And part 2...
Part 1
Dean’s status was switched from inpatient to outpatient on Thanksgiving morning.
Sam and Jess had gotten enough of a heads-up that by the time Sam left the apartment to collect Dean, Jess was well into the process of cooking her first solo Thanksgiving dinner-and Sam decided to stop at Shipley Do-nuts on the way to BAMC rather than disrupt her just for breakfast. He bought Dean a half-dozen plain glazed and a dozen doughnut holes for himself. Dean devoured his doughnuts in record time before the doctor could spot them and tell him not to.
It had been a long three weeks, and tempers had flared more than once (though never to the point of Sam or Jess seriously considering going back to California). When they weren’t miscommunicating with each other, they’d had to fight well-meaning friends, potential employers, unsympathetic profs, and uncooperative apartment managers. Dad was still missing, and the Moores, while supportive, had chosen not to visit Dean in the hospital when they came down to help Sam and Jess unpack. So far Dean’s only visitors, apart from Soldiers’ Angels volunteers, had been Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb-and Cas, Dean insisted, though Sam had never seen him.
But there’d been no sign of demons in the area, and BAMC was a good hospital, and Dean’s progress had been nothing short of miraculous. He had needed multiple surgeries to repair his injuries and would still need several more, but the skin grafts had healed without scarring; the neuralgia had vanished overnight; infections never lasted more than a day; the broken bones were knitting with remarkable speed; and the post-concussive symptoms were improving markedly every day. “God’s got His hand on your brother,” one doctor told Sam several times during Dean’s hospital stay.
And Sam hoped it was true. He and Jess had actually found a church they liked in Castle Hills and started attending on Sunday mornings, and Sam had committed himself to praying for Dean every day. If Cas really was an angel, as Dean said he seemed to be, maybe there was hope for Dean’s soul-and Sam’s-yet.
More earthly ministers of grace had come through for them as well. Only a day or two after Dean’s arrival, Soldiers’ Angels had presented him with a voice-activated laptop, part of a new program called Project Valour-IT, and Sam had gotten him set up on Skype. Dean was thus able to keep in touch with his Marine buddies in Iraq, which improved his morale no end, but he also managed to make contact with Ash, who kept him up to date on the latest news from the hunting world. BAMC’s wi-fi network blocked most of Dean’s favorite porn sites, but it didn’t block certain blog sites, and after some coaching from Sam and Ash, Dean discovered that blogging was as useful an outlet as pen-and-paper journaling had been. He’d ended up with two blogs, one for his service-related thoughts and another (a friends-locked LiveJournal) for personal and hunting entries; the “milblog” brought him into contact with a host of other service members and their spouses, including some other wounded warriors, which in Sam’s opinion was better than psychotherapy.
It didn’t completely stave off the boredom, though, and Dean had begun seriously thinking about starting some online courses through the University of the Incarnate Word that spring just to have something to do. Sam was surprised, but Dean had noted, “Criminal justice classes might actually be useful for hunting. Dunno how I’ll hold a shotgun with this,” he’d held up his left arm, “but God knows I can’t stay in the Corps forever. Especially after... Brady.”
He had a point there.
It was 10:00 when Sam got Dean, his belongings, and his wheelchair out to the Impala, but Jess had explicitly told him not to come back before noon, so after allowing Dean a few moments of eyeroll-inducing reunion with his car (seriously, you’d think it was a girl, the way he carried on), Sam took Dean on a leisurely drive through the city, pointing out their church, the law office where Sam would be starting as a paralegal in December, the clinic where Jess had just gotten a job in medical records, the UTSA and UTHSC campuses, Fiesta Texas, Sea World, and a few of the places on the northwest side where they’d hung out the one time John had found a werewolf in Helotes. Dean insisted on stopping by the Alamo Café to pick up some fresh tortillas to munch on as they drove, since that had been his favorite restaurant in the area when they were kids, and both of them agreed that the quality hadn’t declined over the years.
“We should take Jess on some day trips,” Dean declared as they pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex. “Y’know, New Braunfels, Fredericksburg, Sonora Caverns....”
Sam laughed. “Sure, Dean. Just as soon as you’re walking.”
“I can walk!” Dean objected. “I just haven’t gotten the hang of using only one crutch.”
Sam just gave him a knowing look, parked, and got him his wheelchair.
Word of Dean’s release from the hospital had apparently spread quickly; a bunch of the neighbors came out on their landings and balconies or threw open windows to whistle and cheer as Sam helped Dean out of the car and wheeled him into the apartment, with flags waving and not a few shouts of “Welcome home,” “Good job, Marine,” and “Semper Fi!” thrown in for good measure. Sam could tell from the way Dean ducked his head that he was embarrassed, but he recovered quickly, waving cheerfully and blowing kisses to all the pretty girls. Sam gave a couple of waves of his own, just to thank everyone.
“I dunno if I can get used to this,” Dean confessed quietly as Sam deposited his stuff in the living room, which was admittedly much nicer than any place they’d lived as kids.
Sam shrugged. “Sure you can. Give it some time.”
Then Sam wheeled Dean into the dining room, and Dean gaped at the feast spread before them-a small turkey, giblet gravy, dressing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, fruit salad, sweet potatoes, dinner rolls, and not one, not two, but three pies (apple, pumpkin, and pecan). And all of it was served up on china that their Stanford friends had ordered for them as a belated wedding present.
“I’m sorry it’s not much,” Jess said, twisting her apron in her hands nervously. “I mean, you’re a hero; you deserve more....”
“Jess,” Dean interrupted. “This is awesome. I... I haven’t had a Thanksgiving this nice since I was three.”
Sam wasn’t sure who of the three of them was closest to tears at that point. He had certainly never considered that Dean might not have been as content with cold KFC and a passed-out-drunk Dad as he had always claimed to be, and that made him feel guilty for the times he’d run off to friends’ houses for Thanksgiving dinner without inviting Dean or even informing him of where he was going. But by gum, he and Jess were going to make up for it this year. And the same went for Christmas.
Dean cleared his throat. “So, Sammy, you just gonna stand there and let the food get cold?”
“It’s Sam,” Sam shot back and pushed the wheelchair up to the table.
But though Dean snarked at Sam for filling his plate and cutting his slice of turkey for him, he savored every bite in a way Sam hadn’t see him enjoy food in years. He even took his time with each of the three slices of pie he had for dessert, which he would normally have gone through in less than two minutes. And somehow Sam knew Dean wasn’t just eating that way to please Jess.
The excitement of the morning took its toll, though, and Dean was visibly drooping by the end of the meal. Jess declared that the dishes could wait and collected Dean’s quilt and teddy bear from his backpack while Sam got him turned around and back to the living room, then led the brothers into Dean’s bedroom and put the quilt on the bed while Sam helped Dean out of the wheelchair. Dean drew the line at letting either of them tuck him in, however.
Once Dean got himself situated, Jess brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Rest well, Dean.”
“You’re gonna make an awesome nurse, Jess,” Dean replied, not for the first time. “Thanks.”
“So,” said Sam as Jess left, “was that worth getting blown up for?”
Dean chuckled. “G’night, Sammy. Don’t eat all the pie before I wake up.”
Sam huffed. “Like I’ll be able to eat anything else today.”
Dean chuckled again, and Sam patted his shoulder and went to help Jess with the dishes.
Bobby stopped by again shortly after Thanksgiving to talk with Dean about possible modifications that would allow him to drive the Impala without his left hand. He also brought all three of the Winchesters an early Christmas present: protection and anti-possession amulets.
“The way I figure it,” Bobby explained, “we’ve warded this place well enough that the only ways a demon could get to Jess or Dean would be to attack one of you outside or to possess one of you. The area’s been too quiet lately, and I’m worried about you kids. So: amulets.”
Dean pondered his for a moment while Bobby went off to look at the Impala once more, and Sam wondered if he was planning to put them on the same leather cord with the brass amulet Sam had given him for Christmas in ’91. But when he said, “I’ve got an idea,” instead of pulling off the necklace he’d finally begun wearing again, he reached across and pulled up the left side of his shirt.
And suddenly Sam understood why Dean wouldn’t let Sam or Jess help him bathe.
Jess frowned at the tattoo Dean was showing them above his left hip. “Are those your dog tags?”
Dean nodded. “They’re called meat tags. Everybody gets them before we’re deployed, in case... well, in case we don’t come back in one piece.”
Jess turned a little green at that. There was a reason she planned to be a pediatric nurse at a clinic rather than working in a hospital ER.
“Anyway,” Dean continued, lowering his shirt again, “my point is, chains come off. If we want to be sure we can’t be possessed....”
“We should get this as a tattoo,” Sam concluded, holding up the starburst-pentagram pendant. “With extra iron in the pigment to be safe.”
Dean pointed at him. “Exactly.”
“We should clear that with your doctor first,” Jess noted.
Dean shrugged.
“You okay with getting one yourself?” Sam asked her.
Jess looked hesitant but replied, “Dean does have a point. And if a demon could get to Brady....” She didn’t have to finish the thought.
“As soon as Dr. Salazar approves, then,” Sam agreed.
Dean had apparently taken to using his casts as a little black book, Sam discovered one evening in mid-December when Dean was sacked out in front of the TV. So, since his primary had promised to have the casts off in time for Christmas, Sam decided to be an awesome little brother and copy down all the contact information Dean had accumulated, just in case.
That was how he discovered the line of sigils that had been engraved down either side of each cast and the other line of sigils that had been written on the back of the arm cast between the phone numbers of a couple of nurses.
He didn’t recognize any of the sigils, so he carefully copied them onto a separate sheet of paper. Bobby, he knew, was in Ohio investigating a Bloody Mary sighting, so he scanned the copy and emailed it to Ash.
Enochian, Ash wrote back a couple of hours later, supposed to be the language of the angels. Engravings look like wards, written looks like a chant to summon an angel called Castiel (Angel of Thursday). He’d transliterated and translated each one.
Sam emailed his thanks, closed his laptop, and sat back to ponder this news, but he hadn’t gotten very far when Jess kissed his ear and sat down on the arm of his chair. “You’re looking thoughtful,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, Cas apparently left Dean a message on his cast.”
Jess hummed thoughtfully. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking about Cas. I know he’s been avoiding us, but he’s been an awfully good friend to Dean, angel or not. Maybe we should invite him over for Christmas dinner.”
“Guess it can’t hurt,” Sam shrugged. “I’ll try to get hold of him.”
So, while Jess took Dean Christmas shopping that Saturday, Sam made sure he had the usual weapons handy-holy water, salt, iron, silver-and shut off anything that could be harmed by EMF, then read aloud the words that were written on the back of Dean’s arm cast. There was a noise like giant wings flapping, and a male figure in a black suit and tan trenchcoat appeared in the middle of the living room, looking slightly puzzled.
Sam suddenly remembered Dean’s half-coherent description of ‘Cas’ from Landstuhl-black hair, blue eyes, trenchcoat. It fit. “Castiel?”
“Sam Winchester,” the man-no, the angel; it hadn’t denied the name-replied, sounding as puzzled as he looked. “I did not expect... Dean isn’t here. Why have you summoned me?”
“Uh, I, um... my-my wife and I wondered if maybe you’d like to come over for Christmas?” Sam cringed inwardly and hoped that didn’t sound as lame to Castiel as it had sounded to him once he said it.
Castiel looked even more confused and studied Sam’s face earnestly for a moment. Then his expression lightened somewhat, and he nodded. “I cannot stay long. But I would be glad to join you, yes.”
“Great! Ah, we... we’d be honored. Dean’s told us a lot about you.”
Sam held out his hand, and Castiel looked at it for a moment before taking it in both of his own and meeting Sam’s eyes once more with the barest hint of a fond smile. “Thank you, Sam. I shall come at noon.”
And then he was gone, and Sam sat down hard on the couch and tried to recover from the fact that he’d just invited an honest-to-goodness angel to eat Christmas dinner with them.
“Do angels even eat?” was Dean’s first question.
Sam shrugged. “The ones who visited Abraham did, supposedly.”
“Huh. Maybe it’s a social thing.”
“That’s what Milton thought,” Jess agreed.
Though he was a little put out with Sam for snooping, Dean was secretly glad that Sam had invited Cas. One reason, of course, was that Sam and Jess were awesome and needed to meet Cas because Cas was also awesome. But another was that Christmas, like Thanksgiving, was one of those Things Winchesters Don’t Have™, and Dean had been kind of worried about what sorts of celebrations Jess was used to. Dad was still missing, and the Moores claimed they couldn’t get away (Dean wasn’t sure he believed that one), but if Cas was coming to dinner, that probably meant Sam and Jess wouldn’t be planning a big party with people Dean didn’t know and too many chances to be awkward with a limp and bad balance and no left hand. Carmen the PT nurse had invited him to a party on the Friday night before Christmas, and he was supposed to have some kind of video chat with Echo Company on Christmas Eve; that would be social time enough for one season. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed just hanging out at home with his little brother.
Besides, much as he hated to admit it, he still wasn’t hitting on all eight cylinders. Cas had helped him a lot, probably pushing the limits of what he could get away with while remaining undercover, but Dean was nowhere near well yet. His concentration and short-term memory were shot thanks to the post-concussive syndrome, and “shop till you drop” apparently took all of four hours even when he was in a wheelchair. There were some problems even a Winchester couldn’t hide or brazen through, and it was best not to be around other people much until they passed.
And really, he kind of hoped Sam or Jess could get Cas to explain some things, like exactly what he meant by “undercover.”
His stomach growled just then, interrupting his musings. “Speaking of food....”
Jess blinked. “But we just ate.”
Sam laughed. “Dean’s always hungry.”
“Dude, I’m regrowing bone here,” Dean objected. “I think I have a right to be hungry.”
Sam just shook his head and got Dean a sandwich.
Christmas morning found Dean picking listlessly at the empty cuff of his flannel shirt and trying to decide if Carmen was worth a second date. She seemed to have a thing for picking shrapnel out of his face, and he wasn’t sure quite how he felt about that (though he’d never minded when his sister did it). And while Carmen had a lot in common with both Cassie and Lisa, he hadn’t appreciated the fact that some of her friends seemed to forget that he was a Marine, not a “young professional” like the rest of them. Still, it might be worth trying again... after New Year’s. Unfortunately, he’d been right about how badly the party and the video chat would wear him out.
-Hadn’t he been a rotten patient once upon a time? Maybe that explosion knocked some sense into him even as it knocked a few other screws loose.
Dean shook himself then, setting aside old nagging questions about whether Lisa would have reacted the way Cassie had if he’d stuck around long enough to tell her the truth and whether he’d ever be able to deserve to have someone look at him the way Jess looked at Sam. Jess had been working her magic in the kitchen all morning and filling the apartment with amazing smells, and now she was calling him and Sam to help with the one thing he could do one-handed: setting the table. Sam would have to handle the dishes, since none of them wanted to risk Dean losing his balance or something and dropping those china plates, but Dean could at least handle the napkins and silverware and hot pads.
Sam, goofy kid that he was, kept alternating between being happier than Dean had ever seen him on Christmas day and being insanely nervous about having Cas over, no matter how many times Dean assured him that Cas was pretty okay for a nerdy little dude with wings. Jess just acted like she was trying out for “hostess with the mostest” and was less nervous about the fact that Cas was an angel than she was about having anyone over who wasn’t family. Dean couldn’t help being amused by it all.
Precisely at noon, there was a knock at the front door, and Sam nearly tripped over his own feet running to answer it. But Cas was actually smiling as he said hello and stepped easily across the salt and iron lining the threshold.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean called from his seat at the table. “Since when do you use doors?”
“I thought it both prudent and polite,” Cas replied. “I did not wish to startle Jessica.”
Dean grinned. Cas didn’t have much in the way of social skills, but he was learning-Dean had cussed him out more than once for turning up in his hospital room unannounced.
“Can I take your coat?” Sam asked awkwardly.
The question seemed to startle Cas, and Dean suddenly realized that he’d never seen the guy without that stupid Columbo coat of his. Cas looked at Dean, who nodded, before turning back to Sam. “Yes. Thank you, Sam.”
Sam had to help him out of it, though, and Dean wasn’t sure he succeeded in not laughing.
“So, Cas, do angels eat?” Dean asked as Sam ushered Cas into the dining room.
“Not out of necessity,” Cas replied. “Most do not eat at all. However, I have learned to enjoy food when it is shared with humans whose company I care for. It is a way of experiencing Our Father’s creation that I had not expected to find so agreeable.”
That threw Sam, but Jess said shyly, “Well, I hope you find my cooking meets your standards.”
“I am sure it will,” Cas returned with a gentle smile.
In Dean’s opinion, Jess had outdone herself, and he said so-repeatedly. Not only did she fix everything she’d served for Thanksgiving, but she’d gotten a few recipes from the neighbors and added a cranberry relish, hominy, and some fruit thing called ambrosia to the lineup. She outdid herself conversation-wise, too; Sam was too awe-struck to make small talk with Cas and Dean was too busy stuffing himself senseless, but Jess managed to keep the meal from being completely silent.
It wasn’t until they’d finished eating and adjourned to the living room that Cas confessed, “I have enjoyed this very much. I’m... surprised. Before Dean’s injury, my last encounter with this family was... less than pleasant.”
Dean and Sam frowned at each other. “Last encounter?” they chorused.
Cas looked from one brother to the other. “It was... not in this timeline. And when I parted from you, you were not friends with one another.”
“Whoa, slow down,” said Dean. “You can time travel?”
“Yes. Time for us is fluid; it can be bent, though doing so is not easy.”
“So is that what you meant when you said you were here undercover? You came back in time to-what, to change something?”
“I was sent back to ensure that Sam did not embark on a dark and deadly path that would bring about the end of the world.”
“What?!” all three humans exploded.
Cas looked sadly at Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. In that timeline, the demon possessing your friend Brady succeeded in killing Jessica on November 2. You survived, but with neither your father nor your brother to guide you, grief and vengeance drove you not only to resume hunting but to become ruthless and lose your moral compass, and you were open to corruption by the very forces you sought to destroy.”
“Why?” Sam’s frown deeped. “I mean, why was I alone? Did Dean die in that attack?”
“No. Dean survived uninjured. Two members of his platoon were killed instead. Dean remained on active duty and finished his enlistment with a deployment to Okinawa, still with Echo 2/1. By the time he returned to Bobby to find his family again... it was too late. You had been murdered, and your father had sold his soul to bring you back to life. But you walked into Hell to rescue John. Somehow you both escaped, but not before you had accidentally begun the chain of events that would trigger the Apocalypse. I never learned what happened to John after that. Dean and I became friends, but I could not help him reconcile with you and stop the Apocalypse all at once, and the seals were broken so quickly that we barely had time to help Dean find you again before Lucifer was freed, never mind shaking off the influence of the demon who had claimed to want to help you. The two of you thus fell easily into the roles you were destined to play.
“But the final battle between Michael and Lucifer was neither as swift nor as decisive as we had always understood that it should have been. It raged for weeks, and untold thousands of humans died every day. And for reasons you need not know, we were powerless to aid Michael.
“Finally, Gabriel, whom we had long thought dead, returned and took me aside. ‘This isn’t the way it’s supposed to work,’ he said. ‘You have to fix it, Castiel. Dean’s taught you to think outside the box; you’re the only one who can change history without causing a train wreck.’
“‘But there were many turning points,’ I said. ‘Which one can I change?’
“‘Try Iraq,’ said he. ‘Now go! And don’t get caught!’
“So here I am,” Cas finished simply, “trying not to get caught.”
Dean leaned forward. “Cas, back at Landstuhl, you said something about Azazel. It was important, but I don’t remember what it was.”
Cas blinked. “I simply said that Azazel was the demon that killed your mother.”
Sam inhaled sharply, but Dean ignored him. “There was something else, though. Something about killing Jess.” Cas looked away, but Dean banged his hand on the arm of his chair, startling the angel. “Dammit, Cas, you’ve already changed the timeline, so don’t tell me it’ll mess with causality. What did Azazel want?”
Cas sighed. “To force Sam back into hunting.”
“Why?” the brothers chorused.
When Cas balked again, Jess gently touched his arm. “Please, Castiel. We need to know if we’re going to make it right.”
Cas looked at her hand, then at her face, Sam’s face, and Dean’s face last of all. Then he sighed again... and told them everything.
Notes:
- The “meat tag” concept is real. I learned that from my cousin the Marine.
Next
Dean’s status was switched from inpatient to outpatient on Thanksgiving morning.
Sam and Jess had gotten enough of a heads-up that by the time Sam left the apartment to collect Dean, Jess was well into the process of cooking her first solo Thanksgiving dinner-and Sam decided to stop at Shipley Do-nuts on the way to BAMC rather than disrupt her just for breakfast. He bought Dean a half-dozen plain glazed and a dozen doughnut holes for himself. Dean devoured his doughnuts in record time before the doctor could spot them and tell him not to.
It had been a long three weeks, and tempers had flared more than once (though never to the point of Sam or Jess seriously considering going back to California). When they weren’t miscommunicating with each other, they’d had to fight well-meaning friends, potential employers, unsympathetic profs, and uncooperative apartment managers. Dad was still missing, and the Moores, while supportive, had chosen not to visit Dean in the hospital when they came down to help Sam and Jess unpack. So far Dean’s only visitors, apart from Soldiers’ Angels volunteers, had been Bobby, Pastor Jim, and Caleb-and Cas, Dean insisted, though Sam had never seen him.
But there’d been no sign of demons in the area, and BAMC was a good hospital, and Dean’s progress had been nothing short of miraculous. He had needed multiple surgeries to repair his injuries and would still need several more, but the skin grafts had healed without scarring; the neuralgia had vanished overnight; infections never lasted more than a day; the broken bones were knitting with remarkable speed; and the post-concussive symptoms were improving markedly every day. “God’s got His hand on your brother,” one doctor told Sam several times during Dean’s hospital stay.
And Sam hoped it was true. He and Jess had actually found a church they liked in Castle Hills and started attending on Sunday mornings, and Sam had committed himself to praying for Dean every day. If Cas really was an angel, as Dean said he seemed to be, maybe there was hope for Dean’s soul-and Sam’s-yet.
More earthly ministers of grace had come through for them as well. Only a day or two after Dean’s arrival, Soldiers’ Angels had presented him with a voice-activated laptop, part of a new program called Project Valour-IT, and Sam had gotten him set up on Skype. Dean was thus able to keep in touch with his Marine buddies in Iraq, which improved his morale no end, but he also managed to make contact with Ash, who kept him up to date on the latest news from the hunting world. BAMC’s wi-fi network blocked most of Dean’s favorite porn sites, but it didn’t block certain blog sites, and after some coaching from Sam and Ash, Dean discovered that blogging was as useful an outlet as pen-and-paper journaling had been. He’d ended up with two blogs, one for his service-related thoughts and another (a friends-locked LiveJournal) for personal and hunting entries; the “milblog” brought him into contact with a host of other service members and their spouses, including some other wounded warriors, which in Sam’s opinion was better than psychotherapy.
It didn’t completely stave off the boredom, though, and Dean had begun seriously thinking about starting some online courses through the University of the Incarnate Word that spring just to have something to do. Sam was surprised, but Dean had noted, “Criminal justice classes might actually be useful for hunting. Dunno how I’ll hold a shotgun with this,” he’d held up his left arm, “but God knows I can’t stay in the Corps forever. Especially after... Brady.”
He had a point there.
It was 10:00 when Sam got Dean, his belongings, and his wheelchair out to the Impala, but Jess had explicitly told him not to come back before noon, so after allowing Dean a few moments of eyeroll-inducing reunion with his car (seriously, you’d think it was a girl, the way he carried on), Sam took Dean on a leisurely drive through the city, pointing out their church, the law office where Sam would be starting as a paralegal in December, the clinic where Jess had just gotten a job in medical records, the UTSA and UTHSC campuses, Fiesta Texas, Sea World, and a few of the places on the northwest side where they’d hung out the one time John had found a werewolf in Helotes. Dean insisted on stopping by the Alamo Café to pick up some fresh tortillas to munch on as they drove, since that had been his favorite restaurant in the area when they were kids, and both of them agreed that the quality hadn’t declined over the years.
“We should take Jess on some day trips,” Dean declared as they pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex. “Y’know, New Braunfels, Fredericksburg, Sonora Caverns....”
Sam laughed. “Sure, Dean. Just as soon as you’re walking.”
“I can walk!” Dean objected. “I just haven’t gotten the hang of using only one crutch.”
Sam just gave him a knowing look, parked, and got him his wheelchair.
Word of Dean’s release from the hospital had apparently spread quickly; a bunch of the neighbors came out on their landings and balconies or threw open windows to whistle and cheer as Sam helped Dean out of the car and wheeled him into the apartment, with flags waving and not a few shouts of “Welcome home,” “Good job, Marine,” and “Semper Fi!” thrown in for good measure. Sam could tell from the way Dean ducked his head that he was embarrassed, but he recovered quickly, waving cheerfully and blowing kisses to all the pretty girls. Sam gave a couple of waves of his own, just to thank everyone.
“I dunno if I can get used to this,” Dean confessed quietly as Sam deposited his stuff in the living room, which was admittedly much nicer than any place they’d lived as kids.
Sam shrugged. “Sure you can. Give it some time.”
Then Sam wheeled Dean into the dining room, and Dean gaped at the feast spread before them-a small turkey, giblet gravy, dressing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, fruit salad, sweet potatoes, dinner rolls, and not one, not two, but three pies (apple, pumpkin, and pecan). And all of it was served up on china that their Stanford friends had ordered for them as a belated wedding present.
“I’m sorry it’s not much,” Jess said, twisting her apron in her hands nervously. “I mean, you’re a hero; you deserve more....”
“Jess,” Dean interrupted. “This is awesome. I... I haven’t had a Thanksgiving this nice since I was three.”
Sam wasn’t sure who of the three of them was closest to tears at that point. He had certainly never considered that Dean might not have been as content with cold KFC and a passed-out-drunk Dad as he had always claimed to be, and that made him feel guilty for the times he’d run off to friends’ houses for Thanksgiving dinner without inviting Dean or even informing him of where he was going. But by gum, he and Jess were going to make up for it this year. And the same went for Christmas.
Dean cleared his throat. “So, Sammy, you just gonna stand there and let the food get cold?”
“It’s Sam,” Sam shot back and pushed the wheelchair up to the table.
But though Dean snarked at Sam for filling his plate and cutting his slice of turkey for him, he savored every bite in a way Sam hadn’t see him enjoy food in years. He even took his time with each of the three slices of pie he had for dessert, which he would normally have gone through in less than two minutes. And somehow Sam knew Dean wasn’t just eating that way to please Jess.
The excitement of the morning took its toll, though, and Dean was visibly drooping by the end of the meal. Jess declared that the dishes could wait and collected Dean’s quilt and teddy bear from his backpack while Sam got him turned around and back to the living room, then led the brothers into Dean’s bedroom and put the quilt on the bed while Sam helped Dean out of the wheelchair. Dean drew the line at letting either of them tuck him in, however.
Once Dean got himself situated, Jess brushed a kiss on his cheek. “Rest well, Dean.”
“You’re gonna make an awesome nurse, Jess,” Dean replied, not for the first time. “Thanks.”
“So,” said Sam as Jess left, “was that worth getting blown up for?”
Dean chuckled. “G’night, Sammy. Don’t eat all the pie before I wake up.”
Sam huffed. “Like I’ll be able to eat anything else today.”
Dean chuckled again, and Sam patted his shoulder and went to help Jess with the dishes.
Bobby stopped by again shortly after Thanksgiving to talk with Dean about possible modifications that would allow him to drive the Impala without his left hand. He also brought all three of the Winchesters an early Christmas present: protection and anti-possession amulets.
“The way I figure it,” Bobby explained, “we’ve warded this place well enough that the only ways a demon could get to Jess or Dean would be to attack one of you outside or to possess one of you. The area’s been too quiet lately, and I’m worried about you kids. So: amulets.”
Dean pondered his for a moment while Bobby went off to look at the Impala once more, and Sam wondered if he was planning to put them on the same leather cord with the brass amulet Sam had given him for Christmas in ’91. But when he said, “I’ve got an idea,” instead of pulling off the necklace he’d finally begun wearing again, he reached across and pulled up the left side of his shirt.
And suddenly Sam understood why Dean wouldn’t let Sam or Jess help him bathe.
Jess frowned at the tattoo Dean was showing them above his left hip. “Are those your dog tags?”
Dean nodded. “They’re called meat tags. Everybody gets them before we’re deployed, in case... well, in case we don’t come back in one piece.”
Jess turned a little green at that. There was a reason she planned to be a pediatric nurse at a clinic rather than working in a hospital ER.
“Anyway,” Dean continued, lowering his shirt again, “my point is, chains come off. If we want to be sure we can’t be possessed....”
“We should get this as a tattoo,” Sam concluded, holding up the starburst-pentagram pendant. “With extra iron in the pigment to be safe.”
Dean pointed at him. “Exactly.”
“We should clear that with your doctor first,” Jess noted.
Dean shrugged.
“You okay with getting one yourself?” Sam asked her.
Jess looked hesitant but replied, “Dean does have a point. And if a demon could get to Brady....” She didn’t have to finish the thought.
“As soon as Dr. Salazar approves, then,” Sam agreed.
Dean had apparently taken to using his casts as a little black book, Sam discovered one evening in mid-December when Dean was sacked out in front of the TV. So, since his primary had promised to have the casts off in time for Christmas, Sam decided to be an awesome little brother and copy down all the contact information Dean had accumulated, just in case.
That was how he discovered the line of sigils that had been engraved down either side of each cast and the other line of sigils that had been written on the back of the arm cast between the phone numbers of a couple of nurses.
He didn’t recognize any of the sigils, so he carefully copied them onto a separate sheet of paper. Bobby, he knew, was in Ohio investigating a Bloody Mary sighting, so he scanned the copy and emailed it to Ash.
Enochian, Ash wrote back a couple of hours later, supposed to be the language of the angels. Engravings look like wards, written looks like a chant to summon an angel called Castiel (Angel of Thursday). He’d transliterated and translated each one.
Sam emailed his thanks, closed his laptop, and sat back to ponder this news, but he hadn’t gotten very far when Jess kissed his ear and sat down on the arm of his chair. “You’re looking thoughtful,” she said. “What’s going on?”
“Oh, Cas apparently left Dean a message on his cast.”
Jess hummed thoughtfully. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking about Cas. I know he’s been avoiding us, but he’s been an awfully good friend to Dean, angel or not. Maybe we should invite him over for Christmas dinner.”
“Guess it can’t hurt,” Sam shrugged. “I’ll try to get hold of him.”
So, while Jess took Dean Christmas shopping that Saturday, Sam made sure he had the usual weapons handy-holy water, salt, iron, silver-and shut off anything that could be harmed by EMF, then read aloud the words that were written on the back of Dean’s arm cast. There was a noise like giant wings flapping, and a male figure in a black suit and tan trenchcoat appeared in the middle of the living room, looking slightly puzzled.
Sam suddenly remembered Dean’s half-coherent description of ‘Cas’ from Landstuhl-black hair, blue eyes, trenchcoat. It fit. “Castiel?”
“Sam Winchester,” the man-no, the angel; it hadn’t denied the name-replied, sounding as puzzled as he looked. “I did not expect... Dean isn’t here. Why have you summoned me?”
“Uh, I, um... my-my wife and I wondered if maybe you’d like to come over for Christmas?” Sam cringed inwardly and hoped that didn’t sound as lame to Castiel as it had sounded to him once he said it.
Castiel looked even more confused and studied Sam’s face earnestly for a moment. Then his expression lightened somewhat, and he nodded. “I cannot stay long. But I would be glad to join you, yes.”
“Great! Ah, we... we’d be honored. Dean’s told us a lot about you.”
Sam held out his hand, and Castiel looked at it for a moment before taking it in both of his own and meeting Sam’s eyes once more with the barest hint of a fond smile. “Thank you, Sam. I shall come at noon.”
And then he was gone, and Sam sat down hard on the couch and tried to recover from the fact that he’d just invited an honest-to-goodness angel to eat Christmas dinner with them.
“Do angels even eat?” was Dean’s first question.
Sam shrugged. “The ones who visited Abraham did, supposedly.”
“Huh. Maybe it’s a social thing.”
“That’s what Milton thought,” Jess agreed.
Though he was a little put out with Sam for snooping, Dean was secretly glad that Sam had invited Cas. One reason, of course, was that Sam and Jess were awesome and needed to meet Cas because Cas was also awesome. But another was that Christmas, like Thanksgiving, was one of those Things Winchesters Don’t Have™, and Dean had been kind of worried about what sorts of celebrations Jess was used to. Dad was still missing, and the Moores claimed they couldn’t get away (Dean wasn’t sure he believed that one), but if Cas was coming to dinner, that probably meant Sam and Jess wouldn’t be planning a big party with people Dean didn’t know and too many chances to be awkward with a limp and bad balance and no left hand. Carmen the PT nurse had invited him to a party on the Friday night before Christmas, and he was supposed to have some kind of video chat with Echo Company on Christmas Eve; that would be social time enough for one season. He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed just hanging out at home with his little brother.
Besides, much as he hated to admit it, he still wasn’t hitting on all eight cylinders. Cas had helped him a lot, probably pushing the limits of what he could get away with while remaining undercover, but Dean was nowhere near well yet. His concentration and short-term memory were shot thanks to the post-concussive syndrome, and “shop till you drop” apparently took all of four hours even when he was in a wheelchair. There were some problems even a Winchester couldn’t hide or brazen through, and it was best not to be around other people much until they passed.
And really, he kind of hoped Sam or Jess could get Cas to explain some things, like exactly what he meant by “undercover.”
His stomach growled just then, interrupting his musings. “Speaking of food....”
Jess blinked. “But we just ate.”
Sam laughed. “Dean’s always hungry.”
“Dude, I’m regrowing bone here,” Dean objected. “I think I have a right to be hungry.”
Sam just shook his head and got Dean a sandwich.
Christmas morning found Dean picking listlessly at the empty cuff of his flannel shirt and trying to decide if Carmen was worth a second date. She seemed to have a thing for picking shrapnel out of his face, and he wasn’t sure quite how he felt about that (though he’d never minded when his sister did it). And while Carmen had a lot in common with both Cassie and Lisa, he hadn’t appreciated the fact that some of her friends seemed to forget that he was a Marine, not a “young professional” like the rest of them. Still, it might be worth trying again... after New Year’s. Unfortunately, he’d been right about how badly the party and the video chat would wear him out.
-Hadn’t he been a rotten patient once upon a time? Maybe that explosion knocked some sense into him even as it knocked a few other screws loose.
Dean shook himself then, setting aside old nagging questions about whether Lisa would have reacted the way Cassie had if he’d stuck around long enough to tell her the truth and whether he’d ever be able to deserve to have someone look at him the way Jess looked at Sam. Jess had been working her magic in the kitchen all morning and filling the apartment with amazing smells, and now she was calling him and Sam to help with the one thing he could do one-handed: setting the table. Sam would have to handle the dishes, since none of them wanted to risk Dean losing his balance or something and dropping those china plates, but Dean could at least handle the napkins and silverware and hot pads.
Sam, goofy kid that he was, kept alternating between being happier than Dean had ever seen him on Christmas day and being insanely nervous about having Cas over, no matter how many times Dean assured him that Cas was pretty okay for a nerdy little dude with wings. Jess just acted like she was trying out for “hostess with the mostest” and was less nervous about the fact that Cas was an angel than she was about having anyone over who wasn’t family. Dean couldn’t help being amused by it all.
Precisely at noon, there was a knock at the front door, and Sam nearly tripped over his own feet running to answer it. But Cas was actually smiling as he said hello and stepped easily across the salt and iron lining the threshold.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean called from his seat at the table. “Since when do you use doors?”
“I thought it both prudent and polite,” Cas replied. “I did not wish to startle Jessica.”
Dean grinned. Cas didn’t have much in the way of social skills, but he was learning-Dean had cussed him out more than once for turning up in his hospital room unannounced.
“Can I take your coat?” Sam asked awkwardly.
The question seemed to startle Cas, and Dean suddenly realized that he’d never seen the guy without that stupid Columbo coat of his. Cas looked at Dean, who nodded, before turning back to Sam. “Yes. Thank you, Sam.”
Sam had to help him out of it, though, and Dean wasn’t sure he succeeded in not laughing.
“So, Cas, do angels eat?” Dean asked as Sam ushered Cas into the dining room.
“Not out of necessity,” Cas replied. “Most do not eat at all. However, I have learned to enjoy food when it is shared with humans whose company I care for. It is a way of experiencing Our Father’s creation that I had not expected to find so agreeable.”
That threw Sam, but Jess said shyly, “Well, I hope you find my cooking meets your standards.”
“I am sure it will,” Cas returned with a gentle smile.
In Dean’s opinion, Jess had outdone herself, and he said so-repeatedly. Not only did she fix everything she’d served for Thanksgiving, but she’d gotten a few recipes from the neighbors and added a cranberry relish, hominy, and some fruit thing called ambrosia to the lineup. She outdid herself conversation-wise, too; Sam was too awe-struck to make small talk with Cas and Dean was too busy stuffing himself senseless, but Jess managed to keep the meal from being completely silent.
It wasn’t until they’d finished eating and adjourned to the living room that Cas confessed, “I have enjoyed this very much. I’m... surprised. Before Dean’s injury, my last encounter with this family was... less than pleasant.”
Dean and Sam frowned at each other. “Last encounter?” they chorused.
Cas looked from one brother to the other. “It was... not in this timeline. And when I parted from you, you were not friends with one another.”
“Whoa, slow down,” said Dean. “You can time travel?”
“Yes. Time for us is fluid; it can be bent, though doing so is not easy.”
“So is that what you meant when you said you were here undercover? You came back in time to-what, to change something?”
“I was sent back to ensure that Sam did not embark on a dark and deadly path that would bring about the end of the world.”
“What?!” all three humans exploded.
Cas looked sadly at Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. In that timeline, the demon possessing your friend Brady succeeded in killing Jessica on November 2. You survived, but with neither your father nor your brother to guide you, grief and vengeance drove you not only to resume hunting but to become ruthless and lose your moral compass, and you were open to corruption by the very forces you sought to destroy.”
“Why?” Sam’s frown deeped. “I mean, why was I alone? Did Dean die in that attack?”
“No. Dean survived uninjured. Two members of his platoon were killed instead. Dean remained on active duty and finished his enlistment with a deployment to Okinawa, still with Echo 2/1. By the time he returned to Bobby to find his family again... it was too late. You had been murdered, and your father had sold his soul to bring you back to life. But you walked into Hell to rescue John. Somehow you both escaped, but not before you had accidentally begun the chain of events that would trigger the Apocalypse. I never learned what happened to John after that. Dean and I became friends, but I could not help him reconcile with you and stop the Apocalypse all at once, and the seals were broken so quickly that we barely had time to help Dean find you again before Lucifer was freed, never mind shaking off the influence of the demon who had claimed to want to help you. The two of you thus fell easily into the roles you were destined to play.
“But the final battle between Michael and Lucifer was neither as swift nor as decisive as we had always understood that it should have been. It raged for weeks, and untold thousands of humans died every day. And for reasons you need not know, we were powerless to aid Michael.
“Finally, Gabriel, whom we had long thought dead, returned and took me aside. ‘This isn’t the way it’s supposed to work,’ he said. ‘You have to fix it, Castiel. Dean’s taught you to think outside the box; you’re the only one who can change history without causing a train wreck.’
“‘But there were many turning points,’ I said. ‘Which one can I change?’
“‘Try Iraq,’ said he. ‘Now go! And don’t get caught!’
“So here I am,” Cas finished simply, “trying not to get caught.”
Dean leaned forward. “Cas, back at Landstuhl, you said something about Azazel. It was important, but I don’t remember what it was.”
Cas blinked. “I simply said that Azazel was the demon that killed your mother.”
Sam inhaled sharply, but Dean ignored him. “There was something else, though. Something about killing Jess.” Cas looked away, but Dean banged his hand on the arm of his chair, startling the angel. “Dammit, Cas, you’ve already changed the timeline, so don’t tell me it’ll mess with causality. What did Azazel want?”
Cas sighed. “To force Sam back into hunting.”
“Why?” the brothers chorused.
When Cas balked again, Jess gently touched his arm. “Please, Castiel. We need to know if we’re going to make it right.”
Cas looked at her hand, then at her face, Sam’s face, and Dean’s face last of all. Then he sighed again... and told them everything.
Notes:
- The “meat tag” concept is real. I learned that from my cousin the Marine.
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