that he’d secretly always wanted, that he’d practiced for a year with Lisa and Ben in their small, suburban home, watching the news, playing catch and having dinner without stacks of lore piled up to the left and right of him. But now, Sam was starting to wonder whether or not it was too late, if there was coming back from what they’d been through.

His brother deserved that life, no matter what he thought about himself. Dean was more than a soldier, always had been. And he deserved to be happy, preferably with the angel that fell from heaven just to be his companion.

Sam didn’t even want to think about not being able to find Cas. He wasn’t even sure what would happen, besides Dean withdrawing into a reclusive state of guilt and anger that would eventually manifest itself as yet another a mask of compensation, a reminder to ‘never do that again,’ even though the chance would never present itself again. Castiel loved Dean, through everything, and he’d seen him at his absolute worst, when he was torturing souls in hell, when he had to give up Lisa and Ben, and that, that unrelenting faith Cas had in Dean was the one thing they had left to count on.

All in all, he just wished he knew what the hell was said. Then he could at least have some clue as to just how badly Cas had been hurt, so then they could factor it into finding him, at which point Dean will apologize and come to terms with his homosexual feelings—either by himself or with Sam’s help, because mother of God, Sam honestly could not take one more fucking second of their eyesex across the bunker table—and the two could reunite. Their family would be back together, and everything would feel alright again.

Yes. That is what would happen. It had to happen, because currently, the lingering silence was driving him insane. He could’ve listened to the CD Dean had playing, but seeing as he already knew every chord, word and pitch and the exact time each hit, and had for about seven years, the attempt would be pointless. Instead, he swallowed the lump he hadn’t known was in his throat until just then, and managed, “Dean?”

“Yeah.” His brother phrased it as anything but a question, and his eyes didn’t leave the road for a single second as they continued speeding down the highway. There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke again, right as Sam had assumed that Dean was choosing to all but shut the conversation down before it even began, out of either fear or apprehension. “What is it?”

“What did you say to Cas?”

Dean’s reaction wasn’t immediate, at least, not on his face. Sam didn’t miss the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel and his subtle shift forward in the driver’s seat, but it took a few seconds to see his brother’s lips flatten into that firm, stern line he had been expecting. “It doesn’t matter, Sam. I didn’t mean any of it. He left before I got to explain.”

“Explain what, though? What did you say to make him leave in the first place?”

“He ambushed me with news, Sam. I-I just, I reacted. I didn’t think about what I was doing, I was surprised, and we’d just gotten home from that horribly frustrating hunt in North Carolina, and then there’s Cas, suddenly throwing the weight of the world on me with a single question. I didn’t know what to say, alright? So I said something dumb. But it’s fine. Because we’re going to find him and I’m going to apologize, and then things can go back to the way they were before.”

A long pause followed, as the stillness began to settle between them again. Sam had been putting up with this kind of deflective bullshit from his brother all his life, but the half-assed explanation Dean had just rattled off was on a whole new level of blunt stupidity, even for him. All the words had done was make Sam worry more, because he knew what Dean was doing. He wasn’t admitting to what was said and done because it made him look horrible, and the situation look worse than what Sam already knew it was, and he didn’t want Sam to concern himself any more than necessary. His brother was still trying to protect him, well into adulthood. And he’d never liked being left out of the loop and treated like a child, or someone that even needed protecting, but he’d had it this time.

Sam knowing the circumstances was more important than anything Dean had possibly misspoke in his conversation with the angel. Sam figured that no matter what it was, it could be repaired, provided they go to Cas in time, and the angel didn’t have a good six months to mull it over and overthink it. Cas would forgive Dean. Castiel always forgave, even if it took a while. There couldn’t have been anything Dean could have said that would have changed that…

…Could there? Suddenly, Sam was starting to doubt. “What did you say to him, Dean? You’re driving twice as fast as you normally do, and that’s already well over the speed limit. You won’t look at me when I’m talking, and you haven’t made one cranky comment about people’s lack of road skills or complained about needing to stop for food even once. You’re obviously worried. What did you say to Cas?”

“Nothing, Sam! It’s going to be fine. I just need to apologize.” The words themselves were light-hearted, but Dean’s tone was anything but. If it was possible, the car seemed to pick up even more than before just then, not doubt from Dean releasing more pressure from the break.

“You aren’t acting very ‘fine,’ Dean. I’ve seen you fine. You don’t dodge and reassure about the situation. This is bad, isn’t it? Listen, it can be fixed, whatever you said or did. Cas is forgiving, and he lo—I mean, he cares for you a lot. Probably more than any other human or angel or creature in existence. But what did you—“

“I told him that I didn’t care about him, Sam.”

The car seemed to roll to a stop in an instant, right as Dean sharply maneuvered them into a gravel clearing off the road, and his brother’s hands dropped from the wheel. The hunter slumped back into his seat with a thump, sighing heavily and covering his face. Sam opened his mouth to speak, to offer some consolation, but nothing came out, and he realized quickly that he had no idea what to say.

He wasn’t quite so assured of Cas forgiving that, mostly because he wasn’t entirely certain that the angel would be able to forget such a harsh statement. Castiel had done so much for them, hell, the guy fucking died for them, multiple times, and then he receives that reaction? No wonder he’d bolted soundlessly into the night and refused to answer Dean’s—or Sam’s—prayers. Cas had given them more than his everything. And for Dean to say something like that…Dean, who Cas loved seemingly from the start…

His brother hadn’t been exaggerating at all. Things were bad. And Sam was beyond worried now, because with words like that, would Cas even come back if they found him? If Dean explained? What the hell could he have explained anyway, based off of that?

“What…what in the world did he say that would have made you….?” Sam whispered, unable to meet the green eyes he could see watching him from the corner of his sight. “Dean. That was Cas. Our friend, Cas, our brother, Cas, who pulled you out of hell with his bare hands and then decided to lay his life on the line for us, multiple times. What the hell inspired you to tell him that?”

“I panicked.” Suddenly, Dean no longer sounded frantic, but hollow, glancing ahead at the murky, darkening sky before closing his eyes and leaning back in the seat. “I didn’t know what to do, Sam. He…I just wasn’t expecting what he had to say, I guess. I had always thought Cas and I were on the same page about most stuff, I didn’t think that there was ever a chance of him…”

“Him what?” Sam pressed, anxiety pulling at his chest. He had a feeling that he already knew what was coming, not that that made it any better. It was going to be horrible when he heard it out loud and he knew that, but the confirmation needed to happen. He needed to know for sure that Dean had fucked up in the way he thought he had.

“He said that he, uh….well, he…” His older brother averted his gaze towards the trees beyond the drivers’ side window, avoiding any looks from Sam as he reached up to scratch his neck. “He said that he…loved me. That wasn’t too weird, but the way he said it…well, you know how Cas is. Intense. But this was different. So I asked, and he…”

“Dean, the point, get to the point.”

“He kissed me,” Dean interrupted, finally meeting Sam’s gaze if only out of annoyance, before sheepishly breaking the contact to stare at his hands, which currently laid, defeated, in his lap. "I thought i-it was a mistake. Had to be. I thought, this has to be some kind of dream, but then he asked if I felt the same, and I just—I-I just panicked, Sam, I didn’t know what the hell, how the hell to react, so I replied with the most distancing thing I could think of, not even thinking about the fact that I would say it to Cas.

“A-and, God, Sammy, you should have seen him. I fucked up. I fucked up really, really badly this time, and I don’t know what to do.” Dean’s hands clenched into fists in his lap as his head fell, veiling his expression from Sam, who had now taken to sitting up straight and struggling not to stress out too much about the situation. This was so vastly different from what they had dealt with the past few years. Demons, monsters, angels, creatures and Leviathan were one thing, but what Dean had done was something entirely separate. The brothers weren’t exactly in perfect harmony with their emotions. Hunting was a job they could do, but love? Feelings? Relationships?

As if. Sam inadvertently thought of Amelia, then swallowed the memory within the course of a single second, unwilling to think about all they had had to give up to save the world. Cas had sacrificed his sense of normalcy as well, severing his allegiances to heaven and making himself a target for the archangel Raphael. But that just made it worse, knowing that Cas was able to stand up and make the brave, daring effort to tell Dean that the reason he’d done all of it was for him, and that he would go back and do it all over again if Dean asked.

“…I think he might need some time,” the younger hunter finally spoke quietly, prompting Dean to lift his head and stare at his brother in incredulity. “Keep praying. But…we aren’t going to be able to find him like this, Dean. Not if he doesn’t want to be found. You could try summoning him, but…I-I think you should give him some time. You need to figure out what to say before you do anything else. Do you even know how you feel?”

“How I feel? Are you serious right now?” Dean’s voice hit a new, gravelly low as his hands slipped down to grip the surface of the seat beneath him, squeezing it tightly. “It’s Cas. How am I supposed to feel? Of course I love Cas, but…like that? I mean, that’s really not my cup of tea, Sam. Hell, I didn’t even know it was his. I dig chicks, man. Chicks. Which Cas is arguably not.”

“But if Cas had inhabited a female vessel, you two would’ve been at it like rabbits long ago,” Sam replied, not bothering to disguise the venom in his tone, which seemed to jolt Dean out of his heteronormative haze a little bit.

“I-It sounds bad, when you put it like that. But I can’t just change my preferences, dude. Even for Cas. That’s just ridiculous.”

You already have, Sam wanted to scream, but instead manage to bite his cheek and force a pathetic smile. “Right. Then I suppose you should be brainstorming how to tell Cas that.” Who knows, the angel might even take a female vessel if it meant you could love him back, he considered adding sarcastically, then thought better of it.

Sam felt sick to his stomach out of aggravation. Dean did love Cas, he just didn’t want to admit it out of fear. Sam could not be wrong about that. And he didn’t blame his brother, because Dean had every right to be fearful of loving Cas, a powerful, heavenly being capable of massive betrayal and deceit. The Leviathan incident wasn’t that long ago in their memories. And Dean, well, he had commitment issues, always had, and Cas was no exception. The mile-wide strand of one night stands and hookups Dean had had in the past ten years could spell that out, as long as you weren’t counting Lisa. And he had to count Lisa, because Dean had loved Lisa, and loved Ben, and Sam wasn’t quite so sure that that had ever subsided.

There were a lot of barriers yet to overcome for his brother. But, as Dean silently started up the vehicle again and began to make a turnabout so they could exit and presumably be on the road to either a new case or the bunker, Sam realized he couldn’t deny how badly the two of them needed each other. They were broken pieces, whose jagged edges fit together perfectly and helped supported the other. He only hoped Dean could get his crap together in time to still win Cas back.

Chapter Text

“You know, these tourist trap murder houses would be way cooler people actually died in them.”

“No, Gabriel.”

A few hours was all it took for the professional façade of the trickster to fade out into his usual annoying personality, or, a few minutes to the celestial angel Castiel, as he stepped over yet another creaky board in the so-called McCuskey Murder House. After they had successfully given the lingering police and search squads the run around—giving the trickster the jovial opportunity to flex his creativity—the two had slipped inside the dilapidated building only to discover that it was nothing more than a cheap imitation of a genuine haunted house. The McCuskey ‘Murder House’ was a disappointment, and Cas was certain that they were wasting their time by searching any further than they already had, seeing as their efforts had yielded no results thus far, and they’d been wandering around for the better part of an hour.

He was convinced of this, and was about to announced the pointlessness of this venture, when his eye caught a trace of movement through the shadows. His stature stiffened immediately, hands tensing up. “Gabriel?” he asked quietly, prompting a loud crash in the next room over, followed by a few choices expletives before the archangel appeared in the doorway nearest Cas, straightening his suit jacket and looking flustered.

“Cassie. What can I do ya for? See something?”

“I thought so.” The taller of the two returned his gaze to the area where he had seen the shadow, but no other movement was to be found. “But perhaps not.”

“So you called me over to protect you, just in case? Classy, Cassie.” Despite his words, Gabriel’s enthusiasm wasn’t dimmed by the lack of prospective progress. He gracefully fluttered his eyelashes and laid a hand over his chest, raising his chin to speak nobly, “Fear not! I, a knight of His holiness, shall protect thee fragile maiden til my untimely demise.”

“I am no maiden, and you are anything but holy, if the Pagan gods have anything to say about it,” Cas grumbled beneath his breath. “I doubt that the murderer would have remained here after Satira escaped. Since Melissa has not been found yet, I believe it is safe to presume that she has been kidnapped by the culprit in question.”
“Unless she is the murderer,” Gabriel offered, tapping his chin. “Thoughts?”

Cas furrowed his brow, recalling the crime scene in all its gore. “A human teenager causing that much destruction seems impossible, but I suppose it can’t be ruled out. Perhaps she was possessed by a demon? But, the gates of Hell are closed, to my knowledge…”

The situation seemed to grow more frustrating by the moment. If Cas had his full powers, he would have been able to locate the girl without a hitch, and the case could have gotten solved hours ago, when they’d first arrived in town. But he lacked the juice now to do much beyond teleportation and basic healing, thanks to Metaton, who’d stolen most of his grace and damned him to Earth. He had regained some of it over the years, but the chances of finding the remainders were slim to none due to Metaton’s lack of cooperation. Cas was barely an angel anymore, a fact he preferred not to discuss, and this case just proved his inability to do anything without his powers. He was, truly, just a baby in a trench coat, as Dean had said.

Are you happy now? Now that you’re right? He thought bitterly to himself. No. He wouldn’t be. Dean was never truly happy, even when the circumstances would let him, something Cas had always found extremely sad but understandable. Living like the Winchesters had, a person had to put aside the idea of being genuinely happy for the fear of it being ripped from your hands in the next moment. It was a condition of being a hero, a noble sacrifice, but it didn’t mean it didn’t physically hurt Cas every time he thought he would see Dean smile and ended up seeing his lips barely raised at the corners, looking more like a grimace than a grin.

“Yo, kiddo, you alright?” Cas was dragged out of his daydreaming by the sensation of a hand clapping down on his shoulder, and the realization that whiskey-colored eyes were watching him with concern.

“Yes,” Cas answered stoically, shaking off his older brother’s hand with a dismissive glance. “I’m fine,” he insisted, noting the archangel’s skeptical expression. As his gaze caught a split second of Gabriel’s golden wings, a perplexing thought suddenly occurred to him. “Gabriel…Are you at your full strength? Did the archangels fall during Metaton’s takeover?”

Gabe narrowed his gaze, the crow’s feet of his vessel scrunching together as he lifted his head slightly. “To my knowledge, yeah. My mojo is still kicking. I wasn’t up there, haven’t been for a long time, so I don’t exactly know. I only woke up in a forest about a year ago, disconnected from angel radio, and it wasn’t like my first trip was going to be back home to the dear old family estate.”

“Father?” The dark-haired angel asked immediately, unable to stop himself. He cursed himself for still bothering to give a damn about their dad, a man who had dumped the prophesized apocalypse on his bickering children and seemingly disappeared into thin air. The last sign Cas had seen from God was the gift of a second chance at living after Sam threw himself, Lucifer, Adam, and Michael in the pit, and that was nearly six years ago. Ever since had been nothing but radio silence, unless he counted the bizarre incident with the reborn identity he’d had after releasing the Leviathan.

“Hell if I know,” Gabe replied, shrugging. The trickster turned around, looking decidedly nonchalant as he snapped his fingers, a lollipop appearing a moment later. “I just decided it was better off to lay low for a while, since things were a bit too calm if you catch my drift.”

“I suppose they have been calm recently,” Cas replied quietly, devoid of tone. Too calm, he had not considered, until he’d began weighing the decision to tell Dean how he felt. It was true that if the world were still ending, and mankind was on the fast track to destruction, the idea would have never made it past a concept and evolved into an action he intended to pursue. Gabe was right. Things had been too calm as of late, especially compared to the past decade, what with the devil’s gate opening, the rising of Lucifer, emergence of the Leviathans and the falling of angels from heaven. These last few had been…deceivingly mundane. The kind of mundane that convinced Castiel to make a terrible mistake. “Yes, too calm to be considered normal,” he added a moment later, barely audible.

He was able to feel the heavy gaze resting on him without looking when Gabe turned back around, watching him pensively. After a few moments of awkward silence, where Cas was prepared to break in with a sudden, random statement about the case, Gabe replied, matching the younger angel’s volume, “You deserved better, Cas.”

“Casti—“

“Oh, shut up,” Gabe interrupted, rolling his eyes melodramatically. “I know you associate your name with the Winchesters, but you’re overlooking something pretty important in all of this Lifetime Movie angst you got going on, and that’s that you made yourself Cas, not them. Fuck them. Honestly. You…“ The archangel took a step forward and sprung slightly off the ground, wings spreading out slightly to accommodate the eye-level he now shared with his younger brother. An outstretched index finger jabbed Cas square in the chest as his brother continued,“…You, are the best thing that ever happened to Dean Winchester, got that? If his head is too far up his ass to see that, it’s his business, not yours. So, quit beating yourself up, would ya? It’s honestly pathetic, and you’re better than that anyway.”

Cas, uncertain of what to say, averted his eyes and blurted the first thought to occur to him, which handily had nothing to do with what Gabriel had just said about Dean, “Are you able to use all of your strength then? Could you find Melissa Hoffman?”

The annoyance Gabe felt with Cas’s inability to just accept his self-worth exploded all over his face. The archangel was silent for a few moments, simply squinting at Cas and sending nonverbal vibes of discontent before sighing and eventually replying in a deadpan, “I suppose I could, provided a certain little bother of mine accepts that’s he’s more than just a Winchester chew toy.”

Cas cocked his head to the side, visibly unamused. “Brother. Please.”

“Well, Castiel?” The sarcastic drawl on the end of his name wasn’t lost on the ex-angel to the Winchesters, but it did nothing to quell his growing agitation at his brother. Now was not the time for this. Actually, never would there be a time for this conversation, because it wasn’t one Castiel was ever interested in having, especially with Gabriel, but alas.

“I am doing my due diligence to separate myself from that image of my time with the Winchesters. That includes shedding the shortened version of my name. I apologize if that is inconvenient for you.”

“Ugh,” Gabriel groaned, turning on his heel and walking back down towards the hallway. “You are missing the point, Cas.”

“Castiel,” his brother corrected, following. They’d already searched the house up and down, or so it seemed, but yet another run-through couldn’t hurt, particularly after Cas had seen what appeared to be a blip of movement earlier by some unknown entity. Granted, that was likely far from what the Trickster had in mind. In all truth, while Gabriel’s presence was becoming less annoying by the hour—something Cas attributed to his ability to adapt to bad circumstances—the angel couldn’t help but constantly fear that his brother would either disappear at the earliest convenience, or whirl around to toss Cas in some sick game for the sake of a moral lesson.

This panic was made significantly worse by the conversation at hand, and those lingering glances of disgusted pity Gabe stole when he thought Cas wasn’t paying attention. Castiel knew he was falling dangerously close to being trapped in game show territory by his brother. Gabriel never had been patient, part of the reason for why he’d became the Trickster. He had never wanted to see the evolution of human beings, only punish them with their just desserts at their worst, or so it seemed. And this healing process of getting over De—no, both of them, was going to take much longer than a couple days.

Six years, he thought to himself again. Six years, and it ends like this. Not an apocalypse, or battle in war, but some rushed, panicked words and a shove, followed by a few more of anger and consequence. It would seem surreal, but the wounds were still too fresh for Cas to start writing off his exchange with Dean as a nightmare. This hurt more than falling from heaven. Than any kind of torture he’d ever endured. He wasn’t going to recover from this in five minutes, like Gabe was hoping he would.

In fact, he wasn’t altogether sure whether or not he would ever recover from it, but that was another matter for another time, and it wasn’t one Gabriel needed to be aware of. With this sudden streak of brotherly support, Cas feared what Gabriel might exactly do in his crusade to get revenge on Dean. What would it be this time? Changing channels? Mystery spot? Body switching? Gabe was no less petty than any of the other archangels, and their first impulse was to punish, a shame for beings so powerful. Instead of helping, they came at a problem with blades in hand, ready to dissolve rather than resolve.

Not that he was any better. Some angel he was, causing the release of the Leviathans and being tricked by Metaton. He wasn’t around when he needed to be. When they needed him. Could he really blame Dean for being disgusted with him? He was a monster. It wasn’t that he didn’t know that. He had just thought…he had thought Dean cared about him more than that.

But no. Dean hadn’t cared about him at all, or so he’d said.

“I’m not going to lay a hand on your boy toys, Cas,” a low voice said ahead of him, surprising Cas with its pinpoint accuracy. Then again, Gabriel had always been at least somewhat observant, particularly concerning emotions. “At least, not Sam. The moose is kind of cute, isn’t he? Did I tell you that I once threw him in a commercial for genital herpes? Pretty sure he doesn’t like me very much now.”

He probably thinks you are dead, Cas mused, before speaking. “What are genital herpes?”

The archangel stopped walking and turned slightly, barely suppressing a grin. “It’s…don’t worry about it, Cassie. Shame, though. I do got it for the big ones, you know?”

“No, nor do I want to,” Cas voiced, tensing up. The aura in the room they were currently in had shifted from one of nothingness to one of being watched. His hand slipped inside his coat stealthily, closing around the hilt of the angel blade hiding in his pocket. He wouldn’t need it to defend himself from a human, but since the two weren’t 100% sure what they were dealing with, it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Rude,” The Trickster replied, not bothering to arm himself, although his posture did shift slightly. Unlike Cas, he needed no blade to attack. The grace surging through his veins would be enough to tackle any Earthly being, and even most of those from Hell, save for maybe Crowley, the Knights, and Lucifer himself. Coincidentally, Sam and Dean had told him that that was how Gabriel died; fighting Lucifer, his mentor, older brother, and old friend.

The idea that Gabe would be able to defeat the person who taught him all the tricks he even knew seemed absurd to Cas, but then, he supposed he had lost most of any hope he had once had at this point. The last had gone down the drain when he confessed to Dean and saw this absurd panic, followed by anger, flash in the hunter’s eyes. The words still echoed in his ears like sirens blaring, screaming at him, but he was doing his best to keep the noise at bay. He couldn’t deal with it right now, on top of the case, Gabriel, and the self-doubt he was already suffering.

“I have some news for you, whatever or whoever you are,” Gabe announced, taking to twirling the stick of the now eaten lollipop through his fingers, “You can either come out now and we’ll take pity, or else I’ll raze this building to the ground, and you die anyway. I’m gonna be honest; either works for me, so it’s totally up to you, but I’m starting to lose my patience, so if I were you, I’d decide soon what it’s gonna be.”

Silence lingered after Gabe’s statement, but not too long. Within a few minutes, the two angels tensed up at the sight of a human girl crawling out from under the piano bench, looking unfathomably small and pale. Her entire form shook as she approached them, drenched partially in blood. Cas supposed though, that besides her haggard appearance, she did resemble the photo of Melissa that Mrs. Parsons had provided them with.

“Y-You have to help me,” she rasped, staggering towards them with a wobbly gait and her hands outstretched. “P-please. Help.” She abruptly collapsed a few paces from Gabriel, who immediately knelt down, not yet relaxing his battle stance.

“Miss Hoffman? What happened?” Castiel inquired, also kneeling down to better hear the girl’s strangled, frantic whispers.

“He’ll come back,” she mumbled between choked sobs. “Please, help me.” Her bloodshot eyes were barely visible beneath the heavy, tangled bangs hanging in her face.

“What happened?” Gabriel questioned, scrutinizing her with a whiskey-colored gaze. The girl scooted away from the two, hair matted all over her shoulders and tangled between the zipper teeth of her red-stained jacket.

“Th-the man with the machete. He showed up out of nowhere when Satie and I were exploring the house. He appeared out of nowhere and screamed at us to leave, then attacked me. Wh-when I woke up, he was gone.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. “Satira? Your friend?”

The terrified puddle of a girl on the floor nodded vigorously. Almost too vigorously.

“And the man with the machete? What did he look like?” Cas questioned.

Hesitancy now flittered across the girl’s features before she responded. “L-like…i-it was dark, I couldn’t see. He had a machete. And he had these crazy eyes! I-I-I’m not sure! I-I just know he appeared out of nowhere, and I-I-I think he killed Satie…h-he seemed very angry with her…h-her family might be in danger too! You should find them!”

Cas stood up, brushing off his coat and sighing, eyes downcast. Something about the girl’s statement. The assumption that Satira was dead. He didn’t want to do this. He hadn’t wanted to be right about this human being responsible for the bloodbath he had seen in the Santiago family’s living room. But unfortunately, there was no way for Melissa Hoffman to know about Satira’s murder unless she herself were responsible, hence the bloody clothing and terrifying appearance.

“Uh-huh. Right. Man with machete. So, what’d she do to deserve your wrath? Steal your boyfriend?” Gabe had his sarcasm knob turned up on maximum when he rose to join Cas in standing.

A look of false confusion passed Melissa’s face as she continued to sit in a limp position on the floor. However, both angels noticed how her posture shifted slightly at the accusation, a movement towards taking an attack pose. “W-what? No, you need to protect me! He might come back for me and kill me just like poor Satie…”

“Honey. The monster is right here in front of us, and she’s doing an awfully bad job of convincing us of her innocence. For the record, you shouldn’t let them get away. Really undermines your credibility.”

It took about half a minute of silence for Melissa to realize that the angels weren’t fooled, at which point, her expression instantaneously changed and she lunged at Cas, who was more than ready to catch her by the wrists. A knife had made a sudden appearance in her right hand, which would’ve been impressive, along with her reflexes, if she were fighting a human. But alas.

“Why come back to where you were missing? That’s such a rookie mistake. I thought kids today were supposed to smart.” Gabriel, not offering to assist Cas at all, strode over to the window, peering out at the wide expanse of countryside outside as he spoke.

“Because it’s haunted,” Melissa snarled. “I could just claim the ghost got loose and slaughtered her folks because she stole some dumb heirloom, but no, you guys had to show up and ruin everything for me, just like she did. For the record, she’s a bitch who deserved what she got.” She attempted to aim a glob of ill-intentioned spit at Cas, but the angel swiftly avoided it by a hair’s width.

“Right. Of course she did.” Gabe turned back around, beginning to make his way to the exit. “Well. I think we’ve cracked the case, Watson. Let’s take her in.”

“Gabriel, I believe you are Watson, seeing as you are both shorter and full of more anger than myself.” Cas dragged the scratching, writhing frame of Melissa Hoffman to the door, held open by his brother and climbed down the stairs with a bit of effort. “She’s like a rabid animal,” he commented laxly, roughly prying the girl’s talons off the stair railings.

Gabe chuckled. “That’s why you get to hold her.”

“Next one is on you,” Cas fired back, finally managing to extract the flailing shape in his arms from the staircase before dropping her accidentally then abruptly turning to walk away. Gabe quirked an eyebrow, but the angel merely shrugged. “We should leave her for the authorities. Her story will unravel by itself, with that much anger. She’s not much of a criminal mastermind. The jury will see right through her.”

The archangel raised both eyebrows now, in obvious surprise, then dropped both in favor of a grin. “You sure about that? Wow. You’re becoming quite the detective. Must be the long coat. Have to get me one of those.”

“It will only highlight your height deficiency.”

“Will you leave my vessel alone? Jeez, Cassie, you’re going to hurt his feelings.” The two had reached the main exit of the house at this point, and Cas had stopped, something his brother took as hesitation. “S'up, Cas? Something on your mind? Decided to go back and get Lizzy Borden after all?”

“…Not exactly, no.” When Cas turned to look at his brother, the archangel wasn’t expecting the amount of sadness in those bottomless blue eyes. “Why are you here, Gabriel? You never partook in projects in heaven unless you had an ulterior motive, and right now, I can’t seem to put a finger on what game you are playing. So, I’m asking for you to be honest with me right now. What business do you have with me?”

The stark statement sat for a few moments in the empty hallway, while Gabriel weighed multiple deflective replies, but ultimately decided on none. So, he supposed, the next best option would be the truth, even if it wasn’t his first choice. “I guess...I'm here to make up for lost time,” he managed, nearly choking on his voice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I kind of left you on your own when I ditched Daddy’s Sunday dinners. I know that. And I was a dick for it, so I’m trying to make it up to you. The thing is, I barely know you now, Cas, but I want to. And I want to help you through this dumb heartbreak business, because I’ve been there before and it fucking blows. You deserve better. So yeah. Here I am, righting my wrongs. Good enough?”

The younger angel cocked his head to the side slightly, eyes squinting as though they were having a difficult time seeing him, but Gabe knew Cas was analyzing his intentions, trying to determine whether or not this truth was the real one. “I suppose,” he remarked finally, straightening up. “You should be happy, brother. Now comes the ‘fun’ part, as you were talking about earlier.”

“Finallllllly,” Gabe hummed, catching up to Cas at the door and flashing a wink at the angel. “About time. I tell you what, Cas. You’re getting laid tonight, if it kills me. Theoretically of course. We all know no one had ever gotten the drop on the Trickster.”

“I don’t know about ‘getting laid,’ but I believe I will absolutely need a drink if you are going to be referring to yourself in the third person.”

Gabe laughed, and grabbed his brother’s arm, pulling him out the door.

Chapter Text

"That has to be the most vibrant shade of blue I've ever seen."

"I could swim for days in oceans like that."

The scene happened to be a bar, hours outside of San Francisco, that Cas had no interest being at, where Gabriel was slung off the side, grinning maniacally at the obviously discomfort he was causing his younger sibling in the name of what was evidently familial love. It was true, Cas had indeed gotten his warning about Gabriel attempting to hook him up that evening, but for some reason, it had escaped his all-too oblivious mind that the Trickster would go to such dramatic lengths as to announce to the whole bar that his "younger, funnier brother was single, and that he would bet money on his eyes being more dazzling than anyone else's in the bar, so everyone was welcome to step right up and compare."

"They’re beautiful. Are you even human?”

Mostly, Cas wanted to reply in a deadpan, but held his tongue. This was ridiculous. He should’ve been able to sit down and get a drink without feeling like some kind of circus freak.

“I-I don’t think they’re that great. Green is way better than blue, anyhow.”

Saying that Cas felt uncomfortable was an crude understatement. What he was currently experiencing, besides the urge to murder Gabe with his bare hands, was probably something along the lines of embarrassment, but seeing as he still felt fairly new to these emotions, it was hard to say for certain. Why his older brother thought this was a good idea, he would probably never know. But at the moment, it left him in the awkward position of being scrutinized by strangers who got far too close to his personal space bubble.

Once upon a time, humans had been allowed there, but no longer. The Winchesters had had their licenses revoked the moment Dean dared suggest that Cas's feelings were a joke. What a complete and utter ass, Cas thought to himself, struggling not to let his distaste show on his face, while another person leaned over on the bar stool next him, craning their neck to check out his gaze. What had been so charming about Dean Winchester anyway? Enough to make an angel fall head over heels out of heaven?

Involuntarily, Cas found himself remembering, when a pair of dashing green eyes appeared in his immediate field of vision, farther away than the others, who had attempted to peer at his blue irises like he was a lab rat. They were the same color as Dean's eyes, something Cas had never seen on another human in his brief stint here on Earth, which would've caught him off guard even if the person that they belonged to wasn't already drop-dead gorgeous.

Say hello, his mind suggested, but Cas did nothing more than swallow a heavy lump that had suddenly emerged in his throat. This didn't escape the Trickster's attention. Gabriel leaned slightly towards Cas, lips upturned smugly, and inquired softly, "Do we have ourselves a winner?"

"Go die again somewhere," Cas managed to sputter in response. He hadn't ever been particularly talented with on-the-fly comebacks, particularly in the faces of pretty boys who may or may not have been smiling at him on that particular moment. Gabe lost the bet, Cas thought to himself breathlessly. There was no competition. This man's gaze was more breathtaking than his own, certainly.

Not that he would have any real idea. Cas had never thought much of his eyes, or his vessel, as being attractive. Not because he didn't believe it so, it was merely that he hadn't ever really cared enough to sit down and look at Jimmy Novak from the other side of a mirror. As a being that saw souls before faces, first and foremost, physical appearance seemed trivial to him. It was an afterthought for Angels. But for humans, physicality was everything. And Castiel, practically a human at this point in time, had no idea all of the sudden what he was working with, which was quite worrisome.

Damn Gabriel.

The handsome man cleared his throat, eyes darting from Cas to the floor and back again as he began to speak. "Hey. I came over here to seduce you with some pickup line, but after getting a closer look at you, I think you'll probably see right through my bullshit, so, uh, hey. I'm Logan."

Gabe's eyes were on his back now, and Cas just knew that troublesome expression of his was holding in a snide, slightly sexual comment beneath the layers of peer pressure he was giving off. His entire demeanor radiated curiosity, but of his alter ego, the Trickster's, sort, which was all but loathsome. The way Cas saw it, the Trickster aspect of Gabe’s persona should’ve stayed slain.

"M....my name is...Castiel."

"Castiel? Wow. That's...interesting. Did your parents name you that, or, uh, did one of your friends suggest it during a Dungeons and Dragons tournament?"

Ah, Cas thought to himself. Apparently all men with magnetic green eyes were jerks. It was not a quality attributed solely to Dean Winchester.

Just your type, another voice hummed in his head. A quick death glare sent backwards towards his brother was enough to earn a smirk from the Trickster.

What? Gabe's tone edged closer and closer to a playful sort of teasing. It was annoying. He is. I mean, look at those eyes. Makes jokes at your expense. Why, he's like the less pig-headed version of a certain hunter we both know.

Leave Dean out of this. "Actually, my father named me," Cas offered, raising his eyebrows a smidge. "The creator of the universe." He heard Gabriel almost choke on the shot he was in the middle of taking. Good.

The man, Logan, chuckled. "Like God, you mean? Now that sounds pretty cool. Wish my dad was God. Maybe he'd have stuck around if he was." Cas didn't have the chance to respond before Logan added, "Not to make it sad. Sorry. I'm glad he's gone. Wait. Fuck. I'm making it worse, never mind."

Cas could hear Gabe snickering in the corner, and found himself wishing momentarily that the Trickster had stayed dead. "I don't think it would have made him stick around," Cas responded evenly. "It didn't seem to affect ours any."

"Oh, so you're also both cardholders of the deadbeat dad society?"

“Would we be sitting in a bar, drinking away our problems if we weren’t?” Gabriel offered, surprising Cas with his honesty. Then again, as he turned to catch his brother’s eye, he didn’t miss that mischievous glint within the gold, which meant the archangel was up to something less than holy. Probably another subtle stab at the Winchesters, if he had to guess.

“I s’pose that’s fair, but even so,” Logan answered, planting himself on the bar seat nearest Castiel and gesturing towards the bartender, “plenty of people come in here with no real reason to be getting as drunk as they do. I work here, but I’m off today. Believe me, I’ve seen it all.” He sighed as a glass of scotch was placed on the counter, eyes travelling beyond the various bottles of alcohol adorning shelves behind the bar. “But, I must admit. I’ve never seen eyes quite like yours.”

The hotness beginning to inflame Cas’s cheeks was either embarrassment, or some kind of reaction to an oncoming human illness he was suffering from, but in any case, his face felt like it was being engulfed in fire at those words. And if Gabriel did not stop snickering, Cas was genuinely going to punch him.

That was a smooth move, Cas. Go ahead. Find a motel. I’ll wait for you.

Please go to hell.

Never been. Maybe we can plan a vacation! I hear it’s cold. What do ya say?

Logan was speaking, before Cas could think of anything resembling a witty response to Gabriel’s deliberate ignorance. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in letting me see them in a bit better lighting, perhaps over food and a glass of wine rather than this dump?“

“I-I’m sorry but no.” The words came out before Cas even had a grasp of what Logan had said, and his response seemed to shock both the man at the barstool, as well as the archangel in the corner. “I-I’m already in a committed relationship. My brother here, Gabriel, just likes to make a joke of my unusual eye color. If you’ll excuse me, we should be going.”

The angel stood up and started walking towards the exit, avoiding those green eyes that reminded him so much of Dean’s. This was wrong. All of this was wrong. It had felt wrong from the start, but he’d stopped himself from saying anything earlier because he’d wanted it to feel different. To feel right. Like things with Dean had…before they hadn’t.

Gabriel caught up to him outside the entrance to the bar, grabbing him roughly by the sleeve and yanking him back before he could go any farther. “Hey, what the hell was that? That guy was totally into your angst-ridden ass, and he was drop dead gorgeous.”

“I don’t want this,” Cas said flatly, finding himself oddly unable to make eye contact with his older sibling.

“This? What is this? What are we talking about? I realize you’re used to being cryptic, because that’s how heaven rolls, but I’m not having it, so spill.”

“This!” Cas raised his arms and made an open gesture to their surroundings. “All of this. Stop trying to fix me, Gabriel. Just because my wings are broken doesn’t mean I am.”

The archangel, who he was expecting a wordy, spirited reaction from, was surprisingly silent for the next few moments, while Cas raged against the emotions bubbling up inside his chest. “I-It couldn’t be done with some one-night stand, even if I was.”

“Cas…” Gabe’s attempts at sympathy were anything but appreciated. “I’m not…”

“Castiel.”

“Will you give it a rest already? Jeez. Shut up and listen, kiddo. There’s no need to throw a temper tantrum because I’m trying to get you to move on from Deanie Weenie. Even if you are broken, which, by the way, you are, because I would know, you are not going to get any better by rolling around in your depression over the guy. Uh, hello? Been there? I was an absolute mess when I left heaven. You’re thinking that this feels wrong, right? That you’ve made a huge mistake and you should just fold your wings in and go home? Yeah. I know. I get it, Cas. You’re regretting it all right now, because it’s what I did too.”

“I’m not you,” spat Castiel, before he could stop himself. Something about the nerve of Gabriel to compare the two of them, as though they were anything alike, downright angered him. “I’m nothing like you at all.”

“You sure about that? Last time I checked, you too abandoned the fam about…hm…what, six years ago? Whatever time you met Dean. That would’ve been about six years, right?”

“At least they had some warning,” Cas hissed. “You picked up and left us without a word. One day you were there, the next you weren’t, and no one I asked seemed to have an answer as to where the hell you even went, or why, or how long you’d be. Eventually, I gave up asking. It was exhausting, how much I defended you when Anna and Uriel told me that you’d fled. I told them you would never do that, that you weren’t like that, but I was wrong about you like I was about Dean, and—fuck, why can’t I ever make the right decisions?”

Cas backed up, head bumping the brick behind him, and covered his face with his hands, pulling slightly at his skin. “I keep putting my heart on the line, and for what? What even is there anymore? Father left, you left, and eventually I left, but honestly, Gabriel, I think it’s been the worst decision in the world for me. I-I lost everything. I lost my friends, my family, my sanity, my life…the list goes on and on…” The belt of his trenchcoat caught the ridges of the wall as he slid to the floor, his chest feeling ready to collapse on itself.

“Hey, you didn’t lose everything, kiddo. I’m still here, even if you don’t want me to be.” Gabe’s voice was unexpectedly soft, a quality Cas would not normally attribute to his character, but it was a welcoming, melodic sound. “But, listen, everything feels like a mistake when you’re upset, so what do you say you wipe those tears away and we go grab some late-night dinner? I even promise not to set you up with the first hot waiter I see! Better?”

Cas couldn’t help himself from chuckling a bit at that, but the emptiness echoing inside his chest wasn’t letting up for anything. His hands fell from a slightly wet face into his lap, where they curled over one another, the tension in his fingers growing more with each passing second. “I think I might…be broken. I wish burgers would fix it. But I strongly doubt their ability to repair my grace, or turn back time ten years.”

“Well, I could turn back time six years, but you know how that goes, Cassie.” Gabe knelt down, albeit not very low, to meet Castiel at eye level. “The song remains the same.” The Trickster spun his finger around in a circular motion.

“Of course. Aside from that, the world might not be safe, if I were to change my mind.” Cas inhales deeply, before sighing, “Even if feels like I did nothing but screw it up worse than it already was.”

“Pretty sure we’ve all contributed to that. But hey, you know what? I don’t think the world would exist if you hadn’t left heaven. Those muttonhead Winchesters wouldn’t have lasted five minutes into the apocalypse without you carting their flannel-clad asses away from death, and no, I don’t mean the Horseman.”

“You’re not wrong,” Cas mumbled grudgingly. He had felt severely underappreciated by them for most of their friendship. Sure, he had made his errors with the Leviathan disaster, but he had atoned for them each and every day since, and it seemed like nothing he did would allow him entrance into the privileged little brotherhood he so desired. Was that so much to ask for? A family, after he’d abandoned his own to trust them?

“So no six years, then. Can I throw them into a video game? I’ve been tossing around ideas since I returned from commercial hell, after being killed on their account.”

“You volunteered to fight Lucifer, though, did you not?” Cas inquired sharply. It was a tough concept for the angel, believing that Sam and Dean would willingly sacrifice someone else, especially an archangel, to save themselves. Every sacrifice made in their name was for the pursuit of goodness, wasn’t it? It was to save the world, not them. Even if Cas himself felt like every sacrifice he’d made was in vain… “And no, you may not.”

“Yeah, well, the pagan gods were being fools, and Kali at least deserved to have another chance at gaining some common sense,” Gabriel muttered,

“Your ex-girlfriend.”

“Not girlfriend. What are you, twelve? No. We had our history, sure, but I mean, bitch did try to kill me. It’s not like I was—y-you know, in love with her or anything.”

“Plenty of people try to kill you though,” Cas mused in response, cocking his head to the side slightly. He sighed, before adding, “Probably because you’re annoying.”

“Me, annoying? You’re the one who keeps moping around over some co-dependent asshole with daddy issues.” Cas’s mouth tightened. He couldn’t argue with that, he supposed, but it didn’t knock down the fact that his brother was still unbelievably agitating. Forget annoying. The archangel’s presence was like misplaced acupuncture. His intentions were positive (supposedly) but he generally ended up causing more harm than good in most cases, mostly due to his impatience and preconceived notions of what he thought was right.. An archangel’s sense of justice.

A few moments of silence passed between them before Gabe asked, “Hey, Castiel, can I ask you something?”

“…I…suppose.” Cas naturally didn’t like where this was going, even though the Trickster for once sounded relatively innocent in his tone. That was honestly more worrisome than his undisguised intentions.

“What happened to your wings? Your grace? Did you lose it? Did someone take it from you?”

Cas immediately stiffened up, his aforementioned, broken wings tensing automatically at the involuntary stream of memories that ran through his mind in that moment. He opened his mouth to answer, but found that none of the words he wanted to say would come out, for some reason or another. “Metatron,” he finally managed, nearly croaking on the word.

“Metatron? Like God’s scribe, thinks he’s better than everyone else Metatron? Ugh. Gross. Always hated that guy. He’s a dick. So what did he do with your grace? Stick it in a tree somewhere?”

“I don’t....I don’t know.” Cas wasn’t sure if this was a more comfortable topic than Dean or not. Talking to his brother about the superficial seemed to be all the conversation he could handle between them that didn’t make his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure what Gabriel wanted from this sudden brotherly bond he was attempting to forge, but all of it was suspicious, from the timing to the attitude, to the sudden interest he’d taken in Castiel, the brother he’d all but forgotten for centuries. It was…unsettling. There were no coincidences, in Cas’s experience. And running into Gabe in that hotel seemed awfully convenient.

“You don’t know? Jeez, Cas. The hell you been doing all these years, besides sitting there and pining over Rapunzel eyes?” Gabe scoffed. “At least I know where we’re going next.”

“And where would that be?”

“Uh, heaven, obviously. You need to get your mojo back. There’s no reason for you to be powerless and mopey at the same time if I can help it. And if that’s where Metatron is, that’s where we gotta go.”

Cas opened his mouth to sigh, then stopped himself abruptly, realizing the futility of saying no. But, the two of them, even with Gabriel’s status as an archangel, wouldn’t be able to get anywhere close to Metatron without a plan. The angels currently in heaven kept him well-guarded for a reason. He was still needed...as much as it made Cas sick to his stomach.

And seeing Gabriel in the same room with Metatron was not a concept he was prepared to face. Cas hadn’t forgotten Metatron’s illusive ploy to torment Cas with a fictitious version of his brother years ago. And that Gabriel had seemed just as real as this one, albeit a bit less pop culture savvy. Maybe that was what kept him pushing the archangel to beyond arms’ length; the idea that this, too, was an illusion. He had nothing to prove the scenario as being real, beyond the heartache occurring in his chest, but that was unrelated to his brother. The Winchesters were another matter entirely.

“You can go,” Cas suggested, standing up and straightening out his coat, wiping a few crumbs of dilapidated brick off from the bottom. “But I’m afraid I don’t see the point. Having my grace will not repair my feelings.” 'I don’t deserve to be an angel,' was left unspoken.

“Probably not, but it might make a dent in those wings, and I’m tired of us driving that lame-ass car everywhere. You wanna hang back, that’s fine, but if you’ve got some bright idea to try and ditch me, just know I’ll find you again. Can’t escape the light.” Gabriel made a wide, open palm gesture, smirking slightly at the end.

Cas frowned. “I don’t know…what you’re…talking about,” he struggled to lie. “And I-I’ll have you know that I like the car. It’s…growing on me. I want to do the hunting thing right, Gabriel. Dean once told me that I was merely an infant in a trenchcoat without my powers. I want to prove that I’m worth more than that.”

The partial fib had materialized out of the blue, but it was brilliant, because Gabe surprisingly hesitated, breath hitching before he narrowed his eyes and closed his mouth, lips forming a solidly displeased shape as he stared at Cas for a few moments. “You’ll always be my baby brother, so I get to tease you. I think it’s fair. But Dean-o, well…” Gabe sighed, turning around and beginning to walk towards the parking lot. “…I think you should have left him in hell. You are worth more than that. You’re not a ‘person,’ exactly, but you do have feelings and thoughts and a soul. And he has…well, good music taste, I s’pose, but not much else.”

“Gabriel!” Cas said sharply, stricken by the boldness of Gabe’s words. “The world would cease to exist if I had left him in hell. And maybe I would have been better off, if it had. The apocalypse would probably hurt less than this…pain…occurring in my chest. But I can’t begrudge the world, brother, and you can’t either.”

“Actually, I can do whatever I want, lil bro. Benefits of being one of heaven’s finest. But if you don’t want your grace back, alright. I’ll lay off about that. However, we have to get a new car. I’m zeroing in on that Audi right there. Opinions?”

“I know nothing about cars.” Another lie, albeit a white one, much like the car his brother was gesturing towards. “That looks fine.”

“Hey, it’s a convertible. Top down, California sunshine, baby!” Cas walked over to the car, examining its modern exterior while Gabe snapped his fingers to create a pair of matching keys in his other hand. “I’m calling driver. Pick us out some music, shotgun. It’s almost sun-up, and you’re gonna get a taste of one of Earth’s greatest past times.” Without offering to expand on anything, he clicked a button on the keys and slipped inside the vehicle, leaving Cas outside in the waning darkness.

Cas stood there for a few moments, hand lingering over the passenger side door with a wobble as he heard something vaguely sounding like words echoing inside his head. They were unintelligible, and quiet, but there was no mistaking the voice. He struggled to focus his attention on the sound, willing it to form sentences.

’Hey, Cas. I know…I know that you’re hurt right now and you don’t want to hear from us, but we’re worried about you, man. You don’t have to talk to Dean if you don’t want to, but please, just…let us know you’re okay. He didn’t mean what he said to you, not at all. We miss and love you. Please come home.’

With an abrupt burst of energy, his hand jerked on the handle and he got into the vehicle, slamming the door shut beside him. Gabe looked over to question him, but before he could, Cas was grabbing at the CDs in the glovebox, pulling out a disc from the first interesting cover he spotted and giving it a gentle shove into the player. After a brief, almost inaudible squeal, a drum beat started up, followed soon after by a quick accordion run.

“Drive,” he said quietly, eyes trained ahead. He caught the exasperated eye roll Gabe gave him, before shifting the car out of park and pressing on the gas. The speed of the Audi picked up fairly quickly with the archangel behind the wheel and the two exited the parking lot, straight out onto the highway, the prayers of Sam Winchester silenced in the sound.

Chapter Text

The weeks following the night Cas left yielded nothing but disappointment for the two hunters hunkered down in a Jersey hotel for the night. To be fair, Cas had gotten a head-start, and he had wings, no matter how tattered they were, but even with that advantage, both had agreed that he probably wasn’t on the East Coast, or else they’d gotten word from the dozens of hunters they’d contacted along the coast to keep an eye out for the angel in a trenchcoat. This left the Midwest, and the entirety of the West Coast as potential hiding places, until Sam had grimly started to concern the possibility that perhaps Cas had taken a trip upstairs for whatever reason.

He wasn’t well-liked in heaven, or so he said, but perhaps the angels had changed their minds. It seemed to be a reoccurring trend with them. Hot or cold. Black or white. Michael or Lucifer. Metatron or Castiel. They were the most uncertain group of assholes the boys had ever met, which was impressive, considering they killed monsters for a living. Most of them had attempted to murder them at least once. And the rest were, well, dead, either by unfortunate circumstance or Castiel’s hand.

As for Dean, he wasn’t a particularly empathetic person, never had been. He wasn’t into talking out his feelings, no matter how much Sam encouraged him to, and that was all John’s fault, but Sam couldn’t help but notice how much anger his brother kept pent up inside him. Particularly after the Mark of Cain, Dean seemed downright livid most of the time. And during much of that, he yelled at Cas. For everything. For the Leviathan. For Metatron. For the angel suicide bombers. And he didn’t mean it, any of it, but Dean wasn’t that great at apologizing either. He usually never needed to, because he never got close enough to someone where he would need their forgiveness.

But he was going to have to get down on his hands and knees and beg if he wanted Cas back. Sam had lost count of how many prayers he had sent rolling the angel’s way, not to mention those his brother made, and still, neither had received any confirmation that the angel was even still kicking. But surely he must have been. Surely. Cas had evolved quite a bit as a hunter in the past few years, especially once he lost the majority of his grace. He could take care of himself, not that it eased their worry much.

Dean was a mess. Regardless of whether he himself chose to acknowledge it, Sam noticed it right off the bat. It was as though every time Dean had that extra drink (which had already been after his first two extra drinks), or stared off into the distance during one of their conversations, he was holding up a bright, neon sign with the words ‘I am not fine,’ as he snapped, “I’m fine, Sam!” at his concerned younger brother. He hardly slept. He hardly ate. The only substances in his stomach at the moment were likely bourbon and maybe a piece of candy, as he stood at the window, full glass of whiskey clutched in his right hand, with a reflection of the room refracted across the glass.

“…You still believe in God, Sam?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered slowly, sitting up from his previous slumped position on the bed, where he had been using his phone to text all the hunters he knew on the West Coast, to see if any of them had seen Cas. “Why?”

“Just a question.” Dean set down his glass on a tasteless tourist magazine provided by the hotel. “No reason.” He pulled out his phone, glanced at it for a split second, then released a barely noticeable sigh, head falling slightly as he pocketed it once more. “Maybe he’s not ever coming back, Sam. Maybe this is a waste, or some kind of ploy. Maybe he’s in heaven, laughing his ass off at us. And we can’t fucking do anything about it. I can pray, you can pray, the whole damn world can pray, but does he even hear us? Huh, Cas? Can you hear me now?”

“Dean,” Sam warned curtly, looking at his brother with a poorly concealed expression of exasperation and agitation. “Stop it. You hurt him, remember?”

“Right. No, I remember, Sam. But if your best friend in the entire world, someone you thought you were always on the right page with, suddenly came to you and professed their undying love, how would you react?”

“I’m not attacking you, Dean. Calm down. I’m just saying maybe you should lay off on the guy. You yelling at him is the reason he’s gone in the first place, so I’m pretty sure it’s not going to encourage him to come back.”

Dean stared at him for a few moments, looking slightly glassy-eyed, before turning away, grabbing the whiskey and downing half of the glass in a single swig. “You’re right. I just…I miss him, and we’re running out of options. It’s not like we can call on the God squad for help.”

Sam paused, mulling it over. “Well…maybe we could. Just send out a general prayer asking for help and information regarding Cas. We might get a response from someone. Surely one of them would be willing to help us.”

“So what, we just put an ad in the Daily Heaven and wait for a response? How does that even work? ‘Dear angels, check your inbox, my name is Dean Winchester and I’m interested in information and/or help finding a friend of mine?’” Dean about choked as he swallowed the last gulp of whiskey, heading over to the counter to refill his glass. Sam ducked his head, frowning at the words. Maybe it was a pointless effort, trying to contact heaven for help. They usually did nothing but ignore humanity’s pleas anyway.

But as though the universe wanted to spite him, Sam suddenly heard a noise—the flutter of wings—rush from behind him, and as he whirled around to try and see what in the world was going on, an accented voice inquired, “This is an interesting development. I figured you fools would be dead by now.”

“Balthazar,” Dean sputtered, this time outright doing a spit take. Sam turned back in time to see a tall, slender blonde man look around, eyes falling on him briefly, then traveling over to Dean, narrowing a bit in the process. He hadn’t physically changed at all, minus a wardrobe difference, from the last time they had seen him, before the Leviathan mess had gone down. That had been years ago, but vessels didn’t age, so Sam wasn’t sure why he was so alarmed.

Aside from the fact that Balthazar was supposed to be dead, that was.

“Where’s Castiel?” he inquired, a hint of concern making its way into his voice.

“Welcome to the party, feathers. That’s why we asked for help. Can’t find him.” Dean was deliberately avoiding eye contact with both the angel standing a few feet away, and Sam, who was slowly rising from the bed to stand taller than anyone else in the room.

“Oh, and that’s my problem how? You two probably scared him off. Heaven does likes to gossip, and the rumor mill has been spinning nonstop for the past few years about all the Winchester exploits: Angels falling from heaven, the release of the Leviathan, your time in purgatory…oh, and congratulations for holding the Mark of Cain, Dean. Quite an honor to bear the serial killer tattoo, I’d imagine, especially for you.”

“Okay, that’s enough, chuckles,” Dean interrupted, holding a hand up to silence the angel from his needless chatter. “Listen, you don’t have to help if you don’t want to, but there is a door that you can kindly let hit your ass on the way out.”

Balthazar smirked humorlessly, raising his hands in a grand gesture. “Slow down. As it turns out, I have a score to settle with my dear younger sibling, so I may be interested in cooperating.”

“We are not leading you to Cas so you can kill him,” Sam replied, not missing a beat. “We heard you were allegedly dead, Balthazar, after Cas figured out that you were working with us to stop him from opening the gates to Purgatory. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

“I suppose not, but you two fall a little short of even that level of intelligence. Boys, boys, boys, I’m not interested in the death of my dear Castiel, but I do want to talk to him. I heard he served his time in Purgatory, and I think that’s enough penance, especially with what I’m certain were spurned affections towards that one.” Balthazar jabbed a relaxed thumb back in Dean’s direction, unaffected by the childishly angry look he received in return.

“He’s not in heaven, so you can rule that out,” the angel continued, leisurely striding forward to open the mini-fridge, before cringing in disgust and closing it. “I would have heard about it.”

“We figured,” Sam sighed, picking up his phone to check his messages. Nothing but a few texts of no report from his West Coast contacts. “He’s lost most of his grace, so it would be hard for him to get back.”

“Of course. The fall. However could I forget? Oh wait. I wasn’t there.” The angel straightened up, a few cracks ringing out as he did so. “I’m assuming you two checked the eastern seaboard. That leaves…most of the U.S. Well. This is just fabulous.”

“Look, we just need you to find him, not bring him to us or anything,” Dean stated, watching the blonde man with apprehension. “Or, just, point us in the right direction. Cas knows how to outwit us. This isn’t exactly his first rodeo.”

“It’s not yours, either, Dean. Tell me, why is Castiel missing in the first place? It must have been quite awful for him to abandon you two, considering he’s stuck around this long. Unless, of course, he had a sudden epiphany of common sense and decided to dump you both for glamorous angel hedonism.”

Sam wasn’t sure how he’d forgotten how little Balthazar thought of them, but the reminder felt ice cold under the circumstances. He steadily lowered his gaze until it lingered solely on his hands, which were folded, unoccupied, in his lap. He knew though, that Balthazar wasn’t looking at him. Both of them knew who was most responsible for Cas leaving, one without so much a shred of witnessed evidence.

“Oh. I see. I know what’s going on. And what a shame, too. Tut, tut. Boys. I think I’m going to have to set up some conditions for my help.”

“Okay, get out,” Dean replied shortly, setting down his glass, which Sam didn’t fail to notice was empty yet again. “We have nothing to offer you, except our souls, and last time I checked, that enterprise ended not so well for you.”

Balthazar seemed unamused. “Speak for yourself, Winchester. At least I didn’t push away the one living friend I had.” He turned away from Dean, and instead brought his attention to Sam instead. “You’re the brains of this operation, yes? Well, you see, as much as I would like to despise my younger sibling for killing me, I think he’s suffered more by the hands of you lot than he’s deserved. So, whenever I find him, I expect you to apologize.” At the last sentence, he shifted slightly, craning back around to glare at Dean.

“Is that it?” Sam inquired tentatively, uncertain of how to best break the heated eye contact going on between the angel and his brother.

“Yes,” replied Balthazar, not missing a beat as he slowly met the other Winchester’s eyes. “From you, at least. If you’ll excuse me, I suppose I should get to work then.” All it took was a blink and the rush of feathers beating together, and he had disappeared, leaving a wide-eyed Sam and a disgruntled Dean left in the hotel room.

The younger hunter reached up and tucked a spare hair behind his ear, suppressing the urge to sigh. He supposed this was good, Balthazar being on their side. The only problem was whether or not he was actually working in their favor, and not secretly doublecrossing them for his own selfish ends. Oh well. It wasn’t as though they weren’t used to this when it came to the angels. The whole species tended to specialize in hidden motives.

“Cas chose to work with us. He’s acting like we’ve held him captive for six years.” Dean’s fingers were curled around the island counter, knuckles as white as snow as he gazed intensely at the empty glass with an absent expression. “It wasn’t like we guilt-tripped him, did we? He chose this. He chose us.”

“Of course he did, Dean,” Sam replied, finding himself wondering for the first time whether or not Castiel had ever believed prior to the apocalypse that he would end up dying for the sake of two humans, vessels for his older, terrifying archangel brothers no less. This led him to a rather disturbing train of thought going all the way back to when Dean was in hell. Cas had pulled him out. He’d said that he’d pieced together Dean’s body and soul after those forty years downstairs, so presumably, that had taken a while. Had the two known each other while Cas was performing miracle surgery, but then Dean forgot?

It would explain those long, forlorn glances the angel had stolen at his brother when he’d assumed no one was looking, particularly early on. But this was hypothetical, and highly unlikely, and he had to remind himself that it was all pointless anyway, because if they never found Cas, what use would it even be to have theories about why the angel loved them so much?

“What do you think…he’s doing right now? Without us?”

“Probably solving a case.” It was a quick response, one without thought and conviction. Sam wasn’t honestly sure what Cas was doing at the moment, but it probably wasn’t that. If Sam at least had the choice, he wouldn’t be working on a case. He would’ve been living in some remodeled suburban home with Jess. But she was dead, and seeing Dean the way he had been over the past month reminded him of that; reminded him of how he himself had responded to the loss. The spaced looks, the distancing conversations…as Dean had said earlier, this wasn’t his first rodeo.

Dean nodded deftly. “I wish I could agree with you. But he’s trying awfully hard not to get found. We traced the credit cards we gave him and zilch, so either he’s paying completely in cash or he’s found some fiscal help.”

“You thinking sugar daddy? I knew you seemed jealous about something.”

“Not funny, Sam.” His brother whirled around to grab a beer from the fridge and popped open the cap. After taking a long swig, he practically slammed the bottle down and swallowed heavily, adding in a heavy voice, “I just don’t know who he’s hanging out with, but it’s someone. I can feel it.”

“Is that the effects of the alcohol talking or the profound bond you guys share?”

“Sam.”

“Okay, sorry. So who do you think he’s with?”

“I…I don’t know, alright?” Dean threw his hands up to indicate the loss he was at with the situation. “Someone untrustworthy? Crowley? Metatron?”

“Okay, you know what, I’m gonna stop you there. Dean. You have to stop thinking so little of him. I know he screwed up in the past few years, but so have we. I can’t believe you still don’t trust him more than that.” This was getting exhausting, in more ways than one. Sam was used to being agitated with his brother, but sometimes, like right now for instance, it got to be insufferable to be in the same room with him, particularly when he was being a paranoid douchebag.

“You never know.”

“You’re right. I don’t. But I do know one thing.” Sam stood up, gathering up his laptop and charger, and slipping them inside his bag. “If you want to fix this, you’re going to have to trust him. That’s the minimum requirement. Maybe we haven’t found him yet because we’re not meant to. Because you’re not ready to talk to him. What would you even say, if Balthazar popped in right now and handed him off to us?”
Green eyes blinked uncertainly at him, followed soon after by the shift from idle hands to loose fists. “I would tell him that I’m sorry, obviously. Of course I care about him. I was just surprised by what he said.”

“That’s…all?” Sam wasn’t certain he was able to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Nothing else?”

“It’s the gist. What do you want me to say, Sam? ‘Cas, I’ve fallen for you and I can’t get up?’” He did for you, Sam neglected to reply, holding his tongue. “We talked about this. I’m not gay, especially not for Cas.” Whatever that meant. “I mean, it is what it is. If he swings that way, good for him. But I’m not interested.”

“I’m going to the library,” Sam spoke up, before another word of denial could be spoken in his presence. He didn’t even meet his brother’s eyes, or acknowledge the sputtering occurring behind his back as he made his way to the door and left the room, sighing as he waited for the elevator to come up.

He didn’t know how to fix this, or if he could even help, but surely he hadn’t been wrong about Dean loving Cas, right? His brother had just grown a very thick, shield-like shell over those emotions, and cracking it was going to be particularly tough. That was what he had to believe.

For the sake of their friendship with Cas, the circumstances couldn’t allow for anything else.

Chapter Text

Gabriel was tired of waiting. It had been several weeks since the two had discussed his younger brother’s missing grace, many cases opened and closed, from werewolves to vampires to tulpas to ghosts. They’d handled most of the West Coast’s supernatural problems for the time being over the past month, and now Cas was exhausted, passed out on the 5-star hotel bed Gabe had filched money from some billionaire to afford.

It was disconcerting to see his younger sibling so powerless, and despite the thousands of complexes Gabe had picked up over the years, none of them wanted to see Cas suffer like he was at the moment, exhausted to the point of collapse, which was why the archangel had suggested that he catch a few hours while he ran some errands. What he may have chosen not to mention were the types of errands he planned on running. Namely, taking a field trip upstairs to visit an angel he otherwise detested, in the interest of repairing Castiel’s broken confidence, and maybe stopping by the candy shop in Albuquerque on his way home.

Cas was better off not knowing. After all, this way, he didn’t have to be involved, and Gabriel would have the freedom of not having to listen to him nag about how this was a ‘bad idea,’ and ‘they shouldn’t be doing this.’ For an angel who rebelled against heaven during one of the most turbulent events in creation’s history, Cas was resiliently somewhat of a rule-follower, and as someone who was quite the opposite, Gabe could do without the commentary on this mission. So, without so much as a sound, he took one last peak at the passed out angel and left their Seattle hotel room.

Heaven’s gate was sealed within a playground, hours away, but with a quick snap of his fingers, he was there. It was an unimpressive area, mostly devoid of foliage and more sandy than anything else, but he tried to not let the lack of curb appeal get to him as he stepped onto the premises and mumbled a few choice words in Enochian under his breath. As he’d expected, a roar of light sprang up from the sandbox, ribbons of white curling around the vortex and strangling each other. The archangel took a quick survey of the land, making sure that he was alone, than stepped inside, snapping his fingers to close the portal.

After what seemed like three seconds of nothing but a whooshing, annoying screech, he found himself stepping out of an elevator to a white hallway. Gabriel swallowed a heavy lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat before starting to walk, doing his damnedest not to think of the fact that this was the first time he’d been home in centuries. The scenery hadn’t changed, of course, because heaven’s interior decorators were always minimalists to an extreme extent, but this didn’t dim the experience of being in a fever dream for the Trickster.

It took a few moments to get reacquainted with his surroundings, at which point he recognized where he’d landed in heaven. The gateway had zapped him to the latter end of the human heavens, which was fortunately very close to where he figured Metatron was being kept. The prison cells of heaven, plain as the rest of the property, were nothing short of inconveniently placed, residing merely a few turns away from the Z-names, which was probably Michael’s doing, no less. His older brothers could preach their dedication to God and his favorite creations all they wanted to, but the truth was that they could stomach humans about as much as Lucifer could; they just happened to be better about hiding it.

Gabe shoved his hands in the pockets of the jacket he was wearing and trudged forward, trying not to let old memories overwhelm him as he walked. It was uncomfortable, how easily he was able to recall this part of his past home, especially since he’d rarely spent any time in this particular area. The archangels had been kept in close quarters to God, before Michael and Lucifer duked it out, and Gabe flew the coop. They were the special, the first-born, and, as his brothers liked to think, the “chosen.” But the Trickster had never felt all that blessed, even before their father had abandoned them.

It hadn’t always been bad, necessarily, he supposed, but those memories were the worst ones, the happy ones, before the Mark of Cain had corrupted Lucifer. His hands shifted into fists, body nearly coming to a complete stop as he struggled not to go back to that time. He’d spent years reliving it already, blaming himself. It was pointless to debate it now. It would only emotionally cripple him, which he certainly didn’t need while he was interrogating Metatron. Instead, he raised his gaze from the marble floor and strode ahead, not expecting to see another gaze looking right back at him.

“H-Hello. Can I help you?” She asked, unmistakably stuttering at the beginning of her statement as her eyes slid over him with wonder. Gabriel didn’t recognize her—unsurprising, considering he didn’t bother to get to know most of his younger siblings in heaven, there being an insurmountable number of them—but she bore the grace of an angel who’d never seen Earth, despite donning a pretty, young Asian woman with glasses.

“Yeah, I’m looking for Metatron. His handwriting is completely illegible, so we need him to translate some verses of the demon tablet.” A plausible lie would do.

“I…I’m sorry. I don’t have any advance orders from my superiors to let anyone see him, and he’s on strict lockdown. You’re….you’re an archangel though, aren’t you?” Her tone was curious, as though she’d never seen one before. Interesting…

“Yep, thousand eyes and all,” the Trickster replied. He had to hold back a smirk as he added, “You’ve probably heard of me, I would imagine. My name is Michael.” He bowed with a flourish, extending his hand to gently grasp hers.

“M-Michael? As in, THE Michael? Sir! It’s an honor to meet you in person! M-My name is Ambriel. I work in accounting, but I’m filling in for Ezekiel today. That was authorized…right?”

“Yes, Ambriel,” Gabe continued smoothly, glancing around at their surroundings. It was a fairly open space, and he’d remembered where he’d came in, so hopefully his getaway could be quick, if this Ambriel decided to start blabbing about meeting the archangel-in-charge and someone decided to check. His skills of deceit and appearance altering weren’t up to par with what it would take to truly pass himself off as Michael to someone who had actually met the guy. “I realize I should have sent a message down, but I was hoping that I wouldn’t need to, since this shouldn’t take long. I didn’t want to bother my assistant with it. Would it be alright if I popped in for just a minute? It’ll be our little secret.”

“I’ve never had a secret with anyone before,” whispered Ambriel, eyes widening. “Of course, sir. You don’t need my permission. I’m very sorry for impeding.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure what was worse; the girl’s lack of free will or her obvious hero worship towards her superiors. Michael had probably never been down here, assuming the guy was even still kicking. Who even gave the orders in heaven anymore, if not Michael and Raphael? Some kind of elected council? Cas had mentioned something briefly about it, but elected not to expand on the matter beyond that. Truly, getting his younger sibling to talk about anything other than cases and the superficial was difficult. For some reason, Cas still refused to trust him with important topics, even though Gabe did genuinely want to know about them.

He hadn’t been joking at any point about wanting to make things up to Castiel. All of his words had been sincere, yet the mostly human angel resiliently kept his lips and emotions locked up better than the Cage. It was frustrating. Maybe this would change things, getting his grace back. He could only hope. It was hard to imagine it, but at one point, Cas had been where Ambriel stood, not exactly, but close, where he’d never spent a day walking the Earth before. He’d still been happy. Or at least content. Better off than the sleeping mess he’d left behind in the hotel.

Looking at Ambriel again, he found her watching him pensively, particularly his wings, which gently rested in an idle position at his sides, and at that precise moment, elected to make a split-second decision that would probably prove to be a mistake in the future.

“After this, I am going to be spending some time on Earth to study human culture. I think it’s safe to assume that you have obviously never been, so I would like to extend the offer to include you in it. What would you say to a field trip, Ambriel? I think you might find it enlightening.” Enlightening as in, you might actually get a sense of self-worth that isn’t attached to this overrated Popsicle stand, he added mentally.

“Why me? I’m just an accountant, here by circumstance. There’s nothing special about me. As my superiors say, I am completely unremarkable and completely replaceable.”

He’d about had it. Dropping any semblance of a Michael persona, he straightened up, grabbing the angel by the shoulders and staring right at her. “That right there is the reason why. You should not think of yourself like that, and neither should your managers. I’m going to give them a serious talking to about that. All angels are special, and none of you are replaceable. Believe me, I would know.”

He hadn’t been thinking of her so much when he’d said this, but of the angels he had known and loved, from Castiel to his archangel brothers, to Anna and to Balthazar. It didn’t matter though. The sentence rang true no matter the circumstance. She was important, and so was every other accountant, or warrior, or librarian, or gardener. They were all still angels. They had been created for a purpose.

“…If that’s what you think, then okay. I’ll go.” Ambriel took a few seconds to respond, but in doing so, nodded firmly and with resolve. For a worker bee without a single original thought or shred of dignity, she seemed shockingly determined, judging from the glint in her eye. Gabriel released her shoulders and sighed, nodding.

“Very well. If you’ll excuse me, this should only take a minute.” He sidestepped the young woman to open the white door on her right and slip inside, avoiding the nagging idea that he might have just very well made an error that could cost him peace of mind for the next few days, worrying heaven might be on his tail to reclaim Ambriel. But if they had said she was unimportant, then they likely wouldn’t come looking at all, would they?

The room he had stepped into was the equivalent of a blank slate, if you added crisscrossed bars and a depressing sack of waste within them. Gabriel immediately took back what he said about all the angels being important. There were some exceptions, and one of them was sitting in the cell across from where he stood, staring at him as though he’d seen a ghost.

“G-Gabriel? The golden, mighty archangel who is supposed to be dead? To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you?”

The archangel smiled mirthlessly. There was not an ounce of humor in his grin. He had no sympathy for Metatron, never had, and that was before the guy had booted all of the angels out of heaven and closed the pearly white gates to all but his chosen few. That gesture had done nothing for him in the whiskey-toned eyes of the trickster standing outside the bars. “Actually, you owe it all to our darling brother, Castiel. I think you’ll remember him as being one of the many angels you took grace from, if you recall correctly. Oh, and um, see, he’s wanting it back. I was hoping to give it to him as an early Christmas present. Figured you might have some insight as to where you may have put it.”

The so-called Scribe of God was a mess. His vessel’s hair was strangled in tangles, beard a mess, and looked generally like a mangy mutt who’d been caught in a rainstorm, yet he smiled toothlessly at Gabriel’s words. “I find it difficult to believe that Castiel would accept a gift like that from you,” he replied smugly.

“Why’s that?” inquired the trickster curiously, playing along. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on giving him the same thing for the holidays. I call dibs.”

“Castiel didn’t tell you? Well. That doesn’t surprise me, actually. Always a bit tight-lipped, that one.”

Tell me what? Gabriel wanted to ask, but he held his tongue. He was not going to participate in one of Metatron’s mind games. Those were his specialty, and he would prefer not to engage in a sport he actually enjoyed with an angel he detested. “Guess not. Doesn’t really matter though, since you’re rotting away here in heaven’s most decorated torment suite, alone. I think that right there is the best gift you could give to any of us.”

That wiped the smile right from Metatron’s face. The scribe curled up further in his corner of the cell, trying to come up with some witty comeback and presumably failing as he said next, “Unfortunately for you, I’ve got no idea where Castiel’s grace is, as long as it’s you who is doing the talking. Now, bring in Castiel, and we may uncover some information concerning—“

It took about half a second for Gabriel to temporarily shift the bars wide enough to get through and step into the cell, and even less than that for him to put his hands on Metatron’s neck, applying a mountain of pressure to cut off his words, reducing the angel to some strangled whispers and nothing else. “No can do. It’s just you and me in the here and now, so if I were you, and I wanted to keep living, I would do myself a favor and start talking.”

He lightened his grip minutely so that the scribe could speak, which he then did, rather hoarsely, “I don’t know, alright? You’re wasting your time. Castiel wouldn’t accept it from you anyway. How can he be sure you are even the real deal?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Someone must have come in and given Metatron a roll down the stairs, head-first, before the archangel got there, because what Gabriel was hearing made no sense. “Real deal?”

Metatron seemed practically gleeful at the words, which made Gabriel want to snap his fingers and splatter the tastelessly plain walls with the color of the angel’s organs, but he resisted the temptation in favor of hearing what the spineless scribe had to say. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you. Oh boy, this is rich. Castiel never mentioned that I tricked him once, using a fake version of you? Oh, it was great! They had a bromantic car ride and everything, then poof! You could see the light go out of his eyes when he finally saw through it. Wow. It was heartwrenching, in the best possible w—Gyah! Wh-what are you doing?!”

He had the right to shriek like he did, considering the trickster had pulled out an archangel blade and cleanly swiped across Metatron’s stomach, a neat, clean slice, where grace was beginning to bleed directly into a vial in the hands of the trickster. Panic was written across his face in verbal tongue, as the power he’d once had leaked out of his body, leaving him trapped within his human vessel, all whilst the archangel stood up and stared silently at him, expressionless, watching as the scene unfolded.

Every nerve in his body, from the bones in his wings to the tips of his fingers, was burning with anger. The audacity of this utter worm, this pathetic excuse for one of God’s soldiers, for one of his children, to attempt to impersonate him, just in the effort of hurting Castiel? He wanted to stab the angel rather than graze him, but death was too good for Metatron. He deserved something far worse, such as being left powerless, with human needs and a decaying lifespan, which was precisely what Gabriel had done. He would suffer like this, like he deserved.

In addition, there was also the advantage that humans were weak, and felt pain much, much more easily than angels. Torture might be more convenient this way. A shame, really, because he hadn’t hoped to spend more than five minutes with this disgusting creature he hesitated to call a sibling, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Gabriel was going to fix Castiel’s wings, come hell or high water.

“No! Give it back! Give it back!” Like a small child wanting a toy, the Trickster thought to himself humorlessly, as Metatron frantically attempted to make his way towards him, barely making it a step or two before being jerked back by the shackles he was bound in.

Gabriel capped the vial with a cork and smiled, but there was no joy behind it when he spoke. “Castiel’s grace. Talk, and I’ll give you a taste of heaven again. If not, then no deal.”

“It’s in a tree. Off the road from this little barn heading towards Kansas from Albuquerque. The highway is Interstate 40. You have my word that’s where it’s at. Now give it back.” The look of pathetic desperation on the Scribe of God’s face was worth somehow more satisfaction than the location of Cas’s grace, and this time, Gabriel let a real smile spread across his visage.

“No. On second thought, I think I’ll keep this. Besides, being human suits you.” He spoke simply, turning and walking out, ignoring the angry, terrified pleas of the angel in the cell, rattling his chain and calling out threats. None of it mattered. He was a locked up disgrace getting his just desserts, and Castiel was going to get his wings back. Even if the location didn’t pan out, Gabriel now held a winning hand, or the closest thing one could get to one when dealing with Metatron.

“What’s his problem?” Ambriel inquired, interest piqued, as he closed the door.

“Too many to count, and all of them are mental. Come on. Let’s blow this popsicle stand.” He made to start walking, then paused a few feet away when he realized that the young woman wasn’t following, and instead had stayed behind, appearing rather confused.

“Popsicle stand? I don’t see…”

“Just…come on.”

He didn’t have the patience for this at the moment, but he’d made the commitment, so he might as well see it through. After all, he was already trying to make up for being the flake older brother to Cas, he might as well try and make an impact on Ambriel as well, right? Both of them were pop culture clueless and horribly damaged in their self-image, although in different fashions.

Treated horribly by the Winchesters or taught to be a number by heaven, both were unacceptable to him. So, Gabriel resolved, offering his hand to Ambriel, he was going to treat them better than that.

Like they deserved.

Chapter Text

When he awoke, Cas came to the conclusion within five seconds that he must’ve been knocked out in order to somehow sleep during his brother’s joyriding jet-set across the U.S. The stomach sickness set in almost as soon as he opened his eyes, as the archangel practically threw the wheel to the left to hang a turn, laughing as he did so. The action about catapulted Cas from the vehicle, but the angel found himself too preoccupied with the bubbling sensation going on in his abdomen to say anything about it. That, and the fact that he hadn’t remembered falling asleep in the car to begin with. How in the world had he ended up here? There’s no way he could have slept through Gabriel’s—was this even considered driving?!

Speaking of the archangel, Gabriel was more than welcome to bring him back to brutal reality, slowing up if only 5 mph to toss an arm on the passenger seat and offer, “S’up, Cassie? How was dreamland?”

“It was nonexistent.” Castiel hadn’t dreamt in a very long time. And by a long time, he had meant the past few months. Essentially, whenever he had started to nervously debate whether or not to confess his feelings to Dean, his dreams had disappeared, leaving his sleep undisturbed by not only the negative, but the positive as well. It would be suspicious, except he figured it was a result of what little grace he had left leaving. No longer were the days of vivid landscapes and pleasantly content green eyes.

Considering how matters had worked out with the latter of those two, he felt partially grateful for the absence, albeit not enough to overrule the rollercoaster going on in his stomach from Gabriel’s wild steering. “You could slow down,” he suggested to the archangel. Maybe if he phrased it as less of a personal desire and more of a request, the Trickster would comply more easily.

“There’s no fun in that, Cas. Don’t be a buzzkill.”

Or not. However, Cas did feel the car let up slightly, either by coincidence, or by the off-chance that Gabriel, infamous for his selfishness, was actually taking his needs into consideration. In either case, he found himself grateful for the change of pace.

“Where are we going?”

“Probably Denny’s,” Gabe commented laxly, flexing his fingers over the steering wheel. “I could really go for one of those Bacon Slamburgers or whatever they’re called. Been craving one ever since we tackled that vamp case in Sacramento.”

Cas was about to open his mouth—not to question why, because that would be a wasted effort when the inquiry was going towards Gabriel—when he was interrupted by another voice from behind him, sounding uncomfortably close: “What is Denny’s?”

He considered letting it go for approximately 1/4th of a second, before reluctantly turning inward to come face to face with an unfamiliar young woman in the backseat, dressed like an office assistant. “Gabriel.” He kept his voice impressively even despite the confusion and anger he felt welling up inside his chest. “What did you do?”

“This is Ambriel,” Gabriel replied cheerfully, grinning as they passed a large red barn to their right. “I found her in heaven. Apparently she’s never seen Earth before. Also, who are you calling Gabriel? I’m obviously the archangel Michael. Pfft. What have you been smoking there, bro?”

Part of Castiel’s adjustment to being human again was the groggy start he received from waking up, but something told him that even in a fully conscious and focused state, he still would not be able to process what the hell was happening. Michael? Heaven? Ambriel? What in his father’s name was going on? Who was this stranger in their vehicle? Why was Gabriel visiting heaven? And what was this about him being Michael?

“Oh, wait, are you Castiel?” The angel—he presumed she was an angel at least, judging by her attire and the extremely vague, unhelpful context Gabriel had provided—inquired. He nodded, precisely as his older sibling missed a rather large, gaping pothole in the middle of the road and the car seemed to rattle like an earthquake with a bang.

“Oops. Just a minor fender bender. No biggie. I’ll have her tuned up again by the time we’re on our way to Lawrence.” Gabe’s nonchalant tone might have been normal, at least for him, but it didn’t ease Cas’s perplexed thought process any. If anything, it just complicated matters.

They were headed to Lawrence? As in Lawrence, Kansas? If Cas had his wings in working flight condition, he would’ve been out of there at those words, if not sooner, because this situation just seemed to grow more gratingly complex by the moment, and he had the patience for none of it. “Why were you in heaven, Gabriel? What business did you have there?”

“None. Just came by to check up on the place. See if they’d finally redecorated. Also, I told you, quit calling me that. It’s not funny, Castiel, to call me the name of my absolutely dead, dashingly handsome younger brother.” Gabe dramatized the ending, which was typical of him, but at this point, Cas had never felt more lost in one of their conversations than right then. He could assume plenty, but since the archangel was offering him nothing, he had no concrete foundation upon which to base…really anything that was going on at that particular moment.

And since his brother was apparently not taking questions at this time, and his wings were about as useful as a wool blanket in the California sun, there was nothing Cas could do but sit and lament his lack of understanding towards the situation at hand. “What’s in Lawrence?” he asked this time, exasperation beginning to show in his voice.

“The Queen of Sheba,” Gabe replied, abruptly braking and hanging a sharp turn to the right, to pull off the side of the road. “A case, Cas. What else?” The car rolled to a stop, and Gabe shifted it into park, then reaching for his seatbelt. “We got a bit of a pitstop to make first though. Won’t take more than five minutes, hopefully.”

Cas slowly reached for his own, trying not to let the sound of Ambriel rustling around in the back bother him. Lawrence had offered no answers. “What business do we have in an empty field in what seems to be the middle of nowhere, brother?” the mostly human angel inquired, stepping out of the vehicle and getting a face full of Midwestern breeze. He heard Ambriel approach behind him, taking a stance at his side with a polite posture, hands folded in front of her skirt.

He’d never met her before, which meant that she must’ve been from some other department of heaven than those he’d spent time in, because Castiel, generally speaking, knew most of his siblings, particularly those who had been placed in grunt positions like himself. Ambriel didn’t have the look—or attitude—of a manager, so she still must have been a low-ranking individual. She had likely been tucked away in a section of heaven that dealt only with data, a section that didn’t deal in sending out field agents to Earth, judging by the bewildered looks she gave every passing bird, bee, or blade of grass she laid eyes on.

Underneath her vessel’s mask of composure, Cas was certain that she was freaking out. He couldn’t see souls hardly anymore, as his eyes grew worse every day from his grace wearing away, but he could guess, based off her body language. Becoming fully human was inevitable, something he’d accepted long ago, but part of him longed once more to be able to see a person’s character just by looking them in the eye. It had been a useful tool. Now he merely had to deduce based off verbal cues, which was difficult. Everything about being human was difficult, actually.

Cas wanted to say the experience was humbling, to live amongst his closest friends—or, what had been his closest friends—as one of their kind, but in all honesty, it was painful. To be ripped from one’s grace was one thing; to be continually kept away from it was something else entirely. Castiel had lived his entire life as an angel, overseeing humanity’s victories and failures, sitting on his proverbial throne as one of the most deadly beings in the universe. And now, what was he, if not some glorified, washed-up old man who had maybe 1/13th of his prior strength, and no spirit?

The bright sunshine seemed to dim almost immediately at the realization. Gabriel, for whatever reasons he stuck around, deserved better for a so-called partner in crime. Why he was even still giving Cas the time of day was a mystery the younger of the two didn’t think would ever get solved. After all, this whole hunting shebang had never been much of the archangel’s forte; he was more of a glutton for the glamor. Most angels would never have agreed to a gig that involved driving across the country and slaying creatures way below their paygrade, especially with Cas, the black sheep of heaven, yet Gabriel, one of heaven’s mightiest and most elusive, had insisted on traveling with Castiel, even going as far as to commandeer a car for their use. Not once had he complained about the toil of the job, although Cas was positive that it had to get on his nerves. A powerful being like him, riding around and doing jobs with a mostly human angel who’d done nothing but push him away from day one?

Cas had no idea why Gabe was still beside him, peering into the distance, eyes squinted beneath the harsh sunlight, as though he was searching for something in the vast, golden fields in front of them. There was a tree not too far out, stretching its limbs in a grandiose gesture into the sky, as though it was grasping at heaven itself. Cas’s heart hitched at the thought. Heaven. A place that had once been his home. The Winchesters. Sam and Dean had been his home too.

“What are these floaty things?” Ambriel questioned, voice quivering. Cas glanced to the side to see the young woman staring in what was partly transfixed horror, partly morbid curiosity at a bee that had perched itself on the tip of her nose.

“Bees,” Cas answered, lips curling slightly upwards at the sight. It was cute. Bees, in general, were cute, and necessary to nature, nevermind the abuse humans mindlessly threw at them. His heart picked itself up, if only by a small measure. “They’re insects. That one won’t hurt you, as long as you don’t scare it.”

“Me, scare it? I’m not the one who is all furry, with the huge eyes and the bright colors.” Ambriel sounded defensive, but her posture relaxed as she glanced at Cas, noticing his muted enthusiasm for the creature. The bee leapt up and flew away a moment later, the dark-eyed woman watching it carefully. “Are they…all like that?”

“Yes and no. There is a food chain, but we are not included in it.” Cas could’ve gone on for hours about Earth’s beautiful nature, and how carefully woven the infrastructure of each ecosystem was, determinant on the species within it, and their individual habits and preferences, but the two were interrupted suddenly by a loud rustling noise, followed by a satisfied shout of “Victory!” out in the field. The two turned to see Gabriel standing by the tree, absolutely dwarfed by its size in his tiny human vessel. Cas had to squint to check, but he appeared to be smiling, clutching tightly onto something small and shiny.

“What’s he yelling about?” Ambriel’s line of questioning shifted, as did her eyebrows, as she started to make her way in the direction of the apparently elated trickster. Cas followed in suit, curiosity piqued by his brother’s sudden cry.

The archangel strode over through the tall, wispy bushels of wheat, just near enough for the quickly approaching angels to meet him halfway, at which point Cas’s heart tightened all across his chest. He recognized that glimmer in Gabriel’s hand more than he recognized his own face in the mirror. But believing whether or not it was real, that was what had sucked his soul seemingly inward from his body, words stuck in his throat as his older brother smirked at him, clearly proud of himself. But Cas couldn’t even think, let alone speak, to accept this gift. This radiant, unbelievable gift…

It was all beginning to make sense now: Gabriel going to heaven, the fib with Ambriel, and his masquerade as the mighty archangel Michael. But why would he…? He’d suggested that they take the fight to Metatron, sure, but Gabriel could bluff with the best of them. Hell, he was the Trickster after all. Castiel had certainly never expected him to take it upon himself to make the journey himself…especially for…especially for him.

“Earth to Cas. Hello? Houston, all our problems are solved, get your head outta the clouds. I’m not saying I’m expecting a thank you but—“

It was instantaneous, the way Cas rushed forward, practically throwing his entire body weight on the archangel and wrapping his arms around him, silent. He felt his older sibling stiffen, tensing up, before slowly relaxing and returning the gesture. “Thank you,” Cas mumbled, focusing on keeping his hands steady. He could see a bee hive seemingly stitched into one of the branches of the tree just a few feet yards away, workers buzzing busily around it, humming happily, and his grip tightened, clutching onto Gabriel’s jacket with fistfuls of green fabric.

“Anything to wipe that sad look off your face,” Gabriel replied, pulling back with a grin. “I’m tired of looking at it. And hey, I know that bandaids can’t fix bullet holes, but we gotta start somewhere, right? So I took some initiative. Don’t worry, Metatron is still living. Probably in squalor and suffering, but still living, and I left him right where I found him.”

There were words Cas wanted to say, words beyond just a mere thank you, but they wouldn’t leave his tongue for some reason, whether it was the apprehension of this all being yet another elaborate ruse, or the fact that he couldn’t find the right terms to articulate his feelings at the moment. He wanted to say thank you for more than the grace. For more than the trip upstairs. For…more than this trip.

He wanted to thank him for caring.

The words sounded so cold and passive-aggressive. Especially when he received prayers every night from Sam, sometimes one, sometimes five, apologizing for Dean and asking that he at least send them some kind of message that he’s fine. But Cas, for all of the metaphorical grace he’d given the brothers over the years, had never felt more done with them than in that moment. Two years. Two years since he’d lost his grace, been expelled from heaven, estranged from his home, and not once had there ever been a discussion of him getting it back, of the three making a group effort to restore Castiel’s single most redeeming quality—at least, in his own opinion. Instead, it became the game of ‘teach Cas how to be human,’ which was just as miserable as it sounded.

There had been fun parts, sure, like cooking and shopping and learning how to handle a gun. But more often than not, it had been an adventure of torment, where he was constantly criticized and infantilized by one or both of them. It had been especially bad coming from Dean concerning the hunting, somewhat because Sam was always gentler, but also because Cas’s worst nightmare was disappointing the guy. And he did just that, all the time, without even trying, because—dammit, he was pretty new to this, was he really supposed to know what he was doing? With no halo to fall back on? He tried. He tried very hard to impress them. And sometimes Sam would crack a soft, weak smile, but Dean just pushed harder and harder.

This was all made significantly worse by the living situation at the time. He’d take turns with one of them, and the two would go out on a hunt, because that way, he would have backup should he—predictably—fail. And things weren’t bad at all, most of the time. There were words exchanged from time to time, and Cas admitted to being frustrated, which more often than not led to some apologies and beer. But other times, Sam wouldn’t have any more inspiring words to give, and worse off, Dean would disappear out of agitation and come back several hours later, rolling around under the sheets with some floozy from the bar. And everything else aside, those were the absolute worst fucking nights of Cas’s entire life. It was like he was invisible to them.

He never bothered asking for help in obtaining his grace. He, foolishly, had thought he could make it as a human, and the look of glee on their faces when they thought he could become the third member of the family business, even without his wings, was worth abandoning the notion at the time. But now, standing in this field, staring at a rather amused Gabriel, who had conjured up a variety of animals to showcase to the young, dark-haired angel, and the partially uncomfortable but equally intrigued Ambriel who was the lucky visitor to the circus, peering over a rabbit with a slight smile, Cas realized that maybe he’d been wrong all along. It was neither heaven nor with the Winchesters that he belonged. Perhaps it was in this golden field, radiantly illuminated in the sunshine, with his grace in hand and the older brother he’d wanted back for years merely steps away.

The vial rested warmly against his palm as he strode over to the two, just in time to see a snake curl itself around Gabriel’s wrist, tongue flickering out of its mouth as he stopped. Ambriel glanced up from the rabbit, smile faltering. “Castiel, is that your grace?”

“Yes. It is.” He couldn’t even fight the grin. Trying to push his expression back into neutrality was like attempting to throw curtains over a window of inconceivably bright light. It was pointless to resist. In fact, hadn’t Gabriel said once that the light can’t be escaped? It was true. Cas could feel it in his veins, little jolts of electricity running currents of power through him from head to toe, and it was a wonderful feeling.

“Huh. I thought Metatron took it from y--…wait.” Ambriel paused, this time turning to Gabriel, whose attention was focused on petting the head of the tiny snake intertwined around his arm, and frowned. “You said you were going in there to get him to translate some writings! Was that really about Castiel all along? I thought heaven hated him. Why would you want him to have his grace back?”

The blue-eyed angel’s smile sunk deeply into the ocean at those words, which Gabriel didn’t fail to notice as he replied coldly, “Yep. Sure was about Cas. Fuck the ancient texts. I can read them, even if they are a pain.” With a snap of his fingers, the animals had disappeared from Gabriel’s person, and the archangel was meeting Ambriel’s gaze with his chin raised high. Cas had known for a long time that Gabriel didn’t give a shit about most things, especially his positioning in the minds of others, but it still flattered him to know that his brother was sticking up for him like this.

Not that Cas couldn’t fight his own battles. But hardly anyone ever defended his worth, at least lately.

“You’re not really the archangel Michael, are you?” she asked quietly, eyes narrowing. Her lips quivered slightly, puffed out, and eyebrows drawn in as though she was about ready to burst into tears.

“Someone give the girl an award! Nope. Sorry to disappoint, but that title belongs to my oldest brother, who, bless his heart, is either rotting in the cage with my second oldest thorn in the neck, or off losing his mind in an angel-proofed padded cell pending his release. Instead, you got much, much luckier.” A glint of gold unrelated to the glimmering fields surrounding them surfaced in Gabriel’s eye as he took a step forward towards Ambriel, who reluctantly stood her ground. “They used to call me Gabriel, before the final showdown came and went, and I took my leave of absence from the family business. And I’m sure you’ve heard that I’m a deadbeat dropout from the clouds, but see, I wasn’t the one who tried to restart the apocalypse, or started a war because I wasn’t Daddy’s favorite anymore. All I did was mind my own damn business here on Dad’s green Earth, but in heaven, they consider that unacceptable.

“Instead, they tell you that you’re worth nothing. Hell, you told me that yourself that you’re replaceable, but you, Ambriel, you and me and Castiel, we were all handmade by our Father for a purpose, an irreplaceable purpose. Heaven isn’t a good place. You wanna go back, that’s just peachy, but if you want to fucking live, and I mean really live, not just type in statistics for some pompous douchebag until your grace burns out, then you are more than welcome to. I brought you along for a reason: to see Earth. So, what do you say? Offer’s still open.”

“…Okay.” It only took about three moments for Ambriel to nod, her posture shifting to her previous, polite stance that she’d held earlier while standing next to Cas. “I’ll…give it a chance. Besides…if I am as replaceable, as expendable as my bosses say I am…then they probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Cas had expected her to take longer than a second to respond. With all the words, both rude and inspiring, Gabriel had just chucked at her, Cas had thought maybe she would think it through before answering. Perhaps what he’d said though wasn’t important. Maybe his true identity wasn’t as much of a deal breaker as his older brother had assumed it was, which opened up the question of just how lowly Gabriel thought of himself. Did he hate himself? Did he hate himself as much as Cas hated himself? As much as the Winchesters hated themselves? Was that even possible, with someone as obnoxious as Gabriel, as brazen and overconfident?

“Wow. That was…surprisingly an easy sell. Well, either way, I guess it doesn’t matter. We’re happy to have you on board. Right, Cas?” Gabe’s eyes were on him suddenly, and Cas felt himself straightening up and his train of thought derailing. Whiskey eyes watched him for a response, a pleased smirk pulling at Gabe’s lips.

And Cas, for the first time in several years, felt warm, like he was sitting in front of a fireplace on a frosty night during a long winter, hot chocolate mug clutched between his hands, and a plaid blanket draped across his shoulders. It was a familiar warmth, like the hugs of the Winchesters when the three were still on speaking terms, or the celebratory nights of his Garrison, when they’d gather in Heaven’s winery and get drunk on happiness, chattering amongst each other about irrelevant nonsense and frivolities. Cas recognized this warmth well.

“Yes,” he replied, meeting those expectant eyes and nodding. His lips began to turn up at the edges, slowly, and soon, the angel found himself smiling without any cause.

It was the warmth of home.

Chapter Text

Everything was a mess.

There were papers scattered across the floor and books that had clattered to the ground a moment after, not to mention the bags of thankfully non-breakable groceries Sam had brought back that morning before announcing that he was leaving to meet up with some of their West Coast contacts for information regarding their missing angel. Then there was the abused door, which had been practically kicked in by Dean in his pursuit to reach the bed at the far end of the room, and the clothes littered amongst the comforter and excess pillows, which had also been pulled from their resting place in the effort of getting to a soft, cushy surface, devoid of any distractions.

Her name had been Lila or something of that nature. Lily? Lillian? Dean wasn’t quite so sure now, not that it was of much importance. She’d stormed out a few minutes ago, somewhere between the time Dean pulled away from her soft, cherry pink lips, for what were as of yet indiscernible reasons, and now, as he sat at the edge of mattress in nothing but his boxers, staring at the floor. He was asking himself why, as if he didn’t know, as if the reason hadn’t been evident for the past two months, as they travelled from hotel to hotel, solving cases and simultaneously fighting constantly over the missing party.

Castiel. Were it not for the fact that the three had once gotten drunk and used Dean’s cell to film themselves being idiots—videos the hunter couldn’t stop himself from watching over and over again if he tried—Dean would have started to begin to forget what the angel’s voice sounded like, gravelly tone and unintentionally funny deadpan included. Partially because he wanted to. He wanted to forget what Cas’s voice sounded like, what Cas’s hair did in the morning when he woke up and it was wedged every which way, the way Cas’s smile affected Dean from head to toe, practically melting his insides because of how damn cute it was. He wanted those memories to disappear completely.

Because Dean was firmly convinced that he’d fucked this up irreparably. Cas was not going to come waltzing in the door or even fluttering down in the middle of some inopportune moment to immediately shift the atmosphere of the room with his sudden presence. He wasn’t going to call them back, or answer their prayers. It had been almost three months, and radio silence on all fronts told him that logically, the battle was over, and he’d lost. But it wasn’t like this was a simple spat that Dean could smooth over with some burgers, Sam’s puppy eyes, and a simply apology of his own. This was huge. This was war. And Dean? Dean had lost all of it.

Everything was a mess, himself included. He didn’t have the appetite for much beyond bourbon and beer, which he knew he was consuming too much of but didn’t bother attempting to limit. It didn’t do much to dull the searing pain in his chest, but it was at least a distraction, which was more than he could say for anything else. It blurred the lines of reality and memory if he had enough, such as earlier, when he’d gone to the bar and come home with Amy in tow. No, wait, was it Angela? Alyson? He would take it. Whatever he could get to make this horrible nightmare go away, he would take.

Because this was all his fault, no way around it. Cas was gone, and he was directly responsible for it. The two were no closer to finding him either, simply chasing their tails around the U.S. to no avail. Cas was a clever bastard, no doubt about it. How he’d managed to avoid them this long just proved how upset he must have been. All Dean’s fault. Why the hunter had thought that the logical response to a scary, three-word death sentence was “I don’t care about you” had yet to be unraveled. It was a poor lapse in thought, sure, but he knew that wasn’t really what had done it.

It was how angry he’d been that Cas had romantic feelings for him. As though it was some kind of defiant wrong the angel had dealt him. And Cas had been fragile these past few years, beneath that tough exterior he always insisted on putting up. It was almost like he was afraid of being too human, of feeling too much. Considering how Dean had reacted to his love confession, it made sense as to why. Hell, the hunter couldn’t blame him. Cas hadn’t deserved that. He really hadn’t, regardless of whether or not Dean was offended by his feelings.

To clarify, Dean was not. They did make him uncomfortable, because Jesus, the guy was his closest friend, the closest friend he’d ever had outside family, and Dean hadn’t seen it coming from a million miles away, although, in hindsight, he should have. Their gestures and interactions in the past, when replayed by Dean in real time seemed to take on a new life with this information in mind and that alone was terrifying, without factoring in how his friendship with Cas would work in the future, knowing this secret. It was pointless to think about though. There wouldn’t likely be a future for the two of them. With the situation being as it was, Dean hadn’t had an option to nod and walk away without giving Cas some kind of oral response. The angel had phrased it as a conversation of confirmation, as though he was searching for an answer.

But Dean hadn’t exactly been in his right mind after that kiss. He hadn’t reacted like he was dealing with Cas, but with some stranger he barely knew. Maybe it had made it less painful for him, pretending like he didn’t care. He didn’t really know. It certainly didn’t make seeing Cas’s heart literally break in front of him any easier, so if that had been his body’s flight or fight equivalency, it had been a wasted effort, and a poor one at that, seeing as he now sat alone in a hotel, chest practically aflame on the inside with how much he hated himself for this.

For Cas. For trying to forget Cas. For trying to use some chick as a distraction. For not trying harder to find him, even though he had purposefully given up because he didn’t know what to say. There was no apology he could give that the angel would find acceptable, nor should there have been. Dean probably deserved to lose Cas for what he’d said, but fuck if he actually wanted to. He missed Cas more than he’d ever thought missing someone else was even possible, which was part of the reason for why his heart felt like a lead brick sitting in his chest cavity.

The other part was that there was nothing he could do about it. Balthazar had had nothing to report since they’d enlisted his help, although, that may have been out of spite for how he felt towards them rather than the true results of his state-by-state investigation across the U.S. He may have well known where the angel was, especially considering Cas could no longer cloak himself in the veil of his wings and disappear at the drop of a hat, something Dean knew that he missed. Cas hadn’t responded well to being a human, and up until recently, visibly mourned his tattered wings.

Dean had seen them once, without the angel’s knowledge. A flicker of candlelight and the hunter being in the right place at the right time illuminated just how broken they were, shadowy feathers hanging in limp scraps from the bones of what were once mighty staples of his heritage as an angel. He hadn’t said anything though, in fear of spooking the angel, or worse, upsetting him, and instead, had strode past his room wordlessly, though he was reasonably sure Cas heard him breathe, even in his graceless human body.

In the beginning, Dean had tried to be consoling about the loss of his grace, but it had never been his strong suit, and instead, he grew agitated more often than not with Cas’s reluctance to embrace humanity. At the time, it had felt like Cas was being deliberately difficult, something Dean had no patience for, but upon further debate, Dean realized that maybe he’d unintentionally inflicted even further negativity on his friend every time he chewed him out for missing targets when he shot, or forgot to turn off the burners in the kitchen.

God, he’d fucked up. He’d fucked up just about everything, room included.

It was in this pause of his self-loathing reflection that the doorknob began to jiggle, and Sam entered, stopping briefly as he took in the state of the room, and the sight of his brother zoning out into Neverland whilst wearing only the bare essentials. “…What’s…going on?” The younger of the two was hesitant to inquire, but it was necessary, considering both the state of their hotel room and Dean’s vacant expression.

“Nothing. Just, uh, got a little drunk. Spilled some things. Sorry. I’ll get right on that.” A swift head turn and Dean was pulling his t-shirt over his head and making his way towards the island, reaching for the objects riddled all over the floor surrounding it, avoiding the taller man’s expression the whole time.

Okay. Something is definitely wrong. Sam noted, also reminding himself not to ask, because it wasn’t like Dean was going to discuss his slowly occurring mental breakdown over Cas with him. He’d tried, many a time, and none thus far had yielded any results beyond some yelling, denial, and the inevitable Dean Winchester emotional lockdown. Sam was more or less giving up. Everything at this point felt—ironically—pointless. Cas had outwitted them at every turn. They’d seen neither feather nor hair of the angel since his confrontation with Dean in the Bunker, and that was over two months ago. They’d not heard anything either, Balthazar’s unhelpful news updates included.

Nothing. Sam had thought, mistakenly, that he might have gotten a response back from the angel through prayer, because it was a private hotline and he wasn’t the person Castiel was running from, so to speak, but he’d gotten no response after countless messages being tossed the angel’s way. Cas had left them in the darkness, fleeing to what must have been some remote astral plane in the recesses of the universe, since even Balthazar, who could search the whole world in five minutes, had come up empty-handed.

There may have been more to Dean’s claim that Cas was traveling with someone—a powerful someone at that—than simply worry and jealousy. He was protected and hidden, wherever he was, and for that, Sam was grateful, but concerned. Crowley could probably stash an angel away in Hell, but the gates were closed, and Sam was reasonably sure that Cas had enough common sense not to ally with the King of Hell again following the Leviathan incident.

That didn’t leave many options for investigation, considering that most of their major foes had either been imprisoned or killed off in the crusade to save the world. The Leviathans were trapped in Purgatory, Hell had been sealed off years ago, Heaven allegedly hated Cas, and Balthazar was in direct contact with the boys, so it couldn’t have been him. That ruled out everyone Sam could immediately think of that would consider taking the angel under their proverbial wing in exchange for—well, any number of things, leverage, companionship, etc.

No matter. Cas didn’t seem to want to come home, not that Sam could entirely blame the guy. But the longer he was gone, the worse Dean’s habits seemed to get. As his brother rose from the ground, clutching the last of the objects that had been sitting on the island before Sam had left, it didn’t escape the younger Winchester’s attention that there were scratches on the inside of his arm, where the Mark of Cain had resided until the three had managed to find a way to lift it without ending the world last year.

They appeared self-inflicted, or at the very least human, but they might have been from Dean’s latest sexual conquest. Ever since Cas had flown the coop, the older of the two had taken to barhopping all too frequently to find willing ladies to take home. Sam could have probably voiced his disgust, and consequently been ignored, but he didn’t see any reason to, since Cas, the primary reason for his objections in the first place, had disappeared and showed no desire to return. And for that, he did resent Dean a little. Or more than a little.

Because Cas wasn’t just Dean’s best friend, he was also Sam’s. There were no more nights toiling over research and lore where the angel had answers he would spend hours looking for. Instead, Sam blatantly had to brush over his required four hours and press onwards to find answers to cases that seemed only to grow in complexity with each city they visited. He couldn’t discuss law or language or history with Dean, but Cas used to sit for hours and listen to him talk, occasionally interrupting with how the story had really gone down, since the angel had actually sat there and witnessed it himself. And Sam loved hearing Cas’s stories, of heaven, of history, of mankind’s rise to glory. He was always so happy when he told them, so proud of what his siblings and humanity had done, and he spoke much softer than he usually did, eyes radiantly blue and lips upturned at the edges, like he wanted to smile but wasn’t quite ready to commit to it.

Sam was honestly kind of pissed, and he’d tried seemingly every way he could think of to voice those frustrations, but Dean was non-receptive to each and every approach, which neither surprised nor amazed him. It was typical Dean, hearing only what he wanted to hear. His first conversation he’d ever had with Jess was about selective hearing, back when the two of them had first began hanging out all those years ago at Stanford, and at the time, Sam had thought only of his father, but now, the term seemed very apt to describe Dean perfectly. The man was a toddler, refusing to admit his feelings just for the sake of being contrary. Or at least, he hoped that’s what it was.

With the desperate train of women from night to night, Sam had begun to draw two conclusions. Either Dean was trying very hard to prove to himself (and Sam) that he didn’t have feelings for Cas, or maybe Dean didn’t actually have feelings for Cas and was still trying to be self-destructive because that was sort of the Winchester go-to. Years and years of intense eyeballing, bizarre and unneeded innuendos, and the sexual tension that could not be cut with the sharpest of knives told him that it was the former. But Sam had been wrong before, albeit never this wrong, and the possibility existed that perhaps Dean was actually not in denial about being in love with Cas. Maybe he didn’t love him, at least like that. Maybe…maybe all of the sexual tension was just…?

…So Sam didn’t really have answers for that yet. Castiel must have assumed similarly to him, since he had obviously presumed Dean would share his feelings. He wondered what Balthazar thought, then stopped himself, because it didn’t really matter what Balthazar’s opinion was. He probably didn’t care, although, judging by his words in the past, he’d at least known—like every other being on this plane of existence for the past six years aside from the barely clothed hunter standing mutely by the island table—that Cas loved Dean. Anna had known. Michael had known. Gabriel had probably known, despite him and Cas not sharing more than three minutes together during the disastrous sitcom incident. It didn’t take that long, really, to make assumptions.

Sam was pretty sure he was losing his mind.

When he next looked up, it was at the sound of an angel’s voice, finding that—speak of the angel—Balthazar had appeared at the edge of Sam’s bed, ankles crossed, and Dean looked positively violated, as though he had just been walked in on while showering. “Excuse me?! Some warning would have been nice!”

Balthazar’s gaze slid over him, before the angel sighed, pulling his hand away from his cheek to reveal a bloody gash running alongside it. “Whatever Castiel sees in you, it eludes me.” He turned his attention upon Sam, giving him a scrutinizing glance before continuing, “Well, boys, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

“What?” Dean’s question was out of his mouth before Balthazar had even finished his sentence. Sam dared to look at his brother out of the corner of his vision, and saw the immediate terror flashing in Dean’s eyes at what was most certainly something involving the angel. “What is it? Is it about Cas? Is he alright? Who is he with?”

“Leash your brother, Sam. This has nothing to do with Cas. At least, not directly.” Balthazar leaned back slightly to reach over and nab a tissue from the box sitting at the bedside, then dabbed it on his cheek, taking only a single glimpse at the blood it was soaking before tossing it in the nearest trash can. “Heaven is apparently making the fiscal decision to downsize.”

“Huh?” Dean questioned, aggression fading. Sam chewed his lip pensively, reading into the words, hoping they didn’t mean what he thought they did, but knowing better all the while. It sounded like something heaven would do: heartless slaughter of their own kind to slim down the controllable masses. The whole place functioned like some large corporate entity of evil. Zachariah had been the perfect embodiment of it preceding the apocalypse, before Dean stuck an angel blade through his face.

“They’ve dispatched Azrael to dispose of those they consider unnecessary to angelic functions.” Another sigh left Balthazar staring at the hands he had folded in his lap. “Which, to say the least, is a bad omen for most of us.”

“Azrael, as in, the angel of Death, Azrael,” Sam stated, looking for confirmation he found in the mute nod that the man sitting on the bed offered. He’d heard of the angel before. Contrary to what he’d read, Castiel had told him that Azrael generally took a female form, most often beautiful, for the benefit of employing deceit while she took lives. She was an operant of heaven through and through, but was lost on Earth briefly during Metatron’s stint as reigning principality of the pearly gated estate, hence why the Winchesters had never crossed paths with her. They were fortunate for that, he said. She was merciless.

So in other words, they were screwed. “Who is on the hitlist?” Dean asked dryly, surprising Sam with his forwardness. He had expected Dean to mull over the situation and visibly unravel into an existential crises, his stand-by as of late, but instead, the hunter’s eyes were burning bright green, fists clenched at his sides as he glared intensely at the figure on the bed.

“I’m going to assume I am, since she just took a sliver of my skin not five minutes ago, but other than that, I have no confirmed targets. However, if I had to guess, our darling mutual friend Castiel is in real danger of being hunted down by a madwoman with a penchant for bloodlust.” Balthazar, for the first time they’d seen him, seemed genuinely worried, and for good reason, if anything Cas had said about Azrael held any merit. If there ever a time to find the angel, it was now, since his life practically depended on it. Even with his expertise at killing his own kind, he could be easily overwhelmed with strength, and since Azrael was the so-called angel of death, this probably wasn’t her first time up against another angel, even a warrior like Castiel.

“If you’ve gained any intel at allover these past two months as to where Cas might be, now would be a good time to share,” Dean barked, panic beginning to well up in his voice as he walked hurriedly from behind the island and started pulling on a pair of jeans with poorly veiled anxiety.

“Don’t you think I would have told you fools anything useful I found? I have nothing on Castiel. He’s seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, save for the fact that he doesn’t have a working set of wings and couldn’t have hidden himself from me with any kind of magic for this long without it wearing off. Someone has to be shielding him from me somehow. Someone with a lot of juice.”

“D-Do you think that means he’s in someone’s protection then? Like against Azrael, if she were to strike, would he be safe?” Sam hadn’t intended to stammer, but he was looking for any way around this being a dead end for the three of them.

Balthazar shrugged, attempting to seem indifferent. “Depends on who it is. I don’t know of any living angels with that kind of grace. At least, none that aren’t imprisoned in Hell’s playpen or rotting away in a glass crate in heaven.” He stood up, straightening up his suit jacket, unwilling to meet either of their anticipative eyes for a moment. Then, out of the blue, he looked up and swallowed an invisible lump in his throat, adding, “But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible to find out. He’s unable to be summoned, what with being mostly human, but I can draft up a list of the beings with the power available to shield him, and we can…well, I can…invite them to a party.”

“A party? Are you fucking serious right now? Our best friend is on some psycho bitch’s hitlist and you want to throw some huge get-together for the universe’s biggest celebrities to try and find him? Are you…You cannot be serious. Please tell me you are fucking with me. Sam, tell me he’s joking.”

The younger Winchester was perplexed, albeit a bit less vocal about it than his older sibling. “Like a controlled meet? That would be way too dangerous. Besides, Cas would never go to your party. He killed you, didn’t he? He probably thinks you hate him.”

“Yes, but I have a solution to that. I’m going to be selling the weapons I stole from heaven, the weapons crafted by God himself, and designed to kill any number of supernatural beings, including but not limited to: demons, angels, reapers, archangels and knights of hell. At least, I’ll be pretending to sell them. As if I would dare part with the most lucrative wares I’ve ever had. Please.”

Sam struggled to wrap his mind around this concept and make it a real, tangible idea that didn’t seem like a deathwish, but it was difficult. “But all of those beings are gonna be there, are they not? Couldn’t they just gang up on us and kill us to take the weapons?”

Balthazar smirked, genuinely amused. “How cute. You’re assuming that they would actually momentarily cooperate. Let me tell you something about absolute power, Sam, You don’t think you need anyone else’s help when you have it.”

It was becoming more plausible. Slowly. However, Dean was anything but sold. “Hell no. We are not doing this. Whether this is a controlled meet or not, it’s like holding up a giant neon sign that says ‘Monsters Welcome’ and then expecting them not to kill us. It’s idiotic. I thought you would have a better plan than this, Balthazar. What’s keeping you from just skipping town like you did with Raphael? Couldn’t he show up at this soiree, since all the angels are apparently alive and well except for the only damn decent one out of your whole miserable family? Where the fuck is Cas? You can’t tell me you don’t know anything. You have to know something. Spill it.”

Sam was about to intervene, noticing how Dean’s hand, currently lying flat against the surface of the kitchen counter, edged closer and closer to the angel blade placed a precarious few inches away, when Balthazar spoke, “I suppose…there is something I found that might interest you.”

“Out with it, feathers.”

The angel shot him an unamused look before beginning, “There is a rumor circulating heaven that Metatron had a visitor in his cell a few weeks ago. No one seems to have a clear answer as to who it was, but the fact remains that whoever it was, when they left, they took Metatron’s grace with them. It’s not much of a lead, and I attempted to pursue it, but the perpetrator left no evidence. The angel who was guarding the cell at the time, Ambriel, has disappeared as well. It’s altogether rather suspicious.”

“So they left Metatron as a human?” Sam questioned, quirking a brow. The thought was as pleasing as it was revolting. While he didn’t want to share a common species with the man, Metatron certainly didn’t deserve the power he was given as an angel. Particularly when Castiel, who’d given his life several times for humanity was left with nothing but an inkling of grace and promptly tossed out on his ass by heaven.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Cas can’t get into heaven though,” Dean offered, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. His hand slipped off the marble countertop and fell to his side, swinging like a pendulum before slowing to a stop as Dean added, “He told us before that he’s more or less banned.”

“Yes. But whoever he is with might not be. Whoever they are, they knew the gate to heaven and were able to ascend it without suspicion. No other angels besides Ambriel are missing, so no casualties were taken, presumably. Whoever this is, they are in heaven’s favor.”

“Or too powerful for heaven to defy entry to without sacrificing half their sheep,” Dean interrupted unpleasantly. “Maybe they didn’t want to cut their losses, so they just laid down and took it. After all, it’s not like anyone needs Metatron, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Balthazar replied laxly, averting the two sets of eyes to glance at his nails, scrubbing at a bit of dried blood curled around a cuticle. “Metatron is the only angel left who is able to read what little remains of God’s word. Should we ever need it, we would require him for its safe translation.”

“Only angel left? What, there were others? Shit, why was he the one who survived? Dude’s a massive dick.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you killed all the others?” Balthazar’s voice took on an acidic tone before smoothing back down to a restrained, prim annoyance. “You threw Lucifer in the cage, which no one is complaining about, but you also fried most of Michael’s memory, so he’s in a padded cell, singing Godforsaken Celine Dion. No more Raphael since Cas went soul-searching. And you two, you two damned Winchesters should hold yourselves responsible for Gabriel’s death if nothing else. He died for your stupidity, after all. So, no. No more angels available to read the Word of God.”

“No,” Sam spoke suddenly, looking up from his five minute silence, during which the two had taken to bantering within. Now he had their attention. “No angel currently in heaven would risk going in to see Metatron and then endangering his lifespan unless there was a backup plan. Plus, none of the other angels would even have clearance, right? It’s not like you for example could just drop by. It has to be limited access. An archangel would have the privilege of bypassing that, no questions asked, surely.”

“But they’re all dead,” Balthazar protested, unable to get in another word before Dean interjected.

“I swear to God. Those winged asshats better not be alive and above ground. Especially Lucifer. It’s none of his damn business to be out and walking free after the hell he raised on Earth, no pun intended.”

“You’re alive, Balthazar. Who says they can’t be? Listen. Let’s….let’s try this party thing, okay? It’s our best shot at finding Cas. You say they’re dead, then if that’s true and no one comes then there are no consequences. But if they are alive, even just one, and protecting Cas, then we’ve won. We still have holy water and matches. Angel blades. None of them will harm us. We’re too valuable as vessels.”

“And what about me?” whined the blonde-haired man, sounding downright offended that his wellbeing had been left outside of Sam’s simple equation. “I won’t be safe! Raphael isn’t going to just forgive me for icing his vessel once and then taking Cas’s side in the War of Heaven, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“We’ll figure something out for you,” Dean replied noncommittedly, resting his gaze on Sam with a heavy weight. “Are you sure about this, Sam? This is a huge gamble, man. Not that the devil can come or anything, what with being locked in a box and everything, but are you sure you’re prepared to take on the archangels?”

“Yep. We got Balthazar’s weapons to defend ourselves. Plus, this whole party thing being on our terms will make it so that we can set the traps. It’s our game, Dean. And I know it sounds crazy but—“ His brother cut him off before he could even try and begin rationalizing this plan, and for a second, he thought he was going to be shut down before Dean responded.

“I don’t care about crazy. I care about Cas. Let’s get to planning.”

Chapter Text

Fingers laced their way through his hair, tugging somewhat roughly as they reached the roots. Lips pressed against his were the opposite; soft, needy, pulling him in through some psychological force rather than through physical means. There were hands traveling up and down his sides, settling on his hips and intertwining their fingers through the belt loops of his pants. The entire world felt like it was spinning, colors blurring together in a beautiful array of both sound and taste.

Cas was drunk. He knew that much. Everything else had been an impulse decision. Something about teaching Ambriel to flirt, then Gabriel standing up and flexing his wings like he was the ladies’ man of the year, as if any of the girls in the bar could even see the gesture to be impressed by it. Cas had volunteered a moment later, for some reason. He still didn’t know why, even after the suitors began to approach. It had been easy to catch the attention of at least half the patrons in the establishment when he sat down at a barstool and straightened up, loosening his tie and undoing a button from his shirt, but his eye had been on the vocalist for the band from the moment he’d decided this was apparently a thing he was going to do.

And Cas had gotten his wish with little effort. In fact, it was almost too easy to turn on the charm. Drunk Cas had plenty of charisma. Practically oozed it. Wry glances and subtle touching aside, his grace just seemed to make him naturally more attractive. Or maybe he was imagining it. It was possible. He’d lost count of how many shots he’d had at least three hours ago, when he wasn’t being pressed against a cold wall by a warm body with a tongue down his throat. Oh well.

He felt wrong, doing this, even though his body was responding quite heatedly to the excitement. He wasn’t this kind of person. Not a one and done, hit and run, friends with benefits like his brothers. Cas had always wanted the domestic bliss of being in a committed relationship. The best of both the physical and emotional realms of love. But he would have to settle with this animal nipping at his skin and tearing its claws into his back. It was fine. Drunk Cas found it positively euphoric, actually. Drunk Cas was disenchanted with relationships. Drunk Cas was probably the only kind of Cas that Dean Winchester would have ever considered fucking. No. Drunk Cas was probably the only kind of Cas that Dean Winchester would have ever considered even kissing back. He would never dream of having sex with a guy. Not Dean. Not Deanie Weenie, as Gabriel liked to call him, manly man of the year.

God, Cas almost hated him. Not…Not his Father. Well, him too. But mostly Dean. He couldn’t quite bring himself to it yet, but he was certainly getting there. Everyday, the resentment grew. In fact, the mere thought of him filled the angel with so much anger in that moment that he had to push away the attractive man who had been pawing at him like an animal in heat “Excuse me. That was just a demonstration for a friend.”

Without another glance at the bewildered and affronted musician, Cas walked away, making his way back to the table, where apparently Gabriel and Ambriel were in the throes of a conversation he was not intending to hear.

“Human men have the tendency to base their self-confidence around their size,” Gabriel was explaining when he sat down, across from the archangel and beside the ex-accountant. Gabe shot him a scrutinizing look as he settled into his chair, the meaning of which was explained through a mental message that slammed directly into Cas’s brain a second later through angel radio. Don’t stop on our account. Go get laid. That guy was ready to bang you like a screen door in a hurricane. Hell, half the bar is. Go get some, Mr. Pheromones.

“My needs are met.” More lies, even now. Drunk Cas was good at lying though. His poker face was crafted from steel, refusing to crumble even under the heavy glare his brother was giving him.

Fortunately, Ambriel interrupted, appearing extremely baffled by Gabriel’s explanation. “Of their penis? Why? That’s… biologically irrelevant.”

The archangel shrugged, but Cas replied, “It’s not that unbelievable of a concept. Angels have a tendency to measure their self-worth around their wingspan. Look at Gabriel. His wings fall just short of his enormous ego.”

Ambriel about shot the tequila she was sipping out of her nose laughing. Cas was sort of afraid to look at his older sibling and the repercussions that might have just come with his comment, but surprisingly, Gabriel laughed. “Hey now, my ego is healthy, just like my wings. It’s okay to love yourself a little—or a lot, believe it or not.”

Before Cas could think of a response from his reeling head, trying to throw colors and sounds together in a way that made sense in the form of words, Ambriel had finished her drink and had directed her attention to both of them, “So did you two factor that in when choosing your vessels since you had to fit in with humanity?”

Cas was relieved he wasn’t drinking anything, although it didn’t lessen the blush creeping up his cheeks. “No. Not at all. I-I was in a bit of a hurry, in all honesty. But I’m happy with what I have.” He offered a very tipsy grin to his tablemates.

“I think that’s the closest I’ve ever heard you come to bragging, Cas. Good job.” Gabriel seemed relaxed that he’d replied first, as though he hadn’t wanted to himself. Perhaps Ambriel had hit the nail on the head with her inquiry? The angel had to struggle not to laugh.

“Heaven made it seem like you were some kind of monster, Castiel. But I really like you! We seem to have a lot in common. Same hair color for our vessels, same ending on our names—Gabriel too—and we both like cats.”

“Like cats?” Cas interrupted, incredulous. “I think you mean love cats. Animals are God’s greatest creation.”

“Whoa, way to cast shade on humanity,” Gabriel interjected, quirking an eyebrow and leaning back slightly in his seat to take a sip of his drink.

“Humanity can get fucked,” Cas replied immediately, voice sharp as a dagger as he folded his hands in his lap. “Or…certain members of humanity can, I suppose. I’m not going to name any names, as that would be crude and disgraceful—Sam and Dean—but…”

“Wow, we should get you hammered more often, Cassie. Can you even stand up?” Gabriel was endlessly amused by this odd turn of events or so it seemed, but the angel could’ve cared less. He’d meant what he’d said, unfortunately. Drunk Cas was honest Cas, the worst kind of Cas, because there were some things that he would prefer the whole world not know, and he didn’t bother thinking before he spoke when his entire mind was speaking in shades of red and blue, drum beats, and the occasional high pitch whistling.

“I think you have a right to be angry with them, Cas!” Ambriel was agreeing, which was a segue for this conversation to go downhill, way beyond the point of no return, where Cas would likely say regrettable things that he couldn’t take back if he tried. Because this Cas didn’t care. Drunk Cas was pissed at the Winchesters, rightfully so, because he didn’t deserve any part of his heart broken by some flannel-wrapped nightmares who had more or less promised to love him and then metaphorically dumped him like last night’s garbage.

Maybe he was reaching, over exaggerating the injustices he’d been dealt. But, then, who would that matter to? Certainly not him. He’d felt every sharp stab of pain, emotional and physical, inflicted by the humans he’d vowed to protect, and for him, it had been agonizing. Excuse him for not staying, rolling over and baring his soul to them again so they could rip it apart. Especially Dean. Especially Dean.

“Damn right he does. But, you know, speaking of humanity, how about you give flirting a shot now, Ambriel, since Cas was so gracious to demonstrate for us?” Gabriel must have noticed Cas’s hesitancy to continue, and helpfully offered a distraction. The young woman looked from Cas to him, expression shifting to nervous anticipation. “Hey, if you don’t try, you’ll never get better. And trust me, sex is totally worth it.”

Cas would have had to disagree with that, since his only experience in the bedroom ended with him nearly dying at the hands of April, the Reaper he’d carelessly chosen to lose his virginity to. At the time though, it had felt worth it. Until she had stabbed him, at least. That tended to ruin the romantic atmosphere. And to think, he’d only entertained the notion of intimacy with her because he knew he didn’t stand a chance at seducing Dean.

He should have convinced himself of that long-term. It would have saved him the dull throbbing going on in his chest, and the gallons of alcohol he’d emptied into his vessel in an attempt to lose himself under the dim lighting and the sounds of Ambriel and Gabriel laughing. At that moment, he wished he’d never met Dean Winchester. Never looked at him. Never touched his mangled, disgustingly beautiful soul and fallen in love, slowly, over the course of two years, with it. With him. Cas was bitter.

Gabriel was right. He should have pushed through and fucked the musician.

“H-how do I even start? Do I just pick someone and sit down? Castiel has been down here for a decade, he makes it look easy.”

Cas pulled his psyche out from the depressive gutters of his heart and straightened up in his seat, scanning the room for pretty faces. There were quite a few on a Friday night, right after the three had arrived following a wendigo hunt that Ambriel had almost jeopardized after being utterly horrified at the sight of the creature’s soulless body. A decent soul would be nice too, for the pure sake of the trauma she’d suffered earlier, but those were getting harder and harder to come by, particularly in establishments like this. There were worse places, of course, such as law offices and prisons, but the bar wasn’t ideal.

“There.” His voice rang out like a sharp bell before he’d even raised his hand to point at a gentleman across the room from them, looking rather dashing in both his shirt and vest combo and the soul gently wrapped around his ribcage. Gabriel shot his brother a look of both astonishment and confusion, as though to question why him, but Cas didn’t bother responding to it. “You may or may not find yourself attracted to certain kinds of humans. Sometimes about physicality, sometimes about souls, but each one of us is different, as Gabriel likes to emphasize, and therefore we all having variant tastes. Gabriel, for instance, prefers women that are all hands.”

“Don’t humans only have two hands?”

The archangel frowned deeply, but wasn’t able to entirely wipe the smirk from the edges of his features. “That was one relationship, and she was a Pagan god, in my defense.”

“A Pagan god? Wow, that’s…exotic.”

“Yeah, yeah. It was. But we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you, so get out of here! Go flirt with someone! Who knows, they may turn out to be a Pagan god too. Then you’re really in for a time. Wait til they attempt to kill you, then your evil older brother using two overgrown man babies as bait. That’s when it really gets exciting.”

“Brother, stop, you’re scaring her.”

“I’m gonna go now.” Ambriel abruptly scooted her seat back slightly, then slipped off the cushion, offering Castiel an unsure glance before heading in the direction of the handsome man in the boot. This left the two brothers sitting at the table in what was a short-lived silence before the archangel started up again with a hum.

“Are you feeling better?” Gabriel was quiet when he said it, even though Ambriel was far out of earshot and didn’t have context to understand the conversation. Cas was surprised by the inquiry, although not enough to reflect on his vessel’s face.

Of course, he had no idea how to answer that. “I’m thinking I should have followed your advice and slept with the musician.” This garnered a laugh from the golden-winged trickster sitting across from him. But he could see that Gabe wasn’t really going to accept that for an answer. To be fair, it was more a deflective statement then a real admission. But Castiel would be damned if he broke the walls surrounding his heart and started up on his soapbox about the Winchesters. Regardless of whether or not he deserved to drunkenly rant, they were words he couldn’t take back, especially when said in presence of the Trickster, who seemed to have a selective memory.

“Actually, I think you may have dodged a bullet on that one. Besides, you would have regretted it. You’re not that kind of guy, Cassie. Unfortunately. Would have made your life a helluva lot easier if you were.”

“You are, as they say, preaching to the choir,” mumbled the angel gruffly. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let off just a little steam about the situation. He could control his tongue, if he really tried. Between the nonsense happening in his brain, and the words that came out from it, he would just have to be vigilant and keep the complaining to a minimum. Because things hadn’t been all bad with the Winchesters, and he couldn’t let Gabriel, or anyone else, believe that they had been. It wasn’t fair to them, and unlike Dean, he could respect not trampling all over their feelings despite being angry with them himself.

“On the other hand, you could do with a new crush. Six years is a bit stale, unless we are in a Nicholas Sparks movie and Dean Winchester is secretly a young blonde woman who enjoys dancing in the rain and handwriting letters.”

Cas snorted. “I suppose,” he began, forcing a smile onto his features, “I could try that, but only if I knew with absolute certainty that they wouldn’t lie to me for years and expect me to constantly be at their beck and call.” Perhaps that was too much passive aggression. Oh well. It was out there now, nothing he could do about it.

“Jeez, Dad almighty, Cas. You cast more shade than that tree we plucked your grace from. On second thought, maybe you should have a go at that musician. Get out some of that anger. I keep telling you I’ve got some pocket universes lined up for them, if you ever get bored—“

“Gabriel, you misunderstand. I don’t want you to throw them in there, because I never want to see them again.” The words were out before Cas had finished thinking them, and he immediately shut his mouth in panic and looked down, waiting for the guilt to wash over him like a breath of icy cold air. But then a few seconds passed without consequence, and oddly enough, nothing happened. Perhaps it was his drunken state, or the unlikely idea that he had subconsciously given up punishing himself for every wrong he’d ever committed in his thousands of years of existence, but Cas didn’t feel guilty at all. Not even a little.

Hesitantly, he looked up to meet his brother’s eye, but instead found the Trickster preoccupied with a letter clutched in his hands. “What is that?” he questioned, a million more inquiries running through his mind, the primary being Who sends letters anymore? but remained silent as Gabriel slit open the envelope and unfolded a piece of paper tucked inside, picking it up to examine it under the poor lighting in the venue. At this point, the envelope was left on the table, where Cas was able to see the Trickster’s name Gabriel scrawled in an elegant font across the front. The back had been equipped with a wax seal that the angel had to run his finger over in order to more acutely read. The symbols engraved on it were plain as day though, once he recognized them. Both of the brothers seemed to reach a conclusion at the same time.

“Balthazar,” they both said, in differing tones. Gabriel flung the letter down to gaze at a somewhat paralyzed Cas, who was staring at the seal with the guilt he was expecting to roll in from his statement about the Winchesters but instead had come from the realization that his brother was alive, and apparently well enough to be addressing letters to an archangel.

“We’re being invited to a party,” Gabe stated cheerfully. “Well, actually, I’m invited to a party, but I’d rather rot in hell than not take my favorite little brother and our resident alien intern with me. What do you say, Cas? It’s one of Balthazar’s, so you know it’s gotta be good. No one throws a party like Balthazar throws a party.”

“…I killed him.” Cas managed, voice cracking. And for no good reason either, he mind added unhelpfully, as whiskey eyes met his in confusion. “B-Before the Leviathan. It was an error on my part. He was acting in good faith, just not to me, and I…I got lost in my convictions about winning the War in Heaven. I wanted to beat Raphael so bad that I started messing around in things I wasn’t supposed to… and he died because of me. My decisions.”

“Cas. Hey. It’s okay. Listen, whatever it was, I’m sure Balthazar will forgive you. If not, he and I are going to have a discussion, and it will end with him forgiving you. I’m rather persuasive, you know.”

“I'm sorry, but I-I can’t. No. He’s supposed to be dead. He hates me, and for good reason t---“

“Hey. Hey.” Cas looked down to find Gabriel’s hands laid over his own with an easy weight, the Trickster watching him empathetically. “Stop saying that. No one hates you. I don’t know how anyone could ever hate you, honestly. It seems to me like all you’ve ever tried to do is the right thing. I’m sure Balthazar will understand. In fact, I would bet my life on it. He loves you just as much as I do. He’ll forgive you.”

He loves you just as much as I do. Loves. Present tense. How had he forgotten what those words sounded like out loud from others? Had not hearing it in six years really made him forget the times it had been said to him? Had it really reduced him to an emotional puddle, ready to downright cry in the middle of a Madison, Indiana bar, because he’d heard them again?

…Fuck it all, he’d deserved better than what this last decade had brought him. He’d damn well tried his best for humanity, for heaven, for Dean and Sam. He deserved to be told I love you by someone. By his family. It was a two-way street though, family. And Gabriel had more than done his part already. It was time for Cas to step up and make the first big decision set in front of him since leaving the Bunker.

“Okay,” he managed, curling his fingers into fists underneath Gabriel’s palms, and looking up with radiantly blue eyes at the Trickster. “I…I trust you. You’re right. Balthazar throws the best parties. I would be a fool to miss one.”

“Damn right, you would.”

The archangel likely would have continued, had the two not been joined by a quickly approaching third party, who slid into her seat and proceeded to down the rest of her ¾ full margarita before Gabriel could even pull his hands back across the table and voice his disapproval. “Hey, you should be over there, fogging up the windows of some Mercedes-Benz with Tuxedo Mask. The hell are you doing back here?”

“I think I might need some more rounds of observation before flirting. That encounter was…” The angel hesitated for a moment. “…awkward at best. I said hello. He said hello. We exchanged names. Then he froze up when I asked him about his size. Things proceeded to go downhill from there.”

Cas had made the relatively fatal mistake of attempting to take a drink and consequently ended up spitting it out at Ambriel’s admission. Gabriel, between being covered in Cas’s spit shower of alcohol and shooting the angel a disgusted look, started laughing uncontrollably, practically shaking to try and hold in his giggles. “You asked him his size right off the bat? Savage.”

“Why not? You said that it is something human males like to discuss.”

Gabriel was on the verge of tears. “It is—I just…wow. Sorry. I should’ve given you some background on that, but wow. That was priceless. I think I might need another drink if you’re planning on flirting again tonight.” As if on cue, he waved over one of the waiters of the establishment and ordered, “Another round, if you would. On me.”

Cas clutched at his empty glass, staring at his warped reflection in its curvature. Ambriel’s social faux pas reminded him very much of his own, when Dean had ushered him into a room with a prostitute and insisted that it was his last night on Earth, he should have some fun. Said night did not last very long, when Cas explained the circumstances of her father leaving her as a child, not realizing that it was very much a turn-off, and also uncalled for and creepy. Dean had cracked a joke about it later when the two had trapped Raphael in holy fire. Cas had enjoyed himself that day. It was the first time he’d ever impersonated an FBI agent, or worked a case with Dean. It had been fun, to some extent.

It was back when he thought Dean was worth falling for. If only things had been different following the apocalypse, perhaps he would have been able to safely detach from the hunters without feeling like he did now. Oh, what he would give to not have a gaping hole in his chest, where his metaphorical heart didn’t lay in tatters. He’d always had too much heart. Up until now, at least.

“Make that two,” Cas said quickly, gently leaning back to catch the attention of the waiter. He didn’t even pay attention for a response, instead training his gaze in his lap and drumming his fingers on the table in anticipation of a drink to lessen the pain. Just when he thought it was gone, it would come swelling up again, like a cat playing to keep it’s owner’s attention. Of course, Cas needed more than a drink to fix this. He knew that.

But he would take what he could get.

Chapter Text

Sam was reasonably sure that this was the nicest house he'd ever been in. Ten years of hunting, and a hell of a lot of suburbia told him that he should have given thanks to God for this incredible opportunity, but the truth was, he owed it all to the blonde angel nervously peeking out the windows of the ground floor dining room that led out onto the deck. He supposed Balthazar was suitably paranoid for the operation they were about to pull off, considering the danger of it all, but oddly enough, that didn't keep him from inviting the majority of what he called 'tolerant heaven' to the party, even against the advice of both Sam and Dean.

The three had managed to compromise earlier on what was a very shaky plan that could easily result in all of them dying if not followed precisely. And Sam had no doubt it would probably go as far from perfect as possible, as per Winchester luck, so he was fully expecting to die today, assuming worst case scenario, yet, as terrified and hesitant as he should have been to even open the lid on this disaster, he wasn't able to focus on it. His attention for the majority of the day had been on his brother, who, for unspoken reasons, was acting even more like a freak than usual, to the point of worry where Sam should have intervened and said something but actively chose not to on the knowledge that it was pointless.

Dean had been seemingly lost to the void since he woke up, and it had nothing to do with alcohol. In fact, the hunter had gone a whole week sober, from both the drinks and the ladies, and Sam was almost afraid to question why, because he knew he wasn't ready for whatever the answer was, if Dean even knew. And he likely didn't, and if so, wouldn't say on point of principle. Through and through, he thought he had to protect Sam from worrying, although both of them knew it had been a moot effort for about ten years, six of which had been spent with a third party that both were anxious to see tonight, assuming he would show.

Balthazar had sent invitations through all available channels, so that not a single soul could miss the festivities, ensuring that any living archangels would have gotten word in some way, shape or form that this event was happening, and that they would be considered guests of honor if they came. Balthazar had insisted that this part was to draw them in, as all of them were vain pageant queens who expected a royal welcome if they were to dare show their face at a social event. It was believable, considering the Winchesters experiences with each of the angels. In fact, that behavior hardly seemed exclusive to the archangels, but neither brother chose to mention that lest they get the hedonist all riled up.

Presently, the angel drew away from the curtains, straightening up and gripping the lapels of his leather jacket with barely concealed anxiety as he faced the younger of the two human sibling, nerves fading into waves of disdain as he gave Sam a displeased onceover. "You have the audacity to call that store bought garbage a costume?" He simpered.

The hunter didn't even bother looking down, merely tightening his lips and sighing. "I'm not made of money, or grace. I can't just snap up an exact Hollywood replica for myself in the blink of an eye." Why the event even needed costumes, he didn't 100% understand, but that was a battle that he had lost against Dean, who had downright insisted that they embrace the spirit of Halloween if they were going to be stuck attending some 'snobby angel suckfest,' as he'd so eloquently put it. Balthazar had conceded on the agreement that they kept things tasteful, since it was in season, hard as it was to believe.

It had been almost four months since Cas had up and vanished from seemingly the face of the earth itself. Sam was beginning to become convinced that the angel had found some other universe to escape to, since he sure as hell didn't seem to be residing anywhere in this one, although, Balthazar had not been able to peruse the globe as of late thanks to the ongoing Azrael crisis. If nothing else came out of this party, Sam secretly hoped that perhaps they could smite this angel of death so that they could buy more time for Cas. There didn't seem to be any doubt that she would show up, hence the extra rings of holy oil that had been rigged all over the premises. All that would be left for them to do was torch her, assuming, again, that all went to plan.

There was a lot riding on this strategy, hence the concern Sam had regarding his space cadet brother, who had been staring aimlessly out at the pool for about twenty minutes, blinking slowly with what appeared to be stars in his eyes. Dean did not have his head in the game tonight, and if there was any time he ever needed to, it was now, but Sam had had no luck thus far trying to pry his brother away from his daze, and now, with only thirty minutes until the party formally started, it seemed unlikely that his older sibling was going to suddenly reawaken from his vegetative state and be prepared to face an angel of death and possibly three archangels.

Dean was dreading the event. He had decided earlier that he would've rather taken on Azrael and not three, but all four of the archangels, Lucifer included, than come face to face with Cas tonight. He didn't know what to say. What there even was to say. Sorry didn't come close to cutting it. It wasn't even in the same hemisphere, and Dean couldn't come up with much else without sacrificing a crucial part of his persona.

Cas…deserved his genuine feelings, didn't he? Even if they hurt? It would be much more unfair for Dean to give in to those dazzling blue eyes and fake his feelings just so the angel wouldn't suffer. Unfortunately, all Dean could think about was doing that, even though he knew the end result would be heartless and it would absolutely destroy Cas. It would be miles worse than whatever happened tonight, but then, Dean reasoned, he might at least have a little while longer with his best friend before the guy up and disappeared for good. It was cold logic, dishonest to Cas, who deserved better, but Dean was unable to shake wanting him back with them, like old times. He knew it would be a mistake to do it. He knew it, from very depths of his soul. But it didn't keep him from thinking about it.

After all, it wouldn't have been hard, to pretend to love Cas. In fact, maybe it might have been all too easy. The angel was endearing, whether he knew it or not, and his looks sure as hell didn't hurt, not that Dean ever, you know, paid attention to those or anything. He hadn't even ever really noticed just how pretty Cas was until some mundane day doing research in the bunker, when he was up to knees in books looking for information about the Mark of Cain, searching for something, anything, that might be helpful in removing the damned thing from his arm.

He had been at it for hours, and had come up with nothing, much to his extreme frustration, when he'd decided to take a short break. It had been then that he'd looked up amidst all of his agitation and slowly building demonic rage, and noticed Cas peering at him with concern over top the book in his hands. When their eyes met, the angel immediately averted his, as though he'd been caught doing something scandalous, and Dean felt his anger dissipate in the course of a few seconds. His memory wasn't up to recalling what his beef had been earlier, but he remembered yelling at Cas that morning for something trivial. It hadn't even been fair though, whatever he'd been off about, and he'd known that.

So within a split second, he'd swiped most of the books obscuring the center of the table to the side and reached out to pluck the black bound text from Castiel's hands when his friend abruptly set it aside with the others and had began a hesitant, "Dean." But he didn't get to finish before the hunter had grabbed his hand in Dean's own and merely held it there, lingering as he took in Cas's appearance.

Grace or no grace, Cas was hands down one of the most beautiful people he'd ever seen. Not Jimmy Novak either, but Cas, with his crooked tie and wrinkled coat and eyes that took the blue right out of the sky. In that particular moment, actually, Dean thought Cas was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen without question, cocking his head to the side and repeating his name as a inquiry. "Dean?"

The memory left him aching inside. What he would do to hear Cas say his name again was shameful. And for the chance to see him again, he would've probably killed several people. But Dean wasn't the type to settle, not when it came to family. He wanted Cas back, selfishly. He couldn't imagine a scenario where the angel didn't come home to them, where they had to continue on doing their jobs, all while knowing that he was happier somewhere else, all because of Dean. The concept had his heart in a chokehold.

"Dean?"

It was only Sam. When Dean finally managed to painfully tear his eyes away from the peaceful, lulling sight of Balthazar's pool, he came face to face with his brother in what may have been the best Thor cosplay he'd ever laid eyes on. "Dude," he breathed, temporarily forgetting the nightmarish Cas situation, "That...is amazing. Don't tell me you have the real Mjolnir too?"

"The real what?"

"Ugh, the hammer, Sam. Thor's hammer. You know, no one can wield it but him? Puts the lightning smackdown on the bad guys?" Sam continued to look confused, much to his brother's dismay. Sometimes Dean forgot about just how little geek culture Sam actually knew until he missed a crucial reference. Whereas Dean had seen every movie out there, and even read a few of novels, his brother preferred fact to fiction, always had. Cas, fittingly, had been a combination of both. His pop culture references were blatantly out of context, and humorous solely for their misadventures, but he was also a walking dictionary of human history and a talking encyclopedia on various biologies.

He really had been a mix of their worlds, in every sense of the word.

"Actually, I do happen to be in possession of Mjolnir," a proper voice announced, Balthazar appearing beside both boys with a snap of his fingers. He was subtly dressed, costumed as the Ninth Doctor from British sci-fi show Doctor Who, which Dean had only recognized from seeing bits and pieces of the first season a few years ago when Cas had watched it.

"However," the angel continued, turning away from them to push open the French doors and step gracefully out on to the deck, "All wares are to be kept in their cases for their safety. I won't have any wandering eyes stealing my most lucrative treasures. Not when I worked so hard to keep them hidden."

Dean glanced down at his watch to check the time. They were about two minutes away from the official party opening time listed on Balthazar's overly fancy invitations. He had to swallow a lump that suddenly formed in his throat at the thought before beginning to mull over again what he might say to Cas.

'Hey. Buddy. Listen, can we talk a second? I know you're pissed at me, and hey, you have the right to be, I was a dick, but listen, I can explain. I panicked during our last conversation and said a bunch of things I didn't mean. It's all on me. I apologize. I do care about you. I care a hell of a lot about you. I-I mean, still not like that but--'

No, no. That was wrong.

'Cas. Can we...talk? I just wanted to apologize for what I said at the Bunker. I didn't mean it, not caring about you. Of course I care about you. You're family. And because of that, I'd like you to come home and—‘

That wouldn't work either.

'Listen up, feathers, you're like a brother to me so--'

'Hey, I realize I fucked things up between us, and you probably want nothing to do with me, but could you please come back so we can--'

'You're my best friend and I don't want to lose you. Please forgive me. I understand if you don't want--'

'I love you, Cas.'

...

Dean about choked on the air he was breathing. Where did that come from? What section of his mind did--? Well. Maybe if he intended to lie so that Cas would consider coming back, that thought would have made sense, but he'd all since abandoned the notion since Balthazar had wandered off to the front entrance to start welcoming all of 'tolerable heaven,' whoever the fuck that was.

He had to man up and face the music, no matter how painful it was going to be. It wouldn't be the first time he'd suffered. He could get through it, and so would Sam, even though the puppy eyes his brother kept shooting him when he thought Dean wasn't looking begged to differ. He couldn't lie to Cas. He couldn't, not like that, even if it almost certainly meant the end for their friendship.

His chest tightened at the idea, but the hunter simply attempted to shrug it off as he turned towards Sam to find that his brother had gone off and left him there in favor of guarding the weapons. His eyes traveled then over to the entrance, where a swarm of vessel-clad angels were gathered, each being slowly greeted and then allowed in. Dean spotted a few familiar faces, some of which he'd personally seen the life fade from, but most of them made him sick to his stomach.

Anna, who had attempted to murder his family after she'd gone off the rails following her imprisonment in heaven, had waltzed in the entrance dressed as the Black Widow, which fit her long red hair and pallid complexion. But unlike the Scarlet Johansson version, Dean felt no attraction towards her. Probably had something to do with her mental breakdown that nearly resulted in Sam's death.

Samandriel, who had deserved far better than being in the worst possible job at the worst possible time with the worst possible circumstances occurring around him, had also somehow escaped whatever hell angels were dropped into, and was costumed as Quicksilver.

Hannah, who hadn't died, but had flipped back and forth on Castiel after being his top ranking commander in the angel army he'd accidentally raised against Metatron, had also elected to show her face at the party, dressed from head to toe as...herself? Someone must have missed the memo. Dean had never cared much for her. There was something about the way she looked at Cas that had him hot and bothered from the moment he'd met the chick, and that was before she and the rest of heaven's forsaken flock had declared him a pariah and jumped ship to pledge themselves to Metatron.

Inias and Hester, former members of Balthazar, Cas, and Anna's garrison had arrived as well, thankfully without Dean's least favorite angel from their squad, Uriel. Dean didn't immediately recognize their outfits, which probably meant that he was more out of touch with modern pop culture than he'd previously thought, but then, perhaps their costumes were conveniently just as obscure as his experiences with the two angels themselves.

But despite all of the wings that had touched down on Balthazar's property, none of them were the ones he wanted to see. Whoever Cas was with, there was no guarantee they were an angel, or that they were even genuinely protecting him. He could've been captured and in the process of being tortured right now for all he and Sam knew. With no clues, no hints, no sightings, the boys were running on an empty tank of information. Sam’s entire theory about archangels could have been unrelated to Cas entirely, assuming there was any foundation to it at all. Who was to say Cas would show up to this damn thing, even so? He certainly couldn't fly here. Not with his wings as they were.

It was beginning to dawn on Dean that he should've said something months ago about Cas's humanity. Done something. He wasn't sure what he could've accomplished that would have actually helped, but he could have at least sat down beside the angel on that night he saw just how tattered Cas's grace was, and threw an arm over his shoulders to pull him closer, so that he would know he wasn't alone. Did Cas feel alone? Then? Now? Always?

The hunter had been second guessing everything as of late. Every choice he'd made since the apocalypse began was starting to seem like a mistake in hindsight. Something just felt inherently wrong inside of him ever since Cas had left. It was almost like there was a part of him literally missing, as though there was a gaping hole just sitting in his chest following Castiel's abrupt departure from his life. And it hurt. Every time he blinked, every time he breathed, the hole seemed to expand. It was swallowing him, slowly, breath by breath.

He didn’t get to dwell on it, however, as he was brusquely interrupted by a familiar voice. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Deano Winchester in the flesh. I never pegged you for much of a Star-Lord. Not handsome enough, but hey, at least you have the daddy issues down pat.”

The hunter whirled around to see who had demanded his attention, but it was only to confirm what he already suspected was the source. And believe it or not, the famous archangel indeed stood before him in defiance of not one, not two, but three faked deaths, dressed head to toe in an expectedly impressive Loki get-up, complete with the Tesseract staff from the first Avengers film. Gabriel looked slightly different, physically, than when the brothers had left him at Hotel Hell to allegedly perish by Lucifer's cruel hand, but he certainly didn't look dead, which Dean had presumed he was up until that moment.

Dean couldn't find the words he needed to respond. The past Trickster, however, took this as a cue to continue, dark honey eyes glinting as he aggressively strode up to meet the hunter's bewildered gaze, "What's wrong? Pig in a poke got your tongue? Or is it something else that's got your panties in a twist? Funny. I was under the impression that this was an Angels-only invite. Was I wrong?"

"We're...Sam and I are looking for Cas." They weren't the most confidently uttered words that had ever left his mouth, but at least Dean was finally able to form a sentence. And lo, it was a sentence that didn't disappoint, as a peculiar reaction passed over Gabriel's face for a mere split second before dissipating into a hard mask, leaving Dean both intrigued and mystified. "I don't suppose you've seen him?" the hunter added, raising his eyebrows slightly.

The archangel hesitated to reply, which was unusual for him, since the guy was normally quite the chatty Kathy. "Nope. ‘Fraid not. I guess you must have really ruffled his feathers this time, huh?" He didn't meet Dean's eyes as he spoke, instead staring right past him with daggers in his gaze.

He was lying like a dog. "Yeah. Not that it's any of your business, but I said some stuff I didn't mean to him, and now he's seemingly disappeared off the Earth, so I can't even apologize for any of it." Gabriel was never a particularly forthcoming angel. Hell, they'd thought he was the Trickster for years before he even owned up to his true identity. So, Dean reasoned that the only chance he had of possibly forcing a word out of him, without surrounding the archangel in a ring of fire, would be seeming as sympathetic as possible. Gabe knew something about Cas. He could tell.

"…Dean.” The angel took a hulking deep breath and a slow, narrowed glance around the room before settling his gaze against the hunter’s green eyes. “Tell me, has it ever occurred to you and Samoose that Cas might be better off without you? Think about it. Wait, actually don't. You might hurt yourself."

"Hilarious," Dean replied in a deadpan, starting to lose his patience. His fingers twitched slightly, edging towards the angel blade tucked away in the pocket of his long coat. “I could care less what your opinion is, but I think you already know that from our past chats. See, all I care about is finding Cas, and it sounds like you must know something to be this personally invested in the conversation, so you may want to consider sharing whatever you have with the class before I light your wings up like a goddamn Christmas tree.”

"I would love to see you try. Really, Dean. Try me." The archangel shot back, taking yet another step forward. He was smaller than Dean in his vessel, but the hunter wasn't dim enough to think that meant he could take him. Truthfully, even if he trapped Gabriel in a circle of holy fire, he knew he didn't have a chance at killing him. If there was anyone who was good at faking Death, it was the Trickster, and aside from that, Dean really had no interest in icing the guy anyway. He simply wanted to extract any and all information concerning Cas, assuming the angel had any.

This all may have very well been just a game for the Trickster. It would be odd, after all, for the archangel to know much of anything concerning his younger sibling, seeing as Cas didn’t speak to very many of his siblings, and Gabriel had flaked out of heaven when Cas was still in metaphorical puberty. The two knew one another by name, but Dean had never gotten the impression that Cas was friendly enough with the Trickster to consider associating with the guy. Then again, maybe desperate times called for desperate measures. But how desperate would Cas had to have gotten to gossip with his doubly deadbeat older sibling?

Dean didn’t get the opportunity to pull out his lighter before a spark of flame had descended and laced itself in a circle around the archangel, whose expression immediately shifted to irate irritation at the act. He broke eye contact, expecting to find Sam in the vicinity, or Balthazar, since the trap had been lit, but instead, the only near standing figure was Hannah, face a mask of unfamiliar amusement. Before he had the chance to question what the hell was going on, the angel began to laugh, catching the notice of both Gabriel and the hunter.

“This is rich!” she giggled between her hands, uncharacteristically gleeful for her usually serious nature. Dean slowly inched his hand inside the lining of his jacket, slipping it around the handle of the angel blade he’d stashed in there earlier in case of emergency as he took a step back from the ring of fire, watching her carefully. Gabriel, if it was possible, looked mildly concerned, if not about her mental state, than something else entirely.

“Azrael,” he spoke dryly, lacking his trademark cheer. Hannah’s laughter faded out at the interruption, amusement warping into wry grin. “Thought I’d seen the last of you on my escort to commercial hell.”

“I would be lying if I wasn’t surprised as well, Gabriel, but I must admit, I find this to be ironic, seeing your face again when I am under strict orders to murder most of your most beloved friends.”

Hannah, or, Azrael, apparently, strode around the perimeter of the circle, closing in some of the distance between herself and the archangel, lips upturned in a smug grin. “Are you to tell me that I didn’t make the hitlist? Well damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder next year.” The offhanded, distractive humor Gabe typically offered when placed in unfortunate circumstanced had appeared alongside a flat tone and unimpressed posture. “On the bright side, at least I respect myself enough to be my own boss. What are you doing here, Azrael?”

“Spring cleaning. Urging some of my fellow brothers and sisters in early retirement. It’s an easy go. I don’t like to make it painful. But I’m afraid I can’t have you meddling in matters with your disgusting, bleeding heart, so you’ll have to sit in time out for a few minutes while I get the place all neat and tidy. And then we can sit down and have a chat. Sound good?”

“Yeah, sure, except, uh, you’re missing the part where I tell you to fuck off, Dean dumps some water on this Johnny Cash classic and I smite your ass.”

For a few minutes, Dean had briefly forgotten how much the Trickster vaguely reminded him of himself. But it didn’t take more than that sentence for him to lunge towards the pool, intending to create as big a splash as possible in the effort of breaking the holy fire circle. Unfortunately, he was intercepted by the force of Azrael’s hand wrapping tightly around his wrist and throwing him aside, a sickening crack echoing in his ears as he was thrust against the pavement. His head rang for only a few moments before he was able to register the sensation of something sharp and cold pressing roughly against the flesh of his stomach. The angel blade. Shit.

“Dean!” He heard Sam yelling for him, but with all of the ringing going on in his head, and his vision being obscured by an oncoming concussion that seemed to blot out his whole world, piece by piece, in shades of inky black, he was unable to determine where the voice was coming from. “No! Don’t!”

“Dean Winchester,” Azrael spoke softly in his ear, soft breath tickling his skin, “The man fool enough to take on anyway but himself. You weren’t part of my assignment, but I suppose death is as good a repayment as any for the debts you owe to heaven. Besides…you might be more receptive this way. Hell has a way of wearing a person down to saying, doing things they would under no other circumstances. We did this wrong the first time. Perhaps the only way for you to truly say yes is if you feel you have no other choice.”

“Say….yes?” Dean struggled to speak, to even find his lips, especially with the insistency with which the blade was jabbing into him. Another miniscule amount of pressure and he would be in the process of being skewered from the angel occupying Hannah’s vessel, so he had to be gentle about his volume. “Not happening, sunshine. I don’t even know what you’re talking about, but I would rather die than be someone’s prom dress. You can go to hell, and so can the rest of you winged asshats.”

“That’s a shame, Dean. I think you’ll change your mind though.”

In a way, he supposed he knew what was going to happen next. The smooth, slick entrance of the blade being rammed into his chest, the anguished scream from his younger brother, who sounded a million miles away in that moment, and the panicked utterance of his name by the archangel in the circle of holy fire. He knew it was coming. He’d practically asked for it. Deserved it.

And it was crazy, that this was how he was going to go out. It had been so fast…so seemingly random. It was unnecessary. It really was his fault, all of this. If he had been honest with himself, with Cas, instead of practically throwing on his father’s suit of homophobia and yelling at the angel, maybe he wouldn’t have been here. Maybe he would have been back at the Bunker carving pumpkins with Sam, while Cas struggled to pick a horror flick for them to watch. Maybe he would have been snuggled up next to the ex-angel, arm tossed lazily around his shoulders as the two drifted off to sleep in the early morning hours, while Sam continued to ignore the movie in favor of reading some lame classic novel. The idea didn’t bother him, he realized, feeling the blood beginning to pool around him. His body had begun reacting to the wound, but oddly, the hunter couldn’t feel the pain.

Instead, he was concentrating any and all available energy he had left on a message. His last message. His last prayer, to an angel he knew wasn’t listening anymore, and hadn’t been for a while.

‘Hey, Cas. Probably thought I forgot about you, huh? I know it’s been a while since we’ve done this. But unfortunately, you haven’t exactly been answering your phone, so, uh, desperate times, you know? Um…’ Dean struggled to draw in a breath, gasping for air in real time as he grasped at words he knew would be damn near impossible to say. Words that needed…that needed to be said. ‘You’re by the far, the best fucking thing that has ever happened to me, and I’m so, so sorry that I messed stuff up between us by being a selfish dick. I really wish…that you were here right now. That I could just see you one more time before I take a dirtnap. But it’s my own fault that things are like this, so I can’t even be mad about it. I wish I had been better to you. You deserved that. No. No. You deserved the best. You still do, and wherever you are, I hope you find it.

‘I wish I could have been that for you. I really, really do. But Cas, honestly, I’m just a fuck-up, and whatever you saw in me all those years…God, I don’t even know what it was. You deserve better than a mess like me, and why you ever bothered to settle for that is just…bizarre. I mean, you what, stood by and suffered for years, saying nothing, because why? You loved me? Why? I’ve been nothing but awful to you. Cas, I’m so sorry. I’m so…so…’ The words were beginning to fade away, along with his consciousness but Dean vigorously tried to hold on to as many as he could, struggling to form them into coherent sentences. ‘Look, since I’m not gonna see you again, I guess I should just man up and say it. I love you too, Cas, and I’m sorry for not saying it sooner. It’s…I’m…I’m sorry…I just…Cas…’

The blackness had engulfed his world now. Nothing but darkness for miles around him. But he could still pick up a few sounds. Vague feelings against his skin, his fingertips. Azrael’s breath leaving his ear, and the odd coldness that brushed over his face in a way he could only describe as ethereal. Gabriel’s voice. Sam’s voice. Balthazar’s. All of them were suddenly there, unclear and muffled as they spoke. All except for one.

“Dean.”

Chapter Text

“Dammit! You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

Sam had been expecting something else from the Trickster. Horror, maybe. Fear. He was, after all, imprisoned in a ring of holy fire, with his life being threatened by the infamous angel of death, all whilst Dean bled out on the ground in a quick but painful demise. And he couldn’t do anything about it, nor could Sam, considering Azrael threw him backwards as soon as he got within reasonable distance to the three. His spine had positively shook as he had been flung against the hard, bone-rattling surface of what must have been either the house or the pool supply closet. At the sound of Gabriel’s words, however, he had managed to lift his head, attempting to focus his vision on the scene, but out of all the things he had been expecting, it wasn’t the sight of Azrael attempting to turn only to get what was presumably an angel blade lodged in her back by a person Sam thought he’d never again see.

It took the hunter a few seconds to convince himself that he wasn’t hallucinating, but even then, considering his past history with visions, and the fact that he had sustained a head injury, he wasn’t entirely sure whether to believe the image in front of him. But everything seemed real, from the over exaggerated, exasperated sigh of the Trickster to the clean swipe of a long black coat’s edges against the air as the light began to blow out of Azrael’s eyes, an anguished scream ringing out across the open deck.

Perhaps if he heard someone else say the name, it would have eased some small amount of the anxiety beginning to rot away his stomach. Fortunately, Balthazar, who had been busy up to this point doing God knows what (if he himself even knew) did just that. With anything but urgency, he strode right past Sam from seemingly nowhere and knelt down beside the older Winchester, multitasking as he laid two fingers against the older Winchester’s forehead to lull him out of his injuries. But Sam’s eyes remained transfixed on the sight of Azrael’s corpse, Hannah’s old vessel, being released to the ground with a light thump by a figure that Sam still didn’t believe had actually come.

“Castiel,” Balthazar spoke evenly, earning a blue-eyed glance from the angel in the trenchcoat. Cas, however, neither replied nor held his gaze as he held out a hand and gently made a lowering motion to extinguish the fire surrounding Gabriel.

The archangel, conversely, was quite chatty as he groaned and stepped away from the scorched pavement, stretching both his limbs and what Sam could only assume to be his wings, though he couldn’t see them, as he talked. As the younger Winchester’s vision cleared up slightly, along with the aching muscles that had been assaulted by the wall, he was able to identify the Trickster leaning down to gaze at Azrael’s lifeless form, tutting in a deadpan, “Ironic, the angel of death dying. To tell you the truth though, she was overrated. Wasn’t worth her weight in pennies.”

Sam had mustered up the strength to attempt to stand during Gabriel’s poetic monologue, but ended up back on the ground almost immediately as he found his legs unable to support him. Thus, with a hiss of pain, he could only look on in worry as the three angels stood around his brother, seemingly unconcerned by the blood pooling around his body. Had Balthazar’s healing worked? He had to see it for himself, just to confirm, because Dean sure as hell didn’t look like he was moving from where he sat. Sam reached out with his hands, attempting to gain enough traction against the pavement to perhaps pull himself over. “Balthazar!” he called, keeping the irritation out of his voice in exchange for a healthy dose of concern. “Some help?”

However, the blonde, tall hedonist merely glanced behind for a second before Sam felt a hand being placed on his shoulder. He instantaneously flinched, spinning to see the face of a young, pretty Asian woman beside him. “You must be Sam Winchester,” she chirped cheerfully. With a smile, she looped her arm through his and pulled him to his feet with what looked like very little effort on her part. “I would say it’s a pleasure, but Cas isn’t too happy with you two.”

“I…I know. Who are you?” Sam was restraining the urge to wince as he spoke, leaning heavily on the shoulder of the young woman for support.

She was small enough to collapse underneath the full force of his weight, but somehow remained firm as a rock as she held him up, expression shifting from polite kindness to confused displeasure at his question. A second later, she seemed to abandon all sense of presence, abruptly dropping Sam back to the ground with a thud and wince, turning to observe the three angels standing around Dean before quickly turning back around and apologizing, “Oops! S-Sorry. I’m not very good at this whole bedside manner thing. I think that’s what it’s called. But, to be fair, maybe you kind of deserve it. Oh, and, uh, my name is Ambriel.”

Rude, Sam thought to himself, brain attempting to reel in the painful sensation ringing up his spine from being tossed on the ground again. “I-I think I broke my foot. Or twisted my ankle or something. Can…can you please just tell me if Dean is okay? I-I need to know.”

“Probably,” Ambriel answered, once more turning her attention towards the circle of angels gathered around Dean’s seemingly lifeless form. “Gabriel!” she called, garnering the attention of the golden-haired archangel—whom Sam was admittedly happier to see alive than he likely should have been—who then strode towards them, taking care to avoid the puddle of blood on the ground. “Is Dean Winchester alive?” she inquired curiously.

The oncoming urge to vomit under the circumstances was beginning to well up in Sam’s stomach. One minute, he had been examining the hammer Dean had been discussing earlier, Mjolnir, as it was currently displayed in one of Balthazar’s enchanted cases, then the next thing he knew, he’d heard Gabriel’s voice outside, the name Azrael, and Dean was laid out on the pavement like a sacrificial lamb. He didn’t know for sure if it would have made a difference, him being out there, but at the bare minimum, Sam was severely regretting this plan with every fiber of his body.

“Ruefully, yes,” the Trickster replied. “You can wipe that agonized look off your face, Samoose. Your brother is fine. Although, if it were up to me, I would’ve let him suffer just a bit more.”

The relief that Gabriel was alive was gone in that instant, and replaced with a kind of anger that Sam knew he couldn’t act on, which was even more frustrating than the archangel’s comment by itself. However, before he could say something that would result in his ass being kicked, a familiar voice spoke up, interrupting any chance of a verbal confrontation. “Gabriel, stop.”

It had only been four months, but it felt like an eternity had passed since Sam had heard the sound of Castiel’s voice. It hadn’t changed. But Cas had, closing the necessary distance to take his place beside his older sibling. His presence radiated that of the divine, and Sam had to wonder momentarily whether or not he’d somehow regained his full powers again, after going years without them. He certainly seemed to exude that aura of immeasurable celestial energy, measuring a universe of blue against Sam’s aqua when finally meeting the hunter’s starstruck gaze. “Sam,” he spoke softly, keeping his tone neutral.

“Hey, Cas.” Even under the tense circumstances, the hunter was unable to fight the small smile he got when answering the angel. It wasn’t his place to say it, but he’d missed Cas. They both had, obviously, but with Dean blatantly denying his feelings from the rooftop, Sam felt that he was the only one who was at a place where he could be honest about his emotions concerning their friend. And honesty be damned, Dean was fucking lucky to have someone like Cas love him. Sam had lost the person he’d loved most to this life, and Dean essentially throwing away this chance to be happy with Cas was infuriating, if not downright maddening. “…I’m glad that you’re okay. We were really worried about you.”

“Yeah, sure seems like it,” Gabriel piped up, his voice taking on that sarcastic tone he used often as the Trickster. “Especially Dean. He must have been very broken up the past few months, since he doesn’t ca--” The rest of his sentence was buried by a very heavy sigh from his younger sibling.

“Gabriel, enough. I can handle this myself. Go occupy your time elsewhere. Ambriel, please escort Dean Winchester inside. He will need rest to recover properly from his wounds.”

“Cas—“ Sam started, hesitant to be shuffled into the care of some other angel, lest he never see Cas again, but the angel cut him off almost immediately.

“Sam and I will speak in the study, if that is alright. Balthazar?”

“I…suppose.”

“Good.”

Balthazar seemed just as alarmed by the turn of events as Sam did, which would’ve been relieving if the world wasn’t spinning just a moment later, as the familiar sensation of being teleported washed over him. It was akin to being on a rollercoaster traveling at unearthly speeds before flying off the rails and through a portal of physical turmoil. It took a few minutes for his stomach to settle back into a state of mild unease, unwrapping his organs from around one another and letting them drift back into their intended alignment.

As he waited, he took in the sight of the grandiose, well-lit room that Cas had zapped him into. It was covered wall-to-wall with high bookcases containing what looked to be texts both ancient and modern, and what perimeter space wasn’t obstructed by those was occupied by tapestries of famous Renaissance art. The chair he’d been unceremoniously dropped into matched the wood interior of the wall, and the large rug spanning most of the hardwood floor space complemented the colors of the tapestries well. It was stunningly gorgeous, and yet so Balthazar, Sam could’ve almost laughed, were it not for the fact that he felt like he was about to upchuck his lunch.

“You seriously couldn’t have dropped us a line at some point…?” He managed to mumble, struggling to raise his heavy head to meet the sight of the angel, who he knew was standing in the middle of the room, watching him with a wary gaze. “Honestly, Cas…? I understand you being mad at Dean, but you couldn’t at least tell me that you were okay? A quick text to let me know you have money, and food, and that you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere? Anything?”

“I needed time,” Cas responded neutrally. He sounded as nondescript as when Sam had first met him, which had been what seemed like an eternity ago, before the three of them had grown close through the battles of heaven, hell and Earth. It was disconcerting to hear the change, like a slip of the hand on piano, and the degradation from major song to minor discord in a split second. “Also…there was no reason for you to fear for my safety. Both of you seem to have forgotten this, but I’m not incompetent, particularly when it comes to protecting myself.”

“So? We still worried like hell about you.” Sam had to struggle to come up with the words he intended to say, unable to completely sort through his mental thesauruses with the nausea he was experiencing from the sudden celestial jump. “Listen. Cas. I get it, alright? You’re totally pissed, and I can get behind why, but…Dean doesn’t…he’s not good at this kind of thing. And he has his reasons as to why, nevermind how shitty they are, so could you just be patient with him? We care about you. I’ve been working my ass off for the past four months to try and find you so he can apologize.”

“Apologize?” While Sam’s head was beginning to clear up minutely, he wasn’t yet able to identify if the sound Cas had just made was a snort or a scoff. “Sam, I don’t want an apology, particularly a dishonest one, and I especially don’t want an apology from Dean. I did this to myself. I deserve it, for falling in love with a human, and Dean Winchester, no less. It was careless on my part, to ever care that much about the two of you. It was my mistake.”

“What? No. Cas, stop. That’s not true. Dean’s just stunted. I know he loves you. Hell, we both love you, just…he’s not used to…”

“I don’t even have a gender, Sam,” Cas’s voice abruptly lost its neutrality in the span of two seconds, taking on an aggressive quality. “Angels don’t have an assigned sex. I, however, made the error of choosing a male vessel when it came to my required descent to Earth, then followed that up with the conscious decision to spend every day for the next six years falling more and more in love with a human who could never and will never love me back. I neglected my duties to heaven, to my family, and to all those who’d I’d spent the past eternity with, because I loved you both.

“And it was a waste, to love two Winchesters. I saw how everyone around you suffered. How they were either forced to or volunteered to atone for your sins. And then I became like them. One of your casualties. I thought…I was doing it for the greater good, but I wasn’t. I was doing it for you and Dean, and for what? You two have treated me like an invalid ever since I fell from grace, and when I couldn’t meet your expectations, I became a black sheep. And maybe you didn’t realize it, Sam, because unlike your brother, I do believe you have feelings, but it’s true. I haven’t felt like I’ve had a home for a long time.”

Sam was stunned, both in the physical sense as well as mental. With the consistent dizziness in his brain having faded to a resounding, dull thump, he finally lifted his head only to find that the angel wasn’t directly looking at him, but instead, right past him with appeared to be glassy blue eyes. “Cas…” he said quietly, wishing that he could get up and hug him, or offer some physical gesture of reassurance other than sitting in this fancy chair with his persisting injuries. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I haven’t ever thought of it that way. I thought we were helping.”

“Of course you did,” Cas answered, dropping his gaze to the ground. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Sam had done a remarkable job of filing away the mountains of guilt he’d amassed over the years, but at that particular moment, he found himself being bombarded with an avalanche he’d never seen coming. Wordlessly, he pushed himself off the chair, distributing his weight to the less damaged of his two legs, and hobbled towards the angel, nearly stumbling before placing a hand on Cas’s shoulder to steady himself. His friend stiffened underneath the touch, but didn’t have the opportunity to protest before Sam was again speaking.

“Please don’t leave again. We’ll…we’re going to do better this time. I didn’t know, and I…I-I’m sorry, Cas. If I knew that that was how we were making you feel, I would’ve stopped immediately, because I know what that’s like, to be the outcast, always feeling like you’re in the wrong place with the wrong folks all the time. I never wanted this life for myself, and I didn’t think about that when you became human, so I’m sorry. But Cas…don’t go. Dean is a mess without you. Please.”

He was more than surprised to see the small smile grace the angel’s features, although the response that followed negated any chance of its meaning being happy, “You’re taking up for him again, huh? It’s…probably easier when he actually cares about you.”

“He loves you.”

The smile dissolved, as the angel raised his head to meet Sam’s frustrated and concerned gaze. “He thinks that I make a convenient sacrifice.”

“Cas, how the hell can you say that?” He could grant Castiel plenty of credit for the way they had treated him, and Sam could even deal with Cas believing such a thing to be capable of he himself, considering his past screw-ups, along with being a natural hotbed for evil, but for him to say it about Dean, who deep-down surely loved Cas with all of his tattered, iron-gated heart…well. Sam couldn’t handle that.

“You weren’t there.”

It was a softspoken reminder, true and cold. Sometimes Dean did fudge the truth a little, whenever he thought he’d get in hot water for the sworn in version, but Sam didn’t doubt that his brother was telling the truth when he’d spoken of his last conversation with the angel. As for the intricacies of the event though, he was left clueless as to how it had actually felt, in the moment, to have been icily looked upon and dismissed of his value to what he’d thought was his family. No, Sam hadn’t been there. But no matter what had happened, no matter the details, Dean wasn’t a sociopath, and he did love Cas, at least as a family member if nothing else. That had to count for something right?

…Did it?

“So what, you’ve been travelling around with the Trickster these past few months?” Sam asked weakly, beginning to regret having stood up. Between the conversation and the returning sensation of an oncoming concussion, he was inclined to think that remaining seated would have perhaps been a better move.

“And Ambriel, yes. Gabriel has been very kind to me. Something about making up for lost time. We have been familiarizing Ambriel with humanity, in addition to hunting, since she’s spent her entire existence up in heaven up until now. It’s a happy life. I’m happy, with them.”

Sam hadn’t been expecting that to hurt as much as it did, but lo and behold, his heart felt like it had just been serrated with a knife at Cas’s words. That meant that Cas hadn’t been happy with them, right? As if his speech from earlier didn’t spell it out enough. Sam had horribly underestimated how angry the angel was with them. Too much time had passed for Cas to think about things, and now he’d come to a new set of realizations…and apparently a new happy home in the time that had elapsed between leaving the Winchesters and their current confrontation.

“…I-I’m glad.” He felt like he was choking on his own entrails as he spoke. God, why did it hurt so much, that Cas had found something better than them? “R-really. You deserve to be happy.” His chest was inflamed, wisps of smoke being inhaled through his heart as he struggled to breathe in that moment. He didn’t even stand a chance at faking a smile, which was a gesture he’d grown rather accustomed to in all his years of hiding his feelings.

“I guess.” Cas didn’t sound convinced. Sam was regretting everything. The guilt felt like a waterfall crashing down on his head, cascading down his shoulders with the weight of several tons, and he wanted to die, not for the first time as Cas continued, “I’m sure you are familiar with this, but I still feel as though there are many sins to which I must hold myself accountable before I can begin to consider being happy.”

“Right. Yeah. I get that.” Way too much in the present moment, Sam noted mentally.

“So, if that is all, I believe you and Dean can be on your way, yes?”

Sam had to swallow the surrealism from Cas sounding so distant, before responding, “U-um, my legs are sort of…something’s wrong with them. I asked Ambriel to help, but she just dropped me on the ground and apologized. I-I think she might need some more training on healing wounds.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.” Cas chuckled a little this time, sounding genuine as he gently guided Sam back into the chair, the hunter finding himself unable to let go of the angel’s sleeve, even as he started to pull away. “Sam,” he protested, hesitantly withdrawing his arm as he knelt down and laid his hand on the younger Winchester’s leg, preparing to tend to the wounds, but he didn’t get the chance before Sam was speaking again.

“I know it doesn’t mean very much, but I miss you.” The angel opened his mouth to cut him off, but Sam jumped ahead. “Dean doesn’t like history very much. And he barely reads, excluding those stupid porno magazines he gets from the gas station. I miss your retellings of historic battles, and the true lives of famous leaders, and how quickly you can transcribe Enochian, whereas it takes me twice as long and it’s half as accurate, even with the key you gave me. Dammit, Cas, I know it’s not my place, and I shouldn’t be the one saying this, but I miss you. I do. I’m sorry for how we treated you, and I’m not saying we deserve a second chance, but if it’s even something you would consider…come home. You’re not some kind of pariah to us. You’re family.”

Cas didn’t speak. His fingertips grazed the surface of the knees in front of him, grace travelling through the jean material and inwards through the skin to repair the fractures caused by Azrael’s showboating. He didn’t need to linger, hunkered down in front of the hunter, but something held him there, as though by some invisible force, as a few, deafeningly cruel thoughts ran through his head. It would be so easy to be ruined again by the Winchesters, and just as easy to ruin the Winchesters themselves. They were still humans, strong though they may have been, and humans could be broken. Cas almost wanted to break them. One of them. It would be easy to do so, to separate one from the other and ruin both their lives.

“...Cas…?”

The only thing that stopped him was the fact that it would hurt Sam, and he didn’t want that. Not to mention that he’d once referred to these hunters as his family, and that he’d more than once died for them. He’d made a poor investment of his feelings, certainly, but he wasn’t deliberately mean. What Sam had said was nice, provided it was honest, which the younger Winchester generally was. Castiel wasn’t the type to be so vengeful. Not normally. What was this rage? A side effect of being near an archangel?

“Cas?” Sam questioned him as he released his knees, but the angel didn’t meet his gaze as he stood and walked towards the door. The hunter rose as well, wobbly at first before straightening out as he made to follow him. Cas, however, stopped in the doorway, turning to look at him directly one final time. With the harsh thoughts still bouncing around his mind, he was unable to pull any response from his messy brain but one of those from that bin, so he searched and came up with the least heinous.

“I wish that you were the one that I had fallen in love with instead, Sam.”

The hunter hesitated to respond, a myriad of emotions Cas didn’t entirely recognize running across his face before replying, “You don’t mean that.”

The angel didn’t respond, instead turning his back on the room and walking soundlessly away. He didn’t have the heart to tell him that he did mean it. Because if there was one thing Cas couldn’t depend on, it was on Dean to be honest.

Chapter Text

Any sensible angel worth even a ¼ of their grace would have been concerned. An hour Cas had been gone, and the jury was still out as to whether or not he was even coming back. His younger sibling had been shockingly calm and emotionally reserved since the party had begun, and Gabriel had practically thrown his invitation at Balthazar upon entering, but it had taken a turn for the worse when the Winchesters barged into the situation completely unannounced, as was their modus operandi. Things escalated in a very peculiar, rollercoaster-like fashion from that point forward, in a manner that Gabriel couldn’t help but find very concerning no matter the circumstances.

The archangel’s worry showed. Although, with friends as unobservant as Ambriel, it would be safe to say it went unnoticed as he paced the floor of Balthazar’s showroom, pausing occasionally to pull out his phone and check the time, as though it made a difference. These were the end times. Each second more that passed convinced him of it. Cas was going to ditch them for the Winchesters, unless, of course, Gabe was able to talk him out of it, which the Trickster suspected he might have a 50/50 shot at, if Dean didn’t almost die because of he’d let his guard down. Cas could pretend he loathed the guy all he wanted; long-lasting, death-resilient love didn’t just evaporate into thin air over the course of four months. Cas did still care about the hunter. Now, just how much he suppressed that though, Gabriel did not know.

“When is Cas gonna be done? I want him to do karaoke with me.”

Typical Ambriel, treating the events of the night so lightly. Gabriel wished he had even a 1/10th of her relaxed, ignorant nature, if only for the next ten minutes, so his soul could stop physically rattling inside his human vessel, and these damned hands of his would stop shaking. He would take anything not to have to concern himself with this, but it was impossible. How did he measure up to the Winchesters, once they apologized? Probably not well enough. He’d definitely tried his damnedest for Cas, but the question of whether or not it was enough to put him in his younger brother’s favor remained unanswered, and that had been his choice. Though he was reluctant to admit it, he was terrified of the truth.

He’d actually felt things these past few months, a rarity for him. He’d started developing these troublesome attachments shortly before he died, and he’d thought that they had permanently disappeared along with his identity when Lucifer killed him, until Cas had come stumbling into that hotel in Los Angeles in what was obviously a state of heartbreak. And then it had just come over him, this urge to give Cas what he should have thousands upon thousands of years ago, instead of flying the coop like the coward he was. He was going to be the big brother Castiel deserved. And unintentionally, he’d ended up doing so for Ambriel as well, but oddly, he didn’t mind. Up until now, when his so-called heart was on the line, panicking because the damn Winchesters were up to their old tricks again and he didn’t know if Cas was up to fending them off.

He deserved better than their bullshit. He deserved better than being their dog, loyally tying himself to their metaphorical tree for repeated mistreatment and beatings. Much, much better. Gabriel only hoped that he had finally realized that.

“Dunno. What the hell are you going to sing for karaoke? Britney Spears?”

The party had continued after Dean’s tragic slipped and stabbed incident, which was a classic Balthazar move. Nothing could get him to back down from a perfectly good occasion where there were wine, women, and potentially fancy cheeses. Coincidentally, this event included all three, and since heaven’s hellhound had been sent 9 layers down by Castiel, Balthazar said that it would be a shame to waste the amenities. Nevermind that angels couldn’t even waste amenities. Everyone was alright, he’d said, and that’s what matters.

“Maybe. I-I mean. I don’t know.” The angel seemingly backed down a little, sinking into the large, egg-shaped chair next to a case holding the repaired Staff of Moses. Her entire demeanor followed in suit seconds later.

“You want Cas to sing Britney Spears with you.” Gabriel tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice when he spoke. It wasn’t his place to rain all over her parade. Just because he was miserable, drowning in the concern that Cas was going to ditch them to rejoin the Losechesters, didn’t mean she had to suffer as well.

“…” This time, Ambriel hesitated only for a moment, before tapping her chin and responding with a nod and bright smile, “Yes. Do you think he will?”

Her enthusiasm was innocent, and unintentionally brightening. “I could see it,” Gabriel forced himself to reply cheerfully, hoping he sounded convincing enough to pass off as being amicable. He was usually so good at acting, but then, that was when it was only his ass on the line. This was different. This was Cas. He glanced over to see Ambriel’s expression, surprised by her silence, and found himself perplexed by the look of worry that had suddenly fallen over her delicate features. “Ambriel?”

“You don’t…you don’t think he’s going to leave us for the Winchesters again, do you?” The poor thing, if you could call her that, appeared to be on the verge of tears. Gabe would’ve found it astonishing that the thought had only just occurred to her but then, Ambriel hadn’t exactly the keenest intuition out of the angels.

“What? No, of course not. Cas is smarter than that. You worry too much.” Saying the words out loud made them more plausible. “He’s probably just kicking back, tearing the moose a new one. Dad knows they both deserve it. But unfortunately, pretty sure Dean-o’s still in his own personal coma cocoon, right?”

Ambriel had tended to Dean’s care, or at least attempted to after Azrael’s dramatic move to ensure her own death. She lacked the bedside manner for being anything beyond a ditzy, Hollywood idol, not to mention actual experience healing humans, so, without oversight, Gabriel had made the executive decision that perhaps it would do the hunter some good to dwell on his semi-stitched wounds and consistently nagging pain. It was the least he deserved. Really.

If had been up to the Trickster, he would have let him die. For Cas. For breaking the fucking world. Apparently the idiot had also taken up the Mark of Cain as well, shortly after Cas had lost his wings, probably in the name of the greater good or some shit. As if. Greater good? No such thing existed. There were only creatures with their own whims and desires, some of which benefit their species and harm others, some of which benefit themselves and harm others. No one was truly innocent in this world. Except maybe Ambriel, because she’d spent most of her days locked away as the Rapunzel of the accounting department. But the Winchesters, fighting in the name of the greater good? No. They fought for themselves. They always had. And they would continue to, unless the circumstances in this world drastically changed.

“Castiel!” Ambriel chirped, breaking Gabriel out of his negative cloud of thoughts. He spun around at her words, surprised to see Cas, physically unruffled but looking a bit emotionally dead inside, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame for support. “You were gone so looooong! I almost thought you weren’t coming back.”

A momentary flash of confusion, then disappointment came and went across Cas’s face in the course of a few seconds before he responded in a soft but gravelly voice, “My apologies. I didn’t realize you all were waiting up for me.”

“I-I wasn’t waiting up for you…I was just…guarding the weapons. You know, someone has to do that, since Balthazar decided getting laid was more important than safeguarding his possessions from thieves. But, hey, you should go out there. Both of you. Have fun. Ambriel wanted to do karaoke with you. Britney Spears. Your favorite.” Gabe’s words all seemed to smash together in a panic, all too obvious in their subtext. Even the wink he placed at the end was off. Dammit. Ambriel may have been too blind to notice his worry, but Cas was one of the most perceptive angels he knew.

“Did she?” Cas repeated the question, dazed, casting a sideways glance at the giddy young woman grinning at him. “Okay. You should probably go pick us out a song then…right? That’s something that karaoke…requires? I will be out in a moment.” At his words, Ambriel was off, turning the corner faster than either angel had ever seen her move before, leaving only Cas and Gabriel standing alone in the showroom, surrounded by weapons of mass celestial destruction.

If only they were the elephant in the room instead of the unspoken question Gabe couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“How did your chat with Samshine go?” Gabe inquired conversationally, smoothing his voice over to mask the anxiety hiding beneath the surface. He took to staring out the window, deliberately avoiding Cas’s face, although he could see it reflected in the glass, emotions beginning to bubble to the top like those in Balthazar’s pool, about twenty feet away.

“He apologized. For Dean. For both of them, actually.”

No. Gabriel involuntarily felt his heart sink, and his mind immediately shifted into damage control mode. Okay. So what? So what if Cas leaves? It’s just Cas. I’ll be fine. Ambriel will be fine. We’ll be just fine without him. It’s just Cas.

…’Just Cas.’ Even the words themselves caused bile to rise in his throat. He was disgusting, for trying to rationalize this, rather than just accepting it for what it was. He wasn’t going to make Cas’s list. All of this driving around, those motivational speeches, the trip upstairs to get his grace, it was all for nothing. All of this, and he was still going to go back to those overrated, world-wrecking flannel nightmares.

It fucking hurt.

“Gabriel?” Cas’s voice was edged with worry, and Gabe knew at the sound that this conversation was not going to go well. It was not going to be pretty. The moment he opened his mouth, he was going to say things, things he would regret not just immediately after saying them, but forever afterwards, because they were unforgivable mean things, even for him. So, he kept his mouth shut, at the cost of not answering Cas.

He heard the sound of the angel shuffle into the room from the doorway first, then saw it through the glass’s clear reflection. He sighed, before beginning to speak again. “I am inclined to accept the apology, at least, for his own mistakes. Sam’s wrongs have not been intentional, whereas Dean…has lashed out at me for seemingly no reason.”

Despite the tune of the conversation taking an odd turn, Gabe still didn’t dare open his mouth, lest the vulgarities spew out, but instead opted to nod just to indicate that he was in fact listening. “However…I don’t…want to speak to Dean, even if he wishes to apologize, which I imagine that he may considering the ending of our last encounter. I’m not sure that I…can.”

“Why’s that?” They’re the least offensive remark that could’ve slipped out, but the comment was still drenched in mocking cynicism, and even Cas, who generally missed sarcasm completely, gave him a narrow-eyed glance at the sound.

“What’s your problem, exactly, brother?” Cas cocked his head to the side, inserting a bit of aggression in the conversation himself. Things were about to go south very quickly, and with feeling.

“My problem? I don’t have a problem. What’s your problem?” Gabe was well aware that he was doing a poor job of covering up his feelings, but it was a field of experience that he’d not practiced in a while, due to the companionship he’d had recently. He hadn’t felt the need or desire to hide anything from Cas or Ambriel up until now, and he never figured he would need to. It was stupid of him, not to think farther in advance.

He should have known this was just a detour for Cas, that the angel was always going to return home to the Winchesters. This was just a playdate for him, a momentary vacation. He had probably never intended to stay, and it wasn’t like Gabe had ever asked if that was indeed the case. He himself had never expected to care this much about whether or not it was, but now he did, and it was utterly damning, how rapidly sour this situation had gone.

“Your attitude, mainly.”

Bold of him, saying that to an archangel. Most humans, and some angels would’ve been turned into literal mincemeat by that comment, particularly if it had been directed at any other archangel but Gabriel. Lucifer would have exploded the sayer’s guts across the room in a murderous fashion, painting the walls with their blood and hanging their entrails like garlands around the plants. But Gabe, save for erupting in anger, merely responded with a swift turn to meet Cas’s gaze.

“Okay, you wanna know what my problem is, Cassie? Well, as it just so happens, I have two. One is freakishly tall for a human and looks like a moose, and the other metaphorically ripped out your heart and is now laying in what I think is a pretty comfortable coma for however long I see fit. Oh! And I almost forgot the third. It’s you, laying down once again in front of them so that they can step on you and break your wings like the destructive, selfish children that they are.”

There was a moment of silence before Castiel sighed, but as he did so, the Trickster found himself somehow grow more annoyed than before. “Gabriel,” Cas started, but was quickly intercepted by the continuance of his older brother’s rant.

“The fuck do you call this? I don’t want to be the one who has to say this, because you’re apparently too dim to realize it, but you do realize you have just spent the past four months running away from these parasites, right? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad they’re here, so you can tell them to their faces just how done you are with their shit, but this? Really, Castiel?! This--This, ‘Sammywammy apologized and gave me the heart eyes so now I have to suck it up and go home’ routine? I thought you were better than this. Ambriel and I, we deserve better than this. You do too. So again, what the fuck, Cas?”

There were a range of conflicting emotions on the angel’s face when Gabe finally looked towards him, after a few seconds of well-placed panic at the words he’d sworn not to say being released. Cas avoided his brother’s gaze, averting his eyes to the side in favor of mulling over what had just been said. After removing the colorful language and exaggerations typical of the Trickster, Cas was able to break it down to something resembling an actual statement. But what the statement actually meant…well…that, he wasn’t entirely sure.

He couldn’t be entirely sure. Because what it implied, there was no going back from. And Cas would be damned if he thought another group cared this much about him only for them to treat him like garbage. It was odd, really. The harsh tone Gabriel had taken with him transported him seemingly back in time to when Dean used to yell at him. It was passionate, upset shouting, where his voice betrayed his true feelings, just as Gabe’s had just then. Cas had thought Dean had cared. He’d done a good job of faking it, at least. Was Gabe faking it too? He wasn’t really sure he could chance it.

But seeing as he didn’t necessarily have another option lined up, that seemed to be his only choice. “I…I wasn’t going to leave, Gabe.” It escaped his attention that this was the first time he’d ever actually used the shortened version of his brother’s name out loud, but it didn’t escape the archangel, who seemed visibly taken aback by the words. Cas attempted to swallow the heavy lump that had been building in his throat ever since speaking with Sam to no avail.

“…Right. Um. Yeah. Of course you weren’t going to leave. Pfft. As if. I didn’t think you were! I just…I was worried about you being stepped on, is all. You know. You deserve better than being treated like a misbehaving dog by those two muttonheads.”

It seemed like he had actually been correct, strange as it was. Gabe couldn’t fake him out this time, if he was even trying. There was a drastic difference in this archangel than the one he’d stumbled into at that hotel in Los Angeles such a short time ago. That Gabriel had still retained his mask, and the aura of mystery swirling around his words. But now, his older brother seemed completely transparent. Was that on purpose? He wondered.

“You should go check on Ambriel. She’s been waiting a while. Maybe convince her to pick something else other than Britney Spears, for both her sake as well as yours?” Gabe turned back towards the window, choosing to veil his expression through the gesture rather than deal with the consequences of having worn his emotions on his sleeve a few moments ago.

Cas nodded, taking the question as a cue to open one of the two French doors and step outside, but not before quietly replying, “You’re my family. I’m not going anywhere.” Once Cas was out of earshot, Gabriel collapsed into the beanbag chair Ambriel had been occupying earlier, and rubbed at his eyes, struggling not to succumb to the feelings attempting to choke him from the inside. He hadn’t felt like this for a long time. A very, very long time.

Not since…heaven. Not since Lucifer, and the Mark. Not since Michael had drawn his sword and pressed it roughly against his throat, threatening him that if he stood between his two eldest siblings, he would not hesitate to kill him. Not since Lucifer had pulled him aside and made a sales pitch about leaving. He had advertised it as the two of them going rogue against a democracy gone terribly wrong. Father is out of control, he’d said firmly, grasping Gabe by the shoulders. He must be mad, expecting us to bow down to humanity. What makes them so great, huh? We’re his soldiers. His most precious sons.

Gabe had agreed to some extent. None of the archangels had been thrilled about laying down their self-worth for humanity, but only Lucifer, corrupted quite thoroughly by the Mark at that point, outright refused. Michael had seen this as an opportunity to take his younger brother’s crown as Daddy’s favorite, and had immediately sold himself to both their siblings and Father as the Righteous Son, willing to do whatever it took to ensure humanity’s safety, even if it meant killing Lucifer. Raphael, eager to please, took his side, having never been fond of the now-Devil.

Which left Gabriel alone, as the only one who swore off violence. He had thought it was unnecessary, to attack Lucifer, and to toss him from Heaven into his own personal Cage, like he was some kind of deranged animal. Even if he was. Gabe had no part in it. He’d thrown himself into taking care of the younger angels in effort to distance himself from the oncoming war. Some of them, he took a particular shine to, enough to almost distract him from this overwhelming sense of dread that his family was about to be completely shattered. Balthazar had been one. Always charismatic and charming, but a bit of snob as he grew older. Anna too. Graceful, fair, and just, she had defined herself from the beginning as a natural leader amongst the small group of winged tykes.

And then there was Castiel. He had been the youngest of the group, but full of curiosity. Gabriel had been responsible, along with his older siblings, for many of the animal creations now residing on Earth, and had a few of his own pets stashed aside in heaven, which Cas greatly enjoyed observing. He’d had issues flying, whenever it came time to give flight training. He was honestly a runt, in every sense of the word, but in all his years as a celestial being, even now, he’d never seen anyone quite as determined and resilient as the angel who was outside, speaking with Ambriel about karaoke. Cas was special, even then.

He wished he could’ve done better. Maybe if he wasn’t so irresponsible and selfish, he could have prevented this nightmare Cas had been dealing with the past six years. Maybe if he hadn’t have died, he could have prevented him from releasing all the Leviathan and unleashing all this guilt on himself. He could have at least helped. Hell, to kill Raphael would’ve been oddly cathartic for him, considering how bad things got in heaven preceding his descent. If only he’d just been there.

He knew there was no sense dwelling on the past like this, because, as he’d said, the song remains the same, no matter how much time is screwed with, and all things meant to come to pass, do so. But if he could’ve even slightly lessened the tension gnawing at Cas right now, he would have gone back in a heartbeat to fix it. It was a pointless gesture though, considering nothing could be done about it now. He would just have to try and do his best now, to protect the angel. Well, angels. Ambriel nearly got herself killed twice every day. Taking care of them was a full time job, vaguely reminiscent of heaven, but much sweeter than those memories.

Thinking about his life now actually got Gabriel genuinely smiling. He wasn’t living for himself and the pursuit of ‘glamorous angel hedonism,’ as Balthazar called it, anymore, and although he thought he would miss it, what with being trapped in a questionably comfortable car for hours upon hours, solving cases way below his paygrade and following it up with drinks at some hole-in-the-wall bar in small, unheard-of suburbias, he didn’t. Not at all. In fact, scary as it was, he couldn’t really imagine himself going back to his prior existence of the loner Trickster, skipping town after town after giving people their just desserts. The idea didn’t even seem fun anymore, compared to this whirlwind of an adventure he’d had with his younger siblings. He didn’t want to go back.

He couldn’t go back. Which was why Cas had to stay. He couldn’t let the Winchesters change that. No, actually, he wouldn’t let the Winchesters change that, no matter the price.

Snapping his fingers to create a cocktail in his right hand, the archangel took one last lingering look at the scene outside, lit only by neon signs and pool lights at this point, and kicked his feet up on an ottoman, leaning back into the chair and closing his eyes.

Everything was going to be fine. He was going to be fine. He was the Trickster, after all. Any problem, he could solve it. The Winchesters were no different. Cas was going to be fine. Ambriel was going to be fine. He was going to be fine, because he was the archangel Gabriel.

He could handle anything…

…Right?

Chapter Text

The first indication that Dean was alive came in the form of a hiss of pain, as his body spasmed in agony. It was an unfamiliar sort of suffering, as was the sight of the room that greeted him when his eyes flew open and he sat up, nearly screaming at the pain that erupted in his abdomen at the movement. Instinctively, he clutched at his body, using his own hands to trace along the skin, attempting to locate a wound. They landed on stitches not even seconds later, poorly sewn into his flesh with thin thread, and upon touching the injury, he suddenly recalled his last memory, when he was stabbed by Azrael for refusing to adhere to being a meat-puppet for heaven. Then, he recalled his prayer to Cas, a last minute apology if there ever was one, and felt his heart physically sink to his toes as he glanced around the room, seeing no evidence that the angel had come.

It had been a long shot, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit to hoping Cas might show up and rescue his ass from certain death. Even though Cas was likely no more powerful than Sam would have been in the situation, with his human status, and probably couldn’t have made it in time anyway. Aside from that, he had fair reason not to show, and that was on Dean. It was his own fault if he had died alone. God knows Cas would have been there if he hadn’t pushed him away out of fear.

His surroundings strongly resembled the architecture and decorating scheme of Balthazar’s house, and the resounding, pulsating thump outside the windows suggested that his location hadn’t changed. But where was Sam? Surely he was okay. Dean had heard him yell for him before reality had faded into blackness earlier, but the hunter saw about as much sign of him as Cas. Therefore, despite the repeatedly stabbing pain in his abdomen, he slipped off the bed, stumbling to catch his balance before retrieving the shirt laid out on the nearest table and slipping it on over his head. It was one of his own, so obviously Sam must have been alright if he’d laid out clothes for him, since Balthazar and Gabriel were anything but that considerate. Balthazar would have tried to enforce his personal fashion code on him, whereas the Trickster would have come up with something awful as an option, such as a clown costume or a storebought angel ensemble. Something ironic and terrible, humorous only to him.

The noises coming from outside were muffled from the closed windows, but upon peeling back the curtains, Dean could vaguely identify through the sparse neon lighting several groups of bodies, mingling around or swaying to the beat of the musicians on stage. Apparently the party must still have been going strong. Fucking angels, having the times of their lives while he lay in agony with stitches in his gut. What was with that anyhow? Weren’t these bastards supposed to have healing powers? Balthazar didn’t seem impaired, and he strongly doubted Gabriel was, judging by that kickass cosplay he’d whipped up for the event. So what, then? They were making him suffer on purpose?

Figures. Dicks.

Dean managed to open the door and ease his way down the hallway, which led directly out into the weapons showroom that Sam had been residing in up until Azrael’s unexpected drop-by. However, his brother was nowhere to be found, still, although Gabriel was sprawled out on one of the beanbag chairs, seemingly asleep. It was the best he’d ever looked and sounded, where he was neither dead nor causing other people misery by reveling in giving them their ‘just desserts.’ But no Sam. The French doors, a few feet away from the soundly knocked out archangel, revealed a much brighter version of the picture Dean had spied from his own window. Maybe Sam was out there? It seemed unlikely, but where else was there that wasn’t right by Dean’s bedside?

He knew Sam was pissed at him about Cas, but it also was hard to imagine his brother abandoning him after he’d gotten a blade to the gut by Azrael, if not impossible. Sam was loyal. He would never be angry enough with him to not be there, which apparently couldn’t be said for Cas, who was who-knows-where out there in the world. Cas, who used to drop everything to be there for him. Not for Sam, but for Dean, who’d trounced on his feelings and treated him like crap these past few years. He tried to be angry, but it was difficult to actually blame Cas for not coming back. The guy deserved better than what he put up with. But that was what family was, wasn’t it? Putting up with crap in the name of love?

The handle of the door was cold as he turned it, and stepped outside onto the chilly pavement, barefoot. He was careful to close it soundlessly, so he wouldn’t wake the restful watchdog of the showroom, then strode out across the deck, trying to make out the faces in the dim moonlight and inconveniently placed neon lights. The sound from the stage was loud, throaty lyrics mixed with what was admittedly a pretty sick guitar riff and the beat of the drums. He was tempted to tune in for just a second, body drawn to the sound of the singer’s croon.

‘Is love mental disease or lucky fever dreams?
Fine with either
Gave birth to monsters who will terrorize normalcy, yeah
They'll terrorize’

He didn’t get much of a chance, however. Within mere moments of his standing there and squinting to take in the spectacle that was apparently how angels partied, he was rudely interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

Someone turned out to be a short, young-ish Asian girl who presumably was serving as a vessel for one of the many feathered assholes at this fete. She had her arms crossed, expression set as scary as it could be, considering her lack of threatening features and aura as she set her feet wide in a Peter Pan stance. Her outfit was vaguely reminiscent of something to Dean, and it took him a few seconds to recognize it as Kiki from Kiki’s Delivery Service, one of the Studio Ghibli films he’d seen when he was younger. Unfortunately for her, it was anything but a menacing get-up, so Dean remained unfazed, even as she sputtered, “You’re…you’re supposed to be on bed rest, Dean Winchester! Go back inside!”

She was about as terrifying as a Yorkshire terrier. Dean sighed, weakly raising a hand to wave her off. “Lady, please. Not tonight. I’m looking for Sam. You seen him?”

‘If the world exploded behind us
I never noticed if it done
Let nobody dare confine us

“Not since I dropped him on the ground earlier, no.” The attempt at being intimidating was dropped to the wayside as she crossed as arm across her chest and tapped her chin, looking up into the night sky for inspiration. “He should still be alive in the house, though. Pretty sure Cas is only mad at you, not him, so I’m assuming. That’s okay, right?”

I'll bury anyone who does’

Dean’s expression involuntarily shifted to intense confusion at her words, particularly at the mention of his absentee angel friend. What was she talking about? He had no idea what had gone on past a few minutes into the party, thanks to Azrael, so whatever Kiki here was discussing, he didn’t even have a chance of understanding. “Whoa, wait. What about Cas? You said Sam is in the house, right? But what did you say about Cas? Do you know where he is?”

‘But it doesn't matter now’

The angel’s eyes widened, and the hand she’d previously had near her chin reached up to cover her mouth in realization of having made an error. “Um…I-I…uh…I don’t think I’m supposed to discuss it. He doesn’t want to talk to you, s-so you should give it a rest.”

Yeah. Like that’s news. Dean mused to himself before replying, “Please tell me where he is. Sam and I, we’ve been looking for him for months…if you know something, I’m begging you to tell me. I know he doesn’t want to talk to me. That’s fair. But if he’s deserting us for good, I deserve at least a final conversation.”

The girl pursed her lips, hand falling to wrap around the handle of the broomstick she had as a prop. Her dark eyes blinked rapidly before finally rising to meet Dean’s own gaze, and the hunter was mystified by the hesitancy before she spoke. “Actually, I’m not sure that you do.”

Ouch. That stung like a fucking wasp. A stranger, accusing him of not being worth Cas’s time? What had Castiel shared with the angels? That Dean was this horrid monster that he was glad to be rid of? Regardless of whether or not it was true—which, in Dean’s personal opinion, it was—it still hurt like a bitch to know that whatever information had rolled their way, his angel’s siblings didn’t think him worthy of Cas’s attention. Who all knew about his transgression against his best friend? Had Cas told them? This nameless Kiki cosplayer, did she know? She sure as hell seemed to be aware of something.

‘Just come and love me how…’

“Where is he?” he said dryly, with a slight edge to his tone. He was unarmed, and injured, but perhaps the Winchester name still held a bit of terror around the angel community. He could only hope it would be enough to rattle open this angel’s mouth. She didn’t seem like a particularly hard sell.

“W-well—I-I—uh—“ she began to stammer, before being interrupted rather abruptly by a voice behind the hunter.

“Dean.”

Like the way you used to do.

He thought he was hallucinating the sound. It was borderline unfamiliar, as though he’d only heard it in dreams before now, which would have been true, if the hunter had actually had dreams rather than nightmares as of late. But when he whirled around, he found himself face to face with the owner, whose radiant blue eyes pierced right through him with a sharpness akin to a blade as Castiel straightened up, dark hair messy, and tie hanging crooked from the button shirt he normally wore.

“I should have known you wouldn’t stay put, like a sensible human being.”

“Cas.” The words practically croaked and died in his throat, coming out as a breathy, strangled whisper when he spoke. Swallowing, he tried again. “Cas. You’re…here.”

“I suppose I am.” The angel wouldn’t look directly at him as he replied, voice beginning to crack slightly. The song had changed in the background to something with a slow, melodramatic build, which didn’t help the atmosphere currently starting to thicken with unspoken thoughts between the two of them.

Dean didn’t know what to say. All of the thinking he’d done on the subject seemed to trickle out of his mind when confronted with the sight of the angel avoiding his eyes like his life depended on it. But he needed to say something. Anything. Before Cas disappeared again, because Cas certainly looked at that particular moment like he would have given anything for an immediate escape route from being in Dean’s presence.

“Are you dressed up as yourself?” It was a stupid thing to say. But the words for an apology weren’t there yet, and he hadn’t scrambled enough to find anything else acceptable enough to state that wasn’t swimming in subtly buried awe before opening his mouth.

“John Constantine, actually. Gabriel’s idea.” Dean knit his eyebrows together, analyzing the statement. So that was who Cas had been with? The Trickster? Well, it would make sense, considering his disappearance from angel radar, and the conversation that the hunter had had earlier with the archangel. But Gabriel? Really? How badly had Cas wanted to escape them to side with that asshole? “You should go back inside. Rest. I have been told that it is the only way for you to recover from that wound.”

They hadn’t spoken to one another in four months, let alone been in the same room, and Cas was still trying to mother-hen him. It was worthy of a laugh, but Dean felt closer to puking than giggling right then. “I-I needed to talk to you,” he sputtered, ignoring the angel’s request. He had to use what little physical strength he had that wasn’t involved in remaining upright to attempt to move and intercept Cas’s eyes.

Unfortunately, Cas was faster, bearing no stab wounds on his form, and no desire in maintaining eye contact. “I am not interested. So, as I mentioned before, you should head inside and go back to sleep.”

He wasn’t sure where the energy came from—perhaps adrenaline—but when Dean saw the angel start to turn, he immediately leapt forward, nearly collapsing as he closed his hand around Cas’s wrist. He had to hold in a wince borderlining a shriek as pain shot across his abdomen, as he spoke. “I need to talk to you. Please, Cas.” He wasn’t above begging, not when this was his fault in the first place. “Please. Five minutes. I’ve been looking for you for months, you can at least give me that long.”

Cas paused for a moment, seemingly the longest moment of Dean’s life, before breaking his previous behavior of avoiding the hunter’s eyes at all costs and instead stared directly at him as he replied coldly, “I don’t owe you anything, Dean, and I don’t wish to speak to you, not even for five minutes, but if it means that you will stop, and you will rest, then so be it. Five minutes, and not a second longer.” At that, he jerked his wrist back, nearly sending Dean stumbling to the ground, and marched off towards the house, coat swishing gently behind him.

It didn’t take much motivation for Dean to follow, but the same could not be said for the physical strain it put on his poorly stitched wound. Regardless, he managed to limp meekly across the deck yet again in time to see Cas turn the hallway back towards the room he’d woken up in earlier. Gabriel was still zonked out, so he did his best to be quiet as he retraced his steps, sucking in air through his teeth to keep from growling at the pain.

He still didn’t know what he was going to say. He had to assume Cas had somehow grown back his wings, judging from his company and a certain aura about him that seemed different than a few months ago, so he’d obviously heard Dean’s prayer…right? And he still hadn’t come, presumably, which meant that the chances of this conversation going well were slim to none. Everything that the hunter had to say, he’d pretty much summed up in his outgoing message to the angel right before he thought he was going to kick the bucket. Maybe it didn’t go through though. I mean, that happens sometimes, right? Dean questioned to himself, swallowing a heavy lump in his throat as he pushed open the door to his room. Surely angel communication isn’t flawless.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. When he stepped inside, he found Cas standing in the corner, hands shoved in his pockets like a moody teenager and elected to immediately plop down on the bed, if only to ease the strain of remaining on his feet with his stitches. “Cas, I’m sorry. I know that probably doesn’t mean much to you, because it’s been four months, and I’ve been a dick to you for way longer than that but—“

“Two years.”

“What?” He was not only surprised that Cas had spoken, but also the words he’d chosen to use.

“Two years,” the angel repeated, a little louder this time, turning slightly to meet the hunter’s eye with a stormy gaze. “You have been, as you called yourself, a ‘dick’ to me for the past two years. And some of that, I can attribute to the Mark of Cain, which I can forgive, but the other part? I…I can’t. Not when…there wasn’t any reason for it.”

“I-I know,” Dean stammered, even though he didn’t. What the hell was Cas talking about? Yeah, he was a dick, but not horribly so, after the Mark of Cain disappeared. At least, he hadn’t thought he was much of one, up until this point. But upon sifting through his memories of the past few years, deliberating searching for the bad turned up far more involving Cas than it did involving anyone else, mostly concerning the angel’s adjustment to his new humanity. There was some yelling involved. Some anger. Some extreme frustration. There were some bad nights, when the two went hunting, and Cas fucked things up, which, looking back on it, was somewhat to be expected, considering his inexperience. But they hadn’t been that bad. Dean usually vented his frustration on those nights in other ways, such as drinking, and bringing home a—

…Oh. Had that--…? No…of course it would. Not that he’d known it at the time, but going at it under the sheets with some blonde from the bar surely got under Cas’s skin. As if it hadn’t been enough that Dean had chewed him out for getting almost everything wrong.

…Okay. So Dean had definitely been a dick for the past five years. Acknowledged.

“No, Dean. You don’t. You’re thinking that you do, and yes, your one-night stands with Carla, Christina and Cynthia did bother me, because I can read your thoughts like the back of my hand, but you don’t understand how I feel, because you have never felt as out of place as I have for the past two years.”

“I-I’m…I-I’m sorry, Cas. Jesus. What do you want me to say?” The accusatory tone that the angel was taking was something he should’ve expected, but needless to say, that didn’t stop Dean from being irritated at it. “I didn’t even know how you felt. It wasn’t like you told me. Or Sam. He would have come to me about it, so don’t pretend like he knew this whole time.”

“I didn’t think I would need to tell you. I thought it would be obvious, that you were treating me like a pariah, but evidently, I must have overlooked just how ignorant you actually are.”

It had been a while since Dean had really hashed things out with Cas. Years, actually. He’d readily forgotten in that time span just how unpleasant it was to deal with the angel of the lord when he was like this. Up until this point, at least. “Okay, you know what? I know that you’re mad, but there’s no need to get mean, Cas.”

“You think this is my being mean, Dean? This is the tip of the iceberg.”

He hadn’t anticipated this being so difficult, convincing Cas to come home, but then, the angel had had a lot of time to dwell on their last conversation, which was probably what was inspiring most of this sassy backtalk. “Are you even going to let me talk in this conversation, or are you just going to yell at me? Because if you’d shut up for five seconds, I was going to apologize to you.”

“Dean, I don’t want your apology.”

…oh no.

Oh no. Oh no no no. No. It was worse than he’d thought, by a long shot. Backpedaling, Dean hurriedly interrupted, before the angel had the chance to go any further, “No. Wait. Hold on. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…agh. Fuck. Just…give me a second, Cas. Please. Did you get my prayer? Because I meant all of that, and if you didn’t, then I’ll sit right here and read you my dying words again and again, until they mean something to you.”

“You will be reading a long time then,” Cas replied quietly, turning his back on the hunter to peer out the window, withdrawing his hands from his coat pockets and placing them on the lapels of his coat. “Because I didn’t believe you then, I don’t believe you now, and frankly, I don’t care anymore, Dean.”

And it was probably at that moment that Dean realized things were over. It might have been when he next spoke, or Cas’s response to it, but at those words, he could feel his confidence begin to seep out of him, the speed rapidly increasing with each passing second onward. He had to take a deep, shaky breath before he was even able to muster up a cohesive thought, mind jumbled around the fact that his dying message hadn’t been enough to even scratch Cas.

The message that he should’ve gotten months ago was neon and clear in his mind now. He’d fucked things up irreparably. And now he was almost certainly going to lose his best friend, the only one that he’d ever really had for longer than a few years, all because he hadn’t taken things seriously, and he’d just jumped the gun and said things he didn’t mean.

“I take it that you hate me, then?” The words slipped out before he could stop himself, but the panic he should’ve felt at being so honest after such a hurtful comment never kicked in.

Cas was silent. “No. I don’t.” Right. There would soon come the ‘but I wish I did,’ or ‘because you’re too pathetic to waste the effort.’ Dean kept waiting, but the angel didn’t add on to his reply like he’d thought. “I still love you. I always will. That’s a fact that will probably never change. But I can’t trust you, and I know that you don’t feel the same as I do. Therefore, I see no benefit in remaining your companion.”

And those words, those were the ones that broke the dam on Dean’s feelings. His fingers tightened themselves into lily-white fists, clutching onto the blankets beneath his hands with a feverish grip as he tried to steady his own breathing to no avail. His surroundings were starting to twist into something unreal as his hold on reality began to trickle away, piece by piece as the realizations sunk in, one by one.

This was it.

Cas wasn’t coming home.

Cas was never coming home.

And it was all…all…his fault.

Some small part of him was able to find a silver lining in the fact that the angel still loved him, but he was neither sure how, nor why, considering it only existed to worsen the situation. Maybe he could lie now. Profess his undying love to an angel that he would give anything to keep by his side? Except, there would be no end to that. It wasn’t as if Dean could fake it forever…could he? For Cas…maybe he could. If it meant the angel staying, he was more than willing to do almost anything.

But his tendency to lie, and to deny his feelings, that was part of Cas’s issue with him. That was why this was happening, according to the angel. Dean was generally dishonest, which he wasn’t about to dispute, so Cas didn’t believe his prayer. The only problem was, Dean hadn’t been lying in that message. He might not have embellished, but the facts were all there, and at the end of the day, despite his protests, he did love Cas—but like family. However…maybe…Maybe if he could just fake it long enough…he would fall in love with the angel the way Cas wanted as well.

Sexualities be damned of course, because Dean was not gay, was never gay, and would never be gay. Not for anyone. He’d never done a guy, and never had any desire to. No. None at all. Because homosexuality, according to his father, was sinful and wrong, and those who lived that life were automatically evil, never mind the fact that most of the evil beings he’d ever met were 100% straight. So Dean wasn’t allowed to be gay, even for Cas. It was wrong, plain and simple, no matter what Sam said.

And yet…

…there may have been a time or two where he’d considered kissing the angel, just to see what it would be like. No. It had been more than a few times. It had been…a lot, actually. More times than he liked to admit, even to himself. And yeah, maybe he did find Cas really, really attractive, but it wasn’t like he was ever going to act on that, because it was wrong, and the thoughts he’d had about Cas in the past were beyond wrong since they alone were enough to send him to hell without so much as a glance at his impressive resume of genocide. He wasn’t…allowed to do this. In memory of his father, who he’d strived to be like, he was not allowed to love Cas back in the way that Dean wan—no, the way that Cas wanted.

Because Dean wasn’t gay. Even for Cas.

“I believe five minutes have passed. Is there anything else, or may I go so you can take your rest?”

It was only a slight quiver, a minute break, but it broke Dean out of his trance, hearing Cas’s voice hitch like that. Bullshit he didn’t care anymore. Wait! That meant that Dean might still have a chance at convincing him. “W-wait,” he stammered, hurriedly pulling himself up off the bed and tottering a bit before catching himself on a cabinet nearest the door, where Cas currently stood. “J-just…wait…okay?”

Cas sighed, completely avoiding the eye contact that Dean was so desperately trying to make. “You need to sleep, and I promised Ambriel that I would duet with her on a Troye Sivan song. Please sit back down.”

“No.” Well-aware that his response was akin to that of a misbehaving toddler, Dean urged himself forward, using what little focus remained to place his hands on Cas’s face, taking care to ignore the voices screaming in his head not to for once, because fuck them, if this was the only shot he had left, he was going to fucking take it.

Cas’s expression shifted immediately into one of equal parts confusion and panic as he stammered, “D-Dean, please stop. This is inappropria—“

His words were lost between the act of Dean pressing his lips against the angel’s own, moving softly in a way that about ripped his heart out of his chest, still beating. Cas involuntarily responded, reaching out to place his hands gently against the hunter’s chest, fingers intertwining around the cotton of his shirt as Dean pulled him closer, thumb tracing along his jawline with a soft touch.

It took about fifteen total seconds before Cas came to his senses and reacted physically before his mind could form words, pushing the green-eyed Winchester back so forcefully that he landed on the bed, then stepped back, turning without a sound and running out, slamming the door behind him with enough strength to rattle the whole house. What the hell was that?

Besides enough to shatter his heart, that is.

He managed to hobble his way into the showroom, subconsciously noticing his brother sitting in the chair nearest the door for the first time since he’d reentered the house after their chat earlier. Gabriel was blinking rather disconcertedly, presumably startled by the door slamming, but he glanced over at Cas’s entrance only to furrow his brows and stand, hesitantly approaching him. “Cassie? Hey, you alright? You’re shaking.”

The angel hadn’t noticed, but he wasn’t surprised. He was a little preoccupied with panicking to really pay attention. “I-I…u-u-um…” Cas had never been much of a stammerer up ‘til that particular second. “I-I think I need a drink. Or a thousand.”

“…oh…kay. Guess we’ll discuss why you’re rattling like a graveyard over a couple of cocktails.” Raising his eyebrows, Gabe offered him a skeptical look and turned, pushing open one of the French doors to head outside towards the bar. Cas followed with shaky steps, his mind racing, sounds and colors blurring together like unwound films, cut and pasted into one, messy, pained masterpiece. There were many thoughts running through his head, but only one seemed to be bobbing above the surface, eating at him like a corrosive acid.

Was I wrong?

Chapter Text

The kind of horror Gabriel felt coming over him as he watched Cas down yet another toxically potent drink and spin his way off the barstool to go dance with Ambriel was special. What Cas had blabbered, bits and pieces here and there that made up the big picture after heavy scrutiny and shifting, wasn’t the whole reason, although it was most of it, and it was safe to say the two explanations as to why Gabriel was drumming his fingers anxiously on the bar counter were definitely related by the same topic, the same troublesome topic it always seemed to be for heaven: the fucking Winchesters.

Most of the archangel wished his younger brother would have told the higher powers that be to kiss his heavenly ass years ago, when he’d been asked to raise Dean Winchester from hell, because it would have saved every angel on heaven, hell, Earth and purgatory, a hell of a lot of trouble, particularly in moments like this, when the idiot seemed to forget his place on this plane of existence. The fool didn’t even have any justification to be here, and he had even less claim than that to be twisting Cas into an emotional pretzel. Gabriel wanted to kill him. At least 1000 times. Mystery Spot all over again? Oh, hello Tuesday, for the next hundred years or so?

But, alas, he knew Cas would cut him out of his life if he did so, because now that Dean had made his move, it had implanted hope in the younger angel’s mind that perhaps the two of them did actually have a shot, after he’d spent the last four months wallowing in self-pity over the fact that the hunter didn’t love him. Sure, everything else that the hunters had done to demean him bothered Cas too, but it didn’t take a genius to pick out what exactly had been the last straw for him when he decided to up and ditch the Winchesters, and it was Dean’s dismissal of Cas’s affections.

Cas was a battered woman. And Gabe didn’t know how to tell him that without Cas lashing out at him, considering he wasn’t certain as to whether or not Castiel actually trusted him. Saying he did, and physically doing it were two completely separate acts, and trusting the archangel wasn’t an easy breezy task, which Gabe only had himself to blame for. He’d made his bed of lies willingly. The consequences of doing so merely required him to lay down and take the repercussions, no matter what they may have been. In this case, the consequence was Cas’s questionable faith in him.

So he hadn’t said anything, when his dark-haired, blue-eyed sibling had admitted to reconsidering his decision to not forgive Dean. He didn’t want to rock the boat gingerly floating between them, lest he cause waves of resentment from the brother he’d tried so hard to befriend again. But this was, undeniably, bullshit. Regardless of Dean Winchester’s feelings, it was bullshit, because Cas deserved better than this. Than them.

In a way, he had figured the hunter was just repressing the romantic urges he felt for Cas this whole time, despite genuinely praying to his Father that this not be the case, because he knew what it meant, whenever Dean recognized them. Cas was a tattered angel with the heart of a dog, and no matter the circumstances, he was always going to leave again for the Winchesters. For Dean. For a spineless, tactless, repressed man-baby hiding in his father’s shadow, wearing Daddy’s clothes and driving Daddy’s car and listening to Daddy’s music. Dean Winchester was fucking pathetic. And Gabe was starting to get—no, actually, Gabe already was pissed.

This had gotten out of hand. He should have never accepted the invitation to this party, but it was too late now. Shifting time at this point would cripple him to near death, considering he would have to reconstruct Azrael, which would require more energy than the act of turning back the clock itself by a long shot. It was energy he couldn’t spare, and he couldn’t justify the act anyway. He hated that this was who he’d become, but he wanted Cas to be happy, even if Cas’s version of happy was with an abusive alcoholic and his enabling brother, rather than with him and Ambriel.

It was only a matter of time now. Huh. Four months. It was better than nothing, he supposed, sipping weakly on the martini in his hand. Probably. His soul was practically panging with the expectation of loss, a small taste of what was to come whenever Cas did fumble over his goodbyes in that formal speech pattern of his, if Gabriel and Ambriel would even receive the courtesy. It wasn’t the Winchester style, to hand out farewells, except to family, although, that was what Gabe had thought they were, up until this point.

Now, though, he wasn’t so sure.

He thought about entertaining some more self-loathing ‘if only I had been there’ statements, but then decided better of it as he set down the empty glass on the clear, marble counter and swiveled his stool to peer out at the crowd of angels swinging to the tail end of some poppy, EDM beat he didn’t recognize. Cas was tangled up in the throng, spinning Ambriel around with a grin on his face. He’d drank enough to bury the evening for the next few hours, deliriously happy and relaxed as he laughed. Ambriel giggled at well, probably unaware of why she was even doing so. Her and Cas got along very well, having some similar quirks in common. It had been easy for them to become friends, even with her lack of understanding relationships.

It was a shame that this was probably their so-called last night on Earth, not that Gabriel was moping or anything. He was past the point of no return on that purchase, with no receipt left to speak of.

As the song faded to a close, the playlist seemed to be put on a momentary pause, as Gabe looked up and found the angel he’d been agonizing over all night coming towards him with a crooked smile, stumbling over his own feet as he skidded to a stop in front of his older sibling. “Gabriel, you have not set a foot on the dancefloor this entire evening. Ambriel is beginning to think you have, as the humans say, two left feet.”

The Trickster really didn’t have it in him to celebrate tonight. Not when he knew what was coming tomorrow. Ambriel wouldn’t likely be so jovial either if she were more observant and had overheard the conversation Cas had had with Gabe earlier, but it was relieving in a way that she hadn’t. If Gabe could bear the brunt of the weight, he supposed he would, for her sake.

“My feet are as they should be, Cas, perched happily on a bar stool and watching you two make fools out of yourselves. In fact, I’ve been debating these past few minutes whether or not to take a video, just so you’ll have at least one memory of this night once you wake up from your inevitable vodka coma in a couple hours.” Despite his melancholic state, Gabe hadn’t lost his comedic overtone. Drunk Cas was easy to fool, too. The angel cocked his head to the side and knit his brows together, unamused.

“You’re avoiding the question, which must mean that the humans are right. You, Gabriel, have two left feet.” Cas’s brazen confidence combined with his complete lack of evidence caused the archangel’s chest to tighten. He was going to miss this, this banter with his younger brother. And he was going to miss the laughs the three of them shared in the car on their way to cases left and right across the US. He was going to miss the way that Cas always had to correct Ambriel on her FBI etiquette, and not to mention her morgue behavior. Hell, he was even going to miss those shitty, hole-in-the-wall bars in the middle of nowhere en route to the next monster.

“I can assure you, I don’t. I will stick my right and left feet correspondingly up your ass to prove it, Castiel, if you need proof. Don’t test me.”

“N-no, I’m good. No need for that. Are you sure you don’t want to dance? We would love to have you.”

It took every ounce of willpower in his body to do so, but Gabriel responded, “No thanks, Cas, but I appreciate the offer,” with the best poker face he owned, trying his best to meet celestial blue eyes against his own whiskey-tinted gaze. And for a second, he thought it had gone off without a hitch, as Cas nodded disappointedly at the ground. But when he made to spin back around on the stool, ready to request another heavily dosed appletini, he found a hand reaching out to clamp down on his wrist and restrain him from moving. “…Cas?” Gabe questioned nervously, subtly terrified that this was going to become the parting of ways conversation he absolutely did not need tonight.

Everything had been going so well earlier, when the three had been perusing the Halloween stores at the local mall for ideas, Ambriel undecided between about thirty characters, from anime, books, movies, tv shows, and generic figures as she threw a slew of themed outfits into the cart, assuming that they would be purchasing them with Gabriel’s finger-snap funds. How did they go from that blissful picture of family discord (Gabriel and Cas had gotten into a very heated debate about which Ghibli film was better: Kiki’s Delivery Service or Spirited Away) to this anxiety-ridden nightmare, where every second, Gabe expected the Winchesters to come out, fully dressed in their twenty nine layers of flannel and repressed emotions and whisk away his little brother into his previous life of kicked puppy? One kiss from Dean Winchester?

“A-about…Dean…I was just wondering…what exactly you would do, in a situation like this? Do you think he’s just trying to manipulate me into coming back? Or does he actually love me, like he s—“

The fact that Cas had to ask himself this should have been a clear enough answer for the angel, but seeing as his brain was probably struggling to stay afloat in the gallons of alcohol that he had consumed over the past hour, Gabe was willing to cut his little brother a pass, secretly relieved that he had come to him with it, rather than singularly decided. This didn’t mean that there were no worries of course; Cas was a wildcard. Even if Gabriel convinced him firmly of Dean Winchester’s deceitful trickery tonight, he could just as easily wake up the next morning and fall into the bed with the douchebag within the course of a few well-placed sentences. He didn’t want to sound mean, but Cas was a bit easy to deceive due to his trusting heart and wanting to believe the best of those he loved. It would be an honorable quality, if he had loved honorable people—and angels—but that didn’t happen to be the case.

Unfortunately, in regards to that, Gabe wasn’t sure how to have this conversation without losing his shit. “Cas, uh, I’m not…I’m not sure you actually want my opinion on this. You know how I feel about Dean. And aside from that, I’m not exactly unbiased.”

“No, I need to know what you think.” Cas was resolute now, blue eyes boring into the Trickster’s own. “Because you promised to tell me the truth, remember? And I…I need that, Gabriel, because I can’t trust Dean to know for certain whether or not he’s being honest.”

“See, that fact alone should spell it out for you.” The archangel’s hands tightened around the newly fabricated Moscow Mule in his hand as he spoke.

Cas cocked his head to the side, eyes squinting as he heavily weighed the matter against his vodka-soaked brain. Finally, he emerged with a patient look towards Gabe, one that the archangel had been expecting the whole damn evening. “But what if he is being honest, Gabe? Everyone has a breaking point where they have to tell the truth, hence the point of interrogations. What if my leaving was his breaking point?”

The dude went to hell. Cas leaving was definitely not a breaking point for him. Now, Cas putting his foot down might have been a trigger for Dean to up the ante, hence the kiss, but anything beyond greater lies just didn’t seem in character for the hunter. “Yeah, uh, I doubt that. He was the one who made you leave in the first place, in case the vodka gave you long-term memory loss.”

“He feels guilty about that. Of this, I am absolutely sure.”

Oh, that helps. Not. Considering Cas’s track record of who he’d chosen to trust in the past, and how those partnerships had ended, those words didn’t exactly inspire confidence in Gabriel regarding the situation. “Cas…”

He was coming dangerously close to losing his shit with this situation. He couldn’t handle a minute more of Cas walking around, pondering over a dilemma he wouldn’t even have had, if the angel was actually able to definitively stand up for himself for once and for all against this repeatedly painful cycle of abuse. Gabe had thought Cas could handle it. Things had gone well with Sam, supposedly. But Dean was the real problem. Always had been. And now, what had gone from what was supposed to be a pleasantly comfortable evening at an old friend’s party had become what was likely to be the last exchange Gabriel would ever have with his favorite brother.

“He appeared to be at the verge of tears, which is rare for him. I-I’m not sure what to make of the kiss, but, it’s a sign of something, isn’t it? He’s…trying, I think, to make it work. He said that he loved me in the prayer I received, but there wasn’t any context as to which meaning he meant. I assumed platonically, but perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps he had reflected heavily on the matter and come to the conclusion that the sexual tension we shared in the past had a reason behind it.”

The music spun to life again in the background. It was haunting, the sound of the 80s synth twinkling, before the bass riff came to life and the singer’s voice drifted through the air like the howl of a melancholic ghost.

“There doesn’t seem to be any other logical reason behind the action, unless it was a decisive move to manipulate my feelings. Although, if that were the case, then that would betray the fact that he does care about me, which again begs the question, in what way? Perhaps I should speak with Sam. He may have answers.”

‘There’s no end to all this daylight. There’s no sign of the night. All I have to do is suffer because I can’t put up a fight. You are more than I can handle. You are more than I can stand. You have taken away my thunder. You have made me less of a man.’

The lyrics were just as needling as the atmosphere of the song, and the fact that Cas was still talking, imprisoned in his pretty little world of falsehoods, living the lie he wanted to live so badly. It actually hurt, how easily the conversations had transitioned from, ‘You have two left feet,’ like normal, to ‘Does Dean love me or is this a joke?’ And Gabe hated it. He hated all of it, everything, that second, from the time, to the place, to the people, because his chest felt like it was on fire, and he hadn’t felt this kind of passionate suffering since he’d since Michael and Lucifer gearing up for the final battle.

“Cas, Dean Winchester is a fucking cancer.” The first words slipped out before he could stop them, and before he was in control of his internally rattling vessel, he had stood up and strode forward to stare Cas dead in the eye as he continued, “And you deserve better. You always have, but you sell yourself short, because of a few mistakes you made a few years ago that no one holds against you but yourself. And frankly, it hurts me to see you overlook that. But what hurts more, are the six thousand excuses you have made for someone who can’t even admit to your face what his true feelings are, and instead, has resorted to making you guess, not just right this moment, but for half a fucking decade what the meaning is behind the eye sex and innuendoes and lack of personal space. You deserve better, and you could get better, easily, just by standing in a public place and looking around, because fuck Dean Winchester, you are amazing, and he’s a waste of a perfectly good soul. I know it. Ambriel knows it. The whole of heaven fucking knows it, and I guarantee hell does too, but if you don’t believe me, I’ve got the King of Hell on speed dial for convenience’s sake. Cas. Please don’t do this. You are better than this. You don’t have to forgive him. You don’t have to go back. You are not their dog. Don’t…don’t go, alright?”

Strange analogy aside, Gabe forced himself to keep eye contact with his brother for a few more moments before averting his gaze, feeling a wave of personal rage wash over his body. The cat was out of the bag. He shouldn’t have kept talking so long. He could feel multiple pairs of eyes slide down his frame without even looking up. His speech had been high in volume, not to mention spirited, to say the least, and had probably attracted more than a few angels’ attention.

“They’re just as much my family as you are.”

Cas’s voice cracked as he said it, almost so quietly that it could’ve been swept up in the end of the ghostly melody from the stereo, as did part of Gabe’s soul as he heard it. The archangel stepped back, immediately whirling around to face the bar. The urge to down the entire supply in a single gulp was tempting, but he ignored it. His hands were already shaking. No need to make it worse.

“You left me, in heaven. And Dean and I had a falling out at the Bunker. How can I be expected to forgive one and not the other? You and Ambriel are both still my legitimate family, but I can’t just…I can’t just ignore the fact that Sam and Dean have been a part of my life for six years. They were my friends, and…they tried, to include me in their family. I am taking my fair share of the blame for not reciprocating that. It was a terrible situation from all sides, mine included, so that isn’t all their fault. Gabriel, Dean deserves at least consideration of a second chance. I gave you one.”

He had the option of leaving the situation. Of just ghosting Cas completely. Maybe never coming back again. Because no matter how he tried to spin it, he could feel the fake confectionary sweetness seeping through Cas’s stupid, sugar-coated words. He was right. Cas was going to leave them. He was going to leave them for the Winchesters. And Gabriel…was going to have to go back to handing out just desserts to assholes in the small towns of America, devoid of any real relationship with his brother, because he was too busy playing Cinderella to the Bobbsey Twins.

Part of him momentarily wished that he had stayed dead. This was worse than Lucifer, whatever was twisting his soul around at that second. He should’ve disappeared back at that hotel, found another place to stay where Cas hadn’t marched in, in a clear state of disarray and anguish and slammed a handful of bills down on the counter wordlessly. He should’ve kept out of heaven, avoided Metatron’s smarmy face, and taken a trip down to the Outer Banks to sunbathe. If he were smart, if he were calculated, he would have done that. But no, he had to be the good brother, the one who righted his wrongs and corrected his past injustices by swooping in at the right time to deliver his damaged goods sibling into self-actualization.

Gabriel hated himself, not for the first time. He remained silent, despite the sound of Cas’s rapidly approaching footsteps, and the sensation of hands on his arms, shaking him slightly, as if it would make a dent in his ability to speak. It had been a mistake, the last time he’d opened his mouth, and he wouldn’t let that happen again, not if these new wounds were the casualties.

The Winchesters, Cas’s family. As if.

“Gabe?” Cas definitely sounded panicked now, leaning down to attempt to peer at him with wide, oceanic eyes. It hurt, the nickname. Everything hurt, actually. It usually did at the end. He’d come to expect it.

With a light push, the archangel reached out, avoiding his sibling’s eyes as he jerked away, brushing off the gazes still trained on him from the crowd. They’d lessened since Cas had spoken, many of them losing interest, but a few still remained. He was certain Ambriel was one of them, as was Balthazar. Anna probably too. His brothers and sister watched on as he strode alongside the pool, quietly observing the clear water ripple to the beat of the music. He recognized the tune, but the lyrics for some reason didn’t register to him. Every word sounded incoherent, jumbled. He was dissociating, and he knew it, but if it was the only way to escape this awful reality, so be it.

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You’re going to forgive him.” It wasn’t a question, when he spoke, nor was it soft. He had halted at the midpoint of the pool, but didn’t bother to turn around until after his first sentence, at which point, he found both Cas, and the eyes he’d figured to be eavesdropping in attendance. “You are going to forgive him, and you are going to go back to what you clearly consider to be your home. Ambriel will return to heaven, settle back into thinking she is worthless, and keep punching away at numbers until her grace burns out. I’ll…well, I haven’t decided yet, what kind of pointless shenanigans I am going to occupy my new free time with. And you, Castiel, you, are going to be happy, as the abused, kicked puppy of the Winchester family, because apparently, that’s what you want. And I wish I was sorry, for not being that. I wish I was sorry, for Ambriel and I, for Balthazar and Anna, and Samandriel, and Azrael, and, hell, even for Lucifer, Michael, and Raphael for not being as dysfunctional a family as you wanted. But honestly, Castiel? I’m not sorry. I’m not fucking sorry for any of it, because this is on you. You want the Winchesters? Please, be my guest. Have at them. But we are your actual family, and regardless of whether or not you choose to believe it, we love you. And none of us will hesitate to tell you that. Please. Think that over, good and thorough before you tell me that we’re comparable to the Winchesters.”

Cas seemed to be at a loss. Ambriel stepped forward slightly from the crowd, towards both Cas and Gabriel, her mouth open but no words coming out. In fact, no one said anything. Excluding the croon of the singer over the speaker, silence had fallen across the party, a damper on spirit, should there have been any left. Gabe faced the pool again, expanding his wings to their full, Earthly capacity, in shimmering hues. It certainly hadn’t been the night he’d imagined. In fact, there were very few ways in which it could have gone worse, in his opinion, but he supposed there was probably an upside somewhere.

It probably wasn’t here though.

‘I’ll be back. Call me if there’s an emergency.’ He didn’t speak, so much as mentally throw the words at Ambriel via angel radio. And then, without any warning, he snapped his fingers and the surroundings shifted, the everlasting night crumbling around him as he disappeared on them.

As Cas had pointed out, it wasn’t the first time.

Chapter Text

The next morning felt out of place, when Sam opened his eyes to a ceiling painted to resemble the Sistine Chapel, naked figures and all. But it wasn’t just that. As the crushing weight of the night before sideswiped him like a train as he stood up, he considered simply crawling back into bed and refusing to face the day. It wasn’t a new desire, but it was a particularly strong one to battle today, as he got dressed, not bothering to run a brush through his hair before walking out into the hallway. The room previously functioning as the weapons gallery last night, had been converted back into its mundane purpose as a sitting space, with not so much as a penknife in sight as Sam glanced around, noticing the absence of any angels, excluding the young woman who had abruptly dropped him to the ground yesterday standing at the window, looking forlornly out at the pool.

“Uh…good morning. It’s…Ambriel, right?” He wasn’t sure if he got it right or not. The last part was probably correct, judging from etymology and the typical angel naming scheme. Many of them tended to have the –iel suffix attached to their names. Uriel. Gabriel. Ezekiel. Castiel.

“Y-yes. That’s me.” She whirled around, straightening her glasses before meeting his gaze politely. She folded her hands in front of her lap, still dressed in her attire from the night before. Angels didn’t require sleep, so she presumably had been partying all night with Balthazar and the others. He briefly wondered whether or not Cas participated in the festivities, then stopped himself. It wouldn’t do any good to dwell on his friend, the one that almost certainly wasn’t coming back with him and Dean. “Good morning, Sam. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah, actually.” It was surprising, not only that Sam had slept the whole night soundly, but that his sleep had been genuinely restful, unplagued by night terrors. It wasn’t typical of him, and his anxiety levels were aided neither by Dean nearly dying for the umpteenth time, nor Cas taking the fast track out of their lives for good. Something was up.

“That’s good. I think, at least. I wouldn’t know, since I’ve never slept.” Ambriel stood idly, nerves clear as the sunshine outside as her gaze searched the room for something else to say or do other than awkwardly block the window. “Uh…Dean isn’t up yet. I-I can make breakfast, if you like. No guarantee that I’ll get it right, but I can try.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m alright.” Her demeanor was strange, and although it might have simply been her personality, Sam found her to be suspiciously kind for an angel. Perhaps the breakfast he’d turned down had incidentally been dosed with cyanide? “Where is everyone?”

“Balthazar took a trip up to heaven. I guess he’s got an interview with management. And I think everyone else scattered a few hours ago. I believe Cas is in with your brother, but I could be wrong.”

“And Gabriel?” Sam wasn’t sure why he’d asked, but the question was involuntarily punched out of him, as though someone had cleanly clapped him on the back with all of the force of a train. Logically, it made sense to want to verify the archangel’s whereabouts though, especially when considering his past professions. As in, he’d been the Trickster, Sam clarified mentally, struggling not to choke on his own thoughts. This had nothing to do with Casa Erotica. He was more than welcome to do that, of course, if he wanted to—not that Sam cared if he did or anything. Although, it did take innocent civilians out of harm’s way…which was helpful…so…

….

Nope. Nope. That train of thought derailed rather quickly. The hunter shut his eyes tightly, resolving just then that something must truly have been wrong with him. Perhaps he was cursed, because his brain couldn’t have been working properly, with the way his mind wandered into the gutter as it did just then. Putting those awkward images of Gabriel, ridiculously dressed and mustached aside, had he heard that Cas was with Dean? That definitely couldn’t have been correct. If there had been one conclusion Sam had been brought to last night, it was that Cas had no interest in continuing his friendship with either of them, particularly Dean. So what the hell was this? Had the angels partied so hard last night that they were now hallucinating?

Sam was inclined to assume that that was the case, until he looked up from his musings to find Ambriel turned back towards the window, eyes glazed over with an unidentifiable emotion as she stared out at the deck, seemingly lost in the crystal clear water before finally responding quietly, “He left.”

He waited for her to continue, but upon receiving silence, managed to stammer, “U-uh, left? As in, disappeared for good?”

“Well, I’m hoping it’s not for good.” She whirled around quick enough to give an actual person whiplash as she continued, eyelashes brushing against pallid skin when she averted her gaze from Sam’s. “But you and Dean should be happy with yourselves, since you two are apparently the reasons why. My brother thought Cas was going to choose you over us, and I guess he was right. He didn’t think you’ll treat Cas like he deserves, but I…I think he’s wrong. I think you’ll get it right this time. Cas stuck with you two for six years, and that’s a long time for humans, so obviously you’re capable of being decent, or else he never would have bothered. Plus…”

She took a deep breath, approaching the hunter with fists at her sides, doing a poor job of attempting to conceal the tears now pooling around her big, doe eyes, seemingly immune to the fact that Sam was beyond terribly confused, bordering dangerously into territory where he would start to question reality itself. “…I don’t think all the times Cas had with you guys are bad. Humans seem to get hung up over the negative really easily, from what I’ve heard. Even still, as a favor, can I please ask you to be good to him? Gabe and Cas have been the best to me. I had fun for the first time in my entire existence because of them, and they both deserve to be treated as kindly as they’ve treated me. So, Sam, please, can you do that for me? Treat Cas like he deserves?”

The hunter was unable to form a coherent response for a few seconds, but as soon as his brain managed to process the situation, he managed to burble, “Ambriel, I-I’m sorry, but I’m really confused. I think I must be missing something, because last night, when I spoke to Cas, I did not get a vibe of him wanting to come with us. Did something else happen?”

The angel’s eyes widened, tears dissipating slightly as she visibly searched her memory for an answer to his inquiry. “Right,” she responded a second later, nodding vigorously. “I guess Dean must have changed his mind after he spoke with you. I think Gabe mentioned something about a kiss, maybe?”

A kiss? Sam was equal parts torn in a three-way struggle between being incredulous, angry, and horrifically puzzled. There was no way around this being a disaster with this bit of information being included. If Dean and Cas had talked it out, than great. But a kiss, this soon in? From Dean? The guy wasn’t even able to admit to checking Cas out on occasion. He definitely wasn’t anywhere near lip-touching territory when it came to dealing with his reluctant homosexuality, unless the sudden attitude turnaround had been inspired by desperation to keep Cas from leaving, in which case it was anything but a definite admission of his feelings.

It was a cheap trick designed to keep Cas from returning to the offbrand God Squad, and more specifically, a disgusting manipulation tactic. If Dean wasn’t ready to come to terms with his own feelings, he shouldn’t have forced himself to reciprocate in the interest of keeping Cas, because eventually, that façade would snap, and it would end. Badly. Sam knew his brother. Dean was a poor faker, especially to those who had decades of experience observing his behavior. Cas would realize that he was lying sooner rather than later. And lying, lying to Castiel, who had already been scorned by them once, would likely piss the angel off to the point where he may never speak to them again. Either of them.

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, barely catching the alarmed expression of the Asian woman staring at him. “I can’t believe him.” He didn’t want to be the one to rain on her parade, to tell her that they’d already hurt Cas again, he just didn’t know it yet. He also didn’t want to admit to believing that maybe Cas was better off without them, because that was pointless right now, what with Gabriel flying the coop. What was with that, anyhow? Was the Trickster jealous?

Sam supposed he could get behind that. Cas really was a special person to be around. Since Gabriel was one of the very few angels Sam had ever known to actually experience emotions, it wasn’t that unbelievable a possibility, even if the two had never seemed particularly acquainted prior to this pool party nightmare. They had evidently been travelling together over the past four months though, so that had to have brought them closer at least somewhat, right?

“I was surprised as well. But it’s good, I think. I want Cas to be happy, even if it isn’t with Gabriel and I.” Ambriel remained chipper, despite Sam’s panic-stricken state. She hadn’t struck him previously as the smartest angel, but this merely confirmed her blissful ignorance. Maybe it was fortunate, considering that the knowledge Sam had would have shattered that selfless happiness in half a second. That would be assuming that she could follow the explanation, which he had to admit, he sincerely doubted.

Either way, it wasn’t of relevance. Sam was currently stuck on whether or not he should meddle in the situation, in interest of preserving Cas’s relationship to his family. It would be the morally correct thing to do, to pull the curtain off of Dean’s manipulative game and expose it now, rather than allowing Cas to fall in love with the idea of the hunter caring back, only to end up burned in the end. But he’d be damned if he wanted to see Dean suffer. Or Cas, for that matter. For God’s sake, they were both his family, even if he’d been with one far longer than the other, and he didn’t want to see either hurt. Yet, that was the only way this situation could end, unless Dean had suddenly come to an epiphany and undergone a huge character transformation to become accepting of his sexuality. And that was, needless to say, improbable at best.

He should not have been in this position, having to bear the brunt of this upon his conscience. It was awful, knowing there was no mediocre ending, let alone happy to whichever way this went down. Someone was going to be emotionally devastated in both cases. But Dean had started it, with his frantic, thoughtless action to persuade Cas into staying with them. And that was the only criteria that allowed Sam to make his decision, sucking in air between his teeth as he returned his gaze upwards to find Ambriel milling about the room, chattering animatedly about her fondness of spending time with Gabriel and Cas. A sad smile adorned her face as she spoke, deliberately avoiding eye contact while she made wild hand gestures in her storytelling. When he tuned in, she was mumbling something about a bar and Gabriel’s inability to pick up real women.

And in that small tidbit of information, Sam was able to find the will to smile. She wouldn’t need to reminiscence, come soon.

Cas wouldn’t be coming home, for his own sake.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sunlight was beginning to stream in through the open curtains when Cas figured he should announce his presence. Unsurprisingly, the past five hours he’d spent staring at the sleeping hunter’s form hadn’t eased his anxiety about the conversation that was about to occur. Nothing had. He’d tried drowning his issues in vodka as well, last night, but that also hadn’t been successful, seeing as it had led to his older brother’s abrupt, dramatic exit after Cas stumbled over his words and said something that was undeniably a mistake, nevermind how true a statement it may have been.

He’d not heard from the archangel in the time elapsed since, which only served to make him feel worse about how brashly he’d acted after the kiss with Dean. He should’ve kept his panicked murmurings to himself rather than sharing them with his siblings, particularly Gabriel, who seemed to take Cas’s reconsideration as personally as possible, even though it had nothing to do with him. Cas saw his angelic family as being complete separate, from the issue but Gabe had automatically jumped to the conclusion that forgiveness meant a return to life with the hunters, when in all actuality, Cas hadn’t quite decided what it meant. He should have mentioned that, instead of confrontationally stating that they were both family.

He had known that it would make the Trickster angry. And in a way, at the time, Cas had wanted to antagonize him, because despite these past few months being enjoyable, the angel had yet to hear an actual apology leave his brother’s mouth regarding his departure from heaven so long ago. And then, he’d had the audacity to act like he’d always been there, that they were undeniably family and had been since the beginning of time, getting together for the holidays and birthdays to have cookouts and exchange gifts. Oh please. The stress of the situation got to Cas in that moment, and he spoke without so much a shred of thought processing before the words left, Gabriel following in suit soon after.

He’d tried calling, through both the angel radio and the cell phones the three kept as a precaution, but Gabe seemed to want nothing to do with him. The only thought currently keeping him from having a complete and utter mental breakdown in the middle of Balthazar’s guest room at that precise moment was the notion that perhaps, the Trickster just needed some time to decompress and terrorize some questionably innocent people with their just desserts before he would decide to return his calls. Cas had tried not to sound too panicked on the voicemail he’d left, but strongly suspected that his voice had given away his fear barely a few seconds into its recording.

Cas absolutely did not want to imagine that that poolside hissy fit Gabriel had thrown was going to be their last conversation. He wasn’t satisfied with that, nor did he desire any end to the contact he shared with his brother. Loathe though he would’ve been to admit it several months ago, he actually missed his sibling’s company, annoying and childish though he may have been. He had cared, seemingly genuinely, which was more than he could say for Dean these past few years.

Which, speaking of the hunter, he was just now beginning to stir, face contorting into one of pain as he shifted, likely putting strain on his stitches with the movement. Cas sighed. He supposed now was as good a time as any to hash this out, even if he currently felt the very human need to vomit. “Dean,” he spoke softly, trying to ease the gravelly tone of his voice into a gentle hum. Instead, the sound cracked, betraying just how anxious he currently felt about the situation.

But it was enough. Within a few moments, green eyes were blinking to life in the full-size bed, and the man was slowly adjusting himself to a sitting position, nodding a small, polite smile to Cas before he settled, then speaking. “Mornin’, Cas. What can I do for you?”

“Why did you kiss me?” Cas had practiced the line before, and thus, thankfully, didn’t stumble, as he had the first thirty times when he’d attempted it in the mirror. He kept overcast blue eyes trained steadily on the hunter’s frame, blinking only when necessary, but it didn’t have much of an effect, as Dean rubbed at his eyes, brushing away some dirt before eventually responding.

“Dude, I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet. Can’t this conversation wait until after breakfast?”

“Dean…I think this conversation has waited long enough.” He’d expected this. He’d known Dean would want to put it off. These were all things Gabriel interpreted as Dean being dishonest and avoidant, which Cas didn’t doubt when concerning the latter, but even so, he wasn’t ready to outright dismiss the previous night as being an act of pure, manipulative desperation. Dean deserved a chance to explain himself.

I gave you one, he’d said last night to his brother, unintentionally putting a sarcastic drawl on the third word as he’d let his temper get the best of him. The memory left him cold this morning. He forced his hands into his pockets, glancing at the doorway as a distraction, when Dean exhaled, surprising him with his response. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. It has waited quite a long time, huh?”

“Yes.” Cas wanted to find more words than just one, but was too caught up in his shock that Dean hadn’t fought him on the point to search. He almost let himself smile, for this was a victory, never mind how small, but caught the urge and quashed it before his teeth began to show. “I suppose it has,” he added as an afterthought, deliberately leaving the conversation open for the hunter to begin. Because this was about him, not Cas, and the angel was not going to give him any ideas that may allow him to worm out of the subject.

“Okay. Why did I kiss you? Well, uh. I should think that would be kind of obvious.”

“It’s not,” Cas answered immediately. He kept his nerves out of his tone this time. Practice did make perfect, as it turned out. And he would need plenty of practice to keep from breaking down, because, as evidenced by what Dean had just said, this was obviously going to be like pulling a teeth from a stubborn six-year-old. Father, give me patience, he prayed in vain, knowing damn well that his parent hadn’t been checking his inbox in at least a few centuries.

“Look, I realize that was sort of a big jump to make, and I’m sorry if it was too fast. I just panicked. I can’t stand the idea of you leaving again, Cas.”

Once again, he successfully dodged the question with flying colors. Cas had to give the guy some credit for being masterfully avoidant, but unfortunately it only inflamed the anxiety threatening to swallow him whole at any given moment. He needed real answers, no matter how much they hurt.

He had to know if Gabriel was right, and he really was being artfully deceived by the hunter. Because if so, then this was it. Cas really had royally fucked up not one of his families, but two. If he was wrong about Dean, then he was going to be alone again. He was going to feel alone again. He quickly blinked, shoving his overwhelmingly heavy feelings underneath a rug elsewhere in his brain so he could focus yet again on the conversation.

There was only one way to really know how Dean actually felt. And that would be to take him by surprise. This hadn’t gone well the first time, and judging by the nowhere direction Dean had taken with the conversation thus far, Cas was expecting it to go even further south this time around.

He took a deep breath. “Right,” he said, the word barely coming out before he felt all of the moisture completely leave his throat in anticipation of the horror and/or awkwardness that he waited to befall Dean’s face at those that followed. “I love you.”

The memory sizzled in his mind of four months ago as the words left his mouth, no different than they had been back then. The stakes had been raised, however. I love you, Dean Winchester.

Strangely, no such expression passed the hunter’s visage. Instead, he smiled, one of the shy, half-smiles Dean got on the rare occasion that he was actually sentimental. The angel thought momentarily that perhaps, many miles beneath his feet, hell had frozen over in the few seconds that elapsed after Dean replied, “Is this how you’re going to wake me up every morning now? I love you? Because I gotta admit, I could probably get used to that.”

Cas wasn’t sure if he wanted to murder him or kiss him. Both, he decided neutrally, pursing his lips and allowing his skepticism to take over his features. Drunk Cas might have been a romantic with no sense of real self-worth, but he was not going to have his heart trampled all over once more by the Winchesters just because he’d been fool enough to write off Dean’s reluctance to answer direct questions as him being macho. He needed the truth, even if it meant he would have to pull teeth to get it.

And he did sort of mean that literally. Last night had been arguably one of the worst nights of his entire existence, from encountering the Winchesters again with no warning, to almost watching Dean die, to killing ANOTHER one of his siblings, to being directly responsible for his older (and favorite) brother leaving. He’d about had it with the bullshit, whether it be Dean’s, Gabe’s, or his own.

“Right. I never said I was coming back with you.”

Dean’s expression immediately sank, if only by a small amount. “Of course. Yeah. I just figured, since we—“

“Dean,” Cas started, patience slipping away, bit by bit with each beat that his heart would have taken in presence of the hunter were he still human, “let’s not lie to each other anymore. It’s tiring. Did you kiss me to try and manipulate me into staying? Because if so, I will personally see to it that your ass is dropped right back in hell, where I would have left it, had I known you would treat me this way.”

The angel fought the urge to smile out of both exasperation and disappointment as he watched Dean’s face contort. It only took a half a second. He didn’t even listen to the words Dean was starting to say, opening with the shortened version of his name, then graduating onto some lightly padded excuse for being so hasty, while still carefully avoiding every question Cas had asked thus far. It was impressive, really. Cas would have applauded his resilience, had he the heart.

Unfortunately, he did not. It was sinking, all the way to his toes as the damning realization washed over him that Gabriel had been absolutely, irrevocably right, and that he’d just screwed up the only remaining close relationship he’d had in a long time because of his belief in this stupid hunter, one who’d only abused his emotions since day one.

Dean stopped talking when he caught sight of the angel’s face. Every emotion Cas was experiencing was tied up in that sad, disappointed smile, lips cracked from lack of moisture. “Cas,” he started, voice taking on a much gruffer, panicked tone now. “Hey. I can explain.”

“I really don’t think there’s anything left to explain.” The urge to vomit was coming back, stronger than the winds of a tornado, sweeping Cas up in the desire to escape the situation as quickly as possible. He broke eye contact, but made no movement to the door, overcome yet again with wanting to throw words that were better off left unsaid at the hunter. He settled with, “You’ve already told me all I need to know.”

“No, that’s not...Cas, please don’t leave. I’m sorry. Look, this whole thing is my fault, alright? I…I should have been more honest about it from the get-go.”

“You think?” Cas sort of wanted to laugh. But he didn’t. He had a feeling that they might come out as the choked sobs he currently felt suffocating him from the inside. “It isn’t all your fault. I’m the masochist who fell in love with you, after all. I knew what I was getting into. I merely ignored it.”

“I won’t dispute you on that. I am a mess. I have no idea why you fell in love with me when I’ve been nothing but awful to you, especially during these past few years. But Cas…” Dean sighed, slipping off the bed, which the angel took as a cue to back up towards the window, a single hand curled into a snap-ready position, should he need a quick escape from the situation. But Dean didn’t approach him. Not yet. He merely sat back down after a moment, eyes downcast towards his lap, where two, scraped hands gently laid. “…the way I’ve acted…it’s got nothing to do with you, okay? So don’t stand there and beat yourself up over it.

“I know that I made eyes and cracked jokes around you more than once, and they all probably made it seem like I was interested. That’s on me. I initiated all that. Because…to tell ya the truth, Cas—” The hunter, whose voice had grown dark with an anguish Cas had never seen him don, cast a single glance upwards to meet the bright blue eyes of his past friend without a single blink as he continued, “—I was interested. I was interested as hell in you. You are fucking gorgeous, you know that? Hell, you must not, if you’re still pursuing garbage like me, but…”

“Dean.” The word escaped before he had a chance to form a coherent thought. His mind felt like it was trapped in the midst of a tropical storm, winds blistering around his cranium like a fever, but he still managed to find some semblance of what he was struggling to comprehend and voice it. “S-stop. I…I don’t want to hear it. You can’t sell me.”

“You’re wonderful, Cas. I don’t want you to think that the way that I’ve acted has been, in any way, your fault, because it’s not. This is, as I said before, all on me. These feelings are something that I have to come to terms with, and only I can be the one to do that.”

“Come to terms with what feelings, exactly?” There were very few times Cas felt as confused as he did in that moment. Although, the flattery Dean seemed to have genuinely thrown on him did cause his heart to rise into a somewhat higher position inside his chest, which was a welcome distraction from the fact that he wasn’t 100% sure whether or not Dean was making up an elaborate con as he went along, or he was being truly honest for once. The two were nearly unmistakable next to each other.

When Dean sighed, his entire body seemed to deflate, the air expelled from his lungs making up half of his muscled frame. He looked almost like a teenager, slumped over, staring at his lap as though it would give him answers. Cas stepped forward, reminding himself a little too late not to get emotionally invested in whatever story was about to leave Dean’s mouth, at which point the hunter looked up, seemingly alarmed by the sound. Green eyes scanned over his form, lingering on certain spots before returning upwards to meet celestial orbs he’d spent years memorizing, despite how they always seemed to shift depending on the angel’s mood.

“…I…I…”

“Don’t strain yourself.” It was involuntary, how the words slipped out. One of Cas’s defense mechanisms, voiced with a rasped whisper through a throat that felt about ready to close up at any given second.

Dean wasn’t sure if he could say it out loud. He’d never done it before, even in private. There were several voices in his head screaming at him not to, as they had on many occasions before, when he’d felt the temptation. They screeched with blaring, raw vocals tinged with whiskey that this was wrong. That he shouldn’t even have been entertaining this idea, let alone fucking doing it, especially when it wouldn’t amount to anything beyond his father hating him even more than he arguably already did. And yet, the idea of losing Cas seemed massive in comparison to that. Losing Cas again, he reminded himself chastely, the recap providing the extra push he needed to take a deep breath and utter the words he’d been meaning to for the better part of 5 years.

“I love you.” A second passed in silence, where Dean expected a deep, crushing blow of disapproval to rain down on him like a shower of razor-sharp ice picks intending on razing his skin. But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he felt the bed shift slightly beside him, a weight settling into the memory foam mattress, and a pair of eyes found their way across his face, watching him with both skepticism and concern. “I love you too, I mean,” he said again, voice picking itself up, along with the edges of his lips, turning to catch Cas’s unreadable expression.

The poor angel looked as though he’d had a bit of a late night, despite no such thing existing for the species, and Dean instantly felt at least a thousand pounds of guilt start to bury him alive. He had to keep talking though. To push through this. Even if Cas found his dishonesty impossible to forgive, he still needed to know the truth. He still needed to know why. The angel sighed.

“Do you ever tire of hurting my feelings, Dean?”

It hurt like someone had fucking ripped out his soul with their bare hands, how resigned Cas sounded when he spoke. The hunter, against the mountains of regret and culpability beginning to pile up in his chest, as well as the screaming sounds in his head that had decided to crescendo back into existence once more, reached over and grasped both of his friend’s hands within his own, shifting his posture to turn towards the angel, if at the expense of the pain now exploding through his abdomen with a tiny wince. “Cas, I never wanted to hurt your feelings. I’m so, so sorry for that. I just…I wasn’t ready…I wasn’t ready to tell you.”

“Six years,” Cas mumbled breathlessly between cracked lips. Extra context was not required for what felt like a stack of cinderblock bricks to press sharply into Dean’s lungs. “And you’re not ready to admit to this until I am about to leave? How…Dean Winchester of you.”

The hunter sucked in a large breath, putting his full effort into pretending like it didn’t feel like a house had been dropped on his chest. “I suppose I do have a track record with this, don’t I?” He felt himself drift minutely to the right as he half-assed a deflective smile, body leaning into Cas’s, if only by a hair, but the angel didn’t cringe away, as he expected him to. It was a small gesture, but it was enough motivation for Dean to lift his heavy head and meet Cas’s eyes, which were still swimming in a sea of muted impatience. He had yet to remove his hands from Dean’s grasp though, the continued contact being the single driving force behind the hunter’s next words.

“Look. Saying I was a dick to you is putting it lightly, how I acted after I got the Mark. I wasn’t even angry most of the time, when I lashed out at you. I was just…scared, of getting too close to you. The Mark turned me into a monster, and the last thing I wanted to do was give in to these feelings only to…to hurt you. I thought it was wrong too, feeling the way I did for you. Still conflicted about that. My dad would kill me if he saw me now, telling you all this. He would be so disappointed in me, not just for acting like such a chick and discussing my feelings, but for being gay, especially for a nerdy angel in a trenchcoat.”

“You were close with your father.” It was a statement more than a question, but Dean nodded regardless.

“Yeah. He was my hero, you know? Real dick sometimes, but he tried his best to raise Sam and me. The last thing I ever wanted to do was disappoint him. He taught me how to handle a gun, how to hunt. I just wanted to be a good son. But, uh…apparently good sons aren’t ones who are interested in other guys.”

Dean had to pause, swallowing the bile he felt rising up his windpipe and taking note of Cas furrowing his brow in confusion out of the corner of his eye before continuing, “I was fourteen, when he caught me with a boy from school. We were both slackers, kept coming up with creative ways to ditch class. We were hanging out in the park, and apparently Dad had just finished up a hunt, because when he pulled up beside us in Baby, because he had tears in his shirt, and he smelled like he’d just come straight out of a brewery. I remember seeing him, and immediately wanting to run, but my legs were practically stapled to the ground, shaking. I thought he was going to kill me, from the look in his eye. And he did rough me up a bit. I never saw him that mad before. But most of that rage…it got directed at the guy I was there with. Fuck, Cas. I thought he was going to die, from the way my father left him. I was freaking out, when Dad pulled me into the car, slammed the door, and gassed it. It took hours…hours…before I was able to properly breathe again. The whole time, Dad didn’t hesitate to remind me that ‘no son of his was turning out a fag.’ So, uh, about me not telling you I felt the same? Had a lot to do with that.”

An awkward silence settled down between them for a painstaking couple of minutes, before being broken by the darker-haired of the two.

“Your father is dead,” Cas pointed out, unflinchingly pokerfaced. Despite the fact that Dean had felt his skin physically crawl off of his body during his story, the angel seemed nonplussed, and if he had been moved by the hunter’s words, it didn’t reflect on his vessel. “You’ve had nothing to fear for quite a long time. Assuming you are even being honest, about any of this, which, I must admit, I have my doubts.”

“Check my memories. Please.” Dean held up his hands, breaking contact with Cas to offer a peaceful gesture, but his friend merely squinted at him, crow’s feet crinkling, as he made no move towards him. “Cas, do it. It’s all there. If you don’t believe me, that’s fine, I deserve it. But please. Dig through my memories. All my thoughts about you are probably in there too. I’m telling the truth. I love you. How many times do you want me to say it? One hundred? One thousand? I’m sorry, for how I reacted. How I’ve been. But I promise you, I speak the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

Cas’s matter-of-fact nature hadn’t changed, even as he cocked his head to the side, an action so reminiscent of old times that Dean’s soul seemed to flare up, and pursed dry lips. “Dean…This…changes nothing. Assuming I were to find proof of this incident, and browsed through your opinions of me, it doesn’t change how you have treated me these past few years. I don’t have the luxury of being able to forget how awful it felt to be human and alone, thrown out on my ass by people I thought were my family, accused of ordering kamikaze hits in the war against Metatron, and then treated as though I am a failed, adoptive addition to the family business. I rebelled for you. I fell from heaven, for you. I died for you. And I…I still love you, despite all of that. If you call me, I’ll come. But don’t ask me to do this. To trust you. It has never ended well for me, before, and you’re not the only people in my life anymore. I’m sorry, too. I never wanted to hurt you, and now is no exception, but this is the way things have to be.”

Somewhere, in between the dull thump of Dean’s heart and the infernal ringing going on in Cas’s head, there was a knock on the door. The hunter didn’t seem to register the occurrence, as he stared straight ahead towards the floor, highly concentrated on a speck of carpet tinged with what could have possibly been a different hue of ivory than its siblings, but Cas was able to lift his arm and pull it open with a graceful swoosh. In the doorway stood the third member of their dysfunctional family, a disgruntled and pajama-clad Sam, who wore an expression made entirely of thorns as he stepped into the room, looking between each one before settling on Cas and sputtering an anxious greeting.

“C-Cas. Good morning. Um, what are you doing here?”

“I’m sharing with Dean my decision to remain with my family.” Cas kept his voice steady, even though he felt anywhere but in the realm of okay at that particular moment. It was a struggle not to look over at Dean. Not to immediately take his words back. Not to second guess this decision.

The emotions that crossed the tallest man’s face over the next three seconds were impossible to read, not that either of the others in the room were paying attention. Finally, Sam nodded a sign of comprehension and turned his attention to Dean, who was still gazing intently at the ground, hands folded in his lap, continuing to speak to Cas, “So you’re…staying, then? You’ve decided?”

Sam was horrible at keeping his feelings out of his voice. Always had been. Cas wish he hadn’t have been. It would’ve made this much less painful, sitting down with two hunters whom he had loved, only to tell them that he wouldn’t be rejoining their ragtag group again. He couldn’t seem to find the words in his throat in time, but Dean somehow did. “Yeah, Cas. Have you decided?”

Normally, from Dean, a sentence like that would be coated in sarcasm and transparent annoyance. Today, however, it lacked the aspects of mockery in favor of picking up disappointment, not in Cas, but in the hunter himself. It showed in his eyes, when Cas made the fatal error of choosing to glance up in his direction.

Seeing the anguish reflected in those radiant green orbs weakened his resolve something tremendous. Cas was finding the English language to suddenly be very difficult to pronounce. It was worsened by the magnetic pull he felt from Dean’s expression, lips pinched at the ends and eyes heavy-lidded, as though he was attempting to fight back tears. Were those tears over him? Legitimate ones? Or were they over losing control of the situation?

He couldn’t tell. He didn’t trust himself enough to tell. His judgement was impaired around the two brothers, always had been, and he lacked the belief in himself to see anything in those sad eyes than what he wanted to, which was that the two of them were going to miss him, and that they were willing to adjust their behavior if he reconsidered coming home. His heart was screaming at him to just give in to what he wanted to do. To answer with a resounding ‘no,’ and give Dean the chance he maybe deserved, to atone for his sins. It was what he’d said he deserved, at least, during his drunken pitch to Gabriel.

But that option meant opening himself up to be wounded by them again, an action he wasn’t yet ready to take right now, if ever. It was a tricky wire he was walking, this one. There were no black and white answers to this. If only he could’ve skipped ahead, seen how it all blew over, perhaps then, he would have some faith in the choice he was about to make. Without faith, he couldn’t be sure he was making the right decision, if such a decision even existed. So, to answer that question, was he certain in his last sentence?

“No,” he spoke slowly, watching the bed skirt catch the mid-morning breeze from the open window next to him, and deliberately avoiding both hunter’s faces. “Not exactly. I want to believe you both. I do. But it’s…difficult.”

“Hey, I’m willing to make an effort if you are,” Dean offered, lips perking up at one edge, a transparent, sideways attempt at hiding his suffering underneath a grin. “Let’s start over, Cas. All three of us. Just give me the chance. Give us the chance, to right our wrongs. I know I treated you like dirt. Give me a chance to fix it. To make it better.”

Cas was grateful that he no longer required breathing, since he would’ve likely found the exercise impossible at the moment. He battled with himself not to look up, and failed within seconds, glancing upward, first towards Sam, then Dean. “It isn’t that simple.” He wanted to say more, to elaborate, but there didn’t seem to be properly structured sentences for the grievances he had to address in order to move ahead with this situation.

‘I have another family,’ sounded a bit too close to something off one of the the melodramatic soap operas Ambriel watched for his liking, no matter how true it may have been. There also remained the problem as to whether or not that family existed, since he’d pissed off Gabriel. Not to mention, his inability to safely trust the Winchesters once more with his heart and soul after they’d trampled all over it was still alive and well. The stakes were high. One family or the other. His heart on the line. The Winchesters or the angels? Always one or the other.

Dean was opening up his mouth to reply to Cas’s cryptic, non-descript response when the angel next spoke, attracting both their eyes when he answered, “It isn’t that I’m not willing to try this again. I merely have….others…that I have to worry about.”

“Ambriel,” Sam interrupted, piquing Cas’s interest. He nodded, hair bouncing slightly as his head ducked sympathetically. “And Gabriel too, I’m guessing. Right?”

“Right.” Cas’s confusion showed in his voice. It was something he couldn’t help. “Both of them are my family. I can’t just abandon them, like I have in the past. I owe them. Gabriel, especially.”

“You don’t have to,” Sam reasoned, raising his eyebrows in that typical empathetic expression he donned fairly often. Cas was about to ask for further information, but the hunter continued before it became necessary. “It doesn’t have to be black and white, them or us, Cas. If you want to come back, but you don’t want to lose them, I get that. So, ask them to come with you.”

“What?” The question was voiced not only on Cas’s end, but Dean’s as well, the hunter being the one to continue, “Sam, what the hell? Asking the angels to move in with us? What is this, Full House? They’re angels.”

“They are Cas’s family, Dean. Just like us.” Sam’s tone was dark in its reminder, and Cas found himself following his line of sight to look at Dean, who immediately backed down, gaze flickering over to catch Cas’s own, and lingering.

“Of course,” Dean said a moment later, still staring deeply into Cas’s eyes. The angel felt a shiver travel down his spine, achingly slow as it wrapped its way around his bones. It was chilling, how little four months had done to quell the effect that their extended eye contact had on him. He still craved that connection, the unspoken words exchanged through the look, after all this time.

It was sort of pathetic. “If it means having you back, I can deal with having an extra half dozen wings in the house. It’s…a small price to pay, if it means that I get a do-over. So, what do you say, Cas?” Dean rose to his feet, stiffening slightly as the wound was stretched, and taking a step in the direction of his dark-haired friend, who remained idle by the window, staring at him with a masked expression before looking down. “You willing to rejoin the party if your merry little band gets to come with?”

The angel was silent, contemplating the merits of this compromise. Was it plausible? Possibly. Did it solve one or several of his problems? Yes. Would it cause more problems? Doubtlessly. Was it a good plan? Not…really. But it beat the alternative, which was uncertainly throwing his faith in one family only to scorn the other. It was a…possibility, loathe though he was to admit it. It sounded horrifying in practice. Gabriel would never agree. Or would he?

He’d been exceptionally protective of Cas thus far. Would that extend to this, as well? It would arguably be worse than hunting, which Cas already figured he wasn’t a huge fan of, and it involved the Winchesters, which could’ve put them in harm’s way, if they pissed off the Trickster. And yet, Cas couldn’t help but feel that, despite his persona, his brother would never lay another hand upon the Winchesters unless Cas wished it so. Gabriel had seemingly grown up over the past four months, and had become painstakingly transparent in his emotions, including those indicating that he cared a lot more than he’d previously let on, particularly about his family.

Cas had lost his faith in most things. But he did have faith in his brother, mistakes be damned.

And like that, in a split second, a decision was made. “I will run it past Ambriel and Gabriel.” Cas couldn’t shove the happiness he felt bubbling up inside him at the sight of Dean trying to hold back a smile, and Sam not even bothering to hide his at the sentence. It wasn’t a guarantee. It wasn’t sappy. But the weight of the statement seemed better left unsaid, as many things were with the Winchesters. Words never had been their go-to for emotional situations. Love was a feeling, after all, right? Maybe he’d been looking at this the wrong way. There had to be a silver lining to this agreement. Call him crazy, but his gut was screaming at him that this was the necessary choice, and he’d not had that sensation in a long time.

He couldn’t seem to shake the idea of the five gathered in the library, Sam distracting Cas with historical questions that the angel loved answering, or holed up in the living room, watching Dr. Sexy, while Dean gave Ambriel a recap, or sitting around a table at late hours of the night, shoveling pizza into their mouths in some poor, modernized version of a Sunday dinner. Gabriel would appreciate that, he thought. A new Sunday dinner.

Surely they could beat heaven’s, right?

Chapter Text

“Rough night, huh?”

Oh please. Like this guy had any idea. The archangel Gabriel was inches away from replacing the hair of the lady chattering her mouth off at the end of the bar with an angry hornet’s nest, complete with stingers, but that was last priority compared to the punishment he had planned for the man next to him who had just spoken, and wasn’t anywhere close to finished despite the Trickster giving him no indication to continue.

“You know,” the guy added, after receiving several seconds of silence—enough to clearly state Gabriel’s intention of remaining tight-lipped about the disastrous situation he was in, “me too, man. I tell you what. My literary career has been in the toilet ever since the subjects of my work came forward and told me I—“ he raised his hands for air quotes, “—had to stop writing about them or else they would come back and kill me.”

Gabe raised his eyebrows, glancing over to take in the appearance of this stranger complaining about his life. He seemed to be a normal guy, staring wistfully into a mostly drained glass of the cheapest scotch available at this particular establishment. The Trickster was only able to identify the substance due to the fact that he had downed several bottles of it earlier, along with a number of others in a sad, fruitless attempt to get drunk. He’d never had the pleasure before, and likely never would. It was hard enough for angels to get hammered, and damn near impossible for an archangel to do so.

At the least, he could say he tried, but unfortunately, that left him in the position of still mentally hitting himself for being so brash with Cas earlier. If there was any doubt that Cas was returning home with the Winchesters, it was definitely gone now. Gabe was certain of it. He’d past lost his temper and patience with his younger sibling, and now would be paying for it with their entire relationship for the next…forever, probably. That was on him. He’d done that. He hadn’t been the older brother he’d promised to be when the angels were born, then or now. He was still the same fuckup he’d always been. The runt of the archangels. His father’s least favorite. The Trickster, angel, and pagan god, with a changing face, a changing name, and an electric personality he did anything but control.

This guy’s pathetic drama couldn’t even compare. Although, Gabe would be lying if his pitch wasn’t intriguing, so in a last-ditch effort to push his misery over the loss of his family to the back of his mind, he decided to reply, “Hm, self-preservation is a real bummer. What were you writing? Erotica?”

Gabe’s question caught the man in the midst of a sip, which resulted in him nearly choking as he spit out the drink, some spilling into his beard as he sputtered, “N-no! Absolutely not! Well, not really. There were sex scenes, but…I-it wasn’t like I was into it. It’s not like that. They were prophetic visions, and I wrote about them.”

“Prophetic visions, huh?” It was Gabriel’s turn to snort. He’d been out of the game for a while, but every instinct in his body told him that this guy was way too much of a loser to be a real prophet. He was more than likely just another wackjob visionary who thought his ideas were worth the silver screen adaptation and cash cow merchandise that came with pop culture trends. The Trickster had been around the world a few times. This wasn’t his first rodeo with eclectic, self-proclaimed literary geniuses.

“I know what you’re thinking, but it’s the real deal, I promise.” Setting his glass back on the square, slightly dampened napkin on the bar counter, he turned to the Trickster, lips upturned in a half-smile. “Actually, it’s all by my design, these ideas and whatnot. I’ve got to keep up appearances for this job, though. It beats my old gig as creator of the universe.”

Gabriel’s amusement was beginning to fade into annoyance at this man’s attitude. He seemed like he was being genuinely serious, which was equal parts concerning and frustrating, a) because Gabriel was usually better at picking skilled liars out of a crowd than this and b), because he had no right to be so blatantly obnoxious as to boast that he was God. This wiry, whiny human, God? Please. As if. The Trickster considered teaching him a lesson, then downed the notion with another drink of whiskey, thinking better of it. That was also annoying, how being around Cas had made him a better person.

Stupid Cas, being all morally upstanding and law-abiding. It amazed Gabe sometimes that Cas had even diverged from heaven, considering what a goody-two-shoes the angel was, and it astounded him even more that Cas had remained on Earth and continued to defy direct orders from his superiors in the interests of the Winchesters. He must have really thought them special, to fall from heaven voluntarily. Either that or the moose and alcoholic homophobe had given him an extremely convincing hard sell on joining Team Free Will. Gabe wouldn’t be shocked if the latter were the case. He’d heard that Samsquatch’s puppy eyes were practically hypnotizing, after all.

Maybe though, Cas had seen something in the Winchesters then that Gabriel hadn’t. He was fairly perceptive, despite being so naïve in navigating social situations. Perhaps the gruff-voiced hunters weren’t as terrible as Gabe thought. He could only hope, for his younger brother’s sake. Not like he could do much more at this point.

“You may wanna calm yourself there, Tolkien. You’re dangerously approaching blasphemy, and in the presence of an angel like myself, no less.” Gabe didn’t give much thought to his comment, nor did he care to. He had all the power in the world, relatively speaking, so what difference did it make anymore, what left his mouth and what didn’t? He could showcase his broad, shimmering wings to the whole damn bar, stand on top of the counter, and declare himself ‘prince of the damned,’ and it would make no difference. Nothing made a difference.

He had nothing left but his own antics. No Cas. No Ambriel. He could’ve spoken to Balthazar, had the fool not been upstairs, tangled in holy affairs, sweet-talking his way into a top dog position that would save him from making the next heavenly hit list. It was a smart move, so he couldn’t even be mad about it. If only he cared enough to go home, the place that was supposed to be his home, then he could reign as king of the clouds, but the gig held no love for him. Heaven held no love for anyone. It was a cold, empty place, devoid of color and emotions other than hatred and envy.

“I’m not sure you get to berate me on holiness, Gabriel.”

The Trickster felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up at the sound of his name. He immediately turned to the stranger, fingers twisting into rough fists, simultaneously fearful, as well as angry, that this person seemed to know him from somewhere. He wasn’t in the mood for this. He never really was, honestly. But tonight? No. He needed to mourn peacefully, the death of his happiness, and the return to his lonely life of just desserts.

“Whoa, what’s with the hostility? All I did was use your name. Would you have preferred ‘son’? Jeez. My bad.”

He felt his hands relax almost involuntarily as the realization sunk into him slowly, and he licked his dry lips, turning back to stare at his reflection in his partially full glass of particularly potent whiskey. He wasn’t able to garner any thoughts from his brain aside from a simple, resolute, No, which wasn’t going to help the situation at hand in any way, shape or form. Well, maybe if he decided to poof off, it would, and to be fair, he was considering it.

What right did this fucking scrub have to show up in a California bar after several millennia, talking about a book series he was writing about—presumably—Sam and Dean Winchester like their threats towards him fell anywhere near catastrophic? Where did he get off, even? Missing the apocalypse? Kicking back and watching his own son open a can of Leviathan on Earth? Dropping popcorn crumbs in his beard as he played spectator to Metatron casting all of the angels down from heaven? Gabriel felt so much rage in that moment, he could barely stomach it, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before swallowing most of it, along with the rest of his remaining liquor, before opening them and facing one of his least favorite people in existence.

“Your bad?” He asked, incredulous, slamming his glass back down on the tabletop with a crack. He didn’t need to look to know that the force had caused a spider web-patterned splinter in the material. “Your bad? Are you fucking serious right now? Where the hell have you been this whole time?! The apocalypse? Your little serpentine mouthbreathers being released? Metatron hitting the eject button on heaven and then sealing the doors shut? Don’t you lecture me about holiness, Dad. Where the fuck have you been this whole time?”

The man who’d done little more than play God for a stint swished the remaining liquor around his glass in a clear circle, watching it pensively before he responded nonchalantly, “…Writing, mostly. I find it to be…relaxing. Also, could you calm down? People are starting to stare.”

“I’m sure they are. Probably’ll stare more when I light your deadbeat ass on fire. What the fuck is wrong with you? What gives you the right to show up like this?”

“You looked like you could use someone to talk to. And I know most of your friends are dead. Excuse me for being concerned.”

“Because of you, they’re dead. Everyone is dead because of you. Because you thought writing was apparently more important than lending a hand in helping this shitty little universe you built escape a fate you deemed law. Like, wow. In case you’ve had your head too buried up your ass with your pen recently, let me just break it down for you, what’s been going on: The apocalypse. The Leviathan. That egotistical bag of dicks, Metatron. The mark of Cain. Knights of Hell. I DIED, Dad. And now you’re concerned, because—because why, exactly?”

Eyes he’d once feared and loved met his with an overwhelming cloudiness, and the archangel averted his face, glancing at the pinball machine in the corner, metal scraped around the edges of from years of rough use. He didn’t really know why he’d asked the last question. He didn’t truly care either way, whatever the answer was. He couldn’t dispute him on this subject, not to the amount that it deserved. Not when he himself was one of the worst hypocrites he’d ever known.

“Contrary to what you might think, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about any of that, even if I had been involved. I don’t have any more power, Gabriel. It’s been gone…for…for a while, actually. Which is precisely why I’m here. I don’t understand how you’re alive.”

“Join the club,” Gabriel muttered sarcastically, taking great care to roll his eyes in a direction away from his father, gesturing towards the bartender. “Another, if you would. Long Island Ice Tea, preferably.” The employee gave him a sideways look of what could’ve been either concern or awe before nodding, and the Trickster felt the gut-twisting feeling he’d had since earlier intensify tenfold. This was stupid. All of this stupid. Also pointless. But stupid, mainly.

I should go back and apologize, had been circling his head all evening, knocking against his skull several times only to be ignored in favor of his favorite activity: running away from his problems. He was a coward, truly, now and forever, and to think he could ever break that law of his nature was idiotically optimistic. Cas was always destined to return with the Winchesters. Gabriel was always destined to fuck up. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him either. Like father, like son.

“It’s weird. I’m not really interested anymore in knowing. When I saw you with Cas and that…oh, crap. What’s her name? Ambience? Amber? Alliel?”

“Ambriel.”

“Right, her.” God took the final swig of the cheap liquor in his glass and gently placed it on the table, right next to where the impact of Gabriel’s had left spider-webbed glass, before continuing, “You looked so happy that I suddenly didn’t want to know. I haven’t seen any of you that happy. Not in a long, long time. I can’t say I blame you, because I’m not necessarily happy either. What unfolded in heaven, with Lucifer…with Amara…You all deserved better than that. I’m sorry.”

“Wow. An apology. Impressive. You giving this spiel to all of us dead men walking, or just me?”

“Gabriel…”

“Don’t. Don’t ‘Gabriel,’ me, alright?” This time, he turned to catch the wave of indecipherable emotion flicker across his father’s face, digging his nails into the wood underneath the bar counter as he next spoke. “Look, I wasn’t the one who needed you. Even if you didn’t have any answers, you should have been here, if not for me, than for them. My siblings, your children needed you, and you turned your back on them for the sake of writing about the Winchesters!”

Gabe’s voice took on a slow speed then, dripping with asinine cynicism as he tilted his head slightly, lips pulled up at one end in an insincere smirk. “And you know, Dad, I gotta admit...man, am I tired of hearing about the Winchesters. I’m tired of their world-breaking antics, and their bitchy, teenage warring with one another. I’m real tired of it. But the one thing that really grinds my gears…is how you let one of your own children fall so directly in the their tour of carnage, knowing how toxic they are. Tell me, Father, are you capable of experiencing guilt? Do you feel it crawl inside your veins and scream at the back of your brain, willing you to intervene? Because I do. I feel terrible, for how I let down the one sibling who believed in me, not once, but twice. Thing is, though, that’s on you too. You put him there. He got his orders from what you wrote. Remember the apocalypse? I think you might have been there. Right. You were. You were hiding. Pathetic. You’re pathetic. Believe me, I would know.”

“Okay,” the once-ruler replied a few seconds later, holding his hands up in defense. “I get it. You’re pissed. That point has been established. Can I actually talk now? I’d like to help.”

The archangel hummed in displeasure. “Mm, sorry. Not interested in hearing your sales pitch, old man.” As a drink was set down in front of him by the increasingly skittish bartender, his finger reached up and dusted the rim with a flourish, mind wandering as his other hand clenched at his side. He wanted to implode the entire bar. A whole town, perhaps. Just when he had thought that he’d finally reached rock bottom, he somehow had managed to dig himself a whole new level beneath the surface. Incredible.

“Alright. That’s fine. You don’t have to listen, but look, you need to hear this from someone. You were happier with Ambriel and Cas than you ever were in heaven, or on Earth, and it’d be stupid, even by your standards, to let that go due to the Winchesters, no matter how much you hate them. Besides, you say they poison everything they touch, right? So, you’re cool with just walking away and letting them ruin this for you, even though it is arguably the best thing to ever happen to you?”

In Gabe’s defense, he tried very hard to not hear it. But his curiosity, as usual, got the better of him as a few choice words caught his attention, and next thing he knew, he was tuning in, nails digging into the cushion of his barstool and hand clutching his Long Island Ice Tea with a death grip. Stupid old man had a point, not that he’d not already considered it. It merely seemed that, in his experience, the Winchesters always managed to twist and mangle people, obstacles or not. It was a choose-your-own-adventure with the same ending each time. He hadn’t seen the point in fighting it, particularly since Cas was obviously on board.

Ugh, he should have kept his mouth shut. “If it’s what Cas wants, then yes,” he replied quietly, to which he received a scoff.

“And did you ask Castiel what he wants?”

“I didn’t need to. Kid’s transparent as a ghost. They’re his family, which must make me…hm…let me think…the attention-starved shelter pet he keeps around out of pity? Look. I forced my company on him, tried to be the big brother he deserves. I tried, and it didn’t work. He prefers them.”

“How do you know that for sure, though? Did you ask?”

“I just told you, I didn’t need—“ Gabe repeated, beginning to lose his patience before getting interrupted by the parental scolding he was both a) too old for and b) never asked for.

“Apologize for whatever you did wrong and ask, keeping in mind that the answer might not be black and white. You might have to compromise, but…I think you’ll be happier that way than how you are now. I’m sure that the people across the U.S. that you are likely planning on terrorizing with their just desserts agree.” The last part was added in a flat whisper.

He didn’t hate that he was considering it, but it was safe to say that Gabe hated the medium it had to come through so that he would consider it. His waste of a father figure was correct in stating that his time with Castiel and Ambriel had changed him for the better. He’d began to genuinely feel again with positivity rather than self-loathing and hatred, both of which usually got taken out on others. And he would be letting the Winchesters win, lest he stand by and allow them to whisk Cas away. But what Cas wanted…

He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t necessarily wanted to know. Not for sure. Not directly, where there was no way he could live in denial, his default state of being. That would’ve been exposing his skin and readying himself for bullets, a rookie move for someone whose personal will to live hinged on being able to dodge the truth. He’d been lying his whole life. Letting himself be lied to. Preferring that, to some degree.

He might have honestly been more of a coward than his father, somehow.

Standing up, he reached in his pocket and emerged with a fifty dollar bill, which he proceeded to flatten against the countertop, much to the alarm of the bartender, who backed up immediately, eyes darting towards the intricate fissure beside the money. Gabriel paid it no mind, casting one steely glance at the wiry human he’d once considered his hero and stating neutrally, “Thanks for the advice, Dad. I’ll make sure to follow in your footsteps.” He then turned and walked out, not bothering to catch his reaction, not caring. The man deserved it, for what he’d done. What pain he’d inflicted on his family.

As he made his way outside, a cool breeze curling around his ears and tickling his neck, the archangel found himself pausing and sighing. Unfortunately, loathe though he may have been to say it, the old man’s sudden appearance did have an effect on him. He couldn’t be like him, running away from everything, too cowardly to own up to his mistakes. He’d been the one to start this charade, so he had to be the one to finish it. No matter how hard. No matter how much his legs didn’t want to move. It needed to be done.

No more running. No more rationalizing. No more tricks.

Chapter Text

Cas supposed he should have been able to see the benefits of all of this. Ambriel certainly did, twirling around the Bunker and picking up random objects to ask their purpose to either Sam or Dean, both of whom had been watching him with careful expressions since a few days ago, when he’d pitched the idea of moving in with the Winchesters to her, and she’d eagerly accepted without an ounce of hesitation. This had led, rather quickly, to their migration to the Bunker, which still felt as foreign to Cas as the first time he’d stepped foot in the place. Sam and Dean had been all-too friendly about assisting him in the transition ‘back home,’ as they’d called it, but the only one to take them up on that offer so far had been Ambriel.

Cas, conversely, had mostly avoided the Winchesters when he could. His train of thought that had impulsively resulted in this decision had derailed at some point to question what the hell he was actually doing, willingly subjecting himself to this. He ducked Sam and Dean on purpose while he mulled over this, because he lost the topic as soon as he’d see Sam grin, or Dean glance at him knowingly, green orbs staring so deeply into his, it felt like the hunter had a grip on his soul. He couldn’t afford to lose these doubts he was having. Not yet. Not when two weeks had passed, and there hadn’t been a word from Gabe. Cas had really clung onto the hope that his sibling had simply needed time to cool down after their poolside argument, but with each second more of the silence, he was rapidly starting to slip from that notion and panic as the cold realization of having fucked up began to eye him in its crosshairs.

Presently, he sighed, taking in the view of his room, which looked no different than he’d left it. There was a thin layer of dust on most objects, the only noticeable change if one were to examine the dwelling in detail, but that was due to having not had an active tenant for several months. According to Sam, the Winchesters also hadn’t been in the Bunker for quite some time either. They had been slumming it in cheap hotels without room service, searching for him in what turned out to be a considerably fruitless effort until Balthazar dropped by and offered his services. Thus, Cas assumed that the Bunker likely hadn’t been cleaned since he’d left. It seemed like an eternity since he had felt the give of the bed beneath him, and gripped the plaid flannel sheets. Yet, his time with Ambriel and Gabriel had felt short, like it had passed in a single breath. It was too short, he thought to himself sourly, sheets clutched in a hand that was slowly furling into a fist. My fault.

He didn’t get time to brood over his failure as a brother though. Almost as soon as his fingers had ensnared the sheet in their grip, there was a knock at the door and Dean poked his head in, freckles illuminated by the bedside table. “Hey. You alright? You’ve been awfully quiet since you moved back in. I made burgers to celebrate. I know you don’t have to eat anymore, since you got your wings back and all that, but I just thought…” Dean trailed off and averted his gaze to anywhere in the room that wasn’t directly at Cas, including, but not limiting itself to the bedframe, dresser, side table, and framed photograph of them during the apocalypse. “…uh…I thought you might like them. Sort of like a welcome back gift.”

Welcome back. To what? Cas wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t leave his tongue. Was he being welcomed back into the same kind of life that had made him want to so desperately leave before? The Winchesters definitely couldn’t infantilize him with their hunting superiority anymore, but that didn’t mean that whatever occurred between him and Dean was real, now that there were others there who would bear witness to it. According to Dean, he’d never told Cas his feelings because he hadn’t been ready, and Cas was pretty sure that if such feelings even existed, that he still wasn’t ready to come out busting out of the closet with them. Even though Sam wouldn’t care. Even though Ambriel probably wouldn’t even notice. This was assuming it had been real to begin with, which Cas still had his doubts about, concerning Dean’s spotty track record with the truth.

However, he could verify with permission, now that his grace flowed freely through his veins once more, yet, he made no mention nor request to do so, instead retaining his silence in staring at Dean, expressionless. He was the one who wasn’t ready this time. Looking for confirmation of Dean’s feelings by digging painfully through his very damaged psyche was not high on his to-do list, unsurprisingly. He didn’t want to think about what he might find in there. What cruel things Dean had kept to himself about Cas over the course of their friendship. He didn’t want to see Dean’s memories and feelings regarding Lisa and Ben. He’d been there in person to witness those, and damn, they had been overwhelmingly piercing then, even when Dean had tried to dull them down through his poker-faced pout and façade of manliness.

He could picture the familial bliss that the hunter had so relished when he had lived with the two. He’d been the best acting father figure Ben had probably had, and, in Cas’s personal opinion, would ever have. Dean was wonderful with children, a skill that Cas couldn’t quite seem to grasp. It was a shame that he had been ripped from the two like he had been, but this life followed the Winchesters wherever they strayed. For Sam. For Dean. Even for me, the angel thought to himself, frowning.

“Cas.”

The angel realized with a jolt that he hadn’t answered Dean, who had advanced past the doorframe and had extended about half of his body into the room, with one leg persistently rooted to his original stance. He was watching Cas with a wary expression that upon further inspection appeared to be based in concern. “Dean,” Cas replied, forgetting rather suddenly why Dean had come in to begin with.

The hunter looked at him for a second before dropping his gaze to his feet and raising a hand to graze the back of his neck with a gentle rub. “Cas, listen. I know I’ve not been the best to you, especially lately, and I get that you’re probably still angry with me right now for…well…everything, but whenever you’re ready to come around, I’ll be here.”

“I’m not,” Cas interrupted, before Dean could edge in another word. He paused, before clarifying, “I’m not angry. It just feels weird being here, like this. I believe the word for it is ‘surreal’? I apologize for my absence as of late…I’m…still processing it all. I’m not sure I trust you anymore, particularly concerning your feelings. I’m also uncertain as to whether or not my brother is ever returning from his sudden departure, and whether or not I will get the opportunity to apologize for forsaking our family. It’s…a lot to take in at once.”

Dean nodded, eyes wandering the room before committing themselves to the framed photo of the hunters and angel during the apocalypse. Everyone in the photo excluding the brothers and warrior of God were dead, a grim reminder of what destruction had been left in the wake of Lucifer’s terror, and Dean felt himself obligated to look elsewhere after he felt the memories of Ellen, Jo and Bobby reach up and begin to metaphorically strangle his windpipe. “I don’t blame you. I’m gonna guess you’ve called a few times?”

“Yeah. A few.” Cas smiled humorlessly. He had lost count of the number of times he’d messaged, called and left voicemails for Gabriel. He was assuming at this point that the heated confrontation the two had engaged in at the pool was intended to be their last, at least on part of the archangel, which left a permanently bitter taste in his mouth where his unnecessary words from that night had emerged. But a small part of him resiliently held on to the belief that perhaps it was not. Perhaps Gabriel was preoccupied with his fabricated women and favorite deadly pranks, too absorbed in his own business to notice Castiel’s frantic pleas to get into contact with him.

Hope was about all he had at this point. “Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but sulking and brooding over it isn’t gonna make him reply any faster,” Dean said quietly, with a surprising amount of empathy alongside his regular gruffness. “So you might as well come eat some food. Who knows? It might make you feel better.”

Cas sincerely doubted that, but replied anyway, “Perhaps,” maybe for the sake that he not argue with Dean, maybe for the fact that the hunter did actually have a point in saying that Cas was biding his time rather poorly. He stood up, straightening the flannel button-up he was wearing, and followed what seemed to be as astonished Dean into the kitchen wordlessly. The hunter strode ahead of him with eyebrows raised, as though he was shocked that Cas put up so little a fight. Maybe it was surprisingly. Cas didn’t really know. It was true that before their confrontation at the Bunker a few months ago, all the two had done was fight for weeks at a time. Trivial matters, like Cas forgetting to do the dishes, or Dean overlooking the need to actually form a plan before trying to thrown down with the monster of the day comprised most of their petty disagreements, amplified by Dean’s stubborn unwillingness to cooperate, or even consider Cas’s feelings, assuming Dean was aware he had any.

The last fight they’d had, which had been about five days preceding Cas’s confession, had ended the worst out of any in Cas’s opinion. Dean had brought home some brunette bimbo he’d found in a bar, and the two had gone at it in the kitchen, which Cas, who had gotten up at midnight to remedy his own sleeplessness by making a sandwich, didn’t appreciate. In fact, even as he currently stepped foot in it, the noises echoed in his ears, and his fists involuntarily tightened at the recollection of the woman bent over the counter, whining. Before he could stop himself, he shut his eyes tightly and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but was interrupted by the familiar voice: “Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” The angel wasn’t quite able to bring himself to seeing the room again. Instead, his fingers pinched harder. That hadn’t even been the first time he’d seen Dean vent his frustration with Cas into a one-night stand. What if that was all this was? A one-night stand, a quick fix extended for how long, until Dean couldn’t keep it up anymore? Surely Dean Winchester didn’t actually love him. There was no way. Not like that.

Not Deanie Weenie, as Gabriel called him.

A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, gentle but firm in its grip, and even though Cas still didn’t want to look, his body insisted, and thus, he was met with a set of green orbs carefully analyzing him from an especially close distance when he did open his eyes. “Hey, man, I know that this is weird. Things between us…they’re weird. And I’m sorry about that. It’s all my fault. But you gotta give me the chance to fix it, so keep your eyes open, alright? Don’t shut me out yet.”

“Why?” Cas questioned confrontationally. He didn’t want to, but the anger he felt reheating in his soul was justified and loud, far louder than what his mind told him to say. “Why should I? Why should we? Dean, I don’t…I don’t even know if your feelings are legitimate. We lie to each other so much. Not just you and I either, but Sam as well. Maybe I’m not meant to be back here. What we had…was a mess. And frankly, I don’t want to be stuck again rehashing the same trivial matters we did before, where you would yell at me and I walked away only to find you later with some unfamiliar whore, venting your anger through sex. I can’t do it again, Dean. Just tell me the truth. Do you really not think I deserve at least that much?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, expression contorting into several unreadable shapes before settling on exasperation, mixed with a little desperation. “Cas, please. You know I’m not good with this. Don’t—“

“Please. I have no interest in treading over your memories in search of the truth. I can handle it. For me, it would be much easier if you could just admit it whether or not this, like most of our omissions to one another over the past few years, is also a lie.”

“I’m not lying! Goddamn, Cas. I love you. What do you want me to do? Get down on one knee and pledge to you my undying affection? You already have it, alright?” Cas about jerked backwards into the refrigerator when the hunter placed two palms on either side of his face and leaned forward to kiss him. The kiss itself, initiated by Dean, was warm and one-sided thanks to Cas’s numb shock at what was happening. “I told you, I love you. I’m bad at words. What do you want from me?”

The angel’s head was spinning. All of this seemed so unnatural, although this was evidently reality, judging by the feeling of rough hands brushing against his cheeks and the distant, dramatic sounds of whatever show Ambriel was watching on TV in the other room. He was real. Dean was real. It was happening, yes. But how, how was it happening, and so fast? How had they gone from questionable, forced love confession to the media portrayal of absolute domesticity? Was Dean seriously this skilled at lying?

Or…was Cas just being…unjustly paranoid and guarded? “This was supposed to be a dinner for just you and me, eating burgers to celebrate you coming home. So, can we do that? Or are you gonna continue to grill me about whether or not I’m telling the truth?”

“No, this is fine.” The words came out, somehow, through Cas’s closing throat and spinning head. “I suppose I’m just…wondering why you are coming to terms with it so easily, after spending six years hiding the fact that you have feelings for me.”

“Well, desperate times call for growing up, I guess. And you know what? It’s actually…sort of liberating to be honest with you. You’re right. We’ve spent so much time lying just so we wouldn’t have to actually talk to one another about the truth. It’s kind of…relaxing, almost, to not have to do that anymore.”

“I think I prefer the truth, personally,” Cas voiced, finding himself not only weak in the knees but also in volume, which only graduated to absolute muteness when Dean smiled.

“Yeah, me too. It’s…uh, definitely a new experience.” The hunter’s eyes brushed over him, not even bothering to be subtle about the way they lingered on his lips just a second longer than everywhere else. Cas felt his face beginning to heat up. “So can we do this?”

“Do…what?” Castiel felt dazed for more than one reason at that particular moment. His gaze had decided to zone in on the constellation of freckles dotted very haphazardly right alongside the right bridge of his nose. They were unfortunately just as beautiful as he had recalled them being several months ago, when he’d sworn to himself that he could forget them, and Dean’s perfectly green eyes that seemed to stare deep into his soul. He could practically hear Gabriel’s voice in his head, what he would be saying if he’d been there: You’re whipped, kid.

“Sit down and eat, space cadet. You good?” After a pause, he added, “Are we good? You and me? You’re down with my being head over heels for your feathery ass?”

“I absolutely am.”

“Good. Can I get you a burger then?”

“Yes, Dean. I would like that very much.”

--

Sam Winchester had forgotten, briefly, what it was like to have to endure days upon days of sexual tension and lovelorn glances between his brother, the closeted, sexually frustrated soldier, and the clueless angel standing in the kitchen. Upon Castiel’s return however, he was quickly reminded, and for Sam, that was one constant he valued as a measurement of reality. He was also quickly reminded of how annoying it was to have to deal with it, which was precisely how he ended up in the library, flipping dusty pages to try and translate more Enochian lore in an effort to ignore their unresolved emotional crossfire. The history of heaven, and all of its mundane, ‘Desperate Housewives’ drama, as Dean called it, had been catalogued by Metatron in addition to the angel tablets, and as agonizing as the read was, Sam found himself drawn to the culture of it all. He had gotten as far as the fall of the Watchers, which was slow progress relative to how much time had passed on Earth by that point, but Sam took his time when he read, not for his actual comprehension speed, but to appreciate and visualize the words as they happened.

Cas had mentioned, months back, when Sam had first started, that he himself wouldn’t likely be mentioned in any of the history, being only a foot soldier amongst millions to billions of angels. It was true, Sam had seen a plethora of names that meant nothing to him, and a select few that he’d experienced first-hand—Michael, Lucifer, Raphael and Gabriel, but he had hoped that he might see Cas’s name in passing, just to prove to Cas that he was anyone but a nobody of heaven, like he’d always presented.

Of course, most angels’ fame seemed to pale in comparison to the dramatic antics of the archangels: Michael, with his brandish of the sword, more or less swatting Lucifer down from heaven—a word choice almost worthy of a laugh as Sam pictured the devil being crushed underneath a Dollar Tree flyswatter; Raphael’s heavy rhetoric to the newly formed garrisons of heaven being countered with yawns from the crowd. However, there was little a word about the Trickster, who’d taken the high road out of heaven before the prize fight. It could’ve been an intentional omission, considering the author was Metatron, who seemed to take everything as personally as possible, but Sam found it suspicious either way, since he was practically certain Gabriel was causing trouble long before he was snapping his fingers and fabricating alien proms.

“He didn’t care for me much.”

Sam straightened up in his chair, tensing up at the slightly familiar voice that had come from behind him. He hadn’t needed to turn his head to confirm, however, before the very angel he’d been pondering on had waltzed forward from seemingly nowhere, lollipop in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Hello, sasquatch. Whatcha readin’?” The hunter made no movement whatsoever as the book from in front of him was plucked up by Gabriel’s free hand, examined with a tilted head, and then set back down with what was a surprisingly amount of gentleness.

“Oh. This one is boring. Wait until you get into the chapters about my brother’s excessive court ceremonies. Had himself practically declared king of heaven after Dad left.” The archangel sighed, although with less melodrama than Sam had expected and fell silent for a few seconds before following up with, “Dear ol’ Dad. Didn’t bring me back from my dirt-nap, or so he says. Which…I guess that means good news, Moose! There is, somewhere out there, a being powerful enough to resurrect an archangel, and I have no idea what it is! Feel like researching with me? Come on, it’ll be fun, like you’re in college again!”

“Cas is looking for you,” Sam managed, attempting to ignore all of the confusing garble that Gabriel had just spouted, offering zero context, as usual. “And no, I’ll pass.”

“I am aware.” Sam raised an eyebrow, saying nothing as his gaze slid over the Trickster, who was dressed head to toe in what appeared to be a tux, and had taken to sitting at the edge of the table Sam had previously been using as a desk. He’d dropped his sarcastic smirk in favor of a harsh stare, which the younger Winchester didn’t really appreciate, considering the fact that Gabriel should not have even been able to get in the Bunker. He’d thought—mistakenly, evidently—that he’d angel-proofed their home excluding the select two who were milling around the residence elsewhere.

Sam didn’t want to have this conversation. He was always the mediator, or a distraction, and he wasn’t going to extend that courtesy to someone who’d killed Dean hundreds of times and who could be trusted about as much as the Devil himself. Regardless of his personal feelings towards the Trickster—which were that he understood running away from family—he was acting in benefit to Cas this time. Gabriel was stalling, surely. Not ready to apologize to Cas, Not ready to accept that this was how things were now.

Which, speaking of, he was probably somewhat agitated about the current living situation, but scanning his face, one wouldn’t be able to tell. “Tell me something. Does Dean actually love my brother?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so.” He hadn’t intended to stumble over his words, but it was, in fact, an opinion, and Sam could admit that sometimes he seriously did not understand what Dean was thinking, so this was, overall, just an educated guess, although it had an impressive amount of observation behind it.
‘
There was a moment of silence where the statement could have been reversed, unnecessarily, before Gabriel next spoke. “Good. I was concerned I was going to have to kill him again. Pig in a poke all over again, eh, Sammich?”

Sam didn’t respond with anything other than a well-timed bitchface. “Oh please. Don’t be such a baby, Samsquatch. It’s been, what, almost eight years ago? Dean’s died since then and he’s fine. Well, as fine as he can be, considering.”

“Cas is worried about you.”

“Cas, worried about me? Pfft. What a sap! I’m just peachy, see?” The archangel brushed his fingertips against the weathered pages of the history of heaven and popped the lollipop back into his mouth.

“You’re being horrible, you know that?” And like that, Sam had reached the end of the very short rope representing his patience, slamming the book shut, just shy of catching Gabriel’s fingers, and sitting up straight. “I don’t care what your reasoning is for hanging back and giving him the silent treatment. He misses you, and whatever he did to piss you off, I’m sure he’s sorry, so maybe you could step off your high horse and stop ignoring him.”

The Trickster rolled his eyes, as though Sam was the one being melodramatic. As if that had ever been the case. “Look, kid. I was given this spiel by my unholy Father the Creator, earlier, and it had about as much of an effect then as it does right now. Cas and I, we made our choices. It’s a clean break. He chose you all, and that’s perfectly fine. If my little brother wants to play housewife to you and Dean, so be it. He’s not a fledgling anymore. He can make his own choices. But just because he chose that life doesn’t mean I am. You and Dean are flannel-wrapped nightmares underneath a long-dead Christmas tree, and I want no part of it. Cas, he’ll try and convince me. And to be honest with you, Sam, I’m tired of being the bad guy, so it’s better if we don’t speak, you see.”

What a load of shit, Sam thought to himself. The Trickster slid gracefully off the table then, and took to walking the perimeter of the room, facing the bookshelves rather than the hunter. This was likely by design, the way the archangel slimly avoided making eye contact in his perusing of the materials shelved against the wall. He was running away, even now, wasn’t he? “Coward,” Sam replied shortly, opening the journal next to the history text, and browsing through it for a specific passage.

He heard Gabriel scoff, as though he had the right, and mutter, “So I’m a coward for not wanting to fall into the Winchester trap? Well then, excuse me for valuing my life.”

“We both know this has nothing to do with your self-worth. This isn’t my first rodeo, in case you didn’t read up on your Winchester history before coming here. I’m the poster child for running away from my family and my problems, the two usually being one and the same. Castiel is not a problem though, Gabriel. He’s your brother, who cares about you and is terrified of never talking to you again. He’s not asking you to continue hunting with him, or return to heaven, a place you loathe. He just wants a relationship with you.

“Maybe you don’t realize what a small investment that is, so let me tell you. I would’ve killed for a normal life, Gabriel. For the family business to have ended its line with Dad. Dean could’ve become a mechanic at Bobby’s garage, I could’ve finished college, and Jess—Jess, the love of my life—would have lived, and we probably would have gotten married and had a few kids by now. I would’ve given anything for that version of reality. But I also would have settled for one where Dean never asked me to leave Stanford and Jess to find Dad. That was a big investment. Hell, it started the apocalypse. It killed our friends and what was left of our family, either imprisoning them in the Cage or leaving them burned or blown up. All Cas is asking is for you to be his brother. Not his partner in crime. Not his galpal for whenever him and Dean fight. His brother.”

The archangel had stopped shuffling around the room, and instead had fixated his gaze away from Sam, in the direction nearest the bookshelves containing lore on European demonology. His frame had gone strangely still, as though he were actually lifeless for a few moments, before he turned towards the hunter with unreadable, whiskey-tinted eyes. The two held an intense game of eye contact for several seconds before Sam dropped his attention back down to the current page that the journal was turned to, symbols roughly sketched into the margins. He hadn’t intended to say more than a few words, especially ones with such regret laced between their letters, but somehow, his tongue had gotten away from him in his frustration.

“Wow. And here I was, thinking it was your puppy dog eyes that people couldn’t resist,” the Trickster piped up, drawing away from the wall out of the corner of Sam’s vision. “Tell you what, Samshine. I’m sold. I was planning on apologizing to Castiel from the beginning, to tell you the truth, but your little speech—well, what can I say? I’m moved. You must really care for lil ol’ Cassie.”

The hunter’s fingers tensed as he picked up a bookmark and cleanly nuzzled it between the ancient slices of paper in the journal for a later time, when he wasn’t being bothered by the awkward fallout from Cas staying in the bunker again or the unwarranted presence of an aggravating archangel, Gabriel continuing to talk all the while. “If it’s all the same to you though, I gotta say, brother kind of fits all of those categories. Cas and I, we sought out and dragged a teenage axe murderer down the stairs of a lame tourist trap and then went for beers afterwards at what has to be, hands down, one of my favorite hole-in-the-wall bars I’ve ever seen. And although Cas won’t ever admit to me directly the things that your brother has done, the way he’s been treated has often been the topic of discussion these past few months. I don’t mind being any of those things. But, I did want to see how far you would be willing to go for him to be happy, and congrats, Samoose, you passed. I at least know that Cas has one person in this house looking out for his best interests, and I appreciate that. You were always my favorite out of you and Dean anyway.”

Sam pursed his lips, uncertain of how to best respond, but fortunately, the Trickster didn’t give him much of a chance, continuing, “Volume 4 is really good.”

“What?”

“Volume 4 of that dick Metatron’s writing. It’s actually not too bad. Of course, you’re not gonna get there anytime soon at this rate. Jeez, I thought you were the smart one.”

Sam didn’t hesitate to slam the book shut and pitch it in the direction of the archangel, who had anticipated the projectile and slid to the side, chuckling as he turned towards the doorway. “Please leave,” Sam more or less begged, wishing for just five minutes of peace and quiet where he wasn’t dealing with wings or tense angst. The library was his sacred space for this, or, it had been before Gabe had come strolling in with his mind games.

“Fiiiiiine,” Gabriel droned, heaving a melodramatic sigh before adding, “Have it your way, Sammich. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

And like that, he had disappeared without so much a snap of his fingers, leaving Sam feeling somehow agitated and relaxed at the same time. He stood and slowly walked across the room, leaning down to pick up the book he’d chucked at his friend’s brother. Flipping it on its spine revealed the page it had opened to as it had clattered to the ground, which was full of text from margin to margin, but three words in particular caught Sam’s attention as he scrambled for pen, triply underlining the phrase.

Including the angels Castiel, Balthazar, Anna, Uriel…

Chapter Text

“What in the name of our Father are you watching?” Cas inquired, unsure that he wanted an answer once the words had left his mouth, but before he could cancel them out, Ambriel had whirled around, peering at him with wide eyes from the back of the couch.

“It’s called Secret Life of the American Teenager! It’s fascinating, Castiel! I never knew human teenagers acted like this!” She brandished a finger at the screen, as though the evidence for her claim was onscreen, but Cas merely averted his eyes as Dean chimed in.

“They don’t. The acting is terrible.”

“How would you know?” Ambriel retorted, eyebrows knit together defensively. “You’re not a teenager.”

Cas glanced over just in time to catch Dean flush, expression shifting to surly bamboozlement and couldn’t help but smile a little. It was cute. Not that he would ever tell the hunter that. “I’m not old! Wh…you…Look, teenagers don’t act like that, okay? At least, they didn’t back in my day.” He grumbled as he trailed off, sounding an impressive resemblance to an old man as he resorted to mumbling swears under his breath.

“Awwww. Don’t sound so butthurt, Dean-o. I assure you, we angels had fairly traumatizing childhoods as well.”

The entire room seemed to freeze in that moment as a familiar voice swept the air. If Dean hadn’t immediately tensed up as well, Cas would have very well thought he was imagining it. Ambriel, however, was absent from this phenomenon, springing from her seat on the sofa with a gasp and a bright smile. “Gabriel!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

Cas began to turn around, slowly, as though he wasn’t in control of his own body, as the voice replied, the face of its owner coming into view as their eyes met. “Hello, Dean. Ambriel. Castiel.” Gold melded against blue as Cas stared at his brother, a myriad of emotions stirring up inside him.

Dean was first to speak. “Does it ever occur to you assholes to knock?”

“Tsk, tsk, Dean,” Gabriel warned, waggling a finger loftily in the direction of the hunter. His eyes, however, kept themselves glued to Cas’s, unreadable. “What would be the fun in that?”

Dean casually snuck a glance to the side, catching Castiel’s deer-in-the-lights expression before answering, “Courtesy. Courtesy is fun. What do you want, Gabriel?”

The Trickster’s lip curled mischievously upwards in a half-smirk, eyebrows weaving down to counter his inquiry. It was a look that Dean had learned to fear, particularly when it was worn by archangels with a penchant for human torment, but for sake of the angel paralyzed beside him, he kept a poker face until the archangel’s shifted once more to another ambiguous emotion. “I was hoping I might speak with Cas.”

The mentioned being seemed to snap out of his haze at the sound of his name, looking at the floor, then at Dean, before speaking to the air nearest the left of his older brother’s face. “Of course. Dean, will you give us a moment?” If he was anxious, it didn’t show, at least, not to the hunter. But if the older Winchester had to stake a bet on it, he figured Cas was probably just in shock. It was unlikely that he was debating the reason for Gabriel’s visit, whether it was to start a final, nasty confrontation or to foster a warm, fuzzy reunion of acceptance.

“Sure,” he nodded, taking great care to keep visual contact as he did so. It was an unspoken gesture that the angel knew well. If there was trouble, simply call and the Winchesters would come running. Not that they would be of great help fighting a feisty archangel who had a heavenly PhD in illusory trickery, but should Gabriel cross Cas, Dean would definitely be looking to make good on his threat from Balthazar’s party.

Cas nodded in turn, before beginning to make his way towards the door. However, before his hand could reach for the handle, Gabriel interrupted, “Actually, I had someplace a little homier in mind.” Dean, upon hearing the words, made to interject, but before he could so much as open his mouth, the Trickster’s thumb and middle finger had made contact with a snap, and when he blinked, his angel and his older sibling were nowhere to be found

Cas, meanwhile, felt the Earth shift from under him and begin to swirl out of focus. He shut his eyes tightly, willing the sensation of inertia to cease. After a few moments of nothing but concentration, he was able to identify his feet standing once more on a solid surface, and though the world still felt as though it was spinning slightly, he was able to center himself once more before opening his eyes, not daring to voice an inquiry before his saw Gabriel’s proposed venue for this chat they were about to have.

However, out of all the things Cas was expecting, none of which he could describe, this was not one of them. He recognized the scenery straightaway. It hadn’t changed much to the current day, but this couldn’t have been the present, because he could still see the rose bushes sandwiched next to one another, and the ivy curling through the white trellises of the porch sides, before they had wilted and faded. They hadn’t had rose bushes since God had departed heaven. After his exit, the plants all seemed to wither and crackle in suit with heaven, as Michael had taken charge, too young to know how to rule, and still freshly wounded from the loss of his younger brother. Cas remembered that time much better than he wanted, unfortunately. It was riddled with mistakes and injustices and most of all, pain.

It seemed that no matter who was in charge, heaven was always suffering in some form. They had lost so many angels since Castiel had first lifted Dean from hell, with none to replenish the flock, lest they resort to inbreeding, which, while a valid option, was not necessarily a commonly accepted choice. God had vanished, and with him, the enlistment for the standing army. They were doomed without him. And were Cas aware of what he was now, he would’ve been able to save himself the torment of trying to save what was destined to be broken.

“Gabriel—“ he started, but the archangel interrupted immediately.

“Lucifer tried to convince me to rebel against heaven on this porch.”

The words, so matter of fact, seemed to take on an odd quality as Cas considered them. What he knew this porch for was very different. He’d had some of his fondest memories in heaven here, in this home, before Gabriel had bought himself an express ticket into witness protection and Lucifer had fallen, kicking and screaming, from his perch as God’s favorite son. He recalled learning Enochian with Anna and Uriel, studying on these steps as they quizzed one another. Anna had been the best, of course, before she too had lost her grace, and with it, her memory. When it came to flying lessons, Balthazar had excelled, early practice for making a quick escape as it became relevant in his adult life. Uriel had always been skilled with numbers and graphs, plotting the most advanced battle strategies that Cas had ever seen.

His siblings had all been gifted in some way, shape or sort, excluding him. Castiel had been painfully mediocre at everything, or so it felt. Bested in speed by Balthazar, in communication by Anna, in war by Uriel, and in knowledge by Hannah, he’d always felt he was the runt of the angelic litter. And yet, despite his lack of astonishing qualities, an archangel had taken an interest in him, a greater interest than in any of the others, which was something he grew to be despised for over the years, though he wasn’t made aware of this until much later.

That archangel being the specific one standing nearest him, gazing up at the house with thoughtful but tortured eyes. “Michael tried to schmooze me into taking his side here as well.”

“I have good memories of this porch, Gabriel. Are you intending to soil them with this information?”

“Not at all, Cassie. You see, I stopped on this porch on the day I left. Do you know why?”

The angel took a moment to hesitate before responding, “Should I?”

To Cas’s surprise, his brother cracked a grin at this, meeting his eyes for the first time since they’d left the Bunker. “Nah. It’s just, this kid angel came up to me and gave me something he made, and for a second, I rethought everything about leaving heaven. I thought about fighting my way through Sunday dinners with my older siblings, and standing by if Lucifer and Michael came to blows, only intervening at Dad’s request, because, I figured, leaving, it made me worse than them. What kind of role model, what kind of big brother was I being by just skipping out?”

Gabriel paused, the smile fading from his face as he dropped his gaze to the ground, which was still green with the promise of hope. “Of course, I left anyway. Because then I started thinking about just how useless I was in all of this, and how my siblings, as well as Dad, would probably come to despise me for not taking a side, and then I would be pushed out regardless. But I took the gift from the kid, and kept it, as a reminder that not everyone would have loathed me. That kid believed the best of me, somehow, and honestly, I still don’t know why, but I’ve been doing a relatively shitty job of paying him back these past millennia, so I think it’s time I stand on this porch and make it up to him.”

Cas cocked his head to the side, searching for related information to supplement Gabriel’s testimony, just so he would be able to make the sense out of the situation, but his brother didn’t seem to notice. Gabriel was too invested in digging into his coat pocket, emerging a second later with something gold laying open on the face of his palm. Searching for anything that might have given him some context, Cas squinted, attempting to identify the object. When he did manage to make out the shape, and further details of the gift, he froze.

He’d forgotten.

It was seemed such a trivial thing at the time. He’d not thought of crafting this creation as anything particularly special. For him, it was a normal day in heaven, and on that specific day, one he spent with the archangel Raphael, who was educating them about the arts. He had been agitated at the chore, since he had little interest in spending time with his younger siblings, being far too invested in the foretelling of this alleged prophecy being drafted by Lucifer and Michael warring to give any of his time to such insignificant matters as teaching. Aside from that, it wasn’t even normally his job; usually Gabriel had the duty, but had been absent from their learning environment on that day, thus, Raphael, being second in line to fill the position, was left with the task.

Cas had struggled with the humanities as much as he struggled with everything else, and Raphael, unlike Gabriel, was an unforgiving teacher when it came to mistakes. Cas had left lessons that day with almost his entire body aching in pain from bruises and corporal punishment, but towards the end of the education period, he had finally managed to come up with a suitable piece of what Raphael considered ‘art.’ To Cas, it was nothing but a wad of various materials, stuffed together and shifted with much concentration into a shape, but he had worked hard on it and was proud of it.

He recalled that he hadn’t intended to stop by the home housing the archangels. Homes for the angels were mapped out across what looked no different than a human neighborhood, with a cul de sac’s middle house marking the center point where the archangels resided. It was nothing glamorous, but, then, God was a humble creator. He enjoyed simplicity in his works following the angels and humanity. Cas had simply wanted to catch another glimpse at the rose bushes, to see if they were in full bloom yet, as Anna had suggested they might’ve been earlier.

And he’d caught Gabriel on the second stair down from the porch, the scenery mirroring what currently stood in front of him, and presented, without so much as a shred of self-preservation, the creation he’d agonized over during Raphael’s lesson. Despite not being human, he felt a shiver run down through his entire body at that moment, staring at the trellises with their floral vines wrappings as though it were yesterday that it had happened, rather than several millennia ago.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry. For how I acted at Balthazar’s party, and for leaving heaven without saying goodbye. And for what I’ll do in the future that will piss you off, if you want me to stick around. But listen, Cassie. You’ll always be my little brother, and regardless of what my personal opinions are, I’ve got your back, forever and always. I don’t want you to forget that, got it?”

“I know,” Cas replied, mystified as to why it needed stating. The moment Gabriel had reappeared in the living room, stubborn smirk pulled across those ageless features, he’d known that his brother had forgiven him and wanted to make amends. Dean had clearly been unsure, casting shifty glances in both directions with no trace of subtlety, but Cas knew. He could see it buried beneath a pile of memories in the Trickster’s eyes that he always threw over his actual emotions, masking and hiding them out of either fear or design. He glanced at his sibling presently, brow furrowed. “I’m sorry as well. For my behavior at the party.”

“It’s alright. Blame it on those vodka shots Ambriel gave you.”

“I think I’m still feeling those.”

Gabriel laughed, a warm sound against the nostalgic surroundings. “You realize I created an animal based off this?” He tilted the indistinguishable figurine in his palm, allowing Cas to get a better view of what ultimately looked like an abomination made out of paper and anxiety. “I drew it up before I left, and slipped it under Dad’s door. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the only reason he gave it the time of day was because it was the only piece of myself I’d left behind.”

“I’m inclined to agree. It was certainly not a choice based on aesthetics. My apologies for that.”

“Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to the platypus.”

“The platypus?” Cas inquired. Gabriel merely brandished the piece of art in response, at which it dawned on Cas which animal had been crafted from his bad day, and he sighed. “Oh. That’s what it became.”

“Pretty cool, am I right? Michael created horses, and Lucifer had his snakes, and Raphael had…well, whatever Raphael had. But this, this is the pinnacle of creation right here.” His older sibling grinned brightly, raising an eyebrow in smugness as he held the poorly constructed platypus up to the light. Cas could see his wings flicker into existence with the shift in shade, broader than they’d ever appeared on Earth, and in much greater detail. “And if Dean Winchester ever hurts you again, I’m going to sic an army of these on him.”

“I don’t think he’ll do anything of the sort,” Cas replied, unable to wipe the smile beginning to form off his face, something the Trickster noticed immediately, and with a surprising amount of relief. He thought he’d be skeptical of Cas’s description of his and Dean’s new partnership, since the angel had been deceived many a time in the past, but all he was able to feel was a resounding sense of serenity, as though the universe had been restored to its proper balance. As though such a thing existed.

“Well. In any case, that isn’t going to stop me from threatening him.”

“Does that mean that you are going to stay with us?” Cas inquired, pausing in the middle of his inquiry to sincerely doubt the point of asking. The answer would likely be no. Gabriel was not the type of angel to settle down. Hunting had been doable, because they’d never stayed in a place longer than a week, but this? The Bunker, with the Winchesters, and occasional hunts? It would be completely out of character for him to concede to a life like such. It practically went against his guiding principles.

As he’d anticipated, the archangel’s smile faded from his face, and he took a moment to pocket the pathetic attempt at art before speaking, hesitantly meeting his younger siblings as he did so. “It depends.”

“On what?”

“Am I allowed? Or am I banned from your forever slumberparty with the in-crowd?”

It took a few seconds for Cas to code that statement into something he could understand. “Of course you’re allowed. You’re my sibling. Sam and Dean were actually the ones that suggested I take you and Ambriel with me in coming back.”

“Oh?” Golden wings seemed to expand across the horizon itself as Gabriel turned away. “Interesting. That almost makes it sound like they’re trying to make it work.” He hummed, whirling back around and snapping his fingers. As Cas felt the world shift around him, the scenery swapping out with the ringing sensation of their leaving heaven, Gabe continued, “So I guess that begs the question. What kind of big brother would I be to turn down such an offer? I suppose I could stay a while.”

And like, they were standing in the kitchen, just as they had been moments ago in a time long forgotten, like the vines that had been ensnared in their lattice trappings. Cas had to close his eyes and reopen them several times to reaffirm their new location, where a third person had unintentionally joined the mix, positioned at the fridge, hand on the handle, poised to open it in the hopes of perhaps procuring some of the leftover Chinese from the other evening.

“Ah, Samsquatch. Just the bigfoot I wanted to see.”

The taller Winchester sighed, dropping his hand from the door handle. “I hope calling me that makes you feel better about yourself,” Sam replied, sounding irked as he turned to Cas, expression softening. “Did you guys make up? Is everything all good?”

“Yes,” Cas spoke softly. Beaming from ear to ear as he met whiskey-tinted eyes across the center island, he added, “Gabriel is going stay for a while. I’m assuming that’s alright?”

“It’s fine with me. Just…no ‘Heat of the Moment,’ got it?” The younger Winchester had an expression of what seemed to be ancient trauma flash across his face before smiling awkwardly towards the end of his statement. “And no throwing people into TV shows because you feel like it, either. I can still feel the phantom pain from that gameshow.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still upset about that.” The death glare the Trickster received in response had strength rivaling the Colt, causing him to backtrack. “It was forever ago! Come on!” After the gaze persisted, Gabe gave in, mumbling in a surly tone, “Alright, fine. No changing channels.”

“Good.” Sam faced the fridge once more, raising his hand to open the door before abruptly stopping to shift in the direction of the archangel. “Oh, and we have board game night tonight, if you’d like to join.”

“Board game night?” Gabriel queried, puzzled. He’d not heard of such a mundane thing in real life. Sure, TV show families had ridiculous traditions and the like, but the Winchesters? Flannel-wrapped hunters who used the blood of their enemies for warding sigils? The Winchesters, who were literally the respective prom tuxedos for Michael and Lucifer, doing a board game night? It sounded absurd.

“Yes,” Cas jumped in eagerly. “And we have Chinese food on Sunday evenings. It’s not like heaven, but it’s…better, I think. Their fried rice is fantastic.”

A Sunday dinner, huh? Gabriel considered, letting his lips curl into a grin as he glanced at his feet, rolling back on his heels as he weighed how best to respond. Some kind of gesture, the Winchesters were making, and Cas for that matter. Maybe he had sold them short of their rewarding qualities after all. Of course, it was too soon to tell. He would need to check up on all these festivities to make sure they were the real deal, and not some manufactured tell that Cas was using to make it seem like everything was fine under the Winchester roof.

But somehow, he doubted that Cas was lying. It was in his face and in his eyes as he spoke with a voice so soft that it was almost melodic. The voice of someone who was happy and in love, not necessarily with another, but with the life they had. And really, that’s all that he could ask for. A happy Cas, a happy home, and some kick-ass fried rice. What more was there to want?

“Alright. I’m down. But just to warn you, I was the reigning champion of Scrabble in heaven, so be prepared to eat a mouthful of dirt, because I’m burying all you suckers alive.”

Nothing.