Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Metatron puts back the book on his desk. It’s one of the ‘Carver Edlund’ Supernatural.

It’s always nice to get back to the classics.

Metatron needed a pause from this new Heaven. He wasn’t used to spend so much time with other angels anymore. He hasn’t missed it. Most of them are so uninteresting. It should be a crime.

They look at him funny—which is always more impressive from angels than humans because of the number of eyes—just because he threw them out of Heaven that time, forgetting they chose to follow him not long after. Metatron doesn’t regret it. To be honest, he’d like to cast that spell again, so he wouldn’t have to bear their presence anymore.

The only good point of this new Heaven is that angels are allowed to have their own private places. Metatron decided to rebuild his old office. The place reminds him the short time his plans were working and, more important, a time that wasn’t boring.

The good old days.

Metatron glances back at the book.

“That was good work.”

Not the book itself. It’s flawed. You have to dig stubbornly to find the good in it. Chuck has always been a terrible writer. That’s why he needed a Scribe. His poorly constructed sentences assault the eyes. There is no powerful metaphor, no moment when you need to put the book down to absorb a clever or beautiful wording. You aren’t engrossed in the actions or thoughts of the characters. It’s a wonder Chuck has been allowed to write so many of those books, and that those books had fans.

Other bad point: the main character is Sam. Metatron doesn’t care for him, especially not that weird 2D version Chuck wrote in his books. Didn’t he know readers love layers?

Metatron holds back a sigh. He’d better forget about that part. He isn’t here to think about God. He gave himself this break to think about his favorite character, Castiel.

Metatron knows he’s somewhere outside, working on the new Heaven for the new God, but it’s so bland. Such a complex and interesting character as Castiel, with his contradictions and flaws, is better than a construction worker. No hate to them! Metatron discovered how difficult life is for humans, and every one of them deserves his respect for their inner strength. But Castiel? He's so much more than that. He’s the character. Hero and fallen idol, monster and angel, enemy and leader, outcast and prophet, victim and executioner. He’s every role in one single being.

And he’s ruining everything by playing the errand boy.

Metatron decided to reread the Supernatural books featuring Castiel to see the beginning of his journey, the moment he freed himself from Heaven to take his fate in his own hands.

And now, he’s a follower.

Such downfall!

Metatron’s eyes wander back to the book, titled The End.

Chuck has ridiculous ideas... but the same can’t be said about every angel. That world Zachariah built is flawless. Metatron would have never written that kind of scenario. So much drama! So many details perfectly ordered to build a world that draws you in and makes you hold your breath! The End would have deserved its own series, if only to explore that fallen version of Castiel.

Metatron read between the lines and spotted the relationships between the characters. He’d have highlighten them. The psyche and relationships of the characters, how it influences them and impacts their motives, that’s his thing.

Metatron ponders about Zachariah. They only met once before he became the Scribe. Zachariah hasn’t struck him as an outstanding angel, but he has been wrong. Or being around humans and their stories changed him. Metatron has no doubt: Zachariah is a connoisseur of stories. He wouldn’t have had the skills to build the world of The End otherwise.

Anyway, Zachariah is an angel who deserves to be met.

He’s also the one who created that office world. Metatron didn’t pay much attention to it on the moment—Castiel isn't there—but it's an interesting idea too.

Metatron rummages through the books until he finds the volume in question. It's a Terrible Life. He forces himself to read it despite the lack of Castiel and is kinda won over. He’d never have thought about putting Dean in an office. He wonders what Castiel would think of it. Would he like or despise that version of Dean?

Knowing Castiel, he’d certainly love him. He’s single-minded about this human.

Metatron flips through the books following The End, skipping the boring scenes about Sam, forcing himself to read the scenes with Dean—he isn’t Castiel, but since he’s the love interest, Metatron has to pay him some attention—, relishing every appearance of Castiel.

The series stop before the best part. It shows Castiel going back to Heaven, but it doesn’t show his doubts and his struggles, the Civil War he caused on Heaven, his desire to be a hero the angels would follow blindly and to be the one offering them free will. Castiel, who kept wanting to save Heaven while destroying it with his own hands.

Metatron keeps thinking about The End.

Chapter Text

Metatron knows what life Castiel is living—his beloved character deserves so much more than that—but he hasn’t a single clue about Dean Winchester. To be honest, he hasn’t wondered about him until he reread those book.

Where the hell is Dean Winchester?

(Oooops. Poor choice of words.)

On Earth, obviously. But what he’s doing while the love of his short human life is working in Heaven and never flickering out of it?

Now the question is on his mind, Metatron knows he’d have no rest until he finds answers. Castiel did more for this human than he did for Heaven. Dean isn’t only a love interest. He’s thee love interest, the one Castiel is supposed to end up with. Dean is the Romeo to his Juliet, the Elizabeth to his Darcy, the Lois to his Clark—Metatron doesn’t mind using someone else’s comparisons if they’re good... and Dean choosing this one, during the Civil War... chief kiss.

But no amount of comparisons comforts him. He doesn’t know what happened to Dean Winchester. He’d rather not worry about it but he does. It’s aggravative. Especially when there’s nothing he can do to silence his worries. Heaven is under more scrutiny than ever, closed from Earth except to let the souls in. Gone are the days when angels could sneak out. The wall around Heaven doesn’t have the slightest flaw. The angels checked to be sure Jack wasn’t lying to them about his powers.

Rushing to the wall would be like, for a human, to run into a brickwall, hoping they’d pass through it. Uselessly painful and amazingly stupid.

Wondering about Dean Winchester prompts Metatron to think about Castiel, in a poisonous, painful circle. Metatron can’t stand it. How Castiel, who has the makings of a main character—from the flawed hero to the misguided villain—stooped so low? The only way he’s differing from the other angels is because the new God talks to him regularly for the sake of their former bond. Or their bond. Metatron doesn’t know. Castiel’s willing erasure despairs him too much for him to care about that kind of detail. He has to do something to shake Castiel out of this lethargy.

That’s how Dean Winchester enters the scene. Who else but this troubled human could be important enough for Castiel to drop... whatever he chose to do? Castiel gave up Heaven and armies for him, he’d drop everything if he suspects he’s in danger. He’d have to regain the fierce determination characterizing him.

That Castiel strolling around New Heaven—Metatron hasdecided to adopt the humans’ way of adding ’New’ before a place name, it’s simple and clear!—is pathetic. Bland. Some straw dummy who can be replaced by any angel.

Metatron refuses.

Dean is the perfect solution—or problem, depending on the perspective. Metatron has to find a way to discover what he’s becoming and how to use him to shake Castiel awake.

Metatron can’t address the issue directly. Regardless of whether Jack is sincere about his neutrality, he wouldn’t like his idea. Jack stated several times he’s ready to listen to their grievances, which raised all kinds of red flags among angels because grievances used to lead to the lobotomy section.

Anyway, Metatron takes the risk... Kinda. He decides to talk about Earth with the new God. Metatron meets him on a lakeshore and does his best impersonalization of someone harmless. Technically, next to God, he is, but there’s nothing wrong with emphazing it to give the impression he could never do any wrong and there’s no reason to distrust him right now.

Metatron talks about his time on Earth, and how he’s missing it—not lies, per se—until wondering if there wouldn’t be a way to watch over it from afar, using examples from pop culture, like Glinda’s book. He excels himself since Jack summons a mirror that bears a striking resemblance with the one in Disney’s Snow White.

“Who’s the fairest of them all?” he whispers.

Jack smiles, an underlying threat in his expression. Metatron’s wings open instinctively, ready to fly far away, though nowhere would ever be far away enough from God.

Metatron clears his throat. “So whatever I ask...?”

“You’ll see it.”

“This is very good.”

Metatron asks about some places he visited, some people he met. The mirror indeed shows him everything. He also asks about authors and scenarists and, after a while, Jack leaves to do whatever he has to do. As soon as Metatron can’t see him anymore, he asks about Dean Winchester. The human is miserable, as he should be. Metatron is pleased to see he’s barely able to go through the motions. It’s not against him! It’s all about Castiel. Dean Winchester wouldn’t deserve to be the love interest if he could function without him.

Metatron decides to use this wonderful tool to see the events he missed. There were some interesting developments, especially aboud Castiel’s emotional growth. If only Metatron has been there to direct a couple of events or develop some arcs.

Dean is perfect when Castiel dies against Lucifer. Metatron would have been overjoyed to read several books describing the way he spiralled down, his distress stronger with every day without Castiel... That’s how a love interest is supposed to be! Their life is their love and, without it, they can’t carry on. Metatron’s Romeo and Juliet analogy was spot on. He pats himself on the back when he sees Dean killing himself, after Castiel came back to life, and the reunion in front of that cross.

His inner movie fan quivers. Something so beautiful deserves to be recorded forever.

And the adventures go on!

The loss of the lover and the quest to find him. A tragic deal. The loss of the child and the inevitable separation!

Metatron enjoys those developments. It’s so much better than the books written by ‘Carver Edlund’.

He witnesses the declaration and sees how Castiel is going to use deal. He’s euphoric when his predictions come true. It’s so grand, so dramatic! An action worthy of Castiel.

Metatron waits the rest with impatience, wondering how Castiel is going to play his return... but nothing happens. Jack, Dean and Sam defeat God and it ends like this. Castiel doesn’t come back.

“Is this a joke?”

Metatron plays the victory against. He certainly missed something.

He didn’t. That’s how Castiel’s and Dean’s story ends.

Metatron is stunned. What he knows doesn’t make the situation better. Quite the contrary. Castiel stayed in Heaven. Dean stayed on Earth.

Who is the moron who thought that end was acceptable?

Metatron closes his eyes and swears at himself.

Castiel.

Castiel is that moron.

Metatron hits his forehead against the mirror. The thing, when you have a favorite character and you love them, is that it doesn’t prevent you from seeing their flaws, especially when those flaws are in the way of their character growth.

Metatron wouldn’t put it past Castiel to disappear without a goodbye note because he thinks his job is done.

“I can’t believe it.”

Actually, he can. It’s just unacceptable. Unbearable.

Their story ending as a tragedy? Why not. It’d be kind of poetic to see Castiel sacrifying himself to save Dean, and Dean dying of a broken heart. But that? That?! Castiel is in Heaven, acting like a dutifully angel, as if nothing ever happened, and his stupid human is letting himself die for no reason!

Metatron put too much work in those characters to let them ruin themselves like this.

“Show me Castiel!”

As he expected, his favorite character is playing the lackey in Heaven. Metatron clenches his jaws, annoyance rippling in his grace and threatening to spread in the angel radio.

“Are you done?”

Metatron nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Disneyland Paris!”

The mirror changes, showing a very peculiar place on Earth. Metatron has no idea why this one jumped to his mind to hide his misdeeds. Maybe because of the mirror. It’s begging to make you think about Disney.

He whips around, facing Jack. The new God doesn’t look like much, but Chuck didn’t either, so Metatron feels wary around him.

Especially after the smile he shot at him earlier.

“I did. Thank you for allowing me to, sir.”

Jack waves his gratitude away. “It’s a good thing to be interested by Earth. I would like more angels to feel the same way.”

“Most of them have bad memories of Earth.”

Because of Metatron. He hopes Jack doesn’t know that.

Jack nods thoughtfully.

Silence falls. Every passing second increases Metatron’s uneasiness. He tries to keep his wings still and not let anything seep into the angel radio.

“Well, I– I’m leaving.”

“Metatron.”

He freezes, swearing inwardly. He got tricked. No God helps angels. Metatron turns around, trying to smile anyway.

“I hope you saw everything you wanted to see.”

“I did.”

Jack nods with satisfaction. An unpleasant feeling chases Metatron as he flies away.

Metatron can’t get what he saw out of his head.

That’s really his favorite character’s ending? Turning into some background character, without showing his growth? Metatron could have dealt with his death. Tragedy has a unique beauty. It puts a seal upon humans’ souls and hearts... just look at Romeo and Juliet!

But this end isn’t worthy of him. Metatron refuses.

And, since no one else cares, he has to take the matter in his own hands.

He doesn’t have to take care of it alone, though. An idea has been floating in his mind since he reread Supernatural.

The opportunity is too good to be missed.

Metatron flies in front of a building—a sad, plain building, with one story and a greyish facade. For a beat, he’s sure he’s in the wrong place. He reaches out in the angel radio and there’s another angel here. The angel he’s searching.

It’d be more impressive from a storytelling perspective to appear in front of his future coworker, but he’d hate it and they have to start it on the right foot.

What a pity Metatron has to suffer the lack of dramatization of the real world.

For now.

Metatron enters the building. He first crosses a vast room, with a table at its center and a fireplace. The walls and the doors are carefully crafted. It reminds him the ’beautiful room’, as Dean called it. His eyes drawn by an angel statuette. He thinks it’s the same featured in Lucifer Rising. The one Dean made fall and shatter on the ground, a foreshadow for Castiel’s future path... if only everything in the real world could be as perfectly and poetically symbolic!

Metatron has to suppress a winning smile before walking in an adjoining room. It’s smaller, but decorated as tastefully. Shelves are running along the walls, crumbling under souvenirs from the human world. There are two chairs facing each other across a massive table, one more imposing than the other, but they’re still looking good together.

Zachariah is standing in front of a window, looking outside, ignoring him although he has noticed him. Other wavelengths always sound too loud. He’s trying to look composed but Metatron can feel the boredom waving from him. Many angels who worked for the Apocalypse find New Heaven boring. It’s a good thing for Metatron. Boredom makes people do all kind of things.

“It’s been a long time,” Metatron tells Zachariah, in lieu of a greeting.

They’re about to embark on an adventure and it deserves more than a ‘hello’. It’s been a long time is mysterious enough to grab the reader’s attention and make them ponder about the past of the characters. Are they friends, enemies? Are they glad to meet again? Would they have preferred to never see each other again?

“What do you want?” Zachariah retorts, blowing the tension.

Well, he’s good at settings, but he doesn’t create drama. Metatron wasn’t expecting anything better.

“Your talents aren’t used at their fair value here.”

“I’m an angel working on Heaven. What more could I want?”

Ooooh. The lie they all tell to themselves... until they get tired of lying.

Metatron has the feeling Zachariah will get tired of lying very quickly, especially with the right bait.

Metatron walks around the room, looking at the shelves. There are so many things reminding him of Earth and stories. Vases, statuettes, antiques... A personal museum in short.

“What do you want?” repeats Zachariah.

Metatron turns around, doing his best to make a serious and compassionate face.

“I read the Carver Edlund books.”

Zachariah snorts in contempt. “That prophet.”

Metatron nearly corrects him, but talking about God self-inserting himself would derail the discussion and he has a too important job to allow that.

“Anyway, I reread The End. It’s one of his best books.”

One of the rare volumes where Chuck used Dean as a major character. A very good surprise compared to the rest of the series, focusing on that boring version of Sam.

Zachariah hums, waiting. Not liking to keep standing long, Metatron sits down. After a beat, Zachariah settles across him.

“Let’s be honest, the only reason that book is good is because of your work,” he says, pointing at Zachariah.

The other angel does his best to hide how much this little flattery works on him.

“Then, I reread It’s a Terrible Life. You have a knack for good ideas. Too much to spend your time here, working on what? Copying Earth? Other angels can do that. Any angel can do that.” Which is why Metatron doesn’t tolerate Castiel doing so. “You should work on greater tasks.”

Pride and suspicion are fighting inside Zachariah. He’s making a good job at hiding it. Metatron wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t searching for those very emotions.

“Actually, I would need the help of someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

Metatron nods. “You’re a skilled director. You create the perfect places and environments for characters to show themselves in a new light.”

“And outfits.”

Metatron frowns. “What?”

“Outfits and accessories are important for humans,” Zachariah says, bringing a cup of tea that wasn’t here seconds ago to his lips.

“And outfits and accessories,” Metatron concedes. “You could work on a show with those skills. You’re wasted here.”

“And I wouldn’t be if I decided to work with you?”

“You wouldn’t.”

Zachariah stares at him, judging. “Tell me more.”

He’s even more bored than Metatron thought to accept so easily.

“Castiel–”

“Not him.”

“And Dean Winchester.”

Zachariah winces. He certainly doesn’t like that human—he did kill him and ruin his plans—but he found him interesting enough to put him in all those situations and outfits.

“I need help to throw them into situations.”

“Why?”

“The world is at peace, their fight is over, but their story can end like this. It’s... pathetic. After building up so much suspense and tension, it’s a crime to let that fades into silence.”

And Castiel falling in line, like any angel.

“You want to help them?” Zachariah asks, losing interest.

“Help is a big word... Let’s say I want to redirect their story where it should be. You aren’t going to tell me you find normal that Castiel, the angel with the crack on his chassis, is working on Heaven?”

A small wince from Zachariah answers he doesn’t find it normal. Certainly not for the same reason that Metatron, but agreeing on this point is the important thing here.

“As for Dean... The Righteous Man. The Sword. Do you think it’s normal he’s living and acting like any hunter?”

Metatron summons a cup of coffee and sips at it, letting the wheels turn in Zachariah’s mind.

“It is not.”

Metatron puts down his cup with satisfaction. Zachariah glares down at him.

“Why should I help them?”

“Not helping,” Metatron repeats. “Anyway, once they’ll find each other again, and they’ll spend time with Sam, how long do you think they’ll need before running into trouble?”

“Good point.”

Metatron crosses his arms on the table and leans forward. “You’ll be able to write any world you want.”

Zachariah sits up, his grace starts buzzing, unable to hide his eagerness.

“Any world I want?”

That’s how Metatron knows he won. He can’t help grinning. He doesn’t try to.

“Obviously.”

“The new God won’t like it.”

“Why? We aren’t going to harm them... in any definitive way,” Metatron adds as an afterthought—injuries are the risk when you’re the main character of a story. “It’s nothing malicious. It’s only... a joke.”

“You’re the one who’ll explain that if he falls on us.”

“So negative,” Metatron sighs.

But Zachariah accepted, and that’s all he’s asking from him.

“There are a couple of points we have to discuss first. The things Castiel has to understand thanks to our lessons...”

Chapter Text

Castiel startles awake.

He’s an angel. A full-powered angel, like he used to be. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

Dread disturbs his wavelength. He checks himself, trying to see if he suffered any damage, but his wings are as big and feathered as they were before he reached Dean Winchester in Perdition.

He has mixed feelings about this. Having his powers back is a relief and a source of pride. He isn’t a shell of angel anymore. On the other hand...

On the other hand, it’s like the last years were nothing but a mirage.

Castiel shakes the thought loose. He knows that’s not true. Meeting Dean—and Sam, to some extent—changed him too deeply to be erased so easily.

Castiel looks around him, frowning. He’s settled on a battered couch in a small living room. He spots a huge screen, that Dean would love, he thinks before he can stop himself. He turns around, facing the kitchenette that only consists of a couple of cupboard, a sink and a microwave oven.

He doesn’t know this part of Heaven.

Castiel levers himself from the couch. He walks to the window and peers outside. San Francisco appears to his eyes. A rather good reproduction, despite the buildings not belonging to the same times.

Castiel tries to expand his senses farther and realizes with a burst of panic he can’t. He’s confined in his human body.

He forces himself to not feel trapped. It’s the shape he chose after living a decade in it—the most important decade of his life. It’s the shape that allowed him to walk by Dean’s side, to meet Sam and Claire and Jack. It’s not a prison. It’s a choice. His choice.

Castiel spreads his wings. They refuse to obey him. He can’t fly away, but he recognizes the feeling. It’s a warding. Which means it’s only a bad joke. Maybe Balthazar finally decided to ’get even’ for the whole... incident. He promised Castiel he would, with an unmistakable glee singsonging in his grace, betraying his payback wouldn’t be as painful as Castiel would deserve.

Castiel looks around him again, frowning. It’s too innocent for Balthazar. But who else would have bothered to trap him without harming him?

Staying here wondering about it is useless. He has only one choice: moving on.

Castiel crosses the room. He opens the door and steps in a hallway. He walks forward, his sigh echoing between the walls. Walking takes so much time. No wonder humans invented so many things to advance faster.

A door opens.

“Castiel?”

He stops and turns around. A young woman with long dark hair is looking at him, smiling. Castiel stares at her face. He has never met her. How this human is recognizing him?

“We never met.”

“Sure,” says the woman, rolling her eyes. Her eyes land back on him, sparkling in mischief. “But we’re almost friends now, aren’t we? Well... on our way to it. One day. In years.” Somehow, she seems to find that very amusing. “You’re going on a date like this?”

“A date?”

She throws her hands up.

“You’re both so weird.”

She closes the door without giving Castiel the time to retort.

Castiel shakes his wings. It doesn’t matter. He lets the event slips out of his mind and sets off again. He goes downstairs and steps outside. He tries to summon his powers but it’s useless. He hasn’t missed that sensation.

He picks a direction randomly. No matter where he goes, he’ll reach the limit of the wardings and be able to fly away.

He crosses path with numerous humans, everyone of them going on with their life as they did on Earth. Castiel frowns, watching them hurrying, talking into their phone, skillfully avoiding to run into each other, rushing their cars along the road. Heaven should be... calmer.

Unless some of them miss that part of their life.

“Hey! Castiel!”

Sighing at this other delay, Castiel turns around, facing a café and its terrace. There are people around a couple of tables staring at him, smiling more or less obviously. They’re all about the same age—thirty to forty. There are three men and two women.

“Why you're in such a hurry?” asks a dark-haired man.

Castiel stares down at him. He’s like that girl earlier: acting as if they know each other despite Castiel not having met him.

“Who are you?”

The man lets out a laugh. Castiel narrows his eyes. His hand itches to grab his angel blade and smite him.

“Who are you?” he repeats more forcefully.

“The shortest jokes are the best ones.”

“I’m not kidding.”

The man placates his hands up. “Suuuure. Not like we’ve been friends for years. Not like I’m your best friend.”

The sentence triggers laughter all around the man. He casts a betrayed glance to his friends.

“Come on, you’re not his best friend and you know it,” mocks another man.

The first man faces him. “That guy doesn’t count. I’m talking about friendship, not whatever,” he gestures wildly, “there is between them.”

“Hey!” prompts a woman. “Who wouldn’t want to be in love with someone and be their best friend?”

She leans into a man and closes her eyes when he kisses her forehead. The first man makes a disgusted sound.

“Don’t get all sappy on me. They’re whatever they are, but I’m Cas’ best friend. I’m the one who knows him best.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at the group, but it’s already decided: he’s going to smite that man pretending to be his friend.

An arm links with his and a familiar warmth covers his arm. Castiel freezes, his frequencies suddenly silent. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

“I know you better,” says a joyous voice in his ear.

Dean’s.

Chapter Text

Castiel turns around. Dean is here, smiling, clinging to his arm. What he’s doing there? Is he–?

He can’t be. Castiel would have known. It’s too soon. Dean wouldn’t join Heaven before many other years, before decades. Castiel would have the time to get used to the idea... anyway, it won’t change a thing. It’s not like Dean would want to spend more time with him now the world is safe and there’s no reason to.

But it’s Dean, in front of him.

Alive.

And too close.

Castiel breaks free of his hold—gently, he doesn’t forget Dean is human—and steps back. Dean’s expression falls. He steps back too, mirroring Castiel, and twists his hands together.

“Oh? Sorry.”

The word sounds so dejected Castiel feels like he ‘kicked a puppy’. He looks at Dean, searching for words, and frowns at his clothes. Dean is wearing a green t-shirt, bringing out his green eyes despite the black logo in the middle of it. The shirt is leaving his forearms uncovered. It’s weird. Hunters wear layers of clothes to protect their fragile human skin and flesh.

Castiel watches the rest of his clothing—jeans and gumshoes—wondering if it’s for a special occasion. He doesn’t doubt for one moment that the man in front of him is Dean. He recognizes his soul, broken but holding together, of unrivalled beauty because of it. He notices the mark he left on it when he raised him from Perdition and has to look away.

“Heya Cas.”

Castiel looks into Dean’s eyes, thinking that would be safe. Except it isn’t, because of the way they parted. Castiel was content with his truth being the last thing Dean would hear from him. He didn’t need anything more. And now...

“Hello Dean.”

Dean lowers his eyes briefly, shyly, before raising them again, a smile tugging at his mouth. Is that how he is without the world collapsing around them and the burden to save it on his shoulders? He’s looking so light, his soul is bright and... Castiel frowns and focuses all his eyes on the soul. It’s Dean’s soul, but it feels different. It’s scarred but...

Castiel moves forward.

“Dean?”

He reaches out. Dean eyes his hand with open curiosity. He doesn’t step back or demand what he intends to do.

Castiel frowns. It’s getting weirder. Dean should be narrowing his eyes at his hand, asking what he’s going to do, slidding two or three references in that couple of questions and, later, use that as an excuse to ’educate’ him about pop culture and forcing him to watch movies.

(At least one of those movies being a western. He’d also find an excuse to rewatch Lost Boys because he always does.)

Anyway, that’s how Dean used to react. Maybe things changed.

Castiel’s hand hovers a couple of inches away from Dean’s face. Dean looks between his hand and his face, then decides to forget it altogether and stares into his eyes.

There’s a whistle. Dean startles and his eyes fall on the table. Castiel feels like his attention is stripped away from him.

“Hi guys. You fine?”

“Sure, pretend you care about us after ignoring us,” says the woman who hasn’t talked yet.

“And after pretending you know Cas better than me.”

Castiel really dislikes that man.

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“We’ve known each other for years!”

“We don’t,” Castiel deadpans.

Dean offers him a smile that warms him inside out and makes him want to straightens his wings proudly.

“We went to college together!”

“That’s not possible.”

Castiel turns his back on them. He feels like he’s about to waste hours arguing with them. He has better to do, like discovering who played that stupid trick on him.

If it’s anyone but Balthazar, God help him,...

Dean falls into step with him and walks at his side. Castiel doesn’t know how to react to that, but Dean stays silent. Good. Castiel isn’t ready for talking to him yet.

Though Dean not talking to him may be a bad sign.

“Cas?”

His name is whispered so low Castiel wonders if he’d have heard it without his angelic senses.

He turns his face. Dean slows down to a stop. So does he. They’re facing each other and Castiel can’t tell if he wants to edge closer to Dean or to fly away.

“About what you said last time...”

Castiel’s grace retracts in the limits of his human shape, fearing to touch this human and feel his rejection head-on.

Saving Dean has been the last thing he did for him. It should have ended that way. Castiel never should have come back. He didn’t expect it. There was no way out of his deal with the Empty. He came back, and Jack needed his help with Heaven, and it wasn’t so bad. It didn’t change the end of his story with Dean. He could work for Heaven, rebuild it from its foundation as he wishes for since he rebelled, knowing Dean was free to live his own life, without any interference, not even his.

But now, Dean is right here and everything is ruined.

“Cas?” Dean calls, smiling.

“No, we’re not doing that.”

Castiel opens his wings wide and, with a beat of them, Dean disappears.

Chapter Text

Castiel blinks. His wings almost worked. He has been able to use them but he hasn’t landed in a familiar place. He’s, once again, inside a building. It’s not an apartment or a house, but an office. Like those he saw in shows, with many desks, many people and weird half-walls separating them. The place is so white, so tidy it reminds him the previous version of Heaven. How can anyone miss that?

Maybe Castiel should find a way to forbide bright white walls.

At least, he’s away from the false San Francisco.

And Dean.

Castiel pushes the guilt away—it’s better this way, they don’t belong together. If he could use his wings, it means he walked out of the warding. Why he didn’t notice when it happened? Stepping out of a warding isn’t innocuous. It’s like something is digging its claw into every part of you and dragging you backward while you’re trying to move forward.

More importantly: why he hasn’t landed where he wanted?

It has to be a set-up... The next part of the trap.

“Mr Novak?” sounds a female voice.

Castiel doesn’t answer until she steps in front of him.

“Mr Novak?”

He’s not. Jimmy Novak is a whole different person—a human whose life he destroyed. He doesn’t correct her, though, choosing to gather information rather than throwing himself in the situation, whatever it is.

It didn’t turn out well last time.

“Don’t you want to go to your office?”

“I’d rather wait here.”

Her eyes sparkle as if he said something funny, but her expression sobers up.

“I don’t mean to pry.”

Castiel almost snorts. Usually, humans say that right before prying. They are so complicated—so fascinating.

“But you should be less... obvious. We do not care about it,” she rushes to add, to Castiel’s confusion—what is she talking about? “But not everyone would agree, especially at the head office.” She lowers her voice, “Is it true they’re going to send someone to spy on us?”

“Spy may be a little strong, don’t you think?”

Castiel nearly closes his eyes. Except he isn’t some delusional human who believes it’d be enough to get him out of trouble. Or to make trouble ignores him. He doesn’t actually know what humans are hoping for when they close their eyes in the middle of their problems.

“Why are they sending someone then?”

“Because it’s their job?”

She hums, unconvinced. “Try to be careful, Mr Winchester,” she says before sauntering away.

Dean makes a pained sound.

“I asked her to stop with the ‘Mr Winchester’ but she didnt listen. No one listens. Can’t you order them to?”

Castiel wants nothing except leave again but he turns around and notices Dean is clothes differently than earlier. He is dressed up with an elegant light blue shirt buttoned to his chin instead of one of his flannels. He has nice trousers and shoes far more expensive than what he’d be ready to pay for clothes. The shoes look deeply unpractical for hunting.

Usually, humans need more than two minutes and forty-six seconds to change their clothes. And Dean couldn’t have been here so quickly without a supernatural help.

Castiel raises his eyes to his face. Dean looks like he belongs in this place, frighteningly so.

Dean gives him a smile, not hinting about them talking earlier and Castiel flying out of the discussion. Castiel frowns, searching his expression. Dean should be upset and yet Castiel finds nothing but geniune happiness in his smile, mixed with impatience. That’s not how Dean reacts when he uses ‘unfairly’ his ‘dumb angel powers’.

(Angel powers aren’t dumb, and Castiel doesn’t use them unfairly. They’re a part of who he is. It’d be like telling Dean he’s being unfair when he’s breathing or doing anything else humans do without thinking.)

“Dean?”

Dean’s eyes roam over him. He makes a wounded sound. “Tell me you didn’t forget.”

“Forget what?”

From Castiel’s perspective, Dean is the one who forgot things.

“I can’t believe it!” Dean’s expression turns thunderous. “Office. Now.”

Castiel bristles. He doesn’t like that tone.

He has no time to retort that Dean is already walking away. He’s the only familiar face here, and a clue since he was here in the previous... whatever it was. And Castiel can’t leave him alone when he has no idea of what is happening. This version of Dean doesn’t look like he’s able to defend himself.

Dean turns around, looking at him over the half-walls.

“A little enthusiasm!” he asks. Castiel would label it like an order if he wasn’t sounding so exuberant. “Yesterday... Well, yesterday was yesterday.”

The little pout on Dean’s lips adds what he isn’t outrightly: yesterday has been a bad day.

“But today is different. We can make everything right.”

Dean nods determinedly. His eyes focus on Castiel and he waits.

Castiel heaves a deep sigh and walks to him reluctantly.

“It’s a new day, let’s go,” Dean says.

He seems determined to highlight that.

They step into a hallway. Dean bypasses a printer standing in a corner and stops by a door. He opens it and scampers into the room. Why people have such merry vibes here?

Dean opens a forest green curtain, filling the room with bright natural light. Castiel looks around him warily. This room is different from the rest of the office. And it’s not one room, but two. There’s another room at their left. The main office, if Castiel has to guess. By the open door, he sees a sturdy desk in dark mahogany and a comfortable chair. Shelves are running along two of the surrounding walls, covered with books and little objects. He even spies a pot plant. The other wall has a window and a closet.

The room they’re standing in is less personal... except for the green curtain. There are pictures on the walls, as if someone couldn’t stand the sight of all that white. Castiel can ‘feel’ that.

Dean turns around, facing him, the light streaming around him, turning him into a holy figure.

The holy imagery always feels strong about him, but maybe it’s only because of Castiel’s feelings. Maybe—certainly—he notices things about him he wouldn’t notice about other humans.

“Beautifully decorated, huh?” Dean asks.

Castiel nods. Dean’s face falls and Castiel feels like he failed another test. Dean quickly plasters another smile on his face.

“You didn’t think you were going like that, did you?”

The question sounds like an insult. Castiel looks down at himself. He isn’t different from usual, wearing his trenchcoat over a suit. His tie is askew, but it’s usual. Dean doesn’t care about it. Except–

Except that time.

Castiel steps away. He can’t have Dean so close now.

Dean holds out his hands. “Come on. Give me the trenchcoat.”

“Why?”

“Be real for a minute.”

Castiel frowns and Dean lets out a laugh. He walks closer and Castiel is too weak to move away.

“You know I love the trenchcoat,” he says, closing his hands on it. “But it won’t fit for that meeting. Strip off that.”

He grins, his eyes sparkling and– oh, it does sound like flirtation.

Or it would be, if it weren’t Dean and himself.

To prevent his thoughts to wander, Castiel removes his trenchcoat and hands it to Dean. Dean folds the trenchcoat carefully and holds it against his chest. Castiel doesn’t know how to feel about that. Dean nods to the other side of the office.

“I put what you have to wear in the closet.” He makes a smug face. “And, before you asked, I anticipated it. I’m awesome.”

Castiel doesn’t answer.

Dean gestures him away.

“Hurry. We have to be at the meeting in...”

He lifts a watch. Castiel stares at it. Dean doesn’t wear a watch, usually.

Dean winces.

“Five minutes ago.”

Castiel frowns. He tilts his head.

“Doesn’t that mean you were late?”

Dean’s face flames up. What an interesting reaction...

Not interesting, Castiel scolds himself

“I know, right? I’ll do better. Maybe. Well, hurry. You’re not helping our case.”

Dean turns his back abruptly, his ears bright red, still clinging to the trenchcoat.

Chapter Text

Nothing about that makes sense, Castiel thinks as Dean walks by his side in the streets.

It’s his Dean, he has no doubt about it. His soul can’t be mistaken with any other. Except he isn’t himself. He has no memory of their past or of who he really is. It’d remind Castiel the spell Dean told him about if he didn’t have completely different memories, about events that didn’t happen.

Castiel frowns further as he glances at his own outfit. He hasn’t intended to change clothes but, while he was heading through the door, his usual suit has been replaced by that tailor-made one. Castiel despises it. Dean smiling at it didn’t improve his mood. It wasn’t a smile of his Dean for him. It was only a part of this play.

Castiel knows the culprit.

Gabriel.

Castiel hasn’t adviced against his resurrection when Jack suggested it, but he knows Gabriel and he should have seen it coming. The only reason he has been so calm the last time they met him was because he spent years being tortured. But now... Well, the leopard cannot change its spots.

That’s the saying.

As soon as they left the office, Castiel started walking away. Dean catched up with him, tried to convince him to take a car then started talking about all the people who’ll be at the ’meeting’. Castiel toned him out. He can’t chase him away because it’s Dean and he didn’t do anything to deserve to be snapped at, but he doesn’t have to listen to that nonsense either.

Castiel scans his surrounding with a critical mind. The city is desesperatly normal. Probably to lull his suspicion.

“I’m sure it’s a trick from Gabriel,” he growls.

“Gabriel?”

“The archangel. I don’t suppose you know who it is.”

It makes Dean bristle. “Of course I know!”

Hope beats inside Castiel. His grace unfurls. Does that mean Dean has memories of their time together?

Of his real life, he corrects himself sternly.

That would be useful. That would allow them to help each other to get away from this trap. They beat Gabriel once, they can do that again.

Dean doesn’t need to remember about them to do that.

There isn’t any them. Dean can have a good life, now, away from God and Heaven and monsters, and everything that can recall those dark times to him.

(Castiel is nothing but a reminder of those dark times.)

“You bullied me into reading the Bible. I remember stuff.” Dean scrunches up his nose, ignoring the defeated wave rising inside Castiel. “It’s a test or something?”

“I guess so. It sounds like him.”

But what kind of test? To teach what kind of lesson?

Gabriel likes to torment people to make them accept what he feels is right. It’s annoying.

Castiel shares those thoughts with Dean. Even if he doesn’t have his memories and his knowledge of supernatural, it’s Dean and there’s comfort in confiding to him.

“So... you’re an angel, Gabriel is pranking you and this world is a simulation?”

Castiel nods.

Dean’s expression fills with annoyance. He pinches his nose.

“Listen... I know those meetings are boring. But,” he says, jabbing a finger at his sternum, making Castiel frown in offense, “it’s the lamest excuse you ever tried.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“Angels? A Matrix world?”

Dean throws his hands up as if this little gesture means everything.

“I’m not lying.”

“Sure.”

“You think I’m inventing all that just to avoid whatever meeting you planned?”

Dean glares at the whatever. “I planned? You think I find this funny? I don’t want to spend time with Mr Adler and the others either. And I don’t have to be there. I’m not invited. I could just send you and let you fend for yourself. It’d be fun to see try to answer their small talk.”

“I’m not going. I have more important matters to take care of.”

“Yeah, angel matters.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

Dean crosses his arms, his lips forming a thin line. Castiel realizes in a startle he doesn’t believe him. He thinks Castiel would lie that much to avoid some dumb meeting.

Castiel doesn’t know what past Gabriel wrote them, but he doesn’t like it.

“Gabriel is causing me trouble,” he insists. “He’s trying to lecture me.” And the idea Gabriel, among all angels, thinks he has any right to lecture him is infuriating. “He’s so self-righteous,” he hisses.

“He’s an angel. Isn’t it his duty to be self-righteous?”

”I’m not!” Castiel retorts, offended.

Dean snorts, ruffling his feathers the wrong way. “Of course.”

“I am not,” Castiel reiterates.

Dean sighs. He stops.

“Listen... I know it’s difficult lately.” Guilt flashes across his features, as if he thinks it’s because of him. “It’ll be fine. One step at a time, like we said.” He reaches out to him and straightens his perfectly tied tie. “We take care of this meeting, you charm all those important people and we right the ship. And, maybe...”

His little smile vanishes slowly, showing... He steps back and turns his face away before Castiel can identify it.

“Well, we don’t have to think about this now. It’s not... important, compared to everything else. Maybe one day... later... when things will be calmer?”

He glances at him, his look a mixture of hopefulness and apprehension, as if he knows the answer but keeps hoping anyway.

Castiel doesn’t utter a word of comfort. Whatever Dean thinks he’s going through, it’s not real. His struggles, the obstacles on his path... None of this is real.

Still, it saddens him to see the way his expression is falling and his shoulders are hunching.

“I see,” Dean murmurs. “I...” He turns his back on him. “I see.”

There’s some finality to his words, the meaning of which escapes Castiel.

“We’re... still a team though? Working together toward our goal? You– you aren’t giving up on– You aren’t giving up?”

Castiel will find a way to leave, without obeying to Gabriel’s ideas and whatever lessons he wants to teach him. He stares at Dean, part of him wanting to ask him for his help, but another—bigger—wanting to leave him out of this.

“Cas?”

Dean turns around, his green eyes too bright. He blinks them and it looks like a trick of the light. He tries a smile.

“You being all silent and brooding is kinda freaking me out. You’re fine?”

“Do not worry. I’m not giving up.”

Castiel drinks one last time in Dean’s sight before spreading out his wings.

Chapter Text

“It’s too calm,” Zachariah comments. Or complains, more like.

“It’s not.”

Metatron and Zachariah are both seated in the ‘beautiful room’. The table in the middle of the room was replaced by two comfortable armchairs, facing a large TV screen that allows them to follow Castiel’s adventures.

The mirror is an amazing idea, but they can’t possibly steal it and a TV fits better Metatron’s taste.

“He’ll never progress this way.”

Metatron can’t contradict Zachariah on this point. Castiel runs, and keeps running, treading water emotionally speaking.

It’s so painful to see such an interesting character persisting in his mistakes.

“And that idiot thinks it’s Gabriel’s doing. Gabriel,” Zachariah spits with a contempt he shouldn’t express about archangels. (Well, Metatron is quite hypocritical about this: he has no respect for archangels either.) “As if he’s able to be that subtle. His ideas are always too extravagant. And vulgar.”

“Would you prefer that Castiel knows it’s your doing?”

Zachariah doesn’t answer, reluctant to say yes because he knows enough about Castiel to guess it’d have unfortunate consequences for him, and unable to say no. Who doesn’t like to see their ideas credited and celebrated?

“You can do whatever you want for the next world.”

Zachariah’s wings ruffle in offense. “I do not need your permission.”

There is a reason Metatron usually works alone.

It’s for the greater good, he encourages himself.

He’s skilled to reveal the characters, their strengths as well as their flaws, forcing them to face a truth they’re ignoring about themselves. Another of his skills is to make a good use of other people’s skills and Zachariah is perfect to throw characters in whole different situations.

Castiel needs to be shaken up. He has to leave this perfectly bland little life he’s building in New Heaven.

This world isn’t peaceful like the previous one, or the one before that.

Castiel realizes it as soon as he steps into it. He’s in a forest of tall trees—well, tall compared to human heights—but he hears noises that don’t belong here. Too many footsteps. Reloading weapons. Swearing—under their breath, but still loud for him.

Castiel doesn’t hear any animal. Maybe Gabriel forgot about them. He never paid much attention to details.

At least, he got back his normal outfit. Maybe the other one was an illusion too.

The footsteps hurry and get closer. Castiel braces himself and turns around, ready to face yet another version of Dean... and is taken aback.

“Sam?”

Castiel wrings the neck to his disappointment. He doesn’t need to see Dean again. He told him everything he had to tell him. They can move on. Dean can move on.

“Who are you?”

Castiel narrows his eyes. He nearly calls him Justin, but it’s not as half fun without Dean around to mock Sam too. Not that he wants Dean around. He knows it’s better for Dean if they’re apart.

Still... you can count on Sam to not have any memory at all. Dean remembered him every time.

Castiel smirks smugly.

Sam shakes his head and all his hair. Other figures appear between the trees. Castiel scans over them quickly. Dean is nowhere to be seen.

His wings drop.

“It doesn’t matter for now,” Sam says. “Follow me if you want to live.”

Castiel glances at Sam. Dean’s brother looks like he’s geniunely believing Castiel would follow him. Castiel doesn’t intend to. He isn’t going to play Gabriel’s games.

“This world had potential.”

“I know...”

“Castiel could have waited before resetting it.”

Zachariah is disappointed. He makes a point showing it. Even his animal heads are lowered. Metatron is disappointed too, but he doesn’t show it. As the leader of this project—whatever Zachariah believes—he can’t lose heart so easily.

But Castiel’s behavior is disappointing.

“Using Sam is a rookie mistake,” Metatron states.

Zachariah glares at him. “Dean was going to appear later.” He glares back at the screen, showing Sam mouthgaping at Castiel’s sudden disappearance before swirling in darkness. “Castiel should have followed Sam to a survivor compound. One of those humans would have gotten hurt and the angel who decided to save humanity would have carried them to the healing room, where Dean is working. Dean would have told him about this world, before nearly losing his patient. Castiel would have stepped in, cured him and seeing his powers, Dean would have asked him to save him. To save them all.” Zachariah nods firmly. “Castiel couldn’t have refused him that.”

“How it’d have helped our cause?”

“What cause? I’m here to put them in situations.”

“Sure... But too much action is bad for Castiel’s introspection.”

It’s a major trait of Castiel, one Metatron used happily against him. He needed to become human and Metatron to tell him to realize his feelings for Dean and how they have been one of his motivations all along.

Allowing him to run and fight, it’s giving him the chance to do the exact contrary. He moves on without thinking beyond fighting and winning, focusing only on what have been his main skills for eons.

“Castiel wouldn’t have learnt anything,” concludes Metatron.

“Maybe,” Zachariah snaps. “But I would have gotten my scenario.”

Metatron sighs. Zachariah bristles.

“I know, I know... But can you do something calmer for the next simulation?”

“I can,” he mutters.

Chapter Text

Castiel groans inwardly. The world keeps changing everytime he flies. Well, he hopes it’s everytime he flies and not everytime he uses his powers. He might need them.

He looks around him. He’s in an apartment, in a medium-sized city. He spots many buildings through the windows, but none of them has more than six stories.

He scans the rest of the room. He’s in a living room—again, how unoriginal. The room is divided in two spaces and comfortably furnished. In the right corner, there’s a table surrounded by four chairs, close to a door opening on the kitchen. In the other side of the room, a TV is standing in front of a couch covered by plump pillows, a coffee table is between them. Shelves are running along the walls, displaying different objects and... pictures. Castiel walks closer. He can’t help it. Dean and he are on every picture, sometimes with other people—Sam, Jack, Mary, people he doesn’t recognize.

He picks one of the pictures with only Dean and him to look at it more closely. He’d believe it, if he didn’t know it’s a lie. It looks so real...

It’s not, he reminds himself.

The door opens. Castiel puts back the picture quickly and swirls around. Dean freezes on the threshold, half inside, still holding the handle. Castiel eyes him critically. He’s once again dressed up, with a white shirt certainly costing more than his countless flannels at home—in the bunker, Castiel corrects himself—, ironed pants and polished shoes. Now he’s paying attention to it, the apartment’s furniture and decoration look expensive too.

Castiel glances back at Dean, who hasn’t moved. Gabriel sure loves to dress him up. It’s annoying. It shows he’s paying too close attention to him.

Castiel shakes the thought loose. It doesn’t matter. All he has to do is finding a way out of that illusion—and, doing so, freeing Dean—and find a way to get even with Gabriel.

It’s weird though. Gabriel hates repetition and it does look like the second world.

He’s hit by an awful theory. What if he’s back in the second world? What if he’s in a loop, not jumping from one world to the next, but in a circle? It’d be harder to get free.

Dean walks in and shuts the door with a soft click behind him.

“Heya Cas. It’s been a while.”

“Not that much.”

His hint of a smile slips off his face. A jab of guilt pierces Castiel. He pushes it away. What he said is the plain truth. They saw each other less than one hour ago.

“It’s late... are you hungry?”

Castiel doesn’t deny. He never denies it when Dean asks, despite being an angel, despite Dean knowing he doesn’t need to eat or drink.

(This Dean doesn’t know.)

“I could cook something.” Dean casts a guilty look to the kitchen door. He squeezes his hands together. “I’ll have to buy some stuff but–”

“I won’t stay long.”

Dean flinches. His eyes drop. He doesn’t answer right away. Castiel doesn’t like this behavior. It’s not like him.

Castiel lowers his head, trying to spy on Dean’s expression.

“Are we happy?”

Dean raises his eyes shyly. The word ‘happy’ shakes Castiel to his core. Happiness is complicated. It’s something he never wished for because there was no point: he always knew, and accepted, it was out of his reach. When the Empty offered him that deal, Castiel couldn’t believe his luck. It felt like it promised him to never come after him. He’d never be happy so the Empty would never hold power over him.

Except he has needed to invoke it and he found the key of his happiness. To save Dean.

This doubt sounds differently from Dean though, too sad and defeated. Castiel cannot picture Dean looking at his own life and unable to see the happiness he could—should—gain.

This world is an illusion, but also not. The situation is a lie but Dean is real. He’s his Dean.

Instead of leaving  as he intended to, Castiel walks closer to Dean and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

Another burden seems to fall on Dean’s shoulder. He turns his face away. Castiel tries to catch his eyes but Dean refuses to meet his eyes stubbornly.

No, not stubbornly. It’s not for the sake of provoking him, like he does sometimes. His posture is too little and withdrawn for that.

“Dean...”

Dean shakes his head. He looks up, forces himself to smile and his expression breaks Castiel’s heart.

“I’m meeting with our family tomorrow. You’ll come along?”

“I– I have to–”

Dean’s expression shuts. “I see,” he says in a flat voice, betraying resignation.

“I don’t think you do.”

Something changes right away inside Dean: he stands taller, raises his chin and a spark appears in his eyes.

It wasn’t Castiel’s goal but he doesn’t mind. Everything is better than seeing Dean defeated.

Chapter Text

Dean keeps glaring at him, anger in his green eyes. Better, but Castiel wonders why his attitude snapped. He stated a mere fact.

“What did you say?”

Dean’s tone is sharp, as it has never been since the beginning of those unfortunate events. Castiel was starting to think the whole point of those worlds were to annoy him by making Dean soft and gentle, in a way most angels would call weak, because most of them are unable to think a hunter could be nice and sweet sometimes. It doesn’t fit their vision of warriors and soldiers.

Castiel was wrong.

Dean is staring at him defiantly and Castiel figures he’s the one who forgot. Of course a Dean who has his memories changed—who doesn’t remember hunting, or Hell, or so many of his trauma—and not facing any threat would be calm and accommodating longer. It doesn’t mean he’d roll over if he gets provoked.

The question is: what offended him? Castiel doesn’t think he’d find the answer alone. Humans are complex, especially those who feel as much as Dean.

No one feels as much as Dean.

“Why are you so angry?”

Dean gestures at him.

“You just said I don’t understand. How I wouldn’t be angry? I do understand! Did I ever prevent you to leave?”

“What makes you think you can?”

The question escapes Castiel before he can think about its consequences. He shrugs it off. Dean started it.

Dean startles. His expression and his soul shift too quickly for Castiel to catch each change but he recognizes hurt and sadness and resignation. Then Dean composes his expression, trying to hide the emotions fighting inside him behind a mask.

“I can’t,” he admits with something in his voice unsettling Castiel. “But I do not try to. Doesn’t it matter?”

Castiel hears in his voice the answer he’s hoping for. He can’t give it to him.

There’s no fight left in Dean. He shakes his head. “No,” he murmurs. “Of course it doesn’t.”

He forces a smile on his face and Castiel prefers his previous anger to that. It’s too fake to be comforting. It’s the way Dean is around people he doesn’t trust, those who’d use his emotions against him. Castiel isn’t one of them. Dean knows that. Every version of him, even when he doesn’t remember their story, should know that.

“You can’t stay around for dinner? And... this night maybe? One day wouldn’t make much difference, would it?” His eyes sparkle. “If you want, I can make PB&J sandwiches at breakfast, tomorrow.”

“It does sound nice.”

Dean brightens. “So?”

“One day won’t make much difference.”

It wouldn’t last one day. Gabriel has no patience. He won’t stand to see them stay in the same peaceful world long.

Dean looks as happy as he was when he dragged them to Dodge City. For a moment, Castiel fears cowboy movies or cities would be involved.

“Awesome.” He shakes his keys and closes his hand on them. “I’m going to buy some groceries. You’ll wait for me?”

Castiel could leave as soon as Dean would close the door. It’ll be erased from his memories at the moment they’ll stumble into another world and he’ll never be aware of it.

One day. Just one day.

It won’t matter. Dean wouldn’t remember, they’ll never see each other again, so can’t Castiel give himself that? A short day Dean wouldn’t remember, that would have no consequences for him, but that Castiel would be able to treasure?

“I’m coming with you.”

Dean downright shines.

They do some groceries together, in a store and not a Gas’N’Sip like Castiel is used to. When he points it to Dean, it amuses him and he remarks he spends certainly too much time on the roads.

His soul somewhat dims at that comment.

Back in the apartment, Dean cooks them spaghetti bolognese—with two plates since we know, Dean comments whimsically, winking at him—and they sit in front of each other. The molecules are unpleasant, but the care Dean put in his cooking and the way he’s smiling at him make it bearable.

Dean’s phone buzzes. He produces it. His expression darkens for a bit but he plasters a smile on his face and puts his phone away.

“Something wrong?”

Dean shakes his head, his smile not reaching his eyes. “All’s fine.”

Castiel doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. The problem is bound to this world, no matter what it is. Dean would forget it soon.

Like he’d forget that moment.

The thought darkens Castiel’s mood, though it’s only the prospect of Dean’s forgetting that made him accept.

He’s being as illogical as humans.

Dean’s fork hits the plate once more. He stops moving, despite the plate being half-full. “A couple of hours are too much to ask for,” he murmurs. He produces his phone, unlocks it and hands it to Castiel. “Your family needs you. You don’t have your phone with you so they texted me.”

Dean hangs his head in shame while Castiel reads the text. It’s concise, only asking Dean to relay his assistance is required.

When Castiel looks up, Dean is rubbing his forehead, his eyes closed. Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have enough information.

“I only wanted us to have this, but I had no right to.” Dean lets out a wry laugh. “They’re right about me.”

“Who?”

Dean shakes his head. “I wanted you to stay but... Are you mad?”

“You didn’t hide it that long.”

Dean nods slowly. He reaches out tentatively to his hand. Castiel relaxes when their hands touch. Dean brushes his gently.

“They’re still right about me.”

“They who?”

“Your family.”

Something is scratching at the edge of Castiel’s mind. He didn’t understand this saying until now. It’s a rather unpleasant feeling. 

“I’m selfish. I keep dragging you down. I– I keep trying to convince you for... so many things. And I keep clinging to you but–” 

“But what?”

Dean shakes his head. “Don’t listen to me, listen to them.” He offers him a sad smile. “What are you waiting for? Your family need you. Go to them.”

He lets go of his hand. Castiel feels like his fingers trailing off his skin and letting go of him lasts forever, then that the moment ended too quickly and he didn’t treasure it enough.

That’s how human lives are.

Dean tries to grin and it breaks Castiel’s heart because all he can see is his sadness.

“Go,” Dean says again.

Castiel stands and does, feeling like he failed.

Chapter Text

“The worlds you built are strangely similar,” Metatron points out.

He hired Zachariah because of his imagination, but he’s failing to show any so far and he keeps complaining.

Metatron is tired. It could have been so entertaining.

“You’re the one who told me I couldn’t put action in the scenarios,” retorts Zachariah, who opted for malicious compliance it seems.

Annoying, but it’s not the first time Metatron is working with recalciltrant people.

“I integrated the lessons you asked me to. Why are you complaining exactly?”

Metatron shrugs casually. “I called upon you because of your skills. Then, if you want to ruin this chance to use them... you can. We are free, now, after all.”

Zachariah sees it’s manipulation. Anyone would. It’s not Metatron’s most subtile attempt, but he isn’t aiming for subtlety, only for efficiency.

And efficient it is.

Zachariah knows it’s both a manipulation and the truth. If he ruins this opportunity, who knows when he’ll be allowed to create a whole world, with decors and costumes? Even if he ever does, by some miracle, it’ll never be for Dean Winchester.

Zachariah doesn’t reply but, as they turn back toward the screen, Metatron smirks, knowing he won.

A stormy sea appears. Waves break against the screen, trying to reach the viewers. Metatron sees a boat in the distance. A tiny spot, tossed around by the tide, that could be swept away anytime.

Metatron leans into his seat, ready to enjoy the show.

Salted water sprays on his face.

A sigh dies in the back of Castiel’s throat. It’s another world. Again.

This time he’s on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic, in a storm. The clouds are heavy and dark, but Castiel peers the night and the stars beyond them.
Different noises echo on the deck. Shouts and interjections. Orders. Humans fighting against the elements for their survival.

What Castiel should do? Flying until he finally breaks free? It’d be tiring, but it feels like the best option. Gabriel will get bored before him, and then... He doesn’t know how he’ll get even with him yet. Trapping him in a circle of fire would do little good. Maybe he should molotov him with holy fire. Lucifer found it upsetting on Michael’s behalf, and Michael was still seething about it a decade later.

A door opens behind him and light chases away a piece of night.

“Is this normal?”

Castiel knows this voice. He turns around. Daphne Allen is standing a couple of steps behind him in a hallway, her hands on the wall to keep her balance. A dark green gown is covering her from her chin to her feet, hiding her arms. It looks too thin for the crisp night air. Humans are sensitive to temperature changes. They quickly feel too hot or too cold, for minute variations on the scale of the universe—and of angels.

The boat swerves suddenly and Daphne nearly stumbles. The wall prevents her from falling.

Castiel doesn’t know what to tell her. Last time he saw her, he was Emmanuel and believed himself to be human. He’s different now. He knows who he is. What he is.

Daphne doesn’t even remember that life. In this fake world, they have a different past, one that is out of Castiel’s reach.

He wonders with annoyance if Gabriel intends to involve all the people Castiel met. If he does, he’d deserve worse than Castiel molotoving him with holy fire.

“Castiel?”

Castiel startles and stares at Daphne. She never used his name before.

“You should go back inside,” he tells her.

Daphne smiles sadly. Her expression reminds him of Dean’s in the previous world.

“Alright.”

“I can walk you to your room, if you want.”

It’s the least he can do. Daphne welcomed him in her home and took care of him despite not knowing anything about him. She didn’t care about her own safety that Castiel compromised by his mere presence.

Something tickles Castiel’s mind. Again.

It’s getting more unpleasant every time.

Daphne’s smile becomes more geniune. “I’d like that very much.”

Castiel follows her in the narrow hallway and closes the door behind him. When he turns around, Daphne is looking at him with big green eyes. He relaxes, in spite of himself. It’s because of those eyes he trusted her so fully, when they first met.

Castiel shoves the thought out of his mind before it can form and walks Daphne to her room. Their footsteps hardly echo in the deserted hallway. The storm outside covers almost every sound, even for his angelic senses. He can’t imagine how defeaning it is for humans.

“I'm bothering you.”

“What?”

“Because I asked to come with you.”

“Why would it bother me?”

“You’re used to travel alone, to work alone. I thought I could help you but... I overestimated myself. I can’t do it. I’m only a burden for you, aren’t I?”

“You–”

“Don’t. There’s no need to comfort me. It was my choice and this choice is causing you problems. I should have stayed home and waited, like I usually do. This is what I’ll do the next time.” Daphne stops in front of a door and turns toward him, her eyes shining with faith and fondness. “If I wait without complaining, you’ll come back to me?”

Castiel looks at her, refusing to understand what she’s saying and what it could mean about someone else.

“As long as I know you’ll come back, I’ll wait. I don’t need anything else. I just need to know that you’ll come back home, to me.”

Castiel doesn’t answer. Daphne’s expression fills with sadness.

“Is it too much to ask? I... I won’t ask you to stay, only to come back. Is it too much?”

“No,” Castiel ends up whispering. “It’s not.”

Her eyes—a rare shade of green that transforms with the light—shine.

“Then I’ll wait for you. I’ll look at the door knowing you’ll come back to me, that you didn’t walk away from me. I’ll wait, having faith none of those goodbyes is the last.” She smiles. “Isn’t faith the most important?”

“It is.”

She nods, opens the door to her cabin. “Goodnight, Castiel.”

“Goodnight, Daphne.”

She closes the door.

Castiel needs a moment to work up the courage to fly into the next world.

Chapter Text

“Well, that worked out great,” Metatron comments with a smile.

He isn’t going to pretend that seeing Castiel driving other angels crazy isn’t entertaining.

“There was more. It’s not my fault if Castiel has no patience.”

“Castiel is a difficult character,” Metatron admits. “It’s one of his charms.”

He’d be so boring without his complexity. That’s one of the things that makes him different from the other angels. Their mind is only black or white when Castiel’s is a chessboard. If he were human, Metatron would have talked about shades of grey, but angels’ nuances are less subtle than humans’. They have sharp edges tearing each other apart instead of blurring together until they’re indistinguishable.

“He’s more patient when Dean Winchester is around,” Zachariah ponders. “I should play on it.”

“You should.”

Zachariah glares at Metatron, his wings flaring threateningly and his lion head roaring in annoyance. Metatron doesn’t respond to his provocations, though he’s laughing at them inwardly. An angel has to be quite vain to make the effort of keeping animal shapes with their grace. Most of them don’t bother. It’s quite the waste of energy.

“Maybe you can say how we can force him to stay, since you know him so well.”

“You used to work together.”

Zachariah winces in contempt.

“He was an employe. I didn’t need to know him.”

How boring. Metatron doesn’t understand how you could spend time with Castiel without wanting to know him.

“Two failures aren’t so serious.”

“This scenario didn’t fail.”

“If you say so.”

“The lesson is exactly as I planned. I fit it in the very first scene. Did you see Castiel’s expression? He’s starting to understand where we’re leading him.”

Metatron nods. He can’t say the contrary, even to annoy the other angel.

“But there were other scenes planned?”

“To tweak the scenario. You need details, ideas about what could happen next... It’s better to plan several issues. You can’t be sure which one would be the most suitable, especially when the characters go their own way.”

Despite Zachariah’s annoyed words, Metatron sees he likes the challenge. What would be the point of creating full worlds and planning several outcomes if the characters are bland and predictable?

“Because of Castiel’s stubborness, all the scenarios look alike. This ruffian is incapable of the slightest subtlety.”

“I like his authenticity.”

Zachariah’s wings flap in disapproval.

“My scenarios look alike because of him. Only the decors are changing. Castiel acts the very same way every time.”

Metatron shrugs casually. The human gesture annoys Zachariah further.

“You know it’s hard for us to get rid of our habits... it’s one of the problems with immortality.”

This and the boredom it ends up causing... until God created life and thereby TV. Watching the drama and the passions tearing apart such short existences have the power to drag the dullest angel out of their boredom.

“You could change Dean’s reactions.”

“For a drastic change, I’d have to use a copy like I do for the other humans. It’s possible. I’d have the whole control of his actions and words.”

Metatron leans forward, his interest piqued. “Is it what you did in The End?”

“Obviously. Dean was running around while I was moving the pawns.”

Zachariah sighs, missing the old days when he could let his imagination speak. Before failing. Before being killed. Doesn’t Metatron feel the same?

“It should have been enough to convince him to become the Sword, but it wasn’t. What a stubborn human.”

And a stubborn angel, adds Metatron inwardly.

Castiel and Dean are a match made in Heaven.

Metatron winces at the wording. That saying is perfect usually... but not for them. Castiel and Dean, as a unit, are Heaven’s nightmare.

“The fake Castiel upset him more than anything else,” Zachariah remembers. “I wanted to shock him by showing him how much an angel could be corrupted by humanity, but it should have been a detail. Dean Winchester should have focused on his brother saying yes, but he clung onto that part.”

Zachariah shakes his head, his frequencies buzzing against nonsensical humans.

“They tend to be single-minded about each other.”

Even if it’s not enough to prevent them from ruining their story. The world is lucky Metatron is here to fix everything.

“Castiel should never have been chosen to save him. He always meant trouble. He was just too skilled to be killed. Any angel would have been killed for the hundredth of his mistakes. But they kept trying to rewrite him.

“And it never lasted!” adds Metatron joyfully.

Too joyfully, it seems. Zachariah glares at him. Metatron smiles bashfully.

“Castiel ruined eons of work.”

“In exchange, we can enjoy future stories written by humans.”

Zachariah doesn’t agree, but the fact he isn’t retorting or getting lecturey sounds like a screamed yes to Metatron’s ears.

“To go back on the topic,” Zachariah says, “do I remove Dean and replace him by an illusion? Castiel would be the only actor left, but maybe it’ll force him to react differently. At this rate, we’ll still be here for the next thousand years.”

“It wouldn’t work. Castiel would notice if Dean is replaced by an illusion.”

And he’ll be furious.

Thinking about it... maybe it’s the wake-up call he needs?

“My illusions are flawless.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“He didn’t guess for Sam Winchester.”

“Indeed, but it’s only Sam. Who cares about him?”

Zachariah stares at him then nods curtly, conceiding his point.

“We keep Dean as an actor then,” he says, doing his best to conceal his enthousiasm. “How are we going to handle Castiel’s problem then?”

“It’ll be difficult. No one can make him do anything. Even Dean! He has to decide it himself. It has to be his choice. Well... That’s what he needs to believe, anyway.”

“It’ll take eons to hammer anything useful in his thick skull.”

“Let’s hope not! Dean won’t last that long.”

Chapter Text

Castiel breathes in. Out. The air is pure and salty. It tastes like the beginning of spring or the end of summer.

The fact he can’t pinpoint the time proves it’s an illusion. An angel with all his powers can always tell when and where he is.

Castiel is standing on a shore. The North Atlantic is raging in dark waves. A lighthouse is standing at the end of a point of land, looking frail next to the fury of the elements. The beach is a pale grey line between the ocean and grass. Castiel walks along it, the sand crunching under his shoes, wondering if this situation is linked to the previous one—did he reach the ship’s destination?—or if it’s a new story altogether.

Erasing and throwing away drafts feel more like Gabriel than timestamps, but you can never be sure of anything with him.

Castiel hears footsteps. When he turns around, he isn’t surprised to see Dean. He’s wearing a grey frock coat and black trousers. His gait is different too. He’s limping and trying to conceal it. Castiel walks away from the shore, earth replacing sand under his feet.

Gabriel hurt him.

Castiel is angry, but not surprised. Dean told him about a time Gabriel killed him countless times to prove a point to Sam.

Even the best of them don’t care that much about human lives. Shutting Heaven from Earth has been the right move.

Dean offers him a smile. Castiel doesn’t bother answering to it. He touches his forehead and infuses grace inside him to fix his leg. Dean’s eyes flutter. He feels something and, yet, it doesn’t work. Castiel frowns. Maybe this wound is a part of this world. He can’t change it, like he can’t change the decors.

It means he’d just have to fly away for Dean to heal.

The thought comforts him.

“Errr... What was that?”

Castiel frowns at him. He has an accent? Another accent, he should say. Castiel likes how Dean’s voice sounds usually. He likes everything that makes Dean Dean. The changes made by Gabriel are grating. He has no right to alter Dean’s memories, and voice, and body, and clothing style... He has no right to change anything about Dean.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Dean frowns, then a fond little smile softens his face. “You’re so weird.”

“I hear that a lot.”

Though Dean is the only one telling it like a compliment.

“How are you?” Castiel asks because there’s something sad about his smile.

“You know how it is.”

I really do not, Castiel thinks pitifully.

He’s starting to wonder if Gabriel’s petty game is to throw him in unknown situations for the sake of seeing him struggle. Castiel wouldn’t put it past the archangel, but he doesn’t know what he did to deserve that, even through Gabriel’s twisted perspective.

“You know you can talk to me whenever you need it?”

Dean smiles at him gratefully. “I know. Not today though. I just needed to get away for a while. I’m glad to have run into you.”

“So I am.”

They keep watching the waves for five minutes and nineteen seconds before Dean deems it’s the time for him to go back. Castiel offers to walk him home.

They follow the path, walking away from the lighthouse. Houses are scattered in the distance, among hills and fields. Castiel hopes Dean hasn’t walked from that far. He winces at Dean’s every step. How frustrating to have all his powers, feeling his grace churn inside him, and being unable to relieve Dean from this little pain.

“You don’t look fine.”

Dean bites down his lip. “Don’t you feel like something is off?”

“I do.”

They’re certainly talking about different things though.

“I feel like that all the time. No one listens but... Well, I’m used to it.”

“I’m listening to you.”

Dean smiles. “I know.”

They fall silent. They’re hardly closer to the first house, Castiel walking slower than Dean, preventing him to force his leg. He knows Dean would keep up with him without complaining no matter how much he hurts.

“You needed to go that far?”

Dean winces. “Sometimes.”

“You should be more careful.”

Dean diverts his face, his shoulders suddenly tense. “You too? Really?”

Castiel grabs his shoulder, making him stop. Dean turns reluctantly toward him.

“I can’t heal you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You didn’t, but I should be able to.”

A smirk tugs at Dean’s mouth. “What? You can weave miracles now? You’re going to become the best healer who ever existed, bring the dead back to life?”

“What if I could?”

“I’d ask you why you’re wasting time here.”

“I’m not wasting time.”

“Are you sure, Cas?”

“You’re here.”

“You could save many people.”

Dean rolls his shoulder. Castiel lets his hand drop and they resume their journey. They reach the first houses, at last. Castiel is waiting anxiously for the moment when Dean will say he reached his destination. His gait is getting more and more uneven. Castiel wants to reach out to him, despite being unable to heal him, and curses Gabriel through the angel radio. Hurting Dean isn’t something he can forgive.

He’s wondering to what extent Dean would complain if he carries him to his destination when Dean stops.

“This is where we part ways,” Dean sighs.

Castiel raises his head. He spots a house, one-hundred and fifty-three meters away. His feathers ruffle uneasily. It’s still a long way to go for Dean’s leg.

“We don’t have to.”

“I’m far too old to elope Cas. You should try your chance with Meg. She’s doing heart-eyes at you.”

What started like a joke ends on a bitter note.

“I’m not interested in Meg.”

Dean eyes him. He’s opening his mouth when a siren blows. He startles, turns his head toward the sound.

“Did you hear that?”

Castiel nods.

They share a look and head away from the isolated house, walking toward the village.

Chapter Text

A meeting in the heart of the village gives Castiel all the information he needs to understand this world.

They’re on a little Canadian island in 1914. England is entering the war and asks the citizens of its empire to volunteer to fight.

The change of scenery is quite surprising. Gabriel doesn’t care about anachronisms. He’d rather rewrite history and shape geography than bothering about it.

Dean doesn’t care much about it either. It makes them bicker during their movie nights. Dean is always so disappointed when he asks a historical question and discovers the truth is rarely related to his beloved fictions.

Castiel pushes the fond memories away. This isn’t the time.

Castiel has been alive at that time. He knows how it happened, though he wasn’t on Earth then. And, though the humans around him aren’t real, he can’t help thinking about those who found themselves in that position, who faced those years and survived.

And those—too many—who died.

He feels remote from the angel who was ready to stand watch while the Apocalypse would have burnt down the world.

He glances at Dean and, though none of this is real, he’s relieved his leg prevents him from enlisting.

The meeting ends and, already, the first men are lining up to promise they’ll fight beyond the sea. Already, women see their sons, their husbands and their brothers about to leave and are talking among themselves to find how they can help.

“I walk you home?” Castiel asks Dean.

Dean nods gloomily.

Silence falls as soon as they’re far enough from the village. Castiel forces himself to not stare outrightly at Dean, whose mind is wandering in morose thoughts he doesn’t want to let go. Castiel notices he’s trying to hide his limping, though his leg has to hurt more because of all their walking.

It’s saving him, in this world.

It’ll disappear, as soon as I’ll fly to the next one.

They reach the point where Dean wanted them to part way earlier. Castiel squints at the too distant house.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s how life goes down here.”

“Huh? No, I– I was talking about you walking me home.” Dean waves behind Castiel. “You’re living there. It’s dumb.”

“I do not mind.”

Dean looks at him, diverts his eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

“You will?”

“Obviously. You’re my best friend. I’ll be... all alone.”

“You have your family.”

“It’s different! You’re different.”

Dean bites his lip, as if he feared he said too much. Castiel has the impression he didn’t say enough. It feels like the beginning of an answer.

“How so?”

“You know how.”

“I really don’t.”

“Well, you’re leaving, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” Dean smiles bitterly. “I can’t follow you. I couldn’t then, I still can’t. That never changes.”

Uneasiness twists Castiel’s grace. He tries to believe Dean is talking about this world and nothing else, but it fits their world and several moments of their past too well.

“I won’t leave without you.”

“Sure.”

“You do not believe me,” Castiel says, not hiding the hurt in his voice.

It’s Dean, in front of him. Why would he hide he’s hurting? He can trust him with this.

He’s the only one he can trust with this.

“I– Of course you’re going. There’ll be battles. There’ll be deaths. So many people–” Dean shakes his head. “You’re going to want to help, and I understand. It’s normal. It’s not your fault I can’t follow you.”

“Dean...”

“But... will you come back? I can’t ask you that,” he whispers. “You have no control over it and not everyone will come back. That’s not how things work. But– If you come back–” He looks at him. “If you promise you’ll come back... I could...”

Daphne’s words are echoing through Dean’s voice. He winces distastefully.

“Listen to me, whining about myself when the stakes are so much higher, when you and so many people we know are going to run right into danger. I can’t even fight by your side to change things and protect people.”

Even when you do, you’re too demanding on yourself.

Dean can give up everything he is and save the whole world, he’d still think of himself as someone selfish.

Castiel wonders if his words that day reached him, if Dean could finally accept the truth about himself—the fact he’s caring and loving above everyone else, and that’s the reason he’s hurting so much all the time.

“You could help from here.”

“That’s not the point, Cas. It’s different. And you know it.”

“I do. But I’m glad you can’t fight.”

Dean stares at Castiel in shock. Castiel lays a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t want you to fight anymore. You deserve a good life, Dean. You already did so much... You did more than anyone could ask you for. You deserve rest now. You deserve to live.”

“I– I’m not–”

“You are.”

Dean looks at him. Castiel doesn’t know what he reads on his face but it soothes his soul.

“You’re going to leave to fight, won’t you?”

Castiel could answer no. It wouldn’t be a lie. This war isn’t his, and he won’t fight it. But there’s another question behind those words, another situation, and Castiel? Right in this moment, he doesn’t have the strength to look Dean into his eyes and lie.

Dean forces a smile. “It’s okay, Cas. Just warn me before you volunteer, right? I don’t want to be the last to know.”

“I will Dean.”

His smile turns more geniune, not letting go of his sadness. “Awesome. Good night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

Castiel watches him walk away. Dean turns around and waves when he’s half-way. He turns around one last time when he’s on the house’s threshold. Castiel waits for him to be safe inside before leaving.

Chapter Text

“Dude! You scared me!”

Castiel turns on his heel to face Dean. They end up almost nose to nose. The following complaints die on Dean’s lips. He swallows hard. Castiel tracks the movement of his throat. He hears his heart speed up. Dean’s eyes travel on his face, stop on his mouth, before dropping. He turns his face away and shrugs.

Castiel notices with relief he wears his usual clothes: red flannels, jeans, boots.

“I– You’re gonna give me a heart attack one day. What are you? A ninja?”

“Your heart is healthy. You should worry more about your knees, but startling you isn’t going to affect them. I never trained in martial arts or learned spying technics.”

The Heaven army only worked to defeat one enemy... or so he used to believe. Thousands of years passed before Heaven divided in factions, where spying could have been useful, and this era disappeared quickly. Angelkind is united once again.

Dean smiles fondly. He reaches out and pats his shoulder. Castiel smiles back, before scanning their surrounding. They're in a motel room. There are two single beds, on which are placed bags, with their night tables; a sofa, along with a tiny kitchen part with a fridge and a table. He notices thankfully it’s a normal, non-theme-based room. The only way it could get worse would be the addition of cowboys.

What if Gabriel decides to send them into a western next?

Castiel’s wings bristle. He buries the worry in the deepest corner of his mind, where it can’t express on the angel radio. He isn’t going to give ideas to Gabriel.

“You’d have to explain me how you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be able to.”

“Buzzkill.”

“You’re human.”

“And you’re what? A cat?”

“Obviously not.”

Dean shoots him a smirk. “Still not telling me what you are.”

Castiel ponders about telling him the truth—it didn’t work well last time, but maybe it will in this world—but Dean doesn’t wait for his answer and saunters to a bed. He zips a duffel bag shut, hangs the strap on his shoulder and grabs the bag on the other bed. He looks at him.

“You ready?”

“I guess so.”

“Come on. A little enthusiasm isn’t going to kill you. We’re on vacation! Since when it didn’t happen?”

Never.

“Too long.”

Dean raises one of the bags toward him. “Exactly.”

Castiel moves to take it but Dean avoids him. He walks past him and leaves the room. Castiel follows him. The parking lot is almost deserted at this early morning time. There are only two cars and one of them...

“Your Impala,” Castiel notices fondly.

There’s such a surge of happiness in Dean’s soul that Castiel smiles. His grace relaxes and hums on the same frequency. Dean can’t feel possibly that, but his soul sings more cheerfully.

Coincidence, Castiel tells himself.

His grace answers Dean’s soul anyway.

“Yeah!” Dean walks to the car and brushes her flank. “My Impala. Do you believe it?” he asks, his voice rising in excitement. “Fixing her took me forever.”

“She looks as good as new,” Castiel declares solemnly.

Dean grins. “Trying to charm me Cas?”

“Would it work?”

Dean laughs. He fits the bags in the trunk, opens the passenger door for Castiel and settles in the driver seat. Castiel sits in the Impala and Dean starts the car.

“Where are we going?”

“Where the road leads us.”

“We’re in a road-movie then.”

Dean raises an eyebrow.

“On a road-trip, I mean.”

“Suuuure.”

Music blasts in the car. It’s so familiar Castiel relaxes. He’s trying not to—he’s in a trap—but Dean is right here, and it’s hard to remember none of this is real when he’s behind the wheel of his beloved Impala, wearing one of his flannels, moving his head with the music. They lived that kind of peaceful moments. Some of them belong to Castiel’s favorite memories, along with the movie nights and the hours they spent in the kitchen.

Castiel should leave. He should.

But... it’s not a question of duty, now. It’s on mere principle, to teach Gabriel to not mock him. He doesn’t have to. Heaven is at peace. The world is at peace and angels have a new purpose.

There’s nothing wrong in lingering here.

They stop in a diner. Dean is torn between two kind of pies for dessert, until Castiel points out two desserts are equivalent to a full meal. He rarely gives his advice about human things but the smile Dean offers him tells him he was right to. Castiel orders a plate of fries and, as soon as the waiter is walking away, pushes it toward Dean. Dean looks at him in surprise.

“What about you?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Dean frowns. “You need to eat.”

“I’ll buy something later.”

Dean watches his expression before accepting the plate of fries.

“Since we’re on a road-trip, we should watch road movies.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. Sure enough, Dean will find an excuse to watch Lost Boys. He’s able to use any excuse to watch that movie. Literally.

The worst is that Castiel will let him.

No, the worst is that Dean will find an excuse to make him watch cowboy movies too.

“Which ones?”

If Castiel succeeds to extort an exhaustive list of the movies from Dean, he’ll be able to avoid the cowboy ones.

“Oh, you know? The Blues Brothers. Rainman. Oh Brother. Into the wild. Thelma and Louise.”

Dean already referred to Thelma and Louise once. But now, Castiel knows the movie...

“If I’m Louise... shouldn’t I be the one driving?”

“Nice try, but no.”

Dean attacks his first pie—cherry.

“There’s also that Dr Sexy MD episode, you know, in season 7?”

“Eat, Dean.”

Dean grins.

Castiel joins Dean outside the Gas’N’Sip. Dean smiles at him over the car roof.

“Did you stick to the plan?”

“I never do.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah. Forgot you’re a rebel.” He glances at the bag Castiel is holding. “So, what’s the rebellion this time?”

“Apple pie.”

Dean stares at him, stares at the bag, makes a sound. His soul shines brightly, pleased. And that’s thanks to him.

Castiel stands taller, his wings arching in pride.

“Three slices of pie in one day...”

“You don’t have to.”

“Of course I’m going to. Geez.”

Castiel smirks.

“What else did you pick?”

“Pork rings.”

“Good choice.”

Indeed. Too bad Castiel can only taste molecules now.

But Dean is smiling at him and it’s perfect.

Chapter Text

“It’s... cute,” Metatron says as diplomatically as he can.

Not diplomatically enough, it seems: Zachariah’s lion head snaps its jaws. All his eyes are focused on the screen, anger sharpening his wavelength. It’s screaming, creaking, and Metatron does his best to not wince. Wincing should have meaning in a story. It’s plain to wince only because of a sound.

“I should have seen that coming,” Zachariah mutters. “It was the main problem during the Apocalypse. The Sword is physically unable to follow a plan.”

“Which plan?”

“All of them.”

Zachariah keeps glaring at the screen, while Castiel and Dean travel peacefully. So peacefully they could replace the road by a flower field.

Yes. That much.

“How he does that?”

“How he does what?”

“I planned several scenarios,” Zachariah answers without looking at him. “I told you: this is what I always do. There was a car crash, an attack, them being involved in a car crash,... Dean Winchester avoided eleven of my scenarios. How he’s managing that?”

He keeps staring at the screen as if it’ll allow him to get an answer.

Castiel and Dean are still doing heart eyes at each other.

Metatron holds back a sigh. Sure, it’s his final goal—or, more accurately, a requirement of his final goal—but he didn’t think it’d happen so soon. It’s only the seventh simulation! He should have had more time to enjoy it!

Zachariah shrieks through the angel radio, startling him.

“He avoided another event.”

“When?” Metatron asks, looking more closely at the screen.

He doesn’t notice anything except the two idiots being in love.

“Right now. There was only one road, one possibility. It wasn’t a matter of odds, and he turned back. Castiel didn’t notice anything.” Zachariah hisses. “Humans with a sixth sense are more annoying than the others, especially when they’re as stubborn as this one.”

“We only have to change the scenario, then.”

Zachariah grits his teeth. Metatron raises his eyebrows. Is he going to insist in this dead-end street?

Of course he’s going to. Angels get even more stubborn when their pride is wounded. 

For that matter... Metatron glances suspiciously at the screen. Castiel is too stubborn to give up so easily. What if his current behavior is a trap to lull them before striking?

“We have to move on. If this scenario doesn’t work, let’s use the next!”

“My scenarios work,” Zachariah mutters, looking at him. At last. Maybe if he stops staring at the road-trip of love and butterflies long enough, he’ll be able to do his job. “The problem is that human.”

Earlier, he was complaining about Castiel.

Metatron rolls his eyes. He knows better than preventing Zachariah from complaining... even when those complaints are nothing but bad faith. Zachariah is interested in the project because of Dean. There’s a reason he used Sam only once, and it’s not only because of Castiel. Sam followed his plan in It’s a Terrible Life, he became a vessel for Lucifer during the Apocalypse. He did what was expected of him—though the results weren’t what Heaven and Hell hoped for. A character doing exactly what you want him to do isn’t interesting. Castiel and Dean defy all expectations and, whether it’s by admiration or resentment, it doesn’t leave you indifferent.

Maybe once Zachariah would have spilled his guts, he’d be ready to move on. Metatron hopes so. It’s infuriating enough to see Castiel and Dean being so blissfully peaceful. He didn’t sign for that. It’s an ending, not the middle of a story.

And this is the middle of the story, he realizes, suddenly more confident. Castiel is following the scenario for now—like he’s following the New Heaven, eww—but it’ll change. Metatron wanted to drag him out of his comfort zone and it worked. Maybe they can turn this... incident to their advantage. They let Castiel enjoy this vision of what his and Dean’s lives could be, before forcing him to face his failures again. The fall will be even more awful.
 
The lesson will be understood better that way.

Zachariah complains, and complains, and complains. Metatron makes a watch appear on his left wrist and stares at it pointedly. A ripple of annoyance crosses the angel radio. Zachariah is glaring at him, only one of his eyes staring at the screen. Metatron smiles. Zachariah’s feathers bristle.

“Dean and Castiel spend too much time together, wallowing about their feelings.” Zachariah spits the last word. Metatron keeps smiling, as if he didn’t find their feelings annoying him ten minutes ago. “I hardly have to time to write my scenarios.”

“If you can’t handle a little challenge, maybe you aren’t the right angel for the job.”

“I can,” Zachariah snaps. “But this is easy for you to say. All you’re doing is sitting around and watching what is happening. I am the one working.”

Zachariah focuses back on the screen, his annoyance turning into determination.

“Let’s try this.”

Chapter Text

Another world. Again. Castiel didn’t use his wings this time. As he suspected, Gabriel can change the illusion whenever he wants. He writes his own rules and he’s ready to bend them whenever he’s starting to get bored, like usual.

Castiel is tired. What’s in store for him next? Maybe Dean...

No. He can’t hope for that. It’d be selfish. Dean is better off away from him.

He’s at the foot of a mountain, on a path close to a village, little wooden houses scattered in the forest. The world is quite detailed this time: Castiel can feel the age of the different geological layers. Steps are cut in the mountain side, marked by wooden planks. He spots humans gathered twelve meters above, on a rocky outcrop. Three women—one around twenty, another around forty and the last around sixty—and one man—around twenty too, who keeps glancing at the woman about his age. The man is wearing a buff coat over large trousers while the women are clothed in long dresses, all of them dull-colored.

Castiel decides to climb the mountain. He reaches the humans, noticing they’re gathered in front of a cave. The entrance is engraved with a snake-tailed woman on the left and raptors on the right.

“What are you all waiting for?”

“The seer,” the middle-aged woman murmurs, her eyes shining in admiration. In faith.

Castiel envies her for a bit. He remembers how it is to have such a faith. He misses it, sometimes.

The younger woman is staring at him, round-eyed. She pokes the speaking woman and, once she got her attention, whispers to her ear, certainly to not be heard by Castiel. Too bad he has a celestial hearing.

“It’s him. Look.”

The woman glances at him and nods at the younger woman.

It doesn’t give him a single clue about the situation, only that he’s known—from afar—by those people.

Having no time to waste, Castiel walks by them and enters the cave. A guard, who is nothing more than a villager, is standing right next to the entrance. He doesn’t try to get in his way. Good judgement call.

Torches are hanged regularly on the walls. But there’s a brighter, blinding light in the cave. Castiel’s attention moves on it. He forgets to breathe. It’s Dean’s soul, lighter than Castiel has ever seen it. It’s innocent and pure and unscarred—and so painfully young... forty years is doing a difference on a human soul, especially if those forty years are that painful. Castiel had always admired how Dean was still loving and caring despite everything he went through. Many humans would have become bitter and turned their hearts in stone for far less.

But he never wondered how Dean’s soul would have been in other circumstances.

It’s breathtaking and shattering. Castiel doesn’t dare to walk closer. Dean, after suffering for decades, after hurting others during a decade, was already the most beautiful thing Castiel laid his eyes on. Brushing his soul has been enough to shatter his conditioning.

He’s wary of the power it’s holding now.

How Gabriel managed that?

In the previous simulations, Dean’s soul was brighter and less scarred than usually, but the change hasn’t been so deep. It was lighter because Dean didn’t remember the hard times he faced.

But here... right now... it’s more than that. He’s understanding why their enemies are always chasing him down and trying to corrupt him among all humans. They can’t allow something so beautiful to exist without wanting to break it.

Castiel wonders if he played a part in ruining this light.

“Cas!” Dean calls in delight.

Castiel forces himself to watch Dean’s body and to not allow himself to be distracted by his soul anymore. He manages to see a figure at the very end of the cave, kneeling on pillows.

It can’t be good for his knees.

By sheer force of will, Castiel ends up seeing Dean, with his green eyes and his freckled skin. He’s wearing the same clothes than the man outside and the guard, but his are weaved in a better fabric.

“Cas? You okay?”

Dean is so worried, so geniunely open to this world that hasn’t hurt him... His soul reaches for Castiel’s grace. The angel nearly crumbles under the touch. He feels endless and unconcealed affection curling against him, filling his grace, whispering worry and fondness and– No. It can’t be.

Castiel pushes it away. Dean startles. He can’t have feel it. It happened in another plan. On another hand, Dean has always been perceptive.

Castiel withdraws his grace as much as he can, hiding it under his skin, not caring about how uncomfortable it is.

Dean curls in on himself as if Castiel shoved him away. Castiel hesitates but he can’t turn his back on trying to make things right.

He walks closer to Dean, step by step, muting his frequencies. Dean intertwines his hands together. He’s watching him, his brow furrowed in worry.

Castiel forces himself to smile. “Hello Dean.”

Dean searches his expression, then a little smile plays on his lips. His shoulders slump in relief. “Heya Cas.”

Castiel clings to the familiarity of the phrasing and this name. He uses it as an anchor and this Dean doesn’t feel so alien anymore. He’s still too radiant for a human being, but Castiel searches and finds everything linking him to his Dean... and Dean is beautiful. He has always been beautiful. He will always be, no matter what. Even now, when he’s so bright he’s hardly looking human. It’s Dean and it’s all that matters.

“So?”

“So?”

“Are you okay?” Dean asks, his eyes big and soulful in a way even humans would notice.

He already knows the answer. Castiel reads it on his face, the sad corner of his mouth, his furrowed brow. And his soul... It’s reaching out to Castiel in a way it never did. It has never been wounded, and yet it knows him, recognizes him, and seeks his company.

Castiel opens his mouth.

“No, I’m not okay,” he says in spite of himself.

Chapter Text

Dean gestures at him to sit across him. As Castiel moves closer, the ‘guard’ shouts, “Stay away from him!” Castiel half-turns, raising an eyebrow, wondering if he’s serious.

The man stops but he doesn’t step back.

Dean sighs softly.

“It’s Cas. He knows the rules.”

Castiel doesn’t. He isn’t going to admit it though. It might give the impression he’s agreeing with the man, which he isn’t.

The man doesn’t move.

“He knows the rules,” Dean repeats more forcefully.

Finally, the man steps back. Castiel sees he’s making every step reluctantly. He smirks, turns his back to him and walks to Dean. He sits across him. Dean offers him an apologetic smile.

“I’d tell you to make yourself comfortable but...”

His eyes drift briefly to the guard.

“It’s okay. I understand.”

He doesn’t, really, but it doesn’t matter.

Dean lowers his voice, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Castiel nods at the guard. Dean shakes his head sadly.

“I can’t ask him to leave. He won’t hear anything if we talk low enough.”

Castiel shouldn’t. It’d be a waste of time. Not to mention that one version of Dean hasn’t believed him, going as far as calling him a liar.

But they call him a seer.

It means this Dean knows about the supernatural too.

Castiel frowns. Having a soul so pure, so open, isn’t a good idea for a seer. This world may be nothing but a simulation, there are many dangerous things outside and Dean is only protected by this illusion. They can’t leave for now, but are there as many precautions against intrusions?

A wave of protectiveness surges inside him. He tries to reason with himself. Dean doesn’t risk anything. He’s a seer in this very moment, but it’d change soon. He isn’t at the mercy of supernatural beings that want to harm him.

Except Gabriel.

Dean moves his hand toward him. He changes his mind and lays it on his own knee, squeezing it with his other hand.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Cas.”

It’s once again a whisper too low for anyone but Castiel to hear and yet it compels him to tell the truth. He finds himself pouring everything he went through—more, so: the decade they shared together. He doesn’t go into details about Dean’s life, mentioning saving him from Perdition but not talking about the forty years he spent in Hell. He doesn’t want to burden him with that knowledge.

He’ll remember all of it too soon.

Castiel doesn’t hide any of his failures, the flaws that led him to make things worse instead of improving them. All the people he hurt and failed. How he never made up for it.

Dean listens.

Castiel is starting to understand why humans confess. He tried reaching out to God during his life, when he had doubts and hoped for guidance, but it’s different to have someone who listens and doesn’t judge you. There’s something, about Dean listening to him. Castiel never tried to talk to him that much. His problems are his, and he didn’t want to impose them to Dean who always had problems of his own. Maybe things would have been different if he did. Better.

He’s almost regretting it. 

Not as much as he’s regretting this bout of selfishness. At least, Dean will forget it.

Castiel gets to the end of his story. Silence follows his words.

“Strangest thing I ever heard.”

Castiel knows it is for this version of Dean, and yet...

“You believe me.”

Dean eyerolls. “Of course I do.” He grins and his soul does something that looks like a little jump. “My best friend is an angel! How awesome is that?”

“You despise angels,” Castiel deadpans.

“You’re one, so that’s not true.”

Castiel is taken aback. He supposes it’s true, in a sense. The only time Dean put angel wardings on a place was to keep Castiel away. He was ready to face the threats and dangers of the other angels only to keep Castiel with them. It’s against all strategies. No matter what Castiel could have done for him, it’d never have made up for what the other angels did to him and his family. Castiel couldn’t protect him from Naomi, Lucifer or that other Michael. He gave him wrong information that pushed him to trust Gadreel. He drew Metatron’s attention on him.

He had never been able to protect him from Heaven.

Gadreel had to threaten to let Sam die for Dean to ask Castiel to leave. Dean explained it to him several times and apologized more than he should have, but Castiel didn’t understand the implications. He only thought about how he could regain his strength to help his brethern and fix his mistakes.

Dean leans forward, peering at his face, his hands still on his knees. “What are you thinking about?”

“You care about me.”

Dean laughs. “That’s why you’re looking like you got a revelation?”

It’s one, in a sense. Dean asked him to fight at his side, within his capacities, never more. He didn’t demand as much from Castiel as Castiel demanded from himself.

“You do not care about me being useful to you.”

Dean’s face softens. “Of course not. You’re here. What more can I ask for?”

Chapter Text

Dean scans the room. He’s looking quite serene for someone who saw his whole life crumble around him. His eyes stop on the guard.

“It explains why they’re all so dim.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean looks Castiel. “You said none of this is real except you and me?”

“I did.”

He waves. “He isn’t real either. None of them are.”

Castiel’s eyes flicker to the guard, who keeps staring at him in defiance. Dean is right. The guard isn’t more real than the decor. Castiel didn’t pay enough attention to the other humans to notice it sooner. It makes sense. Using so many humans would take more efforts than maintaining an illusion for poorer results.

“It also explains why you’re so... bright today.”

Castiel turns back toward Dean. He notices the way his eyes have a hard time focusing on his human shape.

He’s seeing me.

A part of him, anyway.

“None of it bothers you.”

“Why would it?”

“You just learned that nothing you lived is real.”

Dean’s soul dims and Castiel can’t help but draw a parallel to another moment when Dean’s life shattered around him and he was doubting everything.

There’s no anger in his features now. Only sadness.

“You don’t know how it’s like here,” he whispers, and Castiel realizes they gradually abandoned their low tones over the course of the discussion. “I’m here, all alone. I’m not allowed to do anything. I can only see the people I’m allowed to see. I can leave only when they allow me to.” He grits his teeth. “I’m a prisoner.”

His eyes start burning. His soul changes tune, his soft humming turning into snarling.

This Dean isn’t different from Castiel’s. He’d rather gnaw at his own foot than being trapped.

“You’re telling me about a world where I can make my own choices. Of course I’d rather be there.”

“You suffered much there.”

“And so?”

“Here... If you could see the difference on your soul... This peace brought something to you.”

“Freedom is better than peace,” Dean states fiercely. “I didn’t try to run because it was helping people. I was the last chance for some of them, but they aren’t real.” He rises to his feet. “Let’s go.”

“You can’t–” starts the guard.

Dean silences him with a glare.

“You’re coming with me Cas?” he asks more gently.

Castiel walks Dean outside, keeping an eye on the guard in case he’d decide to attack Dean. But he’s frozen, lifeless, and, when they step outside the cave, there’s no one anymore. Dean learning about the illusion destroyed it.

Dean stretches out slowly, his face lifted toward the sun. He faces Castiel.

“How can I help you?”

“You can’t.”

“Because I’m human?”

“Because your soul isn’t in its normal state. You wouldn’t be safe anywhere else.”

Dean looks down at his hands and turns them slowly, as if he could see his soul. Castiel fears for a bit he can. No human should be able to see their soul in all their glory.

Dean looks up at him with bright curious eyes. “How so?”

“You’d draw too much attention, while being more vulnerable to attacks.”

“You can’t turn me back to normal?”

“I can’t,” Castiel apologizes.

He can’t risk to be too close to him and touch hiss soul with his grace. He doesn’t know what consequences it could have. He could damage, maybe destroy, who Dean is. Or Dean could destroy him.

“Okay,” Dean sighs. “So what’s your plan?”

“I don’t have a plan.”

“You always have a plan.”

Castiel is taken aback. Those words betray so much trust. It reminds him of a time when Dean chose to believe him against everything, against his own family, against himself. It reminds him how much he failed him.

It was only the beginning of his failures.

“If you remembered me, you’d know that’s not true. I’ve plans but they turn wrong. I fail everything. Even you believe that.”

Dean startles, and Castiel wants to take back his words. It’s too late. Dean’s soul dims further.

Castiel has the answer to his question. Being with him a couple of minutes is enough for Dean’s soul to not be that bright anymore.

“He does?”

“I betrayed you many times. I caused you more problems than I solved,” Castiel starts listing, hoping Dean would shift the blame on him. It hurts, normally, to see Dean blaming himself, but this version of him... so pure and bright and carefree... This Dean who doesn’t know to handle pain except loneliness... Castiel can’t stand it. “I hurt you, I hurt your brother, I failed saving people you love. I rushed many of them toward their death. You have every reason to hate me.”

Dean blanches. “That other me hates you?”

“No no no,” Castiel says, suddenly understanding why humans feel the need to repeat some words. He reaches for Dean’s hands and hold them, careful of touching only his skin. “He doesn’t. You don’t. You call me your best friend in spite of everything.”

“So you’re my best friend!”

“Your life would be better without me.”

“Did I tell you that?” Dean asks, sounding so offended Castiel has the impression he’d hit his real self given the chance. He doesn’t like that. Dean shouldn’t hate himself more than he already does.

(In a perfect world, he wouldn’t hate himself at all.)

“You didn’t.”

“Did you tell me about how you feel?” he asks more gently, reaching to brush his face. The touch is light. Castiel isn’t sure he wouldn’t feel it if he weren’t an angel. Dean’s soul is burning with too many feelings, but it isn’t trying to pull him with it anymore. It’s only humming against him.

His whole being focuses on it and one of his wings folds around Dean. He shouldn’t indulge that.

It’s a surprise when Dean leans into it.

“I thought it was only the shape of your aura. I’d never have thought they’re true angel wings.” He glances at him, his eyes shining, his cheek sinking in feathers. There’s something about this sight... “You can fly?”

“I can.”

“Awesome.”

Dean closes his eyes. He leans closer to his wing and Castiel doesn’t dare to move, his grace freezing to not bother the human. The only thing he allows himself is to curl his wing against Dean’s back.

“You’re seeing me,” he marvels.

He thought Dean only caught glimpses of him. His surprise gives way to relief. At least, Dean is seeing him now his wings are healed and he has his powers back.

Dean half-opens his eyes. They’re impossibly green. A green that belongs in meadows and forests in the spring, not to a human being. It’s full of life and beginnings.

“I am. It’s my job. Well, it is here.” He sighs sadly. “That’s the only thing I’ll regret from here.”

“You won’t remember.”

Dean makes a noncommittal sound.

“You should, you know. Talk to me about this, I mean... to that other me who won’t remember anything.”

He brushes Castiel’s wing tenderly, before reaching for his own neck. He slides a necklace out of his coat. The pendant is a single silver wing. He removes it and puts it around Castiel’s neck.

“For when I’ll forget,” he explains. “Now, how do we fly into the next world?”

Castiel holds out a hand. Dean grabs it without hesitation.

Chapter Text

“This is getting ridiculous.”

Zachariah doesn’t like outright romance in his stories, and he’s making it known. Metatron was aware of it when he hired him. His verses had many things, but the romance was non-existant. There was some subtext in The End... but nothing much. Nothing able to change the course of history. Those were not the Castiel—and the Dean, he forces himself to acknowledge inwardly—he learnt to know. Their ‘profound bond’...

Metatron allows himself to sigh sadly. Castiel used to have such amazing lines before realizing—because of him—his feelings for Dean. Then, he only declared his feelings on his death bed. It’s another of his contradictions. His bluntness can destroy the strongest ego, but he’s also able to tuck away the things he doesn’t intend to share so tightly one would almost doubt it exists.

Back to the matter.

Their profound bond isn’t a mere footnote. It’s a romance able to shatter fate and shape the world. It’s absolute and complex. It’s the epitomize of all romances. Is there one trope Dean and Castiel didn’t use?

Zachariah keeps complaining about Dean’s and Castiel’s—in that order, for Zachariah—ridiculous behavior. Metatron understands his character and how to handle it easily. A dose of flattery here, an attack against his ego there, livened up with some patience. All of this gauged depending on circumstances. Right now, Zachariah’s behavior requires patience, followed by some flattery.

There’s something handy when you’re an angel: you can both listen and not listen to something. Humans would envy them if they knew. Who wouldn’t like to be able to listen to something and retain the elements you’ll need while letting your mind wanders freely?

Zachariah is taking his sweet time complaining. Yet, when they’re well done, romances only improve stories. It’s also an excellent excuse to test the characters.

“You know what are fanfictions?” Metatron interrupts him.

Zachariah narrows all his eyes, his wings flapping.

“I heard about it,” he finally says.

“There are fanfictions about Chuck’s books.”

Zachariah’s grace hums noncommittally. He doesn’t care about that ‘prophet’ and his badly-written novels. Metatron guesses Sam’s constant presence in the books, instead of Dean, doesn’t work in their favor.

“There is the huge proportion of fanfictions written for The End.”

That picks Zachariah’s interest. “Huge?”

Metatron nods slowly. “The End is the book that has the greatest number of fanfictions in the series. Humans love that world you built. It inspires them and interests them more than all the other stories Chuck wrote. They feel a difference, even if they don’t know why. The End is the bestseller of series.”

Zachariah seems to preen. “No less.”

Metatron leans forward as if he’s confiding him a secret. “Some people only read this book.”

“I see,” Zachariah says, unable to hide his satisfaction.

Metatron understands. He’d be proud too if he wrote a story so popular it cast a shadow over the main story.

He gives his colleague the time to bask in his victory, waiting for the right time. That’s it. The operation may resume.

“Create one of those worlds of yours.”

Metatron wasn’t expecting an outburst of joy—it’s too much to ask from angels—but Zachariah’s sudden loss of enthusiasm manages to disappoint him.

“The last one wasn’t good enough for you?”

Ah. He accidentally hurt his ego.

“It was perfect. You’re skilled to bring out something from the characters. This world allowed Castiel to progress much.”

Castiel talked about his problems—a miracle!—but he still has a long way to go. Dean is the one who took the first step. Again. This has to change.

Metatron fears for a moment it’s too early. It’s difficult for immortals to change their habits and crawling out of the trenches they dug for themselves. He wonders how much time they have. He tried to not think about it, but Jack is going to realize what they are doing... or, in the very least, that Castiel is missing.

“You have a free hand on the next simulation.”

“Really?” Zachariah asks with all the suspicion of an angel who already got tricked.

Metatron does his best to not take that personally.

It’s difficult. It’d be impossible for someone else.

In a spirit of generosity, he only answers, “Really. It’s time for us to have some fun.”

“At last,” Zachariah sighs.

Metatron can tell he’s as impatient as he is.

He’s curious to see what Zachariah will create.

Chapter Text

Castiel is disappointed, but not surprised, when he lands and Dean is nowhere to be seen. He’s in a forest, with mainly elms, mapples and ash trees. All of them have green, bushy foliage.

His hand closes on nothing. He still feels Dean’s warmth against his skin, his soul tickling against his grace.

His disappointment ripples on the angel radio. He doesn’t try to hide it. None of his brethern are helping him out of Gabriel’s trap, so why he’d be careful to not annoy them with his feelings?

He hopes it makes them sick.

In response, Castiel feels a vague annoyance that vanishes almost right away. He doesn’t know whether the connexion has been shut by an outside force or by the other angels.

He’ll have the time to settle it later. Angels don’t matter. He has to find Dean. Castiel tries to focus on him. When it doesn’t work, he draws his attention on their bond. He’s so thrilled his grace singsongs when he feels it. It’s as strong as ever.

(He did his best to ignore it since he came back. To not... yield to temptation.)

Castiel follows their bond like Ariane’s thread. He quickly realizes Dean is moving toward him. He hears him before seeing him. Even when they do their best to be silent, humans are noisy.

One glance suffices for Castiel to know his soul isn’t open to the world anymore and it’s a relief. He doesn’t dare looking at it more closely, the memory of its blinding brightness clinging to him.

Maybe that’s what humans feel when they spy the angels true forms.

Dean is wearing a black sleeveless t-shirt and military pants inside boots that he’d loathe. Their movie nights gave Castiel much insight about Dean’s taste in clothing. First are cowboy hats and doctor outfit. Then anything Patrick Swayze wears.

Dean grins and stops in front of him. “Heya Cas, missing me?”

“Of course.”

Dean makes an amused sound. “Kinda guessed. I saw your eyes light up.” He puts a hand on his shoulder and leans toward him. “Careful, or I’ll start believe you like me.”

“Like is too weak for what I’m feeling for you.”

Dean stares at him.

Castiel stares back.

He’s pleased to see a blush creeping on his cheeks. Dean drops his eyes but he doesn’t take his hand back. What he’s hearing pleases him but he doesn’t think he deserves it.

“What’s that?” Dean asks, eyeing the necklace.

Castiel holds it fondly. He thought it’d disappear with the previous illusion. “You gave it to me.”

Dean frowns in confusion. “No way. I’d remember something that fancy.” He moves his hand and watches the pendant. Castiel sees something flickers in his eyes. Dean feels there’s something off even if he can’t tell what.

Castiel lays a hand on his. Dean looks up before looking down at their hands, fluttering and steping back. He slides his hand  away from Castiel and clears his throat.

“So... you still agree?”

“Agree for what?

Dean tenses.

“You know I like when things are clearer,” Castiel says to make things better and because it’s true. “You could be tricking me into accepting anything.”

Like wearing a stupid cowboy hat.

Castiel doesn’t know their story here but the unbashful smile Dean shoots him shows their relationship is pretty much the same.

“Ay, Cas, you’re hurting me,” he lies.

“Not as much as those clothes are hurting me.”

Castiel doesn’t care about clothes, but Dean does. He glances downside, a pout on his lips, before shrugging.

“Don’t have much choice,” he mutters. “You’re the one who’s dressed weird today. No one asked you anything?”

Maybe Castiel lied. He cares a little about clothes. More exactly about what the people he cares about think about his clothes.

“You think my clothes are weird?”

“Wha– No no no. It– It suits you. It’s different, that’s all. I like it!”

Dean stares at him.

Castiel stares back, taken aback by the fervor in his voice.

Dean blushes and looks away. Castiel should say something. Dean’s demeanor changes, his embarrassment slipping away as he scans their surroundings. Castiel stands on his guard. He doesn’t think they’re endangered, but Dean is acting as if there are enemies nearby.

“What you wanted to ask me?”

Dean’s eyes settle on him.

“Running away.”

Chapter Text

Castiel wasn’t expecting that.

Actually, he wasn’t expecting anything, but still.

“Running away?”

Dean nods curtly. “I’d understand if you changed your mind.”

It’s sincere, but also not. It’d hurt him. Mentioning this possibility is already hurting him, but he’s too caring to not give an out to someone.

“Running away from what?”

Dean lets out a wry laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I want to listen to you.”

Dean glances at him. He nods and leads him on the shore of a river. He relaxes, deeming this place safe. He sits, his back against a tree, facing the river. Castiel sits down next to him and Dean tells him their story. This world is different from theirs and yet, they aren’t freer. Dean has been raised in a village not far, cut off from the world, with too many rules. He knows there’s a big, wide world beyond the forest. Weirdly enough, there are always more people wanting to join the group. They keep portraying the outside world negatively but Dean reads something else between the lines and this something is more freedom.

It’s always about freedom, for him.

He talks about Castiel arriving with his family when they were both teens and how they grew up together. Being a teenager is such a foreign concept Castiel can’t comprehend it. What growing up with Dean would feel like? How it would have been to spend what would feel like a lifetime by his side, instead of a too short time?

Castiel has—mostly—no regrets about their life, but he can’t help wondering.

Dean tells about them wanting to be free, but never finding the right time. There are always too many things to do, too many responsabilities, too many people—their people—to help.

“It’s the right time now?”

Dean nods. Somehow, he ended up leaning against him. Castiel doesn’t complain. It’s nice to have him that close.

“It is.”

“You’re ready to risk it?”

“We’ve done worse,” Dean says, a conspiratorial grin in his voice.

“We did,” he acknowledges.

Dean makes an amused sound.

“It won’t be easy. Maybe we’ll regret to have left, sometimes, but it’ll worth it. I know it will.”

“It will.”

Dean sits up to look at him. Castiel keeps his wing around him. Dean fits perfectly among his feathers.

“And you? Are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Awesome.”

Dean jumps on his feet. He looks down at him. It’s kinda weird. He’s so small compared to him.

“We’ll soon be free.”

“Freedom is better than anything, better than peace.”

Dean brightens. Freedom, free will, having a choice even if it’s only among bad ones... It’s his faith. No wonder their last battle hurt him so much.

“We meet here tonight?”

“You don’t want to leave now?”

“I want nothing else.” Castiel detects a lie. “It’ll be safer to leave tonight.”

“Alright.”

Castiel stands up. The pendant hits his sternum. He almost forgot about it.

He removes it and puts it around Dean’s neck. The green eyes widen. Dean bites down a smile. He tucks the necklace under his shirt, winks at Castiel and leaves.

Castiel watches him walk away.

They met as the night falls, as planned. Dean’s smile is a mixture of eagerness and anticipation. He adjusts his bag strap on his shoulder and notices Castiel doesn’t have a bag. His smile drops.

“Let’s go.”

“You ready?”

“I am.”

Dean pursues his lips, but he doesn’t comment his lack of preparation. He nods.

They head for the South, progressing at a quick pace. Castiel wonders what is going to happen. He’s following the scenario. Are they going to reach the end of this simulation?

With any luck, Gabriel will be satisfied by this win and let them go.

A gunshot tears the silence. Dean collapses.

Castiel stares at him. Dean is lying on the ground, still. Castiel kneels. He touches him and tries to heal him but it’s no use. His grace can't knit him back. He tries to bring him back. He fails. He doesn’t feel his soul anywhere. He can’t find it, can’t find him.

A screams rises inside Castiel. It swells in his chest and pours outside of him through his true voice. Trees shatter and fall on its way. Human figures collapse in the distance. Not far enough, if they have been far enough, Dean wouldn’t be–

Chapter Text

Castiel startles in another world.

Where is Dean?

He can’t die, right? Those worlds are illusions. Nothing is real. Nothing happening to them is real. So... Dean can’t die. He can’t.

Castiel forces himself to calm down. Panic is a bad counsellor. He won’t let it guide him. He never allowed it to, even when he believed Dean dead. He isn’t going to start now.

The first thing to do is to analyze his surroundings. He’s in another city. It should mean there won’t be any disaster this time. There’s a pattern in the scenarios, and the city ones are calmer.

Or it’s to lull him.

Castiel’s defiance increases. He’s preparing himself to fight. He should have been ready to defend himself. To defend Dean.

Guilt sharpens his senses and his reflexes. He spots a familiar face among the crowd. It’s not Dean, but she can’t be here, in this fake-world, and not know him.

Castiel makes his way to the crowd to a petite red-head. “Charlie?”

Charlie turns around, staring at him with round eyes. Maybe she doesn’t know him here.

“I’m searching Dean.”

Charlie winces. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Castiel tilts his head on the side.

“You know I always rooted for you guys.”

“You did.”

And she died because she accepted to help them.

Charlie looks up at him. Sighs. “Dean is going to kill me.”

“He never would.”

Charlie shoots him a smile. “Kidding, Cas.” She grabs him and hugs him tight. “I missed you so much.”

Castiel pats her back. He misses the real Charlie.

This Charlie steps back. “I’ll arrange you to meet with him, but it’s a one-time thing, okay? You’ve got to use it right.”

Castiel nods.

“Okay.” Charlie produces her phone, takes a deep breath and engages in a cheerful conversation. Castiel recognizes Dean’s voice and it soothes some of his worry. Dean’s answers are short, though Castiel hears he’s forcing a smile. Certainly for Charlie’s benefit. He ends up accepting to meet her in a place called the Devil’s Trap.

Charlie hangs up and breathes out a relieved sigh. Castiel frowns.

“You didn’t talk about me.”

“Dean would never have said yes if I talked about you.”

He frowns further. What’s that supposed to mean?

“You’re meeting at the Devil’s Trap, at 3. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t.”

Charlie smiles.

“Where’s the Devil’s Trap?”

“Cas.”

She proceeds to explain him. They part ways warmly, then Castiel follows her directions. He walks in the streets and past the shops she talked about. The situation is so realistic she didn’t get the distances right—humans aren’t precise about that kind of things—and she named some of the shops quite vaguely.

He reaches the Devil’s Trap, a nice coffeeshop in spite of its name, at twenty-six past one. He has to wait for a long time, but he heard Dean’s voice, and waiting here will be quicker than searching the whole illusion.

Castiel turns invisible for humans, not wanting to waste his time talking, and waits. People walk in and out the coffeeshop, alone or in groups, with family, friends or lovers. Some meet in front of the coffeeshop, others inside. None of those humans are alike, though, now he’s paying attention to it, Castiel realizes they’re nothing but illusions.

Then a soul comes closer. His soul.

Relief almost knocks him over. Dean appears in the street three seconds later. Castiel follows him with his eyes. Dean is fine. He doesn’t have a single wound.

Dean walks by him without casting him a glance and enters the Devil’s Trap. Castiel is puzzled until he remembers he made himself invisible to human eyes. He makes himself visible and follows Dean inside.

“Dean.”

Dean freezes, before swirling around, kicking into fight-or-flight mode. Castiel moves toward him. Dean steps back. It’s like something tears his grace apart.

“Castiel.”

The name is worse. Dean doesn’t call him Castiel. He’s Cas. He has been Cas long before they fought side by side. He never lost this name, no matter how hard the things got between them.

He hasn’t realized until now how much it means. What could have happened in this world for Dean to put that distance between them?

“That was a trap.”

“Dean...”

“Don’t.” Dean holds his gaze a second. Castiel sees a wave of sadness rising in his eyes before he drops them, breaking their eye-contact. “What do you want?”

“I–”

“Sirs,” a female voice interrupts them, “you’re in the way.”

Castiel is about to snap people can walk around them or wait but Dean offers the woman a smile.

“Sorry. We’re going to sit.” Alarm flashes through his eyes when he realizes what he said but he doesn’t backtrack. He heads to the closest table and gestures at Castiel to the seat across him. Castiel complies, not allowing this opportunity to escape him.

“What do you want?”

“A coffee,” answers Dean.

“And...?”

“He wants the same.”

The waitress walks away. Castiel’s eyes don’t leave Dean. Dean’s polite smile drops. He leans back in his seat.

“Why are we doing this again?” he asks, sounding exhausted.

“Doing what?”

Dean huffs. He shakes his head.

There’s something worse here than in everything they lived. There is no war calling him from afar. They aren’t trapped in a tiny part of the world. This is a simpler world, where human lives can show their complexity. This life weakened their bond.

It’s not real, Castiel reminds himself. Those are lies implanted in Dean’s mind.

“I don’t know how you convinced Charlie...”

“I was worried for you.”

Dean huffs. The waitress comes back at that moment and Dean uses her presence to divert his eyes. “Thanks!” She smiles back. She has hardly turned her back that his expression darkens. He lowers his eyes to his coffeecup.

“Worried for me. It’d be a first.”

“I always worry for you.”

Castiel reaches out but Dean withdraws his hand. He freezes, dread stilling his grace. Dean folds his fingers carefully.

“I– I can’t.”

Dean puts a couple of bills on the table and stands up.

“Dean.”

He stops next to the table, closing his eyes, his soul reaching out shortly for Castiel before hiding back in his body. His resolve hardens.

“Goodbye, Cas.”

Dean turns his back on him and walks away. It shocks Castiel to his core. It’s the first time Dean is choosing to walk away from him.

Chapter Text

Castiel can’t lose Dean.

The thought shakes him. Castiel rises to his feet and chases after him. Dean left the coffeeshop but he doesn’t have a head start. Castiel catches up with him.

“Dean!”

The only thing showing Dean heard are his tensing shoulders. He doesn’t slow down or glance back.

Dean has ignored him a couple of times, but never has he walked away from him without an outside influence like the Mark of Cain. What lie can be engraved in his mind for him to push Castiel away and walk as far as he can? What could have been worse than betraying him, tricking him, lying to him? Hurting the people he loves, willingly or because he hid him informations? Failing him, time and time again?

There’s a reason Castiel decided to not come back, and it’s not because the Heaven’s doors are closed. He doesn’t care that much about the rules of Heaven.

He slows down. Stops. Dean is walking away from him and it’s better this way. Castiel deserves nothing else. He hardly could save his life.

He remembers Dean fussing over him, and being sad because Castiel had to leave, and having his heart broken at not being able to follow him, and just wanting to spend time with him. Dean wanting to be free, no matter what. Dying because of it.

Those Deans were as real as this one is. He can’t fail them. He can’t fail him. Giving up isn’t helping Dean. It’s making his life easier and letting him struggle in another cage.

Castiel flies. He isn’t trying to leave or to reach another world. He wants to solve this very situation first.

He lands in front of Dean. His relief is cut short: the green eyes round and Dean cringes.

“Wha–”

Castiel takes his hands. “Dean, please, listen to me.”

Dean looks over his shoulder, then where Castiel is. He frowns and shakes his head. He slips his hands out of Castiel’s hold.

“I– No. It’s done. You– I gave you chances. As many as I could handle. More than I could handle.” His voice breaks and he drops his gaze. “I– I can’t. Not anymore. It’s too much.”

“Dean.”

Dean takes a step back.

“Stop saying that.”

“What?”

“My name. Like you care. Just... stop.”

“I care,” Castiel whispers.

He wonders what happened for Dean to doubt it. If there’s something Castiel is aware of and never doubts, it’s his attachment for Dean. What he identified later as love.

He fears to hurt him by asking.

He fears the answer.

“You don’t. Not enough for me, Cas– tiel.”

The slip-up gives him hope. It means everything isn’t lost.

Dean wouldn’t be hurting so much if he didn’t care.

“Leave me alone. You could at least do that, don’t you think? You’re good at it.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you want from me?”

“This isn’t about what I want,” Castiel answers uneasily.

“Then what it’s about?”

“You.”

“It’s not. It never has been. For no one, and especially not for you.”

“It is, for me. It always has been about you.”

Dean looks at him. There’s something in his eyes. A spark that alights, and grows. A tiny flame of hope Dean crushes himself. His eyes darken.

“Tell me,” Castiel insists. “I have to know what you want. What you need.”

“Why?”

“To be able to help you.”

A bitter laugh dies in Dean’s throat. “That’s it? You decided I’m another case you have to take care of? Another rescue.” Dean looks in the distance. “It was like that, when we met, but then... I started thinking it was different. That I was different for you. I’ve always been so dumb.”

“Dean.”

Dean looks at him. “You don’t have to save me. I’m not your responsability.”

It feels like claws slashing at his grace, hurting the very core of his being. Castiel winces, remembering he aimed the same words at Dean. He hasn’t imagined being at the end of those words could hurt that much.

“You realize how cruel it is?”

“To save you?”

“To let me believe you cared, just to discard me. I told you I need you, I love you. I asked you to stay. None of this has ever been enough. You acted like you care, and I believed you, and the very next moment you were stomping on me. I’d rather not have been saved. I knew what to expect. I didn’t let myself believe I could have something just to have this very thing snatched away from me.”

They stare into each other eyes. Dean’s heart is bared at Castiel’s feet, and he’s seeing how much it means for him, how brave it is to lay your heart in front of someone and expect them to crush it.

Castiel remembers a crypt. He remembers a table in a diner. He remembers Purgatory. He remembers it in many little things.

He has never worked out that kind of bravery. He never offered his heart to Dean that way, only when he thought he wouldn’t have to face the consequences.

“We can fix this, I know we can.”

Dean doesn’t look like he believes him.

“Dean, please.”

He shakes his head and lowers his eyes, but he isn’t walking away.

“Dean.”

“I can’t do that again. I can’t keep doing that.” He closes his eyes. “I’m so tired, Cas.”

Chapter Text

Cas. Dean called him Cas.

Castiel steps closer. Dean keeps not looking at him. He’s shrinking on himself and avoiding Castiel’s eyes as if it could make him forget he’s here, with him.

Castiel musters his courage and puts a hand on Dean’s cheek. Dean lifts his eyes, surprised.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, not that it makes a big difference.”

“Intentions are important,” Dean whispers.

It’s not a hug, or the acceptance of his apology, but it’s a good start. Dean isn’t pushing him away anymore. It means he can be forgiven.

Castiel brushes his cheek. Dean closes his eyes and sighs softly. Castiel shouldn’t indulge himself this. But Dean is looking so defeated and he’s leaning into his touch. Castiel has difficulties understanding him. None of this is rational. If he hurt Dean that much, why his presence is comforting him? Why he leaves then tells him he wanted him to stay?

Castiel cares for humanity, but he fails at understanding them enough. At understanding Dean enough. He understands him better than anyone else, and he’s proud of it, but he forgot he doesn’t understand him perfectly. There are times Dean is beyond his understanding. He feels too much. It makes him less rational than other humans, and even those humans can feel conflicting feelings at the same time.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”

Dean’s eyes flutter open. He steps back, slipping away from Castiel’s touch.

“What’s the point?”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You already told so.”

“If there’s anything in my power to make up to it, I will do it.”

Hurt floods Dean’s eyes. “Why telling me that now?”

“Because you deserve to hear it.”

“I don’t.”

Castiel frowns. “You do. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Dean bites down his lower lip.

“Why you left?”

“Dean...”

“If I didn’t do anything wrong, why you left? Why you kept leaving? Why I–” His voice breaks. “Why I was never enough for you?” he whispers.

“You were.”

Dean shakes his head. “If I was, you’d have stayed.”

“I thought I could protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“That’s a lie.”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t want you to protect me if it means you’re leaving.”

Shockingly enough, that’s the truth.

Castiel drags Dean against him. He ignores the surprised sound he utters and closes his free arm around him. He hears his breath stop, his heart beat faster, then Dean relaxes. He wraps his arm around his back, holding onto him.

“Cas.”

I gave you chances.

I was never enough for you.

If I was, you’d have stayed.

Castiel didn’t know it’s what Dean needed... or maybe he didn’t listen. He tries to think about them with a human perspective. He only left because of important matters. He doesn’t regret it, even though he’s regretting the outcome of some of his decisions, but he’s sorry it hurt Dean that much.

“I wanted to stay. I’d rather have been with you... I didn’t leave for fun, you know?”

Dean nods.

“I didn’t think it hurt you.” After a beat, “I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure he’ll say it enough.

“Alright.”

Dean moves to step back and Castiel allows him to. He glances around and lowers his eyes with a little smile. “We look dumb. Who has that kind of conversation in the street?”

“We can go back in the coffeeshop.”

“It’d be worse. We look like chick-flick characters.”

“You like chick-flicks.”

“I love chick-flicks,” Dean corrects with a bashful smile. “Doesn’t mean I want to live one.”

Castiel squints. That’s a lie too.

“Don’t say it,” Dean hastens to say.

“Alright.”

The silence isn’t as comfortable as it has been.

“Are we okay?”

“We are.”

Castiel should be relieved, but Dean is telling so with such a sad smile he has the impression he’s asking to crush his heart.

It’s certainly the impression Dean has.

Castiel lifts his hand to his mouth. Dean blushes.

“You serious?” he chokes.

“I am. I’ll do better, Dean. I’ll make things right. Trust me.”

“Cas.”

“Trust me.”

Dean stares at him and time stretches out. He nods.

“I won’t leave anymore.”

Castiel flies away. He understands now why Dean doesn’t remember. Someone is trying to teach him a lesson. It wouldn’t work if Dean remembered their world. He’d fight to get out. He wouldn’t accept to drift with the current. He never does. Even without his memories, he doesn’t accept what is imposed to him and keeps following his inner compass.

Castiel dislikes needing Gabriel’s help to realize something so important, but he’ll live.

He lands in another simulation and, instead of running around to find an exit, he goes looking for Dean.

Chapter Text

This world is different.

The decor is a modern city, like the hundreds he crossed on Earth, like the five—and now six—that were used as a decor among the eleven previous illusions. But there’s something in the air, in the way the people are staring at him.

Castiel can’t feel the bond tying him to Dean. He looks around, searching clues about where Dean can be or what he should do next. He isn’t one to follow a script but he can make that effort for Dean. For a time. Until he gets out of here.

Then, no matter how useful are the lessons he learned, he intends to get even with Gabriel.

Castiel walks forward. He doesn’t have a destination yet, and humans keep behaving weirdly on his path, some bowing their heads in prayers, others dropping on their knees.

An angel appears at his side. Castiel is unable to identify him. Maybe the angel is not supposed to be anyone. Creating an illusion of an angel is harder than a human. The illusion would have to be on several planes simultaneously and imitating another angel’s frequencies is almost impossible.

“I’m here to ask you if you have other orders to give, Lord.”

Castiel winces. He’s still God in this world, or maybe he has always been.

He worries about what it means for Dean and their relationship here.

“I don’t have any.”

“You’re going back to your home,” the angel says.

Castiel doesn’t miss the judgement in his tone. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Terror screams from the angel. He shuts it down quickly, but not quickly enough for Castiel to not notice it.

“I wouldn’t dare. Only you, among us, knows what is fair.”

Do I?

It’d be flattering if this wasn’t a line from someone’s scenario.

Castiel waves the angel away with a flap of his wings. “I have no order to give. Go away.”

“As you want, Lord.”

The angel leaves. Castiel should have asked him where he lives. He’d have to fend for himself. Again.

Castiel stops in front of an imposing mansion. Its aura is both calling for him and screaming for everything else to avoid it.

It’s certainly here.

Castiel walks toward it and the door opens. It closes as soon as he crosses the threshold. He hears the sounds of a TV and follows it to a living room. The screen is huge, hiding most of the wall behind it. Castiel forgets about it as soon as he sees the couch where Dean is comfortably lying, wrapped up in a blanket. There’s a thick carpet covering the floor from the couch to the TV, with piles of pillows everywhere. Castiel moves closer. Dean turns his head, as if sensing his presence. His eyes widen. He struggles out of the blanket. Castiel notices he’s wearing soft grey pants and a large blue t-shirt. Dean slips off the couch. He sinks to his knees and bows his head. “My lord.”

Something gets stuck in Castiel’s throat.

“I’m not God.”

He feels so foreign from that time he answered It’s a nice compliment, but no as if it hasn’t been only a decade ago but several lifetimes.

The situation is quite similar though, and the problem is that part of him wants to revel in Dean’s reverence.

Castiel kneels next to Dean. Being so close to the ground doesn’t feel natural. The position is too vulnerable. He fights off the urge to stand up and focuses his attention on Dean because only him matters. He wraps one of his wings around him. Dean’s eyelids drop. He lets out a little sigh. Castiel wonders if he’ll be able to feel his wings once they’ll be back home.

“Cas.”

“What’s wrong?”

Dean presses himself against him. He hides his face against his shoulder and wraps his arms around him. “You were gone for so long. I was wondering if you’d come back or– or if–” He squeezes.

“I’ll always come back.”

Dean slumps in relief. His grip loosens. Castiel doesn’t know what to do. This version of Dean is so frail he fears to damage him. Too frail. He lays a hand on his arm as gently as he can.

“Dean, can you look at me?”

Dean sits up, his eyes full of questions. Castiel holds his face in his hands and looks at his soul. Horror creeps into his grace. Dean’s soul isn’t scarred. Its wounds are open and bleeding in the way souls bleed, in worse shape than when Castiel saw him down the rack. He was hurt then, some of the wounds on his soul open, but most of them were healing or already turned into scars. His soul was fine enough to scream and wail and hate itself.

This soul doesn’t utter the slightest sound.

It’s wrong. So very wrong. Can Dean go back from that? Wouldn’t he have after-effects even after Castiel manages to bring him in another world?

“Cas? Something’s wrong?”

Until now, Castiel thought the situation as some sick joke, but this... this is going too far. It’s worse than Dean’s short death. He will kill whoever is involved in this, those who are responsible as well as those who are standing by, doing nothing.

And if Dean doesn’t recover...

“Cas!”

Castiel takes his eyes off of this horrific vision. Dean is clutching his hand with his both hands, looking at him in worry. How he’s finding the strength to worry about someone else now?

“Cas?”

“You shouldn’t sit like that. You’re going to hurt your knees.”

Dean glances down and blinks in confusion. He slides to the side, unfolding his legs, using this movement to sit closer to Castiel. He’s leaning against him, his shoulder pressing against his.

Castiel understands why this room is comfortably furnished.

“I shouldn’t have left for so long.”

Dean stares at him, his face a mask without any emotion, before smiling slowly. “It’s okay. I know you’ve got stuff to do.”

Castiel remembers sadly that other Dean, giving up on a dinner that made him so happy for the very same reason.

“This isn’t a good excuse.”

“Why not?”

“It makes you sad.”

Dean laughs, and the innocent sound takes Castiel by surprise. “It’s not your fault. I’m broken.”

“You’re not...”

He is. And maybe it’s permanent.

“You shouldn’t be tied down by me.” Dean grins. “What I feel for you... It consumes me. I don’t want it to bother you.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

Dean’s grin slips away.

“You know I do.”

There’s devotion in his eyes but the most unsettling about it is that it’s not unfamiliar. Castiel wants to be afraid of it. Someone good would be afraid to have that kind of power over a person, especially a person they love. He doesn’t and it’s disappointing. It means he was right to walk away from Dean and cutting ties with him. How he can ask Dean to trust him when he isn’t sure he can be trusted around him?

Castiel thinks about pushing him away and leaving, but he remembers promising Dean he’d stop leaving. He sees his soul, raw and vulnerable, and doesn’t want to be the thing that will destroy it.

“Can you tell me what happened here?”

Dean blinks. He looks around the room. “I just stayed here. There’s not much to say.”

“No, I want you to tell me our story.”

“Oh? Sure. I love that story.” Dean smiles and adds, awed, “You saved me.”

I didn’t.

Because this Dean has never been saved.

Chapter Text

Dean tells him the story they share in this simulation. The situation in this Heaven is quite unclear: Castiel became its leader, but Dean can’t explain how and Castiel doesn’t dare to ask him too many questions even if his story lacks details. Dean is recounting him forbidding demon deals and gazes him adoringly.

“You saved all the souls you believed you could save.” Dean looks down at his open hands. “I was almost one of them, but you still chose me. You still thought you could do something for me. You held me against you.” He sighs contentedly, recalling the fond memory. He remembers Castiel saving him from Hell, in this world, but at what cost? “And you brought me here. Well, not here. Not right away. You brought me back on Earth. You tried to heal me but you couldn’t. I was too far away. If I held out longer...” He shakes his head. “Well, I didn’t. It’s a chance I didn’t become one of them.”

Dean always hated the idea of becoming a demon. Turning into one didn’t cure him of his disgust and made his poor opinion of himself worse.

“When did I bring you in this house?”

Dean frowns and looks around the room. “A couple of weeks after saving me? You didn’t want to leave me alone. You said it was too dangerous.”

It makes sense. This Dean is too vulnerable, more than when he was a seer. Anything could break the little that’s left of him. Vulnerable people are preyed upon. A vulnerable person linked to the supernatural world? A hunter turned vulnerable? It’d be a prey of choice for every predator.

“Your family doesn’t mind?”

“They aren’t happy with it, but I can’t hunt anymore.”

“You obviously can’t.”

It’s already a wonder Dean’s alive and able to form coherent thoughts. He may be too resilient for his own good.

Dean nods slowly. “They don’t really like how I am now. I can’t help anyone anymore. Sometimes, I almost feel normal. I believe I can be normal. But it’s only this place. You magicked it for me.”

Castiel tears his attention off Dean to look around. There are numerous pillows, the carpet and the TV he already noticed, along with a couple of shelves, a table and thick curtains in front of the windows hardly letting the light in. There’s nothing to see.

“You drew all kinds of sigils on the walls. Nothing but you, or me, can be here. I’m safe.”

“You... want to be safe.”

Wouldn’t you rather be free?

Dean worries at his lip. “I’d be dangerous out. I didn’t hurt anyone, not since–” He winces. “Not since I’m back, but until you brought me here... It was so hard to remember I was out. I saw Hell everytime I blinked. Sometimes, the visions lingered, and then– then people didn’t look like people. Here, I’m not chained down by Hell anymore. I’m free.”

“Is it real freedom?” Castiel can’t help but ask.

“For me it is. I would hurt people outside, and I don’t want that.”

Castiel’s last doubt disappears. Hurting people is the last thing Dean wants. He’s willing to go at great lengths not to and it wouldn’t be the first time he decides to lock himself up to spare innocents.

Castiel does everything he can to not support those plans, usually. But here...

“You relive your time in Hell when you’re out of this house?”

“Not always. I could go out for a couple of hours without too many flashbacks, but they’d end up catching up with me. He’d end up catching me.”

“If I were a God, I could protect you from this.”

“You saved me. I never prayed, but you still answered me. You prevented me to become one of them. I don’t ask for more.”

It’s not enough.

“He followed me on Earth, and you killed him. He won’t hurt me again..”

Not he won’t be able to hurt me anymore. The wounds Alastair inflicted him will never disappear.

“Is this place really helping you?”

“I’m almost myself here. I feel fine enough to think, choose, and not hurt anyone. It’s the most freedom I can have now.”

Castiel nods thoughtfully.

“I’ve got to confess,” Dean carries on, “I still don’t understand why you saved me. It’s causing you many problems and you don’t have anything in return.”

“You were the first.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything.”

Dean laughs. “I don’t get it.”

“When I saved you from Perdition, it saved me too.”

“I can’t save anyone. I never could.”

“You saved many people. You saved me.”

Dean frowns, unable to believe him. Castiel doesn’t worry about it. He picks up the blanket and wraps it around Dean.

“Are you tired?”

Dean shrugs. “Not much.”

Castiel raises an eyebrow at the evasive answer. Dean lowers his eyes.

“Sleeping is hard despite the sigils.”

This world is very sad.

“Sleep, Dean. I’m here. You’re safe.”

Dean stares at him and nods slowly. He pulls the blanket closer around him and nestles back against Castiel. He presses his cheek on his shoulder.

“’Night Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.”

Castiel waits for Dean to drift into sleep, hoping it’d make the passage in the next simulation easier. He doesn’t know what impact it’d have on such a fragile soul. He fears it’d have terrible consequences. If Dean sleeps and isn’t aware of the world surrounding him, it’ll hurt less. Maybe he’ll heal in that sleep and he’ll wake up in the next simulation without the slightest memory of that damaged soul.

Castiel hopes so.

Castiel prays for the first time in years. He doesn’t know who or what he’s praying. He despairs at the thought of Dean not recovering from that.

Chapter Text

Metatron stares at the screen. He doesn’t understand how Zachariah pulled this off. Seeing Castiel freaking out about Dean’s soul drove him to pay it attention and he had to face a horrific vision. It pained him, even though he doesn’t like Dean—the man is nothing but Castiel’s love interest. His artistic curiosity quickly prevailed and, now, his mind is filled with questions.

He doesn’t find a single answer.

On one hand, it proves he was right to hire Zachariah. No one else would have thought about using Dean’s soul. On the other hand, it’s deeply annoying. Zachariah sees he gave him an insoluble riddle and he’s enjoying it. He wants Metatron to ask him, so he’d be able to flaunt his superior knowledge.

Metatron can’t stoop that low. He’s the Scribe. He can’t have less knowledge than another angel.

“I hope you didn’t damage Dean permanently,” he comments, venom in his voice—and not because he’s suddenly worried of Dean’s sake.

Zachariah smiles contentedly.

“It’s temporary.”

It raises more questions than it answers. Zachariah knows. Metatron knows he knows. The whole situation is so infuriating.

If they haven’t made such progress about Castiel, Metatron would regret everything.

“Let’s move on.”

Castiel feels the world changing around them. He closes his eyes. What would he do if Dean doesn’t heal? There’s nothing he’d be able to do to help him. He doesn’t have any ace left in his sleeve. There’s no more sacrifice to guarantee his safety.

“Cas?”

Castiel opens his eyes. He’s on a sidewalk and Dean is standing in front of him, looking at him with bright green eyes, his face charmingly curious, and his soul...

Relief sweeps over Castiel, singing through his frequencies. Dean’s soul is the one he has always known: hurt and scarred, but holding together.

“Dean.”

Castiel cups his face in his hands. Dean is looking at him in absolute trust, and Castiel realizes he often looked at him like this even after his failures. He was still trusting him when Castiel thought he needed to prove himself.

I should have talked to him, like he said.

He blamed Dean for making things complicated because he’s human, but Castiel did too and he doesn’t have that excuse.

“You fine?” Dean asks. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I thought I lost you.”

Dean raises one hand and puts it on his. “I’m right here. You can’t lose me, except if you dump me.”

“I won’t.”

“Yeah?”

Dean smirks as if it’s a joke, but there’s something in his voice that sounds like an actual question. Like he isn’t sure Castiel means it. Part of it is because of his past experiences, but part of it is because of Castiel’s own actions, and this realization is unpleasant. Castiel never wanted that. He has been too focused on his duty and neglected equally important matters.

He won’t do that mistake again. He’ll only leave on his own in case of extreme need. It won’t be his first reaction anymore. He’ll make sure of it. He can fulfill this resolution as soon as now. Dean is right here and he’d be ready to fight by his side if he has all information in hand.

Castiel made a mistake when he explained things to office Dean. He didn’t ask for his help, only talking about leaving and having to take care of his problems alone.

Seer Dean believed him, and Castiel leaned on him.

Castiel brushes Dean’s face with his thumbs.

“Let me remind you.”

“Not yet!” Metatron exclaims cheerfully.

He may have reached his first goal—Castiel isn’t going to give up ‘selflessly’ his happiness anymore—but, since he has him at his mercy, he might as well have some fun.

Metatron turns toward Zachariah, his grievances against him forgotten—for now.

“Write us a grand finale.”

Zachariah smirks.

Chapter Text

Castiel blinks, puzzled.

He’s on the roof of a building—not as tall as the Chrysler Building, part of him notes smugly—and Dean is nowhere to be seen.

His puzzlement quickly sharpens into annoyance.

“Gabriel!” he snarls.

He forgot that, despite his soft spot for lecturing people, the archangel especially likes to have fun.

Gabriel’d better watch out. Castiel will find a way out of his stupid illusions. He already killed one archangel. He trapped three of them and molotoved one. Gabriel should be afraid of him.

Castiel snarls angrily on the angel radio, hoping it’ll reach his brother, not minding when it sends the other angels cowering away.

He flies to the ground and walks in the streets, trying to tune his frequencies to Dean’s soul. Something is blocking their bond. Castiel pushes against it. It’s pushing back, cold and sharp. Castiel frowns, his worry awakening.

He has to find Dean.

He covers the city as quickly as he can, until he gets a lead. A neighborhood of buildings where their bond feels stronger. Castiel turns in a street, then in another, expecting the human illusions to avoid him—they do. He enters an alley, walking between two close buildings.

A knife lifts to his throat. Castiel stops, though the blade won’t cause him any harm.

“Hello Cas.”

He turns around and the knife is quickly moved away from him.

“Dean,” he says, his voice soft with relief.

Dean is standing in a doorway. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a grey shirt and jeans. Castiel tilts his head, frowning. There’s something wrong. It’s still Dean, he doesn’t doubt it, but he’s the one who changed their bond. He’s keeping him at distance and there’s something weird in the way he’s looking at him.

Dean’s hand tightens around the knife.

“Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t step back. He isn’t afraid. What Dean could do to him with a mere iron knife?

Dean glances at the street.

“We should talk elsewhere.”

“Talk,” Castiel echoes, his tone flat.

Dean taps the knife against his thigh. “There are several ways to talk.” His eyes land on him, and Castiel understands what is wrong with them. They are showing no emotion. Dean is the most feeling human he ever met. Castiel tries to peer at his soul, but it’s no use. He can’t see beyond his flesh.

“Unless you’re afraid of me, Cas.”

“I’m not.”

“Your mistake,” Dean mutters under his breath.

He shoves his shoulder. Castiel doesn’t move. He refuses to be pushed around. He tips his head.

“You can walk first.”

Dean lets out a joyless laugh. “That’s how you’re going to play it, huh?”

“I’m not playing.”

“Sure, buddy.”

Dean stares at him. Castiel thinks he’s going to keep standing stubbornly here and he’d have to act, when Dean tears his eyes off him. He walks around him and crosses the alley. Castiel joins him in the street. Dean gives him a unreadable gaze before turning to the right and walking in great strides. Castiel advances by his side. He’s still unable to see his soul, and it reminds him unpleasantly of the times he was powerless, but he’s hearing it. Dean’s soul is growling, its frequencies hurting Castiel’s grace. He urges to wrap himself around it, like he did a decade ago when he raised it out of Perdition.

“Aren’t we going to talk?”

“Not here.”

Dean is walking forward, forcing the illusions to avoid him. He’s more careful about other people usually.

“You can tell me what is bothering you,” Castiel points out.

“Rich coming from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Talking has never been your strong suit, Cas. You appear, you stay a couple of day, then you disappear without a word or a way to stay in touch. I don’t have any lessons to get from you.”

“My problems aren’t your problems. I don’t want to burden you with any of it.”

Castiel is regretting that Dean won’t remember any of it. There were many problems he wasn’t aware of and those stupid scenarios highlit. Castiel would remember, but Dean wouldn’t and there are so many things he needs to hear.

“But you want to know everything about my problems?” Dean huffs. “I guess it’s logical, given what you are.”

“What I am?”

“A traitor.”

“How did I betray you?”

“That’s it. Play innocent.”

“I’m not ‘playing innocent’. I want to know what I did and how I can redeem myself to you.”

“You can’t. Not for this.”

The words tear at Castiel’s grace. What frightens him the most aren’t mistakes, though he hates them and would like to do better, but failing and not being able to redeem himself. Failing so much there’s no coming back.

“Dean...”

“Don’t. You made your choice and now– now we both have to face the consequences.”

They keep moving without exchanging a word. They turn in a street, then another. Castiel wonders if Dean has a destination in mind or if he only wants to walk away.

“I never wanted that.”

“You made your choices Cas.”

“I know, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Dean huffs. “Good one.”

“It’s the truth.”

Dean eyes him from the corner of his eyes. “Right. Let’s pretend I believe that. You had the choice several times, and you always chose what was going to hurt me. Once? Twice? It can be coincidences. Hell, I’d have believed in coincidences as long as it’ll have allowed me to keep you at my side. I’m as guilty as you to have refused to see what was in front of me all that time.”

“A traitor?”

Dean stops. Looks into his eyes. “A threat for my family.”

“I never wanted that.”

Something snaps in Dean. He closes in one step the distance between them.

“What you wanted then?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Just say what you want!”

Castiel is taken aback by Dean’s fierceness. He’s taken aback by too many things, since the beginning of his misadventures, and it’s getting on his nerves.

“It’s not that simple!”

“How you know if you don’t try?”

Castiel huffs. “You don’t either.”

“We’re talking about you, not me. Stop trying to deflect. And I did tell you. You chose to not listen.”

“I never–”

“You did, time and time again! And, everytime I knew there was something wrong, everytime I had proofs that you lied and you betrayed us, I chose to look away. I thought it wouldn’t be so serious in the end. I thought– I thought–” He shakes his head and steps away. “It doesn’t matter. I made those terrible choices too.”

“Choosing to trust isn’t a terrible choice.”

“It is, when you’re proved you can’t trust that person and it could hurt the people you love.” Dean looks away.  “Let’s get this done.”

He sets off again. Castiel decides to accompany him. Soon, they’re walking between older buildings, bricks replacing concrete. Dean stops down a flight of steps. Castiel follows his eyes. The Winchester’s name is engraved with wrought iron on the front door, above the Men of Letters’ Aquarian Star. Dean pushes the door. It squeaks on its hinges and opens on a hallway. Corridors are leading deeper into the house on both sides and, in front of them, stairs are leading upstairs.

Castiel enters. Dean closes the door behind him and swirls around to face him.

“How it is, to be the end of the Campbells and the Winchesters legacies?”

“You do not care about legacies,” Castiel reminds him.

“I don’t. But I care about my family. What did you think would happen? You strolled in. You killed my brother, my mom, my cousins... and what? I should just let you go? Better yet: follow you in the sunset.”

“I would never–”

Castiel breaks off, unsure. If Naomi controlled him, would he have been able to pull his punches against Sam or Mary when he nearly killed Dean?

“I saw you with their blood on your hands,” Dean says evenly—too evenly for the circumstances. “I should have reacted right then, but I couldn’t. Now, we’re both going to pay for it.”

“Why both of us if I’m guilty?”

Something crumbles in Dean’s face. He turns away. “Knife, sword or gun?”

“What for?”

“What for do you think?”

Castiel doesn’t want to answer. Dean eyerolls. “Knife then.” He produces the knife he used to threaten Castiel earlier and another that was hidden in his boot. He holds them to Castiel.

“Choose.”

“I won’t.”

“Pick a knife Cas.”

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“You are going to let me kill you without defending yourself?” Dean asks, offense creeping into his voice.

“If it comes to that.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Take the knife.”

“I won’t.”

There’s a clatter, metal hitting the ground. One knife dropped. Dean lunges at him. Castiel allows him to bring him down. The impact has no consequence on him. It doesn’t steal the slightest breath out of his lungs. Dean rights himself as quickly as a human can, sitting on Castiel’s stomach, his legs bracketting him. His knife hovers over his heart. Dean glares at it, determined. He shifts almost imperceptibly to be able to kill him in one strike, if he were human. Dean is never unnecessarily cruel. He always does his best for the killing blow to be as painless as possible.

Castiel looks at him and thinks he’s beautiful. It strikes him in the weirdest times.

“Don’t worry,” Dean whispers. “I don’t intend to outlive you long.”

The sentence snaps Castiel out of his reverie. He focuses on Dean, picturing every way he can disarm him. The knife can’t hurt him, but the same can’t be said for Dean.

Dean’s green eyes are focused on one point, his eyelashes shadowing them. The freckles are standing out on his face.

His fingers unfold. He drops the knife, that hits the ground with a clatter. Dean collapses on him. Castiel stops breathing. He has to concentrate to prevent his grace from reaching out to Dean. They have never been so close.

Dean buries his face against his neck. He’s shaking.

“I can’t.”

Castiel puts shyly an arm across his back. “It’ll be okay.”

“You killed them.”

“I didn’t.”

“I saw you.”

“I didn’t.”

“I saw you... and I want to believe you anyway. Cas...”

His voice sounds so pained on his name that Castiel’s grace screams.

“It’s okay, Dean. I’ve got you. I’m going to fix it.”

“How can you fix that?”

Dean’s tone isn’t unbelieving. He wants to believe him, no matter how impossible it seems to him.

He’s always like that, with him.

“Thank you.”

“For failing my family?”

“For giving me so many chances.”

Dean peers at him. Castiel secures the arm around his back and stands up. Dean makes a surprised sound. Castiel keeps holding him until he gets his feet on the ground.

“How did you...?”

“I’m going to fix this, I swear. And then, I’ll stay.”

“You...”

Castiel lays a hand on his shoulder, above his mark. He spreads his wings and flies them away.

Chapter Text

They’re on Earth, surrounded by trees. To be precise, they’re in a forest park of north Kansas, not very far from the bunker.

Castiel needs time to process it. They’re on Earth. They’re back.

He turns around. Dean is rubbing his temples, his features contorted in pain.

“Are you hurting?”

“My head.” Dean closes his eyes shut. “It’s the memories of those... of those worlds I guess, and what my life was in them. It’s... much, but it’ll be fine.”

Concern twists Castiel’s grace. It means thirteen lifetimes of memories. What if it’s too much for a human mind?

Dean shakes his head. His eyes flutter open and try staring at him, but they’re unfocused. He blinks.

“I’m getting better. I think.”

It’s a lie. He winces a second later.

Castiel flexes his hand, fighting the urge to cross the distance between them and relieve Dean from his pain.

“I remember everything.”

Castiel’s frequencies get silent. He stares at Dean. Dean stares back. He said the truth. He does remember everything.

It’s been long since Castiel has wanted to fly away that much. He can do that, or knock Dean out, or erase his memories, or do anything to not have to face this situation.

It’d be easy. He’d just have to reach out to him. A tap on his forehead and Dean wouldn’t remember any of those misadventures, or even meeting him again. The end of their story would be the one Castiel has written.

It would be easy, if it weren’t Dean. But it’s Dean, and he remembers everything they told each other, all the promises Castiel made, all the moments they spent together.

Dean clears his throat. “So... you’re alive?”

“I am.”

The following silence is awkward. Castiel’s frequencies tangle up. He and Dean are more at ease around each other usually, able to confide in each other in a way they’d never be able to confide in someone else, even when they’re disagreeing.

“It’s so weird.”

Dean’s soul is whimpering in distress, preventing Castiel to leave on an impulse. Dean isn’t trying to hide his pain anymore. Castiel reads it in his expression, in the way his shoulders are tensed. He steps closer to him. 

“I– We didn’t see each other for so long.” Three months, twelve days and eighteen hours. “And I know how I wanted to see you again, and what I intended to tell you, but there are all those other versions and I’m feeling them too and I don’t know– I don’t–” His voice breaks and he concludes in a whisper, “It’s so much.”

“Do you want me to...?”

“Please,” he sighs.

Castiel crosses the last step between him and Dean’s personal space. Tension leaves Castiel and he feels like his grace is sighing in contentment. His wings fold behind Dean, protecting him without touching him. He reaches out to his face. Dean closes his eyes and lowers his chin. Castiel brushes his temple and infuses grace in his mind. The memories of the thirteen simulations are shoving each other. A growl sounds in Castiel’s throat. Human minds aren’t made to perceive so many things simultaneously. He orders the memories and lets them slide in Dean’s mind, one after the other, instead of fighting for his attention and hurting him in the process.

Dean lets out a relieved sigh.

When the last memory clings into place—Castiel promising him to stay before touching his shoulder—Dean opens his eyes and offers him a smile.

“Heya Cas.”

Castiel can’t help but smile back.

“Hello Dean.”

Then, Dean does something catching him off-guard: he drags him into a hug, closing his arms around him, holding him with all his feeble human might. Castiel hugs him back. He missed having him so close, feeling his warmth and the slow humming of his soul, hearing his breathing and his heartbeart.

They don’t hold onto each other long, or maybe too long by human standards, when Dean steps back. Not far. He keeps Castiel in his personal space.

Dean scans their surroundings before looking back at him. “Cas, how did this happen?”

“I have theories,” Castiel retorts sourly, his wings flapping.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Care to share with the class?”

“Gabriel,” he growls, sending all his annoyance, all his anger, through the angel radio.

The constant humming falls silent. Castiel can feel the other angels cowering, except Uriel and Balthazar, who don’t count.

“Gabriel? He isn’t dead?”

Castiel hears the question Dean isn’t asking. His soul is screaming it so loudly Castiel would have rather heard the accusation outloud.

And you? Aren’t you dead?

Sometimes, the fact Dean feels so much is overwhelming.

“Let’s deal with this first.”

Dean hesitates, then nods briefly. “First.”

This little word hangs more heavily than any threat Castiel heard. He isn’t in a hurry to have that conversation.

He calls Gabriel through the angel radio. Weirdly enough, the archangel appears before Castiel can switch to threats.

“What’s up?”

“What’s up?!”

Gabriel shrugs casually. “I guess you have something interesting to tell me since you called. Unless,” he grins, “you want me to teach you how to have fun? I’d never have thought you’d have it in you. Let’s start by–”

“The only thing I want from you are explanations.”

Gabriel raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Explanations? Why do you sound like you’re holding me guilty of something?”

“Why?” Castiel retorts, offense raising each and every one of his feathers. “After all of this, you dare talking as if there’s something wrong with me?”

Gabriel frowns in confusion. Castiel wouldn’t believe it if he didn’t spot a quick perturbation in his grace the archangel stifles right away. The fact he’s hiding it makes it more geniune.

“I did nothing.” Gabriel smirks and amends, “to you. Yet.”

“We were sent into stories. It bears your imprint.”

“It wasn’t TV-land at least,” Dean mutters.

“Come on. That was fun,” Gabriel tells Dean, winking, before glancing back at Castiel. “Why would I have done that?”

Castiel’s wings flare in anger. Gabriel stretches lazily his archangel wings, a smirk on his lips, mockeries echoing through the angel radio. Castiel should attack him if only for that provocation.

“Because of my feelings for Dean.”

Castiel feels Dean’s attention snap back on him, but he keeps focusing on Gabriel. Confusion clouds the archangel’s eyes. “Your feelings...” His eyes dart to Dean, then back to Castiel, do the travel once again. He huffs. “You’re in love.” He bursts out laughing. “With a human. With the Sword. You’ve fallen so low.”

“I’m right here,” Dean mutters.

Gabriel shrugs. “It’s not against you, kiddo. It’s just... being in love with a human.” He snorts. “There’s nothing more pathetic for an angel.”

“Are you done?”

“For now.”

Dean eyerolls.

You truly didn’t know, Castiel asks through the angel radio.

Every other angel knew.

Gabriel shrugs his wings. You think I care about your love affairs—anyone’s love affairs?

He has a point.

“Well, if you don’t want to charge me guilty for anything else, I’m leaving.” Gabriel winks at them. “Be good, and don’t make a Nephilim, right? One is enough for the world.”

Castiel eyerolls while his brother flies away, his laughter ringing in the angel radio. There’s a chocked sound. When he turns his head, he notices Dean’s face has turned ashen.

“Dean? Is something wrong?”

Dean doesn’t answer. Castiel doesn’t notice anything weird or amiss about him. He touches his forehead. Still nothing.

Dean scrambles away from his touch.

“A Nephilim?!”

Castiel frowns. He drops his hand.

“Like Jack.”

”I know,” Dean snaps, ruffling his feathers the wrong way. Castiel would have snapped back if Dean didn’t look so distraught again. “But you... me... a Nephilim?”

“Don’t worry. It can’t happen.”

“But what if– what if?”

“Dean. We’re both males. Even if we did have intercourse, we couldn’t produce a Nephilim.”

Dean blushes. He clears his throat and diverts his eyes.

“I do know that.”

“Why the panic attack then?”

“Gabriel surprised me!” Dean pushes away his panic and resolve hardens his eyes. “Gabriel,” he repeats somewhat threateningly. “The archangel who should be dead. Like you should be dead. What happened?”

Castiel’s wings fold behind him—and, no, he isn’t afraid of a human, even though that human is Dean.

“Jack brought me back.”

“When?”

“He needed help with Heaven.”

“So you’ve been back to life for three months, and you didn’t think about warning me?”

“Dean...”

“You died Cas, right in front of me. Because of me. I can’t sleep because I keep seeing the Empty when I close my eyes. I keep seeing you in the bunker even if I know you aren’t there. Can you imagine how it is to be alive because you sacrificed yourself for me?”

“It was worth it.”

Dean shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something. A flurry of emotions battles in his eyes and chokes him. He clears his throat.

“What about the deal?”

“Jack made another deal. The Empty has no hold over me anymore.”

“Good.”

Dean grabs his trenchcoat, drags him closer and puts his mouth on his. Castiel understands all those actions individually and as a sequence but he needs an awfully long minute to comprehend the whole of it.

Dean is kissing him.

“I’m so mad,” he whispers against his lips, stepping away before Castiel can react. “You died. Again. After promising you’d never do it again.”

Castiel doesn’t remember making such a promise.

“Dean...”

“I– I love you too.” Dean utters a sad sound. “Of course I love you. You have me.”

“But... I failed you so often. You can’t...”

Castiel can’t finish his sentence. Those stupid worlds showed him he’s the one standing in the way of his own happiness, hurting Dean because of it.

Castiel leans forward and presses his forehead against Dean’s. Dean’s soul tries to curl around him but it’s so small it can hardly hold one of his feathers. Yet it feels so much it’s filling each one of his frequencies.

Castiel wraps a wing around him.

“And now?”

The answer feels obvious to Castiel. “We go back to our lives.”

“That’s what you want?”

Tell me what you want!

“I’m an angel. What I want doesn’t matter.”

Dean lets out a wry laugh. He steps back. “I’ve been bounced around from illusion to illusion, I got the worst headache of my life, and for what? We’re back to the starting point.”

“We are not.”

“You want to go back in Heaven and let me on Earth. Everything is back like before we met. That’s not a win for me.”

“It’s different.”

“It’s very not.”

“Chuck–”

“I don’t care about Chuck! Cas I– If that’s really what you want, okay. I won’t stop you.”

Castiel should answer yes. Working on Heaven and making it evolve is what he has always wanted. But he remembers Dean in those thirteen worlds, so used of seeing him walk away he didn’t bother asking him to stay, or anything really. He thinks about one Dean who walked away from him because he was weary of it and how it broke his heart. He wonders how much seeing him walk away hurt his Dean.

“I could go with you,” offers Dean evenly, as if he isn’t talking about dying.

“I don’t want you to die.”

Dean’s soul pulls away from him, dejected.

“You said...”

Dean bites his lower lip, swallowing back his words. He doesn’t ask for anything even when promises were made to him.

Castiel realizes with a surge of guilt he didn’t give Dean the emotional safety he needs to be able to ask.

“There are matters I’ll have to take care of beforehand. And I’ll have to return to Heaven to help.”

There are so many things to think about and to ask.

But hope starts shining in the green eyes and it’s worth it.

Chapter Text

“I won’t let you down,” Castiel promises.

He cups Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him, because he can. Dean melts into it. Castiel breaks away reluctantly.

“Are you going back to the bunker?”

Dean raises his chin stubbornly. “I’m staying here until you come back. That way, you’ll have to, if you don’t want me to starve.”

Castiel frowns. “It might take me awhile. You can’t wait in the middle of nowhere.”

“I can.”

“It’s not safe.”

Dean smirks in that infuriating way Castiel loves, in spite of himself. “Sounds like a you problem Cas.”

Dean saunters away and sits on a fallen tree. He looks up at him, grinning. Castiel holds back a sigh. That’s how he wants to play it, then.

“You could wait in a motel room,” Castiel tries again.

“Nah. If I’m too comfortable, you’ll be comfortable into standing me up.”

“Dean.”

“Cas.”

They stare, Castiel channeling all his annoyance to look stern, Dean looking up with bright green eyes and a little smile, infuriatingly beautiful.

“You’d better hurry, if you don’t want me to starve, or to freeze to death, or whatever happens to people in the woods.”

“You know there are more spiders here than in a motel, right?” Castiel asks, playing his last card.

Dean’s smile tenses, but he clings defiantly to it. “Then, better be back before they kill me Cas.”

Castiel holds back another sigh. He could explain Dean the types of spiders around here can’t kill him, but he can testify at firsthand that listing Dean every spider he can expect to see in an area and describing them makes things worse.

(A sad episode for them. Dean holed up in his room for days and Sam couldn’t get why since neither of them wanted to share that story.)

“Alright. I’ll come back before the spiders can devour you.”

Dean’s eyes widen. It wasn’t the right thing to say either.

Humans are so complicated.

As annoying as it is, Castiel can’t just leave him. He can fly him away but it’ll annoy him and Castiel doesn’t want that. He thinks about it, hates the timewaste it is, and finally remembers something he saw in a movie. He removes his trenchcoat and is flattered to see Dean’s attention snapping to him, his wings preening though Dean can’t see them. Castiel walks to him and drapes the trenchcoat around him. Seeing Dean wrapped up in his trenchcoat does... something to him. Dean holds it closer to himself, blushing.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Castiel rushes back into Heaven. He ignores his brethern worrying on the angel radio to fly to Jack’s side. Jack doesn’t seem surprised by anything he says and Castiel would be upset about how easily he accepts to let him go if he wasn’t so anxious to find Dean again.

Dean is right where he left him. He rises to his feet, clinging the trenchcoat around him.

“So?”

“I can stay.”

They weren’t far from the bunker and Dean refused to fly so they had to steal a car and drive. The silence feels heavy, and Castiel doesn’t know how to break it. But Dean wants him here, at his side, so he knows it’ll be fine. His warmth and his smell clinging to the trenchcoat are relaxing.

They park the car in the garage and Dean tsks about how it’s clashing with the others.

The silence is broken. Castiel refuses to let it settle back.

“Who else could have done that?”

“Huh?”

Castiel eyerolls. “The illusions. If it’s not Gabriel, then who it is?”

Dean starts walking. Castiel advances at his side. He has missed this.

“The office kinda makes me think about Zachariah... but he’s dead, isn’t he?” Dean frowns in confusion. “Actually, Gabriel is dead.” His eyes harden. “And you are too.”

Castiel feels both the need to confront him and fly away.

“Are you going to be mad long?” he asks in a sigh.

Dean stops on the bunker’s threshold, pondering, taking endless seconds to answer. Castiel’s shoulders tense, so do his wings, and every bit of his focus is on Dean. He bites back his name, not wanting to show how worried Dean is making him.

“Since when you’re back?”

“I don’t want to answer that.”

Dean shrugs. “Alright. I wanted to be fair, but I’m gonna round it up to four months.” He shoots him a grin. “How’s that with you?”

“You’re being irrational.”

“Am not.”

“You’re being the very definition of irrational, right now.”

“Still not.”

“I do not get words wrong.”

“Of course not, Darcy.”

“You are not funny Dean.”

Dean grins. He grabs his arm and drags him inside. “We both know I’m hilarious. And you have to apologize, don’t you think? We should watch westerns. And Lost Boys.” He stops dead. He turns around, letting go of his arm, staring at him in sudden seriousness. “Since when you didn’t watch Lost Boys?”

“Since the last time you made me watch it,” Castiel sighs heavily.

Dean looks devasted. Castiel can’t believe he missed him.

“Okay. We’re taking care of that now.”

“It’ll only be the 112th time I’m watching that movie.”

“You’re missing the point,” Dean says, catching hold of his sleeve and climbing down the stairs. Castiel follows him, his grace humming sadly. Dean keeps clinging to him and glancing as if he’s expecting him to disappear.

Watching movies and allowing him to blame him his lack of communication a couple of days—because, despite what Dean said, it won’t last longer—is a small price to pay. It could even be seen as a reward.

“What’s the point?”

Dean grins. He loves when Cas humors him.

“The point is you still didn’t watch Lost Boys as many times as me.”

Castiel frowns in puzzlement. He’s still pondering about it when they reach the floor.

“It won’t happen since we’re watching it together.”

Dean flashes him a grin. Oh. So that’s the point.

“So...”

There’s a loud crash. Dean startles nearly out of his skin. Castiel moves him behind him. He hears Dean taking a sharp breath but he doesn’t worry about it. His angel blade falls into his hand, before noticing Sam in the library, his computer and several books scattered on the farthest library table, a pile of heavy books splaying on the floor. He’s mouth-gaping. “Cas?”

Dean steps around Castiel. “He’s back. That’s awesome, huh?”

Sam casts a concerned glance to Dean, but Dean ignores it.

“Since when you’re back?” Dean wonders.

“Back?”

“From the simulations.”

“What?”

“I saw you...” Dean turns toward Castiel. ”Sam was here, right? I remember seeing him twice.”

“Maybe he was only an illusion.”

Castiel didn’t think to check. It’s only Sam.

“While we’re at it, where were you in the camp story?”

Castiel frowns. “Which?”

“There was some kind of Apocalypse, and survivors were gathered in a camp in the woods... Kinda makes me think about Zachariah, too.”

Castiel fills the information for later.

“You were there?”

Dean nods. “And in a harbor town.”

Guilt rises in Castiel again. Did he miss Dean everytime he flew forward, only thinking about breaking free?

Not only that, he thinks.

He missed many other chances, always having a mission to complete. Nothing felt enough when he wasn’t fighting to make Heaven better.

“A camp? A harbor city?” Sam asks.

“Cas?”

Castiel shakes his head.

“What are you talking about?” Sam queries.

“Remember Gabriel?” Dean says.

“He’s alive too?”

Dean throws his hands up. “It looks like every damn angel is back to life.”

“Not everyone of us.”

Dean glares at Castiel.

“But most,” he concedes.

Irrational human.

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. Castiel lets nothing express on his face so Dean turns back to Sam.

“Long story short, we were trapped in TV-land, except it wasn’t TV-land and it wasn’t because of Gabriel.”

“This... is like the worst sum-up ever.”

“I don’t care. I’ll tell you at breakfast, tomorrow. Right now, I’m gonna cuddle with Cas in the Deancave, and we’re gonna watch Lost Boys.”

This adds to Sam’s confusion. Good to know Dean is being weird even by human standards.

“I...” Sam glances at Castiel. “I’m glad you’re back?”

Castiel nods. “We’ll talk more once Dean’ll start being rational.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. We’re in 19th century, you’re a rational man with an important job, and I’m a mess of unfathomable emotions.”

Sam snorts.

“Only one of those things is true,” Castiel points out.

Dean jabs him in the ribs. “Yeah, humor your housewife and watch a movie with me.” He pushes Castiel forward. Castiel allows him to. They cross the library.

“I still have questions!” Sam threatens them.

“And Cas will answer to them all tomorrow!” Dean singsongs.

Castiel growls. Dean chuckles.

He leads them to the Deancave, then decides to stop in the kitchen to grab a couple of things to eat. In the Deancave, they somehow settle in a single seat, Dean half-sitting on Castiel. It’s nice, but it’d be nicer if Dean wasn’t so engrossed in a movie he already watched who knows how many times, telling him things he already told him during other rewatch.

But he’s close and warm and alive and safe, nestled against Castiel. His heartbeat and his soul are sounding content.

Castiel doesn’t mind watching Lost Boys for the 112th time in these conditions.

Chapter Text

“They’re sappy,” Zachariah snorts.

“Shhhh. Let them.”

The screen fades to black. Their job is done.

With a flicker of his wrist, Zachariah makes the screen disappear. He’s all business and no fun, but Metatron can’t tell he hasn’t been useful.

“This is what you wanted?”

Metatron smiles. “It’s a good prologue for other stories, don’t you think?”

Excellent, actually. Castiel—along with Dean—is starting anew, and a new beginning means new adventures. Five years as a pining mess are more than enough. Metatron wouldn’t have minded longer if Dean wasn’t, you know, a human not having forever ahead of him.

Now, part of Castiel’s character development will be about belonging to a couple.

“Maybe I’ll ask your help, in the future.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Angels!

Well, Metatron intends to leave Castiel and Dean alone for a while. Then if—and that’s a big if—they don’t get into trouble on their own, he’d ask for Zachariah’s help.

Lying in the darkened room, with no other sound than Dean’s breath and heartbeat—the angel radio is out of reach, right now—, Castiel lets his mind wander.

He’s missing a piece of the puzzle. Zachariah is as a credible suspect as anyone else, but he doesn’t understand his motive. Why Zachariah would have forced him to confront his contradictions? Why he would have given him a chance to find Dean again and stay with him? It makes no sense.

And how they ended up on Earth when Heaven is supposed to be shut away from it? It entails more power than Zachariah could ever have. The powers of the Heaven’s leader. It means Jack is involved. Why?

Guilt worms its way in his grace. He has failed hiding his regrets, and Jack gave him the chance to leave them behind.

But was it his idea, Zachariah’s or someone else’s?

Dean shuffles against him.

“Cas?”

Castiel looks down at him. Dean tries to peer at him despite his sleepiness and the darkness around them. Castiel squeezes his arms around him and kisses his forehead. A soft sigh escapes him, warming Castiel’s throat.

“It’s fine.”

It really is. Do those details matter as long as he’s at Dean’s side and they can make each other happy?

“Sure?”

“I’m sure, Dean.”

Dean props himself on his elbows, forcing his mind out of sleep. Castiel scowls. Four hours aren’t anywhere near enough for humans needs. Cutting that short time isn’t a good idea.

“You’re not having regrets?”

“I don’t.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced.

“I’m choosing this. My choice is you. It’s always been you.”

Even if he expressed it badly sometimes.

Dean searches his face. He smiles slowly and leans toward him.

“You too,” he whispers against his lips.

Metatron is strolling in the streets of one of the New York replicas of the New Heaven, contented by the sense of the job well done, when a voice calls him.

“Hello Metatron.”

“Hello G– Jack.”

Weirdly enough, Jack doesn’t want to be called God. Hard to remember, but no one wants to cross the New God for doing something as dumb as calling Him the wrong name.

“Do you want to take a look at what is happening on Earth?”

“On Earth?”

“The mirror,” Jack reminds him.

Metatron is tempted to ask what mirror he’s talking about, but no one would buy that. Playing dumb can only drive you that far.

“The mirror, indeed. I’m following you”

Jack flies toward his lake, and Metatron follows him. The mirror is still hanging in midair.

“Are there places or people you want to see?”

“Oh... I just... I need some time to think about it.”

“Sure... You don’t mind if I use it while you’re thinking?”

“Obviously not.”

Jack smiles. He stares straight at the mirror. “Show me the bunker’s kitchen.”

Metatron does his best to hide his surprise. He knew his plan couldn’t have gone unnoticed by God since it involved Castiel, but it was too tempting. He has no regrets.

Except he’s going to die without seeing Castiel’s next adventures.

Ooooh, he has so many regrets.

Castiel and Dean are sitting at the table, next to each other. Dean is talking, an easy smile on his face, and Castiel is listening intently.

“They look happy, don’t you think?”

And peaceful. Too peaceful for any interesting story.

Just think of it as a filler episode. Or the time between two seasons.

Yes, those thoughts are helpful.

“Metatron.”

“Huh? What did you ask?”

Mirth dances in Jack’s eyes. “Dean and Castiel are looking happy.”

“I– Yes. They do.”

“It’s good for them. They deserve it.”

Metatron stares at him. Jack smiles too innocently and flies away.

You can’t hide anything to a God. Metatron guesses he should be grateful Jack let him carry on his plan, no matter what his motivations are.

Things are back to normal. Castiel isn’t posing as a second-class angel anymore. He’s back on Earth where he belongs, with his human, and embracing his true self. The angel with a crack on his chassis. The angel who chose humanity against God, and one man against everything.

This is going to be interesting. Metatron has to keep a close eye on Earth.