[FIC] To the Victor; Pg-13; SPN
Title: To the Victor
Author: phate_phoenix
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Word Count: 3590
Rating/Contents: PG-13 / Spoilers for 6x20 - The Boy Who Would Be King ; Un-Beta’d
Summary: Castiel’s plan works. Life goes on for everyone, just a bit more boring than Dean would like.
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN
Author's Notes: This plot wouldn’t leave me alone. In order to get it out of my head and allow me to continue writing my Big Bangs, I had to write it down. XD Enjoy!
A month has passed since Dean last saw Castiel. A month since Dean spilled his heart-mostly-to the feathery bastard and had it thrown in his face. A month since Dean kinda threatened to kill him.
But it’s been hard to focus on that, no matter how much he wants to, because it’s been three weeks since the sky tore open over Middleton, Massachusetts (the locals called it a lightning storm for the ages), and opened the doors to Purgatory. Ever since, Dean and Sam had been traveling the country, following leads on heartless bodies and missing campers. Castiel and Crowley had succeeded, and now Dean and Sam were mopping up the mess.
Or, well, they should have been.
“Seriously, Bobby? Again?”
Dean glances over at Sam, tightening his hands on the steering wheel, and looks back at the road. Sam chuckles a little, and Dean can see him shake his head from the corner of his eye.
“I don’t know if that’s a good sign,” Sam says, “or a bad one.” Sam goes quiet, listening, and Dean frowns at the road again.
“Another monster mysteriously ganked before he got there?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at Sam.
Sam nods once, and then frowns down, attention back on Bobby’s voice. “I know nothing good ever comes from things like this,” he says, sighing. “But it’s not like they’re completely disappearing. You found the body of the vampire, right?” Sam pauses, and then nods. “So whatever’s going on, it is killing them. Are you sure it isn’t other hunters?”
Dean tunes out after that, because they’ve rehashed that conversation so many times he could have it with himself. In his sleep. It can’t be a hunter. Not unless there was one in every single town across the country, and all of them knew how to deal with every single thing that went bump in the night. Including a few things Dean had never faced down before. He’d guessed Crowley was behind it, but the demon wasn’t the type to just… kill a monster without a motive behind it.
Dean hates this, because it’s just like when the monsters started going screwy, except with less human casualties. Maybe Purgatory unleashed some monster-eating-monster. That’d be handy. Of course, when it ran out of monsters to kill, then it would turn to humans for its main meal, of course. That’s just how their lives worked.
“So,” Dean says as Sam hangs up the phone and he drives into the town of Sturgeon Lake, Minnesota, “what are the odds that this monster was toast before we even entered Minnesota?”
Sam scoffs. “Pretty good, I’d say,” he says, and Dean looks over at him. Sam shrugs. “Dean, we haven’t finished a monster hunt in at least two weeks,” he says. “Driven all over the place, to a bunch of different sightings, and every time the thing’s already dead.” Sam shakes his head, looking out the windshield. “I’ll be surprised if this wraith is still alive.”
Dean scowls, slouching in his seat. It feels stupid to want the monster to still be around, but Dean doesn’t know if he could do anything else anymore. “So, you want to check the morgue first?” he asks. “See if our monster’s been dropped off already?”
“Might as well,” Sam says. “We can check to see if the victims have holes going into their brains while we’re there.”
Dean can’t help the grin the slips onto his face. “Awesome.”
----
Not awesome.
“That poor woman,” the coroner is saying, shaking his head as he looks down at the corpse on his table. “Stabbed right in the heart.”
Dean glowers at the naked female body. There are thin burn marks on her wrists, and around the wound in the center of her chest. Sam clears his throat and Dean merely glares up at him.
So Sam looks at the coroner. “And you said it was… a mugging?”
“Oh, yes,” the balding man says. “She was missing her billfold, and there is evidence she was wearing a ring on her right ring finger which wasn’t at the scene of the crime or at her house.”
Dean smiles stiffly at the coroner. “Can I have a moment alone with my partner here, please?”
The coroner smiles, nodding as he takes a step back. “Of course! I’ll be right outside if you need anything, Agent Holt.”
Dean waits for the door to swing shut behind the man before he grabs Miss Wilson’s arm and lifts it. Sam pulls a pair of pliers from his suit pocket and pokes around the base of her palm.
“Alright, where is-ah, got it,” Sam says, slipping the end of the pliers inside a small hole and pulling. The wraith’s barb slips out, and Sam smiles. “Well, that was easy.”
“Great,” Dean says, still holding the arm. “Can we go to the hotel?”
Sam rolls his eyes, sliding the barb back inside and smoothing over the slit with his thumb. “You’re in a pissy mood.”
Dean sets the arm down and wipes his hands off on his pants. “I’m not pissy,” he grouches, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He watches Sam pull a Ziploc out of his pocket and seal the pliers inside them.
“No, my mistake,” Sam says as he drops the covered pliers into his pocket, “you’re a ray of sunshine.” He holds out his hands. “Seriously, what’s wrong? The monsters are still being killed and neither of us are risking our necks for it. This qualifies as a win-win, Dean.”
Dean glares at him. “Except we don’t know what’s killing them or why.”
Sam frowns back at him. “What do you want to do, Dean? There’s nothing there.” He shakes his head. “It’s like a hunter did it.”
“And that’s impossible,” Dean says, “because it’s happening everywhere.”
Sam stares at Dean, eyes narrowing. “Maybe…” He pauses, then scoffs, shaking his head. “Fine,” he says, “let’s just go.”
Before Dean can ask what the ‘maybe’ was about, Sam turns around and stalks through the doors. The coroner jumps when they slam open, and Dean rushes to catch up.
“Agent Austin?” he asks, blinking. “Did you find anything related to your case?”
“No,” Sam says, glaring over his shoulder at Dean. “It looks like a random act of violence. Sad, but normal.”
“But,” Dean snaps, shoving Sam lightly aside, drawing the coroner’s wide gaze, “we’re still investigating, so if we find anything else that might tie this case to ours, we’ll get in contact.”
“Of course!” the coroner says, smiling. “Whenever you need me.”
Dean smiles stiffly again. “Thanks,” he says, walking around him, “you’ve been a real help.”
Dean throws Sam’s several glares as they walk through the hospital and to the Impala, and Sam never stops scowling the whole way. It’s only when their inside the Impala and Dean’s started the engine does Sam finally turn to him again.
“Maybe,” he starts, slowly, “we could call Cas.”
Dean tenses, as if waiting for a blow. He grits his teeth and forces himself to relax. “No.”
Sam sighs, and Dean puts the Impala in drive. “Dean,” Sam says, and Dean glares at him from the corner of his eye. Sam keeps talking anyway. “Look, Castiel’s the one who opened Purgatory.” Dean grips the steering wheel tighter, stomach clenching when he thinks about it. “If anyone is going to know if something slipped free, it would be him.”
“No, Sam,” Dean snaps again, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road. “If he thought we needed to know, he’d beam himself in to tell us.”
Sam goes quiet in the next seat, and Dean glances at him. Sam’s face is pinched, brows furrowed, eyes wide and staring back. “Would he?” he asks, and Dean looks away again. “It’s not like we left it off on a great note.”
Dean shakes his head, chest aching. “No,” he says once more.
“What’s the worst that could happen” Sam asks as they pull onto the street where their hotel is. “Cas just not showing up?”
‘Yes,’ the traitorous voice answers in Dean’s head. ‘If he doesn’t come see them, then it really is over.’ He swallows, jaw clenching.
“Oh,” Sam says, softly. “Dean, he’ll show.”
Dean glares at him again, stopping the car outside the building. “Fuck you,” he growls, and jerks his head toward the front door. “You wanna talk to him so badly? Go call him yourself.”
Sam’s eyes soften, shoulders drooping. “Dean…”
Dean turns away, staring out the windshield. “I gotta put gas in the Impala,” he says stiffly.
Sam lingers for a moment, and then Dean sees him nod out of the corner of his eye. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll tell the front desk we’ll be leaving a few days earlier.”
“Awesome,” Dean drawls and ignores Sam’s sigh as he exits the Impala. The door slams shut, and Dean’s already driving away.
He’s halfway to the gas station he’d seen on the way into town before he starts feeling childish, or like a jilted lover trying to avoid contact with an ex. It’s stupid and immature, Dean thinks. But it’s not like he’s ever claimed to be a perfect adult. After all he’s been through, he deserves a bit of pouting and moping.
He pulls into the parking lot of the gas station and ends up having to do some interesting driving and turning in order to get to a pump because some asshole parked his dinky silver motorcycle at the first pump instead of pulling up. Dean’s mood gets worse when he sees that he has to put forty dollars worth a gas into the Impala, and it still isn’t even completely full.
“Fucking soul-sucking monsters,” he mumbles under his breath as he walks into the gas station. He glances around, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it over his shoulder, and wades into the isles of snack food. He snatches a few bags of gummies and jerky before grabbing a few bottles of water. Satisfied, he makes his way to the cash register.
And nearly drops everything.
“Three bottles of water, a chicken wrap, gas at pump one,” the cashier says to the man in line, smiling. “Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you,” Castiel says, adjusting the motorcycle helmet under his arm before handing the woman a few bills. Dean could recognize that voice anywhere, he thinks, having heard it in his dreams enough. His clothes were different though-no trench, no suit pants. Instead it was a leather biker jacket and blue jeans.
“Here’s your change,” the cashier says, holding out a bill and a few coins. “Do you want the receipt with you, or in the bag?”
“I’ll take it,” Castiel says in the raspy voice. He stuffs the coins, money, and receipt all in his pocket. “Thank you,” he says, grabbing his bag with his free arm and walking out of the gas station.
Dean can barely breathe as he rushes to the cashier, pushing all of his things onto the counter. The cashier raises an eyebrow at how frantic he is, but Dean only gives her quick glances, mostly staring at Castiel through the large windows at the front of the store.
“I, uh, I have gas at pump one,” he says, digging through his pockets and yanking out his wallet.
“Um, is… is this all?” the cashier asks and Dean nods, flipping open his wallet and pulling a fifty and a ten out. “That’ll be fifty-four eighty-six,” she says, and Dean slams the cash down on the counter as he grabs his bag.
“Keep the change!” he says, rushing to the door. “Throw away the receipt!”
“Have a nice day!” the cashier shouts after him, and Dean bolts through the door.
“Cas!” Dean calls as soon as he gets into the sunlight, and Cas freezes beside the silver motorcycle, bag still clutched in his hand. He turns around, slowly, and his blue eyes narrow when they spot him.
“Dean?” he asks, just as Dean slows to a stop in front of him. Cas jerks back, shaking his head. “Dean. What are… How did you find me?”
Dean shakes his head, can’t help the smile on his face. “I didn’t,” he says, setting his bag of snacks by his feet. “Just… got lucky.” He blinks, and then frowns. “What are you doing here?” He looks down at the bag in Cas’s hand. “Buying water? Riding a motorcycle?”
Cas swallows, setting his helmet and bag on his seat. He then faces Dean, arms hanging by his sides. “It’s part of my agreement with the other angels,” he says. He gestures around them. “I stay on Earth a human instead of being put to death, which is what my partnership with Crowley would usually require.”
Dean stares at him. “You… fell?” he says at last.
Cas nods, smiling a little. “Yes,” he says. He looks away briefly. “They’re learning mercy,” he says. “And of repaying their debts.” He shoots Dean a proud grin. “I did kill Raphael.”
Dean raises his eyebrows. “You did? You won?”
“Of course,” Cas says, eyes narrowing. “There was a reason I worked with Crowley, Dean.”
Dean feels his gut freeze again, and he clears his throat, looking away. “So, uh,” he starts, looking back at Cas, forcing his mind away from that still-sore wound, “how long have you been…?”
“Human?” Cas offers, and Dean nods. “For just over two weeks now,” he says, and smirks. “I think I’m doing well.”
Dean blinks, and then looks down at the motorcycle Cas is so proudly standing beside. He recognizes the make and model, remembering wanting one of his own when he was younger. And stupid. “A Honda Pacific Coast?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “The station wagon of motorcycles, Cas. Nice.”
He’s not expecting Cas to punch him in the arm, or just how fucking hard he’ll do it. Dean jumps back, yelping. “Ow! The fuck?”
Cas just smirks back at him. “The man who gave this to me said that I was to punch anyone who insulted her.”
Dean chuckles weakly, rubbing at where there’s bound to be a bruise later. “Some guy gave this to you?” he asks, frowning. He raises an eyebrow. “You have terrible people skills. How’d you manage that?”
“I saved him from a werewolf,” Cas says, “during my first day as a human.” He turns to his motorcycle, lifting up the passenger seat, just over the wheel, and hauls out a bag that clanks when he sets it on the ground. “Andrew was grateful, and asked if there was anything I needed.” Cas pulls out a small metal box and opens it. He fishes out the change from his pocket and drops it inside before closing the lid. He then puts it back inside the trunk of the motorcycle. “I told him I needed transportation, and he gave me her.”
Dean smiles stiffly. “So… you’re hunting?” he asks. “Alone?”
Cas frowns at him, nodding. “I just killed a Wraith in this town,” he says, and Dean’s eyes widen. Cas glowers. “What else would you expect me to do?” he asks, hoisting the bag of what Dean assumes are knives and guns back into the trunk. “I am made for this, Dean. I want to die doing this.”
Dean swallows. “That’s morbid,” he mumbles.
“But true,” Cas says, stuffing two of the water bottles into the trunk before closing it. He leans back against the motorcycle, taking the small half-sandwich-half-burrito from the plastic bag and unwrapping the plastic wrap from it. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing at Dean. “There’s something else you want to ask me,” he says, and takes a bite of his wrap.
Dean is stunned momentarily by the sight of Cas eating, needing to eat, that he doesn’t answer for a moment. Then he clears his throat again, and looks away. “You wouldn’t happen to know how all the monsters are dying around here, would you?”
“Angels,” Cas says, mouth still full of food. Dean can’t help but feel a little endeared by the usually disgusting sight. “I gave Balthazar the idea to make the angels live amongst the humans for a few weeks, killing the creatures we let loose from Purgatory.” He smirks, looking down at his wrap. “Make them fight for humanity, make them see free will, make them want it for themselves.”
Dean stares at him, and he knows that Sam is going to give him shit for this when he finds out. He shrugs that thought off and crosses his arms. “Is it working?”
“I have no idea,” Cas says, taking another bite. He looks up at Dean, pieces of lettuce sticking out from his mouth. “I haven’t been in contact with any of my brothers since I fell.”
And there it is, Dean thinks, that weight that settles in his gut. He blinks, looking away from Cas. “Cas…” he starts and then pauses, frustrated. He narrows his eyes at him. “Why didn’t you call us?”
Cas raises his eyebrow at him, chewing. “I remember us having a falling out of sorts,” he says, words muffled by the food. He swallows, looking to the side. “I… assumed none of you would want to see me.”
Dean grits his teeth, wanting to say that it wasn’t true, that they would have taken him in. That he was family. But he… he isn’t sure.
Cas nods, staring at his wrap, and starts folding the plastic wrap around it again. “I’d better get moving,” Cas says, reaching around and putting the wrap into a small saddlebag on his motorcycle. Dean’s chest clenches as Cas turns back to face him. “Not only are we taking up two gas pumps,” he says, “but the angels will be returning to Heaven within the week, so there will be more monsters to hunt.” He lifts his helmet up and looks down at it, quiet. “It was… good to see you again, Dean,” he says, gently, and moves to put the helmet on.
“Wait!” Dean says, reaching out and grabbing Cas’s arm. “I haven’t… I… There’s something you need to know.”
Cas blinks, lowering his arms. “Yes?” he says, and there’s a faint hopeful tone to his voice.
Dean smiles.
“I didn’t mean what I said back at Bobby’s,” he blurts, “about you being my brother.”
Cas’s face falls, and then goes stony. “I see,” he says, utterly expressionless, and looks down at Dean’s hand still wrapped around his arm. “If that’s all?”
“Fuck,” Dean says, grabbing him tighter. “No. I didn’t mean that. Not like that.”
“Then say it,” Cas snaps, setting his helmet down harshly. He glares at Dean. “Humans can’t speak, it’s always getting twisted in their mouths because they’re trying to make whatever they’re saying sound more impressive than it is, when it would be just as fine said plainly-”
Dean reaches out and pulls Cas to him, kissing him. Dean keeps his eyes open, watching Cas’s expression morph from shock, blue yes wide and mouth still, to bewilderment, brows furrowing as he searches Dean’s face, and finally to contentment, eyes brightening and mouth returning the gentle kiss. Cas’s eyes slide shut and he leans against Dean, sighing against his mouth. When Dean pulls away, his eyes slip open again, dazed, bright, and he smiles wider than Dean’s ever seen him smile before.
“Oh,” Cas says, staring at Dean.
Dean smiles back. “That plain enough?” he says, laughter in his words.
Cas blinks, and then his smile takes on a twist that makes Dean’s pulse race. “You know me,” Cas says, softly, and slides forward. “I’ll need it reiterated. In… different styles.”
“Holy shit,” Dean breathes, and swallows. He smiles weakly and presses another quick kiss to Cas’s lips. “Later, oh, definitely later,” he says, and steps away. Cas just smirks at him before turning back to his motorcycle, picking up his helmet again. Dean’s gut clenches.
“Cas,” he says, and Cas raises his eyes to him. Dean gestures to the Impala behind him. “We’ve got plenty of room in the backseat…”
Cas raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said later?”
Dean flushes and tries to clear his mind of the onslaught of images that flood his mind. “Yeah, uh,” he says dully, and then sees Cas’s smirk. He scowls. “You know what I mean.”
Cas nods. “I know,” he says, “but I prefer this.” He smiles down at the motorcycle. “It makes me feel like I’m flying.”
Dean watches him for a moment longer, and then nods. “Okay.”
Cas then pulls his helmet on and mounts his motorcycle, and Dean hadn’t even known that was a kink of his. “You lead, Dean,” Cas says, voice muffled by the helmet. “I’ll follow.”
Dean nods, grabbing his bag of snacks and rushing into the Impala. He starts the engine and honks the horn as Cas fires up his own motor in a low roar. As Dean drives away from the pump and Cas follows behind him, Dean can’t help but think that they aren’t fixed yet, no matter how much he wants them to be. It still hurts, inside, from Cas’s lies, and he wonders if Cas will ever forget some of things they’d said to him that night they’d surrounded him with holy fire. No, they’re still wrong, misshapen, broken. But it’s a start to putting their family back together.
All of them.
Author: phate_phoenix
Pairing: Castiel/Dean
Word Count: 3590
Rating/Contents: PG-13 / Spoilers for 6x20 - The Boy Who Would Be King ; Un-Beta’d
Summary: Castiel’s plan works. Life goes on for everyone, just a bit more boring than Dean would like.
Disclaimer: DO NOT OWN
Author's Notes: This plot wouldn’t leave me alone. In order to get it out of my head and allow me to continue writing my Big Bangs, I had to write it down. XD Enjoy!
A month has passed since Dean last saw Castiel. A month since Dean spilled his heart-mostly-to the feathery bastard and had it thrown in his face. A month since Dean kinda threatened to kill him.
But it’s been hard to focus on that, no matter how much he wants to, because it’s been three weeks since the sky tore open over Middleton, Massachusetts (the locals called it a lightning storm for the ages), and opened the doors to Purgatory. Ever since, Dean and Sam had been traveling the country, following leads on heartless bodies and missing campers. Castiel and Crowley had succeeded, and now Dean and Sam were mopping up the mess.
Or, well, they should have been.
“Seriously, Bobby? Again?”
Dean glances over at Sam, tightening his hands on the steering wheel, and looks back at the road. Sam chuckles a little, and Dean can see him shake his head from the corner of his eye.
“I don’t know if that’s a good sign,” Sam says, “or a bad one.” Sam goes quiet, listening, and Dean frowns at the road again.
“Another monster mysteriously ganked before he got there?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow at Sam.
Sam nods once, and then frowns down, attention back on Bobby’s voice. “I know nothing good ever comes from things like this,” he says, sighing. “But it’s not like they’re completely disappearing. You found the body of the vampire, right?” Sam pauses, and then nods. “So whatever’s going on, it is killing them. Are you sure it isn’t other hunters?”
Dean tunes out after that, because they’ve rehashed that conversation so many times he could have it with himself. In his sleep. It can’t be a hunter. Not unless there was one in every single town across the country, and all of them knew how to deal with every single thing that went bump in the night. Including a few things Dean had never faced down before. He’d guessed Crowley was behind it, but the demon wasn’t the type to just… kill a monster without a motive behind it.
Dean hates this, because it’s just like when the monsters started going screwy, except with less human casualties. Maybe Purgatory unleashed some monster-eating-monster. That’d be handy. Of course, when it ran out of monsters to kill, then it would turn to humans for its main meal, of course. That’s just how their lives worked.
“So,” Dean says as Sam hangs up the phone and he drives into the town of Sturgeon Lake, Minnesota, “what are the odds that this monster was toast before we even entered Minnesota?”
Sam scoffs. “Pretty good, I’d say,” he says, and Dean looks over at him. Sam shrugs. “Dean, we haven’t finished a monster hunt in at least two weeks,” he says. “Driven all over the place, to a bunch of different sightings, and every time the thing’s already dead.” Sam shakes his head, looking out the windshield. “I’ll be surprised if this wraith is still alive.”
Dean scowls, slouching in his seat. It feels stupid to want the monster to still be around, but Dean doesn’t know if he could do anything else anymore. “So, you want to check the morgue first?” he asks. “See if our monster’s been dropped off already?”
“Might as well,” Sam says. “We can check to see if the victims have holes going into their brains while we’re there.”
Dean can’t help the grin the slips onto his face. “Awesome.”
----
Not awesome.
“That poor woman,” the coroner is saying, shaking his head as he looks down at the corpse on his table. “Stabbed right in the heart.”
Dean glowers at the naked female body. There are thin burn marks on her wrists, and around the wound in the center of her chest. Sam clears his throat and Dean merely glares up at him.
So Sam looks at the coroner. “And you said it was… a mugging?”
“Oh, yes,” the balding man says. “She was missing her billfold, and there is evidence she was wearing a ring on her right ring finger which wasn’t at the scene of the crime or at her house.”
Dean smiles stiffly at the coroner. “Can I have a moment alone with my partner here, please?”
The coroner smiles, nodding as he takes a step back. “Of course! I’ll be right outside if you need anything, Agent Holt.”
Dean waits for the door to swing shut behind the man before he grabs Miss Wilson’s arm and lifts it. Sam pulls a pair of pliers from his suit pocket and pokes around the base of her palm.
“Alright, where is-ah, got it,” Sam says, slipping the end of the pliers inside a small hole and pulling. The wraith’s barb slips out, and Sam smiles. “Well, that was easy.”
“Great,” Dean says, still holding the arm. “Can we go to the hotel?”
Sam rolls his eyes, sliding the barb back inside and smoothing over the slit with his thumb. “You’re in a pissy mood.”
Dean sets the arm down and wipes his hands off on his pants. “I’m not pissy,” he grouches, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He watches Sam pull a Ziploc out of his pocket and seal the pliers inside them.
“No, my mistake,” Sam says as he drops the covered pliers into his pocket, “you’re a ray of sunshine.” He holds out his hands. “Seriously, what’s wrong? The monsters are still being killed and neither of us are risking our necks for it. This qualifies as a win-win, Dean.”
Dean glares at him. “Except we don’t know what’s killing them or why.”
Sam frowns back at him. “What do you want to do, Dean? There’s nothing there.” He shakes his head. “It’s like a hunter did it.”
“And that’s impossible,” Dean says, “because it’s happening everywhere.”
Sam stares at Dean, eyes narrowing. “Maybe…” He pauses, then scoffs, shaking his head. “Fine,” he says, “let’s just go.”
Before Dean can ask what the ‘maybe’ was about, Sam turns around and stalks through the doors. The coroner jumps when they slam open, and Dean rushes to catch up.
“Agent Austin?” he asks, blinking. “Did you find anything related to your case?”
“No,” Sam says, glaring over his shoulder at Dean. “It looks like a random act of violence. Sad, but normal.”
“But,” Dean snaps, shoving Sam lightly aside, drawing the coroner’s wide gaze, “we’re still investigating, so if we find anything else that might tie this case to ours, we’ll get in contact.”
“Of course!” the coroner says, smiling. “Whenever you need me.”
Dean smiles stiffly again. “Thanks,” he says, walking around him, “you’ve been a real help.”
Dean throws Sam’s several glares as they walk through the hospital and to the Impala, and Sam never stops scowling the whole way. It’s only when their inside the Impala and Dean’s started the engine does Sam finally turn to him again.
“Maybe,” he starts, slowly, “we could call Cas.”
Dean tenses, as if waiting for a blow. He grits his teeth and forces himself to relax. “No.”
Sam sighs, and Dean puts the Impala in drive. “Dean,” Sam says, and Dean glares at him from the corner of his eye. Sam keeps talking anyway. “Look, Castiel’s the one who opened Purgatory.” Dean grips the steering wheel tighter, stomach clenching when he thinks about it. “If anyone is going to know if something slipped free, it would be him.”
“No, Sam,” Dean snaps again, forcing himself to keep his eyes on the road. “If he thought we needed to know, he’d beam himself in to tell us.”
Sam goes quiet in the next seat, and Dean glances at him. Sam’s face is pinched, brows furrowed, eyes wide and staring back. “Would he?” he asks, and Dean looks away again. “It’s not like we left it off on a great note.”
Dean shakes his head, chest aching. “No,” he says once more.
“What’s the worst that could happen” Sam asks as they pull onto the street where their hotel is. “Cas just not showing up?”
‘Yes,’ the traitorous voice answers in Dean’s head. ‘If he doesn’t come see them, then it really is over.’ He swallows, jaw clenching.
“Oh,” Sam says, softly. “Dean, he’ll show.”
Dean glares at him again, stopping the car outside the building. “Fuck you,” he growls, and jerks his head toward the front door. “You wanna talk to him so badly? Go call him yourself.”
Sam’s eyes soften, shoulders drooping. “Dean…”
Dean turns away, staring out the windshield. “I gotta put gas in the Impala,” he says stiffly.
Sam lingers for a moment, and then Dean sees him nod out of the corner of his eye. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll tell the front desk we’ll be leaving a few days earlier.”
“Awesome,” Dean drawls and ignores Sam’s sigh as he exits the Impala. The door slams shut, and Dean’s already driving away.
He’s halfway to the gas station he’d seen on the way into town before he starts feeling childish, or like a jilted lover trying to avoid contact with an ex. It’s stupid and immature, Dean thinks. But it’s not like he’s ever claimed to be a perfect adult. After all he’s been through, he deserves a bit of pouting and moping.
He pulls into the parking lot of the gas station and ends up having to do some interesting driving and turning in order to get to a pump because some asshole parked his dinky silver motorcycle at the first pump instead of pulling up. Dean’s mood gets worse when he sees that he has to put forty dollars worth a gas into the Impala, and it still isn’t even completely full.
“Fucking soul-sucking monsters,” he mumbles under his breath as he walks into the gas station. He glances around, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it over his shoulder, and wades into the isles of snack food. He snatches a few bags of gummies and jerky before grabbing a few bottles of water. Satisfied, he makes his way to the cash register.
And nearly drops everything.
“Three bottles of water, a chicken wrap, gas at pump one,” the cashier says to the man in line, smiling. “Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you,” Castiel says, adjusting the motorcycle helmet under his arm before handing the woman a few bills. Dean could recognize that voice anywhere, he thinks, having heard it in his dreams enough. His clothes were different though-no trench, no suit pants. Instead it was a leather biker jacket and blue jeans.
“Here’s your change,” the cashier says, holding out a bill and a few coins. “Do you want the receipt with you, or in the bag?”
“I’ll take it,” Castiel says in the raspy voice. He stuffs the coins, money, and receipt all in his pocket. “Thank you,” he says, grabbing his bag with his free arm and walking out of the gas station.
Dean can barely breathe as he rushes to the cashier, pushing all of his things onto the counter. The cashier raises an eyebrow at how frantic he is, but Dean only gives her quick glances, mostly staring at Castiel through the large windows at the front of the store.
“I, uh, I have gas at pump one,” he says, digging through his pockets and yanking out his wallet.
“Um, is… is this all?” the cashier asks and Dean nods, flipping open his wallet and pulling a fifty and a ten out. “That’ll be fifty-four eighty-six,” she says, and Dean slams the cash down on the counter as he grabs his bag.
“Keep the change!” he says, rushing to the door. “Throw away the receipt!”
“Have a nice day!” the cashier shouts after him, and Dean bolts through the door.
“Cas!” Dean calls as soon as he gets into the sunlight, and Cas freezes beside the silver motorcycle, bag still clutched in his hand. He turns around, slowly, and his blue eyes narrow when they spot him.
“Dean?” he asks, just as Dean slows to a stop in front of him. Cas jerks back, shaking his head. “Dean. What are… How did you find me?”
Dean shakes his head, can’t help the smile on his face. “I didn’t,” he says, setting his bag of snacks by his feet. “Just… got lucky.” He blinks, and then frowns. “What are you doing here?” He looks down at the bag in Cas’s hand. “Buying water? Riding a motorcycle?”
Cas swallows, setting his helmet and bag on his seat. He then faces Dean, arms hanging by his sides. “It’s part of my agreement with the other angels,” he says. He gestures around them. “I stay on Earth a human instead of being put to death, which is what my partnership with Crowley would usually require.”
Dean stares at him. “You… fell?” he says at last.
Cas nods, smiling a little. “Yes,” he says. He looks away briefly. “They’re learning mercy,” he says. “And of repaying their debts.” He shoots Dean a proud grin. “I did kill Raphael.”
Dean raises his eyebrows. “You did? You won?”
“Of course,” Cas says, eyes narrowing. “There was a reason I worked with Crowley, Dean.”
Dean feels his gut freeze again, and he clears his throat, looking away. “So, uh,” he starts, looking back at Cas, forcing his mind away from that still-sore wound, “how long have you been…?”
“Human?” Cas offers, and Dean nods. “For just over two weeks now,” he says, and smirks. “I think I’m doing well.”
Dean blinks, and then looks down at the motorcycle Cas is so proudly standing beside. He recognizes the make and model, remembering wanting one of his own when he was younger. And stupid. “A Honda Pacific Coast?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “The station wagon of motorcycles, Cas. Nice.”
He’s not expecting Cas to punch him in the arm, or just how fucking hard he’ll do it. Dean jumps back, yelping. “Ow! The fuck?”
Cas just smirks back at him. “The man who gave this to me said that I was to punch anyone who insulted her.”
Dean chuckles weakly, rubbing at where there’s bound to be a bruise later. “Some guy gave this to you?” he asks, frowning. He raises an eyebrow. “You have terrible people skills. How’d you manage that?”
“I saved him from a werewolf,” Cas says, “during my first day as a human.” He turns to his motorcycle, lifting up the passenger seat, just over the wheel, and hauls out a bag that clanks when he sets it on the ground. “Andrew was grateful, and asked if there was anything I needed.” Cas pulls out a small metal box and opens it. He fishes out the change from his pocket and drops it inside before closing the lid. He then puts it back inside the trunk of the motorcycle. “I told him I needed transportation, and he gave me her.”
Dean smiles stiffly. “So… you’re hunting?” he asks. “Alone?”
Cas frowns at him, nodding. “I just killed a Wraith in this town,” he says, and Dean’s eyes widen. Cas glowers. “What else would you expect me to do?” he asks, hoisting the bag of what Dean assumes are knives and guns back into the trunk. “I am made for this, Dean. I want to die doing this.”
Dean swallows. “That’s morbid,” he mumbles.
“But true,” Cas says, stuffing two of the water bottles into the trunk before closing it. He leans back against the motorcycle, taking the small half-sandwich-half-burrito from the plastic bag and unwrapping the plastic wrap from it. He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing at Dean. “There’s something else you want to ask me,” he says, and takes a bite of his wrap.
Dean is stunned momentarily by the sight of Cas eating, needing to eat, that he doesn’t answer for a moment. Then he clears his throat again, and looks away. “You wouldn’t happen to know how all the monsters are dying around here, would you?”
“Angels,” Cas says, mouth still full of food. Dean can’t help but feel a little endeared by the usually disgusting sight. “I gave Balthazar the idea to make the angels live amongst the humans for a few weeks, killing the creatures we let loose from Purgatory.” He smirks, looking down at his wrap. “Make them fight for humanity, make them see free will, make them want it for themselves.”
Dean stares at him, and he knows that Sam is going to give him shit for this when he finds out. He shrugs that thought off and crosses his arms. “Is it working?”
“I have no idea,” Cas says, taking another bite. He looks up at Dean, pieces of lettuce sticking out from his mouth. “I haven’t been in contact with any of my brothers since I fell.”
And there it is, Dean thinks, that weight that settles in his gut. He blinks, looking away from Cas. “Cas…” he starts and then pauses, frustrated. He narrows his eyes at him. “Why didn’t you call us?”
Cas raises his eyebrow at him, chewing. “I remember us having a falling out of sorts,” he says, words muffled by the food. He swallows, looking to the side. “I… assumed none of you would want to see me.”
Dean grits his teeth, wanting to say that it wasn’t true, that they would have taken him in. That he was family. But he… he isn’t sure.
Cas nods, staring at his wrap, and starts folding the plastic wrap around it again. “I’d better get moving,” Cas says, reaching around and putting the wrap into a small saddlebag on his motorcycle. Dean’s chest clenches as Cas turns back to face him. “Not only are we taking up two gas pumps,” he says, “but the angels will be returning to Heaven within the week, so there will be more monsters to hunt.” He lifts his helmet up and looks down at it, quiet. “It was… good to see you again, Dean,” he says, gently, and moves to put the helmet on.
“Wait!” Dean says, reaching out and grabbing Cas’s arm. “I haven’t… I… There’s something you need to know.”
Cas blinks, lowering his arms. “Yes?” he says, and there’s a faint hopeful tone to his voice.
Dean smiles.
“I didn’t mean what I said back at Bobby’s,” he blurts, “about you being my brother.”
Cas’s face falls, and then goes stony. “I see,” he says, utterly expressionless, and looks down at Dean’s hand still wrapped around his arm. “If that’s all?”
“Fuck,” Dean says, grabbing him tighter. “No. I didn’t mean that. Not like that.”
“Then say it,” Cas snaps, setting his helmet down harshly. He glares at Dean. “Humans can’t speak, it’s always getting twisted in their mouths because they’re trying to make whatever they’re saying sound more impressive than it is, when it would be just as fine said plainly-”
Dean reaches out and pulls Cas to him, kissing him. Dean keeps his eyes open, watching Cas’s expression morph from shock, blue yes wide and mouth still, to bewilderment, brows furrowing as he searches Dean’s face, and finally to contentment, eyes brightening and mouth returning the gentle kiss. Cas’s eyes slide shut and he leans against Dean, sighing against his mouth. When Dean pulls away, his eyes slip open again, dazed, bright, and he smiles wider than Dean’s ever seen him smile before.
“Oh,” Cas says, staring at Dean.
Dean smiles back. “That plain enough?” he says, laughter in his words.
Cas blinks, and then his smile takes on a twist that makes Dean’s pulse race. “You know me,” Cas says, softly, and slides forward. “I’ll need it reiterated. In… different styles.”
“Holy shit,” Dean breathes, and swallows. He smiles weakly and presses another quick kiss to Cas’s lips. “Later, oh, definitely later,” he says, and steps away. Cas just smirks at him before turning back to his motorcycle, picking up his helmet again. Dean’s gut clenches.
“Cas,” he says, and Cas raises his eyes to him. Dean gestures to the Impala behind him. “We’ve got plenty of room in the backseat…”
Cas raises an eyebrow. “I thought you said later?”
Dean flushes and tries to clear his mind of the onslaught of images that flood his mind. “Yeah, uh,” he says dully, and then sees Cas’s smirk. He scowls. “You know what I mean.”
Cas nods. “I know,” he says, “but I prefer this.” He smiles down at the motorcycle. “It makes me feel like I’m flying.”
Dean watches him for a moment longer, and then nods. “Okay.”
Cas then pulls his helmet on and mounts his motorcycle, and Dean hadn’t even known that was a kink of his. “You lead, Dean,” Cas says, voice muffled by the helmet. “I’ll follow.”
Dean nods, grabbing his bag of snacks and rushing into the Impala. He starts the engine and honks the horn as Cas fires up his own motor in a low roar. As Dean drives away from the pump and Cas follows behind him, Dean can’t help but think that they aren’t fixed yet, no matter how much he wants them to be. It still hurts, inside, from Cas’s lies, and he wonders if Cas will ever forget some of things they’d said to him that night they’d surrounded him with holy fire. No, they’re still wrong, misshapen, broken. But it’s a start to putting their family back together.
All of them.