Chapter Text
The vampire hadn’t been difficult to track, or to kill. Nests in the Deep South were easy hunts. Times have changed; demons run around all over, and angels walk the earth, but some things will always remain the same. People still retain their instinctual fear of things that go bump in the night. The disappearance of cattle had raised the suspicions and tempers of a few in town, and when the first body turned up with gashes in its throat after that, well, the word witchcract was on the tip of everyone's tongue. But the wounds on the corpses said differedntly. The appearance of FBI agents barely hours after the death seemed perfectly natural to the townspeople. Livestock were vanishing, after all. This was much more important than anything going on in the godless cities of America. This bloody business obviously would not be tolerated. For Sam and Dean, the quickly appearing pitchforkes and torches, and the construction of a pyre right outside the diner were pretty sure signs of trouble. But in the end, it was easy. With a few assurances that their cows would be returned, unharmed to their rightful owners, and that this was not, in fact, the bloodmagic of a coven of witches, people began to be remarkably forthcoming with information about the attacks.
That, and the fact that old women are incredible gossips. Dean supposes that there’s not much else to do at that age. If he ever reaches eighty-five, he bets that the inevitable diabetes and arthritis won’t allow for fistfights with vampires.
But for now, it’s nice to have a night off the job. The shitty motel room is the same as always; poor lighting, questionable stains on the beds (and on the walls; he doesn’t want to know how those got there, although he can imagine pretty well), the TV playing one of those informercials that only appear at three o’clock in the morning. Sam sits on his bed disassembling his gun, carefully cleaning each individual part, the movements familiar and mechanic, just like Dad taught them.
The only change from any number of their set ups in various Motel 6’s a few years ago is the former angel perching on the chair in the corner. Dean smiles. Cas has adjusted to being human reasonably well, considering. He’s begun to grasp the fact that yes, he does need to eat, and sleep, and do all those other things that the presence of an angel inside a vessel rendered unnecessary. It’s the little parts of humanity that he has trouble with, like the fact that his back does not have to be ramrod straight whenever he sits down. Slowly, Dean is learning the angel, all over again, beginning to sepparate the angelic bits from that parts that are just Cas. Some things just never change.
It’s a quiet, domestic evening. Or as close to domestic as any hunter ever gets. In the comfortable silence, Dean thinks he could be happy with this. Not a normal life, just moments like these, though they are few, and far between.
He looks over the news page of science daily, looking for electrical storms. Always pretty sure signs, as far as demon omens go. He scrolls past the article on the mating habits of female sharks, a Finish discovery of a new dinosaur skeleton, and past another article with a blue flicker of a picture that barely even makes an impression before its gone. He scrolls back up to the one he missed.
“Whoa. Hey Sammy, check this out-”
Reassembling the gun, Sam rises and wanders over to warily peek at the screen from over Dean’s shoulder.
“Huh,” Sam says, relieved, “Not animated porn. Progress, Dean. It’s all about baby steps.”
Dean glares.
Sam’s gaze returns to the screen, and his expression changes from amusement, to awe.
It’s a collection of photographs, very National Geographic. But Dean’s never seen stars like this before, not even on the clearest nights, when he and Sam lean against the hood of the Impala, 600 miles from anywhere, the air filled with the sound of crickets. Those are nothing compared to this. Sure, he went to middle school, he understands that stars are really just giant balls of gas floating up in space. He’s known that for years. But these aren’t just stars. They’re galaxies, vast, floating and infinite. Thousands of them, huge and multicolored, spinning through out space. White epicenters with stars of a million hues circling towards their pull. There are so many of them, so many colors; reds, greens, blues, yellows, purples all swirling together to create something…amazing. It makes Dean feel small, and insignificant compared to the expanse of the universe. Like he’s not even the barest speck of dust against an entire cosmos of shifting energy. He likes it.
It’s been a long time since Dean used the word unbelievable. He hasn't even used "doubtful", not since they found out Cas could do the splits (but they don't talk about that. They will NEVER talk about that, ever ever again). Hell, they grapple with a dozen impossible things before dinner. Dean thought he’d become desensitized to the awe inspiring. But it seems he’s still learning, and coming face to face with new impossibilities each day. What’s one more?
But no matter what he says, it is a nice change that this new discovery isn’t trying to rip his face off.
These photos really are unbelievable.
Cas wanders over with a mildly curious look on his face (he still doesn’t really understand the computer, or much technology at all, for that matter, although he continues to deny it. Dean once caught him googling “why are the birds angry?” after Sam had bitched about Dean beating his Angry Birds score. Dean grins fondly to himself). Cas gazes over Sam’s shoulder to view the screen. His eyes widened slightly, and a soft smile settles over his features.
“Human are truly remarkable creatures. I never believed it could be possible to capture such an image of one of us.”
Sam’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, “One of you?”
“Yes,” Castiel nods, “The angels. In our true forms. Well, only a partially physical manifestation, you understand. Our real forms are not compatible with this plane of existence.”
“So angels…are stars?” Dean frowns.
“In a manner of speaking, I suppose,” Castiel responds. He reaches forwards to gentle tough the screen. “I did not think I would ever see them again.”
Sam and Dean exchange glances. The meteor shower last fall hangs heavy in the room. None of the stars seemed to have disappeared but then again, their light takes years to reach Earth. Perhaps in another thousand or so after the fall, they will finally vanish from the sky. Cas lowers his hand, and glances down. None of them speak for a moment.
Then Sam points to the screen at a red and golden swirling galaxy, “Who’s this one?”
The same, soft smile returns to Cas’ face, “That is Sameal. His true form was one of the brightest in all of heaven. He fought together,”
Cas’ smile widens, “He was a good soldier.”
Dean points to the next one, “And that?”
“Orifiel. She trained several members in my garrison, when they were only fledglings.”
“And that?”
The two men and the former angel spend the next two hours huddled around Sam’s computer screen, taking turns pointing at pictures and asking Cas about them, as the sun slowly begins to rise. Cas tells them the name of the angel, and sometimes, if they’re lucky, a story about them, some from angel lore, some from his own memory.
The sun had almost risen fully when Sam clicked on the last one. For a minute, there was complete silence. Dean was speechless.
These stars were ethereal blues and purples, and other shades of blue that the world “cornflower blue” or “ocean blue” were definitely too dull to describe. They were every color, from the morning sky to the six thousand feet below the surface of the ocean, down where it’s cold, and stunted creatures live and die without sunlight. All of the others had been nothing compared to this. This… Dean could believe that this was an angel. An all powerful being, watching over humanity (yeah, yeah, yeah, angels are dicks and all, but…this one was different. More…blue. He doesn’t know how to describe it).
“Wow…” Dean breathed, “That’s gotta be one seriously badass angel. Cas…?”
Castiel observes the photograph with that look on his face, the head-tilted-slightly-to-the-side-squinty-eyed one. Dean knew Cas. He had seen those looks before (Cas had as many variations of that look as Sam did bitchfaces). He had probably spent too much time carefully cataloguing each expression, and exactly what it meant. And the look on Cas’ face now… he looked caught between wonder and lost.
He’d been staring for to long.
Dean cleared his throat, “Cas, who is that?”
Ancient eyes met his own. For a moment, Dean could see the galaxies spinning through space and time, rotating through a universe bigger than his mind could ever comprehend. Cas spoke.
“That one…that one was Castiel.”