Separate Ways (Worlds Apart), a Supernatural Fic
Title: Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)
Author: LaueHime
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, drug use, sexual allusions (nothing graphic) and dark imagery.
Word count: ~ 5,000
Summary: Tag to 5x04 "The End". Dean simply can’t get around the fact that this 2014 version of Castiel could tell right away that he’d been back-to-the-future’d.
A/N: This was written for the summergen 2014 fic exchange. The prompter was angelwolfshadows and the prompt was “It didn't take long for 2014 Cas to figure out that it wasn't the right Dean. What set him off? (Differences between the old and new Dean, what went wrong during these few years, how it could change someone so drastically)”
Beta: Thanks to the wonderful jojospn for the amazing beta job! She's the one who made sure of the flow and coherency of the story :) I have played with it a little, though. In that case, all remaining mistakes are my own!
Enjoy!
XXX
I walk out of the ramshackle excuse of a shelter that my future self calls his ‘headquarters’. I still can’t wrap my head around what he’s said to me. To be honest, ever since Zachariah took me on this DeLorean ride to a front seat view on the Apocalypse, I’m not sure I want to make sense out of anything. It’s just too surreal.
I mean, I know it’s bad - like end of the world bad - but I don’t have time to waste watching it unfold in this apocalyptic version of Survivor. I have to go back to my time and fix things.
Sam.
I have to go back and find Sam.
Future me has made the mistake that I was about to make. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’m supposed to take back the words I said to my brother. We’re not stronger when we’re apart, apparently. If I’d been there for him like I was supposed to, Lucifer wouldn’t be wearing him to the prom.
I almost forget to watch for where I step. The forest is quiet but I know it’s nothing but an act. It is Nature’s subtle tactic to fool us before it devours us all. It lays low and pretends to provide security. Once the enemy is secured, it pulls out its murderous claws and destroys every ounce of hope humanity has ever managed to muster.
It’s just like that wind… It’s soft and caressing, but as soon as we turn our backs, it’ll whip at us with its razor sharp teeth that will rip our flesh and feed the soil with our blood. The water that quenches our thirst will turn to poison and pass on diseases that will make our skin rot until we decompose into sparks of dust.
Another cool breeze kisses my cheeks. I can’t help but close my eyes and try to forget about the fiery sting of tears. When I open my weary eyes, I see the shadow of a wild light dancing among the base of a dark row of bulky trees. As I take careful steps forward, I hear the cracking of wood and the silent whisper of flames. I tiptoe my way closer and come face to face with a campfire; a familiar face sitting behind it.
“Cas?” I realise my voice sounds much hoarser than I would like it to.
The dark-haired head bobs up in my direction and I see apprehension in those eyes before they soften; recognition chasing tendrils of fear away.
“Dean.” His shoulders seem to grow lighter now that he’s acknowledged my presence. I assume he has every right to be defensive, all things considered.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you, but…” I clear my throat. “What are you doing out here on your own?” I know this place gives me the creeps, let alone the possibility that there might be a bunch of nasty Croats waiting around the corner for a chance to dig their fangs into the reckless sheep who venture out of camp at night.
Of all the reactions I’d expect from him, Cas just shrugs it off and turns his eyes back down. I can now see what he’s toying with. He’s delicately holding this tiny slip of paper, while grinding something with the tips of his fingers; the ones that aren’t holding the paper. And wait is that…?
“Cas? What the hell, man? The world is ending! Monsters are out to get you and you… you’re sittin’ ‘round a fire smokin’ weed?”
I can’t believe this, because what the hell happened to my stick-in-the-ass trench-coated angel buddy?!
He shakes his head and - you’ve got to be kidding me! - starts giggling. I’m seriously starting to freak out in this Bizarro universe.
“Dean… Dean…”
There’s this smile plastered to his bearded mug. Only, when he looks up, I see that it doesn’t reach his eyes. There is something sad in them. Abandon, maybe.
He sighs loudly and something gnaws at my nerves. He sounds like he’s given up and I’m not sure I like this version of him (even though he’s much much cooler than the other Cas).
“What, man? I don’t understand. What happened to you?”
Okay, I guess things got pretty much out of control with the biblical episodes of boiling oceans and raining frogs, but I know Cas. He’s a damn hard-headed son of a bitch, that is. He’s supposed to be a soldier of the Lord, for Christ’s sake!
As if he’s read my thoughts, he speaks the words I never wanted to hear. “God has left the building, Dean. The angels didn’t stick around for the Grand Finale, from the moment your brother said the big ‘Yes’. Lucifer has taken control of this rock and there’s nothing more we can do about it.”
I still can’t bring myself to hear about what Sam did. It hurts every single time and this time is no different. There is this burning ache at the bottom of my stomach and it’s not cooling down. The more I think about it, the more it burns; its smoke suffocating me from the inside.
“Nothing? I’m glad to see you still have your unwavering optimism” I tease. I don’t mean to hurt him, but I can’t let him talk like that. I try to smile but he apparently doesn’t approve, because he glares at me as if I’d just blasphemed.
Finally, he seems to blow some steam because he sighs and looks at me as if I just can’t understand him. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I can’t. But I can’t pretend to if he doesn’t as much as give me a clue.
“When you live everyday as if it were your last… you gain some sort of insight; a different kind of clarity…” he admits with a face I’ve never seen on him before.
It’s like he understands what it means to be mortal, even though his comprehension has been put to the test in a specific context such as… the end of the world, for instance.
“And well, you of all people should know that this clarity comes with certain… needs” he continues. I can observe a slight but visible flush just above his cheek bones. I can’t hold myself any longer - Hell! - he’s opened that door so wide, I can see inside. I’m definitely not going to close my eyes.
“Dude, if you’re giving me the last night on earth speech, I gotta warn you that you don’t even get to begin to try to satisfy those needs on me.” I put on a look of self-preservation that I can’t keep up when I see his face. My fake “façade” quickly crumbles as he flashes me that neon bright what the fuck expression.
“With all due respect, I do prefer flowers when they’ve reached their full elegance. That’s how you can tell that when they’re ready to bloom, you’ll be mesmerized by the true beauty of mature shades of a thousand suns… reminiscent of a time past when the world was pure and not burning to fragile ashes that will only be carried away and scattered across the nothingness that will be this world without its father…” he trails off, nodding to himself as if he’s just come up with the latest formula to cure cancer.
To be honest, I lost count of what he was saying after he talked about flowers.
He must see my confusion because he smiles at me. I hear him laugh under his breath and I’m not sure I need to know if it’s me he’s laughing at.
“That’s some strong stuff you have” I finally find myself saying. When he looks up, I point my chin toward the green crumbs he’s placing carefully into the fold he’s made in the paper.
“You want some?” he asks in the same way he would have if I’d asked for food or water. He’s so casual about it; it makes me stiffen on my feet so I don’t start shivering. Everything is so messed up. I can’t seem to catch my breath.
There’s something in what Cas said that still nags me and it annoys me that I need to ask, because none of it makes sense.
“Hey, Cas… If the angels are gone, what are you still doing here?”
I look at him from the corner of my eyes and I see that my words have hurt him. He almost choked on the paper he was pressing his tongue against. I hear him sniffle loudly as he presses the paper between his thumbs and forefingers; rolling the joint tightly closed.
“I’m not an angel anymore, Dean” he confesses, his eyes turned away from me. I can tell how much it hurts him even though he tries to pull out a wide smile to hide it.
He even tries to laugh but if he could hear himself, he’d hear what I hear. He’d know just how empty it sounded. He'd hear just how hopeless and desperate he seemed to be.
“You know what’s funny about it, though?” He lights up his joint and takes a long drag of smoke. I figure that I better sit next to him because we might be here for a while. I look at his face while he’s holding the smoke inside. His eyes water up and he finally exhales something that resembles a laugh except, there’s nothing comical about it.
“My Grace just… pttttssshhhh-psshheeeew,” he sings while mimicking a fading and falling bomb with his fingers. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to laugh or if I should cry about this. Everything’s so fucking tragic...
“Does that mean you’re human, now?” I dare ask, because I know his Grace is the essence of everything that makes him an angel. Without that, he’s just…
“Useless. It’s a more accurate term,” he blurts out before taking another drag. I see the burning end turn red before dusty grey taints it once more. The smell reaches my nose.
“Aw, come on! You’re not useless. I’m sure those hippie chicks appreciate what you do.” I try to give a wink and a weak smile. I can’t think of anything else to say, so if I can make some jokes to alleviate the tension…
He smiles. I guess it worked for now. I watch him suck on his joint and let ribbons of smoke unfold lazily between his chapped lips.
“Whatever. If we’re all going to die, I don’t see why we couldn’t bury ourselves in women and booze and drugs” he sighs, tapping away the excess of smoldering ash.
I feel like my face is falling, but really, maybe it’s just my mouth that fell wide open. I’m not sure, but one thing I know is that I’m starting to like this reality even less and… well… ET wants to go back home.
“Okay… who are you and what have you done to the Castiel I know?” I can’t exactly blame the guy (if my own future self is anything to go by). He ought to have seen some things that I can’t even begin to imagine. I know I’ve been hunting all my life, but this is another league completely. I hear him snort. Yeah, I’ve hit something.
“Like you’re one to talk.” He blows some more smoke and coughs lightly.
I guess he’s right. But this other Dean, it’s not me. At least not really… I’m not the one who made him this way, that is. I can’t help but wonder what did. I saw the guy and he’s a total asshole. I can’t imagine me doing this.
“About that,” I start softly.
I don’t want to rush things. Hell, maybe Cas won’t even want to talk about it... But if he could give me something… I mean, things have to have happened. I turned into a hard-assed son of a bitch! That ain’t for nothing. He’s so far from me that even Cas could tell I wasn’t that guy when he first saw me.
Yeah, about that…
“How did you know that I was from the past?” I ask. I can recall it in vivid Technicolor; that look he gave me as soon as I entered his cabin. He didn’t even stop to think.
Cas laughs as if the answer is obvious. I don’t see it clearly and I’m not exactly amused, either. I don’t like my image being sabotaged by a drill sergeant dickbag, barking orders like the world should bow to him. I look like a heavy-duty version of my dad, except he cared about us. That guy - me or whatever - doesn’t care about anybody. I’m not sure he even cares about himself. Oh well… do I?
Cas stops laughing to look at me. Even in the dark, I can see the depths of his eyes despite the glimmer of the flickering fire reflecting on his cerulean gaze.
“You called me a hippie” he finally replies seriously. I have to frown because what the hell does that mean?
“You stopped making fun of me years ago. I mean not you you but you… you know!” he rambles. I see his eyebrows shoot up on his forehead as if they’re trying to hide into his hairline.
He dismisses it by blowing smoke into my face and despite my grimace, he presents me the joint. I shake my head to show him that I’m not interested. Everything is screwed up enough as it is.
“So you could tell just because of a stupid joke?” I’m still not remotely convinced that I get the whole picture here. I feel like I need the missing pieces of the puzzle. After all, if I’m supposed to get anything out of this predicament, I might as well investigate a little more. Not that I don’t want to become my evil twin, but it’s pretty much my point exactly.
Cas is looking down at the burning chunks of wood that litter the bottom of his ‘campfire’. He is pensive and I come to think that I know that look. It isn’t too unfamiliar. It reminds me of home.
“It’s not that… not completely. It’s the whole essence of what you breathe around yourself. The stubborn will to take risks and the cockiness… not to mention the give ‘em hell attitude… It’s not what you did, Dean. It’s who you are.”
There is this look in his eyes that could have fooled me. Something still feels off though.
“Okay… but then are you saying that my Olsen twin is not me anymore?” It clearly appears to me that something happened in the past years between me and Cas for him to recognize me me instantly.
I hear him sigh and I know that the news isn’t going to be good. He rubs the bridge of his nose like doctors do when they have bad news to convey and they just don’t know which way to start, because they will hurt all the same.
“Let’s just say there used to be something ‘cute’ about it” he says, making quotation marks with his fingers. My eyes open wide before I can give them my consent; hardly masking my surprise at Cas’ choice of words.
“Cute?”
I have nothing against… you know… But there’s something in me (my balls, I guess) that makes me quite uncomfortable being labeled cute by another dude. If there’s an edge to my voice, he doesn’t even seem to perceive it. Of course, he’s completely trashed, but still…
“Yeah, well your present self is kind of a dick,” he states as if he’s talking about the weather. Chills course down my back and make the hair on my skin stick out visibly. I was uneasy enough at the word cute without adding dick to the same sentence.
Cas is visibly unabashed by his answers, though. I guess I don’t need to work myself up over him just being stoned. He’s never been the subtle kind, anyway. At least that much hasn’t changed.
I look down and sigh despite myself. “I’d apologize, but I don’t know what for.” I turn misty eyes to look at him. I hope he’ll get the hint; tell me a little more about me. That’s what Sam would do… His face turns hard, though. I didn’t think it was possible to upset him in this state…
“Believe me, that’s for the best,” he snaps as soon as the words have brushed past my lips. He doesn’t turn to meet my eyes but I see the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw is clenched shut. I suddenly have a hard time taking my eyes away and his have grown cold like deserted valleys. I find myself wandering and all I find is dust, covered by dark shadows.
“If I knew, I could prevent it from happening…” I know everything in him screams at me to not push it, but it’s like there’s a beast in me and I can’t control it. It wants to know and it won’t stop until we’re satisfied.
“How were things with your brother when you left your time?”
He’s looking at me, this time. There’s something accusatory in his tone. He could’ve said ‘it’s already too late’ or ‘you can’t change what you’ll become because you already are’ and it wouldn’t have made a difference. He’s not blaming me for the Apocalypse, is he?
I swallow. He’s hit a nerve and I’m pretty sure he knows he did. He knows the future, after all. He’s seen me and Sam grow apart and he’s been with future me all along.
“Why didn’t I go back to him?” My voice comes out weaker than I would’ve liked. I don’t know if he has that answer, but I believe it deserves a try. He looks like he’s going to give. The pit in my stomach sinks deeper.
“I don’t know what really went through your head. You didn’t want to see him or even hear a word spoken about him. You acted cold and detached and we never really talked about it.” His brow knits as if trying to push the memories to the surface.
I absorb it all in. So okay, Sam got the cold shoulder from me. I know I don’t trust him too much right now, but I can’t imagine ignoring him for years… would I do that?
“Except once,” Cas starts again and I’m suddenly focused like my life depends on what he’s going to say next. Well, maybe it does…
“After Sam said Yes. I - well you were wasted - and I was there and you kinda spilled…”
I’m not sure I like where this is going. Drunken confessions aren’t my forte. They actually have a tendency to put me in all kinds of embarrassing positions.
“Okay…” I acknowledge softly, feeling the need to just let him know I’m ready for him to go on in a non-aggressive way. I’ve taken a lot of hits already and I don’t know how many more I can take.
Cas shrugs, his face softening as if he’s commenting a baseball game. “Bah… you were sorry for not being there. You thought you could’ve changed something if you’d taken the time to talk to your brother. Blamed yourself a few times…” From the tone he has, his baseball team has made a few foul balls too many and is heading toward certain defeat.
Now that does sound like something I would say… but not without a good amount of liquor and definitely not directly in front of Sam. My breath quivers in my throat and if I don’t force it down, I’m sure my voice is going to tremble when I try to speak.
“And then?” I try to not give away how overwhelmed I feel.
Cas takes a deep breath and avoids my eyes once more. “You’ve seen yourself. You do the math.”
He plunges a hand into the inner pocket of his coat. It’s like he doesn’t want to say it. From the way he looks, I assume I became a cold-hearted killing machine after losing my brother to the Devil. Who wouldn’t?
Cas finds what he was looking for. He pulls out a flask from his pocket and swifts large sips past his lips before offering some to me. I’m not going to say no to that. Maybe it could numb the growing lump of fear that has been extending ever since I came here.
After the comforting fire of booze settles, I feel like I can dig in a little deeper.
“Is that when the torture started?” I prompt after a beat of silence. Cas doesn’t look up, but I see that his shoulders have tensed. He wraps his shaky fingers around his flask and chugs what I can’t see but has to be a third of the bottle. He finally looks up and if I could choose to have superpowers right then, I would want to disappear in the next milliseconds.
It’s as if his eyes have sobered up instantly and I can see right through him when he’s not stoned or drunk or whatever the hell he does to take his mind off. It’s like I have HD access to what he sees when he looks at himself in the mirror. There’s no sparkle of craziness, no drug-induced veil of oblivion. What I see is two endless pits of dull-blue lifelessness.
I try to swallow but my breath catches in my throat and I suddenly know I’ve gone too far.
“I guess I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, uh?” I try sheepishly. I’m hoping it’s going to loosen up the tangible knots of tension that have built heavily above our heads.
“You’re right, you can’t.”
I can sense that there is no debating over that firm statement. There’s something about it that makes me want to shiver, but the chill is too deep within my bones; so deep it hurts if I don’t hold it back.
After a while, I recognize within myself that I need to ask. “What should I do?” My bottom lip wants to quiver and I’m fighting the urge to draw blood from biting too hard. At that point, I feel like I’m standing at a crossroads and I guess the future is a good place to start.
Cas snorts at the sound of my question. He’s looking at me like I’m a moron or something; all that for even asking. What can I say? Apparently I’ve made enough mistakes to end up as the terror of the village. I can’t even begin to imagine how many people I must have killed or tortured to meet my goals. I know I wouldn’t do that.
After Hell, I promised myself I wouldn’t. But now that I think of it, if my brother really let the devil through the front door - after all the talk he did about trusting himself to not cross that line - I guess I would have second thoughts, indeed.
“I think you know what you need to do. Take a look around you. We’re going to Detroit tomorrow... to kill Lucifer. I think you happen to know whose vessel he is using.” Cas pauses. He knows I’m going to need a few seconds to breathe. I might actually enjoy this from this version of him.
He does understand how it feels to be human. Maybe I should introduce him to his past self…
He takes a breath before he carries on. “That Dean you’ve seen, as scary as he seems, is just not afraid to do the right thing. I think that’s what makes you different from him. You know what to do, deep down. You’re just too scared to do it.”
Is he saying that to my face? Really?
“Hey! Who you callin’ a coward?” I spit. Tell me I’m spineless while you’re at it!
“Those aren’t my words, Dean. It’s not cowardice that plagues you, but love. You wouldn’t kill a friend if it meant saving the world. You wouldn’t kill your brother if it meant ending the war…”
His answer stings me like a burning rod because I know he is right. I’m too baffled to say anything, but I see he’s still coming with something.
“It took a lot to break you… well the other you…”
At this point, I think I don’t even want to know anything else. I’m just eager to get out of this mess. I open my mouth to speak, but I feel like my voice is going to fail me. I take a few breaths; in and out.
“Sam… it’s always been my job to protect him.”
I have to whisper because I feel like my voice is going to crack. I didn’t expect the rush of emotions that warms my chest up, either. So maybe I’m angry (because I am!). The idiot chose a demon over me and jump started the Apocalypse. But then, I did break the first seal (not that I’m going to let Sam know how I feel about that).
I don’t know if I can trust him, but I do know one thing. I can’t let him get hurt. I can’t stand the idea of putting a bullet through his heart while it’s Lucifer’s thoughts that come out of his mouth… with his voice… with his eyes… hardened by merciless hate…
Cas seems to understand (he does that a lot, apparently). His face softens and I think I see vindication in his eyes; forgiveness for something I haven’t even done yet… at least not in my time.
“What makes you think that he needs it now?”
I get the feeling that his question is rhetorical. I see it all over his face that the bastard has the answer.
“I can’t let him get hurt. You’re right. I’m not that Dean. I may wanna kick his ass six ways from Sunday when he pulls some stupid stunt like juicing on demon blood or hooking up with a demon bitch… but when Dean… when He told me Sam didn’t make it…” I can’t conclude my sentence out loud, but it would sound like I really thought my world ended and I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye…
If I had to face Sam right now, I would probably yell some shit out at him. I could even tear him a new one for betraying me. Still, I care about the son of a bitch more than I can find words to say it…
Castiel nods like I’ve just given the million dollar answer. I send him a puzzled look to which he grins softly. “Do you have your answer now?” he asks with a smile that is a moustache away from reminding me of a triumphant Dr Phil. Damn him.
I know I’m not going to like what I see tomorrow, but if Zachariah is sadistic enough to keep me around while I watch me kill my brother - which I know he is; the sick fuck - I might use it to reconsider my position.
As much as I want to blame Sam, the sound of emotional pain that tainted his voice when he called me to inform me about the Devil’s impromptu nocturnal visit is enough to weight in the balance, along with what I’ve witnessed in this year of 2014. I don’t want to wake up in five years to be told that my brother is gone and that the last words I’ve spoken to him were hateful or accusing.
Maybe if Sam hadn’t been alone in Detroit, maybe if I’d been there, we could’ve found a way to end things without him having to hand his panties over to the Devil.
I guess I was wrong. We’re not stronger apart. We’re weaker. Even if they use it against us, we’ll always have a better chance if we work together. If the world needs to end, I don’t want to be alone and dead inside to begin with. I’m not a ruthless killer and I don’t want to be.
That thing Cas said about doing the right thing… it hit much closer to home than I would’ve expected. I don’t feel like killing my brother would ever be the right thing to do (even though the bitch would deserve it sometimes). He’s still my little brother and the only person I’d sacrifice anything to save.
Hell, I did already. Literally.
Cas is right. I do have my answer. When I come back to 2009, I’ll call Sam. I’m not going to keep the both of us apart. We’re stronger together and we keep each other human. Yeah, that’s what I’m going to tell him. I just want to make sure that if he’s going to commit back to work, there’ll be no more lies. I’m not sure how much more of these I can take.
Cas is silent and we watch the fire die as it eats the last parcels of wood available. I catch myself thinking that tomorrow is my chance to feed a new fire.
I’m going to do the right thing this time and patch things up with Sam so that we can be a team.
No opposite hemispheres will ever tear us apart again.
Michael, Lucifer and their sleepover pillow fights can kiss our asses. We’ll show them just how they’re not theirs for the taking.
Come whatever; if we have to fight each other, we will.
But not as Michael nor Lucifer.
We’ll fight as the jerk and the pain in the ass we always were, because that’s what we do.
We keep each other human.
THE END
Author: LaueHime
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, drug use, sexual allusions (nothing graphic) and dark imagery.
Word count: ~ 5,000
Summary: Tag to 5x04 "The End". Dean simply can’t get around the fact that this 2014 version of Castiel could tell right away that he’d been back-to-the-future’d.
A/N: This was written for the summergen 2014 fic exchange. The prompter was angelwolfshadows and the prompt was “It didn't take long for 2014 Cas to figure out that it wasn't the right Dean. What set him off? (Differences between the old and new Dean, what went wrong during these few years, how it could change someone so drastically)”
Beta: Thanks to the wonderful jojospn for the amazing beta job! She's the one who made sure of the flow and coherency of the story :) I have played with it a little, though. In that case, all remaining mistakes are my own!
Enjoy!
XXX
I walk out of the ramshackle excuse of a shelter that my future self calls his ‘headquarters’. I still can’t wrap my head around what he’s said to me. To be honest, ever since Zachariah took me on this DeLorean ride to a front seat view on the Apocalypse, I’m not sure I want to make sense out of anything. It’s just too surreal.
I mean, I know it’s bad - like end of the world bad - but I don’t have time to waste watching it unfold in this apocalyptic version of Survivor. I have to go back to my time and fix things.
Sam.
I have to go back and find Sam.
Future me has made the mistake that I was about to make. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’m supposed to take back the words I said to my brother. We’re not stronger when we’re apart, apparently. If I’d been there for him like I was supposed to, Lucifer wouldn’t be wearing him to the prom.
I almost forget to watch for where I step. The forest is quiet but I know it’s nothing but an act. It is Nature’s subtle tactic to fool us before it devours us all. It lays low and pretends to provide security. Once the enemy is secured, it pulls out its murderous claws and destroys every ounce of hope humanity has ever managed to muster.
It’s just like that wind… It’s soft and caressing, but as soon as we turn our backs, it’ll whip at us with its razor sharp teeth that will rip our flesh and feed the soil with our blood. The water that quenches our thirst will turn to poison and pass on diseases that will make our skin rot until we decompose into sparks of dust.
Another cool breeze kisses my cheeks. I can’t help but close my eyes and try to forget about the fiery sting of tears. When I open my weary eyes, I see the shadow of a wild light dancing among the base of a dark row of bulky trees. As I take careful steps forward, I hear the cracking of wood and the silent whisper of flames. I tiptoe my way closer and come face to face with a campfire; a familiar face sitting behind it.
“Cas?” I realise my voice sounds much hoarser than I would like it to.
The dark-haired head bobs up in my direction and I see apprehension in those eyes before they soften; recognition chasing tendrils of fear away.
“Dean.” His shoulders seem to grow lighter now that he’s acknowledged my presence. I assume he has every right to be defensive, all things considered.
“Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you, but…” I clear my throat. “What are you doing out here on your own?” I know this place gives me the creeps, let alone the possibility that there might be a bunch of nasty Croats waiting around the corner for a chance to dig their fangs into the reckless sheep who venture out of camp at night.
Of all the reactions I’d expect from him, Cas just shrugs it off and turns his eyes back down. I can now see what he’s toying with. He’s delicately holding this tiny slip of paper, while grinding something with the tips of his fingers; the ones that aren’t holding the paper. And wait is that…?
“Cas? What the hell, man? The world is ending! Monsters are out to get you and you… you’re sittin’ ‘round a fire smokin’ weed?”
I can’t believe this, because what the hell happened to my stick-in-the-ass trench-coated angel buddy?!
He shakes his head and - you’ve got to be kidding me! - starts giggling. I’m seriously starting to freak out in this Bizarro universe.
“Dean… Dean…”
There’s this smile plastered to his bearded mug. Only, when he looks up, I see that it doesn’t reach his eyes. There is something sad in them. Abandon, maybe.
He sighs loudly and something gnaws at my nerves. He sounds like he’s given up and I’m not sure I like this version of him (even though he’s much much cooler than the other Cas).
“What, man? I don’t understand. What happened to you?”
Okay, I guess things got pretty much out of control with the biblical episodes of boiling oceans and raining frogs, but I know Cas. He’s a damn hard-headed son of a bitch, that is. He’s supposed to be a soldier of the Lord, for Christ’s sake!
As if he’s read my thoughts, he speaks the words I never wanted to hear. “God has left the building, Dean. The angels didn’t stick around for the Grand Finale, from the moment your brother said the big ‘Yes’. Lucifer has taken control of this rock and there’s nothing more we can do about it.”
I still can’t bring myself to hear about what Sam did. It hurts every single time and this time is no different. There is this burning ache at the bottom of my stomach and it’s not cooling down. The more I think about it, the more it burns; its smoke suffocating me from the inside.
“Nothing? I’m glad to see you still have your unwavering optimism” I tease. I don’t mean to hurt him, but I can’t let him talk like that. I try to smile but he apparently doesn’t approve, because he glares at me as if I’d just blasphemed.
Finally, he seems to blow some steam because he sighs and looks at me as if I just can’t understand him. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I can’t. But I can’t pretend to if he doesn’t as much as give me a clue.
“When you live everyday as if it were your last… you gain some sort of insight; a different kind of clarity…” he admits with a face I’ve never seen on him before.
It’s like he understands what it means to be mortal, even though his comprehension has been put to the test in a specific context such as… the end of the world, for instance.
“And well, you of all people should know that this clarity comes with certain… needs” he continues. I can observe a slight but visible flush just above his cheek bones. I can’t hold myself any longer - Hell! - he’s opened that door so wide, I can see inside. I’m definitely not going to close my eyes.
“Dude, if you’re giving me the last night on earth speech, I gotta warn you that you don’t even get to begin to try to satisfy those needs on me.” I put on a look of self-preservation that I can’t keep up when I see his face. My fake “façade” quickly crumbles as he flashes me that neon bright what the fuck expression.
“With all due respect, I do prefer flowers when they’ve reached their full elegance. That’s how you can tell that when they’re ready to bloom, you’ll be mesmerized by the true beauty of mature shades of a thousand suns… reminiscent of a time past when the world was pure and not burning to fragile ashes that will only be carried away and scattered across the nothingness that will be this world without its father…” he trails off, nodding to himself as if he’s just come up with the latest formula to cure cancer.
To be honest, I lost count of what he was saying after he talked about flowers.
He must see my confusion because he smiles at me. I hear him laugh under his breath and I’m not sure I need to know if it’s me he’s laughing at.
“That’s some strong stuff you have” I finally find myself saying. When he looks up, I point my chin toward the green crumbs he’s placing carefully into the fold he’s made in the paper.
“You want some?” he asks in the same way he would have if I’d asked for food or water. He’s so casual about it; it makes me stiffen on my feet so I don’t start shivering. Everything is so messed up. I can’t seem to catch my breath.
There’s something in what Cas said that still nags me and it annoys me that I need to ask, because none of it makes sense.
“Hey, Cas… If the angels are gone, what are you still doing here?”
I look at him from the corner of my eyes and I see that my words have hurt him. He almost choked on the paper he was pressing his tongue against. I hear him sniffle loudly as he presses the paper between his thumbs and forefingers; rolling the joint tightly closed.
“I’m not an angel anymore, Dean” he confesses, his eyes turned away from me. I can tell how much it hurts him even though he tries to pull out a wide smile to hide it.
He even tries to laugh but if he could hear himself, he’d hear what I hear. He’d know just how empty it sounded. He'd hear just how hopeless and desperate he seemed to be.
“You know what’s funny about it, though?” He lights up his joint and takes a long drag of smoke. I figure that I better sit next to him because we might be here for a while. I look at his face while he’s holding the smoke inside. His eyes water up and he finally exhales something that resembles a laugh except, there’s nothing comical about it.
“My Grace just… pttttssshhhh-psshheeeew,” he sings while mimicking a fading and falling bomb with his fingers. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to laugh or if I should cry about this. Everything’s so fucking tragic...
“Does that mean you’re human, now?” I dare ask, because I know his Grace is the essence of everything that makes him an angel. Without that, he’s just…
“Useless. It’s a more accurate term,” he blurts out before taking another drag. I see the burning end turn red before dusty grey taints it once more. The smell reaches my nose.
“Aw, come on! You’re not useless. I’m sure those hippie chicks appreciate what you do.” I try to give a wink and a weak smile. I can’t think of anything else to say, so if I can make some jokes to alleviate the tension…
He smiles. I guess it worked for now. I watch him suck on his joint and let ribbons of smoke unfold lazily between his chapped lips.
“Whatever. If we’re all going to die, I don’t see why we couldn’t bury ourselves in women and booze and drugs” he sighs, tapping away the excess of smoldering ash.
I feel like my face is falling, but really, maybe it’s just my mouth that fell wide open. I’m not sure, but one thing I know is that I’m starting to like this reality even less and… well… ET wants to go back home.
“Okay… who are you and what have you done to the Castiel I know?” I can’t exactly blame the guy (if my own future self is anything to go by). He ought to have seen some things that I can’t even begin to imagine. I know I’ve been hunting all my life, but this is another league completely. I hear him snort. Yeah, I’ve hit something.
“Like you’re one to talk.” He blows some more smoke and coughs lightly.
I guess he’s right. But this other Dean, it’s not me. At least not really… I’m not the one who made him this way, that is. I can’t help but wonder what did. I saw the guy and he’s a total asshole. I can’t imagine me doing this.
“About that,” I start softly.
I don’t want to rush things. Hell, maybe Cas won’t even want to talk about it... But if he could give me something… I mean, things have to have happened. I turned into a hard-assed son of a bitch! That ain’t for nothing. He’s so far from me that even Cas could tell I wasn’t that guy when he first saw me.
Yeah, about that…
“How did you know that I was from the past?” I ask. I can recall it in vivid Technicolor; that look he gave me as soon as I entered his cabin. He didn’t even stop to think.
Cas laughs as if the answer is obvious. I don’t see it clearly and I’m not exactly amused, either. I don’t like my image being sabotaged by a drill sergeant dickbag, barking orders like the world should bow to him. I look like a heavy-duty version of my dad, except he cared about us. That guy - me or whatever - doesn’t care about anybody. I’m not sure he even cares about himself. Oh well… do I?
Cas stops laughing to look at me. Even in the dark, I can see the depths of his eyes despite the glimmer of the flickering fire reflecting on his cerulean gaze.
“You called me a hippie” he finally replies seriously. I have to frown because what the hell does that mean?
“You stopped making fun of me years ago. I mean not you you but you… you know!” he rambles. I see his eyebrows shoot up on his forehead as if they’re trying to hide into his hairline.
He dismisses it by blowing smoke into my face and despite my grimace, he presents me the joint. I shake my head to show him that I’m not interested. Everything is screwed up enough as it is.
“So you could tell just because of a stupid joke?” I’m still not remotely convinced that I get the whole picture here. I feel like I need the missing pieces of the puzzle. After all, if I’m supposed to get anything out of this predicament, I might as well investigate a little more. Not that I don’t want to become my evil twin, but it’s pretty much my point exactly.
Cas is looking down at the burning chunks of wood that litter the bottom of his ‘campfire’. He is pensive and I come to think that I know that look. It isn’t too unfamiliar. It reminds me of home.
“It’s not that… not completely. It’s the whole essence of what you breathe around yourself. The stubborn will to take risks and the cockiness… not to mention the give ‘em hell attitude… It’s not what you did, Dean. It’s who you are.”
There is this look in his eyes that could have fooled me. Something still feels off though.
“Okay… but then are you saying that my Olsen twin is not me anymore?” It clearly appears to me that something happened in the past years between me and Cas for him to recognize me me instantly.
I hear him sigh and I know that the news isn’t going to be good. He rubs the bridge of his nose like doctors do when they have bad news to convey and they just don’t know which way to start, because they will hurt all the same.
“Let’s just say there used to be something ‘cute’ about it” he says, making quotation marks with his fingers. My eyes open wide before I can give them my consent; hardly masking my surprise at Cas’ choice of words.
“Cute?”
I have nothing against… you know… But there’s something in me (my balls, I guess) that makes me quite uncomfortable being labeled cute by another dude. If there’s an edge to my voice, he doesn’t even seem to perceive it. Of course, he’s completely trashed, but still…
“Yeah, well your present self is kind of a dick,” he states as if he’s talking about the weather. Chills course down my back and make the hair on my skin stick out visibly. I was uneasy enough at the word cute without adding dick to the same sentence.
Cas is visibly unabashed by his answers, though. I guess I don’t need to work myself up over him just being stoned. He’s never been the subtle kind, anyway. At least that much hasn’t changed.
I look down and sigh despite myself. “I’d apologize, but I don’t know what for.” I turn misty eyes to look at him. I hope he’ll get the hint; tell me a little more about me. That’s what Sam would do… His face turns hard, though. I didn’t think it was possible to upset him in this state…
“Believe me, that’s for the best,” he snaps as soon as the words have brushed past my lips. He doesn’t turn to meet my eyes but I see the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw is clenched shut. I suddenly have a hard time taking my eyes away and his have grown cold like deserted valleys. I find myself wandering and all I find is dust, covered by dark shadows.
“If I knew, I could prevent it from happening…” I know everything in him screams at me to not push it, but it’s like there’s a beast in me and I can’t control it. It wants to know and it won’t stop until we’re satisfied.
“How were things with your brother when you left your time?”
He’s looking at me, this time. There’s something accusatory in his tone. He could’ve said ‘it’s already too late’ or ‘you can’t change what you’ll become because you already are’ and it wouldn’t have made a difference. He’s not blaming me for the Apocalypse, is he?
I swallow. He’s hit a nerve and I’m pretty sure he knows he did. He knows the future, after all. He’s seen me and Sam grow apart and he’s been with future me all along.
“Why didn’t I go back to him?” My voice comes out weaker than I would’ve liked. I don’t know if he has that answer, but I believe it deserves a try. He looks like he’s going to give. The pit in my stomach sinks deeper.
“I don’t know what really went through your head. You didn’t want to see him or even hear a word spoken about him. You acted cold and detached and we never really talked about it.” His brow knits as if trying to push the memories to the surface.
I absorb it all in. So okay, Sam got the cold shoulder from me. I know I don’t trust him too much right now, but I can’t imagine ignoring him for years… would I do that?
“Except once,” Cas starts again and I’m suddenly focused like my life depends on what he’s going to say next. Well, maybe it does…
“After Sam said Yes. I - well you were wasted - and I was there and you kinda spilled…”
I’m not sure I like where this is going. Drunken confessions aren’t my forte. They actually have a tendency to put me in all kinds of embarrassing positions.
“Okay…” I acknowledge softly, feeling the need to just let him know I’m ready for him to go on in a non-aggressive way. I’ve taken a lot of hits already and I don’t know how many more I can take.
Cas shrugs, his face softening as if he’s commenting a baseball game. “Bah… you were sorry for not being there. You thought you could’ve changed something if you’d taken the time to talk to your brother. Blamed yourself a few times…” From the tone he has, his baseball team has made a few foul balls too many and is heading toward certain defeat.
Now that does sound like something I would say… but not without a good amount of liquor and definitely not directly in front of Sam. My breath quivers in my throat and if I don’t force it down, I’m sure my voice is going to tremble when I try to speak.
“And then?” I try to not give away how overwhelmed I feel.
Cas takes a deep breath and avoids my eyes once more. “You’ve seen yourself. You do the math.”
He plunges a hand into the inner pocket of his coat. It’s like he doesn’t want to say it. From the way he looks, I assume I became a cold-hearted killing machine after losing my brother to the Devil. Who wouldn’t?
Cas finds what he was looking for. He pulls out a flask from his pocket and swifts large sips past his lips before offering some to me. I’m not going to say no to that. Maybe it could numb the growing lump of fear that has been extending ever since I came here.
After the comforting fire of booze settles, I feel like I can dig in a little deeper.
“Is that when the torture started?” I prompt after a beat of silence. Cas doesn’t look up, but I see that his shoulders have tensed. He wraps his shaky fingers around his flask and chugs what I can’t see but has to be a third of the bottle. He finally looks up and if I could choose to have superpowers right then, I would want to disappear in the next milliseconds.
It’s as if his eyes have sobered up instantly and I can see right through him when he’s not stoned or drunk or whatever the hell he does to take his mind off. It’s like I have HD access to what he sees when he looks at himself in the mirror. There’s no sparkle of craziness, no drug-induced veil of oblivion. What I see is two endless pits of dull-blue lifelessness.
I try to swallow but my breath catches in my throat and I suddenly know I’ve gone too far.
“I guess I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through, uh?” I try sheepishly. I’m hoping it’s going to loosen up the tangible knots of tension that have built heavily above our heads.
“You’re right, you can’t.”
I can sense that there is no debating over that firm statement. There’s something about it that makes me want to shiver, but the chill is too deep within my bones; so deep it hurts if I don’t hold it back.
After a while, I recognize within myself that I need to ask. “What should I do?” My bottom lip wants to quiver and I’m fighting the urge to draw blood from biting too hard. At that point, I feel like I’m standing at a crossroads and I guess the future is a good place to start.
Cas snorts at the sound of my question. He’s looking at me like I’m a moron or something; all that for even asking. What can I say? Apparently I’ve made enough mistakes to end up as the terror of the village. I can’t even begin to imagine how many people I must have killed or tortured to meet my goals. I know I wouldn’t do that.
After Hell, I promised myself I wouldn’t. But now that I think of it, if my brother really let the devil through the front door - after all the talk he did about trusting himself to not cross that line - I guess I would have second thoughts, indeed.
“I think you know what you need to do. Take a look around you. We’re going to Detroit tomorrow... to kill Lucifer. I think you happen to know whose vessel he is using.” Cas pauses. He knows I’m going to need a few seconds to breathe. I might actually enjoy this from this version of him.
He does understand how it feels to be human. Maybe I should introduce him to his past self…
He takes a breath before he carries on. “That Dean you’ve seen, as scary as he seems, is just not afraid to do the right thing. I think that’s what makes you different from him. You know what to do, deep down. You’re just too scared to do it.”
Is he saying that to my face? Really?
“Hey! Who you callin’ a coward?” I spit. Tell me I’m spineless while you’re at it!
“Those aren’t my words, Dean. It’s not cowardice that plagues you, but love. You wouldn’t kill a friend if it meant saving the world. You wouldn’t kill your brother if it meant ending the war…”
His answer stings me like a burning rod because I know he is right. I’m too baffled to say anything, but I see he’s still coming with something.
“It took a lot to break you… well the other you…”
At this point, I think I don’t even want to know anything else. I’m just eager to get out of this mess. I open my mouth to speak, but I feel like my voice is going to fail me. I take a few breaths; in and out.
“Sam… it’s always been my job to protect him.”
I have to whisper because I feel like my voice is going to crack. I didn’t expect the rush of emotions that warms my chest up, either. So maybe I’m angry (because I am!). The idiot chose a demon over me and jump started the Apocalypse. But then, I did break the first seal (not that I’m going to let Sam know how I feel about that).
I don’t know if I can trust him, but I do know one thing. I can’t let him get hurt. I can’t stand the idea of putting a bullet through his heart while it’s Lucifer’s thoughts that come out of his mouth… with his voice… with his eyes… hardened by merciless hate…
Cas seems to understand (he does that a lot, apparently). His face softens and I think I see vindication in his eyes; forgiveness for something I haven’t even done yet… at least not in my time.
“What makes you think that he needs it now?”
I get the feeling that his question is rhetorical. I see it all over his face that the bastard has the answer.
“I can’t let him get hurt. You’re right. I’m not that Dean. I may wanna kick his ass six ways from Sunday when he pulls some stupid stunt like juicing on demon blood or hooking up with a demon bitch… but when Dean… when He told me Sam didn’t make it…” I can’t conclude my sentence out loud, but it would sound like I really thought my world ended and I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye…
If I had to face Sam right now, I would probably yell some shit out at him. I could even tear him a new one for betraying me. Still, I care about the son of a bitch more than I can find words to say it…
Castiel nods like I’ve just given the million dollar answer. I send him a puzzled look to which he grins softly. “Do you have your answer now?” he asks with a smile that is a moustache away from reminding me of a triumphant Dr Phil. Damn him.
I know I’m not going to like what I see tomorrow, but if Zachariah is sadistic enough to keep me around while I watch me kill my brother - which I know he is; the sick fuck - I might use it to reconsider my position.
As much as I want to blame Sam, the sound of emotional pain that tainted his voice when he called me to inform me about the Devil’s impromptu nocturnal visit is enough to weight in the balance, along with what I’ve witnessed in this year of 2014. I don’t want to wake up in five years to be told that my brother is gone and that the last words I’ve spoken to him were hateful or accusing.
Maybe if Sam hadn’t been alone in Detroit, maybe if I’d been there, we could’ve found a way to end things without him having to hand his panties over to the Devil.
I guess I was wrong. We’re not stronger apart. We’re weaker. Even if they use it against us, we’ll always have a better chance if we work together. If the world needs to end, I don’t want to be alone and dead inside to begin with. I’m not a ruthless killer and I don’t want to be.
That thing Cas said about doing the right thing… it hit much closer to home than I would’ve expected. I don’t feel like killing my brother would ever be the right thing to do (even though the bitch would deserve it sometimes). He’s still my little brother and the only person I’d sacrifice anything to save.
Hell, I did already. Literally.
Cas is right. I do have my answer. When I come back to 2009, I’ll call Sam. I’m not going to keep the both of us apart. We’re stronger together and we keep each other human. Yeah, that’s what I’m going to tell him. I just want to make sure that if he’s going to commit back to work, there’ll be no more lies. I’m not sure how much more of these I can take.
Cas is silent and we watch the fire die as it eats the last parcels of wood available. I catch myself thinking that tomorrow is my chance to feed a new fire.
I’m going to do the right thing this time and patch things up with Sam so that we can be a team.
No opposite hemispheres will ever tear us apart again.
Michael, Lucifer and their sleepover pillow fights can kiss our asses. We’ll show them just how they’re not theirs for the taking.
Come whatever; if we have to fight each other, we will.
But not as Michael nor Lucifer.
We’ll fight as the jerk and the pain in the ass we always were, because that’s what we do.
We keep each other human.
THE END