Supernatural: Burn so brightly: Chapter 5/8

[judin]

Title: Burn so brightly
Author: Judin
Rating: R
Genre: Angst, romance, age-regression.
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, and several surprises.
Spoilers: S1-S6. Goes AU post-S6.
Warnings: Violence.
Chapter specific summary: “He tried to tear his own wings off,” Dean said, voice rising just a little. “What’s wrong with them?”

Author's notes: What can I say? It’s been five months. It’s inexcusable. Here’s chapter 5.

I HAVE FANART! Do you guys have any idea what that means to me? RainDragonX made this awesome picture of Castiel chilling with his storybook.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2a and 2b
Chapter 3
Chapter 4


Sam sat up straighter in his chair. “Show us?”

Gabriel nodded.

Balthazar rose from the couch. “I’ll just put Castiel to bed, then,” he said, reaching out for the little angel. Dean seemed to have to struggle with himself to actually hand Cas over.

“Where can I stow him?” Balthazar asked, holding Cas as if he had never held a child in his life. Castiel was out for the count, though, and didn’t seem to mind being mostly upside down.

“Upstairs, second door on the left,” Bobby answered.

Balthazar disappeared.

“Well?” Dean demanded impatiently of Gabriel.

Gabriel looked around at the three of them. “I hope you’re sitting comfortably. You’re about to experience 4D cinema like you’ve never smelled it before.”

“We’re ready,” Dean said, louder this time, making Gabriel scowl.

“Fine. Here we go.” He snapped his fingers.

Sam’s head filled with light, and for a moment he was deaf and blind. He lost track of his body. When the light faded, the scene before his eyes had changed.

The sun shone down mercilessly on a huge, dry courtyard of sand-coloured stone. It was empty and barren, except for a few stubborn, twisted trees, standing alone in the few spots of shadow available. At the far end of the courtyard Sam could make out gates, and beyond them, blurred by the heat and the distance, the bulbous spires of a white palace.

Castiel knelt on the ground, hands clutching his chest where Dean had plunged in the silver knife. The wound must be healed though, because there was no trace of blood. He looked exhausted. Sam caught sight of a familiar red sigil drawn on the nearest wall. Did that mean the souls were back in Purgatory? Castiel was staring sightlessly at the ground, where grains of sand trickled past in the wind. Sam moved closer, or Gabriel moved him closer, and he realised that Castiel was muttering to himself, fast and low, but intently, like he was speaking to someone. The words were unintelligible, perhaps not words at all.

Slowly, a thin, high-pitched shriek grew in the air. Castiel flinched. It rose in volume relentlessly, until Sam’s head was aching with it. He recognised it as the sound of pure angel voices, unfiltered by vessels, so why did the sound make Castiel cover his ears and cry out like it was paining him? The angel let himself fall sideways, rolled onto his back and arched sharply, face screwed up in agony and hands pressed hard to his ears.

Sam wished he could have done the same, but he couldn’t feel his own body, couldn’t lift his hands. The noise was becoming unbearable when it stopped abruptly. Castiel collapsed, chest heaving, hands falling limply to the ground. Blood trickled from his ear.

Chuck was standing in the shadow of a tree. He came forward unhurriedly. Castiel struggled to roll over onto his stomach, pushing himself up on all four and then to his knees, where he remained, swaying slightly. He looked up at God with tired eyes.

“You resurrected them all,” Castiel said, words thick in his dry mouth. “You even let Michael out of the cage.”

Chuck stopped in front of the angel. “I brought him home, where he belongs.”

Castiel bowed his head, eyes narrowed. “He should be punished.”

Chuck didn’t reply at once. “Why?”

Castiel glanced up with contempt in his expression. “He nearly destroyed the world. He would have, if it hadn't been for the Winchesters. And Raphael attempted the same thing. They have no respect for your creation.”

Chuck’s brow furrowed in a gentle expression of disagreement. “They were trying to create paradise on Earth.”

“Because they were bored,” Castiel growled. “Not for any benefit of mankind’s.”

“And you,” Chuck said quietly, his voice very deep and very old. “Why did you nearly destroy the world, Castiel?”

The angel blinked, confused. “I didn’t ...”

“By shifting the world’s water supplies you were rapidly changing the ecosystem. Did you ever stop to look at the massive extinction you were causing in the oceans? Or the way shifting values away overnight was creating poverty where there had been prosperity, causing panic and riots? How long do you think it would have been before the planet’s foundations began to creak and move?”

Castiel frowned, clearly provoked, but he was breathing faster, and his eyes were a little wider, like God’s words were getting to him. “I was in control! Nothing was beyond my power. Order would have come from chaos.”

“No, Castiel, take a moment to think!” Chuck said, raising his voice. He stopped himself, and continued in a more controlled tone.“Who would have sustained this order you were creating? To whom would you have given the power to maintain equality? A group of men? A single man? Someone who would not be corrupted, someone who would always make the right decisions? And would the people accept their leaders?” He was silent for one, deadly moment. “Would you have led them yourself? A forceful God, keeping his naughty, unruly children on a short leash?”

Castiel was becoming increasingly distressed as he listened, blotches of angry red appearing in his cheeks. “I … I would have … I was going to -”

“You were running blind!”

“I was trying to help!”

God glowed in the sun, while Castiel bowed under the weight of the light. The angel’s chest was heaving, but Chuck didn’t appear to be breathing at all.

“Michael will be punished, Castiel. He will come to understand his mistake. As I hope you are beginning to understand yours.”

Castiel did not reply.

Chuck’s expression melted into something more tender and sorrowful. He knelt down and placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder. “You feel so much, and it hurts you. I want you to pray to me, Castiel.”

Castiel gritted his teeth. “No,” he said, and the word was small and choked.

“Reveal yourself to me, let my light shine in you and heal your wounds. Please, child,” Chuck appealed.

“I did pray. You weren’t there,” Castiel ground out. “Sam and Dean prayed to you. We begged for your help! We faced odds no one should ever face alone, and you weren’t there!” He staggered to his feet, his voice rising in volume. “You have no right to lecture me. Where were you when the world burned? Where were you then?”

Chuck rose slowly and stood immovable, but when he spoke next it seemed to be with great reluctance. “I was there in you.”

The world seemed to grind to a halt around them, the wind dying down.

“You were the help I sent them,” Chuck continued, his voice echoing in the sudden emptiness. “You were the answer to Sam and Dean’s prayers.”

All colour drained from Castiel’s face, his pupils dilated, and he began to shake, every limb quaking so badly that Sam was surprised the angel remained standing. He took a step backwards, ready to run, to take flight, and massive black wings sprouted from his back, his eyes flickered up to take them in, and instead of rising into the air, he stumbled over his own feet and crashed to the ground. Castiel twisted around, sinking both hands into one wing and dragging it before his eyes, a scream of horror erupting from his throat.

Another scream followed closely on the first, shaping itself into a single word,

“WHY?”

“I didn’t choose the colour, Castiel. It just is,” Chuck said sadly.

“NO!”

Castiel tore at his wings, pulling out handfuls of feathers, clawing at them like they were poisonous. Chuck quickly knelt down and pried the angel’s hands away. With a cry of rage and despair, Castiel let light blast from his hands, but God was just as fast, lifting his own hands and containing the outburst. Between their palms the light crackled and roared, trapped energy fighting to escape.

”That's enough, Castiel,” God said in his fathomless voice, and the light grew to envelop the angel on the ground.

Sam blinked. He was back in Bobby’s living room. Balthazar had returned and was sitting on the couch. Gabriel lay draped over the remained of the couch, with his head in Balthazar’s lap and his legs dangling over the edge of the armrest.

Sam had thought there would be some lingering impression, heat on his face, his eyes stinging from the light, sand in his mouth, anything, but he was physically unchanged by what he had seen. Just shocked.

“I arrived moments later,” Gabriel said to the ceiling. “Little Cas was sitting in a pile of his own clothes, confused as hell.” He smiled, just a quick tug at the corners of his lips. “And the rest you know.”

“We don’t know squat,” Bobby said. “I’ve got a couple hundred questions left to ask you two. Like why the hell is Cas a kid? How can God take a man with so much unresolved crap hanging over him and turn him into something incapable of dealing with or even understanding any of it?”

Balthazar and Gabriel exchanged glances, and a small, mischievous spark came into their eyes. “It’s brilliant, actually,” Balthazar answered Bobby. “Kids are resilient in ways adults are not, and they’ve got tunnel vision. It’s all cartoons and candy and race cars. Cas gets to run around and be a kid, while his subconscious begins the process of integrating all the baggage. By the time he’s grown again, he’ll be ready to deal.”

At Bobby’s sceptical expression, Gabriel smiled. “I didn’t think it would work either, but it’s going great. He’s not even troubled by the wings anymore.”

“What’s wrong with his wings?”

Everyone turned to look at Dean, who had neither moved nor spoken until now. Sam felt a flutter of apprehension in his stomach as he looked at his older brother. He knew that look. Any provocation, and Dean would explode, probably violently.

“He tried to tear his own wings off,” Dean said, voice rising just a little. “What’s wrong with them?”

There was a moment of tense silence. Gabriel sat up and swung his feet around to place them on the floor.

“Only one other angel has ever been known to have black wings,” he said finally, eyes on his own hands, folded on his knees.

No one named him. There was no need.

“They changed the day he fell,” Gabriel continued, eyes far away. “They had always been white as snow.”

Dean rose from the couch. “So that’s it then?” he asked, voice carefully low. Sam wished Dean would shout; he was safer when he vented his anger than when he contained it. “He’s the new Lucifer, is that the idea?”

Both Gabriel and Balthazar flinched.

“Well?” Dean demanded, and his tone was like iron.

Gabriel gave Balthazar a pushy look, and the blonde relented. He had his arms crossed over his chest and looked supremely uncomfortable. For a long time he seemed to be struggling for words, until he finally gave up.

“Yes,” he said simply. “That’s what everyone thinks. No one wants to say it out loud, but they don’t exactly bother to mask their thoughts.”

“And what about you two?” Dean asked, eyes boring into them. “What do you think it means?”

Gabriel looked up at him, and for the first time, he almost looked scared. In the end he only averted his eyes again. No answer was given.

“Screw you,” Dean said slowly. Sam hadn’t seen his brother in this state of cold rage since the night he killed Azazel. “Screw every last one of you cold, selfish cowards.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. He gritted his teeth and looked up again, but Dean had already turned and was walking out of the room.

“Hey!” Gabriel shouted at his retreating back. “We’re here, aren’t we?”

They heard Dean take the stairs at a run.

Balthazar sat up restlessly. “Is Cassie safe with him when he’s like that?” he asked, and Sam was impressed by the worry in his tone.

“Couldn’t be safer,” Bobby answered. He was looking at the place where Dean had disappeared.

“It’s not what Dean thinks,” Gabriel said almost pleadingly. “I like Cas. I respect him for fighting for what he believes in. Dean even whittled down the stick in Castiel’s ass, so he’s much more fun now. Heck, I feel ...” He stopped himself, and Sam was suddenly burning with curiosity. Gabriel, the all-powerful, with his wall of laughter between himself and the world. What was throwing him off balance? What was he hiding?

Balthazar was staring discontentedly ahead. “We’ve changed. I didn’t use to feel ... love ... like you do. Angels feel loyalty and the weight of tradition, and sometimes there’s a bit of rage or smug superiority, all there to keep us in line, keep us nice and brainwashed.”

Gabriel frowned at him, but didn’t speak.

“When I was reborn in Heaven,” Balthazar continued. “I looked around, and I could tell that in a Host of thousands, only a bare handful had felt what I felt, and knew what I knew.” He glanced at Gabriel. “We’re not like the others anymore.”

“Enough,” Gabriel said quietly. He slipped off the couch and stretched half-heartedly, his back to the party. “It’s time we got back to work. They’ll think we’re slacking.”

Sam and Bobby exchanged glances. They were dealing with two unhappy angels, that was for sure.

“Hang on,” Sam said, standing up as well. “I have a question too.”

Gabriel turned around and tried to grin like his old self. It didn’t quite work. “You mean why aren’t you rocking yourself in a corner? Where did the fireworks in your head go?”

“Yeah.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “Did Chuck do something to me?”

Gabriel nodded. “Think of it as a jedi mind trick. Whenever you’re about to dredge up the bad memories -” He passed one hand in front of Sam’s face. “-These are not the droids you are looking for.”

“Couldn’t he just have removed it?” Sam asked. “Made me forget? I mean, I’m still having nightmares.”

Gabriel shook his head. “You? You’ll always have nightmares, with everything you’ve been through.” He sighed. “Look, I get that it’s tough, but what you experienced in the cage is a part of you now.” A small, genuine smile lifted the corners of his lips. “You put yourself back together, Sam - that’s a big accomplishment. Dad wouldn’t undo that.”

“Is it safe?” Bobby asked. “Death’s wall didn’t last very long. How do we know the memories themselves won’t break through?”

“Death is not God. They have different powers. Death did the best he could with that wall, but the problem with traumatic stuff like that is if you don’t let it breathe, it festers.” He looked up at Sam again. “The occasional nightmare is how your mind integrates and learns to live with the stuff you’ve been through. There won’t be any true breaches. Not from the inside, and not from the outside.”

Sam nodded. “In that case, tell him thanks.”

Gabriel winked playfully. “Tell him yourself. The prayer-hotline is always open.”

Balthazar rose from the couch. “Are we off then?”

“Wait, wait, last question!” Sam said quickly, turning to Balthazar and holding up his hands. “And it’s for you.”

Balthazar looked sceptical. “Shoot.”

Gabriel looked around. “I’ll go on ahead.” He caught Balthazar’s eyes with a significant expression. “But you’d better be right behind me. I vouched for you.”

Balthazar crossed his heart. “I’ll be good. Scout’s honour.”

And Gabriel was gone.

“They’re not big on goodbyes, are they, angels?” Bobby grumbled, getting up from his chair as the last of the party, and wandering into the kitchen, grabbing Gabriel’s juice and Sam and Dean’s beer bottles as he went.

Left alone with Balthazar, Sam sat down again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “I just want to know ... you and Cas ... are you okay?”

Balthazar gave him a long look. “No, what you want to know is why are we okay. Or, why am I okay with him.”

Sam looked up briefly and nodded.

Balthazar shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam laughed incredulously. “He stabbed you in the back. When you came in, Cas hid under the couch. He’s been play-pretending that you weren’t there all day.”

Balthazar crossed his arms over his chest, biting his lip thoughtfully. “Cassie feels bad, but he’ll get over it. Me ... I don’t see what there is to be upset about. I betrayed him. As far as I’m concerned, I got what I deserved.”

“What? How can you say that?” Sam shifted restlessly. “You were doing what you thought was right, trying to help him, save him from himself!”

“Yeeees, and I was going behind his back to do it,” Balthazar said slowly, as if he was speaking to a child. He regarded Sam for a moment before chuckling. “Tell me, Sam, if your friend went behind your back while doing what he thought was right, in the interest of saving your uncooperative butt, wouldn’t you have stabbed him?”

“No! Of course not.”

Balthazar eyes widened in mock surprise. “But Samuel, you did.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest before realisation struck him like thunder.

“I ...” In the end all he could manage was a lame, “That was different.”

“Was it? Your friend betrayed you, and though he did so thinking he was saving your ungrateful ass, you decided the best course of action would be to give him a lumbar puncture with a very big needle.” The angel grinned. “Don’t worry, Sam, I’m sure he’ll forgive you, but since I can tell you need a moment, I’ll just let myself out. See you around, big boy.” He waved and was gone.

Sam was going to need more than a moment. Balthazar’s perspective was threatening to rearrange his head completely. Suddenly in need of fresh air and a change of scenery, Sam left the couch and headed outside. He passed Bobby on the porch and let the old hunter know he’d be back soon, setting off in a random direction without waiting for a reply. Some ways down the road he found a path leading into the forest, one that his feet could follow while his mind focused on other things. Balthazar’s words had disturbed him, even while he was still unwilling to give them full credit. The two situations were not the same. Castiel had killed Balthazar because Balthazar had betrayed him to the Winchesters. Sam had been trying to stop a mad god. He had entered the factory, head full of fire, confused and in pain, but what he heard of the conversation in there was enough to convince him that Castiel was lost to them, so he attacked, the same way he would have attacked any supernatural menace.

But a niggling voice in the back of his head continued to spout Balthazar’s nonsense.

He was your friend. He was doing what he thought was right and you were trying to stop him. He betrayed you. You tried to kill him.

More than anything, Sam realised, he just wanted all the blame and hurt to go away. His feet came to a halt, and he looked around properly for the first time since he had set out from Bobby’s. He was following a broad gravel path through a sparse forest. The air was fresh and the wind soothing, the trees vividly green. The world was beautiful and alive. Sam felt like he was standing on a threshold.

He had been Lucifer’s puppet since before he was even conceived, but now he was free to choose his own path. It made sense to put down the weight of old guilt and blame as well, and move forwards with his shoulders free of burdens.

Slowly, he turned around so he was facing home. Was he capable of this? And was it even the right thing to do, really? He remembered the weeks he had suffered, the sleepless nights and burning days, the many nightmarish visions he had been subjected to by his own mind. Because of Castiel. Didn’t Sam deserve some kind of justice?

But he was too honest not to admit to himself that his idea of justice sounded a lot like revenge.

To compound his doubt, he was reminded of the undeniable fact that the wall had been unstable from day one. It wouldn’t have lasted. And Cas had said he would heal Sam, once it was all over, a promise he had stuck to, though Sam hadn’t let him fulfil it.

Sam dug the tip of his shoe into the ground. He felt like he was being torn in two. Castiel had raised both Sam and Dean from Hell; he knew what was down there, he knew what Sam would be forced to remember once the wall came down. How could he knowingly subject Sam to that?

To keep Dean safe. Of course. Once again, Sam was left with the knowledge that Castiel would always care more about Dean. Then again, didn’t Sam feel the same way? Wouldn’t he have hurt Castiel if it meant saving Dean?

Sam took the first couple of steps forwards, made himself put one foot in front of the other. He was good at that. Moving on. For Dean’s sake. That was the answer. Castiel had hurt Sam to save Dean, now Sam would forgive Cas so that Dean could breathe more easily. Maybe, in time, the forgiveness would even be genuine. He began to walk back home, stomach still twisting with conflicting feelings, but his mind made up.

His new resolution must have been showing on his face, because Bobby looked oddly at him when he reached the house.

“You look different,” the old hunter said, still comfortably seated in his chair on the porch.

Sam forced a smile. “Good different or bad different?”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. Want me to bring out the holy water?” It was a joke. Mostly.

“I’ll take a glass with dinner, if you don’t mind. I’m starving.”

Bobby got up from his chair with a grumble, but he was smiling. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

Half an hour later, Sam peeked into the guest room upstairs. “Dean?”

Castiel was lying on his back on Dean’s bed, looking more unconscious than asleep, and Dean was sitting on Castiel’s mattress with his bag open next to him. He had pulled out all the contents of the bag, scattering dirty laundry, guns, knives, skin mags and soap all over the floor, but rather than organising things like he had supposedly intended to do, he was currently reading one of the magazines.

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Dean asked. “It has articles.”

Sam chuckled. “Dinner’s on. You coming down?”

Dean sat up and craned his neck to look indecisively at Castiel.

Sam opened the door properly and made himself comfortable in the doorway. “He’ll be fine, Dean. You have time to eat.”

Dean took another moment to agonize over his decision, before giving in to the promise of food. He struggled into a standing position, realised there were weapons and porn all over the floor and quickly stooped down to throw everything back in his bag.

Sam didn’t wait for him, and sauntered back downstairs.

Sunday dinner was not a big or fancy affair, but Bobby promised that they would see some of his recent efforts in baking before the day was over. Dean didn’t so much eat as shovel down the food at first, until Bobby gave him a dirty look and asked sarcastically if he was enjoying the meal. Dean quickly calmed down.

“He’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam repeated. “If he wakes up now, he’ll come wandering downstairs. At worst he’ll be a little pissy that Gabriel put him to sleep.”

Dean agreed reluctantly.

Bobby lowered his fork and sat back. “You should have stuck around to hear what else the holy duo had to say, Dean. Apparently, Chuck fixed Sam’s noggin.”

Dean looked at Sam, surprised and pleased. “You mean you’re all fine? Fine forever fine?” Sam nodded. “That’s great! That’s ... actually great!”

“Actually great?”

“Yeah! The kind of great our luck usually doesn’t-” Dean was interrupted when a tremor passed through the floor beneath them.

There was a moment of silence in which they exchanged wondering glances, and then it came again, rattling the window pane and the glasses on the table. The next tremor made the radio come on, shifting wildly between stations before going into static.

“Ghosts?” Sam said automatically.

“This house is ghost proof,” Bobby replied.

“Castiel!” Dean was out of his chair and running for the stairs in a moment.

Sam rose to follow him just as the bulb in the ceiling lamp exploded, showering him with sparks. He stumbled back, caught his feet on the chair and would have fallen if the kitchen counter hadn’t caught him. Bobby was already hurrying after Dean, and Sam followed the moment he found his balance. They had barely reached the stairs when a scream rang through the house.

“SAM! BOBBY!”

They raced up the stairs and through a hallway full of broken light bulbs. The door to the guest room was wide open but it was a moment before they could make out anything in the darkness, a moment before they could see Castiel lying rigid in Dean’s arms.

Light shone from around the hilt of the knife that was buried in Castiel’s right wing. A dark stain was spreading on Dean’s thigh. Blood.

Castiel’s eyes were huge and almost luminously blue, focused on something far away with a look of terror.

Dean was speaking, low and urgent pleas that seemed to be falling on deaf ears. “Come on, Cas, wake up, come on. Cas, talk to me. What’s happening to you?”

The knife was Dean’s, taken from his bag which lay upended and emptied on the floor.

Sam’s eyes slammed shut and he sent out a prayer that started as a silent cry of fear.

Help, Gabriel!

When he opened his eyes the ceiling was shaking, holy light pouring in through the blinds. Sam expected Gabriel to arrive with a crash, but he appeared in total silence, the light and the power gone in an instant, leaving Sam blinking in the dark before his eyes could adjust to the sudden change. By then, Gabriel was kneeling on the bed opposite Dean, cradling Castiel’s head in both hands. In the worn jeans and old jacket, Gabriel should have seemed small and human, but his eyes were full of fury. He looked up at Dean.

“Hold him,” he said simply, and the vanished power, barely restrained, trembled behind his words.

Dean quickly shifted Castiel around so that Dean could support him properly. Gabriel placed one hand around the hilt of the knife, gripping the wing in the other. His eyes began to glow. He pulled the knife out in one swift movement, making Castiel arch his back and shriek, the double voice like needles in Sam’s ears. Next to him, Bobby sank to his knees with a groan. As soon as he was no longer paralyzed by pain, Sam reached out a hand to him, but the old hunter shook his head to signal he was alright, and struggled to his feet on his own.

Gabriel had covered the wound on both sides of the wing, and was pouring a steady stream of grace into his little brother. Castiel’s eyes remained closed.

After too long, far too long, the light faded, and Gabriel let his hands fall. He touched Castiel’s forehead again. “Wake up, little bro.”

Castiel’s eyes blinked open.

Gabriel raised a hand and snapped his fingers, and the light came on in the ceiling, the light bulb whole again. Castiel’s eyes were red-rimmed. He pushed himself up shakily and crowded into Dean’s chest, burying his face, his wings splayed stiffly, awkwardly away from his body. Dean held him close.

No one spoke. The silence seemed impossible to break. Finally, Gabriel rose from the bed and stalked out of the room. Sam followed him down the stairs and into the living room, where the archangel stopped for a moment only to start pacing back and forth. He continued this way until Bobby, Dean, and Castiel came down, then he stopped.

Dean curled up on the couch, still with Castiel cradled against his chest, and pulled Sam’s duvet over them both.

After a moment of hesitation, Sam sat down on the floor, leaning against the couch and Dean’s leg. Bobby sat down heavily in a chair, Gabriel straddled another, turning it with an angry movement. Still, no one spoke. Still, Sam’s heart was pounding.

What had happened? Like Dean, Sam burned to understand what could cause Castiel to hurt himself like that.

“What happened?” Bobby said finally, and with that the barrier of silence slid away like water released from a dam, leaving them all free to breathe again.

Gabriel had been still as a statue until now, eyes fixed on Castiel. He didn’t move, but his expression hardened. “Has anyone other than you three been in contact with Castiel after he came to Earth?”

It was an unexpected question, but in the end Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Gabriel turned his eyes on Sam, and his gaze was weighty with authority. “Has anyone come near him or been alone with him? Does anyone know that he’s here?”

Sam, Dean and Bobby exchanged glances.

“No.”

Gabriel’s lips drew back from his teeth in a silent snarl. “Someone did! You’re missing something! Think, you morons, who could come close enough to poison him?”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

“Poison?” Dean echoed, the first stirrings of protective anger entering his voice.

Sam’s mind was racing. They had been alone except for the angels that had visited today. There was Sheriff Mills, of course, but Castiel hadn’t met her.

“Dean, are you sure Sheriff Mills couldn’t have gotten to Cas somehow?” Sam sent Bobby an apologetic grimace; he didn’t believe it was possible that she could have hurt Cas, but they had to check everything.

But Dean shook his head. “The only time I left her alone, I saw Cas myself. She never even knew he was here.”

Bobby rolled his eyes like the whole line of inquiry was ridiculous, which, of course, it was. “Look,” he said, “what kind of poison are we talking?”

Gabriel was studying Castiel again, making the little angel bury himself further into Dean’s chest.

“The last of it burned up just as I touched the wound, but I tasted it. It was primal, full of rage and fear. It was giving Cas visions.”

“Visions?” Sam asked, looking up at Castiel. “What kind of visions, Cas? What did you see?”

Castiel hid his face against Dean’s neck.

Dean ran a hand over the little angel’s hair. “You gotta talk to us, Cas. You have to tell us what’s wrong.”

“I wanna play,” Castiel mumbled.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “We can’t play now.”

“I want to throw ball,” Cas repeated stubbornly.

Gabriel looked away uncomfortably, before letting his head fall forward. “This is my fault. I knocked Cas out cold, gave the poison free reign. I trapped his grace, left him without his natural defence.” He looked up, eyes shiny in the low light, and Sam was surprised. How upset, how tired, must Gabriel be to have tears standing in his eyes?

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

“No one is blaming you,” Bobby said. “You didn’t know.”

“Did you see what he saw?” Dean asked, expression hard.

“Nooo,” Castiel whined, reaching up with distressed sounds and trying to pull Dean’s head down, to make him look away from Gabriel. Dean pushed the angel’s hands away, held them firmly in his own when Cas wouldn’t let up.

Gabriel inhaled and exhaled heavily. “Not really, but I can read his mind.”

Castiel twisted like he wanted to crawl out of his skin, tugged his hands free and wrapped his arms around his own head like he could shield his thoughts from Gabriel that way.

“And?” Dean was relentless, but he pulled Castiel closer, hands splayed out to cover as much of the angel as possible.

“There was bright light, and a feeling of rising up, shaking out his wings after being in a small, cramped space for a long time. Then he was looking down on fields, and a town off in the distance, and a church directly below. And there was blood and screaming in the air, not real, but ... I dunno ... in his head. Like he’d brought the carnage with him.”

Castiel pulled back to hit Dean’s chest with balled up hands. “I want to play! Play with me!”

“Stop it, Cas.” Irritated, Dean tried to hold the angel still.

“Play with me, play with me!” Castiel yelled, head bowed and legs kicking to drive himself bodily into Dean.

“No. You’re going to talk to us,” Dean said, voice rising.

Castiel cried out in frustration and reached behind himself to grip his previously injured wing, yanking at it hard.

“Quit it!” Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand and the offended wing. The angel jerked like he had been given an electric shock, and so did Dean. For a moment, their eyes glowed white, and then Dean pulled his hand away from the wing as if burned, and the light died.

“Woah.”

Sam had jumped to his knees, Bobby was half out of his chair. Sam reached out and put a hand on Dean’s arm. “What was that?”

Gabriel was looking sharply at them. “The wings are made of grace. You can’t just put your hand to an open flame and not expect something to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Dean said, voice gone hoarse. “It’s not the first time.”

Of course it wasn't. Sam remembered his big brother straightening Castiel’s abused wings at the mall, and the way Dean had leaned on the shopping cart afterwards, blinking like he’d gone blind. He remembered casually brushing stray feathers with a hand, and having to wait afterwards as the sun seemed to invade his eyes.

Castiel looked like he wanted to shrink down and hide under Sam’s duvet.

“I get it now,” Dean continued, and he met Castiel’s fearful look with an unreadable one of his own. “You were Lucifer, rising out of the cage, except you have no idea what St. Mary’s Convent look like. It’s huge and square, not like a regular church. And that’s not all you got wrong.” He reached slowly past Castiel, taking a careful hold of a wing and pulling it forward for Cas to look at. “See these?” Castiel shook his head, didn’t want to look. Dean looked up at Gabriel, and he was angry now. “They’re not the mark of a fallen angel, or a traitor, and anyone who took two seconds to think about it would get that.”

Dean tugged gently on Castiel’s ear to make the angel look up at him. “You’re not a fallen angel, not banished from Heaven, and if you’re a traitor because you fought against the Apocalypse, then Gabriel is a traitor too.”

Sam and Bobby turned to Gabriel. “Don’t look at me,” he said, a little too quickly. “My wings are as white as the Republican party.”

“I think your wings are awesome,” Dean continued. “Who’d want sissy, white wings when they can have rock and roll wings like these?”

But Castiel put his hands over his eyes and shook his head.

Dean fumbled for a moment to pull his shirt down from his shoulder and to pull up the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Look, Castiel.” The use of his full name surprised the little angel into complying, and Dean held his gaze ruthlessly. “I was in Hell for forty years, and nothing in the pit burned me like you did. Lucifer is stone cold. You are nothing like him.”

Castiel seemed to have stopped breathing, looking hungry, almost haunted, at the mark on Dean’s shoulder. He made a choked sound of desperation and almost fell forward to put his hand over the mark. Dean flinched at the touch, but he brought a shaking hand up to cover Castiel’s own.

“You’re my angel, and my angel is good.”

Castiel swayed, but Dean steadied him. He seemed unable to look up at Sam, Bobby and Gabriel, too embarrassed at the emotions he had revealed.

Gabriel rose slowly. “Well, I hate to say it, but Dean is right.” He fidgeted. “I’d better go upstairs, let Dad know what has happened.”

Sam rose as well. “We’ll try to figure out how Cas got poisoned in the meantime.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, like he could already imagine smiting the hell out of the culprit. “Let me know when you have.” He gave Sam and Bobby a nod, and took one last lingering look at Castiel before he disappeared.

Bobby rose a moment later, patting Castiel on the head before heading off to clear the dinner table.

Dean licked his lips and glanced up at Sam. “You got any more of those fairytales, Sammy? Maybe we could hear one?”

Castiel smiled without opening his eyes.

“Sure,” Sam said. “I can find one on my laptop.”

“Just make sure it has a happy ending.”

Sam read “Little Red Riding Hood” and “Snow White and Rose Red”, to the gentle sounds of dishes being washed.

Sam glanced up every now and then and could never really tell whether Dean or Castiel were actually listening to him. Dean seemed lost in thought and Castiel’s eyes were heavy-lidded and far away, but at least the angel stirred when the first story was done, and nodded happily when asked if he wanted another one. Dean remained oblivious.

After a while, Sam realised that Bobby was watching them from the doorway, watching Dean specifically, with a furrow in his brow. When the last story came to an end, Bobby came over to the couch and pulled Castiel off Dean’s lap. The angel gasped in protest, but didn’t actually try to escape, letting Bobby hold him.

“How do you feel about pie?” Bobby asked Cas seriously.

“Pie?”

“Pie.”

“Dean likes pie.”

“So I’ve heard. Shall we find some pie for Dean?”

“Yes.”

They went back into the kitchen. Dean immediately got off the couch and headed outside. Sam was too surprised to call after him, only rousing when he heard the back door close. He went to the window, and saw his big brother walking away into the darkness. Sam ran after him, closing the back door as softly as he could. Bobby had distracted Cas for Dean’s sake, but what was up with Dean?

The stars were out, and the salvage yard was quiet.

Sam found his brother sitting with his back against the wheel of the Impala. He didn’t look up at Sam’s arrival.

“What’s up?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “It was getting stuffy in there. Thought I’d clear my head.”

“Been a busy day,” Sam agreed, though silently calling bullshit. Before the angels showed up today, Dean and Cas had barely seen each other, Cas throwing a ball around with Bobby on the other side of the house while Dean worked on the car back here. Castiel’s crisis seemed to have brought them together again, but had it resolved the thing that had caused the split in the first place?

“Something happened last night between you and Cas,” Sam asked. “What was it?”

“Nothing,” Dean replied, eyes on his hands.

Right then, Sam knew his best bet was to get Dean angry enough to lash out. Reasoning or pleading with him would only make him brush Sam off, but if he was angry, he was much more likely to blurt out whatever was on his mind. And it shouldn’t be too difficult for Sam to stoke the anger under his big brother’s skin.

Sam made his voice careless. “It’s okay, you can tell me. Did you try to drown Cas in the bath tub?”

Dean shot to his feet immediately. “That’s not funny!” he growled.

“I’m not laughing.”

Dean lips trembled, in anger or something else, but he refused to look away and the moment devolved into a staring contest.

“What happened?” Sam asked again, putting weight on each syllable.

“Nothing happened,” Dean repeated. “Get off my case.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying, Dean. And you know what? You can lie on the job, and you can lie to yourself, but you do not lie to me. Not after everything.”

“I lie to you all the time,” Dean snarled back. “And you’re not exactly the right man to throw accusations. You were never going to tell me what Gabriel said to make you let Cas stay.”

Sam was caught off guard by that, and couldn’t keep it from showing on his face. He had hoped Dean had forgotten. “You didn’t ask,” he replied, his voice a little weaker.

“No, because I wanted to see if you’d remind me. Well, so much for no more secrets.”

Sam’s resolve hardened. “Alright then. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

For a brief second, Dean looked tempted, his eyes coming alive only to die again. He turned away. “I don’t give a damn what that fairy told you. It’s done.”

Sam could have cursed, but he wasn’t out of ammo yet. “You know what, I don’t need to know what you did. I can guess. Cas isn’t the only one who’s been feeling your mood swings lately. On Wednesday, you were all ready to play house, all you wanted was to make things right with Cas, and now all you do is upset him and sulk!”

He expected Dean to protest, to say that he didn’t sulk, to tell Sam to fuck off. Instead, Dean seemed to be wrestling with himself, his brow furrowed and his jaw set.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he finally said between clenched teeth. “It was instinct. You can’t slam someone like that and not expect them to freak.”

“What did he do?” Sam asked softly.

Dean moved restlessly on the spot, putting his hands on his hips, lifting them to run them through his hair and then letting them fall again.

“When I pulled Cas out of the bath on Saturday … he put his hand on my shoulder.” Dean made a vaguely illustrating gesture. “And there was a lot of light and noise in my head, and I freaked and yelled at him.” He licked his lips and swallowed, uncomfortable.

Okay. That couldn’t possibly be the whole story.

“Sounds a bit like what Gabriel did when he showed us Heaven. Do you know what Cas was trying to do?”

Dean stared very stubbornly straight ahead. This then, was the crux of the tale.

“Was he trying to show you something?” Sam prompted carefully.

Dean sighed. “He has all these memories that don’t make any sense to him.” His voice grew stronger, some anger creeping into his tone. “I wish he would leave them alone. Kids aren’t supposed to deal with that kind of -” He stopped himself abruptly and looked quickly at Sam.

So that was it. Feelings. From the depth of Sam’s mind came the memory of Dean’s harsh words earlier that Saturday night.

“Was it really that hard to come up with an alternative method of communication? Simple sign-language too complicated for her?”

Castiel, dutiful little mermaid that he was, had reached out and communicated. And Dean had rejected him.

“We’d be just fine,” Dean said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than Sam, “if he would just leave the adult stuff for when Chuck fixes him. Why can’t he just enjoy being a kid? How many angels ever get to experience that?”

Sam sighed and shook his head. He hadn’t really considered the idea that maybe Castiel, as a child, was ill-suited to deal with his adult feelings for Dean. Of course Dean would know better than Sam how Cas was handling them, though Sam doubted whether Dean could see the matter clearly. And Cas didn’t seem able to leave it alone. What was Chuck’s plan? Was Castiel’s preoccupation with his romantic feelings intended, or unforeseen?

On the other hand ...

“Dean ...” Sam chose his words carefully. “If Castiel loves you ... is that so bad? Maybe if you accepted what he’s trying to tell you, he would settle down? Let him know you’ve heard him, and he might be satisfied to wait until he’s grown up to act on his feelings.”

Dean barked a short, bitter laugh.

“What’s funny?” Sam asked.

“Trust you to know just the right thing to do. It’s what I should have done from the fucking start, I know that, but it’s too late now.” Dean pushed gravel around with his foot, looking miserable.

“It’s not too late.”

“It is.” Dean lifted his head, looked Sam straight in the eyes. “Sure, I can go in there and sit him down and tell him that yes, I know he has gay, adult feelings for me, but then what? What can I promise him, Sam? What can I give him in return?”

“If you don’t feel the same way, it’s better to let him know than to keep him hanging.” It was easy to suggest it, because Sam didn’t for a moment believe it was true.

“It doesn’t matter what I feel!” Dean shouted. “Because he won’t be here! He’s going home!”

Sam was taken aback, and didn’t reply.

Dean grimaced, pulling back a little. “We have him on loan,” he said, volume normal again.

“So he’s going back to Heaven. Doesn’t mean we won’t see him. I don’t think he’d be able to stay away even if he wanted to.”

But Dean shook his head. “Before the Apocalypse, the only angels on Earth were touching people on CBS. That’s what we’re going back to.” Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was faster, holding up a hand to stop him and pressing on. “Chuck told Bobby he had stepped in for the last time. That goes for the angels too, and you know it. Cas will be stuck up there, with his dick siblings who all think he’s Satan point two, and we’ll be here.”

There was a core of tight emptiness growing in Sam’s stomach.

“Deeeeean! Pieeeee!” Castiel’s baby-voice called to them.

Sam didn’t feel like laughing, but he couldn’t seem to help the grin stretching his lips. He rubbed at his eyes and brow as if he could somehow smudge his own splintered emotions into something whole.

“Come on,” Dean said, hand touching Sam’s shoulder briefly as he walked past his little brother towards the house.

“Saaaaaaam?”

“We’re coming!”

They came around the house, but before he ducked through the back door, Sam took a last, deep breath of fresh air to relieve the aching in his chest that would have to be hidden once he got inside. He thought he understood Dean better now, bottling up his feelings so that Cas could happily forget that he ever had to leave. But Sam wasn’t willing to give up on the future just yet. He refused to accept that Chuck had thrown them together again only to separate them forever.