Things Fall Apart - Team Free Will Big Bang - (5/8)
Title: Things Fall Apart
Rating: R
Characters: Dean, Sam, Cas, John, Bobby
Pairings: Gen
Warnings: Child abuse, implied prostitution, show level violence and blasphemy, swearing.
Spoilers: Seasons 2 to 5. Season 8.
Summary: When given his duty of guarding the First Seal, Castiel expects the Righteous Man and his Boy King brother. He does not expect to find two boys who fight and tease and defend each other over and over again. While Castiel may know a lot about fate and destiny, he’s about to learn a little bit about free will.
Previous Chapter
March 1992
The final ballot is cast and the fate of a nation is sealed.
The referendum is for Caucasians only, something which infuriates Castiel. But that shouldn’t have surprised him, considering his observations of how humans love to cling to power whenever they can.
But the result does.
The white population of South Africa has voted for an end to apartheid. They would rather have a multi-racial government based on true democracy than one where they hold all the cards.
It has been painful to watch people of colour being dragged out of ‘white only’ areas. It has been painful to watch the government spend ten times as much on the education of the descendants of Europeans than that of Africans. It has been painful to watch native women struggle to feed their children, finding it impossible to gain employment while burdened with both racial and gender discrimination.
But this gives Castiel something he hasn’t had in a while. This gives him hope.
And it’s the way these social primates can give him this that makes Castiel wonder if this is why God loved them so much.
While angels may be divine and holy and pure, they are so because they can only follow orders. When they are required to make a decision, they seek Revelation and obey it to the letter. Those who do not are cast down and not spoken of again. But these creatures in front of him, they pick whether they want to do good or evil. And it is this choice, this exertion of free will, which makes them beautiful.
The Cape Times press prints ‘YES, IT’S YES!’ on the front pages of its newspaper. The people of South Africa move one step closer to equality.
In a rare moment, Castiel feels nothing but pride for God’s creations.
_____Dean Winchester cuts through the water with smooth, powerful strokes, pushing himself on towards the finish line.
“Thirty three minutes and nine seconds. Well done.” The gym coach yells out the time. Melissa Cowling, the current captain of the school swimming team, writes it down.
Dean pulls himself out of the swimming pool and pads over to the changing rooms. He pauses near the door, taking in the sparsely clad women, before going inside.
The boy changes efficiently, his father’s army training coming into use, and he’s dry and dressed less than five minutes. He comes outside to find the coach, Mr. Larkin, waiting for him.
“Dean, how would you like to join the school training squad? Your time’s just about good enough to get in.” The man’s manner is brusque. He doesn’t appear to care if Dean agrees or not.
But Castiel can feel Dean’s heart rate rise as a little endorphin rush kicks through his body. Nonetheless, his tone is uncertain. “I dunno. I mean, I’ve not got much practice in swimming pools an’ stuff.”
“Where did you learn to swim like that then?” the coach asks, one eyebrow teetering above the other.
Dean shrugs. He looks lost in thought. He is likely thinking of the training sessions in freezing Nevada lakes from three autumns ago, where his father taught him to swim. The first couple of lessons had been about paddling and swimming. By the third they were about saving drowning people.
“Just holidays I guess,” he replies.
Mr. Larkin doesn’t seem to care about the child’s non-committal answer. He appears to be too busy checking the time. “The training squad meets on Thursdays after school for an hour. If you decide to go for it I hope to see you there,” he says as he starts to walk away.
Dean swallows as the man leaves. He then grimaces and follows him out of the building.
_____“Coach Larkin would like me to join the school swimming squad,” Dean says, putting this week’s grocery shopping down on the motel table. He shuffles the newspaper clippings together to make room to sort out the cans of beans from the cans of soup. The recent loss of both of Sam’s premolars together have made solid foods a temporary challenge.
John Winchester grunts and continues to stare at a library book on tulpas.
“They train on Thursday evenings,” Dean continues, his tone still light enough to convey no more than casual disinterest.
“Did you move my papers?” the elder Winchester asks, looking up to the dining table where Dean is currently pulling out cartons of milk.
Dean’s hands still. “Sorry, I’ll put ‘em back.”
John grunts again.
Dean puts the papers back as best he can, shifting the cans and cartons to the kitchenette worktop instead. Once done, he wipes him palms on the sides of his jeans and comes to hover by his father.
Castiel watches the child’s heart pound away in his chest. He wonders if Michael always feels this nervous when asking the Father he loves so much for a favour.
“So, can I join?” Dean’s voice barely rises above a whisper.
John looks up and something softens in his tired, drained expression. “’Course,” he replies before clearing his throat and continuing a little louder. “Make sure Sammy gets dinner on time though.”
After all, Lucifer was always God’s favourite.
Nevertheless, just as Dean is slipping out of the door, he mumbles “Thanks.”
Castiel never thought he could be in awe of a thirteen year old boy. It seems he was wrong.
_____In the three months and two weeks Dean Winchester trains and competes with the Truman Middle School swimming team, Sam does not miss a single session. Without fail, his shaggy mop of hair can be spotted in the spectator seats by the school swimming pool every Thursday afternoon.
“Get going, Dean! You have to turn quicker,” the coach yells at him from the side.
Dean mistimes an underwater somersault and water floods up the boy’s nose. He thrashes his arms and his head surfaces, gasping and coughing.
Coach Larkin rolls his eyes and kneels by the side of the pool, next to the panting boy. “Kid, you’re trying, I can see that. But you’ve gotta start breathing out through your nose as you do the flip.”
The boy’s head bobs as he treads water.
“Try again,” says the teacher.
Dean pushes off the edge and continues with the front crawl. He reaches the other side and executes a far better turn, breathing out and pushing off the wall smoothly. Sam smiles at this from the benches and returns his gaze to his homework.
There’s something aggressive in the way Dean swims. It is as if he’s there to prove a point. He’s neither the most graceful nor the most streamlined swimmer. But he’s fast. Quick, strong muscles that keep pumping even after they have started cramping from the build-up of lactic acid.
Though Noah Larkin does not appear to be the sort that will admit it, Castiel can see from his broad chest and quiet smile that he takes pride in the young swimmer.
Castiel watches the young heart pumping faster and faster as Dean sprints towards the finish on his final lap.
He kicks out one last time and overshoots. Castiel can feel the tendons straining and the cartilage grinding as first Dean’s head, then his shoulders, collide with the edge of the pool.
A lone hand scrabbles at the surface of the water. It eventually finds the edge and the kid hauls his sore, spluttering body out onto the side.
There’s a smattering of laughter from the swimmers who have finished their laps and are now sitting by the edge of the benches. Sam Winchester shoots them a glare before standing up and closing the English notebook on his lap. He walks over to the edge of the seating area and stares at Dean until the kid meets his gaze.
This feels too private, too intimate, for Castiel to be observing.
Dean turns around slowly with a groan as his left shoulder joint cracks. He looks up at Sam, takes in scrunched brow and taut frown. He replies with a pout and a quick wink. Sam sighs and purses his lips before returning to his seat.
There’s an odd feeling thrumming through Castiel. It takes him a second to recognise it. But once he does, the emotion grows and gnaws at him.
He’s jealous.
Thousands upon thousands of angel siblings and yet not one he can have a wordless conversation with.
But envy is a sin and he is an angel of the Lord after all. He returns to watching with as much indifference as he can muster.
“Apart from that ending there, I’d say that last bit wasn’t bad at all,” says Coach Larkin. He then gestures for the swimmers to gather around him before he crouches down and continues. “We’ve done well to get through the local heat of the inter-schools championship but now it’s the regional heat and trust me, this one’s going to be tough.” The man grunts as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “They’re all excellent teams. They’re well-trained and as our local heat was one of the last ones, they’ve had more time to prepare than us. So we’ve got to get our act together. I can only take four of you this time so some of you won’t make the final team.”
Castiel catches the quiet sound of a book closing and looks up to see Sam closing his copy of Oliver Twist to listen in to the coach’s talk.
“Tom, Ellie, you’re both on the team. As for the other two places, I’ve narrowed it down to Sheelah, Luke, Raj, Dean and Katie. To speed things up, you lot are going to swim a hundred metres and the top two are on the team.” Larkin says. He stands up to the sound of popping knees.
The other four swimmers are already starting to position themselves at the edge of the pool, but Dean looks over to the benches first. Sam is there, shooting him a small thumbs up that he hides before anyone else can see his display of affection. Dean grins in return and takes his place next to the other competitors.
The whistle blow and they’re off. They dip in and out of the water as fast as they can, cutting through the water’s resistance. Lungs gasping, hearts pounding, muscles screaming; it’s easy to forget that these are mere pre-teens competing for a position on their school swimming team. Each swimmer carries with them a heady mix of hope and pride and ambition.
Sheelah is the first to complete the hundred metres. She pulls herself out with a cocky smirk and goes to sit with Tom and Ellie.
Close behind her are Raj and Dean. They’ve been tied for most of the race, but it is in these last few moments Dean pushes forward against the cramping muscles and dull pounding in his head to surge ahead and touch the wall first. He flops over the edge of the pool and gasps like a fish out of water.
The performance is remarkably like that of that one fish Castiel was warned not to step on.
God has big plans for this creature too.
But watching the child glow with pride as the coach pronounces him a member of the school team makes Castiel wonder if this really is any more than an ordinary little boy. Maybe someone higher up made a mistake. Because this insignificant bipedal primate with his petty dreams of swimming in the regional championships cannot possibly be the vessel of the Light.
A little part of Castiel wonders if there will be a price to his naivety.
_____The sight before him is probably the closest Dean Winchester has come to behaving like a true Righteous Man.
The boy is currently kneeling by the side of his motel bed. He occasionally steals furtive glances at the two prone bodies on the other two beds to make sure they haven’t woken up. Once convinced, he clasps his hands together and starts to whisper.
“Uh, dear God-wow, that feels way too much like ‘dear diary’. Anyway, God, if you’re listening, I was wondering if you could do me a favour. I mean, I get I’m probably not someone you’d do favours for. I steal shit and I often think ‘holy fucking Jesus’ when I stub my toe, so I get it if you don’t really want to do me a favour. But, y’know, if you feel in the mood...”
The kid looks up at his brother and father again before continuing a little faster.
“There’s this swimming competition coming up. It’s in three days and it’s the regional finals. Our school’s never got this far, but it’d be awesome if we won. Man, it’d be better than that Playboy I found in Dad’s duffle-shit, I didn’t mean to mention that. Sorry, God. But it’d still be good, y’know? I don’t tend to win things, that’s more Sammy’s department. I’m kinda dumb in school so I don’t get picked for many competitions. But I’m tryin’ really hard for this one. ‘N’ the coach said he’d buy us ice cream if we won, so there’s that too.”
John lets out a muffled grunt and starts turning in his sleep.
“’Kay, I gotta go now, I dunno if you actually exist, but it’d be cool if you were listening.” He stops, unsure of how to end, then tags on a hurried “amen” and slides back into bed.
Castiel hovers over the child’s bed, noting the way his hands are still clasped together under the covers.
He wants to tell the boy that God exists.
He wants to tell the boy that God doesn’t care.
_____If Castiel didn’t know better, he might have wondered if Fate didn’t entertain a particularly cruel sense of humour. But Castiel knows the three sisters-Atropos, Clotho and Lachesis-and ‘irony’ is merely a string of letters to them.
But knowing that the scene in front of him isn’t merely Fate’s idea of a joke doesn’t make it any easier to watch.
“What?” asks Dean, his mouth agape in a mimicry of that fish again.
“I said ‘pack your stuff’, we’re moving tomorrow,” John says.
Sam crosses his arms in an act of defiance that Castiel isn’t sure the eight year old can follow through with. “Why?”
“Because I said so.” John’s voice is gruff. He picks up a duffle and throws it at the child, not bothering to check if the boy caught it. “The rent’s due and the landlord won’t get off my back. Plus, I’ve found a job somewhere else.”
Sam watches the look that passes between Dean and John. “Are you trying to sell stuff? Is that what this new job is?”
John’s gaze hardens into a glare as Dean coughs and scratches the back of his neck. The oldest Winchester turns to face the youngest and asks, “Yeah, why?”
“What are you going to sell?”
“Odds and ends. What’s with the third degree?”
“When will you quit lying to me?”
The child’s voice is quiet and bitter. It slices through the air and finds its target. John turns round to face Dean, fists clenched and nostrils flaring.
“He knows?” John breathes out with barely controlled rage.
Sam huffs, uncrosses his arms, then crosses them again. “Yeah. I know. How long did you think you could hide it from me? You don’t sell stuff; you hunt monsters. That’s why we move so much. That’s why we have so much salt even though we barely cook anything. That’s why Dean sleeps with a gun under his pillow-”
“That’s enough,” John interjects. “When did you find out?”
“Last Christmas,” says Sam. “You remember last Christmas? Oh no, wait, you weren’t there.”
Dean and John growl “Sam” in unison.
“C’mon Sam, Dad was busy,” says Dean.
Castiel watches the way the thirteen year old slowly manoeuvres himself so he’s between his brother and his father.
“You shouldn’t have to steal presents at Christmas, Dean! You shouldn’t have to-”
John cut off his son once again. “You stole presents?”
Dean stares at the floor. His left hand squeezes his right until the blood flow has been restricted long enough to cause a tingling sensation humans seem to have taken to calling pins and needles.
“’Was Chr’stm’s,” the boy mumbles.
“What?” barks John.
“It was Christmas.”
“And you think that’s more important than keeping a low profile? More important than not getting CPS involved?” John advances towards Dean, who appears to be busy trying to control the light tremors that are coursing through him.
Castiel wonders if archangels feel fear when conversing with their Father.
“You want that? You want CPS to get a hold of you and your brother? You want me to go to jail?”
“No, sir,” Dean whispers at the ground.
“Then why did you do it?”
The kid shrugs.
“I want an answer, Dean.”
“Don’t know, sir.”
John sighs and runs a hand over his unkempt hair, drags it over his tired face. “Ten laps around the parking lot. Now.”
It appears Dean is as receptive to John’s orders as Michael was to God’s. There is barely a second’s hesitation before the boy is out of the door and breaking into a run on the car park tarmac.
In the room, Sam turns to his father and looks up with wide, beseeching eyes. “Please don’t tire him out. He’s got a swimming competition tomorrow and-”
“We’re moving tomorrow. You’d better start packing.”
“Dad! Dean really wants this! He’s been training for the last three months and he’s got really good and-”
“Sam, stop it. This spirit always comes at the same time every year and if we miss it we’re going to have to wait another year.”
“You could at least ask Dean if he wants to stay. You never let us pick what we want to do!” cries Sam.
“Dean knows his priorities. He knows the job comes before everything else.”
“You ever asked him?”
John stops at that. He crinkles his brow and stares at Sam, as if he’s measuring up his son, before sighing and letting his shoulders drop. “Fine.” He walks over to the motel door, yanks it open and calls Dean’s name.
The boy slows down and jogs over to the door. “Yeah?”
“We’re moving tomorrow. You got a problem with that?”
Castiel watches Dean’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. He doesn’t answer.
“You got something you need to do that’s more important than the job?”
Dean’s eyes swing to and fro between Sam and John. He finally settles on the latter.
“No, sir.”
Sam gasps in indignation. John’s grin can only be described as smug.
“Good,” says John. “See that, Sam?”
He leaves before he can catch Sam’s answer. But Castiel can hear it. And it should make him happy. It’s another sign that cracks are forming, the plan is working. But all it does is twist him up inside.
“I can’t believe he thinks you’re a superhero.”
_____
April 1993
There is nothing more tragic than a child who stops dreaming.
Let it go, brother.
The voice is unmistakably Uriel’s. Castiel can sense the angel next to him as the edges of their waves start to superpose.
Let it go.
Castiel tears his eyes away from the two brothers dining on a grimy motel table and stares at endless summer sky. It has been a year since the incident with the swimming team. Fourteen different schools, and yet Dean Winchester has never joined another club. He stands and he watches as his brother debates and runs and competes. But the moment the teachers approach him, he hides his longing under a thick layer of cool indifference.
The Righteous Man only ever comes alive when he’s killing.
I can’t let it go. They’re... They’re breaking him.
He’s following orders like a true vessel of the Light should.
And Castiel wants to agree. He really does.
But there’s a little part of him that refuses to believe that this is truly the Will of the Maker.
Why create free will when what you desire is blind obedience?
Come, brother. Let us leave these hairless apes for a while. It does no good to observe them for too long.
Castiel takes one last look at the two boys washing dishes together, and follows before his thoughts become any more blasphemous.
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