Fic: 'For Love is Strong as Death', 5/?

[sakuri69]

Title: For Love is Strong as Death

Characters/Pairings: TFW. Sam/Gabe, eventual Dean/Cas slash.

Summary: Four months after the apocalypse that wasn’t, Sam, Castiel and Gabriel are brought back to life at the same time and place, leaving Sam to deal with two suddenly human angels and the fact that he can never see his brother again...

Masterpost


Bobby started looking into the angels’ little problem the very next day. He enlisted Sam to help him sort through the books he already had at hand in the study, identifying and setting aside all those that might contain anything even remotely related to angelic lore. After that, all there was to do was sit down and painstakingly sift through it all.

Sam couldn’t actually remember seeing Dean volunteer for research so enthusiastically in his life - though it didn’t take him long to realise that it was only because his brother was hoping to give Gabriel back his powers as soon as possible, so that the archangel could be on his merry way that much faster. It wasn’t a noble effort by any means, but Sam still felt a little guilty that he didn’t share the same enthusiasm as he worked his way through his own stack of books. Truth was, he’d grown kind of... accustomed to Gabriel’s invasive, irritating presence. It’d be weird when he didn’t have a reason to stick around anymore.

So they read. And read. And read some more. When they actually started to run out of books, Bobby resorted to calling up contacts of his who might be able to help, and made Dean drive into town a couple of days later to pick up the new texts that had been dropped off in a storage locker there. Then, increasingly desperate, they’d even persuaded Crowley to do a little asking around within demonic circles. He’d refused point blank to begin with, even with the litany of growled abuse Bobby had given him, but then Gabriel quietly said something to him and the demon was gone like a shot.

Suspicious, Sam pulled the archangel aside afterwards.

“Please tell me you didn’t just give him your soul.”

“I’m an angel. Technically I don’t have a soul to give.”

“...Please tell me you didn’t just give him any of our souls.”

“Actually I promised to give him all the dirt I ever had on your brother. His man-crush on Dr Sexy is top of the list, by the way.”

Sam snorted. “Hell, if he comes back with something good, I’ll tell him about the time Dean shrieked at a cat myself.”

But Crowley didn’t come back with anything good. He came back as clueless and empty handed as they were, even after a week of solid research. All they could reasonably conclude was that nothing similar had ever happened to another angel before - or, if it had, it’d never been documented.

So yeah. Newsflash: Cas and Gabriel were special.

“Maybe you just need more time to heal,” Sam offered resignedly once again, when it became clear that they’d at last run out of research options.

He glanced around the study at his companions. Gabriel was perched on Bobby’s desk, his heels kicking idly against the wood. Castiel stood with his back to the wall, fixedly watching Dean spin himself around in a computer chair, a book balanced precariously on his forehead. It was safe to say they’d all become a little discouraged.

When no one responded to him, Sam tried again, making a vague and helpless sort of hand gesture. “Maybe Grace takes a while to, yanno... regenerate.”

Dean made a sceptical sound, finally sitting up straight and allowing the book to drop into his waiting hands. “Or maybe they’re just human now, and that’s the end of it.”

Behind him, Castiel flinched involuntarily.

Gabriel scowled. “Nice, Deano. What happened - you were too busy standing in line for second helpings of dumbass luck while they were handing out tact?”

Apparently even Dean realised he’d overstepped a line, as he grunted a reluctant apology.

Sam sighed. “Look, how about we give the heavy-duty study sessions a break for now, since they don’t actually seem to be helping us any. Okay?” As it happened, he personally considered it a minor miracle that Gabriel and Dean had been able to work together for so long without one or both of them resorting to violence, so he was all for not pushing their luck any further than necessary.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean muttered, pushing himself up from his chair. “I’ll be outside if anyone needs me.”

Sam watched his brother stalk from the room, wondering absently if it was too soon after their reunion to be needing a break from Dean’s issues.

xxx

Dean spent a good two hours out in the yard tampering with the Impala’s engine. There was nothing on her that actually needed fixing, of course. Dean treated his baby far too good for that. But sometimes she provided a great excuse for a little alone time.

Still, he shouldn’t actually need alone time, he reminded himself angrily. He’d spent five months wishing for nothing but the return of the people he’d just left back inside (well, except maybe Gabriel). It was just...

Well, it turned out that ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ wasn’t exactly the bullshit sentimental drivel that Dean had always thought it. And Cas had been pretty damn absent for a long time. It made hanging out with him all day every day sort of... difficult. At least if he was at all hoping to get through another evening without unexpectedly jumping the angel.

Suddenly frustrated, he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. He wasn’t even gay, for fuck’s sake. Never in his life had he felt any particular need to get it on with another guy. He was just... having something of a minor midlife crisis, was all. Okay, alright, fine - he might have had a few questionable moments in the past (the panties incident sprang to mind, along with the occasional mild crush on decidedly male actors), but this was different. This was Cas, the only real friend he’d ever had who wasn’t Sam, and he couldn’t chance screwing that up. Especially when Cas still had something so weirdly innocent going for him. He deserved better than Dean’s personal brand of corruption. Dude was still a virgin, for Christ’s sake...

...Unless of course he’d gone and done something to change that fact in the past month, with only Sam and Gabriel to watch out for him, neither of whom could have done as good a job as Dean would. He glared at the interior of the Impala’s engine, trying to ignore the sharp pang of hostility that shot through him at the thought that they might have let Cas sleep with some random chick who wouldn’t even have known anything about him (along with the memory of his own disastrous attempt to orchestrate the very same thing back at the whorehouse that one time. Seriously. What the fuck had he been thinking?)

Annoyed at himself, he slammed the hood shut with more force than strictly necessary, and, pausing only to mutter a sheepish apology to his baby, he admitted defeat and slouched back towards the house.

And completely in keeping with the craptastic run of irony Dean had been noticing lately, Cas was the only one present in the living room when he wandered in. The angel was perched comfortably at one end of the couch, his legs curled up under him with a book in his lap. Dean wouldn’t have thought he’d ever see the day when Castiel unbent enough to sit like that. It was stupidly endearing.

“Hey,” he greeted awkwardly, hovering. “Where is everybody?”

Castiel glanced up at him complacently. “Against all advice, Bobby is currently playing chess with the demon in his study. And as for your brother, Gabriel said something to him about a ‘google’ and a ‘youtube’, and they’ve been upstairs ever since. They took the laptop.”

Dean took an automatic step towards the stairs, already entertaining half-formed thoughts of forcefully reminding Gabriel exactly what he’d said about not being alone with Sam - but then he caught himself, realising the pointlessness of doing so. Not only was Gabriel a persistent little shit who’d find a way to do exactly what Dean said not to if it killed him, he’d also been effectively alone with Sam for more than a month already. If the archangel was ever going to succeed in corrupting his brother, he’d have done it by now.

“Screw it...” Sighing with annoyance, he looked around for a distraction. The TV was off, so he grabbed the remote and hit power, carelessly dropping down onto the couch next to Cas. The angel bounced slightly with the impact, but didn’t react except to calmly turn a page in his book. It wasn’t research, Dean was thankful to see, but one of those long-winded so called ‘classics’ that Sam read sometimes. Dean eyed it, making a mental note to introduce Cas to sci-fi some time.

He flipped channels for a few minutes, not paying any real attention to the shows he passed by, but content just to sit for a while. He kept one arm thrown along the back of the couch, stretched out towards Cas but careful never to accidentally touch. Castiel continued to read peacefully, undisturbed.

After a while, Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Cas. Listen. I really am sorry about earlier. Yanno, for saying you might be stuck like this.”

Castiel glanced across at him, considering, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a possibility I should come to terms with, I suppose.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have-”

“Truly, Dean. It’s alright.” Castiel tipped his head wryly. “You’ve said far more thoughtless things in the past and I’ve forgiven you even when you haven’t apologised.”

He winced. “...Oh.” Well that just made him feel so much better about the whole thing.

“There is something I wanted to ask you, however.” He closed his book, tapping the cover nervously.

Dean shrugged, flipping a few more channels. “Shoot.”

“Can we stay with you?”

He glanced across at the angel, uncomprehending. “What?”

Cas studied his hands. “Gabriel and I, that is. If this condition is... permanent. It’s just that I’m not sure we’d have anywhere to go if...”

Dean slowly swivelled around to face the angel, one knee bent and resting on the cushions. “Cas, come on. Seriously? As if you have to ask.” He paused. “Well, no, Gabriel might have to ask. Gabriel might have to fucking beg if he doesn’t wanna get left at the side of the road somewhere. But you... You’re like family, man. Course you’re coming with.”

The angel blinked like he was surprised, and then did that thing where he was suddenly wearing an expression of warm affection, without ever actually having moved a facial muscle. “Thank you.”

Dean flushed slightly and looked away. “S’fine. Not a big deal. And anyway,” he added, aiming for cheerful, “if that’s our worst case scenario, it’s not so bad. Is it? I mean, we could get started showing you all the good parts of being human-”

Castiel stopped him with a look. “Dean. No more brothels, please.”

And okay, that might have come as a small relief to hear, though it was probably just about the last thing he’d been about to suggest. He made a show of nodding thoughtfully, allowing his channel hopping to settle on a rerun of America’s Next Top Model. “Well, if you’re sure...”

“I am. Besides,” he added, intently watching Dean watch the catwalk models onscreen, “I’m not sure I have quite the same... appreciation for women that you do.”

Dean blinked, making an effort to tear his gaze away from the pretty girls who even now caught his attention, to frown confusedly at the angel for a moment or two. Then, as he finally caught on to what Cas was trying to say, his eyebrows shot suddenly towards his hairline. “Wait. You, uh- You mean you’re...?”

Castiel smiled self-deprecatingly, then seemed to hesitate. “Will that be a problem? I know humans sometimes harbour misgivings about certain tendencies.”

“Problem-? No! No. God no.” He blinked some more. Was he actually... hearing this? Castiel really did mean what Dean thought he meant, right? He had just admitted to crushing on guys rather than girls, and Dean wasn’t just losing his freaking mind to wishful thinking, right?!

There was a small chance he was panicking.

But Cas still looked a little uncertain over Dean’s reaction, so he managed to scrape together enough presence of mind to add, “Seriously, it’s uh... It’s cool. I spent a whole two years convinced Sammy swung that way back when we were teenagers. I kind of made my peace with it then.”

Castiel smiled again, though this time there was some private amusement in the expression. “You may wish to keep in mind that sort of forbearance in the days to come.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing of importance.”

Dean probably would have pushed the matter any other time, but currently he was too distracted in staring at Cas like it was the first time he’d ever seen him properly. He felt ridiculously pleased that the angel had told him, as if it was some kind of privilege or something, and not the chick-flick moment it so obviously actually was.

And just like that, in a brief, shining moment of bad judgement, all of Dean’s good intentions went straight out the window. He completely forgot, for a second, the whole spiel about Cas being his best friend and how it might be unwise to mess with that. He forgot entirely about the small fact that he wasn’t actually gay. He even forgot his noble resolution not to corrupt the innocence of a virgin angel.

In short, he forgot pretty much anything which might have told him that what he was about to do next was a thoroughly stupid idea.

Rational thought having flat-lined, Dean didn’t hesitate when the unformed want in him finally solidified itself: he simply took a breath and surged forward, determinedly closing the distance between them. It was maybe the most recklessly brave thing he’d ever done - and, as usual, it had the customary backfired consequences of any of his more daring heroics.

Castiel let out an aborted sound of shock as their lips met, going rigidly still beneath the insistent press of Dean’s mouth. He hadn’t yet mastered human intimacies, even now, and it left him frozen, utterly uncertain about how to respond correctly. His mind raced as he tried to figure out what Dean wanted him to do. He’d witnessed acts of kissing since coming to Earth, of course; watched humans perform their careful, precise press of faces. That didn’t mean he knew anything about doing it himself. Kissing, it seemed to him, was the sharing of lips and tongue and breath and saliva, and frankly he couldn’t fathom why it was regarded as pleasurable. As a matter of fact, it looked messy and undignified and vaguely unhygienic, and, from what he could tell, tended to serve as little more than the prelude to a sexual encounter.

And with that thought came real panic.

From what little Castiel knew of sexual encounters (knowledge which was, admittedly, gleaned only through watching Dean’s past behaviour with women, and Gabriel’s blunt explanation of intercourse) he could only conclude that they were brief and fleeting affairs which usually marked the end of an equally fleeting acquaintance. Sex seemed to him something horribly daunting. It was intense and physical and verging on violent. In no way did he equate it with anything he felt for Dean.

Overwhelmed by the thought and by his own inexperience, he turned his head aside sharply, ending the moment of connection.

Dean gasped slightly and immediately backed off, wide eyed and suddenly pale. He shook his head minutely, and after a few seconds managed to choke out, “...Sorry.” The hand that had come to rest on Castiel’s shoulder was hurriedly snatched back. “I, I thought... Nothing. Never mind. Sorry.”

“Dean.” He inclined his head regretfully, wanting nothing more than to say something that would remove the pained expression from the other’s face; wanting to explain that it wasn’t a rejection, not of Dean. Truthfully, he loved the man in front of him more than many would consider it appropriate to love any human. He simply couldn’t bring himself to sacrifice that for one or two instances of physical satisfaction.

But then it was too late to explain anything, because Dean was gone without another word, without looking back, fleeing once again to the safety of his car and leaving Castiel to wonder what had just happened.

xxx

Sam and Gabriel had returned downstairs and were sitting at the kitchen table eating what looked like bowls of Fruit Loops by the time Dean finally dared to show his face back inside the house that night. He paused to raise an eyebrow, unable to remember Sam eating sugary cereal since he turned twelve, much less as an evening snack. Gabriel’s influence, no doubt - though whether good or bad was still up for debate.

“Hey, congratulations!” his brother greeted him cheerfully, shit eating grin fixed firmly in place. “You finally stopped hiding in the Impala!”

Dean flipped him off.

The archangel, looking up, jabbed a spoon in his direction, managing to inadvertently splatter milk across Sam. Ignoring the resultant squawk of protest, Gabriel mumbled through a mouthful of multicoloured food, “Oh good. C’mere, sit down a minute. I wanna talk to you about Castiel.”

Instantly, Dean froze. “Cas? Why? Did he say something? What did he say? Whatever he said, that’s not how it happened.”

Both Sam and Gabriel stopped eating, staring at him wordlessly, and Dean winced as he realised he might just have given himself away a little bit there. Sure enough, Sam got that god-awful look of suspicious curiosity that Dean generally tried to avoid like the plague. He glared right back, hoping to head it off.

He was very nearly grateful for Gabriel’s presence when, after a few seconds, the archangel held up a forestalling hand. “Please. Don’t say any more. I honestly can’t imagine anything I want less than to hear the sordid details of whatever awkward fumblings you inflicted on my brother.”

Sam scrunched up his nose with a sad little, “Ew...” and pointedly went back to his cereal.

Through gritted teeth, Dean ground out furiously, “I didn’t ‘inflict’ anything.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Yeah, so don’t care. But seriously, listen a second. It’s come to my attention that, as the older sibling, I have some responsibilities here.”

“Oh - screw you, Gabriel. I don’t need this.”

But Gabriel continued as though uninterrupted, now brandishing his spoon at Dean like it was something threatening. “Not to be cliché or anything, but if I understand my role in this correctly, I’m supposed to tell you that if you pull any of your usual crap with my brother, I’ll do very bad things to you.”

That, at least, surprised an involuntary laugh from him. “You’re kidding, right? Dude, you don’t have superpowers anymore and you’re, like, pocketsize. You really think you can take me?” Smirking, he looked over at Sam as if to share the joke, only to find his brother crunching on Fruit Loops with a perfectly impassive expression.

“No, Dean, he’s serious. And creative. And a former avenging angel. So just... yanno. Be nice to Cas. How hard can that be?”

Dean rewarded them both with a vaguely alarmed look, before turning on his heel and all but hightailing it back out of the room.

Sam and Gabriel waited just long enough to be sure he was out of earshot, and then cracked up into shared laughter.

“Okay, okay, you were right. That was way too easy...”

xxx

That something had happened between his brother and Cas was obvious, but for once Sam really wasn’t looking for the inside scoop on that one. Let Dean clean up his own mess. Sam would intervene if and only if Cas started reaching for the nearest pill bottle again.

Currently, however, he had decided to take a small leaf out of Dean’s book and take just a minute or two alone. It was impossible to do inside, with the five of them plus Crowley occupying a medium sized house, so he’d come out to sit on the porch steps, a thick jacket pulled tight around his shoulders against the cold and a beer in hand, held loosely between his knees. He watched the stars idly and wondered what the hell he was playing at.

This thing with Gabriel was getting to the point where even Sam couldn’t manage to ignore it anymore. It was one thing to tolerate the archangel’s flirting, comfortable in the knowledge that it didn’t mean anything. But somewhere along the way, he’d gone and made a pretty significant mistake: he’d let himself forget that it didn’t mean anything. Gabriel might not be serious in his intentions, but Sam... well. The last time he’d had a crush that had started off like this, it had been on Jess. Kind of said it all, really.

The thing was, it had been a long, long time since Sam had had anything like an actual friend - and good god that made him sound like a loser, he realised despairingly, but still couldn’t deny the truth of it. There was Dean, of course, and throughout his life Dean had played pretty much every role imaginable (brother, parent, work partner, teacher, hero, responsibility) but he wasn’t technically a friend. Sam was pretty sure you got to pick friends, and Dean was more obligatory than anything else.

There was Cas, he supposed, who maybe fit the definition a little better, particularly after the last few weeks. Although, that said, Sam had spent the first year or so of knowing him thinking the angel uptight and intimidating; a fellow soldier but not necessarily ‘friend’ material. And then, after that - well. It became increasingly obvious that Castiel was, first and foremost, Dean’s ‘friend’, and Sam just was not going to interfere with that if someone paid him.

But then there was Gabriel, with whom he’d spent almost four hours just that afternoon doing nothing more than Googling every bit of geeky internet entertainment they could think of: YouTube virals and search-engine wars, web-comics and boredom sites like FML. Gabriel, upon discovering the latter, had promptly typed in, ‘You think you guys got it bad? Today, I realised that one day soon my brother-in-law is going to be Dean Winchester. FML!1!!’ and Sam hadn’t stopped laughing inappropriately for ten whole minutes.

It was almost a strange experience, sharing with someone else the idle pastimes Sam secretly amused himself with when no one else was around. In fact, it was the first time since Stanford he’d hung out with someone who, a) actually enjoyed the same things as him, b) wasn’t a fellow hunter, or acquainted with him solely through Dean, and c) wasn’t Dean. Truth was, he hadn’t been lying to his brother when he’d confessed he and the archangel had somehow become friends over the past few weeks, and that was maybe the most pervasive thing about the whole stupid infatuation. He liked Gabriel, in every sense of the word, and apparently he really was open-minded enough for it not to matter all that much that Gabriel was a guy - which was, quite honestly, news to Sam.

He shivered slightly in the night time breeze and took a swig of beer. Frankly, the whole thing would be a lot easier if Gabriel just had his Grace back already. Ignoring, for a moment, the myriad of other problems, at least then Sam wouldn’t have to harbour the vague paranoia that he’d only be serving as some sort of - what was it he’d called it? - angelic methadone or something.

There was a sudden commotion behind him, startling him from his thoughts, and Sam turned just in time to see Bobby appear on the porch holding Gabriel by the scruff of his collar. He shoved the sullen archangel in Sam’s direction, growling, “Take your idjit and tell him to stay the hell outta my kitchen.”

Resignedly, Sam took his idjit.

He reached out to grab Gabriel’s sleeve as the archangel tripped towards him, too busy glaring over his shoulder to look where he was going. Bobby grunted sceptically and disappeared back inside, the slam of the front door closing on them ringing jarringly through the salvage yard.

“Well he’s just a regular ray of sunshine, isn’t he?” Gabriel muttered, absently shaking Sam off and dropping down to sit next to him on the step.

“What did you do?”

The angel shrugged innocently. “I wanted pancakes.”

“You have no idea how to cook pancakes,” Sam pointed out, equally reasonable.

Gabriel made a well duh! hand gesture. “No, and I never will if I don’t try, will I? The ability to make pancakes is a very important life skill if I’m going to be stuck like this, and I really don’t feel he was particularly encouraging towards my efforts-”

“Oh god, you set something on fire, didn’t you?” Despite himself, Sam barked laughter and shook his head. “You could have just asked, yanno. I’d have made you pancakes rather than risk Bobby’s house burning to the ground.”

“Well thanks, sweetheart.” Gabriel grinned up at him obnoxiously, bumping their shoulders together. “You’re a doll.”

Sam sent him a narrow-eyed glance and said dryly, “Be that as it may, I’m not a 50’s housewife, so if you could stop addressing me like one please...?”

Clearly amused, the archangel didn’t respond but reached across to steal Sam’s beer. Without a word, he finished it off in one go, tipping the bottle back. Sam watched with perhaps a little too much interest. In fact, he was so busy watching that it took him a moment or two to notice he’d been caught, and hurriedly cast his gaze out across the yard, flushing with mild embarrassment.

“...So Sammy.” Gabriel sounded far too casual and unconcerned, which should probably have tipped Sam off to the fact that they were about to venture into hazardous territory.

He cleared his throat, still busy avoiding eye contact. “What’s up?”

The archangel set the bottle down by his knee and twirled a hand in a contemplative gesture. “Just out of curiosity,” he said slowly, “you maybe wanna give me a timeline on when you’re finally gonna get around to jumping me?”

Sam promptly choked on nothing in particular. “...Wh-what?!”

Gabriel shrugged like he was being perfectly reasonable. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m enjoying all this passive-aggressive, sexually-repressed foreplay as much as the next guy, but it is coming to an end soon, right?” When Sam only continued to stare at him incredulously, he blinked, hesitating. “...Right?”

“Gabriel!” Sam pulled away from him, mortified. “I’m not... I haven’t just been playing hard to get or something!” He really hadn’t. Not... exactly.  “Why would you think that?!”

The archangel just looked at him, deadpan. “You cannot be that dumb, kid.”

Sam winced. Okay, stupid question. He was maybe just a little bit at fault here. Alarmed, he held his hands up. “Stop. Just... stop. This is a misunderstanding.”

“What misunderstanding? Not to regress to fourteen year olds or anything, but you do like me, right?”

“Gabriel...”

Yes he liked the archangel, but he couldn’t come out and say it. He was abruptly frozen, mute. The last time... The last time had been Jess, for god’s sake. There’d been no one since, no one that mattered, and he felt suddenly like he’d forgotten how to do this.

He ended up saying nothing at all, at a loss.

Gabriel’s amused, inquisitive expression closed off gradually and he drew back, putting distance between them. “Oh.” He looked genuinely surprised, blinking at Sam like he couldn’t believe he’d miscalculated. “Oh. Well. My mistake, I guess...”

“Gabr-”

The archangel rose to his feet briskly and without his usual composure, accidentally knocking over the empty bottle with a clatter. They both jumped. Recovering himself, Gabriel jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards the house. “Gonna go see a man about getting some pancakes. Talk to you later, Sammy.”

Watching him disappear, Sam let out a quiet growl of frustration and covered his face with both hands. Sometimes... sometimes he just sucked.

xxx

Later, when Sam finally retired upstairs for the night to find his brother already sitting in bed rereading Slaughterhouse 5 (which, with Dean, might as well be the comfort equivalent of consuming a litre of ice cream and watching a soppy movie) Sam froze in the doorway. They stared at each other. Dean immediately narrowed his eyes, as though he knew straight away that something significant had happened just by taking a look at him. He opened his mouth like he was about to ask.

Before he could, Sam cut him off at the pass.

“So. You wanna talk about what happened with Cas?”

Green eyes widened fractionally, then hardened with annoyance. “...Not even a little bit.”

“Right then.”

Matter settled, Sam got into bed and turned out the light, immediately rolling over to face the wall. Dean grunted at him quietly from the darkness, sullen.

xxx

When Crowley, having finished his ‘business’ dealings for the night, reappeared at Bobby’s the next day to amuse himself checking in on things, he immediately narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the scene which greeted him.

Dean and Gabriel occupied the living room, sitting side by side on the couch in front of the television. That in itself gave him pause. As far as he could remember, the human and the archangel generally avoided sharing proximity at all feasible costs. Even now, neither of them looked particularly happy about the company they were keeping, for whatever reason. Puzzled, Crowley looked around for their other counterparts.

He quickly located the younger Winchester sitting on his own at the kitchen table. He had an open book in one hand and was stabbing viciously at a bowl of cardboard-like cereal with the other, shoulders hunched in the all too familiar manner that Crowley mentally translated as Danger! Approach With Extreme Caution! Deciding that now was perhaps not the best time to test that particular warning sign, he prudently kept his distance.

Bobby moved about the kitchen behind Sam, washing up the remnants of breakfast. It said something about the general atmosphere in the house that the old hunter hadn’t made one of his ‘guests’ do it. As the demon was considering this, Bobby turned and caught sight of him. Crowley immediately raised his eyebrows in silent demand to know what the hell had transpired in the relatively brief time he’d been gone. In turn, Bobby screwed up his face in scornful dismissal, obviously having no idea and no intention of finding out. The demon rolled his eyes in response, fully of the belief that even if the hunter had no personal interest in gossip himself, he should have learned by now that Crowley, at least, liked to keep abreast of things, and a little help in that area wouldn’t exactly go amiss.

This entirely wordless argument might have continued on in the same manner, except Sam chose that moment to clear his throat loudly and pointedly. Crowley stilled, glancing down to find the human glaring darkly at him.

“What?” he snapped, more defensive than he’d intended. “The grown-ups were talking.”

The glare intensified exponentially, and Crowley was abruptly reminded that the creature in front of him had once been able to kill things with its brain.

Discretion indeed being the better part of valour, he decided it was time to take his investigation over into the living room, where Dean and Gabriel were occupied in grumbling unconvincingly over who should get to hold the remote. He drifted closer, sliding his hands into the pockets of his blazer and rocking back on his heels as he came to a stop in front of them.

Eventually, and as if it cost him great effort, Dean raised his head to grudgingly acknowledge him. “What?”

“Coming from me this should carry great weight,” he informed them blandly, gesturing between human and archangel. “But this, here? Screams of unholy alliance. What’s the deal?”

“We came to the mutual realisation that our brothers suck,” Gabriel replied without preamble, his tone almost conversational. He raised his fist in a show of cynical and ironic solidarity. Beside him, Dean pressed a knuckle hard against his temple as though physically pained.

Crowley slowly raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say...” he said carefully. “For any specific reason or just on principle?”

Gabriel probably would have answered him, but Dean interrupted quickly. “We’ve agreed not to trade details on that, thanks.”

“...Ah. Of course.” God forbid anyone challenge a Winchester’s formidable powers of denial. Time to change tactics if he wanted any real information on the marvellously intriguing situation he’d found himself abruptly in the middle of. “So where’s Creeper Angel hiding himself, hm?”

Dean immediately shut down, folding his arms and shrugging sulkily, while Gabriel pointed uselessly in a random direction. “Try outside. He’s always outside somewhere.”

“Thanks ever so...” he muttered scathingly, before blinking out of existence and reappearing in the fresh air of the yard. It didn’t take him long to locate Castiel. He was standing around one side of the house, his back braced against the wall with hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his jeans. He didn’t acknowledge the demon as he drew closer, or when he came to a stop next to him. Crowley smiled to himself and extracted a packet of cigarettes from somewhere on his person, casually holding them out in offering. “Fancy a fag and a chat?”

It didn’t go unnoticed that, when the angel finally deigned to glance across at him, his gaze lingered longer than strictly necessary on the proffered box of smokes before he finally turned his head away with frigid dignity. “No thank you.”

He shrugged and lit one up for himself with a little surge of demonic power. “Suit yourself.” Taking a satisfying drag, he eyed the other speculatively. As he watched, Castiel winced slightly and raised an automatic hand to his forehead. Crowley frowned. “Problem?”

The angel immediately halted the motion, rebuffing the concern. “I awoke with a headache this morning. It’s nothing of importance.”

The demon let it pass, unconcerned. There were things he wanted to talk about that were of far more interest. “So come on, angel. What’s up with you and your boy?”

Castiel visibly stiffened, regarding him coldly. “Dean would take offence to you addressing him in that manner. He isn’t a child.”

Half amused, the demon snorted dismissively. “Yeah well, Dean generally takes offence to my mere existence, so nothing new there. And of course he’s a child. He’s human. They’re all children compared to the likes of you and me.”

Thoroughly scandalised now, the angel gave him an affronted look. “I’m nothing like you.”

He grinned in response, sharp and slightly unpleasant. “Not in the details, no. But we’re both Old, angel. We’re Other.”

Castiel remained silent, but he was still staring inquisitively back at Crowley, so he took that as permission to go on.

“Interacting with humans doesn’t come naturally for us, you know. Might as well be learning a foreign language. And a new thing like you, only been bouncing round Earth for a year or two - well. No way you’re fluent yet.”

“...I don’t understand,” Castiel admitted reluctantly, shaking his head. “What are you saying?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and said with exaggerated clarity, “Whatever your argument with Winchester happens to be about, it’s not outside the realms of possibility that something got lost in translation.”

Blue eyes blinked at him. “You believe so?”

“Hey, I’ve always said that was one of the biggest problems with inter-species dating. The language barrier.” He nodded seriously and somehow managed to keep a straight face, curious to see if the angel had quite mastered sarcasm yet.

Evidently he hadn’t, since Castiel only gave him a considering look and murmured thoughtfully, “Perhaps...”

They lapsed into silence for a while after that, Castiel staring pensively skywards and Crowley lazily smoking next to him. At least now, the demon supposed smugly, dear Robert would have to give him credit for the minor act of altruism - even if, in actuality, it had been done mostly out of sheer boredom. Of course, it wasn’t that he particularly sought approval from the older hunter - why would he? - it just turned out that continuously frustrating his expectations of him proved to have its own inherent entertainment value that Crowley had come to really quite enjoy. He smirked at the prospect.

Abruptly, there came the sound of the door opening around the front of the house, and they both turned to watch Bobby and Sam trudge off into the salvage yard, Sam hefting a tool bag and Bobby short-temperedly growling instructions as they went.

Crowley dropped his cigarette and scuffed it out with his shoe, reaching across to jab at Castiel insistently. “There you go, look at that. Now’s your chance. Go fix it with your boy before he gets in a bad enough mood he starts trying to exorcise me again.”

Castiel stared at him dubiously for long moments, before at last letting out a resigned sigh and squaring his shoulders. “Very well.” He moved to walk past the demon, then hesitated and glanced back at him. “You’ve been... unusually helpful,” he admitted grudgingly, which was probably about as close to a ‘thanks’ as he was going to get.

Crowley just shrugged. “I’m a helpful guy,” he said bemusedly, as though he genuinely couldn’t see why anyone ever thought otherwise.

xxx

Gabriel had stomped off upstairs as soon as Sam left - which Dean was just not going to analyse, at all - so he was alone when Cas came to hover anxiously in the living room doorway. Typical. Dean mentally cursed and quickly tried to figure out the best course of action. Since running full-pelt in the opposite direction smacked just a little of cowardice, he resignedly decided he was going to have to brazen it out. They hadn’t really seen each other since The Incident anyway, so just maybe he could get away with not having to talk about it at all if he played his cards right.

Of course, that line of thinking completely failed to take into account Castiel’s infuriating tendency of wanting to face things head on.

The angel seemed to steel himself, and then crossed the room to stand determinedly in front of Dean. He clenched his jaw and didn’t look up, pointedly turning the volume on the television higher.

“Dean. We need to talk.”

He grunted and held up a hand. “Let’s not, okay? I got the message loud and clear, no need to repeat it.”

Castiel huffed breath and fidgeted a little, obviously agitated. He continued to stand there, showing no sign whatsoever of moving. The excruciating silence stretched on.

It didn’t take long for Dean to snap.

“Dude, seriously, do I have something on my face or what?”

Taken aback, Castiel spared a moment to check, before answering honestly, “No.”

“Then... Then just watch the freaking TV or something!”

The angel glanced over at the television, apparently not seeing the relevance. “The TV?”

“Yeah. Did I stammer?”

Equally frustrated, Castiel scowled. “Why do you keep asking me these meaningless questions?”

Momentarily rendered speechless, Dean stared up at him incredulously, before exploding, “Oh my god, you’re ruining arguing for me, you know that?!”

The angel stopped and squinted at him in confusion. “...This was an argument?”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face in defeat. “Jesus Christ...” He heaved a heavy breath and forced himself to look directly at the other. “What. What is it?!”

“I wish to speak with you about what occurred between us yesterday-”

“Cas. Honestly. Just forget about it, okay?” he snapped, swiftly losing the pretence of denial he’d been attempting to keep up so far. “I took a shot and got shot down. It happens. No big deal.”

There was silence in response and Dean settled back into the couch cushions, sullenly satisfied. Least Castiel finally got the goddamn point. The last thing Dean wanted to hear was, “It’s not you, it’s me.” From an angel, for fuck’s sake...

“Dean.”

Busy glaring at the TV, he grunted disinterestedly.

“D-Dean...!”

At that, he did glance up sharply, alarmed. To his complete bewilderment, it was to find Castiel starting to hunch over, a hand pressed to his chest. The angel’s mouth worked soundlessly as he tried to drag in a breath. For a wild moment of utterly senseless terror, Dean was convinced the angel was having a heart attack.

In an instant, all hostility forgotten, he was on his feet just in time to catch Castiel around the waist as the angel’s knees buckled.

“Cas? Cas! Fuck. What’s wrong? What’s happening?!”

But Castiel was pushing at him, ineffectually trying to make him let go, all the while grimacing in obvious pain. “Dean. Stop. Step back.”

Not listening in the slightest, he got one hand on Cas’s jaw, frantically turning his face to look at him. His breath caught as he was met with wide blue eyes pinpricked by silver light. “Holy crap...”

Cas finally got a hand solidly on Dean’s chest and shoved as hard as he could. The human went stumbling backwards, stunned, and Cas snarled after him, “Close your eyes and turn away!”

But Dean couldn’t. He stared in helpless fascination as the angel practically doubled over, the silvery light in his eyes growing so bright it hurt to look at.

“Dean! I said close your eyes right now!”

At last, Dean took the hint. He threw up his arms with barely a split second to spare as the living room all but exploded. Blazing white light engulfed him. He heard Cas let out a cut-off scream, but it changed midway through into the all too familiar ear-splitting shock of sound that made his ears ring. Something nearby shattered. He flinched away, tripping over a couch cushion as the light and the noise disorientated him. As he went down, he made the mistake of letting his eyes flutter open. It hurt like hell, but for the most fleeting of moments he saw the same silhouette he’d seen back in the barn the night of his resurrection: Castiel’s wings stretched high above him, splayed awkwardly across the ceiling.

And then, just as abruptly, it was over.

If not for the multiple agitated car alarms coming from the yard, Dean might have suspected he’d gone deaf in the sudden, overwhelming silence. Warily, blinking away retina burn that left him still seeing the vast outline of angel wings, Dean lowered his arms.

Castiel stood looking relatively unharmed, staring curiously at his own hand. The room, on the other hand, was in disarray. It looked like there was a small blast radius all around him. Books and papers had been swept messily into corners. Glass shards glittered in the carpet where a mirror and Dean’s beer bottle had shattered.

Dean, half on and half off the couch, let himself slide numbly the rest of the way to the floor, staring up at the angel with something horribly like awe.

Castiel turned abruptly to look down at him, and Dean almost jumped in surprise. He hadn’t realised how much of the trademark intensity had been missing from Cas’s stare while he’d been without his Grace, until suddenly its full force was once again turned on him. “Dean. Are you alright?”

Dean opened his mouth to say something - possibly even something relevant - but didn’t get the chance. The front door was thrown open as Sam and Bobby rushed inside, Bobby with a shotgun in hand and Sam with the demon-killing knife. The two hunters came to a somewhat confused halt, however, upon taking in the scene.

“We saw the light...” Sam said hesitantly, frowning a little.

Bobby just gaped. “What the hell did you two do to my house?!”

Dean, from his position on the floor, pointed wordlessly at Castiel.

All three turned to stare at the angel. As they watched he shifted slightly, tilting his head for a second and then rolling his shoulders. Dean had the discomforting thought that he was readjusting his vessel the way most people readjusted their clothes. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and rose stiffly to his feet.

There was further movement at the doorway behind Bobby and Sam as, slowly, Crowley poked his head in after them. After confirming that the fireworks show was apparently over, he stepped more fully inside, muttering caustically, “Really? No one thought to tell me the angels were actually ticking time bombs?! I could have been killed!”

“We lived in hope,” Bobby told him, deadpan.

Neither Dean nor Castiel, however, acknowledged - or heard - the sideline commentary. Dean had yet to take his eyes off the angel. He coughed self-consciously, trying desperately to remove the awestruck expression he knew he was wearing. “You, uh... You back to normal then?”

Castiel tilted his head as though considering, and then without warning he was gone, a blast of wind sending up yet more debris. Dean stomach clenched anxiously at the disappearance, but he didn’t have long to worry. A mere second later there was another snap of wings and Cas reappeared in front of him, much closer than he’d been originally. Dean flinched backwards, shocked.

“Woah. Guess I gotta start getting used to that again...” He hesitated, unsure exactly what the appropriate reaction was here. Looking across at Sam, his brother shrugged helplessly, equally at a loss. Realising he had to say something, Dean braced himself, plastered on a grin, and slapped the angel’s shoulder in congratulations. It hurt his hand. “See! Didn’t I tell you you’d be fine?”

Castiel frowned at him. “Actually, I believe you told me I’d be stuck as a human.”

“...You seriously never let anything go, do you?”

For a moment, the situation threatened to devolve straight back into the argument they’d been in the middle of as if there’d never been an interruption. It probably would have done just that, except Sam suddenly let out a soft noise of realisation behind them. Dean turned just in time to see him dart towards the stairs, and thought he heard him say excitedly, “Gabriel!” before he thundered up them and was gone.

xxx

The angels’ room upstairs was similarly ruined by the time Sam got there. He stopped in the doorway, quickly processing the sight of everything blasted to the very edges of the room, the window shattered, the laptop on the floor broken and sparking. His first reaction was to grin elatedly, because the scene of destruction surely couldn’t mean anything else except that Gabriel had regained his powers, just like Cas.

Only the archangel wasn’t actually there anymore.

The smile dropped gradually from his face as Sam took a few steps forward, his boots crunching on glass. He glanced around without any real expectation, absently kicking aside the smashed remains of his laptop. There came the flutter of wings behind him. He knew better than to think it was Gabriel.

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

Castiel paused, then sighed. “I believe so, yes. I can’t sense him nearby.”

Sam’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile and he ducked his head. Of course. Of course he was gone. What else had he expected to happen?

Gabriel had taken off as soon as he was able, just like Sam had always known he would.

Chapter 6