Tracks
Eight
The restaurant was gone, and Castiel found himself sitting next to Death on the Golden Gate Bridge in mock California. Their legs dangled over the edge, both staring at the line of buildings that rose up like sleeping giants in the distance while the determined current of the sea raced below.
For a long while, Castiel sat in silence. Then he asked quietly, “Did Dean make it out of there alive?”
“He did.”
“And Alastair?”
“Sam killed Alastair. A bullet from the Colt.”
“What about Lucifer?”
“Lucifer rose, I’m afraid.” Death explained that Sam had found Dean unconscious and Alastair on his knees with a chalice of fallen angel blood in his hands, Latin running fast on his lips. He made for a perfect target, and Sam hadn’t hesitated.
“We’re approaching the end, aren’t we?” Castiel asked.
“Yes,” Death said, but then he changed topics the way humans did in conversation, which Castiel found curious and strangely comforting. “I rather like bridges. Bridges. Airplanes. Skyscrapers. Humans try so very hard to be taller than they are. They’d grow wings if they could.”
Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the line of cables suspended along the bridge. “I’ve given mine up,” he said quietly as if the realization had just sunk in.
“You got too close,” Death reasoned. “I almost don’t blame you. You wanted to touch something that had become more precious to you than God.”
“I should’ve done better to protect him. It was the one task I had.”
“You were selfish with him, but he let you be. You allowed him to believe that he answered to no one, and you wanted to fall with him, or for him, if one of you had to fall.”
“He’s still got Sam. That’s all that matters,” Castiel said after a while. But despite his words, he remembered how it felt to hold Dean in his arms, to feel Dean’s lips pressed against his own, to allow Dean that small window of opportunity to feel peaceful and bask in it without feeling vulnerable or undeserving. He looked out at the world that was Dean’s, or at least the dream version that was close enough, and although he’d never spent time here with Dean, he could still feel his presence surrounding him. His eyes chased the waves and the breeze as if searching for Dean, as if he might catch him hiding somewhere, but he knew he couldn’t find him on his own.
“I would like to see him one last time,” Castiel said.
Death must have appreciated the simple truth to his request. “Is that all you ask of me, here at the end of your life?”
The news didn’t come as a surprise, but that didn’t make it any less difficult for Castiel to hear. He understood what Death’s decision had to be, and that Death would not relent. Castiel would be held to the rules of the mortal coil even though he didn’t have a soul to call his own. His death wouldn’t be that of an angel’s, but it wouldn’t be a human’s death, either.
“It is,” Castiel answered.
“I don’t make exceptions. I don’t hand out gifts. I simply make sure that the order of the universe remains as it should be,” Death reminded him. Castiel almost could have resented him had he not been given the answer he so desperately wanted to hear.
Death instructed Castiel to jump from the bridge’s edge, and he did.
--
When Castiel’s eyes opened, he found that he was standing behind Dean, who was seated in a folding chair at the edge of a dock overlooking a golden sea and a golden sunset. He held a fishing rod in his hands and looked content.
It seemed to Castiel that life itself sat at the edge of that dock. He’d become tethered to Dean not like a ball to a chain but like a kite to the hand of a small child who allowed it to soar. Such poeticisms hadn’t been lost to Castiel. How could they be when Dean sat in front of him in solitude and solace, a moment of peace before valediction? Castiel didn’t know if he had it in him to say goodbye.
He spoke Dean’s name, and Dean turned, wide-eyed. He dropped the fishing rod into the lake, and it sank out of sight.
Dean blinked, regaining composure. “You’re dead. I’m dreaming, aren’t I? This isn’t real.” The fishing rod reappeared in his hands again, and he looked disappointed.
“You are dreaming, but this is real. It’s me, Dean,” Castiel said, although Dean still looked doubtful. He stood beside Dean’s chair, but Dean was quick to his feet, his hands grasping for the tangible body in front of him. His face constricted in surprise when the person he reached for did not disappear, instead feeling as real as he ever had before.
“But you’re dead,” Dean said again, and Castiel felt obligated to nod because it was the truth. “So, you get to see me one last time in my dreams before some reaper tractor beams your ass back? Is that how this works?”
“Something like that. Yes.”
“Fuck that.” Dean threw his hands into the air and paced the end of the dock in a small, angry circle. “Look. I don’t want to go fishing. I don’t want to dream. You know what? I don’t want to fight Lucifer, and I sure as fuck don’t want you to be dead, man.” Castiel tried to change the expression on his face from the quiet and dignified acceptance that he knew Dean must’ve hated, but he couldn’t be angry the way Dean wanted him to be. Not in their last moment together.
But Dean was Dean, and he wasn’t ready to accept this. “Is this what you fell for?” he asked as he expanded his arms to gesture to the entire scene, a microcosm for the entire world.
Castiel ignored it. “Don’t think for one moment I’ve regretted what I’ve done.”
But Dean wasn’t giving in. “Then I regret it for you. I wasn’t worth this.”
“If that’s what you really believe, Dean, then that’s my greatest failure of all.”
The look on Dean’s face said that he didn’t know how to address a dying man, let alone a dying friend, a dying loved one. It was Sam and Dad and Mom all over again.
But Castiel had to make Dean understand that this time was different. “You can’t teach happiness, Dean. You can’t tell a man to be content and expect that he will be because you said so. I’ve found more happiness with you than I have in all my existence without, so doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It tells me something, all right, and it kind of sucks from this vantage point, Cas.”
“I chose life. That’s the greatest gift someone has ever given me. Life, and the freedom to choose it. And you’ve given it to me. I want you to understand how incredible that is.”
Dean’s voice fell into a whisper. “How long do we have here?”
“Not long, I’m afraid,” Castiel said. “Please give this to me, this moment.” He supplicated, and Dean understood what was being asked of him. He sucked in air through clenched teeth and squared his shoulders. The tarnished gold of his eyes shone, vibrant as ever. He stood closer to Castiel and kissed him hard, the spice of basil was still sweet on Castiel’s lips.
Dean, who had taught Castiel about pizza and about pie, about music and riding in cars. He taught him how to live in a human body and to love with a human heart. Dean had become something eternal to Castiel whether immortality permitted it or not. But still Castiel was afraid. He was afraid for what fate would await Dean when he awoke from this dream.
It was almost past dusk. The sun had set spectacularly on the horizon like the blazing star that it was, and Castiel knew that Death would be coming for him soon. It wouldn’t be long now.
“This is a romantic sunset,” Castiel pointed out, taking his eyes off Dean for a moment to stare into the landscape of his dreams, into the orange blur dipping out of view as the horizon wielded the fire peacefully on its back. “And I get to see it with you. I have waited millennia for this moment.”
Truly, he had, and in more than one way.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, interrupting the moment, panicked, clutching at his chest. “Is this thing supposed to be hot?” He went to hold the amulet that he wore around his neck but winced upon touching it. It glowed brightly, and then brighter still.
“Get it off me,” Dean said more to himself, shouting as he slipped the leather rope over his head and dropped it to the ground. Castiel scrambled to his knees, but it was too hot to touch when he tried. He looked up and around for a person, a sign, a vessel, a presence.
Death stood at the other end of the dock and then collapsed to the ground.
Castiel rushed toward Death with Dean hot at his heels. Death was supine, half of him on the dock and half on land. He stared up into the abyss as if he were listening to it, as if the universe were speaking to him. Then Death sat upright, stiff and robotic. There were words on his lips, but Castiel couldn’t hear them. Finally, he said, “I have traveled a very long path, and it seems I’ve lost my way.”
“Tell me who you are,” Castiel demanded, bold.
“You already know who I am. You are my son, and I am your Father.” Death spoke with an assurance and a kindness that he had not possessed before. “I am the first and the last. I am Death, but I am also Life.”
“You’re God?” Dean blurted out, incredulous, before his brain had the chance to catch up to his mouth.
“I am the fire behind all life in this world. I am the trees and the wind and the rain. I am compassion and retribution. I am both god and goddess. Pestilence and Famine and War have remade Life into Death, and I’d forgotten this place. I’d forgotten who I am, but then I heard a voice. I remember now, for I have been called upon by a great man. The Righteous Man has summoned me, and I am here to answer.”
Castiel bowed his head. Half of God’s words escaped him. “I do not know how to address you.”
“You may address me as you always have. God and Death are one and the same.”
“So, have you seen Earth lately?” Dean ventured. It would be pointless for Castiel to tell him to have some manners in front of God, for he knew God could hear their thoughts as easily if they’d spoken them aloud. The Creator knew all, the pious and the prurient.
Dean pressed his point before God could answer. “Aren’t you going to make it right?” he asked.
“It’s not that simple, Dean. I am not a god of the machine.”
“Then what kind of god are you?”
“Dean.” Castiel spoke his name at last to silence him.
“You know what, Cas? I don’t care. You know how many of us are busting our asses because God had a case of amnesia? Lucifer’s blowing cities off the map, and you’re not doing a damn thing to stop him.”
Castiel couldn’t argue, so he looked to God for an answer, choosing to take Dean’s side after all.
God collected Himself and rose to His feet. He picked up the amulet and clutched it tight in a fist until His knuckles turned white.
“Death has no desire to awake a second time,” God said at last. “The age of Death has come to an end. Tomorrow we shall hunt the Devil. His Father is coming for him.”
When Castiel awoke in the Impala, he found Dean still asleep at his side.
The restaurant was gone, and Castiel found himself sitting next to Death on the Golden Gate Bridge in mock California. Their legs dangled over the edge, both staring at the line of buildings that rose up like sleeping giants in the distance while the determined current of the sea raced below.
For a long while, Castiel sat in silence. Then he asked quietly, “Did Dean make it out of there alive?”
“He did.”
“And Alastair?”
“Sam killed Alastair. A bullet from the Colt.”
“What about Lucifer?”
“Lucifer rose, I’m afraid.” Death explained that Sam had found Dean unconscious and Alastair on his knees with a chalice of fallen angel blood in his hands, Latin running fast on his lips. He made for a perfect target, and Sam hadn’t hesitated.
“We’re approaching the end, aren’t we?” Castiel asked.
“Yes,” Death said, but then he changed topics the way humans did in conversation, which Castiel found curious and strangely comforting. “I rather like bridges. Bridges. Airplanes. Skyscrapers. Humans try so very hard to be taller than they are. They’d grow wings if they could.”
Castiel glanced over his shoulder at the line of cables suspended along the bridge. “I’ve given mine up,” he said quietly as if the realization had just sunk in.
“You got too close,” Death reasoned. “I almost don’t blame you. You wanted to touch something that had become more precious to you than God.”
“I should’ve done better to protect him. It was the one task I had.”
“You were selfish with him, but he let you be. You allowed him to believe that he answered to no one, and you wanted to fall with him, or for him, if one of you had to fall.”
“He’s still got Sam. That’s all that matters,” Castiel said after a while. But despite his words, he remembered how it felt to hold Dean in his arms, to feel Dean’s lips pressed against his own, to allow Dean that small window of opportunity to feel peaceful and bask in it without feeling vulnerable or undeserving. He looked out at the world that was Dean’s, or at least the dream version that was close enough, and although he’d never spent time here with Dean, he could still feel his presence surrounding him. His eyes chased the waves and the breeze as if searching for Dean, as if he might catch him hiding somewhere, but he knew he couldn’t find him on his own.
“I would like to see him one last time,” Castiel said.
Death must have appreciated the simple truth to his request. “Is that all you ask of me, here at the end of your life?”
The news didn’t come as a surprise, but that didn’t make it any less difficult for Castiel to hear. He understood what Death’s decision had to be, and that Death would not relent. Castiel would be held to the rules of the mortal coil even though he didn’t have a soul to call his own. His death wouldn’t be that of an angel’s, but it wouldn’t be a human’s death, either.
“It is,” Castiel answered.
“I don’t make exceptions. I don’t hand out gifts. I simply make sure that the order of the universe remains as it should be,” Death reminded him. Castiel almost could have resented him had he not been given the answer he so desperately wanted to hear.
Death instructed Castiel to jump from the bridge’s edge, and he did.
--
When Castiel’s eyes opened, he found that he was standing behind Dean, who was seated in a folding chair at the edge of a dock overlooking a golden sea and a golden sunset. He held a fishing rod in his hands and looked content.
It seemed to Castiel that life itself sat at the edge of that dock. He’d become tethered to Dean not like a ball to a chain but like a kite to the hand of a small child who allowed it to soar. Such poeticisms hadn’t been lost to Castiel. How could they be when Dean sat in front of him in solitude and solace, a moment of peace before valediction? Castiel didn’t know if he had it in him to say goodbye.
He spoke Dean’s name, and Dean turned, wide-eyed. He dropped the fishing rod into the lake, and it sank out of sight.
Dean blinked, regaining composure. “You’re dead. I’m dreaming, aren’t I? This isn’t real.” The fishing rod reappeared in his hands again, and he looked disappointed.
“You are dreaming, but this is real. It’s me, Dean,” Castiel said, although Dean still looked doubtful. He stood beside Dean’s chair, but Dean was quick to his feet, his hands grasping for the tangible body in front of him. His face constricted in surprise when the person he reached for did not disappear, instead feeling as real as he ever had before.
“But you’re dead,” Dean said again, and Castiel felt obligated to nod because it was the truth. “So, you get to see me one last time in my dreams before some reaper tractor beams your ass back? Is that how this works?”
“Something like that. Yes.”
“Fuck that.” Dean threw his hands into the air and paced the end of the dock in a small, angry circle. “Look. I don’t want to go fishing. I don’t want to dream. You know what? I don’t want to fight Lucifer, and I sure as fuck don’t want you to be dead, man.” Castiel tried to change the expression on his face from the quiet and dignified acceptance that he knew Dean must’ve hated, but he couldn’t be angry the way Dean wanted him to be. Not in their last moment together.
But Dean was Dean, and he wasn’t ready to accept this. “Is this what you fell for?” he asked as he expanded his arms to gesture to the entire scene, a microcosm for the entire world.
Castiel ignored it. “Don’t think for one moment I’ve regretted what I’ve done.”
But Dean wasn’t giving in. “Then I regret it for you. I wasn’t worth this.”
“If that’s what you really believe, Dean, then that’s my greatest failure of all.”
The look on Dean’s face said that he didn’t know how to address a dying man, let alone a dying friend, a dying loved one. It was Sam and Dad and Mom all over again.
But Castiel had to make Dean understand that this time was different. “You can’t teach happiness, Dean. You can’t tell a man to be content and expect that he will be because you said so. I’ve found more happiness with you than I have in all my existence without, so doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It tells me something, all right, and it kind of sucks from this vantage point, Cas.”
“I chose life. That’s the greatest gift someone has ever given me. Life, and the freedom to choose it. And you’ve given it to me. I want you to understand how incredible that is.”
Dean’s voice fell into a whisper. “How long do we have here?”
“Not long, I’m afraid,” Castiel said. “Please give this to me, this moment.” He supplicated, and Dean understood what was being asked of him. He sucked in air through clenched teeth and squared his shoulders. The tarnished gold of his eyes shone, vibrant as ever. He stood closer to Castiel and kissed him hard, the spice of basil was still sweet on Castiel’s lips.
Dean, who had taught Castiel about pizza and about pie, about music and riding in cars. He taught him how to live in a human body and to love with a human heart. Dean had become something eternal to Castiel whether immortality permitted it or not. But still Castiel was afraid. He was afraid for what fate would await Dean when he awoke from this dream.
It was almost past dusk. The sun had set spectacularly on the horizon like the blazing star that it was, and Castiel knew that Death would be coming for him soon. It wouldn’t be long now.
“This is a romantic sunset,” Castiel pointed out, taking his eyes off Dean for a moment to stare into the landscape of his dreams, into the orange blur dipping out of view as the horizon wielded the fire peacefully on its back. “And I get to see it with you. I have waited millennia for this moment.”
Truly, he had, and in more than one way.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, interrupting the moment, panicked, clutching at his chest. “Is this thing supposed to be hot?” He went to hold the amulet that he wore around his neck but winced upon touching it. It glowed brightly, and then brighter still.
“Get it off me,” Dean said more to himself, shouting as he slipped the leather rope over his head and dropped it to the ground. Castiel scrambled to his knees, but it was too hot to touch when he tried. He looked up and around for a person, a sign, a vessel, a presence.
Death stood at the other end of the dock and then collapsed to the ground.
Castiel rushed toward Death with Dean hot at his heels. Death was supine, half of him on the dock and half on land. He stared up into the abyss as if he were listening to it, as if the universe were speaking to him. Then Death sat upright, stiff and robotic. There were words on his lips, but Castiel couldn’t hear them. Finally, he said, “I have traveled a very long path, and it seems I’ve lost my way.”
“Tell me who you are,” Castiel demanded, bold.
“You already know who I am. You are my son, and I am your Father.” Death spoke with an assurance and a kindness that he had not possessed before. “I am the first and the last. I am Death, but I am also Life.”
“You’re God?” Dean blurted out, incredulous, before his brain had the chance to catch up to his mouth.
“I am the fire behind all life in this world. I am the trees and the wind and the rain. I am compassion and retribution. I am both god and goddess. Pestilence and Famine and War have remade Life into Death, and I’d forgotten this place. I’d forgotten who I am, but then I heard a voice. I remember now, for I have been called upon by a great man. The Righteous Man has summoned me, and I am here to answer.”
Castiel bowed his head. Half of God’s words escaped him. “I do not know how to address you.”
“You may address me as you always have. God and Death are one and the same.”
“So, have you seen Earth lately?” Dean ventured. It would be pointless for Castiel to tell him to have some manners in front of God, for he knew God could hear their thoughts as easily if they’d spoken them aloud. The Creator knew all, the pious and the prurient.
Dean pressed his point before God could answer. “Aren’t you going to make it right?” he asked.
“It’s not that simple, Dean. I am not a god of the machine.”
“Then what kind of god are you?”
“Dean.” Castiel spoke his name at last to silence him.
“You know what, Cas? I don’t care. You know how many of us are busting our asses because God had a case of amnesia? Lucifer’s blowing cities off the map, and you’re not doing a damn thing to stop him.”
Castiel couldn’t argue, so he looked to God for an answer, choosing to take Dean’s side after all.
God collected Himself and rose to His feet. He picked up the amulet and clutched it tight in a fist until His knuckles turned white.
“Death has no desire to awake a second time,” God said at last. “The age of Death has come to an end. Tomorrow we shall hunt the Devil. His Father is coming for him.”
When Castiel awoke in the Impala, he found Dean still asleep at his side.