Chapter Text
Epilogue—One year later
If you’d have told the Castiel Novak who came out of the CPC Academy at twenty-two all bright-eyed optimism, and devotion to duty that the best years of his life would be spent on the run from the CPC, finding places to acquire scrapped and vintage spacecraft and motor parts, he’d have laughed in your face. Turns out, though it is true. Wayward Son is still on the CPC’s wanted list, only now the name Halo and a grainy image of Castiel sits alongside it. The funniest part of that image is the tattered vest he’s wearing—all that remains of his standard issue CPC flight-suit.
A day ago they turned up with a large haul of scrap metal and what Dean claims are repairable parts for Bobby and Rufus. Now all three are in the largest of the yard’s storage sheds sorting through the piles.
“Balls!” Bobby holds up a catalyzer between his forefinger and thumb. “Looks like I owe grumpy a bottle of Rilvorean top shelf whiskey. This haul might actually be worth something.”
Rufus smirks, then winces as he kicks his feet up onto the remains of a Destrier class engine, clasping his hands behind his head. “Told you there’d be some worthwhile stuff out there past Asteroid 4Y78ZT, didn’t I? Now when do I get my booze, old man? I ain’t drinking that gutrot you keep stashed out here when there’s the good stuff in my future.”
Dean picks up another part, turning it over in his hand before tossing it to Rufus.
“Now how much trouble did you two get into? Am I gonna have Jody on my doorstep?”
Castiel stands, wiping grease off his hands and onto the legs of his cargo pants. “Not this time. Like Rufus said, there’s a ship graveyard out there. A couple of freighters, a garbage transporter and a mining ship along with the remains of a few personal shuttles. International, non-coalition space.”
A self-satisfied hum comes from Rufus, who is now throwing the phaser mounting in the air and catching it one handed. “How many times do I have to tell you: having contacts pays off!”
Dean catches Castiel’s eye and grins.
How can this be so satisfying: no grand plans, no saving the world, just looting bits and pieces nobody wants anymore (even if they say they do) to keep Bobby’s business running? One word springs to mind—family. Bobby has a saying that, “Family don’t end in blood” and he’s right.
Castiel never really had family, relatives sure, but not people who cared about him and who meant something to him. He does now. Dean, Bobby, Rufus, even Charlie are Castiel’s family. The fifth, human, member of this close-knit group (Sam) is due any time now on sabbatical from the Academy.
“Any news we should know since we kept all comms off to...concentrate and, uh—.” Dean clamps his mouth shut.
“Avoid turning up on official tracking systems,” Castiel says, taking pity on Dean’s flustered state but still elbowing him in the ribs. It’s a system they’ve employed since the first warning came through Bobby’s friend (and local Terran sheriff and CPC liaison) Jody Mills that the CPC were aware Castiel survived the blast off Gichenus Ludea. Hopefully it makes him and Dean harder to catch up with. So far it’s worked.
Bobby smirks, standing straight and pressing his hands into his lower back. “There is one thing you might want to hear. Now, you never heard this from me and it didn’t come through no official channels, got it?”
Dean and Castiel nod in unison.
Rufus huffs and shakes his head at Bobby.
“The so-called legitimate business of one Fergus Macleod, Glencraig Resorts, was under investigation for tax evasion and embezzlement of Coalition subsidies. Not one person in the know has seen hide nor hair of Crowley since the Coalition Revenue Services pulled in records from every single location of Glencraig.”
The implication hangs heavy in the air. No matter where Dean or Castiel have gone since the showdown at Gichenus Ludea, it’s been like they have been holding their breath underwater; endless waiting for enough of the heat to die off that Crowley pops back up again and demands Dean get back to finding the artifacts, even if they might be useless now.
“Hate to be the one to say it, but while that’s kind of good news, cockroaches like Crowley never die, do they.”
Dean is right, but Castiel still has one last tiny shred of faith that some branches of the Coalition Government are still trustworthy and beyond the rot still being investigated at the CPC.
~~*~~*~~*~~
Two days later, the front door creaks, reminding Dean he still hasn’t gotten around to doing the repairs on it. Sue him; he’s been a little busy with a certain partner in crime. There’s a thump that sounds like a bag being dropped followed by heavy footfalls.
“Hiya, Sammy! In the kitchen. Bobby’s got his five alarm chili on the go. Hope you ain’t still hungover from the end of year shenanigans.”
“Funny, Dean!” Sam pauses in the doorway and looks around the kitchen. “Where’s Bobby?”
“In his office, claims he’s working on the books while the food cooks.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Okay. I’ll er catch up with him later, I guess.”
Dean gets up and envelops his baby brother in a hug, slapping him on the back harder than necessary just because he can and it’s his duty as elder brother. “Beer?”
“Uh, coffee maybe,” Sam says sheepishly. “When are you and Cas back out there?”
“Don’t know.” Dean narrows his eyes as he studies his brother over his shoulder, jug poised to fill the coffee maker with water. “Why?” He laces his tone with suspicion. The damn kid has been home all of five minutes and he’s already up to something.
“No reason.” The shrug Sam gives him does nothing to allay Dean’s misgivings.
As if summoned by the smell of brewing coffee, Cas saunters in through the back door. He sniffs the air and nods approvingly before spotting Sam. When he does his face lights up and Dean’s heart melts a little more.
“Sam! When did you get in? I didn’t hear a car.”
“No Kevin dropped me off up at the main road and I walked the rest. Didn’t seem worth making Mrs. Tran come all the way out here when it’s only half an hour.” Sam tucks his chin in and his top teeth cover his bottom lip for a couple of seconds. “I, er, need the fresh air.”
Both Dean and Castiel chuckle at the idea that the air on the Second Moon is clean, and not at Dean having guessed right about his baby brother having partied too hard.
Castiel crosses to the fridge and pulls out two bottles of beer. “I’m guessing you don’t want a hair of the dog quite yet? Saving that for Bobby’s chili?” He hands one off to Dean before settling in the chair opposite Sam, tipping it onto its back legs as he takes his first pull of beer.
Dean watches the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, then tears his eyes away before he gets any inappropriate thoughts.
“Uh, Cas...I was just asking Dean about when you’re next heading out to space and was, um, wondering where you’d be headed.” He shoves the chair back and hurries to the coffeemaker, holding the carafe out asking if either Dean or Castiel wants some.
“Yes, please, Sam,” Castiel says, holding out a hand for the drink.
“So you do want something from us, then? You were waiting for Cas before making your pitch. Wow, Sammy. Low blow, Jerk. Low blow.”
“Bitch!” Sam flops back into his chair, hands wrapped around his mug. “Knew I’d get a more sensible answer out of Cas than you.”
“Well, Sam, what is it you want?” Castiel hovers by the coffee machine, staring out the window with his coffee. By the way he’s holding his shoulders, he’s more amused by Sam’s wheedling than irritated. Which means he’s likely to give in to the big Moose’s request. Not that Dean would actually hold out on his brother either but where’s the fun in saying yes immediately?
“If there’s any chance you were heading by Talus. There’s some rare translations of some of the 8th Psion’s texts Kevin wants to see. I figured if anyone could get their hands on them, it’d be you two.”
Castiel stretches his arms over his head, mug still in hand. Dean hears the slight crack from his back, before he rolls his shoulders as he pretends to rinse out his mug in the sink. “You do know we’re on every planet’s watch list—except this one because Jody’s such a star.”
Sam shifts in his seat. “Yeah, but you have this way of sliding in under the radar and getting out before the authorities even know anything’s missing.”
Dean snorts. “He’s got us there, Sunshine.”
He watches as Castiel tilts his head in the gesture he pulls when he’s pretending to consider something he’s already decided.
“Um, if we head that way, we’ll see what we can do.”
“See, Sammy. Can’t say fairer than that, can we?”
Sam rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness in them and a smile tweaking the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, Cas.”
Dean leans back, one hand reaching out to Castiel. He catches hold of the fraying edge of the vest he’s wearing and tugs on it. The CPC pale blue has turned to a washed-out grey, but the wings on the back are still visible.
“You know we could easily get you a new jacket. One that doesn’t broadcast who you are quite so obviously.”
“We could.” Castiel shakes off Dean’s hold, then comes to stand behind him, hands resting on Dean’s shoulders. “I like this one, though. It’s a constant reminder.”
“Of what?”
Castiel leans down, lips ghosting over Dean’s ear. “How I chose correctly. Each time I put this vest on, I remember what I left behind—and why.”
Dean swallows, the click of his throat loud in his ears. “Fuck, Cas. You’re not supposed to say stuff like that.” He feels the heat creeping over his face and the amused expression on Sam’s face. With a soft flick to the side of Castiel’s face he turns in his seat and clasps a hand over the one on his left shoulder. “So, yeah, anyway.’ Dean clears his throat. “It does make you look pretty badass. Halo, the fallen angel.”
He gets that soft, private smile Castiel reserves for Dean alone. “Wayward Son and Halo. We do make quiet the pair.”
Across the table Sam makes a small gaging noise and the mood is, thankfully for Dean’s sanity, broken.
~~*~~*~~*~~
Over dinner, Bobby has the news feed playing in the background.
“Rumours abound of several heists taking place simultaneously across the quadrant on private collections, including on Miladus Prime home of some of the quadrants most elusive and eclectic residents, including associate to former Coalition President Amara Shurley, one Cain Mullen,” says the way too chirpy news anchor.
Castiel pauses fork halfway to his mouth.
“Sources say this is the work of the Yellow-Eyed Knights, a fanatic cult tied to the teachings of the 12th Psion.”
Dean almost chokes on his chili.
“Idjits.” Bobby scratches underneath his dirty trucker cap. “Ain’t your fight anymore.”
“But...we know—”
“Shouldn’t we be able to—”
Sam raps the table with his knuckles, stopping both Castiel’s and Dean’s protests. “No. You two made your decision. Now stick to it. Besides, Kevin is certain there’s no way around the ritual without the Grail of Shadows.”
Castiel gives a one-shouldered shrug, then shoves his food into his mouth, chewing deliberately slowly.
In contrast, Dean glares from Sam to Bobby, one hand tight around his fork, the other clenching and unclenching. “So we leave the galaxy to hang. Hope the CPC isn’t bringing about the end of the world as we know it?”
“Thought you two had better things to do?”
“Like?”
Castiel places a hand on Dean’s knee and squeezes. “Being together, alive, free. Oh, and keeping this grumpy old codger and his even grumpier partner’s business stocked so they can drown in liquor and stupidly hot chili.”
“Hey!” Bobby points a fork at Dean then Castiel. “It’s idjits like you two...and don’t you laugh, boy!” he sends a mock scowl Sam’s way. “Who helped keep your ass clean and head screwed on enough to get back into the Academy?”
Although Sam dips his head, Castiel catches the affection not shame in his expression.
“Good. Well is it any wonder a guy needs to drink with you lot and, by the 2nd Psion, Rufus around?”
Bobby reaches behind him and turns the dial away from the newsfeeds to a music station playing ancient Terran songs on a loop.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself you weren’t always a curmudgeonly old drunk,” Dean says, leaning into Castiel.
A warm feeling settles deep in Castiel’s bones. How has it taken such a short time for this to be completely normal, sitting round the kitchen table with his family bickering and teasing each other so fondly? He doesn’t know, but Castiel wouldn’t have it any other way.
~~*~~*~~*~~
After a week of working in the yard, Dean and Castiel had needed to go before everyone outstayed their welcome. They don’t have a location planned but because they’re both pushovers they will be swinging by the archives on Talus for Kevin’s translations on the way back.
Baby is running on the lowest impulse speed, while Charlie runs a diagnostic scan and does a sweep of all available news sources for any new wrecks or potential salvage sites.
Dean looks up at Castiel from his place on the floor, sonic wrench in his hand and an old plasma conduit between his legs.
“You ever regret it? Throwing everything away?”
Castiel doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes focused on the panel loom he’s rewiring. “Didn’t exactly have anything to throw away.”
“Oh.” Dean hates how small and fragile his voice sounds.
“No. No.” Now Castiel looks up, hands out in apology, a concerned expression on his face. “I didn’t mean it the way it came out, Dean. I’m sorry. Look I regret being mixed up in whatever it was the CPC has become. Regret that I gave so much of my life to it. Regret that I was so blinded by duty and obedience that I had never actually lived.”
“Okay.” Dean still isn’t feeling the love, and it must radiate off him, because Castiel comes and squats beside him, placing one hand over Dean’s.
“If there’s one thing I never, ever regret...it’s choosing you. Leaving all of that behind to live this life with you.”
Dean’s throat goes tight. “Really, Sunshine? Even with that price on your head and always smelling of oil and grease, having to put up with the shit that comes from dealing with Bobby and Rufus?
“Yes, Dean. Especially with all of that—it makes me feel alive in ways I’d only been empty before.”
“So you’re good? Just, you know, checking in before...”
“I have never been more content or happier.”
If anyone asks, Dean will deny how his heart seems to skip a beat and his chest swells. “You’re such a sap, you know that.”
“I’ve been told.” Castiel leans in. He kisses Dean soft and sweet. “Frequently.”
When they pull apart, Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s.
Charlie’s hologram materializes with a cough. “Sorry to interrupt the schmoopy moment, but we’ve got incoming. CPC patrol.”
Dean and Cas are on their feet instantly, old instincts kicking in.
“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” Dean jumps to his feet, wiping his hands on his pants.
Castiel is already heading for the cockpit, wings on his back catching the light one more time.
“Jump time, Charlie. Anywhere but here, now.”
Baby’s engines roar to life.
In the blink of a lightjump, Wayward Son and Halo disappear into the black, together, free, home.
The End