The Mockingbird and the Oriole
Title: The Mockingbird and the Oriole
Author: darth_firefly
Artist: usarechan
Fandom/Genre: AU, drama
Pairing(s): Mentions of Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, mentions of character death, deaf!Dean
Summary:Castiel fully expected to die when he went into that warehouse in Van Nuys. He was ready to die. What he didn't expect was to land in the home of a Dean Winchester who had no idea who he was, who had never been to Hell, who wasn't a Winchester - and had never heard a single sound in his entire life. All that considered, the fact that this Dean had a seven year old daughter was hardly surprising at all. Oddly enough, the kid might be the LEAST of the surprises waiting for him in this other reality he now found himself in.
On January twenty-fourth, nineteen seventy nine, Dean Winchester was born in Lawrence, Kansas. Perfectly healthy - save for one thing; like his paternal great-grandmother, he was deaf. Almost ten years later, his father, John, abandoned him in a hospital in Fort Douglas, Minnesota. Three months later, he was adopted by Michael and Elisa Coulter of Fredrick, Maryland. Three years later, John Winchester succeeded in killing Azazel - he and his son Sam, settled in Windom, Minnesota with Kate Milligan and her and John's son, Adam. His one attempt at looking for Dean ended with failure.
The armies of Heaven, rather than expressing disappointment over having to delay the Apocalypse, set out to rid their Father's world of many evils. After the war was over, the death toll for both Heaven and Hell was staggering. The Archangel Michael appointed three of his brothers to watch over the three sons of John Winchester - only one of them took to the task without complaint.
For the Archangel Gabriel knew that something would happen that would eventually change everything. All he had to do - was wait.
***
Having never been unconscious before, drifting back to reality was almost frightening for Castiel. As he came awake, but not fully so, he tried to recall what exactly had happened. He remembered the warehouse, a brilliant flash - the searing pain in his chest and then - blackness. The fact that he was alive surprised him more than anything. He'd been certain that by carving that Enochian symbol into his chest and dispelling all the angels it would kill him. But he wasn't dead. At least, he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. If he was dead, he was almost certain that his chest wouldn't still sting.
The angel let out a breath and took stock of his surroundings before he opened his eyes. He was lying down in a very soft bed; the sheets smelled strangely of rain and somewhere nearby, he could smell lilacs. There was a distant drone of a lawnmower and bird song. This wasn't the Singer house. The bed was too comfortable and things smelled far too clean. A clock somewhere in the house tolled the hour - one - two - three. A door opened somewhere in what he guessed was in the hallway and he frowned. This place was very unfamiliar. He moved his hand underneath the blanket and found his chest had been bound tightly with bandages. Whoever had found him had evidently brought him in here to care for him. Castiel was silently thankful he wasn't in a hospital - but at the same time, the pressing need to get back to Dean and Sam was strong. Who knew what had happened to them after he left. Letting out another breath, the angel opened his eyes.
The room he was in wasn't very big, but it was bright. The walls were a pale yellow, the color of butter, and when he turned his head, he could see the delicate lace curtains that covered the two windows to his right. He frowned, sensing someone watching him. He turned his head the other way and caught a flash of dark brown hair followed by the sound of hurried footsteps - too small to belong to an adult. The room and the bed, for all its comfort, felt strangely wrong - as if it didn't belong. Or perhaps it was he who didn't belong.
All he knew was that he had to get a hold of the Winchesters. He didn't think he could sit up just yet, much less talk on a phone, but as soon as he met his benefactor, perhaps they could contact the brothers for him. He looked across the room and caught sight of his clothes, looking to be freshly laundered, sitting folded on a chair. Someone was apparently taking very good care of him. He ran a hand through his hair as he heard footsteps coming toward the room again. Heavier, so it wasn't the child - most likely this was the child's parent. He could tell that whoever it was, it wasn't a demon. When he heard the footsteps stop, he turned towards the doorway; Castiel could not have been more stunned.
It was Dean.
“Dean?” He coughed as the man came into the room. Something was clearly wrong with him. He came over to the bed with no look of recognition on his face. No relief, nothing. More shocking was when Dean pressed the back of his hand against the angel's forehead, checking for a fever.
“Dean!” he said again and still there was no reaction. He grabbed the man's wrist and looked Dean straight in the face. “What is the matter?”
It was in that instant he saw it. He saw that this wasn't the Dean he went to Van Nuys with. This wasn't the man he pulled from Hell. This was an entirely different Dean.
“How are you feeling?” Apparently in addition to being an entirely different Dean, he was not at all affected by the angel's reaction.
Cas let go of Dean's wrist, still in shock. “I - I am not certain.” Dean's voice sounded wrong.
“Are you hungry? Would food help?”
“I do not know.” The angel realized his voice was probably full of confusion - yet Dean seemed not to notice.
“You're not feverish any more. You had me worried there for a while.” Castiel noticed that he was speaking with his hands and his voice. This Dean - was deaf.
“Where am I?” The angel decided to stick with simple things for the time being.
“Texas - just outside of Austin.” Dean smiled. “You've been asleep for three days.”
“Texas.” Cas rubbed his eyes. “How on earth...” He frowned. “You didn't take me to a hospital?”
“I knew I couldn't take you there.” He shook his head. “You fell from the sky.” He pulled a face. “You landed in a forsythia bush. It's a good thing you landed on the right side of the house and not the left.”
“Why is that?”
“There's nothing but rose bushes on the left side.” He shrugged. “You fortunately did not break any bones. Some minor scratches and that vicious wound on your chest and hand. I brought you inside and cleaned you up.” He smiled. “Do you want something to eat?”
“I - I suppose I should eat.” He still didn't know why he wasn't at a hospital. “Though I do not know what I want.”
“Broth for now.” Dean stood. “I don't want you getting sick.”
“Thank you.” He frowned. “I am sorry to inconvenience you and your family like this.”
“It's okay.” He turned and walked from the room.
Castiel rubbed his eyes again, more confused than he had been before he opened his eyes. He was in a world with a deaf Dean who didn't know him. Angel or no, not even archangels had knowledge of all the realities. He could feel what was left of his Grace, a small scrap of a thing curled around his heart. Nowhere near enough to get back - if he could even figure out where his home was from here. He felt someone was watching him again and he opened his eyes and turned to see the child standing half hidden by the door frame. “Hello.”
“Hi.” The girl's voice was so soft he'd barely heard it.
“Liesel!” Dean's voice called and then he appeared in the doorway. “Go downstairs for a little while, okay?”
The girl looked up at Dean for a moment and then turned and vanished.
“Sorry.” He came into the room, set a tray on the table next to the bed before helping Castiel sit up in the bed. “I told her to not spy on you.” He put the tray on the bed. “But she doesn't always listen.”
Castiel picked up the spoon and promptly dropped it. “I...”
“Here.” Dean went and got the chair from the far side of the room, setting the angel's clothes on top of the dresser and came back to the bed. “I think your body is still waking up.” He watched the angel pick up the spoon again and drop it. “Let me help you.” He picked up the bowl and spoon and after a moment, set the spoon full of broth against the angel's lips.
Castiel took a tentative sip before letting Dean tip the rest of the contents into his mouth. “I think something may be wrong with my other hand.” He tried not to think about how odd it was to have someone feed him. It tasted about as good as it smelled - which was delicious. “Thank you.”
Dean scooped more broth into the spoon, holding the bowl close to Castiel's chin so it wouldn't drip. “You're quite welcome.”
It was slow going eating the broth. He wasn't even sure why he'd accepted the offer of food, other than he knew he had to try and appear as normal as possible. Then again, the fact that this Dean had seen him fall from the sky - he ate another spoonful and realized that while he knew who this man was - sort of - Castiel knew he couldn't just say that he did. “What day is it?”
“It's April eighth.” He glanced at the alarm clock Castiel hadn't noticed before. “It's three fifteen in the afternoon.”
“This may sound like a very odd question, but it is two-thousand ten, yes?”
Dean frowned. “No. It's two-thousand twelve.”
“I am... sorry to be so confused...” He sat back, a silent gesture that made Dean set the bowl and spoon down on the tray.
“You seem to make a habit of apologizing for things you can't control. I assure you, this isn't a problem.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, relaxing a little. “My name is Dean Coulter. And you are?”
To his credit, Castiel didn't react to the fact Dean had the wrong last name. “Castiel... Novak.”
“Well, Mr. Novak, you look to have had quite a rough time. I don't know where you came from, but as you fell from the sky, either you have got to be the luckiest skydiver of all time, or you aren't from around here.”
“I - I'm not entirely sure how I ended up here.” This was the truth.
“Well, I'm sure it will come back to you. I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but I think your cell phone is a lost cause.”
“It is not of import... I do not think anyone would be there to answer my call if it did work.” He flexed his right hand and then managed to pick up the spoon, but he had lost interest in eating for now. “You were correct. I do feel somewhat better.” He grimaced as his chest twinged in pain. “However, I don't think I will be able to do much movement today.”
He smiled in response. “That's fine. There's no need to rush yourself.” He paused. “I'm also thankful that you know to look directly at me so that I can read your lips.”
Castiel realized he'd been doing it purely out of instinct rather than intentionally. “You're welcome. I'm sorry that you...”
“Don't tell me you're sorry for the fact that I'm deaf.” He grinned. “I've never known otherwise, so it's not a problem.” He stood and lifted the tray. “Do you need anything else?”
“No.” Just the thought of being vertical actually made the angel feel dizzy. “I'm sure you have more important things to do than sit here and talk with me.”
“Would you like a book to read?” He shrugged slightly. “There's no television up here. Most of it is horrible anyway.”
“No, but thank you. I believe I may be in need of some more rest.”
Dean nodded. “That's understandable.” He adjusted his hold on the tray. “If you need anything, you just need to shout.” He smiled faintly. “I may be deaf, but Liesel isn't.” He turned and headed for the door, pausing just on the other side of the threshold. “My brother is also here, but he's going to leave to head back to school in a few hours.”
“Your brother?”
“His name's Adam. He's no bother.” Dean turned and left.
Castiel watched him go, still trying to comprehend all this. This Dean clearly didn't fight monsters, had a different last name, and was deaf. And he was on speaking terms with Adam Milligan, who, from the sound of it, hadn't been killed by ghouls and brought back to life as part of an archangel's nefarious plan. Then there was the fact he was two years in the future. He'd think he was dreaming if the wound on his chest didn't hurt. Then there was the little matter of his left hand. He frowned as he turned it over and examined his palm. A small line of stitches went across the ball of his thumb. So that meant this Dean had also pretty much nursed his wounds - had more than likely carried him upstairs - and who knew what else. How had Dean managed to carry him up the stairs? The sound of a doorbell snapped him from his thoughts and after a muffled conversation he heard light footsteps on the stairs.
“Hi.” a voice said from the doorway. “Mr. Novak?”
It was the little girl again. “Hello.” She came into the room and over to the bed - holding a notebook and pen out towards him.
“My dad asked me to give this to you.”
He took the book, trying to smile. “Thank you... Miss...”
“Liesel. My name's Liesel.” She rocked back on her heels, clearly delighted to finally be allowed to talk to him.
“Liesel.” He turned the notebook over in his hands, frowning. “Did he have a reason for giving these to me?”
“He said to tell you that it's in case you need to write things down to help you get things sorted out. He always figures things out a little easier if he writes them down.” She rubbed her nose. “Are you an angel?”
To his credit, Castiel didn't blanch or automatically respond in the affirmative. “Why would you think that?”
“Cause you fell out of the sky. I saw you fall.” She bit at her bottom lip. “I....”
“How old are you, Liesel?” If he was going to go purely by size, he would have thought her six.
“I'm almost eight. My birthday is June eighteenth.”
“I see. Well, I'm sorry - I'm not an angel.”
“That's okay.” She gave him a look that Castiel took to mean she didn't entirely believe him - but then again, she was just a child. “I was just wondering.”
“Thank you for the notebook.” Castiel hadn't been around children enough to know when you were supposed to tell them to go away.
“You're welcome.” She gave him a small smile and headed for the door.
“Liesel?” Castiel called after her. “May I ask you something?”
She turned. “What? I mean.. yes?”
“Does your mother object to me being up here?” Right away, he knew he'd asked something he shouldn't have.
“I don't know.”
“Do you think I could ask her?” Castiel could hear Bobby Singer's voice in his mind calling him an idjit.
“Uh... Mr. Novak... my mom doesn't live here.” She looked at her feet and took a deep breath. “She's in Heaven.” She turned and he watched her leave and a moment later, a door shut in what he guessed was just a short way down the hall.
The angel felt his shoulders slump and set the notebook down on the bedside table, still trying to take all of this in. Dean and Adam were on speaking terms - pretty close ones, from what he could tell. Sam was somewhere else. Dean was also apparently a widower, had a nearly eight year old kid and for some reason, Castiel had a feeling that he was just looking at the tip of the proverbial iceberg. He lifted his head when his angelic brain seemed to catch up with this year's calendar. It was Easter Sunday.
*
Dean Coulter knew what Castiel was - or at least, had his suspicions. He had given the man holy-water laced broth not really expecting much to happen - but it had given him a little comfort. The silver spoon only helped with the knowledge that his visitor wasn't here to harm them. As far as he could tell. He may not have hunted anything in twenty years, but he still knew how to take precautions.
It'd been raining lightly on Thursday night and he and Liesel had been eating dinner. There had been a flash of lightning and then he assumed there had been a crash, or some sort of sound that his daughter couldn't describe exactly for him - only that she had pointed to the window and started rapidly signing and speaking. Someone had fallen.
When he went outside, Dean had been expecting to find someone in an unspeakable condition. Castiel had crushed a forsythia bush with his weight and had been lying, spread eagle on top of it. His shirt was hanging open; that ugly wound on his chest was at the stage where things were starting to scab over - although parts of it looked cauterized. There had been a pretty nasty cut on the man's left hand as well. Knowing better than to try and get the man to a hospital - Dean didn't feel like answering questions when he had no answers to give - he'd taken Castiel inside and patched him up alone. He'd already arranged to have the day off at work since Liesel had no school on Friday.
Where Castiel belonged and how he would get back there - Dean hadn't gotten that far yet. He wanted to help, he knew that. The little matter that his house guest thought it was two-thousand ten was a pretty good indication that something was very off. Well, perhaps he could talk with the man when he was feeling a little stronger and they could get things sorted out. The man tended to sleep a lot, more than anything.
Shaking his head, Dean walked out of his room and down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. He was pretty sure that Castiel could move onto a little heartier food soon. He came into the room and grinned. “Hungry again already?”
Adam looked up from the counter. “I want to make sure I don't forget the leftovers you always seem to insist I take.”
Dean shook his head. “More like making sure you get a healthy leftover portion of my grandma's famous bread pudding.”
“Hey!” the younger man said indignantly. “You're the one who makes enough for ten people!”
“I have to; you eat enough for three.” He came over and gave his brother a one armed hug. “It's okay. Sam's the one who eats enough for five.”
Adam rolled his eyes in response. “No kidding. I still don't know how my mom could keep food for long when the two of us were at home and in our teens.”
Dean shook his head and sat down on one of the bar-stools next to the island. “If it's true about all the junk food you had, it's a wonder Sam's so damn tall.”
“I think that California living made him learn to hate sugar. You so much as waggle a chocolate bar under his nose and he freaks out.” Adam turned to put a casserole dish back in the fridge and then shut the door. “Lis isn't going to let me take all the cookies we made, is she?”
He snorted in response. “She knows how many are left, so the answer is no. Though if you want to take half, I don't think it'd be a problem. And as for Sam and chocolate, if you make it a Butterfinger, he won't cringe; he'll break your wrist to get it if you're not careful.”
“Yeah yeah....” He went over to the pantry to grab a bag and then came back to pile the containers of food inside. “Dean...” He took a deep breath. “Dad really wants to talk to you.”
“No.” Dean's jaw tightened. He wanted nothing to do with John Winchester. Ever. “He knows why I don't want to talk to him.”
“Are you really going to hold onto what he did?” Adam let out a breath. “I mean, you know...”
“It's not about being abandoned, Adam.” He rubbed his face for a moment. “It's not about that and it's never been about that. It's something you can't...”
“I understand it perfectly!” Dean could tell he yelled by the expression on his face. “Look, he doesn't want to be your friend, he doesn't want to have some kind of relationship, he just wants to try and make amends!”
“Amends for what, Adam? For making me his personal punching bag for five years?” Dean stopped speaking and went straight to signing. “This isn't the sort of thing you can make right. I've tried very hard to let it go and move on. You don't know the half of what he did to me.”
Adam took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He tied a knot with the plastic bag's handles and then looked straight at his brother. “You're right, I don't and I don't know how to make things right. I'm just sick of being the messenger, that's all.”
“I'm sorry, Adam. There's some things that are just - too hard to completely forget.” He came over and gave his brother a one armed hug.
“I know.” He returned the hug and stepped back. “I better get going so I can beat traffic.”
Dean nodded and walked him to the front door. “You be careful down there.”
“I will.” He stepped out onto the porch and turned. “See you in a few weeks?”
“Sure.” He watched his brother go down the walk and get into his car. Adam waved once and then drove away. Dean quietly shut the front door and locked it.
*
Adam wasn't halfway to the Louisiana border when he pulled off at a rest stop and took out his cellphone and hit the second number on his speed dial. It rang twice before it was answered.
“Hey Adam.”
“Hi Dad. Happy Easter. How are you and Mom?” He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes.
“We're good.” There was that odd hitch in his voice - the one that Adam knew far too well. “Your mom's already left for work, so don't forget to call her.” John sighed. “How's Dean?”
“He's... he's good.” Adam swallowed. “I think Lis has grown a few inches since I saw her back on Dean's birthday.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “I told him you just want to talk - but he didn't take it very well.”
John let out a hacking cough. “I'm not surprised. That's why I need this to be a mutual thing, Adam. It's taken me this long to work up the courage to try and start over and it's bad enough I've got to have you and Sam play messenger.”
“I still don't get what happened in Fort Douglas.” He took a drink from the bottle of water and stuck it in a cup holder. “I mean... that had never happened before, had it?”
“I was half drunk and extremely angry. I should have known better than to be hunting in the state I was in, but well...” John let out another sigh. “I just remember coming to with Sam asleep in the chair and Dean a bloody mess on the floor. I knew that if I didn't get your brother away from me and other hunters, I was pretty much digging his grave more than I already was.”
Adam let out a breath. “He doesn't hate you for leaving him, I've told you that.”
“I know.” John made a gulping sound, like he was drinking something. “Still doesn't change the fact that I had no right beating on him. Ever.”
“Dean knows that you ditching him was the best possible thing. He's told me and Sam as much. As for wailing on him - well, I think the damage goes a lot deeper than I can imagine.” Adam took another sip of water. “Not to mention the fact that if she ever met you, Elisa Coulter would kick your ass.”
“You think she could take me?” John said, half jesting.
“Well, yes. One, on the basis of the fact you'd never hit her, and two, she wouldn't have to hit you - she's got a glare that could cleave granite in half.” He coughed. “Now, Michael Coulter on the other hand - he'd probably pull your head off for her.”
“I've seen his picture, Adam. I believe that. Hell, that guy could probably rip a wendigo in half without breaking a sweat.”
“I'll take your word for it.” He paused. “Dad? Can I ask you something?”
“What is it?” John suddenly sounded tired.
“Why do you want to talk to Dean so badly? I mean, I know he's your son and...”
John cut him off. “It's something you can't understand, Adam. You're not a parent.” He took a breath. “I just... I don't want something to happen to either of us without at least - I know I can't hope to make amends, but I do know he and I can't carry on like this. It's not fair to you or Sam.”
“So you want to make peace with Dean because you think it's not fair to me and Sam.” Adam snorted. “I told Dean you just wanted to talk and he freaked. What the hell did you do to him that would make him that pissed?”
“It was just too much. It seemed the older he got, the angrier I got. It wasn't his fault, none of it was - I rationalized leaving him might have been the worst thing I'd done, but it was also the best.” He took a breath. “Dean was such a quiet kid and hell, I could barely communicate with him. His mom was the one who talked to him - and the things I've seen? I'm actually frightened of Dean's mother.”
“I don't think she's ghost-possessed someone and is walking around with a Louisville Slugger looking for the Impala, Dad.” Adam knew he shouldn't be so crass, but he'd almost pay money to see that.
“That's not funny young man.” John had that edgy tone in his voice that told Adam it was best to just shut up. “I should let you go so you can get on back to school.” John let out a breath. “Call your mom when you get back to New Orleans so she knows you're okay.”
“Yeah.” He took another swig of water. “I will.”
*
Castiel had gotten oriented enough to get from the bed to the doorway and then from the door to the stairs. After spending most of the day in and out of sleep, hunger - actual hunger - had driven him to get up. He held onto the banister as he descended, pausing to look around what he could see of the first floor from the landing where the stairs turned. The foyer had a tile floor that gave way to hardwood in what he guessed was the family room, judging from the comfortable looking furniture and television. Along one wall was a glass fronted hutch that had several trophies, a few gleaming medals and two diploma envelopes - one from the American School for the Deaf and the the other from Stanford University. “This is all very... strange.” He stepped around the hutch, heading for what he guessed had to be the kitchen. He wasn't sure what he'd find there - or even how to cook, for that matter. Well, certainly he could find a loaf of bread - he hoped. He paused in the doorway. “Good... evening?”
Dean looked up from where he was standing, seeing Castiel out of the corner of his eye. “ Evening. Feeling better?”
“I think so. This place... is very different from where I live.” He looked around the room, still waiting for Sam to appear in another doorway. “Is your brother still here?”
Dean shook his head. “No, he left a little while ago.”
“I see.” He glanced over at the kitchen table, which had two tall containers full of sweets resting on it. “What is that?”
“The Easter Bunny left those for Liesel.” He shook his head. “Multiple bunnies.” He turned back to Castiel. “Would you like something to eat? Adam did take a lot of leftovers, but there's some left.”
“That would be - most welcome.” He set a hand against the door-frame, frowning. “I... think.”
“Think we better have you sit back down.” Dean came over, put Castiel's free arm over his shoulders and half carried, half led him over to one of the kitchen chairs. “Don't go straining yourself.”
The angel shook his head. “This is all - confusing.”
Dean shook his head. “You keep saying that. Why don't you tell me what's confusing you, it will most likely help.”
Castiel tilted his head. “I do not think you could possibly grasp the mechanics of dimensional travel, Dean.”
“I watch Dr. Who so I might understand the theory.”
“Who is Dr. Who?”
Dean arched an eyebrow and responded back to him without speaking. “Forget about the Doctor for now. How about you stop pretending you don't know American Sign Language for starters?”
The angel swallowed and looked down at his hands - he hadn't even realized that as a result of Dean's signing and speaking, he'd started to do it too out of instinct. “I traveled in a method without thinking of where I'd end up landing.” It was a little hard to sign with one of his hands bandaged. He was just glad his right hand seemed to be functioning fully again.
“Either you're incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Possibly both.” He stood up. “I'll get you something to eat. Is there anything you don't like?”
Castiel shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Just as long as it's... hot.”
“I can manage that.” He went over and opened the fridge. “Shells and cheese it is.”
There was no conversation while Dean was cooking. The angel took advantage of the quiet to look around the almost spotless kitchen, still not used to putting something as clean as this place with the hunter he knew. Although something told him that Dean hadn't hunted in a very long time - if he ever had.
“Here we are.” When the bowl was set in front of him, Castiel noted that there was a thick gold band around Dean's left ring finger.
“Thank you.” He picked up the fork, glad that it stayed put. He wasn't exactly ready to have Dean feed him again.
“You're welcome.” A moment later, Dean sat down at the table as well with a notebook and started scribbling notes on it. “I'm sorry, did you want something to drink?”
“No, no this is fine.” Castiel ate slowly, rather glad he had learned the signals for when he was hungry, tired and other human functions with some ease. True, he shouldn't be feeling them at all - shouldn't be aware of emotions either - but it was sort of one less thing to worry about. He watched the man write for a while, still trying to grasp all the differences between this Dean and well - the other Dean. He tapped the man's wrist to get his attention. “What are you doing, exactly?”
“Leaving instructions for the baby-sitter tomorrow.” He smiled pleasantly. “I have a long day at work ahead of me, so I won't be home until late. Liesel doesn't have school until Tuesday.”
“Is your baby-sitter going to say something about me being here?”
“Given the number of times I've been over to his place and found wounded wild animals recovering there?” Dean set the pen down. “I highly doubt it. I'll explain about you when he gets here. It'll just be easier.” He scribbled something down. “Don't worry, he's a nice guy.” He frowned. “You act like you've never had pasta before, the way you're eating it.”
“It's - very complicated.” He poked at the pasta in his bowl.
“You keep saying that. Why don't you just try explaining it - perhaps it will help.” He wrote down something else.
“The place I came from is so far removed from this place it is beyond...”
“Then explain to me like I'm five.” He threw the pen onto the table for emphasis. “I might surprise you.”
“I came here in trying to help avert the Apocalypse. I was expecting to kill myself - so landing here, wherever this place is, was just as much of a shock to me as it was you.” He pushed the bowl away, his hunger gone.
Dean pushed the notebook and pen away and folded his hands, looking him over. “You're right. That is complicated.” He paused. “So are you more shocked that you're here or that you're not dead?”
“If that is an attempt at humor...” The angel stopped speaking as he saw the slight smile on the man's face. “Perhaps you are right.” He felt his shoulders slump and he sat back. “I still do not understand why you kept me here. Wouldn't the standard procedure be to take me to a hospital?”
“I was going to.” He paused. “Then I saw something that made me change my mind.”
“What was that?”
In response, Dean rose, took the bowl and set it on the counter. “I'll show you.” He went through a door that led the angel guessed led to a laundry room and came back carrying a folded towel which he set on the table. “This is what I found.”
Castiel swallowed and opened the towel. There, in sharp contrast to the pale gray cotton, was a mass of long dark brown feathers with black tips. His feathers. At least two dozen of them, along with shorter, softer down from what he knew had to be the tender underside of his wings. Now he knew why the little girl had asked if he was an angel. She'd seen the feathers too. “I...”
“Either these are yours, or there are ostriches nesting under my kitchen window and they have the ability to become invisible.” Dean sat down, his face unreadable.
He swallowed again and reached out, running a finger along one of the longest feathers, the length of a child's arm. “Were... were they out?”
“The wings these came from?” Dean's voice was oddly calm. “Only for a moment. I can't be certain, but they looked to be broken.”
“Are there any still out there?” He found it hard to remember to look at Dean when he spoke.
“No. I had Liesel look all over under the window and around the bushes. These are all the ones we found.” He frowned. “I don't know how you're going to get home, but you're welcome to stay here and rest for a while until you feel up to going back.”
“If I can get back.” Castiel felt defeated. “I... there is so much of this place that doesn't make sense.”
“Then how about we start with you feeling better physically first - then try and work on the rest.”
In response, the angel glowered at him. “What, are you a doctor or something?”
“Yes. I'm an anesthesiologist, but that's not important right...” He stopped, seeing something in the angel's face. “What, does that surprise you?”
“I think I need to go back to bed.” He stood, taking the largest feather from the towel in his hand.
“You want some help getting back upstairs?” Dean stood as well.
“No, just... put those in a safe place, please.” He waved at the towel and slowly walked out of the room.
**
Liesel almost ran down the stairs when the doorbell rang the next morning. She glanced through the glass in the door to check who it was before she unlocked and opened it. “Hi, Mister Jay!”
The man beamed at her and stepped inside. “Hey, kiddo.” He gave her a small hug. “Your dad in the kitchen?” He set down his messenger bag next to the door and took off his shoes.
“Yup.” She led the way. “How was your Easter?”
“Quiet and uneventful - just the way I like all my Sundays.” He followed her through the family room.
“Unless the Ravens are playing, right?” She looked over her shoulder as they came into the kitchen.
“That's a different matter altogether.” He came into the kitchen as Dean looked up from the list he was working on. “Hey.”
“Hello.” He stood up. “I don't think my guest upstairs will be too much trouble. He sleeps most of the time.”
Jay nodded. “You told me over the phone. Are you sure you don't want to take him to a hospital?” He went and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Yes. I am sure.” Dean gave his daughter a hug. “It's going to be a long day today. I don't know when I will be home.”
“Today's the day they're separating those conjoined twins, isn't it?” He set his mug down on the island.
“Yes.” He picked up his keys from the counter. “We have plenty of leftovers.”
“Bye Daddy.” Liesel hugged her dad again. “And I know, I've got school tomorrow, so bedtime is eight thirty.”
Dean chuckled. “Good girl.” He turned back to Jay. “Don't keep her outside too long if you go out.”
“Dean, I've been watching Lis for the past two and a half years. I know the routine.” Jay gave the man a small smirk. “I know where the emergency numbers are and all that.”
“I'll send a text when the surgery is over, so you have an idea of when I'll get back.” Dean ruffled his daughter's hair, picked up his small duffel bag and headed out the door in the laundry room. A moment later, a car started up and he was gone.
Jay took a drink from his mug. “Well, kiddo. What are we going to do today?”
“I was gonna do a big puzzle.” She rocked back on her heels. “You going to work on that book of yours again?”
“Thinking about it.” He sat down. “You going to work on the dining room table?”
“Yeah.” She rubbed her nose. “You gonna work in here?”
“What can I say, I like the distance between myself and the coffee pot to be short.” He went to retrieve his bag.
Liesel went into the family room, opened up the game cabinet and pulled out a five-hundred piece puzzle with a picture of Big Ben on it. She took her puzzle across the hall and went into the dining room, settled down in her usual seat, opened the box and set about finding all the edges. She heard Mr. Jay's laptop start up and a moment later, he started typing away. “Mister Jay?”
“What is it Lis?”
“What does conjoined mean?” She tossed a few side pieces onto the table.
“Well, you know what joined means?” There was a shuffling sound of papers.
“Yeah. It means together.” She paused. “Are those two babies stuck together?”
“'Fraid so, Lis. But don't worry, they're going to be fine.” There was a hitch in his voice.
“How come they're stuck together?” She called. “Dad wouldn't tell me.”
“That's just how they were formed. It happens sometimes.”
“You mean like when the neighbor's cat had kittens and all of 'em only had one eye each?” She grimaced. “That was really gross.”
“Something like that.” More rustling. “But all you need to know is that those twins are going to be fine. Might be sore for a little while, but that's to be expected.”
“Uh huh.” She turned her attention back to her puzzle, fairly certain she'd gotten most of the edges. She had set to work putting them together when she heard a soft huffing sound and she looked up. “Hi.” Liesel said quietly. She knew Mister Jay was writing and while he was a really nice guy, she didn't want to disturb him.
“Hello.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, frowning. “Where is your father?”
“At work. Mister Jay's here.” she whispered. “He's writing at the moment. I'm doing a puzzle. Are you hungry?”
“No.” He came into the room and sat down across from her. “Why are you doing a puzzle?”
“Because I wanted to - I don't know if I'll do it all day though.” She put the corners in place. “You wanna help?”
“I - I haven't done a puzzle before.” He took a handful of pieces from the box and started to separate them. “This doesn't seem to be difficult.”
“I don't know about that.” She started on a side, biting her bottom lip in concentration. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better.” He sounded like he meant it - and then paused as his stomach rumbled.
“Are you sure you're not hungry?” Liesel frowned. “Cause you sound hungry.”
“I don't think he knows what hunger is.” Jay called from the doorway,
Castiel froze. He knew that voice. He slowly turned in his chair and looked behind him, knowing he had to look completely shocked. Standing there, looking completely unperturbed and calm was the Archangel Gabriel.
“Mr. Novak, this is Mister Jay. How can someone not know when they're hungry?”
“Jay?” Castiel frowned.
“Jay Gatz.” He came over to the table. “And you are?”
“Castiel Novak.” This world had gone from unfamiliar and straight into bizarre.
“It's nice to meet you.” Jay/Gabriel turned his attention to Liesel. “Why don't you go line up all the cereal boxes on the counter so our friend can choose one.”
“Okay.” She got up from the table and headed into the kitchen.
Castiel watched her go and then turned back to Gabriel. “What is...” The archangel pressed a finger against his lips to silence him.
“I'll fill you in on a lot of details after lunch. I don't know what sort of nightmare you fell out of, but you're safe here. That's all you need to know.”
He stood up, frowning. “I do not see why I must wait...”
“Because after lunch, Lis will go up to her room for a few hours and do whatever it is little girls do with teddy bears and ponies and such and we won't have to worry about her overhearing us.” Castiel let Gabriel lead him into the kitchen.
*
Castiel had doubted that Gabriel had been telling the truth that the girl would do as he said, and go upstairs in the afternoon - but to his great surprise, shortly after lunch, she did just that. He had plenty of questions for the archangel - and at the same time, he'd been somewhat relieved when he'd seen him. Unlike the Gabriel in his world, this one was more serious and didn't seem to have a preoccupation with sweets. He didn't say anything as the archangel fixed two glasses of milk with honey swirled into them and then sat down at the island in the kitchen.
“Dean told me about your injuries - and no, he doesn't know I'm an angel.” Gabriel took a sip from his glass. “I don't know where you came from, but it must be pretty bad.”
“I believe bad could be considered an understatement.” Castiel took a small drink as well. “What I do not understand is what has happened here.”
“Nothing's happened,” the archangel shrugged, “at least not in a way you might consider having happened. You should know that Dean's great-grandmother was deaf in both this reality and yours.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. But I did not know it was genetic trait.” He looked down into his glass, frowning. “Sweet milk... I have not had this for some time.”
“You look as if you need it.” Gabriel tugged at his bottom lip for a moment and then continued. “It'll help heal what little Grace you have left.”
“Thank you.” He stared down into his glass. “Though I don't know how much it will help.”
“Well, as they say - every little bit helps.” He took a small drink. “I'm thinking that just as you're very different from the Castiel I knew, I'm different from the Gabriel you know.”
“That is true.” Castiel frowned. “Unless you are also masquerading as Loki.”
“Used to do that.” He smirked over the rip of his glass. “Now that's what I do for vacation. You, on the other hand, act nothing like the Chuck Norris Castiel I knew.”
“I do not know an angel by the name of Chuck Norris. Although I do know a prophet Chuck Shurley.”
Milk shot out of Gabriel's nose as he tried and failed to contain his laughter. “Chuck Norris isn't an angel. I am stating that you seem to have lost or never had an unlimited amount of badassery.”
“I chose to try and save humanity instead of seeing it reduced to cinders.” Cas wasn't sure if he'd just been insulted or not. “As a result, I was cut off from Heaven.”
“I don't know who your superior is, but I do know they're an asshole.” He snapped his fingers and cleaned up the milk spattered counter. “Let me guess - Lucifer got out of his box too.”
“Yes.” Castiel wrapped his fingers around his glass, letting out a breath. “I tried to stop that too.”
“Sounds like you've been down a pretty bad road, little brother.” The archangel sighed. “I can take a pretty good guess at what all went on where you came from.”
“I - I suppose I should try and find my way back there.” He shook his head. “The Winchesters who live there have most likely given me up for dead. Though I do not know if they care.”
“Why would you say that?” The archangel frowned. “Why don't you start from the beginning - with the death of Mary Winchester and everything that followed that up and go until the point you did a swan dive into Dean's forsythia bushes four days ago.”
The angel stared at Gabriel for a moment, took a shaky sip of milk, set the glass down and began to tell him everything.
Chapter Two
Author: darth_firefly
Artist: usarechan
Fandom/Genre: AU, drama
Pairing(s): Mentions of Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, mentions of character death, deaf!Dean
Summary:Castiel fully expected to die when he went into that warehouse in Van Nuys. He was ready to die. What he didn't expect was to land in the home of a Dean Winchester who had no idea who he was, who had never been to Hell, who wasn't a Winchester - and had never heard a single sound in his entire life. All that considered, the fact that this Dean had a seven year old daughter was hardly surprising at all. Oddly enough, the kid might be the LEAST of the surprises waiting for him in this other reality he now found himself in.
On January twenty-fourth, nineteen seventy nine, Dean Winchester was born in Lawrence, Kansas. Perfectly healthy - save for one thing; like his paternal great-grandmother, he was deaf. Almost ten years later, his father, John, abandoned him in a hospital in Fort Douglas, Minnesota. Three months later, he was adopted by Michael and Elisa Coulter of Fredrick, Maryland. Three years later, John Winchester succeeded in killing Azazel - he and his son Sam, settled in Windom, Minnesota with Kate Milligan and her and John's son, Adam. His one attempt at looking for Dean ended with failure.
The armies of Heaven, rather than expressing disappointment over having to delay the Apocalypse, set out to rid their Father's world of many evils. After the war was over, the death toll for both Heaven and Hell was staggering. The Archangel Michael appointed three of his brothers to watch over the three sons of John Winchester - only one of them took to the task without complaint.
For the Archangel Gabriel knew that something would happen that would eventually change everything. All he had to do - was wait.
***
Having never been unconscious before, drifting back to reality was almost frightening for Castiel. As he came awake, but not fully so, he tried to recall what exactly had happened. He remembered the warehouse, a brilliant flash - the searing pain in his chest and then - blackness. The fact that he was alive surprised him more than anything. He'd been certain that by carving that Enochian symbol into his chest and dispelling all the angels it would kill him. But he wasn't dead. At least, he was pretty sure he wasn't dead. If he was dead, he was almost certain that his chest wouldn't still sting.
The angel let out a breath and took stock of his surroundings before he opened his eyes. He was lying down in a very soft bed; the sheets smelled strangely of rain and somewhere nearby, he could smell lilacs. There was a distant drone of a lawnmower and bird song. This wasn't the Singer house. The bed was too comfortable and things smelled far too clean. A clock somewhere in the house tolled the hour - one - two - three. A door opened somewhere in what he guessed was in the hallway and he frowned. This place was very unfamiliar. He moved his hand underneath the blanket and found his chest had been bound tightly with bandages. Whoever had found him had evidently brought him in here to care for him. Castiel was silently thankful he wasn't in a hospital - but at the same time, the pressing need to get back to Dean and Sam was strong. Who knew what had happened to them after he left. Letting out another breath, the angel opened his eyes.
The room he was in wasn't very big, but it was bright. The walls were a pale yellow, the color of butter, and when he turned his head, he could see the delicate lace curtains that covered the two windows to his right. He frowned, sensing someone watching him. He turned his head the other way and caught a flash of dark brown hair followed by the sound of hurried footsteps - too small to belong to an adult. The room and the bed, for all its comfort, felt strangely wrong - as if it didn't belong. Or perhaps it was he who didn't belong.
All he knew was that he had to get a hold of the Winchesters. He didn't think he could sit up just yet, much less talk on a phone, but as soon as he met his benefactor, perhaps they could contact the brothers for him. He looked across the room and caught sight of his clothes, looking to be freshly laundered, sitting folded on a chair. Someone was apparently taking very good care of him. He ran a hand through his hair as he heard footsteps coming toward the room again. Heavier, so it wasn't the child - most likely this was the child's parent. He could tell that whoever it was, it wasn't a demon. When he heard the footsteps stop, he turned towards the doorway; Castiel could not have been more stunned.
It was Dean.
“Dean?” He coughed as the man came into the room. Something was clearly wrong with him. He came over to the bed with no look of recognition on his face. No relief, nothing. More shocking was when Dean pressed the back of his hand against the angel's forehead, checking for a fever.
“Dean!” he said again and still there was no reaction. He grabbed the man's wrist and looked Dean straight in the face. “What is the matter?”
It was in that instant he saw it. He saw that this wasn't the Dean he went to Van Nuys with. This wasn't the man he pulled from Hell. This was an entirely different Dean.
“How are you feeling?” Apparently in addition to being an entirely different Dean, he was not at all affected by the angel's reaction.
Cas let go of Dean's wrist, still in shock. “I - I am not certain.” Dean's voice sounded wrong.
“Are you hungry? Would food help?”
“I do not know.” The angel realized his voice was probably full of confusion - yet Dean seemed not to notice.
“You're not feverish any more. You had me worried there for a while.” Castiel noticed that he was speaking with his hands and his voice. This Dean - was deaf.
“Where am I?” The angel decided to stick with simple things for the time being.
“Texas - just outside of Austin.” Dean smiled. “You've been asleep for three days.”
“Texas.” Cas rubbed his eyes. “How on earth...” He frowned. “You didn't take me to a hospital?”
“I knew I couldn't take you there.” He shook his head. “You fell from the sky.” He pulled a face. “You landed in a forsythia bush. It's a good thing you landed on the right side of the house and not the left.”
“Why is that?”
“There's nothing but rose bushes on the left side.” He shrugged. “You fortunately did not break any bones. Some minor scratches and that vicious wound on your chest and hand. I brought you inside and cleaned you up.” He smiled. “Do you want something to eat?”
“I - I suppose I should eat.” He still didn't know why he wasn't at a hospital. “Though I do not know what I want.”
“Broth for now.” Dean stood. “I don't want you getting sick.”
“Thank you.” He frowned. “I am sorry to inconvenience you and your family like this.”
“It's okay.” He turned and walked from the room.
Castiel rubbed his eyes again, more confused than he had been before he opened his eyes. He was in a world with a deaf Dean who didn't know him. Angel or no, not even archangels had knowledge of all the realities. He could feel what was left of his Grace, a small scrap of a thing curled around his heart. Nowhere near enough to get back - if he could even figure out where his home was from here. He felt someone was watching him again and he opened his eyes and turned to see the child standing half hidden by the door frame. “Hello.”
“Hi.” The girl's voice was so soft he'd barely heard it.
“Liesel!” Dean's voice called and then he appeared in the doorway. “Go downstairs for a little while, okay?”
The girl looked up at Dean for a moment and then turned and vanished.
“Sorry.” He came into the room, set a tray on the table next to the bed before helping Castiel sit up in the bed. “I told her to not spy on you.” He put the tray on the bed. “But she doesn't always listen.”
Castiel picked up the spoon and promptly dropped it. “I...”
“Here.” Dean went and got the chair from the far side of the room, setting the angel's clothes on top of the dresser and came back to the bed. “I think your body is still waking up.” He watched the angel pick up the spoon again and drop it. “Let me help you.” He picked up the bowl and spoon and after a moment, set the spoon full of broth against the angel's lips.
Castiel took a tentative sip before letting Dean tip the rest of the contents into his mouth. “I think something may be wrong with my other hand.” He tried not to think about how odd it was to have someone feed him. It tasted about as good as it smelled - which was delicious. “Thank you.”
Dean scooped more broth into the spoon, holding the bowl close to Castiel's chin so it wouldn't drip. “You're quite welcome.”
It was slow going eating the broth. He wasn't even sure why he'd accepted the offer of food, other than he knew he had to try and appear as normal as possible. Then again, the fact that this Dean had seen him fall from the sky - he ate another spoonful and realized that while he knew who this man was - sort of - Castiel knew he couldn't just say that he did. “What day is it?”
“It's April eighth.” He glanced at the alarm clock Castiel hadn't noticed before. “It's three fifteen in the afternoon.”
“This may sound like a very odd question, but it is two-thousand ten, yes?”
Dean frowned. “No. It's two-thousand twelve.”
“I am... sorry to be so confused...” He sat back, a silent gesture that made Dean set the bowl and spoon down on the tray.
“You seem to make a habit of apologizing for things you can't control. I assure you, this isn't a problem.” He leaned back slightly in his chair, relaxing a little. “My name is Dean Coulter. And you are?”
To his credit, Castiel didn't react to the fact Dean had the wrong last name. “Castiel... Novak.”
“Well, Mr. Novak, you look to have had quite a rough time. I don't know where you came from, but as you fell from the sky, either you have got to be the luckiest skydiver of all time, or you aren't from around here.”
“I - I'm not entirely sure how I ended up here.” This was the truth.
“Well, I'm sure it will come back to you. I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but I think your cell phone is a lost cause.”
“It is not of import... I do not think anyone would be there to answer my call if it did work.” He flexed his right hand and then managed to pick up the spoon, but he had lost interest in eating for now. “You were correct. I do feel somewhat better.” He grimaced as his chest twinged in pain. “However, I don't think I will be able to do much movement today.”
He smiled in response. “That's fine. There's no need to rush yourself.” He paused. “I'm also thankful that you know to look directly at me so that I can read your lips.”
Castiel realized he'd been doing it purely out of instinct rather than intentionally. “You're welcome. I'm sorry that you...”
“Don't tell me you're sorry for the fact that I'm deaf.” He grinned. “I've never known otherwise, so it's not a problem.” He stood and lifted the tray. “Do you need anything else?”
“No.” Just the thought of being vertical actually made the angel feel dizzy. “I'm sure you have more important things to do than sit here and talk with me.”
“Would you like a book to read?” He shrugged slightly. “There's no television up here. Most of it is horrible anyway.”
“No, but thank you. I believe I may be in need of some more rest.”
Dean nodded. “That's understandable.” He adjusted his hold on the tray. “If you need anything, you just need to shout.” He smiled faintly. “I may be deaf, but Liesel isn't.” He turned and headed for the door, pausing just on the other side of the threshold. “My brother is also here, but he's going to leave to head back to school in a few hours.”
“Your brother?”
“His name's Adam. He's no bother.” Dean turned and left.
Castiel watched him go, still trying to comprehend all this. This Dean clearly didn't fight monsters, had a different last name, and was deaf. And he was on speaking terms with Adam Milligan, who, from the sound of it, hadn't been killed by ghouls and brought back to life as part of an archangel's nefarious plan. Then there was the fact he was two years in the future. He'd think he was dreaming if the wound on his chest didn't hurt. Then there was the little matter of his left hand. He frowned as he turned it over and examined his palm. A small line of stitches went across the ball of his thumb. So that meant this Dean had also pretty much nursed his wounds - had more than likely carried him upstairs - and who knew what else. How had Dean managed to carry him up the stairs? The sound of a doorbell snapped him from his thoughts and after a muffled conversation he heard light footsteps on the stairs.
“Hi.” a voice said from the doorway. “Mr. Novak?”
It was the little girl again. “Hello.” She came into the room and over to the bed - holding a notebook and pen out towards him.
“My dad asked me to give this to you.”
He took the book, trying to smile. “Thank you... Miss...”
“Liesel. My name's Liesel.” She rocked back on her heels, clearly delighted to finally be allowed to talk to him.
“Liesel.” He turned the notebook over in his hands, frowning. “Did he have a reason for giving these to me?”
“He said to tell you that it's in case you need to write things down to help you get things sorted out. He always figures things out a little easier if he writes them down.” She rubbed her nose. “Are you an angel?”
To his credit, Castiel didn't blanch or automatically respond in the affirmative. “Why would you think that?”
“Cause you fell out of the sky. I saw you fall.” She bit at her bottom lip. “I....”
“How old are you, Liesel?” If he was going to go purely by size, he would have thought her six.
“I'm almost eight. My birthday is June eighteenth.”
“I see. Well, I'm sorry - I'm not an angel.”
“That's okay.” She gave him a look that Castiel took to mean she didn't entirely believe him - but then again, she was just a child. “I was just wondering.”
“Thank you for the notebook.” Castiel hadn't been around children enough to know when you were supposed to tell them to go away.
“You're welcome.” She gave him a small smile and headed for the door.
“Liesel?” Castiel called after her. “May I ask you something?”
She turned. “What? I mean.. yes?”
“Does your mother object to me being up here?” Right away, he knew he'd asked something he shouldn't have.
“I don't know.”
“Do you think I could ask her?” Castiel could hear Bobby Singer's voice in his mind calling him an idjit.
“Uh... Mr. Novak... my mom doesn't live here.” She looked at her feet and took a deep breath. “She's in Heaven.” She turned and he watched her leave and a moment later, a door shut in what he guessed was just a short way down the hall.
The angel felt his shoulders slump and set the notebook down on the bedside table, still trying to take all of this in. Dean and Adam were on speaking terms - pretty close ones, from what he could tell. Sam was somewhere else. Dean was also apparently a widower, had a nearly eight year old kid and for some reason, Castiel had a feeling that he was just looking at the tip of the proverbial iceberg. He lifted his head when his angelic brain seemed to catch up with this year's calendar. It was Easter Sunday.
*
Dean Coulter knew what Castiel was - or at least, had his suspicions. He had given the man holy-water laced broth not really expecting much to happen - but it had given him a little comfort. The silver spoon only helped with the knowledge that his visitor wasn't here to harm them. As far as he could tell. He may not have hunted anything in twenty years, but he still knew how to take precautions.
It'd been raining lightly on Thursday night and he and Liesel had been eating dinner. There had been a flash of lightning and then he assumed there had been a crash, or some sort of sound that his daughter couldn't describe exactly for him - only that she had pointed to the window and started rapidly signing and speaking. Someone had fallen.
When he went outside, Dean had been expecting to find someone in an unspeakable condition. Castiel had crushed a forsythia bush with his weight and had been lying, spread eagle on top of it. His shirt was hanging open; that ugly wound on his chest was at the stage where things were starting to scab over - although parts of it looked cauterized. There had been a pretty nasty cut on the man's left hand as well. Knowing better than to try and get the man to a hospital - Dean didn't feel like answering questions when he had no answers to give - he'd taken Castiel inside and patched him up alone. He'd already arranged to have the day off at work since Liesel had no school on Friday.
Where Castiel belonged and how he would get back there - Dean hadn't gotten that far yet. He wanted to help, he knew that. The little matter that his house guest thought it was two-thousand ten was a pretty good indication that something was very off. Well, perhaps he could talk with the man when he was feeling a little stronger and they could get things sorted out. The man tended to sleep a lot, more than anything.
Shaking his head, Dean walked out of his room and down the stairs, heading for the kitchen. He was pretty sure that Castiel could move onto a little heartier food soon. He came into the room and grinned. “Hungry again already?”
Adam looked up from the counter. “I want to make sure I don't forget the leftovers you always seem to insist I take.”
Dean shook his head. “More like making sure you get a healthy leftover portion of my grandma's famous bread pudding.”
“Hey!” the younger man said indignantly. “You're the one who makes enough for ten people!”
“I have to; you eat enough for three.” He came over and gave his brother a one armed hug. “It's okay. Sam's the one who eats enough for five.”
Adam rolled his eyes in response. “No kidding. I still don't know how my mom could keep food for long when the two of us were at home and in our teens.”
Dean shook his head and sat down on one of the bar-stools next to the island. “If it's true about all the junk food you had, it's a wonder Sam's so damn tall.”
“I think that California living made him learn to hate sugar. You so much as waggle a chocolate bar under his nose and he freaks out.” Adam turned to put a casserole dish back in the fridge and then shut the door. “Lis isn't going to let me take all the cookies we made, is she?”
He snorted in response. “She knows how many are left, so the answer is no. Though if you want to take half, I don't think it'd be a problem. And as for Sam and chocolate, if you make it a Butterfinger, he won't cringe; he'll break your wrist to get it if you're not careful.”
“Yeah yeah....” He went over to the pantry to grab a bag and then came back to pile the containers of food inside. “Dean...” He took a deep breath. “Dad really wants to talk to you.”
“No.” Dean's jaw tightened. He wanted nothing to do with John Winchester. Ever. “He knows why I don't want to talk to him.”
“Are you really going to hold onto what he did?” Adam let out a breath. “I mean, you know...”
“It's not about being abandoned, Adam.” He rubbed his face for a moment. “It's not about that and it's never been about that. It's something you can't...”
“I understand it perfectly!” Dean could tell he yelled by the expression on his face. “Look, he doesn't want to be your friend, he doesn't want to have some kind of relationship, he just wants to try and make amends!”
“Amends for what, Adam? For making me his personal punching bag for five years?” Dean stopped speaking and went straight to signing. “This isn't the sort of thing you can make right. I've tried very hard to let it go and move on. You don't know the half of what he did to me.”
Adam took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He tied a knot with the plastic bag's handles and then looked straight at his brother. “You're right, I don't and I don't know how to make things right. I'm just sick of being the messenger, that's all.”
“I'm sorry, Adam. There's some things that are just - too hard to completely forget.” He came over and gave his brother a one armed hug.
“I know.” He returned the hug and stepped back. “I better get going so I can beat traffic.”
Dean nodded and walked him to the front door. “You be careful down there.”
“I will.” He stepped out onto the porch and turned. “See you in a few weeks?”
“Sure.” He watched his brother go down the walk and get into his car. Adam waved once and then drove away. Dean quietly shut the front door and locked it.
*
Adam wasn't halfway to the Louisiana border when he pulled off at a rest stop and took out his cellphone and hit the second number on his speed dial. It rang twice before it was answered.
“Hey Adam.”
“Hi Dad. Happy Easter. How are you and Mom?” He leaned back in his seat, rubbing his eyes.
“We're good.” There was that odd hitch in his voice - the one that Adam knew far too well. “Your mom's already left for work, so don't forget to call her.” John sighed. “How's Dean?”
“He's... he's good.” Adam swallowed. “I think Lis has grown a few inches since I saw her back on Dean's birthday.” He covered his eyes with his hand. “I told him you just want to talk - but he didn't take it very well.”
John let out a hacking cough. “I'm not surprised. That's why I need this to be a mutual thing, Adam. It's taken me this long to work up the courage to try and start over and it's bad enough I've got to have you and Sam play messenger.”
“I still don't get what happened in Fort Douglas.” He took a drink from the bottle of water and stuck it in a cup holder. “I mean... that had never happened before, had it?”
“I was half drunk and extremely angry. I should have known better than to be hunting in the state I was in, but well...” John let out another sigh. “I just remember coming to with Sam asleep in the chair and Dean a bloody mess on the floor. I knew that if I didn't get your brother away from me and other hunters, I was pretty much digging his grave more than I already was.”
Adam let out a breath. “He doesn't hate you for leaving him, I've told you that.”
“I know.” John made a gulping sound, like he was drinking something. “Still doesn't change the fact that I had no right beating on him. Ever.”
“Dean knows that you ditching him was the best possible thing. He's told me and Sam as much. As for wailing on him - well, I think the damage goes a lot deeper than I can imagine.” Adam took another sip of water. “Not to mention the fact that if she ever met you, Elisa Coulter would kick your ass.”
“You think she could take me?” John said, half jesting.
“Well, yes. One, on the basis of the fact you'd never hit her, and two, she wouldn't have to hit you - she's got a glare that could cleave granite in half.” He coughed. “Now, Michael Coulter on the other hand - he'd probably pull your head off for her.”
“I've seen his picture, Adam. I believe that. Hell, that guy could probably rip a wendigo in half without breaking a sweat.”
“I'll take your word for it.” He paused. “Dad? Can I ask you something?”
“What is it?” John suddenly sounded tired.
“Why do you want to talk to Dean so badly? I mean, I know he's your son and...”
John cut him off. “It's something you can't understand, Adam. You're not a parent.” He took a breath. “I just... I don't want something to happen to either of us without at least - I know I can't hope to make amends, but I do know he and I can't carry on like this. It's not fair to you or Sam.”
“So you want to make peace with Dean because you think it's not fair to me and Sam.” Adam snorted. “I told Dean you just wanted to talk and he freaked. What the hell did you do to him that would make him that pissed?”
“It was just too much. It seemed the older he got, the angrier I got. It wasn't his fault, none of it was - I rationalized leaving him might have been the worst thing I'd done, but it was also the best.” He took a breath. “Dean was such a quiet kid and hell, I could barely communicate with him. His mom was the one who talked to him - and the things I've seen? I'm actually frightened of Dean's mother.”
“I don't think she's ghost-possessed someone and is walking around with a Louisville Slugger looking for the Impala, Dad.” Adam knew he shouldn't be so crass, but he'd almost pay money to see that.
“That's not funny young man.” John had that edgy tone in his voice that told Adam it was best to just shut up. “I should let you go so you can get on back to school.” John let out a breath. “Call your mom when you get back to New Orleans so she knows you're okay.”
“Yeah.” He took another swig of water. “I will.”
*
Castiel had gotten oriented enough to get from the bed to the doorway and then from the door to the stairs. After spending most of the day in and out of sleep, hunger - actual hunger - had driven him to get up. He held onto the banister as he descended, pausing to look around what he could see of the first floor from the landing where the stairs turned. The foyer had a tile floor that gave way to hardwood in what he guessed was the family room, judging from the comfortable looking furniture and television. Along one wall was a glass fronted hutch that had several trophies, a few gleaming medals and two diploma envelopes - one from the American School for the Deaf and the the other from Stanford University. “This is all very... strange.” He stepped around the hutch, heading for what he guessed had to be the kitchen. He wasn't sure what he'd find there - or even how to cook, for that matter. Well, certainly he could find a loaf of bread - he hoped. He paused in the doorway. “Good... evening?”
Dean looked up from where he was standing, seeing Castiel out of the corner of his eye. “ Evening. Feeling better?”
“I think so. This place... is very different from where I live.” He looked around the room, still waiting for Sam to appear in another doorway. “Is your brother still here?”
Dean shook his head. “No, he left a little while ago.”
“I see.” He glanced over at the kitchen table, which had two tall containers full of sweets resting on it. “What is that?”
“The Easter Bunny left those for Liesel.” He shook his head. “Multiple bunnies.” He turned back to Castiel. “Would you like something to eat? Adam did take a lot of leftovers, but there's some left.”
“That would be - most welcome.” He set a hand against the door-frame, frowning. “I... think.”
“Think we better have you sit back down.” Dean came over, put Castiel's free arm over his shoulders and half carried, half led him over to one of the kitchen chairs. “Don't go straining yourself.”
The angel shook his head. “This is all - confusing.”
Dean shook his head. “You keep saying that. Why don't you tell me what's confusing you, it will most likely help.”
Castiel tilted his head. “I do not think you could possibly grasp the mechanics of dimensional travel, Dean.”
“I watch Dr. Who so I might understand the theory.”
“Who is Dr. Who?”
Dean arched an eyebrow and responded back to him without speaking. “Forget about the Doctor for now. How about you stop pretending you don't know American Sign Language for starters?”
The angel swallowed and looked down at his hands - he hadn't even realized that as a result of Dean's signing and speaking, he'd started to do it too out of instinct. “I traveled in a method without thinking of where I'd end up landing.” It was a little hard to sign with one of his hands bandaged. He was just glad his right hand seemed to be functioning fully again.
“Either you're incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Possibly both.” He stood up. “I'll get you something to eat. Is there anything you don't like?”
Castiel shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “Just as long as it's... hot.”
“I can manage that.” He went over and opened the fridge. “Shells and cheese it is.”
There was no conversation while Dean was cooking. The angel took advantage of the quiet to look around the almost spotless kitchen, still not used to putting something as clean as this place with the hunter he knew. Although something told him that Dean hadn't hunted in a very long time - if he ever had.
“Here we are.” When the bowl was set in front of him, Castiel noted that there was a thick gold band around Dean's left ring finger.
“Thank you.” He picked up the fork, glad that it stayed put. He wasn't exactly ready to have Dean feed him again.
“You're welcome.” A moment later, Dean sat down at the table as well with a notebook and started scribbling notes on it. “I'm sorry, did you want something to drink?”
“No, no this is fine.” Castiel ate slowly, rather glad he had learned the signals for when he was hungry, tired and other human functions with some ease. True, he shouldn't be feeling them at all - shouldn't be aware of emotions either - but it was sort of one less thing to worry about. He watched the man write for a while, still trying to grasp all the differences between this Dean and well - the other Dean. He tapped the man's wrist to get his attention. “What are you doing, exactly?”
“Leaving instructions for the baby-sitter tomorrow.” He smiled pleasantly. “I have a long day at work ahead of me, so I won't be home until late. Liesel doesn't have school until Tuesday.”
“Is your baby-sitter going to say something about me being here?”
“Given the number of times I've been over to his place and found wounded wild animals recovering there?” Dean set the pen down. “I highly doubt it. I'll explain about you when he gets here. It'll just be easier.” He scribbled something down. “Don't worry, he's a nice guy.” He frowned. “You act like you've never had pasta before, the way you're eating it.”
“It's - very complicated.” He poked at the pasta in his bowl.
“You keep saying that. Why don't you just try explaining it - perhaps it will help.” He wrote down something else.
“The place I came from is so far removed from this place it is beyond...”
“Then explain to me like I'm five.” He threw the pen onto the table for emphasis. “I might surprise you.”
“I came here in trying to help avert the Apocalypse. I was expecting to kill myself - so landing here, wherever this place is, was just as much of a shock to me as it was you.” He pushed the bowl away, his hunger gone.
Dean pushed the notebook and pen away and folded his hands, looking him over. “You're right. That is complicated.” He paused. “So are you more shocked that you're here or that you're not dead?”
“If that is an attempt at humor...” The angel stopped speaking as he saw the slight smile on the man's face. “Perhaps you are right.” He felt his shoulders slump and he sat back. “I still do not understand why you kept me here. Wouldn't the standard procedure be to take me to a hospital?”
“I was going to.” He paused. “Then I saw something that made me change my mind.”
“What was that?”
In response, Dean rose, took the bowl and set it on the counter. “I'll show you.” He went through a door that led the angel guessed led to a laundry room and came back carrying a folded towel which he set on the table. “This is what I found.”
Castiel swallowed and opened the towel. There, in sharp contrast to the pale gray cotton, was a mass of long dark brown feathers with black tips. His feathers. At least two dozen of them, along with shorter, softer down from what he knew had to be the tender underside of his wings. Now he knew why the little girl had asked if he was an angel. She'd seen the feathers too. “I...”
“Either these are yours, or there are ostriches nesting under my kitchen window and they have the ability to become invisible.” Dean sat down, his face unreadable.
He swallowed again and reached out, running a finger along one of the longest feathers, the length of a child's arm. “Were... were they out?”
“The wings these came from?” Dean's voice was oddly calm. “Only for a moment. I can't be certain, but they looked to be broken.”
“Are there any still out there?” He found it hard to remember to look at Dean when he spoke.
“No. I had Liesel look all over under the window and around the bushes. These are all the ones we found.” He frowned. “I don't know how you're going to get home, but you're welcome to stay here and rest for a while until you feel up to going back.”
“If I can get back.” Castiel felt defeated. “I... there is so much of this place that doesn't make sense.”
“Then how about we start with you feeling better physically first - then try and work on the rest.”
In response, the angel glowered at him. “What, are you a doctor or something?”
“Yes. I'm an anesthesiologist, but that's not important right...” He stopped, seeing something in the angel's face. “What, does that surprise you?”
“I think I need to go back to bed.” He stood, taking the largest feather from the towel in his hand.
“You want some help getting back upstairs?” Dean stood as well.
“No, just... put those in a safe place, please.” He waved at the towel and slowly walked out of the room.
**
Liesel almost ran down the stairs when the doorbell rang the next morning. She glanced through the glass in the door to check who it was before she unlocked and opened it. “Hi, Mister Jay!”
The man beamed at her and stepped inside. “Hey, kiddo.” He gave her a small hug. “Your dad in the kitchen?” He set down his messenger bag next to the door and took off his shoes.
“Yup.” She led the way. “How was your Easter?”
“Quiet and uneventful - just the way I like all my Sundays.” He followed her through the family room.
“Unless the Ravens are playing, right?” She looked over her shoulder as they came into the kitchen.
“That's a different matter altogether.” He came into the kitchen as Dean looked up from the list he was working on. “Hey.”
“Hello.” He stood up. “I don't think my guest upstairs will be too much trouble. He sleeps most of the time.”
Jay nodded. “You told me over the phone. Are you sure you don't want to take him to a hospital?” He went and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Yes. I am sure.” Dean gave his daughter a hug. “It's going to be a long day today. I don't know when I will be home.”
“Today's the day they're separating those conjoined twins, isn't it?” He set his mug down on the island.
“Yes.” He picked up his keys from the counter. “We have plenty of leftovers.”
“Bye Daddy.” Liesel hugged her dad again. “And I know, I've got school tomorrow, so bedtime is eight thirty.”
Dean chuckled. “Good girl.” He turned back to Jay. “Don't keep her outside too long if you go out.”
“Dean, I've been watching Lis for the past two and a half years. I know the routine.” Jay gave the man a small smirk. “I know where the emergency numbers are and all that.”
“I'll send a text when the surgery is over, so you have an idea of when I'll get back.” Dean ruffled his daughter's hair, picked up his small duffel bag and headed out the door in the laundry room. A moment later, a car started up and he was gone.
Jay took a drink from his mug. “Well, kiddo. What are we going to do today?”
“I was gonna do a big puzzle.” She rocked back on her heels. “You going to work on that book of yours again?”
“Thinking about it.” He sat down. “You going to work on the dining room table?”
“Yeah.” She rubbed her nose. “You gonna work in here?”
“What can I say, I like the distance between myself and the coffee pot to be short.” He went to retrieve his bag.
Liesel went into the family room, opened up the game cabinet and pulled out a five-hundred piece puzzle with a picture of Big Ben on it. She took her puzzle across the hall and went into the dining room, settled down in her usual seat, opened the box and set about finding all the edges. She heard Mr. Jay's laptop start up and a moment later, he started typing away. “Mister Jay?”
“What is it Lis?”
“What does conjoined mean?” She tossed a few side pieces onto the table.
“Well, you know what joined means?” There was a shuffling sound of papers.
“Yeah. It means together.” She paused. “Are those two babies stuck together?”
“'Fraid so, Lis. But don't worry, they're going to be fine.” There was a hitch in his voice.
“How come they're stuck together?” She called. “Dad wouldn't tell me.”
“That's just how they were formed. It happens sometimes.”
“You mean like when the neighbor's cat had kittens and all of 'em only had one eye each?” She grimaced. “That was really gross.”
“Something like that.” More rustling. “But all you need to know is that those twins are going to be fine. Might be sore for a little while, but that's to be expected.”
“Uh huh.” She turned her attention back to her puzzle, fairly certain she'd gotten most of the edges. She had set to work putting them together when she heard a soft huffing sound and she looked up. “Hi.” Liesel said quietly. She knew Mister Jay was writing and while he was a really nice guy, she didn't want to disturb him.
“Hello.” Castiel tilted his head to the side, frowning. “Where is your father?”
“At work. Mister Jay's here.” she whispered. “He's writing at the moment. I'm doing a puzzle. Are you hungry?”
“No.” He came into the room and sat down across from her. “Why are you doing a puzzle?”
“Because I wanted to - I don't know if I'll do it all day though.” She put the corners in place. “You wanna help?”
“I - I haven't done a puzzle before.” He took a handful of pieces from the box and started to separate them. “This doesn't seem to be difficult.”
“I don't know about that.” She started on a side, biting her bottom lip in concentration. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better.” He sounded like he meant it - and then paused as his stomach rumbled.
“Are you sure you're not hungry?” Liesel frowned. “Cause you sound hungry.”
“I don't think he knows what hunger is.” Jay called from the doorway,
Castiel froze. He knew that voice. He slowly turned in his chair and looked behind him, knowing he had to look completely shocked. Standing there, looking completely unperturbed and calm was the Archangel Gabriel.
“Mr. Novak, this is Mister Jay. How can someone not know when they're hungry?”
“Jay?” Castiel frowned.
“Jay Gatz.” He came over to the table. “And you are?”
“Castiel Novak.” This world had gone from unfamiliar and straight into bizarre.
“It's nice to meet you.” Jay/Gabriel turned his attention to Liesel. “Why don't you go line up all the cereal boxes on the counter so our friend can choose one.”
“Okay.” She got up from the table and headed into the kitchen.
Castiel watched her go and then turned back to Gabriel. “What is...” The archangel pressed a finger against his lips to silence him.
“I'll fill you in on a lot of details after lunch. I don't know what sort of nightmare you fell out of, but you're safe here. That's all you need to know.”
He stood up, frowning. “I do not see why I must wait...”
“Because after lunch, Lis will go up to her room for a few hours and do whatever it is little girls do with teddy bears and ponies and such and we won't have to worry about her overhearing us.” Castiel let Gabriel lead him into the kitchen.
*
Castiel had doubted that Gabriel had been telling the truth that the girl would do as he said, and go upstairs in the afternoon - but to his great surprise, shortly after lunch, she did just that. He had plenty of questions for the archangel - and at the same time, he'd been somewhat relieved when he'd seen him. Unlike the Gabriel in his world, this one was more serious and didn't seem to have a preoccupation with sweets. He didn't say anything as the archangel fixed two glasses of milk with honey swirled into them and then sat down at the island in the kitchen.
“Dean told me about your injuries - and no, he doesn't know I'm an angel.” Gabriel took a sip from his glass. “I don't know where you came from, but it must be pretty bad.”
“I believe bad could be considered an understatement.” Castiel took a small drink as well. “What I do not understand is what has happened here.”
“Nothing's happened,” the archangel shrugged, “at least not in a way you might consider having happened. You should know that Dean's great-grandmother was deaf in both this reality and yours.”
“Yes, I am aware of that. But I did not know it was genetic trait.” He looked down into his glass, frowning. “Sweet milk... I have not had this for some time.”
“You look as if you need it.” Gabriel tugged at his bottom lip for a moment and then continued. “It'll help heal what little Grace you have left.”
“Thank you.” He stared down into his glass. “Though I don't know how much it will help.”
“Well, as they say - every little bit helps.” He took a small drink. “I'm thinking that just as you're very different from the Castiel I knew, I'm different from the Gabriel you know.”
“That is true.” Castiel frowned. “Unless you are also masquerading as Loki.”
“Used to do that.” He smirked over the rip of his glass. “Now that's what I do for vacation. You, on the other hand, act nothing like the Chuck Norris Castiel I knew.”
“I do not know an angel by the name of Chuck Norris. Although I do know a prophet Chuck Shurley.”
Milk shot out of Gabriel's nose as he tried and failed to contain his laughter. “Chuck Norris isn't an angel. I am stating that you seem to have lost or never had an unlimited amount of badassery.”
“I chose to try and save humanity instead of seeing it reduced to cinders.” Cas wasn't sure if he'd just been insulted or not. “As a result, I was cut off from Heaven.”
“I don't know who your superior is, but I do know they're an asshole.” He snapped his fingers and cleaned up the milk spattered counter. “Let me guess - Lucifer got out of his box too.”
“Yes.” Castiel wrapped his fingers around his glass, letting out a breath. “I tried to stop that too.”
“Sounds like you've been down a pretty bad road, little brother.” The archangel sighed. “I can take a pretty good guess at what all went on where you came from.”
“I - I suppose I should try and find my way back there.” He shook his head. “The Winchesters who live there have most likely given me up for dead. Though I do not know if they care.”
“Why would you say that?” The archangel frowned. “Why don't you start from the beginning - with the death of Mary Winchester and everything that followed that up and go until the point you did a swan dive into Dean's forsythia bushes four days ago.”
The angel stared at Gabriel for a moment, took a shaky sip of milk, set the glass down and began to tell him everything.
Chapter Two