Chapter Text
“Jack.”
Dean swallowed when his kid-slash-God turned to face him, as he looked into those eyes and really saw, for the first time, the inestimable vastness of the being he was speaking to.
“Dean,” Jack said evenly, with a barely-there smile on the corner of his mouth, like he knew what Dean was about to say.
Hell, maybe he did. Didn’t take Godhood to know how Dean Winchester’s mind worked.
“You’ve gotta bring him back,” Dean said, quiet enough to control the tremble of his voice. Jack wasn’t Chuck, Dean didn’t need to bargain or convince him how important Cas was or how much he deserved to live. Cas was even more Jack’s dad than Dean or Sam, of course he’d bring Cas back. Dean had no good reason to feel this fucking terrified.
Jack nodded slightly, like he’d expected the words, and Dean exhaled when the kid didn’t argue, when he just closed his eyes with a look of concentration.
The cautious relief that had begun to unfurl in Dean’s chest withered when a furrow appeared between Jack’s brows. “I can’t,” he said slowly.
“What? Why?” Dean demanded, and the words wanted to be angry but they came out pleading. He felt Sam shift closer, felt the touch of a hand on his elbow, but he brushed it off. “Chuck was able to yank Lucifer out of the Empty, why can’t you just do the same thing for Cas?”
“It’s the deal he made,” Jack said, and his face was agonized enough that Dean pinched his lips shut. “Cas consented to be taken. He… he belongs to the Empty now.”
A sick feeling roiled in Dean's stomach, tightened the back of his throat like he might puke. Cas had fought for so long just to be free from control, free to make his own choices and live his own life, and the thought of the angel being imprisoned in a lightless cage, at the mercy of a very angry cosmic entity, filled Dean with hot, panicked urgency.
Dean’s hands curled into helpless fists. “Well, then just - just pop me into the Empty so I can find Cas and get him to unconsent!”
“Nothing human can exist in the Empty,” Jack immediately replied, shaking his head. “It would just - spit you back out, and probably kill you in the process.”
“Then -” Dean pulled in a deep breath. Made his choice. “Then make me not human.”
“Dean!” Sam interjected, but Dean didn’t have the patience for this conversation here and now.
“You’d do it,” Dean said roughly. His eyes swung over to pin his little brother with a look of raw desperation. “For Eileen. You’d do it for her.”
Sam’s mouth fell open as he rocked back on his heels, as surprise and a tiny sliver of hurt flashed over his face, but he didn’t say anything else.
“You want me to… turn you into an angel?” Jack said, and hell, it was a tiny bit satisfying to be able to shock God himself.
Dean shifted, and admittedly, he hesitated for a second. This was… fuck, he didn’t want to do this. Michael’s possession of his body was still a pink-skinned scar on Dean’s soul, and what Dean really wanted now, more than anything, was just to be fucking normal. And normalcy was right beyond their fingertips with Chuck brought down, but the fact was, there would be no such thing as normal, much less happy, without Cas.
Nobody came up with another suggestion in Dean’s moment of hesitation, and Cas’s blood was still burning a hole through his shoulder, despite the jacket bearing the angel’s handprint currently hanging in his closet. Dean could still feel it pressing on his skin.
He nodded once. “If that’s what it takes to get Cas back.”
“Dean.” Sam’s voice was gentle this time, and that was worse.
“Sammy, I have to do this.” Dean finally turned to face his brother, to face the fact that he was asking Sam to lose his son to Godhood and risk losing his brother entirely at the same time, just after losing his best friend and his girl. Sam’s eyes were red and wet, and Dean hated making this harder, but it was time for both of them to go find their - their people.
“I have to get him back,” Dean said quietly, and he knew that his face was giving everything away, but what did it matter anymore? If Dean had just stopped hiding and running from this a long time ago, things might have been different.
Sam stared at him for a long, heavy second, but finally he dropped his eyes and nodded. “Yeah,” Sam said, hoarse and resigned. “Yeah, I know.”
Swallowing, Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, pressed them into Sam’s hand as he stepped forward to curl his other arm around the giant’s shoulders. “You go find Eileen,” he rasped, “and we’ll meet you back at the bunker as soon as we can, alright?”
Both of Sam’s long arms wrapped around him in a spine-poppingly tight squeeze, and Dean patted his back.
This time, Dean had every intention of coming back, but it was comforting nonetheless to know that if the worst happened, Sam could manage without him. It wasn’t just the two of them anymore.
When Dean stepped back, he pulled up a brave smile that Sam no doubt saw through, but it wouldn’t help if he just admitted how much it scared him to alter the very fabric of his being. This wasn’t self-sacrifice, Dean told himself, it was just… self-transformation.
Cas would do the same thing for him. Had done the same thing for him.
“Okay, kid,” Dean said, with enough bravado to straighten his back and hold his head up high. “Angel me up.”
As he braced his legs for whatever was about to hit him, Dean thought about how his body had been created to house an archangel. He met Jack’s kind eyes and said, more softly, “Make me strong enough to save him.”
Jack nodded, and the world around them seemed to slow and dim - not that the people walking down the street were taking much notice of what was happening anyway. The young God held out his closed hand between them, and when his fingers opened, a pale blue glow sat in the middle of his palm.
The Grace began to reach its misty tendrils towards its intended host, and Dean had to screw his feet to the pavement to keep himself still. Had to force himself not to instinctively reach for a weapon as the Grace swirled into his face.
“Fuck,” Dean whispered, then shut his eyes and opened his mouth.
He felt it glide between his lips, over his tongue, cold like peppermint and hot like a fever. It was alien and fundamentally antithetical to Dean’s human body, he very nearly choked on it, but it sank down his throat smoother than any liquor to curl in his belly like a living, pulsing star.
Dean had two seconds to think Is that it? before he felt himself explode.
Not in pieces, but in power.
A scream ripped out of Dean’s throat, the sound of mortal flesh burning up under the nuclear bomb going off in his chest; blinding light flared out of his skin simultaneous to a shockwave that would have destroyed the town if Jack hadn’t held up his hands to contain it.
As quickly as the excruciating pain had erupted, it disappeared, sucking back in on itself and leaving Dean -
No, actually, he wasn’t gasping, he wasn’t bent over with his hands on his knees like he expected, he wasn’t even shaking. Dean stood perfectly straight and still, and for some reason, the very first thing he noticed was that he wasn’t in any pain at all, for the first time he could remember.
There was no strain in his lower back, no ache in his right knee, no crick in his neck, no dull pressure at his temples - all the little things that lingered or came back even after Cas or Jack had healed him. Nothing hurt.
Dean blinked, and look around slowly. He could…
He could feel the clusters of atoms vibrating all around them, he could feel the dividing of his own cells; he could feel the particles of light hitting his face and the buzz of radio frequencies against his ears. He could feel the earth rotating beneath him, the whole solar system spinning on its journey through the galaxy. He could feel the way time moved ever so slightly faster above his head than at his feet.
Looking at the people passing by on the sidewalk, Dean could see how small yet magnificent they were. Such short, tiny existences, but each one unique, each one capable of everyday miracles like love and trust and hope. They were so flawed, full of petty grievances and limping with trauma, and they were perfect.
In his distraction, Dean hardly realized what was happening until his weight shifted, automatically counterbalancing as three pairs of wings were born between his shoulder blades, heavy and weightless all at once.
Dean craned his head to look, to watch as they unfolded and stretched out until each black feather reflected grass-green in the sunshine, and a helpless laugh shook out of him.
The power and the wings and the celestial perspective were things he’d experienced before, but only as a crushed, gagged passenger in his body, a weak prisoner forced to witness his own hands committing atrocities - none of it had ever been his. This body, this power, these wings, all of it was Dean.
“Awesome,” Dean murmured.
He saw Sam then, leaning on the Impala for support and staring at Dean with a mixture of awe and horror. Dean smiled at him, and it was real this time.
Everything seemed so much clearer now, so much simpler and easier. None of the shit he’d been hung up on actually mattered.
“I love you, Sammy,” Dean said, marveling at how effortless it was to say the words. “And I…”
He pulled in a breath he didn’t actually need, just to feel the loose freedom inside his chest. “I love Cas.”
Dean smiled, a joyful grin that lit up his whole face. “I love Cas,” he said again, tears spilling down his cheeks as he realized that Cas had been right. That there was happiness in just saying it.
For so long Dean had been burying those words as deep as he could, digging graves of shame in the certainty that his love was a poisonous thing that cursed anyone it touched. Even when Dean had grown out of his father’s shadow just, just enough to admit to himself that he liked men (or man-shaped beings, whatever) as much as he liked women, he had never thought that offering up his angry, rotten heart to an angel, a hero like Cas was even an - an option.
It was so easy to see, now, that love was never shameful.
Love was the glue that held the universe together and the spark that took a lump of matter and made it alive. Even imperfect love was worth having, worth giving.
Sam was still staring at him, but the fear was slowly receding behind a tentative answering smile. “I know, Dean,” he said softly, like a blessing. He straightened and cautiously stepped closer, looking torn between staring at Dean’s wings and Dean’s smile. Despite his obviously lingering uncertainty, Sam reached out to clap his brother on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man.”
It had been years since Dean had really thought that Sam would judge him, but the approval still warmed and settled something in his heart, angel or not. Knowing that Sam would be happy to see them together let Dean stand just a tiny bit taller.
Dean was opening his mouth to say Thanks when Sam nodded, like he had decided something. “Now go tell him that.”
Another laugh broke out of the newborn angel, and he swiped at Sam with one of his less-powerful wings. "Bitch."
Tears gleamed in Sam's eyes as he smiled. "Jerk."