"If in doubt, make it necrophilia"
Be in awe.
This week I have come back from Italy, had a Japanese class for the first time in months, and finished editing two fics. I'm just so productive sometimes I surprise myself.
So, second fic in two days!
Title: Five Views of the City
Rating: PG
Words: 4,720
Summary: Actually, shockingly, Dean/Cas pre-slash. Castiel visits many places on his search, but he always returns to Sam and Dean.
Notes: This began life as my traditional drunk new year fic, but grew into something of a fluff-fest with added h/c (because I'm me) and plenty of Sam (because I feel bad after our big break-up last season. But don't worry, we're all good now). Thanks to cienna for the beta. Remaining mistakes are my own.
.Five Views of the City.
1. Waterloo
"This is my favourite!" the man standing beside Castiel said.
The man was shifting his weight from foot to foot, arms swaying side to side. It was crowded and loud and the humans around him were singing out of tune and out of time but still, they sang with love and they were… enjoying themselves, so Castiel found himself pleased. Perhaps his Father would be in a place like this, Castiel thought. It was all the things he loved about humanity. Passion and creativity and celebration. The dancing might be strange and the lyrics incomprehensible and the costumes glittery and over-bright and unflattering but the spirit was there; joy and adoration, and for a moment Castiel could almost imagine he stood with the host, as he had long ago, singing in adoration of God and all his love and all his creations.
In that theatre, filled with hundreds of souls he felt profoundly at home, joyful, loved. And yet, when he opened his human eyes and remembered what had become of him he felt so achingly alone he had to leave that place, and its warmth, behind.
He found himself in the backseat of the Impala and frowned, because he could not remember consciously thinking to go there.
Sam startled a little, but turned and greeted him, "Hey Cas." And Castiel felt relieved, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps he was relieved to be away from the crowds, from humans he couldn’t understand, from some ritual celebration he had no context for or concept of. Being in the presence of Sam and Dean, Castiel realised, had become comfortable. Somewhat welcome. He did not always understand them, especially Dean, who Castiel often thought was obtuse and vague and colloquial on purpose. But with the brothers there was at least the expectation that they might help him understand. It was comforting in a world where everything else was so unknown and so seemingly unknowable.
Castiel nodded his head. "Hello, Sam," and, because Dean was looking at him in the mirror, "Hello, Dean."
Dean shifted in his seat then put his eyes back to the road.
"Cas," he said. "Where you been?"
"A concert," Castiel replied. "A strange concert."
"Strange?" Sam looked worried. "What kind of strange? What concert were you at?"
Sam was concerned, Castiel realised. Concerned that Castiel had got himself into something unfortunate and embarrassing and possibly illegal and he did not want Castiel to be in such situations. It was a strange worry but made Castiel feel oddly pleased. Cared for.
"It was strange music, Sam. And people were dancing. They were very enthusiastic," Castiel explained.
Sam’s eyebrows rose, and Dean snorted. "You been to a rave, Cas?"
Dean’s face seemed to fall then, suddenly, and then Dean was frowning and not looking happy at all. The sudden change was unexpected and the intensity of Dean's concern was very much disproportional, Castiel thought, to what he had just told the brothers.
"No one gave you anything did they?" he asked, sternly. Sam turned to his brother too, looking confused.
"No," Castiel answered, unsure as to the meaning of all this. "It was not a 'rave', as you say."
Dean visibly relaxed. "Good, good," he nodded, then sitting up straight his eyes flicked to meet Castiel's. "No raves," he ordered. "And no accepting anything from strangers."
It might have annoyed Castiel that Dean would give him instructions like he was a child. That Dean would expect Castiel to follow obediently when that was exactly what Dean had convinced him not to do. But this was a different world, and Castiel understood that in many ways he was lacking in the necessary information to function safely and efficiently. The advice was given in good faith, he believed, and he trusted Dean, so he would trust him in this too.
"As you wish," Castiel agreed, and Dean relaxed further, smiling and for that Castiel was glad.
"So what was the concert?" Sam asked again. He gave his brother a sidelong look, frowning as though assessing him, before looking away and back at Castiel.
"I was told the performance was a collection of songs originally sung by a group from Sweden. They had been made to fit a very bizarre storyline," Castiel told him. "There were a lot of frilly clothes."
Sam stared at him disbelievingly for a long moment before asking, "Seriously?"
"It was an interesting experience," Castiel informed him. It had been.
Castiel looked to Dean then and saw that he was laughing. He met Dean’s eyes in the mirror and Dean said, grinning widely, “Frilly clothes?”
When Castiel looked back to Sam, he was trying to stifle laughter with his hand.
Sam said again, "Seriously?"
"It was joyous," Castiel tried to explain. "I thought perhaps Our Father might be in such a place."
And at his reply the brothers erupted into great guffaws and howls of laughter.
Castiel did not know why what he had said might be considered so amusing to them, but Castiel couldn't find it in himself to feel offended. Often, Dean's dismissal and his doubt and the way he ridiculed Castiel's search was offensive. Irritating. Hurtful. But the brothers’ hearts felt light, not cloying with guilt or distrust or dispassion. There was joy there, and when Dean looked back at Castiel he met his eyes and seemed pleased and happy and he said, shaking his head, "Cas, you are something else," and Castiel did not mind at all.
**
2. Festa
In the shadowed, narrow streets of Gracia Castiel happened upon a devil.
He was dressed in red silk with thick black plastic ears and a black cape and he was the first thing Castiel saw upon his arrival.
Castiel thought it was not an encouraging omen, but still he stayed because he had to be sure. It would do no good to only search the surface, Castiel knew. If He was so conspicuous He would have been found eons ago.
So Castiel stayed and walked the pavements of the town even when intoxicated humans leaned against him and sloshed their drinks down his coat and the crowds grew and Castiel felt confined and lost. He did not leave even when the man dressed as a devil lit firecrackers only inches away from his arm and Castiel felt the heat of their flames burn the back of his hand, singeing the hairs there. He worried about burns on his coat then wondered at that because Castiel could not ever remember worrying about his clothes before. In the green-yellow-blue lights of the festival Castiel could see the angry red scorching on his hand but still he was more worried about his coat.
The devil was laughing, cackling, in front of Castiel, lighting another line of firecrackers. They hissed and spat and exploded and burnt yellow and the crowd clapped and cheered. Castiel drew away, pushing through the masses of humanity and their noise and their fire.
It took a long time to be free of the crowds and Castiel wondered if he was starting to know weariness because he wanted nothing more than to sit down and let the world pass him by. Just for a little while. To rest and be at peace. He had been away a long time, he thought, then frowned because he had not been away that long at all. And he could not decide if he had been thinking of heaven, or of Dean.
**
3. Midnight
When Castiel asked, Dean replied, “In the car.” Dean sounded pleased with himself; smug, Sam would say. Castiel knew Dean well enough to realise that was probably because he was driving. Dean’s attachment to his car was unfathomable. Of concern too because Castiel was not convinced of the wisdom of driving whilst on the phone. He was about to point this out when Dean added, “Where are you?”
"Hong Kong," Castiel replied. A group of inebriated teenagers staggered into him and Castiel wondered why that always seemed to happening. Then they patted his shoulders lightly, saying, "Sorry! Sorry!" and smiling and offering him a drink from a bottle that looked a lot like tequila. Castiel shook his head, turning away and pressing the phone closer to his ear. It was loud.
"You sound like you're at a party, man!" Dean was saying.
"I didn't mean to be," Castiel told him, which made Dean snort a laugh.
"Sure," Dean teased. "You skipping out on us Cas? Living the high life while me and Sam here fight our asses off?"
Castiel was fairly certain Dean didn't actually mean what he was saying, but told him, "No," anyway.
Someone started singing somewhere close by followed by cheering and heckling. Castiel tried to push his way further from the crowds. Always crowds. There were just so many humans.
He turned down into a narrow alleyway between old, tall buildings that seemed to lean towards each other across the space of the passageway. It was dark and smelled of rot and decay, but it was at least comparatively quiet.
Dean was saying, “And what the hell, man? It’s still morning. Mostly. You seriously think you're going to find God at an all-night party?"
There was talking in the background. Sam, Castiel thought, and then Dean said, "Oh right. You're a whole year ahead over there! What's next year like?"
Castiel pondered the question for a moment. Nothing seemed to have changed in the past hour since the human year had turned. "The same," Castiel decided.
Dean was laughing again. It was a good sound and, oddly, made Castiel forget what he was going to say. There had been, he was sure, a reason for this phone call.
"Well look," Dean was saying. "Don't drink too much over there. And you should come see us at midnight here."
"Why?" Castiel asked. He had other things he should do, he was sure, and every time he was with the brothers he worried his presence would attract attention. He was not as hidden as he had made them.
"It's new year and we should celebrate," Dean told him, then his tone turned more wry, "And it could be our last, right?"
It was the truth, and Castiel was tired of the noise and the crowds so he said," Yes," sure that he would remember what he had called for originally by then too.
When Castiel turned up at five minutes to midnight in the brothers’ motel room Dean was not pleased.
"You're gonna miss the new year," he, as Dean would say, bitched. "You're gonna make me miss the new year."
"There are several minutes yet," Castiel pointed out.
"He just wanted to spend the night with you, Cas," Sam said. He was sitting at the room's only table with a bottle of something in his hand. He looked amused. Castiel did not miss the irritated look Dean shot his brother, but Dean quickly turned back to Castiel, shoving a bottle of something in his hand too.
"Don't listen to him. He's a bitch. Now drink. Celebrate. Something." Dean retrieved a beer from the fridge, opened it as he sat on the end of the closest bed, eyes intent on the television.
It was interesting, Castiel thought, how Dean could be so content and so unhappy at the same time. Was that what being human was all about? Misery and joy forever at war with each other? Or maybe that was just the Winchesters, who Castiel was sure were not like any other humans.
Dean said, "You're staring, Cas."
Sam was laughing into his bottle at the table and Castiel could feel both of them; lighter, calmer than when he had first arrived. Castiel wondered if he should be worried that they always seemed to be laughing at him. Regardless, he sat next to Dean on the bed and took a long drink from the bottle Dean had given him. It was sharp and bitter but not wholly unpleasant.
"Dude," Dean said, incredulous. "You're not supposed to chug it. It's whiskey, not beer, and that's good stuff. Bought special for new year."
"I apologise," Castiel said, frowning at the bottle. He had not thought to even look at what Dean had given him.
Sam told him, "Don't listen, Cas. He's just being a jerk."
Dean ignored his brother, looking pointedly at Castiel instead and swapping the bottles. "Swig all you like from that. I'm confiscating the hard liquor. Now shut up the both of you or we'll miss the new year."
Castiel thought to point out that he hadn't actually said anything but Dean's attention was back on the television. Sam was watching too, so Cas decided he might as well join them.
He watched, and he drank, and he listened to the brothers argue and he thought that perhaps these moments were what he liked best about humanity. What he liked about Sam and Dean. To enjoy just being in each other's company, savouring what there was of their lives.
For all he had known heaven, Castiel had never known this; the time in between, and how much it was worth.
**
4. Bandai-san
High in the mountains of Japan it was cold. At least, that's what Castiel assumed the prickling pains across his skin and the shivering meant. It was snowing heavily, quickly blanketing the body of the demon he had just killed. Covering what Castiel knew was his own blood streaked across the ground. There was a lot. The snow was wet where it landed on his face and his hands.
The air was thin too, Castiel was beginning to notice. It was almost like he couldn't draw enough air into his human lungs. The world seemed to move in front of his eyes, even though Castiel was standing still.
The demon's knife had been sharp and had cut deep into both his flesh and his being and Castiel did not dare pick it up. He was feeling fear, uncertainty, disorientation. Castiel knew this, but was not sure if it was because of the demon's cuts or his failing strength.
The world felt strange and distant and Castiel had a sudden image of being unable to fly away from the mountain. Of being stuck there, in the cold, heavy snow with only a dead demon to keep him company as he slowly froze to death. Like a human.
Castiel flew.
He came to a stop in the deserts of Australia, somewhere, knowing it was summer there and would be warm, but the sudden change in temperature made him feel nauseous and the wind blew red sand into his eyes so he moved on quickly.
In a step he was in the lush, green forests of Thailand. It was too damp. It was not where he wanted to be. Another step and he was in the noise and bustle of Seoul, then the dead, eerie quiet of an empty village somewhere in Russia. He stumbled and fell onto a sandy beach filled with humans on Tenerife. They were pink all over and they stared at him in surprise. The sand was thick and dark and wet under his knees. Castiel couldn't remember falling but he stood himself up, knowing he had to get somewhere safe, and took flight again.
There was a vineyard in France, an abandoned train station deep underground in London, an oil rig, a ship's stern, an island, coastline, town, field, dark, bridge, water and finally, finally Bobby's front porch where Castiel just gave in to exhaustion and let himself fall face-down onto the wood floor. It smelled smoky, Castiel decided.
Castiel heard clattering behind him, felt the wood under him moving up and down. It was unusually warm, Castiel thought. It shouldn't be so warm. He wondered if Lucifer had done that and if he could undo it. Weather was something angels could influence, after all, and he was not yet so far gone that he couldn't manipulate the shifting of the air and water to create clouds and rain and even hail and snow.
Someone was swearing; "Shit," and "Crap," and then his name that wasn't actually his name but he didn't mind. "Cas," a voice said and it sounded like Dean. "What the hell happened?"
"Demon," Castiel told him, or tried to tell him but his human throat was dry and felt clogged and his speech came out sounding more like a cough, or a gasp. It was annoying, Castiel decided. When he tried again, Dean seemed to understand him because he said, "Demon?" and then when he turned Castiel over so he was lying on his back, "Fuck."
Castiel didn't much appreciate the movement or the way human hands were gripping tightly at his flesh. There were too many and it was too hot.
Castiel heard Sam say, "We have to stop this bleeding," and then hands moved and clamped around his arm and pressed down on his stomach and his chest and it was agony and the world turned to a dull grey, disappearing at the edges. Around him there was more movement, blurry and indistinct and Castiel wondered at how he couldn't focus at all. Voices were loud, then quiet, then loud again, and Castiel thought maybe someone was shaking him. It was so strange not to know what was going on, or to understand anything at all. Castiel could speak every language and knew every dialect yet couldn't work out why nothing around him was making any sense.
Then, there was nothing to make sense of as his human vessel slipped into unconsciousness, out of Castiel's control, and all that was left was the angel, cold and restless where the human flesh had been hot and tired. He was confined. He no longer knew himself. He was tied to flesh. He was no longer light and sound and joy and obedience and adoration. He was weak. Couldn’t even stop a demon from ripping into him. Could barely control his flight. Needed a human's help.
Even if it was Dean’s.
(4½. "Not for anyone else would I do this"
Waking up was still new and strange, realising that the world had gone on while you weren't in it. Castiel wasn't sure he liked that either. There were, Castiel realised, many things he did not like now.
Dean was there though, which was different.
"Hey," he said. "You're finally awake." Which Castiel thought was fairly self-evident but Dean sounded warm and he laid a hand gently on Castiel's shoulder.
"Dean," Castiel said in greeting. It was difficult to talk, and he sounded so quiet even to his own ears. Castiel couldn't remember how he had come to be this way. He was lying on a sofa in what looked like Bobby Singer's front room and there were blankets over him. Castiel found his body ached, and his grace too.
"Have some water," Dean offered, "You sound like crap." Castiel wanted to tell Dean he felt like crap too, but Dean had shoved a glass against his lips and Castiel drank. The water was cooling and made his throat hurt much less. He felt the liquid, its coldness, as it moved down his throat and down to his stomach.
"So," Dean was saying as he sat himself down in a chair next to the sofa. "You up to telling me what the hell that was?"
Castiel frowned, thinking. He would, he thought, if he knew. He felt hot under the blankets.
"You said it was a demon. We figured you got poisoned or something," Dean added.
And then Castiel remembered. A cold mountain, and a fight he should have been able to win easily.
"Demon's knife," Castiel tried to explain. "Hell tainted."
Dean nodded and Castiel was glad when he didn't press for anything more.
"Good thing you made it here," Dean said. He sounded strange so Castiel looked up to watch him. Dean was anxious about something. Tired and uncertain. "We thought you weren't going to make it for a while there." Dean crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head to look out the window. It was late afternoon, Castiel thought, the sun low and the room shadowed in red and yellow.
If he had had the strength Castiel would have told Dean that there was nowhere else for him to go. That he hadn't even been thinking what he was doing. That Dean, and Sam, were the only ones Castiel trusted anymore. And while it hurt that he couldn't look to his own brothers and sisters any longer it was also warming to know there were humans, people in the universe, who would help him.
But Castiel was tired and he didn't have the words so he did what he thought a human might do in such a situation, to express gratitude and relief and relative comfort; Castiel smiled.)
**
5. Resurrection
"So it was all allegory?" Sam asked. He looked confused, even more so when Castiel replied, "No."
This, Castiel realised, was quite amusing. Dean seemed to think so too because he huffed a laugh and slapped a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Give it up, Sam. He's just playing with you now."
Sam turned his eyes to Castiel and looked at him strangely. "You're not, right?"
"I'm not," Castiel affirmed and Sam immediately shot Dean a sour look.
"For that, you're opening the casket on your own."
"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed. "Cas'll help me." Castiel was not convinced he wanted to be involved in this argument. He was also not entirely sure why he was accompanying the brothers on what seemed to be a normal ghost exorcism. But Dean has asked, so Castiel had come.
"You're not asking him to do that," Sam argued, sounding affronted. "He's still not recovered from the poisoning."
Which was very clearly not true. "I am well, Sam," Castiel assured him.
"No," Sam told him slowly, looking him in the eyes meaningfully. "You're not, Cas. You are way too sick to do any kind of work, especially anything that helps Dean." Sam raised his eyebrows and Castiel thought he understood- that he was meant to help tease Dean- but it still felt strange to be included in this way.
"Oh," he said neutrally and left it at that.
"Right," Dean said. "Don't expect me to save your ass the next time some demon tries to make you their bitch."
"Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Can we hurry up and find this tomb now?"
They'd been walking for a while, wandering the lines of vaults and ostensibly looking for a particular name but Castiel sensed a great many restless spirits. Dean must have felt something of it too because he shook his head and said,
"I bet just about every single one of these tombs could do with a good salt and burn. This is a weird way to bury people." He eyed the rows of vaults suspiciously, his flashlight swinging from one side to the other as they walked the path. It was overgrown and uneven and Castiel was glad that at least the dark was still not something he needed to concern himself with. The brothers however seemed tense, even with their strange argument and their easy, confident pace.
"There are none here who are living," Castiel told them, hoping to set them at ease. He could feel the cold of the place, even though he knew it should be mild this far south. Ghosts, Castiel realised. He could feel their regret and their loneliness and their longing all around him.
"You can tell that?" Sam asked. "For sure?"
Castiel nodded. "Yes."
"Okay," Sam said, but didn't relax at all.
Castiel was sure he heard Dean mutter, "More worried about the dead ones."
It was instinct, Castiel supposed. Humans were designed to be wary of the dark, of what they could not see. It was a threat. Dangerous. And for the brothers, those supernatural things had done more harm to them than any human ever had.
"You can't see where this guy's damn tomb is, can you?" Dean asked, half sardonically and half hopefully.
Castiel considered for a moment, following the paths of the dead with his eyes. They weren't as clear as they had once been, but he could still make them out well enough for this.
"There are seventeen souls laid to rest in this cemetery who have risen as ghosts," he told the brothers. Some trails were brighter than others, newer, weaving their way across the ground and through the air in reds and yellows.
"Okay," Dean said. "It's really freaky you know that."
"I can see it," Castiel told him because that wasn't quite the same as knowing.
"And can you see our guy?" Dean asked.
Castiel scanned the area, choosing the brightest of the trails and following it back to its origin. He had to travel off the path, and around tombs but the brothers followed gamely. Finally they reached a vault with the name Joseph Casler engraved on its stone front. There was a statue looming menacingly down from the apex of the vault roof. Behind him, Dean whistled.
"Shit. That's the grave we're looking for." Dean looked up then and a wide grin spread across his face. “Would you look at that. An angel. Recognise ‘em, Cas?”
Castiel would have explained that angels did not actually look like humans with wings when Sam interrupted, glaring momentarily at his brother. "How'd you do that, Cas? How’d you know this was the vault?"
"This is the most recently... disturbed soul." It was the best way Castiel could think to explain but Sam nodded like he was satisfied with that answer.
"To work then, kids," Dean declared, dropping his bag and digging out a crowbar.
It was almost sunrise by the time they finished and Sam and Dean were sweating and tired. They had been lucky, Castiel thought, that the ghost had caused little trouble. It was weak, really, and not as angry as it might have been. Perhaps it had been glad to be released from this world. To be allowed to rest.
Castiel found himself weary also. He did not know if it was a lingering effect of the poison, or if it was further evidence of his lessening strength. Either way he did not like it. There was too much to be done, too many places to look, and he could not linger with the brothers for much longer. He did not like to think he was risking them, but Castiel did not really want to leave.
Sam and Dean were arguing about something as they walked in front of Castiel and it sounded more like teasing again than anything like disagreement. It was growing warmer the further they went from the vaults, and as they came through the cemetery gates Castiel could hear other voices, other people, beginning their day.
"Hey, Cas," Dean said. He snapped his fingers in front of Castiel's face. "You in there, man?"
Castiel blinked. "I am." Dean was grinning, and Sam was looking at Castiel with a worried frown so he added, "I was thinking."
"Don't strain anything." Dean grinned then pulled Castiel by the arm between him and his brother. "We're going for food. To celebrate a successful night's work without anyone getting maimed. You're coming."
Castiel knew he should protest. He knew that he was putting them both in danger and more than anything that was something he wished to avoid. But Dean had a hold on his arm and Sam was nodding and for the first time in months Castiel felt so very welcome, and almost content. So he let Dean lead him, reciting spells under his breath to hide himself away, deciding he wanted this. He wanted to stay. He could stay.
“You praying over there?” Dean sounded amused and was still smiling, his hand still tight around Castiel’s arm. “Food’s not that bad, I swear.”
“The stuff you choose is,” Sam scoffed. “We should go someplace classy. Show Cas something good.”
Dean exaggerated an offended frown. “I only eat the best,” he declared.
And as they argued, Castiel thought, there was nothing better the brothers could show him than what they already had.
**
Comments and concrit are very nice and shiny and pretty.
This week I have come back from Italy, had a Japanese class for the first time in months, and finished editing two fics. I'm just so productive sometimes I surprise myself.
So, second fic in two days!
Title: Five Views of the City
Rating: PG
Words: 4,720
Summary: Actually, shockingly, Dean/Cas pre-slash. Castiel visits many places on his search, but he always returns to Sam and Dean.
Notes: This began life as my traditional drunk new year fic, but grew into something of a fluff-fest with added h/c (because I'm me) and plenty of Sam (because I feel bad after our big break-up last season. But don't worry, we're all good now). Thanks to cienna for the beta. Remaining mistakes are my own.
.Five Views of the City.
1. Waterloo
"This is my favourite!" the man standing beside Castiel said.
The man was shifting his weight from foot to foot, arms swaying side to side. It was crowded and loud and the humans around him were singing out of tune and out of time but still, they sang with love and they were… enjoying themselves, so Castiel found himself pleased. Perhaps his Father would be in a place like this, Castiel thought. It was all the things he loved about humanity. Passion and creativity and celebration. The dancing might be strange and the lyrics incomprehensible and the costumes glittery and over-bright and unflattering but the spirit was there; joy and adoration, and for a moment Castiel could almost imagine he stood with the host, as he had long ago, singing in adoration of God and all his love and all his creations.
In that theatre, filled with hundreds of souls he felt profoundly at home, joyful, loved. And yet, when he opened his human eyes and remembered what had become of him he felt so achingly alone he had to leave that place, and its warmth, behind.
He found himself in the backseat of the Impala and frowned, because he could not remember consciously thinking to go there.
Sam startled a little, but turned and greeted him, "Hey Cas." And Castiel felt relieved, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps he was relieved to be away from the crowds, from humans he couldn’t understand, from some ritual celebration he had no context for or concept of. Being in the presence of Sam and Dean, Castiel realised, had become comfortable. Somewhat welcome. He did not always understand them, especially Dean, who Castiel often thought was obtuse and vague and colloquial on purpose. But with the brothers there was at least the expectation that they might help him understand. It was comforting in a world where everything else was so unknown and so seemingly unknowable.
Castiel nodded his head. "Hello, Sam," and, because Dean was looking at him in the mirror, "Hello, Dean."
Dean shifted in his seat then put his eyes back to the road.
"Cas," he said. "Where you been?"
"A concert," Castiel replied. "A strange concert."
"Strange?" Sam looked worried. "What kind of strange? What concert were you at?"
Sam was concerned, Castiel realised. Concerned that Castiel had got himself into something unfortunate and embarrassing and possibly illegal and he did not want Castiel to be in such situations. It was a strange worry but made Castiel feel oddly pleased. Cared for.
"It was strange music, Sam. And people were dancing. They were very enthusiastic," Castiel explained.
Sam’s eyebrows rose, and Dean snorted. "You been to a rave, Cas?"
Dean’s face seemed to fall then, suddenly, and then Dean was frowning and not looking happy at all. The sudden change was unexpected and the intensity of Dean's concern was very much disproportional, Castiel thought, to what he had just told the brothers.
"No one gave you anything did they?" he asked, sternly. Sam turned to his brother too, looking confused.
"No," Castiel answered, unsure as to the meaning of all this. "It was not a 'rave', as you say."
Dean visibly relaxed. "Good, good," he nodded, then sitting up straight his eyes flicked to meet Castiel's. "No raves," he ordered. "And no accepting anything from strangers."
It might have annoyed Castiel that Dean would give him instructions like he was a child. That Dean would expect Castiel to follow obediently when that was exactly what Dean had convinced him not to do. But this was a different world, and Castiel understood that in many ways he was lacking in the necessary information to function safely and efficiently. The advice was given in good faith, he believed, and he trusted Dean, so he would trust him in this too.
"As you wish," Castiel agreed, and Dean relaxed further, smiling and for that Castiel was glad.
"So what was the concert?" Sam asked again. He gave his brother a sidelong look, frowning as though assessing him, before looking away and back at Castiel.
"I was told the performance was a collection of songs originally sung by a group from Sweden. They had been made to fit a very bizarre storyline," Castiel told him. "There were a lot of frilly clothes."
Sam stared at him disbelievingly for a long moment before asking, "Seriously?"
"It was an interesting experience," Castiel informed him. It had been.
Castiel looked to Dean then and saw that he was laughing. He met Dean’s eyes in the mirror and Dean said, grinning widely, “Frilly clothes?”
When Castiel looked back to Sam, he was trying to stifle laughter with his hand.
Sam said again, "Seriously?"
"It was joyous," Castiel tried to explain. "I thought perhaps Our Father might be in such a place."
And at his reply the brothers erupted into great guffaws and howls of laughter.
Castiel did not know why what he had said might be considered so amusing to them, but Castiel couldn't find it in himself to feel offended. Often, Dean's dismissal and his doubt and the way he ridiculed Castiel's search was offensive. Irritating. Hurtful. But the brothers’ hearts felt light, not cloying with guilt or distrust or dispassion. There was joy there, and when Dean looked back at Castiel he met his eyes and seemed pleased and happy and he said, shaking his head, "Cas, you are something else," and Castiel did not mind at all.
**
2. Festa
In the shadowed, narrow streets of Gracia Castiel happened upon a devil.
He was dressed in red silk with thick black plastic ears and a black cape and he was the first thing Castiel saw upon his arrival.
Castiel thought it was not an encouraging omen, but still he stayed because he had to be sure. It would do no good to only search the surface, Castiel knew. If He was so conspicuous He would have been found eons ago.
So Castiel stayed and walked the pavements of the town even when intoxicated humans leaned against him and sloshed their drinks down his coat and the crowds grew and Castiel felt confined and lost. He did not leave even when the man dressed as a devil lit firecrackers only inches away from his arm and Castiel felt the heat of their flames burn the back of his hand, singeing the hairs there. He worried about burns on his coat then wondered at that because Castiel could not ever remember worrying about his clothes before. In the green-yellow-blue lights of the festival Castiel could see the angry red scorching on his hand but still he was more worried about his coat.
The devil was laughing, cackling, in front of Castiel, lighting another line of firecrackers. They hissed and spat and exploded and burnt yellow and the crowd clapped and cheered. Castiel drew away, pushing through the masses of humanity and their noise and their fire.
It took a long time to be free of the crowds and Castiel wondered if he was starting to know weariness because he wanted nothing more than to sit down and let the world pass him by. Just for a little while. To rest and be at peace. He had been away a long time, he thought, then frowned because he had not been away that long at all. And he could not decide if he had been thinking of heaven, or of Dean.
**
3. Midnight
When Castiel asked, Dean replied, “In the car.” Dean sounded pleased with himself; smug, Sam would say. Castiel knew Dean well enough to realise that was probably because he was driving. Dean’s attachment to his car was unfathomable. Of concern too because Castiel was not convinced of the wisdom of driving whilst on the phone. He was about to point this out when Dean added, “Where are you?”
"Hong Kong," Castiel replied. A group of inebriated teenagers staggered into him and Castiel wondered why that always seemed to happening. Then they patted his shoulders lightly, saying, "Sorry! Sorry!" and smiling and offering him a drink from a bottle that looked a lot like tequila. Castiel shook his head, turning away and pressing the phone closer to his ear. It was loud.
"You sound like you're at a party, man!" Dean was saying.
"I didn't mean to be," Castiel told him, which made Dean snort a laugh.
"Sure," Dean teased. "You skipping out on us Cas? Living the high life while me and Sam here fight our asses off?"
Castiel was fairly certain Dean didn't actually mean what he was saying, but told him, "No," anyway.
Someone started singing somewhere close by followed by cheering and heckling. Castiel tried to push his way further from the crowds. Always crowds. There were just so many humans.
He turned down into a narrow alleyway between old, tall buildings that seemed to lean towards each other across the space of the passageway. It was dark and smelled of rot and decay, but it was at least comparatively quiet.
Dean was saying, “And what the hell, man? It’s still morning. Mostly. You seriously think you're going to find God at an all-night party?"
There was talking in the background. Sam, Castiel thought, and then Dean said, "Oh right. You're a whole year ahead over there! What's next year like?"
Castiel pondered the question for a moment. Nothing seemed to have changed in the past hour since the human year had turned. "The same," Castiel decided.
Dean was laughing again. It was a good sound and, oddly, made Castiel forget what he was going to say. There had been, he was sure, a reason for this phone call.
"Well look," Dean was saying. "Don't drink too much over there. And you should come see us at midnight here."
"Why?" Castiel asked. He had other things he should do, he was sure, and every time he was with the brothers he worried his presence would attract attention. He was not as hidden as he had made them.
"It's new year and we should celebrate," Dean told him, then his tone turned more wry, "And it could be our last, right?"
It was the truth, and Castiel was tired of the noise and the crowds so he said," Yes," sure that he would remember what he had called for originally by then too.
When Castiel turned up at five minutes to midnight in the brothers’ motel room Dean was not pleased.
"You're gonna miss the new year," he, as Dean would say, bitched. "You're gonna make me miss the new year."
"There are several minutes yet," Castiel pointed out.
"He just wanted to spend the night with you, Cas," Sam said. He was sitting at the room's only table with a bottle of something in his hand. He looked amused. Castiel did not miss the irritated look Dean shot his brother, but Dean quickly turned back to Castiel, shoving a bottle of something in his hand too.
"Don't listen to him. He's a bitch. Now drink. Celebrate. Something." Dean retrieved a beer from the fridge, opened it as he sat on the end of the closest bed, eyes intent on the television.
It was interesting, Castiel thought, how Dean could be so content and so unhappy at the same time. Was that what being human was all about? Misery and joy forever at war with each other? Or maybe that was just the Winchesters, who Castiel was sure were not like any other humans.
Dean said, "You're staring, Cas."
Sam was laughing into his bottle at the table and Castiel could feel both of them; lighter, calmer than when he had first arrived. Castiel wondered if he should be worried that they always seemed to be laughing at him. Regardless, he sat next to Dean on the bed and took a long drink from the bottle Dean had given him. It was sharp and bitter but not wholly unpleasant.
"Dude," Dean said, incredulous. "You're not supposed to chug it. It's whiskey, not beer, and that's good stuff. Bought special for new year."
"I apologise," Castiel said, frowning at the bottle. He had not thought to even look at what Dean had given him.
Sam told him, "Don't listen, Cas. He's just being a jerk."
Dean ignored his brother, looking pointedly at Castiel instead and swapping the bottles. "Swig all you like from that. I'm confiscating the hard liquor. Now shut up the both of you or we'll miss the new year."
Castiel thought to point out that he hadn't actually said anything but Dean's attention was back on the television. Sam was watching too, so Cas decided he might as well join them.
He watched, and he drank, and he listened to the brothers argue and he thought that perhaps these moments were what he liked best about humanity. What he liked about Sam and Dean. To enjoy just being in each other's company, savouring what there was of their lives.
For all he had known heaven, Castiel had never known this; the time in between, and how much it was worth.
**
4. Bandai-san
High in the mountains of Japan it was cold. At least, that's what Castiel assumed the prickling pains across his skin and the shivering meant. It was snowing heavily, quickly blanketing the body of the demon he had just killed. Covering what Castiel knew was his own blood streaked across the ground. There was a lot. The snow was wet where it landed on his face and his hands.
The air was thin too, Castiel was beginning to notice. It was almost like he couldn't draw enough air into his human lungs. The world seemed to move in front of his eyes, even though Castiel was standing still.
The demon's knife had been sharp and had cut deep into both his flesh and his being and Castiel did not dare pick it up. He was feeling fear, uncertainty, disorientation. Castiel knew this, but was not sure if it was because of the demon's cuts or his failing strength.
The world felt strange and distant and Castiel had a sudden image of being unable to fly away from the mountain. Of being stuck there, in the cold, heavy snow with only a dead demon to keep him company as he slowly froze to death. Like a human.
Castiel flew.
He came to a stop in the deserts of Australia, somewhere, knowing it was summer there and would be warm, but the sudden change in temperature made him feel nauseous and the wind blew red sand into his eyes so he moved on quickly.
In a step he was in the lush, green forests of Thailand. It was too damp. It was not where he wanted to be. Another step and he was in the noise and bustle of Seoul, then the dead, eerie quiet of an empty village somewhere in Russia. He stumbled and fell onto a sandy beach filled with humans on Tenerife. They were pink all over and they stared at him in surprise. The sand was thick and dark and wet under his knees. Castiel couldn't remember falling but he stood himself up, knowing he had to get somewhere safe, and took flight again.
There was a vineyard in France, an abandoned train station deep underground in London, an oil rig, a ship's stern, an island, coastline, town, field, dark, bridge, water and finally, finally Bobby's front porch where Castiel just gave in to exhaustion and let himself fall face-down onto the wood floor. It smelled smoky, Castiel decided.
Castiel heard clattering behind him, felt the wood under him moving up and down. It was unusually warm, Castiel thought. It shouldn't be so warm. He wondered if Lucifer had done that and if he could undo it. Weather was something angels could influence, after all, and he was not yet so far gone that he couldn't manipulate the shifting of the air and water to create clouds and rain and even hail and snow.
Someone was swearing; "Shit," and "Crap," and then his name that wasn't actually his name but he didn't mind. "Cas," a voice said and it sounded like Dean. "What the hell happened?"
"Demon," Castiel told him, or tried to tell him but his human throat was dry and felt clogged and his speech came out sounding more like a cough, or a gasp. It was annoying, Castiel decided. When he tried again, Dean seemed to understand him because he said, "Demon?" and then when he turned Castiel over so he was lying on his back, "Fuck."
Castiel didn't much appreciate the movement or the way human hands were gripping tightly at his flesh. There were too many and it was too hot.
Castiel heard Sam say, "We have to stop this bleeding," and then hands moved and clamped around his arm and pressed down on his stomach and his chest and it was agony and the world turned to a dull grey, disappearing at the edges. Around him there was more movement, blurry and indistinct and Castiel wondered at how he couldn't focus at all. Voices were loud, then quiet, then loud again, and Castiel thought maybe someone was shaking him. It was so strange not to know what was going on, or to understand anything at all. Castiel could speak every language and knew every dialect yet couldn't work out why nothing around him was making any sense.
Then, there was nothing to make sense of as his human vessel slipped into unconsciousness, out of Castiel's control, and all that was left was the angel, cold and restless where the human flesh had been hot and tired. He was confined. He no longer knew himself. He was tied to flesh. He was no longer light and sound and joy and obedience and adoration. He was weak. Couldn’t even stop a demon from ripping into him. Could barely control his flight. Needed a human's help.
Even if it was Dean’s.
(4½. "Not for anyone else would I do this"
Waking up was still new and strange, realising that the world had gone on while you weren't in it. Castiel wasn't sure he liked that either. There were, Castiel realised, many things he did not like now.
Dean was there though, which was different.
"Hey," he said. "You're finally awake." Which Castiel thought was fairly self-evident but Dean sounded warm and he laid a hand gently on Castiel's shoulder.
"Dean," Castiel said in greeting. It was difficult to talk, and he sounded so quiet even to his own ears. Castiel couldn't remember how he had come to be this way. He was lying on a sofa in what looked like Bobby Singer's front room and there were blankets over him. Castiel found his body ached, and his grace too.
"Have some water," Dean offered, "You sound like crap." Castiel wanted to tell Dean he felt like crap too, but Dean had shoved a glass against his lips and Castiel drank. The water was cooling and made his throat hurt much less. He felt the liquid, its coldness, as it moved down his throat and down to his stomach.
"So," Dean was saying as he sat himself down in a chair next to the sofa. "You up to telling me what the hell that was?"
Castiel frowned, thinking. He would, he thought, if he knew. He felt hot under the blankets.
"You said it was a demon. We figured you got poisoned or something," Dean added.
And then Castiel remembered. A cold mountain, and a fight he should have been able to win easily.
"Demon's knife," Castiel tried to explain. "Hell tainted."
Dean nodded and Castiel was glad when he didn't press for anything more.
"Good thing you made it here," Dean said. He sounded strange so Castiel looked up to watch him. Dean was anxious about something. Tired and uncertain. "We thought you weren't going to make it for a while there." Dean crossed his arms over his chest and turned his head to look out the window. It was late afternoon, Castiel thought, the sun low and the room shadowed in red and yellow.
If he had had the strength Castiel would have told Dean that there was nowhere else for him to go. That he hadn't even been thinking what he was doing. That Dean, and Sam, were the only ones Castiel trusted anymore. And while it hurt that he couldn't look to his own brothers and sisters any longer it was also warming to know there were humans, people in the universe, who would help him.
But Castiel was tired and he didn't have the words so he did what he thought a human might do in such a situation, to express gratitude and relief and relative comfort; Castiel smiled.)
**
5. Resurrection
"So it was all allegory?" Sam asked. He looked confused, even more so when Castiel replied, "No."
This, Castiel realised, was quite amusing. Dean seemed to think so too because he huffed a laugh and slapped a hand on his brother's shoulder.
"Give it up, Sam. He's just playing with you now."
Sam turned his eyes to Castiel and looked at him strangely. "You're not, right?"
"I'm not," Castiel affirmed and Sam immediately shot Dean a sour look.
"For that, you're opening the casket on your own."
"Yeah, right," Dean scoffed. "Cas'll help me." Castiel was not convinced he wanted to be involved in this argument. He was also not entirely sure why he was accompanying the brothers on what seemed to be a normal ghost exorcism. But Dean has asked, so Castiel had come.
"You're not asking him to do that," Sam argued, sounding affronted. "He's still not recovered from the poisoning."
Which was very clearly not true. "I am well, Sam," Castiel assured him.
"No," Sam told him slowly, looking him in the eyes meaningfully. "You're not, Cas. You are way too sick to do any kind of work, especially anything that helps Dean." Sam raised his eyebrows and Castiel thought he understood- that he was meant to help tease Dean- but it still felt strange to be included in this way.
"Oh," he said neutrally and left it at that.
"Right," Dean said. "Don't expect me to save your ass the next time some demon tries to make you their bitch."
"Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Can we hurry up and find this tomb now?"
They'd been walking for a while, wandering the lines of vaults and ostensibly looking for a particular name but Castiel sensed a great many restless spirits. Dean must have felt something of it too because he shook his head and said,
"I bet just about every single one of these tombs could do with a good salt and burn. This is a weird way to bury people." He eyed the rows of vaults suspiciously, his flashlight swinging from one side to the other as they walked the path. It was overgrown and uneven and Castiel was glad that at least the dark was still not something he needed to concern himself with. The brothers however seemed tense, even with their strange argument and their easy, confident pace.
"There are none here who are living," Castiel told them, hoping to set them at ease. He could feel the cold of the place, even though he knew it should be mild this far south. Ghosts, Castiel realised. He could feel their regret and their loneliness and their longing all around him.
"You can tell that?" Sam asked. "For sure?"
Castiel nodded. "Yes."
"Okay," Sam said, but didn't relax at all.
Castiel was sure he heard Dean mutter, "More worried about the dead ones."
It was instinct, Castiel supposed. Humans were designed to be wary of the dark, of what they could not see. It was a threat. Dangerous. And for the brothers, those supernatural things had done more harm to them than any human ever had.
"You can't see where this guy's damn tomb is, can you?" Dean asked, half sardonically and half hopefully.
Castiel considered for a moment, following the paths of the dead with his eyes. They weren't as clear as they had once been, but he could still make them out well enough for this.
"There are seventeen souls laid to rest in this cemetery who have risen as ghosts," he told the brothers. Some trails were brighter than others, newer, weaving their way across the ground and through the air in reds and yellows.
"Okay," Dean said. "It's really freaky you know that."
"I can see it," Castiel told him because that wasn't quite the same as knowing.
"And can you see our guy?" Dean asked.
Castiel scanned the area, choosing the brightest of the trails and following it back to its origin. He had to travel off the path, and around tombs but the brothers followed gamely. Finally they reached a vault with the name Joseph Casler engraved on its stone front. There was a statue looming menacingly down from the apex of the vault roof. Behind him, Dean whistled.
"Shit. That's the grave we're looking for." Dean looked up then and a wide grin spread across his face. “Would you look at that. An angel. Recognise ‘em, Cas?”
Castiel would have explained that angels did not actually look like humans with wings when Sam interrupted, glaring momentarily at his brother. "How'd you do that, Cas? How’d you know this was the vault?"
"This is the most recently... disturbed soul." It was the best way Castiel could think to explain but Sam nodded like he was satisfied with that answer.
"To work then, kids," Dean declared, dropping his bag and digging out a crowbar.
It was almost sunrise by the time they finished and Sam and Dean were sweating and tired. They had been lucky, Castiel thought, that the ghost had caused little trouble. It was weak, really, and not as angry as it might have been. Perhaps it had been glad to be released from this world. To be allowed to rest.
Castiel found himself weary also. He did not know if it was a lingering effect of the poison, or if it was further evidence of his lessening strength. Either way he did not like it. There was too much to be done, too many places to look, and he could not linger with the brothers for much longer. He did not like to think he was risking them, but Castiel did not really want to leave.
Sam and Dean were arguing about something as they walked in front of Castiel and it sounded more like teasing again than anything like disagreement. It was growing warmer the further they went from the vaults, and as they came through the cemetery gates Castiel could hear other voices, other people, beginning their day.
"Hey, Cas," Dean said. He snapped his fingers in front of Castiel's face. "You in there, man?"
Castiel blinked. "I am." Dean was grinning, and Sam was looking at Castiel with a worried frown so he added, "I was thinking."
"Don't strain anything." Dean grinned then pulled Castiel by the arm between him and his brother. "We're going for food. To celebrate a successful night's work without anyone getting maimed. You're coming."
Castiel knew he should protest. He knew that he was putting them both in danger and more than anything that was something he wished to avoid. But Dean had a hold on his arm and Sam was nodding and for the first time in months Castiel felt so very welcome, and almost content. So he let Dean lead him, reciting spells under his breath to hide himself away, deciding he wanted this. He wanted to stay. He could stay.
“You praying over there?” Dean sounded amused and was still smiling, his hand still tight around Castiel’s arm. “Food’s not that bad, I swear.”
“The stuff you choose is,” Sam scoffed. “We should go someplace classy. Show Cas something good.”
Dean exaggerated an offended frown. “I only eat the best,” he declared.
And as they argued, Castiel thought, there was nothing better the brothers could show him than what they already had.
**
Comments and concrit are very nice and shiny and pretty.