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: 7,964
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.
Sam knew that when Dean showed up for the annual Independence Day picnic that something had drastically changed in his brother. It was more than when he'd learned of Liam. Sam still hated the fact that he hadn't been able to get up to Sioux Falls to meet the boy, but he kept telling himself that there'd be a next time. Christmas, perhaps - or maybe Thanksgiving. He had, however, called Dean to let him know that he and Gina were getting married in December. It wasn't going to be a major affair, as Gina didn't want a big fancy wedding and also understood that when it came to guests, the Winchester side of the family would be almost nonexistent. He also didn't think it would be too hard to convince Dean to come down for the wedding. His brother loved the Keys. After Sam explained that Dean was terrified of flying, not to mention that it was kind of a stretch of both of their budgets to fly to Hawaii, Gina had settled on the location for a sunset beach wedding for six in Key West.
“So are you going to spill about what's wrong with you, or do I have to play twenty questions?” Sam said, setting a mug down in front of his brother.
“Nothin' is wrong, Sammy,” Dean said, picking up the offered cup of coffee.
“That's bullshit, Dean. You barely ate dinner last night and you've hardly talked since you got here.” Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I thought we had this sort of conversation a few years ago.”
“I don't want to talk about it.” He stared absently into his mug, as if he was looking for answers inside it.
“Dean, I know something is bothering you.” Sam braced himself for the expected outburst that usually happened when he pushed like this.
“You wouldn't understand,” Dean sighed.
“Well it doesn't mean I can't listen.” He sat down at the table as well, wrapping his hands around his mug. Truth was, Sam had a feeling what was going on with Dean. His relationship with Cas redefined the meaning of 'long distance relationship' and it was crazy that he hadn't noticed sooner when his brother stopped noticing the attention members of the opposite and - some of the same sex - gave him. Hell, he wagered not even Lisa Braeden could get through to his brother at this point, and odds were, Lisa ranked near the top of the list of people Dean would want to spend time with. “You're almost back to how you were this time last year.”
Dean took a drink from his mug. “I know Sam. I haven't hunted anything in months. I don't - it's just starting to get to me, you know? All of it. Bobby, Cas, you, all of it.”
Sam let out a deep breath. “So what it really boils down to is the fact that you hate being alone up there in Sioux Falls.”
He nodded in response and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pathetic, I know.”
“No, it isn't pathetic.” Sam frowned slightly. “I don't know, maybe you need to get out some. I know you say you're done with the whole bar scene, but there's bound to be -”
“Bound to be what, Sam? A club or something? Most guys my age are taking their kids to little league and crap. I'm just...” He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.
Sam frowned and looked down into his own mug. Unlike him, Dean had always thrived on being around family. He himself was the opposite - he'd spent so much time trying to get away “I don't know what to tell you Dean.”
“Maybe just being out of the house for a while will help.” Dean shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee. “I've been thinking of driving up to New York and cleaning out that storage locker of dad's before someone else breaks into it or it goes up for sale as an abandoned locker.”
“You don't think dad had a catalog of what all is in there, do you?” Sam frowned, thinking. “I mean, for all we know, he's got a hand of glory in there.”
Dean snorted. “If Dad had a hand of glory, he'd have kept the damn thing with him and not in a hex box. Not to mention that Bela would have picked that up along with the rabbit's foot.”
“Point. Maybe I could come with you for that.” Sam slowly grinned. “Sort of like an extended bachelor party.”
Dean grinned. “Sammy, I sometimes wonder if Gina has any idea what she's getting into with you.”
“Ha ha,” Sam replied and went to refill their mugs.
**
When the entire Host was summoned, Castiel wagered that to an outside observer, it would have to be an impressive sight. No, to anyone, human or angel, it was an impressive sight. When the order came for all angels to come to the heart of Heaven, Castiel wasn't sure if it was good news or bad. The last time he had been summoned to an assembly such as this, it was the day they laid siege to Hell. The Garden had somehow swelled in size to fit all of the angels, and at the center of the garden stood Michael and Raphael. The elder was the picture of controlled anger and the younger was full of undisguised rage. Normally, Castiel would be in the ranks of the warriors, but all angels with young stood with the cherubs, who surrounded them and their fledglings like guards. It was undoubtedly the only time a cherub could ever look fierce in Castiel's opinion. Liam squeezed his father's hand tightly, not quite understanding what was going on, but knowing better than to ask.
“I tell you Michael, what you have done is break with the plan.” Raphael spat. “You were to fight Lucifer and bring peace.”
“Peace?” Michael said the word as if he'd never heard it before. “You speak of enslaving mankind, Raphael. We were told to love mankind, not conquer it.”
“They are unworthy of love!” Raphael bellowed and several garrisons raised their voices in agreement, a loud roar that seemed to shake the ground.
“They are our Father's creations, Raphael. Flawed they may be, but that is how they were made.” Michael's eyes were narrowing.
Castiel had seen this argument before, so many years before, when he was only a few years older than Liam. Only then, the angel that stood in Raphael's place was Lucifer. He squeezed his son's hand a little tighter, trying to reassure him.
“Father is never coming back, Michael. He no longer cares what happens to us or what we do!”
Shouts erupted from the ranks, a cacophony of words that seemed to fill all the empty space until Castiel couldn't make out what any one angel was saying. He felt Liam grab hold of his waist and hug him for all he was worth. Looking around at the other nesting angels, he could see the fear on their faces and on the faces of the fledglings. The cherubs, for their part, were also yelling, but judging from their body language, it looked as if they were trying to calm everyone down. Over the din, he could vaguely make out Raphael screaming at Michael, calling him a failure.
“ENOUGH!!!” a voice bellowed from the far side of the garden. Ranks broke to let the speaker through and shouts gave way to whispers. Castiel was close enough to the front of the assembly to make out the man whom the angels were letting through to the center of the garden, but it didn't seem right.
It was the prophet Charles, or Chuck, as he preferred to be called. But he shouldn't be here, he couldn't be dead. Even if he was, what would he be doing in the Garden? Castiel shot a look at the two archangels and received a second shock - they clearly saw something more than a mere man.
“There has been enough fighting.” This Chuck didn't sound like the one Castiel knew. He sounded far more authoritative, and unless he was mistaken, he sounded a little disappointed.
A rumble of disagreement sounded from throughout the ranks, although very few remarks came from Gabriel's Legion. Castiel felt a tug on his arm and he looked down. “What?” He whispered.
“What's happening?” Liam looked about as worried as Castiel felt.
“I don't know.” He put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder as Chuck circled the two archangels, his expression pained.
“Really, I expected better of you two.” He stopped and stared at the younger. “Particularly you, Raphael. I gave you the simple task of trying to get Gabriel to come home, and you never went and talked to him once. I told you centuries ago to go and get your brother. If you and Michael hadn't been so busy bickering, your baby brother might be alive!”
Castiel was starting to put things together. So were several of the other angels. Confusion was giving way to shock. He squeezed Liam's hand a little tighter, rather stunned at what he believed was happening.
“But... the...” Raphael was actually spluttering. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Castiel might have laughed.
“It is done with. We will discuss this later.” Chuck let out a deep breath. “Michael.” The elder archangel took a step back, his head down. The prophet offered a small squeeze on the angel's shoulder and then turned to the rest of them. “The fighting stops here, my children. If you cannot learn to live with one another, despite how you may think things should be, then you best be prepared to change your ways. We are a family and it is time we started acting like one.”
*
Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about the newest development. The prophet known as Chuck Shirley was in fact, their Father. It was just too much to process, too much to handle. He could remember now, the hand that the man had placed on his shoulder and then, so hesitatingly, had withdrawn. But looking back, he did remember something else from that moment. In the corner of his mind he had heard Jimmy Novak's panicked voice suddenly slip away. Not silenced by him, but it was as if his soul had been released from the body they were sharing, leaving Castiel alone. It made sense now. All of it made sense. There hadn't been a prophet in centuries and those there had been hadn't exactly gotten clear messages, thus accounting for some religions gone awry. Chuck wasn't even sending a message; he'd been using the Winchester's lives to write the newest gospels. That didn't exactly fit into how things had always been done. God had gone into hiding, disguising himself as his own prophet. The plan was so utterly brilliant that he could almost laugh. Only the memory of the war's toll kept him from doing so.
Most of the angels were now subdued. Shaken by the revelation of the past, the call for cessation of the quarrels, and the price that was paid left the Host humbled and many feeling contrite. Castiel included, for he knew that his crime of rebellion and killing of his brethren would have to be accounted for. The only comfort he could take was that he knew that Liam wouldn't suffer any form of retribution. In truth, Liam was a direct result of Castiel's rebellion, but that was another matter entirely. With the others like his son also in Heaven, coupled with the fact that they weren't abandoned as the first Nephilim had been, they were progressing well and showed no signs of the madness that struck the others of their kind.
“Papa?” Liam had a feeling that something was bothering his father, something more than the incident in the Garden earlier.
“Yes?” Castiel gave the boy a worn smile.
“Why are you so worried?” Liam bit at his thumb, trying to hide his nervousness. “Is something bad gonna happen?”
Castiel felt his shoulders slump and he pulled the boy into a one armed hug. “No, Liam. Nothing bad is going to happen. We are going to be just fine.”
“I know you're worried about something. You've got that look on your face.”
The angel smoothed down his son's unruly dark curls, smiling. “It's nothing you need to be concerned about, Liam.” He gave him another hug. “You need your rest.”
The fledgling sighed and went to the other side of the nest, pulling a blanket around him. “Don't you need to sleep too, papa?”
“I do not grow weary as often as I used to, my child.” Castiel heard the hitch in his own voice.
“Oh.” Liam curled up and let himself get tucked into the side of the nest. “Is it true I'll have to leave soon?”
“Yes.” He ruffled the hair he had just smoothed down. “It's part of growing up.”
“Is that why we don't see your parents, Papa?”
Castiel stilled his hand on Liam's head. “Something like that, yes.” He couldn't bring himself to tell the boy he had no idea who his parents were. They could be almost anyone in the Host. “Don't worry about such things now, it is time for you to rest.”
“Okay.” Liam replied in a voice that was so reminiscent of Dean, Castiel almost choked on a sob. “Papa?” Liam said in a sleepy voice. “May I ask you something else?”
There goes the infamous Winchester Curiosity Gene again Castiel told himself before replying, “Yes?”
“Is it bad that I wish Dad could live here with us?” He turned over and looked up at his father. “I miss him.”
“I miss him too, Liam. I don't think it's bad, entirely. However, you must remember what would have to happen in order for him to be here.”
“I know.” He turned over, pulling the blanket over his head. “Still doesn't mean I can't wish he could. Nice if he could visit.” This last was punctuated by a yawn. “Wanna meet Uncle Sammy too.”
A few moments later, Castiel heard the boy snoring softly. He leaned out of the nest and picked up one of the scrolls he was supposed to finish reviewing before tomorrow. As he unfurled it he paused and then looked up, his heart clenching.
Liam had not asked for his usual bedtime story and Castiel also realized he hadn't thought to tell him one.
**
September arrived in South Dakota with another batch of severe weather, although thankfully, no tornadoes. Things were improving, for the most part. Dean had done as Sam had suggested and tried to find something to do with other people, to get his mind off of things that were beyond his control. The best he could come up with was joining a bowling league. He wasn't the best player on the team, in truth, he usually had the lowest of the four guys, but he kept his score consistent, a steady one-ninety, and he kept raising his score each game. When he and Sam had gone and cleaned out dad's storage locker, they'd found a lot more than they originally thought was in there. In addition to the weapons (Dean still had no idea what he was going to do with the land mines), the brothers had also found Sam's high school diploma, Dean's GED certificate (Sam hadn't known his brother's score was just one hundred and twenty-five points short of perfect) and then there was the hex box that didn't contain a cursed object, but rather photographs. Pictures of John and Dean, John and Sam, John and Adam, and baby pictures of all three boys, photos of their mom, of Kate Milligan and at the very bottom of the stack were photographs of people the brothers didn't know. The first one was of John and two young men that looked similar to their dad. The date scrawled on the back was September 19, 1968 and John, along with the two men, were all wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, arms folded and were leaning against a dusty red tow truck. Their arms and faces were dirt streaked, but they were all smiling proudly. Hanging on said tow-truck was a wrecked car Dean recognized as a Ford Thunderbird. The second photograph held another one of the smiling men - along with a woman and a group of four kids. It was the writing on the back that solved the mystery. Greg and Alice Winchester Kids: Alex (8), Michelle (6), Colleen (4) and Peter (16 months). The third photograph had been of a Keith Winchester and his wife Lydia and their three kids Jennifer, Moria and Sean.
The knowledge that they had family out somewhere; uncles, aunts, cousins - gave Dean something else to do in addition to helping hunters and fixing cars. Finding said lost relatives. Although, when the brothers thought on it, they were the real lost family members. After doing just a little digging, Dean learned that his cousins Alex and Jennifer were the same age as he was and that Colleen was the same age as Sam. The three Winchester brothers, John, Keith and Gregory were all close in age; eighteen months separated John from Keith and fourteen months separated Keith from Gregory. Dean had a vague memory of a big house with polished floors and banisters perfect for sliding down that he was certain wasn't in Lawrence, but someplace close to there. In one of those moments best described as serendipitous, on the morning of September nineteenth, the phone rang at the Singer Salvage Yard.
Dean was half awake when he stumbled across the library, having consumed no coffee - and was also thoroughly pissed to be pulled from sleep and from the very nice dream he was having about him, Cas and Liam taking a trip to the South Dakota State Fair. “Hello?” Dean mumbled, thankful it wasn't one of the hunting-related phones.
“Hello.” A nervous sounding woman answered him. “Is this -Singer Salvage?”
“Yes, how may I help you?” Dean made his way into the kitchen and started making coffee.
“I'm looking for either Sam or Dean Winchester.” Her voice sounded a little more certain. “I got this number from a Missouri Mosley in Lawrence.”
“Who is this?” Dean cut her off, all business.
“Oh, oh, I'm sorry. My name is Moria Winchester. My father's name is -”
“Keith,” Dean said, willing the coffee pot to work faster. “How can I help you?”
“Is this Dean?”
“Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't mean to be rude, but what time do you think it is?”
“Um...” There was a pause. “Seven thirty - oh shit, did I wake you up?”
“Yeah, yeah you did.” Dean decided, that if this was indeed his cousin, he'd let her off easy this one time. “You talked to Missouri then?”
“Yes, er, look -I know how this must sound, cousin calling up another cousin she's never met.”
“I've heard a lot of crazy shit over the years, Moria.” Dean let out a breath when the coffee was finally done and he could pour himself a cup. “Why exactly, are you calling?”
“It's, well, this is going to sound weird, but my dad's been wanting to get in contact with you guys for quite a while. He hasn't seen or heard from Uncle John in almost fifteen years.”
“You've met my dad?” This was surprising news to Dean. Dad had done his best to cut off all ties to the past when he started hunting Azazel. It was to protect everyone, according to John. “When?”
“I was almost seven, Uncle John came by for dad's fortieth birthday.”
Dean took a long swallow of coffee before answering. “Huh.” Apparently whenever dad took this trip, he'd left him and Sammy somewhere else. Odds were that John had done it for a very good reason at the time, but now, after the fact, it sort of pissed him off. “Any particular reason you went to Missouri to find us?”
“Dad was running out of options. I don't suppose Uncle John's there, is he? My dad really wants to talk to his brother.”
Dean let out a deep breath. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“I -” He swallowed. “I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but, Sam and I - our dad died. Almost six years ago.” And you would not believe the crazy shit that has gone down since then.
“Oh.” Moria's voice sounded odd. “Oh... oh... no wonder...”
“Missouri hint at something regarding that?”
“Sort of.” She coughed. “She's kind of weird.”
“You don't even know the half of it.” Dean took another drink of coffee. “Where are you, anyway?”
“Atchison.” Moria sniffled on her end of the line. “Look, I know you've got no real reason to believe I'm who I say I am and all that, I just - things are just too weird, okay?”
“Weird how?”
“Families aren't supposed to stop talking to one another. They aren't supposed to disappear, you know?”
“Yeah.” Dean took a drink from his mug. “I know.”
**
Change came and change came quickly to the ranks of Heaven. Gabriel's Legion still had not been assigned a new leader, but was given a temporary one, an angel by the name of Jeremiah, whom Castiel had always admired, mainly because of Jeremiah’s fortitude in putting up with the likes of Uriel and Zachariah for centuries on end. It wasn't any great shock to Castiel, however, when he and twelve other angels were all summoned to a remote corner of Heaven. He didn't recognize all of the assembled, but Raphael was among them. The room he'd been instructed to wait in was a short, narrow room with chairs and a door opposite the exit. None of the angels, Castiel included, seemed happy about being there. Raphael had the darkest expression on his face when the lesser angel arrived. If the archangel was worried, then this could not be a good thing. One by one, each of the angels present went into the room beyond, each time telling another to go in, until at last, only Castiel was left. None of the angels who had gone in spoke of what had happened, so he wasn't entirely sure what to expect.
When he went into the room, he found Chuck - Father - sitting at a large desk, a stack of files on one side of him and an empty basket on the other corner. One file folder remained and it was sitting front and center. Castiel slid uncomfortably into the chair, waiting.
Chuck let out a deep sigh and then looked up, folding his hands over the documents he'd been studying. “Hello, Castiel.”
“Hello.” He wasn't sure what to call the man sitting across from him.
Chuck was completely unaffected by the angel's discomfort. “How is Liam?”
“He is well.” Castiel shifted in his seat. He was the only one of the thirteen angels who was a parent of one of the new fledglings, so this couldn't be about that.
“Do you know why I summoned you here, Castiel?” Chuck's voice turned serious.
“No,” was his honest reply.
“Things have not been easy for you. As much as it pained me to call you here, I realized that in the eyes of the others, I cannot allow certain... events to be overlooked.” He looked back down to the folder. “The disobedience is not what has landed you here, Castiel. Were it not for your disobedience, we would be sorting billions of human souls. However, there are those among the ranks who see this crime as unforgivable.” He looked up. “I won't ask you to explain your actions, because I already know why you did what you did.”
“I do not...”
“The matter is finished. We cannot change what has transpired. It pained me to do so, but things have unfolded as I saw they should. I believe mankind should be allowed to get further along than they have. What do you think?”
Castiel frowned. “Of mankind?”
“Yes.” Chuck smiled faintly. “What do you think of mankind - as a whole?”
“They are unhappy.” Castiel had observed this emotion more than any other while on Earth. “So they spend their lives trying to find ways to become happy or make others happy. While I do question some of their methods, I do not feel qualified to make judgments on mankind.”
“Very good, Castiel.” Chuck sat back in his chair. “Do you believe mankind can improve?”
“I know they can improve. Although I do believe they also have a very long way to go yet.”
“So true.” Chuck's expression became stern. “Do you regret killing your brothers?”
Castiel hadn't been expecting that question. “I do. I wish it could have been otherwise.”
“Honesty.” The man on the other side of the desk smiled, albeit faintly. “A quality I made sure all of you angels had. Unfortunately, much like humans, honesty had been mistaken for truth. After all, history is written by the winners, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.” Castiel figured that 'sir' was probably the safest name to use for Chuck.
Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the reason you're here.” He let out another breath. “I debated over this for some time and finally realized that there's no way of getting around this. Like the others who were just here, you too have to face a punishment for the crimes many accuse you of. What has happened may have been my will, but justice, Castiel, must apply to everyone. Do you understand?”
The angel sat up straighter. “I am to be punished so that war does not break out in Heaven.”
“Very good, Castiel.” His smile became somewhat warm. “You always were the swiftest to catch on in your garrison.” He stood up and started to pace. “When was the last time you spoke with Dean Winchester?”
“Two nights ago.” Castiel answered promptly.
“Do you know what month is it is on Earth?” He paused in front of the room's one window, looking down and smiling at something.
“Approaching the end of November, Dean spoke of going to Atchison for Thanksgiving.” Castiel was starting to grow concerned.
“Do you have any plans to go and see him anytime soon?”
“I do not know when that will again be possible, sir. Now that Liam is getting older, it is harder to find time to leave.”
“I want you to go back to your nest after we finish here, Castiel. I want you and your child to pick a time to travel to Earth before the end of January. You will be granted two weeks - and two weeks only. This will be your last visit to see Dean Winchester.” Chuck came back from the window and sat down.
“Last?” Castiel felt cold. “You mean...”
“Upon your return to Heaven, you will be forbidden from seeing Dean in any form, on Earth or in dreams until he returns to Heaven for the last time.” He folded his hands, his face grave. “Do you feel Liam is old enough to leave the nest?”
“I...” Castiel knew he could not lie to his Father. “Nearly old enough.” This was rapidly becoming worse and worse. He was to lose Dean and Liam in one fell swoop?
“Good.” Chuck studied something in the folder for a moment. “You will also be reassigned to the clerk pool. You have worked there in the past, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” This Castiel could handle. Working in the clerk pool of Heaven meant he would be assigned prayers. It was dull, tedious and it also meant isolation. Prayer clerks stayed in rooms for decades on end, sorting through folders and folios. If you were lucky, you were assigned a group of living souls and just had to review their prayers for the course of their lifetimes. The worst job you could be given would be to sort through old prayers from souls already passed. Even their prayers were still sometimes answered. Such as the countless prayers of mothers who watched their children die of smallpox, who kept asking Heaven for a cure.
“There are those who would say I am letting you off lightly - so there is to be an amendment to your punishment. You shall have to face time as humans do. A minute is a minute, an hour an hour.”
“I understand.” Castiel swallowed hard. All of this combined made for one very nasty punishment, although it was vastly better than Heaven's idea of torture. He'd been there before and had no desire to ever return. “May I ask one question?”
“Of course, my child.”
Castiel clenched his hands into fists, trying to keep himself from showing any emotion on his face. “May I know how long it is to be until Dean Winchester returns to Heaven?”
Chuck shook his head. “No. I will only tell you that it is more than fifteen years and less than sixty.”
“Understood.” Fifty-nine years. Castiel thought absently, counting the maximum number of years automatically. It could be as many as fifty nine years - that would make Dean nearly one hundred years of age. “Is there anything more?”
“No Castiel. It pains me to have to do this to you, my child. But I cannot punish nine defiant angels and let the other four escape unscathed.”
“Yes, sir.” He could and he would endure this. He wasn't worried for himself, he was worried for Dean and for Liam.
“Do you feel your punishment is too harsh, Castiel?” Chuck's voice took on that authoritative tone again.
“No, sir.” He'd be a fool to argue this. This punishment was relatively light, compared to what it could have been. He could have been denied the chance to say good-bye to the two most important people in his life.
“Off you go then.” Chuck closed the folder and set it on the stack with the others.
“Thank you.” Castiel said before rising and heading for the door. When he returned to his home, he found that Liam had still not returned from classes. He curled up, wrapping his wings around himself, resting his head on his knees and he did not know if he was relieved or dismayed in the fact that angels could not cry. For if he could, Castiel knew he would be weeping.
**
“So this is the home of the famous Aunt Jet.” Sam said, slamming shut the passenger door of the Impala and picking up the crock-pot full of four-cheese pasta they'd brought.
“Yup.” Dean leaned against the car, grinning. “Technically, it's Great-Aunt Jet, but somehow, I don't think it matters to her.” He looked up at the Victorian-style house. “Hard to believe that the last time I was here for a holiday I was three.”
Sam chuckled. “I don't think they'll make you sit at the kids table anymore, Dean.” He looked back over at his brother. “You do realize I'm going to have to bring Gina here sometime next month so they can meet her, right?”
“She's your fiancé, Sam.” Dean came around the car and they started up the steps to the front door. “I've only talked to these people on the phone. They still think dad was crazy, with the monsters and all. As far as they know, I restore vintage cars and you help people figure out the problem with the printer is that it needs paper.”
Sam snorted. “Gina says she's had customers at work take the printer apart thinking it's the copier.”
“That I can sort of believe,” Dean said as they got to the porch. “By the way, remind me to send a thank you card to Rufus for telling us about the pasta trick.”
“You mean boiling the stuff in holy water?” Sam chuckled. “I'd love to know how he discovered that little trick.”
“Apparently, it's an old trick courtesy of Italian hunters,” Dean said as he rang the bell. “Looks like we're among the first to get here.” He peered in through the ornate glass in the door, although it was hard to make anything out and the massive evergreen wreath on the door didn't help either. “Someone's coming.”
There was a fleeting image of a face and then the door was opened. The woman was of medium height, with silver hair pulled back into a bun. Her eyes were the same shade of hazel as Sam's and she was dressed in dark pressed jeans and a lavender blouse. “Well, now here's two boys I never thought I'd see again!” The woman smiled broadly and opened the door wider. “Come on in here and let me get a good look at you two.” Dean and Sam exchanged glances before following her. “Harry, get in here, John's boys have finally come back after all these years!”
An older gentleman came into the hallway from what Dean guessed was the kitchen, wiping his hand on a towel. “Good God, that can't be Dean, his hair's too short.” He came over and looked the two brothers over as Aunt Jet took the crock-pot from Sam. “And Sam -” He looked the younger Winchester over. “Damn. And here I thought Peter was tall.”
*
The topic of John Winchester's obsession with monsters never came up during dinner was something for which both brothers were exceedingly grateful. Sam figured someone, most likely Aunt Jet, who clearly was the matriarch of the Winchester clan, despite the fact that her surname was Worcester, must have said something. Neither he nor Dean were sure if they could bring up the subject of their late half-brother, Adam. He was just as much a part of this family as they were and had been excluded from this circle of love just as much as they had been. Dad had always told his boys that he was a mechanic from a family of mechanics. That was mostly true. Uncle Greg was in upper-level management at the Ford plant in Kansas City and Uncle Keith ran what had once been Winchester Towing and was now Winchester Tow and Snow Removal. All of their cousins had attended college and were working in various jobs across the country thus the reason not all of the family was in attendance. Sam just knew that when the subject of Christmas came up, he'd have to decline any invitations, as he was spending that holiday with Gina's family. He had a feeling that Dean would be persuaded to come down for the event. This newfound family they'd been blessed with, it was a good thing.
One whole wall in Aunt Jet's house was covered in photographs. It took Sam a moment or two, but his eyes finally came to rest on an old photograph in a silver frame, judging from the quality. Mom, dad, Dean, and himself, looking to be just out of the scrunched-up newborn stage. Also on the wall were two framed works of calligraphy. He ran his finger along the one with more names on it. At the top, was Dean Joseph Winchester - January 24, 1979 and at the bottom, Peter Andrew Winchester - August 18, 1990. Sam frowned, looking at the space left on the bottom. “Hey Dean...”
“Yeah?” Dean came away from the conversation he'd only been half listening to between Sean and his dad about the KU football game.
“There's enough space on here for Adam.” He tapped the glass.
Dean picked the frame up off the wall, his eyes downcast. “Yeah.” He turned to the group. “Hey, Uncle Keith?” Boy does saying that sound weird.
“Yeah?” He turned towards them.
“Who did the writing on this?” Dean held out the frame.
“That'd be Aunt Jet. Why?”
“Cause someone's missing.” Sam replied and then picked up the other frame, which wasn't as full. “And someone's missing from this one too.”
Dean caught onto what his brother was doing. “Sam, don't.”
“Oh?” Keith took the two frames and looked from one brother to the other. “Who's that?”
Sam held out the first frame. “Adam Jacob Milligan - his birthday was September twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety.”
“And who's missing from this one?” Keith had the same look his elder brother did when he wanted answers. It had to be those intense brown eyes, more than anything.
Dean was going to get his brother for this. Now he'd have to do some more explaining. “Liam Gabriel Winchester. His birthday is July fourth, two thousand ten.” He indicated the second frame. “He doesn't live with me though.”
Keith's eyes suddenly turned sympathetic. “I'm sorry to hear that. I imagine he's a very handsome boy.” He turned back to Sam. “Where's Adam?”
“He uh - he - ” Sam tried to quickly think of a plausible reason for Adam's death without insulting his memory when Dean cut in.
“It was unexpected.” Dean let out a deep breath. “We barely knew him, but...”
“He should still get his name listed, right?” Sam knew this probably sounded pathetic and chick-flicky, as Dean would say.
“Right you are.” The man smiled. “Sean, would you go get your aunt in here? And tell her to bring her calligraphy pen.”
“Sure dad,” Sean replied and turned towards the kitchen.
*
The time of the Winter Solstice tended to bring an influx of monster related activities. The event seemed to be an open invitation for the entire supernatural world to just go nuts. But not this year, this year, it was quiet. On a vast snowy field in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a man stood looking down towards the woods where a century and a half ago, Federal troops looked down upon the advancing Confederates in an event that history would call Pickett's Charge. At the man's side stood a second man, almost the exact same height, but of sturdier build. Both of them wore heavy wool coats, their hands stuffed in their pockets watching the approach of two other figures. One, a woman in a dark blue coat and the other, a tall man with a tattoo adorning his face, the edge of it just visible under a knit cap. The man let out a breath as the woman finally reached the crest of the hill, looking placid.
“I will admit, disguising yourself as a drunken writer was quite clever,” the woman smiled. “Chuck.”
“Eve,” Chuck replied, nodding slightly. “I take it you've thought things over.”
“I have.” She smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I will admit, it would be wonderful just to gather my children home and not have to worry for them any longer.” She sighed, turning her gaze from him and looking out over the landscape. “The demons will never stand for this, you know that.”
“We shall handle the demons.” The man next to Chuck answered, “One or a hundred at a time, we can stand against them.”
“Michael.” Eve turned and looked directly at the archangel. “Still full of bravado, after all this time.” She smiled. “I've always liked angels. So perfect and yet - so imperfect because of that perfection.” She turned back to Chuck. “I take it the pagans will be left to themselves.”
“Haven't they always preferred it that way? Besides, they get to experience the joy of being reinvented again and again in fiction. That Riordan fellow is quite the genius.”
“Kindly Ones.” Eve threw back her head and laughed. “How utterly funny that was!” It took a moment for her to recover from her mirth. “I believe I can agree to the terms you have suggested. Although I do not plan on telling those I release from Purgatory that they may not create more of their kind. That is purely up to them.”
“Of course.” Chuck replied. “I do look forward to the day when the wall that stands between my home and yours will no longer be necessary and you and your children can come home too.”
“I know,” Eve replied with a smile. “But such is the way of things.” She smiled faintly. “I shall call my children home by the end of the year. I take it hunters will still be taking care of the vengeful spirits.”
“Yes,” Michael answered and he inclined his head to the much elder being. “Eve.”
The woman smiled one last time and turned. The jinn at her side nodded at the pair and followed her back into the darkness, their feet leaving no impression upon the snow.
**
The dreamscape was always the same when Dean knew a visit from Castiel would happen soon. They were always back on those two benches in a park, watching children run around and play. Tonight it was no different. Dean was glad he always found himself on his bench first, smiling whenever he felt the angel approach. “I suppose a Merry Christmas is in order, given what day it is here on Earth.”
Castiel smiled faintly. “Merry Christmas Dean.” He sat down on his own bench, hating the fact that they could never sit next to each other. “You are not spending the holiday alone, are you?”
“No, somehow my great aunt convinced me to come down to Atchison again. I think she's either trying to make up for lost time, or is glad there's one kid in the family who doesn't have to divide their time. Well, so to speak.”
“I understand Dean.” Castiel sighed and leaned back in his seat. “It will still be two weeks before Liam and I come and see you again.”
“It's been six months. I can wait two more weeks, Cas.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” The conversation that's coming is one Castiel has been expecting for a year now.
“Why does Liam have to stay in Heaven all the time? I hate to sound like a selfish bastard, but I'm missing too much. It's a really rotten way to feel.” Dean looked over at the angel. “Why can't he - ”
“It is a highly complicated thing, Dean. Much as I would love for Liam and I to visit you with regularity or even for just our boy to come and see you for the summer, it's dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“Do you remember what happened to the first Nephilim?”
“They went crazy or something... and they were all killed.... well, supposedly all of them were killed.”
“No one has proved if one pregnant woman escaped or not. The answer to that will have to remain a mystery.” Castiel took a breath. “Part of the reason the Nephilim turned out the way they did was because they were denied Heaven. A lot of what makes an angel an angel happens before they hit puberty. The Nephilim had too much power and no idea how to channel it.”
“So, Liam won't hit puberty for a few more years, right?”
“Puberty can strike an angel at any time once they no longer require nectar for sustenance. Liam barely needs it now. An angel going through puberty is akin to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius when it buried Pompeii.”
“That sounds scary Cas.”
“Scary is an understatement. I know that both he and I dearly wish we could come and see you more often, but with the way angels age and the nature of our being, even something simple could prove to be damaging to you.”
“Like what happened to Pamela,” Dean said flatly, looking away.
“I did warn her.” Castiel knew that even now, that sounded like a terrible excuse. Although in truth, most angels wouldn't have warned a prying human.
“Cas, I've told you not to worry about me.”
“Liam is more like you than you know. If he were to injure you, even accidentally, he'd never forgive himself. I know he still feels bad over the incident last summer.”
“Last summer?” Dean thought for a moment and then gave the angel a stunned look. “All he did was give me a slight whack in the face with his wing. That was nothing! Not to mention the fact he was fucking terrified at the time!”
“It does not matter to him. He knows it could have been much worse.”
Dean ran his hand through his hair again. “So - he has to stay in Heaven for most of the time to avoid going crazy and hurting humans accidentally.”
“To put it bluntly, yes.”
“Still doesn't mean it doesn't suck.”
“I agree. It does.” The angel frowned. “I will never understand slang and how sucking can be - ”
“Don't finish that sentence, Cas, just don't.” Dean went bright red. “Stinks. It stinks.”
“That makes much more sense.” The angel sighed. “It stinks like dinosaur shit.”
“What were you doing around dinosaur shit?”
Castiel straightened up, looking abashed. “It wasn't my idea. I merely went as a lookout while another angel in my garrison split the corpse of the creature and left half of it in present day South America and the other in Africa.”
“Wasn't Gabriel, was it?”
“No.” Castiel smiled. “Although it sounds like something he would have done. Gabriel was commander of a Legion of his own, just as Michael and Raphael currently are. It is rather complicated, I suppose.”
“I think complicated is starting to become an adjective for angels.”
“It already was, Dean.”
“Been working on that sense of humor again, I see.” Dean shifted to the end of his bench, getting as close to Castiel as he could.
“Yes.” The angel moved closer as well. “Before I forget, Liam asked if you would please get more of those little sandwich cookies he likes so much.”
“Oreos,” Dean said, grinning. “Sure. I'll get a package or two of those before you come visit.”
Chapter Five
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/OFC
Warnings: See Master Post for full list of warnings.
Word Count: 7,964
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.
Sam knew that when Dean showed up for the annual Independence Day picnic that something had drastically changed in his brother. It was more than when he'd learned of Liam. Sam still hated the fact that he hadn't been able to get up to Sioux Falls to meet the boy, but he kept telling himself that there'd be a next time. Christmas, perhaps - or maybe Thanksgiving. He had, however, called Dean to let him know that he and Gina were getting married in December. It wasn't going to be a major affair, as Gina didn't want a big fancy wedding and also understood that when it came to guests, the Winchester side of the family would be almost nonexistent. He also didn't think it would be too hard to convince Dean to come down for the wedding. His brother loved the Keys. After Sam explained that Dean was terrified of flying, not to mention that it was kind of a stretch of both of their budgets to fly to Hawaii, Gina had settled on the location for a sunset beach wedding for six in Key West.
“So are you going to spill about what's wrong with you, or do I have to play twenty questions?” Sam said, setting a mug down in front of his brother.
“Nothin' is wrong, Sammy,” Dean said, picking up the offered cup of coffee.
“That's bullshit, Dean. You barely ate dinner last night and you've hardly talked since you got here.” Sam rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I thought we had this sort of conversation a few years ago.”
“I don't want to talk about it.” He stared absently into his mug, as if he was looking for answers inside it.
“Dean, I know something is bothering you.” Sam braced himself for the expected outburst that usually happened when he pushed like this.
“You wouldn't understand,” Dean sighed.
“Well it doesn't mean I can't listen.” He sat down at the table as well, wrapping his hands around his mug. Truth was, Sam had a feeling what was going on with Dean. His relationship with Cas redefined the meaning of 'long distance relationship' and it was crazy that he hadn't noticed sooner when his brother stopped noticing the attention members of the opposite and - some of the same sex - gave him. Hell, he wagered not even Lisa Braeden could get through to his brother at this point, and odds were, Lisa ranked near the top of the list of people Dean would want to spend time with. “You're almost back to how you were this time last year.”
Dean took a drink from his mug. “I know Sam. I haven't hunted anything in months. I don't - it's just starting to get to me, you know? All of it. Bobby, Cas, you, all of it.”
Sam let out a deep breath. “So what it really boils down to is the fact that you hate being alone up there in Sioux Falls.”
He nodded in response and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Pathetic, I know.”
“No, it isn't pathetic.” Sam frowned slightly. “I don't know, maybe you need to get out some. I know you say you're done with the whole bar scene, but there's bound to be -”
“Bound to be what, Sam? A club or something? Most guys my age are taking their kids to little league and crap. I'm just...” He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking.
Sam frowned and looked down into his own mug. Unlike him, Dean had always thrived on being around family. He himself was the opposite - he'd spent so much time trying to get away “I don't know what to tell you Dean.”
“Maybe just being out of the house for a while will help.” Dean shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee. “I've been thinking of driving up to New York and cleaning out that storage locker of dad's before someone else breaks into it or it goes up for sale as an abandoned locker.”
“You don't think dad had a catalog of what all is in there, do you?” Sam frowned, thinking. “I mean, for all we know, he's got a hand of glory in there.”
Dean snorted. “If Dad had a hand of glory, he'd have kept the damn thing with him and not in a hex box. Not to mention that Bela would have picked that up along with the rabbit's foot.”
“Point. Maybe I could come with you for that.” Sam slowly grinned. “Sort of like an extended bachelor party.”
Dean grinned. “Sammy, I sometimes wonder if Gina has any idea what she's getting into with you.”
“Ha ha,” Sam replied and went to refill their mugs.
**
When the entire Host was summoned, Castiel wagered that to an outside observer, it would have to be an impressive sight. No, to anyone, human or angel, it was an impressive sight. When the order came for all angels to come to the heart of Heaven, Castiel wasn't sure if it was good news or bad. The last time he had been summoned to an assembly such as this, it was the day they laid siege to Hell. The Garden had somehow swelled in size to fit all of the angels, and at the center of the garden stood Michael and Raphael. The elder was the picture of controlled anger and the younger was full of undisguised rage. Normally, Castiel would be in the ranks of the warriors, but all angels with young stood with the cherubs, who surrounded them and their fledglings like guards. It was undoubtedly the only time a cherub could ever look fierce in Castiel's opinion. Liam squeezed his father's hand tightly, not quite understanding what was going on, but knowing better than to ask.
“I tell you Michael, what you have done is break with the plan.” Raphael spat. “You were to fight Lucifer and bring peace.”
“Peace?” Michael said the word as if he'd never heard it before. “You speak of enslaving mankind, Raphael. We were told to love mankind, not conquer it.”
“They are unworthy of love!” Raphael bellowed and several garrisons raised their voices in agreement, a loud roar that seemed to shake the ground.
“They are our Father's creations, Raphael. Flawed they may be, but that is how they were made.” Michael's eyes were narrowing.
Castiel had seen this argument before, so many years before, when he was only a few years older than Liam. Only then, the angel that stood in Raphael's place was Lucifer. He squeezed his son's hand a little tighter, trying to reassure him.
“Father is never coming back, Michael. He no longer cares what happens to us or what we do!”
Shouts erupted from the ranks, a cacophony of words that seemed to fill all the empty space until Castiel couldn't make out what any one angel was saying. He felt Liam grab hold of his waist and hug him for all he was worth. Looking around at the other nesting angels, he could see the fear on their faces and on the faces of the fledglings. The cherubs, for their part, were also yelling, but judging from their body language, it looked as if they were trying to calm everyone down. Over the din, he could vaguely make out Raphael screaming at Michael, calling him a failure.
“ENOUGH!!!” a voice bellowed from the far side of the garden. Ranks broke to let the speaker through and shouts gave way to whispers. Castiel was close enough to the front of the assembly to make out the man whom the angels were letting through to the center of the garden, but it didn't seem right.
It was the prophet Charles, or Chuck, as he preferred to be called. But he shouldn't be here, he couldn't be dead. Even if he was, what would he be doing in the Garden? Castiel shot a look at the two archangels and received a second shock - they clearly saw something more than a mere man.
“There has been enough fighting.” This Chuck didn't sound like the one Castiel knew. He sounded far more authoritative, and unless he was mistaken, he sounded a little disappointed.
A rumble of disagreement sounded from throughout the ranks, although very few remarks came from Gabriel's Legion. Castiel felt a tug on his arm and he looked down. “What?” He whispered.
“What's happening?” Liam looked about as worried as Castiel felt.
“I don't know.” He put a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder as Chuck circled the two archangels, his expression pained.
“Really, I expected better of you two.” He stopped and stared at the younger. “Particularly you, Raphael. I gave you the simple task of trying to get Gabriel to come home, and you never went and talked to him once. I told you centuries ago to go and get your brother. If you and Michael hadn't been so busy bickering, your baby brother might be alive!”
Castiel was starting to put things together. So were several of the other angels. Confusion was giving way to shock. He squeezed Liam's hand a little tighter, rather stunned at what he believed was happening.
“But... the...” Raphael was actually spluttering. If the situation hadn't been so serious, Castiel might have laughed.
“It is done with. We will discuss this later.” Chuck let out a deep breath. “Michael.” The elder archangel took a step back, his head down. The prophet offered a small squeeze on the angel's shoulder and then turned to the rest of them. “The fighting stops here, my children. If you cannot learn to live with one another, despite how you may think things should be, then you best be prepared to change your ways. We are a family and it is time we started acting like one.”
*
Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about the newest development. The prophet known as Chuck Shirley was in fact, their Father. It was just too much to process, too much to handle. He could remember now, the hand that the man had placed on his shoulder and then, so hesitatingly, had withdrawn. But looking back, he did remember something else from that moment. In the corner of his mind he had heard Jimmy Novak's panicked voice suddenly slip away. Not silenced by him, but it was as if his soul had been released from the body they were sharing, leaving Castiel alone. It made sense now. All of it made sense. There hadn't been a prophet in centuries and those there had been hadn't exactly gotten clear messages, thus accounting for some religions gone awry. Chuck wasn't even sending a message; he'd been using the Winchester's lives to write the newest gospels. That didn't exactly fit into how things had always been done. God had gone into hiding, disguising himself as his own prophet. The plan was so utterly brilliant that he could almost laugh. Only the memory of the war's toll kept him from doing so.
Most of the angels were now subdued. Shaken by the revelation of the past, the call for cessation of the quarrels, and the price that was paid left the Host humbled and many feeling contrite. Castiel included, for he knew that his crime of rebellion and killing of his brethren would have to be accounted for. The only comfort he could take was that he knew that Liam wouldn't suffer any form of retribution. In truth, Liam was a direct result of Castiel's rebellion, but that was another matter entirely. With the others like his son also in Heaven, coupled with the fact that they weren't abandoned as the first Nephilim had been, they were progressing well and showed no signs of the madness that struck the others of their kind.
“Papa?” Liam had a feeling that something was bothering his father, something more than the incident in the Garden earlier.
“Yes?” Castiel gave the boy a worn smile.
“Why are you so worried?” Liam bit at his thumb, trying to hide his nervousness. “Is something bad gonna happen?”
Castiel felt his shoulders slump and he pulled the boy into a one armed hug. “No, Liam. Nothing bad is going to happen. We are going to be just fine.”
“I know you're worried about something. You've got that look on your face.”
The angel smoothed down his son's unruly dark curls, smiling. “It's nothing you need to be concerned about, Liam.” He gave him another hug. “You need your rest.”
The fledgling sighed and went to the other side of the nest, pulling a blanket around him. “Don't you need to sleep too, papa?”
“I do not grow weary as often as I used to, my child.” Castiel heard the hitch in his own voice.
“Oh.” Liam curled up and let himself get tucked into the side of the nest. “Is it true I'll have to leave soon?”
“Yes.” He ruffled the hair he had just smoothed down. “It's part of growing up.”
“Is that why we don't see your parents, Papa?”
Castiel stilled his hand on Liam's head. “Something like that, yes.” He couldn't bring himself to tell the boy he had no idea who his parents were. They could be almost anyone in the Host. “Don't worry about such things now, it is time for you to rest.”
“Okay.” Liam replied in a voice that was so reminiscent of Dean, Castiel almost choked on a sob. “Papa?” Liam said in a sleepy voice. “May I ask you something else?”
There goes the infamous Winchester Curiosity Gene again Castiel told himself before replying, “Yes?”
“Is it bad that I wish Dad could live here with us?” He turned over and looked up at his father. “I miss him.”
“I miss him too, Liam. I don't think it's bad, entirely. However, you must remember what would have to happen in order for him to be here.”
“I know.” He turned over, pulling the blanket over his head. “Still doesn't mean I can't wish he could. Nice if he could visit.” This last was punctuated by a yawn. “Wanna meet Uncle Sammy too.”
A few moments later, Castiel heard the boy snoring softly. He leaned out of the nest and picked up one of the scrolls he was supposed to finish reviewing before tomorrow. As he unfurled it he paused and then looked up, his heart clenching.
Liam had not asked for his usual bedtime story and Castiel also realized he hadn't thought to tell him one.
**
September arrived in South Dakota with another batch of severe weather, although thankfully, no tornadoes. Things were improving, for the most part. Dean had done as Sam had suggested and tried to find something to do with other people, to get his mind off of things that were beyond his control. The best he could come up with was joining a bowling league. He wasn't the best player on the team, in truth, he usually had the lowest of the four guys, but he kept his score consistent, a steady one-ninety, and he kept raising his score each game. When he and Sam had gone and cleaned out dad's storage locker, they'd found a lot more than they originally thought was in there. In addition to the weapons (Dean still had no idea what he was going to do with the land mines), the brothers had also found Sam's high school diploma, Dean's GED certificate (Sam hadn't known his brother's score was just one hundred and twenty-five points short of perfect) and then there was the hex box that didn't contain a cursed object, but rather photographs. Pictures of John and Dean, John and Sam, John and Adam, and baby pictures of all three boys, photos of their mom, of Kate Milligan and at the very bottom of the stack were photographs of people the brothers didn't know. The first one was of John and two young men that looked similar to their dad. The date scrawled on the back was September 19, 1968 and John, along with the two men, were all wearing blue jeans and t-shirts, arms folded and were leaning against a dusty red tow truck. Their arms and faces were dirt streaked, but they were all smiling proudly. Hanging on said tow-truck was a wrecked car Dean recognized as a Ford Thunderbird. The second photograph held another one of the smiling men - along with a woman and a group of four kids. It was the writing on the back that solved the mystery. Greg and Alice Winchester Kids: Alex (8), Michelle (6), Colleen (4) and Peter (16 months). The third photograph had been of a Keith Winchester and his wife Lydia and their three kids Jennifer, Moria and Sean.
The knowledge that they had family out somewhere; uncles, aunts, cousins - gave Dean something else to do in addition to helping hunters and fixing cars. Finding said lost relatives. Although, when the brothers thought on it, they were the real lost family members. After doing just a little digging, Dean learned that his cousins Alex and Jennifer were the same age as he was and that Colleen was the same age as Sam. The three Winchester brothers, John, Keith and Gregory were all close in age; eighteen months separated John from Keith and fourteen months separated Keith from Gregory. Dean had a vague memory of a big house with polished floors and banisters perfect for sliding down that he was certain wasn't in Lawrence, but someplace close to there. In one of those moments best described as serendipitous, on the morning of September nineteenth, the phone rang at the Singer Salvage Yard.
Dean was half awake when he stumbled across the library, having consumed no coffee - and was also thoroughly pissed to be pulled from sleep and from the very nice dream he was having about him, Cas and Liam taking a trip to the South Dakota State Fair. “Hello?” Dean mumbled, thankful it wasn't one of the hunting-related phones.
“Hello.” A nervous sounding woman answered him. “Is this -Singer Salvage?”
“Yes, how may I help you?” Dean made his way into the kitchen and started making coffee.
“I'm looking for either Sam or Dean Winchester.” Her voice sounded a little more certain. “I got this number from a Missouri Mosley in Lawrence.”
“Who is this?” Dean cut her off, all business.
“Oh, oh, I'm sorry. My name is Moria Winchester. My father's name is -”
“Keith,” Dean said, willing the coffee pot to work faster. “How can I help you?”
“Is this Dean?”
“Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don't mean to be rude, but what time do you think it is?”
“Um...” There was a pause. “Seven thirty - oh shit, did I wake you up?”
“Yeah, yeah you did.” Dean decided, that if this was indeed his cousin, he'd let her off easy this one time. “You talked to Missouri then?”
“Yes, er, look -I know how this must sound, cousin calling up another cousin she's never met.”
“I've heard a lot of crazy shit over the years, Moria.” Dean let out a breath when the coffee was finally done and he could pour himself a cup. “Why exactly, are you calling?”
“It's, well, this is going to sound weird, but my dad's been wanting to get in contact with you guys for quite a while. He hasn't seen or heard from Uncle John in almost fifteen years.”
“You've met my dad?” This was surprising news to Dean. Dad had done his best to cut off all ties to the past when he started hunting Azazel. It was to protect everyone, according to John. “When?”
“I was almost seven, Uncle John came by for dad's fortieth birthday.”
Dean took a long swallow of coffee before answering. “Huh.” Apparently whenever dad took this trip, he'd left him and Sammy somewhere else. Odds were that John had done it for a very good reason at the time, but now, after the fact, it sort of pissed him off. “Any particular reason you went to Missouri to find us?”
“Dad was running out of options. I don't suppose Uncle John's there, is he? My dad really wants to talk to his brother.”
Dean let out a deep breath. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“I -” He swallowed. “I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but, Sam and I - our dad died. Almost six years ago.” And you would not believe the crazy shit that has gone down since then.
“Oh.” Moria's voice sounded odd. “Oh... oh... no wonder...”
“Missouri hint at something regarding that?”
“Sort of.” She coughed. “She's kind of weird.”
“You don't even know the half of it.” Dean took another drink of coffee. “Where are you, anyway?”
“Atchison.” Moria sniffled on her end of the line. “Look, I know you've got no real reason to believe I'm who I say I am and all that, I just - things are just too weird, okay?”
“Weird how?”
“Families aren't supposed to stop talking to one another. They aren't supposed to disappear, you know?”
“Yeah.” Dean took a drink from his mug. “I know.”
**
Change came and change came quickly to the ranks of Heaven. Gabriel's Legion still had not been assigned a new leader, but was given a temporary one, an angel by the name of Jeremiah, whom Castiel had always admired, mainly because of Jeremiah’s fortitude in putting up with the likes of Uriel and Zachariah for centuries on end. It wasn't any great shock to Castiel, however, when he and twelve other angels were all summoned to a remote corner of Heaven. He didn't recognize all of the assembled, but Raphael was among them. The room he'd been instructed to wait in was a short, narrow room with chairs and a door opposite the exit. None of the angels, Castiel included, seemed happy about being there. Raphael had the darkest expression on his face when the lesser angel arrived. If the archangel was worried, then this could not be a good thing. One by one, each of the angels present went into the room beyond, each time telling another to go in, until at last, only Castiel was left. None of the angels who had gone in spoke of what had happened, so he wasn't entirely sure what to expect.
When he went into the room, he found Chuck - Father - sitting at a large desk, a stack of files on one side of him and an empty basket on the other corner. One file folder remained and it was sitting front and center. Castiel slid uncomfortably into the chair, waiting.
Chuck let out a deep sigh and then looked up, folding his hands over the documents he'd been studying. “Hello, Castiel.”
“Hello.” He wasn't sure what to call the man sitting across from him.
Chuck was completely unaffected by the angel's discomfort. “How is Liam?”
“He is well.” Castiel shifted in his seat. He was the only one of the thirteen angels who was a parent of one of the new fledglings, so this couldn't be about that.
“Do you know why I summoned you here, Castiel?” Chuck's voice turned serious.
“No,” was his honest reply.
“Things have not been easy for you. As much as it pained me to call you here, I realized that in the eyes of the others, I cannot allow certain... events to be overlooked.” He looked back down to the folder. “The disobedience is not what has landed you here, Castiel. Were it not for your disobedience, we would be sorting billions of human souls. However, there are those among the ranks who see this crime as unforgivable.” He looked up. “I won't ask you to explain your actions, because I already know why you did what you did.”
“I do not...”
“The matter is finished. We cannot change what has transpired. It pained me to do so, but things have unfolded as I saw they should. I believe mankind should be allowed to get further along than they have. What do you think?”
Castiel frowned. “Of mankind?”
“Yes.” Chuck smiled faintly. “What do you think of mankind - as a whole?”
“They are unhappy.” Castiel had observed this emotion more than any other while on Earth. “So they spend their lives trying to find ways to become happy or make others happy. While I do question some of their methods, I do not feel qualified to make judgments on mankind.”
“Very good, Castiel.” Chuck sat back in his chair. “Do you believe mankind can improve?”
“I know they can improve. Although I do believe they also have a very long way to go yet.”
“So true.” Chuck's expression became stern. “Do you regret killing your brothers?”
Castiel hadn't been expecting that question. “I do. I wish it could have been otherwise.”
“Honesty.” The man on the other side of the desk smiled, albeit faintly. “A quality I made sure all of you angels had. Unfortunately, much like humans, honesty had been mistaken for truth. After all, history is written by the winners, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.” Castiel figured that 'sir' was probably the safest name to use for Chuck.
Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose. “Getting back to the reason you're here.” He let out another breath. “I debated over this for some time and finally realized that there's no way of getting around this. Like the others who were just here, you too have to face a punishment for the crimes many accuse you of. What has happened may have been my will, but justice, Castiel, must apply to everyone. Do you understand?”
The angel sat up straighter. “I am to be punished so that war does not break out in Heaven.”
“Very good, Castiel.” His smile became somewhat warm. “You always were the swiftest to catch on in your garrison.” He stood up and started to pace. “When was the last time you spoke with Dean Winchester?”
“Two nights ago.” Castiel answered promptly.
“Do you know what month is it is on Earth?” He paused in front of the room's one window, looking down and smiling at something.
“Approaching the end of November, Dean spoke of going to Atchison for Thanksgiving.” Castiel was starting to grow concerned.
“Do you have any plans to go and see him anytime soon?”
“I do not know when that will again be possible, sir. Now that Liam is getting older, it is harder to find time to leave.”
“I want you to go back to your nest after we finish here, Castiel. I want you and your child to pick a time to travel to Earth before the end of January. You will be granted two weeks - and two weeks only. This will be your last visit to see Dean Winchester.” Chuck came back from the window and sat down.
“Last?” Castiel felt cold. “You mean...”
“Upon your return to Heaven, you will be forbidden from seeing Dean in any form, on Earth or in dreams until he returns to Heaven for the last time.” He folded his hands, his face grave. “Do you feel Liam is old enough to leave the nest?”
“I...” Castiel knew he could not lie to his Father. “Nearly old enough.” This was rapidly becoming worse and worse. He was to lose Dean and Liam in one fell swoop?
“Good.” Chuck studied something in the folder for a moment. “You will also be reassigned to the clerk pool. You have worked there in the past, yes?”
“Yes, sir.” This Castiel could handle. Working in the clerk pool of Heaven meant he would be assigned prayers. It was dull, tedious and it also meant isolation. Prayer clerks stayed in rooms for decades on end, sorting through folders and folios. If you were lucky, you were assigned a group of living souls and just had to review their prayers for the course of their lifetimes. The worst job you could be given would be to sort through old prayers from souls already passed. Even their prayers were still sometimes answered. Such as the countless prayers of mothers who watched their children die of smallpox, who kept asking Heaven for a cure.
“There are those who would say I am letting you off lightly - so there is to be an amendment to your punishment. You shall have to face time as humans do. A minute is a minute, an hour an hour.”
“I understand.” Castiel swallowed hard. All of this combined made for one very nasty punishment, although it was vastly better than Heaven's idea of torture. He'd been there before and had no desire to ever return. “May I ask one question?”
“Of course, my child.”
Castiel clenched his hands into fists, trying to keep himself from showing any emotion on his face. “May I know how long it is to be until Dean Winchester returns to Heaven?”
Chuck shook his head. “No. I will only tell you that it is more than fifteen years and less than sixty.”
“Understood.” Fifty-nine years. Castiel thought absently, counting the maximum number of years automatically. It could be as many as fifty nine years - that would make Dean nearly one hundred years of age. “Is there anything more?”
“No Castiel. It pains me to have to do this to you, my child. But I cannot punish nine defiant angels and let the other four escape unscathed.”
“Yes, sir.” He could and he would endure this. He wasn't worried for himself, he was worried for Dean and for Liam.
“Do you feel your punishment is too harsh, Castiel?” Chuck's voice took on that authoritative tone again.
“No, sir.” He'd be a fool to argue this. This punishment was relatively light, compared to what it could have been. He could have been denied the chance to say good-bye to the two most important people in his life.
“Off you go then.” Chuck closed the folder and set it on the stack with the others.
“Thank you.” Castiel said before rising and heading for the door. When he returned to his home, he found that Liam had still not returned from classes. He curled up, wrapping his wings around himself, resting his head on his knees and he did not know if he was relieved or dismayed in the fact that angels could not cry. For if he could, Castiel knew he would be weeping.
**
“So this is the home of the famous Aunt Jet.” Sam said, slamming shut the passenger door of the Impala and picking up the crock-pot full of four-cheese pasta they'd brought.
“Yup.” Dean leaned against the car, grinning. “Technically, it's Great-Aunt Jet, but somehow, I don't think it matters to her.” He looked up at the Victorian-style house. “Hard to believe that the last time I was here for a holiday I was three.”
Sam chuckled. “I don't think they'll make you sit at the kids table anymore, Dean.” He looked back over at his brother. “You do realize I'm going to have to bring Gina here sometime next month so they can meet her, right?”
“She's your fiancé, Sam.” Dean came around the car and they started up the steps to the front door. “I've only talked to these people on the phone. They still think dad was crazy, with the monsters and all. As far as they know, I restore vintage cars and you help people figure out the problem with the printer is that it needs paper.”
Sam snorted. “Gina says she's had customers at work take the printer apart thinking it's the copier.”
“That I can sort of believe,” Dean said as they got to the porch. “By the way, remind me to send a thank you card to Rufus for telling us about the pasta trick.”
“You mean boiling the stuff in holy water?” Sam chuckled. “I'd love to know how he discovered that little trick.”
“Apparently, it's an old trick courtesy of Italian hunters,” Dean said as he rang the bell. “Looks like we're among the first to get here.” He peered in through the ornate glass in the door, although it was hard to make anything out and the massive evergreen wreath on the door didn't help either. “Someone's coming.”
There was a fleeting image of a face and then the door was opened. The woman was of medium height, with silver hair pulled back into a bun. Her eyes were the same shade of hazel as Sam's and she was dressed in dark pressed jeans and a lavender blouse. “Well, now here's two boys I never thought I'd see again!” The woman smiled broadly and opened the door wider. “Come on in here and let me get a good look at you two.” Dean and Sam exchanged glances before following her. “Harry, get in here, John's boys have finally come back after all these years!”
An older gentleman came into the hallway from what Dean guessed was the kitchen, wiping his hand on a towel. “Good God, that can't be Dean, his hair's too short.” He came over and looked the two brothers over as Aunt Jet took the crock-pot from Sam. “And Sam -” He looked the younger Winchester over. “Damn. And here I thought Peter was tall.”
*
The topic of John Winchester's obsession with monsters never came up during dinner was something for which both brothers were exceedingly grateful. Sam figured someone, most likely Aunt Jet, who clearly was the matriarch of the Winchester clan, despite the fact that her surname was Worcester, must have said something. Neither he nor Dean were sure if they could bring up the subject of their late half-brother, Adam. He was just as much a part of this family as they were and had been excluded from this circle of love just as much as they had been. Dad had always told his boys that he was a mechanic from a family of mechanics. That was mostly true. Uncle Greg was in upper-level management at the Ford plant in Kansas City and Uncle Keith ran what had once been Winchester Towing and was now Winchester Tow and Snow Removal. All of their cousins had attended college and were working in various jobs across the country thus the reason not all of the family was in attendance. Sam just knew that when the subject of Christmas came up, he'd have to decline any invitations, as he was spending that holiday with Gina's family. He had a feeling that Dean would be persuaded to come down for the event. This newfound family they'd been blessed with, it was a good thing.
One whole wall in Aunt Jet's house was covered in photographs. It took Sam a moment or two, but his eyes finally came to rest on an old photograph in a silver frame, judging from the quality. Mom, dad, Dean, and himself, looking to be just out of the scrunched-up newborn stage. Also on the wall were two framed works of calligraphy. He ran his finger along the one with more names on it. At the top, was Dean Joseph Winchester - January 24, 1979 and at the bottom, Peter Andrew Winchester - August 18, 1990. Sam frowned, looking at the space left on the bottom. “Hey Dean...”
“Yeah?” Dean came away from the conversation he'd only been half listening to between Sean and his dad about the KU football game.
“There's enough space on here for Adam.” He tapped the glass.
Dean picked the frame up off the wall, his eyes downcast. “Yeah.” He turned to the group. “Hey, Uncle Keith?” Boy does saying that sound weird.
“Yeah?” He turned towards them.
“Who did the writing on this?” Dean held out the frame.
“That'd be Aunt Jet. Why?”
“Cause someone's missing.” Sam replied and then picked up the other frame, which wasn't as full. “And someone's missing from this one too.”
Dean caught onto what his brother was doing. “Sam, don't.”
“Oh?” Keith took the two frames and looked from one brother to the other. “Who's that?”
Sam held out the first frame. “Adam Jacob Milligan - his birthday was September twenty-ninth, nineteen ninety.”
“And who's missing from this one?” Keith had the same look his elder brother did when he wanted answers. It had to be those intense brown eyes, more than anything.
Dean was going to get his brother for this. Now he'd have to do some more explaining. “Liam Gabriel Winchester. His birthday is July fourth, two thousand ten.” He indicated the second frame. “He doesn't live with me though.”
Keith's eyes suddenly turned sympathetic. “I'm sorry to hear that. I imagine he's a very handsome boy.” He turned back to Sam. “Where's Adam?”
“He uh - he - ” Sam tried to quickly think of a plausible reason for Adam's death without insulting his memory when Dean cut in.
“It was unexpected.” Dean let out a deep breath. “We barely knew him, but...”
“He should still get his name listed, right?” Sam knew this probably sounded pathetic and chick-flicky, as Dean would say.
“Right you are.” The man smiled. “Sean, would you go get your aunt in here? And tell her to bring her calligraphy pen.”
“Sure dad,” Sean replied and turned towards the kitchen.
*
The time of the Winter Solstice tended to bring an influx of monster related activities. The event seemed to be an open invitation for the entire supernatural world to just go nuts. But not this year, this year, it was quiet. On a vast snowy field in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, a man stood looking down towards the woods where a century and a half ago, Federal troops looked down upon the advancing Confederates in an event that history would call Pickett's Charge. At the man's side stood a second man, almost the exact same height, but of sturdier build. Both of them wore heavy wool coats, their hands stuffed in their pockets watching the approach of two other figures. One, a woman in a dark blue coat and the other, a tall man with a tattoo adorning his face, the edge of it just visible under a knit cap. The man let out a breath as the woman finally reached the crest of the hill, looking placid.
“I will admit, disguising yourself as a drunken writer was quite clever,” the woman smiled. “Chuck.”
“Eve,” Chuck replied, nodding slightly. “I take it you've thought things over.”
“I have.” She smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I will admit, it would be wonderful just to gather my children home and not have to worry for them any longer.” She sighed, turning her gaze from him and looking out over the landscape. “The demons will never stand for this, you know that.”
“We shall handle the demons.” The man next to Chuck answered, “One or a hundred at a time, we can stand against them.”
“Michael.” Eve turned and looked directly at the archangel. “Still full of bravado, after all this time.” She smiled. “I've always liked angels. So perfect and yet - so imperfect because of that perfection.” She turned back to Chuck. “I take it the pagans will be left to themselves.”
“Haven't they always preferred it that way? Besides, they get to experience the joy of being reinvented again and again in fiction. That Riordan fellow is quite the genius.”
“Kindly Ones.” Eve threw back her head and laughed. “How utterly funny that was!” It took a moment for her to recover from her mirth. “I believe I can agree to the terms you have suggested. Although I do not plan on telling those I release from Purgatory that they may not create more of their kind. That is purely up to them.”
“Of course.” Chuck replied. “I do look forward to the day when the wall that stands between my home and yours will no longer be necessary and you and your children can come home too.”
“I know,” Eve replied with a smile. “But such is the way of things.” She smiled faintly. “I shall call my children home by the end of the year. I take it hunters will still be taking care of the vengeful spirits.”
“Yes,” Michael answered and he inclined his head to the much elder being. “Eve.”
The woman smiled one last time and turned. The jinn at her side nodded at the pair and followed her back into the darkness, their feet leaving no impression upon the snow.
**
The dreamscape was always the same when Dean knew a visit from Castiel would happen soon. They were always back on those two benches in a park, watching children run around and play. Tonight it was no different. Dean was glad he always found himself on his bench first, smiling whenever he felt the angel approach. “I suppose a Merry Christmas is in order, given what day it is here on Earth.”
Castiel smiled faintly. “Merry Christmas Dean.” He sat down on his own bench, hating the fact that they could never sit next to each other. “You are not spending the holiday alone, are you?”
“No, somehow my great aunt convinced me to come down to Atchison again. I think she's either trying to make up for lost time, or is glad there's one kid in the family who doesn't have to divide their time. Well, so to speak.”
“I understand Dean.” Castiel sighed and leaned back in his seat. “It will still be two weeks before Liam and I come and see you again.”
“It's been six months. I can wait two more weeks, Cas.” Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” The conversation that's coming is one Castiel has been expecting for a year now.
“Why does Liam have to stay in Heaven all the time? I hate to sound like a selfish bastard, but I'm missing too much. It's a really rotten way to feel.” Dean looked over at the angel. “Why can't he - ”
“It is a highly complicated thing, Dean. Much as I would love for Liam and I to visit you with regularity or even for just our boy to come and see you for the summer, it's dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“Do you remember what happened to the first Nephilim?”
“They went crazy or something... and they were all killed.... well, supposedly all of them were killed.”
“No one has proved if one pregnant woman escaped or not. The answer to that will have to remain a mystery.” Castiel took a breath. “Part of the reason the Nephilim turned out the way they did was because they were denied Heaven. A lot of what makes an angel an angel happens before they hit puberty. The Nephilim had too much power and no idea how to channel it.”
“So, Liam won't hit puberty for a few more years, right?”
“Puberty can strike an angel at any time once they no longer require nectar for sustenance. Liam barely needs it now. An angel going through puberty is akin to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius when it buried Pompeii.”
“That sounds scary Cas.”
“Scary is an understatement. I know that both he and I dearly wish we could come and see you more often, but with the way angels age and the nature of our being, even something simple could prove to be damaging to you.”
“Like what happened to Pamela,” Dean said flatly, looking away.
“I did warn her.” Castiel knew that even now, that sounded like a terrible excuse. Although in truth, most angels wouldn't have warned a prying human.
“Cas, I've told you not to worry about me.”
“Liam is more like you than you know. If he were to injure you, even accidentally, he'd never forgive himself. I know he still feels bad over the incident last summer.”
“Last summer?” Dean thought for a moment and then gave the angel a stunned look. “All he did was give me a slight whack in the face with his wing. That was nothing! Not to mention the fact he was fucking terrified at the time!”
“It does not matter to him. He knows it could have been much worse.”
Dean ran his hand through his hair again. “So - he has to stay in Heaven for most of the time to avoid going crazy and hurting humans accidentally.”
“To put it bluntly, yes.”
“Still doesn't mean it doesn't suck.”
“I agree. It does.” The angel frowned. “I will never understand slang and how sucking can be - ”
“Don't finish that sentence, Cas, just don't.” Dean went bright red. “Stinks. It stinks.”
“That makes much more sense.” The angel sighed. “It stinks like dinosaur shit.”
“What were you doing around dinosaur shit?”
Castiel straightened up, looking abashed. “It wasn't my idea. I merely went as a lookout while another angel in my garrison split the corpse of the creature and left half of it in present day South America and the other in Africa.”
“Wasn't Gabriel, was it?”
“No.” Castiel smiled. “Although it sounds like something he would have done. Gabriel was commander of a Legion of his own, just as Michael and Raphael currently are. It is rather complicated, I suppose.”
“I think complicated is starting to become an adjective for angels.”
“It already was, Dean.”
“Been working on that sense of humor again, I see.” Dean shifted to the end of his bench, getting as close to Castiel as he could.
“Yes.” The angel moved closer as well. “Before I forget, Liam asked if you would please get more of those little sandwich cookies he likes so much.”
“Oreos,” Dean said, grinning. “Sure. I'll get a package or two of those before you come visit.”
Chapter Five