Chapter Text
"Stop!" Dean's exclamation echoed in a nave of a soaring cathedral flooded with light seeping through enormous stained glass windows, forming motley patches on white walls and floor.
The man slipped on marble tiling and nearly toppled over. He finally regained his balance after gliding on his soles for a good couple of meters, then stopped, bent in half and panting heavily.
A priest dressed in a chasuble dripping with gold embroidery turned around ever so slowly to send the intruder a snide smile.
"Is there something you would like to say?" he asked, rising one brow.
"Uhm, yeah..." Dean wheezed, struggling to catch his breath before he was finally able to straighten up, "Gabe?" he growled, "Wherever you are, show your ugly mug so I can kick it right now!"
The priest's smug face melted away in a blur; before Dean had time to blink he was looking at Gabriel's shit-eating grin that contrasted unsettlingly with his menacing look.
"Watch your language, boy. You're in the house of God..."
"House of God my ass," Dean shot him a glare before taking a better look around the church. To his relief and surprise, Castiel's beige trench coat was nowhere in sight. Instead, his gaze fell on a very real and very pissed Tessa, who was standing near the first row of seats, clenching her hands on an enormous bouquet of white roses. She was surrounded by a flock of funky bridesmaids, all dressed in fuchsia bubble dresses that matched tiny silk bows scattered across numberless layers of tulle of the Reaper's luxuriant wedding gown. Her chest, squeezed by a lavishly embroidered corset, was heaving in rapid breath. It took Dean a while to guess that there was another reason for her agitation besides this sudden interruption.
He frowned.
"Where's Cas?"
"I'm right here, " the angel's gravelly baritone resounded from somewhere near the entrance, making Dean swing around and nearly biff on slippery tiles again. There was a stir among the guests as Castiel was walking down the aisle; despite his jitters Dean couldn't help but chortle at the sight of his angel clad in an expensive-looking tuxedo, with a blue dianthus boutonniere and his hair neatly groomed perhaps for the first time in his existence.
"Are you... Are you really Cas? 'Cause I'm not spilling my guts here to one of this douche's puppets," Dean asked, eyeing his friend dubiously.
With a small wave of his hand and a tilt of his head Castiel returned to his original form of an unassuming scribe who happened to be struck by a lightning as he was walking through a hurricane. Twice.
Dean sighed with relief as an uncontrollable grin spread across his face.
"Good. We need to talk, man."
A theatrical 'errrkhm' sounded behind the hunter's back. He didn't turn his head, but he could hear Gabriel's footsteps in the chilly silence that fell in the cathedral as the Archangel was approaching Dean and Castiel. Gabriel clapped his hands.
"I've always wanted to do something like this," he chirped cheerfully, then puffed up to give his words the proper solemnity, "If anyone has reason for these two not to wed, speak now or forever hold your peace"
Dean rolled his eyes before he sent the elder angel a scowl over his shoulder.
"Seriously, Gabe? What is it now? Sweet Home Alabama? That's so classy..."
"We'll talk about my taste later. Now, is there is anything you wish to say?"
Dean had to choke back a snarl before he could meet Castiel's calm, hopeful gaze. He took a deep breath...
-xXx-xXx-xXx-
13 days (or 3 minutes) earlier
Sam shifted a pile of books warily to make some space on a couch, then slumped onto it next to his brother, who tensed up in an anticipation of a lecture.
"If you're gonna schmooze about the fatal effects of coffee, whiskey and sleep deprivation you might as well save your breath. I should eat and sleep, but I won't, thank you very much," Dean gabbled angrily without taking his eyes off the book he was scrutinizing.
"Actually, I gave up on it a while ago. I came to tell you that there might be a case."
He wasn't sure if Dean's mutter was a sign of attention or exasperation, but he decided to go on.
"There might be a shifter in Minneapolis. Three similar cases of a stripper being sent out for a private party, robbing and killing the clients, then going missing."
There was no reaction other than a shrug.
"Yeah. Call Garth, he should be able to deal with a shifter."
"Dean. Do you read me? Strippers," the younger Winchester coaxed.
"I said call Garth. He'll be on cloud nine. Now will you please sod off? I have a case here if you haven't noticed."
Sam knitted his brows.
"Yeah, I have noticed..." he sighed, running his hands down his face; after a short moment that he needed to pluck up the courage he added: "Dean, what exactly do you think you are doing? You're gonna summon an archangel and then what?"
"First things first, Sammy. Haven't you learned it already?"
In spite of Dean's nonchalance Sam could see how knotted his muscles were. After a while of awkward silence, the older Winchester finally took his eyes of the yellowed parchment to look at his brother.
"Will you be a sweetheart and make me another coffee?" Dean asked with affected urbanity, "Yes? No? OK then, I'll make it myself..." he added, heading towards the kitchen. It was obviously a retreat in hope to end the conversation. What Dean hadn't expected was that he would meet Bobby, awkwardly frozen in a half-bow with a piece of stewed free range turkey in his hand. Dean walked in on him stealing his midnight snack from his own fridge that was full of organic, healthy food now that Sam was in charge of the house because Dean was too busy trying to do the impossible and Singer was too worried about his foster son to give a damn.
Bobby threw a startled glance at Sam who had followed his brother into the kitchen, then straightened up and cleared his throat with an intention to explain. It didn't take him long to realize that the younger Winchester absolutely ignored the fact that Bobby was about to breach the not-eating-after-8-PM-rule. He was too concerned with Dean, who looked even more panic-stricken than the nocturnal gourmand caught red handed.
Dean Winchester was cornered.
"Look, man," his brother tried again, "Perhaps it's time to accept that he is gone."
"He isn't gone," the older grunted with an almost childish pout, "I'm bringing him back."
"Listen... You're trying to summon Gabriel. OK, I get it. But what's next? How do you want to get Cas back?"
"I'll kill that gold-plated assface if that's what it takes."
"Dean, Gabe's not the problem here..." Seeing hurt and confusion in his brother's eyes, Sam added softly, "Haven't it occurred to you that perhaps Cas wanted to leave?"
"Why would he?" Dean bristled.
"Want the list of reasons to be alphabetical or chronological?" Bobby scolded halfheartedly, putting the turkey away. He'd lost his appetite anyway.
The older Winchester took a few deep breaths, considering what he had heard. Whatever was the outcome of this cogitation, it made him straighten up threateningly and clench his jaw.
"You know what?" he growled "I'm not talking about it. It's none of your business. You don't wanna help me? OK, I get it. I'll do it on my own and I'll do it my way," he stormed out of Bobby's house, slamming the door. Instead of walking out into a chilly summer night he found himself in a tiny, sparsely furnished room. The buzz of a cheap '90s style plastic alarm clock informed him that it was 6 AM.
He spun around to wrench the door, but now they opened to a little built-in closet. No matter how carefully he looked, there was no hidden passage back to Bobby's house.
There wasn't a passage to Narnia either for that matter.
"What the hell?" he muttered to himself.