Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Shaken by a cooling gust, a petal flutters downward and sticks to the sweaty skin on the back of Castiel’s neck.

When he looks up, he sees a giant apple tree, the flowers still blooming in the late-May weather, but already, hundreds or perhaps even thousands of tiny petals litter the ground.

Human now, his vessel—his body—is limited in its endurance. He pauses his run to breathe deeply and admire the cycle of nature. Growth. Death. Rebirth. It helps him feel closer to his father’s creations, including the one he loves most.

Closing his eyes, he turns to the east. The late spring morning still holds a chill, but the rising sun that blazes red behind his eyelids also warms his face, the dichotomy bearing witness to his renewed humanity. The crisp, sweet air rushing into his lungs in the brief moment of calm settles him. In a moment, the birds will burst into song, and the rest of the world will come alive along with him.

It's worlds away from a storage room in Rexford, Idaho, the memory less painful with time and distance.

Before he thinks too long on the memory, a teasing voice echoes in his head saying, "It's not good to dwell on the past, Cassie!" (Whether that voice was Gabriel’s or Balthazar’s, he can’t remember.) He sighs, and continues running to distract himself.

Just as he predicted, the birds begin their morning song, and neighbors soon emerge to start their day. He waves at the few who notice him until he reaches a familiar house. He smiles as a golden shaggy dog happily trots out the front door, followed by her yawning, half-dressed owner, Dean.

"You do know only psychopaths and delinquents go on early morning runs, right?" Dean shouts out to him, squinting against the early morning sun with a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Cas just shrugs as he slows to a stop on the sidewalk. "Well then, which one am I?" he asks, a bit breathless. He’ll blame it on his jog if anyone asks but, run or not, he always seems to have trouble breathing properly around this particular neighbor. Not that it’s anything he would admit to.

Dean openly ogles Castiel.

Cas shifts his weight as heat rises in his cheeks. Dean’s dog clambors down the steps of his porch towards the dilapidated gate, the only thing standing between Cas and 80 pounds of dog.

"Delinquent," Dean says after catching up to his dog and calming her down. She sits by his side, happily wagging her tail.

Castiel frowns, dread bubbling up in his gut. He can’t know about…?

"I don’t know," Dean leers at him again. "Something about you makes me think you were a bit of a bad boy."

Castiel relaxes, but only minutely.

"Why don't you find out for yourself?" Castiel smirks with a hesitant note in his voice, afraid he'll scare Dean away for good. He's pleased and a bit surprised to see a beautiful blush forming on Dean's cheeks.

"Oh, yeah? Maybe I will," Dean playfully challenges him, his dog still looking very much at home sitting there, pressed up closely against Dean's leg.

What a tantalizing sight they make, Dean all soft and bed-ruffled in the morning daylight with his dog looking like she wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

They are everything Castiel wishes he could have.

"I... we could..." begins Castiel, stammering. He didn't expect Dean to actually respond to his tiny advance of a flirt, and suddenly he's in the pull of his way-too-fast speech. Now if his brain would please turn back on, that would be wonderful, thank you very much.

"Maybe we should..."

"I should..." they both speak at the same time and Dean laughs readily as the corners of Castiel's lips tug up slightly.

Dean recovers first. "I was thinking, maybe we should hang ou—"

Movement in the corner of Castiel’s eye causes him to jerk around, hands flying up, ready to defend himself if necessary, only to find Dean’s elderly neighbor walking down her drive. Heart rate still elevated, sweat sticking to his too-hot skin, Castiel scans the surrounding area. Searching for places someone can easily hide or anywhere a flash of metal could come from: a tree or neighboring rooftop.

A hand grips his shoulder from behind. Without thinking, Castiel grabs the offending wrist and twists as hard as he can, forcing the attacker to their knees.

"Cas! CAS!" Dean cries out, looking up from his spot on the ground. "It’s just me. Please!" Dean’s dog is by his side trying to both comfort and defend him from Castiel. The sight is enough to snap Castiel out of attack mode and he quickly releases Dean’s wrist.

"I— I’m sorry. I need to go." Castiel steps back, then back again, before breaking off in as fast of a sprint as he can. He doesn’t turn around to look behind. He doesn’t check to see if he’s been followed. The only thoughts going through his head are of regret and what could have been.

Castiel isn't tempted to take advantage of Dean's memory block. He would never do that to him. Castiel picks up his pace and focuses on his breathing, on the percussion of his running shoes hitting pavement. His heart soon beats steadily with the exertion.

His mind refuses to settle.

When he gets home, he sits down. Picks up a book. Flips through the pages without really reading before tossing it to the side.

He sort of putters around his house, his eyes drifting to the window where, if he looks out, he knows he'd be able to see the spot where Dean just was.

No matter what he does, he can't stop thinking about him. He finally takes a peek outside the window, almost half hoping that Dean and his dog would still be there—

—but, of course, Dean isn't there. Dean probably left a while ago.

He turns away, thoughts churning. He’d sworn to himself that, this time, it would be different. That he wouldn’t let Dean get hurt again because of him. That he’d be able to keep his distance if Dean didn’t know who he really was.

Who they really were.

But the man is a damned lodestone and Castiel naught but a meteorite cast from the heavens, drawn to him by sacred design. He should have known better than to think he’d be able to resist Dean for long, especially vacant of grace and haggard of wing.

Working from home translating ancient texts gives Castiel ample time to obsess over the morning's exchange. Too much time, if he's being honest with himself. He keeps drifting back to the window, hoping this time will be the time that he sees Dean, confirms with his own two eyes that the man isn't too rattled from Castiel's violence and abrupt departure. Dean's '67 Impala stays parked in the driveway, and there seems to be no sign of movement from within the house.

The warm light of the setting sun softens the neighborhood before Dean finally steps out to walk Taylor.

Only two steps away from their fenced yard Taylor immediately flops over on the road verge to roll in the tree’s fallen white petals. Castiel smiles as Dean rolls his eyes and starts talking to the contented pup. Probably saying something like, "Really? We haven’t even made it past the block."

This isn’t creepy right? For Castiel to be watching the man he had attacked just a few hours ago through his window? Perhaps if he got caught, it would be.

And just as luck would have it, Dean turns and locks eyes with the man in the window.

"Shit," Cas mutters, dramatically falling to the ground, flattening himself against the hardwood. He could have just moved a few inches to his left or right, no need for the dramatics, but here he lies, staring at his old, scratched and uneven flooring feeling like a total idiot.

Before he can berate himself much, a light, yet persistent tapping reverberates off the glass pane above him. When he chances a glance up at the window, Dean is peering down at him, an amused grin on his face.

Well, if he hadn’t felt like an idiot before, he certainly does now.

Dean disappears from his window, and Castiel lets out a very relieved sigh. Finally, he thinks, something goes right today.

Unfortunately, his relief is very short-lived. No sooner than Cas relaxed did someone knock on the door.

Castiel all but prays it isn’t Dean who knocked and curses when he opens the door and comes face to face with the man.

"Hey, Cas," Dean grins, his tone saturated in amusement. "What’re you up to?" He goes so far as to cross his arms and raise his eyebrows.

"I was looking for my…porn...collection?"

"Your porn collection?" Dean asks in a suspicious tone, already looking like he knew exactly how full of shit Castiel really was. "And you just keep your porn collection under your window to, what, give it a little space?"

"Um, no, of course not, I just— well, I forgot that I've already shifted my porn collection to the bedroom, as it should be. You know, the porn. And the things."

Dean just raises an eyebrow again, the blatant look of disbelief escaping neither of their notices.

After a few moments of just staring at each other, Dean softly smiles and, with a roll of his eyes, asks, "Aside from your porn collection, what else do you keep in your bedroom?"

Castiel doesn’t think he’s imagining the way Dean’s soft smile turns into a feral smirk, but there’s no way Dean is flirting with him. Right? Either way, the question leaves Castiel flustered, completely unprepared to talk about his bedroom with Dean of all people. As panic sets in, Castiel glances around the room, desperately searching for something to say. Feeling his cheeks start to heat, Castiel turns his attention to his feet and blurts the first thing he comes up with. "My pants!"

Dean blinks. "Your pants?"

"Yes. I work from home," Castiel says in the most matter-of-fact tone he can muster. "Working from home means not wearing pants."

Dean's eyes scan downward and back up again. He opens his mouth to say something. Taylor chooses that moment to butt forward past her owner, her shaggy head bumping a greeting right into Castiel's crotch.

He's grateful for the interruption and reaches to scratch Taylor behind her ears. "Can I give her a treat?" he asks Dean. Castiel takes a step back from the doorway, and Taylor follows, her ears perked up.

"Well, now you've done it," Dean teases. "She's gonna want to stop here every time we go for a walk."

"I, um. I wouldn't mind."

Taylor follows Castiel into the kitchen. Dean, however, stops in the living room.

"Can I give her peanut butter?" Castiel asks Dean.

Dean shrugs. "Go for it."

Castiel takes out a knife and brings out a dollop of peanut butter. Even before he sets it down, Taylor has already pushed her nose onto Castiel's hand, taking the knife with her.

"So, um," Castiel says awkwardly, "What are you— What do you— What brings you here? Here, I mean. I mean, not my house, here, but why did you— Why did you move to Lawrence?"

Blowing out a breath, Dean replies, "To be completely honest, I'm not really sure. I guess... I just felt a pull towards this place. What about you?"

So, Dean thinks he chose to move here on his own. That’s good. It means Castiel’s terrible lying skills, foolishly bringing up the one event that might trigger Dean’s repressed memories, haven’t cost them everything. Because if Dean remembers why they’re really here and what happened before, if he remembers just who they’re running from, he’ll leave. Jump right back into his car and drive directly into the danger as always.

Thankful Dean can’t see his giveaway expression from the kitchen, Castiel forces another lie in answer. "I, uh, just needed a change of pace." He cringes at himself. Hopefully Dean can't see right through his transparent attempt to remember the cover story he devised. He hadn't expected to be faced with the man up close so soon. However, Dean appears not to notice.

"Got tired of being somewhere that required, uh...pants, huh?" Dean asks with a wry twist to his smile. His hands are buried in the fur behind Taylor's ear now, not even noticing that she's smeared peanut butter on the leg of his own pants. Castiel can't stop his own answering smile at the two of them, comfortable in his living room.

Castiel knows this is dangerous. Every conversation with Dean is like a ticking time bomb for him to remember everything. Castiel knows the risks in being so close to Dean, and he knows that whatever life they had before was gone. Nothing. A pleasant dream at best.

Still… he can't help himself from wishing at this moment. Wishing that Dean and Taylor could stay here longer. Wishing he could tell Dean everything. No awkward lies. No random excuses. Just the two of them. Talking. Like… normal people for once…

"Cas?" Dean's voice sounds worried, and that's when Castiel realizes he had been sitting there staring at Dean unblinking, unmoving.

"Uh, shit, sorry…zoned out a bit." Cas chuckles awkwardly. "What did you say?"

"You sure you’re okay?" Dean asks while scratching behind Taylor’s ears, her tongue lolling out of her mouth with a contented glaze over her eyes. As Cas watches, she slowly melts into the floor, rolling over to her back, paws straight up in the air, causing both him and Dean to laugh, breaking the underlying tension that had begun to fill the room.

Cas slides down to the floor next to her to provide the belly rubs she is so clearly begging for.

"Yes, I’m fine," Castiel blurts out when he remembers Dean asked him a question and racks his brain for an excuse. "My mind is elsewhere because of...work."

Not a total lie, he thinks.

Dean sits down on the other side of Taylor and rubs her belly as well.

They stay quiet for a few moments and Castiel basks in Dean’s presence. He does his best to avoid Dean’s eyes, worried if he looks into them too long he’ll end up "spilling the beans," but he can’t help himself; before he knows it, he’s gazing into Dean’s eyes.

It’s not until Cas feels something warm that he looks down to find Dean’s hand on top of his. He’s about to apologize when Dean speaks up.

"Sorry, but, uh, have we met before?" Dean asks, the red in his cheeks making his freckles stand out.

"I'm sorry, what?" Castiel squeaks out, his eyes widening in panic.

"I mean, don't think of me as a creep or anything but, I dunno, I feel like I know you. And not just know you as in exchanging neighbourly greetings know you, but like I know you, you know? Is that crazy?" Dean's rants are still as cute as they have always been, and it tugs at Castiel's heart to have to lie to him.

But he knows he has to. Even if it kills him inside, he knows he has to. So that's exactly what he does.

"Maybe we ran into each other a few times at the farmers market?" he speaks hesitantly, hoping it sounds believable enough. The warm hand on his does little to calm his racing heart, and the lie burns inside him like a red-hot rod. But the truth is too heinous. The truth would make Dean hate him, and he can't and won't risk that very thing. Dean is just beginning to trust him again and to give him that smile he has missed so dearly these past few years.

Dean frowns as if trying to remember, and Castiel jerkily wonders if Dean even visits that market. Past Dean would never, but past Dean would also not smile at him like this Dean does. Castiel’s heart continues to pound as he waits for that smile he loves so much to return. Instead, he watches as Dean slowly removes his hand from his and Castiel’s stomach sinks to the floor. No, no please don't leave me he begs.

"Yeah, the market. That must be it," Dean says, standing with a smile, fake and forced this time. The words leave Castiel feeling hollow even though this is what he wanted, Dean to still be safely in the clear. "I should probably get back to it." Dean brushes his hands off on his pants, cringing slightly when his fingers find the peanut butter Taylor smeared on the fabric.

"Of course, Dean." Castiel turns so Dean can’t see the reluctant relief on his face. "Let me get you something to wipe your hand off with before you go."

"Don’t worry about it, Cas." Dean sounds so disheartened, and Castiel wants nothing more than to turn around and comfort him—consequences be damned. "Tay’s just happy to have more peanut butter to enjoy."

Castiel swallows and nods before turning back around.

It takes courage Castiel didn't know he still possessed to bring his eyes up to meet Dean's, but he isn't looking at Castiel. His eyes are trained on Castiel's face, but he's looking into him instead. Looking one last time for the lie.

The attention makes Castiel squirm.

Then, Dean blinks and shakes his head. His brows crease and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "We should— we should let you get back to work. Come on, Tay." Dean whistles low, turning toward the door. Taylor whines but follows.

Over his shoulder Dean says, "See you at the market, Cas."

Shit, Dean thinks.

As he walks away from Cas, from the make-believe life Cas has taken as real, guilt and regret bubble in Dean's gut. The play acting—all the outright passes, all the flirting—that he couldn't do before, is fun. Until it isn't.

Cas isn't an angel anymore. He held up in the fray until Dean could fight his way to him, but it was only because Cas was willing to give up his grace that they got out of the fight with their lives. They beat the odds, but the confrontation took its toll. Cas had been like an empty vessel, afterward. The guilt wrecked Dean. They were both paying for his choice.

This neighbors-in-suburbia scenario was supposed to have been like a vacation, to give them whatever time they needed to get back to normal. Sam encouraged it.

Dean wasn't too sure about the idea in the beginning, but eventually Sam wore him down. Taylor was what really sold the deal for him.

Besides, even though Dean would never admit it, he's always dreamed about living the apple pie life.

And ever since he met Cas... Well.

He shoves that thought away.

Once, perhaps, he might've had the chance to have that sort of life. Two dogs, white-picket fences, and all that. But he only wants that kind of life with Cas. And he can't take advantage of Cas, can't ruin his life.

Not again.

Dean walks back towards his home with a lot less pep in his step than when he’d left. He pauses to let Taylor piddle beside a tree before resuming their short journey down the street, his hands crammed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. He’d really hoped Cas would take the opportunity he’d given him. That he’d break the charade and at least acknowledge what they used to have—or, what Dean thought they had.

Whether Cas realizes that Dean has his memories or not, Dean doesn’t understand why he would keep their past from him.

Cas must be savoring his independence after all. No more angel powers means no longer being responsible for cleaning up after Dean's messes. And Dean can make some really huge messes. He tries not to think of that final mess, the one that landed them here, in what should be suburban utopia. It's just another version of purgatory, though, without Cas at his side.

Reaching the end of their dead-end street, Dean stops for a moment to let Taylor roll around in her favourite spot. Even watching her glee doesn't raise his spirits the way it normally does. He's too keenly aware of what's missing.

"You’re lucky, you know that?" Dean sighs at Taylor, who stands up to inspect her favorite spot before starting a second rolling session. "You don’t have to worry about all of this crap. You just need food and water and a good walk." Taylor looks up at Dean and snorts. "And belly rubs." She continues rolling. "Yeah… no worries about saving the world or lying to people you care about."

Taylor lifts her head and pants happily at Dean. He smiles back at her until she jerks her head to the right and lets out a low growl. Dean’s eyes snap over to where Taylor is focused, searching the dense trees for movement or any indication of why the hell his dog is suddenly on high alert. Seeing nothing, he grabs her leash and redirects her attention back toward the house, their pace a bit quicker and more purposeful.

Dean knows he’s being ridiculous, knows it was probably just a squirrel or a rabbit or some other woodland creature. He’s sure it wasn’t anything really dangerous. So why won’t his hands stop shaking nor his heart rate settle back down once they are back inside, doors locked and windows closed?

Dean takes a deep breath, trying to regulate his breathing back to somewhat normal again. In. Out. In. Out. He's almost calm again when he feels something stroke his legs and looks down to find Tay looking back up at him with her head tilted to the side and her paws on his legs. The small Cas-like gesture is enough to snap him out of whatever state of panic he was in and reminds him he's got not just himself but also her to look after now.

"Hey, Sweetheart. I'm sorry if I scared you. It's okay. Everything's fine. Nothing's gonna happen to you or me; we're gonna be just fine here." Dean rocks them both together, hugging her to his chest with his arms around her and hiding his face in her fur to murmur calm and soothing words in her ear, hoping he could for once also believe everything he's telling her.

Taking a break in his work for the day, Cas steps outside and opens his mailbox to rifle through the junk mail. As he shuffles through postcards for businesses he’ll never frequent and coupons for items he isn’t interested in buying, a feeling crawls over his skin, a sensation of someone watching him. He looks up and down the street. It's quiet, empty. The woods behind the houses seem darker than they should be, shadows cast longer than they should be even with the setting sun.

His eyes are drawn to Dean's home. As the front door opens, Dean's and Cas's gazes lock, blue eyes meeting green. Cas's heart is still beating a tattoo loud to his ears, but his apprehension melts. Dean jogs across the street until he is standing in front of Cas, Taylor at his side.

"All done working, Cas?" Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, Taylor’s leash hanging from his wrist.

"Yes. I think I was going cross-eyed looking at all that information, so I stepped out to grab the mail. And it was the strangest thing just now," Castiel says, remembering how he’d seen Dean and Taylor in the distance as they paused in their walk home earlier, stock-still and staring off into the treeline. "I could have sworn there was something— or someone watching me from the woods. Did you… did you see anything on your way back?"

Dean hesitates as if fighting with himself about what to say, but his face quickly shifts. "No, not really. Why?"

"I'm part of the neighborhood watch," Cas deflects, making an attempt to lighten the mood. "Have to keep on top of suspicious activity."

Dean smirks, his head bobbing slightly. "Neighborhood watch, huh?"

"Yes," Castiel says seriously.

"Doesn't look like there's a whole hell of a lot to watch out for here, Cas. You must be doing a great job."

Dean's eyes are shining in amusement, and, caught again in his tide, Castiel adds, "Thank you for the compliment."

Dean's laugh is the most beautiful sound. Castiel is distracted by it until he realizes he’s staring at Dean again, their conversation having gone silent.

Taylor tugs on her leash, keen to be moving along. "Walk with us," Dean suggests. Castiel is about to decline the offer, but his stomach growls so loudly that Dean doesn’t pretend not to hear it. "I’m gonna pick up a few things and then make dinner. You like burgers, right?"

"I couldn’t—" Castiel starts.

"Don’t hurt my feelings, Cas," Dean lures. "Come on, you never even borrow a cup of sugar. What kind of neighbors are we?"

The embarrassing truth is that Castiel keeps forgetting to buy provisions, and the only thing in his cupboards is an open jar of peanut butter. "Okay. I accept your gracious offer." He tells himself he’s not saying yes because he misses watching Dean eat.

"Awesome."

The only place open within walking distance is the Gas-n-Sip. It’s a ten-minute round trip for a six-pack of beer, a bag of coffee, canned whipped cream, and two slices of pie in triangular plastic containers. A commercial on the store’s TV prompts a conversation about movie sequels. Castiel volunteers to carry the purchases on the way back because Taylor makes use of her evening walk and Dean ends up busy with the clean up. Again, the familiarity of it all fills Castiel with longing. This time, he lets himself enjoy the domesticity. Walking together is different enough to be worth appreciating. In the past, when he and Dean had ended up under a night sky, they were typically killing something.

Castiel has never been in Dean’s house. Like Castiel’s, it is a two-story farmhouse with signs of late 20th century remodeling. Dean’s house is cleaner than Castiel’s. The floors gleam and his kitchen is spotless. After Dean feeds Taylor, she runs off to the living room and settles in with a chew toy.

Out of habit, Castiel slides onto a barstool at the counter, staying out of Dean’s way while he cooks. He asks, as an afterthought, "Can I help with anything?"

Dean is pulling out covered containers from the refrigerator: washed lettuce, sliced red onions, uncooked patties of seasoned ground beef. "Nah. Got most of it prepped already." He puts a couple of cast iron pans on the electric burners. After a few minutes, the thick burger patties go in one. When he’s flipped the burgers, he puts the buttered buns on the other pan to grill.

Dean pops the caps off of two of the beer bottles. "Point Break’s free to watch for the month. We can take our burgers and beers to the couch."

Cas grabs one of the bottles, and sits down on his sofa, as Dean queues up the movie.

As he fiddles with the remote, Dean can feel Cas staring at him. He swallows.

It's a good thing that he chose a movie he was familiar with because, while Cas is enraptured by the movie, Dean can't help but stare at him.

Johnny Utah is throwing his FBI badge into the ocean and the credits come up before Dean realizes that two hours have passed. He doesn't know what to say to Cas, but even though it's getting dark, he doesn't want him to leave.

Dean cues up another movie. This time, he decides to take advantage of his supposed memory loss - this Dean doesn't know he hates chick flicks - and navigates straight to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Lisa made him watch it once, and he thinks it may be exactly what Cas needs right now. That thought doesn't stop his heart from kicking into overdrive as he presses play on the remote, before settling back on the couch.

Burgers demolished, pie reduced to crumbs stuck in tacky smears of whipped cream on the plates that rest before them, there's nothing to do but relax further into the plush seats of the overstuffed sofa Sam insisted Dean buy. The cushions are soft, comfortable, and the excessive filling creates a mounded top that is ever so slowly shifting the two men closer to each other with each move and shift they make. Cas is close enough by the time that Joel decides he no longer wants to lose his memories of Clementine to feel him tense up.

Dean doesn't risk turning his head to see what expression is on Cas's face at the moment. Even though he doesn’t need to… he already can tell what the former angel is feeling. Castiel may have been the one to reassemble Dean’s body and soul, but that doesn’t mean Dean didn’t know Castiel just as intimately. Years of going on hunts together, countless movie nights similar to these ones… yeah, Castiel is observant, but Dean learned to do that too. He also learned some great ways to subtly help Castiel when he was feeling upset.

"Damn that sucks," Dean says, sitting up and stretching his arms out. He places his arm on top of the couch, hovering above Castiel’s shoulder. Yeah, it was a little kiddish. The whole "stretch and put the arm around the girl/guy." But hey, observant was Dean’s middle name. And one of the many observations he made was that Castiel likes physical contact just as much as Dean does.

Castiel straightens up in his seat at the touch and Dean begins to doubt himself. He frowns, eyes still glued on the screen but seeing everything in his peripheral vision. He’s about two seconds away from removing his arm, when Castiel sinks back down on the couch. A little deeper into the cushion and a little closer to Dean. The added weight pressing against the sofa again just so happens to make Dean’s arm slip off from the top and onto Castiel’s shoulder. He feels Castiel tense up again, but after a moment of neither of them moving, Castiel relaxes again.

Good God this feels nice… Dean kicks himself for the hundredth time for not moving things forward with Castiel sooner. So much time wasted on beating around the bush because Dean thought angels could never feel that way, and apparently Castiel thought Dean could never be his. Honestly, the doubt still creeps into his mind and regret likes to barge in like an unwelcome houseguest. Like at this very moment…

Dammit, couldn’t he just have one nice night with Castiel for once?

"Gotta take a leak," Dean sighs, patting Castiel gently before standing. He walks into the hallway that leads to the bathroom, ready to just sit and sulk for a minute or two. It’s when he clicks on the light that he notices his bedroom door is open. The tungsten yellow light reveals his dog staring out of the window, facing away from Dean.

"Taylor?" Dean calls. The dog doesn’t react. Hunter mode activates. He pretends to wave Taylor off and turns off the light. He lets his eyes adjust before slowly creeping towards his bedroom. From where he stands, he can’t quite tell what Taylor was hyper-focusing on. So he slowly crouches down to her level.

Dean’s bedroom window faces the backyard and towards the chain link fence separating his property from the neighbor’s. On the other property, there stands a dark figure.

Staring.

Watching.

Taylor’s growl catches Dean off guard and he jumps. He looks at her and he hisses a quick "Shh!" When Dean looks back up, the figure is gone.

"I’m sure it’s nothing girl, you’re just being dramatic today, right?" Dean asks as he scratches the dog behind her ears and glances back out into the darkness. He is sure it was just the light playing with the shadows, his mind seeing something that wasn’t really there. His system was used to danger and threats around practically every corner, it was only natural it would make things up after any prolonged stretch of relative peace and quiet.

Taylor whines next to him, pulling him out of his wandering thoughts and back to the present.

Dean had forgotten all about Cas watching the movie alone downstairs when there was an imminent threat to be dealt with. He quickly walks out of the room after giving Taylor one last stroke from head to tail, which has her rumbling contentedly, and slows down a bit at the last few stairs to catch his breath and clear out any paranoia left from his expression.

As it turns out, his breath gets caught in his throat anyway.

Seeing Cas looking so comfy and at home on his couch, not to mention downright cuddly which is just unfair at this point, was not a sight he was ready for. At all.

Trying very hard not to let any of the emotions that just attacked him out of nowhere show on his face, even though he is pretty sure it isn’t working, he shakes his head a little to get rid of them for now and focus solemnly on Cas, and not on how he wants nothing more than just to hold him while they spend the rest of their evening on the couch with their arms around each other, thank you very much. Definitely not going there. Nuh-uh.

Dean moves towards the couch, settling against the opposite arm from Cas. Stretching his legs out so that his feet rest in Cas’s lap, he allows himself the little bit of contact. To his great pleasure, Cas moves his arms over top of Dean's legs and squeezes his shin lightly causing shivers to race up Dean's legs and spine. Dean tries to focus on whatever movie or show is now playing on the TV, something involving surfing, which gets Dean thinking that he might want to try that some day.

He can take Cas and Taylor to the beach and drink those fruity cocktails with the little umbrellas he pretends to hate all the time. They can sit in the warm sand with their toes in the water and not a worry in the world.

If only…

As quickly as he brushed it off earlier, Dean’s panic at seeing the figure watching them outside his window comes rushing back in. Cas must notice him tense up because his fingers pause their trailing up and down Dean’s legs.

"Dean? Everything okay?" he asks, worry clear in his voice.

Dean chews on his bottom lip, internally debating. "Not really."

Cas’s brows pinch together in concern. "What’s wrong?"

"We need to talk, Cas."

Cas reacts with dread. His body tenses up, and his hands move onto the couch, away from Dean’s legs entirely. "I always appreciate our talks," he says. It doesn’t sound as though he means it.

"That neighborhood watch gig. Kinda dangerous, man," Dean says.

Cas visibly relaxes. He must have been expecting a completely different conversation.

"Nothing really happens here, Dean," Cas says. "As a homeowner, you should consider joining."

"Hmm. My dog was growling at something, maybe someone, in the shadows today. Tay growls at plastic bags blowing down the street, though, so maybe it was nothing." At the sound of her name, Taylor rushes the couch. She clambers into Dean’s corner, pushing at his back until he swings his legs down, making room, and has nowhere to go but the middle, close to Cas again.

Cas's eyes soften.

"Taylor is very well-behaved. I'm sure she thought she was trying to protect you from a deer or a car. It is very admirable of her," he says, giving Taylor a small pat.

Taylor immediately turns into butter under Cas's hands, and licks him.

Dean sighs. "You sure you haven't seen anything weird lately? No one's been following you? No weird stranger has tried to talk to you?"

"Well," Cas starts, and then pauses. "I do work in customer service. Speaking with weird strangers is sort of, as one might put it, 'in the job description’."

With the kind of work that Castiel's been doing lately, he's definitely been dealing with people that some might call... eccentric. He's been tasked with translating a series of texts from a private collection. Usually, one of the curators for the archiving company he contracts to would visit the home with a handheld scanner to ensure there's little to no damage to the client's texts as they digitize the writings that need translating.

This most recent client, upon contacting the archivists, insisted that he would only work with Castiel directly. Castiel receives one page at a time, never in order, and the next page comes only when the previous is approved by the client. He signed a contract saying he'd destroy all physical evidence of his translations, but has held off; something doesn't sit right about this client. Now isn't the time to burden Dean with this, though. Instead, he turns a warm smile on Dean and suggests they each have another beer.

Castiel could tell,with the slight furrow of Dean’s eyebrows, that he wanted to talk more on the subject of his suspicions. Fortunately, he drops it and stands to go to the kitchen for the drinks. Castiel is happy about that because he was getting dangerously close to revealing everything. To dragging Dean away from his slice of happiness and back into the hideous maw of the hunter’s life.

He sighs and reminds himself once again that "it’s better this way" before following Dean to the kitchen. He’s about to offer to help Dean pop open the bottle caps (he had found Dean just staring very intently at the far wall deep in thought), when there’s a soft little chime near the door. The chime breaks Dean out of whatever trance he was in and he looks at Castiel. In return, Castiel raises a curious eyebrow and pokes his head over to the door. Taylor stands patiently waiting for a second before nosing a little bell that hangs on the door knob. Castiel looks back at Dean with a slight tilt to his head.

"She needs to go out," Dean explains, sounding suddenly embarrassed. "My, uh… My brother came up with the bell idea. Just so she wouldn’t paw at the door so much."

"That sounds reasonable to me," Castiel says with a wide smile. "I can take her out to do her business, unless you would prefer to—"

"No, yeah, that’d be great," Dean smiles back. During the short walk to the front door, Castiel can’t help but think of how domestic and nice this feels. He chuckles a bit to himself, just thinking that if his past self thought that just telling Dean was happiness, then whatever this is has to be heaven. Except, they are both alive and well. Of course, Dean has no memories and Castiel has no powers to prove his usefulness anymore…

He frowns at himself for ruining his own mood and chooses to focus on keeping an eye on Taylor while she trots off into the front yard. She sniffs around a few spots. Paws at the small rose bush that Dean had decided to try growing this year. Sniffs around some more. Rolls around the grass. Sniffs the same spot she sniffed earlier.

"Taylor, please," Castiel frowns when she goes back to paw at the rose bush again. She looks up at him for a second, then goes back to sniffing. Castiel sighs and looks down the street towards his house. He blinks at his home… then squints.

Did he leave the living room light on before he left?

He had just finished up his translations for the day before he left, but he doesn’t remember it being dark enough yet to have needed to turn the lights on…

Or was it?

Still deep in thought, Castiel startles a bit when he hears Dean call out to him and Taylor from inside. He looks around to find Taylor roaming mindlessly while chasing a bug and wonders how long he was just standing here. Trying to get back to himself, he clicks his tongue at Taylor to follow him inside.

Dean steps into the doorway, beer bottle in hand.

"Everything okay out here, Cas? You’ve been gone a while.”

"Oh, we're fine. Taylor was just trying to find the best spot to do her business and there might have been some bug chasing. It was rather endearing, truth be told. She's lovely." Castiel stops himself from ranting more about the dog and finds Dean looking at him with a strange look on his face. He doesn't know what the look is, but he knows he wouldn't be opposed to seeing more of it. It makes Dean appear open and soft, much more vulnerable than he usually is. Like a look reserved just for him.

"Yeah, she's adorable, alright. Though, don't go saying that to her; she has a reputation to maintain, after all." Dean smirks while taking a sip of his beer. Castiel has always loved their playful banter and this just proves how precious they are to him, including their talks and the time they spend together. He wouldn't trade this for the world.

"And what ‘reputation’ would that be?" Castiel asks in a teasing voice, deliberately using the air quotes because of how much Dean gets annoyed by them, even though Castiel knows he secretly loves them and just acts annoyed to continue their long time friendly verbal duel about air quotes. Too bad Castiel is just as stubborn as Dean, if not more.

"Maybe I'd better not answer that question." Dean laughs heartily, and Castiel again marvels at the way his entire face brightens. In those brief moments, it seems as if the entire weight of the world is finally falling off Dean’s shoulders.

The uneasy feeling about his house lingers, however, and before stepping across the threshold to Dean’s home, Castiel pauses, looking for a passable excuse to quickly check on things.

"I have some excellent whiskey at home. Do you mind waiting a minute and I'll be right back?" he asks with a friendly smile on his face.

For whatever reason, Dean seems to be at war with himself. Castiel watches him chew on his bottom lip, inadvertently dragging Castiel’s attention to it, when finally Dean nods his head and heads back to the living room where the TV still plays whatever show or movie they have on. Castiel makes his way quickly across the street and down the few houses to his own. The closer he gets to his door, the more unease fills his gut. He would give just about anything to have his powers still in use, or even just his angel blade, at this moment.

Trying the handle, Castiel is shocked to find his door unlocked; that is one of the things he always remembers to do. Slowly he pushes the door open and follows the light into the living room. Castiel wasn’t sure what to expect, but the redhead lounging on his couch is certainly not it.

"Hello, Cas."

"Charlie." Castiel squints at her, unsure as to why she was in his house, and not weaseling her way into Dean’s. "It’s been a while."

"That’s an understatement, Cas. Imagine my surprise when I’m brought back to life, in the middle of nowhere, mind you, and I can’t find a single. Fucking. Winchester." Charlie sits up straighter and folds her hands in her lap. "You, however, were easy to trace. Seriously, did you learn nothing from me? Castiel Novak. For fuck’s sake, you couldn’t pick a more forgettable name?"

"To be fair, Dean is still Dean Winchester."

Charlie rolls her eyes and mutters, "You all think you're so cute." Her expression is fond and Castiel can't help the warmth that spreads seeing her bright and alive again. Her smile slips a little as she says, "Speaking of Dean, how is he?"

Something inside Cas crackles like old machinery settling in an abandoned factory. He sinks into the armchair next to the couch and says plainly, "Happy and in good health. Which is all that matters."

"Happy. Huh." She is studying Cas. "You know what makes him happy, right?"

"Pie. Creature comforts." He pushes himself back up from the armchair. "Which reminds me, I told him I was looking for a bottle of whiskey." He sighs. "That I don't have."

"True, Dean does appreciate the simple pleasures. But that's not what I'm talking about." She gestures circles in the air, indicating the house and beyond. The world around them. "The suburbs, really? That's not Dean's happiness. Why are you two in separate houses? There's something you're not telling me, Castiel."

"I don't know how to answer that," he replies. He doesn't know what is dangerous to reveal to her. Charlie's presence is completely unexpected. Whatever he tells her, she will want to act on it.

"Maybe start with how you ended up here?" Charlie prompts.

"Here. As in…?"

"As in here. This time and place," says Charlie. She is leaning forward with full-body attention. "Get me up to speed. I’ve been gone a long time! The last thing I knew, we were saving Dean from the Mark of Cain. My decryption key worked, didn’t it? You figured out how to get rid of the Mark?"

Castiel looks away from Charlie, thinking of all that has happened since she paid a brutal price in their efforts to deliver Dean from the curse. It is a reminder of all he hopes to keep Dean away from.

"Cas?" Charlie asks, her voice small and high pitched with worry. "You… saved Dean, didn’t you?"

"Yes." Saving Dean. He has always been saving Dean, or trying to save Dean. He hadn’t been the one to save Dean from the Mark—that had ultimately been Rowena’s spell—but Castiel had turned back in the Apocalypse world so that Dean and Sam could get out with Mary.

That old machinery inside of him sparks again, gears creaking to life.

He shies away from where those thoughts are leading.

"Charlie, you should go," he says. "I’m sorry, but I can’t have you here. Tonight, I mean."

Charlie pouts. "You’re kicking me out? It’s kind of late, and I don’t have anywhere to go." She sits up suddenly, inspired. "Nevermind. I’m all good!" In an instant, she is on her feet, grabbing her shoulder bag and heading toward the door.

Castiel follows her out, locking his door again behind him. He is empty-handed, since there never was a bottle of whiskey to collect in the first place.

Charlie is making a beeline toward Dean’s house.

He gulps, and debates whether he should drag Charlie back or let her see Dean.

In the end, he settles for just watching her go.

While she was alive, Charlie was Dean's closest and most trusted friend right after Sam. Castiel knows perfectly well how much her death had hurt Dean. Dean doesn't even have his memories right now, doesn't know anything about being a hunter or about Charlie. Not only will Charlie be smart enough to pick up on Dean's amnesia quickly, it also seems cruel to take away Dean's best friend yet again.

A loud howling bark echoes through the quiet street, followed by Dean’s "Taylor! Hush!" Crap… he probably should have gone in with Charlie to not scare the Winchester household. A few more barks and a couple of the neighbors’ lights click on. Castiel looks at his wristwatch and frowns. 11:33 PM.

Running out of time, his mind whispers. Which… is odd… What is there for time to run out of? Did they put a pie in the oven? Was he supposed to remind Dean to take some medication? Was he supposed to take medication? Is he… hurt?

A flash of sharp pain shoots through Castiel’s body, starting at his chest and ending in his head.

Throbbing.

Aching.

Castiel presses his fingers to his temples, trying to stop the pain. Dark spots dance around his vision in the limited light of the street lamps. For a moment, he thinks the spots are forming a shape. No… a figure… a black, gooey, figure.

"What the fu—" Dean trails off when he rounds the corner and sees Charlie standing in front of him. He keeps up his surprised expression, just in case Cas is watching; he knows he’s not supposed to know Charlie is alive. At least, as far as Cas is concerned.

"Heya, loser," she greets, a genuine smile spreading across her face.

"How the… Why are… Holy shit," Dean stammers as he quickly closes the space between them and envelopes her in a hug. "Glad you made it," he whispers in her ear.

"I just…woke up in the middle of nowhere and," she shrugs her way through the lie, "figured I should look up my favorite non-brother."

"Shut it, Red. You love me." Dean tightens his arms around her to the point where he's a little worried he may actually have stopped her blood circulation but he figures it's alright if the way Charlie is hugging him right back is any indication. It hadn’t really been that long since they had seen each other, not even a full 24 hours, but the days have been strange lately, and a familiar face is always nice. Plus, as far as Cas knows, it has been years since they saw each other.

"Ah, don't remind me. Long-ass time no see, Winchester. What's going on in your crappy life these days?" Charlie smirks mischievously, sounding like the epitome of I know something you don't and I'm not gonna tell you so suck it up.

"I've been busy."

"Oh yeah? Doing what?"

"Stuff."

"Is that what we're calling Cas now?"

"Charlie. Is this an interrogation?"

"I don't know, is it?"

Just as Dean's about to answer and lose the small amount of dignity he has left from that conversation, Cas jogs up in a flurry of anxiety and confusion, pausing to heave deep breaths with his hands on his knees.

"Cas, did you run here?"

"No. Yes. Maybe." Cas still sounds a little out of breath but he straightens back up and glances between Dean and Charlie with an almost deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. Looking for all the world like he's just about to divulge the world's greatest secret, he says, "Something is wrong. I don’t know what it is, but something is."

"Shit," Dean checks his phone and sees it's close to midnight. He’s lost track of how many times they’ve gone through this, but it never seems to get easier. Quite the opposite, actually: Dean knows the longer they stay trapped here, the less chance they have. The most frustrating part is that Dean can’t do anything about it. His only job is to look out for Cas.

"Guys, what's going on?" Charlie’s usual chipper voice, sounding much more concerned, drags Dean out of his downward spiral.

Dean releases a heavy sigh and makes his way over to his couch. Taylor joins him a moment later as they settle in for the inevitable. Another glance at his phone shows 11:59, one more minute until Cas forgets everything they did today and the world restarts tomorrow. Again.

Charlie bolts awake and looks over at the bodies of Dean and Castiel laying nearby. She knows that they won’t wake up. Cas due to being stuck in the dream world, and Dean from being too damn stubborn to leave Cas stuck in that hellhole by himself. She stretches and yawns before climbing off of the bed and walking over to monitor their vitals. Sam had warned her about going in, but in the end, he had admitted it was better that Charlie went instead of him. "Come on, boys. Get your shit together. We need both of you here."

She checks the time. It may have been going on midnight for Dean and Cas, but in the real world, it is the ugly hour of four in the morning. Sam wanted her to wake him when she came out of dreamland, but she doesn't have the heart to bother him yet. He probably went to sleep only a couple of hours ago.

He’ll be up soon enough, anyway. Sam gets up before the sun, and his whole day is spent chasing leads on a way to wake Cas, except for when he's interrupted by one of the phone lines ringing. Charlie can give him the report before he goes out for his morning run.

She pulls a chair closer to the beds and sits. Neither Cas nor Dean look peaceful in their sleep. She thinks about the setting of Cas's fake world. She had hoped to find two of her favorite people playing house. It could be worse, sure, but she had hoped to see an obvious reason for what is keeping Cas there and that neutral world isn’t it.

All of this is an uncomfortable kind of familiar for her. It's too much like the time she spent reading The Hobbit to her mother...

An idea sparks in Charlie's mind and she jumps up to grab her tablet. As she looks through her library of novels, she says to Dean, "I know I've got something that's been made into a movie you love. And if you love it, I know you made Cas watch it." She finds one that checks the right boxes for what she has in mind. The Princess Bride. "Perfection! The movie is different, but I think that's a good thing."

At about the point she is ready for a water break, the door creeps open and Miracle, the stray dog Dean rescued after Jack brought all the vanished people back, peeks his head through. Sam appears in the doorway behind him, nudges him down the hall with a loving pat, and enters, closing the door of the infirmary to keep the devoted pup out. He comes down the stairs, curiosity cutting through sleepiness in his expression. "You woke up."

"Turned into a pumpkin at midnight," Charlie responds. "Listen, Sam. I know this is a stretch, but I had an idea. You know how when you're dreaming, and your alarm turns into, like, a dwarf battle cry in the dream?"

Sam nods. She can see he is giving her a chance to elaborate.

"Well, books have a narrative with an ending. And when you finish a book—or a movie—it's kind of like waking up. Our minds know we've reached a place where we return to the harsh reality of life. I thought maybe reading something would get Cas's mind going toward that wake-up ending."

"That's a good idea," he says. "Should we... nudge him along inside his brain as well?"

Charlie taps her chin. "How would that work? Dean's not going to wake up, so I'm going to have to go back and forth between the worlds, but real-world time runs out-of-sync with Cas's dream. How can we be sure we're moving him, along with Dean, at the right pace, while still allowing them to build up to the climax and the ending?"

"Maybe before you go to sleep, I'll read one chapter. Just one. It'll be slow, but at least we'll have a handle on the pacing."

Charlie is ever so grateful that she always wakes up just outside the city limits instead of where she was pulled out of the dream world. She shudders at the awkward thought of arriving in Dean's living room to find him watching TV in just his boxers with a pie plate balanced in his lap. Brushing dirt and twigs off of her jeans and out of her hair, she reminds herself to get a haircut when she's in the real world again, and trudges into town.

It's not difficult to figure out where in the storyline of the first chapter they are. Sam may have finished reading before Charlie went under, but Dean and Cas are still going through the motions. Right now, Cas is standing at the end of his driveway, looking flustered at the attentions of a slim brunette as Dean stomps up his front lawn, slamming the door as he goes inside his own home. Looks like Westley is being doted on by the Countess, and Buttercup is none too pleased.

With a sigh, Charlie makes her way towards Castiel. She had so hoped to avoid this particular bit of drama. The brunette is the first to notice her, giving a critical once over, before Castiel also turns.

"Charlie??" he calls out, and even knowing he won't remember that she was there yesterday, because she left the dream world, it still makes her squirm a little to lie to him.

"Yep! I'm back and good as new!" she replies with a smile. "Want to introduce me to your friend?"

Cas seems to startle a little, as if he'd forgotten that there was even someone else there.

"Of course. Charlie, this is Hannah. She's come to look at some of my translations. Hannah, this is my good friend, Charlie."

"Nice to meet you," Hannah gives a polite nod.

"Nice to meet you, too," Charlie replies, and she really does mean it. The first few times Charlie hopped into Castiel’s mind, she had only watched and observed from a safe distance—to get a lay of the land and all that. It was only within the last few trips that she had decided to actually show herself. The bigger point is, in all of her times watching and internally screaming at how much these two idiots beat around the bush, Hannah is new. A new character introduction that could help the hero, Castiel, get through his journey and become the Dread Pirate Roberts he’s meant to be. It’s definitely bound to pay off later in the story… er, in helping Castiel get through this funk.

Hannah clears her throat, and Charlie realizes she’s just been standing there, grinning like an idiot. Whoops. "Well, Castiel, I believe you said your translations are located at your home?"

"Y-yes," Castiel says. He glances back over to where Dean had disappeared in a huff and gives Charlie an awkward smile. "Would you like to join us, Charlie?"

"Nah, I wouldn’t want to get in the way. I’ll just... I’ll go check on Dean," Charlie offers, gaze drifting over to the front door that had recently been slammed shut.

"Yeah, that’s probably not a terrible idea," Cas says, eyes following Charlie’s stare before shaking his head and leading Hannah into his own home. Charlie trudges over to Dean’s house and lets herself in, not bothering with knocking.

"Winchester, where are you?" she yells as she shuts the door behind her, greeting Taylor as she saunters up to her, patting her head while scanning the empty living room.

"I’m right here. Chill out," Dean calls as his footsteps descend the stairs.

Charlie meets him at the bottom. "Not even going to bother to pretend that you’re surprised to see me?"

"Is that what I did yesterday?" He runs his hand down his face as he stops to think. "Right. I did. ‘Cause of Cas." Dean steals a glance at the door.

"Hannah’s here, so he’ll be distracted," Charlie supplies.

Dean slowly turns his stare to Charlie. "Hannah’s here? I know I can barely keep track of the things that are happening since we reset so frequently, but I would remember Hannah being here. How’s she here, Charlie?"

"That would be for me to know and you to figure out." She waltzes over towards the kitchen and the refrigerator, grabbing some cream cheese for Taylor. "Sam and I are trying something new. We don’t know how much longer we can keep you under, Dean, let alone when we’ll hit a dead end and not be able to bring Cas out."

"Getting Cas out is the priority."

"We’re well aware, Dean. Sam’s on the other side doing all the research he can. I’m doing what I can. But you need to figure out what’s got Cas trapped." Charlie squats down to Taylor’s level and offers the cream cheese. "You’re his constant right now. Use that to your advantage."

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs out in frustration. "I’m trying, Red. I really am. Cut me some slack. I’m terrified of everything that can go wrong. And everything can go wrong. Just… Please bear with me?"

"As you wish."

Dean rolls his eyes but smiles. "So, what did you and Sam come up with? What's the plan?"

As Charlie explains, Dean nods. "Yeah," he says. "That makes sense... So, which part are we on?"

"The end of the first chapter," she says slowly. "I just said that."

Making a small sound, Dean says, "Yeah, yeah, I get that, but it's been a while since I read the book. How many chapters are there?"

"Eight. Sam just finished chapter one before I got here. The one where Westley dies."

"So we're setting up the story right now," he says.

"Yep!" Charlie nods, scrunching her face slightly as Taylor’s wet tongue continues licking her palm (even though there is no more cream cheese to be found). "Shouldn't be long now before our inciting incident comes along."

"Our what?" Dean blinks.

"It's the thing that launches the hero into the journey," Charlie explains and tries to be coy as she wipes her wet hand off on Taylor’s back. Dean gives her an "I saw that" look and Charlie ignores it. "You know, when Luke sees Leia's message, when Primrose's name gets called up and Katniss volunteers, or when Buttercup—"

A loud knock at the door interrupts Charlie. They look at each other for a moment before Dean cautiously goes to answer it. Charlie holds Taylor back, who begins growling as the door swings open.

"...You gotta be kidding me," Dean groans from the door before a large sack is thrown over him.

Castiel is trying his best to pay attention to Hannah… but he's had this annoying headache since early morning. He thought his morning run would help with the pressure, but unfortunately, it proved fruitless. He massages his temples, trying to relieve some of the pain as Hannah continues talking, explaining something he knows he should be listening to, but he is wholly unable to do so. Just as he decides to speak up to politely let her know he isn’t getting any of this and maybe she should just come back later, there is a loud, frantic knock at his door, startling both of them.

Cas jumps up and quickly closes the space between his chair and the door, flinging it open to reveal a panicked looking Charlie.

"Someone took Dean!" she yells as soon as the door is open, glancing back over his shoulder nervously.

"Wait...what? Dean? Who took him?" Cas stammers, trying to catch up to what is going on, his synapses firing much slower than he would like.

"Well if I knew that, this wouldn’t be as much of an issue, now would it?!" Charlie shrieks as she shoves past Cas into the house and begins pacing up and down his hallway.

Castiel watches his old friend, trying to get his head on straight so he can help. Dean has gone missing. Someone has taken Dean. He has to find Dean. "Charlie!" his words stop her pacing instantly. "What did you see?"

"We were just talking in his living room when there was a knock on the door. We thought it was you, so he went to answer the door, but then I heard him mutter something before he shouted and the door slammed. I got up to see what was happening, but I was too late!" Charlie rushes out the words in one breath, panic clear in her eyes. "Cas, we have to help!"

"I know we do, Charlie." Castiel turns to Hannah. "I’m sorry. I know we have to go over this…"

"We do. And this is something that the police can handle, Castiel." Hannah turns to Charlie. "I’m not sure why you think Castiel can help, but it’s not his job to spring a rescue mission when there’s an unknown entity." She looks at him again. "Don’t throw your career away for just one man. Let the professionals handle it."

"But, it’s Dean." Castiel turns his head to the side in confusion. "Why wouldn’t I help him?"

Hannah glares at him. "Because you have other obligations. And honestly, considering your friend here is choosing to come to you instead of going to law enforcement, I don’t believe Dean is in trouble."

"Cas… please. It’s Dean. He needs you."

Something clicks in Cas’s brain. He nods at Charlie before addressing Hannah. "Even if I were to just let the police handle this, Hannah, it’s Dean. I’m going to worry sick and not be able to focus on work." Cas closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I need you to leave, Hannah. I’ll work on translating once my brain is back in a better place."

"I don’t think you’re making the right choice, Castiel." Hannah gathers up her items and hastily stuffs them into her bag. "I hope you don’t come to regret your decision."

Once she’s gone, Castiel looks at Charlie. "We need to see if there are any clues at Dean’s house."

Dean is in total darkness when the bag swallows him up.

The pain explodes through his body as his view lightens. His gummy eyelids squint open, flooding him with light. He squeezes them closed again but now there is less to distract from his throbbing head, the prickling pain like needles all over his body, and the terrible taste in his mouth. He hears Sam’s voice. Sam sounds close by. Dean pries his eyes open again. Charlie is stretched out one bed over.

Sam is across the room, pacing while on a phone call. The phone has masking tape written on in Sharpie, so it’s one of the hunter lines.

"Sam," Dean croaks as soon as Sam ends the call. Dean’s voice sounds too loud in his own head. Cas is on the other bed, motionless, strung with tubes, with a scruffy growth of facial hair and shadows under his closed eyes.

Elation crosses Sam’s face until he sees that only Dean is awake. When his eyes reach Cas, Sam’s expression falters. Without a word, he pours Dean a tumbler of water and hands it to him.

"Put me back under, Sam," Dean says. He knocks back the water, and his parched throat tastes less like sand.

"Dean. Give yourself a minute."

Dean shakes his head. He’s not leaving Cas alone. It’s not happening. "Don’t fight me on this, okay? As long as I’ve got all this in me," he gestures to his body, where he has the same rig as Cas, "I’m fine. Get me the stuff."

"I’ll mix another batch. Charlie finished up what I had ready." Sam opens the jar, drops a piece of root in a mortar and grinds.

It’s tricky, but while Sam makes the draught, Dean keeps from losing his mind by wrangling his bed closer to Cas’s. There’s a gap of only inches, when he’s done. He checks the set up by lying back down, reaching over to Cas’s bed, and taking Cas’s hand firmly in his own. It’s good.

He lets go for a moment—only a moment—because Sam hands him the plate that was on the table next to the mortar and pestle. "Where’s the tequila shot?" Dean asks, looking at the lime slices and salt.

"Alcohol interferes with the potion. But Charlie experimented with a few things that didn’t."

Dean shrugs. He does the lime-and-salt routine, licks his hand, and shoots the dream root swill. "Still tastes like ass." He settles back to drop into unconsciousness, but makes sure his fingers are firmly entwined with Cas’s.

Charlie shoots up from her bed with a gasp. "Woah," she says, shaking her head to clear it. Seeing Dean awake she hops off her bed and hurries over to him. "Get ready for a Fire Swamp scenario," she rushes, knowing that the dream root acts fast. "That dog of yours is with Cas; she’s been tracking you. I had to hurry things along to keep it within one day."

"The trials are the best part of the movie!" Dean complains. "Inigo. Fezzik!"

Charlie rolls her eyes. "Just don’t hand Cas over to be tortured," she says. But she’s too late. Dean has already gone under.

Charlie grabs her hair in her hands and looks at Sam. "I sure hope this was a good idea," she worries aloud.

"It has to be," Sam says grimly.

When Dean wakes up, he's in a warehouse, and his arms and legs are all tied together with rope. He sighs, and looks around.

He really wishes Cas had dreamed up a few weapons in his house that he could have kept on his body.

In the end, Dean settles for rubbing the ropes against each other. Fortunately, the knots are loose enough so he can shimmy his wrists around. It doesn't give him enough slack to completely free himself, but it does give him some freedom of movement, lets him stand up and do a strange sort of hop around to assess the situation.

Dean slowly makes his way over to the one window that hasn't been boarded up and peers outside.

Well, damn, he thinks to himself. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Outside the windows he sees a rocky landscape, boulders of various sizes cluster amid scrub bushes and a handful of towering pines. About a hundred yards away, the ground abruptly falls away as a cliff face of an indeterminate height reveals a shimmering body of water. Terror freezes Dean as he realizes what's coming next. Is the myth that dying in a dream means dying in real life true? Neither the book nor movie show how Westley survives his fall. The goal is to get Cas out of the dream, not to kill him.

Dean runs to the door and starts trying to find a way out. From outside the door, Dean can hear voices and scuffling. He redoubles his efforts as he recognizes Cas's voice, and what sounds like at least two other men. Despite the warehouse being empty, it's locked from the inside with a chain. Glancing around, Dean eyes a giant cog that's barely hanging onto the machinery. It takes very little effort to liberate it, and it's visibly rusty but heavy, and sound.

Three strikes of cog onto the chain, and it's starting to give. Dean pulls back to hit it again, and he's blown back, the doors flying open in an explosion of splintered wood and body parts. Looking up, Dean finds Cas engaged in a... sword fight? With a man who looks eerily like Cole Trenton. Immediately after comes some random villain number four. Dean drops his cog and rushes into the fray.

"Cas, what's going on?" he shouts, throwing a left hook.

"You tell me, Dean. One moment I’m working and the next, Charlie comes barging into my house to tell me you’ve been kidnapped! We ran back to your place and Taylor was in the yard, barking like she’d lost her mind. She led me this way while Charlie ran to go find the police!"

Cas parries a thrust from what is definitely Cole Trenton. This is getting super weird. Dean has just tossed the nameless wonder out the doors, and starts to stalk after him, hoping Cas can redirect his own fight out of the building where corners and machinery could get him pinned. Their bond seems as strong as ever, thankfully, and he sees Castiel force Cole to twist, and they begin to head in the opposite direction.

"How did you get here, then?" Dean calls to him, readying himself for the villain to come at him.

"Taylor led us," Cas calls back, seemingly unaffected by the exertion it's taking to keep Trenton at bay. That bodes well for what's coming up next. Dean eyes the cliff edge with trepidation. Then it clicks.

"Wait a minute, you came here, here, where there are bad guys, Cas, bad guys, and you brought my dog?"

"Really not like I had a choice in the matter!" Castiel grunts as he dodges an attack from his opponent. A flurry of golden fur charges towards Dean and he only has a matter of seconds to brace himself as the dog leaps into his arms. She lets out whines of happiness as she licks his face over and over. Dean makes noises of disgust but honestly he missed his sweet girl too.

A clang of metal makes Taylor stop and reminds Dean that Castiel is in the middle of a sword fight. Trenton swings the sword at an alarmingly quick rate, leaving Castiel barely enough time to prepare for the next swing. Faking a left swing, Trenton tricks Castiel into exposing his right side. Taylor lets out a squeal of fright as the sword cuts a gash into Castiel's shoulder.

"CAS!" Dean shouts as Castiel topples to the ground. He knows he should rush over. Help Castiel while he can do something. But his body won't move. He's frozen to the spot and he can't help but feel like it's all too familiar.

"Get out of here, Dean!" Castiel shouts from the ground. "It's okay!" Dean clutches at Taylor a little harder.

"No," Dean whispers, then adds much louder, "No! I'm not letting you kill yourself over me again!" Taylor leaps out of Dean’s arm and charges right alongside him as Dean races forward.

Is he being a complete idiot about this? Yep. Is there a good chance this is going to get him killed? Probably. But at least he feels better chanting, "Please don't die in the dream", over and over again in his mind.

Dean can see Castiel’s shock quickly shift into horror the closer Dean and Taylor get. Trenton readies himself for the attack, and Dean keeps going, the memory of black goo swallowing Castiel up driving him forward. Because he meant it when he said he wasn't going to let Castiel die for his sake again. He's not letting him go again.

With a final shout of courage and Taylor howling along, Dean braces himself for whatever Trenton has in store.

Except, the blow never comes. Dean is frozen again but… in mid air?

Fortunately it seems like Trenton is frozen too, but in a strange way… like when an animatronic at Chuck E. Cheese can't complete the programmed movement. Dean looks at Castiel and winces when he sees the tears in Castiel’s eyes.

"Alright," a voice growls. The two look over and see a familiar person. Hannah holds her hand out, glaring at the both of them. "This was really cute at first, but now I am fucking over it."

"H-Hannah?" Dean croaks out. She stares at Dean for a moment. A smirk spreads across her lips before she melts into a pile of black goo. Dean's stomach drops as the mass slithers across the ground and reshapes itself into Meg in front of him.

"Guess again, Freckles," the Empty hums.

Castiel watches the scene fold out in front of him, not comprehending much. Dean was taken and Taylor was able to track him to wherever the hell they are and then somehow Castiel got into a sword fight with some guy who looked vaguely familiar, but Castiel doesn’t have much practice with an actual sword and was doing everything he could to stop the man so he could find Dean. And then Dean appeared! Which distracted Castiel and let the guy fighting him get a shot in, sending him to the ground. Then Dean, being Dean, decided to help Castiel instead of getting away safely like Castiel asked him...and now the Empty is back.

The Empty, retaking the form of Meg, looks between Castiel and Dean, both still frozen in their places. The man Castiel was fighting has disappeared completely and Taylor is by Dean’s side, hackles raised and an angry snarl on her face. Castiel tries to figure out how the Empty is still alive; he thought they destroyed it when Billie sent Jack to its realm.

"It’s not going to work, Dean." Not-Meg smirks as she walks around Dean. "You see, Castiel made a deal. And I’m not happy when deals are broken."

"Cas didn’t break the deal. I did."

Castiel tilts his head—well, he would if he could—trying to understand what’s going on in front of him.

"Let him go. I’m the one you’re pissed off with."

"Dean, Dean, Dean." The Empty shakes its head. "Don’t you understand? I’m pissed with both of you. All I wanted was to sleep. It’s why I keep everyone asleep. The silence? It’s blissful. It’s perfect." It turns and faces Castiel, sending a shiver down his back. "But you and your precious angel. Always fighting against the natural order."

"Jack destroyed you. Billie sent him to you, and…" Memories start to flash into focus. "It didn’t kill you." Castiel looks at Dean. "Something’s missing."

Dean frowns and shakes his head. "Cas, please. You need to remember. I can’t—"

"Enough." Not-Meg snaps her fingers and Dean goes silent. "Do you hear that, Castiel?"

"I don’t hear anything."

"Oh, there’s something there. It’s soft. And painful. The suffering goes well with silence." The Empty walks over to Dean and drags inky black fingers down his cheek. It’s only then that Castiel sees the tears rolling down Dean’s face. "His heart is breaking all over again, knowing that he’s going to lose you once more."

"I should have asked you to stay," Dean says, and his voice is full of the purest pain. "But I couldn’t." He isn’t talking to Castiel.

He’s talking to Taylor.

Taylor, who wouldn’t exist, if she were part of the illusion. Taylor, always by Dean’s side, safeguarding him and being safeguarded by him.

"I was going to let you take the vessel, anything to silence the chaos," says the Empty, "but you had to get greedy. You wanted the whole angel."

Castiel’s hand rises to his throat, where his grace should be. When did he lose it? Not taken from him, not this time. His eyes lock with Dean’s. He knows that look. Self-blame. Beautiful Dean Winchester, who always puts himself on the altar of sacrifice, always racing his brother and Castiel himself to be the one to lay himself down under the knife.

Castiel beat him to the sacrifice, didn’t he? He saved Dean…

He rescued Dean. He rescued Dean from the self-hate, from the blame. When Castiel remembers, it’s unbelievable that even a cosmic entity could make him forget. He said the words to Dean. He answered the truth he heard in Dean’s prayer, what Castiel couldn’t let Dean say aloud in Purgatory for fear of invoking the Empty deal. The joy that fills Castiel is so immense, it illuminates the gloomy realm of the Empty with sparks brighter than light bulbs exploding inside a barn.

"You wanted to be rid of me!" Castiel confronts the Empty. "You wanted me gone!"

The thing with Meg’s face contorts beyond any expression of rage the demon ever held. "You were too fucking happy to bear! Everything was already too loud, then you, and then next thing I knew this lovesick fool sneaks in through Death’s library, but I can’t touch him," Not-Meg squeezes her hand into a fist, as if she could crush Dean in it, "which really ticks me off."

Castiel remembers all of it. When the Empty took him, body and grace, he had not been pulled into sleep. He had been awake. And Dean had come to get him out. In an effort to achieve tranquility without losing its share of the bargain, the Empty had offered a compromise. Castiel could leave his grace behind and go with Dean.

And he had been ready to take the new deal. To not look back and just walk away. Another sacrifice.

But as they neared the light of the living world, there was a sad keening, high-pitched and forlorn, which came from the part of Castiel that had been cut out and discarded. Was it so hard to believe that Castiel’s grace had become…

Taylor?

As if hearing his thoughts calling her, the dog breaks from Dean’s side and bounds toward Castiel.

She stuffs her nose in his hands and licks him gently. He stares at her.

Of course—Anna had fallen from heaven because she had wanted to know what it would be like to be human, to settle her roots somewhere and grow. It was natural that her grace would reflect her desires. Would plant itself into the ground and sprout into a magnificent tree.

Castiel, on the other hand, wants to be with his family. To spend the rest of his days with the ones he loves. It makes sense, then, that his grace would become a dog, man's best friend.

Dean’s best friend. Refusing to abandon him, ever. Because no part of Castiel ever could.

The Empty, wearing Meg’s face, looks absolutely disgusted with the display of affection from Taylor, the reciprocation from Cas, and the look of disbelieving adoration on Dean’s face.

"Okay, I get it. You’re all ga-ga over each other. Enough of this. That grace is causing me nothing but trouble, and trying to get Castiel back only put him to sleep in your world. Give me the angel."

Black goop begins to stream off of the entity and make its way to where Castiel is frozen. Taylor stands her ground, growling in a way that Castiel has never heard before. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Dean struggling to break free of the invisible bonds holding him back. The Empty looks triumphant already, and Castiel is not ready to accept defeat yet.

"If we’re so noisy, my grace and I, why not just let us go?" he asks, knowing the answer, but needing time, needing to give Dean time, to come up with a solution.

"You know why, Clarence," the thing wearing Meg’s likeness teases, reveling in Cas’s reaction to the old nickname, "I need that deal kept. What kind of example would I be setting if I didn’t keep my promises?"

Cas can see that Dean appears to have gained more of his mobility back, however he’s still unable to move his legs enough to make any significant movement away from where he stands. Thankfully, Taylor’s displays of aggression seem to be keeping all attention away from Dean. Tendrils of The Empty are still making their way towards him and Taylor, though without any urgency. Thinking quickly, Castiel tries to stall for just a little more time.

"Example?" he asks, frustration leaking into every syllable. "Example for whom? God is dead. Rowena rules hell, and her sympathies are definitely on our side. Jack has already tried to get rid of you once."

Castiel’s chest is heaving with the exertion of his emotions and trying to free himself from the hold of a power he thought was defeated.

"No one looks to you for anything, anymore. No one cares. You’re nothing. You’re as empty as your name suggests," Castiel spits out, frustration turning to spiteful anger.

Inky black feelers halt in their progress. Not-Meg looks stunned. Taylor’s growls, still constant, have dropped to a range nearly inaudible to the human ear. Every other sound seems to have stopped. Even Dean, who had managed to take a single step forward, has paused, staring at Castiel. With all eyes on him, Castiel can’t help but feel a surge of confidence. He straightens himself up and opens his mouth to say more when the Empty begins laughing.

"That’s the pot calling the kettle black," it says. Castiel tilts his head in confusion. Meg’s form melts away, leaving Castiel to look around frantically to where they had disappeared to.

"No one looks to you for anything, anymore," the Empty’s voice booms out from all around them, repeating the words Castiel had just said.

A second later, Dean’s voice echoes out saying, "Without your power, you’re basically just a baby in a trenchcoat." Castiel winces and looks at Dean. His green eyes are wide as he shakes his head, trying to convey that he didn’t say it.

But… he did say it. Perhaps not at this moment, but in the past…

A force punches Castiel straight in the face. He stumbles backwards and growls at himself to focus.

"No one cares," the Empty repeats.

"Nobody cares that you’re broken, Cas!" comes Dean’s voice. Taylor barks loudly in frustration as another punch hits Castiel. Dean calls out Castiel’s name but all Castiel can focus on are the flooding memories of all of his failings and mistakes.

"You’re nothing."

Castiel finally comes face to face with the Empty again. Only this time, instead of taking Meg’s form or even his own vessel’s form, it’s chosen someone different. Someone it knew would hurt. The Empty in Dean’s form glares at Castiel and growls, "You’re dead to me."

A hand grabs hold of Castiel’s throat and begins squeezing. Castiel grips at the fake Dean’s arm to pull it away. Cold green eyes stare him down as breathing becomes more difficult. The sounds of Taylor’s barking and the real Dean screaming his name slowly become humming in his ear.

Reset! his mind cries. You’ve failed them! You’ve failed everyone! Reset and try again! Reset! Reset! RESET! Castiel closes his eyes and he can see the crisp morning with falling apple blossom petals and the neighbors waking up to perform their routine morning tasks. It would be easy—oh, so easy—to go back to all of that. Just a few more seconds and Castiel could be back to translating for his client and awkwardly flirting with Dean.

Dean…

Castiel opens his eyes and looks over to Dean—the real Dean. The Dean who speaks in pop culture references that sometimes go over Castiel’s head. The Dean acts like a child at times but also cares so deeply about those he loves. Cares about the whole world… cares about Castiel.

And right now, with Dean staying in this time loop with Castiel, not leaving him once, and even now charging ahead, Castiel knows it without a doubt.

"You’re wrong," Castiel grunts out. Taylor presses her side against Castiel’s leg and strength immediately returns to him. The Empty’s eyes turn fearful as Castiel slowly pushes the arm away from his throat. "I am not nothing."

The Empty lets out a dark chuckle, trying to hide the panic as Castiel slowly but surely shoves it away and puts distance between them. "No? Tell me, Castiel. When have you ever been wanted for anything other than your special angel powers?" the Empty asks, gaining confidence once again when Cas falters slightly. The dark entity quickly continues, stalking languidly across the floor.

"When has anyone asked you to stay, just because they liked you? Face it. Your worth is tied up in that shimmering, blue pulsating light that used to flow through you. Without it, you are nothing. Without it, you are just a hindrance, a burden, a liability that others have to spend precious time and energy protecting. You are nothing, at least nothing worth saving."

Cas doesn’t realize he’s been backed into a corner until his back hits the solid, cool, metal wall. He vaguely hears Taylor still growling next to him, but she sounds a hundred miles away. His head is spinning, memories of being tossed aside, left, forgotten by those he loved throughout his life parading through his brain, reminding him of just how much of nothing he really is.

"That’s it. Just accept it, Castiel. Make this easier for yourself," the Empty practically purrs in his ear, a cold, inky tendril snaking up his chest and wrapping around his neck again. Cas swears he can make out a sickly grin spreading through the goo where Dean’s face had been just a moment before.

Just as he starts to accept the lack of oxygen and starts sinking into the welcoming darkness, the thing around his neck releases him. He crumples haphazardly to the hard floor, coughing and sputtering.

"What do you think you’re doing?" the Empty hisses.

Castiel, clutching at his throat and still trying to regain his breath, looks up at the angry words. The sight his eyes land on makes him choke all over again.

"No…" he breathes out, the words barely audible.

Dean kneels several feet away, one arm wrapped around Taylor and the other holding an angel blade to her throat.

"You wouldn’t dare," the Empty continues, their attention completely trained on Dean and Taylor now. Castiel watches helplessly as Dean tightens his grip on the dog. Castiel’s grace.

"Don’t doubt me, bitch," Dean grits out between clenched teeth. "I was selfish before, wanting my whole angel, and I’ll be selfish again and take what I can get."

If Dean really does kill Taylor, destroys Castiel’s grace, then the Empty would have no hold over him anymore. He would be human. Castiel knows he would be okay with it, but would Dean be okay with it? In the long run? Would Dean only keep him around until he realizes just how useless Castiel is without his grace?

Or would he ask Castiel to stay?

That last thought sends a surge of courage through Castiel. Dean wants him. Cursed or not, Dean wants him.

"You’re hesitating, Dean." The Empty turns, dropping Castiel to the ground, and starts towards Dean. "You don’t have the guts."

"You’re wrong." Dean shoots a look at Castiel. "Cas, I’m sorry." He quickly flips the blade in hand and stabs Taylor, stabs Castiel’s grace, causing a pulse of silvery blue light to flash through the vast emptiness around them.

The Empty cries out, shielding itself from the bright light. "No! You son of a bitch!" Cas watches as the brightness of his dying grace erases the shadow, removing all the darkness in which it can hide. "I just wanted quiet!"

As fast as the light had taken over the space, it starts to dim, revealing their surroundings. Cas looks around the room. The Empty is gone. Taylor is gone. Dean is gone.

He’s entirely alone.

"Send me back!" Dean slams his hands on Sam’s table and points back to Cas’s still form. "He’s still there. He needs me. I need him. Put me back under!"

"Dean, we can’t." Charlie rests her hand gently on Dean’s shoulder. "You’ve taken so much of the dream root, anymore could kill you. You have to detox."

Sam runs a hand through his hair and nods in agreement. "I’m not sure what happened in there, but both your vitals spiked. I thought we were going to lose you both."

"I destroyed his grace, Sam. I didn’t even give him the choice. I just…" Dean collapses into a chair and hides his face in his hands, desperately trying to conceal the falling tears. "I thought he’d wake up."

"Cas is graceless?"

"That’s what I just said, Sam. The damn Empty was going to kill him. What choice did I have?" He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he can force the tears back. Angrily, he rubs them off his cheeks and swipes his wet hands across his jeans.

Sam lets out a sharp breath. "Listen, we’ll figure something out when Cas wakes up. We’ll get some grace… last time he used the grace from some other angel... or we’ll do a spell, or—"

Dean cuts him off. "It’s done, Sam. Done." His voice is heavy and hard. He looks at Cas, lying still and unresponsive, no sign of waking. The tears he’s swallowing back choke him. He gasps for air and it becomes a sob, and then there is no holding back: he grits his teeth but the sobs keep coming. "Fuck!"

He’s completely useless. He’s failed. A failure.

Charlie lets out a helpless whimper at the sight of Dean crying. Her arms are around him in an instant, and she squeezes him tightly with her face pressed against his shoulder. "It’s going to be okay," she says in a muffled squeak. He’s gentle about it, but he pries her off as he gets himself back under control.

"The good news, I guess," Sam says from Cas’s side. Sam clears his throat. "The good news is that his heart rate’s steady, he’s breathing easily, everything’s back to normal." A frustrated sigh and a shake of his head punctuates his assessment. "It’s back to what we’ve been doing all this time. Waiting. Trying to find another way."

Dean gets up and goes to Cas. He feels weak, like his knees won’t hold him. He takes hold of Cas’s hand. It’s calloused, dry, rough from all the hand-to-hand fighting they’ve done. Cas’s touch was always warm. Now his hand seems cooler, as if his vitality is slipping away.

Charlie grabs Sam’s arm and tugs. "Sam." She nods toward the door. When she nudges him to leave with her, he goes.

Dean’s already going down on his knees before they are through the doorway. He hasn’t let go of Cas’s hand. Feeling as though he’s splintering apart, Dean sinks forward, supplicant in prayer, until his forehead presses against Castiel’s thigh. "Please, Cas. Please. I’m so sorry," he whispers.

"It’s always one more damn thing. One more damn thing I’m always asking from you. Or no, I don’t even ask, I know you’ll do it, whatever needs to be done, an’ I can never pay it back, I can never make it up to you. Make it right." He swallows, catches a breath.

"In a thousand years I couldn’t make us even, I know that."

He pauses. He worries his lip. "I wanted… I’m sorry, I wanted you not to have to lose being an angel. Not for me. I’m so sorry. But come back to me, Cas. I know I’m asking for something from you again, but I’m askin’."

His eyes squeeze closed tighter. He licks his lips.

"Cas, please give me a chance to say it back to you, every day for the rest of my life. Happiness… happiness doesn’t have to just be in the being, Cas, it can be in the having too."

"Hello?" Cas says, voice cracking. "Is anybody here? Taylor? Charlie? Dean?!"

The streets are completely empty. No neighbors milling around, no animals walking (or flying) by, no movement at all. It’s completely, eerily still.

There’s no one here. He’s stuck in his own mind. Clutching his head, he sinks to the ground.

There has to be some kind of door, some kind of portal that can wake him up. He just has to find it.

He walks around and around, searching first through his house and then Dean’s. He rummages through their things, throwing knick knacks on the ground, not bothering to watch as they fizzle out of sight, disappearing.

"You’re not going to find anything there, kiddo."

The voice comes from the back of the room. Cas stiffens, then slowly turns around.

Gabriel is standing there, lollipop in his hand. He smiles at Cas.

"Miss me?"

Cas gapes. "Gabriel? How are you here? I thought— I thought you died!"

Gabriel scrunches his face. "Yeah, well. About that. I did die. I’m still pretty dead. In fact, I’ve been reduced to the most charming figment of your imagination."

He puts a hand on Cas’s shoulder. "But you? Only mostly dead."

"Mostly?"

"How do you think lover boy was able to come and go? You’re in a coma, bro. But unlike me, your body didn’t die when the Empty took you whole. Quit trying to tear apart your own head and just relax." Gabe steers Cas to a recliner and pushes his shoulder until Castiel flops down onto it, then kicks the lever that activates the footrest.

"Gabriel, I don’t—"

"Stop, meditate, and listen," Gabe says, grinning. "Close your eyes."

With a sigh, Castiel lies there and decides to play along. He knows now that this can’t be the real Gabriel. They’re in his own mind, after all. But that also means he might subconsciously be trying to tell himself something important. Stilling, Cas shuts out his racing thoughts as best as he can.

"That’s it. Do you hear it?"

Gabriel’s voice fades. At first, there is silence, and Castiel wonders if he were to open his eyes again now, if he’d find anything at all or if he’d be lost in a white void forever. But then. Then...

_{I’m so sorry…}

It’s Dean.

Castiel can hear the sorrow in his voice, though it sounds more distant than a prayer.

_{..come back to me…}

The real Dean. In the real, physical world.

_{...give me a chance…}

His Dean.

Cas’s blanketed leg feels warm against Dean’s forehead, but his hand is cold between Dean’s palms. The only sounds in the room are the rattle of the air conditioning unit, Dean’s sniffling, hiccuping breaths, and the patter of the heart monitor. Dean begins to wonder how much time Cas’s body has before it can no longer be sustained by machines, now that his grace is gone.

A jolt of fear runs down his spine as he considers that, by eliminating Taylor, he may have just killed Cas for real rather than saved him. How could he have been so careless? Another sob catches him off-guard, an icicle to the chest. He goes to wipe at his face again, but before he can remove his hand, he swears he feels the slightest twitch beneath his fingers.

"Cas…?" His voice bleeds from a raw throat.

Seconds pass, and he begins to question what he felt. Is his gourd finally cracked or are the pauses after each of the heart monitor’s beeps growing shorter? He tries again, more frenzied this time, and he grips Cas’s hand tighter.

"Castiel??"

Dean is poised to flee for Sam and Charlie, to have someone tell him he's not imagining things, but he's frozen to the spot, incapable of taking his eyes off of the angel—man now, just a man—in front of him. Years of practice at self-recrimination allow him to scan every inch of Castiel for movement as he internally berates himself for paying more attention to José Cuervo than Charlie when she was trying to tell Dean and Sam how the displays on the monitors were read. He almost, almost finds humor in the fact that this is where he'd bargain with God, 'No more liquor, ever, if Cas lives' except for the fact that "God" is a four year old.

He sends up a brief, wordless prayer to Jack, uses the space of a blink to send every emotion he feels right now, every ounce of need, desperation and hope he would usually never admit to out loud. He knows the kid said he'd be hands off, knows he's held to that. There's been complete radio silence since they parted ways. But right now Dean needs to believe in something, to grab at any lifeline that might keep him from sinking, and drag Castiel above water with him. He won't let go of Cas until they reach solid ground, or sink. However this ends, they end it together.

Less than half a second has passed and it's half a second too long to have looked away. Dean waits to be sure Castiel's chest still rises and falls before he speaks out loud once more.

"Cas, please. Please. You told me...when I doubted, questioned everything in this fucked up mess we've been calling our lives, I asked you what I could ever know was real. You told me 'We are' and I...fuck."

Dean sniffs and wipes the tears that threaten to obscure his view of Castiel, his view of the heart monitor that he's now positive is slowly, incrementally beeping faster and faster.

"Cas, I believed you. Then you saved the world before I could even show you what that meant for me and now…"

Dean's choked by a sob that tries to escape, stealing his words and his breath in one. He looks down to where he holds one of Cas's hands in both of his own. He arranges them so that Cas's broad palm lays open, face up in one of Dean's. Dean runs a fingertip from the dip at the wrist to a callus on the pad of the middle finger, formed by Castiel's habit of using it and his thumb to fiddle with the buttons of his beloved trench coat. Dean lays his hand overtop, clasping Cas's between his own once more. Another prayer, more formal this time, is about to pass through his lips, when rapidly warming fingers wrap around his own.

"Please," Dean whispers. "Please come back and… let me say I love you."

"Gabriel stop it!" Castiel grumps at Gabriel, who, after hearing the "we are real" bit from Dean, had begun rapidly slapping Castiel’s arm until Castiel moved to the other side of the room.

"Oh, come ooooon!" Gabriel draws out. "Dean-o is promising you the world here, Cassie! Everything you thought you couldn’t have or didn’t deserve is giving you a wake up call! So what’s the hold up? Why are you still talking to me instead of that lovesick puppy?"

It feels like an icy knife plunges into Castiel’s heart when he’s reminded of Taylor. A lump forms in his throat as he looks at the empty dog bed in the corner of the room. Dean’s beloved companion… Castiel’s angelic power, completely gone in an instant. Castiel realizes how the empty dog bed reflects the emptiness he feels inside of him. Useless. Pointless.

"Hey," Gabriel stands in front of him, both hands on his shoulder. "You and Dean didn’t just fight off the Empty for you to listen to whatever bullshit it had to say, okay? You’re not worth any less because you don’t have phenomenal cosmic powers."

"…You’re right," Castiel nods after a long quiet pause. "It’s just… difficult to accept at times."

"Of course I’m right," Gabriel smiles slyly. "And besides, fleabags-slash-your-grace may not be here here anymore—" Gabriel gestures to the empty house. "But, you know."

"No?" Castiel blinks.

Gabriel frowns. "Ever seen A Dog’s Purpose?"

"Yes, but what does companionship to mankind have to do with Taylor and my grace?"

"Never mind," Gabriel sighs loudly and walks away from him. "You’ll find out soon enough. Maybe. Who knows." Castiel is about to question it when he feels something on his palm. It’s gentle and maybe even wet as it goes from his wrist to middle finger. He smiles, deciding that believing Taylor, his grace, became one with the universe makes saying good-bye to that part of his life much easier.

"So, Buttercup," Gabriel hums. "Or Westley, or whomst ever you want to see yourself as now." Gabriel returns, handing over the pages of translation that Castiel had been working on. "You ready to jump into a new future?"

The translation, it turns out, had been an incantation. One that Castiel needs to recite to heal his body and make him human. It’s terrifying to think about going forward as completely human. The first time around, it had been rather… less than pleasant… But this time, it is Castiel’s choice. And, perhaps, a choice that he made long ago and just forgot. He feels a warmth against his hand and instinctively closes his fingers around it.

Looking around the empty house and then back to Gabriel, he smiles at his brother before closing his eyes and focusing.

"Please." Dean’s voice sounds louder now. "Please come back and… let me say I love you."

Cas allows Dean’s voice to envelop him. The words wind around his torso, snake between his ribs, and blanket him in warmth and peace like he’s never known. He faintly hears Gabe begin to chant, reading off the translation in his hands clearly and methodically, his words intertwining with Dean’s quiet pleading. As Gabe’s words fade, Dean’s come in clearer and closer as the warmth from his hand on Cas’s becomes heavier and solid.

The constant beeping is maddening and a bit too much, the scratchy blankets against his legs makes him want to throw them off and move, but the fingers tangled with his where they lay on the bed are better than anything he could have hoped for. Cas cracks his eyes open a bit, glancing over to where he knows Dean is.

The man’s head is resting on the mattress next to Cas’s hip, hands clinging to his like if he lets go, Cas may float away, lost forever. His eyes are closed and Cas may have thought he was sleeping if not for the muttered begging still falling from his lips. A constant stream of "please" and "I’m sorry" and "come back to me" in an almost prayer-like cadence, pleading with Cas, or whoever is listening, for forgiveness. Cas moves his fingers ever so slightly, just enough to hold Dean’s hand in return.

Dean sucks in a startled breath, whipping his head off the mattress, staring up at Cas with disbelief and bewilderment. As blue eyes blink back at him, a smile tugging at the corners of Cas’s mouth, all Dean can do is stare, hands still gripping Cas’s tightly.

"Hello, Dean," Cas croaks, voice a bit more gravely than usual from disuse.

"Cas… I… you… you came back to me," Dean stammers, still not quite believing his eyes.

"Of course. I never wanted to leave you, Dean," Cas barely gets out before Dean is on top of him, pulling him into a tight hug—half-sitting, half-standing—but he doesn’t care. Castiel is here, is his.

Suddenly Dean pulls back, holding Cas by the shoulders, staring him down sternly. "Don’t you ever, and I mean EVER, try pulling that shit again! You understand me?" Dean scolds, searching Castiel’s face for an indication of understanding and agreement.

"As you wish," Castiel says with a genuine grin before pulling Dean back down into bed with him. They stay like that for a few minutes. Dean soaks in the contact he so rarely gets and has been desperately starving for for as long as he can remember. Castiel rubs soothing circles into Dean’s back, trying to reassure him that he is indeed back and never leaving him again.

Abruptly, Dean pulls back—still within Castiel’s embrace but too far away for Castiel’s liking, if his disgruntled face is anything to go off of. "Oh god, Cas. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how you’ll ever be able to forgive me, but I promise I will do everything in my power to make it up to you."

Castiel looks up through slightly squinted eyes. "Dean, what are you talking about?"

"Your grace," Dean breathes out, knowing the sorrow in his eyes and voice doesn’t hide anything. "I destroyed your grace. You’re human now."

"I’m aware, Dean." Castiel rests his hand on Dean’s cheek, sending a calming warmth through Dean. "You did what you needed to do to save me. I’m only sorry that I won’t be useful to you any more."

Dean shakes his head. "Useful? Cas, do you hear yourself? Everything I did was because I need you. I don’t need your mojo. I don’t need your angelic leash. I. Need. You. Angel or not." He rests his hand on the side of Castiel’s neck. "You need to know that, Cas. You have to know that by now."

"A part of me hoped, Dean." Cas leans in, resting his forehead against Dean’s as the space between them disappears. "And with your words, I know without a doubt." A soft smile plays upon Cas’s lips. "If I may be so bold, it sounds as though there’s nothing for either of us to forgive."

"I can think of a lot of things to be sorry for, Cas." Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Most of all, for everything it took for us to get here."

"Well, we’re here now. We’ve been through much together, and because of it, you’ve made me who I am. And I thank you for that." Cas tilts his head slightly to the side and moves forward. Dean gasps as their lips meet, and when Cas tries to pull away, Dean follows. "Dean," Cas whispers once Dean finally lets them part, "I didn’t realize this is a kissing story."

"You started it," Dean retorts, his mouth quirked at the corner. "But now that it is? How about we knock Westley and Buttercup down a few pegs?"

With a nod from Cas, Dean surges back in, their love-affirming kiss leaving the five most passionate, most pure kisses behind.