[Fic] Where the World Begins - Part 3

[the_ninth_bow]

Where the World Begins
"I'm not an orphan on this earth, as long as this man lives on it."



Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
Master Post




Dean’s phone rings one night just as Dean settles against the driver’s door, eyes lingering over Castiel and Faith in the passenger seat.  Faith has just managed to fall asleep and Dean scrambles for the phone and opens it before it wakes her, presses it to his ear.

“Hey.”  It’s Sam.

Dean reaches for the door handle, shoots Castiel a look before slinking out of the car.  He closes the door softly behind him, making sure he doesn’t disturb Faith.

“How’s the search going?” he asks as he takes a step away, walking off the soreness in his knee.  “Find any new secret weapon?”

Sam sighs.  “No.  Nothing yet.  But…”

“But what?’

“I think Bobby found that lead on the Colt.”

Dean comes to an abrupt halt.  “What?”

“A few hunters were passing through Chicago a few days ago and saw the Colt with their own eyes.  Bobby trusts them.  And the omens are finally settling just outside of Chicago.  We have a definite mark.”

Dean looks to the Impala again before taking a step away.  Castiel watches him closely, and Dean nods once to let him know everything is okay.

“If this is the real thing, it’s the first lead we’ve come across for months.”

“Yeah.”  Dean runs a hand over his chin, squints into the clouded night sky.  “We’re not too far away.  We can probably make it there by tomorrow.”

There’s a pause on the line.  Then, “Dean?  What are you going to do with Faith?  You just going to bring her into the fight with you?”

“What choice have we got, Sam?  The Apocalypse won’t pause just to keep one little girl safe, and we can’t just leave her somewhere.  We’ll think of something.”  He smirks.  “She’s actually really good at hiding, keeping safe.  We gave her an anti-possession charm and she’s thrilled with it.  Thinks the damn thing’s a toy.  I don’t know what she’d try with holy water if we gave it to her.”

Sam chuckles and Dean feels like he’s been removed from time, from the entire mess of the Apocalypse.  It’s been a long time since he’d heard Sam laugh.  But the laughter eventually dies, and the line is silent for a moment before Sam asks, “You need me there?” and reality comes crashing down with one simple question.

Dean hesitates.  Sam had sounded so hopeful last time he talked about rifling through sources to find a solution to stopping the Apocalypse, and Sam’s needed where he is.

“We’ll be fine, Sam. Cas is good backup, and if we head into any trouble, we’ll call and wait before we do anything.  We’ll case the joint before going in there guns blazing.”  It’s what they have to do now, what they’re starting to realize this quest to end the apocalypse is all about.  Slow and steady, it seems, are the keys to surviving this.

“Yeah.  Okay.  But be careful, Dean.”

“When am I not careful?”

Sam snorts on the line.

Dean hangs up a few minutes later, takes a deep breath and makes his way back to the Impala.  He keeps his eye on Faith as he settles into the driver’s seat, makes sure she doesn’t stir as he closes the door.

“Sam’s found a solid lead on the Colt,” he says before Castiel can ask him anything.

He watches Castiel’s face closely as he relates the news, watches the subtle play of uncertainty and timid hope flit across his features as Dean finishes with, “Chicago.  We can be there in a few hours.”

Castiel nods.  “And Sam’s research?”

Dean shakes his head, looks down to Faith.  Her head is lying beside Castiel’s knee, her arm thrown out across the seat.  The anti-possession charm has fallen out onto the seat beside her chin, red against the light tan of Castiel’s trench coat.

“Nothing,” Dean says.

There’s only a small pause before Castiel speaks, his voice low.  “We’ll find something, Dean.  Either way, we’ll find a way to end this.”

Dean huffs out a breath, turns his head to stare out the windshield into the darkness beyond.  “Yeah.  And hopefully it’ll be before Sam or I have to kill each other.”

“Dean.”  There is a hardness to Castiel’s tone, but Dean finds it oddly reassuring, as if Castiel’s just as frustrated at this archangel meatsuit-and-Apocalypse thing as he is.  Castiel leans towards him.  “Gabriel was wrong.”

Dean feels a smile curving his lips, but he’s not sure whether it’s condescending or relieved.  “It has to end some way, doesn’t it?”

“Dean.”  Castiel sounds weary this time.  Sad.  And Dean feels regret shoot through him at letting his mouth run-off.

“It’s fine, Cas.  I’m just… blowing off some steam.”  He tries to smile at the angel, tries to make it easy and sure like one of the smiles he’s given countless girls in nameless bars.  But Castiel frowns, and Dean lets the act drop.  “All I want now is sleep.”  The confession slips out, but Dean doesn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed.  “I’ll handle everything tomorrow.”

Castiel nods, and it isn’t until Castiel leans closer to Dean, presses two fingers against Dean’s forehead, that Dean realizes what the angel has planned.

The last thing Dean feels before he slips into a dreamless sleep is the soft brush of Castiel’s fingers across his forehead, lingering just a little longer than necessary.

***
They head for Chicago as soon as dawn breaks.  Castiel eases Faith out of sleep with a hand placed on her shoulder and carries her out into the woods to relieve herself despite the protests she sighs out.  Dean watches Castiel walk away, Faith’s head resting against his shoulder.  She’s blinking dazedly, glancing around the trees, and Dean has a moment of regret that they’re waking her up this early only to bring her closer to danger.

Hopefully, at the end of the day, it will have been worth it.

They drive until they reach the outskirts of Chicago.  By the time they reach the suburbs, the place is hardly recognizable as a town.  The buildings are either raised to the ground or leaning precariously over the remains of lawns, driveways, sidewalks.  A few crumble as Dean speeds past.  Mortar and wood litter the ground besides blocks of concrete.  As they get closer to the city, ash starts covering everything, painting the town a sickly gray.  Even the trees are subdued and bare.  They pass what looks to be the remains of the town’s municipal center when Castiel tenses in the front seat.

“Dean.”

“Where?” is all he needs to ask.

“A few miles up ahead.  There aren’t many but…” Castiel frowns.  “I can’t tell.  We should be able to handle them.”

Dean nods, speeds up so they can get as close as they can before the demons hear the engine and know someone’s approaching.

When they finally stop, Dean pulls the Impala off to the side of the road and steps out.  There’s an old church, its gray stones matching the ash covering the grass like snow.  The stained-glass rosette over the entry has been blasted out, and on the steps leading up to the church, Dean sees shards of color trying to break through the bleakness around them.  It’s one glimpse of beauty in the desolation.

Castiel emerges from the passenger side, Faith grasping his hand.  It doesn’t take long to gather holy water and salt from the trunk, and before Dean knows it he’s crouched in front of Faith, a hand heavy on her shoulder as his eyes go to her neck to make sure her anti-possession charm is in place.

“Ready to go hunting, Faith?”

Her eyes are wide, and she’s grasping at Castiel with two hands now.  But she nods, and Dean leans forward to ruffle her hair with his hand.  She sways with the rough movement, but she almost smiles for a moment.  Dean never realized before how small she is, how her bones seem so fragile under his palm.

“That’s my girl.”

“Dean.”  Castiel’s voice is hard, deep, and Dean’s up in an instant.

“Time to go,” he grunts.  Castiel’s hand slips out of Faith’s grasp, and he spares her a look before starting forward.  Dean pauses to watch Faith scurry off the road.  In a moment she’s hidden between a slab of concrete and the base of the church, invisible even though he knows where to look.

Dean cocks his rifle.  “Let’s kill these sons of bitches.”

The demons saunter down a pile of twisted road signs, fallen beams, and concrete slabs, ash billowing up at their feet.  Before they can act, Castiel is on them, his knife out and slashing, muttering Latin under his breath.  Dean’s right behind him, Ruby’s knife tight in his grasp as he shouts the exorcism chant and throws holy water.  He braces himself, his eyes traveling around each of the demons, searching for the Colt.  But he can’t see it.  None of them are holding it.  All they’ve got are knives or their own brute strength.

Something in Dean goes cold.

There are five of them, and by the time Dean pulls the knife out of the last one, watches as it falls to the ground, he’s breathing heavily.  Blood is dripping down his arm from where a demon got the upper hand and sliced him with its knife. He staggers down from the pile of twigs and debris the demon had lured him onto and feels his knee twinge.  He sucks in a breath, lets out a curse.

“That’s the last of them,” Castiel says.  He’s kneeling over a demon, rifling through its pockets.

Dean shakes his head.  “I don’t see it.  If they had it, they’d have used it.”

Castiel stands.  “We should leave.”  But before he can turn around an invisible force knocks into him, sending him twenty feet through the air to crash into the side of the gas tank.

“Cas!”  Dean leaps forward, over the body of the demon at his feet, and gets to Castiel’s side just as the angel has started to push himself up off the ground.  His eyes are wide, moving quickly around the gas station, and before Dean can reach forward, demand to know if he’s okay, Castiel pushes Dean away.

“Dean- ” Whatever else he was going to say is cut off when he’s thrown back against the tank again, a groan working its way out of him, and Dean feels the ground go out from under his feet as he crashes down.

“I see you finally got our message.”

Fuck.  Dean knows that voice.  He tries to move his head to the right, to see the angel, but movement has become almost impossible, like he’s moving in slow motion or trying to work against gravity.  It takes too much effort and time to turn his head only a few degrees and see Zachariah walking towards him.

“Message?” Dean grinds out.  “What message?”

Zachariah smirks.  “The Colt.  The demons.  Chicago.”  His eyes sweep over Dean’s body as if sizing up a prospective purchase.  “It took you long enough to figure it out.”  He glances around at the bodies littering the ground.  “Good work, Dean.  Efficient killing machine as always.”

“That was you?  You set this up?”

“What did you expect, Dean?  That the Colt would be here?  That you could walk up to Lucifer and be done with it?”  His gaze falls to Castiel, and Dean tries to turn his head to see, but the movement sends a shot of pain down his spin.  He can’t move.  “I would have thought Castiel here would have informed you.  The Colt won’t work, Dean.”

“So let me get this straight.  You went through all this trouble, tailing demons, lying in wait, just so you could see me?  Why aren’t I as flattered as I think you expect me to be.”

“You’re a surprisingly difficult man to catch, Dean.  You know by now we’ll do what we can to find you.  Stop acting surprised.  It’s getting old.”

“Fuck you.”

“Eloquent as always, I see.”  Zachariah sighs.  He moves forward, steps over Dean and out of eyesight.  Dean struggles to move his limbs, his head, anything, but Zachariah has him frozen.  There’s the sound of a body hitting earth, followed by a grunt from Castiel that sounds too much like pain for Dean’s liking.

“It’s been too long, Dean.  Castiel.  But we’re going to try this again.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.  Or so I’ve been told.  You should practice it.”

“Then you should love me by now, Dean.  So stop delaying.  Have you changed your mind?  Ready to fulfill your destiny?”

“No.”

“Hm.”  The snap of a spark rings out across the empty landscape, the shuffling of a struggle, and then silence.

“Cas?  Cas!  What did you do to him, you son of a-”

“I’m binding his Grace, Dean.  He can’t help you.  Let’s try this again.”

Pressure, heavy and absolute, presses upon Dean from behind.  It runs his entire body, from head to toe, sinking his body into the ground.  Twigs and concrete press into his skin from below, and Dean grunts out a curse when he feels metal bite into his skin and realizes Ruby’s knife is still in his grasp.

“All I have to do is call Raphael,” Zachariah warns, “and Castiel here will be no more than ribbons of flesh and blood.  Is that what you want, Dean?”

Dean groans as his face presses harder into the dirt.  Ash fills his lungs at the first surprised breath of pain.  The world smells of dirt and burnt flesh, and the pressure is crushing him.  His wrist presses harder against the knife, and the warmth spreading out underneath him is unmistakably blood.

“Just say ‘Yes.’  This could all be over.”

Dean hopes the sound he forces from his lungs sounds close enough to a laugh that Zachariah understands.

Apparently, it’s enough.  Because there’s a loud sigh before the pressure eases up.  Dean coughs into the ground, ash flying up around him as he drags one hand beneath his shoulder, pushes and rolls onto his back, gulping in air.

When he’s gathered enough to fill his lungs he forces out, “No.”

“Fine.”

Pain overwhelms him.  Pressure on his knee followed by what feels like blades steeped in acid raking down his chest, digging deep, and everything is black and red and white hot pain.  Screaming echoes around him, and after minutes, hours, he doesn’t know how much time passes, he vaguely recognizes it as his own.

That’s when the howling starts.  Fear is a palpable thing, a physical force adding to the pressure bearing down on him, cutting claws deeper into his flesh and muscles and organs.  There’s no way angels are supposed to be able to summon hellhounds.  But Dean feels them ripping his flesh down to the bone until there is nothing, not even light.  Just when he thinks it’s over, the endless pain will come to an end because there’s nothing left of him to rip apart, there’s a white flash it starts again.  Only this time he can see red walls around him, dripping blood and fragments of bone, and he’s living his death in Hell again.

The moment it stops the silence is palpable, the no-pain a physical force almost as potent as the blades cutting into him.  Dean comes out of it slowly, his body shaking and chest heaving for breath, and his body feels old and weary and heavy.  But the pain is gone, and he lets out a breath that sounds too close to a sob.  Something solid and rough lies underneath his cheek, and he presses against the cool surface, trying to chase the memory of fire and blood and pain away.

The sound of tearing metal wrenches his eyes open.  Castiel is free of Zachariah’s grasp, but blood runs freely from his nose and a gash on his forehead.  His knife is back in his hand, and Zachariah nearly stumbles when he has to duck beneath the blow Castiel swings at him.

Clarity comes in pieces.  Dean feels his hand covered in blood, recognizes the surface beneath his cheek as concrete, and sits up, realizing vaguely with more than a little shock that his body is whole, untouched, that the hellhounds and pain and bone had been nothing more than a memory conjured up by Zachariah.  Then his hand is flowing over concrete, sketching Enochian in blood on the ruins of humanity.

Shit, he thinks, because even as he’s working on putting the last symbol into place, he knows he can’t use it.  It’ll zap Castiel just as surely as it’ll mojo Zachariah away.  And Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t want Castiel going where angels go when they get zapped away.  Especially if it means finding his way back to Dean would be almost impossible.  Dean can’t be the one to complete it.

Dean pushes to his feet when the last of the symbols is drawn, ignores the pain that shoots through his body.  He snatches Ruby’s knife from the ground, runs over to where Castiel and Zachariah are still fighting.  For binding Castiel’s Grace, the angel’s movements are quick and sure.

Just as it hardly made a difference to Castiel when Dean first met him, Ruby’s knife hardly makes a difference to Zachariah, even when sticking out of his back and Dean swears he felt the spinal cord give under the metal.  But Dean’s presence is enough to distract Zachariah, and he throws Castiel to the ground as he spins around.

Before Dean can react, Zachariah’s hand closes around Dean’s throat.

“Enough.”  Zachariah’s voice shakes the rocks at his feet as Dean is lifted off the ground.  Black dots start to cloud his vision.  “The time for games is long past, Dean.”

Dean would agree, if he could gather enough breath to do so.

Just as the pain starts up again, there’s a white light, searing the darkness out of Dean’s eyes.  The pressure on his neck is suddenly gone and he hits the ground hard, coughing.

When Dean opens his eyes, Castiel is kneeling by the concrete slab, palm dripping blood.

“Good work, Ca-”

“He’ll be back.”  Castiel’s voice sounds rougher than usual.  “Others will be close behind him.”

Dean pushes up, cursing as his knee almost gives way, and starts running towards the Impala.

“Can you zap out of here?”

Castiel doesn’t spare him a glance as he falls into step beside him.  “I think, but not all of us-”

“Can you take Faith?”

Castiel’s head snaps to him.  “Yes, but-”

“Go.”

“Dean-”

“Goddammit, Cas!”

Castiel disappears midstride.  Dean looks ahead to see him reappear, kneeling by the base of the church.  Faith crawls out to meet him and Castiel wraps his arms around her.  There’s a brief moment, no more than half a second, when Castiel looks over his shoulder, back at Dean, and Dean would swear he sees him hesitate a moment before he’s gone, Faith with him.

Dean wrenches the door of the Impala open, has the engine started before he slams the door shut, and drives, a trail of dirt and ash billowing up in his wake.

***
Dean drives for five minutes, eyes torn between the rearview mirror and the debris he has to avoid in front of him, before he reaches for his phone.  Sam picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, Dean.”  Sam sounds relaxed and distracted and Dean nearly crashes into a fallen road block as he swerves to miss a giant crack in the pavement.

“Sam, listen.  You and Bobby have to get out of there.  Take what you need and go.”

“What happened?”  Sam is alert in a moment, no hint that a moment ago he could have been enjoying a lazy day of research.  Dean glances to the passenger seat for reassurance, but it’s empty.  A surge of raw anger and helplessness rush through him and he wants to tear the world apart himself, instead of waiting for the Devil to do it.

“Zachariah happened.  Fuck.”

“Okay, okay, Dean.  Just… Jesus.  Is everyone alright?”  Dean can hear the rustle of papers, books slamming down onto a table as Sam tells Bobby to pack.

“Yeah, everyone’s intact.”  He shuts his mouth tight, bites back the urge to spew out words. Sam’s saying something about being thankful and being careful next time.  When the apologies start, Dean cuts him off.

“They’re gone.”  The words are like acid on his tongue.

Sam’s silence is loud compared to his rush of words before.  “What?”

“Cas took Faith when Zachariah went beaming back to Heaven.  Zapped her out of there.  I…”  He grips the steering wheel tight.  “I don’t have any way to find them.”

Sam curses.  “Okay.  At least you’re all alive, right?  I mean, Cas can find you-”

“With his finger-painting etched on my ribs?  Don’t think so, Sam.”

“Dean.”  And Sam sounds sure and absolute.  “He’s Cas.  He’ll find a way.”

“Fuck, Sam.”

“I know.”  And it almost sounds like Sam does know.  Like he understands.  Like he knew Dean would get himself this involved with the angel and the girl.

“Just… get yourself out of there,” Dean forces out.  “If Zachariah was willing to use Cas to get to me, he’ll probably be pulling strings to find you, too.  Bobby’s place is stationary, and we’ve been there often enough to tip him off.”

“Yeah, yeah.  We’re heading out now.”

The sound of an opening door, Bobby’s “idjit,” chases Sam’s voice over the line.

“Good.  Just… stay safe.  Call me as soon as you find anything.”

“Obviously.  Call me when Cas-”

“Will do.”  The words are short, clipped, angry, and hanging up on Sam at that moment probably isn’t the smartest thing in the world to do.  But as soon as the phone snaps shut and falls into his lap, Dean’s slouching behind the wheel and rubbing a hand over his face, a groan breaking over the rumble of the engine.

“Fuck.”  The word is weak, little more than air.  It does nothing to ease up the tension in his chest, the way his eyes keep scanning the horizon, looking for a glimpse, a sign, anything that will show him some evidence that that an angel and a three year old are somewhere near.

***
Dean drives as far from ground zero as he can.  But it doesn’t stop him from keeping a close eye on the broken landscape for signs of Castiel and Faith.  A few hours into driving he finds himself glancing at the passenger seat, and every time he does anger shoots through him at seeing it empty.  The silence gets to him soon after, and he rolls down his window to cover the absence in the car.

By the end of the first day, the ache for sound, for quiet breathing, for shifting jackets and rubber soles scuffing leather, has become palpable.

He doesn’t stop driving until the second night, and even then pulls over just long enough to get out, take a piss, and stretch his legs.  He tries to catch a few hours of sleep, but as soon as he closes his eyes the car becomes too quiet, too still, and for the first time in his life the Impala starts to feel empty.

So he starts driving again, aimlessly until he thinks to backtrack, pass through some of the places he and Castiel passed through while making their way to Chicago.  Some towns are simply empty, while others are falling to dust.  But they all start to look the same after a while, because the one thing they all have in common is that there is no Castiel, no Faith.  There’s wind and silence and the smell of grass and earth and fire, and nothing but silence when he slides back behind the wheel and drives.

***
Without Castiel’s presence, the occasional question and quiet conversation, Faith’s whispered words, Dean finds his thoughts running in circles.  He thinks of the months he’d spent alone after his dad disappeared, before he finally realized something was wrong and went to get Sam.  He thinks of the yellow-eyed demon, his mother’s death, the way he felt when he realized his time was up and his deal with Lilith was going to land him in Hell for good.  His mind is on a loop, replaying the greatest hits of Dean’s fucked up life, and at the end it always comes back to the same image: Castiel looking back with Faith in his arms before they disappeared.

By the fourth day, Dean finds himself contemplating “yes.”  He still doesn’t think he’ll say it, but Sam hasn’t called since they talked two days ago and he still hadn’t found a solution to lock Lucifer away.  Sam had been halfway to Idaho, but Dean told him to keep moving, keep the angels guessing.

Dean recalls years of hunts on his own, when Sam left for college and he’d hunted solo for a while even before John disappeared.  He recalls forty years in Hell with nothing but a rack and a knife and a scream.  He contemplates the silent Impala now, and thinks he’s never been this alone.

***
Day five sees Dean swerving in the road, turning a sharp angle with the wheel to prevent the Impala from skidding off into the trees at the side of the highway.  He curses, slows down and rubs at his eyes.  He doesn’t want to sleep, thinks it’ll be impossible with the silence, but another few hours of driving like this and the Impala will wind up wrapped around a tree.  So he pulls over into the next field he passes and grasps Ruby’s knife tightly in his hand as he settles against the driver’s door.

He’s not asleep for long before the dreams come.  They’re broken and tattered, nothing but snatches of color and sound and sensation.  He wants to wake up, escape, but no matter what he tries he sinks deeper.

And then there’s nothing but water and creaking wooden boards underneath his feet.  This dream is different than all the others Dean has; ever since Castiel used this dream to contact him the first time, he’s dreamt of it again and it always calms him.

“Dean.”

And yeah, Dean likes this dream and could weep at the relief that floods through him at the sound of Castiel’s voice, even if this dream is just a dream and this Castiel is just his imagination.

“Where the fuck are you, Cas?”  His voice comes out quiet, subdued, and he’s willing to forgive himself for the small amount of desperation he hears in his words.

“Michigan, in a town called Three Rivers.”

“Why would you go there?”  Dean turns around, and the sight of Castiel, slouched shoulders and tousled hair, makes the tension flow out of him.

“It was all I could manage.  And I didn’t want to go too far from you.”  He frowns, eyes glancing over Dean’s frame, and Dean’s missed the wrinkle between his eyebrows when Cas is confused or concerned.  “You haven’t slept.”

“I hate the silence.”

Castiel stares.  Normally this would be the point where Cas would move forward in this dream, and Dean wouldn’t need to pretend to be aggravated by personal space issues.  But Castiel simply stands there.  And the pain and hesitancy and concern on his face are nothing Dean would want to dream up.

It’s then that Dean realizes this isn’t just a dream, that this is really Castiel in front of him, that this is Castiel finally finding a way to locate him.  Dean clears his throat, fights down the rare blush that warms his face.

“You’ve been waiting for me to fall asleep,” he accuses.

“It’s the only way I could reach you.”

Before Dean can open his mouth, process how much of an idiot he’s been and ask how Faith is, Castiel takes one step, two, forward, and he’s invading Dean’s personal space.  Dean lets him.

“Where are you?”

“Hell if I know.  Somewhere between Hamlet and Mishawaka, Indiana.”

Castiel nods.  “Meet me in Constantine, Michigan.  It’s close by.”  He takes a step back.

Dean’s hand darts out before Castiel can disappear.  Castiel looks startled for a moment, eyes snapping to Dean’s hand before going back to Dean’s face.  He’s tense under Dean’s hold, and Dean gives the angel’s shoulder a small squeeze before easing up on the pressure.  Castiel’s body seems to sag then, leans closer to Dean, and Dean can see the exhaustion he missed before.

“You can’t zap anywhere,” he says.

Castiel shakes his head.  “I used up too much of my energy transporting Faith.  I’m… it has yet to come back.”

“Have you been walking this whole time?  Christ, Cas-”

“Dean, I can’t hold this much longer.  It’s difficult enough-”

“Yeah, just…” Castiel shifts under his hold.  “Stay where you are.  I’ll be there in a few hours.”  His thumb rubs idly back and forth over Castiel’s collarbone, and Castiel sways closer.

Castiel is silent just long enough that Dean thinks he’s going to refuse.  But then there’s the subtle bob of his head, and Dean wakes to the empty interior of the Impala.

***
When Dean pulls to a stop in the middle of Three Rivers, it’s almost daybreak.  Shadows are starting to appear and the misty blue of the morning makes it difficult to judge distance, objects, forms.  He’s wary as he steps out of the Impala and glances around empty buildings and vacant streets.  It takes him a moment to work past the tightness in his throat to call out.

“Cas.”

He hates the way his voice breaks through the silence, isn’t sure it’s exactly wise at the moment.  He’s about to slide back into the car, drive through town, when he hears the closing of a door behind him.  He turns, pulling his knife, and manages to recognize the body that plows into his legs before instinct kicks in.

The knife falls from his hands to the ruble at his feet.  Pain shoots through his knee as he takes a step back and crouches on the ground, pulling Faith into his arms.  She’s tiny, thin, as he tightens his arms around her.  Shaky sobs break and her arms go around his neck and almost choke them with their strength.  Yet he swears it’s one of the best things he’s ever felt.  Fuck it all to hell if it’s almost as good as holding Sam, alive and breathing, after he’d come back from the dead.

“You that glad to have me back after spending all that time alone with Cas?”  His eyes are already searching for Castiel over Faith’s shoulder.  Castiel slows to a stop a few feet away, looking ruffled and worn but otherwise healthy.  But as Dean nods, once, and Castiel nods back, holding his stare, the tension that seems to be keeping Castiel upright seems to slide off him.  His shoulders loosen, sag, and it seems as if he shrinks a size as Dean watches.  He looks suddenly relieved, but exhausted.

When Dean stands, it’s with Faith settled firmly in his arms.

“It’s good to see you,” Dean says, eyes breaking for only a second to check Faith over, settle her secure against him.  “I thought you had zapped yourself and Faith here all the way to Timbuktu.”

It takes a moment for Castiel to reply.  “I can’t Dean.  I can’t fly far.”  And Dean notices again how tired the angel looks.  “In any case, I wouldn’t.  I had no way to find you, and I wouldn’t take her where you couldn’t follow.”

It doesn’t take effort, not a lot at all, for Dean to step forward, shift his body into Castiel’s space almost as close as they’d been in his dream.  And it feels good, too good, to feel Faith against his hip and Castiel breathing in front of him.

“Yeah,” he says, and it’s not as hard to say it as he thought it would be.

Castiel’s eyes widen, but after a moment he seems to relax, sway closer, and Dean’s reminded of nights spent in the back of the Impala, feels those nights overwhelming all the recent empty ones.

Dean nods, jerking his head towards the car.

“The only place I want to zap to right now is the Impala.  Let’s go.”  But he doesn’t move away.  He waits, feeling Castiel pressed close.  It takes Castiel placing his fingers on the back of Dean’s wrist, just the slightest of touches, and taking a step away to get Dean to move.

Dean lets Faith crawl into the front seat between the passenger and driver before he slides behind the wheel.  Castiel follows closely behind, and the Impala feels crowded and loud and right.

“Buckle up,” Dean says.  There’s a flurry of sound, of the rustling of a trench coat, the slide of sneakers on leather as Faith slides close to Dean, the click of a seatbelt as Castiel straps first Faith then himself into place.  Dean nods, swallows down sudden emotion, turns the key in the ignition, and the engine jumps to life.

***
They don’t stop that night.  Despite no sign that Zachariah or any other angel is close by, Dean’s still on edge.  Zachariah has his ways, and Dean won’t risk lagging behind and getting caught by him again.  Not when they were all lucky to escape this time.

Despite the relief they’d both expressed upon finding each other, Castiel has settled into quiet contemplation.  One that has his jaw clenching and him absently attending to Faith.  He seems distracted, occupied with things other than the immediate, and Dean can’t help but worry that this is something more, something bigger than worrying about Zachariah finding them again.

“Hey,” Dean breaks the silence.  “You okay?”

Castiel glances at him but remains silent.

“You seem off since…”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“I don’t believe it.  I know you, Cas.  This…” he waves a hand vaguely in Castiel’s direction.  “Don’t go acting all weird on me now.  What’s up?”

Castiel doesn’t answer for many moments.  Dean’s about to give up on a response until, “Faith was restless.  I don’t believe she felt completely safe without you there,” Castiel begins.  “The first day, after she realized the demons were gone, she cried.  It was only after she fell asleep that she stopped.  She kept looking for you.”  His tone turns bewildered, as if learning more about humanity is still overwhelming. “I found that she doesn’t sleep easy without you there, she gets tired after five hours of traveling.  She doesn’t like walking.”

“She has good taste,” Dean says.  “I’m gonna have to find her her own set of wheels soon.”  Out of the corner of his eye he sees a small smile break upon Castiel’s lips as his gaze falls to his lap.

Dean smiles.  “Not to cheapen the moment here, Cas, but… where are you going with this?”

There’s only a moment’s pause before Dean hears “I missed you.” It’s uttered almost too soft for Dean to hear.  “I’m not… accustomed to missing people.”

Dean nods and understands.  There are only a few people Dean would miss if they disappeared, and half of them are sitting in the car with him.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Castiel says, louder.  “I realized something when you were gone.  I can’t protect you or Faith as I once could have, not when I was still connected to Heaven.  And I don’t like that.  But…”

“But?”

“I’d dislike losing you or Faith even more.”

It’s become difficult to breath.  Dean nods and focuses on the yellow lines on black pavement passing by as he drives.  He doesn’t talk right away, tries to calm himself before speaking.

“Can I tell you something, Cas?”

“Anything.”

Dean would smile, if he was any less nervous.

“In my line of work-in our line of work-you kind of get used to not missing people.  Or trying not to miss people.  But… I missed you, too.”  After a moment he jerks his head in Faith’s direction, where she’s sleeping between them.  “Squirt, too.”

Dean doesn’t know when, but at some point during their conversation, Castiel’s hand settled on Dean’s shoulder.  His touch is warm and solid and comforting, something Dean never thought an angel could be.  But then again, that’s what Castiel is.  Not angel, not human, something completely Cas in his own right.  Something Dean’s beginning to realize he doesn’t want to live without.  And even if that’s too girly, too touchy feely, Dean’s okay with it.  It’s a feeling reserved for Cas alone, something that Dean hopes Castiel understands even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cas.”  Dean finishes.  And his voice has gone quiet, a soft addition to the hum of the engine.  “Because it kind of sucked without you.”

Castiel’s grip on Dean’s shoulder tightens briefly.  “Yes,” he says.  And Dean laughs.

They don’t pull over that night.  Castiel’s touch lingers on Dean’s shoulders for thirty miles, and after that his arm migrates to lean across the back of the seat, his knuckles brushing against Dean’s shoulder when they go over bumps and cracks in pavement.  Every once in a while, when Dean turns with the road or speeds up, he leans back against the seat and Castiel’s hand.  And later, when the night sky is turning navy with the dawn and he’s cruising at an even seventy miles per hour, the steady warmth of Castiel’s fingers are still a constant at his back.

***
Dean calls Sam the next day.  When Sam says “I told you so,” Dean nearly hangs up on him.

“Screw you,” he says instead, ignores the warning “Dean” that comes from Castiel.

“If all it took was a little dream-walking, I knew Castiel would find you.”

It’s only after Dean really threatens to hang up that Sam manages to tell him that he and Bobby are settling down at Rufus’s and they’ve found a tome that looks promising.

“It’s mostly in Latin,” Sam says.  “I have no idea where Rufus found it, but I should have it translated within a week.”

“You really think you have something?”

“Yeah.  It’s a shot.”

And a huge surge of relief and hope washes through him.

As they keep driving, the sharp differences between the last five days and the present prove a comfort to Dean.

For one thing, there’s constant noise to mask the hush of the pavement as it speeds by.  Faith is beginning to talk more, break out of the shell she’s constructed around herself.  But even when no one is talking there’s the sound of Faith moving, the rustling of paper as she folds and unfolds used maps, flips through the picture book they found way before Zachariah met up with them.

For another, Dean finds himself wanting to pull over more often, spend time outside the Impala resting or else crowded in the back with Castiel and Faith pressed close.

And so on the second day after their reunion, Dean pulls just off the highway.  Castiel cocks his head at him, but says nothing as he follows Dean out of the car.  It takes a while for them all to relax, for Castiel to realize that this is just a chance to stretch their legs.  But eventually, as Dean leans against the side of the Impala, Faith leaves his side and starts to pick the dandelions that are growing on the side of the road.  Dean watches her progress, shakes his head when her hand bypasses the violets that have sprung from the ground and instead gathers more of the yellow weeds for the bouquet she’s gathered.

“She sure has a twisted sense of humor,” Dean comments.  Castiel turns his gaze from Faith to Dean.

“How?”  He leans against the Impala next to Dean.  His shoulder presses against the hunter’s and Dean leans into the contact.  Ever since getting back together, even a few inches seem too far away.

“She’s picking the wrong flowers.  Dandelions are weeds.  She should be going for those purple things.”  He shrugs.  “But then again, maybe she just gravitates towards the weeds in life.”

Castiel sighs beside him, turning his head to look back at Faith.

“Everything is equal in God’s eyes, Dean.  Some would think dandelions more beautiful than violets.  It just depends on who’s looking at it.”

Dean narrows his eyes.  “Yeah, well, tell that to the weeds.”

Castiel opens his mouth to reply when Faith stands up, turns towards them and holds up the wad of dandelions and grass she’s collected.

“Momma!”

Dean stares at her holding the bouquet up to him.  It takes him a moment to register what she’s said.

“Excuse me?”

“Momma!  For you.”  She holds the bouquet up higher, a clear indication she wants Dean to take the flowers from her.

A sound starts to Dean’s right, a strange, choked sound.  He glances at Castiel, does a double take when he sees the angel has a hand clasped against his mouth.  And then Castiel is laughing, loud and clear and strong, and Dean can’t take his eyes away from him.

“Momma?”

Dean whips his head back to Faith, sees her smile has faded and her arm has lowered the bouquet to her side.

Castiel kneels by her side and takes the bouquet from her.  Dean watches him warily as he stands back up, slips the dandelions into Dean’s limp hand.  Dean’s fingers close instinctively around the tiny bouquet.

“Momma?” Dean asks incredulously, and Castiel merely shrugs, the smile on his face only growing.  “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“Don’t argue with a lady, Dean,” Castiel says, and Dean wonders briefly if he’s completely Fallen.  “You’ll only lose.”

Dean turns frantically to Faith.  “Momma?  What’s he?”  His hand comes up, his thumb pressed almost painfully into Castiel’s chest.

Confusion flashes across Faith’s face.

“Oh, c’mon!  Why do I have to be the mom?  Why can’t Cas be the mom?  He has the whole nurturing thing going on.”

“You do spoil her, Dean.”  Castiel is smiling, happy, and Dean bites back the remark he was going to say next.

Instead, he crouches down in front of Faith, points a finger at her.  “Okay, listen kid.  I’m not ‘Momma’.  I’m…”  He fades out, looks up at Castiel.  “What am I?’

Castiel tilts his head at him, brow suddenly furrowed.  “What?”

Dean shakes his head.  “Never mind.”  He looks back down to Faith, makes sure she’s looking at him and listening.  “I’m Dean.”

“Momma.”

And Castiel is laughing again.

“No!  No.  I’m… I’m Dad, okay?  Or Dadda.  Not Momma.”

“Dadda?”

“Yes!  Yes.  Good girl.”

Dean smiles up at Castiel, who is watching the two of them like they are the most amusing things he’s ever seen.  They probably are.

“See, she’s got it,” he says proudly.

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean looks back to Faith, points his finger at Castiel this time.

“Who’s he?”

Faith follows his finger, smiles when her eyes settle on Castiel.  “Dadda!”

“Oh, so you have two daddas now?  Won’t that get confusing.”  He looks at Castiel, sees the small smile on the angel’s face, and Dean feels his heart twist.  Castiel is happy.  Genuinely happy for the first time in weeks, perhaps for the first time in millennia.

“Okay,” Dean says suddenly, shifting a little closer to Faith, putting the hand that’s still grasping the dandelion bouquet on her shoulder so she’ll listen carefully and understand what he’s about to tell her.  “Okay, listen closely, Faith.  See, I’m Dadda, okay?”  She nods.  “And Cas he’s, well, he’s…” He looks at the angel, sees the smile waver on the angel’s lips.  “He’s Papa, okay?”  He looks back to Faith, sees her blank stare.  “Say Papa. It’s not that different.”

“Papa.”

“Good girl.”  He points at Cas. “Papa.”  Points at himself.  “Dadda.  Got it?”

Faith glances between the two of them for a long moment.  Then nods.  “Papa,” and she breaks Dean’s hold to go stand by Castiel’s knee.  “Dadda.”  She points at Dean like Castiel still has something to learn.

“That’s my girl.”  Dean stands, a smile on his face.  “Now it’s not so confusing anymore, is it?”

Faith laughs as Castiel bends and picks her up, settles her securely to his side.

“You still spoil her,” he says, but Dean catches the soft smile on his face, the way his eyes won’t quite meet Dean’s, and Dean knows he’s done something right.

***
“Sometimes I think it’s wrong,” Castiel says, days later when the sun has set and they’re pressed close with Faith sprawled across them.

Dean looks at him.  “Wrong?”

“Being more concerned about your safety and Faith’s safety than I am about finding my Father, or ending the Apocalypse.”

“I’ll tell you a secret, Cas.”

Castiel’s silence is permission to continue, a promise to keep his confidence.

“Sometimes… most times… I feel the same way.”

Part 2 | Part 4