Chapter Text
“The rain stopped.” Sam kicked the edge of the coffee table. His shoe left a black mark on the wood. “You said when the rain stopped, we could go.”
Groaning, Dean covered his face with his hands. “Are you ever gonna shut up about this?”
“You promised!”
“Fine,” Dean said. “Get your stuff. Dad hasn’t called anyway.”
Sam leapt off the couch and ran to his room for his camera. “Can Cas come with us?” he called.
“I’m sure Cas is fine where he is.”
“We should stop by his house. He said he wanted to go.”
“What’s wrong with just the two of us?” Dean asked.
“Nothing.” Sam put the camera in his backpack and and filled his water bottle at the kitchen sink. “Do you have a problem with him?”
“Fill one for me too,” Dean muttered. “I’m gonna take this thing off my face.”
He came out of the bathroom wearing a baseball cap, brim pulled down to hide the scars. Sam had pulled the stitches out two days ago but the skin was still tender and pink. He’d put on a long-sleeve shirt that covered the damage to his arm. “You ready?”
Sam asked about Castiel again as they were pulling out of the driveway, so Dean’s resolve caved. He idled outside Castiel’s house while Sam ran up the stairs. Castiel was eating breakfast and reading. He glanced up, startled, when Sam knocked.
“Dean’s driving me to the beach,” Sam said breathlessly once Castiel had opened the door. “Want to come?”
“Oh, I…” Castiel screwed up his face while he searched for the right words. “Thank you, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Please? We’re only going for a couple hours. It’ll be more fun with you there.”
Glancing down to the Impala below, Castiel chewed on his lip and asked, “Are you sure your brother wouldn’t mind?”
“Did you two get in a fight or something?” Sam asked.
“I believe I made him uncomfortable.”
“It’s probably the staring,” Sam confided. “You stare a lot. It creeps people out.”
“Oh.”
“It doesn’t bother me,” Sam assured him. “And Dean can be a jerk. If you don’t want to talk to him, you can just talk to me.”
There was a wistfulness to Castiel’s expression, something sad creeping into his eyes. Sam prepared himself for another excuse, but Castiel said, “I’d like to see the ocean” and got his coat.
He climbed into the back seat and passed the ride staring out the window. Dean kept looking back at him through the mirror. He asked Sam for directions and turned the music up, scratching at his newly exposed cheek.
“Don’t touch your face,” Sam said and Dean locked his hand in a death grip on the steering wheel.
It took an uncomfortable two hours to reach the coast, winding through densely forested terrain. Occasionally, Sam could glimpse a building or the river they drove parallel to, but the forest eclipsed his view. He stretched up in his seat when they turned onto Redwood Highway, hoping to catch sight of the water as they approached. He’d spent his life in the back of a car, but the last hour might as well have been a day. They drove through a town split by the river, crossing over it and changing direction to head due west. Sam squirmed in his seat. They almost passed the turnoff for the visitors center, but he smacked Dean in the thigh in time and said, “There!”
They pulled into the first parking lot. Dean parked at a distance from the other cars and put on a pair of sunglasses. Sam scrambled out and opened the back door for Castiel, dragging him past a wooden picnic structure and ankle-high brush, down the ribbon of dirt that led to the water.
Sam snapped pictures as they went, and when his feet first touched sand, he whooped and took off at a sprint toward the ocean. It rolled before him, massive and gray, hugging the coast and stretching to the horizon where it disappeared in fog. The sand was gray and wet. Not like beaches in movies but polka-dotted with rocks and sea-washed bones of once-great trees bleaching in the sunlight. A cluster of gulls poked in the surf.
Dean hung back several yards from the water, his chin dipped, but he gave Sam a thumbs-up when he caught his eye. Castiel, by contrast, stood as close to the water as possible without getting his shoes wet. He crouched down, trailing his finger in the sand, drawing a type of sigil, though Sam hadn’t seen it before. The waves took it, softening the edges of Castiel’s work, erasing it altogether after the third pass. He smiled at his hand and wiped it on his jacket, a funny beige overcoat that trailed behind him where he knelt. He didn’t belt it, and the belt swung in the wind off the Pacific.
Sam ran up and down the beach for an hour, taking pictures of rocks and the vista from the sand. He took a picture of Castiel framed by three hulking rock structures a distance off shore, but Dean wouldn’t stay in frame, ducking every time Sam turned the camera on him. He stole a picture of Dean’s back and, feeling triumphant, put the camera away and sat on the sand to soak up the sun.
Other groups came and went while he sat there. A pair of boys chased each other up and down the beach until a stern woman’s voice called them to the picnic area for lunch. They should’ve brought food, Sam thought. His stomach grumbled.
“She sounds like my tutor,” Castiel confided, sitting next to him. Sam liked sitting with Castiel. It was easy to be quiet with him.
Eventually, Dean joined them, sitting on Sam’s other side. He pulled three sandwiches from his bag.
“When did you make these?” Sam exclaimed, removing the plastic from his and biting down.
“While you were doing your hair. Cas, you want one?”
They hadn’t spoken to each other all morning. Sam thought it was because they didn’t know each other that well and had nothing to say, but under Dean’s attention, Castiel blossomed into the hopeful, soppy expression people wore in those romance movies Dean pretended not to watch. Castiel didn’t know any other people, so it could’ve been due to the novelty. He always smiled at Sam. But then Dean gave Castiel the sandwich. Their hands briefly touched and Dean looked away, down the coast in the opposite direction. He rubbed his neck, and Sam caught him sneaking glances at Castiel and licking his lips. Oh.
They’d probably kiss soon, Sam thought, finishing his sandwich. Gross.
The only way to handle the situation was to exploit it for his own amusement. He tucked the plastic wrap in his pocket and dug his camera back out.
“Smile!” he said, aiming the camera at them. He pressed the button. Dean looked annoyed—he probably guessed what Sam was up to—and Castiel confused. It was a shame that Dean never kept anyone around for long, because the photograph would’ve made a hilarious Christmas present.
He walked his plastic wrap to a trash can and when he came back, they were in the same positions, only Dean had stopped scowling and watched Castiel trace the strange sigil in the sand.
“What is that?” he asked as Sam approached, and Castiel shrugged but continued drawing.
“My father taught it to me.”
“Looks like a clock,” Sam said. The character in the center resembled a waiter with a tray raised to his shoulder. Surrounding it was a circle, and at seven points along the perimeter were markings: a triangle, two uppercase Ns, a six, three, Z, and a broken infinity sign.
“I’m supposed to draw it in blood,” Castiel explained calmly, as though they were speaking about his garden. He brushed the sand from his fingers. “It won’t work like this.”
“What’s it do?” Dean asked. The words came out clipped, but Castiel didn’t seem to mind.
“I don’t know.” He erased the mark before Sam thought to photograph it. Dean removed his sunglasses and caught Sam’s eye over Castiel’s hunched-over form; his mouth was tight.
“I gotta take a leak,” Dean said. Sam saw him pull out his phone as he walked from the beach toward the path leading to the visitors’ center. They might get service here, and Dean was probably calling dad.
Another family spilled onto the beach, crowding against the shore for a group photo. To their right, apart from the main group, stood a woman with rigid posture and a gray suit and high heels—what a weird outfit to wear to the beach! Castiel was staring at her. Sam did too and laughed about how difficult it would be to get the sand out of her shoes. His laughter carried in the wind and she turned hard eyes on them. Guilty for making fun of her so openly, he dipped his chin, and when he looked up again she wasn’t anywhere in sight. Sam felt bad if she’d left because of them—being the perpetual “new kid” at school, he knew how it felt to be made fun of and knew better than to do it to someone else.
“Her light was gold,” Castiel said with quiet, breathy awe. “It was beautiful. Did you see it?”
Sam shook his head slowly, with no understanding of what Castiel had said. He hadn’t seen any light. But Castiel had already turned toward the water and breathed in the salt air.
“Thank you, Sam. I couldn’t have imagined this.”
It seemed, by the time they’d left the beach and were an hour into the ride home, that Dean had forgiven Castiel for his transgression a few days ago. He wasn’t holding himself so stiffly, and when he met Castiel’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, unobscured by sunglasses, Dean held his gaze for a breath. Sam had fallen asleep, drowsy from an afternoon in the sun, and the radio was no more than background noise. Castiel was warm and safe and content. When they approached his drive and Dean raised an eyebrow as if to ask if he should turn, Castiel shook his head.
They ate a quiet dinner in the cabin. Dean stirred broccoli into Sam’s macaroni and huffed laughter when Castiel asked for some as well.
“Dean’s allergic to green things,” Sam said, though it was a moment before Castiel realized he was being humorous and not speaking literally.
“I grow broccoli,” he said. “Next spring, I’ll bring you some.”
Something was wrong in what he’d said, but he didn’t know what, just that the brothers went quiet and poked at their plates. A few minutes later, Sam announced that he was going to take a shower and left them alone. Dean put the dishes in the sink and took two beers out of the fridge. He nodded to the porch.
The sky was still bright, though it would be nighttime soon, the air warm and thick with humidity. It smelled of the forest. Dean didn’t sit down on the swing like Castiel hoped he might, so he also remained standing.
“This isn’t our house,” Dean said, opening his beer on the railing. He did the same for Castiel’s and passed it to him. “It, uh...it belongs to a friend of our uncle’s. We’re just staying here for a couple weeks until our dad gets back, and then we’re hitting the road.” He took a long drink. “We’re not coming back here, Cas.”
Disappointment consumed Castiel and stole his voice. He could only nod.
“The thing that sucks is, Sam? He likes you,” Dean continued. “He doesn’t get to make a lot of friends. If it was my call, we’d stay for a while.”
Castiel swallowed thickly. “I will miss Sam very much.”
“He’s gonna miss you too.” Dean made a fist and rested it on the railing. His light rolled a soft red. “The way we live...nothing’s permanent.”
Castiel thought of Dean’s reaction when he’d touched his hand. It might not have been disgust at all but an unwillingness to begin something he couldn’t see through. It dislodged the heavy feeling in Castiel’s chest to believe Dean had left out of kindness. He’d been sorry when Hannah stopped coming, even though she’d been strict, her attitude unyielding. He hadn’t loved her, but he’d missed her presence and blinding light all the same. When Sam and Dean inevitably left, he would grieve.
He rested his hand on the railing next to Dean’s, careful not to touch him. “I’m sure that’s hard for Sam,” he said. He wasn’t certain they were talking about Sam anymore or using him as a proxy. It didn’t matter. Dean nodded slowly and took a long pull on his beer. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“So what’re you gonna do when we leave? Stay in that big house all alone?”
Castiel stared down the long dirt drive. “What choice do I have?”
“You could come with us. Start a new life for yourself someplace. Bobby would help you. You might have family somewhere, Cas. Don’t you want to meet them?”
“I would like to know more about my mother.”
“Then we’ll find her, or find out what happened to her. You’ve got to have a birth certificate somewhere. Maybe there’s a missing child report. We’ll dig ‘em up. Bobby’s good with research. He’s got a lot of contacts. You got your social security card?”
Castiel looked at him blankly.
“We can get you one,” Dean said. “Get you set up with a job. Place to live. A whole new life.”
A roiling anger came over him at Dean’s easy dismissal of Castiel’s life to this point. “I have one,” he snapped. He set his bottle on the railing and shoved past Dean toward the stairs, but Dean caught his arm.
“Hey! Hey. I’m sorry, okay? I’m not trying to…I’m not trying to tell you what to do. You wanna stay here, fine, but stay ‘cause you’re choosing it.”
Castiel looked in the direction of his house, somewhere among the trees. Everything he knew, everything he had ever known, was contained within its glass walls. What would he be without it? Why leave here when he had the guarantee of food and shelter, of education and comfort? He wanted for nothing material, irritated with Dean for suggesting it, furious at his own willingness to turn his back on his possessions and climb into Dean’s car empty handed. He’d never wanted anything more in his life: the promise of friends, of family. Of Dean, who made him confused and lightheaded.
Dean’s hand was firm at his elbow. He stood very close. His skin smelled warm and fragrant from the sun.
Castiel made a choice. He touched his lips to Dean’s, prepared to be shoved away or cursed at, but Dean choked on air and grabbed a fist of Castiel’s shirt. He kissed him hard, inhaling against his cheek, then broke off and rested their foreheads together.
“I’ve never, uh…with a guy. I mean, I’ve thought about it, but...” He sounded embarrassed. His eyes were closed, his breath a hot wash over Castiel’s lips.
“Do you want me to leave?” Castiel asked.
“No.” Dean swallowed. “But Sam’s probably out of the shower. I don’t wanna…not while he’s awake.”
“Alright.”
Dean took a deep breath, kissed him briefly, and went inside. Castiel stood, dazed, on the porch for a few minutes until Sam stuck his head out. “Are you gonna watch a movie with us?”
Castiel collected himself. He straightened his shirt and poured the rest of his beer into the garden—he didn’t need it anymore. He rinsed the bottle and approached the couch. Sam had made an enormous bowl of popcorn that he ate by the handful. Dean caught Castiel’s eye and motioned to the empty spot beside him.
Castiel sat down, and Sam snickered when Dean stretched his arm along the back of the couch behind him. Would they do this if he went with them? Would he spend his evenings with Dean’s hand brushing his neck? He had no idea what was happening on TV—he couldn’t have imagined the euphoria of being touched this way and leaned into it like a cat, angling his head back so Dean’s fingers carded through his hair.
Sam cleared his throat loudly and Dean stopped. He sat forward and pulled the bowl of popcorn onto his lap. As he ate, kernels rained onto the sofa and the floor. He offered the bowl to Castiel, who ate one piece at a time because their hands brushed when he reached for another. They spent almost the entire movie with their knees pressed together, Dean slumped against Castiel’s shoulder.
After the credits had rolled, Sam stepped over popcorn carnage on his way out of the room. He stopped to pick a kernel from his sock. “I’m going to bed, so you two can go back to whatever you were doing outside.” He smirked and spun on his heel.
Castiel didn’t look at Dean until the bedroom door clicked shut.
“Guess that cat’s outta the bag.” Dean laughed anxiously and scratched the injured side of his face. He’d blushed red to his ears. Castiel laced his hands together between his legs.
“I’ll clean up,” he offered, but Dean shushed him before he could stand. His light was a warm, enveloping rose. He licked his lips and leaned into him.
Dean pressed a soft, unhurried kiss to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. He trembled. Castiel brushed his nose against Dean’s cheek to soothe him, and his body came alive. He gripped Dean’s thigh and with his other hand carefully cradled the side of Dean’s face. He let his eyes roam over the scars, but Dean jerked his head, his light flickering, to turn them from Castiel’s view.
Castiel gently eased Dean’s face back. “What did this?” he murmured, stroking a finger along the edge of new pink tissue.
Dean wet his lips again. “A wendigo,” he croaked, and while Castiel could scarcely believe what Dean said, he knew it was true.
“Is that what your father is hunting?”
“Yeah. Bastard got me, so we took off, but my dad called Bobby. They can be a sonofabitch to track, but once you find their lair…” He winced and pulled up his sleeve, revealing the gashes along his forearm. He’d taken the bandages off; the still-healing skin underneath was tender and red. “Sexy, huh?”
Castiel leaned in this time, massaging Dean’s inner thigh with his thumb. Dean grabbed his hand, positioning it where he wanted it. “This okay?” he asked. Castiel nodded that yes, it was, and took it a step further by unfastening Dean’s pants. Dean groaned and dropped his face to Castiel’s shoulder. He was smooth and soft and very warm. He thrust into the circle of Castiel’s fingers, muttering against his neck, “Oh, fuck, Cas, Cas…”
He blazed red at his peak, vibrant and beautiful.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” he panted.
“I read,” Castiel said with playful scorn. He licked a stripe along Dean’s neck. “I’m not naive, Dean.”
Laughing in response, Dean tackled him onto his back. He thrust a hand into Castiel’s pants and sucked a mark on his throat. Castiel became hyper-aware of each finger, of the nerves in his calves and heels, tingling in the soles of his feet. Dean tightened his grip and Castiel arched off the couch. Castiel couldn’t get enough of Dean, couldn’t get close enough, but he tried. He dug his fingers into Dean’s shoulders and rocked up, up, up—gasping at the explosion of colors behind his eyes that contained every shade of the forest.
Dean collapsed on top of him, still breathing hard, and pressed a damp kiss to his cheek. Castiel nipped at his mouth in a drowsy flush of burgeoning affection. He’d read about the feeling, but he’d never anticipated that he might experience it. And now that it pulsed in him, he was reluctant to open his eyes, to let Dean go, for fear it wouldn’t return. Would Dean mind if they lay here through the night so Castiel could wake next to him? Or would they go to Dean’s room and twine together beneath the sheets? What if Dean asked him to leave now that they’d finished, because he’d regretted what they’d done?
“I can hear you thinking,” Dean mumbled. “You okay?”
Castiel tightened his arms around Dean’s back instead of answering. A sudden breeze ruffled his hair—had they left the door open?—and the sound of fluttering filled the room. He’d heard that exact sound once before. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and his skin prickled under a strange, new energy. They weren’t alone.
Castiel bolted upright and bumped Dean’s head, but Dean was already focused on the intruder. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
Castiel scrambled to his feet, putting the couch between himself and the silhouette of a woman that had materialized in front of the television. This—this was what his father had warned him about. A knife. He needed something to cut his hand. He grabbed a paring knife from the kitchen and shallowly sliced his palm, hissing at the sting, and hurried to paint the shape he knew by rote on a cabinet door.
As he worked, Dean flipped open his switchblade and charged the woman without warning, sinking the blade into her chest. She didn’t react except to look at it quizzically, then pull it out and lay it on the coffee table beside the empty popcorn bowl.
Sam came down the hallway. “Why’re you shouting?” he called and switched on the lights.
Castiel’s hand hovered over the bloody mark. He had only to touch his palm to it and she would disappear, but he didn’t move. Dean yelled for Sam to stay back, but the woman didn’t pay Sam any mind. She walked purposefully toward Castiel, who was transfixed by her face: youthful beauty and sad eyes framed by long, copper hair. A golden corona blazed around her head. Until this moment, she had existed only in a photograph.
“We need to talk, Castiel,” she said. A touch to his forehead healed his palm and he stretched his fingers in disbelief. Noting the state of their clothes, she added, “Dean, you should button your pants.”
“An angel,” Dean repeated. He sat forward on the couch. Sam had backed himself against the windows with wide, fascinated eyes.
“A naphil, specifically,” the angel, Anna, said. She and Castiel remained standing in the middle of the room. Nothing about her screamed supernatural, except her entrance and the bloodless knife wound in her chest. She could’ve been anyone off the street, dressed in jeans and a canvas jacket. “The offspring of an angel and a human. Their existence is forbidden, which is why I hid you, Castiel. I couldn’t bear to see you harmed.”
Castiel reeled from the knowledge that not only was his mother alive and standing in front of him, but that she was a celestial being and he, by extension, half of one. He wasn’t sure whether to cry or laugh and vacillated between the two extremes.
“The land’s warded,” Dean guessed.
“Yes,” Anna said. “The house makes him invisible to Heaven, and the perimeter of the property prevents entrance even to archangels.” She touched Castiel’s arm. “You have enough humanity in you that you were able to cross it, but I suspect it affected you.”
Castiel nodded dumbly, remembering how drained, how sick he felt, every time he’d stepped over the property line.
“I could hear you. I thought you were praying to me.” Anna smiled, but it slipped into something melancholy. “But then I heard that a naphil had been seen, and I knew it was you. I knew you’d left the house.”
“That lady on the beach,” Sam said. “The one in the suit who was staring at you—you said something about light, Cas. Was she an angel?”
“Yes,” Anna said. She regarded Castiel sadly. “I kept my distance for your protection, but they nearly discovered you once, and we had to make it so not even I could enter. I thought if I could provide you with everything you could ever want, you would be able to live a full life, but I hadn’t considered how lonely you would be. It’s different for us.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Castiel asked, hopeful.
“They’ve sent someone to collect you. It will be a while before they locate us—I’ve already protected this house from their eyes—but Heaven has confirmation you exist. They won’t stop until they find you.” Anna turned to the brothers. “We’re hidden from them for the moment, but it won’t last. I can protect the two of you, make it so you’ll be permanently invisible to Heaven, even to me, but I can’t hide your grace, Castiel. It’s a beacon to them.”
“Why can’t he just go back to the house?” Dean asked. “You said they can’t reach him there.”
“Once they discover warded ground, they’ll blockade the perimeter,” she said. “Nothing in or out.”
“No more supplies,” Dean said.
“That doesn’t matter. I can live off the land,” Castiel insisted.
“For a time,” Anna said. “Eventually, they’ll wear you down or burn the forest. If I relocate you, they’ll do the same. They will never stop hunting you.”
“What’s the alternative?” Dean asked. “Sit around with our thumbs up our asses until some flying monkeys drop by to kill him?”
“They’ve sent an Authority,” she said. “We won’t wait long.”
“What’s that, an angelic hitman?” Dean said.
“That’s a crude way of putting it, but yes. It’s a type of warrior.”
“I don’t want Cas to die!” Sam cried.
“Neither do I,” Anna said. “That’s why I’m here, to try and stop it. But you will both be killed if you get in its way.”
She held up her hands. Dean’s chest grew tight and searing hot, like a fireball under his skin. Sam yelped. Dean rushed to him, his own pain already fading, and patted down his chest. Sam was shaken, a little green, but otherwise fine. No visible injuries.
“What the hell did you just do to us?” Dean yelled.
“I carved protection into your ribs,” Anna said. “They won’t be able to find or follow you. Now go.”
“Where?” Dean asked.
“Anywhere,” she said. “Just drive, but get as far as you can. They’re not looking for you, but don’t come back here.”
“We’re not leaving him,” Dean said.
“Dean—” Castiel began to protest, but Dean stood up. Anger burned his eyes.
“No. This isn’t his fault.”
“Think of your brother,” Anna said. “Your father.”
“My dad taught us not to back down from a fight,” Dean said. “If I go down, it’s gonna be swinging.”
“If Dean’s not leaving, neither am I,” Sam said with adolescent indignation.
“This is like nothing you’ve faced before. You saw what damage you did to me.” Anna pointed to the tear in her jacket. “It will not be as forgiving.”
“We’re not leaving,” Dean repeated.
“I’ve heard you’re difficult.” Anna sighed, but to Castiel she said, privately, “I’m glad you’ve found such loyal friends.”
There wasn’t much to do besides sit. Dean called his father’s phone repeatedly but got no answer, and left a series of voicemails. He minced the details, saying only that something had happened. Please call back.
Sam chewed his thumbnail and Castiel paced the window until Anna ordered him to sit. “They’ll see you through the glass,” she said. She pulled the curtains and Castiel sat miserably against Dean’s side, where he had been overjoyed not an hour ago.
He didn’t regret it. He didn’t regret leaving the house, even if it meant his extinction. Meeting Sam, his time with Dean—he cherished those scarce days above a lifetime behind glass.
For hours they waited in the dark, listening. Sam fell asleep, curled in a ball on the couch. Dean laid a blanket over him, but he stayed awake with Castiel and kept an arm around his back.
“You scared?” he asked. Castiel nodded against his shoulder. Every gust of wind, every creaking branch heralded the Authority’s arrival.
“Where’s my father?” Castiel asked.
“He’s safe,” Anna said.
“Where the hell’s he been all this time?” Dean asked.
“Chuck is a prophet,” she said. “I was assigned to protect him until he was compelled to receive the Word. An archangel watches over him now. It’s dangerous for both of you when he comes here.”
“And Hannah?” Castiel said. “Who was she?”
“A friend,” Anna said. “She didn’t approve of my choice, but I knew she would never betray us.”
An owl called above the drone of crickets and there came the rumble of an engine, the crunch of gravel under tires. Dean tightened his hold on Castiel. Headlights momentarily illuminated the window and Dean got up to peek through a gap in the curtains.
“That’s Bobby’s truck,” he exclaimed with relief. “Dad must’ve got my messages.”
The engine cut and the headlights dimmed, plunging the room into darkness. Dean went to the door to unlock it.
“Wait,” Anna commanded when his hand touched the lock.
“It’s my dad, I can see him,” Dean argued, but Anna shook her head.
“It’s taken a vessel,” she said. “It knew I would come.”
“That thing’s possessing my dad?”
“You and your brother must hide,” Anna said quietly. “Now, before it sees you.” When Dean didn’t immediately move, she waved her hand, and he and Sam vanished.
“Where did you send them?” Castiel whispered.
“The bedroom,” Anna said. Seemingly from the air, she withdrew a long sword, gleaming silver even in the dark, and held it at her side. Footsteps disturbed the gravel drive and approached the porch.
“Will it kill you if you try to stop it?” Castiel asked.
“I’m prepared for that.”
“And what about Sam and Dean’s father?”
Anna was silent, and Castiel had his answer. The footsteps reached the stairs and his heart quickened. He could watch his mother die and leave Sam and Dean without a parent, or he could make the choice to stop this. He was never supposed to exist, and the world would be no different without him in it.
“Will it leave if I give myself up?” he asked.
“I won’t let you bear the punishment for my mistake.”
“Will it leave?”
Anna paused. “Yes,” she said.
“Then there is no other choice,” said Castiel even as tears flooded his eyes and blurred the room. “Protect them.”
“Castiel—”
“Do this for me.”
The front door slammed open with the force of a hurricane and an imposing man strode in. He had deep-set, haunted eyes and a graying beard clipped close to his face. But there was something preternatural in his stare, in the way he held himself—rigidly, as the woman on the beach had done.
Castiel stepped forward and prostrated himself, sinking to the floor. Make it quick, he thought and bowed his head. Anna didn’t try to stop him. Please make it painless.
Mud-splattered boots stopped in front of him, inches from his knees. A heavy hand touched the back of his neck. His skin began to tingle and he held his last breath.
“Dad, no!” Dean yelled behind him. He ran toward them, his footsteps shaking the cabin, and forced himself between Castiel and the angel. Castiel called his name, but Dean had his fists pressed to his father’s chest and was attempting to walk him backwards.
“Dad, it’s me,” he begged. “I know you’re in there. You don’t have to do this!”
The angel said nothing. It brought the heel of its palm to Dean’s forehead and a blinding light coursed from it, flowing into Dean’s body and out through his eyes and ears. His inner light blazed red as blood, as bright and righteous as Castiel had seen, and burned out. Dean fell lifeless to the floor.
“No!” Castiel shouted.
He crawled to Dean and frantically put two fingers on his neck to feel for his pulse—oh, God, please, he thought, please be alive—but Dean’s heart had stopped. His face was frozen in a horrible cry, eyes scorched and blackened. Smoke twisted from their burned-out sockets and Castiel choked on the stench.
Instinctively, he shielded Dean’s body with his. He kissed his ruined eyes and as he began to cry, he rocked Dean against his chest. He should never have come here. If only he’d been faster, knelt down a moment sooner or faced the angel outside, Dean would still be alive.
The cabin quaked the harder he cried, shaking the foundation. Tremors splintered the floorboards and the windows quivered in their panes and shattered. Overwhelming anguish and desperation built in his chest, the pressure becoming so great that he screamed, and Castiel was violently rent apart.
Phantom limbs stretched to breaking and tore from his back, leaving it raw and throbbing. He wailed and clutched Dean to him, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt to try and withstand the pain, but it went beyond physical. It ripped his soul in two. He ached in places he couldn’t touch and screamed until his voice broke, until he dissolved into sobs that he cried into Dean’s hair.
The cabin had gone still. He heard his own desperate breaths and the thrum of insects outside, but the shaking had stopped. Each breath halved the pain in his body. Trembling, Castiel cracked swollen eyes.
Sam hovered at the mouth of the hallway, his face red and wet. He clutched his stomach and silently mouthed his brother’s name. Anna stood in front of him with her sword raised, prepared to defend him. No light came from either of them. Castiel blinked to clear his eyes but their light didn’t return. The angel, too, was dark. It no longer focused on him. Something soft brushed Castiel’s cheek and, glancing up, he realized why.
Petals rained from a tree sprung from the floorboards. It grew to the ceiling, thick limbs running parallel to it for the length and width of the room. A beautiful tree, its bark unblemished, and every branch covered in perfect, white flowers. Their petals drifted slowly, directed by the breeze through the broken windows, and settled on the floor and on Dean’s legs.
“What is this?” the angel demanded.
“He tore out his grace.” Anna placed a reverent hand on the trunk of the tree. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible.”
The angel turned back to Castiel, and he knew it still meant to kill him. “This changes nothing,” it said.
“Castiel is human now,” Anna said, coming toward it. “You no longer have a reason to kill him. He poses no threat to Heaven anymore.”
“I have my orders,” the angel said.
Anna’s sword sang in her hand. “That is not the will of God,” she said.
The angel’s eyes flashed. “Who are you to speak of God, traitor? You defiled yourself.”
“God taught us to love humanity above all other things. And I have loved it.” She raised her chin proudly. “That is no sin, yet you killed this boy without mercy and would willingly kill another.”
“That,” the angel spat, pointing to Castiel, “is an abomination.”
“You have lost your way, brother.” She stepped past Castiel and jabbed the sword tip into the angel’s throat. “Return to Heaven. Tell them your mission is complete—the naphil is dead. Leave us in peace and I will not tell them what you have done.”
The angel said nothing for a long time but finally withdrew its hand. It glanced to Castiel and the body in his arms, weighing its options. What Anna said must have convinced it, because it tipped its head backwards and blue light curled like smoke from John Winchester’s mouth. He coughed and collapsed to his knees. Anna launched her sword into the midst of the light. It crackled like an electric storm and vanished in a thunderclap.
“You killed it,” Castiel said, chest heaving.
“I couldn’t take the risk.” She sheathed the sword. “They can never find you now.”
Her words were no comfort. Castiel tucked his face into Dean’s neck. His skin was still warm, body limp in his arms, and Castiel cried. Sam rushed forward now that the angel was gone and threw himself wailing onto Dean’s stomach. He fisted his hands in Dean’s t-shirt and sobbed his name.
“What—what’s going on?” John slurred. He rubbed his eyes as though he might be dreaming. “Sam? Dean!”
Castiel reluctantly let Dean go, allowing himself a final kiss before laying him on his back. He stilled at what he saw. Dean’s eyes were closed, no longer burned and smoking. The skin on his face had stitched together as if the scars had never been. With his heart in his throat, Castiel pressed an ear to Dean’s chest and gasped at the steady thump, thump, thump of his heart.
“He’s alive!” He listened again to be sure, but yes, yes, that was Dean’s heart. Castiel embraced Sam, smoothing down his hair and promised, “It’s alright. Dean’s alive.” He looked into John Winchester’s eyes for the first time and repeated, “He’s alive.”
Although he wanted nothing more in that moment than to lie down next to Dean, to gather him in his arms and hold him, he stood up and allowed Sam and his father access. John held both of his boys close, and Castiel stood next to Anna. Next to his mother. She was beautiful even without her light.
“How is it possible?” he whispered. “He was dead.”
“You healed him. He must be very special.” Anna turned him toward her and placed a hand on each of his shoulders. She stood on tip-toe to kiss his forehead. “I must go. Will you be alright?”
“Yes.”
“The house and land are yours for as long as you want them. But wherever you go, pray to me, and I’ll see you have everything you need.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m proud of you, Castiel,” she said. “You will always have my love.”
“Please tell my father hello,” he said and she was gone in a flurry of unseen wings.
John carried Dean to bed. They stood around him for a while, but he’d sleep for a few hours, so they went to the kitchen to talk. Castiel sat at the counter and Sam took the stool beside him. His face was still hot and itchy from crying. With a scowl, John gave Castiel a once-over.
“Who are you and why were you kissing my son?”
Castiel stiffened, but before he could answer, Sam piped up, “This is Cas. He's our friend.” That didn't explain the kissing part, and since dad couldn’t really be mad at Dean right now, he wiped his nose and added, “Actually, he's my friend. He and Dean are boyfriends.” Dean could thank him later.
John rubbed the creases in his forehead. “This has been one hell of a day. I was having a beer with Bobby when a voice starts telling me I have to say ‘yes’ to an angel of the Lord because my boys are in trouble. Next thing I know, I'm waking up on the floor. And there's a tree growing out of it.”
Sam's throat was sore, but he managed an expressive recap of the day's events that ended with, “And that’s when Anna killed it. I didn’t think angels were real.”
“That makes two of us, Sammy.” John cleared his throat and roughly shook Castiel’s hand. “Thank you for saving my boy.” He stepped back and sniffed. “I oughta give Bobby a call, let him know where the hell I am. I stranded him without a car.”
He patted Sam’s shoulder and took the wall phone from its cradle. Sam’s watch beeped; it was three fifteen in the morning. He yawned, and maybe it was the weight of the day catching up with him or a new effect of being fully human, because Castiel yawned too.
“I’m gonna sleep in Dean’s room,” Sam told him. “You want to come?”
He was glad he’d asked for the grateful look in Castiel’s eyes.
They settled next to Dean on top of the covers, Sam with his head on Dean’s pillow and Castiel sitting up to watch over both of them. John must have covered them with a blanket during the night, because Sam woke up warm, to the sound of Dean breathing.
Once he’d ensured that Dean would recover and cooked all three boys breakfast, John left in the truck to pick up Bobby and returned with him late that afternoon. Dean had gotten out of bed and made it as far as the couch before collapsing. If they sat far enough to the right, they could see the television screen around the tree trunk.
Bobby caught Dean's face and congratulated him on his rapid healing ability. He frowned at Castiel when he shook his hand, which Dean assured him was the way Bobby treated the people he liked best.
“Maybe it'll come in handy at Christmas,” Bobby said of the tree. “I don't know what I'm going to tell Mackey.”
“Guess we should sweep up the petals,” Dean said. “Sam, go find a broom.”
Sam stuck out his tongue and didn’t move from the couch. Bobby jerked a thumb at Castiel. “What are we doing about him?”
“He's coming with us,” Dean said.
“Dean,” John argued. “We’re struggling as it is. I can’t afford to feed him, too.”
“I have money,” Castiel said. “I have the house. I can sell it.”
“You don’t know the first thing about hunting,” John continued. “You’d only slow us down.”
“But he's smart, dad,” Sam said. “He's read more books than Bobby.”
“I can be useful,” Castiel promised.
“I don’t give a shit if you’re useful,” Dean said, squeezing his knee. “I’m not leaving here without you, not if you’re willing to come. And if you’re not, then...I’m staying here.”
“Dean, you’re nineteen years old,” John said. “You’ve known each other less than two weeks.”
“What I just went through? I’m in no hurry to do it again. There’s bound to be work around here. Maybe I can go back to the school.”
“If Dean’s staying, I want to stay too,” Sam said.
“Alright, enough.” John dropped his face into his hands and took a deep breath. “I need to sleep for about a day. We’ll figure this out when I can see straight.”
He glanced to Dean’s hand on Castiel’s leg and, shaking his head, went to the unoccupied bedroom at the end of the hall without another word.
“Boys, you want supper?” Bobby asked. He slapped his thighs when he stood up. Sam bounded to the kitchen to help him, and Dean turned his head toward Castiel.
“If you do decide to come with us, we should find your dad. Pay him a visit.”
“I’d like that,” Castiel said wistfully. “There are so many places I want to see.”
“So we’ll see them.” Dean gave him a faint smile. “Hey...did you really kiss me in front of my dad, or is Sam messing with me?”
“I did,” Castiel admitted. “Though technically, you weren’t alive at the time, so one could argue your involvement. I’m sorry if I put you in a difficult situation.”
Dean let out a puff of laughter. “I thought he’d be more of a dick about it, that’s all.”
“He saw you die. There are more important things to be concerned about.”
“I guess.” Dean fiddled with a seam on Castiel’s pants. “How’d I look as a corpse?”
“Your eyes were burned out,” Castiel said, trying not to picture Dean’s face, the overwhelming stench of burned flesh. He pushed a fist against his mouth to steady his stomach.
“Sorry,” Dean said. He nudged Castiel’s leg. “Thanks for...y’know. Saving my life.”
“I’m the one who put your life in danger, Dean.” Castiel shook his head. “I can’t begin to apologize for what I did—”
“Cas?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up,” Dean said and kissed him.
“We can see you,” Sam called in sing-song.
Dean made a rude gesture with his hand, and he and Sam bickered back and forth, tossing affectionate insults at one another until Bobby snapped at them to close their traps. Castiel would have years of this: boisterous car rides, the delightful chaos of shared motel rooms, being mocked by a younger brother pretending to kiss a stainless-steel pan. His bees would swarm and find another home. Castiel relaxed into the couch, into Dean’s side, and relished the noise.