Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

July 1st, 1950 – Campbell Ranch, Kansas

Dean Winchester was nineteen years old when he first saw him.

He was searching for shelter from the blistering summer heat and the endless demands of the ranch. He slipped into cool refuge of the barn and lay down on an old cot, the familiar scent of hay and sawdust lulling him into a light doze. A galaxy of dust swirled overhead in the golden beams of sunlight that streamed through the gaps in the ceiling.

He was tired, the kind of tired that seeps in and settles in your bones. Every day, sunrise to sunset, was spent herding, feeding, mucking out stalls, milking cows, stacking hay bales. Breaking his back. They called it the family business, but most of the time, it felt to Dean like a one-man show.

He slept for an hour behind the pile of hay, his hat tipped over his eyes. He slept until he was roused by the sound of approaching footsteps.

He jolted upright, his heart hammering and his mind already scrambling for excuses: I fell over; I knocked myself out; I had a very small heart attack. He stood, still and sweating, his heartbeat thrumming in his chest as he waited for his father to appear in the open doorway. He braced himself for pain.

But the man who appeared before him wasn’t his father. He was a stranger.

And he was beautiful.

For moment, in his sleep-dazed state, he thought he was an angel. Little did he know, something eternal and unextractable was already burying itself deep within him. His breath hitched in his throat as the stranger leveled him with his gaze. His face was open; friendly. People so rarely looked at Dean that way.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the man said, taking a step forward. His voice was low and gravelly, but warm. ‘I didn’t think anybody was in here.’

He was dressed in all black, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his trousers pressed with a crease down the front. Polished shoes that didn’t belong anywhere near the dust and horseshit. His dark hair was tousled by the wind, his eyes blue like the ocean before a storm.

Dean knew he was staring. He tried to tear his eyes away but found he couldn’t. ‘No, it’s fine. I was just … I was getting ready to stack some hay bales.’

The man glanced around the barn, a quiet reverence on his face. ‘I thought this might be a good place to pray.’

And that’s when Dean noticed the white band at his throat, peeking out from beneath his crisp, black collar. Shame rushed through him like a deep heat; he’d forgotten that his family were expecting a guest, the son of his Grandpa Samuel’s old friend.

The priest.

He quickly snatched his hat off his head, holding it against his chest. ‘You’re Father Castiel.’

‘Yes, it’s a mouthful,’ he said, with a wry smile. ‘You can call me Father Cas.’

He took Dean’s hand, his grip firm. Dean was overly-aware of how clean this man was, and how filthy and sweaty was his own hand. But the priest didn’t shy away or show any sign of distaste. He shook it. This was the first time they ever touched.

Cas let go first. ‘Are you Sam or Dean?’ he asked.

It took him a moment to remember. ‘Dean.’

‘Your grandfather speaks of you often,’ he said. ‘In his letters.’

Dean blinked. ‘He does?’

This was news to him. He didn’t know that Grandpa Samuel still wrote to the priest, let alone shared details about his family life. But then, Samuel Campbell was a man who knew how to keep things close to his chest. Dean had heard the stories – Castiel Novak, the man who’d been disowned by his father for following his heart into the priesthood. Samuel never shared his own opinion on the matter, but Dean always got the sense that he was supportive of Castiel’s decision.

Dean’s gaze flicked down to Father Cas’ mouth. Pink, full-lipped, wind chafed.

He looked away. Not this again. He’d prayed these kind of feelings into silence. He wouldn’t indulge them again now. Especially with a god damn priest.

‘How long will you be here?’ he asked, his voice strained.

‘A week, I think. Your grandfather offered to let me room here until I can move into the rectory.’

Dean raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re staying?’ But then he realised – it was obvious what was going on here. His brain was just short-circuiting. ‘Oh, you’re replacing Father Uriel.’

Cas nodded. ‘I wouldn’t feel right moving into his room before his funeral. Did you know him well?’

Dean suppressed a bitter smile. He knew Father Uriel all right. He was the man who held his deepest secret over his head. Most days, it’d felt like the blade of the guillotine. The relief he felt when he heard the man had died was something that would likely haunt his conscience for years to come.

‘Yeah, I guess,’ he said. ‘He came to the ranch every Sunday to give Mass. It’s a long trip into town for us, obviously, so that’s the only time I saw him.’

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Father Cas said, sounding a little unsure. ‘So … what do you do here on the ranch?’

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the continued conversation. He was life-long rancher and was home-schooled as a child. His main source of socialization came from his family, and he was only used to hearing do this, do that, and not much more. The only person who ever took an interest in him was his little brother, Sammy.

‘A bit of everything,’ he replied. ‘Whatever my father tells me to do.’

Cas studied him. There was something in his eyes; Dean thought it might be sadness. But it couldn’t be on his account, the priest barely knew him. Maybe he was still feeling down about Father Uriel. ‘I understand your father, John, runs things here.’

‘He’d like to,’ Dean said, with a smirk. Then he looked over his shoulder, as if John Winchester was Father Cas’ omniscient God who heard all blasphemy. ‘Grandpa Samuel has final say on everything.’

Cas nodded, the shadow of an amused smile on his lips. Dean shifted, suddenly restless. He wanted to be alone, and he wanted Father Cas to stay. He seemed to want both these things equally.

‘Why come to Kansas?’ he asked, at last. ‘Los Angeles has to be more fun.’

‘I go where the church sends me,’ Father Cas replied. ‘And she has sent me here. I don’t question it.’

‘Sounds like me and the ranch,’ Dean said.

Father Cas smiled kindly and sat down on the bench by the open door. He patted the space beside him. ‘Why don’t you sit for a while? Tell me about yourself. I like to get to know my parishioners.’

Dean didn’t move. But Father Cas showed no sign of impatience, didn’t pressure him. He simply waited with a small smile on his face, his head titled, his eyebrows raised.

Dean sat, his heartbeat like a bird trying to escape its cage.

And he talked.

And for the first time in his life, somebody really listened.

He told Father Cas about the ranch, about his father’s expectations, how heavy they felt on his shoulders. He told him about Sam, who at the age of 15, already wanted nothing more than to leave this life behind. He told him how he wanted the same, but would never dare admit it to his family. He talked about their housekeeper Mrs Milligan and her son Adam, who followed he and Sam around like a shadow before John put a stop to it.

Then, he talked about his mother.

Father Cas’ eyes turned sad as he told the story. Mary Winchester, who lived now only in Dean’s earliest memories. The only clear one he had was of her death.

There was a strange ranch-hand who had lived in a cabin by the lake, who the other ranchers nicknamed “Yellow-Eyes”; a reference to the after-effects of years of heavy drinking. He fell in love with Mary. After she rejected him, and Grandpa Samuel fired him from the ranch, he returned one night with the intention to murder Mary’s husband and her children.

Mary had come upstairs to find him standing over Sammy’s cot with a knife in his hand.

She tried to stop him. But she didn’t make it. He stabbed her in the stomach, then dragged her lifeless body outside and into the trees to burn it.

John caught him.

‘I reckon he woulda killed old Yellow-Eyes if his friends didn’t stop him,’ Dean told Father Cas, through slack lips. ‘Sometimes … I wish he had. Is that a sin, Father? I guess it is.’

Cas heaved a sad sigh. ‘It’s understandable. In any case, it doesn’t matter what you think. It matters what you do.’

Dean twiddled his thumbs together, his jaw set.

‘Dean, I …’ Cas began, and Dean braced for it. The commiserations. The bullshit about how everything happens for a reason, and God works in mysterious ways. But that’s not what Father Cas said. ‘I knew, of course, that your mother had passed. But your grandfather never shared the details … I’m very sorry it happened. It isn’t fair.’

Dean looked at him sharply, his eyebrows drawn together. ‘Thank you.’

Father Cas placed hand to Dean’s shoulder. It was just a touch. Simple, steady. But it felt like so much more. It felt like everything.

‘I should let you get back to your work,’ he said, his hand lingering another second longer. ‘I’ll see you tonight at dinner?’

Dean couldn’t speak. He nodded. He watched Father Cas retreat, not tearing his gaze away until he was out of sight.

He would look back on that day for the rest of his life. He would remember how awestruck he was by this beautiful man who listened to him. He’d remember how young he was; how naïve.

He had no idea what was coming.

No idea that this priest – this quiet, soft-spoken man – would consume his life until his very last breath.

But this was only the beginning.

Chapter Text

You ask how much I need you, must I explain?
I need you, oh my darling, like roses need rain.
You ask how long I’ll love you; I’ll tell you true,
Until the twelfth of never, I’ll still be loving you.

        - ‘The Twelfth of Never’, Johnny Mathis

May, 1954 – Kansas, Campbell Ranch

This was way too much fuss.

Dean had celebrated his twenty-third birthday four months earlier and even that had been too much fuss. But this ... his party hadn’t even come close to this.

His grandfather, Samuel, was celebrating his eightieth birthday, and the large living room of his luxurious homestead was packed with hot bodies, dancing and sweating in the unseasonably hot spring air. Samuel had spared no expense; the party was complete with a wait staff, bartender and professional band.

Dean and his brother Sam stood up against a wall, holding their drinks and rebuffing the advances of any young girls who asked them to dance. Sam’s refusal was due to being in a relationship with Jessica Moore, a pretty young blonde girl with big eyes and an even bigger inheritance. Her father owned the paper mill a couple of miles down the road from Campbell Ranch; Mr Moore, a surly, outspoken man, scared the life out of both Sam and Dean. (Mr Moore had refused the invitation to this party, and so Jessica had not been allowed to attend either. Dean knew that his grandfather would have a thing or two to say about that in the morning.)

Dean’s reasoning for not dancing was slightly different from that of his brother’s. He had an excellent view of the front door from where he was standing, and he was waiting for somebody.

He pulled nervously at his tuxedo, which was very uncomfortable for a young man more accustomed to jeans and boots and breathable cotton shirts. His dark blonde hair, which was usually messy and hidden beneath his cowboy hat, had been carefully styled and parted on the side by Mrs Milligan earlier that night.

‘You look like a proper young gentleman,’ she’d commented, with a smile. ‘Your mother would be proud.’

Mrs Milligan wasn’t at the party either. Her son Adam, now aged twelve years, was apparently sick with the flu. He must have been quite ill, because Dean had heard him yelling hysterically as he departed from the Milligan place.

Dean decided it would be safe to go for another drink. Father Cas would probably be quite late. He went over to the bar and ordered two gin and tonics, one for him and one for Sam.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror. He really did look like a proper gentleman, and so did Sam, he decided, looking across the room at his younger brother. At only eighteen, he was already much taller than Dean, and much broader. His usually shaggy brown hair was slicked back against his head, accentuating his high cheekbones and sharp jaw. He looked nervous, but had a smile pasted on his face, nodding politely to anybody who said hello to him in passing.

It occurred to Dean that one day, when both his father and grandfather were gone, he and Sam would run this whole thing. They were set to inherit Campbell Ranch and all the responsibilities that came with it. It wasn’t the hard work that scared Dean, that he was used to. Nor did it worry him that they would have to manage the ranch’s vast income, there were people hired to take care of that for them.

No, it was this side of things that Dean feared. Dean was antisocial, and Sam was kind but self-doubting and shy. Yet, one day they would have to dress up like this all the time. Maintain social contacts, throw parties, be good hosts. Dean couldn’t even begin to imagine it. What if they decided to sell the ranch? Dean doubted he could bring himself to do it, it had been in his family for generations. But still, what would his father think?

At that moment, John Winchester appeared at Dean’s side, as if thinking of his father had made him materialize out of thin air.

‘Did I scare you?’ asked his father, when Dean jumped.

‘No,’ said Dean defensively, but he wasn’t sure if his father had heard over the music and the loud din of the birthday guests.

John was a broad, muscular man with a shock of dark hair, strong eyebrows, square jaw and big temper. Usually sporting a black scruffy beard, he was clean shaven for the occasion, and a forced smile was upon his face.

John ordered a Manhattan from the bar, and Dean followed him back over to where Sam was standing.

‘Here,’ said Dean, handing Sam his drink. His own was already almost empty, drained absent-mindedly while Dean was lost in thought. He scanned the room, and his heart leapt when he saw a man similar in height and stature to Father Cas; however it was just Mr Jones, a banker from the city that he’d met once or twice at his grandfather’s dinner parties.

‘Ol’ Samuel certainly knows how to throw a party,’ commented John, nodding at the room. ‘Where is he?’

‘Over there,’ said Sam, taking a sip of his drink. ‘Father Castiel just came in, he’s talking to him.’

Dean’s head whipped around, then he quickly realised his mistake and took a casual sip of his drink, so as to not rouse his father’s suspicions. He peered nonchalantly over the glass, and saw them; Father Cas and his grandfather was speaking to one another, standing at the foot of the staircase.

Father Cas was wearing regular clothing, a rare occurrence that Dean considered a treat. His favourite was the thin white shirt he wore when he helped Dean and Sam with their chores after Sunday Mass, the sleeves pushed up to reveal muscular arms, and occasionally the top two buttons were undone, which would expose a gleaming sweating chest ...

Dean cleared his throat. It wouldn’t do to have those kinds of thoughts in such a public setting; there was nowhere to sit and certainly no cushion free to place over his lap.

But tonight, tonight Father Cas looked incredible. Looking at him now, Dean wasn’t so much aroused as breath-taken. The priest’s hair was combed to the side, much like Dean’s was, his grey pinstriped suit was well-fitted and his jacket was unbuttoned to reveal a matching grey vest and a tie in Dean’s favourite shade of navy blue.

Dean waited until Father Cas had finished speaking with Samuel before muttering some excuse to his father and brother, and casually heading towards the priest. He got another drink on his way, glancing often at Father Cas in the mirror behind the bar.

He made his way through the crowd; Father Cas was now speaking with a couple that Dean did not recognise. They walked away from him, the woman patting him affectionately on his shoulder as she went, and Father Cas met Dean’s eye through the many people between him.

Dean grinned, and felt his face flush, but did not look away. He’d long accepted that he was always going to blush around Father Cas. The priest smiled back at him, tilting his head and winking ever so slightly. Dean began to push through the crowd to approach him but, to his surprise, Father Cas abruptly turned away and began speaking to an elderly man with a massive moustache and a ridiculously old-fashioned suit.

Dean stopped abruptly, confused. Perhaps Father Cas thought Dean was busy. He backed away and milled around the edges of the crowd, trying to make small talk with a couple of guests and keep his gaze away from the priest.

About half an hour passed before Dean decided to try again. Father Cas had found a seat over by the grand piano. Alone, and sipping on a glass of champagne.

‘Father,’ said Dean, standing before him.

For a moment, Dean thought that Father Cas might try and rush away again, but instead the priest smiled up at him. Dean barely concealed a sigh of relieve.

‘Dean. Are you enjoying the party?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ He glanced around the room before looking back at him and pulling a face. They both laughed.

‘I suppose it’s something you’ll need to get used to,’ said Father Cas. ‘All of this will be yours one day, and these sorts of things will be your responsibility.’

‘I was thinking that same thing a little earlier,’ said Dean with a nod.

He didn’t mention his worries to the priest. He’d spent the last four years confiding his childish fears and concerns to the priest, and as a result they’d developed a strange father-son sort of bond. He didn’t want to be thought of as a child by Father Cas, and he certainly did not want to be thought of as a son.

But sometimes – just sometimes – it was glaringly obvious to Dean that this was not the case. A lingering look, a small lick of the lips, a quick guilty but intrigued glance whenever Dean was shirtless and shearing the sheep ... Dean didn’t even dare to hope, he tried to tell himself that these things were all on his head.

But he knew that they weren’t really. He knew that deep down.

He cleared his throat once again, and banished these thoughts from his mind.

‘How are things at the church, Father?’ asked Dean, eager to change the subject from his own future.

‘Excellent, actually,’ said Father Cas, his face lighting up in a way it only did when speaking of his precious church. ‘We’ve just had a whole garden donated to us, free labour and all. It’s not finished, but it’s coming up marvellously ... you really should come and see it soon.’

‘We’ll try, but it’s hard for us to get into town, as you know.’

Dean had only visited the church, St Augustine's Catholic Church, a handful of times since Father Cas arrived there. He brought Mass to them every Sunday, and there was really no reason to drive all the way into town. The Winchester men only had one car, a rather poor gift from Samuel, but still a surprising one considering his usual miserly ways. The car was dreadfully slow and expensive to run, and they only used it to go into town on very special occasions. Dean had visited Father Cas’ church only when his family was invited to Baptisms or first Communions.

‘You know,’ said Father Cas thoughtfully, ‘one of my parishioners recently gave me a car as a gift, so I can make my rounds more easily.’

‘That’s great!’ said Dean.

‘Oh, yes it was terribly kind and generous of him. I was hesitant to take it, of course, but it’s uses far outweighed my guilt to be perfectly honest. Now, I can visit double the people on Sunday.’

‘That’s fantastic, Father, it really is,’ said Dean. He knew that Father Cas’ favourite part of his life was ‘visiting his flock’, and now he could do that much more easily, it made Dean very happy for him ... and honestly, he was also secretly hoping that it would allow the father to visit him more often as well.

‘Well, as I was going to say,’ said Father Cas, ‘now I have the car, perhaps I come get you now and then for mass at St Augustine's. It’d be nice for you to have the full experience, mass feels much more holy within the walls of the church.’

Dean almost choked on his drink. He skulled back the rest of it slowly, trying to conceal his joy.

‘I’d really like that Father,’ he said.

They smiled at each other, and Dean decided to put his plan into action. He’d been fantasising all week about telling the priest how he felt. He was all grown up now, (nineteen and thirty-one seemed a lot bigger gap than their present ages of twenty-three and thirty four) and his dad wasn’t breathing down his neck as often as he used to. Now seemed like the perfect time, with a little alcohol in the both of them in the midst of a joyous and festive atmosphere. He just needed to get Father Cas alone.

Dean was nervous; his breath was ragged, his heart felt like a hammer smashing into his ribs.

‘Look – Father Cas? I need to talk to you ...’

‘Oh, can it wait Dean?’ asked Father Cas, jumping to his feet. ‘I’ve just seen Miss Rosen ... I promised to speak with her earlier ... she certainly is an enthusiastic young lady. I’ll speak to you later.’

Father Cas said all of this very quickly, and then he was gone, so abruptly that it was like he’d disappeared into thin air. Dean hadn’t even closed his mouth on the sentence that he hadn’t gotten the chance to speak.

Dean turned away from the party, blinking hard, his jaw clenched. He took a couple of large breaths, then turned back, and saw Father Cas dancing with little Rebecca Rosen to Earth Angel by the Penguins. Dean had spoken to young Becky a couple of times, she was fifteen years old, and every Sunday after Mass she would follow Sam around, obviously in puppy-love.

Dean sat down on the foot of the stairs, staring firmly at his shoes, trying to ignore the lyrics of the song blaring through the room.

I hope and pray that someday, that I’ll be the vision of your happiness,
Earth angel, earth angel, please be mine.

Dean groaned and jumped to his feet, leaving his drink behind on the step, and stormed from the living area and out into the warm night air, the song inside still ringing in his ears, floating out into the vast grounds of Campbell Ranch.

Chapter Text

Cas was dancing with young Rebecca Rosen when he noticed Dean storming out of the party. He wanted to follow him, but he couldn’t until after the song ended.

However, when the band played the final note, good manners kept him with Miss Rosen as she chattered on; she was clearly smitten with Sam Winchester, and hoping that Cas would introduce them. He casually mentioned that Sam was in a relationship with a local heiress, and this silenced Miss Rosen long enough for him to politely excuse himself and slip towards the exit.

He refrained from looking back at Miss Rosen as he walked away. He felt slightly guilty, leaving her slack jawed and distressed, but his remorse did not last very long. There were more pressing matters at hand. Miss Rosen might be upset, but Dean looked absolutely distraught.

The vast plains of Campbell Ranch at night looked strangely alien to Cas, who usually returned to the rectory before sunset. Evidently, someone had asked for an encore of Earth Angel, Cas could still hear it, bleeding through the homestead doors and seeping into the grounds.

He walked for about ten minutes, quite sure of where he might find Dean. He tripped down the hill, unsteady on the terrain in his dress shoes, and found Dean, as expected, seated on the ground by the barn where they had met, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

‘Hello, Dean,’ said Cas sadly. The young man’s eyes were red and puffy.

‘What do you want?’ snapped Dean.

‘Where did you get that?’ asked Cas, indicating to the whiskey.

‘Stole it from the bar,’ muttered Dean.

‘You shouldn’t have –’

‘Yeah, yeah, stealing’s a sin. Seems like everything I think, say and do is a sin, Father.’

‘You are not a bad person,’ replied Cas, confused. Dean had never before made any indication to the priest that he believed himself a terrible sinner.

‘How would you know?’

‘I’m the one who hears your confession—’

‘I leave things out,’ said Dean. ‘Come on, you know that. You’re not stupid.’

Cas did not reply. He was well aware of the unspoken sin on the tip of Dean’s tongue whenever the younger man went into Samuel’s office on Sundays, which Cas utilised as a make-shift confessional booth, sitting behind a battered old partition.

It was sort of pointless to sit behind it when less than a dozen people visited Campbell ranch to attend mass, and Cas recognised all of their voices. Still, he thought it was probably easier to confess when one’s face was hidden – and honestly, sometimes it made it easier for Cas to truly forgive. Some of his parishioners got up to ghastly things, things he might have expected from his flock in Hollywood, but never here.

When Dean attended confession, he would mumble about lying, drinking, swearing, disrespecting his grandfather, Cas would absolve him, and he would be on his way.

Cas sighed and sat down next to Dean. He looked very handsome tonight in his tuxedo. Close up, Cas could see his freckles under the moonlight, and his swollen green eyes avoided the priest’s gaze.

He remembered all the times Dean had caught Cas staring at him when he was sheering the sheep, or bouncing along on his favourite black horse, which he affectionately called Baby. Dean would wink. This was the highest level of daring either of them ever reached.

They shared looks and smiles and affectionate touches, but nothing more than a small pat on the back or a quick squeeze of a shoulder. Cas knew they both felt the strange exhilaration in these moments. However, they never addressed it. They couldn’t.

‘You look very nice tonight, Dean,’ said Cas, after mustering some courage. Was this an appropriate thing to say? He wasn’t sure, so he added, ‘You look very – grown up.’

This seemed to displease Dean. ‘I am twenty-three, Father,’ he snapped.

Cas sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. That had been the wrong thing to say.

‘I know, Dean. I know.’

‘Really? Because I think you forget sometimes.’

‘Well ... you’re wrong.’

Dean snorted derisively, but he did not argue.

‘Are you drunk?’ asked Cas.

‘No,’ he replied. He shook the whiskey bottle in his hand, and Cas saw that it was unopened. ‘You got here before I started.’

‘Dean, come back into the party,’ implored Cas. He was worried that someone might notice they were both missing.

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Come on, De—’

‘Why were you avoiding me?’ asked Dean abruptly.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said why were you avoiding me?’ said Dean, looking at Cas fiercely. ‘I wanted to talk to you, and you ran away.’

‘I didn’t run away.’

‘Yes you did. Why did you do it?’

‘Oh, Dean ...’ Cas couldn’t answer this question without bringing up the subject they had avoided for so long. If he had spoken to Dean at the party, especially when Dean looked so wonderful, Cas knew wouldn’t be able to stop himself from grinning and staring, and Dean would grin, stare back, and blush.

What if somebody noticed? Gossip travelled fast in a small town, and this particular piece of gossip could prove catastrophic for Cas, his priesthood, his church ... and for Dean, his entire family, and possibly even the ranch.

No, Cas knew he had done the right thing by avoiding Dean that night. But now he was undoing all his hard work by sitting with him alone, outside in the dark; yet no matter how he tried, he could not force himself to leave.

‘Please just tell me why,’ implored Dean, resting his head against the barn wall, his expression alone enough to break Cas’ heart. ‘Is it something I’ve done?’

‘No, no of course you haven’t. It’s just ...’ Cas sighed, and thought up an excuse. ‘It’s just, I spend a lot more time on this ranch than I should, Dean. You know that. People already think I favour the Winchester family. I was just trying to ... socialise with other people. Broaden my circles.’

This was half-true.

‘That’s a load of bullshit,’ argued Dean. ‘You visit the whole damn town every week.’

‘Please don’t be angry with me.’

‘Look, Father, just – j-just leave me alone, all right?’

‘Oh, Dean,’ he said, turning to face the younger man. Perhaps it was the champagne, but he was feeling brave. ‘Stop calling me Father.’

Dean looked up at him, and they stared into each other’s eyes for the longest time. Dean visibly swallowed, and his jaw clenched. Cas was overtaken by a strong desire to plant small kisses across it, to make the tension go away ...

He shook his head. Oh, Lord, what was he thinking? What was Dean doing to him?

Cas had joined the priesthood ten years ago, at twenty-four years of age. He’d had a lot of trouble with his vow of obedience – despite his best efforts to bow his head and obey, Cas had always been a man of strong will and self possession, and it seemed that nothing he did could quench this trait of his.

This trait was what had driven him to make the foolish mistake of disregarding a Bishop’s orders; it was this act of disobedience that got him banished to Kansas to begin with. Once considered an up and coming priest, and prime Bishop material, Cas was now living in utter obscurity, performing mass for small town folk and cowboys. But in hindsight, he knew it had been good for him; it had humbled him in ways he could never have achieved by through self-will alone, and he truly loved his parishioners.

Despite all of this, however, one vow Cas never had a problem with in the past was chastity. Not until now. Not until Dean.

‘Father ...’ said Dean. His voice broke Cas from his reverie. There was that awful word again. ‘I’m sorry, Cas,’ Dean corrected, seeing the priest’s pained expression, ‘please.’

‘Please, what, Dean?’ asked Cas.

Dean shook his head, looking at Cas with wide and bewildered eyes, and muttered, ‘I dunno.’ He cleared his throat and looked away. ‘I ... I dunno.’

Cas sighed and closed his eyes, then opened them again in alarm because of what happened next.

He felt Dean’s rough hand graze over his cheek. Cas knew he should probably bat his hand away, stop this, leave, but he just couldn’t. It occurred to him that Dean may not be drunk, but Cas was definitely tipsy. He could feel his guard dropping. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Dean.

He just wanted to touch him. Really touch him. Would it really be so bad, just this once?

Dean leaned in closer, clearly searching Cas’ face for any indication of unwillingness. Cas displayed none; he could only stare at Dean’s perfect face, those big beautiful eyes with their long lashes, his straight nose, sharp jaw, plump lips. Sometimes it was all Cas could do to stop himself from kissing them.

Then, he did kiss them. He felt Dean gasp ever so slightly under his mouth before returning the kiss in earnest. He ran his hands through Cas’ hair, and grabbed at his suit, explored his mouth with his tongue. He was all hands, and Cas in turn could not keep his hands off of him.

Dean shifted over and threw a leg over his lap, so that he was straddling him. Cas experimentally rubbed his hands down the small of Dean’s back and over his ass, something he’d wanted to do for the longest time, and planted kisses down his jaw and neck. Dean moaned loudly through closed lips – mmm – and Cas felt his cock jump in response.

Without warning, panic swelled in Cas’ stomach and he pushed Dean off his lap more aggressively than he had intended. He gently touched Dean’s cheek to soften the gesture, before jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth. Dean looked up at him with wide eyes, blinking rapidly, looking wounded.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked huskily.

 ‘What’s wrong?’ repeated Cas incredulously. ‘Dean, what isn’t wrong with this?’

‘It doesn’t feel wrong.’

Cas tended to agree, but he pushed that thought from his mind and didn’t speak it.

‘I am a priest. I have taken a vow of chastity! And you – you are a ...’

‘A man?’ asked Dean, scrambling to his feet. ‘Yeah, I’m a man, that’s it, isn’t it?’

‘T-that is a part of it, yes! Imagine how it would look if someone caught us. Some people have very strong feelings about homosexuality, Dean. I could get you killed. You’re meant to be able to trust me! And I have my faith, my vows!’

‘And if I was a woman, would your vows mean this much to you?’ Dean asked heatedly.

‘Of course,’ said Cas, and he meant it. ‘Of course they would. I am a priest Dean, my vows are everything.’

‘Would God want this?’ asked Dean. ‘I can never understand why people think that priests can’t marry, I can’t understand why a man loving another man is wrong! Because God says so? I’m sorry, but I just don’t get it.’

‘The bible is clear on this, Dean.’

‘I don’t care, Cas. I reckon that God would want me to be happy, and he’d want you to be as well. I’d be happy with you Cas. I reckon you feel the same way ‘bout me. If God made us, and if he loves us so much, why wouldn’t he want us to be happy?’

Cas resumed his pacing, running hands anxiously through his dark hair, which had been thoroughly messed under Dean’s calloused hands.

‘Cas, please.’

The pleading in Dean’s voice stopped Cas in his tracks. He looked at Dean, who was looking at him with a heartbroken expression.

‘Please, Cas. I need you.’

Cas looked away from Dean. He was trembling.

‘Look, this is gonna sound really corny, but here it is,’ said Dean. ‘I really don’t wanna live without you.’

Cas sighed. ‘I will always be here for you, Dean.’

‘You know what I mean. Come here. Please.’

Cas looked around, but the area around them was deserted. In the distance, he could still hear the band playing in the main homestead, but he did not recognise the tune.

He approached Dean slowly, hands firmly by his sides. Dean reached out and cupped his face in his hand. Cas closed his eyes and leaned into it, seemingly involuntarily. They were so close now that he could feel Dean’s every breath on his face.

They kissed, softly at first, then more passionately. Before he knew it, Dean had Cas pressed up against the barn wall, kissing every part of exposed skin he could reach and grinding his hips into him. Cas couldn’t stop. He could only respond with small moans and let Dean put his hands all over him. He reached under Dean’s jacket, and Dean pulled it off. Cas tugged at his shirt until it was released from the tight waistband of his trousers, and traced long scratches down his back. Dean moaned, and his knees buckled.

Dean untied Cas’ tie and tugged it hard before throwing it to the ground. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. Cas’ breath was extremely laboured and uneven. He was rock hard, and he thrust his hips into Dean’s torso as he ripped off the priest’s shirt. Is this really happening? he thought thickly.

Cas and Dean both began unbuckling their belts and pants. They were both so engrossed in what they were doing, they did not hear the crackling of twigs that would have alerted them that somebody was approaching.

Chapter Text

Dean couldn’t believe this was happening.

It was finally happening. He had Father Cas (no, Cas) pinned up against the barn, and the priest was making sounds under Dean’s lips that were making him lose his mind. Dean didn’t think he’d ever been so horny in his life, and his hips grinded uncontrollably up against the priest.

Dean kissed his lips, his cheeks, his neck, his chest; Cas’ skin tasted of sweat and Dean breathed in the familiar scent of him until he was lightheaded. Cas pulled at Dean’s jacket, and Dean took this as a sign that Cas wanted this as badly as he did. He threw his jacket to the ground as Cas reached up under his shirt and ran his nails down Dean’s back, and Dean’s entire body vibrated with chills. His legs nearly gave way, and he had to make a conscious effort to stop himself from sliding to the ground.

Dean removed Cas’ tie and began unbuttoning his shirt; the priest’s smooth chest was heaving, and both of them began unbuckling their belts and kicking off their shoes.

Dean grabbed the waistband of Cas’ pants and yanked them down. He slowly lowered to his knees, planting kisses from Cas’ chest all the way down his abs and along his pelvic bone. Dean’s face was inches from Cas’ cock, and he could see the line of his erection straining through his white underpants.

‘Are you sure this okay?’ croaked Dean.

Cas moaned and thrust his hips towards Dean’s face in response; Dean chuckled nervously and rubbed his hand down the priest’s hard cock through the cotton restraining it. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of the underpants, and pulled them down around his ankles, releasing Cas’ dick. It was longer than Dean’s, but thinner, and it twitched under Dean’s short sharp breaths. All he could think of was what it might be like to take it into his mouth, what kind of sounds Cas might make if he did.

The thought of it made Dean feel shaky, and he took a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down.

Dean had never done this before. His heart was beating so hard in his chest he thought it might burst. He took Cas’ cock into his hand and rubbed a thumb experimentally over the tip; Cas’ moan encouraged him, and he began pumping him steadily in his hand, doing it the way Dean liked doing it to himself.

Cas had a hand placed firmly on Dean’s shoulder, grasping at it so hard that Dean was sure it was going to leave a bruise. The thought of that excited him. To be marked my Cas, for him to leave something that Dean could look at after this was over, it was almost like the priest was taking possession of him, leaving evidence that they had been together in this way. Dean leaned in closer and hesitantly took Cas into his mouth.

Suddenly Cas yelped and pulled away.

‘I’m sorry, did I hurt—?’

‘No, someone’s coming,’ hissed Cas.

‘Shit!’

Cas hastily pulled up his underpants as Dean shot to his feet. Dean could hear it now; footsteps, fast approaching down the hill. Cas darted into the barn, leaving his pants and shoes behind on the ground. Dean went to grab them and run, but it was too late. He hastily kicked them into the nearby bush, and turned to face their interrupter. He could hear two people laughing; it sounded like a woman and man.

They turned the corner. It was Sam, running along hand in hand with Jessica Moore.

‘Dean?’ he said, obviously confused, squinting through the darkness at his older brother.

‘Sam,’ said Dean, half relieved, half annoyed.

‘What are you doing out here?’ he asked.

‘I—I could ask you the same thing.’ He nodded towards Jessica.

‘Oh, u-um,’ she stuttered, ‘my father let me come after all.’

‘This late? When the party is almost over?’ Dean raised his eyebrows at his brother, who shrugged.

‘Right,’ said Dean gruffly, ‘how about you two move along and – you didn’t see me, I didn’t see you. No questions asked.’

Sam and Jessica nodded nervously and turned to leave; Dean let out a sigh of relief.

‘Thanks, Dean,’ said Sam, quietly over his shoulder.

Dean chuckled under his breath as he watched them go. Sam had thought Dean helped him out. Sam was running through the plains giggling with his girl friend – Dean had been about to suck the local priest’s cock.

He waited until they were gone before retrieving Cas’ clothes from under the bush and slipping quietly into the barn. He found the priest crouched down behind a wheelbarrow in the corner.

‘It was only Sam,’ he said, ‘creeping off from the party with his girl friend.’

‘Yes, I heard.’

‘That was close.’

‘Yes, yes it was.’

Dean sat down before Cas in the hay.

‘He didn’t ask you what you were doing out here alone?’ asked Cas.

‘Nah, I turned it around on him. Mr Moore would murder him if he knew he was running around in the dark alone with Jess, so he was pretty keen to get away.’

‘He doesn’t think you’d tell Mr Moore?’

‘Probably not. I wouldn’t tell anybody, but I guess he didn’t wanna take the risk of askin’ me questions and pissin’ me off.’

Cas nodded. He was looking up at Dean in that cute way he always did, out of the corner of his eye, with a sort of half-smile on his face.

Dean grinned at him, then his grin faded when he realised that perhaps Cas had been turned off by the interruption.

‘Would you like your clothes back?’ he asked, holding out Cas’ pants and shoes.

Cas extended his hand, but he did not take the clothes; he ran his fingers up Dean’s arm, pressing fingers into his skin through his shirt.

‘Not yet.’

Dean breathed a sigh of relief, and Cas grinned.

‘I thought you’d wanna stop.’

‘Don’t make me think. Don’t think,’ whispered Cas, and he raised himself up onto his knees to kiss Dean deeply.

Now alone and not fearing any more immediate interruptions, Dean had time to appreciate every second, every feeling; the curve of his spine, the sharpness of his hip bones, the softness of his lips; perfectly hard or soft or smooth in all the right places. Dean felt the light stubble on Cas’ cheek that could barely be seen, but still felt as Dean grazed his thumb along the priest’s jaw. It felt like the champagne on Cas’ breath was reaching Dean’s brain, bubbly and fuzzy, making him light-headed.

Cas didn’t break their kiss as he coaxed Dean over onto higher, softer ground. Dean collapsed on top of him, both of them laughing a little as Cas shifted his shoulders to stop his head from sinking into the golden heap of hay beneath them.

For a moment their eyes locked; Cas gazed up at Dean with his lovely blue eyes, a smile on his face, fingers tracing his cheek.

His smile slowly disappeared, and Dean kissed his neck before he could change his mind again. He unbuttoned Cas’ shirt for the second time that night, and placed kisses down his stomach, removing his underpants and throwing them somewhere behind him.

Cas’ cock was standing to attention. Dean grasped it and Cas took a long intake of breath through clenched teeth before making a little o with his mouth and exhaling slowly. Dean got up to a kneeling position and took off his pants, as Cas sat up to unbutton and remove Dean’s shirt.

Dean was now kneeling before the priest, completely naked. Cas lay back down, donning only his white and opened shirt, which spread out underneath his back like a pair of angel’s wings.

Dean collapsed upon him and moaned quietly into his ear as they rocked their hips against each other, their cocks dragging against each other smoothly. Dean spit into his palm and reached between them to grab Cas’ dick; Cas thrust his hips jaggedly into his hand, grunting with his eyes shut tight as he dug his fingernails into Dean’s back.

Cas’ lowered his hand and pushed Dean’s away, and he stroked himself for a few moments; Dean thought it was because he had been doing something wrong, but then realised that Cas was only lubricating his hand when he traced his finger’s up Dean’s shaft and grasped the head of his cock firmly.

‘Ffffuck,’ groaned Dean. He’d never been touched like this before. The wondrous feeling shot through his hard cock, but the big feeling was the one that had settled in his stomach; nerves and arousal and love balling up inside of him into one beautiful jumbled mess of physical feeling and emotion.

They stayed like that for a while, stroking each other in unison, panting and whining and grunting in each others’ hands, thrusting their hips faster and faster.

‘N-need ... more,’ Dean managed to pant.

‘What do I do?’ whispered Cas. ‘Tell me what to do, I’ll do it.’

Dean thought about this for a moment. There was so much he wanted, and he could only choose one. One fantasy did spring into his mind, one he’d been dreaming of for years ... but he wasn’t sure if Cas was ready for it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if it was normal. But maybe he could have something like it.

‘Get on top of me,’ he whispered, and the words had barely left his lips when Cas sat up and flipped Dean onto his back. He climbed on top of him; Dean’s left leg was wedged between each of the priest’s. He looked so good; Cas was gazing down at Dean, a slight half-smile upon his face, one eyebrow cocked. Dean’s dick twitched almost painfully, and he let out a shaky breath.

He reached up and pushed Cas’ shirt of his shoulders, and Cas slipped out of it.

‘I need to be in your mouth,’ whispered Dean.

Cas wasted no time in obliging. He crawled backwards until his face was aligned with Dean’s dick; he dipped down and Dean could see the curve of his ass silhouetted against the moonlight pouring in from outside. Cas licked slowly up the shaft and around the head. Dean let out a loud groan, throwing his head back, using all his will-power to not come there and then. He could feel it building up in him, and fast. He wasn’t going to hold it back much longer.

‘S-stop!’ he said, sitting up urgently.

Cas shot up onto his knees. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No, I’m just not going to last,’ said Dean with a breathless chuckle. He looked at Cas hesitantly. ‘Did you mean it when you said I could ask for anything?’

‘Of course,’ replied Cas.

‘I want to suck you,’ said Dean quietly, lowering his head to hide his blush, ‘and can y-you pull my hair? And ... make me?’

‘Make you?’

‘Make me feel like you’re forcing me to ... look actually, never mind, it’s weird.’

Cas looked at Dean’s face, obviously contemplating. He placed two fingers under Dean’s chin to make him look at him.

‘I’ll do whatever you want.’

‘You ... you don’t mind?’

‘I just want you to enjoy this.’

The unspoken words lingered between them. This may be the first and last time they ever have each other in this way.

‘Thank you,’ said Dean.

‘I don’t want to hurt you, so just tell me if—’

‘No, no,’ said Dean. Cas had misunderstood. ‘I want you to hurt me.’

‘You want me to hurt you?’

‘Not badly. Just ... a bit.’

Dean felt nervous, because Cas looked confused and a little worried. Was he thinking that Dean was a freak? He had now made it quite obvious that he’d thought this through, that he had fantasised about the priest – or at least about having sex with a man. But Cas was here with him now, naked, touching his body, he must have thought about it too.

‘If you’re not comfortable ...’

‘No, I’m fine,’ said Cas. ‘Come on.’

‘If I want you to go harder I’ll squeeze your leg,’ said Dean. ‘If you’re hurting me too bad, I’ll squeeze your arm.’

‘All right,’ said Cas, laying back down, and he looked a little less nervous.

He pulled Dean gently by the shoulders. Dean took him into his mouth, and they both groaned. Cas tasted so fucking good. The priest’s fingers were twisted up in Dean’s hair, tugging gently. Dean let him do it this way for a while, sucking Cas’ cock slow and wet.

The priest was making all sorts of heavenly sounds. Oohs and Mms and Fffuhs. Dean secretly wanted to make him cuss, but it didn’t seem to be working. He supposed the priestly politeness was too deeply ingrained in him, even when he was getting his dick sucked by another man.

Dean experimented with rhythm, depth, speed. It felt clumsy and unorganised to him, but Cas seemed to love it all, those sounds still pouring from his mouth like the most beautiful music Dean had ever heard.

He squeezed Cas’ thigh, thinking him ready, and for a moment Cas did not respond. Then, seemingly remembering what this gesture meant, he tugged on Dean’s hair so suddenly that his cock almost slipped out of his mouth. To compensate, Dean almost took Cas’ whole length into his mouth, repressing his gag reflex best he could as its tip tickled the back of his throat. He couldn’t go all the way, so he moved back to a more comfortable depth, but it still achieved the desired effect. Cas’ moan was loud and long, and in response he tugged Dean’s hair so hard that he thought he felt some of it come out by the root.

‘So good, Dean,’ he groaned with a small breathy laugh.

That was more like it. A strong tingly feeling travelled from Dean’s scalp all the way down his spine.

‘Oh yeahhh,’ drawled Cas, his voice gravel, ‘right there. Right there, Dean.’

He whimpered as Dean released his cock.

‘Make me,’ he whispered. It wasn’t a challenge, but a request.

Cas seemed to understand. He balled his fists into Dean’s hair and pushed his head down onto his cock, pulled it up, pushed it back down.

Fuck, this is hot, thought Dean, his every movement under complete control from the priest. He’d fantasised about this in a hundred different ways, and it was just as good as he imagined. No, it was better. Then, Cas placed his hands on both sides of Dean’s head and held him still as he thrust up into his mouth. The position was sort of awkward, and it didn’t really work fluidly, but Cas looked so good doing it that Dean lost it.

One arm trembled beneath Dean as it supported all his weight, while his other hand rapidly stroked his own dick.

Cas collapsed back onto the hay and Dean concentrated hard at trying to suck Cas’ cock while stroking his own, something that took much more coordination than he would have anticipated. Still, Cas was still making those wonderful sounds and tugging Dean’s hair and bucking his hips wildly.

Dean felt him go tense and he let go of his own dick to concentrate solely on Cas.

‘Oh, Dean I’m going to ... I’m ... Ohhh.’

Dean hadn’t thought about what he was going to do when Cas climaxed, but it was too late now; he jerked violently and blew a hot load into Dean’s mouth. The taste was salty but not entirely unpleasant, though the sensation of it hitting the back of his throat was. He tolerated it until Cas went still, and leaned over to spit it out into the hay.

‘Oh, wow,’ said Cas.

‘Good?’ asked Dean, an eyebrow raised. He couldn’t stop smiling. Watching Cas gasping and sweating in the afterglow of orgasm, flushed and messy-haired – all because of him – well, it was hard not to feel cocky.

‘Very good,’ panted Cas.

Silently, Cas sat up and kissed him deeply, one hand lightly placed upon his cheek. There was something strangely erotic in knowing that Cas could probably taste himself on Dean’s tongue. Slowly, Dean was once again pushed on his back into the hay. Cas pinned him down as he breathed into his ear.

‘I love you, Dean,’ he whispered.

Dean laughed happily, and bizarrely, tears immediately sprung to his eyes.

‘I love you too, Cas,’ he replied in a choked voice, grateful that the full extent of his emotions probably went unseen by Cas in the dim lighting. ‘I fuckin’ love you.’

Cas smiled down at Dean, with that special fond (or as Dean now knew, loving) expression he reserved only for him. Cas traced his tongue over Dean’s nipple, and looked up at him hesitantly. He ran both hands lightly up Dean’s stomach and Dean groaned.

‘Fuck, Cas.’ Dean was so turned on he could feel his heart beat in his cock, his balls ached. ‘Touch me. Please, touch me.’

Cas reached down and seized Dean’s dick, pumping slow and long.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ murmured Dean. ‘Yeah just like that.’

Cas sucked the head as the pumped the rest of the length, occasionally taking the whole cock into his mouth for lubrication. His free hand was grasping Dean’s thigh, he dug his nails into the hot skin just enough so it would hurt.

Dean knew he wasn’t going to last. ‘Fuck, it’s happening, I’m gonna come,’ he moaned shakily.

‘Come for me Dean,’ growled Cas, ‘come for me.’

The sound of Cas saying that only brought him closer. His cock was slick with spit, and he felt the ecstasy build up inside him as Cas pumped faster and faster. He was thrusting into his mouth jerkily and with no rhythm, Cas held his hips down and sucked him hard.

Dean couldn’t hold off anymore. The feeling built up for almost a whole minute, longer and more intense than it ever had while Dean pleasured himself. He came hard and it seemed like a very long time before the pleasure stopped rolling through him. When Cas released him, he was still rocking his hips, thrusting up against nothing. He looked down at Cas to see that he had come all over his chest.

‘Shit, sorry,’ he laughed breathily.

Cas smiled and shook his head. He disappeared for a moment and when he returned he was wiping his chest with an old stained rag. He folded it over to hide the wet patch before handing it to Dean.

‘I’m sorry, this is all I can find.’

Dean took the proffered rag and attempted to tidy up. It was no use, so he used his underwear instead, he could just wear his pants with nothing underneath and stuff the underwear into his pocket.

‘Shit,’ said Dean, as something occurred to him. ‘How can we go back to the party looking like this? Our clothes’ll be filthy.’

‘We can go back to the guest house,’ said Cas thoughtfully. ‘That’s where I’m sleeping. I think I should just stay there instead of returning to the party.’

‘How long have we been out here?’

Cas picked up his jacket from the ground and attempted to brush the dust off with his hand, before reaching into the pocket to retrieve his pocket watch.

He flicked it open. ‘Almost two hours,’ he said.

‘Wow,’ said Dean. ‘That went quick. Well, nobody’s come looking for us. Maybe everyone’s too drunk to notice.’

‘That’s probable,’ replied Cas, pulling on his underwear and his pants. He retrieved his shirt from the ground and put it on, then draped his jacket over his shoulder. ‘You should probably just go back home. Oh, but your father and brother might be there.’

‘I think Sam would still be with Jess,’ said Dean. ‘They’re probably getting up to the same thing we were ... but yeah, Dad might be home.’

‘I’d offer for you to stay with me tonight, but it might be a risk,’ replied Cas.

‘I’ll go check out my place and see if anyone’s home before we decide anything.’

‘Wait,’ said Cas, sitting down beside him. ‘I want to talk to you for a moment.’

Dean’s stomach turned, and the anxiety must have showed on his face.

‘It’s nothing bad,’ said Cas kindly.

Relieved, Dean took Cas’ hand. He should have felt exposed, really, still completely naked next to the almost fully dressed Cas. But he didn’t. He trusted the priest completely, he felt fully comfortable with him, always, even in this situation.

Dean looked at Cas’ dark wild hair and chuckled. He tried to smooth it down; it worked somewhat, but the neat part that had been there previously was now lost. Cas returned the favour and Dean noticed for the first time that his head was quite sore from the hair-pulling. Still, his scalp tingled pleasantly under Cas’ touch.

‘Did I hurt you?’ asked Cas, obviously noticing Dean flinch.

‘No. I mean, yeah, but that was the point wasn’t it? I’m fine.’

Cas reached for Dean’s hand and ran his thumb up and down his palm, making Dean’s breath catch in his throat.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked.

‘I just wanted you to know ... that this ... this thing that happened between us, it wasn’t purely sexual. I meant it when I said that I love you.’

‘I know,’ whispered Dean. ‘I meant it too.’

‘Though breaking my vow of chastity is not ideal – well, I should say it’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, spiritually speaking – I wouldn’t ... break it for anything less than love. You mean a lot to me Dean.’

‘I know.’

‘What ...’ Dean could barely bear to bring it up, but he knew he needed to. ‘What about the church? What about God? Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘I think I am. I feel good right now.’

They squeezed each other’s hands and smiled.

‘Do you ... think God is angry at us?’ asked Dean, so quietly that he was surprised that Cas heard him.

‘I ...’ Cas sighed and looked at the ground. For the first time in the past hour, he looked doubtful. ‘I’ll worry about that tomorrow. And speaking of tomorrow, at mass, we need act as normally as possible. If anyone even so much suspects anything, Dean, it could be very bad for us.’

‘I’m well aware of what can happen to queers around here. Remember John Smeath?’

They looked away from each other for a moment, contemplating John Smeath, who only last year was drunk in the gentlemen’s bathroom at a bar in town, when he tried to kiss one of his closest friends.

The so-called friend immediately turned on him. Word of Smeath’s alleged homosexuality got out quickly and as a consequence, Mr Smeath was cornered in an alley by a group of men, in broad daylight, and was beaten within an inch of his life. He survived and moved out of the state, but from what Dean had heard, he had never been quite the same after the attack. The attackers were never caught. Nobody really even looked for them.

‘I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, Dean,’ whispered Cas, who seemed to be thinking along the same lines. ‘If something bad happens to you and it’s because of me, I’d never be able to forgive myself.’

‘Hey, I’m not the only one taking risks here,’ said Dean. ‘You are too. Anyway, Smeath did it in public, he made a mistake while he was drunk. He kissed someone who didn’t want it. We’re different. We’ll be careful. Nothing bad is gonna happen to me or you.’

‘I certainly hope not,’ said Cas, his brow creased with worry. Dean reached up to smooth it out, then he cupped Cas’ cheek in his hand. Cas closed his eyes and leaned towards Dean’s lips.

‘Everything is going to be great.’ Dean whispered into Cas’ mouth, placing a small kiss there. ‘It really is. I promise.’

And at that moment, Dean believed that. He really did.

Chapter Text

Cas was nervous as he drove up the long dirt road that led to Campbell Ranch. The night before, for the first time in at least fifteen years, he had not said his prayers before going to bed. He tossed and turned for hours, trying not to think, too guilty to think about God or his Church, even guiltier thinking about Dean.

He arose at dawn, with just enough time to bathe and to return to the barn where he’d remembered he’d left his tie. He found it snared in a bush by the door, and shoved it into his pocket, relieved to have found it.

He stumbled into the main homestead for Mass five minutes late, haggard and uneasy. As always, Dean sat up front with Samuel, John and Sam. He and Dean did not speak to one another, did not dare meet each other’s eyes. Later, it would occur to Cas that this behaviour may have been suspicious in itself, but thankfully nobody seemed to notice.

Cas’ homily was about living one’s life in a way that pleases God – thankfully, he had written it before his and Dean’s rendezvous in the barn. At least the words were good enough to make up for the lack of enthusiasm in their delivery.

He bade goodbye to the parishioners and drove through town to complete his rounds, visiting four different families, before heading back to the ranch to pick up Dean for Mass at St. Augustine’s as he’d promised he would the night before saying farewell (thankfully, Dean’s father and brother were still out when he got home).

Cas had walked him back to the homestead from the barn. They’d walked side by side in comfortable silence, Dean holding his shoes, intermittently smiling at each other and walking close enough so that their hands brushed up against each other. It was funny after everything they’d done with each other, this small touch gave Cas goose bumps.

Cas’ attention returned to the road as he reached the gates of Campbell Ranch. He got out of his car to open the gate, but someone had beaten him to it.

‘Dean,’ he said, amused, ‘were you waiting here for me?’

Dean was wearing a dark burgundy button-up shirt, a large buckled belt, tight jeans and brown cowboy boots. He removed his tan hat upon seeing Cas.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Father.’ He said this jokingly, but glanced pointedly to the left. ‘We were just on our way back from branding some heifers.’

Sam emerged from behind the high stone wall. He removed his hat as well, to reveal that his chestnut hair was once again scruffy and falling into his eyes.

‘Father,’ he said, ‘you’re here very early. How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ replied Cas, shaking Sam’s hand. ‘I had nothing else to do so I thought I’d spend some time here before Mass. Did you enjoy the party last night?’

‘Yeah,’ said Sam. Cas suspected that the twinkle in his eye was caused by the memory of Miss Moore. ‘I had a really good time. You?’

Cas couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eye when he replied. ‘Yes, I had a very nice time, thank you Sam.’

Dean looked away with a slight smirk.

‘So, I suppose we should get going,’ said Cas, consulting his pocket watch. ‘Did you want to come with us, Sam? There’s room in the car for you.’

‘Uh, no, I already promised Grandpa I’d meet with the new housekeeper,’ replied Sam. ‘He doesn’t have time to show her around.’

‘More like he can’t be bothered,’ mumbled Dean. Sam shot him an annoyed look.

‘Well, maybe next time,’ said Cas. He was secretly glad that Sam had refused his invitation. ‘Are you ready, Dean?’

‘Actually, Father,’ said Sam, ‘I was just speaking to Grandpa about you – he said he wants to see you urgently.’

Cas glanced quickly at Dean. Going by his expression, he had no idea about this either.

‘To me?’ asked Cas, nervously.

‘Yeah, he told me to tell you when you arrived.’

‘Well, okay,’ said Cas, glad that he’d arrived at the ranch with plenty of time to spare before Mass. ‘I don’t suppose this should take too long, where shall I meet you, Dean?’

‘I was going to take a break anyway, I’ll wait at home,’ said Dean.

‘Okay, I’ll meet you there,’ said Cas.

Sam turned away and Cas and Dean exchanged a loaded look. Cas knew that they were both thinking the same thing. Samuel never asked to see Cas urgently. What if he knew? Perhaps Samuel had noticed them acting strangely that morning after all.

Cas hopped back into his car and drove up the hill to the main homestead. Nobody answered the door when he knocked; he cracked it open nervously, and its hinges groaned loudly in protest.

‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Is anyone here?’

‘Who’s that?’ came a woman’s voice.

The door swung open to reveal Mrs Milligan, her blonde hair pulled back in a shiny bun, and a broad smile on her face.

‘Oh, hello Father,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘You weren’t?’ asked Cas. Perhaps that was a good sign. Surely Samuel would have been in a foul mood if he knew something about Cas and his grandson.

‘No, Mr Campbell has been in the library all day,’ she replied.

Cas’ heart sunk. So much for that theory.

‘Sam just told me that Mr Campbell wanted to see me immediately.’

‘Oh really? Well, he’s still in the library now. Follow me.’

They walked up the ornate wooden staircase, the sound of their footsteps echoing off the walls.

‘He hasn’t been himself, you know,’ said Mrs Milligan quietly.

‘Mr Campbell?’

‘Mhm,’ she murmured quietly, slowing her step. ‘He’s been locking himself away, not seeing anybody.’

‘Sam did mention that he was meeting with the new housekeeper because Mr Campbell was too busy,’ said Cas.

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,’ said Mrs Milligan. ‘He’s usually so hands on with new staff – it was especially strange seeing as she’s the new housekeeper … you know how picky he is when it comes to how things are done around this place, plus he’s such a private man, you’d think he would want to see in person if she’s a right match for him. Adam’s been such a handful lately, I haven’t been able to keep up with it all … it’ll be so much better having a second set of hands around this massive place. Anyway, you know where the library is, Father, go on through.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Milligan,’ said Cas, and they parted ways at the landing of the staircase.

Cas walked down the long hall to the door at the very end, and knocked. He waited several moments, then knocked again.

‘Come in,’ said Samuel’s voice from the other side.

Cas entered, and was startled to see that Samuel was not alone. He was sitting at his large solid wood desk, and standing next to him was John Winchester.

‘Father,’ said Samuel slowly, and Cas noted that he looked sick, ‘just in time.’

‘You wanted to see me?’

‘Yes, I was wondering if you could sign this for me.’

‘Of course,’ said Cas, approaching the desk. ‘John, how are you?’

‘I’m well, thank you,’ said John, though he didn’t look well at all. His thick, dark brows were furrowed, his jaw was tight under the thick stubble; he looked very tense. He always did around Samuel.

An animosity grew between them after Mary died, for each of them blamed the other for her death. Cas had heard both sides of the story many times during confession. Samuel blamed John for not being home when old Yellow Eyes showed up, and John blamed Samuel for keeping Yellow Eyes no matter how far he seemed to be slipping into alcoholism and insanity.

Neither of them could find it within themselves to forgive the other.

‘It’s just my new will,’ said Samuel. ‘I need you as witnesses as I sign it. It’s only a few tweaks here and there, but I’d really like it done today.’

He leaned over his desk and signed the paper, before pushing it to the left towards John. John signed it too, then stepped away to make room for Cas.

Cas wrote his signature above the thin line labelled witness, careful not to read anything above, lest he unintentionally invade Samuel’s privacy.

He glanced over at John once he’d signed, to see that he looked nervous. Cas thought he knew why. Any changes to Samuel’s will could potentially alter John’s future on Campbell Ranch … but Cas thought any worry was unwarranted. After all, Samuel had no other surviving family, who would he leave the ranch to instead of his own grandsons?

Cas had other concerns. Why was it so important for him to sign? Why not Mrs Milligan? Why not one of the dozens of staff already present on the ranch? Why did Samuel wait for him specifically?

‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ said Samuel brusquely, and he folded the will up to push it into an envelope, lighting a match to seal it with dark red wax. ‘John, you can get back to work, I’d like some private words with Father Castiel.’

‘It was nice seeing you, Father,’ said John. His jaw was still clenched – and Cas’ heart jumped, because it reminded him so of Dean. In this mysterious setting, he’d briefly forgotten his previous fears.

‘Nice to see you too,’ said Cas, trying to keep his voice even.

‘Take a seat,’ said Samuel, indicating to an armchair by the window.

‘I uh – was surprised to see John here,’ said Cas. ‘Mrs Milligan was under the impression that you were alone.’

‘John arrived while she was out back in the garden. I answered the door. Would you like anything? Coffee? Water?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Well then, I’ll just come right out with it. I want you to take this,’ said Samuel, holding out the envelope that contained his will, ‘and take it into town with you his afternoon. My lawyer’s office it only a few blocks from St Augustine’s, his name is Michael Guenther, and he’ll be waiting for you. Give him the will, and your job is done – but this is very important Father, he must receive it before five-thirty. Do you understand?’

‘Uhh,’ said Cas. His mouth was wide open, but he couldn’t help it, this was very far from what he was expecting, very far from anything he would have expected. ‘Is everything okay, Samuel?’

‘Of course!’ said Samuel. ‘He’s going on vacation tomorrow, and I need to get it in today before the office closes or I’ll have to wait two months for him to get back.’

‘Oh, okay,’ said Cas, taking the will. ‘That makes sense.’

‘Thank you,’ said Samuel, handing Cas a folded up square of paper. ‘This is his address.’

‘I’ll come back when I drop Dean off and tell you that I dropped it off,’ said Cas, standing and heading for the door. ‘Good bye.’

‘Castiel, wait.’

‘Yes?’ said Cas, turning back, his hand on the door knob.

‘I just want you to know that I’ve very much appreciated your friendship over these last couple of years. And for taking Dean under your wing. I really appreciate that … but look after him. Don’t let any weird ideas get in his head. Do you understand?’

Cas’ heart leapt into his chest. ‘Um, yes, of course.’

‘Okay, good bye.’

Does he know? thought Cas, and he couldn’t breathe until he was back in his car and driving down to the Winchester homestead.

Cas decided not to mention anything about his conversation with Samuel to Dean. It would only worry him. Dean was waiting on the porch for him when he arrived.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked, eyes wide.

‘Yes, your grandfather just wanted me to be witness to some papers he was signing,’ said Cas.

‘Oh, good,’ said Dean, visibly relaxing.

‘Do you have more work to do, or?’

‘Nope, Dad’s gone into town and he won’t be back ‘til tonight,’ said Dean, grinning widely, ‘so I’m sittin’ pretty.’

‘You’re still not dressed for church,’ said Cas, with a smile.

Dean shrugged, and smiled back. ‘We got time.’

‘Is Sam here?’

‘Nope, he’s gone into town with Dad … you know, for a moment this morning, I thought he knew.’

‘Who, Sam? About us?’ asked Cas nervously.

‘Don’t worry, it was a false alarm. He brought up how I disappeared from the party, then you did, and neither of us came back. But it was just an innocent comment. He spent the next two hours talking about Jessica.’

‘Did he bring up last night, when he interrupted us at the barn?’

‘Yeah, but I think he thought I was with a girl.’ He laughed wryly.

‘I left my tie behind,’ said Cas, ‘it was lucky he didn’t see it.’

‘Oh, shit, I must’ve missed it when I brought you your clothes. I threw them in a bush when I heard him coming.’

‘Yes, that’s where I found the tie this morning. It’s fine.’

‘Oh, good. I doubt anybody looked at you hard enough to recognise your tie anyway … except me, maybe.’ He grinned.‘Do you wanna come in?’

‘I’d like to, but I think it would be best if I wait out here.’

‘Sam and Dad are gonna be gone for ages,’ said Dean. ‘Come on, it’s fine. You’ve come in loads of times before. The plan is to act natural, right?’

Cas laughed looked up at Dean, who had an edge of nervousness in his grin.

‘Oh, all right,’ said Cas, walking up the steps and following Dean into the house.

The Winchesters’ home was simple, but Cas had always liked it very much. The main room served as living area, kitchen and dining. It smelled of dust and gunpowder, but also of baking, and a scent he could never fully identify, which he had named, in his head, Dean’s smell. He breathed in deeply as Dean placed his hat on the table and opened the ice box.

‘Would you like anything? Coffee, or ...?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Cas. ‘I had something in town.’

‘We’re not going to be late, are we? I don’t remember how long the drive is.’

‘No, we have a lot time,’ said Cas, immediately feeling ashamed of the hidden meaning behind his sentence.

It was strange. He’d resolved that morning to tell Dean that, though he meant everything he said the night before, and that what happened between them was wonderful, it could never happen again. Now he was in his presence, he couldn’t bear to say it. Not only because he didn’t want to hurt Dean, but because it was would hurt Cas deeply if he could never have him again.

Dean was standing in the small kitchen area, not moving, looking at Cas, his expression one of uncertainty.

‘Are you all right, Dean?’

‘You just look like you have something to say to me,’ he replied.

‘I do,’ said Cas, sighing and walking over to join Dean in the kitchen. ‘I came here with every intention of saying we should keep our distance – hey,’ he quickly touched Dean’s cheek when the younger man dropped his head, looking devastated.

‘But that isn’t what I want,’ Cas went on.

‘What do you want?’

‘I’m not sure, but I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to lose my priesthood. I don’t want to displease God. I don’t want to lose you. And I don’t just want to be your priest, I don’t want to just be your friend.’

‘Those things don’t really go together, Cas.’

‘I know,’ said Cas sadly, taking Dean’s hand. ‘And that is why I can’t decide what I want.’

‘I know what I want,’ said Dean. ‘I want all that to be able to go together.’

‘So do I,’ said Cas with a sad smile. He cleared his throat. ‘But ... these things are as they are because it’s what God wants of us.’

Dean furrowed his brow at Cas. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, but he turned away from the priest instead.

‘I’m going to get changed, I won’t be long.’

‘Dean ...’

‘Mmm?’

Cas walked over to Dean and grasped him by the shoulder. Dean spun to face him, and he licked his lips before saying, ‘What?’

Cas squeezed his shoulder, and he winced.

‘I have a bruise,’ said Dean.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cas, releasing him. ‘What from?’

Dean smiled and looked at the floor.

‘Oh, right.’ Cas smirked and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Look, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘You didn’t.’

‘Was it what I said about God?’

‘I’m not upset, Cas.’

‘Are you angry with me?’

‘I – look. Sammy was raised with this stuff for as long as he can remember, but me ... well, before Mom died, we went to church and said grace and stuff, but outside of that our parents barely mentioned God. Dad turned really religious after she died. Because she died. I remember it. It comforted him, I guess, but I remember when none of it was a big deal, and I s’pose that stuck with me. And ... I was angry at him for a long time.’

‘Angry with your father?’

‘No, with God. I couldn’t see sense in her death. I was little, and I wanted to know why God let it happen.’

‘Sometimes, Dean—’

‘Yeah I know, God’s plan, mysterious ways, I get it. I’ve made my peace with that. I’m not askin’ you for an explanation. But I’m just telling you ... well, I don’t want God to take you away from me too. I know it’s a lot to ask. You’ve dedicated your life to this, and you’re a great priest.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ mumbled Cas.

‘You are – even if what happened between us makes it complicated. It’s a lot to ask of you, to ask you to ... t-to choose me. So I won’t ask it. I won’t even bring it up. Whatever happens, happens. I just want you to see where I’m coming from.’

‘I do see where you’re coming from,’ replied Cas. ‘You ... are truly a great man, Dean. You know that?’

Dean shrugged.

‘No, I mean it,’ insisted Cas, ‘you really are.’

‘Well, thanks Cas,’ mumbled Dean, a slight blush creeping over his lightly freckled face.

Cas grinned and reached up to run a hand down Dean’s cheek; his stubble was already thicker than it was the night before, and his skin still was warm and moist from working in the sun.

Dean exhaled loudly through his nose and closed his eyes at Cas’ touch. He reached up and covered Cas’ hand with his own, pressing the priest’s fingers harder into his cheekbone. Cas ran a thumb lightly over his lips, down his jaw, and grasped him by the back of the neck to pull him in for a kiss.

Before Cas knew what was happening, Dean had pinned him against the wall, grinding his hips into Cas’. He continued with this motion ... drawn out, delicious, circular gyrations, as his tongue moved wetly against the Cas’ own.

He was driving Cas wild; his moans were long and broken, his breaths coming out in uneven huffs, his legs jelly, and Dean just kept grinning, apparently exhilarated by exercising such power over Cas.

Then, Dean dropped to his knees, unbuckled Cas’ pants, and took Cas cock into his mouth to suck it slow and deep. Cas practically had to bite his knuckle to hold back the moans that came from him. He came much quicker than he expected, panting and looking down at Dean with his pants around his ankles.

Dean got to his feet and planted a chaste kiss on Cas’ lips, and left the room to go wash up without a word. Cas wiped up with his handkerchief, then buried it deep in the Winchesters’ trash can. Dean emerged ten minutes later, donning his dress clothes, ready for Mass, and Cas had only just fully caught his breath.

‘That was ... unexpected,’ said Cas, leaning tiredly against the kitchen counter.

‘I know,’ said Dean with a sheepish grin. ‘I wasn’t planning on that happening, it just ... did.’

‘Are you all right?’ asked Cas.

‘Of course,’ said Dean. ‘I should be asking you.’

‘Yes, I think I’m fine,’ said Cas.

Dean walked over to him slowly, looped his thumbs into the belt loops of Cas’ pants, and pulled him close.

‘You sure?’ he mumbled, kissing him.

‘Yes,’ said Cas, kissing back. ‘I love you.’

Dean grinned. ‘I think we should go,’ he said, ‘you can’t be late.’

‘I’ve done worse,’ said Cas with a wry smile. He swung his jacket over his shoulder and they headed for the front door, only letting go of each other’s hands after they exited.

*

Dean smiled serenely as Cas’ car bumped down the dusty road towards the highway. He’d been excited all night for this trip. He had two whole hours of uninterrupted alone time with Cas, during which he didn’t have to share him with other people, he didn’t have the pressures of time or a schedule keeping their meeting short, he didn’t have to worry about someone barging in as he kissed his lips or ran a hand over his crotch. They were completely and totally alone, at last, for the first time in ... well, ever.

And now all he could do was sit there and smile.

The thing was, Cas knew all about Dean. About how he practically raised Sam because their father was always so busy with the ranch. He knew about all about his wishes, his fears, and now one last secret that hung over their heads was out, Dean was a complete open book. It was nice, freeing, but it did leave him with very little to say.

Still, the silence wasn’t awkward. Dean didn’t feel the need to start babbling about nothing just to break it. It felt comfortable and familiar, and Dean had a feeling that Cas, who was smiling at the road, felt the same.

They briefly stopped at an old looking building a couple of blocks from the church, and Cas told Dean he had to drop off a letter for one of his parishioners. It looked like a lawyer’s office to Dean. He caught a glimpse of the man inside when Cas exited; he looked strangely familiar.

They pulled up to St. Augustine’s with ten minutes to spare. Dean followed Cas into the back room, located behind the altar, where he pulled the white linen Priest’s Stole over his clothing.

‘Um,’ said Dean, unsure of what to say to a priest before Mass. Break a leg? ‘I’m going to sit down now,’ he said.

He was kind enough to not show Cas any romantic affection inside the walls of his church.

Dean tried his best to focus during Mass, but it was identical to the one he’d attended that morning and Cas looked so God-damn beautiful that he could barely focus on anything else.

Cas had been right about one thing, Mass was a whole different experience in the real building. But it wasn’t the Word of God that transformed into a thing of beauty for Dean, but Cas. He stood at the pulpit, golden sunlight streaming through the stain-glassed windows to bathe his face in a multi-coloured glow, and his hair glowed gold like he was donning a halo.

His voice boomed in a way Dean had never heard it before (Cas never needed to raise it any louder than his regular speaking voice for the small crowd that gathered at the ranch) travelling down the aisle and hitting the walls at the back of the church, to reach everybody’s ears in the crowded building. There was something authoritative and passionate about this heightened volume, Cas usual gravelly tone transformed into something lighter and with more nuance, and it was bizarrely arousing to Dean.

Dean tried to focus on the portrait of Jesus Christ hung over Cas’ head, instead of on his own erotic thoughts. However, this added to his guilt rather than subtracted from it, so he focused instead on his knees, pretending that he was sitting on his bed at home.

The church around him transformed into his bedroom in his mind’s eye, and Cas materialised before him. He straddled Dean’s lap and kissed him deeply; imaginary-Dean and imaginary-Cas were totally naked and writhing together on the bed before real-Dean realised how far his fantasy had gone.

Shit, he thought, and he forcefully snapped himself back to reality, crossing his legs so as to conceal his erection.

Mass dragged on, and Dean did not dare stand for a second Communion, still suffering under his little situation down stairs when the time came. Thankfully it had gone away by the time the final hymn played, and Dean was one of the first to leave their seat.

Cas stood at the church’s front door, bidding the parishioners farewell as they left, and Dean walked outside to wait by the back door. It was about fifteen minutes later when Cas swung it open to let him in.

‘Sister Anna,’ said Cas, gesturing to the nun beside him, ‘this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is Sister Anna Milton.’

Sister Anna was slim and pretty, with large hazel eyes and a nice smile. She looked no older than twenty. She appeared tired and harried, and small wisp of red hair was escaping from beneath her habit. Dean was about to point it out, but decided against it.

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Dean with a smile.

‘And you,’ said Sister Anna, ‘I’ve heard a lot about you and your family from Father Castiel.’

‘All good things I hope,’ he said with a grin. He didn’t think Cas had ever mentioned a Sister Anna.

‘Yes of course! I’m sure you haven’t heard of me,’ she added, as if reading his thoughts. ‘I’m new.’

‘She’s doing wonderfully,’ Cas chimed in.

‘Thank you, Father,’ said Anna.

‘I’ll be driving Mr Winchester home,’ he said, ‘will you be okay here alone?’

‘Oh yes, Father Gabriel should be back very soon anyway. Take your time.’

‘Thank you, Sister, good evening.’

‘Evening, Father,’ she replied.

‘She’s nice,’ commented Dean as they walked to the car.

‘Yes, she is very nice,’ replied Cas. ‘How did you find the service?’

‘Really, really good,’ said Dean, and he was glad he lied when it elicited the happy beam from Cas.

‘Well, I’m glad,’ he said.

They got into the car and set out on the road.

‘You sound really good in that church,’ said Dean.

‘Sound good?’

‘Yeah your voice. When you talked loud, and it was all echoey. Sounds sexy.’

Cas quickly concealed an embarrassed half-smile, but Dean caught it.

‘Are you feeling okay?’ he asked.

‘Of course. Why?’ said Cas, furrowing his brow and glancing over at Dean.

Dean shrugged.

‘Is this still about what I said this morning?’

Dean shrugged again. In all honesty, there was a fear buried inside of him that was trying to claw its way to the surface; he was afraid that Cas would change his mind, push Dean away, decide that he couldn’t be with him, or worse, that he didn’t really love him. Dean pushed the fear down desperately, determined to drink in every moment he spent with Cas and enjoy it, instead of dreading that it might soon be over.

‘I told you,’ said Cas, ‘I was planning to tell you that we couldn’t see each other. I changed my mind. I don’t think I ever really thought I could say it to you, anyway.’

Dean smiled and squeezed Cas’ free hand, which was placed on his lap, and Cas removed it to reach over to grasp Dean’s leg.

‘Everything is going to be fine,’ reassured Cas.

Dean nodded, and took a deep, calming breath. ‘Okay … wait, what are you doing?’ he asked, when Cas slowed the car to a roll and turned into a field.

‘Look at the sunset,’ he said, pointing ahead of them, his right hand back on Dean’s thigh.

Dean looked. The sky was streaked with brilliant shades of gold, purple and grey, and the sun bright orange and low on the horizon.

‘Nice,’ said Dean, nodding appreciatively.

‘God’s creation,’ breathed Cas. ‘Absolutely breathtaking.’

‘Mmm,’ said Dean, and he turned to Cas, who, he thought, looked even more stunning than the sky.

Dean placed a hand on the priest’s cheek and pulled him in for a kiss.

‘I love you,’ he said.

Cas smiled, and his gaze flitted between each of Dean’s eyes.

‘I love you too,’ he said. ‘We better go, or your father will wonder where you’ve been.’

They drove on and too soon, they were back at Campbell Ranch. Dean hopped out of the car to open the main gate, and then they rumbled up towards the Winchester homestead, but when they got near, a loud chopping noise grabbed Dean’s attention, and he gasped at something in the distance.

‘What the–?’

The main homestead, situated higher up on the hill, was surrounded by people – probably fifteen or twenty of them – and a helicopter was descending on the field nearby.

‘Cas, drive up there,’ he said sharply, ‘something’s happened.’

But Cas was already speeding up before Dean spoke, the small car struggling slightly up the steep hill.

Dean almost tripped over when he jumped out of the car. Every single member of the ranch staff seemed to be gathered there, joined by a couple of townspeople he recognised. He quickly found his father in the crowd.

‘What’s happened?’ exclaimed Dean, as Cas came to stand beside him.

John was white as a sheet, and he only looked at Dean with frightened eyes and a slack jaw, not saying a word.

‘It’s not Sam? Dad, answer me!’ cried Dean, his insides thrashing wildly with panic.

A hand was placed on Dean’s shoulder, and he spun around to see Sam standing there, his eyes red and swollen. For a wild moment, Dean was flooded with relief – at least Sam was okay.

‘Oh, thank God,’ he said. ‘What’s happened? Sammy, talk to me!’

‘It’s Grandpa,’ said Sam, his voice shaky, and he roughly brushed away a fresh tear from his eye. ‘He’s been murdered.’

Chapter Text

Have Mercy on me, because I have taken refuge in you.
I take refuge in the shadow of your wings,
Until destruction passes by.
            - Psalm 57, [Common English Bible]

For three days, Dean did not see Cas. The priest was busy preparing Samuel’s funeral Mass, and Dean was throwing himself into work on the ranch, and looking after Sammy. It was good. Look out for Sammy; make sure Sammy was okay … a lifetime of instruction from his Father drove him.

Dean wasn’t so sure how he felt. In all honesty, yes, he’d grown up on the ranch and saw Samuel almost every day, but he never felt close to him. Their personalities didn’t mesh (Sam disagreed with this point; he always said they were too alike) and they butted heads often. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He knew he should feel bad about not caring, but he didn’t.

Sam had the closer bond with him – filled with respect and some admiration. He was always keen to follow orders when they came from Samuel, rather than John. Dean wondered about how Sam’s work would suffer now, with only John’s instruction.

The police were investigating the death, but so far, they were coming up with nothing. The first person everybody suspected was the new housekeeper, Ruby, but she was cleared because she’d been with Sam the entire day.

Ruby was the only unfamiliar face on the ranch at time of the murder. John, who had been in town when the murder took place, was cleared, as were Dean, Sam and Cas, obviously. Mrs Milligan had been interviewed but was cleared. Dean had no idea what was going on.

Samuel had been found dead and bloody by Mrs Milligan in his library, sprawled out on the white leather couch across from the large mirror by the door, a knife sticking out of his abdomen. Dean hadn’t seen her since it happened, as she refused to leave her house. Dean couldn’t blame her. He’d seen the police carry the couch out right after Samuel went away in the body bag, the white of it tainted by large splotches of red. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind.

So he worked, worked, worked. He worked his fingers to the bone from dawn to dusk (and beyond), only stopping when Sam wanted to talk, or just spend time with Dean. He’d cry, and Dean would soothingly rub his back until he stopped.

Dean just felt miserable. He might not have felt bereaved, but he was haunted by the image of Samuel’s body.

But, beyond all else, it hurt him to see Sam hurt.

Their father seemed largely unaffected by the death. Dean knew he was thinking about the money they were about to inherit, but it was more than that. Even without the promise of however-much-money Samuel had left to them, John would still care little. He’d been indifferent to Samuel – polite, until Mary’s death. Then the apathy turned to bitterness and hate. He would miss nothing of the man now he was gone.

Dean woke up early on Friday, the day of the funeral. For the first time that week, he didn’t jump right out of bed. He lay there for a moment, dreading the day before him.

He knew Cas would be there, and Dean couldn’t really talk to him or touch him, even though what he wanted most in the world at that moment was for Cas to comfort him – not because he needed it, but because he missed him and his attention.

The whole town would probably be there too, looking at him with pitying eyes and speaking words of sympathy that Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to stomach. He groaned, and ran a hand through his hair.

Slowly, he raised himself up to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes until stars appeared before them. He’d only slept in boxers, but he was drenched in sweat. John and Sam were already gone. He quickly bathed and dressed in jeans and a red button-up shirt. He pulled on his boots, the soles still caked in dirt from the day before, and walked out into the glary sunlight.

Six hours until the funeral. Cas would be there in three. He checked his watch and decided to look for Sam.

He found him on the steps of the main homestead, head bowed. Dean walked over and sat beside him.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Yeah. Well – Mr Moore is coming to the funeral, but Jess can’t come. I don’t think he wants her near me. It’s just … I coulda used her today, you know?’

‘Yeah, I know.’ Boy, did he know.

At least Cas would actually be there, even if they couldn’t really speak.

‘It’ll be all right, Sammy. You’re both young, you got your whole lives ahead of you. It’ll work out. You’ll find a way.’

‘Yeah,’ said Sam with a sigh. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

Dean reached out and roughly patted his brother on the shoulder.

‘Can I ask you something, Dean?’

‘Yeah?’

‘How come you never got a girlfriend?’

Dean swallowed. ‘I dunno. I was always more of a loner than you. And I mean, there’s been girls …’

‘Yeah, but nothing serious.’

Dean shrugged. ‘I just wanna give all my love to God.’

Sam snorted. Dean grinned. It was good to see Sam smile.

‘You’re an idiot.’

‘Shut the hell up.’

‘Jerk,’ laughed Sam, and he got to his feet and stretched. ‘I really don’t want everyone here.’

‘Me neither. It’s gonna be bad.’

‘It’ll be okay,’ said Sam with a shrug. ‘They’re coming to pay their respects to Grandpa. We can’t hate them for that.’

‘Grandpa had a lot of friends.’

‘Yeah, he was really loved. Anyway, I was going to go for a walk by the river. Want to come?’

‘Yeah, okay then.’

‘Hey, is that Father Cas?’ said Sam abruptly, squinting into the distance. ‘Yeah, it is. He’s here a bit early, isn’t he?’

Dean stood up and looked ahead, and surely enough, there was Cas’ car driving towards them. He slowed down to a stop, and stepped out to walk to the foot of the stairs, dressed in his vestments.

‘Hello,’ he said, looking sad. ‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m okay,’ said Sam, walking down the stairs to shake Cas’ hand. ‘Doing a little better.’

‘You’d be getting over the initial shock,’ said Cas with a nod. ‘You have my deepest sympathies, Sam. And Dean.’

‘Thanks, Father,’ said Sam.

‘Is your father home?

‘Not yet,’ said Dean. ‘He should be about an hour.’

‘I just wanted to go over the readings with him one last time,’ said Cas. ‘I suppose I can wait.’

‘I can look over them with you,’ said Dean, trying to keep the hopefulness from his voice. ‘If you want. I don’t think Dad cares about the readings, to be honest.’

‘I suppose that’d be fine. Sam, will you join us?’

‘Yeah, yeah of course.’

They walked up the stairs, all together. ‘Did Dad mention Psalm fifty-seven?’ asked Sam, as they entered the house. ‘It was one of Grandpa’s favourites …’

‘So we’ll remove these bits,’ said Cas an hour later, as they sat around Samuel’s vast dining room table, ‘because they’re a bit … darker than what I’d usually read at a funeral.’

‘’Cause there’s nothing dark about a funeral,’ said Dean, taking a swig of his cola.

Sam pursed his lips at him, then read. ‘My soul is among lions, I lie among the children of men, that are set on fire; whose teeth are spears and arrows—’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Dean.

‘They have laid a net for my steps,’ Sam continued, ‘my soul is pressed down, they have dug a pit before me and are fallen into the midst of it—’

‘Okay, okay, I get it,’ said Dean, throwing up his hands. ‘Too dark for a funeral. Fine.’

Cas cleared his throat, obviously suppressing a smirk.

‘With the darker lines removed, this will be the reading:
            ‘Have mercy upon me, O God, have mercy upon me; for my soul trusteth in thee, and in the shadow of thy wings will I trust, till these afflictions overpass.
            ‘I will call unto the most high God, even the God that performeth his promise toward me.
            ‘He will send from Heaven, and save me from reproof of him that would swallow me. God will send his mercy, and his truth.
            ‘Exalt thyself, O God, above the heavens, and let thy glory be upon all the earth.
            ‘Mine heart is prepared, O God, mine heart is prepared; I will sing and give praise.
            ‘Awake my tongue, awake viol and harp: I will wake early.
            ‘I will praise thee, O Lord, among the people, and I will sing unto thee among the nations.
            ‘For thy mercy is great unto the heavens, and thy truth unto the clouds.
            ‘Exalt thyself, O God, above the heavens, and let thy glory be upon all the earth.’

Dean realized he’d been watching Cas read with a smile on his face, hand rested upon his chin. He shook himself from this ridiculous stupor – Sam was right there for God’s sake. He probably looked like Becky Rosen when she would come for dinner and stare at Sam from across the table.

‘That’s beautiful, Father,’ said Sam.

‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ said Cas. For a moment, a strange expression flashed across his face; it was something like sadness mixed with annoyance. However, the next moment, his features were smooth, and Dean was sure he must have been imagining it.

‘Grandpa would have loved it,’ said Sam.

‘Yeah, I reckon he would,’ said Dean.

‘Well that’s settled, then,’ said Cas. ‘Your father spoke with Father Gabriel about the music, yes?’

‘Yeah, yesterday,’ replied Sam.

‘Then everything’s ready. Are the two of you okay?’

‘I’m doing all right,’ said Sam, with a sigh.

‘Dean?’

‘I’m good,’ said Dean. Cas’ fond smile went unnoticed by Sam, who was rubbing his eyes.

‘Good. I’ll see the two of you this afternoon.’ And he left.

The day passed without event, Dean cleaned out the chicken coops while Sam kept to his room. The town was gathered in the main homestead by four o’clock for the funeral.

The service was long, but lovely. Dean, Sam and John served as pallbearers, along with Dean and Sam’s Uncle Bobby, who’d driven all night just to be there. He looked very strange, suited up with slicked-back hair, when Dean had never seen him out of plaid and denim and his dirty hat.

Sam read Genesis 18, and Uncle Bobby read Revelations 20 in Dean’s place (Dean really hadn’t wanted to do it); each reading followed by Psalms 8 and 126. Cas then took to the makeshift altar and read Matthew 5: 3-11, finally followed by Psalm 57, as they’d planned that morning, and Dean decided that Cas made it sound just as beautiful the second time, as he watched him from the front pew. For the first time that afternoon, he became teary, and he could have sworn Cas’ eyes were wet as well.

They carted the casket to the ranch’s mausoleum, where they sealed Samuel’s body behind walls of heavy brick, to rest with four generations of Campbell’s, Mary Winchester included. Everybody returned to the main homestead’s living area (where Samuel’s birthday party had been held – it was surreal to Dean just how recently that had been) for the wake.

Dean was accosted left right and centre by well-wishers, some of them weeping, to give him their sympathy. Sam, John and even Cas were going through a similar experience. He didn’t feel up to speaking with Sam or his father. He only wanted to talk to Cas, but he didn’t dare approach him.

Dean gritted his teeth through the ordeal for a full three hours before he had enough. He slipped into the kitchen for some privacy – only there were about six people in there as well. He nodded solemnly through another five minutes of grief, before running up the stairs.

He walked down the hall towards Samuel’s library, where he’d died – he almost jumped out of his skin when he closed the door behind him, and saw someone else’s reflection in the large mirror.

‘Cas,’ he said breathily, rubbing his chest. ‘You scared me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Cas was standing by the desk, leaning against it. He straightened to approach Dean. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, yeah, you startled me is all,’ said Dean with a shrug.

He felt strange. He wanted to be alone with Cas and yet, at the same time, he didn’t. He’d grown used to it already, touching Cas wherever he wanted when they were alone, but today was obviously not the right time. He wanted him to hold him, to comfort him, in ways Dean had never wanted from another person since his mother died. But they could be interrupted. It wasn’t safe. So he had to stay away.

‘I wish I could do something,’ said Cas, raising his hands half-heartedly, then dropping them. Dean thought he must be thinking along the same lines.

‘Yeah. Me too,’ said Dean.

They sighed in unison and sat side-by-side on the bench by the door.

‘He died in here,’ muttered Dean.

‘Yes, I know. I suppose I thought if I came in here I could make sense of it. I’m not sure why.’

‘Are you okay, Cas?’ asked Dean. ‘I mean, he was my grandpa, but you were close to him as well.’

‘I’m not okay,’ said Cas. ‘But I will be.’

‘Good. So will I,’ said Dean. Cas reached out and squeezed Dean’s hand, before hastily placing it back on his own lap.

‘We should probably go back downstairs,’ muttered Cas.

‘I can’t yet,’ said Dean. ‘I can’t stand it. I think I’ll get out of here, take a walk through the top floor.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Cas, ‘another couple of minutes won’t matter.’

They stood together and exited the room and crept past the top of the staircase and down the opposite hall. They ended up in the largest guest room, looking out over the ranch. The sun on the horizon was low, and Dean knew daylight wouldn’t last much longer. That meant the guests would be leaving soon. Dean could already see a couple of people walking to their cars.

‘It’s a lot cheerier in here,’ commented Cas.

‘I s’pose,’ muttered Dean. He didn’t have good associations with the room. When he was a child, and John got furious with him, he’d run away, afraid, and Samuel would let him stay the night in this room. It was the closest thing to familial love that Samuel ever displayed towards him.

‘Will you be here for the reading of the will?’ asked Dean, desperate for a change of subject.

A strange look crossed Cas’ face. ‘Yes.’

‘What is it?’

‘Hmm?’

‘What’s wrong, Cas?’

Cas took a deep breath and faced Dean.

‘Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?’

Dean shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘This is important Dean,’ said Cas, exasperated. ‘You can’t tell anybody. Not even Sam. Especially not your father.’

‘Cas, you’re worrying me,’ said Dean, frowning. ‘Just tell me.’

Cas took another deep breath. ‘Your grandfather’s lawyer came to me this morning … with a new will.’

‘A new will?’ asked Dean with a frown. ‘What, from Grandpa?’

‘Yes … yes, he has …’ Cas cleared his throat.

‘Cas, just spit it out already, or so help me –‘

‘Samuel has left all of his money – and this ranch – to the Holy Catholic Church or Rome.’

Dean stopped short. His head was reeling. His heart was racing.

‘What?’

‘I didn’t want to tell you,’ said Cas, glancing at him regretfully, ‘I knew you’d be upset.’

‘Of course I’m fucking upset!’

‘Yes, of course, of course,’ said Cas quickly. ‘That’s what I meant. You have every right to be. I am quite angry myself.’

‘Why can’t I tell anyone?’ asked Dean, feeling nauseous. ‘They’re going to find out tonight.’

‘The reading of the will is postponed until Monday.’

There was a silence.

‘You’re going to have to give me more information there, Cas.’

‘You and I – and Samuel’s lawyer – are the only ones who know about the new will. Your father even signed it as a witness without knowing what it contained.’

‘Wait – the lawyer. Did you deliver the will that day when you took me to Mass?’

For a moment, Cas looked as though he wasn’t going to answer. Dean was about to prompt him again, when he nodded.

‘Did you read it, Cas?’ asked Dean. Terrible, unthinkable things were whirling through his brain.

His first thought was, is Cas capable of murder? He shook his head at the idea. It was ridiculous.

‘No, of course not. It was private.’

‘It’s just a bit funny,’ said Dean, taking a step away, but watching Cas’ reactions carefully as he spoke. ‘You don’t want anyone to know. Grandpa dies the same day he decides to leave everything to the Church. You’ll get all the credit, Cas. They won’t let you rot out here after bringing in that much money. Will they?’

‘What are you saying?’ asked Cas, squinting at him.

‘I don’t know. What do you think I’m saying?’

There was a loaded silence.

‘Are you implying I had something to do with your Grandfather’s death, Dean?’

Dean bit his tongue. Honestly, he didn’t think that, but it couldn’t hurt to be sure. Surely the police would start thinking along those lines if they learned of the new will? Yes, he and Cas were together when Samuel died, but he could have gotten somebody else to … No, thought Dean, don’t think that..

‘Tell me then,’ said Dean, ignoring the priest’s previous question, ‘why don’t you want anyone to know he left you the money?’

‘Because … I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I haven’t decided … if I am going to take it or not.’

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said Dean, holding up a hand, ‘you have a choice?’

‘Yes, Dean, I have a choice.’

‘Then don’t take it, Cas,’ said Dean, his stomach dropping. ‘What – how – how could you do that to us? How could you even consider it?’

‘Look, Dean, I shouldn’t have told you. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t take it Cas. You can’t do this to Sammy.’

‘I don’t wish to talk about this anymore.’

Dean huffed and looked out the window. Cas said something very quietly, and Dean didn’t catch it.’

‘What was that?’

‘Dean, I can’t be with you,’ he repeated.

Dean heard it this time. He was burning. The ground had dropped out from beneath his feet. He was grounded on nothing. His heart was jumping violently in his chest, it was about to crack his ribcage right open, rip itself from his body, fall heavy and bloody on the floor, he was sure of it.

He knew it. He fucking knew it.

His throat closed. He couldn’t breathe. Breathe damn it. Breathe … no, no, no, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

His body was heavy. This didn’t hit him like a bolt of lightning, or a ton of bricks, as he would have expected. This was bearing down on him little by little; slow and crushing this weight came down upon him, killing him slowly.

There were tears on his face. Cas was looking at him with sad blue eyes.

‘Please, no.’                     

Wait, did he say that or just think it? He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. No, he did say it; Cas was answering him.

‘I would give anything not to have to do this,’ said Cas quietly. ‘Please forgive me.’

‘This isn’t happening,’ said Dean, raising his hands and placing them on his head.

This couldn’t happen. He’d give anything to change this. He’d sell his soul to turn the clock back just ten minutes, make sure Cas never said this to him. He shouldn’t have pushed him about the will. He never should have come upstairs. This couldn’t happen. He wasn’t going to survive it.

‘I’m sorry, Dean,’ said Cas, his voice quiet and broken. He was gazing at the floor.

‘Why?’ choked out Dean.

‘You know why,’ said Cas sadly, meeting his eyes. ‘You know why.’

Dean swallowed. ‘God.’

‘Yes, God, but there’s so much more. I was a fool, a total fool. So much bad can come from this. You could be killed. We could lose everything. I was delusional Dean. I love you, I do, I love you so much that it sent me mad for a moment, but this – t-this can’t be. It just can’t.’ Cas was crying too, now.

‘Is this about the will?’ asked Dean. ‘Are you mad at me?’

‘How could you say that?’ asked Cas, looking devastated.

‘This is so sudden, Cas,’ said Dean. His grief was bubbling low and fierce in his stomach, but now rage was flooding in too, filling him up until he burned from his head to his heart to his fingertips. ‘I must have done something. Something must have happened.’

‘I’ve had time to think, to reflect. That’s all. You know I’m right, Dean, you know it.’

‘Yeah, I know you’re right,’ said Dean, ‘but I guess I thought you loved me enough to understand that I’m an adult and if I wanna risk it, then it’s my choice.’

Dean knew he sounded childish. He didn’t care.

‘It’s my choice too. I can’t do this. There’s too much to lose.’

‘And what if the whole world was fine with – people like us? Would you be with me then?’

Cas only hesitated slightly before saying, ‘Of course,’ but that was enough for Dean.

‘Don’t lie to me, Cas. Not to me.’

‘Dean … the Bible says that homosexuality is wrong. I can’t ignore that. It’s too much.’

‘Yeah, and now we’re getting to the truth, aren’t we?’ said Dean, his voice shaking with fury. ‘This is all about God.’

‘It’s not all about God—’

‘Maybe not. But answer this – did you lie to me, Cas, when I asked you if things would be different if I was a woman?’

Cas looked away and did not answer, and Dean’s heart broke all over again.

‘I fucking knew it,’ he muttered.

‘Please, Dean,’ said Cas, looking desperate now. ‘Please try to understand! I was in Los Angeles. I was Cardinal material, and I disobeyed, so I ended up here! I’m glad I met you, I really am, but look what my disobedience has cost me! All I did was ignore a bishop’s orders Dean, and the Lord worked through them and made sure I paid for breaking that vow.

‘And all that just for a small act of disobedience! But this – but this!’ He grasped at his own hair, looking beside himself.‘This is so wrong, even if I wasn’t a priest! We will pay dearly for this Dean, mark my words, and the punishment is going to be severe!’

Dean took a step back, blinking rapidly, jaw clenched, resisting the urge to hit Cas.

‘If God is the kinda thing that would hurt me for just loving someone,’ growled Dean, ‘I don’t want anything to do with Him. Do you hear me? He can do whatever he wants to me, because I’m done with Him.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ said Cas, looking afraid.

‘Oh, I mean it. If it weren’t for him, I could have you. I’ve already paid for loving you, Cas. I’m fucking paying right now. I love you and you’re leaving me.’

‘Dean, I don’t know what to say. I have dreams, dreams that are not sinful. It is the best thing for us. I promise you’ll see in the long run.’

‘Dreams? Oh, right – Cardinal material. And did you consider that this is more about your ambition than your love of God?’

‘Dean –’                                                                                           

‘This is about the money. I know it is. Just be honest with me. Please, just tell me the truth.’

‘Fine, but please, just listen to what I have to say. Though I am considering taking the money, it has no weight in my decision to stop … this.’ He indicated between himself and Dean. ‘And this isn’t about selfish financial gain. Most of it would go to the Church, not to me. Samuel has made it so you, Sam and John can stay here, and you will be managers. You’ll barely notice the Church’s involvement. You’ll still be wealthy, very wealthy. But this is my chance Dean – forget being a bishop in America, this is a ticket straight to Rome. Think how much better I can serve God while in Rome!’

‘Yeah right. You’ll be sucking some good-looking Italian’s dick in no time,’ spat Dean.

 Cas winced. ‘Please, Dean. I wish you’d try and understand.’

‘Oh, I understand. You don’t love me, not really,’ said Dean, pacing the room. ‘You never did. I was only good enough for you so long as you had to stay in Kansas.’

‘I do love you, Dean.’

‘Well, maybe you do.’ Dean turned and looked at him. ‘But God first. You love God first. And yourself most of all.’

Cas blinked and looked down, looking shamed, without making a reply.

‘Get away from me,’ said Dean.

‘Dean—’

‘Just go,’ barked Dean. ‘Just get out of my sight.’

Dean turned away and lent against the window sill as Cas stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him. After a few moments, he heard the door reopen.

‘By the way,’ came Cas’ voice. ‘I could never be with anyone else after you. You must know that.’

The door closed again. Dean sunk to his knees and wept.

Chapter Text

I looked for the one I love. I looked for him but did not find him.
I will get up now and roam around the city, in the streets, and in the squares.
I will look for the one I love. I looked for him but did not find him.
The watchmen making their rounds in the city found me. I asked, “Have you seen the one I love?”
I had just left them, when I found the one I love. I held on to him and would not let him go.
                        - Song of Solomon 3, [God’s Word Translation]

The day before the funeral

Cas sat at the table in the garden behind St. Augustine’s Catholic Church, his rosary beads in hand. He had stopped praying minutes earlier, but hadn’t realised it; he was still running a thumb over each bead as if he were still going.

He was thinking of Dean. He hadn’t been back to the ranch since the day of Samuel’s death; he’d been too busy at the church with preparations for the funeral. He hoped Dean was coping.

Cas longed to be with him. He regretted that the expressions of their love, so far, had been purely physical. He supposed after waiting for so long, any moments alone were bound to lead to the carnal side of things.

Still, Cas longed to be with Dean in a way that every man might be with the person he loved. He wanted to share his bed, take him on vacation, kiss him after dinner and read together in comfortable silence. He wanted things that could not be for a man in love with a man – and especially not for a priest.

He knew he could not leave the priesthood. He never really intended to. Still, he imagined what it might be like – leaving the church, leaving town, going to a faraway place where nobody knew them. They could find a place where they could be together.

Cas knew a little about the underground places where homosexual men spent their time. He’d heard of them a couple of times over the years, from parishioners who confessed to him their homosexual activities. Cas wondered if Dean knew places such as these existed. There were other men just like he and Dean out there in the world –  men they would never meet if they spent their days in this isolated town.

And that’s when he began to imagine what could go wrong between them. Dean would want more, eventually. Of course he would, and he deserved it. But then what? He imagined Dean discovering these homosexual 'venues' by himself, perhaps finding another man who could give him everything he needed. Cas closed his eyes against that painful thought.

That’s when he realised he was no longer praying. He placed the rosary beads on the table before him and sighed.

John Winchester would be there soon. He was coming to discuss the readings for the funeral. He’d insisted to come to St. Augustine’s, instead of Cas visiting him at the ranch. Cas found this unusual, but he guessed that John was trying to keep Sam as far removed from the proceedings as he could. Sam had been so close with his grandfather, and Cas could only imagine the depth of his mourning.

Cas looked at his watch. John would be there very soon. He got to his feet, intending to seek out Father Gabriel, with whom John would have to consult about the music. However, it was then that he saw Father Gabriel approaching him from across the garden.

‘Gabriel,’ said Cas. ‘I was about to come and find you.’

‘Ah, yes?’

‘Yes, John Winchester will be here soon.’

‘Oh, yeah, I have the hymns in the back room,’ said Gabriel. ‘I’ll go get them. Anything else you need?’

‘No, that should be it, Gabriel. Thank you.’

‘Father?’ came a woman’s voice. It was Sister Anna, peeking out from the back door. ‘Mr Winchester is here to speak with you.’

‘Speak of the …’ Gabriel’s eyes flashed cheekily. He’d heard all about John’s hot-headedness from Cas. ‘Anyway, I’ll go get the music sheets.’

‘Thank you,’ said Cas, suppressing a smile.

‘No need, I’ll meet you in the office.’ It was John Winchester, pushing past Sister Anna and entering the courtyard. ‘Can I have a moment alone with Father Castiel?’

‘Of course,’ said Anna, and she retreated back into the church. Gabriel raised his eyebrows at Cas, patted him on the shoulder, and followed her.

‘Hello, John,’ said Cas, once Gabriel and Anna were gone. ‘How are you?’

‘I’ve been better,’ said John, his jaw twitching. He walked over to the table where Cas had been sitting earlier, plonked a briefcase down upon it and sat down without invitation.

Cas took the seat across from him. ‘Wouldn’t this be easier in my office? That’s where my Bible and papers are.’

‘No,’ said John, clicking open his briefcase. ‘I think this will work better where we won’t be overheard.’

Cas frowned at John, and his stomach suddenly felt as though it was filled with writhing snakes. ‘I assume this isn’t about the funeral, then.’

‘No. Not at all.’

John dropped a yellow folder down on the table; he slid the briefcase off the table and placed it by his feet.

‘What’s this?’

‘You tell me.’

Cas glanced cautiously at John, but he only stared back, his expression hard. Cas took the silence as meaning that John wanted him to open the folder.

He did, and he was astounded that he managed to keep himself from falling out of his chair.

The folder contained several grainy photographs; every photo was of him and Dean. They seemed to have been taken from outside the living room window of the Winchester homestead, through a small crack in the curtain.

Some of them were graphic depictions of Dean giving Cas oral sex. There were a couple more of them kissing afterwards, and one of them holding hands when they were about to exit the house.

‘John,’ said Cas, his voice high-pitched and very unlike his own, ‘I can—’

‘Explain?’ said John, taking the photos back from him, a strange amusement playing across his features. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Please,’ said Cas, because he didn’t know what else to say.

‘Please, what?’

No words came to him. He simply shook his head, eyes wide.

‘You’re takin’ advantage of my son,’ he said. ‘I tried to tell Samuel. I tried to tell him. But he didn’t care. He didn’t listen – but I got these now!’ He slammed his hand down upon the yellow folder. ‘Too late to show him though, isn’t it? He got himself killed, and he has left all our money to you.’

‘W-what? What do you mean?’

‘He changed the will. What, he gave it to you to deliver and you didn’t even bother reading it?’

‘Of course not! Why would I?’

‘Well, if you did you woulda seen it. He left every cent to the Church. Proud, are you Father? Or maybe it was weird with Samuel, too, hey? What disgusting things did you do for that money?’

Cas winced, but he kept his eyes firmly upon John.

‘You need to try and understand. I never meant to … I am not depraved. At least, I don’t feel like I am. This isn’t about sex, John. I am in love with your son.’

John did not answer, but Cas felt like he only now truly understood the expression ‘If looks could kill.’

‘Please, John. What do you want from me?’

‘What makes you think I want something from you?’

‘These photographs could ruin my life. I assume you haven’t shown them to anyone else?’

John was silent for a moment, looking thoughtful.

‘And to show them to anyone would incriminate Dean, as well,’ he continued.

‘Well, you’re right. I do want something, Father. Two things. One, you burn that will. Let us have what’s rightfully ours.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Cas quickly. ‘I never would have—’

‘And two,’ John said, interrupting him, ‘you leave Dean alone. You never come back to our ranch. You tell Dean it’s over and don’t tell him why. If I ever set eyes on you again, I’ll kill you. But if you play by the rules, no one has to know. I won’t tell Dean I know. He still has a chance to be normal.’

Cas got to his feet and turned his back on John, taking a few steps towards the garden. He felt light-headed, and he placed a hand on the fence for support.

If he ever went near Dean again, both their lives would be ruined. He never would have taken the money, even without being blackmailed. What on earth had possessed Samuel to do this? Did his hate for John really run so deep that he would deprive his grandsons of their rightful inheritance? Rejecting the money came easy.

But John was asking him to keep away from Dean forever. A small part of Cas understood the request, knowing he might do the same if he had a son in the same position.

On the other hand, desperation and terror bubbled up inside him. He couldn’t hurt Dean. How could he look him in the eye and tell him they could never see each other again, and not even tell him the real reason why? How could he live without him?

‘I … I don’t have any other choice, do I?’ he said in a strangled voice, his back still to John. ‘I have to do what you say.’

‘Damn right,’ said John gruffly.

Cas turned to face him. He looked as though he was enjoying this. How could this spiteful man have produced such wonderful children? He was rubbing his hand over the yellow folder, a gleeful look in his eyes.

 ‘Who took those photographs?’ asked Cas, suddenly curious. ‘How long have you known?’

‘That’s not for you to worry about,’ said John. ‘So do we have a deal?’

Cas sighed, and took a few steps towards him.

‘Of course. I’ll keep my distance and then tell him after the pain of losing Samuel isn’t so fresh.’

‘You’ll tell him the next time you see him,’ demanded John.

‘What?’ said Cas incredulously. ‘That’s the funeral, John. You want me to tell him on the day of his grandfather’s funeral? Are you insane?’

‘Hey, it’s the queers that get carted off to the asylums, so don’t you call me insane, you filthy hypocrite.’

Cas blinked rapidly, biting his tongue on the very un-Christian things he wanted to say to John.

John picked up his brief case and placed the yellow folder back inside. He picked the case up, and his eyes rested on Cas’ Rosary Beads, which had previously gone unnoticed.

‘These won’t help you now,’ he said, picking them up with a smirk. ‘You better spend the rest of your life asking God to forgive you for this one.’

‘Perhaps you should do the same,’ retorted Cas, unable to help himself.

A look of fury passed over John’s face. ‘Just do what I say, or you’ll be sorry, priest. He threw the beads down onto the grass, and stormed off without another word.

Cas walked by them, not bothering to pick them up, and sat down at the table once again.

What kind of world was this, where the blackmailing, alcoholic, negligent father was in the right, and Cas was in the wrong, simply for being in love with Dean Winchester?

*

Twenty-four hours passed, and Cas was gasping for air in his car. He’d driven from the ranch, but didn’t even make it half a mile out of the front gates before the grief had taken him over so severely that he nearly veered off the road and into the tall grass. He drove all the way down the slope and into the field before he even found the brake.

Cas took a deep breath and placed his head in his hands, sobbing in a way that he hadn’t since he was a small child.

He’d said horrible things. He told Dean he was considering taking the money left to him by Samuel. He thought that maybe if Dean was angry with him, he’d take the breakup better. However, panic set in when he saw how much he was hurting Dean and he began to backpedal.

If he wasn’t suffering so much in his grief, he might have laughed. He reasoned with Dean over a decision he hadn’t even made. He’d been so desperate not to hurt him that he lost his head and hurt him even more than he should have. He’d made a terrible mess of everything.

Samuel’s lawyer had come to him that morning at the rectory with the will, not knowing that Cas already knew of its contents. Cas took it from him and burned it in the fireplace.

He would never see the ranch again. He doubted he’d never see Dean again. Life was long, yes, but Cas knew in his heart that Dean would spend the rest of his life on the ranch, and maybe he was better off without Cas anyway. After all, what could Cas offer him?

A strange idea occurred to Cas – if he drove around until he found a cliff, he could jump right off it and not have to hurt anymore.

The second this thought crossed his mind, he threw himself out of the car, horrified, and kneeled down in the grass beside the road.

‘Please, Lord,’ he begged. ‘Please help me! I’ve sinned against you, in so many ways. I fear your punishment. Help me!’

He bowed his head, but no answer came. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting.

‘Lord, please, I need ... I need you to help me be … be sure that I love you more than him.’

Again, no answer. Of course.

Cas wiped the tears from his face and stood to face the heavens.

‘I have given my life to you. I know you are testing me, as you test us all. I know that somewhere in this mess, your Divine Will is at work. But please, Lord – I can’t do this. Please, take this suffering from me. Take this sinful love out of me. Please.’

Cas was sure that every Christian, or indeed every person who believed in anything, at some point fantasised their God reaching down to Earth to raise them up. The god would tell them the secrets of life, tell them that everything would be okay. Of course, this never happened; but one could dream.

Cas lowered himself onto to his knees once again. He sat there until night fell, knowing that he was neglecting that night’s obligations, knowing that Father Gabriel and Sister Anna would wonder where he was, and worry for him.

He didn’t care. All he could focus upon were the dark waves of anguish crashing against his heart. The grief spilled over and filled him up completely, cracking his ribs and drowning his soul. He couldn’t move; he could only sit there and feel it.

*

The sunlight burned Dean’s eyes as he sat at the kitchen table. He was slowly and miserably chewing on a burnt piece of toast when a knock came on the door.

Dean considered ignoring it. He really didn’t want to see anybody right now. His father had left the ranch early to run some errands, giving Dean the opportunity to hide in the house all morning.

The knocking came again, louder this time. He sighed and got to his feet to answer it; he took an actual step backwards in shock when he saw who was on the other side.

‘Sister Anna?’ he said, looking behind her to see if Cas was with her. He wasn’t. ‘Um, is everything okay?’

‘Not really,’ replied the nun. Her eyes were wide and her face white as a sheet. ‘May I come in?’

‘Of course,’ said Dean, ushering her inside. ‘Take a seat.’

Anna sat at the table, and she spoke with no more delay.

‘Have you seen Father Cas?’ she asked.

‘Um … not since yesterday,’ said Dean. Sudden fear struck his heart when he realised what her words might mean. ‘Why, is everything okay?’

‘No, not really,’ she said shakily. ‘Father Cas is  … he didn’t come back to the rectory last night.’

‘He didn’t?’ asked Dean, sitting down across from her at the table. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. Father Gabriel checked his room and all his belongings are still in his room. If he left … surely he would have taken them? And Father Cas would never leave. Not on purpose.’

Dean frowned. He wasn’t so sure about that. If Cas’ iciness the day before was only a façade, perhaps he was much more distressed than he let on.

‘I think he was pretty upset yesterday – about my grandfather,’ he added quickly. ‘Really upset.’

‘Did he tell you this?’ she asked, looking to be on the verge of tears. ‘What did he say?’

‘He didn’t tell me. It’s just, he didn’t look too … well, I just assumed. He wasn’t – himself.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ said Sister Anna. ‘I noticed the same thing.’

‘You did?’ asked Dean, his curiosity peaked. ‘Why?’

‘He was acting very strangely before he left for the funeral,’ she said. ‘He went out to the garden that morning to pray, and he seemed fine. When he came back inside, he looked like he’d been sentenced to death.’

Dean frowned. Could that possibly have been when Cas made the decision to stop seeing Dean?

‘How long was he in the garden?’ asked Dean.

‘About half an hour, no time at all. Most of it was spent with your father.’

Dean’s gaze snapped up. ‘My father? Really?’

‘Yes. Didn’t you know he came to see us?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Dean thoughtfully. ‘What was he there for?’

‘To go over the plans for the funeral.’

Dean looked away from Anna, the cogs in his brain turning rapidly. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen his father at all on the morning at question. And when they spoke the night before, he’d mentioned to Dean and Sam that he’d been working on the ranch all morning ‘clearing his head’. Why would he lie?

‘Dean,’ said Anna quietly, breaking him from his reverie. ‘Do you have any idea where Father Cas might have gone?’

‘I don’t.’ Dean swallowed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Then I’m afraid I’ll have to contact the police.’

‘I guess so. God, they’re going to be busy with this family, aren’t they?’ Dean looked at Anna, and saw that she was smiling sadly. ‘What?’

‘Just what you said. This family. You care deeply for Father Cas, don’t you?’

‘O-of course,’ said Dean, trying desperately to rearrange his features into a casual yet concerned expression. ‘His father was practically my grandfather’s brother, so he’s been in this family longer than I have, really … God, I hope he’s okay.’

‘Me too,’ said Anna, reaching out and touching his shoulder across the table, as she got to her feet. ‘I must go. Thank you for your help, Dean.’

‘No problem, I just wish I knew something helpful.’

Dean closed the door on Sister Anna and waited for her footsteps to be out of earshot before he let himself fall apart.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ he muttered, bursting into his bedroom. He searched frantically for his boots; he found one under his bed and the other behind his door. He pulled on his jacket and burst from through the back door without a hat. He promptly fell over a wooden crate by the back window, sliding along the porch and colliding with the wooden fence.

‘Ahh, fuck,’ he groaned, rubbing his head as he jumped back to his feet. He gave the crate a swift kick, then got into his car; he drove out of the ranch and sped down the long dirt road, dust clouds raising up behind him.

He hadn’t said anything at the time, but when Cas drove him to and from mass, he’d taken the long way. Dean smiled that night at the thought; he couldn’t think of any reason for this, besides Cas wanting to spend longer with him. He banished that thought from his mind now; it was funny how a once fond memory could become so painful.

He wasn’t sure why he would find Cas there – he just had a feeling. Dean took the long back road, driving slowly as he looked around. He didn’t see Cas. He didn’t see anybody.

He was almost into town when something made him screech to a stop.

‘No way! No, no,’ he breathed. He tumbled from the car and ran down the grassy slope.

There was Cas’ car, parked and seemingly abandoned. He came to a halt before it, his hand resting on its warm roof. The doors were locked but the window was open, and Dean reached in to open it from the inside.

He sat in the passenger seat and looked around for anything suspicious. There didn’t seem to be anything personal in the car at all. He reached under the passenger seat and his finger came into contact with something smooth.

He reached for the object and pulled it out from its hiding spot. It was a black, leather-bound Bible. It looked old; the golden lettering on the front was chipped away, so severely that the title now read Hly Bie instead of Holy Bible.

Dean ran his fingers fondly over the cover – not because he was particularly attached to the Word of God, but because it belonged to Cas. This is where he came when he was joyful, sad or angry. This was the book where Cas found solace, when it could be found nowhere else.

Dean opened the book, and found that two pages were bookmarked by an empty envelope torn in two. The first page marked was Song of Solomon. Dean read the passage circled in black ink.

Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.
Your expressions of love are better than wine,
better than the fragrance of cologne.
(Cologne should be named after you.)
No wonder the young women love you!
Take me with you. Let’s run away.
The king has brought me into his private rooms.

Dean smiled. He remembered Song of Solomon from his youth. He used to be ashamed of the ways in which he enjoyed it back then. At that point, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever set his eyes on. He wondered what Cas was thinking about when he marked it; he knew it must have been him, though perhaps that was just wishful thinking.

The next verse marked, however, wiped the smile right off Dean’s face. The verse was in Romans, and Dean knew which verse was of interest to Cas before he even read it. The circle around his particular passage was much more aggressively drawn.

For this reason God allowed their shameful passions to control them. Their women have exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural ones. Likewise, their men have given up natural sexual relations with women and burn with lust for each other. Men commit indecent acts with men, so they experience among themselves the punishment they deserve for their perversion.

Dean swallowed hard, a heavy feeling in his chest. He knew all too well how Cas must have felt. He’d read that verse many times himself, for the sole purpose of beating himself up and making himself feel guilty. He’d left that behind now but, obviously, it wouldn’t be so easy for Cas. Honestly – and Dean’s insides hurt at the thought – Cas would probably never leave those worries behind, and Cas knew it. That was why he left Dean.

Dean slowly got out of Cas’ car, the bible still in his hand, and got back into his own. He rested his hands on the steering wheel, and lay his head upon them for a long time. His face was wet with tears when he finally turned on the ignition.

He drove down the road and saw a couple sitting on the porch of their old farmhouse. Dean pulled over, figuring it was worth a try. He checked his side mirror to make sure it wasn’t obvious that he’d been crying, then got out of the car to approach them.

The couple were probably in their late sixties. The woman had wispy white hair and wore a blue dress; the man was bald with a thick moustache, a pair of suspenders stretching tightly over his yellow shirt and round belly.

‘Hi,’ said Dean, as he walked up their path, ‘I’m Dean. Sorry too bother you, but I’m looking for my friend. He went missing last night. He’s about this tall,’ Dean indicated somewhere around his eyes, ‘dark hair, bright blue eyes. He probably came by here between eight and midnight.’

‘Nope, we haven’t seen anyone,’ said the man. ‘We’re in bed by six most nights.’

‘Oh right. Well, thanks – sorry to bother you.’

‘Wait!’ A woman’s voice came from behind the screen door. A young lady stepped out onto the porch. Her skin was tan, her hair dark, her eyes dark brown. She smiled down at Dean. He noticed she was very pretty. ‘I saw him.’

‘You did?’ said Dean, almost jumping in shock. It had been such a long-shot, stopping there. ‘Was he okay?’

‘He came by here after my parents went to bed. He seemed upset,’ she said with a frown. ‘He was dressed like a priest, so I asked and he told me he was one. I asked him where’s your collar? Because he was missing it, you see. He said he didn’t know where it went.’

‘You really shouldn’t be speaking with strange men, dear,’ said the woman.

‘Mom,’ said the woman with an eye-roll. ‘He was a priest.’

‘Do you know where he went?’ asked Dean.

‘I certainly do. I pointed him that way myself. He asked me where the nearest motel was, and I told him the Golden Wing is only a mile down that way,’ – she pointed north – ‘on this very same road. He thanked me and left.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

The woman squinted, looking thoughtful. ‘I don’t think so. I asked him if he wanted to come in for something to eat – he looked exhausted. He said no.’

‘Thank you ...?' said Dean, rushing up the step with an outstretched hand.

‘Lisa,' she said, shaking his hand. 'Lisa Braedon.'

‘Dean Winchester,’ he said. ‘I better go. Thanks very much.’

He waved goodbye to the three of them as he sped back down the road.

The Golden Wing Motel was on a corner not too far from the church. Its appearance did not live up to the nice-sounding name. The building was falling apart and the clerk manning the front desk was as dirty as the wall behind him and the carpet beneath their feet. His face gleamed with sweat, though it wasn’t hot.

‘Hi,’ said Dean, approaching the desk. ‘I’m looking for a friend of mine who checked in here last night.’

‘Name?’ grunted the man.

‘Castiel Novak.’

‘The Catholic priest?’ asked the man with a scowl.

‘Um … yes.’

‘Room eight,’ said the man abruptly.

‘Thank you,’ said Dean cautiously. The man looked at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Protestant, probably.

Dean slowly approached room number eight. He looked around the car park, making sure no one was there. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of. Being caught? This was completely innocent. Still, his heart hammered in his chest as he knocked on the door.

He heard slow footsteps from the other side, and the door opened just a crack. Blue eyes peered at him through the gap.

‘Dean,’ came a breathy voice.

Dean smiled sadly. ‘Hey, Cas.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘You know what, I’m not even sure. A lot of luck.’

Cas’ eyes were darting left and right.

‘There’s no one here,’ said Dean. ‘Can you let me in?’

Cas seemed to contemplate Dean for a moment – then Dean’s heart dropped when he closed the door in his face. He was about to turn away, when a clicking sound stopped him. The door reopened.

‘I thought you wanted me to go,’ said Dean, relieved.

‘I was taking the chain lock off the door.’

‘I know.’

‘Come in. Hurry, please.’

Dean rushed inside, and Cas closed the door behind them. Dean sat on the bed while Cas peered out through the curtain.

‘There’s no one here,’ said Dean, ‘like I said. Just me. I came alone.’

‘Nobody followed you?’ asked Cas.

‘Followed me? What are you …?’

Dean now fully noticed Cas’ appearance. He looked terrible – his hair was a mess, his eyes were swollen and his was face scratched up. His black pants were covered in dirt, and the undershirt he wore was torn around the hem.

‘What happened to you?’ asked Dean.

‘I believe I’ve had some sort of nervous breakdown,’ said Cas matter-of-factly, turning into the small kitchenette in the corner. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’

‘No, thanks,’ said Dean with a frown. ‘A nervous breakdown? What do you mean?’

‘I was scared for myself. I threw my belt in the bin.’

‘Um … your belt?’

‘I was afraid I might hang myself with it.’

‘Jesus, Cas.’

‘Please don’t take –’

‘The Lord’s name in vain – yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. But you wanted to kill yourself? What’s going on, Cas?’

Cas simply shrugged.

‘Hey,’ said Dean, closing the distance between them and placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder, ‘talk to me. Do you want to hurt yourself now?’

‘No,’ said Cas, glancing sadly up at Dean. ‘Not anymore. It was a sort of … an intense, but fleeting experience.’

‘But why?’

‘I believe …’ Cas sighed. ‘I believe the pain of losing you made me lose my mind for a moment.’

‘Losing me?’ asked Dean, stepping back with an incredulous laugh. ‘Cas you left me.’

‘Yes, Dean. I know.’

‘Then what’s the deal?’

‘I’m afraid it’s rather complicated.’        

‘I’ve got all day,’ replied Dean.

‘Do you?’ asked Cas, squinting at him. ‘Where does your father think you are?’

‘He wasn’t there when I left. Sister Anna and Father Gabriel are looking for you, Cas. Sister Anna came by and saw me this morning, asking me if I knew where you might be. I left right away to find you.’

‘How did you find me?’ asked Cas. ‘I know you say luck, but what do you mean?’

‘I went back to the road we drove down when you took me to Mass,’ said Dean. ‘You pulled over there and had your little religious experience with the sunset. I thought you might go back there … that maybe it was a fond memory?’

Cas half-smiled. ‘You know me very well, Dean.’

‘Of course,’ said Dean. He hesitantly touched Cas’ back; when Cas did not object, he began rubbing up and down. ‘Come, sit.’

Cas obliged. They sat on the bed together, side-by-side.

‘Cas, I’m really confused. I know there’s more to this than you’re saying. Please, just tell me what’s going on.’

‘I can’t, Dean,’ said Cas. He scrunched up his face, and put his face in his hands, as if he’d suddenly been inflicted with a bad migraine. ‘I just can’t.’

‘So there is something you’re not telling me. Cas, whatever it is, we can work it out.’

Cas just shook his head.

‘Come on. I love you.’

Cas looked up at these words. Dean knew why; he’d been pretty restrictive when it came to declarations of love. It wasn’t just with Cas, it was with everyone he cared about. He guessed it was just the way he was raised. Men just weren’t supposed to say that kind of thing.

But Dean had gotten older, and now realised that his father was not the best example of manhood. Sure, he swore, worked, drank and hunted. But he was absent and cold. Dean spent so long desperately wanting to be just like him. Looking back – he thought he must have been out of his mind.

He didn’t want that anymore. And he’d be damned if he’d let his father ruin his relationship with Cas.

‘Hang on …’ said Dean. With this thought, something clicked into place. ‘Sister Anna said that Dad met with you the morning of the funeral.’

He looked at Cas, and saw that the priest’s eyes were wet and afraid.

‘Is this something to do with him?’ asked Dean, rage swelling up inside him.

Cas exhaled shakily. ‘Well …’

‘It is, isn’t it? What happened? What did he say?’

‘He … Dean … He – he knows.’

‘How?’ Dean choked out. The ground seemed to have fallen away from beneath them, and Dean was shaking.

‘He had pictures,’ replied Cas. ‘He showed them to me.’

‘Pictures? Of us?’

‘Yes. We were in your house … that day I took you to Mass.’

‘Oh,’ said Dean, the memory playing before his mind’s eye like a moving picture. ‘Oh.’

‘Yes.’

‘But … did he take them? I don’t think we even have a camera.’

‘I’m not sure who took them. They were shot through a crack in the curtain of your back window.’

‘Shit.’ Dean’s heart was hammering in his chest; he was having trouble swallowing. ‘This is bad, Cas, really bad.’

Cas placed a gentle hand on Dean’s face. He ran the pad of his thumb and down his jaw, and Dean suddenly felt much calmer.

‘Do you understand, Dean?’ asked Cas, his voice rough. ‘If I don’t stay away from you, he would reveal our secret to everybody.’

‘Is that why you took the money?’ asked Dean quietly. ‘You were pissed at my dad?’

‘No,’ whispered Cas. ‘I was never going to take the money. I just thought … if you were angry with me …’

‘I’d take the breakup better,’ said Dean, closing his eyes. His life was ruined, yet despite that, relief rushed through him.

‘So, you understand.’

‘Yeah, I get it. Hell, I probably would’ve done something like that myself.’ He took the priest’s hand. ‘Cas, what are we going to do?’

‘I think … I’m going to ask permission to take some time off for my health … and then, when I return, I will ask to be transferred somewhere else.’

‘Cas, no. Why?’ exclaimed Dean.

‘I don’t think I have any other choice. I can’t be so close to you, and yet, be unable to be with you. It’ll drive me crazy. I know myself, Dean. I don’t think when it comes to you. I will give in and come to you again – and I will ruin our lives.’

Dean got to his feet and began pacing. He knew Cas was watching him, but he could not meet his eye. He couldn’t let this happen. There must be something they could do.

Then, of all places, he realised the answer was right there in the Bible. He threw himself back onto the bed next to Cas, and took him enthusiastically by the shoulders.

‘I know what we can do!’ He was laughing, yet on the verge of tears.

‘What?’ asked Cas, looking alarmed.

‘I found your Bible,’ he said. ‘It’s in the car. And you circled this one passage, so I reckon you’ve thought of this too.’

‘Was it … Song of Solomon?’ asked Cas, a look of comprehension dawning on his face.

‘Yes,’ said Dean with a large grin, tightening his grip on Cas’ shoulders. ‘It says, take me with you – let’s run away.’

‘Dean …’

‘Let’s do it Cas,’ said Dean intensely. ‘Let’s run away together.’

Chapter Text

For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man.

        - 1 Corinthians 15:21

‘Run away?’ repeated Cas.

Dean stared for a moment, that big grin still plastered on his face. Cas’ heart slowed to see how that grin met his eyes, the way it made the corners of them crinkle. He wanted to plant kisses there.

Cas, struck silent by both Dean’s words and his beauty, only remembered to speak when that grin began to slip.

‘Where would we go?’ he asked. This was nothing more than a rhetorical question. There was nowhere to go, no way this was possible. But Dean answered anyway, placing gentle hands on Cas’ face as he did.

‘Anywhere,’ he said. His voice was small and brimming with hope. His hands, still on Cas’ face, were like an imploration: Take mercy on me …

Cas stared for a moment into those beautiful and bright green eyes, then tore away from him. ‘No, we can’t.’

Dean stayed where he was and for a moment, Cas avoided his gaze. He expected the younger man’s face to be contorted with rage, or despair, or both, and he couldn’t bear to face it. But when he finally looked, he found he was wrong. Dean’s features were smooth. He would have looked serene, only his eyes burned with some strange intensity. Almost … triumphant.

‘I didn’t finish telling you how I found you here,’ he said, calm as could be. ‘D’you wanna hear?’

Cas opened his mouth but found he was unable to speak. He inclined his head. Yes. I’m listening.

‘I drove to that hill where you stopped to watch the sunset,’ he said. ‘Then further on, I found your car. You left your window down – you’re a careful man, so don’t tell me you would usually do that. But this time, you did. And I got in, and I found this.’ He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled the Bible out. He crossed the room to press it into Cas’ chest. Cas took it. ‘So, I carried on until I saw an old couple sitting on their porch. I stopped and asked them if they’d seen you. They hadn’t – but their daughter had. She just happened to overhear me from inside – do you see where I’m going with this?’

Cas jerked his head: no. He had no idea.

‘The daughter was the woman who you talked to last night. The one who told you to come here. Of all the people on all these streets, I stopped there, and she just happened to overhear me, and she told me where you were … And you think God wants us apart?’ He got close to Cas’ face. ‘Because it seems to me that I was divinely led.’

‘You may have been led,’ replied Cas, through the lump in his throat. ‘But who’s to say it was God leading you … ?’

‘Stop that,’ barked Dean, pointing at Cas. ‘You can’t just decide what’s going on above and below depending on what suits you! No devil did this! To hell with what anyone says – this thing we have, you and me, this is g-good and – pure. I feel it. I know you feel it.’

He snatched the bible from Cas’ hands and opened to one of the marked pages. The torn envelope wedged there fluttered to the floor.

‘You circled this passage in the Song of Solomon,’ said Dean. ‘And I found it. Like it was a message sent right to me – carried by God.’ He looked at the page and began to read. ‘“Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth. Your expressions of love are better than wine—”’

‘Dean, stop.’

‘“Better than the fragrance of cologne,’ he continued, as if Cas hadn’t spoken. ‘“Cologne should be named after you!”’

‘Dean, please—’

‘“Take me with you,”’ continued Dean, his voice choked now, tears welling in his eyes. ‘“Let’s run away—”’

‘Enough!’ Cas shouted, and finally Dean fell silent.

Cas threw himself down to sit on the bed and put his head in his hands. ‘That’s not the only passage I marked,’ he said, bitterly. ‘You tell me not to pick and choose. Who’s to say that second message isn’t for you too?’

‘This one?’ asked Dean, flipping to the second marked passage. He threw this part of the envelope to the floor himself.

He didn’t read it aloud. And Cas didn’t need him to. He knew it like the back of his hand.

Men commit indecent acts with men, so they experience among themselves the punishment they deserve for their perversion.

Dean stared down at that page for a long time, a storm of emotions passing over his face. Then his mouth twisted into a sneer – he grabbed onto the page and violently tore it from the book.

Cas gasped so suddenly and so loudly that it choked him. He jumped to his feet and yanked the bible from Dean’s grip.

‘Dean—!’

‘That’s what I think of your damn book!’

Cas stared. Speechless, flabbergasted, scandalised. He half-expected the ground to open up and swallow Dean whole. Fire and brimstone. Forever.

‘God Himself could hold you in his very hand, Cas,’ said Dean, moving nearer, ‘but I would still find you and I would snatch you away. Heaven can have you, when the time comes – God can have you, and when he does, he’ll have eternity. But for now? Here on earth? Just for this tiny stretch of time. You’re mine.’

‘Does my choice matter at all here?’ Cas asked. He was still reeling from the torn page.

‘Of course it does,’ Dean replied. ‘Yours. Nobody else’s, not even His.’ His daze darted up on the last word, toward the heavens. ‘But I hope you’ll choose me.’

Cas’ gaze rested upon the torn page, now lying between them on the floor. It seemed stripped of all its power, outside the leather confines of that book that held so much – and so many – in its grip.

Dean stooped to look up into his face. ‘We can just – get outta here. Go somewhere no one knows who we are. Start over. New life.’

Cas swallowed, hard.

‘What do you say?’ asked Dean, softly.

‘I …’

Cas felt that he was dying. His life even flashed before his eyes: a lonely and impoverished childhood; a confuse and murky adolescence filled with commands and no love; countless nights praying for guidance until God seemed to whisper to him – Cas, you have a calling. His first night in the seminary, his ordination,  his first time giving Mass …

The first time he laid eyes on Dean Winchester.

Yes. Cas felt that, in this moment, he was going through the process of dying. But he had a choice. He could lie down and accept it – or rise from it. Renewed.

Like a resurrection.

Start over. New life.

‘Cas?’ Dean prompted now.

Cas looked up and into Dean’s eyes. ‘Perhaps …’ he began. His mind still reeled – but his heart was sure. ‘Perhaps we can throw a dart at a map … And go wherever it lands.’

Barely a moment passed, barely a breath, before Dean threw himself into Cas’s arms. And together, they wept both in jubilation and fear.

*

Cas left his bible behind.

Dean took them back to Cas' abandoned car under the cover of night. Then he drove his own car back to the ranch while Cas followed behind him. He parked outside and, from his pocket, pulled out the note he’d written back in the room:

Sammy,

I’m going away for a while. I’ll write again once I know where I end up.

I’m real sorry to do this to you now, after what happened with Grandpa. I just need to get away. I’ll send money when I can, help you guys pay for someone to replace me on the ranch.

Be good, little bro. And hold onto Jessica. She’s a good one, and you deserve to be happy.

Dean

He left the note on the passenger seat, his eyes stinging. And then he got out of his car and into Cas’.

They drove until daybreak, when Cas insisted they stopped to buy a map and pack of darts. It seemed he was serious about that plan. They pinned the map to the side of an abandoned gas station.

‘Shall I do the honors?’ Dean asked, opening the darts.

‘Yes,’ Cas said. ‘With my aim, we’ll likely end up moving to the Atlantic ocean … or up there on the gas station roof.’

Dean chuckled and took a dart from the box. He picked a blue one. Blue, like Cas’ eyes, seemed lucky.

‘Should I close my eyes?’ he asked.

Cas looked around to make sure they were alone before smiling and sidling up close behind Dean. He was flush against his back, and Dean felt a stir in his groin. Cas put his hands over his eyes.

‘Ready?’ Cas asked, his mouth close to Dean’s ear. The warmth of his breath there made him shiver. ‘Shall I spin you around first?’

‘No,’ Dean laughed. ‘Okay … here goes.’

Dean brought back his arm and threw the dart. He heard it strike the wood. Cas dropped his hands and whistled. ‘Good work.’

Cas drew closer to the map to see where the dart struck. Dean waited, but Cas stayed silent.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘where are we going?’

‘Uh …’

Dean joined him and his jaw dropped. The dart had hit not only Kansas, but their city. It was wedged in by the river only a couple of miles from Campbell Ranch.

‘Wow, what are the odds?’ Dean said.

Cas remained quiet, a strange look upon his face. Something about it made Dean’s insides writhe.

‘Should I throw the dart again?’

Cas put a hand on his back, and he felt some tension melt from his shoulders. ‘How about we just choose?’ Cas suggested. ‘We don’t even necessarily have to stay in the States …’ He looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘I have a confession, if you’ll oblige me.’

‘How the tables turn,' he said, which made Cas laugh.

‘When I was a child, my cousin left her copy of Anne of Green Gables at our house. I fell in love with it. I hid it from my parents of course, because they considered it a girl’s book. But I wanted to be like Anne. Courageous … whimsical.’

‘You’re very whimsical,’ Dean said wryly, looking Cas up and down. His rigid posture, his near-expressionless face. He was still in his priest’s clothes.

‘Well, I like to think I’m courageous, at least,’ he said, with a half-smile. ‘But I digress. I’ve always wanted to see Prince Edward Island. That’s where Green Gables is set … we could go there.’

‘What would we do there?’

‘I’ve always wanted to learn beekeeping,’ Cas said.

Cas looked thoughtful again. Dean could see so much going on behind those blue eyes: a whole history, an entire world. He would have done anything to just step inside, as if through a door. To sink into everything Cas was – past, present, future.

But he said nothing of this. Just nodded. ‘Can you learn beekeeping on Prince Edward Island?’

Cas looked around, once again making sure they were alone. Then he took Dean’s hand. ‘Let’s find out together.’

Chapter Text

Finally,
a sin worth hurting for. Finally, a sweet, a
You are mine.

It is hard not to have faith in this.

        - “These Hands, If Not Gods” by Natalie Diaz

Bees are considered holy. Steeped in Catholic tradition. Cas didn’t voice this – he doubted Dean wanted to hear about the Church right now, and this wasn’t the source of his affection for bees, anyway. He just loved to watch them.

He thought now of the worker bees buzzing around every day for the Queen. Did they ever question why? Did they have a choice?

‘We’ll cross the border in Maine,’ Dean said, breaking Cas from his reverie. He was in the passenger seat, the roadmap spread over his legs. ‘Then we should be able to board a boat from New Brunswick to Prince Edward Island.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Cas said, trying to keep his voice light. He gripped tighter to the steering wheel. There was a war raging inside him. Castiel vs. Doubt.

He wanted to talk to Dean about it. He wanted him to help vanquish the fear. But he knew Dean would only grow frightened himself and begin questioning whether Cas truly wanted him.

And Cas did want him. More than anything.

More than anything, he thought. I swear.

They drove until nightfall, the car radio fading in and out as they crossed state lines into Missouri. They checked into a motor inn in St. Louis. They booked two rooms but shared only one.

Cas sat under the lamp and counted what was left of their money. They’d been grocery shopping that afternoon, and only a few days of food had put a serious dent in their funds. Dean noticed the furrow of his brow and smoothed it over with his thumb.

‘I can pick up a few jobs on the way,’ he said, comfortingly. ‘We’ll be all right.’

‘Jobs doing what?’

Dean shrugged. ‘Farming, building, general labour. I’m good with my hands.’

‘Well,’ Cas said, with a smirk. ‘I know that.’

Dean grinned and stooped down behind him, bracing himself on the chair, and nestled his face into his neck, planting kisses down his throat and along his collar bone. Cas sighed, tilted his head to give him better access.

‘We’re alone.’ Dean’s low voice hummed against Cas’ shoulder.

‘We are.’

‘Come to bed.’

He didn’t have to say it twice. Cas rose from the chair and sat on the crisp white sheets of their borrowed bed. Dean kneeled down before him as he had done so many times before, when waiting for Holy Communion.

Cas closed his eyes. He thought of faith in God. He had curled his fingers around that faith in some quiet and holy moments, only for it to evade his grasp, to slip away within the span of a heartbeat. It’d been that way all his life.

To have Dean, he had broken his priestly vows in every conceivable way. But his faith in Dean, oh, he came by that honestly. And to hold onto it was as easy as breathing.

‘Hey,’ Dean said, putting two fingers under Cas’ chin. ‘Where'd you go?’

Cas opened his eyes. ‘Nowhere,’ he promised. ‘I’m here.’

Dean reached up and unbuttoned Cas’ shirt, looking into his face the whole time, making sure it was okay. And it was okay.

‘We’ll have to get you some new clothes,’ he said.

Cas felt the fabric of his shirt between his thumb and fingers. He remembered when he first unwrapped it, in his bedroom in the rectory. His collar was now gone, lost on some backroad in Kansas.

Dean pushed the shirt off his shoulders, took it into his hands, and threw it to the floor. He lifted Cas' undershirt over his head, unclasped the waistband of his pants – Cas lifted his hips, let him pull them away too.

‘You sure this okay?’ Dean asked, his fingers hesitating at the waistband of his underwear.

Cas knew why he asked. He had recoiled inside himself, watching all that happened as if through a stranger’s eyes. Dean could tell that he was far away. And yes, he was gripped by fear for the future, but he wanted this. He wanted all of it.

So, he would show him.

He took Dean in his arms and threw him on the bed. Lying on top of him, he took his mouth in a deep kiss. Their tongues danced together as he ripped off Dean’s shirt and jeans, throwing them on the floor to cover his own. He dipped a hand down and moaned into Dean’s mouth when he found him rock hard. The taut fabric of his underpants was damp with pre-cum.

Dean’s eyes were hooded, his face flush with desire, those perfect lips parted. Cas thought of their first time in the barn: his cock wrapped in Dean’s wet mouth, fucking his face as he gripped his hair, and he nearly came on the spot from the memory alone.

But there was no need to rush. They truly were alone and would be alone for as long as they wished it. This was what freedom felt like. Now Cas had a taste of it, he couldn’t imagine going back.

He sat up, straddling Dean’s hips, and ran his fingers from his chest down to his stomach. Dean let out a gasp, his back arched.

‘Touch me,’ he whispered.

Cas obeyed. He pulled down Dean’s underwear and took his hard cock into his hand, pumping slow and long, deliberate. A low sigh escaped Dean’s slack lips. It sounded like relief. Cas stroked him faster, enjoying the way his lover writhed beneath him. He leaned down, kissed him, rested their foreheads together. With one hand, Dean braced himself against Cas’ chest as his hips began to buck. He was close.

‘I need you inside me.’ These words seemed to tumble from Dean’s lips. The moment they did, his eyes flew open, and he looked unsure.

Cas’ hand slowed to a stop. ‘Inside you?’

‘Can we?’ he whispered.

‘Have you … done that before?’

The jealousy settling in Cas’ heart was not ferocious or possessive, but small and sad. Lonely.

But Dean fixed it: ‘Not with anyone else,’ he said. ‘But I’ve done it by myself.’

‘By yourself?’

‘When I touch myself,’ he said, cheeks reddening, ‘sometimes it feels good to have my fingers inside.’

Of course, Cas had heard of this before. He’d heard just about everything under the sun over the years, while hearing confession. But somehow he’d not expected this from Dean. In all honesty, he’d still thought of it as a perversion (which was ludicrous at this point, but old habits die hard). But now he imagined Dean alone in his bed, stroking his cock, perhaps thinking of Cas as two fingers slowly sank inside him ...

He had never in his life felt such strong desire as he did in this moment.

‘You’ll have to show me how,’ he said, at last.

Dean smirked now. ‘I think you’ll be a quick learner … I bought some olive oil. We’ll need that.’

Cas leapt from the bed and rustled through the shopping bags until he found the bottle of oil. Dean sat up as he returned to the bed.

‘Let me,’ he said, taking the bottle from Cas.

He opened the bottle and poured some oil into the palm of his hand. He used his other hand to pull down Cas underwear, freeing his hard member. And he took it into his oiled hand.

Cas cried out in pleasure on the very first stroke. Coated in oil, this felt like nothing he’d ever experienced. A delicious squelching noise met his ears as Dean stroked him, getting him slick and ready to be inside. Cas almost called out in protest when Dean released him and lay back down on the bed, but then he remembered what awaited.

He lay down over Dean, unsure and awkward.

‘Go slow,’ Dean murmured. ‘I’ve only ever used my fingers.’

Cas hesitated, still unsure, so Dean kissed him deeply, pulling away only to run his tongue along his throat. Cas reached down to stroke him, and Dean moaned and writhed beneath him as Cas’ cock twitched near his entrance.

‘Please,’ Dean whispered, ‘please …’

Cas used his hand to position himself where he needed to be, then closed his eyes as he slowly pushed himself inside. Dean cried out, so he stopped.

‘Have I hurt you?’ he asked, heart thumping.

‘No,’ Dean whimpered. ‘More … more, please …’

Cas held his breath as he pushed his cock further into Dean, and another feeling unlike any he’d ever experienced overtook him. Pure pleasure rolled through him as Dean’s tight hole pulsed around his cock. Dean wrapped his legs around him and pulled him closer.

‘Feels so good, Cas,’ he murmured.

Cas pushed until his entire length was inside him. Dean panted beneath him, his calloused hands sliding up Cas’ back. He pulled back and thrust in again, a little faster this time, and their moans intermingled. He did this a few more times, testing the waters, watching Dean closely to make sure he wasn’t hurting him.

‘Cas,’ he panted. ‘Faster. Please.’

Still afraid to hurt his lover, his hips moved only a little faster …

‘Cas, please,’ he said, his eyes dark with desire. ‘Fuck me.’

A raging heat rushed through Cas at these words, and he unraveled, lost control. He thrust faster, deeper. Dean gripped him hard with one hand, the other moving down so he could stroke his own cock. His moans grew louder until Cas had to slap a hand over his mouth, worried someone might hear. Dean seemed to moan louder then, his eyes defiant.

‘Be quiet,’ panted Cas, ‘or I’ll have to turn you over and press your face into the bed. Do you understand?’

For a moment he wondered if he crossed a line, but Dean’s eyes grew brighter. He jerked his head so that Cas’ hand fell away.

‘Yes, Father,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ Cas moaned, his whole body trembling with mounting pleasure. ‘Oh, oh, oh—’

He tried to hold back but couldn’t – he came hard, his eyes shut tight in ecstasy. Dean’s moans mounted then and he threw his head back as he came too, his cum spurting onto Cas’ belly. It was slick between them as Cas thrust the last of his pleasure into him.

Spent, Cas collapsed onto Dean’s toned body, breathing ragged breaths into the crook of his neck.

‘Well,’ Dean murmured, his tone both smug and triumphant. ‘That got you there, didn’t it, Father?’

Chapter Text

I don’t want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want you... We’ll just be happy, waiting and working for each other—and dreaming. Oh, dreams will be very sweet now.

        - Anne of the Island, LM Montgomery

Dean woke early and bathed, then drank coffee from a Styrofoam cup while watching the rising sun through their fingerprint-blotted motel window. Every now and then he glanced at Cas, whose ever-present frown was smoothed by slumber. Dean pulled the sheet higher over his naked body, scribbled out a note to let him know he’d be back, then ventured into town.

He drove with the window down, breathing in the smell of summer. He planned to work hard once they reached Canada so they could be settled down somewhere by Christmas. He imagined that Prince Edward Island was beautiful in winter. In his mind’s eye he saw Cas there, looking up at the faded sky and thinking not of God, or Heaven, or divine retribution – only of the falling snow.

Dean would chop wood for the fire, and when winter gave way to spring, he would build a beehive. Or ten of them, if that’s what Cas needed.

It would be a beautiful life; slow and loving.

Here in St. Louis, it was anything but slow. Cars and people zipped around him like they had somewhere to be and they needed to be there now. He parked and walked by a department store – country boy that he was, it was dizzying to even think of going inside. He walked down the street until he found a smaller store.

He bought a hat, a light blue button-up shirt, and tan slacks for Cas. He couldn’t wait to see him wearing them. He bought more underwear and undershirts, hoping the clerk didn’t think twice about his buying in two different sizes. Then he walked out onto the street with his bags.

He was almost back to the car when something caught his eye in a bookstore window. Sitting right up front was a book with a girl on the cover. She was sitting on a suitcase, her red hair in two braids down her front. Anne of Green Gables.

He knew he shouldn’t … they were low on money. But finding this book here like this, it felt like a good omen. He couldn’t resist. He went into the bookstore.

‘For your daughter?’ the clerk asked when Dean placed the book on the front counter.

He hesitated. ‘My wife,’ he said. ‘She loved this when she was a kid.’

‘Has she read the whole series? I can give you a deal if you get ‘em all.’

Dean chewed his lip. ‘How much?’

‘Let’s say … three bucks for all eight. She’ll want to read ’em all. They all come back, young and old, begging to know what happens with Gilbert Blythe.’

‘Gilbert Blythe?’

The clerk grinned. ‘She’ll tell you all about ol’ Gilbert after she reads it, mark my words.’

He hesitated once again. ‘Do they have a happy ending?’

‘Happy as can be.’

He knew the clerk was up-selling him, but he didn’t want to give Cas part of a story. He wanted to give all of it. Happy ending and all.

‘Deal,’ he said, and he handed over the money.

*

When he returned to the motor inn Cas was awake and freshly bathed. His hair was still wet, and he wore nothing but a towel around his waist.

‘This is a nice welcome,’ he said, desire stirring in his belly. But he resisted the urge to take Cas in his arms, falling with him into the bed. He had things to give him. ‘I got you some clothes.’

‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘I wanted to,’ he said. ‘And you need them. Here.’

Cas took the bag from him and put on an undershirt and pair of underwear. Dean unwrapped the new shirt from its brown paper and held it up to him. ‘You like it?’

‘It’s very nice,’ he replied, feeling the material between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I can’t remember the last time I wore something that wasn’t black or white.’

‘I noticed. I’m bringing a little colour into your life.’

Cas took his hand, ran his thumb over the back of it. ‘You are, indeed. Thank you.’

‘Let me.’

Dean helped him into his shirt, their chests flushed together as Cas slipped into the arms. He placed a gentle kiss on his lips before unwrapping the new trousers. Cas stepped into them and Dean pulled them up for him. There was something erotic about all this, though he was dressing him rather than stripping him. Cas’ breath hitched has he made a show of tucking it all in, his hands flat against his hips, his buttocks, his groin. He buttoned him up, then jerked him closer by the waistband to button the slacks.

‘I fear you may have to take it all off again,’ Cas said, his face flushed.

Dean took a step back. ‘Let me get a look at you.’

Cas held his hands aloft with mock-pageantry and did a little spin. These clothes brought out the flush in his cheeks, the blue of his eyes. It was as if he’d transformed from sepia to brilliant Technicolor.

‘You’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen,’ Dean said.

Cas put his hands down, his gaze softening. He opened his arms. ‘Come here.’

‘Hold that thought, I have something else for you …’ The book clerk had wrapped the stack of books in brown paper, tied up with some twine. Dean took it from the bag and held it out.

‘What’s this?’

‘A gift,’ he replied.

‘Thank you,’ Cas said, taking it. ‘I hope you didn’t spend too much.’

‘I didn’t,’ he lied.

Cas sat in the chair by the window with the package in his lap and undid the twine, tore the paper away. When he saw what was inside, he slapped one hand over his mouth.

‘Do you like them?’ Dean asked, anxiously. ‘The clerk said it was a whole series, so I got them all. They were cheap because they’re – you know – not sturdy.’

‘Paperback,’ he laughed, through his hand. ‘I’ve never read the rest of the series.’

‘The clerk said you’d want to read them all to find out what happens with someone called Gilbert Blythe.’

‘Yes, Gilbert!’ he said, lighting up. ‘I remember. “Carrots”.’

‘Carrots?’

He chuckled. ‘I will read it to you, and you’ll understand. Thank you, Dean … This is so …’ His voice began to tremble. Though he quickly dipped his head, Dean didn’t miss the tear that slid down his cheek.

‘Hey, hey,’ he said, kneeling before him. ‘You all right? I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘You didn’t,’ he replied, looking up with shining blue eyes. ‘I just … I love them. And I love you.’

Cas pulled him into a tight hug, the books nestled between them. Dean held him, feeling very glad he spent the money. He could always get more cash, but this moment ... this was fleeting. Special.

‘I love you, too,’ he whispered.

*

Cas sat in the passenger seat reading Anne of Green Gables aloud as Dean drove them out of St. Louis. Cas had expected the book to be merely nostalgic, but he was enjoying it as much as he did as a child. Even Dean breathed a sigh of relief when Anne discovered that she was allowed to stay at Green Gables, and he laughed along with Cas at all the funny parts.

When Cas grew tired of reading out loud and Dean grew tired of driving, they would switch. It took a day and a half’s drive to finish the first book. In between they stopped and camped in a field beneath a brilliant canopy of stars.

‘Do you know the constellations, Cas?’

They were flat on their backs, shoulder to shoulder.

‘I only know the North Star,’ he replied. He thought of seminary school with some bitterness. ‘I learned to look to the heavens for faith alone.’

‘I remember a few …’ He pointed, moving close to Cas so he could line up with his point of view. ‘See that one? It’s kinda like a diamond with a line coming off top?’

Cas squinted. It all looked scattered and senseless; there were about a hundred that could have formed a diamond. ‘I think so.’

‘That’s Lyra. The harp.’ He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. ‘My mother used to point it out to me.’

Dean’s perfect face awash in the glow of stars. He looked sad, and Cas’ heart broke for him.

‘I was only four when she died,’ he continued, in a murmur. ‘I don’t remember much. I remember her making me sandwiches in the mornings. And this. The stars.’

‘I’m glad you have those memories of her, Dean.’

He was silent for a long time. Then: ‘She would have liked you, Cas.’

Cas closed his eyes, smiled. Somehow, this was the most beautiful compliment he had ever received.

‘I would have liked her too,’ he replied. ‘If it weren’t for her, there wouldn’t be a you.’

They fell asleep, side-by-side, under a blanket of infinite shining stars.

They woke the next day and got right on the road. Cas finished reading Anne of the Island as they crossed the border into Maine. He stowed it in his bag and immediately opened up the fourth volume.

‘Almost there,’ Dean said. ‘Can you believe it?’

‘Just in time, too,’ Cas said, flipping his book shut. ‘We’re down to our last dollar. I’ll start asking around about work once we’re on the ferry from New Brunswick.’

‘We’ll find something,’ Dean said, taking his hand and squeezing. ‘Going by your books there, there should be plenty of farms on Prince Edward Island. If you’re ready to get your hands dirty, that is, Father.’

‘I helped install the new gardens at the church, thank you very much,’ Cas said, haughtily.

‘Yeah, right.’

‘I did!’ he said. ‘I – hammered in some palings on the new fence. And I pushed a wheelbarrow.’

‘Good work,’ Dean said, with a chuckle. ‘Now get back to your book.’

Cas grinned, rolled his eyes, and reopened Anne’s House of Dreams. He hoped for what Anne had; Castiel and Dean in their own house of dreams.

It was hard to believe that he’d ever dreamed of the mighty marble halls of Rome. With Dean, he dreamed small, quaint, and simple … A small cabin surrounded by trees, buzzing bees and glimmering waves. Perhaps some animals; a horse, a goat, some chickens. A warm hearth, before which they would join hands and share their lives, ensconced in a sweet dream from which he hoped they would never wake.

Three hours into the final leg of their journey they stopped for lunch at a greasy spoon just outside of Bangor. Cas ordered a cheeseburger – he couldn’t remember the last time he had one; perhaps when he was just a boy. Dean ordered a slice of pie. They ate over their spread-out roadmap, dreaming of where they soon would be.

They got a couple of Cokes to-go and got back on the road. Cas drove, and Dean read from Anne’s House of Dreams:

‘“Gilbert, waiting for her in the hall below, looked up at her with adoring eyes. She was his at last, this evasive, long-sought Anne, won after years of patient waiting. It was to him she was coming in the sweet surrender of the bride …”’

‘Oh,’ Cas said, reaching over the center console to squeeze Dean’s hand. ‘I’m so glad. I was worried they wouldn’t work out.’

Dean squeezed him back and smiled. ‘I knew they would.’

*

‘There it is, Dean! There it is!’

Dean was jerked from a light doze by Cas’ excited voice. He picked up the book, which had fallen to the ground, and stowed it in their bag.

In the very near distance he saw the Canadian border, marked by a squat building over which both the American and Canadian flags flew. They waited in the line of cars, Cas jiggling his leg nervously, until it was their turn to pass. A man in a wide-brimmed felt hat and button up khaki shirt greeted them.

‘Good afternoon, gentlemen. Identification please.’ Dean and Cas rummaged in their wallets for their I.D., and the man asked, ‘What is the purpose of your visit to Canada today?’

They’d settled on their story on the way. ‘I’m Father Castiel of the St. Perpetua Parish in Kansas. I’m crossing over for mission work. Brother Dean here is accompanying me as my aide.’

‘Very good,’ the border guard said, looking down at their IDs. He seemed to do a double-take. ‘Could you confirm your names for me, gentlemen?’

‘Dean Winchester,’ he said, his heart stuttering a little.

‘Father Castiel Novak.’

‘One moment please,’ the guard said. ‘Wait here.’

He walked off with their IDs still in hand. Cas frowned over at Dean. ‘Is this typical?’

‘I don’t know,’ Dean said. ‘I’ve never left Kansas, remember?’

‘I’m sure it’s standard procedure.’ Cas’ tone was calm, but his fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

Dean peered out the window to see the guard disappear into the brick building. They waited for what felt like an age. The man in the car behind them kept angrily jutting his head out his window to see what the hold-up was.

The border guard returned, flanked by two men. Dean resisted the urge to jump out of the car and run.

‘Do you have any weapons of prohibited items in the car, gentlemen?’ the guard asked, crouching by the window again.

‘No, sir.’ Cas’ voice trembled a bit now.

‘Please pull over to the side here, Father Castiel,’ the guard said. ‘We have a few more questions.’

Dean’s heart took off like a jackhammer now. He saw Cas’ throat bob as he complied; the guard walked ahead of the car as he did, as if he through they might speed off. But perhaps the guard was justified – Dean thought it sounded like a mighty fine idea.

‘What is all this about?’ Cas asked, drawing himself up to sit at full height.

‘Mr Winchester,’ the guard said, ‘are you aware that you’re wanted for questioning by the police?’

Dean’s heart thumped. ‘The police?’

The guard took a slip of paper from one of his silent cronies and referred to it: ‘In regard to the death of one Samuel Campbell.’

‘No!’ Dean said. ‘I didn’t know that. He’s my grandfather. He died—’

‘He was murdered,’ the guard said. ‘And here you are, crossing into Canada—’

Cas piped up, ‘I assure you, Mr. …?’

‘Dumont,’ the guard supplied.

‘Mr. Dumont,’ Cas said, ‘Dean knew nothing of this. I saw his father the day we set off, and he said nothing of it. I can personally vouch for him—’

‘Be that as it may, Father,’ Dumont said, ‘we can’t permit Mr Winchester to cross. We have clear instructions to contact the authorities should he try.’

‘I assure you, Dean had nothing to do with his grandfather's death. On the day in question, he was with me – helping at the church.’

‘I appreciate what you’re saying, Father, and I’m sorry.’ Dumont truly did look sorry – Dean clung to this fact like a drowning man to a life raft. ‘But I’m afraid that is something you will need to explain to the police. We can hold Mr. Winchester here, and you can be on your way.’

A beat of silence. Fear plunged into Dean’s belly. Would Cas leave him here?

‘What if I were to escort Mr. Winchester back myself?’ Cas asked, at last. ‘I greatly need his assistance in Canada, so going without him would be of little use. I can turn around now and take him straight back to Kansas. Save you the trouble of contacting the authorities.’

Dumont turned and whispered something to one of the other guards. Dean waited with bated breath. He thought he might vomit all over the dashboard.

Dumont leaned down again to the window. ‘Very well, Father,’ he said. ‘I’ll make an exception just this once. I will contact Mr. Winchester and inform him that you’re on your way back.’

‘Mr. Winchester?’ Dean repeated, finding his voice at last. ‘Mr. John Winchester?’

‘Yes,’ Dumont said. ‘He is the one who contacted us in regards to this matter, sir.’

Dean looked down at his shaking hands. ‘I see.’

‘Thank you very much, Mr. Dumont,’ Cas said. ‘We’ll be on our way now. I’ll be as expeditious as possible – you can tell John Winchester that he can expect us by the end of the week.’

‘Good day, Father.’

‘And good day to you …’

Cas did a U-turn and they headed back into the United States. Away from Canada. Away from their House of Dreams.

Chapter Text

For I know your rebellion and your stubbornness; behold, while I am still alive with you today, you have been rebellious against the Lord.

        - Deuteronomy 31:27

‘I knew it!’ Dean shouted, as they drove. ‘I knew Dad would fuck it up somehow! No matter where I am, how far I go …’

He looked to Cas.

‘Cas, please. Please, don’t take me home. I can’t – lose you, and I can’t let him win—’

‘I have no intention of taking you home, Dean,’ Cas said. ‘We’ll find passage another way.’

Dean licked his lips, hardly daring to hope. Hot tears stung his eyes.  ‘What other way?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ he said, his eyes fixed determinedly on the road. ‘But we’ve come too far to give up now. And I won’t lose you. We won’t lose each other.’

He said this matter-of-factly: not a grand declaration, but a simple statement of fact. Dean's heart burned with a love fiercer than any he’d ever felt before. Cas parked the car on the edge of field about ten miles from the Canadian border. He seemed to stopped at random, only driving to burn off the excess energy brought on by their near-capture.

‘You check the map for the closest harbor,’ Cas said, getting out of the car. ‘Perhaps we can find someone with a boat who can take us to Prince Edward Island. I’m going to change.’

‘Change?’ Dean asked, following him. ‘Why?’

He began unbuttoning his shirt. ‘Hopefully my holy status will elicit sympathy again,’ he explained, retrieving his black priest’s shirt from the car. He held it up. ‘Especially if I look the part.’

Dean took out the roadmap. He ran a finger over the hole the dart left in Kansas, remembering the look on Cas’ face when the dart struck there.

Doubt.

He shook his head; that was all over now. Forget it. He spread the map out on the hood of the car while Cas retrieved Anne of Green Gables from the car.

‘Sorry, Anne …’ He folded the back cover and tore a thick strip of it away.

‘What are you doing?’ Dean exclaimed.

Cas carefully tucked the book cover into his collar. ‘I lost my priest’s collar,’ he said, crouching awkwardly to look in the car's side view mirror. ‘This will suffice. I also have a letter of confirmation from the bishop.’

‘That would have been enough,’ Dean said, with an amused smile. ‘No need to desecrate books.’

Cas cast a grim look at him, and his face dropped. He knew he was thinking of the bible, the way Dean tore out that page from Romans. But the grim look passed. Cas unzipped his pants and they both giggled a little as he looked around, making sure nobody was around to see him change. He buckled up his black trousers and stood tall.

‘How do I look?’

He looked beautiful. It was breathtaking to see Father Cas in his priestly glory once again. Dean greatly appreciated this beauty, but he also hoped it was the last time he ever saw it. As gorgeous as Father Cas was, he preferred the other Cas. Loving Cas, loyal Cas, funny Cas, horny Cas — his Cas

‘You look very holy,’ he said. ‘You’d never know how naughty you get behind closed doors.’

Cas grinned. ‘Have you found our destination?’

‘Seaspray Harbour,’ Dean said, pointing to the spot on the map. ‘It’s not too far.’

‘Excellent. I’ll drive, you direct me.’

And they set off. Cas behind the wheel, Dean telling him the way. Both men felt hope and dread in equal measure. They parked near the docks and Cas straightened his makeshift collar as he got out of the car.

‘Let’s split up,’ he said. ‘Ask around about passage to Canada.’

Cas headed for the bluff and Dean walked down the boardwalk, looking at the men standing near docked boats, men in captains’ hats, men with fishing rods slung over their shoulders. This place was so far removed from where he came from. The closest he got was fishing in the parched creek, on the very rare occasions his father let him leave the ranch.

He thought of his father. He thought of Sammy and wondered how he was holding up. He stopped outside the telegram office; people bustled in and out, the bell above the door in a constant jingle. Dean could send a telegram home. Maybe even get Sam on the telephone to find out what was going on … but there was no time.

He walked along the docks for over an hour, asking fisherman and sailors if they might be able to take them to Prince Edward Island. They all refused, some politely, some not-so-politely. Disheartened, he headed back toward the car. He was stopped by Cas rushing toward him down the boardwalk.

‘I found somebody!’ he said, his face flushed, hair windswept. Dean wished he could kiss him. ‘A fisherman! He lives on Prince Edward Island, and he said he’d be happy to take us tomorrow, at dawn.’

‘Cas, that’s great!’ he said, relief flooding his body like a sweet drug. ‘I had no luck. I guess the priest’s collar helped after all.’

‘That, and I am very charming.’

‘Yeah,’ laughed Dean. ‘That too. Obviously.’

‘Oh, and more good news …’ Cas pulled a two dollar bill from his pocket. ‘He needed my help loading the boat, and he paid me for it. With this, we can afford a room for tonight.’

'One last night in America. How ever will we pass the time?’

Cas grinned wickedly, quirking his eyebrows, and Dean laughed. He couldn’t hold him, so he gave him a friendly slap on the back. They ambled off, walking close together, until they found a hotel.

In the lobby, after Cas paid, Dean looked out onto the street. A tall man with shaggy brown hair walked by, and he thought once again of his brother.

‘Cas?’

‘Yes?’ he replied, busy counting change.

‘Do we have enough money to send a telegram?’

Cas looked up at him, brow furrowed. ‘A telegram?’

Dean glanced at the desk. The receptionist had disappeared into the back room, but he still pulled Cas further away, lowering his voice. ‘To Sammy. I want to know what’s really going on with the police investigation. And if Dad's told the whole town I'm a fairy.'

Cas winced. 'You shouldn't joke about that.'

'Who's joking? Anyway, I don’t think it’d be smart to contact them from Prince Edward Island. Postmarks, area codes … Dad could find me that way. So, can I send one?’

‘Of course you can, Dean. You don’t need to ask permission.’

‘You sure?’

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ he said. ‘And even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t deny you this. Here.’ Cas pressed the change into his hand. Once again, Dean resisted the overpowering urge to pull him into his arms.

Dean rang the bell at the front desk and the receptionist emerged from the back room. She agreed to pass on any calls to him, giving him a card with the hotel’s phone number. Then, he headed back out onto the street.

*

The call came that afternoon. Dean went into the lobby to take it.

‘Sam?’ he said down the line, leaning away from the receptionist to give himself the illusion of privacy.

A silence down the line. Then— ‘Why did you leave?’ Sam exclaimed. ‘And why are you in Maine?’

'You don't know why I left?' he asked.

'No! Should I?'

Then maybe John was keeping those compromising photographs of Dean and Cas to himself. The weight of it lifted. Though it was only a fraction of what weighed heavy on his heart, it was a relief.

‘I just needed to get away, Sammy,’ he said, rubbing his chest. ‘I’m sorry. I just … felt like I was rotting away in Kansas, under Dad’s thumb. All my life, it’s been like that.’

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Sam said, shortly.

‘I just wanted to see the country, I guess.’

‘But not just the country, huh?’ Sam said. ‘Dad said you tried going to Canada.’

Dean pursed his lips, annoyance spiking in his chest. ‘Yeah, that’s what I’m curious about. What do the police want with me?’

Another silence down the line. So long this time, Dean thought they’d been disconnected.

‘They don’t,’ Sam said, at last. ‘Dad got his lawyer to call ahead to the border and a bunch of airports and ship ports, to make sure you don’t leave the country.'

‘Fuck!’ Dean cried, and the receptionist jumped before shooting him a look of deep disapproval. He mouthed Sorry and turned away from her, whispering now. ‘He nearly got me arrested!’

‘I’m sorry, Dean. I tried to talk him outta it. Sorta. He shut me up pretty quick.’

Dean closed his eyes tight, the cruelty of leaving Sammy alone with their father becoming all-too-real to him. It’d not fully occurred to him in the heat of the moment, and it should have. The shame was hot.

‘I need to ask you something, Dean,’ Sam said. ‘And I want you to be honest with me.’

‘What is it?’ Dean asked, his mouth turning dry.

‘Is … is Father Cas with you?’

His heart dropped into his stomach. ‘What makes you ask that?’ he asked, his voice strangled.

‘Because he’s AWOL, too,’ he replied. ‘I’m not the only one who put two-and-two together. All sorts of talk is swirling around … disgusting rumours …’

Bile rose in Dean’s throat. Sam’s words stung: Disgusting rumours. He settled on a half-truth … or maybe closer to a quarter-truth.

‘He left with me, but we parted ways in St. Louis,’ he said. ‘He’s settling down there. The priesthood ain’t for him and breaking his vow was a big deal, so he just ran. He’s not proud of it.’

‘And the rumours—’

‘I don’t know what the rumours are, and I don’t give a damn,’ he said, too harshly. ‘People make shit up ’cause they’re all bored out of their minds, out there on their farms. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to leave.’

‘Okay, Dean,’ he said, sounding tired. ‘I had to ask.’

‘Did you?’

Yet another silence.

‘I have to go,’ Sam said. ‘I’m at a phone booth; I’m nearly outta minutes and I don’t have any more change.’

‘Okay, Sammy …’ Dean said, regretting that their call wasn’t more friendly. ‘Again, I’m really sorry.’

‘I know, Dean,’ he said, his voice low. ‘I really hope you—’

But what he hoped, Dean never found out. His voice was cut off by a long beep sounding from the receiver; he’d run out of minutes. Dean hung up the hotel phone, grief slow-dripping through his bloodstream.

Cas was waiting in the motel room when Dean entered.

‘Welp, the police aren’t after me,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Dad made it up to keep me in the country.’

Cas shook his head, his jaw tight. ‘I’m sorry, Dean.’

‘’S’alright,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his boots. ‘Tomorrow it won’t matter. We’ll be on the boat …’

‘To find our House of Dreams,’ Cas finished.

Dean smiled. ‘“House of Dreams”. I like the sound of that. I just hope I can live up to everything you dream of. Especially ’cause of everything you’re giving up.’

‘Oh Dean,’ Cas said, reaching for him. ‘You know, even a bad day with you would surpass the sweetest dream.’

‘Really?’ Dean said, a deep sadness taking him by surprise.

‘Yes,’ Cas said, squeezing his hand. ‘Because with you, it’s real.’

*

They rose before daybreak. Cas changed into his priest’s clothes, placing the makeshift priest’s collar against his throat. Dean imagined taking that outfit off him again once they were safe in Canada. They would make love – then Dean would burn the clothes in the nearest incinerator.

The car would be staying here in Maine. They took their meager belongings with them, stuffed into an assortment of shopping bags and the briefcase Cas kept in the car. Dean followed him to the docks where the fisherman would be waiting.

They arrived along with the rising sun, which peeked out from over the horizon, dying the ocean amber and gold. A fishing trawler rocked at the end of the long wharf. Dean could see the silhouette of a man onboard waiting for them. As they approached, he came into focus. He was without a hat, revealing a bald head. His beard was dark, his shoulders broad, his muscular arms and chest bulging against his thin, navy blue sweater.

‘Ahoy,’ he called, with a hint of irony that made Dean think this wasn’t his standard form of greeting. He walked down the plank and onto the dock to greet them properly.

‘Good morning, Mr, Cuevas,’ Cas said. ‘Thank you once again for doing this. We’re deeply appreciative.’

‘No problem at all and call me Jesse.’ He eyed Cas’ hand as if he wanted to shake it, but Cas was overladen with shopping bags. He turned to Dean instead.

‘Dean Winchester,’ he said, shaking Jesse’s outstretched hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

Jesse clapped briskly. ‘Let’s not waste any more daylight. Come aboard, gentlemen.’

He walked back up the plank with a pep in his step. Dean went to follow him, but Cas stopped him. ‘Dean, look at the vessel’s name.’

‘Huh? Vessel?’

Cas smiled gently. ‘The boat. They have names. Look at its name, it’s written on the side.’

Dean followed his gaze to the black cursive writing scrawled across the hull: Rebel Rose.

‘A perfect vessel for the last leg of our rebellion,’ Cas said. ‘It seems like a good omen.’

Dean wanted to hug him. As a substitute, he gave him a friendly nudge with his shoulder. ‘I think so, too.’

*

Cas had never been on a boat, and there was no end to his questions. Jesse seemed to enjoy answering them, talking of Rebel Rose like she was a real woman, worthy of love and respect. He stayed with Jesse in the cabin as he steered, leaving Dean content out on the deck, watching the sun rise with a coffee flask in hand.

‘… And what are those arms sticking off the side of the boat?’ Cas asked.

‘They’re for the nets,’ Jesse answered. ‘This is a trawler – I drop the nets; wait; presto. More fish than you could want.’

‘And it’s your career?’ Cas asked, looking curiously around the cabin.

‘That’s right, and what a way to make a living.’ He waved a hand at what lay beyond the helm window. ‘Out on the ocean, with a front-row seat to God’s glorious creation. Nothing else like it.’

‘It must be lovely,’ Cas said, smiling.

‘Thinking about hanging up your collar, Father?’ Jesse said, with a wicked grin. ‘Or is that a blasphemous question?'

Cas put a hand to the cardboard collar around his throat. He pulled it away and pocketed it before the other man could get a close look. ‘Perhaps just for today.’

‘Woo!’ Jesse cried, spinning the wheel before him. ‘Does that mean you wanna let a loose a little? I have a single malt whiskey that’d knock your collar off, if you were still wearing it.’

Cas considered him for a moment. He looked out the helm window at where the horizon blended seamlessly into the sky. ‘Why not?’

Jesse took his compass with him. ‘It’s full-steam ahead for a while – so to speak,’ he said. ‘I have time for a sip.’

They joined Dean on the deck. Jesse pulled a dark navy beanie from his pocket and pulled it over his head, then from the same pocket, he took a small glass bottle filled with whiskey. While he pulled a trio of tin cups from his bag, Cas took advantage of the quick moment of privacy and squeezed Dean’s hand, shooting him a fond look.

They were doing this. They were really doing it. Their new life was so close he could taste it – as fragrant and bold as the sea spray carried to them on the morning breeze.

Jesse uncapped the bottle and poured their drinks, then passed them a cup of whiskey each. He held his cup aloft in a toast, and they met him with theirs.

‘To a hell of a life,’ he said jovially, pointing to the sea beyond. They threw back their drinks. Jesse coughed and grinned with wet lips. ‘Sorry about the H-bomb, Father.’

‘It’s quite all right,’ he said, with a chuckle. ‘I daresay I’ve said the word far more times than most. I don’t know if you’ve read the bible, but it comes up fairly often.’

‘Oh, I know,’ Jesse said. He said it with a grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Cas internally kicked himself – if it still didn’t occur to him that some might have pain related to religion, he feared he never would.

Jesse didn’t notice Cas’ regret, but Dean did. He patted him on the back, quick and comforting, before changing the subject. ‘So, why’s the boat called “Rebel Rose”?’ he asked. ‘I like that.’

Jesse looked pleased. He put a fond hand on the outside of the boat’s cabin. ‘I grew up in Colorado. Far from the ocean. My brother dreamed of living on an island, and we were saving up to go. But when I was eleven, he passed away …’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Cas said.

Jesse shook his head. He looked reminiscent more than he did grieved. ‘It’s all right. It was a long time ago. Going on thirty years now, if you can believe it. I know I don’t look a day over twenty-one.’

Cas and Dean chuckled.

‘My mother wasn’t the best,’ Jesse continued. ‘And even worse after Matty died. I came here to honor his memory. As I was leaving, my mother said she wanted a good boy for a son, and she didn’t have the time of day for a rebel. This little life of mine is my rebellion. And I’ve never regretted it. Not for a day.’

To Cas’ surprise, his eyes stung with tears. He looked down at his cup. ‘That’s wonderful, Jesse. Very inspiring.’

‘What about “Rose”?’ Dean asked.

Here, Jesse seemed to hesitate. ‘Pretty name for a pretty lady,’ he said, once again placing a hand on the cabin. He drained the dregs of his cup before checking his compass. ‘I better get back in there. Enjoy, my friends. We should dock around eight o’ clock tonight.’

Fourteen hours until freedom, Cas thought. He just hoped that, like Jesse, they would live out their new life without regret.

And like he’d read Cas’ mind, Dean said in a low voice, ‘Rebel Rose, babe.’ He grinned, his beautiful face dyed golden by the dawn light. ‘No regrets.’

*

Just past noon, Jesse spotted storm clouds in the distance. He emerged from the cabin to regard them with his arms crossed. ‘Hm,’ he said. ‘It was meant to be clear skies all week.’

‘Will it be a problem?’ Cas asked, nerves writhing in his belly.

Jesse shook his head. ‘It’ll be just fine. Doesn’t look like they’re rolling this way.’

But he was wrong. The clouds darkened and unfurled overhead like swollen, grasping hands. The wind picked up and the waves lashed the boat, rocking them until Cas felt sick.

‘I don’t like the look of this,’ Dean said, holding so tightly to the railing that his knuckles were white.

They both joined Jesse in the cabin. It was spacious but stuffed full of gear, making it a tight fit. Dean had his back pressed against the door.

‘Has this happened before?’ Cas asked Jesse. ‘An unexpected storm?’

‘Yes …’ Jesse said. ‘But truthfully, not like this. Not this quickly.’

‘Shit,’ Dean said.

‘Don’t worry,’ Jesse said. Once again, he sounded unsure. He lit a cigarette and it burned between his fingers, unsmoked, as he regarded the slate-coloured sky. The waves ahead swelled and swelled.

‘So, a storm is coming,’ Dean muttered, apparently to himself.

‘It’s already here, my friend,’ Jesse replied.

The sky, bulging and bruised, cracked open like a ragged wound. Rain fell fast and a gust of wind hit Rebel Rose so powerfully and suddenly that the three men were thrown to the side. Cas’ shoulder came into painful contact with the cabin wall, where he became tangled by an old net hanging from a hook. Like a fish. Helpless. Captured.

Dean’s calloused fingers worked until he was free.

‘Thank you, Dean,’ he said, his head swimming with fear.

Jesse’s cigarette had slipped from his fingers and it now smouldered on the cabin floor. He extinguished it with his boot.

‘I need one of you to stow the gear!’ he cried, another gust of wind assaulting the vessel as he wrestled with the wheel. Lightning sliced through the sky.

‘I’ll do it!’ Dean said, throwing open the door and rushing onto the deck. Cas wouldn’t let him go alone – he followed.

A wave crashed into the side of the hull. Rebel Rose rocked violently, her hull groaning as if in pain. The deck see-sawed, reminding Cas of the Witch’s Swing fairground ride he rode as a child. And then they were airborne – buckets, ropes and empty crates flew by them. The cabin door slammed itself shut as Jesse flew back from the wheel, and Cas heard his body collide with the wood as Rebel Rose landed with a crash back into the sea.

Cas had been holding tight onto the trawler arm and had managed to stay upright, but Dean hit the deck, hard. Cas abandoned safety to help him to his feet.

‘We ain’t getting through this,’ Dean murmured, holding onto Cas’ shoulders.

‘Don’t say that,’ Cas groaned. ‘We will.’

He looked to the heavens, considering prayer … but Dean held him tighter, his breath hot against Cas’ throat, and he decided against it.

They stowed what they could, loading it all into the crate and tying it against the cabin. They finished just in time for another wave – tall, mighty, unstoppable, it crashed against the hull.

And something cracked.

A splintering crack, which for a moment Cas mistook for lightning, sounded from somewhere below. They rushed into the cabin. ‘What was that sound?’ Dean exclaimed.

‘Shit,’ Jesse said. That was all he said.

‘Close the door!’ Dean cried, and Cas wheeled around to see water pouring onto the deck.

‘No, you need to go below!’ Jesse shouted. ‘There’s a hatch just outside the door. You need to go down and check the hull.’

‘We’ll go,’ Cas said.

‘No, just one of you!’ he said. ‘I need someone to bail.’

‘To bail?’

Jesse reached for a large metal bucket and threw it into Dean’s hands. ‘Scoop and dump. As much water as you can.’

‘Got it,’ he said, rushing back outside.

Cas followed, searching for the hatch and finding it on the deck just outside the cabin door. He gripped the steel handle and pulled, its hinges groaning as he did. He descended the ladder down into the eerie darkness of the hull, which screeched and moaned as if filled with ghosts. He waded through the water, already ankle-deep, breathing in the scent of oil and salt.

It wasn’t hard to spot the problem – a jagged slash in the wood which let in light and water.

He climbed back up the ladder. ‘There’s a crack, a long one!’ he shouted to Jesse. ‘The water is pouring in fast.’

‘Fuck,’ Jesse said. He looked at Cas with frantic eyes. ‘I need you to patch it.’

‘M-me?’ he asked, feeling as if all his blood was draining from his body.

‘You can do it,’ he said. ‘There’s a tarred canvas and some wedges in that crate behind me. You’ll need those. And the hammer.’

‘D-Dean can do it,’ Cas stammered. ‘I know he can do it.’

‘You’ll need him; it’s a two-man job. Hurry!’

He took what he needed, wrapping the hammer and wedges into the tarp. With it bundled in his arms like some monstrous, misshapen baby, he ran back onto deck, where Dean was scooping water from his feet and throwing it overboard. Cas thought he would have had as much luck trying to drain the ocean with that bucket.

‘We need to patch the hole!’ he cried. ‘Follow me!’

Together they climbed back down. Cas handed the materials to Dean.

‘Can you do it?’ he asked, his heart thumping in his throat.

‘Yeah, I can do it,’ he said. ‘Easy. It’s just a matter of whether or not it’ll hold …’

Both relieved and terrified, Cas kneeled in the water beside Dean. ‘Do you need me do anything?’

‘Hold this up for me,’ Dean said, draping the canvas over the crack.

Cas obeyed. Water fought against him, pouring in against the tarp, but Dean moved quick. He hammered the wedges in, sealing up the worst of the leak.

‘It won’t hold for long,’ he said, ‘but hopefully long enough.’

Cas felt relieved but also more powerless. They'd done all they could do. Now it was all up to the sea, to fate ... to God. Nothing left to do but make their mad dash to safety. Another wave rocked the hull, throwing them sideways to land prone in the water. Dean rolled, splashing as he did, and grabbed Cas. They staggered together to their feet and Dean pushed him up the ladder first, following close behind.

They crashed back into the cabin. ‘We did it,’ Cas said.

Another wave hit the boat, sending it careening sideways. Dean and Cas collided with the wall, while Jesse held fast onto the wheel.

‘When will it end?’ Cas cried, righting himself on Dean’s shoulder. ‘My God!’

‘Doubt he’s listenin’, Father,’ Jesse panted. ‘No offense. Keep on bailing: that’s something that will help!’

Cas and Dean got to work together, using buckets to scoop water and throw it overboard. It felt like pointless work, and Cas’ muscles burned, but he kept bailing like his life depended on it – because it did.

‘Land!’ Jesse cried. ‘Starboard!’

Cas had no idea which direction “starboard” was, but he scanned the horizon until he saw the dark silhouette of some distant island.

‘Is it Prince Edward Island?’ he called, not thinking.

‘No chance,’ Jesse said. ‘That plan is bust. We make for the land or die out here!’

‘We could die there, too,’ Cas said, cringing at the mental image of Rebel Rose being dashed against rocks.

‘Then you pick your poison!’ Jesse cried. ‘I know which I’ll be choosin’.’

The storm raged on, gusts of wild wind assaulting them as if it had a personal vendetta. Cas and Dean kept bailing as the water encroached their space from above and below. The island was close. Cas could see its trees.

Then, like a flame extinguished by sudden breath, the rain stopped. The wind, though still fierce, grew gentler. Dean let out a groaning breath and they re-joined Jesse in the cabin.

‘We ain’t dead,’ Dean said, sounding shocked.

‘Not today,’ Jesse said, with a wild, wet grin.

The island loomed enormous as they sailed into its lee, where they were sheltered from the final dregs of wind. Rebel Rose floated as if with a limp, but she was buoyant, and they were alive.

Chapter Text

Dean, Cas and Jesse sat on crates on the boardwalk in total silence, swigging beers. Dean’s mind kept drifting off into vague nothingness, where he was only vaguely aware of the low rumble of Cas and Jesse’s voices, and the distant sound of crashing waves. If he’d been able to think clearly, he might have concluded that he was suffering from some form of shell-shock. But he couldn’t think clearly. He could only sit and stare.

They were in a small fishing village called Lighthouse Harbor – still in Maine, despite their best efforts. They’d been in Canadian waters when the storm hit, but the weather turned them around. Jesse was waiting for his friend, Cesar, to come for him. They’d drive and ferry back to Canada together and return later for the tattered remains of Rebel Rose. Dean and Cas, still being on the wrong side of the border, couldn’t join them.

Jesse broke the silence. ‘How are we holding up, boys?’ he said, his voice low and somber.

Dean shrugged – it was all he could do.

‘I’m fine,’ Cas said. ‘Considering.’

Jesse looked thoughtfully down at his beer, nodding. ‘Let me just say … I’ve got my problems with God. Always have. Sorry, Father. But … I believe it was providence that you two were with me today. I don’t hardly ever make that trip with company. Only once or twice a year, when I make it with Cesar. He’s from New Mexico – he prefers dry land. Anyway, all that to say, if I’d sailed alone today, without your help, I know I’d be dead. So … thank you. Both of you. And thank God from me, too, Father. I’ll tell him myself, too, but I reckon you’ve got a more direct line.’

Cas smiled sadly and looked at his shoes. ‘Perhaps.’

Dean wasn’t so sure about Jesse’s theory. If God was simply going to send them to save Jesse’s life, why send the storm at all? He reasoned that the storm could have been the devil’s doing. But then why would God save them? Considering everything they’d done … and everything they were. They were walking definitions of sin.

Jesse turned on his crate to consult the setting sun. ‘It’s getting late. You better go look for somewhere to stay for the night.’

‘Are you sure?’ Cas asked. ‘We’re still happy to wait with you until your friend arrives.’

Jesse shook his head. ‘He’ll be a hours. I’ll be just fine … I might go spend a bit of time with Rebel Rose.’

The three of them stood and Jesse shook both their hands in turn.

‘It was very good meeting you, Jesse,’ Cas said.

‘You, too,’ he said. ‘Once you’re in P.E.I., drop by any time. I live in Souris. Our place is called Cove Cottage – it’s down the trail south of the lighthouse; you can’t miss it.’

‘We’ll take you up on that,’ Dean said.

They parted ways and Dean and Cas got to work finding somewhere to stay. They settled on a rickety two-story inn called The Angler’s Rest. Board cost only a dollar a night, and Dean was glad something had finally gone right. They checked into a wood-paneled room with two rotting chairs and twin beds.

Cas dropped their duffle bag onto the dusty floorboards and unzipped it to survey the damage. ‘Ah, dear,’ he said, pulling out his Anne books.

Dean’s heart sunk when he saw that the books were all waterlogged, their pages thick and wavy. Cas pulled his makeshift cardboard collar from his pocket – it was soft and falling apart. He smiled grimly and dropped it into the bag. They stripped down to their briefs and hung their clothes over the wooden chairs to dry. It had been a warm day, but there was a cold bite to the air. Dean imagined it was cold in this sad room year-round.

‘You’re shivering,’ Cas said. These felt like the first words he’d spoken to Dean all day, and he basked in the warmth of them. What was said in company hardly seemed to count, because in company, it was Father Castiel who spoke. Not his Cas.

‘Here,’ he said, taking the scratchy grey blanket one of the beds and draping it around Dean’s shoulders.

‘Thank you, Cas,’ he said, tugging the blanket tight.

Cas pulled the other blanket around his own shoulders, and they sat on a bed each, facing each other. They didn’t speak. There was nothing to do. Business as usual felt suspended. And all the potential meanings of their thwarted attempt at escape swirled in the air around them.

Because Dean was sure Cas would make some ridiculous spiritual meaning of it. He’d known it since those storm clouds first rolled in overhead. And whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good.

He saw something, on the dock with Jesse. And he hoped it was because Jesse was there, hoped it would disappear once they were alone … that look in Cas’ eyes.

He’d seen it before. He saw it the day of his grandfather’s funeral, when Cas told him it was over. He saw it after he threw that dart at the map of the United States, only for it to strike right near Campbell Ranch. That damn dart.

And now. He saw it now. It hadn’t gone anywhere. Those blue eyes, brimming over with doubt.

‘What are you thinking, Cas?’ He said it quick, because if he didn’t, he’d lose his nerve.

Cas closed his eyes as if to shield his uncertainty. To keep it secret.

‘I think we are lucky to be alive,’ he said.

‘Is that all?’

‘I suppose.’ Cas had a grave look on his face – his seriousness was somewhat offset by the blanket bunched up around his cheeks.

‘Okay, then,’ Dean said. ‘Then we should talk about our next move. I know you probably don’t wanna try and sail again, but I don’t see any other choice. I guess I could ring Dad and beg him to call off the dogs so we can cross the border – it’s not my first choice, but I’ll do it …’

Cas said still and silent.

‘Cas?’ Dean prompted, nausea rising in his throat. The stillness of his lover’s face filled him with a primal sort of fear. ‘What do you say?’

Cas got up from his bed and crossed to the window. He watched the boardwalk; fishermen, shoppers, ladies in simple smocks with long trails of children behind them. With his back to Dean, he said, ‘I think we might have reached the end of the road, Dean.’

Dean put his hands over his face. He felt like he could burst into tears.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, though he knew. He knew.

‘We have to stop this,’ he said, his voice low, his back still turned. ‘Running. Living in this … ridiculous fantasy world. Thinking we could really make a life for ourselves somewhere else.’

‘So, what – we just turn around?’ he asked, feeling awfully small. ‘After everything?’

‘It may be time to cut our losses, as they say.’ Finally, Cas turned to face him. He no longer wore that stony expression. His face was like a looking glass reflecting all of Dean’s deepest fears. ‘Maybe that’s what we are meant to do.’

‘Meant to do?’ Dean repeated savagely. ‘You mean what He wants you to do? God?’

‘I can’t ignore the signs! That storm, it was so sudden, so violent! Dean, you can have no doubt – that storm was sent by God!’

‘Bad things happen, Cas! Things go wrong, plans go awry – not everything is some divine conspiracy.’

Cas tilted his head. ‘And what about the dart and the map—?’

‘I knew you got in your head about that stupid map!’ Dean cried, jumping to his feet. ‘That wasn’t a sign, Cas. It was a coincidence.’

‘Or it was God. Telling us to stay put. Telling us that this is wrong.’

‘You don’t mean it, Cas,’ he said, voice trembling. ‘You don’t.’

‘I … I have to, Dean.’

‘No, you don’t!’ Dean closed the space between them, taking Cas by the arms, making him look at him. ‘You don’t have to look for reasons to be afraid!’

‘I don’t have to look very far,’ he said, with a wry laugh.

‘You listen to me. Look at what I’ve done for you – what I’ve given up. My family, my land, my life! And you sacrificed for me, too, I know you did. You rebelled and you did it, all of it, for me. For love! Because that’s what this is, Cas. Real love. And you ain’t giving up on that, because I sure as well won’t!’

Cas said something very quietly, something Dean didn’t catch. He felt like shaking him, and he released his arms so he wouldn’t. ‘What?’

‘I thought I could have you both,’ he said, only a thread above a whisper. ‘You. God. I was foolish. Selfish.’

‘So what? You’re just gonna run back home, tail between your legs? Live a lie?’

Cas took a deep breath; it looked like he was gearing up to give a speech. ‘I think that God—’

But Dean wasn’t having it: ‘I don’t give a fuck about God!’ he cried, cutting him off. ‘I don’t care!’

Cas sniffed. A silence stretched between them. ‘I know.’

‘But I care about you,’ he said, his voice broken. ‘God’s so far away, so …’ He searched for the words. ‘He’s up in the ether. Unreachable. But you … You’re here. You’re something I can touch. Something I can hold. And when I love you, I can feel the love you give in return. I love you, Cas. Please. Please don’t do this.’

Cas opened his mouth to argue, but the fight visibly left him, his face crumpling. He screwed up his eyes, pinched his nose, and tears fell from behind the shield of his palm.

‘Come here,’ Dean whispered, putting a hand on his shoulder.

‘Dean, I—’

‘Come here,’ he said, pulling Cas close. Their bodies fit warmly together, the blankets falling from their shoulders like stage curtains parting to reveal a tragic scene. They pooled at their feet as they embraced.

Cas pressed his lips against Dean’s.

‘Cas, can we just—?’

‘Don’t talk,’ Cas murmured into his mouth, his hands hot and desperate as they ran up Dean’s back. ‘You don’t need to say anything.’

Cas pushed Dean until the backs of his knees collided with the bed, so he fell back onto the hard mattress with an oomph, Cas on top of him. Cas’ eyes roved over Dean’s body, his eyes brimming with love and desire and anguish.

‘Cas,’ he whispered. ‘Please …’

He was going to ask Cas to kiss him, but he didn’t need to – Cas kissed him, their lips colliding in desperate passion. Cas ducked down, lips and tongue trailing down Dean’s jaw, his throat. Low moans escaped them both in unison, mingling in the sweetest harmony.

Dean wished Cas was clothed just so he could undress him. Skin-to-skin somehow didn’t feel close enough, and he wanted to strip his lover down until he could lay a gentle loving hand on his very soul. This wish manifested through Dean’s hands, as he scratched down Cas’ back. I want in. You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine …

‘And I’m yours,’ he panted, and Cas pulled back to look at him, his pupils blown large. Only then did Dean realise he had said this last thought aloud.

Cas kissed him deeply again, their tongues moving together. They were both hard, their cocks straining against their boxers. Dean bucked his hips impatiently. Cas lowered himself to remove the remnants of Dean’s clothes, as well as his own.

Cas looked up at him then, his face flushed, his lips swollen and pink. He was the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. He thought of the song that played that night at Grandpa Samuel’s party (that felt like yesterday, it felt like a million years ago): Earth Angel.

Castiel Novak. Angel on Earth.

And Dean was overcome with such love and desire, he did what he could only describe as ravage him. He pulled him by his waist, flipped him over so he was on top of him, flush against his body. He kissed him hard, and Cas’ hands grasping his waist felt like heaven.

Dean panted into Cas’ mouth, moved his hips in delicious friction as his hard cock rubbed against Cas’. They were slick with precum, and their muscles grew tense under gentle hands as the pleasure mounted.

Dean pulled away from Cas’ mouth, sat up, straddling him. He smiled wickedly and the words tumbled out of him: ‘I’m gonna show you I’m a cowboy.’

He used his hand to guide Cas’ cock to his entrance, before lowering himself down hard and fast. Cas cried out and threw his head back in both surprise and pleasure. Hot pleasure coursed through Dean’s body as he rode him, as he watched Cas writhe and pant below him.

Dean was close, so close, that sweet ache mounting within him, his cock bouncing as he rode Cas’ cock up and down, up and down. Cas wrapped his hand around his length, pumping hard and fast and desperate. This sent Dean over the edge. Pleasure crested and crashed through him. He came hard, his cum coating Cas stomach and chest. At this, Cas groaned.

‘Oh, Dean,’ he said, as Dean went on riding him, ‘Dean – fuck. Oh … oh … I’m gonna cum.’

‘Cum for me, Angel.’

This seemed to send Cas over the edge; he cried out so loudly that Dean had to slap a hand over his mouth so the whole boardwalk wouldn’t hear. He came hard into Dean’s tight ass, thrusting his own hips up as Dean fucked him.

They rocked like that for a long time, their pleasure taking longer than usual to ebb. When it did, Dean collapsed by Cas’ side.

‘Dean …’ Cas said, sounding somewhat dazed. ‘That was …’

‘Amazing,’ Dean finished for him, cozying up beside him, draping an arm and leg over his body. He held him close.

Cas put a gentle hand to Dean’s cheek. Dean looked at him. They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time – green into blue.

Cas laughed softly. ‘You are the most beautiful thing on God’s green earth, Dean Winchester.’

Dean smiled. ‘This earth is ours, Cas,’ he said. ‘If we want it. If we take it.’

Naked, spent and full of love, they held each other as the sun set over the harbor, and beyond.

‘I’ll never leave you,’ Cas promised, as Dean drifted off to sleep …

Or had those words only been a dream? Later, Dean would think that it might have been. But for now, there was only blissful nothingness in Cas’ arms.

*

Dean woke in the soft glow of dawn with Cas wrapped around him. He sighed and held him close, felt the warmth of him.

‘Good morning,’ he muttered. He turned on his side and a shaft of sunlight fell over his face. He realised with a sinking heart that they’d forgotten to close the curtain – he hoped nobody had peeked in through the window.

‘Cas, the curtain,’ he said, squeezing him.

But he was emerging that place between wakefulness and dreaming, and the form in his arms was soft and yielding. He opened his eyes.

Cas wasn’t there. Dean only held his pillow.

He sniffed and sat up, looked around at the empty room. ‘Cas?’ he called, though there were no other rooms. Every inch of the place was in his sight, and every inch was devoid of Cas.

He leapt out of bed and looked out the window. The boardwalk was quieter this morning: workers, fishermen, but no shoppers yet, no families enjoying a stroll by the water. Cas was not out there, not that he could see.

He hastily pulled on his clothes from the night before. His insides were still save for a small ball of panic, compact and tightly contained – if he let it spill over, he would fall to the ground, useless.

Cas is here, he thought. Cas is here. He wouldn’t do this to me. He promised he’d stay.

But did he? Did he say that? Or had Dean dreamed it?

He wrenched open the door and out onto the boardwalk. His clothes were still damn from the day before, and they clung uncomfortably against his body has he jogged up toward the pier. Cas was nowhere in sight. He returned and searched in the other direction, running now, and stopped at the crossroads to the main street.

He returned, his heart pounding from exertion and fear. A small group of fishermen watched him from the dock.

‘Excuse me,’ he called to them. ‘I’m looking for a man—’

‘I bet you are, pretty boy,’ one replied, and they all chuckled.

His face went red-hot. He left them without another word. Further up, he tried his luck again with a man pushing a wheelbarrow full of wood.

‘Hi, I’m looking for my friend,’ he said, choosing his words more carefully this time. ‘Dark hair, blue eyes, dressed in all black.’

‘Nope,’ the man replied. ‘Sorry.’

Dean asked around some more, but nobody saw Cas, or they didn’t notice him. He returned to the hotel, his heart in his throat.

He sat on the bed, head in hands. Cas would be back. He had just gone out for food, and he’d be back. Everything would be okay.

He stood, paced about the room once – and then he saw it.

A piece of paper folded on the table.

He closed his eyes tight. He thought he might vomit. He got on his knees and checked under the bed. And his worst fear was confirmed.

Cas’ bag was gone.

He picked the paper up quickly and unfolded it before he lost his nerve. He read it once, quickly, and numbly.

Dearest Dean,

Five years ago when I first stepped onto Campbell Ranch, I’d been banished from my old parish. My dreams of rising in the Church had been dashed. I hated myself for my pride, for my rebellious nature. And I thought my life was over.

But then I met you. That young, wide-eyed man hiding away in the barn. I’d spent that day meeting my new parishioners and I felt low, felt like I couldn’t tolerate it. So I went in the barn to pray. Instead, I found you, a brilliant burst of sun in my dark hour. And that’s what you have been for me every day since.

In those days, I would have done anything to get back to my old parish. And eventually, as you know, the opportunity arrived. Your grandfather’s will. This was my ticket back to my old life. Bringing the church that money, I would have been appointed bishop on the spot.

But the moment it was offered, I knew I wouldn’t take it. Rejecting it was as easy as breathing. Because for the first time in my life, I cared about something more than my ambition. I loved somebody more than I loved myself. You.

You changed me, Dean. I was nothing but a priest when we met, and the man I could have been was pushed down, deep down. You pulled me out of that dark pit, and not a second too soon. You changed me. And you saved me.

And now, it’s time I save you.

Loving you is the most honest thing I have ever done. No longer just a priest, no longer a lost man grasping for faith – with you, I am Cas. Just Cas. And you inspired me with your belief in a world where I could be yours, a world where we could be together.

But, my love, the world keeps telling us no. The dart strikes Kansas, the roads close, the storms rage, and every direction in which we turn, something stops us. I believe that ‘something’ is God. I know you don’t agree. But I can’t be swayed.

Once, I believed in God’s mercy. But he is a jealous God – the bible tells us so – and now I only feel his wrath, and the wrath to come. I have prayed, I have begged God for answers. But only one answer comes back to me, and it is as heavy as an anvil on my chest.

If I stay, I will ruin you. You will live out your days fighting against a world we cannot change. Always looking over your shoulder. Losing far more often than you win. I can’t do it to you, Dean. I won’t.

So I am leaving. I’m sorry I had to do it this way. If I woke you, you would have convinced me to stay, and I can’t stay. I won’t tell you where I’m going, because I know you will follow. I love you for that. But I can’t allow it. I need you now to go home, and build a life you are proud of. It will always be the great sorrow of my life that I cannot be a part of it. But I can’t hold you back anymore.

I love you, Dean. Believe that. I will love you until the day I die.

Cas

Dean placed the letter down again with shaking hands. He lowered himself to the floor and lay there for a long time, flat on his back, his heart a horrid drum pounding in his ears.

Then he opened his mouth and screamed. Outside, the sky cracked open with the sound of thunder, and down came the pouring rain.

Chapter Text

Part I: The Wrath to Come

Born to lose, my every hope is gone,
It's so hard to face that empty dawn.
You were all the happiness I knew,
Born to lose and now I'm losing you.

        - Born to Lose, Ray Charles

September, 1954 – Kansas, Campbell Ranch

Dean lay on his back in a pile of hay, swigging whiskey straight from the bottle. Fall was here and he might have felt the bite of it in the air, only he didn’t feel much of anything these days. In any case, the alcohol kept him warm. He'd been without Cas for three months, eleven days, and counting.

He heard footsteps approaching. A thought popped into his head at the sound of it, the thought that popped into his head roughly three-hundred times a day: Cas. The day they met, he’d been hiding, scared of his father. Now, he was unafraid. Of his father, of anything. He’d lost Cas. Nothing else could hurt like that.

He had been apprehensive when he first returned to Campbell Ranch back in June. Not so much of his father's wrath, but of discovering that the news of those compromising photographs (i.e. the photos of Cas sucking his dick) had spread around town. But the news hadn't spread. John never even brought it up. The only sign he even remembered it was the deep disgust that shadowed his face whenever he so much as set eyes on his eldest son.

The approaching footsteps Dean had heard belonged to his father. He stood over him now, those dark eyes stern.

‘What d’you think you’re doing boy?’ he asked, twisting the toe of one foot like he was grinding out a cigarette. Dean thought he was probably imagining putting that boot right up his ass.

‘I’m on my break.’

‘Seems to me you’ve been on your break for the last three months,’ John says. ‘Get up. And work.’

Dean thought about fighting – really fighting – but his head was swimming, and he wasn’t sure he could land a punch if he tried. He sighed, stashed his booze in the hay, and stumbled to his feet.

He stood tall, to attention, and saluted. ‘Yes, sir!’

The blow was swift and brutal – the back of John’s hand right across his face, knuckles coming into contact with cheekbone. Dean staggered, grabbing onto a wheelbarrow just in time to avoid falling ass backward. He took a moment to compose himself, but he didn’t touch his throbbing cheek. He wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction.

‘You still haven’t branded the cattle,’ John growled. ‘Do it now.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, earnest this time.

John walked out. His gait was steady. The set of his shoulders, almost carefree. Just another day. Dean lowered himself to the floor and stayed there for a while, nursing his cheek, his pride.

Then, he headed for the corral where his work waited for him.

They usually branded cattle when they were still calves. It was easier that way. But these cattle were full-grown. Found strays. These ones wouldn’t be branded without a fight – and Dean had no doubt that John chose this job especially for him.

Dean was twenty-five, but his father managed to make him feel perpetually ten years old. His new-found fearlessness might have made things more comfortable, but it still didn’t change anything. He was powerless here. But there was nowhere else to go …

He stood for a while, remembering. He listened to the cows low as he tried to resist what he sorely itched to do. But he wasn’t strong enough. He pulled the letter out of his pocket, where he kept it always, and read it again.

Loving you is the most honest thing I have ever done. No longer just a priest, no longer a lost man grasping for faith – with you, I am Cas. Just Cas.

And again.

The dart strikes Kansas, the roads close, the storms rage, and every direction in which we turn, something stops us. I believe that ‘something’ is God.

And again.

Once, I believed in God’s mercy. But he is a jealous God – the bible tells us so – and now I only feel his wrath, and the wrath to come.

Once he’d had his fill, he tucked the letter back in his jeans pocket and got to work branding the cattle. They fought and bucked and howled in pain and protest over their ordeal, their fate.

Dean could relate.

*

Dean had taken his time returning from Maine to Campbell Ranch, drinking himself stupid through every state. Outside a bar in St Louis, he’d met a saucy blonde who asked him if he was looking for a good time. He gave her all the money he’d won hustling pool, and they booked an hour in the room above the bar. He’d fumbled with her, unfamiliar with her feminine terrain.

‘Are you a virgin, honey?’ she’d giggled.

‘Depends on how you look at it,’ he’d slurred back.

But she was kind to him, said she’d give him an education. He’d closed his eyes and fucked her from behind. It was the only way he could cum.

He didn’t hate it. He just hated himself.

There was a man, too. Dark-haired, towering, lean. He sucked Dean’s dick in a truck-stop in Missouri. It felt the same as it did with the blonde woman: it felt good, but meaningless. He now thought that maybe gender didn’t enter into it – the problem was, these people weren’t Cas.

He and Cas had made love, because they were in love. Even when it was rough, fast, dirty – they’d made love. And that’s what he longed for. Love. Cas. His Cas.

He didn’t have the faintest idea where Cas had gone. He couldn’t picture him: where he was; what he was doing. Some nights, that was the worst part of all.

Some nights he dreamed that Cas hadn’t gone back to the church at all. He’d simply found somebody who could love him better. Who was enough, enough to convince him to give it all up. He dreamed that Cas and his new, faceless lover tended to the bees.

*

‘Dean?’

Dean was asleep, full dressed atop the covers. His head throbbed.

‘Dean!’ Someone shook him. ‘Wake up.’

He woke with a deep breath through his nose. ‘Cas?’

Silence.

He opened his eyes. Sam was standing over his bed.

‘No, it’s me,’ he said, frowning deeply. ‘I need to talk to you.’

Dean hauled himself up, rubbing his sore, hungover head. ‘Yeah, what’s up?’

Sam sat on his bed and pulled something from his pocket. It was a ring box. He opened it, and a small diamond ring glinted from a black cushion. ‘I’m gonna ask Jess to marry me.’

Dean stared in stunned silence.

‘Well?’ Sam prompted, his face twitching with irritation. ‘What do you say?’

Dean was happy for his brother, but he couldn’t seem to conjure the feeling up properly. All his emotions were like that now days, like touching something warm through a pair of gloves. Except the grief. That was hot and sharp against bare skin. He took a deep breath and forced a grin; it felt like his face was cracking.

‘I say, I’m happy for you, little brother.’

Sam grinned. ‘Thanks.’ He snapped closed the ring box; as it disappeared, the diamond flashed like an extinguished star. ‘I gotta be honest … I’m nervous.’

‘Don’t be,’ Dean said, leaning back on the bed head. ‘That girl is made for you.’

‘How are you holding up?’ he asked, slipping the ring box back in his pocket.

‘I’m fine.’

Sam waited, presumably for Dean to elaborate. When he didn’t, he said, ‘Dean, you’re not fine.’

‘I said I am, so just drop it.

‘What’s going on with you?’ he asked, frustrated.

‘Nothin’,’ he said. ‘I’m just tired.’

‘Tired,’ Sam said, with a small, wry laugh. ‘Dean, you’ve been drunk for months. You’re disobeying orders. Getting into trouble.’

‘I’m all good, Sam,’ he snapped, sliding down onto his back, arms crossed tightly over his chest. ‘I’m just … I’m fine.’

Sam looked at him for a long time. ‘What happened in Maine, Dean?’ he asked, quietly. ‘Tell me. What the hell happened?’

Hell happened, he thought. Hell happened, and Hell had followed him home.

Dean rolled over in bed, his back to Sam. ‘I’m just angry that Dad blocked me at the border. That he made me come home.’

‘Okay, fine,’ Sam said, 'don’t tell me the truth.’

He got up and left. Dean closed his eyes, waiting to drift off back to sleep. But he couldn’t.

He thought of God’s wrath. And the wrath to come.

*

An overjoyed Jess accepted Sam’s proposal. They wrote an invitation to Father Cas and planned to send it to his old Kansas parish, hoping they could find him. Dean offered to deliver it. He took it into town and dropped it through a sewer grate.

Dean knew Cas wouldn’t come. He also knew that the silence in response to the invitation would shatter his heart all over again.

Sam and Jess Winchester married at Christmas time, standing together on the altar on which Cas had once stood. How beautiful he’d looked up there. Dean stayed sober for the wedding. There was an empty seat beside him in the pews, left there as a symbolic seat for Grandpa Samuel, to honour his memory. But it wasn’t Samuel’s presence Dean felt there beside him as his little brother said I do.

He felt only Cas.

Sam and Jess had their reception on the ranch, in the main room of the main house – where the Winchesters lived now that Grandpa Samuel was gone. Dean socialised for as long as he could. Sam was obviously distracted by his new bride, so it didn’t matter much.

Dean sat in the corner and listened to the music pouring from the record player’s speakers. Ray Charles’ misery-filled voice pulled him from his reverie, demanded he pay attention:

Born to lose, it seems so hard to bear,

It felt like Ray was in the room with him, serenading him with an echo of his own anguish.

How I long to always have you near,

Dean closed his eyes tight against his own agony. He thought he might die of the pain.

You've grown tired and now you say we're through,

He watched Sam dance. So in love. Dean was so in love, and now he’d lost it, and the grief welled up inside him, filled him to the brim …

Born to lose and now I'm losing you.

He walked out onto the porch and watched the snow fall. It fell gently, and Dean felt it should be impossible for anything this gentle, this beautiful, to exist in this new world of lack – this world without Cas. Yet, there it was. Falling.

*

Part II: Father Castiel

The Lord has sworn and will not change His mind,
“You are a priest forever.”

        - Psalm 110:4

February, 1955 – Our Lady of Providence Catholic Church, Indiana

Cas stood on the porch of the rectory, looking out at the snow-covered gardens. He had come here in winter, and it was winter still. He wondered if it would be winter forever.

He wanted the springtime. The flowers, the bees.

He was dressed, save for the collar. He always left off that particular accessory until the very last minute; it felt like a shackle around his neck. But he’d made an oath to the Church, and God would have him see it through. He’d made an oath to Dean Winchester, too. But to God that was meaningless: He wouldn’t see it fit to punish Cas for breaking it.

So, why did this feel like a punishment?

He missed Dean. The agony of their separation throbbed in him, as constant and unrelenting as the beat of his heart. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place and go to him. But this was a necessary sacrifice; an ultimate kindness. He refused to hold Dean back anymore.

A black-clad figure approached him, like a dark shadow over the snow. Sister Hannah lifted her veiled head to him and smiled. ‘Good morning, Father,’ she said.

‘Sister,’ he greeted. ‘How are you, this morning?’

‘I am well,’ she said. ‘Father Zachariah sent me. He would like to see you in his office.’

Cas felt his smile slip, but he caught it just in time. ‘Very well,’ he said, through a constricted throat. ‘Thank you, Sister.’

She tilted her head in farewell. ‘Good luck.’

Cas gave her a surprised smile. A little scandalised, a little thrilled – was that cheek he detected? Perhaps she felt the same as he did about Father Zachariah. He watched her curiously as she went.

He donned his shackle, his collar, and headed for the brick building behind the church, west of the rectory. He knocked twice on Father Zachariah’s door.

‘Come in.’

Cas opened the door and stepped inside. The fire roared so that the office was stifling, and he thought immediately of the fiery pits of Hell.

He would have to say penance for that later.

‘Father Castiel,’ he said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of his desk. ‘Please, sit.’

Cas sat, eyeing the fireplace as he did. Was that smoke coming in? He thought the chimney needed a good clean.

This was a ramshackle place, this church. But in terms of order and faith, Father Zachariah ran it as if it were the Vatican. He was a short man, with a balding grey head, and he always wore a look of mild pleasantness. He had certainly lulled Cas into a false sense of security when he first arrived at Our Lady of Providence last August. But it wasn’t long before the older priest had broken through those illusions.

Father Zachariah picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk three times before putting it down again. Cas didn’t know for what purpose. A quirk, he assumed. Somehow, it felt ritualistic: a signal of something to come, like the bells before communion. Whatever was coming now, Cas suspected he wouldn’t like it.

‘Do you know why I called you in here this morning, Father Castiel?’

‘No, Father,’ he replied, keeping his face impassive.

‘I spoke with Mrs. Nix yesterday,’ he said, his expression still pleasant. ‘She told me to say hello to “Father Cas”.’

He stopped and waited for Cas to catch on. He did, but he chose to say nothing. He wouldn’t make it easy.

‘I corrected her,’ he went on. ‘“Father Castiel.” And she replied, “Oh, he told us to call him Father Cas.”’ Father Zachariah’s grin was wide, derisive. More silence. Cas didn’t fill it. ‘Do you recall this conversation with Mrs Nix?’

‘Yes, Father,’ Cas said.

‘And have we not spoken about this before?’

‘Yes. We have.’

‘And yet, you defy me.’

‘I apologise,’ Cas said, his insides squirming from the injustice of apologising to this man. ‘It was a slip of the tongue. Old habits.’

But it hadn’t been a slip. It seemed that rebellion was a nasty habit Cas could not break, and that’s what this had been. A rebellion. A small one, admittedly – like an Advil to take the edge off opiate withdrawals.

But it wasn’t rebellion his body cried for, not really. It was Dean Winchester.

‘You cannot ask the parishioners to call you by a nickname, Father Castiel,’ he said, punctuating Cas’ thoughts of Dean. ‘We are not their chums. We are leaders of the soul.’

‘It was my understanding that we are humble servants,’ Cas said, grimly.

A brief look of fury crossed Father Zachariah’s face. But then he was smiling again, and he slapped the desk. ‘We are shepherds,’ he retorted, triumphantly. ‘We lead our flock.’

Cas swallowed hard. ‘Yes, I understand.’

‘They must use your Christian name, Father Castiel. It is proper. I will not tell you again.’

‘Thank you, Father,’ Cas said. Saying these words smarted like a whip, but they were necessary. He stood. ‘I will see you at Mass.’

*

Cas found Sister Hannah in the garden, inspecting the bare branches of the sycamore tree. He joined her. ‘Soon, this will be green again,’ she said, smiling. ‘This garden is beautiful in the springtime.’

‘I look forward to seeing it.’

She looked at him with her striking blue eyes. ‘How was your chat with Father Zachariah?’

Cas hesitated. It wasn’t proper to share this with Hannah – but rebellion was his habit, and old habits die hard. ‘I was thoroughly admonished,’ he said. ‘For telling the parishioners to call me Father Cas.’

‘Do you prefer it?’ she asked. ‘Cas?’

He took a deep breath, the frigid hair stinging his nose. ‘It doesn’t matter what I prefer. Cas … that isn’t me anymore.’

He thought of his letter: With you, I am Cas. Just Cas.

He often pictured Dean reading that letter, though he hadn’t witnessed it. The image he conjured varied; sometimes Dean cried, sometimes he punched a wall, sometimes he screamed. Always, it broke Cas’ heart.

‘Where did you go?’

Cas blinked, looked at Hannah. She was looking at him with a tilted head. ‘Pardon?’ he said.

‘Sometimes you go away,’ she said, quietly. ‘I see it, behind your eyes.’

Once again, Cas opted for honesty – or the bare bones of honesty, at least. ‘I have lost much,’ he said. ‘But … I am searching for peace.’

‘Do you think you’ll find it here?’ she asked. ‘Your peace?’

He doubted it. He doubted it very much.

‘I’m sure I will.’ He gazed up at the barren tree as it shivered in the wind.

Chapter Text

Five Years Later

August, 1959 – Campbell Ranch, Kansas

Dean was about to fall off his horse.

He was riding Baby through the paddock. Sam had been giving her exercise for the last few weeks and was getting fed up; he had enough to do. Problem was, Dean was full of gin. If he wasn’t careful, he was careening toward a broken neck.

He turned and Baby cantered back toward the gate. Sam was waiting there, squinting up at him. ‘Dad wants you.’

‘Ugh,’ Dean said, whipping the rein to the side. ‘Why?’

‘D’you really think he’d fill me in?’

‘You got a point.’ Dean dismounted Baby and led her to the stables, Sam by his side. ‘How goes the baby making?’

Sam’s face went red. ‘Never you mind.’

‘Grow up, Sam,’ he said. ‘If you’re old enough to put a baby in her, you’re hold enough to talk about it.’

‘But do you have to talk about it like I’m a stud horse?’

‘Yeah, you’re definitely no stud,’ Dean said, and Sam punched him in the shoulder.

‘What about you and Lisa?’

Dean looked at him in horror. ‘We’re not even married!’

‘I know. But surely that’s in the cards soon? You’ve been together two years.’

Dean got to know Lisa Braeden when John hired her then-ten-year-old son, Ben, to do some light labour around the ranch. It took him a while to realise that they’d met before: the day he stopped at her house, at random, to ask her parents if they’d seen Cas. He remembered telling Cas that he was divinely led that day; searching for him and finding the only woman who could point him in the right direction. He resisted her for months, worried that those divine hands were actually leading him to her all along. For a long time, that idea was hard to tolerate.

Which was unfair to her. He knew that. But he did care for her, maybe even loved her. Not as much as Cas, no, but that was an impossible bar to reach. Was he meant to be bachelor forever?

John Winchester would never abide by that.

Dean put Baby in the stable and walked with a heavy heart to find out what his father wanted. He found him in the grand living room, bourbon in one hand, a cigar in the other.

‘Well, look at you,’ Dean said from the door. ‘You’d almost pass for a gentleman.’

A dark smirk passed John’s face. ‘Sit down, smart ass.’

To Dean’s surprise, his father offered him a cigar. He took is hesitantly, wondering it was a trick, some sort of test. ‘I’d offer you a drink,’ John said, as Dean clipped the end of his cigar, ‘but I think you’ve had enough.’

‘Probably,’ Dean admitted, the cigar clutched between his teeth. He lit it and puffed. It felt decedent. Too good. What was John playing at?

‘I wanna talk to you,’ John said, ‘man to man.’

‘Mmm?’ His heart thudded.

‘About the Braeden girl,’ he said, puffing at his cigar. ‘Know what I’m gonna say?’

Dean had an awful feeling he knew exactly what his father was going to say. But he couldn’t speak. He sat, only staring, a lump in his throat.

‘It’s time you marry her.’

Despite knowing where this was going, to hear these words still rocked Dean’s system. He dropped his cigar, and it rolled down his leg and onto the floor. He picked it up quickly, before it singed. ‘Dad … I can’t—but why—?’

‘Because the Braedens’ orchard is the second biggest business in town, after ours. It’ll do us well to have a concrete union between the families.’

‘A business arrangement? This is my life!’

‘Exactly!’ John said, his tone full of venom. ‘It’s your life! You’re nearly thirty years old and you’re still unmarried and fooling around with the neighbour girl. It’s time you make an honest woman of her; people are starting to talk. She’s already a widow with a kid on her arm, you don’t need to bring more shame to the poor girl. It will help the ranch, it’s the right thing to do – it’s a win-win.’

‘Nothing about this feels like a win,’ Dean grumbled.

 ‘Doesn’t matter what it feels like. It’s happening, so you better start getting used to the idea. I want you to ask Mr. Braeden for permission to propose before the end of the week.’

‘And if I don’t?’ Dean said. His voice was weak, strained, like he was choking on fear.

John drained the last of his drink. ‘Then I’ll tell everybody you’re a fairy.’

Dean’s jaw dropped. Bile rose in his throat. A silence, long, heavy hung in the air. John looked perfectly at ease, pouring himself another drink, his shoulders perfectly relaxed, his posture soft.

Dean swallowed hard. He had to speak. ‘I’m not—’

John cut him off; it was clear he knew Dean would deny it, and he had his retort locked and loaded: ‘I have photos that prove otherwise.’

‘That … that was—’

‘A fuckin’ abomination,’ John said.

‘You won’t tell anyone,’ Dean said, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. He was trembling. ‘It’ll disgrace you.’

 ‘Don’t test me, boy. I will do it.’ He slammed down his drink. ‘You’re marrying Braeden and that’s it. Now get the fuck out of my sight.’

Dismissed, Dean rose from his chair, feeling like he was standing on sea legs. He staggered from the room, half-drunk and shell-shocked.

*

Dean lay flat on his back by the barn, his hands over his eyes. Sam was sitting on the grass next to him. ‘I’m sorry, Dean,’ he said, in a low voice.

Dean just grunted, his hands still over his face. He obviously hadn’t told Sam all the details about their father’s ultimatum but, in a way, he wanted to. God, he wanted to. He wished he lived in a world in which it was possible. He jolted up to sit, rage simmering just under the surface of his skin, and brushed leaves from his hair.

‘Ah, Sammy,’ he said,. ‘This is a mess.’

Sam hesitated, then asked,  ‘Why don’t you wanna marry Lisa?’

‘It’s not that I don’t wanna marry her,’ he lied. ‘I just – it’s just that, if I propose I want it to be my decision. Not his.’

Sam picked up a piece of straw and fiddled with it for a while. ‘You know, I always wondered if there was someone else,’ he said, his tone overly-casual. ‘In Maine.’

Dean’s blood turned cold. He swallowed. ‘What makes you think that?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Just a feeling. You were so different when you came back. Angrier. Drinking all the time … you’ve never really recovered. I thought maybe some dame broke your heart.’

Dean kept his sigh of relief locked away in his lungs, instead exhaling it slow and measured through his nose. Some Woman. Sam didn’t suspect him and Cas. He was just speculating.

‘I’ve told you a hundred times, I was angry because Dad stopped me at the Canadian border. Made me come back.’

Sam stayed silent for so long that Dean thought he’d dropped it. But then he said, ‘Okay, Dean. Whatever you say.’

*

The sun hung low in the sky. Dean rode Baby off the ranch and out into the open plains. Five days of the week had run through his hands like water, and the deadline loomed. Ask Lisa’s father for her hand – or else.

He’d briefly considered refusing to marry Lisa. To let his father do what he will. He could run. He could run far away, maybe to Canada, and avoid the backlash all together. But he knew this was just a fantasy. He couldn’t make a life for himself anywhere else. He was stupid, useless, not worthy of even the straw-stuffed mattress he lay his sorry head on each night.

And then there was Sam. Knowing, knowing what he really was, knowing what Cas had meant to him, what he’d been to him. And the very notion of it made him sick.

There was also the danger of being cut from the will. Dean wasn’t a greedy man, but he still couldn’t tolerate this. The money, the ranch. He had to end up with something to show for bearing the curse of being a Winchester.

And, honestly – infuriatingly – his father was partially right: if he wasn’t going to leave Lisa, then he had to make an honest woman of her. She deserved that.

Lisa Braeden was kind to him, she was beautiful, a good mother, funny, smart as a whip. Their lovemaking was intense, pleasurable. Marrying her made sense.

Yet. Yet.

He dismounted Baby by a water trough and let her drink as he walked up his favourite hill. He liked to come here at this time of day to watch the dusk sunlight spill over the mountains, dying them a soft amber. He got on his knees under the cottonwood tree, and for the millionth time, he prayed. But not to God. It was never to God.

‘Cas …’ he whispered, into the breeze. ‘I don’t know what to do. Dad’s right, I should marry Lisa … I know I’d want to marry Lisa, if I was living another life. If I were a different man. If I hadn’t had you …’

He listened as if he would get a reply. He heard only the wind playing in the leaves overhead.

‘I miss you …’ he said, and tears burned in his eyes, as they always did when he voiced this out loud. ‘God damn it, it doesn’t get any easier. Even after all these years …’

No reply. Only the wind.

‘I’ll never know a love like yours again,’ he said, his voice low. ‘And I’ll never love like that again. I won’t pretend I’ve made peace with that. But I’ll try. I’ll try to let you go.’

He got to his feet, got halfway down the hill, then turned back.

‘If we’re meant to be together … if it’s meant to be you and me … come back to me. Come back to me before it’s too late.’

He got on Baby and rode back to the ranch. There, he collapsed in his bed and drank until he slipped into numb oblivion.

*

The party’s over, Cas thought, as he packed the communion cups away into their cupboard. He’d just led evening Mass, said farewell to the parishioners as they left. And now the church was empty.

Father Zachariah had been away for two whole weeks, helping to set up a youth program in Indianapolis. It had felt like a party, him being away, unable to criticise and chide. But today, he would return. The buzz was that Father Zachariah would soon be His Excellency, the bishop. As much as Cas thought he didn’t deserve the title, he dearly hoped that he would get it. Then he’d be gone.

And Cas would lead this parish. He admitted it to himself only the limbo between wakefulness and dreaming that this was what he wanted. He wanted it quite badly. It was another step toward donning the bishop’s robes himself.

His ambition wasn’t what it once had been, but now that he didn’t have Dean, it was all that was left. So, he’d slipped back into it like an old coat; it was ill-fitting now, but it covered him thoroughly enough.

Sister Hannah joined him in the back room just as he wiped and put away the last communion cup.

‘He’s back.’ She said it quietly, as if Father Zachariah had the church bugged. Cas wouldn’t put it past him, if the good Father had the means. But they barely had enough money to keep the heat on. ‘Will you go see him?’

‘Not today,’ he said, closing the cupboard door. ‘Unless he comes to find me.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he will,’ Sister Hannah said, the corner of her mouth twitching.

Cas liked Sister Hannah very much. They’d grown close over the years, forming something of a sibling relationship. His favourite thing about her was her sassy streak, which was usually reserved for Father Zachariah; she went about it just subtly enough that he never had reason to chastise her. Having Sister Hannah as an ally while dealing with the older priest’s constant criticism made this place bearable.

‘I think I’ll retire,’ Cas said. ‘Goodnight, Sister.’

‘Goodnight, Cas.’

He shot her a joking look of shocked disapproval, unable to hold back a grin. ‘Do you want to be excommunicated, Sister?’

She giggled.

Sister Hannah was right: Father Zachariah did find Cas, right before he was about to retire to his room. ‘Good evening, Father Zachariah,’ he said, his hand pointedly on the doorknob. ‘It’s nice to see you again. I trust your time in Indianapolis was fruitful?’

‘I want to talk to you about something.’

You’ve been back for five fucking minutes, what could I have possibly done wrong in that time?

That’s what Cas wanted to say.

But instead, he said, ‘Yes, Father?’

‘I went into town on my way back to the church and ran into Mr. Turner. He told me you had dinner there the other night.’

Cas briefly closed his eyes. Of all the people Father Zachariah could have run into … just his luck. ‘I did,’ he admitted.

‘Is that appropriate, Father?’

Cas sighed. ‘Their mother is sick. I was there performing a blessing. They are scared and upset, and they asked me to stay for dinner. They needed comfort, friendship. I was there to provide it.’

‘It is not your job to provide friendship,’ Father Zachariah said. ‘It is your job to provide guidance. It is your job to foster a love of God in the community. Yet, your top priority is making people love you.’

Cas riled up, anger flashing through him. Perhaps because Father Zachariah was right, but still, it was unfair. ‘And why are you the total authority on how to best be a priest?’ he snapped. ‘Why should I listen to you?’

Father Zachariah opened his mouth to respond, closed it again. He looked shocked at this brazen defiance of authority.

‘Because you swore your obedience,’ he snapped. ‘So, obey.’

He stormed out, slamming the hall door behind him. Cas was frozen on the spot – Zachariah wasn’t the only one who was shocked by what he'd just said. He was too.

He sighed and entered his bedroom. His mind was blank, his heartbeat slow and steady as he changed into his pajamas. He folded up his day clothes to wear them again tomorrow. Yet another tomorrow.

He sat on his bed and opened his bedside drawer. There were the rosary beads, the bible. But he was looking for what was beneath.

He pulled the book out. It was wrapped in cloth. He uncovered it to reveal the title: Anne of Green Gables.

He turned it around in his hands, ran a finger over the back cover he’d torn so many years ago. He opened it. The front page was blank. He so wished that Dean had inscribed it with something, even one word. Something to read, to have. He’d thrown away the other books in the series; the stack was too bulky to travel with. He wanted to get rid of this one too, but he couldn’t bear to let it go.

This book was all he had left of Dean Winchester.

He wished he could make a choice – his love for Dean, his love for God. He couldn’t let either go, nor could he let either fully into his heart. Sometimes I wish I was an entirely different man, he thought.

But he wasn’t. For better or for worse, he was Father Castiel.

He put Anne back in his drawer, on top of his bible. Turning off his lamp, he slipped under his covers and went to sleep.

And in his dream, he heard Dean’s voice.

‘If we’re meant to be together … if it’s meant to be you and me … come to me. Come me before it’s too late.’

Dean Winchester was standing at the foot of a hill, sheltered by a cluster of cottonwood trees. His horse was trotting away to find bigger shade. Cas approached him, somehow fully aware that this was a dream.

‘I am here,’ Cas said.

Dean looked at him. He didn’t look surprised, shocked, or angry. He simply smiled. ‘I knew you would be,’ he said.

Cas surged forward and kissed him, long and deep. This was a dream, which meant no witnesses. They were totally, wonderfully alone. Cas removed Dean’s cowboy hat and threw it to the dirt. He unbuttoned his flannel shirt from throat to pubic bone, then fumbled with his belt as he peppered kisses all over his face, his neck. He yanked down his jeans, pulled off his boots. Out here in the warm Kansas air, Dean was totally naked, and his perfect dick was rock hard for Cas. Only for Cas.

Cas nibbled at Dean’s throat, and his moan hummed against his lips. He traced kisses along his freckled shoulders.

‘Cas, please,’ he breathed.

Cas tore off his own clothes before embracing Dean again. Kissing, their throbbing cocks pressed together. Cas pushed Dean up against a tree and fell to his knees before him. This is worship, he thought. That’s what this is.

And the noise Dean made as Cas took his cock into his mouth was Holy. He sucked it deeper until his lips were wrapped around the base.

‘Fuck, Cas,’ he groaned, as Cas’ throat contracted around the head. ‘Yes … yes …’

He fucked Cas’ face, faster, faster, faster … He came into his throat, hard and hot. Then he pulled him to his feet.

‘Come here, angel,’ he said, and he tasted his own cum on Cas’ tongue.

He turned Cas around so he cock was hard against his back. He pushed him down onto his hands and knees, running fingers along his back. Cas moaned, arching his spine in pleasure.

Then Dean plunged his cock into Cas’ virgin hole. In the dream there was no pain, no resistance. Only deep, rolling pleasure lighting up Cas’ every nerve.

‘You’re mine,’ Dean said, thrusting relentlessly into Cas. He reached down, started pumping his cock from behind. ‘You’re mine.’

‘I’m yours,’ Cas said, the pleasure mounting. ‘I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours …’

And suddenly Dean was gone, and Cas was back in his bed, and his eyes were open. It was dark. He was panting, his words I’m yours still on his lips. He thought he might have been saying it aloud in his sleep.

He was so hard that it pained him. He reached desperately into his pants and started pumping. He pictured Dean up against that tree, trembling in pleasure under his mouth. In the bed, he got up onto his hands and knees and fucked his own hand, imagining Dean fucking his ass.

Cas’ loud moan was muffled by his pillows as he came, spilling hot seed all over his clean sheets. He kept thrusting slowly into his hand while his pleasure ebbed, his palm slick with cum.

Spent, he put a towel underneath him and closed his eyes. He fell asleep still thinking of Dean Winchester.

When he woke the next morning, he remembered most of the dream. He remembered the sex. He remembered waking and pleasuring himself.

But Dean’s words … “If we’re meant to be together … if it’s meant to be you and me … come to me. Come me before it’s too late.” Those were forgotten. And even if he had remembered, he would have had no idea that they were real, that he’d had some sort of vision. If he had known, he might have concluded that it had been carried to him my God Himself.

But he didn’t know. He didn’t remember. Perhaps God is found in the forgetting.

*

Dean went to Mr. Braeden on the final possible day. He asked for Lisa’s hand and Mr. Braeden enthusiastically gave his consent.

‘That’s wonderful, Dean,’ he said, leaning on his walking stick. ‘Lisa’s mother and I are getting older. It’s good to know Lisa and Ben will be taken care of when we’re gone.’

Now all there was left to do was propose.

John gave him use of the house for the night so he could invite Lisa over for dinner. He offered it gregariously, like he was doing Dean some kind of favour. Their housekeeper prepared a three course meal.

Dean dressed up in a suit and immediately started sweating through it. He paced nervously until the doorbell rang. He rushed downstairs to answer.

‘Hello, love,’ Lisa said, her shoulders relaxing as she kissed Dean on the cheek. ‘You look very dashing.’

‘And you’re a knock-out,’  Dean said, standing back to get a good look at her navy halter neck dress. Her dark hair was loose and shining, spilling over her tan shoulders. ‘Beautiful.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, grinning.

They sat together at the table in the dining room. Dean served the wine. They sat, drinking and smiling, under the light of the chandelier.

Their first course was shrimp cocktail served in a glass. Starving, Dean ate quickly, Lisa lagging behind. Once they were done, the housekeeper took the glasses away and served prime rib for dinner. Dean, still starving – and somewhat nervous – started devouring it.

Lisa watched him closely. ‘You’re quiet this evening,’ she said. ‘That’s usually my area of expertise.’

Dean stopped eating and set down his knife and fork. ‘Sorry. Just thinkin’, I guess.’

‘That’s not like you,’ she said, with a grin.

Dean chuckled. ‘I’m trying something new.’

Lisa kept smiling, but her eyes were searching. She was always searching him, trying to unearth the secrets she knew lay underneath.

‘You’re worrying me,’ she said.

‘You don’t need to be worried,’ he said, sharply. ‘There isn’t anyone else, or anything.’

He immediately winced. He wanted to slam his own head into the wall. Why did he say that? Idiot, idiot, idiot—

‘No, I’m not worried about that,’ Lisa said, with a soft frown. ‘I know where your heart lives.’

Something about the way she said this made Dean’s chest tighten. Lisa knew him well – maybe too well. He felt the ring box through his pants pocket … he was about to lose his nerve. It was now or never.

‘Speaking of where my heart lives …’ He took the box from his pocket and held it out. ‘I was gonna give a speech. Or maybe do something bigger than this little meal. But that ain’t me. That ain’t us.’ He opened the box, revealing the diamond he’d spent a month’s wages on. ‘Marry me?’

Lisa’s lips parted, her eyes gleaming.

But Dean barely saw her.

All he saw was Cas. God knew it wasn’t fair to Lisa, and it wasn’t what he wanted to be happening, but it always came unbidden, irresistible – seeing Cas. The set of his jaw in The Angler’s Rest when he said it was over. His hands on Dean’s body as he begged him to stay.

The way he left anyway.

‘Yes!’ Lisa cried. ‘Oh, Dean, yes! Of course!’

Dean felt as though he existed somewhere just outside his body. He was sliding the ring on her finger. He was grinning at her. He was kissing her—

He was thinking about Cas.

*

Cas stood in the church’s apse, staring up at Jesus on the cross. Our Lady of Providence was closed for the night, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the rectory. He didn’t want to run into Father Zachariah. More than that, he didn’t want to be alone in his bedroom. So, he stayed here, in the company of a prophet who had been dead almost two thousand years.

Dean had been on his mind today, heavy. Since he had that erotic dream, all the dreams were back. For years they had been nightly, and then there a very long lull. But now Dean starred in them every night once again. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they made love. Sometimes they simply existed side-by-side, going about their days in silence together.

He had a strange feeling, one that burned like a fire he couldn’t extinguish. He told himself it was all in his head. That he was looking for excuses to go back when he knew he couldn’t. But he just couldn’t shake this feeling.

The feeling that something bad was going to happen. That soon, Dean would need him desperately.

*

Cas had Thursdays off for leisure time. He never quite knew what to do with them. In the warmer months he spent them with Hannah, tending to the gardens. Cas, having spent most of his life either in a city or on a dusty ranch, realised he loved flowers. He could be out there with them all day.

And there were bees. He liked watching them. Bees were holy. Bees were of God. Bees reminded him of Dean until it hurt. But that was okay. Missing Dean made his heart bleed, but to forget him would mean his heart ripped from his chest.

When he wasn’t able to garden, he was at a loss. In his first few months in Indiana, he went into town. One time, he saw a picture show. He saw East of Eden, which wasn’t at all the wholesome Christian film he’d assumed it to be. He didn’t like going into town, or to the picture show. In town, he felt like an alien transplanted onto Earth.

During his second year in Indiana, he found St Josephine’s. It was a church in the neighbouring town. When he first saw it, he was depressed and desperate. On a whim, he went in and found the confession booth. In it, he sinned further by telling half-truths tantamount to lies. He shared with the priest his despair over his lost love: Anne.

Once a month, he went to St Josephine’s. And he talked about Anne.

‘Forgive me Father, for I have sinned,’ he said, through the little grated window.

‘What’s on your mind?’ said the shadow of the priest on the other side. His name was Father Marv, but Cas had never seen him face to face. He didn’t need to give his name, but he gave it anyway – Mr. Gilbert. The other priest was not permitted to share what he was told in confession, but Cas knew better than anyone that priests were men, and men were fallible. He wouldn’t risk it.

So, he was Mr. Gilbert, and Dean was Anne. He sometimes wondered whether Father Marv knew about the Anne of Green Gables books – if he’d caught on. But it wasn’t his duty to ask.

‘My dreams haven’t stopped,’ Cas said, dropping his face into his hands. ‘Anne comes to me every night. I am tormented.’

As far as Father Marv knew, Anne was a married woman.

‘Have you been steadfast in your prayers?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Father, of course,’ he replied. ‘For years I have begged God to help me forget her.’

‘God helps those who help themselves,’ Father Marv said.

Cas cringed. Marv had a penchant for parables so cliché that they’d lost all meaning.

‘I have prayed, I have confessed,’ he said, tugging at his hair. ‘I have thrown myself at the mercy of the Lord. I have done more penance in the last few years than I’ve ever done in my life …’

He heard Father Marv take a deep sigh. ‘Well, Mr. Gilbert, perhaps this agony you’re enduring is your penance. Perhaps … it is just your cross to bear.’

Cas said nothing, his heart feeling as though it was in a vice.

‘You are doing the right thing,’ Father Marv said, more gently now. ‘You do not wish to be the reason Anne’s soul is imperiled, so you are staying away. If it pains you, it’s because it’s painful. We are all at the mercy of the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” – that’s Shakespeare, not Jesus. Don’t tell the bishop.’

Cas chuckled, in spite of himself. ‘Thank you, Father.’

‘As for your official penance of the day – say fifty Hail Marys,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure you were going to, anyway.’

‘Yes. Yes, I was.’

Cas looked up at the darkened ceiling of the small box in which he was sealed. There was nothing of God’s light there.

Chapter Text

September, 1959 – Our Lady of Providence, Indiana

In his dream, Cas was underneath Dean’s hands. ‘Come back to me, Cas,’ he whispered. ‘Come back. Before it’s too late.’

‘Dean, I can’t,’ he said, screwing his face up in pain as Dean ran his teeth along his throat. ‘Oh, I can’t. I’m sorry.’

Dean pressed his lips to Cas’ ear; his every nerve lit up, and he fizzed with delicious fission. ‘You think you belong to God,’ he whispered into his ear, ‘but you’re mine. And with me, you’ll be free.’

‘But you won’t be free,’ Cas replied. ‘You’ll be bound by me, limited … You’ll live a life in hiding.’

Dean pulled back. Looked at him with those beautiful eyes that contained infinite worlds of possibility.

‘I’d rather live with you in the dark,’ he said. ‘As long as I’m with you, I don’t give a damn whether the sunlight ever touches me again.’

Cas woke suddenly in his bed. He swore he could still see Dean’s eyes, watching him in the darkness. He couldn’t sleep now, and he tossed and turned until daybreak.

He went about his duties in a daze. He sorely wished he could go to Father Marv for another confession, more guidance. But really, what else could Father Marv say? Cas feared that he’d been right: penance was futile in eliminating this grief, because the grief was his penance. His cross to bear.

It was just so very heavy. And he was so very tired. Every day his body screamed for him to return to Kansas. To sneak from Our Lady of Providence like a thief in the night.

The sun was out today. After he finished his morning duties, he found Sister Hannah on her knees in the garden with a tray of silvery green plants.

‘What are these ones?’ he asked, walking up behind her.

She smiled up at him. ‘Snapdragons,’ she said. ‘They should flower soon. They’ll be beautiful.’

Cas sat down on the bench by the garden. Sister Hannah kept planting for a while before looking up at him.

‘You look tired, Father,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ he said, rubbing his face. ‘I am.’

She turned back to her work. ‘Something is weighing on you,’ she said, digging into the earth with her trough. ‘Something heavy.’

Cas sighed and looked up. He often wished that he could peel back the sky, peer into Heaven and find God there. Ask Him for guidance.

Ask Him to explain himself.

‘You know, I entered the seminary when I was eighteen,’ Cas said, still looking upward. ‘It was 1934, right in the middle of the Depression. My father’s hours on the railroads were cut, and so was his pay. But we still had it better than the many who had lost their jobs completely. Everywhere I turned I saw wretched poverty, suffering. I wanted to help.

‘But then, as I neared the end of my seminary studies … I started to have doubts about the path I had chosen for myself.’

Sister Hannah had not turned to face him, but she was very still, her trough still wedged in the earth.

‘I thought about leaving … But the time of my ordination came in 1940.’ He chuckled darkly. ‘The war had begun. I felt it was my duty to stay. To help guide people through those dark times. I thought to myself, I will leave when things in the world are better. I was a young man, Sister. I didn’t yet know. The dark times just keep on coming.’

He looked down at his hands. ‘And now I feel that dark times are occurring inside of me. Like I’ve absorbed the darkness along the way. And I’m afraid I’ll never see the light again.’

Sister Hannah turned to him now. Her eyes swam with tears.

‘So, yes,’ he said, with a sad smile. ‘Something is weighing on me.’

‘Are you really so unhappy, Cas?’

He considered her. ‘There are much worse fates than this. I think … ultimately, being here has been good for me. Our Lady of Providence was my refuge when I was lost. I am forever grateful for that. I’m grateful to be here.’

‘But you didn’t answer my question,’ she pointed out.

He chuckled softly. ‘No. I suppose I didn’t.’

‘What will you do, then?’ she asked.

Cas heaved a deep sigh through his nose and held up his hands, as if in surrender. And that was his reply.

*

November, 1959 – Campbell Ranch, Kansas

Sam and Jess invited Dean and Lisa over for a dinner. Since he’d been married, Sam lived in the ranch homestead the Winchesters lived in before Samuel’s death. Jess served pork chops and apple pie for dessert. Sam made the salad, which he ate in giant mouthfuls. Dean thought he must have been a giraffe in a previous life.

After dinner, they sat together around the fire. Sam looked far away.

‘When will you start planning the wedding?’ Jess asked them, smiling as Sam put an arm around her.

‘We’re going to meet with my priest this weekend,’ Lisa said, taking Dean’s hand. ‘We’re excited. Aren’t we, honey?’

Dean had been taking a big mouthful of whiskey. He nodded, the drink still in his mouth. ‘Mhm.’

‘Thank you so much for coming over, you guys,’ Jess said. She squeezed Sam’s arm. ‘Sammy’s been feeling really down this week, as you know. How are you holding up, Dean?’

He blinked. ‘Me? Fine. Why?’

His head was starting to swim. I should put down the whiskey, he thought, but he didn’t.

‘Because,’ Sam said, his lips twitching in irritation, ‘it’s the anniversary of Mom’s death tomorrow. Remember?’

‘Oh …’ Dean said. ‘Yeah.’

The other three sipped their drinks, silent and awkward over Dean’s insensitivity. He grasped hard onto the arm of his chair, feeling sick to his stomach. He would never forget the anniversary of his mother’s death. Never.

And yet.

It was the booze; that’s what it was. He had to stop. But the thought alone immediately set his hand at a tremble, and he brought his whiskey up to his lips again, took a sip, so impervious now to its burn. It was the guilt that burned. He took another sip of his drink.

He sat very still, stony faced. I hate myself, he thought. I hate myself so fucking much.

*

Lisa’s son, Ben, was twelve now. He had his mother’s brown eyes and dark shock of hair. Lately, he’d been taking on more responsibility on the ranch. Dean was having the whole weekend off to help Lisa with the wedding planning, so he met with him bright and early on Thursday morning to prepare him to work while he was gone.

‘We’ll be getting a hay delivery tomorrow,’ he told them, as they walked around the pig pen. The pigs were new: an investment, now that wool prices were dropping. ‘So, you’ll be helping Sammy unload the truck. Won’t be too hard. Then comes the fun part … mucking out the stables.’

‘My favourite,’ Ben said, delivering a close-lipped beam that looked an awful lot like Dean’s.

Ben admired Dean, and every day he was picking up more of his habits and mannerisms: his sarcasm, the swinging gait as he walked, the way he tipped his cowboy hat over his eyes, how he blinked once when he was shocked or taken aback. It warmed Dean’s heart. And filled him with abject terror.

He would have given his life for the kid. But he didn’t want Ben to lose his life by emulating him. Because he knew he was crashing and burning, and fast. He just didn’t know how to stop.

‘Are you excited to marry my mom, Dean?’

Dean swallowed. He needed a drink. His body felt sluggish, his skin too thick, like a hardened shell around flesh and muscle. ‘Sure am, kiddo,’ he said, clapping him on the back. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘Will I have to call you dad?’

Dean cleared his throat. ‘Well … you can call me whatever you want.’

‘I think I’d like to call you Dean,’ he said, apologetically. ‘At least for a while.’

‘As long as you want, kid. Forever, if that’s what you’d prefer. Me and your mom just want you to be happy.’

‘I think I’ll be happy living here,’ Ben said, looking around. ‘On Campbell Ranch.’

‘It’s beautiful here,’ he agreed. He tried not to think about John and his ire. ‘And it’ll definitely save you travel time, when you come to work.’

Ben laughed. ‘Yeah. That’s true … You know, I’m glad you’re marrying Mom.’

‘I’m glad too, kiddo.’ They sat together on a long log by the chicken coop. The chickens clucked away just behind them. ‘You know I’ll always take care of you and your mom. No matter what happens. That’s a promise.’

Ben’s face dropped, and Dean cringed. He’d said the wrong thing. Typical. He really needed a drink.

‘But what if you die?’ Ben said. There was a resigned inevitability in his tone, like Dean’s death had already happened. ‘You can’t take care of us then.’

Dean deflated. ‘Oh … buddy.’ His heart broke for the poor kid. His father died when he was eight. Old enough to understand, to appreciate the existential terror of a loved one being here one day, gone the next. ‘Nothin’ bad is gonna happen to me.’

‘You can’t know that,’ Ben said, his bottom lip jutting out.

‘Hey …’ He tapped Ben on the chest with the back of his hand. ‘How about this? Even if I did die, I’d still look after ya. I’d come back as a ghost just so I could.’

He raised his arms and made a ghostly ooooh sound, moving forward until his hands were right near Ben’s face. Ben dissolved into a fit of laugher. Like this, he was just like his mother.

‘You’re silly, Dean.’

‘Yeah, that’s what people say,’ he said, throwing an arm around him and guiding him to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s go check on the horses.’

On Friday, Lisa kissed Ben goodbye, and she and Dean got into the car. Time to plan the wedding. This is real, Dean thought, with a sinking heart. It’s really real. He was starting to wish that he’d just run away after John gave him his ultimatum. Wish he’d fled to Canada, and let the chips fall where they may back in Kansas. But it was too late now. Lisa was so happy. Ben couldn’t lose another father figure. They were all in too deep.

He and Lisa had an appointment to meet her childhood priest; it was important to her that he be the one to marry them.

‘Ready?’ Dean asked her, turning on the ignition.

‘Yep!’ she said, buckling her seatbelt. ‘I’m so excited to see the church. And for you to meet our old priest.’

Dean forced a smile. He’d had his fill of priests for one lifetime, but he’d do this for her. He drove them off the ranch, starting on their lengthy journey to the airport, and even lengthier flight.

Their destination: Our Lady of Providence in Cicero, Indiana.

*

November, 1959 – Our Lady of Providence, Indiana.

It was night. Backed by darkness, Cas looked out his bedroom window and watched the snow fall. He sought out the constellation Lyra in the sky but saw only clouds.

Last time he was in town, after confession, he’d gone to the library and looked Lyra up in an astronomy book. It was meant to be the lyre of Orpheus, who’d tried and failed to save his beloved from the underworld. He lost her because he looked back. Something about the story made Cas weep right there in the stacks, and he promised himself he wouldn’t look back.

But looking forward proved just as daunting. Because he was overcome with the unshakable feeling that something big was coming: fate, floating in on a flurry of snow.

He went to bed. He dreamed of Dean Winchester.

Chapter Text

“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it.”

        - Jean de La Fontaine

September, 1959 – Our Lady of Providence, Indiana

The way Lisa always talked about Our Lady of Providence, Dean had expected it to be a palace. It wasn’t. Its brick fences were crumbling, the paint on the double doors were peeling, and the metal nameplate near the entrance was so tarnished that it now said OUR L DY OF PR I D ENCE. If someone handed him a toolbox and can of paint, he thought he could have it looking a lot better by the end of the day. But he had more pressing matters at hand.

They were meeting with Lisa’s childhood priest, Father Zachariah. Dean was still reeling from the flight – his first time on a plane, and he was unprepared for just how terrifying it would be. He clung to Lisa’s hands so tightly that he was surprised he didn’t break her fingers. He was on his third gin when the stewardess cut him off.

They met Father Zachariah in his office, a stuffy little room with a smoky fireplace. Dean wished he could climb up and sweep the chimney. Anything was better than having this meeting.

‘Miss Braeden,’ Father Zachariah said, not acknowledging Dean at all. ‘Congratulations on your engagement. I was very sorry to hear about David’s passing.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Dean raised an eyebrow – it was kind of weird to bring up Lisa’s dead husband in the meeting. But Lisa didn’t seem perturbed.

‘I’m glad you’ll be having this wedding in our church,’ Father Zachariah said.

‘I thought it was a good idea,’ Lisa said, reaching out for Dean’s hand. ‘Better luck, maybe.’

Dean looked at her incredulously. Were they getting married here because she thought that God might kill him if they didn’t?

They got down to it. Father Zachariah told them how the ceremony would play out, and what their church generally received as a “donation” (though it seemed compulsory). It was an obscenely high number. Dean wondered why the place was crumbling when they charged that kind of money.

He definitely didn’t like Father Zachariah. He had a smarmy face.

After they were done, Dean and Lisa left the office hand-in-hand. ‘Was it … nice seeing Father Zachariah again?’

‘Yes!’ Lisa said. ‘Isn’t he wonderful?’

‘Uh—’

‘Oh, Dean, look at the stained glass. Isn’t it beautiful? I remember looking at that little lamb when I was a kid. He’s so cute, I wanted to take him home.’

Dean looked up at the window. Jesus holding a lamb, the words Agnes Domini written underneath. He squeezed her around the shoulders. ‘Yeah, it’s a cutie. I can give you a pet lamb in the spring. We’re overrun with sheep, anyway.’

‘Really?’ she said, her eyes lighting up.

‘Of course.’

She grinned, and so did he. He did love her, really. He did. She liked smarmy-faced Father Zachariah because she saw the good in everyone. She saw the good in Dean.

There was a nun on the altar, replacing the spent candles in the candelabra. She had dark hair, blue eyes. It made him think of Cas.

‘Good morning, Sister!’ Lisa said.

‘Good morning,’ the nun replied. ‘Are you the happy couple who just met with Father Zachariah?’

‘Yes,’ Lisa said, putting a hand on Dean’s arm. ‘I’m Lisa, this is Dean.’

‘Lovely to meet you both,’ she said. ‘I’m Sister Hannah.’

Lisa and Sister Hannah started talking about the wedding. After a few minutes of being completely ignored, Dean walked off to leave them to it. The front door opened behind him.

He heard it. But he didn’t turn around; not yet.

He looked around the church, studying the stained-glass windows, the pews, the paintings on the walls. He saw Mother Mary holding a glowing baby Jesus, he saw adult Jesus bearing the cross on his shoulder. Blood dripping into his eyes; such agony on his face. It was terrible to look at.

And that’s when he turned around.

For a moment he thought he was dreaming. Awake, yet dreaming.

For a moment, he thought he’d died and ascended to Heaven, where all his deepest wishes were reality.

For a moment he thought he’d gone mad.

His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t dreaming. This was real. This is real, this is real, this is real.

Cas, Father Cas, Father Castiel Novak – standing at the end of the aisle, wearing an expression of the purest shock.

They stayed that way for a long time, just staring at each other from opposite sides of the church. It seemed that Cas was thinking along the same lines as Dean – he saw him pinch himself.

Then, as if of one-mind, they began walking at the same time. Slowly, as if sleepwalking; Cas walking up the aisle, Dean walking down it, until they met in the middle.

This is real, this is real—

‘What are you doing here?’ they asked in unison.

‘I work here,’ Cas said, at the same time Dean said, ‘I was having a meeting.’

‘A meeting with whom?’ Cas asked.

‘Father Zachariah,’ Dean said, through numb lips.

‘But … why?’

Lisa chose that moment to walk up. She wrapped her arms around Dean’s bicep. ‘Hello, Father,’ she said. ‘I’m Lisa Braden.’

Cas’ eyes (so blue, even more beautiful than Dean had remembered) darted between them. He visibly swallowed. ‘H-hello Miss Braeden,’ he said. ‘I’m Father Castiel.’

Father Castiel. He was more formal than Dean remembered. Or had “Father Cas” been reserved only for the Winchesters? He found he couldn’t remember.

‘Lovely to meet you! … Honey, we’d better go if we want to check into the hotel.’

‘Yeah …’ Dean said, his throat closing around his words. He was looking directly into Cas’ eyes as he spoke. ‘Yeah, okay.’

Lisa led him from the church. He was so stunned that he let her. He didn’t look back.

*

Cas sat on the front steps of the rectory, looking up at the stars. He could see the constellation Dean had once pointed out to him, many years ago. Lyra. Dean told him that his mother would point it out to him. Did he only think of her when he saw it now; or did he think of Cas too?

Cas thought about Dean. He thought about him all the time. His eyes, the line of his jaw, the way he’d unravelled beneath Cas’ lips and hands.

Now, new thoughts as infinite as the stars above swirled in his head like a wheeling galaxy. Dean was here. By some miracle, he was here. Was it a sign? A test? A slap in the face from God? Dean has moved on; you need to move on.

If someone had asked him, Cas would have said he was certain Dean had moved on. But he must have been holding onto some measure of hope. Why else was he sitting out here in the cold?

Cas heard boots on gravel, and found himself wholly unsurprised to hear it. He was relieved. He was afraid. He looked into the darkness of the trees.

Then Dean emerged, into the light.

It was strange seeing him the flesh after so many years of dreams. Cas had been convinced he was dreaming when he’d walked into the church. When he first saw Dean’s back, bathed in rainbow light from the stained glass, Cas felt the pang of loss he always felt when he saw anyone who vaguely resembled him. Then he’d turned, and Cas was sure he was dreaming; or else, finally gone mad.

Dean was watching Cas now, wearing a guarded expression. This was a look Cas had never seen upon his face. Unfamiliar territory. Dean was always an open book.

But that was five years ago. And this was now.

‘What are you doing out here?’ Dean asked. ‘It’s freezing.’

Cas shrugged helplessly. ‘I knew you would come.’

‘I’m that predictable, huh?’

‘It was inevitable.’

Dean sniffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked around at what was visible in the pool of light coming from the porch lamp. The potted ferns; the bird bath; the concrete bench covered in moss.

‘You know what I keep thinking?’ he asked. Conversational. Like no time at all had passed.

Cas inclined his head. ‘What’s that?’

‘How this is the second time Lisa has led me to you.’

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, with a frown.

‘She’s the woman you met all those years ago, who directed you to that motel. “The Golden Wing”, I think it was called. I found her while I was looking for you, and she showed me the way. Remember?’

Cas looked up as he conjured the memory from some deep place. He remembered. He also remembered what Dean had said about it: I was divinely led. Now, Cas thought dizzying things about fate and God. ‘How do you feel about that?’ he asked.

‘I dunno,’ Dean replied. ‘I don’t know how I feel about anything.’

 ‘Sister Hannah told me she spoke with Lisa.’ His heart pained as it had earlier that afternoon. ‘You’re getting married.’

‘That’s right,’ Dean said, unapologetically. ‘I am.’

‘I’m happy for you.’

Dean laughed darkly. ‘No, you’re fucking not.’

‘Well …’ He shrugged. There was no point in denying it. ‘Are you happy, at least?’

Dean sat on the concrete bench. ‘I’m getting married. She’s beautiful. Her family is loaded. What’s there not to be happy about?’

Cas clasped his hands together. He had no idea where to go from here. What to say. He wished Dean had never come … but at the same time he knew that if he had the ability to go back in time, to avoid it, he wouldn’t.

‘I suppose there’s the fact that you’re not attracted to women,’ he said, carefully.

Dean looked at him sharply. ‘Who says I’m not attracted to women?’

‘You are?’ Cas said, his heart sinking into his stomach. ‘So, you don’t … feel that way about men anymore?’

‘I mean … yeah, I do. I like both.’

Encouraged by this, but confused, Cas asked, ‘Is that possible?’

‘I dunno. I guess it must be. Anything’s possible.’

Cas half-smiled and thought of all that had come to pass. ‘Well. Isn’t that the truth?’

Cas studied Dean’s face, the way the porch light cast half of it in shadow. The sadness there. He’d spent years dreaming of this moment, of having Dean before him – real, and solid. Now that it was happening, Dean was anything but. He was fading. He was once so brave, so bright, so far removed from the shadow of a man now sat before him.

‘It’s god damn funny,’ Dean said. ‘But before I got here, I felt kinda at peace. Like maybe I could do this, live this normal life … So stupid. Letting myself get comfortable like that. I should know better by now.’

‘How do you feel now?’ Cas whispered, half hopeful, half terrified.

‘Like I said, I don’t know how I feel about anything,’ Dean said, looking up at him. His eyes were dark in the dim light. ‘But I did once. Once, I knew exactly how I felt. And I’ve been trying to feel that way ever since, but I can’t, because … none of the pieces fit together anymore. I’m missing something.’

Cas understood. He had spent all these years rebuilding himself around the part of him that had been ripped away, ripped away by his own hand. Dean. To cut ties with him had been a sort of self-flagellation. And he’d always told himself their paths had diverged for the right reasons, that it was God’s will, and yet – here they were. Drawn back together, despite all the odds stacked against them.

Dean was right. Anything was possible.

‘How did this engagement come to pass?’ he asked.

Dean grinned bitterly. ‘Well, Cas, when a man and woman love each other very much—’

‘Forget it,’ Cas said. ‘Forget I asked.’

The stab of irritation through Cas’ heart quickly transformed into something heavier, something closer to agony. He hated that Dean still had this power over him after all this time.

Dean sighed. ‘She’s a widow. Her son works at the ranch. She was around. I didn’t even realise I’d met her before until a few months in. One thing led to another and …’

‘You fell in love,’ Cas said, the ache sinking into his bones. ‘And proposed.’

Dean stared at the ground, a deep frown on his face.  ‘No.’

‘No?’ he asked, his voice small and horrifically vulnerable.

‘No,’ Dean said again, through slack lips. ‘My father made me propose.’

‘Your father?’

‘He said it was time to make an honest woman to her. And …’

‘And?’

Dean visibly swallowed. ‘And that’s that.’

Cas had the sense there was something he wasn’t telling him; something he was leaving out. But he didn’t push.

‘And it has to be her?’ he asked. ‘Could you not … could he allow you to wait for someone – another woman, I mean – who you love?’

Dean laughed harshly at these words. ‘Lisa’s family is loaded! Of course it has to be her. Her dad paid for this whole trip, you know. You should see where we’re staying! It’s called The Royal Plaza; ooh la la, right? And I’m sitting up there as if I’m somebody. I don’t feel like myself at all. I haven’t felt like myself since … since …’

He didn’t need to say it. Since you left.

‘You are somebody, Dean,’ Cas said, his voice like gravel. ‘You’re everything.’

He expected Dean to get angry at this, with him, or else ignore him completely. But he didn’t.

He burst into tears.

‘Oh, Dean …’ He got up. Crossed to him, his arm outstretched. But Dean leapt to his feet, batted his hand away.

This rebuke: it was the first time they’d touched in five years. Cas would always remember that. For a moment Dean stood very still, his head bowed.

Then he turned on his heel and fled.

*

‘Come back to me.’ The words seemed to echo from some place very far away. Cas couldn’t remember if Dean had said them, or if he’d only dreamed it. What else had he said? ‘If it’s meant to be you and me …’

A dream, then.

Cas was in a cab, the streetlights like shooting stars overhead as they zipped through the streets. He’d told the driver it was an emergency, because it was. He was wearing his only set of street clothes; a long-sleeve white button-up, a pair of jeans. He’d never worn jeans before, and they felt stiff and scratchy against his legs.

If Dean had been divinely led twice to his door, then Cas felt divine compulsion. Something outside of himself was puppeting his body – he tried to go to bed after Dean left the rectory. He tried to sleep, to put it all from his mind. He couldn’t.

He got out of the cab outside The Royal Plaza. Cas had passed it before but never really noticed it; it’s regal faux-marble veneer, it’s gleaming windows. He walked through a set of shining double glass doors.

The reception desk was deserted, and he rang the bell sitting by the guest book. He began to pray that somebody would come, but quickly stopped. He felt that if he prayed, God would notice what he was doing and stop him.

Even without prayers, the clerk emerged from a back room. A tired looking man in a loose tie.

‘I’m Father Castiel Novak,’ Cas said. ‘A friend of mine visited me earlier and left his wallet. He’s staying here and—’

‘Name?’ the receptionist interrupted. Apparently, Cas’ rehearsed spiel was unnecessary.

‘Father Castiel Novak.’

The clerk sighed. ‘Name of the guest.’

‘Oh. D-Dean Winchester.’

He consulted the guest book. ‘Room 114.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, running for the elevator and its flashing golden doors.

A minute later, he was standing outside room 114, his heart bounding in his chest. He half-hoped that Lisa would be there, that there would be a buffer. But if her father booked the hotel, she’d likely have her own room.

What if she was in there anyway? Or what if Dean was in her room?

What if they were having sex?

Feeling sick to his stomach, he wanted to turn and leave. It was the smart thing to do. But before he could think better of it, his knuckles rapped against the door as if under their own volition. The door opened quickly, and Dean stood before him.

‘Cas …’ A sad, breathy laugh escaped his lips. ‘You’re here. And I didn’t even have to beg.’

Cas swallowed, guilt dripping down his spine like hot liquid. To beg. Dean deserved so much better than this; than what Cas had given him – and not given him. He gripped onto the doorframe, afraid he might fall if he didn’t. A million things to say flitted through his mind, but what came out of his mouth was, ‘You left.’

It sounded stupid. Infantile, and a little accusatory. Dean looked at the floor. ‘I was … overwhelmed.’

Cas nodded. His mouth felt full of cotton. ‘And now?’ he asked softly. ‘Are you still overwhelmed?’

Five years. Five years of love, loss, longing, on Dean Winchester’s face. ‘Yes.’

For the first time, it really hit home that Dean was older now. He was broader about the shoulders, more angular in the face. He looked more grounded yet simultaneously untethered, as if floating free through space while he clawed at nothingness with grasping hands. He was thinner, more drawn. But he was still beautiful. Perhaps even more so, if such a thing were possible.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ Cas asked.

Dean considered him for a moment, teeth clenched, his jaw working. Then, he stood aside to let him in.

Cas entered and came to a stop in the middle of the seafoam carpet, his fists clenched by his sides, looking around the room as if in admiration, so he wouldn’t have to look at Dean. He felt very small in this expansive room; very small under shadows of the heights from which he’d fallen. From grace, from love. From everything. He’d once had two lives within his grasp, but somehow both had slipped through his fingers. How did he get here?

He turned to Dean.

‘You’re right. This place is very … ooh la la.’

Dean smiled, then dipped his head and looked like he hated himself for smiling. ‘It’s a gilded cage,’ he said.

‘I can’t say the same for my cage,’ he replied. ‘It’s somewhat lacking in the aesthetics department.’

Dean’s gaze flicked up to Cas’ face. ‘Is that how you feel? The church is your cage?’

Cas considered this carefully before answering. He owed Dean that much. ‘I think I’m the cage,’ he said. ‘I’m my own jailer. I just … I didn’t want to be yours.’

Dean smiled grimly. ‘How do you reckon that’s working out for me? Freedom.’

‘Do you feel free?’ Cas asked, and Dean huffed a bitter laugh.

‘None of us are free,’ he said. ‘Not people like you and me.’

Cas walked alongside the walnut dining table, so big for one man, feeling its polished smoothness between two fingers. ‘God says we all have free will. But he also says that every moment of our lives is planned from the start. “And in Your book were written, all the days that were ordained for me”.’ Cas smiled, mirthless. ‘I always found it difficult to reconcile those two things.’

‘You always found it difficult to reconcile a lot of things.’

Dean’s jaw was clenched, his eyes on fire. Was this moment pre-written, pre-ordained? If so, what was to happen next? Cas wished he could crack open God’s book, just for a moment, and find out.

Something cracked in him then. Something deep inside, some cold resolve. How he’d clung to that resolve. He felt his grip loosen now, because here they were again, at the mercy of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. That’s what Father Marv had said, and it’d stuck in Cas’ mind.

Here Dean was, divinely led, back into his path. How many moments, across how many millennia, conspired to make this moment happen?

And who was Cas to deny them?

He crumpled in on himself like an old tin can, and tears stung his eyes as he said, ‘It’s really good to see you again, Dean.’

Dean regarded him from beneath furrowed brows. He eyes somehow looked darker than they once were, devoid of light. ‘Is it?’ he muttered, lips barely moving.

On trembling legs, Cas approached. The closer he drew, the stiller Dean got; his expression unmoving, frozen in a look of heartbroken disapproval, but something in his eyes softened.

And Cas could smell him; different aftershave, but the same undercurrent of cedarwood and sun-dried hay, and some other unidentifiable scent that Cas always simply labelled Dean. The smell of Dean, intoxicating, and he remembered so clearly the feel of his skin beneath his hands. Cas blinked and the tears fell, a ragged emptiness inside him he couldn’t even begin to imagine filling, ever again.

He pressed his lips together as a low moan of grief rose and died inside his throat. Still as if propelled by something outside himself, and threw his arms around Dean’s shoulders, holding him tight.

‘Dean’ he said, voice cracking, ‘how I missed you. How my heart bled.’

Dean remained still and unyielding, his arms remaining by his side. But Cas melted into him anyway, like sap upon hardwood. He didn’t let go. A low sorrowful groan grew louder and louder, permeating the room, and for a moment Cas thought the sound was coming from himself. But it wasn’t. It was coming from Dean. And it kept on coming as he finally wrapped his arms around Cas, pressed his face into his neck, so his sobs hummed against his skin.

‘Don’t,’ Dean groaned.

Cas’ chest was heaving. ‘Don’t what?’

He pulled back, put his hands on Cas’ cheeks. ‘Just don’t.’

And Dean kissed him, gentle, soft; five years in this kiss, five years of separation, of love, of wanting. A sweet pain radiated through Cas’ chest, like a knot in muscle being massaged out by firm hands. He surrendered and tangled his fingers in Dean’s hair, which was longer than he’d ever seen it, and swept to the side. He opened his mouth, and Dean slipped his tongue inside. Tenderness transformed into urgency, desire.

Cas walked forward, pushing Dean until his lower back hit the dining table; the low moan he made came from deep in his chest, and it was Holy. Cas gripped the front of his shirt, a thumb working over the top button.

‘Do you want—?’

‘Yes,’ Dean whispered, before he could finish, ‘yes, yes …’

Cas kept kissing him as he unbuttoned his shirt, slipped it from his shoulders, tossed it unceremoniously to the floor.  He kissed him as he undid his belt buckle, pulling it free like a ripcord. He kissed him as he unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped the fly. Kept kissing him as Dean stepped out of his jeans and kicked them away.

Now just in his underwear, Dean began undressing Cas, his hands trembling unceasingly as he worked. It was a relief on two levels as he slipped the itching jeans down to his ankles, and Cas could kick them away.

Dean kissed him deeply, tongue licking the roof of his mouth, their bare chests flush and God, Dean was warm. The hard outline of their cocks pressed together, and one thrust from Dean drew a moan from Cas’ lips.

Dean stopped kissing. He pushed him away. Cas felt cold – was this over? Was Dean coming to his senses? But Dean sat on the dining table, pulled Cas in, wrapping his legs around him and squeezing him with his thighs. Cas’ hands slid up his back and to his shoulders, kissing and nibbling at his ear until they were both writhing. Dean’s cock strained against his underwear, hard against Cas’ stomach.

‘Fuck me, Cas,’ Dean murmured, rolling his hips, ‘please, I missed it so much.’

Cas breathed a shaky sigh, his hips bucking involuntarily, desire coiling in his chest. He felt wild, out of control, as his cock rutted against Dean’s stomach. When he spoke, his voice was ragged. ‘I missed it, too. So much.’

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Dean’s underwear, pulling them down until they were on the floor. Dean’s cock was rock hard, slick with precum, flushed at the head and twitching under the weight of Cas’ gaze.

Cas wanted to take it into his mouth. He wanted to lick and suck until Dean was an incoherent mess, begging for it, until he shot his load into the back of Cas’ throat.

Dean had other plans.

He slipped off the table, lowering himself onto his knees and tugging down Cas’ underwear so his cock was shelved above the waistband. He didn’t even touch it with his hands before he took it into his mouth.

‘Ah,’ Cas cried, throwing his head back so violently that he felt a twinge in his neck. He knotted his fingers in Dean’s hair as he sucked him once, slowly, releasing him with a dull pop. He licked along his shaft with his perfect tongue, swirling it around the head. Cas felt as if he were on fire.

‘You taste so good,’ Dean murmured.

Cas looked at him then, really looked at him. On the ground, his knees spread, his chest broad and smooth. His perfect face, the slope of his brow, those long lashes. Cas untangled his fingers from his hair.

‘Dean,’ he said.

Dean’s tongue disappeared behind his lips, and he looked up at Cas through his lashes, his eyes hooded.

‘Come here,’ Cas said, opening his arms.

Dean stood. Suddenly he was trembling – but Cas was too. He stepped into Cas’ arms and he wrapped him up, just feeling the warmth of him. Breathed him in. Realised that he was here, they were here, together.

Cas was suddenly overcome with the urge to lift Dean, carry him to the bed like a proper husband. But he worried he’d struggle, ruin the moment, after so many sedentary years as a priest. Only a priest, never a man, or never so much a man as he was right now.

He led Dean to the bed, instead. He guided him gently onto his back, lay down on his side next to him and trailed gentle kisses along his neck.

Dean exhaled, tilting his head to give better access. Cas slid his hand up his chest, his throat, his chin, and nudged at his bottom lip with two fingers.

Dean opened his mouth and let him in. He sucked them, ran his tongue between them, as Cas grazed his lips along his neck. A low moan of pleasure built in Dean’s throat as Cas added a third finger into his mouth, a fourth. He hooked them into Dean’s cheek, gently making him look at him.

He looked into Dean’s eyes, as he removed his fingers, rubbed the slickness between them, then gripped onto his cock. Dean gasped at the contact, and as Cas began pumping, he began to whimper.

‘Is this okay?’ Cas asked, slowing.

‘Yes,’ Dean said, putting a hand over Cas’ to stop him from letting go. ‘Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.’

Cas stroked his cock with one hand and used the other to cradle his face, peppering kisses along Dean’s damp face he writhed under the contact. Dean put a hand against Cas’ cheek; it covered his ear too, and Cas could hear an ocean crashing as if his palm were a seashell.

‘It doesn’t – feel – like this,’ Dean said, through laborious breaths, ‘with a-anyone else.’

Cas’ breath caught in his throat, love and grief filling him in equal measure. There’d not only been Lisa, but others. Cas had no right to be jealous, but he was, and he had no right to regret letting it happen, but he did. Nostalgia in the saddest sense of the word drizzled over him like warm honey; he wanted to turn back time, to never have left.

Because now he was looking into Dean’s eyes, bursting with a love he’d never even come close to feeling for God. He was touching his face, his chest, he was stroking his cock – so what were the last five years for?

Nothing.

Dean began to shudder, and Cas ran his fingers along his face, through his hair. He pressed his forehead against his as he stroked him, still slow, but firmer. He kissed his nose.

‘I’ve got you, Dean,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve got you.’

‘I’m gonna come,’ Dean murmured, his eyes fluttering shut.

‘Come for me. I want you to come for me.’

Dean did come for him, turning his head and pressing it hard into the pillow, his lips parted. Cas pressed a kiss to his cheek as his spilled cum over his hand.

He kept stroking, Dean trembling with every movement, until he was pushed away. They stayed still and silent for a while, foreheads touching, until Cas pulled back and saw a tear streaking down Dean’s nose.

‘Do you love me, Cas?’ he asked, softly.

Cas kissed the bridge of his nose, tasted the salt of his tears there. ‘Of course I love you, Dean,’ he replied. ‘I never stopped.’

Chapter Text

‘Dean. Dean?’

Dean’s gaze snapped up from his hands. Lisa was watching him from across the breakfast table, her eyebrows knitted together in worry. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Yeah?’

‘I know you say you’re all right,’ she said, slowly. ‘I don’t want to keep harping on about it. But – are you sure?’

‘I’m sure,’ he said, taking a bite of his toast. It was cold; it tasted like cardboard. ‘Just a bit tired. Didn’t sleep too good.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Was your bed uncomfortable?’

His bed was very comfortable. He’d stayed in it for hours, wrapped up in Cas’ arms, drifting in and out of sleep. Every so often, Cas would press a kiss to his chest. But he had to be back in the rectory by morning, before Father Zachariah noticed he was gone. When he left, it felt to Dean like a bereavement.

‘The bed was nice,’ he said. ‘Can’t be too uncomfortable on satin sheets, right?’

Lisa smiled, looking relieved. ‘Right.’

Guilt was lodged in Dean’s heart like a bullet. He took another bite of his toast just for something to do. He had two options. He could talk to Lisa about it now, or he could talk to her about it when they got home.

But really, he had only one option; he had to call off the engagement. There was no other way.

He’d told himself he could be content with going through with the wedding, that he could live the apple-pie life, be like everybody else. Settle down with a wife and a kid, maybe bring another kid or two into the equation. It was something Sam had always wanted, and for a long time, Dean assumed it was something he’d wanted too. But now, looking back, he knew it’d never been so much wanting as it was expecting. He’d expected that his life would go that way, because that was the way lives were meant to go.

He'd seen another way now. He’d tasted it. He couldn’t go back.

He could tell Lisa now. Awkward trip home. Or he could tell Lisa later. Get her hopes up for longer. He wasn’t sure what the right thing was. He supposed the right thing would have been never proposing at all.

He thought of John at home, and what would happen when he told him he and Lisa were over. His chest suddenly felt tight. Clearing his throat and rubbing at his sternum, he took a sip of coffee and decided that he’d tell Lisa later.

He checked his watch. He had to leave soon; Cas was waiting.

‘I’m gonna head out,’ he said, tapping the table, ‘I have a couple of errands.’

Lisa blinked. ‘Errands? Here?’

‘Yeah, just a few things I need to do,’ he said, avoiding her eye as he pocketed his wallet.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she said, rising. ‘It’s a nice day.’

‘Uh – maybe later?’ he said, forcing himself to meet her eye. ‘It’s … a surprise.’

He made himself grin, and Lisa’s eyes lit up. ‘Ooh, a surprise,’ she said, settling back into her chair. ‘Okay.’

Dean nodded, his smile strained. He’d get her flowers on the way back, maybe a box of chocolates. Diamonds. Whatever he could to make it even slightly better.

But who was he kidding? All the diamonds in the world couldn’t make this better.

‘I won’t be long.’

He left the hotel. If his relationship with Cas didn’t endanger his soul, he thought this might. The lying, the infidelity. The shame was like a blade.

He caught the number 8 bus, settling into the vinyl seat and trying not to think about what he’d just left behind, nor of what he was heading towards. He took his wallet from his pocket, opened it, and pulled out the small, worn square of folded paper that had been nestled inside for the last five years. He opened it carefully, as it was beginning to split along its creases.

Dearest Dean,

Five years ago when I first stepped onto Campbell Ranch, I’d been banished from my old parish. My dreams of rising in the Church had been dashed. I hated myself for my pride, for my rebellious nature. And I thought my life was over.

But then I met you …

He read it twice, the letter that Cas had left him in the Angler’s Rest. He’d torn it in half, so it ended with, “Loving you is the most honest thing I have ever done”. He’d thrown away the rest, thrown away Cas’ excuses, his explanations for leaving, as if doing so could rewrite everything, make it so it had never happened at all.

What if they’d made it to Prince Edward Island in 1954? Would they have lived in peace, in love, amongst the flowers and the bees, the water lapping gently at the shore just beyond their front door? Would they still be there now?

He supposed it didn’t matter now. There was no way of knowing. That path, the path he could have walked hand-in-hand with Cas, was a path untaken.

He got off the bus outside Our Lady of Providence Catholic Church. Ramshackle and Holy, it seemed to leer at him.

He entered the empty church and headed right for the confessional booth, closing himself inside. He looked at the kneeler and shook his head, opting instead to perch himself on the wooden armrest.

The little door covering the lattice window slid open from the other side.

‘Forgive me father, for I have sinned?’ Dean said, tentatively.

‘Hello, Dean,’ came Cas’ voice.

Dean’s shoulders slumped, only now realising that he’d been worried that Cas wouldn’t show.

‘Do we really have to meet in here?’ he asked, his eyes roving around the confessional. It felt like a coffin. ‘It’s creepy.’

‘I can’t leave the church today,’ he replied. ‘This is the only place we’ll have true privacy.’

‘Lots of rules around here.’

‘Yes, that’s somewhat the point.’

‘I thought the point was serving and loving God.’

A silence. Then, ‘How was your morning?’

‘You mean, did I talk to Lisa?’ he asked. ‘No. Not yet.’

Dean had made him a promise the night before: that he would leave Lisa. He said he would leave her no matter what the future held for he and Cas, because it was the right thing to do. Cas had only squeezed him tighter, making no reply.

‘I’ll tell her when we’re back in Kansas,’ he said. ‘She should be at home when she gets the news.’

‘Whatever you think is best,’ Cas said.

The lattice screen between them obscured Cas’ face completely. Dean longed to see his expression, to try and decipher what he thought about all this. ‘You think I should tell her now?’

‘You should do whatever you think is best,’ he repeated.

‘But what do you think?’

‘It’s not my call to make.’

Dean huffed, running a hand through his hair as irritation stirred in his belly. ‘It’s like you don’t even care.’

‘Of course I care.’

Dean looked toward him, and of course, saw only the lattice window. ‘Fuck’s sake, I can’t do this,’ he said … He’d just sworn in church. He paused for half a second, but the ground didn’t open up and swallow him into the pits of hell. He threw open the confessional door. ‘I’m coming in.’

‘Dean, you can’t—’

He opened the door of Cas’ side of the confessional, where he was dressed in all his priestly glory, sitting on the low bench. Dean squeezed in with him and closed the door behind him.

It was a tight squeeze; there was nowhere for him to sit. In his fervour and frustration, it wasn’t until he was settled on his knees directly in front of Cas that Dean realised how sexually charged this choice might seem.

He straightened his spine and tried to look matter-of-fact, though there was a stir in his groin as Cas knees nudged his hips. If he moved any closer, he’d be between Cas’ legs, his stomach pressed into his …

Enough of that.

Cas looked into his eyes. Licked his lips. ‘This is highly unorthodox.’

Dean broke into a smile, felt some of the tension leave his body. ‘But that’s us, huh?’

‘I do care about your plight with Lisa,’ Cas said, softly. ‘But I am too biased to guide you on the matter.’

‘I don’t need you to guide me on the matter,’ Dean said. ‘I’m not asking you for your priestly opinion. I’m asking Cas’ opinion.’

‘I think my priestly opinion is the only thing I can offer in the confessional.’

‘Okay,’ Dean said, his lips tightening, ‘what’s Father Castiel’s opinion, then?’

He seemed to consider this. ‘Father Castiel would say … that you made a promise to Miss Braeden to enter with her into the sacrament of marriage. And you should see it through.’

‘And … if Cas were here,’ he said, his heart stuttering, ‘what do you think he’d say? In your priestly opinion.’

Cas chewed his lip, a dispassionate look on his face. ‘Cas would say he wants you to leave her,’ he said, his lips slack, ‘because he wants you for himself. He’s a scoundrel, that Cas.’

‘A bad boy.’

Cas chuckled. He wore the grin that Dean rarely saw; the beautiful, wide one that exposed his gums and crinkled his nose. But as quickly as it came, it faded, and Cas looked down at his hands clasped in his lap.

‘It all feels so impossible,’ he muttered. ‘I mean, look where we are.’

Dean glanced around the confessional, then back at Cas. ‘Together,’ he said, firmly. ‘That’s where we are.’

Cas looked up at him through his lashes, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. Dean reached out (he didn’t have to reach far) and smoothed his thumb along one of them.

‘I do love Lisa,’ he said, ‘but I still have to leave her, because something much stronger than that is calling. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about her, or that she’s done anything wrong. It doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her, or that she’s not good enough. I understand all that now. You get me?’

Cas’ lips parted, hope dawning on his face. Dean took his hand.

‘I’m trying to forgive you, Cas,’ he said.

Cas visibly swallowed, his eyes narrowing. ‘After what I did, and … how I did it. Why would you forgive me?’

‘Well, for one, I feel like I kinda have to in here,’ he said conversationally, nodding his head toward the confessional wall. Cas smiled sadly. Dean sighed. ‘I don’t know. So much time has passed and I’m older now. I’m trying to understand it. Understand you.’

‘I’m older too,’ Cas said, pensively. ‘And very … very tired. The man who left you in that hotel room in Maine barely feels like me at all.’

Some irritability sparked in Dean’s chest at that. He shook his head. ‘It was you. And you stayed away.’

‘Yes,’ Cas said, his face crumpling with shame.

Dean dared to take his hand, turning it over to glide his fingers across Cas’ palm. His hands were rough and calloused against the smoothness of Cas’ skin. They led such different lives, yet their paths kept converging, again and again. And here Cas was, in the low light, looking at him with so much love and regret in his blue eyes that it floored him.

When Cas spoke, his voice was wavering, thick with grief: ‘I’m so sorry, Dean—'

Dean silenced him with a kiss. Finally moving in between Cas’ legs, his heart lurched as he rested his hands gently on his face. Dean pressed up hard against him, tangling one hand in the back of his hair, and ran his tongue over his lip. Cas was trembling, his face hot under Dean’s palm, as he opened his mouth to let him in. They were in the church. They were in the confessional booth. This was wrong, it was so wrong.

Suddenly, Dean was as hard has a rock.

Dean’s lips stilled, still hovering close to Cas’ as he whispered, ‘I reckon I’ll have to say a lot of Hail Marys after this.’

A low moan sounded from Cas’ throat, his eyes still closed; Dean kissed him again, more urgently now, and he felt Cas’ hardness through his pants. Before he could think better of it, he reached down and undid the buckle of the belt, pulling it loose, unzipping the fly. He took Cas’ hard cock into his hand and pumped it once.

Cas head whipped back so fast that it bumped into the wall behind him. ‘Oh, fu—’

Dean slapped a hand over his mouth. ‘Shh.’

Cas nodded. He covered Dean’s stroking hand with his own, guiding it up and down, his face growing more and more flushed with every movement. Dean looked into his eyes as he pumped, his hand still over his mouth. Cas’ lips were moist against his palm, his breath warm.

He once again remembered where they were, and the mere thought of it made his cock ache. Why was it such a turn on? Fuck. He was going to hell.

But it felt worth it as Cas gripped him by the shoulders and rested his forehead hard against his, so Dean’s hand fell away from his face. Cas closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together as his whole body trembled. His jaw clenched with the effort of staying silent as he came, his eyes rolling back in his head as his cum spilled over Dean’s hand. He was so gorgeous when he unravelled like this, beautiful beyond measure. ‘Fuck,’ Dean whispered, reverently.

Cas tucked himself back into his pants and placed his hands on Dean’s waist, guiding him to his feet. He unzipped Dean’s jeans and took his throbbing cock into his hand, stroking it once, twice, before taking it into his mouth.

It was Dean’s turn to clamp his jaw down against his moans, leaning hard against the back of the confessional booth as Cas took him deeper into his mouth, his throat, until the entire length was encased in slick warmth. He pulled back slow, licking around the head of his cock, before taking it in deeply again.

More than anything, Dean wanted to thrust into his mouth, but he was afraid he’d lose control if he did, that he’d relentlessly fuck Cas’ face until the whole booth rocked. He stayed very still with his hands braced against the wall, his every muscle coiled tight as Cas sucked him long and deep. It wasn’t long before he started to unravel.

As the pleasure mounted, he couldn’t resist; he started thrusting into Cas’ mouth. Cas held tight onto his hips, but he didn’t deter him, didn’t admonish him to be still. A low groan rumbled in Dean’s throat as he came, the pleasure crashing through him like waves against the rocks.

He lowered jerkily to his knees, his whole body trembling. Cas took him into his arms, pulling him close so his head rested against his chest. They stayed like this, panting, as they came down from the heights of pleasure they’d just reached.

Cas snuck out of the confessional first, murmuring, ‘Meet me out back in the garden,’ as he went. Dean slumped onto the bench, catching his breath and tucking himself back into his jeans, and counted to a hundred before following.

The garden was ensconced in a small courtyard and coated thickly in snow. Cas was sitting on a concrete bench under the eaves of the rectory. Dean wordlessly sat down beside him; elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. Cas, seemingly unconsciously, leaned forward and mirrored his posture.

Dean dared to glance at Cas’ face. He looked troubled.

‘You all right?’ Dean asked, knocking his knee against his.

Cas grimaced. ‘That was sinful.’

‘Everything we do together is sinful, Cas.’

‘Well, that was extra sinful,’ he said, rubbing a weary hand over his face. ‘I just – I lose control when you’re around me.’

Dean regarded him. Cas and his tense shoulders, his suddenly closed-off expression. Anger stirred in his belly. ‘Don’t punish me for it,’ he said, his voice low. ‘You did it, too. It wasn’t just me.’

‘I know that.’

‘Then why are you acting so God-damn cold?’ Dean demanded, and Cas winced.

‘I’m not trying to be cold. I’m simply … shaken.’

Panic gripped Dean tight. He tried to remain calm, remind himself that just because Cas left him before, didn’t mean he’d do it again. But he recognised that blank look on Cas face. He’d seen it before. Cas was retreating from him, and whenever this look appeared on his face, it always ended the same.

‘I thought we were past this.’

Cas looked at him sharply. ‘Did you? Just like that? This is my life we’re talking about here, Dean. Throwing my whole life away. Everything that I am.’

‘Cas, this isn’t who you are,’ he said. ‘This is where you hide.’

Hurt flashed across Cas’ expression.

Dean had hit a nerve, then. Good.

‘Dean, we just fucked in the confessional. In my church. While I was wearing the cloth! You can never give me a moment to adjust, to feel afraid, without flying off the handle! Can’t you just give me one damn minute?’

Dean shot to his feet, turning on him. ‘Ten years,’ he said. ‘I have given you ten fucking years, Castiel. I know you want me. I know you love me. And you’ve given us up, time and time again, for a damn fairytale!’

Cas’ jaw dropped. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘You think you’re the only one sacrificing? Hm? You think you’d be the only one giving everything up for you and me? I have Lisa. I care about her. And she’s a real person, Cas. I’d be giving up a real person, while you’d be giving up a dilapidated building, giving up a life of denying yourself every pleasure that a man is made to enjoy!’

‘We’re not made to enjoy this,’ he said, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the wind.

Dean took a full step back, hurt cracking across him like a whip. ‘I tell you what I think,’ he growled. ‘I think men join the priesthood ’cause they’re running from something. Hiding from something. And sure, there’d be the odd guy who joins because he loves God, wants to serve Him, but you, Father Castiel,’ His voice when saying the name dripped with contempt, as he jabbed a finger in Cas’ direction, ‘are not one of them.’

A pause. Cas’ jaw clenched. ‘I’m not hiding from anything.’

Dean exhaled a soft laugh through his nose, looked Cas up and down.

‘It’s a sin to lie.’

Dean was tired. Bone tired. He felt like he’d been working all day under the hot sun. But he hadn’t been; he was here with Cas, in this snow covered courtyard, waiting to have his heart broken all over again.

‘Come with me,’ he said.

Cas frowned deeply as he looked up at him. ‘What?’

‘Come with me. Now.’

‘Now?’ Cas repeated, incredulously. ‘But I—’

‘It’s now or never,’ Dean interrupted. His heart was heavy. He thought it might have been turning into stone. ‘Because I can’t do this anymore.’

Cas didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just looked up, in horror, at Dean and his ultimatum.

Dean swallowed. ‘You’re doing this to me again,’ he said, his voice dead. But then the fire ignited. ‘Again?’

‘Dean, please,’ Cas said, a panicked edge to his voice. ‘I can’t come today, but give me time—’

‘Your time is up,’ Dean said. He didn’t realise he was crying until a single tear streaked down his face. ‘I can’t do it anymore.’

‘You said you forgive me,’ Cas said, his voice cracking. ‘You said you’d try to understand!’

‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘We both say all kinds of things we don’t mean, don’t we?’

Dean reached into his back jeans pocket and Cas watched with a furrowed brow as he retrieved his wallet. He opened it and pulled out the small square of folded paper he kept there. He threw it down at Cas’ feet. Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

He was halfway out of the courtyard, passing by the outside windows of the rectory, when he jolted to a stop.

On the other side of the glass was a man, ensconced in shadow.

Father Zachariah.

Dean’s heart dropped, but then as suddenly as it had come, his panic lost its edge. Dulled into something fuzzy, vague, far away. The feeling reminded him of a night years ago, in a bar bathroom on his way back to Kansas from Maine, when a young man with smooth skin and doe eyes had kissed a pill into his mouth.

‘It’ll make you feel good,’ the man had murmured. ‘It’s called a Blue Heaven.’

It didn’t taste like Heaven – it was bitter – but it surely felt that way. He floated on a cloud all night, and he thought of Cas with no pain.

Dean turned his back on Father Zachariah and walked away, his feet crunching in the snow, knowing that bitterness and painlessness went hand-in-hand.

*

Cas felt sick to his stomach all through his duties that night. It wasn’t only because of Dean. Father Zachariah kept shooting him heavy looks, and he was frightened that he’d overheard them in the confessional booth, or perhaps their conversation in the courtyard. But surely not. He would have said something by now.

When it came time to retire to the rectory, he quickly changed his clothes and snuck out to catch a cab.

He couldn’t leave it like this. Dean just needed to understand. They’d made love in the church, and Cas was terrified for their mortal souls, and he’d just needed a minute. He knew Dean. He didn’t mean it. He’d only panicked, overreacted in the heat of the moment. Though he supposed he couldn’t blame him. Not after everything Cas had done. Not after leaving him the way he had in the Angler’s Rest.

He’d make it right. He had to.

He still had the paper Dean had thrown at his feet, folded up in his pants pocket. It was old and flimsy, stained yellow in the corner; it looked like Dean had carried it around for quite a while. He hadn’t read it. He was too afraid of what it might say.

The cab driver dropped him off outside Dean’s hotel. He went inside and rang the bell at the clerk’s desk, his heart in his throat.

‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘I’m here to see Mr. Dean Winchester.’

The clerk popped his lips as he consulted the guest book. ‘He checked out.’

Cas took a full, physical step back. ‘Pardon?’

‘He checked out this afternoon,’ the clerk said. His face was blank; he had no idea the gravity of what he was saying. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Are – are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he said, with an edge of impatience now. ‘It’s my job.’

‘Oh … well …’ He wanted the clerk to help him further. But what could he do? ‘Thank you.’

‘Good night, sir,’ he replied, and he disappeared into the back room.

Cas slept restlessly that night. He woke often, expecting to find Dean near, and reached out to hold him but touched nothing but air. When he woke the next morning, he went directly to Father Zachariah in his office.

‘Father, I’m afraid I need to take leave.’

Father Zachariah smiled mirthlessly from behind his desk. ‘Leave?’

‘Yes. I have a personal matter to attend to back in Illinois.’

‘Illinois,’ he repeated, deadpan.

‘Where I’m from,’ Cas reminded him. ‘It’s a family matter.’

Father Zachariah picked up a snow globe from his desk and shook it as he reclined in his chair. He watched in silence until all the snow fell. ‘You know it’s almost Christmas. Don’t you, Father Castiel?’

‘I know it’s a busy time,’ he said, quickly, ‘but I assure you I will be back in time for—’

‘Advent Masses begin in four days.’

‘I know, Father, but I will take care of Christmas Mass. Day, Dawn, and Midnight Mass, I’ll take care of all of it by myself. I’ll make it up to you. I just really need to be in Illinois, at least for a few days.’

Father Zachariah shook the snow globe again. ‘Illinois,’ he said, heavily enunciating each syllable. ‘Not Kansas?’

Cas squinted at him, a sudden dread hot in his belly. ‘No. I’m from Illinois.’

‘But is that where you’re going?’ Father Zachriah asked, leaning forward with a horrible, astute glint in his eye.

‘Father?’ Cas said, helplessly.

Father Zachariah replaced the snow globe on the desk, a loud thunk echoing throughout the room. ‘I saw you with Mr. Winchester.’

Cas heart dropped into his stomach, the floor suddenly like a wheeling ship deck beneath his feet. He thought of Rebel Rose. He opened his mouth and only a choked noise came out.

‘In the courtyard,’ Father Zachariah went on, and a tiny bit of weight lifted from Cas’ shoulders. ‘He looked very upset with you. Why?’

Cas thought fast. ‘He was unhappy with the wedding service as it was described to him.’

 ‘He went to you and not me?’ Father Zachariah asked, casually. ‘And you didn’t mention it to me at all?’

‘I smoothed things over with him,’ he said, ignoring the first question. ‘I didn’t think it was worth burdening you with.

Cas was visibly trembling. He couldn’t help it. He felt like his life was crashing down around his ears, like his sins had finally caught up with him. Father Zachariah looked him up and down. He looked amused. He was enjoying this.

‘Your leave is denied,’ he said, leaning back in his chair. ‘We are far too busy to let you go.’

Cas took a sharp intake of breath. He stayed where he was, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Father Zachariah pulled his notepad toward him, picking up his fountain pen.

‘That’s all,’ he said. And Cas was dismissed.

*

Cas had spent a total of ten hours with Dean. It had felt like years; it felt like he’d never been here at all. He went about his duties in a daze. Father Zachariah still saddled him with all the planning for Christmas Mass, and now Cas felt as though he was making up for leave that he wasn’t granted.

Christmas Mass came and went. Cas delivered each service – morning, afternoon, midnight – with bleary eyes and numb lips. Sister Hannah observed him, during Mass and outside of it, with a pained expression. But she said nothing.

Cas was unravelling. It was clear.

The new year came. 1960, a new decade; one that promised to be better than the one that had just died. He wondered how Dean was, how he was celebrating. He wondered what he’d do with this new, brighter decade.

The weather warmed. Cas sat in the courtyard whenever he could, watched the snow melt in real time. It was the last place he’d seen Dean. The ghost of their argument raged on here, forever.

Then came late February.

He was in the courtyard. He thought of Orpheus. Eurydice, his wife, his great love; he tried to save her from the underworld. But he looked back. Cas had looked back, that day with Dean in the courtyard. That’s where he had gone wrong. And now Dean had slipped from his grasp.

He opened his Bible. It wasn’t the Word of God he sought, but the small square of folded paper wedged in its pages. It marked the passage of Song of Solomon he had once highlighted all those years ago. Gathering all his courage, he unfolded it with shaking fingers.

He was too rough. He swore under his breath as the paper split down the middle. He placed the pieces together, and gasped when he recognised his own handwriting. “Dearest Dean …”

It was the letter. The letter he’d left behind in the Angler’s Rest, the one he had to rewrite because his tears had stained the original page. The bottom half was missing. Dean had torn it away, so only the loving words remained.

Cas didn’t read another word. He couldn’t. As he clutched the old letter to his chest, a piece of it broke away and fluttered to the ground. He picked it up.

Loving you is the most honest thing I have ever done.

‘Cas?’

Cas gasped, turning quickly to find Sister Hannah staring down at him with a curious expression on her face.

‘Sister,’ he said, shoving the letter deep into his pocket. ‘Good afternoon.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘No, it’s quite all right,’ he said, turning for a moment to dry his eyes on his handkerchief. He picked up his Bible, put it in his lap, like that was fooling anybody. ‘Why don’t you sit?’

Sister Hannah smiled grimly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have time. Father Zachariah has me run off my feet. I hope very much that he’s promoted to bishop soon. For his own good, and for the good of the church, of course.’

Cas grinned in spite of himself. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘I just have a letter for you,’ she said. Cas now noticed the envelope in her hand. She pressed it into his. ‘And now I’m off to scrub the baptismal bath.’

‘I’ll come help you shortly,’ Cas said. He needed to get out of this courtyard, out of his own head. ‘I’ll go change my clothes .’

She thanked him and left. He got up and headed back to the rectory, glancing down at the envelope as he went.

He stopped walking.

It was postmarked from Kansas.

Fervour burning through his veins, he flipped it over, expecting to see the beautiful words Dean Winchester on the return address. But that’s not what it said. He frowned.

Return: Mr. Samuel Winchester.

‘Oh, no,’ he murmured, tearing the envelope open. His heart was beating so fast he feared it might give out, as a misty blur veiled his vision. Sam never wrote to him. ‘Dean,’ he muttered, like evoking his name might bring him back from whatever terrible fate that might have befallen him. He read.

February 18, 1960

Dear Father Castiel,

Happy belated New Year. What a surprise it was to hear that Dean ran into you in Indiana. God works in mysterious ways, right? I’m very glad to hear that you’re continuing to do the Lord’s work, and I’m sure you’re doing it well.

I wish I were writing to you under happier circumstances. I don’t want to worry you, but I’m at a loss for what to do, and I’m thinking maybe you can help.

Dean isn’t well. He isn’t physically sick. I think it’s a “sickness of the soul”, as they say. He is drinking a lot, barely eating, getting into fights with our father. I know why it is. His fiancée, Lisa Braeden, broke off their engagement right before Christmas. He hasn’t been the same since. He spends all day in bed, all night drinking. He isn’t working, or seeing friends, or cracking wise. He isn’t himself at all.

I think seeing you might help him.

I think so because you two were such close friends back in the day. My other reason may sound strange (and I know Dean would kill me for telling you this), but here goes. Sometimes I hear him saying your name in his sleep. I think this means that he knows, deep down, that he needs God’s guidance, but he only trusts you to bring it to him.

I would be extremely grateful if you could come and stay for a few weeks. Or even a few days, if that’s all the time you have. I will of course pay for your travel and all your expenses while you are here. You can stay here on the ranch in my home, or you can stay with Dean in his home if both of you are agreeable.

I hope this isn’t too impertinent to ask of you, Father. I don’t want to put you out. But I am very worried about my brother, and I would do anything to help him. I have a feeling you would too.

Yours Sincerely,

Sam Winchester.

Cas lowered the letter, his hands shaking, a heavy cloak of shame draping itself over his shoulders. He’d left Dean alone, and for what? For Father Zachariah? For Christmas Mass? Dean had never known how to sit with his grief, only how to drown it, and now he’d slipped under the surface along with it. Who knew if he would come back up?

Lisa had left Dean, not the other way around. What happened there? It occurred to Cas that Dean might not want to see him. He might only be pining over Lisa. He might kick him out, tell him to never come back – and he’d be well within his rights to do so.

But they’d saved each other from drowning once before, on Rebel Rose. Dean needed him. It was time for Cas to redeem himself, once and for all, one way or another. He wouldn’t fail this time. No matter the cost.