Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Part 1

The first time Castiel remembers feeling anything was during the apocalypse, when he voiced his concerns to Anna and grappled with the idea of disobedience. 

He knows he felt things before, had his mind wiped of any acts of defiance or displays of emotions, and it is disconcerting to think that this has been done to him hundreds, thousands, hundreds of thousands of times over his long life. But his life has never felt linear, in any case. 

Most of it has been spent in heaven, he thinks, with the first few millennia devoted only to general revelation, to learning and understanding the universe in a way that made him want to worship whoever or whatever created it or started it. He was told this was God, this was creation, and if he had any doubts back then, they were erased. 

He was part of a garrison, then he had his own garrison, or maybe it was the other way around. There was order to maintain in heaven among heavenly beings and human souls, and sometimes he was a soldier and other times he was just a being, so vast and limitless that his only purpose was to exist. 

The few times he’s been sent to earth are his most concrete memories, likely because he was confined to a human body and bound by the straight line of earthly time. Even so, he is almost certain that those memories have been altered. He feels sure that if he rebelled for a human once, then he has done it before. He’s too old not to have.

However, he doesn’t believe he’s ever been human.

So when it did happen in the human year of 2013, he could feel immediately that his grace was gone and that the body he inhabited was the whole of who he was. He had headaches most of the time, and he figured it was due to the human brain not being able to process the thousands of years of information Castiel knew. His body ached and itched and jerked of its own accord, and he could no longer stand in one spot unmoving for hours not just because his body wouldn’t physically let him but because he would get antsy and bored after just a few minutes.  

Being human felt bad. 

Castiel spent the first few days sorting through the basic feelings of hunger, thirst, arousal, needing to relieve himself, needing sleep, etcetera. More complex feelings, like sadness, happiness, contentment, anger, would come to him over several days of hardship. He found that these emotions were similar to how he felt when he was an angel, but he experienced them so much more intensely as a human, on such a visceral level because he had nowhere to put them. If he was sad as an angel, he could make that sadness into a wave of light or a ball of matter and put that sadness on another plane, in another dimension even, but as a human the only place his sadness could go was inside him and out through his tear ducts.

He had been human for a week before he saw Dean in person. 

And it wasn’t until he saw him, and felt his hand on his arm, and looked up into his eyes, that he realized that the love he had learned during the apocalypse, the reason why he rebelled in the first place, the first real emotion he remembers ever feeling, that this love had grown big, bigger than his grace, bigger than his true form, and it had spread so completely through every plane of existence and every dimension of time and space Castiel knew, and now, here it was. It was such a simple thing. It existed fully in the beating of his heart. And for the first time, he understood it in its entirety. 

He loves Dean Winchester.

Dean sits up on the side of his bed with a yawn, wiping sleep from his eyes and squeezing his right hand open and shut. He looks down at the inside of his forearm and rubs his left hand across it. He feels lighter without the Mark. 

There’s a knock on his door, and Sam opens it without waiting for a response. His face is pinched in concern as he comes into the room, one arm holding a crying baby against his shoulder.

Dean huffs a laugh as he reaches his hands out to take the baby. He holds her against his chest and rubs her back, and she nuzzles her face into his shirt and balls her hands into fists.

“Couldn’t even make it one night, huh?” Dean teases. “I really don’t mind if she stays in here with me.”

“No, you’ve got—it’s my fault she’s here, I should…” Sam shakes his head and shrugs.

“No offense, Sammy, but you don’t know shit about kids. Especially babies.”

“Hey, that’s not—OK, maybe, yeah, sure.” Sam looks at the baby then back at the door then back at the baby. “So, what should I do? Should I get the formula?”

Dean stands, rubs his cheek against the top of the baby’s head, then heads out into the hallway with her. “Yeah, I’ll feed her and then she’ll probably want to go back to sleep,” he says as he walks.

The three of them sit in silence while Dean feeds the baby. He doesn’t want to talk about it. The way she’s only maybe a few days old and can already sit up on his knee and hold the bottle herself with only his hand wrapped around her back for support. The miniature Mark of Cain on her left shoulder. 

Just as Dean suspected, Amara falls back asleep immediately after he burps her. Sam tries to offer to take her again, but Dean hugs her to his chest and walks back to his own room with her. It’s been a long time since he’s held a child, since he’s cradled something so small and innocent in his hands and felt the assurance of duty, of knowing that all he has to do is take care of her, his only purpose keeping her alive. He’s spent the past year feeling so tense, on edge, holding rage in every line of his body, that now he craves how easy and simple it is to be gentle and careful. Unburdened by the need to kill, he cherishes the need to nest.

Dean is drifting off, Amara a solid weight against his chest, when his phone rings. 

“Cas?” Dean whispers.

“Dean. You’re OK,” Cas replies breathlessly. 

“Yeah. I’m alright. What’s, uh, what about you? Where are you?”

“Dean, I—it’s good to hear your voice,” Cas says. “I can’t come to you. Rowena, she—it’s a spell, it’s not safe to be around me right now. Dean, the Mark, is it—”

“It’s gone, Cas.”

Cas takes a long time to answer. “I’m sorry. For going behind your back, for Charlie, for...for everything. But I’m not sorry that we succeeded. I’m not sorry for that.”

Dean’s heart constricts at the mention of Charlie; Amara shifts and fusses against his chest. He says, “After what I—you’re apologizing to me? No, Cas, I’m the one who—”

“It was the Mark. It gave you abilities that I was unprepared to handle, and I—well, I believed I could get through to you.” He sighs. “The important thing is that it’s gone.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean rubs a circle into Amara’s back. “If you can get here, that would be great. We need you, buddy, so we’ll just deal with whatever Rowena did to you.”

Dean doesn’t wait for Cas’ protests. He gives a curt goodbye and hangs up, setting his phone on the nightstand and settling back in for a nap. He feels worry building in his shoulders as he wonders what could be wrong with Cas, but the bone-deep exhaustion of losing the Mark wins out, so he falls asleep within a few minutes.

There was no telling how much time had actually passed between when the Darkness descended upon Sam and Dean in a cloud of smoke and when they woke up, disoriented, and soon discovered the disease that was ravaging the closest town. Once they realized they weren’t saving anybody other than the baby, they became singularly focused on getting her out of there and heading back to the bunker. They didn’t notice the Mark until they were home.

Amara wakes Dean up with a small cry. Impossibly, she feels heavier against his chest. He tells himself he’s imagining things, but then while he changes her diaper he sees that her onesie no longer fits right. 

“OK, sweet little abomination, we’re just gonna wait ‘til you’re grown up before we decide what to do, hm?” Dean says in a soothing voice. He leaves the onesie unbuttoned at the bottom and puts a pair of pants on her, then he reflexively kisses her forehead as he picks her up. 

Sam is in the kitchen, his back to Dean, shoulders slumped, seemingly staring at the coffeemaker. 

“Uh, earth to Sam?” Dean asks. He holds Amara on his hip with one hand as he fixes her formula with his other. “I talked to Cas. Apparently Rowena did something to him. We need him here, though, because god knows we can’t hunt if we’re taking care of a damn baby.”

Sam turns to Dean then, blinking himself back to reality. “What? Wait—you can’t put Cas on baby duty just so we can hunt, dude. Didn’t you have to rescue him from a babysitting gig once, when he was human?”

Dean squints at Sam and looks him up and down. “What happened in here five seconds before I walked in?”

“What?”

Dean sits at the table and hands Amara the bottle. “Something’s up with you. Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing.” Sam very slowly pours himself a cup of coffee. “OK, it’s not nothing.” He takes a drink. “We don’t have warding against reapers I guess.” 

“What?” 

“Her name’s Billie. She just—she showed up right here and said Death is ‘out of the picture,’ so the next time we die will be it. No more coming back. She said we’d be thrown into a place called the Empty.”

Dean sighs. “Awesome.” After a moment, he puts Amara up on his shoulder to burp her, then he asks, “Why’d she come to you? I mean, I’m the one who couldn’t do what Death wanted me to.”

Sam looks away, his eyes shifting. “I don’t know.”

Dean lets the lie hang in the air for a bit. Wordlessly, he hands Amara off to Sam. As he leaves the kitchen, he says over his shoulder, “I’m gonna clean the library.”

He never asked what Sam and Cas did with the bodies after he murdered the Stynes. He never asked how much grace Cas burned through to heal himself after Dean beat him to a pulp. 

He works in silence, no music or anything, as he meticulously reorganizes all his stuff and puts everything back in its proper place. He scrubs the floor and the walls and throws out pieces of broken furniture, then he goes over the entire room one more time, working until his arms are sore and his hands are red and raw, in an attempt to erase all traces of the destruction he caused. The image of Cas’ bruised and bloodied face sears behind his eyes, and no matter how shiny the surfaces are, he can’t undo what he did to his best friend.

Hours have passed by the time he’s done. He momentarily panics, wondering why he hasn’t heard Sam or Amara at all, but then he goes to the empty bedroom they designated as Amara’s nursery and finds her asleep in the Pack ‘N Play they bought when they were driving home with nothing but a newborn baby and a car seat from the hospital and realized they would need to make a stop at the first Walmart they passed. 

“Sam?” Dean asks once he’s left Amara’s room and is walking down the hall toward Sam’s closed bedroom door.

Sam doesn’t answer, but something crashes and then pops loudly from his room, so Dean instinctively pulls the gun from his waistband and nearly breaks down the door to reveal his little brother, face twisted in grim determination and pain, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall and a bright orange flame licking up his neck, unnatural veins in his skin burning like ashes in a fire. 

“Sam!” Dean whisper-yells, thinking about the sleeping baby even as he watches Sam’s skin sizzle and then heal over. He drops to his knees and places the gun on the floor next to him. 

Sam blinks himself back to normal right as Dean cups his face in his hands. 

“Sammy, what the fuck? Are you OK?”

Sam nods then grips Dean’s wrist, gently tugging it away from his face. “Holy oil. We could’ve saved all those people with holy oil.”

Dean sits back on his heels, putting some distance between them. “You were infected. You’ve been infected this whole time, and you didn’t say anything.”

“I figured it out, alright? I knew I’d figure it out. Just wish I’d thought of it when we were in that hospital. I’m sure we’ll see that infection again, so we’ll have to—we need to try to track it and get holy oil to the affected people as soon as po—”

“Damn it, Sammy, you could’ve fucking told me. What if you had—you could’ve died.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I didn’t, and I’m better now, and we can help other people, so it’s really not a big deal.”

“That’s why Billie came to you, isn’t it? She came to reap you.”

“Maybe.”

Dean shakes his head, then rolls his eyes and groans as he hoists himself up from the floor. He puts his gun back in his waistband and tells Sam that he’s going to make sandwiches for lunch.

They don’t talk about it for the rest of the day. They’re preoccupied with Amara during lunch, and Dean keeps texting Cas and obsessively checking his phone for a response that never comes, and then Dean realizes that the sandwiches are the first real meal he’s had since losing the Mark, and he vomits an hour after eating. It’s not a big deal, so he doesn’t mention it to Sam.

That night, Dean retires to his room after getting Amara down and calls Cas three times in a row before leaving a voicemail.

“You’re scaring me, man. I hope you’re OK and your phone just died or something, because I’m starting to freak out here. I need you, so if you’re in trouble you need to find a way to let me know. Please get here soon.”

After he hangs up, he looks at his phone for a long time, his thumbs hovering over the screen while he decides what to do. He calls Crowley. A woman answers.

“Hello, darling,” she says. “Have you gotten your dog on a leash yet?”

“Who the fuck is this?” Dean asks even though he already knows the answer.

“Oh, don’t play dumb with me,” Crowley says derisively. “I had to ditch my usual meat suit because my dear mother sicced a rabid Castiel on me. So, as I was saying, do you have him on a leash yet?”

“I can’t reach him. That’s the only reason why I called you, so now that I know you’re no help, I’m hanging—”

“Wait, wait, wait, you don’t know where he is? Or if he’s even alive?”

“I would know if he was dead,” Dean says on automatic, no hesitation, even though it’s something he’s never actually thought about until it came out of his mouth. He knows the truth of it even if he doesn’t understand it. “If you hear anything, call me. Please.”

Dean hangs up before Crowley can say anything else. He can’t deal with a female version of Crowley anyway. Too many bad memories from his time as a demon. 

While he’s brushing his teeth at the sink in his room, Sam knocks on his door and, as usual, comes in without waiting for a response.  

“By this time last night, the baby had woken up crying three times,” he says, leaning against the door jamb and just watching Dean brush his teeth. “She might even sleep through the night. At some point we have to, um, deal with how quickly she’s, you know, aging.”

Dean spits into the sink and nods at Sam.

“Hear anything from Cas?” 

“No, nothing,” Dean replies. “Look, I’m still pretty beat from, uh.” Dean pats the inside of his right forearm. “I’m sorry we’re just kind of stuck here, but we can’t exactly go anywhere with a baby in the backseat, and we need to be here whenever Cas shows up anyway. So I’m gonna get some shut-eye. Wake me up if the kid needs anything.”

Sam furrows his brow and opens his mouth, then changes his mind and leaves. Dean can feel that Sam is itching to do more than sit around the bunker taking care of a baby and waiting for Cas, but Dean is so acutely focused on those two things that he won’t even look at the news, won’t even do a Google search for fear of finding out that the infection has reached other towns. 

Dean is woken up in the dead of night by the sound of someone breathing heavily in the hallway. He rushes to his door and flings it open to find Cas on the other side, looking worse for wear and holding himself up by putting all his weight against the wall. As he staggers into the light of Dean’s room, Dean sees that the whites of his eyes are bright red, and he has blood dripping from his mouth and down his chin. Dean wordlessly helps him to the edge of the bed and then sits down next to him, keeping a hand on his back to hold him upright.

“Help me,” Cas says.

“Cas, what the hell?”

“I can’t heal myself.” Cas winces and nearly falls against Dean. Dean grabs his shoulder to support him. “I was captured by angels, and they—they tortured me, but I’m OK. Well, I’m not OK. This spell Rowena...I think she’s the only one who can break it, and I don’t know how much longer—I don’t know if I can…”

“Whoa, it’s OK. It’s OK, Cas,” Dean soothes as he helps his friend lie back against the headboard. There’s blood spreading across the inside of Cas’ white shirt, so Dean gingerly unbuttons it and finds a deep gash from his belly button to his hip. “Angel blade?”

“Yes.”

“Well, nothing some stitches can’t fix. Just hang on a second.” 

They keep makeshift first aid kits all over the bunker, including under Dean’s bed, for exactly this type of situation. Dean uses a curved sewing needle to suture wounds, because it moves with his fingers easier than a straight needle, so he pulls one out and sterilizes it before carefully sewing Cas up.

Neither of them say anything the first few times Dean pushes the needle through his skin and pulls the thread through, but about a quarter of the way done, Cas says quietly, “You can’t hurt me, Dean, you don’t have to be so meticulous.”

Dean huffs a laugh and keeps working just as gently as before. “You can’t heal this, so I’m not giving your vessel a permanently jagged scar from some pisspoor suture job. You’re gonna have perfectly healed stitches just like everybody else I’ve ever sewed up, you got that?”

It takes Cas a second to answer. “I could fix the scar once I’m back to full strength.”

“Yeah, well. Still.”

They’re silent again until Dean is on the last few stitches.

“Do you know anything about the Darkness?” Dean asks casually. 

“The Darkness? It’s nearly infinite power, but it’s been gone since long before humans roamed the earth. Long before anything, actually. Why?”

“We freed it.” Dean grabs bandages and places one on Cas’ stomach. “Whatever you and Sam did to get rid of the Mark, it freed the Darkness.”

“That’s not possible.”

Dean starts cleaning up a less serious wound under Cas’ right pec. “She’s asleep in the room down the hall.”

“What?”

“Sam and I haven’t exactly talked about it or tried to confirm it, but, uh, I think the Darkness is a baby. And we’re taking care of her.”

“Dean,” Cas chastises. He grabs Dean’s wrist to make him stop bandaging him. They look at each other.

“It’s a baby, Cas. What were we supposed to do?” Dean slowly pulls his hand away; Cas lets him go. “Better that she’s here, where we can keep an eye on her.” 

“I don’t understand why the Darkness would be a baby,” Cas says. “What makes you think it’s the Darkness?”

Dean hesitates. He refocuses back on Cas’ body, tending to the rest of his wounds, as he considers what to say. He and Sam have been avoiding the subject so completely that it feels odd that Cas is so willing to discuss it. As Dean cleans the cut on Cas’ bottom lip, he says, “She has the Mark of Cain. And she’s barely out of the womb and might already be walking by the time she wakes up, I don’t know.”

“This is bad.”

“Yeah, you think?”

“She’s a time bomb, Dean. We need to—” Cas cuts himself off with a cry of pain. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and rocks forward, his teeth gritted. 

Dean puts his arms around him and presses his hands hard against the back of his coat. “Whoa, Cas, come back to me, come back to me.”

The door swings open. Sam comes in, wearing his pajamas.

“Cas?” he says, but Cas is still groaning against Dean’s chest. Sam looks at Dean. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I think it’s the spell. We need to find Rowe—”

“You need some kind of protection against me,” Cas interrupts, speaking loudly as if he’s trying to be heard over something only he can hear. “Quickly. I could be dangerous.”

Cas feels so human and familiar in Dean’s arms that it seems impossible that he could turn at any moment, but they listen to him anyway. Sam suggests taking him to the dungeon, but then Amara cries from the other room and Sam leaves to take care of her, and Dean thinks there’s no way in hell he’s putting a hurt and scared Cas in the dungeon. He hadn’t even considered it an option. 

Cas relaxes after another minute, falling back against the bed and keeping his eyes closed, his chest heaving with deep breaths. Dean watches him warily.

“You OK, Cas?”

“You need to put restraints on me. Take me to the dungeon.”

“No. I’m not doing that,” Dean says with conviction. “I’ll get some shackles, put some Enochian crap on there to hold you in case you go rabid. But you haven’t attacked me yet, so that’s a good sign, right?”

Cas just nods minutely. A line of blood falls from his lip, trickling down his chin.

Dean automatically grabs a piece of gauze and soaks up the blood. “Here, I didn’t finish that earlier,” he mutters. He dabs some ointment on Cas’ lip and then fixes a butterfly bandage over it. “There. Good as new.”

“Dean.”

Dean just looks at him.

“Get the chains.”

Dean sighs and gets up from his bed, reluctant to leave Cas but not wanting to move him. Cas needs to stay put so he doesn’t tear his new stitches. 

Dean passes Sam in the hallway and tells him to stay with Cas while he gets the restraints. 

It’s still the middle of the night. After they get cuffs around Cas’ hands and feet, Sam apologizes for needing some rest and then says a casual “goodnight,” leaving Dean and Cas to figure out what to attach the chains to. 

“I’ve got a cot in the closet, I’ll stay on that so you don’t have to get up from the bed,” Dean insists. 

Cas argues, of course, but while he’s voicing his protests Dean just hooks the chain up to the headboard and goes to the closet. Cas attempts to get up even as Dean is tucking himself under a blanket on the cot. 

“Cas,” he says, exasperated, lying on his back in the dark. “I need some sleep, and I can’t leave you alone. You’re hurt, and I swear to god if you rip those stitches—just stay on the bed. Please.”

There’s some huffy breathing and some shuffling, then the light jangling of metal, but Cas doesn’t say anything else. 

And if he has any other problems or episodes during the night, Dean sleeps through it. 

In the morning, Dean has to hide how badly his back hurts so that Cas can’t give him some compassionate version of “I told you so.” Just like the previous morning, Sam comes in with Amara, but this time he’s given her a bottle and is holding her confidently in his arms. Dean stands at his sink and washes his face.

“Did you sleep, Cas?” Sam asks, and Dean is glad that the cot is still out so that Sam isn’t tempted to ask any uncomfortable questions. 

“I don’t need sleep,” Cas responds. “I just sat here quietly.”

“How do you feel?”

“Terrible.”

Sam and Dean share a look. Sam says, “I thought your angel wiring would fight it off, or slow it down at least.”

“It appears I simply respond differently from humans.”

“If you were human, you’d be dead,” Dean says. “With you, it’s like it’s digging deeper.” He shakes his head. “We gotta find Rowena. Today.”

While Sam shows Cas the baby, Dean calls Crowley and gets his voicemail. He calls him twice more before giving up. 

“Crowley’s not going to help,” Cas says as he examines the Mark of Cain on Amara’s shoulder. “Even if he knows where she is, he’d rather let the spell do whatever it’s going to do to me.”

“Not gonna stop me from trying to convince him,” Dean mumbles to himself. 

For a good chunk of the morning, they all hang out in Dean’s room, Sam, with his laptop, and Cas and Amara all spread out on the bed while Dean paces and scrolls through his phone, looking for anything that might help. Sam finds a promising lead a few hours away and calls a hunter to help, some guy he met while Dean was a demon. All he says is the guy’s name is Clint. 

Cas continues getting worse after Sam leaves. Amara takes her first steps around noon. 

When Cas has a seizure, Dean puts him on his side and stays with him until it passes, even though he can hear Amara toddling down the hall and knows the bunker is absolutely not baby-proofed. Something crashes and clangs in the kitchen; Dean cleans the foam from Cas’ mouth. 

Sam returns late in the evening with Rowena in handcuffs. They take her to the dungeon to question her, and once they have her locked down, Dean tells Sam to go check on Cas. 

“Oh no, I had a deal with the other one,” Rowena says smugly once Sam is gone. “I de-spell your angel, and then I go free.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dean says. “We’re gonna need the Book of the Damned.”

“Our deal says—”

“Our deal says whatever I want it to say because I have your son on speed dial.”

“Call him,” Rowena says confidently. “If I’m dead, you’ve got a big fat pile of nothing. No book ever. And your precious friend with the bent halo? He goes foaming-at-the-mouth mad and dies. I know he’s here, I can tell by that poor sadness in your eyes.” Rowena tsks at him. “You’ve got to get better at hiding those emotions, Dean, or else someone might find out whatever little secrets you’re hiding in there.”

“Shut up. I’m not letting you go without getting that book.”

“You know, I read quite a bit, but the book wasn’t specific about what we were doing. What hell have you unleashed on the world?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Sam comes in a second later and says, “Cas is gone. He—it looks like he broke free.”

Dean takes half a moment to glare at Rowena, but she shrugs innocently, so he rolls his eyes and storms out of the dungeon. 

Amara cries a lot when they pull her out of bed and stick her in the car seat that she’s very nearly outgrown, but they don’t have any other options. Finding Cas is an all-hands-on-deck type of deal. They track his location through his phone and find that he’s stopped somewhere about a half hour drive from the bunker.

Rowena talks incessantly over the noise of the fussy baby. It’s impossible to drown out either of them. 

“...Should never make deals with the Winchesters, since they seem unable to hold up their end of the bargain,” she says. 

Dean gives Sam a look before turning back toward the road. “What’s she talking about?”

“Oh, surely you knew Sam made a deal with me to kill my son if I removed the Mark of Cain from your arm. Well, is the Mark gone? Yes. Is Crowley dead? No.” She pauses and makes eye contact with Dean through the rearview mirror. “Oh! He didn’t know! He didn’t know.”

“Sam, you said we needed to stop keeping secrets from each other, and this is now the second secret you’ve kept in 24 hours,” Dean says in a low tone, staring at the road. 

“I see what Dean’s saying,” Rowena interjects. “Your wee pal Castiel wouldn’t be in this pickle if Crowley were dead, if I hadn’t had to use the attack dog spell, then—”

“This isn’t about Cas. You’re gonna fix Cas,” Dean says. “And if you don’t fix Cas, so help me, not only will I kill you, I’ll make sure Crowley lives forever. Eternal life for Crowley, just to piss you off.”

“Dean,” Sam says. “We’re getting Cas back, it’s OK.”

Dean grips the steering wheel tighter. Amara finally stops crying. 

When they reach the warehouse where Cas presumably is, Sam and Dean silently split up their responsibilities, with Sam staying with Rowena and Amara while Dean goes inside to get Cas. 

It doesn’t take long to find him. He barely even looks like Cas, blood pouring from his eyes, drool covering his chin, shoulders hunched as he holds a screaming woman by the throat. 

“Cas!” Dean yells as he approaches slowly from the side, his hands outstretched, wishing he could just grab his friend and bear hug him back into himself. “This isn’t you, it’s the spell. You need to let her go. You can beat this. Come back to me, Cas. Come back to me.”

Something shifts in Cas’ demeanor, and Dean knows before it happens, and he’s able to catch Cas in his arms the second he lets the woman go. She runs off as Dean slumps to the floor, holding Cas.

“Cas. Cas, I need you to fight this,” Dean whispers even as he can feel Cas tense up again.

Dean tries to tighten his grip, tries to contain Cas’ unnatural wrath within his arms, but he’s only human, he doesn’t have the power of the Mark anymore, and he can’t. He can’t. 

Cas beats the shit out of him.

Dean tastes metal in his mouth and he can barely see through swollen eyes, and he’s just one or two hits away from having a broken jaw when finally Rowena’s voice carries over and Cas collapses in a heap on the cold floor. 

It hurts to move, but Dean leans forward and reaches out, places a gentle hand on Cas’ shoulder and begs him to open his eyes. When Cas does, Dean helps him to a sitting position and then holds his face in his hands, stroking a thumb across his cheek and wiping a trail of blood away.

“Dean,” Cas says, a bit hoarse.

Dean pulls him into his arms and buries his battered face in his hair. 

Chapter Text

Rowena gets away. They aren’t any closer to getting the Book of the Damned back.

When they get home to the bunker, Sam gets Amara to sleep once again and Dean fixes a bag of ice to put on his face. Cas slumps into a chair.

“Dean. There aren’t words,” Cas says when Dean sits across from him at the war room table.

“You’re right,” Dean replies easily. “There aren’t words, ‘cause there’s no need. You were under a spell. It’s fine.”

Cas looks at Dean’s swollen face with such a sadness in his eyes that Dean has to look away from him.

“Let me fix it at least,” Cas says as he reaches his hand across the table, two fingers stretched toward Dean’s forehead. 

Dean pushes his hand away. “No, no, no. It’s fine, Cas. I had it coming.”

Cas just looks at him some more. Dean moves the ice, blocking the view of his face. 

“I felt that I…” Cas starts. It takes him so long to continue that Dean chances a look at him, but Cas is staring down at the table. “Even under the spell, I felt that I couldn’t kill you. I could’ve killed that woman, and likely would have, had you not shown up. But I don’t think I could’ve killed you.” He blinks, and his eyes are on Dean again.

Dean holds his gaze. “Well, you’re really strong. You could definitely fight it better than a human could.” He shakes his head. “I’m glad you didn’t kill me.”

Cas doesn’t say anything else, and Dean is glad for that, too. He wasn’t afraid of Cas—even when he was hitting him so hard he couldn’t see—because he’s just not capable of being afraid of Cas. It didn’t even cross his mind that Cas could’ve killed him.

And if Dean were a better man, maybe he would tell Cas that he couldn’t kill him, either. That under the influence of the Mark, he held an angel blade above Cas’ face and ultimately could not do what the Mark was telling him to do. 

But he’s not sure that’s true. Part of him thinks he isn’t strong enough, and that he could’ve easily killed Cas.

Sam comes in, yawning and announcing that Amara is asleep. He retrieves three beers from the kitchen and joins them at the table. 

“Cas, how you feeling?” he asks. 

“I’ll be OK.” He picks up his beer and turns it in his hand, looking at it curiously. “I may need some rest.”

Dean drinks his beer and takes two attempts to swallow it. It feels like sludge going down his throat. He adjusts the ice on his face, hoping that Cas and Sam don’t notice that he’s struggling.

“Take as much time as you need, Cas,” Sam says. “Amara’s in the room between mine and Dean’s, but you can take the one at the end of the hall.” He cuts his eyes over to Dean and then back to Cas. “The one by Dean’s room. There’s a TV in there, actually. We’ll show you how to work Netflix.”

“What’s a Netflix?”

Dean ducks his head to hide his smile. “C’mon, buddy, I’ll show you.”

Sam nods at them as they leave together, both Dean and Cas moving gingerly and hovering into each other’s personal space but not quite touching. 

As they walk down the hall, Dean says quietly, “You ripped your stitches, didn’t you?”

Cas looks down and palms at the dark red stain on his shirt. “Yes. I healed myself, but you were right. I’m going to have a scar there.”

“Here, let me take a look.”

They move in tandem together to the edge of the unused bed in Cas’ new room. Dean sets his ice pack aside and unbuttons the bottom of Cas’ shirt. “You want me to run this through the wash?”

“Yes, I, um, don’t think it’s worth using my grace to clean my clothes.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “It never even registered to me that you usually do that.” He runs his fingers along the small, even scar on Cas’ abdomen. “Wow, this looks good. The guy who stitched you up must’ve known what he was doing.”

Cas rolls his eyes and smiles softly at Dean. “He had very steady hands.”

“Alright, well, let me get you some clothes to change into. Do you wanna shower or anything?”

“I suppose I could shower instead of using my grace.”

Dean turns the TV on and pulls up Netflix. “So the more human stuff you do, the more you can conserve your grace? Will you need to eat, sleep, things like that?”

Cas takes the remote from Dean and quickly scrolls through a list of movies. “I don’t think so. Well, maybe I’ll sleep. I like sleep.”

Dean gets Cas a couple changes of clothes and some pajamas from his own closet. When he gets back, he finds Cas watching some low-budget documentary, lying back with his coat off and his shirt completely unbuttoned, his tan torso on full display. He makes a move to cover himself when Dean comes in, but Dean waves him off and sets the clothes on the bed. 

“Pants might not fit right, but we’re close enough in size,” Dean says in an even tone, like it’s no big deal that he’s giving his best friend his own clothes to wear. “I’m gonna try to get some sleep, you OK?”

Cas nods. “Dean.” He pauses the documentary. “I don’t want you to be in pain because of me. Please, let me heal you.”

“No. Just drop it. It’s not even close to what I—I have to pay a price, OK? I’m going to bed, but if you need anything, you can just—you can knock on my door. Night, Cas.”

Cas only says, “Goodnight, Dean,” before Dean leaves.

In the early morning hours, Amara wakes up wailing and Dean sleepily goes to her. He holds her up against his chest and paces around her room in an attempt to get her to go back to sleep. Once she seems calm enough, he carries her back to his own room and lies down with her pressed to his chest. 

A couple hours later, Amara wakes up again and Dean walks her out to the kitchen to find Sam on his laptop, drinking coffee.

Without looking up from his screen, he says, “Did you two sleep well?”

“Hmm,” Dean grunts. He lets Amara walk unsteadily over to the fridge with him. 

“You’re gonna get too attached,” Sam chastises. 

“She’s a baby, Sam. What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

Amara blows her tongue and wraps her arms around Dean’s leg and squeezes. Dean shuffles around the kitchen with her attached to him, putting eggs and bacon on the stove and getting applesauce out of the pantry. He’s thinking about going on a supply run to get Amara baby food and maybe even real food since he’s sure she’ll be growing teeth any minute when he turns around and is pulled up short by Cas stepping through the doorway, his hair fluffy and disheveled, wearing a soft gray t-shirt and jeans that hug his hips a little too tightly and drag just a bit under his bare feet. Dean stands still for so long that Amara gets bored and teeters away from him and over to Sam instead.

“The shower pressure is as good as I remember it,” Cas states. He takes a seat across from Sam, moving slower than usual but clearly trying not to make a big deal out of it.

“Where are your clothes, Cas?” Sam asks, amused. He picks Amara up and doesn’t stop her from slamming her hands against the keys of his laptop.

“Oh, I need to get them,” Dean says. He turns back to the stove. “I’ll put them in the laundry for you.”

“I’m sure I could figure it out myself if you show me—”

“No, no,” Sam interrupts. “Dean is really particular about the laundry. I’ve never even seen the laundry room.”

“There’s an entire room for laundry here?” Cas asks. 

“I don’t know, you’ll have to ask Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he brings plates of food over to the table. He takes Amara out of Sam’s lap and sets her up on the counter to feed her some applesauce. 

“We gotta go into town today,” he says. “We’re gonna need a highchair.”

“By the time we get one, she’ll be a teenager,” Sam says. 

“Cas, what do you think?” Dean asks, his focus still on Amara, applesauce smeared on her face. “Any theories why she’s aging so fast?”

“Um.” Cas sits straighter in his chair and clears his throat. “She’s not human, so it’s difficult to know exactly what she’ll do. I think she has some agency over her aging process, since she’s chosen to start walking before she even has any teeth. She could be similar to a nephil, which is—”

“Whoa,” Dean interrupts. “Oh my god.” He watches as Amara opens her mouth wide and four tiny little white teeth appear out of her gums, two on the top and two on the bottom. “OK, she, um, definitely has some agency. And knows what we’re saying.”

Sam and Cas walk over to take a look at Amara, and they start coming up with theories, but Dean doesn’t hear any of it. He’s thinking about the last time he had to deal with something like this, with a child aging like a fruit fly: his own daughter Emma. She was an amazon destined to kill him, and he very nearly let her because he wanted to die then anyway. He had lost Bobby, he had lost Cas, and when presented with a child—his own flesh and blood, no less—he couldn’t cope with it. He watched her die. He never talked about it after the case was over. 

“...There’s a power coming from her. I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to try to look into her mind or body,” Cas says. 

“Dean? You OK?” Sam asks. 

Dean blinks a few times and looks at his brother. After too long of a pause, he says, “Yeah. Uh, you guys figure out what you can about the kid, alright? I’m going on a supply run.”

He leaves the kitchen quickly so he can lock himself in his room and puke into his sink. 

Once he gets a grip, he remembers to grab Cas’ dirty clothes. What he’s not expecting is for Cas to be in the room when he walks in.

“Oh. Sorry. Just came to grab your clothes.”

Cas is sitting on the bed with several books piled next to him and one open on his lap. He looks up at Dean. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks, Cas.” He grabs the stack of clothes from a chair in the corner of the room. 

“Are you sure you’re OK?”

Dean huffs a laugh and realizes he’s too tired to lie. “No. And it’s not—” he gestures to the bruises on his face, “—it’s something else. I haven’t kept anything down since I lost the Mark. Food, beer, nothing. All comes right back up.” He closes his eyes and rubs the one that’s less bruised. “Everything tastes like shit, and I’m sleeping, like, three or four times longer than normal.”

Cas sets the book aside and walks up to Dean, then he presses two fingers to his forehead and closes his eyes. 

Dean relaxes into the touch, but Cas pulls his hand away too quickly, and Dean has to stop himself from chasing it. 

“Your body’s in homeostasis,” Cas says. “But you could be readjusting, since it’s been so long since you were just...you. Did your habits change when you had the Mark?”

Dean thinks about it. When he had just gotten the Mark, he wouldn't eat or drink anything for several days in a row and didn’t even notice. When he was a demon, sustenance never crossed his mind. After, though, he tried to keep up with his old habits just so nobody would get suspicious. His whole life felt like a performance. 

“I, uh, never really felt hungry when I had the Mark,” Dean says honestly. “And alcohol—I mean, I may as well have been drinking water.”

“Hmm.” Cas nods and scrutinizes Dean, looking over his body and face with a pensive intensity. “You may just need some time to rest.”

“Great, we’ll hole up here together, feeling sorry for ourselves and bingeing Netflix while Sammy does all the work. Sounds good.” Dean heads toward the hall but stops in the doorway. “Thanks for checking on me, Cas. I hope both of us are feeling better by the time Amara grows up.”

Dean passes Sam and Amara in the hallway, and when Sam raises a questioning eyebrow at him, Dean just holds Cas’ clothes up in response. 

It’s raining sheets when Dean drives out of the garage. He hates when the weather surprises him, when it reminds him that they sometimes spend days in the bunker with no windows to direct their routines. Like living in a casino. 

On impulse, he calls Crowley on his way into town and is surprised when he answers. 

“I still don’t know where my mother is, if that’s why you’re calling,” Crowley says impatiently. 

“She hasn’t tried to come after you?” Dean asks.

“No, but it’s only a matter of time, isn't it? What about the angel, is he any better?”

“Yeah, Cas won’t try to kill you next time he sees you, unless you give him a reason to.” Dean thinks about asking Crowley how he got his body back but decides he doesn’t care, so instead he says, “What do you know about the Darkness?”

“Oh, is that the cosmic shift I’ve been feeling in the past few days? That explains a lot.” Crowley trails off, becomes muffled, as he talks to someone away from the phone. 

Dean taps the steering wheel then turns his windshield wipers down to a slower setting; the rain is letting up. 

“Everything I know about the Darkness is rumors,” Crowley says eventually. “That she’s older than God, older than Death—”

“How do you know she’s a she?” 

Crowley sighs dramatically and says, “You’re a dad now. Congratulations.”

“How the hell did you—”

“Don't act so surprised that I keep an eye on you. You really should check the news, love, because your daughter’s been busy.” Crowley hangs up.

Dean pulls into a shopping center and parks far away from any other cars, then he opens local news on his phone and immediately finds multiple accounts of the infection, with descriptions of people going rabid and killing one another. It seems to be happening within a 10-mile radius of the bunker. 

Dean stares at his phone for a long time, debating whether he should call Sam. Instead, he sends a text to Cas.

“If you’re not busy, can you look up the news? Infection in the area around the bunker, think it might be Amara. If you can figure anything out about it, call me. I’ll be home in a couple hours.”

Cas doesn’t text back, but Dean doesn’t think much of it because Cas is, historically, terrible at using his phone consistently.

Dean buys enough stuff to fill the trunk and the whole of the backseat. While loading the car, he feels someone approaching him from behind and immediately puts his hand on the gun in his waistband and turns toward them. He hopes he doesn’t need more than the gun, because every other weapon is buried under a pile of things for Amara.

A short, heavyset white woman looks up at Dean with glassy eyes as she walks slowly toward him, unafraid. “You’re too close to it,” she says in an eerily high-pitched voice. 

“I know,” Dean says, on automatic, and he tries to swallow, to erase his words, but he ends up coughing.

She stands so close to him that Dean has to rock back on his heels and brace himself against the Impala just to be able to look down at her. She’s young, but the skin of her face sags, her cheeks gaunt and disparate from her body and age. 

“It has taken so much already,” she says. “You have to stop it. Only you can stop it.”

“I won’t be able to,” Dean’s traitorous mouth says.

The woman narrows her eyes at him. “You’re too close to it.”

Dean snaps out of it. “Yeah, you said that.”

She turns abruptly and walks away with shuffling feet. He watches her until his phone rings in his pocket.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean answers as he gets in the car.

“You were right,” Cas says. “There are a couple of neighborhoods that have been completely locked down, with nearly two dozen deaths reported so far. The high school has been closed indefinitely.”

Dean slams his hand against the steering wheel then digs his fingernails into the material. “Goddamn it, how is this happening so fast? How is she even doing it?”

Calmly, Cas replies, “Mine and Sam’s theory is that she’s using the infection to ‘fuel’ her development. We don’t know how she’s doing it, obviously, because she is a baby, but there’s no other force currently powerful enough to do this.”

“Alright, well, get some holy oil ready because we’re gonna have to—”

The same woman who approached Dean in the parking lot suddenly walks out in front of the Impala, causing Dean to curse and slam on the brakes, but it’s too late, she’s too close, and he runs right into her. He pitches forward and drops his phone beneath his seat. When he puts the car in park and gets out, the handful of other cars on the road rudely honk at him as they pass. 

The woman isn’t there. There’s no sign she was ever there. Dean checks the front of Baby, but there isn't even a scratch. He hit the woman while driving upwards of 50 miles per hour and there’s no evidence of it. 

He gets back in the car and keeps driving.

His brain goes foggy. He forgets to call Cas back. He drives in a straight line and he’s looking ahead at the road, but he’s thinking about Amara and seeing her perfect little baby face swimming in his vision. She’s looking right at him, and she blows her tongue, then she smiles and laughs, and it relaxes him, eases his tension. Then the image shifts, glitches, and suddenly Amara’s teeth are growing in and there’s too many of them, dozens of them, and they fall out of her mouth in droves and blood pours from her gums and dribbles in globs down her chin—

Dean barely manages to pull off on the shoulder to puke into the grass. 

It takes a couple minutes for him to come back to himself, the sound of his phone ringing growing louder as the world refocuses around him. He stumbles back to the Impala and digs for his phone. It stops ringing, then immediately starts again. He gets to it eventually and answers a call from Sam.

Sam sounds worried. Dean does his best to reassure him that he’s fine, that he accidentally hung up on Cas because he dropped his phone, but he can tell Sam doesn’t believe him. 

When he gets back to the bunker, he sees a black Ford F-150 parked out front and Sam standing by it with two people Dean’s never seen before. Dean takes his time parking in the garage and unloading all the stuff in hopes of delaying having to meet the new people.

While Dean is putting groceries away, Cas and Amara walk into the kitchen together, with Cas slightly hunched over so he can hold her hand. Despite the circumstances, Dean finds himself smiling. 

“Who’s Sam talking to outside?” Dean asks as Amara toddles over to him and reaches her arms up. He scoops her up and presses a kiss to her temple before returning his attention to Cas.

“He called hunters that live nearby,” Cas replies. He grimaces as he slowly lowers himself into a kitchen chair. “They’re a married couple, Clint and Ida May Lerner.”

“Ida May? Are they octogenarian southerners?” 

Cas squints at him. “I don’t think they’re that old, but they are from the South. They moved here after joining the Men of Letters, while you were a demon. At least that’s what Sam told me.”

“OK, well, what the fuck are they doing here?” Dean asks while he sets Amara in her new chair, which is just a tiny baby seat with a tray attached, so she’s still sitting up on the counter but more safely secured now. 

“Sam’s taking them with him to see if they can find and heal any of the infected people in the area,” Cas says. 

Dean clenches his jaw and nods while he feeds Amara, his back to Cas. “Right. While you and me play house.”

“I told Sam I would go, but he insisted that I—”

“No, no, Cas, you need to rest. I’m just—fucking pissed at our situation, but it’s fine.”

Amara laughs and shows Dean her brand new teeth, then she loudly says, “Fucking! Fucking pissed!”

Dean pouts at her. “You’re doing that on purpose. You could’ve picked anything to be your first words, anything in the world.”

Cas laughs and then starts to cough. 

“You OK, bud?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Dean and Cas’ phones both ping at the same time. Dean is still feeding Amara, so he asks Cas to read him the text since he knows it’s Sam in their group thread. 

“He says he’s not bringing them inside because he doesn’t want to…” Cas starts, then, slowly, “...Expose people to Amara? He’s worried that Amara causes illness to those in close proximity to her.”

Dean sets the baby food down and turns to look at Cas. “That could be what’s wrong with me.”

“The infection is visible though.” Cas shifts his eyes, looking at Dean’s neck and arms and then back to his face. “You don’t have any visible signs of it.”

He looks at the floor and thinks for a second, then he turns back to Amara and asks, “Amara, are you making me sick?”

She bangs her fists on the tray and shakes her head vigorously. “No,” she says.

“Alright, that settles that, then,” Dean replies.

“Hm. I don’t know if we can trust the words of a baby.”

Dean cleans Amara’s face and picks her up; she eagerly wraps her little arms around his neck and buries her face against his collarbone. He squeezes her and rubs the side of his face against her head. 

“Dean,” Cas says seriously.

“What?”

“She’s killing people.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he puts Amara down. He then gets one of the bags of toys he bought for her and sets them out for her to play. “I’m sorry, did I not just see you holding her hand when you walked in here? Look at her.” He gestures to the floor, where Amara is hugging a baby doll, kissing its head, then wrapping a little blanket around it and rocking it to sleep. “How the fuck do you expect me to be objective here?”

Cas looks at Amara with a worried expression and doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Then, “What happened earlier? When you hung up on me?”

“I, uh, saw something in the road and thought I was gonna hit it. I don’t know.”

Before Cas can ask any other questions, a thumping noise near the front entrance interrupts them. They both move to check it out, but Dean signals to Cas to stay with Amara. 

As he’s checking the entrance and finding nothing unusual, another, quieter thump sounds from aboveground. He heads outside and scopes out the area, but there’s nothing. It’s raining again.

By the time he gets back inside, Cas and Amara are no longer in the kitchen. Dean opens the fridge, feels his stomach turn sour, closes it again. He calls Cas’ name as he walks down the hall toward his room. The door is half open, so Dean steps in. 

“What was it?” Cas asks, his brow furrowed, as he sits on his bed with Amara in his lap, the TV playing old episodes of Blue’s Clues.

“She’s too young, you’re gonna rot her brain,” Dean says, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m not too worried about that,” Cas says, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Steve is not very good at noticing clues.”

“OK, maybe it’s your brain I should be worried about.” 

“Dean!” Amara says happily.

Dean can’t fight his smile. It’s the first time she’s said his name. It’s the first name she’s ever said. He crosses the room and takes a seat on the bed. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

Amara crawls over to his lap. He falls asleep before Steve has figured out all the clues. 

“Dean. Wake up.”

Dean jumps and grabs the hand that’s shaking his shoulder, but it’s just Cas. He lets go and puts his arms around Amara, who is curled up and sound asleep in his lap. It’s dark in the room, the TV off. And there are two demons in skinny female bodies standing at the end of the bed.

One demon turns to the other and says, “Do you think this is why Crowley is so fucking pissy all the time? Because his favorite plaything dumped him for an angel?”

The other sticks her tongue out and points her index finger to her mouth in a gagging motion. They both laugh.

“What do you want,” Dean says in a level tone—it’s not a question.

“We want the stupid baby, you dummy.”

Cas moves, but Dean puts a hand to his shoulder and whispers, “Don’t.” Amara is still sleeping.

The demons look at each other. The one who has yet to speak makes a blowjob motion, and they both laugh again.

“Is this a Penn and Teller routine? What the fuck are we doing?” Dean asks.

“You know, we have a bet about this in hell. Which one of you tops?”

Crowley appears, hands in his coat pockets, standing between the two demons. He looks right at Amara as he says, “Thank you, ladies, that’s enough. Fuck off.”

The demons make a fuss but disappear without a fight. 

“Hey, Crowley, you mind sending less horny demons next time?” Dean says sarcastically. 

“The horny ones are the best at breaking wardings.” Crowley squints and looks between Dean and Cas. “I’m going to be honest, I didn’t anticipate you both being here, sat in the same bed together. I was hoping to just steal the baby while everyone was asleep.”

“What do you want with her?” Cas asks, clearly annoyed.

“Please, Castiel, I didn’t come here emotionally prepared to talk to you,” Crowley replies with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Dean, darling, may I have the baby?”

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. “Do whatever it is you’re gonna do, because you obviously knew we would say no.”

Crowley pauses just long enough to smile before snapping his fingers. Demons appear in every square inch of the room, weapons drawn and bearing down on the bed. Dean and Cas barely even get a chance to react before Amara, clinging fiercely to Dean’s neck, lets out a blood-curdling scream that causes every single demon’s head to puff into a smoky plume, like a candle that’s just been blown out. Headless, they all fall to the floor simultaneously. Amara nuzzles her face into the crook of Dean’s neck; it tickles.

“OK,” Crowley says. “That’s what I thought.”

He disappears, taking the dead demons with him.

Dean and Cas turn to one another and look into each other’s eyes for several long seconds. Something is right on the edge of falling over a cliff, but Dean doesn’t know what it is and he can’t let it fall before figuring it out. 

So instead he gets up from the bed and tells Cas he’s going to put Amara down for the night. 

Chapter Text

When Castiel became an angel again thanks to broken grace, he did not move his love for Dean. He kept it inside him, in the beating of his heart, even as his own being stretched back into celestial and galactic realms unfathomable to him when he was human. He once again could feel and experience things as an angel, but he chose to experience his love the way a human does. 

It was difficult. At first, he thought Dean would know. He thought Dean would be able to feel it, with it being so close, just right there inside his rib cage, but Dean acted the same as always. Even when Dean understood that Cas gave up an entire army for him, Cas could tell that Dean didn’t understand why. 

When Dean got the Mark of Cain, he became more myopic than usual, more self-centered. In some ways, it was easier for Cas. There was no chance of Dean noticing his love, so he could show it however he wanted.

Even so, it terrified him. His love for Dean was so acute and chronic that over time it became a prisoner inside the cage of his heart. He couldn’t put it somewhere else even if he wanted to. It was stuck. 

It hurt.

“The holy oil’s working, but some of the people out here are, uh, resistant to it,” Sam says. “I mean, even knowing that the infection leads to death, it’s still tough to convince people to light their skin on fire.”

Dean huffs a laugh and hears other people laughing in the background. He moves his phone from his left to his right ear and flips a pancake on the stove. “Have you had to put down any people that have gone rabid?”

“Yeah, two,” Sam replies with a sigh. “But we got to a lot of people right on time, so that’s good. We’re splitting up today to cover more ground, and we’ve got designated leaders in the neighborhoods that are distributing the cure and keeping track of everybody’s movements so it doesn’t spread. I won’t be home for a few days at least.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Dean sniffs. “Cas was telling me about the hunters you’re with, they good people?”

Muffled voices speak away from the phone, something like, “We’re the best!” as Sam answers, “Yeah, I’ll introduce you when we get back. I was worried, with Amara…”

“Yeah, I get it. God knows we need more help, so I’ll try not to be too jealous that you made some friends.”

Cas walks in the kitchen and nods at Dean as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. Dean keeps his eyes on Cas for a second too long, taking in the green henley, still confused to see Cas without his usual clothes. 

“Dean? You still there?” Sam asks.

Dean turns back to the pancakes and says, “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry, what were you saying?”

“That it’s good for us to have friends, Dean. We need friends.”

“Right. Yeah.” An image of Charlie swims in his vision. “‘Cause we have such a good track record with friends.”

Sam ignores him. “How’s Cas?”

Dean looks over again and finds Cas smiling as he taps away at his phone. “He’s OK.”

“And Amara?”

“Uh, good. She’s taking a morning nap right now. Sounds like you’ve got everything under control, but let us know if you need anything, alright? Bye, Sammy.”

After he hangs up, Dean sets his phone on the counter and plates the pancakes and bacon. He sets everything out on the table and takes a seat across from Cas.

“You didn’t tell him what happened last night?” Cas asks as he pockets his phone. 

“No,” Dean says. “He would just worry and insist on doing something, and right now I’m choosing not to do anything.” He gives Cas a wide grin and then takes a dramatic bite of bacon.

“Dean, what Amara did—”

“Saved our asses. We couldn’t’ve taken on all those fucking demons, c’mon.”

Cas shakes his head and pushes food around on his plate. “No, but Crowley will come better prepared next time.”

“I ain’t worried about Crowley,” Dean says dismissively. He tries to quickly shovel food away, tricking his body into accepting it. “He wouldn’t kill me, and he’s not gonna kill you because he knows that, uh, well...Never mind.”

Cas looks at him with a concerned expression, his head slightly tilted. “What do you mean?”

“Uh, just that.” Dean sighs. “Crowley and I, uh, went through some stuff together when I was, you know, a demon, and I just—well, let’s just say he knows if he did anything to you then I would kill him.” It comes out all wrong, and Dean’s heart hammers in his chest at the thought of Cas misinterpreting what he said. Something teeters on the edge of the cliff again.

A few awkward seconds pass before Cas answers. “I suppose I should be flattered, but.” He shrugs and looks down at his food. “I would kill Crowley for a lot less.”

The tension eases out of Dean’s body through a breathless laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe one day you’ll get the chance. You gonna try to eat, or no?”

“No, I don’t think I can. I’m starting to feel better, I think.”

“Good.” Dean picks up his empty plate and Cas’ full one and takes them to the sink. As he’s getting tupperware for the food Cas didn’t eat, he says, “If you start feeling like you’re getting cooped up here with me and the kid, you can head out whenever you want. I think I’ve got a handle on Amara.”

“Dean, I—you know I can’t just leave. Not with what happened last night.”

“I told you, if Crowley—”

“I’m not worried about Crowley, I’m worried about Amara. About what she can do.”

They stare at each other across the empty space of the kitchen. Dean is leaned back against the counter, his hands white-knuckling it.

“Dean. I’m not going to hurt her,” Cas says, reading his mind. Or maybe they were having a silent conversation and Dean didn’t realize it; that happens sometimes. “I want to—I need to be here. She is the most powerful being we’ve encountered in all of our time together.”

Amara starts crying. 

Dean leaves the kitchen without saying anything else to Cas.

She’s bigger, her hair longer. Developmentally, she’s probably somewhere between 2 and 3 years old.

While Amara eats a pancake, Dean feels his stomach turn. He can’t make it farther than the kitchen sink before puking, and Amara spends the next few minutes asking, “Hurt? Dean hurt?” 

He decides to take her outside, because it’s the first sunny day since she was born.

He invites Cas to come with them, but halfway up the bunker’s stairs Cas stops and abruptly changes his mind. He rushes back down, and when Dean tries to ask him what’s wrong, Cas just waves him off and says to go without him. 

Amara says, “He be OK, Dean. You and me go outside.”

They stay outside for nearly two hours. It gets a little foggy as time passes, a soft white mist clouding the day. Amara plays with rocks and leaves and brings them to Dean one at a time like she’s handing him something precious and important. They play hide-and-seek after he teaches her how to count to 10. She insists on climbing a tree, which means Dean holds her up to some branches and lets her grab onto them and pretend like she’s actually climbing while he moves her from one branch to the next. They lie next to each other in the grass and look up at the clouds and play a silly version of I, Spy—"I spy something white,” “Is it another cloud?” “Yeah!”—and the corners of Dean’s eyes spill tears down his crow’s feet and into the dew of the grass. 

“Don’t be sad, Dean,” Amara says without even looking over at him. “I love you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Dean replies in an even tone, despite the lump in his throat. “Where’d you learn that anyway?”

“Castiel.”

“What?”

Amara points a finger at the sky. “That cloud is lion.” She roars.

Dean finds the cloud she’s pointing to. It does look like a lion.

When they get back inside, Dean sets a bunch of toys out in the library and makes sure Amara is fine playing by herself for a few minutes while he looks for Cas. He finds him slumped down in an uncomfortable armchair in his room, a dopey smile on his face while he watches some mindless TV show.

“You OK, Cas?” Dean asks from the doorway.

Cas doesn’t look away from the TV. “I’m fine. Did you have fun outside?”

“Yeah, uh. Maybe next time you can join us.”

“Sure. Maybe.”

Dean looks at him, at the way the light of the TV shines inconsistently against his face, but Cas is either completely ignoring him or is unbothered by Dean’s staring. So Dean leaves.

Feeling impulsive, he calls Sam.

“Hey, everything alright?” Sam says as soon as he picks up.

Dean is sitting at the table in the library, watching Amara play on the floor. “Yeah, we’re good. I was just, um.” He taps his index finger against the table. “It’s weird, with just me and Cas here with the kid.”

“Weird in what way?” Sam asks carefully.

“I don’t know. He’s kind of distant. I know he’s banged up, but he’s just being, uh, weirder than usual.”

“Is Amara making it weird?”

“No, I’m not—I don’t think it’s her. But maybe. I don’t know.” Dean’s regretting the call. 

“Well, you’re gonna hate this advice, but you could try talking to him.”

“I did, actually. He said he was starting to feel better, and I told him he didn’t have to hang out here if he didn’t—”

“Dean, what the fuck?” Sam interrupts. “You told him to leave?”

“No, that’s not what—”

“He’s the closest we’ve got to family, which I know you know, so maybe stop making him feel like he’s not welcome in our home?” Sam sighs. “God, I’m sorry, Dean. I know you and Cas can be...time bombs around each other, so just try to be, I don’t know, normal until I get back.”

Dean wants to ask Sam what the fuck he means, but he’s terrified of the answer. Quietly, Dean says, “I wasn’t trying to kick him out.”

“I know. But he probably doesn’t know that.”

“Yeah. OK, thanks, Sammy. I’ll talk to you later.”

Cas doesn’t come out of his room for the rest of the day. While Dean is putting Amara to bed that night, he hears Cas pad down the hall toward the bathroom, presumably to take another shower. 

It’s too quiet in the bunker, the walls yawning, stretching in the silence. Dean retrieves a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers and sits by himself in the library, waiting. He manages to get down two fingers before Cas comes in wearing one of Dean’s old t-shirts and soft pajama pants. Dean pours him a glass and slides it across the table as Cas takes a seat.

“I wasn’t trying to kick you out, Cas,” Dean says.

Cas clears his throat. 

“All the shit you went through when you were human, not having a place to stay,” Dean says, “So much of it was my fault, man, and I just—you can always stay here, man. You always have a home here.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, drinking.

Eventually, Cas says, “I couldn’t go outside today.”

“Hmm?”

“I tried to go outside with you and Amara, and I couldn’t. I kept thinking about how I felt under that spell, and how I wanted to get out and destroy anything I could find, and that was the last time I was outside of these walls. I don’t think I could leave even if I wanted to.”

“Hmm." In a trivial tone, Dean adds, "That ain’t good, Cas.”

Cas drops his head and laughs lightly. Dean knocks back the rest of his drink and immediately feels it coming back up. He folds over himself, head between his knees, and tries to breathe through the waves of nausea. His eyes closed, he sees an image of Amara again, but she’s older this time, elementary-school aged. She laughs and smiles, and as her smile widens her lips stretch grotesquely across her cheeks and split her skin apart all the way to her ears until her jaw drops down, away from the upper half of her mutilated face. 

Cas’ hands are on Dean’s back, then wrapped around his shoulders, fingers squeezing his biceps, weight of his chest pressed to Dean’s side as he speaks in a low tone in his ear. 

“Dean, whatever you’re seeing is not real. It’s not real. Come back—come back to me.”

His eyes still squeezed shut, Dean turns into Cas’ embrace and buries his face against his shirt and manages to get one arm wrapped around his back. Cas stands Dean up and half-carries him to his room, setting Dean on his back in bed and then pressing two fingers to his forehead for a long time. 

Dean thinks he drifted off for a minute, but it’s hard to tell. He opens his eyes and feels the removal of Cas’ fingers from his forehead, and he tries to turn his head to look at Cas but it’s too heavy to move.

“Your brain is a mess,” Cas says, sounding tired.

“Thanks.”

“It must be Amara that’s doing it, Dean. You’re not infected like the others, but it’s something else. Something deep. The longer she’s here, the deeper it’s going to get.”

Dean tries to sit up on his elbows, but his body just won’t let him move. Cas sees him struggling and helps him up to a sitting position, then leaves a hand on his back to keep him steady. 

“What did you do to me?” Dean asks. 

“I’m sorry. I had to root around in your brain to soothe you, and I may have relaxed all of your muscles too much.”

“Oh.” Dean painstakingly turns his head to look at Cas’ profile. “Did you see it? Whatever Amara’s doing to me?”

“No. I just could feel...there was something. Something that felt different than you.” Cas shakes his head. “I was almost there, but it was difficult because you were in so much pain, I couldn’t—”

“I’m not in pain now. You could try it now.”

Dean’s not entirely sure why he’s so eager about this. It’s not like he really wants to know that Amara, a child he’s way too fond of, is actively hurting him, but he keeps thinking about the soothing press of Cas’ fingers against his skin and he wants it again.

Cas looks tired, and concerned, but he agrees anyway and helps Dean lie flat again. Dean closes his eyes and feels warmth wash over him at the press of Cas’ fingertips. 

He falls asleep.

When Dean wakes up, it’s because of a sound in the war room—movement, shuffling, and he doesn’t immediately get up to go check it out because of two reasons.

The first reason is that he knows Sam’s movements well enough to be fairly confident that it’s just him.

The second reason is because Dean is pinned down by an arm on his chest. He’s lying flat on top of the duvet, in exactly the position he was in when Cas pressed his fingers to his forehead, but it seems like Cas passed out while still touching him. He’s facedown next to Dean, and the way his arm is fixed on Dean—elbow bent and hand at the juncture of his collarbone and neck—Dean imagines that Cas nodded off and slowly slipped until they landed here. 

Dean huffs an affectionate laugh and carefully shimmies out from under Cas’ arm. Before he leaves, he watches Cas for a moment and has the ridiculous urge to put a blanket over him. He resists it.

As expected, Dean finds Sam in the war room with his laptop open and a mug of tea in his hand. 

“Dude, what time is it?” Dean asks groggily as he grabs Sam’s duffel bag off the floor and sorts through all the dirty clothes. 

“Uh, like 4 in the morning,” Sam says without looking up from his computer. “I came back to make sure you and Cas were OK, but it seems like you worked your shit out.” He looks up at Dean then, with a knowing smile on his face.

Dean’s eyes widen. “Jesus, dude, what are you doing creeping near my room in the middle of the night? I was having some, I don’t know, headaches, so Cas was just trying to heal me and we both, uh, passed out. Like that. Everything’s fine.”

Sam’s face immediately changes to concern. “Headaches? What kind of headaches?”

“It’s nothing, Sam. I’m probably just—getting old.” He gathers Sam’s clothes up in his arms. “Don’t be weird to Cas, OK? He’s still recovering, and he’s probably gonna wake up worried because he fell asleep while trying to, uh, help me. So just don’t be weird about it.”

“You sure looked comfortable though.”

“That’s exactly what I mean about being weird,” Dean says over his shoulder as he heads to the laundry room. 

He feels his heart beating all the way up to his ears, like it does every time it gets too close to the edge of that cliff. At the time Cas pressed his fingers to Dean’s forehead, it was only around 9 or 10 p.m. It’s impossible to know when Cas fell asleep, but Dean can’t imagine he would’ve been searching around in his brain for longer than a few minutes. Which means they slept completely still next to each other for several hours. 

And Dean still feels exhausted, so after he gets the laundry going he heads back to his room and finds Cas exactly where he left him. He stops in the doorway and turns back to the hallway, looking around to make sure Sam isn’t nearby. He quietly shuts the door and grabs a blanket from his closet. He takes his spot back on the bed but turns to his side this time, away from Cas, and throws the blanket over both of them. Cas doesn’t even stir. 

The next time Dean wakes up, he’s on his other side, facing Cas. Except Cas has turned, too, and is on his side, facing away from Dean. It’s dark—no windows—so Dean looks at the back of Cas’ head until his eyes adjust and he can see him clearly. Dean’s hand rests in the middle of the bed, his fingers tilted slightly toward Cas’ back. He’s thinking about moving his hand when he hears Sam and Amara in the hallway. He jumps out of bed so fast that he wakes Cas. 

Cas, confused, mutters, “What—am I still—where are—”

Dean makes it to the sink just as Sam is knocking on the door. He sticks a toothbrush in his mouth; the door opens.

“There you guys are,” Sam says cheerfully. 

Amara runs to Dean and wraps her arms around his legs. She comes up to his mid-thigh now.

“Sam. You’re back,” Cas says. He sits up on his elbows and frowns down at the blanket. “I don’t remember falling asleep in here.”

“Yeah, Dean said you—”

“You passed out while you were trying to figure out what’s going on in my head,” Dean explains quickly, toothbrush still in his mouth. “I conked out, too, but I got up in the middle of the night and slept on the cot. Didn’t wanna move you.”

“Oh,” is all Cas says.

“It’s OK, Cas,” Dean reassures. “You’re reserving your grace, right? So it makes sense that you would need a good night’s sleep.”

“I slept in your bed,” Cas says, still lying in Dean’s bed. “I hope I didn’t keep you up.”

“Oh no, I’m sure Dean slept great,” Sam says smugly. “On the cot.”

Dean shoots him a look. He scoops Amara up and lets her cling to his back as he walks past Sam and out into the hall. 

Sam stays for the morning, all of them hanging out together in the kitchen for a couple hours and Sam proving that his presence actually helps ease the tension between Dean and Cas. Dean hates that he needs a buffer to spend time with his best friend, and he’ll deny it to Sam for the whole of their lives. 

Almost as soon as Sam heads back out, the vast silence falls over the bunker once again. Dean plays with Amara on the floor of the library, pretending to eat the fake food that she fake makes for him, while Cas sits at the table with a stack of books. Eventually, Cas speaks.

“I don’t think I found anything in your head last night,” he says. “My memory of it is foggy, but I think I would remember if anything significant happened.”

“Did you at least figure out if it was…” Dean points at Amara.

Amara shakes her head. “It’s not me,” she says matter-of-factly.

“Then what is it, sweetheart?” Dean asks.

Amara reaches up to her own shoulder and points with her index finger, tapping on the spot where her Mark of Cain is. 

Dean furrows his eyebrows at her then looks at Cas then back to Amara. “So it’s the Mark of Cain?”

Amara nods. “It misses you.” She goes back to playing with the fake food.

Dean and Cas share a look.

They spend the rest of the day not talking about it. Dean takes Amara outside again; he doesn’t push Cas to join them. They watch TV in Cas’ room in the afternoon, with Amara claiming that she’s too “grown-up” for Blue’s Clues and wants to watch Disney movies instead. Dean checks his phone while they watch Beauty and the Beast. He’s surprised Crowley hasn’t called or shown up again, but he’s sure he’s just formulating another plan to steal Amara. While Dean is looking down at his phone, a weight bumps against his shoulder and he looks over to find Cas’ head there, sound asleep. His hair smells like Dean’s shampoo. 

Dean forces himself to remain perfectly still so as not to bother Cas, but stillness is difficult for him. Within just a few minutes, he gets caught up in his own head, his mess of a too-long life haunting him in the quiet moments. He’s pretty good at stamping down the worst of his memories: his time in hell, the apocalypse, losing his parents, losing Sam over and over, losing Cas and Bobby. But the more recent events, they simmer in the front of his brain and needle at him until he feels like he needs to break or kill something. He clenches and unclenches his fist over and over as images of Charlie cloud his vision.

Just as he feels like he’s about to lose it, two small fingers press to his forehead and he opens his eyes to see Amara smiling gently at him. 

“So much pain,” she whispers. “I help like Castiel helps.”

Warmth spreads through Dean’s body, eliminating all the pain in a matter of seconds. He relaxes. A tear slips down his cheek.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice breaking.

Cas wakes with a start, hissing a deep breath and sitting up quickly as he looks between Dean and Amara.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I…” he starts.

Dean waves him off. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. You know, humans usually sleep at night for seven or eight hours. If you try to do that each night, maybe you won’t fall asleep while we’re in the middle of doing stuff,” he teases.

Cas smiles at him. Amara announces that she’s hungry and jumps off the bed to head for the kitchen. Dean gets up with a grunt and a popping of his knees to follow her. 

It isn’t until later that night when Dean is getting ready for bed that he realizes he hasn’t felt woozy or nauseated all day. He didn’t eat much, and he didn’t think to drink any beer or liquor like he usually does. Even just thinking about it, he feels his stomach turn.

So he walks purposely to the kitchen and grabs the two six-packs out of the fridge and dumps each bottle into the sink. He then goes to the liquor cabinet in the library and dumps each of those bottles down the drain—until he gets to the last one. He tells himself Sam might want a drink when he gets home, and that’s his excuse for why he puts the last full bottle of Jack back into the cabinet. 

He passes by Cas in the hallway, Cas’ hair wet from the shower, pajama pants slung low on his hips. Dean’s eyes flicker down to Cas’ bare torso for half a second before he looks at his face.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas asks seriously.

“Yeah, uh, just going to bed.”

“You look pale. Did you have another—”

“No, no, I’m fine. Seriously. G’night, Cas.”

Dean knows, the next day, that Cas notices that the alcohol’s gone. He doesn’t say anything about it.

Their routine becomes easier and uneventful over the next few days. Dean still feels sick sometimes after eating, and Cas is still hesitant to go outside, and Amara is still growing at an alarming rate. Despite how it makes him feel, Dean itches for a drink and finds himself gravitating toward that one bottle but unable to actually open it. He gets shaky and feverish a couple of times and locks himself in his room until it passes. He doesn’t have any more visions of a mutilated Amara.

By the time Sam gets home later in the week, Amara looks and acts about 10 years old.

Sam responds with a mix of shock and horror, but he tries not to let it show as Amara runs up to him for a hug.

Clint and Ida May come down the stairs a minute after Sam, both of them looking a bit hesitant until Dean waves them in and loudly announces that he’s Dean. The couple looks to be in their 50s, both Black with dark skin, Ida May small and wiry with a bun of graying dreadlocks, and Clint short and stout with glasses and corkscrew curls cropped close to his scalp. Dean looks at them critically for exactly three seconds before Clint points at himself with a gap-toothed grin and says, “I’m transgender, in case that’s what you’re trying to figure out.”

Dean blinks. “Oh, no, I was just. Sizing y’all up.” He laughs. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you, too,” Clint responds as they shake hands. “I’ve heard stories. I won’t ask questions.”

“I will,” Ida May cuts in, teasingly pushing Clint out of the way to shake Dean’s hand. “You could do anything you wanted as a demon, and you spent all your time singing karaoke in dive bars? That’s what my lesbian teenage daughter does every weekend, so is this proof that teenagers are demons?”

Dean blinks down at her. 

“Baby, we’re not supposed to scare him, c’mon,” Clint whispers, pushing Ida May toward Sam and Amara.

Dean checks his hip against the war room table and crosses his arms over his chest while he watches everybody interact with Amara. She is sweet and polite and answers their questions about what she’s been up to since she was born. When they ask her if she knows what they’ve been doing over the past week, her brow furrows and her head tilts to the side. She looks at Dean for a moment and then looks at Sam. 

“Did I hurt people?” she asks innocently.

Clint answers, “Well, yes, shug, but we helped most of them.”

“Did you not know, Amara?” Sam asks.

Amara shakes her head sadly. She says something quietly to Sam, but Dean misses it because Cas comes in and looks around in wary confusion. He stands next to Dean and opens his mouth to speak, but Clint and Ida May spot him and come over.

“Oh, Castiel, we finally get to meet,” Ida May says gently. She pulls him down for a hug and then grips him by the elbows to get a good look up at him. “You’re as handsome as I thought you’d be.”

Cas smiles and blushes, then ducks his chin as he says thanks. Dean looks down at the floor to hide his smile.

Clint hugs him, too, and then says, “Gosh, we’ve heard so much about y’all, it’s nice to finally meet you. We told Sam already, but we’re staying the night here, and we absolutely intend to impose. We’ll pay for the pizza.”

“Oh, uh, let me get the guest room set up,” Dean says. “Cas, you’re gonna have to bunk with me again tonight.”

As Dean strips Cas’ bed and goes to his sanctuary, the laundry room, he thinks about how they probably should turn a couple more empty rooms into guest bedrooms. He wants a TV room, but if Sam insists on having friends, they’ll have to make concessions.

Back in the hallway, Dean turns a corner and nearly runs right into Cas. 

“Dean,” Cas says. He stands too close. “I was watching the news earlier, and I saw Metatron. He’s nearby.”

“What? What do you think he’s up to?”

“I don’t know, but he’s human and he probably knows a lot more about the Dar—Amara than we do. I can track him down.”

Dean moves even closer into Cas’ personal space. “You think you’re up for that yet?”

Cas looks away, his chin raised in defiance. “Probably not. My plan is to leave in the morning, that way I have time to...prepare myself.”

Dean puts a hand to his shoulder and squeezes it. “OK. Let me know what I can do to help, buddy.”

Later, after they’ve fought with Amara to get her to go to bed at a decent hour, they order pizza and hang out around the war room table. Dean is listening to Ida May tell Cas ridiculous stories about her daughter when Sam comes in holding the bottle of Jack.

“Dean, please tell me you didn’t drink everything but this,” Sam says, annoyed.

“Oh, uh,” Dean says awkwardly. He shares a look with Cas. “No. Those headaches I was having, I think it was, uh, alcohol causing it, so I tossed some stuff out.”

“Oh,” Sam replies, deflating a little. He gives Dean a pitying look. “I’m gonna put this back then.”

When Sam returns, it’s with a two-liter of coke and a pitcher of ice water. Nobody says anything about it.

Dean only eats two pieces of plain cheese pizza over the span of two hours, and his body is able to accept it without incident. 

Clint and Ida May are talkative and very open, and Cas especially engages them in conversation like it’s the first time he’s ever met humans that aren’t Sam and Dean.

When Cas asks, “How did you two get into hunting?” a kind of quiet falls over the room, like they’re sitting around a campfire in anticipation of a ghost story.

Ida May starts, “Well, we ain’t really hunters, first of all. Both of us grew up in a rural town in South Carolina, and, uh, we was about 15 when it happened. You know, some parts of the South, Jim Crow never really left, so we either learned to cope or we went North. My family had an old farm, so we couldn’t leave it even if we wanted to. Clint here worked for my parents—after school, he’d come get our goat milk or chicken eggs and sell ‘em for us.” Ida May looks at Clint. He takes over the story.

“There was a guy, old, old sharecropper who worked the land,” Clint says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I saw him every day, talked to him sometimes, but he was real quiet. He rarely paused in his work, tending the land and sometimes climbing up in trees like he was finding fruit up there. I never thought much about him because I was in my own business, you know, doing my work and hiding that I was a boy, that kind of stuff. But one day I asked Ida May about the guy, why he went up in the trees, and she…”

“I’d never seen him, had no clue who he was talking about,” Ida May says with a laugh. “Old Black man working the farm? He sure it wasn’t just my daddy? But it wasn’t.”

“There was a white sheriff that drove by sometimes,” Clint continues. “We tried our best to stay under his radar, but he’d come by, ask questions, demand a glass of ice tea, you know. He knew the old man. I saw them talking a couple times, seemed real tense. The sheriff was intimidating to everybody, but he seemed to really antagonize the old man. I saw him spit on his shoes once.”

“And then I woke up one morning to my mama screaming,” Ida May says. “The sheriff was hanging from a tree.”

“So that’s how we learned ghosts is real. And, man, did we help some ghosts,” Clint says with a smile at Ida May.

“Clint had a talent for finding all the ancestors that thought they was still alive, still enslaved. We spent years traveling all over the South, freeing those folks. Sometimes we didn’t get to ‘em ‘til the damage was done, but we didn’t lose much sleep over it.” She shrugs. “They only ever killed racists.”

Dean huffs a laugh and shares a look with Sam. They rarely went on hunts down South, so Dean had no idea any of that was going on in the ghost world. 

Cas asks, “Did you get married because you hunt—I mean, freed spirits together?”

Clint and Ida May both laugh. “No,” Ida May says. “I married a fool when I was 20, had my daughter, got divorced and didn’t find Clint again until he had found himself. I almost didn’t recognize him when I saw him, I was just so focused on how cute he was.”

Clint grabs her hand and kisses her fingers. He then turns toward Dean and Cas and says, “What about y’all? How long you been together?”

Sam spits coke and starts to choke and has to excuse himself. Cas says something, but Dean talks over him.

“We’re not together, you know, Cas is just my—our best friend. Mine and Sam’s.” He clears his throat and stares down at nothing.

Clint, embarrassed, tries to apologize, but he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

Dean goes on high alert, grabbing his gun out of his waistband and signaling to Cas to stand behind the wall at the bottom of the stairs. Clint and Ida May get the hint, too, and find places to hide and wait. 

It takes Dean a moment to unlock the door. He opens it just slightly. His heart drops at who he sees.

“Charlie?”

Chapter Text

Castiel hardly knew Charlie, but Charlie knew parts of him better than anyone.  

The first time they were ever alone together, Charlie took the opportunity to ask Cas pointblank, “Are you ever gonna tell him how you feel?”

“What?”

Charlie had rolled her eyes at him. “Dean, silly. You love him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never...I don’t…”

Her face dropped in horror. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry. You’ve never told anyone. Holy shit.” Charlie gently shoved him into a guest bedroom in the bunker and closed the door behind them. “Cas! How come you’ve never told anyone? Not even Sam?”

“It’s, um. Complicated,” Cas replied. “Telling Dean would be the wrong decision. And Sam, well, he wouldn’t be a reliable confidant. He can keep some things from Dean, but not everything.”

“Why would it be the wrong decision to tell Dean? He’s obsessed with you,” Charlie said like it was nothing.

“Why would you say that?”

“Uh, it’s pretty obvious?” In a sudden moment of clarity, she gasped and put her hands over her mouth. “Oh, no. Dean doesn’t know he’s not straight. Oh my god. I’ve said so many things to him that I would not say to a guy who doesn’t know he’s not straight.” She sat rigid on the edge of the bed, her eyes flitting back and forth like she was thinking through all her interactions with Dean.

“How do you know that he’s not? Heterosexual, I mean.” Cas sat next to her.

Charlie turned her head and squinted suspiciously at Cas. “I think I know a very different Dean than the one you know.”

And then Charlie told Cas about how she couldn’t flirt with a male security guard so Dean did it for her, and about how much he loved LARPing in a complete deconstruction of his usual macho airs, the way he enjoyed judging the outfits she tried on and insisted on letting him decide what she would wear for a case, and, “He talks about you all the time. And then acts embarrassed about it. He talks about Sam all the time, too, but he’s not embarrassed when he talks about Sam.”

Cas took in all the information and felt a lightness in him that was incredibly rare. The Dean that Charlie described was one Castiel definitely wanted to meet.

“Don’t say anything to him, please,” Cas told her a little while later.

“You are, though, right? In love with him?” she pressed.

“Yes. Very much so.”

As soon as Charlie’s face breaks into a smile, Dean opens the door wide and pulls her into his arms and holds her so tight that she tells him she can’t breathe. He loosens up just the tiniest bit and presses his lips to the top of her head and keeps them there for several seconds while he cries. 

The hug is interrupted by a splash of water.

“I don’t think I’m a demon, Sam,” Charlie says as she and Dean break apart. 

Sam insists on doing all the tests right there in the front entrance, while Cas, Clint and Ida May wait at the bottom of the stairs. 

Charlie passes every test. Dean hugs her again, then he grabs her face in both his hands and hunches a bit to get a good look at her. He says gently, “How are you here?”

She shrugs and reaches up to grip one of his wrists, rubbing her thumb over his skin in reassurance. “I don’t know. I was enjoying the empty nothingness of death, and then suddenly I woke up across the street from here.”

“Empty nothingness?” Dean asks as they walk down the stairs together.

“Yeah, heaven I guess? They replay all your happy memories or whatever? I turned that feature off pretty quick, I’d rather just have the eternal sleep, you know? Life after death gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

When Charlie spots Cas, she practically jumps into his arms. Cas returns her hug, hooking his chin on her shoulder, closing his eyes and smiling. 

Dean hovers, gravitates around Charlie while they all talk in the war room. She insists that she has no idea how she’s back, that she was definitely dead, and that she feels like her regular, human self the way she was before she was brutally murdered.

Dean shares a look with Cas, then the same look with Sam. Whatever is going on, it almost definitely has to do with Amara. 

Clint and Ida May possess the kind of southern hospitality that means they’ve never met a stranger and therefore talk to Charlie well past midnight. Dean sits close to her and attempts to stay engaged in the conversation, but after the second time he nods off Cas taps his shoulder and tells him to go to bed. 

And Dean would love to just get up and go to his room and pass out, but Charlie claims that she’s pretty tired, too, and would like to know where she’ll be sleeping. 

Somehow, she ends up in Dean’s room with him and Cas. 

“Oh, by the way, Dean, before I turned the lights out I met your buddy Ash,” Charlie says as Dean pulls the cot out of the closet. He gets a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts, too, and tosses them at her. She continues, “Both of you turn around so I can change. Anyway, he, like, heaven hops. He showed me a lot of the stuff he was working on, and we started experimenting together, and that’s how I figured out how to shut my heaven down. He introduced me to some other people, too, and oh my gosh everybody was so pretty. Dean, I can’t believe you had a thing with Jo, she’s like, totally your sister. OK, you guys can turn back around. Pamela would still sleep with you though.”

Dean feels like he has whiplash as he tries to take in everything Charlie said. His shirt swallows her whole, and she takes a hair tie from her wrist and wraps it around the extra elastic in the waistband of the shorts so they don’t fall down. She gives Cas a wide-eyed look before returning her gaze to Dean.

“Well, you know, I was young and stupid, and Jo, she was only a couple years younger than me when we—when she…” Even after all this time, Dean can’t bring himself to say it. 

“Oh, Dean, I didn’t mean to—oh, come here,” Charlie soothes, closing the distance between them and wrapping her arms around Dean’s neck. “I’m sorry. They’re all very happy in heaven, and they said they hoped they wouldn’t see you up there soon. Of course, they didn’t know I’d be back here to tell you that. Whoops.”

Dean laughs and kisses her temple as they break apart. Charlie turns to Cas then, wide-eyed again, and makes some kind of gesture to him that Dean doesn’t catch. Cas shakes his head in response. 

Charlie jumps on the cot and settles in.

“Whoa, hey, I was gonna sleep there,” Dean says, offended. “You’re a guest, you should get a bed. Cas can stay awake if you don’t wanna share with him.”

Charlie pouts at him. “Is Cas not a guest, too?”

Dean looks at Cas, but Cas remains suspiciously quiet. 

“No, Cas is not a guest,” Dean says, still offended. “Cas is a sometimes resident and a sometimes sleeper. Now would you please get in the damn bed?”

“No, I’m gonna sleep on the cot,” Charlie says with a smile. She lies down and pulls a blanket over her head. “Goodnight.”

Dean puts one hand on his hip and rubs his eyes with the other. 

“Dean,” Cas says quietly. “It’s fine. Like you said, I can stay awake—”

“No, no, Cas, I was just saying that to argue.” Dean goes to the sink and pops a few ibuprofen. “I don’t mind sharing.”

He’s telling the truth, but it’s still difficult when he gets in bed. He feels pumped full of adrenaline from Charlie being alive, but they didn’t even tell her about Amara, and it’s probably going to make for an awkward morning. He shifts and turns under the covers for several long minutes until two familiar fingers gently press his forehead to make him stop.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Cas whispers in the dark. 

He does.

He sleeps through the night and actually feels well-rested in the morning. When he wakes, it’s to the sound of whispers from the end of his bed. He groggily shifts and is about to make his presence known when he realizes Cas and Charlie are talking about him, so he stays still and listens.

“...Turned into a father, you’ll see when you meet her,” Cas whispers.

Charlie replies, “Has it made him softer around the edges? A little nicer to you?”

“I may have been unfair when I was confiding in you. The Mark was a big source of the meanness—”

“C’mon, don’t make excuses, he was a total B to you sometimes!”

Dean clears his throat and sits up on his elbows. Both Charlie and Cas jump and look over their shoulders at him. He gives them a bitchface. 

“I should’ve never introduced you two,” he says by way of greeting.

“I’m, um. I’m going to get ready,” Cas says stiffly as he stands and walks to the door.

Charlie hops up and rummages through Dean’s nightstand. “Where’s your moisturizer? I need some.”

Dean slowly gets to his feet, stretches his aching back, then grabs a bottle from the shelf above his bed and tosses it at Charlie. 

“Yay, thank you,” she says as she applies the lotion to her face. “When were you planning on telling me that you have a kid?”

“Uh, today, I guess. You wanna meet her?” Dean asks.

“Sure.”

It’s still early in the morning though, and Amara tends to wake later as she gets older. Charlie joins Sam, Clint and Ida May out in the kitchen while Dean insists that he needs to shower and shave. When he walks into the communal bathroom, however, he finds Cas standing at the sink with only a towel wrapped around his waist and a straight razor in his hand.

“Dean,” Cas says like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be. “I was just finishing up.”

Dean walks over to him and takes the razor out of his hand. He goes through the cabinets and gets his electric razor then goes back to Cas’ side and holds it up. “Not using your grace to stay clean-shaven, huh? Like purgatory. C’mon, turn toward me.”

Cas turns not just his face but his whole body. Dean grabs a clean towel from the rack and wipes the shaving cream from Cas’ face before putting the electric razor to it. They don’t make eye contact while he works.

In a quiet voice, Cas asks, “Will you, um, help me leave today?” This is when he makes eye contact.

“Yeah, of course, buddy.” Dean finishes shaving his face and puts the razor down. “I can take you out through the garage, you know, make it a little easier.”

“Thank you.”

Dean gives him a friendly pat to his newly-shaven cheek. 

“And thank you,” Cas continues, putting a hand to Dean’s shoulder to stop him from moving away. “Thank you for being kind to me while I’ve been healing. I don’t know what I would’ve done had you not allowed me to stay here.”

Shifting his weight to be more fully in Cas’ personal space, Dean furrows his brow and says, “Cas, listen to me. You always have a home here. I know I can be...I know things aren’t always, uh, easy. But with both of us being a little worse for wear lately, and taking—raising Amara togeth—well, it’s been good.” Dean clears his throat. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you here, is what I’m saying. So, thank you.”

Cas gives him a sad expression and sets his mouth in a hard line. His eyes drop toward the floor. “If, after I leave, something changes and you need help with Amara, I can come right back. Whatever you need.”

Dean nods and runs his tongue along the inside of his teeth. He clears his throat again. “Well, uh, right now I need you to leave so I can shower.”

That gets a smile and a small laugh out of Cas. He leaves the bathroom still wearing just a towel. Dean doesn’t watch him go, but he waits until he hears the door close before he turns the shower on.

He gets a little shaky under the spray, and he has to turn the faucet to scalding hot to try to manage the chills that rack his body. He realizes belatedly that he wants a drink, badly, and he can’t think about anything other than the still unopened bottle of Jack in the library.

He pushes it down and down and down until it feels like he can face other people again, but his hands are still shaking when he gets out of the shower so he forgoes shaving. He’s still got a couple more days before Sam will worry and ask him why he’s letting his stubble grow.

Clint and Ida May head out before Amara’s up, insisting that they need to get home to their three cats. 

Cas has his own clothes back on, and he ignores Dean when he tries to convince him to expand his wardrobe. They get into a silly argument about it that effectively ends when Cas asks Dean why he cares so much what he wears. Though he winds up feeling embarrassed, bickering about Cas’ clothes is the thing to break Dean out of his funk and to get his hands to stop shaking.

When Amara gets up, they’re all gathered in the library together drinking coffee and checking the news, making sure the work Sam, Clint and Ida May put in is still set in place. Amara walks in almost shyly, her eyes immediately landing on Charlie.

“You’re here,” Amara says knowingly.

Charlie looks at Dean and then at Amara. “Uh, you were expecting me?”

Amara deliberately steps toward Charlie until she’s just a couple feet away. She folds her hands demurely in front of her. “Of course. I brought you here.”

There’s a long pause before Dean cuts it with, “Well, that answers one question.”

Amara makes a confused face at Dean. “I thought you knew. I’m sorry.”

Dean shifts in his chair and leans forward so he’s on the level with Amara. “Amara, sweetheart, Charlie was dead. I didn’t even know you could bring her back.”

“Dead? I don’t know...I don’t know what that is,” Amara says slowly.

“You what?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know dead,” Amara repeats. “You thought often about Charlie, you missed her, you love her, so I found her and brought her here. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Her voice raises toward the end; the lights flicker.

“Yes. Yes, honey, of course,” Dean reassures, his tone a bit panicked. “Thank you. Thank you so much for bringing Charlie to me.”

Silence falls over the room again. Cas moves in his chair, angling himself toward Amara.

“Amara,” Cas says gently. “You’ve never met Death. It’s OK. But when someone is dead, we don’t expect them to come back. Here, to earth.”

Amara looks at each of them individually. Then she says, “You’ve all been to other planes besides earth. Have you all met this Death?”

Sam, Dean, Cas and Charlie answer nearly simultaneously, in the affirmative. Amara’s eyes fly back and forth among them. Cas is the one who tries to explain.

“We are different than most, Amara,” he says. “There are ways to defy Death, and Sam and Dean have discovered most of them. And then there are very special cases of someone coming back from being dead for a reason, like when the will of heaven required Dean to be alive on this earthly plane a few years ago, so I was sent to the depths of hell to forcibly pull him out.” He leans closer to Amara and boops her nose. “Your way of getting Charlie was much safer.”

Amara smiles at Cas as she says, “I’m beginning to understand. When most people become dead, they remain dead?”

“Yes,” Sam answers. “You don’t have to say ‘become dead,’ they just die. When people die, they go to heaven or they...they go to hell, and they stay there.”

“Well, that sounds ridiculous,” Amara replies. “I’d like to meet this Death and have a word with them about this situation.”

Dean fights the smile pulling at his lips. He and Cas have been doing the best they can at homeschooling Amara, and it’s made her adopt a similar cadence to the way Cas speaks. Dean says, “We know Death, actually. He’s a pretty cool guy, all things considered.”

Dean swallows and decides not to say anything else. His and Sam’s last meeting with Death had been fraught, to say the least, with Dean holding Death’s scythe and knowing there was no way he could kill Sam, as Death wanted him to do. He was considering turning the scythe on Death himself when the Mark of Cain burned so fiercely off his arm that he dropped the scythe to the floor. Death disappeared as the Darkness descended. 

“Everyone dies at some point, Amara,” Sam says. “We—people—can’t stay on earth forever. It’s sad for the people left behind on earth, because we no longer get to see that person anymore, but it’s a part of life that we have to accept.”

Amara squints at him. “Except you don’t. You all come back from being dead all the time.”

Dean stands up and jokingly tells Sam “good luck” before he heads to the kitchen for some more coffee. While he’s making a pot, he listens to the muffled voices through the walls and smiles. 

“Dean,” Cas says from the kitchen’s threshold.

“Jesus, I didn’t hear you come in,” Dean says with a laugh as he pours his new cup of coffee. “What’s up, man?”

“I think it’s time for me to go.”

Dean sets his mug down. “Right. Let’s do it.”

Cas does fine until they get in the garage. He freezes about five feet away from the car Dean picked out for him, his body rigid and his eyes unfocused. Dean gets in his personal space and puts a hand on Cas’ shoulder, moving his head down just a bit so they’re perfectly eye level. 

“Hey, look at me,” Dean says, imbuing his voice with confidence. “I’m right here. You need anything, you call. You come right back here if you feel like you need to, OK?”

Cas doesn’t say anything, but he nods. His eyes drop to the floor. His whole body violently shakes. He makes a horrifying, anguished noise. 

Dean moves his hand from Cas’ shoulder to behind his neck, fitting his thumb in front of Cas’ ear and nudging his head up until he’s making eye contact again.

“Listen to me, this is a milk run,” Dean continues. “A really important milk run, like cereal's the only food in the house kind of milk run, but it should be fine. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, I don’t know—I don’t know why I’m—why I can’t—”

Cas squeezes his eyes shut and shudders, his breaths coming out hard and ragged. Dean’s instincts kick in, and he remembers what he used to do whenever Sam got upset when they were little. He tightens his grip around Cas’ neck and presses their foreheads together, holding him steady and taking deep breaths in and out until Cas’ breathing falls in line with his.

Several seconds pass. Dean waits until calm fills the entire garage, and then he lets Cas go.

Cas blinks, looks confused, then he smiles softly at Dean. “Thank you,” he says. “How did you do that?”

Dean waves him off and walks over to the car. “Something I used to do with Sammy when we were kids.”

Once Cas is in the car, Dean leans over the open door and says, “OK, well. I’ll see you soon, Cas.”

Cas solemnly nods at him. Dean watches him closely until he pulls out of the garage, then Dean walks outside and watches until the car disappears around a curve. 

Back inside, Dean once again hears conversation flowing in the library, so he decides to take a break in his room, listen to some music alone for a few minutes.

He barely even hits play on some soft rock when there’s a knock on his door followed by Sam walking right in.

“Hey,” Sam says.

“Hey.”

“Cas head out?”

“Yeah, I, uh,” Dean says. “I let him borrow a car.”

“I hope he’s ready for it, I mean, he hasn’t left the bunker since…”

Dean rubs his eyes. “Yeah, it’s been weird here with the kid. Cas just needed some time to, uh, get better and get back in the game, but I think he’ll be OK. I told him to come right back if anything goes sideways.”

“Good. That’s good.” Sam nods and looks to the side, lost in thought. “Dean, you and Cas...You guys raised a kid. In, like, a week. I can’t—I can’t square it, how she could be spreading this disease through this city and then, you know, so sweet and curious and smart and—I just, has she done anything? Anything to show that she’s dangerous?”

“No,” Dean says without hesitating. He pushes down the memory of the decapitated demons. “It’s weird, everything she does is like a regular kid except she’s just stuck in fast-forward. I think she learns from us, though, man. I mean, obviously things like reading and writing, we’re teaching her that, but other stuff, too. She’s starting to sound like Cas. And then—there was a day, we were outside, and she, uh, said that she loved me. She doesn’t know what death is, but she knows love? How the hell did she learn that?”

“Whoa, whoa, she told you that?” Sam asks. “You said you watched some TV with her, maybe she learned it from that?”

“Or maybe she…” Dean drifts off, remembers how clearly Amara had said “Castiel” when Dean asked her where she learned love. “Maybe she just really does love me.”

Sam sighs. “Dean. You know she’s not—”

“She is, though, Sam. She is my kid.”

Sam lets that hang in the air for a long time. Then, “When the time comes, I guess it’ll be up to me.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean avoids eye contact. “I don’t think Cas or I could do it.”

“Alright, uh, I’ll look into the lore, see what I can find out. Let me know if Cas calls with any info.”

“Yeah, sure.”

After Sam leaves, Dean considers texting Cas and telling him to give Sam updates, but then he admits to himself that he likes being the middleman so all he ends up texting Cas is, “You doing OK so far?” even though he just left 20 minutes ago.

Cas doesn’t text back right away, so Dean turns his music up and closes his eyes. After a couple minutes, Charlie knocks on the door and Dean pats the bed next to him. She slides on top of the covers and wraps an arm across his stomach and rests her head on his chest.

“Play it out loud,” she says.

He unplugs the headphones; music flows out of his shitty phone speaker. Charlie taps her fingers against his side. 

“I missed you so much,” Dean whispers.

“I know,” she replies.

They listen to music together for about an hour. Dean remains still save for the tapping of the beat with his fingertips against Charlie’s back. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the feel of his own heartbeat beneath the weight of Charlie’s head, her gentle humming: it’s enough. It’s all enough. He's able to accept the stillness.

Sam texts Dean to let him know that he and Amara are making lunch. Dean texts back that he and Charlie will be out in a minute, then he says to Charlie, “What are you gonna do now that you’re back?”

“Well, um, could I crash here for a while?” she asks, a bit of awkwardness in her tone. “I need to create a new identity for myself and try to get a job, then I could move out. I might stay close by, though, because I’d like to be able to go on hunts with you guys. I mean, you are still, uh, hunting, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. I’ve just been here with the kid, you know, getting better after losing the Mark, but I think I’m about ready to get back at it.” He pauses and nods, reassuring himself. “It’s been nice, actually. Almost like taking a break.”

“Cas was kind of sick, too, wasn’t he? So you guys have been recovering together and raising Amara? Together?”

“Yeah, I guess. Like I said, it was nice.” He almost brings up what he overheard earlier, and maybe a better version of him would be fine teasing Charlie for talking to Cas about how mean he can be, but he’s not a better version of himself, he doesn't really know how to talk about his relationship with Cas, and so he doesn’t say anything else.

Charlie says, “I don’t really get what Amara is, and I know she’s probably very dangerous, but I’m so glad she brought me back. I really, really didn’t want to be dead.”

Dean squeezes her so tight that she says “ouch.” 

At lunch, Dean declines Sam’s offer of a BLT and just eats a slice of leftover pizza instead. He sits next to Amara at the kitchen table and helps her with a math worksheet he printed for her.

“Is that all you’re gonna eat?” Sam asks when he notices the crust of a single slice of pizza on Dean’s plate.

Dean keeps looking at the math. “Yeah.”

“OK, so, who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Amara looks up at Sam with a deadly serious expression. “No, this is Dean.” 

“I’m just not hungry, Sam, it ain’t a big deal.”

Sam sets his lips into a hard line, but he doesn’t say anything. Dean knows, actually, that it is a big deal, that whatever is happening to his body is definitely a big deal, but he’s going to control what he can control. He reasons that if he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t have splitting-headache visions of Amara. If he doesn’t eat much, he doesn’t puke. Simple.

Cas texts Dean back.

“Still driving. I still feel somewhat unsteady, but I can manage.”

Dean responds right away, “You’ll be OK. Call if you need anything.”

As soon as he pockets his phone, he catches Charlie looking at him and smiling. She quickly turns away.

Three days pass. 

Sam does research and stays in close contact with everybody left in charge of controlling the infection. Amara continues to grow and begins to learn on her own, spending more time in her room reading books. Dean and Charlie do some online shopping and order enough furniture to make three new guest rooms, and they watch a bunch of shitty movies together, and they play video games—or, Charlie plays video games and explains what’s going on while Dean watches. Cas calls to check in every day, except on day three.

On day three, Dean obsessively checks his phone all day even though he knows Cas isn’t calling or texting. It’s nearly midnight when the bunker door opens and Cas descends down the steps, looking pissed off. Sam, Dean and Charlie are hanging out at the war room table when Cas pulls the demon tablet out of his coat and drops it unceremoniously on the table.

“Metatron is very fucking annoying,” he says.

“Well, Cas, glad to see you, too,” Dean says sarcastically. 

“Where is he?” Sam asks.

Cas drops into a chair next to Dean and puts his face in his hand. “He’s barely making it in a one-bedroom apartment a few hours from here. He’s human, and a pitiable one at that.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you let him go?” Dean asks, feeling anger rise in his chest like he hasn’t felt since losing the Mark.

“Yes,” Cas says, deliberately raising his eyebrows at Dean and setting his jaw. “I let him go. I got the demon tablet, and I got vital information. There wasn’t much more to be gained from—”

“You let him go because he’s annoying,” Dean interrupts, his temper close to flaring. “You couldn’t stand the thought of driving back here with him riding shotgun. For fuck’s sake, Cas!”

Charlie tries to placate Dean by putting a hand on his forearm; it just makes him madder. He petulantly moves his arm away from her.

“Dean,” Cas says, beyond annoyed. “He is human, not a threat to us, and I got the information we needed. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to not let—”

“What was the intel, Cas?” Sam says, unbothered. 

Cas turns his attention to Sam. “Amara is God’s sister.”

"What?” Dean yells. 

“It makes sense, actually,” Cas says tiredly, looking at the table now and clearly trying to avoid Dean's gaze. “It’s rumored that God can’t be alone—the concept of the Holy Trinity comes from this theory. If God can’t be alone, then someone else must’ve been there with him at the beginning of all things. According to Metatron, God locked Amara away before the universe began, but it’s unclear why.”

Sam tries to respond, but Dean forcibly cuts him off. "Great," he spits. "Let’s just call up God and ask him what the fuck we’re supposed to do here. Metatron didn’t say anything else? That was it?”

Cas nods. He still doesn't look at Dean. 

Dean wants him to look at him so badly that he can feel his blood boil, like Cas is purposely baiting him into his anger. “Well, great, and we definitely know he wasn’t lying, and it wouldn’t have been worth it to, I don’t know, bring him here and try to get more—”

“Through what, Dean? Torture?” Cas asks, his voice rising just slightly. “I already made him bleed for that information, and I believed him when he said it was all he—”

“Yeah, sure, believe the guy who killed me!” Dean yells. He gets up and starts walking away as he says, “Have pity on the guy who fucking murdered me, yeah, real smart move there, Cas!”  

He stalks down the hall, anger set into every line of his body. He resents Cas when he leaves, and he resents him when he comes back, and he resents him for being exactly who Dean needs him to be and then turning around and disappointing him. He knows his anger is unjustified, uncalled for, and that fact only infuriates him further. 

Just as Dean is going into his bedroom, Amara pops out of her room rubbing sleep from her eyes. She looks up at him, blinking awake in confusion.

“I heard yelling,” she says. Then, because she’s only a couple weeks old, and she’s spent her entire short life bringing out the best in Dean, she says the impossible: “You never yell.”

Dean releases the anger in an instant. 

Chapter Text

In purgatory, Castiel knew exactly where Dean was at all times.

Castiel’s brain was still somewhat rattled when he and Dean landed in that forest, and it was the loneliness, the constant string of Dean’s prayers filling his head that sorted him out properly. He could see Dean in his mind’s eye, killing everything that came at him, staying awake for two days straight before exhaustion made him agreeable to an alliance with Benny. Dean slept while Benny sat nearby. Castiel watched Dean so closely that he failed to properly protect himself. On a daily basis, he was stabbed, bitten, beaten up, and even once he was nearly decapitated. He didn’t use his grace for frivolous distractions like hygiene, keeping his clothes clean, shaving—he needed the bulk of his attention to be on Dean so he could fly to him in a split second. 

Of course, he never had to. Dean found him instead.

In hindsight, Castiel knew that he was in love with Dean then. At the time, it did not even cross his mind to question why he was willing to risk his own life just to keep a mental eye on Dean at all times. It was his purpose. It was what he was meant to do.

He had to do it. He had to be useful to Dean, even when Dean didn’t know. 

Nobody comes to Dean’s room that night. In the morning, he opens his door at almost the exact same time Cas opens the guest room door. They look at each other for a moment.

“You still need sleep, hm?” Dean asks. “You stay with Charlie?”

“Yes,” Cas replies.

Neither of them move.

Dean says, “New furniture should be coming in any day now, we’ll be able to set up a few more guest rooms. You can have your pick.”

Cas raises his eyebrows in that way of his that makes him look menacing and annoyed. “Like a permanent room?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, Cas, like a permanent room. One that’s yours. One you can lock yourself in when you’re pissed at me.”

Cas steps toward Dean and points between them. “Me pissed at you? I’m sorry, am I forgetting who stormed out last night?”

“You know, you could’ve just said sorry.”

“Yes, because that’s worked so well for me in the past. Thank you, Dean, what a wonderful idea.”

Dean takes a big step forward and ducks his head down so they’re eye level. “I’m happy for you, Cas. You were able to leave the bunker and were just fine on your own for three days, wow! So now you can just fuck off whenever you want, can’t you? Go ahead and take the car, too, the one I fixed up for you!” Dean feels like he’s about to explode, and he can’t stop. “You need me to walk you out again, hold your face in my hands and comfort you until you’re man enough to fucking leave? Is that what you need from me, Cas?”

Cas looks at him with a hard expression. Their faces are only an inch from each other. Cas’ eyes flicker down to Dean’s mouth and then back up. 

Sam clears his throat.

Dean blinks and snaps out of it, backing away from Cas as he sees Charlie standing by her room, Amara by hers. Sam speaks from behind him. 

“Dean, why don’t you, uh, come with me on a supply run this morning? I think you’ve been cooped up in this bunker for too long.”

Dean and Cas go back to staring at each other. It takes Sam physically putting a hand to Dean’s shoulder to get him away from Cas. 

Sam drives. They go through a drive-through; Dean only orders black coffee. When they’re about 10 minutes from the store, Sam finally speaks.

“You know, one of these times you’re gonna push him away and he’s not gonna come back.”

Dean looks out the passenger window and drinks his coffee.

“Look, Dean, I’m not gonna pretend to understand you and Cas’ relationship, other than to say I know it’s, uh, difficult sometimes, but I just don’t get it when you can be so good, good enough to raise a kid together, and then, just, everything implodes like that.”

“You’re right, Sam. You don’t get it,” is all Dean says. 

What he doesn’t say is that he doesn’t get it, either. He wants to be normal around Cas. He would never explode at his other friends the way he explodes at Cas—like he and Cas are family, like he can treat him differently because he’s on nearly the same level as Sam. The intensity of the emotions he has for Cas is an intensity he only thought possible with his own flesh and blood. He hates it.

“Can you at least try to work your shit out when we get home?” Sam continues. “For the sake of, I don’t know, everyone who has to live there?”

Dean keeps looking out the passenger window. He finishes his coffee. “The information Cas got is useless. So Amara is God’s sister, so what? All that means is that we have no idea what to do with her, and we already knew that.”

Sam sighs. “So you only get along with Cas when he’s useful, is that it?”

Dean turns to Sam with his jaw set and glares at him, but Sam just keeps looking at the road. 

“I’ve been having visions,” Sam says apropos of nothing.

“What?”

“Since I got infected, I’ve been, um, praying. And then I started having visions.”

“And you waited until now to tell me this because…?”

“Because they don’t make any sense,” Sam answers. “I thought they were nothing at first, but, I don’t know. I’m starting to think they’re not nothing.”

“Alright, you mind sharing with the class or you wanna keep being cryptic?”

“Well, I see, um, visions of Dad. Of him young, like, when we were really little. But I don’t think it was really Dad, just someone pretending to be Dad.”

“What makes you say that?” Dean asks, still staring at Sam’s profile.

“For starters, he told me everything I wanted to hear.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound like Dad.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “No. But their message, um, it was about Amara. Or, I guess, about the Darkness. They said we’re the only ones who can stop it.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Stop what? A fifth grader starting the next apocalypse? Yeah, I’m real worried about that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that would be unheard of, right?” Sam says sarcastically. “Wait, what am I forgetting? Oh right, Lilith.”

“That was different. Amara, she—Sam, I don’t know. You know if she goes—if she goes dark side, you know I’ll be useless. You sure the visions said ‘we’? We like you and me?”

“Yeah.” Sam pulls into a shopping center and parks the car. He unbuckles his seatbelt and turns his whole body toward Dean. “Look, I’m glad you’re being honest with me about...you know, about the fact that you can’t be objective about Amara. Actually, you were pretty honest about it from the start, so.” Sam shakes his head like he’s impressed. “But Dean, don’t you think she could be, um, doing something to you? Making you incapable of killing her would be a pretty sweet deal for her.”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “Cas actually thinks that might be the case. He said he could feel, uh, something deep inside me that’s connected to Amara. He couldn’t figure out what it was, though.”

“He could feel it? Was that when he was helping you, and you fell aslee—”

“Yeah," Dean quickly interrupts. "Since the Mark, and Amara showing up, I don’t know. I’ve needed Cas’ help lately. He’s been rooting around in my brain to try to sort some things out.” Dean internally curses at himself. He knows he’s just being open with Sam because Sam complimented him for being honest. 

“So, is he? Helping?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

They’re still sitting in the car. Dean puts his hand on the door handle, anxious to get out.

“So why are you so pissed at him?” Sam asks.

“I don’t know, Sam," he snaps. "I don’t fucking know.”

Sam’s shoulders lift with a long-suffering sigh. “Can you suck it up and apologize to him when we get back? Please?”

“He had Metatron, and he—”

“Who cares, Dean? Who cares. He said Metatron’s human and only a few hours away. If we really needed him, we could go get him ourselves. That’s not why you’re mad, and you know it. So suck it up and say sorry when we get home.”

Sam doesn’t give Dean the chance to respond. He gets out of the car and starts walking toward the store without even checking to see if Dean follows. Dean slams a hand against the dashboard for good measure, then he gets out and stalks through the parking lot to catch up. 

And that’s when he sees the same woman he hit with his car the last time he was here. 

“A fucking Walmart ghost, fantastic,” he mumbles to himself as he veers off course to approach her. 

“Hey,” he shouts when he’s just a few feet away.

She turns and looks up at him with empty eyes. Completely white eyes, like Pamela’s fake ones after Cas burned hers out. Or like Lilith's. 

“You’ve gotten too close,” she says in that eerie, high-pitched voice. “Far too close.”

“Yeah, you think?” Dean answers, keeping his distance. “Who the fuck are you? Why are you haunting this parking lot?”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice calls, and then suddenly he’s right there. “Dean, who are you talking to?” he asks, concerned.

Dean turns slowly toward Sam and looks up at him. He then turns back toward the woman, but she’s gone. “I,” he starts. “I, um. Fuck.”

“What, Dean?”

“I think I’m seeing a ghost.”

“Alright, well, it’s not like that’s something we can’t handle. C’mon,” Sam says, pulling on Dean’s sleeve to get him to move. 

Dean gets sick in the store and has to literally run to the bathroom. Sam won’t shut up about it on the way home.

“You’ve been sick since we got rid of the Mark?” he asks as he speeds down the interstate. 

“I guess,” Dean mumbles.

“Dean. Jesus Christ. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dean resists the childish urge to remind Sam of all the things he did tell him, all the stuff he didn’t keep secret. Instead he says, “It didn’t seem like a big deal. Although now I’m wondering if it’s some kind of ghost sickness.”

“What if it’s Amara?”

“She said it’s not her.”

Sam shakes his head. “If trusting Amara gets you killed, I’m gonna be really pissed at you.”

“Hey, how ‘bout you do some research when we get home, see if you can find anything about the Mark of Cain or ghost sickness or anything that might explain why I can’t stop ralphing? That’ll make you feel like you’re doing something about it, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam says sadly. “I’m having visions, and you’re seeing ghosts. We’re losing it.”

“Yeah, definitely not our finest fucking hour.”

A beat passes. Then Sam says, “Apologize to Cas when we get home.”

“Yeah, OK.”

Amara gets to Dean first. She is, as usual, impossibly bigger. Dean hands her a bag of new clothes when he sees her in the hallway, and she presses her hand to his arm and gestures for him to follow her into her room. 

“Dean, I’m beginning to feel as if something is off,” Amara says as she starts changing her clothes.

Dean turns around quickly—sure, he was just changing her diapers a week or so ago, but she’s old enough to need privacy now. With his back to her, he asks, “Uh, what do you think it is?”

“I started to feel it when you yelled at Castiel. Something is calling to me, I think. My whole life has been within these walls, and I’m only now starting to realize there’s more out there past the trees across the street.” When she’s done, she walks around in front of Dean and looks up at him. “What should I do?”

Dean sighs and sits down on the edge of her bed, then he takes her hand and pulls her over until she sits next to him. He angles toward her and says, “Sweetheart, you’ve been alive less than a month. We have no idea why you’re growing so fast, and we don’t know what you’re capable of doing. I’m sorry we’ve kept you here while you’re growing, but you know you’re, uh, different, right?”

“Well, I’m very old, I know,” she replies easily. “But everything is dark. My memory, I mean. I was, I guess, asleep, and now I am awake. I know it was you who woke me up, and I know you and I are bonded in a way that can never be broken, but that’s all I know.”

Dean blinks. “We’re, uh, bonded? You mean because I’ve raised you?”

Her eyebrows knit together. She puts her hand on Dean’s cheek. “Yes. And you’ve shared this Mark.” She points to her shoulder. “There’s no separating you and me.”

Dean reaches up and takes her hand, moving it away from his face but keeping a hold on it. “What, um, do you think is calling to you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t like the yelling, though. It upsets me, and confuses me.” She looks away, clearly lost in thought. “I want things to be simple, but they aren’t simple, are they? I thought things were as simple as you love Castiel, and Castiel loves you, and you both have taken care of me for the majority of my life and taught me how to love. But things aren’t that simple.”

Dean’s heart drops like a stone into the pit of his stomach. “I'm sorry we were yelling. I’ll, uh, talk to Cas. Sort things out.”

“I think that would be good.”

Dean gets up, but he pauses in her doorway and puts his fist against the frame. “Did you talk to Cas about this stuff, too, sweetheart?”

“No,” she says sweetly. “Just you.”

Dean nods and leaves, his brain a jumble of thoughts as he tries to parse out what the fuck he’s supposed to do. He passes Charlie in the hall, and she points toward the library without saying anything. 

Cas is sitting in an armchair in the corner of the library, wearing his usual outfit, but with only socks on his feet so he can pull his knees up almost to his chest. He’s reading a book.

Dean goes to the table, on the side closer to Cas, and pulls out a chair and sits in it so he’s facing him. Cas doesn’t look up from his book.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says.

Cas doesn’t look up.

“I shouldn’t’ve, uh, thrown it in your face that you needed help leaving the bunker,” Dean continues in a small voice. “And it’s not fair of me to be mad about Metatron. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Dean.” He’s still looking at his book.

“Am I, um, forgiven?”

Cas doesn’t answer. 

Dean taps his fingertips against the table. “Alright, well. I’m just gonna…”

On his way out of the library, Dean has to clench his fists to stop himself from turning around and yelling at Cas again. He goes down to the shooting range and controls his rage through target practice. 

Charlie finds him after about half an hour. She’s pretty good at shooting a gun, but she lets him baby her anyway. It makes him feel better.

Afterward, they go to the armory and clean some weapons. Charlie talks, clearly trying to cheer Dean up, and he listens. At some point, though, he must zone out, because she asks him a question and he doesn’t answer. 

“Dean?” she asks.

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“What? No. Sorry, what’d you ask?”

Charlie looks at him a little awkwardly. “Well, I just spent, like, 20 minutes telling you about the girlfriends I had before I died, so I was asking you if you wanted to maybe talk about any girlfriends you had before any of the times you died. You know, just to balance the conversation out a little bit.”

Dean’s first instinct is to shut down, but it’s Charlie, and he’s never been able to shut down in front of Charlie. 

So instead, he tells her about Cassie. He tells her what he’s never told anyone, which is that he still checks up on her sometimes. He hasn’t seen her in a decade, but they talk on the phone every once in a while. She has a husband and no kids, and they travel around the world together for their work.

Then he tells her about Lisa, about the guilt that he carries for what he did to her, and when he drops his head into his hand and starts to cry he expects Charlie’s small arms to encompass him and make everything better.

But she doesn’t. And when Dean, confused, blinks up at her with tears in his eyes, she gives him a cold glare.

“That’s really fucked up, Dean,” she says.

And then she leaves the room, and Dean is left alone to grapple with the reality that Amara may have brought Charlie back for Dean, but Charlie does not exist to serve him.

He cleans guns until his fingers ache. 

When he gets back upstairs, he passes Cas in the hallway, but Cas avoids eye contact and doesn’t say anything. The rage bubbles back up, but Dean stamps it down. He goes to the library and finds Sam with his laptop open and books strewn all over the table. Dean walks up behind Sam’s chair and puts his hand on the table next to him, leaning over him so he can look at the computer screen.

“What is this?” Dean asks.

“Uh, I’m basically doing contact tracing for the infection,” Sam replies. “I think we got it under control, but just in case—”

“Whoa, whoa, scroll back up,” Dean says, moving his hand in a scrolling motion. 

Sam moves the screen back up to a set of pictures. Dean points at one on the right side.

“Who is that?” he asks.

Sam clicks around and answers, “That was, I guess, the first person around here to die from the infection. Her name was Caroline Anders, 34 years old.”

Dean blinks and stares at the picture. “That’s the woman I keep seeing. The Walmart ghost.”

A searing headache immediately shoots through Dean’s temples, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut and keel over. Sam is at his side, practically shouting his name and trying to hold him up, but Dean keeps crumpling to the floor as the pain takes over.

He manages a weak, “Cas. Get Cas. Please.”

He sees the woman at first, how he saw her in the parking lot, how she looked when he hit her with the Impala, but then the image shifts and the woman is grinning at Dean and her face twists and morphs until she has Amara’s face. Dean knows he's screaming, because he knows what’s coming and he wants to stop it, but it comes anyway. He watches as Amara’s eyelids peel back, her eyes bulge out of their sockets, her skin below her eyes drags down her cheeks until she is merely muscle and bone.

Something snaps in Dean. Memories flood back to him, memories he keeps deep in the recesses of his brain in hopes of never having them surface. The way Amara’s face distorts in his visions is the way he used to torture souls in hell. She is the face of every victim he had on the rack. 

Dean passes out.

When he wakes up, his head is still pulsing but not unpleasantly so. He’s lying on his side in his bed, and Cas’ face is right in front of him, both of his hands hovering around Dean’s head but not quite touching. He’s kneeling next to the bed with a look of intense concentration, but it wavers once he sees that Dean is awake.

“Dean,” Cas says gently. “How do you feel?”

Dean tries to move and winces. He manages to reach up and grab one of Cas’ hands, pulling it toward him until Cas’ fingers touch his forehead. Cas gets the hint and presses his fingertips purposely against his skin.

“I feel like shit, Cas.”

“Your brain feels better now,” Cas says. A beat of silence passes, then, “Sam said you called for me.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat. “Why didn’t you call for Amara? She would’ve been, uh, able to do more.”

Dean’s eyes slip shut. He leans into Cas’ touch. “Didn’t want Amara. Wanted you.”

“Hmm. Were you drinking?”

“No.”

“Sam said you’re seeing a ghost.”

Dean sighs. “I don’t think she’s real. I think I’m just losing my mind, need to get out of here and kill—do something.”

Cas moves his fingers away from Dean, but they drag a bit across his skin before they’re gone. Cas tilts his head to the side. “Do you still feel a need to kill, like you did with the Mark of Cain?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” Dean struggles into a sitting position and swings his legs over the side of the bed, making Cas get to his feet and take a step back. “How ‘bout we just take Amara out for a little bit? She was telling me—she needs to see more of the world.”

“You and me? You want me to go with you?” Cas asks with a cold edge to his tone.

“Yes, Cas. You gonna stay mad at me forever?”

“I’m not mad at you, Dean.” He walks toward the door. “I’m going to go talk to Amara.”

“Cas,” Dean calls.

Cas stops and turns, his eyebrows knit together.

Dean says, “When you look inside my brain, can you see what I see?”

“Probably not the way you see it.”

Dean nods and looks down at his hands. “I think I’m seeing hell. Memories of when I was…”

“Yes, that makes sense. I was wondering why it felt familiar to me.” Cas walks back into the room and looks down at Dean. “Whatever is going on with you, it’s tapping into the most painful parts of your life. It’s trying to hurt you as deeply as possible.”

“Great.”

“I’ll do what I can to help, Dean, but you may need something more powerful. However, I, um, don’t know if I trust Amara to help you.”

“Because you still think she might be the one causing it?” Dean asks skeptically.

“I don’t know what I think, but one of us has to remain somewhat unbiased.” Cas moves toward the door again. “I’m going to find Amara,” he repeats.

Dean remains on his bed for a few more minutes, waiting for his head to stop swimming. He’s not exactly sure what Cas meant about Dean’s memories of hell being familiar, because he and Cas never talk about hell. Dean has never asked Cas what it was like rescuing him—how exactly he did it—because the idea of having that conversation with Cas horrifies him. He’s afraid that he'll say it was the most important thing he had ever done, and that saving Dean changed his life completely. But he’s also afraid that Cas will say it was just another mission, that it meant nothing to him. Both options would be impossible for Dean to handle. 

They take Amara in the Impala, and Cas insists on sitting in the back with her. They sit in silence for the first few minutes of the drive as the road stretches endlessly ahead of them. Tension builds in Dean; he feels like someone should be saying something, anything, but nobody does.

Nearly an hour passes before Amara says, “Stop here.”

Her voice shocks Dean into action, making him immediately obey her command even though they’re in the middle of nowhere with just a sparse forest on the side of the road.

Amara doesn’t say anything as she gets out of the car and walks straight into the trees. Dean and Cas are slower to leave the car. They just stand together and watch as Amara gets farther away.

“Should we, uh, follow her?” Dean asks.

“I don’t know,” Cas answers.

They don’t have to make a decision, because Amara reappears after just a minute, walking back toward them with her face set in anger. She looks bigger, slightly older.

“Something is wrong here,” she says.

“Well, sweetheart, what do you—”

Dean is cut off by Amara kneeling down and jamming her hand straight into the ground all the way up to her shoulder. She yanks and pulls up, and out of the soil comes a tree, growing before their eyes until it towers over them and spreads at the top into branches and leaves. 

Dean and Cas share a look, trying to decide what to do, and in the moment of their hesitation, Amara pulls out a dozen more trees, two dozen, three dozen, and so on.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Amara, slow down,” Dean says, going to her and reaching for her shoulders to get her to stop.

She puts a hand out and stops him in his tracks. “I see things now. This is what’s calling to me. My brother has let this world die,” she says, her voice imbued with rage. “I’m going to fix it. I can fix it. I can fix it.”

Dean keeps trying to get through to her, but Amara continues tending to the ground, bringing up life and vegetation in such a mesmerizing display that Dean falls into a kind of trance as he watches beauty and nature come to life before his eyes. He falls to one knee and sinks into the ground. 

He forgets everything.

His body and mind go lax. He feels grass growing under him and vines growing over him, and he is sure that he is about to be buried in the earth forever, and he doesn’t care. He’s being consumed by darkness, and he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care until he feels something other than himself, something that is a part of him, and it’s being subsumed into the earth, too, but it’s wrong. It’s wrong, and he has to stop it. He can feel it like a limb being cut off from his body. He comes back to himself and crawls his way out of the earth, and as soon as he can feel air on his skin, Cas’ hand reaches down and pulls him up to his feet.

“Dean!” Cas shouts. “Are you OK? Amara is...she’s doing something...what should we…”

Dean ignores Cas. He walks straight toward his hurt limb. The Impala is nearly completely invisible under invasive vegetation, and Dean pushes down the panic rising in him in favor of tearing at the vines, throwing away the dirt until he reaches his car. The second he touches the handle, more vines crawl out and try to swallow her again. 

“Amara,” Dean says with a fatherly power in his voice that he didn’t know he was capable of. “Amara, stop right this instant. Stop.”

The vines around Dean’s hand shrivel and fall. 

Amara appears at the edge of her overgrown forest, shadowed by her trees, just a few feet behind Cas. Her arms and face are covered in dirt, her hands clenched at her sides. She looks ancient, despite being a pre-pubescent teenager. 

“Amara. This is not OK,” Dean says, staring at her.

“You’ve kept me hidden away. You kept me from seeing that the world is dying,” she says.

Dean takes a deep breath, trying to find his patience. “It’s not dying today just because there aren’t enough trees around here. For fuck’s sake, Amara, of course the world is dying. It’s not some perfect fucking paradise, bad things happen all the time in every conceivable way, so what? What? You think you can grow a bunch of trees and bury everyone in the earth and then everything will be perfect? What the hell did you find in those woods?”

“I wanted paradise. I wanted bliss. My brother locked me away because he wanted people to have free will? Free will means death and destruction and chaos and pain.” She crouches down and puts her hands to the earth once more. “I can fix it.” 

The ground shakes beneath Dean’s feet, the road crumbling as grass and flowers crack it apart and grow in the crevices. Dean and Cas look at each other, then they both move toward Amara, Dean on her right and Cas on her left, and they haul her up from the earth by her shoulders and carry her screaming to the car. She fights them, but in the way a regular teenage girl would fight them. She’s not actually trying to hurt them. 

While Dean holds Amara in a bear hug, Cas uses his grace to clear enough of the greenery away from the Impala so they can get inside. Amara repeats over and over again that she can fix it, but she lets Dean hand her off to Cas so he can keep a hold on her in the backseat while Dean drives over the broken road and back toward the bunker. 

“Can you put her to sleep or something?” Dean shouts over Amara’s continued I can fix it, I can fix it, I can fix it.

“She’s too strong. I’m using every bit of energy I have just to hold her,” Cas replies.

“You don’t trust me!” Amara yells in a booming voice. “I heard you talking about me! You don’t trust me! You won’t listen to me!”

The sky goes dark. Dean keeps looking straight ahead at the road, trying to ignore the way trees and vines and flowers are still growing up around them as they drive. He feels the tension again, the tension of needing to say something but being unable.

Amara continues, “I’m not the one hurting you, Dean! You are hurting you! It’s always you! You torture yourself, you hate yourself, you rely on your friends and family to believe in you in order to have some semblance of worth! Can you see? Can you see like I see? Your love—your love is broken, Dean. Cloaked in shame. It’s so cloaked in shame that you won’t even admit it, you won’t even say it, you won’t even tell Castiel—”

Everything stops. The new growth begins to rot and decay as Dean looks into the rearview mirror to see Amara passed out, Cas’ fingers still pressed to her forehead. Cas is breathing heavily, eyes closed, but when he opens them they flicker with bright blue light before returning to normal.

Dean and Cas look at each other through the mirror. They don’t say anything. 

Chapter Text

Things go hazy while Amara’s knocked out. Dean almost feels like he’s drunk, like everything is a bit out of focus and he can’t quite keep track of what he’s saying or doing. 

They get back to the bunker, and Cas carries Amara bridal-style to her room and then stays in there with her for a while, presumably trying to keep her asleep. Dean goes to the library and explains the situation to Sam and Charlie, both of whom immediately start tapping away on their laptops like they can actually find a solution to the Amara problem.

And Dean just stands there, feeling woozy, wondering why he doesn’t feel an urgent itch to go clean Baby. 

“Dean?” Sam asks.

Dean refocuses. Sam is looking at him with an amused expression.

“Look, it sounds like it was crazy, and I know you’re still trying to process it, but everything you just described sounds a lot better than what I expected from Amara,” Sam says, totally calm. “It’s better than the infection, right? Creation is better than destruction, you know? And now we have a lead.”

“What? We do?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, that’s what I was saying,” Sam replies, still amused. “Are you listening now? I was saying if you’re up for it, you and Cas could head back out. There’s already some stuff online about weird shit happening near Hastings—a couple people claiming their loved ones have come back to life, a dozen people being discharged from the hospital from a ‘miracle cure,’ uh, massive gardens popping up in people’s backyards...Yeah, social media’s blowing up with this stuff.” Sam looks up from his computer. “What do you think? Go check it out, interview some people?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean says. “Don’t you think Cas should stay here though? I mean, he’s the one keeping Amara stable right now. No offense, but if she did anything to you or Charlie—”

“I’m actually chatting right now with a witch who knows some spells that might help keep Amara chill,” Charlie interrupts. “Don’t worry, it’s an old friend. I trust her.”

Dean feels like he should put up more of an argument, but everybody seems so calm and nothing makes sense after what he and Cas just went through. But then Cas comes out of Amara’s room and even he seems unbothered, though a bit weary and heavy-limbed. 

“I think it’s a good idea for me and Dean to go,” Cas says once the situation is explained to him. He turns toward Dean. “When Amara wakes up, we are the last people she will want to see. Besides, Sam and Charlie will be less susceptible to…”

“To being buried beneath the earth and thinking it’s fine?” Dean asks.

“Yeah.”

Hastings is just a little more than an hour away, and it’s late by the time they get on the road. Cas falls asleep in the car within minutes, clearly exhausted from knocking Amara out. When they get to a motel, Dean leaves a sleeping Cas in the car while he checks in, then he gently shakes him awake so they can go to their room.

Dean tosses his duffel bag on the bed closest to the door then shuts himself in the bathroom to take a shower. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t eaten all day, but his body feels fine and the only thing off is the brain fog.

After the shower, Dean feels stupidly nervous to leave the bathroom, worried that Cas is going to want to talk about what happened, but Cas is already asleep again, facedown on the bed by the bathroom, wearing a t-shirt and a loose pair of boxers. 

“Night, Cas,” Dean says as he gets into his own bed. 

Dean sleeps like a rock until he’s woken up in the middle of the night by a tickle against his neck. He jumps but then falls perfectly still as he realizes someone is pressed against his back, their arm wrapped around his waist. Slowly, he moves his hand down the person’s forearm and traces the back of their hand and their fingers; of course it’s Cas, Dean can tell by the shape of his hand, but he still fears making any moves in case this is some kind of trick. 

“Dean, go back to sleep,” Cas whispers against his neck. 

“Am I dreaming?” Dean responds. He reflexively curls his fingers into the spaces between Cas’. 

“Is this what you dream about?”

“Not usually, no. Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

Cas’ grip on him loosens a bit. “Am I dreaming?”

Dean huffs a laugh. “OK, we’re both dreaming. G’night.”

In the morning, Dean thinks he’s going to wake up alone in bed and be left wondering for the rest of his life if he was dreaming. But instead, he wakes up lying on his stomach with one arm flung over Cas’ chest.

“Oh. What the hell?" Dean quickly pulls his arm back then curls onto his side and tucks his hands under his cheek. His heartbeat settles as he relaxes. 

Cas stirs awake and copies his movement, turning to his side so they’re facing each other. “I’m sorry, Dean. I guess it wasn’t a dream.”

“Mm. Sleepwalking, then.” Dean yawns. “Hey, Cas?”

“Hmm?”

“I wanna sleep a few more minutes. C’mere.”

Feeling impulsive, Dean reaches out and tugs Cas toward him by the hip, then he pulls him into an embrace and slots his thigh between his legs. He pushes his face up against Cas’ chest and doesn’t fall back asleep. He just breathes steadily and feels Cas’ heartbeat for a few minutes, then he pushes his hand up the bottom of Cas’ shirt and rubs his back in long, lazy strokes. 

“Dean, what are we—”

Dean cuts Cas off with a butterfly kiss to his collarbone, over the fabric of his t-shirt. 

Cas lets out a desperate breath and pushes his hands firmly against Dean’s back, pulling him closer. Dean drops kisses around the collar of Cas’ shirt, then moves up his neck and behind his ear. He still feels drunk, and he thinks there’s no way he would do this sober, and there’s no way he can stop now because if he stops then they’ll have to talk about it, and he absolutely cannot talk about it.

They shift positions, Dean rolling on top of Cas and pressing their groins together, but his lips are still on Cas’ neck. Dean’s heart is pounding in his chest, but he can’t work up the courage to actually kiss Cas on the lips. He can feel that Cas is hard beneath him, and that’s so much easier to focus on than the thought of kissing—

Dean’s phone rings. 

Although the trance is broken, Dean is slow to extricate himself from Cas. He drops a couple more kisses to his flushed skin and keeps their legs tangled together as he reaches over to the nightstand and answers his phone. 

“Yeah?” Dean says, his voice hoarse. 

“Did I wake you up? Dude, it’s like 8 in the morning,” Sam says.

“Yeah, uh, slow start. Cas was pretty wiped from the Amara thing, so.”

“Oh. Um, I’m glad you worked some things out with Cas.” Sam clears his throat. “Dean, you know if he moved into your room, it would be fine, right? Nobody would be weird about it other than you.”

Dean immediately sits up on the side of the bed and looks around the room. “What the hell, man? Are you watching us?”

Sam laughs. “No, but you just confirmed my suspicions. Happy for you, Dean. Let me know what you guys find out today.” He hangs up.

Dean looks down at his phone for a minute, clicking through stuff Sam sent him to try to figure out where to go first. He feels Cas get up from the bed, hears him go into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, the shower turning on. Dean’s heart is heavy with nerves, but when Cas emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later he just smiles at Dean and goes about his business. 

Their day is weirdly easy.

They’re quiet in the car, just the sound of Dean’s music playing from the radio, and they fall into an easy rhythm as they go from house to house pretending to be journalists.

The first woman tearfully tells them about how her husband died suddenly from a heart attack at the age of 40, just a few weeks ago, and how she had been unable to cope and was thinking of ending her own life. The husband comes down the stairs then, in his pajamas and sporting bedhead, and joins her on the couch, holding her against his chest.

“She’s been like this since I came back,” he says, smiling brightly. “I had no idea she liked me this much.”

The woman swats playfully at his chest and pushes herself away from him. “Yes you did, silly.”

Dean and Cas look at each other for a moment, both of them trying to hide their smiles. Dean wants to reach for Cas, squeeze his hand, touch him in any way he’ll allow. Instead, he looks back down at his notepad and takes real notes for his pretend article. 

In the car on the way to the hospital, Cas says, “It’s possible Amara can do more good than harm.”

“Not if she can’t control what she’s doing,” Dean replies. “I mean, she called free will a bad thing. We can’t let her sacrifice free will in exchange for bliss, that’s not how any of this works.”

“Yes, I think we need to spend more time trying to teach her. Deliberately teach her things about life, not...accidentally.”

Dean looks over at Cas for a second, just enough time to see his Adam’s apple move as he swallows. Dean looks back ahead at the road and reaches across the seat until his hand rests on top of Cas’ knee. Cas folds his hand over top of Dean’s and holds it. They don’t say anything.

At the hospital, they meet one patient after another, an overwhelming number of people who were in immense pain or near death and suddenly recovered in the blink of an eye. The nursing staff tells Dean and Cas that they thought it was a bad omen at first, that everyone was simultaneously feeling the last bit of health that the body musters before death, but then all the patients stayed healthy and are now headed home. While they’re interviewing a young boy magically recovered from cystic fibrosis, Cas excuses himself from the room and doesn’t come back. 

Dean finds him afterward, sitting on the back pew of a mostly empty chapel on the second floor. Dean sits down next to him and looks straight ahead.

“What are we supposed to do?” Cas asks.

“I don’t know.” Dean chances a look at Cas and sees a tear slip down his cheek. He instinctively reaches over and wipes it away with his thumb. “Everything feels...it feels so good. She made everything feel good.”

Cas angles himself toward Dean and laces their fingers together. They look at each other for a long time. Dean eventually puts a hand to Cas’ cheek and pulls him forward, then he presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. When he’s done, he rests his forehead against Cas’, rubs his thumb across the stubble by his ear, and breathes him in. Cas’ own breath hitches.

“Let’s go home,” Dean whispers. “Try to figure out what to do.”

On the drive back to the bunker, Cas once again falls asleep next to Dean, but this time their hands are intertwined. Dean dreams while he drives, of days like this, of endless happiness and bliss, of feeling good and being loved.

The road narrows to a single point ahead of him, the trees on either side growing thick and beautiful, the sun shining brightly. 

“This is what you could have,” a female voice says.

Dean nearly swerves off the road. He looks to the passenger seat and finds a gorgeous and familiar woman smiling gently at him, her hand holding his. He snatches his hand away. 

“Amara,” he says on an exhale.

“This is what you could have,” she repeats. “It could be easy, so easy, if you’d just let it. Wake me up, let me work. I’ll give you everything you dream.”

She turns in the seat and looks behind her. Dean looks in the rearview mirror to see what she sees. 

It’s her, barely teenage Amara, passed out next to an exhausted Cas. Clouds move across the sky; a light mist descends, and the windshield fogs up. 

“None of it was real,” Dean whispers.

“What?” Cas asks from the backseat, his voice strained.

Dean clenches his jaw and grips the steering wheel tighter, willing himself not to break. “Are you OK, Cas?”

“No,” Cas answers honestly. “That took—it took more than I had to give.”

“Well, it didn’t even knock her out all the way,” Dean mutters. His brain fog is gone, but he feels a fear deep in his gut that he may never again be able to tell reality from a dream as long as Amara is around. 

“What?” Cas asks. “Did you say she’s not—Dean, she’s passed out.”

“She’s in my head.” Dean takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how she’s doing it, but she’s in my head. She made me—she made me see things, and then she showed up as an adult. It was her, it looked just like her but, like, my age.”

“We’ve only been in the car for a few minutes. She’s only been asleep for—”

“I know, Cas! I know, alright? I know. She did the fucking—that shit Zachariah used to do me.”

“You mean when he—wait, what are you talking about?”

Dean shakes his head. His knuckles are turning white against the steering wheel. “Nothing. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Dean. Whatever she did to you, it wasn’t real.”

“Yeah, that’s the fucking problem, Cas! She showed me—fuck, she showed me good things, things I...things I…”

Adult Amara materializes in the passenger seat again, her head thrown back and laughing. “You still can’t say it!” she mocks. “In my world, you won’t have to say it, sweetheart. You can have it and never have to think about it.”

“Don’t,” Dean says, his teeth gritted. “Get out of my fucking head.”

“You’re seeing her now?” Cas asks.

“Yeah.”

Dean thinks if he doesn’t get to kill something soon then he’s going to drive his car into a ditch. He needs to yell, scream, tear his hair out, punch a wall, break some shit until the images of him and Cas in bed together fade from his memory.

He holds it together all the way back to the bunker—he has to, because Cas looks like he’s on the verge of death, and Dean needs to be able to help him. On the way, he texts Sam one of their codes, a single word that means life-or-death emergency. 

Sam and Charlie are both waiting in the garage when Dean pulls in with Baby slinging dirt and leaves all over the place. 

To Sam, Dean says, “Take Amara to the dungeon, lock her down with whatever we got.”

Amara remains limp in Sam’s arms. He doesn’t ask any questions as he takes her inside. Dean and Charlie both help Cas, practically carrying all his weight and getting him to the closest bed, which is in the guest room. Once he’s lying flat on his back, Dean hovers over him, not having a clue what to do.

“Cas. What can we do to help?” he asks.

"I...I don't...I don't know," Cas says, eyes closed.

“You need me,” Adult Amara says casually from the other side of the room. “You know I’m powerful enough to help.”

Dean ignores her.

Cas loses consciousness.

Dean grabs his face in his hands and looks down at him like he can will him to be better. 

“Charlie, do you know any witches?” Dean asks, still staring at Cas.

Charlie says, “Why would I know any witches?” at the same time that Adult Amara says:

“That wasn’t Charlie, silly.”

“I mean, we know Rowena,” Charlie continues. “What about Rowena? Why do we need witches?”

“You don’t. You’re just desperate,” Amara says.

Dean checks Cas’ pulse, then gets up and paces around the small space.

Charlie. “Dean, what’s going on?”

Amara. “Yeah, Dean, what’s going on?”

Dean. “If it was all you, then maybe you weren’t lying when you had Charlie say that there are spells that could keep you contained.”

Charlie. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Overlapping, Amara. “Sure, chase that lead. See how that goes.”

Dean puts both hands to his head and yanks at his hair. “Everybody, shut up! Shut up!”

Amara, quietly. “I’m waking up.”

Dean storms out of the room. Charlie tries to follow him, but he shouts over his shoulder for her to stay with Cas, and she doesn’t argue. 

Something crashes in the dungeon before Dean gets there. He breaks into a run and instinctively reaches for his gun, but he doesn’t pull it out because he knows it’s no use. As soon as he opens the door and rushes in, Amara stalks up to him, planting herself right in front of him and jabbing a finger to his chest. She has to crane her head all the way back to look at him.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you wanted, Dean?” she shouts, her rage filling the empty space of the dungeon.

Dean matches it, steadily. “Young lady, take your fucking finger away from me right now.”

Amara’s eyebrows raise in shock. Her hand drops. As she stares up at Dean, she huffs big breaths in and out through her nose, building like a bull about to charge, hands clenched into fists at her sides, then her mouth opens and she screams in the ungodly way capable only of teenage girls who are mad at their parents. 

Dean looks at her until she stops. In a bored tone, he asks, “You done?”

She keeps shouting, but she’s lost some steam. “I offered you everything you want! Why didn’t you take it? Why are we doing this?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t have a goddamn clue what I want.”

In his periphery, Dean sees Sam getting up from the floor and standing awkwardly over by the table. Dean’s heart pounds in his chest.

“Don’t I?” Amara asks, frantic now. “I can fix everything, Dean. I can fix it all! I can make the world beautiful and whole and you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again! I can do it, I can bring everybody in, everybody in the whole world, I can bring them into bliss, into darkness. I can do it if you would fucking let me!” Objects fall from the shelves on the back wall, crashing to the floor. 

“No, Amara,” Dean replies, his voice sure and stern. “You are a child, and you can’t just do whatever you want. You think you know everything, but you don’t.”

“I don’t have to listen to you! I could kill you!” The walls of the room shake; gravel falls from ceiling to floor. 

Dean clenches his jaw to keep himself calm. “You can’t, and you won’t. You won’t speak to me like this.”

“Or else what? You can’t do anything! You’re just some human pretending to be my dad!” Lights flicker.

Dean loses it. “I raised you! I’ve taken care of you for your entire life, and this is how you treat me?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t ask for any of this! Why won’t you let me do what I want?! Why won’t you let me—” She cuts herself off with another horrifying scream, coupled with the bunker shaking and flickering so hard that they could be entombed at any moment.

Dean bear hugs her and throws her over his shoulder to carry her to her room. She keeps screaming and kicking and punching her little fists against his back, but the only power she has against him is that of a teenage girl. Even after everything, she still can’t hurt him.

Sam follows them through the bunker, and asks over Amara’s screams, “Dean, what the hell is going on?”

“Amara, care to explain?” Dean asks sarcastically. 

She screams louder.

“Did she hurt you, Sammy?” Dean says.

“No, she just—she woke up screaming and shoved me, but I don’t think she was fully aware of what she was doing. How’d she get so—she’s so much older, isn’t she?”

“That’s about 47 items down on the priorities list right now. She went into the woods, came out older a second later.”

Dean kicks the door to Amara’s room open and deposits her on the bed. 

“You’re grounded,” Dean says. “You’re not allowed to come out of this room until you’re ready to apologize.”

“I hate you! I hate you! I fucking hate you!” Amara screams incoherently as Sam and Dean leave the room.

After they close the door, they hear things banging against the walls. More gravel falls in the hallway, small cracks appear in the concrete. 

Sam says, “This isn’t going to work. She’s not just a teenager.”

“I’m sorry, you got any better ideas?” Dean snaps. He glares at Sam then heads down the hall toward Charlie and Cas. 

“Uh, I’m almost sure I can come up with something better than ‘you’re grounded,’” Sam replies, still following Dean.

Dean rolls his eyes. When he opens the door to the guest room, Charlie jumps in surprise and puts a hand to her chest to steady herself. Cas hasn’t moved, still lying unconscious on his back in the middle of the bed. 

“He’s totally knocked out,” Charlie says in a panicked tone. “I didn’t know what to do, so I called Rowena.”

“Rowena?” Sam and Dean ask simultaneously.

Charlie looks at both of them with a pained expression. “I’m sorry! Dean, you said—you were acting like a witch might be able to help, and Rowena is the only witch I know, and I’m really worried about Cas, and I’m really scared, and you really freaked me out, Dean, and I just…” She breaks down into quiet sobs, tears streaming down her face before she covers it with her hands. 

Sam gives Dean a hard look and crosses the room to pull Charlie into his arms. Dean stands frozen to his spot. He doesn’t even remember what he said or did earlier, just that he was seeing adult Amara and losing his shit. 

“Did she, um. Did she answer?” Dean asks, his voice cracking.

“Yeah, she just asked me a million times how I’m alive,” Charlie replies. She steps away from Sam’s embrace and smiles up at him in thanks. “I mentioned Amara, and she said she’d come right over here.”

Dean closes his eyes and curses. Without giving it a second thought, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and calls Crowley.

“To what do I owe the—”

“Your mother’s on her way to the bunker now,” Dean says. “She found out about Amara.”

“So should I call off my assassins, or tell them to move faster? Which would you like?” Crowley asks.

“I don’t know yet. Just be ready when I call again.” Dean hangs up without waiting for a response.

Sam says, “You can’t just make Crowley do whatever you want.”

“Yeah, I can, actually,” Dean says, distracted, as he sits on the bed and puts his fingers to Cas’ neck to check his pulse. He then puts his hand to his forehead to check for a fever.

“He’s not human, Dean, I don’t think checking his vitals is gonna—”

“Leave it, Sammy.” Dean cups Cas’ face in his hands again, rubbing his thumbs lightly over his cheeks, praying to Cas in his head, begging him to wake up.

Charlie sniffles.

Dean looks over at her and waits until she makes eye contact with him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s OK, I’m just—” She huffs a sad laugh. “I’m not used to you acting like that. And I guess maybe I’m a little bit fragile after, you know, dying.”

Dean smiles gently at her. He checks Cas’ pulse again, at his wrist this time, then he rests his hand over top of Cas’. He leaves it there for a second before remembering the dream and tearing his hand away. He quickly stands up from the bed to cover his error. “I’m gonna check on the kid.”

It’s quiet in Amara’s room, so Dean knocks lightly and waits until she tells him he can come in. He opens the door tentatively, taking in the sight of all of her things strewn about the room—evidence of her quick development in the mixture of baby toys, clothes and chapter books. Amara is perched on her bed, legs crossed, her body shaking a little bit as she wrings out the last of her tears. She looks up at Dean hopelessly.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Dean walks to the bed, kicking things out of his way as he goes, and takes a seat next to her. He puts his arm around her shoulder, and when she comes to him easily he folds his other arm around her and squeezes her against him. 

“Like it or not, you’re my kid, sweetheart,” he says. “And I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t toss me into dream worlds when you don’t get your way.”

She nuzzles her face into his shirt, a leftover reflex from her time as an infant. “I just want to make things better. I can make everything better. I wanted to show you that I could fix it, that I could even fix what you have with Castiel.”

“Amara, what I have with Cas isn’t broken.” He squeezes her again and then pushes her back up so he can look at her. “What did you see in those woods?”

She shakes her head. “I...I don’t know. I just felt everything at once, I felt how broken everything was, and it was overwhelming after being in here for so long, here where everything is safe and good. Everything was calling to me—the trees, the soil, the air, it was all calling to me to heal it. And then—then I went into the woods, I was searching for just one voice to tell me what to do, and what I found was a deer. She was small, and she wasn’t scared. She looked at me and trusted me, and I…”

Dean waits, holding his breath.

Amara closes her eyes. “I touched her neck, petting it, and in an instant I recognized my hunger and I snapped her neck with my hands. I consumed her entirely. And I knew—I know I’ve consumed more than a deer. I’ve killed people. I’ve hurt people.” She opens her eyes; her pupils are blown wide as she looks at Dean with a desperate expression. “But if I could spread, if I could extend myself, then I could take everything in. I could consume it all. And it wouldn’t be death, it would be life.”

“OK. OK, sure,” Dean says awkwardly. “But can we just pump the brakes for a second? Maybe if you experience more of the world, wait until you’re an adult, and then we can revisit this?”

Amara’s eyes soften with pity. “To give you time to come up with a plan to stop me?”

“Well, yeah, but also because you’re still growing and learning. I don’t know exactly how your development works, but I do know that you had to learn all the things babies learn, which means you have to learn all the things teenagers learn and then all the things adults learn. Please. Just give me some time, OK?” Dean looks down at his hands. “I’m, uh, struggling with how fast you’re growing up. I can’t...I don’t wanna deal with it yet.”

Amara drops her head to his shoulder and reaches for his hand. She laces their fingers together. Dean’s instinct is to pull away, but this isn’t the adult version of her yet, she’s still his kid, and so he accepts the gesture of good will. 

After a minute or so, Dean says, “Uh, when you’re up for it, do you think you could help Cas?”

Amara laughs. “Of course. Just give me a few minutes to clean up in here.”

Dean gets up then, kissing the top of her head before going to the door. He pauses and looks at her, hesitant and unsure, and she smiles warmly at him. He raps his hand once against her door frame and then leaves. He goes back to Cas’ room and finds Charlie sitting in a chair next to the bed, holding Cas’ hand in her own.

“Where’s Sam?” Dean asks. He sits on the edge of the bed, near Cas’ knees.

“On the phone,” Charlie replies. After a moment, she asks in a whisper, “What the hell was going on earlier, Dean? Were you hallucinating?”

“Yeah, I think so.” His eyes drift down to where Charlie and Cas’ hands are clasped together. “Are you sure you’re OK? I didn’t know I could—I had no idea I could scare you.”

Charlie laughs in embarrassment. “You really lost your shit over Cas. Did you lose your shit like that when I died?”

“Uh, yeah. I murdered some people. Most of them deserved it, but, uh, I wasn’t killing ‘em ‘cause they deserved it.”

“Everyday I learn new terrifying things about you.” She lets go of Cas’ hand and leans forward to get closer to Dean. “Hey. Don’t ever murder anybody for me again, alright?”

Dean smiles at her. “Yeah, OK.”

“And Cas is gonna be OK. Right? I mean, he’s gonna be OK, isn’t he?”

“No, he most certainly is not,” Rowena says as she strolls into the room carrying a small bag that she flings from her hand, releasing some kind of dark powder into the air. “He used everything within himself to temporarily knock out a being as powerful as God. Now why would he need to do that, hmm? What could possibly make him do such a recklessly useless thing?”

Dean gets up from the bed but remains near it, hovering, watching Rowena spread different tinctures and oils over Cas’ face, neck and wrists. The only time Dean looks away is when Sam comes in and leans against the door jamb, his hand on his holster. 

“What the hell are you doing to him?” Dean asks, bristling.

“Calm down, dear boy, I wouldn’t dare hurt him now that I know what wonderful power you have under your roof,” Rowena replies. She unceremoniously opens Cas’ shirt and presses her hand to the center of his chest, pushing in at his solar plexus until his rib cage is visible beneath his skin. “I’ve got to stay in your good graces if I want a piece of the Darkness.”

Sam and Dean have a silent conversation, sharing their frustration through facial expressions. 

“Oh no, this pain is quite deep,” Rowena says. “This is going to take some time. I need everyone out.”

“Hell no,” Dean says automatically. 

Rowena turns and glares at him. “Do you want your angel better or not?”

“Dean, maybe we should—”

“No, Sam, maybe we should not.”

Cas suddenly wakes up. He sucks in a gasp and looks around with wide eyes, then he drops his head back against the bed and groans. 

Dean gently shoves past Rowena and Charlie so he can look down at Cas’ face. “Hey. Hey, Cas. How you feeling, buddy?”

Cas lurches, reaching a hand across his chest and grabbing Dean’s wrist with weak fingers. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Go. Let Rowena work.”

Shocked, Dean takes a slow step back from the bed. He looks at Rowena, who just nods at him. He then heads for the door, gesturing at Sam and Charlie to follow him. Out in the hall, Sam tries to say something to Dean, but Dean brushes him off and goes to Amara’s room. He knocks on the door and waits, but she doesn’t respond.

He knocks again. 

“Amara? You in there?” he asks.

She doesn’t answer.

“Sweetheart?” He waits. “I’m coming in.”

The room is spotless, the bed and dresser exactly the way they were before Amara moved in. 

She’s gone.

Dean sprints back to Cas’ room like he’s being called to it. He slams the door open and feels like he might pass out. Cas is in the middle of the bed, his shirt buttoned back up, unconscious once again. 

And Rowena is gone.

Chapter Text

Castiel has been puppeted probably more times than he is even aware. He doesn’t know how often someone like Naomi has come along and turned him into a robot to do their bidding, and how his body and essence have been used as tools of destruction without his agency. 

Being puppeted by a witch is not as big of a deal, except that Castiel’s grace has not been fully intact in a long time (by human measures of time) and therefore any assault on his finite being impacts him harder than it would otherwise. He had just started feeling like he was fully recovered from Rowena’s attack dog spell when she put yet another spell on him, forcing him out of a sleep so deep he may not have woken until his vessel had rotted.

He desperately tried to fight it, but he was not strong enough. Whatever Rowena was making Cas say to Dean, it must have been something she knew Dean wouldn’t do otherwise. 

The worst part about being puppeted was that it betrayed the trust Castiel had spent so much time building. With power over Castiel’s voice and Castiel’s face, a being could make Dean Winchester do nearly anything. 

And they knew it.

“What do you mean you didn’t see anything? You were right here!” Dean shouts, so angry that his head literally feels like it’s going to explode as he raises his voice. 

“We were talking in the hallway, Dean, we didn’t see anything!” Sam shouts back, trying to match Dean’s level but nowhere near actually reaching it. 

“How could they have both just disappeared that fast? What the fuck happened?” 

They keep yelling back and forth at each other uselessly, but Dean gets so mad that he punches the wall and splits his knuckles open. He feels like he’s about to hyperventilate, and he won’t do that in front of Sam, so he throws the door open to Cas’ room and locks himself inside. 

Dean slumps to the floor against the wall, as far from Cas’ bed as possible, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes to try to calm down. He’s not sure how long he stays like that, but when he comes back to himself there’s a hand on his shoulder.

When he opens his eyes and sees that it’s Crowley crouching in front of him, he violently pushes his hand off his shoulder and scrambles to his feet. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean asks. “You know not to—don’t ever fucking touch me, Crowley.”

Crowley puts his hands up in a halfhearted gesture of apology. “I said your name and you didn’t answer. Excuse me for trying to demonstrate some concern.”

“What are you doing here,” Dean repeats, slightly calmer.

“It seemed like it was about the time you should’ve been ringing me, so here I am.”

“I wish you’d stop watching the bunker,” Dean says. “Don’t you have better fucking things to do besides stalk me?” 

Crowley narrows his eyes at Dean and takes a step into his personal space. He starts talking even slower than usual. “You had a being equivalent to God living under your roof, and you let my mother have her. My being here has nothing to do with how I feel about you, you arrogant prick.”

Dean takes a step forward, too, and bears down on Crowley. “Watch it. You know all it would take is me telling just one demon exactly what happened between us when I was—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Crowley interrupts. He walks away from Dean and over to the bed. “I might be able to help your angel if you let me take him to hell.”

“No.”

“Fine, let him die here. Not like I care.” Crowley shrugs. “I guess we all need to start looking for my mother anyway. What’s the brat’s name again? Amara? Shall we play finder’s keepers with her?”

Dean raises his voice again. “Crowley, I swear to god, if you find her and don’t tell me—”

“Yeah, yeah, calm down. I’m not that stupid, not after she exploded some of my best demons.” He looks at Cas and then at Dean. “You’re sure you don’t want me to take him?”

Dean just clenches his jaw and doesn’t answer.

“It’s going to take more than just a little R&R to wake him—”

“Yeah, no shit, that’s why I need to get Amara back here. Thanks.”

Crowley looks at Dean curiously for a moment, then he snaps his fingers and is gone. 

Sam comes in a second later, nearly falling through the door as he opens it.

“Dean, what the hell? Who were you talking to?” he asks, somewhat panicked.

“Uh, it was Crowley. Did he—well, he’s gone now.” Dean stops himself from saying what he knows, which is that Crowley landed himself inside the room only to talk to Dean, and had the door locked and the room soundproof for privacy. Sam would get all kinds of ideas from that information, so Dean keeps it to himself.

“I’m having visions,” Sam says ominously. “And I mean within the last few minutes. I nearly busted the door down, Dean, I thought you had...I don’t know what I thought.”

“What were your visions?” Dean asks, avoiding eye contact with Sam by going over to the bed and sitting with Cas. 

“It was, um, the Cage.”

That makes Dean turn away from Cas. He glares at his brother. “And Lucifer was…?”

“There. I, um. I think I’m supposed to go there. Talk to him.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that.”

Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve had other visions, too. I’ve been seeing...I think I’ve been seeing the future, or just, things that Amara is capable of, I guess.”

Dean’s heart drops to his stomach. “You still think this is from God? It wasn’t from Amara herself?”

“What? No. Why would—oh my god, Dean, did Amara make you see something?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know. Both of us are cracking up, which makes me think it’s the same power working against us. I don’t know! Stop looking at me like that, I’m fine!”

A boom ripples under their feet and above their heads, so deep and resounding that Dean feels the vibrations travel up his legs and all the way to the top of his head, like his whole body is full of needles. A second boom knocks them off their feet, turns a chair over and makes a lamp fall and shatter on the floor. 

“What the fuck is that?” Dean shouts.

“Yeah, I definitely saw what she’s capable of,” Sam says calmly. 

“Sam, snap out of it! What the fuck did you see?”

Sam’s eyes flutter closed, then his head drops forward as his neck relaxes. 

Dean only manages to shout his name twice before a Black woman suddenly appears in the room, arms crossed over her chest and seemingly unaffected by the shaking earth.

“Hello, Dean,” she says in a monotone.

“Look, I don’t have time for any of Crowley’s demons right now, I’m—”

“I’m not a demon,” she says. She steps to the side right as a chunk of the ceiling falls to the floor exactly where she had been standing. “Name’s Billie.”

“The reaper Billie?” Dean looks across the room at the top of Sam’s head. 

“Your brother’s fine,” Billie explains. “Castiel, however…”

“No. You can’t have him.”

Billie smirks at him, almost imperceptibly. “Oh, they weren’t kidding about you.”

Dean tenses and blinks; an image of waking up in that motel bed next to Cas clouds his vision for a second. “What do I have to do to convince you not to reap him?”

“I’m actually not here to reap him.” She looks away from Dean and toward Cas, her arms dropping to her sides. “I’m here to take him somewhere where he can get better.” Her demeanor changes, relaxes. “Trust me, I’ve been through the library, I’ve read through Castiel’s books, and I have a very clear favorite for Castiel’s potential death. I only hope I’m the one who gets to take him there when the time comes.”

That creates more questions than it answers, but Dean ignores it for now. “If you take him now, you can wake him up?”

“Seriously. You are exactly what I expected.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “OK, I get it, everybody knows I’m obsessed with Cas, now can you help him, please?”

Billie makes an impressed face and then puts her hand on Cas’ shoulder and mumbles, “He actually said it. I must be special,” before she and Cas disappear. 

Almost as soon as they’re gone, the bunker shakes more violently than before, and Dean struggles and trips on his way over to Sam. He puts his hands on either side of his face and lifts it up to get a good look at him, but Sam’s eyes are rolled back in his head and his mouth is hanging open. 

“Sam! Sammy!” Dean shakes him, but Sam doesn’t wake up. Dean desperately looks around the room, searching for anything that will help them or explain what the fuck is going on, but all he finds is gravel and concrete falling from the ceiling. “Charlie!” he yells at the top of his lungs. 

Charlie doesn’t respond right away, so Dean closes his eyes and chants “please” under his breath over and over again. 

And for a moment, he’s back in that motel room. He’s blinking himself awake in the early morning light, the buzz of the air conditioner the only sound in the room, and the back of Cas’ head just a foot or so away. He stares at the line of Cas’ shoulder, the curve of his neck, his head full of dark hair. He inches his fingertips across the sheets and puts a gentle hand on Cas’ hip, a softer landing than he expected. Cas stirs; Dean squeezes until his skin gives beneath his fingers. Cas lazily turns over, forcing Dean’s hand away, but he quickly reaches for it and laces their fingers together, easy smile spreading across his sleepy face. Good morning, Dean.

Dean snaps out of it by pushing himself away from Sam and shouting incoherently, then he uselessly punches the wall to feel his knuckles bleed yet again. 

Charlie comes in a second later, looking terrified. “Dean, what’s going on? Are you OK? Where’s Cas?” 

Sam wakes up, finally, and surges to his feet with a scary intensity. He grabs Dean by the collar and says, “We have to go. Now.” He doesn't even notice that Cas is gone.

Sam leads the way through the bunker and out the main entrance, which Dean wants to argue with because that’s not where the car is, but Sam still seems like he’s under some kind of trance and Dean is just trying to keep it together. He and Charlie run to keep up, but the earth continues to shake beneath them, tossing them about like they're the dolls that Amara used to play with. 

After the third time Dean is thrown against a wall, he loses it and begins to laugh. He laughs until he’s laughing so hard that he’s coughing. Both Charlie and Sam ignore him.

When they get outside, it’s dark. Dean has no idea how long it’s been since he’s slept or ate, he has no concept of what time it is, but he thinks it might as well be dark, of course it’s dark. 

And out in front of the bunker, lining the street, are dozens of people with the same eerie manner of the woman from the shopping center parking lot—the first woman to die from the infection. They come forward in unison, as if being pulled, and Dean stands rooted to his spot, unable to move. As they get closer, he sees that they have the same milky eyes as Caroline Anders. 

They all begin talking over each other in robotic voices.

“Why did you let us die?”

“You got too close.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?”

“You should’ve killed her.”

“You got too close.”

“You could’ve saved us.”

“Why didn’t you save us?”

“You got too close.”

“You got too close.”

You got too close.

“Come on, they’re not real,” Sam says, sounding like himself. He grabs Dean’s wrist and starts running. “We have to keep moving.”

“Where are we going, Sam?” Dean yells. He stumbles as one of the people grabs him by the shoulder; it burns.

“I’m sorry, we have to see it,” Sam says cryptically. “We have to see it or else it won’t work.”

“What won’t work?” 

“Guys! Help!” Charlie calls from several feet behind them.

Sam and Dean both turn back and see that several people have crowded around Charlie and are pushing her backward, trying to knock her down while they mutter indecipherable phrases over and over again. Dean rushes forward and grabs one of the people, ignoring the way it burns his hand.

The man turns quickly and charges slowly at Dean, forcing him to walk backward, while the man says in a clipped tone, “Was it worth it? Was getting her back worth it? We’re all dead, but you got your precious Charlie back. Was it worth it? What’s it like being the center of the universe? What’s it like having every powerful being in existence fall in love with you? What’s it like getting everything you want from them?”

Dean nearly falls to the ground as he stumbles backward, but Sam gets a fistful of his clothes and yanks him forward and away from the crowd of people. 

“Sam! We can’t leave Charlie!” Dean yells as he tries to break away from his grip, but Sam has an inhuman strength to him and easily pulls Dean where he wants him to go. 

“She’ll be OK, it’s not really Charlie.”

“What? What do you mean it’s not really Charlie?”

“I mean, it is Charlie, but she was, uh, manifested by Amara, so she’ll be fine. They can’t really hurt her.”

Dean feels like he’s losing his mind. “Sam, what are you talking about?”

Sam doesn’t answer. Instead, he leads Dean down the empty road and out to the interstate. He doesn’t stop, either, just runs right into the middle of the road like he knows no cars are coming. 

And because Dean trusts his brother, he follows him. Before they make it to the other side of the highway, a stark white cloud descends upon them from the sky, enveloping them in a soft white mist that’s impossible to see more than a few feet through. Sam stops and gestures for Dean to do the same, as if stopping in the middle of the road in a creepy white cloud was his plan all along.

Breaking through the mist comes Amara, still a teenager but a little bit older, a little bit taller. She’s wearing jeans and combat boots, a black t-shirt and an open burgundy button-down over it. Her hair is pulled into a bun, no makeup on her face. She crosses her arms over her chest as she looks at Sam and Dean.

“Sam, have you always been psychic?” she asks casually. 

“It comes and goes,” Sam responds.

Amara nods. 

Dean throws his hands up in the air, unintentionally swirling the mist in a mesmerizing pattern. “What the hell is going on?”

Amara looks at him, her eyebrows knitting together in that Cas-like way of hers. “I couldn’t stay there any longer, Dean. You had to know that.”

Dean swallows. He did, deep down, he knew that when Amara asked for a few minutes alone that he wasn’t going to see her in that room again. He could feel it.

“This is the part where you tell me you’re going to stop me,” she says, a little sadly. 

“Why didn’t you—” Dean’s voice breaks. He takes in a breath and continues, “Why didn’t you heal Cas before you left?” 

Amara tilts her head to the side. “The witch is more powerful than you think she is. She did something, and I...I had to leave when she wanted me to.”

“Where is she?” Sam asks.

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“Amara,” Dean says, drawing her gaze toward him. “Please. Whatever you’re doing, please just slow it down at least. Please don’t hurt anybody else.”

“I offered you the world, Dean. And you didn’t take it.”

Dean clenches his hands at his sides. He can see the back of Cas’ head lying next to him, dark hair against white sheets. “You didn’t offer me shit. You fucked with my head.”

She waves her hands through the mist and makes a swirling ball between her palms. Looking down at it, she says, “I know your heart. What you have with Castiel, you say it’s not broken, and it may not be, but it isn’t whole, either.” She drops the ball and disappears as it shatters to the ground like glass. The cloud ascends in one swift motion. 

There are more trees, taller grass, bursts of flowers all around them, on the sides of the road and in the median, growing, growing. Sam gives Dean a look like he wants to ask him what that was about, but he knows Dean well enough to keep his mouth shut. 

They run back to the bunker in silence. As Sam said, Charlie is fine. She’s asleep in Dean’s bed, uninjured and wearing his clothes as pajamas. She stirs awake with a wince when he comes in.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“No, I’m sorry,” she mumbles. “You guys were gone so long, and I—well, the guest room is kind of wrecked.”

Dean nods. He can’t stand the thought of anyone using the guest room anyway, not after Cas was lying there motionless. He’s not worried about the destruction in the bunker, either. The booming is still shaking the ground, but it’s farther away now, like a storm moving across the earth. 

Dean leaves Charlie to sleep and heads for the garage, where he finds Sam already there waiting for him. They don’t say anything as they get in the Impala. Dean drives west, away from Amara’s shaking of the earth, and he looks straight ahead at the road and ignores the unnatural amount of vegetation growing on either side of the highway. 

“Why did we have to see that, Sam?” Dean asks after they’ve driven a dozen miles.

“I think—I think she had to see us,” Sam explains. “I think she had to see that we’re not a threat to her.”

“We’re not? I thought we were the only ones who could—”

“We’re not a threat right now though. She needed to see us weak, I think. I don’t know. The visions are confusing.”

“Sammy, you’re scaring me,” Dean says honestly.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, I promise, I just—everything was happening so fast, and I can’t really…”

“What, Sam? Spit it out.”

“Well, the visions, they’re just...” Sam clears his throat. “When it happens it’s like I’m not—like I’m experiencing time differently, and then I can’t focus on whatever’s going on in the present.” 

Dean grips the steering wheel tighter. “And you’re sure you don’t know how you’re getting these visions?”

“No.”

They’re quiet for several long seconds. 

Dean breaks the silence. “Where are we going?”

“Hell.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you said hell?”

Sam sighs loudly. “Yeah, we have to go to hell. I have to go to the Cage. You wanna call Crowley, see if he can open a door for us somewhere in Oklahoma?”

Resigned to whatever has to be done, Dean pulls out his phone and sends Crowley a text with their location.

“That’s it?” Sam asks skeptically.

“Yeah, he’ll know what I mean.”

“One day you’re gonna have to explain to me what exactly you did to get Crowley on such a short leash.”

Heat needlessly rises to Dean’s cheeks. “You don’t wanna know,” he mutters.

After another few minutes of silence, Sam asks, “Are you doing OK?”

Dean’s head is pounding, and domestic visions of Cas are still swimming in his vision, and he feels completely hopeless, and he desperately wants to kill something, so he says, “I’m fine.”

Sam doesn’t push the issue. Instead he says, "You let somebody take Cas, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Billie."

"Well. Let's hope we can trust her." After a beat, Sam asks, "Whatever Amara showed you, it has to do with Cas, doesn't it? Are you ever gonna tell me?"

"No."

"Hm. OK."

The entrance to hell is buried under the overgrown grass in a pasture of cows. 

Crowley meets them immediately, acting cold toward them both as he leads them through empty and unreasonably narrow passageways, purposely keeping them from seeing anyone or anything going on in hell. Sam explains the situation to him as they walk, with Crowley barely acknowledging that he’s listening until they reach a room that seems like the cold entrance to a prison, and he stops and turns toward them. He avoids looking at Dean.

“Let me get this right, you believe that capital-G God wants you to go into the Cage with the devil himself?” Crowley asks.

Sam shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Sounds like a practical joke to me, but I’m happy to help the Winchesters get themselves killed.” His eyes briefly flicker over to Dean before he turns and walks toward a solid wall. 

Sam gives Dean a questioning look, but Dean just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. He’s not interested in explaining his drama with Crowley to Sam—or anybody, for that matter. 

Crowley opens a hidden door in the wall, sliding the stone in a gravity-defying way and revealing a vast, empty hole. He points to it and tells Sam he has to step inside to get to the Cage.

“Yeah, that seems about right,” Sam says, mostly to himself, as he looks at the black hole in front of him. 

“Sammy, you sure you wanna do this?” Dean asks.

“No.” Sam looks down at him seriously. “You sure we can trust Crowley with this?”

“It ain’t Crowley I’m worried about.” Dean shakes his head, resigned—or hopeless, he’s not sure which. “But Amara’s gone, Cas is—Cas is gone, and we’ve got jackshit to help us, so if you say going in the Cage might help, then go ahead and do it. I’ll be here if you need backup.”

Sam nods, takes in a deep breath that puffs his chest out, then he walks determinedly over to the door. As soon as he steps in, he disappears into the dark like he’s been swallowed by it. It scares the hell out of Dean, but he has to keep his cool. 

“I’m surprised you were willing to leave dear Castiel for this,” Crowley says jealously, pointedly not looking over at Dean. 

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“Unless, of course, you found a way to heal him?”

“It’s none of your business, Crowley.”

“Well, for your sake, I hope he heals quickly.” Crowley finally looks over at Dean. “I’d hate for your bed to be cold for too long.”

Dean clenches his jaw and ignores him. 

Barely a minute more passes before Sam appears suddenly, clutching the side of the wall and looking out of breath.

“Sam? You OK?” Dean asks as he goes to him, pulling him out of the doorway. 

“Yeah. I’m—I’m fine. It’s, uh, Lucifer. He’s not in there,” Sam says.

“What?”

“He’s not in the Cage. It’s empty.”

“That’s impossible,” Crowley says. He then steps into the void himself and disappears. 

“Hey! Get back here, you son of a bitch! You have to let us out of here!” Dean shouts. 

Sam grabs him by the shoulder and pulls him away from the void. “It’s fine, Dean. We’ll go back the way we came in. We have to...We need to go. We have to get back to the bunker, and…”

“And what, Sam? What the hell do we do now?”

Sam shakes his head. “Whoever’s giving me these visions, they wanted me to know this. What if he’s working with Amara and Rowena? We have to find him. We have to find him now.”

They sprint through the passages of hell until they reach the entrance they came in. They have to draw their own blood and create a sigil on the low ceiling to make the door open, but it’s better than waiting for Crowley to let them out. 

Dean speeds down the open roads, Sam sitting next to him in silence as he scrolls furiously through his phone. It’s still dark out, and Dean still has no concept of what time or day it is. He just drives. 

When they’re about 10 miles from the bunker, Dean starts to feel lightheaded and woozy. He squeezes the steering wheel as tight as he can and worries his bottom lip between his teeth until it bleeds, then he does the same with the inside of his cheek. The metallic taste in his mouth and the self-inflicted pain keep the terrible visions and the nausea at bay, hopefully long enough to get back to the bunker. 

Then, out of nowhere, a figure appears in the middle of the road, lying on their side and lifting their head up just in time to squint in the Impala’s headlights. Dean slams on the brakes and swerves to the side, skidding to a stop just a foot in front of the person. He and Sam both jump out of the car.

Cas looks up at them. 

Chapter Text

It’s strange.

Cas greets Sam and Dean stoically, his voice raspier than usual, then he slowly gets to his feet and asks if he can get in the car.

Dean says sure and opens the door for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and leading him into the backseat, then squeezing the shoulder for good measure and mumbling that he’s glad Cas is OK.

And Cas just barely says anything but a quiet thanks. They keep driving toward the bunker, and Sam clears his throat three times over the space of five minutes before he finally says something.

“So, uh, Cas. What happened? Why were you in the middle of the road?” Sam asks.

“I...don’t know,” Cas answers slowly. “The last thing I remember is being in the bunker and, um, falling unconscious.”

“Do you remember seeing Billie?” Dean asks.

“Billie?” Cas asks.

“Yeah. She, uh, took you.” 

“Well, I’m better now,” Cas says confidently. “What’s our plan to stop Amara?”

“Uh,” Dean says, looking at Cas curiously through the rearview mirror. “How’d you know Amara was gone?”

A beat passes before Cas replies, “She’s gone?”

“Oh, you meant stop her from all the stuff she was doing before you passed out,” Dean says, mostly to himself. “She’s gone, Cas.” He swallows hard, unable to say anything else about it. 

“Oh,” is all Cas says.

Dean squints at him through the mirror, but Cas just turns his head and stares blankly out the window. 

“We’ll have to do some research when we get back to the bunker,” Cas says. “She has to be stopped.”

Dean and Sam share a look. Whatever happened to Cas, it’s making him act weird.

Things seem unreasonably calm when they get back to the bunker. It's still a wreck, with chunks of concrete and fallen furniture scattered around, but it's livable.

Charlie is asleep. Sam makes a pot of tea while Cas and Dean head to the library. Dean isn’t feeling woozy anymore, but it’s starting to set in that Amara really is gone, so he caves and pulls out the bottle of Jack. 

Neither Cas nor Sam comment on it as Dean pours himself a couple fingers and knocks them back in a matter of seconds, then pours himself a few more fingers. He puts the bottle back in its place, at least pretending like he’s going to be reasonable about it. 

Cas flips through book after book, clearly becoming more frustrated with each one, but he doesn’t stop. Sam and Dean look on their laptops, finding nothing helpful, until Dean starts to nod off and nearly drops his head to his keyboard. 

“Go to bed, Dean,” Sam says softly. “You’ve been up for 24 hours.”

“I have?” Dean asks, picking up his tumbler but there’s nothing left in it. He’s not sure how much he drank.

“Get some rest,” Cas says casually without looking up from the book he’s holding. He hasn’t sat down since they got back. 

“What about you? You staying up all night?” Dean asks as he gets up from the table and nearly loses his balance. 

Cas looks up at him and furrows his brow. “Yes, probably. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Alright. Night.” Dean waves over his shoulder on his way out of the room. 

Dean sleeps like he’s dead. 

When he wakes up late the next morning, the quiet is still over the bunker. On his way from the bathroom to the kitchen, Dean passes through the library and finds Cas there, still flipping through books, still standing on his feet. His trench coat is draped over the back of a chair, his white button down tucked messily into his dress pants. 

“Cas,” Dean says, trying to draw his attention. “Have you moved at all in the last eight hours?”

Cas slowly looks up from his book and squints at Dean. “I don’t think so. Is that...a problem?”

Dean shrugs. “I guess not. Whoever healed you must’ve given you some more juice, huh?” 

“Perhaps.”

After a beat of silence, Dean says, “Well, uh, I’m gonna go make a pot of coffee. D’you need anything? Uh, you gonna shower, change clothes or anything?” 

Cas makes a confused face before his eyes widen and he walks over to Dean with purpose. He stops right in front of him and smiles softly. “No, Dean. I don’t need anything. Thank you.” He puts a hand to Dean’s shoulder, then he leans forward and brushes a kiss against his cheek.

Dean panics. He must still be in a dream, but he doesn’t exactly feel the way he did when he was in a dream, and adult Amara hasn’t shown up yet. He blinks several times in a row, then takes a step back from Cas and tries to play it off like everything is fine. Cas just smiles and winks at him as Dean leaves the room.

He’s on the edge of the cliff. He’s so close to falling off it. 

Lost in his thoughts, Dean barely registers that both Sam and Charlie are in the kitchen when he walks in.

“What’s up?” Sam asks, looking at Dean with concern.

Dean shakes his head and goes over to the coffeemaker. “What do you think’s up with Cas?”

“I haven’t even seen him since he got back,” Charlie says unhelpfully. 

“He does seem a little...I don’t know, off. A little stiffer than usual, which is weird, because he’s already pretty stiff,” Sam says distractedly, his eyes on his laptop. 

Dean stares at the coffee pot. 

“Dean? Did something happen?” Sam asks.

“Hmm? No. Um. No, I’m sure it’s fine. Sure I’m just imagining things.”

“I mean, you know Cas better than anyone,” Sam says casually. “If you think something’s up with him, something’s probably up with him.”

Dean mutters under his breath, “I don’t know Cas better than anyone.”

Charlie snorts a laugh. 

Cas comes into the kitchen, a serious expression on his face, his hands busy untucking his shirt and unbuttoning it. 

“Dean, I do think I’m going to shower,” he announces, removing his shirt entirely. “I’m going to borrow some clothes from your room.”

And then he leaves.  

Dean gestures with both arms to the doorway and looks desperately between Charlie and Sam. “Do you see what I mean?”

Sam squints at where Cas just left. “Yeah, that’s a bit odd.”

“Hasn’t he been taking showers and then, like, walking around shirtless, though?” Charlie offers. “And then borrowing your clothes, Dean? I mean, he basically lives here.”

Dean feels heat rise to his cheeks. “He’s acting weird.” He turns back to the coffeemaker and pours himself a mug. “Anyway, what have we got? What’s our plan?”

“Uh, not much,” Sam says. “Without the Book of the Damned, we’re kind of…”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know, Sam,” Dean responds, annoyed. He leans back against the counter, crossing his legs as he drinks his coffee. 

“We got nothing from the demon tablet, and, uh, Cas has been through pretty much every single book we have here, but there are some weird local news stories, and so I looked up some keywords with names of cities in the direction that the sound was heading, and it seems like Amara’s just, like, doing stuff.”

“Wow. You’re so good with words, Sammy, I could listen to you all day.”

Sam rolls his eyes and shoots Dean a halfhearted glare. “There’s a nursing home 15 minutes down the road that I think is worth it to go interview some people.” He reads his screen. “Apparently all the residents have been ‘acting strange, not taking their medicine, coming off oxygen, not using walkers or wheelchairs,’ and some of them with dementia have ‘regained significant cognitive function in the last few days.’” 

“Yeah, sounds like Amara,” Dean says.

“Also, some of the staff and residents have reported seeing ghosts of patients that have recently passed away, and three people suddenly died under ‘mysterious circumstances.’”

“Alright, good enough for me.” Dean takes one more drink of coffee then sets his mug down. “We can leave in 10. Charlie, you coming?”

“No, thanks,” Charlie replies easily. “Nursing home’s not really my vibe. I’ll keep doing research here and let you know if I find anything.”

On his way out of the kitchen, Dean says, “Sounds good. I’ll see if Cas wants to go.”

Dean heads to his room first to change into a suit, but Cas is in there, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and digging through Dean’s dresser drawers. He turns around and gives Dean a sheepish look. 

“Hello, Dean,” he says.

“Uh, hey, Cas.” Dean goes to his closet and digs out some clothes for Cas, tossing them at him as he says, “We’ve got a flimsy lead, nursing home around the corner. You wanna come?” 

“No, I think I’ll keep trying to find what I can here.” Cas starts changing, so Dean turns back to his closet and rummages around for his suit. “There’s storage with another whole library full of books down below us, isn’t there?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean holds his suit in his hands and awkwardly turns back to Cas, who is now fully clothed.

“Something wrong?” Cas asks.

Dean clears his throat. “I gotta change, buddy. Get out of here.”

Cas’ eyebrows pinch together, then he robotically leaves the room without saying anything else.

Dean is so confused.

The drive is so short that Sam and Dean barely even have time to go over all the details of the nursing home before they’re pulling up to the front entrance. They pretend to be FBI agents investigating the three mysterious deaths, which freaks the receptionist out. She insists on calling her supervisor and the director of nursing and the social worker before letting them in, which causes enough commotion that much of the staff and many of the residents lurk in the hallways like they’re waiting to get a glimpse of the big bad FBI agents. 

In hindsight, they should’ve posed as something more common in nursing homes. Like chaplains.

Interviewing people is easy, especially the first few people who tell miraculous stories of healing, and it’s so reminiscent of the dream Dean had that he thinks he must be in another one. But he hasn’t figured out what he can do about it yet, so he just keeps working. 

On the independent living side of the facility, they meet Mildred. She is a striking woman, claiming to be in her late 70s but carrying herself with such verve that Dean wonders if his perception of old age is wrong. She hits on him immediately, and he forgets himself for a second and nearly responds to her in kind before remembering that Sam is standing right next to him so he feigns embarrassment instead. 

While Mildred tells them about a ghost she saw several years ago, Sam’s phone rings and he excuses himself out of her apartment. As soon as he leaves, Mildred smiles softly up at Dean and offers him a cup of coffee, then she doesn’t wait for his answer before going to her kitchen and pulling out two mugs. 

“You boys aren’t FBI, are you?” she asks.

“What makes you think that?” Dean replies.

She gestures for him to sit at her kitchen table, which he does. “Honey, I’ve been arrested enough times in my life to know a cop when I see one, and you are not a cop.”

Dean wants to protest, to tell her that he and Sam have been imitating law enforcement for so many years now that it’s hard to convince people that they’re not cops, but he also wants to ask her a million questions about her past, and so he just sits there staring at her with his mouth open. 

Mildred laughs at him and hands him his coffee as she takes a seat perpendicular to him.

“Uh, the ghost you saw here, was it similar to the one you saw a few years ago?” he asks. 

“No,” Mildred says confidently. “The person I saw here wasn’t a ghost. She came back to life.”

“Yeah, I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Oh, really? So, what is it? Zombies?”

“No, it’s, uh,” my kid, Dean finishes in his head. “It’s a supernatural being that’s, um, trying to make the world better.”

“Well, can you make it stop? The person they brought back is a real see you next Tuesday.”

Dean chokes on his coffee. “Yeah, we’re, uh, working on it.”

“So, is that what you do? Deal with ‘supernatural beings’?”

“Yeah. My name’s actually Dean, and the other guy is my brother Sam.”

Mildred nods slowly and studies him for a moment, taking a drink of her coffee. She then says, “Well, Dean, you are very handsome.”

Dean responds the way he wanted to earlier, with a winning smile and a wink. “And you’re gorgeous,” he says.

She leans forward, closer to him. “I would love to take you out some time, but I can tell you’re pining for somebody. I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.”

Dean’s confidence falters. “I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Now she’s the one winking. “If it doesn’t work out, you call me anytime, alright?”

Sam comes back in, looking serious, and Dean straightens in his seat and leans away from Mildred. He tells Sam she knows they’re not FBI, then they talk to her for a few more minutes before heading out into the hallway to debrief. 

“I met a maintenance worker that was acting kind of weird,” Sam says in a low tone as they walk. “I’m gonna keep an eye on her. You go look for the people that came back to life, see if you can talk to them.”

Dean manages to get a couple more interviews in, but the people who came back to life are sequestered in their rooms and being monitored by the nursing staff, so he doesn’t try to push his luck. As he’s walking toward the front entrance to find Sam, he hears loud clanging behind a door labeled “Storage,” so he pushes his way inside and pulls his gun on a young woman holding a knife to Sam’s throat. She doesn’t even turn when Dean comes in, or when he shouts at her to drop the knife.

Sam looks at the woman and points at Dean, and she finally turns around and lowers the knife to waist height. Sam is pinned to the wall by an unfamiliar warding.  

“What’s going on?” Dean asks.

“You guys are the ones causing all of this,” the woman replies angrily. She backs up against the wall perpendicular to Sam, putting both of them in her line of sight. 

“Uh, what?” Dean asks, making sure the woman can see his mouth clearly because he thinks she might be deaf. “What are you talking about?”

She points at Sam. “He was the one telling people to burn themselves to pull out an infection. I knew I recognized him, so I started doing some research. You both are supposed to be dead. And you’re murderers. And main characters in some shitty books.”

“And you are…?” Dean jokes.

“Dean,” Sam chastises.

“I’m Eileen Leahy,” Eileen Leahy says. “I fight monsters, like you, but I’m much less conspicuous about it. You guys kind of suck.”

“Thanks,” Dean says.

“What kind of monster did you awaken when you helped with that infection?” she asks, still frustrated. “Almost as soon as the disease died out, people started coming back to life. Trees popped out of the ground overnight. How is it all connected?”

Sam and Dean share a look. Sam says, “Uh, how do you know the disease has completely died out?”

Eileen glares at Sam. “You guys are so bad at this.”

“Alright, kid, we’ve got a lot going on, so if you could put the knife down and cut us some slack—”

“Did you just call me ‘kid’? I’m 35.”

Dean sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes.

Sam says, “We’ll explain everything to you.”

“We will?”

“Just not here,” Sam continues. “Look, we could use your help. If you’re planning on following us around, you might as well—”

“I wasn’t following you around,” Eileen says. “This happened to be the first place I snuck into to try to figure out what’s going on, and in walk you two. Tell me why I should trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Dean responds easily.

Sam gives him a stern look. To Eileen, he says, “In our line of work, it’s better to have allies than enemies. We’re not enemies.”

Eileen deflates, her anger subsiding. She tells Sam she’s not going anywhere, and if he wants to try to explain himself, he has to do it right there in the storage room. Since she seems more willing to trust Sam, and Dean’s patience is at its end, Dean excuses himself and heads out to the car. 

He leans against the side of the Impala and calls Cas. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says after the second ring.

Dean is caught off guard. It usually takes him longer to answer. “Uh, hey, Cas.”

After an awkward pause, Cas asks, “How’s it going?”

“It’s fine, I guess. We’ll be heading back soon I think.”

Another pause. “And you’re calling because…?”

“I don’t know, Cas, maybe because I’m losing it?” Dean lets out a nervous laugh and clenches his fist at his side. “Do you not—she was—she’s our kid, man. We took care of her and raised her, and now she’s just gone. What am I supposed to do with that? Why am I the only one who can’t seem to…”

As the silence stretches, Dean thinks he’s made a mistake in calling Cas. He’s always been able to be more open, or more vulnerable, with Cas than he is with Sam about certain things, and he thinks it’s because he doesn’t worry about disappointing Cas, or scaring him, or making him think badly of him. Dean doesn’t get embarrassed talking to Cas the way he does with other people, but now, as he waits for Cas’ reply, he isn’t so sure.

Finally, Cas says, “You knew growing close to her was the wrong decision. Sam and I managed to avoid making that decision, but it was always harder for you. Your maternal instincts are stronger than most people’s.”

“Alright, let’s not call it ‘maternal instincts,’ for fuck’s sake. Thanks for the sympathy, Cas, I’ll talk to you later.” He hangs up without waiting for a response. Whatever he was expecting from Cas, he didn’t get it. 

Dean stares down at his phone, trying to decide what the fuck to do. Everything feels off balance, but not in the usual ways that things feel off balance. He doesn’t feel sick or like he’s dreaming, but just on edge and anxious and confused, like he’s supposed to be doing something but is stuck doing nothing. 

On a whim, he says out loud, “Amara.”

He looks around, but he’s alone in the parking lot save for a couple of nurses taking a smoke break a few yards away. 

“Amara,” he says again. “Can you hear me? Can you talk to me? Please.”

No response.

“At least tell me if I’m in a dream, please. Can you at least do that for me? I know you—you cared about me, you said you loved me, and now I don’t even know if you knew what that meant, but I just—can you help me out here? Can you help me understand?”

Dean sits in the emptiness for at least a minute. Then, on impulse, he drops his tone of voice and says, “Billie?”

The reaper appears right in front of him, a smirk on her face.

“Hey,” she says.

“Oh, what, you’re at my beck and call now? Seriously?” Dean asks childishly. 

Billie shrugs. “I didn’t have a lot going on. What’s up, Dean?”

“What’d you do to Cas?”

“Um, got him back to you? He’s better, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, no. Something’s wrong.” Not knowing exactly what to ask her, Dean decides on, “Who’re you working for?”

Billie quirks an eyebrow at him like he’s stupid. “I’m a reaper. I don’t work for anybody.”

“What about your boss? Don’t you serve Death?”

She examines her perfect fingernails as she says, “I’ll tell you a secret, Dean, but you have to promise not to tell anyone." She pauses, then, "Death has a library, it’s what makes him the boss. It has everyone’s potential deaths written into rows upon rows of unfinished books, and nobody but Death is allowed to look.” She looks back up at Dean, her eyes narrowing. “I broke in and looked. I looked at everything.”

Dean remembers what she said about Cas, about how she was rooting for a specific death for him. He decides not to press her about it and instead says, “So? What does that mean for you?”

“It means I can do whatever I want. So, yeah. I didn’t reap Cas. You’re welcome.” She disappears. 

Sam and Eileen walk up to Dean then, breaking him out of whatever trance Billie had him under. He didn’t even notice the two of them come out of the nursing home.

“Who were you talking to?” Sam asks, like it’s normal for him to find Dean talking to thin air.

“Uh, Billie,” Dean replies. He shakes his head. “She didn’t have anything helpful to contribute. What’s going on? Did Eileen pick a side?”

Sam turns to Eileen, gesturing for her to step forward and join the conversation. He says, “She’s gonna work with us. We need to figure out what’s going on with those three deaths.”

“Right,” Dean says, mentally kicking himself for not just asking Billie. He looks at Eileen. “And did Sam fill you in on all the…?”

“You accidentally adopted a kid who is as powerful as God and is now on a teenage rampage, yeah, I got it,” Eileen says.

“Alright. Uh, let’s go figure out what we can learn about those deaths,” Dean replies. 

Since Eileen is still undercover as a staff member, she breaks off from Sam and Dean and tells them to text her if they find anything. 

It becomes quickly apparent that the people who died did so violently, and randomly, and most likely by Amara’s hand. Their deaths don’t fit the mold for any other monster, and there’s nobody at the nursing home that could have feasibly killed three people in such a short amount of time. The problem is they can’t figure out why she would have done it, since it directly contradicts everything else she’s doing. 

They leave before the sun goes down. Sam asks Eileen to come back to the bunker with them. He rides with her. 

Dean feels like he’s banging his head against a wall as he drives back to the bunker alone. A litany of what did I do wrong what did I do wrong what did I do wrong sticks in his brain over images of his time raising Amara. He slowed down with her, spent his time with her, and even though she was aging right before his eyes, it felt like he would have forever with her. He hates that he has an endless list of questions for her now that she’s gone; an endless list of regrets, of wondering how he could’ve stopped all of this. 

“She just took their souls.”

Dean nearly crashes the car. As he calms down, he looks over to the passenger seat to find Billie staring straight ahead through the windshield.

“She feeds on souls,” Billie continues. “I don’t know what else she does, but I know death. And there are a lot of people dying soulless.”

“Great,” Dean says on an exhale. “So, you here to help or what?”

Billie leans her head back against the seat and rolls it lazily over to look at Dean. “No. You’re just a little bit tragic, and I’m a little bit bored. Don’t worry about the people dying. It’s the way the world is.”

Dean mutters, “Yeah, I’m gonna trust a reaper telling me not to worry about death.”

She disappears. 

Castiel is provided a very small space for his consciousness to dwell. He makes it into the shape of the bunker’s kitchen and sits on one of the uncomfortable stools at the table. He watches TV, blinking his eyes to change the channel every so often.

“Castiel.”

His eyes flicker up in response, surprised that someone else is in his safe little domain. It’s the shape of his own vessel looking back at him, the expression on his own face alerting him that it’s Lucifer talking to him.

“Yes?” Castiel answers.

Lucifer squints at him. “When you agreed to this, you failed to tell me that you’ve fallen in love with the Michael sword. I don’t like surprises, Castiel.”

Castiel looks back to his TV, propping his chin in his hand. “You could’ve just ignored me.”

“I have to pretend to be you, you fucking idiot. What’s broken in you? How could you debase yourself so completely for these disgusting, foul-smelling, small and insignificant little—”

“Dean Winchester doesn’t know,” Castiel says simply. “You don’t have to give him any kind of special treatment to convince him that you’re me. In fact, giving him special treatment will make him suspicious.”

There’s a pause before Lucifer says, “It would’ve been nice to know that before I put your mouth on his dirty skin.”

Castiel looks up. “What?”

Lucifer steps forward and bends over, looming over Cas. Slowly, deliberately, he says, “You gave up everything. For a human that doesn’t even want to fuck you?”

Castiel holds his gaze. “Don’t you dare touch him.”

Lucifer smiles. “And how do you plan on stopping me?”

Chapter Text

Eileen comes back to the bunker with them and then just doesn’t leave. 

When she meets Charlie, they sit at the kitchen table and talk with some stilted ASL on Charlie’s end, both of them laughing as Eileen tries to teach her some things. It’s too normal, too quaint, for Dean to deal with, so he goes to the library and stands next to Cas at the bookshelf and asks him how research is going. 

Cas doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. “It’s terrible. Do you have any other stupid questions?”

Dean laughs, caught off guard by the joke. But then Cas looks up at him with a frown and Dean stops laughing. 

“It’s OK, Cas,” Dean tries to reassure. “We’ll find something.” He clears his throat. “Sam made a friend. I think she’s gonna stay here with us, uh, for a few days or whatever. She’s deaf. You know sign language, don’t you?”

Cas keeps staring at his book. “Yeah.”

“Do you, uh, want to meet her, or...?”

Cas doesn’t answer. He flips the page and keeps reading. 

So Dean just walks away and heads for the liquor cabinet.

When Eileen and Charlie come into the library a few minutes later, Cas doesn’t even turn to acknowledge them. Sam has to get Cas’ attention to introduce him to Eileen, and Cas just looks at her and says “hello” before turning back to his books. He doesn’t use any ASL.

Dean feels the urge to apologize to Eileen, to explain to her that Cas usually has better manners, that he’s just stressed out right now, but he doesn’t say any of that. He doesn’t need to make excuses for Cas. 

Once they’ve all settled in the library, it seems they all come to a silent agreement to do research around the clock until they find something. 

After Dean’s second drink, he excuses himself to his room and makes it there just in time before he starts having visions of hell. They’re clearer this time, more like memories than anything else, and the only time he sees Amara is her perfectly intact adult face laughing at him. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut and rocks back and forth on the edge of his bed, scratching his fingers against his thighs to try to stay grounded. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he thinks it’s only a few minutes before Cas knocks on his door and walks in without waiting for a response.

“Lie back, Dean,” Cas says in a commanding tone as he presses his fingers to Dean’s forehead and wraps his other hand around the back of Dean’s head to lower him down. 

It doesn’t feel right. 

Dean knows Cas’ touch, he knows how it makes him feel even if he isn’t willing to name it, but the fingers against his forehead now feel foreign to him. But, it helps. 

So when Cas removes his fingers and Dean opens his eyes and finds Cas smiling down at him, something still feels wrong but Dean leans into him anyway as Cas grazes his palm across his cheek. 

“You’re fine, Dean,” is all Cas says before he leaves.

Dean doesn’t eat or drink anything else for the rest of the day.

The next day, the only time Dean takes a break from research is to clean up some of the wreck Amara’s earthquake caused and put together the new furniture for three of the guest rooms. He asks Cas for help and is taken aback when Cas slams shut the book he was reading and rolls his eyes before joining him. 

“Whoa, you don’t have to help if you don’t want to,” Dean says, feeling defensive. 

“No, no, there’s nothing I’d rather do,” Cas says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Of course I’ll help you.”

While they work, Dean asks, “You mad at me about something, Cas?”

“Why would I be mad at you?” Cas answers too quickly, like he’s already bored of the conversation. 

“Nothing. You’ve just been, uh, acting kind of weird since you got back.” Dean focuses on the wrench in his hand, easily avoiding eye contact with Cas as he tightens a bolt of the bed frame. “You seem like you’ve got all your strength back, and, I don’t know. I was just wondering if we’re good.”

“We’re good, Dean.” He sounds impatient now. “I definitely feel back to my full strength. And I want to do whatever is necessary to stop Amara.”

Dean sits with that for a minute, then he says, “I miss her. I mean, you know. Do you, um, miss her?”

Cas sighs. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Dean’s heart sinks. He’s torn up about Amara, and he doesn’t want anybody to see how bad he’s doing, but he thought it would be easier if Cas was doing badly, too. Instead Cas is impatient and mean for no good reason. 

Maybe he’s giving Dean a taste of his own medicine. 

Later, Dean goes on a supply run and picks up dinner for everybody. He stops by the liquor store, too.

He drinks alone in his room that night, falls asleep on top of the covers still in his jeans and button down, then wakes up in the middle of the night and rushes to the sink to vomit. After, he stumbles to his closet to change into pajamas but hears movement out in the library as he's removing his overshirt. He checks his waistband for his gun and ventures out into the dark hallway only to find Cas standing by a bookshelf and staring at it, unmoving. 

“Cas,” Dean says.

Cas turns slowly and greets Dean with an oddly friendly smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I, uh, just woke up and heard you, I guess. What are you doing?” Dean crosses the room and picks several books up from the floor and places them back on the shelf. 

Cas puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes it. “Thank you.”

Dean’s instinct is to recoil at the touch, which makes no sense. It’s the first time, really, that Cas has touched Dean in a way that makes him uncomfortable. 

“Something wrong?” Cas asks, still smiling.

Dean looks down at his hand and then back up at his face. “No. Uh, try not to throw books on the floor, alright, Cas?”

“Sure.”

The touching turns into a habit. 

Cas gets too close in Dean’s personal space, hugs him twice in one day, pats his face, even grazes a hand across Dean’s hip when they pass each other in the kitchen. Dean tries his best to ignore it. 

Every time they interact, Cas is either impatient or overly tactile, but everybody else seems to be acting totally normal around Cas so Dean decides it must be a him problem and not a Cas problem. 

It’s the middle of an afternoon when Charlie finds an obscure story about a Woman of Letters named Delphine who stole an object called a Hand of God during World War II. 

Dean volunteers to travel back in time to board a doomed submarine, because he feels stuck in place and unable to do anything and any option still feels better than no options, so he goes. 

Cas takes him there, but he doesn’t make it to the submarine with him. 

Dean finds the angel warding pretty quickly and hopes that Cas has returned to 2016 and isn’t treading open water instead. Dean clears the warding then comes up with a plan to blend in.

He manages to make it a couple hours on the ship undetected before he’s trapped in a room with scared soldiers asking him to prove if he really is from the future. He meets Delphine, and she shows him the Hand of God. It’s just a piece of wood.

Delphine has supernatural warding carved into her body, which has to be cut out if Dean has any hope of getting back to his life. 

His life. Where he spent two years fighting what the Mark of Cain was doing to him, only to get rid of it and spend the next few weeks holed up in the bunker playing house and falling in love with the Mark of Cain’s originator. His life has felt so small, so selfish, so contained—and now he's in a different universe, powerless, serving as just a witness to something so much bigger than he can comprehend. 

He can’t save the ship. He can’t do anything. Delphine uses the Hand of God, and Dean retrieves it right before Cas’ hand lands on his shoulder and sucks him back to the present. 

Dean doesn’t even have time to process a single thing that’s going on before Sam is yelling at him, his eyes crazed, “Dean! That’s not Cas!”

As Dean is violently thrown up against one of the concrete walls of the bunker, the only thought that crosses his mind is, oh thank god. 

Castiel’s face twists into a grotesque smile, his lips and eyes pulled in all the wrong directions, making him look not just like a different person but like an actual monster—not a person at all. Dean recognizes the monster in an instant: Lucifer.

“Oh, Dean,” Lucifer says. “I’m about to kill you both, and you’re relieved? You’re relieved because you were so worried that I was actually Cas.” 

Dean’s body is locked in place against the wall; he can’t even turn his head to see where Sam is. He doesn’t know where Eileen or Charlie are either, but he’s glad that Lucifer hasn’t mentioned killing them, too. 

And then suddenly Lucifer is in his personal space, looking up at him with a horrible expression that reminds him of the way Sam’s face looked when Zachariah shoved Dean into an apocalyptic future. Except this time, Lucifer reaches a hand out and caresses Dean’s cheek.

“He screams when I touch you,” he whispers. “He’s screaming right now.”

The most Dean can do is close his eyes and lock his jaw. It’s not Cas’ fingers on his face. Just like it wasn’t Cas’ lips on his cheek, it wasn’t Cas’ anger flaring up for no reason, it wasn’t Cas’ impatience, it wasn’t Cas’ knowing smile when he stripped his shirt off in front of Dean, it wasn’t Cas being too close and touching Dean too much and making Dean feel uncomfortable and on edge for the past several days. 

Thank god it wasn’t Cas. 

Lucifer’s hand drops away. His voice is hard when he speaks. “This would be a lot more satisfying for me if you would feel something other than relief. Open your goddamn eyes.”

Dean feels something unnatural pulling at his eyelids, forcing them to open, but he thinks about Cas screaming inside Lucifer’s head and it gives him the strength to keep them closed tight. 

“Dean,” Lucifer says in an imitation of Cas’ voice.

Dean smiles to let Lucifer know that he can’t be tricked. Not now. 

It’s quiet for one long minute. Dean counts the seconds in his head as they pass. 

Then, Sam is screaming in pain.

Dean opens his eyes. 

“Stop!” he shouts.

Lucifer turns his attention back to Dean. Sam’s screaming stops. 

“What the hell do you want from us?” Dean asks, feeling desperate. 

“Nothing. You are nothing to me,” Lucifer responds, his face impassive. “Unfortunately we do have the same goal—stopping the Darkness. But now that I have this—” He holds up the cloth-wrapped Hand of God, “—I’m sure I don’t need you.”

In an effort to stall, Dean says, “How did you get to Cas?”

Lucifer smiles at him. “You know Castiel chose this, right? He couldn’t take it anymore. Your obsession with the Darkness and how you let it consume you so much that you couldn’t even leave home without losing your mind. When was the last time you really even did anything? The Dean that I know is the one who saved the whole world, who saved the unbearable infestation of humanity, who defeated me. Where did that man go? How have you become so insignificant?”

Dean doesn’t say anything. 

Lucifer pulls back the cloth and looks down at the Hand of God. “You didn’t even really do much to get this, did you? You were just there. Couldn’t even save one person on that ship.” He hovers his hand over the wood. “But let’s see if it was worth it, hmm?” 

Dean yells, begs Lucifer not to touch it, but then his hand is covering it and nothing happens. He looks at Dean with fury in his eyes.

“You couldn’t even get a working Hand of God. You’re useless.”

Just as Lucifer pulls his arm back to hurl the Hand at Dean’s face, he turns into a wall of light and is sucked out of thin air. 

Eileen appears around the corner, her hand soaked in blood. She goes immediately to Sam. 

“Sammy, what the hell?” Dean shouts. He struggles to get to his feet and over to Sam and Eileen. 

Charlie runs in a second later, also with blood on her. “We need more warding,” she says seriously. “Someone help me with warding.”

“I just learned some new, powerful shit actually,” Dean replies. “But does somebody mind explaining to me what the fuck is going on?”

Sam tries to sit up, but Eileen is tending to a wound on his neck and tells him to hold still. He looks up at Dean and says, “Cas managed to take back over just long enough to not let me get killed.” Sam winces. “I told him to expel Lucifer, but he said even if he could he wouldn’t because Lucifer’s the only one who could travel back to get you. Cas wasn’t gonna leave you on that ship. Well, obviously, neither was I.”

“Eileen and I were in the kitchen,” Charlie says. “We were keeping track of the clock to make sure you weren’t gone too long. And then when I heard Lucifer in the library with Sam, I told Eileen to hide and we got the banishing sigil thing done.”

“Why the hell would Cas do this?” Dean asks, distracted. 

“You said Billie took him, right?” Sam says. “I mean, could Billie be working for Lucifer?”

“Billie doesn’t work for anybody. That’s not—it’s not my point, though. Lucifer would have to get permission from Cas, so why? Why did Cas give him permission?”

“I think that’s something we’re just gonna have to ask Cas whenever we get him back,” Sam replies. “You know Cas, I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Yeah, well, he better fucking regret those reasons now.”

“Dean—”

“C’mon, Charlie, let’s put some warding up.”

Charlie stays unusually quiet while Dean shows her the warding he learned from Delphine. They go outside to cover the bunker with it. 

In the silence, Dean can’t help himself. He says, “I knew Cas was acting weird.”

Charlie huffs a humorless laugh. “Yeah, you were the only one who knew. Wonder why that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like Sam said, you know Cas the best.”

Dean climbs up the hill above the bunker’s entrance and aims his spray paint at a wall. “Did he not make you feel uncomfortable at all? Like, did he touch you or anything?”

In a panic, Charlie asks, “Dean, did Lucifer molest you?”

“No, no, no, no, he didn’t...Well, he just kept hugging me and touching my shoulder, but that’s not...He didn’t do that to anybody else? Why would he do that only to me?”

Charlie blows air through her lips. “That’s a tough one, Dean. Why would Lucifer-as-Cas think he should touch you and not anybody else?”

Dean turns to raise an eyebrow at her. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Yes! I am, yes. Lucifer was trying to give a convincing Cas performance, and he thought one of the ways to do that was to casually touch you. He most likely thought…?”

“That Cas and I are like that,” Dean finishes. “But we’re not! It only made me more suspicious. And uncomfortable. I hated it.”

A beat of silence passes before Charlie says, “I’m sorry he did that to you.”

Dean just stares at the wall, messing up a line of spray paint.

“You don’t have to talk about it, but, like, it is serious, and it’s OK that you feel bad about it. I know it’s Lucifer, the baddest of the bad or whatever nonsense, but still. It sucks.” She sighs. “I’m sorry I made fun of you, it’s just—never mind, not important right now.”

“What? Spit it out.”

“Just! Have you ever asked yourself why everybody thinks you and Cas are together?”

“Everybody doesn’t think—”

“Everybody does think. C’mon, Dean!”

Dean closes his eyes and feels anger building in his chest. “Charlie,” he says in a commanding tone, still not facing her. “I’m not talking about this.”

Charlie scoffs but drops the subject. 

Dean messes up several of the wardings, so he chucks the spray paint toward Charlie and stalks back into the bunker. Maybe he doesn’t want to ward the bunker from angels. Sue him.

Sam and Eileen are huddled together in the library staring at Sam’s laptop, sitting so close together they might as well be in each other’s laps. Dean gives them a gruff, “I’m going for a drive,” and doesn’t wait for a response before heading for the garage. 

The truth is that the bunker feels crowded, and Dean is irrationally pissed at Sam for making a friend during all of this, and he’s pissed at himself for not figuring out that Cas wasn’t Cas, and he misses his kid so much that it feels like a knife digging into his chest. 

He drives too fast, the overgrown trees and brush a blur on either side of him. It’s the middle of the day—he doesn’t know what day, because he was in the 1940s just a few hours ago—but there are very few cars on the road. About 10 miles out from the bunker, he says, “Billie.”

She doesn’t appear right away. He forgets about it and keeps driving in silence.

It’s not until he turns around and stops for gas on his way home that she shows up, leaning against the side of the Impala and examining her perfect nails again. 

“What’s up, Dean?” she asks, not bothering to look up at him.

He passes by her to take the pump out of the back, doing his best not to look at her, either. “Are you working for Lucifer?”

“I don’t work for anybody. Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“Did you know?” 

Billie looks at him, raising her eyebrows in question. She shrugs.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Lucifer possessing Cas, did you know?”

“Oh.” Billie nods. “Right. That makes sense. No, I didn’t know. Look, Dean, I’ve got a lot of friends, a lot of favors owed and that I owe, so I just woke Castiel up and handed him off to a friend I owed a favor. Anything that happened after that is out of my hands.”

“What friend? Who did you—”

“Now, you know I’m not answering that.” She tilts her head down, giving him a serious glare, and then disappears. 

A woman at the pump next to Dean stares at him. He ignores her and gets back in the car. So what if he talks to invisible reapers in public, who cares.

In the car, Dean tries to stay focused on what he can control. 

One, he can keep Lucifer away from the bunker and all the people in it.

Two, he can look for another Hand of God that might help them with Amara.

Three, he can think of some way of getting Cas back. Trap Lucifer. Ring of holy fire. Appeal to Cas’...heart.

Dean hardly notices that it’s starting to get dark, but then it’s not just dark, it’s also foggy, but it’s not just fog, it’s white mist—

His phone rings. 

“Yeah,” he answers while pressing his foot harder on the gas pedal, willing himself to get through the mist. 

“Dean! Please! Can you get over here—can you—we need help—we need—we need—” The voice cuts herself off with ragged coughs. 

“Hey, hey, hey, who is this? Stay with me, tell me where you are,” Dean says as calmly as he can manage.

It takes a few seconds before the voice says, “It’s Mildred. Please, Dean. We’re...It’s coming...We’re dying.”

The line cuts out with a fizzling sound. Dean curses to himself and tries to call her back, but it won’t even dial. He calls Sam instead and tells him to haul ass to the nursing home. 

The white mist grows thicker, but Dean keeps driving. After a few minutes, he feels lightheaded and a little dizzy. On impulse, he shouts, “Amara! Wherever you are, get your ass down here!”

She appears immediately, a fully grown adult right in the middle of the road, and Dean has to turn at a 90-degree angle and skid to a halt to avoid hitting her. He puts it in park and gets out nearly simultaneously, slamming the door behind him and ignoring the exhaust and mist that passes over his face. He stops right in front of her and throws his arms out to the sides.

“Well?” he asks. “Who the hell taught you to be this dramatic, huh? What the hell are you wearing?”

Amara looks down at her low-cut black dress and then smiles softly up at Dean. “That’s not really what you want to ask me, is it?”

“What the fuck is going on, Amara? Where’s my fucking daughter?”

She turns her head to the side and smirks, almost regretfully. “You never had a daughter, Dean.”

“Oh, fuck you.” 

“Careful.” She leans in close to him. “I gave you something you love, I can take it away whenever I want.”

She’s gone before Dean even has time to process what she meant. Charlie. 

He yells her name again, but she doesn’t come back.

So he gets in his car and speeds to the nursing home. 

About five minutes out, the road is suddenly clogged with cars driving in the opposite direction as Dean. There are police cruisers and ambulances speeding by, but it’s hard to see what’s going on through the mist. When Dean pulls up to the nursing home, he can see fog billowing out of open windows as if the place is on fire, but there’s no fire. The black fog looks stark against the white mist, both indicative of impending doom. 

Dean has barely taken two steps out of his car before a person approaches him as if to attack, the veins of their neck bubbling out in an unnatural bluish-black, their eyes glassy white. 

The holy oil is in the trunk. Dean has to kill three people before he manages to get to it. As far as he knows, it doesn’t work on people who have gone rabid anyway, so it’s not like he could have saved them even if he had had the time. 

At least five minutes pass before he makes it into the building. In those five minutes, he helps two nurses tending to injured patients outside, divvies up the holy oil among several people who are healthy and willing enough to help out, and applies burning holy oil to at least half a dozen people before telling them to get as far away from the building as possible. He kills a couple more people, too. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

It’s more of the same inside. Dean wants to get to Mildred, but the independent living facility is through several hallways and on the complete opposite side of the inpatient rehab clinic, and the fog is moving in such an eerily conscious way that Dean has a fleeting image of the smoke monster from Lost. It’s an impossible task to help everyone, but he tries. He tries and he tries. The fog never touches him, but he doesn’t worry about it anyway. If it really is from Amara, he doesn’t think it would affect him the way it affects others. Whatever she might say, he knows the truth. She still loves him.

When he finally reaches Mildred’s apartment, he knocks and knocks but there’s no answer. Just as he’s threatening to break down the door, she cracks it open and yanks him forcefully inside before shutting it behind him.

“Can’t let it get me,” she says, frantic, her eyes wide and a kitchen knife poised in her hand. “It got me earlier, can’t let it get me again. Can’t let it get me.”

“Mildred,” Dean says seriously. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“The fog. You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think. And then it’s gone. And then it comes back,” Mildred says like she’s not even aware that Dean is in the room with her. 

“Mildred! Snap out of it! What’s going on?”

She finally looks at him. Her face relaxes into a smile. “It’s OK. Let it take us. It might feel good.”

Dean’s phone rings again. He digs it out of his pocket and answers, “Sammy.”

“Dean!” Sam shouts into the phone, breathless. “Where are you? We’re not even in the building, and—and.” He sucks in a breath and continues, “We need help. Eileen is—the fog touched her and now she’s not responding, and I—I was attacked, and I’m...I’m losing blood really fast. I need...I need…”

Dean squeezes his phone and waits for Sam to continue, but the line goes dead. 

“It’s coming,” Mildred says in a daze while she stares at the closed door. 

“No, no, no, I have to get out. I have to go.” Dean approaches the door, but as soon as his hand touches the knob the fog seeps in through the crack between the floor and the bottom of the door, and Dean can feel it crawling up his legs and into his organs.

For him, it feels like he’s back in a dream. He has that same surreal calm in his chest, and he reasons that were he to close his eyes he would be lying in a bed with Cas, feeling like it’s as real as anything. 

And maybe it would be.

Maybe he should go ahead and close his...

Exactly four seconds pass before Dean forces his eyes wide open and pulls his phone out again. He tries to call Sam, no answer. He calls Charlie, and she answers on the third ring.

“Dean, are you OK?” she asks, but there’s no ambient noise in the background. 

“Charlie? Where are you?” The fog is coming upon him again.

“Sam and Eileen headed out, they told me to stay here in case anybody showed up.”

“What? You’re not at the nursing home?”

“No.” She pauses momentarily. “It doesn’t matter what I do, Dean. I’m not real.”

“What?”

She hangs up.

Mildred faints. 

People are screaming and running in the hallways.

Dean clenches his fists by his sides and hopelessly looks up at the ceiling. “Stop this! Do you hear me, you dick? Fucking stop this right now!”

He doesn’t know whether he’s talking to Amara or to God, but he figures it doesn’t much matter. Neither of them are going to respond anyway. 

But then the fog recedes, and there’s a friendly knock on the door. 

Without thinking about it, Dean opens it.

Chuck stands on the other side with a smile on his face.

“It’s time we talk, Dean.”

“You’re dead,” Dean says stupidly. Then, “Wait, no, what the hell are you doing here? Why are you here, Chuck?”

A person who’s gone rabid sprints toward Chuck, arms outstretched, and Chuck just holds his hand out to the side and a glowing light emanates from his palm. The person stops, the black veins disappear into their skin, and they walk away as if nothing happened. 

“Um,” Dean says.

“Let’s go somewhere where we can sit down,” Chuck says.

“No, no, I’m not going anywhere with you until I get some—”

They’re standing in the bunker.

“—Answers,” Dean finishes lamely. “What the hell.”

Chuck snaps his fingers, and Sam and Eileen appear behind him, breathing heavily and leaning on each other until they realize that they’re back in the bunker. They look down at themselves and press their hands to their own bodies, checking for injuries and finding none. 

“Surprise, I’m God,” Chuck says with a shrug.

“What the hell,” Dean repeats. "Mildred—did you—is she—"

"She'll be OK, don't worry," Chuck responds. 

Dean spends the next several minutes in shock.

He has a million thoughts running through his head, most of them blasphemous, so he just sits in silence while Chuck talks. He catches some of it.

Like how Chuck really did choose to be born on earth as a person: a living, breathing human being. One hundred percent God, one hundred percent man, and he had to learn everything just like everybody else has to. 

Dean thinks this is where Sam asks about Jesus, and Dean is pretty sure Chuck waves him off and says, “He was just some guy.”

He claims he didn’t know he was God when he was writing the Supernatural books. This is when Charlie walks in. They spend a few minutes catching her up on everything.

Dean is staring into space.

“So, I—I hope I’m not stepping, uh, out of line here, but when did you—when did you know?” Sam stammers. “That you were, you know, God?”

“After the apocalypse, when you saved the world. I got back to full strength then. I don’t know if you’d call it omnipotence, but it’s close.”

Dean blinks back into the conversation all of a sudden. “And what about before that?”

Chuck turns his gaze on him and frowns.

“What, you came to earth and grew up like a normal kid, in the ‘80s or whatever? What about the billions of years before that? Where were you?”

“I was here, Dean,” Chuck replies easily. “I was hands-on, believe me, I was very hands-on. And it didn’t help like I wanted it to. Things didn’t get better, so I stepped back.”

“And it still didn’t get better,” Dean says, disappointment building in his chest. “It got worse.”

“Well, I’ve been mulling it over. And from where I sit, I think it’s gotten better.”

Dean wipes a tear from his face. “Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you’re trying to justify it.”

Chuck’s face hardens. “I know you had a complicated upbringing, but don’t confuse me with your dad.”

Dean gets to his feet, impulsively stepping toward Chuck and bearing down on him, tears drying on his face. “You’re here because of Amara, right? Surely you have some kind of control over time. Why the hell couldn’t you have gotten here when she was a baby? Before I—before we spent all this time raising her literally as our own! Where were you!”

“Dean,” Sam chastises. 

Dean blinks and backs off. 

Chuck just smiles at him. “I don’t have to explain myself, actually. I’m only here to tell you to stop.”

“What?” Dean asks. 

“Yes, you, specifically, Dean.” He punctuates each word, as if he’s talking to an unruly child. “Stop summoning beings whenever you feel like it. Stop treating every being you encounter as a member of your family.”

Dean stares at him, completely caught off guard. He has nothing to say.

“Demons, angels, reapers, my sister—you’re just a man. A human. You can’t collect them like they’re your emotional playthings, and you can’t make them love you. Stop trying.”

Dean purses his lips and nods. “Cool. Great to see you again, Chuck. Get the fuck out of here.”

Chuck’s face contorts into a horrible grin as he vanishes.

Chapter Text

“Dean! What the fuck!” Sam yells.

Dean pulls his gun out and fiddles with it. “He’s not gonna help us. I don’t want him here.”

Charlie says, “You could’ve at least—”

Dean turns quickly and glares at her. “What are you? Why did you say earlier that you aren’t real?”

“Wh-what?” Charlie looks at each of them, Sam then Eileen then back to Dean. “I didn’t...What are you talking about, Dean?”

“Amara’s been playing us from the beginning, don’t you get it? You’re not real, Charlie, you’re just here on this stupid fucking chessboard with us.” Everyone is looking at Dean like he’s insane, so he starts shouting. “Amara put you here so I wouldn’t stop her! She’s been manipulating me the whole time! And I’m not gonna have God in here doing the same shit. As far as I’m concerned, the only person I trust right now is Sam. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

They all respond at once, but Dean turns on his heel and leaves, gun still in his hands. Weirdly, he feels calm. Everything seems clearer now. He knows who the enemy is, and he’s going to figure out a way to stop her. 

His phone rings.

“Who is this?” Dean answers.

“Your favorite witch,” Rowena says jokingly, but there’s an edge to her tone. A nervousness. “Listen, dearie, I can call Lucifer here. I’m willing to use the Book of the Damned to help him destroy the girl.”

Dean stares at a spot on the wall where a chunk of concrete is missing. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need the Winchesters’ help, of course,” she replies.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch! Well, maybe one catch. Maybe a blank slate for me, water under the bridge for the—granted, very impressive—stunt I pulled back at your bunker?” She waits, but when Dean doesn’t say anything she continues, “I did enjoy spending time with Amara at first, but for the small thing that she may destroy everything as we know it, and I’m not entirely sure I want to go along with that just yet. So instead, I think it’s time we stop her.”

“Are you the one who got Lucifer out of the Cage?”

“Well, yes,” Rowena says, regret in her tone. “I believe he is the being most capable of stopping the Darkness.”

“I don’t believe you,” Dean says. “Lucifer was out of the Cage only hours after you took Amara—”

“I didn’t take Amara, she came with me,” Rowena says dismissively. “And time isn’t linear, dear boy. Do you even know what the date is?”

Dean thinks about it. He knows Amara was born in August of 2015, and it’s only been a few weeks since…Except it’s definitely 2016. “What the hell.”

“She messes with reality, I think. You’re going to need to find a way to maintain a grip on your own reality unless you want to end up like that poor French girl in that Leonardo DiCaprio movie, oh, what was it?”

“Inception,” Dean answers automatically. He’s trying to count the days in his head, the memories of raising Amara, but they all look the same, every day the same over and over. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ll send you an address. Bring your brother and no one else. Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t immediately go get Sam. Instead, he continues desperately trying to count days in his head. Surely there’s something solid, something concrete that could reorient time for Dean. Like the furniture—they ordered the furniture for three of the rooms online, and the shipping time said—it said—

“Sam,” Dean says as he walks back into the kitchen. He doesn’t acknowledge Charlie or Eileen. “How long did it take the beds and nightstands to ship here?”

“Dean, what do you—”

“When Charlie and I ordered that stuff online, how long did it take to get here?”

“What does that—”

“Just answer the question, Sam,” Dean snaps.

Sam looks at Charlie as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. It’s quiet for a minute as he scrolls, then he says, “It took almost two months.”

Dean’s breath hitches, but he tries to hide it by clearing his throat. “When we went to hell to try to find Lucifer, how long had it been since Amara disappeared from the bunker?”

Sam stares at him like he’s gone insane, but then his face relaxes and his eyes widen. “Uh. I—I don’t know. I started having those visions, and I...Dean, I don’t know. When I have visions, it feels like hours and seconds simultaneously.”

“It was days,” Charlie answers in a quiet voice. “You guys left me here with those—those creatures, the ghosts, and I—they went away, but I was in the bunker for days by myself. I kept thinking the walls were gonna cave in.”

“Amara’s fucking with us,” Dean says, staring at the floor. “I don’t have any idea what’s real anymore.”

Sam takes in a shaky breath. “Uh, well, we can try to do something about it. We can—we can—we—”

“Charlie and Eileen, you two stay here. I’m sorry, but you have to,” Dean says. “Sammy and I have to go see Rowena.”

There are protests and questions, but Dean is resigned to his fate and manages to convince them that this is the only option.

As Dean puts together a duffel bag in his room, he racks his brain for something that could ground him in reality. What could possibly save him from this, from losing all this time and not even noticing? Just as he’s about to give up, he spots a leather journal on top of a shelf in his closet. He bought it during a salt-and-burn a couple years back. He never wrote in it.

Pulling a pen from his pocket, Dean hastily writes the date at the top of the first page, then:

Today I told God to fuck off.

He shoves the journal in the side pocket of his duffel bag. 

In the car, Sam and Dean set a timer to try to keep track of the hours.

Sam says, “You know, we could ask Chuck. He probably has a firm grasp on reality and could help us out with it.”

“Yeah, I trust Chuck less than I trust Amara.”

Sam hums in understanding. After a beat of silence, he asks, “How long do you think it’s been since we found Amara as a baby? Like, how long ago was that for you?”

“It, uh. It feels like it’s only been a few weeks.”

“Christ, Dean,” Sam says on an exhale. “It’s been mon—”

“I know. I know it has,” Dean replies. “Every day felt the same, and I just. I don’t know. I couldn’t keep track.”

“She has a deeper hold on you than I think anybody ever has.”

Dean doesn’t argue, even though the first thought that crosses his mind is that Sam’s wrong, and not because Amara doesn’t have her claws deep inside Dean, but because the supernatural being with the deepest hold is Cas.

So he says nothing.

They meet Rowena at a ramshackle abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. She stands out front with an equally small, skinny white woman next to her and gestures for them to park in a patch of grass.

“Boys, this is Paula,” Rowena introduces. “She’s here as insurance.”

“You a witch, Paula?” Dean asks.

The woman looks at him, a bored expression in her big blue eyes. “I am,” she says, her voice deeper than expected. “I’m here to help.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Sam says politely, offering his hand out for her to shake.

She takes it stiffly and offers Sam a nod of greeting. Dean can’t help but notice that she’s beautiful, her long dark hair falling in waves down her back, her lips full, her face heart-shaped and her tan skin unblemished. It’s impossible to tell how old she is, as she looks to be anywhere in the ballpark between 30 and 50, but she’s probably more like 150 since she’s a witch. 

After an awkward moment of silence, Rowena leads them around the back of the house where Crowley is leaning against a shed smoking a cigarette. 

Without saying anything, Dean reaches a hand out. Crowley passes him a cigarette. Dean isn’t fast enough getting his lighter out of his pocket, so he accepts the flame Crowley offers him, putting his mouth closer to Crowley’s hand than he normally would but everything is fucked anyway.

“Dean,” Sam says sternly.

Dean blows out a ring of smoke and flicks the end of the cigarette, holding it like it’s a blunt. “Yeah, that really hits the spot, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Happy to help, darling,” Crowley responds, smoke billowing out of his nostrils. 

“So, what?” Dean asks. “You two aren’t trying to kill each other anymore?”

“Lucifer being out of the Cage has been particularly miserable for me, so I’ve had to make concessions,” Crowley says. “I have a functional Hand of God.”

“Really?” Sam asks. 

“Yes, really, so if you want it, you have to agree to do what I say,” Crowley responds, annoyed. He sucks in so hard on his cigarette that the end comically lights up and pops. “I want Lucifer back in the Cage. Forever.”

“Done,” Sam says. “Is that it?”

“We let him use the Hand first, though,” Rowena adds. “We summon Lucifer and the girl simultaneously and hope for the best.”

Sam says, “Um, OK,” at the same time that Dean says, “No.”

Sam and Dean look at each other. 

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Sam asks.

Dean finishes his cigarette and flicks it away with a cough. “We exorcise Lucifer out of Cas and put him in a new vessel first.”

“What? Really?”

“Yes, really,” Dean answers, his heart pounding. “I’m not sending Lucifer into battle inside Cas and risk him not making it.”

“Dean, it’s a strong vessel. It’s held Cas for years, and we know what he’s been through. I’m guessing it can hold Lucifer.”

“‘It’? It’s not an ‘it,’ Sam, it’s Cas.” Dean feels his blood begin to boil. “He’s family. I’m not doing it.”

Crowley rolls his eyes and groans. “Oh, blah, blah, blah, your unresolved feelings for the angel are going to get us all killed. Do you want to do this or not?”

“We talk to Cas first,” Dean asserts. “At least give him the option to expel Lucifer.”

“I don’t think this is—”

“Sam.” Dean looks at his brother, clenches his jaw. “This isn’t up for debate.”

Nobody else tries to argue with Dean. They go into the old house and set up the biggest room with angel warding and a ring of oil to alight. Rowena mutters to herself as she flips through the Book of the Damned, with Paula standing close by and reading over her shoulder. Crowley shows Sam and Dean the Hand of God. It’s called the Horn of Joshua, and just like the one Delphine had, it doesn’t look like much. 

It only takes a few minutes to summon Lucifer into the ring of holy fire. Dean’s heart pounds in his chest. He actually doesn’t know how long it’s been since he last saw Cas, but it feels like too long.

“Cas!” he yells. “Castiel, show yourself!”

For a brief moment, Lucifer’s face untwists and it’s Cas again. He looks at Dean, confused. “Dean?” 

“Cas.”

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” 

“Cas, listen to me, we don’t have a lot of time, OK? You’ve got to—”

Lucifer regains control and laughs in Dean’s face.

“Castiel, show yourself!” Dean tries again, desperate. “Expel him! You’ve got to kick Lucifer out! Do you hear me?”

“He invited me in, Dean. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Cas!”

“‘Cas!’” Lucifer mocks.

Dean blinks, taken aback. 

“Bloody hell, fuck this,” Crowley says before smoking out of his body and down Castiel’s throat. 

“No!” Dean shouts. He looks to Rowena. “Is there a spell to get me in there? Crowley’s gonna get eaten alive.”

“Dean!” Sam yells. “Why the hell are you worried about Crowley? You can’t go in—”

“I ain’t worried about Crowley! I don’t want—we can’t have Lucifer and Crowley fighting inside Cas! Rowena, do something!”

Rowena flips through the book, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she searches. Eventually she begins reading, even while Sam is still shouting that this is a bad idea, but it’s too late because Dean is being transported through different planes of existence until he’s standing in the quiet of the bunker’s kitchen.

“Christ, Cas, this is your brain’s home?” he mutters, looking around at the perfect details, an exact replica of the bunker. “We gotta get you some more friends.”

There’s a crash in the hallway, followed by what sounds like a body slamming into something and several heavy objects falling to the floor. Despite what he said to Sam, Dean decides not to explore the noise; he goes to the kitchen table instead, where Cas is watching TV on a tiny screen.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean greets. He takes a seat next to him. “What’re you watching?”

Cas doesn’t look up from the screen. “What are you doing here, Dean?”

“I miss you, man.” Dean clears his throat. “Why’d you do this?”

Cas doesn’t say anything. Dean waits. 

Eventually, Cas turns the TV off and looks at Dean as he says, “The power Amara has over you scares me. When I saw what she did, her eco-terrorism, and then what she was saying about you in the car...I decided then that I would do anything to stop her. And almost as soon as I decided that, I, uh, nearly died. I can’t do enough on my own. I’m not strong enough.”

“We would’ve figured it out. We always figure it out,” Dean says, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of his tone. “Buddy, we don’t need you to do everything. You’re like a brother to me, Cas, and I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

Cas frowns and scans Dean’s face, searching for something. “You can’t expel Lucifer yet. At least try to use him to defeat Amara.”

“Is that really what you want? To defeat her? You can’t tell me you didn’t feel the same about her that I do—did.”

“Maybe...I believe I did, but there are things more important than our feelings, Dean. We can’t—”

“We raised her, Cas! You and me.” Dean squeezes his hand into a fist, tries to stay calm.

Cas looks at him with a sad expression. “We always knew what she was. I tried to keep my distance, but I did—I did feel as if I was caring for her like my own. Like she was ours.” He shakes his head. “But things change, Dean.”

Dean nods. It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts before he asks, “How did you even get here? Did Billie have something to do with this?”

“Yes. She was indebted to me and knew to come for me when the time came.”

“What? You had a reaper indebted to you? Since when do you—what could you have possibly done to make Billie owe you one?”

Cas quirks an eyebrow at Dean. “I’m very old. And I’m an angel. Sometimes I have responsibilities with other supernatural beings.”

“Alright, alright, whatever.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Why Lucifer though? What made you think a boneheaded decision like that was gonna work?”

“Sam. The visions he was having of the Cage made me curious, so I contacted Rowena and snuck in without Crowley knowing.”

“How the hell did you know about Sam’s visions?”

“He told me about them. He asked me to help him the same way I was trying to help you, by looking inside his mind through touch.”

Dean feels a pang of jealousy, which is ridiculous. He clears his throat again. “That must’ve been during a time when I was...Well, it had to be during one of the days I lost.”

“You’ve been experiencing time differently,” Cas says, like he already knew.

“Yeah. Turns out Amara’s been fucking with me since she was a baby, so joke’s on me I guess.”

Cas doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. There’s still the sounds of a fight happening in the library, but they both continue to ignore it. 

“Dean, I’m sorry,” Cas says. “If I had known Lucifer was going to...that he would touch you…”

“Hey, no, no, that’s not your fault, Cas. I mean, yeah, I think it’s stupid you let Lucifer ride shotgun without telling us, but you didn’t know he would, uh, pretend to be you. And do a real shit job of it, too, by the way.” Dean huffs a laugh. “I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why you were being so mean to me.”

Cas smiles softly at Dean. Dean smiles back at him. Crowley screams from the other room; they ignore him.

“Why does your breath smell like cigarettes?” Cas asks.

Dean pouts. “I smoked that cigarette on a different plane of existence than the one we’re in now. How the hell do you smell that?”

Crowley comes crashing through the kitchen, forcing Dean and Cas to stand up from the table to get out of his way.

Lucifer in Cas’ body comes in a second later, his face and hands bloodied. He doesn’t even look at Dean and Cas.

“Everyone get out,” he says in a low tone. 

Crowley scrambles to his feet. “Castiel, expel him!”

Lucifer’s eyes glow. “I said get out.”

Dean feels himself being sucked through time and space, his body feeling like it’s collapsing into nothingness before he’s falling to the ground inside the house. He hears unnatural screams, and he can’t see anything beyond a blinding light coming from inside the ring of holy fire, so he just covers his face and waits.

When everything stops, Cas still stands inside the ring. Crowley is back in his body, though shaken and looking worse for wear. Sam and Rowena are looking at Paula.

“What happened? What’s going on?” Dean asks as he gets to his feet.

Paula looks down at her hands curiously, then she looks up at Dean and tilts her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowed. 

Dean’s heart drops to his stomach. “Cas?” 

Paula’s mouth says, “Dean.” Her voice is even deeper than before.

From behind them, Lucifer says, “Give me the Hand. Summon the girl here.”

Dean looks at Paula’s face for one more long second, trying to process that it’s Cas. He then turns toward the ring of holy fire and sees Lucifer still wearing Cas’ face.

“Let’s end this,” Lucifer says.

Rowena doesn’t hesitate. She begins reading from the Book of the Damned while Crowley moves the Horn of Joshua over the fire and into Lucifer’s hand. The ground shakes, wallpaper peels itself off the walls, dust falls like rain from the high ceiling.

They can’t do anything but wait until Amara shows herself.

After a couple of minutes, a beam of white light appears near the door and fades out to reveal—

“Chuck?” Sam asks.

Chuck ignores him. He’s looking at Lucifer with a stern expression.

“You’re coming with me,” is all he says before reaching a hand out.

Lucifer, still in Cas’ body, disappears before their eyes. The white light takes over again, and Chuck is gone.

“What the hell?” Dean yells, storming over to the door to try to figure out where they went. “What the fuck!”

“Dean,” Cas’ new voice says from the other side of the room. “Was that—is Chuck—he’s God?”

Dean stalks up to him—her?—and gets in her personal space, glaring down at her. “How the hell did you end up in there, Cas?”

“Aye, I told you,” Rowena answers. “Paula is insurance. She agreed to have Castiel inhabit her body before he even gave permission to Lucifer.”

“We thought Lucifer might, uh, do exactly what he just did,” Cas explains. “Chuck showing up, however...Did you all know?”

Dean waves him off. “Yeah, he’s useless. I kicked him out of the bunker earlier, and he’s probably still pissed.”

“And it seems Dad isn’t too happy with his evil progeny,” Crowley says. “Cassie, you may want to get used to that new vessel of yours. I imagine your old meat suit isn’t coming back in one piece.”

“No,” Dean says definitively. His eyes are glued to Cas’ new body. “No, we’ll get you back, Cas. We’ll get your body back.”

“That’s not a high priority right now,” Cas replies. “Paula is OK in here, and she’s strong enough to hold me long term, if need be.”

“So? I don’t like it,” Dean says. “I don’t like you sharing a body with some witch.”

“Dean,” Sam interrupts. “We got Cas back, that’s what matters. Stop worrying so much about a vessel, OK?”

“Yes, Dean, why would you be worried about a vessel, hmm?” Crowley needles. “Surely it doesn’t matter if Castiel is in the body of a man or a woman, does it?”

Dean turns on his heel and points a finger in Crowley’s face. “You shut the fuck up, Crowley.”

“OK,” Sam says, stepping forward and putting a patient hand to Dean’s chest. “How about we all regroup, maybe head back to the bunker and come up with a new plan?”

Everybody looks around at each other, waiting for someone to answer. 

Finally, Rowena says, “Oh, what the hell. It’s not like we have any other options. We’ll see you at the bunker, boys.” 

Rowena and Crowley both disappear. Dean gestures to Sam and Cas to follow him out to the car. 

They’re quiet for the first few minutes of the drive. Dean speeds faster than usual. 

“Do I call you ‘him’ or ‘her,’ Cas?” Dean asks derisively, looking in the rearview mirror so he can make eye contact with Cas’ new big blue eyes.

“It doesn’t really matter,” Cas answers. “If I’m in Paula’s body long enough, I’m sure I’ll get used to the change. But as of right now it’s a little odd.”

“OK, so still ‘him,’” Dean mutters. 

“Can you feel her in there with you?” Sam asks. “It’s been a long time since you had to, you know, share.”

“I think she’s been a vessel before. Her consciousness is locked away from me. I’m not sure I could find her in here even if I tried.”

“Well, that’s good,” Dean says.

“It is?” Sam asks.

“Yeah. I mean, she can just be in her own little world and not have to deal with any of our crap. Isn’t that better than her and Cas sharing brain space?”

“Yes, I think so,” Cas replies. “Still, I’d like to get my body back at some point.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean mumbles.

Sam’s phone buzzes with a text at the same time that Dean’s phone starts ringing. 

“Yeah, Charlie?” Dean answers. 

“So Rowena and Crowley just showed up at the front door, and Eileen is playing the perfect host and making them a pot of tea in the kitchen right now,” Charlie says. “And, uh, they told us what happened, so I started, uh, well…”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Well, I was checking the news, and there’s, like, several breaking news stories in small towns in the middle of nowhere, and I realized that all the places are on your drive, dude. Like, the drive you’re currently driving. I think she’s messing with time again.”

Dean breathes out a sigh. “So Amara is baiting us, got it.”

“Yeah. If you want to stop literally anywhere on your way back here, I’m sure you’d find something,” Charlie says with a hopeless edge to her tone. “I don’t know if you can save anybody, but I’m sure Amara would appreciate you taking the bait. We’ll be fine here with the Europeans.”

After Dean hangs up, Sam says, “Eileen said Crowley and Rowena are being very polite and that we shouldn’t worry about them.”

Dean tells Sam and Cas what Charlie said, and they all agree to at least make a quick stop at the next promising exit. 

They barely make it one mile off an exit before running into a line of police cars outside of a modest neighborhood.

Dean parks in a secluded area, out of the line of sight, and the three of them sneak around the back of the police cars and follow the noise until they spot a group of cops across the street with their guns drawn on a bunch of people standing in a front yard. The people are screaming and shouting and pulling their own hair out and biting one another, but they all seem like they’re stuck behind an invisible wall between them and the police.

“OK, what the hell is our plan here?” Dean asks.

“Do you think they’re soulless?” Sam replies.

Cas says, “Yes, but I don’t know why she would set up a barrier between—”

“Hey, it’s the Winchesters,” a gruff voice says from behind them.

They all turn, ready for anything. Two large men face them, their arms crossed, smiles on their faces. The taller one says, “We’re big fans.”

“You’re Jesse and Cesar, aren’t you?” Sam asks.

Dean gives him a skeptical look, but Sam just ignores him.

“You’re good hunters,” Sam continues. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Do you know what’s, uh, going on here?”

“Well, we thought demonic possession,” the shorter guy, Cesar, says. “But now that the Winchesters are here, we’re thinking we’ve gotten in over our heads.”

“Yeah, hate to break it to you, bud, but this is above your pay grade,” Dean says.

Jesse nods his head at Cas. “Who’s your friend?”

“Castiel,” Cas answers stoically.

Jesse and Cesar both look surprised. Cesar says, “The trench coat angel?” He turns toward Jesse and mutters, “Pensé que ella era un hombre.”

“He was,” Dean replies, annoyed. “It’s just a temporary vessel. Do you hombres want to help us or not?”

“You said the people are soulless?” Jesse asks. “So what are we supposed to do?”

“Nothing,” Sam says. “Not unless we want to lure Amara here and try to, I don’t know, contain her or something.”

“You having visions about this, Sammy?”

Sam shakes his head.

“OK, uh,” Dean starts, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Somebody needs to stay here, make sure that barrier doesn’t break and if it does, get the cops out of here quick. If we—”

Jesse and Cesar both laugh. Cesar says, “What do you mean ‘get the cops out of here’? Like they’d listen to us.”

Dean blinks. “OK, uh, Cas and I will…” He looks over at Cas and realizes Cas in a tiny woman’s body won’t have any sway over a group of panicked police officers either. “Sam. You stay here, handle the cops. The rest of us can talk at the Biggerson’s up the road. Let’s go.”

Jesse and Cesar sit in the backseat of the Impala and bicker relentlessly while Cas tries to catch them up on the situation. Dean calls Charlie then Crowley, letting them both know to be ready when the time comes.

At the restaurant, they sit near the window and scope out the place for anybody acting unusual, but as Cas figured out years ago, the sameness of chain restaurants and gas stations makes them somewhat immune to supernatural activity. Dean will never forget the pride he felt when Cas shared that discovery with him, how good it made him feel to be friends with such a smart, calculating angel.

Jesse and Cesar continue arguing until Dean says, “You guys fight like me and my brother.”

They share an awkward look. Cesar says, “More like an old married couple.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “I didn’t realize...so you two are…?” He gestures between them.

Jesse reaches out for Cesar’s hand then brings it to his lips for a casual kiss. “For almost a decade.”

Forgetting everything else, Dean asks, “What’s it like settling down with another hunter?”

“Smelly,” Cesar replies. “And terrifying. Not a day goes by that I don’t worry about his safety.”

“But it would be worse,” Jesse adds, “if one of us was in the life and the other wasn’t. Much better to be in it together.”

“Mm. Yeah, I get that,” Dean says. He looks over at Cas, who looks back at him and tilts his new head to the side, furrows his new eyebrows. Dean looks away.

“Dean,” Cas says. He puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and it feels all wrong: it’s Cas, but it’s not Cas. “Do you feel that?”

“Well, yes, Cas, I feel your dainty little hand on my—oh. She’s coming.”

Jesse asks, “What?” at the same time that Cesar asks, “Who?”

“Why the warning though?” Dean asks. “She can just show up whenever. I could call her here right now, so why’s she telling us in advance?”

“Maybe she wants us to do something,” Cas says. He lets his hand drop from Dean’s shoulder. “Or maybe she’s about to do something.”

The ground shakes beneath their feet so intensely that people in the restaurant scream and fall. The lights flicker and go out. The floor splinters and cracks as if it’s about to open into a chasm. 

They all get to the floor, moving to the walls for cover, and Dean fumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket. He drops an SOS and his location to Charlie so that Crowley can transport them all from the bunker to Biggerson’s.

“What’s the plan, Dean?” Cas shouts.

Dean looks around at the sudden chaos. “I...I don’t know. If she’s coming here to kill us...we don’t stand a chance.”

“What about Chuck? You said he showed up before.”

The building begins to collapse around them, sinking into the widening hole in the ground.

Hopelessly, Dean says, “Yeah. And then I told him to fuck off.”

The ground gives out beneath him. He sinks into the earth.  

Chapter Text

Dean is standing in a vast, empty white room, complete silence around him. He thinks Morpheus is about to show up and offer him a red pill or a blue pill. 

“Alright, Amara, quit messing around,” Dean says.

She doesn’t show up right away. Dean turns on his heel, searching in every direction for something, anything. He swings his arms, snaps his fingers and claps his hands together in a steady rhythm, wishing desperately that he had something to fiddle with or knock over.

A small voice makes a sound. Dean stops moving immediately. 

“Dean!” 

It’s Amara, barely a year and a half old, unsteadily walking on her chubby legs toward Dean, her arms outstretched and a toothy smile on her face.

Dean crouches down and reaches his arms out. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

She falls into them, turning her head to press it firmly against his shoulder while she hugs him. He rubs her back and squeezes her, then he scoops her up and holds her in a tight embrace. 

“I miss you so much, sweet girl,” he soothes.

Amara coos and nuzzles, and Dean rocks her back and forth and kisses the top of her head and rubs circles against her back. 

He barely notices when adult Amara, still clad in her ridiculous black dress, appears a few feet away with her arms crossed.

“Dean,” she says.

He ignores her. He’s humming to the baby.

She snaps her fingers. The baby disappears out of his arms. He clenches his fists at his sides, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face.

“Why are you smiling?” Amara asks him, clearly frustrated.

“Because I just got to hold my daughter when I thought I never would again,” Dean replies. “Thank you.”

Amara drops her arms and deflates a little. “You don’t make this easy.”

“Make what easy?”

She opens her mouth to answer, but she’s interrupted by Sam popping up out of the white emptiness and sprinting by with his gun drawn and blood pouring down the side of his face. He doesn’t seem to notice either of them as he disappears back into the white. 

“Um,” Dean says, pointing toward where Sam just disappeared. “What is this place?”

Amara looks around at the nebulous structure, squinting. “I didn’t have a whole lot of time to put this together, to be perfectly honest. I think we’re stuck in a time hole close enough to the surface of the earth that people you know can pass through.”

Dean makes a face at her. “A time hole?”

She throws her arms up childishly. “I don’t know, Dean! I’m fucking new at this.”

“Language, sweetheart.”

“Oh yeah, wonder where I learned that word from, huh?”

Dean laughs and looks at her. Somebody else runs through the time hole in his periphery, but he doesn’t turn to see who it is.

“Why are you doing this, Amara?” he asks quietly. “I know you’re not evil, so why?”

Her eyebrows pinch together. “After everything I’ve done, that’s how you feel? Really, Dean?”

“Yeah, really.” He wags his finger at her. “You had me there, when I figured out how much you were fucking with my head. I thought I finally realized who the enemy was. But you’re not.” He takes a step toward her, but there’s still a vast emptiness between them. “You’re just scared. You could still come home.”

“Oh, Dean.”

Charlie appears, her phone to her ear, looking worried. “The house is on fire? Are the cats OK? Let me get—oh no, Sam and Dean aren’t here. I’ll try to...I’m sorry, Ida May, I’ll be—” She blips out. 

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to find his patience. “Amara, did you set Clint and Ida May’s house on fire?”

“I might’ve unleashed some of the, um, soulless people I created.”

“OK, so, one more time. Why are you doing this?”

She runs a hand through her hair, something it looks like she picked up from Sam. “I don’t know. I don’t know, Dean. I thought...I thought this would be easy. I can’t figure out the balance, and I keep going too far in one direction and overcorrecting in the other direction, and I just don’t know.”

“I told you to give me some time,” Dean chastises, but he tries to keep a gentleness to his tone, a grace and forgiveness that his own father never gave him. “I told you that you didn’t know everything and that you hadn’t finished...I don’t know, you hadn’t finished developing yet. Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Amara frowns at him. “You wanted time, and I had already taken so much of it from you. I didn’t know, by the way. When I was a baby, I didn’t mean to manipulate you.”

Toddler Amara reappears and latches onto Dean’s leg. He puts her on his hip and kisses her forehead.

“I know,” he says, looking at the baby. 

“I wasn’t the one hurting you,” adult Amara continues. “That really was the Mark.”

Dean looks at her, surprised. “Can you make it stop?”

"You can make it stop. You’ve actually already figured out a lot of physical remedies to make it stop. But what it really needs is time.”

Dean smiles. “Time. Right.”

Jesse and Cesar appear, their arms wrapped around each other like one of them has just helped the other up. Jesse puts his hand to the side of Cesar’s face and presses their foreheads together. 

“Hey, you alright?” he whispers.

“Mm-hmm,” Cesar replies.

They kiss, slowly and carefully. Dean stares. They disappear.

“Is that what you want, Dean?” Amara asks, moving closer to him. “To love someone like that?”

Toddler Amara wiggles out of his arms and wobbles off into the emptiness. 

“Would that have been better?” adult Amara continues. “If I had come to earth in this body and seduced you instead? Would it have worked?”

Dean feels like he might puke. He takes a step away from her.

She smiles at him. “Yeah, I thought so. I’m sorry, Dean. For the choices you’re going to have to make.”

The world shifts beneath his feet. In the blink of an eye, the colors change and Dean is standing outside the sinking Biggerson’s. 

“Dean!” a woman’s voice yells, and it takes Dean a few seconds to realize it’s Cas.

“Yeah, hey, what’d I miss?” Dean asks, trying to readjust to seeing Cas’ worried expression on an unfamiliar face.

“She’s leveling this town,” Cas answers. “We have to go.”

Dean wants to explain everything that just happened to him, but it’s slipping away from him like a dream, and Cas’ unfamiliar hand is gripping his sleeve and dragging him toward the Impala while Jesse and Cesar run beside them. 

They speed back to the neighborhood and barely make it past a line of police cruisers before Sam comes barreling toward them, covered in blood and holding a knife in each hand. Dean doesn’t have time to stop the car completely before Sam is wrenching open the back door and squeezing in with Jesse and Cesar. 

“Go, go, go, back to the bunker,” Sam commands.

Dean floors it. He doesn’t look back even as he feels and hears heavy thumps against his Baby; he doesn’t want to know what it is that’s throwing themselves at the car.

It feels like the town is imploding around them, like they could sink into the ground at any moment. Dean drives, his foot on the gas, his eyes on the road, determined. When he makes it to the highway, everything shifts back into normalcy. His phone rings.

“Go ahead,” Dean says as he puts it on speaker.

“Dean!” Charlie yells. “I’m at Clint and Ida May’s house, it’s—oh my god, it’s—”

“On fire?” Dean asks calmly.

Cas turns a curious eye at Dean.

“Yeah,” Charlie answers. “How did you...how did you know that?”

“Just get them out safely, their cats too,” Dean replies. “Take them back to the bunker. We got room. We’ll figure it out.”

After he hangs up, there’s a heavy silence in the car until Sam breaks it.

“Dude, are you psychic now?”

“No,” Dean says. “It’s Amara. She showed me some things.” He clears his throat. “Sammy, did you manage to help anybody?”

“No. She’s doing everything on too big of a scale. We might be able to save a couple people here and there, but, I mean, if she keeps doing this, we just have to stop her. We have to get enough juice to stop her completely.”

Jesse and Cesar have a lot of questions after that, so they spend the rest of the drive catching them up to speed. 

Once they get back to Lebanon, Dean speeds even faster toward Clint and Ida May’s house. It hasn’t burned to the ground yet, but it’s on its way. They and their truck are nowhere to be found. Charlie doesn’t answer her phone when Dean calls. 

Worry gnaws at him until they get back to the bunker and see the pickup parked out front. Then, as soon as he walks into the bunker, he sneezes.

“I think we have some allergy medicine in storage,” Sam says as they all descend the stairs together. “I’ll go check.”

Clint, Ida May, Charlie and Eileen are all sitting at the war room table. Eileen has a small gray cat in her lap. Ida May says, “Oh honey, are you allergic to cats? You should’ve told us, we could’ve—”

“No, no, don’t worry about me,” Dean assures. “I’m just glad you got here safely.”

Jesse and Cesar already know Clint and Ida May. They worked a case in Mexico together a few years back, spending several months rehabilitating a vampire nest full of scared teenagers. They didn’t have to kill a single vamp.

While everyone’s talking, Dean looks around and realizes Cas didn’t follow them in.

“What’s wrong, Dean?” Charlie asks.

“Where’s Cas?”

“Wait, so you guys really did get Cas back?”

“Sort of,” Dean mutters. He gets up and takes the stairs two at a time. 

Outside, Cas is standing in the street looking up at the angel warding painted on the wall above the bunker. 

“Sorry, buddy,” Dean says, grunting as he climbs up the hill to cut the warding. “Lucifer, you know, kind of fucked us over.”

Dean painstakingly takes a knife to the warding. When he comes back down the hill, Cas stops him with a small hand to his shoulder. Dean looks down at him and hates how far his eyes have to travel before they meet Cas’. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Cas says regretfully. “He kept me aware enough to know how he was treating you. Dean, I hope you know I would never—I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Most of my social cues I’ve learned from you, so I know what is and isn’t appropriate, and I know he crossed a—”

“Hey, hey, it’s OK,” Dean soothes. And because Cas is in the body of a small woman, Dean’s protective instincts kick in and he forgets to keep his distance. He folds Cas in his arms and rubs his back in a way he never would with Cas’ actual male body. “It’s not your fault, Cas. And the important thing is that it wasn’t you.” 

They hug for too long. Dean can feel Cas dig his fingers into the back of his jacket and press his face to his chest. Dean rests his chin on top of Cas’ head, something he could never do before. After a second, Dean realizes what he’s doing and abruptly breaks away from Cas, clearing his throat.

“I, uh. Sorry,” Dean stammers. He awkwardly presses his hands to the outside of Cas’ arms. “You’re in this tiny woman’s body. It’s just weird.”

Cas’ eyebrows pinch together, and his lips turn down in an unmistakably Cas-like expression. “Dean, you don’t have to apologize for hugging me. This isn’t my body, but I’m still me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, got it.”

As they turn toward the door to go inside, Crowley appears in front of them with an annoyed expression on his face. He looks from Dean to Cas then back to Dean.

“No more detours,” he chastises. “I wouldn’t have been able to pull you out of that town even if I had tried, which I didn’t, because I’m not your lap dog. Amara is going to do something on a grand scale, at any minute now, and we haven’t the foggiest how to stop her.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asks.

“Rumor is she’s pissed at her brother,” Crowley explains. “His little stunt with Lucifer is apparently a play to wipe her off the map.”

Dean strokes a hand down his cheeks, feeling his scruff rub against his fingers. If Chuck and Amara both have some semblance of control over time, then they could do any number of things during every second wasted. 

“Ah,” Crowley says, looking up at the sky. “Here it is.”

A brightness descends as the sun expands in brilliant light across the clear sky. Heat drops down like a sheet, hot enough to burn skin in seconds. Dean squints his eyes, puts a hand to Cas’ arm and drags him toward the bunker. Crowley follows them in.

“Everybody down to the bunker’s lowest level,” Dean commands as he comes down the stairs.

Nobody asks any questions before moving. Charlie and Ida May scoop up the cats. Not until Sam and Dean have secured the bunker and holed everybody up in the armory does anyone speak. 

“Alright, first question,” Charlie starts. “Cas, where’d you get the hot lady?”

There’s nervous laughter as the tension eases out of everyone. Cas smiles softly at Charlie.

“We’ll worry about getting Cas’ body back once we’ve solved the Amara problem,” Dean says. Then he looks around at each person individually: Sam, Cas, Charlie, Eileen, Crowley, Jesse, Cesar, Clint, Ida May. Crowley didn’t say where Rowena is, and Dean doesn’t care enough to ask. Instead, he gives the briefest explanation he can manage of everything that’s happened since the Mark of Cain was burned off his arm. He finishes by saying, “If we don’t kill Amara, she’s going to destroy the world. And we can’t just send anybody in to get the job done. It has to be me.”

There are protests, the most vocal of which comes from Sam. “Dean, you said you wouldn’t be able to do it. From the start, you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it. What makes you think you can do it now?”

Dean gives him a stern look. “Because I’m the one she trusts the most. I’m the one she’s least likely to suspect and least likely to hurt.”

“How do you know she’s not listening to us right now?” Eileen asks. “You said she’s basically all-powerful.”

Dean shakes his head. “I can feel her. Yeah, she manipulates me, but we’re connected in a way I don’t think she can control, which means I’m pretty sure I’d know if she was listening. It has to be me. This isn’t up for debate.”

Sam walks away, muttering, “Yeah, it never is,” over his shoulder.

“So, what?” Cesar says, arms crossed over his chest and leaning back against a cracked wall. “We’re stuck here. We have no plan. Nothing you’ve tried has worked against her so far.”

“Yeah, about that,” Dean says. He looks to the open door where Sam left. He knows he’s just on the other side of it, still in earshot. “Something that Chuck—God—said. He told me to stop summoning supernatural beings to do my bidding, because apparently I’m irresistible and everybody in the universe is in love with me.” In an attempt at lightness, he looks at Cas and bounces his eyebrows suggestively.

Cas looks away and visibly swallows. 

Dean clears his throat. “Well, uh, so Chuck didn’t want me to use that...skill. Which means I should use it." He pauses and looks off to the side. "Billie?”

They wait five seconds before the reaper appears in the middle of the room. Jesse, Cesar, Clint and Ida May all jump back, apparently unused to beings popping up out of thin air. 

“I’ve been waiting for your call,” Billie says with a knowing smile. “I do love being your deus ex machina, Dean.”

“Yeah, you’ve been tailing me for a reason, and it ain’t because you like me,” Dean replies. “So, what is it? How do we stop her?”

“Souls. Several thousand souls.”

Several people talk at once. Dean holds his hand up to quiet them down. 

“It’s that simple?” he asks.

“Simple doesn’t mean easy,” she says. “I can get you the souls. You’ll need the witch to make a bomb.”

“And we’ll need a carrier of the bomb,” Cas says ominously. “Someone who can get close to Amara without being killed.”

Sam curses in the other room, followed by the sound of his fist hitting the wall.

“Like I said, not easy,” Billie repeats. 

Dean winks at her. “Thanks, Billie.” He turns to Crowley. “Can you get your mom, please?”

“I’m right here, dear,” Rowena says, walking into the room as if she’s been there the whole time. She takes a seat in one of the hard metal chairs scattered around the room; one of the cats immediately hops up on her lap and curls up, purring. “Of course I’ll make you into a bomb. Should we three go to the dungeon, or should we make everyone else leave us be here?”

“Dungeon’s fine,” Dean answers. “Let’s go.”

Rowena kisses the cat before setting it on the floor and getting up. 

Dean walks close to Billie and waits until they’re alone in the hallway before he asks, “You excited to reap me today?”

She laughs and quirks an eyebrow. “This is an option in one of your books, but I don’t think it’s how you’ll go. I just have a feeling about it.”

“Hmm. And if you’re wrong?”

“Then I’ll be happy to lead you to your death.”

Dean puts a respectful hand out, not forcing Billie to stop but asking her to. She does. 

“I’m not afraid of dying,” he says, looking her right in the eyes. “When it’s my time to go, it’s my time to go. I’m sick of this resurrection crap.” He nods resolutely. “I want it to be you. For me and for Sammy. Cas, too. You’re the only one I trust to actually keep us dead.”

Billie’s mouth pulls at the corners. She surveys him, her eyes moving like she’s searching for something. “I wanted to see for myself.”

“What?”

“The power you have over all kinds of beings,” she explains. “I wanted to experience it firsthand. And I get it. I can feel it, this desire in me to be your friend. You have a unique gift, Dean.”

“I’m just a guy.”

“Yeah. Exactly.”

Rowena “yoo-hoos” at them from the entrance to the dungeon. “Pick up the pace there, dearies,” she says. “Before the sun burns through the earth.”

Despite the fact that he could very well die in the next few minutes, Dean is impatient as he waits for Billie and Rowena to make him into a bomb. They work quietly, slowly, and Dean can’t do anything but stand against the wall and fidget. 

There’s a noise above their heads. Like the sound of something being forced open.

“We can’t stop this process,” Billie says, looking at Dean. “So you better lock us in here and go see what’s going on.”

“Agreed,” Rowena says as she works.

Dean kicks off from the wall and grabs his gun out of his waistband just in case. He meets Sam in the hall and gives him a signal to go to the opposite side of the bunker so they can cover more ground. Sam signals back to him that everyone else is still tucked away in the armory. They go slowly through the hall, carefully making their way up to the main level.

“Dean,” a voice says behind him, and he doesn’t recognize it until he turns and sees Cas. “It’s her.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean replies. He gestures for Cas to follow him up the stairs. 

“I could take the bomb, too. I could go with you,” Cas says.

“No, Cas, that’s not—you’re not even in your body. You can’t make Paula do that.”

Cas puts a hand on Dean’s forearm, making him turn toward him. In his tiny body, Cas pulls Dean forward and hugs him fiercely, wrapping his arms around his neck. Dean holds his small waist and buries his face in Paula’s hair. 

“Cas,” Dean whispers.

“I’m sorry.” Cas pulls back, a pained expression on his borrowed face. “I’m sorry you have to do this. I’m sorry we couldn’t...raise her better.”

Dean wants to argue, wants to say that they did the best they could, but he’s not even sure that’s true. He just did what was natural for him. He followed his maternal instincts, and now he’s going to die for it.

“Just stay behind me, Cas, OK? In case I need backup.”

“Of course, Dean.”

It’s silent on the bunker’s main level. The heat is stifling and oppressive, and Dean is hyper aware of every bead of sweat that slides down his face. He holds his gun out in front of him as if that will help. Around every corner, into every room and hallway, he expects to see Amara’s face. He and Cas circle around until they meet Sam in the library. Sam shakes his head and lowers his gun. None of them say anything.

Someone screams from down in the armory. 

Sam sprints for the stairs just as metal clangs to the floor in the kitchen. 

Dean looks at Cas and puts a finger to his lips, then he gestures for him to stay put in the library. He then turns away from him and walks slowly to the kitchen.

Rummaging through the cabinets is a familiar man, but an impossible one. Dean’s heart drops to his stomach as he lowers his gun.

“Dad?”

John Winchester turns, genuine smile splitting his face, hands outstretched to the sides. “Dean! Wow, look at you. You look thin, son. You taking care of yourself?”

Dean narrows his eyes at him and raises his gun once again. “Who are you?”

John laughs. “I’m in a good mood, so you don’t think it’s really me, huh?” He takes a step forward and puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’ve been gone a long time, Dean. I’m not the same man I was before. I’m just happy to see my son again.”

Dean doesn’t waver. “How the hell did you get here?” 

“I don’t know. One minute I was dead, and the next minute I was alive. Something brought me here, that’s all I know. Why, are you hunting something?” He points around the room. “And what’s up with this place? Do you and Sammy live here?”

Dean drops his gun and looks around the room. “Amara?” he calls. “Amara, where are you?”

“Amara? Is that the creature you’re hunting?” 

Dean loses his temper. “Shut up, Dad! Just shut up.”

His dad is on him in a second, taking long strides across the room and grabbing him by the lapels so quickly that Dean stumbles back and falls against the wall. John bears down on him, breathing right in his face, his hands fisted into the front of his shirt to hold him in place.

“Don’t you fucking talk to me like that. You know not to talk to me like that, boy.”

Dean’s first thought is, Oh, this really is Dad. His second thought is, I’m too old to put up with this.

Calmly, Dean says, “Get your fucking hands off me.”

Fury flashes across John’s face. When Dean doesn’t react, the fury changes to fear. He lets Dean go.

“Something is broken in you, boy,” John says, turning away from Dean and going back over to the other side of the kitchen. He opens the fridge. “You got any booze?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” Dean commands. “Whoever or whatever brought you here, I don’t care. I don’t trust you. Leave.”

John turns slowly and just stares at him. Dean stares back.

From the library, a woman shouts Dean’s name. It only takes half a second this time for Dean to remember that it’s Cas. He runs out of the kitchen, deciding not to worry about his dad’s presence.

Cas has an angel blade to his borrowed throat. Lucifer stands behind him, still in his body. It’s odd, seeing Cas’ true body, but it’s twisted in a way that Dean knows it couldn’t possibly be Cas.

“It’s OK, Cas,” Dean says gently.

“Where’s Amara?” Lucifer asks through gritted teeth. “Tell me, or I kill him.”

Dean shakes his head. “Cas is too big of a bargaining chip. You wouldn’t waste him on such a small request.”

Lucifer presses the blade more firmly into Cas’ neck. “You have a bunker full of bargaining chips. I can take my chances.”

“I don’t know where she is,” Dean says honestly. “Where’s Chuck?”

“No,” Lucifer spits. “You don’t get to make demands.”

“Get out,” a familiar voice says from the other end of the library.

They all turn to see Billie. She holds a glowing orb in her right hand. 

“Yes, you, Lucifer,” she continues. “We don’t have time for you right now.”

Lucifer sneers at her. “Why would I listen to a reaper?”

Billie rolls her eyes. She ignores Lucifer as she crosses the room and holds the orb out to Dean, and before he can consent to whatever she’s about to do, she shoves the orb directly into his chest and he screams.

And then he’s falling. He falls for so long that he thinks he might be falling forever. 

He’s in a time hole again, he thinks. 

Pre-teen Amara stands across from him, her hands folded demurely in front of her. 

“Hi, Dean,” she says.

“Why the hell did you bring my dad back?” he blurts out, exasperated. His chest hurts.

She tilts her head to the side. “Your dad?”

“I tried to be everything he wasn’t. With you, I mean. I tried to be his opposite. So, why? Why’d you bring him back, Amara?”

“I...I didn’t,” she says. “But he’s your family. Why would you be upset about having a family member return to you?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “Family’s complicated. Just because I love my dad doesn’t mean I ever want to—to see him again, to deal with him the way he was when he was...I don’t know. You don’t always have to get along with family, sweetheart.”

She blinks at him. “I’m coming to the bunker. You won’t use that bomb on me.”

The world shifts like he’s being sucked through a vacuum. Back in the bunker’s library, Dean finds himself lying on the floor with Cas’ female hand on his shoulder. 

“Dean? Are you OK?” Cas asks as he helps him up to a sitting position. Billie stands a few feet behind him.

Dean grasps Cas’ wrist and squeezes it before getting to his feet. He looks around, but Lucifer and John are gone. 

“I have to…” he starts, unsure. “I think I have to…”

He turns toward the war room and stops. Amara is standing on the lower level, eyes boring into him.

“Did you make your choice, Dean?” she asks.

“No. Did you?” he responds.

“I’m not burning the world.” She moves her hands up, then flattens them down like she’s pushing something. 

The heat lifts. The bunker returns to a normal temperature.

“I can’t balance light and dark without my brother,” she explains. “But I don’t like my brother.”

“You don’t have to like him,” Dean reasons. “Trust me, there are plenty of days I don’t like Sam. But I still trust him, and I need him. Always.”

“Why can’t it be you?”

“What?”

“I trust you. I love you,” she says. “Why won’t you come with me? Be a part of me, and maybe with you I can balance it. We wouldn’t need him.”

Billie interjects, “I don’t think that would work.”

“Amara, whatever’s going on with you and Chuck, you have to figure that out, alright?” Dean pleads. “Don’t make me do this. Please.”

Amara frowns at him. “I can feel it. That bomb in you, I can feel it. You were going to kill me, Dean?”

He takes a couple steps toward her, closing the distance between them. “You know I would do it if I had to. If you don’t give me a choice.”

“Do you remember teaching me how to read?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember the day in the sun, when we lay in the dewy grass out front and played I, Spy with the shape of the clouds?”

Dean swallows. “Yes.”

“You can’t kill me, Dean. Just as I can’t kill you.” She looks away, turning toward the stairs and up at the entrance to the bunker. “Brother, show yourself.”

Chuck casually walks through the door and leans on the banister, looking down at all of them. 

Amara says, “Enough. Let’s end this.” 

Chuck nods minutely. 

Amara turns back toward Dean and says, “We’re going. I may not see you for a long time.” She reaches a hand out as if to touch him, but there’s too much distance between them and she aborts the movement. Changing her tone, she says, “When I brought you Charlie, I didn’t understand what I was doing. I’m sorry I used her against you, that I threatened to take her away from you.”

Dean shakes his head. “Amara, why are you telling me this?”

“Because I’m going to give you what you’ve given me. Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean thinks she’s going to ascend the stairs and walk out with Chuck, but both of them blip out of existence in the blink of an eye. 

“What the hell?” he yells, stomping into the war room like it’s possible to follow them. “What the hell do we do now? I’ve got a fucking bomb in me.”

“Dean,” Cas says.

“What?” Dean responds impatiently. He turns back toward the library in a huff.

Cas and Billie are both looking at something in the hallway.

Dean walks over, hand on his gun, expecting the worst. 

What he finds instead is his mother standing just a few feet in front of him.  

Chapter Text

Part 2

May 26, 2016

Amara brought Mom back. She looks at me like she doesn’t have a clue who I am, because she doesn’t. It’s weird. 

“Dean?” 

Dean closes the journal and looks up from his desk to see Cas standing in the doorway, peering at him with a crease between his brow. Paula has fewer lines in her face than Cas’ actual face, but Dean is trying to get used to it. 

“What’s up, Cas,” Dean replies, rubbing tiredness from his eyes. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve just had a bomb extracted from my chest. What about you, anything on Lucifer?”

Cas sighs and leans against the door frame. “I think our best chance of getting my body back is through Chuck. But, um, whatever he and Amara are doing to fix things, I think we should give it some time.”

“Right. Time.” Dean looks Cas’ borrowed body up and down. “I still don’t like it.”

A smile pulls at Cas’ lips. “I’m still me, Dean. I didn’t realize you had such a strong attachment to my physical embodiment.”

Dean rolls his eyes in an attempt to hide his blush. “C’mon, dude, if I was suddenly a hot chick you’d be annoyed about it, too.”

Cas squints his eyes and hums. “Hm. Maybe.” He points to the journal on Dean’s desk. “Is it helping? To keep track of time?”

“Yeah. Uh, I don’t think Amara’s messing with me anymore though. I don’t know, I feel—everything feels a little clearer now. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“I think I know what you mean.” Cas straightens up and clears his throat. “Well, um. Clint is giving Jesse and Cesar a ride back to their car today, and Sam is ordering more beds. The Lerners are staying here indefinitely, cats included, as is your mom and Charlie. Uh, Eileen keeps saying she’s going to leave, but…”

“She and Sam are attached at the hip, yeah,” Dean finishes. He puts his elbow on the desk and rubs his eyes again. He hasn’t slept in 24 hours. “And, uh, no sign of my dad?”

“I talked to Billie before she left. We think Chuck may have had something to do with you seeing your father. It’s possible he knew Amara was going to bring Mary back, and so he wanted to sow some kind of doubt and confusion. I don’t know, we both agreed that his presence felt off. Sinister.”

“Well, that’s good,” Dean says, a bite to his tone. “God being a bad guy is exactly what we need right now.”

Cas takes a step toward Dean and puts his small hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest, Dean.”

Dean reaches up and clasps Cas’ wrist from underneath, squeezing it in thanks. It’s something he would do with Jody or with Charlie, but as he does it to Cas he realizes it’s not something he would usually do with a man. He quickly lets go and fidgets in his seat, avoiding eye contact. 

Cas drops his hand, seemingly unaware of anything being weird. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by Mary appearing behind him and saying a surprised, “Oh,” when she sees them both.

“I’m sorry, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Mary says, looking between Dean and Cas.

“You’re fine, Mom,” Dean says softly. “We were just talking. Everything OK, you need something?”

Cas excuses himself, slipping past Mary and out into the hall, and Dean watches him as his mom talks. 

“Um, I was just wondering if we could go into town to get one of those phones for me. I didn’t mean to—if you were busy with Cas, we can go later.” She shifts from one foot to the other, pulling at the hem of her t-shirt, which is a little small on her because she borrowed it from Eileen. “Sam said you’re very attached to the car, so I thought it might be nice if you and I took a drive in it.”

Dean smiles warmly at her. “Yeah. We can go right now, let me just—” Dean can’t stop the yawn that escapes.

His mom waves him off. “Oh, Dean, you need to get some sleep. Sam told me everything you’ve been—well, I know you’ve been through a lot. Get some rest, and then we can go.”

“OK, uh, thanks, Mom. Just give me a couple hours.”

She offers him a tightlipped smile before leaving. 

Dean puts his journal up on the shelf above his bed and lies down fully clothed on top of the covers. He checks his phone and sees a text from Mildred letting him know that everything at the nursing home is pretty much back to normal, and that he should come visit sometime. He exits out of the message thread and sets his phone on his nightstand.  

Just as he’s closing his eyes, he hears someone come into the room again.

“Oh,” Cas says, surprised.

Dean sits up and frowns at him. “Forget something?”

“Your mother said that you—she told me to come back in here. Did you need me?” 

“Hm. No? I’m just going to sleep. Wake me up if you need something.”

“Oh—OK. I’ll just, um. I’ll be going then.” Cas shuffles backward out of the room and then turns robotically in the hall. 

Dean doesn’t think much about it before falling asleep. 

He doesn’t dream. He doesn’t wake up in a cold sweat. He doesn’t have any horrifying visions. 

He thinks he might actually be fully recovered from whatever was ailing him. 

A couple hours of sleep later, and Dean feels marginally better if a little groggy and disoriented. The bunker is quiet as he heads out into the hall, everybody still recovering from the trauma of the world almost ending just one day ago. Hesitantly, Dean goes to Amara’s old room and stands in the doorway for a moment, peering at all of the untouched stuff she left behind. Eventually he’ll get some boxes and pack everything away, but not today. 

Something catches his eye as he turns to leave. It’s a battered cardboard box, small and unassuming, sticking out from underneath the bed. Dean sighs as he squats down to get it, and then he sits on the floor with his back against the bed because it’s easier on his knees than trying to stand back up right away.

On one side of the box is written in neat handwriting, “Stuff I took from my dads.”

“Amara,” Dean says quietly, smiling as he sifts through the stuff. 

There are a couple of pocketknives, including one Dean’s had for a decade and thought he lost on a hunt, so he slips it back into its old hiding place on his person. There are a couple of rings and necklaces, some Dean recognizes as his own and others he assumes are Sam’s, then there’s tangled earphones, a Zippo lighter, a small sewing kit. The sewing kit has only beige thread, the kind that Cas uses to painstakingly patch up his trench coat. Dean considers pocketing it but decides to leave it in the box. Then, at the very bottom, there’s an old cassette tape with his handwriting on it.

“FOR GETTING LAID.”

“Jesus, sweetheart, why’d you take this?” he asks out loud to no one, flipping the tape over in his hand and then pocketing it.

He’s curious about what’s on it, because he’s sure he made it in his 20s to woo some weekend girl, but he has no memory of this one specifically. 

He goes back to his own room and digs out from under his bed an old cassette recorder. He doesn’t have any blank cassettes, but he makes a mental note to get one while he's out with his mom. 

His detour now ended, he walks back through the bunker, waves to Ida May and Charlie in the library, then runs into Sam and Eileen talking in the kitchen. Eileen excuses herself immediately after greeting Dean.

“She planning on going home anytime soon, or are you gonna propose?” Dean asks.

Sam just smiles and tilts his chin at him. “Oh yeah, and what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Uh, I think Mom thinks you and Cas are...you know.”

“What? No, she doesn—oh god, yes she does.” Dean drops into a kitchen chair, runs his hand through his hair. “We need to get his fucking body back ASAP.”

“Paula is cute, though,” Sam says casually. “If Cas had a vessel like that, like, without another person in there, would you consider…?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Sam? Are you asking me if I’d be banging Cas if he was a woman?”

Sam raises his hands up defensively. “Hey, you said it, not me.”

Dean flips him off. “It’s Cas, dude. I wouldn’t—I couldn’t—it’s not—”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Whatever, I’m going to find Mom.” Dean stomps off, equal parts embarrassed and glad that things are back to normal enough for Sam to tease him. 

The thing is that Dean has never seen Cas as anything other than a man. He can’t even properly process that Cas is currently in a female vessel and what that could mean about his gender or what it could mean about the dynamic of their relationship. Cas is family, and he would’ve been family whether he introduced himself to Dean in Jimmy Novak’s body or in another (female) vessel. But he’s also an angel, and Dean thinks even if Cas had been in the hottest woman alive he wouldn’t be able to reconcile Cas’ otherness, the vastness of his being in comparison to Dean’s humanness. 

Anna was different. Dean knew her as a human first, not as an angel. That’s what he tells himself, at least. 

Dean and his mom spend the first five minutes of the drive just talking about the Impala. 

During a lull in the conversation, Mary says, “It’s going to take me a long time to adjust.”

“I know, Mom. You take all the time you need, we’ll be here.” Dean is glad he’s driving. It’s easier to have this conversation while looking ahead at the road.

“I don’t just mean technology, or, uh, you and Sammy being grown-ups. I mean, yeah, it’s really weird that I was dead and now I’m back and my sons are only a handful of years younger than me.” She laughs humorlessly. “It’s also that you guys live in the Men of Letters bunker. The Men of Letters was a myth. And you know angels and demons and reapers and witches. I wanted to keep you out of this life, and you’re more in it than I ever was.”

“Yeah, well, uh, that’s not your fault. We’re OK, Mom. We’re doing the best we can.”

A beat passes before she says, “I’m glad you’re not in it alone, at least.”

“Yeah, having Sammy with me for every—”

“I meant Castiel.”

Dean swallows. “Cas and I are not—we’re just friends. He’s my best friend.”

“He?”

“Yeah, uh, that’s not Cas’ body.” They haven’t told her about Lucifer yet, and Dean doesn’t feel like opening that can of worms while they’re running errands, so he says, “Cas has a better vessel, his actual body, really, and it’s male. He’s not—he’s not a woman.”

“Oh. So you two really are just friends?”

“Yes. Yeah. We’re really close, but, um, yeah.”

They’re both silent as Dean pulls into the shopping center. Everything looks so normal, like weird shit hasn’t been happening in Lebanon for months now. As they get out of the car, Dean scans the area for his ghost, Caroline Anders, but she’s not there. 

Mary doesn’t bat an eye at Dean giving fake information and a fake credit card in order to get an iPhone. He wants to ask her if she had to do similar things as a hunter in the ‘70s, but he’s afraid of bringing up the past, afraid of asking her any questions about her life before, afraid of asking if she remembers being home with him for the first four years of his life and playing dress-up with him and going to the park to push him on the swing and cutting off the crust from his sandwiches and tricking him into eating vegetables by covering them in ketchup. 

There are so many things he would love to say to his mom, but he doesn’t know how.

On the drive home, Mary says, “You know, there’s something I’ve been trying to figure out.”

“Hmm?” 

“The woman who brought me back, Amara, why did she do it? She’s in some cosmic argument with God right now, so why bother with something so inconsequential as bringing me back to life?”

Dean clears his throat. “Because, um, I raised her. She came to earth as a baby, a really fast-growing baby, and we took care of her. I was the most attached to her, most like her parent, so…”

“Oh,” Mary breathes, shocked. “Oh god, Dean. That’s, like, a Virgin Mary story.”

“Well, actually, according to Chuck, Jesus was just some guy, so.”

“What?”

Dean shakes his head. “Sammy and I get caught up in cosmic bullshit pretty regularly. It’s rare that we get to just, you know, salt-and-burn a ghost or something simple like that.” Something occurs to Dean, something he has to say before he’s too afraid. “If you, uh, can’t deal with the way our life is, it would be OK. If you didn’t hunt with us, or whatever.”

“Oh, um. Well, I’ll have to get my bearings and catch up on the last...30 years. So I’ll at least be staying in the bunker for a while if that’s OK?”

“Of course,” Dean says quickly. “Of course it’s OK, Mom. We love having you here. God, I...I’ve missed you every day of my life. I can’t—I don’t know how to…”

Mary reaches over and squeezes his arm. “I know, Dean. It’ll take some getting used to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it will.”

When they get back to the bunker, Clint is back and he and Ida May are with Charlie in the library figuring out what to do about their house. Sam and Eileen are at the war room table doing research to see if Amara has reversed or corrected any of the chaos she caused.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks in the general direction of everyone as he and his mom come in through the garage. He sneezes and pulls allergy medicine out of his back pocket.

“Uh, said she had to check some things outside,” Sam says. “You didn’t see her when you pulled in?”

“We’re calling Cas a ‘she’ now?” Dean asks, more annoyed than he needs to be.

Sam shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s just easier. Paula’s a woman, and Cas is genderless, I’m pretty sure. What was it you used to call the angels? Junkless?”

Dean rolls his eyes and heads for the stairs. “I’m gonna go find him,” he mutters.

It doesn’t take long. Cas is standing across the street outside the bunker, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped. If Dean saw a woman standing like that in public, he would assume she’s a butch lesbian, but sure, Cas is genderless.

“Hey,” Dean says, sidling up next to Cas and staring straight ahead with him.

“There’s nothing,” Cas says cryptically. “I could feel the earth changing before. I don’t feel it now. Everything is calm.”

“Hm. Maybe they really are working their shit out.”

“I think they are.” He turns fully toward Dean, looking up into his eyes pensively. “I think you did it. You stopped the Darkness.”

“Well, let’s hope so.” Dean nods at him. “It’s nice, at least, not feeling like we’re all gonna die at any moment.”

“Do you think we’ll ever see her again?”

“Yeah, I think we will. Hurts too much to think we won’t.” 

Cas smiles sadly at him and puts a strong hand on his shoulder. Once again, Dean instinctively grips Cas’ wrist in response, but he decides not to correct it this time. He pulls Cas’ hand down from his shoulder and squeezes it once before letting go. 

“C’mon, let’s go back inside. See if we can find anything on Lucifer,” Dean says.

With everyone else busy in their respective places, Dean and Cas end up sitting at the kitchen table together. They talk more than they research, and Dean gets antsy and makes himself a sandwich and drinks a soda and eats some chips and only then does he realize he doesn’t feel sick from all the calories. He doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps eating until he feels full.

Cas clasps his hands on the table and looks curiously around the kitchen as if studying it.

“What?” Dean asks.

“It’s strange, how my brain constructed this place,” Cas answers. “I must feel safely confined here.”

“Wow,” Dean says with a laugh. “Glowing review of our home, Cas.”

Cas smiles softly back at him. “Of all the heavenly realms, I chose the bunker’s kitchen to house my consciousness. I wonder why that is?”

Dean blinks at him. “Beats me, buddy. I’d probably be on a beach somewhere. I’d populate it with a bunch of hot spring breakers, too.”

Cas frowns. “From what I know about spring break, it seems like you’d be dealing with a lot of drunk college students. I can’t imagine that’s a good scenario when your brain is trying to keep you subdued.”

“Oh yeah, what if I populate it with an angel who doesn’t get jokes?”

Mary comes in right as Cas and Dean are laughing lightly together. She looks embarrassed, like she thinks she’s interrupted something private once again, but Dean waves her off and asks if she wants him to make her a sandwich, and he’s already pulling out bread before she says yes.

“Castiel, what’s it like being an angel?” Mary asks casually, like it’s small talk. “Do you exist only to serve God?”

Cas takes a second to answer. “Um, I suppose at one point in my existence, yes.” He looks at Dean then back to Mary. “But I’m very old. It’s difficult to know everything I’ve ever done.”

“What?” Dean exclaims. “You don’t remember your own life, Cas?”

“It’s...complicated.” 

Cas and Dean stare at each other until Dean breaks eye contact to finish putting mayonnaise on his mom’s sandwich. 

Cas continues, “There are millennia of my life where I wasn’t doing much of anything at all. It blurs together into a flat memory. Where I am now, everything I’ve been through since pulling Dean out of hell—the memories stretch as if I’ve lived a lifetime in the past decade.”

Dean’s face twitches. He keeps his eyes down on the sandwich, messing with it even though he’s done making it. 

“Wow, you guys must’ve been through a lot,” Mary says. “Do you think being confined to a human body makes time seem more linear to you? I saw parts of some angels in heaven. I mean, all I was able to comprehend was part of one limb.”

Dean sets a plate in front of his mom then goes to the counter to clean while they keep talking.

“Being able to comprehend any part of an angel’s true form is special,” Cas says gently. “But yes, being confined to a human body makes life feel more, um, human.”

“And Dean was telling me that’s not even your body?”

“No. I’m borrowing this body from a witch who agreed to it. She actually told me recently that she’s been enjoying the peace lately, so I can take as much time as I need to get my body back.”

“Well, I’m learning all kinds of new things today,” Dean says, pinching his eyebrows together as he glares at Cas. “I’m glad Paula’s having a good time, but we have to get you back.”

“Dean, maybe if you asked Cas the right questions, you would learn things about her,” Mary says.

Dean rolls his head up, sighing. “Thanks, Mom.”

Charlie bursts in the kitchen, her arms outspread and a cat in one hand, its legs dangling. “Attention everyone, I am a genius.”

Dean starts, “Did you get the house thing figure—”

“The house is going to be fine, and Clint and Ida May are going to be rich,” Charlie announces. She brings her arms together, petting the cat against her chest. “They’re heading out tomorrow to assess the damage, and then it’s paperwork and insurance payouts, baby.”

“Oh, good,” Dean replies. “If there’s anything we can do to help—”

“We’re celebrating by painting each other’s nails,” Charlie interrupts again. “Only girls allowed. Mary, Cas, let’s go. Party starts now. Dean, bring us snacks.”

Cas looks at Dean helplessly as Charlie drags him out of the kitchen.

“Charlie, Cas is not—”

“Cas can be whoever they want to be, Dean! Mind your business!”

Suddenly alone in the kitchen, Dean searches through the cabinets for some snacks for the girls. After a few minutes, Sam comes in and gives Dean a confused, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dean responds.

“Uh, Charlie stole Eileen from me.”

“Yeah, she stole Mom and Cas, too.”

Sam huffs a laugh and grabs an apple from the fridge. “It’s weird, right? I mean, wasn’t the world ending yesterday? Weren’t you about to die?”

Clint walks in and stiffly points behind him. “The ladies took over the library. Should we do something manly in here?”

“Hey, Clint,” Dean says, suddenly struck with a stupendously garbage idea. “What would you call Cas, he or she?”

Sam gives Dean a withering look as Clint answers, “Tell me, Dean, are you an expert on plaid because you wear a lot of it?”

Sam snorts a laugh and chokes on his apple.

“I didn’t—I just meant—”

Clint waves him off. “I don’t know anything about angels or their vessels, but I do know that it’s best to just ask the person instead of asking some random other person that you think might know something just because they’re trans.”

“Yeah, OK. Sorry,” Dean says. “I, uh. I did ask Cas, actually. Not helpful.”

“Think about it like this, you won’t have to worry about it once he gets his proper vessel back,” Clint explains. 

“But until then, he’s gonna do insane shit like paint his freaking nails?”

“Well, yes, if other people view him as a woman and it doesn’t bother him and he doesn’t correct them, then sure,” Clint says with a shrug. “But again, I’m not an expert on this. I’d rather die than paint my nails.”

Dean grunts in response. He can think of worse things than painting his nails, but he wouldn’t dare say that to Clint. 

When Dean enters the library with a spread of snacks for the women and Cas, they offer him nothing more than a thanks before returning to their conversations. Cas looks at him for half a second, but then his female face is smiling at Eileen as she paints his nails black. It’s an open smile, warm and inviting and comfortable, and it makes Dean’s heart ache in his chest.

“Dean,” Charlie says.

“Mm?” Dean turns, eyebrows raised like he’s been caught. “What?”

Charlie smiles knowingly at him and gestures her head toward the hall as she says, “Get out of here.”

It’s actually kind of nice hanging out with Sam and Clint. Quiet and chill. Around dinnertime, they order takeout and tell the women it’s time to combine their party.

Dean goes to pick up the food, and when he gets back everyone is crammed around the library table and Sam’s nails are a deep burgundy. 

“Really?” Dean asks him blandly, setting the bags of food on the table.

Sam holds his hands up, showing them off. “Eileen said it makes me look distinguished.”

“And if Eileen told you to jump off a bridge—”

“I’m sure she’d have a good reason and I’d be stupid not to trust her,” Sam finishes smugly. 

Eileen leans over and kisses him delicately on the cheek. Sam blushes.

Dean sits next to Cas at dinner. 

“C’mon, let me see ‘em,” Dean says gruffly around a mouthful of food.

Cas blinks, confused, then holds his left hand out for Dean to view.

“Mm,” Dean grunts. He sets his fork down and grabs Cas’ hand, bringing it closer to him to examine his nails. “Looks good.”

“Eileen picked black. I don’t know why,” Cas responds as he pulls his hand away.

“Nothing a little rubbing alcohol won’t get off, if you decide you hate it.”

“Mm. I’d already forgotten about it just now when you asked, so I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Dean huffs a laugh and keeps eating.

As the night wears on, everybody gets more comfortable in their chairs. Nobody is drinking, and nobody has brought up the fact that nobody is drinking. Ida May makes herbal tea and brings out enough mugs for everyone, pouring hot water for anyone who wants it. Dean accepts a mug because he needs something to do with his hands, then he holds it against his chest and leans back in his chair and puts one arm on the back of Cas’ chair and tries not to think too hard about the way his fingertips are brushing Cas’ narrow shoulder.

And then, naturally, everyone breaks off into their own conversations: Sam and Eileen, Mary and Ida May, Charlie and Clint, Dean and Cas.

They don’t talk about anything in particular, because this is the first day that Dean has felt relaxed and unburdened in months and he just wants to sit with his family and friends and not think about anything.

He’s the first to yawn.

Cas puts a hand on his knee and pats it reassuringly. “Go to bed, Dean.”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean replies, yawning again. “Does everybody know where they’re sleeping?”

Everyone talks over each other.

Cas ends up in Dean’s room. 

When Dean tries to pull out the cot, Cas rolls his eyes and says, “Dean, I’m in a 120-pound body. There’s enough space on the bed for both of us.”

Dean’s too tired to argue. He doesn’t wait to find out if Cas is actually going to sleep before he passes out. 

Dean sleeps for six hours, which is less than what he’s been doing lately but more than his usual four. Then again, he always felt horrible after only sleeping four hours, so maybe six is good.

As Dean is washing his face at the sink in his room, Cas gets up and mumbles that he’s going to take a shower. Much like Jimmy’s trench coat, Cas has been wearing Paula’s clothes—high-waisted black jeans and a plain gray blouse—since he started using her as a vessel, but he asks Dean for a t-shirt and barely waits for an answer before rummaging through his closet and retrieving a whole outfit. When he opens the door to the hallway, the voices of Mary and Ida May filter in.

“And I was just—oh, hi, Cas,” Mary says. 

“Hi,” Cas echoes uncomfortably. 

“Did you get some sleep, baby?” Ida May asks.

Dean peers out the door and spots his mom scoping out the room, taking in the unmade bed.

“I don’t need sleep, but I do enjoy it sometimes,” Cas answers. “I’m going to shower now. Which, I suppose, is another task I don’t need to do but like to do anyway...to conserve cosmic energy. Excuse me.”

Cas sneaks past them down the hall, disappearing quickly out of Dean’s room.

Dean can feel his mom still looking into the room, but he ignores her as he makes his bed.

“Um,” she starts. “How much—how long was Cas in a male vessel before this?”

Dean avoids eye contact. “Years. As long as I’ve known him.” He straightens up and frowns at her. “He’s not the only one I’ve had to bunk up with, Mom. I ain’t exactly had a life conducive to privacy.”

“I hope you find his body soon,” Ida May says. “He was so cute. Paula is a little stern-looking. Too stiff.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, and Cas isn’t stiff at all.”

Ida May waves him off. “You know what I mean.”

Breakfast ends up being an ordeal. Dean makes scrambled eggs, bacon and toast while everybody comes in and out, working around him to make coffee and tea and pour bowls of cereal and cups of orange juice. Sam, Eileen, Charlie and Clint sit at the kitchen table talking animatedly with one another while Mary leans against the counter fiddling with her phone and Ida May stands next to Dean, chopping peppers to make omelets for her and Clint. 

The noise dies down abruptly, but Dean is in his own head so it takes him a second to notice it. He looks up from the stove to see Cas, his tiny body swallowed in one of Dean’s t-shirts and a pair of gym shorts. He’s copied Charlie’s method of using a hair tie around the elastic of the shorts to keep them up, and there’s a hair tie in his hair, too, which is pulled up in a very messy bun. He looks around the kitchen warily, clearly unsure where he should go.

“Cas, if you’re gonna be in Paula long term, we should probably get you some clothes,” Sam says.

Dean feels his face flush as he keeps cooking. He and Cas aren’t really doing anything different than what they usually do, but the implications feel different with him in a woman’s body. Sleeping in his room, wearing his clothes—if Eileen was doing those kinds of things with Sam, Dean would know exactly what’s going on between them.

But it’s Cas.

It’s just Cas.

They need to get his body back.

Mary Winchester asks Castiel a lot of questions.

When no one else is around, she asks him about Dean.

“You pulled him out of hell?” she asks in the kitchen, while he’s looking up news stories on his phone and she’s making coffee.

“Yes,” is all he says.

“Is that what created your bond? Why you’ve stayed with him all these years?”

“Maybe at first. Your sons and I have been through much together. It would be difficult for me to leave them at this point.”

“Who do you serve, Castiel?”

He frowns at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, angels are vast and powerful, ancient beings—is there a rule against being with humans? Don’t we seem just like ants to you?”

A beat of silence passes, then, “Through humanity I’ve learned to feel. And think for myself. My world may be smaller now than it was before, but it doesn’t feel any less important. In some ways, it feels more important, being free from the constraints of heaven.”

She presses on. “But being with Dean, he’ll grow old, his life is much shorter than an angel’s, so what do you do then? Find another human to be with?”

Cas shakes his head, confused. “I don’t—I’m not with Dean, Mary. He’s my friend, just as Sam is.”

She makes a pitying face at him. “Castiel, I’ve been in heaven, I know what it’s like. You and Dean are not just friends.”

His heart clenches, a particularly human reaction. “Were I in my male vessel, you wouldn’t be saying any of this to me.”

She blinks twice. “Dean really has only known you in a male vessel? Not like this?”

He nods.

“Oh. I see.”

Chapter Text

Dean is in the laundry room, obsessively sorting and folding clothes, when Sam finds him.

“Hey. You doing OK?” Sam asks, stopping at the threshold.

“Mm. You?”

Sam sighs. “It’s weird. It’s weird, right? Mom being here.”

Dean looks at him. “Yeah, it’s really fucking weird. I feel like we need to, I don’t know, take her on a hunt with us or something.”

“Yeah.” Sam drums his fingers against the wall in thought. “Uh, is she how you remember her? Like, from when you were a kid?”

“Yeah, actually. But I’m not a little kid anymore, so I don’t have a clue how to talk to her.” He doesn’t add that he thinks their mom feels the same. 

“Hmm. Well, uh, at least we haven’t seen another sign of Dad,” Sam says with a humorless laugh. “I’ll take the weirdness with Mom any day.”

Dean avoids eye contact, sorts clothes. “Yeah.”

Sam doesn’t say anything else, but he leans against the door frame, watching Dean.

“What else do you wanna say, Sam?” Dean asks, attempting to sound patient.

“Uh.” Sam shifts from foot to foot. “Are you sure nothing’s up with you and Cas? I mean, since she—he’s in Paula, it’s just been…”

“It’s been what? What has it been?”

“You’re just acting different.” Sam throws a hand up, annoyed, but his nails are still painted so the gesture looks ridiculous. “You’re acting weird around him because he’s in a woman’s body. You’re the only one acting weird about it.”

Dean fumbles a shirt and has to shake it out and refold it properly. “So? Did Cas put you up to this? Is he pissed at me or something?”

“No. No, not at all. You know Cas, he’s not gonna...I’m just trying to get you to, you know, talk to me. Open up maybe? About whatever’s bothering you? I don’t know.”

Dean folds an entire basket full of clothes before he answers, daring Sam to give up and leave. When he doesn't, Dean asks, “Do you wanna know what happened between me and Crowley when I was a demon?”

Sam makes a surprised noise. “If you wanna tell me, then yeah.”

With a deep breath, Dean leans back against the washing machine and folds his arms across his chest. “Crowley’s in love with me,” he says quickly, eyes closed.

“Oh.”

“He and I, um, spent a lot of time in bars—I mean, I could drink a whole shelf and barely feel anything, so it was pretty fucking stupid. But he’d, uh, hook me up with women, like, be my wingman or whatever. I slept with so many women, dude, I probably should’ve been tested for STDs, I swear, it was like—”

“Dean. You were talking about Crowley.”

“Right.” Dean uncrosses his arms and leans his hands back against the top of the washer. “He thought I wouldn’t—he thought I wouldn’t fucking notice when he showed up at the bar in a woman’s body. I mean, we were both demons, I could see his, you know, demon self, but he was just so damn stupid. He thought I’d fall for a busty blonde and accidentally sleep with him.”

“Oh my god.”

“Well, I, uh, was a dick, so I pretended to go along with it. Then, when he was about to…” Dean makes the most vague motion he can think of for a blowjob. “I kneed him in the face and then laughed at him.”

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam frowns at him, and Dean can tell, somehow, that he’s made his brother feel sorry for Crowley. 

“Yeah, well, it didn't stop him. He kept trying. He actually almost got me a couple of times when I was so drunk I couldn’t see straight. But I always figured it out, and I always laughed at him. Or hurt him. Or both. I never, um…” Dean looks off in the distance. “I never knew where he got the girls’ bodies. Whether they were humans or demons or dead in there, I don’t know. Never crossed my mind.”

Another beat of silence, then Sam asks, “Did he ever try just being himself? Like, did he ever try to just be honest with you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, he did. After the first time, he got back in his own body and begged. Cried. Said a lot of insane shit and tried to throw himself at me.” Dean shakes away the memory with disgust. “I remember how pathetic I thought he was. I hated him.”

“And now?”

“Now, I don’t know. I don’t feel sorry for him. What he did was shitty.” Dean shrugs. “But I don’t hate him, either. He actually did apologize once. When I was human again, he apologized.”

“And that’s why he always does everything you need him to do?” Sam presses.

“Maybe. That, and his...feelings for me. Or his fear that I’ll tell all his demons. I don’t know.” Dean takes a shuddering breath. “Uh, so, yeah, maybe I don’t like it when someone changes vessels.”

“OK. Yeah. I hear you, but…” Sam runs a hand through his hair. “It’s Cas. You’re acting so much, like, gentler around her? You’ve been treating her kind of how you treat Charlie, actually.”

“I know. It’s made me realize that I, um, treat women differently.” Dean puts a hand up, palm out toward Sam. “And don’t give me any of that Gloria Steinem feminist crap. I don’t need a PowerPoint presentation on gender studies, alright? We’ll get Cas back and I’ll be normal.” Dean puts a basket on his hip and moves toward Sam. “Now get out of my way, I’ve gotta get this laundry out to everybody.”

Sam puts a hand on his shoulder, making him stop. “Hey. Thanks for telling me about Crowley.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “You can’t tell anyone about this, alright? I mean no one.”

Sam frowns at him. “I wouldn’t.” He turns his big body to fully face Dean, blocking his path out of the room. “You can tell me anything, Dean. I’m done with secrets between us. I know things have been crazy with Amara the past, god, year, but Mom is here now, we have family, friends, and—and I just—I want us to be able to talk to each other, you know?”

Dean’s instinct is to recoil, to deflect, make a joke. Instead, he sets the hamper aside and pulls his brother down for a hug, wrapping his arms around his neck and patting him hard on the back. “I’m sorry.” He releases him. “Soon as we get Cas’ body back, we’ll, uh, I don’t know. Do some simple hunts. Or take a goddamn vacation, sit our asses on a beach somewhere.”

Sam laughs lightly as he moves out of Dean’s way. While they walk toward the stairs together, Sam asks, “Hey, how do you know Spanish?”

“What?”

“You understood Jesse and Cesar when they were speaking Spanish.”

“Oh. Right.” Dean clears his throat. “You want the honest answer or the bullshit one?”

“C’mon, Dean.”

“Telenovelas,” Dean says with a sigh.

“Christ, dude.” He laughs. “When have you even had enough time in your life to watch the amount of Spanish soaps it would take to learn an entire language?”’

Dean moves the hamper to his other hip as they climb the stairs, Dean in front. “You forget I hunted with Dad for four years without you. You’d find stupid stuff to do to avoid spending time with Dad, too.”

“God, yeah. I’m sorry I, uh, wasn’t there.”

At the top of the landing, Dean turns to Sam and makes him stop in the hall. “You were a kid, Sammy. You were just doing what you thought was best for you.”

Sam smiles sadly. “Yeah, I, uh, know we never talk about it, but—I don’t know, I can’t imagine that life now. I don’t regret getting away from this life for a little bit, if only to know that I’m not missing out on much.”

“Mm,” Dean grunts, not quite understanding but pretending like he does.

“I mean,” Sam continues, “If I had never done anything other than hunting, I think I’d be wondering what I could be doing instead now. I’d, you know, fantasize about a normal life. But I don’t do that, because a normal life was really fucking boring, to be honest.”

Dean grunts again. He had no idea Sam felt that way, but he’s not about to tell him that. Dean doesn’t exactly fantasize about a normal life either, but he does think about what it would be like to slow down, to not feel the weight of the world on his shoulders, to...be with someone.

“Anyway, get your laundry done,” Sam says. “I’m leaving with Eileen soon, gonna make sure she gets home safe.”

Nobody’s in their rooms when Dean knocks on each door to pass out laundry, so he sets clothes neatly on people’s beds and enjoys the peace and quiet. Charlie went with Clint and Ida May to their house, so they’ll probably be gone all day, and Cas and Mary are sitting in the library talking in quiet tones to one another. Dean finds them huddled together, Cas attempting to show Mary how to look up news stories and clips on her phone.

“Dean,” Cas says seriously, looking up as soon as Dean enters the room. “I was going to tell you—I think I found a lead.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Cas shakes his head. “Lucifer is my problem. It’s my fault he’s here, so I’m going out on my own.”

Dean’s heart sinks. “C’mon, you’re gonna want some backup.”

“I’ll call you if I need some. In the meantime, I think you’re needed here.” Cas stands and discreetly gestures his head toward Mary. 

Dean blinks at him, confused. “Yeah, OK, if you think that’s best.” He wants to ask him if he plans on coming back, but the question dies in his throat.

And then Cas is leaving with little more than a goodbye, and all Dean can do is pray that he finds Lucifer and comes back in his own goddamn body.

“I like Cas,” Mary says as soon as he’s gone.

Dean’s laptop is on the table, so he sits across from her and opens it as he says, “Yeah, well, hopefully soon you get to meet him like he actually is.”

“Yeah, that’s going to be weird,” Mary admits. She makes a dramatic wincing face. “Actually, um, I was talking to Cas about...Well, you know I haven’t been around since the early ‘80s, like, you know that.”

Dean squints at her. “Yeah, Mom, I got that.”

She runs a hand through her hair, and as she does, Dean realizes she’s cut it short, right at her shoulders. “Well, um, when Charlie had us all painting our nails, we got to talking and, um…” She blinks and avoids eye contact, exactly the same way Dean does when he doesn’t want to have an uncomfortable conversation. “OK, let me back up. The first thing I noticed—like when I first got here, I saw that Jesse and Cesar are, uh, a couple. And they’re married, which is odd, you know, because it wasn’t—OK, so after I met them and learned how to look up information on Google dot com, I read about the Supreme Court decision and a bunch of other stuff about what’s been going on.

“I didn’t vote for Reagan,” she blurts out while straightening up in her seat. “But, um, when we were painting our nails Charlie was talking about a girlfriend, or an ex-girlfriend, and so I asked her some questions and, you know, I’ve never met a lesbian before. Well, then, so, Ida May was talking about her daughter, who apparently is also a lesbian, and I said something about Clint being a dad and she corrected me and said they’d have children if they could've but Clint is transgender, and she explained what that was because I wasn’t sure, and I just.” She puffs her cheeks up and blows out a breath. “Things are very different.”

Dean looks down at the table, his vision going blurry as he takes in everything she said. It didn’t even cross his mind that his mom’s first experience interacting with people would be weird. He didn’t even think about the fact that so many of their friends are not straight.

“But, um,” Mary continues awkwardly. “Cas was helping me with it and explaining some things, and so I asked her—him about his gender, and she said she—he considers her—himself to be a man, so. I guess that would be transgender, too? Because ‘trans’ means ‘change,’ and Cas literally changes gender through changing bodies? Am I getting this right?”

Dean blinks several times. “OK, so, um, first of all, Sam would be a much better person to talk to about this.” He laughs nervously. “Not that Sam is gay or anything! Just that, uh, he knows more about this stuff and is more, uh, comfortable with it I guess.” He clears his throat. “Um, Cas is just Cas. He’s an angel, so I don’t think he’d use any kind of labels or whatever. He doesn’t really, um, date? Or hook up with anybody, so I don’t think he has human feelings or sexuality or whatever you want to call it.”

“He does have human feelings, though. You keep telling me he’s your friend, and being friends is human. I don’t see why he couldn’t also have other kinds of human feelings and relationships.” 

“Well, I don’t know, I just know he hasn’t.” Dean fidgets uncomfortably in his seat as he thinks about how Cas acted when he was human, how he attempted to date and have sex and how terribly it all went for him. “But I, uh, I’m sorry I didn’t realize how weird all this would be for you. To be honest, it’s weird for me, too. Clint is the only transgender person I know, and I’m not sure I really get it, either. Like, I know he’s a man, but I don’t know what else I’m supposed to know about him and I’m too dumb to even know what to ask,” he says with a laugh. “And yeah, it’s definitely more acceptable now for people to be gay and lesbians and gay marriage and all that, but it’s definitely not everybody. We just threw a lot of ‘em at you at once, but that was an accident.”

Mary smiles at him, even though she still looks kind of confused. “It’s going to take me some time to catch up, but I’m going to do my best to live here in the present. Well, except for some movies. I never saw the last Star Wars.”

Dean is about to tell her that none of the prequels are worth seeing but maybe they can watch The Force Awakens together when he realizes what she actually means and says instead, “Oh my god, you’ve never seen Return of the Jedi. Mom, you’ve never seen Return of the Jedi.”

When Sam gets home from Eileen’s, he walks into his room to find Dean and Mary sitting on his bed watching Return of the Jedi.

With half an hour left in the movie, Dean’s phone rings.

“Talk to me,” he says as he steps into the hallway.

“We found Lucifer,” Cas says with a sigh. “I’m working with Crowley.”

“Why the hell are you working with Crowley?”

“Because he was looking for Lucifer, too.”

“I want him dead!” Crowley shouts in the background.

“Um,” Cas continues. “Claire is here, too. She’s actually the one who found the lead.”

“What? How?”

“She saw a news story about a man’s eyes glowing red and saw that it was me. Well, not me, as you know. She thought it was me.”

“Right.” Dean coughs. “You guys stay safe, OK? Let her know she can come back here with you if she wants. Not Crowley though, he can fuck off.”

Cas laughs gently on the other end. “I’ll be in touch, Dean. How are things going with your mother?”

“Hmm? Oh. Um, we’re watching Star Wars.”

“Good. That’s—that’s really good. Good.”

“Cas? You OK?”

Cas sighs again. “Yes. I just worry about your mother. I know it’s odd for her to be back after all this time.”

“Yeah, it is. Don’t worry about us, though, worry about yourself right now, alright?”

“I will. Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean sticks his head into the room and gestures for Sam to come out to the hallway. 

“What’s up, how’s Cas?” Sam asks as Dean closes the door. 

“Fine. Uh, did Cas say anything to you about Mom?”

“Mm,” Sam hums uncertainly, looking off to the side like he’s thinking about it. “No? But I guess I did notice them talking a lot.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, I think Mom may have been using Cas as a confidant. Hm. I feel like that’s gonna be weird when Cas comes back as Cas and not, you know, as a tiny lady.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mom won’t care, I mean—actually, she’s so much like you, she probably will care.”

Dean can’t help his goofy smile even though he’s pretty sure he should be insulted. “She is so much like me, isn’t she? It’s weird.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I am a little bit worried about her, you know. I think she’s been withdrawn. Shaky? You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, definitely. She hasn’t been on this planet since Jane Fonda was wearing leg warmers. Dude, she asked me about all our friends being lesbians and transgender or whatever. Randomly told me she didn’t vote for Reagan.” Dean throws his hands up. “I mean. Seriously.”

Sam looks off in the distance again. “We do suddenly have a lot of LGBT friends. Oh, god. Do we have to include Crowley in that, too?”

“We don’t have to include Crowley in anything.”

Mary opens the door and smiles at both of them. “You missed the end of the movie.” She leans against the wall. “I know we’re on backup duty for Cas, but how would you boys feel about going on a hunt?”

Sam and Dean share a look. 

Dean says, “Do you think that would be good for you? Would it help with, uh, adjusting?”

She nods. “I think so, yeah. Just something simple that I can take lead on, you know?”

It turns out she had already found something in the paper, all the way in Minnesota, so they pack some bags and head out on the road in time to get to a motel by nightfall. 

During the drive, Mary takes Dean’s advice and asks Sam questions about modern times and how different they are than the ‘70s and ‘80s. Sam doesn’t have all the answers, but he explains gender and sexuality in a way that Dean’s never heard before, using terms he’s never heard of until finally Dean asks where he learned all this stuff. 

Sam just shrugs. “Online, mostly.”

“So, which of your friends are, what’s the word? LBG—LGBT? Which of your friends are LGBT again? Just so I know,” Mary says from the backseat. 

“Uh, Charlie,” Sam starts, counting off on his fingers. “Jesse and Cesar, the married couple. Clint is transgender, but that’s different than sexuality, so I’m pretty sure he and Ida May are straight. Let’s see, there’s some people you haven’t met yet...and, uh, Cas is...Well, Cas is just Cas. I never really thought about his sexuality, I always just assumed he’s…”

Dean stares straight ahead at the road. 

“Assumed he’s what?” Mary asks.

Sam scratches the back of his head. “Uh, asexual? Like, he doesn’t really engage in any kind of—but, I don’t know, he could also be gay or something. I doubt he’s ever really thought about it.”

Dean’s throat feels suddenly dry as he asks, “You think Cas could be gay? Really?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Sam says. “I’m just saying that, like, if I had to guess, but it’s probably rude for us to be talking about this when Cas has never, you know, like, said anything about it. That’s up to him, not us."

“So you have to be really careful about all this stuff? Because you could offend somebody if you get it wrong?” Mary asks.

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “I know it’s different than what you’re used to, Mom, but there’s nothing wrong with it. There’s nothing abnormal about being gay or bi or whatever.”

“Wait, what’s bi?”

Dean shuts his brain off and focuses on driving. He’s never had conversations like this in his entire life, and it’s making his skin crawl, like he needs to escape for some reason.

The dream world Amara showed him flashes in his mind, but he pushes it down. He’s straight. He wouldn’t do that with Cas.

Mary struggles with the hunt. They all do. 

It only takes them a couple of days, but they have to painstakingly train Mary how to research and hack into police databases and stop her from knocking on people’s doors to get information that they can easily find online. They can’t figure out what the monster is at first, because children keep attacking people, and there’s too much terrible lore about children being used as monsters, so they have to sift through it carefully. It ends up being just a ghost that possesses children.

Dean can tell, as they’re wrapping everything up, that things are worse for his mom. She’s even more withdrawn, quieter, evasive. Dean thinks he understands a little bit of what she’s going through—seeing children act as monsters has shaken him, too. He tries not to think about Amara.

Mary asks if she can drive on the way back, and Dean of course lets her. She speeds the whole way and doesn’t let anybody else take over for the entire 10 hours. When Sam tries to ask her if something’s wrong, she changes the subject.

It worries Dean, but then they get back to the bunker and he sees Cas’ car and another unfamiliar car out front and he forgets everything else. 

As soon as Mary pulls the Impala into the garage, Dean grabs his bag and bolts inside, not even bothering to take his bag all the way to his room and just dropping it in the hallway instead as he asks, “Cas? You here?”

“In the kitchen,” a female voice answers, and Dean’s heart sinks. 

He didn’t get his body back. 

“Cas, are you OK? Did you not—” Dean cuts himself off as he gets to the kitchen and sees Cas, his Cas, sitting at the table. Claire’s sitting across from him.

“Cas,” Dean breathes. He crosses the room and pulls him up from the stool, grabbing him in the tightest hug possible. “You’re back.”

“Hello to you, too, Dean,” Claire says. 

Dean ignores her. He pulls away from Cas but keeps a hand on his shoulder and the other around his back, and he takes his time studying his familiar face, happy not to be looking so far down at him. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says sheepishly. 

“God, it’s good to have you back, buddy,” Dean says. “C’mere.” He pulls him against him one more time, burying his face in his shoulder since he can’t rest it on top of his head anymore.

Sam clears his throat from the doorway. “Hey, Cas. Hey, Claire,” he says. “Mom, this is Claire. Claire, Mary Winchester. And, uh, that’s Cas’ real body.”

Dean finally lets go of Cas and pats him on the shoulder twice before greeting Claire. 

“Oh. Um,” Mary says awkwardly as she looks at Cas’ face. “I’m sorry, I’m embarrassed. I’m now realizing I definitely said some things to you that I would not have said if I’d met you in this body first.”

Cas smiles at her. “It’s alright, Mary. I’m still me.”

“So, how is it, Cas? Lucifer didn’t bang your body up too bad, did he?” Dean asks as he rummages around in the fridge for sandwich ingredients. 

“He barely put up a fight, actually,” Cas replies. “He wanted out of it.”

“Wow, really?” Sam asks. “Why do you think that is?”

“We think he’s hopping from one body to another,” Claire says. “Like, trying to evade us and everybody else that wants him dead.”

“Crowley?” Dean asks.

“Rowena, too, we think,” Cas says. “And Chuck, probably. I don't think their reunion went very well."

“I can’t believe you guys raised the antichrist and didn’t call me,” Claire says as she looks down at her phone and twirls a strand of hair around her finger. “Or at least Jody. Jody would’ve been all over that.”

Dean’s memory goes fuzzy at the mention of Jody. Surely he saw her in the past year, didn’t he? He thinks he did, at least. But he can’t remember ever talking to her about Amara, so maybe it really has been that long.

“I went on a hunt with Jody a few months back, mentioned it to her,” Sam says. “She said she wanted to come help, but I thought it’d be best for her to keep her distance.”

“What? When? When did that happen?” Dean asks, plating sandwiches furiously.

“Uh, during some of the time you lost, I think,” Sam says. 

Cas looks deliberately at Dean and states, “I don’t remember it either, Dean. It’s OK.”

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Claire says.

“Cas and I were stuck in a Groundhog Day type of situation for a—”

“No, you weren’t,” Sam interjects sternly. “You can’t call it that. You don’t know what that’s like.”

“OK, now I have some questions for Sam,” Claire says.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m sorry, I forgot the no-Groundhog-Day-references rule. Uh, let’s see. We were in a Tiffany Jackson novel, huh, how ‘bout that?”

“Who?” Claire and Sam both ask.

“OK,” Dean tries again. “Cas and I were like that part in Interstellar when the guy draws the circle then folds the paper and punctures it to explain how black holes work to Matthew McConaughey. We were in a time hole. Oh my god, that’s why Amara called them time holes.”

“Because of a Matthew McConaughey movie?” Cas asks skeptically. “We only ever really watched Blue’s Clues with her. I can’t imagine she would’ve seen—”

“Oh my god,” Mary loudly interrupts. “I’m getting a headache.” She grabs a sandwich plate from the counter and bolts out of the kitchen.

Claire snorts a laugh. “I like her.”

Dean passes out the rest of the sandwiches but doesn’t offer Cas one. He comes to sit down next to him, squeezing his shoulder as he goes. “So, what? Are we gonna add ourselves to the list of people trying to off the devil?”

“Your daughter’s the antichrist, can’t you just ask her to do it?” Claire says with a mouthful of sandwich. 

Dean, also with a mouthful of sandwich: “She’s kinda doing her own thing with God right now, I gotta let her find her own way. Can’t be a helicopter parent forever.”

Sam huffs a laugh from his spot standing at the counter. “Wow, choosing to be remarkably chill about Amara today?”

“Yeah, shut up.”

Dean can feel Cas looking at him, so he turns his head and makes eye contact. Cas just smiles sadly and bumps their shoulders together, a silent gesture of understanding between parents. Dean wants to move his arm up around his shoulder and hold him, but Cas is back in his own body, and Dean doesn’t do stuff like that with men. 

He could, though. It wouldn’t be any different than with Charlie, or Jody, or Cas in Paula’s body.

So he does it. Or he tries to. He reaches around Cas’ back and makes it halfway to his shoulder before aborting, choosing instead to give him a few friendly pats and a circular rub against his trench coat and then putting his hand back on his sandwich where it’s safe. 

“Anyway, can I stay here tonight?” Claire asks during a lull in the conversation.

“Of course, Claire,” Dean replies. “Stay however long you want.”

“Nah, I have to head out tomorrow morning. I’m meeting up with some guy from the Men of Letters, have they contacted you guys yet?”

“What?” Dean and Sam ask. 

Claire says, “It’s, like, the UK chapter I guess? They’re trying to recruit American hunters for...I don’t know, something. Jody didn’t want to meet with them, so I’m going instead just to see what it’s about.”

“Hm,” Dean grunts. “Don’t like that.”

Claire rolls her eyes and takes her plate toward the sink. “Well, sorry, Dean, but you’re not my dad, so you can’t stop me. I’ll let you guys know how it goes, though.”

“And what? They’re British? Like a British Men of Letters?” Dean presses.

“Well, I think they just call themselves the Men of Letters? I mean, you guys aren’t the American Men of Letters, are you?”

“Hm. I guess.”

“I’m gonna pick a room. Thanks for lunch,” Claire says as she heads out of the kitchen with a wave. 

After a beat of silence, Sam says, “Well, Cas, good to have you back. Paula get home safe?”

Dean blinks and looks down at his food. It didn’t even cross his mind to ask what happened to Paula. 

“Yes, she was fine,” Cas says. “She has a coven in Texas. She texted me when she got back to them, actually, and said they all would give permission for me to use them as vessels, if need be.”

“Why would they do that?” Dean asks.

“Because Paula told them about how peaceful and relaxing it was for her.” Cas smiles shyly. “I must admit, I was flattered. I never would’ve imagined being stuck with me would be peaceful and relaxing for anyone. It certainly wasn’t for Jimmy.”

“Hey, we like being around you,” Sam says cheerfully. “Sure, our lives aren’t always peaceful or relaxing, but I totally get where Paula’s coming from.”

“Yeah, and we could use some witches in our corner,” Dean adds. “Anything to get Rowena on our side, or, you know, at least get her to stop fucking with us.”

They talk for a few more minutes, then Dean excuses himself and finds his mom asleep in a chair in the library with a book open on her chest. He puts a bookmark in it, sets it on the table and throws a blanket over her. He then goes to his room and writes in the journal. 

Cas knocks on his door, even though it’s open. Dean shuts the journal and turns in his desk chair to look up at him.

“You look good, Cas,” he says softly. “Like Lucifer didn’t use you up too much.”

Cas looks down at himself, pulling his arms out from his sides as if checking his body. “He was surprisingly careful with my body. I do feel like my grace is…I’m not sure. I think I’ll need to continue to rest and conserve as I’ve been doing.”

Dean clears his throat and scratches his stubble. “OK, uh, so I guess now’s not a good time to ask you to look around in my brain some more?” he asks with a goofy wince.

“Why, what’s wrong? Are you sick again?”

“No, no, no, actually the opposite. I feel a lot better, and I’m wondering...I mean, if you could take a look and see if anything looks different in there, like if it looks tidier, like some of the trash has been taken out.”

“I think I can manage that. Although I wouldn’t describe brain matter as ‘clean’ or ‘dirty’ as that’s usually how we metaphorically classify souls, and it could get confusing.”

Dean just sighs in response, then he gets up and moves to the bed. He sits on top of the covers and leans his back against the headboard and looks at Cas expectantly. 

“Wait, hang on,” Dean says suddenly, and goes to his desk.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just let me—it’s around here somewhere.” Dean rummages around in his desk drawer and eventually grabs what he’s looking for. Feeling slightly ridiculous now, he turns back to Cas and hands it to him with a gruff, “Here.”

Cas rubs his thumb over the cassette and looks down at it with a frown. “‘Dean’s top 13 Zepp traxx’—with two x’s.”

“Yeah. I have an extra cassette player, too, if your car doesn’t have one.”

Cas looks somewhat confused, but he puts the cassette tape in an inside pocket of his coat and says, “Thank you, Dean. I’ll listen to it.”

Dean nods, grunts out a “good,” and sits back on the bed expectantly. “Uh. OK. Now you can touch my brain.”

At the warm press of Cas’ familiar fingertips to his forehead, Dean slips his eyes shut and relaxes his entire body, then he falls asleep before Cas has a chance to tell him anything. 

When Dean wakes up, something weird is happening.

He’s still on top of the covers, but he’s lying flat on his stomach with one arm folded under his face. There’s a hand on his back, moving agonizingly slowly and pressing just barely hard enough for Dean to know that it’s awake.

“Cas,” Dean mutters into the crook of his arm. “What’re you doing?”

“Mm, sleeping,” Cas mumbles back.

“Well, rub lower on my back. Get some knots out.”

Cas moves more deliberately, shifting the fabric of Dean’s shirt as he presses the heel of his hand against his spine and a bit of grace spreads like a tickle through Dean’s back. The relief is immediate. Dean groans in response.

Dean wants to say thanks, but he’s afraid if he says anything at all then Cas will stop. So he lies there, motionless, as Cas’ grace pours out through his hand and into Dean’s old muscles, until they both fall asleep. 

The next time Dean wakes up, it’s because of a knock on his door. He stirs and grumbles, twisting his body to look over his shoulder, and spots his mom standing just outside the door.

“Hey, Mom,” he whispers, since Cas is still asleep next to him.

“Hi.” She looks at Cas then back to Dean. “Taking a nap with Cas?”

“Uh, yeah. I guess.” He sits up on the side of the bed. Cas doesn’t move. “What’s up, you need something?”

“Charlie and the Lerners are back, they brought groceries and they’re making dinner now.” She frowns at him. “Honey, I don’t mean to pry, but I’m still kind of confused about you and Cas. You’re sure you aren’t...Um, after everything you and Sam explained to me, you know it would be OK with me if you and Cas were…”

Dean looks back at Cas. He still hasn’t moved, and he’s lying face down with his head turned toward Dean, his cheek smashed against the mattress. Dean looks at his mom. “Cas is an angel, Mom. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t—not that I want to, because I’m not...you know, I’m not gay or whatever,” he finishes lamely.

Mary’s eyebrows pinch together. “So even if Cas was permanently in a female vessel, you wouldn’t—because he’s an angel?”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “Yeah. Sounds about right. Now can we never talk about this again? Please?”

“Right.” She shifts, her eyes flickering to Cas one more time. “Dinner’s in an hour.”

After she leaves, Dean putters around in his room for a bit deciding whether he should wake Cas up. Ten impatient minutes later, he shakes his shoulder and loudly says, “Hey.”

“Mm,” Cas grunts without opening his eyes.

“Wake up, sunshine.” Dean flicks his ear then says without thinking, “Bed’ll still be here tonight.”

“But it’s comfortable now.”

“Yeah, OK, I’ll see you later, Cas.”

Cas eventually shows up during dinner, taking a seat across from Dean at the war room table and refusing food. Clint and Ida May talk over each other about the work that needs to be done on their house, and Dean offers to head over with them in the morning to help out. 

“Me and Cas and Sammy can do some heavy-lifting for you, simple repairs and stuff,” he says.

“Actually, Dean, I may need to leave in the morning,” Cas interrupts. He makes sad eyes at Dean. “There’s a lead I need to follow up with.”

“OK. Sure, Cas.”

“I’ll come to y’all’s house,” Mary offers instead. 

Dean wants to ask Cas in private about the lead, but he never gets the chance. When everybody retires to their rooms, Dean is too chicken to ask Cas where he’s sleeping, and by the time Dean starts casually scoping out the bunker to see where everyone ended up, Cas is gone.

Castiel is a light sleeper.

Chapter Text

Dean kills Hitler. 

It feels fucking great, actually. It was a pretty normal hunt with Sam, and it felt good, grounding, to go on a hunt just with Sam. Killing Hitler was an added bonus. 

Afterward, Sam and Dean eat dinner in a bar and Dean feels better than he has in months. He drinks in celebration, probably too much, but Sam doesn’t do anything to stop him and doesn’t seem too worried about it. Nothing can bring Dean’s mood down.

They haven’t heard much from Cas in the past few days, so Dean sends him a somewhat drunk text. 

“I killed Hitler :)”

Cas doesn’t respond right away. Sam excuses himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Dean to wait impatiently for a text that he knows probably won’t come for several more minutes at least. Pumped full of adrenaline and weakened inhibitions, he gets up and goes to the bar and eeny-meeny-miny-moes all the women he sees. The one who wins is a chubby Asian woman around Dean’s age, wearing no makeup and sporting some gray in her long hair, and he approaches her confidently and offers to buy her a drink. 

She gives him an amused look as she asks, “Did you just eeny, meeny, miny, moe to decide who to hit on?” 

He nods stupidly. “Yeah. Yeah, I did do that. Lots of beautiful ladies here, and I ain’t exactly picky. I’m Dean.”

She smiles brightly, revealing dimples in her cheeks and perfectly straight teeth. “I’m Button.”

“Like cute-as-a?”

“Spot on, Dean,” Button says with a boop to his nose. “Imagine being so cute as a baby that you get a nickname for life.” She turns to the two women sitting next to her. “I’m gonna go home with this idiot. Drinks?”

The women snap and nod. 

Button turns back toward Dean. “Buy my friends drinks, then we can go.”

Button lives less than 10 minutes from the bar. While sitting in the passenger seat of her Volkswagen, Dean sends Sam a text to let him know not to wait up for him. His phone then pings with a text from Cas.

“I don’t understand. Did you travel back in time again?” He ends the text with an eyebrow-raised emoji. 

“No. Re-animation. Long story, I’ll tell you later. Everything good on your end?”

“Texting your wife to let her know you’re not coming home tonight?” Button asks. Before Dean can answer, she continues, “Just kidding, I’ve never met a guy less married than you.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “It’s just a friend.”

Things are easy with Button. They go straight to her room and get immediately naked and Dean doesn’t have a single thought in his head while he eats her out. She pulls him up to the bed after she comes and makes out with him for a few minutes before reaching for condoms in the drawer of her nightstand. She rides him slow, then he eats her out again, then he falls asleep while she’s in the shower. 

Early the next morning, Dean wakes up to the sound of his phone ringing. He fumbles for it, knocking it to the floor and grunting as he shifts over to the side of the bed and picks it up. He sits up, rests his elbows on his knees and scrubs a hand down his face as he says into the phone, “Yeah, Cas.”

“Congratulations,” Cas says in a monotone.

Dean blinks and looks over his shoulder; Button is still asleep. “Oh. You mean the Hitler thing. Yeah, pretty awesome, right?”

“Not great that he was resurrected, but I’m glad you were there.” Cas takes a pause, then, “Is your mother with you?”

“No, she, uh, wanted some time to herself at the bunker. What about you, making any progress?”

As Cas talks, Dean feels the bed shift and hears Button clear her throat. A hand snakes over his bare shoulder and across his chest, followed by Button’s mouth slowly kissing his skin. He can feel her soft breasts and belly press against his back, and suddenly his heart is racing in his chest.

“Dean?” Cas asks.

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m here.” Dean reaches up and rubs Button’s forearm. “What’d you ask me?”

“I said that Crowley thinks Lucifer is looking for influential or powerful people to possess, possibly as a way of gaining a following and doing something...destructive. I asked if you can think of a reason why he would do that.”

“Uh, yeah, let me think about it.” Dean closes his eyes and leans his head back as Button sucks a hickey against his neck. “Um. Can’t really talk about it now, though, I’m, uh…”

Buttons laughs and whispers right into his ear, “C’mon, just hang up.” She moves her hand down and wraps her fingers around his morning wood. They both slept naked; his boxer briefs are at the foot of the bed. 

“Dean? Is someone else there with you?” Cas asks.

“Um. Yeah.” Dean feels heat rise to his cheeks, shame taking over his entire body. “Sorry, buddy, I can’t really, uh, talk right now. I’ll call you later, alright?”

Cas audibly sighs into the phone. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Yeah, bye, Ca—” Cas hangs up before Dean finishes. 

Button pushes him back on the bed and rolls her body on top of his, kissing him hungrily on the mouth as she moves. After a minute, she pulls away and whispers, “Is it just me, or is there some guilt swirling around here?”

Dean sucks his teeth and rubs his thumb over her cheek. “I, uh, I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Uh-oh. You really do have a wife, don’t you?” Button frowns down at him. “Except, that kind of sounded like a guy. Oh no, let me guess, your best friend is in love with you but you’re not gay so you feel really bad that you don’t love him back and it’s really awkward?”

Dean swallows. “No. No, it’s not...It’s, um. It’s nothing. He’s just my best friend. We’ve got other shit going on, it’s got nothing to do with…” Dean points a finger between him and her. 

“Hm. OK. So, do you wanna have sex again?”

He kisses her chastely and shifts underneath her as he says, “Nah, I better get going. Got a long drive today.” He stands up and gathers his clothes, quickly pulling them on as he continues, “Thank you, though. I had a lot of fun.” He winks at her.

“If you’re ever in the area again, call me anytime, babe. That tongue of yours is almost as good as a woman’s.”

He squints at her as he buttons his shirt. “You’re, uh, bisexual? Bi?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You—you’re the one who brought it up!”

She laughs and throws her phone at him, which he catches against his chest. “Put your number in there.”

Dean actually does give her his real cell number, then he calls Sam to tell him where to pick him up. It takes Sam a good 15 minutes to make it over, so Dean and Button drink coffee together in her kitchen and make out a little more. There are all kinds of conflicting feelings inside Dean, but he pushes them down and tries his best to have a good time with a pretty lady. He has no reason to feel guilty, so why should he feel guilty? It’s been forever since he got laid, and he’s good at sex and should have sex whenever he wants to. He doesn’t feel guilty about it.

Sam says nothing when Dean gets into the passenger seat. 

“Hey, did you hear that I killed Hitler?” Dean asks after about 30 seconds of silence.

Sam’s arm flexes; he’s squeezing the steering wheel tighter. “Did you even get her name?”

“Uh, not her real name. She goes by Button. Button. I mean, how cute is that?” He does not feel guilty. 

Sam sighs and looks over his shoulder as he switches lanes. “And did you sneak out this morning without saying anything to her?”

“Dude, no. C’mon. Why are you nagging me?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam says loudly. “Just thought you had outgrown random hookups I guess. Thought you had—hoped you would commit to someone at some point.”

Dean scoffs. “Can I not have fun for one single night of my life?”

“Just forget it,” Sam mumbles.

"No, no, what is it? Why are you acting like I've got a girlfriend back home I cheated on? Do you know something I don't?"

Sam laughs humorlessly. "No. Do whatever you want."

Dean turns the radio up, puts his sunglasses on and slouches down in his seat, fully intending to take a nap. He nods off for a few minutes before his phone rings.

It’s Jody.

“Hey, Jody. Been too long,” Dean answers, putting her on speaker. 

“Yeah, and, uh, unfortunately I’m not calling with good news,” she says grimly. “Did you guys ever meet Asa Fox? He was a hunter.”

“Yeah,” Sam answers. “Did he, uh…?”

“Died on a hunt. Funeral’s up in Canada if you guys wanna come.”

Sam and Dean share a look.

“Yeah, Jody,” Dean says. “We’ll be there.”

After Dean hangs up, he and Sam are silent for another minute or so. 

“Since when do you know so many hunters?” Dean asks petulantly.

“Uh, I don’t know,” Sam answers. “I guess when you were a demon, I realized how, um, alone I was.”

Dean sniffs. “You had Cas.”

Sam huffs a laugh. “Cas and I don’t have the same kind of—I mean, maybe you’d be OK if all you had was Cas, but I couldn’t do it. And then once I started reaching out to people, you know, I realized it was easier to have friends than not have friends. And then I just started looking people up and keeping tabs on different hunters, so we’d be prepared when we inevitably run into them.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know how Eileen escaped my notice. I thought I was doing a pretty good job keeping track of everybody in North America.”

Dean doesn’t respond right away. He doesn’t want to say what he thinks, which is that Sam is turning into Bobby, and where does that leave Dean? Just one of many hunters taking up space in the bunker?

“Dean?”

“Yeah. I just suck at having friends, dude. If the bunker gets any more crowded than it’s been lately, I might just lose it.”

“Oh,” Sam says, clearly confused. “You’d prefer if it was just, like, you and me?”

Dean has a fleeting memory, an image of him and Cas sitting in the kitchen together with an elementary-school-aged Amara. To Sam, he says, “I don’t know. I’d prefer having less people to worry about all the time, I guess.”

“Fewer.”

“What?”

“Fewer people, not less.”

Dean rolls his eyes. 

While switching lanes, Sam says, “You don’t want fewer people around, though. If that were true, Amara wouldn’t’ve brought back two entire people for you.”

“And if we didn’t live this shit life, I wouldn’t need almighty beings to resurrect my loved ones from the dead,” Dean mumbles. 

“You really think it’s a shit life?”

“You don’t?”

“No,” Sam answers definitively. “I know we’ve had our ups and downs, but I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Dean scoffs and stares out the passenger side window. “‘Ups and downs.’ Sure.”

Sam changes the radio station to NPR, his way of passive aggressively ending uncomfortable car conversations. 

Dean sends a text to Cas.

“Sam and I are heading up to Canada for a hunter’s funeral. Won’t be home for a couple more days, so call if you need anything.”

Dean’s phone rings less than five minutes later.

“Hey, Cas,” he answers.

“Dean. My condolences,” Cas says seriously. “Did you know the hunter well?”

“Nah, I never met the guy. We’re going mostly to support Jody.”

“Oh.” There’s a rustling sound, like Cas is moving the phone. “Well, um. Goodbye, Dean.”

“O...K. Bye, Cas.”

After Dean hangs up, Sam asks, “Is he still acting weird?”

“So you think he was acting weird at the bunker before he left, right? He was, right?” Dean says.

“Yeah, definitely. I just assumed y’all had a fight about something.”

“No, we’re fine.” Dean thinks about Button kissing his neck while he was on the phone with Cas. There’s a pang in his chest. “We were totally fine, and then he just up and left. I mean, we had just gotten him back, too.”

“Well, you could try talking to him. Tell him you want him to come back home.”

Dean’s brain short-circuits. He can’t fucking say that to Cas. Can he?

“Or just be weird and moody like usual,” Sam says facetiously. “That works, too, I guess.”

Dean ignores him. He could ask Sam to cut him some slack, but he won’t do that, either. 

"Weren't you gonna ask Cas to take a look inside your brain? Did he do that before he left?" Sam asks.

"Uh, yeah."

"So, what'd he find?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't know. He didn't say anything about it. We, uh—well, I fell asleep. I don't know."

Sam snorts and then coughs in an obvious effort to cover his laugh. He then says, "I'm sure everything's fine then. He would've told you otherwise."

"Yeah." Dean looks out the passenger window. The reason why he asks Cas to use his grace on him isn't because he actually needs help but because he just enjoys it. His face flushes with embarrassment. 

At a rest stop, they switch and Dean drives the rest of the way. They hit traffic going through the border, then they stop at the first restaurant they pass so they can get poutine. It's late in the afternoon by the time they reach the house.

Jody hugs Dean for a long time. He’s glad for the ease with which he can provide comfort, that all she requires is a shoulder to cry on to grieve a friend.

As they’re all heading inside the house for the wake, Mary arrives in one of the cars from the bunker’s garage. 

“Oh. Mom. I didn’t think you were…” Sam starts lamely.

“I knew Asa,” Mary explains. “I helped him out when he was a kid. I’m sorry, I should’ve told you I was coming.”

“No, no, you’re fine,” Sam placates with a smile. “You don’t have to tell us your every move.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but there’s an ache in his heart at seeing his mom. He can’t quite place the feeling, but he knows it’s not good. 

Inside, he can feel eyes fall on him but he tries his best to ignore the attention. Sam wanders off to greet some hunters he knows, and Dean goes to the kitchen to find something to drink. He wavers in front of the cooler and ultimately decides on water. 

“I’ve got some home-brewed stuff, if you wanna try it,” a burly white guy says as he walks up next to Dean and stands in his personal space.

“Oh, no thanks,” Dean replies, nodding at the unlabeled beer in the guy’s hand before making eye contact with him. “You know, watching my figure,” he jokes.

The guy smiles at him and holds out his hand. “I’m Bucky.”

“Dean.”

“Dean Winchester?” Bucky asks. 

“Uh, yeah.”

Everybody else in the kitchen quiets down as Bucky rakes his eyes over Dean then says, “Is it true your best friend is an angel? And one of your other friends is the king of hell?”

“I wouldn’t call Crowley a friend, but yeah, Cas is an angel and he’s mine and Sam’s best friend.”

A guy sitting at the kitchen table bolts upright at Sam’s name then sprints out of the room, presumably to go find him. 

Bucky keeps looking at Dean. “I met Sam once. Nice guy.”

Dean just blinks at him. “Yeah.”

Another guy walks up to them, also getting too close in Dean’s personal space, and tries to ask Dean grossly specific questions about what it’s like to die. Before he can tell the guy to fuck off, Bucky interrupts and ushers Dean out of the kitchen and toward the back of the house. He leads him outside onto a large porch crammed full of rowdy, drunk hunters. None of them notice as Bucky and Dean walk around the side out of sight of everyone.

“People are nosy, huh?” Bucky says as he leans against the banister. “You don’t seem like the getting-drunk-and-partying type.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “In my 20s I definitely was.” He scratches the back of his head self-consciously. “Can’t really keep up anymore, to be honest.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Asa’s the second friend I’ve lost this year. Makes me wonder if I should make some friends outside of the life, like, maybe some people with safer jobs.” Bucky taps Dean on the arm. “Or maybe I should be friends with beings less destructible than humans. I bet you don’t have to worry about your angel, do you?”

Reflexively, Dean answers, “No, I worry about Cas constantly.” He clears his throat. “But, uh, that’s ‘cause he’s died a lot, too. Yeah.”

Bucky just hums, clearly unsure what to say next. They stand in companionable silence for a few seconds, looking out into the backyard at the birdfeeders. Eventually Bucky straightens up and turns deliberately toward Dean.

“Funerals always make me feel a little lost,” he explains. “And a lot lonely. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Dean keeps looking out at the birds, distracted. 

“You got a place to stay up here?”

“Oh, my brother and I will probably just find a motel nearby.”

Bucky’s hand slides slowly and carefully over top of Dean’s. “This house is big. I’m staying in a room on the third floor, if you want to…”

Dean’s face heats up. He closes his hand into a fist and slides it out from Bucky’s touch, then he turns to look him in the eye as he says, “Uh, I’m sorry. I’m not...I don’t…”

Bucky doesn’t even look embarrassed. “Oh, Christ, really?” He smiles sweetly. “I guess not all the rumors about you are true then, huh? Oh well.”

“What?” Dean’s face hardens. “That’s—that’s a rumor about me? Seriously?”

Bucky’s face hardens right back at him. “Well, you don’t have to act so offended about it. Some of us actually are queer.”

Dean bites his tongue, resisting the urge to blow up at Bucky. He wants to know how that rumor started, but he’s too afraid of the answer.

“Look, you can’t be mad at me for shooting my shot, alright?” Bucky presses. “You’re Dean fucking Winchester, for god’s sake.”

“Yeah. OK.” Dean walks off. 

Dean’s stuck in his own head and having an argument with himself as he stalks through the house until he nearly bumps into Sam in the living room. 

“Oh, hey, Dean,” Sam says. “This is Max and Alicia Banes. They’re hunters-slash-witches.”

Max and Alicia smile and wave up at Dean from their spot on the couch. They’re young and Black and are definitely dressed more like witches than hunters. 

“Oh, Sam, you’ve been hiding him from us,” Max says suggestively, looking Dean up and down. “Dean, what’s your stance on daddy kink?”

Alicia smacks him. Dean, wide-eyed, looks at Sam, who is laughing his ass off. 

“Is that—are you hitting on me, too?” Dean stammers. “Is every hunter gay these days? Am I the butt of some inside joke here?”

Max makes a regretful face at him. “Bucky Sims got to you, didn’t he? Shame.”

“You’re not the butt of a joke, Dean,” Alicia says. “Hunter culture has probably changed a lot since you were growing up, no offense. Less about hunting and killing, more about understanding and empathizing with the so-called monsters, so yeah, that means there are a lot more gay hunters.”

“Yeah, let me go empathize with a fucking werewolf and get my heart ripped out.”

“Isn’t one of your friends a werewolf?” Max asks.

Dean blinks at him. “Well, yeah, but that’s not the point.”

Max smiles and winks at him. 

Dean goes back to the kitchen and gets a fucking beer out of the cooler. 

His mom finds him next. She puts a hand on his shoulder, a little awkwardly, and asks him what’s wrong. 

He doesn’t want to tell her the truth, which is that he’s embarrassed that everyone apparently thinks he’s gay. Instead, he says, “I don’t know. Things are just different than they used to be.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she teases.

“I know. I’m sorry. I know it’s so much worse for you, and I—I’m sorry, Mom.” He smiles sadly at her. “How’s it been at the bunker?” 

“It’s been fine.” She looks away from him. “I, um. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. We’ll talk later when we’re not, you know…” She gestures vaguely. 

“Right. Yeah.” Dean is impatient to know what she means, but he bites his tongue. “I’m gonna go, uh, hide in a corner and avoid getting hit on again.”

Mary laughs in surprise and asks, “What?”

“I know, right? At a fucking funeral. But I guess Sammy and I are kind of famous, go figure.”

Mary looks a little sad then, so Dean excuses himself and goes outside to his car. There are a couple people out on the front porch, but Dean ignores them and leans against the driver’s side door and calls Cas.

There’s some distant bickering and rustling on the line before Cas says, “Hello?”

“Uh, hey, Cas,” Dean says. “Is that Crowley? You haven’t killed him yet?”

“Hello, darling,” Crowley says loudly in the background as Cas says into the phone, “We’re following a lead on Lucifer.”

“Oh, so you really are trying to find him, huh?” Dean closes his eyes and winces after he’s said it.

“Of course. What...else would I be doing?”

“Nothing, man. I just—you left the bunker so suddenly the other day, and, I don’t know.” He closes his eyes again. “We’re OK, right?”

It takes Cas too long to answer. When he does, all he says is, “We’re fine, Dean.”

“Did I—are you sure you’re not pissed at me for some reason?”

“No. You haven’t done anything wrong.” Cas sighs loudly. “It’s just me. I had to—well, Crowley put me in a sour mood.”

“Yeah, he does that.”

“How’s the funeral?”

Dean looks at the people sitting on the porch, and one of them makes eye contact with him then looks quickly away. “It’s weird,” he says. “I’ve been hit on twice. And not by women.”

“Oh.”

Dean waits for Cas to say more, but he doesn’t, so Dean says, “Yeah, apparently there’s some hunter rumor that I’m—well, they think I’m hot shit, I guess.”

“I’m sure that’s very flattering,” Cas says. “I have to go, Dean. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, bye, Cas.”

Dean stays by his car for a few more minutes and replays all the conversations he’s had today in his head. He feels like he keeps saying the wrong thing, and everyone else has been saying the wrong thing back to him. He wishes he was home. 

Jody joins him eventually, holding two beers and handing one off to him as she stands against the side of the car next to him. 

“You know, I had kind of a thing with Asa,” she says apropos of nothing. “This sucks so badly.”

Dean puts his arm around her shoulder and pulls her to his side. “He almost lived long enough to be considered old. That’s the best you can ask for as a hunter, almost old and going out swinging.”

“You really think that?”

“Yeah, going out bloody on a hunt? Best way to go.”

Jody looks up at him with pursed lips. “You don’t actually believe that.”

“How else are we supposed to die? Rotting away in a bed in an old folks’ home? No thanks.”

“Oh, Dean,” Jody says on an exhale. “Those walls gotta come down someday, hon.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe your mother’s here,” Jody says, changing the subject. “What’s that been like?”

“Uh, awkward. We’re still getting to know each other,” Dean says honestly. 

“Mm. It’s weird that I’m older than her.” She bumps her shoulder against Dean’s side. “You don’t see me as a mom figure, do you?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Asa Fox’s funeral lasts for two days because the demon who killed him shows up and gets ganked within minutes of arriving, and they spend the rest of the day celebrating. Why a demon would show up to a hunter’s funeral, where every attendee is warded against possession, Dean will never understand. 

On their way out, Dean asks his mom if she wants to caravan with them so she doesn’t have to drive the whole way back to the bunker alone. 

She frowns at him and fiddles with the keys in her hand. “I might, um. I’m thinking about staying with Jody for a little bit.”

Dean and Sam both look around at the thinning crowd outside, but Jody isn’t there. Dean says, “Yeah, uh. Jody’s good people. You think it’ll help you, um, clear your head a bit?”

“Yeah, I think I just need...I need some time away from that bunker.” She looks between the two of them.

Sam is suspiciously quiet.

Mary reaches out to Dean first, pulling him down into a tight hug and making him feel safe. He has a moment of clarity, the thought this is my mom lighting up in his brain, and he is at once nearing middle age and 4 years old simultaneously, and he aches with longing for the years he lost in between. He kisses her temple and avoids eye contact when she lets go. 

She whispers something to Sam when she hugs him, and he tries to surreptitiously wipe a tear from his face when she releases him. 

In the car, Dean keeps the radio low and his eyes on the road ahead. He can feel that Sam wants to say something, so he waits, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel in anticipation. 

Eventually, Sam asks, “Are you not pissed at Mom?”

“What?”

“She said she needed time to herself at the bunker, but Charlie and Clint and Ida May were there, too. She just wanted time away from us. And now she’s going to Jody’s? Why is she avoiding us?”

Dean worries his lip between his teeth and shrugs. “I don’t know, Sam. I guess it’s hard when you’re, uh, used to your kids being kids and then suddenly they’re adults?” He thinks of the first time he saw Amara as an adult, when she was fucking with his mind and showing him hallucinations of herself. “I can’t fault her for that.”

Sam is quiet for a few seconds. Then, “If Amara had, uh, stayed good, like she was when she was little, would you still want to be around her now? Like, now that she’s an adult?”

“It would be weird,” Dean admits. “When I think about her, I still see a 3-year-old.”

“She changed you.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I mean in a good way,” Sam says. “I’m pissed at Mom because I want her to be Mom, but you’re acting supportive and selfless like you understand what she’s going through because you do.” He shakes his head. “I mean, I helped raise Amara, too, but it felt like a duty. Like a really weird, long job we were on. I never felt like her father.”

“I know. And I think it’s OK for you to be pissed at Mom.” Dean speeds up. “We lost so much time with her—hell, our whole lives, and now she doesn’t want to spend time with us? It sucks.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

When they get back to the bunker, Charlie is sitting at the war room table on her laptop with a concerned look on her face. She closes the laptop as soon as they come in.

“Hi,” she says stiffly.

“Uh, hi?” Dean responds. He sets his duffel bag on a chair and pulls out dirty clothes to take to the laundry room.

“I, um. I haven’t told you this because it was just a tentative thing, but, uh…”

“Spit it out, Charlie.”

She scrunches her face up in a wince. “I’ve been working part-time. Computer programming. I’ve saved up enough money to move out.”

Dean’s heart lurches. His mom had shown signs, had been somewhat of an open book in how desperately she needed time away from Sam and Dean. Charlie, though. She had shown no signs.

“OK,” Dean says calmly. He looks at Sam, who only frowns at him. “You’ll still help with hunts, though, right?”

She runs a hand through her hair. “Of course. I can even help with research from here if you need me to. I’m, uh, moving to an apartment right across the street from Clint and Ida May’s neighborhood actually.”

“Oh,” Sam says. “That’s great, Charlie. That’s really good.”

Dean breathes a sigh of relief. “OK, you’ll be nearby. Good. Great.”

“Are you guys alright? I mean, damn, just a few weeks ago you were accusing me of being a figment of your imagination.”

Dean drops down into a chair across from her. “You know how I figured out that you weren’t? I didn’t tell you, did I?”

“Was it because of how bad I am at Call of Duty that one day you made me play it? Oh god, that was it, wasn’t it?”

“No, no, it was—” Dean looks at Sam then back to Charlie. “It was when you asked me about my exes, and I told you about, uh, Lisa. About how I asked Cas to erase her and Ben’s memories of me so I could leave them.”

Tentatively, Sam sits in the chair next to Dean.

Dean continues, “You didn’t offer me any comfort or anything. You just got mad and said it was fucked up.”

“Well, yeah, because it’s super fucked up.”

“If you weren’t real, you would’ve just told me everything I wanted to hear and done everything I needed you to do,” Dean finishes. 

“Hmm,” Charlie hums. “So, moving out proves I’m real too, then. Double proof.” She stands and grabs her laptop off the table. “One week ‘til move-in. You guys are helping me.”

It all happens so fast. First Cas, then Mom, Charlie. Clint and Ida May will be out in the next month. Sam hasn’t said when Eileen might be back. 

Dean holes up in his room and changes into his softest pajamas, curls up in his bed even though he won’t fall asleep for hours. He opens his text chain with Cas and stares at it for a while, trying to decide what to send him. 

He settles on, “Mom and Charlie aren’t staying here anymore. Starting to feel empty around here.”

Cas replies within 10 minutes. “You made it back to the bunker, I presume.”

“Yeah.”

It’s on the pads of his fingers as precariously as it’s on the tip of his tongue. He could type it. He could ask. Can you come home? His fingertips hover over the screen, unmoving. 

He can’t do it.

Chapter Text

The day after Charlie moves out of the bunker, Dean texts Mildred.

“Everything back to normal at the geezer home?”

She responds within minutes. “If you mean boring enough that I can tell you exactly what’s happening to all the characters on Young and the Restless, then yes.”

“You wanna come over?”

"You’re gonna have to be more specific about your intentions, Dean.”

A text from Cas pops up at the top of the screen; Dean swipes it away and types to Mildred, “Just come hang out with me.” Remembering something Mildred told him about her low vision, Dean adds, “I’ll take you home tonight if you don’t feel safe driving. Or you can spend the night. Innocently.”

He switches over to the text from Cas. It says, “You lost your memory? Did you forget who you were?”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. He’s not sure why he told Cas about the hunt he and Sam just got back from; he barely remembers any of it himself. Zapped by a witch, he lost his memory over the span of a few days and then was jolted back into an unpleasant reality. Sam had asked Rowena for help, and now it kind of feels like they’ve grudgingly become friends with her.

“Yeah,” Dean replies. “Forgot Sam. Forgot you. Sam said at one point I was really excited to learn we were friends with an angel.” He thinks about adding an “lol” but then remembers that he’s a grown man.

“LOL,” Cas answers.

Mildred texts, “I’ll be over in 30. Stealing food from the dining room now.”

Dean texts back a thumbs up and pockets his phone. He’s in the middle of a game of Words with Friends with his mom, but it’s her turn and she’s taking her sweet time. Clint, Ida May and Sam are working on the nearly completed house, and they insisted that Dean stay back and get some rest when he couldn’t remember the date this morning. 

He writes in his journal,

It’s not like losing my memory is the worst thing that’s happened to me. All I remember about it is that I felt peaceful. Content. Kinda want to ask Cas if he’ll consider wiping some of my memories, see if it makes things easier. I miss Cas. I won’t tell him that, though. 

Dean hides the journal in a warded box under his bed now, because he can think of nothing more mortifying than someone perusing it. 

When Mildred shows up, Dean gives her a perfunctory hug and then demands to see what she brought from the nursing home. As far as institutional food goes, Mildred’s independent living facility is the best. She loves reminding Dean that she pays an arm and a leg for it.

They eat in the library, Dean stuffing his face while Mildred really does explain the plot of Young and the Restless to him. She slides her leftovers to him when his plate is empty, and he winks at her in thanks. His appetite back, he feels like he’s catching up on a year or two’s worth of food. 

“So, where is everybody?” Mildred asks.

“Uh, all over the place,” Dean answers. “Sam’ll be back tonight. Everybody else is kinda, uh, moving out.”

“Oh.” She makes a sad face at him. “Is that why you asked me over?”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I told Sam I thought the bunker was getting too crowded. I really thought I was telling the truth, too.”

She smiles knowingly at him. “There’s somebody you miss more than everybody else.”

“Millie, keep your nose out of my business. How many times I gotta tell you?”

She raises her hands up innocently. “I just observe and report. I know a lovesick idiot when I see one.”

He rolls his eyes and ignores the blush rising to his cheeks. “Alright, did you bring the good stuff?”

She nods mischievously. 

They hotbox his room. They sit on his bed together in their pajamas and pass a joint back and forth until Dean feels so sleepy and relaxed that he lies down on his back with his head in Mildred’s lap. She cards a manicured hand through his hair and tells him about all the best concerts she ever attended.

“Millie,” he interrupts after a while.

“Hmm.”

“Do you feel like you’re old?”

She laughs and ruffles his hair. “Well, now I do. Thanks.”

“You know what I mean. Like, do you think about the rest of your life?”

“And how it’ll be a lot fewer years than what I’ve already lived? Yeah. But I don’t worry about it.” She takes a deep breath. “I know myself better now than I ever did when I was in my 20s, or, hell, even around your age. To be content in your own body as you feel it getting less physically reliable, that’s the most important thing, I think.”

Dean stares up at the ceiling.

“Sure, I might fall and break my hip tomorrow,” Mildred continues, “But at least I’ll know exactly who I am as I’m taken to the hospital.”

“What about, uh, people with Alzheimer’s? You think they got it worse?”

“No, I don’t think so. I think the best anybody can hope for is to find peace in the end, in whatever way you can.”

Dean is tempted to deflect, to blow her off, but instead he closes his eyes and reaches up blindly for her hand. She finds his first and they squeeze their fingers together. He falls asleep.

In the early morning, Dean extricates himself from Mildred’s side and stumbles out to the kitchen to make coffee. Surprisingly, Sam is sitting at the kitchen table holding a mug and scrolling through his phone.

“What’re you doing up so early?” Dean mutters. 

Sam clears his throat but doesn’t manage to answer Dean before Eileen comes into the kitchen wearing seemingly nothing but one of Sam’s t-shirts. They smile shyly at each other and Sam slides a mug over to her as she sits across from him at the table. 

“Oh, OK, cool,” Dean says to himself.

He makes enough coffee to refill Sam and Eileen’s mugs, then he sits down next to Eileen at the table and stares into his cup so he can ignore the silent conversation she and Sam are having. After a few minutes, Mildred comes into the kitchen wearing Dean’s robe. 

Sam looks at Mildred then looks at Dean. His eyes widen then narrow. “Um. Good to see you, Mildred.”

“Honey, this isn’t what it looks like,” Mildred says as she pours herself a cup of coffee. “Dean and I do drugs together, nothing else untoward.”

Eileen bursts out laughing. 

“Sweetheart, you need anything before you go?” Dean asks. “I can take you home, bring your car to you later if you want.”

Mildred rolls her eyes and doesn’t join them at the table. “Stop babying me. You’re making me feel old.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” Eileen says at the same time that Sam says,

“He treats everybody like that, don’t worry.”

Dean’s phone rings, which he takes as a small blessing to get him out of this situation. He doesn’t bother excusing himself before answering.

“Hey, Cas.”

“How do you feel about the city of Los Angeles?” Cas says stoically. 

“Uh, botox and gridlock traffic, sweaty desperation of mediocre-looking no-talent douchebags trying to make it big?” 

Sam frowns at Dean, so he puts Cas on speaker and sets the phone down. 

“Check the news,” Cas says, his voice tinny on speaker. “Crowley should be sending you a link now.”

They look at their phones and spend a minute or two reading up on the has-been rockstar Vince Vincente suddenly making a comeback and announcing a tour. 

“We think it’s Lucifer,” Cas continues.

Crowley tries to interject, but Cas cuts him off with, “Can you join us here? I know it’s a long drive, but—”

“Yeah, we’ll head out this morning,” Dean says quickly. “Text us all the info you have. Bye, Cas.”

Dean makes sure Mildred gets everything she needs before she leaves, and Sam somehow convinces Eileen not to come with them. 

The drive is uneventful, aside from Dean teasing Sam for listening to Vince Vincente’s old hair metal band on his phone, and Sam asking Dean a dozen times if he’s OK every time they stop at a gas station and Dean loads up on snacks. 

Sam asks about Mildred, too, which makes Dean blush.

“She’s cool, man,” Dean says. “I don’t know. We’re friends I guess.”

“You didn’t…?”

“What? Fuck her? No, dude.” Dean scoffs. “I mean, she’s a beautiful woman, but I’m not—you know, I’m just. I’m not.” He gives up.

Several seconds later, Sam says, “You know you’re allowed to be whoever you want to be, right, Dean?”

“Oh, Jesus, what is this?”

“If you want to be a guy who has sex with old ladies, you can do that. Nobody’s stopping you.”

Dean rolls his eyes and moves his hands to the bottom of the steering wheel. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

Sam sighs. “I just want you to be happy.”

“OK, well, I like hanging out and smoking reefer with Millie, is that so bad? Can I do that without facing the fucking Spanish Inquisition?”

“Reefer.”

“Shut up.”

They wait in the lobby of a Los Angeles hotel for nearly 30 minutes before Cas and Crowley show up. It’s one of the fanciest hotels Dean’s ever stepped foot in, and somehow Crowley is the only one who doesn’t look out of place. Dean makes a comment to Cas about how stiff he looks in his usual trench coat, and Cas retorts that he looks like a lumberjack. 

Dean immediately removes his army jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his open flannel to his elbows. He pulls the simple chain he sometimes wears under the collar of his t-shirt out so it rests visibly against his chest, shiny silver against black.

“Douchey enough for you?” Dean asks bitchily. 

Cas’ mouth flattens into a thin line. He swallows. “I suppose it’s marginally better.”

Sam clears his throat; Crowley says an annoyed, “Oh bloody hell.”

“Alright, I’m sick of sitting around with my thumbs up my ass, what are we doing?” Dean asks.

“Vince Vincente is riding with the devil,” Crowley says, holding up a keycard between his index and middle fingers. “I suggest we go check out his room.”

“How’d you get the card?” Dean says.

Crowley winks at him. “This is L.A., love. I know a lot of people.”

After spending an hour in Vince Vincente’s room, they figure out that Lucifer is planning to gain new worshipers at a private concert that night. They spend much of the rest of the day trying to find out where the concert venue is. 

They’re not exactly sure what Lucifer might do, but they want a shot at killing him or at least capturing him. While they discuss their plans outside the venue late that night, Sam reminds them that one of their priorities should be getting the crowd cleared out.

“The only way you’ll clear that crowd without drawing fire is if he’s otherwise engaged,” Cas says.

Dean just about loses it. “Engaged in what, Cas? Killing you?”

“Cas, you’ll last...three minutes. Tops,” Sam adds.

“Then I’ll buy you three minutes.”

Dean clenches his jaw and glares at Cas. Cas glares back. Both of them ignore Crowley saying that he can help, too, and that he’ll buy them more time. 

Crowley nearly gets killed. 

Lucifer tells them that he doesn’t care what happens and only wants to cause chaos in his Father’s world. He gets away, leaving Vince Vincente’s dead body behind. 

“I got a couple of rooms in the Bellaqua,” Crowley announces as they all gather around the Impala to lick their wounds. “Spend the night, boys.”

They’re too tired to determine if Crowley has ulterior motives, so they accept his offer.

After Sam has fallen asleep and Dean is writing a quick paragraph in his journal, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Heya, Cas,” Dean whispers, gesturing for Cas to come inside.

“Crowley has company,” Cas grumbles. He removes his trench coat and sets it on the back of a chair before sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed. 

“Yeah, I guess almost dying will do that to you,” Dean says. He scoots back on his bed, tucked up against the headboard, feeling vulnerable in his pajamas. 

“Lucifer is going to keep finding more powerful men to take over.”

“Yeah.” Dean shifts and tosses the journal from the nightstand to his duffel bag. “Cas, listen to me. You can’t sacrifice yourself just because you think it’s your fault that Lucifer’s doing this, OK?”

Cas looks at him curiously, crease between his brow and head tilted to the side.

“If I lose you while you’re acting as a fucking decoy, man, I just—I won’t be able to live with that. I can’t.”

“Um. So what’s an acceptable way for you to lose me?” Cas asks.

Dean wants to ask him. He needs to know why Cas has been so cold lately, so distant and just on the edge of being mad at him. Instead, he says, “There’s none. No acceptable way to lose you. I—I need you.”

Cas looks at him. Dean wants desperately to reach out, to touch him. 

“I’ll, um,” Cas starts. “I’ll try my best.”

Dean smiles at him. “Good.”

Cas takes a deep breath and runs his hands up and down the fabric of his pants. He then deflates. 

“What is it, Cas? Talk to me,” Dean says softly.

Cas shakes his head, his profile to Dean. “Can I tell you something, um, personal?”

“Well, that depends on what it is. I ain’t exactly a good confidant.”

“I felt lost when I was in Paula’s body.”

“What?”

Sam shifts in his sleep and mumbles at them to shut up, so Dean cocks his head toward the door to the private balcony. He and Cas quietly make their way outside and lean their elbows against the banister, taking in the view of the empty pool below.

“This is the nicest fucking hotel I’ve ever stayed in,” Dean says.

Cas huffs a laugh. “Charlie provides you with unlimited money. You could stay in a hotel this nice on every hunt if you wanted.”

“Hate to break it to you, but most of the podunk towns we hunt in don’t have hotels like this.”

Cas hums then is quiet for a minute.

Dean wishes he had something to smoke, something to occupy his hands. “I didn’t like you being in Paula’s body either, in case you didn’t notice.”

Dean expects Cas to laugh, but instead he turns his head and gives Dean a serious stare. “I know angels that have taken care of their vessels for hundreds of years, that have maintained their earthly bodies through every war and hardship. But most angels...It doesn’t matter what body we inhabit. I thought—I didn’t know I was so attached to this one.”

“Really? You didn’t?” 

“Well, I—it’s odd. My identity is tied to this body.”

“How so?”

Cas looks down at himself, turning his hands palm up and holding them out in front of him. “I’m not genderless.”

Dean waits.

“I felt wrong in her body, like I didn’t fit appropriately. Like I had lost part of myself and everybody treated me like it was fine.” He looks at Dean again. “Everybody except you.”

Dean’s eyes flicker down to his mouth and back up. “Yeah, uh, it didn’t feel right. I felt, um, confused.”

“Yes, me too. I’m a man, Dean. Thank you for recognizing that even when I—when nobody else did, myself included.”

“Well, I mean, I—” Dean cuts himself off, unwilling to say what he wants to say, which is that he still struggled with seeing Cas as a woman because it felt easier to touch and comfort and be near a woman.

“I gotta get some sleep, Cas,” Dean says instead. “Thanks for telling me, you know—you’re alright now, aren’t you? Now that you’re back in your own digs?”

“Yes, I feel much better. This body is my own, and I’m going to treat it as such.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Back inside, Dean gets under the covers and waits in anticipation for what Cas decides to do. The sound of muffled voices comes through the wall, which means Crowley still has company. Cas wavers by the door.

Dean desperately wants to tell him to stay, to come to bed, to lie next to him and just stay, just stay. He says nothing.

“I’ll wait here until Crowley’s done,” Cas says stoically, taking a tentative seat on the edge of Dean’s bed.

“Sounds good, Cas. Night.”

Dean thinks he won’t be able to fall asleep with Cas right there, but exhaustion overtakes him and he succumbs to it.

In the early morning, before the sun’s up, Dean rolls over and finds Cas asleep next to him, sitting upright against the head of the bed with his hands folded on his lap and his legs crossed at the ankles. He’s still wearing his dress pants, button down and socks. 

Sam is in the corner of the room, by the dresser, shirtless and pulling a pair of jeans on. 

“Morning,” Dean whisper-shouts. 

Cas stirs but doesn’t wake.

Sam turns and smiles goofily at Dean. “I didn’t hear Cas come in last night.”

“Yeah, you did. You told us to shut up.” Dean tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Crowley had a guest.”

“Dean, you know if you ever wanna talk about how, uh, you and—”

“Nothing to talk about, Sammy. He could sleep in your bed sometimes, too, if he wanted.”

Cas wakes up with a start, looking around in confusion for a second before getting up quickly from Dean’s bed. “Good morning,” he grumbles.

“Cas actually can’t sleep in my bed,” Sam says as he pulls a t-shirt on over his head. “Unless it was, like, a life-or-death situation, I would absolutely not share a bed with Cas. No offense, buddy.”

“None taken,” Cas mumbles as he shrugs into his trench coat. 

Dean doesn’t say anything. 

He doesn’t want anything from Cas. He doesn’t want anything with Cas. Despite what Cas says about his gender and his vessel, he’s still otherworldly. He still doesn’t understand things about humans, and he himself is not human and never will be again. They can be close friends, closer than him and Sam, sure, but nothing else. It doesn’t matter that they share a bed sometimes. 

Crowley teleports into their room and looks at Cas as he says facetiously, “Oh, there you are, darling. I was worried.”

“Good night, Crowley?” Dean asks, not looking at him.

“Yes, actually, thank you for asking.” Crowley sighs. “Castiel, I’m so sorry you had to stay in here with your boyfriend. Shall we get back on the road?”

“Yes, Lucifer will be moving quickly,” Cas replies, moving toward the door and avoiding eye contact with everyone. “We don’t have any time to lose.”

“Wait, you’re staying with Crowley?” Dean asks. “You don’t wanna ride with us?”

Cas finally looks at him. “I’m sorry, Dean, but Crowley and I can move faster. We don’t know where Lucifer is going, so I think it would be most helpful if you and Sam were at the bunker.”

Dean just gapes at him.

Sam says, “Yeah, good point, Cas. C’mon, Dean, I can’t take the air in this shit city anymore.”

Crowley and Cas disappear with a curt goodbye, leaving Sam and Dean to head out to the Impala by themselves. Dean isn’t looking forward to the long drive, or to getting home to an empty bunker where they’ll just be sitting around waiting for a call. 

At their first gas stop out of the city, Dean gets a text from Cas.

“Thank you for indulging me last night. I think I’ve been adjusting poorly to being back in my body.”

Dean looks over his shoulder, making sure Sam’s not anywhere nearby as he types out a response. 

“You’re good, Cas. I’m glad you told me bc I was feeling real weird about being the only one annoyed that you were in a chick’s body.”

Cas sends back a smiley face emoji and a thumbs up. Dean smiles down at his phone. 

Crowley smokes quite often, which is something that Castiel didn’t know until he started spending every minute of every day with him. 

While Castiel scrolls through news stories on his phone, Crowley chain smokes several cigarettes. They’re in the parking lot of a bar in Southern California. 

“Have you ever fucked him?” Crowley asks, apropos of nothing.

“No,” Castiel answers, eyes still on his phone.

“I almost did.”

Castiel looks up in time to watch Crowley stamp the butt of a cigarette under his shoe. 

“When he was a demon, I wanted to. God, I wanted to.” Crowley shakes his head. “Mother calls it Dean Winchester derangement syndrome.”

“You...you want to sleep with Dean?” Castiel asks carefully. 

“No. You sleep with Dean. All prim and proper with your separate sides of the bed, a kilometer between you. What I want is more carnal.”

“Does he know?”

Crowley glares at him. “What about you? Does he know about you and your feelings, love?”

Castiel looks back down at his phone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. Of course.” Crowley lights up another cigarette. “So when I told you that I could get another room, and you refused, that was just an innocent little courtesy? Not a chance to sleep next to your almost-lover?”

“Do you know what the difference between you and me is, Crowley?”

“Hmm?”

“I already have what I want,” Castiel lies.

Crowley genuinely laughs. “Sure you do, love.”

Chapter Text

Dean finds it difficult to write in his journal every day when nothing ever happens. 

He and Sam are alone in the bunker, on research duty for Cas and Crowley, making calls all day and trying their best to track the devil as he burns through more powerful vessels. 

It feels directionless, and the lack of purpose makes Dean want to bang his head against a wall. 

He calls his mom a couple of times, but she’s distant and short with him, telling him about the easy hunts she’s been going on and how she still needs some time to adjust and figure out what she wants to do.

After a week, Cas shows up at the top of the stairs and Dean relaxes for the first time since L.A. 

“I have company,” Cas says grimly before Dean even has the chance to greet him.

A man smaller in stature than Cas walks in behind him, wearing all black and a genial expression on his face. He and Cas walk silently down the stairs together and join Dean standing at the war room table. 

“Sammy, we got company,” Dean calls, eyes locked on the new guy. 

“Mick Davies,” the new guy says in an English accent, holding his hand out for Dean to shake. 

Dean shakes it warily. “Men of Letters, posh chapter?”

“Quite flattering but I'm more Sporty Spice than Posh,” Mick replies with a wink and a smile. “We’ve been watching you for a while now.”

Sam comes in and introduces himself.

“Where’s Crowley?” Dean asks Cas.

“Trying to get access to the latest CEO Lucifer’s inhabiting,” Cas answers.

“The devil fell under our radar,” Mick says. “I apologize you’ve been going it alone, lads, but we can help. We have resources that would make your jobs a lot easier.”

Dean narrows his eyes at him. “Why? What’s the catch?”

Mick shrugs innocently. “No catch. We have the same objectives as you, Dean.”

“Cas, how do we know we can trust this guy?” Sam asks.

“We don’t,” Cas says. “That’s why I brought him here.”

Mick Davies spends the next hour trying to convince them that the U.K. chapter of the Men of Letters is on their side, and none of them know enough information about it to ask him the right kind of questions.

Still, Dean doesn’t like the guy. 

When Mick suggests they all go to a bar that night to “get to know each other better,” Sam agrees without hesitation. 

Annoyed, Dean calls Charlie in as backup and stays by her side all night. He only drinks one beer before his stomach turns, so he switches to soda and is grateful that nobody comments on it.

Mick tells them all about the Men of Letters in the U.K., talking endlessly between sips of his brandy and getting progressively tipsier as the night wears on. At some point between drinks three and four, he slings an arm over the back of the booth, right across Cas’ shoulders.

Cas turns to give him a curious look and shifts slightly away from him. Dean clenches his hand into a fist under the table.

“Enough about me and what I do, what about you?” Mick asks, turning to look at Cas. “Castiel, you’re an angel? I can’t imagine how powerful we’d be had we an angel on our side of the pond.”

“I don’t fly anymore, so I would have to take a plane to Europe to be any help to you,” Cas says, completely serious.

Mick laughs like it was the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

“I’m gonna get another round. Charlie, Sam, ‘nother round?” Dean asks as he scoots his way out of the booth.

“A beer for me, mate. Thanks,” Mick says.

Dean bites his tongue and stalks off to the bar.

Charlie joins him right after he’s put the order in with the bartender.

“You hate this guy, huh?” she asks.

“Smarmy son of a bitch,” Dean mutters. “Like we need any fucking help. We’re fine.”

“He seems to like Cas.”

Dean grunts.

“Just so you know,” Charlie says slowly, “I definitely think Mick is gay. You know, if that’s...if that matters to you in some way. Just, like, so you know.”

Dean grunts again.

“You know I’m here if you ever wanna, I don’t know, talk? About whatever,” Charlie says. “You can talk to me about whatever. Anything at all. Whatever is on your mind.”

The bartender sets their drinks on the countertop, and Dean gathers them in his hands and turns a raised eyebrow at Charlie. “I don’t know what you want me to say right now.”

She sighs and shakes her head and does not help him carry drinks back to the table. 

He’s not an idiot; he’s pretty sure he knows what she wants him to say. But he won’t. Ever.

Mick is even more in Cas’ personal space when Dean gets back to the booth. Cas is leaning as far away from the man as possible. Dean thinks back on the ridiculous conversation he had with Cas years and years ago about respecting other people’s personal space, and he’s happy to see that Cas has his own boundaries now.

The second time Mick touches Cas’ knee under the table, it’s Sam who clears his throat and suggests they go back to the bunker. He offers Mick a room, which Mick turns down in favor of getting a hotel room nearby. 

While Dean, Sam and Charlie head out to the Impala, Mick says he’s going to call an Uber and asks Cas to hang back with him. 

“What do you think Mick is asking Cas?” Charlie says, loudly, in the parking lot. 

“He’s gay, right?” Sam asks. “Like, he’s hitting on Cas, isn’t he?”

Charlie laughs as she says, “Oh yeah, big time.”

Dean gets in the car and slams the door shut behind him, fumbling with his keys before sticking them in the ignition. Sam gets in the passenger seat and Charlie in the back, and they ponder for exactly 10 seconds whether they should wait for Cas before the back door opens and Cas gets in.

Sam and Charlie both look at him as Dean pulls out of the parking lot. Cas just clears his throat.

“Well?” Charlie presses. 

“What?” Cas asks.

“Did he, um, invite you back to his hotel?” Sam says.

“He did,” Cas answers. “I’m not entirely sure how those kinds of interactions are supposed to go, but I politely declined.”

“Why? Could’ve been a fun time,” Charlie says. “You deserve some action every now and then, Cas. You’re a beautiful angel.”

“Thank you, Charlie. I don’t need any action.”

“Dean, suspiciously quiet over there, anything to add?”

Dean glares at Charlie through the rearview mirror. “I’m never taking you out again, lightweight.”

When they get to Charlie’s apartment, she plants a sloppy kiss on Dean’s cheek before stumbling her way to the stairs. 

“I don’t like Mick,” Sam says when they’re five minutes from the bunker. 

“He’s not very likable,” Cas replies.

Dean huffs a laugh. 

Cas comes inside with them and heads to the library, shrugging off his coat like he’s going to stay a while. Dean offers him a change of clothes and towels for the shower, but Cas waves him off and says he’s going to stay up researching and helping Crowley. 

“Cas,” Dean says from the hall, waiting for Cas to look up at him before he continues, “You didn’t have to put up with that from Mick.”

Cas tilts his head and frowns. “What do you mean?”

“The way he was—you know, how he was touching you or whatever all night. If you don’t like that kind of stuff, you can tell the person to fuck off.”

“Oh. Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re a handsome dude,” Dean says stupidly. “You shouldn’t have to put up with—you don’t need all that unwanted attention.”

“Thank you,” Cas repeats, a little softer this time. 

“Yeah. OK. Uh, night, buddy.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

It takes Dean a long time to fall asleep. He keeps his door open and waits, wondering if Cas will join him. He doesn’t, of course, and Dean feels ridiculous as he drifts off. 

He can’t even ask Cas to stay in the bunker for longer than a couple of days at a time, so why would Cas think he can just crawl into Dean’s bed with him?

Dean dreams. Good dreams, surprisingly. A young Amara is there, happy and loving, and they’re playing at the park or in a field or at the beach—it keeps changing. Cas is sometimes there, too, sitting next to Dean and smiling warmly and having philosophical discussions with a toddler, and sometimes he touches Dean and it almost brings him out of his sleep because the logical part of Dean’s brain can’t help but wonder if Cas is actually there and not just a character in his dreams.

Cas hasn’t visited his dreams in years, and it’s not something Dean would ever ask of him.

In the morning, Dean wakes up a little disappointed. It’s always disorienting when a dream provides a life he wants but can never have.

Cas is still in the library, laptop open and a serious expression on his face, and Dean wishes he could offer him something like coffee or a nap.

Instead, Dean says, “You stay up all night?”

“Yes,” Cas answers without looking up from the screen. “Crowley thinks Lucifer is trying to get to the President of the United States.”

“Excuse me?”

Mick walks in from behind Dean as if he’s been at the bunker the whole time. He goes to Cas and puts one hand on the back of his chair to lean over and look at his screen.

“Hey,” Dean says, unable to hide his annoyance anymore. “You don’t have to stand so close, chief.”

Surprisingly, Mick backs off and holds his hands out defensively. “My apologies, mate. I didn’t realize you had dibs.”

Dean takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring with the effort of trying to stay chill.

“Mick,” Cas says. “I told you I’m not interested. Nobody has ‘dibs.’”

Dean smirks, but then Cas turns a frustrated expression toward him.

“And I don’t need you sticking up for me, Dean.” He closes the laptop and stands, mumbling, “Not unless you’re actually going to claim dibs,” as he leaves the library.

Mick watches Cas leave then turns toward Dean, eyebrows raised toward his hairline. “Well, that’s quite a sticky situation, innit?” He looks Dean up and down. “He’s gorgeous. Why the hell aren’t you sleeping with him?”

Dean gapes like a fish for a second. “He didn’t—I don’t think he understands...It’s just not—we’re not like that.”

Mick puffs his cheeks out and blows out a breath. “Sorry, mate. I didn’t realize what I was walking into here.”

“What are you doing here, Mick?” Dean asks impatiently. “What do you want?”

“Well, for you to join us. We can get you jobs, resources. We’re trying to set up a network here in North America, you know, take our business worldwide.”

Dean rolls his eyes and leaves the room, not even willing to acknowledge that statement with a response.

He bumps into Cas in the kitchen.

“Whoa, hey, slow down there, tiger,” Dean says as he takes Cas by the shoulders to stop him from running past him. He laughs and squeezes his shoulders once before letting go. “We’re OK, Cas. You’re good.”

“I don’t like Mick Davies,” Cas says. 

“None of us like Mick Davies.”

“I don’t need you standing up for me, Dean.”

Dean avoids eye contact. “I know. I just—c’mon, you know how I am. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

Cas shakes his head. “We have more pressing matters to attend to anyway. How do we even get close enough to the president to do something about Lucifer?”

“That’s a good question, and you know who’s not a good person to help us figure it out? A fucking Brit. We gotta get Mick out of here.”

Cas smiles and offers his agreement. Dean takes it as an olive branch.

Ultimately, it’s Sam who gets Mick to leave. While they’re coming up with a plan for the possibility that they might need to get close enough to the president to kill him, Sam announces that he knows an American hunter that deals in government business.

“But she, uh, doesn’t work well with others,” he says apologetically to Mick.

And that’s all it takes to get him to pack up and go. 

Sam’s hunter friend goes by an alias, Nevaeh, and claims that the name makes people believe that she’s younger than she is. She lives in D.C. and consults with the U.S. government about the paranormal and the supernatural. 

“Wait, the government knows all that?” Dean asks. 

Sam gives him a funny look. “Um, yeah? There’s, like, three whole binders dedicated to it that each administration passes onto the next. Capitol Hill is covered in warding, dude.”

“Do you think the president has been warded against possession?” Cas asks.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Sam says. “Probably all the yahoos in Congress, too.”

“I don’t get this,” Dean says, leaning forward on the library table. “Hunters live in the fucking shadows, everybody thinks we’re insane for believing in this shit until they see it, and now you’re telling me our government is in on it? And they don’t, I don’t know, help us?”

“Well, according to Nevaeh, the best they can do is ignore us. Like, they know we’re not dead, Dean,” Sam says. “They’re choosing to believe we don’t exist, but I’m sure they keep some kind of tabs on us.”

“I hate that.” Dean paces around the room, fuming. “I hate that so much.”

“I mean, that’s just government,” Sam continues. “They keep all kinds of secrets. I would’ve told you sooner if it was, you know, relevant.”

“Sam, if Lucifer is possessing the president, can Nevaeh get us close to him?” Cas asks.

Sam shrugs and shakes his head. 

They spend the next several hours trying to figure out what to do. Dean considers trying to summon Amara or Billie or even God himself, but what Chuck said to him rings in his head: that he can’t just have every supernatural being at his beck and call for whatever crisis he’s in. It seems like at some point they might ask for the favors to be repaid, and Dean doesn’t want to find out the price. 

Crowley shows up that night and confirms that Lucifer has actually possessed the president. 

Two sleepless days pass.

Sam stays in constant contact with Nevaeh to see if she can get them close to the president, but chances are slim, so they spend the rest of their time coming up with every other available option.

And then, suddenly, Cas screams and drops to the floor of the library.

Dean is the first to get to him. He puts his hands on his shoulders and squeezes him, pulling him upright and holding him against his chest.

“Cas! Cas, talk to me,” Dean says sternly.

“Angel radio. There’s so many voices,” Cas replies, his body stiff in Dean’s arms. “A nephil has come into being.”

Dean’s heart drops. He knows Cas has mentioned nephilim before, the offspring of angels and humans, but he can’t accept it. “No. No, not another goddamn baby.”

“Not just any baby,” Cas says, wincing in pain. “Lucifer’s.”

Dean gives Sam a knowing look. 

“So the president has a mistress,” Crowley says with an exaggerated sigh. 

They all sit in silence for a second. Dean absentmindedly rubs Cas’ arm, still holding him. 

“Well. I guess it’s time to head to D.C.,” Sam says.

Dean is staring into the eyes of the Madonna while she nurses the baby Jesus in a painting from the Renaissance. They’re in the National Gallery of Art, trying to blend in while they wait to see how close they can get to the West Wing. 

Dean can feel Cas walk up next to him, he can see him out of his periphery looking at the painting with him. He only says, “That’s not what either of them looked like.”

“Not sure the Ninja Turtles really cared about historical accuracy,” Dean replies.

“What?”

“Nothing. Anything yet?”

Cas sighs. “No. Sam’s still waiting on Nevaeh. Rowena and Crowley are working on a spell to try to expel Lucifer from the—”

“OK, got it,” Dean interrupts. “Doesn’t matter how quiet we are here, anybody could be listening.”

“Nobody’s listening. I would be able to tell.”

Dean shakes his head and walks to the next painting; Cas follows. 

After about one minute at the next painting, Cas asks, “Do you enjoy this, Dean?”

“Hmm?”

“Looking at art. Do you enjoy it?”

Dean shrugs, keeping his eyes on the painting. “I like how quiet it is here. I like that I’m not expected to do anything besides stand here and stare at old pictures.”

Cas hums. “You’re otherwise very bad at standing still.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t seem so bad here.”

What Dean means is that the bees in his brain have stopped buzzing, but he can’t say that to Cas. He can’t tell Cas that he itches constantly, that if he stays in the same place for too long then he feels like crawling out of his skin, but for whatever reason the quiet vastness of the museum and the paintings on the walls turn off that setting inside him. 

Cas seems to intuit it anyway. He walks with Dean for a bit, then eventually he moves on without a word, looking at different paintings than the ones Dean chooses to look at, but always staying close by. Dean can feel Cas’ presence in the room, and he finds him and looks at him for a second every time he moves from one painting to another. 

With his mind at ease, Dean drifts and daydreams. The art fucks with him, the beauty and simplicity of it making him feel lovesick. He dreams of coming to a place like this with a lover, spending an afternoon whispering together in the big rooms, standing behind them with his arms wrapped around their middle and his chin on their shoulder as they look at art together. 

He tries his best to picture a faceless person, a woman, but Cas is in his periphery and he can’t visualize anyone else.

As if Cas would ever be interested in going to a museum with Dean. 

Dean is startled out of his reverie by a text from Sam that just says, “Go time.”

He turns to Cas and nods at him, and they walk next to each other toward the exit. On their way through the halls and down the stairs, Crowley joins them, then Rowena. When they get outside, a tall, muscular white guy in a plain suit stops them and asks, “Winchester?”

“Oh good, the escort I ordered,” Dean jokes. 

The guy squints at him. 

Dean rolls his eyes. “C’mon, chuckles, let’s go.”

They get in a black sedan with the guy and he drives them through a bunch of places where he has to show a badge for entry. They sit in silence until they get out at the East Wing of the White House and meet Sam outside.

“Uh, is Nevaeh directionally challenged?” Dean asks, gesturing around the lawn. “Pretty sure Bradley Whitford works on the other end.”

Sam makes an annoyed face at him. “Nevaeh works for the First Lady. She’s gonna see how many of us she can get into the West Wing without it being too conspicuous. And then it’s, like, a big if for us to get into the Oval Office.”

A door opens, and Nevaeh gestures for them all to come inside. She’s wearing a light blue pantsuit and has her black hair tied up in a tight bun. She’s thin with light brown skin and big glasses, a serious expression set into her angular face, and when she speaks to them it’s in a soft, deep voice with a lilt, like she's more used to speaking Spanish.

“Obviously everyone knows who you are,” she says, leading them down cramped hallways. “Well, except maybe Rowena. You might not be in the database.”

Rowena smiles with fake shyness. “I do love being mysterious. Can never be too careful with government surveillance.”

They reach a tiny office and stand awkwardly shoulder-to-shoulder inside of it. 

Nevaeh leans against her desk and says, “You make one wrong move, we’re fucked. Despite what we know about the supernatural, nobody believes me that the president could be...you know. But I think I know the aide that’s his, uh, mistress.”

Before anyone can respond, Nevaeh pulls out her phone and says, “Oh good, she’s on her way here now.”

Less than two minutes later, a confused woman shows up and looks at each of them individually.

“Nevaeh, what is this?” she asks. “Who are you people?”

“Well, dear, I’m a witch,” Rowena says cheerfully. Then, gesturing to Cas, “He’s an angel.”

Cas does a little half-bow, and Dean looks down at the floor to hide his smile. 

“And I’m the king of hell,” Crowley adds.

“Oh, god,” the woman says.

“No, actually, he’s gone for now.”

“Cas,” Dean chastises, putting a hand to Cas’ back and patting it once. 

“Everyone, this is Kelly Kline,” Nevaeh explains. “Kelly, congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

Kelly’s face goes white. “How did you—”

“We can’t talk about it here,” Nevaeh interrupts. “But we need to know how many of us you can get into the West Wing.”

There’s more waiting around. Sam and Dean talk to several secret service agents who know exactly who they are and what they do, and it makes Dean want to scream. He holds his tongue all day, desperately wishing he could shout at them and ask why the government doesn’t do anything to help with the monster problem, why hunters have to live in the shadows and act like it’s some big secret that monsters are real. 

Instead, he answers their inane questions about the devil and tries not to punch them when they clearly don’t believe it’s possible for the president to be possessed. 

After two hours of circular conversations, Dean says he needs some air and goes out on the lawn with the guy who got them from the museum on his heels. 

Dean clenches his hands into fists and stares at the main residence of the White House, wondering how hard it would be to just walk right inside the front door.

“Dean,” Cas says from behind him.

“What,” Dean replies, not turning toward him.

So Cas walks around until he’s in front of Dean, in his personal space, and he waits until Dean makes eye contact with him before he says, “You don’t have to do this.”

“Cas, please, can we not—”

“I mean you could stay here with Nevaeh and Crowley. Kelly can take me, Sam and Rowena with her.”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “No. And it’s not a martyr thing, it’s just—Cas, listen, man.”

Cas looks at him, waiting.

Dean searches his face, looking at every inch of it before returning to Cas’ eyes. “I can’t do this again. Another baby, I mean. You—it’s gotta be you. You have to reason with Kelly, try to get her to…”

“I’m not sure it’s possible to abort a nephil,” Cas says quietly. “But that certainly would be easier than killing an innocent. I’ll do what I can, Dean.”

“Thank you. I, uh.” Dean shakes his head and laughs humorlessly. “I can’t deal with another kid again.”

“I know.”

They stand together for a second, then Cas puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes it. 

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean whispers. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Castiel replays his conversation with Dean over and over in his head. He wonders if he could’ve changed anything had he said something different, had he tried harder to convince Dean to let him be the one to expel Lucifer from the president.

By the time Rowena realized the secret service agents were under a spell, it was too late. Sam and Dean had been arrested for attempting to assassinate the president of the United States.

Castiel spends two days calling all of Sam and Dean’s friends.

Mary shows up at the bunker on day three and asks what she can do to help. Charlie shows up on day four and spends an entire 24 hours attempting to hack into the government’s computers to find out where Sam and Dean are being held. 

After a week, they have nothing. Castiel calls Crowley as a last-ditch effort and meets him at a bar. 

“Why should I care what happens to them? Lucifer’s back in the Cage, that’s all that matters,” Crowley says.

“You do care,” Castiel asserts. “About one of them at least.”

Crowley clenches his jaw. “You’re projecting, love.”

“You have people in the government. You have spies. Come on, Crowley.”

Crowley narrows his eyes and leans across the table. “It seems your delusions are based on hope, so let me set something straight for you. It doesn’t matter what you do or how you change yourself or how much you try and beg, Dean Winchester is never going to love you back.”

“What is it that you think we’re doing here?” Castiel asks, annoyed. “I don’t need a declaration of love in order to care about my friends. They need help, and I’m trying to help them. How is that so hard for you to understand?”

“Because you’re in love with one of your friends. And you wouldn’t be doing any of this if you weren’t.”

Castiel shakes his head and gets up from the table. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Crowley.”

From behind him, Castiel hears Crowley nearly shouting, “If you wait long enough, it’s going to be tragic when you tell him!”

Castiel ignores him.

By the third week, he truly feels hopeless. He should be looking for Kelly Kline, as Dean told him to do, and instead he’s drained all his energy on an impossible task. He and Mary sit together in the library of the bunker with the light of one single lamp, and Castiel has been reading on his phone for several minutes. He’s not doing anything. He keeps reading the same sentences over and over again, in his text message thread with Dean.

“I used to swim,” Castiel says, after an inexorable silence. “With the vastness of my being, I could go anywhere. I know what’s in the deepest parts of the ocean.”

Mary looks at him, her eyebrows raised.

“I’ve grown weak, my grace has waned.” He sets his phone down on the table. “I should be able to find two humans. I should be—I should have the strength to find them. Easily.”

Mary shifts in her seat. “Why aren’t you as strong as you once were?”

“I think...because I’m cut off from heaven. The longer I stay in a vessel, on earth, the longer I feel as if this is all I am. The whole of who I am. Scrolling through text messages on my phone, thinking about swimming at the bottom of the ocean.”

“If you were at your full strength, do you think you’d be able to find Sam and Dean?”

Castiel looks at her, considering. “Yes.”

“Then maybe you should find a way to get back to your full strength.”

Chapter Text

Solitary confinement is worse torture than hell. 

In hell at least Dean had something to do, pain to feel and to administer. After just a few days in solitary confinement, with nothing to do but sleep and stare at the concrete walls, Dean considers hurting himself in order to feel something. He has a stubborn will, though, and instead chooses to talk.

In his head, mostly, he talks to himself each morning to keep track of the days just like he would be writing in his journal at home. Then he prays. He prays to God and spends a lot of time cursing him, then he prays to Amara and tells her whatever is on his mind and recounts his favorite memories of her. Last, he prays to Castiel.

Cas, I hope you’re looking for us, he thinks, his lips moving with his silent words. I don’t have a clue where we are, so I’m sorry I can’t really help you. I hope you called Charlie, though, because I bet she could track us. I know I told you to handle that kid, so it’s fine if you’re prioritizing that over finding us. More important anyway.

As the time passes, Dean’s prayers to Cas grow more ridiculous.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. Not like you can hear me.

I miss you. I miss Sam and Mom and everybody else, but today I miss you the most.

You know I’m a miserable son of a bitch, but I really think this is the most miserable I’ve ever felt. I keep thinking about Amara, about us taking care of her, to remember a time when I felt genuinely good. I was really happy doing that with you.

I miss you.

After one week, Dean feels like dying.

He thinks that dying might be the only way out of this, and that he probably has a better chance in the afterlife than he does in his cell.

“Billie,” he says out loud, barely above a whisper. 

She doesn’t come, and he doesn’t call her again.

It isn’t until he’s asleep that night that she comes to him in his dreams.

“I can’t find you,” she says by way of greeting.

He’s driving in the Impala, down a road with nothing ahead. Billie sits in the passenger seat. Even in his sleep, Dean is so happy to see a friendly face that he feels like he might cry.

“They’ve probably got warding up,” Dean replies. “It’s the government. I don’t know what they know.”

“Mm,” Billie hums. “Were you calling me for my help?”

“Yeah. Was hoping you’d kill me and Sam and then bring us back to life once we’re out of there.”

Billie laughs lightly. “Fun idea, but I can’t.”

“Because you can’t find us.”

“And I can’t really kill, which I know you know. I can only reap what’s already destined to die.”

Dean stares at the darkness ahead, thinking. 

“Stop thinking about suicide,” Billie says. “You can’t kill yourself to solve your problems.”

“I’m not gonna kill myself,” Dean says petulantly. “But if you have any other better ideas, I’m all ears.”

“Castiel is working on it.”

Dean swallows. “Oh. That’s—OK, good.”

“Dean.”

He looks over at her, not even bothering to pretend to drive the car anymore.

She raises her eyebrows at him and tilts her chin down. “Whatever he does, you’re not gonna like it.”

He wakes up.

Another five weeks pass.

Dean doesn’t see Billie again. Or anybody else.

He doesn't eat much, not just because the food is bad but because his body loses motivation to function properly. He tries to stop thinking, to stop being. Every minute that passes, he thinks it must be the last. It has to be the last. It's never the last. 

And then, one night he falls asleep on his shitty little mattress against the wall and the next morning he wakes up in the middle of a cornfield with the sun shining in his eyes and a spider crawling across his face. 

He rolls over with a groan, swiping the spider from his face, and blinks as he sees a little girl crouching down in the soil and pressing the end of a stick against the ground. She turns toward him and smiles. It’s Amara. She runs away from him and dissolves like a mirage against the sky. 

“Sam?” Dean croaks, his voice hoarse. “Sammy?”

“I’m here,” Sam responds from several feet away. “I don’t know where ‘here’ is, but I’m here.”

Dean winces and forces himself to his feet, popping his knees and cracking his back in the process. “Cas!” he shouts.

“You think he’s the one who got us out?” Sam asks, still on the ground but propped up on his elbows now.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, distracted as he looks around the giant field. “Where the hell is he?”

“Why do you think it was—”

“Billie told me. Did nobody come talk to you? What’d you do all that time in that place?”

Sam clears his throat and makes a noncommittal noise. “Uh, I had someone to talk to.”

“Your imaginary friend, huh? What was his name? Sully?”

Sam finally gets to his feet and flips Dean the bird. “Yeah, my imaginary friend. Sure.”

“Cas!” Dean shouts again. “Castiel! Show yourself, you son of a bitch!”

“Yeah, ‘cause being mean to him always works,” Sam mutters.

A figure appears in the distance, materializing out of nothing, and it only takes Dean half a second to recognize that it isn’t Cas.

It’s Chuck.

“What the hell do you want?” Dean asks.

“Well, I would’ve preferred a ‘thank you,’ but I know that’s not your style,” Chuck replies, smiling at Dean and then at Sam. “Truthfully, when I took Lucifer from you guys, I should've considered taking Castiel, too. Could've straightened them both out at the same time."

“What?”

“He and I…We came to an agreement. You won’t see him for a while.”

“A deal?” Dean says. “He made some bullshit deal with you?”

Chuck shrugs. “You wanted to get out of that box. If it makes you feel any better, I was his last resort.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” Sam asks.

“Castiel needs some…He needs some redirection, so to speak. Don’t worry, I’ll return him to you good as new. It will just take some time.”

“How much time, Chuck?”

Chuck smiles, snaps his fingers and disappears.

Dean runs a hand down his face and curses.

“So, uh. How are we gonna get home?” Sam asks.

Dean turns to Sam, looks at him, really looks at him, and says, “C’mere, Sammy,” and yanks him down for a hug.

Sam melts into him, holding Dean’s back tight and burying his face in his neck. He has a beard now, and his hair is past his shoulders. 

“I’m so damn glad to see you,” Dean whispers.

Sam squeezes him then lets him go, straightening back up. He pats his shoulder twice. “Worse than hell?”

“Yeah.”

Sam brushes a finger along Dean’s beard. “You need a shave.”

“Do I, Castaway?”

They hug again, desperately, before walking out toward a road and hitchhiking.

It takes them two days to make it to the bunker. 

Neither of them ate much during solitary, so they’re easily able to live off of gas station snacks until they get home. 

Their mom is asleep in a chair at the war room table, her arms crossed over her middle and her chin dropped to her chest. Dean gently rouses her awake and gives her a smile to keep from startling her.

She startles anyway. “Oh, honey,” she says, standing and pulling him in for a hug. “Goodness, you look terrible. Both of you.”

She releases Dean quickly and goes to Sam, fretting over him and hugging him tight. 

“We’re OK, Mom,” Sam says.

“You’re skin and bones. And hair. Go on, get cleaned up and I’ll order takeout,” she says. “You probably can’t handle much because you’re starved, but I’ll try to get something you won’t hurl back up.”

They listen to her and head toward their rooms, both of them bent with exhaustion. 

“She’s treating us like we’re kids,” Sam mumbles.

“Yeah, well, this might be her only chance to get away with it without feeling weird about it.” Dean grabs the handle of his door and stops Sam, making eye contact with him. “Let her, please.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Dean doesn’t look at himself in the mirror in his room. He gathers clothes and linens and trudges down the hall to the bathroom, and it isn’t until he’s under the spray and washing the grime from his body that he assesses himself.

He can see his rib cage and his collarbones beneath his taut skin. His stomach curves inward, hip bones jutting out dramatically. He’s lost muscle mass in his arms and legs, but he doesn’t really look as bad as he feels. Just too thin, stretched out.

When he does look at himself in the mirror, it’s to shave his face and cut his hair. He looks shaggy and ridiculous, like a bear coming out of hibernation, and he starts with clipping his hair until his entire head is nearly shaved. As he works on his beard, he realizes how gaunt and hollow his face is, so he keeps some facial hair to hide it. The bags under his eyes are a deep purple, and there’s gray near his sideburns.

“Cas,” he says out loud to the mirror. “I don’t know what you did, but I wouldn’t have lasted much longer in there without aging another hundred years. Wherever you are, I hope you’re alright. And thank you.”

He immediately regrets the thanks, because he’s certain that Billie was telling the truth and that Dean will be angry with Cas for whatever he did to get them out. But in the meantime, he feels nothing but relief.

On his way out of the bathroom, Dean passes by Sam going in.

“Whoa, you’re skinny,” Sam says. “Is that what I look like?”

Dean pats his arm. “No, it looks like you did at least a few push-ups while we were in there.”

“Hey.” Sam grabs his hand to stop him. “We lost six weeks, and now Cas is gone.”

Dean looks at him, waiting for the point. He doesn't want to talk about Cas, doesn't want to even think about how hollow and empty the bunker feels without him here.

Sam continues, “We have to find Kelly Kline.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dean shakes his head. He had nearly forgotten about the unborn devil. 

Finding her is easier said than done. They spend nearly a week in the bunker just trying to reacclimate and gain strength and energy back. Dean sleeps harder than he’s ever slept in his life, and he feels so incredibly hungry but can only stomach a few bites of food before he feels sick.

It’s a different type of sick than what he used to feel when Amara was around. It’s a sick that feels like it will get better as his body heals.

His mom acts like his mom for the entire week.

For both him and Sam, she cooks or orders food for each meal, does their laundry, cleans the kitchen and the library, and offers them comfort in kind words and gentle touches. She doesn’t bring up anything hunter-related and bows out of the conversations whenever they discuss Kelly Kline or how to find Cas. 

It feels surreal, going from literal torture to coming home to no responsibilities besides recovery. Dean is so used to taking care of everything around the bunker that he spends a lot of time wondering what to do with himself. 

On day six, Dean wakes up late and finds a cup of coffee and peanut butter toast sitting on his nightstand.

He stares at it. Then he curls in on himself and cries.

There’s a knock on his door, followed by his mom sitting on the bed next to him and rubbing his back.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he says pathetically against the sheets.

“For what, sweetheart?”

“For growing up.” He shifts and looks up at her. “I haven’t, uh. Nobody’s babied me or taken care of me since I was 4. I can’t—it’s hard for me. This week has been…I don’t know. I feel like a kid for the first time in my life, and I’m nearly an old man.”

“Everybody needs to be taken care of sometimes, Dean,” his mom says. “I wish someone had taught you that when you were a boy.”

It takes Dean a long time to answer. Eventually he says, “I was too busy taking care of everybody else.”

Mary doesn’t say anything, but she keeps rubbing his back like she used to do when he was 4 and couldn’t fall asleep at night.

“Does it, uh—” Dean cuts himself off, clears his throat. Then, “Does it feel like you’ve got your kids back?”

“It’s been nice.” She pauses and squeezes his shoulder before removing her hand completely. “I’ve felt like your mother this week.”

Dean nearly corrects her, reminds her that she is their mother, but he understands what she means. So instead, he thanks her and lets her leave him to his coffee and toast. 

On day seven, Claire shows up at the top of the stairs covered in blood and guts and immediately stalks off to the bathroom without an explanation. 

Sam and Dean sit and wait for her in the library. She comes out with a towel wrapped around her head and a flannel pajama set on.

“It’s 10 in the morning, Claire,” Dean says. 

“Yeah, and I’m about to pass the fuck out in your guest room,” she replies, dropping into a chair next to Sam. “Have you found Cas?”

“What?” they ask in unison. 

“You know, the angel you guys used to hang out with all the time?”

Dean impatiently gestures for Claire to get to the point. 

“He said when you got back that you’d be looking for him, and he told me to come here and tell you not to worry about it,” she continues.

“Not to worry about what? About him?” Dean asks. “Has he met me?”  

Claire smiles, a small and genuine thing. “Yeah, so, um, he rounded up everybody to help get you out of there, and I mean everybody. And I don’t really know exactly what he did, but he knew it was going to cost him, so he told me to tell you not to look for him and that he’ll be back in some amount of time.”

Dean glowers at her.

Sam says, “No offense, Claire, but why did he ask you? Was there a specific reason to make you the messenger?”

“He said you’d listen to me over anybody else because I have no stakes here.” She looks from Sam to Dean. “Also because everybody else was really pissed at him.”

Dean closes his eyes in frustration and says in a slow monotone, “Jesus, just tell me what he did. Please.”

“I don’t know, dude. That’s what I’m telling you. He purposely kept me out of it because he knew you’d be like this.”

“Did he also tell you to be a week late?” 

“I got caught up doing my job, you know, hunting monsters and helping people? Kind of took priority over coddling the Winchesters.”

Dean gets up from the table and paces around for a second before putting his hands on the back of a chair and leaning forward. “I’m gonna kill him when he gets back.”

Claire winces. “Yeah, um, he told me to tell you that he knows that, too, and that it’s fine.”

Sam laughs.

Dean grips the chair tighter. “What the hell is this? Can he see the future?”

“No, he just knows you,” Claire answers. “I mean, isn’t he, like, your best friend? Doesn’t he basically live here with you?”

Dean starts to leave, muttering, “I’m still gonna fucking kill him,” as he goes. 

When Dean gets to his room and closes the door, he can still hear Sam and Claire talking, so he puts on his headphones and angrily stares at the wall while listening to music.

After a few minutes, there’s a knock on his door. Sam doesn’t wait for an answer before coming in.

“What,” Dean says, taking his headphones off but pointedly not looking at Sam.

“You should save your energy and be mad whenever you actually know what he did,” Sam says.

“Oh trust me, I’ll have plenty of leftover anger whenever he gets here. That’s my secret, Cap.”

Sam huffs an awkward laugh and leans against the door jamb. “I guess I just don’t see the point of being mad when you don’t have any—”

“Not why I’m mad, Sam.”

“OK. Then. Why are you mad?”

Dean glares at him. “Because he’s not here.” He drops his head and squeezes his headphones in his hands. “He’s not fucking here. Haven’t seen him in—goddamn it, two months.”

“Oh.”

Silence fills the room, the kind of silence that always accompanies them when Dean accidentally says something too honest about Cas. Every time they’ve come close to a conversation about why Dean’s relationship with Cas is so different and more volatile than Cas’ relationship with Sam, Sam goes quiet.

“I told him to take care of that kid. Rosemary’s baby,” Dean says. “He wasted six weeks.”

“Dean.”

Sam doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t have to. Of course he knows that Dean is lying. Dean doesn’t give a shit that Cas looked for them instead of finding Kelly Kline, but he can pretend. Sam will let him pretend.

“We’ll find her,” Sam continues. “And we’ll, uh, do what needs to be done. Whatever that is.”

“Yeah.”

“And can you just try to—I don’t know, can you chill out? Cas is gonna come back.”

Dean rolls his eyes and puts his headphones back on.

Claire stays for two days and spends most of her time researching cases with Mary and swapping hunter stories. Dean eavesdrops a little bit, if only because it seems like they’re speaking a different language. They both talk about hunting like it’s their life passion, like there’s nothing else in the world they would rather do, like they enjoy it. Dean can’t relate. 

On the morning that Claire is supposed to leave, Dean wakes up early to the sound of her moving around in the hall. He has to piss, so he groggily stumbles out of his room and is stopped short.

“You’re not Claire,” he says to Rowena.

“No, darling, I’m not,” Rowena replies sweetly. “Now go back to sleep and it will be like I was never here.”

“Wait, but why—what are you doing here? When did you get here?”

Rowena slips past him and waves over her shoulder as she heads toward the war room. “Like I was never here.”

After a second of standing in confused sleepiness, Dean goes to Sam’s room and knocks on the door. Sam doesn’t answer, so Dean peeks in and finds him sound asleep. 

Dean decides not to worry about it. 

In the morning, Claire tells them she’s found a hunt a few hours away and asks if they want to join her.

They do.

Mary stays back, claiming that she might have a lead in another town that she can check out while they’re gone. 

Claire speeds down the highway, Sam and Dean following behind her in the Impala. They’re trying to make it to the city in time for a high school football game so Claire can pose as a student from the visiting team’s school and try to talk to some kids about a student that recently went missing. Sam and Dean make a plan to talk to parents, too, with Dean acting as a dad to one of the kids on the other team and Sam the kid’s uncle.

At halftime, they meet up with Claire by the concession stand.

“Anything?” she asks before taking a bite out of a hot dog.

“Other than a couple of milfs hitting on me, no,” Dean says.

Sam adds, “What about you, Claire?”

“Yeah, um, I don’t know how useful my info is.” Claire grimaces before continuing. “The kid who disappeared, there’s, like, all these rumors about him. Apparently the only people that might know what happened to him are, uh, some guys that work at a gay bar in town.”

“What?” Dean asks.

“Yeah, I don’t know. Some of these jackasses seem pretty homophobic, so I don’t really know how truthful they were being. But it’s worth checking out I guess.” Claire looks hopefully up at Dean. “Can you go?”

“Go where?” Dean looks from Claire to Sam then back to Claire. “To the gay bar? You want me to go to the gay bar?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I can go with you, but it’ll just make you look suspicious. I think it’ll be better if you go in alone. We gotta get you a change of clothes, though, because the kids were saying it’s a real slutty joint and I don’t think army surplus clothes will fly.”

Dean’s brain short circuits. When he comes back online, he says, “Why does it have to be me? Why not Sam?”

Sam laughs and shifts awkwardly next to Dean.

Claire says, “Um, because? I’m pretty sure you can hit on dudes better than Sam can. No offense, Sam.”

“None taken,” Sam replies.

“What? I’ve never—I don’t—it’s not like I would have any clue what I’m doing!”

“Yeah, you would,” Sam says easily. “Remember that case when we first met Charlie, and you hit on that security guard for her?”

“What?” Claire asks.

Dean makes a “stop” gesture with his hands toward both of them. “OK, OK, Jesus. I’ll fucking do it if it gets you two to shut the hell up.”

“Perfect. Let’s go,” Claire says, and throws her hot dog wrapper in the trash as she walks past them. “You guys head back to the motel, I’ll pick up some clothes for Dean.”

“Nothing too outlandish, please,” Dean says grumpily while he and Sam follow her out to the parking lot. “I don’t need any fruity sequin shit, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, you don’t need the frills anyway to be believably, you know...” Claire finishes her sentence by angling her wrist down in a limp gesture.

“Excuse me, what the fuck are you—”

“Relax, Dean,” Claire interrupts, waving him off with her limp wrist as she gets in her car.

In the Impala, Sam says, “So, um—”

“No. We’re not talking about this.”

Sam sighs. “OK.”

An hour later, Dean walks into the gay bar and runs a hand through his short hair as he looks around. 

When Claire came back with an outfit for him, he took the bag out of her hands and stalked out to his car, shouting over his shoulder at her and Sam to call him if he wasn’t back in an hour. He changed in the backseat and was pleasantly surprised to find that Claire didn’t do so bad. The jeans fit him better than his old, worn-out ones, but they were so tight around the ankle that he tucked them into his boots. The thin, white t-shirt was somewhat see-through, but she also got him a silky blue button-down to go over it. He rolled up the sleeves, loosely tucked it in, and only buttoned half the buttons.

He’s still a bit skinny and is sporting a patchy beard, but he doesn’t look bad. 

The bar is loud and dark but also brightly washed in fluorescent lights, and everyone is dancing to some club mix of pop music Dean’s never heard before. 

Within 30 seconds of walking in, a small man with brown skin, purple hair and a neon blue romper walks up to Dean and says, “Well, hello, daddy.”

“Hi—hello,” Dean stutters, blinking down at the man. He has a pretty face, pretty enough that Dean would know how to flirt if the face were on a woman. “I’m looking for, uh, some people.”

The man laughs and twirls the tip of his finger around Dean’s chest. “A big shy teddy bear, aren’t you? I can be ‘some people’ for you.”

Dean blushes and drops his head, then takes a small step back from the man. “No, really, I’m looking for, uh, a bartender here. Gerry? Do you know him?”

The man flutters his fake eyelashes. “Of course. Follow me, papi.”

Gerry is a gruff-looking white man with a thick beard and a tattoo on his neck. He’s wearing a flannel shirt. Dean is going to kill Claire.

“You’re new,” Gerry says in a monotone, barely glancing at Dean before pouring a drink.

“Yeah, um, I’m wondering if you know a kid that comes here, his name’s Kyle,” Dean replies.

The bar is packed, so Dean has to squeeze his way up to the counter to get closer to Gerry, and the guys sitting on barstools don’t make any room for him. He can feel sweaty bodies rubbing up against him, but he tries to keep his eyes on Gerry. 

“What, are you a cop?” Gerry asks.

“No, I’m, uh.” Dean blanks. Faced with a dude as regular as Gerry, Dean forgot he was supposed to be playing a role here. 

“I’m just fucking with you, sweetie.” Gerry smiles, revealing brilliantly white teeth under his facial hair. “Kyle’s always in some kind of trouble, so I wouldn’t be too worried about him if I were you. If you need some stuff—” He makes a smoking gesture, “—I can find you somebody else until he gets back.”

“Right, uh, yeah. So, no clue as to where he could be? When was he here last?”

The pretty man from earlier appears next to Dean and laughs loudly. “Ger, ten cuidado. I think this guy might really be a cop.” He looks suggestively at Dean. “You know, usually Kyle goes for guys closer to his age. You’re not really his type.”

Dean momentarily panics, but then he looks down at the pretty man and tries to imagine what he would do in this scenario if it were a woman standing next to him. He thinks to himself, nobody has to know, and then puts on his most wolfish smile and says, “I’m everybody’s type, sweetheart.”

The man’s mouth drops open in mock surprise. “Oh, I’m sure you are.”

“See, I’m one of Kyle’s...clients from out of town, and I’m just worried because he never goes this long without responding to my texts. I’m just a concerned friend, alright?”

There’s a hand on Dean’s waist, strong and solid, squeezing his skinny hip bone. “I’m sure I can help you find your friend. What’s your name, honey?”

“Dean.” He immediately curses at himself for saying his real name, but he’s too distracted by the hand on his hip pulling him forward, closer.

The man smiles up at him, revealing perfect dimples in his cheeks. “I’m Angel.”

Dean blinks, tenses. “I, uh. I gotta—I’m sorry. I can’t—I need to—”

He stumbles and runs his way out of the bar, ignoring Angel’s voice behind him. 

Once Dean is out on the street, he leans back against a wall and catches his breath. He pulls out his phone and impulsively clicks on Cas’ number. 

“...Make your voice a mail.”

“Cas, you better be OK, I swear to god,” Dean says. “I need you to come back, man. I really need you to come back. I miss you.”

He hangs up before he can say anything else dumb, then he closes his eyes and holds his hand against his forehead to stop his head from pounding. When he feels somewhat calm, he opens his eyes and sees Angel standing several feet from him, smoking a cigarette and looking right at Dean. After a few seconds of staring at each other, Angel flicks his cigarette away and walks up to Dean and stands directly in front of him.

“So, you’re missing Kyle, you’re missing Cas,” Angel says softly. “While you wait for them, why not take what’s right in front of you?”

Dean just looks at him with wide eyes.

Angel comes closer, slowly grabs Dean’s hands and pulls them toward his hips. And Dean lets him. He holds him by the waist and finds him soft and small, and if Dean closes his eyes then he can imagine—

“You’re OK, baby,” Angel whispers, and then he leans forward and presses a kiss to the bolt of Dean’s jaw.

It’s been so long since Dean’s been touched with such gentle intimacy that he nearly loses it. He melts against the wall and squeezes Angel’s hips and tries not to think too hard about what he’s doing.

And then, suddenly, there’s a car horn honking at him and Claire and Sam’s voices shouting at him from the road.

Dean stops himself from violently shoving the man away, but only barely. He takes him by the hips and manhandles him to the side with a curse, then he walks off toward the car.

“Hey, cabrón! ¿Qué pasó?” Angel shouts after him. “What’s your problem?”

Without looking back, Dean responds, “I’m sorry! It’s not you, I’m just—I’m sorry. Lo siento, Angelito.”

He gets into the backseat of Claire’s car and slams the door shut behind him. “I didn’t get anything,” he mumbles.

Sam clears his throat.

Claire says, “Yeah, so, we have a good lead and we needed all hands on deck.” She looks at Dean through the rearview mirror. “Sorry for interrupting.”

Dean grunts.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. They break into several houses to track down Kyle, and he’s pretty close to death by the time they find him strung up in someone’s basement djinn-style.

Or something close to a djinn. They don’t leave it alive long enough to get its backstory. Claire gets the kill, and Dean tries not to resent her for it. 

It’s early morning by the time they get back to the motel. They all go to their rooms to try to get some sleep, but Dean only lets himself toss and turn for five minutes before he gets up and goes out on the balcony to watch the sunrise.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep either,” Claire says from a few feet away from him, in her flannel pajamas, smoking a blunt.

“Where to next, kid?” Dean asks.

“Back to Jody’s probably.”

“You know you could always come stay with us, right? We have a ton of rooms.”

Claire comes closer to him and holds out her blunt. He refuses.

“What was the guy’s name?” she asks.

“Angel.”

Claire laughs. “Angel? Seriously? God, that’s bad.”

Dean shakes his head, keeps his eyes on the horizon. “He was pretty. Like, as pretty as any woman I’ve met. I think he was wearing makeup.”

“In hindsight, I should’ve sent Sam. He probably would’ve actually gotten some info instead of trying to get laid.”

Dean whips his head around to her. “I wasn’t trying to—I’m not—it was just part of the…I was doing what you wanted me to do, I swear. He knew Kyle.”

Claire squints at him in confusion. “Wait, what?”

“What?”

“You’re not…Why are you acting like you weren’t into it? Do you think I’m gonna judge you for being gay?” She points at herself with her blunt. “I’m gay.”

“I’m not gay! Wait, you’re gay? You’re a lesbian?”

She waves him off dismissively. “Yeah. So what are you then? Bi?”

“No!” He white knuckles the handrail. “I’m not…”

“Dean. Jesus Christ.”

He blinks at her. “What?”

“Alright, um, I’m not exactly good at tact, so I’m just gonna be honest and you can get mad if you want to.”

“Claire, I don’t know what the fuck—”

“You’re too old to still be acting like this about your sexuality, dude. I know everybody’s on their own journey or whatever, but, like, get it together maybe? Were you attracted to Angel? Did you enjoy making out with him outside the bar?”

“We didn’t—”

“Dean.”

Dean looks down at his hands and fidgets against the handrail. “I, uh. Yeah, I was attracted to him.”

Claire doesn’t answer right away. She offers Dean the blunt again; he takes it.

Eventually she says, “It’s OK.”

Dean blows smoke into the morning air. 

“You don’t have to, like, decide anything about yourself,” she continues. “Or tell anyone. You know, figure it out in your own time I guess. At least do me one favor though, please?”

“Yeah, what?”

“Quit trying to act like you’re straight.”

Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then he opens his eyes to the sunrise and relaxes his shoulders. “Yeah, OK.”