SPN FIC: Reflection of You - 3/10 - R - Dean/Castiel
Title: Reflection of You (3/10)
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
Warnings: 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That might cover all the bases.
Notes: Part 3: ~5,200 words/~50,000 words. See the first post for the full list of warnings and complete header.
Thanks: More ♥ than I can express to tracy_loo_who, extraonions, deancastiel chat peeps, and quovadimus83.
Summary: When an angel falls, it's impossible to know exactly where they'll crash.
Castiel gives Chitaqua hope, and they give him back pieces of what he used to be.
[ One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten ]
The camp turned out marginally better than they expected - Chitaqua did have running water and electricity, but Chuck was right about the lack of a shower. Castiel hadn't even realized how much he appreciated being able to take a shower every morning, even if it was in a dirty motel room or Bobby's house, where the hot water always ran out too fast. He finally understood what humanity meant by 'taking things for granted.'
Dean had been completely serious about wanting to move in with Castiel. When they first arrived, they had enough spare cabins for everyone to each have their own, but they knew they would eventually have to start doubling up. He and Dean chose one of the smaller cabins, with only two rooms, but it at least came with a mattress that looked and smelled cleaner than most of the beds Dean had crashed on in countless motels over the years.
Dean's apparent happiness over the change in quarters baffled Bobby, but he seemed to accept Castiel's explanation that Dean finally had a chance to make a building into a home, of sorts. With Croatoan and the threat of Lucifer always looming, it seemed wiser to find happiness where they could.
The only people inhabiting the camp were hunters, who occasionally brought their children to make sure they were safe. Most of their children seemed older, at least in their late teens, and Castiel suspected Bobby had a hand in that decision since small children would be difficult to look after. A few hunters would only swing through the camp for a day or two, some dropping comments that having a large group of people in one place seemed unwise, setting them all up to be sitting ducks.
Castiel knew they had a valid point, so he worked with Bobby to come up with a powerful combination of cloaking spells. One thing he had mostly retained from his angelic knowledge was the gift of language. He wasn't as fluent in every known language as he had been before, but he could still write out Enochian symbols off the top of his head without missing a stroke. Between his Enochian and Bobby's mishmash of everything from Zoroastrian to Egyptian, they managed to make sure the camp was hidden from anyone will ill intent, even if they had exact coordinates. It wouldn't protect them from someone infected with the virus, but it would at least keep anyone conscious of their actions far away from them.
They impressed several hunters the day the wards went up, which was a very good thing coming on the heels of Palin's election. Nearly the entire camp wound up getting hammered that night, partially out of mourning the future of their country, and partially in celebration for finding a way to feel safer than most of them ever had.
When winter came Castiel quite adamantly decided he hated snow. He remembered marveling at its beauty as an angel, but as a mortal it was just cold and wet, it made moving quickly difficult, and it dampened the woods surrounding the camp, making everything far too still and silent.
They rang in the new year with as much fanfare as they could muster, with everyone in the camp - which had reached just over twenty people - packing into Bobby's cabin and surrounding a radio with champagne, rum, and whiskey. They listened to a live broadcast of the ball dropping at Times Square, but even with as much liquor as they had at their disposal their own celebration was still muted. A few people quietly wondered if it would be the last time the infamous Times Square party would happen.
Castiel mostly stood back and observed. He had been aware of the New Years' customs as an angel, but even as a mortal the celebration still mystified him. He excused himself just after midnight, knowing he and Dean had to leave early the next morning to investigate a town three states over. Dean followed him, laughing as they made their way across the camp back to their cabin.
"You seem to be in good spirits," Castiel said.
"I was just thinking about something," Dean replied. "It's stupid, really, but it's kind of funny." He finished the beer he'd been drinking and threw the empty can towards a nearby containier. "Funny in that awful, apocalyptic kind of way."
"And what is it?"
"It's just that..." They shuffled up the stairs, and paused on the tiny porch. "People have been saying it for years."
"Don't leave me in suspense, Dean."
Dean snorted in response. "2012 was supposed to be the end of the world, and we're still here." He shoved through their door and glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe it was just the beginning of the end."
* * *
It was sometime in the spring when Castiel first noticed it.
People looked at him.
At first Castiel assumed they were actually looking at Dean, the one who had the most intimate knowledge of the Croatoan virus and what it did to people. But as he watched and observed the hunters and their families more, he noticed a select few whose eyes drifted away from Dean and towards himself. Their curious gazes made Castiel uncomfortable, and he wondered why they watched him so intently.
One day, one of the women he'd noticed watching him - her name was Beatrix, but everyone called her 'Bea,' as far as Castiel could remember - approached him as he cleaned a few of his and Dean's guns outside on their porch. She stood before him for a few minutes before finally speaking. "You're an angel."
"I was an angel," Castiel corrected the girl automatically, not even bothering to raise his head to look at her. "No longer."
"But that still means something to a few of us," Bea said. When Castiel looked up, she was already walking away.
* * *
After that, it soon became common knowledge around Chitaqua. Most brushed it off as rumor, but a few took it to heart. They had an actual angelic being among them. Castiel didn't know how the secret had been let out in the first place, but he soon decided it didn't matter, anyway. He had always favored the truth, and it wasn't exactly as if he was hiding.
However, it wasn't long before people started looking to Castiel for prayer, which made Castiel wish he had remained hidden. He didn't feel comfortable leading people in prayer to a God he doubted himself.
"It gives them hope, Cas," Dean said one night, curling himself around Castiel's body with a lazy and now familiar grace. "They're looking to you for hope."
Castiel shook his head. "They shouldn't be. I can't offer them anything." He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "There's nothing there for them to pray to."
Dean propped his chin up on Castiel's chest, tracing fingertips down Castiel's arm. "Hope makes people stronger, Cas. Even when it's false hope."
"You..." Castiel sat up, staring at Dean in disbelief. "You want me to lie to them?"
"For their own good," Dean said. "People without hope don't want to live. People who don't want to live won't fight to survive, and we need these people to want to survive."
When Castiel didn't respond, Dean slid up the bed and gave Castiel a tender kiss. "You wanted to help, right?" he whispered. "This is another way you can."
* * *
He never had a set time to lead a prayer; those who wanted it just came to him when they needed it. There were a few that would only approach him when he was alone, almost seeming embarrassed and not wanting others to see them in a moment of what they considered to be weakness.
Castiel was surprised at the variety of people who came to him, and even more surprised at how many came back. A small group returned to him nearly every day. They were young, barely past their teens, sons and daughters of hunters, and most definitely not warriors themselves. They weren't only looking to him for spiritual guidance, but they were infinitely curious about him, as well.
It began to wear on him.
"What's it like?"a girl named Lily asked one night as they sat around a small campfire. "Or... what was it like?"
"Being an angel?" Castiel asked. "That is... that's a difficult question to answer." He sighed and leaned back against a tree, staring up into the stars. "Everything is so much different as a human. Everything is muddier, more confusing." He realized they weren't going to interrupt, instead hanging onto his every word as usual. "I can't even put it into human terms. I... I never had all the answers, but I once had so many more than I have now. I knew more. Now I feel as if I know nothing."
"You know more than us," a boy responded - Owen, Castiel remembered.
"Not really," Castiel said with a small shake of his head. "I don't know how to be human, even after this long. As an angel, I think I knew more about humans than you know about yourselves. Everything was clearer. I could... see inside humans. I could see inside their minds and their souls." He snorted, half amused. "Now I can barely understand my own thoughts."
"I've felt like that, though," another boy said. "When you feel like you're part of the universe, and you - you just know how everything ticks."
"Joe!" Bea hissed at him.
Castiel raised his head to peer at the boy who had spoken. "How so?"
"Don't listen to him -" Castiel waved a hand at Bea to silence her, staring at the boy with an imploring expression. He wanted to know exactly how such a young human could achieve that feeling, and he wondered if he could get that feeling - that wisdom - back.
"Tell me."
"It... um." Joe paused, looking sheepish. "Now it's just gonna sound silly. I took some mushrooms."
"It's a drug. It's a false spiritual high," Bea said. "You know that."
Castiel raised a hand at her again. "Religions around the world have used different substances in their worship and ceremony. They believe it helps bring them closer to God."
They all stared at Castiel for a moment before Joe finally spoke. "Is it true? Does it bring them closer?"
He looked back at them, all of them watching him, waiting for an answer. "I don't know," Castiel finally said. "I've never tried mushrooms." They seemed to deflate in disappointment, and Castiel felt a trickle of guilt run down his spine, for some reason not wanting to let them down. "I've tried... other things, though," he finally said.
It was nearly comical how their eyes all grew wider at once. "You get high?"
Castiel shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with their scrutiny. "Not anymore. I stopped when... when we had to start concentrating on the fight."
"And does it bring you closer to God?" Joe asked, not missing a beat.
"I..." Castiel paused. He knew it didn't, because he wasn't even sure that God existed any longer, but he couldn't tell them that. He couldn't take away their hope. "I will say that it made me feel more like... my old self. More than I've ever felt since I... became human."
The children glanced at each other in silent communication before Joe finally turned back to him. "Do you want to smoke with us?"
* * *
Dean recognized it for what it was when Castiel crawled into bed that night, and his nose wrinkled. "You smell like pot."
Castiel couldn't help but let out a somewhat cynical laugh. "They wanted to smoke with an angel," he said, not offering any further explanation.
"Nobody gave you a shotgun, right?"
Castiel rolled over and gave Dean a deep kiss. "That's only for you." He drew back and noticed Dean's eyes were narrowed. "Are you angry with me?"
"No. Not really." Dean glared at him for another moment before shaking his head. "You're more than an adult. You can make your own decisions. There's no action tonight, anyway. Just don't do it before we have to go on a mission, okay?"
"You know I won't, Dean."
"Good." Dean rolled up and straddled Castiel, smirking. "Besides, you're a little hot when you're stoned. All spacey and mumbly." Dean rolled his hips once, deliberately and slowly, and Castiel gasped just as Dean leaned down to lick at his earlobe. "And maybe a little horny," he whispered.
Later, as they were passing out next to each other, the scent of Dean, sweat, and sex completely eliminating any traces of pot, Castiel decided he was mildly curious about the mushrooms Joe spoke of.
* * *
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he jerked his head over he noticed that his shoes were sliding across the floor, oddly looking like small cars driving side by side. He watched them for a few minutes as they slowly moved forward a few feet, and then suddenly jerked back to their original position only to begin the journey all over again. It was strange, and Castiel wondered why his shoes were doing that.
They did it over and over again, until he finally decided that the shoes must have been unable to make their trip across the room by themselves. He crawled off of his mattress and over to his shoes, sliding them into the corner where he thought they'd been trying to go. The shoelaces waved at him in thanks, so he smiled down at them and moved back to his bed, where he laid down with a small sense of satisfaction that he could at least be of assistance in some way.
His pillow was extremely soft, and he sighed happily in comfort as he stared up at the ceiling, studying the grain of the wood. The flat, sanded surface appeared layered and three dimensional, the different shades standing apart from each other and shifting against the color beneath. He had an urge to reach up and grab the darkest color, the one closest to the surface, and tear it away from the others. It reminded him of demon smoke as it slithered and hovered over the lighter colors. It was too similar to the world he lived in.
It was strange, disenchanting, to remember just how many people in the world had no clue as to what moved among them. They went about their lives, never knowing how close they were to death. In a way, though, Castiel thought they might have it easier. At least they weren't spending the last of their days worrying about the end. They could enjoy their last moments.
Castiel thought he might envy their ignorance.
"Cas?" Dean hovered over him, and Castiel realized he hadn't even heard Dean come in. He smiled, glad that Dean came to be with him.
"Jesus, Cas." Dean sat down beside Castiel, and Castiel tilted his head up into the fingers suddenly running through his hair. "Your pupils are the size of a fucking quarter. What the hell did you take?"
"I wanted to try something new." Castiel didn't want to move, enjoying how he sank down into the mattress. "I can think now. Everything's clearer."
Dean muttered something Castiel couldn't understand. "What's clearer?"
"Life. The world. We don't find hope - we create it. We create it in everything we do." Castiel was particularly pleased with this revelation, and even more excited to share it with Dean. "The 'false hope' you spoke of - I'm creating that every day."
Dean studied him for a few moments before cupping his cheek and leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. Castiel nearly gasped at the feeling - Dean's touch seemed amplified, sparking his nerve endings from head to toe. "You're tripping," Dean said quietly.
"Is that what this is called?" Castiel raised his hand and his fingers landed on Dean's lips. "Soft..." he whispered.
Dean sighed, grasping Castiel's wrist and pulling it away from him. "I've got some things to take care of," he said. "I'll tell you about them when you come down, okay?"
Castiel nodded, sinking further down into the mattress.
"Will you be okay by yourself?" Dean asked as he climbed to his feet.
"I will be fine."
Dean left, and Castiel continued sinking.
* * *
By the time Castiel's racing mind had slowed down and he stopped seeing flat surfaces as three dimensional, Dean had been gone for hours. Castiel pulled himself out of their cabin and went in search for answers. When he found them, a pit yawned open in his stomach.
The 'things' Dean had to take care of turned out to be gathering survivors from Philadelphia. Thousands had either been straight up murdered by the 'Croats,' as they'd taken to calling them, or were infected. The government stepped in and attempted to wipe out the remainder, and only a handful of people escaped with their lives.
Dean needed Castiel, and Castiel had been too out of it to be of any assistance whatsoever.
Castiel refused to eat or drink anything until Dean returned, no matter how much Chuck or Bobby urged him to. When Joe and the others approached his cabin with a joint to share with him, Castiel waved them away without a word.
Two days passed before Dean came back, toting only four survivors behind him. Castiel waited for him in their cabin, curling up on top of the mattress. When Dean finally trudged in, looking much more worse for the wear than he had in a while, he didn't even push his boots off of his feet before lying down next to Castiel, rolling over onto his back and rubbing his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Castiel whispered. "I should have-"
Dean cut him off with a shake of his head. "It's fine, Cas. You couldn't have known what was going down in Philly."
"But I should have been with you. I was..."
"Going on a psychedelic experience?" A hint of teasing crept into Dean's voice. "I can't say you had the best timing, but I've done that myself, Cas."
"It won't happen again."
"Cas." Dean rolled up to rest on his elbow. "I don't like it, and I'm sure as hell not encouraging it. But I..." Dean sighed, his eyes dropping. "You've been... ever since..." He paused, swallowing. "Well, you've kind of been really fucked up, and I don't know how to help you."
Castiel tilted his head in confusion. Dean didn't need to help him - it should have been the other way around.
"What you're doing - it's a crutch. It's a way to deal. Hell, I drank myself into more than a few stupors after I came back from Hell. I can't really judge you for wanting to..." He paused again and looked up to study Castiel, almost as if he was attempting to read whatever was running through Castiel's mind. "It's not even really an escape for you, is it?"
Castiel didn't respond, but silently agreed. Everything he'd felt elevated his sense of self, his mind, and brought him a taste of the awareness he'd once held. He wasn't escaping. He was only trying to find what he'd lost.
"Just... be careful, okay?" Dean continued. "Don't take anything that could fuck with you permanently. Stay away from crystal meth, and definitely don't take any fucking Jimson weed -"
"Dean." Castiel shook his head, cutting off Dean's rambling. "It's not going to happen anymore. You need me to be able to help you, not... 'tripping.'"
Dean leaned in and captured Castiel's lips with his own. "Cas, more than anything, I need you here," he whispered. "And I need you to not look like you want to die."
* * *
Joe introduced Castiel to a man named Mark, one of the survivors Dean had picked up from Philly. Out of any of the people Castiel had met with, Mark seemed to be the most awed at Castiel's past.
"You're living proof that God exists," he said, staring at Castiel with wide eyes. Castiel didn't bother to point out that humans had been saying the same thing about themselves for centuries.
There was nothing truly remarkable about Mark, much like many of the humans Castiel had met in camp. Castiel had a somewhat passing interest in Mark's past as a priest who had removed himself from the church several years prior, but was much more intrigued by the backpack Joe insisted Mark show to Castiel.
"I just grabbed everything I could when the Croats came up our street," Mark said as set his pack on the ground and began rifling through it. "I knew it wasn't the end, and I felt like having all of this was incredibly important." Castiel picked up the football-sized plastic bag of mushrooms Mark had just pulled out, turning it over in his hands in near disbelief. The amount of bitter mushrooms he had chewed up and swallowed before had been a tiny fraction of what he now held, and he had been under their influence for hours.
Castiel felt as if he was being watched, and he glanced up to see Mark staring at him with a nearly reverent expression. "Now I know why it was so important," Mark commented quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself, and Castiel wanted to pretend he hadn't heard.
He set the mushrooms down and peered at all the items Mark had pulled out of his pack. Some were familiar, but most weren't. "You are a man of God, are you not?" he asked absently as he picked up a smaller bag full of tiny plants that Castiel felt like he could once name, Latin genus and all, but couldn't hope to identify them any longer. He repressed a sigh at the now familiar feeling of discovering another gap in his knowledge.
"I am," Mark replied. "I do not need to be inside of a house of God to worship our God. What matters is our faith, our undying devotion to the Lord."
Castiel traded the plants for a small glass bottle that appeared to be full of water. "Why are you here, Mark?"
"Because I'm meant to be."
The quiet answer startled Castiel, and he glanced up to see Mark no longer staring at him, but at the bottle in his hand.
"With the way the world is heading, that's probably the last bottle of that I'll ever see," Mark commented. "Fortunately, that's enough to keep quite a few people going for years."
Castiel held the bottle up and the rays of the receding sun refracted and bent through the clear liquid. "And what is it?"
* * *
He'd found the key.
The mushrooms had brought Castiel closer to what he missed, but they were nothing compared to the tiny slip of paper he'd set on his tongue a few hours ago. Aside from Dean, it was easily the greatest gift he'd received since falling.
His thoughts were no longer jumbled, even while having twenty-seven different realizations running through his mind simultaneously. He understood each and every single one of those thoughts, and he tried his hardest to translate them into human terms for Mark's benefit, who hung onto his every word with unrivaled veneration.
He knew that the absence - the space between everything - mattered just as much as the parts that had mass. He remembered that life was always set in forward motion, even when it seemed that the world was still.
He knew everything he'd known before he fell.
Even so, Castiel wasn't sure if the revival of his angelic mind was as important as the return of what he'd missed the most - he was again part of the universe in body and soul. He could feel the earth rotating, spinning endlessly in a system that was nearly as old as he was. He could count the molecules that made up his body, and he could feel them vibrating together in a perfect rhythm, completely aware of the silent pulse that connected him to the ground beneath him and the air surrounding him.
"Mark," he said, and he could taste his voice on his tongue.
Mark just laughed gleefully.
"Listen to me," Castiel insisted, the taste of his words becoming sharper, heavier. "You must listen." He stood up and carried himself towards Mark, who laid on the ground with a serene smile. He hovered over the inert man, and his eyes instantly focused in on Castiel.
"Angel," Mark gasped. "You've changed... everything." He reached up, his fingertips hovering near Castiel's face. "I knew you would. I've always known."
Castiel grasped Mark's hand in both of his, and their hands seemed to meld and become a part of each other. "Do you know what you've done?" he asked.
"I've found God."
Castiel shook his head. Of course Mark hadn't found God. Castiel had searched high and low with all the powers and senses of an angel and come up with nothing. "You've restored me." He released Mark's hand and stood up, and he stretched his arms out to either side, reveling in the world. "Not everything, but I am..."
"You are holy."
Castiel nodded. "I was, once, and now you've given it back." He passed his hand in front of him, stroking the air. "But not just myself; I can see holiness everywhere again." He closed his hand, grasping the particles surrounding his fingers. "Perhaps it was never lost." A smile found its way to Castiel's lips, and he felt a sense of peace in his heart.
And then something thundered across Castiel's mind, instantly shattering that peace. It was soundless and weightless, but had the power of a thousand suns, and it sent Castiel to his knees with a gasp as it continued rumbling through his entire being. Castiel threw out his senses, trying to figure out what had happened, and he instantly found what he was looking for.
One string remained.
He'd found the last connection to the host, the thing that had been whispering to him in his dreams. Bile rose in Castiel's throat as he realized just who that last string belonged to, but he couldn't help traveling along it, reaching out for his lost brother. He left his cabin and appeared in the middle of a horrible world. "No, no, no," he whispered. The sight in front of him terrified him, but he couldn't look away.
"Castiel?" Mark's voice sounded miles away, but the worry still carried over the distance.
"Dean," Castiel felt like choking on his request. He needed him, but what he saw would destroy Dean. "Please... Dean."
"Let me help," Mark said.
"Find Dean!" Castiel shouted, desperation wrapping around him like an ugly cocoon. He felt the vibrations of Mark's receding footsteps and hated that he was being left alone, even though it was what he asked for. He was half-blinded by an awful combination of light and darkness, but he knew he needed to keep the vision in his mind.
It felt like hours had passed before he finally heard Dean's voice, sounding as if it was reaching him through a tube. "What the fuck did you give him?" The phrase repeated itself in Castiel's mind an infinite amount of times, even though he somehow knew Dean had only said it once. "What the fuck did you give him?"
There was shuffling, a demand of "get the fuck out of here" from Dean, and suddenly Castiel was yanked out of the vision when Dean's warm hands touched him, combing fingers through his hair. Castiel finally opened his eyes and realized he'd been crying, and he somehow had wound up lying on the floor.
"Cas, you're okay," Dean said, and Castiel hated how distorted Dean's face was. The green of his eyes kept slipping, sliding to the side, before reappearing where it should be and sliding away again. "Shoulda warned you to stay the hell away from LSD, too - you're just having a bad trip."
Castiel felt more tears squeeze their way out, and he shook his head.
"Cas, listen to me - whatever you're thinking you're seeing, it's not real, okay? Acid can give you some scary mindfucks."
The vision played back on repeat in Castiel's mind, and the tears wouldn't stop. "This is not... a mindfuck," he gasped, trying to calm himself down. "It's true. I wish it wasn't, but it is."
Dean began to pull him upwards, trying to get him to sit upright. "You're... Jesus, Cas, you've fucking pissed yourself," he said in disbelief. "We've gotta get you cleaned up."
"The city is filthy," Cas mumbled, not caring whether or not he really had pissed himself.
"No, you are. C'mon, Cas." Dean continued pulling on Castiel, who stubbornly refused to move.
"It's to the East. No, the West. The left, it's to the left, where the sun is setting. Something's happened, Dean."
He heard Dean sigh. "What's happened?"
The tears returned, and he realized he had never felt this many emotions assaulting him at once. He didn't want to tell Dean, but he knew he had to. "Sam."
Dean immediately stilled. "What about Sam?" he asked after a moment, his voice pensive and quiet.
Castiel curled up and tucked his face into his knees. He truly wished it wasn't real, but he'd never been more sure of anything since he fell. "They're... interwoven. They're the same now."
"Cas, I'm sorry, but you're talking a whole bunch of nonsense."
"My brother and your brother. There was light, and then dark. Interwoven." Castiel pressed his palms against his eyelids, trying to cease the vision from repeating itself in his mind.
"I still don't understand, Cas."
Castiel choked on another sob. He didn't want Dean to understand, and yet also knew he had to make him understand. "Your brother and my brother are the same now," he said, knowing he was repeating himself, but he couldn't force any other words past his tongue.
"I don't -" Dean paused and lapsed into silence, and Castiel knew that Dean finally got what he'd been trying to say. He looked up to see Dean staring blankly - not at him, nor at anything; he just stared at nothing, his mouth set in a hard line. A few moments passed before Dean shook his head. "Cas, you're tripping. It's not real."
"It is real! I don't want it to be real, but it is!" Castiel insisted. It would do no one any good if Dean was in denial. "I saw it happen."
Dean shook his head the entire time Castiel spoke. "Sam wouldn't do that. I know he wouldn't," he insisted.
Castiel buried his face in his hands. "It's already happened, Dean. It was to the West, in a dirty, filthy city. Sam said 'yes.'"
"You're wrong!" Dean shouted, and Castiel jumped, the anger in Dean's voice tearing deep into him. He cringed and wished he could just disappear inside himself. "Cas, you're not an angel anymore. You can't see shit now, no matter what your fucking drugs tell you!" He shoved Castiel away, who slid back on the floor and curled up where he landed. The force of Dean's footsteps as he left shook the cabin right along with Castiel's entire being.
Even though he knew nothing would answer, he found himself praying to a God that wasn't there that Dean would come back.
Part Four
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
Warnings: 5.04: "The End" 'verse - dark, drug use, angst, torture, graphic violence, character death, good guys doing bad things, disturbing content, and an even more disturbing inspiration. Both Dean and Castiel are Not Nice people. That might cover all the bases.
Notes: Part 3: ~5,200 words/~50,000 words. See the first post for the full list of warnings and complete header.
Thanks: More ♥ than I can express to tracy_loo_who, extraonions, deancastiel chat peeps, and quovadimus83.
Summary: When an angel falls, it's impossible to know exactly where they'll crash.
Castiel gives Chitaqua hope, and they give him back pieces of what he used to be.
[ One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten ]
The camp turned out marginally better than they expected - Chitaqua did have running water and electricity, but Chuck was right about the lack of a shower. Castiel hadn't even realized how much he appreciated being able to take a shower every morning, even if it was in a dirty motel room or Bobby's house, where the hot water always ran out too fast. He finally understood what humanity meant by 'taking things for granted.'
Dean had been completely serious about wanting to move in with Castiel. When they first arrived, they had enough spare cabins for everyone to each have their own, but they knew they would eventually have to start doubling up. He and Dean chose one of the smaller cabins, with only two rooms, but it at least came with a mattress that looked and smelled cleaner than most of the beds Dean had crashed on in countless motels over the years.
Dean's apparent happiness over the change in quarters baffled Bobby, but he seemed to accept Castiel's explanation that Dean finally had a chance to make a building into a home, of sorts. With Croatoan and the threat of Lucifer always looming, it seemed wiser to find happiness where they could.
The only people inhabiting the camp were hunters, who occasionally brought their children to make sure they were safe. Most of their children seemed older, at least in their late teens, and Castiel suspected Bobby had a hand in that decision since small children would be difficult to look after. A few hunters would only swing through the camp for a day or two, some dropping comments that having a large group of people in one place seemed unwise, setting them all up to be sitting ducks.
Castiel knew they had a valid point, so he worked with Bobby to come up with a powerful combination of cloaking spells. One thing he had mostly retained from his angelic knowledge was the gift of language. He wasn't as fluent in every known language as he had been before, but he could still write out Enochian symbols off the top of his head without missing a stroke. Between his Enochian and Bobby's mishmash of everything from Zoroastrian to Egyptian, they managed to make sure the camp was hidden from anyone will ill intent, even if they had exact coordinates. It wouldn't protect them from someone infected with the virus, but it would at least keep anyone conscious of their actions far away from them.
They impressed several hunters the day the wards went up, which was a very good thing coming on the heels of Palin's election. Nearly the entire camp wound up getting hammered that night, partially out of mourning the future of their country, and partially in celebration for finding a way to feel safer than most of them ever had.
When winter came Castiel quite adamantly decided he hated snow. He remembered marveling at its beauty as an angel, but as a mortal it was just cold and wet, it made moving quickly difficult, and it dampened the woods surrounding the camp, making everything far too still and silent.
They rang in the new year with as much fanfare as they could muster, with everyone in the camp - which had reached just over twenty people - packing into Bobby's cabin and surrounding a radio with champagne, rum, and whiskey. They listened to a live broadcast of the ball dropping at Times Square, but even with as much liquor as they had at their disposal their own celebration was still muted. A few people quietly wondered if it would be the last time the infamous Times Square party would happen.
Castiel mostly stood back and observed. He had been aware of the New Years' customs as an angel, but even as a mortal the celebration still mystified him. He excused himself just after midnight, knowing he and Dean had to leave early the next morning to investigate a town three states over. Dean followed him, laughing as they made their way across the camp back to their cabin.
"You seem to be in good spirits," Castiel said.
"I was just thinking about something," Dean replied. "It's stupid, really, but it's kind of funny." He finished the beer he'd been drinking and threw the empty can towards a nearby containier. "Funny in that awful, apocalyptic kind of way."
"And what is it?"
"It's just that..." They shuffled up the stairs, and paused on the tiny porch. "People have been saying it for years."
"Don't leave me in suspense, Dean."
Dean snorted in response. "2012 was supposed to be the end of the world, and we're still here." He shoved through their door and glanced over his shoulder. "Maybe it was just the beginning of the end."
* * *
It was sometime in the spring when Castiel first noticed it.
People looked at him.
At first Castiel assumed they were actually looking at Dean, the one who had the most intimate knowledge of the Croatoan virus and what it did to people. But as he watched and observed the hunters and their families more, he noticed a select few whose eyes drifted away from Dean and towards himself. Their curious gazes made Castiel uncomfortable, and he wondered why they watched him so intently.
One day, one of the women he'd noticed watching him - her name was Beatrix, but everyone called her 'Bea,' as far as Castiel could remember - approached him as he cleaned a few of his and Dean's guns outside on their porch. She stood before him for a few minutes before finally speaking. "You're an angel."
"I was an angel," Castiel corrected the girl automatically, not even bothering to raise his head to look at her. "No longer."
"But that still means something to a few of us," Bea said. When Castiel looked up, she was already walking away.
* * *
After that, it soon became common knowledge around Chitaqua. Most brushed it off as rumor, but a few took it to heart. They had an actual angelic being among them. Castiel didn't know how the secret had been let out in the first place, but he soon decided it didn't matter, anyway. He had always favored the truth, and it wasn't exactly as if he was hiding.
However, it wasn't long before people started looking to Castiel for prayer, which made Castiel wish he had remained hidden. He didn't feel comfortable leading people in prayer to a God he doubted himself.
"It gives them hope, Cas," Dean said one night, curling himself around Castiel's body with a lazy and now familiar grace. "They're looking to you for hope."
Castiel shook his head. "They shouldn't be. I can't offer them anything." He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "There's nothing there for them to pray to."
Dean propped his chin up on Castiel's chest, tracing fingertips down Castiel's arm. "Hope makes people stronger, Cas. Even when it's false hope."
"You..." Castiel sat up, staring at Dean in disbelief. "You want me to lie to them?"
"For their own good," Dean said. "People without hope don't want to live. People who don't want to live won't fight to survive, and we need these people to want to survive."
When Castiel didn't respond, Dean slid up the bed and gave Castiel a tender kiss. "You wanted to help, right?" he whispered. "This is another way you can."
* * *
He never had a set time to lead a prayer; those who wanted it just came to him when they needed it. There were a few that would only approach him when he was alone, almost seeming embarrassed and not wanting others to see them in a moment of what they considered to be weakness.
Castiel was surprised at the variety of people who came to him, and even more surprised at how many came back. A small group returned to him nearly every day. They were young, barely past their teens, sons and daughters of hunters, and most definitely not warriors themselves. They weren't only looking to him for spiritual guidance, but they were infinitely curious about him, as well.
It began to wear on him.
"What's it like?"a girl named Lily asked one night as they sat around a small campfire. "Or... what was it like?"
"Being an angel?" Castiel asked. "That is... that's a difficult question to answer." He sighed and leaned back against a tree, staring up into the stars. "Everything is so much different as a human. Everything is muddier, more confusing." He realized they weren't going to interrupt, instead hanging onto his every word as usual. "I can't even put it into human terms. I... I never had all the answers, but I once had so many more than I have now. I knew more. Now I feel as if I know nothing."
"You know more than us," a boy responded - Owen, Castiel remembered.
"Not really," Castiel said with a small shake of his head. "I don't know how to be human, even after this long. As an angel, I think I knew more about humans than you know about yourselves. Everything was clearer. I could... see inside humans. I could see inside their minds and their souls." He snorted, half amused. "Now I can barely understand my own thoughts."
"I've felt like that, though," another boy said. "When you feel like you're part of the universe, and you - you just know how everything ticks."
"Joe!" Bea hissed at him.
Castiel raised his head to peer at the boy who had spoken. "How so?"
"Don't listen to him -" Castiel waved a hand at Bea to silence her, staring at the boy with an imploring expression. He wanted to know exactly how such a young human could achieve that feeling, and he wondered if he could get that feeling - that wisdom - back.
"Tell me."
"It... um." Joe paused, looking sheepish. "Now it's just gonna sound silly. I took some mushrooms."
"It's a drug. It's a false spiritual high," Bea said. "You know that."
Castiel raised a hand at her again. "Religions around the world have used different substances in their worship and ceremony. They believe it helps bring them closer to God."
They all stared at Castiel for a moment before Joe finally spoke. "Is it true? Does it bring them closer?"
He looked back at them, all of them watching him, waiting for an answer. "I don't know," Castiel finally said. "I've never tried mushrooms." They seemed to deflate in disappointment, and Castiel felt a trickle of guilt run down his spine, for some reason not wanting to let them down. "I've tried... other things, though," he finally said.
It was nearly comical how their eyes all grew wider at once. "You get high?"
Castiel shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with their scrutiny. "Not anymore. I stopped when... when we had to start concentrating on the fight."
"And does it bring you closer to God?" Joe asked, not missing a beat.
"I..." Castiel paused. He knew it didn't, because he wasn't even sure that God existed any longer, but he couldn't tell them that. He couldn't take away their hope. "I will say that it made me feel more like... my old self. More than I've ever felt since I... became human."
The children glanced at each other in silent communication before Joe finally turned back to him. "Do you want to smoke with us?"
* * *
Dean recognized it for what it was when Castiel crawled into bed that night, and his nose wrinkled. "You smell like pot."
Castiel couldn't help but let out a somewhat cynical laugh. "They wanted to smoke with an angel," he said, not offering any further explanation.
"Nobody gave you a shotgun, right?"
Castiel rolled over and gave Dean a deep kiss. "That's only for you." He drew back and noticed Dean's eyes were narrowed. "Are you angry with me?"
"No. Not really." Dean glared at him for another moment before shaking his head. "You're more than an adult. You can make your own decisions. There's no action tonight, anyway. Just don't do it before we have to go on a mission, okay?"
"You know I won't, Dean."
"Good." Dean rolled up and straddled Castiel, smirking. "Besides, you're a little hot when you're stoned. All spacey and mumbly." Dean rolled his hips once, deliberately and slowly, and Castiel gasped just as Dean leaned down to lick at his earlobe. "And maybe a little horny," he whispered.
Later, as they were passing out next to each other, the scent of Dean, sweat, and sex completely eliminating any traces of pot, Castiel decided he was mildly curious about the mushrooms Joe spoke of.
* * *
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he jerked his head over he noticed that his shoes were sliding across the floor, oddly looking like small cars driving side by side. He watched them for a few minutes as they slowly moved forward a few feet, and then suddenly jerked back to their original position only to begin the journey all over again. It was strange, and Castiel wondered why his shoes were doing that.
They did it over and over again, until he finally decided that the shoes must have been unable to make their trip across the room by themselves. He crawled off of his mattress and over to his shoes, sliding them into the corner where he thought they'd been trying to go. The shoelaces waved at him in thanks, so he smiled down at them and moved back to his bed, where he laid down with a small sense of satisfaction that he could at least be of assistance in some way.
His pillow was extremely soft, and he sighed happily in comfort as he stared up at the ceiling, studying the grain of the wood. The flat, sanded surface appeared layered and three dimensional, the different shades standing apart from each other and shifting against the color beneath. He had an urge to reach up and grab the darkest color, the one closest to the surface, and tear it away from the others. It reminded him of demon smoke as it slithered and hovered over the lighter colors. It was too similar to the world he lived in.
It was strange, disenchanting, to remember just how many people in the world had no clue as to what moved among them. They went about their lives, never knowing how close they were to death. In a way, though, Castiel thought they might have it easier. At least they weren't spending the last of their days worrying about the end. They could enjoy their last moments.
Castiel thought he might envy their ignorance.
"Cas?" Dean hovered over him, and Castiel realized he hadn't even heard Dean come in. He smiled, glad that Dean came to be with him.
"Jesus, Cas." Dean sat down beside Castiel, and Castiel tilted his head up into the fingers suddenly running through his hair. "Your pupils are the size of a fucking quarter. What the hell did you take?"
"I wanted to try something new." Castiel didn't want to move, enjoying how he sank down into the mattress. "I can think now. Everything's clearer."
Dean muttered something Castiel couldn't understand. "What's clearer?"
"Life. The world. We don't find hope - we create it. We create it in everything we do." Castiel was particularly pleased with this revelation, and even more excited to share it with Dean. "The 'false hope' you spoke of - I'm creating that every day."
Dean studied him for a few moments before cupping his cheek and leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. Castiel nearly gasped at the feeling - Dean's touch seemed amplified, sparking his nerve endings from head to toe. "You're tripping," Dean said quietly.
"Is that what this is called?" Castiel raised his hand and his fingers landed on Dean's lips. "Soft..." he whispered.
Dean sighed, grasping Castiel's wrist and pulling it away from him. "I've got some things to take care of," he said. "I'll tell you about them when you come down, okay?"
Castiel nodded, sinking further down into the mattress.
"Will you be okay by yourself?" Dean asked as he climbed to his feet.
"I will be fine."
Dean left, and Castiel continued sinking.
* * *
By the time Castiel's racing mind had slowed down and he stopped seeing flat surfaces as three dimensional, Dean had been gone for hours. Castiel pulled himself out of their cabin and went in search for answers. When he found them, a pit yawned open in his stomach.
The 'things' Dean had to take care of turned out to be gathering survivors from Philadelphia. Thousands had either been straight up murdered by the 'Croats,' as they'd taken to calling them, or were infected. The government stepped in and attempted to wipe out the remainder, and only a handful of people escaped with their lives.
Dean needed Castiel, and Castiel had been too out of it to be of any assistance whatsoever.
Castiel refused to eat or drink anything until Dean returned, no matter how much Chuck or Bobby urged him to. When Joe and the others approached his cabin with a joint to share with him, Castiel waved them away without a word.
Two days passed before Dean came back, toting only four survivors behind him. Castiel waited for him in their cabin, curling up on top of the mattress. When Dean finally trudged in, looking much more worse for the wear than he had in a while, he didn't even push his boots off of his feet before lying down next to Castiel, rolling over onto his back and rubbing his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Castiel whispered. "I should have-"
Dean cut him off with a shake of his head. "It's fine, Cas. You couldn't have known what was going down in Philly."
"But I should have been with you. I was..."
"Going on a psychedelic experience?" A hint of teasing crept into Dean's voice. "I can't say you had the best timing, but I've done that myself, Cas."
"It won't happen again."
"Cas." Dean rolled up to rest on his elbow. "I don't like it, and I'm sure as hell not encouraging it. But I..." Dean sighed, his eyes dropping. "You've been... ever since..." He paused, swallowing. "Well, you've kind of been really fucked up, and I don't know how to help you."
Castiel tilted his head in confusion. Dean didn't need to help him - it should have been the other way around.
"What you're doing - it's a crutch. It's a way to deal. Hell, I drank myself into more than a few stupors after I came back from Hell. I can't really judge you for wanting to..." He paused again and looked up to study Castiel, almost as if he was attempting to read whatever was running through Castiel's mind. "It's not even really an escape for you, is it?"
Castiel didn't respond, but silently agreed. Everything he'd felt elevated his sense of self, his mind, and brought him a taste of the awareness he'd once held. He wasn't escaping. He was only trying to find what he'd lost.
"Just... be careful, okay?" Dean continued. "Don't take anything that could fuck with you permanently. Stay away from crystal meth, and definitely don't take any fucking Jimson weed -"
"Dean." Castiel shook his head, cutting off Dean's rambling. "It's not going to happen anymore. You need me to be able to help you, not... 'tripping.'"
Dean leaned in and captured Castiel's lips with his own. "Cas, more than anything, I need you here," he whispered. "And I need you to not look like you want to die."
* * *
Joe introduced Castiel to a man named Mark, one of the survivors Dean had picked up from Philly. Out of any of the people Castiel had met with, Mark seemed to be the most awed at Castiel's past.
"You're living proof that God exists," he said, staring at Castiel with wide eyes. Castiel didn't bother to point out that humans had been saying the same thing about themselves for centuries.
There was nothing truly remarkable about Mark, much like many of the humans Castiel had met in camp. Castiel had a somewhat passing interest in Mark's past as a priest who had removed himself from the church several years prior, but was much more intrigued by the backpack Joe insisted Mark show to Castiel.
"I just grabbed everything I could when the Croats came up our street," Mark said as set his pack on the ground and began rifling through it. "I knew it wasn't the end, and I felt like having all of this was incredibly important." Castiel picked up the football-sized plastic bag of mushrooms Mark had just pulled out, turning it over in his hands in near disbelief. The amount of bitter mushrooms he had chewed up and swallowed before had been a tiny fraction of what he now held, and he had been under their influence for hours.
Castiel felt as if he was being watched, and he glanced up to see Mark staring at him with a nearly reverent expression. "Now I know why it was so important," Mark commented quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself, and Castiel wanted to pretend he hadn't heard.
He set the mushrooms down and peered at all the items Mark had pulled out of his pack. Some were familiar, but most weren't. "You are a man of God, are you not?" he asked absently as he picked up a smaller bag full of tiny plants that Castiel felt like he could once name, Latin genus and all, but couldn't hope to identify them any longer. He repressed a sigh at the now familiar feeling of discovering another gap in his knowledge.
"I am," Mark replied. "I do not need to be inside of a house of God to worship our God. What matters is our faith, our undying devotion to the Lord."
Castiel traded the plants for a small glass bottle that appeared to be full of water. "Why are you here, Mark?"
"Because I'm meant to be."
The quiet answer startled Castiel, and he glanced up to see Mark no longer staring at him, but at the bottle in his hand.
"With the way the world is heading, that's probably the last bottle of that I'll ever see," Mark commented. "Fortunately, that's enough to keep quite a few people going for years."
Castiel held the bottle up and the rays of the receding sun refracted and bent through the clear liquid. "And what is it?"
* * *
He'd found the key.
The mushrooms had brought Castiel closer to what he missed, but they were nothing compared to the tiny slip of paper he'd set on his tongue a few hours ago. Aside from Dean, it was easily the greatest gift he'd received since falling.
His thoughts were no longer jumbled, even while having twenty-seven different realizations running through his mind simultaneously. He understood each and every single one of those thoughts, and he tried his hardest to translate them into human terms for Mark's benefit, who hung onto his every word with unrivaled veneration.
He knew that the absence - the space between everything - mattered just as much as the parts that had mass. He remembered that life was always set in forward motion, even when it seemed that the world was still.
He knew everything he'd known before he fell.
Even so, Castiel wasn't sure if the revival of his angelic mind was as important as the return of what he'd missed the most - he was again part of the universe in body and soul. He could feel the earth rotating, spinning endlessly in a system that was nearly as old as he was. He could count the molecules that made up his body, and he could feel them vibrating together in a perfect rhythm, completely aware of the silent pulse that connected him to the ground beneath him and the air surrounding him.
"Mark," he said, and he could taste his voice on his tongue.
Mark just laughed gleefully.
"Listen to me," Castiel insisted, the taste of his words becoming sharper, heavier. "You must listen." He stood up and carried himself towards Mark, who laid on the ground with a serene smile. He hovered over the inert man, and his eyes instantly focused in on Castiel.
"Angel," Mark gasped. "You've changed... everything." He reached up, his fingertips hovering near Castiel's face. "I knew you would. I've always known."
Castiel grasped Mark's hand in both of his, and their hands seemed to meld and become a part of each other. "Do you know what you've done?" he asked.
"I've found God."
Castiel shook his head. Of course Mark hadn't found God. Castiel had searched high and low with all the powers and senses of an angel and come up with nothing. "You've restored me." He released Mark's hand and stood up, and he stretched his arms out to either side, reveling in the world. "Not everything, but I am..."
"You are holy."
Castiel nodded. "I was, once, and now you've given it back." He passed his hand in front of him, stroking the air. "But not just myself; I can see holiness everywhere again." He closed his hand, grasping the particles surrounding his fingers. "Perhaps it was never lost." A smile found its way to Castiel's lips, and he felt a sense of peace in his heart.
And then something thundered across Castiel's mind, instantly shattering that peace. It was soundless and weightless, but had the power of a thousand suns, and it sent Castiel to his knees with a gasp as it continued rumbling through his entire being. Castiel threw out his senses, trying to figure out what had happened, and he instantly found what he was looking for.
One string remained.
He'd found the last connection to the host, the thing that had been whispering to him in his dreams. Bile rose in Castiel's throat as he realized just who that last string belonged to, but he couldn't help traveling along it, reaching out for his lost brother. He left his cabin and appeared in the middle of a horrible world. "No, no, no," he whispered. The sight in front of him terrified him, but he couldn't look away.
"Castiel?" Mark's voice sounded miles away, but the worry still carried over the distance.
"Dean," Castiel felt like choking on his request. He needed him, but what he saw would destroy Dean. "Please... Dean."
"Let me help," Mark said.
"Find Dean!" Castiel shouted, desperation wrapping around him like an ugly cocoon. He felt the vibrations of Mark's receding footsteps and hated that he was being left alone, even though it was what he asked for. He was half-blinded by an awful combination of light and darkness, but he knew he needed to keep the vision in his mind.
It felt like hours had passed before he finally heard Dean's voice, sounding as if it was reaching him through a tube. "What the fuck did you give him?" The phrase repeated itself in Castiel's mind an infinite amount of times, even though he somehow knew Dean had only said it once. "What the fuck did you give him?"
There was shuffling, a demand of "get the fuck out of here" from Dean, and suddenly Castiel was yanked out of the vision when Dean's warm hands touched him, combing fingers through his hair. Castiel finally opened his eyes and realized he'd been crying, and he somehow had wound up lying on the floor.
"Cas, you're okay," Dean said, and Castiel hated how distorted Dean's face was. The green of his eyes kept slipping, sliding to the side, before reappearing where it should be and sliding away again. "Shoulda warned you to stay the hell away from LSD, too - you're just having a bad trip."
Castiel felt more tears squeeze their way out, and he shook his head.
"Cas, listen to me - whatever you're thinking you're seeing, it's not real, okay? Acid can give you some scary mindfucks."
The vision played back on repeat in Castiel's mind, and the tears wouldn't stop. "This is not... a mindfuck," he gasped, trying to calm himself down. "It's true. I wish it wasn't, but it is."
Dean began to pull him upwards, trying to get him to sit upright. "You're... Jesus, Cas, you've fucking pissed yourself," he said in disbelief. "We've gotta get you cleaned up."
"The city is filthy," Cas mumbled, not caring whether or not he really had pissed himself.
"No, you are. C'mon, Cas." Dean continued pulling on Castiel, who stubbornly refused to move.
"It's to the East. No, the West. The left, it's to the left, where the sun is setting. Something's happened, Dean."
He heard Dean sigh. "What's happened?"
The tears returned, and he realized he had never felt this many emotions assaulting him at once. He didn't want to tell Dean, but he knew he had to. "Sam."
Dean immediately stilled. "What about Sam?" he asked after a moment, his voice pensive and quiet.
Castiel curled up and tucked his face into his knees. He truly wished it wasn't real, but he'd never been more sure of anything since he fell. "They're... interwoven. They're the same now."
"Cas, I'm sorry, but you're talking a whole bunch of nonsense."
"My brother and your brother. There was light, and then dark. Interwoven." Castiel pressed his palms against his eyelids, trying to cease the vision from repeating itself in his mind.
"I still don't understand, Cas."
Castiel choked on another sob. He didn't want Dean to understand, and yet also knew he had to make him understand. "Your brother and my brother are the same now," he said, knowing he was repeating himself, but he couldn't force any other words past his tongue.
"I don't -" Dean paused and lapsed into silence, and Castiel knew that Dean finally got what he'd been trying to say. He looked up to see Dean staring blankly - not at him, nor at anything; he just stared at nothing, his mouth set in a hard line. A few moments passed before Dean shook his head. "Cas, you're tripping. It's not real."
"It is real! I don't want it to be real, but it is!" Castiel insisted. It would do no one any good if Dean was in denial. "I saw it happen."
Dean shook his head the entire time Castiel spoke. "Sam wouldn't do that. I know he wouldn't," he insisted.
Castiel buried his face in his hands. "It's already happened, Dean. It was to the West, in a dirty, filthy city. Sam said 'yes.'"
"You're wrong!" Dean shouted, and Castiel jumped, the anger in Dean's voice tearing deep into him. He cringed and wished he could just disappear inside himself. "Cas, you're not an angel anymore. You can't see shit now, no matter what your fucking drugs tell you!" He shoved Castiel away, who slid back on the floor and curled up where he landed. The force of Dean's footsteps as he left shook the cabin right along with Castiel's entire being.
Even though he knew nothing would answer, he found himself praying to a God that wasn't there that Dean would come back.
Part Four