The Mind Fuck. (5/5)

[amoama]

FIVE: Dawn on the front line



Dean and Sam stay at Bobby’s for a week in December. Bobby’s supply of scotch slowly drains away as Dean drinks and works on cars and ignores Bobby and Sam muttering about him in the kitchen. Dean hates all angels, he can’t think about what happened with Balthazar without shuddering and reaching for the whiskey bottle. He blames Cas, and himself; always himself. He finally tells Sam and Bobby that he thinks Cas is missing. Not just busy. Missing. He tells them he saw Balthazar and that it seemed like Balthazar didn’t know where he was either. They know he’s not telling them everything but they take him at his word and ask him where he wants to start looking for an angel. He doesn’t have a fucking clue.

They try summoning him but it doesn’t work. Dean still refuses to pray but Bobby and Sam try it. The next demon they come across, they question about the angel. The demon laughs manically for 20 minutes at the mention of Castiel’s name, steadfastly denying he is in hell before adding that “He may as well be.”

Dean reasons that if Death will reap God one day he’ll be the one to reap Cas as well. He wants to ask Death if he’s seen Cas but Sam refuses to let Dean try stopping his heart again. Two weeks later -when they track down a ghost of a small girl in Wisconsin - she repeats as she fades away, “He’s not here, he hasn’t come. She says to tell you, he hasn’t come.” Dean thanks Tessa and feels his grip on reality shatter a little more. No one should be this close to death, no human should cross back and forth as he has done, it could almost seem casual and yet he feels like he is dropping pieces of himself on every plane of existence, losing his footing on earth. Are you alive?

*

Reluctantly Dean, Sam and Bobby call on Balthazar again. When he appears, half way between smirking and pissed off, they trap him in flames which Sam and Bobby don’t seem to think is necessary but Dean insists on. They ask him about Cas’s whereabouts. Hearing Balthazar insist, “I don’t know” hits Dean hard in his gut. He knew it, he’s missing. Trapped somewhere. The surprise comes when Balthazar confesses, “You probably have a better idea where he is then I do, lover boy.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow and Dean flinches but Sam stays stock still and stares Balthazar down. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that your beloved brother here is spending his nights pining for our errant Castiel and yet completely failing to effectively communicate through perfectly viable channels such as his own dreams.”

Dean’s brain goes offline.

“You mean, he... he knows what I’m dreaming about?”

For a moment he forgets everything except the mortification of having Cas aware that he’s thought about him, sexually.

Balthazar glares resentfully at Dean. "Next time just ask him will you? Now let me the hell out."

*

As always the plan comes about for lack of a better one. The shrugged look of consent between Sam and Bobby seals Dean’s fate. Somehow he’s going to have to dream himself back to Cas. They all head to the bedroom. Dean is finding the idea of all this intimidating enough but it won’t happen at all if he can’t make himself sleep right now. Dean groans into the pillow. Sam, Bobby and Balthazar stand over the bed, staring at him intently. He can’t blame them. He is a freak-show these days. Only one thought, Are you still alive? Going round and round in his head keeps him from leaping off the bed, running out the house and taking off in the Impala.

He does sit up though. It’s never going to work like this.

“Bobby. The scotch.”

Bobby nods once and leaves the room.

“Sam, get lost will you. There’s nothing you can do here.” He can’t cope with Sam’s concerned face bearing down on him.

As Sam stalks out, Balthazar automatically makes himself scarce, shrinking into the corner of the room. Dean knows there is nothing he can do about the angel’s presence – Cas might need him.

He’s happy Bobby stays though, more comforted at the thought of him keeping an eye on Balthazar than he’d like to admit.

Dean drinks fast with his eyes closed. He tries to picture Cas in front of him. He sees Cas as he had that day in the rain, or thought he had. A memory not a dream. Cas drenched, oblivious to everything except Dean, eyes bidding a silent farewell Dean hadn’t known was coming. It makes him feel angry again. Cas shouldn’t get to decide that on his own. Didn’t he know how much his decision would affect Dean? Did he think he was being noble? That fuck.

Dean is drunk. He stumbles through the rain towards Cas who’s staring steadily back at him. Dean can’t understand why he never reaches him.

*

Raphael is very confident now. Cas sees it in his eyes. There’s a brashness to it that Cas hopes masks hot air. Cas has lost count of the number of weeks he’s been here now. He doesn’t see the faces anymore, he doesn’t remember to search their eyes, he has no more questions for them. They are the arms, like so many angels have spent eternities being. Vessels themselves. Weapons. Slaves, existing only to perform someone else’s will. He knows now their violence against him, their determination to quiet him for good, is the manifestation of their fear. They cling to Raphael as the closest approximation of authority. A decision-maker to stem the tide of their freedom. Raphael takes their obedience as proof of his righteousness.

He moves Cas into the sun - to the heavenly garden Cas always loved. Castiel recognises its scent, the innocence. The simple pleasure comforts him and yet, it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

He feels the eyes of the Host upon him and can only be warmed by their presence. He can barely move his broken body to acknowledge them but he feels concern and confusion radiate from them. Even though the heat of Raphael’s snarling, hot breath is above him and he knows he should focus on this new situation he’s in, he can’t seem to. Instead he hears Dean’s voice in his head, mumbling as if to himself, “For now I smell the rain, and with it pain...”

Cas smiles to himself, if he is up here to be executed it may as well be with Dean's favourite song in his head, on his lips, in his heart.

*

Dean dreams he’s in a bar. He looks down at the bottle in his hand. It’s filled with some blue filth - the letters WKD on the label. He has no idea why he’d choose to drink it but then he sees long, pink, hooker fingernails and delicate fingers curl over his grip on the bottle and he understands. The girl puts her jacket on the bar stool beside them and reclaims her drink. She breathes her thanks with a forced huskiness, eyes raking over Dean in a calculating way rather than an appreciative one. Dean doubts he’s what she’s after.Once upon a time, he thinks, he would have cocked his eyebrow and turned on the charm just for the sake of it. He looks away from her, trying to see where he put down his own drink.

“Wow.” The girl says as he turns, “You really must think you’re God’s gift.” He knows the cliché, it’s not even the first time it’s been used in reference to him but he doesn’t have the words to answer her because now, after everything, the words ‘God’ and ‘gift’ feel too loaded. It makes him think too much of Cas – was he given back after Lucifer exploded him? If so, Dean knows he was a gift that went unappreciated and the thought makes him ache.

Suddenly the bar seems oppressively warm. He walks a little around the room, sipping the beer he's eventually located. Everyone is speaking fast, almost having to shout over the obnoxious music coming from the jukebox. Something about fireworks with almost no other lyrics. Dean would leave but he knows he’s waiting for something. Not that he knows what it is.

He watches a boy with blond floppy hair approach the hooker-nails girl he left at the bar. He’s too young for her but perhaps the Rolex on his wrist will see him through.

Three people are playing the games-machine by the door, laughing as they try and come up with answers against the clock.
Behind him he hears the money plop into the juke box slot machine. He braces himself for whatever insipid dirge will inevitably spew out of it. Does no one except him have any taste in music?

He sighs to himself as he finishes the last dregs of his beer.

But then he hears the light guitar chord, an open E playing above a fast tapping beat. “Leaves are falling all around, Time I was on my way...” He’s already mouthing the words as he turns quickly towards the juke box to see who just put on the song he most wanted to hear.

“Mine’s a tale that can be told. My freedom I hold dear.” He stops singing when he sees the light brown trenchcoat on the slightly hunched shoulders.

Cas is staring at the jukebox as though willing it to give him answers to the meaning of life, like he’s looking for the one weak-spot on the whole of the death-star. Dean watches him, the lyrics repeating in his ear as the song fades down, “Gotta keep searching for my baby.” And Dean finally remembers why he’s here. He takes the final three paces towards Cas and puts his hand on his shoulder, twisting him around and pressing into him.

“Dean,” Cas looks startled but relieved as he allows Dean to push his back up against the jukebox. “Thank goodness, I didn’t know what song to choose next. I can’t seem to remember any song titles.”

Dean has his hands in Cas’s hair, pulling his head back so Dean can plant his lips squarely over Cas’s. He wants Cas to know he’s being claimed. Cas’s tongue is heavy and pliant against his own and Dean can’t help but push further, bending Cas backwards, fully against the jukebox, buttons squashed down by Cas’s back, Dean covering him completely. Dean pulls away from Cas’s mouth as much as he can, lips still brushing, “Cas, where are you? Tell me where you are.”

Cas looks up at him and his eyes harden with a hint of reproach in them. Dean stares at him until those eyes soften and when Cas whispers, “In a dream,” he can’t resist kissing him again. This is the kind of dream Dean can deal with. He can feel Cas’s dry lips mouthing down his neck, tongue raking over his skin. Dean forgets everything else. All he can think is, ‘He wants me, this angel, my angel, he does want me.’ He shivers as Cas’s teeth graze his collarbone, “Of course,” And Dean hears the ‘you strange human’ in Cas’s tone, “...all for you.”

Dean lets his hands drift under the trenchcoat, reaching round and down, pressing his hands under the belt, finally feeling soft skin beneath his rough hands. He pulls Cas up from there, pressing them closer, erections knocking clumsily together through all their clothes. Dean wonders where all his doubts went, he can’t imagine ever doing anything but this, Cas gasping into his neck, clawing at his back. Dean forgets to keep kissing him back and just throws his arms around Cas, hugging him tight, willing him to be here, for this to be real, for Cas to be safe.

Then, from out of nowhere, somewhere behind him Dean hears an irritated coughing sound. “Don’t let me interrupt but we are on something of a timeframe here. “

Dean looks around. The bar is empty, dreams being useful that way. Except for Balthazar, standing in the corner.

Cas is still clutching at him, seemingly for dear life. He takes advantage of the slightest bit more space between them to start kissing Dean’s neck again, he doesn’t acknowledge Balthazar’s presence at all. He looks up at Dean in wonder and confusion. “Dean, Dean, don’t you want this?”

For a minute Cas looks like the gawky, duck-out-of-water he often used to when Dean first met him, scared like the time in that “den of iniquity” when Dean tried to get him laid. This time Cas looks scared he might not be getting laid. Dean smiles at the thought, his eyes lock with Cas’s and he tries to look as reassuring as he can. He wants it bad but he also wants it for real.

“Cas, you know we’re not really here. Tell us where you are.”

At Dean’s ‘tell us’ Cas finally turns his head away and fixes his stare on Balthazar. “You brought him here against my direct orders?”

Cas sounds more petulant than angry. “Balthazar. You betray me.”

“Cas, we needed to come for you. You’re dying brother. You’re failing. You need to tell us where you are.”

“I’m fine Balthazar. I’m nearly there.”

Cas’s protest and his matter of fact tone rattle Dean more than he’d like to admit. In his head he thinks, nearly there? At what cost? He shakes Cas hard, all hint of the previous caresses gone. “Cas, are you mad? You can’t stay in chains forever. Let me find you. Let me take you away.”

“For what?” Cas sounds heartbreakingly bitter as he goes on to ask the questions Dean thinks he must have known were coming. “So you can run off and settle down with a woman and her kid? So you can go back to forgetting I exist unless you need a favour?”

Dean is ashamed but the jealousy and anger in Cas’s voice fill him with satisfaction.

“Cas!” And now Dean feels like the reproving schoolmaster, “We always want you around. Whenever you want.” He says ‘we’ because ‘I’ feels like too much. And then, as an after-thought, “Life’s more fun.” – which isn’t really true anymore. It’s been ages since he had a laugh with Cas, or even at his expense. But maybe it could be true again so Dean doesn’t take it back.

At the word ‘fun’ the whole dream flickers dangerously. For a second Dean is back in the bed in Bobby’s house and then he’s on his back looking up at a blue sky, he briefly sees a lone kite flying far above him before the bar room comes back into view. Dean sees that Balthazar looks equal unsettled but Cas just looks tired, like this whole pretence is suddenly too much for him, like just standing there is costing him too much effort.

“Yes,” he speaks with an air of wonderment, “I suppose it did used to be fun sometimes. I don’t think I noticed it too much at the time.” He doesn’t sound at all certain.

*

Cas tries to think what Dean can mean. In his half woken, half dreaming state it’s hard even to concentrate on staying present in the bar Dean has dreamt up. It was easier when he was just letting Dean do all the work, imagining both of them and Cas could just go along for the ride. This time though Dean was just waiting for him, expecting Cas to participate. At first it had been wonderful, it had felt unbelievable to see Dean walk with such purpose towards him, no confusion, and press his body against Cas’s. It was simple and strong and Cas wanted it like that – nothing weak or broken or sad – he was his old self and Dean wanted him.

He wonders if he can be the one to control the dream, would Dean go along with it? Cas isn’t sure – when does Dean ever go along? He always has an opinion, a better way. He wouldn’t survive five minutes in the barracks, Cas thinks. Cas can’t fathom now how he ever stayed obedient so long himself – that’s how much he’s changed. He supposes he still has the strength to keep Dean relatively obedient in a dream though. He’s pretty sure now that his dream would involve some things they both want. He imagines laying Dean out on a bed, worshipping his body. Cas knows he has a thing or two he could teach Dean about respect and adoration. He fantasizes about those eyes upon him as he uses these lips and this tongue to map every inch of Dean’s body. He knows now that the body can be a cage, that pain can seep through it and damage the soul; and yet, he still hopes, in Dean’s arms, there might be a chance of mending. He knows that if Dean were really to touch him, to grip his shoulders and push into him, it wouldn’t just be this body that felt it. Cas hopes that whatever it is caught within this ribcage could fly free again.

He’s not getting free of Raphael but he thinks perhaps he can save his strength for that one last dream, maybe a white bed looking out over a lake. Calm waters with no monsters lurking.

*

Dean senses the dream wavering. Water starts rising up through the skirting of the room and there’s a bed floating on the water. Dean thinks maybe he’s on the bed rather than by the juke box, maybe he’s naked rather than fully clothed, maybe it’s Cas’s tongue he can feel on his thigh. He shudders and the dream shakes, the water is draining away now and Cas is drenched again as though it had been raining, watching Dean carefully, hand on his chest.

“Tell me where I can find you Cas. Please.” Dean knows his time is running out and this might all be for nothing.
Castiel shakes his head and a small half-smile starts to form on his face but then his mouth contorts, almost in slow-motion, and panic sweeps through his eyes. Dean watches, horrified, as blood starts to pour from the angel’s side.

*

Dean is yelling, “Tell me, Cas, tell me.” But Cas can’t reply anymore. He’s back in his borrowed garden, the blue sky suddenly seeming a mockery as black pain clouds his vision. He feels the pain of the blade in his side, forged by the host, laced with the silver tar that drains Grace, it’s not enough to kill but more than enough to rip him from the dream. For a split-second he sees Dean in front of him, gazing intently before he’s shouting, “Hold on Cas, we’re coming, we’re coming for you.” And Cas knows it’s the end of the dream but he doesn’t know what it means or if it can come true.

*

Dean leaps from the bed instantly. He looks expectantly at Balthazar. “Do you know where he is? Did you see that?”
Sam comes clattering back into the room, obviously never having gone far, and Bobby looks from Dean to Balthazar and back again impatiently.

“See what? What did you see?”

“That garden. Where Cas was stabbed. It looked real. It looked like he was really there.”

Balthazar wants to know what the garden looked like and Dean gives him what details he can, which are very few because he really only saw Cas and the blood, but years of relying on his hunter senses tell him that Cas wasn’t alone and that he thinks there was a kite.
Balthazar’s eyes widen with recognition when Dean mentions the kite although the concern at the edges remains. He disappears for an instant in which Dean is paralysed by hope and irritation.

Balthazar returns, “He’s there. I should have seen it before. They moved him recently. They’re all there.”

“All?” Dean, Sam and Bobby all speak together.

“The host has gathered at Raphael’s request. He thinks he’s won. He must think I’m the only angel he can’t win over otherwise I’d have heard his call too. They are all in Cas’s favourite heaven to witness him fail.”

“Take me.” Dean’s voice brooks no dissent. And yet Balthazar’s answer is predictable: “No.”

Sam intervenes, “How did Cas look?” Balthazar shakes his head. “I didn’t get anywhere near him, it would be impossible without being seen and sensed instantly. There isn’t anything we can do for Cas now.”

Balthazar has got his old, indifferent face on but the Winchesters are used to this front by now. They know Balthazar would die for Cas if he had to, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

“Take me Balthazar, I can get to him, I can save him.” Dean doesn’t know why he says it. It’s not like he knows how he’d do it. He supposes the term, ‘on a wing and a prayer’ is pretty fitting though – not that Cas is a damaged warplane trying to land, but then again, maybe that’s exactly what he is. Somehow though Balthazar seems to think Dean’s right, like he can sense Dean’s determination, or whatever it is, maybe he senses there’s a chance in there somewhere.

“He’s in heaven?” Bobby’s voice rings out low and the significance of his question hits Dean in the stomach. He back tracks, “Can you take me?”

Balthazar could say no but they would probably see the lie for what it is. Instead he settles for, “I think so.”

“Wouldn’t we have to die to go to Heaven? That’s what happened last time.”

Balthazar shrugs a little. “Well Cas and most of the angels are there in human form. I went in this body. And you are a vessel. Your body should be able to handle it, physically speaking. Although without an angel’s Grace to hold it together it could be trickier. The rest. I don’t know. Your soul, the veil. I’m not sure if it would pass through intact.”

Sam’s look of consternation makes him look constipated. Dean barks out his laughter. He’s past caring about these kinds of risks. His soul is already so damaged. Crossing ‘the veil’ without dying this time might actually make a pleasant change. Besides, Balthazar’s words seem to hold the answer for him. Dean will have an angel’s Grace to hold him together - as long as he reaches Cas in time.

*

The angels have gathered in this garden at Raphael’s request. The host is depleted beyond imagining. No Michael, no Gabriel, no Anna or Uriel. No Lucifer. His absence has always been prominent even after millennia have passed. It is always dusk when they gather now, never morning. Their grief is the strongest when they stand together like this, when there is no hiding from the truth of what they are now. Separated and at war, watching each other warily, knowing that it would never have been like this if their brothers were still here, if they weren’t dead, or locked in the pit. If they hadn’t turned on each other. The uneasiness of the angels quivers through the air. Even in their human forms power pervades the atmosphere around them and the breathless stillness seems to turn the quiet into a terrifying foreboding. Dean feels it from a long way off. He knows he has shifted dimension.

Balthazar lands far from where the angels are gathered. Behind them the little gate to the garden is swinging slightly although Dean didn’t notice going through it. His body feels like it’s in a vacuum. His ears are ringing and a lot of blood is pumping fiercely around his brain. He’s shit scared he will explode before he reaches Cas and that will be the end of it.

*

Balthazar looks into the faces of his brothers. He senses their terror, their anger, and their confusion. He sees how they fear Raphael. They still don’t know how to trust a lesser angel and yet how their experience with Lucifer and Michael and Gabriel weighs upon them. All these archangels, all these leaders are gone. Balthazar understands how the doubts ripple through their minds. They know Castiel has been brought back when none of the others have. They fear that too. They fear being on the wrong side and they long for God their Father, searching desperately for him in this mess. Balthazar feels pangs of grief for his family. How grandly they stand arrayed before him. How lost they seem.

*

There are angels spread before Dean as far as he can see. They are in the same garden Dean saw briefly in his dream and it still doesn’t look like it should hold this many angels and yet they stretch before him facing the centre of the garden from the sky’s farthest corners. Some look like they are in formation, vast rows of angels are filed thousands of bodies deep. Dean couldn’t begin to count. Others are less organised, jumbled up, holding each other or alone, eyes transfixed with concentration. Dean follows their direction and his eyes, painful as it is to keep them open, find a body on the ground, blood seeping into the ground, wounds gaping. There’s no longer a trenchcoat and only the tattered, blood-soaked, remains of a shirt. There are pink sores round ankles and wrists where ropes have been tied. It’s Cas though and of all the living things here he’s the only one that’s breathing with Dean, mouth open, gulping in air as if it was necessary for life.

Dean lurches forward one step, his body fighting the pressure of the atmosphere. It’s like the movement alerts the host and they turn as one to stare at him, Raphael glancing up from Castiel, freezing in shock at recognising that Winchester human. The only thing in Dean’s head is Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die. He tries to put one foot in front of the other, to not notice that the entire body of angels is watching him, a non-dead human monkey infiltrating heaven. Dean supposes they must be pissed off but he can barely register it. He has to get to Cas. Don’t die completely. Don’t die at all. It’s like walking on a thin, rickety bridge with a gale force wind blowing against you. Every step takes all Dean’s strength. His body feels as though it is disintegrating. He needs Cas to look up. He needs Cas’s Grace to recognise him. He hopes there is still some left.

*

Cas clings to life with all his might. He breathes in and out, not because he has too but because it’s a reminder he is alive. The deep gulps are comforting even as the air scrapes down his raw throat. There’s no distinguishable pain now, this is just how he exists. He knows not to move. He supposes he will never move again. Bleeding out, he thinks. Maybe it’s like sleeping, like falling. He’s not scared of those things anymore. He thinks that falling might be the most comforting thing he could do. If only he could just keep falling and never stop.

Then he hears it. Don’t die. Don’t die. It’s Dean and it’s close. He can’t see him – are his eyes even open? Is it a dream again? Cas doesn’t know if he can make it to the lake anymore. He’s so weak. But he remembers the jukebox. Just one song to make Dean look over. Just one song to draw him to you. Ramble on, now’s the time, the time is now, to sing my song. Cas doesn’t sing it out loud, his lips don’t even form the words, but he’s singing all the same and the Host can hear it too now.

Dean hears it. Knows Castiel can feel him coming. He takes up the line. Now’s the time, now’s the time. Don’t die okay? He keeps his eyes on Cas and takes another step, easier this time, one foot after another.

*

The angels look on in wonder. Of all the mysteries they are privy too, all the miracles they have witnessed, this is something they have never seen before. Something connects the two beings before them. They hear strange, human words chanted softly in two minds. They see need and sacrifice and desperation pass between them. They perceive how it blocks out everything else, muting fear and pain and logic. Single-minded and foolish and yet so full of bliss that the angels are awed.

Cas is near dead in front of them. A part of every angel must weep for a brother when he dies. Sorrow does not fade for an angel and no brother is ever replaced. If one angel dies his place in Heaven will be vacant forever. There has never been another Morning Star. The angels know this lesson of old. And yet twice they have felt the loss of Castiel, sundered from their midst, and twice he has been returned to them, grief stuttering into joy - tempered by puzzlement. Castiel is the one that walked into Hell and returned with the Righteous Man, the same man that is before them now. Michael hasn’t returned. Satan never will. But Castiel, an Angel of Thursday, a warrior from the ranks, hollow and broken before them -more human than any of God’s angels before now – he is the one that survives, clinging to life with a power and a knowledge that surpasses their comprehension, he holds weapons that Raphael knows nothing of.

And the man. Dean Winchester. They watch him fight the elements of Heaven, the atmosphere in which he should not exist. Whatever this connection with Castiel is, it’s keeping him moving against all the odds. The angels are not aggrieved at his presence, their wonder is too great, and something in his struggle and his yearning is so beautiful that they cannot resist it. He seems to be lighted from within, in the way they have only witnessed angels to be before. They can only call it love because it cannot be Grace although what’s coming from Cas and what’s coming from Dean is so confused that it could be both. It’s hard and terrifying and if this is why Dean is here, doing this, it’s very, very, costly. But it’s there. And it was Castiel that found it.

The angels start to move, breaking before Dean’s heavy footsteps to clear a path to Cas and Raphael. Raphael is still shouting, swirling around Cas, railing against him. His body is still perfectly up together. His suit is neatly ironed, his shoes have lost none of their polish, but he’s sweating copiously and his jaw moves at an inhuman pace. He’s shouting about God and Michael and pre-destination. He’s insisting that the plan must be played out, that he has humanity’s best interests at heart and that they would all be better off in Heaven – those that made it. The angels don’t hear him. Rows and rows, in their thousands, age-old beings with wisdom beyond counting are watching one lone man, shining with something like love, or something like Grace, make his way through Heaven looking for one angel. Any one of the angels present could kill Dean in an instant. Raphael surely will. Most angels look on with a sorrow born of the inevitability of his death. His bravery is wasteful and incomprehensible and yet he does not seem afraid.

Dean would be terrified if he was thinking about it. He can see Cas clearly now and his battered body has the entirety of Dean’s attention. Dean doesn’t give two fucks for Raphael or any of the other angels if they choose to get in his way. Angels are all dicks. Raphael no more so than anyone else Dean’s faced and Dean’s faced the devil and lived, so Raphael can fuck off and join him for all Dean gives a damn. All he cares about is Cas prostrate and bleeding just a little distance away. Are you alive? Don’t die Cas come on. Now’s the time. And that’s the truth of it. This is what he’s fought for. This is why he was determined to beat the devil, why Raphael can’t win now. He wants this, this freedom that can encompass him and Cas. He wants it as much as he’s ever wanted anything. He’s as fucked up and useless as a person can get. He’s screwed it up with Cas over and over again, he’s let him down and pissed him off but Cas has always been there - saving him, fighting with him, being his friend - and now Dean knows it’s more than that, maybe it’s everything. He sees how precious Cas is, how fragile, how unique. He knows now that they are in it together. That Cas wants him. So he’s here and he’s fighting and it is love and Dean thinks that he probably cares more about Sam taking the piss out of him about it then the myriad of things these bags of dicks could do to him right now.

*

Cas sees Dean get closer to him. His blinking eyes shutter Dean in and out of his vision. He’s not sure which image is clearer - the one with his eyes open or shut? And God if he’s not the most beautiful thing Cas has ever seen and if he could remember doing it Cas wouldn’t have a clue why he asked Balthazar not to send Dean after him because it feels like all he’s ever wanted. Cas sees him walking amongst the angels, side by side as if he was one of them and the light coming off him looks as glorious as the light coming from any of the angels. And yes Dean’s fallen and lost and wouldn’t bow down before his maker even if God came down and wacked him on the head; but the light comes from his core, from the heart of his being, it’s instinctive and it rages against evil with a willpower and fire that can only come freely.

*

Raphael rants on. All his ire is being vented over Dean as he approaches. Words spew from his mouth carelessly, even Raphael has no idea what he’s saying anymore, his tongue is so far ahead of his brain. He threatens Dean with every punishment dreamt of in Heaven, Earth and Hell. And yet he doesn’t move. He doesn’t throw Dean back down to earth and set fire to his body. He doesn’t do anything. Underneath his wrath he seems as mesmerized as all the other angels, watching, waiting to see what this means. Nothing he says seems to touch Dean. Dean doesn’t even register his existence. Perhaps that is why he holds back, he wants Dean to know who smites him into oblivion. The more Dean ignores him the wilder Raphael seems to get. His petulance is obvious now and next to the wondrous subtlety of this bond between Castiel and Dean, next to their selflessness and compassion for one another, Raphael looks like a child – peevishly crying about not getting his way.

And that’s when the other angels finally see it: Raphael knows, has always known, they are supposed to be free. God hasn’t just disappeared. He has left because this is his will. They can see it in front of them, the truth of freedom. How hard it is to be free. How hard it is for Dean to battle against Heaven to reach Castiel. Freedom and its price. They see how Raphael panicked, how terrified he must have been, to find he was left alone, to make of life what he will. They see that he chose to keep them enslaved, to be the master, instead of not having one himself. They see how he must have thought he was saving them from the horror he felt himself at being abandoned. They see now that he was wrong.

There’s a great flurry of movement amongst the angels, voices long kept in check, speak their own words, some for the first time ever. The look at each other with incredulity. Are they still allies? Are they still together now they can all decide for themselves? There is so much to feel in this moment. There’s relief – an affirmation of their faith in God. He left them for a reason. He loves them still and wanted them to have this. There’s responsibility – they still have so much power, how should they use it? They could choose to still perform their duties or they could find something that they’d prefer doing. They’ve all seen the ones who left, like Balthazar, who ran with the first glimpse of freedom after the apocalypse, before Raphael reasserted authority. They saw him abandon his post and seek pleasure and choose his friend, Castiel, over everything. They’ve seen Castiel, they’ve called him a child of Gabriel, burnt out, wanting only to mess around with humans. They never understood why either angel could make these human-centric choices, ally with devils and old gods and fight against the will of Heaven. Most of them see now though. They finally get it. These angels are not the enemies of Heaven. Heaven is free.

They also feel the pain of it. How many of their brothers and sisters have died in this time of denial and destruction? The look at each other in shock. Their forms are changing, they look inwards at their human bodies containing their individual angelic forms, marking the changes in themselves. Hoping for clues of who they will be now.

Raphael casts about moaning and shrieking, despair and irritation wrecking his voice. He doesn’t want it to be true, he is the last archangel, he should be holding the authority together until God returns, he’s been doing it for so long without the angels noticing, with Michael long before the almost apocalypse, why should they care now? What will they get from freedom that beats the glory of Heaven? He doesn’t understand them. How can they want this? He looks at Castiel, chained, lying on the grass below, he is still master of one angel in this place. He hates Cas with a fury he has never felt before, nothing about it is righteous, he is full of bitterness and resentment. Castiel has stolen from him. He has destroyed Heaven with his stunt.

He drags Cas into his arms, and begins to move away from the angels. Dean is close now, just a few metres, and he cries out desperately as Raphael backs away. He’s terrified Raphael will disappear in a snap and he won’t know where to find Cas. Some of the angels turn around at his cry. They see what Raphael is about to do and lunge for him. Still their first instinct is to fight.

One angel suddenly rises out of his human form, wings sending bodies scattering in every direction. Raphael has no choice but to respond, he stretches out, his human body bursting into fragments as his angelic form emerges. Dean shuts his eyes instinctively even as his whole body reaches out for Cas. Other angels around Raphael follow suit but Balthazar, who’s followed in Dean’s wake now, reaches for Cas just as Raphael’s human hands lose their grip on him. He pulls him back with all his might, Cas’s shattered body crumbling into his arms. Dean keeps his eyes shut, it feels like a thousand volcanoes are all erupting at once, he gets battered by the wing of one transforming angel and flies backwards, cries being wretched from his lungs as he battles with his need to open his eyes.

He has no idea where Cas is now. He can’t believe he’s come this far to be beaten by the fucking angels’ inability to do anything but fight. He lands with a thud on hard ground and begins shouting for Cas, groping around him to get some bearings. He hears the smallest noise from beside him. Cas whispers his name and though it’s so quiet he shouldn’t be able to hear it he does and his gut unfurls with relief. He feels close to retching. He reaches for Cas, rolling himself over, hands touching gently, feeling for the chains still binding Cas. He feels them tying Cas’s elbows together behind his back, forcing Cas into an uncomfortable position. Dean claws at them, trying to rip or break them. He knows he will need a weapon to break them but he can’t seem to stop himself trying to pull them apart.

An angel comes up behind him and says, “Wait, let me.” Dean doesn’t recognise his voice.

“Castiel,” the angel says, “Brother. Let me free you as you have freed us.” Dean hears a huge smash and the clanging of chains falling to the ground. As he moves away the angel pats Dean’s arm and addresses Castiel one more time.

“Here’s your human Castiel, come to Heaven to rescue you.” There is a world of wonder in the angel's voice.

Dean leans over Cas. Feels for his face, his lips, his eyes. He doesn’t hear his own voice over and over calling, “Cas, Cas, Cas.” He pulls Cas into his lap as much as he can, holding him, rocking his body over him. His hand traces Cas’s cheek eye to lip, soothing scars only Dean can see.

From far away Cas can hear Dean sobbing above him. “It costs too much Cas. Too much.” Dean’s hands fly over his body but Cas doesn’t feel like he’s in his body anymore. He is somewhere else, watching. He doesn’t get to be happy.

“Dean?” And this time it’s Balthazar’s voice he hears. “You need to leave.” He seems to be waiting for something. “Can you pick him up?”

Dean nods. Eyes still closed. He feels the thunder in the air still once more, the pause is heavy, the beating of wings is the only noise. He staggers to his feet carrying Cas with him. Holding Cas up in his arms like he’s some kind of offering. Dean’s terrified. Cas isn’t breathing anymore. Dean knows he doesn’t need to but he can’t tell what it means and can’t help but fear the worst. There are no guarantees anymore, no reason to hope that God still needs Cas anymore. He’s done his job now after all. He starts to pray again as he walks, Are you alive? Please Cas. Don’t die. Be alive. Be alive. Talk to me. Look at me. I’m praying again, I’m fucking praying.

Cas wonders how to talk. Maybe this is why he needs a bluebird. Is Dean his coffin? Is that what happened? If he’s dreaming in Dean’s belly then he can probably speak he thinks. You can do anything in dreams.

“Dean I’m right here. You can use your voice now.”

Dean nearly stumbles in relief.

“Dean please don’t drop me. I think it would be one bruise too many.” Cas is enjoying the dream a bit now. He can be himself again here.

“I’ve got you Cas. I’ve got you now. Not letting go. Just tell me if we’re going the right way. You do have your eyes open, right?”

Cas lets out a sigh and opens his eyes. Dean really is there carrying him. Cas painfully reaches up a hand to Dean’s cheek. Real. They are walking back through the angels slowly. Dean’s head his held high. How brave he is. How magnificent. Here he is amongst fearsome, eternal beings, walking calmly with his eyes tight shut. Does he even know how vulnerable he is? Cas puts his hand over Dean’s eyes, welcoming the ache in his arm if it means keeping Dean a little safer while he still can.

The angels look on. Raphael’s angelic form is vastly diminished. The panther looks pained and no longer fierce; the yellow of his eyes has dulled. He is watching Dean and Cas like everyone else. Cas fears Raphael’s freedom will be short-lived. How long before he lashes out again and gets cut down. Cas feels pity well up below his hatred. He had always been scared of Raphael, awed by his power, he realises. But now there is no need. Raphael is an angel who got it very wrong. Who missed out on what God wanted him to have. He no longer has any power, it is written all over his faces, each of them sour with misery. Cas knows Raphael was never anything but a son who didn’t know how to function without his Father. He cannot blame Raphael for his disappointment, just for his malice.

From his position in Dean’s arms, head poking out over Dean’s shoulder Cas watches the receding figures of his brothers and his sisters. It feels like goodbye. He can tell who Raphael’s henchmen were now. He can see on their faces the guilt and the churlishness. And he sees the rest of the angels. So many different faces, so many feelings. They all look terrified though. Adrift in a world that lacks fealty, where worship can be meaningless, gods can be hollow, and the choices are endless.

What has happened is too much for Cas to process - he can’t think about what the angels will do now. He doesn’t know how to handle his own freedom, the consequences of these choices he’s made - he still thinks it might kill him. He leans his head down against Dean’s chest, shutting out the other angels. I cannot be responsible for their fates he thinks, not anymore. He has only ever thought about getting this far. Death could come now and there would only be peace and victory in it. Cas would not mind at all but he is just so comfortable here. Perhaps even the effort of dying would be too much when he’s already in Dean’s arms. He closes his eyes again. The blind leading the lame out of Heaven.

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, would never have imagined this coming to pass; but Cas, as much damaged as he is divine - folded in the arms of his friend, his human, Dean - has spent months picturing being held like this, carried towards a calm lake.

Finally Dean reaches the gate and Cas finds the strength to whisper to him, “You made it. We’re here.”

Balthazar is standing a way behind them, watching them leave, making sure they have safe passage. Cas looks back one last time. Balthazar shrugs. Cas doesn’t know what he’d say either. Balthazar’s approach to freedom probably has a lot to be desired but Cas knows that it’s up to him, he’ll make his own choices now, Cas can’t make them for him. He looks back at Dean who is still hesitating at the gate.

“Let him stay here Cas.” Dean’s voice is heavy with a restraint that Cas does not understand fully.

“Dean?”

“Yes?”

“I’m alive.” It’s almost a question.

“Yes.”

“And so are you.”

“Yes.”

“Take me home. We can start there.”

Behind his closed eyes Dean sees a great expanse of water stretching lazily out before him and a small jetty waiting in the warm dusk. It’s too perfect he thinks. It’s too much. But Cas sighs and his thumb whispers along Dean’s jaw line.

“Just one more dream Dean. Just for a bit.”

Dean kicks the gate in and carries Cas through.





* The End.*