A Subtle Touch of Grace
Title: A Subtle Touch of Grace
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/OFC
Warnings: See Master Post for full list of warnings.
Word Count: 8,857
Summary:There are many sayings for the wants of man: you can't always get what you want, you don't know what you want until it's gone, and most importantly, you don't know what you want until you have it. After averting the Apocalypse, a miracle in the form of an Angel-Human Hybrid and the reorganization of Heaven brings Dean and Castiel both closer together and farther apart than ever before. Dean lives with a broken heart and finds Faith in unexpected places, Sam finds the normal life he's always wanted while on a hunt of all places, and Castiel discovers that God was closer than everyone thought.
The first time Dean had ever kissed Castiel, it was shortly after the brothers separated following their defeat of the Horseman known as War. In that abandoned house in Maine, before they had gone to trap Raphael. That had been the night everything had started. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what Dean's original plan had been that night - but they never ended up leaving the house until they went to face the archangel. There had been a lot of firsts that night: a first kiss, a first taste of alcohol and somehow, it ended up with the two of them coming together on a pile of blankets. Castiel was positive that hadn't been the man's intentions at the start of the night, but by its end, he knew Dean hadn't been lying when he said he couldn't think of a better way to have spent it.
It would be two more months before the two of them were able to share a bed again, the night before they went to face Lucifer in Carthage. The night before Ellen and Jo had died.
That night stuck out to Castiel more than the first night, for that had been the night that Dean had told him he loved him.
Castiel had known, of course, just how many rules he was breaking when he first started rebelling against Heaven. Entering into a physical relationship with a human was one of the biggest taboos there were for angels. Not entirely forbidden, but so frowned upon that it was better to leave well enough alone, mainly owing to the fact that the body you inhabited on Earth wasn't your own. It wasn't forbidden - disobedience and defiance were much greater crimes. Castiel had been guilty of all three and even looking back, he would not do anything differently in regards to his relationship with Dean.
He'd refused to betray the brothers to all four archangels, including Gabriel. Then came their encounter with Famine and things grew difficult. It'd been after that battle that Castiel knew he couldn't afford to lose what grace he had left searching for God, so he had returned Dean's amulet to him and then one of the last things either he or the Winchesters expected had occurred and Adam Milligan was resurrected almost on the heels of Famine's defeat.
From there - things had promptly fallen apart. Literally. But a larger plan was already in motion, and it would culminate and come to fruition following the death of two angels: Zachariah at the hands of Dean Winchester, and Gabriel at the hands of Lucifer.
*
There really wasn't any way to prepare for this, not completely. Castiel had tried several methods he'd heard about and none of them seemed to be working at least not to the degree they were supposed to. He couldn't believe it was taking as long as it was but since his grasp on time wasn't too accurate at the moment, he could have just been lying here for two hours instead of the two hundred it felt like. He let out a long breath and stared upwards, seeing only a hint of azure sky and wispy clouds - they seemed so far away, so far removed from where he was now. He had to keep reminding himself not to tense up, to breathe through the pain as his body was wrenched through another contraction. It'd be a lot easier if someone was with him, a companion, someone to hold his hand, to smooth his hair from his face, just... someone. As it was, he was in his own little corner of Heaven, protected from prying eyes and angels who were too young to know any better. Another contraction seized his body and he clutched at the eiderdown he was nestled in. It had been four months. Four whole months since he had seen Dean. Four months should seem like nothing to an angel, but to Castiel, it seemed endless.
Dean.
Just the thought of him made Castiel's muscles relax and he could breathe easier as another pain came upon him, the hardest one yet. He knew that the hunter was all right. Perfectly safe and probably sitting in a diner somewhere eating pie and giving Sam a hard time. He chuckled softly at the thought. He could almost smell the coffee and hear the chatter of conversation that would surround them. The brothers would be looking for their next case, Sam searching strange reports while Dean gave his usual smart remarks to things his brother found. No. He did not know if Dean was in that mood or in a more somber and brooding one, like the mood he had been in right before the three of them walked into that abandoned factory in California.
Castiel's injury from that day had been so grave, so severe, he had not had the strength to return and tell Dean he was alive. Carving the banishing sigil into his chest had been nothing short of suicide. Dean had known of course. He had to have known, someone had to have told him. Or perhaps, Dean just known. The same way Castiel had known once he was mostly recovered from the incident that he had gambled with far more than his life.
I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does.
He had been angry when he spoke those words. Angry with everything. With Heaven, with the Winchesters, with himself.
Dean had been doing what he had always done when someone had threatened his family. He rushed to their defense. Castiel could only grasp at that idea - for all they called one another brother and sister, few angels had that sort of relationship. If he knew a way to help all of his family, Dean would have done it. Brothers, apparently, had a stronger hold than lovers did.
Castiel winced as he felt his wings rip out of his back, a sure sign he was getting deeper into labor. They always hurt whenever they came out from being tucked away, but when they came out as part of a muscle reflex it seemed twice as painful.
He had never shown Dean his wings, only their shadows.
The last day the two of them had spent together all they had done was argue. Dean wasn't used to being held back when it came to defending his family. John Winchester was responsible for that, in a way. His entire life, Dean had ever been told to watch out for his brother, and Dean, being Dean, had made that 'brothers' in its plural form almost as soon as he learned the truth about Adam. How he wanted to undo that terrible day sometimes... or at least take back some of the harsh words he had said. When they did see one another again, they would somehow have to put things back together, or at least, there had to be forgiveness. He squeezed his eyes shut as another contraction ripped through his body, the hardest one yet, and he finally whimpered, his first sound since he started this labor.
“Shh. Breathe, little brother. Nice and even breaths.” A steady but gentle hand rested against him, brushing his forehead gently with a thumb. The wished for companion had suddenly appeared, the way thunder sometimes accompanied snow - unexpected and seemingly out of place.
Castiel opened his eyes and blinked at the angel in acknowledgement. It was Michael, still wearing the visage of Adam Milligan, although Adam himself was currently back in his own corner of Heaven, a good deal wiser and a good deal more traumatized than he had been last time he was there. Six months ago, the presence of the archangel would have sent Castiel into the throes of panic. In its place, he now found some sort peace. Michael, who, rather than fighting Lucifer, had freed Death from the chains placed upon him by the fallen angel. Death had done exactly what any reaper would do if it were bound and then unleashed. Death had reaped Lucifer and the Apocalypse would have to be rewritten.
The last rumor Castiel had heard was that if things were not so chaotic in many parts of Heaven, Michael would be off searching for their Father. Many angels still believed he would return to their home and to his children, but no one, not even Michael or even Joshua, the gardener, knew exactly where he'd gone.
“Too much was placed on you, Castiel.” Michael's voice was odd and strangely soothing, his hand now stroking more of his head, which had been placed on the archangel's knee. The angel's other hand clasped one of his, letting him squeeze it as hard as he wanted as pain washed over him again. “I am sorry.”
If he wasn't so exhausted, Castiel might have issued a strong retort, but he did what he could, replying with some of the snark that he'd somehow picked up from just being around Dean. “Why are you here?”
Michael smiled softly. “You wanted someone although I know you'd rather have someone else.”
“It is impossible, ” was his flat reply. Even if Dean knew what was happening in Heaven today if there were some way for him to be here, he could not be here. It was far too dangerous for humans and with the pain he was feeling, Castiel was starting to think it was just as dangerous for angels. He took another deep breath and clasped Michael's hand tightly. “I think... I think now...”
As slowly as time had passed a moment ago, now it seemed to be going at an alarming speed. He wasn't sure later of what exactly transpired, other than his labor suddenly became much, much more intense. The contractions started coming one right after another and he could remember screaming, not with the thin voice of a human, but with his true one. One of the reasons Dean could not be here with him. Such cries would render the man deaf and possibly blind.
When Heaven righted itself again in Castiel's awareness, he was tucked into blankets, the sweat and blood of his labor washed away, leaving him and the nest clean. He was exhausted.
He could remember being tired when he was falling, but never, never had Castiel thought he could be this tired with his grace fully intact. He really hated being proven wrong. Despite his exhaustion, the angel could only stare in wonder at what was tucked gently against his side. There it was, gleaming faintly like a massive oblong pearl; the off-white egg fit almost perfectly into the crook of his arm, just wide enough that with his arm around it, only the tips of his fingers could reach the blanket they were both laying on. To Castiel, it was nothing less than a wonderful miracle. He had carried it for five months and would now keep it warm against him for two weeks. Curling into a fetal position, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the hard shell, draping one wing completely over it in a blanket of feathers and warmth. He reached out with his grace to the fledgling within, searching - praying - and then he felt it. Curled up inside its egg, the small child reached out with its own grace, nothing certain, nothing assured. The whole universe lay before him and it both thrilled and frightened him. Castiel soothed the newborn grace with his own, cooing softly in his mind and he felt the child settle. He smiled in response, already half-asleep himself.
“Rest my child.” He placed a soft kiss on the shell as he slipped into sleep. “You will be out here with me soon.”
His last thought before he drifted off completely was that he still wished Dean could be here. It had been four months and he would not see Dean in the flesh for at least another three. Soon he would let Dean know that he was still alive, but as for how he was going to tell him about their child...
Castiel was not yet completely sure of the words to do that.
**
Sam had stopped asking Dean how he felt before May. There was just no point in it. Lucifer had been dead since the middle of March. What should have been celebratory was bittersweet. Sam knew full well what had been between his brother and Cas. His brother might think him slow on the uptake at times, but you didn't spend nearly every single hour of every single day with a person and not know when something changed in their life. Sam also knew that lecturing Dean on having a relationship with a supernatural creature was a talk he had no right to give. But what Sam couldn't stand was what losing that relationship had done to Dean. Michael had told them Cas was alive. Injured, but alive. He was in Heaven, where he was safe and where he would stay indefinitely. The archangel had been very vague on that tangent. Sam figured that straight answers were something angels didn't know how to give. He once had a professor at Stanford like that. The asshole had taught psychology, of all things and just that one stupid general requirement class had been enough for Sam to give his full sympathy towards anyone majoring in the damn subject. (Although the look on the man's face when Sam obliterated the curve on the exam on parapsychology had been priceless.)
It was almost the start of July and Dean was still not back to even half of his normal self. It was nearly as bad as when dad had died. Maybe it was the knowledge that Castiel was still alive and yet being unable to see him that made it so hard for his brother. Sam looked up from his laptop to Dean, who was sitting on the other side of the table, staring blankly at a newspaper. “You want some pie?”
“Huh?” Dean looked away from the paper he wasn't reading, sounding as if he had no idea Sam was right across the table from him until just now.
“Pie. You know, that food you love to eat? I asked if you wanted some pie.”
“Don't want pie for breakfast, Sammy.” Dean picked up his coffee mug and took a large sip.
“We're having dinner, Dean.” He shut the laptop and pushed the paper down.
“Damn it, Sam...” Dean started to say something else but Sam cut him off.
“I'm only asking one thing of you Dean, and that's to keep your days and nights straight. That's all.” He let go of the paper and went back to his salad. “Anything good in there?”
“Just some psychic claiming she knows where the next winner of the Triple Crown will be born.” Dean snorted. “Like anyone will remember her in three years.”
“Internet might,” Sam remarked, stabbing a chunk of tomato. “But you know some people.”
“Yeah.” Dean shifted in his seat and folded the paper back. “Might not even be three years. I mean, it's been thirty-two years since a horse won the Triple Crown.” Dean set the paper down and focused his attention on his coffee mug. “Any leads?”
“Uh...” Sam opened the laptop again. “A few. There's a possible rougaru in South Carolina, some unexplained deaths in Kansas City and some cattle mutilations in Maine.”
Dean frowned into his mug. “What kind of deaths in KC?”
Sam was so glad his brother was talking somewhat normally that he had to stop himself from grinning before responding. “Give me a second here... six people... all found dead at home, no sign of break-in or foul play. And the reason they've ruled out disease is the fact that they all live in different parts of the city.”
“Any connection at all between the victims?”
“None that I can see. Two men, four women, youngest was sixteen and the oldest was sixty three.”
“Family, friends...”
“No... nothing like that. Hell, only one of them actually lives in Kansas City. The other five live in towns that border it. Gladstone, Lone Jack, Blue Springs, Lee's Summit and Independence.”
“If they all live in different areas, how do they know the deaths are connected?” Dean picked up the last of his fries, even though they probably had gone cold and munched on them.
Sam scrolled through the report, searching. “Each and every one of them had a small cut in the exact same place on their hand. Wound wasn't infected or anything. But it's like someone was leaving a signature on the bodies. Police are thinking some kind of serial killer if they could just figure out how the people were dying.”
Dean drained the rest of his coffee. “Well, I'm officially interested. You done?”
“Yeah. You want to drive through the night? Missouri's at least a full day's drive from here.”
“It'd be easier. Besides, I'm not tired.” Dean dropped a twenty on the table as they stood up.
Sam collected his laptop and followed his brother out to the Impala. 'I'm not tired' was rapidly moving to the top of the phrases he heard the most out of his brother. He knew better than to ask his brother to second guess himself. Dean might have been completely distant since Cas had vanished, but he still had the common sense to pull over and sleep when he was tired. They got settled into the car and Sam waited until they were back on the highway and heading west before he spoke again. “After this case you want to head up to Sioux Falls? We haven't been to see Bobby in several weeks.”
“Maybe...” Dean leaned back in the seat, his gaze focused on the road ahead.
Sam balled up his jacket and set it against the door for a pillow. The look on his brother's face was obvious. “Wake me up when it's my turn to drive.”
“No problem.”
Dean waited until Sam was snoring lightly before he flicked on the radio. He did a quick search for a station, finally stopping on one that was reporting farm news. He relaxed a little as he listened to a boring voice drone on about the state fair. Dean hadn't remembered they were in Tennessee until just now and although the fair wasn't until September, the preparations were already underway. A few minutes later, the boring voice was replaced by what sounded like the world's last radio variety show, complete with corny songs and bad jokes. Dean normally wouldn't have listened to this sort of bullshit, but for now it was serving two very important purposes; one, it helped keep him alert and two, it didn't make him think about Cas.
**
Castiel slowly sat up, stretched his wings and shifted the blankets so he could move without disturbing the egg. His exhaustion was gone and now he faced the daunting task of waiting the next two weeks. If his grasp on the date on Earth was correct, the egg would hatch during the first week of July. He could hear the faint keening of a nearby angel, going through her own labor at the moment. Although she was a good distance away, the cries still reached him as she wailed in her true voice. He returned his gaze to his own nest, which would be his home from now until the fledgling was old enough to be on his own, when whatever order took him into training. That day wouldn't come for several more years and while he and the child would leave the nest together as Castiel taught him the things all parents teach their young, they still would return here when they were weary and needed rest. It was odd that rest would now be a part of Castiel's life, more than it had while he was slowly falling. However, that would only last while the boy was with him. Once he reared the child to the proper age, the need to rest would leave him and this nest would remain empty unless Castiel needed or felt the desire to return to it again.
Angels mated for life. And life, for an angel, was an eternity.
Stretching again, he turned the egg gently and curled up next to it, placing a wing back over it. His hand curled up against it, imagining what would happen in two weeks. He knew that the fledgling inside was a boy, but other than that, the child was a blank slate to him. He knew nothing about how he would look, how he would act, all of it a mystery to him. He brushed his knuckles back and forth slowly, humming the first song that came to mind, an old hymn he'd not sung in what feels like forever. When next he felt the need to close his eyes in rest, he would seek out Dean in dreams. Five minutes would be enough... just five little minutes. He at least wanted Dean to know that he was okay. Telling him about the child... no, not yet. The time for that was not now. He smiled and kept humming softly, thinking of that park where he and Dean had sat following the failure to stop the breaking of one of the sixty-six seals. It'd be nice to go back there sometime and sit on the same bench and maybe do something Dean would call 'chick flicky' like holding hands.
Castiel made a mental note to find out what exactly 'chick flicky' meant.
**
Rather than heading into the city itself, the brothers had decided to start their search in the town where the first victim, a twenty-eight year old man, had lived. The town, called Lone Jack, more or less lived up to its name. Dean set out to do some early investigating, leaving Sam, who'd driven from two in the morning until they got to town at the motel to take a nap. He was actually surprised the town had a motel at all, given that the town's population was under six hundred. It seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of houses, a supermarket, three schools, the motel, three gas stations, two churches and one library. He smiled faintly at that. Practically every town he'd been to had a library of some kind, even if it was just a room in a local historical home. Dean noted the hours of operation on the building's door before he went inside.
“Good afternoon.” A woman smiled at him from behind the desk where she was checking in books.
“Hey.” He nodded in reply, looking slowly around, noting the three computers a short distance away. “You need a card to use the computer?”
“Catalog, no, Internet, yes.” She walked over and set the books on a few of the waiting carts and turned her attention back to him. “Do you have a card?”
“Don't live here,” Dean said, preparing to head to the area where he could find local history.
“Oh, you can get an Internet card. They're good for six months. It doesn't matter if you don't live around here. I gave one to a lady from Calgary the other day.”
Dean shrugged absently and walked back over to the desk. “Sounds good.”
“Okay...” She got out a card and an application. “Just need to ask you a few questions.”
After giving his name as Dean Singer and his residence as Yankton, South Dakota, he took the offered black card and went to set it in his wallet before catching the library system's name on it. “Hey, how many libraries are in the system?”
“Thirty, including our headquarters. Since we're a county system, we're all over the place, except in the city proper, I think.”
“Really?” He tucked the card into his wallet. “You got something with all your branches listed? I'm going to be in the area for about a week.”
“Certainly.” She handed him a brochure. “Just remember, all our branches, except for the Genealogy Center are closed on Sundays.”
“Thanks,” Dean said again and headed over to the computers. He waited until the woman was occupied with a batch of children before slipping out the door without even bothering to log onto one of the computers. He stopped at the store, picked up something for dinner and headed back to the motel. When he got there, Sam was getting dressed after having a shower. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Sam came over and took one of the beers Dean had picked up. “You find anything?”
“I may have found something to connect our victims.” He handed the brochure to his brother who took it. “That is, if they're all a bunch of geeks like you and the cops just haven't figured that out yet.”
“A library system?” Sam sat down and compared the locations with the notes he'd made yesterday. “Okay, so cursed book maybe?”
Dean sat down and opened a beer of his own. “Cursed object, more than likely. Somehow I don't think a Twi-Hard and a lawyer are going to be reading the same thing.”
Sam took a swig from his beer and then set it down. “Wait -” he turned his attention to his laptop. “Maybe they did.”
“Huh?”
“This genealogy branch this system has, it's pretty major and they're currently showing a display of Civil War items on loan from some family in Atlanta.” Sam started scrolling through some information. “Guns, uniforms and a couple of diaries.”
Dean nodded and unpacked the food he'd gotten at the store. “Sounds like a good lead. I'm thinkin' we should move up to Independence tomorrow, easier to take a look around from there. Hopefully, we won't have to drive all the way to Georgia for a salt-and-burn.”
“Yeah.” Sam smiled faintly. “This town is the sort of place where everyone knows everyone else.”
He nodded in response and sat down to eat. Dean knew that deep down, his brother wasn't fooled. This case was no different than all the others they'd handled since Cas' disappearance. It was just another distraction, because he knew that if they stopped for any length of time, he'd be forced to deal with what had happened and how it had all gone down. Even now, all these months later, he wasn't sure if he was ready to face all that had happened. All he knew was that he'd have to do it and do it soon.
*
Dean knew he was dreaming when he realized he was lying in the room he used in Bobby's house and it was cleaner than he'd ever seen it. He turned over in the bed, finding it even stranger to be dreaming about sleeping, when he suddenly focused and realized he was face to face with a sleeping Cas. “Well, this is a new one.” He reached out and set his hand against the angel's face, rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. He felt the corners of his mouth lift when he saw the small twitch on the face in front of him, the one that always showed itself before the angel, so unused to sleeping, seemed to try out every facial expression before waking. The fact that he was dreaming of a Castiel who wasn't angry with him was a welcome change.
“You're not entirely dreaming.” Castiel said as he slowly opened his eyes.
“Cas?” Dean sat up, almost ready to bolt from the bed.
“Dean - it's all right.” He drew himself into a sit. “I should have contacted you sooner but things have been difficult.”
“I... I'm sorry.” It was the only thing Dean could think of to say - it's really the only thing he'd wanted to say to Cas since the last time they saw each other. “It's... it's my fault.”
“No.” There was an edge in Castiel's voice. “I should have had the faith in you that you had in me.”
“Cas - I thought - you could have...” Dean swallowed hard. “You're alive, aren't you?”
“You doubted I was alive?” Castiel tilted his head to the side.
“No disrespect or anything, but I've never taken it as fact that angels always tell the truth.” Dean had no idea how to react to this, he didn't know if he wanted to wake up or hug Castiel for all he was worth.
“None taken.” Castiel leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms and resting them on his knees. “I'm well and I am going to be just fine. I just can't see you for a while.”
“Some kind of post-failed-apocalypse clean up sort of crap?” Dean shifted how he was sitting, still not certain if it was wise to move closer to the angel yet.
“Something like that yes.”
“Sounds...” Dean bit his lip, “...tedious.”
Castiel smiled faintly. “It can be, at times.”
“I miss you Cas.” Dean figured he might as well go ahead and get all chick-flicky now instead of later when there was a chance of Sam seeing it. “It - hasn't been all that easy.”
“I miss you too, Dean...” Castiel slid his hand over the covers and clasped one of Dean's, squeezing it gently. “You should not worry about me. I will be fine.”
Dean slid up next to him against the headboard and put an arm around the angel in a half hug. “It isn't going to be entirely possible to keep things up, is it?”
Castiel closed his eyes and rested his head against Dean's shoulder; his smile became more certain as Dean's arms held him a little tighter, the embrace becoming more assured. “If there is one thing I learned from my time on Earth, Dean, it is that nothing is ever set in stone.”
Dean tentatively pressed a kiss on the angel's temple. “Yeah. And you know how I feel about things like Fate and destiny.”
Castiel managed a weak chuckle at that. “I will say that you certainly are one of, if not the most stubborn men who has ever lived. You are certainly the most stubborn of my acquaintance.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.” Dean closed his eyes and embraced the angel a little tighter. “I knew if I had one of these dreams, I wouldn't want to wake up.”
“Dawn is a long time off for you, I believe. Where are you?”
“Some town in Missouri that I can't remember the name of right now.”
“Missouri.” Castiel paused, thinking. “It's still the middle of the night. Unless you have chosen to start to rise at two instead of five in the morning since we last saw each other?”
“No. To tell you the truth Cas, any night I can sleep I take what I get.” He didn't want to tell the angel that his departure had fouled up his already lousy sleeping habits. However, Dean had a feeling that Cas already knew.
“I do not know when I can contact you again like this. It might not be for several months.” Castiel sighed softly, seeming content for the moment.
“I understand Cas, I think it sucks, but I understand..” Dean figured that there was probably a lot of mess to be sorted through upstairs. He didn't envy Cas the task that he had in front of him. “I'd tell you not to get too stressed, but I don't even know if you can get stressed out.”
Castiel chuckled. “It is possible for an angel to feel stress, although we don't call it that. We just refer to it as being under pressure. I do believe that many angels do not have as good of a grasp on emotions as others. While I cannot feel or understand them entirely, I believe the sensation you call stress is a bit of a constant for most angels.”
“Sounds lovely.” Dean snorted.
“I believe your ability to grasp what pressure is to angels is akin to my ability to grasp what pleasure you get from a slice of pie with ice cream,” he replied, shifting on the bed so he could rest more comfortably against Dean. Odd thing to think about, as this was a dream and comfort was going to happen no matter how they sat.
“Aw, you've been working on your sarcasm.” Dean snickered. “I don't think Sammy gets my love of pie either.”
Castiel let out a reluctant sigh. He had been here as long as he could; he had to return his spirit to where it needed to be and Dean needed his rest. “I must go soon. You need your sleep, Dean.”
“I am sleeping.” Dean hugged him a little tighter.
“True sleep, Dean. I would very much like to spend the entire night talking with you, but that is not possible.” He pulled himself slowly from Dean's embrace and kissed the man on the cheek. “I will come to see you as soon as I am able.”
“You take care of yourself, Cas.”
“And you. Take care of yourself.” The angel pulled away from Dean, leaving the man to fall into deeper sleep as the dream ended.
When Castiel came back to himself in Heaven, he repeated the same process he'd been doing for days now. He gently turned the egg in his hands, covered it with one of his wings again, this time adjusting himself and the egg so he could lean against the side of the nest. He reached out and plucked a book off the top of the small stack just outside of the nest. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of how this might look to an outside observer: an angel, now with a massive set of wings protruding from his back, still bearing the appearance of his human vessel, although the suit and trench-coat had been abandoned for a softer garb; the cloth whose nearest equivalent on Earth in both texture and weight was Egyptian cotton. The pants were a deep blue, and the cream colored tunic had piping on the hem and wrists in a blue matching that of the pants, along with a thicker stripe of scarlet. The color noted Castiel's position as a warrior in Michael's Legion, those in Raphael's band had stripes of violet and those in Gabriel's (though Castiel wagered it would soon be Joshua's Legion) had green.
He let out a soft sigh, opened the book and began to read.
**
It was exactly one week later (and two more victims), and after one of the biggest mountains of research the Winchesters had tackled in recent memory, that they connected the eight victims and made their way back to Lone Jack and into the woods for a usual salt and burn. The body in question was that of a Yankee soldier who had been injured in a skirmish in the woods of Missouri. Four of his friends had carried him as far as they could and then two of his fellow soldiers had run to town to get help and possibly a doctor. They had been captured by Quantrill's raiders and by the time they got to where their friends were, the wounded soldier was dead. The raiders had buried the dead man and then executed two of his companions. Following that, the raiders had slashed the youngest soldier's hand and drove him out into the Kansas Prairie, leaving him to a fate unknown. The fourth soldier had been the first soldier's little brother.
The eight current victims were all descendants of the band of raiders who'd caught the four originally.
“I still can't believe we got that girl at the library to help put this all together.” Sam shook his head as they came to a massive Kentucky Coffee Tree. “How do you suppose she knew all this?”
“I asked her that. She's a descendant of a raider too. She doesn't know if she was tied to it or not, but it was one of the stories her grandpa always told. She thought it was horrible.” Dean set the bag he was carrying down. “I just hope the body is still here.”
“Yeah, me too. I'd hate to think how many unmarked graves there are around here.” Sam stuck his shovel into the ground and started to dig.
Dean got out his own shovel and joined him. “Oh, now there's a comforting thought. I'd say that it's nothing short of a miracle that we're not having to burn bodies of Civil War soldiers on a regular basis.”
Sam nodded faintly. “Yeah... somehow, I don't think it will be too deep.”
“A few feet at least.” He looked up and saw that his brother's focus wasn't entirely into digging. “Something on your mind, Sam?” Dean paused for a moment to rub a sore spot on his lower back.
“Tomorrow's the Fourth. You want to stay here or head up to Bobby's?” Sam said, grunting as he unearthed a small rock and added it to the dirt pile.
“Why, were you...” He stopped digging and stared at Sam. “What's her name?” Even in the darkness, Dean saw his brother's ears turn pink.
“Gina... you remember...”
“The library worker in Blue Springs?” Dean chuckled and resumed digging. “The one who told us she went to school with David Cook? Who the hell is that anyway?”
“Dude, he won American Idol like, two years ago. He's a pretty big deal around here.”
Dean snorted. “Well, you know my opinion of that show.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam went back to digging too. “I mean, it'd just be a barbecue and fireworks later.”
“You don't need to ask my permission to go out, Sam. Aren't you always telling me you're a grown up?” Dean paused and knelt down to brush some dirt aside. “I think we've got him.”
Sam knelt down and started to help him clear the area. “I'm pretty sure she wouldn't mind if you came along too, Dean.”
“Sam,” Dean said, digging alongside the body. “I don't think that's a great idea.”
“Oh come on.” Sam gave him a very slight grin. “You know my policy on holidays. No one spends them alone if they don't have to.”
Dean sighed in response. “Fine. Let's hurry up and get this over with, before our friend here finds another victim.”
*
Dean decided that coming with Sam was a good thing. The celebration was actually taking place at Gina's sister's house, who lived in a town named Peculiar, and there was enough food sitting around that Dean felt they could have invited twenty more people and there would still be leftovers. The large number of people and food turned out to be the reason that no one paid much mind to the two guys from out of town. Dean sighed nonchalantly and leaned against the fence that was alongside a pasture where he could see a few horses grazing. He took a long sip from his beer as a young woman, probably younger than twenty-five came over to the fence and leaned against it, the frown on her face speaking volumes.
“You okay?”
“No.” She folded her arms and kept her focus on the horses. “Look, you're about the only single guy here who hasn't hit on me so far, so I'm guessing that either means you're taken or you don't like girls.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Either way, I'm thankful.”
Dean coughed. “You're welcome.”
“The point is, some people wouldn't understand loyalty if it came up and smacked them in the face with a rubber chicken.”
He spat out a mouthful of beer and hacked. “What?”
“Sorry, I've just been...” She turned around and leaned against the fence in the same manner he was. “My boyfriend, hopefully soon to be fiancée -just got shipped off to Iraq two weeks ago, and it's sucked out loud. And it's sucked even more that all these guys,” she waved her hand towards the party in general “think I'm suddenly single because of it.”
“That sucks.” Dean took a sip of beer. “Didn't you tell them you're taken?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Somehow, they think that having a boyfriend who's on the other side of the world doesn't count as a real one.”
He shook his head. “Well, some guys are assholes by default.” Dean gave her a small smile. “How long is your boyfriend's deployment?”
“Nine months. I don't even know if he's actually in Iraq or not, he just said the Middle East. Security, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“So where's,” she frowned, thinking, “uh, your uh...”
“He had to go home.” Dean let out a long breath. “It's a long way to his home.”
“Another country or something?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I think I get what comes next, the cost of getting there is beyond your means, which tells me he's probably in New Zealand or Australia or something.”
“Hate flying too.” Dean figured that was mostly the truth. It wasn't like there were chartered flights to Heaven.
“That's horrible. I'm sorry.” She hugged herself. “I'm Sally, Mara's my sister in law.”
“Mara...” Dean frowned, “Gina's sister.”
“Right.” She pulled herself up to sit on the fence. “And you are?”
“Dean. Sam's brother.”
“Sam?” She looked towards the party. “That giant of a guy Gina brought?” She looked down at him. “You don't look that much alike, no offense.”
“That's just because he got dropped on his head a few too many times as a baby.” He smiled slightly as Sally gave him a stunned look. “I'm kidding. Seriously, if I had five bucks for every time someone told us that, I wouldn't have to work.”
“Mara was so happy that Gina invited someone to come. She hasn't had a boyfriend in years.”
Dean frowned. “Why is that?” He took a sip of beer.
“A few years ago, I think it was four or five, not sure which... her boyfriend just vanished one day. And they found his body like, three months later in the middle of Nebraska. They still haven't found who did it.”
“Damn.” Dean said under his breath and then listened to the girl babble on about everyone else at the party, only paying enough attention to make the occasional comment. He really spent his time watching Sam. He hadn't seen his brother this happy in, well, forever, it seemed. Somehow, he had a feeling that Sam might start to look for reasons to get back to Blue Springs and Dean had pretty much no objections. Maybe, just maybe, one of the Winchesters might be able to put an end to their hunting days. Okay, so it was a crazy thought, especially considering Sam had just met the girl, but at least one of the three Winchester brothers deserved a happy ending.
**
Fledglings were not as small as human newborns when they hatched. One might mistake them at first glance for a three-month old infant in terms of size. While angels in their true forms were beyond the height of skyscrapers, they all started this small. The angelic equivalent of puberty was what brought about the true form. It took a fledgling in Heaven two-hundred years to reach that long-waited for age. Time was fluid, even in this place, so two hundred years in Heaven could be as long as an eon on Earth or as short as five years. It was all relative and shockingly, sometimes up to the fledgling itself how long it lasted. Thus Castiel's firm belief that some angels grew up too quickly and didn't learn many of the lessons that needed to be learned. Which is what had landed several members of his garrison on a collision course with a reaper.
His child was only a few weeks old, Castiel estimated the date of the child's birth to have been July fourth or fifth, depending on the time zone. If asked, he'd say it was the fourth. Unlike humans, when fledglings were born they could already hold their heads steady, but the wings required some adjusting to, after being tightly compacted around the body while in the egg, the sudden freedom could be daunting. Most of them learned to fly before they could walk, though their landings left much to be desired. The child's wings were, like all fledglings, pure white in color and rimmed in gold, feathers that would molt and fall out as the angel grew older and stronger feathers of a different color would grow in their place. Castiel could remember when his own white wings had given way to the mass of brown they were now, save for the very tips, which were black. It had been such a very long time ago. He'd left the nest he'd been hatched from and was already in training as a warrior when his wings had changed. The angels of his garrison all grew at different speeds. Anna, who grew up too fast and Melia, who grew up too slow. Melia had been killed by Uriel in the war. He missed his sister, more than most of the others who had fallen. Melia and he had hatched in the same nest, something they had never told anyone - Castiel didn't even know if their superiors had known. Castiel wasn't sure if other sets of twins had ever been born in the nests of Heaven, had he not been a twin himself, he doubted he'd know of such occurrences.
He supposed the greatest tragedy of it all was that when fledglings grew up, they forgot who their parents were. He did not know yet if the parents forgot their young, but Castiel thought most likely not. How could you forget such a thing? He watched, smiling as the young angel placidly drank from a bottle, his eyes shut in contentment. The only time an angel ever ate for sustenance was in childhood , when all fledglings thrived on the nectar of the flowers in the Garden.
He had named his son Liam.
There were others like Liam now dwelling in nests in Heaven. It was a sign of what the failed Apocalypse had wrought. All of these fledglings differed from their cousins, the Nephilim. The Nephilim were born to humans and left on Earth, more or less abandoned. In retrospect, Castiel could see their behavior almost justified now. Nephilim had no wings, had never tasted the dew from the Garden at the center of Heaven, and they had grown like humans did. Even there, they did not belong. They grew tall and powerful, the size of giants, but it was all raw and undisciplined. Denied what Castiel thought should have been theirs to take part in, naturally they rebelled and attacked. Then they were eradicated, swiftly and efficiently, washed away like blood and dirt upon a floor. Rumors abounded that one had survived: one unborn Nephilim. That story, if it held any truth, the identity of that last half-blooded creature had died from knowledge when Lucifer slew Gabriel.
Gabriel.
Castiel remembered the archangel best from before his departure, a departure that sadly, went unnoticed for centuries. Even before he had gone to spend time with the pagans, Gabriel had taught all angels how to laugh. He said it was a quality that all angels should have, something to remind them that they were more than holy wrath and fire. Unsurprisingly, the cherubs had caught on quicker than the rest of them. The first time Castiel had ever spoken with Gabriel, he'd been scarcely out of the nest, wings half molted and caught in the throes of angelic puberty. The archangel had smiled at him, albeit sadly and then asked him what he liked best in the entire world.
His answer had been flying. Castiel still loved to fly and now, with his wings restored and his grace overflowing, he longed to fly. For now, however, he rested and tended to Liam. He would teach the child many things: how to walk, how to fly, how to sing. One day in the future, he would set his son upon his feet, perhaps ruffle his hair one last time and give the last two gifts a fledgling received from their parents; an instrument and a small silver dagger. The instruments could be used to trace lineage, for what was given to the parent was also passed onto the child. But the horn, those long trumpet-like instruments Castiel saw depicted on human Christmas cards and ornaments, was something many angels played. The harp was rarer and the drum even more so. His own horn rested just out of reach outside of the nest, where his sword also laid.
They would be an odd sort of garrison, these new fledglings, for unlike their angelic parents they were bound to have inherited something from their mortal parents that many angels could only dream of having.
Emotions. True emotions. That odd little quirk that made humans so... so indescribable. What this would mean for the other angels, Castiel did not yet know. For now, he could not begin to care. The bottle was now empty and Liam showed no sign of wanting more, full for the time being and Castiel sat up, holding his child in his arms, looking down at him as he wriggled to adjust his wings. Castiel almost laughed as one batted at his face, the touch of down on his cheek softer than a cloud, before he helped his son fold the appendage neatly and comfortably, snuggling the boy against him. He stretched his own wings up and around the two of them, a secure cocoon of feathers and warmth. Today was an important day for the two of them.
Fledglings born in Heaven already had their true eyes, orbs of glowing holy fire that were so pure, so righteous, a mere glance could incinerate a human. Again, yet one more danger and one more reason Dean could not be here. It took two weeks for the eyes to shift into a non-lethal form. The child wouldn't be able to shift them back to true form until puberty. Being so young and the power of Heaven so overwhelming, a fledgling was blind until their eyes shifted.
Castiel had been patiently waiting for these last two weeks, for there was nothing in Liam's face that reminded him of Dean, who still did not know of the child's existence. Castiel did not know the words to begin to tell such a tale. He had let Dean know that he was all right, but how to tell Dean that there was proof of their relationship; undeniable and tangible proof, Castiel had no idea. Given how Dean always took things best when done directly, he might just have to wait until it was safe to travel with their child before he saw him again. That wouldn't be until December for Dean, but with the fluidness of time for angels, that could be as close as two weeks from now for Castiel.
Liam yawned and rubbed his eyes with his fists, and then, slowly, as slowly as the day he worked his way out of his egg, he opened his eyes and breath almost left the angel. Eyes no longer that blazing white gold; his son stared up and for the first time saw his father. Liam gave an ever-so-slight tilt of his head, as if he was surprised by what he saw and Castiel cooed reassuringly to him. Liam already knew his voice and the sound gave him reassurance as he grasped at his father's hand, squeezing one of the fingers tightly in both his hands. Castiel, for his part, could not speak clearly- he was far too overcome. His prayer had been answered. The most precious thing he had ever beheld in his long, long life was staring up at him with the most beautiful green eyes.
Chapter Two
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/OFC
Warnings: See Master Post for full list of warnings.
Word Count: 8,857
Summary:There are many sayings for the wants of man: you can't always get what you want, you don't know what you want until it's gone, and most importantly, you don't know what you want until you have it. After averting the Apocalypse, a miracle in the form of an Angel-Human Hybrid and the reorganization of Heaven brings Dean and Castiel both closer together and farther apart than ever before. Dean lives with a broken heart and finds Faith in unexpected places, Sam finds the normal life he's always wanted while on a hunt of all places, and Castiel discovers that God was closer than everyone thought.
The first time Dean had ever kissed Castiel, it was shortly after the brothers separated following their defeat of the Horseman known as War. In that abandoned house in Maine, before they had gone to trap Raphael. That had been the night everything had started. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what Dean's original plan had been that night - but they never ended up leaving the house until they went to face the archangel. There had been a lot of firsts that night: a first kiss, a first taste of alcohol and somehow, it ended up with the two of them coming together on a pile of blankets. Castiel was positive that hadn't been the man's intentions at the start of the night, but by its end, he knew Dean hadn't been lying when he said he couldn't think of a better way to have spent it.
It would be two more months before the two of them were able to share a bed again, the night before they went to face Lucifer in Carthage. The night before Ellen and Jo had died.
That night stuck out to Castiel more than the first night, for that had been the night that Dean had told him he loved him.
Castiel had known, of course, just how many rules he was breaking when he first started rebelling against Heaven. Entering into a physical relationship with a human was one of the biggest taboos there were for angels. Not entirely forbidden, but so frowned upon that it was better to leave well enough alone, mainly owing to the fact that the body you inhabited on Earth wasn't your own. It wasn't forbidden - disobedience and defiance were much greater crimes. Castiel had been guilty of all three and even looking back, he would not do anything differently in regards to his relationship with Dean.
He'd refused to betray the brothers to all four archangels, including Gabriel. Then came their encounter with Famine and things grew difficult. It'd been after that battle that Castiel knew he couldn't afford to lose what grace he had left searching for God, so he had returned Dean's amulet to him and then one of the last things either he or the Winchesters expected had occurred and Adam Milligan was resurrected almost on the heels of Famine's defeat.
From there - things had promptly fallen apart. Literally. But a larger plan was already in motion, and it would culminate and come to fruition following the death of two angels: Zachariah at the hands of Dean Winchester, and Gabriel at the hands of Lucifer.
*
There really wasn't any way to prepare for this, not completely. Castiel had tried several methods he'd heard about and none of them seemed to be working at least not to the degree they were supposed to. He couldn't believe it was taking as long as it was but since his grasp on time wasn't too accurate at the moment, he could have just been lying here for two hours instead of the two hundred it felt like. He let out a long breath and stared upwards, seeing only a hint of azure sky and wispy clouds - they seemed so far away, so far removed from where he was now. He had to keep reminding himself not to tense up, to breathe through the pain as his body was wrenched through another contraction. It'd be a lot easier if someone was with him, a companion, someone to hold his hand, to smooth his hair from his face, just... someone. As it was, he was in his own little corner of Heaven, protected from prying eyes and angels who were too young to know any better. Another contraction seized his body and he clutched at the eiderdown he was nestled in. It had been four months. Four whole months since he had seen Dean. Four months should seem like nothing to an angel, but to Castiel, it seemed endless.
Dean.
Just the thought of him made Castiel's muscles relax and he could breathe easier as another pain came upon him, the hardest one yet. He knew that the hunter was all right. Perfectly safe and probably sitting in a diner somewhere eating pie and giving Sam a hard time. He chuckled softly at the thought. He could almost smell the coffee and hear the chatter of conversation that would surround them. The brothers would be looking for their next case, Sam searching strange reports while Dean gave his usual smart remarks to things his brother found. No. He did not know if Dean was in that mood or in a more somber and brooding one, like the mood he had been in right before the three of them walked into that abandoned factory in California.
Castiel's injury from that day had been so grave, so severe, he had not had the strength to return and tell Dean he was alive. Carving the banishing sigil into his chest had been nothing short of suicide. Dean had known of course. He had to have known, someone had to have told him. Or perhaps, Dean just known. The same way Castiel had known once he was mostly recovered from the incident that he had gambled with far more than his life.
I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does.
He had been angry when he spoke those words. Angry with everything. With Heaven, with the Winchesters, with himself.
Dean had been doing what he had always done when someone had threatened his family. He rushed to their defense. Castiel could only grasp at that idea - for all they called one another brother and sister, few angels had that sort of relationship. If he knew a way to help all of his family, Dean would have done it. Brothers, apparently, had a stronger hold than lovers did.
Castiel winced as he felt his wings rip out of his back, a sure sign he was getting deeper into labor. They always hurt whenever they came out from being tucked away, but when they came out as part of a muscle reflex it seemed twice as painful.
He had never shown Dean his wings, only their shadows.
The last day the two of them had spent together all they had done was argue. Dean wasn't used to being held back when it came to defending his family. John Winchester was responsible for that, in a way. His entire life, Dean had ever been told to watch out for his brother, and Dean, being Dean, had made that 'brothers' in its plural form almost as soon as he learned the truth about Adam. How he wanted to undo that terrible day sometimes... or at least take back some of the harsh words he had said. When they did see one another again, they would somehow have to put things back together, or at least, there had to be forgiveness. He squeezed his eyes shut as another contraction ripped through his body, the hardest one yet, and he finally whimpered, his first sound since he started this labor.
“Shh. Breathe, little brother. Nice and even breaths.” A steady but gentle hand rested against him, brushing his forehead gently with a thumb. The wished for companion had suddenly appeared, the way thunder sometimes accompanied snow - unexpected and seemingly out of place.
Castiel opened his eyes and blinked at the angel in acknowledgement. It was Michael, still wearing the visage of Adam Milligan, although Adam himself was currently back in his own corner of Heaven, a good deal wiser and a good deal more traumatized than he had been last time he was there. Six months ago, the presence of the archangel would have sent Castiel into the throes of panic. In its place, he now found some sort peace. Michael, who, rather than fighting Lucifer, had freed Death from the chains placed upon him by the fallen angel. Death had done exactly what any reaper would do if it were bound and then unleashed. Death had reaped Lucifer and the Apocalypse would have to be rewritten.
The last rumor Castiel had heard was that if things were not so chaotic in many parts of Heaven, Michael would be off searching for their Father. Many angels still believed he would return to their home and to his children, but no one, not even Michael or even Joshua, the gardener, knew exactly where he'd gone.
“Too much was placed on you, Castiel.” Michael's voice was odd and strangely soothing, his hand now stroking more of his head, which had been placed on the archangel's knee. The angel's other hand clasped one of his, letting him squeeze it as hard as he wanted as pain washed over him again. “I am sorry.”
If he wasn't so exhausted, Castiel might have issued a strong retort, but he did what he could, replying with some of the snark that he'd somehow picked up from just being around Dean. “Why are you here?”
Michael smiled softly. “You wanted someone although I know you'd rather have someone else.”
“It is impossible, ” was his flat reply. Even if Dean knew what was happening in Heaven today if there were some way for him to be here, he could not be here. It was far too dangerous for humans and with the pain he was feeling, Castiel was starting to think it was just as dangerous for angels. He took another deep breath and clasped Michael's hand tightly. “I think... I think now...”
As slowly as time had passed a moment ago, now it seemed to be going at an alarming speed. He wasn't sure later of what exactly transpired, other than his labor suddenly became much, much more intense. The contractions started coming one right after another and he could remember screaming, not with the thin voice of a human, but with his true one. One of the reasons Dean could not be here with him. Such cries would render the man deaf and possibly blind.
When Heaven righted itself again in Castiel's awareness, he was tucked into blankets, the sweat and blood of his labor washed away, leaving him and the nest clean. He was exhausted.
He could remember being tired when he was falling, but never, never had Castiel thought he could be this tired with his grace fully intact. He really hated being proven wrong. Despite his exhaustion, the angel could only stare in wonder at what was tucked gently against his side. There it was, gleaming faintly like a massive oblong pearl; the off-white egg fit almost perfectly into the crook of his arm, just wide enough that with his arm around it, only the tips of his fingers could reach the blanket they were both laying on. To Castiel, it was nothing less than a wonderful miracle. He had carried it for five months and would now keep it warm against him for two weeks. Curling into a fetal position, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the hard shell, draping one wing completely over it in a blanket of feathers and warmth. He reached out with his grace to the fledgling within, searching - praying - and then he felt it. Curled up inside its egg, the small child reached out with its own grace, nothing certain, nothing assured. The whole universe lay before him and it both thrilled and frightened him. Castiel soothed the newborn grace with his own, cooing softly in his mind and he felt the child settle. He smiled in response, already half-asleep himself.
“Rest my child.” He placed a soft kiss on the shell as he slipped into sleep. “You will be out here with me soon.”
His last thought before he drifted off completely was that he still wished Dean could be here. It had been four months and he would not see Dean in the flesh for at least another three. Soon he would let Dean know that he was still alive, but as for how he was going to tell him about their child...
Castiel was not yet completely sure of the words to do that.
**
Sam had stopped asking Dean how he felt before May. There was just no point in it. Lucifer had been dead since the middle of March. What should have been celebratory was bittersweet. Sam knew full well what had been between his brother and Cas. His brother might think him slow on the uptake at times, but you didn't spend nearly every single hour of every single day with a person and not know when something changed in their life. Sam also knew that lecturing Dean on having a relationship with a supernatural creature was a talk he had no right to give. But what Sam couldn't stand was what losing that relationship had done to Dean. Michael had told them Cas was alive. Injured, but alive. He was in Heaven, where he was safe and where he would stay indefinitely. The archangel had been very vague on that tangent. Sam figured that straight answers were something angels didn't know how to give. He once had a professor at Stanford like that. The asshole had taught psychology, of all things and just that one stupid general requirement class had been enough for Sam to give his full sympathy towards anyone majoring in the damn subject. (Although the look on the man's face when Sam obliterated the curve on the exam on parapsychology had been priceless.)
It was almost the start of July and Dean was still not back to even half of his normal self. It was nearly as bad as when dad had died. Maybe it was the knowledge that Castiel was still alive and yet being unable to see him that made it so hard for his brother. Sam looked up from his laptop to Dean, who was sitting on the other side of the table, staring blankly at a newspaper. “You want some pie?”
“Huh?” Dean looked away from the paper he wasn't reading, sounding as if he had no idea Sam was right across the table from him until just now.
“Pie. You know, that food you love to eat? I asked if you wanted some pie.”
“Don't want pie for breakfast, Sammy.” Dean picked up his coffee mug and took a large sip.
“We're having dinner, Dean.” He shut the laptop and pushed the paper down.
“Damn it, Sam...” Dean started to say something else but Sam cut him off.
“I'm only asking one thing of you Dean, and that's to keep your days and nights straight. That's all.” He let go of the paper and went back to his salad. “Anything good in there?”
“Just some psychic claiming she knows where the next winner of the Triple Crown will be born.” Dean snorted. “Like anyone will remember her in three years.”
“Internet might,” Sam remarked, stabbing a chunk of tomato. “But you know some people.”
“Yeah.” Dean shifted in his seat and folded the paper back. “Might not even be three years. I mean, it's been thirty-two years since a horse won the Triple Crown.” Dean set the paper down and focused his attention on his coffee mug. “Any leads?”
“Uh...” Sam opened the laptop again. “A few. There's a possible rougaru in South Carolina, some unexplained deaths in Kansas City and some cattle mutilations in Maine.”
Dean frowned into his mug. “What kind of deaths in KC?”
Sam was so glad his brother was talking somewhat normally that he had to stop himself from grinning before responding. “Give me a second here... six people... all found dead at home, no sign of break-in or foul play. And the reason they've ruled out disease is the fact that they all live in different parts of the city.”
“Any connection at all between the victims?”
“None that I can see. Two men, four women, youngest was sixteen and the oldest was sixty three.”
“Family, friends...”
“No... nothing like that. Hell, only one of them actually lives in Kansas City. The other five live in towns that border it. Gladstone, Lone Jack, Blue Springs, Lee's Summit and Independence.”
“If they all live in different areas, how do they know the deaths are connected?” Dean picked up the last of his fries, even though they probably had gone cold and munched on them.
Sam scrolled through the report, searching. “Each and every one of them had a small cut in the exact same place on their hand. Wound wasn't infected or anything. But it's like someone was leaving a signature on the bodies. Police are thinking some kind of serial killer if they could just figure out how the people were dying.”
Dean drained the rest of his coffee. “Well, I'm officially interested. You done?”
“Yeah. You want to drive through the night? Missouri's at least a full day's drive from here.”
“It'd be easier. Besides, I'm not tired.” Dean dropped a twenty on the table as they stood up.
Sam collected his laptop and followed his brother out to the Impala. 'I'm not tired' was rapidly moving to the top of the phrases he heard the most out of his brother. He knew better than to ask his brother to second guess himself. Dean might have been completely distant since Cas had vanished, but he still had the common sense to pull over and sleep when he was tired. They got settled into the car and Sam waited until they were back on the highway and heading west before he spoke again. “After this case you want to head up to Sioux Falls? We haven't been to see Bobby in several weeks.”
“Maybe...” Dean leaned back in the seat, his gaze focused on the road ahead.
Sam balled up his jacket and set it against the door for a pillow. The look on his brother's face was obvious. “Wake me up when it's my turn to drive.”
“No problem.”
Dean waited until Sam was snoring lightly before he flicked on the radio. He did a quick search for a station, finally stopping on one that was reporting farm news. He relaxed a little as he listened to a boring voice drone on about the state fair. Dean hadn't remembered they were in Tennessee until just now and although the fair wasn't until September, the preparations were already underway. A few minutes later, the boring voice was replaced by what sounded like the world's last radio variety show, complete with corny songs and bad jokes. Dean normally wouldn't have listened to this sort of bullshit, but for now it was serving two very important purposes; one, it helped keep him alert and two, it didn't make him think about Cas.
**
Castiel slowly sat up, stretched his wings and shifted the blankets so he could move without disturbing the egg. His exhaustion was gone and now he faced the daunting task of waiting the next two weeks. If his grasp on the date on Earth was correct, the egg would hatch during the first week of July. He could hear the faint keening of a nearby angel, going through her own labor at the moment. Although she was a good distance away, the cries still reached him as she wailed in her true voice. He returned his gaze to his own nest, which would be his home from now until the fledgling was old enough to be on his own, when whatever order took him into training. That day wouldn't come for several more years and while he and the child would leave the nest together as Castiel taught him the things all parents teach their young, they still would return here when they were weary and needed rest. It was odd that rest would now be a part of Castiel's life, more than it had while he was slowly falling. However, that would only last while the boy was with him. Once he reared the child to the proper age, the need to rest would leave him and this nest would remain empty unless Castiel needed or felt the desire to return to it again.
Angels mated for life. And life, for an angel, was an eternity.
Stretching again, he turned the egg gently and curled up next to it, placing a wing back over it. His hand curled up against it, imagining what would happen in two weeks. He knew that the fledgling inside was a boy, but other than that, the child was a blank slate to him. He knew nothing about how he would look, how he would act, all of it a mystery to him. He brushed his knuckles back and forth slowly, humming the first song that came to mind, an old hymn he'd not sung in what feels like forever. When next he felt the need to close his eyes in rest, he would seek out Dean in dreams. Five minutes would be enough... just five little minutes. He at least wanted Dean to know that he was okay. Telling him about the child... no, not yet. The time for that was not now. He smiled and kept humming softly, thinking of that park where he and Dean had sat following the failure to stop the breaking of one of the sixty-six seals. It'd be nice to go back there sometime and sit on the same bench and maybe do something Dean would call 'chick flicky' like holding hands.
Castiel made a mental note to find out what exactly 'chick flicky' meant.
**
Rather than heading into the city itself, the brothers had decided to start their search in the town where the first victim, a twenty-eight year old man, had lived. The town, called Lone Jack, more or less lived up to its name. Dean set out to do some early investigating, leaving Sam, who'd driven from two in the morning until they got to town at the motel to take a nap. He was actually surprised the town had a motel at all, given that the town's population was under six hundred. It seemed to be nothing more than a bunch of houses, a supermarket, three schools, the motel, three gas stations, two churches and one library. He smiled faintly at that. Practically every town he'd been to had a library of some kind, even if it was just a room in a local historical home. Dean noted the hours of operation on the building's door before he went inside.
“Good afternoon.” A woman smiled at him from behind the desk where she was checking in books.
“Hey.” He nodded in reply, looking slowly around, noting the three computers a short distance away. “You need a card to use the computer?”
“Catalog, no, Internet, yes.” She walked over and set the books on a few of the waiting carts and turned her attention back to him. “Do you have a card?”
“Don't live here,” Dean said, preparing to head to the area where he could find local history.
“Oh, you can get an Internet card. They're good for six months. It doesn't matter if you don't live around here. I gave one to a lady from Calgary the other day.”
Dean shrugged absently and walked back over to the desk. “Sounds good.”
“Okay...” She got out a card and an application. “Just need to ask you a few questions.”
After giving his name as Dean Singer and his residence as Yankton, South Dakota, he took the offered black card and went to set it in his wallet before catching the library system's name on it. “Hey, how many libraries are in the system?”
“Thirty, including our headquarters. Since we're a county system, we're all over the place, except in the city proper, I think.”
“Really?” He tucked the card into his wallet. “You got something with all your branches listed? I'm going to be in the area for about a week.”
“Certainly.” She handed him a brochure. “Just remember, all our branches, except for the Genealogy Center are closed on Sundays.”
“Thanks,” Dean said again and headed over to the computers. He waited until the woman was occupied with a batch of children before slipping out the door without even bothering to log onto one of the computers. He stopped at the store, picked up something for dinner and headed back to the motel. When he got there, Sam was getting dressed after having a shower. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Sam came over and took one of the beers Dean had picked up. “You find anything?”
“I may have found something to connect our victims.” He handed the brochure to his brother who took it. “That is, if they're all a bunch of geeks like you and the cops just haven't figured that out yet.”
“A library system?” Sam sat down and compared the locations with the notes he'd made yesterday. “Okay, so cursed book maybe?”
Dean sat down and opened a beer of his own. “Cursed object, more than likely. Somehow I don't think a Twi-Hard and a lawyer are going to be reading the same thing.”
Sam took a swig from his beer and then set it down. “Wait -” he turned his attention to his laptop. “Maybe they did.”
“Huh?”
“This genealogy branch this system has, it's pretty major and they're currently showing a display of Civil War items on loan from some family in Atlanta.” Sam started scrolling through some information. “Guns, uniforms and a couple of diaries.”
Dean nodded and unpacked the food he'd gotten at the store. “Sounds like a good lead. I'm thinkin' we should move up to Independence tomorrow, easier to take a look around from there. Hopefully, we won't have to drive all the way to Georgia for a salt-and-burn.”
“Yeah.” Sam smiled faintly. “This town is the sort of place where everyone knows everyone else.”
He nodded in response and sat down to eat. Dean knew that deep down, his brother wasn't fooled. This case was no different than all the others they'd handled since Cas' disappearance. It was just another distraction, because he knew that if they stopped for any length of time, he'd be forced to deal with what had happened and how it had all gone down. Even now, all these months later, he wasn't sure if he was ready to face all that had happened. All he knew was that he'd have to do it and do it soon.
*
Dean knew he was dreaming when he realized he was lying in the room he used in Bobby's house and it was cleaner than he'd ever seen it. He turned over in the bed, finding it even stranger to be dreaming about sleeping, when he suddenly focused and realized he was face to face with a sleeping Cas. “Well, this is a new one.” He reached out and set his hand against the angel's face, rubbing his cheekbone with his thumb. He felt the corners of his mouth lift when he saw the small twitch on the face in front of him, the one that always showed itself before the angel, so unused to sleeping, seemed to try out every facial expression before waking. The fact that he was dreaming of a Castiel who wasn't angry with him was a welcome change.
“You're not entirely dreaming.” Castiel said as he slowly opened his eyes.
“Cas?” Dean sat up, almost ready to bolt from the bed.
“Dean - it's all right.” He drew himself into a sit. “I should have contacted you sooner but things have been difficult.”
“I... I'm sorry.” It was the only thing Dean could think of to say - it's really the only thing he'd wanted to say to Cas since the last time they saw each other. “It's... it's my fault.”
“No.” There was an edge in Castiel's voice. “I should have had the faith in you that you had in me.”
“Cas - I thought - you could have...” Dean swallowed hard. “You're alive, aren't you?”
“You doubted I was alive?” Castiel tilted his head to the side.
“No disrespect or anything, but I've never taken it as fact that angels always tell the truth.” Dean had no idea how to react to this, he didn't know if he wanted to wake up or hug Castiel for all he was worth.
“None taken.” Castiel leaned back against the headboard, folding his arms and resting them on his knees. “I'm well and I am going to be just fine. I just can't see you for a while.”
“Some kind of post-failed-apocalypse clean up sort of crap?” Dean shifted how he was sitting, still not certain if it was wise to move closer to the angel yet.
“Something like that yes.”
“Sounds...” Dean bit his lip, “...tedious.”
Castiel smiled faintly. “It can be, at times.”
“I miss you Cas.” Dean figured he might as well go ahead and get all chick-flicky now instead of later when there was a chance of Sam seeing it. “It - hasn't been all that easy.”
“I miss you too, Dean...” Castiel slid his hand over the covers and clasped one of Dean's, squeezing it gently. “You should not worry about me. I will be fine.”
Dean slid up next to him against the headboard and put an arm around the angel in a half hug. “It isn't going to be entirely possible to keep things up, is it?”
Castiel closed his eyes and rested his head against Dean's shoulder; his smile became more certain as Dean's arms held him a little tighter, the embrace becoming more assured. “If there is one thing I learned from my time on Earth, Dean, it is that nothing is ever set in stone.”
Dean tentatively pressed a kiss on the angel's temple. “Yeah. And you know how I feel about things like Fate and destiny.”
Castiel managed a weak chuckle at that. “I will say that you certainly are one of, if not the most stubborn men who has ever lived. You are certainly the most stubborn of my acquaintance.”
“I'll take that as a compliment.” Dean closed his eyes and embraced the angel a little tighter. “I knew if I had one of these dreams, I wouldn't want to wake up.”
“Dawn is a long time off for you, I believe. Where are you?”
“Some town in Missouri that I can't remember the name of right now.”
“Missouri.” Castiel paused, thinking. “It's still the middle of the night. Unless you have chosen to start to rise at two instead of five in the morning since we last saw each other?”
“No. To tell you the truth Cas, any night I can sleep I take what I get.” He didn't want to tell the angel that his departure had fouled up his already lousy sleeping habits. However, Dean had a feeling that Cas already knew.
“I do not know when I can contact you again like this. It might not be for several months.” Castiel sighed softly, seeming content for the moment.
“I understand Cas, I think it sucks, but I understand..” Dean figured that there was probably a lot of mess to be sorted through upstairs. He didn't envy Cas the task that he had in front of him. “I'd tell you not to get too stressed, but I don't even know if you can get stressed out.”
Castiel chuckled. “It is possible for an angel to feel stress, although we don't call it that. We just refer to it as being under pressure. I do believe that many angels do not have as good of a grasp on emotions as others. While I cannot feel or understand them entirely, I believe the sensation you call stress is a bit of a constant for most angels.”
“Sounds lovely.” Dean snorted.
“I believe your ability to grasp what pressure is to angels is akin to my ability to grasp what pleasure you get from a slice of pie with ice cream,” he replied, shifting on the bed so he could rest more comfortably against Dean. Odd thing to think about, as this was a dream and comfort was going to happen no matter how they sat.
“Aw, you've been working on your sarcasm.” Dean snickered. “I don't think Sammy gets my love of pie either.”
Castiel let out a reluctant sigh. He had been here as long as he could; he had to return his spirit to where it needed to be and Dean needed his rest. “I must go soon. You need your sleep, Dean.”
“I am sleeping.” Dean hugged him a little tighter.
“True sleep, Dean. I would very much like to spend the entire night talking with you, but that is not possible.” He pulled himself slowly from Dean's embrace and kissed the man on the cheek. “I will come to see you as soon as I am able.”
“You take care of yourself, Cas.”
“And you. Take care of yourself.” The angel pulled away from Dean, leaving the man to fall into deeper sleep as the dream ended.
When Castiel came back to himself in Heaven, he repeated the same process he'd been doing for days now. He gently turned the egg in his hands, covered it with one of his wings again, this time adjusting himself and the egg so he could lean against the side of the nest. He reached out and plucked a book off the top of the small stack just outside of the nest. He almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of how this might look to an outside observer: an angel, now with a massive set of wings protruding from his back, still bearing the appearance of his human vessel, although the suit and trench-coat had been abandoned for a softer garb; the cloth whose nearest equivalent on Earth in both texture and weight was Egyptian cotton. The pants were a deep blue, and the cream colored tunic had piping on the hem and wrists in a blue matching that of the pants, along with a thicker stripe of scarlet. The color noted Castiel's position as a warrior in Michael's Legion, those in Raphael's band had stripes of violet and those in Gabriel's (though Castiel wagered it would soon be Joshua's Legion) had green.
He let out a soft sigh, opened the book and began to read.
**
It was exactly one week later (and two more victims), and after one of the biggest mountains of research the Winchesters had tackled in recent memory, that they connected the eight victims and made their way back to Lone Jack and into the woods for a usual salt and burn. The body in question was that of a Yankee soldier who had been injured in a skirmish in the woods of Missouri. Four of his friends had carried him as far as they could and then two of his fellow soldiers had run to town to get help and possibly a doctor. They had been captured by Quantrill's raiders and by the time they got to where their friends were, the wounded soldier was dead. The raiders had buried the dead man and then executed two of his companions. Following that, the raiders had slashed the youngest soldier's hand and drove him out into the Kansas Prairie, leaving him to a fate unknown. The fourth soldier had been the first soldier's little brother.
The eight current victims were all descendants of the band of raiders who'd caught the four originally.
“I still can't believe we got that girl at the library to help put this all together.” Sam shook his head as they came to a massive Kentucky Coffee Tree. “How do you suppose she knew all this?”
“I asked her that. She's a descendant of a raider too. She doesn't know if she was tied to it or not, but it was one of the stories her grandpa always told. She thought it was horrible.” Dean set the bag he was carrying down. “I just hope the body is still here.”
“Yeah, me too. I'd hate to think how many unmarked graves there are around here.” Sam stuck his shovel into the ground and started to dig.
Dean got out his own shovel and joined him. “Oh, now there's a comforting thought. I'd say that it's nothing short of a miracle that we're not having to burn bodies of Civil War soldiers on a regular basis.”
Sam nodded faintly. “Yeah... somehow, I don't think it will be too deep.”
“A few feet at least.” He looked up and saw that his brother's focus wasn't entirely into digging. “Something on your mind, Sam?” Dean paused for a moment to rub a sore spot on his lower back.
“Tomorrow's the Fourth. You want to stay here or head up to Bobby's?” Sam said, grunting as he unearthed a small rock and added it to the dirt pile.
“Why, were you...” He stopped digging and stared at Sam. “What's her name?” Even in the darkness, Dean saw his brother's ears turn pink.
“Gina... you remember...”
“The library worker in Blue Springs?” Dean chuckled and resumed digging. “The one who told us she went to school with David Cook? Who the hell is that anyway?”
“Dude, he won American Idol like, two years ago. He's a pretty big deal around here.”
Dean snorted. “Well, you know my opinion of that show.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam went back to digging too. “I mean, it'd just be a barbecue and fireworks later.”
“You don't need to ask my permission to go out, Sam. Aren't you always telling me you're a grown up?” Dean paused and knelt down to brush some dirt aside. “I think we've got him.”
Sam knelt down and started to help him clear the area. “I'm pretty sure she wouldn't mind if you came along too, Dean.”
“Sam,” Dean said, digging alongside the body. “I don't think that's a great idea.”
“Oh come on.” Sam gave him a very slight grin. “You know my policy on holidays. No one spends them alone if they don't have to.”
Dean sighed in response. “Fine. Let's hurry up and get this over with, before our friend here finds another victim.”
*
Dean decided that coming with Sam was a good thing. The celebration was actually taking place at Gina's sister's house, who lived in a town named Peculiar, and there was enough food sitting around that Dean felt they could have invited twenty more people and there would still be leftovers. The large number of people and food turned out to be the reason that no one paid much mind to the two guys from out of town. Dean sighed nonchalantly and leaned against the fence that was alongside a pasture where he could see a few horses grazing. He took a long sip from his beer as a young woman, probably younger than twenty-five came over to the fence and leaned against it, the frown on her face speaking volumes.
“You okay?”
“No.” She folded her arms and kept her focus on the horses. “Look, you're about the only single guy here who hasn't hit on me so far, so I'm guessing that either means you're taken or you don't like girls.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Either way, I'm thankful.”
Dean coughed. “You're welcome.”
“The point is, some people wouldn't understand loyalty if it came up and smacked them in the face with a rubber chicken.”
He spat out a mouthful of beer and hacked. “What?”
“Sorry, I've just been...” She turned around and leaned against the fence in the same manner he was. “My boyfriend, hopefully soon to be fiancée -just got shipped off to Iraq two weeks ago, and it's sucked out loud. And it's sucked even more that all these guys,” she waved her hand towards the party in general “think I'm suddenly single because of it.”
“That sucks.” Dean took a sip of beer. “Didn't you tell them you're taken?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Somehow, they think that having a boyfriend who's on the other side of the world doesn't count as a real one.”
He shook his head. “Well, some guys are assholes by default.” Dean gave her a small smile. “How long is your boyfriend's deployment?”
“Nine months. I don't even know if he's actually in Iraq or not, he just said the Middle East. Security, you know.”
“Yeah.”
“So where's,” she frowned, thinking, “uh, your uh...”
“He had to go home.” Dean let out a long breath. “It's a long way to his home.”
“Another country or something?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I think I get what comes next, the cost of getting there is beyond your means, which tells me he's probably in New Zealand or Australia or something.”
“Hate flying too.” Dean figured that was mostly the truth. It wasn't like there were chartered flights to Heaven.
“That's horrible. I'm sorry.” She hugged herself. “I'm Sally, Mara's my sister in law.”
“Mara...” Dean frowned, “Gina's sister.”
“Right.” She pulled herself up to sit on the fence. “And you are?”
“Dean. Sam's brother.”
“Sam?” She looked towards the party. “That giant of a guy Gina brought?” She looked down at him. “You don't look that much alike, no offense.”
“That's just because he got dropped on his head a few too many times as a baby.” He smiled slightly as Sally gave him a stunned look. “I'm kidding. Seriously, if I had five bucks for every time someone told us that, I wouldn't have to work.”
“Mara was so happy that Gina invited someone to come. She hasn't had a boyfriend in years.”
Dean frowned. “Why is that?” He took a sip of beer.
“A few years ago, I think it was four or five, not sure which... her boyfriend just vanished one day. And they found his body like, three months later in the middle of Nebraska. They still haven't found who did it.”
“Damn.” Dean said under his breath and then listened to the girl babble on about everyone else at the party, only paying enough attention to make the occasional comment. He really spent his time watching Sam. He hadn't seen his brother this happy in, well, forever, it seemed. Somehow, he had a feeling that Sam might start to look for reasons to get back to Blue Springs and Dean had pretty much no objections. Maybe, just maybe, one of the Winchesters might be able to put an end to their hunting days. Okay, so it was a crazy thought, especially considering Sam had just met the girl, but at least one of the three Winchester brothers deserved a happy ending.
**
Fledglings were not as small as human newborns when they hatched. One might mistake them at first glance for a three-month old infant in terms of size. While angels in their true forms were beyond the height of skyscrapers, they all started this small. The angelic equivalent of puberty was what brought about the true form. It took a fledgling in Heaven two-hundred years to reach that long-waited for age. Time was fluid, even in this place, so two hundred years in Heaven could be as long as an eon on Earth or as short as five years. It was all relative and shockingly, sometimes up to the fledgling itself how long it lasted. Thus Castiel's firm belief that some angels grew up too quickly and didn't learn many of the lessons that needed to be learned. Which is what had landed several members of his garrison on a collision course with a reaper.
His child was only a few weeks old, Castiel estimated the date of the child's birth to have been July fourth or fifth, depending on the time zone. If asked, he'd say it was the fourth. Unlike humans, when fledglings were born they could already hold their heads steady, but the wings required some adjusting to, after being tightly compacted around the body while in the egg, the sudden freedom could be daunting. Most of them learned to fly before they could walk, though their landings left much to be desired. The child's wings were, like all fledglings, pure white in color and rimmed in gold, feathers that would molt and fall out as the angel grew older and stronger feathers of a different color would grow in their place. Castiel could remember when his own white wings had given way to the mass of brown they were now, save for the very tips, which were black. It had been such a very long time ago. He'd left the nest he'd been hatched from and was already in training as a warrior when his wings had changed. The angels of his garrison all grew at different speeds. Anna, who grew up too fast and Melia, who grew up too slow. Melia had been killed by Uriel in the war. He missed his sister, more than most of the others who had fallen. Melia and he had hatched in the same nest, something they had never told anyone - Castiel didn't even know if their superiors had known. Castiel wasn't sure if other sets of twins had ever been born in the nests of Heaven, had he not been a twin himself, he doubted he'd know of such occurrences.
He supposed the greatest tragedy of it all was that when fledglings grew up, they forgot who their parents were. He did not know yet if the parents forgot their young, but Castiel thought most likely not. How could you forget such a thing? He watched, smiling as the young angel placidly drank from a bottle, his eyes shut in contentment. The only time an angel ever ate for sustenance was in childhood , when all fledglings thrived on the nectar of the flowers in the Garden.
He had named his son Liam.
There were others like Liam now dwelling in nests in Heaven. It was a sign of what the failed Apocalypse had wrought. All of these fledglings differed from their cousins, the Nephilim. The Nephilim were born to humans and left on Earth, more or less abandoned. In retrospect, Castiel could see their behavior almost justified now. Nephilim had no wings, had never tasted the dew from the Garden at the center of Heaven, and they had grown like humans did. Even there, they did not belong. They grew tall and powerful, the size of giants, but it was all raw and undisciplined. Denied what Castiel thought should have been theirs to take part in, naturally they rebelled and attacked. Then they were eradicated, swiftly and efficiently, washed away like blood and dirt upon a floor. Rumors abounded that one had survived: one unborn Nephilim. That story, if it held any truth, the identity of that last half-blooded creature had died from knowledge when Lucifer slew Gabriel.
Gabriel.
Castiel remembered the archangel best from before his departure, a departure that sadly, went unnoticed for centuries. Even before he had gone to spend time with the pagans, Gabriel had taught all angels how to laugh. He said it was a quality that all angels should have, something to remind them that they were more than holy wrath and fire. Unsurprisingly, the cherubs had caught on quicker than the rest of them. The first time Castiel had ever spoken with Gabriel, he'd been scarcely out of the nest, wings half molted and caught in the throes of angelic puberty. The archangel had smiled at him, albeit sadly and then asked him what he liked best in the entire world.
His answer had been flying. Castiel still loved to fly and now, with his wings restored and his grace overflowing, he longed to fly. For now, however, he rested and tended to Liam. He would teach the child many things: how to walk, how to fly, how to sing. One day in the future, he would set his son upon his feet, perhaps ruffle his hair one last time and give the last two gifts a fledgling received from their parents; an instrument and a small silver dagger. The instruments could be used to trace lineage, for what was given to the parent was also passed onto the child. But the horn, those long trumpet-like instruments Castiel saw depicted on human Christmas cards and ornaments, was something many angels played. The harp was rarer and the drum even more so. His own horn rested just out of reach outside of the nest, where his sword also laid.
They would be an odd sort of garrison, these new fledglings, for unlike their angelic parents they were bound to have inherited something from their mortal parents that many angels could only dream of having.
Emotions. True emotions. That odd little quirk that made humans so... so indescribable. What this would mean for the other angels, Castiel did not yet know. For now, he could not begin to care. The bottle was now empty and Liam showed no sign of wanting more, full for the time being and Castiel sat up, holding his child in his arms, looking down at him as he wriggled to adjust his wings. Castiel almost laughed as one batted at his face, the touch of down on his cheek softer than a cloud, before he helped his son fold the appendage neatly and comfortably, snuggling the boy against him. He stretched his own wings up and around the two of them, a secure cocoon of feathers and warmth. Today was an important day for the two of them.
Fledglings born in Heaven already had their true eyes, orbs of glowing holy fire that were so pure, so righteous, a mere glance could incinerate a human. Again, yet one more danger and one more reason Dean could not be here. It took two weeks for the eyes to shift into a non-lethal form. The child wouldn't be able to shift them back to true form until puberty. Being so young and the power of Heaven so overwhelming, a fledgling was blind until their eyes shifted.
Castiel had been patiently waiting for these last two weeks, for there was nothing in Liam's face that reminded him of Dean, who still did not know of the child's existence. Castiel did not know the words to begin to tell such a tale. He had let Dean know that he was all right, but how to tell Dean that there was proof of their relationship; undeniable and tangible proof, Castiel had no idea. Given how Dean always took things best when done directly, he might just have to wait until it was safe to travel with their child before he saw him again. That wouldn't be until December for Dean, but with the fluidness of time for angels, that could be as close as two weeks from now for Castiel.
Liam yawned and rubbed his eyes with his fists, and then, slowly, as slowly as the day he worked his way out of his egg, he opened his eyes and breath almost left the angel. Eyes no longer that blazing white gold; his son stared up and for the first time saw his father. Liam gave an ever-so-slight tilt of his head, as if he was surprised by what he saw and Castiel cooed reassuringly to him. Liam already knew his voice and the sound gave him reassurance as he grasped at his father's hand, squeezing one of the fingers tightly in both his hands. Castiel, for his part, could not speak clearly- he was far too overcome. His prayer had been answered. The most precious thing he had ever beheld in his long, long life was staring up at him with the most beautiful green eyes.
Chapter Two