Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Opening the door had been the first step, but he could only go so far. His body froze at the entrance to the bedroom, he couldn't get control of it. He was static, loosely holding a broom in the left hand, meanwhile, his right hand was holding the door jamb tightly, supporting all his weight, preventing him from falling apart. Taking a step forward was symbolic, it meant getting out of the pain zone and restarting, but his brain refused itself, and kept sending that danger warning to every cell of his body. His mind was screaming that if he started it, it would be the end. It would erase any memory.

“Dean, is everything okay?” Sam’s worried voice sounded right behind him.

He rotated on his axis, still using his hand as a support, he didn’t trust his legs to keep him standing up. His eyes found Sam’s eyes, he wanted to say something witty to ease the creases on the youngest’s forehead, but his mind kept sounding like a loud alarm, preventing him from formulating any coherent thinking.

“Dean, it’s okay if you don’t want to do this now or at any other moment. Seriously, man, you don’t really need to do this.” Sam said.

He felt that familiar burning in the corner of his eyes and took a deep breath to compose himself, although his voice showed he was horribly failing.

“I know, Sammy, but I need to do this, okay. Really need to.” It was everything he could say and it was more than he would like to.

He wanted to deal with this as something normal within the normality of The Winchester's life. Every single death was felt, mourned, and as time passed, they accepted it within the possible, leaving just the memories. But not this time. Soon it would complete eight months and the pain wouldn’t go away, instead, it felt like it was increasing day by day in the same manner as his longing.

Sam nodded, he realized that none word would be enough, never could be. Felt like fate was unfair with his brother. Dean’s life, since always, comes down to giving his all to others, especially to Sam, keeping him safe and protected. Even though, at the end of everything, who owned the best part was the youngest, meanwhile the older of the Winchesters needed once again to deal with the loss. His biggest loss.

Sam got his attention attracted to the interior of the room. He was feeling sadness tightening his chest while his gaze wandered around the bedroom. To someone who didn't live there, this place would be just another normal room, a bit stripped down though. But to them, especially to Dean, where some objects were missing, remained memories.

“There isn't a lot to pack up.” the younger one couldn't avoid that sound of sorrow scratching his throat. His brother came back to the doorway and Sam knew he was running away to hide the tears hanging in his eyes.

“I know. That stupid angel was never good at wanting things for himself. Dumb angel. He could always have had everything he wanted to. He just needed to say it and he would have it…” Dean's voice died into a low sob, but loud enough for Sam to hear.

The older one never told what exactly happened that day when Castiel was taken by the Empty, but the younger one suspected that something big had happened, something much bigger than the angel's death, and losing Cas was something that couldn't be measured because it was Cas. For Sam, losing Castiel had the same proportion as all the times he had lost Dean, Cas was his brother by affinity and choice, he was part of that family, always had been.

“Do you want to do this today? Do it another time, Dean.” Sam suggested.

The eldest of the Winchesters for a moment pondered the suggestion, after all his mind kept up all that incessant fussing about not touching anything, about keeping everything in place, like a shrine dedicated to Cas. He could do that, he could leave it exactly like that, but that would mean choosing to stop in time, to stop living, feeding only on the torturing memories. He would keep crawling to that place like a wounded animal looking for a hiding place to lick its wounds. He would keep up the routine of night after night abandoning his bed to plunge into the angel's, seeking comfort in the smell of the sheets, bending over himself, weeping softly all the longing he felt. But Cas would not approve of this. Castiel had sacrificed himself so that he would have the chance to be free and happy. To choose anything that did not lead him down that path was to dishonor the angel who had given him everything, even life.

“It is okay, Sammy. I’ll be okay. I’m gonna do this today, there’s no reason for postponing it even more.”

The youngest of the Winchesters still had doubts about whether it was the best thing, but he thought it would be wiser to let his brother get on with it without standing on his shoulders. Dean didn't need a babysitter, just space to deal with his emotions, and anyway, Sam would always be around if he needed one.

“Okay then. I'm off video calling Eileen if you need anything else I'm in the library, just shout out and I'll come running.”

“Don't overreact, Sam, I'm just gonna pack and clean up the bedroom, there's no reason for me to shout out asking for help. Go there before Eileen gets tired and snorts at you for being late.”

The younger man gave a strained half-smile, nodded, and made his way to the library before his girlfriend snorted at his delay. Dean followed him with his eyes, and when the younger man was out of sight, he turned resignedly to the open door. He forced himself to silence the alarm in his head, rubbed his face in an attempt to dispel the uncertainty, picked up the broom that was against the wall, and finally stepped forward.

*****

Of all the rooms in the bunker that was the most austere. Dean had done everything to convince Cas to choose another room, one that was bigger and more colorful, but the angel stubbornly wouldn't give up all that gray shit as the oldest of the Winchesters referred to the walls painted in a heavy tone. What he didn't know was that Castiel had chosen that place because it reflected his dark and uncertain inner self; in his mind, he didn't think himself worthy of anything, let alone comfort. In that time and after, all he could think about was how he had failed time and again, disappointing everyone, especially Dean.

Yet there were still little things that reflected his personality slightly. Next to the old television was the pretty album that Cas had bought to keep all the silly drawings Jack used to make. The other trench coat, in a much darker beige, was hanging on the old-fashioned coat rack, and on the tiny table by the door was the box of the game Sorry that he sometimes played with Dean when he had peaceful evenings. Above the table, the only painting in the place contrasted with the suffocating lead: it was a delicate watercolor drawing of a nice, smiling little bee.

The sugar-sweet novels that made Dean roll his eyes rested neatly aligned on the bedside table on the left side of the bed, and in front of them was a double picture frame, the kind that looks like an open book, two pictures were framed: the first was a beautiful picture of the two Winchesters flanked by Castiel and Jack, and the second had just Cas and Dean in their cowboy hats, smiling at each other.

The single bed was simple, covered with light beige sheets. It was very neatly made up, and anyone would think it hadn't been used since Cas had left. But Dean occupied it every night, messing it up with his nightmares that relived the moment the angel was taken by the Empty. And every morning as he carefully tidied it up, the eldest of the Winchesters promised himself never to sleep there again, only to forget his promise when the day was done.

Dean looked around with a heavy heart. It was as Sam had said, there was almost nothing to pack, yet sealing up those few things and storing them in some forgotten corner of the bunker was a task that required more than he thought he could handle. His eyes were drawn to his old Walkman, which had also been a gift from him to Cas, he had given it along with the mixtape of his favorite Led Zeppelin songs. The device was on the TV and he knew that the tape wasn't there, it wasn't anywhere and he knew this. He had searched the room for it because he needed to be sure about something he suspected: Cas couldn't be a part of that mixtape, always carrying it up and down in his pocket. It was certain that he had it with him when it happened.

He felt his body heavy, the fatigue was increasing as time went by. The exhaustion was so tremendous that all his muscles ached and on some days even his bones seemed to ache. He wondered if he would ever be able to live without all that feeling that pushed him further and further into the dark depths he carried inside his chest, and as much as he tried to see in himself what Cas had seen, he kept groping in the dark, blind to who the real Dean Winchester was. "Cas had said... no, Cas had stated that he was not John's blunt knife, that he was not made of anger and revenge, but of love. So and completely love, and that was why the angel had changed, and also why Castiel had loved him to the end."

“Cas, you idiot, what am I supposed to do with this? You had no right to tell me all that and then let yourself down, you damn bastard.” The broom slipped from his limp hand and fell with a thud.

He considered bending down to pick it up, but his body yearned for a minute or two of peace, and the inviting bed lured him like a mermaid. He would not lay down, just sit for a while waiting for the muscle pain to pass. He knew he was stalling because he suspected that all that physical pain was a symptom of stress, at least that's what Sam thought. His brother had been urging him to see a doctor, but Dean hadn't even considered it, especially after he learned exactly what kind of specialist he was supposed to see. Sam had chosen Mia Vallens to be his therapist, and the two of them, plus Eileen, had been confabbing behind his back. And then his brother called him in for a serious talk to tell him that of all the misfit hunters out there, Dean was the one who most urgently needed to see a psychiatrist. He wanted to punch Sam just for suggesting that "shitty idea", but it wasn't even necessary, just his skewed glance had been enough for the youngest to shut up and never mention the subject again, even though he would certainly keep gossiping with his girlfriend and "that shapeshifter wannabe Mother Teresa".

The soft mattress had been another one of his ideas, because if it were up to the stubborn angel he would keep using that hard thing like a board, with the excuse that he didn't need to sleep. But if Cas was a blockhead, Dean was five times more so, and the "mattress crisis," as Sam had dubbed it, had been just another of their many arguments. This made him smile because the truth was that he enjoyed those little provocations, and despite the usual grumpy frown, he knew that Cas also enjoyed those fights. He would never forget the day his brother, already out of patience, shouted louder than they did, accusing them of looking like a grumpy old couple. The younger brother threw the book he had in his hands on the table, called Jack, who looked on without understanding a thing, and left, snorting, saying that they were going to buy more beer and something for dinner. He and Cas exchanged astonished looks and burst into laughter, while Sam, indignant at being a laughingstock to both of them, slammed the door on his way out of the bunker.

All that seemed to have happened in another life and not so recently. Time. He had been thinking about the concept a lot, more than usual. It had become something natural since he had faced Chronos. But after losing Cas the whole thing had become a bit of an obsession. If he could go back to that damned day, he would never have gone to Billie's library, much less dragged the angel with him. If there was one thing he would give anything to change, it was his stupid decision that led Cas to his death. He woulda thousand times rather have the angel by his side, loving him in silence, than lose him forever.

He sighed resignedly. He knew it was no use getting lost in daydreams, it was just another mental trap to escape the purpose of being there. The cardboard box was in the hallway, and, discouraged, he picked it up and placed it on the bed. He decided to start with the items near the door and one by one they were placed inside. He put some tape on the box to seal the contents and finally, with a marker pen, wrote a large "CAS" on the top and sides. It hadn't even taken him twenty minutes to do this, but he still felt more exhausted and sore than before. The urge to sit down again to continue rambling was strong, but he forced himself to finish what he needed to do. It was just a matter of dusting off the furniture, sweeping the dust outside, locking the door, and handing the key to Sam, so that he would never again give in to the impulse of surrounding his life inside that bedroom.

With a crushed heart in his chest, he carried the box out and carefully placed it on the hallway floor. Back in the bedroom, he set about cleaning the furniture and finally picked up the broom to finish his work. He just wanted to finish quickly before he gave up and put everything back in place. He swept more vigorously than necessary and only stopped when, while passing the broom under the bed, he heard a noise of something coming loose. Intrigued, he dragged the furniture aside until he found a long, narrow rectangle cut into the floor.

“It's probably just some Man of Letters shit. I wonder how many more hiding places the bunker has that we haven't found yet?”

Curiosity spoke louder, he crouched down near the cutout and without much thinking pulled out the loose lid. The first thing he noticed was that it wasn't a very deep hole, it had been dug deep enough to accommodate a simple aged wooden box, and he picked it up carefully. The second thing he noticed was how light it was. No sigils or any symbols on top, but his fingers felt grooves diverging from the smooth surface, on the front where the small clasp was. Dean needed to bring the box near, there was a lot of weathering and whatever it was, it wasn't easy to see with tired eyes. And it was only when he hovered the object a few inches from his face that he understood what it was: Enochian.

But it wasn't just anything in Enochian. He might not be as well-versed in the language as Sam, but that one word he knew so well that he would never forget it. His memory was thrown back to that day, some years before, when one night, half-drunk, he filled Cas' patience to show him what the angel's name looked like in the ancient sacred writing. And that was what he had in front of him now. To his surprise, Castiel's name was written just below the clasp.

Dean froze for a moment. He had never seen that box, all those years of having Cas around, and the angel did not even hint that he held anything other than the few items he had in that room. On the outside there was nothing spectacular about it, not even the lock was something detailed and difficult to open, it was quite ordinary, meaning that whatever it held inside, it was important, but not dangerous.

Once again he gave in to curiosity. Carefully he unlocked it, pulling the lid upwards. He barely lifted it and was flooded by an intense light, the brightness exploded in his face and he instinctively turned his head to protect himself. It lasted a few seconds and just as it appeared, it faded. Dean was surprised, he opened it all at once to find out what the hell was inside that could have done that. And nothing could prepare him for that surprise.

“Son of a bitch!”

Chapter Text

Some time had passed and Dean was still in the same place without moving, he could be mistaken for a statue if it wasn't for his strong breathing. His eyes had not deviated a single second from the inside of the box, a mixture of astonishment and incredulity covered his face, and his mind repeated the same question in an infinite loop: “was it Cas'?”

He felt the joints in his knees crack. He was no longer a young man, too long in the same position, and his body was demanding better treatment. Without letting go of the box, he sat down on the floor. Because he was so close to the wall, he backed up to it, supporting his back and stretching his legs to get the blood circulating

His attention returned to the object. Inside, resting on the smooth wooden bottom, was a single feather. Dean had never seen one like it. It was long, about forty to fifty centimeters long, but what caught his attention was its color. It was not white like the others but formed by a gradient that started near the stem in a soft green and subtly changed until it reached the tip in an intense blue. It was beautiful. But the mystery remained, he had no idea if it belonged to Cas, for the simple fact that he had never seen his wings for real, only that fabulous apparition projected behind the angel. Cas had explained that they only manifested them on the physical plane in extreme situations because the wings of an angel were part of their true form and therefore could easily blind a mortal. Anyway, the eldest of the Winchesters had always assumed that all celestials had white wings, he had never imagined that there could be color variations and perhaps even shape.

Dean took the feather and brought it closer to his face, up close it was even more impressive. It glittered in a silky sheen, he was sure that if he touched it he would feel it. Delicacy was not part of Winchester's nature, so used to the coarseness of handling pistols and machetes, that was why he was afraid to touch something so fragile. With the utmost care, he touched the feather with his fingertips and felt the softness in the texture. Something inside him was convinced that it was Cas', he was very sure of it. His heart overflowed with emotion, he had a piece of Castiel in his hands.

The first thing he thought was that he needed to show it to Sam, his brother had to see it. He put the feather back inside the box, then closed it. He stood up almost in a leap, the excitement sweeping away all the anguish in his chest and the pain in his body, he felt revitalized, as if just touching that "precious little thing" had healed him.

He was on his way to the library when a sudden thought punched into his brain: time.

And then a second thought collided with the first: what if he could go back and save Cas?

He looked at the box in his hands, opened the lid, and contemplated the feather, this time in a completely different way. It was a feather from Cas, he was sure of it, he felt it in every cell of his body and whispered to himself the idea that was beginning to take shape in his head, “Dragon tears, a pinch of time sand, angel feather, my blood, and my soul.”

Would it work? The blood sigil was meant to lead a mortal to someone of his lineage, as his grandfather Henry had done so many years before. But Dean had Cas' feather, specifically Cas', and he wondered if it would be possible to divert the spell to take him to the angel. "Sam should know."

But before he continued toward the library, another thought formed: would Sam help with that crazy plan?

He knew his brother too well, he knew it would be a losing battle. Sam would never agree with that idea for the simple fact that it was so inconsistent. Rationally he knew that the younger man would be right if he objected and refused to help, all Dean had was a strange feather unlike any they had ever seen. That the oldest of the Winchesters had conviction that she belonged to Cas was a far cry from being one hundred percent sure, and Sam would accept nothing less. And on top of questioning who she belonged to, he would still have to deal with his brother's disbelief that blood secrecy could be used to lead him to Cas.

No, he would not talk to Sam. He would keep the whole thing to himself, find a way on his own.

"What the hell! I'm in the nerve center of all the knowledge of the Men of Letters and I know exactly where in the bunker there must be something to help me get that idiot angel back!"

*****

The knock on the door snapped him out of what he was concentrating on. He quickly threw what he was reading under the bed and gestured for Sam to come in. He didn't want the younger man to see the kind of reading he was consuming because, one, it would already draw attention to the simple fact that Dean was reading of his own free will; two, absolutely Sam would be mad that he had kept that particular item from the younger man; three and most importantly, because it was something that belonged in room 7D.

“Dean? Is everything all right?” Sam asked.

“Why wouldn't it be, Sam?”

“Well, you didn't show up and I went to Cas' room to look for you and you know, everything is exactly as it was before. Did you decide it's not the best time to, umm, put his stuff away?”

He had completely forgotten to warn his brother. When he decided to keep the feather to himself, he marched back to the angel's room and quickly put everything in place, because there was no point since he would have Cas back. And that was it, the angel would want his things. He knew he wasn't being rational, but he had told rationality to fuck off, his focus was only one and nothing would divert him from the path.

The only thing that hadn't returned to its place was the feather, which was still neatly tucked away in its box and now tucked away in the bottom of one of Dean's drawers, hidden under tons of flannels.

“I'm not in the right mind to deal with this right now, I just thought it was best to leave it alone,” Dean said.

“You did good, man. Give yourself as much time as you need.”

“Sure, I'll do that,” lying to his brother was making him uncomfortable. “And how is Eileen? Did she pull your ear for being late?”

“She's fine and no, she didn't pull my ear,” it was clear how his brother's voice changed when he talked about the huntress.

Sam smiled more and his eyes sparkled as if he were a teenager discovering his first love. Dean was sure that in a certain way he was. Sure, the younger man had loved Jessica and other women after her, but none were as in sync with him as the Irish woman. And those weren't Dean's words, Sam himself had told him how different and completely perfect Eileen was to him. To the oldest of the Winchesters, those two were made for each other.

“Dean, are you really all right?” Sam asked.

The older man found the insistence of the question strange, he was sure he showed no sign that anything was different about him, “I said yes, Sammy. You don't have to keep asking every five minutes.”

“Oh, well, it's not that. It's just that… I wanted to ask you another question, but I super-understand if you say no, it's really okay.”

This was a new thing, and Dean, having no idea what he was doing, tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes, completely emulating Castiel's mannerisms.

“Dude, do you realize what you just did?”

“Huh?”

“You did that thing Cas did when he had no idea what we were talking about. Tilt your head and stuff.”

“Did I?” he was truly surprised, he never thought he could reproduce the nuances of the angel. I mean, he had been at Cas' side for years and this had never happened.

Immediately he remembered his fingers strolling over the feather, "Did it somehow give me something of Cas' personality?"

“Odd. Or not, since I lived with him for so long.”

“Dean, we've been together forever and as far as I know, you don't reproduce my way and I don't reproduce yours. And we are brothers, it would make more sense.”

He felt the urgency to divert the youngest's attention to something other than him and Cas. “It's no big deal, Sam, it was just an unconscious thing. What did you want to ask me and you were all nervous?”

“Oh, yes, of course. It's just that well, Eileen, she needs to go back to Ireland to sort some things out and um, I thought, is it okay if I go with her?”

“Are you asking me for permission to travel with your girlfriend? Don't you think you're a little old for that?”

“You know what I mean, Dean! Don't play dumb. If you say you need me here, well, that's all that matters,” his heart melted. His little brother was willing to give up a happy time with the woman he loved just because he cares about him.

“Sam, go travel with Eileen, have fun. You, of all people, deserve this.”

“But Dean…”

“There's no need to worry about me, Sammy, you don't have to be watchful twenty-four by seven. I'm fine, I swear. Of course, I miss that damn angel, but I have accepted it and I am at peace with it. Because I know that idiot would close his face and look at me full of reproach for not living my life to the best of my ability. So just go have fun. Knowing that you are enjoying your life, the freedom that we have achieved, is all that matters.”

The brothers stared at each other in silence, too emotional to say anything. They loved each other, they cared for each other, and they would always take care of each other, but they understood that now there was no need for that overprotection of the past, because it was no longer just the two of them, there were many other people that became part of that family.

*****

Sam was leaving in five days, and Dean had not seen his brother so excited for a long time. It was a contagious joy, even more so when Eileen joined them the next day, the huntress was fun and always managed to get a few good laughs out of the oldest of the Winchesters. His brother thought his good humor was for doing what he had said: moving on. But the truth was that the possibility of being left alone to search the bunker for anything about time travel generated most of his contentment. He loved Sam, he was happy for him, but he couldn't wait for his brother to leave for Ireland.

When they finally left, the silence enveloped him like a warm, welcoming blanket. Dean felt amazing and suspected that a lot of it had to do with his new routine of spending time enjoying the pity. Surely that little piece of Cas, in some way he didn't yet understand, had been healing his bruised body and soul. Or maybe it was just hope mixed with the certainty that they would soon be together again.

The first thing he did as soon as he found himself alone was to hurry to room 7D. It was opposite the dungeon and precisely because of this it had attracted attention. Logically, the Men of Letters would have kept the best of it well away from prying eyes, but nothing could be further from reality. The room functioned as a garbage dump, without even the typical zeal of "those snobbish little cushions", things were just thrown there without any care. There was everything there: books, files, knickknacks, and even clothes and shoes.

At the time, he and Sam were frustrated that it was nothing as amazing as the dungeon. Not even, whether or not the magic that kept the bunker minimally clean worked in that room, dust and cobwebs were everywhere. They decided that if the former owners of the place considered the whole thing despicable, they would not be the ones to waste time to find out what it was all about. His brother had been quick to dismiss the room from his mind, but he, at the time he was setting up Dean Cave, looked for interesting items to decorate it with, and that's how he ended up in 7D again. He found nothing suitable for his fortress, but on the other hand, he discovered that that pile of discards was not random, but that it all belonged to one person: Dion Simos.

The eldest of the Winchesters could have let it go and deleted the place from his head, but he could not for the simple fact that Dion Simos was actually called Miriam Fortune. And that's how he learned that a trans person had been living in secret among the Men of Letters.

He should have contacted Sam about his discovery, but never the turn. Having the 7D all to himself was above all because he felt a strong connection to Simos. Among the belongings were some boxes stacked behind the door and in one of them were all of Dion's diaries. Whenever there was free time left, he read them, but until they defeated Chuck and he had peace to do whatever he wanted, he hadn't been able to make much progress on the boy's biography. For Dean, it was very clear from the beginning that Dion Simos was a man and no one would ever take away his right to assume the gender he identified with.

Bearing a letter of recommendation from the British branch of the organization, Simos became part of the Men of Letters in 1940. Reserved, he maintained a formal and distant relationship with his fellow members, was obsessively dedicated to his studies, and by the age of thirty was an expert in Angelology. His reserved personality did not bother others, because it was perceived as an excess of shyness. But everything changed in the fall of 1945, when J. C. Claussner joined them.

Claussner was a former member of the organization and a war veteran who had just returned home. Highly respected for having collaborated with the Judah Initiative, he was versed in the art of Necromancy and other dark sciences. From the beginning, he developed an obsession with Simos and was always spying on him. The boy did everything to keep away, but nothing seemed to have any effect to stop the silent advance of the other, Dion felt like prey being tracked and hunted.

The reason Simos had sought out the Men of Letters was to gain access to all their knowledge. The boy, who had never been part of the British branch, having gotten the recommendation through his unusual friendship with Sir Grant N. Moore, saw in that powerful organization the possibility of getting what he needed. Dion was in a hurry but exercised patience because he preferred to do the right thing with one hundred percent certainty rather than let his emotions get the better of him and ruin everything. But the arrival of Claussner and his sick fixation was instrumental in accelerating the execution of his plan.

When Dean Winchester began to read Simos' diaries, what struck him most was the boy's obstinacy in finding a way to recover what had been taken from him, and now he understood why he immediately felt connected to that person who had lived more than seventy years before him: Dion Simos and the angel Lecabel had been much more than just good friends.

Chapter Text

Dean was in the library, in front of him on the table, two stacks of diaries covered the last fifteen years of Simos' life. When he began to read them he had no idea that he would need the boy's knowledge so much. And there he was, more than half a century later, as determined as Dion to get his angel back.

But unlike Cas, Lecabel had been in Simon's life since his birth, because he was an Ophan, that extremely discreet class of angels who had entered the popular imagination as guardian angels. His mission was to watch over little Miriam Fortune and it was never his intention to show himself present to the child. But Dion, from a very young age, felt out of place, inappropriate, uncomfortable in the skin he inhabited. In a time where gender definitions were inflexible, anyone who dared to subvert this would be marginalized, and depending on the place, would be considered a criminal. For that child, who already suffered from the cruelty of racism, to feel trapped in a body with which she did not identify was too heavy a burden. Faced with so much pain and injustice, the angel took pity on his protégé and revealed himself.

Ophanim, of all the angelic classes, were the most sensitive and empathetic to humanity. Dion was not the only child that Lecabel was responsible for, in general his job was to coordinate the group of Zannas that were under his command and he was rarely ordered to personally care for a mortal. But Dion Simos was one of those very rare cases that made the whole Heaven organize itself so that a special soul, destined for great things, would come into the world.

For little Dion, to have the angel as a friend was to be allowed to be himself. As he grew older, Lecabel taught him not to fear his essence and not to bow down to injustice. He grew up knowing that the world around him was not yet prepared to deal with people like him, and the angel showed him how to cultivate the virtue of patience, and especially to fight for what he believed in. If he had the desire to change things, then he should transform this into Will, take all the anger, pain and injustice and transmute it into respect, acceptance and rights.

He was twenty-three years old when he realized his true feelings. Lecabel continued to treat him as her ward and did not even seem to realize what was happening. Dion lived that terrible dilemma of loving the angel, knowing how absurd it was, but unable to stop it from happening. And not even in his wildest dreams could he imagine that it was reciprocated. That is why he was surprised when, unable to bear it any longer, he revealed the truth only to beg his friend to stay away, and learned that the angel loved him too.

They were supposed to be happy, but Lecabel, by choosing to love a mortal and turning her back on her race, had incurred a great transgression, punishable by death. And so Heaven sent a small contingent of Seraphim to carry out the sentence, snatching away from the boy his best friend and great love.

*****

The eldest of the Winchesters felt even angrier at the angels. As if everything they had done to him and Sam, and to Cas as well, finding out that they had destroyed that young man's life only made him want to go to Heaven to punch every one of them into stardust. Whatever Jack was doing up there, he hoped that the kid would change those "shitty rules" that Chuck had made once and for all.

Dean had the last journal in hand and it was in it that he found what he was looking for. Simos was confident that the blood secrecy would work, curiously it was Serafina who suggested he go back in time. Dion had met the mushroom tea drinking angel in the spring of 1944 and when she learned of his quest for some way to get Lecabel back, time travel had been his best bet. Until then the boy was unaware of the possibility, but from that point on the idea never left him, until he found a way to do it.

Basically the difference in outcome between the normal blood secret and the adaptation Simon had made, was that there was no certainty in which year it would stop, and given the longevity of angels, there was a danger of being thrown so far back that, in theory, it could go back to Prehistory or perhaps even the beginning of Creation. It was a risk and Dean was determined to take it.

The only problem was that there was nothing to confirm that Simon was able to jump back in time and especially, if he had found Lecabel at the right moment. His narrative ended just before he cast the spell. But that was all it took for Dean, knowing that there was a possibility of finding Cas somewhere in the past.

The spell needed the ingredients he already knew and two others: Ficus Insipida root and a drop of grace from the angel.

“Where the hell did Simos get a drop of Lecabel's grace? And where the hell am I going to get one of Cas' grace? Shit, shit, shit!” he ran the journals for an answer and to his dismay discovered that the angel had given up his grace to become human, keeping it in a container he entrusted to Dion.

“Looks like it's the end of the line. So close…”

*****

Alcohol had always been his way of dealing with loss. For the past few days he had refrained from ingesting any alcohol, so determined was he to get sober and well, to be clear about what he should do. But now that he had lost everything and the only thing he had left of Castiel was that "damn feather", Dean just wanted to drown himself in whiskey to never feel anything again.

He slept on the cold floor of his room between many bottles and hugging the box with the feather. He couldn't remember exactly what had woken him up, but suddenly it was as if all the alcohol in his system had evaporated, and he knew exactly what he needed to do. He reached for his cell phone in the corner and, not caring about the time, called the only person who could help.

“Dean? Is something wrong?” the female voice on the other end was sleepy, and it couldn't be otherwise.

Dean looked at his watch and saw that it was four in the morning. “Hey, Claire. Sorry to wake you up, young lady. But I really need your help.”

The huntress immediately sat up in bed, completely awake. It was Dean, and he needed her. “Sure, Dean, I'll help you with anything.”

“You don't even know what I'm going to ask, and you say you're going to do it? Kid, you give me way too much credit, way more than I deserve.”

“Oh, shut up, old man. Aff, always so dramatic. Speak up before I give up and hang up on you.”

Dean smiled. He loved this girl, she was tough on the outside, but a teddy bear on the inside. “I have found a way to get Cas back. But I can't do it alone, and well, you're the only one who can help me.”

The girl remained silent, anxiety rising in her throat. “How?”

“I found a spell to go back in time. Claire, I can go back in time and save Cas.”

She was taken aback, of all the ways she had imagined having the angel back, that had even crossed her mind.

“Is this really possible?” her voice came out so low that he had to press his cell phone to his ear to hear her.

“Yes, there's a good chance it could work out. So, Claire, I don't want to get your hopes up because it's all very, shall we say, experimental. But it is a possibility, do you understand me?”

She understood. Probably after Dean, she was the person who missed Cas the most, the one who would do anything to get him back. “What do I need to do?”

The eldest of the Winchesters rubbed his face hard; here was the question that could lead to anything or nothing. “First of all, I want you to know that I will understand if you say no, okay? Because, at the very least, it will be painful.”

“Nothing can hurt more than losing Castiel.”

“Girl, when I bring that asshole back, I'm gonna make sure he knows he's fucking loved!”

“He deserves it,” she said, smiling. “So how are we going to do this?”

“I have almost all the ingredients I need for the spell, except one. I need a drop of Cas' grace.”

“And where are we going to get that, Dean? Did Metatron keep more somewhere else that Cas didn't know about?”

“I wish I could, it would be so much easier. But no.”

“Then how the hell can I help?”

“Claire, there is a chance, a very small one in fact, minimal even, that well, you have some of his grace inside you.”

“WHAT?”

“Keep it down, girl, you don't want Judy to know what we're talking about, take it from me.”

“Dean Winchester, explain yourself!”

“A few years ago, Sam and Cas discovered that when an angel leaves a vessel, it leaves behind a very small fraction of grace. Those two idiots did some experiments using Sam as a guinea pig after Gadreel was kicked out of him, and they were successful. Cas managed to extract the grace, but according to what I was told afterwards, the process is very painful, Sam almost couldn't take it. That's why I said that I will understand if you don't want to try.”

“Get everything ready, I'll be there in four hours.”

“Claire…”

“Dean, do you really think that after telling me all this I'm going to say no? I'm leaving the house in fifteen minutes and I won't tell Judy. I'll leave a note that I'm going to spend a few days with you, she'll be furious when she reads it in the morning. But I won't hide it from Kaia.”

“If you are sure about that.”

“See you in a bit, old man.” And before he could answer, she hung up.

He put the cell phone aside, picked up the box, and took out the feather. “I like to think that somehow you are guiding me through all this, little piece of Cas.”

*****

A jumble of coffee mugs, bowls of milk and cereal, a stack of pancakes, a basket of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and strawberry and grape jellies shared space on the kitchen table. Kaia was reading one of the journals without paying much attention to the conversation between Dean and Claire, occasionally remembering to take a bite of the sandwich in front of her.

“This Dion Simos has been through a lot, I don't know if I could handle half of it.” Claire said.

“Yes, he has, but there were also some nice things in his life. I haven't read all the diaries yet, but from what I've read so far you can tell that good things happened, like the years he lived in England.”

“And do you think he managed to find Lecabel?”

“I prefer to believe so.”

Kaia exchanged a look with Claire, they knew what that meant, to believe that the boy from the past had succeeded, he would too.

“Okay then! Let's get our party started!”

“Claire, you've only just arrived, you've been on the road for almost five hours. Go rest, we'll do it later. I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer.”

“Don't even try to argue, Dean, she's not giving up.” Kaia said.

“That's my girl!” Claire smiled, happy that her girlfriend knew her so well.

They exchanged accomplice looks, leaving Dean to shake his head in the negative, not believing that he would have to deal with the stubbornness of not one, but two brats.

“Come on, old man. Or would you rather wait for Judy to come down here behind us? By now she has read the note I left, and she's probably so angry that Alex and Patience will probably have to call Donna for help.”

“I want to see all this excitement soon.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You better see for yourself. Come on, let's go to the infirmary, everything we need is there.”

***** 

Nothing could prepare Claire for that. The size of the syringe for extracting angelic grace was the scariest thing she had ever seen and considering she lived as a slayer, it definitely meant something. Kaia shared the same thought.

“No way are you going to stick that in her!”

“There is no other way, Kaia.”

“So we stop here, I'm not going to let this thing touch Claire.”

“Kaia, it's okay. Sam has tested it before, there's no danger.”

“No danger? Claire, you told me he almost died!”

“But he didn't. Please, Kaia, trust me, I'll be fine. I just have to, you know that. Cas... it's the only way to get him back.”

They stared at each other for a few seconds until Kaia sighed resignedly. “Dean, you have to promise me that she's really going to be okay.”

“She will be, Claire is tough. But it's going to hurt, I'm not going to lie about that.”

“You should at least get some rest like Dean suggested earlier.”

“I can't do it, baby, I'm too anxious. I just want this all to be over soon, preferably with Castiel back.”

“What the hell. Let's move on then. What's the next step?” Dean took the file from James Haggerty, the Letter Man who invented the extractor for free. When Cas used the syringe on Sam, he didn't need the spell, since he could feel Gadreel's grace. Lacking the angelic ability, the eldest of the Winchesters would have to recite the magic verse in order to see Castiel's grace, if any still existed within Claire.

Dean used a mixture of fresh mugwort leaf juice and marcasite powder to draw the seal of Solomon on the girl's forehead, reciting the incantation shortly thereafter.

"Post tenebras lux."

A faint bright spot appeared on the right side of Claire's neck, just below the jaw and dangerously close to the jugular vein. Dean had done it, he now knew there was still grace to be extracted and he had the exact location to do it. He picked up the huge syringe, ready to begin the procedure.

“Okay, Claire, the good news is that you still have some grace left, the bad news is that I need to get on with it before the spell loses strength and disappears. And unfortunately I have used up the last handful of marcasite powder, so either we do this now or we'll have to leave it for later until we get more.”

“It should have started already.”

“You bastard. I don't know why I even bother.”

“Because you are a soft-hearted old man. Now shut up and get on with it.”

“You're the boss.”

Dean smiled slightly when Kaia held tightly to his girlfriend's hand, he really was a soft-hearted old man, and seeing those two supporting each other melted his heart.

He nodded to Kaia letting her know he would begin. Very carefully he pierced the young slayer's neck, pushing the needle in a little further, the girl gritted her teeth and squeezed the hand that held her. Winchester tried to extract grace at that point, but to no avail.

“Claire, I'm sorry, I'll have to push the needle in deeper.”

“You waste too much time talking, old man.”

The next push made the girl scream, Dean had to hold her tighter by the forehead, to keep the needle from slipping out. He prayed he didn't have to go all the way as he had with Sam, he feared Claire couldn't take it. Just a little deeper and the slayer was going into a state of convulsion, Kaia was holding her girlfriend in every way she could, her body almost all over the other's.

Dean finally saw the grace being sucked into the syringe, he was trying to be quick, the more he extracted, the more the light dimmed. If Haggerty's file was right, this meant that all the essence that was left of Cas, was being stored in the vial. His anxiety growing in the same proportion as his concern for Claire, she was about to collapse.

“Come on, come on, come on... That's it! I'm done! Hold on just a little longer girl, I'm going to get this shit out of you.” His actions were quick, he removed the syringe, placing it carefully on the metal tray. Then he flanked the young hunter's temples with his hands and cast a healing incantation.

"Mahday, eelohtah sahn. Serloh, eelohtah."

As soon as she finished conjuring, Claire's body convulsed, only to relax. She opened her eyes, surprised to feel completely fine. “What was that?”

“One of Rowena's spells. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, actually feeling great. And confused, because I thought I would die of so much pain.”

“Oh my God, Claire, I thought I was going to lose you! I will never let you do anything crazy like that again.”

“I'm fine, Kaia, I swear.”

“Okay girls. We have what we need to bring that idiot back.”

They exchanged smiles of victory and relief. For Dean the first step had been taken, there was no way back.

*****

He preferred to do everything himself from then on, but Claire refused to leave. After much discussion, with the score two to one for the "rebel brats", Dean finally gave in. They agreed to leave the next stage for later until everyone was well-rested.

Claire and Kaia collapsed on the bed right after the hearty lunch he had prepared, he was just finishing the dishes when his cell phone rang.

A glance at the screen and he prepared himself for the storm that was to follow. “Hey, Judy! What’s up?”

“Dean Winchester! What the hell is going on? Where are Claire and Kaia?” Judy asked.

“Stay calm. They're fine. They're asleep after eating almost everything I had in the fridge. I like girls like that, no-frills with these carbohydrate crap.”

“Dean, what are you guys up to?”

“Come on, Judy, what do you think I'm going to do? Take them to some strip club? They're fine, they're asleep. I can wake them up if you want.”

“Are they really there and fine?”

“Of course they are.”

“But why the hell did they go there? Claire left a note that is her style, resuming, it says nothing, ‘Judy, I'm going to the bunker to spend a few days with Dean, Kaia is going with me.’”

“I commented to her that Sam went to Ireland with Eileen and that it was boring to be here alone. I guess that aroused some kind of maternal instinct? Or they just really wanted a change of air and saw an opportunity. So rest assured, they are safe and sound.”

“Peace of mind is all I won't have knowing that three big kids are alone without an adult around.”

“Hey, hey!”

“Dean, promise me that if there's anything you'll call me immediately. It's not a request, kid, it's an order.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

“Why don't I have a good feeling about this?”

“Because you're a mommy goose that's always worried. Judy, relax, we'll be fine. Watch lots of movies, stuff ourselves with bacon, and once in a while take Baby for a walk before she gets lazy.”

“No hunting!”

“No hunting, Sheriff, I promise.”

“Okay then. Dean, I'm entrusting my daughters to you. Take good care of them.”

“I will.”

“And tell Claire to call me, she's not getting off that easy. And be sensible!” he hung up with a guilty conscience, he didn't like lying to Judy, but if he told her the whole story she'd freak out, and she'd show up at the bunker-like divine fury. It was better that he stayed in the dark about the whole thing.

The fatigue of the last two days had taken its toll on him. He also needed rest, especially since the next stage required the use of his soul, he needed all the extra energy he could get, whether physical, mental, or spiritual.

*****

Claire was on the verge of a fit of rage. If there was one thing she hated, it was being left out of things. And that's what Dean had done, leaving her to tell her at the last minute. “You've got to be kidding me! What do you mean you don't know at what point in the past you'll meet Cas?”

“Claire, calm down, it's going to be okay.”

“All right? You're crazy! Now I understand why you hid it from Sam, he would never let you do that.”

“I know it's not a good plan, but at least it IS a plan. And that's all that matters.”

The girl huffed, too angry even to object. She wanted to call Sam and Judy, but it wouldn't do any good except worry them, because, by the time they got to the bunker, Dean would have jumped back in time.

“Dean, I have to agree with Claire, it's too risky,” Kaia said.

“Look girls, I'll take some of the ingredients of the normal blood secrecy with me. The most that can happen is that I end up in Ireland, messing up Sam's honeymoon.”

They exchanged glances, still in doubt, but this argument at least eased the tense atmosphere a little.

“Come on! It's not that absurd. I do the spell, find Cas, depending on which moment in the past he is, or I warn him what's going to happen, or I save him, or I take him by the wings and bring him back to the present and Jack has to do his best to put everything in order, it's the least he can do since he didn't rescue him from The Empty. And in case he doesn't find it, I redo the spell and return. It's bam, no drama, clean and effective.”

“You make it sound so simple when it's not, you hardhead!”

“Claire, girl, it's simple. And if we think about it too much, we'll only create more difficulties. Either we do it this way or we give up Cas forever. Are you willing to do that? Because I'm not. If there is a single chance, no matter how small, I will take it. I'd rather take my chances than live a life of regrets for not having tried.”

The young huntress paled. Put from that perspective, it made perfect sense. Because if it were her in Dean's shoes, she would do the same. “All right, old man, let's go ahead with this crazy plan.”

*****

Claire was just finishing mixing the Ficus Insipida root, with the dragon tears and the sand of time when Dean entered the library holding two rectangular boxes. One of them the girls already knew, it was where the syringe with the extracted grace was kept. They figured the other could only be the one that held Castiel's quill.

“All set here?” Dean said.

“Hmmm, hmmm.”

“Ok, let me see that,” Dean took the young hunter's place, he wouldn't give up adding the last ingredients. First, he poured a drop of the grace, there wasn't much and the rest he gave to Claire, the girl intended to put it in a small glass jar and use it as a pendant, Dean's idea when he told her about Anna and Uriel.

Finally, she opened the box that held the feather. The girls moved even closer, ecstatic with such beauty. The feather was glowing brighter, it seemed to be a consequence of being so close to the angel's grace.

“It's beautiful! I would never have imagined Cas' wings to be so different, I always thought they were white.”

“Yeah, a mystery to me too. Because angels have white feathers, at least most do. Maybe it's because Cas was a Seraph? That's a possibility.”

“Seraph?” Kaia asked.

“Class of warrior angels, Kaia, I think I already mentioned to you that there is a whole hierarchy among them. Cas was a very powerful and important Seraph before he fell.”

“I need to learn more about these things.”

“Well, after I'm gone you'll have a whole library of nerdiness to catch up on,” he slapped the table. “okay, let's get this over with. You know, if I'm not back in three days, call Sam and Judy, tell them everything. And reinforce to Sammy that he is not supposed to do anything to bring me back, just go on with your lives.”

“Dean, I swear if you don't come back, I'll knock down Heaven to get Jack's attention and force him to bring you back just so I can shoot you.” Claire said.

“Claire…”

“I won't argue again. And go soon, the sooner you go, the sooner you come back.”

Dean put the quill down on the table and pulled the girl into a hug. She tried to be strong, but it was impossible to hold back her emotions, she just allowed the tears.

“Promise me you'll come back,” her face was sunk into Dean's chest, she held his coat tightly.

“I promise, brat,” they held each other for a few more seconds until Claire pulled away.

Dean returned to the spell, put the feather together, which, to their surprise the moment it touched grace, fell apart, becoming one thing. The oldest of the Winchesters mixed all the ingredients together, and when he decided it was good, he walked over to one of the pillars at the entrance to the library and drew the sigil there.

He looked one last time at the girls, took a deep breath and verbalized the incantation.

“ree-tah

zod-ah-kah-rah

ah-ah-ee-oh-em

pah-peh-noh-rah

gee-geh-ee-pah-hoh”

And Dean Winchester disappeared into a spiral of blue-green light.

Chapter Text

The first thought he had was that this form of time jumping required much more energy, unlike the energy a human expends being teleported by an angel. The second was that he needed to eat something, he was feeling a terrible hunger. And the third was: where the hell was he?

Dean looked around for something to indicate where he had landed, but he could only see trees. He was probably in a park, god knows where and in what weather. The position of the sun indicated that it was around sixteen o'clock. From where he was standing, the sound of running water reached him clearly. There was a river nearby, so he started there. Dean didn't have to walk far to come across a large river with calm waters, but there was still nothing to identify its location. He followed the bank in the same direction as the current and walked for almost thirty minutes until he found a simple but well-kept hut. He approached it cautiously, made a round of the place, and when he was sure that there was no one there, he used his old tool kit and opened the door with ease.

He was definitely in the past because everything around him reminded him of the time he spent in Chicago hunting Chronos with Eliot Ness. If he was not in the 1940s, he was very close. Or else the owner of that cabin was some kind of vintage decor fanatic. The mystery ended when he found a calendar hanging on the wall; it was August 14, 1945. Even more shocking was to see the newspaper headline on the table: THE WAR IS OVER.

“It can’t be! I'm having a ringside seat at the end of World War II. Awesome!”

The loud rumbling of his stomach overcame his enthusiasm; he needed to eat something. To his luck, inside the fridge, there was half a cherry pie. He also took a bottle of beer and sat down to eat. He needed to be quick, as he ran the risk of being caught in the act.

It was only when he finished he realized something important: why had he ended up in 1945? Cas told him he had been away from Earth for many years, if memory serves him right the last time the angel had been among humans, before rescuing him from hell, had been at the beginning of the century, when he was part of the Ishim garrison. So why on earth had the spell cast him that year?

He couldn’t finish his thoughts because the sound of footsteps outside made him jump out of his chair. The Winchester needed to escape. He had little time, someone was about to enter. All he needed to do was hiding, and the options were non-existent. The small cabin had little to offer, and Dean stayed behind the door. He would have to fight his way out of that house.

The door opened with a creak, and Dean held his breath. Any moment he would be seen. A woman of medium height stepped inside. The Winchester glued himself even more to the wall and was bracing himself for what was to come when a female voice coming from outside made the young woman turn to see who it was.

“Castiel!”

Dean was astonished.

“Mirabel? Has something happened?”

Her voice had a pleasant timbre, but not without a harsh tone. Certainly not like Jimmy Novak, but still very reminiscent of Castiel's way of speaking.

“Ishim sent me, you must meet him.”

There was no answer, but the door was closed again, and then he heard the familiar rustling of wings. The angels were gone.

The eldest of the Winchesters breathed a sigh of relief and looked out the window, just in case.

“What the fuck! Cas is a woman?” Dean brought his hand to the back of his head as he tried to assimilate the news. He hadn't counted on this turn of events.

“Shit, I need to be practical. Okay, Cas is a woman. That doesn’t change anything, right? It's still Cas. And he doesn't know who I am, so I can't improvise. This is Castiel the warrior, angel of the Lord and blah blah blah, it's easier for him to kill me first and ask questions later.”

He was sure that he was alone again, so he opened the door to leave. He was already about ten steps ahead when he froze for the second time.

“Dean? What are you doing here?”

He turned toward the voice he knew so well. Right behind him was Castiel, his Castiel, and not the one who had just left, “Cas? Is that really you?”

The two of them stared at each other, too confused to speak. It was the angel who broke the strange mood; he raised his head as if he was listening to something, probably the Angel Radio. And before Dean could say anything, Cas stepped forward and held him by the shoulder. “Come on, it's dangerous to stay here. We can talk somewhere else,” and they disappeared in a flutter of wings.

*****

The afternoon was almost over, but it was still possible to see something before night fell. They were in a clearing on the riverbank, and Dean felt his stomach twist as soon as they landed. The sum of a jump in time plus a flight almost immediately afterward was too much for his system. He felt that the small meal he had eaten earlier was coming back in reflux, and before he could stop it, he threw up everything that had not yet been digested. He felt sick, exhausted, and weakened. Not exactly the image he had made of himself when he thought about what his reunion with the angel would be like.

“What the hell, Cas!”

Standing in front of him, the Seraph kept a belligerent posture. His crossed arms emphasized his haughtiness, and his narrowed eyes partially obscured the blue of his irises. Castiel could not hide his distrust.

He approached Dean, scrutinizing his face.

And for a moment the Winchester remembered a time long gone, and that memory was so amusing that he brought it back, “Cas, we've talked about this. Personal space?”

The angel's eyes sparkled in recognition and he instinctively took a step back, his voice softening, “My apologies.”

Dean wanted to put the whole fucking conversation aside and hug the angel, but he knew Cas too well, knew the other would demand answers before anything else. Because, given the younger appearance of his vessel, surely Castiel standing before him was not the same angel The Empty had taken, never to give him back. Dean would venture to say that maybe it was Cas post-Purgatory, who knows, his presence in that decade was some trick of Naomi’s.

“Dean, what year are you from?”

“2021. And you Cas? Because you are definitely not the Cas of my time.”

“2014.”

“2014? When Metatron cast out the angels and closed Heaven? Cas, you never told me you traveled to the past. What's going on, man?!”

“I have no idea why I didn't tell you, maybe because I didn't think it was relevant.”

“You have got to be kidding me. Another lie, Cas? One more time hiding something from me? I keep wondering how much more you kept from me, not trusting what we had.”

“Dean…”

“Can I at least know what you came here for, or is that also irrelevant?”

The angel sighed resignedly. He hadn't counted on this unusual situation when he jumped back in time, “I'm tracking some of Metatron's soldiers.”

“Why on earth would he send angels to 1945?”

The angel was silent and looked away.

“CAS!”

“To kill me. You saw for yourself, I was on Earth at that time, in another vessel, of course. It was for a brief period, but enough to open a window of opportunity. And if they kill me here, well…”

“You won't exist in the future, and therefore, you won't command the faction opposed to Metatron. Cas, from what exact point in 2014 did you come from?”

“June. June 11.”

Dean remembered perfectly what moment the angel was talking about. If Cas came from the 11th, it means that four days later he will choose me over the angels. How could I have been so blind back then? That was probably this idiot's first great act of love.

“You realize, don’t you, buddy, that I am proof that no one can kill you in the past, right?”

“Dean, just because you are here the whole future may have been altered.”

“What are you talking about, man?”

“That we don't know which event allowed you to have the future you had, whether it was me coming alone into the past or the two of us. Do you understand? The future has just gained two parallel timelines and depending on what we do here, that number could increase.”

“Damn!”

“Dean, why are you here anyway?”

He looked at the angel in shock, not knowing what to say. If there were no other possibilities for the future, it meant that in one of them Cas would die taken by The Empty. How would he know what to do to choose his actions so that they would not lead them to that moment? Because if there was a possibility to alter the future so that the angel would never have to sacrifice himself, he wouldn't think twice about doing it.

“Dean?”

“Cas, you need to know some things that happened in the future. Things about you.”

“Didn't you pay attention to what I just said? Just your coming here has already created a new timeline. If you tell me things about the future that alter my decisions, we will probably create new timelines that could be much worse than the future you want to avoid. So don't say anything, let's try to keep everything as safe as possible.”

“But Cas—”

“No discussion, Dean. I don't want to know about my future, subject closed. Right now the biggest anomaly is Metatron's soldiers trying to kill me and that's what I'm going to focus on. The ideal is to send you back to your own time.”

“No way!”

“Dean, it's dangerous for you to stay here!”

“I'm not leaving you again!”

There was so much despair, sadness, and pain in those words that Castiel felt stunned. He had been so concerned with saving himself in the past so that he could continue to be with Dean in the future, that understanding that he probably wouldn't be there, and that somehow Dean blamed himself for this, made his chest sink, “All right, Dean, you stay. But promise me you'll be careful and that you won't talk about the future.”

“Okay, I promise.”

The angel softened his expression and smiled in that adorable way that made his blue eyes sparkle. He had no idea what would happen from then on, but he certainly felt happy to have Dean by his side, “I realized we didn't greet each other properly.”

He stepped forward again, entering Winchester's personal space, “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean didn't care about anything else, he just wanted to kill the longing. He closed the space between the two of them, pulling the angel into that longed-for hug.

Chapter Text

When Castiel told him it would be better if they went to the place where he was staying, since night had fallen and there was no lighting where they were, Dean thought he was suggesting a motel or something like that.

They were in the back of a large wooden barn; by Winchester's calculations, the building was about seven meters long, five meters wide, and eight meters high. It was very well structured and divided into two floors by a solid mezzanine. Underneath, on the left side, there was everything needed for tilling, plowing, and sowing the land, as well as gardening tools that would make any landscaper feel like they were in paradise. On the right side, next to the huge front door, a thick cloth cover completely covered what was probably a car. Dean walked over and, unable to resist his curiosity, lifted a piece of the cover to look, “Holy crap! Is that an SS Jaguar 100?”

“Manufactured in 1939, yes.”

The Winchester turned to the angel, “Sure, now you understand cars. This trip back in time is giving me a headache.”

Cas narrowed his eyes in concern, “You need to rest, Dean. First vomiting and now a headache, those are symptoms of the time jump.”

“It's not a real pain, Cas. It's a figure of speech.”

Understanding spread across the angel's face, “Oh, it's a figure of speech. Because I know about cars and it gives you a ‘headache’,” he gestured with his hands to emphasize the quotation marks, “I get it. Although I don't understand why knowing about cars would be the reason for your ‘headache’.”

Dean closed his eyes in and then laughed his head off.

Castiel didn't understand what was so funny about what he had said, but it didn't matter, he could only think how wonderful it was to see Dean relaxed. When he left 2014, he was dealing with vital matters. The war with Metatron and the threat to his past self were at the top of the list. But there was something that was above all: the Mark of Cain's ever-increasing control over Dean. Seeing him free of the curse was a relief to the angel, and without realizing it, he smiled happily.

“You know, Cas, I really missed this, man.”

The smile died. Once again Dean's words were throwing weight on the future, “Come, let me show you the rest of the place.”

A little behind the car was the access to the top. The straight, wide stairway began with ten steps, the tenth being the longest, serving as a transition to the next ten. Castiel climbed up, closely followed by Dean, and Winchester was awestruck when he reached the last step. The entire top of the barn had been put to excellent use, functioning as a sort of loft. Although Dean knew nothing about architecture, he knew that, in the 1940s, this architectural design was far ahead of its time. The mezzanine had several platforms subtly elevated, creating levels, giving the sensation of space division, as if they were rooms. The decoration was something else, with the predominance of green in a soft tone, in contrast to the blue, red, and yellow of the carpets, cushions, chairs, bookshelves, shelves, and many other items harmoniously distributed. Cas moved on towards the huge window. The space there was decorated to be a bedroom, a comfortable double bed stood out, besides it a three-seater sofa, a sturdy trunk, a dressing table with a low stool, a three-door closet, and a round table with two chairs completed the set.

“Cas, what is this place?”

“It is part of the property of a good friend.”

“A friend? An angel, you mean?”

“Not an angel, a woman. Human.”

“So it's your other vase that I saw before, right?”

“No, not her.”

“Did you have a lady friend in 1945?”

“I already told you yes.”

An uncomfortable feeling came over Winchester, knowing that Cas had female friends, spread out over who knows where and in which place in time, left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, “And this friend of yours, does she know who you are? I mean, does she know about you?”

“Does she know I am an angel? Yes, she does.”

“And you trust her to reveal something so important.”

“Isobel has my complete trust, Dean. She is, how can I put it, a special case.”

Winchester didn't know how to interpret this, he was just sure that the whole friendship thing was making his mood worse and worse.

“Make yourself comfortable, get some rest. I'll get you something to eat, it will help you recover faster from the jump. We'll talk more when I get back.”

“I saw the kitchen, but you talked as if you were going somewhere else.”

“I am. There's no food here. You know I'm not hungry, so I have no reason to keep food in this place.”

“You don't have to sleep either, and yet there's a nice bed here,” Dean felt like a childish idiot for his voice coming out irritated, because there was nothing to irritate him about, even more so when Cas was as always, looking out for him.

The angel still didn't understand his frustration and looked at him inquisitively, “Yes, Dean,” he sighed somewhat impatiently, “I have a bed, but I don't use it for sleeping, obviously,” this is just a place to keep away prying eyes. Or do you think it's better if I wander around, exposed to Metatron's soldiers?

“Of course not, man! I just... ah fuck, never mind. Go on, get a piece of pie or something. I'm still starving.”

“I'll be right back.”

Contrary to Dean's expectation, the angel didn't disappear in a flap of his wings; he turned to the stairs and climbed down. Winchester glued himself to the window and because of the lighting over the front door, he saw the angel exit through it and move on until the dimness surrounded him. When they came walking from the riverbank, which was just behind the barn, he didn't get a glimpse of the beautiful colonial-style house, because it was in front, about five yards from the main entrance. He assumed that this was the residence of his friend.

Castiel was back twenty minutes later. He was carrying a golden metal tray that looked quite old. It was large enough to accommodate a soup plate, a smaller one with pieces of bread, another of the same size with a generous slice of pie, and a tall thin glass cup with a yellowish liquid inside. A delicate cloth napkin accompanied the carefully arranged look. The angel placed the tray on the table and gestured for Dean to sit down.

“Orange juice, Cas? Really?”

“I'm sorry, but I don't think alcohol is appropriate. You need to recover and orange is vitamin C, healthier.”

“Hops is also healthy.”

The angel rolled his eyes upward, impatient, “Dean, sit down and eat.”

It had been a long time since Winchester had heard that commanding tone, and at first, out of sheer stubbornness, he thought of refusing but realized that this was not only an immature attitude but also a waste of time. It was Cas, he had recovered it, it would be very stupid of him to spend his time with the angel in stupid discussions. He sat down obediently and ate.

Cas was in the chair in front of him and watched him in silence, waiting for him to finish so they could finally have the conversation they needed. Between one spoonful and another, Dean raised his eyes to him, still half disbelieving that everything was real, that Castiel was alive, right there, watching his every move. If it were another time in the past, Winchester would just think that look was merely the angel's strange way of dealing with things of humanity, but knowing what he knew now, it was hard for Dean to keep his heart in the right beat, because he knew. He knew what even this 2014 Cas hadn't realized yet: that the angel was in love with him.

“Jesus! That pie is divine!”

Castiel smiled indulgently. To him, Dean was sometimes like a big kid, extremely easy to please, “It's apple, one of your favorites.”

“Oh, yeah!”

He attacked the pie with his characteristic gluttony; good table manners were far from one of Dean Winchester's best attributes. The slaps on his stomach after he finished made his lack of concern for the rules of etiquette even more evident. He stood up and took a long stretch, his eyes fixed on the bed, but he pushed away the urge to throw himself on it. The conversation with Castiel was the priority.

“You're tired, you should sleep.”

“I'm fine, Cas. We need to talk.”

“We can do it tomorrow.”

“I know, but I don't want to. The longer we put this conversation off, the weirder this all gets.“

The angel looked at the clock on the dressing table; it was seven twenty at night, early, but given Dean's condition, he didn't intend to extend the conversation too late. He took the chair he was sitting in and brought it close to the huge window. Castiel liked to stay there and look at the clear and starry nights of that place. Winchester followed him, sitting face to face; they were ready for the confrontation that was sure to come.

“Okay, Dean, where do you want to start?” Castiel asked.

“Your wings. Cas, how the hell did you get them back, man? Even more coming from 2014, it doesn't make sense, because I know you didn't have them anymore back then.”

A genuine expression of surprise spread across Castiel’s face. Of all the questions he expected Dean to ask, this one was never on his list. Now he thought as it was obvious, “I never lost my wings, I lost the ability to fly. They always stayed with me, damaged, useless, almost dead, but they were still part of me. But since I have been here, they have simply recovered."

“Just like that, out of nowhere?”

“Isobel has a theory about this.”

“Of course she does.”

The angel narrowed her eyes trying to understand why Winchester seemed so bothered by her hostess, “As I was saying, she has a theory. That my wings have regenerated because I am too close to my version of the past. It would be as if my grace from the past identified me and understood that I am hurt and would have somehow healed me since I no longer have it in the future.”

“So, about that.”

“Dean, what part of don't talk about the future didn't you understand?”

Winchester replied with his best fake-innocence smile, causing the angel to snort impatiently.

“This is insane, but somehow it makes sense, since at this time Heaven is not closed because of Metatron's spell”

“The me that is here in front of you and the me you saw earlier are still the same being, so it makes sense for my grace to feel my presence and eventually connect with me, because Jimmy's body probably holds a remnant of my grace, as it did for Sam after Gadreel.”

The oldest of the Winchesters widened his eyes in shock, the cogs in his brain moving, filling in some gaps but also creating new ones.

“What is it? Are you all right? Still feeling bad? Wouldn't you rather rest and we'll continue later?”

“N-nothing. I'm fine, just give me a minute, okay?”

The angel didn't understand, and his face closed in concern.

“Okay, buddy, I'm fine, you can improve that face,” he took a deep breath to resume the conversation, “So, if your grace knows you are here, then your past self does too.”

“Apparently not, because I don't remember meeting in 1945.”

“This is so weird that I prefer not to think too much about it, so as not to put another knot in my head. Anyway, I find it strange that your grace knows and you don't know. As if you were two separate entities.”

“In a way we are, because our grace is a spark of God's power, it is literally God dwelling in us, just as the soul of you humans is. And Isobel has a theory for that too—”

Castiel narrowed his eyes again when Dean rolled his eyes up, “She thinks that my grace understands my urgency and sense of danger, and is protecting me, including from my past self.”

He listened to the whole explanation and understood. In fact, it made a lot of sense to all the theories, and therein lay the problem. Not that it was really a problem, but Winchester could no longer stop that feeling of possession from manifesting itself. Castiel was his angel and Dean was angry that he had a third person in that relationship, no matter if it was someone, literally, from the past, “You really listen to everything that this Isobel talks about. She must be very special indeed.”

“What's the matter, Dean? Why are you upset?”

“I'm not, man. Just shocked that you never mentioned that you had someone so important in your long angelic life.”

“I saw no reason to. Isobel is someone who has been a part of my life for a long time.”

“But she was special to you and still is, because you are here in her house, she was the first person you looked for when you came back to this time. She is so special that she even knows that you are an angel!”

Cas was very confused by Winchester's strong reaction. He could not understand why the other was so elated. They had known each other for so long that Castiel knew that asking him to calm down would do nothing; it would make Dean angrier. The angel opted for the best and most effective approach; he lowered a tone, his voice becoming even deeper and more serene, “Dean, Isobel is special because she is one of my vessel, she is a descendant of Ishmael.”

Winchester's eyes widened, completely in shock. It was one thing for the angel to have a female friend; it was quite another for this friend to be a vessel, not just any vessel, but a legitimate Cas vessel. Dean couldn't measure the amount of intimacy involved in that relationship. If Isobel ever said "yes" to Castiel, then they both knew each other in a way that he would never achieve in his friendship with the angel. That hurt in a way he never imagined he would feel, “SHE IS WHAT?”

But before Cas could speak a female voice answered in his place in an amused tone, “That I am his vessel, that's what Castiel just said. It seems that the young people of the future are just as deaf when it suits them, as those of the past.”

Dean thought he was prepared for anything when he threw himself into this adventure, but nothing could be more surprising than that elegant lady with an imposing posture standing so close to them.