Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester hated hospitals.

The smell of antiseptic barely masking the scent of death. The bright flickering lights overhead. The clocks that never worked. Everything designed to put the occupants in a perpetual state of miserable timelessness.

Wedged in a stiff armed chair, Dean’s foot tapped nervously on the linoleum floor. An hour he’d been here, if the slow ticking clock was to be believed. An hour he’d been waiting and staring at the neglected snake plant in the corner while people rushed past him. Some laughed, some cried, some swore, but all of it was muffled. None of them were his problem. His problem was personal, anxiety compounded by the heavy feeling in his stomach that something just wasn’t right.

“Dean Winchester?”

Dean’s head snapped up, eyes torn from the ring he fiddled with on his finger. “That’s me.” He said as he stood up, eyes landing on the doctor in front of him. Dr. Tessa Hopewell her nametag said. She was young for a doctor, dark hair and darker eyes. In another life Dean would’ve flirted with her but not tonight. “What’s happening?”

“Your father was admitted showing signs of severe alcohol poisoning.” She began, fingers gently closing around Dean’s wrist as she led him off to the side. Her touch was gentle, tone gentler, but the cold clinical presence seemed to take her over. “We did all we could for him but it wasn’t enough.”

Tears welled in Dean’s eyes, anxious hands turning into fists as his heart dropped into his stomach. “What the hell does that mean?” He asked, voice tinged with something a little bit frenetic.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your father passed away.”

Dean’s chest tightened under the metric weight of her words, knees weak and threatening to buckle. The overhead light burned fluorescent and buzzed so loud Dean could feel it vibrating in his jaw. A single tear slid down his cheek, cold and unbroken as it fell to the floor. Numb hands, roaring heart, tightening throat, Dean was only vaguely aware of Tessa speaking.

“If you follow me, I’ll show you to the room. You can say your goodbyes and pick up his effects.”

Dean nodded once, curt, and followed wordlessly. The labyrinth of halls, of white walls with dixie cup patterns strewn across them and bulletin boards and more chairs, served to lead Dean further into the belly of the beast. Tessa stopped in front of a closed curtain, quietly offering an empty condolence before she was moving back through the hospital and leaving Dean alone. With a shaky breath, Dean pulled back the curtain.

John lay there, eyes closed and hands folded across his stomach. Hair clung to his pallid forehead in sweaty hanks, his lips blue and his skin grey. Dean had seen bodies before, had seen countless injuries, but this was different. This was his father and the longer he stared, the worse he felt; something cold and empty worming through his chest and into his heart.

“You left me.” Dean whispered, voice catching in his throat as he reached for the bag containing John’s personal effects. He gripped the bag to still his shaking hands, taking one final look at the man he’d been with for the past 26 years. For all of John Winchester’s presence in life, his constant bravado and expectation, he looked nothing more than a man now. A sad, pathetic, dead man.

The cold January air punched a stifled gasp out of Dean as he left the hospital, snow crunching underneath his workboots. Hold it together, he told himself, just until you’re home and then you can feel. Just fifteen minutes and then you can feel. The contents of the bag clinked as Dean walked and Dean felt the weight of it begin to settle over top of him. His car was cold too, the midnight black of the impala nearly impossible to look at it. She was his father’s car before she was his. Everything he had was John’s.

With a shaky exhale Dean leaned against the impala, hand rooting around in his pocket until he pulled out his phone. He didn’t know if the number would work, if the call would even go through, but he had to try. “Please work, please.” Dean whispered, hitting call and bringing the phone up to his ear. Three rings and then-

Hey, you’ve reached Sam’s voicemail! I’m probably super busy with everything so leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you when I can!

“Hey Sam, it’s uh- it’s Dean. It’s um,” Dean paused, breathing out through his nose to stop a sob in its tracks. He sniffled, wiping at his eyes and trying to collect himself before he continued. “Dad’s dead. He um, he died a couple hours ago. I know you don’t care about him but I thought you’d want to know. Sorry to bother you, know law school’s busy. Hope it’s going well. Bye.”

Sliding his phone into his pocket, Dean left the hospital. His head ached, ears ringing and full like he was underwater, and the too loud hum of guitars and drums did little to soothe Dean as he drove. Loud music didn’t make up for the fact that his Dad was dead. That his brother was all the way in California for school. That he was so utterly alone.

Then home appeared, a small house at the end of the street complete with a white picket fence. It was a beautiful fence, a beautiful yard, both lovingly maintained by John. They were the only things he loved, really. Dean stared at them through the impala’s windshield, stared at the front door of the house he’d spent the last four years in with his father. It was home, he supposed as he finally dragged himself out of the impala, but home was only a word. There was a crack in the front door as Dean approached it, lightning strike sharp as if the lock had been forced. Paramedics then, which meant work probably already knew.

“Just go inside, you’re fucking fine and it’s fucking freezing out here.” Dean muttered to himself, hand on the door handle. A heartbeat passed as Dean swallowed down another lump in his throat and then he was crossing the threshold.

The entryway and living room were spick and span, not an item out of place. A stray blanket lay balled up on the arm of the couch courtesy of the movie Dean had watched the previous night and he reached for it, folding it out of habit. The kitchen too was clean, save for the dirty dishes from his breakfast that morning. Had John been awake when Dean had left for work he would’ve crucified him for it but John had been asleep and Dean had let it slide. He’d let a lot slide lately.

Dean passed by his bedroom, door closed like it had been that morning. John would’ve had no reason to be in there. Bathroom was clean too, shaggy bathmat just ever so slightly out of place from where he’d tripped on it getting out of the shower that morning. And there it was, that final door at the end of the hall. Dean eyed it warily, bile rising in his throat. John’s room had been off limits, had always been forbidden, and seeing the door hanging by a thread on the frame was sacrilegious. He could turn and walk away, pretend like everything was fine, but how long would that peace truly last? Taking a deep breath and praying he could handle it, Dean stepped over the threshold.  

The smell of sick hit Dean like a brick wall, scent so thick he could feel it on his tongue. Dean coughed and clapped a hand over his mouth, nearly vomiting himself. It was on the floor, the walls, the bedsheets, sickly shades of green and brown. He spun on his heels, fleeing the room for the safety of the kitchen. The kitchen was clean and it wasn’t John’s space and Dean lurched over to the sink, dry heaving until his head throbbed. Only then did the anguish bubble back up in his chest, Dean forcing it back down with an angry swallow.

Armed with cleaning supplies and the open bottle of whisky in the fridge, he returned to John’s room. He stripped the bed and threw the sheets into the wash, taking several swigs before cleaning the walls. Scrubbing until the paint was nearly flaking, Dean’s hands were raw and aching but he didn’t care. It had to be clean. It just had to be. His knees burned as he scrubbed at the carpet, peeling chunks of dried vomit off like beef jerky strips. For hours he cleaned, refusing to speak and refusing to cry. Only when the room was clean did Dean return, staring at what remained from the safety of the door frame.

“You never were much for decorating.” He mumbled, drinking in the empty walls and empty dressers as he took another swig.

When Dean stepped inside the familiar tight ache bloomed inside his chest. His throat hurt again, his eyes burning and vision blurring with a sudden outpouring of tears. Through the tears his eyes settled on the single photo adorning John’s nightstand. John and Mary, young and in love. That’s all they had ever been in, John had said. Love. The band in Dean’s chest grew taut and then it snapped.

“You fucking bastard!” He swore, sweeping the picture off of the nightstand with blind rage. It fell to the floor, shattering on impact. Dean shattered too, crumpled to the floor like wet cardboard. Bottle next to him and head in his hands, the dam burst. Dean sobbed.

“Is he always going to be that little?” Dean asked, arms wrapped tightly around Mary’s neck as he stared own into the crib below.

In the crib, built so lovingly by his father’s hands, lay his younger brother. Sam had only been there for 6 months but it felt like a lifetime to Dean, a lifetime of having to share attention and toys and he love of his parents. But he didn’t mind, not really. Having Sam meant having a best friend, meant having someone who would always be by his side. Because that’s what brothers were, best friends.

Mary smiled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “No sweetheart, he won’t always be that little. Now come on, let’s get you ready for bed.”

The nightly routine continued as it always did with the brushing of hair and teeth and the pajamas and then Dean was curled up comfortably in his big boy bed. He was still getting used to it but he liked it, liked having his own space with his own blankets and toys. He especially liked it when Mary would lay down with him. That nigh she sat down as Dean lay, her voice soft as she read him a story.

“Remember my sweet boy, there are angels watching over you.” She murmured, setting the book aside before leaning down to kiss Dean’s cheek.

Dean shifted, eyes closed and voice quiet as sleep overtook him. “I love you, Mom.”

It was the middle of the night when Dean woke, eyes blinking in the darkness lit up only by the glow in the dark stars on his ceiling. He was thirsty, his throat parched, and he swung his little legs over the edge of the bed to climb down. This was new and exciting, this getting water in the middle of the night, and Dean wondered if it was always supposed to be this warm. He was too hot, pajamas clinging almost wetly to his skin as he padded out of his room. The hallway was bright but Sam’s room was brighter and Dean padded towards it.

“Mom?” He asked tiredly, rubbing at his eyes. Mary, her back turned to him, didn’t respond. He knew it was her from her night gown and he felt something he’d never felt before. It crept up his spine and along his arms and he wailed, little four year old voice full of terror. “Mom!”

Feet thudded up the stairs and Dean could feel his Dad behind him. There was a pause and a shout of his Mom’s name and then Dean felt John rush past him and into Sam’s room. They were all having a party and it wasn’t fair that he wasn’t allowed in. Dean took a step forward and then John was there, thrusting Sam into Dean’s arms.

“Dean, take your brother outside as fast as you can go. Now!”

Startled by his father’s words, Dean’s legs moved before his brain could tell them too. He raced down the stairs and out of the house onto the lawn, turning back to the house. There was smoke in the sky, like when they had a bonfire in the backyard, and that only confused Dean. Why would there be a barbecue in the middle of the night?

Not that it mattered because Sam was awake and beginning to cry and Dean was there, holding him close and rocking him. He reassured Sam as he watched his life burn down around him.

Dean had finished nearly half the bottle by the time he came back to reality, face red and puffy and slick with tears. His chest ached, heaving with exertion as he got to his feet and set the bottle on the nightstand. “He was never the same after you died.” He mumbled to the picture of his parents as he picked it up.

Dean did the only thing he knew how to do once he’d put the bottle back in the fridge and tucked the picture into his wallet: he moved on. He packed up John’s bedroom, his clothing going into garbage bags and everything else into cardboard boxes. They would be someone else’s problem the next day, donated to a second-hand store so that someone else could get what they needed. Hey, not like John was going to use them anymore.

Throughout the night Dean cleaned, stopping only at midnight to drink more and eat the leftover pizza in the fridge. It was a meal befitting a miserable lonely person and Dean felt like he deserved it. He carried on when the sun rose in the sky, so numb from the alcohol he didn’t feel like crying anymore. Boxes and bags loaded into the impala he took them to the store, unloading them on some poor employee who didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Not that it mattered because John’s things weren’t his problem anymore. John wasn’t his problem anymore.

~

The pamphlet on the table in front of Dean was shiny and the light bouncing off of its glossy pages was beginning to give him a headache. He’d been staring at it for the better part of 40 minutes while some funeral director in a terrible suit droned away about all of the amazing options and caskets they had to send his loved one to eternal rest in. It was pushy, salesman like, and it was testing Dean’s already fraying patience.

“Stop, just stop.” Dean snapped as the man began to speak about yet another casket. Hands clenched into fists beneath the heavy wooden desk, Dean was trying to keep his cool. “I don’t want a casket and I don’t want a service. Just cremate him and give me the remains, that’s what I want.”

The funeral director, a balding man in an ill-fitting suit named Zachariah, blinked in surprise at Dean’s outburst before the neutral expression returned to his face. “If you’ll turn to page seven, I can walk you through all of our urn selections.”

“I don’t want a fucking urn. Look, I know part of your job is to upsell and a make a profit but just stop, okay? I don’t want any of it. Give him to me in a coffee tin for all I fucking care, just fucking cremate him.”

Zachariah took back the brochure with a curt nod of his head, turning his attention back to his computer screen.  Several minutes of uncomfortable silence stretched before he was printing an itemized bill and handing it to Dean, expression just as neutral as before. Dean nearly choked on his spit when he saw the amount due. Nearly $1800, Dean wanted to scream. It felt like too much to put his Dad to rest but it didn’t feel like enough either. Was he doing enough to honour John? Would he ever be able to do enough to honour his father?

Dean said as few words as he could as he paid the bill, only noting that he would be able to pick up his father’s remains in a few days’ time. With paid bill in hand and one more task crossed off of his list, Dean left the funeral home. He was barely aware of where he was in the world, his body moving of its own accord as it dragged him back to the impala. The impala dragged him to work on his day off and then he was shuffling to his boss’ office, knocking quietly on the door.

“Dean, come in.” Jim said, leaning back in his chair. His eyes scanned the younger man warily, eyes flicking to his hands before returning to his face. He watched as Dean shuffled in, sitting in one of the chairs. Dean practically deflated into it, shoulders sagging with relief at not having to hide his feelings. Only then did Jim speak again. “It’s been a while. Are you here to talk about coming back when your leave ends on Friday?”

Dean shook his head. Producing several signed forms from his bag, he slid them across the desk and toward Jim. Neither man said anything at first but Dean glanced up in time to see Jim’s brows furrow, knitting together in confusion. “This seems a little drastic, surely your doctors have cleared you to come back to work?”

“It’s not for that.” Dean said, shifting uncomfortably. “It’s personal. My Dad died.”

“So he did pass. I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders, staring down at the desk. What were you supposed to say to your boss when you’d just handed him surprise resignation papers? 'Oops, sorry I’m leaving you hanging because my life is rapidly falling apart' didn’t seem appropriate.

“Any chance I can convince you to take bereavement and then come back?” Jim asked, though he knew the answer.

Dean shook his head, unable to look at Jim. The anxiety was bubbling up in his stomach again and he knew it would overtake him if he let it. He hadn’t let himself feel anything in days and this line of conversation was undoing that work. “I can’t come back, not now. I’m sorry.”

“There will always be a job here for you if you want it and there will always be a shining letter of recommendation for any other jobs.” Jim said quietly, finally accepting the papers from Dean. “Don’t make yourself a stranger, son.”

Son.

The word stabbed itself into Dean’s heart like a dagger, tearing through his layers with brutality. He wasn’t anyone’s son anymore, not really. Hard to be a son when your Dad was dead. Dean said nothing as he rose from the chair and excused himself from Jim’s office. His chest was tight again, the rubber band ready to snap and Dean knew he couldn’t be out in public when it did. Not if he wanted to keep up his illusory image. The house was just as empty as it had been the night before and Dean curled up on the couch with a blanket, bottle of whisky there to keep him warm through the night.

~

Dean hated lawyers almost as much as he hated hospitals.

Tight suits, sharp smiles, shitty briefcases. They were as fake as the thousand dollar veneers they paid for. Made sense Sam would want to be one of them, to be one of the beloved elite who preyed on everyone else. He’d grown selfish the older he'd gotten.

These lawyers were no exception, the pair of them sitting across from Dean as they went through the estate process in painstaking detail. Dean was barely there, fighting off exhaustion and a headache, and truthfully he didn’t care what they’d said. John hadn’t had a will, he’d always been too stubborn for one, so Dean was left to pick up the pieces yet again. Estate executor or some shit. The only executing Dean wanted was his own so he didn’t have to listen to them speak down to him like he was a two year old who didn’t understand the concept of sharing.

No, he didn’t want to do this or that or any of it. He didn’t want the lawyers there at all and he made it perfectly clear that’s exactly how he felt. The only reason they were there was so they could coordinate with the realtor and get all of the shit with the house sorted out. Dean wanted it gone.

For three hours they coordinated and Dean barely understood any of it. His head throbbed, his eyes ached, and the constant misery in the pit of his stomach was beginning to eat a hole through him. The lawyers and the realtor talked and talked and Dean felt like he was underwater, drowning and only saved when they pulled him out of his stupor to answer the necessary questions and sign the proper paperwork. In the end he was freed and Dean practically ran from the office.

His job was gone, his house was on the market, and his father was dead. Dean had nothing left.

He drank as he went through the remnants of his life, shoving his clothing into duffel bags and boxing up what he couldn’t take with him. The mementos were pointless and the decorations non-existent. Only when his room looked as bare as John’s now did, did Dean pause. Pain burned behind his eyes and he let the tears fall, let them slip down his face and off of his cheeks and onto the denim of his jeans. Big gulping sobs wracked his body, tearing apart what little poise he’d managed to salvage. Hands fisting the carpet as the sobs turned into quiet tearless shivers, Dean made up his mind.

He grabbed his earthly possessions, three duffels that could fit in the trunk of the impala that still didn’t feel like his, and slammed the door of the house that was no longer his behind him. It was a husk of who he used to, the dutiful son looking after his ailing father.

“Hope some nice family moves into you, a couple with a dog and a kid. Maybe they’ll like it.” He mumbled to no one in particular as he slammed the trunk of the impala. With the remnants of his life firmly in shambles and no prospects for his future, Dean left.

If he drove fast enough, drove far enough, then just maybe the demons he’d left in the house on Lundy Lane wouldn’t find him.

Chapter Text

Dean had been driving for three days before his grief reappeared, cold tendrils seeping into his blood and turning his grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled and painful. Three days since he’d talked to another human being and already he was losing it. It was pathetic.

The drive was meant to clear his head, to give him perspective on his problems. It wasn’t supposed to let him sit and stew on his life and all of his problems. He wasn’t supposed to be crying at the wheel and he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to be talking to himself like some crazy person. He wasn't supposed to be falling apart. Not like this.

Grief did funny things to a person, that’s what the internet said. Some people cried, some got angry, some didn’t feel it at all. None of those options sounded appealing. Dean knew how to deal with his grief -- how to deal with his complex feelings -- it was the exact same he’d been taught all his life: drink, distract, move on. If you were drunk and distracted then your problems didn’t exist and if they didn’t exist then it was all too easy to move on from them.

It was this philosophy that brought Dean to Rocky’s, a shitty little dive on the edge of a shitty little town on the edge of a shitty highway. Crumbling brick and a flickering neon sign greeted Dean as he stepped out of the impala and he knew the only good thing about this place would be the cheap booze. But that suited his needs well enough. 

Nickelback blared through the aging speakers and people talked too loudly in the corners and over the pool tables but Dean didn’t mind. It would drown out the thoughts in his head that were beginning to crawl out of the pit of repression. He walked in, sidestepping a couple making out on the dance floor as he made a beeline for the bar. Snagging a stool at the end of the bar, Dean waited for the bartender to make her way over.

She was pretty for an older woman with dark brown hair and hazel eyes but that hadn’t caught Dean’s attention. It was her flirty pouty lips and the low cut tank and even lower rise jeans. She was the kind of woman who asked for trouble and basked in the glow of it. “What can I get you?” She asked, voice deeper than Dean expected.

“Whisky on the rocks and keep ‘em coming. Thanks.”

Dean surveyed the people in the bar once the bar tender left, a habit he’d picked up as a kid. Know your exits and know who was around you. No one struck him as particularly dangerous or particularly interesting, mostly a generic mix of locals and out of towners looking for a cheap way to spend the evening. There were a few girls he glanced briefly at but they were small town pretty and that wasn’t entirely what he was after. Not that he knew what he was after.

“Local vintage not to your liking?” The bartender asked as she set Dean’s drink in front of him, leaning down on the bar to talk to him.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, momentarily distracted by the flash of leopard print underneath the bartender’s white tank top. She noticed, flashing him a sly grin, and he flushed red. “Bit young, not really my thing.”

“Their loss I suppose. I can see Mindy eyeing you from the pool table, blonde one in the green shirt.” She said. “Call me Pamela by the way. Nicer on the ears then being called bartender all night.”

“Only if you call me Dean.”

Pamela grinned as if she agreed before turning her back, needing to do some prep work. Dean sipped his drink and people watched, only turning his head when he heard the telltale clink of a refill. When he took a sip of the second drink, he caught a flash of something new. Two words spread across Pamela’s lower back, just above the waist of her low-rise jeans: Jesse Forever.

“Who’s Jesse?” Dean asked curiously, buzz from the alcohol enough to allow an intrigued grin on his face.

Pamela chuckled, leaning against the bar again. “Well it wasn’t forever. He was… insecure. Yeah, let’s call it insecure.”

“Probably too worried some low life stranger from the bar would pique your interest.”

“Seems like you might just be the next low life stranger that piques my interest.”

In another life Dean would’ve choked on his drink. It wasn’t often a pretty woman left such obvious intention in her insinuations. But this wasn’t another life and he was three drinks deep into the third day of his grief bender, the buzz just enough to mellow him out and dull the edges of his grief.

“Lucky for you I happen to like trouble, especially if she’s a beautiful older woman.”

“Oh I could just eat you right up.” Pamela grinned before she left Dean alone, tending to other patrons.

Dean watched her for most of the night, intrigued by how she behaved. She was effortlessly sexy, moving with the practiced poise of someone who knew she was beautiful and liked to flaunt it. There was never any flirting for tips with the other patrons, never any selling something other than her genuine self, and Dean almost admired it. Her confidence was earned, practiced. It wasn’t fake like his.

Last call rang out and Dean was moving from his barstool, stopped squarely by a hand on his chest. He glanced down at the perfectly manicured black nails and then up the arm to where Pamela stood, flirty lips curled into a knowing grin. “Not you tiger, you stay here.”

“Tiger?” Dean asked, eyes glued to Pamela’s face. He felt her hand move, sliding up his chest and neck until it gripped his chin. Her thumb stroked across his bottom lip, wetting it with the remnants of his last drink.

“You seem like you know your way around a pussy.”

So that was her game then. Dean grinned, false confidence ever present. Two could play at her game.

With the patrons gone from the bar, Dean acted. He wrapped his lips around Pamela’s thumb and sucked, his hand closing around her wrist to keep her still for a moment. There was something in her eyes when Dean’s met them, a dangerous flicker of desire. It was too late to turn back now.

Pamela withdrew her hand and untied her apron, letting it drop to the floor as she sauntered to the door. The swish of her hips was deliberate and when she turned around, door locked behind her, she was grinning again. “Going to show me what you’ve got?” She asked. Her voice was low, seductive, and Dean’s interest only grew when she sat on the pool table. Denim clad legs spreading, Pamela beckoned Dean towards her with a single curl of her finger.

Freeing himself from his flannel as he moved across the bar, Dean took a deep breath and let his inhibitions go. Drink, distract, move on.

Their kiss was heated as Dean pressed himself in between her legs, a hand on the jut of her hip and the other on the side of her face. She tasted like cheap whisky and cherry lip gloss. He kissed her harder, hand on her hip tightening as he pulled her closer. She responded, legs wrapping around Dean’s waist as her hands slid up his chest to feel the solid muscle beneath his shirt.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex other than that it had been an embarrassingly long time (four years if his shoddy memory proved correct) but it felt like getting back on a bike. Muscle memory kicked in and then he was letting his teeth graze Pamela’s lip, sliding his tongue in when she groaned softly. The kiss broke just long enough for Pamela to pull her tank off and then she was taking Dean’s shirt off, freeing his muscular frame.

“You must really like cats.” He chuckled, eyeing Pamela’s leopard print bra before he was back to pressing wet open mouthed kisses to her neck. Hands ghosted up her sides and then he was reaching behind her to undo the clasps, fingers fumbling as he tried to find them.

Pamela, eyes closed and head tilted back laughed softly. Men still hadn’t figured out bras it seemed. She helped Dean unclasp it and let it fall to the pool table, breaking away from Dean so she could get a good look at him. While she was at it, she unbuttoned her jeans. Dean lifted her hips and pulled them down to her ankles, not bothering to pull them off completely. That was just a waste of time.

“Fuck you’re gorgeous.” He murmured, grabbing her legs and pulling her to edge of the pool table before dropping to his knees. The hardwood stung but Dean ignored it, too busy kissing a trail up her leg as he reached out to grab her breast, rolling a nipple between thumb and forefinger.

 Clad only in a thong, Pamela drunk Dean in as he kissed up her thigh. The pretty green eyes, the freckles, the strong muscular arms, every piece of him seemed designed for the art of sex. It seemed so aggressively masculine. “You’re not too bad yourself.” She replied, quiet moan falling from her lips when Dean reached her inner thigh.

Dean hummed contently, shifting on his knees. His jeans were uncomfortable, straining against his rapidly hardening dick, but denim on hardwood beat bare knee on hardwood. Suffering for the sake of a lay seemed appropriate. He wondered what kind of woman Pamela was as he slid a hand down her hip and over the edge of her thong. Was she the kind of woman who’d scream and writhe if he fingered her pussy open? Would she beg him to make her cum? Would she let him fuck her quick and rough?

He held her thong to the side, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he dove in. Muscle memory kicked in again and he returned to a familiar routine. Short darting movements of his tongue alternating with long broad strokes to break up monotony, a hand roaming her upper body and touching while the other felt up her thighs. He pulled away for a quick breather just as Pamela began to press her thighs tighter together.

“You’re so fucking wet for me.” He hummed, voice dripping with praise. Women liked praise. Diving back in, Dean tried something different. He slid the tips of his middle and ring finger in, curling them in a hooking motion to press against the buddle of nerves nearest the opening. His tongue continued its movements, slow and steady and circling on and around her clit. Dean’s free hand wandered down to his jeans, unbuttoning them so he could free his cock and wrap a hand around it.

Pamela moaned, hands gripping Dean’s hair and pulling his head closer to her. Heat had been coiling in her stomach for the last twenty minutes as Dean worked his tongue and fingers in and on her. Her chest heaved with exertion, thighs closing tighter around Dean’s head as she closed her eyes. “Fuck, just like that.” She moaned. “I’m so close.”

Dean did as she asked, keeping everything the same. He felt her cum at the same time as her moan, clenching tightly around his fingers. Working his fingers through the orgasm, he only stopped when he felt her clenching cease. Dean rocked up onto his feet and in a fluid motion, rolled Pamela onto her stomach and pulled back until her feet hit the floor. He fished a condom out of his pocket before shoving his jeans and boxers down to his knees, pressing his aching cock against Pamela’s ass. “What do you think, should I fuck you over the edge of this pool table?”

“Oh definitely.” She replied, spreading her legs wider.

That was all Dean needed to hear. He rolled the condom on and positioned himself, groaning lowly as he sunk in.  Hot wet heat enveloped him and Dean knew he wouldn’t last long. He stretched an arm out, feeling for Pamela’s mouth before nudging his fingers into her mouth. That was always a hit, letting them taste their own release knowing Dean had been the one to cause it. Hooking his fingers there, Dean slid an arm around her waist and pulled her up so her back was flush with his chest. Only then did he begin to move, a slow drag of his hips to get things started.

Slow drags became deeper thrusts, each one measured and controlled. Never too hard, never too deep, just on the edge. His arm around her waist tightened and then he was leaning in, kissing and nipping at her neck in tandem with his thrusts. He groaned into her ear, filth dripping from his lips about how she was so tight and taking him so well and so fucking gorgeous. She responded to it, ass pushing back against his hips. Dean’s rhythm faltered only once, right before he came.

He came with a low moan in her ear, hips stilling as he throbbed inside her. His chest heaved as he pulled out and tied the condom off, dropping it in the trash can before pulling his boxers and jeans back on. Pamela righted herself, pulling her own jeans back on before turning to face Dean.

“Not bad.” She said, sliding her tank top back on. “Could learn a few more things but we all can.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he slid his shirt back on. “We’ve got all night. I guess I just need a good teacher.”

Pamela grinned and then she was leading Dean upstairs to her apartment above the bar. Her bra remained on the pool table.

~

Sex was the answer to Dean’s grief. It combined all three tenets of his grief philosophy: drink, distract, move on. Bars were the perfect hunting ground for all of it, booze to give him that heady out of his body buzz and the social aspect to help him find his perfect little distraction. He didn’t really care who it was, just that it was someone with a bed he could crawl into. Was it superficial? Sure, but he didn’t care. It made him feel good, made others feel good to. Hell, as far as Dean was concerned he was doing the world a service by helping people get laid. Saved him money on motel rooms too.

Pamela had been the one to awaken that thought in his head, igniting it with her night of passion. He’d been spent by the time morning rolled around, far too many hickeys in far too many places he hadn’t thought possible. She’d certainly showed him a few things. He’d shown her a few too. There had been a give and take and that’s what Dean appreciated the most.

Dean didn’t know if he could only give and he sure as hell knew he’d never exclusively take.

There had to be a balance.

~

Motel beds weren’t meant for sex.

Sure you could have sex on them, but it wasn’t comfortable. The lumps in the mattress made it impossible to support yourself and the creaky bedsprings told everyone in the vicinity what you were doing. Not that Dean cared. He had better things to worry about, like how Lydia wouldn’t shut up.

He was on top of her, trapped in place by the legs wrapped tightly around his hips. Pistoning his hips, hand gripping her hip to pull her against him and hold her in place, all Dean could do to keep her quiet was clap a hand over her mouth. She loved it because of course she did but that didn’t comfort Dean. The act of silencing someone wasn't comfortable. Not ever.

He didn’t feel comfortable with the situation but he pushed through, telling himself it was a distraction and that that was all that mattered. His feelings didn’t matter. The second he felt her tense up, he was cumming. He hated the way it felt like a betrayal, the way the moan dropped from his lips and fell between the pair. Pulling out, Dean slid off of the bed and got rid of the condom before he was dropping back onto the bed and laying his back. Lydia nuzzled up beside him, hand tracing up the scars littered along his torso as she settled. Dean shivered.

“Bet you’ve got quite a story.” She said, fingers landing on the large scar that ran the length between Dean’s left hip and the end of his ribs.

Dean swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to shove her hand away. That wouldn’t be particularly gentlemanly of him. “Not one I’m planning on telling.”

“Suit yourself.” She shrugged, settling down.

Dean lay there until she fell asleep, her breath coming out in soft puffs against his neck. He wanted to spend the night, more for the bed than anything else, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not with the comment she’d made. He extricated himself from her arms and went hunting for his clothes, slipping back into them before leaving the room as quietly as he could. The night was dark and he breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to his car unseen, slipping into the familiar cab. He had a long night of driving ahead.

~

It was snowing when Dean woke up and the harsh February light filtering through the curtains did little to help the headache pounding behind his eyes. There was a body pressed against his, soft curves he remembered well from the previous night. Donna, she had said her name was. She was sweet, some doe-eyed thirty something looking for a little fun after a messy divorce from her shitty ex husband and who was Dean to deny her that thrill. The sex had been fine, maybe a little bit more than mediocre, but Dean wasn’t expecting perfection. All he wanted was a quick meaningless fuck.

He rolled out of bed, hopping into his discarded jeans as quick and quiet as he could. It was the metallic clang of his belt buckle that roused Donna from her sleep. She stirred, glancing over at Dean. “Leaving so early?”

“Not a morning person.”

Donna seemed to chew on that thought before she sat up, blankets falling into her lap. Arm across her chest as if to prop up her breasts, she smiled slyly at Dean. “Think I convince you to stay through breakfast? Last night was just so much fun.”

Dean eyes flicked from her face down to her breasts, lingering for a moment on her nipples before flitting back up to her face. He waited until he’d slipped back into his shirt before he spoke, tone nonchalant and bored. “I don’t double dip, sweetheart. Thanks though.”

With the door slamming behind him, Dean breathed in the cold air. It stung his nose and throat but cut through the hangover like a knife through hot butter. The cold always did that. He didn’t bother with checkout, hadn’t even bothered to get a room for the night. He never needed a room. Rooms were for guys who couldn’t get a lay.

Dean slid into the impala, leather seats intimately familiar and not quite as comforting as they’d once been. Settling down into the seat he took a breath to steady himself and then he was off, kickstarting his routine once again.

~

Pamela. Lydia. Donna. Anna. Lee. Robin. Carlos. Andrea. Andy. Bela.

Those were just the names Dean remembered. They blurred together like most of his nights had since he’d fled the freshly murdered corpse of his past life. No point in remembering names when all they were interested in was Dean, his dick, and what it could do for them. Hell he only remembered those names because they’d all been so different.

Pamela was self-explanatory, a wild woman with a taste for sex on pool tables.

Lydia had been the screamer, the one who’d been all touchy with the scar on his hip. Dean wished he could forget her. He wished he could forget the scar too.

Donna had tried and failed to convince Dean for a second round in the morning but she’d had a soft comforting body.

Anna had been the one to beg to Dean to do it in the impala. He hadn’t been entirely convinced until the swampy fuck sauna had warmed him up more than anticipated.

Lee was an old friend with a bar so the booze was free and the sex quick and dirty in the employee bathroom.

Robin was another old friend. She’d taught Dean how to play guitar a lifetime ago and he’d never forgotten how kind she’d been to him as a teenager.

Carlos was run of the mill, another bored pretty boy swinging through town with nothing better to do than entertain another stranger.

Andrea had been sweet, a tired mom who loved her son more than anything in the world. Dean hadn’t meant to sleep with her but she was just as deep in her grief as he was in his. The mutually understood companionship had made the night a little more tolerable.

The only thing Dean remembered about his night with Andy was that the pair had smoked some incredibly potent weed in the back of a van with a wrap straight from the cursed pages of some ice planet sci-fi novel.

Bela had been the most recent and Dean was still thinking about her. She was a tall classy lady with a British accent and Dean had been too caught up in the appeal of her. She’d successfully hustled him at pool. No one had done that since his pre-teens and it piqued his interest. The sex had been rough, angry, and by the third night Dean was thoroughly worn out. He left in the middle of the night, tail tucked between his legs. Any more and whisky dick would make an appearance.

It was the drive away from Bela and toward the unknown where Dean finally broke. It started small at first, slow blinks turning into unfocused eyes and blurred vision until Dean could barely make out the road in front of him. That’s when he pulled off, the impala engine cutting out in the parking lot of a nearly abandoned rest station. Not about to find a motel room for the night, Dean crawled into the back of the impala and hunkered down. Memories he hadn’t thought about for years danced behind his eyes as he slept.

Dean bit back a sigh as he stared at yet another motel sign lighting up the dead of night, neon lights casting a blood red glow onto his father’s silhouette. This was the fourth motel already and it was only March. He could hear the conversation between John and the sole night shift employee without actually needing to hear it. The employee would complain about the time and John would ask if he wants to get paid or not and then the employee would sigh and make a big deal about handing over the keys before John would slide him a little extra money under the table. John always slid them extra money.

Dean wanted to believe that this would be the last motel, that they’d pack up after this one and settle back down like John promised but he knew better. His Dad had said the same thing for the past four years. So Dean didn’t complain, didn’t argue, didn’t do anything except what his father asked him to do. By now John would have the keys in hand so Dean moved.

“I can’t wait until you’re old enough to be awake for this part.” Dean muttered as he climbed out of the back seat, padding around to the other side. He pulled the door open and then reached for Sam who was asleep in the back seat. Scooping Sam up, Dean waited for John to make his way back to the impala.

“Your brother still asleep?” John asked as he opened the trunk, slinging a few duffel bags onto his shoulders.

Dean nodded his head, voice quiet. “Yes Dad.” John didn’t like when he didn’t get an answer and he sure as hell didn’t like when Sam got woken up. The youngest Winchester, not quite five, was a menace when he didn’t get enough sleep.

Dean followed John quietly, waiting until their room was open and his dad was inside before he stepped in. Like always, Dean padded over to one of the beds and set Sam down on it. Sam would stir, Dean’s breath catching in his throat as panic set in, and then he’d settle. Only then would Dean dare to move the covers, pulling them back just to pull them up over Sam. He couldn’t sleep without covers, too afraid of the monsters getting him if he happened to wake up during the night. Dean would never let that happen. The monsters couldn’t have his little brother.

“You and your brother start at that new school next week. Don’t forget what you’re supposed to do.” John said as he set the duffel bags on the ground, back turned to Dean as he bent down to search for the source of the clinking from the bags.

“Protect him, I know.” Dean muttered, exhausted and irritable.

John’s expression had shifted by the time he turned around, dark eyes darker and bearded mouth in the beginnings of a frown. “You know how I feel about lip, Dean.”

Dean bit down on his lip to stop any sort of reaction. Lip was a sin and John was quick to dole out punishment for penance. “Sorry, won’t happen again.” He said quickly before he was climbing out of his shoes and into bed beside Sam. The taste of iron spread through his mouth but it barely phased Dean. A bloody bitten lip was nothing.

That was the longest stretch they’d been in the same school, a whopping year and a half before they’d been back on the road. But school wasn’t what Dean was thinking about, not really. His thoughts landed on the people they’d gotten to know, the family they’d come back to visit a dozen times over his childhood. When the morning sun rose and Dean roused himself from motel room memories, he knew where he was headed next.

The establishment he pulled up to around eleven the next morning was something between a bar and an inn, the former on the main floor and some smaller rooms for sneaking off or sleeping in on the second floor. Dean hadn’t seen the place in years, not since his seventeenth birthday, and it looked virtually the same. The shitty faded sign was the same and the fourth board on the steps up creaked when he made his way towards the doors. On the off chance it was still there, Dean glanced up at the top left corner of the left window. There, nestled in the furthest place possible, was a single bullet hole with cracks spiderwebbing the glass. Now that had been a fun afternoon.

Stepping inside, Dean found the bar was a verifiable ghost town. No patrons, no servers, no nothing. Maybe it was better that way, less people to see him in whatever state he was in. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath his boots as he made his way to the bar and he brushed off a stool with his hand on the off chance they’d get his jeans dirty.

“Be with you in a sec!” A voice called from the back and then Dean was sitting there, waiting. He drummed his fingers against the bar, more habit than conscious irritant.

“Last person who did that nearly got their fingers cleaved off.” Said a woman as she stepped out of the back. She’d barely changed since the last time Dean had seen her save for the grey in her long brown hair and the wrinkles on her face. Her eyes narrowed as they fell on Dean’s face, lips pursing as if she were in thought. Dean saw recognition flit across her face and then her arms were crossing over her chest, eyebrow raised. “Well you look like shit.”

“Gee Ellen, no ‘Nice to see you, Dean’? Seems a bit rude.”

“I save my ‘nice to see you’s’ for people who don’t look like roadkill on legs.” Her tone, gruff as ever, was laced with concern and Dean knew he must look worse than he thought because she was gesturing to the set of doors behind her. “I’m sure you remember where the showers are. Go grab one, we can catch up after. Might still be some of Bill’s clothes in the closet, you look like you’re about the same size he was.”

Dean slid from the stool without so much as another word, slipping past Ellen into the back. When Ellen Harvelle told you to do something, you listened. The showers were exactly where they had been nine years ago with the exact same aqua tiles and white grouting and cheap drugstore shampoo. It was almost comforting. What wasn’t comforting was when Dean caught a glance of himself in the bathroom mirror.

His face had hollowed out, sharper cheekbones reflect back at him under dark deep set bags like he hadn’t slept in years. To be fair, he hadn’t slept well in years. Dean’s eyes shocked him the most as he stared at them, at how dull and lifeless they were. It was almost like they were the eyes of a man who was supposed to be mourning his father’s death and not sleeping his way across the country running away from it like some modern day Hamlet. Bloody scabbed over bitten lips moved as he talked to himself.

“Jesus, guess this isn’t a nightmare.” He laughed bitterly before shimmying out of his clothes. Stepping out of them, he got another eyeful he wished he hadn’t. His muscle tone was slipping away faster than he’d expected, more lean than the bulk he was used to. All that did was bring out his scars more. Tearing his eyes away from the mirror, Dean hopped into the shower. Freezing water pelted his skin but it felt nice, made him feel human. So did the sting of the shampoo when it landed in his eyes. Pain always made him human.

Bill’s clothes were in the closet when Dean stepped out and dried off. He stared at the flannel and jeans before he was sliding into them, glancing at himself in the mirror again. His appearance was still pathetic, as far as he was concerned, but at least he looked more like an exhausted human and less like the walking dead. What a funny thought that was, being the walking dead. He was wearing a dead man’s clothes again.

Ellen was behind the bar when Dean made his way out and his eyes slid past her to the plate of food. It was simple, a sandwich and some fries, but Dean’s stomach growled at the sight of it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten properly. “Thanks for letting me shower.” He said as he sat, reaching for the food.

“Not a problem.” Ellen replied, eyes scanning Dean as he ate.

Dean made it through half the sandwich before he noticed what she was doing. The next bite felt like mud in his mouth and he stopped eating. Under Ellen’s scrutiny, anxiety began to bubble in his stomach. Hands withdrawing and hiding under the counter, Dean risked a glance directly at her. That was a mistake.

“Been almost a decade since I’ve seen you.” She said calmly, voice neutral. Only the slight twitch of her eye betrayed her concern and irritation. “You or the rest of your family. Weren’t you headed out east?”

“We were there for a while. Sam split, he’s off in Cali now. Pre law at Stanford. Should be his last year so law school soon I think.”

Ellen made a noise in the back of her throat Dean assumed was a noise of pleasant surprise. He knew Ellen had encouraged Sam’s intelligence when they’d popped by the Roadhouse through the years. She’d encouraged him too. Not that it'd helped. “Where’s Jo? I assumed she’d be here helping you out.”

“School. She’s got classes most of the day, she’ll be back tonight.”

“She’s in college now? That’s great.” Dean smiled. He was genuine in his sentiment. Jo was the same age as Sam and she’d been like the little sister he’d never wanted when they’d stopped here, always asking questions and hanging around and being a general nuisance. She’d kissed Dean just once and then they’d decided it just felt too wrong.

“Criminal justice just like her dad.” Ellen said, her smile bittersweet. “Am I allowed to ask about you or am I going to get hit with that infamous Winchester temper?”

“Depends on what you want to know.”

“Work?”

“On leave.”

“Romance?”

“I get around.”

“Your family?”

Silence. Dead silence. Dean’s eyes darted back down to the food growing cold, lump in his throat throbbing in time with his heart that had decided to run a marathon. There was no answer he could give that would satisfy her without exposing himself. It was a veritable stalemate.

“You said Sam was at Stanford. You ever go to visit and catch up?”

Dean shook his head. “We don’t talk.”

There was a pause before Ellen spoke again, almost as if she was measuring her words and picking them carefully. “I’m sorry to hear that. I don’t imagine that’s been easy for you.”

“It’s fine. He’s a grown man, he can make his own selfish decisions if he wants to. I've got my own shit to worry about.”

Dean let his eyes dart up to meet Ellen after that. Maybe eye contact would get her to back off. It didn’t.

“What about your Dad? Rare to see you two apart.”

Dean winced before he could stop himself, face contorting with a mix of fresh pain and old wounds. This was the first time John had been brought up in a month and a half and he still wasn’t ready for it. He wrung his hands beneath the table as he tried to expel the anxiety that was boiling over. Sucking in a measured breath did absolutely nothing to help and then Dean felt it, the familiar burning beginning to build behind his eyes. He could feel Ellen’s frown without seeing her. Why couldn’t she have just backed off?

“Dean, hon?”

Her tone, so rife with concern and worry, was what broke him. The burning punched its way to the forefront and then the first tear was escaping, sliding down his cheek. It landed on his clenched hands as Dean’s shoulders began to shake. Lungs aching like he couldn’t breathe, Dean tried to gulp down air. Why couldn’t Ellen have left well enough alone? Now he was crying in her bar like an idiot. There was a hand on his shoulder now, Ellen’s hand. Her grip was warm and comforting and Dean leaned into it, seeking the physical affection. He hated himself for it. He was 27 for fuck’s sake, he didn’t need a mother to coddle him. Ellen said nothing as she stood there, simply watching and waiting while Dean did what he needed to do. Minutes passed before Dean was able to look up, wiping roughly at his eyes with his hands.

“He died.” Dean choked out, voice raw with the month and a half worth of grief he’d been suppressing. No point in hiding the truth now. “Early January.”

Ellen’s frown deepened. She stepped out from behind the bar and Dean watched as she took a seat beside him. There was an arm wrapping around him and then suddenly she was squeezing his shoulder, trying to comfort him. “What got him in the end?”

“Alcohol poisoning with severe complications. Liver and respiratory failure they told me.”

“Makes sense that would get him in the end. He never went without that whisky.” Ellen said matter of factly. Something else hung between them, something Ellen knew she couldn’t bring up. She could smell the alcohol on Dean’s breath. Hell she could smell it on the dirty clothes of his she'd folded behind the bar. “Does Sam know?”

“Left him a voicemail, not that he bothered to help with anything. It’s all done, doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What does that mean? It’s all done.”

“He’s cremated and sitting in my trunk. House is on the market. I quit my job. It’s all done.”

“Why sell the house and quit your job?” Ellen asked, still sitting beside Dean. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice and he didn’t have the capacity to care about it. The tears had stopped falling but he didn’t feel any better because the sting of loneliness was creeping in to replace the burning grief.

“I couldn’t stay there. Not after everything.”

A mutual understanding hung between the pair, the kind of unspoken secret that was plain as day and just as painful. Dean knew she knew. He scrubbed at his face to wipe the tears away before he was picking at the fries again, appetite spoiled like curdled milk.

“You’re running then.” Ellen said simply. “You and I both know running only gets you hurt.”

“Staying where I was wasn’t gonna solve anything either.”

“You need something to run to, Dean. Something quiet and away from the buzz. Somewhere you can really be alone, really reconnect with yourself.”

Dean glanced up at her, eyebrow raised. “Monastery isn’t exactly my kind of place. Don't think they take on 26 year old pity projects.”

Ellen shook her head, frown deepening. Dean knew what that meant – she didn’t appreciate his humour and had he been younger, it would’ve meant a wooden spoon to the backside – and he swallowed back another comment. His eyes followed her as she reached for a pen and a piece of paper, scribbling down something he couldn’t quite make out. When she handed it to him, the paper felt like a weight in his hand.

“It’s a job. Small town, remote, you won’t have to talk to people. You can be broody and alone and figure your shit out there.” Ellen explained, her tone matter of fact. “The guy won’t ask questions and the pay is decent. He owes me a favour anyhow. Might be good for you.”

Dean’s brow furrowed as he looked at the paper. This guy, Bobby Singer, was looking for a lighthouse keeper out in Port Maren. Port Maren was out in the boonies as far as Dean was concerned and that suited him just fine. The boonies had enough ghosts so he'd fit right in. Him and his demons. Pocketing the paper, he glanced back up just in time to see Ellen looking at him with more of her motherly concern.

“Thanks.” Dean said in the end, sliding from his seat. “Means a lot you’d help me out.”

“You and Sam, you’re the sons I never had. Of course your father’s a whole different beast but I don’t want to speak ill of the dead.”

“He was a bastard, plain and simple. No point sugar coating it, not like the man is here to defend himself.”

Ellen nodded, almost surprised Dean had taken that stance. She debated asking if he wanted to stay for a night, if he wanted to talk to Jo and meet the new guy, Ash, and just rest but she knew what he’d say. All she did instead was open her arms. “Are you too manly for a hug? Think you might need one.”

Dean accepted it, ducking his head to rest on her shoulder. He could feel her arms, strong and comforting, wrapped tightly around him. She smelled like booze and grease and it disarmed Dean, relaxed him. Ellen had always been there whenever she could, had been one of the only good things he remembered from his childhood. She was safe and she was warm.

“Now don’t be a stranger anymore, okay? If you need anything and I do mean anything you call me or you visit me.” She said as she pulled away, hands lingering on Dean’s shoulders long enough to give him a comforting squeeze.

“Thank you.” Dean said, voice softer than it had been in a long time. He offered Ellen one more watery half smile before he was turning and walking out of the roadhouse, slipping back into the impala. With a turn of the key and a press of his foot, Dean was tearing off down the road. Finally alone, he spoke to himself.

“Port Maren here I come.”

Chapter Text

Three rings and Dean was already regretting dialing the number Ellen had given him. He didn’t regret confiding in her and he knew he wouldn’t regret the job. It was everything else he regretted. The fleeting transition, the grey area his life had become. Truthfully, he admitted to himself in a dismal thought, his entire life had been nothing but painful transition after painful transition.

He’d transitioned from two parents to two parents and a brother and then to a dad and a brother and that was just the first four years of his life. None of that accounted for the lack of friends he’d had, the endless purgatory loop of motel after motel while John dragged them across the country. He’d lost his brother and his father at 22 but gained a girlfriend and then he’d lost her at 26 when John had reappeared. Then Dean had lost John too.

People left Dean and there was little he could do about it. He was a transient in every sense of the word.

On the fourth ring someone answered. His voice was gruff and no nonsense. “Hello. Who is this?”

“My name’s Dean, I’m calling about the lighthouse keeper position in Port Maren.”

“Ellen said you’d call. You serious about wanting the job?”

“Yes.”

“How far out are you from Port Maren right now?”

“Two hours I think.”

There was a brief pause and some scuffling in the background before the man was speaking again. “Meet me at the Bluebird Diner at 6. We can talk more then.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and tried to ask a follow up question but the line went dead before he could. He scoffed indignantly before throwing his phone onto the passenger seat. That man had gall, hanging up on him like that. Certainly wasn’t conducive to wanting the job but Dean was desperate.

As he drove Dean let his mind drift, thoughts accompanied by the masterful guitar stylings of Eddie Van Halen.

The summer sun bore down on Dean as he shuffled along the cracked sidewalk, kicking stray cans and mopping the sweat from his brow. Wearing jeans had been a mistake but he didn’t do shorts. John was holed up in their motel room, sick as a dog with the brown bottle flu and Dean refused to deal with it. John was a grown man, it wasn’t Dean’s fault he couldn’t handle his liquor anymore.

Sam had fucked off to some summer school science club thing and Dean was conflicted. It was nerdy as hell and boring – seriously, who voluntarily spent time at school in the summer – but Sam was excited about it and more than that, it meant Sam got to spend time away from John. They were only supposed to stay there for a month but then Sam had gone and made friends with this bullied kid named Barry and begged John to stay longer. John had conceded and Dean hadn’t talked to Sam for three weeks afterwards.

John always conceded when it came to Sam and Dean hated it. He hated the way it felt like Sam always got what he wanted (even though he didn’t) and the knife of jealousy always made him feel worse. Being jealous of his younger brother was stupid and it was selfish and he wasn’t supposed to be selfish. Sam was happy and that’s what mattered. That’s what had always mattered. So Dean was left alone to his devices, part errand boy for John and part errand boy for Sam. It didn’t matter that he had aspirations and hopes and craved a life away from the motels he’d grown up with.

A loud crash and a shout echoed in the summer air and flinching at the metallic clang to his right, Dean turned on his heels to see what had happened. His eyes landed on a construction site and a man nearly frozen in fear. Something was wrong and Dean jogged over almost immediately, instinct taking over. Maybe less instinct and more morbid curiosity.

Below the worker on the ground something was terribly wrong. A second worker lay on the ground, shaking and pale and mouth open in a fishlike gape as he stared at his thigh. A bloody impalement stared back at Dean, thick rebar coated in blood bursting from the man’s thigh with brutal force.

“I don’t know what happened. He was up and fine and we were moving the rebar and then he just- he dropped and that happened.”

Dean scanned the scene for other people but there were none and there was no first aid kit in sight either. He doubted the kit in the foreman’s office, wherever that was, would be stocked and helpful either. The blood wasn’t bothering him as much as it should’ve been but that was pushed aside by the severity of the situation. Since the construction worker not impaled was useless, he’d have to take care of it himself. “I need you to call 911 and tell them where we are and what happened. I’ll deal with your friend. What’s his name?”

“Larry.” The man said before pulling out his phone and stepping away so he could call. With the man out of the way, Dean knelt down and pulled his flannel off. He didn’t know much but he knew two things about impalements: don’t remove the object and try to stabilize it for as long as possible. Trying to think, Dean’s mind landed on the quickest solution possible.

He slid the flannel under the part of the leg he could reach and then wrapped it around the man’s thigh and the rebar, tying to the sleeves together to secure it in place. It wasn’t perfect and it definitely wasn’t tight enough but it was the best Dean could do under the circumstances.

“Larry, hey, how are you doing?” Dean asked, trying to keep him conscious and talking. “I’m Dean, wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

Larry looked up at Dean, blinking slowly as if he were fighting off sleep. “My wife’s gonna be pissed.”

“Probably, but hey you’ll get workman’s comp and a break from the job so that’ll be nice. You feeling cold or anything?”

Larry shrugged his shoulders but the colour in his face told Dean the answer. He’d lost enough blood and between that and the shock, he was obviously cold. It was a shitty place to be in and Dean’s expression was laced with empathy. The scar on his left side dipping down to his hip was all too permanent a reminder.

Sirens pierced the quiet of the afternoon and Dean was breathing a sigh of relief when he saw the paramedics headed his way. He rose to his feet and stepped back so they could do their job, watching silently. One of the paramedics turned their head, looking Dean up and down. “Did you do this?”

Dean nodded his head. “Just tried to get it secure, that’s all. Sure as fuck wasn’t gonna pull it out.”

The paramedic mumbled something about a smart choice before turning back to Larry. Between the pair the paramedics got the rebar stabilized and when they realized it wasn’t stuck in the ground they were able to get Larry onto a stretcher and back into the ambulance. Before they sped off one of the paramedics made sure to check in on Dean and make sure he was okay before thanking him for his help and suggesting that maybe Dean look into becoming a paramedic. Something about reacting quickly and not buckling under the shock. Riding that high, Dean found himself turning back to the uninjured construction worker.

“You were quick on that draw kid and you work well under pressure, look strong too. You looking for work?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering?”

“We’re down a man and the work still needs to be done. You’re 18 right?”

“Yep.”

“Good. Job’s yours for the summer if you want it. Show up here at 6 tomorrow and we can get the paperwork all done. Thanks for stepping in, I appreciate it and I know Larry does.”

Dean offered a smile at the man before he turned and left, heading back home. There was a pep in his step as he walked, a genuine feel good feeling in his chest. He’d actually helped someone and not only had he helped them, but he’d gotten a job in the process. As far as good days went, it was the best day of his life. As long as he walked down the sidewalk nothing could ruin his mood.

The motel room was a different story.

Stale and cloying like cigarettes and the smell of sick, the motel room felt like stepping back into hell. It was humid despite the open windows and Dean dreaded the complaints he knew were coming his way about something he couldn’t fix. Expecting John to be sleeping, Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach when John was sitting on his bed with his arms crossed. His voice was cold, interrogative.

“Where have you been?”

“Went for a walk. Got sidetracked helping someone who had an accident.” Dean mumbled, forcing his tone to stay even and measured. “Got a summer job that pays so we’ll have money coming in.”

Dean braced himself for John’s commentary, for the insults about Dean’s soft heart and how he didn’t raise a son like that and how Dean should know better than to talk to other people but the comments never came. John’s expression seemed almost pleased and Dean wanted to vomit. He knew what that look meant and it wasn’t good. That look meant nights of scrubbing his skin raw in the shower, meant nights of parading and alcohol and numbness and everything wrong with the way they lived.

“Since you’ve got money coming in now, go pick me up some Jack and Jim. Go get your brother while you’re at it.”

Dean bit back a retort and simply turned on his heels, marching right out the door and to the impala. Arguing when John had his heart set on something was impossible and Dean didn’t have the fight in him today. He was too tired, exhausted by running himself ragged at night trying to make sure they could keep staying in the shitty motel night after night and day after day.

Daddy’s errand boy, Sam’s pseudo mom, that’s who Dean was. That’s who they expected him to be day after day. Dean couldn’t tell where his family ended and he began. His identity didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But something had changed today, that small interaction had fundamentally altered him.

He didn’t know who he was but he knew who he wanted to be.

Port Maren was a stupid name.

That was Dean’s first thought as he drove past the crooked sign with sun faded letters. Maren. Marine. Mary. All of it was too biblical, too expected and cliché to be any sort of interesting. Calling a remote lakeside town Port Maren was like calling a seaside town Oceanside or something. It just lacked creativity. Port Maren also lacked people, as it turned out. The sign listed just 300 residents which pushed it just over hamlet and into village territory.

It wasn’t hard to see why either.

The houses were little more than huts on legs, rotting wood and crumbling roofs a perfect match for the dingy curtains and rundown cars sitting on cinder blocks in the yards. Even the road that snaked down the center of the village was crumbling, nothing more than pot holes held together by ancient gravel. Dean drove carefully, slowing down to avoid dinging the impala’s frame. Main Street was sad but it was sad in the way a lost puppy you could save was. Backwater haunts were nothing new and Dean wished he could find the monotony of this one comforting. He couldn’t.

Bluebird Diner was the first and only nice building Dean had seen since he’d arrived and he pulled into the parking lot with little fanfare. Stepping out of the impala, Dean heard the telltale splash of water and sighed as he glanced down at the puddle his foot had landed in. A flyer, bleeding ink distorting Jesus’ face into the muddy puddle stared up at him.

“Jesus saves, huh. Not in my experience.” Dean muttered, shaking the water off his boot before turning towards the diner.

Bell jangling as Dean pushed open the glass door, he was able to get his first look at what he assumed was the only place in town to get food you hadn’t cooked yourself. Cheap looking tables – Formica if Dean had to guess – matched the cheap looking chairs and booth seats. The seating had the appearance of someone half assing an attempt at a ‘50s themed interior. Even the stools at the long counter fit that vibe, red pleather seats cracked and peeling with age.

An older woman moved behind the counter, a white apron tied around her waist. She glanced up at Dean before hooking her thumb in the direction of the furthest booth from the counter. “You’ll find him waiting over in that booth. I’ll swing ‘round with some coffee in a few minutes.”

“How did you-”

“News travels fast around here, especially if it involves an outsider. Now go, Bobby doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Dean nodded, turning on his heels before making his way to the furthest booth. Every step felt heavier and heavier, his legs weighed down by invisible chains threatening to root him to the spot. He’d wanted to be here a day ago so why was he so hesitant now? It was a job and it was a job that paid well for what it was supposed to be. Easy money he told himself.

The man in the booth, Bobby, looked exactly like he sounded: scruffy beard more grey than red, thick scar covered hands, and a no nonsense expression on his face. The ball cap perched precariously on his forehead and for a fleeting moment Dean thought about pushing it off. He refrained, choosing instead to sit down in the booth across from the man. Best to make a good first impression.

“You’re almost late.”

“Took a wrong turn near Atwater, had to circle back.” Dean replied, adjusting his tone to match the Bobby’s. “Still here though.”

Bobby grunted and leaned back, cheap cushion behind him deflating sadly. Feet pattered and then the woman Dean had spoken to earlier was right there setting down two mugs of coffee and two plates loaded with food. Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised. When he began to speak the woman cut him off.

“I just know these things.” She said in response to his surprise. “Now don’t go choking on your pig n ‘poke, Dean. Don’t want to be cleaning vomit offa my diner floor.”

Startled, Dean glanced over at Bobby. He’d never given her his name and he sure as hell hadn’t ordered any food. Maybe he’d think this was as weird as Dean did. Bobby gave no indication as to his thoughts, simply reaching for a mug to take a sip of the coffee. What the woman had done was as commonplace as a truck stop whore.

“So uh, I’m Dean.” Dean said awkwardly. He reached for a fork, focused on cutting up the pancakes that he hadn’t ordered. There was no reason to waste the food in front of him.

“I don’t think we need to state the obvious son.”

Son.

That fucking word was back again and this time it was a hot knife to the gut. Bobby didn’t know him like that, didn’t know the first thing about him. He had no right to call him son. Dean wasn’t his son, he wasn’t anyone’s son. John was dead. His dad was dead.

The pancakes felt like plaster in his mouth but Dean kept on chewing, washing it down with a sip of the terrible coffee in the diner. He didn’t know when his next meal would be and it wasn’t like he’d paid for the pancakes anyway. It was rude to refuse it.

“So you’re the one advertising the lighthouse job then. I appreciate you meeting with me about it. Especially so quickly.”

“I’m not advertising it anymore.” Bobby said, turning away from Dean. He pulled a large binder from the seat next to him and set it on the table in between them. It hit the Formica with a thud, a cloud of dust dispersing into the air between them.  “The job’s yours now.”

“That’s it? No references, no questions, nothing?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, folding his hands together. His gaze was neutral but his eyes scanned Dean and Dean shied away from it. “If you really want, I can ask you all sorts of incredibly uncomfortable questions about your previous job and why you’re here and your references but I suspect you don’t really want that. I don’t want that either kid. Don’t give a shit why you’re here, just care that you are.”

Dean pursed his lips, brows furrowed. That sentiment made his life a hell of a lot easier but something wasn’t sitting quite right with him about it. Why weren’t there more applicants? Why hadn’t people from the town taken an interest in the position? It paid well and it didn’t seem like it’d be too hard.

“Fair enough. But why not hire a local?”

Bobby’s lip twitched and Dean’s eyes narrowed again. That was a tell. There was something the other man wasn’t saying.

“None of ‘em want the job, simple as that.” Bobby said firmly. “No one wants to work and they don’t like how isolated it is. Not to mention the no Wi-Fi and the spotty almost non-existent cell service.”

Dean bit back a comment about how his generation weren’t all lazy and unmotivated like that. “Makes sense I guess. So where is the lighthouse? What are you expecting me to do?”

“It’s an hour out of town. Take a right when you get to the fork and just keep going. Road is muddy, might ruin your car. As for expectations, it’s all there in that binder. But for your peace of mind, just don’t be a fuck up. Not that hard really.”

“Noted.”

“Good. Now I’m telling you you can get all your rations and refills and whatever else you need at the grocery store here in town but it’s got weird hours so you’re better coming down every few weeks for those. Best to go during the day, nighttime isn’t the greatest.”

Dean’s frown deepened and he folded his hands – the same hands Bobby had been staring at for the last half hour – under the table to hide their anxious wringing. Nighttime isn’t the greatest, well that was fucking ominous. Was this one of those towns where the violent came out during the night so God couldn’t see their sins? He could see Bobby getting up and gathering his things and then one final questions slipped from his lips. “How do I get in contact with others if something goes wrong?” Bobby stopped, eyes seeking Dean’s out. They were softer than they had been, almost pitiful, and then his words chilled Dean to the bone.

“You don’t.”

Dean blinked slowly as the words settled over him with a chill. You don’t. If something went wrong then he’d be fucked, trapped an hour away from civilization in a town full of people he didn’t know. But there was nothing he could do about it now. The job was his and the binder on the table told everyone else in the diner as much.

“Guess I’m going to have to try not to get into trouble.” Dean mumbled to himself. He returned to the plate of uneaten food, the remaining pancake and bacon staring back at him. They didn’t look appetizing anymore, the congealed grease on the bacon enough to make Dean’s stomach churn. But he ate anyway, shoveling it into his mouth until it was gone. No sense in wasting food. When he finished, the woman from earlier was there to collect the plate.

“Good luck with the lighthouse. Don’t be a stranger, swing by here whenever you come back to town. We’ll always have a plate for you.” She said. “And you can call me Missouri.”

“Thanks Missouri.” Dean mumbled as he grabbed the binder. He made a quick exit, eager to get the groceries and get the hell out of the town where people clearly didn’t think much of outsiders.

Driving through the town did little to ease the anxiety building in Dean’s stomach. Each local he passed on main street was just as stoic as the rest, staring at him as if they were pissed he’d chosen to be in their town. If they weren’t pissed then they were pitying and that was worse. There was something so dehumanizing about people who didn’t know anything making assumptions. They didn’t know Dean and they sure as hell didn’t have the right to make assumptions on why he was in Port Maren in the first place.

When Dean pulled into the grocery store parking lot, his hopes weren’t high. Ramshackle and leaning to the side like some discount tower of Pisa the foundation was obviously crumbling and the wood rotting. Dean cringed, making a mental note to avoid entering the building as much as possible. No way it was up to code. Linoleum tile and metal shelving coupled up with the flickering fluorescent light gave the store an eerie feeling.

“Somehow I feel like this isn’t even the worst place in this town.” Dean mumbled to himself as he snagged the only working cart he could find.

The squeak of the wheel against the linoleum echoed, scraping Dean’s raw nerves even rawer. Everything in this place looked off, from the waxy apples to the rotting bananas to the wilting celery. Dean got what he could, electing for cheap ingredients that would fill him up. It was the bread aisle that gave him pause, fingers ghosting over the wrapping of a loaf of wonder bread.

John was only supposed to be gone for three days. He’d left Monday morning and he was supposed to be back Thursday morning but he wasn’t there. The impala wasn’t in the parking lot and Sam was whining about there being no food in their motel room.

This wasn’t the first time John had up and left them but it was the longest. It was a week now, an entire seven days Dean had been free of his father and burdened with the responsibility of Sam. He loved his brother but the 11 year old was cranky and demanding and there was no peace and quiet.

It came as no surprise to Dean when he found himself at the local grocer with a half-cocked scheme floating around in his brain. In and out, that’s all it was supposed to. Just walk in, shove some groceries wherever he could, and get out. It’s not like the owner would lose sleep over a loaf of bread and some peanut butter.

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn out jeans, cursing under his breath when they came out empty. Of fucking course he had no more cash right when he’d needed it. John had swiped the last of it a week ago – desperate to buy a drink – and Dean knew better than to try and stop him. There were ways he could get cash but those were for desperate times and he wasn’t that desperate. Yet.

Straightening his shoulders and plastering a friendly smile on his face, Dean strolled into the store. He walked with purpose, stopping every so often to consult the piece of paper in his hand. For all intents and purposes it was a grocery list from the distance and Dean was just responsibly shopping for a parent. Upon closer inspection, it would prove to be nothing more than a gas station receipt.

“Oh excuse me, I think this fell out of your cart.” He said, crouching down to retrieve apples that had fallen from a plastic bag. Four in total, he palmed one and hid in the pocket of his jeans. His jacket would cover the bulge. He almost felt bad as he returned the apples to the elderly woman. She hadn’t done anything to him.

She thanked him for the help and then he moved on, trying not to draw any more attention to himself. He managed to slip a few grapes pouring over the edge of their plastic bag into his pockets before he moved on. Granola bars were the thing to get, they were easy to palm and easy to hide. Their shape wouldn’t cause problems. They wouldn’t feed him and Sam though, not in the same way bread and peanut butter would.

The peanut butter was easy enough to hide if he swiped a small jar and dean knew he could get away with it too. He’d swiped a million of them over the years. Bread was harder. It squished but the loaf shape was too big and awkward to swipe easily. Still, Dean had managed it a handful of times and he could do it again.

“You’ve got this.” He told himself, eyes scanning the aisle. There was one man at the opposite end but he was focused on the bagels in front of him so he wasn’t an issue. It didn’t look like there was anyone behind him either. He took a few steps forward and then very quickly swiped a loaf of wonder bread, the smallest easiest loaf to squish. It fit underneath his jacket and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

He made it to the end of the aisle, anxiety beginning to dissipate. He was almost home free and then he’d be able to get Sam to shut up and just eat. The outside air was cool on his skin but the triumph of getting the food was lukewarm at best. A large hand clamped on Dean’s shoulder before he could make his escape and his blood ran cold when he heard a man speak.

“Excuse me son but I’d like to see what you just took.”

Shit. That wasn’t good.

Dean turned around, mustering up as much innocence as he could. The man was around his dad’s age, thick mustache dropping over his face. A badge glinted from its resting place on his hip and Dean knew he was fucked. Still, he tried.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”

The officer had no time for games and tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulder. It would’ve hurt less but the bruises just beneath the jacket and the flannel made this feel all the more real. Dean watched as the man reached into his jacket and withdrew the loaf of squished bread like it was a treasure.

“I think we should take a little trip downtown.”

Dean’s already sour mood was downright rancid by the time he made his way through the small grocery store. The pickings were slim but they would do. They’d have to do. It was the shelf near the checkout that caught Dean’s eye, familiar bottles and labels calling out to him with a numbing siren song. Dean’s lip twitched involuntarily and he reached for two bottles, the glass clinking as he set them on the conveyor.

“We’re not stocking alcohol after this week, just so you know.”

Dean glanced up, almost surprised there was someone else in the ghost town of a grocery store. The cashier was a kid, sixteen at best with the kind of young bored expression Dean had come to expect with kids. He didn’t want to be there and he didn’t want Dean there.

“What kind of fucking small town doesn’t stock alcohol? What do you people do for fun?”

“Blame the liquor licence people.” The cashier shrugged. “You’re that lighthouse guy aren’t you?”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he loaded his groceries onto the belt. “Everyone in this town fucking know who I am already?”

“We don’t get visitors and none of us are stupid enough to go near that lighthouse so you’re kind of a big deal.”

“Wanna tell me why no one goes up to the lighthouse? Been trying to get answers but it’s like pulling fucking teeth.”

There was a moment of silence that passed between them, the cashier looking uncomfortable as he adjusted his nametag while Dean stared at him expectantly. It was the clink of more glass bottles that brought the kid, Alfie, back down to earth.

“Weird stuff happens up there and that’s all I’m saying.” Alfie said, ringing everything up. “Your total’s 300 even.”

Dean muttered under his breath about the prices being highway robbery but paid regardless. He shoved the groceries into the bags unceremoniously before bringing them to his car and shoving them in the backseat. That kid had been zero help in explaining anything. Dean sill didn’t know why the lighthouse was such a bad deal but he guessed he’d figure it out soon enough.

The further Dean got from town, the more he began to understand. Pothole pitted pavement warped into a muddy dirt road and open skies faded behind gnarled trees. Rotting dying sunlight filtered through the misshapen branches and Dean felt a chill run down his spine. Something about the very earth he drove over felt wrong, felt poisoned. He’d seen it before – the very earth rejecting itself and corroding – and that hadn’t been a pretty sight. A chemical spill and fire at a farm property had left the family cropless and the environment unworkable for years to come. It was terrible.

Forty minutes into his drive, Dean’s nerves were frayed like rat bitten electrical cords. His grip on the wheel was white knuckle as he reached for one of the bottles he’d bought, popping the cap and taking a swig. Sweet whisky warmth flooded down his throat and through his veins and his grip eased ever so slightly. There was nothing to be anxious about, he was being an idiot. Besides, this was supposed to be good for him. This was his escape.

The mysterious (probably haunted) lighthouse of Port Maren came into view and Dean’s nerves snapped completely.

Chapter Text

Looming over everything, Port Maren’s lighthouse was a crumbling decaying panopticon. Ivy clung to the crumbling brick, thick lattice trailing upwards to the windows caked in half a decade worth of grime. Even path leading up to it was crumbling, rain soaked dirt clumping to create an uneven tread.

Dean leaned against the impala as he tried to soak in his surroundings and calm the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. In the distance lay the beach, dark sand littered with trash and debris. He’d have to clean that up, it’d be dangerous if there was a storm. A speck of brown in the distance – the dock if Dean had to guess – looked just as waterlogged as everything else did, the wood bloated and rotting and probably unsafe to even glance at the wrong way. The only building that looked even remotely structurally sound was the cottage beside the lighthouse.

“Home sweet home.” Dean mumbled, pushing off from the impala and trekking toward the building.

A shiver of disgust ran through him as his hand closed around the door handle caked in grime. He couldn’t stand dirt. Couldn’t stand the feeling of being unclean. Couldn’t stand germs. The door swung open with a creak and then Dean was staring into the cottage for the first time. All he saw was darkness and spiderwebs. They hung from the doorframe and beckoned him inside, dusty strings almost glowing in the fading light of the sunset. Swallowing the groan of disgust as he brushed the cobwebs aside, Dean stepped inside.

He swung his hand to the right, feeling along the wall for a switch. When he found it he flicked it and for a few moments nothing happened but then it roared to life, the lightbulb crackling and hissing before bathing the room in a sickly yellow glow. To either side of him was what counted for the kitchen and common area: a coffee table and ancient armchair nestled in front of a fireplace and a bookshelf filled with thick waterlogged volumes to make up the common area and a small table with two chairs to make up the kitchen. Paint peeled from the cabinets in strips and a thick layer of dust coated the kitchen table and empty mug on the kitchen table.

Dean’s skin crawled and he began to absentmindedly itch at his arms as he stepped further into the cottage, heading to the back half. The bathroom had no door but it did have a sizeable tub, something Dean was grateful for. At least he’d be able to clean himself. If the plumbing still worked, that was. He didn’t bother checking the cabinet or the toilet, figuring he’d get to it when he got to it. The bedroom was bare bones at best with a twin bed, a desk and chair, and a small wardrobe for clothes. There were no sheets on the bed and Dean cursed internally.

“Guess I have to go back into town tomorrow.” He said to himself, turning on his heels so he could escape the cottage. Halfway to the car Dean surrendered to the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to sleep in the filthy cottage.

Deciding to take advantage of what light remained and knowing that he wouldn’t be able to sleep, Dean got to work. He pulled his duffels from the trunk and hauled them to the bedroom, dumping them on the floor. Unpacking them was a later problem. Hauling the supplies he’d bought earlier, Dean set them on the floor. Upon further investigation of the kitchen, Dean found a relatively clean rag and began to wipe down the kitchen table and the counters. All it did was smear the dirt and he sighed deeply. Apparently he needed to buy cleaning supplies too.

“Please don’t be disgusting.” He whispered as he opened the fridge.

Expecting rotting food and writhing maggots, Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. There were husks of something edible long ago in one of the crisper drawers but that was eclipsed by what sat on the shelves. Jars of creatures lined the shelves, fish and other things preserved in something Dean knew wasn’t water. Dean gagged, hand flying over his mouth as he stepped back. He could handle a lot of things but preserved animals wasn’t one of them. Pushing all of the jars to the side, Dean hastily piled the perishables into the fridge and slammed the door shut. The jars didn’t exist if he couldn’t see them.

Returning to the bedroom, Dean reached for the ancient mattress and tipped it on its side. He brushed the fabric with his hand, trying to remove the caked on dirt and dust. It came off in thick clouds and Dean swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. He’d be getting a mattress protector for this. As clean as it was going to get, Dean set the mattress back down on the bed before taking a seat.

Dirty mattresses weren’t anything new for Dean Winchester, not really. He’d grown up with them, grown up bouncing around place to place and bed to bed like he never had a home. Some mattresses had blood stains, some had other stains, and some were so ancient they sagged and threatened to swallow him right up. One of the motels, some hole in the wall near Fort Wayne, had had bedbugs. Dean’s absentminded scratching intensified. A mattress was just a place to crash, it didn’t need to be anything else. Hell, this lighthouse was just a place to crash on the run from his problems.

The more Dean sat in the quiet silence of the filthy cottage, the busier his brain became. He’d been so go go go the entire day that he hadn’t time to think about anything but right here, right now, the thoughts came rushing at him like a tidal wave. His entire life was shoved into the three duffel bags at his feet. His entire life was stashed away like dirty laundry and the only thing he wanted to be his – the beautiful impala sitting out front – still echoed with the ghost of his father.

“Sam would probably think I’m crazy for doing this, for packing all my shit up and getting the hell outta dodge.” Dean said to himself, laughing bitterly. Sam would’ve called him crazy for sitting in this lighthouse and abandoning a perfectly good job with a perfectly good house but Sam wasn’t here so he didn’t get to say shit. Sam had fucked off at 17 and said all he needed to in the process. Didn’t stop Dean from missing little brother though.

Dean reached for the half drank bottle of scotch he’d packed in one of the duffels and opened it up, inhaling deeply. Something about the slightly sweet scent was calming, comforting even. Whiskey had always been there, it had never abandoned Dean. It never would. Whiskey wasn’t his brother or his dad or his old life or any of what that meant. Whiskey was comfort and relief and warmth fading into blissful numbness. With the first sip Dean’s frayed nerves began to soften. His shoulders sagged and his smile dropped and not even the honey sweet taste could mask the bitter loneliness that consumed him.

Dean fell asleep next to the empty bottle and prayed his sleep would be dreamless. It wasn’t.

The reflection hat stared back at Dean looked nervous, all flitting eyes and bitten lips and running of hands down wrinkled-shirt in a fruitless effort to smooth it out. His workpants were stiff, not yet broken in, and they fit all wrong in the thighs. They’d been fine when he’d measured himself before all of the training but the training had produced results and those results meant pants that didn’t fit and a t-shirt that was almost too tight.

“They hired you for a reason, you’ll be fine.” He told himself, trying to calm his nerves.

Dean made his way back to the bed and the mattress dipped beneath his weight as he sat down. His expression softened as he stared at the bed’s sole occupant, reaching out to brush her curly hair from her face. She leaned into the touch, eyes still closed as she reached out to catch Dean’s hand. “You’ll be late if you keep stalling.”

“I know, I know.” Dean mumbled, anxiety creeping into his voice. He didn’t try to hide it, there was no point. “I just keep thinking that I’m gonna get there and then they’re gonna realize that they made a mistake and that they shouldn’t have hired me.”

At that she stirred, brown eyes finally cracking open. Stretching her arms, she pulled herself into a seated position before she wrapped her arms around Dean and lay her head on his shoulder. While laden with sleep, her tone was no nonsense. “They hired you because they liked you and you’re qualified for the job. Being late won’t do anything except make you feel worse. Now go and don’t forget your lunch in the fridge.”

“You packed me a lunch?”

“I know how you are.” She said before turning her head and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Good luck. I love you.”

“Love you too, Cassie.”

Dean stirred in his sleep, woken by the creaking of the support struts and the wailing sway of the abandoned lighthouse. Readjusting the lumpy pillow and straightening his leg, Dean settled back down and let the memory wash over him again.

Today was the day.

Today was the day he’d spent the last year and a half preparing for.

He still remembered filling in the application like it was yesterday. It had been easy enough to fill in, nothing too demanding save for the medical and fitness testing he’d have to undergo in order to qualify but that was no problem. The triumph of being able to put down a stable living address had been insurmountable and he’d turned to kiss Cassie right then and there. Their shitty little apartment meant everything to Dean.

Cassie was the driving force behind it all. She’d encouraged him to do the schooling and to apply, to pursue the dream that had been sparked in him that fateful day at the construction site. She had been the one to suggest they move in together and they’d been in their place for nearly a year now. It wasn’t very big but it was home, a real home, and Dean wouldn’t trade the world for it.

Pulling into the parking lot, Dean took a deep breath and tried to readjust his nerves. He was where he belonged and the day would go well. It had to go well. Sufficiently calmed, Dean stepped out of the impala and made his way towards the front door. As he walked another man fell in step alongside him.

“You must be the fresh meat. Well welcome on in brother.”

Dean glanced over, eyeing the other man. Tall and burly, the man looked like he belonged in a fire station. The drawl however, didn’t. This was just about as far north as you could get from Louisiana. “That obvious huh?”

“You’re practically shaking like a Chihuahua so yeah, that obvious. Between you and me, only one you’ve got to watch out for here is Cole. He’s an asshole if he don’t like you.”

“Noted, thanks.” Dean nodded, relaxing slightly. “Got any tips for not pissing off the captain? I’ve got a year of being a probie and I really don’t feel like fucking this up. I’d end myself and my girlfriend would kick my corpse’s ass.”

“Just don’t be a dumbass and you’ll be fine. Besides, you’ve got your paramedic cert so you’re stuck with me anyway.”

“So you’re Benny then.”

“That’s what my momma calls me.” Benny chuckled, holding open the door for Dean.

Once inside, Benny took it upon himself to show Dean to the lockers and give a general tour of the station and its layout. He talked nonstop as he did so, happy to share the history y of the station and little tidbits about the people on their shift as they walked. Dean’s nervousness was melting away with each passing minute as Benny spoke, comforted by how warm and friendly the other man seemed.

If all of the firefighters were like Benny then Dean would have no problem calling the fire station his second home.

~

Port Maren looked just as terrible when the sun rose as it did during the rest of the day. The homes were still ramshackle huts on stilts and the citizens were still as suspicious as ever when Dean stepped out of the impala and made his way into the general store that seemed to have everything except for groceries. Eyes followed him as he reached for the windex and general cleaners and hushed whispers pierced his ears as he put a broom in his cart.

Dean knew what they were saying without having to hear them. They were wondering who was stupid enough to take the job that no one in the town would take. They wanted to know what amount of money had convinced him to take it. They wanted to know everything about him because he was new and exciting and they didn’t like what they didn’t know.

If they bothered to ask him any of it, Dean would tell them – there was no point in hiding any of it – but they weren’t asking so he wasn’t telling. His patience was damn near running on empty by the time he reached the bed sheets and he grabbed the first set that would fit his bed, shoving them into the cart. He didn’t need the fancy shit, he never had. The only time he’d bought nice sheets had been for Cassie, but that was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.

The sleep on the mattress had fucked up his back and it twinged with every movement. His fingers ached too, the knuckles cracking and popping and oh so stiff in the damp air of the town. Everything here was damp, a permanent layer of water resting on every outdoor surface. It made Dean uneasy. That much water didn’t feel natural. His wallet hurt at the end of the trip too, the price tag on being clean almost not worth it. The cashier had simply shrugged and Dean had paid.

His mood was foul when he passed by Bluebird Diner and he took three steps past it before doubling back and entering through the doors. It was bustling when he stepped inside and for once, no paid him any mind. Practically weeping with relief at not being perceived by the judgmental townsfolk, Dean swiped the last seat open at the counter there.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night did you?” Missouri said as she swung by Dean’s seat, pouring him a cup of coffee before stepping back behind the counter.

Dean shrugged his shoulders as he reached for the coffee, taking a long sip. The coffee was terrible, bitter and burnt, but that’s all diner coffee ever was. It beat the motel coffee that was more water than anything else. “Wasn’t great but what’s new.”

“Well you’ve got the town all abuzz so that’s new I suppose. You don’t seem like you like the attention much though.”

Dean shrugged again looking down at the coffee so he didn’t have to look at Missouri. She meant well but he really wasn’t in the mood to talk, not after dreaming about Cassie and then being ogled at like some two headed monstrosity all morning. Cassie was all he was really thinking about, about how he’d let her down and then she left. Everyone always left him.

“If you drive people away then of course they’d leave. You can’t always be a victim.” Missouri said candidly. Dean’s head snapped up, eyes wide and mouth agape like a goldfish. Missouri continued. “If you swear at me no more coffee.”

Dean bit back his curse but he was still confused. “I didn’t say that out loud. You shouldn’t know that.”

“And you shouldn’t hold the weight of the world on your shoulders but we all have our own crosses to bear. Yours is just heavier than most.”

“I feel like I should be questioning you but I’m too focusing tired and you’re caffeinating me.” Dean mumbled, holding out his mug for a refill. “Any chance you’ll tell me why people look and talk about me like I just murdered their firstborn?”

Missouri shook her head as she refilled his coffee. “I don’t have all the answers. You’re smarter than you look Dean so give yourself some credit. You know where to look.”

Confusion bloomed again but Dean didn’t bother to ask a follow-up question. It was hard to ask a question when the other person was already floating away to take care of a townie who was looking at you like you had the mark of the beast written in blood on your forehead. He finished his coffee, leaving a five tucked under the edge of the mug, before he headed out. Dean’s mind ran amuck with what Missouri had said, with what she seemed to know about him. It didn’t make sense and it wasn’t natural but neither was anything else about this cursed town and its secretive people.

You know where to look.

He’d been in town for a singular day so no, he did not know where to look. There weren’t any neon signs pointing the way or long forgotten treasure maps or any of the usual shit. He couldn’t just open the internet and browse for the answers to how to get over his dad’s death either because the service in town was barely passable. The answer hit Dean like a baseball to the face: the library. Libraries had internet and books and answers and if not that then at the very least they usually had hot librarians who were down for a romp in the stacks. That’s what Dean needed, a fuckbuddy to keep him company while he tried not to solve his problems.

 Elizabeth Maren Library was small but well-maintained and Dean felt better knowing that the building wouldn’t crumble on top of him when he went inside. Double doors opened to stacks on both sides and tables off to the top right. The turn of Dean’s head revealed no computers and he felt despair begin to crawl in his veins. Focusing straight ahead at the help desk he made his way toward, Dean got his first good look at the resident librarian.

Red hair hung pin straight down her shoulders and large headphones covered her ears. Dean couldn’t see her face but that didn’t matter because her outfit was more than distracting enough: bright purple sweater and a black Star Trek graphic tee with what Dean assumed were jeans. That tracked for a librarian, being a massive nerd. The sudden tightness in Dean’s chest made him frown. Sam would’ve worn something like that when he was a kid. If he’d been allowed to.

Dean approached the desk and waited, curious to see what she’d do. She didn’t notice him for several minutes but eventually she glanced up and then she startled, eyes wide with surprise. Pulling her headphones off, she put a hand over her hummingbird heart. “Jesus don’t sneak up on people.”

“Don’t wear headphones in a public facing job then.”

“Okay blunt much.” She muttered, reaching out to pause her music. “What do you want?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was intrigued or upset by how she was acting. At the very least she was actually looking at him. “Answers. Or resurrection medicine. But those are both hard to come by here so maybe just some book recs.”

“Who says I don’t secretly have resurrection medicine in my back pocket. Who’re you bringing back?”

“My dad.”

The librarian grinned before raising her hand, holding it out for a high five. “Hell yeah dead dad club!”

Both eyebrows nearly shot off of Dean’s face, surprise evident. Unsure of what exactly to do other than comply, he high fived her. He could see her face now and she looked friendly enough, big brown eyes and kind smile. Something about her was inviting, warm even. She was an actual human being and he was having an actual human interaction with her. There wasn’t any judgment and there weren’t any stares like he was marked for death. It was oddly refreshing.

She leaned back to study Dean. Her eyes scanned his face until Dean was almost uncomfortable and then she was grinning. “You’re the lighthouse guy.”

“Yeah but everyone who knows me just calls me Dean.”

“Cool. I’m Charlie.”

Her name seemed fitting and Dean, for the first time since he’d set foot in the town, found himself relaxing just a little bit. Charlie seemed sweet and their simple conversation was showing Dean just how lonely he’d been without human contact.

“So, Charlie, am I going to get answers from you if I ask? Or are you gonna leave me in the dark too? Cuz, and no offence here, this town sucks and everyone looks at me like I’m a freak.”

“This town’s absolutely awful, you’re not wrong. I’m trying to get out as soon as I can. But yeah, I’ll answer your questions if you want. And you’ve got to be a little freaky if you took the lighthouse job. That or traumatized.”

“Maybe I’m both.”

Charlie chuckled, still grinning. “I think I like you Dean. Now ask away.”

“One, why’s this town so cagey? Two, what’s so bad about the lighthouse that it’s made no local take the job? Three, please give me books so I don’t die of boredom up there because all of the books there are completely unreadable.”

“You’re an outsider and this town’s so small everyone knows everything about everyone. No one knows anything about you and they probably think you’re some entitled city slicker who’s gonna bitch about there not being avocado toast and fair trade organic coffee here.”

“I’m allergic to avocadoes, also cats. Not above instant coffee either. It all ends up in the same place anyway.”

Charlie nodded her head in agreement before shifting on her feet and then taking a seat. No reason she needed to keep standing. “Noted. Now book wise, what are you into?”

“Kerouac, Vonnegut, King, the occasional Koontz.” Dean shrugged. “I was hoping there might be a book on local history? Feel like I should learn about the town.”

“Didn’t peg you as a Kerouac man. You like horror?”

“My entire life’s a fucking horror show so yeah, I do. I’ll take Asimov too if you’ve got any.”

“Give me a few, I’ll be back.” She said before hopping from the stool and scurrying off to the stacks like a mouse.

Leaning against the desk, Dean waited and let his thoughts run free. The headache brought on by the empty bottle next to his bed had returned and the dull throb behind his eyes was beginning to bother him. It was his own fault but he wasn’t angry about it. He’d fallen asleep in the end and that’s what mattered. Drifting off to thoughts of Cassie, Dean’s heart squeezed in his chest. He missed her, missed their connection and the life they’d built before he’d taken a sledgehammer to it. But he didn’t dwell on it, couldn’t dwell on it because Charlie was returning with a stack of books.

“Got some good stuff in here for you, couldn’t find a Kerouac but I’ve got a Kafka which might be your vibe with the rambling prose. Got a couple Kings, the singular Koontz we have, and then a Cutter. It’s like aquatic science horror, thought it might fit the spooky lighthouse vibe you’ve got going on. We don’t really have any local history books so you’re better off finding someone else in this town to talk to. Missouri might know.”

“And that takes us back to question two: why haven’t any of the locals taken the lighthouse job?”

“Isolation and unsafe building aside, it’s the local legend. People here are superstitious as hell and that place is basically cursed as far as they’re concerned.”

“Gonna have to elaborate here, totally clueless.”

“Right. So basically we have a lake monster that’s been known to pull people into the lake and maybe eat them. That last part’s basically just speculation but random disappearances are pretty normal. Now I think it’s people just getting the fuck outta dodge but that doesn’t mean everyone else does. Of course the lighthouse and cottage are just old and spooky and isolated and people don’t like that either.”

“Monsters aren’t real so that’s kind of lame. Anyone ever see this monster?”

Charlie shrugged. “I mean we had a marine biologist come by a while ago but nothing was ever conclusive. That answer all your questions?”

“For now. Thanks for the books, promise I’ll take good care of them.”

“You better. Stop by whenever you’re in town next, I need better conversations and you seem way cooler than everyone else here.”

The small smile on Dean’s face was genuine as he took the books and left the library. His mind was racing with thoughts as he began the drive back up to the lighthouse. Charlie was cool, the kind of person he could see himself being genuine friends with. She hadn’t judged him and the fact she had a dead parent helped smooth things over too. What Dean really got stuck on was her wording. She didn’t include herself with the townsfolk, she was separate. Separate meant trustworthy and that worked for him.

When Dean made it back to the lighthouse, he made a mental checklist of what he needed to do before hauling everything into the cottage. The kitchen was first and swept the floor until his hands ached, chucking panfuls of dirt into the garbage. Every surface was sprayed and wiped until it was passable at the very least. The cleaner fumes made Dean’s head throb but it was a necessary evil. It was the cabinets that changed things. Dean removed all of his pantry staples and gave the cabinets a deep clean, hand pausing as his fingers ghosted over something that he hadn’t put up there.

“What the fuck?” he mumbled to himself, pulling down whatever it was.

The scrap of paper wasn’t very big and Dean peered at it closely, chewing on his lip. Eggs, milk, oranges, broccoli, ground beef, advil. It was a shopping list and not very exciting but Dean was enthralled by the writing, by the loops and whirls of the slanted cursive. Something about it was beautiful despite how mundane it felt.

“Least I know the last guy ate healthy.” Dean chuckled to himself before tucking the list into his pocket. Something about it begged to be kept.

When the kitchen was finally clean and Dean was done mopping the sweat beading on his forehead, he moved on to the bathroom. The tiles dug into his knees as he cleaned the bath tub, scrubbing years of grime off to reveal the nice porcelain finish, but Dean didn’t mind. A little discomfort kept all the menial tasks interesting. Besides, he was grateful to have a tub that was his alone. He didn’t look at his reflection once he’d cleaned the mirror because he knew exactly what he’d see: dour frown, tired bloodshot eyes, the posture of a man who’d all but given up. It was the same reason he never looked at his hands. The reminder was too painful.

Pulling open the cabinet behind the mirror, Dean found more items left by the previous inhabitant. Scanning past the deodorant and tooth brush, Dean’s eyes settled on two things. First was the box of razorblades and metal razor next to it. That was old fashioned and environmentally conscious which intrigued Dean. The last guy must’ve cared about the environment and getting a clean shave. Second was the orange bottle of pills. Reaching for it and turning it over in his hand, Dean’s eyes scanned the label.

C. Novak. Pregabalin. 75 mg. Take two pills twice daily.

“Guess you had problems too, that’s cool.” Dean mumbled to himself as he put the bottle back, adding all of his essentials to the cabinet before closing it.

The bedroom was the final item to check off on his list and it was already well into late afternoon. First up was making the bed and while he knew he should wash the new sheets before putting them on, he wasn’t going to. That was too much effort and he didn’t have a washing machine anyways. Bed made and new pillows on top, Dean turned his attention to the wardrobe. He wiped it down before opening the doors, sputtering when a cloud of dust blew into his mouth.

The wardrobe was full of moth eaten clothes and Dean’s curiosity intensified as he reached for a sweater. Soft and woolen under his fingers, Dean admired the knit fish pattern before checking the label. Sewn onto the label was a name he’d seen just minutes prior: C. Novak. So that had been who was here before him then, the man with the grocery list and the pills and the dorky fish sweater.

“Might have to ask Charlie about you the next time I’m in town.” Dean said to himself as he took the clothing from the closet, folding it neatly and setting it on the desk he’d never use. Old clothing folded, Dean went about putting his clothing in the wardrobe and making sure everything was in its proper place. He couldn’t help that he was particular.

With the cottage as clean as it was going to get, Dean sat himself down for supper. Premade salad and cold cuts paired perfectly with the glass of whisky and the massive binder in front of him. Alone again, Dean refused to deal with the thoughts that would inevitably circle back around so he distracted himself.

It was time to learn about what he was being paid to do.

Chapter Text

Reading the binder Bobby had given him was like pulling teeth. Each sentence that Dean read was more technical than the last and he was convinced the author had to be a sadist. There was no way a normal person would throw in all of the technical jargon and acronyms without, at the very least, including a definition table. Hell, even an acronym glossary would've helped.

It didn’t help that the pounding headache was back. The headache camped at the base of Dean’s skull and poked a skewer through to his eyes, sending throbs of pain through his face every time he shifted his head. He blamed the weather. The rain had started hours ago and the strength of it rattled the cottage windows. It wasn’t a proper lakeside storm but Dean was hard pressed to believe it was just a passing system. Something about the way the rain fell and the smell of it in the air set his nerves on edge, made his jaw clench. It didn’t feel right.

His hands ached too, the kind of dull ache that was ever present and always distracting. He’d tried to do the stretches he’d been doing every morning for the last nine months of his life but he’d been unable to finish them. It was with tears of frustration that he’d abandoned the exercises and switched to the manual that he was now staring at. The words were blurring together and his eyes not focusing as his mind drifted elsewhere.

Grief struck him like the downpour outside, hit after hit beating him into submission. First it was Cassie haunting his dreams, calling out to him from the void and begging for him not to ruin their lives. Dean didn’t listen. He never would. Then it was the smell of the coffee brewing as he tried to perk himself up.

“Can’t ever get away you, huh old man.” Dean laughed bitterly, glancing over at the mug full of coffee he’d abandoned. He hadn’t meant to buy that brand – the same brand that John drank every morning for the entirety of Dean’s life – and didn’t realize he had until he smelled it. His hands itched with the phantom memory of bringing John his coffee and breakfast every morning before work for the last four years and then his fingers twitched.

It always came back to his hands. His goddamn traitorous hands. They’d built his life and torn it all down in vicious cycle after vicious cycle and he hated them. Nothing good came from whatever he touched. His very touch corrupted. Dean was poison, he always had been. His hands had gotten his mom killed, had driven Sam away, had driven Cassie away, had-

“Fuck this shit!” Dean swore as he shoved the open binder across the kitchen table. A metallic thud echoed as the binder hit the floor, papers spilling out across the ground. Dean stared at the mess on the ground just long enough to process it before he burst into tears. His sobs were ugly, choked noises as shaking wracked his body. He couldn’t help it any more.

What the fuck was he doing with his life? He was fucking hundreds of miles away from his old job and that support network in the middle of nowhere in some crumbling lighthouse trying to – he didn’t know what he was trying to do. Maybe he was running but then he would’ve just kept on driving and sleeping around. He sure as hell wasn’t trying to get on with his life in any meaningful way or else he’d be on his way to Cali trying to find Sam and make up for what had happened between them. Dean was stuck in fucking limbo and he didn’t know how to get out.

John’s voice echoed in his head as he cried, taunting him and berating him.

Real men don’t cry. What are you, a fucking woman? You’re about as useful as one.

Why can’t you just be normal? Be more like your brother. At least he’s got a future. All you do is run away.

“I didn’t fucking run from you, you fucking bastard.” Dean said through gritted teeth before wiping roughly at his eyes. John Winchester didn't deserve his tears. “And I’m not fucking running now.”

Unable to stay in the cottage any longer and unwilling to clean up the mess he’d made by shoving the binder across the table, Dean elected to do the job he was being paid for. He pulled himself from the chair and wiped at his eyes again before pulling on the rain boots and rain slicker that had been in the cottage when he’d arrived. It was time to tackle the lighthouse.

Thankfully the key that had been in the cottage fit the lock though Dean had to wrestle with the door to get it open so his already foul mood worsened the longer he was in the rain. When he did into the lighthouse, he breathed a sigh of relief at being free from the pelting rain. Shrugging the slicker off, Dean glanced around the main floor.

Dust and dirt aside, everything was in relatively decent condition. There was a table and chair off in the corner next to a closed cupboard and Dean knew he’d have to investigate that later. First he needed to make sure the electricity was working and then test all of the equipment. He just hoped there was another binder here somewhere. Thankfully the electrical panel was just a few steps away and swung open when Dean pulled.

“Thank fuck the rats didn’t get to you.” Dean mumbled as he checked all the breakers, simply flicking the only one that had switched off. If all was good then all he had to do was flick the light switch beside the panel and he’d be good to test everything. With bated breath Dean flicked the light switch and the lights roared to life. One of the bulbs crackled and then burnt out but Dean wasn’t overly concerned. Lightbulbs were easy to replace.

He turned, his rubber boots squeaking, and ascended the stairs of the lighthouse. Tightly spiraled, the stairs were too narrow for his feet so Dean tiptoed up them. It was bizarre and uncomfortable but hardly the worst situation he’d been in. The top of the lighthouse looked nothing like he’d expected it to.

In the middle was the big light like he’d expected and he circled it, eyes squinting as he examined it for damage. He didn’t see any cracks or chips but just because it didn’t look damaged didn’t mean that it worked. That’s what the test was for. The only other electronics belonged to the master board looking out at the lake and Dean made his way over. He vaguely recognized the buttons from the binder but couldn’t name what each and every one was for. That was a binder problem.

“Oh hello, just what I was looking for.” Dean said as he turned around, eyes zeroing in on a dust covered binder on a small table.

The binder looked identical to the binder Bobby had given him until Dean opened the first page. His eyes landed on the writing, on the looping slanted cursive. It was the same as the list and the label: C. Novak. So whoever this guy was, he’d been the keeper before Dean. That was the only thing that made sense. Luckily for Dean it seemed that this guy had written his thoughts on the instruction pages.

Dean skimmed the pages before he brought the binder over to the motherboard, finally in the position to attempt his job. His fingers brushed over buttons coated in thick layers of dust and grime as he tried to familiarize himself with everything around him. To the left were the controls for the actual light and to the right lay the controls for the alarms and the fog horn. He flicked the on switch and the motherboard roared to life, all blinking lights and bright colours.

“Let’s see if we can get that light working.” Dean said to himself as he glanced at the manual flipping the pages to the section about said light. Push the big green button and then the blue and then the green again. Seemed simple enough. Dean did as he was told and waited with anxious anticipation.

Nothing happened.

Dean swore under his breath, hands clenching into fists. Of course it wouldn’t work. Nothing in this place did. He turned back to the manual and his eyes landed on the bottom of the page. The looping writing was back and this time it was a note.

The second green isn’t the big green button, it’s the small one underneath it. Note to self: get Bobby to update the binder and get pictures put in. Also get a better binder, the rings on this one suck.

With a sigh, Dean tried again and this time he pressed the smaller green button at the end. The light flickered and then sparked to life, shooting brilliant beams through all of the windows. Squeaking grinding gears echoed in protest as the light began to rotate and create dancing shadows on the walls. The smallest spark of triumph erupted in Dean’s stomach. Finally something was going right today. He tried the foghorn next, fingers dancing along the buttons and the keypad as he input the code. The horn blared nearly immediately and Dean jumped, startled by the vibration of it through his bones. He was quick to shut it off.

Part of Dean knew he should read through the entire manual and complete all of the tests and checks needed for a fully functional lighthouse but his mind was already drifting elsewhere and he was inclined to follow it. The rain had let up a little and when Dean managed to wrestle open the door to the balcony that encircled the outside of the lighthouse he stepped outside. Rain dripped from the roof onto the rusted railings and Dean leaned against them without a second thought, staring out at the lake.

Everything was grey from the sky to the water to the horizon that stretched endlessly in between the duo. Dark rolling clouds hid the sun and the rain rippled the surface of the lake, breaking the mirror smooth surface and the illusion of peace. It was fitting that Dean found himself miserable in such a miserable place. A splash echoed from somewhere in the distance and Dean leaned over the railing further, squinting. Far enough away to be a speck on the horizon, Dean’s eyes landed on a large ripple in the water. Probably just a fish.

His eyes scanned the ground below, the rocky outcropping littered with years’ worth of debris. It was almost sad the way no one had bothered to take care of this place but Dean understood why they hadn’t. You didn’t waste time on something that was broken and fallen apart. That’s why no one wasted their time on him. A brief thought crossed his mind – what if his hands, as sore as they were, were to slip and send him careening over the railing? Would he grab the railing and fight to hang on, to survive? Or would he give in and just let himself fall, let himself be dashed to pieces on the rocks below? It wasn’t like anyone would miss him.

Dean swallowed the thought down with the lump in his throat, before letting go of the railing. He wasn’t supposed to think like that, not now and not ever. Those thoughts were weak and they were stupid and he had too much to do to indulge that shit. He wiped his wet hands on his pants, wincing as the sensitive skin brushed the rough denim, before he stepped back into the safety of the lighthouse. It was harder to fling himself off a balcony when he was inside.

He trudged back down the stairs and to the main level, pausing by the closed cabinet he’d yet to inspect. It called to him, begging him to open it up and see what treasures lay inside. Pulling it open, Dean’s swirling brain was immediately calmed by confusion. There was a microscope on one of the shelves and Dean pulled it out, turning it over in his hands to examine it. His eyes found a familiar name.

“Between this and the fish sweaters, you must be a nerd.” He said to himself as he set the microscope on the table before pulling out everything else that was in the cabinet.

Dean didn’t recognize most of what he pulled out aside from the microscope and what he assumed was a box of slides. There was a box labelled as water testing kits and maybe something that was a ph strip kit but that was a big if. All in all it was all scientific equipment and something about that made Dean think. Charlie had mentioned something about a marine biologist at the lighthouse before he’d been there and this seemed like marine biologist stuff. Logically, C. Novak had to be the marine biologist.

By the time Dean slipped back into his slicker and opened the door, the rain had stopped. Sand squished beneath his boots as he wandered down the beach toward the lake. Bits of shell and rock crunched beneath his feet and Dean sidestepped a large chunk of driftwood as he neared the water’s edge. Water lapped gently at the sand and Dean crouched down, letting the water lap at his hands. Remarkably cold and still a little icy, the shock to his system was immediate. The cool calm was too much for him and he withdrew his hand, hurrying back to the cottage with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Fuck me I still have to clean up the binder.” Dean muttered to himself as he stepped back into the cottage, all of the unease and anxiety from the morning hitting him square in the chest.

He opened the fridge, deliberating avoiding the specimen jars as he reached for the bottle of whisky. Not bothering with a glass, Dean popped the lid off and took a long swig. The warmth didn’t comfort him, not today. It settled low in his gut, a slick greasy feeling that made him want to throw up. A drink a day to keep the doctor and his demons away. A drink a day to keep the ghost of his dead father near. Whisky was just another thing they seemed to share.

Dean cleaned up the papers in silence, their rustle the only noise in the lonely cottage. He took another swig here and there until he shoved all of the papers back onto the rings. It was closing the binder that broke the illusion of peace. Dean couldn’t close it. His hands ached and shook as he tried to close the thick rings to secure the paper. In the end he gave up and set the binder on the table before leaning against the sink.

The cottage was damp and cold and Dean shivered, wrapping his arms around himself before deciding he needed a sweater. He brought the whisky with him to the bedroom, setting it on the desk before rummaging through his wardrobe. Yanking at the grey hoodie, Dean felt it give way and a strange sound followed: a quiet thud and then the skittering of several smaller pieces.

Crouching down with apprehension, Dean reached for what had fallen. His hand closed around it and then he was staring, mouth dry and heart beating in his throat. An orange pill bottle, nearly empty, sat in Dean’s hand and he didn’t have to look to know exactly what the label said.

D. Winchester. Tramadol. 100 mg. Take once daily.

The memory forced its way to the forefront, knocking Dean on his ass.

Dean’s skin prickled beneath his gear and he’d never been more grateful for the flame retardant fabric in his entire life. He’d never been as thankful for a proper face shield either. It’d been late when the call had come in, a five alarm fire at a manufacturing plant on the outskirts of town and Dean had rolled out of bed with the rest of his crew ready to fight the good fight.

Thick black smoke curled into the air as the fire roared below it, engulfing the plant in hellish orange. He’d been intimidated at first – this was the first time he’d been anywhere near a fire this serious – but there was no time to sit and stew on it because he was needed. They had him triaging at first, treating and assessing and getting the injured night shift workers handed off to the paramedics as they arrived but they needed more bodies inside the factory and Dean had been chosen.

He knew the rules and protocols, knew not to play hero, and that’s exactly what he was going to do. Being a hero was a sure-fire way to get yourself killed and he didn’t want to die. Not like that and not here. It sounded like most of the workers had been rescued already so now it was all containment and final sweeps and battling the fire without worry. Straightforward enough, Dean was ready to hop in the line of fire.

Positioned at the western wall of the flaming building, Dean found himself working with Benny like had been for the past three years. They worked together well, fell into easy communication and a comfortable silence. Benny was a cool guy, even if Dean didn’t like his girlfriend, but that had little to do with work. The pair worked in silence but unease was growing in Dean’s stomach, like something had crawled inside and was beginning to rot. It made him queasy. Something didn’t feel right

“I know that look.” Benny said, standing just behind Dean. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t you smell that?”

“I don’t smell anything, what are you talking about?”

Dean paused, smelling the air again. He grimaced, nose crinkling with disgust. “It’s like fishy, or ammonia or something. Do you seriously not smell that?”

“Think you’re going nuts brother. D’you need someone to check you out? Could just be from the smoke. Who knows what kinds of chemicals they had in here.”

Dean shook his head. He knew he wasn’t going crazy. The temperature in the air shifted, spiking sharply and Dean’s body was moving before he was even aware of it. He took a few steps backwards, body ramming into Benny without a second thought. Benny stumbled and then careened to the ground, wind knocked out of his lungs.

Dean didn’t notice. He was too busy screaming.

An explosion rocked the site and Dean stumbled back several steps, staring in dawning horror at his uniform. It smoked and sizzled, corrosive chemicals eating through the fabric and to his skin below. Where there wasn’t flame retardant fabric there was fire and then there was a sickly sweet smell mixing with the ammonia smell in the air. Dean blinked numbly at his hands and arms. He was on fire. When the fabric of his gear gave way to the fire, he started screaming. White hot pain overtook his senses, overloading them until he crumpled to the ground.

When Dean cracked his eyes open he was met with the all too familiar lighting of an ambulance and the worried faces of paramedics he didn’t recognize. He tried to sit up but the movement sent shockwaves of pain through his body. With a groan Dean stilled, trying to focus on his breathing. His body was floating and his arms felt cool so Dean knew they’d given him something for the pain. He tried to speak but his voice came out slurred as he asked what happened.

The paramedics startled, glancing down at Dean. They said nothing as they poked and prodded at him, testing his pupillary reactions and a few other baselines. Dean knew what they were doing and he wanted to ask about Benny but his vision was frizzing out again. The last thing he saw before it faded to black again was Benny’s worried face staring down at him.

When Dean cracked open his eyes the next time he wasn’t in the ambulance anymore. There was a solid bed beneath him and a hospital gown around him, the gross papery kind that didn’t cover much of anything. A monitor beeped next to his head and when Dean turned his head he felt like throwing up. Everything moved in slow motion, his limbs heavy and moving like they were moving through syrup. They tingled and his mouth was dry and his head throbbed. Even his mouth felt off, the familiar taste of iron lingering

The iv in his arm itched and when he glanced at the bag, he raised an eyebrow. They’d given him morphine. That wasn’t a good sign. Glancing down at his arms, Dean’s heart nearly stopped. All he saw were wound dressings. His watch was gone, his rings nowhere to be seen either. Hell he couldn’t even see his fingers.

“Ah Mr. Winchester, glad to see you’re awake.” Said the doctor as he stepped into the room, clipboard in hand.

“You gave me morphine. How bad are the burns?”

“Fourth degree on your right hand, third on your left. They go up to your elbows in patches.”

Dean’s stomach lurched, nausea punching through him. Between the news and the medication, it was too much to take and he threw up on the tiled floor. It splashed onto the doctor’s sneakers and Dean wanted to die from embarrassment. He apologized profusely but didn’t make any indication he was going to move from his bed.

“I’m assuming you guys gave me skin grafts. You take from my thigh?”

The doctor eyed Dean suspiciously but nodded his head. “We did, on both of your assumptions. We won’t know the extent of the damage to the nerves and muscles in your hands until you start to heal but there’s likely to be some kind of permanent impairment or limited motor function. You’ll certainly need physiotherapy.”

“Kind of figured.”

That was enough for the doctor to raise an eyebrow, readjusting his posture. It was clear from how he held himself that he was both confused and irritated with Dean. No doubt he was confused that Dean was taking the news so well – internally he wasn’t – and irritated that Dean was making assumptions and asking questions.

“Your prognosis looks to be alright seeing as we were able to perform the grafts as quickly as possible but obviously we can’t guarantee anything. Now we’ll go over the specifics of your treatment plan later but for now you need your rest and we have a very insistent paramedic who’s been waiting to see you.”

The doctor excused himself and Dean glanced at the door, waiting for Benny to walk in. He was the closest thing Dean had to a best friend at this point and Dean knew the man all too well. Benny would’ve terrorized the nurses and doctors until they let him have his way and let him inside. Seeing Benny now would provide a much needed distraction.

“You and Sanchez ruined what would’ve been a perfect no injuries call.” Benny said as he shuffled in. His tone was teasing but Dean knew better than to believe it. He could see the fading creases of worry on Benny’s face. “What’s with you and hogging all the attention?”

“Guess I’m a glutton.”

“For punishment, yeah. Scared the absolute fuck out of all of us you asshole.”

Dean huffed, watching Benny pull up a chair so he could sit beside the bed. “Sorry. Guessing cap let you off for the rest of the shift to come play hospital babysitter?”

“Sure did. Someone has to make sure you’re not being a dick to the doctors.”

“They gave me morphine, I’m not gonna be a dick. Granted I don’t think I’d feel the pain on account of my nerves being fucked ten ways to Sunday but still, gotta appreciate their generosity.”

“Dean”—Benny’s expression morphed, playfulness traded in for a stony seriousness – “You were screaming like the devil was dragging you to Hell. I don’t think it was generosity.”

“Was it that bad? I don’t really remember much after the ammonia smell.”

“You knocked me onto the ground, winded me pretty damn good. Saved me from the blast though so thanks. Something exploded, cue the giant fireball, and then you had flammable corrosive chemicals eating through your clothes. You started screaming and it got real chaotic after that. You’re fucking lucky you weren’t closer to the building or who knows what might’ve happened.”

“So was it ammonia then? Kind of like to know what chemical tried to kill me.”

“Improperly stored trimethylamine, that’s what did. Low concentrations cause that fish smell you mentioned.”

Dean swallowed thickly, chancing a glance at Benny. The man’s dark expression was enough for Dean to drop his eyes back down to his bandaged hands. They looked like white clubs in the stark lighting and Dean wondered if he could bash himself into unconsciousness. That would be easier than seeing Benny, easier than being a prisoner in the hospital with no autonomy. Had the company just stored the chemicals the right way, everything could’ve been avoided.

“If I ask you how you’re doing and I mean how you’re actually doing, will I get a serious answer or a Winchester answer?”

Dean snorted and then the dam inside him broke.

When the memory faded, Dean was still on the floor. Thick tears rolled down his cheeks and soaked into the knees of his jeans where he’d buried his face, his body wracked with shaking sobs. He gasped for air as he tried to quell the sobs but they just kept coming, one after another, an onslaught he was helpless to resist. 9 months of recovery and he still felt like he had that day in the hospital, helpless and hopeless.

There was no return to normalcy, not for Dean. Not when every flash of his hands was a fresh reminder of the two worst days of his life. Becoming a firefighter had helped him process Mary’s death but it’d traumatized him all over again. His duty in life had stabbed him in the back but there were no silver pieces to collect, no reward for betraying him.

“Would’ve been better if I had been closer.” He mumbled to himself, shaking stopping just enough for him to move.

Staggering to his feet, Dean kicked the bottle of painkillers under the bed. There was no way in hell he was touching those again, not after what they’d done to him after the accident. Through blurry eyes he reached for the bottle he’d left on the desk, tipping it into his mouth without a care in the world. It numbed the pain just as much as the pills had but at least it didn’t turn him into a monster. At least he didn’t turn into John.

That thought gave him pause and he set the bottle back on the desk, leaning against it as he brought his eyes down to his hands. They looked like the hands of any other person save for the thick warping scars from the accident, and the smaller flaking scars from what remained of the skin he’d grown into since childhood. He was his father’s son, were these not his father’s hands? Was he not the same as his father, trading trauma for numbness? They’d both worshipped at whiskey’s feet. But Dean, Dean wasn’t like John. He couldn’t be.

Dean knew he could never do what his father had done.

~

When Dean woke with a start for the third time since he’d drunk himself into oblivion, he gave up on trying to rest. All he was doing was subjecting himself to memories and flashbacks wrapped up in the pretty gift wrap his brain had decided to use. Every gift was fire and Dean felt like he was suffocating.

His skin ran hot despite the damp chill in the cottage but he refused to change out of his long sleeve, unwilling to look at his arms and be reminded of that stupid fucking pill bottle and his spiral hours ago. He didn’t know why he still had the pills, it wasn’t like he took them regularly.  The knowledge of their location under his bed weighed heavy on his mind and try as he might to distract himself, he couldn’t and he knew what he had to do. Getting to his knees, Dean reached under the bed to try and find the pill bottle. His fingers brushed something that wasn’t a pill bottle.

“What the fuck?”

Dean shifted, lying flat on the floor so he could look under the bed. He half expected to see a corpse if the rumours about the lighthouse and the cottage were to be believed but no such luck. All that greeted him were dusty boxes. He reached for them out of curiosity, pulling them out from under the bed. In all Dean pulled three boxes from under the bed.

The cardboard, bloated with years’ worth of moisture, practically crumbled underneath Dean’s fingers as he pried open the first box. His eyes landed on a neatly folded sweater, moth eaten and dark blue lightened by the dust. When Dean shook it out, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. On the front was a salmon pattern, the pinks and oranges fading into each other. Dean thought back to the sweater he’d pulled from the wardrobe and knew without having to look that the tag would have it labelled as C. Novak.

The second box was full of books and Dean sat cross-legged as he rifled through them. His misery had been replaced by a mild curiosity, the sleep deprived gears in his brain turning the more he looked. On the top were several thick volumes and he reached for one, blowing dust off the top to see what it was. The book had to do with lakes and Dean opened it up, eyes falling on the familiar writing and signature he couldn’t seem to escape. There was no doubt in his mind that C. Novak was the marine biologist Charlie had mentioned.

The final box sat there waiting and Dean didn’t know what to expect. A white folded lab coat lay on the top and Dean set it on the floor beside the textbooks. Definitely seemed like something a marine biologist would own. What lay beneath felt intimately familiar and Dean’s heart squeezed in a pained panic in his chest. Leather bound journals, each one numbered and dated with methodical precision, stared back at him. Dean glanced in the direction of the impala, unease returning as he thought of the leather bound journal rotting away in his trunk like his father in the ground.

“I get leaving behind your clothes and some textbooks but not the journals.” Dean mumbled to himself as he staggered to his feet. “That’s just way too personal.”

Something didn’t sit right the longer Dean stared at the journals. He knew what journals were like, how intimate and sacred they were. They were the best friend he’d never had and evidently, C. Novak had needed them too. Part of Dean itched to dive into them and read them immediately but he didn’t. Breaching someone’s privacy like that – even a stranger’s – was a step too far even for him. What he did want to do was get some answers about this guy that Charlie obviously knew about. It was time for town.

The drive along the dirt road was somber, music turned down low and Dean’s grip on the steering wheel white knuckled. His headache was back and he cursed himself for not bringing a flask with him. A quick swig would’ve solved everything. Still he pressed on, trying to tell himself that everything was fine and he was fine and that he wasn’t falling apart more and more with every passing day. The grief was harder and harder to escape but Dean was trying anyway.

Charlie was at her desk when Dean walked into the library and some kind of vaguely synth intense music was playing from her phone. She looked bored until she turned her head, eyes catching sight of Dean. There was a brief smile and then it fell as she studied Dean, lips pursing together and suspicion glimmering in her eyes.

“Did you get any sleep since the last time I saw you?” She asked, hitting pause on her phone. “You look like you just crawled out of a sarlaac pit.”

“What the fuck is a sarlaac pit?”

“Jabba the Hutt’s favourite means of execution, grand spectator event, princess Leia in a slave bikini. It’s Star Wars. You have to know what that is.”

“See I had a life growing up so not really.” Dean replied. He’d meant it to come across as teasing and mean in a friendly way but judging by the sudden clench in Charlie’s jaw, it hadn’t. The guilt was immediate. “I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole, sorry. Just- I’m not sleeping and I don’t love that being pointed out.”

“I’ll accept your apology but only because I like you. But seriously, there’s no way you could’ve read all those books already so why are you here? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Because I need answers and I’ve got a feeling you might know.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow but remained silent, gesturing for Dean to continue.

“So you said that you guys had a marine biologist come by here a little while ago. Just wondering if you remember his name because I found a bunch of stuff at the lighthouse labelled as property of C. Novak and I think it might be his. It’s all like fancy science equipment and dorky fish sweaters and stuff.”

Charlie stiffened and Dean’s brows furrowed. That was a weird reaction. He watched her play it off and act like it never happened, her voice calm and collected though there was the slightest wave. “Yeah, he was here like 5ish years ago I think. Would’ve been the last guy there before you. Dude wanted to study the local marine ecosystem and the lake legend, seemed a little too into the fish if you ask me.”

“Noted. Did he leave like a forwarding address or something? I feel like he should have his fancy science shit back and between you and me, I don’t want to keep looking at the wet specimens in the fridge. They’re just fucking creepy.”

“He didn’t really come into the library that much so I have no idea. I can look into it if you want, see what the local data tells me. Worst case scenario I go bug the mayor and get him to tell me. But that’s like end of the world type shit. The mayor kind of scares me.”

“He can’t be worse than that Bobby Singer guy.”

Charlie laughed but there was no amusement behind it. “They’re one in the same.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Look, this computer system is shit so it’s gonna take me like a week to get all this info. Think you can survive that long without an answer?”

Dean nodded, grateful. Something still felt off, like there was some kind of secret Charlie wasn’t telling him but Dean wasn’t in the mood to call her out on it. All that would do was piss her off and he needed a sane person in this town to talk to. Turning to leave the library, Dean felt Charlie’s fingers brush the top of his scarred hands. He flinched.

“You’re really not doing okay.” She said simply as she took her hand back. “I know that look. You must’ve been close to your Dad.”

Dean looked at her, expression blank. He wanted to laugh in her face and tell her just how wrong she was. John Winchester had been an abusive obsessive bastard with a mean streak and an alcohol problem he’d passed onto his parentified kid. He’d been an obligation right up until the end. Dean had loved him in spite of it all.

“It’s complicated.” He said at last, voice flat.

“Sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s fine, not like you knew. Were you and your dad close?”

Charlie nodded her head. “I was a daddy’s girl so yeah, we were. Mom wasn’t the same after he died.”

“You part of the dead mom club too?”

“It’s complicated.”

Dean almost chuckled, a quick and quiet noise. “You didn’t push so I won’t either. Thanks for helping me out, I appreciate it.”

“Any time. I’ll see you in a week.”

There was a moment of silence that passed between them, an unspoken thought that they both knew something the other didn’t, and then Dean was finally leaving the library. He found himself walking past the impala and down the street towards Bluebird, hands shoved into his pockets. There was enough time for a shitty cup of coffee before he returned to his self-imposed isolation.

Inside the diner was a veritable ghost town, not a patron in sight. The booths and counter remained empty and Dean frowned as he took a seat, scanning his surroundings. There were no food crumbs, no leftover napkins, not even the smell of coffee in the air and it was wrong. Diners could be empty but this empty was a veritable crime.

“It’s always like this after we have a storm.” Missouri said as she appeared from the back, speaking as if she knew what Dean was thinking. “People need to check for damage and make sure everything works. It’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

“Nothing about the rain in this town is right.”

Missouri arched an eyebrow but didn’t reply, simply turning her back on Dean. She reached for a pack of grinds, tipping them into the machine and starting it up. Her expression was calm when she returned but there was a glimmer in her eye, the kind of glimmer that Dean couldn’t quite read. “You look like you’ve got something on your mind. Care for some breakfast while you stew?”

Dean shook his head. “Thanks but no, I’m not hungry. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure can.”

“You’ve been in town for a while right?”

“My entire life. Why do you ask?”

“It would’ve been maybe 5 or 6 years ago but there was a guy who came to town, a marine biologist. Do you know anything about him?”

“I knew him in the same way I’m getting to know you. He was sweet, had a real zest for life. Loved the lake, make no qualms about that. Tipped well too. Love the pecan pie.”

“I’m more of an apple guy myself.”

Missouri nodded, short and polite. In a practiced fluid motion she was pouring Dean a piping hot cup of coffee and setting it down in front of him. Her eyes scanned him, darting from his face to his hands and then to the clothing that appeared wrinkled. Dean knew he looked disheveled and horrible but seeing her pick up on it still sucked. She wasn’t being judgmental which threw him for a loop.

“Can I ask why you’re asking about him?” She asked, breaking the quiet tension simmering between them.

“Well he left a bunch of personal shit up at the lighthouse and I’d like to think he’d want it back. It’s all expensive science equipment and journals. And I’m asking you about him because you and Charlie are the only people in this town who don’t look at me like I’m some kind of freak. Figured I might get some honesty.”

“So you’ve met Charlie then.”

“Yep and she’s great but that’s not the point. Point is is that she’s being cagey even though she agreed to look into the guy and I get the distinct feeling from you that you know something and just aren’t sharing. So I’d really love a straight answer before I lose my mind even more.”

Missouri stiffened, posture growing rigid as she crossed her arms over her chest. Eyes hardening and lips pursed, she stared at Dean. He stared back at her, refusing to back down. Her posture was an indicator of her guilt. She knew something and she didn’t want to share. Seemed typical.

“Look Dean, you seem sweet enough which is why I'm saying this. There are just some things in life people don’t talk about.”

Dean huffed in irritation. Of course she’d respond like that. She wasn’t any better than anyone else in that town and it pissed him off. “This isn’t me asking if the guy killed anyone or anything. I just want to know enough to give him his shit back. Not like I can ask him about it myself considering I don’t even know his first name. This isn’t an invasion of his privacy.”

“For your own sake, just drop it. You’re not going to like what you find.”

“Do I look like the kind of person who stops digging just Because they’ve been told not to?” Dean said, making a point to hold up and show off his hands. “Because I sure as hell don’t think I do. Thanks for the coffee.”

His departure was quick, stalking out of the diner with fire under his heels and an angry frustration building in his chest. Charlie was helping him but she was concealing something and Missouri had all but threatened him and told him not to look into it. A conspiracy was the only thing that made sense; a town wide agreement to erase the man from their history but they hadn’t erased all of him. Dean still had his journals.

Leaning against the impala when he reached it, Dean pulled his phone from his pocket. He was going to make a list, needed to document everything happening for posterity’s sake. The people could gaslight him but they couldn’t gaslight his notes or the physical evidence back at the lighthouse they refused to go anywhere near. A new message greeted him when the lock screen lit up.

1 New Voicemail.

Dean could count on one hand the number of people who would call him and leave a voicemail. This was out of character and it turned the frustration into what was becoming a practiced unease. Dean tapped into the app and put the phone up to his ear

I was in exams when you called, sorry. Thanks for the updates about Dad, not sorry that he’s dead. School’s great, I just moved in with my girlfriend. Really loving California. That’s it I think. Bye Dean.

Dean’s heart pounded like a drum in his throat, his chest tight and eyes burning with a wave of fresh emotion. That was Sam’s voice. For the first time in five years that was his brother’s voice talking to him. Sam hadn’t forgotten him completely. The message left a lot to be desired – Sam hadn’t asked about him, hadn’t checked in on how he was doing after handling their dad’s affairs, hadn’t really done much other than acknowledge the original message Dean had left – but that was a problem for another day. For now, all that mattered was that he wasn’t completely iced out from Sam’s life. He still had family.

The tears slipped silently down Dean’s cheeks as he began the journey back to the lighthouse but he didn’t mind so much. They were the first tears he’d cried in months that weren’t just bitter angry reminders. There was hope for him and Sam, hope for their relationship. Sam wouldn’t have called if there wasn’t.

Once Dean had solved the mystery of C. Novak and finished his tenure at the lighthouse, he knew California was his next stop. He just hoped Sam would let him back in.

Chapter Text

The oatmeal in Dean’s mouth had the texture of spackle, thick and paste-like. It was the worst thing he could’ve picked but it was the first thing he’d seen when he’d stumbled into the kitchen after another sleepless night. Of course a dash of whiskey in his coffee wasn’t the greatest choice either but it beat a headache. Made the coffee taste less like he remembered from his childhood too.

In the middle of the night between nightmares one and two Dean had been a little productive and now the journals stared at him from across the kitchen table. In total there were 12 and that number made sense in Dean’s head. One a month for a year if the man was wordy. Given Castiel's occupation, the man was undoubtedly wordy. 

“I really shouldn’t be reading you.” Dean mumbled to himself as he reached, fingers skimming the leather exterior of the journal labelled as number one. “But Charlie’s gonna be a week with a forwarding address if you even left one and Missouri basically told me to drop it so it’s not like I have a choice.”

Pulling the journal towards himself, Dean settled in to read and distract himself. It opened with a crack of the spine and then Dean was staring at the writing again, eyes scanning the first page.

I’ve been told by everyone that I know that I should keep this journal for posterity’s sake. Meg tells me that I need to keep it to document all of the incredible discoveries I’ll inevitably make up here because, and I quote, “I’m that bitch". Not sure what that means but I appreciate her vote of confidence. Gabriel tells me that I need it so I don’t pull a Jack Torrence and Redrum someone. I don’t know what that means.

“Come on dude, how do you not know what that is?” Dean mumbled to himself in pure disbelief before he was reading again.

Mick told me I should keep the journal so there’s documentation about how much I miss him. Also to document if I have any sex dreams about him. I don’t think he seems to understand how our relationship works. I get no strings attached sex and he gets someone else on the faculty to peer review his thesis before sending it to the wolves. Maybe I’d be more inclined to entertain his ideas if the sex were anything more than mediocre at best. I can only take missionary so many times. I told Gabriel this and he had the nerve to suggest that I get Mick to watch his porn videos. Absolutely not. I’m not watching the porn my older brother produced and directed and I’m sure as hell not showing it to my partner for the night. i think I'd rather deal with defending my thesis again.

Moving on, I’ve decided that I want to keep this journal because it’ll help me collect my thoughts in a cohesive coherent manner in one place. I would use my laptop but technology is questionable at best here and I’m not about to allow my results to be tampered with or god forbid deleted or erased. I've seen the mental and emotional turmoil that can cause. So consider this the official journal and research notation book. As always, let’s start with a little bit about me since I have no doubt that upon my return to the university Meg will read every single one of these and rake me over the coals if I don’t attempt to be at least a little humorous. If she doesn’t, Gabriel will. One of them I can deal with but two of them is worse than hell.

So I’m Castiel Novak, lead researcher and tenure track professor in the school of marine sciences. No point in bragging about where I teach because the only people who will read this already know where I teach because they work there. Though I suppose my Canadian colleagues don't work down here and may read this. They'll give me hell for not mentioning Shediac and all of the undiscovered gems in New Brunswick. Too bad this is my journal and not theirs. Moving on, my bachelor’s and master’s focus on aquaculture with a minor variance into marine ecology and my phd focused on testing and suggesting better methods for aquaculture within the Great Lakes and other notable lakes. Of course the government didn’t really like that, something about hurting tourism and recreation and not enough research but Canada’s been doing it in Lake Huron for 30 years and they’re completely fine!  Everyone up there keeps telling me I can't change Rome in a day and I know they're right but seriously, the march of progress is standstill at this point. 

And this is where Gabriel comes in and tells me what I’m saying is boring. Be adventurous, he’d say. So in the effort of being adventurous, here we go: I speak French because I'm from Shediac originally (duh!), I’m a virgo which is why my last ex broke up with me, and fish themed sweaters are the key to my heart.

“Not sure I’d call that funny but whatever floats your boat I guess.” Dean said before placing the ribbon back in its resting place and closing the journal.

With his mind distracted just enough to actually get some work done, Dean cleaned up his breakfast dishes and then slipped into his boots before heading out to the beach. For the beginning of April the air was chilly, Dean’s breath puffing out in little white clouds in front of him was he walked. The cold was sobering.

Trash bag in hand Dean made his way to the shore, crouching down to reach for the garbage. Plastic bottles, cans, old fishing line, all of it went into the bag. There was a melancholy hanging in the air as Dean cleaned, the kind of melancholy that settled into his bones. This beach could’ve been beautiful had it not been for all of the trash. People dumped the discards of their lives wherever they pleased and it felt wrong.

Movement in the water caught Dean’s eye and he made his way over, curious. Sunlight glinted off the rusty metal and Dean reached for it. He couldn’t tell what it was aside from the fact that it was vaguely box shaped but turning it over in his hands revealed the familiar tagline, property of C. Novak. Of course it would be Castiel’s. Dean put it back with the assumption it was probably important

 For the better part of two hours Dean combed the beach, collecting detritus and debris. He was silent, solemn, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. Memories crept in like leaks in the levee and when the levee broke it took Dean with it.

Lake Manitoc sprawled out in front of Dean, water the colour of an oil spill. Weeds and strands of algae floated on the surface and the light shone through them, sending rays scattering across the surface. Dean couldn’t see into the water but he knew fish swam beneath him, racing around the rocks and through the weeds and out into deeper water. It was their home and they wanted to play. He wished he could play with them.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?”

John’s voice echoed behind Dean and he turned around, staring up at his father. The man had aged, grey beginning to streak at his temples and wrinkles beginning to carve their place into his face. It was disconcerting. The grey hadn’t been there the year before. His father wore a black t-shirt and swim trunks, a few towels carefully folded over his arm. John had allowed them to stay in Lake Manitoc for a few weeks now and he respite from the road was much needed. Even today, a rare day John had promised he would spend letting the boys have fun felt like it had been more than earned. 

Dean nodded his head, still staring out at the lake. “I like the quiet. Sam does too.”

“Where is your brother?”

“Just on the beach, he’s making a sandcastle. Don’t think it’s going well.” Dean explained, gesturing to the sand.

Sam, sitting just out of earshot on the beach in front of them, glanced up with a toothy smile. He’d just lost his first tooth and at six he was determined to stay up all night and see the tooth fairy. Dean knew he’d pass out from all the excitement at the beach that day. A crumbling pile of sand stood next to Sam and he turned away to focus on maintaining it.

“It’s your job to protect him, you know that right Dean?” John’s voice had darkened, the tone a hushed warning that seemed to suck the very notion of fun from the air around Dean. “He’s not like you and I. Sam’s sensitive, he’s still got hope and a future. You need to protect that.”

Dean nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his swim trunks. His hands balled into fists. His entire life boiled down into ‘protect Sam’ and he did. Dean was the one to tuck Sam into bed at night, the one to make sure he had enough to eat. He was the one to tell Sam that he didn’t have to be afraid of the monster in his closet because he would never let it hurt Sam.

Dean never told Sam the monster was sleeping in the bed next to theirs every night.

“I’m gonna go help him with his sandcastle.” Dean said before he walked off, taking a seat next to Sam.

He didn’t speak but packed sand into the bucket and helped Sam repair the crumbling walls of his castle. His eyes scanned their surroundings, watching as John took a seat in a beach chair and set down the cooler. Out came the first of what would undoubtedly be several beers.

“I wanna swim.” Sam said, looking up at Dean with begging eyes wide like saucers.

“No Sammy, you don’t know how. You stay on the beach.”

Sam stuck his bottom lip out, pouting. His arms crossed his chest and he stared at Dean, trying his damnedest to get Dean to give in. Usually it worked but this time Dean wasn’t budging and Sam didn’t like that. Not one bit. He let it go for the time being, turning back to the sandcastle while he formatted his plan. Dean stayed there for a while as the pair built Sam's sandcastle before he got up, telling Sam he’d be back with sandwiches and a drink.

There was a faint sound like a splash but Dean shrugged it off. He was gone for no more than two minutes as he retrieved a pair of sandwiches and some juice boxes – a rare treat for the pair – from the cooler beside their napping father but when he looked back, Sam was gone. Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach and the sandwiches dropped onto the sand.

“Sam?” Dean called, panic flooding his veins. His feet moved before he could make them, thundering down towards the sand castle. “Sam?!”

There was no response save for a gentle splash in the water and Dean wanted to throw up. He’d turned his back for two minutes and Sam had gone and done exactly what he wasn’t supposed to. Water splashed at his feet as Dean stepped into the lake, still calling Sam’s name. The lake was quiet and Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe, frozen dead in his tracks.

Bubbles popped just ahead of Dean and he moved without thinking, throwing himself off of the shelf and into the deeper water. It surrounded him, a cold shock to the nervous system but Dean had more important things to worry about. Sam was there, clawing at the water with his hands as he sank deeper and Dean swam for him. His hands hooked around Sam’s arms and then Dean was tugging like his life depended on it.

He managed to kick to the surface, dragging Sam towards the shelf. With his feet firmly on the ground and air surrounding both of them, Dean hauled Sam out of the water and onto the beach. There was no time to think or to do anything other than look at his baby brother coughing up dirty lake water because John had appeared suddenly, fire and fury in his eyes.

“What hell happened?” He hissed, grabbing Dean’s arm and nearly wrenching it out of the socket as he tossed his eldest aside. John scooped Sam up, checking him out with all of the concern of a loving parent.

Dean, discarded on the sand as he cradled his arm to his chest, bit back a cry of pain. That would only make it worse. “I was only gone for two minutes and I told him to stay out of the water!”

“That doesn’t matter, you should’ve been watching him!”

Dean tried to protest but Sam was beginning to stir, coughing weakly as he curled up to John’s chest. Dean's breath of relief was palpable but a heavy weight quickly replaced it when Dean heard John’s voice. It was the all too familiar tone of a promise of pain to come.

“I will deal with you later.”

Dean was left alone in the sand and as he stared out at that familiar lake with its oil slick brackish water, he wished it would just swallow him whole.

When Dean snapped back into reality he was misty eyed and his chest felt too tight, just like it had that day at the lake. One, two, three shaky breaths later and he still felt like he was going to throw up. Old wounds ached and the longer Dean stared out at Lake Maren, the worse he felt. At least he hadn’t almost let his brother die in this lake.

Briefly his eyes flicked to the rotting carcass of the dock but Dean turned on his heels and walked in the other direction, the bag of trash trailing behind him. The lake was too much for him right now, too painful a reminder of his past. John had dealt with him that night and by the time Dean reached the cottage, that memory was overtaking him.

Dean couldn’t eat. He’d tried to but the sandwich had turned to mush in his mouth and the lump in his throat would’ve made him choke anyway. Bits of sand had crunched between his teeth on the first bite and that had all but ruined his appetite on top of things. It was better not to eat before being disciplined.

Sam was asleep on one of the beds, tucked under the sheets and curled up with his favourite stuffed animal. It had been Dean’s as a child but no longer. The stuffed bear, now named Bean, had been the only thing Dean had left of Mary and now it was the only thing Sam had left of Mary. At least Dean had his memories.

John had been silent as they’d eaten. Truthfully the only noise had been the popping sound of the twist off beer bottle caps as they popped and dropped onto the table. Seven beers in now and John didn’t look any more relaxed than he had been before the near drowning. Seven beers in and John’s eyes stared at Dean with a deep shark like intensity. Black and empty, John Winchester loving father was no longer present.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had been.

Chair legs scraped against the floor as John pushed his chair back and rose to his full height. His eyes met Dean’s just once – just long enough to tell him to stay right where he was at the table – before he was turning on his heels and disappearing into the bathroom. A metallic screech echoed and then the unmistakable sound of water filling the tub.

Dean’s eyes darted to the motel room door before settling on the table. He couldn’t run and he couldn’t leave Sam, not alone with John. Tonight wasn’t going to be ordinary and Dean’s chest tightened with growing panic.

It wasn’t the first time John had taken discipline to the next level but something about tonight felt different. This wasn’t the kind of night where Dean would get a smack to the face or a belt across the ass. Those were for minor offences. Letting Sam almost drown wasn’t a minor offence. 

“Dean.”

John’s voice was sharp and commanding and Dean scrambled to his feet, a knee jerk reaction. If he came when his father called then John would go easier. With every step taken like Dean was fighting against iron shoes rooting him to the spot, Dean edged closer and closer to the bathroom. John sat on the toilet and with an expression that made Dean throw up in his mouth, gestured to the bath tub filled with water.

“Kneel.”

Dean swallowed thickly but did as John commanded, kneeling before the bathtub. His eyes focused on the water, hands coming up to grip the edge of the tub so tightly his knuckles turned white. All he had to do was get through this.

“Do you understand why you need to be disciplined?”

“Because I messed up and didn’t watch Sam.”

“It’s more than that, Dean.” John said as he knelt behind Dean, hand firm on the space between Dean’s shoulder blades. His tone was steady and measured, not an inkling of emotion present. “Your brother could’ve died because you weren’t doing your job and watching him. You’re lucky I was there.”

“I’m the one who pulled him out.” Dean muttered under his breath, voice quiet as a whisper.

John’s hand fisted the back of Dean’s t-shirt and Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach. He’d been heard. His chest was heaving now as he stared at the water, eyes still focused on it. Surely his dad wouldn’t do this to him? That was a step too far, even for John Winchester.

“And he wouldn’t have been in that position if it weren’t for you and your lack of discipline. It was irresponsible and reckless and I am so disappointed in you. I taught you better than that.” John’s voice was a deep, nearer and nearer to the violent growl Dean knew it would become. The firm hand on his shoulders pushed Dean’s head closer to the surface of the water, forcing him to bend at the waist.

“It won’t happen again, Dad.” Dean whispered, visibly trembling. “Please, you don’t have to do this. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“This is to make sure you don’t forget.”

Dean’s head was underwater before he knew what was happening, strong hand gripping the back of his head to force it down. Icy cold water filled his ears and his nostrils, the shock to his system immediate. He hyperventilated, chest heaving as he panicked.

At five seconds Dean’s lungs burned.

At ten seconds Dean’s throat ached.

At 15 seconds Dean broke.

He opened his mouth, unable to hold his breath, and the water came rushing in. It poured down his throat and then Dean’s body was on fire from the inside. He clawed at the edge of the tub, at John’s hands, at whatever he could get his hands on. Everything hurt, the pain so bone deep Dean convinced himself he was going to die.

He was going to die in this shitty motel bathtub held down by the father who had never really loved him.

Just as the pain began to ebb and the fight slipped from his body, Dean felt a strong hand haul his half-conscious body up and out of the tub. There was a hard thud to his chest – a fist if he had to guess – and then he was laying on the cold tile of the bathroom floor, curled up on his side as he retched.

John rose to his feet and wiped his wet hands on his pants. He stared down at Dean with disdain but the vicious gleam in his eyes betrayed his true feelings. “Clean this up and get to bed.”

Dean waited until he heard the beer drunk snores of his father before he burst into guttural sobs.

His lungs ached with the weight of the memory as he stumbled blindly into the cottage, eyes blurred with another batch of fresh tears. He hadn’t meant to take his eyes off of Sam and he’d been a kid, a ten year old fucking kid. It wasn’t his responsibility to parent and protect Sam and it sure as hell wasn’t his fault that John had been the way he was.

“I didn’t fucking deserve that.” He choked out, wiping at his face with filthy sleeves. “I was just a fucking kid.”

Dean searched the kitchen through his tears until he came upon one of the few remaining bottles he had left. The smell was comforting as he took the cap off, the burn a familiar ache that replaced the phantom bathtub water ache permeating his lungs and chest. Alcohol burns were good because they were self-inflicted, because they were his to control. He determined how much he drank and when and that felt good.

Control felt good.

Dean drank until his hands stopped shaking and the tears had slowed to nothing but a trickle, his inside warmed and numbed by the comfort of whisky. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and hide away, to drink himself into an alcoholic oblivion. But he couldn’t. Even whisky dreams weren’t an escape for the horrid phantoms of his past. Not anymore.

So Dean did the only thing he could think of that had brought him any moment of distraction since John had died. He reached for Castiel's journal and opened it back up.

My research plans are simple enough for the foreseeable future. I begin with testing the ph. levels of the water every morning, mostly to find the range of the lake. With the range established I can move on to further experiments. Of course I plan to fish, can’t really get samples of the local aquatic life without that. Of course that involves dissection and preservation but that should be easily doable here. Provided of course I stash the specimens in the fridge. Might be entertaining to see a perch next to my kale.

I think any normal person would think I’m insane for talking about storing preserved fish in the fridge and I suppose they’d be right. It’s not as if I’m fishing and preparing the fish to sustain my life or provide nourishment. My pursuit’s purely scientific and at times it feels wasteful. I feel like I should be fishing for food or nourishment and I do my best to leave no trail but that’s nearly impossible with the pursuit of science. So I leave as small a mark as I can knowing that all of my research is to be used for future aquaculture projects. If I can help provide a future where we can leave no mark and renew our natural resources then a few preserved fish in the fridge will just have to do.

I think I’m going to try and see if I can convince one of the locals to either take me out on the lake or allow me to use their boat. I’d really like to see what I can catch in the deeper parts of the lake, maybe even do some sonar to map out the bottom of the lake. If dredging wasn’t so destructive to the natural environment and the aquatic ecosystem, I’d be inclined to give that a try too. Unfortunately it is so no dredging here. In the warmer months I’m likely to scuba dive and see what I can find for myself. I’ve been itching for a good dive and the freshwater dives are so much more interesting than the ocean dives. Also less likely that there are sharks.

The locals feel a bit like sharks now that I think about it. They’re watching and curious in that really uncomfortable staring way that really gives me social anxiety. I don’t think they’re bad people, not that I know them or anything. I just think they’re being careful. After all I’m some random dude who’s just showing up out of the blue to stay at their haunted lighthouse to study their monster filled lake without so much as a word. I keep meaning to go into town more and talk with them but I get so distracted by the fish and the results and then I just forget. I’ll go to the diner first when I do go into town. Missouri seems friendly and she had a really nice looking piece of pie on display the other day that I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth into. She seems the most likely to give me answer. Her or that librarian but the librarian seems a little bit flighty so who knows.

Dean shook his head in disagreement. Charlie wasn’t flighty, not in the slightest. Sure she was a massive nerd and smiled too much but there was a lot going on in her head. Dean had only met her twice but he knew not to underestimate her. She knew things and knowledge was power. Especially in Port Maren.

The tears on Dean’s cheek had dried by now and the salt of them made his skin itch. He wasn’t calm by any means but at least he could breathe now, at least he could look down at his hands and see them with clear vision. His lungs ached and his throat hurt too but the sensation had lessened. It was a dull buzz now, muted by the alcohol coursing through his veins.

He hadn’t thought about that day in a decade. Hell, the last time his brain had conjured it up had been when he’d been called to an accident at a waterpark and even then it had been a broken bone and not a drowning. Dean’s body remembered the aftermath of that night like the back of his hand though; cold wet tiles digging into his skin through the soaked cotton of his t-shirt as he frantically swallowed his own sobs. He'd be in worse trouble if he woke John or Sam up. John had gone to bed like nothing had happened and his snores masked the sobs and the sound of Dean scrubbing his bile out of the grout. When Dean had finally crawled into bed some three hours later, Sam had curled up to him like he always did. It always came back to Sam.

“You probably don’t even remember that day.” Dean mumbled bitterly as he stood up. The resentment was as bitter as the bile he'd scrubbed away.

The alcohol shot straight to his head and a wave of dizziness overtook him. Reaching out to steady himself, his hand found purchase on top of the journal which slid across the table and onto the floor with a thud. Something skittered across the floor, settling underneath the table. Dean’s eyes narrowed in suspicion but he chose not to deal with it right away, instead capping the bottle and making his way to the fridge. The specimens stared back at him as he put the bottle away and Dean shook his head.

“At least I know these are cuz you’re a scientist and not some fish fucking pervert or something.”

The only reply was the electric hum of the fridge as it kicked on. With the bottle gone and the burn numbing the edges of his pain, Dean returned to the journal he’d knocked to the floor. He crouched down to pick it up, eyes narrowing as he stared just past it. Something glinted in the light of the kitchen and Dean reached for it.

The rectangle of plastic wasn’t very big and when Dean got a good look at it, he wasn’t surprised to see that it was faded and scratched with age. At the top was a university logo, not one he recognized – not that he would recognize many – and on the bottom was an all too familiar name.

Castiel Novak, Head of Marine Sciences.

It was the photo in the middle that Dean’s eyes were drawn to. He couldn’t see much given the condition of the badge but at the very least he could make out a shock of dark hair and what he assumed were possibly blue eyes. The man was in another one of his dorky fish get ups, navy blue dress shirt underneath the white and blue sweater vest. It was some kind of crab pattern and Dean thought it looked ridiculous.

“Do you even know what a good outfit is?” he asked the card as he got back to his feet, setting it on the kitchen table next to the journal.

Dean knew he should be doing his job or at the very least going to bed to try and fix his complete lack of a sleep schedule but work and being plagued by nightmares didn’t sound particularly appealing after the emotional rollercoaster of his day. In the end Dean sat down at the kitchen table and kept reading.

I finally talked to Missouri for more than ten minutes and I was right about her being informative and helpful. She cajoled me into having a piece of her pecan pie by telling me I needed to bulk up to fill out that fish sweater I was wearing and I wasn’t about to argue with her. Pie was pretty good, decently flaky crust and nice caramelization. I think I would’ve liked smaller chopped pecans but you don’t exactly get to complain when a woman is shoving a slice of pie in your face like you’ve never eaten a day in your life. Felt like my mom trying to feed me her Nanaimo bars. i should really go visit her and Dad soon. Maybe after this research trip.

I asked her about herself first because duh and she seemed surprised. Must just not be used to outsiders I guess. Apparently her and her family have been here since this was a colony and from a purely historical perspective that’s incredibly fascinating. She herself’s been here her entire life and I’m not going to judge but being in a small town can really drag when you’ve been there for 40 years. I asked if she had any hidden talents or anything and she told me she has a sense about people, like a preternatural ability to guess what’s going to happen before it does. I asked if she knew what was going to happen to me and I really didn’t like how tight her smile was. Probably just saw that I'll end up alone. Hopefully.

Anyways… I got the lowdown about the local cryptid which unfortunately doesn’t have a fun name. They call it the Lake Maren Monster which certainly doesn’t have the same ring as Old Ned or Gaasyendietha. Hell I’d even take Kempenfelt Kelly. Only promising thing about it is that it’s not eel-like or sturgeon-like or even dragon-like. I was told it has a tail and also that it has arms of some kind. No idea whether or not they’re fully developed arms or if they’re just like the Australian Handfish but either way that’s quite interesting. I think I'd prefer fully formed arms because that's evolutionary biology at its best and might help the whole aquatic apes thing going on in certain circles. Man that would be cool.

I don’t necessarily think that the monster is real but I do think that people could be seeing something they’re not familiar with. It’s entirely possible for sturgeon or catfish or eels to grow to ridiculous sizes if in the right environment. This is kind of a ‘make a mermaid out of a manatee’ situation I think. That being said I don’t think it accounts for the times people have been knocked out of their boats or dragged underwater or gone missing but that’s probably just small town drunk idiots. At least that’s what happened where I grew up. Get a few idiots together for a bush party turned dock party and someone's bound to do something stupid. Especially the minnow. Now there's a village full of idiots.

Missouri says I should talk to the librarian and see if she can pull any books about the local history. Frankly I’m not convinced there are any but I’ll give it a try. She suggested someone else too, a woman who lives at the edge of town close to the lighthouse road. Apparently she’s been in town as long as anyone can remember and knows more than she lets on. I get recluse vibes and I don’t really want to get murdered by a random woman near the woods so I may pass for now. Thought was nice though.

I think seeing the Lake Maren Monster would be a fascinating experience. Maybe I’ll get lucky.

Dean sat back in the chair when he’d finished the entry, chewing on his lip as he digested the words. Castiel seemed like he had character. At the very least he had a dry sense of humour which Dean didn’t mind.

“Wonder if you ever got to see the Monster of Lake Maren.”

Chapter Text

Dean’s routine in the month he’d been at the lighthouse had evened out, a consistent predictable pattern that brought him the mildest relief. Sleep was four hours a night on a good night and he didn’t have many of those anymore. He would toss and turn for hours until the thing sheets tangled around his legs and only then would he get up. Sometimes he’d grab a drink but more often than not he’d sit at the kitchen table and pull out one of the journals he swore he’d never look at.

That’s what he had done several hours ago and now the sun filtered in through the kitchen window, gentle light enough to make Dean blink and set the journal aside. When he stood his hip cracked and a shoulder popped when he stretched. Apparently he’d been sitting too long.

He moved quietly as he started a pot of coffee, steeling himself for the smell that would waft his way in mere minutes. It still raised the hairs on the back of his neck and there wasn’t enough distance he could ever put between himself and John to fix that. Breakfast was quick too, an apple and some peanut butter because the last thing Dean wanted to do was dishes. Also he needed groceries.

“One more entry won’t hurt.” He mumbled to himself as he sat down with his cup of coffee and quartered apple, reaching for the journal. Castiel’s writing was enticing.

The ph of the water was a little bit higher than I’d like to be when I checked it this morning, a solid 8 on the scale. It’s still in the realm of normal but I don’t like it. Any higher and there’s risk of an algae bloom which could just decimate the local wildlife. Not that I can do anything about the ph of an entire lake but still. A guy can dream about a perfectly balanced 7.0 if he so chooses. Fun fact, semen has a ph on average of 7.2-8.0 so the lake’s about the same. Do with that what you will.

I think Gabriel would be proud of me for that fun fact and somehow him being proud of me is both comforting and disturbing all at once. Love the man to death but he’s the anomaly in our family for so many reasons. Lack of height aside, he’s the only one I’d say isn’t in a prestigious career. Granted he thinks it’s prestigious and I’m not about to disavow him of that notion. He’s a year older than me which makes him the third youngest but he’s definitely the most childlike. Michael’s a doctor, Raphael’s a lawyer, Naomi’s a superintendent, I’m a marine biologist, Jimmy’s a chartered accountant, Anna’s a psychiatrist, and Gabriel shoots and directs porn.

Dean nearly choked on his coffee and set it aside before continuing to read.

I mean my brother’s always been… eccentric, but this feels a little out there. He was always a player in high school and lord knows mom and dad lost track of who he was bringing home when so I guess in hindsight this isn’t that surprising. We were all surprised when he actually stuck it out for the entirety of film school. Well I wasn’t that surprised because, and I quote, “Listen Cassie, nothing gets you girls like being into film but not being a pretentious douchebag about it”. I suppose that’s fair advice but I have zero interest in women so what do I know.

Dean’s eyebrow raised. Cassie didn’t feel like an appropriate nickname for Castiel, not based off of what he’d read so far. Of course Cassie was far too personal a name for Dean and his stomach twisted into a knot. He pushed through the discomfort, eyes returning to the page.

I think him and his buddies got into porn because they got bored and wanted it to be artistic. Also Gabe’s pretty particular about boundaries and consent and I think he wanted to try and see if he could shoot it ethically. Seems like he’s managed so far. Not that I would know because I don’t watch his stuff. Feels like voyeurism to watch a porno knowing your older brother was behind the camera calling the shots. Not saying I wouldn’t be into voyeurism but that’s just not something I’ve ever explored. Meg would be extoling praise on it right now. She extols praise on a lot of things most people would find offensive.

I’ve been told that it’s shot well and has actual storylines which I don’t really get because you should be watching porn to get your rocks off, not because there’s a compelling narrative with believable characters. All that aside, he’s actually won a few awards and trying to watch Mom and Dad brag about his accomplishments without actually explaining what he does for a living is the best free entertainment. Swore the Murphy’s nearly lost their minds when they finally found out. And that was only because Mr. Murphy stumbled on one of his videos accidentally.

I think Gabe just really appreciates the beauty of the human form and I respect that. There is a certain beauty to it I suppose, the way we move and our muscles and whatnot. I’ll admit to being partial to a nice pair of arms and hands. Don’t mind a nice ass either. Mick has one of those things and it’s only barely passable hence his title of mediocre hookup. I’m definitely a hands guy I think. I just like them bigger and stronger than mine.

Generally speaking I think fish are better than people, speaking from a purely aesthetic point of view. Fish are simple but there’s such a range of them. There’s nothing quite like holding a fish in your hands and feeling that powerful muscle. The way they jump and swim through the water, their patterns, their scales, their fins, all of it’s so unique. I had someone ask me if I had a favourite fish once and I don’t think I can pick just one. My current favourite’s an underappreciate gem and that’s Kryptopterus Bichirris, the ghost glass catfish. They’re nocturnal and nervous but very social and they’re transparent. I just think the way you can see through them is so cool.

Anyways I bring up Gabe and the fish because I’ve been thinking about him lately. It’s lonely at the lighthouse and I miss our weekly Thursday night suppers. Not that we always have a lot to talk about but it’s nice to at least get to see him. I think he’d like the lighthouse. Not because it’s nice to stay at (because it isn’t) but because of the beach and how secluded this place is. He could shoot a million productions here and really cater to what I imagine are some underappreciated niches. I keep going back to the little mermaid parodies and my brain’s cursed me with a version where it’s like cpr with a dick instead.

And this is when I put my pen down. Jesus I need to go for a walk.

“You need a walk, Gabriel needs Jesus, and I need to get groceries.”

Dean didn’t want to go into town but he didn’t have much of a choice. His wilting produce was gone and he wanted the vitamins from the fresh produce to at least pretend that his diet was healthy. He needed to talk to Charlie about what she’d found out about Castiel anyway.

The Dean that stared at Dean when he went to brush his teeth didn’t look like the man he was used to seeing in the mirror. This man was drained, bloodshot eyes set into a thinning face and offset with dark bags. He looked beyond exhausted and the light in his eyes was all but a flicker of what it had been. Dean knew it was the lack of sleep and the lack of appetite and probably the drinking too but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He couldn’t tell his traumatic childhood to fuck off and he sure as hell didn’t have the time or money for any kind of therapy. Not that the work mandated therapy he’d been forced to take before had ever actually helped. His appetite was fucked because of the memories and that’s why he drank too. That and the headaches.

“Gonna have to call me Kesha soon.” He mumbled to himself before spitting into the sink, mind already drifting to the bottle in the fridge. But he couldn’t, he’d just brushed his teeth.

The drive into town was somber, an hour of silence as Dean made his way back to civilization. He’d tried to listen to music but everything that he had was just another horrible reminder of everything he was trying to forget. Robert Plant and Led Zeppelin were for when his parents had fallen in love, James Hetfield and Metallica for the summers he’d spent keeping Sam away from their father, and Axl Rose and Gun ‘n Roses for the last few years of his Father’s life. None of the music in the impala was Dean’s and he didn’t know what he liked anymore.

Nothing about Dean truly felt like it belonged to him.

The impala, the music, even the flannel he wore had all been John’s. His childhood hadn’t been his own either, not when all he’d done was take care of Sam like he was his mother. Even his adulthood wasn’t his. Sure he was his own man when he worked at the fire station and when he’d been with Cassie but then John had descended like the plague and ripped it away from him. Four years Dean had been reduced to John’s caretaker when he wasn’t working and it had been soul sucking. Even the lighthouse wasn’t his, not when he was haunted by his dead father and diving nose deep into the mystery of Castiel Novak.

Dean was lost, floating in a black void as he tried desperately to find himself again.

The atmosphere of the library was different when Dean stepped in. Charlie’s usual energy, her dancing and music and nerdiness were gone. What replaced it was intense, a lingering sadness that poured into Dean’s heart and stayed there. His chest was heavy and when he approached the desk, his heart dropped into his stomach.

Charlie sat there in silence, eyes glued to her computer screen. Her hair, piled on top of her head in a haphazard bun, was greasy. When she heard Dean’s footsteps and turned her head, she met his gaze with red rimmed bloodshot eyes. “You here for Castiel’s forwarding address?”

Dean’s frown was evident, worry flooding his veins. He knew the look on her face all too well. It was identical to his own. Something had happened and while Dean barely knew Charlie, he wasn’t one to leave things alone. Especially not when they were clearly awful and happening to someone who he was beginning to consider a friend.

“I was but that’s not so high on the priority list right now. Are you okay?”

Charlie shook her head, tearing her eyes away from Dean to focus on the computer next to her.

“Not saying I know what’s going on but I’m a good listener and I’ve got nothing going on right now so I’m here if you wanna talk about it.”

That earned Dean another look, one filled with skepticism. “You look like you’re going through hell right now. Not exactly nice to emotionally overload the only cool person in all of Port Maren.”

“I was firefighter paramedic for like 7 years, pretty sure you can’t overwhelm me. Not gonna force you to share though.”

Charlie seemed to consider Dean’s offer, teeth chewing at her already bitten and scabbed lips. Minutes of uncomfortable silence passed between the pair before Charlie looked back up at Dean. He seemed as miserable as she was so maybe he could help. Her voice lacked the enthusiasm it normally had, replaced instead by something timid and unsure. “Do you remember our ‘it’s complicated’ conversation?”

Dean nodded.

“The ‘it’s complicated’ got more complicated. I uh, it’s my mom. It’s time to pull the plug and let her go and I just- I can’t.”

Dean kept his expression neutral but his insides were churning uncomfortably. Charlie’s admission was heavy, the task she’d been entrusted with something Dean wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy. That responsibility was enormous and unfair and clearly she’d been suffering with it for some time. Dean tried to think, wanting to keep as neutral but supportive as he possibly could.

“I’m sorry you’re dealing with that, that’s awful.” He said simply, unconsciously beginning to twist the ring he always wore. “It’s scary, having to do that to someone. Especially someone you’re close to. There’s nothing easy about having to say goodbye.”

Charlie exhaled shakily, blinking rapidly to fight back the fresh wave of tears. Now that she’d spoken the truth aloud, she couldn’t stop the rest of it from pouring out of her. “I’m supposed to go to the hospital and be there when it happens but it’s two hours out of town and I just- I can’t drive there to kill her and then drive all the way back. It’s too much and I thought I’d have more time and now it’s here and I don’t know what to do.”

“I’ll go with you.”

The silence was deafening as Charlie stared at Dean, a wide-eyed deer in the headlights stare. Her voice was barely above a whisper and shook like a leaf.

“What?”

“I’ll go with you.” Dean repeated firmly. “I’ll go with you so that you can say goodbye to your mom. You deserve to say goodbye.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. They’re completely separate things.”

Charlie’s lip quivered as she reached for her jacket. She slipped it on with shaking hands. “We barely know each other and you don’t owe me anything. Why would you help me?”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Dean said. A beat passed and his voice softened, a bone deep sadness emerging. “I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to my mom and it still haunts me. You deserve to make peace with this and say goodbye.”

“Thank you.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders before leading Charlie out of the library. He didn’t say much as the pair piled in the car, simply pulling out of the parking lot and heading down Main Street towards the highway. The speakers blared and he reached to turn the music down. Now wasn’t the time for Van Halen.

Charlie curled up in the passenger seat, hugging her knees to her chest as she stared out at the road ahead. Only when they reached the highway did she speak again.

“You’re gonna go straight for almost two hours and then take the Bowmansville exit. Hospital’s the tall building in the town.”

“Thanks for the directions.”

Silence settled in the impala, blanketing the pair in a shared misery. Dean’s brain was finally quiet – free from thoughts about John – and he hated it. He hated the way it felt like everything was dull, the way he no longer cared about his problems. Concern for Charlie had taken over, concern for the woman he considered a friend.

She looked young now, curled up in the passenger seat. With her smile gone she looked like a scared child and it made Dean’s heart ache. He’d seen that look a million times on calls, that glassy eyed guilty stare. It came with tears and trauma and a lifetime of therapy. The look found him every time he stared down at the bottom of an empty bottle. Charlie’s guilty eyes settled on him.

“Why didn’t you get to say goodbye to your mom?”

A moment of silence, Dean swallowing the lump in his throat. He’d opened up, it was his fault she was asking. His tone was direct, blunt.

“There was a house fire. I got out, she didn’t.”

Charlie’s frown deepened. “Is that how you—“

“No. Those came later.”

“Oh.”

Dean swallowed thickly, trying to breathe through his nose. It had been a while since he’d thought of his mother and that night but the memory was just as painful as it had been years ago. He could feel the acrid smoke coating his lungs, the heat prickling his skin, could hear the way John told him to take Sam outside. John’s anguished cries echoed in his ears for months afterward. The silence in the car was uncomfortable so Dean spoke, the words coming out before he could think about what he was saying.

“I was four, I couldn’t do anything to help her. I got my brother outside and then she was just gone. There wasn’t enough left of her to bury. Not that my dad would’ve buried her anyway.”

“What would you have told her? If you could say goodbye I mean?”

Dean shrugged, grip on the wheel white knuckle. “At the time I don’t think I would’ve told her anything. I think I would’ve asked why she was sleeping for so long.”

“What would you tell her now?”

“I’d ask her why she married my father, if she knew what he would turn into. I don’t think I’d like the answer. But there’s no point in dwelling on the past. She’s been dead for 22 years so not like she’s gonna come back and tell me the solutions to every single problem in my shitty life. Don’t think I’d listen even if she did.”

Charlie nodded her head, going silent once again as she processed what Dean was saying. There was something going on in her head but Dean couldn’t tell what it was, not while he was driving. When Charlie broke the silence again she was quiet, her voice almost strangled.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“You need to swear you won’t tell anyone else.”

“I won’t tell a soul, I swear.”

Satisfied with that answer, Charlie took a deep breath before continuing. Her voice dripped with guilt and the tears were falling again, tears she wiped away with her jacket sleeves..

“I killed my parents.”

“Your mom’s not dead yet.”

“I’m the reason she’s in the hospital in the first place and I’m the reason my dad died.”

Dean didn’t say anything in response, unsure of what he could say. His own heart roared in his ears, the beat hummingbird fast and dangerous. The feeling was all too familiar and he needed to get a grip. He had to stay calm, in control, for Charlie’s sake.

Charlie was openly weeping now, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto her knees. She couldn’t look at Dean, couldn’t bear to see someone witnessing her greatest secret and her deepest shame. The admission of what happened slipped from her mouth before she could stop it, words weighed down with a decade’s worth of guilt and repression.

“I was thirteen and it was my first sleepover and I got so scared during the night. I called them and begged them to pick me up and take me home and they said they would. A drunk driver hit them on their way to get me and Dad died and Mom wound up in a coma. I killed them.”

“Charlie –”

“The only reason they were on the road was because I was afraid. If I’d just sucked it up then they’d still be alive.”

Dean’s heart broke and he felt tears well up in his own eyes. Charlie’d been carrying that weight around for so long and she didn’t deserve it. She wasn’t guilty, it wasn’t her fault. She’d been a kid, a scared little kid. He didn’t say anything as he pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. The engine sputtered out and then Dean was turning in his seat, fishing a hankie out of his pocket and holding it out to her.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were a scared little kid who just wanted her parents to make her feel safe and” – Dean’s mind flashed briefly to the tiled bathroom floor of Lake Manitoc – “there’s nothing wrong with that. You weren’t the idiot who decided to drive after drinking, knowing full well they shouldn’t have been driving. They’re the one who deserves the blame, not you.”

Charlie took the hankie and wiped at her eyes, her face red and splotchy. Her breathing was shaky and Dean sought out her gaze again. “Look at me and follow the way I breathe, okay?”

Charlie listened, attempting to breathe in the same way Dean was. As she followed his breathing the tears lessened and after a few minutes the shakiness was gone too. She still didn’t feel well but it was better than before. Only the dizzying nausea remained. She shoved the hankie in her jacket pocket before she slid out of the impala, breathing in the crisp spring air. It stung her irritated eyes but the sensation was grounding, real.

Dean was quiet as he stepped out of the impala, leaning against the side. He didn’t press for her to go into the hospital and he didn’t ask any invasive questions. All Dean did was be there for her. Minutes passed in silence before Charlie moved, taking a few timid steps toward Dean. She reached out and took Dean’s scarred hand, sliding her fingers down and twining them with his. Dean tensed, just for a moment, before accepting. His eyes flicked from their hands up to Charlie’s face.

“Just for support.” Charlie clarified quickly. “I don’t bat for your team.”

“Noted. We can go in whenever you’re ready. Don’t feel like you have to rush because of me.”

Charlie nodded and then she was stepping forward, leading Dean to the hospital doors. Her grip was vicelike and it was clear she had no intention of letting go. Dean didn’t mind it simply because he knew she needed it. She needed to feel grounded, to feel in control, and if that meant holding his scarred fucked up hands then that was fine. Maybe they’d do some good for once in his life.

The hospital was uncommonly quiet as they approached the receptionist, Charlie chewing on her lip. “I’m supposed to meet with Dr. Stein, the appointment name should be Celeste Middleton.”

“Yes, I see your name. Eighth floor and follow the purple arrow.”

Instructions in mind, Charlie led Dean to the elevators. The jazz music made the ride uncomfortable and Charlie spoke to break the silence. “I changed my name when I was legally allowed to.”

Dean nodded his head. “You don’t have to explain it to me, I get it. You change your name and it changes who you are and then suddenly those problems are someone else’s and not yours because you’re not that person anymore.”

“Is that why you ran to the lighthouse?”

“Yeah.”

“Is the running working?”

“No.”

The elevator came to a halt, a simple ding as the doors slid open. Charlie stepped out first and took Dean with her. She walked like she knew exactly where she was going, eyes focusing in front of her and hand still gripping Dean’s tightly. The pair walked down the hallway, took two rights, then they were at another waiting room.

This room was different than the others Dean had seen. There were plants in the corners and magazines spread out across a coffee table. Even the chairs looked different, warm and inviting instead of cracked hard plastic. It seemed so inviting and it made Dean’s skin crawl. Hospitals weren’t supposed to look like this.

Thankfully they didn’t have to wait long because the doctor was appearing from the end of the hallway, gesturing for them to meet him. Charlie led Dean down the hall, still holding his hand. She froze at the threshold of the hospital room, eyes landing on her mother.

Gertrude Middleton had aged, grey hair spread out on the white pillowcase. Still arms housed ivs and wires connected to monitors and tubing brought oxygen to her nose. A blanket covered her from the waist down and a simple cotton shirt covered her top half. Charlie stiffened, her grip on Dean’s hand so tight it hurt.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He said quietly, free hand coming up to rest on her shoulder. “Just take your time. Leave if you need to.”

Charlie swallowed thickly, leaning against Dean as she cast her eyes to the floor. “Is she supposed to look like she’s sleeping?”

“That happens sometimes, depends on a lot of things.”

Nodding her head, Charlie let go of Dean’s hand and stepped inside. All she could hear aside from the steady beeping of the monitors was her own ragged breathing. It sounded like she’d run a marathon, each breath aching as it dragged in and out of her lungs. The chair beneath her was rock hard. Charlie reached for her mother’s hand, fresh batch of tears welling in her eyes.

Dean waited for a moment before he stepped back, planning to give Charlie the privacy she deserved. The look of utter despair on her face when she turned her head rooted Dean to the spot.

“Please stay.” She whispered.

Dean nodded, stepping into the room. He stood behind her and placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing down all of the emotions bubbling in his chest. All he could think about was the corpse of his father laying in that hospital bed, the sickly grey skin and face frozen in perpetual fear and pain; the eyes devoid of emotion staring up at him just like they’d stared him down in Lake Manitoc.

“I’m right here, Charlie. I’m not going anywhere.”

Charlie took a shuddering breath, shoulders shaking as she exhaled. Tears fell freely now but she didn’t care, too busy staring at her mother. Laced with pain, her voice rang out in the room.

“Hi Mom, it’s me, it’s Celeste. I go by Charlie now I guess. It’s been a while. I’m sorry I didn’t visit more. I think I’ve been afraid to visit you, afraid to see what I did. I know I wasn’t the drunk driver and it’s not my fault but I just—if I hadn’t been so afraid then you and Dad wouldn’t have been driving and none of this would’ve happened. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Charlie’s voice cracked as the first tear hit her mother’s hand. Dean squeezed her shoulder in silent support. She continued.

“I think about you and Dad every day, I even wear that necklace you gave me for my 12^th birthday. I feel like you’re here with me every time I wear it and I know that’s probably stupid but I don’t care. I miss you and Dad so much. I miss cartoon Saturdays and after school coding club and when Dad and I would get ice cream after the last day of school. I miss the way you would tuck me in at night, the way you would tell me it would all be okay. Well it doesn’t feel okay, not anymore.”

The first sob wracked Charlie’s body but she pushed through it, eyes squeezed shut as if it would help stop the tears. It didn’t.

“You missed my prom and my graduation and my university and it hurts. It hurts so fucking much knowing you couldn’t be there to see me succeed and it’s even worse knowing you’d be proud of everything I’ve done. I went to prom with a girl, did you know that? Her name was Stevie and I loved her and I think you would’ve loved her too. I know you and Dad would’ve loved her, would’ve loved me because you loved me unconditionally. Even when I was being awful and didn’t deserve it.”

Another sob tore through Charlie’s body and her head dropped, forehead pressed to her mother’s stomach. Dean’s hand remained, thumb stroking a repetitive pattern on Charlie’s shoulder.

“I thought maybe you’d wake up one day. The doctors told me you had a chance, a small one. I wanted you to wake up, I wanted you to be there. I needed you to be there. It’s been a decade and you never woke up. Look at you now, all tubes and wires and monitors. I don’t even know if you can fucking hear me. I really hope you can hear me. I’m so sorry, Mom. I left you here all this time and you don’t deserve that. I don’t even know if you’re suffering or not but still. I’ve kept you away from Dad because I was selfish and wanted more time with you. But there’s never going to be enough time.”

Every sentence tore through Charlie like a hurricane, sobs so loud they were all she could hear. Her mother’s hand was warm and when she looked up at the doctor with a small nod, he turned off the machines. She dropped her head again, forcing the words out.

“I hope you and Dad reunite when you’re gone. I hope you get there and you’re not in pain and you’re at peace. I know you’ll always be with me because I am you but I’m going to miss you. I’m always going to miss everything about you. I love you, Mom. I love you so fucking much.”

With no more words left to say, all Charlie could do was sit there and weep. Minute by minute Charlie poured her grief out, emptying herself until she had nothing left to give. The beeping of the machine slowed to a crawl and then there was nothing. With a shuddering sob, Charlie lifted her head to look at Gertrude Middleton for the last time.

Dean’s hand never left Charlie’s shoulder and when she stood and buried her face in his chest, he held her tightly.

Charlie was the first to move, peeling herself away from Dean almost 40 minutes later. Her face was as red as her hair, eyes still red rimmed and full of tears. Very carefully Dean reached into her pocket, retrieving the hankie. He dabbed at her face with it, other hand still on her back to anchor himself to her.

“Thank you.” She whispered, voice raw with pain.

“Any time.”

Charlie stood there for a few more minutes to try and calm herself before she reached for Dean’s hand again. He gave it willingly. “I want to go home. Will you take me home?”

Dean nodded and squeezed her hand as he led her back through the winding hallways of the hospital. His own heart lay shattered in his chest but Charlie needed him and that took precedence over his emotions. Silence filled the elevator and the time it took to make it back into the impala. Dean never spoke, never pressed, simply let Charlie sit with her emotions.

“How bad was trying to plan the funeral for your dad?” She asked about 20 minutes into the drive back home, still hugging her knees to her chest in the passenger seat.

Dean glanced over at her before returning his eyes to the road. His grip on the wheel tightened, a spike of panic slicing through the thick cloud of emotion. He didn’t want to talk about John but that’s exactly where the conversation was heading. “There was no funeral. His ashes are sitting in an urn in the trunk.”

“You didn’t have a funeral? I thought you would’ve.”

“Like I said when we first met, it’s complicated.”

Charlie nodded her head, chewing on what remained unspoken between them. “Mom would want to be buried with my Dad. They were inseparable.”

“Is your Dad buried in town?”

“Family plot, one spot left.”

“That’ll help with a lot of the planning, if what the internet has told me is right. A lot of what’s left comes down to the cost and picking out the casket and deciding if you want a service or anything. They’re going to throw a lot of information at you and it’s going to be awful and confusing. At least it was for me.”

Charlie curled in on herself more, still staring out the window. Her posture was tense, guarded. She didn’t want to know any of it.

“I can help you arrange everything if you want.” Dean said, voice wavering slightly. He didn’t regret the offer, he just wished he hadn’t had the previous experience. “I’ve been through it once before.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“I’m offering, you’re not asking.”

“Okay.”

The remainder of the drive was silent, Charlie staring blankly out the window as she fought the drop from the release of emotion. Dean’s worry for Charlie eclipsed most of his own problems until they hit the border of Port Maren and then he was reminded of everything all over again. Something about the town brought all of the memories back and he wanted to crawl away and hide again but he couldn’t. Not with Charlie in the car.

“Mind telling me where you live?”

Charlie stirred, straightening in her seat. “Just beside the library. You can just drop me off.”

“Absolutely not.” Dean said firmly as he pulled up to the library, parking the impala. “I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”

“I’m not going to be okay for a while and I don’t have to let you in.”

“Maybe not but you will because deep down you know you’re not okay and you know you want the human contact. You want someone who knows exactly how you feel and unfortunately we’re both full-fledged members of the dead parents club.”

Charlie deflated but didn’t argue with Dean as she slid out of the impala and shuffled toward the closest house. It was small but less ramshackle than the others, red brick and steel roofing deeming it more modern than the rotting houses Dean was accustomed to. There was a pause after Charlie unlocked the door and she turned her head to the side. “You’re not allowed to judge me. I’m grieving.”

“I live in a haunted lighthouse, I don’t think I’m allowed to judge even if you weren’t grieving.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Charlie let Dean inside. Dean didn’t waste much time looking around, more concerned with Charlie herself. “Where’s your kitchen?”

“To the left. Why?”

“You need to eat something and I know that you’re going to say that you’re not hungry because of everything going on but the minute you have a second to breathe you’re going to crash and your stomach is going to eat itself. So I’m going to make you something light and you’re going to get into the shower to decompress. Is that okay?”

Charlie nodded before she turned on her heels, wordlessly making her way to the bathroom. Dean made his way into her tiny kitchen to see what she had for food, peering into her fridge. It was full and Dean spent few minutes selecting what he wanted. He quartered an apple and cut a few pieces of cheese from the extra old white cheddar block in the fridge, dropping them alongside a few slices of deli ham and a couple pickles on the plate Charlie had left on her counter. It wasn’t much but she wouldn’t want to eat so even this would feel overwhelming.

By now she’d be in the shower and the second wave of grief would be hitting her like a freight train. Dean had no doubt the water would be so hot it bordered on scalding, had no doubt she’d be curled up in the bottom of the shower sobbing and gulping down shower water as she cried. The running water would mask her tears. Dean knew that better than anyone. He gave her 40 minutes before he headed toward the sound of running water, knocking on the bathroom door.

“It’s been a while, how are you doing?” he called, voice loud enough to be heard over the running water.

A beat passed before the water shut off and then another beat before Charlie opened the door. She’d been crying again though the evidence was masked by how red the water had made her skin. Wrapped in a towel, she glanced up at Dean with an expression of pure misery.

“Second wave is hitting you, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“Thought so. Think you can get into comfy clothes and then into bed? You’re gonna feel the exhaustion soon and you won’t want to be standing for that. I’ll grab the food and meet you in your bedroom. Is it just that door to the right?”

Another nod.

Charlie shambled to her bedroom and Dean returned to the kitchen. He gave her some time to get dressed before he grabbed the plate and made his way to her bedroom. His eyes slid past the shelves littered with what he assumed were nerdy trinkets and collectibles and landed on Charlie. In her oversized sweater and covered by a mountain of blankets she looked frail and terrified. Dean’s heart ached.

“It’s not a lot of food but don’t eat it all if you’re gonna be sick.” Dean said as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Did the shower help?”

“A little.”

“Good. I’m gonna grab some water for you so I’ll be right back. Also are you a kitchen or bathroom med keeper? Because you’re gonna want an aspirin or three after all the crying.”

“Kitchen.”

Dean flashed her a thumbs up before excusing himself to the kitchen. He rummaged through her cabinets until he found a water bottle with a lid. Once it was filled with cold water, he rummaged through the drawers for a small cloth and drenched that in cool water too before wringing it out. Cloth, water bottle, and aspirin in hand he returned to the bedroom.

“The water’s cold so it might help if your throat’s sore.” He said as he set the bottle down before sitting back on the edge of her bed. “I’ve got aspirin beside the bottle for your eventual headache and the cold cloth’s for your eyes which have to be burning by now.”

Charlie traded the nearly empty plate for the water bottle and aspirin, gulping them down before settling down in bed with the cloth over her eyes. She sank into the bed as if she wanted it to swallow her whole, no resistance whatsoever. Her voice was laced with exhaustion, the bone deep kind that didn’t let her speak above a hoarse whisper.

“You know a lot about taking care of people.”

“I was a firefighter paramedic for years, it was kind of my job.”

She shook her head. “This isn’t part of that, you got this experience somewhere else.”

“You’re what, 22?”

“Turned 23 the day before we met. Why?”

“I’ve got a younger brother your age. His name’s Sam.” Dean admitted, voice soft but laced with bitterness. “Took care of him growing up so I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Your dad didn’t help?” She asked, realizing what she had asked after it had slipped out. “Sorry, you probably don’t want to talk about your Dad. You’re still grieving him.”

“That’s complicated. My relationship with my family is complicated. As for grieving my dad, I don’t know if I am. I can’t tell.”

“What does that mean?”

Dean sighed deeply, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d already said too much. Now wasn’t the time to unload his own issues onto Charlie when she was dealing with the passing of her mother. It would be irresponsible and selfish to open up fully but he needed to tell her something. She was a librarian so she was used to digging for answers. In the end Dean gave in and let a little slide though he tried to keep it as vague as possible.

“He wasn’t a great man, my Dad. It complicated a lot of things back then and it complicates things now. But don’t worry about me and my Dad and my grief, you’ve got enough on your plate as is. Are you feeling the heaviness in your limbs yet?”

Charlie frowned. Dean’s meaning was perfectly clear and it made her stomach churn. Had he been the one to cause the scars on Dean’s hands and arms? That was a question for another day because Dean was right and the second she took the cloth off of her face her limbs felt like cement.

“Yeah, they’re pretty heavy.” She admitted as she dropped her arm and settled into her bed, eyes closing.

Dean glanced over at her with a bittersweet smile before rising to his feet. “Just means your body’s finally ready to go to sleep. Might feel nice.” Having said his piece, Dean made his way to the door. Charlie’s voice, quiet and hesitant stopped him before he could slip out.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?” He asked, already turning around and stepping back towards her bed.

“Will you stay? Just until I fall asleep.”

Dean slipped out of his shoes before he lay down next to Charlie, stretching out on top of the covers. He didn’t speak because he didn’t feel the need to. Charlie wanted his physical presence as a reminder that she wasn’t alone and that’s what he was providing her. 20 minutes passed in silence as Dean stared at Charlie’s ceiling. At minute 21 the silence broke.

“Dean?”

Dean rolled off of the bed and lifted the covers before climbing under them, extending an arm across the pillows. “C’mere.”

Charlie scooted over until she was pressed against Dean’s side, arm around his middle and head somewhere near his shoulder. Dean readjusted his arm, running his fingers through her damp hair. She settled down, breath tickling his neck.

“You probably think I’m an idiot for needing this.” She mumbled. “You probably have so much to do at the lighthouse. You didn’t need this stupid side quest today.”

“You need a friend, there’s nothing stupid about that. I need a friend too. Now try to get some sleep.”

“Will you—”

“I’ll be here all night.”

“Thank you.”

~

The cigarette smoke stained wallpaper was peeling off the motel walls in thin strips like birch bark and Dean was growing tired of staring at it. He was tired of staring at the popcorn ceiling too. The bumps and swirls had been entertaining at first and Dean had spent three days cataloguing each unique formation as if it were its own constellation in space. Once he’d mapped the stars they seemed less appealing. He’d dared to touch the ceiling only once and the texture had been enough to send him reeling, scrubbing his hand until the skin was raw. The mysterious stain on the carpet in the corner of the room had lost its appeal just as quickly. Bright red in some places and rusty brown in others, Dean wasn’t quite sure what it was. Only that it smelled weird and he didn’t want to touch it.

Their tv had stopped working two days ago and no one had been out to fix it yet so it wasn’t like Dean could rely on Scooby Doo to keep himself entertained. He would’ve given anything to see that dog and his best friend wolf down a triple decker sandwich like it was nothing. Hell, he’d kill to join them and feast. A meal like that would keep him full for days, would keep the hunger away. It gnawed at his insides now, chewing through his stomach lining like a rabid animal trying to free itself from a trap. Every passing minute felt like a fresh bite as the hunger worsened, its desperation flooding into his very veins.

“Dean, I’m hungry.”

Sam’s quiet voice cut through Dean’s thoughts and brought him back to reality. He glanced over at Sam, smiling tightly. Sam’s face was barely visible over the top of the table and all Dean really saw was the mop of brown hair. He was freshly four and needed a booster seat which sure as hell wasn’t something John was going to provide.

“I know you are.” Dean mumbled, turning his back to Sam.

There was no need to rifle through the mini fridge in the motel room because it had been empty for the past three days. Dean didn’t bother to check the cabinets either because those had been emptied out a day and a half ago when Sam had eaten the last bowl of lucky charms and half a can of spaghettios. He’d entertained asking an adult to take him to the grocery store to get some food but John’s stern warning to stay in the motel room and out of sight echoed in his head. John would be upset if he broke the rule and Dean didn’t like when John was upset.

“Just wait until later tonight and I’ll get you some food, okay?”

“But I don’t want to wait that long. I’m hungry now.”

Dean sighed, biting his lip to stop his retort. He wasn’t upset with Sam, he was upset with his Dad. It was his fault they didn’t have food or money or anything. If he could get Sam to just calm down and have a nap then he’d have some time to sneak out back and see what the motel had dropped in the trash. Sometimes it was the leftover pastries form the continental breakfast and sometimes it was the leftovers from lunches or big events. Dean had found half of a rotisserie chicken in a dumpster once and he’d almost wept with relief.

“Tell you what, if you lay down for a nap I’ll get something while you’re out.”

“Promise?” Sam asked as he climbed down from the chair. He padded over to their shared bed and climbed into it, wiggling under the covers.

Dean handed him his teddy bear before tucking him in. “I promise.”

Sam was out like a light ten minutes later and Dean was getting ready to head out back to see what he could scrounge around for when he heard the key in the lock. He stepped back a foot or two, heart hammering in his chest. It had to be his dad and that meant money and food. John stumbled in reeking like booze and Dean took a step back, eyes hitting the floor. This was bad.

The slam of the door woke Sam and he shot up in bed, blinking sleepily. When his eyes landed on John, Sam beamed and practically ran to his Dad. John scooped him up, wide smile. “Hiya Sammy. Were you good for your brother?”

Sam nodded his head, wrapping his arms around John’s neck. “I was but he didn’t feed me and I’m hungry. Can we go out to eat?”

“Go out to the car and wait. I need to talk to your brother first. We can go eat after.” John said as he set Sam down. The minute the door closed behind Sam, John’s expression dropped. His eye twitched in anger as he stared Dean down and his dripped with anger and disappointment. “What does he mean by that?”

“You were gone for two weeks, Dad. You didn’t leave us enough money.”

“I counted all of it, Dean. There was enough to pay for the room and for groceries.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and his frustration slipped out. “No there wasn’t. I haven’t eaten in three days. You counted wrong.”

John’s nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed at the flagrant disrespect in Dean’s voice. Dean was a child and he knew better than to act like that, knew that respecting his father was a must. John wasn’t going to tolerate the disrespect and any inhibitions he had about punishment had flown away the more he’d drank that day.

“You’re disrespecting me, Dean. We both know I don’t tolerate that.” He said as he stepped forward, closing the gap between them. His hand closed around Dean’s wrist and then he was dragging Dean to the bathroom, forcing him in front of the sink. “You know the drill.”

Dean shook his head, wincing at the vicelike grip on his wrist. “I wasn’t disrespecting you. All I did was tell you the truth. You taught me I’m supposed to tell the truth.”

John lost his patience. He stood behind Dean, crowding his son against the sink. A hand snaked from behind Dean, fingers digging into his face and forcing his mouth open. Letting go of Dean’s wrist, John reached for the bar of soap. It knocked against Dean’s teeth as John forced it into Dean’s mouth, shoving it in so hard Dean gagged around it. Tears pricked the corners of Dean’s eyes at the sudden intrusion and he tried to pull John’s hands away from his face.

“You are going to take your punishment, Dean.” John hissed, grip tightening on Dean’s jaw as he forced Dean’s mouth closed. With his free hand he trapped Dean’s on the edge of the sink, holding them down.

Dean’s teeth cut through the bar of soap, most of it clattering into the porcelain of the sink. The piece that remained was melting in his mouth, mashed when John forced Dean to chew it into smaller pieces. A bitter taste flooded his mouth and Dean was gagging again, trying and failing to open his mouth and throw up.

“Disrespectful children get their mouths washed out with soap.” John said, voice simmering with anger. “Swallow it.”

Dean gagged again as the first of the tears slipped from his eyes. With no other choice but to comply, Dean swallowed. John’s grip loosened and then Dean was tearing his hands away, turning around and trying to shove John away from him. His hands connected with John’s torso but Dean was still trapped between the sink and his father.

Between the taste in his mouth, the movement, and the emotion, Dean’s system short circuited. He threw up on John’s shirt. The crack of John’s open palm against Dean’s cheek was unmistakable. Stinging pain shocked Dean’s system and he crumpled onto the tiled floor, staring up at his father through tear blurred eyes.

John’s lips twisted in a cruel expression not unlike a darkly satisfied smile, his eyes glittering as they stared down at Dean. He stripped his shirt off, hurling it at Dean on the floor. “Don’t you ever disrespect me again Dean or there will be consequences and you won’t fucking like them. You better clean this mess up before Sam and I get back. Do you understand me?”

Dean nodded his head. He felt John’s hand grab his jaw again and then he was staring back at his father.

“I said, do you understand me?”

“I understand.” Dean whispered, head dropping when John let go.

He stayed still as a statue as he heard John shamble out of the bathroom and rummage through the closet for a clean shirt. It was the slam of the motel room that finally prompted Dean into his action. Silently he washed John’s shirt in the bath tub and cleaned the vomit off of the floor, distant unfocused eyes catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror.

A bright red handprint lay prominent across his cheek, smaller redder marks around his chin and jaw already darkening. Dean’s cheek stung when he brought a hand up to touch the raised skin. His Dad had never hit him before.

As Dean wrestled with the shock and the fundamental transition of his relationship with his father, the animal inside his stomach continued to claw its way to freedom.

Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe when he startled awake, eyes widening in the dark of the unfamiliar room. He sat up and reached out, scrambling to try and find a light in the darkness. A string brushed the top of his hand and he tugged, bathing the room in dim yellow light. The sheets tangled around his legs were purple and when his eyes readjusted, he remembered where he was.

Charlie’s bedroom.

“Dean?” Dean’s eyes snapped to the bedroom door, settling on Charlie. Expecting exhaustion, Dean was alarmed to see concern on her face when she padded back to the bed. She climbed into it, cupping a mug of tea in her hands. “Are you okay? You were talking in your sleep while I made my tea.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.” He mumbled, lying through his teeth. “Did you get some sleep?”

“I did but had a weird dream and needed some tea. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Dean wasn’t sure what he wanted to tell Charlie. He wasn’t okay, that much was abundantly clear. No one had trauma flashbacks and nightmares if they were okay. Unloading the burden would be nice but it was the last thing Charlie needed right now. Her grief was enough, he didn’t need to dogpile onto it. He planned on telling her he was sure and that she should just drink her tea and get back to bed but that’s not what slipped out. What slipped out was quiet and distant and entirely too vulnerable.

“No.”

Unsurprised by Dean’s admission, Charlie simply handed him her cup of tea. “I haven’t had any yet, if that’s a concern. And I know you’re gonna go off about how you shouldn’t be dogpiling your shit onto me because of my mom and yeah that’s fair but we’re friends and friends are there for each other.”

“Like I said earlier, my Dad wasn’t a good guy.” Dean began slowly, choosing his words carefully. He trained his eyes on the surface of the tea, thankful he didn’t have to look at Charlie. “I’m just coming to terms with a lot of things after his death.”

“He hurt you, didn’t he?”

Dean’s nod was quick and his next breath shaky. The admission hung heavy in the air but what he hadn’t said hung even heavier. He knew there was no coming back if he admitted to it but the need to tell someone was almost impossible to ignore. He couldn’t keep reliving the trauma in nightmares.

“Charlie” – Dean’s voice broke, bitter shame flooding through – “he tried to kill me.”

Charlie’s horrified gasp ripped through the silence of the bedroom and buried itself in Dean’s chest. Dean swallowed thickly but continued before she could speak or do anything else.

“It happened a long time ago, it’s fine. It’s just that he died and it all came flooding back and I don’t know how to deal with it.” Dean could feel tears welling in his eyes and he hated himself for it though he didn’t try to stop them. There was no point in trying to stop them. “I ran all the way here and I couldn’t get away from it. Part of me fucking hates him for everything he’s ever done to me but he’s still my dad and it wasn’t always all bad and that’s what I can’t deal with.”

“How long have you been holding that in?” She asked quietly. Her arm hovered near Dean’s space, an indication she wanted to comfort him but that it would be on his terms. He accepted, leaning in and against her.

“Almost 20 years.”

Charlie’s arm tightened around Dean, hand squeezing his arm in a manner she hoped was comforting. “You said you have a younger brother. Does he know?”

“No, he doesn’t. Most of it was to protect him until he could get out and he did. He got out and we stopped talking and I just never want him to know. You’re one of three living people that know.”

“Thanks for trusting me with this.” She said quietly. “I’m sorry you’re being forced to relive everything. That can’t be easy.”

“This is why I look like shit when I come visit you because every time I close my eyes I see all of it all over again. Figure it’s better to not sleep to avoid it all. That’s why I care so much about the whole Castiel Novak thing, it’s a distraction and I know he just disappeared. That could’ve been me, just vanished one day and rotting in the bottom of Lake Manitoc.”

“Distractions aren’t gonna fix anything but you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Dean sighed again before wiping at his eyes. He sipped the tea, some kind of chamomile blend, before setting it on the nightstand. The weight of his admission was rolling from his shoulders and while he knew he’d never be completely free of it, telling Charlie had helped. “You probably think I’m an idiot for repressing this shit and taking this job.”

“I think you’re dealing with a really shitty situation the best way you can right now and there’s no shame in that. You suffered for years and you can’t undo that shit in a day. Look at me, I blame myself for what happened to my parents even though it’s not my fault. You blame yourself for all of it too and it’s not your fault.”

“It feels like it is.”

“Well it’s not. You were a kid and your Dad should’ve been there to protect you and take care of you. He shouldn’t have victimized you and it’s not your fault he did what he did because he couldn’t handle anything. You survived him, Dean. You’re still here, alive and human. He can’t take that away from you.”

Dean sniffled slightly before he glanced over at Charlie, expression watery but grateful. “Thank you, seriously. It really means a lot you’d say that.”

“Well I can’t ruin the life of a dead man so all I can do is be there for his son. And yes, I would absolutely destroy your father’s life if he was still alive.”

“You’re like five and a half feet, I doubt you could. But thanks anyway.”

Charlie didn’t bother arguing with Dean. It wouldn’t serve a purpose and she was exhausted anyway. His grief was a momentary distraction from her own and she had a sneaking suspicion that the only way they’d both make it out alive was if they leaned on each other.

“Are you going to be okay if I try to get some more sleep? I don’t want to leave you alone and hurting.”

Dean extricated himself from under her arm before he pulled the string and turned the lamp off, plunging the room into darkness once more. He repositioned himself like he had when they’d first fallen asleep. “Come here, get some rest. I’m sure we’ll talk more in the morning.”

“Thank you for everything you’ve done today. I’m glad you took that job here.” She said as she curled back up to his side, eyes closing.

Try as he might, Dean couldn’t fall asleep. He could hear Charlie breathing deeply and was glad she was able to sleep but his mind wouldn’t shut off. It replayed Charlie’s reactions as she’d listened to him open up to her. She hadn’t said anything untoward and she hadn’t leaked at Dean like he was a freak either. That bothered him more than anything else. She should’ve been horrified and she wasn’t.

He was still thinking about that by the time morning rolled around and he slipped from her bed without so much as a word. The room spun as he stood, vision pulsing in and out of focus. A hand on the wall, Dean steadied himself just in time for the slow creep of nausea. Figures he would wake up a full 24 hours away from the lighthouse with the remnants of what felt like a bone deep hangover and not a drop of alcohol in his system. That was a problem for when he got back .He padded to Charlie’s kitchen and rummaged around for a little bit, putting on a pot of coffee before whipping up some pancake batter. The sound of Charlie’s voice drew his attention just as he put the first pancake in the frying pan.

“You’re in my kitchen cooking breakfast and making me coffee after a sleepless night together. It’s a real shame you’re a man.”

“Couldn’t sleep, thought you might want breakfast.” He shrugged, eyes still focused on the frying pan. It was easier than looking at her, especially knowing she knew everything. “How’s your head?”

“Aspirin helped, just feels like a headache. You didn’t get any sleep after we talked?”

“Nope.”

“Did you get wigged out because I seemed a little too chill with your survivor of abuse and attempted murder admission?”

“Yep.”

“In my defence the first time I met you we joked and bonded over the dead dad club which feels a lot more horrifying in hindsight but it’s fine. I figured your shared high five and the whole mysterious outsider lives in haunted lighthouse vibe meant you were at least a little traumatized. Do you want me to react with the appropriate horror?”

Dean shook his head before sliding a plate of pancakes across the kitchen table to Charlie. “It would just feel weird now.”

“Agreed. Am I allowed to ask follow up questions about what you told me last night?”

Dean shook his head before he turned around to look at her. Exhaustion aside, there was a certain vulnerability to the set of his mouth. It wasn’t quite fight or flight but it was definitely discomfort. “I’m not ready to talk about any of that yet.”

“That’s fair and I’d never force you to, just for the record.” She said. “Are you going back to the lighthouse today?”

“I need to. There is actual work that I need to do that I can’t get done here. Unless you want me to stay with you.”

“I want you to stay but I know you can’t.” She sighed, reaching for the coffee over the pancakes. “I need to work through this myself and now I have someone to fall back on if I need it and I know you enough to know that you’re going to use looking after me as an excuse to ignore your own problems which isn’t healthy. Also the whole Castiel mystery which I don’t really know much about either. Haven’t found a forwarding address yet.”

Dean seemed disappointed by that news but he swallowed it down. “Is it really that obvious I’d do that?”

“The third time we ever spoke you drove two and a half hours with me so I could say goodbye to my mother and then spent the night crammed in my bed with me so yeah, it is. That and your old job was all about taking care of other people. Also you obviously took care of your brother as a kid.”

“Oh.”

Charlie’s smile, however small, was genuinely fond and she reached out to place a hand on his arm. “I’ll brave the lighthouse to come visit you if I need you and you can come back to town if you need me. Is that a fair trade?”

“I think so.”

Chapter Text

Dean’s brain wouldn’t shut off.

It didn’t matter how loud he played the music in the impala or how hard he bit his lip or even how he gripped the steering wheel. Nothing stopped it. The thoughts slammed into hastily constructed wall in his brain, cracks blooming across the concrete in a dizzying spider web. Charlie had brought a sledgehammer to the party and broken the wall down in one fell swoop.

Years of repression hardly compared to the emotion coursing through Dean’s veins. He’d flown past anger and denial years ago and had settled into the nest of repression that had been been designed to keep him safe. But the safety was gone, ripped away. All he could think about was what he’d told Charlie.

John had tried to kill him.

The admission hung heavy in his chest, an iron chain constricting Dean’s heart. His skin crawled underneath his shirt, phantom ants crawling up and down his arms. He could barely feel his face or his hands, a numb tingling taking over everything. Heartbeat in his throat and his ears, Dean finally pulled into the laneway of the lighthouse. The lighthouse and the cottage offered no solace but Dean entered anyway, chest tight and breathing uneven. He hadn’t cried yet but the tears burned his eyes and he knew they were coming.

“God I feel so fucking dirty.” He mumbled to himself, voice catching in his throat.

The stumble to the bathroom was quick and Dean reached for the bath tub faucet. It roared to life, water filling the tub with a chugging noise. Part of Dean dreaded the bath tub and the memories that came with it, his fingers hesitating as they hovered over the porcelain rim. The bath tub was the proverbial scene of the crime, the one thing that he kept close to his chest. But there was another part of him that welcomed the tub. That part of him screamed to be clean, screamed to be rid of the stain of John Winchester.

Steam rose in the cool air and Dean stepped into the tub, wincing at the heat. Inch by inch he lowered himself down, hot water flowing over him and turning his skin a shade just shy of tomato red. It was too hot but he didn’t care. Dean reached for the bar of soap and the rough wash cloth and then he scrubbed.

He scrubbed away the dirt and the grime, peeling back the layers of shame and guilt and resentment as he lay himself bare in the tub. With each passing scrub he was removing the stain of John Winchester, removing the phantom feeling of the hands that had held him underwater until he’d nearly drowned. He was removing the memory of the bathroom tiles digging into his knees, of the open palm slap across his face. He was removing the way he felt it was entirely his fault.

The tears came now, slipping silently down his cheeks and into the scalding water below. When Dean hugged his knees to his chest, the scars on his hands and arms burned but he barely felt it. His mind was elsewhere.

The call was supposed to be simple, just enough to pass the time until their shift was over. Dean had been excited even, thrilled at the prospect of helping someone else. He’d practically raced Benny to their rig, grinning like a mad man when he slid into the driver’s seat. It was just where he belonged. Getting into the house had been easy too, so had climbing the stairs to the second floor. It was the scene that met Dean’s eyes that stopped him in his tracks.

A mother, sobbing as she cradled her toddler to her chest. The toddler, limp and unmoving in her arms. A rubber duck bobbed in the bath tub next to him.

Dean’s blood ran cold, his vision tunneling as he stared at the scene in front of him. Heart thundering in his chest and nearly paralyzed with the familiarity in front of him, Dean only sprung to action when he heard Benny come up behind him and begin to speak.

Dean wasn’t in control of his body as he acted but he was watching, floating far away like his life was just a move playing on the golden screen. He heard himself introduce himself to the mother, heard himself coordinate with Benny, head himself talk to the toddler as if the three year old was conscious enough to know he was there. Her little body flopped in his arms as he set her on the ground.

His hand engulfed her as he began compressions, pressing harder and harder until he felt a rib crack beneath her skin. The snap vibrated up through his hand and he swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat. He couldn’t afford to freeze now. 1, 2, 30 compressions later and he was delivering the first rescue breath. Her chest rose and he gave another.

The toddler stirred and Dean nearly wept in relief. He didn’t recall much after that, just that it had been an accident and the mother had only stepped away for a minute. Her child would live and she’d thanked them profusely. Dean didn’t say anything in response, too busy keeping the sudden vertigo in check.

“Are you good?” Benny asked, expression one of deep concern as the pair made their way back to the rig.

Dean glanced over at his partner, blinking profusely until he felt like he’d come back to reality. He shrugged and tossed the keys to Benny. “M’fine. You drive back.”

Benny’s lips pursed, frown deepening. He didn’t protest and took the keys, simply getting into the rig without a word. He didn’t press on the silent ride back to the stationhouse, didn’t press during their shift dinner when Dean passed on eating all of his usual favourites, and didn’t press during the rest of their shift. What he did do was chase Dean down as they were leaving, cornering him in the parking lot so he couldn’t leave.

“Tell me what’s going on with you because something’s wrong and you can deny it but I know you. You went white as a ghost on that call, you haven’t told shit jokes in three hours, and you passed on pie at dinner.”

Dean sighed shakily, defeated. He’d been in life threatening situations with Benny and the man had always had his back. “Just got to me, that’s all. I don’t like drowning calls.”

“You or your brother?”

“Yes.”

Benny’s brows knit together and he settled against the side of the impala, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t leaving without a solid answer and especially not when Dean still looked pale and out of it, Whatever had happened to him was serious.

“You’re not gonna leave until I tell you my whole tragic backstory are you?”

Dean’s voice was uncharacteristically bitter and agitated. He couldn’t meet Benny’s gaze.

“I’ve never seen you look like this so yeah. Besides, I doubt your backstory is that tragic. It can’t be worse than some of our calls.”

“My father tried to drown me in a bath tub when I was 10.”

Dead silence as Benny pushed off of the impala and blinked at Dean, trying to process what he’d just heard.

Dean didn’t stick around, peeling out of the parking lot with a roar before Benny could ask any follow up questions or see the mist welling in his eyes.

Benny hadn’t left Dean alone and Dean remembered Benny following him home and knocking at his door until Dean opened up. He’d sat there with Dean as Dean tried to explain what had happened and he’d offered a burly shoulder to cry on when Dean had been overwhelmed by the explanation. He didn’t judge and he didn’t pry. He was simply there.

“Wonder what you’d say if you saw me now.” Dean mumbled miserably. "Probably give me hell for scrubbing myself raw."

The water was beginning to cool around him, tinged pink with the blood that had leaked from the scrapes brought on by the furious scrubbing. His body ached and his head throbbed but Dean didn’t move, too lost in the swirling memories.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to join me?” Cassie’s voice was lilting and playful as she propped her arm up on the edge of the hot tub, chin resting on them. “You had such a long day and the hot water might feel good on your muscles.”

Dean, stretched out on a lawn chair next to the hot tub, glanced over at her with a fond smile. She was always like this, always testing the boundaries with that irresistible smile and those big brown eyes. He debated joining her for a moment before shaking his head. “I gotta study, I don’t think I can.”

“What are you studying tonight?”

“Anatomy.”

Cassie’s grin widened as she stepped out of the hot tub and padded over to the lawn chair. She stood in clear view of Dean, making sure he took a long slow drag over her bikini clad body before speaking. “Come study the female form. Just for a half hour.”

“That is a very tempting offer.” Dean hummed, closing the textbook and setting it aside. “I am a visual learner.”

“Well come have a look.” Cassie grinned as she stepped backwards, climbing back into the hot tub.

Dean followed her but stopped just shy of getting into the hot tub, hands resting on the edge as the water lapped at his fingers. Anxiety fluttered in his stomach, the tips of his fingers going tingly and numb. He’d avoided the hot tub thus far and really didn’t want to break that streak now. He hadn’t been in any kind of water for the last decade and even the hot tub felt insurmountable.

“We could just go upstairs and avoid all the middle stuff since we know we’re gonna end up there anyway.”

“The beginning is so much fun though.” She said, placing her wet hands on top of his. “Just 20 minutes and then we can go upstairs? Is that fair?”

Dean sighed but acquiesced, sliding his hands out from under hers. He peeled his t-shirt and jeans from his body before he stepped into the hot tub. The water was hot and the bubble jet against his back was uncomfortable, the pressure adding to the churning in his stomach. Water came up to his collarbone and Dean didn’t like it, clenching and unclenching his hands beneath the surface.

“Feels good doesn’t it?” Cassie asked as she sat next to Dean, leaning against him.

“It’s a hot bed for bacteria so I don’t think good is the operative word here. It’s fine.”

“You’re such a party pooper. You’ve got to loosen up a little.”

“Teasing me isn’t going to help me loosen up.” Dean grumbled

Cassie grinned and turned, sliding onto Dean’s lap and settling in it. “No, but this might. What’s sitting on you is called an ass.”

“Technically they’re buttocks or the gluteus maximus so ass is unfortunately incorrect.” Dean said. Fingers ghosted across Cassie’s thighs and then settled there, thumbs stroking over them repetitively.

She wound an arm around his neck, grin still present on her face. “And this is an arm around my boyfriend who’s not going to get very lucky tonight if he doesn’t play along.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, his brain hyperaware of the arm around his neck. She’d done it a million times and it’d been fine but it had never been like this, never when he was submerged. His body remember and the phantom pain on his knees was distracting. It was damn near unbearable in his chest, Cassie’s lingering hand pressed firmly over his aching burning lungs.

She curled her arm around his neck tighter, bringing his head towards her. Dean’s heart jumpstarted, flying up into his throat with a dizzying off-kilter speed. His hands were going numb, his lungs ached, the ability to breathe slipping by the second. He tried to talk but nothing came out, too frozen in place by the memory. Cassie’s lips pressed against his but he didn’t kiss back.

“Dean?”

His name snapped Dean back into reality, kicking his system into overdrive. He slid out from under her and practically vaulted out of the hot tub. A weak sorry hung in the night air before Dean vanished inside. He didn’t really know where he was going until he wound up in the bedroom scrambling to get out of his wet boxers, dragging the soaked fabric off of his legs. Sweats and hoodie covered him up but they couldn’t prevent the chill that wouldn’t leave him. The blankets on the bed didn’t help either. With nothing else to do, Dean buried his face in the pillow and cried.

Minutes later Cassie came padding into the room, her movements quiet but just loud enough to let Dean know she was there. The shaking lump on the bed made her heart ache but part of her was afraid. Dean had never done anything like this before, had never reacted so alarmingly to anything they’d done. Drying herself off and slipping into dry clothes, she made her way to the bed. She sat on the edge furthest from Dean, making no move to touch him.

“Dean?” She said softly. “What’s going on love?”

Dean lifted his head from the pillow just enough to meet her worried gaze before he dropped back down. He stretched out an arm, searching for Cassie’s hand. When he found it he grabbed it, squeezing tightly. Her hand was warm, alive, safe. Cassie was safe.

She squeezed back, keeping Dean’s hand in hers. For a while she said nothing and simply held his hand. When she did speak her voice was soft and gentle.

“I’m right here, Dean. I’ll be here as long as you need. Just work through this.”

Dean said nothing as he continued to cry. For the better part of 40 minutes he cried and only when he tears dried up did he pull himself into a seated position. He knew how he probably looked – red puffy eyes, bitten lips, pathetic like a lost little puppy – and it only made him feel worse.

“I didn’t mean to run away from you, m’sorry.” He mumbled quietly, eyes cast down to the blankets on the bed.

“I don’t care that you ran, shit happens.” She said calmly. “I care that you’re obviously upset because of something I did. I want to be here for you.”

“It’s not something you did, not really. It’s just- fuck, I never wanted to tell you any of this.”

Cassie’s brow furrowed, concern settling in her chest. “Don’t feel forced to tell me. I don’t want to make you.”

“You were gonna learn eventually, better sooner than later I guess.” Dean mumbled. His entire body ached and he wanted to climb in her arms and be held but he remained where he was. She wouldn’t want to hold him after this. “Just promise you won’t judge me.”

“I’ve never once judged you so I’m not about to start now.”

Dean nodded his head, scrubbing a hand over his face to collect himself. Hesitant and shaky when he spoke, Dean opened up.

“I’m sure you’ve realized I don’t talk about my childhood at all and that’s for good reason. We moved around a lot, motel to motel for my Dad’s work. Don’t really know what his job was but it was probably some kind of fraud or something. He left us alone a lot which wasn’t great and me and Sam kind of had to fend for ourselves.”

Cassie’s lips pursed, something akin to a terrible omen settling on. She didn’t like where this was heading.

“Dad drank and he had a pretty short fuse. Doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that led to. He never touched Sam, I wouldn’t let that happen. ‘Course you take enough beatings and you become the favourite punching bag anyway. I could’ve dealt with that shit until I got Sam away from him and come out maybe a little screwed up but Lake Manitoc happened and it fucked everything up.”

Cassie squeezed Dean’s hand tightly. The admission of abuse wasn’t surprising in the least. She’d seen the way Dean flinched at sudden movement, seen the way he was so particular about food. Even the way he was attentive to her needs and taking care of her was informed by that. It broke her heart.

“What happened at Lake Manitoc?”

Dean took a shuddering breath before he finally met her gaze. He saw set of her jaw, the way her eyes focused only on him but swam with a strange mixture of grief and acceptance. It broke him. Tears welled anew and he was moving, climbing into her lap and making himself as small as possible. Cassie probably thought it was pathetic but Dean didn’t care.

“I was 10 and Sam was 6 and Dad thought that we deserved a beach day. It was uncharacteristically nice of him. Dad told me I had to protect Sam because he had a future and I agreed. I helped Sam make a sandcastle and then I turned my back.” Dean’s voice choked here and he curled up smaller. “I only looked away for a minute.”

Cassie nodded, arms curling protectively around Dean. She held him close, trying to ground him. Everything he was saying only painted a worse picture and she knew the final piece would be terrible.

“He almost drowned and it was my fault.” Dean whispered. “I got him out and he was okay but I should’ve been watching him. He was my responsibility.”

“You were a kid, Sam wasn’t your responsibility. Both of you were your father’s responsibility. It’s not your fault, Dean.”

“According to my Dad it was and when John Winchester wasn’t happy with you, he made sure you knew it.”

Bile rose in Cassie’s throat but she pushed it down. This was about Dean, not about her discomfort. She held him tighter, hand rubbing his back. “How badly did he hurt you?”

Dean swallowed thickly, eyes closing so he didn’t have to look at Cassie. Her arms around him were solid and safe but that didn’t stop the fear from flooding through his veins. Telling her this monumental life altering secret wasn’t like telling it to Benny. Benny’s confession had been flippant, frustrated. This couldn’t be that. Cassie’s confession had to be honest, had to be from the heart.

“Sam was asleep when he called me to the bathroom. The tub was full. Sam had almost drowned. Punishment fit the crime.”

“He didn’t.” Cassie whispered, unable to help herself.

“He held me down until I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t breathe, the water was everywhere. It was so fucking cold.”

Cassie held Dean tighter than she thought possible, a fierce instinct to protect him coursing through her. He’d been through hell and none of it had been deserved. There was nothing she could say to make what had happened better so she didn’t say anything. All she did was hold Dean, hand still rubbing his back. She felt the first wave of shaking sobs and settled in.

“He left me to clean up the mess.” Dean sobbed, clutching onto Cassie. “I was a fucking kid and he tried to kill me.”

“But you survived.” She murmured. Gently she withdrew her hands and reached for Dean’s face, cupping it. Her thumbs brushed away his tears as they fell and she prayed he knew she meant every word. “You survived and you’re here and he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Dean met her gaze and all it did was make him feel broken. “I should’ve told you when we got together. I understand if you’re done with me.”

“Dean, you don’t owe me an explanation for your past. Your past is your business, not mine.” She reassured, still stroking his cheeks. “And I’m not done with you so get that idea out of your head. What you told me doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Dean’s brow furrowed, confusion alight on his face. “I’m broken, Cassie. I’m damaged fucking goods. You deserve better than me, especially after what I told you. I wouldn’t stay with me after that.”

“Well I’m not you and I’m not leaving. What happened to you was beyond awful but that doesn’t mean you’re damaged goods and undeserving of love, Dean. The man I know, the man I love, is a kind, caring person who would give someone in need the shirt off of his back. You’re sweet and caring and human and I love you for it. A checkered past doesn’t negate all the good you’ve done and the reasons why I love you.”

Dean’s eyes dropped again, unable to hold her gaze. Shame coated him like a blanket and he felt heavy, weighed down by the emotion in the air and the admission of his past. He’d expected Cassie to run, to push him away because of it but she hadn’t let go. It was unexpected and he wasn’t sure how to handle it.

“Why don’t you get some rest? That might help a little.” She said as she removed her hands. “Your head must hurt. Can I go get some aspirin and a damp cloth for your eyes?”

“Okay.”

Dean slid off of Cassie and crawled back under the covers, the weight of them comforting. Unsure of whether or not he had unburdened himself, Dean lay there and thought. Everyone who mattered knew about his past now and while he hadn’t seen Benny’s reaction, he knew his friend wouldn’t treat him any differently. Cassie didn’t seem to be treating him any differently but the admission was still fresh so there was time to change.

She returned with aspirin, water, and a damp cloth. The damp cloth went over Dean’s eyed after he took the aspirin and then Cassie was turning off the light and crawling into bed with him.

“Can I hold you?” She asked, her arms held open.

Dean crawled into them wordlessly, damp cloth now pressed between his eyes and her neck. He was far too gone to care, exhausted and torn open. The emotion was raw and he wished he could take it back.

“Thank you for opening up to me, for feeling safe enough with me to do that.” She murmured, running her fingers through his hair. “I can’t fix what happened in the past but I can be here for you now and in the future. You will get through this and you’ll be stronger for it. And no more hot tubs for you.”

“No more hot tubs.”

The water around him was cold when Dean came back down to earth, leftover suds pooling around his legs and arms. He glanced down at them before dragging himself out of the tub, wiping down with a rough towel. Reaching down to pull the plug on the tub, Dean took a shaky breath. The memories never left and the porcelain beneath his hand was cold. Dean turned his head to the side as he walked out of the bathroom, avoiding the mirror. He didn’t need to see the zombie that stared back at him.

Clad in a hoodie and sweats, Dean made his way to the kitchen. He reached for the bread and rifled through the fridge for sandwich ingredients, piling together the saddest sandwich he’d ever seen. Bread, tomato, mayo, cheese, it was simple. Dean managed to choke down half of it before he abandoned it, dragging himself back to his bedroom. Thin navy blue sheets piled over top of his legs when he crawled into bed, the matching duvet just heavy enough to press a little weight against them. Pillows sagged behind his back, too lumpy to offer any real support, but he didn’t bother to move them. Right now bed felt like the only safe space and that was just because he was awake.

His skin, still red, ached with the phantom reminder of the scrub brush. He hadn’t meant to scrub so hard for so long but he couldn’t help it in the end. It wasn’t healthy but pain cleared his mind and that had helped. That had helped enough to get him into clean pajamas, to choke down half of a sad sandwich, and to get him into bed with the newest journal.

Dean loved the journals. He loved how open and unapologetic Castiel was, loved how dry and funny he could be. Even the tangents about snails or catfish or nudibranchs were entertaining. Of course none of the entries had anything to do with Castiel’s disappearance but this was only journal number two and there was an entire stack on the kitchen table still waiting to be read. Part of Dean wondered, the more he read about Castiel, if they would be friends if they’d met. He had Benny and Charlie but a third friend would be nice.

Dean turned to the journal, settling into bed with the distraction he needed.

Today’s animal of the day is Lymnaea (Bulimnea) Megasoma aka the Great Lake Mammoth Snail. Now I think these guys are underappreciated, really most snails are. Well not the invasive species I suppose but all of the other ones. Like the name suggests, it’s relegated to the Great Lakes and some offshoots like the St. Lawrence River. Its limited location is what’s most puzzling but I suspect much of that has to do with the separation distance between suitable bodies of water. Can’t exactly cross a busy road if you’re a shriveled husk baking in the sun 3 km away from the beach.

These little guys – they’re not little, they’re like 4.5 cm but the word use is subjective here – are great for breaking down organic matter and they’re a food source for other forms of life. Less fun is their status as a parasite host but I suppose that could be interesting to study symbiosis. That’s far out of my area of expertise. I just like their spiral shell, I think it’s quite pretty. I also only bring it up because I believe I found a shell on the beach that might belong to one that’s long since passed.

It’s actually shelling that got me into marine biology, snail shells specifically. I was 5 and my parents took our entire family over to Grand Lake because they thought it’d be nice to have a family vacation. I was excited but everyone else was less thrilled. Michael and Raph had friends they wanted to hang out with, I think Gabriel and Naomi had some kind of summer camp event they were missing, and I think Jimmy just didn’t want to be stuck with me all the time. It’s hard being a twin apparently.

Anyways, we all spent a week at the beach and I spent every hour of those days swimming and looking for shells and fish in the water and on the edge. I didn’t find much aside from some snail shells and mussel shells but I remember being so excited the first time I found a complete shell. My Mom seemed thrilled that I was so excited by something and it just went from there.

She encouraged me to read more about my interests as a kid. Even went so far as to take me to the library so I could get a book on sea stars when I asked. I remember the first trip we ever took together, just the two of us. It was my 10^th birthday and Jimmy and I both wanted very separate things. He wanted a bowling alley party and I didn’t.

“Let me guess, you wanted to go to the aquarium.” Dean said to himself.

I wanted to go to the aquarium. Only problem was the aquarium was almost a 3 hour drive and no one wanted to be in a car for that long with a bunch of children, especially after they’ve eaten cake. Also ticket prices but that’s neither here nor there. So there I was, absolutely despondent the night before my birthday, when my Mom comes into my room. She sits down beside me and tells me that we’re going to the aquarium together, just the two of us. I thought she was joking but she wasn’t.

I must’ve talked her ear off that entire car ride there, all three hours of it. I think my obsession at the time was some kind of basic fish, probably salmon because I’d just started reading about fish farming techniques. She never interrupted me or did anything to tell me she wasn’t paying attention and she even let me drag her through the entire aquarium. I remember we got to the end and I turned to her and I told her I wanted to do this for the rest of my life and she nodded along. She said she’d support me and that I should do what I loved.

I still have that stuffed harbour seal plushie she bought me.

Dean’s smile was tight and bittersweet. The excitement and sentiment were sweet. It was nice that Castiel seemed so close with his mom. Dean wished he’d been close with his.

He set the journal aside before curling up under the covers and reaching for the small lamp he’d bought so he didn’t have to use the big light. The idea of subjecting himself to another dream terrified him but he was exhausted and crashing from the emotions of the past few days. Try as he might, he couldn’t sleep. His brain was too busy racing with thoughts.

Charlie had treated him with immediate acceptance when he’d opened up to her and that meant more than Dean cared to admit. He liked her, liked her spunk and her jokes. She felt like the little sister he’d never had and his heart ached for what she was going through. Saying goodbye was hard but feeling responsible for the death was even harder. She was just a kid and it wasn’t fair that she was going through that.

The more Dean thought the more restless he grew, the blankets tangling around his legs as he tossed and turned. Around 10 pm he gave up on sleep entirely, dragging himself from his bed and making his way to the kitchen. He slipped into his boots, reached for the flashlight sitting on the hook, and then stepped outside, His feet traced a familiar path down to the beach and when he reached the edge of the water he began to walk, aimless at first. The beam illuminated the way, showing crabs skittering around the sand and snails carving little trails in the sand.

“Feels like you’re going nowhere, doesn’t it little buddy.” Dean mumbled to a large snail before he moved on, wandering further down the beach. The waves lapped at his boots but they brought no comfort. His aimless walk continued until he came across a flat expanse of rock overlooking the lake. He took a seat.

“I don’t even know if you’re real Monster of Lake Maren but on the off chance you are, please don’t eat me. I just need to talk out loud and you’ll make as good company as any living human. Probably better because you can’t talk back. At least I don’t think lake monsters can talk but I don’t know.”

A splash echoed in the lake and Dean pointed the beam at it but all he saw were ripples. It was probably just a fish.

“I used to be terrified of lakes, did you know that? My younger brother almost drowned and then my Dad tried to drown me in a bath tub and it really fucked up how I feel about water. Couldn’t deal with any large body of water for ages, just kept remembering what my Dad did. I didn’t fucking deserve that, I didn’t deserve any of what he did to me. The beatings, the abuse, the blame that everything that went wrong was entirely my fault. I was a fucking kid with a little brother. He was the adult, the one who was supposed to look out for us. All he cared about was the booze.”

Another splash in the lake, this one closer. Dean hardly noticed, too absorbed in talking to the monster that wasn’t there.

“I did my fucking best but it was never good enough for him. I was never good enough for him. Didn’t matter how much I listened or what I did or said. He stopped loving me when mom died, that’s the truth. He didn’t have a clue about half the shit I did to make sure Sam and I were okay, that we had a place to say and food to eat. I wasn’t just fucking off for the hell of it. I spent most of my life taking his abuse and then the last four years taking care of him and he didn’t thank me. Not once. I ruined the best relationship I’ve ever had because I had some ass backward feeling of obligation to the man that terrorized me for my entire childhood. I fucked up my relationship with Sam because of what he did.”

A third splash, even closer now. Dean’s head whipped to the side, flashlight focusing on the disruption.

A small fish had beached itself on the rocky outcropping and it flopped around, wet body smacking into the rock. The fish was pretty, the light from the flashlight reflecting off of its scales. For a moment Dean admired it and then he was scooping it up and tossing it back into the lake. It deserved to live, to have a chance to live its life to the fullest.

“Be free little guy.” He mumbled before staring back out at the lake. “I still feel so much shame for what happened and I know I shouldn’t but I can’t exactly help it. Hell I ran here to get away from my problems and I feel worse than I did before he died. Maybe I should face it head on but it’s hard to face them head on when the source of them is dead, the people you want to make up with want nothing to do with you, and you just feel lost. I know talking to a therapist would help a lot and I plan to but just not now. Right now I need to pick up the pieces and I need to admit what I’ve been holding in for years.”

Dean took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he prepared to speak again. His voice cracked, words coming out raw.

“John Winchester was a no good bastard who doesn’t deserve my tears or my grief. He had no right being a father and he had no right treating me the way he did. I am not my father and I refuse to ever become like him. I'm not sorry that he's dead.”

The lake stared back, dark cold waters crashing gently against the shore. Dean reached out, dipping his hand into the water. Cold and unforgiving, the water was sobering. He sat there in silence for several minutes and only withdrew his hand when he couldn’t tolerate the water anymore. His eyes landed on the squirming brown blob attached to his hand when he pulled it out and he jumped, pulling the leech off with a ruthless motion.

“Fuck me, no more hands in the water. Hope you like my blood, lake.” Dean muttered, staring at the bite mark on his hand. Three lines connected in the center and tinged with red, the bite looked worse than it was. Dean got to his feet, wiping his hand on his pants. “If you are out there Lake Monster thanks for the talk. I’m sure I’ll talk to you again soon.”

Back turned, Dean walked back to the cottage in silence. A splash echoed behind him, yellow eyes staring at him as the door to the cottage closed.

Chapter Text

The importance of the athletic scholarship is drastically reduced in Canada compared to America. I’m not saying that we didn’t have them because we did, I’m just saying that if you’re an idiot then being good at sports isn’t enough to land you enrolled in a hallowed institution. I’m saying all of this to say that I didn’t do competitive swimming as a child for the glory of the sport and it sure as hell wasn’t because I thought my junk looked good in a speedo. No one’s junk looks good in a speedo.

I loved the water, loved being in it. I felt free and fast and also no one can talk to you when your head’s underwater which is incredibly nice when you’re trying to ignore people who want your attention. Of course being nearly drowned when some idiot who wanted to pass you tried to grab your ankle and pull you under wasn’t great but beggars can’t be choosers. That’s precisely why I liked being second in the lane, meant I was too slow to pass the leader and just fast enough not to be passed or lapped by anyone else. Second place is the place to be.

All that to say that I was captain of the swim team in high school, a position that afforded moderate status within the social hierarchy without any of the bullying associated with any lower status. I wasn’t a hockey player so I wasn’t a dick to anyone either. Michael played hockey and I think that that explains so much about why I still hate him. The only thing that hurt my cred was the whole being into guys thing but even that wasn’t that bad. Sure the pickup truck idiots hurled a slur or two my way down the hallway but everyone ignored them anyway so it didn’t matter. They didn’t love my boyfriend, the whole ‘double standards with outward perceptions’ thing but that was years and years ago. Feel like it would’ve been worse if I was a gay kid in Alberta or something. Everything’s worse in ‘berta.

I bring all of that up to say that being the queer marine biology obsessed swim captain with dark hair made me seem like some freak Percy Jackson wannabe and actually ended up being part of the reason I got into the Marine Sciences program at UNB. Swimming got me a decent athletic scholarship, my gpa helped with the rest of it, and there was no entrance essay or test thank God. Even got the dorm experience the first year which was definitely something. Would I trade it for anything? No. Would I recommend it to anyone? Also no.

Undergrad Castiel was a bit of an enigma. Classes were hard and practice sucked and my roommate had this awful habit of online gaming at the most absurd hours imaginable but I wasn’t in the dorm that much so it didn’t matter. Between the parties and the people I met, I got around. Not that I give a single fuck about body count but mine got up there pretty quickly. People like an athletic nerd who’s comfortable and secure enough in himself to wear a tight swimsuit and own it. Thank god I never bothered with a knee suit. That would’ve killed me.

The partying calmed down significantly after second year and now, a million years later, the most partying I do are those absurd dinner and drink parties they force the faculty to go to. I mean come on, getting a bunch of academics together in a room isn’t exactly the most exciting thing in the world. Unless you’re Meg and your shouting argument with that hot chem ta Ruby warps into a hate fuck in a janitor’s closet. That was an exciting Christmas party. We don’t have on campus Christmas parties anymore.

Of course there’s the ‘Don’t shit where you eat’ mentality of it all and I find that to be sage advice. Aside from Mick which was admittedly a fluke in an otherwise impeccable string of romantic and sexual entanglements, I do fine for myself. I also just don’t understand what it is about academics that people find so sexy anyway. They’re boring and stuffy and most of them don’t have a life outside of work. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Donatello leave campus but he’s also a classics guy and that says it all.

I do have a life though, thankfully. I’ve got the triathlons to keep me fit, the vibrant life of downtown and all of the mom and pop shops for everything fun, a dive bar for cheap food and better entertainment, and seeing Gabe every Thursday helps too. Still trying to convince him that work stories need to be saved for after dinner though. Spunk and Coquille Saint-Jacques don't mix. I call my mom every weekend too, just to see how her and the old man are. Haven’t done that since I took up this positing and research but the shitty service makes it an impossibility anyway. Maybe I’ll go visit after this. I miss New Brunswick.

Anyways, I should probably go run my tests. Until next time journal.

“You’re a strange one, Castiel.” Dean mumbled to himself as he set the journal down. 

He’d read through three journals at this point and Dean still wasn’t sure what to make about the marine biologist. The man was confident bordering on cocky but it wasn’t arrogant and Dean wondered if the man talked the same way he wrote. Of course he’d seen the id badge and knew that the confidence was warranted. Castiel was handsome and it was a shame. The good looking ones were always nerds.

Science aside, Dean knew a little bit about Cas’ childhood and the bare minimum about undergrad and the current iteration of the man. He’d been a weird charming kid with some athletic knack and supportive parents and somehow that had translated into a charming adult with an athletic knack and supportive parents. It was wild what having supportive parents could lead to. Dean’s mind kept drifting to the way Castiel spoke about his love life, unable to help but make assumptions and draw comparisons with his own life.

“I got around a lot too.”

Dean left the heavy tension in the cottage, running away from the memory he knew lay behind those words. Knowing his luck it was bound to rear its ugly head the next time he fell asleep. The newest addition to Dean’s routine was his morning comb of the beach and hour and a half of reflection on the rocky outcropping. He still avoided sticking his hands in the water but sitting there and staring out at the rippling surface helped. So did talking to the monster as if it actually existed.

Clouds floated lazily across the sky as Dean walked along the beach, an otherwise calm environment for the tumultuous emotions roiling inside of him. Ever since the admission that he’d deserved none of what had happened, Dean had been struggling. He felt lighter with it out in the air but he continued to think about the past and what had led up to all of that. Those thoughts were heavy.

A squelch echoed underneath Dean’s boot and he paused, disgust contorting his face as he glanced underfoot. Torn skin and leaking guts spilled out from the half bitten fish carcass thrown onto the sand. Its lower half was gone and glassy dead eyes stared up at Dean, rolling clouds reflected in them. Dean crouched to get a better look at the fish, eyes scanning the snout and whiskers and thin peaks along the spine. What gave Dean pause was the length of fish that remained, some 5 feet if he had to guess.

“Jesus, something big must’ve taken a chunk out of you.” He whistled, glancing uneasily at the lake. There were no predators in the lake according to Castiel, aside from the sea lampreys but the lampreys didn’t bite a five plus foot fish in half and beach it. They drank blood. “So hey, Lake Monster, if you’re out there you should probably finish your meals and not haul them up onto the beach. Unless of course this is part of some like ecological process I don’t understand in which case please continue it and ignore. Maybe just keep ignoring me. I’d like to not be monster chow.”

Continuing on his way, Dean saw much the same as always. Algae, weeds, shells, the odd crab, everything was the way it was supposed to be. Halfway down the beach he paused, frowning. A thick tangle of netting lay at the water’s edge right where it wasn’t supposed to be. Dean grabbed it, cringing at the slick plastic feeling as he dragged it away from the shore.

“Even I know you’re not supposed to be trawling here. That shit’s terrible, especially those nets. The by-product catch rate has to be criminal. Better hope the monster doesn’t catch you and make you pay. Or the environmentalists. Now they’re people you don’t want to fuck with.”

With the net a safe distance from the water and the knowledge that he’d have to come back to collect it and dispose of it properly, Dean continued on his walk toward the outcropping. The stone was largely dry and Dean lowered himself down, sitting criss cross. A soft clink echoed against the rock and Dean peered over the edge, fishing a glass bottle out of the lake. Faded from exposure to the elements, Dean barely had to look at the label to know what it was.

“Oh captain my captain.” He said glumly, staring down at the bottle of rum. The memory burned behind Dean’s eyes and instead of fighting it, he let it out and spoke his truth to the lake.

Dean’s guttural sobs bounced around the tiled bathroom as he curled in on himself, eyes buried in the knees he hugged to his chest. He’d long flown past the burn of water in his lungs and now the burn was from nothing but the cold air around him. John was snoring away on the other side of the door and so was Sam. Not that either provided a comfort.

When Dean peeled himself away from the tile floor he rolled onto his knees and reached for a towel from under the sink, cleaning up the bile drying on the floor. He scrubbed and scrubbed until his hands ached and the tile was clean. One fleck remaining would be more than enough to set John off again, especially after what had happened that day. If Dean set John off again so soon, he knew he wouldn’t make it out.

Dean changed his clothing in complete silence, feeling around in the dark to keep his family asleep. He chanced a glance at Sam in the dark, the sliver of moonlight filtering in from the curtain gap landing on his face. Sam looked as at peace as he possibly could’ve given the horror of hours earlier, teddy bear clutched in his arms.

“I wish we could run away from him.” Dean whispered, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Sam’s forehead. “I wish I was older so I could take better care of you.”

Sam shifted in his sleep to chase Dean’s hand before settling down. Dean’s frown deepened and he slipped from the bed quietly. He fished John’s keys from the pocket of his jacket hung up on the hook by the door and slunk outside. The lights in the parking lot flickered as Dean made a beeline for the impala, craving the safety of the leather seats and the doors he could lock.

Dean climbed into the car and curled up in the passenger seat, reaching for a jacket that lay discarded in the foot well. Curling up underneath the canvas fabric, Dean took his first deep breath of air. John’s aftershave permeated his nostrils and he hugged the jacket tighter. John wasn’t in the impala, Dean was safe.

Dean wanted to run away and he knew he could. There was a bus terminal 20 minutes down the road and he had enough for a ticket to put some distance between himself and his father. There were two problems with that: one, an unaccompanied ten year old would call too much suspicion and only land him in trouble and two, he refused to leave Sam. John’s temper was hair trigger and Dean refused to leave if there was even a remote possibility that Sam would be on the receiving end of that. If they could get to Ellen then maybe she’d be able to do something but that was a big if and she was four states away. The only way that would work would be Sam asking and even then John would be suspicious.

The only viable option was to stay and protect Sam.

Beneath the misery and exhaustion, hunger was gnawing at Dean’s stomach. While nothing new, this hunger ached more than it had before. This was bone deep and prolonged hunger, the kind of hunger Dean saw in the Saturday morning cartoons where the characters coughed out dust. Thankfully, Dean had been stashing snacks in the impala for months.

He retrieved a granola bar from under the mat in the front and a slim jim from the back where’d taped it just under the seat. Not nearly enough to fill his belly, it was better than nothing. Dean wolfed them down and shoved the wrappers into his pants pockets before turning his attention to the glovebox. Sometimes John kept snacks there.

The latch clicked and the compartment popped open. Dean scanned the contents, eyes sliding past receipts and manuals and papers on the hunt for anything that he could eat. There was nothing out of the ordinary save for the flask glinting in the light of the lot. The flask was silver and engraved with a filigree along the edges.

“You ruined everything.” Dean muttered bitterly as he held the flask in his hands, the weight heavy. “Dad was never awful before you joined the picture. If I was smart I’d dump you out.”

Dean didn’t dump it out. He unscrewed the cap and sniffed it, face scrunched in disgust. Sharp and medicinal, the contents burned his nostrils. It didn’t smell like something that should be consumed by human beings. Something about it had to be good enough to keep dragging John back again and again. Dean took a swig.

His mouth burned and he coughed, nearly choking on the alcohol. Nothing about the liquid tasted nice but the warmth flooding his mouth and throat after he swallowed was surprisingly pleasant. He couldn’t feel that burning of his lungs from the tub because this burning had replaced. This was burning of his choice and the pain cut clear through his emotional fog.

At four sips Dean stopped and returned the flask to the glove compartment before locking it back up. Sunlight peeked out from beyond the horizon and Dean dragged himself from the impala back to the motel room, slipping the keys back into John’s jacket. Something felt different, his limbs felt heavy and tingly and the room spun when he closed his eyes but he didn’t mind.

It was better than the alternative.

“So there you have it Lake Monster, got myself hooked on booze at 10. Being numb and tingly and dizzy beat the hell out of being traumatized and moody all the time. Guess it made the beatings easier to bear too. Hard to remember the beating if you know you’re just gonna drink yourself into oblivion afterward.”

Dean glanced down at the empty bottle in his hands and sighed. “I know I’m an alcoholic, I’m not an idiot. I’ve known for years. Hell I was sober from 18-22 but obviously I relapsed. I want to stop again, I think I’ve hit that point but it’s not that simple. Withdrawal’s a fucking bitch. I’ve already got the headaches and I’ve only missed a day and a half.”

There was no response save for the gentle lapping of the water at the outcropping and for once, Dean didn’t mind the silence. He sat there for a few minutes before picking himself back up and making his return trip down the beach. The trawling net was pressed down and tied into knots so he could take it with him and he stopped just beside the carcass from earlier.

“That’s new.” He said to himself as he dug something out of the sand, wiping it on his pants. In the palm of his hand sat a tooth unlike any he’d seen before. It was similar to a molar but came to three razor sharp points. Pocketing it with the intention of asking Charlie about it when he went to visit her in the next couple days, Dean continued his trek back to the cottage.

With the beach clean ticked off the agenda, Dean knew he should clean up the rest of the actual lighthouse but that could wait for a few minutes. That could wait just long enough for a quick nap to clear the headache he’d been fighting since he’d woken up.

The smell of the aftershave Dean had no business wearing was strong, a mix of wood and chemicals and something faintly masculine. He had no business wearing it because he was freshly sixteen and could barely grow a passable mustache. Dabbing it on sparingly, Dean glanced at himself in the mirror.

Green eyes, brown hair, freckles, all of it felt too boyish for what he needed to do.

Fishing the half empty flask from the pocket of his jeans, Dean took a few sips and shook the cringing expression from his face. The familiar warmth settled in the back of his throat and his shoulders sagged, exhaustion creeping in through the confident façade he’d spent forever and a day creating.

“Remember, you’re 21 and have every right to be there and drink. Your fake is good enough to fool them, don’t act sketchy.”

His plan was simple: take a trip to the local dive bar with the pool tables and hustle the drunk idiots out of as much money as he possibly could before they figured it out or he got kicked out for being a pool shark. His tab would be taken care of easily enough, the women in the bars were generous enough and he wasn’t above accepting a drink from a man who still had all of his teeth and only mildly wandering hands. It was a routine gig, a hustle he’d pulled a million and one times.

He and Sam needed the money so failure wasn’t an option. John had fucked off on them three weeks and hadn’t been back so it was get some money to keep the room and get food. Dean wasn’t above dumpster diving again but the bar meant he got actual cash and, more importantly, his fix. Alcohol was a constant in Dean’s life now, the only stable thing aside from Sam and whatever shitty motel they were staying in. Even John’s abuse had lessened but Dean suspected that was a by-product of John’s increasing absence and less that his father was realizing the error of his ways. Sam was out with friends at a movie so he’d be gone until close to midnight and even then, all the kid would do was come back here right after and pass out. He wasn’t a flight risk.

Dean smoothed down the tight t-shirt and flannel he wore, hands sliding down the well-worn denim of his jeans. Tight but not egregiously so, Dean knew the outfit would get him the attention he wanted. If that didn’t then the brown eyeshadow – a compact some girl from school had left in the impala after he’d taken her to drive-in – he’d swept in a thin line across his upper lash line certainly would. Makeup was for girls but Dean wasn’t above resorting to dirty tricks.

“Just so you don’t worry when you get back and I’m gone.” Dean said to himself as he scrawled a hasty note for Sam, leaving it on the table before he slipped out of the room.

Calling Richie’s a dive bar was insulting to dive bars. The sign out front was falling apart, letters flaking off and laying discarded on the ground. Overgrown weeds sprouted from cracked pavement in the parking lot and rusty pickup trucks puttered in and out at all times of the night. Dean moved across the parking lot like he belonged there, hands shoved in his pocket and head held just high enough to appear confident but not cocky. Overselling it was always the downfall of a good scheme.

Richie’s was even worse on the inside, nothing but sticky floors covered with watery beer and the remnants of peanuts and pistachio shells. Dean was sure if he glanced off in some dark corner he’d find a used condom or a few baggies of drugs. It was just seedy enough for people to feel at ease. Patrons laughed at chattered at the tables littered around the bar and groups of people surrounded the pool tables, men pressing themselves up against bottle blondes who hadn’t played a game of pool a day in their lives.

Dean snagged the final seat at the end of the bar, eyes meeting the bartender’s. The man was large, easily six and a half feet, and the dim light of the bar reflected off of his bald head. Covered in tattoos, the man’s biceps flexed as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Got some id?”

Dean handed the card over the bartender, expression remaining as nonchalant as possible. He knew the fake was good and even if it wasn’t, no way in hell the people at Richie’s cared enough to call him on it. The bartender handed it back to Dean. “What do you want?”

“Whisky on the rocks, thanks.”

Dean surveyed the bar as he waited, eyes scanning the pool tables and the other tables for an easy mark. Polo shirts were a dead giveaway, cargo pants a close second. Athleisure worked too. All of it said the wearers had money and that they were overconfident. The guys were the worst, that special spoiled breed of entitled college kid that Dean couldn’t stand.

“You look awful young to be ordering such a stiff drink.”

Dean glanced over, eyes settling on the woman. A bottle blonde with immaculately coiffed hair and one of those soft cashmere sweaters, she should’ve been a million years away from the bar. She looked like the kind of woman who would scoff at the kids who shopped at the outlet malls because they weren’t name brand.

“And you are far too put together to be anywhere near this place.” Dean replied, turning on the stool so they could converse. “Moxie’s seems more your speed.”

She raised an eyebrow, intrigued. When the bartender returned with Dean’s drink she flagged him down for another martini and gestured in Dean’s direction. “Put his drinks on my tab tonight.”

“Much appreciated. I’m Tyler.” Dean said, the lie rolling form his tongue with practiced ease.

“Tabitha.” She replied, sipping at her martini. “You’ll want that group in the corner if you’re planning in hustling them. You could reasonably get a couple hundred from them. Wouldn’t push too much though, the one in green is the sheriff’s son.”

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise, a shameful flush creeping onto his cheeks. He’d never been called out so quickly or so brazenly before, especially by a 40 year old woman in a cashmere sweater and matching pantsuit. There was no saving face and he was frustrated. His profit margins had just plummeted.

“You’ve got a good eye. Care to watch?”

“Impress me and maybe you’ll make more than expected. I’ve got… discerning tastes and you meet the threshold.”

Dean nodded, downed his drink, and then made his way over to the pool tables. Halfway there he let his shoulders sagged. Posture infused with practiced insecurity. He looked smaller now, much closer to his actual age. Even his voice was tailored, appropriately pitchy.

“Hey, really sorry to bother you guys but I’m looking to play a few rounds and you guys seem cool. Can I join?”

The sheriff’s son was the one who answered Dean, nothing but brash confidence at seeing someone so easy. “We only play with bets. You get cash for the pot?”

“I got a little but I’m not very good. Is that okay?”

Dean saw the dollar signs light up their eyes before the round even began and he knew he’d suckered them in. Round one was easy and Dean made sure he missed almost every important shot by a decent margin, apologizing profusely each time. The guys laughed because of course they did and Dean caught a few of the girlfriends shooting him looks of sympathy and pity. They wouldn’t be sharing those much longer.

Rounds two and three Dean played better but not perfectly, managing to sink a few more balls but keeping himself way below the skill level of the rest of the table. That wasn’t a hard feat to manage, the guys were terrible. Had it been some fancy sport like squash or pickle ball Dean imagined he’d get his ass handed to him but this was his element and he was just about ready to reel them in.

“Hey guys, I think this might be my last round. You guys have cleared me out.”

The guys exchanged looks before the sheriff’s son added the remaining money in the pile. “Works for us. Winner takes all?”

Dean nodded in agreement. His grin was barely concealed as he re-racked the balls and was given first shot. He was ruthless, firing the cue with terrifying precision as he sunk ball after ball into pocket after pocket. The Sheriff’s son got a few in but the hope in his eyes died when Dean sank his final ball and the 8 ball in rapid succession.

“Thanks for the cash guys.” Dean grinned, offering them a two finger salute before taking himself and his earnings back to the bar.

Tabitha had been watching the entire interaction with laser focus as she downed her second martini of the night and Dean could feel her eyes fall on him when he returned. He watched them drag low and slow until they met his face and then she was smiling with that predatory lipstick grin that made him feel dirty.

“Masterful hustle.” She praised as she gestured for the bartender to refill Dean’s glass. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m not. They had light pockets and their game was shit. Not even a challenge.”

“Well aren’t you just full of surprises. You got what, 300?”

“250.” Dean admitted. Something akin to suspicion was settling into his gut and with it came tendrils of anxiety shooting through his veins. Nothing about Tabitha added up but calling her out directly didn’t seem like a good idea. Last time he'd called out a woman he'd still felt the stinging handprint on his face three days later. “You seem to know an awful lot about hustling pool for a well off woman.”

“Maybe I enjoy seeing snot nosed college kids get their asses handed to them by someone who very obviously isn’t 21 or a snobby college kid himself.”

Dean eyed her warily, heart pounding in his throat. This didn’t feel safe. “You singled me out from the second I got here. What do you want from me?”

Her gaze was measured and predatory as her hand slid across the bar. She slid it up Dean’s arm, down his chest, and settled it on his upper thigh. “I told you you could make a little extra tonight. Also said I have discerning taste. All you have to do is have a little fun with me while my husband watches. He’s got discerning tastes too.”

Dean’s skin crawled and he wanted to pull his leg away from her. He’d known this was a possibility and she was hardly the first person who’d propositioned him – successfully or unsuccessfully – but it still felt dirty. Turning tricks was a last resort and Dean didn’t know if he was that desperate yet. Ignoring the sheer illegality of every aspect of it, knowing her husband would be there and watching added another layer he didn’t like.

“How much are you offering?”

His tone was direct, void of all curiosity. It was a proposition, the precursor to a business deal ensuring his and Sam's meals for the next while.

“For you, 800 easy. More if you agree to more. So what do you say?”

Dean downed his drink and against his better judgment he left the bar with Tabitha.

Phantom ants crawled along Dean’s arms when he woke from his nap. Tingling aside, the same slick oily feeling was beginning to settle on his skin. He knew what it was and he hated it. The echoes of touches past ghosted across his skin as he made his way to the kitchen, leaning against the counter in defeat as he let the waves steamroll him.

Tabitha hadn’t been the first and she was the last and Dean remembered her all too well. Her and her husband, Earl.

She’d known he was a child, everything about the way she’d treated him had screamed as much but it never came up in conversation. Maybe it was plausible deniability, Dean had no way of knowing for sure. Her hands had wandered and she had taken the lead and it felt terrible. He’d been an object to her, an object with a brain and knowing that going in only made it worse. Objectification wasn't anything new but it still sucked. 

Earl had been the one to send Dean over the edge. The man had left him shaking, nearly in tears, and Dean hadn’t let anyone touch him for almost three years after he’d dragged himself back to the motel in the middle of the night. Three weeks post Tabitha and Earl and he was still hiding the bruises on his body from everyone around him. He'd vowed to never turn another trick no matter how desperate he got.

“I really hope you’re done tormenting me.” Dean mumbled, talking to his brain as he rifled through the fridge for the bottle. The headache behind his eyes was brewing into something more and the dull pain was quickly approaching ice pick territory. Dean popped the cap off and brought the bottle to his lips. A knock at the door startled him and he flinched in surprise, the bottle shattering on the ground.

“Motherfucker!” Dean hissed, staring at the booze seeping into the cracks between the floorboards. Another knock at the door and then Dean was shuffling over, pissed off and mildly frightened.

Charlie stood on the other side, wringing her hands. Her red rimmed eyes scanned Dean’s face and then she waved meekly at Dean. A tied grief replaced her usual bubbly energy.

“Hey, sorry, I just- you said to come by if I needed anything. I can come back if you’re busy.”

The anger drained from Dean’s face and he stepped aside to let her in, closing the door behind her. He watched as she glanced around the kitchen, spending longer than he’d like staring at the shattered glass on the floor, before she was turning back to him. Dean’s eyes landed on the clothing she wore and he pursed his lips. Black pants and a black shirt, nothing like the usual colour.

“I said I’d help you figure out the funeral stuff, you should’ve asked me.” He said gently.

Charlie shook her head and took a seat at the kitchen table, tucking her feet up onto the chair. “I think I needed to do it alone, get some closure and stuff.”

“You’re 23, you’re a kid still. You didn’t have to.” Dean sighed, back turned to Charlie.

Reaching for a broom and dustpan he crouched down to sweep up the glass before either of them stepped into it. The smell of whisky wafted up to Dean’s nostrils and his head throbbed in response. His last bottle was gone.

“I can’t do it all alone.” Charlie said honestly. “That’s why I’m here. Will you go with me?”

Chucking the glass into the garbage can, Dean returned to the floorboards with a rag to soak up the mess. He’d have to wash the floorboards after but that was a problem for down the road. Right now was about avoiding a slipping hazard. Shifting onto the balls of his feet, he looked back at Charlie.

“When is it?”

“Tomorrow, 10 am. Little church about 10 minutes from the hospital. I can drive, I just want company.”

“You’re not driving.” Dean said firmly, lips pursing as he stared at the floor boards. Warped sketchy wood aside, something about the boards didn’t sit right and he didn’t like it. The whorls staring back at him looked far too much like a wasp nest, strange and mysterious and ever so off-putting.

“I’m perfectly capable of driving, thank you. My abstract’s spotless.”

“Never said you weren’t capable, just that you won’t be doing it. You’re gonna be upset and not focused and I’m not about to let you get into an easily preventable accident.” Dean mumbled, clambering to his knees. He shoved a finger into a gap between the floorboards, wiggling around to gauge how much space there was. His fingers brushed dust and dirt and then the top of something that felt damp and bloated. Dean snatched his hand back as if he’d been scalded, mouth peeled back in distaste. “There’s something under the floorboards.”

“Okay Mr. Telltale Heart, who’d you murder?”

“My father.”

Dean’s expression was deadpan, flat mouth and cold eyes. It matched his tone.

Charlie swallowed thickly, shifting in the kitchen chair. Dean’s expression was cold and uncomfortable and it kicked up a flutter of anxiety in his stomach.

“I’m not going Kubrick on you, I promise.” He mumbled, turning his attention back to the floor. Shoving his fingers back into the gap, he felt around until he came to a weak spot in the wood and then he was prying it up with great effort. Rotten wood tore free with a hefty crack as Dean removed three floorboards.

A bloated cardboard box stared at Dean from the darkness and he reached for it, cardboard disintegrating under his fingers as he heaved the box onto the floor. Plastic covered cassette tapes poured from the hole in the box and covered the floorboards.

“Well that’s not ominous as hell.” Charlie mumbled.

Dean shrugged and reached for one of the tapes, turning it over in his hands to examine it. Nothing on it looked special from inside the cover and the ink on the label had bled into a nearly illegible mess. The only thing Dean knew for sure was that he recognized the neat writing.

“This is Cas’ writing.”

“Cas?”

“Castiel, mysterious marine biologist guy. Sorry, kind of gave him a nickname. Feels more personal than his whole name.”

“Still weird but fair. You know I might have a cassette player in the library if you want to borrow it and listen to them.”

Dean collected the tapes and piled them on the kitchen table before glancing back at Charlie, nodding his head. “Yeah, I want to listen to them. I can grab it from you on the way back tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Now I know it’s late and I’m really sorry that I came so late but I don’t want to drive back in the dark. That road’s kind of terrifying even during the day.”

Dean gestured in the direction of his bedroom. “It’s small but it works and I’m not tired. Grab a hoodie or something if you want a change of clothes. I’ll be in here if you need me, got lots to do.”

Charlie nodded her head, grateful smile on her face before she turned and left Dean in the kitchen. Haunted lighthouse aside, she was glad Dean was there.

Chapter Text

Today’s water sample was supposed to be like the others. It was supposed to be slightly basic, not concerningly so, but this isn’t that. This isn’t that perfect almost neutral 7.0. This is a 2.0. It’s unprecedented and I don’t like it. It’s not good for the marine life whatsoever. Water shouldn't be acidic. It can't be.

Under the microscope is even worse, especially if you decide to stain a sample like I did. There’s ferroplasmic acidophile bacteria in the water which doesn’t even make sense. We don’t have mines around here or toxic waste or the right levels of anything for this to even be present. I think this might be ferroplasma thermophilum which is mostly iron and sulfur cycling based. It’s got that whole bioleaching metals applications which is great but still makes no sense. They're extremophiles and this lake is far from an extreme environemnt.

I just don’t understand where this came from all of a sudden. I took a sample from the same place yesterday morning and it was 7.2. No way in hell the ph changed that quickly. It's physically impossible. Scientifically impossible too. The only thing that changed between yesterday and now is when I cut myself but that doesn’t even come close to explaining anything about what I’ve just found. This isn’t even my research area either, I’m way out of my fucking depth. I think Anael should come take a look at this, maybe I’ll message her and see what she thinks the next time I’m in town. She'd tell me I'd fucked up my reading and then fix it in the same breath.

Also my hand still kills from yesterday. All I did was reach in the water to try and grab a sample from deeper than usual, not my fault there was some kind of hook or something embedded in the lake. Not my fault the stupid thing sliced my hand open either. I can’t stand barbed hooks, they’re the fucking worst. Of course blood in the water’s going to attract leeches and lampreys and god knows what else so I was pretty quick to make an exit. Doubt the bacteria in the lake are going to be good for an open wound too. Better not get an infection.

I don’t recommend sewing up your own hand either, it fucking hurts. Probably wasn’t the most sanitary either but I sure as hell wasn’t driving three hours to pay to get it done. Health care here’s a ripoff, seriously. Why is the health insurance like this? Just would’ve been nice if the town at the very least had an emt or something or hell, even a vet. But nope, there’s no one. Not even a retired nurse.

I like paramedics, I won’t lie. The ones I’ve met have been incredibly kind and surprisingly judgment free. Granted I’ve only dealt with them in relation to my coworkers being injured and the one time I slipped off a dock and sliced my leg open on a loose nail. That wasn’t a fun tetanus shot. I respect the way they know as much as they do and they’ve got the patience and emotional calmness of a fucking monk. I sure wouldn’t be calm if I came across someone with a compound fracture. I can barely stand the sight of my own blood, let alone someone else’s.

There’s something about their hands that I find fascinating. Strength and dexterity aside, they have working hands and that’s hot. A good veiny hand goes a hell of a long way in so many cases. Trying to tighten a bolt on a stubborn shelf? Try a strong hand. Trying to open a stubborn pickle jar? Try a strong hand. Trying and failing to get your rocks off? Get a strong hand to help you out.

It’s the intention of the movement that does it. Every single one of them moves as if every action and its consequences are thought of and considered. They touch you like they really mean it, like they want you to fall apart and relax under them. I got off on just a paramedic’s fingers once and that was nice. Definitely fulfilling. Is it too much to ask to have someone with nice hands systematically make me fall apart just for the sake of it? Feels like it might be.

Their uniforms aren’t fair either, tight in all the right teasing places. Them and firefighters, jesus. It’s the pants, the way they hug and grip and somehow still have movement in them. And the t-shirts, crisse, the t-shirts can’t get any tighter than they already are. God I really need to get laid again. My hand's just not cutting it anymore. Also it's stitched up so it's basically useless anyway. 

Anyways, tangent aside, I’m pissed about the hand. It’s gonna limit me and all the shit that I need to do which isn’t great. I was supposed to head out on the lake today, do some exploration and maybe a dive but I don’t really want to do that with a fucked hand. Also I don't exactly trust the locals not to abandon me in the middle of the lake for  shits and giggles. Maybe I’ll fish instead. Been wanting to catch some of the native species and study them anyways, been noticing some weird patterns the more I stare at the lake.

The sunfish aren’t behaving the way they’re supposed to. They’re in the littoral zone which tracks but they’re not skittish like they should be. I stand in the water and I see them dart around me and it’s not right. They’re not minnows, they shouldn’t be that way. Even their colours look off. A pumpkinseed should be orange and distinctive and these ones are dull, like someone leeched the colour right out of them. I see the trout and the crappies and sure they look fine physically speaking but something just feels wrong. They’re not fighting my line or even me when I hold them. Trout should have fight in them. I don’t think they’ve picked up parasites but I haven’t done an autopsy yet. Maybe I should.

It’s the sturgeon that have me worried. They’re benthic feeders and they should be sticking to the bottom of the lake out in the deeper water, not near the shore. I saw one the other day as I stood on the dock. Plain as day it was right near the shore and that’s wrong. It looked odd too, sick almost. Not wormy but just off. I wonder if something’s driving them out of the deep water? It shouldn’t be possible, there aren’t apex predators in this lake as far as I’m aware. Certainly none that would even come close to threatening a sturgeon. Unless you count the supposed lake monster legend but I don’t believe in that.

I need to catch and test more fish and figure this out before I go insane.

Dean pursed his lips as he leaned back in the chair. His mind drifted, settling on the half eaten fish carcass he’d stumbled upon the previous day. That had been a sturgeon, he was sure of it and Cas’ commentary only confirmed it. Something was out in that lake and it was big enough to attack and eat a sturgeon.

“That’s not comforting in the slightest.” He mumbled to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face.

The kettle stopped with a click, boiling noise fading into nothingness as Dean got up from his chair. Charlie was asleep in his bed and he’d spent most of the night pouring through Cas’ journals, desperate for the distraction and driven by the need to know what happened to the man. He couldn’t stop thinking about Cas. In the absence of the noisy kettle, something caught Dean’s attention and he frowned. Faint at first, it grew louder as Dean turned to stare out the cottage window.

A deep humming seemed to shake the very foundation of the cottage, higher clicks and whistles pinging as if someone played in time with a phantom score. Goosebumps prickled Dean’s skin the more he listened and when he heard the noise crescendo he very nearly reached for a flashlight to go investigate. The melody intrigued him, foreign and haunted like the ghost of something that died long ago. It was almost beautiful.

“You’ve got a set of pipes on you.” Dean murmured as the siren song quieted, blinking out of existence and back into the darkness of the lake.

Mug of chamomile tea in hand – meant to calm though Dean assumed that was simply a placebo effect – he returned to his post at the kitchen table. The final journal stared up at him and Dean turned to the next entry, eyes settling on the familiar handwriting.

I miss Meg.

Meg Masters is a peculiar beast if there ever was one and we certainly shouldn’t be friends but here we are anyway. She’s a little tchorieux, funny let’s say. Also the human equivalent of those tiny but scarily aggressive birds. I think it’s the Quebecoise in her. Never did care much for them until I met her, too tannant to be worth much.

We were on the same research team when working on our masters. She had the human biology knowhow that seemed to compliment my marine biology knowhow. That and she stood up to Frederick who was a dick. I lost count of how many times I saw her spit in his coffee or leave his croissant out to go stale and rock hard. Meg is petty revenge in tight low rise jeans and purple tops.

Right now Meg would be telling me to live a little while I’m out here all alone. She’d tell me to go skinny dipping or streaking or to find un baveaux and have a little conversation. The latter would be fun if the townspeople were friendlier but as it stands, I doubt there’s much gossip in a town of 200 people. I suppose I could skinny dip but it’s not particularly enjoyable when you’re alone. The exhibitionism and shared thrill of being caught by someone else is what makes the entire experience fun.

I hope she’s doing well. She’d just had a breakthrough on a paper she’s coauthoring with a few other faculty members when I was leaving to come out here and I’ve been lax in chatting with her since then. I blame the sketchy service here. Hopefully her and Ruby have figured their shit out and are either a couple or aren’t speaking to each other at all. Meg deserves happiness, she really does. She’d tell you her happy place is holding the leash attached to some high powered executive in a cage and I’d believe her. She’s unapologetic and brash and a fucking whirlwind and I’m so glad she’s my best friend.

Her only fault, aside from her taste in people, is her inability to hold her tongue and her constant need to criticize my décor every time she comes to visit my place. It’s too blue, why are there crabs on your lampshade, crisse c’est une maison pour une femme ancienne! I take offence to that last one, my place is not an old woman’s home. Dated, sure, but not ancient.

Is it nautical and aquatic and blue? Yes. But not old. I’ve got a thing and it’s aquatic and I am not going to apologize for that. I think the lampshade is cute and you know what, so is everything else. It’s not my fault Meg likes velvet and leather and weird modern shit. I’ve seen her couch and I’ll take my nice dark grey fabric over that cracking fake leather anytime.

If we’re really getting technical then we can blame this all on maman. She’s the one who listened to her seven year old son and completely redecorated his room. She’s the one who got him the crab lampshade and the dark blue carpeting and the pirate ship bed with the little sail canopy. I loved that bed, still do. Something about sleeping in a bed dreaming about sailing the seas was affirming. I loved the murals on the wall and how much care she put into them. I think my bedroom at their place still looks the same. Only thing that ever changed was swapping out the pirate bed for a double bed when I got older. I often think about getting a pirate bed now, just for laughs. Wouldn’t it be funny to take someone to bed in it. Think of all the jokes you could make about it.

Alas that’s a dream for months down the road when I can finally go back there. Gabe better be keeping my fish alive or I’m going to kill him.

“You and your fish.” Dean chuckled as he leaned back and reached the half drunk mug of tea.

Quiet shuffling filled the cottage as Charlie emerged from the dark of the bedroom, think blanket wrapped tightly around her. Eyes half lidded with sleep, she glanced over at Dean. “Who and whose fish?”

“Cas.” He replied. Dean gestured to the counter where a mug already sat, milk and sugar next to it. “Just gotta boil the water and you can have some coffee, might perk you up. You sleep okay?”

Charlie shrugged before she shuffled over and flicked the kettle on, leaning against the counter. Her eyes scanned his face, lips pursed. “Looks like I slept better than you. Did you get any sleep?”

“A couple hours. Got distracted with the journals and the weird noises.”

“Weird noises?”

“Clicking humming noises, I don’t know. Vaguely dolphin or whaleish maybe? Came from somewhere out in the lake I think.”

“Sounds like you’re hallucinating.” Charlie replied, pausing to finish making her coffee and take a sip. “It was probably just a fish or something. Or maybe it was the Lake Monster.”

Her tone was teasing, joking, but Dean didn’t laugh. He’d read the journal, he knew there were no predators and nothing capable of making anything like the song he’d heard out in the lake. Cas knew it too judging from the journal.

“Maybe. Cas was convinced there was something wrong with the fish in the lake, says they weren’t behaving the way they were supposed to behave. Says there might be some kind of apex predator or something and Lake Monster fits that.”

“Except monsters don’t exist. Well not inhuman monsters.”

“You never really know what’s out there.” Dean shrugged. “I’m gonna get ready while you finish your coffee and then we can head out. Want to make sure you’re not late.”

Dean left Charlie in the kitchen as he made his way to the bedroom. He stepped past the freshly made bed and rifled through the wardrobe, pulling out the nicest clothing he’d salvaged from his old life. Stiff dark jeans and clean t-shirt on, Dean headed for the bathroom. Tired eyes stared at him from a thinning face, lips turned into a perpetual frown.

“God I look like shit.”

The mint of the toothpaste mixed with the aftertaste of the tea as he brushed his teeth, Dean’s stomach churning in response. Queasiness was settling like a film over his skin and he did his best to push the feeling aside. Between the imminent nausea and the persistent headache, today was going to be rough. But Charlie needed him and he was going to be there. She took precedence over his problems. Withdrawal had nothing on dead parents. 

His return to the kitchen was quiet, mind too focused on keeping it together to do much else. He tidied as he waited for Charlie to get ready, setting the mugs in the sink and cleaning up the stack of journals he’d strewn across the kitchen table. The cassette tapes stared at him from their perch on the kitchen counter and Dean reached for one, turning it over in his hands.

What did Cas’ voice sound like?

Dean had been wondering since the first journal, daydreaming about the man behind the words and the suspiciously handsome id badge. He had the dry humour and the passion and the edge of bitchiness and Dean wondered if he’d have the lisp. It was a fair assumption with Cas being admittedly gay. What gave Dean pause was the way Cas’ language changed when he talked about his personal life, the inclusion of the weird foreign words Dean didn’t understand. Cas had said he was Canadian originally and that he spoke French but for the life of him Dean couldn’t remember if he’d ever heard a French person speak before.

“You look deep in thought.”

Charlie’s voice startled Dean out of his daze. He blinked slowly, cassette left on the counter as he ushered her out of the cottage and towards the impala. “I was thinking, dunno if I’d call it deep.”

“About Cas?”

“Yeah, about Cas.”

“Seems like you think about him an awful lot.” Charlie noted as she slid into the passenger seat, making herself comfortable.

“He’s someone’s brother and someone’s best friend and someone’s son and he just up and vanished so yeah I think about him a lot. I’d want someone to think about me if I went missing. Besides, talking to him as if he’s there is kinda comforting ya know? Keeps me sane.”

“Weirdly sentimental of you.”

Dean smiled a bit, shaking his head. “I’m allowed to have layers. He’s an interesting guy anyway, at least according to the journals. I like to think we’d be friends if he hadn’t gone girl’ed himself.”

Charlie hummed in response, glancing at Dean. He looked much the same as the night he’d spent in her bed and poured his heart out to her. The bags remained, the shakiness continued, but something new had emerged and it dropped her heart into her stomach. Tucked beneath Dean’s jacket sleeve and just barely visible were raised red scratches and scrapes. She knew what he’d done. She’d done it too.

“How are you holding up? After what you told me I mean.”

Dean’s smile vanished, jaw clenching. His grip tightened on the wheel but Dean didn’t clam up. Charlie wanted to talk and Dean wasn’t going to deny her. Not when they were on the way to bury her mother.

“Not great.” He admitted, weariness lacing his tone. “Still not really sleeping but what else is new. Been walking along the beach in the morning and talking to the Lake Monster. Feel like I need to move on and recover from that shit because it’s what I deserve and it’s been long enough. Just hard to move on when I don’t know which way to go.”

“I feel that, the moving on stuff. I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Moving. Mom’s gone and I hate this town. I want to go somewhere warmer.”

Dean nodded his head, grip loosening on the wheel. He knew exactly what she meant. It was his plan too.

“I’m going to Cali when this lighthouse contract is up, gonna go find my little brother and move on with my life. You should come with me.”

Charlie stared at him now, eyebrow raised. “You want me to move to Cali with you?”

“Not saying you have to, just saying it’s an option. Easier to make a new life for yourself if you’ve got someone to lean on. Just putting it out into the universe.”

Charlie’s smile was genuine.

“Thanks Dean, I’ll think about it.”

Dean nodded and gestured to the bag he’d set in the footwell by her feet. “I know you’re not a big fan of the music and that you probably want a distraction so I came prepared. Brought the last journal, you’re welcome to read the next entry out loud if you want.”

“You’re letting me read your man’s journal?”

“He’s not my man.”

“You’re distracting yourself with his writing and talking to him like he’s actually around, he’s totally your man. But that’s fine by me, get joy where you can.”

With that Charlie fished the journal from the bag and cracked it open, reading the next entry as they drove.

People don’t appreciate the Maritimes enough, that’s what I think. Well they appreciate Pei or Newfoundland but I think there’s a distinct lack of appreciation for New Brunswick. We’re the only officially bilingual province, my hometown’s got the world’s biggest lobster statue, and we’ve got the highest tides in the world. Also seafood, so much seafood.

I grew up speaking Brayon, pretty easy to do when both your parents are Acadien. The language is confusing as hell if you don’t know any French but I love it. It’s a bit like mixing the energy of a new Yorker with the charisma of the Scotts or the Irish and throwing in an unholy mix of French. It’s not le joual or Paris French but rather some secret third entity. People often want to learn the swears and there’s only so many times you can tell someone about merde or crisse or tabarnak before even those start to get boring. I’m a fan of le d’jobe because the second someone tells me I should go to hell and meet him, all I have to say is that I’m off to work. Ironic devil sounds like job.

I think everyone who’s not part of the Maritimes assume we eat seafood and nothing else and that’s not true at all. We’ve got a pretty rich diversity in terms of food and I keep thinking about all of the foods I miss being stuck at this lighthouse. Sandwiches and pasta don’t hold a candle to maman’s cooking. 

First up, les fougères also known as fiddleheads. These aren’t just a Maritimes thing but they’re pretty well known here. Boil for 15 and sauté with a little butter and that’s all they ever need. Sometimes I’ll add bacon and onions but that’s more if I’m trying to make them a meal and not just a side. They’re medicinal, believe it or not. Good for digestion and detox and they’re also quite important to the Mi’kmaq. My suggestion and the common sense suggestion is don’t overharvest. Take a few from each crown if it can sustain that and then move on. Being greedy benefits no one.

Then we get to poutine râpée which is obviously a personal favourite and underappreciated. All my work colleagues assume I’m talking about the fries, cheese, and gravy when I mention this and they’re so wrong. That’s poutine Quebecoise, not the Acadian version. Our version is closer to a dumpling or a pierogi I suppose. It’s a boiled potato dumpling with a salt pork filling, simple really. Maman makes them for special occasions, Christmas mostly, and everyone looks at me like I’m a little crazy when I eat them with molasses. That’s a traditional way to eat it, sorry that I like a little flavour and not butter only. I think poutine Quebecois has a time and place, namely 3 am when I’m drunk off my ass leaving the lab, but it’s overrated. The crazy poutines that add all the toppings just bastardize it.

The third classic I miss the most is ployes. They’re yellow buckwheat pancakes only cooked on one side. The texture is horrendous, it’s similar to tripe with all of the ridges and holes and whatnot. Rolled up with butter Maman usually serves them with baked beans or chicken fricot but sometimes they work with maple syrup or cretons. I can’t make them to save my life, I keep burning them and they’re practically inedible. Their versatility makes them so great I think. Sweet or savoury, they work either way. You could probably do some Greek yogurt and fruit if you were looking for more protein and natural sugar to add to the fiber.

I’d love to cook someone a meal like maman would make, a meal that would fill their belly and relax them. It wouldn’t be hard to do, just time consuming, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I would call her I think and have her walk me through the steps to make sure that it goes perfectly. Of course she would ask me all kinds of questions, ask if I was finally ready to give up being un vieux garcon and settle down with someone. I like to think at that point I’d be with someone and maybe I would be, who knows. She’d like if I settled down.

“Damn, I see why you’re so invested in this guy. A good relationship with his parents and he actually likes food. He’d catch my eye if he was a woman.”

Dean chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amusement. Charlie brought a certain livelihood to Cas’ words, the kind of human air that wasn’t entirely present in his written words alone. She was right about Cas, he was a great catch. Unfortunately his erasure from existence was a bit of a problem.

“Is that it for the entry?” Dean asked, eyes focused on the road as he reached their turn.

“There’s a little bit more. I’ll read it, just take the first right after this left turn here.”

Speaking of food and seasoning, I really think I need to be eating more salt. Should also pick up some vitamins the next time I’m in town. I’ve been getting these headaches for the last week, ever since I cut my hand. I don’t think it’s infected though, it doesn’t look red or feel hard or have pus or anything. Maybe I’ve just been staying up too late to study the lakescape in the dark. Headaches and lack of sleep aside, I really think I just need to get it together. If I was back home I’d be knee deep in dulse but I’m not so I can’t. I did notice some weeds out by the dock that I’d like to check out. I think they might be nutritious. At the very least they’d help me get out of bed and get some energy.

Something doesn’t feel right but that’s a later problem to deal with.

Saint Jude’s Cemetery was a quaint place tucked away between rolling hills and a forest. Bright green grass squished under Dean’s boots as he slipped out of the impala, arm extending out to Charlie. When he felt her reach for it and squeeze, he turned slightly.

“Are you ready to do this?” He asked gently.

Charlie nodded her head, stepping closer to Dean to keep herself grounded. She set the pace as she led Dean towards the wrought iron gates guarding the cemetery. Each step filled her stomach with dread, the mounting anxiety thrumming through her veins like electricity. She’d been through this once before and the memory of staring down at the casket of her dead father was haunting.

A man stood at the gate, dressed in all black with a pop of white at the collar. He glanced up at the sound of approaching footsteps, expression on his kind face gentle and full of a quiet sympathy. “You must be Charlie.”

She nodded, reaching out to shake his hand. “I brought a friend with me, I hope that that’s okay.”

“More than alright.” The priest replied as he shook her hand before extending it to Dean. “You can call me Father Phil.”

Dean shook Father Phil’s hand before the priest turned and led them through the cemetery. The path was well worn, downtrodden grass giving way to dirt. Rows upon rows of headstones stood guard on either side and Dean’s eyes slid past each one with a growing sadness. So many of them had been forgotten by time, covered in grime with fake flowers crumbling into dust or missing entirely.

“So many of these people seem so forgotten.” Dean mumbled aloud.

“We can’t control how our family chooses to remember us. They’ve all been laid to rest here under the Lord’s watchful eye and I like to think that he’s ensuring none of them have been forgotten. I come when I can to spend time with them but the congregation has many demands and I’m a single man.”

“You show up, that’s all that matters.” Dean replied. He could feel Charlie listening but she wasn’t going to talk and he didn’t want her to. “The name is a little ironic, Saint Jude. He’s the patron saint of lost causes and aren’t all of us as humans just lost causes?”

“I don’t think there are lost causes.”

“Not even murderers?” Charlie’s voice was quiet, introspective. “Or abusers? Or people who have committed terrible atrocities? Surely some people can’t be saved?”

Father Phil stopped in his tracks, turning around to face them. His expression remained neutral but there was something in the glint in his eye, a kind of tired resignation. “I believe there are people in the world who commit unspeakable actions for the sake of committing them and while I do not believe they are good people, I don’t think they are a lost cause. If you are willing to reflect, willing to entertain even the idea that you aren’t a good person or that you need to change, then there is a chance to be found again. The Lord will welcome all who seek him but they must seek him. If they don’t seek him then there is nothing he can do. So perhaps there are lost causes, I don’t know.”

“My mom thought like that too. Never said a bad word about anyone.”

“She must have been a rare woman indeed. The world needs more like her.”

The Middleton family plot was tucked away in the far corner of the cemetery, headstone resting underneath the shade of an apple tree. Dark granite, the headstone had been engraved with the names of Charlie’s parents. Michael and Gertrude Middleton, loving parents. In front of the group lay the open plot, the casket ready to be lowered into the ground.

“I’ll say some words and rites and then you’ll have a chance to speak and then we’ll lower your mother into the ground. Is that alright?”

Charlie nodded, lump in her throat. Tears burned behind her eyes but she didn’t cry, not yet. She had to get through this and then she could cry. Leaning back, she felt the solid line of Dean’s chest against her back and his strong hand resting on her shoulder. He was here and he was staying and it meant the world.

Dean’s mind was a million miles away as Father Phil droned on and on and conducted the final rites. Closing his eyes against the bright sunlight did nothing for the throbbing headache that grew stronger with each passing minute. Sharp pain stabbed through his gut and nausea leeched into his bloodstream, sending his body into fight or flight as he resisted the urge to throw up over Charlie’s shoulder. The sweat was next but that was a problem for when it appeared.

Even if Dean had been in tip top shape, his brain refused to calm down. One final secret remained, one final admission, and the more he thought about it the worse he felt. He wanted to tell Charlie, she’d understand, but he couldn’t. Not now.

As Dean clued back into reality, he could hear Father Phil wrapping up. He leaned down, voice quiet as to not disrupt the man. “Do you want me to stay while you talk to your mom?”

“Please.”

“Okay, I’ll stay. Take your time kid, make it count.”

Charlie took a deep breath before she spoke. Every word was thought out and measured.

“Hey mom, it’s me again. I cried the last time we talked and I told myself I wasn’t gonna cry this time but I might cry again, I don’t know. It was terrifying seeing you like that and letting go sucked. God it sucked so so bad. But you’re not hurting anymore so it was the right thing to do.”

A slight breeze picked up, leaves skittering around Charlie’s feet. She continued on.

“I wasn’t okay after I let you go but Dean was there. He stayed with me that night, made sure I got through it. I think you’d like him. He’s pretty cool, even if he is nearly 30. Actually he came with me today too, said I shouldn’t have to be alone while doing this. I think I’ve made an actual friend, mom. It’s really cool.”

Dean smiled softly, squeezing Charlie’s shoulder as he listened.

“You and dad are finally together again and I know that you’re both relaxing in those oversized chairs with dad’s jeopardy reruns playing in the background. You’ve probably got your quilting supplies out and you’re blocking some fancy new one that has negative space or something. I really hope you and Dad are comfortable and happy and I love you both but I really hope I don’t see you for a while.”

Tears slipped down Charlie’s cheeks, pooling and dripping from her chin.

“I think I’m gonna go to California, see what’s out there in the world for me. I wanna see what jobs I can find, if I can find a girlfriend, even just experience something different than this town. I’ll come back and visit and talk to you and dad, I promise but I gotta move on. I’m not a lost cause anymore, I see that now. The world’s so exciting now. Are you and dad gonna be okay if I go?”

The breeze picked up and with it a faint floral smell. Charlie sniffled, smile watery. She knew the smell, recognized the delicate lilac scent of Gertrude Middleton’s perfume.

“Thanks mom, thanks dad. I love you guys forever.”

For minutes nothing was said as the trio stood there, Charlie watching as the casket lowered into the ground. Her heart hammered in her chest but it didn’t ache, not in the way she expected. The steady pulsing calmed her. She was the sum of Gertrude and Michael Middleton and she had a future. Charlie Bradbury was ready to put her best foot forward.

Dean was still fighting his demons as the trio began their walk back to the wrought iron gates, hand tucked into Charlie’s. Nausea and headache aside, sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and he prayed it hadn’t hit his hand yet. The last thing he needed was Charlie picking up on his clammy hand and realizing something was wrong. He didn’t need the scrutiny and taking the attention from Charlie and her experience would only be selfish.

At the gate Charlie paused, turning to Father Phil. “Thank you for doing this, for taking care of my family. It means a lot.”

“Thank you for entrusting your family to me. Best of luck Charlie.”

Silence settled in the impala as Dean began the drive back to Port Maren. The radio was on but it was quiet, background noise at best. Charlie, still wiping at the tears drying on her face, needed time to collect herself and Dean was willing to give it to her. She dried her eyes and reached for the jacket Dean had discarded when he’d slipped into the impala, wrapping it around her shoulders as a blanket. Smelling faintly of wood and damp, the weight of the fabric was comforting.

Her parents were gone but that didn’t mean Charlie was alone and the jacket was proof of that. Dean was proof of that. He’d only met her four times and here he was, driving her to and from emotional turmoil while he dealt with his own. There was something about him that she liked but she couldn’t quite tell if it was his humour or the way in which he was so willing to help someone he was just getting to know. Either way, he was a good person and he was becoming a good friend.

It was his silence on the drive back that piqued her curiosity. The silence itself wasn’t surprising but the way in which he looked straight ahead, focused but unfocused that concerned her. So much had happened and he was thinking yet again and it couldn’t be a good sign. 40 minutes into the drive she broke the silence.

“Earth to Dean. Are you alive?”

Dean blinked slowly as he came back to himself, glancing over at her. “Sorry, just thinking.”

“Do you wanna share with the class? You don’t have to but I’ve got an open ear and a lot less grief than expected.”

Dean sighed, debate evident in the furrow of his brow. Telling her would be ending all of the secrets he had and freedom from that burden was priceless but was it worth it? Charlie would look at him differently and Dean didn’t know if he could handle that. Not right now. In the end he settled for something somewhere in the middle.

“Just been thinking about what Father Phil said. The whole lost cause thing.”

“Feeling like a lost cause?”

Dean nodded. “Got a lot of guilt. You know how it is.”

“What do you have to feel guilty about? Cuz everything I know about you doesn’t exactly scream guilty.”

Dean’s frown deepened and the silence between them stretched into discomfort. His grip tightened on the wheel.

“If this is about the telltale heart comment yesterday then don’t worry about it. Just caught me off guard, promise you didn’t scare me.” Charlie said, trying her best to put Dean at ease. “You’ve got dark humour and I respect it.”

“I wasn’t joking.”

A spike of panic arched through Charlie’s chest, compounding into a wary ball of surprise and apprehension. There had to be more to it. Dean Winchester didn’t seem capable of murder.

“You’re gonna have to give me context here because there’s zero possibility you’re a murderer. I refuse to believe that.”

“Promise you’ll let me get through the whole story before you say anything?”

Charlie nodded, twisting in her seat so she could watch Dean as he explained.

Dean’s nerves were on fire, hands aching from the white knuckle grip on the wheel and teeth throbbing from the clench of his jaw. Sweat was beading on his forehead, a compound mix of withdrawal and anxiety. This was the final secret and once he opened this can of worms he knew it would never close.

“You need to understand that I got away from my Dad, that I was finally free. My brother had gone to college so he was free and Dad had left and I was my own person. I’d gone to school, I was working, hell I had a girlfriend I wanted to propose to eventually. Four years of my life free from being under his thumb and I loved it. Then he showed up again, sick and wet on my doorstep.”

Dean’s breathing was measured as he tried to keep it together, nostrils flaring as he exhaled through his nose.

“Cassie told me to tell him to fuck off, that he didn’t deserve my help and that I didn’t owe him anything. I know now I didn’t but back then was different. I was an idiot and I had some fucked up sense of obligation to him because he was family and I made a choice. I took him in and Cassie left and then I was all alone with him again. I thought being at work so much would make it bearable and for a little while it was. Then I got hurt.”

The memory overtook Dean as he drove, voice echoing far off in his own ears as he laid the truth bare.

9 months.

 273 days.

393,120 minutes.

That’s how long it had been since Cassie had left. That’s how long it had been since Dean had been saddled with the responsibility of caring for John Winchester.

The man could barely get out of bed, too sick to do much other than roll around and call for Dean. He’d done it to himself, given himself cirrhosis so bad he was unable to function. It was karmic justice really but Dean wasn’t sure who the karma was for. Sure as hell didn’t feel like justice to him.

Taking care of John was difficult under the best of circumstances. John Winchester hated medication, hated the food Dean cooked him, hated the way the sheets in the bed felt. He hated everything his son had done for him. Hell, he hated his son. But still Dean tried. Still Dean found ways to get John to take his medication, to get him to eat something, to get him to sleep in the bed he didn’t want. Dean was the dutiful son.

The accident changed everything.

He couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t look after himself let alone himself and his ailing father. Between the physical therapy, the medical leave from work, the addiction that kept him going and dragged him down all at once, it was too much. His shitty life was too much.

His medical leave was nearly up and the return to work imminent and Dean was overwhelmed. He craved the stability of work and his friends and the knowledge that he’d be away from John and helping people who deserved it. It was the guilt that ate him alive, the guilt of leaving John alone every single day as he returned to work. He couldn’t afford a caretaker for the man and he sure as hell couldn’t afford any kind of inpatient care.

John’s voice echoed weakly from the back bedroom and tears of frustration welled in Dean’s eyes. All morning John had been crying for him and Dean hadn’t gone, unable to bring himself to cross the threshold. He didn’t have time now, not when he was halfway out the door for a physical therapy appointment he couldn’t miss.

“Fuck I need to clean that up.” Dean muttered as his eyes landed on the bottle of whisky on the counter by the microwave. Half empty, the golden liquid called from inside the bottle with a siren-like song Dean didn’t want to resist. “Later, that’s a later problem.”

Drinking was the only thing that brought Dean comfort outside of work now that Cassie was gone. It filled the human sized void in his life and numbed the razor sharp pain when he looked at the man who had tormented him his entire life. Alcohol brought Dean to life and struck him down in the same fell swoop.

It was always locked away when Dean was gone, hidden in a cabinet too far for John to walk to if he had a sudden burst of energy. Last thing he wanted was John getting into it. It really didn’t need to be locked away, not when John rarely left his bed but Dean had seen too many things to be anything other than overly cautious. Leaving it out one time wouldn’t be the end of the world.

“Next call I got was from the hospital.” Dean said, an air of finality in his voice. “Guess he had a burst of energy and drank the bottle. So by default I murdered my Dad.”

“Dean, you didn’t murder your dad.”

“I should’ve just been late and locked up that fucking bottle, could’ve avoided the entire thing. I put my needs above his and he died. Pretty sure that makes me a lost cause.”

Charlie shook her head, eyes dark and frown deep. What Dean had said was far too much to process while she tried to process her own grief but he’d opened up and chosen to share and that meant something. As his friend she wanted to be there for him, wanted to give him the same shoulder to cry on he’d offered her.

“You didn’t owe anything to your Dad, not after what he did to you. You didn’t owe him a roof over his head or food or medication or anything and frankly you’re a better person than me because I would’ve shut the door in his face the second he’d showed up. Family means fuck all when he abused you your entire life. You’re not a lost cause, you’re just human.”

Dean’s exhale was somewhere between a sob and a laugh, all bark no bite. He practically deflated, sagging into the seat as he drove. Eyes focusing on the road, he was grateful he didn’t have to look at Charlie. He could feel her eyes on him, that thousand yard stare, but it didn’t feel judgmental.

“This feels pretty similar to when I told you about the sleepover and the accident. Remember what you told me?”

A moment of silence as Dean swallowed thickly. Charlie continued.

“You told me that it wasn’t my fault, that I was just a scared little kid who needed her parents to feel safe again. Might do you some good to consider that.”

“I wasn’t a scared little kid.”

“Doesn’t matter. You were reeling from a breakup, trying to recover from an insane accident at work, and looking after someone who deserved to be left to rot after they terrorized you for your entire life. That’s fucking insane, there’s no way you could’ve kept on top of everything. You did what you could. Hell you did more than you needed to.”

“I don’t know how to make the guilt go away. I fucking hate my father and I’m not sorry he’s dead, I’m just—I don’t know how to pick up the pieces anymore.”

Charlie reached out, hand resting on Dean’s shoulder as she squeezed gently. “Bit by bit, one piece at a time, that’s how. You’ve got me and I’ve got you. We’ll fix each other together.”

The smile on Dean’s face was equal parts tired and grateful. Charlie’s reassurance didn’t erase the guilt but it was enough to jumpstart Dean’s own journey. If Charlie still wanted to be around him after everything he’d told her, then maybe he was redeemable. Maybe it would be okay.

The library was exactly the same as it had been the last time Dean had been in town when Charlie let the pair of them in, keys jingling as he walked. Quiet and dark, there was a calming tranquility to it. The world’s problems existed outside but here it was simply books and friends. Tucked behind her desk, Charlie rifled through the technology stored there.

“You got any familiarity with weird teeth?” Dean asked as he leaned against the counter, eyes closed to aid in his fight against the nausea and migraine.

“Is this you trying to distract me from your intense emotional turmoil? Because lame attempt if it is.”

“It’s not a distraction. I found this weird tooth on the beach next to a half-eaten sturgeon and I was hoping you might know what it is.”

Charlie’s expression betrayed her intrigue as she stood once again. Dust flaked from the ancient tape player as she set it on the counter and held out her hand expectantly. When Dean dropped the tooth in her hand, she took a quick glance at it before turning back to the computer.

“How big was the sturgeon?”

“The half I saw was at least 5 feet so pretty fucking big. Got a little concerned because there aren’t any predators that would be able to eat a sturgeon like that.”

“Would say it’s just a fossil but it looks way too new for that.” She mumbled, eyes scanning the computer screen. Minutes passed before she spoke again, sounding even more confused than before. “This makes no fucking sense.”

“What?”

Charlie turned the computer screen so Dean could see it, gesturing between the pictures on the screen and the tooth sitting on the counter. “You’d say the teeth in that skull look the same as the tooth on the counter, yeah?”

“I’d say so.”

“Yeah well that’s a Baikal seal skull which makes that a Baikal seal tooth. Only problem with that is there’s no seals around here and the Baikal seal’s literally only in this one lake in the middle of Siberia. So you’re 100% sure that you’re not trying to pull one over on me?”

“I wouldn’t lie about this. Swear to god I found that tooth right beside the sturgeon. What do you think this means?”

“I don’t even fucking know what this means just that it’s weird as hell. Maybe Cas wrote about it in the journals?”

“Not yet he hasn’t and the journals are almost done.” Dean frowned. “Maybe the tapes mention it. Are you still okay if I take the player back to the lighthouse?”

“Yeah, you can take it. Now come on, you’ve still got an hour to drive to get there and I’d really like to be on my way back here before it gets dark.”

Pocketing the tooth and taking the tape player, Dean returned to the impala with Charlie.

The brief stop at the library had done nothing but intensify the headache, icepick pain stabbing behind his eyes while floating strands of light danced in front of them. His ears rang quietly like the faint buzz of a fluorescent light, maddening in its intensity. His skin stuck to his jacket and he knew without having to look at himself that he was pale, probably clammy.

The first half of the drive back to the lighthouse was silent, Dean swallowing down the bile that continued to rise in his throat. Charlie did nothing but stare at him, eyes narrowing as she assessed him. Minute 40 hit and she broke the silence.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m exhausted, that’s it. Didn’t sleep well last night which you already know.”

“No, that’s not it. Not sleeping well doesn’t make you clammy or shaky or sweaty. Bet if I tried to turn the radio up you’d smack my hand away.”

Dean shrugged, still focusing on the road. He thought about being honest but admitting it to another person instead of the monster he was pretending was there felt entirely too daunting. Not that it mattered because Charlie was still talking.

“I’m not gonna yell at you because I’m tired and you’re a whole grown ass man but I’m also not an idiot. You were freaked when you dropped that bottle and it shattered. How long’s it been since you drank?”

“Almost two days.”

“Dude, you’re a paramedic you know how serious withdrawal is! We could’ve stopped and grabbed something if you’d said something.”

“I didn’t want to say anything. Today’s about you and your family, not my fucked up addiction.”

“I know you think that not saying anything is you protecting my feelings but it’s not and you’re an idiot. This is gonna slam into you and it’s going to suck. I will go find booze.”

“No.” Dean’s response was quick and sharp, much like the way he parked as they reached the lighthouse. “I’m done drinking, done with all the bullshit. If this fucking takes me out then fine, it takes me out.”

Charlie sighed but didn’t argue with him. What she did do was avoid her car altogether and instead stand by Dean’s door, offering him a hand. “I’m staying until you’re through this and yeah yeah I know you can argue and complain but it’s not gonna do any good so don’t even try. You’re stuck with me.”

Reluctantly Dean took her hand, eyes flicking out at the lake to avoid looking at her. Their uncomfortable silence came to a screeching halt when the siren song began anew. Clicks and whistles coasted along the low bass-like hum and Charlie’s eyes landed on the lake.

“What the fuck is that?”

“It’s beautiful.” Dean murmured, blinking slowly. He recognized the call, he'd heard it that very morning. The surface of the lake rippled, quiet movement arching toward the shore.

“Dean, what the actual fuck is that?” Charlie repeated, tugging insistently at his hand.

Dean’s body went with her as she tugged him toward the cottage, eyes still locked on the ripples coming faster and faster with every passing second. The door to the cottage slammed behind them and then Charlie was staring out the window in wide eyed terror.

All Dean could do was vomit into the sink.

Chapter Text

“Dean, what the actual fuck is that?!”

Charlie’s grip on the back of Dean’s shirt was so tight the fabric strained against it, pulling Dean further from the sink he was vomiting in. Her breath came in short heaving spurts as her heart blocked her throat, hammering away like a hummingbird. All she could do was stare through the filthy glass of the window at the lake in front of her.

Ripples spread through the lake with rapid intensity, each ring of water pushing harder and harder against the wet sand of the shore. Shooting straight like an arrow, the ripples grew closer with each passing heartbeat. The clicking and humming crescendoed in a frantic display as if their maker was trying to speak. Charlie didn’t want to know what it had to say.

The walls of the cottage shook with the reverberating humming and her bones felt like jelly. She’d never heard something like this, something so inhuman. A ripple crashed onto the shore as the first frightened tear slipped from her eyes. When the ripples faded, Charlie nearly had a heart attack.

A pair of yellow eyes stared at her from the lake.

By the time she’d managed to dislodge her voice from her throat the eyes were gone, the ripples had ceased, and the horrifying siren song had ended. Her grip on Dean’s t-shirt dissolved and then she was stumbling back until her legs hit a kitchen chair. It connected hard as she fell back onto it, a frightened sob ripping its way out of her mouth.

“Please tell me you saw that.” She whispered, wiping hastily at her eyes.

Dean groaned as he lifted himself from the embrace of the sink, wiping at his mouth with the dishcloth. “Little busy throwing up into the sink.”

“I saw eyes. Yellow fucking eyes.”

“Probably a fish.”

Charlie’s expression shifted, incredulity written plain as day in her wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Her voice shook when she spoke, eyes seeking out Dean’s.

“That was not a fucking fish. How many fish do you know that sound like that?”

“Whales and dolphins kind of sound like that.” Dean said, eyes closing to keep the flickering light at bay. 

“Dean, this is a lake. There are no fucking dolphins or whales.”

“So it’s the Lake Monster then.”

“Monsters don’t exist!”

Dean’s eye twitched in irritation before he turned around, bracing himself against the sink as he dry heaved. Bile burned his throat and mouth and the nausea was turning into a dizziness he hadn’t expected. The world swayed as he straightened up and his limbs tingled, too heavy and too light all at once. He felt drunk and that was karmic irony if it ever existed. Shielding his eyes with his hand, Dean turned on his feet and began the trip to his bedroom. Being dizzy in bed beat being dizzy standing up.

“We’ve established the weird fish and the weird tooth and the weird bacteria and the weird fucking song and that’s way too much shit to be a coincidence.” He mumbled as he dropped into bed before kicking off his pants. Dean didn’t care that Charlie was there, he was too busy trying to fight the heat that threatened to overwhelm him. “Plus Cas’ disappearance. All monster related. Has to be”

Charlie reached for a large metal bowl and filled a glass with water before following Dean to the bedroom. She set the glass on the nightstand and the bowl beside the bed before vanishing, returning a few minutes later with some aspirin and a gravol. Taking care of him gave her something to focus on other than her impending sense of doom.

“If monsters are real then that has to mean that other shit is real and I cannot believe that God and the Devil are real without having a crisis of faith right now. I really don’t think you want me having a crisis of faith right now in this tiny haunted cursed fucking cottage.”

“Monsters don’t mean anything other than monsters are real. Don’t need to be bringing God into it.” Dean mumbled, reaching blindly for the pills. He choked them down with a small sip of water before curling up under the thin covers, pillow shoved over his face to block out the sunset filtering through the window. “Can we talk about this when I’m not actively dying?”

“Shit, right, sorry. What do you need me to do?”

“Make sure I don’t choke on my vomit. M’gonna try to sleep it off. Just check in and make sure I don’t stop breathing.”

Charlie swallowed thickly. “Is withdrawal really that bad?”

“Can be if it’s cold turkey. Lotta factors.”

“Well please don’t die. I don’t think I can handle another death right now.” She mumbled, trying to keep her voice as quiet as possible. “I need someone to go to Cali with because I’m not doing that shit alone. Also need someone else to confirm the monster’s real so I don’t just think I’m having a grief induced psychotic break.”

Dean flashed Charlie a quick thumbs up before dropping his arm onto the bed, exhausted by the effort of keeping himself together. His heart pounded in his throat and in his ears, a strange tinny quality he’d never quite heard before. The tingling in his limbs remained, fingers practically numb as he clutched the pillow against his chest in a futile attempt to muffle his heartbeat. He could deal with all of the little symptoms save for the overwhelming fatigue pressing down on him like a two ton weight.

When the fatigue won out and beat Dean into unconscious submission, a memory reared its ugly head.

Rain beat steadily against the frosted glass, a constant 4/4 beat in the background. Inside the lights were dimmed and candle flickered on the coffee table, filling the room with the scent of pomegranate. Light flickered from the television, reflected in the metal of the bowl filled to the rim with buttered popcorn just shy of being burnt. Dean lay on the couch, legs outstretched and arms wrapped around Cassie. His right hand traced lazy absentminded circles on the small of her back as they watched tv.

“Really glad I convinced you to have a lazy night in.” Cassie hummed, nuzzling her face closer to his neck. “Takeout and tv beats bowling with your co-workers, no offence.”

“None taken. We both know Benny gets way too competitive and Cole’s just an asshole.”

“Not wrong there.” She agreed. “You know what’s coming up next week?”

Dean nodded, the movement barely perceptible. Only the uptick in his heartbeat gave him away. He knew exactly what next week was because it was twofold. Tuesday was his 23rd birthday and Wednesday the fourth anniversary of his sobriety. Four years since he’d touched a drop of alcohol, four entire years he’d overcome the addiction and proved he was nothing like John Winchester.

“I think we should celebrate it. Actually we are celebrating and you’re not allowed to bitch about it and yes, you are free on Tuesday because your captain’s a nice man and gave you the entire day off.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You went to Jim?”

“I did.”

“Damn, guess I underestimated the lengths you’re willing to go.”

Cassie shifted on top of Dean, lifting her head. Her grin was unmistakable, the kind of mischievous sparkling thing Dean had fallen in love with four years ago. God that felt like a lifetime ago, him stumbling into her in the middle of the hallway and knocking the stack of student newspapers from her arms. He’d been a bit of a dick then, rough around the edges and cockier than hell but she’d liked that and it had worked out. As it turned out, Cassie had a cocky streak herself.

“You frequently underestimate me. I think it’s a character flaw on your part.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded before leaning in to kiss him deep and slow, hand coming up to cup his cheek. Unbothered and in no rush, the tv continued on forgotten in the background. Dean’s hand slid up and down her back before slipping past the waistband of her sweats, squeezing over the curve of her ass. The look she’d given him earlier – all sparkle and too many teeth – meant he was in for a world of slow torturous fun. He didn’t know how long they made out on the couch, only that she’d shed her sweats and shirt at some point and he was damn near ready to rip the rest of the clothes from her body.

The chime of the doorbell had other plans.

“They’ll go away, probably just a Mormon or something.” Cassie mumbled, still on top of Dean.

“Weird time of night for a Mormon to show up. I’m gonna see who it is.” Dean replied as he slid out from under her with great reluctance. He paused to readjust himself before making his way over to the door. Better not to scar whoever was on the other end. Dean’s eyes narrowed when he opened the door, unsure who would be on the other end.

The first thing Dean noticed was the man’s hands, the way the swollen digits trembled in the rain. His skin seemed off too, small fat deposits littered along his arms and varicose veins weaving in-between them. The skin itself had taken on an almost jaundiced hue, just yellow enough to be concerning. Sharp cheekbones jutted from the man’s thin face, almost comical in comparison to the deep bags that puffed out beneath his eyes.

Those eyes, those fucking eyes. Dark and hungry and empty like a shark's.

Dean’s body recognized them before his consciousness did, goosebumps prickling his arms as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. A sharp spike of panic arced through him with a chilling precision and nestled at the base of him spine, spilling ice into his bloodstream. His heart crescendoed and then it dropped into his stomach. All Dean could do was stare, frozen in place like a deer in the headlights.

The man shook his head, expression unimpressed. His voice hadn’t changed since the last time Dean had seen him, nearly five years ago.

“I don’t think that’s any way to greet your father, now is it?”

Dean’s voice lodged in his throat, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He shook but he couldn’t tell if it was rage or fear.

“Do you think I can come inside? It’s been so long. We have so much to catch up on.”

Dean’s breath came in quickening spurts as the panic compounded but still he couldn’t speak. There were footsteps behind him and try as he might to turn around and tell Cassie to stay inside, he couldn’t. She appeared behind him, arm wrapping around his middle as she glanced between Dean and John.

John’s affect was flat, tone devoid of anything other than the beginnings of a sick triumph at the situation he was creating.

“And who might this be?”

“Cassie, Dean’s girlfriend.” She replied, eyes flitting between them. Dean’s body was tense between her arms, fists clenched to match his jaw, and she didn’t like it. Nothing good came of Dean being tense. “And who are you exactly?”

“You haven’t told her about me? That stings.”

Dean’s exhale was ragged, shoulders shuddering. Tearing his eyes away from John, he looked at Cassie. He had no doubt he was a mess but tried to speak as if he wasn’t. It failed miserably when his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “It’s fine Cassie, just give us a few minutes. I’ll meet you back in the living room, okay?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asked suspiciously, gaze lingering on the pair.

Dean nodded, waiting until she left before his shoulders sagged in defeat. The rage he’d expected at seeing his father for the first time in five years was nowhere to be found. What he did find was a brutal acceptance edged with fear, a bitter resignation that he always knew this day would come and John would find him again.

“What do you want?”

“To talk, to catch up. I’m entitled to a conversation with my son.”

“You’re entitled to fuck all from me.” Dean muttered though there was no bite behind his words. “You fucked off and left me with a fourteen year old and I thought you were dead. Then five years later you’re on my doorstep looking sick as a fucking dog. What’s wrong with you?”

“Decompensated cirrhosis according to the doctors.”

Dean blinked slowly as he processed the information. Nearly five years of freedom and now John Winchester was standing on his doorstep with fucking liver failure acting like he was entitled to a conversation with the son he’d tormented his entire life. It was ridiculous and if Dean had been able to laugh, he would’ve. But Dean didn’t laugh, not in the slightest.

“I’m sick, Dean. I’m really sick and I can’t keep living by myself. I can’t support myself and I can’t afford to live on my own. I need my loving son to take care of me.”

Dean swallowed thickly, eyes cast to the ground. His rational mind screamed at him to slam the door in John’s face, to shut him out and leave him to die. It’s the least the bastard deserved after everything he’d done. But Dean couldn’t do it, couldn’t bear to close his hand around the door knob and shove.

Seeing John was a punch to the gut and the confusion that rose up in Dean was nearly enough to drown him. He hated John, wanted to see John dead, but part of him didn’t. There was a part of Dean that was still the small child that loved his father despite everything that had happened. John hadn’t always been bad. There had been good moments too, even if they were few and far between.

“I can’t—it’s not – five years and you’re here and you’re asking that. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?”

“Say you’ll take care of me.”

The word died before they ever left Dean’s mouth. His resolve was crumbling beneath him, the ambush too much for him to process this late and this sudden. In the end, Dean settled somewhere in the middle. A maybe wasn’t a yes and it wasn’t a no. It gave him options.

“Where are you staying?”

John simply handed Dean a card before shoving his hands in his pockets. “Think on it, son. I know you’ll do the right thing.”

Dean closed the front door and his body moved of its own accord. Turning on his heels he walked back to the living room like he’d promised Cassie. The cushions sagged beneath his weight as he dropped like a sack of potatoes and then he was curling in without thinking. He climbed onto Cassie’s lap, knees tucked to his chest, and buried his face in her shoulder. She was warm and soft and he could feel her heartbeat through her chest.

“Who was that?” she asked quietly, wrapping her arms around Dean. “Are you okay?”

Dean broke under the weight of her genuine concern. Fight or flight turned into shaky breaths and shuddering shoulders as he clutched onto Cassie, unable to look at her. He cried without tears, all burning eyes and heaving gasping sobs. An answer without words.

Cassie sat there and held Dean, rubbing his back and murmuring soft words of comfort. She knew there was nothing she could say to make it better when he got like this. All she could do was be there and she was. When Dean’s dry tears subsided and his shoulders stilled, she coaxed him off of her lap and upstairs to bed. She got him into bed, arms wrapped around him protectively.

“I’m here if you want to share but you know I won’t force you.”

Dean nodded. Not yet, but he’d tell her soon. She deserved to know.

When Charlie checked on Dean, she didn’t know what to expect. She’d never seen someone go through withdrawal, let alone someone so sick from it. It terrified her. Dean was tossing and turning in his sleep, sheets a tangled mess around his legs as he thrashed. His hair stuck to his forehead from the sweat and his skin had taken on a clammy pallor, pale and sickly. He wasn’t dead but he didn’t look well.

“Hey, you’re okay.” She murmured quietly, reaching out with the damp washcloth she’d brought in. Dabbing at Dean’s forehead to wipe the sweat away, she frowned at how hot he felt. Was overheating a symptom of withdrawal? She sure hoped it was.

The cottage was eerily quiet aside from the protest of the wooden bed frame as Dean shifted and it set her teeth on edge. There was no siren song and she couldn’t hear the waves on the beach either. Completely silent, it felt like something was watching. The peace was tenuous and it was going to boil over sooner rather than later.

“I promise I’m gonna get you through this.”

Dean whimpered in his sleep as the memory continued its assault.

“Dean, you can’t be fucking serious.”

Cassie’s voice, rife with disbelief and concern bordering on anger, shook as it echoed around their bedroom.

Dean stood on the other side of the bed, eyes focused just right of her. He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes, to see and understand the expression of complete and utter disbelief plastered on her face. Not that it mattered because her posture said enough, the tense of her shoulders and explosive movement of her arms dead giveaways.

“I wanted to talk to you before I make a decision.”

“This shouldn’t even be a conversation we’re having because there’s only one right answer! The answer is hell no!”

Dean shook his head, hands wringing together. “It’s not that simple and you know it.”

“It is that simple. Your fucking father has zero right to come back into your life after abusing you, attempting to murder you, and abandoning you just to ask you to care for him because he’s dying of something he could’ve prevented if he hadn’t been the fucking devil incarnate! Tell him to fuck off and die, it’s the least he deserves.”

“He’s still my Dad.”

Cassie’s expression shifted, something ugly in the furrow of her brow. Her rage was barely tempered.

“He stopped being your Dad the day he decided to lay a fucking hand on you! Your entire life all he did was hurt you. I’ve seen the scars, you’ve told me the stories, I know everything. You have no obligation to someone who did that to you.”

“He did all that stuff because he was drinking, because he was an addict and sick. He wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been drinking. I know he wouldn’t have. One mistake doesn’t make him a bad person.”

“This isn’t about one mistake Dean. This is about literal crimes he committed against his own children. This is about the nightmares you wake up screaming from, about the trauma you’ve endured, about how you’ve built this incredible life for yourself and how you’re willing to tear it down for a man who doesn’t deserve it. It’s not right.”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

Dean’s outburst was explosive, venom and despair dripping with each word. Tears fell freely from his eyes as his heart hammered away in his chest and his stomach churned.

“I know in my head that he deserves to fucking rot for what he’s done; hell, I’d love to put him in the ground myself but I can’t. If I turn him away then I’m no better than he is. I’m not the kind of person who can turn away someone sick, even if they deserve it. You know that about me. You’ve always known that about me.”

“You can’t do this Dean, I won’t let you.”

“He’s not your father, it’s not your choice.”

Cassie’s frown deepened, lips curved in displeasure. Her stomach ached as she scrubbed a hand over her face, bitter resignation in the back of her throat. She’d known for the week since John Winchester had reappeared that it would come down to this pivotal moment. John Winchester had cracked Dean’s foundation and now it was crumbling.

“I have a choice in this and we both know what it is. Him or me, Dean. I love you, God I love you so fucking much, but I’m not going to stick around and watch you run yourself into the ground for the man who ruined your life and hurt you like he did.”

“You’d leave?”

Dean’s voice was whisper soft and shaking, lips quivering.

“I can deal with a lot, Dean, but not this. I can’t see the man I love kill himself for someone like John Winchester.”

“Cassie, please…”

Cassie shook her head, eyes full of sadness as she looked at Dean. He’d already made his choice and while he hadn’t said it out loud, they both knew what it was.

“I’m going to stay with my sister tonight, I need some air. Think about what I said and let me know what you decide.”

In the end, Dean never had to say the decision out loud. When he got back from his shift a day later, empty drawers and a note on the bed greeted him.

They'd both made their choices.

When Charlie came to check on Dean around noon she found him awake, tears pooling on the tip of his nose as he lay there. She said nothing as she sat beside the bed and dabbed the tears away with the damp washcloth. She offered Dean another round of advil and gravol which he washed down with a sip of water.

“She was right to leave me.” He mumbled, voice hoarse from his dry throat.

Charlie’s brows knit together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Cassie, my ex. I took my Dad in when he got sick and she didn’t want to watch me kill myself over it. I should’ve fucking listened to her.”

“We all make stupid decisions. You were stuck between a rock and a hard place, neither decision would’ve ended well.” Charlie murmured, helping Dean sip some more water. “You did what you thought was right at the time and you can’t go back and change it now. All you can do is accept that it happened and try to move forward.”

Dean tried to protest but cut himself off as he dry heaved over the metal bowl, fingers white knuckling the edge of the bed. A wave of dizziness struck him and he closed his eyes in response, trying to swallow it down. Between the memories and the withdrawal he wasn’t sure which way was up and it was beyond disconcerting.

“Can you read the last journal entry out loud?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, surprised. “What?”

“I need a distraction. Can you please read the last journal entry?”

“Dude, you need to rest and get through this. You don’t need to listen to the ravings of a Canadian marine biologist descending into madness. That’s just going to give you nightmares. The mystery can wait until you start feeling better.”

“Charlie, please.” Dean asked again, clutching the pillow tighter. “I don’t want to think about all these fucked up memories. I need my brain to think about something else. Please read it.”

A moment of silence followed by a resigned sigh as Charlie left the bedroom. She returned with the journal and cracked it open to the bookmarked pages. The final entry stared up at her. She’d read the earlier journals while Dean had been sleeping and was familiar enough with Cas’ writing.

This entry looked completely different.

His looped writing was scratchy and shaky, ink bleeding on the pages and the cursive so slanted it was nearly sideways. It was practically illegible and the sinking feeling in her stomach grew. Something was seriously off with this entry and she hadn’t even read it yet. With a deep breath, she began to read aloud.

Everything is getting worse now. I’m exhausted, lethargic, and losing my appetite. I can’t keep large meals down so I’ve been eating nothing but fruit and soup and easy things to prepare. I feel like I have the flu but I’m not throwing up.

I can’t write anymore, not reliably. Holding the pen makes my fingers numb, makes them ache. So I’m switching to tapes to try and save my hands for the research I need to conduct.

Something is seriously wrong but I don’t know what it is.

Closing the journal and setting it on the nightstand, Charlie’s frown matched Dean’s. The entry, the shortest of them all, didn’t feel right in the same way a deer on the side of the road didn’t quite look like a deer. It tiptoed into the unspoken valley of adjacent to right in different ways.

“It sounds like he was really sick. Maybe he left to go to the hospital and never came back?”

Dean shook his head. “He wouldn’t do that, not with how much he cares about his research and his equipment. Something else happened.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe he fell into the lake and drowned? If he was that sick it would make sense. Would explain why all his stuff was still here.”

Charlie’s frown deepened. That theory didn’t sit right either, not with what she knew about the lake. She waited until Dean had dragged himself into a seated position, fluffing the pillows behind his back to support him, before she spoke again.

“I don’t think that’s right either. We’ve had a few people drown in the lake before but their bodies always resurface. Granted they’re kind of gnawed on but still. We would’ve had a body if he’d drowned.”

“Guess we’re back to square one.”

“Looks like it.” She agreed. “I think you should eat something, just to keep up your strength. Also to make sure if you throw up it isn’t just bile. Do you think you can handle some soup?”

“I’ll try.”

With that Charlie excused herself, padding back into the kitchen. Packet of lipton chicken noodle soup in hand, she set the water on the stove to boil.

The sun was setting as she glanced out the window and to the lake, uneasiness bubbling in her stomach. It was quiet and the surface of the water was still but it brought her no comfort. Not when she knew something was out there. When the water reached a boil and she added the soup mix, the first of the noises began. Nearly imperceptible at first, the sound grew more distinct as the seconds passed. Waves lapping at the shore cut through with a rhythmic wet thump, like something was dragging itself across the beach.

“Nope, no, absolutely not.” Charlie mumbled as she double checked the front door was locked. It was.

Clicking joined the wet thump and lapping waves as the soup boiled and she glanced out the window again, half expecting to see something staring back at her. There was nothing on the beach but she wasn’t calm. Soup in hand, she made a quick return to the bedroom. Better to be with someone than to be alone hearing things.

“You hear the clicking too?” Dean asked quietly, half asleep in his seated position.

“Yeah. Soup’s ready, think you can try to eat some?”

Dean nodded and took the bowl from Charlie. It was warm against his hand but heavy too and his hand shook as he held it. The tremors stayed as he scooped up a spoonful, most of the liquid falling back into the bowl. For a few minutes Dean tried to get a spoonful of soup into his mouth but the tremors made it near impossible. Frustration coloured his cheeks scarlet.

“Here,” Charlie said as she took the bowl from Dean. “Can I help you?”

“God this is fucking embarrassing.”

“You’re sick, there’s literally nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re also literally like a firefighter-emt, pretty sure your entire job is helping people so you should really be cool with letting people help you.”

“I did this to myself, I don’t really deserve the help.”

“Bullshit. You absolutely deserve the help, doesn’t matter if you did it to yourself or not. You really got start letting people in to help you or you are gonna drown. Not saying I’m gonna give you a sponge bath or anything but this I can do. So stop being stubborn and accept my help, yeah?”

“Okay.”

The bedroom was quiet as Charlie helped Dean eat the soup. He managed half a bowl before he stopped, his stomach twisting and cramping painfully. After that he curled back up in the bed with his eyes closed, exhaustion creeping back into his limbs.

“Hey, do you think you could play the first tape?” He asked quietly.

“You should really be sleeping, not playing Scooby gang with me.”

“And you should listen to your elders. Please play the tape.”

Charlie rolled her eyes, small smile on her face at Dean’s teasing tone. He was an incredibly strange guy and she respected it. They were friends and that meant something. She indulged his request, loading the first tape into the player and hitting the play button.

Is this working? Testing testing one two three… Okay yeah, it’s working.

I’m assuming if you’re listening to these tapes and by you I mean myself and in the event something sketchy happened, whoever’s here in the lighthouse after me, that you’ve already read all of my journals.

In case you haven’t, here are some fun little facts about myself. One, I cannot stand the taste of artichoke. It’s dirty and takes entirely too much time to prepare for the amount of food you actually get from it. Two, I think dolphins are overrated. They’re assholes if I’m being honest. Three, I’ve got Enchelycore anatine tattooed wrapping around my arm. That’s the fangtooth moray for those not scientifically inclined. Is it a mildly terrifying fucked up looking eel? Yep. But I love them and they’re misunderstood. Even freaky little creatures need love too.

Cas’ voice was deep, the gravel just rough enough around the edges to be pleasant. His accent came through, a strange mix of New England and French that sounded a bit too much like a drunk bilingual on St. Patrick’s day. Exhaustion aside, there was a content warmth to his tone as if he was pleased with the full life he’d lived.

“That’s an obnoxious accent if I’ve ever heard one.” Charlie said as she paused the tape. “He talks like he’s got a mouth full of gravel.”

“I kind of like it. It’s charming.”

“Of course you’d like it, you’ve got questionable taste. Also rose coloured crush glasses.”

“They’re not rose coloured, I just think the guy’s funny and I like his journals. Now stop talking and keep playing the tape. Neither of us are getting any younger here.”

Charlie shook her head in amusement before she pressed the play button.

 By now you should know there’s weird sketchy things happening in the lake and they’re only growing stranger. Bacteria and weird fish behaviour aside, it’s all about the teeth now. The teeth that I keep finding on the beach. The teeth that have no business being anywhere near here. The Baikal seal teeth.

The Baikal seal isn’t native here or anywhere near here so there shouldn’t be teeth. There are no seals in this lake or anywhere near here at all. I suppose the teeth might match the bites I’ve been seeing on the fish but that just begs the question: what has the teeth to make those marks? It’s some kind of predator obviously but I don’t know anything other than that. I haven’t seen hide or hair of anything that should be able to do what I’ve been seeing.

Granted I haven’t had the strength to leave the cottage in several weeks. My sickness isn’t getting any better. It takes me nearly an hour to crawl out of bed and drag myself to the kitchen and even then, I have to slam back an ungodly amount of coffee before I can do anything else. I’ve started to plan all of my research outings and my town outings to make sure I have the energy to do them. And I don’t understand why this is happening because I’m sleeping every night like I’m dead. I get 8 hours and I’m tired, I get 12 and I’m tired. No amount of sleep is fixing this fatigue.

The joint pain is ridiculous too. It’s in my hands and my knees and basically everywhere. It’s dull mostly, but persistent. A bit like my organic chemistry professor in undergrad. My fingernails hurt too and that’s certainly a unique experience. That’s a surprisingly sharp pain but only when pressure is applied so it’s manageable. The bruising is what concerns me. It’s on every inch of my extremities but my legs have it the worst. Ankle to knee are covered and they’re dark too. I’m clumsy though so it’s probably just that.

All of this to say that I’ve planned on outing this morning. There’s this woman who lives at the very edge of town and from what I gather she’s some kind of historian. At the very least she understands the local legend and I’d like to know what it is. Hopefully this trip is worth it.

There was a brief pause in the tape and when it picked up again, Cas’ voice came through loud and clear.

I’m back and joining me is Rowena McLeod, local historian and an eccentric personality. I’m going to let her introduce herself and then talk. Will save all of my questions for the end.

The voice that came through on the other end was miles away from Cas’ jumbled gravel. Rowena’s voice was lilting and singsongy and Scottish, thick but not thick enough to be misunderstood. Dean listened with his eyes closed and Charlie listened too, though the heat pooling in her gut was more than a little distracting.

Well thank you for that introduction, Castiel. I don’t believe there’s much to say about myself that would be overly interesting. All that matters is that I’ve been in Port Maren for a very long time and that there is, and always has been, a sense of mystery and magic in this town. Built on a natural convergence of multiple water sources, the elements have always had a strong role in shaping the people of this town.

I’d like to bring us back to the very founding of this town, to Robert Maren and his daughter Elizabeth.

Robert Maren was a man of conviction, a good man who listened to the townsfolk and doted on his family. His wife Patience died during childbirth and left him with his only daughter, Elizabeth. She’s the focus of this town’s history, the one who kick-started the legend of the Lake Monster. Elizabeth was a quiet child and by her very nature and admission, a strange one. She spent every waking hour on the shores of the lake, splashing in its waters and collecting shells. She spoke to the lake and it spoke back to her. It shared with her its secrets, told her when the storms were coming and what they needed to do to ensure the crops grew. The lake was her friend and she its friend.

I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that this behaviour didn’t sit right with the townsfolk at the time. They found it strange and off-putting that all this girl would do was sit and talk with the lake. Something must’ve been wrong with her if she was convinced the lake was telling her what to do. It was unnatural to behave like that, to have such a bond with something unseen, with something so elemental. That girl had the devil in her they said. Daniel Theroux led this charge, emboldened in part to the bitter rivalry he had with Robert Maren. Robert Maren had married Patience, had stolen the love Daniel felt he was entitled to, right under his nose. Of course Daniel was entitled to nothing but that didn’t matter. A perceived slight is still a slight.

One day Daniel approached Robert with an ultimatum: keep his daughter away from the lake and fix her behaviour or risk the townspeople rising up and taking matters into their own hands. Robert loved his daughter and it broke his heart but he locked her away inside their home and forbade her to leave. A miserable caged existence was better than no existence at all. The townsfolk calmed and for a while all seemed well. It didn't last and with each day that passed, Elizabeth grew more desperate to be reunited with her beloved lake. 

Elizabeth managed to leave the house one fateful night and she ran to the lake, desperate to speak to it again. She pleaded for it to protect her, to keep her safe and to remain her friend. All she wanted was to see it by the light of day, to feel comforted by its embrace. She spent the night in its waters and slipped away back to the house before the sun rose, sure that she hadn’t been spotted.

But Daniel had seen her.

In his blind rage, intending to make good on his promise, he rallied the townsfolk and the mob made their way to the Maren home. It didn’t matter that Robert was ignorant, or that he plead for Elizabeth’s life to be spared because the townsfolk were ignorant. They believed Elizabeth was cursed, that she had been communing with the devil in the lake and that she deserved to be sent home to rest with him for the final time. So they beat Robert nearly to death and took Elizabeth by force, binding her hands and feet with thick rope.

Different records will say different things about what was said and who was there but they all end the same. Daniel condemns Elizabeth, she swears that the lake will protect her and avenge wrongdoings committed against it, and then she’s thrown off the bluff and left to drown in the lake that she loved. She's never seen again.

Heavy silence hung in the room and on the recording for several minutes before Cas was speaking again, tone measured.

God fearing townsfolk murdered an innocent girl because she loved the lake, that’s horrible. I don’t understand how this correlates with the monster though. A girl drowning isn’t the same thing as a monster pulling people into the lake.

A soft chuckle, Rowena’s, and a scuffle as if she was shuffling some papers around. By now Dean was asleep, passed out and sweating in bed, but Charlie was listening with wide eyes.

The lake protects its own, Castiel. It’s simple if you ask me, what happened I mean. Elizabeth longed to be free of the townspeople and the lake welcomed her with open arms so she would never be wronged by them again. Reports of the monster began not long after her death. Put two and two together and you should get Lake Monster.

Charlie’s brows knit together, lips pursed in thought as the tape ended. She didn’t believe a word of what had just been said. None of it had been fact checked, not by her anyway. But there had to be some truth to it or the going ons of the lighthouse wouldn’t be happening. The mysterious teeth, the haunting song, the resurfacing bodies with bite marks, all of it had to be connected.

She turned her head to glance at Dean, expression softening. Her voice was soft when she spoke.

“When you recover I’m going to see Rowena. She knows something we don’t.”

Chapter Text

Dean knew the stages of withdrawal like the back of his hand. Mild, moderate, severe, each stage lit up like a traffic light he was speeding towards.

Mild was the easiest, the nausea and tremors and headaches nothing new. He’d experienced them a million times over the years and each time they felt less and less important. They were background noise, that persistent little itch in his head telling him that he needed a drink before everything got worse. Dean almost always listened to that little itch.

Moderate had happened only once before. He’d been fifteen and rotting in a boy’s home all because that cop had decided to do his actual job that day and take him in for shoplifting. A loaf of bread, some peanut butter, and a rough man named Sonny had been Dean’s downfall. Mood swings had landed Dean some time isolated away from the other boys and in the silence, the other symptoms descended on him like a pack of wolves. Irregular heart rate, sweating, confusion, an inconsistent body temperature, every single symptom had hammered into him. His sheets were soaked with sweat, skin clammy, and the walls closing in on him. Three days he’d been like that before he’d been able to bear leaving his bed.

He could feel it now, the moderate symptoms clawing their way through his bloodstream and tearing him to shreds. Sweat soaked his shirt and the sheets, drying tacky on his clammy skin. His heart beat in 13/4 time, ears haunted by the phantom tune of Rush’s Freewill. Dean didn’t want to kick off to a Rush song. The confusion was the worst, that feeling of being lost and time and space and never quite knowing what was or wasn’t real. Closing his eyes helped but it didn’t fix the problem.

It was the severe symptoms that bombarded Dean now. He’d never experienced them before, not in the context of a withdrawal, and it terrified him. The fever he could manage – thanks to Charlie’s diligent caretaking efforts – but the hallucinations were something else.

The first hallucination had appeared 29 hours into his withdrawal. Shimmering like light through a suncatcher, the hazy spectre of Cassie Robinson had appeared in the corner of Dean’s bedroom with her all too familiar sparkling smile. Her eyes seemed sad as she gazed at Dean, arms crossed over her chest as she stared at him. Dean had called out for her, hand reaching out. In the end she’d vanished without so much as a word when Dean dropped his head to vomit again.

Hallucination number two appeared 38 hours into Dean’s withdrawal, sparking into existence in the middle of the night. Silver dollar eyes stared at Dean from the corner of the room and he stared back, white knuckle grip on the pillow to steady himself. His heart beat in 5/4 time as the figure stepped from the shadows, the ghoul of his dead father staring back at him. Grey skin and glassy eyes set into a bloated corpselike face, John had simply watched. Dean thrashed and cried out, screaming for John to leave him be. In the end Charlie had done her best to hold Dean down until his body gave out from exhaustion and he passed back into sleep.

Dean’s fever broke in the 50^th hour of withdrawal and he woke from his sleep with a quiet gasp, heart stuttering like an old truck engine. Reaching blindly for the water next to the bed, Dean choked down a few sips before he’d had enough. His limbs ached, weighed down with fatigue, and the pain in his head had reached a dull throb. It beat the icepick stabbing but not by much.

A voice in the dark startled Dean.

“Poor fant tchien, you don’t look so good.”

Dean glanced around the room, eyes wide. Charlie was asleep in the chair next to the bed, the rise and fall of her chest present in the moonlight filtering in through the small window. She couldn’t have been the one to speak. The voice came again, distinctly masculine and full of gravel.

“Recovery is hard, especially for un saoûlon like yourself. It’s been what, just over two days of serious symptoms?”

Dean blinked rapidly as he clawed his way into a seated position, back pressed firmly against the wall. He hugged the pillow to his chest, eyes darting around the dark room. They settled on the dark corner. “Who are you? Are you real?”

The figure stepped out of the darkness, arm extended theatrically as he took a bow. His white coat wrinkled with the movement as did the navy blue of his dress shirt. Blue eyes stared at Dean, more amused than anything else. Even his smile – too wide to be real – was theatrical and taunting.  “You tell me, Dean. Am I real?”

“You vanished. How are you here?”

Cas cocked his head to the side, amusement slipping from his face. What replaced was nearly indecipherable, a mix of resignation and exhaustion. He stepped out of the corner and crossed the small bedroom, perching on the foot of the bed like a bird.

“Les miettes, Dean. Your brain’s in pieces right now and one of them happens to be me.” Cas shrugged. “I must really be on your mind if you’re conjuring me in the middle of the night. Saw your ex and your Dad, maybe I should be flattered I’m important enough to hallucinate.”

“Why would I be hallucinating you?”

Cas shrugged his shoulders, busy staring at his fingernails. “You’re the one avec le tête fourré, not me. Best guess is your subconscious trying to fill in all the blanks my tapes and journals have left. Better to figure out my problems than to confront your own. Have you figured out if my corpse is floating in the lake yet?”

“You know I haven’t.”

The chair next to the bed creaked as Charlie shifted, roused slightly by the sound of Dean’s voice. Dean panicked, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. He didn’t want Charlie seeing him hallucinating again. Once had been enough. Cas seemed amused by the predicament and shifted, long legs hanging off of the bed.

“You got lucky finding une p’tite sœur like her. Not many people would keep an eye on you like she is. Rare to find someone so convinced that scary monster in the lake is real. Don’t you think you’re going insane?”

Dean shook his head, watching warily as Cas ran a hand through his dark hair.

“You’ll figure out what happened to me, we both know it. Ça dragge mais it will happen and then you’ll set us both free. Looks like she’s waking up. Bonsouère mon ami.”

By the time Dean blinked Cas had vanished into the ether and he was left alone with Charlie. She stretched her arms and rubbed at her eyes before glancing in Dean’s direction. Her voice was soft and full of sleep.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Just myself.” Dean mumbled as he lay back down, shifting as far back on the mattress as he could. “Chair can’t be comfy. Lay here with me, think we can both fit. Promise I won’t be weird if you aren’t.”

Charlie chewed on her lip as she mulled over the offer. In the end she accepted and crawled into bed with Dean, laying next to him. By then he’d settled down and was half asleep so she didn’t say much, simply offering him a concerned smile before she closed her eyes.

~

By hour 72, Dean’s fever had completely broken and the hallucinations had vanished back into the ether they came from.

By hour 96 Dean was able to eat soup and keep it down. His stomach howled like a beast but he knew to take it slow.

When day 7 hit, Dean felt human again. He woke with a groan and pulled himself from the bed, dizziness still swimming in his head. Taking it slow seemed like the right move to make. Charlie was nowhere in sight but he could smell coffee from the kitchen and he knew what she was doing. He slipped from the bedroom and shuffled into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table.

“You didn’t have to make breakfast for me.” He yawned.

Charlie turned, bowl and mug in hand. “Who says it’s for you? Awfully assumptive of you.”

Dean’s cheeks prickled with heat and he began to apologize but it died on his lips when she began to laugh at him.

“Dude relax, it’s totally for you. Just oatmeal and coffee, wanted to make sure you’d be able to keep it down.”

The oatmeal was soupy, dripping off the spoon and landing in the bowl with a wet thump when Dean went in for the first bite. While it was warm and it was filling, he hated it. Oatmeal wasn’t his thing. Not that he’d tell Charlie that. He ate quietly, only looking at Charlie when he’d cleared the bowl and had taken his first sip of coffee.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, eyes scanning his tired face.

“Like shit, but better. Feels like a hangover that hasn’t faded yet. Or like I got the shit kicked out of me by steel toe boots. I’ll live.” He shrugged. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like I spent the last 7 nights barely sleeping in a haunted cottage to keep my friend from choking on his own vomit and dying. Also I will hit you if you apologize so don’t start with that shit.”

“You’d hit a recovering alcoholic? You’re a monster.” Dean teased, playfulness edging into his voice.

“Boo.”

Dean shook his head, the sip of coffee warming his insides. Charlie looked exhausted, the bags under her eyes more pronounced than they had been a week ago. While not fully rundown, she was clearly reaching her point of no return. Dean wanted to take care of her, to offer her comfort and solace, but he knew he couldn’t. He couldn’t take care of her until he was back in tip top shape and that would be days at least.

“When are you planning on going back into town? I’d love for you to stay here but I know you’ve got a job and I know you hate this place on account of the haunting and monster problem.”

“Today, if that’s okay. I know I should stay to make sure you’re okay but I’m really exhausted. I need a shower, my bed, and some time away from this place. Also I really should have the library open even though no one actually stops by except you and occasionally the mayor. Are you gonna be okay if I go?”

“I’ll live. Gotta do the lighthouse prep stuff soon because I think there’s a storm coming. Also have the rest of the tapes to listen to.”

The tapes, those horrible audio tapes. Charlie hadn’t listened to any after the last one her and Dean had listened to. She couldn’t bear to listen to them alone and Rowena’s story had been haunting enough on its own. Despite the sour taste the tapes left in her mouth, there was a nugget of curiosity that remained.

“Speaking of the tapes,” she said as she finished off her coffee. “I’m going to go see if I can get Rowena to talk to me about the local history and legend. I feel like there’s more to the story than she’s letting on in the tape, something just doesn’t sit right with me about it.”

“Do you need me to go with you?”

Charlie shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I think she might talk more to a local than to you, no offence. Also you’re exhausted and I really don’t think your body can handle another outing right now.”

“Will you let me know if you find anything out?”

“Of course I will. We’re both knee deep in this shit storm and we’re not getting out without helping each other. Now are you sure you’re okay if I leave?”

“I’m 100% sure. Now please get out of here and go take a nap.”

Armed with reassurance and permission, Charlie rose from her seat and put her mug in the sink. She hovered near Dean for a moment before she wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Dean resisted at first but soon he let go, relaxing in her arms as he hugged her back.

“Be safe, Dean. Also please shower.”

Dean rolled his eyes but he wasn’t annoyed. He watched Charlie from the doorway, making sure she got in her car and started down the road before he closed the cottage door.

Filling the bathtub took several minutes but the relief that helped ease his cramped muscles was immediate. Dean scrubbed gently at his skin with the soapy washcloth, removing the layer of sweat. His neck and shoulders were stiff but the hot water was helping. The oil came away from his hair with each massage of the shampoo and only when Dean felt like he’d scrubbed every last particle of withdrawal from his body did he pull himself from the tub and dry himself off.

A tired face stared back at Dean as he glanced in the mirror and he was quick to look away. That tired haunted face was the old him, the old Dean Winchester that had wrecked his own life and never given himself a chance to rebuild it. This new Dean Winchester would be different. This Dean Winchester was going to work on himself and move on and be better than he ever had been before.

Changing into a new pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt, Dean wrinkled his nose at the smell of sick. The entire cottage smelled like it, musty and sour and off. He opened the windows and thought for a moment before he was slipping into his jacket and stepping outside.

A fresh gust of spring air whistled past Dean and for the first time in weeks, he welcomed it. Sand crunched beneath his feet as he made his way down the beach towards the shore. The last time he’d dared to walk the shore he’d told the Lake Monster about his life and here he was about to do it again.

“Hey Lake Monster, I’m back.” Dean called as he began his walk down the beach. Shells, algae, and driftwood coated the shore and the familiar sight brought Dean comfort.

It was the glint of something new that caught Dean’s eye, stopping him in his tracks. Nestled among the algae was a thick black spike. Dean crouched down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands to examine it. Less black and more of a deep brown, the tip of the spike was jagged and the entire thing was about 6 inches in length.

“I don’t know what this is but it’s kind of cool.”

Pocketing the spike, Dean continued on with his walk. He sidestepped a few more clumps of algae and a few scattered fish carcasses until something else caught his eye. Three more teeth sat scattered in a perfect triangle. Dean’s blood chilled but he picked up the teeth regardless, adding them to his pocket with the spike.

“I doubt you monsters have dentists but you’re really losing a lot of teeth and I feel like that’s concerning. Unless you’ve got the shark thing going on in which case it’s probably fine. Also I’m sorry for going mia for a week. Remember that heartfelt confession I had when I told you I had an alcohol problem?”

Waves lapped gently at the beach and Dean paused again. Stacked neatly on the flat rock were four mussel shells cleaved cleanly in two, the mother of pearl interiors shining in the sunlight. They were placed purposefully, the dullest closest to Dean and the brightest closet to the water. Inside the final shell was one final item Dean had never seen before. It looked like a nail, curved and wickedly sharp. Dean shivered but sat down on the rock nonetheless.

“If you are real Lake Monster, than I really am sorry for being gone so long. I don’t even know if you can hear me or if you understand human speech but talking to you is helping me so I’m gonna keep doing it. Withdrawal sucked, it still sucks. I’m through the worst of it but I’m so so tired now and it’s hard to focus.”

The lake remained quiet as Dean sat there and fiddled with the shells, running his thumb along the smooth interior. From the outside they seemed so unassuming, just brown and ridged, but inside they were treasures. It was a bit like humans the more Dean thought about it. So many people seemed unassuming at first but they bloomed beneath the surface.

“I heard a little bit about the legend of the lake, about what the townsfolk did to Elizabeth Maren. It was fucking horrible. No one should ever be murdered just because they’re a little different, just because they did something wrong. Her and I aren’t that different really, both victims of other people being murdered or nearly murdered in the lake. Were you around when she died?”

A quiet splash sounded far off in the distance and Dean glanced up, squinting. He couldn’t see anything but the flesh on his arms broke out in goosebumps. Something was there, it had to be. Dean continued on, fiddling with the spike he removed from his pocket.

“I can’t leave until I find out what happened to Cas. I owe him that much. He’s a brother and a friend and a son and he matters and I don’t like that no one knows what happened to him. If I’d disappeared at Lake Manitoc I know no one would’ve looked for me because I wasn’t anybody and that fucking haunts me. He deserves to be found. His family deserve answers.”

Another splash in the lake and when Dean looked out he could see the faint ripples heading toward the rock. He didn’t run or move from his spot on the rock. All Dean did was get comfortable, hugging his knees to his chest.

“God I’m such a fucking loser talking to the monster that doesn’t exist about some Canadian marine biologist I’ve convinced myself I like and would like me. But it’s fine because I’m alive and I’m trying and I’m freer than I have been in fucking years. I’ve got plans now, actual concrete plans. I’m gonna make up with my brother and piece my life back together and it’s all because I want to.”

The ripples faded and the lake stilled but the feeling didn’t leave Dean. Something was there with him, something unseen. Whatever it was, Dean wasn’t afraid.

“You know Lake Monster, I think you’ve been leaving me gifts. Clues at the very least. Those teeth and these shells and that nail and spike and maybe even that fish all those nights ago. All of those feel so deliberate and I guess I’m saying thank you for that, for them. It’s kind of cool not to feel judged by an eldritch entity who has weird seal teeth and a weird song. Well I think it’s a beautiful song but Charlie thinks it’s a little terrifying.”

A tentative click echoed to the right and Dean’s head snapped in that direction. Still he saw nothing but the feeling of a presence was growing stronger and he couldn’t ignore it. Whatever it was was watching him from somewhere in the lake and while he didn’t feel unsafe, he was wary. He climbed to his feet, taking his treasure with him.

“I know you’re out there, I can feel you watching and I heard that click. Just let me know if Cas is in that lake, please. Just give me a sign if he is, like a scrap of cloth or just anything. Charlie’s going to Rowena for information but I don’t think she’ll have all the answers. Not like you will.”

Another click and whistle, this time almost an acknowledgment of Dean’s request. By then Dean had turned his back, already trekking towards the cottage.

~

“Okay, you live in the middle of nowhere in a spooky house in the fucking woods so that’s great. Please don’t be a serial killer. I really don’t want to die.”

The home in front of Charlie stood tall and imposing amid the dense forest. Gothic spires and wrought iron filigree paired perfectly with the stained glass windows and the garden out in the yard. Plants and herbs stood on either side of the cobblestone path Charlie walked as she approached the door. A gorgon’s visage cast in iron stared back at her and she reached for it, anxiety building as she prepared to knock. The door swung open before she could knock and then her eyes fell upon the Witch of the Wood.

Burnt copper hair fell to her shoulders in neatly placed curls, dark eyes staring out from long lashes and golden coloured lids. A small gold pendant lay on her chest, following the deep v of the black long sleeve dress she wore. Her lips, currant red and lipstick coated, curled up in a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I was beginning to think you’d never show up.”

Charlie blinked rapidly, heart beating in her throat. Of all the images she’d conjured in her head, this hadn’t been one of them. Rowena MacLeod was supposed to be unhinged and creepy and mysterious and she wasn’t. She was short and elegant and looked like she’d lived more than the average human.

“You were expecting me?”

“Of course, dear. From one knowledge seeker to another, we always find what we’re searching for. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

Charlie nodded her head, taking a deep breath before crossing the threshold. Better to get her murder over with now if that was what was coming. 

Inside was nothing like she’d expected. She’d expected taxidermy and off putting décor and bones of some kind but it wasn’t like that. A damask rug dampened the echo of her footsteps across the hardwood floor and the furniture she passed as Rowena led her deeper into the belly of the beast was Victorian, old mahogany wood and luxurious velvet fabric. The pair passed by old portraits and hand carved trinkets, passed golden mirrors engraved with symbols Charlie didn’t know, passed a living room littered with old bookshelves and even older tomes.

“I was expecting your friend to come with you. Shame that he’s been so under the weather lately.”

“And you know this how?”

Rowena’s smile was unsettling, the kind of smile that belonged to people who knew far too much for their own good. She turned her back to Charlie as she reached for a few glass jars, measuring the loose-leaf tea before adding the boiled water. When she turned back to Charlie she had two mugs in her hands.

“I have my ways. Scrying if you really must know. What is water if not one natural mirror reflecting us amidst the world?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow but accepted the tea, taking a tentative sip. Warm and bursting with a citrus flavour, it was surprisingly tasty. Try as she might, Charlie couldn’t quite figure out what she wanted to say or how to say it. Between the legend and the monster and the heat pooling in her gut from the prolonged eye contact, Charlie could feel herself unravelling. Mysteries and pretty women had always been her downfall.

“What shall we discuss first?” Rowena asked calmly, still smiling. “And you’re allowed to look at me. I quite welcome the attention from someone as vivacious as you.”

Charlie’s cheeks burned as red as her hair and she tore her eyed away from Rowena’s. Staring at the tea was much easier.

“You told Castiel about Elizabeth Maren and what happened to her. I need to know how you knew that and if there’s anything you didn’t tell him.”

“I told him everything I knew at that time.”

“That doesn’t answer my questions.”

Rowena’s expression remained neutral but something lay under the surface, something vaguely knowing. It felt too much like the yellow eyes that had watched Charlie from the lake. Charlie bit back her immediate frustration, trying to figure out Rowena’s game. It was clear she had one. Everyone has an agenda and just like House always said, everybody lies.

“What have you learned since then?” She asked, trying to word her thoughts carefully. Rowena felt a bit too much like a fae and Charlie was thankful for her online DnD group. “What new information do you have that Castiel didn’t know?”

“Quid pro quo dear. What will you give me in return for the information you want?”

“What do you want?”

Rowena tilted her head, practically grinning at Charlie as she took a sip of her tea. There was something about the librarian she found endlessly amusing. Captivating even. It was the graphic tee, the jeans, the aura that shone so brightly around her it was nearly blinding. She knew about Charlie, it was impossible not to in a town the size of Port Maren, but meeting her in person was different. It made her more human.

“Stay with me tonight. Have supper.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Rowena’s tone was playful, teasing almost. “I have eyes, I see the way you’ve been trying not to stare down my dress for the past 15 minutes. It’s adorable, almost admirable. I may be composed but I'm human and I fall to the same base desires as the rest of you. Simply have supper with me and we’ll see where the night takes us.”

Charlie’s eyes widened in disbelief, her heart hammering yet again. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit, especially with someone as composed as Rowena. The invitation hung heavy in the air and Charlie chewed on it, debating her options. She needed the information if her and Dean were to figure out what happened to Cas but the potential of something occurring was terrifying. It was terrifying in the way a new rollercoaster was. A night with a pretty woman beat a night keeping watching in a haunted lighthouse.

“Don’t expect anything to happen. I’m not that brave.”

“Noted.” Rowena said, expression levelling out. “As for what I’ve learned since I spoke with Castiel, there isn’t much. The lake is restless, changing. It has been for some time. Castiel kickstarted it with his disappearance but your friend continued it somehow.”

“How would Dean continue the restlessness? He hasn’t done anything except take care of the place and talk to the monster.”

A brief pause, curiosity sparkling in Rowena’s eyes. Charlie’s wording revealed more than she’d probably meant it to.

“Has he seen the monster?”

“Sort of. We both have, sort of.”

“Do tell.” Rowena prompted. “And yes, I believe you – just in case that was your next question. I didn’t get the moniker Witch of the Wood for nothing. Our lake is special, magic lies deep within it.”

“We’ve seen teeth and yellow eyes and we’ve heard it sing but I haven’t seen anything else and I don’t think Dean has. Have you seen it? And what do you mean there’s magic in the lake?”

“I haven’t seen it but I know enough to know it’s very real. I would go as far as to call it a guardian spirit, something that reacts to the way the lake is treated. It appeared after Elizabeth’s death and since then it’s been known to drag people into the lake but those people have been terrible.”

“Would Cas have been pulled in by the monster? He left all of his things at the lighthouse and we haven’t heard anything about him since. I mean Dean’s got his own theories but I don’t know how much sense they’ll make.”

Rowena shook her head. “No, the lake would never have harmed Castiel. He loved it, treated it with the respect it deserved, and it wanted to protect him in turn. Do you have any more information about his disappearance?”

“Not really. Dean’s working his way through the tapes and his journals but they haven’t told us much. I can’t track his online activity because there hasn’t been any since he disappeared. Hell we only came to you because you’re on a tape talking to him and obviously there’s some kind of weird fucked up magical angle to all of this.”

Rowena hummed quietly, a noise of acknowledgment. She rose from her chair with grace, gesturing towards the door leading into her living room. “Come do some research with me. I think we can find something out together.”

Wary and thrilled all at once, Charlie followed. Whatever she was getting into, it was going to be a hell of a night.

~

The cabin of the lighthouse was filthy. Dirt and debris from the storms the past few months had slipped in through an open window and whipped through the room like a tornado. Dean was in the corner sweeping up the leaves and twigs, hell bent on making the cabin as hospitable as possible. Storm clouds gathered on the horizon like a dark omen and with it came a ringing in Dean’s ears, the kind of ringing that told him a rager was approaching.

Four days of lightning, thunder, and heavy rain ahead and Dean didn’t know if he was going to survive it. His sleep schedule was beyond fucked and he was only now eating solid foods again and the nights ahead weren’t going to help. He needed to stay awake and man the lights, needed to ensure the sirens were working, and it felt like a gargantuan task.

“Wonder how many nights you spent up in this lighthouse making sure everything worked. Probably a lot.” Dean murmured to himself, pausing by the table.

He brushed his fingertips across the tape player, expression solemn. Dean itched to learn more about Cas, to figure out what actually happened. The play button clicked with a practiced ease and Cas’ voice filled the cabin once again.

I’m a scientist and it’s my job to detail everything around me with a certain clinical detachment. I believe that extends to the predicament I find myself in now. So here is the breakdown of whatever’s seriously wrong with me.

Two months ago je me suis coupe la main, I cut my hand and bled into the lake. I sewed it up myself because I refused to go to the hospital three hours away just to pay for someone else to do it for me. There was going to be some pain and limited mobility while it healed and I was alright with that. I gave myself a week and hoped it would be fine.

It was not fine.

The fatigue hit me first, slammed me like un truck. I couldn’t drag myself onto the beach to do my research and then I couldn’t leave the cottage and now I can barely get out of bed. Do you have any idea how awful chronic fatigue is? I want to get up and check the lake and fish and keep the lighthouse clean and I can’t. My body is failing me and no matter what I do, I can’t fix it. Undersleeping makes it worse and oversleeping hurts just as bad. Nothing explains how heavy my limbs feel.

The joint pain followed like un pineaux, a skirt chaser. It’s relentless and unbearable. I can’t hold a pen or a fork or a spoon or even my bar soap when I try to bathe. It’s pathetic. My fingers and knees crack every time I move and they throb after. The ache in my knees makes it impossible to sleep which makes me even more tired and it’s terrible. Cold water makes them sting and hot water makes them ache and pain medication takes none of the pain away. If I had a cane or crutches suspect I would use it.

Then came the bruises that I don’t remember getting. C’est un cadeau des lutins as maman would say. It’s certainly not a gift from the fucking elves. The bruises ache and they’re terrible and they’re all over my arms and legs. I could deal with the bruises on my arms but the ones on my legs I can’t. I keep hitting my legs on everything and yeah I’m clumsy but this isn’t right. The bruises should be healing and they’re not.

Dean pursed his lips, frowning as he swept the remainder of the dirt into the dustpan. He’d heard Cas complain about the symptoms before but not like this. These complaints were bone deep and infinitely weary, the kind of complaint laced with the urge to give up. He heard Cas shuffle something on the tape and then his voice returned, quiet and dejected.

I have a weird new symptom now that I can’t quite explain. The skin on my hands and arms is changing somehow. It’s rough now, textured in patches and calloused like I’ve done too much hard work. I would almost say that it feels wrinkled like I’ve spent too much time in the water but I haven’t and it isn’t malleable enough for that. It’s fleshy bark. Maybe it’s eczema, who knows.

Then there’s the wound on my hand and my nails. It’s been long enough since I’ve sewen it up that it should be properly closed or well on its way to closing but it isn’t. The wound has hardly even scabbed. It keeps reopening, the scabs keep tearing. All I can do is keep it clean and attempt to resew the sutures when. My fingernails ache too, they keep aching and they feel loose. That’s the best way to describe it.

Maybe I’m just working too hard.

Dean set the broom aside before he leaned against the console, staring out into the lake. Dark grey clouds hung heavy in the sky and when Dean glanced down there were little ripples in the lake, each drop of rain pushing its way into the lake. Ozone tickled Dean’s nostrils and buzzed in his bones.

His mind was elsewhere, drifting off to Cas and his symptoms. The fatigue, the bruises, the continuously opening wounds, all of it pointed to the same thing. It was scurvy through and through, just like Cas had posited in a journal, but that made no sense if Dean was to believe Cas’ word about eating more vitamin C. The man was sick, that much was clear.

Dean returned to the cottage in silence, tape player hugged to his chest like a precious treasure. He set it down and hit play again as he began to meal prep for the oncoming storm and sleepless nights. Cas’ voice rattled on, quick and burdened with resigned horror.

My hair is falling out, tomber comme de la neige. C’est busté and I don’t like it. It’s dry and brittle and while I’m used to my hair having curl, it doesn’t have coil like this. I ran a hand through my hair and it fell out and now it keeps coming out in patches. It’s probably just the scurvy that I’ve been assuming I have.

If it’s not that then maybe it’s the bacteria and the lake and all of the weird shit going on with it. The acid levels in the lake keep changing and I keep finding teeth and now there’s this humming that I can’t get out of my head. It’s low and deep and sounds too much like a whale which isn’t possible at all. There are no whales in Lake Maren.

I pray the next update is a happier one. Si tu brâsse la marde, ça va poé and this stinks.

Outside the wind howled, rain whipped against the window, and the low clicking hum began again.

Chapter Text

”Okay, time to double check everything. Do not want to fuck this up.”

Dean reached towards the shutters covering the cottage windows, fingers curling around the iron sliding locks. He tugged and they stayed firmly in place, refusing to budge. No tree branches would come flying through the glass windows this howling night. The water was shut off too and when Dean turned the tap nothing came out. He’d flipped the breakers for the cottage, just to be safe. An electrical fire would devastate the cottage and leave nothing in its wake. The fridge, secured closed, would keep the food cold until he was able to get back inside come morning and flip the breakers again. Dean suspected the storm would break quickly, probably one night at most, but he didn’t know for sure. It was impossible to tell with storms.

Sliding into his boots and his slicker, Dean slung a bag over his shoulder and left the cottage. He secured the front door as best as he could, propping a piece of driftwood up under the handle to keep it jammed in case the wind whipped up. A Wizard of Oz situation would be less than ideal.

“Time for coffee.” Dean mumbled as he dropped the bag onto the table in the lighthouse cabin.

He pulled a travel mug from the bag and took a long swig. It burnt the back of his throat but the warmth and caffeine would give him all the energy he needed. There was no way he’d survive the next few days without it. Pulling the rest of the items from the bag Dean set the cassette player and Tupperware of carefully prepared pasta down.

The instruction binder sat next to them on the table and Dean’s eyes flicked over it, scanning the instructions to remind himself of what he was supposed to do. Sirens and lights and constant monitoring of the screen, that was it. Here weren’t supposed to be any shipping containers on the lake but knowing Dean’s luck, that was subject to change and he refused to cause a disaster. That would be a one way ticket to the monster dragging him down into the depths of the lake. If the monster was as real as Dean assumed it was.

“Alright Cas, show me what you’ve got. Help me figure out what happened to you.”

Cas’ voice poured out from the recorder and Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach, ice flooding his veins. Thick and choked, Cas’ gravelly voice was barely discernible amid the gulping breaths and lengthy sniffles in the background. Dean could picture it now, could see the tears streaming down Cas’ puffy face as he languished in bed. He’d been there days ago and it sucked.

Pushing the dread from his mind, Dean listened.

I’m dying.

It’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.

I can’t get out of bed and I can’t eat and I can’t move. My hands can’t close into fists, the wound on my hand is open again, and all the old wounds on my legs are reopening. My hair’s falling out in clumps. I lost two fingernails yesterday. There’s this ache in my mouth, like my gums are trying to fight against me. Every time I clench my jaw my teeth feel like they’re vibrating.

It has to be scurvy, that’s the only scientific explanation. But that isn’t possible and nothing about this is scientific.

This lake is cursed, it’s so fucking cursed. The bacteria and the acidity and the weird fish and teeth and that humming. God I can’t escape the humming.  I liked whales before but it’ll be too soon if I never hear one again. All day, all night, the humming never stops. It’s in my fucking bones, stuck in my head like some earworm chewing its way to my brain. I can’t fucking take it.

Something is watching me at night. I feel it every time I look out the window at that horrible fucking lake. It stares and it stares and it never moves closer and I’m losing it. I feel like a caged fucking animal. My heart keeps beating and beating and I feel like my chest’s going to explode. It calls to me, that thing in the lake. Its song is low and unrelenting and it calls to me. Come to me, it says, come to me and embrace me and love me and I don’t want to.

I don’t want to embrace the thing in the lake.

It scares me. I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared. I can’t sleep at night, I’m too afraid that thing’s going to come and take me away. I didn’t do anything to it, to the thing or the lake, or whatever the hell is happening here. I just wanted to research, that’s it. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.

A brief pause as a sob echoed in the recording, Cas sniffling and hyperventilating. Dean listened with widening eyes, anxiety creeping into his unconscious mind like the fog that crept over the lake outside.

Je veux ma maman. Je veux mon frère. Je veux Meg.

I can’t take it anymore, being so alone like this. I can’t be trapped with my thoughts like this. I need someone else, anyone, to be here and to hold me. I need help. I need humanity. I need comfort.

But they’re not coming.

I tried to call Gabe but there’s no service. There’s never been service. I can’t call him or maman or Meg. I can’t even email. I can’t drag myself into town, not now. I’m so fucking alone. I want my mom. I want her to be here and tell me that it’ll all be okay, that she’ll make me some soup and hold me and take care of me. I want her to tell me that stupid embarrassing story she always tells everyone about me just because she knows it’s going to make me laugh.

I want Meg here so she can harass me into getting up and doing what needs to be done because I’m not a quitter and I never give up. I want her to drag me from bed, to force me out to research. I want her wild stories and her stupid jokes and even the way she looks at me like she’s always going to knock me down a peg for daring to speak to her.

I just want someone. Anyone. Please.

Dean swallowed thickly, chancing a glance out at the lake below.

Dark waters moved and roiled with the force of the downpour, fog blanketing the lake with a spooky intensity. It felt haunted – like the soul of something unearthly had risen up and possessed it. A shiver wracked Dean’s body and he pulled the slicker tighter around himself.

The panel in front of him showed nothing but it was dark as night outside and Dean followed the instructions. He pressed the buttons and input the code. The light roared to life, beam shooting through the windows and out to the lake. Ancient gears squealed in protest as the light began to rotate and Dean winced. He should’ve greased the gears earlier.

Cas sobbed on the recording and Dean’s heart shattered a little more. The wind picked up and Dean tried to drown it out, attention focused back on the tape player.

If someone else is listening to this, listen good to what I’m saying.

Get the fuck out of the lighthouse. Pack your shit, run away, and don’t look back. This place is cursed and it’s going to drag you down into the lake just like it did to me. It’s no good and you’re better than it deserves.  You deserve better too.

But you’re listening to this so I know you’ve stayed. You’ve stayed to find me. I’m sorry.

Please, if you make it out of this place alive, I need you to find my friends and family. I need them to know what happened to me. I need them to know I didn’t just disappear because I hated them because I don’t. I fucking love all of them.

This is for Meg Masters, my best friend. She’s in California and she might be teaching now, I don’t know. Either way, she’s in California and I know she’s on social media. Meg, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I left and didn’t communicate and that I was an asshole before I left. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you, that we fought, that I took everything our friendship actually meant for granted. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I love you. I want you to be happy and I hope you’re doing well and that you’ve figured out what’s going on between you and Ruby because you really need to. If you get this and I’m gone, my house is yours. I know you’ll want to change the décor and that’s fine. Just keep that stupid horseshoe crab lampshade I know you hate. Keep it for me. Keep it to remember me.

Thunder boomed in the distance and Dean jumped, nearly startled out of his skin. All that was missing was the lightning and he knew that wouldn’t be far behind.

This is for Gabriel Novak, mon frère. He’ll be easy to find, he’s all over social media and unfortunately likes to entertain random people who message him online. I’m sorry that I cancelled our last Thursday supper before I left to come here. I wouldn’t have cancelled if I’d known what was going to happen. I hope you’re looking out for mom and dad and yourself. Don’t really care that much about the rest of the family but you know that. Take care of yourself too, please. Be safe and ethical at work and not too experimental even though I know you always are and always will be. I left my place to Meg so don’t get too mad about that. Also don’t come here. I know I made a comment about shooting a porno here in one of my journal entries but that was a joke. I don’t want the lake to get you too.

Finalement, maman. There’s not enough time in the world to tell you everything that I want to tell you. I love you, you and dad, and I’m so glad you’re my parents. You’ve supported my dreams my entire life and I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you. I wouldn’t have gone to school and moved to Cali and pursued my dreams unless you told me you believed in me and you did. You never put me down or told me I couldn’t do it and when I struggled you were there. You were the one who flew out to visit when I was so depressed third year I couldn’t leave my bed.  You were the one who took pictures when I received my masters, when I got my doctorate, when I did anything. You were there every step of the way.

I should’ve been a better son than I was, than I am. I should’ve visited more or flown you and dad out or called or done anything other than what I did. I thought we had more time. Guess we don’t. Guess I ran out of it.

Maman, je t’aime beacoup. Toujours.

The storm raged on outside and tears slipped from Dean’s eyes. He wiped at them roughly, flinching when he heard it.

A scream on the recording, a loud pained scream. It bounced around the cabin, impossibly loud against the impossible thunder. Retching followed, stunted and loud and Dean stared at the tape player, breathing ragged as he listened.

A second scream and then Cas’ voice, soft and muffled and full of quiet terror as thumps sounded in the background like something being dropped onto the floor.

Oh god, my teeth.

A third scream sounded, sharp and shrill, a thump as something heavy fell. Wet tearing filled the lighthouse cabin as Dean listened, pulled and chained in by the horror her couldn’t help but listen to. Crunches, cracks, wet slipping viscera stirred for minutes and minutes on end.

“What the fuck…” Dean whispered softly, hand clasped over his mouth.

The screams faded out as wet gurgles faded in and scratching began, something long and sharp dragging against the floorboards. Rising in intensity the gurgles cut out just as another wet thump sounded and Cas’ voice reappeared, quiet and desperate.

Please, I can’t- I don’t want to die alo—

Clicking echoed in the recording, all too familiar. Low and high, short and long, the song had reappeared and Dean was helpless. He listened as whatever was on the floor dragged itself away from the recorder, wet slick sounds fading into a final haunting click. Silence followed.

Dean’s breath was ragged and his vision blurred as he stared at the tape player, only dimly aware of the final click as the tape ended. His mind raced and his pulse throbbed in his ear, a maddening tap dance as he tried to wrap his mind around what he’d just heard.

Cas had – Dean had no idea what had just happened. Had someone broken in? No, that couldn’t be possible. Cas would’ve called out to them. If they hadn’t broken in then what? Those screams hadn’t come out of nowhere. Neither had the sick wet sound of skin sloughing off the bone. Deep down, buried in the very core of his being, Dean knew the truth. He just couldn’t admit it. Not out loud.

Lightning lit up the sky with a sickening purple lack and when the thunder cracked, Dean heard it.

An animalistic scream, violent and vulnerable and charged with pain. It came again, a low hum crescendoing to a high pitched click before cutting itself off. Over and over the call battered his ears and he raced to the window, horrible curiosity overtaking any rationality he had left. 

Squinting, Dean peered into the darkness of the lake. The lighthouse beam bounced off the surface of the water and the ripples had become violent, furiously pounding against themselves and the sandy shore. If there was movement in the water Dean couldn’t see it. Another crack of lightning and Dean’s eyes scanned the shore.

There.

Right on the edge of the shore next to the dock.

Something was there.

Dean couldn’t tell what it was but he saw the piece of debris and the movement of something trapped beneath it. When the scream came again and it moved beneath the debris, Dean knew.

“Fuck fuck fuck, okay. Think Winchester.” Dean mumbled to himself, buttoning up the slicker.

The rational thing to do would be to stay in the lighthouse, to pretend that he hadn’t seen the thing moving beneath the rotting wood. The rational thing to do would be to do his job. Dean didn’t choose rational. He was never going to.

Slicker buttoned and boots reinforced, Dean reached the table. He shoved a pocket knife and a cloth into his pockets before grabbing a flashlight, ensuring it worked before descending the stairs. With each step his anxiety grew, fighting a battle with the curiosity that had only heightened.

“This is insane.” He told himself as he hesitated by the lighthouse door. “But that thing is hurt and it needs help and this is what you did. You helped people. So nut up and go help.”

Dean was fighting a losing battle the second he stepped outside. The waterlogged sand sprung up around his feet and sucked his boots into the ground, forcing him to pull his legs out with a measured strength. Rain pelted his slicker and face, running in rivulets down his cheeks. Cold as ice, Dean shivered beneath it. Thank god for the slicker. He'd only partially soak to the bone. Lightning cracked and thunder roared as Dean stormed the beach, growing ever closer to the inhuman screaming from beneath the rotting wood.

The beam of light from the flashlight landed on the piece of wood and Dean’s suspicions were confirmed. It had come from the rotting dock and the thick beam lay hard and heavy where it had landed after the wind had ripped it free. When Dean swung the beam towards the dock, it was gone. Every bit of it had been swept away by the storm.

He approached with trepidation as the keening grew louder, the terrible noise piercing his ears and rattling around in his skull. Dean didn’t think he’d ever forget the sound. All at once it stopped and with a near paralyzing anxiety, Dean pointed the flashlight back at the wood.

At first he saw nothing but the wood and then it appeared. A tail – silvery, thick, muscular – curled like an eel squirmed beneath the wood, long red wisps ending in bulbous masses trailing from the slick scaled skin.

“Oh my god.” Dean whispered, bringing the light across the wood.

The other side revealed the humanoid torso and head of the creature and Dean’s breath caught in his chest, wedged tight. A mouth of sharp teeth gaped open and closed like a fish, weak keening emanating from its lips. Skin so pale it was nearly translucent reflected the beam of light, protruding ridged brow bones knit together in a look of pain. No nose, just two slits where it should’ve been, but Dean hardly noticed. He was too busy staring at the creature’s crocodilian eyes, bright yellow and ever watching.

“You’re fucking real.” Dean breathed out, flashlight held tight in his trembling hands. “Holy fuck you’re actually real.”

The creature stared back at Dean, nictitating membrane covering its eyes as it blinked. When it registered Dean’s presence it began to keen again, desperately thrashing beneath the wooden beam.

Dean blinked himself back to reality, eyes widening as he yelled into the storm. He prayed the creature understood him.

“I’m gonna try to help you! Please don’t kill me!”

Dean held the flashlight in his mouth and pointed it at the beam before he reached for it with his hands rotting wood flaked onto his skin but Dean did his best to ignore it, too busy focusing. Heavier than he expected, Dean grit his teeth and pushed harder against the beam. With each passing minute the beam resisted until finally, finally, it gave way and fell from the creature. It hit the sand with a thud and then Dean was staring at the rest of the creature.

Humanoid scaled torso, just as silvery white as the rest of its body, Dean’s eyes focused on its arms. Two of them, muscular and humanoid, ended in sharp tipped claws and webbed fingers. Dean was reminded of a crocodile and he shuddered. This was an apex predator. Iron filled the air and Dean’s nose wrinkled in response, frown deepening when his eyes landed on the blood. It coated the creature’s arms and torso and ran in red rivulets down its body past the netting wrapped tightly around its middle.

“I’m gonna help you! Don’t be afraid!” Dean yelled, his voice shaking.

He fumbled in his pocket for the knife he’d brought and flicked it open, dropping to his knees. Gripping the netting in one hand, Dean felt the creature thrash beneath him and he sighed. This wasn’t going to be easy.  Wrangling it felt nearly impossible and in the end Dean swung his leg over its tail, pressing his thighs around it to keep it still. It stopped thrashing but it didn’t stop keening and its yellow unblinking eyes focused solely on Dean.

He began to hack at the netting with the knife, fighting against the squirming of the creature and the slickness of the rain and blood. It frayed and split bit by bit and then Dean was through the first layer. Too focused to consider the sheer absurdity of what was happening, Dean continued on. He didn’t know how long he was sawing through the netting, just that his hands were aching as the plastic cut into them like it had the creature. When the last of the netting came free, Dean stared at the creature beneath him.

“You’re free, it’s gone. You’re gonna be fine.” He whispered, voice barely audible over the thunder booming through the sky.

For a moment the storm stilled and the air grew thick with something deeper and older than ozone. The creature beneath Dean stared up at him, something swimming within its yellow eyes. Old and impossibly human, the creature’s expression was one of recognition and thanks. Dean stared back, still straddling its tail, and when he spoke his voice came out as nothing more than a trembling whisper.

“What happened to Cas?”

The creature’s shriek was deafening as it bucked its tail and sent Dean flying into the air. Hard sand broke his fall, air knocked from his lungs upon impact. The dying flashlight lay beside him and in its beam Dean watched as the creature cocked its head and let its lips curl into something akin to a smile. For a brief moment it watched Dean and then it dragged itself away, vanishing into the dark waters of Lake Maren.

Light broke through the clouds, painting the beach an eerie blood orange, as Dean pulled himself to his feet. Nearly soaked to the bone from the downpour, the cold was beginning to set in and the ache in his limbs told him he didn’t have much time to fight off the oncoming hypothermia. He grabbed the flashlight and, turning on his heel, fled back to the safety of the cottage.

Dean flung the cottage door open and stepped inside, shedding his boots and his slicker and the rest of his damp clothes. Drying himself with the ragged towel, he slipped into clean warm clothes and collapsed into bed. His heart still raced as his mind tried to make sense of everything he’d just seen. Try as it might, there was no sense to be made. Exhausted and burnt out from the emotional high of what had just happened, Dean passed out with a single thought on his mind.

The monster of Lake Maren was real and it knew what happened to Cas.

Chapter Text

Dean wasn’t alone in the cottage.

When he stepped into the kitchen, his eyes fell on the person that shouldn’t be there. Tall and dark haired, Dean recognized the man’s face from the badge he stared at every day: Castiel Novak, marine biologist, victim of Lake Maren, and Dean’s newest pet project.

“Cas?” He called out, surprise colouring his voice.

Castiel didn’t react. In fact, he looked past Dean as if the man wasn’t even there. Cas was speaking now and Dean recognized the horrible words falling from his bloody chapped lips.

“Maman, je t’aime beacoup. Toujours.”

His near final words on the final tape echoed in the kitchen and Dean’s stomach churned. He knew what was coming next, had heard the evidence plain as day on the tapes.

A scream tore itself from Cas’ throat as he doubled over, hands clutching at his stomach. Vomit poured forth, red and frothy on the floor and Cas cried out again as he clawed at his face. His hands came away bright red and when he glance up, glanced past Dean, there was a gaping hole where his teeth should’ve been.

“Oh god, my teeth.”

Rotting white-brown lumps swam in the puddle of vomit on the floor. Cas vomited again and flinched, constricting in on himself as another scream ripped out of his chest. He hit the floor with a thud and Dean froze in terror, watching helplessly. It was a horror show and he was the final girl.

Razor sharp talons burst through Cas’ fingernails, blood pouring down his fingers and coating his hands. The kichen smelt like iron, heavy and metallic and staunchly reminiscent of a battlefield. Blood soaked through Cas’ shirt and he clawed at it. The fabric ripped with a loud shriek, bloodied ribbons hanging from his shoulders. Open wounds and old scars wept blood and pus and Cas was clawing at his skin. It peeled from his frame like beef jerky but it wasn’t muscle beneath.

It was scales. Silvery translucent scales slick with blood shimmered in the kitchen light and then the cracking began,

Cas’ right arm jerked as if controlled by a puppeteer. Bone – sharp and shattered – burst through the tender flesh with a sudden strength and Cas screamed in agony. His arms twisted and cracked as lumps moved beneath them, scales breaking through and forcing the skin off. The floor was slick with blood and Dean stepped back, hands covering his mouth to silence his horror.

When Cas’ femur snapped, the sound echoed like a gunshot and Dean flinched. The regret was instantaneous when Dean looked up, rushing through him as the bile rose in his throat. Cas’ pants were gone and Dean stared at his legs, at the way the broken bone and flesh fused together. Bone melded to bone and scales pushed through the goopy flesh. It was the spines that did it, the thick red spikes and their membranes pulsing with an alien life, that made Dean throw up.

Cas wasn’t screaming anymore. He couldn’t – not with the shredded vocal chords ripping holes in his neck and spreading out into the air in a hellish version of gills. By then he was more monster than man, the barest shred of humanity existing in his torso and the steadily shedding skin of his face. Cas’ voice was whisper soft and desperate, filled with the howling despair of a man who knew he was doomed and couldn’t do anything to stop it.

“Please, I can’t – I don’t want to die alo—“

The next thing out of Cas’ mouth wasn’t words but that horrible insane clicking. Cas’ eyes widened and then his pupil burst, inky black swallowing the blue whole. Gold stared back, a reptilian animosity reflected at Dean.

He watched helplessly as the thing that had once been Castiel Novak pulled itself along the kitchen floor through its own bloody viscera, escaping through the open door. Dean didn’t have to observe to know where the creature was heading.

Lake Maren.

It was going to Lake Maren.

The ghost of a shout escaped Dean’s lips as he startled awake, hand clutching the twisted sheets surrounding him. His heart thudded away in his chest as he pulled himself from bed, shaking off the sleep. Nothing in that dream had made sense but it fit like the final misshapen piece in the monster shaped puzzle that was Castiel Novak’s disappearance. There was magic afoot, it was the only thing that made sense. It buzzed and swam and sang, old and deep as the lake itself. Magic and horror and a lighthouse like some fucked up Stephen King novel.

“God I think I’m going fucking insane.”

His glance out the bedroom window was uneasy, building in his veins. The absence of sound, of the waves and the birds and the subtle swaying of the cottage, it ground Dean’s nerves into dust. Floorboards creaked beneath Dean’s feet as he padded to the kitchen and the kettle whistled as it boiled the water, the scent of coffee filling the air while it brewed. Bacon sizzled in the frying pan but Dean couldn't relax. All he could think about was the nightmare.

In his mind, a big greasy breakfast and a cup of coffee strong enough to kill a man would fix all of his problems. They’d help erase the horror of the nightmare from his mind, wiping away the blood and the screams until he was left with nothing but the scent of bleach and freshly cleaned linoleum flooring. It was the wave of nausea that bubbled up in Dean’s stomach that dashed his hopes to pieces. The bacon smelt too much like burning skin, the texture just as twisted and bubbled. An image of Castiel, bones ripping from his skin slick with blood and fat, popped up behind Dean’s eyes. In the end the bacon went into the garbage and Dean settled for a bowl of thick oatmeal. It beat the images of flesh peeling from Cas' beautiful face every time Dean tried to take a bite.

When he set the spoon down and forced his stiff fingers to relax, Dean was reminded of the previous night. Thick red lines crisscrossed his scarred palms, slashing through the scar tissue with an eerie precision. He could feel it still – the thick wet plastic of the fishing net cutting through his hands as he wrestled with the knife and the creature, desperate to free it – and his skin crawled. There was no regret. But there was apprehension and it stung like freezing rain.

He’d been awake and sober during the storm and sure as hell hadn’t imagined the monster caught under the rotting dock beam. He’d been awake and sober when he’d hauled that beam off of the creature. He’d been awake when he’d straddled the monster’s tail – the muscle and scale beneath it far more powerful than human legs were – and he knew he was awake when he felt the creature meet his gaze. Those crocodilian eyes, hauntingly yellow and sharp, had stared at him like they never should’ve been able to. They were all too human. they shouldn't have been.

Dean pulled away from the table and made his way to the bathroom, reaching for the first aid kit. He slathered a thin layer of salve over the irritated crosshatching on his palms before wrapping it with a layer of gauze. While it wouldn’t solve any problems, it would prevent infection and that was half the battle. When he returned to the kitchen his eyes fell on the tape player and he shuddered, the memory creeping up the back of his neck. He couldn't bring himself to listen to the tapes again. Not now. Not ever again if he had it his way.

The cottage felt far too small and its confines grew tighter the more Dean edged his way around the journals and the tapes littered about. He was no stranger to inserting himself in the lives of others, it’d had been his jobs for years. Dean Winchester had grown up a ghost and here he was now, just as see through as ever. It was different, being on the receiving end of the haunting. Castiel Novak haunted the lighthouse from the moment Dean had set foot in it and here he was bleeding into his real life like a curse that would never leave. Maybe this curse was Dean's penance for all of the shitty decisions he'd made in his life. God was enough of a bastard for that to be true.

Brisk air hit Dean’s face as he opened the door to the cottage and slipped out, latch clicking softly behind him. Ozone lingered in the air as grey clouds rolled past the mirrored surface of the lake but Dean hardly noticed, too busy staring at the decimated beach in front of him. Clumps of algae littered the beach and the corpses of fish speckled throughout them like a fleshy feast for the birds soaring overhead. Rotting wood bobbed on the surface of the lake and Dean felt relief flood through him. He wouldn’t have to haul them off the beach. When he turned to examine the lighthouse and the cottage, the damage was minimal. A window on the lighthouse had broken and shattered glass hung from the frame like a damaged suncatcher. The wind, while wild, had been merciful. That and the lack of trees.

The trek to the flat expanse of rock was short but grew longer when Dean stopped and crouched down. His fingers brushed the still flopping fish that had beached itself before he scooped it up and chucked it back into the water. The ripple was small but its effects were instantaneous and when Dean stared back at the grey horizon, larger ripples grew.

“This isn’t going to be good.” Dean mumbled to himself, hairs rising on the back of his neck. Electricity hung heavy in the air and it didn’t bode well. Something was coming for him. Again.

His trek continued on and on the way he tossed back three more fish that had beached themselves. The fish weren’t that unusual, not after a storm like the previous night, but they made Dean uneasy. Beached fish and half-eaten carcasses meant evidence that the very real monster was entirely too close to shore for his liking. Then there were the teeth and the spikes, a veritable trail littered along the shore’s edge. Dean collected each one as he passed by it, slipping them into his pockets. If they were gifts, he wasn’t going to risk pissing off the monster by ignoring them.

The scent of iron hit Dean’s nostrils and he paused, eyes cast down to the sand. Drying blood spread out in the sand, splotchy and patchy like it had been the night before. Rotting wood – the same piece Dean had unceremoniously shoved off of the monster the night before – sat exactly where he’d left it. Dry algae and steadily sun-bleached mussels stared back at Dean in a dizzying trypophobic array of holes and spots. Fishing net lay a few feet away, tossed away by the wind and knotted so tightly it wouldn’t catch anything ever again.

“Guess I really didn’t imagine last night.” Dean’s voice was soft, introspective even. He sat when he reached the rock, knees hugged to his chest. If he was smart he knew he'd turn around and run back to the cottage but he wasn't smart and he wasn't going to do that. Whatever he'd heard on the tapes and seen in the midst of the storm was waiting for him to reach out again. “Are you out there? Are you even alive?”

A splash sounded from far out in the lake and Dean’s head snapped up. Ripples spread out like welcoming rings in the lake and then it came—a single hesitant click, barely audible. Dean leaned toward the sound instinctually.

“What do I even call you?” he asked, eyes tracking as the ripples grew closer. “Lake Monster feels so impersonal. Especially after last night. Do I call you Cas? Or Castiel? Because that’s who I think you are. Probably.”

The ripples stopped 15 feet away from Dean and he watched with morbid curiosity as the mirror surface of the lake shattered. Anxiety fluttered in his chest like a delicate butterfly and Dean squashed it. He couldn't afford to be anxious when answers were this close. A reptilian head, flat and covered in silvery scales broke the surface and yellow crocodilian eyes stared at Dean. Fin-like appendages on either side of the monster’s head, fanned in the slight wind that had picked up, red spines holding up the translucent webbing.

Dean’s voice was whisper soft, full of something not quite awe and not quite horror.

“You’re real. You’re actually real.”

The monster swam closer, its head poking out of the water in full. Flat faced –save for the protruding brow bone and delicately scaleless lips – and strangely human, it tilted its head to the side as if it were studying Dean. The lips curled up, a terrifying attempt at a smile that left Dean feeling unsure, and then Dean was staring at the mouth full of pointed teeth. Terribly beautiful like a god ascending from the watery depths of hell, Dean couldn’t look away. In fact, he leaned closer to the water. The allure was impossible to ignore.

“How are your arms?” He asked, doing his best to ignore the absurdity of the situation. In another life Dean would’ve called himself insane for even entertaining this but here he was and here it was and it was all too real. It was better for his sanity to roll with it and ask questions later. “That netting was tight last night, there was a lot of blood. You worried me.”

The monster swam closer, nearly to the rocky outcropping. It kept just enough distance in between them as if it were wary of what Dean would do to it. A click and some whistles poured from its mouth, impossibly tinny in the air, and the gills in its neck fluttered with the air filtering in and out.

“Can you show me your arms? Please?” Dean asked, voice measured. He raised his hands to show he had nothing in them, to show that he meant no harm. Nevermind that the monster could rip him to pieces and drown him if it felt so inclined. Dean had the distinct sense he had the power in this situation.

A beat and then the monster lifted its arms out of the water, placing them on the rocky outcropping directly beside Dean. Two arms, distinctly humanoid and tipped with crocodilian claws sharp as knives and webbing thin as paper, lay there. Across the silvery skin and cutting through layers of scales and flesh were sharp crosshatching wounds, not so much deep as they were long. Irritation swelled the flesh in between and around the wounds and Dean’s frown deepened.

“There’s no way the blood on the sand came from just your arms.” Dean mumbled to himself, hands still in the air. His goosebumps had all but faded and the anxiety nearly gone, nothing but a faded echo buzzing idly around his head like a lonely fly. If the monster wanted to kill him then it would’ve already. “Are you hurt somewhere else?”

A slow blink from the monster as the nictitating membrane covered the eyes and then the powerful claws were digging into the rock and the monster was pulling itself onto the rock beside Dean. It landed with a wet flop and Dean’s mouth hung open in pure shock. Humanoid torso and gills along the ribs aside, the creature’s tail looked different in the light of day. Just as silvery and powerful as it had been during the night, Dean noticed new details. Dark scales dotted the red line of scales descending down the tail, a thick membranous fin down the middle. He'd something like it on the news once, after some earthquake had fucked up the sea bed. Doomsday fish, he recalled.

It was the gash on the monster's tail that concerned him, thick and deep and oozing burgundy blood.

“Look, I don’t know how much of my ranting you’ve heard while I’ve been out on the lake but I can help you with this.” Dean explained, eyes still cast down to the tail. He couldn’t bring himself to meet the monster’s steady gaze. It felt too risky. “I’m going to get something, I’ll be right back.”

Dean’s footsteps sounded in the air as he ran back towards the cottage, mind focused singularly on the event happening right before his eyes. If Dean let himself think about the absurdity of the event, of the pure fantasy that shouldn’t have been possible, he knew he’d lose his cool. He couldn’t afford to lose it, not now. Not when there were so many answers sitting out there on the rock with open wounds.

Slipping into the cottage, Dean grabbed two of the journals and the id badge on the kitchen table. If he was going to confirm his suspicions, he’d need evidence to show the monster. He grabbed the first aid kit he kept in the impala after that and turned on his heels, making his way back to the rock. His heart pounded in his ears from the exertion he hadn’t had in months and for once he welcomed the roaring in his ears. Adrenaline, anxiety, every single emotion had burned into a singular focal point and all Dean could see was the monster.

But it wasn’t just a monster, not really. It couldn’t be.

“I used to help people when they were hurt, that’s what I’m trying to do now.” Dean explained as he lowered himself onto the rock. He assumed the monster understood him.

The monster clicked as it stared at Dean, bottom half of its tail still submerged in the water and flicking restlessly. It held itself with a self-assured air, like it wasn’t afraid of Dean. Maybe it was the conversation they'd just had or maybe it was what dean had done the previous night. Either way, all of the fight and ire from the previous night had vanished and the creature offered Dean its arms willingly.

Dean took the monster’s left arm and wiped it clean with a cloth, every movement careful and calculated as to not spook it. Powerful muscle flexed beneath Dean’s hands as he rubbed in the salve, pushing it into the wounds as far as it would go. The water would wash most of it away but the little bit that remained would be helpful regardless. It wasn't an immediate fix-it but that didn't matter. 

“Will you let me look at your tail?”

The monster clicked – wickedly sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight – before it nodded its head, the movement strangely human. With effort it shifted and the remainder of its tail lifted from the water, falling across Dean’s lap with a wet slap. Heavier and thicker than expected, Dean reached out and skimmed his fingertips across it. He couldn't help himself. The scales were smooth and slippery. 

“You’re fucking beautiful.” He murmured to himself, reaching for the rag to pat the area around the gash dry. “Terrifying as hell too, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t think you were real at first, not till I heard the noises and saw you last night. Thought you were just my imagination or a symptom of my withdrawal. I did hallucinate my dead dad so it's not like that's unreasonable. But obviously you're real or you wouldn't be sitting here with your tail on my lap.”

Dean unpacked the first aid kit slowly, removing the thread and needles he’d need. Had it been a normal person he would’ve continued on but this gave him pause. The hard scales would be impossible for the needle to pierce through. He reached for a small knife he kept in the first aid kit.

Wrong move.

The creature keened in terror, tail jerking as it tried to pull itself back into the water. Despite its trust in Dean, a knife was still a weapon. It was still something to harm with. Dean dropped the knife and tried to grab at the monster, hands closing around its forearms to hold it in place.

“Woah woah, I’m not trying to kill you!” he murmured, voice rising in a panic. The creature’s claws dug into his hands - a reflex no doubt - and he winced in pain but didn’t move. “I can’t get the needle through your scales, they’ll break it. I need to pry a few scales up around the gash so I can sew it up.”

The claws digging into Dean’s hands twitched before the grip loosened, the creature eventually letting go. It eyed Dean warily but kept its tail on Dean’s lap, twisting so it could watch Dean with its unflinching gaze. Something in the air had shifted and a strange energy filled it. Anxiety set the base note in the odd perfume and curiosity floated on the top, humming and dancing around like a fairy. It was the unspoken truth in the middle that held them both captive, that little kernel of magic that neither wanted to acknowledge but couldn’t bear to ignore. A profound bond, something that seemed to transcend the boundaries of language.

“I’m going to pick the knife back up and pry up the scales I need to, okay? It’s gonna hurt, I think, so be wary I guess. If it hurts too much I need you to tell me somehow, grab my hand or something.”

Dean picked the knife back up and took a deep breath to try and steady his shaking hands before he set the tip of the knife to the scales and began to peel. The first came up with a sharp dragging noise and it dulled when it fell to the rock. Powerful muscle twitched beneath his hands and Dean pressed down to keep the tail steady, mumbling vague reassurances under his breath.

“It’s going to hurt when I sew this up, just so you know. I’ll be as gentle as I can.” Dean said, voice soft. He turned away just long enough to thread the needle before his hands were back on the tail. Gingerly Dean let the needle pierce the delicate flesh beneath the scales – just as white and silvery as the scales themselves – and the technique came back with practiced ease.

“I think you know how this feels, the sewing up I mean. I think that you sewed up your hand a long time ago.”

The monster tensed beneath Dean’s hands, lips peeling back in silent warning. Dangerous territory approached.

Dean lifted his hands until he felt the monster relax. Only then did he continue on, finally meeting the monster’s gaze as best as he could. Beneath the golden eyes lay something unexplainable, something so human it made Dean’s heart break. Sadness – deep as the depths of Lake Maren – in every golden fleck. Heartbreak in every wavering line of the creature’s face. Dean’s reflection in the creature’s eyes, a human staring back.

“I found your journals, your tapes too. I’ve read them all, listened to all of them too. I know what happened to you.”

A mournful keen poured from the monster’s throat, talon tipped hands curling into fists. It watched as Dean finished the sutures, head cocked to the side as if to study Dean. Eyes scanned his face and body and settled on his hands, on the warped scarred flesh. With all the grace and danger of an apex predator, the creature reached for Dean’s hand and held it in its own.

Dean’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession, eyes wide as he stared. He couldn’t speak, the words catching in his throat and dying there. This was tender, a feather soft touch antithetical to everything the creature was supposed to be. With his free hand Dean reached for the id badge and held it up for the creature to see, displaying it.

The creature blinked again, browbone furrowing as if it recognized the photo. It dropped Dean’s hand and brought its hands up to its face, feeling the reptilian features as if it were a child surprised it discover it looked the way it did. When its hands dropped it twisted again, tail sliding from Dean’s lap and into the water.

Dean blinked rapidly, shaking off the foggy shock. His voice remained soft, almost vulnerable. He needed to air this out like dirty laundry. He needed the truth.

“I know it’s you.” Here Dean paused, choosing his words carefully as he kept the monster’s gaze. “Cas, I see you. I see you.”

Emotion – relief, acknowledgment, recognition – flit across the creature’s face and then it was gone. The creature slid from the rock and vanished into the lake, leaving Dean soaked and alone. Dean sat there, staring in silence as he shook.

Castiel Novak hadn’t just disappeared to never be seen again.

Castiel Novak was the Monster of Lake Maren.

Chapter Text

Dean was sure of how he’d react when he found out what happened to Cas. He was convinced there would be an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction, a congratulations for solving the six year old mystery plaguing the lighthouse of Lake Maren. He was convinced he’d celebrate with a drink in his hand.

Solving the mystery was supposed to feel good. It was supposed to make him feel accomplished.

It didn’t.

Cas’ anguished screams echoed in Dean’s ears every time he passed the tapes on the kitchen table. The horrific transformation plagued his dreams and his sleep, already bad enough on its own, was practically non-existent now. Every glance out at the lake filled Dean with dread, the kind that weighed him down and rooted him to the spot.

Cas was out there in the lake. He was out there and he was trapped in the body of a monster, trapped by magic he hadn’t known about. Not that knowing would’ve made a difference.

The answer wasn’t satisfying, not like he’d expected it to be. Instead it gave him more questions, the kind of questions that would be nearly impossible to answer in the way he wanted. Old magic, if that’s even what this was, meant even older answers and Dean wasn’t about to go diving through Port Maren’s dusty archives to find it. That was a job for Charlie because she was trained for it, because she was the librarian.

Rowena would probably know too but Dean didn’t know her. Charlie did though and that meant Dean needed to leave the lighthouse again. It was about time he left anyhow. Getting away from the oppressive walls and the supernatural marvel of it all would be good for him. Too much isolation and soon he'd be raving about peeling yellow wallpaper.

When the impala roared to life and set off down the road towards town, Dean expected relief. What meant him instead was bittersweet, a wave of tired grief he thought he’d managed to outrun. The impala still felt like John’s and despite Dean’s slow recognition of the terrible things his father had done, he still missed him. He missed the man John Winchester had been before the fire: the father who had taken him to a baseball game, who had given him piggy back rides, who had helped him make mother’s day cards. Dean missed the father John Winchester could’ve been had the fire not ruined everything. When he glanced over at the empty passenger seat, his heart panged.

At least he’d only had 4 years of good parents to compare the rest of his life to. Charlie had had thirteen. They’d seen her grow up and had been nothing but supportive and then they’d been ripped away in fire and steel and drunken regret. Try as he might, Dean would never be able to forget her gulping sobs after she’d let her mother go. They were kindred spirits and whether Dean wanted to admit it or not, they were well on their way to being best friends.

Having a best friend was nice.

Dean’s eyebrows knit together in confusion when he pulled up to the library. The closed sign was prominent in the door and the lights were off, leaving the whole place in a state of dark limbo. Charlie wasn’t there and it looked like she hadn’t been for some time. Mild panic spiked his heart rate and he forced himself to stop, white knuckling the wheel until he calmed down. She was probably just sleeping in. Yeah, that sounded right.

He slid from the impala and made the quick walk over to her house, somehow quainter in the light of day than he remembered. Rapping at the door, he called out for her. “Hey kid, are you alive in there? We really gotta talk.”

There was no response and Dean knocked again, harder. “You sleep like the fucking dead I guess. Better open the door before I knock it down. And yes, I’m serious about that threat.”

Still there was no response and Dean’s worry only grew. It wasn’t like Charlie not to respond. Dean thought about calling her but quickly realized when he pulled out his cell that he didn’t actually have her number and couldn’t check up on her. She couldn’t have gone far though. There weren't exactly many places for someone to go in Port Maren. 

Dean ended up at the diner, the smell of freshly brewed shitty coffee and greasy bacon frying hitting his nostrils with a one two punch. His stomach churned when he smelt the bacon but he forced it – and the memory it brought – back down into the depths of his body. A few locals sat at the scattered booths and the counters but Dean ignored them. Their dirty looks meant nothing to him, not when he had a self-imposed mission he needed to complete.

Missouri, at the counter and decked out in her usual uniform, offered Dean a warm smile when he sat. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Almost thought the monster got you.”

“Been a lot happening up at the lighthouse, got a lot sidetracked.” He shrugged, swallowing down the spike of anxiety. Missouri seemed to know too many things. He forced a smile and happily accepted the mug of coffee she poured him.

“There’s something different about you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, mildly concerned. Her tone wasn’t judgmental but there was something in it that worried him. She knew something he hadn’t told her and he didn’t like that.

“You’re lighter, spiritually. You let something go recently, something that was bothering you for a very long time.”

“I did, yeah.”

Her smile was friendly, almost motherly. “Something’s bothering you though, I can see that. You’ve got that look on your face all the men in this town get when they’re about two seconds away from giving themselves the brown bottle flu.”

“Well I quit the brown bottle so it’s not that.” Dean explained, trying to frame the admission as casually as he could. Missouri didn’t need his entire history. “Remember when I came in asking those questions about Castiel Novak?”

“I remember you disagreeing with his preferred choice of pie.”

“I stand by that. Pecan pie sucks. But anyway, I think I found out what happened and I’m not about to get into all the details here because it’s actually fucking insane but I roped Charlie into it and I kind of need to find her. She’s not in the library or at home and I don’t exactly have her number.”

Missouri’s expression shifted, something unreadable but dark crossing her face. She knew something and she didn’t like what she knew. It could’ve been about all manner of things but Dean assumed it was about the lighthouse. It always came back to the lighthouse. He watched as she shifted on her feet before sighing deeply.

“She’s a sweet girl, don’t be dragging her into trouble now. Poor thing’s been through enough.”

“She dragged herself into the trouble. I’m just making sure she doesn’t lose her head.” Dean sighed. “Do you know where she is? I really need to talk to her.”

“Rowena MacLeod’s place, that’s where she’ll be. She came in a few days ago ranting about how hard the woman is to track down and badgered me into giving up her address. I swear she could bully a honey badger into giving up.”

Dean laughed in agreement. “You’re not wrong. Any chance you’ll give me Rowena’s address?”

“The witch of the wood’ll eat you alive, boy.”

“My name’s not Hansel and I don’t like candy so I think I’ll be fine.” Dean retorted, practiced charm slipping onto his face and into his voice. “I should probably save Charlie from whatever she’s gotten herself into though.”

“Take the road back to the lighthouse but take the left path when you reach the fork. She’s about a half hour down that path, can’t miss her place. And Dean, be nice. She is one woman you don’t want to piss off.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Dean polished off his cup of coffee, left a tip for Missouri, and then left the diner. He seemed fine as he drove, fingers tapping the steering wheel but his mind was drifting elsewhere.

The Witch of the Wood.

That was an ominous name if he’d ever heard one. It conjured up spectral images of a crazy white haired woman with flowing black robes and entirely too many cats. She probably had a cauldron, maybe even a bird skull or three. There’d be herbs in her kitchen and volumes of books and probably some kind of secret lair in the basement. Witches always had a secret lair.

Of course those were pop culture references and nothing like actual witches in real life or so he’d been told. Modern witches were probably chill, probably goth with a little collection of crystals or trinkets. They probably had an online grimoire or something. Dean had no idea. The only thing he knew about witches was that their altar candles caused a hell of a lot of residential fires.

When Dean pulled up to her home, his jaw dropped in awe. It was nothing like the ramshackle huts in town or like Charlie’s quaint little starter home. This house towered high over the tree line, wrought iron spires and gothic arches watching the ground below. Neatly maintained gardens and little statues led the way to the door and Dean couldn’t help but stare at how beautiful it was.

“Feel like Guillermo Del Toro would live here.” He mumbled to himself as he followed the stone path to the front door.

Wind chimes and suncatchers and little trinkets hung from the porch and in the windows and Dean noted the suspicious lack of a welcome mat. He reached for the knocker – a terrible wrought iron thing—and knocked once before the door swung open. Expecting the witch of the wood, Dean’s eyes widened when they landed on someone else instead.

Charlie stood there in a long silky nightgown, red hair wild and mussed. She seemed surprised to see Dean, blinking slowly at him until he waved awkwardly. Only then did she seem to clue in, face going beet red.

“Nice to know you weren’t murdered in the woods and dumped into a ravine.” He said dryly, arms crossed over his chest. “Cute nightgown. Very grandma chic.”

“In my defence I didn’t exactly plan on staying over so it’s not like I could bring my comfy pjs or anything.”

A thud followed by a soft curse echoed through the entryway and then there was quiet shuffling as the witch of the wood made herself known. Her nightgown was more elegant than Charlie’s, emerald green silk cut in a devastatingly low neckline and concerningly high slit in the leg. Had Dean not known any better, he would’ve assumed it was lingerie. Hell, maybe it was. Her face, while generally ageless, was older than his own and her eyes doubly so. They’d seen more than enough for a lifetime and Dean felt himself take half a step back underneath their intense scrutiny.

“So you’re the one everyone in town’s having a wee tiff over. Fascinating.”

“Wouldn’t call it a tiff. That implies they care about me and they really don’t.” He replied, meeting her gaze. “You’re not what I pictured.”

“Expecting a black cat and white hair were we?”

“No. You’re just a lot shorter than I thought you’d be.”

Charlie laughed, eyes bouncing between Dean and Rowena. “You’re not gonna make friends like that, dude.”

“Well I’m not trying to so that’s fine. I came out to find you because there’s been developments with the Lake Monster.”

“Yeah well we’ve got some info and stuff here that might be helpful too.” Charlie said, glancing over at Rowena.

Rowena stepped back and waved Dean inside. “Care for a cup of tea?”

“As long as you don’t poison me for calling you short then yeah, I could drink some tea.”

“If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn’t use tea.”

Dean swallowed thickly but followed the pair inside, treading down the rich carpet and into the kitchen which was just as full of herbs as Dean had imagined it to be. He sat at the table and shifted on the hard chair, eyeing Rowena and Charlie as they moved through the kitchen. Rowena moved like she owned the place, which she did, and Charlie deferred to her. There was a silent comfort in the way they moved, a stray hand on a hip here and a gentle nudge there. It didn’t take a genius to see that they’d slept together.

Dean’s first thought was mildly judgmental but he quashed it quickly. Charlie was a fully grown adult who was allowed to sleep with whoever she wanted to, even if the age gap felt slightly questionable. As long as it was consenting then it was fine. Besides, the town was small and Dean doubted there were many good options for lesbians in their 20s. He doubted there were many options for lesbians at all.

“So, what happened at the lighthouse?” Charlie asked as she sat down. “I doubt you’d track me down all the way out here for something small.”

“A lot happened. I listened to the last tape for one.”

“And?”

“It was bad, really bad. Like bones breaking and flesh falling off and screaming until they turned into clicks bad.”

“But that’s not it, is it?”

Dean shook his head. “No, it’s not. I was out during the storm doing my job and I saw it, the monster. I did more than see it. I saved it.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow as she set three cups of tea onto the table, sitting down beside Charlie. “You’ve seen the monster?”

“It was stuck under a rotting beam, had fishing net wrapped around its arms.  I heard it screaming in the storm and did the opposite of a smart thing and went to see what it was that was making that noise. Ended up cutting it free and it ran back to the lake.”

“You saw the entire monster and it didn’t try to kill you?” Charlie’s voice was full of disbelief.

“The first night yeah. The next day I went down to the beach to try and clean up some of the damage and I saw it again. I talked to it, actually. Also sewed up a gash in its tail but that’s a whole other thing.”

“It let you touch it?” Rowena asked, more curious than anything. “I think you should elaborate.”

Charlie nodded in agreement.

“I sat down and started talking and then it popped up and swam closer. I asked if I could take a look at it because I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too hurt from the storm and that’s when I noticed the gash in the tail. I asked if I could sew it up and it let me. Granted it freaked out when I brought out a knife but I got that sorted pretty quickly. But that’s not what the insane part is.”

“Playing doctor to a lake monster isn’t the insane part?”

“No Charlie, it’s not. The insane part is that the monster is Cas.”

Charlie lips pursed like an unimpressed grandmother and Dean knew that if she had been standing that her hands would’ve been on her hips. He watched her face cycle through a million emotions before it settled on suspicion. She had questions, undoubtedly, and Dean was speaking before she could ask them.

“I know I sound like I’m insane or lying to you but I swear that I’m not. That last tape was terrible but I’m convinced Cas documented his own transformation into the monster. It’s the only thing that makes sense with what we know happened to him and the weird shit we’ve seen in the lake. Even if it didn’t, the way it interacted with me tells me I’m right. Brought up little things about Cas, like him sewing up his hand, and the monster looked at me like it knew what I was talking about. I told him I knew what happened and that I saw him and I used his name and he recognized it.”

All Charlie could do was stare in shock as her brain tried to process what Dean was saying. She’d heard the song and seen the eyes and knew the monster was real but knowing that it had a name, that it had been a person once, well that was something else entirely. It was almost too much all at once but the truth always was. She felt Rowena’s hand on her shoulder, grounding and comfortable, and then she was looking at Dean again.

“You’re sure the monster is Cas? Like 100% sure?”

“I would bet the impala on it.”

“Oh fuck, you are serious.”

Rowena, who had been listening like a hawk, rose without a word and excused herself from the kitchen like a woman on a mission. With her gone, Dean grinned at Charlie.

“So you and her, huh? How long’s that been a thing?”

“Like the last two days, ever since I came here to see if she had answers about the monster and what’s going on. Wasn’t planned, just kind of happened.”

“So you just kind of fell into the arms of a beautiful terrifying woman who’s a lot older than you are?”

“It sounds so sordid when you say it like that.” She mumbled, ears turning a delightful shade of pink. “She saw me staring and thought I was attractive and agreed to help research if I would stay for supper and supper turned into spending the night which turned into another night and now it’s been like three days. In my defence there are like zero options here.”

“Not judging, don’t worry. I kind of had a three month long sex bender after my dad died. You think things are gonna get serious?”

Charlie shook her head. “No. She’s cool and hot and really good in bed but we’re getting out of here and going to Cali so I don’t want any strings. Neither does she if I’m being honest. It’s just some fun seeing as I have literally no other options.”

“Well good for you, seriously. Did she help with the research?”

“Did I help?” Rowena asked as she re-entered the kitchen, dropping a large binder onto the table. It landed with a thud and tea sloshed onto the table. “I have an entire binder that I’ve been compiling for years on this very town and its magic so yes, I helped.”

 “Jesus, that’s a lot.”

“Jesus only has a little bit to do with it.” Rowena chuckled. “I’m assuming you know what happened to Elizabeth Maren?”

“I was half out of my mind when you explained it on the tape with Cas but yeah, I know.”

“Good, that makes my life a lot easier. Now what you need to know is that this lake and this town fall upon a spiritual nexus point, a convergence of various factors that keep the veil between our world and the supernatural world thin. On occasion the veil splits and old magic is allowed to seep through which can have all kinds of effects.”

“So magic leaked through with Elizabeth Maren?”

Rowena nodded. “She heard the song of the old magic from deep within the lake and she gravitated towards it, formed a bond with it. Through the lake it could speak to her and her to it and naturally that concerned the god fearing townsfolk enough to commit murder. What they didn’t understand about magic that old and that deep is that cutting someone off from it is like killing them slowly, like withdrawal. She grew sicker and sicker as she stayed away and when she finally came back to it that night, she was born anew and the bond was made stronger.”

Dean’s stomach twisted itself into a knot, a deep ugly emotion taking root. He knew withdrawal all too well and the phantom tug every time he thought of alcohol was nearly impossible to resist.

“When she was about to be thrown into the lake she called out to the old magic one final time. She asked that the lake protect her and her family, that it protect those who treasured the lake and came to it with open honest hearts. She did not cure those who were cold hearted and ignorant, nor did she swear her revenge on those who had wronged her for that went against the very nature of the old magic itself. They threw her – bruised, bloody, and bound hand and foot – into the lake and they never saw her again.”

“But that wasn’t the end.” Dean mumbled. “She transformed, didn’t she? The lake changed her, made her its avatar to give her back her agency and protect her and it from those that wished them harm.”

Rowena nodded. “It did.”

“It’s the blood in the water, isn’t it? She bled into the water and she changed and Cas bled into the water and he changed.”

“It can’t just be the blood though.” Charlie interrupted. “I bled into the lake as a kid and you’ve bled into the lake and neither of us are walking around like the creature from the black lagoon.”

“Intent is half the battle, I suspect. Elizabeth had a bond with the lake and the magic and from the short time I knew Castiel, he had every intent of taking care of the lake and ensuring it remained protected. As a child you wouldn’t have intended to protect the lake and I don’t suspect Dean has any intention of protecting the lake either.”

“So he became a victim just because he wanted to help the lake? That’s so fucked up.”Dean mumbled. “He didn’t ask for that, to be made into a monster and trapped in the lake without his consent. You haven’t heard those tapes, I have. He went out crying and screaming and begging whoever was listening to tell his family what happened. He transformed completely alone and terrified and it’s not fucking right.”

“Magic doesn’t care about what’s right or wrong. It has no concept of morality. The lake needed a protector and willing or not it found that protector in Castiel Novak.”

“Is there a way we could reverse the magic?” Charlie asked.

Rowena’s eyes narrowed and she chewed the inside of her cheek as she thought. The question was simple but the mechanics behind it were not. Blood magic wasn’t just something that could be reversed or thrown away like a broken toy. It was primordial and demanding and intense. It was the monster under the bed, the kind of thing that flowed through the veins of every single living breathing thing. Blood magic was the foundation of all life.

“The short answer is possibly.”

“What’s the long answer?” Dean asked quickly. “Because Cas has been suffering for almost six years in that lake and he deserves to be freed. He has people he loves that love him and miss him.”

“The long answer is that I need to do more research and I need more information, more ingredients.”

“Like what?”

“A description of the monster would help. Ideally I’d have something that belonged to the monster, a tooth or a nail or something. Biological material is needed for blood magic of any kind. With that I could at the very least get started but this is involved and it will take time and I can’t do it alone.”

Dean paused here and turned his head, eyes focused on his leg as he scrounged around his pockets. From them he pulled five silvery scales, four teeth, a spike, two nails, and the mother of pearl mussel shell that had been left on the rock for him.

“Will this do?”

“Where did you get all of this?”

“Like I said, Cas and I have a bond and a trust. He’s given them to me, every single one. The scales I peeled from his tail myself when I sewed him up. Will this help you do what you need to do?”

Rowena nodded and collected the items, placing them all in a large Tupperware container. “Do you think you would be able to get some blood from him? That would be the most helpful for me in terms of expediting the process.”

“I can try but I can’t promise anything. He almost knocked me into the water when I peeled the scales off.”

“Trying would be appreciated.”

Dean nodded and the kitchen descended into an uncomfortable silence as Rowena collected the tea cups and the monster items, setting them on her kitchen counter. Charlie glanced at Dean before she too vanished, wandering off deeper into the house in search of something else. Only then did Dean speak, eyes trained on Rowena.

“Missouri told me not to piss you off, I’d be curious to know why that is.”

Rowena turned, her grin unsettling. “I have a knack for making problems disappear, simple as that. Charlie’s told me a little bit about you but I find myself surprised by you.”

“Yeah, why’s that?”

“You’ve lived a life of tragedy, I see it etched in the way you move and hold yourself and even the way you speak, but you don’t have that air about you. She tells me you helped people before taking this posting and here you are, doing all of this for a man you don’t know. Not many people would be willing to do that. Not many people would’ve helped Charlie grieve her mother either.”

Dean shrugged, eyes cast down to the table. He was uncomfortable with the observation. “I never had someone there to help me when I needed it most and it’s a shitty place to be in so if I can make sure that doesn’t happen for other people then I will. As for Cas, he’s somebody and he deserves the help as much as everyone else. It’s just the right thing to do.”

“You are full of surprises, Dean Winchester.”

“At least I’m not full of shit I guess. You and Charlie surprised me, I won’t lie. Isn’t it a little weird with you both being redheads?”

“It’s only as weird as you make it.” She shrugged. “Quite honestly, the poor thing was so tongue tied when she first saw me that it was impossible to resist. I suspect she has big things in her future.”

“I do too.”

When Charlie reappeared she was back in her regular clothes and had a bag slung over her shoulder. She didn’t say much as she paused by Rowena, kissing her cheek in a shy goodbye. Her and Dean left the house together, stopping beside their cars.

“I think we’re gonna get answers, Dean. Like actual answers.”

“Me too.” He replied. “Now come on, let’s get the hell out of here. You’ve got a library to run and I’ve got a lighthouse and monster to deal with.”

The drive back to the lighthouse was markedly different than the drive in the morning. This drive felt cautiously optimistic, like the tides had reversed and Dean was no longer being washed out to sea. He knew what had happened to Cas and now there was someone who could help figure out how it happened. It was the potential reversal that gave Dean the most hope. While it wasn’t guaranteed, the possibility was enough.

Cas could be brought back. He could be saved.

Chapter Text

It had taken almost six months but Dean had finally found the one place at the lighthouse that had even a bar of service. The lighthouse itself was completely useless from top to bottom, a veritable concrete fortress preventing all signals from getting through. Similarly useless was the beach, no signal regardless of where Dean walked. The cottage proved to be unhelpful up until he had to climb onto the roof.

Some poor seagull had gotten itself stuck in one of the shingles and its squawks had woken Dean at an ungodly hour. He dragged himself from bed and climbed up onto the roof with a rickety ladder he’d found tucked away in the lighthouse. A seagull alarm clock was the last thing he wanted.

“Please don’t cave in and kill me.” Dean mumbled as he finally climbed onto the roof, the shingles rough and damp beneath his bare hands. They bordered on waterlogged and Dean was hardly surprised. Everything in this godforsaken place was damp.

The seagull stared at him with beady eyes and all of the rage of a medium sized bird, wings flapping and feathers flying. Dean had had the foresight to put gloves on and crawled toward the bird, throwing a towel on top of it in order to calm it the hell down. He wasn’t about to be sliced at by some bird who was too stupid to know how roofing shingles worked. When the bird had calmed down, Dean reached for it and very carefully dislodged its foot from the shingle it was trapped in.

“Please be good. I freed you.” He murmured as he pulled the towel off the bird. It stared at him for a whole three seconds before it yelled in his face and flew off, leaving a trail of feathers in its wake.

Sighing in relief, Dean turned and glanced out at the horizon. The sun had long since made its way into the sky and the way it hung just behind the clouds was surprisingly beautiful. It was the kind of moment worthy of a picture and Dean pulled out his phone to do just that. He was sentimental in his newly rediscovered sobriety.

That’s when he saw it, the single bar in the corner of his phone lit up like a string of Christmas lights.

“Holy shit.” He whispered, staring at the bar like he’d just found the Holy Grail. “There’s actual service.”

The service was utterly unhelpful given that he didn’t have anyone he immediately needed to connect to but it was still there. Minutes passed as he stared at the bar and as they did, his mind drifted. He’d told himself ages ago in town that he was going to make an effort to move on with his life, that he was going to reconnect with Sam and go to Cali and live it up. What better way to reconnect than with a phone call. Best case Sam answered and they bonded and worst case, he didn't and they just didn't talk. It was a win-lose and that beat lose-lose by a mile. 

Dean pulled up Sam’s contact and hit dial before he could convince himself not to. His heart beat in his throat as he waited and then the phone rang. One ring, two rings, four rings and Sam still hadn’t picked up. His hope was dwindling and just as despair began to set in, there was a voice on the other end.

“Hello?”

Sam’s voice, tired and full of sleep but real, echoed. Dean responded quickly, trying not to trip over his words.

“Sammy, hey.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” He said, trying to slow his mind down enough to have an actual conversation. Stumbling over his words would be catastrophic. “How are you?”

“Fine, other than you calling and waking me up at the ass crack of dawn. What do you need?”

Dean swallowed thickly, hand trembling as it held the phone. He had a million things he wanted to tell Sam, a million things he’d planned to say but none of them came out. His mind was blank and he was scrambling to find the words to make up for years of radio silence.

“I don’t need anything, I just – I wanted to see how you’re doing since I missed your last call. How’s living with the girlfriend?”

Yeah, that was a good avenue of conversation. Nothing too invasive and something open-ended enough to get Sam actually talking.

“It’s great, she’s really great. She gets the insane articling schedule I’ve got going on right now.”

“That’s fourth year law right?”

“Technically yeah. Basically like an internship I guess. Keeps me busy and the pay’s not nearly as good as it should be but it’s whatever. Really finding out I don’t like criminal law so that’s something new I guess.” Sam said. There was a pause and some background shuffling as Sam moved, probably to another room to avoid waking his girlfriend. “How are you doing?”

Dean nearly laughed at how loaded a question that was. Surprise lingered in the back of his mind too, surprise that Sam had actually asked about him. He had no idea how he was really doing and any sort of honesty would land him a wellness check that he didn’t want. What he settled on was a vague slightly altered version of the truth.

“I’m okay, doing better than January. Made peace and shit with dad dying and selling the house but that’s kind of what I’m supposed to be doing now. I’m sober now.”

Sam sounded surprised. “How long?”

“Couple weeks so not long but better than it has been.” Dean admitted. “Left the fire station, I’m at a lighthouse now for a temporary contract.”

“Ran away to find yourself?”

“Something like that. But that’s not really why I’m calling. Well it sort of is but it’s not the only reason.”

Sam’s eyebrow raise was evident through the phone. “Gonna have to elaborate on that one. I'm not psychic.”

“Look, I know we’ve had our differences and haven’t talked and things have been weird for years and that might’ve been fine back then but it’s not fine now. I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and shit and I’m not okay with not talking anymore. I don’t got a lot left but I’ve got you and we’re family, even if neither of us like it. We both fucked shit up but I want to fix it.”

“You… want to fix our relationship? Like put in the actual work and fix it fix it?”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve been holding on to a lot of shit and I know you have and it doesn’t suit either of us anymore. I want to talk, like face to face. Been long enough. Besides, you're old enough now to be a reasonable adult and maybe admit you're partially to blame.”

Silence followed for several minutes and Dean felt the bile creeping up the back of his throat. Sam was going to shut him down and laugh at him and tell him to take a hike. That seemed to be what he’d always done so why would this be an exception. But Sam didn’t and when he finally replied, his voice was softer than it had been in years.

“Where are you now?”

“Port Maren, it’s a small shitty lake town. But I was planning to come to Cali when the contract’s up. I wanted to talk to you in person but figured you’d probably hate an ambush.”

“How long’s left on your contract?”

“A while still. Probably won’t make it to Cali until the new year. Think you’d be willing to meet me then? If you're not still dying in your articling job.”

Another pause and then Sam spoke again. “Yeah, I can do the new year. Been thinking about the call you left when dad died. I was an asshole and I should’ve called you back. I’m sorry.”

The ‘I’m sorry’ hit Dean like an arrow through the heart, piercing right through his armour. He’d waited years to hear those two words and here they were, a genuine apology from the mouth of the brother he felt like he’d failed. His hope was bolstered now and he couldn’t help the relieved smile on his face.

“Shit happens. Lord knows a call from your estranged brother about your estranged dad’s death was probably the last thing you needed to hear. But thanks for the apology, it means a lot. I’ve got stuff I gotta finish up here but I’m gonna make good on my promise. I’m coming to Cali in the new year and I’m going to see you.”

“Yeah, okay. The new year. Let me know what your plans are and I’ll make them work. I promise.”

“Thanks Sammy, seriously.”

“It’s Sam. Sammy is for a chubby 12 year old. But take care of yourself Dean. Call me and keep me updated.”

“I will.” Dean whispered, relief evident. “Bye Sam.”

“Bye Dean.”

When the call ended, Dean sprawled out on the roof with a laugh of relief. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he let them fall, unable to stop himself. He’d talked to Sam and more than that, he’d built a bridge between them. Sam wanted to talk, he was willing to meet and hear Dean out. That was huge, monumental even. Never in a million years had he imagined that Sam would be willing to engage with him again but it had happened.

Repairing familial bonds and saving marine biologist turned lake monster were apparently both within the realm of possibility.

He climbed down from the roof carefully, waiting until his feet hit the solid ground before he looked around. There were two options for him: one, returning to the cottage and lighthouse and continuing his clean up after the storm or two, a slow meander down the beach to expel the energy buzzing beneath his skin. Dean opted for number two.

He made a quick pit stop at the cottage to pick up the first aid kit just in case Cas showed and then he wandered the shoreline like he had a million times before. Only this time he wasn’t concerned with the fish that had beached themselves or the clumps of algae that squished beneath his boots. His eyes roamed the surface of the lake, darting around looking for any sign of Cas he could find. The lake was still and Dean pursed his lips before calling out, voice echoing in the expanse.

“Cas! Are you around? I wanna talk!”

A ripple far out in the lake caught Dean’s attention and he knew with certainty that it was Cas. Nothing else in the lake made ripples like that. He made his way to the flat rock as the ripples grew closer and when his heart beat, it wasn’t from anxiety. It was curiosity and optimism and a blooming friendship he didn’t quite understand. He’d barely interacted with Cas as the monster and had never interacted while he was human but Dean viewed Cas as a friend regardless. It was a strange one sided affection that was beginning to feel more and more reciprocal by the day.

Cas was in the water by the rock by the time Dean made it over, head poking out from the surface as he watched Dean with familiar eyes. Dean sat like he always did, criss cross and comfortable as he offered Cas a smile. Absurd as ever, Dean was almost comforted by it. A monster and a man recovering from surviving one read entirely too much like a bad movie he’d pay money to see in a shitty theatre.

“It’s a nice day isn’t it.” Dean said, dropping his hands into his lap. “Not too hot or cloudy or anything like that. Probably too cold for a swim though.”

Cas blinked at him, head cocked to the side as it so often was. There was a quiet click with a raised tone as if Cas agreed and Dean was smiling like an idiot.

Now that he’d seen Cas in all of his monstery glory and reconciled that it was a man beneath all of the animal parts, there was something terribly beautiful in the way he looked. Golden eyes and sharp teeth and silvery scales like a living pokemon. Dean ached to run his hands down the tail, to feel the powerful muscle again. The adrenaline rush had been like nothing else he’d experienced. Even Cas’ head tilt felt uniquely human and it was that movement, that unspoken connection, that drew Dean to Cas despite his misgivings.

“It’s been a few weeks since I sewed up your tail, how’s it doing?”

Cas blinked again before he was grabbing the rock and pulling himself out of the water. He landed beside Dean and the movement sent water soaking through Dean’s shirt. The shrug of Cas’ shoulders was almost apologetic as he situated himself, lifting his tail and throwing it across Dean’s lap. It was a brazen move, full of trust, and Dean’s pants were just as damp as his shirt now.

The sutures on the tail had held for the most part though a few at the top had been ripped open and the scabbing looked inflamed. It wasn’t infected but it was irritated and Dean felt bad. His eyes slid past the sutures and scales to the wispy bits that seemed to hang from Cas’ tail. Long and red and tipped on the end with a silvery blue bulb, they were beautiful.

“Can I touch your tail?” Dean asked, meeting Cas’ gaze. “I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to feel the sutures. I might have to redo a couple of the ones at the top.”

Cas clicked again, the same raising tone that Dean was beginning to understand meant yes.

Dean’s fingertips skimmed the smooth scales with something akin to reverence, like he was honoured that he was allowed to touch. The sutures beneath his fingers were rough and broke the texture but they’d been necessary and it seemed like they were holding well. When he reached the wispy bits protruding from either side of Cas’ tail, Dean was surprised to feel how flexible they were. He’d assumed they were bone but they weren’t. Cartilage with thin tissue covering it felt more likely.

“I definitely want to touch up the sutures at the top. Don’t think I did them tight enough.”

Cas made no effort to move from his position, simply staying where he was as he watched Dean. His eyes followed Dean’s movement as he reached for the first aid kit, staring as the needle was threaded. The cool tip of the needle made him tense up and that’s when he sought Dean’s gaze, sought the reassurance he’d come to expect.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be cold and uncomfortable but it won’t last long.” Dean murmured, slowing his movements. He kept his hand splayed on Cas’ tail and held it in place while he worked in the three sutures he needed to replace. When they were done he set the needle aside but kept his hands splayed on Cas’ tail, a grounding presence for both of them.

“Just take it as easy as you can for a little while while you heal, okay? Gonna take longer if you do like acrobatic tricks underwater or go after the fast fish.”

Cas clicked again, a longer string this time as if he were trying to talk to Dean. When Dean didn’t understand, Cas’ clicks turned annoyed and then he reached out with one of his claws. His talon tipped hand tapped at Dean’s scarred hand and then dragged upwards to where the scars faded out on his bicep. His clicks were open ended, questioning almost.

“Accident at my old job, needed skin grafts and physical therapy.” Dean explained. Had it been anyone else he would’ve flinched away from their touch but this felt different. This was questioning and curious, not invasive and entitled. Cas wanted to know what happened and couldn’t use his words to ask. “Got a lot of scars all over the place. Kind of what happens when you had an abusive dad and decided firefighting was a good career choice. I don’t regret it though. I like helping people.”

Cas clicked again and then he was launching himself off of Dean and back into the lake. The splash soaked through whatever dry clothing Dean had left and then he was sputtering, spitting lake water out as he stared at the ripples. “Okay, that was kind of rude. Don't ghost a guy after he reveals trauma all casual-like.”

He thought about leaving but something kept him rooted to the spot. The conversation between hum and Cas wasn’t done and he got the sense Cas didn’t like unfinished business. They were a lot alike in that regard. Dean simply packed the first aid kit back up and waited in silence, watching the surface of the lake.

Cas returned a few minutes later and heaved himself back onto the rock. He reached for Dean’s arms without warning, spreading thick dark green clumps of algae over the scars. Too stunned to speak or react, Dean let it happen. When Cas seemed satisfied with the spread, he stretched his tail back over Dean’s lap and gestured between the sutures and the algae covered arms.

“Is this supposed to help my scars like the sutures helped your tail?” Dean asked.

A click of affirmation and then Dean’s smile widened.

“Well thanks, that’s awfully nice of you.” Dean murmured. “You know Cas, I’ve been reading all your journals and I know that’s a massive invasion of your privacy but I was curious and you were mysterious. You’re an interesting guy, for a Canadian. Can’t understand any of the French you use but I get the sentiment. Been thinking a lot about what you wanted to say to Meg and your mom and your brother.”

Cas’ tail tensed, body tightening. Dean felt it on his lap but kept talking. He knew Cas wouldn’t hurt him, not after everything that had happened over the last few weeks. This felt important to say, important for Cas to know.

“I’ve got a friend named Charlie and she’s really good with technology. I got her to look up your family to see where they live and what’s going on and I think they’re all still doing good. Now I know you wanted everyone to hear all of those things because you thought you were dying but you’re not dead so I’m not telling them. We’re gonna find a way to get you back to the way you were and then you can tell them yourself when you see them again.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, tail flicking in irritation. Dean was well meaning but apparently stubborn and a little clueless. There was no way to reverse this, didn’t he know that? He’d be stuck as a monster in this lake forever and all he wanted was his family to know what happened, for Dean to tell them what happened. He could try to explain that Dean but all it would come out as were a series of irritated clicks the man wouldn’t understand.

“Yeah yeah I know you’re annoyed with me but I really don’t care.” Dean said, still looking at Cas. “We’ve looped Rowena in on this and she knows a lot, knows enough to help. It’s gonna take some time but I’m not gonna give up and she won’t either and neither will you. You’ve survived this long, you can survive a little bit longer.”

Cas huffed in annoyance but made no move to argue. What he did do was reach for Dean’s chest, splaying his reptilian hand directly over Dean’s heart. It beneath his chest, speeding up at the contact, and Cas grinned toothily. Everyone was the same. He clicked again, an attempt to explain himself though he knew it would fall on deaf ears.

Dean’s smile faltered slightly, replaced with something weary and forlorn. It was resignation, the kind that spoke of a promise that had yet to be made and would never be kept. He reached out with his own hand and placed it on Cas’ chest, fingers splayed over his heart. The beat beneath his hand was steady.

“I promise, Cas.” Dean whispered. “I promise we’ll get you through this. From one former lost cause to another, we’ll both survive this.”

A beat passed between them, so loud in the silence it was almost deafening. The air seemed to thicken and Dean’s chest ached with the weight of the promise. It was an impossible promise for an impossible situation with a nearly impossible solution but Dean didn’t care. The promise offered hope, offered a chance at salvation, and that was everything. When Dean dropped his hand he took another deep breath, swallowing thickly. There was a request burning a hole through him and he needed to get it out.

“Can I touch you?”

Cas’ nonexistent brows furrowed and he clicked hesitantly.

“Not in a weird way, I promise. I’m not some kind of perv or anything. I just – I’ve never seen anything like you before and you’re really beautiful.”

Another moment passed and Cas nodded, unwavering gaze trained on Dean.

Dean started with the tail over his lap, hands skimming over the wisps and the scales and the muscle tensing beneath his touch. It was unbelievable the way his scales shone in the sun like a million little disco balls, silvery and white and all at once. They weren’t dull, not like Dean had come to expect. His hands reached the fins that frilled out at Cas’ waist, ghosting over the ridges in the membrane.

“I always thought Hollywood was doing mermaids wrong.” Dean mused, fingertips tracing the jut of Cas’ hipbones. Cas shivered beneath him and Dean pretended not to notice. “Never thought they’d be fully half human, just doesn’t make sense with the way water is and the way we are. This makes sense, the way you are. You’re still humanoid but there’s no mistaking you’re something else too.”

Dean’s hand skimmed up to Cas’ chest, running past the smattering of scales on the other side human feeling flesh. The muscle beneath this skin was just as taut and powerful as the muscles in his tail. It was only as Dean ran his hands up Cas’ pecs that he paused, blinking slowly.

“You have nipples?”

Cas glanced down at Dean’s hands and then back up at his face, blinking at him as if he’d just asked the most idiotic question possible. Embarrassment coloured Dean’s cheeks.

“Sorry, dumb question. Just wasn’t expecting that I guess.” He mumbled. “I mean it makes sense if your chest is vaguely human but fish don’t have nipples and I kind of assumed that applied to you since you’re like 80% fish. Would a mermaid have nipples then? Would she even have tits? Because from an evolutionary aquatic creature perspective that just doesn’t seem possible. It’s like manatees or whales or normal fish have tits and that would create so much drag in the water.”

Cas blinked at Dean and made a sound somewhere between a click and a huff, a bit like a seal would. It took Dean all of three minutes to realize it was Cas’ version of a laugh and then he grinned, laughing back at the ridiculousness of the situation. He was feeling up a merman on a beach and talking about tits. It was like some kind of absurdist painting, some bizzaro world where nothing made sense. Freud would have a field day.

“Jesus Christ you must think I’m insane.” He laughed, bringing his hands up to feel the spikes on Cas’ shoulders. “Maybe I am, just a little but I don’t care. This whole thing’s ridiculous but it’s fun too. Hell it's the most fun I’ve had in years. Probably the most fun you’ve had in years.”

Cas nodded his head in total agreement.

Dean’s expression shifted when he brought his hands up to feel Cas’ face, cupping it with a surprising tenderness. The scales were rougher here, battered from use, but Dean didn’t seem to mind. He could feel the delicate bone structure beneath his hands and when he closed his eyes, he could picture the human face he’d memorized from the id badge he’d found. Thumbs stroked at Cas’ cheeks and then Dean was tilting his head to the side, chewing his lip.

“I think you’re one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen. Scary as hell but pretty too.”

The tumble of clicks and whistles out of Cas’ mouth was unintelligible but he made no effort to move away from Dean’s touch.

“This is probably the first time someone’s really looked at you in the last six year. That’s kinda sad but don’t worry, I get it. No one really sees me either.”

Cas knew he couldn’t respond the way he wanted to and the frustration cut through him like a knife. Rather than try to communicate he simply turned and slipped away back into the lake. If he had been able to speak, to tell Dean in human words what he wanted to, his reply would be simple.

I see you, Dean. I see you.

Chapter Text

Tucked into bed with a cup of tea and one of Cas’ old journals, Dean was unwinding before bedtime. It had become habitual now, the rereading of happy entries now that he knew Cas was still out there. This particular entry was one of his favourites.

There’s no love lost between big chain bookstores and myself. Chain stores lack everything that make bookstores one of my favourite places to be in. They don’t have the dog eared already annotated books that someone clearly loved enough to mark up. There’s no old book smell, no potted plants, and no questionably hired employees who know just a little too much about you from the types of books you read.

Big chains have stupidly organized sections and plushies and Heather’s Picks which is just a load of corporate bs. We all know you don't actually read every single book, Heather. They have boring uniforms and employees that don’t care and overpriced books and that’s no fun. I don’t walk into a chain store and feel good about myself or my purchases. I walk into a chain bookstore and feel judged because I’m picking up a book on arctic char and not the latest celebrity memoir ghost written by someone arguably more talented than half the well known authors. I mean artic char probably aren't everyone's cup of tea but I think they're lovely. 

My favourite place is this little hole in the wall tucked away between a Vietnamese place and an accountant’s office. Tome Raiders is everything I want in a bookstore. It’s cluttered but not enough to feel like books are being hoarded, the shelves are always almost overstocked, and there are no perfect displays of what books are popular or in or should be read by your book club on the third Thursday of every month. They’ve got a gross carpet over the hardwood floors and a lazy cat that wanders the stacks and several questionable employees. By questionable I mean gay and alternative and incredible. One of them asked me once if I was really gay because an awful lot of my books had women on the cover. The answer is I am and it’s not my fault that horror novel covers from the 80s have half naked women on them. Still don't get how me having covers with half-naked women questions my sexuality. I can appreciate the aesthetic of a woman without wanting to sleep with her. Lesbians probably do the same thing with us.

They have an incredible non-fiction selection that’s surprisingly up to date and broadly inclusive. I found a novel I’ve been looking for for close to a decade and while the book itself is horrible and the theory very much a product of its time, it’s still nice to see. Part of me thinks that they stock all of the aquatic nonfiction because they know that I’m in there every other week looking to add to my collection and I really appreciate it. I’m more than happy to spend my money somewhere where they cater to what I like. Ethical consumerism parce que we can never escape the hell of capitalism but we can make it marginally better.

My only wish for that place is that they add an old overstuffed armchair in the one corner that’s empty. Sometimes I like to sit and read a chapter before I decide to buy a book but I feel like an ass for standing in the aisles and taking up space. That chair would solve all of the problems and probably get them more business. It’d be a good place for Dewey to nap as well. Dewey’s the resident store cat and yes, he’s named after the dewey decimal system because of course he is. He’s an asshole but we have a begrudging respect for each other. He doesn’t trip me as I wander the aisles and I don’t harass him for pets and affection.

I often think about bringing someone to Tome Raiders for a date, just to see what happens. The whole idea is très simple but maximized for chaos. I bring them in with me but don’t tell them anything about the store and watch for their initial reaction. If they’re awestruck and smiling then I know I’ve chosen well but if they’re dismissive or judgemental, I’ve chosen wrong. Judgment about mom and pop bookstores is wrong, un drapeau rouge s'il vous plait. I’d ask them what their favourite childhood book was and what the last book they read was about. I’d ask about genre, about author, about everything. What people read says a lot about who they are as a person.

The first book I read as a child was Le Petit Prince et c’est un classique par un raison! After that I read a lot of Victor Hugo for the French but that was more for school and less for enjoyment. If you want to scar your children like maman did to me, have them read the Animorph series by K. A Applegate. Nothing says quality literature like shapeshifting children, an alien genocide engineered by pre-teens, and war crimes! I will never forget The Hidden and that ant. That made The Fly look like kindergarten. Maybe that series is the reason I like horror novels, je ne sais pas.

Once we’ve shared and have an understanding of what the other likes, I’d have us split up and pick out a book for the other person to read. I’d pick something they’d like but haven’t read before or maybe something I’ve read that I know they’d like. It makes the most sense. We don’t tell the other person what they’re getting until after we’ve paid. We leave after that, go to one of our places, and then have a nice meal and curl up on the furniture and read together. Is it simple? Yes. But I think it would be fun regardless.

Gabriel would call me boring for that, would say something like tu ne saurais pas ce qui est excitant si ça te mordait le tchou. To that I say fuck off and let me enjoy my simple pleasures. I'd rather not have exciting bite me in the ass. We can’t all be mega pervers comme il. Meg would be less overtly judgmental about the experience but would critique the book choice intensely. She’d be all about whatever the newest dark romance novel of the time is and not so receptive to everything else. Sometimes I wonder if I should be concerned about her. That worry fades tres rapide every time.

One day I’m going to reorganize my bookshelves and make everything neat. Maybe I’ll do that when I get out of here in half a year. Yeah, I will do that.

Dean closed the journal with an amused smile before he set it on the nightstand and turned the lamp off, plunging the bedroom into darkness. Sleep came over him like waves on the shore, a gentle lapping bringing him out into the deep of his unconscious mind. A haunting melody rose as the wind picked up and Dean rolled onto his back, listening intently.

Cas was singing again, if that was what it could be called. He sang every night, keened and cried and called out to a god that had long stopped listening to his cries. It was beautiful and haunted and it broke Dean’s heart.

“Soon, Cas. We’ll get your answers soon.”

Dean drifted off to Cas’ mournful cries, heart twisting in his chest.

~

The building in front of Dean was like something ripped from the pages of a fairytale. Ivy clung to the red brick as it climbed toward the sky and sun shone through the stained glass windows, undoubtedly painting the floor in brilliant swaths of rainbow light. Even the door, a rich walnut with a gold painted knocker, was warm and inviting. Dean tipped his head up and stared at the sign, his mouth crinkling into a grin.

Tome Raiders.

He’d passed the bookstore a million and one time and this was the first time he’d felt compelled to stop. Something about the store called to him and for once he was willing to listen to it. Pulling the door open and stepping inside, Dean was transported to a world he’d never seen before.

Wooden shelves rose up on either side of him and all he could see when he swivelled his head were stacks upon stacks of books. They poured from the shelves as if they were overflow and Dean had to sidestep to avoid a stack of Aasimov on his right. Hardwood flooring creaked beneath his feet and the carpet so filled with dirt it was grey and when Dean inhaled, he was met with the scent of old paper – something musty, a little spicy, and oddly comforting.

To his right was the checkout counter and Dean chanced a glance at the cashier, eyebrow raised. Blue black hair, piercings, tattoos, all of it said she was alt and intimidating and the kind of gen z’er that would take him down a peg with a single look. He knew better than to look at her wrong and so he turned on his heels to wander the store and see what he could find. His fingertips brushed the cracked flaking spines of the well-loved books as he wandered, taking in all of the titles.

Let the Right One In.

The Exorcist.

The Only Good Indians.

Cujo.

Dean recognized two of them but he knew the others were horror too. He thought about staying and pulling one of the titles but something he couldn’t see was calling him to him and he wanted to answer. The thud of his boots softened as his feet hit the carpet and then Dean was face to face with the aisle he had been looking for. Floor to ceiling was stuffed with the classics and Dean grinned.

“Hello my pretties.” He mumbled to himself, still feeling along the spines.

With each pass of his eyes he felt himself fall a little deeper into the literary rabbit hole of nostalgia. He’d read more than he’d expected to as a child, used the written words as an escape from his hellish life. King wrote fantastical horrors and those horrors weren’t real and Dean loved it. Those horrors would wake him up in the middle of the night and steal his breath away. Aasimov wrote of aliens and utopian futures and gave Dean the chance to daydream about what his life could be if he lived that long.

Vonnegut was where Dean had really fallen in love with reading. He was a mix of realism and fantastic, a strange combination that made Dean laugh, cry, and live all at once. His writing was uniquely human and punchy. It was everything Dean wanted.

Dean’s eyes landed on two familiar words and without so much as a second thought, he reached for it. His fingers brushed something warm and he turned, startled. Turning, Dean’s eyes fell on the man next to him. Dark well-worn jeans over muscular thighs matched a navy blue t-shirt tucked under a squid patterned button down shirt. Dean blinked slowly as his eyes settled on the man’s face, angular cheekbones and blue eyes like an oncoming storm.

“You’ve got good taste.” Dean mumbled. Heat pooled in his gut as the man studied him, the familiarity of his cocked head slamming into Dean all at once. This was Cas in all of his muscular nerdy French Canadian marine biologist glory.

“Could say the same about you. Takes a well-read person to know Vonnegut, that or you’re a pretentious college student.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he let his hand fall to his side. “Do I look like a pretentious college student to you?”

“That depends on what else you read.”

“Kerouac won’t win me any points, everyone reads King, and Aasimov feels irrelevant in today’s climate even though he isn’t so none of those are great. I could list off the classics but that’s boring so how about some Shirley Jackson, maybe a little Ania Ahlborn. Hell, I’ll even throw in some Thomas Harris.”

Cas thought for a moment, tugging his bottom lip with his teeth, His gaze never wavered as he stared at Dean and only when the tips of Dean’s ears turned a shade of pink did Cas speak. He was amused, playful even. “You fit the horror vibe, c’est classique without being too classic. Had you said Dracula or Frankenstein I may have judged you but name dropping Shirley Jackson was a smart choice. You seem like a haunted house horror man.”

“You’re not wrong there.” Dean agreed as he leaned against the shelf. “Obviously you like horror and sci-fi but there’s more layers to you if your button up is any indication. It’s very Dad on tropical vacation.”

“You don’t like it?”

Dean’s gaze was deliberate as he dragged his eyes down Cas’ chest and torso and then back up, lingering on his arms. He tried to come across as nonchalant and amused, casually flirtatious.

“I never said that.”

Cas raised an eyebrow as an easygoing grin settled on his face. “I like aquatic horror. It relies on a completely different set of rules that set it apart from other subgenres. You ever read any?”

“Not really. Never found much I liked. You got any recs?”

“I do. Care to follow me through the stacks?”

“Are you going to lead me to a secret room where the blue haired employees meet to ritually sacrifice one customer a month so the store can stay open? Because I really gotta tell you, blue haired chicks aren’t my thing and I only do ritual sacrifice every third Thursday of every fourth month.”

Cas turned his head and laughed. Rich and warm, the sound cut right into Dean’s chest and settled there. The easygoing smile and relaxed posture only made the heat rise more and dean swore he was blushing despite himself.

“You’re incredibly strange.” Cas said as he began to walk, glancing back to ensure Dean was in tow. He was.

“Just means I’m not boring. I’m Dean by the way.”

“Castiel.”

Cas led them through three aisles in the store before he stopped in his tracks, crouching down to the floor. An orange cat lay stretched out in front of them, golden eyes watching the pair with mild interest.

“Bonjour mon petit ami,” Cas cooed as he reached out to pet the cat. "Tuees presque aussi mignon que mon ami nouvel.”

Dean had no idea what Cas had just said other than it had to do with little friends. Bits of pieces of the language came to him but nothing stayed stuck. It was all a little too cerebral for his taste. He watched Cas rifle through the bottom shelf before pulling two books from the bottom shelf and rising back to his full height.

“How scientific do you like your horror?” He asked Dean.  “Because we can either go if the thing was aquatic or if Jaws had mermaids.”

“How would jaws with mermaids even work? Are they still going to need a bigger boat?”

Cas laughed again before he handed Dean one of the books. “Yes, they’ll still need a bigger boat. Give that one a try and see if you like it.”

Dean nodded and scanned the cover of the book. Into the Drowning Deep by Mira Grant. Something about the title felt intimately familiar but he couldn’t quite place what about it he recognized. In the end he accepted the book, tucking it under his arm.

“Only seems fair that I give you a book recommendation too. Are we sticking with horror or do you want a surprise?”

Cas stopped again, deliberately taking in Dean’s appearance. Green eyes, cocky smirk, smattering of freckles like a constellation across his face, all of it screamed trouble. Luckily, Cas seemed to find joy in trouble.

“You seem full of surprises so surprise me.”

Dean’s grin said it all as he practically dragged Cas back three shelves. He’d spotted the book almost as soon as he’d started scouring the shelves and when he pulled it out, a familiar cover stared back at him. A tree, the devil, and a sickly yellow sky.

“This is her best work if you ask me.” Dean said as he handed over the book, watching Cas examine it carefully.

“Seed?”

“Just trust me on this one. It’s really heartbreaking but in like the best way. The ending left me speechless.”

“Does that happen a lot, you being left speechless?”

Dean blinked, warmth burrowing further into his chest. He saw Cas’ game now and he respected it. “Only when devastatingly handsome strangers flirt with me in old bookshops. Makes me go all weak in the knees like a fairytale princess.”

“Je gage que tu es un problème. ” Cas chuckled, eyes taking another drag up and down Dean. He reached for the book he’d handed Dean, cracking open the cover as he pulled a pen out of his pocket. The pen scribbled a phone number across the page before Cas slipped it into his pocket and handed the book back to Dean. “You’re lucky I like trouble. Give me a call when you finish the book.”

Dean watched Cas vanish into the stacks, releasing a pent up breath. That man was bad horny decision incarnate and Dean was all out of good celibate decision making skills.

He woke with a jolt, the familiar sensation of falling through the air escaping from his limbs through his extremities. Dean’s blurry vision faded into the ceiling laced with a constellation of cracks he’d spent the last several months staring at. With the ceiling came the rushing disappoint of knowing exactly where he was: in a shitty bed in a shitty lighthouse in a shitty port town with a man turned monster in a lake and not in a fantastically quirky bookshop being flirted with by a French Canadian marine biologist who looked entirely too hot to be as nerdy as he was.

“God I fucking hate dreams like that.”

Dean pulled himself from bed, carding a hand through his mussed hair as he made his way to the kitchen. The fading remnants of the dream occupied his mind as he flicked the kettle on and reached for his instant coffee. It was hardly the first dream he’d ever had about another person but it felt different than the others.

The old dreams were faded, a barely there buzz like he was passively watching something his subconscious mind could barely conjure. Those dreams felt like dreams were supposed to. This dream, this Castiel ridden bookstore hallucination, was more than the whisper of his subconscious. It had substance, had teeth and roots that were settling into his brain. He could feel the faint buzz on his fingertips from where he’d brushed hands with Cas, could feel the weight of the man’s playful glance as they bantered. Hell, Dean could hear the way Cas spoke with mischievous intent.

You’re lucky I like trouble.

“Considering you got yourself turned into a lake monster, yeah you better like trouble.”

Coffee in hand, Dean leaned against the counter and began to sip. Every morning was the same as he stood with his coffee, savouring each sip until it was gone. Then it was breakfast, a few minor chores, and then he’d wander down to the beach and see if Cas was around. It’d been like that ever since he and Cas had made contact and there was something wonderfully domestic about it. Dean craved the stability it brought.

Dean’s ears perked up mid sip when he heard the familiar beginnings of Cas’ song. Low and slow, the clicks and hums that came after were almost impossible to describe. They rang out and hung in the air like dings of a bell, each tone designed to reflect Cas’ mood. In the beginning they had been long and forlorn, a bitter cry at his terrible situation but something had changed.

Cas’ song was joyful, hums and clicks dancing through the air with a lightness Dean had never heard before. He turned and leaned against the sink, staring out at the lake through the window with a delighted grin. The lake rippled close to shore and Dean watched as the birds circling the lake flew closer to the surface, hoping to catch a fish to carry off for their next meal.

“Not a good idea.” Dean mumbled to himself.

A sudden splash and then Dean was watching Cas launch himself out of the lake with a powerful leap, catching a bird in his hands. The sun glinted off his silvery scales and Dean found himself captivated by the raw power and beauty that was Cas. He was otherworldly and it no longer terrified Dean because he knew that Cas was there, that the very real person whose journals he’d read was still there. Cas vanished beneath the surface as Dean finished his coffee and then Dean made a decision, foregoing the chores in order to see what Cas was up to.

On the way out Dean picked up the first aid kit – an action that was second nature at this point – and held it tight to his chest. It had been a good week since he’d fixed the sutures on Cas’ tail and he wanted to ensure they were still holding up. Even if he hadn’t wanted to check his handiwork, Dean would’ve brought the kit anyway. Rowena needed Cas’ blood and Dean knew Cas would let him collect it.

Halfway down the beach Cas resurfaced and the happy clicks resumed the second he laid his crocodilian eyes on Dean. This was earlier than Dean was usually out. He swam towards the rock and hauled himself onto it, tail flicking impatiently. Dean lowered himself down onto the rock, smiling at Cas.

“You enjoy catching that seagull?”

Cas shrugged his shoulders before turning his arm and showing Dean his bicep. Three lines of red cut through the silvery scales and the skin surrounding them puffed up angrily. Dean frowned and reached for Cas’ arm, holding it gently to inspect the wounds. They were nothing more than surface wounds about they still looked uncomfortable.

“You know, that might’ve been the seagull I saved like a week ago. Stupid thing got itself stuck on my roof and couldn't get free. Tried to take my fucking eye out when it flew away.”

Cas nodded, sticking his arm out and thumbs downing at the place in the lake the seagull had once been. There was no love lost for seagulls between the pair.

When Dean let go of Cas’ arm, he sat back to take a broader look at the creature he was considering a friend. Not much had changed in the week since they’d seen each other last but something was different and Dean squinted, lips pursed. Poking up in between the scales on Cas’ head and the fin like appendages replacing his human ears were little black dots. Dean peered closer, half expecting to see sea lice or some kind of freshwater creature crawling on Cas’ head but he found himself mistaken. Each individual dot stood up and stood straight but bent when Dean reached out to touch it.

“Are you growing hair?” He asked, shifting his weight onto his knees to get a better look. “Because that looks like the aftermath of a 2 am ‘my ex just dumped me because I wasn’t paying her enough attention even though I was and she couldn’t communicate her needs to me’ impulsive buzz cut.”

The expression on Cas’ face was unmistakable as he stared at Dean, the kind of exasperation that came with an inexplicable amount of fondness. He clicked low in his throat, nearly a hum, and then shrugged.

“Pretty sure that’s hair and pretty sure that that wasn’t here last time so uh, congrats on reversing monster pattern baldness?” Dean mumbled as he leaned back on his heels. Unsure of how to continue the conversation with Cas who was looking at him almost expectantly, Dean took a deep breath and had a moment to think to himself. In the end he went with what he had originally planned to do, voice a little hesitant as he spoke. “So I was wondering if I could get some of your blood?”

Cas tensed, the spines on his shoulders flaring in defence. He clapped a clawed hand over his bicep, staring at Dean warily. Blood was the one thing Cas couldn’t stand anymore, especially his own. It had gotten him into this mess and it had kept him squarely in the middle of it. He could still feel the blood coursing through his veins like sludgy water and when he stared at the beach, the bloody remains of his storm injuries appeared like phantoms.

“Woah okay, backtrack a sec. I asked that wrong.” Dean said as he held up his hands. “Rowena thinks that having some of your blood might help get answers but I’m not gonna take it if you don’t want me to.”

Cas’ eyes flicked down to the knife attached to the first aid kit and then back to Dean. He’d tensed, tail coiling as if he were ready to flee. Dean’s frown deepened.

“I’m not gonna hack at you with a knife, Cas.” He reassured. “I’m not evil, or my father. I’ve got a vial and some needles in the first aid kit and I was hoping I could just draw your blood like a normal person. You do have arms and veins and I am licensed in this kind of thing. But I’m not doing it if you’re not okay with it.”

Cas didn’t flee but he didn’t relax either and Dean decided to approach the entire thing like Cas was a frightened animal. He reached for the first aid kit and retrieved his supplies, laying them out next to him. “Did you ever have your blood drawn when you were human?”

Cas nodded, eyeing the needle warily.

“You’re afraid of needles.” Dean noted, glanced away as he reached for the tourniquet. “A lot of people are, don’t worry. I’ll go slow and I’ll explain everything as I do it, I promise. Now this tourniquet is gonna go on your arm and it’s gonna cut off your circulation so that I can get at the vein in the crook of your elbow.”

Dean wrapped the tourniquet around Cas’ arm and tightened it. “Can you make a tight fist for me and hold it? It’s gonna make this go faster.”

Cas tightened his hand into a fist, staring not at his arm but at Dean. It was easier to stare at Dean. He’d seen Dean a million times but this felt different, charged. The man’s hair was a mussed up mess and so were his clothes but that didn’t detract from everything else about him. It didn’t detract from the look of intense concentration on his face or the way his lips pursed together or even the way in which his hands moved. They were strong but oh so gentle too.

“I just finished cleaning everything so I’m gonna stick you now, okay? Just hold nice and still for me.”

Dean’s hand was warm on Cas’ arm as he gripped it tightly, sliding the needle in as gently as he could. He felt Cas tense beneath him and tightened his grip slightly, shifting to lean his bodyweight against Cas and hold him in place. All Dean took was a singular vial but that didn’t matter. Cas was shaking when Dean withdrew the needle, entire body trembling with the fear and anxiety of the experience.

“There we go, all done.” Dean murmured as he set the supplies back in the first aid kit and removed the tourniquet. When he chanced a glance up at Cas, his heart shattered into a million little pieces. The golden eyes that stared back at him glistened with tears, pupils blown wide with something akin to terror.

“Woah hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Dean murmured, swinging a leg over Cas’ tail and seating himself on it. It was cold and wet beneath his legs and the water soaked through his pants but he didn’t care. His hands found purchase on either side of Cas’ face, thumbs brushing the tears away from his face. “You did such a good job. You were so good for me and it’s over now, no more needles and no more blood. It’s done.”

Cas’ heart raced and the words he couldn’t speak stuck in his throat like a stubborn pill. He couldn’t bear to look at Dean or himself so his eyes settled far off in the horizon, tracking a bird that looked like nothing more than a dot in the sky. Dean’s thumbs still stroked his cheeks, long legs bracing either side of him, and then Dean was speaking again. It was a distraction of some kind and Cas felt it working.

“I was reading about that bookstore you really like. Tome Raiders I think you called it. Sounds like a really cool place, very eclectic vibes which I think suits you just right. Still not sure I fuck with the cat but that’s a me thing. Anyways, I get the vibe you love the nonfiction but you also seem like you’d be a horror guy too. Something about you just strikes me that way. Am I right?”

Cas blinked slowly, eyes coming back into focus as they settled on Dean. The tears had stopped falling, though they still glistened in his eyes. He nodded gently.

“See, I knew you had good taste. I like horror too but it’s all the haunted house and possession horror, not so much the other stuff. Something about the humanity of it is compelling. Maybe I just like that the characters can excuse their actions because something possessed them, I dunno.”

Dean’s voice darkened a shade, his eyes falling to where Cas’ hands had come to rest on his thighs. He’d seen the hands before, seen the dark claws and the webbing and the scales that dotted them but something was different. The claws had shortened and the webbing had shrunk. Even the scales had scaled back, leaving the tips of his fingers fleshy and exposed. It wasn’t quite right but Dean didn’t comment. Not a smart choice while he was on top of something that could easily drown him. Not that Cas would. Probably. Hopefully.

“I read about your date idea for that store, well reread it I guess and I like it. Sharing books over a nice dinner really sounds like a good way to get to know someone and what they like. I’d give you a classic I think, something like Slaughterhouse 5 or Cat’s Cradle. I’m a big Vonnegut guy and I think he’s just cerebral enough that you might like him if you haven’t already read him.”

Cas’ lips peeled back in an almost shy smile, the first smile since Dean had taken his blood. He knew what he would tell Dean if he could, that he’d give him something a little spooky but hopeful because Dean deserved comfort after everything he’d been through. Cas tried to tell him but it came out as clicks and keens and he lowered his eyes in defeat.

“You must be so frustrated that you can’t talk. I’d be losing my mind if I were you.” Dean’s voice had softened. It settled somewhere between understanding and acceptance but stayed away from pity and sympathy. “I know your high clicks mean yes and your low clicks mean no but that’s all I’ve got and I’m really sorry.”

Cas’ shoulders sagged as he stared at Dean, the fight going out of him like a deflating balloon. He was frustrated, beyond frustrated actually. There was nothing he could do to tell this man that he was grateful he’d saved him, that he was happy to be friends or whatever the hell they were, or that he wanted Dean to find his brother and his best friend and bring them here so they could finally know the truth. Cas didn’t have a lot but he’d give up what he did have just to see Meg and Gabriel one more time.

“God I just made that really depressing, I’m so sorry.” Dean mumbled, laughing quietly. “Last thing you need is depressing shit so I’m changing the subject because I can. We’re going back to books and I’m telling you a secret that no one else knows, not even the girl I almost married. I like romance novels, that’s my secret. No, not the contemporary romance bullshit with the cartoon covers that look like someone paid a fifth grader to make. I’m talking the historical romance novels but not the Bridgerton ones. I mean the like Scottish Highlands spy ones that have political intrigue and history and romance.”

Cas blinked at Dean for a moment before he laughed, the strange huffing clicking sound echoing in the open air. Dean relaxed, cracking a wide grin as he let his hands drop from Cas’ face.

“There you go, that’s what I wanted to hear. None of this sad mopey bullshit, not from you. Now I got one more question for you. Think you’re up for answering it?”

Another high pitched click as Cas agreed.

“Let’s say in a random hypothetical world where we happened to meet somewhere where we were both human and could talk and were single and I stress single because you had that weird situationship with that professor going on I your journals. Anyway, we meet at this random place say Tome Raiders and somehow we exchange books and you give me your number because you say I look like trouble and you like trouble and then I invite you over to my place for dinner and to read. Are you coming over to my place to have dinner and read?”

Cas chuffed again, head tilting ever so slightly. The look on his face wasn’t quite surprise, more like intrigue. Of all the questions in the world, he hadn’t expected that one in the slightest. He nodded and wanted to ask for more details. What would they be eating? Would they curl up together while they read? Would reading be all they would do? Would they share thoughts on the books? It was only as the questions ran their course through Cas’ mind that he realized he’d been trying to speak, keening and clicking excitedly.

Dean grinned despite himself, eyes narrowing as they landed on the faintest flush beneath Cas’ silvery scales. Apparently he was capable of blushing.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes.” Dean smiled as he removed himself from Cas’ tail, straightening up to his full height. “I gotta get this blood inside and into the fridge so it doesn’t spoil. Are you going to be okay if I leave?”

Cas reached out before he could stop himself, claw tipped hand closing around Dean’s. Human and intimate, the gesture spoke the words that Cas couldn’t.

Stay.

Stay with me.

Talk to me.

Make me feel human again.

“Soon, Cas.” Dean murmured as he squeezed Cas’ hand before pulling away. “Just take it one day at a time for now because that’s all we can, I promise I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Cas held a clawed hand to his chest, directly above his beating heart, and waited. Dean followed suit and offered a final smile of reassurance before he turned on his heels and returned to the cottage.

As Cas slipped into the lake, he felt something beginning to stir in his gut. It was small and fragile but it was there and he was going to cling to it until he couldn’t any longer.

For the first time in six years, Cas knew what hope was.

Chapter Text

“You know, you talked a whole lot about food in your journal. I remember your whole rant about the maritime classics and how your poutine beats the Quebec poutine and I gotta admit, you’ve got me curious about all of that stuff.”

The rock beneath Dean was damp with the remnants of a light rain the previous night but he’d been smart and donned a slicker to cover his clothing. He’d whipped through his daily chores, though sweeping and taking out the trash hardly constituted a hard chore, and had gone to the rock like he had every other day for the last couple months.

Cas sat beside him, tail curled in on itself and fully out of the water. Some six feet in length, Dean had struggled to reconcile the fact that he was half the size of Cas for the better part of two weeks. The human side of him was still anxious, still recognized that Cas was an apex predator capable of ripping him to shreds but the other half of him knew Cas was different. Yes he had razor sharp teeth but he laughed like it was the last human tie he had and he trusted Dean enough to show himself. That meant something to Dean. It meant everything.

“Now I know you’ve got the foods you like and I don’t fault you for that but I’m gonna tell you about the best burger I’ve ever had because I guarantee you haven’t had it and that in itself is criminal. It’s from this kind of rundown dive bar way out in the south called The Roadhouse and the thing that makes it so great is that it’s so simple. Homemade buns and patties, local cheese, local produce, a homemade ketchup that’s got a slightly spicy kick to it, every bit of it is local. She fries them all to that perfect medium rare consistency and uses that leftover grease for her fries too.”

Cas listened quietly, unblinking eyes trained on Dean’s face. He could see the way Dean was relaxing as he rambled, his hands gesturing wildly and his tone one of fondness. There was something special about it, the way Dean was finally opening up. This side of him was nothing like the man falling in and out of lucidity that had freed him from the fishing net.

“Ellen’s a great cook and her drinks’ll knock your socks off, trust me, but that’s not why she’s so great. She cares about the people she knows, that’s why she’s great. When Sam and I were still with my dad and moving around all the time and suffering, she was always there when we stopped by. She’d feed us without asking questions, make sure we got cleaned up, gave us a bed, that kind of thing. I think she would’ve helped us if I’d asked her to.”

Cas clicked quietly, turning to face Dean. He could hear the sadness in Dean’s voice, the quiet aching regret he felt so deeply. The ache to reach out to Dean, to comfort him, was nearly overwhelming but Cas held back and Dean continued.

“I should’ve asked her for help but I was a kid and scared. Not that it matters anyway because it’s all said and done and my old man’s ashes are in the coffee tin in my trunk and I need to not be so depressing right now. So, in that spirit, let me tell you more about that proposed book date we talked about last time?”

Cas clicked in agreement, tip of his tail swishing like an interested cat.

“You’d come over to my place because I’d be the one to reach out first and we’d have whatever books we talked about but I wanna focus on the supper. It’d be summertime so there would be barbecue, obviously. I’m thinking burgers because they’re a classic but also some ribs, maybe like a chipotle mango glaze for that sticky sweet spice. There’d be grilled corn and I’d do some kind of summer salad that’s got fruits and veggies and maybe a spicy chili lime dressing. Gotta do classic sides too like mac and cheese, maybe a slaw to balance out the spice in everything else. Lots of options is what I’m saying.”

Cas clicked again, gesturing as if he wanted Dean to continue. Dean did.

“I know, I know, can’t forget about dessert. Now I could do a key lime pie but that’s not real pie so that will not be served. We’ll do apple, maybe cherry if you twist my arm but no pecan and I know it’s your favourite but I’m not fucking around with it. That’s like third or fourth hangout material for when I’ve really invested in our blooming relationship and somehow charmed you into thinking I’m worth your time.”

Cas held up four fingers and waggled his non-existent eyebrows in a vaguely questioning manner as if to ask if Dean thought he’d be lucky enough for four hangouts. Dean grinned, the easygoing charming smile on face front and center like it belonged there.

“Yeah, I do think I’d get at least four hangouts. I’m a smooth talker when I want to be, I know how to cook, and I’m a damn good lay which you’d probably find out at that point. Call me cocky if you like but I think I just know my game. Haven’t had any complaints so far anyway.”

Cas rolled his eyes in exasperation, shaking his head. Of course Dean was going to be cocky and confident and of course it was going to land. He was pretty enough for it to work, courtesy of his emerald eyes and his freckles and those strong hands. It was those same strong hands Cas was looking at now, scanning them. Those hands had harmed but they’d helped too and they contained multitudes. His hands had helped sew Cas up, had held his face while he cried, had given him the first sign of hope in over half a decade. They were his lifeline.

Dean followed Cas’ eyes down to his hands and his smile turned sheepish as he wrung them together. “Yeah, they’re kinda beat up but that’s okay. I wonder what your hands looked like? I bet they were tanned, you seem like you’d spend a lot of time outside. Probably pretty strong too, definitely calloused from all the bike riding. They’d be nice.”

Cas withdrew his hands, holding them behind his back almost shyly. The notion that Dean had thought about his hands in any context was enough to stir the warm and fuzzies in his stomach. Dean was thinking about him outside of their conversations and Cas felt his face flush.

In the silence Dean watched Cas, eyes scanning his face with curiosity. Something was changing with Cas and Dean couldn’t deny it anymore. The black hairs that had appeared a few weeks ago were more prominent than ever. In fact they’d grown and they stuck to the top of Cas’ head like damp seaweed, plastered every which way and obscuring his scales. Even his claws had changed, had shrunk and dulled until they looked like painted fingernails. His cheekbones, prominent as ever, had less scales than before.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot.” Dean apologized as he rose to his feet. “I should really get going, unfortunately. I’ve got some shit I have to do, there’s an update to one of the lighthouse systems and I need to make sure that the update took just in case there’s another storm. I’ll see you tomorrow, Cas.”

Cas wished he could keep Dean there for hours, just talking and existing, but he knew better. That was a selfish desire and besides, Dean could probably only stand talking to basically himself for a little bit longer anyway. With a quiet goodbye keen and a flick of his tail Cas was slipping off of the rock and into the lake.

~

“For a witch who lives in the middle of nowhere, you’re surprisingly good at conversation.”

Stretched out in Rowena’s bed, Charlie was the most relaxed she’d been in months. The navy blue dressing gown sat comfortably on her body despite being a few inches too short and the silky pillowcase cushioned the side of her face as she lay. Rowena stood on the other side of the room, slipping her arms through a cream blouse with a high lacy collar and bishop sleeves cuffed in lace at the wrist.

“Living away from people doesn’t preclude me from enjoying conversation, dear. It simply means I’m selective with who I interact with.”

“Well I must meet your selective criteria then.” Charlie grinned as she pulled herself into a seated position. “Seeing as this is the seventh time I’ve spent the night and all.”

“You intrigue me. There isn’t much more to it.”

“How do I intrigue you? I’m not exactly the most exciting person in the world and there is the whole like 10 year age gap too. It’s generational at this point.”

Rowena turned, leaning against the dresser as she me Charlie’s gaze. “I wouldn’t give much credence to the age gap given this is purely sexual and hardly romantic. Also the fact that you aren’t just freshly 18, so you’ve got a few years of adulthood under your belt. As for why you intrigue me, it’s quite simple really – your willingness to go all in with the supernatural when faced with it is unusual.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it willing so much as I don’t want Dean dealing with it alone. It still freaks me the fuck out and I still don’t understand but I know enough to know you don’t go through that stuff alone.” She shrugged. “Speaking of, do you think we should tell Dean what we found?”

“Not yet. I don’t feel like we have enough information and I don’t want to give the poor thing false hope. Now come, I believe the kettle is done.”

Charlie nodded, following Rowena to the kitchen. She’d spent enough time there to fall into a sort of routine with the older woman. After every romp there was conversation and then there was tea. Each time the tea was different but it was always delicious and while Charlie was more of a coffee and redbull person, she was growing to appreciate the tea. This time the tea was red and floral, smelling faintly tropical.

“You know, what we found feels real beauty and the beast-like and I don’t know how I feel about that. Just doesn’t feel real, you know?”

“The best fairytales are often rooted in truth and this truth is simply an ancient magic.”

“I just don’t understand how this can be elemental and blood related. It feels like they should be mutually exclusive.”

Rowena chuckled softly, shaking her head as she sat down at the table across from Charlie. “When you really think of it, they’re not exclusive at all. Not when water is the elemental at play in the situation. Blood contains plasma and plasma is largely water which is your water tie right there but we can go a step further and touch on the iron which ties it to the earth as well. Blood magic and elemental magic have always been entwined and always will be.”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense but I still don’t understand the love and attraction aspect of it. How is love supposed to break the magical bonds? Like I know everyone says love is the most powerful thing in the world but that can’t be true.”

“It’s situational at best but it applies because of Elizabeth Maren. The reciprocal love her and the lake shared is what began the transformation for her and Castiel’s love of the lake and nature is why the lake chose him as an avatar. Magic itself, while not necessarily sentient, is aware of the intentions of those around it. Dean did not intend to love the lake or protect it when he bled into it so that’s why he didn’t change. Also Castiel still being the avatar likely prevented it as well.”

Charlie pursed her lips, frown furrowing her brow. She didn’t buy that reasoning, not completely but it made enough sense for now. “Still doesn’t explain how love is going to get Dean to save Castiel from the lake.”

“At his core, Castiel is still human. He may not look like it but he is. It’s that core humanity that’s the key, I believe. If he has someone to remind him of who he once was, of what he could be again then perhaps he will change.”

“So Dean treats him like a human and he reverts back?”

“In the simplest terms possible, yes. But there are going to be other factors and things at play, actual rituals and magic that will need to be used to counter the hold the lake has on him. That’s why I’d like Castiel’s blood. With it I may be able to narrow things down.”

Charlie nodded her head, sipping at her tea. That made as much sense as the entire situation did so she wasn’t about to question it. When she finished the tea she set her mug down, attention caught by the sudden knock at the door. Turning back to Rowena to see if she was expecting company, Rowena was already up and moving towards the door.

Dean stood on the other side, posture tense as if he wanted to be anywhere but on her front porch. His smile was tense, anxious even. Fishing a vial out of his pocket, he handed it to Rowena.

“Is this”—

“It is. Don’t ask me how I got it. Will it be enough to help?”

Rowena nodded.

“Good. Tell Charlie I say. Let me know when you find something, if you find anything.”

With that Dean was fleeing from Rowena’s porch like a rat scurrying back to its nest and Rowena was returning to the kitchen. She set the vial on the kitchen table, glancing at Charlie.

“Let’s get to work.”

~

Where words fail, music speaks.

That’s what Hans Christian Andersen says about music and je suis d’accord. Music often expresses the things we can’t express to ourselves or to others and it does so with a catchy backtrack and instrumentals. The sheer variety of genres in and of themselves speak to how creative we are as people and to what we can conjure up when we try.

I also believe the music we listen to says a lot about who we are as people. Pop people are extroverted and colourful and while I respect them, I don’t agree with a lot of their takes on music. In general I find pop artists to be too similar to one another to make much of an impression but I’m not the target audience for most of them since I’m not a teenage girl. Some of them aren’t terrible but some of them I can’t stand. One of the tas is obsessed with Taylor Swift and I don’t understand it. I can appreciate some of her lyrics and a few of the backing tracks but that’s about it. Too many of the songs sound the same and they feel fake deep without actually trying.

On the opposite end of the spectrum est les métalleux. Also full of many subgenres, the metalhead tends to be introverted and intuitive which means they don’t necessarily have all of the social graces of pop fans but they do have a distinct style which I respect. Anyone who can wear that much black and that much eyeliner deserves respect. I do like the instrumentals in their music but I have a hard time with the lyrics and the genres that are full of screaming. I’m not a fan of people screaming incomprehensible lyrics in my ear. Then there are the bands who make edgy songs and lyrics for the sake of being edgy and that feels very inauthentique. If you’re going to make edgy songs, at least go the punk route and have them actually make a statement of some kind. Be Like Green Day.

Rock is one of those genres I have to be in the mood for. I like the instrumentals and I like that I can hear and understand the vocals but it’s also so diverse that I’m never fully sure what I’m going to actually hear. A lot of rock music is ruined by the main vocals I think. A lot of bands also just fall into the either they’re loved or they’re hated. Take The Tragically Hip for example. They’re an undeniable staple of Canadian rock but I can’t stand them. Not Canadian but can’t stand the Red Hot Chili Peppers either or the Rolling Stones. I just don’t like the whiny croony stuff I guess. I don’t mind the classics though, groups like Nirvana or Led Zeppelin or Aerosmith. Now that feels like real music.

Having said all of that, I like classical music. I’m talking Beethoven, Brahms, and Rachmaninoff; the real instrumental stuff you can sink your teeth into and take time to digest. I love the way all of the instruments blend together and how when you really listen, you can pick each one out and find something new. J’aime le plus Tchaikovsky. He has a way with the woodwinds, especially the oboes and those are tricky enough to deal with on a good day. The man gave us Swan Lake which is one of the most devastating ballets I have ever heard and seen. Bourne’s version of it ruined me for weeks. I still can’t listen to opus 20 without crying. All he did was make Odette a man and add some more internal mental struggle for the prince but it made all the difference, especially knowing about Tchaikovsky’s struggle with his sexuality for the entirety of his life.

Anyways, all of this to say that I love classical music and it plays constantly at work and in the lab and even when I’m at home. I haven’t played any at the lighthouse but maybe I should. Rachmaninoff would sound perfect in the middle of a storm while the waves in the lake hit the shore.

With the journal entry fresh in his mind and the clock striking 11, Dean made his way out of the cottage and down to the shore. Halfway down the shore Dean realized Cas was already waiting and he smiled despite himself. Of course Cas was waiting for him, he was just the kind of person to do that. The action was human and considerate and Dean’s heart fluttered just a little bit in his chest. As Dean approached, his expression shifted as surprise took over his face.

Something was different about Cas.

He sat tall and proud on the rock, his eel-like tail curled around himself. It struck Dean just how much it reminded him of a giant cat and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Cas really was cat-like. Tail aside, Dean’s eyes followed the curve of Cas’ spine up his muscular back to his shoulders. His shoulder spikes had shrunk and were only a few inches now. Scales were sparse towards his neck and the silver had dulled itself, taking on a pinkish hue.

“Right on time, look at you go.” Dean hummed as he sat down next to Cas, glancing over. The next words vanished on the tip of his tongue as he saw Cas’ face. It too had changed slightly, cheekbones more prominent and a bulge growing between his eyes and above his mouth. Had Dean known any better, he would’ve said it looked almost like a rudimentary nose.

Cas clicked in response, the clicks deep and gravelly. They were nothing like the high pitch they had been even days ago. Tapping at his wrist with two fingers, Cas looked at Dean as if he was reiterating how important punctuality was to him.

“Glad being on time matters to you too.” Dean chuckled, settling down next to Cas. “I wanna talk about music today because that’s what I was reading about in your journal this morning.”

Cas nodded, hunkering down next to Dean. He recalled the entry well and was curious to see what Dean would think about it. Dean seemed like the type to like music and he seemed like he’d be incredibly picky about what he liked too.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m not surprised that you like classical music. You’ve got that whole worldly academic vibe that fits with classical but I’ve bet you’ve got a secret guilty pleasure genre too. It’s probably like musical theatre or something but like really specific musical theatre. I’m talking like not too showy musical theatre, the shows with a bit of edge. Something like Jekyll and Hyde or Frankenstein or Frank Wildhorn’s Dracula. You’re not a Wicked gay.”

Cas’ chuff echoed through the air, amusement and a faint flush colouring his cheeks. The observation was astute and accurate enough to be embarrassing. He’d never admit out loud that Dean was right but he was. Classic literature turned into musicals had something special about them, a certain je ne sais quoi. What surprised Cas was that Dean knew musicals, particularly that he knew who Frank Wildhorn was.

“I can feel the surprise in the lift of your non-existent eyebrows.” Dean hummed, taking a glance over to confirm Cas’ expression. “I only know musicals because my ex-girlfriend was obsessed with them, like capital o obsessed. She dragged me out to see Mean Girls once and not gonna lie, I really don’t get why it’s so popular. I guess it’s like a nostalgia thing but I think that’s not an our generation thing. I don’t really know.”

Cas shrugged before turning, head angled slightly. His expression was inquisitive and his clicking ending in a raise. In his own way he was asking what Dean listened to.

“I’m gonna guess you’re trying to ask what I like and the answer’s pretty basic. It’s just classic rock, mostly. I might on occasion listen to something else but baby, that’s my impala by the way, only has the radio and then the cassette player so I’m kinda limited. Not like cassette is a medium people use nowadays which is kind of a shame because the grain of it and the whole physical media thing is kind of nice.”

Dean’s voice quieted, eyes falling slightly as he chewed on the thought that entered his mind. It wasn’t quite what he’d planned to talk about but he imagined it would feel good to get off his chest. Besides, Cas didn’t seem like he’d be judgmental about it. Dean wrung his hands together, an anxious habit he’d never been able to shake.

“Can I tell you something? It’s uh, it’s really fucking depressing but I kinda wanna talk about it and I think you’d listen without judging. At least I hope so.”

Cas blinked slowly before reaching for Dean’s hand. Large handing closing around Dean’s – all scales and nails and inhuman strength – Cas squeezed gently. It wasn’t much but Dean’s audible gasp of surprise and the release of tension in his shoulders said what remained unspoken between them. Thank you, it said, for being there to comfort me.

“I had a shit childhood, you’ve heard me say that a million times. You already know about my mom dying and my dad being abusive and all that shit but what you don’t know is how and why that relates to why I like rock. My parents grew up on classic rock and my mom listened to it when she was pregnant with me. I’m talking Helloween, Aerosmith, Twisted Sister, all of the greats. Her favourite though was always Hey Jude.”

Cas nodded his head, eyes focused on Dean as he listened. His grip remained steady, a grounding reminder that Dean wasn’t alone.

“She used to sing it to me when I couldn’t sleep as a kid, guess it calmed me down. Anyways that’s not really the depressing part, just the bittersweet part I guess. The depressing part about the rock music is that it’s loud enough to drown out crying and throwing up and that really specific crack that happens when someone breaks their hand hitting you in the face.”

The tightness in Cas’ chest nearly took his breath away. He’d heard the admissions before but not like this, not with Dean right beside him trembling like a leaf. Cas shifted on the rock until he could curl his tail around Dean, the length of it rigid against his back and the rest curled around him and piled on his lap. Heavy and warm, Cas hoped it would help.

Dean laughed quietly, the kind of choked laugh one made right before they were about to cry. He leaned against Cas’ side, hand still in his own. Tone quiet and uneven, Dean continued.

“Rock’s got good and bad memories you know and it’s not its fault that my dad was the way he was. It’s always been there for me whether I’ve needed it or not and I know it sounds stupid but it gave me hope when I didn’t have any. You know what I played when I finally got away from my dad and had those four years of peace? Rearview Mirror by Pearl Jam, that’s what I fucking played. He was in my rearview mirror and I was free and I was done taking his shit.  Didn’t last but nothing good ever does.”

Cas clicked quietly, trying to comfort Dean despite the language barrier. He wanted desperately to tell Dean that it was okay, that he had escaped and that he’d gotten through it but he couldn’t do it in the way he wanted. So he didn’t speak, he just stayed where he was with his tail wrapped around Dean and his hand holding his. It would have to be enough.

Dean sniffled quietly, wiping at his eyes with his free hand. “Fuck, I’m weeping like a chick. I hate chick flick moments, just so you know so I’m gonna pretend that this isn’t happening to save whatever’s left of my fragile ego. Even if rock was there for the shitty parts, it’s been there for the good parts too and I love it for that. There’s just something so classic about a band of long haired dudes with guitars crooning about love and drugs and sex. I really love Led Zeppelin. I think they’re my favourite. Wanna guess my favourite song?”

Cas studied Dean as he ran through the Led Zeppelin songs he did know. Admittedly, he didn’t know very many but he knew the popular ones. Dean seemed like the kind of guy who’d like their deep cuts but would also rock with their popular songs. Given the way he talked about them and the way he was – tender and traumatized and caring – it was probably a love song of some kind. Definitely not The Immigrant Song.

“Shit, right, you can’t technically answer me.” Dean mumbled sheepishly, interrupting Cas’ train of thought. “It’s Ramble On, just for the record. A little cheesy I know but I’m kind of a sucker for love songs. I just—I guess I wanna find a love worth singing about.”

Cas’ expression softened as he listened to Dean’s admission. Something in the way he spoke and admitted to loving love songs was beyond disarming. It humanized Dean, showed that he had layers. Also good taste but Cas had known that for ages. Desperate for more connection, Cas tried something new. He summoned his knowledge of Ramble On from deep within his brain, opened his lips, and let the sound flow.

It began as a click and whistle but it morphed, taking on a life of its own as it came into contact with the air. Fully realized, a melody punched through and then Dean was staring up at Cas with eyes as wide as saucers. Beautiful and haunting, he recognized the melody immediately. Cas was no Robert Plant but that didn’t matter because Dean was captivated.

The lyrics to the chorus slipped from Dean’s lips without a second thought. His voice was shaky and a little rough but Dean could hold a tune and hold the tune he did, singing in time to Cas’ rendition. It was absurd but Dean didn’t care. He was too busy pouring his feelings into the song, too busy feeling human for the first time in years. His heart hammered away in his chest and when he turned his head to look at Cas, he lost his words.

In the light that shone down from the sky, Cas had taken on another life. Hair and human fingers aside, he looked like he’d been carved from marble by some Grecian sculptor. There was a nose now, strong and defined, and Dean hadn’t seen it until now. He hadn’t seen a lot until now.

Cas’ song faltered when Dean stopped singing and when he stopped completely, his yellow eyes sought out Dean’s. There was something on Dean’s face he couldn’t quite place, a strange expression caught somewhere between fondness and bewilderment. Dean’s eyes lingered on Cas’ face, sliding down to his lips where they lingered just a second too long. Cas clicked and then Dean blinked back into reality, face beet red.

“Cas, I—thank you.” His voice was whisper soft, vulnerability nestled in his chest and in the openness displayed on his face. “Thank you so fucking much.”

Smiling softly, lips peeled back to reveal the sharp tricuspids beneath, Cas finally let go of Dean’s hand. He removed his tail from around Dean and then slid into the water, head above the water as his gaze remained trained on Dean. The air between them was heavy and charged with tension, a storm neither was quite ready to acknowledge brewing. Dean was the first to break the stare, tearing his eyes away in an effort to reduce the heat in his cheeks and preserve his dignity.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” He murmured, voice filled with something Dean didn’t quite want to name.

As he walked, Cas watched. Halfway down the beach, Dean hesitated. He wanted to turn and go to Cas— to sit and talk and share all of the feelings he was practically forced to confront now – but he couldn’t bring himself to it. Not yet. It was then Cas made a choice. Faint and barely audible against the lapping of waves and the squawking of birds, Cas focused everything he could to get his message across. It came out as one single word lost in the sea of noise.

“Dean.”

Chapter Text

Light poured down from the high powered beam, sluicing through the fog and rainy mist of the first summer storm and as Dean stared out at the roiling lake, it stared back at him. A natural mirror, it echoed his mood. For the better part of a week and a half it had been raining nonstop and that had thrown his daily routine into an incinerator and burned it up. all that remained were the bitter sooty ashes. 

Forced to stay awake and man the lighthouse at night, Dean had adopted a schedule fit for a nightshift which unfortunately left very little time to wander the beach and talk to Cas. He’d tried for the first two days but on day one he’d fallen asleep on the rock and woken up to find Cas gone and on day two he’d been so exhausted he could barely hold a conversation. Dean felt terrible about it.

He’d been making so much progress with Cas and now it felt like he was throwing it all away. Would Cas think he was being ignored? Would he become less friendly? Would the glances they shared become nothing more than just that, just glances? The uncertainty of it all was damning. None of that even touched the hollow ache in Dean's heart, the old familiar pain he hadn't felt since Cassie nearly five years ago. He knew why it ached and why it skipped a beat every time he saw Cas but Dean couldn't admit it to himself. Not just yet.

 Cas’ voice rose above the steady patter of rain, mournful keen sending daggers into Dean’s heart. It ached with a loneliness that Dean knew all too well, the kind that came from years of social exclusion. The burden was heavy and Dean felt worse with every passing keen. A conversation with Cas would make it all better, he knew that much. He just had to get through the nightshift first. The damn nightshift where the only ghosts he faced were the ones nesting in his haunted house heart.

It passed with little fanfare and Dean was half asleep when the sun broke the horizon and spilled its rays directly into his eyes. He groaned in response, peeling himself from the dashboard. Dean shut the dashboard down with little flourish of his hand and scooped up his bag, traipsing down the stairs with the grace of a newly formed zombie. His body yearned for the lumpy comfort of his bed but he steered himself away from the cottage and towards the beach. Cas was more important than sleep right now. 

“Cas, hey, you around?”

The mournful keening cut off and through half lidded eyes Dean watched as Cas hauled himself up onto the rock, tail swishing in the water. A soft pitter patter worked its way through Dean’s chest as he closed the gap, tired smile on his face. Clearly Cas was happy to see him again too.

There was no fanfare as Dean lowered himself onto the rock next to Cas, heavy limbs tipping him over as he leaned against him. His shirt grew damp but Dean didn’t particularly care, already letting the exhaustion overtake him and loosen his muscles. Cas’ side was strong but tense, as if he wasn’t sure what Dean was doing.

“M’sorry I’ve been gone for a week,” Dean apologized as he closed his eyes. Better not to fight the urge he'd learned. “I’ve been doing the nights cuz of the rain and it’s fucked up my entire schedule.

Cas glanced over at Dean, lips pursed as he scanned his face. The bags were evident and the exhaustion came through crystal clear in his voice. Night shifts were a special kind of hell and while Cas was miffed Dean hadn’t been out to visit him, he understood why. He’d spent enough late nights in the lab to know what bone deep fatigue felt like. Shifting slightly, Cas wound an arm around Dean’s back. Thick with muscle and more flesh than scale, the arm was unmistakable.

Dean’s smile softened as he leaned in closer, tension flowing out of his body. “I can’t believe you used to scare me. You’re really just a big softie.”

Cas clicked in exasperation as he stared out at the lake. He could feel the tension laving Dean’s body and for a while neither one of them said anything, too busy sitting in the shared moment of watching the sun fully rise. When Cas went to click and continue on the conversation, he found himself surprised.

Dean was out cold, chest rising and falling steadily, and when Cas shifted Dean slumped forward. Catching him before he could hit the water, Cas very gingerly turned Dean so he was laying flat on the rock. He put Dean’s head in his lap and then, hesitantly, reached out to run his claw tipped fingers through Dean’s hair. It was intimate but Cas had a feeling Dean wouldn’t mind.

Cas studied Dean’s face as he slept, fingers relentless in their stroking of his hair. Long lashes, plump lips, freckles dusted across his face like a constellation of stars, Dean was beautiful. There were little things Cas noticed now, things he hadn’t seen before like the crooked way in which Dean’s nose had healed and the pock from where he’d chewed clean through his cupid’s bow. He had the face of a man Cas was growing to care for.

The longer Cas stared at Dean’s face, the stronger the urge bubbling up inside grew. He wanted to lean down and brush his lips against Dean, to kiss the man that had saved his life and gotten to know him and actually cared about him. Dean wanted that too – Cas hadn’t forgotten that lingering glance the last time they’d spoken, the one that had culminated in the first human word he’d spoken in six years.

But kissing Dean wasn’t a possibility. It would be selfish and irresponsible and serve none of them. They couldn’t have a relationship, not with Cas stuck in the cursed form he was in. Even if there was a way to reverse it, would Dean even want to be with him? Sure he’d talked about dates but that was all talk and in Cas’ experience talk was cheap.

Dean’s quiet groan ripped Cas away from his thoughts and back to reality. His face was scrunched up, brows furrowed and lips pursed as if he were reliving something unpleasant. The tension returned to the lines of his face and then Cas was frowning as he felt Dean begin to toss on the rock. He reached out with his left hand and held it on Dean’s hip, keeping the man firmly in place while his other hand remained in his hair.

“Dean…okay…” he whispered, the words foreign and wrong on Cas’ tongue.  

Dean shifted again and settled down briefly but the dream kept coming and the despair on his face returned with a vengeance. He didn’t move his body but he did begin to tremble as tears pricked the corners of his eyes. Panic spiked in Cas’ chest but he held fast, still holding Dean. He couldn’t get the words out, not in the way he wanted, so he didn’t try. What Cas did do was sing. It started low in chest and poured from his mouth in a haunting series of notes, the familiar melody of Hey Jude sung in a monstrous key.

For a while Cas sat there and sang and held Dean while he slept, trying to keep the very world at bay. This little bubble was everything Cas wanted, everything his human life had promised him and then ripped away. While it wouldn’t erase everything that had happened to him, it was enough to lessen the blow. it was paradise by the haunted lighthouse. 

When Dean stirred and cracked open his eyes close to an hour later, he was met with something he hadn’t expected. He could feel the tail beneath his head – solid and warm – and feel the brush of fingers running through his hair but it paled in comparison to Cas’ face. His expression was tender, lips peeled back almost contemplatively and yellow eyes transfixed on Dean. He looked serene, at peace even. It was beautiful and strange and so so Cas all at once.

“Are you playing with my hair?” Dean asked quietly, voice deep with the remnants of sleep. Cas flushed, red prickling his cheeks and neck, and withdrew his hand. Dean caught it and stopped him, bringing it back down. “You don’t have to stop. Been a while since someone’s done that for me.”

Cas nodded, continuing to play with Dean’s hair. Touch starved as both of them were, this was an opportunity neither wanted to pass up. 

Silence, thick and comforting like a blanket, settled over the pair and for a while neither said anything. They lived in the moment, in the gentle quiet caress that it brought. It was just them here and now and nothing was going to break that. Dean broke the silence ten minutes later, voice soft.

“Did you ever think about running away as a kid?” He asked quietly. “And I don’t mean sleeping behind a bush in the backyard with a blanket and some dunkaroos and then coming home when it got dark and cold and you got a little scared. I mean like actually running away and never coming back.”

Cas shook his head.

“I thought about it, a lot actually. Never did it though. Couldn’t leave Sam with my dad. That’s what I was dreaming about, running away. Not me running away though. It was Sam running away. He did that once.”

Cas blinked slowly before hunkering down. This felt like the beginning of a vent and he wasn’t about to deny Dean the release. His fingers continued their gentle stroking, still moving through the strands with an aching tenderness.

“I was 16, I think he would’ve been about 12. We were in Arizona with my Dad and I’d just gotten back from the boy’s home so I wasn’t about to make any waves and fuck any more shit up but I guess Sam wanted to cause problems. Maybe he was pissed I got to spend time on my own away from him and Dad, I dunno. I think he might’ve just been tired of seeing me do what my dad asked without fighting him on it. Could’ve been puberty too. Anyways, he ran away one night while dad was out and I was asleep.”

Cas clicked softly, frown creasing his face. It didn’t take much for him to conjure up the reactions to that scenario, Dean’s quiet stoicism and silent rebellion in direct defiance of John Winchester’s fiery temper and brutal fists. Cas’ stomach churned, chest aching with something he couldn’t pin down. Bitter regret on Dean's behalf perhaps. 

“He ended up in Flagstaff for two weeks, lived off of funyuns and Mr.Pibb and even had a dog named Bones. Still don’t know where the hell he found the dog or the money to run away but he did. Dad was gone so he didn’t notice thankfully but I was freaking the fuck out because the second dad got home and found out he was gone, I was going to get my ass beat. So I spent almost four days in a row awake trying to track Sam down and convince him to come back.”

Dean closed his eyes, unable to meet Cas’. That was too much for him. He took a deep breath to steady himself and keep the tears at bay before he continued.

“I found him on day 15 and he was happy as a pig in shit with his junk food and his dog and his tv and it killed me. I knew my family was fucked but seeing him so happy and then having to tear it away from him was awful. I’ll never forget the way his eyes filled up with tears as he let the dog go. He fought me every step of the way as I dragged him back to the car and he didn’t talk to me for months after I brought him back. Maybe I should’ve let him go, maybe that was the right thing to do. But I just couldn’t. Does that make me a terrible person?”

Cas shook his head in disagreement, clicking and keening as he tried to get the words to come out. It wasn’t Dean’s fault Sam had run off or that he had enjoyed it. They’d both been kids and John should’ve been watching them. John Winchester should’ve done a lot of things he hadn’t done.

“Sam left for Cali as soon as he could and I don’t blame him for it, not really. He got into Stanford and got a full ride and I’m proud of him for it and he really deserves but I just wish he’d called me while he was there. I mean I get why he didn’t but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. I guess I’m saying that all to say that there’s been a development between us.”

Cas’ raised click was curious.

“I called him the other day and we had an actual conversation which we haven’t had in like almost 5 years. I told him I wanted to fix things, that I want a fresh start and he agreed in his own roundabout way. So uh, I’m going to Cali once we get you back to the way you should be. I’m gonna go make things right with him and we’re gonna be a family again. I’ve been dreaming about this for years and it’s actually happening.”

Tears pricked the corners of Dean’s eyes as he spoke, tears of happiness and relief. He pulled himself up from Cas’ lap, shaking his head like a dog to wake himself up and dislodge the tears before they fell. When he glanced at Cas, his heart sank. The expression he saw staring back at him was forlorn at best and miserable at worst, the kind of expression that said exactly what Cas was thinking.

“I know you miss your family.” Dean murmured, situating himself so he could look at Cas. He reached out, taking Cas’ hand in his own and squeezing gently. “I had Charlie look into them, everyone you’ve mentioned in your journals. I have updates if you want to hear them.”

“Please…”

A single word, so whisper soft Dean was convinced he’d imagined it, echoed in the space between them. He blinked slowly and then he continued on.

“Your parents are still doing good as far as we can tell. They just celebrated their 50^th anniversary and they had a really lovely party at some venue in Shediac. Your mom posted the pictures all over her facebook, even mentioned you. Said they’re thinking of you and know you’d be thinking of them too. Most of your siblings are still working and doing their things but they don’t post much except for Jimmy who’s apparently really proud of your niece, Claire. I guess she just turned thirteen or something and is really into art and music.”

Cas smiled softly. Claire had always been a strange child and Jimmy had never known what to do with her so it was nice to see that she’d done something with all of her energy and spark. He'd have to visit her if this godforsaken lake ever let go of him. 

“Gabriel’s as prolific as ever and apparently he’s working with a satirical erotica author for some kind of web series. Charlie told me the name but it made my head spin so I don’t remember what it is anymore. Meg’s teaching part time now in addition to her research but it doesn’t look like her and Ruby have ended up together, at least according to her social media. I’m pretty sure she’s been staying in your house because she posted a selfie recently that had that horseshoe crab lamp you keep bringing up in it.”

Cas frowned, eyes falling to Dean’s lap. His family was out there and they were thinking of him and there was nothing he could do about. Nothing he was doing was going to bring him back to them and it killed him, burnt up something inside of him into nothing more than a shrivelled husk. Dean had meant well with the explanation but all it had done was sour Cas’ mood and now he wanted nothing but the cool embrace of the lake.

“Hey, look at me.” Dean murmured as he reached for Cas’ face, holding his chin and tipping his head up. He kept his voice soft and his gaze level, straight into the golden eyes welling with tears. “It’s gonna be okay, I swear it. We’re finding answer and you’re going to be okay and you’re going to see your family again.”

Cas shook his head, frozen in place. The reassurance felt like nothing more than empty platitudes.

“I know you don’t believe me and you don’t have to but I am telling you the truth. You’re changing already, don’t you see that?”

A single word dropped from Cas’ lips, unmistakable in the silent air.

“No.”

Dean blinked back the surprise as he swung his leg over Cas’ tail straddling him again. Brushing past the word which he knew he'd dissect later in the privacy of his cottage, Dean kept the momentum going. This was a moment of real growth, a moment he could really change Cas' perspective and he wasn't going to let it slip away. He kept a hand pressed firmly on Cas’ cheek, the other resting on his hip. “Let me explain it you then, how you’re changing.”

A silent nod and then Dean’s hand ghosting up Cas’ side, touch feather light. It wasn't teasing or exploratory or grounding or any of that. The touch was guiding, was Dean's chance to remind Cas just how human he actually was.

“You feel my hand on your side? Those are my fingers going over skin, not scales. They’re going up and over where there used to be patches and patches of silvery scales. There used to be gills there too, but not anymore.”

Dean’s hand moved to Cas’ torso and then up his chest, sliding past his pecs and settling on his shoulder.

“You used to have scales there too and spikes on your shoulders but those scales are gone and those spikes are just little bumps. Even your hands, Cas. The claws are smaller and the webbing is shrinking and you know as well as I do that they look more and more like human fingers. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

Dean’s hand brushed up Cas’ neck and settled on the other side of his face, both hands cupping it now as his thumbs stroked Cas’ cheeks. Soft and tender, the touch was meant to ground.

“Your face has changed so much since I saw you that night. Sure there’s still scales and sure you still have those beautiful golden eyes and those sharp ass teeth but you look more human. I see your cheeks and your lips and the hair growing out of the top of your head but none of those changes matter, not really. They don’t matter because the real you’s been here all along.”

Cas watched Dean carefully, distinctly aware of the hands on his face and the legs on his tail and the way Dean was cradling his face like he was the most precious thing on earth. It was impossible to escape and impossible to look away from.

“The real you is the one who came to me for help because you needed it, the one who left me the teeth and the shells and the gifts because I took the time to talk to you and clean up the beach. You’re the one who sits here and listens while I talk, the one who brushed away my tears and played with my hair and sang my favourite love song when I was feeling blue. It doesn’t matter what you look like Cas because the real you is more than that. The real you cares about his friends and his family and his job and the down and out stranger who ran away to the lighthouse hoping it would fix all of his problems.”

Cas’ hands settled on Dean’s denim clad thighs, fingers spread out and gripping as if to stabilize himself. Dean still hadn’t moved and the expression on his face, true and earnest and full of love, never changed. The feeling of love, of acceptance, of companionship, was nearly overwhelming and Cas found himself expressing his feelings through the words he had tried to speak months earlier.

“I… see… you…”

Dean’s face lit up, eyes sparkling in the light. His lips peeled back in a joyous excited grin just as his fingers tightened around Cas’ jaw and when that excitement became too much, his subconscious mind took over. He could see Cas’ face in great detail now, could see the strong nose and the jawline and the little scar that ran from the corner of his mouth to just below his eye. It didn’t matter whether Cas had golden eyes or yellow eyes because he was Cas all the same.

“I see you too, Cas.” Dean murmured softly and then he did something he’d been aching to do for months, something probably foolish and definitely stupid but something he didn't regret nonetheless.

He leaned in and kissed Cas.

Chapter Text

Dean Winchester didn’t know when he’d fallen for Castiel Novak; only that he had.

His best guess was sometime around journal entry 57. Cas had been off on a tangent about porbeagle sharks and how they were essentially large water puppies. They exhibited play behaviour which was rare and were curious but not bitey. It was the way Cas wrote about them that intrigued Dean, all excited and quick and tripping over words like a middle schooler who had just finished a book on their special interest. Earnest and nerdy, Dean felt like he knew Cas.

Cas was direct and dry and intensely hilarious when he wanted to be. He loved his family and friends and his job and it shone through with every paragraph Dean read and reread. The man was full of life, practically bursting at the seams, and he felt like everything Dean wasn’t.

He was handsome too, because of course he was. The ID Badge was enough to stoke the embers of Dean’s curiosity and truth be told, he’d always had a weakness for dark hair and pretty eyes. Apparently he had a weakness for the root name Cas too but that felt like more of a coincidence than anything else.

The first time he’d seen Cas as he was in the lake, fear had taken over and he’d wanted to run. Golden eyes, sharp teeth, wicked claws, all of it spoke of a predator who could and was likely willing to rip him to shreds for daring to look in the direction of the lake. But Cas wasn’t like that, not once he and Dean had made contact. No, his monstrous beauty had only grown and Dean found himself captivated by it.

The eyes that shone with a million emotions, the lips that peeled back in grins and frowns and a wry smile reserved for special occasions, all of it was human. Cas' claws had held his face with such gentleness when he’d broken down, had combed through his hair like it was the only thing they were meant to do. There was a gentleness to Cas beneath all of the scales and the conflict, the kind of gentleness that spoke of wanting human connection.

The absurdity of the situation was the only thing that gave Dean pause. Had you asked him a year ago if he would’ve imagined himself at a cursed lake dreaming about kissing a lake monster that had once been human, he would’ve politely backed away and asked the person if they were doing well mentally. The Dean a year ago was still trapped under his father’s thumb and miserable as he recovered from the fire that had stolen away his job and his freedom. The Dean a year ago was a miserable man who used alcohol to cope with the fact he felt lost in life.

But this Dean, this new Dean, he was something else. This Dean was a recovering alcoholic, a man who was confronting the ghosts of his past with an air of finality. This Dean was willing to live and let live, willing to let in the redhead who reminded him all too much of Sam. This Dean was ready to fix what he and Sam had broken, to move on with his life and live it to the fullest. This Dean was ready for connection. Real, intimate, human connection.

He found that connection with the man whose tail he was currently sitting on. Thick and damp between his thighs, Dean would’ve laughed at what that reminded him of if he wasn’t too busy processing everything else. Smooth scales and warm flesh lay underneath the hands that cradled Cas’ face ever so gently and it almost felt like Dean was kissing a real human. Cas’ lips were warm – for a monster – and slightly chapped like he’d forgotten to wear chapstick for a few months.

It was the stillness that gave Dean pause, the tensing of Cas’ limbs and tail and the frozen placement of his lips. He wasn’t kissing back. Of course he wasn't kissing back. Why would he want to kiss back? Dean pulled away as his hands dropped uselessly to his sides, eyes widening.

“I just fucked it all up, didn’t I?” he whispered, voice trembling.

Cas shook his head, reaching for Dean with his claw tipped hands but Dean had already risen to his feet. He hadn’t fucked up, not in the slightest. Dean had just surprised him, that was it. Cas tried to make the words come out, tried to tell Dean that he hadn’t fucked up and that he should come back and that he was just surprised but it all came out in a frustrating jumble of clicks and keens.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

Cas huffed and tried to reach for Dean again but missed him by an inch, his hand falling to the rock with a thud. Panic was evident in the tense of Dean’s shoulders and the way his body froze, not ready to run but not ready to stay either. It was Dean’s face that broke Cas’ heart, the vulnerability in the quiver of his lips and the sheen of rejection in his emerald eyes.

“Dean…” Cas whispered, the name falling from his lips with a strangled hoarseness.

“I can’t, I’m sorry. Just forget that I kissed you.”

Dean turned on his heel and fled from the rock like a runaway bride. Cas, confused and scorned and hopes dashed like a ship upon sharp rocks, slipped back into the cold embrace of the lake.

Chest heaving with uneven breath, the sand beneath Dean’s boots turned hard packed and dirty as he neared the cottage. His head was reeling, his stomach was in knots, and the low mournful cry coming from the depths of the lake was going to drive him mad. It was the ring of his phone as he neared the cottage door that gave him pause. He glanced at the caller id and when he saw a familiar name he answered.

“Dean, hey! Wasn’t sure if I was gonna get you or go to voicemail cuz of your service.”

Charlie’s chipper voice echoed through the phone and ordinarily Dean would’ve been glad to hear from her but the timing was horrific.

“Hey. What do you need?”

A pause, Charlie’s voice dialing down on the chipper. Knowing her, she was probably frowning at her phone.

“You sound off. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s fine. What do you need?”

“We found something, me and Rowena. It might help Cas. Meet us at the library?”

“On my way.”

Dean hung up the phone and changed course, heading for the impala. The hour drive and the distance between himself and Cas would help clear his head. It had to.

Ten minutes into the drive Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, shoulders sagging as his grip on the wheel tightened.

“What the fuck were you thinking pulling a stunt like that?’ he hissed to himself. “He doesn’t know you, why the fuck would he want to kiss you. And isn’t it leading him on doing that? Never mind the whole he isn’t human thing.”

Dean felt himself pulled in opposite directions and all it did was reignite the emotions he’d been trying to suppress. He couldn’t deny that he liked Cas, not after that horrific attempt to kiss him and that admission was terrifying. It had been years since he’d felt like that, since he’d let his guard down with someone and let them in and it was frightening. He hadn’t meant to with Cas but he had. Somehow Cas had wormed his way in and broken down his walls and he’d done it all without saying anything.

“God, you probably think I’m fucked in the head and that’s why you didn’t kiss me back.”

Dean had shared everything with Cas and the man had stayed, had listened and that meant something but he couldn’t understand what. Had Cas stayed to listen because he pitied him? Had he stayed because he was lonely and craved the companionship? Whatever the reason, Dean was confused and upset.

He’d wanted Cas to kiss him back and that was the worst part.

Out of everyone in the world, Dean wanted the one person he probably couldn’t have. The lake wasn’t going to give Cas up, even if he was changing, and he couldn’t stay at the lighthouse forever. Even if he could stay, how would they work? Cas wasn’t human, he didn’t have the same body parts humans did and that added an extra layer of complicated to the web inside Dean’s head.

Was it wrong to want to fuck something that wasn’t entirely human? If it was an animal then yeah, morally and legally it was. But Cas wasn’t an animal. Cas was sentient, he could speak, he had human characteristics, and that had to count for something. Was it ethical to fuck a half human then? Dean had no clue. He knew some people dreamed of it – he’d read a few monster romances under the cover of darkness to sate his curiosity – but it was fine because it was purely fiction and not an actual reality. The reality of it read like some abstract impressionist painting, too many lines in all the wrong places. 

But this, Cas, he was real. He was flesh and blood and songs and laughs and tears and every single thing the human experience was. He was warm and inviting and he cared. He cared about Dean and Dean knew it. That’s why this hurt so much, why it latched onto Dean’s brain and added to the confusion.

“God I wish you could talk properly so we could deal with whatever the fuck we are.” He mumbled miserably as the first few houses came into view. “Would feel better about being into a fucking monster if it spoke in complex English sentences.”

Except Cas wasn’t a monster, he was just Cas and Dean knew that. He wished he didn’t.

Dean took a deep breath to calm himself down, squaring his shoulders and unclenching his fists so he didn’t give himself away to Charlie or Rowena. They didn’t need to know what had just happened. He walked in as casually as he could, his thoughts concentrated on keeping his expression neutral.

“You said you found something?”

The pair glanced up, Rowena as immaculate as ever and Charlie donning her usual graphic tee and jeans garb. Rowena’s face was impassive, ever the mystery but Charlie’s wasn’t. Her smile contorted to pursed lips and her eyes narrowed as she took in Dean’s appearance, eyes trailing from his damp jeans to his mussed hair and then to the singular glint of guilt and turmoil just behind his eyes.

“We think we did.” She said at last, still eyeing Dean suspiciously. “What’s with the wet jeans?”

“Storms at night make waves and add a tired man to that and you get victim of a stormy lake. Just got off night seven in a row and haven’t really slept so sorry that I’m a little gross looking.”

“No matter.” Rowena interrupted, beckoning Dean forward with a curl of her fingers. “The blood you gave me was beyond helpful, for the record. I believe there may be a way to fully reverse the effects of the lake.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“Fully reverse, like as in make him human again?”

Charlie nodded. “Just like the little mermaid minus the whole manipulating a teenager into a bad deal vibes. Ro's not Ursula and I refuse to be those goofy looking eels. You wouldn't be a bad prince Eric though.”

“Well now I need you two to explain this to me because I don’t know shit. Dumb it all down.”

Rowena took the lead, settling down in the chair behind the desk and waiting until Dean had sat down before she began. Every word was intentional and perfectly placed but she couldn’t disguise the almost morbid curiosity and fascination this problem brought out in her.

“The nexus point, the elements, and Elizabeth Maren’s connection established the monster. We know that Castiel was chosen because a new protector was needed and he cared for the lake the same way she did. It comes down to love, blood, and seeing people for who they really are.”

Dean’s brows knit together but he remained silent.

“Have you noticed any changes in Cas since you’ve been spending time together?” Charlie asked. “Like things that make him look less monstery?”

Dean nodded. He didn’t elaborate.

“That’s exactly what we want to hear because it means something is happening without our intervention. You’ve broken through the hold the lake has because you see him, the real Castiel. You see the human trapped beneath the monster and that means the lake is losing its grip on him. It can’t hold onto something that’s loved by another, the magic competes and weakens it as a whole. All we need you to do is break that hold.”

“How am I as a grown ass man supposed to break the hold?” Dean asked, still staring at Rowena. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m not more powerful than a centuries old curse made from literal blood magic and the death of a teenager.”

“Well you said he’s already reverting which is basically already a great sign. Ro and I did some more digging into everything else and did some things with the blood you gave us that I don’t ever think are going to be erased from my mind for many reasons and we’ve come up with a concoction that should help. I don’t fully know what’s in it and I think the explanation’ll take hours but it should work.”

Rowena set a mason jar on the desk and Dean’s nose wrinkled in disgust. He’d seen a lot of things in his day but this was something else. Dark and viscous, the contents contained little white speckles and flecks of red. Dean had no doubt that he’d turn and throw up if he opened the jar and took a good whiff.

“How is this going to help? Because all it looks like to me is the inside of someone’s stomach.”

“Blood to blood.” Rowena replied. “Or bodily fluid to bodily fluid, whatever you prefer. Simply put, you ingest this entire jar and then you swap fluids with him. The general theory here is that your fluid, preferably blood but other fluids work as well, mixes with his and the mixture should be enough to degrade the magic and render it useless.”

“So I’m supposed to inject him with my blood in some kind of fucked up transfusion? Absofuckinglutely not.”

“Could just swap spit with him, get real close and frenchy with it.” Charlie suggested, grinning.

Dean’s expression darkened, eyebrow twitching in irritation. He could feel the phantom touch of Cas’ chapped lips on his and he didn’t find Charlie’s joke particularly funny.

“Thanks for your help. I’ll figure it out from here.” He mumbled as he swiped the jar, tucking it into his bag.

Dean made it just outside of the library door before he felt Charlie’s hand close around his wrist and then he was turning to stare at her, irritation ever present on his scowling face. She looked upset too, but not with the same frustration Dean had. Her frustration was softer, born out of concern and not defensiveness.

“Hey, you’re kind of being an asshole. What gives?”

“I just got off seven night shifts and I haven’t slept so forgive me if I’m a little crabby.”

“Bullshit.” She mumbled, staring him dead in the eyes. “You were totally fine when you walked in. It was the joke that’s got your panties in a twist. Why’d it bother you?”

“I’m not bothered.”

“Oh you so fucking are. Dude your shoulders are hunched and you look like you’re gonna murder someone and I sure as hell know it isn’t gonna be me. So what gives?”

Dean sighed deeply, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Yeah well tough, my guy, because we are gonna talk about it. You’ve told me so much fucked up shit about your life so I refuse to believe there’s something you don’t want to tell me. You’ve already got assault and abuse and attempted murder so pretty sure there’s nothing else you can say that’ll surprise me.”

Charlie meant well but that didn’t stop her voice from grating on Dean’s ears, didn’t stop his frustration and confusion from bubbling up and pouring out onto the dingy sidewalk. He threw his hands into the air in defeat, stance wide but defensive.

“Fucking fine, here’s your answer.” Dean huffed. “I kissed him.”

Charlie’s eyes widened, jaw dropping and gaping like a fish out of water. Every word that came out of her mouth was slow and enunciated as if she were processing the information as she was speaking.

“You kissed him? Him as in Cas.”

“Yeah.”

“Not surprised, just for the record." she said quickly, removing any and all judgment from her tone. "Pretty obvious you’re into him. I just don’t get why you’re upset about it. Kissing him should be progress.”

“If things weren’t so complicated then yeah, maybe. But nothing’s fucking simple and I think I made everything worse.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. “Gonna need to elaborate here cuz I still don’t see how it’s an issue.”

Dean sighed once more before he gave in and explained. He told her about the conversations with Cas and the changes and the speaking and then the kiss. Most of it was vague with just enough detail to get the full picture but by the end of it Charlie was nodding along, a small grin on her face. Dean wanted to crawl into the dirt and die.

“You know, I think this is wigging you out for three reasons. One, he didn’t kiss you back which is pretty much explained away by the fact that he was probably more than a little shocked you kissed him. Second, he looks the way he does and you’re human. Third, you don’t let yourself get close to people and fall for them and you’re afraid that because that’s happening here it’s gonna change everything. Classic moral dilemma with an unhealthy sprinkling of avoidant-attachment style anxiety. That about right?”

“Are you a fucking profiler or something?”

Charlie shook her head. When she looked back at Dean her smile was soft, the kind of smile that meant advice and opinions would be swiftly approaching. “Can I give you some advice? You don’t have to act on it if you don’t like it but I wanna share. Feels like you could use it.”

“Shoot.”

“Firstly, there is no way you’re ever gonna be able to fully reconcile the whole ‘I’m attracted to a monster’ thing so you’re gonna have to just go with the flow like you have been. As far as you’re concerned, Cas was originally human so technically I’d still count him as human just changed, and he’s sentient and has emotions and you’ve told me he can say no. He’s got the capacity to consent so I really don’t think that him having a tail is a problem.”

“Well I’m not attracted to the tail.”

“Never said you were. You like him as a person so you should be able to get over the weirdness of what he looks like. It’s a non issue. Besides, you are 200% the type of guy to make jokes about doing it with monsters and now you’ve got like a legit chance. You gotta do it just for science alone.”

“If I fuck him, it’s not gonna be just for science. And it’s not just like I want to fuck him. I want more than that and that’s what wigs me out.”

“Dating wigs you out?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t a defence to the question and the answer to it was complicated. Dating meant vulnerability and trust and opening yourself up to another human being and he didn’t know if he wanted to do that again, not when it had blown up in his face the last time. He didn't want the heartbreak that seemed to follow him around like a dark cloud. 

“You’ve told him your shit so you’re already open and vulnerable with him. I’m assuming he knows what your intentions are so the ball should be in his court except you’re not giving it to him because you’re afraid you’ll lose the game. You gotta give him a chance, let him decide what he wants. After this long, I think both of you deserve that.”

“I just—what if after all of this, when he’s human again, he decides he doesn’t like me or want me? I don’t want to fall off the wagon again. Not because of something like that.”

“You’ve got me and we’ve got Cali and you’ve got plans to see you brother. Those are goals and decisions and they don’t sound like someone who’s going to fall off the wagon to me. You’ve got to give it a chance Dean, see where this takes you. It could be really good if you let it.”

Dean chewed on Charlie’s words for several minutes before he responded. She wasn’t wrong and it almost pissed him off. Cas deserved a chance and maybe he had been too quick to react badly. He hadn’t explained anything or sat down with Cas, he’d just surprised him. Surprises sucked.

“You have a lot of weirdly good advice for being under 25.”

“It’s all the books I read, they make my brain real big.” Charlie chuckled. “Are you gonna think about what I said?”

Dean nodded.

“Good. Are you gonna use the stuff Rowena gave you to help Cas?”

Another nod. “He deserves a chance so yeah, I will. A little grossness for me doesn’t really compare to the hell he’s had for the last six years.”

“Good, glad to hear it. Keep us updated. Also, and this is just so you don’t feel as bad about the weirdness of this, I’d fuck a monster too. Not Cas but if he had a nice lady friend in the lake I’d be down. So if you’re a perv then I’m right there with you.”

“You’re fucking ridiculous.”

Charlie grinned and waggled her fingers at Dean in a playful wave before she turned and returned to the library, leaving Dean on the steps. He waited for a minute before he was off, heading back towards the lighthouse with a new resolve.

It was time to get Cas out of this mess.

Chapter Text

Putting Rowena’s potion to use to solve Cas’ monster problem was supposed to be simple, the kind of thing someone could do with their eyes closed. All he had to do was drink the potion, coax Cas out of the water, and swap a little spit or blood with him. It should’ve been a one and done deal that day but it wasn’t because that was too easy. Nothing about this situation could ever be easy.

The day after the kiss Dean had roamed the beach for the better part of three hours calling for Cas and trying to coax him from the depths of the lake. He’d called his name, explained there was a solution, asked to talk, and at one point had threatened to throw himself into the lake and swim to the bottom to find Cas but nothing worked. All Dean was rewarded with was a mournful song or scornful silence.

Dean couldn’t even be mad about it because he understood exactly why Cas was doing it. He’d been confused and hurt by Dean’s reaction to the kiss. That was the only thing that made sense. Dean didn’t blame him, not really. What was he supposed to do after being kissed by a human who’d promised him answers? Certainly not throw a party after the man ran away with his tail tucked between his legs.

By day seven Dean was growing frustrated, moreso with himself than Cas. He’d been the one to kiss him and then run away, the one who’d fucked up whatever their dynamic was. It was selfish, kissing him and running and rejecting him without giving Cas a chance to speak for himself. That act was old Dean in a nutshell and he hated himself for it. He wasn’t that guy anymore.

The flat rock was hot beneath his legs as he sat down on day eight, hands folded in his lap. Waves lapped at the rock but the lake was otherwise still and quiet. Cas wasn’t keening and there were no splashes. It was too quiet. Dean fiddled with his thumbs as he sat.

“Hey Cas, I know you’re out there and I know you’re listening so I’m just gonna talk. Don’t feel like you have to respond because you don’t.”

A gull squawked in the distance.

“I fucked up, okay? I fucked up big time and I’m sorry. I don’t regret the kiss, just for the record, but I hate what happened after. You tried to get me to stay but I ran away like a coward and I shouldn’t have fucking done that. You didn’t get a chance to kiss back or to explain how you were feeling and that’s not fair. Granted I didn’t explain shit about how I was feeling either so I guess we both got kinda fucked.”

A quiet splash echoed far in the lake and Dean glanced in its general direction. He took a deep breath and continued on.

“I like you, Cas, and that scares me. I’m not the kind of person you bring home to meet your parents and I’m sure as hell not really dateable material and the idea that you might be interested in me freaked me out. You deserve better than I can give, especially after being alone for this long in a place that just won’t let you go. I want you to be happy and have the best and it’s not me but I want it to be. I dunno, I don’t think any of this makes any fucking sense.”

Another splash, closer this time, and Dean’s gaze dropped back to his hands.

“I like you a lot Cas and I feel like I’ve gotten to know you through the tapes and journals and even our talks out here. You’re funny and smart and you care about people and I want to know what that feels like. I’ve had dreams about us, did you know that? Had a dream we met in a bookstore and you gave me your number in a book and told me to call you when I was done reading it. I haven’t wanted to take someone on a date in a really long time but somehow you broke down my walls and wiggled your way in there.”

A mop of black hair floating just below the surface appeared in Dean’s periphery but he ignored it, continuing on as if Cas wasn’t there.

“I think I was afraid that you’d get to know me and hate me because of all the shit in my past but that’s kinda bullshit. I’ve told you everything and you’re still coming back around which I think says we’re both fucked in the head. Maybe it means I’m redeemable, I dunno. Or redeemable in your eyes which I guess is more than I was expecting to get when I took this job.”

A quiet click, barely discernable echoed in response.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I like you and I want to get to know you better and I ran because I was afraid of what you’d say. It’s stupid and childish but I kind of avoid my feelings if I can help it. So I’m sorry, really honestly sorry for being an asshole and you have every right to be upset with me. I’m gonna leave now, give you some time to adjust to what I said. Call out for me when you’re ready to talk and I’ll be there, I promise.”

Dean left with no fanfare, just his hands shoved in his pockets and a pair of golden eyes staring at his back. Cas would come to him when he was good and ready and that was all that could be done for now.

The answer came a week later, exactly 15 days after the disastrous kiss. Dean was mid morning coffee when he heard his name from across the beach and his head snapped up, looking through the kitchen window. Cas was on the rock, tail curled around himself protectively but that wasn’t all that surprising. It was the bright red against his silvery scales that caught Dean’s attention and the second pained cry of his name kickstarted him.

Dean scooped up the first aid kit that he’d used more on Cas than himself along with Rowena’s potion jar and then he was out of the cottage and racing down the beach. He didn’t think about how awkward it might be to see Cas after what had happened, the anxiety eclipsed by the concern he couldn’t help. Cas was hurt and that was unacceptable.

“Woah hey hey, what’s going on? Where are you bleeding?” he asked quickly, dropping to his knees on the rock. They groaned in protest but he didn’t care, too busy swinging a leg over Cas’ tail so he could face him.

Cas’ eyes were wide and his teeth and mouth painted bright red with fresh blood. A large fish hook stuck out from his face, snagged in the center of his bottom lip and jutting out from his chin. Blood dripped from his mouth onto Dean’s pants.

“Shit, that’s in there really deep.” He mumbled as he leaned in closer, squinting to get a better look at the hook. It was thick and metallic but that was fine. It was the barbs that concerned Dean, a sharp tip and four smaller barbs along the curve of the hook. Trying to ease the pain and tension that were beginning to creep in, Dean made a joke “You do know there are other ways to get a piercing, right?”

“Asshole.”

“Okay yeah, I deserved that.” Dean chuckled, turning his head to rifle through the first aid kit. “Did you hear me last week? Because I thought you were listening but I wasn’t really sure.”

“Yes.”

Minor relief flooded Dean’s veins. Cas had heard him which meant there was no need to repeat what had been said. He turned back to Cas with a tool in hand but held it in his lap.

“These are wire snips cuz I gotta snip the barbed part of the hook off or we’re never getting that out of your face without some serious damage. I gotta get all up in your business here, that okay?”

Cas huffed, expression clear as day. Stop talking and get this hook out of my face as soon as possible please.

Dean readjusted himself on Cas’ tail, thighs squeezing together to keep the pair of them in place. His left hand held Cas’ face, tilting it ever so slightly up so he could get a full view of the hook, With his right hand, Dean brought the wire snips up and situated them. Cas’ rapid breathing gave him pause.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay. I’m not gonna hurt you, you don’t need to worry about that. Promise I’ve dealt with worse situations than this and I bet you’re thinking yeah right so let me elaborate.” Dean said. He kept his tone measured as he snipped the hook, trying to keep Cas distracted with the story. “So me and Benny get called out for something and it’s been a slow day so we’re bored and shooting the shit and it’s this poor dude with a prince albert piercing. You know what that is?”

Cas’ eyes darted to Dean’s crotch and then back up to his face.

“Yeah, exactly. So we get there and this dude had managed to snag the piercing in the zipper of his pants and ripped it out. There’s blood all over the bathroom and this dude is passed out with pants around his ankles. I swear to god it looked like a murder scene. Felt so bad for the dude but he wasn’t even worried about himself, he was worried about the new tile they’d installed in the bathroom and whether or not the blood would stain it. Poor schmuck didn’t want his wife to get pissed off at him.”

Suitably distracted, Dean was able to snip the barbs from the hook. He thought about giving Cas a warning before removing the rest of the hook but decided against it and brought the snips back to Cas’ face. With a quick tug, the rest of the hook came free and clattered to the ground. Dean was quick with the gauze after that, pressing it to the wound that oozed blood.

“There we go, all done. You’re probably gonna have a scar when it heals but at least it’ll heal.”

Cas nodded, still watching Dean. The man was worried, shoulders tense and eyebrows creased. A spike of regret lanced through Cas. He hadn’t meant to make Dean worry but he’d needed time to process what had happened, time away from the man.

Cas knew how he felt about Dean, that much was obvious. He’d grown to care for the man and more than that, he’d started to fall in love. Everything Dean had done for him was selfless, was driven by the desire to help someone else in need and that was intimately appealing. He’d seen bare his entire soul, had seen him cry and laugh and sleep and Cas wanted to see more. He wanted to be human so he could see what else there was for them. He wanted to be human to thank the man who had seen him for who he really was beneath all of the monster parts and the curse.

“Dean, talk. Kiss.” He managed to spit out. The words, still foreign on his tongue, flowed easier now.

Dean looked startled, all panicked wide eyes and suddenly flushed cheeks. Cas didn’t have to reach out and press his hand to Dean’s chest to tell that the man’s heart was racing. The vein in his neck gave that away.

“You heard what I said, you know how I feel.” Dean mumbled, suddenly very aware of his surroundings and just how he was positioned.

He was straddling Cas’ tail and the knowledge that he’d be on Cas’ lap if he was human brought more heat to his cheeks. Dean knew what sitting in a lap could do, especially if one was touch starved like Cas probably was. His hand still pressed the gauze to Cas’ lip, thumb holding it in place while the rest of his hand held his face. Soft and tender, there was no mistaking the intimacy of it.

“I’m not trying to lead you on, I need you to know that. I don’t even know what the fuck is going on in my head other than the fact that I like you and it’s confusing. You’ve got so much shit going on, the last thing you need is something complicated.”

Cas blinked, eyes still trained on Dean. His hands rested on Dean’s thighs, fingers splayed and pressing down to keep Dean where he was. He wanted to call Dean an idiot for being so unsure of himself but that felt a little harsh. At this point words weren’t going to solve anything. The gauze dropped from Cas' lip, fluttering to the rock like dandelion fuzz. Cas brought his hands up to Dean’s face, cupping it. 

“You talk too much.”

Dean found himself unable to protest, silenced by the pair of lips pressing against his own.

Warm and slightly chapped, Cas’ lips moved with a purpose. They were slow and exploratory, almost hesitant. Granted Cas was severely out of practice but he didn’t think Dean would really mind. A kiss was a kiss no matter how rusty the participants were.

It took Dean all of five seconds to process what was happening, to adjust to the fact that Cas was kissing him and his feelings were reciprocated. His kiss back was fierce, lips pressing insistently against Cas’. The faint taste of blood lingered on their lips as they kissed but neither seemed to notice and if they did, they didn’t care. Dean’s hands found themselves on Cas’ shoulders and then they were roaming.

They skimmed the biceps flexed from holding his head in place and ghosted down his chest. Strong pecs, the flesh beneath his hands a mix of human and monster, conjured images of a shirtless Castiel in his brain and Dean groped harder. Brushing gently over a nipple – Dean still didn’t understand how Cas had nipples but he wasn’t about to complain either – Cas groaned softly against his lips. Quiet and breathy, Dean broke the kiss.

“You’re one of those overly sensitive ones aren’t you?” He chuckled, hands resting on Cas’ chest. In his periphery Dean could see the mason jar of potion and his face lit up. “I didn’t tell you but I think we can fix you. Rowena gave me something.”

Cas raised a nonexistent eyebrow as he let go of Dean’s face. That was a loaded statement it there ever was one and he didn’t think now was the best time to bring it up. As far as he was concerned, it could wait until after he got what he wanted.

“The jar next to your tail, that’s the answer. I was told to drink it and then exchange bodily fluids. Wasn’t totally sure how that was gonna work and I’m still not because I really don’t wanna do an impromptu blood transfusion and stick you with another needle.”

Cas’ eyes darted to Dean’s crotch, lingering for a few seconds longer than necessary before they returned his gaze. Dean went red from ear to ear.

“I uh, yeah that uh might work.” He mumbled, flustered. “But that’s a whole other can of ethical worms and also feels like I’m taking advantage of you somehow. I don’t think your first time in six years should uh be like that.”

Cas huffed and reached for the jar, shoving it in Dean’s direction. His look was no nonsense, all furrowed brow and pursed lips. He knew what he wanted and there were no lengths he wasn’t willing to go to to get it. Had he been able to speak more than a sentence, Cas would’ve told Dean that they both wanted each other and it was consensual so it was fine. He’d tell Dean that this didn’t feel like the weirdest thing he’d ever done. But he couldn’t so he didn’t. All Cas did was gesture to the jar and Dean’s mouth, speaking a few broken words.

“Drink… Please… want to try.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asked as he unscrewed the lid, the acrid smell hitting his nostrils like a punch to the face. “I don’t want to cross a line here. Don’t even know if it’ll help.”

“Sure… drink.”

Dean’s nod was small and then he was tipping the mason jar back, downing the contents in a few uncomfortable swallows. Thick and oily, the mixture coated his throat and he nearly retched. It tasted exactly how it smelled with a god awful mixture of anise, herbs, and something distinctly metallic and fleshy. Dean didn’t want to know what the chunks were.

“Fuck, I’ve put a lot of questionable things into my mouth but that’s by far the worst.” Dean muttered, wiping his mouth with a hand. With the potion drank and the jar out of the way, he turned back to Cas. Uncertainty settled into his chest like a soft blanket but he pushed through, determined to communicate. “So uh, fluid swapping. Definitely doable but uh, I’m not sure how your like whole anatomy works. I’m really hoping you’re not junkless because that could complicate shit.”

Cas drummed his claw tipped fingers against Dean’s thighs, head tilted in the oh so familiar way it always was. Clearly Dean was nervous and that was fine, Cas understood. Unfortunately he also found it beyond frustrating. In the end Cas took charge, deciding for both of them how it would go. Touch starvation and desperation were a hell of a motivator. Leveraging Dean with his tail and arms, he changed their positions.

Dean’s back hit the rock with a firm pressure, arms spread to catch himself and support his body weight. His legs fell open and Cas was right there, pressing between them and into Dean with the full weight of his body. Hands on either side of Dean’s head, Cas stared at him. There was no mistaking the hungry look on his face, the way his eyes roamed Dean like he was ready to devour him.

Dean should’ve been concerned, frightened even. He wasn’t. This was Cas ready to undo him and something about that, about the way he took charge, was intimate and intriguing. Dean’s cock gave an interested twitch beneath his jeans.

“You’re going to wreck me aren’t you?” He murmured breathlessly, propping himself up on his elbows as his chest rose and fell rapidly.

Cas’ answer was direct and to the point, the single word dripping with desire.

“Yes.”

Cas’ lips were on Dean’s without delay. This kiss was different, heated and intentional. Cas’ lips pressed hard, just as unrelenting as the hands that dragged themselves down Dean’s chest. Nails scraped lightly through the fabric and Dean leaned into the touch, winding an arm around Cas’ neck. He wanted him as close as humanly possible. Cas reached the edge of Dean’s jeans and then he was fumbling with the button and zipper, his hands not quite human enough to work them open effectively.

“Let me help you.” Dean groaned softly, tilting his head up so Cas could kiss at his jaw. He popped the button and unzipped the zipper, shoving his jeans halfway down his thighs. Another noise, surprised and strangled, tore itself from his throat when he felt the scrape of Cas’ teeth at the junction of his jaw and ear.

It shouldn’t have been hot, the sharp inhuman teeth nipping their way down his neck but it was. Here was a predator, something capable of ripping out his throat, kissing down his neck with sinful intent. There was trust between them, the kind of trust Dean rarely doled out and that only heightened it. Dean bared his throat and pressed it up against Cas’ lips, hand finding its way to his hair.

Cas’ hand ghosted up Dean’s thigh, tracing the jut of his hip before circling back down. Cupping Dean over his boxers, Cas could feel the heat radiating from him. The gentle twitch of Dean’s cock was met with pressure as Cas ground his hand down. He ground just long enough to make Dean squirm and then he dipped his head down, lips pressing against the cotton boxers.

“God, don’t tease me Cas.” Dean groaned, eyes closed and head tilted back. “Not now.”

The way Dean groaned his name should’ve been illegal. All breath and anticipation, there was no mistaking how interested he was.

Cas mouthed his way up the outline of Dean’s cock, tongue flat and dragging against the cotton with the promise of more to come. He hooked his fingers into the waistband and pulled them down, freeing Dean. Already hard and twitching, Dean’s cock lay hot and heavy against his stomach. All Cas could do was stare.

“Not for nothing Cas but the last person who looked at me like that, well uh – it got pretty rowdy.” Dean’s voice was thick with desire but anxious too. His first instinct, aside from shying away which was now physically impossible, was to talk. “Gonna wrap your lips around me or what? You talked a big game in your journals.”

Cas’ first thought was that Dean was being a smartass but he didn’t vocalize. What Cas did instead was simple. He leaned down and licked a stripe from root to tip before taking the head into his mouth. In another life Cas would’ve taken his time undoing Dean but this was different. This was business and need and a solution all wrapped up in one bowlegged human spread out beneath him.

A choked moan ripped itself from Dean’s throat as his fingers tightened in Cas’ hair. It’d been months since he’d had any sort of action and he’d nearly forgotten what lips wrapped around his cock felt like. Cas’ mouth, hot and wet, sank further down and Dean moaned again. The slow drag of Cas’ lips as he bobbed his head was torturous.

Cas shifted, hollowing his cheeks and that’s when Dean felt it; the subtle scrape of teeth against his engorged cock.

“Fuck.” He choked out, involuntarily bucking his hips.

Cas’ eyes flicked up as the movement continued, landing on Dean. Flushed face and lips swelling from biting them, Dean looked beautiful. The sounds that fell from his lips now, moans and groans and whisper soft expletives were music to his ears. Hands gripping Dean’s hips to hold him still and give himself purchase, Cas shifted tactics. Cheeks still hollowed, he swirled his tongue around Dean’s swollen head right before the downstroke.

“Cas –“ Dean’s voice choked out, tone somewhere between bliss and a warning. “Fuck that felt good.”

Cas grinned the best he could with his mouth full before returning to the task at hand. He was relentless, bobbing and sucking like he didn’t need to breathe. When Dean hit the back of his throat, Cas nearly choked and the constriction pulled a sharp curse from Dean. Cas wrapped a hand around the base of Dean’s cock, twisting in time with his mouth.

Dean was practically incoherent at this point, the words coming from his mouth in broken sentences. Curses, moans, and then a warning.

“Close, fuck I’m so close.”

Cas felt it seconds after Dean warned him. The cock in his mouth twitched and then pulsed, spilling hot and heavy ropes of cum into his mouth. Through it all Cas continued his onslaught, bobbing his head as he swallowed Dean’s release. Earthy and a little musky, the taste tickled a faint memory in the back of his mind. He pulled off when Dean whimpered from overstimulation, eyes trained on him.

Chest heaving with exertion, Dean had the sense to pull everything back up and zip his jeans before he was propping himself up on his elbows. Heady and buzzed, he looked at Cas through a lidded gaze. Cas looked pleased with himself, lips curled up into a grin but Dean was hardly noticed that. He was far more concerned about what hadn’t been there before.

The length of his forearm and nearly as girthy as a can of coke, Cas’ cock was unlike anything Dean had ever seen. For one it was a fleshy pink and for another it was ridged, section after section stacked on top of each other. It ended not in a head but in more of spike.

“There’s no fucking way I’m fitting all of that in my mouth.” He whispered, eyes wide with an intrigued terror.

Cas shrugged his shoulders in response as he repositioned himself, reclining as much as he could without laying down. Truthfully, he hadn’t even be sure he had a dick himself. Nothing in the last six years had ever triggered this. Dean was special it seemed. Had he been alone his brain would’ve run with a million different inquiries as he tried to piece this together but he wasn’t alone.

“Gonna be honest here Cas, I’ve got pretty good game but this is uh new for me.” Dean mumbled as he crawled over. He seated himself further down Cas’ tail, just close enough for his thighs to bracket Cas’ lap. “Don’t judge me too hard if this is bad.”

Cas’ smile was soft but his kiss wasn’t. His kiss was insistent, designed to reassure Dean that he didn’t care about how good or bad it was. He wanted Dean regardless and he was going to make damn sure that the man knew that.

Dean groaned softly but kissed back immediately, matching Cas’ energy. He dragged his hands down Cas’ chest, settling on his hip while the other dipped lower. It skimmed up his tail and then Dean wrapped it around the base of his cock. His fingers didn’t meet and that sent a surprised jolt through his spine.

“I’m gonna take care of you.” He murmured, lips trailing to Cas’ jaw as he dragged his hand up the length of Cas’ cock. “Just let me know when you’re close.”

On the downstroke, Dean trailed his lips to the junction of jaw and ear and nipped softy. The mix of skin and scale left a strange feeling buzzing in his teeth but the way Cas’ breath hitched eclipsed it. His breath grew heavier the lower Dean’s lips grew and the first moan slipped out when Dean’s teeth grazed just below his collarbone. 

That moan was special, a mix of human and animal all at once. Low and breathy it ended in a near click and Dean was fascinated. The sound was completely new to him and it was beautiful, just like the rest of Cas. His lips trailed lower, brushing down Cas’ pecs. He flicked his tongue over a nipple and Cas pressed against him, gasping.

“Think I’m starting to figure you out.” Dean grinned.

His lips trailed further down, following the line of Cas’ torso. Dean’s mind wandered briefly, stuck on the question of whether or not Cas had a happy trail when he was human. God Dean hoped he had. Shifting down Cas’ tail, Dean was eye level with the cock in front of him. He took a deep breath to steady himself before he was leaning forward, tongue swiping curiously over the tip.

Slick with precum and warm, it felt intimately familiar. Any anxiety Dean had melted away. This was just an oddly shaped dick, that’s all. Fundamentally it was the same as if it were attached to an actual human. It was just a little more textured. He could do this. In fact he was going to do it and he was going to enjoy it.

He took Cas into his mouth, as much as he could until the stretch of his lips became too much. Hands wrapped around what he couldn’t in his mouth and with a quick breath through his nose Dean was moving. Head bobbing and hands twisting, Dean put his all into it.

Cas’ cry ripped from his chest, a strangled keen startling a seagull nearby. Claw tipped nails gripped Dean’s short hair, tugging and pushing as he sought out more friction. Hot and wet, Dean’s mouth was incredible. Cas’ skin tingled, electricity zapping at the base of his spine and butterflies fluttering dirty and low in his stomach. The sensation was nearly overwhelming. 

“Feel good?” Dean asked as he pulled off, kissing along the throbbing vein of Cas’ shaft to give his aching mouth a break.

Cas nodded, chest rising and falling rapidly. Visions danced in his head as he stared at Dean, visions of Dean in his lap split open by his cock rocking back and forth like it was the only thing he knew how to do. He could hear it already, the way Dean would moan low and slow and fall apart with a hoarse whisper of his name. Maybe they’d switch it up and Dean would take the lead, driving himself into Cas until he was too cock drunk to think of anything other than Dean’s name.

Dean’s mouth was back on his dick, swallowing him down like he needed him to breathe, and Cas was helpless to resist. He lasted three minutes at best before the knot in his stomach snapped and he lost it. His fingers tightened in Dean’s hair and he cried out.

“Fuck, Dean!”

Coating his throat and dripping from the corners of his mouth, all Dean could taste was Cas. Musky and distinctly salty, there was almost something aquatic about it. The taste wasn’t bad, just different and Dean swallowed around Cas. He pulled off with a wet pop, rocking back onto his knees to get a good look at Cas.

Cas was more red than silver at this point, face and chest flushed with bliss and pupils blown wide with endorphins. His lips, swollen and bitten, fell apart in little gasps as he caught his breath.

“God you’re so fucking beautiful.” Dean murmured, captivated.

Cas’ smile was shy as he readjusted, discreetly shifting his tail away from Dean as his cock returned to its sheath. Dean watched in horrified intrigue.

“Still the weirdest thing I’ve ever done.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Was that good for you? And be honest but know that’s kind of the biggest dick I’ve ever seen and my mouth ain’t that big.”

Cas flashed Dean a thumbs up. “Very good.”

“Okay great, I’m cool with that. I’m guessing that that’s gonna work if Rowena and Charlie aren’t just fucking around with me but I don’t know how long it’s going to take. Are you gonna be okay if this doesn’t work? Because it might not. Don't think anyone's ever had this happen to them before.”

Cas shrugged his shoulders, glancing down at his hands. He knew the answer and he knew Dean knew too. Of course he wouldn’t be okay if this didn’t work. This was the only real effort made in six years, the only time he’d had any kind of real connection and if that failed, if it was ripped by away by the lake, it was going to kill him.

“Hey,” Dean murmured as he reached out, placing a hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezing gently. “It’s gonna work out, I know it. I’m not leaving until it works out and that’s a promise. I don’t break promises, just so you know Cas. We’ve basically sworn a blood oath at this point.”

The small smile on Cas’ face was genuine when he looked back up at Dean. While the reassurance wasn’t guaranteed, it was better than nothing and Cas appreciated it. Dean believed it and he was genuine and that was enough for him. It would have to be enough. It was all he had.

“You know, I’m not really a good at pillowtalk kinda guy. I’m never really sure what to say to someone after I’ve just sucked them off so uh usually I’d just leave but leaving you feels a little rude right now so not totally sure what to do.” Dean rambled, almost embarrassed. He was always the one to slip out in the middle of the night to save the awkward exchange the next morning. Couldn’t be rejected or see if there was something more building if you weren’t there for the conversation.

“Still talk too much.”

Dean snorted but his shoulders relaxed. “Okay rude. Still fair but also rude. I feel like now is the time I’d usually try and figure out what I am with someone but we’re like seven layers deep into whatever magic fuckery is happening here so I don’t even know if there’s a word for what we would be.”

Cas’ voice was firm, the answer direct and immovable.

“We are us. Just us.”

Dean smiled again before he leaned against Cas’ side, staring out at the lake.

“Yeah, we’re us. Cheers to us.”

Chapter Text

Bernard Williams once said that if a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance. For Dean Winchester, that sentiment rang true. It was early June when he and Cas first kissed and he'd had run away like a child embarrassed by their schoolyard crush. It was mid-June when Dean had admitted to himself and Cas how he truly felt, how he liked Cas and wanted to see where they went. It was late June when they’d finally gotten over their barriers, when they’d taken things to the next level.

Dean still thought about that day and what they’d done. He’d long flown past the shame and had settled into a comfortable acceptance of it. The pair of them were what they were and there was no shame in two grown adults sharing affections and trading in intimate touch. It was the healthiest relationship Dean had had in years.

They hadn’t kissed since that day but Dean didn’t mind. Between the talks and the comfortable silence they shared staring out at the lake, Dean didn’t feel like he needed anything else. Every once in a while he dared to make a move, to press a quick kiss to Cas’ cheek. That move always ended the same, with Cas flushed red and slipping into the lake and Dean dealing with the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence inside of him.

It wasn’t much but it was them and that was enough.

Allie Ray said then came July like three o’clock in the afternoon, hot and listless and miserable. What she neglected to mention were the storms the misery brewed, wicked terrible things that gripped Dean like a vice and sent him crashing into the rocks again and again. July dashed Dean Winchester to pieces and scattered the remains.

On the first of July Dean made his way out to the rock like usual, sitting cross legged as he called for Cas. He’d been excited that day, ready to tell Cas all about the twenty minutes he and Sam had talked on the phone. But ten minutes of calling yielded no results and Dean’s hear had skipped a beat. Cas wasn’t close, that’s what he told himself. That’s why he didn’t answer.

They could just talk tomorrow.

Three days later and Dean still hadn’t heard from Cas. Four days after that and he still hadn’t seen scale nor tail of Cas. It was as if the very lake had gone quiet and still, tightening its leash. There were no ripples, no splashes, no indicators that the lake held life and it made Dean uneasy. He tiptoed on eggshells around the lake, careful to be as respectful as possible when he roamed the shores and sat on the rock. Every day he called and every day he left with no answer.

Mid July came on the back of a brutal dry thunderstorm, ozone charging the air. Wickedly dry and humid all at once, Dean spent his days inside as much as humanly possible. At dusk he roamed the beach, hands cupping his mouth as he screamed for Cas. Each unanswered call drove another nail of anxiety into his chest and wrapped another chain around his ankles. Every step burdened him and by the end, his heart was so heavy he thought it would burst out of his chest.

Why wasn’t Cas answering?

Had something happened to him?

An intrusive thought punched its way to the forefront of his mind: Cas, caught in a net, trapped and drowning at the bottom of the lake. Could he even drown? He had gills but they’d been shrinking and were nearly gone the last time he’d seen Cas and that had been a month and a half ago.

The panic turned his stomach and bile rose up in his throat. Dean made it back to the cottage before he threw up.

It was July 27^th now and rain pattered against the lighthouse window, forceful and insistent as if it wanted to destroy everything in its path. Waves assaulted the shore, white tips frothing and shooting foam onto the sand and the rock. The lake itself was screaming, a horrid crashing noise as if it were trying to split itself in two.

“God Cas, I really fucking hope you’re okay.” Dean whispered as he stared out at the lake with trepidation.

Half asleep, Dean was startled awake by a crack of thunder. He jumped, chair scraping against the concrete as he nearly threw himself to the floor. Heart pounding in his chest, Dean rose unsteadily to his feet and made his way to the dashboard. Buttons blinked back at him and the beam of the lighthouse cut through the darkness like it was supposed to but it didn’t calm Dean in the slightest.

It was the final crack of lightning that did Dean in. Lighting up the sky, Dean’s eyes fell to the middle of the lake. There, barely discernable among the frothy whitecaps of the waves, was a pale figure. Arms clawed at the water and the roar of blood in Dean’s ears was deafening as he raced to the window. He scanned the figure, panic rising.

Was it Cas?

It was too far to tell and the figure vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared but Dean felt ill. The illness compounded into mind numbing worry when he heard it, the aftershocks of a scream dying in the roar of thunder. It sounded human but it sounded like the lake too, a sound lost beneath the violence of Mother Nature.

Dean couldn’t catch his breath, a burning ache spreading through his chest as he clutched at his shirt. Panic clouded his thoughts and when they narrowed, they narrowed to a singularity. It was Cas. Every thought was of Cas. The images played like a movie he couldn’t turn off, flashing behind his eyes like a hellish picture show.

Cas caught in a net and drowning at the bottom of the lake.

Cas’ broken body dashed against the rocks, blood leaking back into the lake who refused to let him go.

Cas, human as the day he was born, clawing and clutching at the roiling waves until exhaustion set in and he sank beneath the waves.

Try as he might, there was nothing Dean could do to stop them. They continued, each image more ghastly than the next until the first choked sob ripped its way from his throat. Pure panic overwhelmed him and the tears flowed freely now, slipping hot and quick down his cheeks and onto the knees he hugged to his chest.

Cas was probably dead and it was all his fault. 

He’d been the one to search for answers, to get Cas to revert, to drink that fucking potion and have a tryst with him. If only he’d never accepted the potion. Maybe then Cas would be alive. He’d still be a monster, still be trapped in the lake, but he’d be alive and that beat the alternative. The blood on his hands grew thicker and thicker with ewach passing day and Dean felt like he’d never be able to wash it off.

Every person he’d ever hurt, every person he’d failed to save, he remembered them all. He kept their names buried in his brain and with each good action he did, he was able to make amends and absolve himself of the guilt he had no need to be carrying in the first place. Putting Cas’ name on the list felt like the first unforgivable thing he’d done in his life.

“Fuck, Cas… I’m so sorry.” He whispered, weeping openly. “I never should’ve kissed you. I shouldn’t have called for you. I never should’ve fucking come here.”

Dean wept and the storm raged on.

It was a soft voice that roused him hours later, rife with concern. He shifted in response to the word he hadn’t been able to comprehend, stiff aching neck popping as he lifted his head. Charlie stood in the cabin of the lighthouse, staring down at Dean. In the light of day her hair lit up like fire and Dean wondered if she was the angel sent to strike him down for his sins.

“Dean?” she whispered softly as she crouched down, eyes scanning his face. Swollen bloodshot eyes stared back at her and she had no doubt that his hidden mouth was pressed into a permanent frown.

Dean’s throat was scraped raw and his voice came out broken, rife with strain and grief. He knew what he sounded like – exactly the same as when he’d told Charlie about Lake Manitoc – but he hadn’t counted on the way this emotion sharpened his voice, tone razor sharp and standoffish.

“What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a month and you haven’t answered my calls or texts or stopped by the library. I was worried about you and I think I was right to be.”

“I’m fine.” He replied as he shifted. His hip cracked as he dropped a leg and shooting pain raced up his arm as he braced himself on the ground before pushing to his feet. Dizziness wrote over the stiff aching pain and Dean braced himself against the wall, eyes closed as the world spun around him.

“You’re not fine.”

Dean glanced over at her, cagey and unimpressed. “I’m up and moving and haven’t died yet so yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look and sound like you were crying but sure, you’re fine. I’m not gonna press if you don’t wanna talk but I got questions you can answer. Cas related questions.”

Dean flinched at the mention of Cas, visibly curling in on himself. The name stuck like a dagger in his chest, spreading misery and pain through his veins with every pump of his traitorous heart. Carding a hand through his hair, Dean tried to recover and save face. He failed miserably.

“I used what you and Rowena gave me, just so you know.”

“Okay?”  Charlie said, dragging the word out and framing it as a question. “And?”

“I haven’t seen him since.”

“Like at all?”

Dean shook his head, leaning against the wall as the fight left his body. He was in it now and Charlie wasn’t planning on leaving any time soon. His expression was somber, the kind of starkness that came with defeat. “We got it done and he left and he never came back. I haven’t seen him or heard him or anything.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed and her response was quick, a tad harsh like she knew what was going to come out of Dean’s mouth next.

“Dean, you know it’s”—

“He could be hurt or sick or dead and it’s my fault.” Dean mumbled, words lodging in his throat like a stuck pill. “I took a fucking risk at his expense and I don’t know if it was worth it. I just – all I can think about is what might be happening.”

Charlie opened her arms, wordlessly inviting Dean in for the hug he would need in about two minutes. She could see the tremble of his shoulders and the quiver of his lips and it felt all too familiar. He was doing exactly what he’d done when he’d broken down in front of her before. Dean internalized everything, assigned all of the blame to himself when none of it was his fault this time.

He sank into her arms, his own circling around her. She hugged him fiercely, not quite a python squeeze but close enough. “Do you want to tell me what’s running through your head? Might be good to get it out.”

“Not here. In the cottage.” He replied as he slipped out of her arms, reaching for her hand to take her along with him.

The cottage was the cleanest Charlie had ever seen it. Journals and tapes were stacked on the kitchen table and dishes dried next to the sink. Even the quick glimpse she caught of the bedroom was eerily devoid of any mess. There wasn’t even a t-shirt on the ground.

“You’ve been anxiety cleaning. I didn’t realize you were in so deep or I would’ve come around sooner.”

“Didn’t want to give in to the worry. Keeping my hands busy helps.” Dean shrugged. He flicked the kettle on and grabbed two mugs, leaning against the counter while the water boiled. “I keep picturing Cas hurt in the lake, tangled up in another net or dashed on the rocks or drowned and just floating and it’s too much.”

“He’s got gills though, so he shouldn’t be able to drown. That takes that theory out of the running.”

Dean shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. He doesn’t look like what you remember. Not anymore.”

“Well what’s he look like then?”

“Way too human. Only monster bits as of June were his eyes, his teeth, and his tail. Still has some scales and claws but they’re way less than before. He was talking too, like actual human sentences talking. Told me I talk too much and then he kissed me.”

Charlie’s expression softened, a wave of sympathy washing over her. She could hear how Dean’s voice had quieted, how the undercurrent of fondness rippled underneath. There was no denying the connection he had with Cas and Charlie imagined it had only deepened. That explained why Dean was so all over the place and hard on himself. She took the mug of tea from him, hands closing around the ceramic.

“You really love him, don’t you?”

Dean’s laugh was quiet, more a puff of air escaping his lips than anything else.

“I didn’t mean to but yeah, I do. There’s no way I can explain it that’ll make sense to either of us but it’s there and I don’t hate that it’s there. We talk and he knows me, knows my history, and he stayed. Well he did for a little while anyway. Guess I was just hoping he would stay forever, that he’d choose me.”

“Just because you haven’t seen him, doesn’t mean that he’s gone and I know you know that.” Her voice was soft and judgment free, like a childhood teddy bear. “If he feels the same way and I’m guessing he does, he wouldn’t just leave you. He might be hunting or changing or even taking time to process everything. It doesn’t mean that he’s dead or hurt or running away. He lives in a lake so he can’t exactly run very far.”

“I know that and I know you’re not wrong, I just – I’m not used to people sticking around so this hurts more because he was around so much.”

“Well you can’t give up on him yet. You haven’t given up on him this far, so what’s another couple weeks of having faith. That’s like half the battle.”

“Did Rowena tell you how long the potion would take to work?” Dean asked, changing the subject. “I know she said blood would make it go faster but we didn’t go the blood route.”

“She didn’t know. She’s never seen anything like this either. Also blood magic and elemental magic aren’t really a science so there aren’t like any set parameters or anything. Could be a few days, could be months. Probably based on how human he was before you guys did it and how intense it got. Your connection probably has something to do with it too.”

“Can we not use the phrase ‘you guys did it’? That’s actually terrible. Makes us sound like a couple of horny teens.”

“It’s true though. And you're mooning over him like a horny teenager so I'm not retracting that statement.” She grinned, waggling her eyebrows at him. Dean looked like he was relaxing now, his shoulders sagging and the tight lines in his face loosening. “Was it at least good? Cuz I feel like it would be but also I dunno.”

“It was.”

“That’s great, glad you kind of got some. You feeling better now?”

“A little. More distracted I guess. Less visions of Cas dying in horrific ways flashing behind my eyes.”

“Good. I’m gonna check in with Rowena about the potion when I leave, see if I can get some more information for you so you aren’t going insane here all alone. Also, I want you to check in with me more just to make sure you’re okay. Text me once a week, yeah?”

Dean nodded his head. One text a week was simple enough and while the old him would’ve been insulted that Charlie was essentially engineering a glorified check-in, the new him appreciated it. It meant she cared enough to think about it.

“I can do that.” He said, sipping the tea. “How are you so sure Cas isn’t dead? Not trying to cause problems, just curious.”

“The lake would tell us if he was, I guarantee it. There’d be storms and yeah we have storms now but these would be different storms, like the kind where you can’t leave the house because you’re afraid God is gonna strike you down for daring to set foot outside. The air would be heavy and the lake wouldn’t be quiet. That shit would be screaming.”

“Well it sure as fuck sounded like it was screaming last night.”

“Maybe but not like the way it would then. Also you’re connected to Cas by more than feelings and magic and I guarantee the fact you’ve got doubts and anxieties about him being alive means he is. You’d know if he was dead. Deep down you’d know.”

“You make it sound like we’re soulmates or something.”

Charlie shrugged. “Maybe you are.”

Dean had never believed in soulmates and he wasn’t entirely convinced now either. Soulmates implied a lack of choice and a predestined fate you couldn’t avoid no matter how hard you tried. That was complete bullshit. Life was about free will and forging your own path, about breaking the cycles you found yourself trapped in so you could make something new and better.

Cas wasn’t his soulmate. They had a connection Dean couldn’t quite place into words but that didn’t mean it was fate. He didn’t believe in fate. The only thing he believed in at this point was himself, himself and Charlie and the bonds he was forming with those around him. Those profound bonds kept him afloat.

“I don’t think soulmates exist but that’s neither here or there. Cas and me, we’re just – we’re us. That’s all there is.”

“Just us, I like that. Maybe I’ll find a ‘just us’ in Cali when we go. Are you still okay with moving in together? I’m only asking because I’ve been apartment hunting.”

“Yeah, still down for that. You need my info for applications?”

“Already got it.”

“How the fuck?”

Charlie’s grin was playful, her eyes sparkling. “A girl never reveals her secrets but I promise your info’s safe with me. Are you doing better now?”

“Yeah. Not perfect but this helped.”

“Good. You’re not allowed to go insane on me. Are you gonna be okay if I go? I actually have something I have to do for work later.”

“You’ve got actual work?” Dean asked, evidently surprised. “But yeah, I’m good.”

“The children of Port Maren need their librarian led story time.”

Charlie paused by Dean and hugged him once more, a calm reassuring gesture, and then she was out the door and Dean was alone again. The loneliness hurt less now, simply a dull edge pressed against his throbbing temple as he stared out the window at the silent lake.

“Just be okay Cas. Please be okay.”

~

Sarah Dessen’s sentiment rang the truest; if June was the beginning of a hopeful summer, and July the juicey middle, August was suddenly feeling like the bitter end.  

Dean had checked in with Charlie every week like she’d asked, a quick text to let her know that he was still alive and hadn’t succumbed to the sea madness. Through their texts and the two in person visits they’d had, Dean had learned virtually nothing. Rowena’s answer about the potion had been singularly unhelpful, a virtual ‘I dunno’ wrapped up in a Scottish accent and lace.

On August 10^th Dean heard the first trace of Cas in nearly two months. He’d been on the beach when it echoed, a shout of his name that shot straight to his core. Deep and familiar, Dean knew it was Cas. Head snapping up, he scanned the lake as far as the eye could see but he came up empty. Not that the emptiness mattered in the long run. A shout was a shout and that meant Cas was alive.

On August 19^th Dean found the second trace of Cas in the last two months. He’d nearly tripped over it as he walked along the beach, toed of his boot hooking into it. Dean recognized the spike when he picked himself up. It had been on Cas’ shoulder the last time they’d been together. Crouching down and brushing at the sand revealed teeth, scales, a few sharp fingernails, and several of the strands that had been on Cas’ tail.

Whatever this pile of viscera was, there was more of it than Dean had ever seen and that led him to a singular conclusion. The potion had worked and something was happening.

When Dean woke on August 29^th, the very world had tilted on its axis.

Shutters slammed against the windows and the very walls of the cottage shook and trembled beneath the violent gusts of wind, a cacophony of noise that pierced Dean’s ears. The very foundation of the cottage threatened to buckle and crack underneath the pressure of the storm.

Dean fell from his bed, stomach lurching violently. Something had pissed off the lake and it was coming for everyone in Port Maren. That or the devil was finally making his return. Either way, this wasn’t going to end well. Picking himself up from the floor with a groan and a curse, Dean’s eyes widened.

The sky had gone a pale sickly yellow, like someone had bled the brightness out, and clouds dark as night rolled marched across the lake. No doubt a thunderous march was soon to follow. Even the lake had changed, frothing whitecaps cresting the onslaught of waves against the shore. Dark moss green water seemed to swallow what little light there was.

“Fuck.” Dean whispered under his breath.

He’d heard tales of wicked August storms, of the angry water that had dragged sailors to a watery grave simply because it could. This was elemental and it was pissed.

His first thought as he closed the bedroom shutters and latched them with the iron lock wasn’t that he was going to get wet. It wasn’t even that he was going to have to man the lighthouse when the clouds inevitably swallowed the sun like some hinge-jawed gulper eel. No, Dean’s first thought was Cas.

Cas was out in that lake, alone in that lake. Maybe he was safe, tucked in amongst the rocks like a bluehead chub minnow ready to wait out the storm and emerge victorious. Dean’s mind drifted like a leaf in the river, ripped violently into the undertow and whisked towards the rapids. If Cas wasn’t safe, then he was drowning – murky lake water rushing into his lungs and burning him from the inside out. Dean’s lungs ached with the memory of Lake Manitoc, hands clenching into fists.

“No, he’s not drowning. Cas is fine. Get a fucking grip.” He whispered to himself, ignoring the tremble in his voice. There wasn’t the time for uncertainty.

Bedroom windows shuttered successfully, Dean made his way to the kitchen. He unplugged the appliances and tucked everything into the cupboards, latching them closed. If a window broke he didn’t want the wind destroying his kitchen. Preventing the mess was half the battle.

He shuttered the kitchen window before opening the fridge, pulling out the food he’d already made. If this storm was anything like the others, it would be days of unrelenting rain and brutal winds and he’d run himself into the ground from pure exhaustion. Dean bypassed the coffee, opting for water, and packed that along with everything else.

“Good luck to me.” He mumbled, slipping into his boots and the slicker.

He made quick work of the walk to the lighthouse, the door slamming shut behind him.  Rain dripped off the slicker in long streams, pooling on the concrete floor. Dean’s reflection stared back at him and for a moment he stared back, transfixed by the man who he didn’t quite recognize. Tired and beaten down, this reflection was the echo of January.

The cabin of the lighthouse was the same as it always was and so was Dean’s routine, He moved on autopilot, flipping the breaker and pressing all of the buttons in perfectly ordered sequence: red, blue, green, orange, green again, and then the violently purple start button. The machinery whirred to life and the electric hum nearly drowned out the rain pattering against the window.

For the morning and the better part of the afternoon, Dean prepared. He ran tests and double checked the manuals, running through the processes in his mind until he was convinced he’d be able to recite them in his sleep. When the old tongues came to him and the light had finally dimmed, Dean looked out at the lake.

Thick charcoal grey clouds split in the middle and the moon shone through, a thin silver sliver casting light onto the roiling lake. Murky and dark, the water thrashed against itself in a desperate fight Dean didn’t understand. White caps churned and foam covered the sandy beach, debris already strewn about like the aftermath of a toddler’s nightly tantrum. Dean knew what he’d find on the beach if he braved the storm, all the wood and fish and treasures dredged up from the deep.

“It’s only going to get worse.” He mumbled to himself, shielding his eyes when the first bolt of lightning arced across the sky.

Nine pm on the dot proved Dean right. A vicious howl – the wind or a demon crawling up from hell, Dean didn’t know – ripped through the chaos of the storm and all hell broke loose. Glass shattered in front of him and Dean stumbled back, tripping over himself and landing on the floor. The shards cut at his hands but he barely noticed, too busy crawling away from the branch the storm had hurled through the window. It missed him by a few inches and his heart kicked up a few notches in his chest.

That felt personal.

That felt like the lake wanted him out of commission.

Dean rose to his feet and wiped his bloody palms on his pants before he reached for the branch, pulling it off of the dashboard and tossing it into a corner of the cabin. Wind whipped through the broken window into the cabin, pressure uneven and sound screaming like a banshee in his ear, and the rain followed. Dean panicked, alarm zinging through his limbs. Rain and electronics were a no go.

In the end he reached for a tarp and plastered it over the broken window, tying it in place with knots he’d long forgotten the names of. It was temporary but it would keep the rain out until the window could be fixed and that’s what mattered. He wiped down the dashboard and then double checked the electronics, breathing a sigh of relief when they worked.

“You’re not getting me out of here that easily.” He muttered out to the lake. “I’m not leaving without him.”

Thunder boomed in response and Dean flipped it off. He didn’t have the patience for the games, not now.

By 11 the storm had picked up and Dean was convinced it was the apocalypse. He watched, half expecting the horsemen to rise from the like the reverse of some long forgotten shipwreck. War would come on a ship laden with weapons, barnacle crusted rockets ready to fire and start world war three. Pestilence would emerge in the bloated body of a long forgotten corpse, grey blue skin and cracked lips peeling back to reveal the rot buried underneath. Famine would appear as a lone stranger roaming the beach, the kind of man so thin from hunger he almost vanished. People would pay him no mind because they never did, because they never bothered to look at the things that made them uncomfortable. He would feast.

Death would be the last to come, riding the pale white capped waves as he descended on the beach. Cloaked in night and just as deadly, Death would tilt his head and simply watch. He would collect the souls on the beach and then he would wait for the end. All of it would end. It always did.

Alarms ripped Dean from the clutches of a foggy dream filled half sleep. He shot awake, wide eyed as his head whipped around, trying to find the source of the noise. A bulb, burnt out and smoking, stared back at him from the top right of the control panel.

“Fuck.”

Of all the bulbs to burn out, it had to be that one. That was the warning bulb, the radar bulb, the bulb that told Dean the tides were changing and the storm was growing worse. It was the bulb of hope and the bulb of despair and it was gone. What was left, if there wasn’t hope and there wasn’t despair?

Humanity, that’s what was left. The stubborn emotions in the swirling miasma remained, still burning bright despite the adversity. Anger, fear, bitterness, the desire to change, all of that remained. The anger at the world for what it had done to him, the fear that he would never be better, the desire to be better, all of it was there. Bitterness rode behind it all, a sour undercurrent Dean was hard pressed to ignore. He tried though, tried his damnedest.

The bitterness wouldn’t win.

Not this time.

Quick as a whistle, Dean pulled a spare bulb from the box he kept underneath the dashboard for emergencies just like this. He pulled the old bulb off and put the new one in, wiping off the smudge of blood he left behind. Burnt iron on a lightbulb wasn’t a smell easy to forget. Bulb in place, Dean took a second to breathe and then he was rebooting the system.

It whirred to life in time with the cracks of lightning in the sky and for a brief moment, Dean knew what Victor Frankenstein must’ve felt like. The key difference between them – 7 foot gothic monster aside – was that Dean didn’t fear death. It was a part of life and in the end, it was inevitable. His monster was also a merman so that was different too. Adam versus Castiel, both were biblical but only one was real.

By 2 am, the lighthouse had descended into chaos and Dean could barely catch his breath. He’d tarped up the window and replaced the bulb but that hadn’t stopped the dashboard itself from revolting and shutting autopilot off. Pages of the instruction manual were strewn across the table and the floor and his coffee cup had tipped over, water spilled across the floor in a flagrant health and safety violation. His packed supper was half eaten, leftover spaghetti hanging out by the edge of the table and once bitten apple browning in the air.

He pressed the buttons, fingers dancing on the keypad as he input code after code in a maddening display of numbers. The twist of a dial here and the tug of a lever there and then the light was back and beaming directly into the lake. Dean saw nothing when he looked, no trace of Cas in the waves below. That offered no comfort.

Between the chaos and the lack of sleep, Dean felt like he was hooked into a live wire. His spine zinged with electricity and something he couldn’t quite name. Exhilaration perhaps. The storm raged on outside, thunder and lightning so deeply entwined they were one, and the memories came back to Dean in a rush. Every call he’d ever been on, all the adrenaline and energy and satisfaction earned by helping, coursed through him. That’s why he loved the job and that’s why he loved this. It was life and it was chaotic and despite his exhaustion, it was almost fun.

When 3 am hit and the alarms had gone silent, the autopilot re-engaged and Dean felt like he could breathe again. He slumped over the dashboard and his tired eyes chanced a glance out at the lake. The lake remained the same, roiling waves and crashing peaks and fury so pent up it was begging for release. Wind howled and rain pelted and the lake screamed but Dean didn’t notice, eyes glued to something that didn’t sit quite right.

Caught between the waves was something pale, something battered and broken as the lake wrestled with it. Dean squinted, heart hammering in his chest. It couldn’t be the peak of a wave and it wasn’t debris so what the hell was it? He leaned in closer and all at once his heart stopped.

In the lake, grasping at the waves that would never save, was a hand. A very human hand.

Dean didn’t process, didn’t stop and think, didn’t do any of the checklist things he was supposed to do. He acted.

His feet thudded down the stairs and then he was out the door, slicker forgotten on the back of his chair. Torrential rain soaked through the thin cotton of his t-shirt, water cold against his flushed skin. Sand squished beneath his boots as he ran down the beach, eyes still scanning the lake. The hand was gone but Dean was convinced it would come back.

“C’mon, please be there.” He huffed, footsteps turning heavy as he scrambled up the slick rock.

For two minutes Dean scanned the lake but he saw nothing, eyes unaccustomed to the darkness and the beam too far out in the lake to be of any use. A flash of lightning lit up the darkness and, magnetized, Dean’s eyes fell upon what he’d been searching for. The hand, entirely human and pale as moonlight, attached to an arm attached to a human being struggling in the waves. Dean saw the mop of black hair and he knew.

If it had been anyone else he would’ve hesitated, the ghosts of Lake Manitoc chaining him to the spot. He hated lakes, feared the open water and the waves and the restless spirits ready to finish the job his father had started all those years ago but this, this was different. This was Cas.

Dean kicked off his boots and then he dove, frigid stormy waters a jolt to the system. The Lake couldn’t have Cas, Dean wouldn’t let it. It hit him like a slap to the face, the waves crashing in around him like they knew he was there but he didn’t stop. He kicked and swam and dragged himself out to the last place he’d seen Cas and then he dove. Almost too dark to see, Dean struggled under the water to find him.

This wasn’t going to be the end, it couldn’t be. Months and months of hope and frustration and bitterness and all of it was culminating in this, in this singular moment. Dean came up for air, gasping for it as lightning arced across the sky.

“You can’t have him!” He screamed at the sky, defiant.

Dean dove again and the water fought him, waves dragging him back up to the surface no matter how hard he tried. Still he persisted, lungs burning and aching as he fought to get to Cas. He could see the hand now and then he saw Cas’ face. His human face. Floating in the water, Cas looked downright serene but Dean knew it was a farce. Cas may have looked peaceful but he wasn’t. Drowning wasn’t peaceful.

Dean’s hand closed around Cas’ wrist and then he was pulling him up, breaking the surface with a violent gasp. The waves crashed hard, trying to claim both Dean and Cas, but Dean fought harder. He hooked an arm around Cas’ middle, just under his arms, and he swam. Dean swam the quickest he’d swam in years, fuelled by a desperate hope that everything would be okay. He managed to haul Cas onto the flat rock and then another wave crashed over him, sending him back into the lake.

Water poured into his mouth and shot up his nostrils and the familiar burn returned. Heart racing, Dean clawed at the water as he tried to free himself. It wasn’t going to end like this, it couldn’t. He had plans and life left to live and no lake was going to take that away from him. Dean Winchester had survived Lake Manitoc and he was going to survive Lake Maren too.

He broke the surface just as the burning crescendoed, air filling his lungs once again. Hands planted on the flat rock, Dean hauled himself onto it. There was no time to catch his breath or to think because Cas was beside him and he wasn’t moving.

Cas.

It always came back to Cas.

Eyes closed, he was human again. Gone was the tail and the teeth and the scales, replaced with human legs and a body he’d been out of for six years. Scrambling to his knees, Dean dropped his head. Ear hovering near Cas’ mouth and eyes on Cas’ chest, Dean waited for it to rise and fall. It didn’t.

Dean swore under his breath and then he moved, rising up onto his knees as he locked his hands together and placed them on Cas’ chest. No stranger to compressions, Dean began. The first compression wasn’t deep enough and Dean swore under his breath, changing his position. Compression number two was stronger and Dean felt a rib crack beneath his hands, shockwave travelling up his arms.

“Come on Cas, come on.” He whispered desperately, hands still working.

The rescue breaths were quick, two in and out. Cas’ lips were cold and wet, not unlike a fish, and Dean’s mind was racing. How long had it been since Cas had been breathing? Would there be brain damage? Would he even be able to come back?

Time seemed to move in slow motion the longer Dean worked and then something shifted, like a hold being released. Quick and quiet, a beat beneath Dean’s hands. Cas gasped and then coughed, water bubbling from his mouth.

“Woah hey, hey.” Dean mumbled, grabbing Cas and shifting him into the recovery position so he didn’t choke. He couldn’t feel the relief because he was too busy thinking about everything else, monitoring Cas as best he could. Hypothermia was a given and that concerned him.

Cas coughed until his lungs were on fire and then he stilled, chest rising and falling weakly. He couldn’t move, too weak from struggling against the waves. Dean gave him a minute to adjust and then he was scooping Cas up, arm under his legs and around his back. He cradled Cas to his chest and then he stumbled off the rock, scurrying back to the cottage.

When Dean made it into the cottage, his mind had only sped up. He moved with a single mindedness, every action planned out. Laying Cas down on the kitchen table, he left to fetch a dry towel. He dried Cas off quickly, patting gently around the chest that was already beginning to bruise. There were broken ribs beneath but Dean didn’t think Cas would mind in the long run.

“Gotta get you warm.” He said, voice quiet as he talked to Cas. “Got you dried off, gonna get you into some warm clothes and into bed. Gonna be nice and personal for a little while but I really don’t think you’ll care.”

Dean carried Cas to the small bed, laying him down as gently as he could. He moved with a quiet purpose as he dressed Cas, slipping a shirt over his chest and sweatpants on his bare legs. The clothes practically swallowed Cas, too big on his too small frame.

“There you go. Gonna keep the blankets on you while you warm up. Probably not gonna wake up for a while but I’ll be right here making sure you’re okay.”

Dean’s voice was soft as he pulled the blankets over Cas, readjusting the pillows to support his head. He took the time to dry off and change into dry clothes and then he sank back into the chair next to the bed, eyes lingering on Cas. The storm raged on outside the cottage but inside was calm, Dean’s solemn vigil soft on the edges.

“I told you I’d find a way to help you and I meant it. Welcome back Cas.”

Chapter Text

Dean had dreamt about Cas’ triumphant return for months. He’d run through scenario after scenario, rehearsed exactly what he wanted to say to the man. The rehearsed speech had died the second he’d pulled Cas out of the lake. Nothing could’ve prepared Dean for that, for the adrenaline and anxiety and mirror of saving a second person he cared about from a lake. It would’ve been poetic – a cycle broken by a broken man piecing himself back together – if it hadn’t been so harrowing.

The adrenaline was gone, replaced with a bone deep exhaustion that Dean forced himself to ignore. Cas needed someone to watch him and make sure he kept breathing and there was no one else to do it. So here Dean was, dressed in dry clothes curled up in the bedside chair with bandaged hands clutching a mug of nuclear strength coffee keeping vigil. Cas was asleep, chest rising and falling slowly and Dean took his time to examine the man.

Dark hair, still damp from the lake, stuck to his forehead in slow drying curls Dean itched to rake his fingers through. He allowed himself a brief touch as he brushed a strand away from Cas’ forehead. Scars from injuries past marked Cas’ face, one running from the corner of his lip to just beneath his right eye and the other intimately familiar. Nothing more than a half inch vertical mark underneath his bottom lip, Dean recalled the fish hook that had been stuck there so many months ago.

“Bet those are gonna make you a hit with all the guys.” Dean mused. His own scars had the opposite effect.

His eyes flit between the delicate lashes and the chapped lips, lingering on the sharp cheekbones and prominent nose. There was something statuesque about Cas, a sort of classic beauty that felt all too disarming. It was the kind of beauty that didn’t strike right away. Instead it took its time worming in until it wouldn’t let you escape. It was the 'passing a beautiful person on the street or in the subway knowing that you’ll never see them again' kind of beauty.

Smaller lines slashed Cas’ neck on either side, horizontal and so faded they’d be missed if you didn’t know what you were looking for; but Dean knew. He knew there had been gills there. Beneath the blankets Dean knew what Cas looked like, the fishing net scars crisscrossing his arms and the long scar running up his right thigh from the gash in his tail. There were more scars Dean hadn’t seen, of that he had no doubt.

Cas stirred, quiet gasp escaping his lips as he shifted.

“Hey, you’re okay. Just relax.” Dean murmured, voice quiet as he leaned in. He hovered until Cas settled back down, resting once again.

Beneath the blankets he was still but the evidence of his tenure in the lake was present. From the brief glimpse he’d seen of Cas as he dried him off, the man was thin. His joints were knobby and the muscle was so lean it looked nonexistent. It made sense and it made Dean’s heart ache. It would be a long road to recovery.

Dean stayed in the chair for almost a full day keeping vigil while Cas slept, a faithful gargoyle keeping the spirits away. It was only when his stomach howled in anger that Dean peeled himself from the chair, walking on tingling legs to the kitchen. He made himself another pot of coffee and worked through half a pint of overripe blueberries before he was interrupted.

A noise echoed in the cottage, a mix between a cry and a pained gasp. Dean startled into action, abandoning his coffee and blueberries as he made his way back to the bedroom. Cas was awake and clearly disoriented, glancing around and trying to sit up.

“Woah, hey, you’re okay.” Dean murmured, reaching for Cas. He grabbed Cas’ outstretched hand and gently lifted him enough to fix the pillows. When he let go Cas sank back into the pillows, sitting upright but reclined slightly. “You’re not gonna wanna move too much. You got knocked around real good but that storm. Got a few broken ribs from the cpr too. Sorry.”

Cas blinked slowly as he settled into the pillows, still in a daze. His eyes couldn’t quite focus and when he tried to speak, it came out in a hoarse rasp.

“Don’t try to talk, I don’t think you’ll be able to. I don’t know how bad the storm fucked your body up. And yes, I said your body. Now I know you’re probably panicking and freaking the fuck out because you’ve got no clue what’s happening so I’m gonna fill you in. That okay?”

A nod from Cas, quick and decisive.

“The solution we had, that potion and what we did, it worked. It’s August now, almost September, and this is the first time I’ve seen you in months. You were unconscious and not breathing in that lake two days ago and I pulled you out. Had to give you cpr, kind of broke a few of your ribs in the process so that’s why your chest feels like it was stomped on by an angry cow. So to make it short and sweet, you’re human and you’re okay and you’re in the cottage.”

Cas blinked again and then he shifted, holding out his arms in front of him. His eyes scanned as far as they could and then they dropped to the blanket, to the two distinct lumps beneath it. When he looked back at Dean, there were tears brimming in his eyes. They fell freely before he could stop them and then Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands cradling Cas’ face and thumbs brushing away the tears.

“Just let it out, I’m right here.”

Cas did, tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping from his face. Emotion overwhelmed him, relief at being free and hope and fear and an all-consuming sense that something was finally going his way. He leaned in and wrapped his arms around Dean, clutching onto him as if he were a lifeline. Dean accepted it, hands sliding down Cas’ back until he could hold him gently. The touch was unconditional, reassuring. Cas sagged back against the pillows when he let go of Dean, exhaustion etched in the lines of his face.

“Get some more rest, okay? I’m gonna make you some tea and maybe some broth. Not sure what your stomach can handle right now but you must be starving.”

Cas nodded his head, closing his eyes.

Dean returned to the kitchen and turned the kettle back on, reaching for the tea blend he’d bought months ago. An odd mix of ginger, chamomile, and mint, it didn’t taste great but it settled stomachs and calmed nerves. While the tea boiled he made the broth, warming it just enough to be consumable without burning. Boiling broth and hot tea together would just irritate Cas’ throat.

Returning to the bedroom, Dean found Cas awake and glancing around the room. Wariness aside, there was a sort of curiosity in his face that put Dean at ease. Cas was well enough to be curious which meant the prognosis was good. “It’s pretty sparse in here, I know. I don’t own much. Go slow with the broth, I don’t want to make you sick. No clue what your stomach situation is like right now.”

Cas shrugged the best he could, watching as Dean sat down on the bed. He set the tea on the nightstand before holding out the bowl of broth. Cas accepted it with shaky hands, the weight of the bowl foreign in the hands he’d forgotten how to use. The broth itself was mild, vegetable most likely, but it beat the taste of fish he had grown accustomed to. Even the heat of it was pleasant, resting right at the threshold of uncomfortable as he swallowed.

He watched Dean as he ate, silently observing. The man looked worn, weighed down with exhaustion and concern and Cas felt his stomach drop. Dean said it’d been months since they’d seen each other but that didn’t make sense. The last thing Cas remembered was that day on the rock, the day they had become an us. Surely it wasn’t already almost September. But Dean wouldn’t lie to him. The missing time sat like a rock in his chest.

Dean was slumping over in the chair as he sat, body giving out beneath him like he hadn’t slept in days. Cas wanted to scoot over, to give Dean the rest he craved, but every little movement sent shockwaves of pain through his aching body. There would be time to rest later. He set the bowl aside when he had finished and folded his hands in his lap. Trying to speak again felt odd but a word clawed its way out of his throat and into the open air, heavy with meaning.

“Dean…”

Dean’s head snapped up, eyes widening at the use of his name. It was the first thing Cas had said to him as a monster and now it was the first thing he said as a human. Full circle, it was touching. Cas’ voice was deep and raspy, just as it had been when he’d been a monster but Dean didn’t mind. He found it charming.

“You don’t have to talk, it’s all good.” He said, offering Cas a tired smile. “Just wait until you’re feeling better before you talk. I was thinking and we’ve got a few options here. You could get some more sleep which you probably need but you’d probably also benefit from a bath. There’s 100% sand in places it shouldn’t be.”

Cas tensed at mention of a bath, body scrunching in on itself. The last thing he wanted was to be anywhere near any kind of water, bathwater or otherwise. His movement sent another wave of pain through him and he winced in response, hand pressing against his chest.

“Right, no water it is. I’m gonna get you an ice pack so you can ice your poor ribs and then you can get some more rest. That sound okay?”

Cas nodded again, settling back against the pillows with closed eyes. He heard Dean’s footsteps as he moved, the whoosh of the freezer door foreign to his ears. The press of the icepack against his chest was uncomfortable but the cold was comfortably numbing and he was grateful for it. He kept it pressed there, eyes still closed but ears wide as Dean talked.

“So, I’m gonna get out of your hair so you can rest because you need it but I won’t go far and that’s a promise. I need to clean up the lighthouse and then this cottage but I’ll check on you as much as I can. Just focus on resting and recovering and we can deal with all the other stuff later.”

Cas hummed in response, already slipping back into sleep as Dean slipped out of the bedroom.

Dean left the cottage in disarray and stepped outside but didn’t go to the lighthouse. Instead he climbed onto the roof and pulled his cell from his pocket, pulling up Charlie’s contact and hitting call. It rang twice before she picked up.

“Dean, right on time for the check in. Thank god too because that storm was insane and I was really worried about you. You are okay right?”

Dean exhaled, almost laughing breathlessly. “I’m fine. More than fine actually. Well more than fine and so tired I could pull a Rip Van Winkle and sleep for the next 20 years.”

“More than fine? Why more than fine? Is this a good more than fine?”

“It’s Cas.”

A moment of silence passed before Charlie spoke again, overly cautious in her curiosity. “Did you see him?”

“He’s recovering in my bed as we speak.”

“Holy fuck are you serious?” she whispered, equally relieved and disbelieving. “He’s in your bed? Like on land in your bed?”

“Like on land in my bed wearing my clothes with two legs and the right number of fingers. The potion worked, Charlie. It fucking worked.”

“When did this happen?”

“Night of the storm so like 2 days ago. I pulled him out of the lake, gave him cpr and everything. I feel bad for breaking a few of his ribs but he’s alive and breathing and eating and he can’t really talk but he did say my name. I think the lake finally gave him up. I don’t fucking know how or why but I’m not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Do you want me to bring you anything? Do you need anything? What can I do to help?”

Dean thought for a moment before responding.

“Right now, nothing directly here. I think bringing someone else in that isn’t me might overwhelm him and that would be really bad. There is something you can do though, aside from telling Rowena that her potion worked and that Cas and I owe her a lot.”

“Name it. Anything you want.”

“Get contact info for his family and his friends. Gabriel and Meg would be the important ones. Also see if you can pick up the threads of his old life, like if he’d be able to go back to his house and what his bank accounts look like and his id and that kind of thing. I feel like his id might be expired and that’s gonna be an issue that we need to be on top of if he’s gonna get better and leave this place.”

“Hunt people down and make sure he’s got everything he needs to start living again, got it. Need anything else?’

“No, that’s fine. Thank you so so much for doing this.”

“Anytime. Call me later if there’s developments.”

“Will do.”                                                             

The call ended with a soft click and then Dean was sliding his phone into his pocket and climbing down from the roof, careful to avoid a rusty nail poking up from the eavestrough. He moved in silence as he returned to the lighthouse to clean the cabin. Autopilot kicked on and his body moved of its own accord, allowing his mind to finally process the events of the past few days.

The bone deep exhaustion was settling nicely into his skeleton and his hands ached from the shitty weather, made worse by the shallow cuts from the broken glass. He’d cleaned and bandaged his hands but he still needed them to do everything and the scar tissue would only slow the healing process. His temple throbbed, a persistent reminder that he’d consumed too much caffeine and not enough of everything else.

“Maybe I should finish you.” He mumbled, side-eyeing the spaghetti. The shard of glass glistening on top of the noodles quickly disavowed him of that notion.

Food, glass, and about twenty nine water damaged pages made their way into the trash. Dean kept the tarp up because he sure as hell didn’t know how to fix the window. That felt like a call to Bobby so he could get someone else to do it. Collecting, reorganizing, and reinstating the manual pages took far longer than Dean had anticipated and by the end of it he was swaying on his feet. He wanted to clean up the beach or even the cottage but that task felt entirely too gargantuan so he didn’t.

Dean returned to the lighthouse, planning to check on Cas. It still hadn’t sunk in that Cas was human, that Dean had figured out what had happened and had delivered on his promise to save Cas. That realization would come later, probably at an incredibly inopportune time if fate continued to fuck with Dean like it always had. For now Dean was content knowing that Cas was alive and well and strong enough to eat soup and sleep.

The readjustment period would be rough, he had no doubt of that. It’d been six years since Cas had had legs or a proper voice or hands that weren’t webbed and relearning how to be human wouldn’t be fun. A nostalgic bitterness settled over Dean as he thought back to his own experience, to the hell that had come when he’d had to relearn how to use his hands after the accident. He’d spent hours relearning every little thing.

Learning how to print and write and sign his own name had been the hardest for him. Holding the pen was hard enough but trying to coordinate the letters added a whole other layer to it. Dean had cried tears of frustration in front of his ot and pt for a good half hour before he’d been able to try again. He figured it out in the end but his writing wasn’t the same. It was blocky and mostly caps now, just to make it as easy as possible for his hands. He was lucky though because he still had movement in his hands and the nerve pain was largely manageable. Most people weren't that lucky.

What would be the hardest for Cas to relearn? That’s what Dean wanted to know. His best guess was walking. Swimming was already a different motion but swimming with a tail was an entirely different beast. The way the pelvis engaged, the lack of swinging momentum between two legs, it didn’t mesh. Besides, Cas had lost muscle tone and that was going to make this even harder. There would be tears and anger and bitter frustration but Dean was going to be there through it all. Cas deserved that. Truthfully, he deserved more than that. He deserved everything.

The cottage was quiet when Dean stepped inside but the quiet didn’t bring him any comfort. It made him anxious. He walked past the mess in the kitchen and the bathroom, hovering in the doorway of the bedroom. Cas was awake and still upright but he wasn’t paying Dean any mind, too engrossed in reading one of the journals Dean had left on the nightstand.

“Which entry are you reading?” he asked curiously. Cas jumped, glancing up at Dean in alarm. Dean’s smile was apologetic. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I tend to move quiet, should probably put a bell on me or something.”

Cas’ voice was raspy when he spoke but it was clearer than it had been before. It simply sounded like he’d been chain-smoking for years.

“87.”

“That’s a good one.” Dean nodded as he lowered himself down into the chair by the bed. “I’m not even remotely surprised that Meg convinced you to pierce your ears with a safety pin. Kind of shocked she didn’t convince you to pierce your nipples. I feel like she’d do that just for shits and giggles.”

Cas nodded his head, chuckling. His laugh was quiet and brief but it was unmistakable and it made Dean smile in turn. A laugh meant Cas hopefully wasn’t too traumatized.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your ribs? I just wanna see how bad the damage is. Not that I can do anything about it other than ice it and give you over the counter pain meds.”

Another nod as Cas pushed the blankets down his lap. His fingers tugged at the hem of the borrowed long sleeve, pulling it off and letting it fall to the floor. The cool air hit his skin and Cas shivered in response. He chewed on his lip, eyeing Dean.

“Not as bruised as I thought it’d be so that’s good.” Dean hummed, eyes skimming the small patch of bruising on Cas’ sternum. “Can I touch? Just a brief physical exam. Wanna know what we’re dealing with.”

“Yes.”

Dean’s touch was clinical and professional, a gentle prodding of his fingertips down the midline of Cas’ chest and then along his ribs. The pressure was firm but not insistent. Cas winced when Dean’s fingers hit one of the cracked ribs, shying away from his touch. Dean pulled his fingers back, sucking a breath in through his teeth,

“Yeah, you’ve got a couple that cracked but they don’t feel dangerously broken so you should be okay. Your swelling's gone way too so that’s really good. Still gonna be in pain for like 6 weeks though.”

Cas sighed but didn’t seem too upset about it, more resigned than anything else. It was here he noticed the bandages on Dean’s hands, lips pursing into a frown. How long had he had those on? Cas reached for Dean’s hands, running his thumbs along his bandaged palms. He felt the shiver beneath his hands but didn’t let up.

“What happened?” Cas asked, trying his best to speak. Best to get practice in now.

“Lighthouse window shattered when the lake launched a branch through it. I took a little tumble, it’s no biggie.” Dean explained, pulling his hands away. Cas and his recovery were supposed to be the focus here. Not him. “You feeling any better than when you first woke up?”

Cas shook his head. While he was more alert, that didn’t mean he felt good. His ribs ached, his joints cracked and popped every time he moved more than an inch or two, and there was a persistent ringing in his ears like he’d spent too long standing next to a fire alarm. None of that even touched the grains of sand he could feel on every inch of his skin.

“Sandy.” He mumbled, expression disgusted.

“I bet. You still anti bath?”

Cas seemed hesitant, the noise he let out somewhere in the realm of maybe. Getting rid of the sand would be a godsend but sitting in water was the last thing he wanted to do, even if it was in a tub. It’d be too soon if he never spent another second in water of any kind.

“We can do something in the middle, if you’re okay with me touching you that is. Good old fashioned sponge bath would get all the dirt off of you. Might need a little water in the bottom of the tub but not anything close to a full bath.”

Cas debated for a moment but the gritty sand that crunched when he bent his knee made the decisions swiftly. Shifting slowly, Cas swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His bare feet brushed the floor, making the feeling of everything so much worse. Cas’ legs felt off, raw and burning like someone had ripped them apart and stitched them up all wrong. He braced himself on the bed, rising unsteadily to his feet. Dean saw it before Cas did, the way his legs shook and then buckled.

Dean’s hands closed around Cas’ forearms, catching him before he hit the floor. “Careful there bambi.” He chuckled, shifting one of Cas’ arms to loop it around his shoulders.

Cas wasn’t impressed, glowering at Dean. Needing to be supported was embarrassing but Cas didn’t fight it, instead leaning against Dean as they moved slowly. Dean’s body was warm against his, human and alive and so so real. It felt different now, pressing up against Dean. He felt bigger now, closer in size to Cas’ human body and not dwarfed by the tail taller than an average man.

“You’re not funny.” Cas mumbled, trying to come across as teasing. It grasped the edge of teasing but fell flat in the end.

“You’re right, I’m not funny. I’m hilarious and charming and I talk too much which I know you find endearing.” Dean grinned. He helped lower Cas to the toilet and then he was turning around, getting the bath set up. The water was warm but not too hot and not very deep either, just enough to cover up to Cas’ ankles. “Get undressed and I’ll help you into the tub.”

Cas did as Dean asked, slipping out of the pants that were too big for his frame. He reached for Dean, hand gripping his shoulder for support as he stepped over the rim of the tub. Just because he was freshly human and his legs were on fire didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try to do something to help himself. He lowered himself down, wincing when his knees popped in response.

“I could’ve helped you but I get wanting to be independent and getting back into things.” Dean shrugged as he knelt down next to the tub. He unwrapped his hands and tossed the bandages aside before reaching for a sponge. His movement was purposeful but gentle. Dean started with Cas’ back, scrubbing gentle circles into his skin as he washed away the dirt of the lake.

“It’s really good to see you.” Dean murmured, voice soft and contemplative. “You scared the hell out of me when you went radio silent after the potion. I thought I’d crossed a line at first, did something to make you hate me but you’re not like that. Then my brain tormented me and all I could think about was the worst case scenario and that was an entire mess.”

“I’m sorry.” Cas mumbled, guilt sending his heart into an offbeat rhythm.

“Not your fault. None of us knew what the potion would do. Not like either of us can control shit.” Dean shrugged. He shifted on his knees, bringing the sponge to Cas’ shoulder and then down his left arm. The scars from the net wounds remained, pale and silvery against his skin. Dean held his arm out next to Cas’, chuckling. “Guess we match.”

“We do.”

Dean shifted again, reaching for Cas’ other arm. His eyes fell on Cas’ forearm, widening in surprise. The scars were there like they were on the other arm but Dean was too busy staring at the tattoo. A fangtooth eel wrapped around Cas’ forearm, beady eyes staring up at Dean. He recognized the tattoo simply because Cas had mentioned it in the journals. What he hadn’t expected was for the tattoo to still be there.

“Wasn’t expecting that to still be there. It’s cool, a little terrifying but cool. You uh, you want to do your legs or?”

“I’ll do it.”

Dean nodded and handed the sponge over before rising to his feet. “I’m gonna change the sheets on the bed. I’ll be back in a few. Thought you might like a little privacy.”

With Dean gone, Cas scrubbed at his legs. The sponge was rough but Cas didn’t mind. It felt better than the burning ache when he tried to walk. As he scrubbed, Cas’ mind drifted. The last three months were hazy and when Cas tried to reach for a memory from that time it slipped from his grasp and swam away. Why couldn’t he remember? He remembered nearly everything else from the lake sans the beginning and the end. Leaning back in the tub, Cas closed his eyes and tried to relax. He forced his muscles to go limp and unclenched his jaw, trying to exist without thinking. 

“Transforming must take a lot out of you.” Dean’s voice was soft as he returned to the bathroom, clean clothes in hand. “The first time sounded like hell. I hope this one wasn’t as bad.”

“Chais pas.”

Dean’s brow creased. “What does that mean? You have to know.”

Cas shook his head, eyes fluttering open. “I don’t. There’s nothing where the memory should be.”

“Guess your brain’s trying to protect you from the trauma. Makes sense. You need help getting out of the tub?”

“Shoulder would be nice.”

Dean nodded, setting the clothes down next to the sink. He offered Cas his shoulder, helping him to his feet and out of the tub. Only then did he hand Cas a towel, turning his back to him. It was the respectful thing to do, giving the man his privacy.

Cas patted himself dry before slipping into the clothes. The sweats, while the right length, needed to be tightened with a string that didn’t exist so they sat low on his hips. Dean’s t-shirt was worn and faded but it was soft and it smelled faintly of him, a mix of mild detergent and something woody. Sandalwood probably.

“What, you don’t want to stare at mon tchou or mes tchuisses or mes gâloes?” Cas voice, still raspy, was playful and amused. There was a grin on his face as Dean turned around, the kind of grin that he was tired but happy to be alive and upright.  “I’m almost offended.”

“I only know what one of those things is and not saying I don’t wanna look but there’s gotta be a grace period after becoming human again where it isn’t socially acceptable to stare. Don’t wanna break the unspoken bro code for the supernaturally changed.”

“Awe tu es un p’tit clair. It’s sweet.” Cas said as he wound an arm back around Dean’s shoulders.

The words hurt his throat when he spoke but he was going to have to practice if he planned on re-entering society. Besides, Dean had proven himself to be an excellent conversationalist when Cas had had a tail. It was strange the way the words felt on his tongue, the roundness of the vowels and the sharp click of the consonants. Speaking as the monster had been entirely different, had been a song that had come up from inside him. Now the words formed in his throat and fell from his lips with a clunky inelegance.

“The French sounds easier for you than the English, more natural.”

Cas nodded. The French was easier, it always had been. Speaking in French felt like a factory reset, like he was working with the basics that he knew how to use. The words were comforting to his ears because they spoke of childhood and long lost memories, of time spent curled up on the couch with his mother and days in the woods hiking with his father. French was late nights in the lab with Meg bonding over 400% yield errors and it was Thursday night suppers with Gabriel as they argued on the back porch about the latest Nolan flick.

“French feels like home.” Cas admitted, letting go of Dean’s shoulder as he lowered himself onto the bed. “C’est un reminder of ma vie, my life.”

“Well speak it here then, while you recover. I’m not gonna know what you’re saying but I don’t mind.”

“Seems rude to deliberately speak a language you don’t understand.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders as he readjusted the pillows behind Cas’ back, fluffing them and returning them to the stack for added support. He pulled the thin blanket up to cover Cas’ legs before dropping into the chair beside the bed. The exhaustion was hitting him now, an unrelenting wave that had built to a buzzing in his skull and a distinct heavy feeling in his teeth. It was the kind of feeling that made itself known and screamed at him to sleep before he collapsed.

“We communicated when you couldn’t speak human language at all so this is nothing.” He replied simply. “Now get some more rest, you look like you need it.”

“So do you.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, or when you’re better. Probably when you’re better.”

“Si tu deviens un gripette, ce n’est pas ma faute.”

Dean shrugged again and hugged his knees to his chest, entire body confined to the chair. He watched silently as Cas settled down, eyes closing and breathing evening out. It was only when Cas was asleep and had been for some time that Dean gave up his gargoyle vigil and gave into sleep.

Cas was back and he was safe and they had a million things to discuss but that was a problem for another day. Sleep came swiftly but, mercifully, the dreams were left behind. 

Chapter Text

The lake had changed.

Once it welcomed Cas with open arms, gentle current flowing around him where the bottom dropped a little bit deeper. Algae had caressed him lovingly while he swam with the sturgeon and napped with the pike and the shipwrecks had offered him shelter when storms raged above.

In its own way the lake had loved him like a son. It provided for him, shelter and food and entertainment chasing the darting minnows. The water was never too cold, the fish never too fast to escape, the environment never too imposing and claustrophobic.

Like a parent, the lake demanded. It demanded he protect it, that he take up the mantle and deliver justice with a swift crocodilian claw. He did as it asked because it provided for him, because it was all he knew. In the dark and early hours he struck, pulling men from their boats and into the depths of the lake. Cas never saw the bodies again and he cast them from his mind like Adam and Eve from the garden. The lake had its reasons for wanting them gone. Who was he to question?

Then came Dean Winchester: loud mouthed, trauma filled, and brilliantly and perfectly imperfect.

The very lake changed when he arrived. Currents swirled faster, kicking up silt to cloud Cas’ vision, and the shipwrecks called to him with their siren song. Stay with us they crooned, stay here and sleep and avoid the world that cast you out. Fish swam faster and then came the scarcity. Cas spent hours hunting for the food that had once been so abundant and then he spent hours recovering. He surfaced less and less, unable to sustain the effort it took.

Dean Winchester’s voice had pierced the veil of the lake. Rough and tumble and ever so slightly twangy, it was the raw uncut pain that Cas was drawn to. Dean was vulnerability personified as he shared his grief and trauma with the lake, with Cas. He spoke to the monster, to Cas, as if he were human and that changed things,

Cas didn’t know exactly when the changes began, just that they had. Propelling himself through the water grew more challenging as the webbing shrank and catching the fish was more difficult when the nails on his hands retracted. It was the language that surprised him the most.

Long forgotten words echoed in the back of his mind and danced on the tip of his tongue, aching to get out. The first time he spoke, Cas’ mouth felt like it was full of cotton. Thick and chewy, he had to swirl the word around his mouth before it came out. Dean’s name spilled from his lips with a surprising rasp and the warmth that followed, spreading through his chest, was unmistakable.

When they talked the pull of the lake was nothing more than a faint buzzing in the back of his skull, like the fluorescent buzz of grocery store lighting. Cas yearned for their talks, yearned for the moments he felt human. Dean saw him and spoke to him and treated him as an equal. The lake had only seen him as a puppet.

The changes came quicker after they talked, patches of scales peeling from his skin and sinking to the bottom of the lake. A growth sprouted from Cas’ face and it was with a startled realization staring at a mirror in a wreck that Cas realized he had a nose. Out of place amid the animalistic features of his face, Cas couldn’t help but touch it with wonder. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a nose.

When Dean Winchester kissed him, the lake boiled with rage. Currents swept Cas to the middle of the lake and the heat seared his skin, forcing him to seek shelter in the deepest wreck he could find. The lake howled and boiled and raged and the fish had all but vanished. Desperate to find sustenance, Cas all but vanished into the depths.

Even now, as Cas lay on the bottom staring up at the surface, the lake hadn’t calmed. Staring through the frosted glass of a storm whipping the lake into a frenzy, Cas felt something snap inside of him. His chest tightened like a rubber band under too much tension and when it snapped, pain shot through him. Lungs aching and burning, he gasped for air. Water filled his mouth and with it more burning, the kind of damp burn that felt like fire spreading down his throat.

Something was wrong.

Cas shot from the bottom of the lake with a desperate burst of speed but the lake wasn’t done with him. Algae curled around his tail, tangling in it and holding him in place. The burning spread through his chest and into his stomach as Cas struggled, pulling at the plants with hands that were all too human. Freeing himself, Cas swished his tail and swam towards the surface.

Halfway up, searing pain ripped through him and he froze in place. He bit his lip to stifle a cry and chanced a glance down, eyes widening when he was met with blood floating in a cloud around him. Scales fell from his tail like shooting stars and vanished into the darkness below.

Pain came in another wave and Cas screamed, water filling his lungs. The skin beneath the scales ripped apart in strings as if someone had taken a hacksaw to his tail. Bones crunched and shifted, broken ends tearing through his skin and exposing themselves to the open water. Cas kicked and swam, fighting against the current and the storm as he tried to reach the surface.

Stars danced across his field of vision, spiky and brilliant and entirely too intense. He could barely see where he was going, just that it was up. His lungs ached and burned and deep down, buried beneath the pain, he knew his gills were gone. He could feel it, the lack of oxygen in his blood and the sudden presence of his lungs heaving.

If he didn’t get to the surface the lake would keep him forever.

His tail split further, a wet rip reverberating up his spine. Bone broke through bone and fused together in a sickening display that sent Cas’ stomach churning in a nauseous cartwheel. Muscle fibres spread like meaty spiderwebs, covering the bone in thick red lines. Skin, thick but mouldable like jelly, rolled over the muscle and settled into the fibers. When Cas glanced down again, he could see feet.

There was no time to think or to marvel at what was happening, not with the surface so close.

Weak from the pain and dizzy from the ascension, Cas could barely see. His hand breached the rough white capped waves and then he was gasping for air, burning lungs welcoming the oxygen. Another waves crashed over him, plunging him back below the surface, but he fought. Cas clawed and swam and fought until it became too much, until he was finally overwhelmed.

His final thought as he stared towards the beach, toward the lighthouse with its too bright beam and watchful eye, was that the lake had won. He would never get away.

Unconsciousness hit him like brick and he sank below the waves once again.

Cas gasped for air when he woke, clawing the sheets off of his aching chest in an attempt to free himself from the burning inside. Darkness came at him from every angle and he couldn’t see, eyes unaccustomed to it. Panicked tears pricked at the corners of them but he hardly noticed, too busy gulping down the air as if he were about go under again.

There was a noise to his left, a soft curse and some shuffling and then light flooded the room. Cas shielded his eyes but still couldn’t catch his breath. The blanket trapped his legs and he kicked at it, trying to get it off and away. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t feel trapped. Not again.

“Cas, hey, what’s going on?”

Dean’s voice came from the left and when Cas glanced over it all came back to him, slamming him into reality. The transformation, the storm, the lighthouse. He was in the cottage and Dean was here and his legs, the legs he glanced down at, were real. A broken sob clawed its way out of his chest and then he was leaning forward, fists gripping Dean’s shirt. He pulled Dean close and clung to him, face buried in his chest.

“You’re okay, I got you.” Dean murmured, strong arms wrapping around Cas. A hand rubbed at his back, slow gentle circles.

Cas didn’t respond but his grip on Dean’s shirt tightened, shoulders still shaking. There was no way he could explain what had just happened to Dean, no way to make him understand the sheer pain of his bones breaking and knitting back together. How could he explain that the transformation felt like being ripped open and stitched back up again? How could he explain that this didn’t feel real?

It didn’t feel real: not being in the lighthouse, not having his body back, not having those strong arms wrapped so protectively around him, none of it. For all Cas knew he was at the bottom of the lake rotting away and this was his brain’s last ditch attempt to convince him things were going to be okay. Were things going to be okay?

“I’m betting you had a pretty bad nightmare.” Dean said, shifting closer to Cas. He sat on the edge of the bed, body angled so Cas didn’t have to twist as much. “That happens a lot here, at least it did to me. Lost count of all the times I’d wake up in tears or screaming because of some fucked up memory this place ripped outta me. I’d go talk to you when that happened, go sit out on the rock and vent. You always listened.”

Cas sniffled, breath coming in shaky waves. His grip loosened on Dean’s shirt but he didn’t pull away. Dean was warm and human and the solid frame pressing against him was real. It had to be real. Voice whisper soft and vulnerable, Cas finally spoke.

“I’ve never felt pain like that before.”

Dean’s brow furrowed, unsure of where Cas was headed. His hand stilled but he remained close, still holding Cas.

“Ça m'a brisé et rebuildé comme si je n'étais rien.” Cas whispered, slipping back into French. “I couldn’t stop it and I couldn’t do anything. Have you ever felt your skin rip and fall off?”

Dean nodded, arms tightening around Cas. He knew all too well what that felt like, the pain that bloomed into a pleasant numbness when nerves were shot. “It’s not pleasant.”

“I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt and my legs and it felt like someone split me down the middle comme le bébé de King Solomon. There was blood everywhere. I had to swim through it.”

Here Dean clued in and his frown deepened. The transformation, that’s what Cas had been dreaming of. No wonder he was so freaked out. Dean pulled away here, just enough to stretch out on the small bed beside Cas. He opened his arms the best he could, a silent invitation.

Cas’ eyes flicked to Dean’s new position and with great effort he slid down the bed until he was laying on his side, eyes locked with Dean’s. Dean looked as exhausted as Cas felt and it brought a modicum of comfort to him. There was space between them, no more than a hand’s width, but neither seemed to break it.

“I thought I was going to die in that lake. It was going to drown me. I was never going to see anyone else again.”

“But I got you first, just like I promised I would.”

Cas nodded, chewing on his lip as he tried to gather his thoughts. All of this would’ve been so much easier in French but he couldn’t with Dean. It wouldn’t be fair. Cas chose his words carefully, hesitation and uncertainty evident.

“This doesn’t feel real.”

“I know.” Dean agreed, his own voice quiet. “But it is. It’s real and you’re here in the lighthouse with me. You’ve got your voice back, your body, everything you lost.”

“Mon humanité.”

Dean shook his head, inching closer. His expression was soft and teetering on the edge of serious. “You never lost that.”

“Dean, I was a monster. Of course I lost my humanity.”

“No,” he murmured, voice firm. Dean reached out, hand cradling Cas’ face with tenderness. “You were there when I was going through it. You listened to me vent about my dad and my brother and my future and you didn’t ask for anything in return. You sang to me, you held me, you ran your fingers through my hair while I slept. That’s humanity, Cas. That’s your humanity and looking the way you did doesn’t change that.”

Cas blinked slowly, a faint flush creeping from the tips of his ears to his cheeks. He leaned into Dean’s touch, desperate for the warmth and connection it brought. Dean’s words, while sweet and genuine, hadn’t convinced Cas yet. A knot of anxiety sat heavy in his stomach.

“I hurt people while in that lake. That’s not humanity.”

Dean laughed before he could stop himself, a quiet breathless laugh of disbelief. When Cas’ brow furrowed in confusion and offense, Dean explained.

“Dude, we hurt each other all the time. War and violence and crime and even the shit you don’t really think of like little white lies or offhanded comments. All of that is humanity hurting each other. It’s what we do after the hurting that tells us whether or not we’re human.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Let’s use a real world example then. My dad, after he did everything he did, never apologized and never made any action to get better. That’s not humanity, that’s being an abusive asshole who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Then take me. I hurt Sam when we were kids, just with what I said and what our dynamic was and it sucked but I’m fixing it now. I’ve admitted I messed up and I’m doing shit to show that I’m sorry and I care. That’s humanity.”

“I can’t exactly say sorry to the corpses at the bottom of the lake.”

“Well your situation’s a bit different. You weren’t in control when you were in the lake and there’s no way in hell you would ever willingly drown or hurt someone. I know you’re not like that. Pretty sure my brother would call that shit extenuating circumstances. Point is is that you feel bad about it and that’s the humanity.”

“So I’m human because I try.”

Dean nodded his head, gaze never wavering. His thumb stroked gently at Cas’ cheek, a grounding repetitive gesture. Something settled between the pair as they lay there, thick and heavy in the charged air. Fondness curled around them but it went deeper than that and they both knew it.

Cas was the first of them to move, scooting closer to Dean with a wince and a soft exhale of pain. The hand on his cheek was rough but warm and he leaned into it, comforted. It was the same hand that had freed him from the net all those months ago, the same hand that had sewn up his tail and removed the hook from face. It was the same hand that had touched him like he was the only thing that mattered.

Cas’ voice caught in his throat as he spoke, slipping out whisper soft into the air between them.

“Dean?”

Dean’s voice was light, curious even. Blood roared in his ears as he levelled his gaze with Cas, heart skipping a few beats.

“Yeah?”

A heartbeat of silence before Cas surged forward, lips pressing against Dean’s in the darkness. Dean’s breath hitched and the hand on Cas’ face tightened, gripping it. He kissed back briefly before pulling away, just enough to break the kiss and free his lips.

“Cas, I” –

“Dean, please.” He whispered. “I need to forget. Just for tonight.”

There was no pretense in the kiss, no hidden agenda, as Dean’s hand slid down to Cas’ shoulder, pushing him onto his back and swinging a leg over him to hover in one fluid motion. All heat and need desperation boiling over like an unwatched pot, Dean’s lips met Cas’ and they moved. They moved with intent, moved like Dean needed Cas to breathe.

Cas groaned against Dean’s lips as he kissed back, arms winding around his neck to pull him closer. A hand found its way to Dean’s hair, fingers sliding into the short locks, and the other slid down his back. The fabric of his shirt was thin and bunched as Cas moved. When his hand slipped beneath the fabric, Dean’s skin was warm.

This was what Cas needed and he could feel the nightmare slipping away from the edge of his mind, replaced with Dean. Dean’s lips, firm against his, the press of his hips against his own through the thin fabric of their pants, all of it was more than enough. A hand slid down Cas’ chest and under his shirt, fingers fanning out across his torso.

“Dean.” Cas groaned softly. The hand on Dean’s ass tightened its grip, pushing Dean’s hips against Cas’ with intent. Cas ground his hips up, seeking the friction. Eyes closed and head tipped back, the slow drag of Dean’s lips down the column of his throat was torturous.

“I got you, it’s okay.”

Dean’s voice, muffled by the drag of his lips, was clear as crystal. Reassuring and confident because that’s what Cas needed, the weight behind it left words unspoken. He wanted to ruin Cas, wanted to unwrap and devour every inch of the man until all he could do was take it. Dean wanted Cas to fall apart beneath him, to be so utterly ruined he’d never look at another person again. He wanted Cas to be his.

But Cas didn’t need that right now. Cas needed connection and devotion and the feeling of someone needing him, wanting him. He needed a distraction and Dean was okay with that.

He ground his hips against Cas’, hand sliding down Cas’ side to rest at the jut of his hip. His lips kissed down Cas’ neck, open mouthed and wet. When his teeth scraped the hollow of Cas’ throat, Cas arched up into them and Dean soothed them with a kiss.

“Can I touch you?” he whispered, breath warm against Cas’ neck. His hand hovered at the waist of Cas’ sweats, itching to tug them down but waiting for permission. After everything Cas had gone through, his autonomy was paramount.

Chest heaving, Cas glanced up at Dean in the darkness. He shifted underneath him, hand trailing down Dean’s chest and down his hip until it found his hand. Almost trembling, Cas took Dean’s hand and slid it beneath the sweats. He led Dean’s hand down further, letting go when it pressed against his hard cock.

“Touch me, Dean.” Cas whispered, pulling his hand out before surging up and kissing Dean.

This kiss was all tongue and teeth as Cas pulled Dean’s head down and pressed up into his hand. He chased Dean’s lips, nipping at the bottom one as both hands made their way to Dean’s hips. Dean Winchester knew his way around a kiss and it was intoxicating the way his lips pressed insistently, the way they opened up when Cas asked.

He pushed Dean’s sweats and boxers down his thighs in one fell swoop, hand closing around Dean’s cock. Heavy in his hand, Cas brushed a thumb over the slick head. Precum came away with a wet swipe and then Cas was smearing it down Dean’s length, hand pumping slowly.

“Fuck.”

Dean’s curse was low against Cas’ lips, nearly a moan. His hand worked in time with Cas’, both setting a desperate needy rhythm. Dean’s hand was rough but warm and Cas’ smooth, delicate even. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something like this, something so feel of the need to forget it was almost instinctual.

Cas’ lips were on Dean’s jaw now, working a slow moving trail up to his ear. It was slow, exploratory, a direct contrast to the pace at which Cas’ hand moved. The pressure of Dean on top of him was exactly what he’d been looking for, grounding and sexy all at once. It wasn’t quite enough though and Cas shifted. His fingers closed around Dean’s hand, gently pulling it away from.

Dean’s voice was breathless, confused. “What are you doing?”

Cas shifted underneath Dean, pushing his own sweats down his thighs. His cock sprung free, red and aching with need. Cas’ hand closed around Dean’s cock and his own and then he was moving again. The friction was immediate, Cas’ cock and fist sliding against Dean’s. Wet, hot, and all around him, Dean’s moan was unmistakable.

It’d been years since Cas had felt like this, felt someone so close to him they were practically sharing the same skin. His nerves were on fire and the slick sound his fist made as he jerked himself and Dean off only heightened it. The knot in his stomach tightened and his breath stuttered, lips slowing against Dean’s. He wasn’t going to last.

Cas didn’t last. His thumb brushed the tips of his and Dean’s cock and Dean’s startled moan sent him over the edge. He came with a choked moan, head tipping back. Pulsing hot and heavy, he spilled onto his fist and Dean’s cock. Slick wet sounds filled the silence, Cas’ fist still going.

“Jesus Cas…” Dean groaned, voice low in Cas’ ear.

He was close too, hovering on the edge. It was the last glance Dean snuck of Cas that sent him over the edge. His pink kiss swollen lips, the heaving of chest beneath him, the subtle hickey forming on his neck, all of it because of Dean.

Dean’s orgasm ripped through him and he came with a moan, release coating Cas’ fist and his stomach. For a minute neither moved, eyes locked on each other. Cas was the first to move, slipping out of his shirt and using it to clean up the mess. He dropped it on the floor when he was done, kicking off his sweats when Dean dropped down next to him.

“That was something else.” Dean mumbled under his breath, following suit and kicking off his sweats. His chest heaved with exertion as he settled down next to Cas, squished between him and the wall.

Cas’ smile was soft, his chuckle even softer. He shifted, rolling onto his side and pressing against Dean as he lay his head on his chest. Arm slung around Dean’s middle, Cas settled.

“Will you hold me?” He asked quietly, eyes closed as he listened to Dean’s heart. “Just for tonight? Just to prove this is real.”

Dean shifted, arm sliding underneath Cas to hold him close. He wanted to talk to Cas, to clear his mind about them. What were they supposed to be? Was this going to be a repeat occurrence? Was it good? Did Cas need anything else? How did his ribs feel? But Dean didn’t talk. Dean remained silent, hand worming its way up to card through Cas’ hair until he felt the tension melt from the man.

“Get some sleep, Cas. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.”

For once in his life, Dean meant every word.

Chapter Text

Something was different now. It hung in the air like smog, thick and heavy and enough to steal breath from lungs. It crawled beneath Dean’s skin and nestled in his chest, carving out space behind his heart. He noticed it when he woke, limbs stiff and aching from the way he slept.

Cas lay where he had when he’d fallen asleep, arm curled around Dean and face half buried in his neck. His chest rose in steady breaths and Dean lay there watching, counting each inhale and exhale like it was precious gold. Cas was alive and he was here and he was sleeping. He was free from the lake.

“Something tells me this isn’t over.” Dean mumbled quietly, gently removing himself from Cas’ grasp. The apprehension lingered just beneath his skin, a faint buzz he could puton the backburner if need be. Unable to help himself, Dean reached down to brush a stray hair from Cas’ face. Cas groaned softly and leaned into the touch before settling back into sleep.

Dean couldn’t explain what he was feeling, the mix of relief and concern a strange film in his brain. Cas was here and he was sleeping and the two of them were fine, especially after last night, but it didn’t sit right. It felt like the other shoe was waiting to drop and drown them with crushing waves of disappointment. It felt unfinished.

Moving quietly as to not disturb Cas, Dean slipped into a pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt before padding to the kitchen. He put a pot of coffee on before reaching for the bread, popping a few slices into the toaster. The fridge gave him everything else and he set to work, knife echoing quietly against the butcher block counter as he cut a bell pepper.

As he cut, his mind drifted. Cas was already talking and hobbling around so it wouldn’t be long until he was ready for more, ready to get back to his life and pick up the pieces. He’d want to see Gabriel and Meg and his family and Dean didn’t blame him. Family was important and six years away was a big deal. It was where he fit into everything that had Dean tailspinning.

Trying to manage a boyfriend in the middle of picking up your life and returning to society six years after a prolonged trauma was a recipe for disaster. It would be nightmares and flashbacks and anxious habits. It would be words left unspoken and actions that never quite made sense until they did. It was stretching yourself into so many pieces that you broke under all the pressure.

Dean didn’t want that for Cas.

Quiet footsteps echoed in the kitchen and Dean glanced up mid cut. Cas stood there in boxers and Dean’s t-shirt, wild hair mussed in every direction. He looked like he was fighting a losing battle with sleep, eyes still half lidded. His voice was deep with sleep still, the grit and gravel ever present.

“Bon matin.” He yawned, padding to the coffee maker. “Que fais tu?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. Cas could speak but that didn’t mean he understood a word that came out of his mouth. He gestured to the spread in front of him on the counter. “Breakfast. What do you want in your omelette?”

“Eggs.” Cas grinned.

“Smartass.”

Cas’ grin only widened though he glanced away to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Oui, c’est moi le smartass. But cheese and whatever veggies you have, s’il vous plait.”

“Wow, all the veggies. You parents must’ve raised you well.”

“It was always Castiel, mange your vegetables or get smacké avec le wooden spoon.” Cas chuckled, leaning against the counter with coffee in hand. “You have any maple syrup?”

“Can you get any more Canadian?” Dean teased, turning back to dicing the onions. “Sorry but no, fresh out. Why?”

“Goes in my coffee.”

“In your coffee?” Dean repeated as he tossed the diced veggies into the scrambled eggs. “You’re committing crimes against coffee. Like those teenagers who order frappes because they want ‘coffee’ but hate the taste of coffee.”

Cas chuckled softly before he took a sip of his coffee. He groaned without realizing, the sound of happiness floating into the air as the warmth filled his throat. Six years without coffee and his first sip of it back on land was shitty instant coffee but he didn’t care. It still felt like heaven.

“Layé off my coffee choices. At least I’m not an oat milk drinker. Je suppose que you like it black?”

“You’d be right. Nothing but pure caffeine for me.” Dean nodded. The stove kicked on with a gentle click and then Dean was adding the butter, watching it melt and spread. His tension melted with it, massaged away by the banter that felt like it had been well earned. The omelette mix went in next and then he was turning again, glancing back at Cas. “How’re your feeling?”

“Magané, comme someone who got the shit kicked out of them.”

“Gonna be while before you feel normal so not that shocking. You sleep okay?”

A nod and then Cas was making his way to the kitchen table. The night hung heavy in the air between them and the question Dean ached to ask remained unspoken. But Cas knew and he answered.

“Thank you, for last night I mean. I know things are all fucké up right now and everything’s weird and you probably didn’t want to but thanks anyway.”

Dean’s voice quiet, unintentionally tense.

“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to.”

Cas swallowed thickly and took another sip of his coffee. The tension simmered between them he didn’t know what to do. Addressing it was the smart thing but that was complicated and Cas didn’t want complicated. Not yet. He said nothing in response, simply focusing on his coffee. 

Dean finished the omelettes and set them on the table with little fanfare. He sat across from Cas and the pair ate in silence, forks clinking against plates and mugs thudding against the table. There was something terribly domestic about it, about sharing the kitchen without saying anything. It struck at Cas’ heart and something in it stirred, a deep seated seed he’d never really acknowledged before. The silence remained as they did the dishes, Dean washing and Cas drying and putting away.

“I miss ma famille.” Cas said at last, a wistful longing laced in his tone. “I miss them so much.”

“They miss you too.”

When Cas met Dean’s gaze, his eyes were misty. “And you know that how?”

“Charlie and I have been working behind the scenes ever since we found a way to get you back here. She’s scarily tech savvy so she’s been keeping an eye on things which includes your family. I actually asked her to do some more work when you were sleeping like a week ago. Stuff with your family.”

“Elaborate. That’s cryptic.”

“Think you’re feeling up to a trip into town? Would be better to have Charlie there to explain shit. I don’t know what she’s found.”

Cas didn’t respond but the speed at which he got up from the table and vanished into the bedroom, presumably to find pants, was telling enough. Dean made quick work of cleaning up the kitchen and finishing his coffee before he was grabbing his keys from the bowl and waiting by the door. When Cas returned with pants on, Dean offered his arm.

“For support.” He explained, waiting until Cas took it before heading out the door. “You’re still pretty bambi like.”

“Si je te mets mon pieds dans le cul, tu seras bambi aussi.”

“Even I know that was a threat.” Dean chuckled, walking with Cas to the car. He didn’t pay any mind to the threat because it wasn’t serious. All it was was Cas being annoyed and frustrated at his situation which Dean understood all too well.

Cas was quiet as he slid into the impala, the leather seats warm from the sun pouring in through the windshield. They creaked as he sat but they were comfortable, evidently well loved. Glancing around the interior, Cas tried to see if there were any more clues about who Dean was. There was a distinctly female jacket bunched up in the well by his feet and a blanket folded gently in the back seat but there was nothing else. Not even an air freshener. The car was utterly devoid of anything that made it feel like Dean’s.

“Not what you were expecting?” Dean asked curiously as the impala roared to life, krokus drifting from the stereo.

“Outside, exactly what I was expecting. Inside, not so much.”

“You’ve seen how I organize my closet so you know I’m not messy.”

“I wasn’t expecting it to be messy but I wasn’t expecting it to be empty either.” Cas shrugged, curling up in the front seat as Dean drove. “You love this thing, c’est évident but there’s no ‘you’ inside.”

“And me inside is what exactly?”

“A goofy air freshener or a little dashboard trinket or any kind of decoration. You’d have something to say that this is yours because you’re proud of it but you don’t. Why don’t you?”

Dean let out a whistle, visibly uncomfortable. “Well you’re just going straight for the jugular aren’t you?”

“If you’re uncomfortable don’t answer. I’m not going to make you.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had an out but he didn’t take it. Cas already knew so much and this hardly cracked the top ten of the Winchester’s greatest fucked up hits.  Besides, wasn’t getting to know Cas all about being vulnerable anyway? This practically screamed vulnerable bonding moment.

“This was my dad’s car and he gave it to me to take care of. If I put my own shit in it he would’ve taken back because I would’ve ruined it.” Dean spoked matter of factly like it wasn’t a big deal but the edge in his voice told on him. It was a big deal and it still bothered him. “Lived my entire life in this car and it’s never been any different than it is now. I mean I guess it’s not my dad’s car any more so I could add some of my own stuff but I wouldn’t even know what to add.”

“Hang a trinket from your mirror, that’s what I’d do. Something goofy, something you.” Cas suggested. “I had a chainmail and pearl fish skeleton hanging off of my truck’s.”

Dean made a face, features scrunching.

“Okay, what’s with the face? You look like un sac des gosses.”

“Didn’t expect you to drive a truck, that’s all.”

“So what am I supposed to be driving then?”

“I dunno, some like small car or eco conscious thing like a Subaru or a Prius. Something annoyingly sensible.”

Cas scoffed and reached out, lightly smacking Dean’s arm in mock offense. “You do realize you just insinuated that I’m either a lesbian or an overly cautious organic food loving hippie. Tu va drette au l’enfer for that. Right to hell.”

“Me and my gas guzzler will see you there.” Dean laughed, relaxing as the festering tension between them melted. “So will Charlie. She’s got the lesbian thing going for her but not the Subaru thing.”

“Atleast she’s not like Meg. That one drives a motorcycle. Scares me half to death every time she’s on a highway.”

“Ah yes, hell in a purple tube tob. I’m sure she’s great.”

The impala pulled up to the curb with a rumble and when he’d parked, Dean stepped out and offered Cas his arm. While he wanted the gesture to be chivalrous and gentlemanly, he knew Cas was less than thrilled with needing the human equivalent of a crutch that mouthed off. Nonetheless Cas accepted his arm.

The library was quiet as usual when Dean and Cas stepped inside, a complete lack of patrons at the tables and browsing the stacks. Charlie was stationed at her desk, perched on her chair like a bird surveying a feeder. To her left was an open bag of chips and a few takeout containers and to her right a sparkly journal left open. She scribbled furiously in it, the barrel of the glittery gel pen reflecting in the light.

“Woah, easy on the gel pen. What did that poor thing ever do to you?” Dean teased, grinning.

Charlie’s head snapped up and the pen fell from her hand, rolling onto the floor and out of sight. She didn’t notice, far too busy staring between Dean and Cas. Dean looked the same as he always did sans the serious eyebags, but Cas was nothing like she’d expected.

The shaggy curly hair, the scars ripping through his gaunt face, his knobby hands, none of it fit. Dean made Cas sound like a strong imposing man, the kind of man quick to act with an even quicker tongue. This Cas, this ghoul of a man in front of her, was nothing but a present whisper of past greatness.

“You’re him.” She said, her tone the same kind of tone used when approaching a skittish feral kitten. “You’re Castiel.”

“In the flesh.” He mumbled, letting go of Dean’s arm to stagger to the chair in front of the desk. Moving like a zombie on jerky shaking legs, he practically collapsed into the chair. Talking he could do but walking was a work in progress. He’d already overdone it.

“Cas was talking about his family this morning so I thought maybe it would be a good idea to check in with you in person about it. Get it straight from the horse’s mouth and all that.”

“I mean yeah, I can update you both I guess. Found some stuff but the rest is gonna take a little more time. It’s only September. I won’t have everything you need until the end of the month at the earliest.”

“Whatever you have, please.” Cas said, voice muffled by his arms as he lay his head on them. Between the previous night and bantering with Dean, he was exhausted and his body was already protesting.

Charlie nodded and turned back to her computer, clicking through several tabs until she found what she was looking for. An excel sheet lit up in front of her, colour coded and organized and so type a it hurt Dean’s brain to look at. She cracked her knuckles and took a breath, sorting through the best way to explain everything.

“Good news, you still have a bank account with money and your passport’s not expired. Smart to go with the ten year option. Your licence expired but that’s getting sorted so you’ll have that end of the month. Your house is fine far as I can tell. Looks like Meg took over the lease in your absence and she’s been keeping up with rent and everything. Pretty sure your truck’s still registered in your name but I only half understand that paperwork so jury’s out.”

“I don’t care about that. I want to know about my family.”

Charlie shot Cas an unimpressed look but scrolled down nonetheless. “Everything is basically the same as when I told Dean and he updated you. Only difference is your dad.”

Cas’ head snapped up, eyes wide.

“What about my dad?”

“He’s sick according to your mom’s Facebook. Like stay in the hospital level of sick. Didn’t want to search through his medical records because that felt a little too personal so I don’t know what’s wrong other than the fact it’s serious. Not terminal I don’t think but not good.”

The colour drained from Cas’ pale face and the omelette churned in his stomach, threatening to come back up. His heart roared in his ears and his chest tightened, the world spinning on its axis. Almost dizzy, all Cas could do was blink rapidly like he’d been stunned.

“Did you get their contact info?” Dean asked as his hand found its way to Cas’ shoulder, resting there and squeezing gently.

“Yeah, I did. Phone numbers and emails for every sibling plus addresses and work and all of it. They’re all still doing the same thing. Only difference is Jimmy moved back to Shediac to help with Cas’ dad. At least that’s what I’m assuming. Gabriel's supposed to be heading over there, he bought a plane ticket yesterday.”

Dean nodded and then he was shifting, crouching down and scooting over until he was able to catch Cas’ eye. He held Cas’ gaze, his own unwavering. “Cas, you’ve got a couple options here. We know where your family are and how to get in touch with them and you’ve got your old life waiting for you but you need some time to recover. It’s where and with who you do it with that’s up to you. What do you want to do?”

“Une minute, please. Just give me a fucking minute.”

Dean nodded his head before rising to his feet, gesturing for Charlie to follow him. The pair left Cas to think, giving him some space as they stood in the stacks. Dean was chewing on his lip, nervously twisting the ring on his finger. Cas’ tone was justifiably off and Dean knew the off kilter choked quality like the back of his hand.

“How bad is his dad? Be honest.” He whispered, keeping his voice down so Cas didn’t overhear.

“Basically terminal but I wasn’t about to tell him that.” She replied. “What happened to him, Dean? He looks like a zombie.”

“The lake happened. It didn’t want to let him go, he told me that himself. He fought kicking and screaming and would’ve died if I wasn’t there. Pretty safe to say he’s got some wicked nightmares and the complete inability to walk on his own for more than 2 minutes.”

“Jesus that’s horrible.”

Dean nodded. “There’s more he isn’t telling me but I’m not gonna press him, not now. It’s gonna take him months to recover.”

“Well he’s not gonna recover here, that’s for sure.”

“I know he’s not which is why we need to rush. He’s been through enough and if his dad dies while he’s stuck here with me, he’s not gonna recover. Family’s everything to him, it’ll fucking kill him.”

“I’m working on it, I swear. I called one of his brothers and we talked but I don’t think he believed me so it was a dead end.”

“Which brother?”

“Gabriel.”

“Good, that’s really good. We can use that.”

Charlie nodded before she glanced back at the desk. Cas hadn’t moved, head still buried in his hands. He looked so small now, curled in on himself like a child afraid of the dark. Her heart ached for him, for everything he’d survived. It couldn’t have been easy.

When Cas shifted, head lifting from his hands with monumental effort, Charlie and Dean shuffled back over. She was silent as she took up residence behind the desk. Dean stood behind Cas, hand once again on his shoulder. He was silent, waiting for Cas to make the first move.

“Thank you,” he mumbled as he turned to Charlie. His speech was stunted as if every word took immense effort to think of and string together in a coherent sentence. “For checking up on them, for finding them. It means a lot.”

“Any time. A friend of Dean’s is a friend of mine.”

Cas nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You have phone numbers. I want to call my brother.”

“Which one?” Dean asked.

“Gabriel.”

“Here,” Charlie said as she handed Cas her phone. “I called him in August when Dean first pulled you out but I think he thought I was insane or trying to pull a prank. He cussed me out and told me to never call again. This number will get his attention.”

Cas’ hand shook as he took the phone from her, eyes staring at the number on the screen. The fial button was the only thing standing between him and his family – aside from the hundreds of thousands of miles beween them – and it felt almost insurmountable. Six years of radio silence wouldn’t be solved with a phone call.

“The call won’t fix it but it’s a start.” Dean murmured. “That’s how it started with me and Sam. I’m right here, I got you.”

With bated breath, Cas pressed the dial button. 3 rings and Gabriel still hadn’t picked up. 4 rings and Cas’ heart sank into his stomach. 5 rings and Cas was losing hope. He would get the voicemail because he’d already been too lucky by escaping the lake alive. On ring 6 Gabriel picked up and there was pure seething anger in his voice.

“I thought I told you not to call this number again. I don’t have time for—“

“Gabe, c’est moi… it’s Castiel.”

A beat of silence and then Gabe spoke again, anger leeched from his voice.

“Cassie? How—why, what?”

“Ché pas but chu icitte. I’m alive.”

Another pause but Gabriel’s strangled sob was clear through the phone, a loud pained thing that echoed. It was the silence that dug its claws in deep, the silence of recognizing and not knowing and hoping and having your prayers answered.

“Où?”

“Not important.” Cas mumbled. “Dad’s sick. Are you there?”

“Not yet, stuck in Cali. End of September I’ll be there.”

“I’ll meet you. Moncton airport?”

“Always.” Gabe confirmed, taking another pause as he swallowed thickly. “Cassie, what happened to you?”

“I’ll tell you later. I’ll be there September 28^th. Je t’aime Gabe.”

Cas stayed on the line just long enough to hear Gabe sputter out a quick reply before he ended the call, head dropping back onto the desk. He held the phone out to Charlie and when she took it back he let his hand drop back onto the desk.

“Are you going to be well enough to travel that far so soon?” She asked.

“Je n’ai pas un choé, I have to be.”

“I’ll get you as ready as I can.” Dean promised, glancing from Cas to Charlie. His expression was unmistakable, concern and worry and the knowledge that they’d never be able to close the can of worms they’d just opened. Hand on Cas’ shoulder once again, Dean felt the beginnings of a tremble and frowned. Cas was a ticking time bomb ready to explode. “Hey, let’s get you back to the lighthouse? Think you’ve had enough for an entire week.”

Cas didn’t reply but the slow rising of his body as he staggered to his feet gave enough of an answer. His hands found purchase on Dean’s arm, hold so tight Dean suspected it would bruise. But he didn’t mind, not really. Cas needed the comfort and he wasn’t going to deny it.

He curled up in the front seat once they’d gotten into the car, knees tucked to his chest as he leaned against the door and stared straight through the windshield. His expression was haunted, the kind that conjured ghosts that would never be expelled.

“I’ll never forgive myself if he dies before I get there.”

The statement was brief and to the point, cutting through the air. It was a miserable statement for a miserable situation but that didn’t make it any less true. Cas’ shoulders shook now, small little trembles a precursor to the greater more terrible things to come.

“We’re moving as fast as we can, I promise. You’ll see him again.”

“T’es plein de marde toé. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Dean’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. Cas’ anger and frustration was understandable but the way he was directing it wasn’t fair. No that Dean said that because that would only make things worse and they were already bad. He swallowed down the retort, keeping his eyes on the road.

“I made a promise to you months ago that I’d find a way to get you back and I did. That should’ve been an impossible promise but it wasn’t. If I can swing that, I can swing getting you to see your dad.”

Cas nodded, still curled up in the seat. His eyes and throat burned with the raw emotion of everything and he let the tears fall. They rolled in thick tracks down his cheeks, soaking into the knees of his jean. His shoulders shook and his hands trembled but Cas didn’t stop. Frustration, desperation, all of it compounded into one big snowball ready to roll him down and flatten him. It felt hopeless, like staring at a test you knew you were never going to pass.

The chance he was actually able to see his dad was slim to none and he knew that, even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

“You’re the second person to sit in that seat and have feelings about their parents.” Dean said, choosing to speak so Cas didn’t have to. He didn’t call him out for the tears either. “Charlie sat there months ago, twice actually. She was saying goodbye to her mom and I’m not gonna go into detail because it’s really her business to share but just know that she made it through that and is doing okay.

Cas didn’t say anything. He simply shifted in the seat, wiping at his eyes with his hands.

“There’s a hankie in the glovebox if you want it Might be nicer on your eyes than your hand.”

The glovebox opened with a soft click and Cas was pulling the hankie from it. Red with white polka dots, it was soft against his face as he dabbed the tears away. Cas took a chance to snoop while the glovebox was open, eyes scanning over the documentation and manuals in the glovebox. It was the folded photo shoved in the corner of the glovebox that caught his attention and he pulled it out.

Four people stood out among the grassy hills and trees in the background. The woman was blonde and her face lit up with a laugh like she’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. Nestled in her arms was a small baby in overalls and a winnie the pooh hat looking less than impressed with whoever was behind the camera. Next to the woman, arm laced around her back, was a dark haired man. His head was turned but Cas knew he was looking at her like she’d hung the stars. It was the same way his parents looked at each other. Tucked in front of his legs was a boy no older than four, all smiles as he beamed at the camera with a teddy bear clutched to his chest.

“Is this your family?” he asked, turning the photo towards Dean. He was ready to jump on the photo if it meant distracting himself from visions of his dying father. Dean glanced at briefly before turning back to the road.

“Only photo I’ve got of all of us.” Dean replied. He sounded almost wistful, a bitter reminiscence on better times. “That would’ve been like July of that year I think. Sam was pissed, he hated that hat.”

“Your brother doesn’t seem like the kind of person who likes fun things. Trop sérieux if you will.”

Dean nodded, chuckling quietly. “Yeah, he’s always been a stick in the mud. Mom wasn’t like that so he probably got it from my Dad or me. Probably me. Mom died four months after we took that picture so it’s kind of important to me. Keeps her memory alive, ya know?”

“I get it.” Cas said as he folded the photo and tucked it back into the glovebox before shutting it. “My maman always had photos of all of us in her wallet. I still hate mine but she’s never switched it. I was 8 and missing like 6 teeth so I looked ridiculous.”

“Yeah well you can take a new photo for the wallet when you see her at the end of the month. Give her something new to make memories with.”

“Je s’pose.”

The remainder of the drive settled into a silence hovering somewhere between comforting and uncomfortable. It was the silence of mutual understanding, the kind of silence shared by two people who knew all too well what losing someone they loved felt like. From the acute grief the moment of confirmation to the prolonged battle that kept you awake at night, crying yourself breathless, all of it was messy and terrible but it was human. There was comfort in the loss too, comfort in those who rallied around you for support.

When Dean pulled into the lighthouse, the silence was bearable. Engine off, he turned to check on Cas who’d spent the better part of 40 minutes not moving a muscle. Cas was out cold, head resting against his arm on the window and knees still tucked to his chest. Silent as he could be, Dean slipped out of the impala and opened the passenger door. He thought about waking Cas up just long enough to get him into the lighthouse and to bed but decided against it in the end.

“You really overdid it today.” He murmured as he slipped his arms underneath Cas’ body, scooping him up. In the height of his firefighting days this wouldn’t have been an issue but it had been months and Dean had been admittedly lax on the muscle maintenance. It took some effort to support Cas but Dean didn’t mind in the slightest. The man needed his rest and he wasn’t going to deny that.

The door to the lighthouse proved tricky with one hand but Dean managed to open it after a few minutes of struggling. Padding to the bedroom, Dean lowered Cas onto the bed and readjusted the pillows to better support his head. He pulled the blankets up and for a moment, he stopped. Dean watched Cas settle into the bed before he leaned down, brushing his lips across Cas’ forehead in a tender kiss.

“Get some sleep. I’ll see you when you wake up.”

~

The days that passed seemed to settle into a routine of their own, a strange domesticity that Dean hadn’t expected.

He would make breakfast in the morning and when the pot of coffee was full to the brim Cas would appear from the bedroom like a creature summoned by the scent of caffeine. Cas would drink a cup in complete silence before he would greet Dean in that sleep laden gravelly voice of his. Always Bon Matin and something vaguely French muttered under his breath.

By the end of September Cas had put on weight and while he still looked too thin, it was less walking corpse and more someone recovering from a prolonged illness. It hadn’t quite settled into his face yet and the looks that remained when he thought Dean wasn’t watching were haunted, all wide blue eyes and lips slightly parted as if he were ready to scream to an uncaring god.

The day to day conversation varied but their actions didn’t. Dean spent the days focusing on Cas, ensuring he was eating and sleeping and continuing on like he was supposed to be. Mid-morning Dean knelt before Cas in the bedroom, hands gentle as they moved and stretched his legs to reengage the muscles. It felt worshipful the way his palms slid over Cas’ calves and his fingers gently massaged the cramps and knots away. Sometimes Cas cried and Dean was always there with a tissue or a cloth to wipe the tears away. He was there with kind words, with reassurance, with humanity.

In the afternoons they walked along the beach but stayed far enough away that the water would never reach them. Dean had suggested they walk elsewhere after he’d seen Cas’ expression and felt the way he’d clung to him – like a scared child – but Cas had refused. The man was beyond stubborn and Dean wondered if this was how people felt about him. It probably was. Exposure therapy was what Cas had called it. He insisted he couldn’t be afraid of the water forever and that this was okay because he felt safe with Dean.

The walks had been quick at first, ten and fifteen minutes while Cas got used to the moment but soon they grew longer. Now Cas managed twenty to thirty minutes and while he was frustrated because it felt like nothing, Dean reassured him it was great progress.

Their evenings were much the same as the days had been. Together they would cook a meal and the banter would continue, quiet childhood stories shared between instructions on how to peel the carrots or chop the potatoes. Supper itself was a quiet affair, both seemingly lost in their own world as they ate. Dean never asked Cas what he was thinking about and Cas never asked Dean. Their thoughts were their own and it was going to stay that way.

It was nighttime that brought the most change. When the moon rose above the clouds and cast its silver light across the earth, all bets were off. In the beginning Dean had given Cas the bed, insisting that he needed all of the space so he could sleep and recover. Cas had argued but Dean hadn’t given in, as stoic and stonewalled as ever. The chair was fine, Dean had said. It wasn’t and his back ached but he refused to admit it.

The nightmares changed everything. Cas would wake with a shout or tears in his eyes and Dean would be right there, climbing into bed with him and holding him. The things Cas choked out in between sobs didn’t make sense to Dean but they didn’t need to. Tales of shipwrecks refusing to give up their treasure, of men and what they did under the cover of darkness, of a siren song so loud and beautiful it called to him still. These were tales of Lake Maren and with each one, Dean’s chest tightened.

Dean didn’t know when it had happened but at some point he’d given in and he crawled into bed with Cas, nestled between him and the wall. Cas would seek comfort and solace in Dean’s arms and Dean would grant, touch gentle and protective. He didn’t ask Cas for anything when he held him. That would be selfish.

Dean wanted things. He was human, of course he wanted them. He wanted companionship and love and for Cas to turn around and notice him, to admit that he felt the same way. Dean wanted Cas to admit that the love and affection burning in his chest was returned. He wanted Cas to want him.

For the better part of September the pair danced this strange domestic routine. It came to a head on September 27^th.

Dean woke with a crushing weight on his chest and when he moved into the kitchen, it felt like he was moving underwater. Everything was slow and dull and muffled like the joy and life had been sucked away by an unseen mosquito. He’d expected the melancholy but not like this. Not this intensely.

As he made them breakfast for the last time, each scrape of the knife as he buttered the toast was agony for his ears. Too loud, too much, it mixed with the swirling mass of the thoughts collecting in his head. He didn’t notice when Cas shuffled into the kitchen, didn’t hear when he said good morning, didn’t even register Cas’ chatter as he set the plates down on the table. Dean tried to respond, peppering in a yes or a yeah or a question as Cas talked but his hear wasn’t in it. His heart wasn’t in it when he knelt in front of the bed, hands working their usual magic. It was the presence of Cas’ hand on his shoulder that snapped Dean out of it and he glanced, a look of guilt on his face.

“Are you okay?” Cas asked, lips pursed in a frown. “You’ve been distant all morning.”

Dean shrugged, hands still working. “I’m fine, just been thinking about what’s next since it’s your last day here.”

“What is next for you?”

“Well I’m here until December when my contract runs out and then I’m off to Cali with Charlie. She found us a place for the New Year that’s kind of nice and not too expensive so that’s nice. Close to where Sam is.”

“Have you talked to him since the last call?”

Dean shook his head as he switched Cas’ legs. “A little but not really. Just kind of cementing the plans but he’s really busy and he service here is shit. He wants me to have dinner at his place and meet his girlfriend, says she’s excited to meet me.”

“Are you excited to meet her?”

“I guess. I mean I’m glad he’s happy and he’s met someone but I feel like we need to fix our shit before he introduces me to her. Last thing I want is a screaming match over the mashed potatoes because someone said the wrong thing about something we both swore we were over.”

Cas nodded, shifting uncomfortably when Dean hit a knot in his calf. Something felt just a little bit off but he couldn’t quite place what is was. Dean wasn’t usually this distant or distracted.

“What are you plans?” Dean asked as he rocked back onto his feet and stood, the daily stretching and massaging complete. “After your mom and dad I mean?”

“Go back to my old life, pick up the pieces. I don’t really have a solid plan but I know I want see Meg. She’d kill me if I didn’t visit at the very least.”

“She’d kill you just for the hell of it I think.”

Cas’ laugh of agreement was quiet and bright and Dean’s heart squeezed just a little bit more in his chest. “Do you think we could skip lunch and go straight to the walk?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t the routine. Nonetheless he nodded his head, offering Cas his arm. Cas ignored Dean’s arm and reached for his hand instead, twining their fingers together. The resistance in Dean’s hand was palpable but Cas ignored it as he took the lead, determined to get to the bottom of what was going on.

Lazy clouds hung in the sky as Cas led them toward the beach, his steps more determined than they had been in august. Waves lapped gently at the shore but Cas stayed away from them, still wary. The Lake still had it out for him, that much he was sure of. It held grudges like a November scorpio.

For a while the pair walked in silence, Dean’s eyes on the sand and Cas’ eyes on Dean. He scanned the lines of Dean’s face, the way his expression loosened and settled into something familiar. Dean was lost in thought, brain floating somewhere else, and it piqued curiosity.

“Tell me what you’re thinking?” He asked at last as he pair of them stopped at flat rock.

“Just thinking about this place, about how it’s been so different for both of us. You came here knowing who you were and what you wanted and this place ripped it right out from under you. It took away everything that made you you. This place gave me my life back.”

Cas nodded, his thumb brushing across Dean’s hand. “I would say it knew what we needed but it didn’t. No one needs to be turned into a lake monster.”

“Would you have stayed?” Dean asked quietly, voice dipping into that low emotion that came with tears and self-doubt. “If it had been me in the lake?”

Cas turned, seeking out Dean’s eyes. The concern blooming in his chest was white hot.

“Of course I would’ve. Everyone deserves someone who stays. Do you think I would’ve left?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just – I don’t know how to explain it. Just forget I said anything.”

Cas’ brow furrowed deeper but he didn’t press. This was the kind of conversation best had in a quiet place, not in front of a lake that always seemed to be listening. Dean’s uncertainty and hesitancy bothered Cas more than he cared to admit. They’d spent months getting to know each other and Dean had really opened up. He’d told him terrible things and those had come out easier than whatever this was.

The walk back to the cottage was silent but Cas never let go of Dean’s hand. He hoped it offered Dean the same reassurance he had so graciously doled out.

It didn’t.

Supper felt like a somber affair, all clinking forks and quiet sips and longing glances exchanged over tea in chipped china mugs. Cas ached for conversation, for Dean’s laugh and his quips and the stupid little thing he did with his tongue when he got way too into laughing at a joke that wasn’t all that funny. He wanted the Dean that was full of life, the man that had fought the lake for him and won.

This Dean wasn’t that. This Dean was quiet, withdrawn, almost moody. He didn’t crack his jokes and he didn’t look at Cas with that easygoing fondness that had developed between the two of them. In fact he didn’t look at Cas at all. He moved quietly when he finished his meal, collecting the dishes and dropping them into the sink.

When Dean broke the silence, it wasn’t with a joke or a laugh. It was with a question, a simple direct question.

“Were you planning on having a bath tonight?”

Cas looked over, still frowning. What was with the sudden clinical detachment? It didn’t make any sense.

“Why, care to join me?”

“No. Couldn’t fit two grown men in that tub even if we tried. Just wanted to know.”

“Did you want help with the dishes?”

Dean shook his head. “I got it. Just go have your bath and relax.”

Cas didn’t argue with Dean and left the conversation where it was before it devolved. He padded to the bathroom and started the bath, dropping his clothes and turning to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Deep set bags and hollow cheekbones stared back at him. His eyes were different too, the icy blue deep and dark like the depths of a lake. They were impossibly blue and it unnerved him.

He touched his face and slid his hand down further, fingertips ghosting over the fading bruises on his ribs. They still ached but not because they’d been cracked. This ache was deeper somehow, a burrowing longing that Cas finally allowed himself to feel. Those bruises had saved his life and brought him back from the brink. Dean’s hands had made those bruises. His fingers skimmed lower, past the jut of his hip, and the memory that appeared in his mind felt like fire. Dean’s hands again, roaming his body, touching him like he was something sacred.

The “I got you” and the “you’re safe” and the “I see you”.

That goddamn “I see you”.

The realization struck Cas like a bolt to the chest.

He didn’t bother getting dressed but he did turn the water off before he turned on his heels, making the quick walk to the bedroom. Dean sat on the bed in his t-shirt and boxers, legs stretched out in front of him. There was a book in his hand and he looked engrossed in it, too absorbed to realize Cas was there.

“Dean.” Cas said, his voice clear as he strode across the bedroom.

Dean glanced up just in time to catch a glimpse of a very naked Cas, surprise arching his eyebrows. The next thing he felt was the press of Cas’ hands on his face and a solid body sitting itself on his lap. He had half a second to process and then Cas was kissing him.

The book in Dean’s hands hit the ground with a dull thud but he hardly noticed, too absorbed in everything else. His hands skirted up Cas’ legs, settling on his thighs with a firm grip. He wasn’t sure what was happening but that was okay. He kissed back, just enough to sate Cas, and then he pulled away.

“What are you doing?” He asked, voice cracked open like a geode.

“I’m an idiot.” Cas mumbled, still cradling Dean’s face with his hands. “I should’ve realized sooner.”

Dean swallowed thickly, eyes shining in the light. His heart thundered in his ears and the world began to spin. He tried to think of something to say, anything deny or justify but nothing came out.

“You want me to stay.”

“But you can’t.” Dean’s voice was whisper soft and he wanted to look away but Cas wouldn’t let him. “I can’t ask you to.”

“You can.”

“I can’t. It’s so fucking selfish and I’m not like that. I’m not going to be selfish. Not with you.”

Cas’ expression softened as his thumbs stroked Dean’s cheek. There was a tremble to Dean’s lips but Cas didn’t comment on that.

“I can’t stay here, we know that, but that doesn’t mean I can’t stay with you.”

“I don’t – what does that mean?”

“You’re the one who rescued me, Dean. You gave so much to try and help me and you owed me nothing. I was a stranger.” Cas began. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead. “You stayed and because you did, because you saw me for who I am, you saved me.”

Another kiss, this time to the tip of Dean’s nose.

“You got to know me but you forget that I got to know you too. I know all about you and the kind of person you are and you deserve to be someone’s first choice. You deserve to have someone stay.”

Dean’s lips quivered, tears welling in his eyes. He didn’t know what they were supposed to be, just that they were there.

Cas brushed his lips against Dean’s right cheek, kiss feather soft.

“I like you, Dean. I more than like you. I want to know you. I want to stay.”

“But you can’t stay here.”

Cas shook his head and pressed another kiss to Dean’s other cheek. He wasn't sure exactly what he was saying, just that he was talking. The words themselves felt foreign in his mouth but the intent behind them was. Cas' intent was solid. “I can’t stay here. Not with what this place reminds me and not with my dad being sick.”

“So how are you supposed to stay with me if you’re not with me?”

“Texts, calls, facetime while I’m away. You forget that I live in Cali and that I’m going back there to pick up my life. I’m not physically staying away forever. I don’t want that.”

Try as he might, Dean couldn’t hold back his tears. A month of nerves and worry and the nagging feeling that he was never going to get to experience anything with Cas now bubbled out. They slipped down his cheeks and dripped from his jaw and Cas was right there, thumbing them away.

“I think we owe it to each other to try and see what happens between us.”

“We’ve both got a lot of baggage.” Dean breathed out, voice shaky. “Aren’t you worried it’s gonna get messy?”

“Someone once told me humanity was messy and painful and it’s what we do after the pain that tells us how human we are. Let me be human with you, Dean. Please?”

Dean answered with a kiss.

Sweet and slow, it was nothing like the frantic needy kisses that had come before it. This was deep and personal, Dean trying to taste Cas without devouring him. His hands skimmed up his thighs and his sides, settling on his pecs.

“How are the ribs?” he asked, pulling away to catch his breath.

“Sore but manageable. Why, you planning on stressing them out?”

Dean rolled his eyes as a small laugh escaped his lips. “You’re the one who crawled onto my lap with no clothes on. Kind of gives me a man all sorts of ideas.”

“Ah, cheapening the moment. Typique.”

“I’m a human man, of course I want to cheapen the moment. I know you’d let me.”

Cas raised an eyebrow and Dean’s stomach fluttered in response. He slid a hand down Cas’ back, resting it on the curve of his ass. The touch wasn’t needy or flirtatious or wanting anything. It was touching because he could, because Cas allowed him. There was nothing expected, nothing to be exchanged.

“But I won’t.” Dean said finally. “Not tonight. All I want tonight is to hold you.”

Expression softening, Cas climbed off of Dean’s lap. He would’ve been fine cheapening the moment but Dean’s suggestion felt more intimate somehow. It sent his heart fluttering and the fluttering deepened when he watched Dean tug off his shirt and then stretch out.

“I never thought you’d be soft like this.” He admitted as he settled against Dean’s side, head finding its place on his chest. “C’est vraiment sympa.”

“This isn’t normal, trust me. It’s all your fault.”

“C’est ma faute. Oh noo.”

Dean laughed again but didn’t bother to respond. He lay there with Cas, fingers running through his hair, and the world felt like it had stopped for just a moment. The lake outside didn’t matter and neither did the knowledge that by this time tomorrow Cas would be on a plane and far far away from this place.

All that mattered was right there, tucked into his arms in the lumpy twin mattress. The man he’d saved who’d saved him from himself, who’d been there for him even when they couldn’t speak, was safe in his arms. As they lay there, Cas asleep and comfortable and Dean drifting off to sleep, a single thought remained on Dean’s mind.

He was falling in love with Cas and it was exciting.

Life – and what it had to offer him – was exciting.

Chapter Text

When Dean stirred the next morning he expected to feel the familiar presence of Cas next to him, face tucked into his neck and arm slung around his waist. Cas was clingy in bed – despite his insistence that he wasn’t normally like that and Dean was just special.  The bed was empty when Dean reached out and he frowned, cracking his eyes open.

Tangled sheets stared back at him.

The smell hit Dean before the panic could set in, that energizing mix of brewing coffee and slightly burnt toast. He smiled to himself as he rolled out of bed and stretched. His shoulder popped but he brushed off the twinge of pain, refusing to let it ruin the morning. Slipping into his clothes, Dean padded to the kitchen to find Cas.

“That’s supposed to be my job.”

Cas turned and his face cracked into a wide smile when he saw Dean. It was a sight he still hadn’t gotten used to in the month he’d spent as a human, the hedgehog spikes of Dean’s messy hair and the way in which he glared at everything like it owed him money until he’d consumed at least one cup of coffee.

“Thought you might like the surprise.” He shrugged, setting the plates on the table. “C’est simple, just pancakes and bacon.”

“A man after my own heart.”

Cas shrugged and took a seat across from Dean. Breakfast was a silent affair that morning, only the clinking of forks against plates and the odd slurp of coffee. The silence was comfortable though, sitting like a pair of broken in jeans. For Dean the silence was waking up and fuelling his body before he was playing chauffeur to the airport. It was step one in the journey of seeing Cas off and he didn’t want to rush it. They hadn’t had enough time together.

For Cas, the silence held unspeakable weight that threatened to keep him anchored to the lighthouse and the lake. The absence of the waves crashing around him did little to deafen the blood roaring in his ears. It roared louder when he glanced over at Dean, unwanted heat rising to his cheeks. There was just something magnetic about Dean.

When Dean glanced up, feeling Cas’ eyes on him, he raised an eyebrow. “I got something on my face?”

“No.” Cas mumbled, embarrassed. “Just thinking about how there won’t be any more breakfasts like this for a while. Tu me manques.”

“Still don’t know what that means.”

“I’ll miss this is what it means.” Cas said, purposefully mistranslating. He’d miss Dean, that’s what he had said, but that admission felt too heavy for the morning.

“Yeah well you’ll have breakfast with your parents and siblings again so I feel like that makes up for it. You’ll get your mom’s buckwheat pancake things again, ployes I think?”

Dean’s butchered pronunciation brought a small smile to Cas’ face as he collected the empty plates and brought them over to the sink. It was sweet to see Dean trying. Even sweeter knowing that he remembered little things like that.  

“True enough. If I know maman well and I do, she’ll feed me until I’m un gros jack. Not that I’ll complain.”

Silence filled the cottage once again, Cas turning to finish the dishes while Dean excused himself. He made his way to the bedroom, searching for the bag they’d packed together the previous night. It was comprised mostly of Dean’s clothes which he’d insisted Cas take since there had been no time to go shopping and then Cas’ meager earthly possessions: all of the journals, the tapes, a few books, and the one sweater that had survived all of these years tucked away on the back of the closet.

Bag in hand, Dean returned to the kitchen and slid his boots on. “We should probably get going. Don’t want you to miss your flight.”

Cas set the final plate in the drying wrack and wiped his hands with a towel before glancing at the clock. Dean was right, it was time they left. The drive alone took close to 2 hours and he had no doubt that airport security hadn’t gotten any faster in the last 6 years. He slipped into his shoes, a pair of ratty sneakers with holes in the toes, and followed Dean outside.

The lake was placid, still unmoving waters framed by the brilliant blue of a cloudless summer sky. Birds circled each other in the air and a few pecked at small fish on the shore. Everything screamed peace and quiet and Cas didn’t trust it. This was the kind of peace that lulled unsuspecting travelers into letting their guard down before pulling them under. It was the same feeling he’d had when he’d answered the call of the lake.

“I’m done listening to you.” Cas muttered under his breath. “You don’t control me anymore. This is my life and I'm going to fucking live it.”

Nostrils flared and determination burning in his chest, Cas turned on his heels and slid into the impala. He tucked his legs up onto the seat without thinking about it, a habit he’d apparently formed in the single time he’d ridden in the car before. It was comforting, he supposed, having himself so close together and curled up. If he made himself small then he couldn’t be hurt as easily.

Dean didn’t say much during the first hour of the drive, clearly lost in his own thoughts. Cas didn’t know what they were but they couldn’t be good, not with the way his brow furrowed and his lips pursed. It wasn’t until Dean stopped at the library, vanished for fifteen minutes, and returned with the documents that Charlie had been able to secure, that he spoke.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to tell your family yet?”

Cas turned his head, eyes settling on Dean. “About which part?”

“All of it. Pretty sure you can’t just roll up to Gabriel and start joking about being a monster and expect him to take it well. I know the man is open to a lot but that seems excessive.”

“J’sais pas. Haven’t had a lot of time to think about it.”

“Want my advice on it? Qualifier being I had a fucked up childhood I had from everyone I’ve ever known for years.”

Cas nodded, shifting in his seat so he could give Dean his full attention. He had no doubt Dean had actual advice but he wasn’t sure he’d want to take it. Stubbornness ran deep in the Novak family and Cas was no exception. It didn’t help he was still conflicted and confused. The mix of emotions did nothing but make everything feel worse.

“He’ll call you out if you lie straight to his face because he knows you and I really don’t feel like you’re a good liar so that’s not an option. Telling him the truth is gonna be ten layers of hell and way too many cans of worms so don’t do that. You’ve gotta stay somewhere in the middle with a half-truth or like a vague statement.”

“Knowing where to stay doesn’t tell me what to say.” Cas mumbled. The anxiety was making its return and it was noticeable now. His voice had risen – just enough to be noticeable – and it was muffled when he brought his hand up to his mouth, chewing on the skin on the side of his thumb.

“Tell him that you remember falling into the lake because you do and that you’re not sure of much else except for what happened when you woke up.”

“Pretty sure I can’t tell him I kissed a man at the lighthouse and then got rehabilitated by him. He might question that a little bit.”

“That’s where you get vague and sort of lie. Tell him you remember someone taking care of you but that it’s all still fuzzy because you’re still recovering. That’ll at least buy you enough time to think of something else.”

“Ça va m'exploser au visage. Right in my face.” Cas muttered, still chewing on his thumb.

“Probably but you’re gonna have to live with it.” Dean shrugged. “Or, maybe it doesn’t blow up in your face because I’m assuming that’s what you just muttered. Maybe your family is so overwhelmed with joy and relief at the fact that you’re alive that they won’t look too closely at your story or even care at all.”

“They’re not like that. So trusting. Not Michael or my father or Raphael. Naomi, Jimmy, and Anna are indifferent so I doubt they’ll ask. Gabriel will. Maman is a wild card. It’s too unpredictable.”

Dean sighed, sucking in a breath. He recognized the anxiety well and he had no doubt it was running white hot through Cas’ veins. Nothing about dealing with family was easy, especially not when it involved a seismic lie. Dean also knew there was nothing he could say that would ease Cas’ anxiety in the way he wanted to. Words hadn’t worked and touch wasn’t an option.

“If I make a joke about the origins of your name and say you just need to have faith that it’ll work out, you’d hit me wouldn’t you?” Dean asked, trying to tease and lighten the mood.

Cas stared at Dean for a few seconds while he processed and then he laughed, a small quiet thing. He couldn’t help it. Dean’s teasing tone had a way of cutting through the anxiety.

“If you weren’t driving, yeah I would. So you’re lucky.”

“There’s that laugh. Almost thought you forgot it at the lighthouse.” Dean grinned, flashing Cas a charming smile. This was better, easier. Banter was a distraction from the cold hand he could feel squeezing his heart.

“Triple checked to make sure I didn’t forget anything. I’m never going back to that place.” Cas muttered, shifting in the seat to stare out the windshield at the road ahead. “Are you going to be okay there alone? I worry about the lake.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me. I know there’s no avatar anymore and we both know the lake holds a fucking grudge but I don’t fit the criteria. I’m not about protecting it or anything and I’m pretty sure telling it to fuck off and flipping it the middle finger by saving you is gonna exclude me from all criteria. Besides, Rowena’s taking care of that.”

Cas’ heart skipped a beat, alarm evident in the raise of his eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“You remember all that weird spooky shit about the lake being like a spiritual nexus point where the veil is thin and the magic’s old? Yeah well Rowena wants to learn all about it because it’ll help her practice and deepen her connection to magic and nature or something. She’s gonna be making trips up to the lighthouse to see if she can connect with the lake and when I’m gone she’s taking over as permanent caretaker. Practically tried to rush me out of there even faster.”

“She’s giving you an out. Why wouldn’t you take it?”

Dean sighed, exhaling through his nose. There were far too many reasons to list in the little time they had left of the drive and even if he were able to list them all, he doubted Cas would find them reasonable. Dean knew he could choose the easy reason of not wanting to deal with breaking the contract early and Cas would accept it but that felt disingenuous and he didn’t like that. In the end he decided to be honest.

“Because I’m not ready. I’m scared to leave.”

Cas’ response was immediate, his voice quiet and the word hanging heavy in the cab.

“Why?”

“We don’t have enough time to get into all that so don’t worry about it.” Dean mumbled. “I’ll be fine. You’ve got your shit to deal with, don’t need mine piled on top.”

“Don’t use my bullshit as an excuse to clam up. You talked to me when I was still a monster and you had things going on. The fact I have a face and can talk back now shouldn’t make a difference. I want you to share and be open with me so please, tell me.”

“God I hate when you do that earnest emotional shit. Can’t ignore it when you’ve got baby blues and that friggin' accent.”

Cas’ smile was genuine. He sat there and waited as Dean collected his thoughts. There was no pressure or immediate insistence that Dean tell him quicker, just a quiet understanding that came from experience. Being vulnerable with someone else was difficult, especially for someone like Dean. People left him, they always had, and the fear that Cas would be one of them was deep rooted.

When Dean did speak there was no bravado, no false pretense. It was simply himself, open and honest and hesitant.

“When I got the lighthouse my entire life was falling apart and I didn’t really have anywhere else to go. My dad was dead, I was on leave from work, I didn’t have a partner, and I didn’t have family that I talked to. Not to mention the alcoholism. I was a mess and I didn’t know how to grieve and move on and make my life better. Now everything’s different.”

Cas nodded his head, focusing on Dean and letting him speak. Dean continued, a slight tremble in his voice.

“I met Charlie and I reconnected with Sam and I stopped drinking and I met you. There’s this”—Dean paused as if searching for the right word – “Purpose that I didn’t have before, this future I didn’t know I could have. All of it’s new and exciting and so fucking overwhelming. I’m moving across the country with someone who’s my best friend and I’m finally getting my brother back and then there’s you and me and whatever we are and it’s just – it doesn’t feel real.”

“You think you’re going to fuck it up.” Cas murmured.

The quiet observation ripped through Dean like shrapnel and he swallowed thickly, eyes darting anxiously at Cas before returning to the road. He could see the entrance to the airport now and that meant their time was nearly up. When he spoke, nothing felt certain and he didn’t try to hide it.

“I mean I’ve fucked up everything else so I don’t know why this would be different but I don’t want to fuck this up. I want to live with Charlie and fix things with Sam and actually live my life but there’s just so much I can’t predict. I just- I don’t know what I’m walking into and it fucking terrifies me. I have to rebuild my life from the ground up and it feels impossible.”

“We’re two sides of the same coin.” Cas noted, fully turned to face Dean. They were in the parking lot now but Cas made no move to get out of the impala. What he did do was reach out, warm hand resting on Dean’s knee. “We’re both rebuilding our lives. Only difference is I’m going back to the life I lived before because that’s an option for me. You don’t have that luxury and that makes this harder. But you should be excited, Dean. For the first time you get to choose what you want to do and who you want to be and that’s exciting. Don’t let fear ruin this for you.”

“It’s skepticism, not fear.”

“It’s fear but I’m not going to debate that with you because you already know. Look, I’m scared too but I’m not letting that stop me from living my life and you shouldn’t either. I’m going to tell you what Meg tells me when I’m afraid. She tells me: lâche pas la patate.”

Dean shook his head. “You know I don’t know what that means.”

“It means don’t give up in a roundabout way. I mean the direct translation is don’t let go of the potato but that’s not quite as poignant.” Cas chuckled, giving Dean’s knee a gentle squeeze. “You’ll be okay, Dean. You’ve already been through ten times as much as some people deal with in their lifetime and you’re still kicking and fighting. You’re doing better than that really. You’re telling an uncaring world to go fuck itself and building a life in the ruins. That takes a lot of strength.”

“Fuck man, you’re gonna make me cry.”

Cas’ expression softened and he withdrew his hand just long enough to fish out the hankie Dean had given him earlier that month. He offered it with no words, watching as Dean accepted it and dabbed at his watery eyes. It was hitting Cas now, the realization that he was actually leaving and just what that meant. It meant seeing his family and rebuilding his life but it meant leaving Dean too – even if it was temporary – and Cas didn’t want to do that. If he’d had nothing to go back to then he’d have stayed with Dean but it hadn’t worked out that way.

“I’m French Canadian, it’s kind of my job to make people cry.” He chuckled softly. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

Dean nodded and took a deep breath before turning away, reaching into the back for something. He fished around for a few minutes before he found what he was looking for. In his hand was a beat up copy of Slaughterhouse Five complete with yellow pages, old book smell, and a spine so cracked it was flaking off in places. The way he held it out to Cas was almost shy.

“This is for you.”

Cas took it and the weight of the book in his hand was comforting. “This is your copy. Why are you giving it to me?”

“It’s a long plane ride, you’ll need something to read. Besides, I saw the way you were eyeing it when it was on the nightstand and we’ve already talked about swapping books. There’s lot of notes in it, just little things I’ve noticed over the years. Thought maybe you could add yours in and call me when you get a new phone and finish it?”

“How am I supposed to call you if I don’t have your number?”

“It’s on the first page and the inside of the back cover.”

Cas’ smile widened, heart fluttering in his chest. This was a gift that meant something, a true gesture from the heart and he wouldn’t be forgetting it any time soon. It was exactly the kind of thing Dean would do – sappy and thoughtful and proof that he really knew Cas – and then immediately deny because there was supposedly no proof. It was giving for the sake of giving and not expecting anything in return. Cas tucked it into the bag at his feet and then he was staring up at Dean again.

Dean looked sad, the curve of his smile bittersweet and the slight furrow of his brow like he was trying to hide how he really felt. It wasn’t the bone deep sadness or the crushing anguish that Cas had come to know at the lighthouse. No, this was something else. This was love and loss and hope all threaded into one. It was saying goodbye for now, not goodbye forever.

Cas moved with purpose, leaning across the centre console to kiss Dean. The press of his lips was soft but unmistakable, a firm comfort. He wanted Dean to know what he meant to him, that this wasn’t the end. Cas waited until he felt Dean kiss back before he pulled away.

“Thank you, Dean, for everything. I wouldn’t have this chance if it weren’t for you and I’ll always be grateful for that. Remember that this isn’t goodbye forever. It’s just a see you later.”

Dean nodded and leaned in again, stealing another kiss. This one felt more desperate but in the end he was the one to pull away and let Cas go. Cas had to go, his family needed him and his life was waiting for him. It was time for him to see how the world had changed. Dean watched him slide out of the impala and take his bag with him, vanishing through the entrance of the airport. He even waited a whole 15 minutes before he pulled out of the parking lot and began the solemn drive back to Port Maren.

Remember, this isn’t goodbye forever. It’s just a see you later Cas had said and Dean waned to believe him. Dean wanted nothing more than for that to be the truth. He wanted Cas to read the book and call him and find him in Cali but part of him couldn’t believe it. Buried deep down beneath all of the new growth was that same rotting seed sprouting poisonous roots.

That seed left a single lingering thought in the back of Dean’s mind.

He was never going to see Cas again.

Chapter Text

What do you do when home no longer feels like home?

Freshly human, Castiel Novak has returned home to try and pick up the pieces after his six year disappearance. But picking up the pieces isn’t as easy as it seems, not when he’s plagued with horrific nightmares and lingering symptoms from his time in Port Maren.

Dean Winchester is moving on with his life. He’s found a new job, reconnected with his brother, and is building roots for the first time. But his time in Port Maren lingers in the back of his mind, dark whispers of the man he fell for that got away tormenting him.

When a happenstance meeting several months later brings Dean and Castiel together again, neither can predict what comes next. Something lurks just beneath the surface and it’s finally ready to reveal itself.

~

This Act/half has the same warnings/tags as the first half but may touch on a few new topics including relapse and implied/referenced self harm done in a scientific/experimental context. The tags will be updated as the chapters come out. If you think I missed tagging something at any point, please let me know so I can update the tags. 

There will be more science speak and I will research but definitely suspend your disbelief a little bit. I am not a scientist. 

Also more French so I'll likely keep general translations in the end of chapter notes.

Hoping to have the first chapter out either this weekend or next week. Just depends on how fast I write. 

Chapter Text

Cas was no stranger to airplanes, having spent far too many hours crammed into the metal tubes as they shot thorough the sky. From New Brunswick to Maine to Cali and to a million other places, he’d been in them. He didn’t have a disdain for them before, moreso a general apathy at how inconvenient they could be.

His time in Port Maren had changed that.

The window seat they’d placed him in felt like hard plastic beneath him, the cushioning so ancient it was little more than trapped dust and air, and the man in the middle seat spreading his legs into everyone else’s space made it all too claustrophobic. If that wasn’t bad enough, the woman in front of him had reclined her seat to the point he couldn’t move and the child kicking the back of his seat was beginning to fray his final nerve.

The lake had been quiet and this was anything but quiet. Twenty minutes into the kicking and Cas had whipped his head around, glaring at the child with all the ire of a stressed grown man. The child, who was more than old enough to know better, had nearly burst into tears and stopped immediately. Cas knew it wasn’t just the look, that the scars had helped and he wished that brought him amusement. It didn’t.

The scars felt like a permanent reminder carved into his face and every time he caught a glimpse of himself reflected back in the window, his mood worsened. He thought about making a joker comparison but had quickly realized he didn’t like the implications of that. This wasn’t the kind of situation where he lost it just because he was different. He couldn’t afford to lose it.

The ride itself was far too long for his liking: three hours to Maine, a two hour layover in Maine, and then just about an hour and half to New Brunswick. Six and a half hours felt like an eternity, especially when the woman in front of him began to wax poetic about some ridiculously pretentious book her and her travel buddy were reading. Cerebral, she had called it. Cas wanted to smack her upside the head.

His only solace came in the form of the book he’d cracked open the second he’d sat down. Yellowed pages and faded ink greeted him as if he were an old friend, warm and inviting. He’d read part of the book years ago but had never finished it and now he couldn’t seem to put it down. The writing was decent, if a little too punchy, but it paled in comparison to Dean’s annotations scribbled wherever there was room.

Dean’s annotations told their own story. The ones in black ink were rough and juvenile, almost as if Dean had written them the first time he’d read the book. Blue ink was neater and Dean appeared older. These observations were insightful and slightly comedic, the kind of observation made after alcohol loosened the tongue and blurred the mind. It was the dark green pen that Cas found the most interesting. Written in blocky capital letters, he knew these annotations had come after the accident at work. These entries were bitter and introspective, the ink smudged every so often by a tear stain.

This book had really been through everything with Dean and knowing that he’d chosen to give Cas that book meant everything to him.

By the time the plane landed in Maine, Cas was practically gnawing at the window trying to escape the cage he;d been stuck in. Pain shot up his shins like arrows as he rose to his feet and joined the exit queue, a throbbing ache starting up in his back. His stomach growled like a caged beast but he ignored it, all too aware of the lack of cash he had in his wallet. Besides, any turbulence in the plane would bring it right back up and he didn’t feel like vomiting at 50,000 feet in the air.

He took a seat in the lounge area, tucking himself as far away from people as he could. The noise was unavoidable and the longer he sat, the harder it was to ignore. It buzzed around in his skull like a tsetse fly and the uneven pressure in his head sent his temples into an irregular throbbing. The fluorescent light above him felt too bright and the air was too dry, the saliva in his mouth dissipating quickly.

“Merde.” He muttered under his breath as he abandoned his chair, dragging himself and his bag into the bathroom.

The lighting here was worse, buzzing and flickering above the sinks that smelled too much like cleaner. Cas tapped at the sink until the water flowed and then he bent down, splashing it over his face. He needed to cool down and calm down and this seemed like the only reasonable option. Water droplets clung to his lashes and dripped down his face when he righted himself.

His reflection stared back and it frowned when he did. Still too skinny, still too sickly, he didn’t look right. Not enough to do a double take but enough to know that something wasn’t quite right about him. The scars, still red and raised but silvery on the edges, did little to help that. Cas had the air of an exhausted man who wasn’t to be fucked with and while that would do enough to protect him, it wasn’t who he was or who he wanted to be.

All he wanted was peace, quiet, and a nap in a freshly made bed. Also Dean – but that felt like a problem for another day.

When Cas returned to the lobby his seat had been taken over by a small child and her mother. The child, seven at most, hugged a teddy bear to her chest and kicked her legs in the air. Cas’ heart clenched in his chest, a fresh wave of sorrow washing over him. She was the same age his niece was when he’d left for Port Maren.

Claire was thirteen, almost fourteen now, and there was no telling what she was like. There was no telling if she even remembered who Cas was. He hoped she did. She was the only niece he had as far as he was aware and they’d spent the most time together out of all the aunts and uncles. Most of the siblings hadn’t been around and Amelia wasn’t the biggest fan of Gabriel so that left one option.

Cas had never liked kids and he never wanted kids but he adored Claire and he’d doted on her until he was told to stop. There was something disarming about her gap toothed smile and the way she ran at the world with muddy pants and no fear. She was unapologetic and he prayed time hadn’t taken that away from her.

It was this strange nostalgic melancholy that followed Cas as he boarded the plane some hour and a half later. He’d been placed in an exit row and his knees popped in silent relief when he sat down and didn’t immediately have a seat reclining into his legs. Half empty, the plane was blissfully devoid of noise and Cas felt himself adjusting ever so slightly. This was a ride he could manage.

The Greater Moncton airport, however, sent him right back into the guarded rigid posture that had become second nature for him. People bustled around him without a care in the world, a cacophony of voices sliding past one another like water rushing over the pebbled bottom of a river. Too loud and too busy, the building headache returned with vengeance in the form of an invisible railroad spike piercing the crown of his head.

“Ugh, je suis crevé.” Cas mumbled under his breath, scrubbing a hand over his face.

The fatigue had crept over him like the slow roll of fog over a cemetery and sank into his skin, trying to lull him into passing out in the middle of the airport. It was the bright sign, familiar and comforting, that broke through the siren song. Cas made his way over like a zombie, shuffle robotic and mind moving on autopilot. He ordered the same thing he always did, a dark roast with one sugar and a honey crueler. They’d gotten rid of the maple dip while he was the lake's prisoner and he was still pissed about it.

Timmies safely in hand and bag slung over his shoulder, Cas glanced around. The airport hadn’t changed since he’d been here the las time and he let his feet lead the way while his mind focused on consuming the caffeine and sugar as quickly as he could. Was it the best thing to be consuming at 5 pm? No. But desperate times called for desperate shitty coffee and mediocre donuts that didn’t cost an arm and a leg. Tim's felt like Canadian desperation at its finest. 

“C’mon Gabriel, où es-tu.”

Neck aching from swiveling like a periscope, Cas’ eyes settled on Gabriel some ten minutes later. From afar he looked nearly identical to the last time Cas had seen him, all long hair and weasel-like face atop a slim body. He was greying now but that seemed unimportant when Cas’ eyes landed on the mustache on his face. It was hideous to say the least, the worst possible combination of modern and retro pornstache. Gabriel suited it perfectly.

Anxiety bubbled up into his chest but Cas swallowed it back down. He’d dreamed of this for years, there was no reason he needed to be anxious about it. It was just Gabriel, that’s it. Just his unserious older brother and his ridiculous mustache. Cas made his way over, moving silently through the crowd. He waited until Gabriel noticed him before he spoke

“No, I didn’t get you anything before you ask because I refuse to order a 4x4. That much sugar is absurd.”

Gabriel’s golden eyes darted up and down as he took in the man standing before him. It looked like his brother, nearly black hair curling around his temples and stormy blue eyes identical to the ones that had followed him his entire childhood, but something felt off. Scars and figure aside, he just felt wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here but here he was anyway.

“Your first words to me in person after six years are making fun of my coffee choice. Nice to know you’re still a dick.”

Cas cracked the smallest of smiles and prayed that faking the confidence and relaxation would trick his body into doing it. He doubted it would work but it didn’t hurt to try. “Think we can get going? I’m exhausted.”

“Can I at least get a hello? It’s the least I deserve and we both know maman didn’t raise you in a barn.”

A quiet blink as Cas registered what Gabriel was saying and then he gave in, closing the gap and wrapping his arms around his brother. It wasn’t a long hug or a tight one but it was a hug and that’s what mattered. Cas waited until he felt Gabriel hug back and then he was pulling away.

“There’s your hello hug. Can we please leave now?”

“We can leave now.” Gabe mumbled as he turned on his heels, leading Cas through the airport and out to one of the parking lots. Normally beyond chatty, Gabe was strangely silent as the pair walked. He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact his little brother was walking beside him for the first time in years. Cas being alive had been a pipe dreams two months ago and now he was here.

Gabe’s car was small but serviceable and Cas climbed into the passenger seat in silence. It smelled vaguely sweet, courtesy of the caramel coffee cake air freshener handing form the rearview mirror, and Cas wondered if Gabe’s candy stash had melted in the glovebox. Knowing his brother, it probably had and there'd be a sentient sour patch kid human centipede crawling around in no time. 

“So, am I allowed to ask you personal questions?” Gabe asked quietly, turning the radio down a few notches. George Michaels wasn’t exactly the soundtrack of choice for intense emotional bonding. “Cuz I have a lot of them. Like assez pour remplir un bateau a lot.”

Cas sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d known this moment was coming but that knowledge hadn’t helped at all. “I’ll save you the trouble. Last thing I remember is hitting my head and falling into the lake. Woke up two and a halfish months ago and had someone help get me back to functional. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Amnesia, that’s all you’ve got? Tu est un parleur, Cassie. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it or don’t, I don’t care.” Cas replied, a tinge of anger colouring his voice. He knew Gabriel was going to push and he hated it. Gabe had always dug his nose into places it didn’t belong, like a terrier on a mission. “It’s the truth. I don’t remember and I don’t want to.”

“Hey, don’t bite my head off. Contrary to popular belief, I do actually care about you and you fucking scared us all when you vanished. You have no idea what that did to maman.”

“Stop talking, I’m begging you.” Cas mumbled, the frustration evident in his voice. Gabe was pushing him to the edge and he didn’t want to jump off. Losing his cool would be the singular worst thing he could do but it was nearly impossible to keep it. His headache was still present and it was sharpening itself into the kind of migraine that would require three days of bedrest and a sacrifice to an eldritch deity just to be able to smell anything stronger than an apple.

Gabriel glanced over at Cas, lips pursed in a frown. “You’re in my car so you’re stuck with my voice for the next twenty minutes. Do you have any idea what it felt like to get a mysterious call from the brother everyone thought was dead six years after he vanished? It didn’t feel fucking good, Cassie. Felt like someone pulled the world’s worst prank and stomped on my fucking heart.”

Cas snapped before he could stop himself.

“You think I don’t fucking know that? I blame myself for all of it! I know I fucked up all your lives and my life and I can’t fucking fix it and it kills me! Nothing’s going to make up what all of you went through or what I went through! It’s all a blur and I don’t- I could’ve hurt someone while I was gone but I don’t fucking know because my brain won’t let me. So yeah, I’m aware that everyone is understandably upset and will be shocked but I can’t fucking do anything about it. Just fucking stop, please. I just want to go home.”

The silence that settled between them in the car was thick and heavy like the fog over a lake. For Gabriel the silence was choking and restrictive. He had a million questions to ask Cas and even more answers he wanted but that wasn’t possible. Sure Castiel was back but it felt like staring at a doppelganger. Something just didn’t quite fit and the explosive anger was part of that.

Cas’ silence was something else, an emotion borne out of pain and anxiety and the feeling that none of this was actually real. He could feel the fabric seat beneath his legs and the rumble of the vehicle as he rest his head against the car window so he knew it was real but that didn’t matter. The lake had taken so much, it might as well take this too. He hadn’t meant to snap at Gabe but it had been too much all at once.

“I didn’t mean to yell, I’m sorry.” Cas mumbled several minutes later. He didn’t look at Gabe but he could hear the tired clipped nature of his voice and knew that he wasn’t forgiven but his reasoning was understood.

“It’s fine.”

“Did you tell maman about me?”

Gabe shook his head. “Haven’t told anyone, haven’t had the chance. They’re all in town now, just so you know. Not all at the house but all in town.”

“Even Michael?”

“Mhm. Him and his petiote and yeah, she’s just as terrible as you think. She won’t be at the house though, maman can’t stand her. Only partner allowed around is Amelia and that’s just because she’s a wife.”

Cas nodded his head and a took a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation that would occur. Michael always caused problems. He was too rigid, too proud, like a statue that knew its worth and made sure you knew it too. Gabe’s car turned down a familiar street and then Cas was face to face with his childhood home.

Perfectly maintained lawn and flowerbeds littered with fall hardy plants, it was exactly as he remembered. Ivy clung to the eastern side of the house and Cas was struck with a memory of trying and failing to sneak out one night when the ivy wrapped around his ankle and held him upside down. There were an impossible number of cars in the driveway and Cas knew that all of his siblings were home for supper. That thought sent another spike of panic arcing through his chest. That would be a confrontation for the history books.

Six year had led up to this moment but it didn’t feel lie the triumphant homecoming he’d expected it to be. Each step was heavy, chains of dread wrapping around his ankles and rooting him to the spot. There would be so many people inside and they’d all have something to say to him, about him. Most of them he could handle but Michael was going to be challenge.

“Are you going to be okay going in there?” Gabe asked as he stopped beside Cas on the porch, careful not to knock into the goose statue that stayed there year round.

“J’sais pas un choe.”

Cas grabbed the door knob and turned it, breathing out slowly as the door swung open. There, on the other side, looking like a startled deer, was Michael. Black hair shot through with grey, he looked much the same as Cas remembered. His expression when his eyes fell on Gabriel was mild disdain at best, the kind that stemmed from a lack of approval for life choices. It was Michael’s default expression.

When his eyes swept over to Cas they widened in disbelief, matching the gape of his mouth. For three seconds disbelief and shock rolled off of Michael and then it shifted, growing deeper and angrier. His brows furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’ve got some nerve showing up like this, Castiel.” He said, voice full of cold anger. “Six years of hell you put maman and dad through and now you show up unannounced like a lost kitten. What the hell was so important that you abandoned your family?”

Cas’ eyebrow twitched, anger washing over him. Michael was doing exactly what he normally did and Cas still didn’t feel prepared. It was the pure disdain and coldness that threw Cas off because it didn’t just feel like disdain, it felt like hate. Michael had never hidden the way he felt about Cas but this felt different. Deep down Cas had wanted Michael to at least be happy he was back but apparently that was too much to ask.

“Va te faire foutre, Michael. Let me through.”

Michael didn’t budge and Cas took a deep breath, trying to quell the urge he had to lean in and slap his brother across the face. It was an urge Cas had fought his entire life. Thankfully Gabe was having none of this interaction and shoved Michael to the side before pulling Cas into the house.

The floorboards creaked beneath their weight as the pair moved and Cas kicked off his shoes, watching them fall in the pile right next to the shoe rack. Some things never change it seemed. Chatter floated through the house, quiet but steady and Cas’ heart kicked up a notch in his chest. His siblings were all here, he could hear every single one and it didn’t make him feel better.

The more he lingered, the more he could smell what was being cooked in the kitchen. Vegetables simmered, something distinctly oniony and savoury, and Cas knew without having to look that it was fricot. Of course maman would make fricot for all of them. She’d done that for years. It was the comfort meal to end all comfort meals.

“She’s probably in the kitchen with Amelia, maybe Naomi.” Gabe said, standing by Cas. “Maman’s spent a lot of time in the kitchen since dad got sick, according to Jimmy anyway. Something about stress cooking and the horrible hospital food dad has to eat.”

Cas nodded but try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to move. He could see into the kitchen from the entryway and he could feel Michael brush past him and take a left into the family room but none of that mattered. Any step he took would be too much of a risk, too much of a choice. Gabe’s hands were on his back before he could register them and then he was stepping forward without thinking about it. He got halfway past the entryway to the family room and the chatter ceased to exist.

“Putain de merde… Castiel?”

Cas froze in the middle of the doorway, head swiveling like a cautious owl as he finally looked into the family room. All of his siblings, sans Gabriel and Jimmy, sat on the couches and chairs and had their eyes squarely trained on him. The shock was evident and for a while no one said anything, the uncomfortable standoff continuing.

Raphael spoke first, tone measured. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well I’m not.”

“We can see that.” Anna mumbled, leaning forward and squinting to get a better look at him. “It’s been a while. You uh wanna fill us in on where you’ve been?”

“Not particularly.”

Naomi, Cas’ eldest sister, arched an eyebrow. She’d always been rigid, strict, and wholly unimpressed with him and now seemed like no exception. Clasping her hands together and folding them in her lap, she had the air of an irritated school marm itching to use the metre stick on a misbehaving pupil.

“Typical Castiel breezing in six years later like nothing has happened. Do you have any clue what maman’s been like since she found out you went missing?”

Before Cas could retort Gabe slid past him and into the family room, speaking for him. “He’s well aware and none of us know what he’s been through so get the stick out of your ass Naomi. Just leave him alone.”

Using the chance Gabriel afforded him, Cas slipped behind his brother and toward the kitchen. He was already teetering on the edge of overwhelmed and he knew that seeing his mom was going to push him over that edge. His heart roared in his ears as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen. Four people stood in the kitchen, three with their backs to Cas and one facing him but looking down at the counter.

Cas began to clear his throat but it sputtered off when the woman at the counter, Amelia, looked up. Her eyes widened and then she gasped, half peeled carrot falling from her grasp and landing with a thud. The others in the kitchen turned at the noise and then there were four pairs of eyes on Cas.

Jimmy was the first to speak, not that Cas was surprised. He’d always been reactive. His twin looked much the same as he always had, just greyer and gaunter. It looked like someone had carved the energy from him with a wooden spoon.

“Castiel?”

Cas swallowed thickly, blinking slowly. He couldn’t find the words to express the emotions running through his head. His eyes slid to his niece next and he could hardly believe what she was seeing. Claire’d shot up like a weed and she’d ditched the pink glittery t-shirts for an outfit that looked like it belonged in an alt store at the mall. Her face was scrunched up but Cas couldn’t tell why.

It was his mother that nearly stopped Cas’ heart. She’d aged more than he wanted to admit, hair fully grey and posture stooped forward like her back ached. Her eyes were the same as they’d always been, a sharp icy blue, and he could feel them dissecting him piece by piece. Sweat beaded on his forehead as her eyes slid down his scarred face then to his hands. They lingered there for a moment before they returned to his face.

“Mon petit bourdon.”

The dam broke and swept Cas away with it. His body shuddered – a violent crumpling as it turned in on itself – and then he stepped forward, closing the gap. Wrapping his arms around his mother, Cas’ shoulders began to shake. Hot tears poured from his eyes and soaked into the cotton of his mother’s shirt and they only fell harder when she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

He didn’t notice as his mother moved them out of the kitchen and the siblings swarmed in for the nightly feeding, too absorbed in the rush of emotion. His breath came in short gulping gasps and the words he couldn’t speak came out as nothing more than an indecipherable mix of a language that wasn’t French or English.

“Come upstairs away from the others.” His mother murmured as she pulled away, reaching for his hand to lead him up the stairs.

Cas followed, wiping roughly at his eyes with a free hand. Through blurred vision he could see the hallway that hadn’t changed and knew with all certainty where they would end up. His childhood bedroom still smelled like him, a nostalgic slightly aquatic scent like cucumber melon and waterlogged memories. The bed creaked beneath them as they sat and then Cas was tucking his legs up and against his chest to make himself as small as possible as he clung to his mom.

“It’s alright.” She murmured, pulling Cas close and running a hand through his hair. Tears welled in her own eyes but they could be dealt with later. Cas was her priority. “Let it out. Maman’s here.”

Cas cried until his eyes burned and the tears ceased to fall. His chest ached from the exertion and the pain in his head was throbbing viciously. Throughout it all his mother had been there, had held him and reassured him and she was still there. Her eyes were misty but she hadn’t cried.

“You finally came back to me.” She murmured quietly, still holding him close. “My prodigal son has returned.”

Cas’ voice cracked when he spoke, laced with the unrelenting weight of guilt.

“I didn’t mean to leave in the first place.”

She nodded silently, pulling away slightly. “I know, I’ve always known. We never gave up hope, I want you to know that. Your father and I never stopped thinking about you.”

“How sick is he?”

“It’s not good.” She answered honestly. “His body kind of just gave up and they don’t know what it is. He’s just so tired. It breaks my heart.”

“Would he be up for visitors?”

“He would, especially you. I know he’s not been the sost affectionate father but he’s been talking about you more and more these past few months.” She said as she rose to her feet. “Now come, you must be hungry. We can talk later once you’ve eaten.”

Cas glanced in the direction of the stairs, anxiety spiking in his chest. All of his siblings were down there and he had no doubt they’d be crammed in the kitchen eating and talking about him. Michael’s anger had probably gotten worse and when that happened, he usually dragged the others into it. The Novaks had always been a pick a side family and it seemed they would remain that way forever.

“They’re in my house and they won’t say a word if they know what’s good for them.”

Cas followed silently after that, falling into step behind his mother. His headache remained but the gnawing hunger in his stomach was quickly overtaking it, made stronger by the lingering smell of the fricot. The kitchen was bustling when he entered, the siblings seated at the table and leaning against the counter as they ate. Naomi and Michael spoke in hushed tones in the corner while Gabriel had coaxed Jimmy and Amelia into a debate about some kind of move they hadn’t let Claire watch in theatres because it was too mature.

Claire was the furthest from the rest of the family, sitting on the kitchen island as she ate. She didn’t look annoyed with everyone in the kitchen, rather she seemed inconvenienced. Glancing up at Cas’ approaching footsteps, she offered him a small smile and scooted over to make room for him to sit.

“They were all yelling about you earlier.” She said, handing Cas a heaping bowl of the fricot. “Well Uncle Michael and Uncle Gabe were yelling and everyone else was kind of arguing quieter on their sides.”

“Anyone actually on Gabe’s side?”

“Yeah, my parents. Me too obviously.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d remember me. Last time I saw you you were seven and obsessed with Rapunzel.”

“You sat through my Disney marathons, took me to get ice cream, and let me watch movies mom and dad wouldn’t. Of course I remember you. You’re the cool uncle. Gonna be the even cooler uncle with those scars. They’re pretty gnarly.”

Cas nodded, focusing on the fricot. He’d eaten half of it already but his stomach still howled and he knew there was room for another bowl at the very least. The scars on his face pulled taut as he frowned, the thin skin stretched to the limit. They were healed in the sense that they wouldn’t break open again but they were nowhere close the faded silvery lines he wished they were. That was a pipe dream for years in the future if it was even possible.

“You’re in high school now, right?” he asked, trying to make conversation. Claire would be the easiest to talk to and quite frankly Cas wanted a little normalcy.

“Yeah, just started grade nine. It kinda sucks so far but it’s also only been like a month so I dunno. Dad wanted me to go to that French school all of you went to but I said no way so now I’m at Montclair. They’ve got a better art program anyway.”

“You did always like art. How’s your dad feel about the new all black look?”

Claire grinned triumphantly, setting her bowl down beside her. “He looked at it and then mumbled something under his breath about how I’m definitely related to you. Eclectic taste. Neither of them like it but they’ll tolerate it. Just no piercings or dyed hair right now.”

“They’ll let you eventually, just be patient.”

With that Cas reached for a second helping, chewing quietly. He could feel the eyes of his siblings on him and he di his best to ignore it. They could be angry and judge all they wanted. He refused to be bullied out of his own home because they didn’t like something he couldn’t have changed.

Michael and Naomi were hardly subtle as they strode past Cas and out of the kitchen, Michael bumping into Cas rather pointedly. His look, all flared nostril and barely restrained anger, hardly registered with Cas. Michael was a small fish compared to Lake Maren, all bark and no bite. Naomi was no better, just a lackey who apparently couldn’t think if her older brother wasn’t whispering directions into her ear.

Anna’s expression didn’t betray much as she walked past Cas a few minutes later but the subtle squeeze of her hand on his arm said enough. She wouldn’t speak up for him or against him but she was relieved that he was back in her own sort of way. One of the middle siblings, Anna had always been neutral ground.

Some time around 9 or so, when the sun had set and night was beginning to sing its song, Jimmy and Amelia made their way to Cas and Claire. Jimmy was silent and he couldn’t look Cas in the eye – whether it was guilt or something else, Cas couldn’t tell. He didn’t say anything but Amelia did.

“It is nice to see you again.” She said as she reached out, resting her hand on Cas’ forearm. “I know it doesn’t seem like it but we did miss you and we are glad you’re back. The family really needed a win right now.”

Cas’ shoulders sagged with something akin to relief. There were still far too many obstacles in between him and the familial forgiveness he’d never earn, but this was a good first step. This was an admission that he still had a place in the family, even if it didn’t feel like it.

“Thank you. Means a lot.”

Amelia nodded and then gestured from Claire to the door. Claire began to complain almost immediately but hopped off of the islands nonetheless. She hovered for a moment before turning and sliding her arms around Cas’ middle, hugging him tightly.

“I’m really glad you’re back Uncle Cas. I’ll see you later.”

Cas hugged back, swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat. “See you tomorrow kiddo.”

With that the family took their leave and only three remained. Gabe was elbow deep in a sink of soapy water and Cas shuffled over to the sink, reaching for the dish towel. It snagged on the rough edge of his chewed up thumb and he hissed under his breath.

His mother frowned from her seat at the kitchen table. “You’re chewing your thumb again.”

“I guess so.” Cas shrugged, turning so he could face her and still dry the dishes on the dish rack.

“Your father used to do that so you come by it honestly.”

“He gets dad’s way with words too.” Gabe mumbled. “He tell you about what happened yet? Cuz all he gave me was a whole load of nothing. Total bullshit if you ask me. Figure he’d be honest with you.”

“Gabriel, that’s enough. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready, not before then. Neither of us are entitled to knowing what happened even if we want to know.”

Cas sighed and tossed the dish towel onto the counter, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what happened, that’s the entire truth. I started feeling sick, hit my head on the beach by the lake, and then it’s all fuzzy until it isn’t. I woke up and didn’t know where I was and spent entirely too long getting well enough to show up back here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go sleep. Today's been exhausting and I'm done with all this petty drama.”

Cas stalked off quickly after that, wanting as much distance as possible between himself and Gabriel. His brother’s insistence that there was more going on was beginning to grate on his nerves. Of course Gabe was right but that didn’t make it any less irritating. The man was like a dog with a bone and Cas hated it.

His childhood bedroom looked exactly the same as it had when he’d been growing up. The sheets were still navy blue and the walls still painted with a seascape mural his mother had spent nearly three months straight trying to finish. A desks at off in the corner, stationary and accessories neatly stacked in the corner. To the left was a bookshelf piled high with marine biology texts and a few framed photos of his high school friends. Atop the bookshelf and hanging from pegs and a corkboard next to it were all the ribbons, medals, and trophies from his competitive swimming days.

“Nationals were such a shit show.” He mumbled to himself as his fingers brushed the ridged edge of a medal. There hadn't been enough chocolate ilk in the world to recover from that 1500. 

A strange bitter nostalgia floated like dandelion wisps in the air as Cas crawled into his childhood bed and reached for the stuffed turtle he’d left there, arms wrapping around it tightly. His life had been simpler back then, just the day to day grind of high school and swimming and trying to grow up faster than he wanted to. Life wasn’t so simple now. There were bills and responsibilities and the expectation that he was supposed to have everything figured out by now.

Cas didn’t have anything figured out.

Sure he had had a job and a home and friends but that didn’t mean he knew what he was doing. All of that was expected and he did it because that’s what he was supposed to do. Work had been fulfilling and Meg always kept things lively but something had always been missing. Cas didn’t need to be with someone, he knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t stop the yearning. Knowledge couldn’t curb the desire he had to be with someone, to share everything with them. All he wanted was the intimacy and the romance of someone knowing him completely.

As Cas rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, his mind began to drift.  He could imagine it now, the way the mattress would dip as Dean crawled onto the bed beside him. Dean would scoot closer and reach out to pull Cas close, his strong arms wrapping around him tightly. He’d murmur sweet nothings and quiet comforts in that vaguely Kansas drawl of his and when he thought Cas was asleep, he’d lean in and press a soft kiss to his forehead. It was the kiss that got Cas, that made his heart race.

The book sat in his bag a few feet from the bed and Cas itched to reach for it, to lose himself in Dean’s witty commentary until the ache  in his hear vanished from existence. Dean had become a staple of comfort. More than reading the commentary, Cas wanted to call him and see how he was faring alone in the lighthouse but he couldn’t. he didn’t have a phone yet and he wasn’t going to call Dean on the landline that a nosy sibling could easily eavesdrop on. He would just have to wait.

A few minutes later a quiet knock at the open door and his mother’s voice rang out. “Are you awake?”

“Oui.”

She stepped inside and padded over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. Her fingers found their way to Cas’ hair and then she was running them through it absentmindedly. “Your brother means well, even if he isn’t great at showing it. I don’t think he meant to upset you earlier.”

“I know.” Cas sighed. “I’m just not ready to talk about what I do remember.”

“We’re not expecting you to. These things take time and whatever happened, it changed you. You’re not the same Castiel you were six years ago.”

“No, I’m not the same.”

“It’s the energy around you that’s different. It’s darker, comme the reflection of a storm on a lake. I see it in your eyes, the pain and the grief and the change you’ve gone through. It’s natural to need time to process.”

Cas’ expression shifted, a slight frown appearing. “Is it that noticeable?”

“Je suis ta maman mon petit boudon, of course I see it.”

“What do you see?”

She smiled tiredly, fingers stilling in his hair for a moment as she thought. When they picked back up there was a rhythm to it, a gentle push and pull like the ebb and flow of a benevolent tide.

“You’re haunted by what happened to you, even if you don’t remember it. It follows you like a dark cloud and weighs your shoulders down. You move quietly but with a purpose, like you’re thinking too much about what your next move is and what consequences it’ll have. It left its mark on your face and your hands and even the way you speak. You’re guarded and quiet and it breaks my heart.”

“I don’t mean to be.” Cas whispered, rolling onto his side and curling up as small as he could. “But I can’t help it.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. We all have things we need to deal with and work through and we all do it differently. I do have a question though, if you’ll let me ask it.”

Cas swallowed thickly, trying to calm down his racing heart. “You can ask.”

“You’ve been touched by the supernatural haven’t you?”

Every muscle in Cas’ body seized at once, reacting involuntarily. He hadn’t said anything even remotely related to the supernatural so how did his mom pick up on it? It took all of his concentration to keep his composure though a few breaths came out with a small shudder. There was nothing he could say one way or another that would get him out of this situation unscathed so he said nothing.

“You’re not the first in our family to experience that, if that’s what it is.” She said quietly. “Generations ago on your father’s side there was a woman named Amara and she too had an experience. We don’t know much about her but it was said she had a connection with something in the dark. It wasn’t an evil thing, just misunderstood. It changed her as she connected with it and her heart grew heavy.”

“What happened to her?” Cas whispered, voice chock full of hesitation.

“She lost herself to the darkness. She isolated herself for fear of being rejected by those around her and when she was cut off completely, it ended.” There was a heavy pause here as she let the words settle in. “I won’t press about what happened because I don’t believe in that but don’t isolate yourself, Castiel. All of us are here for you, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

“I can’t lose myself if I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

His mother frowned but she didn’t comment on it. A comment would do no good right now. What she did do was stay, fingers running through his hair as she began to hum a simple lullaby. She’d sung it for years to all of her children but it had only ever soothed Castiel. Low and sweet, she hummed it until she felt Cas relax and go slack beneath her hand. When his breath came in slow deep cycles, she slipped out of his bedroom and closed the door.

~

Cas couldn’t see.

No matter how far he turned his head or squinted his eyes, there was nothing around him but pitch black. His hands floated in front of them but he couldn’t see them either. Cold seeped through his skin and into his bone, chilling him to the core. His breath came in slow drags and when he opened his mouth, water thick as an oil slick poured in.

It filled his lungs and coated his mouth, sending him deeper into the pitch black of the lake. Strands of algae caressed his bare legs and wrapped around his ankles, pulling him deeper and deeper. A glow, sickly pale and yellow green, lit up below Cas and when he opened his mouth to scream, he choked again. Vision fuzzy and head pounding, a booming voice echoed in the pale glow of the oil slick lake.

“You will never be rid of me, Castiel.”

The water rushed in and Cas blacked out

~

“Are you sure he’ll want to see me?” Cas asked, staring out the window of the car. His mother sat next to him, eyes focused on the road ahead while Gabe sat in the back still grumbling about the fact he’d been banished to the back seat. “Because that really doesn’t sound like dad.”

“He does, I promise. He asks if we’ve found anything new about you whenever I go to visit. Your father’s softened in his old age.”

“You’re literally his favourite.” Gabe muttered from the back seat.

Cas turned his head, eyebrow raised as he glanced back at Gabe. “You’re such a liar, I am not his favourite. Michael’s always been the favourite. Dad never yelled at him. He yelled at me all the time.”

“Your father and I don’t have favourites so enough, let it go. We love all of you equally, it’s just that some of you gave us grey hair a lot quicker than the others.”

Gabe jerked a thumb in Cas’ direction, meant to be teasing. Cas didn’t reply but his stomach sank, churning with guilt and regret. He knew he’d caused his fair share of stress as a child and as an adult and he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to his parents. They didn’t deserve to worry like they had been.

He’d expected his mother to pull into SMRC like she had for his entire life but she’d long since driven past that hospital and the knot in Cas’ stomach was only growing. This meant his father needed more specialized care and that wasn’t good. Had Charlie lied to him about how bad his father really was? Because this felt like more than just being sick, this felt like being terminal.

In the end the car pulled into the lot of the Moncton hospital and Cas felt like the sky was going to descend and crush him. Between the exhaustion from pushing himself to do too much and the emotional whiplash of dealing with his family, Cas wasn’t sure which way was up. The nightmare hadn’t helped either and his lungs still ached with every breath he took.

“How lucid is dad?” Cas asked as they made it into the hospital, shivering at the drop in temperature.

“It changes day to day. Sometimes he’s not awake so we don’t speak and other times he’s his usual self. The last time Jimmy came to visit, your father thought he was you but I suspect that was because of a medication change.” His mother answered. “I wish I could give you a better answer.”

Cas shrugged, silent as the group made their way to the ward where all of the long term patients were staying. He’d expected the hospital to be quiet and eerie, a veritable sterile tomb for the ghosts of the sick and dying but it wasn’t like that. Sterile and tomblike, sure, but it wasn’t quiet. Nurses clacked away on computers on their stations and families visited their loved ones, quiet conversation spilling out of the rooms along with the telltale beeps and noises of machines working to keep patients alive and taken care of.

Cas wondered how different his recovery would’ve been if he’d wound up in the hospital and not in a lighthouse with Dean. He knew it would’ve longer, more invasive, and entirely unpleasant. The sterile too white environment would’ve driven him insane, just a different prison he wouldn’t have been able to escape. He felt his family stop next to a room and then enter quietly and he followed suit, almost afraid of what he would see.

Cas’ father was sitting upright in bed, a hospital tray set across his lap with what looked like lunch. His hair was more grey than black at this point and he’d lost enough weight that his cheekbones stood stark against the rest of his face. The look was all too familiar and when his father turned his head, Cas felt like he was staring into the future. His eyes were the same haunted blue as his father’s.

“Castiel, c’est toé?”

Cas blinked slowly, processing the sound of his father’s voice. It was exhausted and hopeful all at once, wrapped into the kind of bow you’d give someone for a get well soon present. He nodded his head, taking a few tentative steps forward until he stood at the edge of the bed.

“It’s me.”

Up close his father looked weaker, skin paler and translucent. The bags were unmistakable and Cas swallowed thickly when he realized his wrists and hands looked just like his father’s, thin and knobby and malnourished. He’d always resembled Chuck Novak but it was uncanny now and it made Cas’ heart squeeze in his chest. Had his disappearance done this to his father? Was this his fault?

“You were gone.” Chuck said, voice laden with exhaustion. “But you’ve returned. Mon garcon prodigue, you’ve come back to us.”

Cas nodded again before he sat on the edge of the bed, watching as Chuck took his hand into his own. This was new and unlike his father. Chuck had never been physically affectionate, more prone to quiet words of encouragement and small acts of service. The thumb stroking over his hand felt foreign but welcome, spreading a strange warmth through Cas.

“You look thin. Hospital food’s not very good is it?” Cas said, trying to sort through his emotions and have a normal conversation. None of this felt normal but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. This was a dream, some strange tumultuous thing that he was going to be ripped from when he finally felt comfortable and he hated it.

“It’s not your mother’s cooking, that’s for sure. Seems like you could use a few more helpings of her fricot.”

“Oh I’ll eat it all and still ask for seconds.” Cas chuckled as the awkwardness began to melt away. Six years of pain and suffering and he’d finally made it. He could finally see his father. It hadn’t been too late. “Maman says you’ve been sick for a while. Do they know what happened?”

“Heart stress, some kind of secondary infection, and something I can’t remember the name of. It was touch and go but I think they’ve found the right cocktail of drugs.”

“Good. Maman needs you at home so everyone stops driving her crazy.”

Chuck nodded his head and let go of Cas’ hand, settling down into the bed. Even this conversation had exhausted him, the evidence plain as day in the lines of his face. Closing his eyes, Chuck spoke again.

“We prayed that you would come home to us some day. We knew you weren’t gone, just missing. The Lord’s answered our prayers and now I think we can relax. You’ve been delivered to us and now we can rest easier.”

“Just focus on getting better Dad, that’s all we want.” Cas murmured as he stood.

He left the room with tears welling in his eyes, leaning against the outer wall. Emotion overwhelmed him, drowning him with its embrace. Relief that his father still cared for him, relief that he was alive, and the guilt that reared its ugly head again. Like it or not, Cas knew he’d been a stressor to his Dad and that hurt. He’d never wanted to hurt either of his parents like he had.

“Overwhelming seeing him like that, isn’t it?” Gabe asked as he appeared beside Cas.

Cas nodded his head, eyes still closed as he willed the tears to fade away.

“That’s the most he’s talked in a few months according to maman so I think seeing you really helped. He took it so hard when you vanished, did everything he could to try and figure out what happened which is a little hard when you were in an entirely different country. You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I just- I knew he was sick but I didn’t think he’d look like that.”

“Hate to break it to you Cassie but you look like that too, just a little less skinny.”

“I know.”

Gabe sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a moment of hesitation before he spoke again, a genuine apology hanging in the air between them. “I didn’t mean to ride you about what happened so I’m sorry. I just worry about you and our parents and knowing what happened after you were gone, I just want them to have the answers. You’re my kid brother, I don’t want you vanishing into the ether again.”

“I’m not going to vanish again, I promise.” Cas said as he turned to face Gabe, finally opening his eyes. “I’m here to stay and pick up the pieces. I know you never stopped looking for me and I know you never stopped caring and that means more than I can tell you.”

“I only like like two of our siblings and you’re one of ‘em so yeah, kind of had to keep looking. How long are you gonna stay here?”

“A while. Want to make sure mom’s okay and I feel like I owe it to Claire to be a little more present. Pretty sure me being gone fucked her up in ways Jimmy’ll yell at me about next time he sees me.”

Gabe laughed, nodding his head in agreement.

For a while neither of them said anything and the conversation remained dead when their mother left chuck’s room some forty minutes later. The drive back home was similarly silent, Cas’ mother wrapped up in her own thoughts about her husband while Cas’ mind drifted aimlessly.

Spending too much time thinking about his family was a recipe for more tears so he tried to steer himself away from that. In the end his mind settled on the nightmare and Lake Maren. He could still feel the slick oil coating the inside of his mouth and his throat and it burned when he thought too hard, like it had been designed to hurt him. The Lake was never going to let him go, he knew that now. Its grip wasn’t physical any longer but that didn’t lessen it any.

The Lake had sunk its claws deep into Cas’ brain and it peeled it back layer by layer, determined to tear him apart until it reached his soul. It would be there every time he closed his eyes and surrendered to his subconscious. Nightmares would haunt Cas until he dared to address the festering wound his tenure had caused. If the nightmares weren’t enough, then everything else certainly was. The wariness at the water when he did the dishes, the pattering of the water as it hit his back when it showered, even the sweat that beaded on his forehead; all of it felt like the Lake creeping back into his life.

Throughout it all he missed Dean and that drove him up the wall. He hadn’t meant to fall for Dean in the way he had but the universe had evidently had other plans. Cas missed Dean, missed the grounding presence and stability he provided. The book still sat on his nightstand, the phone number taunting him through the arbitrary barrier he had created for himself. He’d call Dean once he had his life together.

It was these thoughts that followed Cas as he drew a bath for himself later that night. Tub filled with warm water, Epsom salts, and a few drops of eucalyptus oil, Cas hoped it would ease some of the tension locked in his muscles. The tub itself wasn’t quite large enough for his nearly 6 foot frame so his knees stuck out of the water but he didn’t mind. It beat the standing shower so small he could barely turn around that he’d gotten used to in all of his travels. His shower and tub back home were the dream, large enough he could stand and relax comfortably without being ridiculous. That first soak back home would be luxurious.

Ten minutes into the bath, Cas shifted uncomfortably. He’d hardly noticed it at first but he could feel it now, the subtle burning itch spreading across his skin underneath the water. His skin was pink when he glanced down at his arms, lips pressed together in suspicion. The reaction to the heat wasn’t uncommon, Cas was just surprised it had taken this long.

“Guess that’s it for my bath.” Cas mumbled as he pulled himself from the tub, hand pressed against the all to steady himself when his vision went fuzzy and a flash of dizziness took over. The bath had definitely been too hot.

He eyed the draining tub warily as he dried off and slipped into clean clothes, rooted to the spot until the last of the water drained away. It was just too hot, that’s all that that had been, but try as he might, that didn’t comfort Cas. The anxiety followed him to bed, lingering as he stretched out and tried to sleep.

If the nightmares were to be believed, the lake wasn’t done with him and this was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

Cas hadn’t known how long he was going to stay in Shediac when he’d made the flight from Port Maren, just that he was going to stay as long as he was needed and wanted. It was the wanted aspect that tripped him up in the beginning. He knew he wanted to be there but he hadn’t been so sure his family had wanted him there.

That first night Michael and Naomi had made their intentions perfectly clear. They were pissed – rightfully so in some aspects – and they made sure Cas knew he was to blame for it. It was his fault Chuck had gotten sick, his fault their mom had been so full of grief and worry that she’d almost been sick. It was Cas’ fault they’d all been forced to leave their own lives and pick up the broken pieces when Chuck had been admitted.

Things came to a head a month into Cas’ stay in Shediac. Mild September weather had given way to the howling winds of October and with it had come bitter emotions finally boiling over. Cas sat at the kitchen table Halloween night, a mug of tea still piping hot drifting steam onto the pumpkin he was scooping the guts from. His mother, Grace, sat across from him with a similar mug of tea and another pumpkin.

“This still feels like too much work just for pumpkin seeds and puree.” Cas grumbled as he scooped out another spoonful of pumpkin guts into the bowl between them. “You can just buy them from the store.”

Grace glanced over, small smile on her face as she shook her head. “The taste is different and I refuse to compromise on that, especially with the puree. It’s for the pie for your father and we both know he’s particular.”

“Are they still releasing him tomorrow?”

“They are. The new cocktail worked wonders apparently. Between you and I, j’pense que tu as something to do with it. He really perked up after you started visiting.”

“I’m just glad that I got to see him.” Cas shrugged, emptying the last of the guts into the bowl. A quiet knock echoed in the kitchen and he stood, reaching for the bowl of candy before making his way to the door. It was early yet but the young trick or treaters were out in full force and he’d had to replenish the bowl once already. Expecting a small child dressed in costume, Cas stepped back when he was greeted with the opposite.

Michael stood in the doorway, scowl alight on his face. In the flickering porchlight he almost looked demonic, furrowed brows casting shadows across his face. His tone was short, clipped.

“Castiel.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, setting the bowl down on the umbrella stand by the door. “Michael.”

“I’m assuming maman is home. Mind stepping outside? I’d really like a chat without her hearing.”

Cas sighed and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. They had about five minutes before their mother came looking for them but that was plenty of time to cause ample damage. Michael was a oral and maxillofacial surgeon so he knew just where to strike to make it hurt.

“You’ve been here for a month and we still don’t have any answers from you about why you ran away. I think, as your oldest brother and the one who picked up the pieces, that I’m entitled to answers. So answer.”

Cas’ eyebrow twitched and he bit back his instinctual comment. Escalating this would serve no one.

“Firstly, I didn’t run away so let’s start there. Secondly, you’re not entitled to shit and I don’t have to answer to you. You’re not the one who picked up the pieces, Jimmy and Gabriel are.”

“Do you really think that they were the only ones to contribute? Neither of them make enough to help take care of all of the bills and the expenses. That money came from somewhere and it wasn’t from them.” Michael replied, as cold as ever. “And you can say you didn’t run as much as you like but it’s a lie. I don’t believe you can’t remember the last six years. You don’t have any of the hallmarks of that kind of amnesia.”

“Throwing money at our parents is all well and fine but that doesn’t erase what Jimmy and Gabe did. Jimmy moved his entire family back here to help maman and dad and that’s a hell of a sacrifice. That takes real commitment. Gabe’s been looking for me and helping maman since Dad got sick. Pretty sure that beats throwing money at a problem from all the way across the country.”

Michael’s eyebrow twitched in irritation and his arms folded across his chest. He shifted on the balls of his feet as he stared at Cas, gauging the tightness of his jaw and the steady clenching and unclenching of his fists. It wouldn’t take much to tip Cas off balance and get an actual answer.

“You know Dad started drinking after you went missing? Broke his sobriety streak because you left us. Just about tore maman apart.”

Cas’ adams apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed nervously. He hadn’t known that. Michael continued digging his claws in deeper.

“We all thought maman would start drinking too, that she’d fall down that hole all because you weren’t able to take care of yourself as a fully grown adult. You almost tore this family apart and now you’ve been here for a month and expect us all to forgive you. C’est risible.”

“I don’t expect forgiveness. Just a little compassion which you’re incapable of exhibiting apparently.”

“I have compassion for people who deserve it, like my patients. Not for my little brother who tore the world apart and expected to find it stitched back together when he returned just because he’s the favourite son.”

Cas’ eyes widened and the realization slammed into his chest like a ton of bricks. That’s what this was about. It had always been about this.

“You can’t stand that as soon as I showed up again maman was happier and Dad started getting better. You’re jealous.”

“Of you? Hardly.” Michael scoffed.

“I don’t know why you’d be jealous of me. I went through actual hell for six years and I’ve got the scars to prove it. You really shouldn’t be jealous of someone who has to pick up their entire life because an accident shattered it. You’ve got une petiote and an incredible job and so much money you probably don't have to work another day in your life. Your life is perfect.”

“It was until you showed back up.”

“Well I’m not fucking leaving and vanishing again so fucking deal with it or leave. I don’t care what you think or how you feel about me. I’m a part of this family whether you like it or not so do me a favour and get the fuck off the porch because I’m about two seconds away from losing it and hitting you.”

“Give me an answer about your time away and I’ll leave.”

Cas sighed deeply as he forced his fists to unclench and relax. Reasonably there was no answer that was going to satisfy Michael enough for him to back off peacefully and punching the man wasn’t an option either. What Cas needed was something with just enough bite to startle Michael into silence. The answer came to him immediately, curdling his stomach with a sourness.

“You want an answer? Okay, fine, here’s your answer. I got cursed by a magical lake and turned into a monster for six years and was then rescued by a newly sober ex alcoholic with severe self-esteem issues. Happy now?”

Stunned into silence by the sheer absurdity of the words that fell from Cas’ mouth, all Michael could do was stare at him with his jaw agape like a beached fish. Cas simply turned on his heels and slipped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. Grace glanced up when she heard Cas re-enter the kitchen, frowning at the barely restrained anger on his face.

“Who was that?”

“Michael.” Cas muttered as he sat down, nostrils flaring as he breathed out the anger. “He’s being his usual self but he’ll leave. Don’t worry about it.”

“He’s angry you’ve come back and that we’ve welcomed you back so eagerly. I don’t know where the anger came from, he was never like this as a child.”

There was a wistful quality to Grace’s tone, the kind that spoke of a quiet reflection on the journey that had led them to this point. Frustration and pain lingered in her eyes, the kind of pain that cried like a lost soul who just wanted to go home. It was the same pain Cas felt pang in his chest every time Grace’s gaze lingered just a little too long when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

“Things just happen maman, you can’t do anything about it.” Cas shrugged, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “It’ll be fine, you’ll see.”

Grace nodded and the pair returned to the pumpkins in silence. With the seeds separated from the guts and the remaining pumpkin carved nicely into chunks, the pair set to work spreading them out on trays with oil and popping them into the oven. The door opened while they were busy and when the pair looked up, Jimmy and Claire were in the kitchen.

Jimmy looked the same as he always did save for the black nose and cat whiskers drawn on his face with eyeliner. Cas bit back a laugh at how unserious his older brother looked. Claire wasn’t in costume – something Cas found incredibly surprising – but she looked comfortable in her bat patterned pajama pants and nightmare on elm street t-shirt.

“Oh right on time!” Grace smiled, motioning for Claire to follow her out of the room and into the living room.

Left alone in the kitchen, Cas eyed Jimmy warily. Jimmy seemed tired and a little hesitant but he spoke nonetheless.

“Can we talk?”

“Michael already yelled at me tonight so if you’re planning on yelling at me too the answer is no, we can’t talk.”

“Noted.” Jimmy said. “Not planning on yelling at you. Just want to talk about Claire.”

“What about her?”

“You were her favourite person when you disappeared and you need to know that it really affected her. I’m not blaming you for disappearing because I know you didn’t have control over it so don’t lump me in with Michael. She just – she got quiet and she shut down and it’s taken us the last six years to get her to even be close to what she was before. Don’t break her heart again Cas, she can’t handle it.”

The roiling wave of guilt returned, steamrolling the remaining anger out of him. He’d known his disappearance had affected her, that went without saying, but hearing it from Jimmy felt like it was finally made real. It had been worse than he expected and Cas knew that that guilt would haunt him for a long time.

“I’m not planning on it, I swear.” He mumbled. “But that can’t be the only reason you’re talking to me without her. What else is going on?”

“There’s something going on with her and she’s not talking to us about it. I don’t think it’s anything serious but we don’t like knowing and we’re pretty sure she’ll still talk to you about things since she has so many memories of you. If she tells you anything and it’s serious, can you just tell us? That’s it.”

“You want me to spy on your kid for you?”

“Not spy. More like be an open ear if she talks. I know it’s kind of an ask and I’m sorry but Amelia and I don’t know what else to try. You’re the uncle she likes.”

Cas sighed again, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll listen to her but I’m not betraying her confidence unless it’s serious. That fair?”

“More than. Thank you.”

Jimmy glanced past Cas, hollered goodbye to Claire, and was out the door shortly after. Cas watched his brother leave and then made his way to the living room. Claire and Grace were curled up on the couch underneath a blanket, an array of snacks spread out across the coffee table and two cans of coke open and fizzing.

“Are you gonna hang with us tonight, Uncle Cas?” Claire asked, offering him the pack of twizzlers.

“I guess I am. I thought you’d be out trick or treating or at a party or something, not here hanging with the old people.”

Claire took the pack back when Cas didn’t take one, setting it back on the table before reaching for the skittles. “Normally Kaia, she’s my best friend if you didn’t know, and me and sometimes Jack, but he’s iffy on Halloween as a whole, hang out and eat junk and watch tv but Kaia’s sick and Jack’s visiting family out West so I thought I’d hang out here instead since Mom and Dad are going to a party.”

“That’s fair enough I guess. I used to do that for Halloween too, when I wasn’t working.” He said as he lowered himself into the arm chair, reaching for a bowl filled with Reese’s Pieces. “Your parents know you’re watching horror movies?”

“Call it blissful ignorance. Dad’s convinced I’m gonna go off the deep end if I watch this stuff so he doesn’t like when I do. Mom doesn’t really care but she doesn’t win a lot of their arguments.”

Cas nodded in agreement. Jimmy had always been a little too stiff necked for his own taste but he came by it honestly. He was the no nonsense sensible Novak who very occasionally let loose and had a little fun. Even in high school he’d been like that and it had driven Cas, who liked to have a little fun every once in a while, absolutely insane. Amelia had lightened him up but Cas suspected his disappearance had reversed a lot of that work.

“Your Dad just wants you to be safe, that’s all. Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah but he’s on my ass about everything and it’s kind of annoying. Don’t even get me started on the whole dating thing.”

“Let me guess, no dating until you’re 18?”

Claire nodded her head, laughing as if the idea was ridiculous. “I totally get why he’s worried but he doesn’t have to be. I’m responsible and I know what I’m worth and besides, most people suck so it’s not like I’m itching to go out all the time. Grandmere told me that you and dad dated at my age so he’s kind of being a hypocrite.”

“Your dad didn’t really actively date that much. More like he was dragged around by girls who couldn’t date me so they thought he was a consolation prize.”

Claire tilted her head to the side, confused. Jimmy hadn’t told her that and neither had Grace. It was the way Cas phrased it that gave her pause. Dragged around by girls who couldn’t date me. That was weird. “Why couldn’t they date you? Weren’t you like some kind of insanely eligible bachelor or something? Dad says you were.”

Cas glanced past Claire at Grace as if to ask if Claire knew about the missing piece of the puzzle. Grace simply shrugged as if to say she hadn’t told Claire. Obviously Jimmy hadn’t mentioned it either or they wouldn’t be having this conversation. Cas sounded almost amused when he answered Claire’s question.

“I’m gay, Claire. Those poor girls weren’t even on my radar.”

Claire blinked slowly as she processed the information and then her face went beet red with embarrassment. Of course Cas was gay, it was so obvious. He’d never had a girlfriend and she couldn’t remember if he’d ever talked about a woman before. She shifted on the couch, angling her body so she could face him.

“When did you know?” she asked curiously. “How’d you know?”

“He was 10 and came home all excited because his teacher was teaching them about who could marry who and he found out marrying boys was an option.” Grace chuckled. “I’ll let him tell you the rest though. I’m going to go take care of the pumpkin which I'm fairly certain is done in the oven.”

The pair watched Grace leave and then Cas was reaching for a different bowl of candy, turned fully toward Claire. She seemed interested in what he had to say and he wasn’t quite sure why yet. Surely she knew gay people from school. It was far from the taboo it had been when he’d been growing up.

“I just never really thought about holding a girl’s hand or hugging them I guess.” He shrugged. “My friends would talk about their crushes and I’d just pick a girl from the class because she was nice or cool I guess.”

“You picked a crush? That’s kinda wild. What else?”

“What do you mean what else?”

“What else made you realize you liked boys?”

“This feels like a conversation you should be having with your parents, not me. They might be able to explain this stuff better than I can. They did marry and have you after all.”

Claire huffed in annoyance, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Can you just try and explain it? Please. I don’t wanna ask my parents about this stuff. It’s weird and embarrassing.”

“I guess aside from picking crushes, I just never looked at a girl and thought she was pretty. Girls were just girls but I looked at a guy and noticed little things that I liked, like freckles or green eyes or a lopsided smile. Then puberty hit and I’m not explaining that to you but that really kickstarted things I guess. Started dreaming about guys and it kind of just went from there.”

“Okay. Did you ever kiss a girl to be sure?”

“Once and I really didn’t like it. Also I was very drunk which you should not be when you’re kissing people. Especially underage. Felt different when I kissed a guy, like everyone said kissing girls was supposed to. Are you gonna tell me why I’m getting the third degree here?”

Claire seemed to hesitate at the question, eyes darting away from Cas. She reached for her coke and prolonged the silence by taking several long sips. When that didn’t sufficiently prolong the silence, she reached for the twizzlers again. She couldn’t answer the question if she had food in her mouth.

Cas watched silently, settling on the answer with a sort of blooming familiarity. Of course it was the best friend. It was always the best friend. He’d been where she was and it hadn’t been fun or easy. No one had been there to explain his feelings or hold his hand through all of it. They hadn’t helped him when he’d confided in Jimmy and then his parents and everyone else in his life. He wasn’t going to let Claire go through that if he could help it.

“How long have you liked her?” he asked calmly.

Claire looked up like she’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“A while.”

“I figured that much, kiddo. Does she know yet?”

“No.”

“Do you want to tell her?”

A small nod and then another long pause. “I know she likes girls because she told me but I don’t think she likes me like that and she doesn’t know that I think I like girls too. Mom and Dad don’t know. Please don’t tell them.”

“Of course I’m not gonna tell them. This isn’t any of their business.” Cas said as he left the arm chair and dropped onto the couch next to Claire. “This is probably all weird and confusing but I promise it gets better and you’re not gonna go through it alone. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere this time.”

Claire leaned against Cas without a second thought, curling against his side. She couldn’t find the words to explain how badly she’d missed Cas and the balance he’d brought to her life all those years ago so she didn’t try. All she did was lean, readjusting when he wrapped his arm around her.

“You’re still so young, kiddo, you’ve got so much time ahead of you to figure all of this out. You don’t need to have any of this figured out yet so don’t put the pressure on yourself. For now you like her and that’s all you need to feel. You don’t have to tell her or anyone else if you’re not ready. You’re the only one who knows when you’ll feel ready.”

“When did you feel ready?”

“I was fifteen I think. Didn’t make a big deal of it, just told maman and dad I was going on a date with Tyler and left it at that. Of course they had questions when I got back but they didn’t freak or anything. We’re lucky because we’ve got a family that accepts us without question. That’s a rare thing.”

“Her family’s like that. She’s got two foster moms and they’re both really cool. Her sister kind of sucks but Alex is a bitch to everyone.”

Cas chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I left you for so long without any warning Claire. I didn’t mean to and if I had a choice, I wouldn’t have. Leaving everyone and vanishing was awful, beyond awful really. I still feel like I’m back there.”

“What did happen? If you wanna talk about it I mean. I don’t wanna make you if you’re not ready.”

Cas was about as ready as a newly minted lawyer appearing in court for the first time but he didn’t let that stop him. Claire didn’t need to know all of the details but sharing some of them wouldn’t hurt and she’d asked without expectation of answer. She’d shared a huge part of herself and the least she deserved in return was honesty. If he couldn’t share with her, Cas wasn’t sure there was anyone he could share with.

“I went to a lake to study the local aquatic life and ecosystem and I got really sick. There was something about the lake that didn’t agree with me I guess. I don’t remember a lot of what happened but I know I was really sick and I know I hit my head and that’s where it gets fuzzy. What I remember next is the man who found me, the one who helped me be able to get back to you.”

“You really don’t remember?”

Cas shook his head. “I see bits and pieces when I dream sometimes, flashes of light or blurry shapes but that’s it. There’s just before and after and I’m okay with the after. The after means I survived and that’s what matters. Us Novaks are fighters. Always have been, always will be.”

“I’m glad you came back. I really missed you and so did everyone else. Grandmere was really sad, I didn’t like it. Dad was sad too, kept saying it felt like someone ripped a piece of his soul out. I was sad too. Felt like I lost my cool best friend. But you’re back so I don’t have to worry anymore.”

“No, you don’t.”

Claire seemed content enough with that answer and settled down on the couch, still curled up to Cas. She reached for the remote and hit play on the movie that had been paused during their conversation. Turning his head, Cas watched the movie.

He’d heard vague rumblings about The Fly but he’d never bothered to watch it, too busy with work and the rest of his life. Truthfully, Cas was more of a tv person anyway. The 40 minute episodes felt far more digestible than a feature length film. He made himself comfortable as he settled in, relaxing when he heard his mother shuffle off to bed.

For the majority of the film Cas watched with a morbid curiosity but that changed on a dime.

Seth Brundle had just lost his fingernails and Cas had to set the bowl of skittles down so the movement and noise caused by his trembling hands didn’t wake Claire who'd fallen asleep 20 minutes into the movie. His eyes glued to the screen, Cas’ heart kicked up a notch. Hair grew from the wound in Seth’s back now, thick and coarse, and the skin on Cas’ arm itched. He glanced down, half expecting to see scales pushing their way through his skin.

“I should turn this off.” Cas mumbled to himself, hand hovering over the remote. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to press the button. He was already this far in and a part of him, the part he’d buried deep down in the darkness, needed to see this through.

The longer Cas watched, the more he lost himself in the spectacle. He couldn’t hear the movie over the sound of the blood roaring in his ears and his mouth had gone dry as the desert, breath catching like a lump in his throat. The hollow ache in his chest mixed with the anxiety and dread snowballing rapidly. If he stood, Cas knew he’d feel his limbs go weak and lose his vision. It felt all too familiar.

By the end of the film Cas was lost, dragged kicking and screaming back into his memories. Seth Brundle was in his final transformation now, broken jaw and sloughed off skin revealing the horrid fly beneath but Cas didn’t see it. His fingers dug into his arms as he scratched, desperate to reach the itch deep beneath his skin. He slipped away from Claire now and stood pacing in the living room.

The blood beneath his skin burned red hot and when his nails scratched through the barrier it seeped through, the metallic tang assaulting his nostrils. His knees cracked and creaked as he paced but Cas didn’t notice, too busy staring down at them waiting for the bones to break and fuse together. Buzzing in his skull, Cas’ teeth ached and he half expected one to fall onto the carpet below.

Seth Brundle’s transformation was fiction, nothing more than the ravings of a creative madman brought to life.

Cas’ transformation had been real.

He didn’t know what to do or how to process the phantom sensations running through his mind and body. Talking to his mom and Claire wasn’t an option unless he wanted to explain something he still didn’t understand. In the end Cas turned the movie off and tucked Claire in on the couch before he vanished upstairs. He could hyperventilate freely in his childhood bedroom.

The book on the nightstand stared at Cas as he stumbled into the bedroom but he couldn’t bring himself to reach for it and call Dean. Tears blurred his vision as his leg hit the edge of the bed and then he was falling, landing face first with a thud. Knocking the air from his lungs and any fight he had left, Cas gave up. He let the tears fall freely as the muffled sobs wracked his body. This horrible memory need to run its course.

Cas fell asleep like that, face buried in his pillow as Lake Maren reared its ugly head once again.

When Cas awoke the next day he was expecting to see sunlight filtering through the curtains and smell coffee wafting through the house. What he got was the fiery orange of a slowly setting sun and the smell of cooked beef and a sweet dessert. The clock blinked next to him, 6:30 staring him down in bright red numbering.

His shoulder popped as he dragged himself out of bed and a mild throbbing began behind his eyes. Oversleeping aside, his body was still upset from the haunting memories last night’s movie had conjured up. The phantom itch beneath his skin persisted and when Cas glanced down he was met with raw broken skin, dry blood peeling off in little flakes. He pushed the sleeves of his shirt all the way down to cover the scratches before making his way downstairs.

The living room was bustling when he made it in, siblings strewn about the room while his parents sat leg to leg on the loveseat. Chuck leaned against Grace with his eyes closed but the content smile on his face was unmistakable. His clothes hung on his thin frame but Cas knew he’d gain the weight back quickly. With how much maman fed everyone, it was less of a guess and more of a guarantee. Hell, he’d regained most of the weight he’d lost in Port Maren and he’d only been home a month.

“Look who finally decided to join us.” Michael said, barely disguised disdain in his voice. His expression matched his tone too, nothing but sharp eyes and defensive posture. Clearly he hadn’t forgotten about their argument the night before.

“Leave your brother alone.” Grace muttered, glancing at Michael with a look sharp enough to cut glass.

Michael didn’t respond but the sour glare he levelled in Cas’ general direction spoke for itself. Wanting to avoid Michael as much as he possibly could, Cas settled on the arm of the couch next to Claire who’d been working her way through an entire pie with the gusto of a starving man.

“It’s apple. Want a piece?” she asked, holding out the dish. “I kinda burnt the crust so no one really wanted to eat it.”

Cas took the pie without question, finishing off the final slice. It had long since cooled and the filling was beginning to congeal into a sticky sugary mess but he didn’t mind. The pie reminded him of Dean and the opinions he had on what should and shouldn’t be allowed to serve as pie. This would be pie for him, the best kind arguably.

The reminder settled over Cas like a cool blanket and he felt a pang of guilt. He’d been gone a month and he had a phone but he still hadn’t called Dean. There was no reason he couldn’t, no barrier to reaching out, but something stopped Cas anyhow. It wasn’t fear in the purest sense, but that emotion belonged in the mix somewhere. Dean would want to know how he was doing and how his family was and Cas just wasn’t sure he could be honest with Dean about it. Divulging the nightmares and the phantom scratches and the out of palace feeling felt like being too vulnerable with someone who was changing themself too.

The tap of Claire’s fingers on his leg freed Cas from his stupor and he glanced down at her.

“Grandpere just asked you a question.”

“Désolé, I wasn’t paying attention.” He mumbled, glancing over at Chuck. “What were you saying?”

“I was asking how long you’d be staying. It sounds like everyone is leaving this weekend with the exception of Jimmy and Gabriel. Just wanted to know how long you’d be around.”

Cas shrugged his shoulders. “Che pas, but for a while still. Figured I’d go back when Gabe does seeing as we live in the same area and all.”

“Gross, now I’m stuck on a ten hour flight back with you. You’re a terrible travel companion.” Gabe teased. He was safe from Cas’ reach having sat across the room sandwiched between Anna and Naomi. “Figured you’d want that though. We leave November 15^th so like two weeks.”

“Two weeks isn’t long but it’s a start.” Chuck said. He pulled himself from the couch with a groan, shifting on the balls of his feet. “Marche avec moi, Castiel.”

Concerned by the uncharacteristic request, Cas did as his dad asked. He waited for Chuck by the loveseat, arm held out until Chuck reached for it to steady himself. With his dad leading the way, Cas walked out of the living room. He didn’t know what to say and he certainly didn’t know how he felt about this unprecedented quality time.

“You’re so different now.” Chuck said at last, weak hand trembling as it closed around the handle to the door of the back porch. “Quieter. Haunted.”

Cas opened the door for his father and the pair stepped onto the back porch. His mind raced as they leaned against the railing. Surely his father hadn’t noticed that difference already. They’d only seen each other a handful of times since Cas had returned to Shediac.

“I think you’re seeing things, Dad.”

Chuck shook his head. “No, I’m not. I’ve seen this look before, the wide eyes and hypervigilance and the faraway look like this is all a dream. You look like your mother did.”

Cas swallowed thickly, staring out at the grass so he wouldn’t have to look at his father. Michael and Jimmy had already yelled at him and this felt like round two of the world’s worst fight. He could handle Michael and Jimmy’s guilt trip was tolerable but the guilt of his parents would kill him.

“She hardly spoke after you vanished, too afraid of what had happened. We both know she catastrophizes and that’s what she did. For a while we could manage but the stress took its toll. She grew quiet and distant and I got sick.”

“I didn’t mean to vanish.”

“I know you didn’t and we don’t blame you for what happened.” Chuck reassured. Stoic and distant, this was incredibly unnatural. He reached for Cas’ hand, his own pressed on top. “I just- I don’t know what happened to you but I know you’ve changed. Don’t let the change ruin who you are.”

A moment of silence surrounded the pair before Cas spoke again. This time his voice came out as little more than a whisper.

“J’sais pas que je suis.”

“You’re a brother, a son, an uncle, a teacher, a loved one. You are someone who matters so much to everyone else. That's who you are.”

Cas shook his head. “It’s not like that. I know how other people see me. I don’t know how I see myself.”

“A mid life crisis at 30. That’s typical for our family.”

Cas didn’t agree with the assessment but he made no move to correct his father. It wasn’t a midlife crisis, more like a supernaturally induced crisis he felt like he couldn’t manage by himself. A midlife crisis implied being worried about a job or a marriage or kids, not being worried about a sentient lake coming back for revenge like a spurned ex.

“Am I doing the right thing dad? Going back to my old life and trying to pick up the pieces is the only thing I can think to do.”

Chuck thought for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “There is no right thing to do, there never is.”

As much of a dead end as that statement was, it brought Cas comfort. His father didn’t know the answer which meant no one knew the answer. Maybe there wasn’t an answer at all. Maybe it was all just some cosmic joke played on humanity by a cruel capricious god who enjoyed treating them like his playthings. That sounded more like it, God playing a joke.

“Will you and maman be okay if I leave? I can stay if you need me to.”

“Stay because you want to, not because you think we need you.” Chuck said honestly, glancing over at Cas. “You’ve always been a dutiful son but you’re not Michael. You don’t have that same honour bound compulsion to provide. You’re not Jimmy either, there isn’t that need to be present and nurture. You’ve always talked, that’s been your thing. You knew what to say and when to say it. We don’t need you to be present, we just need you to talk to us.”

“I can do that.”

Chuck turned his head to survey the living room for a few minutes before he pushed himself off of the railing and reached for Cas’ arm again. “I think it’s safe to go back inside. Most of your siblings are gone.”

“Did you come out here just to avoid them?” Cas asked, pushing the patio door open so they could head inside.

“I can only take so many concerned looks and endless questions. Your mother already provides more than enough of that.”

Cas chuckled under his breath. His father was right about that. Grace Novak had always been a worrier but it was more endearing than it was irritating. He had no doubt that his father wouldn’t have stayed for 30 years if it had been anything more than that. His parents had always been inseparable and sickeningly in love but Cas never really minded. He saw the same behaviour with Jimmy and Amelia and wondered if he would ever get a turn.

His siblings had dispersed by the time he and his father made it into the living room and Grace was the only one that remained, back turned to them as she quietly cleaned up the dishes. Cas slipped out of his father’s grip, sidling up to his mother.

“Maman, why don’t you and dad get ready for bed and relax? I’ll clean up what’s left since I missed the entire party.”

Too tired to argue, Grace simply nodded her head and reached for Chuck’s arm. “Merci.”

“I’ll see you two tomorrow. Have a good sleep.”

As Cas cleaned, his mind drifted and melancholy settled over him again. A few more weeks with his parents and then he’d be facing the music and returning to California.

Cas didn’t know what he’d find when he got there and it terrified him.

Chapter Text

November 15^th came with a vengeance. Wet snow blanketed the ground outside and the stormy slate sky was little more than clouds swollen with more snow waiting to fall. Suitably foul, the bleak weather matched Cas’ mood. His suitcase sat packed at the edge of the bed and his carry on beside him, the open zipper glinting in the light of the of his childhood bedroom.

In his hands was the book he’d been unwilling to take outside of the room, its spine cracked and the front cover flaking off in multicolored pieces. He stared at the writing on the back cover, eyes tracing the familiar block lettering and numbering from a blue pen so old the ink had barely transferred.

Don’t forget to call me when you finish. Dean.

Cas had finished the book almost a month ago but still he hadn’t called. At first he’d been too busy reconnecting with his family and keeping things running but that excuse had flown out the window two weeks ago when his father had returned home. There wasn’t a viable excuse now, just hesitation and concern.

“You’re probably gonna be pissed if I call you after waiting for so long.” He mumbled to himself, thumb brushing over the phone number.

“Who’s gonna be pissed?”

Cas jumped at the sudden voice, book landing on the bed with a quiet thud. Claire stood in the doorway with an iced coffee in hand, grinning like she’d caught Cas doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. He watched as she padded in and took a seat next to him.

“You’re fourteen, coffee’s gonna stunt your growth. Don’t think you’d like me calling you tout petit Clairebear all your life.”

“There are worse things you could call me.” She shrugged, glancing over at the book. “What’s with the old book? I don’t remember you reading non science stuff.”

There were two options in front of Cas and the easier of them would be to deny all of it and steer Claire away from that avenue of conversation. That would avoid heartbreak and awkward conversations and more questions he didn’t know how answer. Cas didn’t want to do that though, not really. The lies and secrecy were beginning to weigh him down and he was tired of it. If he couldn’t be honest then he’d never free himself from Lake Maren.

“It’s a gift from a friend.”

Claire raised an eyebrow. “Like a friend or a friend? Cuz you look awful conflicted and that’s not really normal friend behaviour.”

“It’s complicated.”

“That tracks.” She said, shifting again to study his face. Hesitation aside, there was something in his eyes that she recognized. It was the same yearning glint she had when she looked at Kaia. “Is he from Cali or?”

A shake of Cas’ head as he reached for the book and tucked it into his carry on. His hesitation to speak spoke volumes and Claire had quickly put two and two together.

“He’s the one who found you at the lake.”

“He is.”

“So why haven’t you called him? I’m just spitballing here but obviously you’re more than friends so why wait. Is it because stuff got complicated here?”

“I can’t explain the nuance of all of that to you, not when I’m supposed to leave in the next 15 minutes. But yes, it’s partially that. Also just not sure if he’d want to hear from me so many months later.”

Claire’s expression said it better than her words could. The famous Novak eyebrow raise and the disapproval ridden eyes told Cas that that wasn’t an excuse. She didn’t push though, choosing instead to change the subject. The last thing Cas needed before a long flight was emotional terrorism at the hands of his favourite and only niece.

“Can I come visit you for March break? Or summer break?”

Cas turned, surprised. “That’s an out of nowhere ask.”

“Not really but I guess you could say I’m speaking it into existence if you want. I just wanna hang out with you and Cali seems like it would be fun. Beats hanging around here and having Dad harass  me about never leaving my room to go exist outside. Could we make it work?”

“Yeah, I think we can make it work.”

Claire beamed before leaning in and wrapping her arms around Cas in a tight hug. She didn’t pull away until Cas returned the hug and when she did, there was a small smile on her face. “I hope you have a good flight back. You better text me when you land and you better call your friend. Only one of us is allowed to be unsure of how we feel about someone and I’ve kind of got the whole teenage angst thing going.”

“Thanks kiddo and I will, I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Claire excused herself. Cas simply slung his carry-on over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of his suitcase before hauling down the stairs and setting it near the front door. He could hear his family chatting in the kitchen and his heart panged in his chest.

He’d only been back a month and half but it felt longer than that. The days had stretched on endlessly as he reconnected with his parents and the siblings who were willing to speak with him. It felt like he’d never left when he sat down for breakfast with his parents or supper with Gabe and Jimmy. The acceptance and relief came in gently lapping waves.

Lake Maren still refused to let Cas go and while he was walking better and had regained some of the weight he’d lost, he wasn’t without scars and continuing battles. Sleep felt like a continuing impossibility and try as he might, Cas couldn’t escape the nightmares. They slipped into his unconscious mind with slimy tentacles and nearly choked him out, leaving him gasping for air almost every night.

His family quieted when he entered the kitchen and Grace offered him a friendly smile. “All packed up mon petit bourdon?”

“Oui but it doesn’t feel real. Still can’t believe I’m already going back to Cali.”

“Truthfully we can’t either but it’s time for you to rebuild. Your father and I are going to miss you terribly. You have to call us when you land so we know you got there safely.”

“So he has to call but I don’t? Your concern is so touching maman.” Gabe mumbled playfully.

Chuck piped in, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. “You didn’t disappear for six years, Gabriel. I’m sure you won’t disappear out of the sky on the way back.”

Gabe huffed but didn’t bother arguing. It was trivial at best and Chuck still seemed fragile. His goodbyes to the family were quick and quiet and then he was slipping outside with Jimmy and the luggage. Cas remained behind, heart beating steadily in his chest as he watched his parents.

Grace and Chuck sat side by side with the remnants of their breakfast, their routine quiet and domestic. Cas knew once he left that his mother would do the dishes and Chuck would provide a witty commentary, probably something about the novel he was working on. A successful ghost writer and an author himself, Chuck had found success publishing a supernatural novel series. Cas had never read it but was told it was half decent.

“You must be so nervous.” Grace said as she slid from her chair and made her way to Cas, reaching for his hands and holding them tightly. “This is such a time of change for you.”

“I am and it is but it’s time I get back to the way things were. I can’t keep waiting for the lake to take me again.”

Grace’s expression changed for a split second, confusion at the wording of the phrase she didn’t quite understand. Brushing that aside she leaned in to hug Cas tightly. “Good luck with all of it, you’ll need. I pray the world meets you with grace.”

For a moment Cas melted into his mother’s arms and then he felt another pair around him. His eyes widened when he realized who it was. For the first time in 12 years his father was willingly hugging him. It was quick and there wasn’t enough time for Cas to hug back but he treasured the experience nonetheless.

“I love both of you. Thank you for welcoming me back with open arms.”

“Always.” Grace smiled.

Cas took one final look at his parents and with a tired smile he turned and left the house. Gabe had already claimed the passenger seat so Cas was stuck in the back like he’d been the entirety of his childhood. He didn’t mind it but the nostalgia didn’t calm the emotion bubbling up inside. Anxious, excited, bittersweet, all of it was confusing and conflicting and Cas didn’t know what to do with it.

The goodbye with Jimmy at the airport was unceremonious, nothing but a quick hug and a promise that Cas would always be around for Claire and that he refused to vanish again. They’d never been close, despite being twins, but Cas had a feeling Claire would bring them closer. She seemed to have that effect on people.

Getting through security and checking in proved to be as irritating as Cas remembered it being and by the time he and Gabe had made it through, his temples were beginning to throb. Gabe had been pulled aside for an inspection and that extra time had only heightened Cas’ paranoia that they were going to miss the flight. Thankfully they hadn’t and the boarding seemed to go smoothly.

Once they were seated, Cas pulled out the book Dean had given him. It had become a totem for him, a lucky item he refused to part with. Between the intent Dean had had when gifting it to him and what the book represented – the dreams and hope that they’d one day be something more than they were – it was precious and irreplaceable.

“Okay what’s with the book?” Gabe asked, turned in his seat to face Cas. “You’re looking at it like it has the answers to the universe.”

“Am I not allowed to have a favourite book?”

“You can but I know for a fact you’d never willingly read a book like that. Also it looks like is falling apart and you don’t treat your books like that. So why’s it so special? Was it like a gift from that professor situationship you had all those years ago?”

Cas shook his head. If he knew his brother like he thought, Gabe would continue to push and prod until he got an answer he was looking for. That meant entirely too many questions in a metal box where he couldn’t escape. Too tired to think of a lie, Cas went with the truth. In the end it was easier.

“When I came to on the shores of the lake, I didn’t end up in the hospital. I guess I wasn’t sick enough or injured enough, I don’t know, but this guy found me. He um, he took me in and got me back on my feet and I know that sounds sketchy and it was but he’s a trained emt so he knew what he was doing. He gave me that book.”

“You expect me to believe some dude helped you out of the goodness of his heart and gave you a book. That feels a little too little mermaidy.”

“Well it’s true. Believe it or not good people do exist and he’s a good person.” Cas mumbled. “He helped me get in touch with you and get back to everyone. I owe him my life.”

“Does this mystery guy have a name?”

“Dean. And before you ask, no you’re not getting his number or any more info about him so don’t try and bully me into it. I’d really like to not mix Port Maren with the rest of my life right now.”

Gabe’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at Cas, scanning for the usual signs. His expression seemed neutral but Gabe knew better and when he caught the faint twitch of Cas’ eye, his suspicions were confirmed. Cas wouldn’t have just kept a book from a man unless there was sentimentality attached to it. He’d never been sentimental and while saving a life was certainly a heroic deed, there had to be more to it. There was always more to it with Cas.

“You two got really close, didn’t you?”

Cas didn’t answer but the burning pink of his cheeks and ears said more than enough.

“Look Cassie, you’re a grown dude so do what works for you but be careful. Don’t mix up feeling grateful that he helped you get your life back with feeling like you’re in love with him. That’s just gonna end in heartbreak or you doing something stupid like ending up alone in San Diego at a dive bar on a Tuesday night with nothing else to do but drink and listen to terrible karaoke.”

“It’s not like that but thanks.”

Gabe nodded and the pair returned to their tolerable silence. The flight itself was fine, nothing out of the ordinary. A kid cried for a few hours, someone complained about the lack of available food options, and someone else felt entitled to take up all of the stewardess’ time but none of that felt insane. Cas sat quietly in his window seat, staring out the small window at the blue sky as his mind drifted. 

California was close and with it came the ghosts of his past life. It came with Meg who he prayed hadn’t given up on him yet, the job he most certainly didn’t have any more, and the home he knew he’d outgrown. He could picture it now, the navy carpeting and the walls decorated with murals and trinkets. It felt frivolous and wrong, like a painted hermit crab shell he’d outgrown. Would he ever walk back into his home and feel like he belonged? Cas didn’t know.

Settling back into that life brought with it the promise of a future Cas didn’t know he even wanted. He’d planned to research and teach his passion his entire life but the prospect felt daunting. Marine biology felt like a double edged sword and the more he thought about it, the more the lake came to the forefront of his mind. Like it or not, Lake Maren had changed him and he didn’t know if it was for the better or not. Cas was silent when they landed and left the plane, still lost in his thoughts. It wasn’t until they’d claimed their luggage and Gabe tapped him on the shoulder that he came back down to earth.

“Hey, Cassie, I’m gonna call Maman and Dad and let them know we landed. Would you be able to grab us coffee? It’s like a two hour drive back home and I can’t do that without energy and no, you’re not driving my car so don’t even suggest that.”

Cas nodded and turned, making his way to the closest kiosk. It didn’t take long to acquire the coffee and it looked like Gabe was still on the phone so Cas paused, finally stopping to think. He’d promised Dean he would call and he’d promised Claire he would call Dean and the book was right at the top of his bag. Now seemed like as good a time as any and he didn’t know when he’d get the chance, or the courage, to call again.

Cas dialed the number he’d committed to memory and waited, anxiety creeping up his throat as the phone rang. He didn’t know whether he wanted Dean to pick up or the call to go to voicemail but by the third ring he was expecting whatever cheesy message Dean had as his voicemail. On ring four Dean picked up and Cas recognized the rough sleepiness immediately.

“Hello?”

Cas’ heart skipped a beat before plummeting into his stomach and settling firmly amongst the anxious butterflies already present. He couldn’t think of what to say, nothing clever coming to mind. In the end he settled for simple. That was always the best solution.

“Dean, hey. It’s Cas.”

A moment of silence and then Dean’s voice came through again, still sleepy but full of warmth and joy.

“I was beginning to think you forgot about me,” he teased gently, a rustle of sheets echoing in the background. “It’s good to hear your voice, you sound good. You been good?”

“Getting there. My dad’s okay, thought you might want to know.”

“That’s great, really. Guessing the family’s all good too. But how are you?”

Here Cas paused, mulling over his choices. Part of him was good – the part that wasn’t still trapped and drowning in Lake Maren nightmares but Dean didn’t need to know about those. All that would do would make him worry. Besides, admitting out loud he was still struggling felt like an impossible task, Sisyphean almost.

“I’m okay, just taking it day by day. Landed in Cali with my brother today so it’s back to picking up the pieces. What about you?”

“I’m fine, it’s really quiet here. Charlie and I leave for Cali at the end of the month. We’re driving and she thinks I’m insane but I don’t care. No way in hell I’m flying.”

Cas chuckled softly, a fond smile on his face. Of course Dean hated flying. Somehow that made perfect sense. He could see Gabe approaching in his periphery and sighed. He’d hoped there would be more time to chat but it just wasn’t in the cards. “I have to go, my brother’s coming back. I’m really glad you’re doing okay.”

“Don’t be a stranger Cas, you’ve got my number. Text me, okay?”

“I will, I promise. Bye Dean.”

“Bye Cas.”

The call ended just as Gabe stopped by Cas and he shot his brother a curious look but didn’t question him as Cas slid the phone into his pocket. Accepting the coffee from Cas, Gabe took a sip and sighed. “They never make this right. It’s not even sweet.”

“Get a grownup palate and that won’t be a problem.”

“Yeah no. Now come on, we have a drive to do.”

Cas didn’t say anything but he did follow Gabe through the airport, sipping at his coffee as they walked. The air Cali felt warmer than he remembered, even though it wasn’t warm against his skin, and it brought him no comfort. Too warm, he worried the winds of change would burn him. Gabe’s car was familiar though and that was nice enough.

For the first hour of the drive neither Novak said anything, Gabe too focused on the road and Cas staring out the window as he tried to quiet his mind. Quiet music drifted from the stereo until Gabe turned it off, chancing a quick glance at Cas before turning back to the road.

“You awake Cassie? I feel like we should probably talk about getting you home. That and Meg.”

Cas shifted, still leaning against the door but better able to see Gabe now. The conversation seemed innocuous enough but Cas knew it wasn’t. Gabe never spoken with a tone as quiet and careful as he had just now. That and bringing Meg up by name. Her name was an omen.

“Why does this sound like it’s not going to end well?”

“Probably because there’s been a lot of changes and not necessarily for the better. Meg lives in your place for starters now so there’s been some changes.”

“Yeah, everything’s probably crushed velvet and chains now.” Cas mused, trying to lighten the mood. “I kind of assumed there’d be a style overhaul if she was living there. We don’t exactly have the same decorating taste.”

Gabe shook his head. “No, it’s not that. It’s Meg. She’s changed a lot so I don’t know if she’ll be like you remember.”

“Wanna tell me how she’s changed? Might be nice to not be ambushed.”

“Just don’t comment on it and you’ll be fine. It’s not really my story to tell and we’re here anyways. I did tell her you were coming just so she wouldn’t have a heart attack but I wouldn’t expect a warm welcome.”

Cas sighed in frustration but didn’t have the chance to say much else as Gabriel pulled into the driveway. In the light of the headlights, the house was exactly how Cas remembered it. The garden beds out front had blooming annuals the previous owner had planted and the lawn looked just a little bit overgrown. On the porch was the mermaid statue Cas had bought some years back and he glanced at it with a growing disdain. Mermaids looked like nothing like that statue.

What he didn’t remember was the car parked beside his old truck. Meg had had a motorcycle the last time he’d been home. That felt strange.

Stepping out of the car, Cas swallowed down the lump forming in his throat. This was the next step in getting his life back and he could do this, even if it felt like he was going to drown. It was his house and his best friend and his life. No one else could dictate what he did or how it went.

Gabriel was the one to knock on the door and then he stepped back, waiting patiently. A minute passed before a few lights flickered on and then Meg was pulling open the door. Cas couldn’t see Meg very well from where he stood but the first glimpse he caught had him raising his eyebrows. She was hugging Gabriel, her arms wrapped around him tightly. It wasn’t the kind of hug one gave an acquaintance either.

“You’re later than you said you’d be.” Meg said, voice muffled by Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Had to call my parents and you know how they are. Really sorry.”

“Ah makes sense. Are you coming in?”

Gabriel shook his head before he let go of Meg and stepped away, making a quick retreat from the porch before the theatrics started. He squeezed Cas’ arm on the way past and then he was gone, car pulling out of the driveway and disappearing into the night. With him gone, Cas got his first glimpse of Meg.

At first glance Meg looked the same as she always had at night time. Clad in silky pajamas with her brown hair tied back in braids, she had a night cream on her face. Cas had once joked it turned her into a ghost and she’d punched his arm until he rescinded the comment. It was the cane clutched in her right hand that caught his attention. She leaned on it like it was the only thing keeping her upright, grip so tight it had gone white knuckled. Meg sucked in a breath and Cas braced himself for the verbal unloading he knew was coming.

“Osti de calisse de ciboire de tabarnak Cas, j’peux excuse that you disappeared off the face of the earth because shit happens but not calling me the second you came back?” Meg’s voice was eerily level but her tone rose with every word. “I found out because Gabriel fucking called me. I can’t fucking believe you.”

“I didn’t have a phone until October.” Cas mumbled quietly, wincing when Meg’s eyes narrowed. That had been the wrong thing to say.

“It’s November 15^th asshole. That leaves an entire month and a half you could’ve fucking called me and I know you’re traumatized and your dad was sick and you’ve got a million things going on but so do the rest of us so that’s not a fucking excuse.”

“I’m sorry.”

Meg rolled her eyes but stepped aside, gesturing into the house. “Crisse, get in before I wake up the fucking neighbours.”

Cas stepped in before Meg could change her mind, suitcase and carry on in tow. The entryway was exactly the same as it had been six years ago and Cas knew with complete certainty that almost everything would be exactly as it had been.

“I’m guessing you put tea on and there’s two cold mugs on the kitchen table now.”

“You don’t deserve my tea but yes, I did.” Meg muttered, turning on her heel to walk to the kitchen. She moved slowly, swinging her cane in time with her opposite leg. Her movement was slow and pained, off balance like she couldn’t quite remember where her center of gravity was.

“How many hours of yelling do you have left in you?” Cas asked as he pulled out a kitchen chair, sinking into it with a groan of relief. “Because I’ll listen but I might fall asleep.”

“Too many to count.”

Cas nodded, hardly surprised. In the yellow light of the kitchen, Meg looked exhausted. There were a few strands of grey buried in the hair at her temples and the night cream did nothing to hide the deep set bags under her eyes or the pallor of her skin. She looked like Cas felt, utterly exhausted and drained.

“Can I tell you what happened or would you like to yell at me and get it out first?”

“I’ll withhold the yelling until I feel like I should so go ahead.”

Cas took a deep breath and wrapped his hands around the mug to stop them from shaking before he told his story. It came out as truthful as he could without divulging the entire truth. Monsters and magical lakes seemed like the last thing Meg needed to hear.

“I got sick during my stay at the lake after I cut my hand, some kind of infection or something. It kept getting worse and then one day I just couldn’t handle it. I was out by the lake and I fell in and I think I hit my head. It’s fuzzy after that.”

Meg looked wholly unimpressed, dark eyes trained on Cas. She said nothing but her eyes told the entire story.

“You didn’t think to go to the hospital? Because that’s what a smart person would’ve done.”

“I could barely get out of bed so there was no way I was going to drive three hours to the closest hospital. Anyways, it’s all fuzzy after that until it isn’t. I woke up in August, came to in the lighthouse cottage.”

“You just came to six years later? J’suis pas un idiot, Cas. A hospital I could understand but not a cottage. You're witholding.”

Cas nodded as Meg spoke but it was only a nod of acknowledgement, not of agreement. Meg wasn’t reacting the way he’d expected, she was far too calm. She was supposed to have yelled at him but she’d barely done that. It set his nerves on edge.

“I got fished out of the lake by the keeper of the lighthouse and he helped me recover. He was a trained emt and apparently my condition wasn’t that bad, well not hospital worthy anyway. Believe me or don’t, I’m telling you the truth either way. I wouldn't lie about this, Meg. Not to you.”

While Cas didn't intend on lying to Meg, he was omitting. They weren't the same thing, technically, so it was justifiable in a roundabout way.

“So you got better with the help of a mystery man and then went to your family. Did you ever think about me? About calling me to tell me you were alive? Because I found out from fucking Gabriel. That fucking stung.”

“I did think about you, I swear. I just – I didn’t know how to tell you or what to say and there’s been so much going and it’s not an excuse but it’s an explanation. You know I’d never intentionally hurt you.”

Meg’s expression shifted, level gaze morphing into a deep betrayal. Misery sat plain as day in her frown. For a while she said nothing, choosing to let the uncomfortable silence linger until Cas squirmed in discomfort. It was petty but Meg didn’t care. Cas had hurt her whether he meant to or not and he needed to know that. When she spoke again, Meg’s voice had gone quiet.

“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me but you did.”

Cas nodded again, still staring at the tea. His stomach churned now, the anxiety melting into a bittersweet ache he hadn’t been able to quell. Meg had never seemed so subdued before.

“I can’t change what happened no matter how much I want to and trust me, I want to. There aren’t enough sorries in the world for what happened and what I missed but I want to rebuild and I want to move forward. You’re my best friend, Meg, and I don’t want to lose you because of this.”

“You’re not going to lose me, relax. I’m hurt and upset but you can’t control the fact that you disappeared for six years and finally resurfaced. I just – I needed you and you weren’t there and it sucked. You were gone and then my life fucking fell apart.”

Cas took a deep breath before he let go of the mug and reached across the table, taking Meg’s hands in his own. Contact like this was rare but it felt appropriate. “Gabriel told me not to ask but I’m asking anyway. What happened?”

“Got t-boned and skidded across three lanes of a freeway. Shattered my hip and now I’ve got metal parts, scars, and chronic pain to show for it. Had to learn how to walk again and that wasn’t fun.”

“When did that happen?”

“Three years.” Meg shrugged. “You weren’t around but Gabriel was. I wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t been here. He was there for all of the appointments and the breakdowns and when my landlord renovicted me. I actually stayed with him for a while but then it got kind of weird.”

Cas’ first thought was one he wished he hadn’t had, a singular flashing image of Meg and Gabriel tangled in the sheets. It was a statistical anomaly, an impossibility really, but he couldn’t help it. If he and Dean had been able to trauma bond and sleep together, then surely Meg and Gabriel could. He must’ve made a face because Meg was breaking the silence with an amused laugh.

“We didn’t, if that’s what you’re thinking. Your brother’s sweet but he’s not my type.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief and pulled his hands away from her. “Thank God. I don’t know which one of you would be worse for the other.”

“We both know I would be worse. But that doesn’t matter, c’est la vie and all that. You’re obviously back for good but I’m not moving out, just so you know.”

“I couldn’t do this alone.” Cas admitted quietly. "And I've always had that extra bedroom which I guess is yours now by default."

Meg nodded her head in agreement before she slid out of her chair, reaching for her cane once again. “We have a lot to catch up on but I have to work tomorrow and I’m exhausted. Can we talk more tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is good.”

“Good. Now your room is exactly the same so don’t stress about that. Kept all your fish alive and yes, that does include eelanis moraysette who I still think should be turned into sushi for being a pain in the ass. Are you gonna be okay tonight?”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief. He’d nearly forgotten about all of the fish he owned and had assumed they’d all died. Meg had never been particularly good at caring for them, or anything that wasn’t human. He wished her a quiet goodnight before slipping upstairs with his luggage.

Cas didn’t bother to look around his room or even turn the light on as he slipped inside, too afraid to see the reminder of his past life. He knew what was there, the fantastically painted murals and the shelf of trinkets and they felt too much like antiquated relics. Faint light suspended by the water in the fish tanks bathed the room in an eerie glow.

In the tank that wrapped around the head of Cas’ bed there was movement. A blue tang and a damsel fish swam lazily through the plants, occasionally darting through one of the hides secured to the bottom of the tank. Relieved they were still alive, Cas’ eyes drifted to the cave directly in front of his pillow. Eelanis Moraysette was there in all of her chainlink moray glory.

“Hi mon petit nouille,” Cas murmured softly. “I missed you so much. You’ve gotten so big now. Glad you've been eating for Meg.”

The eel gave a curious little wiggle before retreating into the cave. Cas had had the eel since the beginning of his phd and she was the one thing he’d never let himself stop caring about. Beautiful and strange and so so spunky, she had been the first and only eel he’d ever been interested in owning and keeping. She was minsunderstood, as all eels were, and he knew all too well what that felt like.

The sheets rustled beneath him as he lay down in the bed and rolled on his side, facing the wall he knew was covered in old photos and plans for more fish. Empty and cold, the bed was nowhere near as reassuring as he’d hoped it would be. His welcome home felt the same. It was his home, his life, but it felt like a stranger's.

Reaching out to rest his hand on the empty space next to him, Cas sighed deeply. He could picture Dean there, stretched in some godawful position and rambling about how he felt like the eel was watching him with malicious intent. Dean would’ve known what to say to Meg, would’ve known how to handle everything without assigning guilt.

But he wasn’t here now and this wasn’t something he could help with.

In the end, Cas fell asleep to the sound of aquarium filters and the feeling that no matter what he did to make it up to Meg and that no matter what he did to rebuild his life, he would always be stuck in the depths of Lake Maren.

Chapter Text

“It’s such a beautiful afternoon isn’t it?”

The deep voice came from above, muffled by the sounds of the waves as they lapped gently against each other. Sunlight beat down upon the surface of the lake, penetrating it and dispersing like a suncatcher in suspended animation. Beneath the waves Cas lounged, curled up in a bed of algae as he toyed with a bass that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

“It’s nice but we’re a little far out. Can we get closer to shore?”

The second voice, distinctly feminine, wavered with uncertainty. Cas’ ears perked up at the tone and gingerly he pushed himself from the bottom of the lake, approaching the surface with curiosity. Currents beneath the waves picked up as he swam as if the lake was priming itself.

“And ruin all the fun? Nah. It’s fine out here, baby. Private.”

“I’m serious Tim, I want to go back. You’ve had too much to drink and I have a bad feeling.”

Cas’ head breached the surface, eyes just above the waterline. The couple in the boat weren’t too far but neither had noticed him yet. From his vantage point he could see the woman, some blonde haired thing in her early twenties. Cherries dotted her sundress and light glinted off the charms on her silver bracelet. It was her face that concerned Cas, the tension in her jaw and the anxiety in her eyes.

“You always do this, Dinah.” Tim said, practically rolling his eyes. “You talk a big game about drinking and having fun out in public and then you chicken out. No one’s out here and I’m not drunk and I want to have fun.”

Tim’s hand found its way to Dinah’s knee and she shifted uncomfortably, pushing it off. “I said no.”

Cas swam closer, moving silently through the water. The lake called to him now, quiet whispers as the currents drifted past his tail. Take this man, it said, take him into the depths and protect this woman. Protect the innocent. Prevent tragedy. Do what must be done.

“I’m tired of you saying no.”

Cas waited as the lake’s whispers grew into a discordant howl and when Tim moved, his hand drifting too far as he closed the gap in the boat, Cas struck. His tail whipped against the side of the boat and when it rocked, it sent Tim stumbling backwards. The man hit the edge of the boat and then Cas reached out with his clawed hand, fingers curling around Tim’s wrist as he pulled him into the water.

Tim thrashed in Cas’ grip, mouth open in a violent scream as water filled his lungs. Cas ignored the thrashing and screams as he dragged Tim into the depths of the lake, hurling him against the sharp rocks at the bottom. Blood drifted in the darkness of the lake, full of iron and grit, and any control Cas had was gone.

He was Lake Maren and it wanted vengeance for the perceived slight.

Cas’ chest ached when he woke, the breath torn from his lungs. Sweat collected on his forehead and when he wiped it off, his skin was clammy. The nightmares were nothing new but this hadn’t been a nightmare.

It was a memory.

His fingertips buzzed with the phantom sensation of ripping through flesh like it was wet paper and when Cas glanced down he half expected to see blood stained flesh. He was met with his regular fingers but that offered little relief. When the Lake took over, Cas didn’t have a choice. He was trapped in a body he didn’t recognize, forced to watch as something beyond his comprehension puppeted him. A fleshy monster marionette, that’s all he had been to the lake.

He slid from his bed and moved silently, padding to the kitchen for a cup of tea to calm his frayed nerves. Meg was already there and done up for the day, sensible black slacks and a purple satin dress shirt on her body. She glanced up when she heard his approach, eyebrow raised over her bagel and her cup of coffee.

“Tire-toi une bûche.” She said, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. “You look like shit. Rough night?”

“Les cauchemars.”

Meg nodded like she understood before taking another sip of her coffee. She hadn’t taken a good look at Cas, too blinded by anger and frustration and overwhelming relief the previous night. In the morning light of the kitchen, Cas seemed haunted. Thin face and bags aside, it was the glimmer in his eyes that gave him away. It was dull, almost lifeless, the kind of glint that came from years of repeated trauma one couldn’t quite put into words. The scars were new too and the more Meg stared at them, the more she was reminded of the ones she kept tucked beneath her clothing.

“They won’t ever go away but you already know that.” She said bluntly. “Mine aren’t gone and it’s been three years with therapy. You really went through it didn’t you?”

“More than I realize probably.”

“I know a good therapist if you want one. Also I’m gonna be a little bit later getting back tonight. I work late on Mondays.”

“Are you still researching?”

Meg nodded, pausing to lick the last of the cream cheese from her fingers before she answered. “Mhm but that’s part time since they’ve got my teaching a few classes. Someone went and retired and a contract position opened up. It means office hours on Monday and departmental headaches. No clue how you did it.”

“Beaucoup de café.” Cas mumbled. “How’s the department been?”

“Messy. Everyone’s still there minus Metatron but you vanishing kind of created a blackhole. They’ve had a few contract professors fill the hole but they never stay, claim it’s too much work and drama. Pretty sure your old job is empty right now.”

“Do you think—“

“Absolutement. Actually, I brought it up at the faculty dinner after Gabriel told me you were alive. Figured you’d want your job back. All you’ve got to do is reach out and coordinate. Emails are all the same and they never took back your work stuff so it’s all in the office.”

Relief flooded Cas’ veins and with it came the all too familiar undercurrent of anxiety. He had the chance to get his job back and relatively quickly from the sound of it but did he really want it back? Did he want the stress of papers and lectures and tests? Department meetings and asinine politics felt minuscule in comparison to what Cas knew about the world. But a job he’d once loved meant stability and money and the chance to pretend that he was still a normal functional person.

“Do you think I should go back?”

“I mean more money coming in to pay all the bills would be nice and having an ally at all the bullshit meetings would be great but I can’t tell you what to do, Cas. If you want to go back then reach out and see but don’t feel like you have to. Work on your timeline, not other people’s. Now I gotta go so I’m late. See you later.”

Cas offered her a small wave before he watched her grab her bag and head out the door. Left alone in the kitchen he thought about making food and coffee but his stomach still ached so that was a no go. He returned to his bedroom, moving in silence as he unpacked the bags he’d brought back with him.

The closet and the drawers contained all of his own clothes and the more he stared at all of the fish patterns and graphics, the worse he felt. He’d loved how kooky and distinct it had once been but that was years ago and he wasn’t the same man. It felt juvenile now, like a reminder that he wasn’t allowed to have fun or be relaxed. The lake had taken the fun from his life.

“Is this even me anymore?” he mumbled to himself as he sat on the bed, staring across his bedroom at the armoire and the L desk tucked into the corner. Dark natural wood, they fit in among the blues and greys of the rest of the bedroom. Driftwood, shells, and other trinkets littered the top of the armoire and a layer of fine dust coated them. The trunk at the foot of the bed opened with a squeak when Cas unlatched the lock and lifted the lid. Unceremoniously he dumped the journals and tapes into the trunk and shut the lid. Out of sight, out of mind.

Meager belongings unpacked, Cas made his way to the office. It too looked like he remembered, bookshelves covering every available inch of wall and arching over top of the desk tucked right against the window overlooking the backyard. Most of the shelves contained his volumes and research, books labelled and neatly indexed. Meg’s shelves were the complete opposite, a chaotic mess of books stacked every which way with loose papers crammed in and around them. She’d coopted some of the available wall space too and when Cas stared at the pinned papers, it made his head swim.

He took a seat in the office chair that was far newer than he remembered, quietly marvelling at the feeling of lumbar support that didn’t immediately fade into nothingness. To his left sat his old work laptop, the familiar thinkpad logo staring at him from the top corner. He’d read somewhere that being given a thinkpad laptop for work meant you’d be there until you retired and he hoped that was true.

“You can do this. You can write an email to the dean begging from your job back even though you don’t know if it’s what you want because that’s what the next step is. You’ve seen your family and you’ve got your house back so get a real job. Also maybe a haircut.”

With the uninspiring pep talk out of the way, Cas turned the laptop on and went immediately to outlook. Dread was building behind his eyes as it opened, the kind of dread that only came with wondering how many unopened emails had accumulated after six years. The answer, as it turned out, was 472.

A moment to process the emails he would never open and then Cas was drafting the email to the dean. He wrote and rewrote the email more times than he cared to admit, completely unsure of how to professionally reappear after vanishing. It wasn’t like he could send a ‘hey I lived bitch’ email and expect an immediate response. But he couldn’t something overly stuffy either. Too much preamble and he was bound to be ignored for sure.

On the 13^th draft of the email Cas hit the wrong key on his laptop and the email vanished into the ether, a single whooshing noise alerting him. Eyes widening with dawning panic, Cas scrambled to see if he could unsend the email somehow. There had to be an option somewhere but he’d yet to explore outlook and he really didn’t want to start now.

“God please think that that was a professional email.” Cas mumbled as he stood up, still eyeing the laptop warily.

He lasted three minutes before he left the office, panic still coursing through his veins. Staring at the laptop wasn’t going to do any good. Being stuck in the house wasn’t doing any good either, not when all Cas saw were pieces of himself that didn’t fit anymore. The urge to see how much of the outside world had changed struck him and he acted on it, grabbing his keys from the hook.

Damp air hit Cas like an invisible wall, microscopic droplets in the air portending an oncoming storm later in the day. His knees ached as he walked, the creaking joints sending pulsing pain through his legs with every step. Walking still felt wrong. The movement wasn’t fluid and it wasn’t quick and Cas almost missed how easy the tail had made everything. He walked past the houses on the block, each just the same as he remembered them being.

Fifteen minutes into his walk Cas stopped, a familiar sign coming into view. Looping cursive letters with a fern unfurling from the B, Bean There Done That was the local café and eatery Cas had frequented since his masters days. Inside was as busy as Cas remembered it being, patrons lined up in a queue to order while others sat the tables littered around. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baking pastries curled around Cas and beckoned him closer to the counter.

“What can I get you?” the barista asked, interrupting Cas’ train of thought. She was a young thing, probably a local student, and Cas found himself drawn to her multicolored hair. White blonde, brown, and dark cherry red, it looked like an abstract can of coke.

“16oz black coffee, your Sumatran roast. Can I get one of the raspberry custard cruffins too please?”

“Great choice. Those are going quick today.” She smiled back, leading Cas to the register and getting him to pay before flitting off.

The coffee and pastry came quickly and Cas stopped by the bar long enough to add the maple syrup they kept out there before he took up residence in a corner table tucked away from everyone else. People milled about with coffee and pastry in hand and an ugly jealousy at their blissful ignorance stirred deep in Cas’ belly. They had no idea what was out there in the world. Lucky them.

Sugar stuck to his fingers as he ate the pastry, the slight sweet crunch a nice contrast to the smooth tart raspberry custard inside. The coffee itself offered a nice bold roast to wash away the sweetness and it warmed Cas from the inside out. Mood slightly improved, though the ache in his knees and his lungs hadn’t faded, Cas simply sat and watched.

There was no job he could go to yet, no friends he could visit that weren’t busy working, no actionable prospects of anything. He was stuck in time and watching life pass him by. A mother shared a slice of cheesecake with her small child while a group of students argued over a concerningly large biology textbook. An elderly couple sat on the patio outside sipping coffee in between reading the articles in the newspaper. This was humanity in its purest form.

Cas’ coffee was cold by the time he took the final sip, sticky sweet maple syrup mixed with the bitter dregs of the coffee grounds that had escaped the filter and found their way into the cup. He swallowed the taste down before rising from his seat, dumping the trash as he headed outside. Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, grey and menacing with the storm he knew was coming. He just hoped it would wait until he got home. Ten minutes into the walk his phone rang and he fumbled with it, swearing under his breath when it caught on his pocket.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Am I speaking with Castiel?”

Cas’ brow knit together in confusion. He didn’t recognize the woman’s voice or the number. “You are. Can I ask why you’re calling?”

“Right. My name’s Anael, I’m the assistant for Zachariah. You emailed him this morning regarding your previous employment at the university. He’s interested in scheduling a meeting with you to discuss the email.”

“Yes, of course. That would be great. What’s his availability?”

“He’s quite busy but has insisted that this is urgent. Would you be able to make 5 pm work today?”

Cas paused for a moment, heart hammering. The answer was clearly yes but he didn’t want to answer immediately, too afraid it would betray just how desperate he really was. He took a deep breath to recenter himself before answering.

“I can make 5 pm work. Is his office still 219 in the McArthur building?”

“It is. I’ll mark you down in his calendar and we’ll see you at 5.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

The call ended shortly after that and Cas glanced down to check the time, surprised to see it read 3pm. He didn’t have much time to get ready and leave, not with the half hour commute and the risk of rush hour congestion. His walk back was quick and his beeline for the shower even quicker.

Boiling hot water hit his back when he stepped into the shower and Cas hissed, reaching for the tap to turn the temperature down. Apparently Meg enjoyed showering in hellfire. Forced to use her shampoo and conditioner, Cas resigned himself to smelling like blood orange and cinnamon. While the scent wasn’t unpleasant – it was reminiscent of a warm spiced tea in the middle of fall – Cas leaned towards clean vaguely earthy scents. His last go-to had been an aquatic scent with a dry down of cucumber melon.

When Cas stepped out of the shower, a wave of dizziness nearly took him out. He gripped the edge of the shower and doubled over as the wave washed over him, only righting himself when he blinked and didn’t see stars. The shower hadn’t been long or hot so he was confused. It shouldn’t have made him dizzy. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, Cas paused.

“What the fuck?”

His voice, whisper soft, matched the press of his fingers against the red patches on his skin. Raised circular welts gave way underneath the pressure and when Cas lifted his fingers, blood pooled back into them. A mild itch settled where the hives were and Cas frowned. They hadn’t been there before the shower. Maybe he was just allergic to Meg’s fancy body wash. That made the most sense.

Cas patted himself dry and brushed off the lingering confusion before padding to his bedroom and getting dressed. Sensible slacks and a simple dress shirt would have to do. He refused to fight with a tie and he didn’t want to slip into a full suit or jacket he knew would swamp his frame. Best to keep it simple and not bedraggled.

When Cas slid into his truck, the seat creaked beneath him with a quiet familiar welcome. The air freshener had long since died but Cas didn’t mind. There was a full tank of gas and Cas prayed that Meg had been maintaining the truck so it didn’t explode the second he started the engine. It roared to life and then Cas was heading out, running through the motions in his head. He hadn’t forgotten how to drive but the muscle memory was old. All he needed was quick refresher and then he’d be back. It was like riding a bike that could kill people.

Les Cowboys Fringants played from the speakers as Cas drove towards the university and the chainmail fish hanging from his rearview mirror provided light percussion on top. It was the perfect background noise for his whirling thoughts. He ran through the questions he expected to be asked and the answers to them. No, he hadn’t meant to disappear. Yes he still had his research from the lake. Yes he wantde to teach again. Yes he would take a pay cut if need be. No he didn’t want to talk about what happened because he didn’t remember.

Traffic was exactly what he’d expected it to be, not quite bumper to bumper but certainly busy and congest. It was closer to 4 now so the big three o clock rush was over and the five o clock rush hadn’t started. This wave was quiet, receding back before crashing into everyone like a tsunami. Cas made it to campus with 20 minutes to spare, eyes landing on the McArthur building with a wary resignation.

It looked the same as it always had, reddish brick piled high and coated with ivy growing along the sides. The windows stood tall and evenly spaced and Cas recalled watching students pass by the building when he spent time in his office. All of the science professors had their offices in that building and the dean of science was no exception to that rule.

Zachariah was his name and Castiel couldn’t stand him. The man was an arrogant prick, the kind of person who thought he was better than everyone just because he had a million letters behind his name and a prestigious job. He was better than the researchers because he didn’t get his hands dirty and he was better than the professors because he didn’t have to interact with the students unless there was a scandal. For all intents and purposes, Zachariah watched from his office like an angel casting judgment onto lesser beings.

Unfortunately, Cas was going to have to grovel if he wanted his job back. It wasn’t that Cas couldn’t grovel, it was that he didn’t want to. Groveling to a man with an overinflated ego had only ever resulted in terrible outcomes and heavy disappointment. This situation couldn’t be like that, not if he wanted to retain his sanity.

The tile beneath his boots cat echoes in the halls as he made his way into the building, the hollow thuds lost in the sea of student chatter and background noise. With each passing minute the chatter settled over Cas like the familiar weight of a favourite blanket, warm and heavy. He knew the chatter like the back of his hand, all talk of finals and classes and inane personal dramas complicated by hormones, and it felt nice that at least one thing was still the same.

Pausing by the board dedicated to the faculty, Cas took a minute to glance at it. The names and faces hadn’t changed much and when he looked at the bottom left corner, he came face to face with an old photo of himself. Fresh faced and 27, the photo felt like youthful innocence hidden underneath a barely there smile. It was the kind of barely there smile that hid secrets and playfulness, the teasing kind of smile one might flash at an attractive stranger in a bare. That smile had earned Cas a bit of a reputation as a heartthrob professor.

“If you only knew what was coming for you.” He muttered solemnly, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass.

Taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts and force his heart to calm down, Cas turned his attention to the door next to the faculty board. It was the final physical barrier to getting his life back and while it was easily bested, the beast inside wasn’t. If Zachariah wasn’t in a benevolent mood Cas wouldn’t have any luck. The man had always been fickle like that.

Cas stepped inside and paused at the desk, eyes falling on the receptionist who had worked for Zachariah as long as Cas had been at the university. She looked up when she heard the door close, neutral expression shifting as her eyes took in his appearance.

“I’ll let him know that you’re here.” She said as she stood up. “He’s looped a few other key players in, just so you’re aware. I believe he’s included the head of biology and hr.”

“Thanks for the heads up.” Cas mumbled quietly, clasping his hands together as he watched her disappear into the office.

When the silence began to close in around him some five minutes later, Anael popped her head put of the office and gestured for Cas to enter. He did, trading places with her just before the door closed behind him. Stuck in the room, Cas turned to face the three men inside. Zachariah sat in the middle at the head of the table, his balding head reflecting the light. As unimpressed as ever Uriel, the head of the biology department, sat on Zachariah’s right. Uriel had never been Cas’ biggest fan, claiming that the man liked to play too fast and loose with the rules of science, but he was willing to work with Castiel when the need arose. To Uriel, Cas was a chess piece he begrudgingly deployed when necessary. On Zachariah’s left sat the head of HR, Billie. Billie was one of those take it or leave people, not an enemy but not a friend. Cas had respect for what she did but also a mild disdain. Anyone who policed people that hard was a bit of a red flag.

“Castiel, right on time.” Zachariah said, tone full of fake pleasantry as he gestured to the empty chair. “Please have a seat. We’ve much to discuss.”

Cas nodded, lowering himself into the chair. His heartbeat pulsed in his throat and he prayed the vein wasn’t bulging in time with it. One whiff of his distress and they would descend upon him like a pack of starving wolves. “I appreciate all of you taking the time out of your day to meet with me. I’m sure it must have come as a surprise to hear from me after all these years.”

“That’s one word for it.” Uriel said bluntly, the disdain in his voice coming through. “You dropped off the face of the earth and the amount of work we all had in your absence tripled. That wasn’t particularly enjoyable.”

“Ms. Masters did inform us of your potential return but to be fully transparent, we thought she was joking. You know how she is.” Zachariah said. The smile plastered on his face didn’t meet his eyes.

“Always a joker, that one. I’m not sure what she told you about what happened while I was gone so I’d be more than happy to fill you in if you’d like.”

A beat of uncomfortable silence hung in the air while the three at the end of the table glanced at each other. Cas knew what they were saying without them having to say anything. It was the debate as to whether or not they wanted to hear whatever explanation was about to come out of his mouth. Billie didn’t care, Uriel looked like he was ready to examine every detail with a fine tooth comb, and Zachariah remained largely unreadable.

“We can see from looking at you that your time spent away was busy and what Ms. Masters has told us doesn’t lend itself well to prying.” Zachariah said, his eyes trained on the scars marring Cas’ face. He waited until Cas shifted in his seat before continuing. “She also told us that you managed to collect all of your research completed at the lake. Is that true?”

Cas blinked slowly, caught off guard by what was being asked. He’d expected the question but not directly out of the gate. It was supposed to come after the intense interrogation about his whereabouts for the past half a decade. Picking at the skin on the side of his thumb, Cas nodded.

“I do have all of it. It survived and was kept safe by the man who took over the lighthouse in my absence. I’m not sure why that would be relevant to this discussion though.”

“It’s completely relevant.” Uriel replied. “We’ll cut through all the pleasantries and get down to business. Our workload as professors and researchers has more than doubled in your absence and the burnout is becoming increasingly apparent. Despite how much I dislike your methods, you were an invaluable member of our team and a key contributor to one of our most successful programs. The program has faltered in your absence and we believe that we can revive it if you were to return.”

Cas raised an eyebrow, surprised by the honesty in Uriel’s speech. He’d known there had been an impact but the seriousness of it was unexpected. Zachariah interrupted before Cas or Uriel could speak.

“It’s highly unusual, the circumstances surrounding your prolonged absence, but that can be overlooked. We want you back, Castiel. Back to teaching and researching and being a part of the faculty here. You brought in new students and despite the misgivings at your research methods, you brought in grants and funding which we require. Your presence is invaluable at this time.”

“I sense a but coming.” Cas mumbled, folding his hands again to stop them from shaking. There was always a but with this group.

“There are stipulations in the contract we’ve drawn up for you.” Bille said as she slid a thick stack of paper across the table to Cas. “A probationary period for starters but also limitations and conditions for classes you would be teaching and the requirements for your research.”

“What research requirements?”

“You need to finish and publish your research on Lake Maren as a condition of your reemployment.” Zachariah clarified. “We can’t have that time you were away be for nothing and while we do recognize that you went through something, we need you to have something to show for it.”

Cas swallowed thickly, eyes darting to the table and the wood grain he suddenly found fascinating. Of course they wanted his research and something to show for their investment. It all came back to the money and the time. They didn’t care about him, just about what he could do for them. That was what work was, what academia was. He was just another number to them, another number they paid. His trauma was a commodity they could package and sell.

“What’s the expected timeline for the research?” Cas asked carefully, trying to keep his tone in check.

“A year to finish conducting and have a draft ready to be peer reviewed. We assume you have the body of your research already complete and organized. And this isn’t negotiable either, both Uriel and I agree.”

A year to complete and draft his research. That wasn’t nearly enough time and everyone in the room knew it; but Cas couldn’t argue, not when his job was on the line. He was silent as he leafed through the contract, scanning each clause with attention but not a fine tooth comb. Desperation and the fear they would take the contract away from him were a hell of a motivator. Largely boilerplate save for the conditional clauses, Cas found himself pausing when he saw the amount they were offering.

“This is less than I made before.” He said. “I understand it being less because of what happened but this feels retaliatory for me disappearing.”

“When your probation, which you should note is six months and not three, is over you’ll be paid your old wage. We’ve agreed that you require stricter terms and more incentives in the long term to remain here and this is all we’re prepared to offer. You can take it or leave it Castiel but you’ll be hard pressed to find a job at another university with such a large unexplained gap in your resume.”

Cas swallowed down the retort rising in his throat. Any sort of opposition or defiance was a sure-fire way to sabotage the one piece he still hadn’t picked up from his old life. Uriel already hated him and Zachariah as always one misstep away from taking punitive action. Work was a war and this was critical territory Cas just couldn’t give up. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and spoke in a calm measured tone meant to mask his feelings.

“I’m more than happy to accept the offer and words can’t begin to express how grateful I am that you’re willing to rehire me after I left under the circumstances I did. The contract states that I’m to start teaching again in the winter semester. I just want to confirm that that’s true and some more of the details.”

“You’ll be working closely with Uriel to determine those particulars but yes, you will start in an official capacity in January of the New Year. You’ll find that your office is the same and that the curriculum is largely unchanged. Welcome back Castiel, don’t make us regret offering you this chance.”

“You won’t regret it, that I can promise you.” Cas replied quickly.

Zachariah was the first to rise and the grip of his hand as he shook Cas’ was vicelike, meant to intimidate and put Cas in his place. Billie was the next to leave but she waited until Cas had signed the contract before she left, her clove heavy perfume lingering in the room like a ghost. That left Uriel in the room and with the others gone, his false smile dropped along with all pretenses.

“The moment you prove to be anything other than useful to me, you will be removed and a legacy of dust and disappointment is all that will remain.”

Cas leaned forward, eye twitching in irritation. Finally the real Uriel had come out to play.

“You’ll find yourself sorely disappointed, I’m afraid. I don’t intend to be anything other than the pinnacle of a professor and a researcher. You must be so frustrated seeing me welcomed back into the fold so quickly.”

“One of these days you will be knocked off of your pedestal and I’ll be right there to watch you flounder and break. Zachariah may not care about the circumstances of your disappearance but I do. I will find out what happened.”

“I got sick, hit my head, and the rest is a blur until I woke up.” Cas said bluntly. “Doesn’t take a genius to see the scars on my face and assume I was seriously injured for some time. Dig around all you want but you won’t find anything because there’s nothing to find. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other places I need to be. It’s been a real treat seeing you again Uriel.”

Cas left before Uriel could reply, holding his breath as he slipped out of the room and the office in general. The contract was signed and his job secure but that didn’t remove the worry and ache building up inside of him. Signing a contract was one thing but adhering to the stipulations in it were another thing. Teaching was fine but the idea of being in front of crowds again was nerve wracking. So was the research. He couldn’t escape lake maren even at work.

A familiar voice stopped Cas dead in his tracks and when he turned his eyes fell upon the professors he’d spent years working with. From far away the group looked much the same as they always did but someone was missing. Metatron was gone and Cas vaguely remembered something Meg had said about him leaving or retiring. That was for the best, the man was a kook. The footsteps stopped all at once and then Cas heard it, one voice ringing out.

“Holy shit, is that Castiel?”

All hopes of a clean escape now dashed to pieces, Cas sucked in a breath and made his way over to the group. None of them were science professors but rather a hodge podge of various arts and social sciences that had decided to adopt him after one unfortunate game of jeopardy at a holiday party years ago.

“Surprise, I’m not dead.” Cas mumbled, throwing out a pair of lackluster jazz hands. All he wanted was to go home and sleep but he knew he wouldn’t get out of this easily. Nick and Ruby wouldn’t let him. They were sweet in their own ways but it was also incredibly overwhelming.

“Well I hope not cuz this would be a shitty hallucination.” Ruby answered, grinning. Blonde and sharp tongued, Ruby had been a chem ta the last time Cas had seen. “Meg told us you were kicking but we didn’t believe it.”

“Nice scars.” Nick commented, eyeing Cas up and down with what could only be considered casual skepticism.

Cas didn’t respond to that but the twitch of his eye said enough. They weren’t nice. All they were was a painful reminder of what he’d endured. Shifting on his feet to stop the cramp building in his calf, Cas crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you two off to Screws?”

“Obviously. You wanna come? There’s so much to catch you up on and I love Nick and Balthazar but you know how they get when the whisky comes out. I need a sane science buddy.”

“I’d love to but I can’t tonight.”

“Too tired from your meeting with Zachariah?” Nick asked.

“Yeah. Between trying not to beg too hard for my job back and fending off Uriel’s desire to kill me, it gets to a man. But I’ll be back in January.”

“Thank god! Hasn’t been the same without you.” Ruby said. “Even Uriel was forced to admit you were kind of necessary. But yeah, guess we’ll see you in January. Have a good night Cas.”

Cas nodded, waving at the pair as they wandered off towards the on campus restaurant their little group met at once a month. Turning on his heels to head back out to his truck, Cas was alone with his thoughts once again. His job was secured, even with the conditions he needed to meet, but it didn’t bring him any relief. Getting a job was the final piece of the puzzle but it didn’t feel successful. The prospect was hollow, bouncing around inside of him aimlessly. Did he really want the job back? Or was it just what everyone expected him to do? Was getting the job truly the solution to getting over the trauma of Lake Maren?

Regardless of the outcome, Cas had finished putting the pieces of his life back together and all he could do was move on. Like a scalloped hammerhead, if he stopped moving he’d suffocate in the waters he’d only just escaped from.

Chapter Text

“I still think you were insane for driving the entire way here. Like you drove 35 hours, that’s clinical behaviour. You willingly drove through Utah. No one willingly drives through Utah.”

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Dean couldn’t help but grin. It was hard to take Charlie seriously when she was in lightsaber patterned pajama pants and grogu slippers. She leaned against the wall next to the fireplace in the living room, boxed stacked on either side of her. The towers were nearly as tall as she was and Dean’s scratchy writing made itself known as it labelled them kitchen boxes.

“Yeah religious fundamentalism and bigamy aren’t my thing but they know how to make a dirty soda. I was skeptical with the creamer and all but that shit wasn't bad.”

“We’re not stocking the fridge with creamer. We're strictly a fridge cigarettes household.”

“What the fuck is a fridge cigarette?”

Charlie grinned at Dean as she pushed off of the wall. “Wow the millennial doesn’t know what a fridge cigarette is. You just dated yourself old man.”

“Don’t make me remind you which one of us has the adult job right now that pays the bills. Now stop mocking me and get dressed. I’m not going furniture shopping with you in your pajamas.”

"Yeah cuz your grubby flannel is so much better." She retorted, sticking her tongue out at Dean before she turned and wandered out of the living room, vanishing into her bedroom. They’d been in Cali for three days and in that time they’d managed to unpack half of the kitchen and not much else. It was hard to unpack anything else when there wasn’t furniture to put anywhere. There was supposed to be furniture but the landlord had taken most of it and Dean hadn’t been in the mood to argue with him about it. They had two plates, a few mugs, some cutlery, and a coffee maker and that would do. Sure they had half built bedframes and shitty air mattresses but those didn't count as furniture in Dean's book

The drive from Michigan to California had been the longest drive of Dean’s life but he hadn’t minded it in the slightest. There was a strange kind of peace that came with travelling alone knowing the destination was something you’d worked towards. He’d worked his entire life for a friend, a stable home, a stable job and now he’d found it. Granted he hadn’t expected his friend to be redheaded twenty four year old but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Remind me what we’re looking for again today?” Charlie asked as she reappeared, dressed more appropriately in jeans and a purple cat sweater. 

“Well you’ve got your bedroom stuff and I’ve ordered mine so it’s just stuff for the living room and kitchen. So tables, chairs, couch, bookshelves, that kinda thing. Figure we hit up the thrift shops before trying ikea or something. Might get stuff with an actual personality for a reasonable price.”

“Yeah but we’re not gonna fit anything in your car and I don’t have a car anymore so that’s an issue.”

“Not if you thought ahead like I did.” Dean said as he held up a set of keys. “Rented a truck with a bed big enough to fit furniture. Now come on, I don’t wanna be out all day.”

Knowing better than to argue with Dean when he had his mind set on something, Charlie simply nodded her head and left the house. She climbed into the cab but didn’t touch the radio, hands kept firmly in her lap. Dean was particular and she’d heard “driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole” one too many time for her liking. She'd also heard Black Sabbath's discography about 18 times but classic rock was non-negotiable when Dean drove.

“Still feels weird to be living with someone in a house that isn’t falling apart. Haven’t had a roommate since I was 17. Please tell me you’re not one of those asshole roommates.” She teased. "if I have to make a chore chart with a white board and little stickers, I will commit murder."

“I’ll eat your takeout if you piss me off but no, m’not an asshole roommate. Besides, my work schedule’s kind of insane once that starts up. Long shifts and kinda weird days, not the 24 hour shifts I’m used to. Guess they do it differently here.”

“So you’re gonna be traipsing in at an ungodly hour eating everything in sight like an unsupervised mogwai? Got it. I’ll make sure to lock up my good stuff.”

“Only sometimes. Rotating shifts so days for two weeks and then nights for two weeks with like a 3 on 2 off, 2 on 3 off, 2 on 2 off schedule. I don’t remember all the details exactly but I know that for a fact.”

Charlie let out a low whistle, shaking her head. “Couldn’t be me, that’s insane. But I guess my class schedule is gonna be a little insane so who knows, maybe we’ll both be chowing down at 2 am.”

“You got in? Dude you should've told me the second you found out so I could celebrate with you. When do you start?”

“The new semester so January. I’d kind of taken some classes sporadically in the past, just like online, so I’m pretty much on par with where everyone else is now. I’ve never actually done the whole uni thing so it’s gonna be cool. I’m gonna feel a little old cuz everyone else is like 18 but that’s not really that big of a deal I guess.”

Dean nodded along as he pulled into the parking lot of the first shop on their list. He and Charlie had spent hours talking about their future and what they’d planned to do and he’d been the one to push that she go to school. She’d always wanted to and Dean had seen what she was able to do with computers. Already she was a shoe in. When he’d reassured her that he’d be making enough for both of them, plus the money earned from selling her inherited home in Port Maren, she’d caved and agreed.

“You call yourself old and then I feel fucking ancient next to you.” He muttered as he parked, the engine shutting off with a rattle.

“I’ll look after you in your old age, I solemnly swear. Only the best tapioca for you.”

"Rice pudding's better, just fyi."

Charlie shook her head but didn't bother to respond and simply followed Dean into the shop. Part antique shop and part thrift store, the shop itself felt like stepping into another era. Rather than separate it by category, it was separated by era. To Dean’s left was pre 1900s and to his right the modern trappings, furniture and clothing seemingly piled high with no organization. He turned to see where Charlie wanted to start but she’d already wandered off in the direction of the 60s and 70s, lured over by the bright colours that already hurt Dean’s eyes.

A foreign feeling settled in Dean as he wandered toward the Edwardian section. It buzzed faintly beneath his skin, tingling at his fingertips as it warmed him. Part of it was relief and acceptance wrapped up into a neat bow. Finally he was moving on and deciding what he wanted to do with his life. It was his home he was furnishing. It was his new job he’d be starting in the New Year. It was his choice to reconcile with Sam. John would always remain, Dean could feel his presence in the deepest buried parts of himself, but his father was only a whisper now. There wasn’t a shambling corpse following behind him everywhere he went.

With the relief and the acceptance came excitement, soft and swift like the fluttering of butterfly wings in his chest. For the first time in his life, Dean was excited to pick out furniture for his space. He was excited to nest and make memories, excited to see what the future held. There was someone to make the memories with, someone who didn’t judge him and hadn’t run away. Words would never explain what that truly meant to him.

Even the thought of Cas was exciting, though the lack of calls and texts was quickly dampening that feeling. Of course there had to be a grace period while Cas rebuilt his life and processed his trauma and Dean didn’t begrudge that fact. What he did begrudge was that he couldn’t help Cas with it because it wasn’t his place. He ached for that text or phone call from Cas, for the permission to step in and make it better. Dean couldn’t help the urge and he’d tried to bury it for years but it kept sprouting up again like a weed in a cracked sidewalk. Helping people filled the aching void in him, it always had. Helping Cas would fill it completely.

A glint of silver on the left of the aisle stopped Dean dead in his tracks and he glanced down, eyes landing on a ring on display. Engraved vines covered the surface of the ring and gave it a patterned appearance. He reached for it without thinking, lost in the smog of his own thoughts. It looked vaguely like something he remembered his mother wearing.

“Dude, I totally found our couch.”

Charlie’s voice, loud and directly behind Dean, startled him. He flinched, the jolt of his body sending the point of his elbow into Charlie’s chest. She stepped back with a curse, rubbing at her collarbone when Dean turned around.

“You know that sneaking up on me is a bad idea.” He mumbled. “Sorry about trying to take you out.”

“Wasn’t sneaking, you were just lost in thought but I’ll take it. I found our couch. Wanna come see it?”

“Is this a couch we’re both going to like?”

Charlie shrugged her shoulders before she led Dean to the 1970s section. The couch she stopped them in front of was burnt orange and when Dean ran his fingers across the ridged surface he shuddered. Corduroy was one thing and velour another but this was an ungodly amalgamation of the two. He hated the couch but the second he glanced over at Charlie and saw her expression of glee, he gave in.

“There’s a matching armchair too.” She beamed, gesturing to the chair beside the couch. “Might fill out the living room more.”

“We can get them. Just gonna have to be a little more selective about the rest of the furniture is all. We need a natural wood for the coffee table, something stained darker preferably. Walnut maybe. Or cherry if you wanna spring for the real fancy adult shit.”

Charlie’s grin widened as she snatched the tags from the furniture before anyone else could take them. Dean shook his head with a fond amusement before he decided to wander with her, trying to see if they could find something else to fill up the truck bed before they left. In the end the pair left with the couch, armchair, and a nice dark stained walnut coffee table Dean had fallen in love with.

On the drive back home, Dean was quiet. Fake obligatory griping about how expensive even thrifted furniture was aside, he just couldn’t quite believe all of this was real and coming true.  It was Charlie that broke the silence again, setting her half eaten lunch back in the bag.

“You’re not having an aneurysm about the price are you?”

“A little but no. Just got a lot on my mind.”

Charlie nodded her head in agreement. She knew exactly what Dean meant by that. It was overwhelming starting a brand new life in somewhere she’d never been before but it was thrilling too. They had each other and a home and prospects and she’d only had one of those a year ago. Dean shouldn’t have been her friend, he was too loud and brash and particular but it worked. Part of Charlie thought it was the trauma of losing both parents but there had to be more to it than that. Maybe it was what they brought to the table for each other that made it work. Dean was understanding and experienced, clearly aching to be an older brother again and Charlie was inexperienced and trying to find guidance.

“I know, I can’t believe all of this is real either. Still feel like I’m gonna wake up back in Port Maren hating my life. But you’ve got that mildly constipated look so it’s more than that.”

“I keep thinking about Cas.” Dean admitted as he pulled into the driveway. “Can we put this on pause until we get the furniture inside?”

“I’m holding you to that Winchester.”

Dean mumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he hopped out of the truck. Hauling the furniture into the house and the empty living room was a two man job and as much as he loved Charlie, her chicken arms weren’t the most useful when it came to lugging around heavy furniture. Dean’s hands ached, bordering on spasming when he finally collapsed onto the couch he hated.

Perching on the wide arm of the chair, Charlie turned her attention to Dean. “So, Cas is on your mind. Are we talking general thought or like horny dreams bad? Because I don’t care either way but I wanna know if I should be knocking on your bedroom door before I enter.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, jesus. I’m not having dreams about him. I’m just worried about him. I mean he’s called me once since he left and it’s already December. Like I know he’s back at home and his family’s okay but I don’t know if he’s okay.”

“So call him or text him, problem solved.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, less than impressed. “And why not? What bs excuse have you conjured up this time?”

“Trauma windows, dude. He’s got to work through all of his shit and rebuild his life and yeah theoretically me being a support would be great but the dynamic complicates it. The feelings complicate it.”

“So keep it in your pants. Jesus you men are insufferable with that shit. You don’t hear the lesbians complaining about not being able to keep it in our pants every time there’s a complicated situationship.” Charlie said. She meant to come across as well meaning but her words came out harsher than expected and she felt bad when she saw Dean’s jaw clench. “I get where you’re coming from but I think you’re just afraid of what you two could be now that he’s human and you’re in the same state. You’re not exactly Mr. healthy relationship.”

“Can we not psychoanlayze me?”

“Hey you asked and I answered but fine. I’m gonna go unpack more of my shit. Don’t have a crisis while I’m gone.”

Dean sighed deeply before waving Charlie away. He settled into the couch which he found surprisingly comfortable and closed his eyes for a nap. The furniture shopping had tired him out and he had a lot to think about when it came to a certain dark haired blue eyed man.

~

“Crisse, if I have to sit through another sexual harassment seminar I’m going to kill someone.” Cas muttered, head in his hands.

Meg, who had ducked into their home office on her way past, simply grinned at him. “Be thankful you missed the pride month one all about being an ally that somehow alienated all of the queer staff. That would’ve made you pull out all your hair. You get to the part about inter staff relationships yet?”

“Am I going to find a picture of you and Ruby on it when I do?”

“Maybe.” She grinned. “But that didn’t work out. She’s cool and all but we’re not compatible.”

“Yeah you’d have better luck pisser dans un violon. You’re both too hot headed. You need someone mellower, less dominating.”

“C'est moi, beacoup dominating energy here. Probably more than enough for both of us.”

Cas laughed in response. Meg hadn’t changed a bit and he was glad her humour was the way it was. It was hard to be miserable when he was being visually assaulted by the image of his best friend in leather. That had been a wild scene to accidentally walk into. He shut the laptop and turned in the chair, eyebrow raising.

“You’re dressed awfully nice.”

Meg curtsied, the deep v of her blood red blouse giving Cas more than an eyeful. The leather of her wide legged pants creaked when she straightened up, her bracelets clinking as she leaned back on her cane. She’d even done her makeup, sharp eyeliner and a dark glossy lip.

“Duh, I have a first date tonight.”

“Hey I don’t know your schedule.” He said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Is this a normal first date or like a Meg typical first date?”

“Painfully normal.”

“Do I get any details?”

Meg thought for a moment before shaking her head. “You can have them when I get home. Just take a load off and chill tonight. I just cleaned the tub, maybe have a bubble bath or something.”

“Yeah yeah. Now shoo, go enjoy whatever you’re doing.”

Meg flashed Cas one more toothy grin before she left, her perfume lingering in his nostrils. Blood orange and something distinctly woody, Meg had always liked scents that hovered between pleasant and strange. It seemed to match her personality.

Knowing he had nothing better to do for the rest of the night, Cas decided Meg’s suggestion of a bath was excellent. The showers he’d been taking, while nice and enough to get him clean, didn’t feel truly luxurious. A bath felt more luxurious, even if the thought of sitting in a tub of water squeezed his chest with a vicelike grip. He couldn’t be afraid forever, not when his career and his sanity depended on it.

Cas was quiet as he made his way to the bathroom, crouching down next to the tub. As the water warmed up he chucked some Epsom salt into the bottom of the tub and when the water ran hot but tolerable on his inner wrist, he plugged the drain and let the bath fill up. Halfway through Cas poured in a few capfuls of bubble bath, watching the bubbles foam up and spread.

“Please be nice to me. I just want to relax.”

Stripping out of his clothes, Cas stepped into the tub. The heat curled around his legs as he lowered himself into the water, the sensation not unpleasant just different. He’d never been sure what the appropriate way to relax in a bath was and he felt that now as he sat there, distinctly aware of the water level as it bobbed just below his pecs. Nowhere near his face, the water level was tolerable. As long as he was awake, he would be fine.

Around the ten minute mark the tingles began, spreading beneath his skin in a wave of small prickles. Cas shifted in the bath, frowning. The water had cooled to the comfortable edge of warm, certainly not hot enough to affect his skin. At twelve minutes Cas glanced down at his arms and legs. Angry red welts dotted his limbs and the longer he stared, the more the tingling concentrated and warped. It itched now and the urge to scratch was nearly overwhelming.

“I swear to god I’m allergic to your bath shit Meg.” Cas muttered as he reached for the bottle of bubble bath. He turned it over to read the ingredients. By fifteen minutes sweat was beading on Cas’ forehead and the tingling was borderline burning, overheating beneath his skin. His fingers rubbed at the angry welts on his arms, absentminded in their action.

When Cas’ fingers closed around the edge of the tub and he made his move to get out, the rubber band of sensation inside him finally snapped.

His wet hand gripped the tub’s edge as the burning tore through him, turning his vision fuzzy at the edges. The heat bloomed from inside him, white hot and violent as it forced him to double over. With it came the final shred of Cas’ carefully built resistance. His fingernails dug into the welts on his arm, an animalistic desperation to claw the itch out in full force. The burning dulled for a moment before it returned in full force, knocking the wind from Cas’ lungs in a pained gasp. Vison still fuzzy he dared to look at his arm and bile rose in his throat.

His red mottled flesh hung in ribbons from where he’d scratched and beneath it was a familiar flash of silver. Cas blinked in stunned silence, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. With a trembling hand he touched the silver. His recoil was instant, instinctual. Scales sat, shimmering and rigid, beneath the remaining ribbons of flesh.

“God, no.” Cas whispered, choked voice full of dawning horror. “Please no.”

There was no response in the humid tiled bathroom, no god willing to listen to his fruitless plea.

White hot pain ripped through his gut like a knife and Cas clutched at it, bath water foamy red as it parted beneath his hands. Claws erupted from the tips of his fingers, fingernails floating to find their place of rest on his shaking thighs. His temples throbbed and railroad spike pain shot down his spine.

A sharp crack echoed from within his leg and Cas clapped a clawed hand to his mouth to muffle the scream. If the neighbours heard they would call the cops for sure. Darkness clouded his vision and Cas was helpless to resist the changes as he sank beneath the water.

One by one, teeth fell from his gums as newer sharper teeth tore through the delicate flesh. A metallic tang filled his mouth as the bloody bathwater filled his lungs but it didn’t burn, not compared to the lines splitting his neck into segments and the bones in his legs fusing together. Cas thrashed weakly in the tub, water sloshing over the sides and onto the white tile. With a final burst of energy Cas managed to pull himself from the tub.

He hit the tile with a wet thwack and stilled for a moment before the violent shocks of transformation continued their assault on his body. Tearing at his skin with his alligator claws, his flesh sloughed off in neat little piles. Tears streamed down Cas’ face, sliding into his mouth and mixing with the blood and snot.

His mind flashed with visions of six years ago, of Lake Maren and what it had done to him. What it was still doing to him. Of course he hadn’t gotten away scot free. That would’ve been too easy.

The tile was cool against his overheating body and when Cas blinked, vision returning in fuzzy spurts, the full length mirror on the back of the door was right there. He squeezed his eyes shut, fresh tears pouring from them. Cas knew what he looked like, the claws and scales and teeth and he couldn’t bear to see it. If he saw it then it was real and not some fucked up dream in his head.

Cas didn’t know when but eventually he succumbed to the pain and the blood loss, consciousness slipping from his grasp like a quick fish.

~

In the impossible weightless darkness there was movement, bubbles racing toward the surface. They slipped past Cas’ bare feet and caressed his aching legs, tickling past his chest. Cas blinked slowly, cramping hands shifted as he turned in the darkness. Eyes trained on the endless pitch beneath him, Cas watched. 

A voice, booming and all encompassing, came at him from every angle, piercing his ears and drilling straight into his skull.

“I collect what is mine. You are mine, Castiel.”

Heart jumping in his chest, Cas turned his head to the endless darkness above and began to swim. The voice spoke again, louder.

“You cannot escape your fate Castiel.”

Cas kicked harder, aching lungs burning in his chest. Futile at best, still Cas kicked and swam. The darkness lessened, pitch black turning murky brown and sandy green and nearly clear. His fingers grazed the surface as a claw closed around his ankle and pulled him back into the darkness. The Lake spoke one more time, loud and darkly satisfied.

“You will always come back to me.”

~

Cool slick tile greeted Cas when he roused, the post-cry ache in his eyes dull in comparison to the rest of his body. His fingers were curled in on themselves like claws, arms pressed between his chest and the floor. Railroad spike pain bounced around his skull and shot down his neck where it joined the familiar ache of his spine. He’d been taken apart and put back together wrong. As he shifted and rolled onto his back, his hip popped and he winced.

Cas’ throat was dry and his lips scabbing over like they’d been bitten through, a perfect match to the shredded skin and broken fingernails on his hands. When the wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him, Cas moaned out in pain. It was too much, too much sensation for one man.

The memory of what had happened came rushing back into his mind and he shot up, crying out again when his body tensed. It felt like he’d touched a live wire, every muscle tense and every nerve alight with pain. He could barely focus through the fog of it all but the sobering sight in front of him cut through the fog like a knife through butter.

In front of him was the tub, still full of foamy bloody water. Blood dried on the tiles, bright red red streaks turning rusty brown as they flaked off. It looked like Cas had taken a knife to someone in the bathroom and when his eyes fell just beside the tub, he nearly threw up. Strips of skin, sticky and damp with blood and water, hung from the tub and peppered the floor as if Cas had flung them about. Buried in the piles were flashes of pearly white teeth and dark tipped nails. Bile rose in his throat before he could stop it and Cas gagged, hand clapped over his mouth. The smell hit him now, sickly sweet and a little musky like rotting meat and overripe fruit.

It hadn’t been a dream.

He hadn’t escaped Lake Maren.

There was no time to process what he was seeing or what it meant because a thought was occurring to him. Meg lived there. Meg, who was out on a date, lived there. Cas didn’t know what time it was or how much time had passed and the lightning strike of panic in his chest was enough to spur him into action. Dragging himself to the bathroom sink and opening the doors, Cas rummaged around for what he needed.

Gloves went onto his aching cramping hands while water and bleach went into a bucket. Pulling out the stopper to let the tub drain was done without looking, Cas too afraid to see how dark the water truly was. The shed skin squelched between his fingers as he picked it up and shoved it into trash bags. With the skin went the nails, teeth, and clumps of hair Cas picked up gingerly. He patted the top of his head after that, relieved to find that he still had all of his hair.

With the viscera gone, Cas set to work cleaning the remainder of the bathroom. The scent of bleach reacting with blood filled the air and the fumes filled his nostrils. It set a strange buzzing in the back of his skull, a welcome different pain than the ache that lingered. While he worked, Cas willed his mind to empty. He wasn’t going to think about Lake Maren or the bath or the horrific transformation or anything supernatural. Now was not the time to fall apart.

His knees creaked and popped as Cas finally rose to his feet and tossed the rags into the bag of viscera. No amount of laundering was going to remove the bloodstains. Only when he’d cleaned the bathroom did he realize he hadn’t cleaned himself, Cas reached for the final rag and lathered it with soap and warm water, heart hammering at the thought of water touching his skin again. There was no choice though, not if he wanted to keep this secret from Meg. The dried blood came away with little effort but the scrape of the cloth over Cas’ aching bruised skin left it red and raw.

Even the clothing he threw on, a soft long sleeve and sweats, felt far too rough against his raw skin. Everything that touched him was too much, too overwhelming. It rubbed against his skin, boxed him in, reminded him far too much of what had just happened. But less clothing would mean more questions.

Cas disposed of the evidence in the trash can out back before he made his way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out the bottle of wine. Neither he nor Meg drank much but there was always a bottle on hand for emergencies. A beaver and a cheeky name, frisky beaver, greeted him on the label but it didn’t bring a smile to his face. The beaver’s joyous expression felt empty, mocking even.

Cas didn’t bother with a glass, simply twisting off the cap and taking a long swig. Burning warmth bloomed in his raw throat but he didn’t care and took another swig. At least he was causing himself the pain this time. This was pain he could control, pain he could measure. It was his pain and his alone.

The thought that he should just give in to exhaustion and go to bed crossed his mind but the nightmares he knew would come for him quickly disavowed him of that notion. Doing more modules and organizing for work was out of the question too. Focus was an impossibility. Standing in the kitchen wasn’t doing any good either and the wine wasn’t working fast enough to keep the thoughts at bay.

Cas ended up on the couch with the bottle of wine and some sitcom he didn’t recognize but knew was popular playing in the background. For a while the fake laugh tracks and poorly aged jokes distracted him but memory began to creep back in, disguised by the foggy warmth of his dwindling sobriety. The buzz in his head matched the feeling working its way through the rest of his body, a strange mix of newly remembered pain and bittersweet panic.

His phone sat on the coffee table and with every glance at it, Cas felt worse. The logical rational side of him screamed at him to call Dean. He was the one other person who would understand, the one person who would drop everything to see if Cas was okay. That’s what Cas needed, the strong arms around him and the caring voice and the unconditional worry. But he wouldn’t get it. Not tonight.

Calling Dean meant more than just calling. It meant admitting this was happening and that Lake Maren hadn’t let him go. It meant telling Dean that what he’d done hadn’t worked the way it was supposed to. It meant looking into the eyes of a man who had just picked up the pieces of his own life and dashing it back to pieces. Dean had been through so much and as much as Cas wanted him, Dean didn’t deserve more pain.

Meg’s voice echoed in the entryway a few minutes later, loud enough to beard and positive enough to tell that the date had been successful.

“Hey, I’m back!” The clunk of boots being kicked off echoed in the house and then Meg made her appearance, hovering just behind the couch. Her nose wrinkled and then she sniffed. “Why’s it smell like bleach?”

That caught Cas’ attention and he tipped his head back, the motion making his head spin. “Cleaned the bathroom.”

“You never use bleach for the bathroom. You always say it smells like death. Also I cleaned the bathroom this morning.”

Cas shrugged and reached for the bottle of wine, frown deepening when he realized it was empty. When had that happened?

“You’re off.” Meg mumbled as she slid over the back of the couch to sit next to Cas. She winced as she did so but swallowed the curse before it slipped out. Her eyes scanned over Cas in the flickering light of the tv, taking in his bitten through lips and the faint mottled bruising on his neck. She was 80% sure that hadn’t been there when she’d left. While the shirt and sweats weren’t unusual, she knew enough to know what the clothing and the way Cas was sitting meant. It meant bone deep pain so vast no one else could possibly understand. It meant numbing yourself just so the pain was tolerable. It was trying not to drown in rough waters. “What happened?”

Cas blinked at her as if she’d asked the most obvious question in the world.

When Meg didn’t get a verbal response she reached for Cas’ hand, studying the bruised broken nails and the raw torn skin. Her touch was gentle, concerned, the kind of touch shared when you wanted to take care of someone.

That touch broke Cas.

A choked sob tore from his throat and when that dam burst, the waterworks started. He only realized he was crying when he felt the hot tears sliding down his cheeks and that realization, that water on his face, made him cry harder. There was no explanation he could give Meg that would satisfy her and even if he wanted to, the words just wouldn’t come out.

With no other option – no way to explain away the breakdown and booze and bruises – Cas buried his face in Meg’s shoulder and let the wave of sobs sweep him back into the deep memory filled waters of his tenure at Lake Maren.

Chapter Text

Meg was no stranger to Cas and his moods. She’d seen him all bright eyed and bushy tailed riding the high of successful research and she’d seen him sulking and low after a failed date. Her personal favourite was Cas four drinks in, all loose tongued and willfully lounging. He’d drape himself over the closest person and turn on the charm. It was ridiculous and entertaining all at once.

She’d never seen him like this.

Full body sobs wracked Cas and he trembled in her arms, hands gripping her blouse so hard his knuckles had gone bone white. Hot tears soaked through her blouse and Cas’ breath puffed rapidly against her neck where he’d buried his face. Meg wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Cas cry, let alone sob like someone he loved had just died.

She wasn’t quite sure what to do about the breakdown either. Painful human emotions weren’t in her wheelhouse. She could deal with desire and drunkenness and that special kind of joyful exuberance when something finally went the right way but not with the bone deep sorrow of another person. Her sorrow had almost drowned her three years ago and she’d sworn it off ever since. Had it been any other breakdown she would’ve teased Cas for losing it, lovingly bullying him back into his normal state. But this wasn’t any old breakdown and that would do no good.

“I’m guessing the bath didn’t go so well.” She said after an eternity of silence. By now her legs were throbbing and the arms she’d wrapped around Cas were nothing but pins and needles but Meg didn’t move a muscle.

Cas’ eyes burned when he removed his head from Meg’s neck, gently peeling his aching body away from hers. The soft fabric of his sleeve still felt like sandpaper when he rubbed it against his swollen eyes, collecting the few tears that remained on his face. No more tears fell but that didn’t stop his breathing from remaining shallow.

“Do you want tea or a cold cloth or anything?” Meg asked, eyes shifting as they scanned Cas’ face. When she g no response and awkward silence followed she felt compelled to break it. “You gotta bear with me here, I’m not good at this emotional shit. I’m gonna be even worse if you don’t start talking soon.”

“Tea would be good.”

Meg nodded before rising from the couch, cane in hand. “I’m gonna use the slow kettle so you have some time to compose yourself. Is chamomile fine?”

Cas nodded his head, sinking into the couch cushions as Meg left the living room. His spine ached like someone had stacked the vertebrae on top of each other wrong and when he closed his eyes, white spots danced behind his eyelids like floating tv static. The sharp pain in his head had dulled to a constant throb so he was sure that small mercies did exist. Not that small mercies made up for what was happening.

Meg returned with a mug of tea and a cool washcloth draped over her arm. She said nothing as she set the mug down and lay the cloth over Cas’ eyes. There were questions she wanted to ask but she couldn’t force his hand, not if she wanted answers. For a while Cas said nothing and when he did speak, he sounded weary.

“It’s like I’m here but not here.”

A beat of silence passed between the pair, Cas’ eyes still closed and Meg’s trained firmly on him like he was going to vanish if she looked away.

“This life and this body, you feel like they’re not yours.” Meg said quietly. “You’re here in this house with me and you can hear my voice and feel yourself sinking into the couch but it still feels wrong. It’s like a stranger stole your face and memories and now you’re watching from outside the house, banging on a dirty window, while they mill around with everyone you know.”

Cas swallowed thickly, nodding his head. “It feels wrong.”

“I know it does.”

“I thought that if I just went back to the way things were that I’d feel like me again, that I’d feel good and okay but I don’t. Seeing my family just made it worse.” By now Cas had peeled the cloth from his eyes and they settled just to the left of Meg. He wanted the comfort of knowing she was there as he spoke but couldn’t bear to watch her expression. “My parents look so old now and Claire, god that almost hurt worse. Last time I saw her she liked Rapunzel and now she’s in high school and dealing with crushes and I just- I missed so much and I hurt all of them.”

“If I told you that none of it was your fault, would you believe me?”

Cas’ silence spoke volumes.

“I’m glad you’re back here with me and that you’ve got your job back but you’re still going to feel hollow. That emptiness doesn’t just go away. Not this quickly and not that easily.”

“Except I don’t feel empty. Not even a little bit. I feel like someone’s shoved so much anger and pain and fear inside me I’m going to burst.”

“So burst.”

Cas’ face scrunched up, eyebrows furrowing. Two simple words and Meg had thrown him completely off the beaten path. He never knew what to expect with her but this felt even more out of left field. Sensing his confusion, she explained.

“Get messy and sad and scared and work through the shit because no one expects you to be perfect except for you. You’ve got a support system to help you deal with this shit and bottling it up is only gonna make it worse. I’ve been where you are, Cas, and it fucking sucks. Felt like I was in hell and no one was gonna come down and rescue me. But I pushed through and then Gabe was there and he did help. Let me help you. Let him help you. That’s what we’re here for.”

“You can’t fix what’s wrong with me.”

Meg arched an eyebrow, arms crossing over her chest. Gone was the sweet gentle tone ad replacing it was something more amused but still concerned. The shift in energy and posture was noticeable immediately, a flash of the Meg Cas remembered appearing.

“Who said I wanted to fix you? If I’m suffering then you’ve gotta suffer too, that’s only fair. I’m here to help, to ease the transition or whatever bullshit those yoga teachers or doulas spew. I’ve been through the nightmares and the physical pain and all of it and I’m still here so you’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got narcotics and sleeping pills so if you really need to get knocked out I can help.”

“Does it ever get better?”

Meg nodded. “Takes time but it does. I miss who I used to be and what I could do but I don’t hate who I am now either. Good and bad days Cas and we take them one at a time. I’m not letting this shit stop me from raising hell and neither are you. We both know you’re stronger than that.”

The sinking panic within Cas had dissipated but still left traces like salt clinging to dried sea beds. It wasn’t okay now but that didn’t mean it had to be that way forever. If Meg could come out the other end of tragedy with a sense of humour and a metal stick to hit people with, maybe he could survive the remnants of Lake Maren as well. While the conversation was far from over, Cas found he wasn’t in the mood to talk about what had happened. All it would do was raise more questions. So he changed the subject, settling back against the couch.

“We both know I still feel like shit but I want to feel better and I feel really bad about ruining your triumphant return home. So tell me about the date?”

“Do you seriously want to hear about my date? I’ll tell you but don’t feel like you have to listen to me or care about it.”

“One of us needs to have a sex life and it sure as hell isn’t me right now so yeah, spill.”

“So I’m halfway to the restaurant when I get one of those cancellation texts which rude but better than being ghosted again so I decide that I’m still gonna go out since I look hot as hell. I end up at Honey Dip, obviously, and it’s surprisingly busy for a Wednesday night.”

“That place is still open?”

“It’s the only lesbian bar in the area so yeah, it’s very much still open and it’s only gotten better. Anyways I get there and I order the usual and there’s this woman at the end of the bar just going to town on a serving of wings. She looked up and I swear to god Cas, she had such an innocent face. You know how I get around innocent women.”

“Yeah, you corrupt them.” He chuckled. “I’m assuming you wandered over to her to chat. You get her a drink?”

“Obviously. Caught me offguard when she ordered a grasshopper though. That’s an old lady drink and way too sweet. Ignoring the drink choice, we kind of just started talking and didn’t stop until she left. Said her roommate needed the car back for something.”

“You have to give me more than that. Did you get a name or a number? Are you planning on seeing her again?”

Meg sighed, shaking her head. “I didn’t get her name or her number so I doubt I’ll see her again which sucks because she was sweet and innocent and I would love to ruin that for her. All I got is she’s a redhead, used to have a vw bug, has a roommate, and that she’s in school.”

“Maybe the universe will give you a break and you’ll run into her again.” Cas said. Something about what Meg had said rung faint alarm bells in the back of Cas’ head but he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Maybe. Now I really need to get out of this bra and get the makeup off my face. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll live, go take all your stuff off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Meg rose without another word, her fingers grazing Cas’ shoulder in a quiet show of support before she headed off to bed. Cas lingered on the couch for a moment longer before peeling himself from it, groaning when his hip popped in its socket. He moved to the bedroom with the grace of an aching man and collapsed onto the bed, the mattress puffing beneath him. Firmer than the couch, Cas hoped it would straighten out his joints.

The bubbling of the tanks in the dark bedroom settled against Cas’ skin and erased the buzzing in his skull, replacing it with the pleasant white noise he’d become accustomed to. Cas didn’t look at the tanks though, too afraid of what seeing the water and the fish in them would do to him. The crime scene in the bathroom flashed behind his eyes every time he closed them and when he kept them open and trained on his hands, all he could see were flashes of claws pushing their way through his skin.

“God I feel like a fucking nut.” He muttered under his breath, rolling onto his side to stare at his nightstand.

A beat passed as Cas tried and failed to will his thoughts away and then another thought pushed his way into his mind. It was the kind of thought that made sense, the kind of thought Meg would encourage if she knew that the subject of it existed. His hand moved before he could stop it, burning desire taking over his reflexes. He scrolled through his contacts and dialed the last one he’d saved, phone pressed to his ear.

Cas had told himself he wasn't going to call Dean until the both had their lives back together. After all Dean was still moving and it wasn't like Cas knew what he was doing. But calling Dean was the only thing he wanted to do right now. That rumbling voice wouldn't solve his problems but it would make the ache dull and that would be enough. 

Dean answered after a few rings and his voice, warm and rumbly like spiced cobbler, rang out. He sounded pleased, almost excited, but still managed to tease.

“So you do know how to work a phone. Glad you’ve caught up with the rest of the 21^st century.” Here Dean paused, something rustling quietly in the background as he settled down. “You’re calling awful late, couldn’t sleep?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Cas confirmed.

“Let me guess, you’ve got nightmares? Or some kind of weird body ache. That’s usually how this shit goes.”

“Both.”

“Figures. Can’t have trauma without a constant reminder.” Dean sounded less amused than he had before, his voice softening into the tone Cas was used to. Soft and understanding, the tone felt antithetical to Dean’s background but it fit him perfectly. Dean was one of those thorny cacti that bloomed into something beautiful and fragile and Cas ached for it.

“How’d you manage it?”

“No strings sex and alcoholism.”

Shocked by the bluntness, a quiet laugh slipped from Cas. He hadn’t meant to laugh and hadn’t expected it after the events of the night, but it had happened nonetheless. That was just the Dean Winchester effect in action. The sheets crinkled beneath him as he settled into bed, eyes closing. Dean's voice was a balm and already it was soaking in and soothing him. 

“Pretty sure neither of those are good options.” Cas chuckled. “You sound like you’re doing good. Are you doing good?”

“I’m doing good, just dealing with the pains of moving and Charlie’s sense of style. She found this horrible orange couch and I just couldn’t tell her how ugly it was so now it lives in the living room. The new place is really nice though, despite the shag carpet.”

Cas shifted in bed, a small smile on his face. Something about Dean’s voice relaxed him and when he focused, Cas could almost pretend Dean was in bed with him. Dean would be on his back, arm outstretched so Cas could curl up to his side, and with his free hand he’d be gesturing wildly. Cas knew he’d fall asleep if Dean were here, that he’d feel safe and secure in his arms. But Dean wasn’t there.

Dean continued talking despite the silence from Cas, happy to ramble about the renovations he wanted to do for the house. New flooring, a better kitchen island, stripping the paint from the landlord special’d brick fireplace were just a few. It was a mundane conversation but something about it calmed Cas. His eyelids drooped as Dean started on a tangent about grout colours for a kitchen backsplash. By the time Dean paused to take a breath Cas was out cold.

There was a soft laugh on the other side and then Dean quietly wished Cas a good night before he hung up.

~

Dean was the first to wake in the morning and he moved wordlessly in the kitchen as he put a pot of coffee on, setting aside the final box they had yet to unpack. It was the entirety of Charlie’s mug collection and while he didn’t understand the appeal, she’d sworn up and down every woman had one. Her favourite mug looked like Spock’s face and Dean side-eyed it as he poured the coffee in. Human adjacent faces didn’t belong in mug form.

“Wanna tell me who you were talking to last night?” Charlie asked as she entered the kitchen, making a beeline for the fridge.

“Would you believe me if I said it was Cas.”

“About time you called him.” She mumbled as she pulled the milk from the fridge.

“Actually he called me.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, gesturing for Dean to elaborate as she took a swig from the carton. Dean bit back a comment about how unhygienic drinking directly from the carton was. There was a lot he would tolerate but that was a step too far. He slid her the Spock mug before continuing.

“He couldn’t sleep, pretty easy to figure out he was having nightmares or body aches. He asked me how to cope and how I was and then didn’t say much else. I just figured he needed someone to be there so I went on a tangent about this place and he fell asleep.”

“Oh my god, that’s actually so high school of you two. It's adorable.”

Dean shook his head in disagreement. “It’s not like that. He just needed someone and it’s not like anyone else is gonna understand what happened to him. I don’t think he’s adjusting well, it sounded like he'd been crying.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d be adjusting well if I was a freaky reptile for half a decade either. You should call him back or text him, ask him out for coffee or to chat or something. Doesn’t have to be anything crazy.”

“I will, I think. Kinda getting the vibe that he falls asleep when I talk and I'm a-okay being white noise for now. Still think it’s too early for coffee and a physical meet though.”

Charlie shrugged as if to say “if you say so”. It wasn’t too early for coffee but arguing with Dean was like arguing with a brick wall. Sipping at the coffee that Dean had brewed too long, Charlie let the kitchen settle into silence.

“Are you gonna tell me why you got back so late?” Dean asked. “Pretty sure getting textbooks and figuring out campus shouldn’t take until almost midnight.”

“It didn’t but I got hungry after and there was a bar near campus that had half off wings. So obviously I go in and turns out it’s a lesbian bar. Like full on lesbian bar.”

“So you were in your element.” Dean chuckled.

“Mhm. So I’m sitting at the bar eating the wings and there’s this hot woman across the bar who’s staring at me like she either wants to eat me or kill me. When I say hot I mean like could step on me and I’d thank her kind of hot. Red lipstick and a v-neck kind of hot. Anyways, she buys me a drink and we start talking and she’s got an accent. I don’t really know what kind of accent but it was hot anyway.”

“Okay so you charmed a hot woman by eating wings. That’s pretty you. Did you get a name or details or anything?”

“I was kind of busy eating and nervous rambling so no. All I know is lipstick, older, accent, and a cane. I fucked up by not getting details didn’t I?”

“A little, yeah, but guess you’ll just have to keep going to the bar and hope you run into her again. Bartender might know her if she’s a regular. I’d go with you but I’m not doing the whole bar thing, too much of a temptation.”

“Right. Well, I gotta figure out how to get all my collectibles on my shelf and continue to obsess about this mystery woman so I’ll see you later. Thanks for the coffee.”

Dean waved her off and turned to finish his coffee. It was lukewarm now but he didn’t really mind, too focused on everything else. Cas had called him and they’d sort of talked and while it wasn’t exactly what Dean wanted, it was better than nothing.  Maybe it would come in due time. Maybe all he had to do was wait.

Dean hated waiting but Cas was worth it.

Chapter Text

Dean had been through a million and one first days of work in his life but they never got easier. Every time it was a new uniform and a new building and new people. The new people were the worst. They had experience and pre-forged bonds with their coworkers and company specific technical knowhow and Dean didn’t have that. He had apprehension, too much caffeine, and pants that were too tight.

Twisting to check his ass in the mirror, the tactical pants hugged his legs even tighter and Dean sighed in defeat. He’d given them the right sizes when they’d hired him but that had been before he hit the gym. The pants wouldn’t split, not with the durable material they were made of, and the shirt would stretch with time, but it was still uncomfortable. Dean felt like a sausage squeezed into a tactical navy casing.

“Damn those really don’t leave anything to the imagination.”

Dean whirled around at the sound of Charlie’s voice, face flushed with embarrassment. He fought the urge to cover his crotch and forced his hands down to his sides. “No, they don’t.”

“You’re gonna make some old lady real happy today.” Charlie teased. “You excited about the new big boy job?”

“Not sure. It’s different each place and I really don’t know what everyone’s like. Knowing my luck I’m gonna be stuck with the shift partner from hell on day one.”

“Well that’s not a very can do attitude.”

Dean snorted, the expression on his face asking Charlie if she knew who she was talking about. He slipped past her to head into the kitchen to pack his lunch and she followed, sitting at the kitchen table. The air in the kitchen was thick with anxiety and the more she watched Dean, the more she noticed. He was keeping his hands busy and he kept chewing the inside of his cheek.

“You’re gonna be totally fine. You survived a supernatural lake so I’m sure you can survive being an urban paramedic. At least you have a job to go to. You’ve got me beat on that one.”

“You’re literally in school full time, you don’t need a job.”

“Yeah but we’ve got bills and house money only goes so far. I was gonna apply at the school library because they needed a librarian and I did that for a while but apparently you need a master’s degree for that. Guess my old library was rinky dink and hired anyone with half a brain cell.”

“Your old library was a glorified shoebox with books.”

Dean was right but hearing it out loud still stung. That library had kept her sane for years and already she missed the quiet stacks and alone time. It had been a sanctuary, even if it was mildewy and humid.

“Fair enough. Look, you’re gonna crush it and be totally fine. I’ll be home when you get back so you’ve got a ear to bend. Unless you wanna call Cas and ramble to him.”

“You suck.” Dean muttered, cheeks prickling with heat. He’d planned on trying to call Cas when he got back from the shift, wanting to check in about how he’d been sleeping the past few weeks. Also to hear his voice again but that didn’t need to be said out loud.

“That’s why you love me. Now go so you’re not late and don’t forget to have fun!”

Dean shook his head as he picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, smiling one final time at Charlie before heading out. The drive wasn’t long, maybe 20 minutes, and Dean had expected it to soothe him. Driving always soothed him. This drive was different. Maybe it was the uncertainty coiling in his gut like a snake or the anxiety buzzing like a mosquito but he couldn’t calm himself down. His grip on the wheel was white knuckle and by the time he pulled into the parking lot his hands were aching.

“You can do this. You’ve survived worse.” He mumbled to himself as the engine quieted. A quick breath in and out and then Dean was slipping out of the car, boots hitting the pavement with a familiar thud.

The day was supposed to be simple: meet the boss, meet his new partner, and then online training. It was supposed to be easy, introductory. When Dean walked into the building, the ease fell away right before his eyes. His boss stood in the corner with another man, his hands flying about as he gestured wildly. Dean couldn’t hear what he was saying but whatever it was wasn’t good.

At the sound of footsteps the conversation died and both men turned. Dean’s boss was an older man, his facial hair neatly trimmed. It was the suit that caught him by surprise, a nice three piece number that felt incredibly out of place. Obviously the man was a pencil pusher, not one who went out into the field.

“Glad that you’re on time and understand how a clock works. You must be Dean.” The man said, extending a hand.

Dean shook it, nodding. “I am. It’s nice to meet you in person.”

“I wish there was time for pleasantries but I have a fire I need to put out because no one in accounting can tell what a balanced ledger looks like. Bloody idiots all of them.”

With that his boss turned on his heels and stormed in the direction of his office. Eyebrow raised, Dean turned to the lanky man he hadn’t been introduced to yet. “Is he always like that?”

“Yeah, Crowley’s always like that. We tend to stay out of his way. I’m Garth, by the way. Guess you’re my new shift buddy.”

“Seems like it. How bad should I expect the online training to be?”

Garth’s grin was instantaneous. “Good news is that when you’re done banging your head against the table, I’ve got the skills to patch you up.”

“It’s that bad?”

“Yeah and it’ll take forever if we start getting calls. Speaking of, you wanna see the rig? I was about to do the check and restock.”

Dean nodded his head, following Garth out to the rigs. It was standard as far as Dean was concerned and when Dean saw the inside, some of his anxiety melted away. The rigs were supposed to be clean and organized and this went above that, looking positively pristine. It was probably a newer rig and that alone gave Dean hope. Garth knew how to organize and as he rattled off the supply list, Dean’s hope only grew.

“So why this place?” Garth asked, still staring at the checklist. “Heard that you came all the way from out East after leaving a pretty sweet gig.”

Dean chewed on his thoughts before holding up his arms, watching as Garth’s eyes scanned their scarred surface. “Workplace injury plus dead Dad meant leave. Besides, I’ve got a brother in town so wanted to be closer. What about you? Why be a paramedic?”

“Cheaper then medical or dental school.” Garth shrugged. “Keeps me on steady hours and lets me be home with the wife and kids.”

“You’ve got kids? You look 22.”

Garth raised an eyebrow before laughing. “Now some folks would call that rude but I get that a lot. It’s the ears and nose that fool people. I’m actually 32. But yeah, I’ve got twin boys and they’re a handful. What about you?”

“Definitely no kids, not my jam. I’d probably just fuck ‘em up. Got my best friend as a roommate though and she’s great. One of those met under weird circumstances and trauma bonded kind of friendships.”

Garth nodded but didn’t press further, unsure of what to even ask. Just from looking at Dean Garth could tell he had a story that wasn’t all too happy. The way he carried himself, like he was trying to box himself into invisible boundaries, spoke volumes. So did his hands and arms but that felt less important. Regardless of what Dean’s whole deal was, Garth didn’t care as long as Dean was a solid partner.

With the brief introductions out of the way and led by Garth, Dean made his way to the break room where he stowed his lunch and took a seat at one of the tables in front of a generously provided laptop loaded with training modules. The opening font alone was enough to give Dean the beginnings of a headache and he sighed deeply as he set to work.

His first day was going to be a long one.

~

The university halls were empty but the ghosts of students on holiday break still haunted Cas. He could hear their footsteps and chatter in the back of his mind like a radio station he couldn’t tune out, phantom tinny laughs echoing in his skull. Tables and chairs remained empty, as did the classrooms, and Cas felt like he was staring back at the inside of himself.

He supposed it was easier to get his credentials when there weren’t a millions students milling about but that didn’t ease the anxiety curling at the base of his spine. It built the closer he got to Zachariah’s office, as if the creature was finally rousing from its slumber. There was no need to talk to Zachariah but even the thought of seeing the horrid man was unpleasant. Zachariah meant small talk and uncomfortable conversation, questions that lingered too long and asked too much.

The office was quiet when Cas stepped inside and Anael glanced up from her computer screen, lips pursed into an unimpressed expression as she took in Cas’ appearance. Ratty jeans and a graphic tee weren’t the customary garb but then again Cas had never been one for customs.

“I’m assuming you’re here for your new credentials.”

Cas nodded. “Mhm. Email said they’d be available today and I’ve been itching to get back into the lab.”

“Don’t get too excited.” Anael said as she handed over the photo badge on a clip. “You’re lucy Zachariah’s in meetings today or he’d want to speak to you himself. He’s got questions about your time at the lake and it sounds like he’s determined to get answers.”

“Oh I believe it.” Cas muttered as he clipped the badge to his jeans. “Thanks for the badge. Have a good one.”

Badge in hand, Cas booked it from the office and took a sharp right towards the lab. He’d been told it was the same lab as before and that familiarity helped ease the anxiety that had returned once again. The same lab meant the same people, hopefully, and the same trusty centrifuge that separated everything perfectly in half the time. It also meant sharing a space with Meg again and that filled Cas was warmth. As particular as Meg was personality wise, she was a great lab partner. Methodical and focused, she was the first to notice when a titration went wrong or someone had used the wrong gel in the bacteria plates.

Clean and sterile, Cas breathed in the smell of alcohol when the doors parted and he entered the lab. It was largely empty but that was fine. An empty lab didn’t hold the same weight as empty hallways and classrooms. Meg sat in the corner, nodding along to a song Cas didn’t recognize as she dropped blood onto a slide she was preparing.

“Interesting music. Trop screamy.” Cas said as he slipped into the proper ppe and shuffled closer, plunking down into the empty seat beside Meg.

“Looks like they finally let you back in, that’s exciting. And it’s Dead Velvet, they’re a metal band from Montreal. Highly entertaining, very good loud noise to shut the brain off.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Not my cup of tea. And they did let me back in so now you’ve got your favourite lab partner back which is good because I think I might need your help with my research.”

That caught Meg’s attention and she raised an eyebrow, setting the slide and pipette aside. In all of her years of knowing Cas, he’d never once asked for help with research. Hell, he’d never asked for help with anything even remotely academic. His entire scientific persona was rigid and hyper independent.

“You never ask for help.” She said carefully. “What gives?”

“It’s my research. My job’s kind of contingent on having something tangible in a year and I can’t do it alone. Also you’ve got the human biology aspect covered better than I do and I kind of need that right now.”

“Your research is on lake life. I don’t get why you need a human biologist.”

Cas sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Meg the real reason that he wanted her help, that he needed her to figure out the transformation mechanism so he could save himself from it. But he had to tell her something and it had to be believable. Anything too outrageous and she would call him on his bullshit. In the end Cas settled on the vague truth. 

“When I was at the lake I took samples of the water and found this bacteria I’ve never seen before. It reacts really weird to blood and I only know that because I cut my hand and bled into one of the samples. I get the bacterial mechanisms but I get lost at the blood and human interaction component.”

Meg’s arched eyebrow raised for further. It was an intrigued arch, the kind that recognized well. The last time he’d seen it, they’d ended up at a shibari class and he’d ended up bound at the hands and feet. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. But there’s gotta be more to it than that.”

“I can’t do it alone, Meg. Every time I look at a sample or my notes I just freeze up. I can’t do the staring at my trauma every day alone thing. Also you’ll get your name on it as a co-author and I know you love the prestige and recognition of that.”

“I do love adoration, c’est défaut de caractère. But fine, you’ve convinced me. I’ll help you.”

Cas’ shoulders sagged with relief and he fought the urge to hug Meg out of sheer gratitude. If he hugged her she’d probably spontaneously combust and that would set the fire alarms off. Instead he settled for a squeeze of her shoulder.

“I owe you more than one at this point.” Cas breathed out, pulling his hand away. “I’m starting everything in the new year. Are you gonna be okay with that?”

“Totally fine. Now you know I love you but you’re insanely distracting so I need you to leave. I really don’t want to get more blood out of the fridge.”

“I’ll see you at home then.”

With that Cas left the lab, returning to the ghost filled hallway of the university. Meg’s help would be invaluable but there was a lot of information Cas still didn’t have that he needed. Unfortunately for him, that information would come with a price. Everything came with a price but this felt impossible.

When Cas returned home, his mind was long made up and the treacherous path was laid out in front of him. He pushed past the hesitation that bubbled within him as he stepped into his bedroom, staring at the desk in the room. A blank journal, bound in thick brown leather, lay there on the desk. Cas remembered setting it there years ago with the intent to pick it up and use it to detail his findings from Lake Maren.

“God that was a lifetime ago.” He mumbled to himself.

Bypassing the journal but cataloguing it for future use, Cas slipped his phone into his back pocket before heading to the bathroom. It would be hours before Meg got home. She was singularly obsessive when she was in the lab and by now she was neck deep in whatever she had been doing with the blood samples.

Stark white tile greeted Cas when he stepped into the bathroom and the faint fading scent of bleach lingered in his nostrils. It looked clean, pristine even, but Cas knew it wasn’t. There was a faint trace of blood red soaked into the caulk sealing the tub to the floor and when Cas’ eyes fell on it, his stomach churned. Blood soaked walls and piles of viscera came rushing into his mind like a flash flood, breath catching painfully in his chest.

It had been ground zero and here Cas was again, willing and able.

He knelt on the rug next to the bath tub and closed the train before turning the tap on. Water rushed out and he eyed it warily, the thunderous pour matching the roar of blood thundering in his ears. It filled the tub and when it was elbow high Cas shut it off. The water looked innocuous like this, calm and unmoving in the tub. This water was meant to clean, meant to be safe and relaxing and not a threat. But it wasn’t, not to Cas. This water was dangerous, like a rip current waiting to pull him out to sea and drown him.

Cas set his phone onto the floor with a quiet thunk, tapping at the screen until the recording app came up. The dot watched him like a red eye and with every quiet drip from the tap that hit the surface of the full tub his nerves frayed just a little bit more.

This was a colossally stupid idea. A monumentally idiotic decision. It was the kind of decision that was made after weeks of careful deliberation and several pros and cons lists. It wasn’t the kind of decision that should be made after a life-ruining realization and a desperation fuelled breakdown. But Cas had made it and he was going to have to live with it.

He tapped the button and then he spoke. Cas aimed for a clinical detachment, the kind of scientific analysis he had trained for for years, but his voice came out with a subtle shake like he’d consumed too much caffeine.

“The date is December 28^th, 2025 and the time is 6:29 pm. My name is Castiel Novak and I’m kneeling on the floor of my bathroom with a full bath tub next to me. This is an experiment regarding the physical manifestation of a bacterial infection caused by a cut sustained in Port Maren, Michigan. The aim of this experiment is to determine what level of contact with water will establish a physical manifestation.”

Cas paused to swallow the lump in his throat, still eyeing the water as if expecting it to jump out at him.

“It has already been established that water is the trigger for the physical manifestation and that prolonged contact must be maintained. I believe the contact must be fifteen minutes or more in order to trigger the manifestation. I aim to establish two things with this experiment: firstly, the length of time needed to trigger a physical manifestation and two, to see if the manifestation may be localized depending on contact.”

The deep breath Cas took didn’t fill his lungs and it certainly didn’t ease his anxiety. With no sleeve to pull up, Cas simply submerged his arm up to the elbow. Lukewarm water surrounded him on every side and when he flexed his fingers it felt like they moved in slow motion.

“I’ve just submerged my right arm up to the elbow in the water and now we wait to see what occurs.”

Cas stared at his arm as he waited. Each minute passed in agonizing half time, a slow spiralling torment of his own making. He’d been the one to stick his arm in the tub. No one had forced him. At ten minutes the localized tingling began, pins and needles zinging like mini lightning bolts beneath his skin.

“10 minutes into submerging my arm and I feel tingling beneath my skin, almost like my arm has fallen asleep. It isn’t painful now but prior experience dictates that this will change by 15 minutes in. This is the beginning of the physical manifestation, the warning sign if you will. I believe this sensation is caused by the bacteria reacting or possibly being activated by the introduction of the water. Their reaction likely stimulates the nerves beneath my skin.”

12 minutes in and Cas watched as the angry red welts appeared, raising his skin and blotching the white away. The itch lived beneath his skin but he didn’t scratch, didn’t dare to dip his other hand into the water. He couldn’t compromise the experiment, even if the experiment didn’t exactly follow the scientific method or the regulated controls it was supposed to.

“It’s been 12 minutes and hives have appeared on the part of my arm submerged under the water. They’re red and angry and the itch lives beneath my skin, crawling like a bug. When this manifestation first occurred I believed it to be a reaction to a bath product or even to the heat of the water, like heat induced urticaria, but this water isn’t warm and there are no products in it. I suspect this is just the progression of the manifestation, a priming for what will occur.”

Cas knew what was going to happen when he hit the 15 minute mark. The tingling itching hives would spread and his arm would burn, his blood burning hot in his veins. When the burn spread the true horror would begin and his body would tear itself apart, skin sloughing off and new claws pushing his fingernails from their beds. The first wave of burning passed through Cas and he groaned audibly, clenching his fist.

“The burning’s started,” he said through gritted teeth. “This is the final stage before the physical manifestation. Now it gets painful.”

When the burn became unbearable and his skin was pure red, the connective tissue began to loosen and the hives began to droop. They peeled from his arm like raw bacon, wrinkled and discoloured, and slid into the tub. Blood spread in the water, the red a stark contrast to the white porcelain of the tub. Beneath the skin lay silvery scales.

Cas’ voice shook with pain and fear when he spoke and try as he might, he couldn’t mask it.

“The skin on my arm has peeled away and there are scales beneath. They’re silver and text—“

When the black tipped claws punched their way through his nail beds Cas cried out, a guttural moan of pain dropping from his lips. His fingernails drifted to the bottom of the tub and settled there like discarded sediment. Pain shot up his arm into his shoulder and his jaw tightened as he adjusted to the feeling. It was only when he blinked back the tears that blurred his vision that he realized he’d been crying.

“My fingernails are gone. Now they’re claws.” Cas said, voice hovering on the edge of dizziness. He wanted to give in to the pain that swept over him but he couldn’t. The experiment demanded a narrator. “This is the physical manifestation, a human hand turned clawed and scaled. The claws are sharp enough to harm and webbing sticks between them.”

As the pain dulled, Cas had the sense to withdraw his claws arm from the tub. It lay across the edge, the light glinting off of the water and silvery scales. Had it not been his own arm, he would’ve thought it beautiful. The scales faded out at the ditch of his elbow, disappearing underneath the layer of skin that remained unblemished.

“The affected arm has been removed from the water and will now dry off. While I have not seen the reversal of this process, I suspect that it will revert once the arm is dry.”

Without the pain to focus his mind, Cas’ thoughts began to drift. He’d expected to be afraid, to feel the overwhelming urge to break down like he had a week ago when he’d first transformed. But he wasn’t afraid, not really. He feared the repercussions of the transformation but not the act itself. If this experiment proved successful it would change everything.

The minutes ticked on in a painful silence as Cas stared at his arm, watching the water droplets evaporate. At fifteen minutes the webbing between his fingers tightened, the thin membrane pulling his fingers together. They drew closer and closer, the skin pulling taut until it audibly snapped and fell into the water.

“The webbing just fell off of the affected hand.” Cas said, an air of horrified intrigue in his voice. “It wasn’t painful, just strange. A bit like the feeling of sunburnt skin pulling tight just before it peels.”

Tingling pain burned at the end of Cas’ fingers and he bit down on his lip to muffle the quiet gasp of pain. The black tipped claws seemed to loose themselves from the scaly skin, blood pooling at the crescent edge.  It slipped from his fingers and splashed onto the edge of the tub and when the nails fell from his fingertips, they too landed with a quiet splash. When the shooting pain lanced through the tips of his fingers, Cas knew what was coming. Human fingernails pushed their way through the scaly skin, blood stuck underneath the growth.

“My fingernails have come back, pushed through the skin. Blood is trapped beneath the nail but one sweep with a toothpick should clear it up. I believe it’s been 20 minutes since my arm has been removed from the water and the reversal remains ongoing.”

All that remained were the scales, the same silver colour they’d been back at Lake Maren. Dean had called them beautiful once, said they shone like the moon, but Cas didn’t see it. In the yellow light of the bathroom the scales were dull, a silver dollar reduced to a matte grey like a fish stuck in a murky tank. That’s what Cas felt like, stuck. He was stuck in every aspect that mattered.

Cas saw it before he felt it, the final reversal of the transformation. The skin above his arm, pale and human, seemed to take on a life of its own. It slithered past the crook of his elbow, thin fibers knitting together atop the silvery scales like a morbid fleshy tapestry. In a matter of minutes it had reached his wrist and Cas twisted his hand, watching with a morbid fascination as it knit over his fingers and encased the newly grown fingernails.

“My skin has come back.” Cas said, awe in his voice. “It feels alive, like something warm and sentient has taken over. I feel the blood running beneath it and it’s just- it’s so strange. 25 minutes and the transformation has completely reversed itself. With the water gone, whatever mechanism causes the transformation reverses. More study is needed.”

Cas expected relief when he stopped recording the experiment. What he found instead was heavy, a deep aching question mark settling into his chest. The transformation was reversible and there appeared to be a minimum threshold but that was all he knew. He didn’t understand the mechanism or the biology or any of it. That’s what set his nerves on edge, the not knowing.

This quest for knowledge, for answers, was desperate and messy but it was necessary. The urge had burrowed so deep into his being that Cas was convinced he would die if he didn’t figure it out. He needed it like he needed air.

When Cas peeled himself from the bathroom floor, his knees cracked and his back ached in protest. Too long he’d knelt on the floor and he was half convinced that he’d never walk properly again. But science, and peace of mind, had demanded answers. He moved quietly, deliberately, cleaning up the remnants of the transformation and disposing of them in the trash. Gone were the skin, nails, and bloodstains. All that remained was the dull ache in Cas’ arm and the recording stored on his phone.

Cas forewent supper when he passed the kitchen, far too caught up in the rigors of the scientific method. Leftovers could wait until after his brain quieted down. The quiet of his office greeted Cas when he stepped inside and he sat at the desk, phone set on his left as he reached for a blank journal. His Lake Maren journals, all stacked neatly on the shelf left of the desk, held the precursor to this. They held evidence of his first transformation, cradled his nightmares with paper arms.

“Just transcribe this and be done for the day. That’s all you have to do.” He told himself as he reached for the pen.

The sun was long set by the time Cas finished transcribing and his fingers, still aching from the transformation, cramped around the pen and trapped it in a vicelike grip. All of the writing and additional notes in his looping cursive, all of the hours he’d spent pouring over the controlled experiment, dogpiled into his brain. It swam there now, just like a shark waiting in the depths to attack. When he closed his eyes he could still see his skin sloughing off, could still feel warm wet blood dripping from his fingertips.

Lake Maren hadn’t left, it had simply slumbered. And now it woke. Now it rose from the depths like a cosmic horror waiting to drive him mad. He wanted to break down again, to cry and scream and tell Meg everything just so he’d have someone else who understood but he couldn’t. Roping her into this world, into this supernatural clusterfuck, after all she’d been through, was unfair. She deserved better than that.

Cas pulled himself from the office when he’d finished, vaguely aware of Meg puttering around the house somewhere. She’d gotten back an hour ago and he was pretty sure she’d passed by the office but she hadn’t said anything and he hadn’t looked up from his notes. He didn’t feel like talking to her, too afraid his sour mood would put a damper on her research.

In the end Cas retreated to his bedroom, curling up in bed. The aquariums cast an eerie blue light on his face, flickering shadows darkening his brow. Comfortable but too soft, the mattress creaked as he rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. A single plastic star glowed faintly and a small smile quirked at Cas’ lip. He and Meg had put it there years ago as a good luck charm during finals.

The stars were the only thing Cas missed from Lake Maren. When Cas lay at the bottom of the lake and stared up, they sparkled through the mirrored surface. Not quite yellow and not quite silvery, there was something beautiful about the heavenly freckles splashed across the midnight sky. For a just moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay. He wasn’t a monster then, just a man staring up at the stars like so many others.

As much as he wanted to sleep, Cas couldn’t seem to quiet his mind enough to relax. It raced with continued thoughts of the experiment he’d conducted earlier. His arm still ached and tingles zinged beneath his skin, a phantom reminder of what lay beneath the surface. Would there be scales beneath his skin if he peeled it back like this? Or would it just be fat and muscle? Did the monster lie in wait to be triggered or did it grow when it hit water? There was still so much Cas didn’t know, so much he needed to find out.

The quiet ring of his phone pulled Cas from his thoughts and he reached for it, glancing at the caller id. Dean’s name flashed on the screen and Cas’ heart fluttered in his chest. He hadn’t expected another call but he wasn’t going to complain either, not when he got a distraction in the form of a rough and tumble voice and shitty jokes. Cas picked up, tone surprisingly teasing.

“Do you ever sleep?” he asked, hoping he sounded more at ease than he was. “This is the second week in a row I’m getting a midnight call.”

Dean’s silent grin was almost audible. “Do you?”

“Sometimes. Any particular reason you’re calling?”

There was a beat of silence and another faint rustle echoing over the call before Dean spoke again. He was less amused now, his voice quieter and his tone peppered with concern he was doing his best to conceal. “You sounded rough last week, just wanted to see if you were doing better. Also I finally started my new job and I wanted to tell you about it which sounds dumb when I say it out loud.”

“It’s not dumb.” Cas said, settling down. Dean’s concern set itself down on his chest like a content cat, the emotion rumbling through him like a contented purr. He still cared enough to check in. More than that, he’d wanted to call and talk about his day. It was the want that hit Cas in the chest. “And I’m okay all things considered.”

“Are we talking okay as in I’m sleeping and actually moving on okay or is it more of a nightmare fuelled hellscape barely scraping by okay? Because it’s okay if you’re not okay, just for the record.”

Cas sighed deeply, eyeing his very human arm. “I’m getting there. It’s just one day at a time. Well more like one sleepless night at a time but that’s not really a you problem.”

“They’re pretty strong then, the nightmares. How hard is it to fall asleep?”

“Last time I slept well was when you called.” Cas admitted sheepishly.

Dean’s words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Guess I’ll have to call you every night then.”

Cas’ eyes widened, breath catching in his chest. It was an innocent sentence but the meaning behind it didn’t feel innocent, not with the entirety of what he and Dean were. The worst part was the way Cas wanted it, the way he craved it. He wanted to talk with Dean but he wanted more than that. Cas craved the strong arms holding him tight and his willpower was quickly dissolving.

“You say that like you’re planning on ending up in my bed.” Cas said, slipping into the quiet familiar throes of teasing. Dean made it easy to tease. He made it easy to pretend like his life was normal and not a horrible fucked up mess.

“Maybe you’ll end up in mine. It’s brand new, could use some breaking in. Beats a falling apart double.”

“Someone’s cocky.”

“Had a good day at work, what can I say.” Dean chuckled. “Can I tell you about it? Might help you fall asleep.”

“I mean you can but do you really want to share knowing I’ll fall asleep. I know your history with one-sided conversations and it isn’t great.”

“Knowing you’ll get a little sleep because I talked is all I need. Don’t need you to talk back, just happy to have you on the other end.”

The unadulterated honesty in Dean’s voice hit Cas square in the chest, warmth blooming from the rapid increase of his beating heart. Dean had always been honest but this was different. This was honesty without intending to be vulnerable and the accidental reveal of his intention meant everything. He called because he wanted to, because he wants the company, not because he expected something in return.

Cas reached for his comforter, pulling it over himself as he tried to get comfortable. The weight of the blanket was comfortable without being too heavy. Even if it was heavier, Cas was too busy focusing on Dean who had already started to explain his day.

As Dean detailed his day Cas felt fatigue wash over him like a gentle wave, pressing his body into the bed. His eyes closed halfway through Dean’s explanation and when Dean paused to check in, Cas offered him a half asleep mhm from the back of his throat. While he hadn’t forgotten the experiment or its results, that particular noise had taken a back seat in his brain.

The last thing Cas remembered before sleep overtook him was Dean talking about a fall risk he’d helped that day and the whole-body sensation that just maybe sleep wasn’t the enemy if Dean was there while he slept.

Chapter Text

Cas didn’t recognize the man he saw in the full length mirror; the neatly styled hair, grey encroaching at the temples, and the tired lifeless eyes blue like limpid tears just didn’t fit. Neither did the scars on his face, still that angry fresh red instead of the faded silver like the rest on his body. His shirt, a long sleeve button down, bore a repeating salmon pattern that fell just on the professional side of professionally whimsical. It hung a size too big on his frame and he tucked it in with a sigh.

“I wasn’t expecting chipper but damn, this is downright depressing. Giving that sad clown a run for his money.”

Cas turned, startled by Meg’s voice. His smile was tight, the kind of smile that showed barely repressed anxiety thrumming below his skin. He didn’t bother with pretenses or false assurances because Meg would see right through them and call him out for it. She’d always done it.

“Yeah well you’d be nervous as hell to teach your first class back after a six year long absence. I want them to like me.”

“You’re their prof, not their best friend. Just do your job and be yourself and you’ll be fine. There’s a reason you’ve got such a high rate my prof score.”

Cas raised an eyebrow as he slipped out of the bathroom, making a beeline for the kitchen with Meg in tow. “How high? It can’t be that high.”

“4.6.”

“4.6? Wow, guess they do like me.”

Meg nodded, turning away from Cas to rummage through the fridge for her milk and overnight oats. Healthier than she was used to, the convenience of them had won her over in the end.

“Like all of the freshmen girls in your classes have crushes on you, just so you know. It’s that whole dark mysterious accent thing you’ve got going on. I don’t get it but I haven’t been 18 in a hot minute.”

“Neither have I.”

“Well I’m sure it’ll be fine. I’m gonna be in the lab most of the day except for three. They’ve got me leading a few labs for some courses so I’m stuck watching idiots forget their ppe and get locked out of the lab.”

Cas chuckled in response, reaching for an apple from the bowl of fruit on the counter. The bowl of fruit felt a little too normal for how odd the rest of the house was but he didn’t mind the illusion it gave. Apple skin crunched beneath his teeth as he took a bite and Cas winced, the sound bouncing around his skull eerily similar to the sound of his snapping bones mid transformation.

“You’d think 17 and 18 year olds would know not to wear open toed shoes into a lab setting but apparently they don’t. Would you want to get takeout later tonight? Just as a first day back celebration thing.”

“Only if you’re okay with midnight takeout. By the time I finish in the lab and get back, it’ll basically be tomorrow.”

“I’ll be asleep by then so don’t worry about it. Could we do something Saturday instead? I want to go out and feel normal.”

“Saturday works.” Meg agreed. “I gotta hit the lab early today so I’m taking the oats to go. Good luck with class, I’m sure you’ll kill it.”

Cas watched Meg leave and when he was alone, his shoulders sagged and the forced smile slipped from his face. Excitement and anxiety had combined into the stomach-ache that worked its way through his system. He’d missed teaching and how rewarding it could be but the students themselves were almost always challenging to deal with and his patience was limited at best. With the unknown on his mind, Cas made himself a cup of coffee and headed out for work.

Campus was bustling when he slipped into Danforth Hall, the halls once again filled with chatter and footsteps. Students queued at the only coffee shop open at 8 am and when Cas passed the line he was glad he’d brought this own coffee. No amount of waiting in line for coffee that mediocre was worth it. As the door to the classroom came into view, his heart kicked up a notch. He’d prepped for this day and this class and it was smaller than his usual class size but that brought him little comfort.

“You can do this. It’s just a few classes and it’s syllabus day.” He mumbled to himself as his hand closed around the door handle.

The classroom was small, long desks lined up in neat rows facing a projector screen flanked by whiteboards on either side. Moving quietly, Cas set his messenger bag on the desk and rifled through it for his notebooks and laptop. Muted chatter in the background overlapped the sound of his fingers on the keyboard as he logged in and pulled up everything he’d need for the day. With everything ready to go, Cas turned to face the students and the chatter died instantly.

20 students stared back at him from their desks, expressions ranging from barely awake to locked in and excited. One student in particular, some girl right in the front, looked mildly horrified as she stared at Cas and it made his stomach drop. Already hyperaware of his appearance, Cas’ anxiety decided to ramp up a little more. The scars and the novelty shirt clashed, a conflicting tapestry of collagen and cotton blend.

“Good morning everyone. So sorry they scheduled this at 8 am on a Monday. Definitely not my first choice either.” Cas’ voice echoed in the quiet room and he made a mental note to quiet it a tad before he spoke again, shifting to lean against the desk in the hopes he’d come across more casual and less anxious. “I’m Dr. Novak but that’s insanely formal so just call me Cas or professor or whatever. This is BIOL-3409 Marine Mammalogy so hopefully you’re in the right spot.”

The students blinked at Cas, remaining silent. He continued, anxious out of practice sweat beading at his temples. This felt like riding a bike with a rusted chain in an unprotected bike lane, a gamble with the potential for catastrophic consequences.

“We’ve got 3 hours and I know that sucks so I’ll try to give you guys a 10-15 minute break every hour if I can. There’s a lab component that’s 40% of your grade and that’s weekly. It’s quizzes mostly, but there may some scientific writing. I believe the lab’s Tuesday nights at 5.”

A guy in the front half raised his hand, shaking his head. “It’s actually Wednesday at noon.”

Cas pursed his lips before glancing down at the syllabus, eyes scanning the dates. Embarrassment prickled his cheeks when he saw the time slot for Wednesday. Clearly this wasn’t off to a good start.

“Right, thank you for pointing that out. Moving on, we have a midterm, a final, and one research paper alongside the lab mark. I’d like to note that I will drop your worst two lab marks as that’s something I’ve always done. If you have any issues with any of the work or the assignments, I’ve got office hours and I do check emails regularly. I promise I’m not as terrifying as I seem.”

That earned Cas a smattering of nervous laughter from the students. They weren’t comfortable and neither was he. It was the kind of standstill that could result in awkward tragedy regardless of who drew first. He continued on, outlining the way the class would progress and his general expectations. They were simple, just show up on time and at least try to look like you were paying attention. Snacks and coffee, while not mandatory, would earn good graces and mercy on tough assignments. By the end both the students and Cas seemed more relaxed but crumbled like sand when a girl in the back raised her hand. Cas called on her, waiting to see what she had to say.

“Can you tell us a little about your research?” She asked, completely innocent in her intention. “I’ve read all your research papers and noticed you haven’t published anything about your last project. It was some kind of out there lake wasn’t it?”

Cas’ heartbeat spiked through his chest. It was an innocent question but the flash of claws and teeth behind his eyes was anything but that. The student hadn’t known and she didn’t mean anything by it but that didn’t help. His throat tightened and the lukewarm coffee he sipped to dislodge the lump forming was bitter.

“Sounds like someone is eyeing a ta or ra position.” He said, praying it came out as amused. “I can’t say too much about what I’ve been working on as I’m still in the early stages but I will say that it’s related to bacteria so if that’s your thing keep an eye out.”

Seeming satisfied with the answer, the student left it alone. Cas, quick to switch up the conversation, launched into the mini lecture he’d planned for that day. It was easy to introduce the subject and even easier to lose himself in little anecdotes and fun facts about the marine mammals. Marine mammals were warm and full of life and nothing like the memories that lived beneath Cas’ skin.

He let them out early and the grateful expressions on the passing faces said more than words ever could. The clock read 10 am and the prospect of being stuck on campus for hours longer was devastating. He wanted to get back into comfortable clothing and away from the reminders of the lake but he couldn’t, not when there was another class to teach and a lab calling for him. In the end Cas slipped from the classroom and made a beeline for his office, pining for the seclusion and the stacks of paper. If it was anything like he’d left it, every surface would be covered with books and there would be mugs more fuzzy than ceramic. Those mold spores alone would save so much on material cost. Hand on the door handle, a familiar voice called out before he could open it and slip inside.

“Castiel, is that you?”

Cas winced, biting back a comment under his breath, before he turned around. The smile on his face, too tight around his eyes and too thin with his lips, was undeniably forced. His eyes landed on the man quickly approaching, unsurprised to see nothing had changed. His hair was still dark and the navy suit he wore was still rumpled at the collar like he’d forgotten to steam it the night before.

“Long time no see Mick.”

Cas’ voice was cool and clipped. There was no mistaking his lack of excitement but Mick breezed past it like it didn’t matter, eyes taking in Cas’ appearance. He took it slow, drinking Cas in like he was a prized specimen to be studied- which, in the case of this entomology professor, was a compliment of the highest regard.

“You look good. Been back long?”

“Officially, just today. Unofficially, mid-November. I take it you’ve been here the entire time?”

“Can’t fire the invertebrates guy.” Mick grinned. “Got any plans for lunch? I’d love to catch up.”

Cas glanced at the office door before returning his gaze to Mick. The question was loaded and with any luck the gun would go off and, knowing Mick, Cas would find himself in bed with the man. His relationship with Mick had always been less of an official give and take and more of a desperate situationship he didn’t care enough about to give up. Too busy to date and too fed up with the drag of dating app hookups, Mick had been easy and convenient.

“No plans yet. I can swing lunch but I’ve got a class at 2.”

Mick’s grin widened and he gestured for Cas to lead the way to the on campus restaurant. The food wasn’t great but it was cheap and it came quickly so it was the only decent option not constantly inundated with students. With great reluctance Cas stepped away from his office, turning down the hallway with Mick. Neither said anything as they made their way to the restaurant, Cas a man of few words to begin with and Mick desperately trying to find the right ones.

“I’d heard rumblings you were coming back,” Mick said as he broke the silence. “Meg started them and I think we all thought she was losing it. Obviously she wasn’t.”

Cas nodded his head before turning his gaze to the menu. It remained unchanged and the feeling of relief that washed over him was instantaneous. Thank god one thing was normal, even if it was a shitty university restaurant menu. He scanned it, though he already knew he was going to settle on something quick and easy to choke down, and tried to think of what to say. Talking about himself wasn’t an option.

“No, she wasn’t. What was it like in my absence? Everyone’s been tightlipped.”

Mick lasered into the conversation, leaning forward as if he’d suddenly booted to life and focused. He’d assumed, correctly, that Cas would still be a man of few words and that he’d need to steer the conversation. They’d always operated like that, Mick talking and Cas taking the lead when they were alone and it counted.

“Well Meg was more miserable than usual, like active avoidance miserable. There were talks about cutting the marine biology specialization because none of the contract professors wanted to stick around and let’s be honest here, your pretty face was half the appeal to enroll.”

Bile rose in his throat and Cas swallowed it down, the bitter aftertaste remaining. The sentiment wasn’t surprising but the way Mick had said it, the way the compliment had curled around his tongue like a snake, left Cas reeling. Mick’s intentions were obvious and Cas didn’t have the heart to entertain them. He didn’t want the song and dance that ended with mediocre sex in a bed that desperately needed new sheets. The sex hadn’t even been good in the first place.

“Well, I’m sure that appeal is a thing of the past.” Cas mumbled, distinctly aware of the tight scar tissue pulling at the skin of his face as he spoke. “What have you been up to? I’m sure it’s been interesting.”

“The tenure track has been achieved. Give it a year or two and I should have full tenure which I‘m looking forward to. Having the power will be nice. Oh I teamed up with some of the physicists and we’ve been looking at various forms of locomotion in the animal kingdom. There’s some fascinating research we have coming out soon about millipede locomotion and its scientific applications.”

Cas’ downturned frown said it all. Fish and mammals he could handle but he drew the line at invertebrates. Something about the unnatural way they moved and a lack of a core spine just didn’t feel right. It was like looking at one of God’s mistakes and with that thought came the quiet insidious thought that just maybe Lake Maren’s influence on him had made him one of god’s mistakes too. What a fate that would be, taking a nap in the dirt and water with the rest of the rejects.

“I’m sure that’ll be a fascinating read. Certainly an exciting career development.”

Mick nodded, still focused on Cas. He waited until their order had been taken by a student waitress who looked like she’d rather be anywhere else in the world before he continued, eyes still trained on Cas. “So, tell me what your time away was like. I’m sure it must’ve been fascinating if you were gone for so long. Especially if you came back looking like this.”

Cas felt it before he realized what was happening, the subtle brush of long fingers against the skin of his face. The touch was gentle but Cas recoiled, unable to help himself. Rough against his scars and invasive in all the wrong ways, Mick touched Cas like he was entitled to him – like their past trysts gave him the right to.

It was nothing like the way Dean had touched him. There was no tenderness, no longing, no cradling his face like it was something sacred and blessed and all too fragile. Cas’ chest panged with a distinctly miserable emotion, the dismal echo of longing paired with the sharp uptick of missing someone that wasn’t really is. Mick wasn’t Dean.

“I’d rather not talk about that.” Cas said, boundary holding firm unlike the slight quaver of his voice. “I’d also appreciate if you didn’t touch me.”

Mick’s brows knit together, demeanour shifting as he leaned back in his seat. The relaxed posture was a front, made obvious by the tension laced through his shoulders and neck.

“Don’t be like that, Castiel. I’d hardly call us strangers.”

Cas’ eye twitched but he held his tongue until the food was in front of them and the waitress was gone. He’d planned on being professional and distant but this changed things. This entitlement pissed him off.

“Strangers or not, you’re not entitled to affection and you’re certainly not entitled to me. It’s been six years.”

“Six years of you off the grid without so much as a goodbye call. I didn’t even know you were leaving until after you were gone.” Mick mumbled, voice caught somewhere between indignation and real anger. “I know we may have just been fuckbuddies but I still feel like that warranted a call.”

“There was a lot going on and I’m not going to have an answer that’ll make you happy so I’m not going to try. You have to know all we were was physical. There wasn’t a connection and I thought that that was clear.”

“It wasn’t, just for the record. Felt awful when you upped and left and now you’re back and I really don’t see anything wrong with picking up where we last left off. It’s been long enough that I’ve learned new tricks. Can’t fault a man for wanting to return to familiar territory.”

“I’m not interested. And I'm sure as hell not territory.” Cas said firmly as he slid from his seat and rose to his feet. “I’m glad you’re doing well and congrats on the tenure track but this was a mistake. I’m not the same person I was and I don’t have the patience or desire to deal with whatever this is. So I’ll see you around Mick. But just as a colleague.”

Cas tossed a few crumpled bills onto the table and then he left, back turned to Mick as he hightailed it out of the restaurant. His mind raced with thoughts of Mick and how the reunion had been the dumpster fire he’d expected it to be. Six years later Mick was still pining for him and Cas didn’t understand why. Strictly physical aside, it wasn’t like he was a catch. He worked too much, had too many peculiarities, and he couldn’t forget the best part – the silvery scales and reptilian eyes hiding just beneath the surface. What kind of person would see that and want it?

The phone in his pocket weighed it down like a brick and Cas itched to pull it from his pocket and call Dean. A conversation would quiet the thoughts in his brain but Dean was working and a voicemail would do more harm than good. Text was a possibility but that didn’t feel organic enough. In the end Cas decided he’d just wait for their scheduled nightly call and hope Dean could make it.

A brush of someone’s body against his side snapped him from his thoughts and for a moment he was staring at a face that seemed almost familiar. He registered the red hair and small smile and flash of a purple t-shirt graphic and then she was gone, fading into the crowd of people moving from classroom to classroom in the hall.

Had that been Charlie?

Cas brushed the thought aside as he hurried to his second class of the day, already rehearsing the welcome speech in his mind.

~

Not even deep sea biology, Cas’ favourite class to teach, could salvage his mood. The students had been great with syllabus related questions and general interest questions during the lecture but it hadn’t been enough to distract him from the Lake Maren thoughts in his mind. They’d warped from Mick and his intentions to torturous flashbacks of him and Dean in the cottage. Hands on hips, lips on lips, desperate breaths moaned into willing ears, Dean was all he could think about.

Dean who had bared his soul to the man he only knew through writing.

Dean who had risked supernatural consequences to save a man he owed nothing to.

Dean who had finally built a life and future he was excited for.

What would Dean think of him now? What would he think of the man held together by late night phone calls, too much caffeine, and a desperate reckless need to pursue the truth of his condition?

The quiet of the house offset the noise in Cas’ brain as he stepped inside, keys jangling as he dropped them into the bowl in the entryway. Meg wasn’t home, stuck in the lab until late, and for once Cas was grateful he didn’t have company. She’d ask too many questions and get in his face and unravel him faster than a machine made knitted sweater.

The stiff drink he poured himself burned the back of his throat but the sensation brought a welcome clarity, cutting through the swirling thoughts like a sharp knife. He left the bottle in the kitchen and padded to his bedroom, exchanging the dress clothes for a comfortable t-shirt and sweatpants. Still too early to call Dean, Cas thought about settling down with some lesson prep but that didn’t feel right. That was something for when his brain didn’t want to run wild with Lake Maren thoughts.

He settled in the bathroom in the end, hands braced on the edge of the sink and phone on top of the toilet tank. The day had been terrible and an experiment felt like it was needed. If nothing else it would replace the swirling thoughts with pain and while it wasn’t the most ethical way to rid himself of the feelings, it was the quickest.

“This is experiment number two regarding the physical manifestations of a bacteria contracted during my tenure at Port Maren.” Cas’ voice came through loud and clear, just a hint of uncertainty lingering in the background. “Previously I observed the manifestation on my right arm from hand to elbow. This time I’d like to see if I can localize it to the face.”

The quiet sound of the sink filling with water echoed in the background and as it filled, Cas’ confidence dipped. This was a stupid idea, running the experiment when his head wasn’t fully in it. For all he knew he could end up hurt or worse but that was kind of the point. If he changed and it hurt and he could catalogue it then it was worth it. Understanding his condition, even at his own expense, meant everything.

“It’s the same process as my arm except for the fact that I can’t talk because of the prolonged contact needed. I’ll elaborate when I can, if I can. Also, I can’t hold my breath that long so I’m going to use a snorkel that I have that I used to use for triathlon training.”

The set up felt ridiculous but Cas had long flown past caring about it and when he dripped his face into the water, the warmth of it was surprisingly pleasant. For the first few minutes Cas allowed himself to feel like this was normal, like he was doing self-care and not something incredibly stupid and impulsive.

Like clockwork the tingling began 10 minutes in, his skin tightening against his cheeks and jaw like it was dehydrating. When the welts sprung up the tight skin thinned more and heat radiated deep into the musculature beneath his skin. At 15 minutes when the pain peaked, Cas removed his face from the water and dropped the snorkel on the floor.

“15 minutes have passed.” He said, his voice scratchy and deep and not quite his own. “The tingling and tightness is there. Soon there will be teeth and scales and crocodile eyes.”

When the familiar wiggle of loose teeth set into his gums, Cas knew what was coming next. The first tooth hit the surface of the water with a dull thud and warmth bloomed in his mouth, blood sliding down his lips and off his chin. Iron and metal coated his mouth and Cas dropped his head as he spit blood in the sink, watching it spread like ink under the surface of the water.

When he glanced up at the mirror, alarm sent his heart jackhammering in his chest.

The skin at the scar on his temple had bubbled and the edge hung from his face like a fleshy peel. Cas reached for it with a trembling hand, fingers gripping the raised edge before he tugged. It peeled away with a sticky Velcro like sound and he dropped the strip into the trash, watching dismally as silver scales slick with blood revealed themselves. Skin peeled away from his hairline now and Cas, more curiously horrified than anything else, grabbed at the edge and tore it off in quick motion.

Staring at the remnants of his face in his hand was a singularly unexplainable experience.

The skin of his lips was wrinkled and pale, the scar tissue as silver red as it had always been. Thin dark hair made up his eyebrows and when Cas peered closer, eyes squinting, he could see eyelashes stuck in the eyelid. Staring at his disembodied face like he was staring at a stranger, it was almost beautiful. There was something ethereal in the sheer absurdity of what was happening.

When the rest of teeth fell from Cas’ mouth with a shooting pain, the absurdist beauty died like a bug squashed underfoot. It spiked up into his skull as the sharp tricuspids descended, breaking the skin and filling his mouth with more blood. As he blinked, his eyes began to change. His perfect vision grew cloudy, the colours dimming as everything turned blue. Yellow slid over the surface and when Cas blinked, crocodilian eyes stared back at him.

Cas tried to speak but his words came out in a deep unintelligible rumble, the noise birthed in his stomach and practically yelled from his throat. Only his face was affected and the image before him startled him. He felt like someone had glued a mask to his face, like what he was seeing wasn’t real. But it was.

He moved quietly as he collected the remnants of his face and tossed them in the bathroom trash. If his face followed the same pattern as his arm, he had 20 minutes until it reverted and he was fully human again.

During the wait Cas emptied the bathroom trash into the nearly full bag in the kitchen and leaned against the counter, bottle in his hand as he took a few solid sips. The alcohol wasn’t good and the burn bit at his raw throat but the warm buzz spreading through his veins was exactly what he needed. If he was warm and fuzzy then he didn’t have to think about Mick or Lake Maren or any of his problems. He could just be.

When the buzzing returned to his teeth and the drying scales on his face tightened, Cas knew it was time. He stumbled back into the bathroom – blaming the lack of coordination on his reptilian eyesight and not the alcohol he’d consumed – and stared himself down in the mirror. The tips of his tricuspids dulled until they resembled normal human teeth and the yellow seemed to evaporate from his eyes, icy blue returning. Like it had with his arm, the skin on his neck seemed to take on a life of its own as it spread over the scales on his face and covered them.

15 minutes later Cas was staring back at his human face, fingers skimming over the soft skin. It was solid beneath them, no indication that it had ever been anything other than human skin. Face too tight and mouth still aching, Cas spoke his first words in close to an hour and a half.

“As expected, the physical manifestation has completely reversed itself once the skin sufficiently dried out. It appears that the reversion takes approximately 15 minutes and while it isn’t painful, it is strange. I imagine it feels like what putting heavy makeup on one’s skin would feel like. Experiments need to be run on my legs and midsection but that’s for another day.”

Finishing the recording, Cas cleaned up what remained of the mess and disposed of the entire affair so Meg would be none the wiser. He even went the extra mile, plugging in one of the air wick plugs so the house would smell like less a fish market and more like apple cinnamon. The clock read 7 by the time Cas made his way to the office to transcribe the recordings into the journals and adding his own notes took even longer. By 11 he was sufficiently drunk and his writing was sufficiently illegible.

At 11:30 Cas collapsed into his bed, the mattress beneath him rocking like the waves of a lake. Exhaustion bloomed behind his eyes as he closed them but sleep wouldn’t come easily. It would come on the wings of a nightmare, bloody claws digging into his being as it forced more memories down his throat. Cas would sleep and wake, choking and gasping for air, like he always did.

When the phone rang Cas picked up immediately, rolling onto his side so he could hear without having to hold the phone or put it on speaker. His voice was warm and a little slow, the words tripping on his tongue and tangling in his accent.

“Dean, hey, been a bit.”

There was a moment of silence and a quiet confused laugh before Dean spoke, the quirk of his eyebrow evident in his tone.

“Yeah, a whole 24 hours. Are you good? You’re a little slurry.”

“Mm, might be un peu saoul. Been a long day.”

“Kinda figured.” Dean mumbled. There was another pause as Dean mulled over his words, trying to find a way to be concerned without overstepping. “Guessing you had a rough first day back?”

Cas sighed and then the mask cracked. The crack was small but it was there. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. The lectures were désastreux and then there was Mick and now here I am.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean’s question was simple and the answer was anything but. Cas ached to tell Dean everything and he knew that would solve half the battle but the hesitancy remained, its influence too strong to ignore. He didn’t know enough about the transformation yet and running to Dean half-cocked would only set one or both of them off.

The ache in Cas’ chest cried out despite his misgivings, a low mournful keen he was hard-pressed to ignore. He felt empty, lonely, exposed to the outside environment without protection. It had been there since Port Maren, if Cas was being truthful with himself, but he’d been able to ignore it in Shediac. Here he couldn’t ignore the need that gnawed at his atrium like a caged animal. It called for Dean, called for his presence and his arms and his voice. It wanted Dean in bed beside him, wanted that safety and security and understanding no one else could provide.

“Cas?”

Dean’s quiet concern cut through Cas’ thoughts and pulled him back to reality. He sighed, a miserable guilty noise, and rolled onto his back. “Désolé. J'étais dans un different place. But no, I don’t really want to talk about it. I just want to hear your voice.”

Another beat passed and when Dean’s voice came through it had softened around the edges.

“I want to see you, Cas. I know you need space and we’ve both got our own lives to deal with and we’re calling but it’s not enough. I know this is some stupid chick flick sentiment but I miss you and we’re both in Cali and I just – I wanna make sure you’re okay man.”

Cas swallowed thickly, the raw emotion of Dean’s admission catching in his throat. He actually missed him, actually wanted to see him. Heat prickled Cas’ cheeks, the flush burning when his lips turned up in the tiniest of smiles.

“You really want that coffee date don’t you? C’est doux.”

“Doesn’t have to be a date, gonna make that clear. Just a catch up. Feels like something we should do. It’s something I want to do.”

Cas’ resolve broke like a porcelain tea cup smashed on the concrete.

“Okay, yeah, we can do coffee.”

Dean’s smile was palpable through the phone and the relief evident when he spoke. He could’ve talked all night after that win but Cas conked out 20 minutes later and Dean simply ended the call, letting him sleep.

Progress had been made and with it came the excitement of finally seeing Cas’ face again.

Chapter Text

The Bradbury-Winchester rental house had very quickly become the Bradbury-Winchester home.

With everything unpacked and new trinkets being added on a semi consistent basis, the home looked less like an empty landlord special and more like the acid induced nightmare found only in cult classic b movies from the 80s.

Dean’s bedroom was simple, all wood and metal and modern with its intense lines. It didn’t feel lived in but the bones were there and day by day he was adding little things: a dog eared copy of Ender’s Game on the nightstand, a few vinyls neatly arranged next to a record player on the shelf, and his new personal favourite on his bed. He passed the plush creature from the black lagoon every time he walked by his bedroom, amusement in his eyes whenever he saw the slight misprint of the scale pattern. It was stupid and frivolous and he was allowed to have that now.

Charlie’s room, on the other hand, was a plush colourful nightmare. Posters, trinkets, and collectibles covered every available inch of space like slowly spreading moss. It was tasteful, if not a little juvenile, but Dean wasn’t going to gripe or take away Charlie’s joy. His only wish was that she hadn’t gotten such a bright purple duvet. His eyes ached from the grape assault every time he glanced inside. 

The kitchen was Dean’s favourite place to be. There was something about the well-loved butcher block countertop and slightly mismatched chairs that felt like the right kind of homey. A sage green backsplash and natural wood cabinets helped with that too. This was the kind of kitchen he'd dreamed about as a child. It was the dreamlike kitchen he found himself in now, apron tied tight and oven mitts on his hands.

“Well damn, look at you being all Martha Stewart.”

Dean glanced up from where he’d been sprinkling coarse grains of sugar on top of a steaming apple pie, a flush spreading from his ears to his cheeks. “Minus the insider trading. Also minus the tits.”

“You with tits is a terrifying thought so thanks for that mental image.”

Dean grinned at her before slipping from the apron, still eyeing the pie warily. He’d spent far longer than he cared to admit trying to perfect it and it had fought him at every turn. The butter hadn’t been cold enough, the blind bake had nearly ended in fire, and peeling the apples had ended with blood and a bandaged thumb but still he’d persevered. Was it a perfect apple pie? God no. But he’d made it himself and it was passable and that’s what mattered.

“We both know I'd be too powerful as a woman. How was class?”

Charlie shrugged. “Fine, boring. Kinda know everything they’re teaching already so it just feels like really expensive review. Unrelated to class but I got you something.”

From behind her back Charlie pulled out a gift bag, holding it out to Dean with an excited smile. He eyed it like he’d been eyeing the pie but reached across the counter to take it anyway. The glittery bag was rough beneath his fingertips.

“Why’d you get me something?”

“Gee Dean, what day is it?”

Dean glanced at the calendar and then sheepishly down at his hands, chewing on his lip. It was January 24^th and they both knew what that meant. He’d never made a big deal out of his birthday and hadn’t planned on starting now. Birthdays as a child had been missed or marked with presents in 50 shades of black and blue. Only once had Dean gotten a present, a small amulet Sam had given to him instead of Bobby. It sat in his glovebox now, untouched since the night Sam left for Stanford. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” He mumbled as he opened the bag. Nestled inside was a framed movie poster Dean recognized instantly. Hell Hazers II: The Reckoning slashed across the top of the poster in red bloodlike ink and in the middle was the star mid scream, ghostly hands coiling around her wrists. When he looked back at Charlie he was grinning. “I’m not gonna ask what internet rabbit hole you went down to find this but I love it. Thanks.”

“Any time. I was gonna bring a pie home too but I know you’re gonna be out tonight. The nerves hit yet?”

Dean nodded his head. “I’ve pulled people out of burning buildings and brought them back to life but this is freakier. This I’m not prepared for.”

“I mean it’s dinner so it can’t be that bad.” Charlie said as she sat at the kitchen table. “You’ve got pie and a car to run away if it’s really bad. Also you don’t look terrible so that helps.”

“Not looking terrible isn’t the same as looking good so uh real confidence booster there. And it’s not like I think it’s gonna end bad, it’s just that it’s been like a decade and I don’t even know who he is anymore. Hell, even I did an entire 180. It's like two people who've met once for five minutes meeting again at a random coffee shop a year and a half later.”

“I’d say treat it like a first date then but that feels a little weird.”

“Yeah, no, definitely not like a first date. Even if it wasn’t a family dinner, I don’t do lawyers. Or cops. Or dental hygienists.” When Charlie raised her eyebrow, Dean elaborated. “It’s a gloved fingers in mouth thing. Reminds me too much of work. You'd be shocked some of the stuff I've had to pull out of people's mouths or other...places.”

“Sure, whatever you say. Do you want me to wait up for you to get back? For decompression gossip time I mean cuz we both know you’re gonna wanna spill all that tea.”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I kind of almost slipped this morning because I was nervous and if this goes bad then I’m definitely gonna be tempted to slip and I don’t wanna do that. This is the longest I’ve been sober since I was a kid. 8 moths is kind of a huge deal for me.”

“Gotcha. I’ll be here with my games when you get back. Good luck and have fun.”

Dean offered Charlie one final nervous smile before he wrapped the pie in a layer of saran wrap. He slid into his boots, not bothering to lace them up, and then into his jacket. It was as he reached for his keys that he came to the horrified realization that his jacket didn’t fit. The fabric stretched too tight across his shoulders and he sighed, grumbling under his breath as he left. Between the work uniform and his jacket, he nkew he'd have to shell out a chunk of change for a new wardrobe. 

The drive wasn’t long, 45 minutes at the most, but Dean’s stomach began to twist itself into increasingly more complicated knots the closer he got to the university side of town. He was driving into a world that didn’t feel like his, one of higher academia and money and prestige. This was hoity toity Ivy League territory, not the backroads dirt and motor oil he was so used to.

Dean still remembered the last time he’d been in the same room as Sam and the memory washed over him like an unwelcome rainstorm.

The manila envelope lay on the cheap formica table, its contents scattered like the paper innards of a slain beast. Dean, tall with the strappings of young adulthood and the casual arrogance to match, stood next to the table like a sentinel. He didn’t move, didn’t swivel his head, didn’t do anything except keep his arms crossed over his chest and stare at the door with an emotion caught in between betrayal and relief.

The squeak of the turning door handle broke the silence and when the door opened Sam entered. He’d sprung up like a weed and at 17 he was eye level with Dean. Pushing the mop of brown hair away from his face, Sam’s eyes fell upon the torn open envelope and then trailed their way to Dean’s face.

“Did you open my mail?”

Dean blinked at Sam, gaze still levelled at him. He didn’t answer the question and when he spoke, his tone was cool and unimpressed. “Stanford huh? You just in love with those Cali palms or?”

“I applied to college, so what?” Sam shrugged as he stepped inside. He approached Dean with the caution of a man approaching a stray animal, slow hesitant steps and even slower movements as he reached for the scattered papers. One wrong move and this would end in disaster. 

“Do we seem like college people Sam?”

“Just because you and Dad aren’t doesn’t mean I’m not.” He replied, collecting the last of the papers. The atmosphere was charged, the tension nearly taut enough to snap. “I’m not like you and Dad.”

“I saw what those papers said. You didn’t just apply, you got in. Hell, you’ve got yourself a full ride and a cushy place to stay on campus. Must be nice.”

Sam’s eyes darted back to the door but he didn’t move from his spot on the floor. The second he moved Dean would move and while he had the height advantage, Dean was far stronger. None of that even considered the fact that John could pop up at any minute like an unwanted visitor.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” Dean asked, the anger in his voice cracking into something rawer. “Or was I just gonna wake up one day with you gone?”

Sam didn’t reply, the words lodged in his throat. He could see the red splotches blooming on Dean’s cheeks and the shine of welling tears in his eyes. It cut him deep but his resolve didn’t crumble. This was his only chance to escape, his only chance to chase the dreams he had been cultivating his entire life. 

“Dad would’ve ripped this up and thrown it away if he saw it.” Sam said at last. “He would’ve screamed at me and told me that I was staying, that I didn’t have a choice cuz we’re family and that’s what family does. Well I’m tired of being nobody, Dean.”

“You’re not nobody. We’re not nobodies.”

The words in Dean's mouth tasted like cardboard. They were nobodies in the grand scheme of things, just backroads passerby no one had enough time with to get to know, 

“Yeah, we are. It always hey I’m Sam, I’m the new kid or hey I’m Sam that wears flannels older than me. Can’t forget Hey I’m Sam with the dead mom and the Dad that’s never around. Can’t forget hey I’m Sam with the brother who almost flunked out of high school. I'm more than that, Dean, and i deserve better. I deserve the chance to have someone actually get to know the real me.”

Sam’s words dug their claws into Dean’s chest, pain and shame spreading like blood from the open wound. He wasn’t wrong about any of it but that didn’t make it sting less. Dean wanted to spill everything Sam had never seen, all of the horrid little details about what he’d done to keep Sam safe over the years but he didn’t. Spilling them was selfish and all it would do would guilt Sam into staying. Wanting Sam to stay with him knowing John was still around was selfish. 

“We did our best, Sam. We really tried to give you what you wanted. M’sorry it wasn’t enough, that I wasn’t enough.”

Sam sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face before turning his back to Dean. He shoved the envelope into his duffel bag before crouching, rooting around the dresser for his remaining clothing. It was easier like this, easier to look away from his older brother crumbling behind him. If he turned around he’d be just as bad as Orpheus.

“Why do you stay?” he asked quietly, letting the question drop like a bomb. “You’re an adult, you don’t have to stay with him. You should’ve left when you could.”

Dean’s laugh came out like a bitter bark, a quick huffed sound devoid of amusement. The answer was as obvious as 2 plus 2 but Dean didn’t share it. He couldn’t share it. Telling Sam he stayed for him meant disclosing everything. It meant sharing the bone deep bruises, the nights he kept watch like a sentinel, even the hushed quiet things Dean had done and buried deep in his brain.

Answering Sam’s question meant dooming him to stay.

“If you want your fancy college life away from us then go, Sam. Grab your shit and leave.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he stood back up, eyes catching Dean’s. There wasn’t yelling or crying or fists flying in his face, just a singular kind of bitter sadness etched into the lines of his brother’s face. This Dean didn’t look like an adult at all. He looked like a child. A frightened sad child.

Sam swallowed thickly as he slung his bag over his shoulder, brushing past Dean. He hesitated on the threshold, head turning just enough to see Dean in his peripheral. Dean’s lip trembled and his hands were shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunching like he was trying to make himself smaller. The last thing Sam heard before the motel door slammed behind him was Dean’s trembling voice, brimming with pain.

“If you walk out that door, don’t come back.”

Dean brushed away the stray tear that had slipped down his cheek as he turned onto Sam’s street. His own words echoed in his head, the pain behind them just as real now as it had been then. Sam hadn’t come back after that, hadn’t even reached out. No-contact had been what he needed to chase his dreams. That night haunted his dreams but he didn't regret it. Not once had he regretted letting Sam move on to bigger and better things. 

“Fuck, okay, pull yourself together. It’s just a dinner.” Dean mumbled as he pulled into the driveway. The engine cut with a sputter and then he was staring at the house.

It was the left side of a duplex with grey siding and a roof that was in desperate need of new shingles. New builds were always like that. The steps up to the red front door were simple and done well and Dean turned sideways, pie in hand, to avoid being slapped at the waist by the bushes flanking either side of the entrance.

His breath came in slow measured exhalations to try and soothe the anxiety thrumming through his body. Ironclad grip on the pie despite the tremble in his hands, Dean eyed the door with measured caution. It was a just door and while it couldn’t hurt him, the people behind it certainly could. 8 years and Sam wasn’t going to be that same lanky 17 year old Dean remembered.

The doorbell rang and Dean waited, chewing nervously on his lip. When the door opened, Dean’s eyebrows shot up with confusion.

He’d expected a blonde haired woman to open the door. What he got instead was a short brown haired woman with a pleasant smile. She stepped aside to let him in, gesturing to the hook on the wall for Dean to hang his coat.

“Sam’s just finishing setting the table.” She explained. “I’m Eileen by the way.”

Something about the cadence of her voice threw Dean for a loop and it took him far longer than he cared to admit to register that she was deaf in some capacity. He’d heard that tone before but it was few and far between. Tight jacket removed, Dean extended a hand to shake hers. “Dean. Nice to meet you. I brought pie.”

“I like you already.” Eileen hummed, taking the pie from Dean before leading him down the hall to the kitchen.

Dean could smell the food before he saw it, the aroma of freshly roast chicken and vegetables drowning in a buttery sauce like music to his ears. It was healthy, which he could take or leave, but it had also taken effort and that meant a lot. The matching cutlery and plates felt fancy – even if it wasn’t – and Dean felt himself fall that much more out of place. This was an apple pie life and he was glad Sam had it. 

Sam, who had been in the corner of the kitchen fixing something, turned and any expectations of what he was supposed to look like flew out the window. Dean’s head tipped up to catch a glimpse of Sam’s face. Gone were the chubby baby fat cheeks and in their place cheekbones that felt sharper than they needed to be. His hair was longer now and it curled at the nape of his neck just above the broad shoulders. Everything about him felt larger, even his presence. Sam Winchester, physically and intangibly, now took up space in the room with confidence and pride. 

“Holy shit, did they slip growth hormones into that Stanford food or something?”

Dean’s eyes widened as the words slipped out unprompted, embarrassed and anxious. Sam blinked slowly, as if processing what had been said, and when he replied his voice was far deeper than Dean remembered. “What happened to hi hello how are you?”

“Right, yeah, sorry. Just uh, you kind of got tall and broad.” Dean mumbled, hands out to frame Sam’s figure. “Do you even fit in doorways?”

“He doesn’t. It’s very entertaining.” Eileen interjected, grinning slyly at Sam before she took a seat at the table. "You should see try to fit into a bed."

“I make do, let’s leave it at that.”

Dean nodded before taking his own seat at the table, glancing at the food and layout so he didn’t have to look at Sam.  The anxiety thrumming in his veins hadn’t lessened but it had changed shape, less sharp around the edges now. It was oozing slowly now, coating Dean’s tongue and brain and tripping him up. He was going to say the wrong thing at some point and then all of this was going to blow up in his face. It had always been like that. He’d always been like that.

“So this is a nice place, definitely not what I was expecting. Are you guys renting or?”

“Have been for the last four years. Eileen’s still in school and I’ve got student loan debt so not like we could afford a house.” Sam said. He gestured for Dean to help himself, hoping the food would ease the tension everyone could feel. 

Dean reached for the serving spoon and piled his plate with what he considered a respectable amount of food. He knew he’d have more but it was all about appearances and appearing greedy wasn’t on the list for the evening. When Sam and Eileen had filled their plates, he carried on the conversation.

“Makes sense. House ownership’s a pain anyway with the mortgages and insurance and property taxes. I’ve got a rent to own deal with my roommate. Best of both worlds and less of a headache.”

“You have a roommate?”

“Yeah, her name’s Charlie. She’s your age actually, maybe a few months younger. It’s one of those we shouldn’t be friends but somehow it works situations. I’m sure you’ve had a few of those.”

Sam nodded and the conversation ended there for a few minutes. The food was good, the chicken skin crisp without being burnt and the vegetables just the right side of done. Dean helped himself to a second piece when he’d finished his plate, happy to pretend it wasn’t awkward while they ate. The awkwardness had dulled some more but it still hung like a thin veil as he and Sam danced around the truth with guarded silence. Neither wanted to bring up the elephant in the room first. 

“Anyone want a drink?” Eileen asked, her voice breaking the silence. Sam nodded and Dean swallowed thickly. A cold beer would do wonders to alleviate his unease but he couldn’t, not when he’d come so far. He suppressed the itch and shook his head, earning a surprised glance from Sam.

“You were serious about the sober thing?”

“Yeah I was. Been 8 months since I had anything. Kinda didn’t want to fuck up my liver anymore. I’m not going out the way dad did.”

Dad.

Three simple words and the entire evening changed.

Sam’s face scrunched up like he’d smelled something rotten, lips going flat and eyes narrowing. Dad dredged up too many memories, roused too many skeletons from the back of the closet. Hell, Dean being across from raised things he’d rather remained buried.

The man that sat across from Sam didn’t feel like his brother. His Dean had been young and dark eyed, the kind of person who yelled at you and then immediately apologized. That Dean had been a boy haunted by ghosts he couldn’t name, a blunt object walking in the ugly too large footsteps of his father. This Dean was subdued, a quiet man who’d confronted his demons and had to bury the remains. This Dean was older, more grounded. This Dean felt human.

“Guess you finally got away from him in the end.”

Dean shrugged, staring down at his empty plate. “I mean he’s dead but I’ve never gonna get away from him. You don’t get to get away from someone like that.”

“I got away from him.”

“It’s not the same.”

That earned an eyebrow raise from Sam and when Eileen, who’d just returned from the kitchen with Sam’s beer, heard what Dean said she paused. Her glance at Sam, while quiet, spoke volumes. This is a serious talk you two need to have and I’m not going to be here for it is what it said and then she excused herself without another word, vanishing further into the house.

“What do you mean it’s not the same? He was a drunk neglectful ass to both of us.”

“Can we just not do this? I don’t want to get into an argument about this shit.” Dean mumbled. “I just want to catch up and see how you’ve been. Talking about Dad’s not gonna make this better. hell it'll douse the peace offering in gasoline and light it on fire.”

“Fine. But I’m not dropping this forever.”

Dean sighed in relief, though the pause on John Winchester didn’t make him feel any more at ease. “So, you obviously got through school which is great. What’s work like? I dunno how easy it is for new lawyers to get jobs.”

“It’s fine, just busy. The target billable hours are a little bit insane cuz it's a big ass firm but I’ll manage. They’ve got me sort of in-between family law and criminal law. It’s kind of awful if I’m being honest. I just keep staring at all these photos of kids who’ve been abused and neglected and I feel like I’m just staring at photos of us. Thank God Dad never hit us I guess.”

The breath caught in his throat nearly choked Dean out. Sam said it so casually, like it was nothing, and skating on the razor’s edge of the truth made Dean nauseous. Sam couldn’t have been wholly oblivious and he had the whole lawyer searching for the truth thing going which meant his motives couldn’t be trusted. It didn’t feel like a fishing expedition but that didn’t mean it wasn’t.

When Dean didn’t respond, Sam’s expression darkened. There was a tension to Dean’s posture now, hunched shoulders and guarded look on his face. He was chewing his lip and Sam recognized that from his childhood. It was a nervous tick that he himself had picked up from watching Dean over the years.

“Dean?” he asked quietly, head tilting as he tried to meet Dean’s lowered gaze. “You’ve gone a little radio silent.”

Dean glanced up and threw Sam one of his casual disarming smiles that didn’t quite meet his eyes. He prayed Sam didn’t notice. “Right, sorry. Just didn’t realize you were doing high profile stuff like that already. This might be a weird question but I thought you were with Jess? That’s kind of what the internet told me. Well your socials anyway.”

“She died. Housefire.” Sam’s tone was clipped, a tired sadness lingering in the background. “Would’ve been five years ago, just before I got into law school.”

“Shit, sorry.”

“Not your fault the build had faulty wiring or that I was out studying and not home.”

“No but still, you don’t get over something like that easy.” Dean said, glancing down at his hands. The scars that stared back seemed to flicker silver in the kitchen lighting. “I would know.”

Sam leaned forward, readjusting. His eyes flicked to Dean’s hands and when he saw the scarred skin, more alarms triggered in his brain. Those hadn’t been there 8 years ago. The closer Sam peered, the more he seemed to notice: Dean’s crooked nose, the smaller scars carving a path his eyebrow and hairline, and the deep gouge in his lip that looked like a split that hadn’t healed.

“I don’t remember you having those before. They must be new.”

“Two years give or take, chemical fire at my old job.” Dean shrugged. “I was a firefighter paramedic and just got the short end of the stick I guess. Was off for nine or so months and then Dad died and I didn’t go back to work.”

“You hate fire though.”

Dean shrugged his shoulders. “Only way out was through I guess. Confront your fears or whatever the new age bullshit saying is. Doesn’t matter anymore, I just do strictly paramedic stuff now. Better hours, less risk of grievous bodily harm and death.”

“Congrats on that I guess. Still feels a little weird that you’ve got an actual adult job that requires education and now that I’m saying that out loud I’m realizing how offensive that sounds.”

“Little bit yeah but it’s fine.”

A beat of silence passed between them, Dean unsure of what to say and Sam trying to find his words. It was the kind of silence that stemmed from years of no-contact and sleepless nights hoping the other person was okay. The awkwardness remained but it was a faint wash now, taking a backseat to the emotions at center stage.

Unease squirmed like a living thing beneath Dean’s skin, poisoning his blood and sending his heart skittering off beat. The conversation hovered over the edge of the dark pit that had been their father and Dean was convinced that if he stared over the edge he would see his father. What would it feel like to have that cold aura embrace him once again? The ashes still sat in the trunk of the impala but that didn’t feel far enough.

Sam’s stomach churned as he sorted his thoughts, retrieving long forgotten memories from their resting places in the dark corners of his mind. All of those late nights Dean wasn’t in the motel growing up, every furtive glance and not-so-subtle shift of a clearly aching body, it all meant something. Dean had secrets but Sam wasn’t stupid and the longer he thought, the more obvious the answer became. It made Sam nauseous.

“You could’ve told me.” Sam said carefully, tone measured.

“Told you what?”

“You know exactly what I mean. Don’t make me say it out loud.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. He thought about outright denying it but that wasn’t a solution. All that would do was drive a wedge into the precarious peace that had already been brokered. Admitting to it all, vocalizing everything to Sam wasn’t an option either. That would end in tears and an empty bottle.

“We both know I couldn’t have.” Dean said at last, voice weighed down with an unspeakable burden. “Wouldn’t have done any good. Wouldn’t have done anything except torment you. You weren’t gonna stay and I didn’t want you to.”

“I would’ve made you come with me.”

I would’ve made you come with me.

One simple sentence was all it took for Dean to unravel. He sagged like a deflating balloon and the laugh that came from his throat sounded like one too, choked and bitter and painful. The sheen of tears in his eyes was unmistakable and he swore under his breath, wiping roughly at his eyes.

“You were gonna be someone and you couldn’t do that with me dragging all my shit around behind you. It would’ve fucking crushed you. I did what I had to do to make sure you got out with your future and I’m not apologizing for it.”

“I don’t want an apology but –” Sam’s voice cracked – “I really needed my brother and you weren’t there.”

Dean slid his hand across the table, palm up next to Sam. It took a moment for Sam to register the hand before he placed his own on top of Dean’s.

“Dad ditched me the second you were gone. I think he blamed me but I didn’t care at that point. You were out and you were gonna be someone and for four years I was someone too. Then he came crawling back and it all went ass over tea kettle and then he died and I didn’t know what to do. I spent my entire life dealing with him and then he was just gone and you hated me and I just – I dunno.”

“I didn't hate you, Dean. I was hurt and didn't understand why you were acting like that. I wouldn’t have been such a dick about school and Dad's death if I knew.”

“I know and it’s fine. That’s all in the past anyway.”

Sam nodded but he didn’t feel any better about the situation. His mind swirled with questions, far too many to speak out loud, and the noise of the overlapping words was nearly unbearable. It was Dean’s hand beneath his, the warmth and roughness, that grounded him.

“That doesn’t make this any better.” Sam said, eyes focusing anywhere but Dean’s face. “I’ve got all these questions now but I feel like I shouldn’t ask them.”

“You can ask but I’m not giving you details. Some shit should be left alone and this is part of that.”

Sam swallowed again, taking a long swig of his beer. It was cold but it wasn’t refreshing. Nothing about this conversation was refreshing. Their past, and Dean’s admission, lingered in his mouth like the bitter taste of a partially dissolved painkiller.

“When did it start? Why didn’t you tell me? How long did it go for? What did he do?”

“Single digits into double digits, done by the time you left. Not telling you what happened because you don’t need to know that. As for why I didn’t tell you, it’s because you were a kid.”

“So were you Dean.”

Dean shook his head, a bitter tired expression on his face. “I stopped being a kid the day mom died. Besides, you didn’t need to know all that shit because you wouldn’t have understood it anyway and it’s not like you could’ve stopped it. So let’s just leave it at this shit happened and it sucked but now it’s over and we can move on. Deal?”

“Fine, deal. But I will get you to tell me eventually.”

Dean didn’t bother with a reply to that. Sam’s efforts would be in vain. There was no world in which he would lay out everything John had ever done to him. Lake Manitoc alone would probably scar Sam for life, if he wasn’t already scarred.

“Moving on from all of that, gotta say that Eileen seems cool. How’d you two meet?”

“I fractured my shoulder the first week of 1L and she was the med student who looked after me.” He shrugged. “She told me to stop being a baby and made fun of my flannel and I guess it reminded me so much of Jess that I had to see what would happen.”

“Wow, a match made in ER hell. Good for you.”

A small smile, the first genuine smile Sam had sent his way, graced Sam’s face. He still wasn’t sure what to make of his brother but what he did know is that it was good to see him again. They’d ended things on a sour note but Dean’s admission and the evidence of him trying to better himself, showed that peace was possible. Maybe a world with his older brother so close – a world in which they could finally be brothers again – wasn’t so bad.

“Thanks. So, have you found someone or? Cuz I don’t see a ring or anything.”

A look of mild panic flashed across Dean’s face before he shook his head. No way in hell he was going to give Sam every single detail about what was happening. “I had someone, for a while, but it didn’t end well. I’m kind of seeing someone now I guess but it’s more of a situationship. At least that’s what Charlie says.”

“I want to be surprised but that kind of tracks. No offence. Why’s she a situationship.”

Dean paused again, more panic flashing in his eyes. Sam didn’t know how he swung. Why would he know, it’s not like they’d been close. He debated keeping it under wraps but decided not to. In for a child abuse penny, in for a coming out pound.

“He’s got kind of a complicated rebuilding his life thing going on and I don’t exactly wanna complicate that. Kind of a two people in the same boat thing.”

Sam’s “oh” was quiet, a quick surprised thing escaping from his mouth. Dean had never shown any interest in men during their childhood, not that he could remember anyway.

“Dude, don’t make a thing out of it. Just run with it.” Dean mumbled, red in the face. He glanced at the clock hanging above the sink with a tired sigh. “Not to be that guy but it’s really late and I have a shift tomorrow. You cool if I dash?”

“Don’t let me keep you. Did you want leftovers? We made way too much.”

Dean grinned like he’d just won the lottery and without another word Sam got up from the table and began to fill a large Tupperware with leftovers. By now the awkwardness and tension had eased and while it wasn’t gone, there was an understanding forming between them. Their foundation was shaky and the concrete was still wet but with time it could be repaired and made stronger.

Boots on and Tupperware in hand a few minutes later Dean hesitated by the door. An Irish goodbye wasn’t possible but he wasn’t quite sure what to say to Sam before he left either. Thanks for dinner was appropriate but it didn’t touch on anything they’d talked about and a quick ‘thanks for letting me unload my childhood trauma on you’ didn’t feel right either.

It was Sam who made the choice for both of them when he reached out and awkwardly side hugged Dean like he was an acquaintance leaving a get together he’d been second hand invited to. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“I won’t. My place next time.” Dean said thickly as he hugged back.

Dean made it into the impala and halfway down Sam’s road before the relieved tears slipped from his eyes. 8 years of torment and no contact, of that pervasive fear that Sam hated his guts, and it had been largely erased in one night. Gone was the crushing weight of failure and replacing it was a gentler feeling, feather light hope beating like butterfly wings. He and Sam had talked and they had hugged and they had shared and nobody had died.

The tears were gone by the time he got home and he made sure to dab the remnants of them from his face with a spare hankie before he went inside. Puffy red splotches remained on his face but there was nothing he could do about that. Music echoed from the living room when Dean pushed the front door open and curiosity bloomed again.

“Hey, I’m home!” he called, trying not to startle Charlie. The last time he’d done that she’d threatened to put a bell on him like a naughty cat.

All at once the music cut out and then Charlie was poking her head into the entryway, eyes moving rapidly as she triaged Dean for emotional damage. She saw the splotches but his posture didn’t look defeated and he wasn’t frowning or despairing.

“You seem… okay?” She said, unsure of whether or not she was questioning him.

“I am.”

“So dinner didn’t crash and burn then?”

Dean shook his head. “It was awkward but we kind of cleared the air I guess. I got an awkward sidehug and the ‘don’t be a stranger’ sentence so do with that what you will.”

“Okay yeah, that went better than I expected. Do you need to decompress or can I go to bed? I’ll stay up with you if you need but I’ve also got an early class tomorrow and I’m tired as hell.”

“We can decompress tomorrow. I’ve got an early shift and I need to go to bed too.”

Charlie flashed Dean a quick thumbs up and then let him be. He put the leftovers in the fridge, made sure the front door was locked, and then padded to bed. He slipped out of his clothes and under the sheets, letting the full weight of the day crash over him.

He reached for his phone and, instead of calling, sent Cas a simple text before he fell asleep.

Dead tired, can’t call tonight. Early shift tomorrow. Looking forward to coffee though. Hope you're doing okay, Cas.

Chapter Text

Cas’ legs ached, the bones deep within buzzing like teeth left unbrushed after drinking a can of coke. They lay tucked against each other underneath a blanket, the weight of the crocheted fabric heavy against his skin. Voices echoed from the tv flickering in the dim light of the living room, tinny lifeless things trading sitcom pleasantries. Condensation slid down the neck of the half finished beer sweating on the coffee table and Cas watched it with a joyless mirth.

He’d tried and failed to stay asleep hours ago, too busy thrashing in the dreamlike talons of Lake Maren to get any rest. The dream had filled him with a restless energy and with that came the desperate need for a sensation real enough to anchor him to reality. It came in the form of another experiment, this one confined to his legs. Suspicions proven right, Cas had taken it a step further. He’d kept samples of himself pre and post transformation, skin and hair and teeth tucked away neatly in opaque labelled containers in the fridge.

It had been the blood that had given him issues. Collecting the human blood was fine but getting a sample mid transformation was a bit like playing jenga while drunk. He’d poked and prodded and the thick scales and very nearly passed out when he began to draw the blood itself. Blood was supposed to be inside his body and not in vials outside of it. The memory of Dean haunted him as he drew his blood, rough fingers wiping away his tears and strong legs holding him in place. Dean had offered a quiet comfort to a monster and Cas hadn't forgotten. Samples obtained and body sufficiently pained, Cas had made his way to the couch.

He and Dean hadn’t spoken that night and while Cas knew he had no grounds to complain, he still wanted to. Dean’s voice was the one thing that had proven effective in letting him sleep, the one thing that made the insanity feel bearable. Cas dreamed of Dean after they spoke, a quiet sort of peace full of longing touches and conversations burning hot and raw. He dreamt of seeing him again, of seeking out someone who knew just what he was going through.

The squeak of the front door cut through the laugh track in the living room and Cas turned his head in that direction, staring. Meg entered, hanging her jacket on the coat stand before peering into the living room. When her eyes fell on Cas, her neutral expression shifted.

“Waiting up for me? That’s pretty concerned father behaviour if you ask me.”

“Someone has to make sure you get back from the bar intact.” He said, far too tired to make any kind of joke. “You have any luck with mystery girl yet?”

Meg shook her head before sitting on the arm of the couch. “Not yet. Did get a lead though. Amy says she comes in for the trivia nights so I’m forcing myself to go to the next one.”

“Isn’t the next one sci-fi? I remember you calling sci-fi as a genre an incel gateway for fedora clad men.”

“And I stand by that. It’s the sci-fi women that are hot and we both know that I’ll do a lot of things for women.”

Cas chuckled softly, completely agreeing with Meg. She’d always known what she was into and wasn’t afraid to go after it. He shifted to make room for her on the couch. Meg sat without a word, eyes narrowing as she looked at Cas.

She’d seen him a million and one different ways and this look was different. The bags under his eyes, always deepset, were dark and prominent like he’d been getting even less sleep than he’d claimed. Bags aside, Cas’ tone gave him away. Weary and faded, Cas spoke less like the man she remembered and more like someone just drifting aimlessly. Adding in the late night phone calls she’d only heard snippets of and Cas’ sudden marathon showers and something was fishy.

“What’s going on with you?”

Cas turned, eyebrow raised. “Might need a little more context.”

“You’re not sleeping, I don’t ever see you eat, you’re having hushed phone calls late at night, and you sprint shower like the water’s acid. I get you’re a weird guy but not that weird. Also the bathroom trash keeps getting emptied and I know it’s never full and that I’m not emptying it.”

The blood drained from Cas’ face and panic rose in his chest, heart hammering. He’d been careful but not careful enough apparently. Explaining away the sleepless nights and the quick showers would be easy enough but the bathroom trash was a separate issue entirely. Meg knew him and she’d know if he was lying. Somehow she always knew.

“I keep having nightmares about what happened.” He admitted at last. This was the easiest way to spin everything, a vague truth he knew Meg would understand. “I dream about the lake and then I wake up feeling like I can’t breathe and water fucking terrifies me. I go to shower or have a bath and I feel like I’m drowning.  The only way I get any sleep is those phone calls.”

“You do know you can talk to me about all of this, right?”

“You wouldn’t understand. Not like he does.”

Meg inhaled sharply, head tilting to the side as she suppressed her immediate desire to yell at Cas. She knew life altering trauma like the back of her hand – the evidence held firmly in her hand every day – and Cas knew that. Everything he’d been through had the same bones as her trauma did.

“And who is he exactly? Is he the kind of person who’s gone through insane shit and rebuilt their life after? Is he the kind of person who know you and what you’re like? Because a therapist I could understand but they don’t do midnight house calls.”

“He’s the one who pulled me from the lake. His name’s Dean.”

The hurt stung like a papercut and Meg swallowed down another reactionary comment. It would do no good to yell but she wanted to. The desire to shake sense into Cas, to knock loose the secret he was hiding, grew steadily with every passing minute.

“So you trust a man you’ve known for less than a year more than your best friend you’ve known for years?”

“No, that’s not it. It’s just – it’s complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it.” Meg said bluntly, dark eyes trained on Cas and unwavering in their intensity. He was fidgeting now, fiddling with the tassels on the blanket covering his legs. The hem of his shirt sleeve was damp, the grey fabric discoloured, and when Cas saw her gaze slip to it he moved it from sight.

“I don’t want to talk about this right now so let’s just go to bed and revisit. You’ve got class in the morning and I’ve got plans.”

“More secretive plans to not tell me about? More weird shit to hide under sleeves and behind closed doors and lemon scented trashbags? Look, I get you have trauma and you need to work through it but I’ve never seen you like this and it fucking scares me Cas! You look like a zombie and I’m worried one day I’m going to get back from the lab and you’re just going to have withered away to nothing.”

It wasn’t the rise in Meg’s voice or her cursing that ripped Cas’ still beating heart from his chest but the tremble of her lip, so subtle in its appearance it was almost invisible. She never let her composure slip, never dared to show anything other than cool practiced confidence. The guilt that swept over Cas turned his already sour emotions bitter.

“You’re really worried.” He whispered, words catching in his throat. “You’re not supposed to be worried.”

“Well what am I supposed to fucking be when my best friend is keeping shit from me, not eating or sleeping, and hiding his arms. I was teenage girl, Cas, and I know what long sleeves mean.”

Cas started to protest, to reassure Meg that he wasn’t doing that, but the protest fizzled out before it left his lips. Was what he was doing exactly what Meg thought it was? He’d told himself it was in the pursuit of answers and science and it was but it was more than that. Each change, each carefully documented transformation, wasn’t for the greater good. It wasn’t driven by the need to understand what was happening to him. It was about pain, about the need for control.

If he could control the transformation then the lake had no power over him.

If the pain he felt was the pain he chose for himself that meant it was his pain, not the lake’s.

Cas’ question came with shaky words and an impossible weight, a piano hanging above his head waiting to come crashing down and ruin him,

“Do you believe in things we can’t understand? Things not bound by science or the laws of nature?”

Meg’s incredulous expression said it all. “I grew up French catholic so I did until I was 13 but I don’t see what God has to do with this.”

“Not God, definitely not God. Look, I haven’t told you everything about the lake.”

“No fucking shit Cas. Are you gonna explain or what?”

Cas sighed before peeling himself from the couch, blanket pooling at his feet. There was no turning back no, no shoving the half-truth back into the box. Meg was either going to accept this or she was going to turn tail and run. Either way there would be no more lies.

He said nothing as he walked to the bathroom, plugging the sink and turning on the tap. Still silent Cas rolled up his sleeve and submerged just his right hand up the wrist. This would be the easiest transformation, purely from a timing and explanation perspective. Meg hovered in the doorway, still watching Cas like a hawk and half convinced he was losing his mind.

“Are you drunk or doing drugs?” Meg asked, arms crossed over her chest as she watched. “Because this doesn’t feel like sane sober behaviour.”

“That would be the normal explanation for this.” Cas muttered, still looking at her. “I cut my hand in the lake and I did get sick, I wasn’t lying about that. What I didn’t tell you was how sick I got. I thought it was just a vitamin deficiency or scurvy but it wasn’t.”

Meg looked wholly unconvinced.

“I couldn’t move or eat and my teeth felt loose and old wounds kept opening up and then it just- it hit the peak and I changed. I couldn’t stop it and I didn’t know what was happening and I lost myself.”

“What, did you grow a tail and swim away? I’m trying, Cas, but this isn’t really convincing. And I still don’t understand why you’re wrist deep in water like you’re trying to fist it.”

Cas’ expression shifted, eyes widening and darting nervously. Meg had meant it as a rude sarcastic comment but she’d hit the nail on the head. He could feel the telltale tingle now, the little pinpricks working their way up his hand and dispersing into his bloodstream.

“There’s something in the lake that changed me, some kind of bacteria or higher power. The lake’s on a nexus point, a magical convergence where the veil’s weak and I know this sounds insane but it’s true. I swear to god it’s true. It’s the water that activates it now, well prolonged contact with it anyway.”

“So what, you pull an h20 and become a mermaid? That’s ridiculous, even for you.”

Cas simply gestured to his submerged hand as the 12 minute mark passed. Red angry welts bubbled up from the skin of his hand, the pain running red hot. He could see the sudden concern in Meg’s eyes but it wasn’t vindicating.

“Give it three minutes or so and it will change. You’ll watch talons push my nails out and my skin deglove like some fucked up gore show and can’t forget the webbing. There’s going to be a lot of blood.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say deglove? As in skin literally detaching from your body?”

Cas couldn’t respond, too busy biting down on his lip to stop from crying out when the transformation began. It was nothing new to him as claws pushed the fingernails from their bed and his skin sloughed off to reveal the scales; however, it was new to Meg. She’d clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes shone with dawning horror as she watched the transformation take hold.

When it was complete Cas removed his hand from the sink and held it out in her direction. From this angle it looked different and the more he stared, the worse he felt. The scales, still pink with his blood, reflected in the glint of Meg’s eyes. All she could do was stare, welling horrified tears blurring her vision.

Cas’ voice was barely audible and he cracked open like a pomegranate on the single word that fell from his lips like a desperate prayer.

“Meg?”

She blinked just once before she turned on her heels and fled the bathroom. The tap of her cane echoed in the too silent house and when the front door slammed the walls rattled. A broken sob clawed its way out of Cas’ throat and he crumpled like a ragdoll, knees tucked to his chest and face buried in them.

Meg knew the truth know and she’d run and he didn’t blame her in the slightest. The secret, and the trauma that came with it, defied all logic and Meg was logical to a fault. Chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath and squeeze the tears that would never come from his burning eyes, Cas lost all semblance of time and self. The talons fell from his hand at some point and lay on the tile in a bloody heap and his skin had regrown again, erasing the silver scales and webbing he’d come to know so well.

Noise echoed in the background, the quiet taps of a cane and the gurgling of a draining sink but Cas hardly noticed. It was the touch of human hands on his arm that roused him, head lifting from its resting place. Meg knelt on the bathroom floor, damp washcloth in her hand as she wiped away the traces of blood on his fresh skin.

“Give a girl a warning the next time you want to whip out a monster arm.” She said, still dabbing away the blood. “Is it just the arm that does that or?”

“All of me.”

Meg nodded as she processed the information before she pulled herself to her feet, cane in hand as she tossed the bloody cloth into the trash. She offered her free hand to Cas, waiting expectantly for him to take it. When he did she pulled him to his feet, guiding him wordlessly to the kitchen where there were two cups of tea waiting. He sat, hands closing around the mug.

“I have questions.” Meg said carefully. “A lot of questions because what I just saw isn’t fucking normal. But also I raised believing that a bearded man who lived in the sky watched everything I did so comparatively this isn’t that weird.”

“Ask.”

“So you got sick and the lake turned you into this creature. I understand that part, even if I don’t get why it happened. How did you get back here? How’d it reverse? How long has this been happening? Why is it happening now?”

“Dean, the guy at the lighthouse, that’s how. He got there and things just changed. I started feeling more human and then I just… was. Maybe it was the connection, maybe it was timing, maybe it was magic. I don’t know. The reversal started after I got here, so November. I thought I was losing at first but then it happened and I just didn’t know what to do.”

Meg frowned, lips pursed together as the wheels in her brain turned. It felt impossible to take all of this at face value but she had to. She’d seen the evidence and it was real. “You said you started coming back when this Dean guy showed up and now you’re calling him. Maybe he’s the key?”

“I don’t think he’s the key.”

“I think you’re wrong. Think about it, you become you when he’s around and now that he’s not you’re suddenly turning again. Maybe it’s a proximity thing, if I’m believing you on the whole magic thing, and you just need to be near him. Could even be a blood or fluid thing, like he’s got some kind of antibody or marker or something you need to keep that biological mechanism in check.”

Cas shrugged his shoulders, staring down at the cup of tea. It was a casual blasé action and it didn’t match the swirling torment inside of him. The anxiety of revealing the secret had passed but it had made room for everything else, for the crippling self doubt and fear and the nagging feeling that this would never go away.

“How involved were you two? Cuz a casual passing doesn’t seem like it would do anything.”

Cas hesitated before he answered, an embarrassed flush on his face.

“Intimately.”

Meg’s eyebrow nearly shot off of her face.

“I just wanted to feel human and he was sweet and it happened.” Cas said quickly. “You’d understand if you met him.”

“I’m sure I would. Do you think you should maybe loop him in on all of this happening? Might be good to get answers.”

“No. Absolutement pas.”

Meg shook her head, displeased. It wasn’t surprising that Cas was being stubborn and refusing to loop Dean back in but it was frustrating. Obviously he wanted answers and it seemed like Dean would have answers to give. At the very least he could help.

“So you’re at least talking to him but you won’t tell him anything, got it. Obviously you want my help with all of this and that’s fine. I’m assuming you have a game plan?”

“I think it’s a bacteria or something that altered my genetic makeup and whatever it is is triggered by prolonged contact with water. I’ve got tissue samples and blood samples and I need your help cataloguing everything. You’re better with the human stuff than I am.”

“Fair. I’m assuming this is all very hush hush?”

“Only 5 people know about this and two of them are in this room so yeah, hush hush.”

“Who are the last two?”

“One is a woman who takes care of the lake now and the other is Dean’s best friend, Charlie. She helped me get home when my Dad was sick. Her and Dean are living together, they moved here in December. He’s supposed to give me all the details tomorrow.”

Meg’s expression shifted once again, full of surprise. “I know you dropped a whole monster bomb on me but that’s an aftershock phrase. What do you mean he’s giving you the details tomorrow?”

Guilt settled into the lines of Cas’ face, a quiet kind created by the secrets that were now coming to light. It was embarrassing to admit to Meg that he had a date. Telling her he was a monster, while emotionally impactful, felt easier.

“I swear I was going to tell you, I just didn’t think it would be after telling you the secret.” Cas sighed. “He asked me for coffee and I agreed so we’re going tomorrow. I know it’s bad timing and probably stupid but –”

Meg interrupted, her unease slipping into something more familiar. It was the gentle kind of teasing that always came when Cas opened up about his love life.

“But nothing. Obviously you’re entwined with this guy and I’m pretty sure you don’t call each other every night like you’re high school boyfriends unless you’ve got feelings. Do I need to be worried about you losing your shit between now and then?”

“You know every secret I’ve got so no.”

“Good, because I’m too tired to deal with any more world rocking shit. I’m going to bed because I need to process this shit and sleep’s the only way to do that.”

“Go sleep. And Meg, thanks for not freaking out.”

Meg’s smile was soft as she turned her head, halfway out of the kitchen. “Oh I am freaking out, you just need someone to be the voice of reason in this and it’s me. Try and get some sleep.”

Meg left Cas in the kitchen with his mug of tea, her mind running through the insanity of the last few hours as she got ready for bed and curled up under her sheets. Cas wasn’t far behind, finishing his tea and washing the mugs before returning to his bedroom.

Expecting sleep to be another impossibility, Cas found himself surprised when his eyes grew heavy and his limbs stilled when he crawled into bed. The sheer unburdening of his secrets and the mix of emotions flooding his body with hormones and endorphins had exhausted him and for the first time since the monster had reared its ugly head again, Cas’ sleep was dreamless.

~

“Crisse, Cas, it’s a coffee date, not a funeral. Stop with all the black.”

Cas turned, hands nervously smoothing down the dark denim of his jeans. He’d changed three times already and this was the only thing that came close to passable. Everything was too stiff, too big, or too casual. None of it fit the way he wanted to.

“Ce n’est pas ma faute that nothing fits except these jeans. And I’m not showing up in a stupid graphic tee like a child.”

“Tell me what image you’re trying to project then.” Meg grinned as she sauntered into the room, hands on his hips as she peeked out from behind him. “Not childish obviously. Are you going distinguished, put-together, or even fuck me? There’s a million ways you could spin it.”

“How about ‘I swear I’m not turning back into a monster and am actually sleeping so you have nothing to worry about and also you look really good so it’s making me feel self conscious’? Think we can swing that?”

“Oh he’s already seen ta bazoune, so don’t be all shy now. Do you trust me?”

Cas eyed her warily. “About as far as I can throw you.”

Meg’s grin only grew as she slid away, leaving Cas alone in his bedroom. She returned minutes later with a shirt, some satin number with floral embroidery curling around the buttons and buttonholes. “Try this.”

“You’re the size of a Keebler elf, Meg, I don’t think this’ll fit. Also it’s a woman’s blouse and last I checked I don’t have breasts.”

“Dude, worry pas ta brain. Ça va être fine. I promise I know what I’m doing.”

Cas took the shirt without argument, slipping out of his current t-shirt and into the one Meg had provided. The satin, a deep midnight blue, was cool against his skin and when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror he couldn’t find his words. It hugged his frame better than expected and the buttons he’d done up showed just the faintest promise of something more without coming across desperate.

“I think I should listen to you more.”

“Remember that later when I piss you off.” Meg grinned. “Now should I expect you back tonight?”

“I’ll be back. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

The shrug of Meg’s shoulders said it all. Her mind lived in the gutter and Cas knew that all too well but he wouldn’t change a thing. She was the extrovert to his introvert, the loud presence to his quiet existence. He left her in his bedroom as he headed downstairs to fish his keys out of the bowl by the door.

Cas’ composure snapped three quarters of the way to the coffee shop. The offbeat rhythm of his heart was nothing new and neither was the anxiety but the root cause of it had warped it somehow, made the familiar unfamiliar. It was all Dean’s fault. Dean and his perfect smile and his gentle hands and the way he poured his heart out to Cas over the phone until he fell asleep. Cas had never forgotten how Dean had been while he was recovering and he longed for that again, for the lingering touches and whispered truths.

But that Dean and that Cas were different.

Now Dean had a house, a roommate, a job, and his brother. This Dean had everything he’d ever wanted.

Cas found it daunting but he couldn’t explain why. Not that it mattered because he’d reached his destination. He pulled into an empty spot and sat for a moment, pulling down the visor to check himself in the mirror. Everything looked passable despite the obvious fatigue and Cas took a deep breath before forcing a smile onto his face. It sat unnaturally taut on his face and he prayed that it would settle when he saw Dean.

The café was packed when Cas slipped inside, patrons sitting at the tables while others formed an orderly queue to order their coffee. He scanned the shop for any sign of Dean, eyes catching sight of him tucked away in a corner table away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd.

“You can do this.” He mumbled under his breath before he approached.

From afar Dean looked much the same as he had in Port Maren, the same sandy brown hair and penchant for flannel shirts but there were subtle differences. The flannel stretched tight and creased across his biceps like it was fighting a losing battle and a necklace hung from his neck, a bronze pendant strung on a leather cord. It was rugged and put together, a bit like the whisper of a warm roaring fire and a welcoming body stretched out across a comfortable couch and Cas’ heart kicked up a notch.

When Dean looked up, a familiar smile on his face, Cas’ heart nearly leapt into his throat.

Crooked smile aside, nothing about this Dean felt familiar. The haunted glint in his eyes was gone, replaced by a good-natured twinkle. His dark circles had vanished too, his face bright and balanced now. A crooked nose still held its place on his face but Cas hardly noticed it, too busy staring at the man who so suddenly seemed full of life. Naturally Cas’ eyes drifted to the table and the two coffees waiting there. His side was black but Dean’s looked suspiciously milky.

“What’s that? Il a l’air bien un milky monstrosity.”

Well hello to you too.” Dean chuckled as he leaned back in the chair. His eyes scanned Cas up and down, lingering faintly on the satin shirt before settling on his face. “And it’s an iced strawberry chocolate latte. Charlie said it was great and that I had to try it.”

“And you listened?”

Dean shrugged, reaching for the drink. The grimace on his face as he took another sip said it all and Cas chuckled, the sound sharp and unexpected as it fell into the air.

“Yours is black with maple syrup, just so you know. I promise I’m not trying to poison you.”

Cas mumbled a quiet merci before he took a sip of the coffee. Brewed slightly too strong, the bitterness cut through the still dissolving maple syrup in a decently satisfying end result. It warmed him from the inside as he swallowed but the caffeine did little to ease his jittery nerves. Seeing Dean again was enough to set his nerves on fire.

Dean’s eyes on him wasn’t a new feeling, rather an old feeling morphing into something vaguely unrecognizable. Self-consciousness bubbled up from Cas’ stomach and he was suddenly aware of every little imperfection. Would Dean notice the spinach that might be stuck in his teeth from the frittata he’d eaten that morning? Would he pick up on the bags that felt impossibly darker than they had been at the lake? Would he notice the subtle nervous tremble of his hands as he sipped at the coffee?

“I’m glad you agree to this, for the record.” Dean said, steering the conversation away from silence. “Wasn’t sure you had the time, I know you’ve probably been busy rebuilding, but the phone calls kind of just weren’t cutting it anymore.”

“I don’t get out much, I won’t deny that. But you look good. You’re doing well?”

“I am, yeah. Moving’s all done and we’ve got all the furniture all set up. Couch is still butt ugly but Charlie loves it so I’m not gonna say anything.”

“It’s burnt orange right?”

Dean nodded. “Mhm and a terrible material but it works with the kind of earthy colour scheme in the living room. It’s one of those slightly sunken rooms which I’m still kind of iffy about but it’s not a big deal. Her comforter is god awful though. It’s bright fucking purple.”

“Un peu fantasse maybe but at least she’s expressing herself.”

“Fant-ass?”

“Immature.” Cas explained, the first hint of pink appearing on his face. “Not saying that as a bad thing.”

“She’s entitled to it and it doesn’t affect me so I don’t really care that much. Half the time she’s out of the house for class or wandering the city. Apparently she’s found some bar she really likes but obviously not my thing anymore.”

“Tell her to try Honey Dip if she hasn’t already. It’s a lesbian bar in town. Meg frequents it and she’s got decent taste in bars.”

Dean raised an eyebrow before nodding, noting the suggestion. He didn’t now much about Meg aside from what had been in the journals but he trusted Cas and his recommendations. Besides, it was clearly something Charlie would thrive in.

With the Charlie avenue of the conversation dying off and his terrible iced latte empty, Dean tried to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted. He’d done his best not to stare but his eyes lingered despite their best efforts. Cas didn’t look great though he looked better than he had when Dean had pulled him from the lake. The nightly conversations had said enough, had told Dean just how little Cas was running on.

“You look tired.” He said carefully, trying to weigh his words and tailor his approach. “Still getting the nightmares?”

Cas swallowed thickly, eyes darting down to his hands. The question was innocent enough but honesty was a slippery slope and the last thing he wanted to do was choke himself with the six foot tail he’d been keeping a secret.

“Not as bad since you started calling. Je n’ai pas le temps to sleep with everything work needs me to do. I’m sure they’ll fade away. Are you sleeping?”

“Like a baby but that’s just the schedule and busy days. You’re not alone in the nightmare thing, just so you know.”

“You have Lake nightmares too?”

Dean shook his head. “Not about the Lake. It’s all my past and the old me and the age old worry of this new me is a total lie and I’m just gonna end up backsliding into my bullshit like usual. I don’t let them get to me though.”

“Well what do you do about them then? I can’t get mine to stop.”

“Therapy.”

“Therapy. Like talking to a man while you’re on a couch staring at a fake plant?”

Dean nodded. “Except this one isn’t a man, she’s a woman in her 40s. I know I don’t see like a therapy type and I’m not but she’s really helped and I think she’d help you a lot too. She deals with real extremes, with the kind of stuff you went through.”

“Je doute qu'elle soit une thérapeute monstrueuse.” Cas muttered under his breath. The French slipped out unconsciously like it always had whenever an avenue of conversation made him uncomfortable.

“Hey I’m trying to offer solutions so don’t mutter at me. Don’t really appreciate it.”

A quiet pang of guilt bloomed in Cas’ chest and he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. It wasn’t Dean’s fault that he was reverting into the creature he’d been trapped as and it wasn’t Dean’s fault he was stuck reliving six years of hell over and over every night. Dean was the only reason he was even here now. That realization didn’t feel as good as Cas wanted it to.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to. I’m just- J’ai tellement de stress and no outlets. Not like I can swim it out or tell anyone and Zachariah’s been up my ass and-“

“I get it, I do. But you can’t bottle up this shit or you’re going to explode. Trust me, I’ve blown up my life enough to know.”

Cas sighed deeply as the words sank in. Dean was right but that didn’t mean he wanted to listen. He’d bottled up the transformation until it had nearly destroyed him and when he’d told Meg, the relief had been a soothing balm. There was comfort and support in sharing, in spreading the burden across shoulders. Sharing the burden with Dean would take off an impossible amount of weight but hesitancy restrained Cas.

“Not saying I’ll take a leap of faith or anything but I’ll take her number if you have it.”

Dean’s head turned as he fished through his pocket in search of something. He pulled a business card from his pocket and set it in front of Cas on the table. Set in neat typed font was a name, an email, and a phone number. The cardstock was firm as Cas slid the business card into his pocket, tucking it away with the knowledge he’d probably forget that it was there by the time he got home.

“So, what else do we have to talk about? Since you don’t wanna talk about work or your personal life.” Dean said, trying to fish for anything to alleviate the tension that had crept in close and surrounded them.

The awkwardness felt similar to a first date and Dean despised it. H hated the song and dance of trying to get to know someone without asking them any polarizing questions. It was performative and he was sick of wearing a mask. Besides, he and Cas weren’t strangers. Lake Maren had ensured that much.

“You can tell me about work and your life I guess. I know you had a dinner with your brother coming up.”

“Had it a few weeks ago actually, right on my birthday.”

“I forgot you birthday? I’m sorry.”

Dean shrugged as if it was no big deal – even though he’d hoped on the day Cas would’ve wished him well – and continued on. “It went well, nothing crazy to report. We talked, I met his girlfriend, and that’s about it. Didn’t really tell him anything about the lake, just talked about my Dad. Uh work’s fine, just keeping me really busy. Lot of old ladies falling in this town. That and dumbass college kids.”

“They don’t get any better the further they get into their programs.” Cas chuckled, settling back into the conversation now that it had veered away from the lake. “I’ve seen them do some questionable things mid lecture. One of them ate half of a chocolate cake and said ‘I’m in my Bruce Bogtrotter era’ as if I’m expected to know what that is.”

“Matilda.”

Cas raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a book by Roald Dahl, also two movies and a musical. A little girl’s got shit parents and telekinesis. Did you seriously never read that growing up?”

“Not really. Mostly read French books or Canadian authors. Beaucoup de Timothy Findley and W.O Mitchell.” A little Robert Davies if I was really feeling it.

“Not even gonna pretend I know who those people are. I’ll stick with my sci fi. Don’t have that much time to read right now anyway, too busy with work and Miracle.”

Cas’ eyebrow lifted again, curious. That was a new name.

“A stray dog wandered into our rig bay and I’ve been feeding him.” Dean explained. “I’m trying to convince Charlie to let me bring him home. Keep saying he’s sweet and would be a great therapy dog and also that I’ve always wanted a pet. I think I’m wearing her down.”

“She doesn’t seem like a dog person.”

“Because she isn’t but I’m going to win in the end and she’ll end up attached to the dog too. So it’ll all work out eventually.”

Cas started to reply but the words died in his throat as the universe, which had been taking aim at him the entirety of their date, finally swung at him. Time slowed to a snail’s pace and Cas watched his downfall in slow motion. A patron to his left, coffee in hand, had hooked their shoe into the edge of an uneven tile. Stumbling forward, the lid slipped off of their cup and hot liquid splashed onto Cas. It soaked through his sleeve and his arm jerked reactively, eyes widening.

Fuck.

The drenched satin clung to his arm and the stammered apologies of the offender were drowned out by the furious roaring of Cas’ heart. His arm was wet and that could spell disaster. He hadn’t tested the parameters of his condition enough to sate any anxiety. Was the transformation limited to just water or did it extend? Would a prolonged wet arm trigger a manifestation? The apologies subsided but still Cas didn’t react, caught in the freeze reaction.

It was Dean’s touch that brought Cas back to reality. He’d pushed Cas’ sleeve up as far as it would go, one hand holding Cas’ arm in place while the other dabbed at the damp skin with a stray napkin. When the realization hit Cas flinched involuntarily and withdrew his arm, eyes drawn to Dean’s concerned face.

“You okay?” Dean asked, eyes flicking between Cas’ arm and his startled expression.

“Fine. Just surprised me.”

Dean nodded, glancing away to shove the used napkins into his empty coffee cup. When he glanced back, his expression had shifted. The worry was evident but there was something else underneath the surface, a quiet sort of knowing like he’d begun to suspect Cas’ secret. Cas’ nerves tightened, fraying a little further.

“You’re lucky most of it hit the floor. That could’ve been a nasty burn.” Dean mumbled. “You should probably run that under cool water for a while, ten minutes at the least. A damp cloth works too. I’ve got some lotion with aloe in my go bag if you want it.”

“N’en faire tout un fromage.”

The confused furrow of Dean’s brow prompted Cas to explain. He planned to play it off as if it weren’t a big deal and make a clean escape, hoping that Dean would be buy it.

“Let’s not make a big deal out of it. It’s just coffee on my arm.” He mumbled. “I should probably go though. Need to get out of this shirt and throw it in the wash.”

Dean tried and failed to hide the disappointment on his face. The date hadn’t been long enough and the conversation had been too stunted to be anything more than awkward. It was nothing like the triumphant reunion he’d hoped for. Part of it was Cas and the way he still hadn’t recovered and while it had been expected, it still sucked. Putting a time limit on things had obviously been the wrong move. Part of it was Dean too, and he knew that. His minimal expectations had still been too much.

“Do you know when you’ll be free next?”

Cas paused halfway through getting out of his chair, eyes lingering on the hopeful desperation the man was trying not to show. Guilt bloomed again, spiderwebbing across the steadily spreading cracks in his façade.

“A week maybe.”

“Could you do next Friday?”

“I’ll make it work.” Cas replied. “Text me when you get home? Just so I know you made it?”

“Only if you do.”

“Sure. It was nice seeing you again Dean.”

“Nice seeing you too, Cas. I’ll see you next week.”

Shoulders sagging as Cas stepped out of view, Dean was left with a sense of bewilderment and concern. Disastrous date aside, something felt off – like an unraveling thread at the edge of a masterfully woven tapestry.

Something was going on with Cas, something new and different, and Dean was going to find out what it was.