Chapter Text
Jack has been the new God for six months.
Chuck has crawled off into whatever hole he managed to find. Not that anybody cares or is trying to find him. Like Dean said at the time it’s a fate worse than death for the Almighty to grow old like any normal human in complete anonymity, uninteresting to his own creations.
The world is (mostly) back to rights. Yet something is wrong— in a way that sets off every hunter impulse Dean has. It’s been like this since the second Jack declared he wasn’t coming back to the Bunker. He'd claimed he’d always be with them, sounding like some New Age hippy crap that didn’t sound a bit like the dorky mini-Castiel Jack had been before the final showdown.
Dean hasn’t figured out what exactly is wrong. He knows it isn’t simply the gnawing pain, the guilt, and shame he carries about letting Castiel sacrifice himself for Dean. It isn’t the regret that when it mattered the most, he didn’t have the wherewithal to tell Castiel that he loved him back. What Dean should have said was that he truly, romantically, want to spend the rest of my life with you loves Castiel.
No, the itch Dean can’t scratch relates to the last time Castiel died. How Castiel languished in the Empty until a less powerful Jack had willed him back into existence. Now that could all have been part of Chuck’s shitty writing, but Dean isn’t so sure.
He’s been standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open long enough the damn thing is beeping at him. The noise pulls him back into the present reality. Only this time he has an idea, a theory he wants to test on Sam. So, he shuts the refrigerator.
“Come on, Miracle. Let’s go find Sammy!”
The dog tilts its head to one side, ears perking up at the mention of Sam in the same way as it would if Dean had been offering him food or a walk. Damn stupid animal adores the giant moose despite spending most of his days glued to Dean’s side. Miracle’s nails clack along the otherwise silent corridor as he trots after Dean. The damn dog is announcing their approach as effectively as Dean yelling at his brother.
As expected, Sam is in the library. He’s leaning back in his chair, socked feet up on the table, crossed at the ankles. His phone is in his hand. Sam holds up a finger to stop Dean in his tracks. A goofy grin lights up his face as he stares at the screen.
Eileen.
There is nothing, well almost nothing, in the world Dean wants than for his baby brother to be happy. If being with Eileen is what does that, then Dean is more than happy for Sam.
Dean bends down to scratch behind Miracle’s ear while he waits for Sam to finish his text conversation. He’s not jealous per se, but Dean’s gut is still twisting into a Gordian-sized knot. Dean’s blown his chance at having the kind of relationship Sam and Eileen have. Screw what Castiel said, happiness is in the having!
“Do you think everything is okay with Jack?” If this was some corny pulp fiction novel, Dean would clap his hand over his mouth for blurting out his thoughts like that. He used to be way more subtle than this, or at least he thinks he was.
Sam twists in his seat so he’s half turned toward Dean, but still with his feet up. “What do you mean? Have you seen any reports of signs—”
“No,” Dean says as he glares up at the ceiling. “Nothing like that. Just answer the damn question. When he left us in Hastings, did Jack come across as himself or not? It’s a simple question, Sam.”
Sam thinks about it. The silence gives Dean the answer more than whatever answer Sam finally comes up with.
“It’s not really.”
Of course, Sam would stall on saying anything bad about Jack—despite everything that’s gone wrong with the kid around.
“Yes, or no?”
Sam sighs and shakes his head before giving his answer. “No.”
“Great. Thank you. What if it turns out to be Belphegor douchey? Or like before he knew how to handle his powers. What about another soulless version but with two hundred per cent more power?” Dean snaps his mouth shut as a sour taste fills it. Jack killed Mary. “It doesn’t seem like him to just walk away from us. He barely mentioned Cas.”
Crap! Abort, abort, abort!
Thankfully, Sam sidesteps the landmine. “I don’t think it will be as bad as anything you’re imagining, Dean. A hands-off god has to be better than the Chuck version, right?”
“I don’t know.” Dean swallows down the next few words he was about to say. Can’t have Sam poking around in the still-raw mess of feelings Dean has about failing Castiel in the fight against Billie. Let alone the horror of leaving him stuck in the Empty.
Dean has been researching the subject, though. Thinking of any way to re-open the portal to angel and demon hell now all the sources of thermonuclear cosmic power around with the juice to fire that baby up have gone. Without a high-powered mojo to use, Dean has come up with bupkiss. Which is why whenever he reaches another dead end his thoughts can’t help but turn to Jack.
“But what if we’ve screwed up again, Sam, and unleashed more world-ending megalomania on the world? The kid’s got energy from Chuck and Amara inside him. Not to mention the toxic archangel twins.”
Sam bobbles his head from side to side, like he’s considering Dean’s concerns. “I would like it better if he would pop back once in a while. Six months with no contact is strange but then again, we haven’t seen signs of anything...” Sam trails off. It is like he’s realized how dumb it sounds saying there’s been no signs leading to the whereabouts of a hands-off god.
“Okay, so next question, smart-ass. Would our Jack, the Nephilim who rejected his archangel grace donor and chose Cas as his father, would he leave Cas dead? Seriously?”
Nice way to open that can of worms without letting on how badly you need your angel back, Winchester.
Sam scratches his jawline. “Doesn't seem right, but the portal’s closed. With no Chuck and no Death around to open it, maybe—shit!”
Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner. Dean catches the moment Sam catches on to his train of thought. Which one of them is supposed to be the genius?
“Right so, you’re gonna geek out on the God-possession lore and I’ll research more about...” Dean lets the rest of the sentence hang in mid-air. He doesn’t know what else the lore might contain they can look into. Google isn’t going to be much help with how to drag a falling/fallen angel who made a stupid deal with a primordial supernatural entity out from said being’s lair, namely The Empty.
“Let’s be careful about this, Dean. I understand...”
Dean can’t help but scoff. Eileen is only a phone call and a few hours’ drive away. She's not in some SuperHell with a supernatural being who already hates your guts, like Castiel is.
Sam gives Dean one of those I’m doing my empathetic, trying to read your mind shit looks. Bet Dr Phil never had to face the Winchester kind of fucked up. Sammy’s psych shit hasn’t worked before, so it isn’t likely to work now.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me, Dean?”
“Nope.” Yes. Why do you think the sound’s gone from the security footage for the day Cas died? Well except for the copy tucked away on a hard drive, buried in Dean’s underwear draw.
“Okay,” Sam says, sounding anything but convinced Dean’s telling the truth. “All I want to make sure is that we aren’t screwing ourselves over again, like we do every single time we make the heart choice instead of the smart one.”
Ain’t that the unfortunate truth? The problem is, how can getting Cas out of the Empty be anything other than a heart choice?
***~***~***
Castiel is alone, awake, and in what he might call a meditative state for an indeterminate time. Somehow, given the circumstances of his arrival in the Empty, he had expected that the Shadow might make an appearance and gloat about winning the deal so soon after their last interaction about Billie’s deception.
“You’re back,” the Entity says out of nowhere. The black nothingness finally begins to coalesce into a recognizable form in front of Castiel. “I’m surprised. When we made that deal, I was certain I’d get my eternal peace without you to disrupt me.”
Castiel smiles serenely at the poor imitation of Meg before him. He’s not going to give the Cosmic Entity the satisfaction of getting a rise out of him. It was the right thing to do when he bargained for Jack’s life and confessing his love for Dean to draw out the Shadow was the only possible way to defeat Billie and save Dean. He’s content with his choices.
“So, the perpetually miserable Angel of Solitude, the self-hating Angel of Thursday with the crack in his chassis finally found a reason to be genuinely happy.”
Castiel cocks his head, squinting at his jailer.
“Oh, I heard your conversation with God. I know exactly what he thinks of you. I found it to be an accurate assessment of you, well this version of you. Remember Castiel, like God I have tiptoed through all the little corners of your mind. I know your hates, your regrets, the fears you still harbour. Of course, let’s also not forget who you love.” The Empty pauses. The Shadow mimics the way humans pose when they’re stuck making a decision. Fake-Meg has her lips pursed, a finger curved over her lips, and brows furrowed.
“Chuck isn’t dead?”
The Empty’s features twist and contort in an emotion Castiel can’t quite decipher whether it’s anger or disdain. “No. He’s very much alive but human, or so I gather, which could mess with my plans. Hey ho, it’s not as if I haven’t had someone like Death lie to me or screw the pooch before. The cycle keeps repeating itself until Chuck tires of his latest stories and toys. At some point he’ll run out of new ideas. So, I’ve got the time to sit back, wait. Eventually I’ll find out where Chuck ends up after he dies. When the time comes, I’ll take it from there. Now if you don’t mind, I want my silence back.” With a snap of fake Meg’s fingers, the Entity vanishes.
Castiel doesn’t fight it when the urge to sleep creeps up on him. The last thing he remembers before total darkness covers his eyes is the thought of how for once he doesn’t have to find a way to cheat death.