Supernatural: Burn so brightly: Chapter 4/8

[judin]

Title: Burn so brightly
Author: Judin
Rating: R (various reasons)
Genre: Angst, romance, age-regression.
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, and several surprises.
Spoilers: S1-S6. Goes AU post-S6.
Warnings: Violence in later chapters.
Chapter specific summary: Dean’s shoulder burned, but the hand pressed against it felt, beyond the silky slip of small fingers, large and rough.

Author’s notes: It feels great to be back after our delay. The plot is upon us with full force now, though once again you might have to squint to see it. And the rubber duck finally makes an appearance.

Check out Nenja’s adorable illustrations! She’s going to draw something for every chapter.

Chapter 1.
Chapter 2a and 2b.
Chapter 3.

Sam and Bobby left right after breakfast had been cleared away. If they said why they were going, Dean didn’t hear them.

Castiel seemed somehow inapproachable where he sat at the kitchen table with his sketch pad. Dean must have sat for an hour simply watching him, fighting his own paralysis, thinking in circles of worry until he was exhausted. The tableu before his eyes eventually began to seem foreign to him, the angel a being from the secret world beyond the veil, at once a symbol of innocence and a keeper of secrets, oblivious to his surroundings, the kitchen a dark, cluttered cave full of abandoned treasures and forgotten memories.

When Dean eventually got up from his chair it was to grab a beer from the fridge and go outside to sit on the porch. Cas didn’t once look up from his drawing.

It was sweltering outside. Dean’s beer quickly grew lukewarm, and his t-shirt clung to his back. The cicadas were making a racket like it was their last day on Earth, but the birds were silent and absent. It was hard to think in the heat, his brain boiling in its own juices, his heart hammering uselessly beneath his breast bone.

He let his head hang down, closing his eyes against the stinging sun, inhaling cotton and exhaling frustration.

He knew that last night it had been cool outside, but in the here and now, he couldn’t imagine it. In his memory he seemed to be walking through a furnace towards the blue truck. Castiel had been sitting inside it for once, in the passenger seat with the windows rolled up. Boxed in. Canned angel. He had not looked up when Dean opened the door.

“Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He had pulled Cas out of the car, and it felt like lifting a ragdoll.

“You sleepy?”

“No.”

“Are you sad?”

“No.”

Dean was not confident in the face of this unexplained sorrow. He had carried Cas upstairs, helped him brush his teeth and put on his pyjamas, and asked one last time.

“Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Castiel had reached up, put his arms around Dean’s neck and hugged him without a word, before lying down on the mattress and closing his eyes.

Dean had sat down on his own bed, much the same way he was sitting on the porch step now, and stubbornly refused to leave. As a last ditch effort he had tried to communicate his worry by calling on his mother’s voice.

“Hey Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better ...”

Even the words burned away in the sun. Last night they had sunk into the silence and made no difference at all. Quick as a shadow, Castiel had been asleep, and Dean had failed to comfort him.

Through the orchestra of cicadas came a different kind of roar. An engine. The sound burrowed into Dean’s ear, growing stronger, until whoever it was must be just around the bend. Sam and Bobby shouldn’t be back quite so soon. Dean got up and hurried inside.

“Cas, we’ve got guests,” he called before he was even in the kitchen. He put his beer down, dragged his sticky t-shirt off and wiped the sweat off his chest quickly. “You’d better hide upstairs.”

At least Cas was looking at him now, all wide eyes, as if a stranger at the door was such a big deal.

“Come on.” He shooed the angel off the chair and into the hallway.

Only a minute later, the doorbell rang, and Dean tiptoed quickly downstairs in a clean t-shirt.

But it was only Sheriff Mills. She looked uncomfortable in her heavy uniform and strands of hair were sticking out from her ponytail.

She lifted an eyebrow at the sight of him. “Dean Winchester. Are we in trouble then?”

“What?” Oh, zombies. “No, no, we’re just visiting.”

“You and your brother?”

“Yup.”

She looked beyond him into the hallway. “Is Bobby home?”

“He’s in town. I’m alone ... Is he in trouble?”

She shook her head. “I came because I might have a case for him.” She gave Dean a calculating look. “But seeing as you’re in the same ... business ... maybe you would do.”

Dean agreed readily and invited her in. They sat down in the kitchen. He offered her something to drink, and she accepted a glass of water.

“So what’s the case?”

She put the glass down and licked her lips. “I’m not sure there is one, but my gut feeling tells me there’s something wrong. A couple of days ago a man shot himself in the head with his own gun, at point blank range. He was alone in his cabin with no one else around for miles, the door was locked from the inside and the only DNA on the scene is his.”

Dean folded his hands on the table and leaned forward on his elbows. “But you don’t think it was suicide.”

“There were no prints on the weapon, and no residue on his hands. He can’t have fired the gun.” She gave Dean a significant look. “But neither can anyone else.”

Dean considered it. “Have there been any violent incidents in this guy’s past, or were any other murders comitted in the cabin?”

The Sheriff tilted her head to the side. “What are you thinking about?”

“If he was ganked by something supernatural, it’s probably a vengeful spirit. Someone’s ghost.” But there was no need to start digging into the victim’s history yet. There was, after all, an easy way to tell if a place had been visited by a ghost.

Dean got up from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

He went quietly up the stairs and headed for the guest room. Castiel was there, standing at the window and looking outside. Dean wanted to reach out and pull the angel away from there, to shield him from the brown, burning world.

Cas looked up when Dean entered. “Come out now?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Dean replied in a low voice. “But she’ll be gone soon.”

He found his casette-player-turned-EMF-metre and gave Cas a quick, tight smile before heading back downstairs.

“This thing can read -”

He stopped in the kitchen doorway. The Sheriff was standing at the cluttered counter with a piece of paper in her hand. It was one of Castiel’s drawings, an early black-and-white one. It must have fallen out of the sketch pad.

“I didn’t know Singer had kids,” she said without looking up.

Dean remembered how she had lost her own child, twice, and chose his lie carefully. “He doesn’t. My brother drew that. He draws like a three-year-old.”

She made an understanding movement with her head and dragged her eyes from the drawing with difficulty, putting it down.

“Got something for me?” she asked, noticing the little black box in his hand.

Dean came forward to show her the EMF-metre, eager to move the scene along and make her forget the drawing. He explained to her how it worked and showed her how to use it.

“So just do a sweep of the house and if you strike gold, let us know, and we’ll take care of it.”

“Alright.”

“Don’t go up there after dark, and don’t go alone. Just to be safe.”

She nodded readily. “I won’t, officer.”

He shifted his weight and smiled awkwardly. Couldn’t tell her about all the bodies he had seen ripped open because they hadn’t know, hadn’t taken precautions.

Sheriff Mills smiled. “Thank you Dean.”

A cloud of dust rose up behind her car when it rolled away. Dean closed the door and went back upstairs to let Cas out.

The door to the guestroom was closed. Dean opened it and leaned on the doorway. “She’s gone. It’s safe to come out.”

Castiel sat crosslegged in the middle of Dean’s bed, staring at his sketch pad. He lifted his head a little to indicate that he was listening, but he didn’t look up. Unlike the rough sketch that the Sheriff had seen - and there was a weird similarity in the significance the drawings seemed to have for them - these newer ones were colourful. Castiel was improving, and at a pretty alarming rate. The lines were straighter, the building more detailed, there were colours in the windows, and, for the first time, there was a proper background.

“You coming down?” Dean asked finally.

Castiel made a non-comitical noise. He was back in his own little world.

Dean sighed. He left the door open and went back downstairs to watch TV. Over the last two days the world had begun to change. It was all over the news. New rivers and lakes were drying up, money was being shifted back to rightful owners, pollution was increasing and the weapons trade was picking up the slack. Awesome.

“How is this a good thing?” Dean mumbled, unsure of whether he was talking to Chuck or Gabriel or no one in particular. “Couldn’t you have left us the good stuff? Don’t we deserve a break?”

Not that he didn’t see one advantage; if none of the changes stuck, people would soon forget that a God had ever walked among them.

Dean glanced up at the ceiling. “At least the world isn’t ending. My biggest problem right now is figuring out why my baby won’t talk to me.”

It was a relief when Sam and Bobby returned from town. Dean was surprised when Sam pulled a slim, but sizeable box out of the trunk of the car.

“What’s in that?”

“A DVD-player,” was the at once enlightening and unhelpful reply.

“Did you buy movies too by any chance?” Dean asked as he followed his little brother into the house, Bobby trailing behind them both.

“Just one.” Sam seemed ... smug. Why?

“Which one?”

“You’ll see.”

Sam installed the DVD-player, Dean watching him from the couch, but it was left alone after that, and the one DVD Sam had allegedly bought didn’t surface until the evening. Some of the heat had finally dissipated, enough for Dean to go outside and work on the Impala for a while. When he came back inside, Bobby was making popcorn in the kitchen and a colourful DVD case lay on the desk in the living room.

“The Little Mermaid?”

“Sam’s choice,” Bobby said from the kitchen.

Dean stared uncomprehendingly at the cover. “Where did I go wrong, Bobby? I thought I brought the kid up right!”

Sam appeared then with Cas on his arm.

“Really, Sam?” Dean asked, holding up the DVD. “This is what you like to do on a Saturday night? Maybe Bobby can do your nails afterwards and we can talk about boys and our feelings.”

Sam ignored him, nabbing the movie out of Dean’s hand and turning away from him. “Do you trust me?” he asked Castiel, giving him the DVD.

Castiel looked at it for a long moment. And then he threw it to the floor.

Dean laughed. “Haha! Even the toddler agrees with me!”

Sam crouched down, put Cas on his feet and picked up the movie again. “Look, I promise you’ll like it. Just give it a chance.”

Dean watched, a little confused, as Castiel looked angrily, searchingly, into Sam’s eyes. What was going on? The glare softened eventually, but it was a pretty grumpy angel that eventually nodded his head.

Sam rose, decisive and satisfied. “Great. Let’s move the couch.”

“What?” No, seriously, why did Sam want to watch “The Little Mermaid”?

“Don’t you go rearranging my furniture, boy! You’ve done enough already!” Bobby yelled over the sound of popping.

“I promise I’ll put it back!” Sam replied, and then he and Dean (reluctantly helping) turned the couch around so that it was in front of the TV.

As they admired their work, Dean said, “Wouldn’t it have been easier to turn the TV?”

“Probably,” Sam agreed.

Castiel clambered up to sit in the middle of the couch, arms crossed over his chest and wings fidgeting.

The DVD was put in the player, bowls were found for the popcorn, and Dean realised that this was actually going to happen. With a sigh he sat down next to Cas, Sam taking the final seat in the sofa and Bobby grabbing a chair.

“Alrighty, then. Let the torture begin,” Dean announced.

On screen, the Disney castle appeared, white on a blue background.

“Sam, is there any particular reason why you went with “The Little Mermaid” and not ... you know, a good movie? Are there any other girly movies you like? Just so I know what to get you for Christmas.”

Sam put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

Dean shook his head, decided that his little brother was probably gay, and reached for the popcorn.

Ten minutes into the film, Dean was dying of boredom. And thirst. He volunteered, though no one had asked, to get drinks, and found three bottles of beer in the fridge. He handed one to Bobby, sat down and passed the second bottle to Sam, raising it high above Castiel’s head when the angel tried to reach for it.

“The rules haven’t changed since Wednesday, Cas. You can have water, milk, juice, cola: just pick something.”

Castiel frowned. “But I like beer!” he replied.

“You can’t have beer,” Dean insisted. “I’ll get you some juice.”

Castiel bristled. Dean had one second to see the hand coming before he found himself outside in the salvage yard.

“DAMN IT, CAS!”

He stomped back inside, got a glass from a cupboard and some orange juice from the fridge and stomped some more as he crossed to the couch and held the glass out for the angel. “Here. You can even have an actual glass, like a grown up.”

Castiel had his arms crossed over his chest and refused to look up from the TV. His feathers were splayed out in all directions.

“Sorry, Cas,” Bobby said helpfully. “But every age has its perks and punishments.”

Dean put the glass on the floor in front of Castiel. “There.” Then he sat down on the couch again.

Castiel was quickly distracted by the movie, but Dean, who wasn’t paying the same attention, noticed that his wings remained stiff and unhappy. Eager to preserve the peace and sick of the escalating tension between them, Dean began to carefully stroke one of the big feathers pointing aggressively his way. It worked; as he ran his fingertips lightly along the top ridge of Castiel’s right wing, the feathers began to fold in and relax. Castiel sagged back against the sofa and his head tilted in Dean’s direction. Dean’s fingertips tingled long after he stopped.

In movie-land, progress was being made. The anorexic mergirl had lost her tail, her voice and her dignity and was now boating with the man she loved. Off to a great start, Dean thought.

The Jamaican crab struck up another tune, something more mellow this time.

Between Sam and Dean, Castiel was leaning forward in anticipation, his attention riveted to the TV. Dean couldn’t understand how he could be so invested in the story of a teenage girl’s struggle to get laid. But maybe that was exactly the thing; maybe Castiel could identify. He also had yet to get laid, after all. Of course, being two and all, he really shouldn’t be wanting to in the first place.

The song came to a climax and the lovers were soundly thwarted, which was probably for the better, as a rowboat was a poor place to do the dirty (Dean knew this from experience). Especially with all those fish watching.

But next to Dean, Castiel began to gasp for breath like he was about to start crying. Dean was alarmed, but before he could do anything, Sam had pulled the angel onto his lap and was murmuring into his ear.

“Didn’t I ask you to trust me?”

Castiel looked over his shoulder at Sam and there were definitely tears in the toddler’s eyes now. “But, but -”

Sam ran a hand over the angel’s hair soothingly. “Things don’t always end the way they were written, Cas. We know that better than anyone.”

Castiel nodded hesitantly. He sniffed and rubbed at his eyes and turned back to watch the TV again, settling back against Sam’s chest.

Dean was baffled. What the hell had just happened? Castiel was soothed, but Dean felt like the rug had been yanked from under his feet. Had Sam just ...? Where had that come from? Why was Dean out of the loop?

He stole a sideways glance at the angel snuggled up in Sam’s arms and disliked what he saw with every fibre of his being.

Bobby didn’t appear to have noticed, or at least he wasn’t surprised. All of a sudden, Dean was standing on the outside looking in. He wanted to get up and leave, go take a ride in the Impala maybe. He wanted to get Sam alone and interrogate him. He wanted Cas back!

Instead he watched, numbly, as Ariel found herself facing a competitor for the prince’s affections. But, being a Disney production, everything was rainbows and puppies by the end, Castiel’s eyes were huge and sparkly with wonder, and Dean wished there was a ghoul nearby for him to murder.

“See?” Sam said to Castiel. “She got her prince.”

“Poor schmuck,” Dean heard himself saying angrily. “Married at sixteen to a girl that’s dumb as a post. That’s gonna go great. She couldn’t even draw the guy a frickin’ picture to let him know who she was. Was it really that hard to come up with an alternative method of communication? Simple sign-language too complicated for her?”

“What’s eating you?” Bobby asked.

Dean rose from the couch. “I’m heading out.”

“Where?”

“Out.”

He grabbed his jacket and was almost to the car when he realised that he didn’t have the keys. Unwilling to go back for them, Dean set off into the grey twilight, out of the salvage yard and down the road. The sun hung low in the sky, hidden behind long strips of cloud, but the warmth of the day still enveloped Dean like a blanket.

He had really hit rock bottom now, storming out like a child, angry at everyone and no one. Angry that Sam could reach Castiel while Dean suddenly couldn’t. What had he done to deserve the cold shoulder? Why weren’t they including him?

Had he done something wrong?

Eventually his pace slowed. Against his will the anger was dissipating in the evening air.

How could he be jealous that Sam was finally bonding with Castiel? Since day one he had been worried that the two of them would be unable to make up, especially since this was probably their last real time together.

Dean stopped, having unexpectedly struck at the core of his own restless pain.

Chuck had said that Cas would eventually be called home, and Gabriel had only asked them to babysit. In other words, they had the angel on loan.

Dean hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he really didn't expect Cas to stay, and once the angel went back to Heaven, why should he come back? The Apocalypse was over, Dean was no longer a servant of Heaven. This was it, these long, sedate days of summer. This would be his only chance to make sure he and Cas were okay before …

He turned towards home, walking purposefully.

Damn their secrets and Castiel’s silence. Dean Winchester didn’t just give up when faced with a challenge. He would bang on their doors until someone opened up for him. If nothing else he would make someone tell him what he had done wrong, and then maybe he could fix it.

It was dark by the time he got back, getting to be past Castiel’s bedtime, in fact, and the thought made Dean speed up as he crossed to the porch. Had Sam put the angel to bed already?

Lamps were lit inside; they spread a golden glow through the house. The smell of popcorn lingered over the familiar scent of old wood and dusty books. A powerful sense of home slammed into Dean, and he remained in the hallway for a moment, breathing in the feeling.

Home. Family.

He was going to try again.

“Dean, is that you?” Bobby’s voice called from the depths of the house.

“Yeah, I’m back,” Dean replied. He hung up his jacket, kicked off his shoes and headed for the living room.

The couch had been put back in its proper place. Bobby was reading the newspaper and Sam was on his laptop.

Dean remained in the doorway for a moment, feeling awkward.

“Where’d you go?” Sam asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged. “Just walked around for a while.” He cleared his throat and looked around. “Cas in bed?”

“Nah, he’s in the bath,” Sam replied, his attention drifting back to the computer.

“Bath?”

“Apparently, he wasn’t ready for the grown up glass yet,” Bobby explained, turning the page of his paper. “After you left he managed to spill juice all over himself. So we put him in the tub.”

Sam put the laptop down next to him on the couch and rose with a sigh. “But I guess he’s been in there long enough. I can get him out, put him to bed.”

“No, no, you sit down,” Dean said quickly, already backing towards the door to the stairs. “I’ve got it.” He didn’t wait for protests, and didn’t notice that they didn’t come, or see Sam wink triumphantly at Bobby, and Bobby roll his eyes with a crooked smile.

The bathroom was small, cramped and old. Apart from the sink, the toilet and the bathtub, there was a tall, narrow closet for towels and some shelves for every other necessary thing. The walls were tiled in white and blue, and the shower curtain was pale yellow and flowery (Bobby wasn’t one for renovation of any kind. He claimed he was too old, Sam and Dean thought he was just lazy.).

Castiel sat in the bathtub, his wings arched carefully over the water, which reached his waist. Dean recognised the rubber duck bobbing in the waves as the one he had randomly grabbed in the store.

“Hello,” Cas said when Dean opened the door.

“Hi,” Dean replied, stepping over the threshold and kneeling down next to the tub. “Having fun?”

“Yes.”

Castiel’s hair was wet and plastered to his neck and forehead. The water was swirling with soap.

“All clean now?” Dean asked. “Ready for bed?”

Castiel screwed up his face thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said finally, and gripped the edge of the tub to steady himself as he stood.

Dean opened the closet to find a towel, pulled out a large, white one and wrapped it around Castiel before lifting him out of the tub. He put the angel down on his lap and began to dry him off, starting with his hair.

The knot in his chest was easing. Something had changed; Cas was alive now, his eyes seeing the world around him instead of being locked on something far away, and he was finally looking at Dean.

He looked thoughtful. “Dean?”

Dean’s hands stilled. “Yeah?”

Castiel’s hair was sticking out in every direction. There was an almost timid expression on his face as he reached a hand out for the left half-sleeve of Dean’s t-shirt, pushing the material up to reveal the red handprint branded into the skin. The angel licked his lips hesitantly before closing his eyes and placing his hand over the mark.

With a mighty roar, light rushed into Dean’s head, blinding his eyes and swamping his other senses. Something inside him rose up like one fire greeting another, and the two rushed into each other and became one. His shoulder burned, but the hand pressed against it felt, beyond the silky slip of small fingers, large and rough.

And the voice that thundered through his soul was deep and masculine.

“Dean, I-”

“NO!”

It ended apruptly.

For a moment everything was suspended, and Dean’s head was blank, his heart running away from what it had almost learned.

Castiel had curled up, head down and hands held tight to his chest, his wings flat against his back. Dean lifted a numb hand to touch him and the angel shrank from it.

“Cas, I can’t -” Dean began, and though he knew it wasn’t wanted, he placed his hand on Castiel’s head, running it through his damp hair. “This can’t -”

Castiel shuddered. Helpless to say all the things that he was feeling, Dean simply wrapped the towel around Cas, lifted the angel up and struggled to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into Castiel’s hair.

When Cas lay down on his bed a little later, he had yet to look at Dean.

Once downstairs, Dean grabbed the newspaper and hid behind it so no one would see him.

*

The next day was Sunday, and it was the quietest Sunday Dean could remember. Perhaps because he stayed outside in the salvage yard all alone until the shadows began to lengthen. He was on his back underneath the Impala, when, someone distinctly neither Sam, Bobby nor Castiel was suddenly straddling his legs.

Dean started so badly he almost smacked himself in the face with the wrench he was holding. He was lying on a wheeled board and managed to push himself out from under the truck. He emerged into the open to find Anna looking down at him amusedly.

Dean obeyed his first instinct and swung the heavy wrench against her head, but Anna caught it deftly in one hand, and with angelic strength, held it still against his frantic tugging.

“Relax, Dean, I’m here to talk,” she said mildly.

“Yeah right,” Dean countered. He threw his weight against her suddenly, and with an effort managed to topple them onto the ground with her underneath him.

She just laughed. “Is this how you treat all your one-night-stands?” she asked with a grin, before easily rolling them over again and settling her weight on his stomach, knocking the breath out of him.

“How are you so heavy?” Dean asked breathlessly. She weighed much more than her slight frame warranted.

She cocked her head to the side. “It’s the weight of my grace. I’ve been restored, you see.”

“So I heard,” Dean wheezed. “I thought you said you weren’t here to kill me.”

“I’m not,” Anna replied.

“Then get off!”

She complied, swinging one leg over and sitting down next to him on the tarmac. Dean inhaled gratefully and didn’t bother to get up, content to simply lie on the ground and breathe for a while.

“Restored, huh?” he asked eventually. “By Chuck?”

“By God,” she replied, and there was a joy in her voice that he had never heard before. “One moment I was nowhere, and the next I was standing in His presence. All my brothers and sisters were there, and we were one mighty host again. It was beautiful, Dean. I wish you could have seen it.”

Dean pushed himself up on his elbows. “So everything’s just peachy now? What happened to you rebels getting put to death and all that?”

Anna’s expression took on a note of pride. “God is forgiveness, Dean.”

Dean gave her a look that said she was going to have to do better than that, and after a while she began to look less certain.

“Of course some had to atone,” she admitted eventually.

That sounded more likely. “Atone how?” Dean asked, sitting up and turning so he was facing her.

“Michael and Raphael were ... They are no longer archangels. They were stripped of their rank.”

Dean balked. “What?” Not that it didn’t sound like a bright idea to contain those two crazy powerhouses, but it was going to throw the whole religion off track. Who was going to tell the priests, the congregations, the people who printed bibles, that two of the archangels had been demoted?

Anna wound her arms around her knees and looked thoughtfully up at the sky. “In time, Father will name new angels to take their places, but until then Gabriel is in charge of everything. It isn’t easy for him.”

Dean thought it was only good for Gabriel to take some responsibility.

“New archangels, huh? You sent in your application yet?”

She shook her head. “It’s not for me. I believe we were all born for certain things, and Archangel is not my thing.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You believe in destiny? You?”

Anna smiled gently. “No. Not destiny, not really, just that we all have a greater affinity for some paths of life than others. You and I, for instance, are soldiers. I like taking an active part, to see and feel the good that I’m doing. The Archangels are too removed, all they get to do is give orders.”

“Must be terrible,” Dean said sarcastically, but he actually understood her very well. They sat for a moment in silence, Dean studying Anna and her peculiar expression: a mix of her strong personality and a new docile joy. She who had doubted the existence of God to the point where she had comitted what basically amounted to angelic suicide, had finally been given the truth. So this was what an angel high on faith looked like. The impression was made a little hilarious when Dean considered that Anna was mooning over Chuck.

“So,” he said finally. “Uriel is back too? Even though he fought for Lucifer?”

Anna nodded. “Father brought us all back indescriminately. Uriel is not the only angel who worked with Hell, nor the only one to commit murder. But he was punished; he has been reborn on Earth as a human being. It’s Father’s hope that when he dies and is given his grace back, he will have learned to love Adam the way we all vowed to do.”

Dean laughed. “Awesome! Let’s see how he enjoys being a mudmonkey.”

But Anna’s brow was furrowed, and she had unconsciously angled her body away from Dean’s.

He thought for a moment that he had insulted her, but couldn’t imagine how. “Something wrong?”

“I don’t blame you for trying to attack me before,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “In fact I’m surprised you were willing to talk to me at all.”

Oh.

“You mean because the last time we met you tried to kill me and Sam?” Dean asked drily. “I suppose that could make conversation awkward.”

Anna bit her lower lip, looking contrite and young. “I’m not even sure if I came to ask for forgiveness, or if there’s any point.” She looked up and drew a breath to speak, stopped herself, tried again. “To be able to finally see and speak to my Father, to be in his presence and know beyond a doubt that he is real ... it gave me so much hope, but I couldn’t enjoy it while there was still bad blood between us. You helped me when I was helpless, and I ...” She sought and held Dean’s eyes with her own. “I won’t ask for forgiveness, and yet I am drawn to you for a resolution of some kind, any kind.”

“You’re just like Cas,” Dean said very quietly. “He won’t ask either.”

“I know how he feels,” Anna said, new intensity entering her voice. “You look back, and your crimes rise up like mountains, and you think “How can I ever atone?”. Asking for forgiveness will not make those mountains go away. Sometimes I think I will live in their shadow forever. What must it feel like for Castiel? His crimes are ... unimaginable.”

Dean swallowed. “I get it. I have a mountain too.” His eyes narrowed in determination. “But forgiveness is about people saying they’ll accept you anyway, mountains or no mountains. That they are willing to help you move on, until you reach the end of that shadow. That’s why you gotta ask. No matter what you’ve done.”

Anna frowned. “That’s very beautiful, Dean,” she said, dissatisfied. “But no matter what you’ve done? Really? How about when your crime is against God himself? The entire host is on Earth right now, righting what Castiel has done, and what is he doing?” With her hand she swept the horizon of car wrecks before them. “Vacationing.”

Dean said nothing for a while. “Yeah, well, I don’t give a damn what he’s done to offend Chuck. All I know is that Cas was there for us when God had screwed us over. When we were being treated to an Apocalypse, courtesy of your brothers, Cas gave up everything to help us out. And when Raphael tried to repeat the stunt, Cas saved our asses. I say he deserves a vacation.”

“Well listen to you, defending him,” Anna said, and her tone was completely transformed. “You weren’t thinking like that a week ago.”

Dean felt like he had been had. “Hey, I didn’t say he gets off free! He hurt Sam, that matters to me, but Heaven can go be butthurt at someone else.”

“I see.” Most of the teasing faded from Anna’s tone, only to return in an almost nervous grin. “Dean … do you remember … that night in the Impala?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed readily. “That was nice.”

“Nice?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Well, I’m glad you think so. I enjoyed myself too.” She grimaced. “At least, I seem to know that I did. I remember every detail, but it’s hard to recapture the feeling.”

Dean opened his mouth, wanted to ask if she wished she were human again, but she continued quickly, as if she anticipated the question.

“I just wanted to know if you remember this?” She lifted her hand and reached for his right shoulder.

Dean’s hand shot out automatically, grabbing her wrist and stopping her.

She gave him a surprised and questioning look. “Did you ever wonder about it?” she asked, undaunted. “Why you have that mark?”

Dean shrugged, last night darkening his thoughts. “I used to think it was Michael’s way of trying to put a leash on me, but they never said anything about it. They would have. Zachariah would have thrown it in my face. So I figured that pulling a soul out of Hell had to leave some kind of mark. Seemed like a small price to pay.”

“Does Sam have a mark?” Anna asked innocently, taking her hand back.

Dean clenched his teeth. “No, but it wasn’t his soul that was pulled out, it was his body.”

“His soul followed eventually.”

“What does it matter to you?” he said, more harshly than he wanted to. “Why does it matter at all?”

She actually backed off, looking chagrined. “Honestly, I’m not sure. It just fascinates me. From what I know, there was a whole battalion of angels involved in your rescue, and yet, somehow, in the end there was only him. Only Castiel.” Her eyes took on an almost feverish light, and she seemed on the verge of speaking several times, but kept holding back, until the need to ask apparently grew too strong. “Do you remember your rescue?”

Dean looked away. “The last thing I remember is digging my hands into some poor sucker’s open chest and pulling out-” He had intended to shock her, but ended up making himself gag instead.

She reached out again, but this time she merely reached for his hand, holding it for a moment to show her sympathy.

Touched by an angel. Dean calmed down. “Next thing I knew I was digging my way out of my own grave.” He gave her a warning look. “And I don’t care; the less I remember the better. I don’t want to know about the hows or whys.”

Anna nodded, understanding and relenting.

“I can remove it, you know,” she said quietly, almost reluctantly.

He looked at her, a little wide-eyed, surprised at her offer.

“It’s just a scar,” she explained.

“No,” Dean replied slowly. “But thanks for the offer.”

The moment was heavy, suffocating. “Anyway,” Dean said quickly, clearing his throat. “You gonna ask for forgiveness or not?”

He managed to surprise her again, but her expression changed quickly to one of determination. “I said I wouldn’t.”

“Okay then,” he replied casually. “No forgiveness for you.”

She was provoked, her eyebrows lowering. “Dean Winchester, can you forgive me for trying to murder you and your family?”

Dean almost burst out laughing, but managed to restrain himself. My life, man.

“Well,” he said instead, dragging it out. “The demand for forgiveness has skyrocketed lately ... I don’t know why that is, but I suppose if I hold out on a few of the more dickish of your brothers, I’ll have enough for you.”

By the look on her face, she really hadn’t expected him to actually forgive her.

“As long as you don’t do it again,” Dean amended.

“I promise,” she said, a little bewildered, but with grateful eyes. Impulsively, she leaned in, and he was alarmed, but all she did was place a quick, sweet kiss on his cheek.

Then she stood up, and he followed her, brushing himself off and stretching sore muscles in a way she didn’t need to.

Anna closed her eyes with a look of concentration on her face.

“Something wrong?” Dean asked.

“No,” she answered without opening her eyes. “Just letting Gabriel know I’m leaving. I wanted to talk to Castiel, but he seems busy. We can talk when he comes home.”

“Busy? Gabriel? What’s going on?” Something like dread filled Dean’s chest.

Anna opened her eyes. “Gabriel was coming to see you, and Balthazar and I asked if we could join him. He vouched for us to Father, so I thought I’d better … Dean?”

Dean was already walking briskly back towards the house.

“Goodbye, Dean Winchester! Take care of yourself!” she shouted after his retreating back.

Gabriel and Balthazar and Anna. Were they here for Castiel? Already? Dean wasn’t ready for that!

But when he entered the living room there was no air of imminent departure. In fact, things seemed very laidback. Dean stood in the doorway, breathing hard and ready to fight, but there was no need.

Sam was lounging on the sofa with a beer, Bobby was, by the sound of it, in the kitchen. Balthazar sat idly next to Sam, and Gabriel and Castiel sat in the middle of the floor, surrounded by Lego blocks.

Gabriel seemed to be building a big, yellow dick, complete with blue balls. Castiel sat half-buried in Lego bricks and was working to complete the church that had stood untouched in the corner for two days.

“Dean,” Balthazar greeted him leisurely. He had crossed his legs at the ankles and placed his hands behind his head. “Long time no see. You look like you’ve been out playing in the dirt.”

Dean smiled sarcastically. “And you look gay. Welcome back.”

The blonde angel inclined his head.

Finally calming down, Dean leaned on the doorway. “Nice dick,” he said to Gabriel, who flashed him a grin.

“I’m making it in Michael’s likeness.”

Sam rose from the sofa with a groan, like he was stiff from sitting too long. How long had the angels been here?

“I assume you want a beer,” Sam asked.

“Sounds great, thanks.”

“So did you talk to Anna?” Gabriel asked.

Dean nodded.

Sam came back from the kitchen with an open beer for Dean. “Anna? What did she want?”

Dean accepted the bottle gratefully and took a long drink before replying. “She wanted to appologise. You know, for trying to kill our parents.”

“That’s great. Did we forgive her?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. We’re okay now. I even got a kiss on the cheek. I feel all respectable.”

And then Gabriel’s Lego phallus exploded, several bricks hitting Gabriel in the face. “My dick!” he exclaimed.

Behind him, Castiel was bristling, glaring at the Lego clenched in his own little fists.

Dean had no idea what was wrong, but a glance at Sam told him that his little brother’s big brain was working on something.

Sam stepped over, pushing Lego away with his feet to give himself room to stand, and picked Castiel up, shaking a couple of stubbornly clinging Legos off him before settling the angel in his arms.

“Cas, look at me,” he said. Castiel continued to stare stubbornly at his hands. “Look at me,” Sam repeated, waiting patiently until Castiel sullenly complied.

Dean began to feel like he was outside looking in again.

“Anna is not a mermaid, okay?” Sam said intently. It was absurd. “And neither are you.”

Dean spread his hands. “We’ve hit the twilight-zone, people. Anybody else want to confess their delusions? Balthazar, you know you’re not a unicorn, right?”

“I’m not?”

Dean caught Sam’s eye. “Why does Cas think he’s a merbaby?”

“Mertoddler,” Gabriel corrected him from the floor, where he had already begun to rebuild his yellow dick.

Dean crossed to the sofa, dumped down on it and took another swig of his beer. “I swear you are all crazy.”

Sam was cradling Castiel, one large hand splayed over his back just under his wings, and the sight made Dean’s insides squirm with jealousy. He didn’t notice the sly, narrow-eyed look Sam sent him.

“Anybody else want something to drink?” Sam asked suddenly, and for some reason he locked eyes very meaningfully with Gabriel.

“I’ve heard you have juice. I could go for some juice,” Gabriel said.

“We do have juice!” Sam said in an exaggerated manner. “I’ll get juice.”

He came around Gabriel and put Castiel resolutely down on Dean’s lap, immediately moving to the kitchen.

For a moment, hunter and angel just stared at each other. Castiel's wings were wrapped closely around his shoulders.

“Hey, Cas. Haven’t seen you all day. What’ve you been up to?” Dean asked hoarsely.

“Playing with Bobby,” Castiel replied, a little high pitched. “We threw a ball.”

“Was it fun?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s great.”

God, he wished someone else would say something.

It cost Dean much more than the simple action warranted to lift his hands and pull Castiel close to his chest. Cas felt like a violin string pulled taut, and he breathed very carefully in and out, but he didn’t resist. Dean could feel the angel’s heartbeat thrumming against his fingertips.

Sam and Bobby came in from the kitchen, Sam with juice for Gabriel. They sat down, and after a little while conversation picked up again. Dean didn’t participate beyond the occassional comment when one was required of him.

Then, in the middle of a longer pause, Gabriel rose from the floor. Without a word he approached Dean, leaned forward and placed two fingers to Castiel’s temple. With a sigh, the little angel fell asleep, his brow smoothing out and his wings falling limp.

“What did you do?” Dean asked, placing a hand on Castiel’s forehead, unreasonably worried.

“It’s better if he doesn’t know that you know yet,” Gabriel replied cryptically.

“Know what?” Dean said angrily.

“I’m going to show you what happened when God returned to Heaven.”