Chapter Text
(6,972 words)
Sam and Dean return to Bobby Singer's house three weeks later, but pause in the doorway the instant they see him, though Castiel isn't sure why. They're staring at him in surprise, so he stares back, eyes inevitably drifting towards and locking on Dean.
"Well, don't just stand there like the ugly girls at the prom. Get in here and get the laundry started," Bobby snaps from his desk, not even bothering to look up.
Sam drifts to Bobby's laundry room with two duffel bags in his arms while Dean makes his way over to the kitchen to, of course, get beers. The man then sits down beside him on the couch, a sharp edge in his eyes that puts Castiel on edge, though he hides it by turning the page of the thick book on his lap.
"You didn't tell us you got an angel maid, Bobby," are the first words out of Dean's mouth. Castiel grimaces and doesn't grace them with a response, but Bobby does.
"Yeah, well, while you two were breakin' your asses being productive, we've been reading over the same dusty old books every other week."
"Not much progress, I'm guessing?" Sam tries, going over to sit near Bobby to see what he's reading.
"If we had progress, the Devil wouldn't still be takin' walks in the park every Sunday afternoon," Bobby replies with a huff. "Only new content 'round here is from Feathers over there translating this stuff."
Dean gives him a curious look, so Castiel explains, "Many of the books Bobby has managed to procure over the years are not in English, and some are in languages that haven't been spoken in many, many years."
"Yeah, and?"
"I can translate them," he finishes dryly. Humans can be so dense… "How was your hunt?"
"Good as it could be, I guess."
The conversation strays and drops. It's not until late into the night, long after all three humans have retired to bed only for Dean to wake back up and come down stairs again, that it picks back up again, apropos of nothing.
"So, translating?" the man starts, dropping down beside Castiel with yet another beer in his hand, flicking on the television. Castiel hopes Dean doesn't go and get liver cancer that he can't currently cure… "Seems a little 'Maid in Manhattan' for an angel of the Lord."
"Would you prefer I go out and follow up on pointless leads on what Lucifer might be planning?"
"Hey, whoa, I'm not trying to ruffle your feathers, Cas," Dean attempts to soothe. "Just trying to see what's up." Castiel's eyes flick to the ceiling at the phrase, which makes Dean chuckle. "So…?"
"It's…not so much about translating these books," Castiel finally concedes. "Bobby won't say anything, but he longs for companionship. I don't have anything to do, anyway, and the world will be ending soon. So I decided to stay here, for the time being."
Dean nods to himself for a moment before challenging, "You sure you aren't just lonely?" Castiel's surprise must show on his face, which quickly grows hot with shame and embarrassment. He quickly looks away, but the damage is already done and Dean's face softens. "Cas—"
"It's not of import, Dean," he cuts in quickly, dreading what that sentence might end with. "My powers are…waning. There isn't much I can do to help anyone anymore. This…this is making a difference, so I'll stay as long as I'm wanted."
"And what about what you want?" Upon his look of confusion, Dean adds, "You're not following Heaven's orders, anymore, Cas. It doesn't have to be about what everyone else wants. Free will and all that." Castiel is reminded of him saying, 'Dude, you full-on rebelled against Heaven. Iniquity is one of the perks!' but he doesn't comment on it. "So…"
"I don't want anything," he replies softly, looking away.
"Yes, you do," Dean immediately refutes.
"Dean—"
"You do, you're just too afraid to say it. Well, whatever it is, it's probably fine, as long as you don't secretly wanna eat people or something." Castiel squints at him, wondering what in the world he's saying now. Dean rolls his eyes and continues, "I mean, angels are all about consent, right? No party until you sign the lease? Well, you don't have anyone to stop you, so," Dean gestures vaguely with the hand that's holding the beer bottle, "let loose. Go wild."
Castiel considers this and eventually realizes this type of opportunity is unlikely to ever arise again. If he wants to experience a hug, as he's fairly certain they're called, then this is his chance. Dean is decently drunk and, with any luck, won't remember anything anyway. So Castiel carefully wraps his arms around the man's chest and presses his face into his shoulder, as he's seen on the television.
Dean is stiff in his loose hold, every muscle in his body growing tense. Before Castiel can let go, Dean's free hand loops around his upper back, right where his wings rest on another plane. He can't help but relax into it, wondering why people aren't constantly hugging if it feels this nice. It apparently gets even better; as Dean sets down his beer to run a hand through Castiel's hair in a way he's only done when they had to impersonate federal agents, the man's other hand begins moving in slow circles on his back.
"Seriously, Cas?" Dean begins, his tone teasing even as his words make Castiel attempt to pull away, only to be pleasantly surprised to find that Dean is forbidding him from leaving the warm embrace. Castiel is still an angel and he could escape if he wanted to. But he doesn't. "If you wanted a hug, you could've just asked."
"Sorry," he mumbles into Dean's skin, trying to hide his surprise at the idea that he can just ask for this and receive it.
"Gotta say, I'm kinda disappointed, though," the man continues, and now Castiel tenses. Dean's probably disappointed in him for wanting something so pathetic— "Here I thought you'd want some weird, creepy thing that'd be impossible for a coupla lowly mud-monkeys to get, but you just wanted a hug?"
Castiel feels his face grow red again, but he confesses, "Yes. I've never had one. They looked very…comforting."
"Comforting, huh?" Castiel nods as best he can, and Dean tightens his grip. "Well, if you ever need another one…hug away." Despite his words, Dean pats him twice on the back before lightly pushing the angel out of his grip. "Feel better?"
"Yes. Thank you." Castiel privately wants another hug the second the first one is broken off, but he doesn't dare ask for it. If Dean can guess his internal thoughts, he doesn't show it as he takes another long swig of his beer and changes the channel on the television.
-
Something changes after that. It's like, despite his words, Dean sees him as less of an angel after realizing he craves physical contact. Castiel thinks he becomes more of…a friend, but regardless of whatever new title he might own, Dean seems to respect him a little less, but like him a little more. It's very confusing, and he can't decide if it's a good change or not yet.
He thinks that it must be a good change, if it makes Dean throw an arm around his shoulders while they're walking for no apparent reason or pat him on the back with no preamble. One night, he's sitting at the desk and Dean even puts a blanket around him, saying he looked cold; Castiel wonders if he had looked as lost as he felt. Touch becomes so much more…real as his grace grows weaker. It's grounding, but overwhelming.
Sometimes, he wants to wrap his arms around the nearest willing person until the coldness that has seeped into his weary bones disappears. Sometimes, he wants to curl into a ball and never unwrap himself from the comfort and safety of his own arms. Sometimes, the coldness is too much and he wants to claw his own skin off his bones rather than let his skin touch anything else. It's very…confusing.
Castiel can tell when Dean apparently tells Sam about his longing because some of the caution in Sam's eyes is replaced with tentative curiosity whenever he looks at Castiel, like he's a specimen in a lab and he's just done something new and unprecedented. Before Sam and Dean leave for their latest hunt, they even take turns briefly clapping him on the back, and he tries his best to act as if their actions do not affect him in the slightest. They do.
To his horror (and secret delight), Bobby seems to pick up on Castiel's rather embarrassing weakness, as well. The man exploits it far less, and his rare claps on the shoulder always manage to catch Castiel off guard. Sometime after Bobby realizes this, Castiel even earns himself the coveted title of an 'idjit' when he gets pepperoni instead of pepper jack cheese at the grocery store.
Apparently, humans like knowing the weaknesses of others and subsequently view them as more…approachable because of them. That's the only explanation Castiel can think of as to why everyone is more amiable around him and less cautious or wary. Not that he's complaining, but it is a little strange. Or maybe it has more to do with how human he's becoming…
As Castiel's grace grows weaker and weaker, he seems to long for the touch of another more and more. He suspects it's a human thing, even though he rarely sees humans hugging or anything. Regardless, it is one human thing he refuses to indulge in, as he doesn't want to make Sam and Dean and Bobby do anything more for him than they already have. He's already beginning to need sustenance and rest—how much more can he possibly ask for before they realize they're putting far too much time and thought into a powerless, Falling angel?
Then Bobby regains use of his legs, and Castiel loses his reason for lingering in the man's house like a lost dog that wandered in at the promise of food and sanctuary. Then the Apocalypse is officially averted and Sam is lost in the Cage with Lucifer and Michael and Dean leaves and Bobby leaves—even as Castiel's powers are restored and even upgraded. It seems they don't even want him around with his powers. Still, there is one thing he can do…
Castiel dives back into the Cage to try to rescue Sam, but realizes as soon as the dazed husk of the Sam he once knew is back on earth that he hasn't brought back his soul. Castiel's wings are aching and burning in ways they haven't since he'd rescued Dean, so he can't just go back in. Uncertain of what to do, Castiel ignores Sam's confused calls and prayers and flies straight to Dean, only to find him…content, for the first time in possibly his entire hard, sad life.
Then Crowley wants to make a deal. Against his better judgment, Castiel allows him to speak and hears his idea, hearing how it could possibly stop the war in Heaven with Raphael. He gets trapped into the deal, and by the time he returns to the soulless Sam and the once-again-hunting Dean to face the consequences of his actions, Castiel realizes the days of getting hugs whenever he asks for them will be forever over and he's made a terrible mistake.
And it's only a matter of time before the Winchesters throw him out and forget about him again.
-
It's his own foolishness that catches up to him to knock him over the head. He'd been spying on Sam and Dean and Bobby—because he spies on the only people he still cares about now, not having a choice—and learned of a phrase relating to Superman and Kryptonite and dark sides. He's not even sure why it stuck out to him enough to remember. Certain phrases just…do, and he can't help but repeat them, like an infant learning a new word and repeating it without even fully understanding the meaning.
Maybe it's just because he wants to fit in with Sam and Dean and wants to pick up on their confusing lingo. Maybe he just likes the phrases and wants to use them himself. Maybe he just likes the sound or the feel of the phrase and the way he has to shape his mouth to say it. Maybe some part of him wanted to be found out, to stop having to hide.
Whatever the reason, tensions are running high, between him having to hide from the Winchesters constantly, his deal with Crowley, and the battle in Heaven that's taking up more and more of his time and looking less and less hopeful. He slips up and uses the phrase that's been floating in his head since it first reached his ears. It does not go unnoticed when he, blinded by anger directly at Crowley for daring to attack his friends, utters the phrase—in something close to jest, even, or at least anxiety. The two so often blend together…
The next thing he knows, he's being called down by Dean and a ring of holy fire is ignited around him, trapping him inside. The method he himself had taught Dean is being used against him, and Castiel is, once again, powerless to do anything to stop it. He plays dumb, and, when that doesn't work, desperate, jumping from one crushing revelation to the next in the hopes something will stick to show them that he's still on their side, that all of this is for them, even if his methods…well, in a word, suck.
"What are you doing?" he asks, somewhere between demanding and desperate.
"We gotta talk."
"About what? Let me go."
"About Superman. And Kryptonite." Castiel feels himself go pale at the words, because of course his downfall would be due to his own desires to fit in with humanity—with Sam and Dean.
"How'd you know what I said?" Bobby demands, and Castiel can see an angel blade catching the light from somewhere in the man's sleeve. His heart drops. They're going to kill him.
Sam quickly jumps in, eyeing him distrustfully. "How long you been watching us?"
"You know who spies on people, Cas? Spies," Dean says just as quickly, looking angry and everyone is talking and jumping from one conclusion to the next and—
"Okay, just wait. I don't even know what you mean—" he starts, only for Sam to cut him off with a broad gesture around the room.
"What about this demon craphole? How is it so, uh, 'next to godliness' clean in here?"
"And how exactly did Crowley trick you with the wrong bones?" Bobby questions, and Castiel is really starting to feel the weight of his lies crushing down on his shoulders, forcing him to either stand and suffer or crumple to the ground.
"It's-it's hard to understand—it's hard to explain. Just let me go. Let me out and I can—"
"You've gotta look at me, man," Dean says, drawing his attention in a second. He looks so desperate to believe in Castiel that it makes him physically ache and feel cold and ill. "You gotta level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley."
He wants to look, wants to lie and tell Dean that he isn't, wants more than anything to be viewed as a friend again and be hugged and told everything can be fixed, wants to not have been working with that demon scum in the first place so that he didn't have to lie at all…but he can't lie, not to Dean. He looks away instead, and Dean looks devastated.
"You son of a bitch," the man mutters bitterly, though Dean's expression is open and broken—because of him, and Castiel hates himself just a little more because of it, because he'll never be able to unsee that expression. He never wanted this…
"Let me explain," the angel offers quietly, wondering if anyone can see the tears welling in his eyes through the flames of the holy fire containing him.
Dean doesn't give him the chance to explain. "You're in it with him? You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory together? You have, huh? This whole time?"
"I did it to protect you. I did it to protect all of you," he manages, wanting more than anything to make them understand that he's still on their side.
"Protect us how? By opening a hole into Monster-land?" Sam hisses, shaking his head.
"He's right, Cas," Bobby says. "One drop got through, and it was Eve, and you wanna break down the entire dam?"
"To get the souls," Castiel emphasizes desperately. "I can stop Raphael. Please, you have to trust me—"
"Trust you?! How in the hell are we supposed to trust you now?"
"I'm still me. I'm still your friend," Castiel says, hoping that his tone sounds more convincing to Sam than it does to him; now there's no way they can't see his tears… "Sam…I-I'm the one who raised you from Perdition."
"What?" Sam is stunned for a few seconds before his entire face dissolves into something close to hatred that surprises Castiel, and maybe Sam's soul isn't intact at all anymore, because he's never seen an expression even close to that on Sam's face before. "Well, no offense, but you did a pretty piss-poor job of it." Something seems to occur to the man. "Wait. Did you bring me back soulless…on purpose?"
"How could you think that?" he asks brokenly. Is this really what they think of him? That he'd do something like that on purpose? Is that really how far he's fallen when Crowley grabbed him and dragged him down to the depths of Hell to make a deal?
"Well, I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas," Sam replies steadily, though angrily and so, so unlike Sam.
"Listen. Raphael will kill us all. He'll turn the world into a graveyard. I had no choice."
"No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one."
"You don't understand. It's—complicated." How can he explain this? Everything has spiraled out on control and he just—
"No, actually, it's not, and you know that," Dean says, eerily calm considering the circumstances. "Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret—huh?—unless you knew that it was wrong? When crap like this comes around, we deal with it—like we always have! What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the Devil!"
Castiel's entire face softens and he looks down, wondering why they're even bothering with talking to him at all. Were they to kill him…he wouldn't stop them. His most recent actions are far from things he's proud of, and they would be well within their right to put him down like the monster he is, just like they do with any other monster that places people in harm's way, and opening Purgatory, even if just for a second, is definitely putting people in danger…
Still, he says softly, "It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?"
"I was there. Where were you?" Dean tries to catch his eye, but he refuses the eye contact. "You should've come to us for help, Cas."
"But you weren't there," he says quietly to the floor.
"What?" Dean takes a step closer, and Castiel wishes he could take a step backwards but the small ring holy fire prevents very much movement. Seeing something on his face, Dean asks again a little softer, "What?"
"I came to you, but you weren't hunting, Dean," Castiel confesses, trying to keep his voice steady like an angel's voice should be. "You were retired and with—a human. A woman, and her child. You were raking leaves and you looked at peace. Sam was…gone. The war in Heaven already started, and Raphael was winning even then. Then Crowley appeared with an offer." He looks away and reiterates, "I had no choice. How was I supposed to tear possibly your last chance of happiness from you?"
Silence permeates through the entire room, deafening even when no noise is made, and Castiel chances a glance up. Everyone looks so…uneasy, and no one seems to want to look at him. He doesn't blame them.
Unsure of what else to do, he continues, unconsciously wrapping his arms around himself, as if giving himself the contact he so desperately desires will bring him the comfort he doesn't deserve, "I didn't want to concern you with my family's problems again—not after those problems are what got Sam killed in the first place, got Bobby and you injured. And Raphael is…he's not afraid to…fight dirty."
Castiel takes a second to breathe as his mind races through the possibilities of what Raphael might do. He thinks about what Zachariah had done to him, but takes away any sort of restraint Zachariah had shown, since he was only supposed to reeducate Castiel and not slaughter him. He remembers the time Dean had recounted when Zachariah had given Adam and Sam stomach cancer and internal hemorrhaging and all sorts of things to try to force Dean into saying yes by using Dean's compassion and dedication to his family against him.
He remembers the times when he was just a fledgling that Raphael, the archangel that was supposed to watch over and heal the younger angels, was the one to snap his wing bones and twist his grace and hurt him, only healing him when Gabriel or Michael or even Lucifer would stumble upon him and demand Raphael fix him (none of the other angels ever spared him more than a scathing glance when he was crying and hurt). Even then, he was something that needed to be dealt with, to be 'fixed' and repaired before he could function correctly again—if he ever functioned correctly at all.
"He won't hold anything back just because you're human, and telling you about his plans…you would only concern yourselves with my family's problems again and end up being hurt again." He looks up at Dean, eyes pleading. "What was I supposed to do, Dean? What should I have done?"
"You come knocking, anyway," Dean eventually replies. "Don't you ever think you can't come to us and dump whatever problem you've got on us. That's what family does." Castiel's heart stutters in his chest. Family? He hasn't had one of those in… "They come to you when they need something, and you help them. Even if you don't want to and even when they make a mess you don't even wanna know about…you help them. Because family always comes first."
"I'm not family, Dean," he murmurs back. "I have no blood relation to you, and family would never…do this to you."
"See, that's where you're wrong," Dean says, stepping even closer until Castiel has no choice but to look at him. "Those dicks with wings shouldn't even get to call you family, 'cause family's job is making you miserable, but they've always got your back, Cas." The nickname makes Castiel stand a little straighter as his resolve crumbles just a little more. "That's why they're family. They're great and you love them to death, but they kinda make your life a living Hell."
Castiel squints at that, and Bobby adds, "Family don't end in blood, boy, so don't even start with all that 'blood relations' crap."
"But I—"
"Family's the ones that stay with you 'cause you're lonely and clean your tubs and do your dishes 'cause you can't stand. They sit through all your bitching and moaning about your legs not working even though they can't do nothin' to fix it," Bobby continues. "Family's always there whether you want 'em to be or not, and you don't mind 'cause you need them there, whether you admit it or not."
"But I-I'm not…"
"You can always count on family to have your back, even when you kinda wish they wouldn't," Sam reiterates, looking at Dean before his eyes drift to Castiel. "A couple years ago, I was the one that died and was supposed to go to Hell, but Dean made a deal and got taken instead. I would've rather gone to Hell than see him die, and I would've rather died than have to live without him. Because he's family, and I…and I love him."
Sam and Dean make eye contact for a second before glancing away. Castiel isn't sure how to react, so he takes a moment to process what's happening around him, trying to figure out why they're talking about what family is supposed to represent instead of killing him like the monster he's become.
Sam continues finally, "Family sees when you're going too far with some dumbass decision, and they stop you, whether you want it or not. But it's always for your benefit, always to make sure you're…safe and okay. They're not afraid to hurt your feelings by telling you no because they're just looking out for you."
Castiel looks in between the three humans in front of him, frantically trying to connect their words with the current situation. Why would they be telling him any of this? Are they trying to highlight a few of the endless ways Castiel has failed and betrayed them? Telling him all the things he has not done and describing the family he will never be a part of? Or maybe—
"Cas, you've been family for a while now," Dean states after a minute, carefully reaching a hand through the ring of holy fire to wipe the tears Castiel didn't even realize are falling. He leans into the touch before he can stop himself, closing his eyes as an unsteady breath escapes him. "All you gotta do is trust us to have your back when you need it. And, well…you need it, Cas."
"I know," Castiel admits weakly, voice wavering and watery in all the ways he's been trained for centuries to prevent. At this moment, he doesn't even care. He's tired of hiding and pretending, and all the weight on his shoulders is nearly unbearable now; he's reached his breaking point with all the guilt and stress and expectations piled on him and he simply can't hold it all for much longer. "I-I don't know how to fix this…"
"The first step to fixing something is realizing it's broken," Sam offers with a small smile.
"It's broken. It's really broken," Castiel agrees immediately. "I just don't know how to fix it. I…"
"Okay, all right, we'll work that part out later, Cas," Dean says, his arms suddenly wrapping around Castiel and pulling him close. He…hadn't even realized they had put the holy fire out…
He tries to resist the comforting touch he surely doesn't deserve, but Dean is unrelenting. Even with the holy fire put out and his powers restored, he is powerless to do anything but melt into the embrace, and he can't help but loosely hug Dean back, trying to stop crying so that his silent tears don't soak into Dean's shirt. One of Dean's hands stray to his hair, just like it did that one night, so, so long ago.
"It's all right, Cas, you're allowed to cry. Just let it out," the man soothes, his own voice wavering. "It's okay. It'll all work out. We'll find a way to fix this."
Castiel can feel his shoulders shudder at the words, and it becomes more and more difficult to hold in his tears the harder he tries to contain them. Eventually, he just slumps in Dean's grip, exhausted. Sam soon wraps his long arms around both of them, no doubt feeling the force of Castiel's choked-off sobs as Castiel's fingers grip tightly at the back of Dean's shirt. But he doesn't say anything about it and they let him cry and hold him as long as he needs them to. Because they're…they're family.
When his crying dies down, Sam and Dean still continue to hold him until the building begins shuddering and the harbinger of demons approaching in the form of thick, dark smoke is easily spotted in the distance. Castiel reluctantly pulls away, knowing that Crowley will kill Sam and Dean if they stay here.
"There are demons approaching. Crowley's. You need to leave," he tells them, rubbing at his still-damp face fruitlessly. "They'll kill you if they find you."
"Okay," Dean accepts easily, stepping back to gather up a duffel bag. "Let's blow this popsicle stand before it blows us up."
Sam nods and lifts his own bag over his shoulder; Bobby had already left at some point, perhaps to bring the Impala around to the front of the nameless house they're inside of. Sam and Dean leave without another word and without even a glance back at Castiel. It's fair, really. He's been betraying them for the better part of the year—of course they wouldn't want him around to mess anything else up. He's not sure what he was expecting—
"Cas?" Dean calls, peeking his head back in. "You comin'? Wouldn't wanna be here with the demon brigade right outside."
"I'm coming with you?" he asks quietly, and he must look and sound really pathetic if the way Dean reels back in shock is anything to go by.
"Uh, yeah, Cas. Of course."
"Oh."
"You thought you weren't?" Dean asks, stepping inside to loop an arm around Castiel's shoulders when the angel can do little more than shrug stiffly and glance away. "You need me to launch into another 'you're family, you dumbass' speech? 'Cause I will," the man threatens almost teasingly, leading him out to the vehicle. "You've already got the trademark Winchester stubbornness and self-deprecation. You'll fit right in."
Despite himself, Castiel smiles a little at that, which makes Dean grin back and pat his back once. Castiel then realizes they've reached the Impala and, after a moment's hesitation, gets into the backseat beside Bobby. Bobby stares at him for a long moment as Dean shoves the key into the ignition and starts the vehicle.
"Dean may've been livin' in a fantasy world, but I wasn't," Bobby says eventually, looking right at him as if looking into his non-existent soul. It's almost unnerving to be on the receiving end of such a look. "Why didn't ya come to me, ya idjit?"
Castiel can't meet his eyes. "I couldn't. Not after I imposed on you throughout so much of the Apocalypse."
"You mean when you were making sure I had someone to keep me from living in a pigsty or from getting too depressed and puttin' a bullet in my brain?" At this, Castiel goes pale and looks up sharply. Was Bobby really…? "I had a loaded gun in my desk all the time, just in case," Bobby continues, "but between someone having to keep you from doing anything too stupid and promising Dean I wouldn't do anything stupid, I never did much more than look at it."
"I…didn't realize," he says after a moment. "I didn't think…"
"Damn right, you didn't think," Bobby huffs, but when Castiel can't do more than shift awkwardly and look away, the man's face softens. "But that's in the past now. Now, all that matters is what we do to fix this and what we can do to prevent it."
"Man, you're going soft, Bobby," Dean remarks from the front seat. "Getting all mushy and optimistic."
"You're one to talk," Bobby retorts. "Weren't you one of the ones hugging it out five minutes ago?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sammy, grab me a cassette tape, will ya?" Sam chuckles and Castiel watches as Sam pushes a tape into the Impala's sound system. A minute later, loud and rapidly-fluctuating radio waves burst from the radio, and Castiel struggles to figure out what is playing that is so unlike the loud but steady noise of Dean's usual taste in music. "What the—Celine Dion? Turn that crap off!"
Sam just laughs as Dean sputters and tries to eject the tape, though Sam's hands are preventing him from doing so effectively and the distracting is causing Dean to swerve partially into the other lane. Beside him, Bobby rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, every other sentence containing the word 'idjits' at least once. If Sam and Dean notice, they don't comment, too caught up in their argument about 'shotguns' and 'cakeholes'.
There, in the backseat of the Impala for the first time in a while, driving down a long and dark empty stretch of highway on the way back to Bobby Singer's house, which is quickly becoming like a second home to even him, Castiel is at rest in a way he has never been before. After all, there's no place he'd rather be than surrounded by his family.
-
Castiel isn't foolish enough to think that they'll suddenly trust him again now that they've seen him cry and hugged him. No, he still has a mountain of sins to try to atone for before he can even consider the idea that Sam and Dean and Bobby might forgive him. But he tries his best anyway.
He settles comfortably into Bobby's living room again, surrounding himself in stacks of books that he hopes might contain information on how to defeat an archangel. Everyone watches him warily whenever they're in the same room as him, as if wondering what he's thinking about going off and screwing up this time. But Castiel doesn't leave and answers any questions they ask him honestly. He's done hiding.
Crowley is…less than pleased when he finds out Castiel has backed out on their deal, but he says he always knew Castiel was too soft and spineless to actually pull it off. When Crowley hints that he will change partners and to work with Raphael instead, Castiel panics and smites him right there in the scrapyard, as he should have done long ago. When he goes back inside Bobby's house, he finds that his…his family was watching him, and all they can really do is smile and say 'good riddance' or something similar.
As the war in Heaven continues to rage and angels either flee or are killed, Gabriel, the only other archangel left, seemingly rises from the grave to kill Raphael. This is surprising, considering everyone not only thought he was dead, but the last time they'd seen him, he had refused to kill his brother. …Raphael always was everyone's least favorite archangel, anyway…
But Gabriel only resurfaces long enough to kill Raphael and doesn't bother sticking around after that to restore order or anything, instead choosing to go back to being the Trickster and living on metric tons of candy every day with the humans. Heaven is appalled. Castiel is thrilled that he's not the only angel on earth. And anyway, the angels can't call him an abomination for living amongst the humans when an archangel is doing the same thing, right?
Anyway, with the civil war in Heaven over now that the leader has died, most angels return to Heaven to reconvene and rebuild. The ones that have committed awful war crimes are sent to be reeducated, and Castiel can't help but pity them, even though many of the crimes were against him, the leader of the rebellion.
Still, Castiel is beyond surprised when an angel he recognizes as Hester appears next to him in Bobby's kitchen, where he's trying to coax the long spaghetti to cook evenly in the small pot; Bobby only has the necessary supplies to cook for one person, but with how frequently Sam and Dean are staying in his home now that there are no major issues they need to attend to, Castiel has a feeling bigger pots will be on the way.
(That's not to say they don't hunt, as Castiel often goes with them when they do, but he can tell that something has shifted and they are becoming more comfortable with 'laying low' and resting. That being said, Dean becomes 'stir-crazy' when he has to remain in Bobby's house for more than a few days, and Sam often likes to leave the house to go to the library and take a break from Dean. At the end of the day, Bobby has still set up a room for each of them and they still relax a little when they walk through the front door, no matter how long that peacefulness might last.)
"Castiel," she greets, and though she doesn't seem hostile, Castiel's hand drifts to his concealed angel blade on instinct, anyway.
He remains polite regardless. "Hello, Hester."
"Still living with your humans, I see," she remarks idly, poking at the overhanging spaghetti in the small pot. Castiel sees Sam come down the staircase with wet hair and a towel over his head, but the man stops short when he sees Castiel is not alone. "Why are you still here? You're not ordered to be here."
"I'm here because I want to be," he replies easily, stirring the pasta and trying to force the brittle sticks into the water. "No one is giving us orders anymore. We're free to do as we please, now." Until a controlling angel that thinks they can rule places themself in charge, at least. Not that Castiel will obey them, either.
He's tried to teach free will to angels before, but the results had…left something to be desired. Now, he thinks Hester is understanding it a little better, however. Or maybe she's just wondering why he's making pasta for three humans when he can smite demons with his hand and overturn mountains if he wants to.
"And this is what pleases you? Spinning pieces of pure carbohydrates around in a small pot of water?" Hester asks incredulously.
"Among other things, yes." Perhaps she doesn't understand, after all…
It's silent for a long moment before Hester says, "The angels are back in Heaven now. The war is over."
"Yes, I know. I'm glad."
"You're invited to come back." She adds, nodding at his pot and scrunching her vessel's face at it, "You don't have to do… that…anymore. You can even help lead Heaven if you wish. You were very formidable against Raphael."
"I was working with demons, Hester. I sincerely doubt anyone would want me back after they hear about that," Castiel says with a frown.
"We already knew. For quite some time," Hester tells him. "But the offer still stands. The angels are sheep. They need to be led. Will you be a shepherd?"
Castiel doesn't reply for a long moment, in which the noodles finally bow and dip into the boiling water. "I am not a shepherd, Hester," he eventually replies. "I am a sheep, as are you. And I have gone astray, but in the process, I have found a new flock, which I am…very fond of."
"What do you see in them, Castiel?" Hester huffs, looking a little angry. Castiel doesn't respond, wanting to see what answer she might come up with on her own. "You're lost, Castiel. Lost! And you have been from the second you touched Dean Winchester in Hell!"
"I was not lost, Hester," he says, turning to face her. "I was found." He stops stirring to get plates from Bobby's cupboard, but pauses and looks back at a contemplative if troubled Hester. "Will you be staying for dinner?"
"You fascinate me, Castiel," Hester eventually remarks, shaking her head. "I hope you come to your senses soon."
With that, Hester spreads her wings and flies away without another word. Castiel looks down regretfully at the five plates he had pulled out, longing for his brothers and sisters to understand. But…he knows they won't. He carefully sets one plate back inside for later, should they ever need it, and arranges the rest on the table.
"Hey, Cas," Sam begins, looking significantly more dry than he did a few minutes ago. Sam lingers by the pot of pasta before lifting the lid off the one beside it that holds the sauce—the one Castiel has been forbidden from touching after his latest kitchen disaster a few days ago (which, again, was due to unclear instructions). "Who was that?"
"Hester. An angel," he answers, peering down at the noodles. "Is this done yet? Half of it is very…flexible, but the other half is still stiff."
Sam just smiles and takes a look. A few minutes later, Dean comes down the stairs to dish out the pasta and apply a layer of sauce. Apparently, anything less than three meatballs per plate is a sin. Once Bobby is downstairs and they begin eating (even though Castiel no longer requires sustenance), Sam asks what Hester had wanted, which intrigues the unaware Dean and Bobby.
"Hester told me I was able to go back to Heaven, if I wish."
A sudden tension falls over the table. Finally, Dean questions, "And what'd you say?"
"I told her I wanted to stay here." Castiel glances away, adding hastily, "If you'll have me."
"You…you wanna stay here, living it up with the mud-monkeys?" Dean asks in disbelief. "Wow."
Castiel's face falls. "I-I'm sure she'll still let me go," he says hesitantly.
"What? I'm not saying I want you to go, man. I'm just surprised," Dean rushes to tell him. "I mean, we're just a coupla humans, and you gave up living in literal Heaven for that?"
"Yes."
"Why?" Sam asks curiously.
Castiel wants to look down, but forces himself to meet the eyes of everyone at the table. Finally, he answers, "Because you're family." And what could be worth more than that?