In Dreams (No Reasons Are Necessary) [Supernatural - Pie!Fic - Dean and Castiel (Gen)]
Title: In Dreams (No Reasons Are Necessary)
Summary: A dream, a special pie, another archangel (probably) and the End is Nigh.
Rating: PG
Pairing: None. Dean and Castiel gen.
Spoiler Warnings: Set post 4x10.
Disclaimer: Supernatural = not mine.
Notes: And behold there was more Pie!Fic. This one is definitely odd and a step outside of the usual Pie!Fic shenanigans. Please let me know what you think. Title paraphrased from a quote by Ashleigh Brilliant (please don't sue me Mr Brilliant!).
There was a sharp flash of pain. A bloom of darkness. And a shadow of light. Then there was nothing.
It is dark when Dean wakes. His heart pounds in his chest. His fingers clutch at nothing. Where is Sam? Dean tries to sit but something is weighing him down. He remembers…he remembers nothing. He touches a hand to his face, holds it before him, cannot see it for the darkness.
He wants to move, desperately, he wants to move. Still a weight presses on him, suffocating him, stealing his breath for itself. What does it need breath for, why does it need his? The darkness surrounds him, is in him. What is this, where is he? Where is Sam?
He hears voices.
“Dean! Dean! Come on, Dean.”
“He’s well and truly down, Sam. You haven’t got a chance in hell of getting him out of it.”
“What happened, Bobby?”
Yes, Dean thinks, what happened? But the voices are gone. The weight finally lifts from him, lets him stand, but where can he go when he can’t see? He reaches out blindly for anything, anything, please, anything but finds nothing.
He has no bearings.
He walks. He is Dean Winchester, he’s never let a little thing like not knowing where he was going stop him. As he walks he tries to remember, tries to understand. He remembers Sam and something…something huge, that towers over his pillar brother, dwarfs him, threatens him.
Dean doesn’t remember what comes next.
He wishes the voices would return and like that they do.
“Can’t we do something?”
“Like what? A spell? Sam, this ain’t supernatural.”
“He’s right.”
“This isn’t normal, Ruby. Dean doesn’t - he doesn’t do this, this doesn’t happen to him.”
“Look, Sam, I know what you’re thinking about - I know you’re worried about losing him. But you gotta trust me, kid. This I something he has to come out of by himself.”
The voices drift away, three voices this time and one so full of worry that it hurts Dean to hear it. He gets it now. Gets that he’s trapped somewhere - in his own head, he guesses. But he still doesn’t know why. He can’t remember what happened. But Sam is right - Dean doesn’t do this. Not anymore.
Something sparks in the dark. A sudden flare of light and the hiss of a lit cigarette. Dean sees the bright dot of the cigarette and walks towards it.
“This is one hell of a mess you’ve got yourself into, Dean Winchester,” the voice isn’t like the others. It’s closer. It’s British and sounds kinda young, too young to be smoking at least.
“What’ve I gotten myself into?” Dean asks and it’s not petulant and it’s not angry. It’s genuine. He needs to know - it’s the only way he can get out.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Dean,” the sound of someone inhaling. “But ‘yourself’ is the answer to that question.”
“Yeah,” Dean says slowly. Why does it feel like the cigarette gets no closer no matter how fast he walks? Dean stops. “That makes no sense.”
“I’ll spell it out for you,” the sound of tapping and the cigarette comes closer. “All that stuff you’ve got locked up in that head of yours - Hell, demons, angels, Apocalypses, killing things, saving people - it’s all twisted up so bad right now that the first opportunity its been given, your brain’s decided to take a holiday.”
“How do I fix it?” Dean asks.
“You’ve got me there,” the cigarette arcs through the air, like the person holding it is shrugging. “Best I can do is tell you what’s going on. That Bobby is right - this is something you have to take care of yourself. No-one can fix it for you.”
“Why now?” Dean watches the cigarette come closer and closer, certain that it’ll come close enough for him to see the bearer.
“Aye, that’s the rub, isn’t it?” Cigarette stops just far away that Dean still can’t see the other person. “That’s a question someone else can answer for you. You’ll have to find him.”
“Who?” Dean asks, steps forwards and barely suppresses a groan when the cigarette moves back.
“Who’s been doing most of the answering these days?” Cigarette asks and Dean has the horrible feeling that it’s raising an eyebrow at him.
“How am I meant to find anyone in this place?” Dean asks instead of answering the question, even though the answer is so obvious it might as well be spelled out between them in neon lights.
“Now, that’s something I can help with,” Cigarette laughs a short laugh. There’s a snap of fingers and suddenly Dean is falling.
He’s surrounded by colours and lights so bright that he can’t see in a different way. The voices find their way to him again.
“What the hell? Get away from him -”
“No, Bobby, don’t. It’s Dean’s angel.”
“I’m not Dean’s angel, Sam.”
“I don’t know the other one, though. This, uh, is familiar.”
“My brother, Remiel. He’s a -”
“Specialist?”
“This behaviour is beneath you, Sam.”
“My brother’s been in a coma for no reason for two days, Castiel, and you’ve taken your sweet time to show up. So, yeah, I think I’m justified in being pissed.”
“It is alright, Castiel. You are not the only one who worries about Dean, Sam has a right. Sam Winchester, it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“Remiel is a Power. He governs visions. It’s my hope that he can find a way into Dean’s mind.”
“Can you -”
Dean doesn’t hear what his brother asks because he hits ground suddenly with a soft thump. He blinks his eyes until he can see and what he sees is wonder. A garden that spreads forever in all directions, that is so green that any other green will pale in comparison. It is lush and beautiful and Dean has a feeling he knows where he is.
“Dude. No way,” he says, reaching out a hand and touching a giant leaf that hangs from the plant beside him.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d bring me here,” the voice is behind him and Dean turns to see Castiel. He’s dressed as usual, though there’s something brighter about the clothes in this place, and his hair is just as messy.
Dean has a bizarre, unconnected thought that he should teach Castiel about the wonders of hair product. Then again, chicks do dig the scruffy look. Not that Castiel would care, of course, but Dean’s not about to cockblock an angel. There’s probably a special Hell just for people that do that.
“Where is here?” Dean asks even though he knows the answer.
“Eden,” Castiel says, looking around him with far away eyes. “It never ceases to amaze me that all humans see it the same. That you see it as it was - even though none of you, now, have seen it.”
There’s a table beside Castiel and Dean recognises it as the picnic table from the park they visited before five seals were broken at once. It reminds Dean, for a moment, of the look of something hidden Castiel had worn when Gabriel passed on orders. Each time they clean up another town ravaged by demons Dean asks himself why Castiel didn’t warn him about what was going to happen.
“Nothing I could’ve told you would’ve prepared you for it,” Castiel says and that tells Dean that Castiel really can read his mind. Unless this Castiel is just the Castiel in his mind and it can read his mind because it’s a part of him. Dean’s head hurts.
“Still, little warning would’ve been nice, Cas,” Dean says, joining Castiel by the table.
“I’m sorry, Dean, the War isn’t -”
“Going well,” Dean interrupts. “Yeah - we got that from all the demons. Sometimes I miss just…”
Dean trails off under the force of Castiel’s gaze. It’s the look the angel gets when he feels sorry for Dean but doesn’t know how to deal with it. Dean doesn’t like pity and likes it even less on Castiel’s face.
“So this is my dream, right?” Dean asks, turning his head away.
“Remiel’s crafted a vision, so that we can speak,” Castiel says and he sits himself at the table.
“Remiel,” Dean says, rolling the name around in his mind. “He one of the big guys? Or just a little guy like you?”
Castiel snorts, a delicate, odd sound, and Dean realises it’s a prelude to laughter.
“There’re some that say he’s one of the Archangels,” Castiel shrugs. “There’re others that say different. All you need to know is that he’s happy to help you.”
“Why’s he British?” Dean asks, sitting opposite Castiel at the table.
“His vessel is British,” Castiel says. He’s shaping his hands over the table, like he’s making a model with invisible clay, and Dean’s hypnotised by the movements.
“What’s happening now?”
“They’re talking.”
“What about?”
“How would I know? It isn’t nice to interfere in other people’s business.”
“Are you sure you’re an angel?”
“Sam, stop baiting the angel. He won’t thank you for it.”
“Thank you, Robert.”
“I can hear voices,” Dean says, waving a hand at the air. Castiel looks up from his work and tilts his head, listening.
“Your body is aware enough to understand what’s happening around it,” Castiel says after a moment. “Sam and Robert Singer took you to the…scrap yard. The witch demon followed them there. Remiel followed her. I followed you.”
“Why didn’t Remiel follow you?”
“He had his own business to attend to but he was distracted by the demon,” under Castiel’s hands a box is taking shape, a box that is wonderfully familiar to Dean. “I met him in the air over Robert Singer’s home and asked for his help.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” Dean rubs a hand over the back of his head. “Don’t suppose you can tell me how I ended up trapped in my own head?”
“Shock, I imagine,” Castiel says, laying his hands on the table. “Your mind’s had enough. You’ve put it through too much. Not to mention expecting it to cope with forty years worth of Hell.”
“That one’s not my fault,” Dean says, watching as Castiel opens the pie box he’s brought into being. Castiel grimaces.
“Yes,” he acknowledges, pulling two forks out of the air. “I underestimated what the memories would do. Most humans would repress such memories. Apparently Dean Winchester does not.”
“Dude,” Dean says, taking a fork from Castiel. “You talk differently in here, you noticed that?”
“Do I?” Castiel tilts his head and cuts into the pie.
“Yeah,” Dean slices into the pie with the side of his fork and scoops a giant mouthful out, suddenly his dreamself is ravenous. “Sort of, I don’t know, not so heavy? Not all doom and drama. And more contractions. It’s nice.”
“Nice?” Castiel pauses with his forkful of pie halfway to his mouth.
“I dunno,” Dean says, wishing he could take the word back. “Just, normal, I guess.”
“Normal,” Castiel says only this time barely loud enough for Dean to hear. Castiel chews his pie methodically, it’s like watching Sam eat.
“Remiel - said that I needed a rest,” Dean says. He’s already eaten half of his pie and feels sad about it. Part of him knows that this pie is more special than the others.
“I would think so,” Castiel nods, twirling his fork between his fingers and where did he learn that? “Humans are not meant to fight apocalypses. No matter how special they are.”
Dean winces at the word ‘special’, has never liked the strange, reverent way that Castiel says it.
“What was I fighting?” Dean asks, the question’s been on his mind since he woke in darkness.
“A demon,” Castiel states. “Flauros. His summoning broke the fifth seal on that Night. He was summoned into a broken circle -”
“And killed his summoner before setting out to wreak merry havoc,” Dean says, setting his fork down as the memories flood back. “Yeah, I remember now. Ugly son of a bitch, fire eyes, hideous bitch face, the works.”
“He struck you down,” Castiel continues. “Sam and Robert Singer defeated him. It was…clever.”
“That’s my Sammy,” Dean says and he can make the compliment here because he knows it’ll never get back to Sam.
“When the pie is finished you’ll wake,” Castiel says and Dean looks up from his last forkful. “I’ve allowed you as much time as I can - but there is little time, now.”
“This pie is different to the others, isn’t it?” Dean asks, looking down at the fork.
“The others were bought,” Castiel nods, turns his eyes down as if embarrassed. “I made this one for you.”
“Heaven sent, eh?” Dean asks, trying not to be too pleased or amused that Castiel made pie for him.
“I thought that a pie made from wild berries would be good,” Castiel admits. “But I wasn’t sure if the pie maker would make me such a pie. I’d intended this to be a celebration - for when you defeated Flauros, as I knew you would.”
“This is close enough for me,” Dean says, raising the fork again. “Though, well, probably not as good as eating real pie.”
“It is, though,” Castiel says, leaning forward. “Eating it here is as good as eating it out there.”
“So that’s what all the -” Dean pauses and waves his hands over the piebox in imitation of Castiel’s earlier movements. “- was about.”
“Yes,” Castiel smiles a little and nods.
“The War,” Dean says, watching as Castiel takes his own last mouthful of pie. “The Apocalypse. The whole thing’s coming to a head, isn’t it?”
“The End is close,” Castiel nods, eyes solemn.
“What will -” Dean stops, has a feeling this is bordering on one of those chick flick moments he protests so often. He sighs. “What’ll happen to you - if we win? Do you get to stick around or do you go back up to the Pie Place in the sky?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel says and Dean has to look away from the honesty in his eyes. “I will miss this, no matter what.”
The ‘this’ is about so much more than pie that Dean almost can’t stand it. He wants to say that he’ll miss it too, but Dean Winchester doesn’t say things like that, he has a reputation to uphold. Instead he wraps his mouth around the last bit of pie and swallows it down.
Castiel stands and bends over him. Dean pulls back, not sure what Castiel’s up to, but Castiel simply presses a kiss on his forehead and Dean knows, instinctively, that it’s nothing more than a benediction. It still steals his breath away.
“Time to wake up,” Dean says, looking down at his hands.
“Yes,” Castiel says and Dean hears the rustle as he steps away. “And Dean?”
Dean looks up and sees a flash of white and gold and black against the suddenly setting sun. He knows it is a brief flash of Castiel’s wings and his eyes widen. Castiel is backlit and dramatic and if they were anywhere but inside Dean’s head Dean would be laughing right now.
“I know,” Castiel says and with a great beat of his wings he rises and is gone. Dean laughs then, a soft self-mocking laugh, because he always seems to forget that the angel always knows what Dean doesn’t want to tell him.
Dean closes his eyes. And wakes.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice, worried and frayed at the edges, as Dean cracks his eyes.
“Had us worried there,” Ruby appears over Sam’s shoulder. She actually looks genuinely worried.
“I will see you again soon,” Castiel appears over Sam’s other shoulder and Dean nearly coughs himself silly over the image. Sam pulls a face and punches him gently on the shoulder.
Castiel disappears in the usual rush of wings. Sam moves aside with deference as Remiel replaces Castiel. Now Dean can see that Remiel, despite sounding young, is wearing the skin of an eighteen year old boy. Old enough to smoke, then. The kid’s eyes sparkle and Dean wonders idly if that sparkle was already there or if it’s all Remiel.
“It was good to finally meet you, Dean,” Remiel says, smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’m sure I’ll see more of you in the future.”
And he is gone too. Ruby pulls Sam aside as Bobby kneels next to Dean with a cup of nothing more than water (holy water if Dean knows Bobby). Dean takes a few sips and feels his mouth ease a little.
“Gave your brother a bit of a scare,” Bobby says quietly, looking into Dean’s eyes. “Don’t know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, Dean, but you best get it taken care of before Sam has a heart attack from worry.”
“Already, taken,” Dean manages and coughs again, wonders how long he’s been out for. Bobby stares hard at him and nods, satisfied with what he sees.
Dean settles better on the couch and takes a couple of deep breaths. His mind feels sharp and clear for the first time since Castiel hauled him out of Hell. If the End really is nigh? Dean Winchester is ready.
----
Part VI: Pineapple Meringue Pie| Part VIII: All the Pie
------------------------
Meet Remiel. As you can see - my choices for the archangels are becoming a little more esoteric. I've now set a gallery up with all the choices I've made so far.
Summary: A dream, a special pie, another archangel (probably) and the End is Nigh.
Rating: PG
Pairing: None. Dean and Castiel gen.
Spoiler Warnings: Set post 4x10.
Disclaimer: Supernatural = not mine.
Notes: And behold there was more Pie!Fic. This one is definitely odd and a step outside of the usual Pie!Fic shenanigans. Please let me know what you think. Title paraphrased from a quote by Ashleigh Brilliant (please don't sue me Mr Brilliant!).
There was a sharp flash of pain. A bloom of darkness. And a shadow of light. Then there was nothing.
It is dark when Dean wakes. His heart pounds in his chest. His fingers clutch at nothing. Where is Sam? Dean tries to sit but something is weighing him down. He remembers…he remembers nothing. He touches a hand to his face, holds it before him, cannot see it for the darkness.
He wants to move, desperately, he wants to move. Still a weight presses on him, suffocating him, stealing his breath for itself. What does it need breath for, why does it need his? The darkness surrounds him, is in him. What is this, where is he? Where is Sam?
He hears voices.
“Dean! Dean! Come on, Dean.”
“He’s well and truly down, Sam. You haven’t got a chance in hell of getting him out of it.”
“What happened, Bobby?”
Yes, Dean thinks, what happened? But the voices are gone. The weight finally lifts from him, lets him stand, but where can he go when he can’t see? He reaches out blindly for anything, anything, please, anything but finds nothing.
He has no bearings.
He walks. He is Dean Winchester, he’s never let a little thing like not knowing where he was going stop him. As he walks he tries to remember, tries to understand. He remembers Sam and something…something huge, that towers over his pillar brother, dwarfs him, threatens him.
Dean doesn’t remember what comes next.
He wishes the voices would return and like that they do.
“Can’t we do something?”
“Like what? A spell? Sam, this ain’t supernatural.”
“He’s right.”
“This isn’t normal, Ruby. Dean doesn’t - he doesn’t do this, this doesn’t happen to him.”
“Look, Sam, I know what you’re thinking about - I know you’re worried about losing him. But you gotta trust me, kid. This I something he has to come out of by himself.”
The voices drift away, three voices this time and one so full of worry that it hurts Dean to hear it. He gets it now. Gets that he’s trapped somewhere - in his own head, he guesses. But he still doesn’t know why. He can’t remember what happened. But Sam is right - Dean doesn’t do this. Not anymore.
Something sparks in the dark. A sudden flare of light and the hiss of a lit cigarette. Dean sees the bright dot of the cigarette and walks towards it.
“This is one hell of a mess you’ve got yourself into, Dean Winchester,” the voice isn’t like the others. It’s closer. It’s British and sounds kinda young, too young to be smoking at least.
“What’ve I gotten myself into?” Dean asks and it’s not petulant and it’s not angry. It’s genuine. He needs to know - it’s the only way he can get out.
“Not to put too fine a point on it, Dean,” the sound of someone inhaling. “But ‘yourself’ is the answer to that question.”
“Yeah,” Dean says slowly. Why does it feel like the cigarette gets no closer no matter how fast he walks? Dean stops. “That makes no sense.”
“I’ll spell it out for you,” the sound of tapping and the cigarette comes closer. “All that stuff you’ve got locked up in that head of yours - Hell, demons, angels, Apocalypses, killing things, saving people - it’s all twisted up so bad right now that the first opportunity its been given, your brain’s decided to take a holiday.”
“How do I fix it?” Dean asks.
“You’ve got me there,” the cigarette arcs through the air, like the person holding it is shrugging. “Best I can do is tell you what’s going on. That Bobby is right - this is something you have to take care of yourself. No-one can fix it for you.”
“Why now?” Dean watches the cigarette come closer and closer, certain that it’ll come close enough for him to see the bearer.
“Aye, that’s the rub, isn’t it?” Cigarette stops just far away that Dean still can’t see the other person. “That’s a question someone else can answer for you. You’ll have to find him.”
“Who?” Dean asks, steps forwards and barely suppresses a groan when the cigarette moves back.
“Who’s been doing most of the answering these days?” Cigarette asks and Dean has the horrible feeling that it’s raising an eyebrow at him.
“How am I meant to find anyone in this place?” Dean asks instead of answering the question, even though the answer is so obvious it might as well be spelled out between them in neon lights.
“Now, that’s something I can help with,” Cigarette laughs a short laugh. There’s a snap of fingers and suddenly Dean is falling.
He’s surrounded by colours and lights so bright that he can’t see in a different way. The voices find their way to him again.
“What the hell? Get away from him -”
“No, Bobby, don’t. It’s Dean’s angel.”
“I’m not Dean’s angel, Sam.”
“I don’t know the other one, though. This, uh, is familiar.”
“My brother, Remiel. He’s a -”
“Specialist?”
“This behaviour is beneath you, Sam.”
“My brother’s been in a coma for no reason for two days, Castiel, and you’ve taken your sweet time to show up. So, yeah, I think I’m justified in being pissed.”
“It is alright, Castiel. You are not the only one who worries about Dean, Sam has a right. Sam Winchester, it is a pleasure to meet you at last.”
“Remiel is a Power. He governs visions. It’s my hope that he can find a way into Dean’s mind.”
“Can you -”
Dean doesn’t hear what his brother asks because he hits ground suddenly with a soft thump. He blinks his eyes until he can see and what he sees is wonder. A garden that spreads forever in all directions, that is so green that any other green will pale in comparison. It is lush and beautiful and Dean has a feeling he knows where he is.
“Dude. No way,” he says, reaching out a hand and touching a giant leaf that hangs from the plant beside him.
“I wouldn’t have thought you’d bring me here,” the voice is behind him and Dean turns to see Castiel. He’s dressed as usual, though there’s something brighter about the clothes in this place, and his hair is just as messy.
Dean has a bizarre, unconnected thought that he should teach Castiel about the wonders of hair product. Then again, chicks do dig the scruffy look. Not that Castiel would care, of course, but Dean’s not about to cockblock an angel. There’s probably a special Hell just for people that do that.
“Where is here?” Dean asks even though he knows the answer.
“Eden,” Castiel says, looking around him with far away eyes. “It never ceases to amaze me that all humans see it the same. That you see it as it was - even though none of you, now, have seen it.”
There’s a table beside Castiel and Dean recognises it as the picnic table from the park they visited before five seals were broken at once. It reminds Dean, for a moment, of the look of something hidden Castiel had worn when Gabriel passed on orders. Each time they clean up another town ravaged by demons Dean asks himself why Castiel didn’t warn him about what was going to happen.
“Nothing I could’ve told you would’ve prepared you for it,” Castiel says and that tells Dean that Castiel really can read his mind. Unless this Castiel is just the Castiel in his mind and it can read his mind because it’s a part of him. Dean’s head hurts.
“Still, little warning would’ve been nice, Cas,” Dean says, joining Castiel by the table.
“I’m sorry, Dean, the War isn’t -”
“Going well,” Dean interrupts. “Yeah - we got that from all the demons. Sometimes I miss just…”
Dean trails off under the force of Castiel’s gaze. It’s the look the angel gets when he feels sorry for Dean but doesn’t know how to deal with it. Dean doesn’t like pity and likes it even less on Castiel’s face.
“So this is my dream, right?” Dean asks, turning his head away.
“Remiel’s crafted a vision, so that we can speak,” Castiel says and he sits himself at the table.
“Remiel,” Dean says, rolling the name around in his mind. “He one of the big guys? Or just a little guy like you?”
Castiel snorts, a delicate, odd sound, and Dean realises it’s a prelude to laughter.
“There’re some that say he’s one of the Archangels,” Castiel shrugs. “There’re others that say different. All you need to know is that he’s happy to help you.”
“Why’s he British?” Dean asks, sitting opposite Castiel at the table.
“His vessel is British,” Castiel says. He’s shaping his hands over the table, like he’s making a model with invisible clay, and Dean’s hypnotised by the movements.
“What’s happening now?”
“They’re talking.”
“What about?”
“How would I know? It isn’t nice to interfere in other people’s business.”
“Are you sure you’re an angel?”
“Sam, stop baiting the angel. He won’t thank you for it.”
“Thank you, Robert.”
“I can hear voices,” Dean says, waving a hand at the air. Castiel looks up from his work and tilts his head, listening.
“Your body is aware enough to understand what’s happening around it,” Castiel says after a moment. “Sam and Robert Singer took you to the…scrap yard. The witch demon followed them there. Remiel followed her. I followed you.”
“Why didn’t Remiel follow you?”
“He had his own business to attend to but he was distracted by the demon,” under Castiel’s hands a box is taking shape, a box that is wonderfully familiar to Dean. “I met him in the air over Robert Singer’s home and asked for his help.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” Dean rubs a hand over the back of his head. “Don’t suppose you can tell me how I ended up trapped in my own head?”
“Shock, I imagine,” Castiel says, laying his hands on the table. “Your mind’s had enough. You’ve put it through too much. Not to mention expecting it to cope with forty years worth of Hell.”
“That one’s not my fault,” Dean says, watching as Castiel opens the pie box he’s brought into being. Castiel grimaces.
“Yes,” he acknowledges, pulling two forks out of the air. “I underestimated what the memories would do. Most humans would repress such memories. Apparently Dean Winchester does not.”
“Dude,” Dean says, taking a fork from Castiel. “You talk differently in here, you noticed that?”
“Do I?” Castiel tilts his head and cuts into the pie.
“Yeah,” Dean slices into the pie with the side of his fork and scoops a giant mouthful out, suddenly his dreamself is ravenous. “Sort of, I don’t know, not so heavy? Not all doom and drama. And more contractions. It’s nice.”
“Nice?” Castiel pauses with his forkful of pie halfway to his mouth.
“I dunno,” Dean says, wishing he could take the word back. “Just, normal, I guess.”
“Normal,” Castiel says only this time barely loud enough for Dean to hear. Castiel chews his pie methodically, it’s like watching Sam eat.
“Remiel - said that I needed a rest,” Dean says. He’s already eaten half of his pie and feels sad about it. Part of him knows that this pie is more special than the others.
“I would think so,” Castiel nods, twirling his fork between his fingers and where did he learn that? “Humans are not meant to fight apocalypses. No matter how special they are.”
Dean winces at the word ‘special’, has never liked the strange, reverent way that Castiel says it.
“What was I fighting?” Dean asks, the question’s been on his mind since he woke in darkness.
“A demon,” Castiel states. “Flauros. His summoning broke the fifth seal on that Night. He was summoned into a broken circle -”
“And killed his summoner before setting out to wreak merry havoc,” Dean says, setting his fork down as the memories flood back. “Yeah, I remember now. Ugly son of a bitch, fire eyes, hideous bitch face, the works.”
“He struck you down,” Castiel continues. “Sam and Robert Singer defeated him. It was…clever.”
“That’s my Sammy,” Dean says and he can make the compliment here because he knows it’ll never get back to Sam.
“When the pie is finished you’ll wake,” Castiel says and Dean looks up from his last forkful. “I’ve allowed you as much time as I can - but there is little time, now.”
“This pie is different to the others, isn’t it?” Dean asks, looking down at the fork.
“The others were bought,” Castiel nods, turns his eyes down as if embarrassed. “I made this one for you.”
“Heaven sent, eh?” Dean asks, trying not to be too pleased or amused that Castiel made pie for him.
“I thought that a pie made from wild berries would be good,” Castiel admits. “But I wasn’t sure if the pie maker would make me such a pie. I’d intended this to be a celebration - for when you defeated Flauros, as I knew you would.”
“This is close enough for me,” Dean says, raising the fork again. “Though, well, probably not as good as eating real pie.”
“It is, though,” Castiel says, leaning forward. “Eating it here is as good as eating it out there.”
“So that’s what all the -” Dean pauses and waves his hands over the piebox in imitation of Castiel’s earlier movements. “- was about.”
“Yes,” Castiel smiles a little and nods.
“The War,” Dean says, watching as Castiel takes his own last mouthful of pie. “The Apocalypse. The whole thing’s coming to a head, isn’t it?”
“The End is close,” Castiel nods, eyes solemn.
“What will -” Dean stops, has a feeling this is bordering on one of those chick flick moments he protests so often. He sighs. “What’ll happen to you - if we win? Do you get to stick around or do you go back up to the Pie Place in the sky?”
“I don’t know,” Castiel says and Dean has to look away from the honesty in his eyes. “I will miss this, no matter what.”
The ‘this’ is about so much more than pie that Dean almost can’t stand it. He wants to say that he’ll miss it too, but Dean Winchester doesn’t say things like that, he has a reputation to uphold. Instead he wraps his mouth around the last bit of pie and swallows it down.
Castiel stands and bends over him. Dean pulls back, not sure what Castiel’s up to, but Castiel simply presses a kiss on his forehead and Dean knows, instinctively, that it’s nothing more than a benediction. It still steals his breath away.
“Time to wake up,” Dean says, looking down at his hands.
“Yes,” Castiel says and Dean hears the rustle as he steps away. “And Dean?”
Dean looks up and sees a flash of white and gold and black against the suddenly setting sun. He knows it is a brief flash of Castiel’s wings and his eyes widen. Castiel is backlit and dramatic and if they were anywhere but inside Dean’s head Dean would be laughing right now.
“I know,” Castiel says and with a great beat of his wings he rises and is gone. Dean laughs then, a soft self-mocking laugh, because he always seems to forget that the angel always knows what Dean doesn’t want to tell him.
Dean closes his eyes. And wakes.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice, worried and frayed at the edges, as Dean cracks his eyes.
“Had us worried there,” Ruby appears over Sam’s shoulder. She actually looks genuinely worried.
“I will see you again soon,” Castiel appears over Sam’s other shoulder and Dean nearly coughs himself silly over the image. Sam pulls a face and punches him gently on the shoulder.
Castiel disappears in the usual rush of wings. Sam moves aside with deference as Remiel replaces Castiel. Now Dean can see that Remiel, despite sounding young, is wearing the skin of an eighteen year old boy. Old enough to smoke, then. The kid’s eyes sparkle and Dean wonders idly if that sparkle was already there or if it’s all Remiel.
“It was good to finally meet you, Dean,” Remiel says, smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I’m sure I’ll see more of you in the future.”
And he is gone too. Ruby pulls Sam aside as Bobby kneels next to Dean with a cup of nothing more than water (holy water if Dean knows Bobby). Dean takes a few sips and feels his mouth ease a little.
“Gave your brother a bit of a scare,” Bobby says quietly, looking into Dean’s eyes. “Don’t know what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, Dean, but you best get it taken care of before Sam has a heart attack from worry.”
“Already, taken,” Dean manages and coughs again, wonders how long he’s been out for. Bobby stares hard at him and nods, satisfied with what he sees.
Dean settles better on the couch and takes a couple of deep breaths. His mind feels sharp and clear for the first time since Castiel hauled him out of Hell. If the End really is nigh? Dean Winchester is ready.
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Part VI: Pineapple Meringue Pie| Part VIII: All the Pie
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Meet Remiel. As you can see - my choices for the archangels are becoming a little more esoteric. I've now set a gallery up with all the choices I've made so far.