Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean rushed through the door and stopped cold. Normally, he wasn't late for things, and when he was, he tried to make as discreet an entrance as possible. Today just hadn't worked out that way. The nearest safe location to park Baby was not as near as he had hoped, and he wasn't all that familiar with this part of campus, so it took him a hot minute to find the right room.

The meeting had started without him, of course. Why wouldn't it, when they didn't even know he was coming? He'd known it would, and that's why he was rushing and walked through the door like a bat out of Hell. With an apologetic smile, he closed the door quietly and approached at a more appropriate pace.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt. Please, go on,” he sank into a free chair and tried to look unremarkable.

“You know this is the genealogy club, right?” The blonde at the head of the table checked.

“Yeah.”

For some reason, nobody seemed to think Dean would be interested in something like this. It was supposed to be Sammy’s territory, since he was the nerd of the family. Or at least the obvious nerd of the family.

Truth be told, Dean had been fascinated by genealogy since he first heard about his family history. What they knew of it, anyway, which wasn’t as much as it could be. A lot of the whys and hows were still something of a mystery. Still, he knew the important stuff. And he wanted to know more. Which is why, when he found out there was a genealogy club at KU, he was all over it. The first meeting of the semester was only a few days after his birthday. That tracked. He had just turned 21. It was time. It was practically kismet.

He knew he was where he was meant to be when he saw the faculty advisor. He looked just a bit older than himself, though that could hardly be right if he was a full professor, and his deep blue eyes found Dean the moment he walked in. There was something in them like relief. Like success. Like he’d been waiting for Dean specifically to walk in for years.

“We were just introducing ourselves and sharing why we’re here,” the perky blonde running the meeting clued him in, and Dean made himself focus on what was happening. There was plenty of time.

They went around the room, and listened to half a dozen kids try not to sound like they were cheating off each other when really they were all saying the same thing. Basically, they were all here to find out who they were. It was almost cute. He wondered how much he should tell them when it was his turn. And then all eyes were on him, and as naturally as breathing, he held to the sapphire ones, and let the words come.

“My family is cursed,” he announced. “Legend has it, a long time ago, in some long-forgotten village somewhere in the world, the very first Dean Winchester was a mostly boring man until the day some tragedy drove him to a fit of rage so explosive that his village thought he must be possessed by a demon and tried to burn him alive in his cabin. To everyone’s surprise, after trying to defuse the situation, a man among them (until now Dean’s equally unremarkable friend), broke through the walls, stepped into the fire, and pulled Dean from the flames as if they were nothing. He glowed with the divine grace of god to heal Dean, from the burns as well as the madness, and revealed himself to be Dean’s guardian angel. He promised them the wrath of Heaven would fall upon their heads should they try to harm Dean again. Then a light shot out from the man and he collapsed and disappeared never to be seen again.”

The blue eyes had gone somewhat misty, it seemed to him, but everyone around him was fascinated, so he went on. “Since then, every 7th generation there is a Dean. Shortly after becoming of age, he meets a dark-haired, blue-eyed stranger who quickly becomes his best friend. They travel widely and often. Go on wild adventures, which he somehow manages to survive, against all odds. Until eventually, sometimes sooner rather than later, something goes terribly wrong, and it all ends with the friend sacrificing himself to save Dean, who then fades into the background to live the rest of his long, miserable life alone, with nothing but a footnote in the local parish register to mark his passing. Through the centuries, the different countries my family has lived in, the family tree dead ends, the thread continues. Every 7th generation there is a Dean and the story repeats itself,” he paused for effect. “This is the 7th generation since the last Dean Winchester walked the Earth.” He held the blue eyes. “And I plan to make sure that this time, the story has a different ending.”

The professor's eyes cleared, blinked, and turned to him, full of questions. Dean met them with a warm smile. They were destined to be besties, after all. Around them the other students chattered indistinctly for a moment before they continued the introductions. Dean went through the motions, but his focus was entirely on the professor.

He needed to stop. He was going to make the man think he was some kind of stalker or something. He knew better. It was just weird, meeting your destiny. Ever since his father had been told the story, more than a decade ago, and then passed it on to Dean, he’d been waiting. He didn't exactly know what for.

He had verified that there was a long line of Deans in his family history, and that they had traveled extensively and never married or had children. There wasn't much else that was verifiable. But since he was the Dean, there was one obvious way to determine if any of it was real. If there was any truth to it, shortly after he turned 21, he would meet a blue-eyed stranger who would completely upend his life.

He was somehow certain that it was this man, and that his life would never be the same, no matter what. That was bound to keep his attention.

The introductions were completed, and a document was circulated. He made himself focus on the paper and fill in the blanks with the information he had about his family tree. He started with himself, then his brother, his parents, his grandparents - and from there all he had was the line back to the Dean before him, and only just names.

There was some talk of snacks, and something about what they'd do next week that wasn't nearly as interesting as the way that the faculty advisor's eyes kept coming back to meet his own. Was Dean creeping him out, or did he have the same weird feeling that they were something to each other, somehow? Dean saved his initial notes, then lingered as the other students started to leave. They must have dismissed the meeting while Dean was busy trying to look less creepy.

Dean kept his eyes resolutely in the task of clearing every trace of his presence from the desk in front of him, even as he heard footsteps approaching. They stopped directly in front of him, and he looked up, taking in the leather shoes, the off the rack suit, the royal blue tie, loose and completely askew, that still managed to flatter him by making his eyes that much more compelling.

His trench coat was too big. He was still the hottest guy Dean could remember laying eyes on, and for the first time he wondered if they would ever be more than friends.

“Hello, Dean,” he said Dean's name with an odd sort of fondness that had no business being there for someone he just met. Was still in the process of introducing himself to, in fact. It felt - exactly right. “I'm Professor Novak. You may call me Castiel.”

“Hey, Cas,” he hesitated. Why had he done that? The man had literally just told him what to call him. Not like he'd had time to forget it. He would have apologized, but the fondness had extended to Castiel’s smile. The nickname didn't seem to bother him. “Do you mind if I call you Cas? I promise I am not now nor will I ever be in any of your classes.”

“I'd like that,” he agreed. “Nobody else had ever called me that before -” he cut himself off, and extended his hand for shaking. “You have the most interesting family history that has ever come up in one of these meetings.”

Dean chuckled and felt oddly compelled to go in for a hug. Not yet. How weird would that be? “Thanks, I guess. I'm still not completely sure how much of it I believe. There's - a lot I don't know yet.”

“I might be able to help you change that,” their hands slipped apart reluctantly, and made their way into their pockets, “if you like.”

“I'd appreciate it.”

The room was cleared, except for the two seniors running the club, and they nodded to each other in parting. “Let's touch base next week.”

“Sounds good.” Cas stepped away to retrieve some sort of bag, no doubt stuffed full of papers to grade, and turned towards the door. “Hey, Cas?”

He stopped short and turned to face him. For a moment Dean forgot what he meant to say. Cas clearly had places to be, and was in a hurry to get there. But his eyes were filled with such utter devotion that they seemed lit from within. He waited, as if he had nothing better to do than wait for Dean to gather his thoughts.

“What do you teach?”

“Cultural Anthropology.”

Damn. Now Dean kinda wanted to take that class. It sounded just - “Awesome”.

Chapter Text

Dean was early for the next meeting. Mostly because he didn’t want to be that guy again. Okay, maybe a little because he was oddly eager to talk to Cas, but only a little. He’d given it some thought. A lot of thought, actually. And he’d decided that actually, it was silly to let some old story run his life. Sure, it was weird that right after his 21st birthday he had met a dark-haired blue-eyed stranger, just as the stories said he would. But honestly, it was college. He met a lot of people. That was like - half the college experience, and the only reason this person felt more significant was that he was letting the stories get to him. That was all. There were probably hundreds of people on campus that fit that description. He could have met one at any time.

Nothing to see here.

He had no desire to go on wild adventures, alright? He had his degree to finish, for one thing. And he was gonna need to get a job almost immediately, because Sammy was right behind him and he sure as shit wasn’t gonna let his little brother work part time while trying to get into Stanford Law. That was no picnic. He needed to focus on his school work. There was enough adventure in Dean’s life already. He’d just finished the latest Assassin’s Creed last week. He was good for a while. There was an extensive collection of adventure novels to pick from if he wanted some more adventure before the new AC game came out in a few months. That was enough adventure for anyone. And, when shit inevitably went wrong, it wouldn’t kill him. Or any of his friends, for that matter. Not for real. That was important.

It was just that it was kind of an epic story, and he wanted to fill in the blanks. Play it out, in a manner of speaking. And Cas had said he might be able to help him do that. Dean drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him and looked around. There were four other people here, so far. Everyone else was probably still in class or something. Dean didn’t have a class right before this. No sign of the professor yet, which was fine. He probably had a class too.

He couldn’t help wishing that Charlie was here. Or Kevin. Both of them the best friends anyone could ask for. He was pretty sure they’d die for him if they had to. He’d certainly die for them, now that Sammy was all grown up and didn’t need him as much anymore. Sometimes he thought, if he could somehow travel back in time and talk to those other Deans, he’d tell them that if you’re lucky enough to have a friend like that, you take better care of them than to go looking for ways to get them killed. Anyway, enough of that. The bottom line was, even if every word of the story was true, and Cas had been hand delivered by fate into his life, he didn’t have to play it out, and he wouldn’t.

Perky blonde came in and started shuffling papers. A few more of the people who had been at the first meeting followed closely after, and just as Dean was starting to wonder where everyone else was, he walked in. Their eyes met across the room, and they smiled briefly in greeting as Cas dropped the bag on a desk and kept his trench coat on. Was he cold? Did he spill something embarrassing on his shirt or something? Whatever.

Blonde started handing out papers and talking about some resources the library had available that were not free for general use but they should definitely avail themselves of. Usually the databases were intended for the sort of research that someone like Professor Novak would do, but the information was out there and there was no reason for them not to use it. A couple of them looked pretty good to Dean, and he circled the entries. He’d check them out the next time he went to the library. Then the floor was open for questions, about the resources or about whatever snags anyone might have hit in their research thus far. Dean hadn’t actually started his research, so he lost interest pretty quickly.

Cas kept sneaking looks his way like he was afraid Dean might make a run for it before they had a chance to touch base. As if. He sank deeper into the chair, pulled a notebook out of his satchel and hoped that it made him look more settled. He was only doodling on the margins, but they didn’t need to know that. Today’s theme, apparently, was fire. Usually it was more abstract stuff, like lots of blue eyes floating around in some kind of background texture (okay, maybe he’d been more obsessed than he liked to contemplate with the family history for far longer than he was likely to own up to), or some stick trees so jumbled together nobody could ever tell what they were supposed to be. For a while, when he was in the habit of making up bedtime stories for Sammy, it was almost always monsters. It was never a conscious decision. His fingers just started moving, and a few minutes in, his eyes would kinda notice what his hands were doing and get with the program.

For no particular reason, he decided the picture could use some lines through the flames. A few vertical ones, as if the flames were burning through something that was mostly hidden by the blaze. A lot of angled ones, like falling stars. Admittedly, it made no sense, but this was why it was called doodling and not -

“I believe I found something relevant to your family history,” Cas carefully placed what appeared to be a very old book on the table.

Dean studied the book first, then nodded a thank you, and looked around just in time to see everyone clear out. How long had he been zoned out doodling? If he wanted to get anywhere with his research (and he did) he needed to pay more attention.

“Please be careful, it’s very old.”

“Yeah, I see that.”

There was some sort of writing on the cover, but whatever it was, it was not in English, or even anything recognizable as some version of Old English. His fingers hovered over the script, but he was careful not to touch it. It looked like something Charlie might produce for one of her LARPing weekends. He could pass it off as Elvish or something.

“What does it say?” Actually, Dean had a number of questions before that one. “This isn’t English.”

“No,” Cas added. “It’s Enochian.”

“I can’t read Enochian,” carefully, he opened the cover just enough to look inside. The pages looked like something out of a museum. The kind of old that typically meant that only trained people in secure environments were allowed to handle it in any way. “And this looks too old to have anything to do with my family.”

“It is certainly older than the story you’re familiar with,” Cas agreed. “But your family goes back further than you realize. Everyone’s family does. And I think the curse does too.”

“This is… literally ancient. Like, Ancient Egypt ancient.”

“More like Ancient Babylon, but yes.”

“What -” Dean cleared his throat, “How is it relevant to my story? What does it say?”

“It’s called ‘The Cursing of the Righteous Man of Sodom’, and -”

“Wait, Sodom? Sodom, Sodom? The one in the Bible, Sodom?”

“Yes, Dean,” he confirmed through a smirk. “That Sodom.”

Dean looked at the book again. “Why is this not in a museum?” he blurted out, clearly having watched Indiana Jones at least one too many times.

“It’s something of a family heirloom, I suppose.”

“It’s yours?”

“Yes,” he offered no additional explanation. How many people even owned a book that old and what were the odds that he just happened to own not just any ancient book but one relevant to Dean’s curse?

“The righteous man of Sodom…” Dean thought back to what he knew of the story. “That was Lot, right? Are you saying he’s somewhere in my family tree?”

“God, no. He was a coward. You are not of his line.”

The door opened to a custodian who was clearly not expecting to find anyone still in the building.

“Why don’t I walk you to your car?” Cas suggested. “I can tell you the story on the way.”

Dean grabbed his stuff and offered an apologetic smile to the custodian. “Sounds like a plan.”

oOo

“So, if I’m not of Lot’s line…” he trailed off, unsure of how to continue. “I thought everyone else died. How does that work?”

“Everyone else was supposed to die, yes,” Cas walked through the door, let it close behind him, and waited for Dean to lead the way to where he had parked. “But there was another survivor.”

“My ancestor.”

“Yes,” but he sounded hesitant, “your ancestor. A young boy, who was taken away to Babylon at the last possible moment by one of the angels.”

Dean stopped on the sidewalk and turned around. “Why? What happened?”

“The story that most people know goes like this: god sent two angels to find ten Righteous people in Sodom, or failing that, to destroy the city. They couldn’t find enough people to save the city, so they saved Lot and his family, or most of it, anyway, and then destroyed Sodom. Fire and brimstone, and all that,” he gestured broadly to indicate the usual horrors in such stories, then started moving again in the direction they had been walking in.

“So where does this kid come in?” Dean followed.

“They didn’t find ten Righteous people. But they did find another one. He was a hunter whose name is lost to history. And he had a young child. A boy, maybe about five years of age. While Balthazar was leading Lot and his family to safety, Castiel found the hunter.”

“Wait, Castiel? You’re named after the other angel?”

“Yes, I -” again, he seemed to pick his words carefully, “I suppose so, in a manner of speaking.” Cas cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway, he found the hunter, and spoke to him of god’s plans. The man heard him out, and then began to carefully put on his armor and ready his weapons. Castiel had not been expecting that. At all. He said to the man that he needed to hurry, the host would be here soon to lay waste to the city. But the hunter simply looked over his shoulder and said he was not leaving while he carefully selected and cleaned his best blade. He would not be persuaded to leave.”

“Now that sounds like a Winchester,” Dean snorted.

“Indeed,” Cas agreed as if he had personally met every Winchester that ever lived, then cleared his throat with an awkward glance his way. “He wouldn’t leave himself, but he asked the angel to save his son. Take the child to Babylon where they had relatives. Castiel argued the point, but the hunter simply continued to get ready and refused to consider it, so the angel took the boy to safety, and then returned. Maybe once the host arrived and began their work the man would change his mind.”

“Not a chance,” Dean piped up, and Cas only smiled. They crossed into the South parking lot, and Dean pointed out his car, way in the back forty.

“He returned to find the Righteous Man standing firm as the host came down around him like some absurd meteor shower, purifying the city with holy fire. The people…” he hesitated, seemed to change his mind, and started again. “It was chaotic. And then through the noise and haze of battle, he heard it. The hunter called out to him. And Castiel’s entire existence changed in that moment. He felt - as if by calling for him the Righteous Man had shifted everything he thought he knew about the world. He found himself drawing his own blade, falling into position at the hunter’s back.”

That was oddly personal. Intimate even. Dean wouldn’t have expected that sort of detail to make the history books. Cas was feeling it too, because he had the look of someone who is intruding on a personal moment. He kept his eyes on the sidewalk, and didn’t say anything else.

“And then what?”

“He wanted to know if the boy was safe. That’s why he’d called out to the angel. Castiel tried again to convince him to leave the city to safety, but the Righteous Man refused. He said it had always been his job to fight for the people and he wouldn’t abandon it now when they most needed him. He would stay, and do whatever he could. Castiel was a warrior, and he understood. More than that, he - he fell for him. He abandoned his god-given mission to fight alongside the Righteous Man, and fell from grace. There was a moment when they looked into each other’s eyes and they knew they would die together, fighting back to back, and it was good. It was right. It was Fate.”

Again he paused, as if lost in thought. This time Dean didn’t prompt him to continue. They covered the short distance to the car before Cas said anything else. Dean turned to lean against the door and waited. “Michael led the charge,” he finally resumed the story, “and he ignored the Righteous Man where he stood, the way you might ignore a flea in your path. But they would not be ignored, and so the hunter moved to intercept the angel nearest to them. Screams started to echo as the angels began smiting the people. He struck, uselessly. A human sword alone could never kill an angel. Castiel struck Uriel down with his blade, took Uriel’s blade from his body, and gave it to the man.”

He looked almost regretful. “When the human struck another angel with the angel blade a moment later, everything stopped and god appeared to them. He was furious. He said - a lot of things,” Cas cleared his throat, “and he cursed them, for standing against his army.”

“He cursed them?” Dean repeated, with an indignant screech.

“Both were banned from Heaven for all of eternity, and left to languish. Not fully anything. Not even really permanently dead. The man’s soul would go to Limbo upon his death, and stay there until seven generations later it would be born again. He would know no peace and no rest in any lifetime. The angel - since he wanted to be with this man so much that he would deny god and kill his own kind, was condemned to live as a human alongside him, becoming mortal upon the man’s birth, every time. To go through each lifetime with all the usual limitations of being human, until one of them died. And then to return to his true form, to live alone, without a home or the comfort of his brethren, until the man was born again, with no memory of any of this.”

Damn, god sounded like a real dick. Which, honestly, kinda tracked. “Harsh.”

Cas smiled a little. “Worth it.”

“So you think this is the beginning of my family’s curse? That this Righteous Man was basically the very first Dean Winchester?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“And all that is in this book?”

He nodded. “There are other books. I suppose you might call them journals, where they give accounts of the events of each lifetime.”

“And you have them all?”

“I do.”

What were the odds? Hell, what were the odds of all those journals even surviving all this time, nevermind all ending up in the same hands? His math was sketchy at best, but he was going to estimate it was basically a small miracle. Maybe even a big one.

The beeping of a truck’s backup alarm drew them from their thoughts. What time was it? He was supposed to meet Charlie at the Roadhouse tonight for Karaoke, and he still had to head home and change. Give Sam a call, see how he was adjusting to California. He should go.

“Thanks, Cas.” He turned to face Cas, reaching out for his arm. He only meant for a friendly pat by his shoulder, but somehow his hand clung, and he found himself pulling Cas in for a hug. He should probably worry about that, but it felt right. Cas didn’t seem to mind at all, so there was nothing to worry about. “I can’t wait to find out more.”

Cas smiled and stepped away, and Dean got into Baby. There was something odd about watching Cas walk away to his own car. It was the first thing that felt off all night.

Chapter Text

Cas sat in his car for a moment. There was no reason to follow Dean anymore. They’d made contact. Dean was safe enough. He should just let things proceed naturally now. And, now that they’d officially met, there was a good chance he’d be spotted. If he was spotted he’d be recognized, and he didn’t want to lie to Dean if he didn’t have to. He couldn’t tell him the truth yet. At least, not all of it, anyway.

Dean had no way of knowing Cas knew about his Karaoke nights with his friends. If he just happened to be there when Dean showed up, he’d have no reason to be suspicious. He’d be just a guy that felt like a good burger after work and bumped into someone he knew.

God, it was such a stalker thing to do. It was one thing to watch from the darkness as Dean grew up, keeping him safe as best he could. To learn enough about him that he could arrange a meeting, and know how to approach him. But now -

He sighed, and gave up the fight. He kept to himself for an entire week but he knew it was a losing battle this time. He couldn’t keep his distance right now, not after telling Dean the story, feeling Dean’s arms close around him again. He was only human, after all. Weak.

He walked in and found himself a table. It was relatively busy, but karaoke was still a good 45 minutes away, so he was able to find a table that was far enough away from the stage that he might not get spotted at all, and angled so that if he sat in the chair by the support beam, he would be in a partial profile to anyone looking from up there. Even if he was seen, he might not be recognized from that angle, and even if he was, he would not appear to have much interest in what was going on around the stage area.

The server came up after a few minutes and he asked for a menu. He’d been here often enough in the last year to know they didn’t usually bother. The regulars knew what there was, and what was good, and neither had changed since he’d first set foot in the place. Today, he wanted to stall, so he’d make much of being indecisive and then end up having a cheeseburger anyway.

Cas kept her for a few minutes with a lot of pointless questions then asked for a few minutes to think about it. He would have to leave her a twenty to make up for this behavior. Really, it would have been borderline obnoxious if it was his first time here, but when he had been here as often as he had it was just - necessary. It was necessary. For cover. He might be human right now, but he was still a warrior and a strategist. He’d just apologize, chalk it up to a bad personal day, and leave a big tip. Everything would be fine.

He kept his attention on his plate while he waited, and while he ate, and when he ordered a beer and some pie for dessert after he was done. Dutch apple, with vanilla ice cream. The last go around it had been Dean’s favorite. He wasn’t sure yet what his favorite was this time. The first time Dean had tried pie - Cas felt the smile spread across his face so wide that it was actually uncomfortable and put down the fork.

It must have been at least 2,500 years ago. They had been under Roman Law, in any case, and somewhere in the Mediterranean. They caught word of a delicacy brought over from Greece, and went to try it. The look on Dean’s face when he took his first bite would forever be one of Castiel’s favorite memories. He made a point, after that, of always finding Dean some pie, no matter where they were, in every lifetime. As they drifted across the continent and away from the pies, he’d learned to make them so there would never be another lifetime when Dean couldn’t have pie. He had become quite proficient too, by this point. He’d perfected all of Dean’s favorites. More often than not, it seemed to be some variety of apple. Sometimes cherry, and there was one lifetime, when they’d lived in Iberia, that he’d been obsessed with peach pie.

“Something wrong with your pie?” Jo was asking. At least, he thought it was Jo. He wasn’t sure and they didn’t seem to believe in name tags here.

“No,” he turned the smile on her and picked up the fork again. “I just got lost in some memories for a moment. I apologize. I’m being a nuisance today. I’ll have to make sure I make it up to you with an excellent tip.”

The smile died a little as he looked at the pie again. The ice cream had melted and the crust was soggy and unfortunate. He let his shoulders drop with a sigh. “I must have been lost in thought longer than I thought. I have to apologize again. Any chance I can get another slice?”

“Sure thing,” she took the soggy pie and walked away.

It was starting to get crowded, and there was a lot of activity in the area near the stage. Cas kept his eyes on the table. The mood in the room had shifted. Different voices reached him from different directions, but he hadn’t heard the only voice he was interested in yet. It arrived just moments after his second slice of pie was delivered. He kept his eyes on the pie and ate deliberately, taking his time, and trying not to eavesdrop.

Soon, he reminded himself, they’d be friends again, and then he wouldn’t need to keep his distance anymore. This was just - it would be so much easier if he wasn’t so incredibly human. Dean still wouldn’t remember anything from one life to another, but Cas could have shown Dean his own memories, at least. Find some way to prove he wasn’t a dangerous lunatic raving on about how they’d been together through every lifetime in 4,000 years.

It was fine. It was fine. Not like he hadn’t been through this a few hundred times already. Okay, 86 times, if he was going to be completely accurate, but it felt like a few hundred. Not the point, in any case. They’d be friends again soon enough, that was the point. And when they were friends, Cas would be able to join the party. For now, he’d just eat his pie and drink his beer, and be patient.

oOo

He did well, right up until Dean started singing.

This ain’t a song for the broken-hearted

Cas recognized the song. He’d first heard it a long time ago, while he was busy getting his feet under him.

No silent prayer for faith departed

It was an interesting choice. Dean favored classic rock in this lifetime, at least judging by his karaoke selections, but Cas had never heard him sing this one before.

I ain’t gonna be just a face in the crowd,
You’re gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud

What did it mean? Was this somehow related to the curse?

It’s my life, and it’s now or never
I ain’t gonna live forever
I just want to live while I’m alive

Yes, Cas thought, it probably was. But he wasn’t going to over-analyze it. Dean would tell him whatever he had to say when the time was right.

It’s. My. Life.

Well, that was certainly clear enough. Should he just… fade off into the sunset? Not immediately of course. But if Dean didn’t approach him for more information after a while, just - let it drop. Dean had the right to not want any of this. It’s not like they’d made any great progress in breaking the curse the first few dozen times they’d tried.

This is for the ones who stood their ground

But Dean also had the right to make that call for himself, in full knowledge of his situation. Didn’t he? Telling him the rest of the story had - implications for the rest of his life. Knowing everything would change his future. Change his life. Whatever plans he had now would be forever changed. Should Cas blow up his plans like this?

Were his motives entirely selfless? Not by a long shot. He missed Dean. He missed his best friend, the love of all his lives. But Dean was - so incredibly young. He didn’t remember anything yet. Cas was not above sneaking into his life, but that was as far as he would go. From there, it was all in Dean’s hands.

You better stand tall when they’re calling you out
Don’t bend, don’t break, baby don’t back down

For a moment he could see the Righteous Man as he had stood, ready and willing to face god’s army all by himself. He hadn’t looked so very different, really. His skin had been darker. His eyes had been harder, then. But those were just details. His soul had been breathtakingly beautiful, and from the glimpses he could still catch in his eyes, nothing much about that had changed.

He couldn’t help himself then. He turned to look, just in time to see Dean stomp and launch into the chorus again.

It’s my life
And it’s now or never

Somehow, Dean’s eyes found him in the crowd, and he smiled and nodded his way. Now that he’s been discovered, he had no reason to make himself look away. Dean had something of a cheering section in the front row. His friends maybe? They were singing along with him right till the end, but it was his own eyes Dean came back to when he sang the last line.

It’s. My. Life.

He walked off the stage, and maybe it was the way he was moving through the crowd, or the noise and mess of all these people in a small space, or the way Dean’s eyes never left his own -

“Cas!"

He had never, in any lifetime, as a human or an angel, allowed anyone else to shorten his name like this. Only the Righteous Man. When he’d called out to Cas, standing tall amidst the host in all their avenging glory, everything he knew about himself changed. All his life until that moment he had been Castiel, the Shield of God. But this man stripped god out of his identity without the slightest hesitation. Without resistance. Made god an inconsequential part of his purpose. As if he could choose a purpose for himself, decide for himself who he would shield.

Had they not been about to face their final battle, Cas would have fallen to his knees, right there on the streets of Sodom. He was a creature made entirely of devotion, and for the first time in his life, he felt it pulling at him. The Sword had called to his Shield, and everything he had never known himself to be answered the call.

He still did it, every time. Almost invariably upon hearing his name, Dean shortened it. Perhaps there was some instinct there, urging him to claim his Shield again and again. He was only too happy to be claimed.

Castiel, the Shield of God, had fallen, and in his stead had risen Cas, the Shield of Dean.

Chapter Text

Dean walked off the stage and made a beeline for Cas. He hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, and it was probably a little weird how happy Dean was to see him, but what the hell. He was happy, and he was also a grown ass man with no reason not to show it.

“Hey! This is so not where I expected to see you again.”

“Hello, Dean. I wanted a cheeseburger. And their pie is quite good.”

“You’re telling me. Hey, you look like you’re about done here, but if you’re not ready to head out yet, you wanna join me and my friends?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Cas objected.

“It’s not like it’s a date. Just some friends hanging out. The more the merrier.” He pointed towards the table. “Really, I was telling Charlie what you told me about this curse business and she’d love to meet you. Fair warning, she’ll probably have a lot of questions.”

“Ah, in that case. Let me just settle the bill here. I’ll join you in a moment.”

“You want another beer?”

“I probably shouldn’t drink any more, actually.”

Dean just nodded and headed on back to his friends. They were at a booth, which meant that finding room for Cas was easy peasy. He’d just sit on the bench side and get Charlie to scoot over a bit.

“Cas is going to join us.”

“The professor?” she turned around to look in the direction Dean had come from but judging by the lack of commentary, she probably couldn’t see him from where she was sitting.

“Yeah.”

“Switch with me. I want to sit next to him.”

“So do I, and he’s my friend,” Dean pointed out.

Kevin settled the argument by simply scooting off the bench, leaving room for Cas to sit on the other side of Charlie. “I’m getting another beer,” he announced. Dean stood up to wave Cas over to them and waited, like a gentleman, until Cas had slid in next to Charlie before sitting down again. He should have probably slid in on the other side of Cas, but he was bigger than Kevin, and when Ash came back from wherever he went, he would be practically in the man’s lap. If Cas was gonna join them on a regular basis, they’d need a bigger booth.

“Cas, meet Charlie, Queen of Moondoor and the best sorta little sister anyone ever had.” He looked around as Charlie and Cas greeted each other. Where the heck had Kevin gone for that beer, anyway? “Kevin and Ash are around somewhere too. You’ll meet them in a minute.”

Someone else went up to sing, and they listened for a moment before Charlie’s curiosity ran away with her. “Do you sing?”

“Uh… no,” Cas seemed pretty firmly opposed to it, in fact, judging by his tone. “Singing is not one of my talents.”

“We're not exactly opening for Led Zeppelin here.” Charlie waved in the general direction of the stage. “It’s fun. Nobody’s expecting great singing from everyone.”

“Maybe at some point,” Cas conceded, “but not today.”

“Just FYI, next Karaoke night we’re doing love songs, because February. Everyone’s going to sing. Even Ash. You can’t be worse than Ash. You should join us.”

Cas looked uncomfortable as hell, so Dean decided it was time for a new subject. “So, I was telling Charlie about the Righteous Man and I realized, you never said what happened after they were cursed.”

“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” Cas jumped on the new topic, “God smote everyone, including the Righteous Man, and Castiel was left behind on Earth, alone. Locked out of Heaven.”

“Until the Righteous Man was born again, seven generations later.” Dean prompted.

“Yes. Longer than that, actually. Castiel had never been on Earth for any great period of time before, and certainly not as a vulnerable human. The first three times, they never even met. Castiel died before he was able to determine where the Righteous Man had been born and how to find him. But eventually he learned enough about human biology and custom to survive, and make his way to where the Righteous Man waited.”

“God’s a dick,” Charlie observed.

Dean hummed his agreement and decided he needed another drink. Charlie wanted one too, so he made his way to the bar for two beers, and came back to find Ash and Kevin next to Charlie, leaving him the seat on the other side of Cas. He slid into the seat and everyone shuffled a little. Charlie had apparently been making the introductions because she was explaining that she’d met Ash at a hacker’s convention, and they’d become friends during an event when they couldn’t get past each other’s defenses in the allotted time. Charlie got him into Moondoor and he got her into things they were not supposed to discuss in public. She didn’t move on to Kevin, so Dean assumed they’d covered that already.

They watched a few more singers, split some pub nachos, and kept the conversation as light as the beer.

“I should go,” Cas eventually excused himself. “I still have a lot of papers to grade tonight. It was a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Join us next time,” Charlie insisted.

Cas cringed a little, but gave a hesitant nod. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

oOo

He hadn’t exactly decided to follow Cas out. It was kind of an impulse. He heard what Charlie said, and he knew how - emphatic - Charlie could be. And well, Cas was new to the group and the last thing he wanted was for him to feel pressured into singing because he happened to join them at a time when they had something planned.

He watched Cas walk away, and something like restlessness settled into his gut. He had to follow. He had to. So he excused himself after a moment and headed for the door. Hopefully, Cas was still making his way to his car.

It actually took him a hot minute to find Cas. He looked all around the parking lot with no success, and it wasn’t until he turned around to go back inside that he found Cas, leaning against the wall, a handful of steps from the door, looking up at the sky like a man who just needs a moment before he can trust himself to drive.

Dean walked over and Cas must have been alerted by the sound of his footsteps on the sidewalk, because he looked his way just as Dean leaned on the wall next to him.

“My friends can be - a lot. Especially Charlie. She’s awesome in every way but she’s also a force of nature, like a typhoon.”

They both chuckled at that, and Cas looked down at his feet before returning to Dean’s eyes. “They’re your friends. I trust your judgment.”

“Listen, we did plan to all sing next time, but you weren’t part of that discussion and you’re under no obligation to embarrass yourself if you don’t want to. Charlie wouldn’t even want you to. Sometimes I think the whole Queen of Moondoor thing just goes to her head.”

“She’s trying hard to be welcoming. I understand. I don’t have the best people skills, and it can be a little intimidating, but I can see there’s not a malicious bone in her body.”

“Good. I do hope you’ll join us, and I hope you’re comfortable enough to join the fun and sing. But no pressure, alright?”

“Thank you,” he smiled and shuffled away from the wall. “I look forward to getting to know everyone better.”

“I’ll see you next week. If you have the time, I’d love to hear more about this Righteous Man of yours.”

“I’ll bring the next journal.”

This time Cas walked up to a Continental, of all things, and got in. Dean watched him pull out, make his way through the parking lot, and pull out into the street.

What was so fascinating about this guy? He was hot, sure. Even in a rumpled suit that was clearly not made for him and a trench coat, he was hot. But he’d seen plenty of hot guys before and he’d never had this bizarre impulse to follow. To go with. Not just for a hookup or whatever, but because they were supposed to be together.

It was probably just his family history messing with his head, he decided. He’d met a blue-eyed stranger and now they were supposed to go on wild adventures. He’d been hearing it for a decade. That was all.

Right, so. He went on back to the table, just in time to catch Charlie’s turn at the mic. She probably had her eye on someone in the crowd, because she went for “Walking on Sunshine”, which she knew she absolutely rocked. He relaxed back into the seat to enjoy the show.

Chapter Text

It was a long ass week. He kept thinking about Cas, about what he was doing, and the persistent sense that there was something they were supposed to be doing together.

He should probably talk to Sam about this, but honestly, Sammy was just gonna see it as confirmation that Dean was really meant to be some kind of superhero on a glorious quest. He was a smart kid, but he was at that age. Dean couldn’t wait for him to grow out of it, to be perfectly honest.

Although, it had made him wonder about all this going off on grand adventures business. Where exactly were they supposed to be going and was there some sort of purpose to it? Because he could see a few of his ancestors just traveling for the fun of it, or being thrill seekers, but every generation, going back 4,000 years? That was weird. That was not a coincidence. That was more than just random adventuring. These journals Cas had might have more information.

He found his classes that day incredibly boring, and even genealogy club seemed like a giant waste of his time. What was the point in flipping through pages in a virtual parish register when Cas had all the information he was looking for? At least, he was pretty sure he did. Dean was maybe not entirely convinced that this Righteous Man was his ancestor, but Cas seemed to have no doubt so Dean was cautiously optimistic.

He was oddly confident that Cas would know.

Finally, the room was clearing and Cas was pulling another ancient looking book out of his bag.

“You wanna grab a table downstairs in the food court?” Dean definitely did not want to be interrupted again, and he could use a cup of coffee.

“That works for me.”

Cas grabbed all his stuff and they headed down to the ground floor and across to the Student Union building, to find a table near the cafe. There were a number of fast food restaurants around too, but the only one Dean actually liked to eat at had closed hours ago. Dean dropped his stuff in a chair.

“I’m gonna grab some coffee and maybe a muffin or something. You want anything?”

“I could use some coffee. Cream and sugar, please.”

“You got it.”

It took maybe three minutes to come back to the table, and he found Cas carefully paging through the journal. Dean set the coffee on the table in front of him along with some sugar packets and a few containers of creamer and made himself comfortable across from Cas.

“Is that the next journal? From the first time they actually met again?”

“Yes. Almost 400 years after the battle of Sodom.”

“Is this one in Enochian too?”

“Yes. The first twenty or so all are.”

“Alright,” Dean peeled the paper from his muffin, “tell me.”

“The first third or so tells of how Castiel found himself on Earth again, what he felt was necessary to keep a record of, in case he needed to refer back to it later. Logistics, basically. Then there are a few pages about how he tracked down the Righteous Man, a few towns over from where he had first landed, as it were. Then nothing for a while. He did not seem to find his travels worth documenting.”

“Fair enough. Probably not much to write home about, way back then.”

Cas tilted his head oddly at him and Dean tried not to smile at how much it reminded him of the puppy Sam had always wanted. “It’s just an expression.”

“He starts up again a few months later. Castiel had settled in the town where the man had been born. He was still a child, and for a few years the angel watched him from a distance, unsure of what they were meant to do now. He became a smith, and not long after that the boy’s father died and he wondered if he should seek out the boy as an apprentice. He wanted to be of service, somehow.”

He paused, turned a few pages and hesitated. “He wanted to shield him from all the hardships he was sure to face. But just as he meant to approach the boy’s mother, he was beset by Gabriel.”

“Like, the Archangel Gabriel?”

“Yes,” Cas confirmed. “He had been sent to smite the boy the moment Castiel made contact. Fortunately for both of them, Gabriel is a bit of a wild card. He had never gone as far as to openly defy god’s plans, but he was fond of finding and exploiting loopholes in them.”

“Sounds like a bit of a chaos goblin.”

“Something like that, yes. In any case, he informed Castiel that his orders were to smite the boy if the angel made contact before his 21st birthday.”

“Did I mention this god character is a dick?”

“I believe so,” a smile tugged at the corner of Castiel’s mouth and Dean found himself bluescreening a bit. Jesus, it had been a while, what with Sam’s care taking over his life, and Cas had the whole sexy professor thing going, but still. He shook himself out of it, and redirected his thoughts back to the topic at hand.

“Good, because he is.”

“Gabriel began to drop in, on occasion. Ostensibly to monitor the situation and ensure that Castiel was still keeping his distance. But also, Gabriel spent a lot of time on Earth, and he got bored easily. Eventually, he came with news. There was a way to break the curse.”

Dean sat up straighter. “How did that happen?”

“According to Gabriel, he had suggested to god that he was bored with watching the angel and human living separate boring lives, and that it might be more entertaining to set them on something of a mission. That there was no telling what amusing things they might get up to if they were to be offered, just as an example, a way to break the curse.”

Dean was fascinated now, and had abandoned what was left of his muffin as well as his coffee.

“So Castiel was informed that while he must keep his distance until the boy’s 21st birthday, after that there was a way they could break the curse. There were some parameters. They had to do it together. If one of them died in the process or simply didn’t want to break the curse, it wouldn’t work, and they would have to try again the next lifetime. And then Gabriel gave him directions for a spell.”

“Like a magic spell?”

The smile tugged again, and this time Dean hardly noticed. He barely glanced at it, in fact. It was just a tiny little smile.

“This is a list of ingredients,” he tapped the page carefully “and offerings required.”

“Wait, ingredients and offerings?”

“Yes. The ingredients are mostly unproblematic. Just your basic herbs, holy oil, a few drops of fresh blood from each of them. Easy enough to find in a reasonably large city, even back then, except for one thing.” His finger traced one particular line, “A vial of water from the headwaters of the Nile.”

“Shit. Did they even know where that was 4,000 years ago? Or even 400?”

“No, not really. The angel had a reasonably good idea, but once you got far enough up stream, even Castiel wasn’t certain which was the river and which were the tributaries, so the best he could do was identify half a dozen possible sources. In any case, there was a bigger problem.”

“The offerings,” Dean wasn’t really asking, but Cas nodded anyway.

“On the altar, marking the cardinal points, they need four very specific stones. To mark the North, representing the Earth, a piece of fresh lava stone. Basalt, I believe it’s called. For the East, representing the Air, a piece of a celestial body. Perhaps a moon rock or a meteorite. For the South, representing Fire, a piece of obsidian. For the West, representing Water, a piece of blue coral stone.”

“How the hell were they supposed to even find a meteorite?” Dean chimed in, getting somewhat outraged on his potential ancestor’s behalf.

“The stones had to be picked by human hands, within their current lifetime.”

“This was basically impossible for anyone living back then. Or at almost any other point in history. Just the traveling involved -” Dean stopped himself then, “That’s it, isn’t it? If this is really related to my family history, that would explain all the traveling. The wild adventures.”

Suddenly restless, Dean stood up and threw his unfinished muffin in the trash. “It’s freakin’ impossible.”

“Almost, yes.”

Dean kept pacing, so Cas got up and threw away his trash. They walked out and started making their way to the parking lot.

“In any case, they didn’t get very far at first. They didn’t really work very well together when they weren’t fighting for their lives. They were, perhaps, a little too different. Always at odds, getting in their own way.”

“So what changed?”

“The angel did. He learned to read the man. To see things from his point of view. To care about the things the man cared about.”

Dean turned to look at him. “Didn’t the man change?”

“To some degree, but less so. He had less time to work with. And less need.”

“Less need?”

“His soul was beautiful. Perfect, exactly the way it was,” his eyes went distant, and Dean gave him a moment. “Bruised and scarred, often. Injured. Battered, even. His life was never easy before they met, the curse saw to that. But at his core, he was made of love, and it was beautiful and perfect regardless.”

And that was a hell of a thing to say about a man. At his core, he was made of love. He wasn’t even sure what that meant, but he felt the green monster stirring anyway, so he got the conversation back on track.

“And when they got better at working together?”

“They came pretty close a couple of times, when one of them didn’t die early.”

“Wait, what do you mean one of them? In my family’s curse the friend always sacrifices himself to save Dean.”

“That is what you said. And that does appear to be… inconsistent. But those dramatic moments would naturally warrant more attention than the man dying of some jungle fever, wouldn’t you say? It seems likely that the cases where the man - where Dean - died first were simply not as memorable.”

“I guess that’s possible, but I don’t know. The stories are pretty definitive on that point. Like Dean losing the friend and living out the rest of his life alone was part of the curse.”

“It was,” he agreed, “it is. But sometimes wild adventures don’t go as planned.”

Dean supposed that was fair enough. Still, it was the first part of this story that directly conflicted with the family curse and he wasn’t ready to give it up. Cas must have picked up on his reluctance because he suddenly changed tack.

“There are seven or eight journals in English, though in all honesty, the first few are very old English, and might be indecipherable. Would you like to read them?”

“Yeah,” Dean really liked that idea for some reason. “I think I would.”

Chapter Text

Life got - complicated, as it often did with Dean. Sam needed to cover testing fees and application fees and who-knew-what-else-fees for lining up Law school like he’d been talking about for years, on top of all the stuff he needed for undergrad that wasn’t covered by his scholarship, and Dean had to take on more hours at work to make it happen. Also, Dean would be graduating at the end of the school year. Sam had just moved to the Stanford dorms at the beginning of the year, which had pretty much used up his savings, and now Dean was gonna have to move out and find new digs. He was hoping to find a roommate to split the bills and the chores with because he’d probably have to get another job to cover his own expenses and Sam’s. Kid had applied for all kinds of additional grants, but they couldn’t count on those just yet and even if they came through, Dean was certain there would still be gaps to cover. And even with a roommate he’d need to save up for a deposit.

The point was, he had to stop going to Genealogy Club meetings. He didn’t even get a chance to go to the very next one, so he could talk to Cas about it. He headed for the Student Union as soon as he got out of work, hoping that maybe Cas had stopped for a cup of coffee there after the meeting and he’d still be able to find him there. It was over an hour since the end of the meeting, so Dean wasn’t holding out much hope, but he went anyway. He had no idea how to get in touch with Cas if that didn’t work out. Not being one of his students, it probably wasn’t appropriate to just find him in the school directory and contact him during his office hours, but Dean wasn’t above that if that’s what it was gonna take.

As it turned out, it wasn’t. Cas was sitting at the same table they’d used the last time they were here, looking through a journal. This one looked - less fragile. More mass produced, maybe. Actually, now that he thought about it, he kinda wanted to lay all the journals out in order and look them over. The progression from rare artifact to made in bulk would probably be fascinating to think about.

Anyway, he sat next to Cas as if he was expected, and Cas welcomed his company just as easily.

“I was hoping you’d show up,” he slid a paper bag that turned out to contain a muffin towards Dean.

“Yeah, sorry. I had to take on more hours at work.”

“I brought the journals. Well, three of them, anyway. The oldest three written in English.”

He set the books carefully on the table, in order. Dean reached for one, but stopped short.

“You wanna hear something weird?”

“Sure.”

“I’m a little afraid of these. Truth is, I don’t want this to be my family’s story.”

Cas didn’t say anything, but tilted his head, which Dean decided to take as an invitation to elaborate.

“If this is the story, then - I’m gonna have to do something about it. I can’t just ignore it. Not when there’s a way to break the curse and spare future Deans the punishment. And that’s not even counting the angel who’s being punished for having this Righteous Man’s back. It’s not the same as just not going on adventures with a friend, right? Other people stand to suffer. I can’t walk away from that.”

“You could, actually.”

“Alright then, I won’t.”

Dean thought about it for a moment, and then continued. “I promised myself I wasn’t gonna follow the pattern. Ever since my father first told me the story, I thought all these Deans must have been pretty stupid. I mean, nothing wrong with adventure, but if you’re getting people who are important to you killed and you end up alone, you’re going too hard. And anyway, I get all the adventure I need just playing video games and reading books. I wouldn’t risk leaving Sam without backup, or never getting to hang out with my friends again. And now here I am, thinking about how I could try to break this curse.”

“I can understand that,” Cas nodded. “You don’t have to. It is your choice to make, in the end. But you should probably have as much information as possible before you choose, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” that was the thing, he really did want to know the truth. He couldn’t just decide now that he’d found an inconsistency that it was all unrelated and shrug it off. “Listen, I’m beat and I have to get back home and call Sammy. Can I have your number? Or some other way to get in touch, I guess. I might need help with the old English vernacular.”

“Of course, Dean.” He drew a pen and sticky note from his bag and wrote down his number. “Reach out anytime. I won’t answer calls while I’m working, of course, but I will answer a text if the opportunity presents itself.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean reached for the first of the books again. “You sure you don’t mind me taking these to read?”

“I know you’ll take good care of them.”

“I will,” It sounded almost like a vow, and for a moment it shook him. But he was just tired. It had been a long day. He settled the books into his own book bag and took the muffin out of the bag. “Thanks for this, too. I’m starving.”

Something like a smile flickered briefly in Castiel’s eyes. “Yes, I thought you might be.”

oOo

Dean had every intention of reading one of the journals before bed. At least taking a look at it to determine how difficult it was going to be. But the wi-fi went down for no apparent reason while he was looking through local apartment listings and by the time he had been able to get it back into working order he was just - burnt out.

Between one thing and another, it didn’t happen the next day either, and when by the end of the third day he realized he still hadn’t so much as opened a journal yet, he made himself take a minute to look one of them over. It was gonna be hard. He was finding it hard to focus, so maybe that was part of it. How much sleep had he managed the last few nights? Probably not enough. His eyes were actually pretty tired. Hard to keep open. And he’d been just skimming, really. It was the best he could do at the moment. Just looking for a few familiar words on the page. And a few was exactly what he found. He wasn’t going to get very far if that was the best he could do. Maybe he’d try again after he got some sleep.

The thing about being this tired was, it actually made it harder to go to sleep. It was hard to get comfortable. Everything was just tense. Plus, he was worried about his failure to decode more than a few words on that first page. And Sam. Okay, and what kind of place he was gonna be able to even afford once he had to move out of campus housing. Maybe even mostly that. What he needed was a distraction. Something to focus on. Something he didn’t have to think about.

What time was it?

As it turned out, not quite 11. He should probably be working on whatever paper was due next. He had too much work to do to be in bed this early. Except if he was honest with himself, he was pretty sure any work he did right now was gonna have to be redone when he was awake enough to see all the ways he’d fucked it up. Might as well just get some sleep.

He hadn’t planned on doing anything except change his alarm to wake him an hour earlier than usual, so he could get some work in then. Somehow, though, he’d wandered over to his contacts and before he could tell himself to just send a text, he’d hit the call button.

He was still panicking about it when the phone was answered with a rough “Hello?”

Shit. It was way too late to be calling anyone for no reason, right? But now that he had, his number was on the call log, and when he did eventually reach out to Cas at a more reasonable time, Cas would know it was him. “Uh - hey, Cas. Sorry to bother you.”

“Dean? Are you okay?” he sounded concerned and Dean couldn’t even blame him. People don’t usually call each other this late out of the blue unless there’s some sort of a problem.

“Yeah, sorry. Sleep deprived, I guess. Seemed like a good idea for a second. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Not at all. There are no classes this late.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure how that followed but whatever. “It is late. I shouldn’t have called.”

“I’m glad you did. How can I help?”

“I don’t know. Can’t sleep. Too tired. Can’t relax.”

“Sounds like you need a distraction.”

“Yeah,” his tired brain scrambled for something else to say. “Tell me a story. About your angel and his Righteous Man.”

“Alright. How about the story of the first time they tried to break the curse?”

“Kay,” Dean yawned. “Soun’s good.”

Cas began to speak, but Dean was out like a light three words in. He dreamed of clear starry skies, and desert crossings. Of a camel that tried to eat his hat, and Cas laughing at them. He looked - different. His hair was shorter, he was wearing some kind of flowing tunic or something. Scorching hot days, and shifting sands, and arriving at a crater to find that the meteor they were looking for had already been claimed by someone else.

oOo

He met Cas at a local fast food joint after the next club meeting. It was closer for Dean, and Cas had insisted.

Cas was nursing some fries when Dean arrived, but went to order with him when Dean went up to the counter. They sat down to burgers and chit chat and it wasn’t until they were done eating that the journals even came up.

“How are you getting along with the Old English?”

“I’m not, to be honest. I opened the first one a few times, but gave up pretty quickly when I couldn’t stay focused long enough to make out more than a few words.”

“Still not getting enough sleep?”

“Probably not. Got too much to do. School. Work. Sam. And now I have to try to save up for his fees and for a deposit because I’m gonna have to move at the end of the year,” he groaned. He sounded exhausted, but more to the point, exhausting. “Sorry, it’s just - a lot.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Cas objected, “especially when I asked. If you like, you can bring one next week and I’ll read it to you.”

“Next week is Karaoke night, man. You’re meeting us there, right?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re still making room for a little fun with your friends in all of that.”

“I’m not sure I really have a choice. Sometimes I think karaoke night is what keeps me going.”

Cas nodded and kept eating.

“You must really have a thing for cheeseburgers,” Dean noted.

“I think I do, yes.”

“When things settle down, you should come over and I’ll make you one. Fair warning, it will spoil you for this kind of stuff.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

He sounded so solemn when he said it that Dean almost spit out his drink. Cas was a lot funnier than he’d realized. And that sparkle in his eye was - okay, enough of that. Not like Cas was interested at all. He’d have said something by now, especially after that late call.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

oOo

Dean had more or less decided not to contact Cas until Karaoke night. That didn’t really work out. Although in his defense, it was because Cas, as it turned out, had a ‘friend of sorts’ (complete with air quotes, whatever that meant), at Stanford, and volunteered to assist in any way he could. Dean had mentioned this to Sam, thinking that that was a kind but not very useful offer, and Sam had disagreed. Emphatically. So Dean had first conveyed a bunch of questions from Sam to Cas, then asked if he could just give Sam his number so they could talk to each other directly. That was a yes, thank fuck.

But then Sam had started going on about how helpful Cas was being, and that did end up taking some of the stress off Dean - when Sam wasn’t stressed out, he was pretty good at taking care of himself - so then Dean got back in touch to thank Cas and they ended up texting well into the evening. And Dean might have called him again a couple of nights later and asked for another story, but that was only because Cas had asked if he wanted to. Not his fault. So there.

Chapter Text

It’s not like Cas had time to get ready for Karaoke night. He had a full load on his plate. One upper division class, three intro classes, office hours, and the blasted genealogy club. Should he drop that? He’d only volunteered to advise on that because he determined Dean was likely to join. And now Dean wasn’t even in the club anymore, so really, it was just a drain on his time at this point. Still, he’d made a commitment.

The point being, he was in his usual rumpled suit with his usual trench coat, and everyone else (at least everyone who was already here) was dressed up. Or, he eyed his full suit, dressed differently. Like they were on a special date. Like say, about to sing a love song to the love of their inconceivably long life. Seemed like the kind of occasion you go all out for. Not that he had much of anything beyond rumpled suits in his closet. If things went well, eventually - he’d have to ask Dean to help him pick out some date clothes. He left himself a sort of time capsule, each time around, with sentimental items and the journals and such, but clothing was - well, different. It changed so often and so thoroughly that there was nothing he could leave for himself with the expectation that it would be appropriate attire almost a century into the future.

Cas was already at the table with Charlie and Ash when Dean rolled up. Judging by the time Dean had arrived to meet Cas in the last couple of weeks, he also was coming straight from work and did not have time to go home and change. At least neither one of them was alone in their shabbiness, so that was something.

They’d ordered a round, and Cas was currently trying to help Charlie narrow down her choices. Being the only one of the group currently in a happy romantic relationship, she had a lot of them. Ash was already signed up to sing and Kevin had not yet made an appearance, as far as Cas was aware. Dean had mentioned that Kevin had an on and off again thing with someone. Perhaps they were currently off and Kevin was in no mood for love songs.

In any case, Cas himself had picked out his song almost as soon as he had agreed to do this. He’d listened to it enough to not need prompting or the words to guide him. He’d even practiced. He had taken great pains, in fact, to make sure he’d be able to do this with his eyes closed, if it came to that. He absolutely could not look at Dean or he would surely give himself away.

Dean, incidentally, headed to the KJ table and signed up, and then headed for the bar, likely to get himself a beer before joining them.

“I dunno, sounds more appropriate for a long distance thing, don’t you think?” Charlie cut through his thoughts.

“I suppose so.”

Dean approached the table as Charlie went back to scrolling through her playlists. “Everybody signed up?”

“Not yet,” Cas had deliberately waited to do so after Dean, so that Dean would go first. He had no idea why. Charlie’s indecision made a good excuse though, so he nodded her way and elaborated, “still picking a song.”

“Come on, Charles. This was your idea. How do you not have a song picked out yet?”

“Buzz off, Winchester,” she snarked, before turning her phone to show Cas. “What do you think?”

“I like it.” Technically, he was not familiar enough with the song to ‘like’ it, per se, but Charlie seemed to think it was a good choice, so he was going to agree with her.

“Alright, come on. Let’s do this.”

He let Charlie sign up first, because he was a gentleman. At least, that’s what he was going to let her think, anyway. Mostly he wanted to give himself a buffer. He was going to need it. Kevin was at the table when they returned. He was indeed off again, but hoping that karaoke night might distract him, even with all the love songs.

Ash joined them, now that everyone else had arrived, and they caught each other up on the events of the last few weeks over a couple of drinks. There really wasn’t much Cas could contribute, so he mostly listened and learned. Dean seemed really invested in these people. He asked relevant questions, offered advice, and generally treated each of them as if they were singularly important to him. That made them important to Cas.

The first person was called up to sing, and their table settled to a more respectful volume. Somehow, Ash had traded places with Charlie, and was now sitting next to Cas, fiddling with his phone and humming patterns to himself. Two other singers followed and then it was Ash’s turn. He sang something Cas was unfamiliar with. As love songs went, it was an interesting choice.

“I may have misunderstood the purpose of this,” he whispered to Dean. The song appeared to be about two people, barely more than strangers, looking for a hookup.

“I doubt it. Ash is just -” he made a gesture probably intended to be dismissive, “different. He doesn’t really do relationships, I guess, so ‘On The Hunt’ is probably his idea of a true love story.”

They listened to the rest of the song without comment, and then Dean went to order nachos for the table to share. A few people with unremarkable song choices took their turns. Hopefully they were singing to a date, because nobody else seemed to be that captivated.

They were halfway through the nachos when Dean’s turn came up. He looked regretfully at the tray of nachos before heading up to the stage, and Cas casually pulled the tray closer to himself. Charlie gave him an amused smile and a wink, whatever that was supposed to mean, and then he forgot Charlie was even there, because Dean began to sing.

“Come out, Virginia, don't let me wait
You Catholic girls start much too late
Aw, but sooner or later it comes down to fate”

That - that sounded like Dean. He had never been one to be deterred by expectations. Except maybe his own.

“Well, they showed you a statue, told you to pray
They built you a temple and locked you away
Aw, but they never told you the price that you pay,
The things that you might have done”

That brought back memories. Cas had been… something of ‘a stick in the mud’ when he found himself working with the Righteous Man all those centuries ago. Sure, he might have fallen, and be temporarily stuck in human form, but he was still an angel, and full of all the grand ideas that had been fed into him about what was acceptable behavior. It was funny now, looking back, how easily he abandoned the host, and how reluctantly he questioned their idea of who he was supposed to be.

“Send up a signal, I'll throw you a line
The stained-glass curtain you're hiding behind
Never lets in the sun”

He wondered, for a moment, if maybe in the hidden recesses of Dean’s mind, he was remembering. The way he’d taken an interest in the awkward angel, so full of weird ideas about his own dignity. The way the angel had fought himself, caught between his human feelings, his human needs, and his angel programming.

“You didn't count on me
When you were counting on your rosary”

Cas certainly hadn’t counted on him. Nobody in Heaven or Earth had counted on him. Certainly not on him challenging god, openly, thoroughly, even after the curse. On his way of looking at the angel as if his dignity didn’t come from his origin but from his choices. Or the way he’d questioned everything Cas had told him about who he was. And the way he made Cas wonder what he was missing out on, what his body was craving and what it would feel like to give it what it wanted.

“I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints
The sinners are much more fun”

Dean winked in the general direction of their table and Cas reminded himself that he was winking at his friends group in general and not himself. But it was the same wink. The cocky, charming wink that he had been defenseless against for more generations than he cared to count. Charlie whistled, Kevin waved, and Cas wished he didn’t have to keep his own reaction in check. He pulled the tray of nachos closer as Ash reached for it, and pretended he hadn’t noticed him reaching.

“You said your mother told you all that I could give you was a reputation”

Naomi, the closest thing Cas had ever had to a mother, would certainly say so, if she was asked. Ah, but he had given Cas so much. He had given Cas the tools to figure out who he was and who he wanted to be. He had given his loyalty. His kindness. His love, and so much more than that. It was beyond their comprehension, of course. It would have been beyond his own comprehension before the fall. He was supposed to have lost everything of value when the gates of Heaven closed against him. Instead, an entirely new universe of possibility had opened before him. A universe with more to recommend it than Heaven could even begin to muster.

“Darling only the good die young”

Not if Cas could help it. Not Dean. Never again. He was still thinking about it when Dean slid back into the booth and reached for the tray. Cas gave up the nachos, and smirked when Ash sputtered in protest.

“You call that love, Winchester?” Charlie teased. “That’s about a high school kid trying to get laid.”

“Because he’s in love,” Cas returned, perhaps a little too emphatically. ”And old enough to know what he wants and ask for it.”

“Damn right,” Dean agreed, a couple of chips already on their way to his mouth. Cas turned his eyes back to Charlie and then over her head to the stage where someone was preparing to sing, apparently, Celine Dion. That was unlikely to go well, he decided. He focused on Charlie, who seemed perhaps a bit miffed with him.

“I hope that didn’t come across too harshly. I don’t mean it harshly, I just - struggle with banter.”

Charlie beamed at him and waved it off. “It’s all good,” she wiggled, ultimately too happy to worry about it. She was eager to sing, he could tell by the way her body kept moving, turning towards the stage again and again, her feet shifting under the table. A few of the early singers were preparing to leave. Cas scanned the room, trying to determine who had already taken their turn. There weren’t that many people here, and they stepped up to get in line shortly after Dean did. Charlie’s turn should be coming up very soon.

“That was a good choice,” he turned to Dean, “it suits you.”

Dean did the best impression of a smile he could pull off with a mouth full of nachos and for a moment it threatened to get awkward, but then they called Charlie, and off she went, practically bouncing. She was exactly the kind of friend that was good for Dean, if the soft, amused gleam currently in his eyes was anything to go by.

She broke out into “Accidentally in Love”, which Cas was uncomfortably familiar with, since it appeared in Shrek and he taught intro classes. Suffice it to say, it had come up. It was a good choice for Charlie. Upbeat and full of energy, just like her. She was having a ball, and got a lot of feet moving. Cas was fairly certain that if there had been room for dancing, several couples would have stepped up.

As it was, several people sang along to the chorus, and danced from their seats, and when she finished the song, there was real applause and a few whistles. She sauntered back like the Queen of Sheba (what had Dean called the kingdom in her role play?) and it was finally his turn.

He had walked into battles with fewer concerns and less personal investment, if he was being honest, but he’d had some time to prepare and he had a plan. He took a deep breath, nodded to everyone at the table, and stood up. It was going to be fine. Dean liked Bon Jovi. It was a good song. And Dean didn’t even know it was for him, anyway. Not yet.

He stepped up to the mic, determined to keep his eyes on the screen, even though he didn’t need the words.

“You want commitment
Take a look into these eyes”

But he found himself closing them, certain he wasn’t going to be able to keep them from straying to Dean.

“They burn with fire (yeah)
Until the end of time
And I would do anything
I'd beg, I'd steal, I'd die
To have you in these arms tonight”

The weight of all the words he couldn’t say yet, that he’d carried for 21 years now, lifted just a fraction, and he could breathe a little easier.

“Baby, I want you
Like the roses want the rain
You know I need you
Like a poet needs the pain
And I would give anything
My blood, my love, my life”

Was Dean watching? Dean was probably watching. He wanted to look, but he kept his eyes closed and launched into the chorus.

“I'd get down on my knees for you
And make everything alright
If you were in these arms”

A whistle came from the general direction of their table. Probably Charlie. He kept his eyes closed and his face forward.

“These prayers keep me strong
And I still believe
If you were in these arms”

Maybe it was because people were still pumped from Charlie’s song, but it felt like the energy level remained high. People were watching, listening, getting into it. He sang the chorus and a couple of other voices joined in.

“Everything here reminds me of you
There's nothing I wouldn't do”

He didn’t have Jon’s vocal range, so he had to hope his sincerity came through and made up for not going for that note. He allowed his eyes to open for a moment as the guitar solo went on and made sure he scanned the whole room, even though there was only one person he was really interested in.

“And these were our words
They keep me strong, baby”

He sang it looking at Dean. Why had he done that? He never should have opened his eyes. He kept them closed tight as he went through the chorus, even as he heard people starting to clap along to the beat.

oOo

“Now that was a love song,” Charlie hinted.

“Thank you.” Was that an appropriate response? It seemed like Charlie was fishing for something, but he wasn’t going to take the bait unless he had to.

“So what’s up with that?” She insisted. “Where is she, why aren’t you with her?”

“Uh - him. It’s him and it’s… complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Dean chimed in. “Somebody cheat or something?”

“No,” he had promised himself he would always answer Dean’s questions as thoroughly and honestly as he could, but this time, he was going to keep it short.

“Then what’s so complicated?”

“He…” Cas hesitated, picked his words carefully, “doesn’t remember. Something happened and he doesn’t remember me. Us.”

“That blows,” Ash threw in, and signaled for another round.

Cas downed what was left of his beer and shifted awkwardly before turning to Kevin. “What are you singing?”

Kevin avoided eye contact and Charlie and Dean groaned. “Come on, Kev. You know the deal. We all did it, even the new guy. Don’t leave us hanging, man.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes but went up to the KJ, “but no complaining, no matter what it is.”

It ended up being “Hopelessly Devoted to You” and while he didn’t quite nail it, he clearly had one of the girls in the audience waiting to offer some comfort when he stepped off the stage.

Kevin didn’t come back to the table, Ash started getting restless, and in another minute, Charlie was off to call her girlfriend. What did he even say to Dean right now? He hesitated a moment too long.

“It’s been a really long day, and I work tomorrow. I should go.”

“Alright. Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

There was shuffling, and someone else got up to sing. He still didn’t know what he could say, so he settled on “Good night, Dean.”

Chapter Text

He was too restless to sleep. He tried, fuck knew he was tired enough. He couldn’t get that song out of his head though. And what Cas had said after. About how the guy didn’t remember him. It had to suck, being that devoted to someone who didn’t know you from Adam. He should do something. They were friends, after all. Cas could probably use someone to talk to about this.

What would he even say, though? How would he bring it up? Should he bring it up? Cas had clearly not wanted to talk about it earlier, though that might just be because they were in the middle of Karaoke night. Not exactly private with all the people there, and that’s not even counting the noise. Least he could do was offer to listen, and see if Cas took him up on it. He rehearsed a hundred openings in his head and reached no decisions before falling asleep.

He gave up on the rehearsal Friday night. Apparently, he was just gonna have to wing it. And since he was gonna do that, well, no time like the present. The longer he put it off, the more he’d overthink it.

“Hello, Dean,” he sounded relaxed, which was probably a good sign. Should he jump right into it or pretend he was calling about something else? Maybe the journals? He’d been too focused on how to handle this conversation to give any thought to the journals at all since they last spoke, but he had plenty of questions he could fall back on.

“Hey, Cas. How’s it going?”

“I’m doing well. How are you?”

Great. Should he remark on the weather now? This was stupid. They were supposed to be best friends. What was even the point in this beating around the bush?

“I’m fine,” Dean took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not trying to intrude but - what you said the other day. It’s been on my mind and I just thought - that’s a lot, man. If you want to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener.”

Cas didn’t immediately respond, which was a pretty good hint in and of itself, but Dean decided to ride out the awkward silence, just in case.

“I’m really not comfortable talking about it. Not now, at least.”

“That’s cool,” he should respect that and let it go entirely, but the idea was - unsatisfying. “You don’t have to talk about it. Do you mind if I say something, though?”

“Not at all. Go ahead, Dean.”

“This guy - he must be really something if you’re still waiting around for him to remember. The kind of guy who wouldn’t want you to spend your life alone. I think - ” he must sound like such an ass, speaking for a man he never even met, “I’m not saying I know anything about him or anything, just - a good guy would want you to be happy.”

“I’d be happy to wait a thousand lifetimes for him,” and he made it sound like a vow. Which was great and noble, but also, pretty lonely.

He should stop talking now. Change the subject. “I get that. I do. But - ” he swallowed, unsure of why he was still talking about this. He felt like maybe he wasn’t clear. Like it was important that Cas understand that he didn’t have to wait. That he deserved to be loved in return. Somehow, it seemed to be crucially important that he make that crystal clear. “He’d want you to find someone who can love you back. At least - I would, if it was me. Just - as your friend - just think about it.”

“I - I suppose I can do that,” Cas sounded almost amused by the idea, but he’d agreed to think about it and that was enough to satisfy whatever weird anxiety had taken over his brain there for a bit.

“Great,” he nodded to himself.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“You don’t gotta thank me. We’re friends. This is what friends are for.”

Right, now what?

“I’ve been trying to work out this thing about Dean dying first sometimes,” he settled on.

“I see. Can I be of assistance?”

“Maybe,” he wondered if there was a way to compare stories. “Maybe if you told me about a couple of times that Dean died first, I could see if there are any family curse stories that are close to that and see if I can figure it out from there."

“The first time it happened, it was a snake bite. A cobra, to be exact,” Cas started. “A few centuries later, there was a cholera outbreak.”

Cas began to list, in chronological order no less, a number of incidents. Maybe it was the monotone drone his voice had taken on when he began, or the fact that Dean had really only asked as a way to change the subject, but he found himself losing focus, not really paying attention. He was still making all the right noises, but he wasn’t really listening.

“Then there was the one you mentioned at our very first meeting.”

That got his attention, and he cut in. “The burning building? But Dean didn’t die.”

“He did.”

“The story says the friend went into the building and saved him.”

“Castiel was able to save him because Dean died, and thus, Castiel’s human life also ended, and he got back his power, which allowed him to break into the building, heal Dean, and bring his soul back.”

“Wait, so…”

Dean took a deep breath and tried to think it through. So the angel regained his power when Dean died. And used his power to bring him back from the dead. This was probably not the only time, right? If he did it once, he probably did it all the time. At least -

This must be why in the version of the story he’d heard, the friend always died first. Not like Dean would go around saying he’d died and been resurrected, right? The only way that worked was if the friend always brought Dean back when he died first.

“Wait, no. That doesn’t count. It doesn’t count, because Dean didn’t stay dead.”

“It counts.”

“Cheater,” Dean teased. “It doesn’t. At the end of the day, the angel was dead and Dean was alive.”

“Still had to watch him die,” Cas said, his voice suddenly somber.

And sure, he supposed that was true. If they really were that close, it must have been absolute hell for the angel to be so powerless as his best friend died before his eyes. Especially if it was some sort of painful death. He wanted to ask if the angel had ever spared Dean the pain, knowing he’d be able to bring him back after. What it must be like to watch your hands drain the life of someone you love. He didn’t ask.

“Sure, but -” he thought about what it must be like, to die in a literal angel’s arms. To know that he’s sparing you the worst of it, in the only way he can. That it’s not the end. That he’ll save you, in another moment. That he’ll keep you safe for as long as you live, even if you can never be together again.

It felt like the strangest sort of deja vu. Like something on the tip of his tongue. Like there was something he knew but couldn’t quite remember. Maybe if he could just - focus. Try to pin that feeling down. He found himself swallowing hard, trying to dislodge something deep in his throat.

“Still had to live without you.”

oOo

Dean meant to take another look at those journals after talking to Cas, but he felt - oddly unsettled. Antsy. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling that he was forgetting something important. It was distracting. He didn’t trust himself to touch the books. He’d probably end up ripping something out of sheer nervous energy. He ended up on his couch, watching whatever old westerns he could find on the free channels that came with his TV.

He didn’t feel himself drift off. He was watching John Wayne mosey on down Main Street, and the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes to bright sunlight and birdsong. He was pretty sure it was a dream because he felt quiet. At peace. He wasn’t worried about Sam or anyone else for that matter. He wasn’t in the middle of anything, or sorting a mental to do list according to priority. Just laying on the grass, enjoying the warmth of the late spring sunlight.

What now? He’d never had a lucid dream before. He’d read that with practice, you could control your lucid dreams, but he had no idea how to even begin trying. He would have liked to know where he was, somehow. Maybe fly up until he could see some sort of landmark, or a road sign or something. Instead, he found himself walking towards some kind of a trail.

Okay, maybe he should try to figure out when he was. The moment he moved to get up, he could tell that the clothes he was wearing were off. They didn’t feel or move like anything he’d ever worn before. There was nothing in his immediate view that could give him any answers, and he couldn’t quite get his head to move and give him a better view.

He’d walked maybe five minutes before it started to dawn on him that it wasn’t the clothes. It was Dean’s body that felt - well, different. Lighter. Stronger, maybe. It was almost as if his body wasn’t entirely his own. He chalked it up to some sort of dream detachment. Some sort of weird REM side effect. A sensation of weirdness resulting from being aware while not being able to get his body to do anything about it. This was probably what lucid dreams felt like, at first.

A few more steps brought him to a gate, and a village on the other side of it. It looked… old. Familiar. He didn’t know the people that crossed his path, but they seemed to know him. Their eyes followed him for as long as he could see them. The hair on the back of his neck told him they were still watching long after that.

He was glad to get into one of the smaller houses. It was cool inside. Quiet. There wasn’t much to see. A few pieces of furniture, looking worn. A surprisingly lovely blanket on the bed. A broken mirror mounted on a wall. He went to a cupboard and found something to eat. Reached for two bowls, and put one back. His eyes kept darting to specific spots as if looking for something that was supposed to be there.

Finally, he got up, rinsed out his bowl, dried it, and packed it into a saddlebag. Slowly, thoughtfully, he went through the house, packing some things, leaving most of it behind. Sometimes he stopped and studied some item carefully before deciding whether to take it or leave it. He packed a few basics from the kitchen, most of the clothes, and a few other things. A leather bound book. Reading glasses. A really nice pen.

When the saddlebags were full, he went out and put them on the back of a dun horse. Then he grabbed the saddlebags from the black horse’s tack and went back inside. He gathered some food into the first one. Then went to the side of the bed and pulled a metal box from under it. The box was locked, but he had the key in his pocket and quickly dropped something into it, before locking it up again and tying the key to a leather strip to wear around his neck. He tucked the box into the saddlebag and went to the table in front of the mirror.

It was weird how different someone could look while looking exactly like the image Dean saw in his own mirror every morning. This Dean was rougher around the edges. Older and showing it. Hardened. Cold. Or maybe just done.

Methodically, he began to shave. And maybe it was because he had to look at his own face as he did so, but with each stroke of the blade he lost some of his composure, until his hands were shaking at his jawline. He slowed down then, but he was committed now, and had to finish the job. He changed the angle of his head, the tilt of the blade, and nicked himself anyway.

With a muffled curse, he reached for one of the shirts he hadn’t packed, ripped a strip of cloth from it and began to lift it to his face. Only when he looked in the mirror again, there was no blood. No cut. Nothing. His skin was perfectly hale.

He wiped the blood off the blade and took a few deep breaths. Almost done now.

He looked hard enough at the scruff that he probably didn’t even notice the glacier blue flash at the back of his eyes.

Chapter Text

That was a weird dream, right? Even for him, it was weird, and it made him restless.

Dean paced, and he thought about the dream, and then remembered what Cas had told him about the whole who died first business. Kinda made sense, he supposed. And it resolved the only real reason he had for not accepting that this Righteous Man was his cursed ancestor. Cas seemed so sure. Dean himself wasn’t really ready to accept that yet. There were similarities, sure. But it still felt like there was something that didn’t add up.

He needed to make a real effort to read those journals, sooner rather than later. He had a feeling the answers he needed were all there.

Dean unpacked the older journal and noticed (again) how old it was. It was honestly not helping. He couldn’t stop worrying about damaging the pages long enough to really focus on the words. Which is why he decided to separate the two. Focus on the pages while he got a picture, then look at the picture to try to figure out the words.

He started with just one picture, to test it out. Just the first page. He propped the book open right in front of the window so he’d have good natural light, and then used his phone to snap the shot. Cropped the margins and everything outside of them out of the picture. Played around with some filters to get better contrast and definition. Zoomed in and out to examine one word at a time.

The thing was, it looked like it was written by a little kid. Someone who hasn’t had much occasion to practice the skill. Uneven letters, irregular spacing, sloppy penmanship, it was all there. It seemed to take hours to decipher that it just said something about a new friend, older man, settled and accomplished in life, and how he’d advised the writer to use a journal to keep track of his thoughts if he meant to make something of himself. There had to be a better way.

It was Charlie’s idea.

Dean had called, mostly to avoid doing school work on a Sunday evening, but also to check in. He’d mentioned that he still hadn’t made much progress on the journals and Charlie suggested letting the internet help him figure it out. Honestly, he should have thought of it himself. Between school work, keeping in touch with Sam, and his online games, he was on the internet every day.

He should probably start by using some kind of OCR software to convert the picture to text. Finding one that was suited to the task ended up costing him hours of research, but if it worked, it would make reading the journals a hell of a lot easier, so he figured it was worth it.

The internet didn’t fare much better with the older journal, truth be told. Which is why he decided to try the most recent one. Better, more stable paper, less decay in general, spelling and usage closer to current standard. And, he discovered as he opened to the first page, the penmanship was a lot more practiced. This was written by a man who was literate long before he had any reason to keep a journal. All of which should help.

He snapped some pictures of random pages, then flipped to the inside cover. How had he not thought to look at the inside cover before? There was nothing much on it, at first glance, but when he looked closer, there seemed to be initials scribbled in a corner. D and something that could be a W, or a sloppy M, maybe. Heck of a coincidence, if it was one, wasn’t it? He flipped forward again, hoping to find another example.

There really wasn’t much on the first few pages. Entries that looked like to do lists. Notes about people that crossed his path. He skipped ahead to a page with longer entries. Full paragraphs in neat cursive. He could easily pick out more than a few words, and parse out most of the rest without too much effort. Plans for the future, mostly. Travel seemed to be involved. He flipped to the next page, then the next, and right where the traveling began, he found it. The initials, definitely DW, and a date. Every entry after that ended the same way.

DW. Dean Winchester. It had to be. Why hadn’t Cas told him about the initials? He supposed they were not technically conclusive, but given the rest of the details…

He kept reading. Maybe somewhere in one of these entries an actual name was mentioned. Not that there was much reason for someone to refer to themselves by their full name in a journal, but whatever. It was worth a look.

He had apparently set off across the ocean headed for the mainland, but as it didn’t say where he was setting off from, there was no telling what the mainland might be. After too many short paragraphs about what the weather was doing, he decided to just skim and look for names. He went several pages without finding any and then -

It was Cas. He was pretty sure the name was Cas. Not Castiel. Not Angel. Cas. He closed the book carefully and gathered his thoughts.

If this was the story - that would explain how Cas was so sure, wouldn’t it? How Cas had the journals. How he’d just taken to calling his righteous man Dean so naturally. How this bestie always showed up at the same time and looked so much like the last. Why hadn’t Cas just told him?

“Still had to live without you,” he’d blurted out, for some stupid reason. Like he himself had to live without Cas. He scrambled for the phone, barely bothered to notice that it was likely Cas was still in class, and dialed. There was no answer.

Okay, maybe he would have thought Cas was insane, back when they first met, if Cas had just told him. But surely they’d moved past that in the - seriously, how could it be less than two months? Sam didn’t even know yet - they’d known each other.

He dialed again. No answer.

Still, how many times had he felt as if he knew Cas better than he had any right to? That they were closer than they should be in so short a time? He was pretty sure that if Cas had told him to jump off a bridge Dean wouldn’t have stopped to see what was under it, and he would bet his last dollar the same would be true in reverse.

He dialed, knowing that he was likely interrupting the lecture, but he knew - he knew with a certainty that defied all conceivable explanation that Cas would want him to. That this was important enough. This time, he answered the call.

“Hello?”

He sounded terse. Uncomfortable. Concerned, possibly.

“You’re not named after the angel Castiel, are you?” he asked without preamble. There was no sense in dragging this interruption any longer than necessary.

“No,” he sounded somehow both tense and relieved, “not exactly.”

Not exactly a confession, but they both knew Dean didn’t need one right now.

“Right. This isn’t about my ancestors, is it? These aren’t my ancestors, these are my past lives. Our past lives.”

“Yes, they are” he kept it simple. He was likely standing in front of dozens of students, so that was to be expected.

He needed to think about this before they took this conversation any further. And he really needed to let Cas get back to his class. How did he end this conversation? He hesitated for a moment, then hung up and opened his texts. What should he say?

“Talk to you soon.”

oOo

He did not in fact talk to Cas soon. In fact, he did say a word to Cas all the following week. Cas didn’t reach out either, no doubt giving him room to figure things out.

It wasn’t on purpose, exactly. Time had just - gotten away from him. Between work, school and the journals, he’d not had a single moment to stop and think about what he would say to Cas, or what he should do about any of it. He’d forgotten to eat. He’d fallen asleep on top of a journal or his phone every night that week. And then there had been dreams.

Mostly he’d dreamed of small things. Elaborations on something he’d read, usually. He’d read in the journal about a rough hike up a mountain and dream of sharing a meal on a ledge. Being sea sick on a canoe ride. The sunrise over the ocean. Or was it the sunset? He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to be at that time.

One thing he was absolutely sure of. They had gone through some shit together. He had known that, of course, intellectually. But reading about it was different. He’d not gone into too much detail in his past lives, but it was clear enough, at least to himself, how deeply invested they were in each other, every time. The risks they were willing to take for each other. The nonsense they put up with from each other, even. It was - well, eye opening.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Which, yeah. Made absolutely no sense, but that was his life now.

They had also been determined to break that blasted spell. At least, Dean had been. Driven, even. Not so much, it seemed, for his own sake but because he hoped that if they could break it, Cas would be welcomed back by his family in Heaven. It didn’t seem fair to him that Cas should be punished for Dean’s defiance. For his loyalty to Dean.

He should text Cas, of course. But what did he say? Dean could think of no words that wouldn’t feel shallow and inadequate. This was a conversation they should be having in person. Not by text, not even on the phone, but face to face. Maybe after karaoke night. Would Cas be coming to karaoke night? They had given him a standing invitation to join them, but maybe, after a week of silence, he’d feel like he wasn’t welcome. He’d figure it out, if Cas didn’t show.

Should they be trying to break the curse, then? He kept coming back to that question. That was the pattern, wasn’t it? Cas found him, they became friends, and then they went off to break the curse.

The thing was - he was stuck here for a while. He had midterms, for one thing. Also, he had friends he had no intention of disappearing on. And Sammy might be all grown up and on his way to being a lawyer, but he was still his younger brother, and Dean still had responsibilities.

Still. It was the 21st century and how much actual travel would any of this require? You could buy almost anything online now, if you knew where to look, and have it delivered to your doorstep. Ash and Charlie would definitely know where to look, and they’d be happy to help. It couldn’t hurt to at least look into it.

Chapter Text

Dean hadn’t called.

Cas couldn’t say he was surprised, really. Talking had never really been Dean’s first choice, especially in highly stressful or emotional situations. It was probably the childhood trauma. Understandable, to say the least. Still, it did complicate things. Especially in the beginning.

It had been something of an obstacle, the first few times they’d shared a journey. Now Cas knew what to look for and how to read what he wasn’t saying. Case in point - karaoke night.

He wasn’t entirely sure of his welcome, but he went anyway. They might not wave him over to their table or acknowledge him if he approached, but it was a public place. They couldn’t exactly stop him from being there to listen to Dean even if they wanted to.

Dean’s song choice would tell him almost everything he needed to know. For almost 3000 years now, when there was something he couldn’t put into words, he’d put it into song. It wasn’t always clear, especially as he didn’t write the songs himself. He was always listening to music, however. And when Dean was in the grip of some strong feelings, the songs he chose to listen to or sing would always tell Cas what he was feeling. That was usually the hard part.

It was more than a tell. Most people, historically, failed to understand that. It wasn’t just that Dean was angry and so he picked an angry song to listen to. Or even that he picked a song that he felt kinship with at any given moment. No, he took steps to make sure he was heard. He didn’t just sing, he sang the way others wrote poems - with purpose. He sang at you, and waited for a response. There were things he needed to say, things he needed to hear, and he had found a safe way to communicate them. It was his secret language. Cas had made it his mission to become fluent in it thousands of years ago.

He walked up to the bar and got himself a beer before turning to look towards the table. Charlie waved, and he chose to take that as an invitation to join them. Cas raised his bottle in her general direction and tilted his head in what he hoped was an inquisitive fashion. She turned to the table for a moment, then faced him again with two fingers held up.

“Two more, please,” he held out the cash for the bartender and waited for the beer. It was a bit slow tonight. Maybe because St. Patrick’s was only days away. The beer was in his hand in less than a full minute, and he headed for the table.

Dean was talking to the KJ, no doubt picking his song. And because it was slow, they cued it up as he took his place at the mic. Cas dropped into a seat at the booth and handed the beer to Charlie, who passed one bottle to Ash and kept the other. The music began, and Cas focused his attention on the stage.

He was not immediately familiar with the intro or the melody, so he’d have to pay special attention to the lyrics. There was something old to it, something that spoke of long forgotten days. Almost tribal. Dean’s voice rang out clear and strong.

I was left to my own devices
Many days fell away with nothing to show

Lost time. That was often a theme with Dean. He took on far more responsibility than was rightfully his, even now. He seemed forever to believe that if he wasn’t doing something - saving people, fighting monsters, leaving the world somehow better than he found it - it was all a waste.

And the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love
Grey clouds roll over the hills bringing darkness from above

Lost people. The song spoke of walls and the city, but under those fallen walls were people, and that’s where Dean’s focus would be. Did he blame himself for the fall of Sodom? Or perhaps for the fall of the angel Castiel? Dean’s eyes sought him out as he launched into the chorus. Here was the message.

But if you close your eyes
Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?
And if you close your eyes
Does it almost feel like you've been here before?

Lost memories. It’s unsettling, the feeling that you know more than you should, that you know things you didn’t learn. More often than not, Dean seemed to have a sort of instinctive knowledge of the past and the people in it, rather than actual memories.

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

He’d find himself just knowing something like how Caesar took his tea, and immediately try to follow that flash of insight to an actual memory, only to come up empty. He knew this random thing with profound certainty, but had no idea how or why he knew it. It was a common source of frustration for him. It left him - unsteady. Not sure if he could trust his knowledge. His memory. Himself.

How am I gonna be an optimist about this?

Yes, that was it, wasn’t it? Dean had to survive by his own devices through all his formative years. There was no one to trust but himself. If he couldn’t trust himself, what did he have left? He had to make his way back to confidence or he would be lost.

Dean’s eyes turned to the table nearest to him, and Cas let himself enjoy, just for a moment, the sight of Dean lost in the music, moving along to the beat. He had always been something to behold in the grip of some passion. And then Dean made eye contact again.

Oh, where do we begin?
The rubble or our sins?

It was a lot to process, a curse from god himself, that he had apparently been trying to break for 4,000 years he didn’t remember but somehow knew things about. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know how to fix it.

But if you close your eyes
Does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

Cas smiled to himself. It did, often, feel like not much had changed between them. Dean was still Dean, even if he looked a little more freckled this time, and a little less sunburnt. And maybe under all that uncertainty there was a sense of familiarity that made everything less overwhelming than it should rightfully be.

As the song faded out, Cas kept his eyes on Dean and sorted through his mental music catalog. There were things he should say, but he needed to say them in Dean’s language.

He had prepared for this. In fact, he devoted much of his free time for two decades to building an entire vocabulary of songs exactly for moments like this, in every lifetime. This time, it was significantly larger than it had ever been before. It used to involve going to bars or inns or fairs repeatedly, but with the magic of modern technology, he’d researched it, online, and compiled lists of songs in a database that he could sort by artist, or message, or genre, or a dozen other criteria. He had a lot to choose from.

Dean made his way back to the table and sat down, pointedly reaching for his beer and looking at Cas like it was his turn now. His move. He was momentarily distracted by the arrival of a young woman who stopped to chat with Charlie. Gilda, apparently. Cas offered the usual pleasantries, and went to speak to the KJ.

There was no wait, much like there hadn’t been for Dean. He went right to the stage and only had to wait long enough for the KJ to start the song. Just as well, as this wasn’t a song he was likely to excel at. He might have pulled off some impressive miracles in his day, but this one was beyond his reach, with or without power and grace.

It was Pink, and it was obviously not going to be his best moment, as everyone was beginning to realize as they recognized the song. But it was the song Dean needed to hear, and so Cas charged in like the warrior he was.

I haven't always been this way
I wasn't born a renegade

But falling had been his choice and he was, whether or not Dean believed him, proud of it. He had no regrets. He would have made the same choice if he had been told exactly what consequences would follow.

The little that I know I'll tell you
When they dress you up in lies and you're left naked with the truth
You throw your head back, and you spit in the wind

Cas turned to make eye contact, underlining what he was about to sing. Did Dean know this song? It was probably too recent to appeal to his classic rock taste and apparently there was some strange fixation with gender in this century that made vocalists like Pink less appealing to men. Still, the song could have been written for Dean - for them.

Let 'em drag you through hell
They can't tell you to change who you are
That's all I know so far

And Cas was certainly not going to ask him to change either. Not in this or any lifetime. Where they went from here was entirely up to Dean, as it ever had been. Now that he had an understanding of what he was up against, all the decisions were Dean’s to make, as it suited him. No guilt. No rush. No pressure.

Stay unfiltered and loud, you'll be proud of that skin full of scars

Even now, all he was really doing here was putting into song the single most important thing that Dean had taught him. He lowered his eyes. That your own life was worth fighting for.

And even I can't teach you how to fly
But I can show you how to live like your life is on the line

Cas, much like Dean, was no stranger to fighting for his continued existence. But it was not until Dean that he’d learned that there’s more to life than existence. The fight was not just about life itself but about control over the choices that shape it. Or as Dean would often say, it’s not your life if you don’t get to run it.

He sang through the verse and the chorus before turning to Dean again. For a moment, he amused himself by noticing how he’d taken a firm, imposing stance, all angel of the lord delivering a divine proclamation. He wanted Dean to know he meant it. That no force on Heaven or Earth could change it.

I will be with you 'til the world blows up
Up, and down, and through 'til the world blows up
When it's right, or it's all fucked up 'til the world blows up

He squared up, the very picture of the same defiance he was touting. With every shred of power he could muster, he drove the words like angel blades into his target. Deep. True. Final.

And we. Will be. Enough

Dean looked a bit shell shocked, and it made Cas very aware of how intense the moment had become. He focused on his hands. Maybe he should have simply asked for a ride home and found a way to play the song on the car radio. The song was almost over, anyway. He sang the last chorus more cautiously, his eyes never straying from his hands until it was time to deliver the message one more time. He locked eyes with Dean and sang.

I - will be - with you - 'til the world blows up

Silence fell as the music died and all eyes were on Cas. It felt - awkward mostly. Heavy. He was going to need a moment before he rejoined the table. Maybe he could pretend to go out for a cigarette. They didn’t know he wasn’t a smoker.

He signaled in the general direction of the table that he was stepping outside, and made for the door.

Chapter Text

Cas was running a bit late, but it was a slow night, so he could afford to wait. He had picked his song days ago. Or more accurately, the song had started looping through his head, like it was trying to tell him something. That happened sometimes. Often enough that he’d started to think that maybe this was his brain’s way to make him confront things he’d rather not think too much about. And if a song was insistent enough, he’d sing it, out loud, for other people to hear. Maybe his brain’s way to make him sing about things he’d rather not talk about.

Not that people picked up on it, usually. Charlie did, sometimes. She didn’t always know what he was getting at, but she knew to pay attention and ask the right questions. She was good at that. Kind of a royal pain with it, actually.

It should have surprised the crap out of him that Cas turned it back on him. Even Charlie didn’t sing back to him, ever. She’d try to talk through it. Hug it out, that kind of thing. Cas didn’t engage with him directly. He just got up there and sang back at him, making eye contact in important parts, just like Dean did. It should have, but it didn’t.

There was something about it that felt - normal. Like they’d played this game before. Like he’d sang to Cas knowing that Cas would sing back. Speak to him in his own language, so to speak. It was a great song, even if it was entirely unsuited to his gravely voice. And he was clearly very familiar with it. Didn’t even need the lyrics.

Gilda, or whatever her name was, took his seat while he was on stage. She wasn’t planning to stay. Just meeting the friends and making a bit of small talk before she went back to her own table. Dean mostly nodded, his attention reserved for the song.

Was it because of the curse that Cas couldn’t be with that guy he loved? Was that something else he should feel guilty about?

I - will be - with you - till the world blows up

He didn’t seem to have any regrets about that. Any reservations. Dean searched his voice for hesitation, for disappointment, and found none.

A smirk from across the table distracted him momentarily, and he caught himself glaring at Gilda. Seriously, what was her problem? Gilda wasn’t paying any attention to him, though, she barely glanced his way, then looked at Cas and went back to making eyes at Charlie.

“Besties,” she smirked, “that’s all.”

And Charlie blew his mind by nodding knowingly and snarking back, “Totally platonic.”

Cas was still singing, and Dean was still looking at him, but all he could hear was “he doesn’t remember” over and over again. What if -

It would certainly explain the weird feeling that he was supposed to be with Cas, to stay within easy reach of him, and follow where he goes. It would go more than a little way towards explaining how easily Cas ran with Dean shortening his name, how readily he made himself available. How he took it in stride when Dean called out of nowhere at ungodly hours or in the middle of class. How he knew to read Dean’s song choice, and respond with a song of his own.

Speaking of which - the song was over and Cas was headed out the door. His coat was still in the booth, so he’d be back. He knew it. He was thinking it as he got up, told everyone he needed some air and followed him out.

oOo

He caught up to Cas just as Cas was turning the corner to the back of the building. There was nothing back there but shitty lighting to hide the dumpsters, so Cas was probably looking for some privacy. That kinda worked for him too. He needed some answers and he didn’t need Charlie and the others being part of this conversation.

Dean grabbed for his arm, trying to slow Cas down without drawing unnecessary attention, and found himself pinned against the wall before he knew what hit him. He was free again before he could fully catch his breath. Kind of a shame, really, because that was -

“Dean,” Cas sounded a little winded himself, as he took a step backwards. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know -”

“I should know better than sneaking up behind a warrior,” Dean conceded, making much of brushing off his clothes.

While he was doing that, Cas leaned back against the wall next to him, nodding like this was all very reasonable. Nothing to see here. “Why did you?”

And how did he answer that question? A song was probably not going to help him here.

“You sang for me,” he settled on.

“Yes.”

“How did you know?”

Cas gestured like the answer to that should be obvious that he didn’t even know how to begin. “I know a lot of things.”

“I -” Dean hesitated. There were things he needed to know too. Things he should know, but didn’t remember. “I’m learning a lot from those journals. Little question though.”

“Alright,” Cas turned his head to look at Dean, his hands spreading against the wall behind him as if he was trying to ground himself. Or brace himself, maybe.

“We were never best friends, were we?”

“On the contrary. We were always, first and foremost, best friends.”

He said it categorically. Definitively. It almost made Dean drop the entire conversation but then he remembered some of the things he read in the journals. And some of the things he didn’t. “But that’s not all we were, was it? That’s not all we are.”

He could feel the shift in the air the way you feel an oncoming storm. Neither one of them moved, but the air felt heavier. Thicker. Harder to move. Like that moment before the storm breaks into sheets of rain right where you’re standing.

“No,” he said it carefully. Cautiously. There was something of calculation in it, like he wanted to be able to roll with whatever Dean said next, even if it was some bullshit about also being brothers in arms or something.

“That song was for me, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He hadn’t asked which song, Dean noted. Leaving himself some room to say he thought Dean meant the song he sang just a few minutes earlier, most likely. But Dean didn’t want to deal with plausible deniability right now. He needed to know.

“I mean the song from last month.”

Cas gave an amused half smile then, and shook his head like it didn’t really matter.

“Dean,” his shoulders dropped awkwardly, not quite sure if they were relieved or defeated, “every song I’ve ever heard, paid attention to, and committed to memory,” his eyes dropped to his shoes, “every single one, in all this time - was for you.”

It hit him like the downpour, then. Centuries of being loved by this man, of being in love with this man, and he didn’t remember a moment of it. Not a single first kiss. Not any of the times either one of them had said the words. Not a single night they spent curled up in each other’s arms. He was drowning in all the memories he didn’t have and he couldn’t stand it.

“Dean?” Cas began to push away from the wall, concern taking over his features, and Dean was done. He was over it. He was making for the surface. In one swift move, he pushed Cas back again, and took the air he needed from his lungs.

It was the kind of impulse that was rooted in pure survival instinct. The kind Dean never stopped to question. It had always served him well, and here again, it was guiding him flawlessly. He knew exactly where to sink his fingers to keep Cas where he wanted him. Where and how softly to brush their lips together to make his knees buckle. How to get a helpless moan out of him. How to get his hands off the wall and clinging to Dean for dear life.

It took Cas maybe half a second to get with the program. Dean could feel the exact moment his concern turned into the relief of finally being able to breathe freely. They broke through to the surface, much like they did everything else, together.

Someone else would have had a lot to say, probably. Dean had, after all, basically assaulted the man. He’d never kissed someone without asking before, and he’d have sworn a minute ago that he never would. But as they caught their breaths, resting their foreheads together against that wall, they let their fingers do the talking. Gently, Castiel’s fingers found their way to Dean’s waist. Found a gap where his t-shirt had ridden up and stayed there, sending tingles in every direction. Dean’s played with the hair at the back of his neck. Felt how soft it was. Found himself missing the length he knew it used to have when Cas wore it in viking braids. Another memory he wanted back.

Dean had heard all about his family’s curse for years, in vivid detail. It had never felt like a curse until that very moment. Maybe because he hadn’t really believed it. But mostly because having a cool friend to go on adventures with hadn’t seemed like a terribly awful curse, as curses go, even if that friend would eventually die. Everyone dies, after all. Even tragic deaths weren’t all that unusual. This was something else, though.

This was everything Dean had always needed, always been starved of. Told he wasn’t allowed to have. Love in all its unapologetic, patient, glory. Freely given. More love than he knew what to do with, really. And it had always been there, even as he twisted himself into a pretzel looking for scraps wherever he could find them. And even though it was there, and it was his, he’d been denied even the memory of it.

Gently, a thumb brushed against his chin. “You can make new memories. Nobody can take it away from you now.”

Yeah. There was that. He could make new memories. And to that point, Dean leaned back in and made another one.