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Chapter Text

January 3rd, 2006

Soot and ash covered Sam's face, a dark shadow that contrasted harshly against the red and blue flashing lights. He was only vaguely aware of the paramedic carefully bandaging his stinging arms, his mind long since disassociated.

It was hard to come to terms with the fact that he almost died tonight. And that Jess...

Jessica was gone.

Murdered in the same horrific fashion that his mother had been, pinned and ablaze on the ceiling.

God.

It had only been a few days since he had proposed, on a bridge underneath the New Year fireworks. It had been magical.

She had been so happy.

Sam had been happy.

But now?

~

The police blamed it on a faulty wire.

Because of course they did...

The officer stood before him, listing off the official report, drawling in a dull tone that faded into the background of Sam's mind whilst he sat in his hospital bed, body tingling with rage.

Something had gone wrong with the heater in the main bedroom. It sparked whilst Jess slept, turning their room into a flaming wall of smoke and heat, just as Sam was returning from a night class.

Jessica wouldn't have even stirred, shouldn't have even felt a thing. The smoke would have gotten to her first.

But Sam knew better.

Because Jess hadn't been sleeping peacefully on their bed as he walked into their room.

She had been awake.

She had been looking down at him, as their life burned around them, her belly slashed open and dripping blood through her nightgown.

Sam eyed his phone once the officer had left. It lay innocently on the table beside him, singed and partly melted but still usable. After a moment of deliberation, he reached over and picked it up, scrolling through his contacts.

It had been well over three years since he spoke to his brother, but something deep inside him told him to make the call. If there was anyone in the world who had his back, regardless of how turbulent their last meeting had been, it would be Dean.

Trembling, Sam raised his gauze-wrapped hand to his ear and listened to the ringing tone.

"Sam?"

In that moment, Sam stilled, the anger in his heart igniting for another reason. The owner of the voice on the other end was a wholly unwelcome surprise.

"Dad..."

"Yeah, it's me," John stated, his voice coming quieter than Sam had ever remembered. "Its… its good to hear your voice, Sam… Haven't heard it in a long while."

That was… unexpected.

Sam closed his eyes briefly, silently debating wither or not continuing this conversation was worth the explosive outcome that typically followed their interaction. After a slow breath to steady himself, he continued.

"It's back, Dad."

"What are you talking about?"

"Yellow Eyes..." Sam whispered with a stutter, his eyes stinging as he verbalised the one fact that he was still struggling to come to terms with. "It ah... it came back. It's killed Jess."

"Who?"

"My... my girl. My fiancée. Dad, it put her on the ceiling. It burned her alive. Same as mum."

"Oh God, Sam," John exhaled.

Sam closed his eyes and removed the phone from his ear, clutching it to his forehead in an attempt to control the hot tears that spilled from his eyes.

"I'm sorry kiddo," John whispered. Sam raised the phone back to his ear, trying to hear his father's words. "Where are you right now? Still in California?"

"Ah yeah. I'm at the hospital. Stanford Hospital."

"Ok... Ok, I can be there in a few hours," John stated, the sounds of quick rifling coming through Sam's speaker as John packed his meagre possessions into a bag.

~

True to his word, John Winchester entered Sam's room, only four hours after his call. The man looked worn, hagid in a way that Sam had never seen before. His clothes fell off him awkwardly, a size too big. His face was scruffy and his hair was slightly disheveled.

Sam sat in his bed, his back straight and his face blank, the crisp white sheets tight over his legs.

John approached him slowly like he was walking up to a startled animal. As if he expected Sam to rage at him or run.

"Hi son," He whispered, placing a cautious hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Hey, Dad," Sam greeted, his tone dead and dull. He looked behind John and he felt his face fall further when no one else followed. "Where the hell is Dean? Was my near-death not enough to pull him away from the bar?"

Sam's voice was bitter and biting, even to his ears and he internally winced.

God only knew how much he was gonna need his family if he was actually going to get his revenge, rocking the boat and starting yet another fight before he even had a foothold in this hunt was foolish. It wouldn't have been the first time that Dad felt Dean on a hunt by himself.

Unlike with Sam, John was always confident in Deans training, often leaving Sam's older brother in charge of hunts, even as a teenager. Hunts that Sam knew he wouldn't be allowed on at his current age.

Dean was obviously still working on the case that the two were on. His father wouldn't have left it unsolved if Dean could handle it.

"He's ah… I don't…" John started before sighing. He took a deep breath to steel himself. "Dean's gone, Sammy."

"What?"

If Sam had felt the fire of rage, the fire of revenge, burning inside him during the days past, then what fell over him could only have been described as an arctic chill.

"He's... he's not dead. If that's what you are thinking. At least, I don't think so," John said, sitting down on the edge of Sam's bed, his shoulders hunching over uncomfortably. "But... yeah. He's been gone for a while."

"Isn't that the same as being dead?" Sam questioned quietly. His hands trembled again as a rush of grief flooded through him. Hunters don't just go missing, not in their line of work. You either get out or get dead.

"I got a call from Bobby, around mid-July last year," John said, looking at the wall, his gaze haunted. "He found the Impala parked out back amongst the wrecks. The keys were sitting on the front seat, with all Dean's credit cards, phones and weapons. Looks like he stashed the car and high-tailed it outta there."

Dean loved that car. Sometimes, thought Sam, even more than his own life.

"And Dean? He's just... gone?" Sam demanded, growing angrier and more frustrated by the second. "Why didn't you come get me? I could have been looking for him! Since July? It's been 6 months?! Holy crap Dad! Did you even look for him?"

The familiar flush of anger coloured John's face as he stood up and glared down at his son, his veins bulging on his forehead.

"Of course, I've looked for him! That's the only thing I've managed to do these past few months, Sam! I'm handballing any hunts I find off to Bobby just to focus on this. And it's not like you ever picked up the phone either."

The door opened and a nurse peeked her head in. "Family visiting hours end in five minutes, Mister Winchester," she reminded them.

"Thanks," John muttered, straightening up and smoothing his wrinkled shirt. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, making Sam acutely aware of the dark shadows that sat deep under his eyes.

The nurse left quickly, leaving the two alone once again.

"I've been trying, Sam. He's just gone, I can't explain it," John stated in a marginally calmer tone. "I've even contacted the other hunters, the police, I've got hits out for any corpses and John Does found matching his description in nearly every goddamn hospital in this country. It's like he's vanished off the face of the earth."

"What do you think happened to him?" Sam queried quietly as he fidgeted with the discoloured and bloody bandage covering his hands.

"I don't know. But I have a feeling it's related to what happened to you this week," John stated, he held out his hand and pulled Sam out of bed and into a stand. "If we can find yellow eyes, we’ll probably find out what happened to your brother."

Chapter Text

November, 2020

Dean couldn't breathe.

His lungs burned and his voice choked, gasping harshly in the impossibly dark dimension that he had found himself trudging through. Jack walked calmly to him and placed a warm hand upon Dean’s shoulder, igniting the veins of grace that danced across Dean's flesh and easing the wet, bloody rasp deep within his chest. The outline of Castiel’s hand print seemed to be the epicentre of the glowing web that covered him, visible even through his shirt and shinning an angelic blue. It sparked outwards, leaping to the bottled grace that lay strung upon Dean's neck like arcing electricity.

Weird... It didn't do that when they had practised this back on Earth.

"Don't try to breathe," Jack whispered, removing his hand. "I know it feels painful, but there's no oxygen here. There's no anything here."

Dean trembled, trying to fight against every mortal instinct, his unconscious mind crying out from pain despite the danger.

He felt like he drowning again.

It was as if he was back inside his mind, under the other Micheal's thumb once again, sparking memories that Dean had long since buried.

He struggled to ground himself. The usual means he used were absent here.

The only similarity between the Empty and Earth was the gravity that this place had. His feet stayed firmly on the ground. If what he stood on could be called ground... He turned to glare at his adopted son, who merely raised an eyebrow in return.

Dean rolled his eyes and attempted to talk, only to produce a barely-there squeak as the last of his air escaped.

"You can't talk here, Dean," Jack stated, gazing off into the distance. "Humans aren't able to vibrate their vocal cords without air. I'd say that’s a plus, I don't think aggravating the Empty would help us if you decided to start yelling."

Apparently becoming God last year gave his four-year-old a similar sense of sarcasm to his other, unfortunately absent father.

Speaking of Jack’s other father, Dean gazed to the spot past Jacks left shoulder, deep into the void. The bottle of grace on his chest seemed to gravitate in that specific direction.

It had been extracted painfully from Dean's body, after years of Castiel's grace healing him and remaking him, Cas had left behind quite a sizable amount of grace. So much so, that Dean's body now had his very own glowy grace vein system, not dissimilar to an Angels. Dean hadn’t been able to access it without Jack's assistance, but it had been unknowingly helpful in their latest spells ingredient list.

"I'm going to find Michael first," Jack stated, walking in the opposite direction to where Dean was facing. "I can feel his grace close by here. And then I'll head to Gabriel. If I have time, I'll awaken Raphael also. Once I have the Archangels awake, we will begin the process of retrieving the smaller Angels."

Dean nodded his head and started taking a few steps toward where he believed Castiel was sleeping.

"Be careful, Dean."

Jeez, this kid worried too much. Dean had walked the halls of Hell and Heaven, ran the forests of Purgatory, and wandered the infinite library of Death herself. What was one more dimension? At least this place didn't seem to have any visible monsters to chase him.

It had been nearly a year to the date, since he lost Cas. No matter what Dean found here, he would not leave empty handed. There was too much unsaid between them.

Dean wandered slowly, his chest still and unmoving, and his eyes rapidly dancing across every creature he encountered. There were corpses littered around, sporadically splayed out in their eternal sleep. It was almost comical how some of them lay. One demon looked as though he was curled up beside an angel, using his unwilling angelic companion as an eternal pillow.

It was easy to tell the vessels apart. The Demons typically wore darker clothing, like some unofficial uniform in regard to the Angels' own greyscale colour scheme. But it was what lay underneath them, that really caught Dean's attention.

The floor he stood on acted almost like a polished black, two-way mirror and under the vessels of the Angels lay their true forms, untouchable and separated from their physical bodies.

Thousands of wings of various colours, rings of gold and silver and other precious metals, with millions of closed cut gem-like eyes. All of them, infinitely larger than Dean could comprehend.

Some, Dean recognised, were like Zachariah had described, with multiple heads, and various animal parts.

Some looked like cosmic black holes with wings and limp metallic rings.

And some, so very small in comparison to their hundred-story-tall siblings, looked like stereotypical Angels from children's stories, draped in soft white linen. The only difference was their faces, which bore not a cherubic expression, but a blank porcelain mask with features.

Finally, after walking for an indefinite and unknowable amount of time, sidestepping the Angels and Demons, Dean came upon a familiar beige coat. The grace in Dean's necklace reacted, shining brighter as he approached his Angel.

Castiel was beautiful in his sleep. Eyes closed, rested, without the regret that seemed to plague the expressions of all the vessels Dean had passed. He seemed younger than Dean had remembered, likely unburdened by the constant stress of their last few years.

Dean didn't know whether to rage at him or kiss him. So instead, he settled for kneeling down and slowly pulling his Angel's human vessel onto his lap.

Large black wings lay beneath the glass-like floor, reflecting a rainbow like oil spilled in reaction to the glow of grace on Dean's body.

Rings of silver, and what appeared to be thousands of eyes, like marquise-cut sapphires lined them, and a sense of familiarity filled Dean. Almost like a memory, of heat and ice, of torture and salvation.

Castiel was beautiful and Dean carded his hand through the dark tresses and tears began to well in his eyes. Finally...

Finally, after a whole year, he had Cas in his arms.

He closed his eyes and began to whisper the prayers in his mind. All the words he had wanted to say over the years, but had felt too cowardly to do so.

Life held no meaning without Cas beside him. So he promised, whispered, whimpered. Whatever Castiel wanted, he repeated over and over again. Simple prayers of love and love returned.

'Whatever you want, you can have. I'm yours, I've always been yours. I'm sorry it took me until now to say it.'

Just wake up.

Slowly, silver rings began to spin, feathers twitched, and all six of the Seraphs' massive wingspan spread. Unfocused cornflower blue eyes opened from Dean's lap and Castiel gazed sleepily up at him, his true form bleeding upwards and into his vessel in a blue shining light of grace.

"Touching... truly," Came a nasally voice, a parallel to Castiel’s own harsh timbre and Dean looked up in confusion.

Before him was... Cas? No. Not Cas. Definitely not Cas.

But whatever it was, it wore Jimmy Novak's face like an ill fitting halloween mask.

"You're not supposed to be here, little human. This place is not for the likes of you."

'What the hell is that?' Dean thought to himself, slowly pulling Castiel into a standing position. He wobbled slowly, his eyes blank and full of sleep. He leaned heavily into Dean's shoulder as the human wrapped his arm protectively around Cas.

"I'm just your friendly neighbourhood cosmic entity," It stated, replying to Dean's thought. Its voice doused Dean's body with nausea, and the knowledge that this thing was in his head, reading his thoughts, filled Dean with a horrific sense of dread. He couldn't look at this thing head-on, so he turned his head away to glance at it in his peripheral.

Its vessel seemed to be slipping, and black ooze seemed to leak out of Jimmy's face before retracting like the jumping frames of an old VHS tape.

"Castiel... you've made your deal, now it's time to go back to sleep."

Dean pulled Castiel tighter into his arms, fingers gripping so hard into Cas's flesh, that it would have left bruises on a human. Castiel reached up and placed his hand on the small of Dean's back and lopped the other around Dean's neck, embracing his hunter, eyes slipping close once more.

'No..no, no, no!' Dean thought, shaking Castiel by the shoulders. Castiel reopened his eyes and glared at Dean in such a look of grumpy, tired misplaced anger that would have been cute if not for the pressing matter of the Eldritch goop monster that began to slowly approach them.

Uncomfortably close. Just like how Cas used to stand. It's eyes dripping in black tar.

Chapter Text

November, 2020

Arguing with a grumpy ooze deity was mentally taxing.

Arguing with said deity using only one-sided nonverbal communication was even worse.

This thing had unrestricted access to Dean's mind and responded to his every thought. Including the ones that Dean would have preferred to keep buried down.

Deep, deep down.

"Now that's just embarrassing..."

Dean felt a flush of heat burn his cheeks as he lowered Castiel back onto the ground. He had back fallen asleep not 10 minutes prior, much to Dean's chagrin.

"I can do this all day... or if you prefer to think in cosmic terms, all of eternity."

'Yeah, well so can I, sleazeball,' Dean angrily thought in some sort of mangled and blasphemous prayer. 'I've spent all year preparing for this moment. I don't care how long it lasts and I can guarantee that I am far more annoying than anything you have ever met before.'

"Oh, I know how annoying you can be, I've traipsed through Castiel's memory's the last time he was here," The Castiel look-alike responded dryly. It glared down at Dean in contempt. "Two peas in a pod, you and that Angel of yours. And that noisy Nephil you both adore so much. Your 'Son' if you will."

'Why are you even here? You know what's going on in the rest of your realm.'

"I could care less about the Godling and his vain attempts at a heavenly rescue mission," Jimmy Novak's eyes rolled, unsettlingly, going a little too far back into his skull as if the thing piloting the body wasn't sure how to move it. "The infant God is removing all of the Angels he awoke in his last explosive entry to my dimension. It's less work for me to do, should I have to put them to sleep again."

'So let us go too,' Dean pulled Castiel's limp form closer to his chest as he glared at the thing in his peripheral vision. Even after as long as he had been here, it hurt to look at it front on. 'You could be back to sleep in a matter of minutes.'

"Time has no meaning to one such as I, minutes and seconds don't exist here. Time is a mental construct forged by your squishy meat brain to make sense of the multidimensional and circular universe. And besides, you are free to leave whenever, no one would stop you. But that broken Angel stays."

'He isn't broken-'

"Of course he is," The thing cut him off, tone bored. "He has feelings, a fundamental fuck up for his kind. How about a deal? I hear you humans are fond of those. Leave this place, without the Angel and I will guarantee that Castiel will dream only lovely dreams for the rest of eternity. He will be content, living in a fantasy, far happier than anything you could provide on earth. And you can forgo whatever sense of duty that you've imposed on yourself since his sacrifice."

'You can go to hell,' Dean responded mentally.

"How cute."

Dean closed his eyes as the thing approached once more, trying to fight off the wave of nausea that bubbled at the vomit in his throat. It seemed to encroach into his personal space and he felt it pouring through his mind like water through a sieve.

It was quiet for a long time before Dean braved opening his eyes again. This time, Castiel and Dean were alone.

Dean fought off the instinctual sigh of relief, knowing the ache in his chest would just remind him of his near-constant state of asphyxiation. No matter how uncomfortable he felt, Dean knew it could not truly hurt him. It was impossible to die here.

Jack would be along soon, hopefully bringing an army of Angels and maybe a few familiar faces.

Dean turned his attention back to the sleeping Seraph and ran his fingers through Castiel's hair, the only light was the fading blue of grace that shone through his skin. And waited.

~

How long was eternity?

It hurt Dean's mind to think about how time passed in the Empty. Counting seconds gave Dean the vague sense of an oncoming migraine, so he did the only thing he could.

Replay songs in his mind.

He must have mentally sung Castiel's mix tape to his sleeping Angel a few hundred times when Jack finally appeared before him, looking more weathered than Dean had expected.

The kid had good timing. The blue glow of grace that had been covering Dean's body like a second skin had begun fading and quickly. Dean could feel the Empty rejecting his human soul, trying to force it out of its dimension now that he no longer exuded the humming energy of an Angel.

Dean took in Jack's tired appearance.

Black goo stuck to his shoes, and his white jacket sleeve was torn. But he still greeted Dean with that awkward smile and palm-up wave, before turning back to look from the direction he had come from.

Dean stood up on shaky legs, taking a moment to steel himself before he reached down and hoisted the 6ft tall Angel into his arms.

God, he was getting too old for this.

"We need to go," Jack whispered, side-eyeing something in the endless darkness that Dean had no hope of seeing. "I've gotten most of the Angels out. Heaven isn't at risk of falling to Earth anymore."

Dean nodded, and Jack reached across the distance between them, placing his palm onto Dean's faintly glowing shoulder, rebooting the angelic signature and removing some of the stress that this dimension had placed upon Dean. Veins lit up blue once more.

The two began to walk, careful steps over the remaining slumbering Demons. Angels no longer littered the void.

Dean caught Jack's eye and gestured to Castiel with a tilt of his head.

"He should wake up soon," Jack replied. "But only once we leave this place. The shadow has placed a stronger sleeper spell over him than any of the Angels I encountered, probably to make sure he never wakes here again."

"I thought I told you to leave that Seraph," whispered the nasally voice, now so very cruel sounding and coming right behind Dean's ear.

He whirled around, startled by the presence of the shadow, and for a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a glimpse at the monstrous things' true form hiding in Jimmy's likeness.

Dean came too on his knees, his vomit staining his jeans as he clutched at Castiel, Jack standing protectively in front of the two.

"Just let us leave, please," Jack whispered, raising his arms to try and calm the Castiel look-alike in front of him. "As long as you keep us here, you won't sleep. I can help you. I can help you sleep again."

"You? You can help me sleep? You who have awoken so many in this dimension. YOU, WHO HAVE MADE IT SO INCREDIBLY LOUD?" The shadow raged in its fury, glaring at Jack in a way that sent a shiver through Dean. It paced around them, stalking circularly like a lion would its prey, but Jack refused to submit and stared at it head-on.

An eternity passed once more, or maybe it was only five minutes, two stubborn deities looked in a staring contest, a battle of wills, neither able to hurt the other physically.

Slowly, the shadow's gaze changed. It began to look contemplative instead of angered, and then it sighed. Jack's shoulders slumped and he smiled.

"Fine. Leave, all of you," rhe shadow growled. "But none of you are ever come back here again. And you, Godling, you will put me and all the rest back to sleep."

"Thank you, I'd be happy to help," Jack grinned, turning back to smile at Dean. "Come on, I'll take you back to the portal."

"Oh don't bother, here, I'll do it." The shadow waved his hand and the ground started to quake under Dean's legs. A blinding light opened from underneath him as tendrils of black ink growing out of the floor grabbed at Cas and himself. "Be quick about the sleep magic now, child thing. I have been awake for far too long."

Dean looked up at the two Gods and caught a glimpse of confusion and unease on his adopted son's face as the blinding light pulled Dean and Cas under.

~

It was nighttime.

The only light was the warm ember coming from the overhead streetlight.

Dean looked up blearily, taking in the familiar roof of the Impala. He felt as though he had slept for years, his eyes crusted with sleep and his muscles ached with fatigue.

One arm bent behind his head, supporting his neck, the other was wrapped over the shoulders of his bed-mate.

Bed-mate?

Dean looked down sleepily, his mind not fully awake enough to recognise the mop of dark brown hair that lay on his chest.

Male.

As tall as Dean was.

The beige coat was familiar.

Dean blinked his eyes.

Cas...

Holy crap. It worked. He's got Cas back.

Tears filled Dean's eyes as a sob broke through his lips.

"You dumb sonovabitch. We did it."

They did it, they won. The final battle. The last great challenge. Dean had Cas back.

A thousand thoughts filled Dean's mind. Would they keep hunting? Or would they retire together? Dean imagined Castiel would want to retire, if anyone deserved peace and quiet it was an eons-old Celestial warrior.

Was Jack going to come with them? Being God was tough, of course, but surely he still needed somewhere to stay now that Heaven was restocked with Angels.

Dean would need to buy Castiel a big place.

Somewhere with a room for Jack, and maybe a spare room for whenever Claire and Kiara came to stay. Of course a room for Sam and Eileen.

Crap, would they need a fifth room available if Dean became an uncle?

How many bathrooms did they need?

Dean never put much thought into housing his ever-growing family. The bunker was big enough for all of them. But recently it had begun to feel less of a home and more of a hunter's hub.

Not that Dean was complaining. It had been one of the only good points of the last year, seeing just what type of community Sam could create.

Perhaps it was for the best if they left. Maybe get someplace with sunshine.

A sharp trill filled the air pulling Dean from his thoughts.

Sam.

Jack must have gotten back home, Sam was probably looking for them, awaiting the good news.

Dean reached down to grab the ringing phone. Only, it wasn't the screen he was expecting.

An old Nokia?

Was this Castiels?

Dean blinked in protest at the sudden brightness coming off the phone as he looked at the blaring contact.

(Dad Calling)

Chapter Text

February 2006

Sam sat at the old motel table, staring blankly at the screen of his laptop. It had been three weeks since he started travelling with John again and four since Jessica's funeral. He had grown used to the militant style of life that John led. Late nights of research, early mornings, and hard training. It served Sam well to keep his mind off of Jess, focusing all his energy on finding old yellow eyes.

It was almost perfect

Notwithstanding one key difference.

When Sam and his father weren't arguing, the time they spent together was in damn near silence. And whilst Sam wasn't in the mood for chatting, the lack of background noise had put him even further on edge.

No funny jokes and prank wars to pass the endless time in between hunts. No loud obnoxious music and the accompanying singing. No quick rushes to the bathroom before all the hot water was stolen. No late nights watching movies instead of researching or trips to the bar. No more cutlery rustling or soft snores in the bed across the room.

No more Dean...

And after three weeks of only his sullen and secretive father for company, both men were tense and on edge. Without a buffer, without Dean stepping between the two during any argument, their fights had become explosive.

At first, John had only given Sam glares whenever he felt his son stepped out of line. But after a week, John's patience had weaned, and the loud arguments had started. Both were so stubborn and they refused to back down, spitting words like venom. Usually, Sam's father would attempt to be the bigger man, take his anger into his self, and leave the room.

But today? Today his father had punched Sam for the first time.

An uppercut, straight to the jaw, effectively ending that particular argument with Sam's utter disbelief and John's half-hearted apologetic words.

So Sam sat at the old motel table, staring blankly at the screen of his laptop, his fist under his chin and his mind contemplative, a whirl with thoughts.

Looking back, Dean had always stood between the two of them, his back to Sam as he faced his father. But why would he do that? It's not like he knew that John could get violent like that. Did he?

Dean wanted this life... Dean was the perfect soldier... Dad was never disappointed in Dean, not like he was with Sam.

A sense of unease filled Sam, the longer he thought about it, the deeper the feeling spread.

Maybe it was just the stress? Losing Dean must have been what pushed John over the edge and stressed him out beyond his normal measures. He sure looked the part, clothes too large and unkempt. But...

The door unlocked as John walked into the room, carrying a brown oil-stained bag of food from some nondescript takeout venue. Sam eyed him from over the screen but did not make a move to greet his father.

"Ahh, here. I got you this," Said John, opening the bag and grabbing the wrapped burger and side of fries, placing them in front of Sam. "Double bacon cheeseburger, just how you like it."

"Thanks, but I would have preferred a salad," Sam sarcastically remarked, leaving the greasy burger and instead choosing to grab a handful of chips and shove them into his mouth. "And I don't like cheeseburgers. Not that I expected you to have remembered that."

"You boys used to love burgers. Don't lie to me. And don't go giving me attitude just because you've decided to change up your diet. You damn college kids and your rabbit food."

"I haven't had a cheeseburger in like two years, Dad."

"Just eat your damn food boy and if you ain't gonna eat what I bring, then feel free to get your own dinner, I ain't gonna stop ya," John grumbled, opening the fridge to grab out two beers. "Don't make me regret bringing you along, I am more than happy to dump your ass back at Stanford if you're gonna keep giving me issues. At least Dean knew to be grateful."

"Grateful? Of what? Shitty take-out food?"

Sam glared up at his father, trying to bite his tongue as irritation and anger bubbled within him once more. It was always hard for Sam to stay silent.

John walked back over to the table, sat down across from Sam, placed a beer in front of his son, and opened his own. He leaned back and glared at his son before his eyes softened at the sight of the bruise on Sam's jaw.

The two were quiet once more. John stared at the yellowing wallpaper, drinking, and Sam, well, he seethed.

When he didn't receive a response, Sam slammed the laptop screen down and stood up, grabbing the food and his beer.

No chance he was gonna sit at the table beside his dad. Not today. Not when his jaw ached like that.

Sam slammed the door behind himself and sat down on the roadside, his large body hunched over awkwardly as if he was unused to the sheer size of his gangly limbs. The night air was cold on his skin, a refreshing reprieve from the heat of anger that filled him a month ago and couldn't seem to leave. He sipped on his beer and stared out into the distance, a million thoughts running through his head.

Most of them centred around Dean.

Unease rose from his chest threatening to choke him as it filled his throat. Sam had never gotten along with his father, but Dean? Dean idolised the man.

That was a fact.

But now Dean was gone and whatever trail he could have left behind had long since gone cold. Even Baby sat abandoned, gathering dust and left behind in Sioux Falls. John hadn't thought it necessary to retrieve her. Maybe he was holding out hope that Dean would go back for his prized car.

Sam pulled the cheeseburger from the bag.

Double bacon. Dean's favourite.

He slowly opened it, hit with the smell of nostalgia of open roads and old diners. Wherever Dean was, was he eating well? Was he safe? Was he still able to eat his favourite burgers? Or was he being kept prisoner somewhere? Living off scraps whilst he waited for his family to come to save him?

Or was he already dead? Lost to the Demons of their past whilst Sam sat in school, living his normal, happy life, without a thought spared for the brother he left behind all those years ago.

Hot tears filled Sam's eyes as he bit into the burger, oil and cheese dribbled down his chin and he quickly wiped it away with a napkin.

Chapter Text

July 2005

Castiel looked younger. Hell, even Dean looked like a kid again, much to his displeasure. But Cas? The young man was all chiselled jawline and thick tousled hair. Scrawnier than before though, looking more like the pale accountant Jimmy Novak than the tanned brick wall of muscles that Cas had become.

Dean had never seen a picture of Jimmy Novak in his late twenties, but by God did young Cas look like Jack. It was almost eerie.

Cas's intense blue eyes were staring out of the windshield, out to the rolling waves of the lake Dean had parked the Impala beside, silent with thought. Dean sat next to him, hands folded in his lap as they sat together.

They... hadn't really talked yet. Not about what mattered, what had happened during their last moments together. And Dean wasn't too sure about how to start that particular conversation.

It didn't help that Cas got all cagey about it every time Dean even mentioned that day. For now, Castiel seemed entirely too focused on the fact that they were stuck in the past, a detail that didn't seem to bother Dean as much as it probably should. Time travel wasn't anything new to him anymore. They could always get back.

So now they sat in a quiet stalemate.

"So, you’re just not gonna talk about it?" Dean questioned, twisting his hands together nervously. He wanted an answer, even if it was one that he didn't want to hear.

He knew that Castiel still loved him, one year in the Empty wasn't enough to remove nearly 13 years of emotion. But he wasn't sure what to expect of their relationship now.

Ok, so Cas could love him romantically, Dean had spent one long and damn near suicidal year coming to terms with that already. And Dean could love him back too, love him the way Castiel had wanted.

Neither of them had a serious romantic relationship before, unless he counted the year he spent with Lisa, for all her patience in putting up with his depression. But Dean was willing to try. For Cas. If it kept Cas beside him.

His lack of a will to live without Cas proved that, not only to himself but to the other hunters in his family too.

But was Cas in any sort of state to change their relationship to something more?

Or did he prefer the friendship they shared to stay just that? A friendship? He sure was acting as if he wanted to forget about the whole thing.

"I just think we need to focus on what's really important here, Dean," Came Castiel's gravel rough voice. It seemed odd, too rough to come out of a young 30-something-year-old. And the feathery bastard was trying to change the subject. Again.

"Dude, we've done the time travel shtick plenty of times before, so what? Maybe Rowena will throw out a tracking spell when everyone realises we didn't get out the portal with Jack and the rest of those haloed dicks," Dean stated, stretching his arms back behind his head and closing his eyes, in a bid to make himself seem more relaxed and open. He wasn't panicking. Not at all. It's not like he cared that Cas was completely ignoring his attempts at confessing his feelings.

"Dean... we aren't just in younger forms. We have overtaken our pasts very consciousness," Castiel turned his attention back to Dean and gave him a look of nervous fear. "If we leave right now, there will be no Dean Winchester or Castiel in this timeline. We will create an even bigger paradox than anything I could imagine."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that with no one to replace us, we might not have a future to travel to."

Back to silence.

Dean processed this information slowly, biting his lip as he thought. A small sense of dread began to fill him again. Did Cas mean that they were stuck here? In 2005? But what about Sam? Jack, Claire and Eileen? He didn't know how long the silence dragged on before Castiel spoke once more.

"Why was Jack in the Empty?" Castiel whispered, sounding strained as if he already knew what had happened but didn't want to come to terms with it.

"He's ok, Cas... doing better than most," Dean stated. "He wasn't in there because he was dead or whatever you're thinking. He was looking for Angels because Heaven couldn't keep the lights on long-term without them. Making humans into new Angels hadn't worked out."

"I see."

"I... ahh... I do need to tell you something about Jack," Dean whispered, his mind chronologically running through the blur of days that occurred after he lost Cas. "I told ya that we beat Chuck, but I never told you how we did it."

"Did... did Jack get hurt? Did we lose anyone?" Castiel's brow furrowed as he turned to face Dean for the first time since they parked here.

"I mean... we lost everyone... everyone kinda died. Chuck Thanos-snapped the whole world the day you were taken. Even the damn bugs were gone. The only people left on the planet were Sam, Jack, Michael, and Me. But if you're talking about that last battle, only Michael kicked the bucket."

Castiel looked pale, paler than Dean was used to. He looked so deeply disturbed by the knowledge of his father's last actions. The sheer magnitude of death that Chuck caused.

Dean paused his words, wanting to reach across, place a hand on his shoulder and comfort his friend. But he chose to continue instead.

"I can't say Michael deserved it, even if the bastard betrayed us at the end. He went a little loopy after Adam was gone," Dean placed his hands on the steering wheel and gazed out into the blue waters. "Kinda like me after you were taken. Fuck, it was a mess, but don't worry, we fixed it. Everyone came back. Well, everyone except you, of course. You took a while to find."

"And Jack? What happened to him? You’ve said that he's ok, but I can tell you are hiding something."

"Well, Chuck was depowered.... all that God energy had to go somewhere. And you have should seen him, Cas, the kid was like a vacuum."

"Are..." Castiel's tone was confused. "Are you trying to tell me that our three-year-old ascended into Godhood?"

"Perhaps."

More quiet.

Castiel had turned his body to face Dean head-on, confusion and fear painting his features. Dean, meanwhile, was staring pointedly out the windshield, sitting in a slouch and biting at his lip, giving the impression of a guilted dog. Castiel had always wanted Jack to live a normal life. He wouldn't be pleased with the outcome of this fight. Especially when he realised Jack was likely going to be staying in heaven for extended periods of time.

"Sooo. What do you think we should do about the time travel thing?" Dean awkwardly asked, tapping his fingers against Baby's steering wheel. He still wanted an answer to his original questions, but thought it best not to further antagonise the Angel if he was trying so hard to sweep everything under the rug. "Pray to Jack?"

"I don't know if Jack is God here, Dean. He doesn't exist yet," Castiel sighed pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers and leaning back into the leather bench seat. "Logically speaking, I think in this time, Chuck should still be writing the script."

"No..." Dean began, an uneasy grin appearing on his face as a different sense of panic filled his body, fight or flight kicking in. Was Cas trying to tell him what he thought he was trying to tell him? "That's... that's not possible. We won Cas. We were finished. Everything was done, we were out. Getting you was my last big mission. It was over."

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"So what... what should we do? Replay our biggest hits? Follow a script?" Dean sounded panicked, his breath was coming in harsh puffs of air that fogged the glass beside his head. Everything they had achieved... Was it all for nothing? Did Dean fuck up that badly in the Empty that everything was undone? All that work. Their very freedom. "Do I die for Sam again? Be sent to hell again? Hope you're the Angel that gets chosen to find me?"

Castiel didn't respond, his mind distracted at the thought of being separated from Dean, of having to go back to heaven and being reset, once again becoming the obedient soldier he used to be.

Dean sat in silence, his mind swirling. No, this wasn't possible. He couldn't live through all that again. He couldn't be some character in a story for Chuck to mess around with. Dean couldn't lose Cas again, not after he just got him back.

"No... No, fuck that. I'm not doing this shit anymore. Fuck Chuck, fuck his perfect story. I'm out," Dean started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Where are you even driving to?" Castiel questioned, sounding resigned. "There is nowhere to go. No wards can hide us, God can find us anywhere."

"I don't know, Cas. But I'm not playing this part anymore. I'm done. I've retired, remember?" Dean smirked wide, showing too many teeth than usual, feeling manic as he looked at the Angel. "We are retired."

"And that means what? Hiding from heaven? From the divine prophecy?"

"It means, sunshine, that we need to ditch the storyline and I think I have an idea how to."

Chapter Text

July 2005

It hadn't been difficult for Dean to make a new set of fake IDs, regardless of how dated the technology in 2005 was. No, the issue he faced was deciding which names the two would take for their foreseeable future. Sure, he could pick another set of rock aliases, but something in him wanted to keep it simple. Domestic. Not 'Dean-Smith-The-Accountant' domestic, but something similar.

And after nearly a full day of deliberating, he finally settled on Dean Samuel Singer. After Sam and Bobby. Discreet, yet still a homage to his past.

As for Cas, well, if this was the only time the Seraph took Dean's last name, then Dean would take it.

Castiel Jack Winchester.

Cas smiled, small and sad, as he took his new driver's license and noticed his new name.

"I can change it if you don't like it," Dean muttered, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he awaited Castiel's response.

"No, it's perfect. Thank you for adding Jack's namesake," The Angel said with a smile, his fingers twirling over the driver's licence as he flipped it mindlessly. He glanced up to meet Dean's gaze once more, this time in confusion. "You've made me a Winchester?"

"Of course... I've actually been planning to do so for a while now," Dean stuttered.

"Because I'm family?"

"Well, yeah. But it means something different this time."

Cas was quiet and contemplative as he pocketed the license into the small leather wallet that Dean had given him earlier.

"What should we do now?" He asked Dean, his bright blue eyes meeting Dean's own after a few moments of comfortable silence.

"You’re in your previous body, right? Like me? Pre-hell?" Dean queried as he looked over the Impala. "That means you still have all your powers, wings, halo, and all that shit?"

"Yes, Dean, that's right."

"Good, coz I think we’ll need to use those wings of yours to jump a few states."

"You wish to fly?" Castiel's voice sounded confused. Understandable, since being dragged at a molecular level through space by an Angel had, ever since they met, been Dean's least favourite form of travel.

Dean took a deep breath before he sighed out his response, sounding just as remorseful and depressive as he felt about his suggestion.

"I think I'm gonna have'ta leave Baby behind.”

Castiel opened his mouth, either to argue or plecate, Dean didn’t know which.

“She draws way too much attention and she was such a big part of Chuck's storyline," Dean continued quickly, before the Angel could speak. He ran his fingers over the car's black paint almost reverently. "I wanna leave her with Bobby, She'll be safe there. But we're gonna need a quick getaway so we don't get spotted."

"You shouldn't have to make that kind of sacrifice, Dean. And it makes no difference, we have hidden her before."

"Nah, it's something I've thought of for a while now actually. Even back in our time," he said, turning to look back at his Angel. "We're retired now, Angel. Baby is a lady of culture, She deserves to be driven by a hunter. Riding the open roads. Not stashed in some shed gathering dust."

"What did you plan to do with her?"

"Originally? I wanted to give her to Claire. She needed a reliable car, and I thought I could trust the kid with her. Jack was also a choice, but he said he didn't need a car when he could just zap anywhere he wanted to go."

Dean leaned against the car and gazed at Castiel calmly. Cas had that familiar look of fond shock and affection on his features that Dean used to look away from, lest he become flustered in their past.

"You would have really done that?” He questioned. “For Claire or Jack?"

"Well duh. They are our kids, Cas. Plus, Baby's kinda like the only family heirloom I had to give," the words ‘other than trauma’ was left unsaid. Dean doubted that Cas would want to listen to any of his self-deprecating words right now.

"So why leave her behind now?"

"Because this is a new chapter in our life for one. Besides, Sam or Dad will come back for her. She'll be in good hands."

"Alright, Dean."

Dean stretched his arms above his head, feeling his muscles moving smoothly, without the constant ache created by years of old wounds and sleeping on poorly tended motel beds. Castiel tracked the movement with his eyes, seemingly unsure. Nervous, as if he wanted to say more. Dean took the silence at a face value prompt, and spoke up.

"So… are you... ready to talk?" Dean queried slowly, mentally preparing himself for whatever outcome this conversation would bring.

"About my last... departure?" Cas quietly asked, moving to stand beside Dean and leaning against the Impala.

"Departure?" Dean scoffed. "Sure, that's one word for it."

He rolled his eyes but closed the distance between the two, not that there was much space to begin with, and leaned his shoulder against Castiel’s. Cas felt warm beneath his coat, radiating heat along Dean's left side and shielding him against the cold breeze.

He frowned, his mind once again reliving the familiar nightmare, the day he lost Cas.

The day he lost everything.

"I don't know if there's anything left to say, Dean. I thought I was quite articulate in getting my point across," Cas replied in an almost defensive tone.

"Yeah, but you didn't give me much of a chance to respond, buddy," Dean sighed, his hands fidgeting, wrought with tension. "I didn't even get time to process what you were saying to me before you were just gone."

Castiel took a slow breath, as if trying to choose his words carefully.

"I'm sorry that you had to witness the Empty, I know that must have been hard for a human to comprehend. Especially in its raw state like that,” said the Angel, sidestepping Dean's statement cautiously. “But I will never apologise for saving you, even at the cost of my own life."

"I don't expect you to, Cas. Hell, if I had the same chance to save you that day, I would have taken it in a heartbeat. I've had a whole year to come to terms with that fact,” Dean took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He leaned heavily against Cas, allowing his head to fall on Castiel's shoulder. If he had to look at those searching blue eyes, his confidence would shatter and he would never get out what he wanted to say. “Please, you gotta try and see things from my point of view."

He opened his mouth in preparation to speak. To say his most important speech.

Seconds ticked by and Dean's mind came up blank. Eventually, Castiel jostled him gently in an attempt to prompt him to continue and a flush of warmth coloured Dean's face.

Shit.

Maybe he should have made up some note cards. He had always been prone to freezing when it came to hard discussions, but this was fucking ridiculous.

Dean had speeches planned out, and love letters handwritten. He had spent hundreds of nights awake, replaying what exactly he would say to Cas if he ever got the chance to see him again. Over and over again until he had the perfect response prepared.

But in the face of those patient, angelic blue eyes, the words seemed to fall away, and all Dean was left with was a deep sense of panic and a dry mouth.

"Which is?"

"Um... Well."

"Dean, you truly do not need to push yourself. I am well aware I've made you uncomfortable with my confession," Cas whispered, turning away to gaze into the distance, seemingly also finding it hard to face his charge head-on.

"That's not what I meant, Cas," Dean responded, equally as quietly. "I'm not uncomfortable. It was just the timing of it all. We were being chased by Billie. I thought we were gonna die together, hell, I was preparing for it. But you flipped the script, just like you always do."

A bird flew above them, catching Dean's attention. He watched it sail through the air, and a sense of peace filled him. At least, if nothing else good came out of this whole mess, if they were truly stuck here, at least Cas got his wings back.

"Cas, when you died that day, a part of me died with you," Dean admitted, turning to face his angel head-on. Green caught blue, and all Dean could feel was the warm puff of air brushing his face as Cas breathed. "I can't live without you Cas. I don't want to. If I couldn't bring you home from the Empty, I wasn't planning on coming back either."

"I don't understand, Dean."

"What you saw as your happiest moment, was the most horrific and painful moment of my existence. I know what you meant, your words were supposed to be kind, but the only purpose I saw them serve at the time, was aiding you in your suicide."

"Dean, that's not!-"

"I get it, I understand it now, Cas. But you've said your piece, I need you to hear mine," Dean said, his eyes started to sting. "Your great confession of love, your moment of happiness to save me? For months Cas, months... I thought your love for me was what killed you. That I killed you. And let me tell you, Cas, it nearly ended me."

Tears welled in Castiel's eyes as he gazed at him, so Dean cautiously reached a hand up to brush them aside. He had wanted to do that the last time Cas cried, before, when he had frozen up. One of his biggest regrets from that day was that he hadn't touched Cas, hadn't reached out to offer even the simplest comfort.

"I stopped eating, stopped sleeping and pretty much just existed. I became careless while hunting," Dean stated, his eyes peering deeply into Castiel's own. "Hell, Jack had to come to save me last year. I got pinned to the wall by a vamp. Bled out like a stuck pig."

"I want you to know, I meant what I said. I know it was in the heat of the moment but it's all true," Cas stated carefully, eyes searching Dean's.

"I know. I understand why you did what you did. But for the longest time, I hated that you made that choice."

"I chose to save your life, I always will."

"That wasn't your call to make though, Cas. If you were gonna go, I wanted to go with you."

"I'm sorry."

"It's... it's ok. I think it's ok," Dean took a deep breath, curling his fingers around Cas's face. "It's been a while, like I said. Sam dragged me to therapy a few months back, tried to force me to come to terms with everything that had happened to us."

"And have you?" Cas asked. "Come to terms?"

Dean let out a dry laugh and shrugged.

"Kinda?" Dean admitted. "I’m… working on it."

~

The rest of their day was spent in silence as both hunter and Angel had much to think about. Dean knew they didn't have to drive to Sioux Falls. If he asked, Cas would have flown him there within seconds.

But this was special. Different. It felt like one last ride with Baby. Even Cas sat still, with a sort of reverence, listening quietly to one of Dean's tapes.

When they were about half an hour out of town, the familiar landscape creeping outside the windows, Cas turned to face Dean.

"You know, nothing has to change."

"About what?" Dean asked.

"Our friendship. I don't expect anything from you, Dean. I'm truly content with what we already have."

"What do you mean?"

"While I'm glad you know how I feel about you, I'd rather ignore those feelings if it means that you are uncomfortable around me."

Dean sat quietly, his fingers tapping some rhythm nervously.

"But... what if I want things to change?" He eventually questioned.

Castiel looked taken aback.

"Well, I won't impose on you if you want me to leave."

"That's not what I meant, Cas. Shit," Dean whispered. "You never asked me, ya know."

"I don't understand," Cas replied in exasperation.

"What you wanted, but you thought you could never have. You never asked me. You never asked if you could have me."

Silence.

Castiel looked dazed as he stared out the windshield from his place in the passenger seat.

"How would you have responded if I did, back then?"

"To be honest, I have no idea, I probably would have had another panic attack," Dean admitted. He swallowed thickly. "But I know what I would say now."

"And that is?"

"Whatever you want, or... had wanted... you can have it. If you can look at me whilst I am broken and angry and hurting, and still see something worth a damn, if you still chose to love me, even after all that bullshit we lived through, then I'm yours, Castiel.”

Chapter Text

July 2005

Leaves covered the road as Baby drove under the large sign that read Singer Salvage, the moonlight glinting off her sleek black frame. The trees were rustling quietly in the breeze and a full moon hung in the sky, casting shadows over the mountains of scrap that littered the property.

The occupants inside the car were quiet as they looked up at the two-story blue house. It seemed to loom over them and Dean felt a wave of nostalgia flow through him at the sight.

It had been so damn long since he had seen this place. He was almost tempted to open the door and head inside, to see the house that had been one of the only stable homes he ever had.

But Bobby's old blue pickup truck was gone and it felt rude to impose on the man's privacy when he wasn't here. And, much to Dean's regret, he knew that a clean break would be easier on his loved ones. It would be better for them to think he abandoned Baby and this life.

"Are you sure about this?" Castiel questioned, as Dean drove Baby around the back of the house, finding a pile full of cars, stacked one on top of the other. "We can't just leave her here."

"If we are gonna do this, we gotta do it right," Dean replied as he stopped the car and climbed out. Castiel followed him silently as he walked around the side of the car to its trunk. "That means no phones, no other fake IDs, no credit cards apart from the ones in our new names. No Baby."

"I don't feel right about this, Dean. This car means everything to you, I feel terrible that you want to give her up."

"Until we know for certain what's going on, we gotta ditch everything that can tie us to Chuck's story."

"Only if you're sure about this."

"Why don't you work some of your Angel mojo and set up some protective wards for me then?" Dean inquired, grinning at the Angel as he opened the trunk and grabbed two of his favourite set of weapons; his Colt M1911, and his plain silver blade. Not that he needed them, he had Castiel beside him. Besides, it's not like many monsters came out of the woodwork back in '05 besides the typical ghosts. "If you're worried about her."

"You want me to ward the car? Against what? The legions of hell or rust?" Castiel rolled his eyes but carefully placed his hand against the glossy black paint. Slowly, under Dean's careful vision, Castiel poured his grace into the vehicle, carving intricate details into the chassis under the paint.

Wards against damage, heavenly grace, and hellfire etched into the metal. Wards against rust, sun, and snow damage were also added soon after when Castiel caught Dean's heartbroken reaction to the idea of rust on Baby.

The Angel stepped back when he finished, watching quietly as Dean ran his hand lovingly along the car's exterior.

Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an old notebook, filled with any supernatural information that his younger self had written in a vain attempt to be like his dad. He ripped out a page and started writing on it. This message was going to be solely for Sam, no one else.

He slowly wrapped the paper around the mechanism to extend the front bench seat and carefully tied it flat.

Dad was the same height as Dean, so he wouldn't notice. But if Sam drove the car, he would need to move the seats back to make room for his freakishly giant legs.

Dean stood back and admired his work. He turned back to his Angel, who had been watching him with a sad expression on his face.

"You don't have to do this, Dean," He whispered, "If you wanted, I could remove your memories of the future instead. You could live your life as you normally did at this age, hunting with Sam, travelling the country. You would be none the wiser."

"Did I ever tell you? About the time that I accidentally pulled Dad into the future? It wasn't that long ago for us. Back when Mum was still alive. We managed to have a proper family dinner and everything," Dean stated, turning to smile at Castiel. "I didn't go find Sam in that timeline. I hunted alone. And Sam... Sam had a normal life. He stayed in college, married Jessica, and had a few kids. Made stupid videos in a turtleneck. This might be a chance. A chance for me to give that kid the life he deserves."

"And that includes running away? From everything?" Castiel stated, turning to lean against the Impala. "I want this to work, Dean, just as much as you do, but we need to be realistic."

"Thanks for the trust, Cas..." Dean muttered, pinching his brow. "Heaven can't send its righteous man to hell if they can't find me, and if I don't break the first seal, Lucifer stays in the box. No apocalypse, no problems."

"But then Jack wouldn't ever exist."

"So what's your idea then, man? Do everything exactly the same?" Dean demanded, raising his hands in a shrug of defeat.

"I don't know," Cas whispered, wrapping his arms around himself.

"That's not gonna cut it, Cas. You're not gonna mind-meld me and take my memory. And you're certainly not gonna fly your ass back up to heaven and get brain wiped. We ain't doing this shit again."

"If Chuck wants us back in the story, then we will be forced into it. We wouldn't exactly have a choice," the Angel looked uncomfortable, wearing a pained expression.

"Then we can cross that bridge when we get to it," Dean placated, placing a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "What's with the face?"

"Angel radio. I can hear my old garrison calling for me. I'm being berated for my disappearing act."

"Shit. We gotta move. Can you ward us against other Angels?"

Castiel reached over, brushing his hand against Dean's stomach. A sharp prickling sensation rippled through Dean's body as cool grace ran down his spine, mixing with the grace that resided within his body. Castiel smirked at Dean, and Dean raised an eyebrow in response.

"What?"

"Nothing. I suppose it's so very ‘Dean’ of you, to request that your car be warded against the supernatural before your own body."

"Very funny. Can you do yourself?"

"Yes. Rib carvings, a similar set to yours from before," Castiel smiled at Dean softly.

The two shared a quiet gaze, and Castiel pulled away from the Impala, spreading his invisible wings carefully, and the rustling sound of feathers filled the air.

He held his hand out for Dean, who carefully grasped his palm.

"Where too next then?" Castiel asked, his voice soft.

~

Dried leaves crunched under Bobby's feet as he walked along the path out behind his house, a slight limp to his step. Cars were piled up around him, shading him from the heat of the sun. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his old blue jeans, clasping at the silver knife he had hidden, still feeling the residual ache in his body.

He had just ended a week-long hunt down in Wichita by getting flung into a gravestone. Thankfully, he had managed to distract the ghost with a gut full of rock salt before it could get a better hold of him.

But his instincts had been triggered when he got back home. Someone had been here, unknown tyre tracks in the mud that led out behind his property, and by damn Bobby wasn't taking any chances. He didn't even bother unpacking his old truck. Armed with only a silver knife and his shotgun, he wandered the wrecks.

One in particular caught his eye, and a rush of emotion overcame him. The last time he had seen that car, he had tried shooting its back lights out, in such a rage at its driver as he took away two kids.

The black sleek car was dusty, like the rest of the cars around it, but its chrome glinted in the sunlight.

He carefully opened the driver's side door and was greeted by a pile of fake IDs, mix tapes and a wallet containing fake credit cards. All bearing the face of the boy that he had helped raise.

Dean's phone lay on the dash, battery long dead.

"Balls!”

Chapter Text

July 2005

It was raining heavily outside. Streams of water flooded the footpath and washed stray leaves down drains carved into the roadside. Unusual for this time of year, so it looked particularly odd, to the receptionist working the front desk when two grown men approached her looking for a room. Particular, in her reasoning, not because they only requested one king bed, but because they seemed to have appeared from nowhere, dry as a bone, whilst the car park remained empty.

But she wasn't paid enough to care, so she took their balled-up wad of cash and handed the tall blond a key.

The two left, heading up to their room, and she eyed them cautiously as she rolled up her next cigarette.

~

Dean opened the door and looked around the motel room. Sure, it wasn't perfect, the wallpaper was discoloured and Dean doubted if the carpet had ever been cleaned since its installation, but it was cheap, and that's what mattered. They would be working on smaller funds than what they were used to. Not that Cas ever really spent anything.

Dean flopped down on the bed, hearing it squeak loudly in protest, and he groaned, missing his memory foam deeply.

He wasn't sure exactly how long he had been awake, but he knew he should not be this tired. His body ached as if he pulled four all-nighters in a row. It was like the energy from Dean's body was slowly seeping out as the day passed, leaving him bone-tired and weary. His eyes stung, and his head swam.

~

Castiel stood awkwardly in the doorway for a few moments, just watching Dean, before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him carefully. The sound of rain hitting the window reverberated throughout the room, and the fine hairs on Cas's arm stood up, as he felt the oncoming static energy of the storm.

He twisted his hands nervously before eventually deciding to sit at the table.

He picked up a brochure and studied it silently, his mind deep in thought. Thunder sounded loudly in the distance, his skin prickling at the sound.

"Do you want me to fetch you something to eat?" he offered tentatively, breaking the silence. "This says that there's a diner nearby."

Dean nodded his head.

"I'm just resting my eyes," he mumbled softly. "I'll get up in a sec, then we can go."

"You look tired, Dean. I will just fly. I can be back in a moment."

"If you're sure, man. I think I just need a couple of minutes," Dean stated, waving Cas off with his free hand before tucking it back under his head.

Cas smiled at Dean's prone form and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him quietly. A loud bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the clouds a deep purple.

He spread his invisible feathers, feeling the large droplets of water move through them, as he stepped out from under the porch cover. He did not care if his clothing got wet, he would dry himself at will later. For now, though...

Castiel hadn't been awake for very long within the Empty, all things considered. He hadn't had any regrets about his sacrifice at the time, so after the Shadow appeared to gloat, he graciously accepted the entity's sleeping spell.

He could remember a little of the ordeal, of being made to lay down in the inky, slimy darkness, and the gradual feeling of each of his sense’s slowly being cut off, one by one.

His human senses had been taken first, as weak and unused as they were. His taste and smell had faded in a matter of seconds, not that there was anything to scent in the empty, nor any air particles to taste. But then his sense of touch faded, leaving his nerves tingling like static.

He detached from his vessel, his true form slowly pulled below into the vast waters of the void sea.

His sight vanished next. A terrifying feat for a creature who had thousands of eyes to spare. Not once, in Castiel's extremely long life, had he ever been blinded.

It was unfortunate, that sound was the last human sense to go. Castiel's last memory, before being rescued by Dean, was of the Empty's shrieking voice and Billie's low-toned arguing as Cas sank further down.

He had a vague feeling of heavy weight settling on his six wings, and the grinding pain that flashed through four of his spinning rings as they slowed to a stop.

Then, as nothingness enveloped his mind, he lost the warmth of his halo. His thousands of eyes dimmed. And Castiel was no more.

It had been a sensory shock, when he awoke once more, stuffed back into a human body, and laying on Dean's chest. The light was too bright for his eyes, the smell and heat of Dean so close sent shudders throughout his being. The feeling of blood rushing throughout his vessel's skin had unsettled Castiel immensely.

Even now, Castiel remained so oversensitized, that the cotton count of his shirt stung his skin, its fibres rough and course.

But the shock of life was still preferable to the infinite numbness of death. Castiel would choose to lay on a bed of thorns if it meant that he could prove his existence.

That Castiel was alive.

As Dean slept, his soul calmed, and its far-reaching energy rebounded back to his exhausted body. Leaving the Empty was an impossible task even for a Celestial and Castiel was loath to find out any repercussions that might affect Dean's human body.

He would not wake for a few hours minimum.

So, for now, Castiel stood still in the dark. He breathed in the fine particles of water in the air, feeling the static of overhead lightning on his human skin, hearing the distant rumblings of thunder.

And, for the first time in a long time, Castiel experienced the pouring rain.

~

Dean stared at the roof above him, his hand over his head and his eyes unfocused. Sleep eluded him, his body was a mass of sweat from tonight's latest nightmare. The clock beside him read 9 pm, which meant that he had only been asleep for an hour.

And Cas was still gone.

Worry filled him, aching in his stomach. He bit his lip. the scene was eerily similar to his nightmare, and to wake up without the Angel sitting at the table like expected had sent Dean into a panic attack.

He took five deep breaths, just like Sammy taught him, and stood up.

Fuck, he knew he should have gotten the phone situation sorted before he let Cas out of his sight. His skin prickled with a flush of uncomfortable heat and he held his hands together in a quick prayer.

'Cas? Buddy? You ok? It's been a while since you left.'

Minutes passed slowly, shadowed by the ticking of the clock on the wall. Dean swallowed harshly as he stood, preparing to walk to step outside with the brochure map in hand.

A ruffle of feathers sounded through the room and Castiel stood before Dean, looking unruffled, but sheepish. He held out a paper bag with a barely-there smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I got caught up," came the Seraph's deep rumble.

"Doing what?" Dean whispered, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands as if he were wiping dry sleep, not fresh tears. "Getting lost?"

"No, the diner was only around the corner. I was enjoying the weather, and I got sidetracked," Castiel stated, gesturing to the table and guiding a, in his eyes, still half asleep human to the chair. "I'll admit, I thought I had more time. You were practically unconscious before I even left."

Dean sat down, and Castiel sat opposite him. The Seraph placed the food in front of him, two burgers and fries, and a bottle of water.

Dean was acutely aware of how horrible his face must look, eyes red-rimmed and skin clammy.

"Sorry, just give me a second, I need to go to the bathroom," Dean said, standing once again and walking away quickly before Cas could really take in his expression. The Angel looked confused for a moment and tilted his head, as the hunter fled the room. Dean closed the door behind him taking a moment to pause and catch his breath, before walking over to the porcelain sink.

The water was cold on his face, reducing some of the redness in his cheeks and helping to ground him against the post-panic disassociation that tended to follow his panic attacks.

'Remember what Sammy said. Remember what Sammy said. Deep breath in, one two three. Hold. Breathe out. It's gonna be ok. Everything's fine.'

Dean caught his expression in the mirror and he winced. Fuck, he hated that reflection. He could barely recognise himself on a good day, but now?

His features had never shown the forty years he spent in hell. Nor the year he spent in purgatory. He used to look in the mirror and feel distorted. The face of a thirty-year-old staring back when he had mentally lived seventy.

Now it was worse. Much worse. He was mentally eighty, with the face of a twenty-six-year-old.

He looked the same age as Jack. As Claire.

Like a kid.

He took a few more breaths, calming his heart rate like he was taught, before wiping his face quickly with the towel. Time to face the Angel.

Cas was where Dean had left him, still looking confused as he took a proper look at his charge.

"Is... everything ok?" Castiel asked quietly.

"I'm fine, Cas," Dean replied, sitting down and giving Cas one of his bright smiles. "Thanks for grabbing this, man. Looks good."

"It's no problem, Dean."

~

Burgers were eaten quickly, Dean quickly realised he hadn't had a substantial meal in a while once provided with a table full of food. At one point during Dean's feast, Castiel attempted to tell him to slow down, only to be met with a glare. Cas returned it with an unimpressed look, swiftly raising his eyebrow.

Castiel would never find Dean intimidating, not with his mouth stuffed full of food like a chipmunk.

Dean eventually dragged himself back to bed, flopping down onto his back, and crossing his arms behind his head, the picture of satisfaction. Castiel watched him carefully, his hands moving nervously, still so unsure of how to interact with the man he so desperately loved.

Dean had told Cas that he could have him, but the idea was incredibly daunting for Castiel, who had spent so many years hiding his emotions. It would be hard to break that instinct around Dean, to watch from a distance, to covet those fierce life-and-death hugs Dean gave him as if they were the only affection Castiel was allowed, which to be fair, was exactly true.

Castiel's musing was broken by Dean's loud groaning, startling the Angel as he jumped in his seat.

"Dude... you're not just gonna sit there and stare at me all night are you?" Dean stated, raising on his elbows to gaze back at Castiel, the look of exasperation on his fine features, eyes squinted in exhaustion. "C'mon man, we've talked about this. It's so creepy."

"Shall I turn on the TV?" Castiel questioned, looking wearily at the large black box that sat on the counter, a far cry from the flat screens he was used to operating.

"Would you even know how to turn that old block on? No- Wait-" Dean asked, before sitting up in bed and slipping under the covers. He raised the corner of the other side of the bed and gestured to it. "Here, just- come sit down."

"You want me to lay beside you?"

"Yes, doofus. Now hurry up, I'm tired."

"For what purpose, Dean? I don't require sleep," Castiel retorted, tilting his head in confusion.

"Not required, emphasis on 'required.' Which means, technically, you can sleep, you just choose not to," Dean stated, patting the empty sheets. "Which means get your butt over here. And for fuck's sake, take off that damn trench coat."

Castiel carefully toed out of his shoes and removed his outer coat and suit jacket. His tie went next and he debated on removing his white button down before choosing to keep it on. This was... an unexpected turn of events.

He sat next to Dean on the bed before carefully laying down beside him, pulling up the covers as he moved. Dean rolled over so that he was on his stomach, and Castiel was left lying awkwardly to the side.

Dean was tense, Castiel could tell that much. The human's shoulders were hunched, half curled into a defensive ball.

He wondered if Dean was regretting asking him to stay beside him. He hated seeing Dean uncomfortable in his presence. It was the one thing he had sought to avoid all these years.

A few minutes passed, the sound of rain still pelting the window planes. Castiel became lost in his thoughts.

If Dean could take a chance, to come out of his comfort zone, then so could Castiel. And after all, Dean had already given Cas permission to have what he wanted...

Cas sat up and reached over to grab Dean gently by the shoulder, using his superior strength to pull him closer. He manipulated Dean into laying on his back, and Cas chose to lay his head against Dean's shoulder.

Dean stared up at the roof, seemingly in a state of shock before Castiel felt the rush of heat warming Dean's body. His heart rate increased under Castiel's ear, blood whooshing.

Dean was flushing.

"Is this ok?" Castiel questioned, turning to look up at his hunter. "I can move if I've made you uncomfortable."

"N-No, this is fine," Dean replied, taking a second to shift into a more comfortable position. He eventually settled on his side, facing Cas, holding his Angels head to his chest, their legs intertwined and Dean's nose pressed into brown messy hair. "This is good."

Castiel closed his eyes, allowing himself to be lulled into a sleepy state, so different from the last time he slept. He felt as though he was surrounded by warmth, the swirl of Dean's spiritual energy mingled with his grace gently.

And maybe it wasn't just his imagination, as he drifted to sleep, the sweet feeling of a soft press of lips against his forehead.

Chapter Text

February 2006

White hot pain seared into Sam's eye. It pushed in deep, through his brain and throbbed in time with his beating heart.

Every three or so days, it appeared. Pulling at his sanity for hours on end, and nothing, no amount of medication he took nor liquor he drank, provided him any relief.

Sam was convinced this migraine would be the death of him, and it always, without fail, appeared after a nightmare.

Nearly every night he would wake up, drenched in a cold sweat, a tremble in his hands and a scream on his lips, much to John's irritation from the bed across the room. His mind burned as that damnable headache hooked its claws in for the next few hours.

Only once did his father try and comfort him. The hard, but firm pat on the shoulder had been jarring in Sam's state of panic, and a full glass of whiskey was quickly pressed into his hand. Sam had swallowed it like a shot.

This morning's headache had started as usual, but Sam was thankful to not have relived Jessica's death, nor the brutal capture he envisioned Dean suffering through.

Last night's dream had been... different, disturbing of course, but different.

He harshly rubbed his palms flat against his closed eyelids in an attempt to soothe the ache. Research didn't help his situation, if anything, reading worsened it. But Sam still found himself sitting on his bed, surrounded by books of local legends.

He reached across for his coffee, which had previously sat forgotten on the nightstand, and took a swig, then grimaced, overwhelmed by the burnt and bitter flavour. He felt nauseous.

"What's wrong with you?" John asked without even glancing at Sams's way, his eyes tracking through lines of paper from the town's death records. He sat at the table, surrounded by coroners' reports and other formal documentation.

"It's... just a headache."

"Gettin' lots of those lately."

Not a question. A statement.

John flipped a page.

"Maybe it's eye strain," Sam muttered in return, turning his attention back to the book he had claimed. "Or stress..."

"You gonna be good to head down to the morgue?" John inquired, standing up and stretching his arms. He piled the case documents together, and Sam winced at the sound of rustling paper. John shot him a suspicious look, complete with squinted eyes and a twisted grimaced lip. He turned to the motel wardrobe and pulled out his freshly laundered suit, leaving Sam's still resting on its hanger.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," Sam whispered, watching his father head into the bathroom without waiting for Sam's response. The sound of the shower turning on prompted Sam to finally stand up and grab his own suit, newly acquired and ill-fitting. He dressed slowly, his thoughts still lost on the dream he had.

Flashes of a forest at night. A young woman walking alone in the dark before being fiercely attacked. Her yellow uniform was stained red with blood. Torn apart.

~

John Winchester exited the bathroom well dressed, with his hair brushed back and pocketing his FBI badge into his black jacket.

He took mental stock of the room, and his gaze focused on his son, who stared blankly out the window, slack jawed and unfocused.

Unease and distrust filled John. If he hadn't already tested Sam with damn near everything he had in his inventory, he would assume there was something supernaturally wrong with the kid.

Although... if what John had learned was correct, ever since he was a baby... Sammy might…

He turned, and crossed the room, attempting to gather his thoughts the way he gathered the scattered reports.

John had long held his suspicions, things that didn't add up about Mary's death and yellow-eyes. A lot of those things centered on Sammy, and a lot on Mary herself. Things that John didn't like to think about, nor talk about. With anyone.

He had long felt a deep sense of guilt for keeping secrets from his boys, especially since he raised them into this life, specifically to find this damn thing.

But...

What he had already found? Sent chills through his body.

Whatever was going on was big. Very, very big. And his paternal instinct to keep his boys safe finally kicked in, although perhaps in the grand scheme of things, too late.

If Yellow Eyes was a demon, a very powerful and high-ranking demon, who had set his sights on John's family, then John didn't have a hope of getting out of this alive. Sammy could still make it out. Adam was safe, hidden away from the supernatural world. And Dean...

Dean.

John swallowed.

He didn't want to admit it, not to himself and certainly not to Sam. But he had long given up any hope that Dean was alive. Too many months had passed. If they ever found his eldest, the chances of him being truly Dean were slim to none.

At this point, finding even a rotted body would be more preferable to the only other outcome.

It killed John inside to think that, and see Sam so full of hope.

He turned his attention back to his middle child, noting the kids' still vacant gaze and sloppily dressed demeanor.

"Hurry up, boy. We're burning daylight," John stated, patting a hand on Sam's shoulder, watching the kid flinch.

The two headed out silently, and John went for the driver's seat. Not a chance in hell he would let Sam behind the wheel, not in his state.

~

The morgue was nearly exactly the same as every other one Sam had seen before. Sterile white walls slightly stained by unknown chemicals, flickering fluro lights overhead, and a silver wall of mortuary cabinets.

The mortician was droning on about the three victims that Sam and his father had come to see, all male, early twenties to mid thirties, all found in various pieces.

Certain parts were missing, specific organs were left unaccounted for. The only thing each of the men had in common, was that their chests were violently ripped out.

"I have never seen anything like it," the old man had said as he hobbled over to the mortuary fridge, opening it to show the two agents what remained of one particular man. His ribs were cracked apart. "Now I know how it looks, and it looks gorey. But ain't no chance in heck that a wolf did that. I've seen wolf attacks, these ain't wolf bite markin's. And I went out to the site, the tracks just don't line up."

"What type of tracks did you find?" Sam inquired after a pause.

"If I had to guess, human. But they looked elongated."

The man turned to leave, letting the two men in suits take their own look at the corpse.

"So, basic information that we know off, is that whoever is doing this is after young men," John stated, flipping a page in his notebook. "Hearts always missing."

"Werewolf?" Sam offered, using a medical instrument to lift part of the chest cavity. Claw marks lined the inside of the ribcage.

"Possibly," John stated. "A lot of things go for the heart. Few are this messy about it."

Sam prodded at the body for a while longer. There were teeth markings, but they appeared inconsistent. But he could rule out a few things. The two spent the next fifteen minutes in comfortable silence, both examining the bodies and making notes when they could.

"Do they still have their livers? Or where they removed too-" Sam started, looking over at John, who had opened yet another of the fridges and was hands deep in the chest cavity.

"Look alive, boys," yelled the old Coroner, as he hobbled back into the room. "Got another one."

"Another?" John questioned, pulling off his gloves and reapplying a fresh set. "How many pieces is he in?"

"It was a woman this time," the mortician stated, as an assistant wheeled in a covered body. Sam and John approached it curiously. The mortician pulled back the cover, and Sam's blood turned to ice. "A young lady."

A yellow dress.

Sam paled considerably, and a cold sweat settled over his skin. It... it was her, the woman from his dream.

Vomit came up his esophagus, choking him momentarily and he gagged loudly. John shot him a harsh look as Sam moved quickly backward, away from the corpse.

The sharp throbbing started to flare up in his left eye.

"Damn shame," The mortician stated, focused more on the corpse than Sams's visceral reaction, and zipped up the body bag once more. "Sorry boys, but I'm gonna need you both to clear out. I gotta put in an official report."

"No problem, Sir," John stated, pulling Sam out by the shoulder when he refused to move, seemingly in a state of shock.

He dragged Sam out of the room and all but threw him into the wall, crowding his space.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," He snarled, arm pressing uncomfortably into Sam's chest.

"N-Nothing," Sam stuttered, "I just... she looked familiar. I thought I recognized her."

"Who? The girl?" John growled, relenting on his harsh treatment and letting go.

"Fr-from school. I thought I recognized her from school," Sam lied quickly, nausea curling in his stomach. Holy crap, that was the girl. The girl from his dream. He dreamed of her death. "It wasn’t- I was mistaken. I'm sorry."

"Don't you ever do that again, boy! We have a cover to keep, and you ain't gonna blow it by throwing up on a corpse," John stated, clicking his tongue and walking away. "Get your shit together."

Sam stated after his father, nearly panting and still tasting bile on his tongue. The headache returned with full force and he raised his hand to brace his head.

Visions.

His nightmares were fucking psychic visions.

Chapter Text

November 2005

The view leading up to the property was, admittedly, stunning. The long dirt roads were winding, surrounded by a thick forest and various shades of greenery that were highlighted by the overhead sun.

Dean slowed the car's approach and looked at the house sitting nestled in the overgrown field.

The house that Castiel had fallen in love with was... interesting to say the least.

It ticked some of Dean's boxes, sure. The land was sizable, fairly secluded, and it was only a short drive into town.

The large forest bordered it on all four sides. There was even a gurgling stream nearby and a lake he could fish in, a short hike into the forest.

Picturesque, right? But the house itself?

Dean had seen haunted houses in better condition.

The two had spent months just drifting, from town to town, researching their local lores, and finally, finally, they settled on an area they both liked.

Turns out that purchasing a home for a Celestial had its own set of rules and requirements. Sunlight levels were the main factor. How much natural spiritual energy surrounding their would-be home played a close second.

Once Castiel fully explained his reasoning, Dean felt an array of mixed feelings. A sense of guilt filled him, centred on all those years of having Cas, a creature of light and energy, stay deep underground in a bunker for days on end.

Cas had wings after all, even if he couldn't use them a lot at the time. He should have been living somewhere he could have stretched if he wanted to, at the very least. Jack too.

Dean had wanted to argue with Cas at first, when the real estate agent placed those photos in front of him. The porch had been in complete disrepair, with broken planks of wood littering the pit that had formed in front of the front door. Many of the windows were cracked, and Dean was fairly certain that squatters had lived here on at least three separate occasions. But Castiel's eyes had lit up when he saw the property, seeing some sort of potential in the two story's bones that Dean hadn't.

So they agreed to a viewing, alongside two other places closer to town that Dean had liked.

But then Cas stepped one foot on that land, and a look came over him, one that Dean had never seen grace the Angel's face before. It was as if he was taking his first breath of air in years. He looked relaxed... peaceful.

The agent gave Dean a knowing look, and he sighed, following her to sign the paperwork. Castiel had... well, Dean still doesn't know where Cas went that day, but he came back a few hours after the legalities were finished, muttering something about ley lines and energy spheres in a way that went completely over Dean's head. Dean could only respond by silently pulling the leaves out of Cas's thoroughly tousled hair.

They lived in hotel rooms for three weeks, working daily to make the house into a home. Well, to make it liveable, at the very least. The windows had needed replacing. Moth-eaten curtains and rat-infested furniture had to be removed.

Castiel seemed to enjoy the manual labour aspect, thankfully and he had no qualms about doing the work of three men. But what he truly delighted in doing the smaller and more delicate work. Painting the awnings and sanding down handrails.

Tonight was their first night in their new home, a daunting thought in its own right.

No more motel rooms. Hopefully, forever.

Dean opened the car door and stepped out of his newly acquired (considerably old and rusted) truck. He had just finished purchasing the last of his essentials and now he had a trailer full of preloved furniture and a brand-new mattress.

Castiel sat on the wooden porch, now newly renovated and varnished, painting the railings a clean white. He looked up at Dean with a soft smile on his face, before he focused back on his work.

"I don't suppose you would put the brush down and help me carry some of this furniture in?" Dean inquired, stretching his shoulders. He felt a twinge in his back and he hoped he didn't pull something getting that table on the trailer. The previous owners were elderly and weren't able to move it themselves, needing Dean to remove it from their dining room by himself.

"Just wait a moment please," Cas replied, not needing to squint close up to the wood to paint the intricate details. His vision was perfect. "The paint will dry if left unattended. The chairs on your truck won't go anywhere."

"No problem, man," Dean stated, putting his hands in his pockets and walking up the small staircase to the porch. He took mental stock of the area. Cas was right, the house tidied up nicely with a bit of elbow grease. He wondered what Cas would want to paint the outside of the house, it was currently a dull and patchy grey at the moment. Perhaps it had been white in its prime, but that time had long since passed. He might tackle that job next week. "It's looking good Sunshine, you should be proud of yourself."

"Thank you, Dean," Cas said with a faint smile. He almost preened under Dean's praise, and Dean had to hold off the chuckle at the thought of the Angel's feathers fluffing up in time with his full body wiggle.

Dean walked past the Seraph and headed inside, beginning to tidy up the various paint cans that Cas had left about. Most of the walls had been primed for painting now, and the old carpets had been removed, leaving bare floorboards.

The kitchen caught his eye as he climbed the staircase on his way to check out the master bedroom. It looked odd at the moment, with all the cabinet doors removed. They all lay outside, covered in paint stripper.

Unfortunately, the acidic smell it produced wafted through the house.

'The joys of renovation,' Dean thought to himself, continuing on his way. If his nose curled at the smell, then he was loathe to find out just how offensive it was for Castiel's more intense and delicate senses. Maybe that was why the Angel was working on the opposite side of the house today.

The place had four bedrooms. Well... three bedrooms and a study, which Dean figured he would probably turn into a movie room at one point. Another Dean-cave, perhaps. One where he could hang some posters, maybe get another jukebox if it would fit.

He heard some shuffling below as he entered what would be the master bedroom. His new bedroom...

'His and Cas's bedroom,' his mind supplied.

What would Castiel even decorate the space with? He never did anything with the room they gave him at the bunker.

'Or...' he thought. 'Maybe Cas just didn't feel as at home there as much as I would have liked.'

It had all the natural sunlight that Castiel could want, with large bay windows that overlooked the would-be garden. The room also had a built-in wardrobe, enough space for both their clothing and his meagre belongings.

The shuffling continued, closer now, and Dean turned to look back at the door, to see Castiel manhandling the king-size mattress into the room. He looked awkward in his movements, and Dean sighed in exasperation.

"Dude, why didn't you tell me you were gonna bring it up, I could have helped you."

"I don't need help. It doesn't weigh anything," Cas responded, leaning the mattress against the wall. "Is this it for the bedroom? You don't have any other furniture for me to bring up? A bed frame perhaps, or a nightstand?"

"Yeah, unfortunately, we've nearly run through the credit cards," Dean stated, looking at the extremely bare room. "I'm gonna need to get a job if we wanna get more stuff around here."

"So, you're just gonna sleep on the floor?"

"Isn't that what most young people 'my age' do when they get their first place?" Dean grinned. He pulled the mattress away from the wall and dragged it against the wall opposite that giant window. He laid it down right where he would put it if the room were complete, in the middle of the wall to get the best view outside. "It's kinda like a human rite of passage at this point, Cas."

"If you're sure."

Dean flopped down onto the mattress and relaxed. If he were still in his 40-year-old body, there would be no chance in hell he would sleep like this. But at 26? He wouldn't even feel it in the morning.

Things were coming together. Slowly, sure, but they were making good progress. And it felt... real. Like real people progress.

It was so unlike the time when Chuck was behind the script. They didn't stumble upon some predestined and perfect home, like the bunker, that ticked each of their boxes. The house they chose was flawed. So wonderfully flawed. And it would take time to mould it into what they wanted. Real effort, hard work, sweat.

For fuck sake, Dean was sleeping on a mattress on the floor. He didn't automatically get the perfect room with memory foam. And he loved it.

Dean looked up at the Angel, who had approached him silently, his shoes now touching the very edge of the mattress.

"Wanna join me?"

"Dean, I'm covered in paint."

"Zap yourself clean then, doofus."

"But I still wish to paint more. Doing that now would be redundant. "

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed, relaxing into the mattress. He would not argue if that's what Cas wanted. A slight shuffle to his left and Castiel lay beside him, thankfully coatless. He looked at Dean calmly, without blinking, a serene expression on his face.

"Are you actually happy, Cas?" Dean asked, closing his eyes and moving closer to lay his head against his Angel's shoulder. "Here... with me? Doing stupid boring everyday human stuff."

"I miss Jack," Castiel admitted, raising his hand to card through Dean's hair softly. "Claire and Sam. But I'm very happy to be here with you. You've given me so much more than I could have ever hoped for."

"An old house and an old hunter?"

"Love, Dean," he whispered. "You gave me your love. You've given me that which I have coveted for years."

"I never knew Angels could covert," Dean whispered. "I didn't know they could feel like that. That you... could feel like that."

"I never let you know."

"If I'd known, I would've said something. I'd been crushing on you for years, man."

"It's ok, Dean," Cas whispered. He placed his hand under Dean's chin and lifted slowly, angling the hunter's face closer to his. "We are here now."

The Angel placed a delicate kiss on his lips, moving gently, slower than Dean was used to. Dean hummed in response and wrapped his arms around Cas's waist, drawing him closer.

Yeah... he could get used to this.

Chapter Text

November 2005

Dean stood wearily by the old stovetop, watching as three eggs crackled and popped, his gaze filled with suspicion toward the ancient white appliance.

The hot oil leapt from the pan, spitting violently and threatening to burn Dean's arm whenever he got close enough to flip the now well past golden eggs. He had been feeling as though the stove's blue flames were hotter than what the dial's displayed, often resulting in over-seared and damn near burned food every time he attempted to cook.

It was obvious, the stove would need replacing soon and the thought had Dean's empty wallet crying out from inside his pocket.

These rushed early mornings were quickly becoming the norm. Most days, he had to be at work before 6 am, leaving him with little time to get dressed and ready for the day.

Thankfully, it hadn't taken him too long to find a job in the small town. There had only been one mechanic for 30 miles, and the old man had been close to retirement when Dean walked into his workshop.

Castiel had wondered aloud if Dean's choice of being a mechanic had anything to do with his father, but Dean told him otherwise. John Winchester had taught him the basics, sure. How to quickly change a tire, oil, and other necessities one might need for a life on the road. But it had been Bobby who taught him everything he knew, with his endless patience, and his mountain of scrap and salvage for Dean to practice on. Now, Dean could deconstruct nearly any car to its smallest parts.

Castiel wandered in from the back door just as Dean plated his breakfast, his trenchcoat covered in potting mix.

Dean side eyed him wearily, tempted to ask him to remove the coat, to remind him that the Seraph was tracking dirt through the house, but chose to hold his tongue. This was Cas's home too, and if the Angel made a mess, he was responsible for the cleanup.

Cas greeted Dean with a gentle smile and a soft, lingering kiss.

"Hello, Dean."

"Mornin' Sunshine. Want some coffee?" Dean questioned, sitting at the old wooden table and gesturing to the fresh pot of coffee he had left on the kitchen bench. "You look like you've been busy."

Cas hadn't joined him in bed last night, far too entranced with the old wrought iron and glass greenhouse that stood at the corner of their property, overgrown and in just as much ruin as the rest of the house. They had discovered it together the day before, and Dean hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Angel since.

Whatever Cas had been doing, it looked as though he worked all through the night. And after weeks of Castiel's antics, that fact didn't surprise Dean at all. Even if he missed waking up beside the Angel.

"I've been tidying up," Cas answered. "The greenhouse still needs a lot of work, but there are plants in there that I'm hoping to save."

The Seraph poured himself a cup of black coffee. He took a sip and smiled at Dean in approval.

The molecules must be arranged nicely today.

"What about you? Any plans for today?" He continued.

"Jacobsen wants new tires on his old piece of crap," Dean stated around a mouthful of eggs. "I told him just to scrap the whole car, ain't no point in fixing something that's 70% rust."

"Sentimental value?"

"Eh, dunno. Not my place to ask," Dean said with a smirk. He cleaned up his plate quickly and turned to say his goodbyes to his Angel, pulling him to his chest.

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean's shoulders, drawing him close for a tight embrace. He could feel the beat of his Angel's heart against him as he breathed in Castiel's familiar scent.

Strong fingers curled around the side of Dean's neck, brushing the longer hairs that curled around the nape of his neck. The gentle trace of those fingers sent a brush of warmth swirling in his belly, and Dean's eyes drifted shut as he savoured the sensation. For too long he had denied himself even the most simplest of affections, and to feel Castiel give them so freely sent shivers down the back of his spine that had nothing to do with the chilly winter air.

Eventually, Dean reluctantly pulled away.

"I'll see you soon, Angel."

It was almost too domestic. Surreal.

~

Dean would be gone for most of the day, and Castiel felt... vaguely listless, as he listened to the roar of the rusted truck fade into the distance.

It was always too quiet here, without Dean.

Without Sam or Jack.

Existing in a form of solitude was something Castiel was still attempting to get used to. Heaven had been quiet, almost stoic, sure, but no matter their locations or current garrison placement, his siblings always had remained connected to one another. That telepathic thread was intrinsic, instinctual, tying them together, allowing them to share thoughts, orders, and purpose.

Even alone, Castiel had still felt connected.

Now, though? After willingly cutting himself off from heavens ‘Angel Radio?’

Castiel found himself drifting.

There were no current hunts to research, no Angelic duties that could send him flying across the world or through different spiritual dimensions.

No apocalypses to delay.

No family meandering through the bunkers' hallways.

Just Castiel… and a silent house.

He sighed and took another sip from his coffee, letting the warm and bitter molecules of the hot bean beverage wash over his over sensitive taste buds.

Perhaps, once all of these renovations were completed and their lives had settled, Castiel could find his own little job. Something fun to do, a way to waste the day. A distraction. Maybe even something with a decent salary, so Dean could take time off for himself.

And then, once he could afford it, he could purchase an old muscle car for Dean to rebuild. A potential project for the retired hunter. Something to stop Dean from clawing at the walls when he inevitably became stir-crazy.

After sparing a few minutes in an attempt to relax, the Seraph made his way outside, following the long, overgrown stone path to the greenhouse. He had work to do.

He pulled open the greenhouse door, which creaked at his touch and gazed about the mess that lay inside.

He had spent the previous night reinforcing the weak points in the metal structure. It was no longer at risk of falling, should Dean decide to join him in working on this project one day.

Truly, it would have made more sense to pull it all down and start from scratch. It was so incredibly old and broken down. But he could see something of beauty there, something worth preserving.

The glass ceiling was covered in years of dirt and grime, but what little of it that was clean, allowed the sunlight to filter inside, radiating light throughout the enclosed room. It shone over his head, interacting with his invisible halo, in a spectrum of light that only he could see.

It could be beautiful here, if given a chance.

~

Dean stopped the car in front of the house and climbed the porch steps steadily.

The day had been long and tiresome. He had spent far more time arguing with customers and manning the front desk than actually doing the job he originally signed on for. Placating rude people had become tedious in his age, and his patience for their nonsense had been pretty much nonexistent by 3 pm.

And then he had called Castiel, intent on letting him know that he would be clocking off work early today. He had hoped that the two could drive back into town to the hardware store and pick out paint colours, but the Angel had been quick to decline. Castiel had sounded…

Well, Cas sounded stressed. Like he was in a rush.

But not in his 'I'm in trouble, come save me' tone, not the 'I need your help, I'm being attacked' voice, not even the 'I'm scared' voice that shakes in a whisper at the end of his sentence.

It was his 'I'm hiding something from you' tone, quick paced and monotone. One that Dean had learned over many years, listening to the subtle changes in the Seraphs' tone of voice, which set off the alarm bells in Dean's brain.

"Cas?" Dean called, making his way through the house. It wasn't like Cas to fly off anymore, so he had to be around here somewhere. Dean couldn't hear any shuffling from upstairs, nor around in any of the rooms on the ground floor.

Dean opened the back door and then he saw it.

What Castiel sounded so stressed about on the phone.

And Dean laughed.

Right. OK. So that's new.

There, in the distance, sat what looked like a miniature tropical jungle.

Plants that towered over Dean had seemingly grown from nothingness. It was like looking through a kaleidoscope of colours; a hundred different types of flowers bloomed, some even managing to grow through the stone path. Vines twisted and wrapped around each other, creating a canopy overhead.

What the hell had Cas been up to?

Dean shook his head and walked deeper into the garden, hoping to find the object of his search.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, feeling amused. "Castiel?"

"Over here!" Cas shouted back, trudging through the thick undergrowth. "I'm over here."

Dean chuckled and ran a hand through his hair before bringing it down to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"What did you do, man?" He laughed, shaking his head slowly.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Castiel stated, his hands wringing together nervously as if he had done something wrong, much to Dean's confusion. "I tried to heal a few of the plants that looked sickly, and I wasn't paying attention. I underestimated my strength. By the time I realised what was happening, everything had already started growing. I keep forgetting that I'm at full power."

"So you created a jungle?" Dean knew that an Angel's grace could grow plants like crazy, just look at the oak tree that held Anna's for so many years.

"I'll get rid of it."

"Why?" Dean smiled, pulling the Seraph into a hug. Castiel lay his head on Dean's shoulder in an attempt to hide his face and sighed. "I think it looks cool. You don't like it?"

"I do like it. It reminds me of the original Eden. But this isn't normal, Dean. We are trying to stay over the radar, as you say."

"I-Its under the rad - never mind. Just keep it," Dean shrugged. Damn it, he would need to pick up a lot more mulch for a garden this size. "This is your home too, Cas. You can do whatever you want here. You want a pond, I'll make you one. You want some ducks and chickens, sure thing. You want a weird Angelic-feeling jungle, perfectly fine in my eyes."

He looked up at the extensive greenery. Cas was right. It looked odd against the dead grass and the frigid winter forest. But they wouldn't be getting visitors anytime soon. If he carved some more wards, they would be fine.

"How did you go with the greenhouse?" He questioned, looking down at the still slumped Angel in his arms.

"Oh, it's very close to being finished, although I believe the plant that I was trying to heal has mutated considerably."

"Show me?"

"Of course, Dean.”

Chapter Text

November 2005

"Absolutely not."

"You said this is my home too, Dean," Castiel stated blandly, looking unimpressed up at the hunter. "Only 32 hours ago, no less."

The two were in front of a wall of paint swatches in the small-scale local hardware store. Castiel had knelt a few minutes ago, his fingertips gracing along a particularly vibrant colour card that was displayed closer to the floor. Dean loomed close above him, keeping his back straight and his arms crossed, trying very hard to be the picture of stern refusal.

"That was before you said you were gonna paint the entire living room lime green."

"It isn't lime green, it's Peridot. Like the crystal. And I think it's a beautiful colour."

A sudden barrage of images flashed in Dean's mind, of grimey yet brightly multicoloured wallpaper belonging to the countless motels he grew up in, and he couldn't suppress the shudder that curled down his spine.

"Nope. No way. We will get white. And not that old-timey beige or cream. Real white. A bright white."

Castiel crossed his arms and sat back on his hunches, squinting back at him.

"Dude, come on. You said you wanted to be normal, right?" Dean continued, flicking his hands into the air in exasperation. "Normal people, don't paint their entire lounge room green or their bathroom fucking purple!"

"It wasn't purple, it was Violet," Castiel stated, plucking said coloured card from its rack and adding it to the ever growing pile in his hands. "And I already conceded on that particular argument. But I spend more time in the living room than you do, and I would like the walls to be peridot."

"That's not how this works, Cas..." Dean sighed, "It's not about who uses the room more. It's about keeping the house bright and open and uniform."

"This green is very bright."

"That's not what I meant, Sunshine," Dean sighed and uncrossed his arms, reaching a hand down to offer to Cas. The Seraph grabbed his hand and allowed himself to be pulled into a stand, yet refused to meet his eyes once again. "Look, let's agree to disagree for now. We can come back later once we've both found a colour we like."

"Fine."

"Come on, grumpy, didn't you say that you wanted some more gardening pots? Why don't you pick a few of those out whilst we're here."

~

The drive home was... uncomfortable.

After that first argument, whenever Dean tried to initiate a conversation with Castiel, he would receive only one-word answers in response. Slowly, minor irritation turned into actual anger. After his latest rebuffal, Dean's face flushed a bright red, an almost match to the colour Castiel picked for the laundry, and his skin had started to itch in response to its growing heat.

Why couldn't Cas see how ridiculous this was?

And was this their first real fight as a couple? Over paint of all the damn things? They couldn't be arguing about something actually important? Like how the hell they were ever gonna get home?

If they even could. Castiel had been withdrawn whenever Dean brought up the subject, often giving him one word answers and barely there snippets when he did choose to share information.

After another 10 minutes in silence, Dean turned to look at the Angel, ready to let loose the thoughts on his mind. But his words caught in his throat at the sight.

Castiel wasn't angrily folding his arms or pouting. He didn't snap at Dean or yell a biting remark when he caught the hunter's eye. His hands were held limply in his lap, and his gaze stared out from the car's side window.

The Seraph just looked sad.

And just like that, all the wind was pulled from Dean's sails, and he slumped back into his seat.

"Can we talk about this?" He whispered, pulling the car to a stop in the driveway of their home. He turned the engine off quickly and turned his gaze back to the Angel next to him.

"What's there to talk about? You've already made a choice," Castiel responded with a faint eyebrow raise.

"No, don't go putting words in my mouth, I said we can pick a colour that we both like later on. There isn't any rush," Dean reiterated, his fingers gripping at the steering wheel uncomfortably. He gestured frantically to himself and then back to Cas, back and forth. "I wanna talk about this... this silent treatment thing you're doing. It's not healthy, if you're mad about something, I need you to tell me."

"Why? I know there's no point in talking about things we can't change."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head slowly. "I learned all about this shit in therapy. No more hiding your emotions and all that crap. Please, tell me what's going through your mind. I promise that I'll listen."

Castiel took a slow and deep breath, his hands fiddling together as he seemed to think of a way to respond, unused to Dean's blunt wording.

"I'm frustrated. You said yesterday that I can make myself at home here, in this place. But today, you deny me and make choices without my input," Cas stated, his eyes gazing at their home. "I'm not really mad or even all that upset with you. But if we have agreed to talk about it, then I would like to know your reasoning."

"Look, it's nothing on you, man. It's just all the colours you were picking were so damn bright. I kinda panicked," Dean stated, chewing on his lip nervously.

"What's wrong with bright colours?"

"Nothing, I guess," Dean sighed and leaned back, putting his arms behind his head and briefly closing his eyes. "Bright colours, loud noises, they give me headaches. "

He paused, trying to find the right words.

"It's like I get overwhelmed looking at them. That's why I kept my room at the bunker grey. It calmed me down."

"Oh..." Castiel whispered as putting the last piece of a puzzle in place. "The idea of such a brightly coloured space is painful to you."

"Ok, you've heard my side of the argument. Now, why were you set on those colours? Do you not like the white I picked?"

"The white will be fine," Castiel placated, opening the door to the car and proceeding to walk up the stairs to the porch. Dean followed closely behind and grabbed him on the arm, turning the Angel to face the hunter.

Castiel sighed, more frustrated by Dean's refusal to accept his statement at face value.

"I'm indifferent to the colours. I'd be happy if you chose it for the walls now that I can understand your reasoning. I think I was more irritated by your blunt responses than anything else."

"Nah, man, that's not gonna cut it. You haven't talked to me in an hour. Tell me the truth."

Castiel turned to look his human in the eyes, his expression firm and stoic.

"It reminds me of heaven."

"Heaven?" Dean echoed back in confusion. "The colour white reminds you of people's memories and random gardens?"

"Whilst you are correct, the human side can look like a garden, or even a home, I'm speaking of the Angelic side of Heaven. It exists outside of typical human perception as a place where my kind live and work. It is endless white hallways, with bright lights and all white furniture."

"Oh..."

"A big part of why I love the earth so much, is that here I am able to see the colours I wasn't usually allowed to bear witness to. I really didn't want our new home to remind me of heaven,” he stated calmly. “I liked the colours that I chose, because I enjoyed the way that the wavelengths of light bounced off them. But I'm not willing to make you uncomfortable just for that experience."

Dean sighed, letting go of the Angels arm. He had, inadvertently, nearly made their home a replica of the only home that Castiel was practically banned from. His words were caught in his throat as his mind raced.

Was a compromise even possible? Both their needs were on opposite ends of the spectrum…

"Ah shit... ok, no. I'll be back, you do... whatever it is you were gonna do."

"Dean? What are you-?"

"I'll be back soon!" Dean shouted as he raced back to his old truck, started it, and drove back down the dirt road they just came from.

~

Dean walked back into the kitchen nearly two hours later with a grin on his face, carrying six different paint tins in his arms just as Castiel finished brewing a new pot of coffee. The human set them down on the table with a hard thud and pulled Castiel into a tight embrace, much to his surprise.

He carefly placed the coffee pot onto the bench behind him and tentatively raised his arms around the hunter, feeling unsure of Dean's reaction.

"Ok, so here's the plan. I talked to the guy working in the paint section,” Dean said with a wide grin, as if he had solved all of their problems. “Listen to this idea. A feature wall, eh?"

"A what?"

"Feature wall. I'm going to paint three walls white, and the last wall will be whatever colour you want. You can enjoy the bouncy light things, and I won't get a panic attack walking into the room."

"So," Castiel began, feeling the swell of excitement settle in his vessel's belly. "You've purchased a can of the Peridot paint?

"Yup," Dean grinned cheekily at him, offering Cas a lopsided smile that made Castiel's heart stutter. "And that purple you liked too."

"It was Violet, Dean."

"Yeah, whatever."

Castiel smiled back fondly, watching patiently as Dean prepared the paint, pouring it into trays. He then handed Castiel him a set of new brushes.

When he placed the first stroke of paint upon the wall, the lightwaves bounced off the colour in such a visually particular way that Castiel already felt his mood brightening considerably.

Throughout the evening, the two painted beside each other. Dean, taking semi-regular breaks whenever his back or arms started to ache. He kept 'accidentally' getting paint on Castiel's coat, much to his chagrin. Castiel ended that particular paint fight by rolling the paint-roller full of bright green up Dean's back and into his hair. Also 'accidentally.'

Dean had let out an undignified squawk, which made the Angel snicker for multiple hours even after the moment had past.

The sunset over the horizon, casting golden rays across the yard. The two sat side by side in silence on the porch as dusk crept upon the sky.

Dean broke the silence first, turning to catch the Angel's eye.

"I know I'm an asshole, Cas. If I say something, do something in the future. You need to tell me," Dean responded, cutting straight to the point. "Promise me. No more bottling it up, it's not healthy for us."

"Is this your therapy talking?" Castiel inquired, smiling at the retired hunter.

"Perhaps."

Chapter Text

November 2005

The Seraph pushed the couch into position and took a step back. The living room had come together perfectly, with a white couch and an old dark wooden coffee table, both sitting on a large white rug. The green of the feature wall behind the couch offset perfectly with the large potted vine that Castiel had growing in the corner of the room. Above the couch was a pretty vintage-style painting that Castiel had fallen in love with during a garage sale a day prior, its vision showing an abstract family of four in vivid colour.

The room still looked sparse, of course. It had been newly put together and lacked a lot of the necessary furniture, but they had plenty of time to fill it with whatever trinkets and items they chose.

Dean hobbled into the room slowly, his arms straining under the weight of a rather large silver TV.

Castiel tilted his head at the sight.

"What is that?" He inquired, looking at the large box-like screen as Dean nearly dumped the thing onto their TV stand. It landed with a loud thump, and Castiel felt minor concern about whether or not it had cracked the thick silver frame that bordered the black screen. "Is that a television?"

"This is a state-of-the-art 27" Panasonic," Dean said with a grin, reaching a hand out to pat the top of the metallic square almost fondly. "Dude, only the best motels had these back in the day."

"That's not state-of-the-art Dean."

"Yeah, it's pretty shit. But it's all we've got for now. Flat screens won't come out for a few more years," Dean responded, heading back into the kitchen before bringing another device, this one black. "And this little beauty is a VHS player."

"What is a VHS?"

"Think of it as Netflix's granddad."

"A movie player?"

"Yup," Dean said with a grin, kneeling to fiddle with the wires behind the TV until everything was connected. He turned it on and stood back, seeing the blue screen light up as the TV turned on. Castiel reached over to it and touched it with his fingers before quickly pulling them away, feeling the residual energy tingle through his numbed fingers.

"It bit me."

"The static zapped you?"

"It's vibrating, and I do not enjoy the noise it's making."

"It's not making any noise."

"It is, it's just very high pitch," Castiel sighed as he gazed down at the silver monstrosity. "I believe I greatly miss our future comforts."

"Like what?" Dean inquired, fiddling with the station settings as the TV started to scan for channels.

"I think I miss the internet, Netflix... I don't think we can watch movies in your room on a laptop anymore."

"Technically, the internet is around, but I know what you mean. Although, this time still has its good points too."

"Like what?" Castiel inquired, his head tilting to the side once more. Dean suddenly had an impish grin on his face as if he had thought of a really good prank, much to the Angel's confusion.

"I have an idea. Get dressed, Sunshine. Wear something casual. We are heading to town."

~

Castiel stared up at the large blue building as it loomed over him intimidatingly, and he turned his gaze to Dean, squinting at the retired hunter's over-excited face. Dean looked like a child in a candy store. Or perhaps the phrase was a kid in a toy store.

Dean grabbed his hand quickly and dragged the unsure Seraph through the clear moving doors, and into what looked like the strangest library Castiel had ever seen. Instead of each book spine showing its author's information, they displaced the book face instead.

It was all... extremely inefficient.

"Dude, I haven't seen one of these in years! Literal years!" Dean exclaimed in excitement.

"What is this place, Dean?"

"Blockbuster! These are VHS's," Dean said, his hand still wrapped around the Angel's wrist and pulling him into the store. "Dude, we haven't had a movie night in over a year. Not since before you were taken to the empty."

"These books go into the machine at home?"

"Nah, not books. Think of a really big version of my cassette tapes but for shows and movies."

"Oh."

Castiel had never seen such a thing, but he dutifully followed his human through the store, watching as Dean practically skipped through the isles, grabbing westerns and action movies. And when Dean felt as though nobody was watching, he quickly snuck three romantic comedies into the pile, much to Castiel's growing amusement.

"Holy crap! This one, I haven't seen this one in years!" He stated happily, shoving yet another tape in Castiel's face, this time a little too close for comfort.

Castiel wasn't too sure how to react, after all, the picture on the box was identical to nearly every other box that the retired hunter had grabbed, showing a sunset and a generic man on a horse, but he smiled encouragingly nonetheless.

"It used to play some days on late-night TV when I was like 13. Wow, those were the days," Dean continued, looking at the cover with a nostalgic smile. "Alright Sunshine, I've got my 10 vids for the week. What about you? Manage to pick anything out?"

The Angel held out his lone tape, adding it to Dean's pile. Dean plucked it back out and held up the title cover so that he could better read it.

"The Little Mermaid? Isn't that a bit childish? Why would you want to watch that?"

"Jack and I were watching it together one morning," Castiel's smile was small and a little sad. "We got about halfway through before we had to leave for a case. I'd like to finish it, if that's alright."

"Ah yeah... no problem, Cas... that sounds nice," Dean stuttered, quickly placing the tape back onto the pile. "Could I join you?"

"Of course, Dean," Castiel smiled in return.

The two wandered to the counter and paid for their videos. Castiel handed the cashier a wad of folded notes as Dean piled candy bar after candy bar onto the desk.

"Are you planning on consuming all of that sugar in one sitting?" Castiel asked, his tone exasperated.

Dean only rolled his eyes in response and wrapped his arms around his bounty of VHS tapes and candy, moving quickly out to the car under the careful watch of his guardian Angel.

~

After much deliberation, the movie that the two had chosen to play first was the cowboy western that Dean had been so excited to show Castiel in the store.

The hunter had talked about its plot points and convoluted storyline extensively in the car, and Castiel had to admit it, he was now quite intrigued.

And now its red-skyed and grizzled manned cover stared back at the Angel from the TV stand it was propped against. Heaped piles of candy bars and various cans of soda lay on the coffee table in front of them. Close, just slightly out of reach.

After turning off each of the lights and darkening the room considerably, Dean crossed the room, coming to curl up beside the Angel. The Seraph cuddled closer to the retired hunter, lifting the heavy blankets and placing them over his humans legs, bundling the two together.

Halfway through the movie, Dean, chasing the warmth of his companion, wrapped his arms around Castiel's waist and placed his chin on Cas's shoulder. Heated breath curled by the Angel's ear, causing a shiver to run down Cas's spine and the Angel leaned back further into the hunter's chest.

Dean fully pulled the Angel onto his lap in response, fingers digging into hip bones, blankets falling down now, only covering their thighs.

Eventually, as the movie played on in the background, lips crossed the delicate balance of space, sucking gentle marks on Castiel's neck. Soft movements up and down, from under the Seraph's jawline to his shoulder.

Sweet kisses were exchanged, and the movie was quickly forgotten.

Chapter Text

March 2006

Sam trudged down the road slowly, the strap of his backpack digging further into his shoulder with each lumbering step he took. He had been walking for far longer than he had expected and fatigue was rapidly setting in.

He had left Michigan two days earlier and was now only a 40-minute walk away from Sioux Falls. If he were still over an hour away, he would have trudged his weary body to the closest motel and collapsed in its threadbare sheets.

He felt a sense of weary nostalgia in regards to coming back here... back to Bobby's. Sam had spent such a big portion of his childhood wandering the hallways and playing tag with Dean amongst the wrecks. But then their fathers friendship with the old man had ended on a sour note.

Sam felt uncertain about what type of reception he would receive.

Would Bobby welcome him or shove a gun in his face, like he did with John?

Either way, Sam was enjoying the quiet break away from John. He had said a quick goodbye to his father in Michigan and it had been icy in its deliverance.

To be honest, Sam had been growing more and more frustrated with their lack of progress regarding Dean. Sure, they were making some sort of progress in finding Yellow eyes, but John had been so damn secretive in his findings that Sam had to rely on what he saw in his dreams, to get even a faint glimpse of what was going on behind the scenes.

And he saw a lot... not that he could mention any of it to his father.

Young adults just like himself, with budding psychic powers, killing each other violently, all under the watch of hauntingly clouded yellow eyes. It felt as though the closer he got to finding the monster, the stronger his powers became. The clarity of his visions intensified, and he was able to determine so much more information than before.

Sam had even managed to short-circuit the motel's power during one of the last fights he had with John, which quite quickly ended that argument, and his father paced the room with his EMF reader. Unfortunately, the headaches that crippled Sam after each vision still remained...

But as for finding Dean... that trail had gone cold long ago, and Sam felt such dread about his brother every time he thought of him. He had hoped that he could find something in the Impala, something that his father and Bobby had missed during their comb-through.

~

Bobby didn't greet him with a gun to the face.

Bobby didn't greet him with a grin and a whisky on ice.

Bobby greeted Sam by pulling him into a tight embrace, with a tremble on his shoulders and tears in his eyes. Losing Dean had hit Bobby as hard as it had hit Sam, and once he had that realisation, Sam found himself clinging back to one of the few people in his small family still around.

"So... you came’ta get her?" Bobby questioned with a gruff, emotional voice. He gestured out behind the house with a limply-held arm. "I kept her clean. Tried to keep 'er outta the weather. Was hoping your brother was gonna come back for her, but he never showed."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm here to get her. Did Dean leave the keys in the car?"

"Yup. Left everything. Even left all of his weapons behind," Bobby turned around and started walking into the house and Sam quickly followed. He looked around the cluttered room, taking note of the messier-than-usual nature of the organisation. "And his damn phone, the idjit."

"What are you working on?" Sam inquired, his eyes trained on the mountains of papers piled on the desk. He walked slowly in pace with the older man as Bobby hobbled through the kitchen and out the back door. "Got a case?"

"I'm still looking for that brother of yours. It’s a real weird case, Sam. One of the strangest i've ever seen and that's saying something. Your daddy tell ya?"

"Tell me what?" Sam asked, his step faltering as another wave of dread overcame him.

Oh, God. What else was John keeping secret from him?

"Your brother just disappeared... and I mean really disappeared. Camera recordings from the neighbour down the road showed only one car driving onto my property, and none leaving."

"What do you mean?"

"Two people drove in... no one left."

"Two people?" Sam demanded. "So someone else was with Dean that night?"

"Yup, some tax accountant lookin' fella. Couldn't get a good picture from the security camera though. Dark hair, wore a suit and an overcoat. I know that it's not a lot to go off on, but it's a better lead than what we had last month."

"Human?" Sam asked, feeling a rush of adrenaline through his body.

A lead.

Fucking finally.

"Eyes didn't glow in the picture, so not a shifter," Bobby shrugged, looking as weary as Sam felt. A black glint caught Sam's eye and he turned his attention back to the path ahead.

Baby was parked in front of them, pristine, with her paint shining. Bobby had taken good care of her and Sam felt a sense of relief. He trailed his fingers along the paint and his mind paced a mile a minute.

Someone had been with Dean the night he disappeared. The person who had taken Dean away, had sat in this very seat... and no one had picked them up from where they left the car. So they either walked into the woods, a very real possibility or whatever this tax accountant looking creature was, it had the ability to spirit Dean away. Very few creatures could do that.

A Fairy? Dean was a firstborn son...

Druid or Jinn? Unlikely but not impossible.

A Witch perhaps? They would've had to be extremely powerful to be able to teleport.

A Demon? Now that was a likely contender. A Demon was powerful enough to teleport, it was said they did so regularly. But Bobby would have smelt sulphur in the car, especially if this thing was sitting beside Dean for however long it took to drive here.

Yellow eyes? Sam doesn't even know what the fuck yellow eyes is, let alone what powers it has.

"And dad knows?" Sam asked, finally turning his attention back to Bobby.

"Told 'em a few months back. John thinks it's Yellow eyes, so I've been lookin' into it for 'em. Won't tell me much of anything, just to keep a look out for omens," Bobby stated, flicking his hands into the air in exasperation. "Can't get anything outta that old bastard. And he keeps hanging up on me whenever I tell 'em to come get his damn car."

Omens... like demonic?

Did Dad think Yellow eyes was a demon?

"You look like hell, kid. Are you staying the night or leaving?"

"I'd like to stay, if that's ok. I think I need a few hours before I can get behind a wheel," Sam stated, opening the car door and peering inside. "Do you mind if I have a look around?"

"Knock yourself out. I'm gonna cook up something for us to eat, let me know if you find anything," Bobby said with a shrug, turning to walk back into the house and leaving the younger hunter by himself.

Sam opened the car door and sat inside, running his fingers over the twisted leather of the steering wheel reverently. He had been taught to drive in this car, but he had seldom been allowed to sit in its driver's seat since. Dean had been far too protective, especially after Dad gave her to him.

He trailed his fingers over the usual spots, the mirror, inside the mixtape player, and inside the glove box. All remained empty. A cardboard box sat on the passenger seat, full of cassette tapes and old credit cards, long since expired.

Sam had been opening each tape for any inconsistency when his already sore legs started to ache in the reduced space. His thoughts were occupied as he mindlessly reached down, fingers outstretched to the lever, intent on pushing the bench chair backwards and stretching out his legs.

Paper crinkled beneath his fingertips and Sam froze. Carefully, he climbed out of the car and bent down, eyes searching for what he had felt under the seat. There... paper rolled around the mechanism, a note.

Dean had left him a note.

He carefully removed it, trembling fingers unwrapping the tape. The note was on plain lined paper and written in black ink.

Written in Latin...

Sam's head felt light, dizzy, as adrenaline coursed through his body. His eyes rapidly scanned the letter, the only clue he had to find Dean.

He couldn't make out all the words. Protect... Grace of... Fire? Was this some sort of protection spell?

"Bobby! Bobby! I found something!" Sam shouted as he ran back to the weathered blue house.

He slammed open the back door, nearly running into the old hunter in the kitchen as he prepared two simple sandwiches. He waved the paper in the other hunter's face, a grin plastered on his own.

"Where the bloody hell did you find that?" Bobby questioned, a look of dumbfounded shock on his face. The older hunter carefully plucked the folded note from Sam's fingers, opening it quickly.

"What does it say?"

"It's... it's a spell? A prayer? Something for protection."

"A what?"

"Look, I'm gonna need a few minutes to translate this. Just... just sit down and shut up for a bit will ya?" Bobby said, gathering some books on translation and sitting down to cross-reference with the note.

Sam sat opposite the old hunter, his body buzzing.

~

"It's definitely a prayer," Bobby stated, folding up the note with a sigh. "I don't know how useful this is gonna be, kid."

"But it's a clue, right? Dean wrote that it was his handwriting, I can recognise his chicken scratch anywhere. It has to be important. It has to be..."

The two were quiet for a moment longer as Sam got lost in thought, disappointment flooding his body.

"Who... who is it to?" He asked, twisting his hands together nervously.

"As far as I can tell? An Angel. The Abrahamic Angel of Thursday. Being of fire: a Seraphim."

"An Angel?"

That... didn't make any sense. Dean never showed any signs of being religious, if anything, it was almost as if he actively avoided religion.

"And it's a prayer asking for protection?" He inquired, reaching over to pluck the note off the table, fingers twisting it mindlessly.

"Yup..." Bobby stated, closing his book and standing up, placing it quietly back into its spot on the shelf. "Looks like something straight outta the Bible, to be honest. But it's a start. Maybe see if there are any cults out there or churches dedicated to this Angel, this… Castiel. I'm gonna put my feelers out there, too."

Sam stared at the note in his hands and contemplated heading back to the car to search for another clue.

~

Night had fallen quickly, sandwiches had been eaten, and Sam had finally showered for the first time in nearly three days.

He was laid out on the couch, with his overgrown legs hanging off the edge uncomfortably. A rough woollen blanket was curled around his shoulders, warding off the chill in the air.

Bobby had finally gone to sleep. The older man had been weary, heavy in his footsteps as he ascended the staircase, having stayed up later than normal, making phone call after phone call.

Sam stared down at the Latin note in his hand and at the direct English translation that Bobby hastily scrawled beneath it. Would it be dangerous to pray to this Angel? Would it lead him to Dean? Perhaps they were wrong, and it was a prayer for a Demon instead...

Would Sam still be willing to take that chance?

The answer was yes, apparently, as Sam started whispering under his breath. The English translation and then in the original Latin.

He had always prayed at night. Every night, in fact, for many years now. What was one more prayer?

~

Castiel lay curled up on Dean's chest, his fingers wrapped tight in the hunter's shirt, just listening to the strong beating heart of his lover under his ear. Dean's gentle snores had filled the room, and Cas dozed in the serene environment. Not quite asleep, not quite awake.

The rush of a direct prayer was uncomfortable, it was a burden that every Angel shared and detested.

The prayer rolled Castiel's eyes back into his head as an uncontrolled transmission slammed into his skull and Castiel's whole body tensed in response.

Dean stirred under him, wrapping his arms tightly around the shaking Angel's waist.

"W-woss goin' on?" Dean muttered, still half asleep. He raised his hands to card through the Angel's dark hair comfortingly as Castiel started to relax. "You 'k honey?"

"I'm ok," Castiel whispered, curling his face into Dean's neck and placing a soft kiss into the crook where his shoulder met his neck.

"Wot happen'd," Dean yawned.

"I got a prayer."

"From who?"

"Sam," Castiel smiled, his fingers tracing Dean's jawline softly in an attempt to lull the human back to sleep.

"Sammy's ‘K?" Dean asked, his voice sounding drowsier with each question, not fully comprehending what Castiel was stating.

"Sam is alright, Dean. Sleep, my love. We can talk in the morning.”

Dean, of course, refused to do so, insisting on waking up to hear about the prayer that had practically sent Castiel into a seizure.

Chapter Text

November 2005

It was hard to keep a secret from someone when you lived with them full-time.

It was even harder when the person you were attempting to keep a secret from was a literal Angel, a being who could hear you breathe from another room, smell the smallest changes in your body's structure and even see the fucking cotton count of your shirt.

That was a superpower that Dean wasn't even aware Cas had until the Seraph offered to mend a damn near microscopic hole in Dean's button-down jacket.

So the only time Dean found that he could work on his little project, was when Castiel was tending to his garden, or on an odd day when the Angel decided the energy spheres felt particularly pleasant and wandered into the Forest for a few hours at a time.

Apparently, today was one such day.

A soft noise sounded throughout the kitchen as Cas stretched his wings out, flapping them thrice quickly. Shadows appeared faintly on the walls behind him, and the buzzing light overhead interacted with the strong grace the Castiel exuded, allowing the human sitting in the corner to glimpse the fiery halo that arched over Angel's head and looped down to his shoulders.

Dean sat in his usual seat at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in hand, watching the Angel calmy, feeling a sense of awe as the cold swirl of grace washed through the room.

"I'll be back soon," Castiel stated, turning to smile at the human, his hand on the door frame.

"Take your time, Dude," Dean whispered, feeling jittery at the thought of having the whole house to himself for a few hours.

Castiel closed the door behind himself slowly. Dean stood quietly and approached the window to watch the Angel, and once he had passed the treeline, Dean made a mad dash out to the truck.

He had kept the paint tins under a dark blue tarp in the back tray for over three days now.

Finally. Finally, Dean could get to work.

The room he chose wasn't the one next to the main bedroom. In fact, it was the furthest away, at the end of the hall. But the space was large, and it had its very own bay window that overlooked a particularly dense and green part of the forest. Whenever Dean looked carefully out of that window, he could see the small winding river amongst the ferns. It was perfect.

He put the paint tins down with a loud thud and began to paint. Sky blue spread across the walls as he worked, minutes turned into hours.

~

Castiel was stretched out. Stretched thin, over the water.

The bright blue and white light from his being covered the small lake as he relaxed, his grace had become a film-like substance that clung to the surface tension of the water. Like a second skin.

His vessel had been discarded, the empty body sat slouched under a tree, surrounded by moss and stone. It was an uncomfortable sight even for Castiel, and he usually retained from stretching out like this wherever organic creatures could see. It would be one thing for a predatory animal to find his vessel in its unconscious state, another entirely for Dean to accidentally stumble upon it.

Thankfully, most organic creatures naturally gave him a wide berth, weary of the icy cold light that radiated off his angelic body.

He would never truly be comfortable in this form, this blue gas-like light, not like he would in his true form, with his rings and wings. But he was loathe to manifest like that on the Earthly plane, to become what he really was could cause untold damage.

For now, though, Castiel relaxed, absorbing the light particles that bounced and reflected through the ice in the clouds above. The Spiritual Sphere interacted pleasantly with the Earthly Sphere, creating a thin tingle of power where the two fluctuated together and Castiel content to drift in the inbetween.

His thoughts ebbed and flowed, like the gentle lapping waves beneath him, his mind circling back to the facts.

One. Castiel was enjoying this quiet life he shared with Dean.

Two. Castiel greatly missed his family, Jack, Claire, Sam and Eileen...

Three. Their time travel would not have negated the timeline they already lived through... after all, they still remembered it well.

Four. To ascend to Godhood was to ascend from time itself. For time is a human construct.

Five. Castiel was the Angel of Thursday, or better understood, the Angel of the Fourth Day. Timekeeping had been a newer construct in the planning of angelic creation during his birth into the Heavenly Sphere. Castiel had travelled in time on many occasions, although none like this. This forging of two versions of himself into one creature. It was unprecedented...

And lastly, Six. Castiel was unsure if he wanted to tell Dean any of his musings.

It would do the man no good.

Castiel's thoughts were paradoxical in nature, and the Angel had no idea if Dean would grasp the concept. And as far as Cas could gather, nothing could be done about it either. Even if there was a way to return home, it would be nearly impossible to accomplish.

Did Castiel want to give Dean that hope? Or keep his human mate blind to it, ignorant.

They could live out Dean's natural lifespan here... but that brought up another issue.

Thought number Seven... Could Castiel willingly let Dean age and die?

Seraphina kept her human lover alive since the days of Eden.

It was the natural process for a human after all. But to grow old and perish was not of angelic nature.

Hours passed as the Angel thought, mind swirling over those facts, over and over.

Castiel's grace swayed with the breeze and he pulled back, forming a cohesive ball of gas and light once more. He had made his decision.

He would never again take a choice away from Dean, he would let the man choose how long he wished to live beside Castiel and afterwards Castiel would ferry Dean's soul to heaven himself.

As for their current paradoxical predicament... he would tell Dean his findings, but only once he gathered more information. Only when he could explain it in a way that he felt would make sense to Dean.

~

The house smelt of paint when Castiel flew in, uncomfortable for his sensitive nose, but not as horrific as the paint stripper had been. Yet, Dean was not in the designated Dean Cave room as expected, nor the kitchen, whose walls were still covered in the plain primer he had painted days earlier.

Castiel wandered the hallway slowly, following his nose, which led him to one of the spare bedrooms, the furthest one down the hall. Confusion settled in him as he opened the door. Surely Dean wouldn't prioritise renovating a room that would never be used? It's not like the two would be expecting visitors anytime soon.

Or perhaps Dean chose to claim this bedroom for his Dean Cave... he would be able to fit more exciting furniture in than he would in the smaller study downstairs. Maybe even a pool table. That made the most logical sense, and Castiel was happy with his deduction.

He opened the door and peered inside, taking note of the pretty blue walls, white desk and chest of draws. There was no lounge set nor any posters, which confused the Angel for a moment.

A strangely familiar looking brown teddy bear sat on the desk, catching Castiel's eye before he took note of the mural Dean was currently working on, and a gasp was caught in the Angel's throat. Tears began welling in his eyes.

Dean whirled around at the sound, nearly jumping out of his skin. His jacket was covered in paint, all of the various colours, and the grown man had the look of a child in the middle of doing something they knew they shouldn't have done.

"Oh shit! You're home early..." He stuttered, before checking his watch for the time. Approximately five and a half hours had passed since he started this project, and he had overshot by a whole hour. Castiel was the one home late, and Dean had done nothing to clean up, caught up in his current hyperfixation. "N-no, no you're not, I just... Fuck! Shit, I'm sorry, Cas. This was meant to be a surprise."

"What... what is this?" The Angel breathed out, walking closer to get a better look.

The mural lacked Kelly's natural artistic flare, but it was a very close replica.

The alphabet block rainbow was missing, in its place was Jack's name, but the tree was almost identical to the one in Jack's nursery.

"Well... I felt kinda weird that we had our very own place for the first time, but we don't have a room set up for our kid," Dean muttered, his voice low as he ran a paint-covered hand through his hair, messing it up even further. "I'm sorry, I should have asked you first. I don't know why I didn't. It was a stupid idea."

"It's beautiful, Dean," Castiel whispered, pulling his hunter into his arms for a tight hug.

"I'm sorry. I know it's kinda pointless, and I guess it might make you feel worse knowing he won't ever see it," Dean said, curling his arms around Castiel's shoulders. "I think I was hoping you could come here when you miss him. Like when you saw that teddy bear at the farmers market a few weeks ago. You put it back, I saw you. But you wanted to take it home. Now you can."

"Thank you, Dean."

"It's not finished yet... I haven't even put in a bed yet, or a light globe in the socket."

"You were gonna buy Jack a bed he couldn't use before you were gonna buy a frame for your own?" Castiel laughed, burrowing his face into Dean's neck.

"Yeah, well, I figured you could come here when I was at work. I wanted you to be comfortable."

Castiel pulled away gently and took a better look around the room, surveying Dean's progress.

The afternoon sunlight poured through the open window, shining upon the walls.

It was beautiful.

Chapter Text

December 2005

Dean shot up, his blankets falling to his hips, exposing his shoulders to the freezing air. Hot tears stung in his eyes and his static-numb fingers splayed across his chest, feeling his heart beating so quickly, that it was practically vibrating within his chest.

He reached his other hand across the bed, feeling for the spot where Castiel had laid beside him earlier in the night. It had been warm when Dean had fallen asleep but now had long gone cold.

Cold...

Everything was so cold. It felt as if shards of ice were stabbing into his skin, seeping down to his bones and aching in his tendons.

Cold and dark.

The world around him spun as his vision blurred and blended. One, of the real world, bore the image of his and Castiel's bedroom, complete with too many plants, posters sporadically scattered about the walls, and his mattress on the floor.

And the other, in his mind's eye, of flickering lights and the grey walls of the bunkers' dungeon.

And suddenly Dean was back in that locked room, reliving that heartbreaking moment of Castiel's confession and watching the love of his life being dragged into nothingness.

Dean panted harshly in the dim lighting of their room and his fingers tugged at his hair.

He couldn’t breathe.

~

Castiel felt Dean's distress before he saw him. He had flown into their bedroom just before the sun rose, only to be met with the thick whirlwind cloud of spiritual energy that whipped around Dean's still form.

"Dean?" Castiel whispered, coming to sit beside his love. He reached for the retired hunter and pulled the shaking man into his arms.

"Cas?"

"What's happening?"

"Panic attack," Dean managed to choke out between quick-paced breaths. He seemed to ground himself, taking measured steps to calm his shuddering body as he relaxed against Castiel's chest. "I'm okay. It's fine. Just..."

A fresh wave of grief seemed to overtake him as he clung tighter to Castiel as if he were afraid that if he let go, the Seraph would fade away.

"Did you have another nightmare?" Castiel inquired, carding his fingers through short strands of dirty blond hair. "You've been having them quite often."

"Yeah... Same as usual."

"Oh, Dean," Castiel whispered, wrapping the human tighter in his arms. It pained him to see Dean like this and to know that he was the cause of it. "What can I do?"

"Just sit with me, please?" Dean whispered back, wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist and smushing his face into the Angel's chest.

Dean's heart rate began to slow, from a brisk 130 Bpm to a steady 94 as the human watched sunlight creep steadily through their window, dawn finally breaking. He was content to remain curled in the Angel's arms for a few minutes more.

Eventually, Dean's body started to ache from his position and gave signs of more pressing matters.

"Alright... let me up, I gotta pee," Dean said with a sigh, trying to pull away from Castiel.

Castiel obliged easily, removing his arms and watching the tired hunter stretch his arms over his head and groan at some unknown muscle ache.

Dean had always been plagued by nightmares, it was one of the first things of note that Castiel ever learned about Dean.

He could remember, in the early days before Jimmy Novak gave consent, spending the days just silently hovering close by, watching the human in his charge. Those first few nights had been horrendous, looking back. There was, of course, little the Angel could have done to help his human at that point, all attempts at communication had ended in a drastic failure. Not that Castiel knew what comfort was or how to give it.

Once or twice, after they had gotten closer, Castiel bore witness to the nightmares. Usually on accident, whenever he'd casually enter the human's dreamscape. They were always red and bloody. Scenes of Dean torturing his loved ones mostly, or being tortured in return.

But not once had Castiel ever thought that one day he would be the star of Dean's night terrors. That he would be the cause of Dean's panicked breathing and tear-stained face.

Dean had wandered off during the Angel's musing, and sounds of sizzling bacon could be heard from the downstairs kitchen. The retired hunter was getting ready for his day.

Castiel flew downstairs, finding any excuse to spread his wings and enjoy the flight he had missed.

"Are you sure that you should go to work like this?" Castiel inquired, watching Dean nearly put salt into his morning coffee instead of sugar. "You seem abnormally frazzled."

"I'm fine, man," Dean defensively muttered in return, picking up the bee-painted mug and taking a long sip. "I just gotta wake up is all."

Castiel reached for his hunter, pulling him into a gentle embrace as Dean's back stiffened. He allowed wisps of his grace to resonate with the grace left inside the human's body, the two energies mingling together and then slowly spreading out, healing any muscle fatigue and leftover stress from the morning. Dean curled his face into Castiel's neck and placed a soft kiss there before trying to pull out of the embrace, a slight flush on his cheeks.

"Dude, watch the coffee, you're gonna make me drop it."

~

Dean's workday had gone as expected. Two cars with minor issues, a tire change and a few old farts who thought they knew better trying to lecture him.

Currently, Dean was laying under an old blue Mustang, his hands stained black in grease and oil. The wrench in his hands glinted silver in the dim light as he retightened a hard-to-reach bolt that had come loose.

He shot up quickly, for the second time that day, and hit his head on the engine above him when the sound of fluttering wings echoed loudly through the garage.

"Fuck!" He shouted, placing a hand on the growing red mark on his forehead. "Dude! You cannot just do that. I need some warning, man!"

"Hello, Dean. My apologies for startling you," Castiel stated, squatting down to Dean's eye level and peeking under the car, his trench coat splayed out behind him darkening most of Dean's light. He held a plate in his hand and had a gentle smile on his face much to Dean's fond irritation.

He sighed at his Angel and climbed out from under the car, taking the plate with one hand and rubbing the growing lump with his other.

"Lunch time already?" He muttered, taking a bite, trying not to groan aloud at the taste. Cas made the best sandwiches. The Angel couldn't cook for the life of him, but anything that didn't require heat came out perfect. It was as if the Seraph's first instinct was to burn anything that was put in front of him, whether that be a demon or a steak. "Thanks, Sunshine."

Castiel reached two fingers across the distance between them and poked at the minor head wound.

"Don't waste your grace, Cas," the hunter stated around a mouthful of bread. "You've healed me twice today. That's twice too many."

"I have my full power, Dean. A mere bump is practically nothing," Castiel responded.

"Not that I'm not grateful that you're here, or that you brought me food, but why are you here?" Dean stated, wiping the leftover bread across the plate to catch any sauce that dripped out. "I thought you had some other gardening project to keep you busy."

"It has come to my attention that you would experience less stress should I be around more," Castiel said with a smile.

"Did it seriously take you over ten years to figure that out?" Dean scoffed, leaning back against the car. "So what? You're gonna bring me lunch each day like a little housewife?"

"Why not? It takes only a few minutes out of my time and we both enjoy spending time together," Castiel leaned against the car beside Dean, taking the empty plate out of the hunter's hands and zapping it back home with just a thought. "It is of no inconvenience when I can fly, Dean."

Dean felt a rush of warmth in his cheeks and he placed his head on the Angel's shoulder, hiding his blush against the beige trench coat.

"Yeah, alright. Thanks, I guess."

"Do you require any other assistance with your work today, Dean?" Castiel inquired, looking over the cars. There was nobody else working, so all these tasks would fall to Dean.

"Um. You can't really stay here, it's like a safety hazard or something."

"I cannot get injured."

"Ok... fair point. Yeah, alright, whatever. I could use a hand. If you could organise some of the smaller parts for me by size, I'd really appreciate that. The old man who owns this place ran it like a hoarder for years."

Dean stood up and reached a hand down for Castiel to grab. The Angel held on and was quickly pulled to his feet, then dragged across the garage to the wall of small fittings. Sure enough, as Dean had stated, very few were in a cohesive placement.

"I've been working on it in my spare time. I've gotten about half in the right place."

"Working like this seems ineffective."

"You got that right," Dean laughed. He gasped as an idea hit him, and the human ran off to the side of the building, a grin on his features. He came back with a radio, and plugged it in. Soon, gentle vocals of led Zeppelin sounded throughout the large garage.

"There... Now today's gonna be perfect."

Chapter Text

December 2005

Waking up beside Castiel was never going to be something that Dean could easily get used to.

For one, it triggered his hunter's instinct. Not that falling asleep and waking up beside someone else was particularly difficult, but more so, because Castiel was just so damn abnormal in his movements that it tended to freak Dean out in his half-awake state.

Sometimes, Dean would wake up to Castiel laying on the mattress beside him, staring at the roof, with his back ramrod straight, and his muscles stiff. Other times, Castiel would fly into the bed and curl up beside Dean at the very last minute before the hunter awoke and give him the same jump scare effect as falling in a dream.

Other times, like this one, Dean would wake up to Castiel just a bit too close. Nose to nose close. Not as if he were attempting to be romantic. It was more like he was trying to study the hunter in his uniquely non-human fashion. The shock factor reminded Dean just how alien Cas could be, not that he would change anything about their morning routine. Waking up beside Castiel, whilst mostly jarring, was still infinitely more enjoyable than waking without the Angel.

"Find anything interesting on my face today, Sunshine?" Dean muttered, wiping a hand down his face in exasperation. His heart was already calming from today's mini jump scare, and he turned his gaze to the Angel in question.

Castiel smiled gently, his blue eyes soft and warm, as if he were innocent. As if he had no clue as to what he was doing to the hunter each morning.

Dean scoffed at that expression, now even more convinced that the Seraph was doing it on purpose.

"Hello, Dean. Your face remains the same as yesterday."

"You're hilarious," Dean stated, glaring down at the Angel, whose soft smile fell into a low smirk and whose eyes became hooded. It gave Dean pause, and he cocked his head to the side, a trait that he had uncomfortably picked up from the Angel. "What are you planning?"

"Today is the first day that neither of us have made any plans," Castiel replied, reaching up to wrap his arms around Dean's shoulders and snuggle closer onto the hunter's chest. "No work, no renovations, no shopping. We have a full day free."

"So? Do you wanna spend the day chilling out? Maybe watch a movie?"

Castiel paused, seemingly a loss for words. Dean relaxed back into the warm blankets, intent to allow the Seraph as much time as he needed. Eventually Cas spoke, his tone quieter and shyer than usual.

"I was wondering if I could take you out on a date?"

"A what?" Dean stuttered.

"A date. The time designated for a couple to further their relationship. It is usually spent socialising, eating, and bonding," Castiel stated, crawling on top of the hunter, saddling him at the hips, and Dean placed his palms on the Angel's waist in return. "I would like to take you out today."

"Um... Sure, I guess. Where to?"

"It's a surprise."

"Do I have enough time to shower?" Dean inquired, looking down and picking at the seam of the two-day-old black Metallica pyjama shirt he wore.

"Of course."

Castiel stood up, pulling Dean upright in one swift motion before flying off somewhere downstairs.

'Fuck it. Why not,' Dean thought to himself as he stood up, heading to the bathroom. He was curious. What would Castiel even consider as a date? Would the Angel take him to a bee colony near the house? Perhaps take him down to the local diner?

Dean grinned at the thought, regardless of what Castiel chose, he was sure today would be memorable. He wouldn't mind spending the day just watching the excited Seraph monologue about insects if need be.

He showered quickly, scrubbing his body with the new vanilla and honey body soap that Castiel had picked up from the local farmers' market. Once he was finished, he stood in front of his dresser in a state of minor confusion.

What the fuck was he gonna wear?

Where were they even going? Would he need to take a jacket? Long-sleeved shirts or short sleeves?

Casual or formal?

'Dear Castiel, who art likely in the kitchen, should I wear my button down or do you want me in a suit?'

The prayer was quick and efficient, with Castiel flying in quickly, answering to wear something comfortable, then flitting out at a moment's notice.

Ok, a T-shirt and button-down combo it is. Plus some plaid. And an extra jacket. Perfectly normal attire.

He dressed quickly, and walked down the stairs, nearly bumping into the Angel that awaited him at the foot of the staircase.

"You won't need all that," Castiel stated, gesturing to the set of winter clothes that Dean had placed on.

"So... where are you taking me?" Dean inquired, pulling off the thick puffy jacket in confusion. It had started snowing heavily the night before and now he felt slightly weary.

Castiel was still dressed in his usual outfit, the suit and trench coat combo, but he was unreliable with clothing choices. Damn Angel didn't even like to change his tie to something different.

"You'll see," he stated, reaching out his hand, and Dean cautiously placed his own within it.
The nausea of flight curled in Dean's stomach as he suddenly found himself whisked away.

It was bright where they landed, the sun that shone overhead was desperately hot, and now Dean was wishing he had removed his second and third layer before taking Castiel's hand.

Wherever they were, it was definitely well over 1 pm, and it gave a shock to his system, just as intensive as the flight had.

The sea greeted him, all big and blue and blindingly reflective in the sun. Gulls flew overhead and people wearing summer clothing meandered along a wooden boardwalk, shops and restaurants lining the side.

"Dude... this is awesome," Dean said with a grin, looking about the area. The ocean stretched for miles ahead of them.

"Yes. It is quite beautiful," Castiel replied, sounding content as he watched Dean's expression.

"Where are we, anyway? It's like, afternoon. Did you time travel us?"

"We are in Australia, and I only moved us a few hours forward, nothing serious."

The Angel turned, gesturing to one of the restaurants on the wharf. It sat literally over the water, and Dean was sure if he looked down through the cracks in the wooden planks, he would see fish.

The two were seated fairly quickly, and Dean shrugged off his button-down and placed it over the back of the chair. The sun overhead was nearly unbearable, but the white umbrella the waitress placed near their table provided a lot of shade.

Castiel, the fucker, had been planning this in advance, and had made the reservation a while ago.

"Dude... this is kinda fancy," Dean stated, looking around. Everything was covered in white tablecloths and shining silver. "Like a lot fancy... I've never done anything like this before."

"I know. But I wanted to do something special," Castiel stated, pouring both himself and Dean a glass of water. "Order whatever you would like. I've got the money saved up."

"Where would you get money from?" Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. He knew for a fact that Castiel spent his budget every week on plants and fertilizer, or honey and things for Jack's room. "Rob a bank?"

Castiel didn't laugh at Dean's joke, instead looking down at the menu with way too much intention for a guy who wouldn't be eating anything.

"No... Shit! Did you really? Did you rob a bank?" Dean whispered, shock and disbelief colouring his tone before gasping. "Did you mug a guy?!"

"I took it from people who won't miss it," Castiel stated, unfolding a napkin and refolding it in a more careful and petite manner. "Mostly from forgotten wallets under seats in very expensive cars. The owners had already long assumed it was gone, I made sure."

"How much did ya get?" Dean inquired, gesturing his hand to where he assumed the Angel kept his wallet.

"Over the past few weeks of looking? About four thousand. I came to this city last week to do an exchange of currency the day I made reservations here, so we have enough for today. If need be, I can fly home and retrieve the rest, but we would need to take it to a bank to get it changed also."

"Holy fuck, dude," Dean stated, sitting back and looking at the Angel in a new light. Was this how Cas used to pay for things in the past? Dean never gave him any money back when they were hunting, but the Angel still had funds on hand at all times. Funds for fuel for his truck, that grumpy cat he brought Claire, the various toys he had brought for Jack...

"Huh. Learn something new about you every day," Dean stated with a grin, opening his menu to browse the options. Fuck, it was good that Cas brought enough money, the appetisers started at over $40 each... "Are you sure about this though? You could use all that money to do something really cool in the garden, maybe get some statues or buy some chickens?"

"Chickens would be a good idea, but it's not a necessity at this point in time. I really want you to have a good time today," Castiel stated, smiling at the human who sat opposite him.

Dean placed his order, some sort of fisherman's basket thing, with prawns, crab and something that looked like a scallop. The two spent time talking, mostly about their future plans and household renovations as Dean ate. Afterwards, Castiel and his hunter wandered the streets, purchasing various items that took their fancy.

Dean found himself sitting on hot sand, just watching the rolling waves. Cas sat beside him, getting plenty of odd looks as the Angel relaxed under the sun in a full suit. A few bags lay beside the two, various t-shirts that Dean had liked, a few trinkets for the house and a new set of cream-coloured plates that Castiel had fallen in love with and refused to leave behind.

"So.. where to now?" Dean inquired, looking over the water. Today had been greatly enjoyable, but the sun was starting to set in this country, and Dean was curious as to what else the Angel had planned.

"I had intended to take you somewhere special, but I feel that I should have your opinion."

"Tell me then, I'll make the choice."

"Would you like to go swimming with me?"

"Here?" Dean inquired, gesturing to the waves littered with various boats. He then looked back at the Angel in confusion. "You wanna swim here? Wearing that?"

"Not here, elsewhere. And I believe that I may have overlooked some minor details."

"I mean sure? If you want to."

"It would require more flight," Castiel stated, pointing to the bags at their side. "And I believe we should take these home first."

"Look, I don't mind flying, dude, but if you're planning on just doing a quick jump home, I'd say just leave me here until you're ready to go."

Castiel nodded his response and suddenly, both the Angel and items were gone. He returned just as quickly, carrying with him two sets of shorts and once again held his hand out for Dean to take.

If anyone had noticed, they would have been quite shocked at the set of footprints leading down the beach that suddenly disappeared. However, the ocean washed them away later that night before anyone could.

~

It was a fucking island.

Cas flew him to a fucking uninhabited island. In the middle of the night too.

Palm trees, gently lapping waves, and miles of white sand, stretching around the small unpopulated island.

Dean got dressed first, quickly stripping off his shirt in the humid night air, and putting on the shorts Castiel had provided. They weren't exactly swim trunks, but they were the closest thing to it that Dean owned.

Castiel dressed quickly, only a snap of his fingers and he wore a similar set, his suit nicely folded on top of his coat on the sand. He watched Dean curiously as the human walked to the water, feeling the warm summer water hitting his ankles. The Angel smirked at the squark Dean produced when the algae in the water reacted to the movement and glowed a bright blue.

"Dude! What the fuck is that?"

"It's ok, Dean. It's safe."

"Is it supernatural? Should I be worried?" Dean inquired, bending down to run his fingers through the water. The glow spread across his fingers gently, creating swirling patterns in the water where his fingers were.

"Entirely natural. This is a form of algae with a bioluminescence cellular feature. Many ocean fauna or flora have some form of bioluminescence, although not many admit a light that humans can see."

"Dude... this is so fucking cool. And we can swim in this?"

"Certain types of algae are poisonous, but this type should be safe. Regardless, I will protect you," Castiel stated, pulling Dean's hand as he walked into the deeper water.

Warmth soothed Dean's skin as he walked, waist deep and then shoulder high, bobbing in the waves.

"Perhaps keep your head above the water, just to be safe," The Angel stated, laying backward and relaxing in his float.

"I didn't know you could swim," Dean stated, paddling closer to the Seraph until he could wrap his arms around the angel's waist and pull him into an embrace.

"I've never done this before in a vessel, if that's what you're asking. Although I have swum in the past, a few million years ago and in my true form."

"That's awesome, man."

"Sounds awesome, perhaps, but getting salt out of your feathers and rings in the Earthly plane is a lot harder than if I had kept them in the Spiritual plane like I am now."

They were surrounded by the light blue glow, almost like angel grace, when Dean finally pulled his Angel into a soft kiss. He massaged the soft lips that were pressed against his own slowly, taking his time to enjoy the feeling of the Angel pressed against him. Cas reached up, his hand tightening in Dean's hair in response, and biting gently at Dean's bottom lip.

Eventually, they broke apart, Dean panting slightly.

"Thank you, Cas. For going through the trouble of doing all of this for me," Dean whispered, placing a soft kiss on the skin of the Angel's neck, feeling the Seraph shudder in return, both careful of the waves that ebbed and flowed around their shoulders.

"You deserve nice things, Dean."

"You say that a lot. But putting it into practice is still kinda hard for me."

Castiel hummed his response, pushing away from Dean playfully, the algae igniting from the movement. It seemed to swirl around him so much more intensely than it did Dean, and the hunter looked on in confusion.

"If you keep talking bad about yourself, I won't kiss you anymore," Castiel smiled playfully. He moved backward, paddling gently as he began to swim gentle circles around Dean's still floating form, just out of reaching distance.

Dean watched in confusion, as the blue glow reacted even further away from the Angel, moving in an almost graceful arch. And then, all of a sudden, it hit him.

Holy crap, Cas was using his wings to swim...

He could visually see the great curvature of the invisible wings, each with feathers longer than Dean was tall and outlined by the glowing water.

Cas paddled in a lazy backstroke, a wing rising out of the water similarly to how a dolphin would break the water's surface, with Dean watching on in awe, mouth agape.

He reacted quickly, swimming after the Angel, intent on enjoying the rest of their time here.

It was official. Best date ever.

Chapter Text

December 2005

Castiel sat beside Dean on the park bench as snowflakes danced around them. It had snowed the night before and now the entire park was covered in a thin layer of white. There weren't too many children playing on the playground today, after all, it was quite cold out, but the few who were, had started what looked to be an epic snowball fight.

The Angel leaned out of the way quickly, as yet another snowball was thrown past his head, much to Dean's amusement.

The fair-headed child that the two had been watching ran through the flurry of snow, happily gathering some in her rainbow kitty mittens to join in the fight. Her mother and father hovered close by, laughing at the antics of their 8-year-old child.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk with them?" Dean inquired, his eyes trained on the Novak's.

"And say what?" Castiel asked, running his hand down Dean's arm until his palm found the hunter's. Dean held his hand tightly, enjoying the warmth of Castiel's body heat flooding through his arm. "I look exactly like him, it would be very confusing."

"You could pretend to be Jimmy's long-lost twin, like something out of a bad Hallmark movie," Dean laughed, turning his gaze back to the Seraph beside him, his beautiful green eyes alight with mischief. Sometimes, Dean reminded Castiel of Gabriel with the mayhem he could cause. "A Christmas miracle. One son was raised in the family, and the other, abandoned at birth! The two reunited, at long last."

Castiel looked at Dean with a look of fond annoyance. He would do no such thing. He had already tampered with the Novak family- with Claire's family enough. He had never been able to forgive himself for destroying their lives the first time, but now, like so many others, they had a chance to be happy.

"I still don't get how that worked by the way," Dean stated, gesturing with his head to the Novak patriarch. He folded his arms as he continued to talk, letting go of Castiel's hand. "How is Jimmy still here? I thought he would have been taken over, just like past me."

"Souls attract souls, Dean. Energy will always try to connect to energy, especially energy that it is harmonized with. We were not placed into this timeline softly, we were practically thrown across the void by the Shadow. If we had entered this time carefully, there is a chance we would have had little to no interaction with our past selves," Castiel muttered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his lap. "Jimmy was not in this body, only I. I entered the void and exited it with my vessel intact and meshed with my younger angelic self. You, however, meshed both spiritually and physically, which I imagine, must have been exceedingly painful."

"I didn't feel a thing, Sunshine," Dean said with a grin, stretching his arms back and folding them behind his head in a state of relaxation. "So, you're saying, if Jimmy's soul had been with you when we escaped the Empty, you would have melded with him again here?"

"Exactly."

Dean hummed for a moment, kicking his legs in the snow.

"I still think you could play the uncle gig well..."

"Claire will have Jimmy and Amelia. That's more than she ever had in our time," Castiel muttered.

"I dunno man, she's still kinda like our daughter, isn't she? It's gonna be tough growing up as a queer kid in a religious family," Dean stated, watching the small family interact and play. "It might be nice to have some people she can fall back on if she needs it."

"We may have had a hand in guiding our version of Claire, but this child is not her," Castiel sighed, turning his attention away from Dean.

Humans were fickle creatures, but would they abandon their offspring for such a pointless reason? It was hard to picture Jimmy, who was so devoted to his family, leaving her side for her choice of lover, but humanity as a whole was unpredictable.

"Do you truly believe her family would forsake her for who she falls in love with?"

Dean shook his head.

"No way. Jimmy would have done anything to protect Claire, but that doesn't mean they won't have their fights. You remember what teenage Claire was like, those two are gonna need all the help they can get."

"Perhaps you are correct."

"Hey, Cas? Do you think we could make another stop before we go home?" Dean inquired, looking back at the Angel to his side. "I've got someone I wanna see this Christmas eve too."

~

Sam was seated at a round table, surrounded by his friends, each holding a glass of champagne. The lights above sparkled in their drinks and shone on the golden head of wavy hair on the girl sitting beside him. His arm was wrapped around Jessica's petite frame, and she shared a laugh with her friends at one of Sam's corny jokes.

Dean watched their movements with rapt attention from across the restaurant, Castiel at his side. Sam looked... so damn young. He was all gangly limbed and kinda awkward, not yet the grown man that Dean had seen him last as. His brown hair was still long, although not as well kept as his future counterparts, and it flopped around in his forehead when the college student moved.

The waiter placed two burgers down in front of the Hunter and his guardian Angel, along with two glasses of white wine. It was far too plain an order for a place as high-end as this, but Dean hadn't recognised any other item on the menu.

"Would you like to approach them tonight?" Castiel inquired, taking a sip of the wine and grimacing at the arrangement of molecules. "Sam is in a good mood. He is acting quite jovial."

"That's the alcohol in him, dude. This version of Sam hasn't seen me in two years. Besides, he wasn't exactly welcoming the first time around," Dean stated, picking up his burger with two hands and attempting to take a bite with the least amount of mess. The last thing he wanted to do was create a scene here and catch Sam's attention.

Even though Dean had to leave them behind, that didn't mean he stopped loving his family, certainly not. Sam was still regularly on his older brother's mind, however, if he interfered in even the slightest way, he would risk time repeating itself.

Jessica had lived past that Halloween weekend and Sam had done well with his big interview he had missed the first time.

His little brother was finally living the life he deserved. The life he had dreamed of for so long.

Dean wouldn't fuck that up this time.

"I could also remove all memory of this night for him, should you choose to talk with your brother. Only you would remember."

"Dude, being in the same room as him is as far as I'm gonna take it. It's not worth the risk." Dean said, eyes still locked onto his younger brother.

"If you are sure..."

The college students' Christmas party was in full swing now, and each person was exchanging a present with another.

"What are they doing?" Castiel inquired, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

"Ahh... looks like Secret Santa," Dean stated, leaning past Castiel to get a better look at his sibling.

"Sam isn't giving Jessica his gift," Castiel stated, watching on with the air of slight confusion.

"The point of Secret Santa is that it's secret. He's already given a gift to that brunette chick."

"No, he has one for Jessica. He just keeps fiddling with it in his pocket."

"How can you tell that it's for her?" Dean questioned.

"He looks at her whenever he puts his hand into his pocket. Obviously, it's for her, but he seems scared to give it."

Castiel squinted at the group of young adults, his eyes glowing faintly blue in the restaurant.

"Ohh, Dean, it's a ring box!" Castiel exclaimed, looking on excitedly. "He was planning on proposing at this Christmas dinner party. But, apparently one of his friends had announced her pregnancy a little earlier in the evening, so he is unsure if acting today is the best course of action."

"You're reading Sammy's brain? Come on man, not cool." Dean said quietly with a smile, tucking his hand under his chin as he watched the two lovebirds, lost in their little world.

Sam was going to propose? That made sense. He had that plan even before Dean crashed into his life the first time around.

He wondered if Sam would be the next in his little friend group to become a parent. He could see that happening, although he knew that the younger Winchester would likely want to focus on getting his perfect job first, and then his perfect home and car.

Jessica was training to be a nurse, wasn't she? She would be a good mother for Sam's future kids. Dean could picture a small gaggle of floppy-haired blond children chasing after Sam in some apple pie house.

But kids would take some time, after all, Sam was still only twenty-two. He was practically a kid himself.

They would have to get a dog first. Dean could see it all now, Sam and Jessica as puppy parents, and then a few years after they got married, Sam would home to a positive pregnancy test and a tearfully excited Jessica.

"Are you alright, Dean?" Castiel wondered, staring deeply at the hunter. Dean was curious as to how long the Seraph had been doing that before he noticed.

"I'm fine, Cas. I'm glad that Sam's doing well for himself," he stated, tipping back the last of the wine on his glass, face contorting at the taste. Cas had the right expression earlier, this stuff was crap. "Let's go home."

"Alright. I admit, it was nice to see him again, especially so happy. Even if we can't speak with him," Castiel sounded as forlorn as Dean felt.

The two exited the bar, and Castiel flew them home once they were out of sight.

~

Tonight saw Dean curled up on the couch.

He had stumbled down the stairs, dragging a mountain of blankets from their bedroom behind himself as Castiel remained below, in the kitchen, trying his best to make mint hot chocolate on the stovetop.

Castiel hadn't seemed too keen to decorate their home for Christmas. If anything he seemed miffed about the whole affair, going on about pagan deities and when the birth of Christ actually fell on the calendar. Regardless, he had brought a small potted fern inside for Dean to decorate with baubles and thin ribbon.

The air was frigid, even inside, and Dean turned himself into a burrito to gather some semblance of warmth. That was why he couldn't get up immediately when he heard a knock at the door.

Castiel walked slowly past the lounge room, looking at Dean trying to frantically unwrap himself on the couch.

"Were we expecting someone?" He asked Dean cautiously, walking slowly toward the locked front door.

"It's probably just carollers," Dean replied, finally getting the top half of his body free from the blankets just as Castiel opened the door.

There was a pause, as Castiel stiffened, recognising who had knocked. The voice that followed rang familiar in Dean's ears as he approached the front door and got a good look at their visiter.

"Hello,” came the familiar voice. “You two have been very hard to find.”

Chapter Text

March 2006

The Impala rolled to a stop outside the rundown motel where Sam had agreed to meet up with his father. The young hunter's hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he peered through the windshield to look up at the broken vacancy sign that hung above the roof.

Not the classiest place...

He contemplated going inside sooner but took a moment instead to steel his nerves. He had been feeling more on edge at the thought of hunting alongside his father, anger and frustration had given way to anxiety over the course of the last month.

They were still no closer to finding Dean, and Sam wouldn't admit it, but he was pretty sure his father had given up. John had claimed that by finding Yellow eyes, they would, in turn, find Dean. But now Sam's doubts had become more solidified. Whatever was going on, whatever their father was afraid of, it had nothing to do with the eldest Winchester son.

And John was hiding something. Something big.

Sam reluctantly opened the Impala door, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked to the numbered door that his father had texted him prior. He knocked three times.

"You're late," John stated, opening the door wide enough to let his son through. He walked to the furthest wall, where he had placed a visual clue map, complete with red string, post-it notes included. It was something out of an old spy movie, and Sam resisted the urge to scoff in annoyance. Everything on the board was about Yellow eyes, omens, and some missing people Sam's age. Nothing to do with Dean or the mysterious person who was with him the night he disappeared.

"Why are we here?" He questioned, sitting down on the spare unused bed and starting to unpack his toiletries. He had driven for nearly four hours straight, and he needed a shower desperately.

"A friend of mine, an old hunter, is dead. Murdered in his cabin," John muttered, his hand on his chin as he stared at some papers stapled together. "Cops say it was an animal attack, but I know better."

"Was it... anyone I know?" Sam whispered, taking note of his father's sullen tone, his mind immediately going to the various hunters he had met over his young life. John had tried his best to keep his boys away from most of the hunter's circles, but Sam knew his father still ran in them.

"I doubt it. His name was Daniel Elkins," He took a moment to pause, unsure of what to say next. "He was... he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting."

"You never mentioned him before," Sam stated, approaching his father and having a look over his shoulder at the papers his father was staring so intensely at. It looked like an old letter.

"We kind of had a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years."

"You've had a falling out with literally everyone you've ever met, what else is new," Sam scoffed. "So, what's your plan here? Avenge him? Do you even know what the thing is that killed him?"

"The way he was torn into? It could have only been one thing... Vampires."

"Vampires don't exist, Dad. They’re just a myth," Sam stated, tempted to roll his eyes but caught himself at the last second. His father's expression remained stoic, eyes tracking the words on the letter. "They... they are a myth, right?"

"They exist, driven mostly to extinction by Daniel and one of his friends back in the day. But what we are really looking for is a gun, made back in 1835, and that old bastard had it the whole damn time."

"Gun? What gun?" Sam shook his head in confusion. "No, wait. Back up. Vampires?"

"Yeah, they are real. Most lore on them is outright bullshit. Garlic, silver crosses, and sunlight won't do a thing. The only way to kill a vampire is with a machete to the throat."

"Holy crap... And no one thought Dean and I should know about vampires? Actual real vampires? Seriously?"

"Listen, kid, this is the first vampire attack I've seen in years. Ain't nobody expected them back. So either get over it and come along, or stay here and do more research on Yellow eyes."

"Fine... but I'm having a shower before we go anywhere."

~

The hunt had gone as expected.

Two vampires were killed at the end of the day, one poisoned by dead man's blood, another fact about vampires that his father failed to mention, and then beheaded and the other, was shot through the head by the strange gun John now had in his possession.

Sam wanted to question his father, in the moment after watching that vampire drop, but he was quickly shut down by the glare on his father's face.

The remaining vampires had taken off running now that their leaders were dead, much to Sam's irritation. He would have happily beheaded them all at that moment if they attempted to fight him, but he was just too damn tired to chase after the group on foot.

John unlocked the door to the motel, and Sam brushed past him to collapse into the springy mattress of his bed.

"So, you really wanna know about this Colt?" John's voice broke through the silence, and Sam turned his face away from his pillow to look at his father.

"Yes, sir," Sam replied tiredly, his voice a quiet mumble.

"Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead. A man by the name of Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. Made it for a hunter on horseback. Apparently, he made only thirteen bullets. And when that hunter disappeared, the gun went along with him. And somehow Daniel got his hands on it."

"So what's so special about this gun?" Sam stated, sitting up now as John offered the weapon for Sam to have a closer look. "It can kill vampires?"

"Apparently, it can kill anything."

"Anything anything?"

"Yup."

"Like a demon? It could kill Yellow eyes?"

"Yeah. Ever since I picked up on the bastard's trail I've been looking for a way to destroy it. Now, we have this."

Sam stared at the gun in his hands pensively. This could be it, a way he could avenge his mother, avenge Jessica, and maybe even Dean...

~

Sam slammed the Impala's trunk down with a loud noise that sounded throughout the empty parking lot.

John was long gone, having left sometime in the night, leaving Sam to foot the week-long motel bill that his father had racked up. It surprised Sam, not that his father had left, but because Sam had spent nearly the entire night awake with his crippling migraine, and he didn't even notice his father leaving.

Perhaps John had said goodbye, maybe said something else of note before he left...

Sam stood still in his thoughts. He felt... unsure of what to do next. His father hadn't given him any more instruction.

"Hello, Sam," came an unfamiliar voice. "I've been looking for you.”

Sam whirled around in shock, pulling his gun out of its holster and aiming it at the stranger.

“Well, mainly your brother," the man continued with a shrug of his shoulders.

He was about Sam's age, and he smiled cheerfully at Sam as if he knew him. Fear filled Sam's core and he felt his body start to shake as he took in the strangers eyes.

His glowing yellow eyes.

"H-how did you find me?" Sam whispered, desperately thinking of what he could remember of demonic possession. He could not reach the holy water he kept in the trunk easily, and he knew the gun he carried would not hurt the creature in front of him. His knowledge of demonic exorcism was rudimentary at best… If this thing was even a demon like his father had predicted.

"I tracked down your Impala," the creature stated, taking a step toward Sam unhurriedly. "Please put the gun down, Sam. You can't hurt me."

"What do you want from me?" Sam stuttered, his body trembling, his voice catching in his throat.

This thing had been following them, for who knows how long, and Sam felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

Was this why... Was this why Dean ditched the Impala?

Was it bugged?

Fuck.

"I'm looking for Dean."

"D-Dean?" Oh God... Sam didn't know whether to feel relief that this thing hadn't found Dean, that he was safe away from whatever was going on, or fear in the knowledge that the Yellow-eyed demon was actively hunting him down.

"Yes. Where is he?” the creature questioned, glancing behind Sam as if trying to spot his older brother hiding in the Impala's backseat. “He's been quite heavily warded at the moment, even I can't get a good grasp on his location."

"Why the fuck would I tell you?" Sam demanded, adrenaline beginning to pulse through his veins. The primal sense of fear steadily leaked out as anger began to cloud his judgement.

This was it.

He was face to face with the creature who killed his mother.

The creature who killed Jessica.

Rage foamed inside of his body and Sam pulled the trigger. Shooting the creature in between the eyes. It didn't react, as expected, but Sam felt a deep sense of satisfaction. If this thing was going to kill him, at least he could say he got a shot in.

"Y-you shot me," stated the creature, raising a hand to touch the thin running droplet of blood, healing the wound with a touch.

"That was for Jessica," Sam snarled, raising the gun once again to take another shot, this one in its heart. "And that one was for my mother."

"Who's Jessica?" The yellow-eyed demon stuttered, looking just as confused as Sam was starting to feel.

"My fiancee! The woman you killed, you fucked up demon!" Sam growled, shooting the rest of the bullets in his gun, and watched in anger as each wound sealed as quickly as he shot. Damn it, if only John was still here with the Colt. They might have actually stood a chance...

"I'm not... I'm not a - oh never mind," the creature sighed, crossing his arms. "I think there's been a misunderstanding. Whatever. I'll find Dean and Castiel by myself."

The Yellow-eyed Demon was gone as quickly as he had come, disappearing with the sound of the flapping wind, and Sam collapsed on the concrete, his heart rate thundering along a mile a minute.

He survived...

Shakily, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his mobile phone, and dialed his father.

"Yeah? What?" Came John's tired voice over the speaker, the sound of his truck's engine thundering in the background.

"Y-yellow eyes... it was Yellow eyes, it was here, Dad!" Sam stuttered, his body shaking as shock set in.

"What?" Whispered his father. "Wait, I'm pulling over. What happened?"

"The yellow-eyed demon, it was here. It's trying to find Dean, Dad."

Chapter Text

January 2021

The Angel was curled up, fingers pulling tight at their hair. They shuddered in fits, and Jack felt a sense of guilt overtake him, as he gazed up at the poor creature.

"It's alright. I'm here, I'm going to help you," he whispered, eyes bright with the glow of gold. The soothing tone did little to appease the Seraph, who continued shaking as if Jack wasn't there.

This Angel had been awake for a very long time. Ever since Jack exploded in the void a year ago, accidentally awakening so many of the creatures trapped here.

It must have been pure torture for a creature formed out of light and consciousness, to be trapped all alone in the dark.

Tentatively, he reached out and touched its form with a small amount of his grace.

Ahh, a Lucifer sympathizer. It had been distrustful and hating of humans. That explained why it was without a vessel. Unfortunately, this wasn't an Angel that he could bring back today.

But still, the guilt he felt for placing them into this situation, even unknowingly, was immense.

The Empty had long since discovered just how loud one singular entity could be and gave them no chance at regrouping. Every Angel and Demon that awoke was placed far apart from the others, doomed to wander in infinite darkness alone. Like ships sailing in the night.

This particular Angel, from what Jack could glance from their memories, had died during Lucifer's first rebellion, killed during their fall to earth.

Perhaps one day, Jack would come back for it, when its psyche had calmed in its dreams.

The soft glow of Jack's golden energy floated through its massive body, as he touched its semi-holographic skin.

It drooped down, lilac wings shuddering and held tight against its body, as it turned its gaze to Jack for the first time, twisting its starlight body downwards to meet Jack's eyes. It was far too large to have an eye-level conversation with, but Jack appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

'Father?'

"Yes," Jack whispered, his human tongue stiff in his mouth as he spoke in the language of Angels. He hated this part. The lying.

'Have you come to save me?'

It sounded as though it was whimpering, its bell-like voice sang with a depressive hue. It extended out its four arms, tentatively reaching to touch Jack, its fingers as long as he was tall. He permitted it, after all, it was likely the only touch this creature had felt in what could have been eons.

It chose to pat his hair.

"I'm here to put you back to sleep. For you to dream for a while longer, until I can retrieve you."

'Am I being punished, father?'

"No... you have done nothing wrong. Your awakening was a mistake."
'What is this place, Father?'

"This is the Empty. A void that exists outside of creation."

'Why should I remain here? Can I not return home?'

"You died."

'Oh.'

"For what it's worth, I am sorry. I have plans to come back for every Angel here, eventually. You won't stay here forever."

'Sleep then?'

"Yes, sleep, just for a little while longer."

Sleep didn't elude this one. Not like some of the more mentally broken Angels that Jack had seen today. The Angel curled in on itself, wrapping itself in its wings and patting its feathers like a child would pat their stuffed toy.

"What's your name?"

'I am Kokabiel'

"Sleep, Kokabiel. You will have only pleasant dreams."

Jack would remember this Angel, as he would all the rest and he would return, even for his father.

Kokabiel's name meant Star of God and it was the Angel of Stars, fitting.... Kokabiel had wings of lilac and eyes of peach... Kokabiel likes to pet soft things.

Kokabiel was asleep once again.

And Jack flew to the next crying and shaking creature in the distance.

~

"Are you done?" Michael asked, his shoulders slumped. The remaining three Archangels approached Jack slowly as he wandered close to the portal home, their appearance was unsteady and queasy-looking to Jack's eye.

The smaller Angels that were wrapped in a human's skin had no problem going through the portal, and a few thousand had left before Jack even realised.

But, the un-vesseled Angel's looked as though they were going to tear in half if they tried to leave, far too much strain being placed on their bodies of light. It contorted their wings, bending their halos and ripping at their delicate skin.

It had been Gabriel who had come up with a plan, one that he was regretting considerably now. The Archangels had pulled the smaller Angels into their spiritual forms, hiding them under their massive rings and wings. Hidden deep within their vessels.

It was... awkward.

No other Angel had ever gotten this uncomfortably close to another Angel before.

4,068 un-vessled Angels, split up between the three moon-sized Archangels, all awake, all sat perfectly still and quiet in the face of this strange predicament.

"Oh fuck. There's more?" Gabriel whispered as Jack looked back over his shoulder.

Raphael's vessel winced, and they wrapped their arms around themselves.

"There is, but I've decided we need to regroup in heaven first. I can come back later to retrieve the rest, as long as I'm quiet enough. For now, I want you three to go through the portal, fly up to heaven and deposit the Angels you carry."

"You will not come with us?" Michael queried, his voice uninterested as he turned to leave the group and walk back to the shining portal. The Archangel seemed keener to leave than the rest, wanting to return to heaven as soon as possible.

"No, I need to finish putting the Empty to sleep. You all go, I will catch up."

"I won't argue with that," Gabriel grumbled, following after Micheal and wincing as he walked.

Raphael looked as though they wanted to speak, opening their mouth as they looked at Jack in confusion, still seemingly confused by his very existence even though Gabriel and Micheal had spent considerable time explaining who this child was. They instead chose to follow their siblings. There would be time for talking later.

The three beings disappeared through the portal that Rowena had created and Jack took the time to stretch, raising his arms above his head, choosing to feel that particular human ache in his muscles.

Now, to put the Void God to sleep, hopefully for good.

Slowly, Jack pulled his Godly form from his Nephil body and expanded across the infinite vastness. He tried to exude a soft golden glow, one that would be calming and warm, not the bright and dazzling white of his predecessor. Even as the new God, larger than the universe itself, he could not hope to reach the end of the void. But thankfully, he could reach the remaining Demons still awake.

Slowly, as the amber blanket of Celestial energy unfolded over the Empty's occupants, the remaining creatures laid down.

Fast asleep and dreaming of sweeter dreams now. Reliving their happiest moments rather than any past regrets.

Jack lingered over Lucifer's still body, and peaked into his mind, seeing flashes of Gabriel, Micheal, and Raphael at a younger age. Of play with his Father, and creating galaxies on a whim. He was surprised to see memories of himself in Lucifer's mind.

Apparently, their talks in the apocalypse world had left a mark.

He withdrew, satisfied in the unconscious state of all those around him. It wasn't too hard to put the Empty back to sleep, all things considered. Just some meditative quiet, using his power to help lull it back into eternal slumber.

It would not have liked a lullaby or even a complex spell. It only wanted to return to nothingness. And to do that, nothing had to exist here. As long as something held consciousness, then the void would reflect that, and create its horrific own version to match. There was truly no Entity here, just a place, more ancient than creation. A paradox within itself.

It was, by its very nature, a mirror.

Jack reflected in his power a state of rest and felt the goopy void that surrounded him relax, almost as if it was breathing a sigh of relief.

Chuck's greatest sin was using this place as a dumping ground for Angels and Demons. Whilst the Shadow had grown possessive over its occupants, it would sleep better in the long run without them.

Jack would have to come back when he was stronger and remove each entity.

For now, however, Jack had felt as though he had done enough.

He moved carefully, not using any of his powers as he walked through the thickened sludge that started to cover the sleeping creatures.

The portal shone with light, a sweet mix of gold from his power, deep purple from Rowena and the rich velvety black from Amara.

Light broke into his vision as he stepped through, made suddenly aware of every molecule and atom within this current universe. A grimace crossed his face. That was always going to be unpleasant.

Jack didn't understand how Chuck could create whole universes at will and still be able to remain comfortable enough to live on the physical plane with his creation. Just being in one universe was enough for Jack, he did not feel as though he would enjoy living through multiple.

However, something tasted odd. Like it was caught in the back of his throat.

Strange.

There weren't enough molecules in the room.

He opened his eyes in time to see Sam reach for him and pull him into a hug and the boy god wrapped his arms around his uncle, hugged him back. The two stood like that before Jack pulled away with a smile.

"It's all done."

"Good work, kiddo," Gabriel said, coming up behind him to slap a hand over his shoulder. "You were gone an extra week, little dude. We were starting to get worried."

"You look empty, did you take the Angels back to heaven?" Jack inquired, turning to look at the Archangel. He made eye contact with him, and then with Rowena and Amara. Eileen stood against the wall, her expression lit with concern.

"First of all, don't ever say that again. You're gonna give me the hebi jebies," Gabriel said with a shudder. "And yeah, we came back earlier than you. All Angels are back in heaven and accounted for."

"Perfect! Now, where are Dean and Castiel?" Jack questioned with a smile as he turned to face Sam.

"What do you mean? I thought they would be behind you?" Sam explained, his brow furrowed.

"No, they left earlier than even the Archangels. They should be here," Jack stated in a matter-of-fact tone and began to look around the bunker, sending out feelers of energy to find his wayward fathers.

Oh.

The missing molecules.

Jack's smile dropped off his face as the portal closed behind him.

"Oh, fuck. Oh no," Sam said with a shout, rushing over to the spell and throwing more ingredients into it in a vain attempt to reopen the door to the void. "You have got to be kidding me!"

"Sam, Dean and Castiel had left. They weren't in the Empty anymore," Jack whispered.

"I would have noticed if they came through the portal," Sam snapped back, still frantic in his movements. "I've been damn near watching it like a hawk for two months now."

"Sam, let the child speak," said Rowena, coming up to stand in front of Jack. She caught his unfocused eyes and gave him a reassuring smile. "Come now, tell me what happened."

"They did leave through a portal... but it wasn't one that I made.”

Chapter Text

January 2021

Sam slouched over the map table, nursing a mug of coffee beside Eileen. The two shared a quiet moment, practising Sam's signing as they made plans for the day. The chores had to be divided out among the hunters currently in the bunker, a recon group had to be assembled and then sent down to Florida in search of a missing hunter and their werewolf partner, and then Sam needed to contact one of the Rit Zien in their reach-out initiative about the cure for vampirism, that the Angel had been working on.

Currently, it was far a little too early in the morning for many of the bunkers' occupants to be awake, baring the occasional Angel.

It was a common fact that the hunters from the apocalypse world did not get along well with the newest Angelic additions. Many days were spent on edge, as if they were expecting a full frontal attack from whichever random Angel who would decide to flitter in, typically in search of Jack or Sam. But it was a fact of life that they would have to get used to now. Sam's pseudo-nephew had become God, or at least God-like. And Sam would be damned if the hunter's made the boy feel like he had to leave whenever he had to commune with his Host. The bunker was Jack's home first and foremost, he had every right to be there, with whoever he invited around, be that another Angel or Claire and her friends...

Sam raised his mug, taking a sip of the now-cold coffee, and grimaced at the taste.

Today... Today was Dean's birthday.

There was nothing that he could have done; Jack had told him so himself the day he had returned empty-handed. That being said, Sam still felt responsible. He had been the one to push Dean into retrieving Castiel after all. Giving Dean that hope had been the only thing stopping him from killing himself. In that moment, what else could Sam have done?

Sam sighed and set down his mug.

"Are you okay?" Eileen asked, signing alongside her words. She had noticed his distant expression throughout their interaction this morning but felt unsure if she should offer him comfort. Sam feeling a sense of forlornness was nothing new, but he didn't always respond well to extra attention or sympathy. He always tried to hide his emotions whenever things got tough and that was the last thing she wanted him to do right now. "You seem distracted this morning."

"I've been thinking about Dean," Sam responded honestly, his hands fumbling over the words he was attempting to sign alongside his speech. "I keep replaying it in my head, what I could have done. But I'm coming up blank."

Dean hadn't planned on coming back if he couldn't find Castiel.

That was a fact.

Everyone who had seen him during the past year knew it, and it was something that Dean had even confided in Sam about the day before he walked into that portal.

But to know that his brother and his best friend were out there, somewhere, in some twisted dimension living through who knows what? It was near torture on Sam's already permanently anxious mind.

At least, if Dean had chosen to stay in the Empty with Cas, he would have slept until Jack could retrieve them. Now, they were just lost.

Eileen patted his shoulder sympathetically, standing up and taking the mugs away as she moved.

"Your brother will be fine," she stated in a gentle tone, unable to sign with her hands full. "He is a tough son of a bitch. And it's not like Cas would let anything happen to him."

"I know, but I'm still going to worry," Sam responded, his hands moving in a flurry. He must have signed something wrong because Eileen laughed halfway through his sentence, shaking her head and leaving the room.

He was tempted to follow her and make use of the small time they had together before he needed to leave for Wyoming. But as much as he'd rather be cuddling his beautiful girlfriend, Sam knew he should spend his last few hours packing.

He had a group of ghouls to deal with, whether they chose to register with the association or go down with a fight, only time would tell.

~

Jack wandered into Sam's room dressed in a pair of chocolate brown teddy bear pyjamas, complete with little matching fuzzy slippers and a robe. It reminded Sam of Jack's true age, and he felt a sense of guilt at the position and responsibility that his four-year-old nephew found himself in.

The Nephilim ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and yawned. He looked as though he hadn't slept in a week, which to be fair, he likely hadn't. The boy had spent nearly every day meditating in his room, his mind's eye far away as he mentally searched dimension after dimension.

A few times a day, he would frown, and fly off for a few hours. When he had returned the 5th time, Sam had asked Jack's whereabouts. Jack had replied; there were still dimensions that had been so horrifically broken by Chuck, that Jack couldn't, in clear conscience, leave them unattended, regardless of how much time he wanted to spend finding Dean and Castiel.

"You’re leaving soon?" He questioned, turning his now ageless blue gaze to meet Sam's own green pair. It wasn't as much a question as it was a statement. After all, Jack now knew Sam and everyone else on the planet inside and out, and likely also knew the future outcome of Sam's mission. It was just something that came with omnipotent godlike abilities.

"Yup," Sam replied with a smile, his hand reaching for the Impala keys he kept on his nightstand. The bunker shared many resources, weapons, books, and even vehicles, but the Impala was the one object that Sam refused to lend out. She would remain with him until Dean came home. "Can you call me if you find anything today?"

"Of course, Sam. Aunty Amara is going to join me in the search today," Jack replied with a smile, looking pleased at the idea of help from his other cosmic family member. "Although, she is unable to physically travel to dimensions where the mark of Cain is still in effect. But hopefully, we will make some progress."

Jack took a pause, his mind seemingly whirling as he thought of how to explain what he was able to grasp from the multiverse in a way that Sam would understand. Not that Sam wasn't smart...

"We think we have an idea of where they are," Jack eventually said with a cautious smile, as if he wasn't sure he should give Sam hope without proof. "Aunty decided to look into different branches of time instead of other universes."

"She thinks they could be in the past?" Sam queried, now looking more intrigued. He was tempted to stay, just to chat more at the idea of conflicting timelines and different dimensions. "Or the future?"

"Likely. But, not your past, similar though. She said that she caught a feeling of our Castiel's unique soul grace energy in a parallel time branch."

"Soul grace?" Sam inquired, looking slightly confused.

"It's a mixture. Angel grace and Soul energy. It is created from the spiritual bond that Castiel formed with Dean in hell. He carries and conducts the energy that flows from Dean's aura. None of the other Castiel’s in any other universe have that bond. It's a distinctive trait that only our Dean and Cas share," Jack explained, looking pensive as he shared this information. "It's the same for Dean, who carries a decent portion of Castiel's grace. It's what Aunty Amara and I are focusing on in our search. After all, there are Dean's and Cas's in nearly every universe."

"Are there any other universes where they chose each other?" Sam inquired.

He slung his bag over his shoulder in one quick movement and looked at his adoptive nephew's face. So similar to both Castiel and Dean...

"No, as far as I'm aware, Chuck was right. Every other Castiel did what they were told in the end."

~

"Heyya Sammy!"

The sound of flapping wings echoed through the Impala as the smallest Archangel flew into the seat beside Sam, and the hunter raised a hand to his chest in a blind attempt to calm his now-racing heart.

"Dude... you cannot just do that!" He snarled, looking down at Gabriel's blond head of hair. The Archangel smirked up at the hunter, his lips wrapped around the usual bright red lollipop he carried around. "What do you want?"

He saw the Archangel semi-regularly these days, at least once a week now that he had returned from the Empty, yet Sam still couldn't see himself getting used to the Trickster's presence. It was like he was a hurricane, filling the room with chaos wherever he went and often leaving behind a trail of destruction. Any thoughts Sam had of a calm drive flew out the window as soon as Gabriel flew in.

"Jeez Sammy, nice to see you too," Gabriel scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically and staring out of the windshield, his voice turning sulky in nature. "And here I was, just coming to bring you some good news."

"What news?" Sam inquired, turning his eyes back to the road ahead. The traffic died down as he left Lebanon, and most of the roads were now clear save for a few large trucks and the odd family wagon.

"Well... Rowena and I have come to a little agreement," Gabriel drawled with a smirk and a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Dude, I don't need to hear about what you two get up to."

"Not like that, you giraffe. It's about some of the souls that are stuck in hell."

"Souls?"

"Think of all the poor schmucks who sold their soul but never did any real sin," Gabriel stated, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back into the Impala's bench seat. "Ya know. Those who paid the price without rolling the dice. Rowie and I are gonna clean up Hell."

"You? Clean up hell?" Sam asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Well, it's not like any other Archangel is gonna help out. Raphael spends all their time trying to avoid Jack and hiding amongst the smaller Angels. And as for Michael, well... He's living in a self-imposed exile at the moment, ain't nobody getting through to him."

"So what's your plan then?" Sam inquired, gazing through the windshield and taking a left turn.

"It's not my plan, it's something that Jack, Amara, and Rowena have been working on for a while now. That nephew of ours is going to revamp the afterlife, for everyone. Humans, Celestials, and the supernatural," Gabriel said with a grin, pulling the now clean lollipop stick from his mouth and flicking it to the floor much to Sam's disgust. "Heavens gonna be optional soon. And Hell will only be for those really who deserve it. Not like torture though. Think rehabilitation, Rowena's idea."

"How is Heaven going to be optional?" Sam stated, feeling confused.

"It's bound to get boring eventually, right?" Gabriel said. "All the little ghosties get a chance at coming back. Reincarnation. You know. Raphael is handling most of the remodelling, but it's going to be all open plan. No more living in memories for all of eternity. All the walls are coming down."

"That... that sounds amazing. But I don't understand, who would give up heaven?" Sam whispered, giving the Archangel an appreciative look. "Where does the reincarnation come in?"

"Well, there is only so much perfection a human can take before they get bored. Some people might want to come back quickly. Others will take their time. But, free will and all that jazz, they are the ones who choose."

"And the Demons? The ones already made?"

"Yeah, actually Amara came up with that part. All Demons will get a full healing and reset. Then they get reborn," Gabriel replied. "Any new souls destined for hell will get rehabilitated first, then get reborn. Same with the supernatural."

Sam tried to focus on his driving as Gabriel chattered about the more intrinsic details, his chest tight as his mind absorbed the flow of information from the talkative Angel.

This would be a game changer... no more torture in Hell, no more being trapped in memories in Heaven. Just people being people, getting to live and make their own choices for their own future.

Chapter Text

December 2005

There was a pause, as Castiel stiffened, recognising who had knocked. The voice that followed rang familiar in Dean's ears as he also approached the front door and had a better look at their night-time visitor.

"Hello,” came the familiar voice. “You two have been very hard to find.”

Castiel pulled the Godling into his arms, his body trembling with unspoken emotion.

"You're here. How are you here?" Castiel whispered into their son's blond hair, his hand reaching up to pat the top of Jack's head soothingly. He hadn’t been able to recall seeing Jack in the Empty, that day had been a mess of half asleep dreams, and it had been such a long time since he had seen their child in person.

Jack looked a little older now. The four-year-old looked closer to twenty-seven, instead of the baby-faced twenty-two the Seraph had last seen. He held a sense of confidence in his stance that he had never had before, and his blue eyes contained a strange sense of all-knowingness as they met Castiels.

"Weeks of astral travel through various universes, dimensions and a little bit of time travel," Jack replied, grinning up at his father.

Dean approached their adopted son and pulled him into a one-armed hug that the Nephil returned enthusiastically. Castiel watched on with a faint smile. It seemed that during the past year that he was gone, Jack and Dean had somewhat mended their fractured relationship.

"Hey, kid. You're a sight for sore eyes," Dean muttered, finally pulling away from their son with a faint sting of tears lining his eyes. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"I could say the same about you two," Jack easily replied as Castiel pulled him by the shoulder, directing him into the kitchen where the rich smell of chocolate and mint filled the air. The Nephil glanced around the bright and sunny yellow walls, and extreme amount of bee memorabilia that decorated them. A few plants grew in pots atop the benches, mostly herbs with a few blooming flowers. He even thought he spotted a pale cream lace doily under a fruit bowl. It was all very... Cas. "Is this your house?"

"Yes, this is our home," Castiel said with a faint smile. He poured the Godling a warm mug of hot chocolate and a second for Dean. Cas could tell the hunter was cold now that he wasn't swaddled in blankets, a faint shiver in his shoulders, but he did not want to leave the room and put on something warmer in fear of missing precious time with their son.

"It's Christmas Eve, kiddo. You've got some great timing," Dean said with a grin, his fingers wrapped tight around the bee mug, trying to absorb as much warmth from the delicate porcelain cup as possible.

"I did come to bring you back home. But after getting a look at you both, I think it won't be as easy as I would like it to be," Jack stated, his eyes flashing a bright gold as he assessed the situation in front of him. "You both look... enmeshed."

"We were forcibly combined with our past selves when we were thrown from the Empty," Castiel stated, his hands twisting nervously.

"You did not land in our past, but instead in a parallel timeline that was created during your injection into this time," Jack said with a smile that his Angelic father half-heartedly mimicked

Dean nodded along as if he understood what the two Celestials in his kitchen were conversing about.

"So what should we do?" Castiel asked in a quiet and sombre tone. Whilst he was elated that they had a chance to return... he felt that he might mourn the more domestic lifestyle that the two had created.

"Well... I could bring you back to our time, but unless you use an aging spell, you would remain at the physical age you are now," Jack muttered, seemingly lost in thought. "I could also attempt to untangle you from your past selves. But that might be painful and unlikely to work as you have both been enmeshed for so long."

"Is there any other option?"

"Why do we need another option?" Dean asked Castiel, confusion seeping through his body language as the hunter turned to face his Angel. "Who cares if we look younger? Let's just leave."

"But... we were making a home here, Dean."

"All our family is back there, Cas."

Jack squinted his eyes at the two before understanding coloured his features.

"Oh... you don't want to go back, do you? You want to stay here..." The Nephil muttered under his breath as he glanced between his parents.

"Not for forever," the Seraph clarified, raising his palms as if to calm the hunter.

Dean did not get angry, as Castiel had expected. Instead, he looked pensive and took a few deep breaths as he sorted out his thoughts, his eyes staring blankly into his hot chocolate.

"Why?" He whispered, watching a floating white marshmallow slowly break apart. "I thought we were on the same page with this."

"We don't have any enemies here," Castiel whispered. "We are not hunted. In this world, Jimmy, Jessica, Bobby, Ellen, and Joanna... all the Angels that I killed... Everyone is alive."

Dean looked up to catch Castiel's blue-eyed gaze, unease filling his expression as he took in Castiel's slightly growing panic.

"I don't mean that we should stay forever... I've just been enjoying the freedom we have," the Seraph whispered, breaking their eye contact to look down at his hands.

"You don't need to make a decision just yet," Jack replied, reaching out to pat both of his father's on the shoulder reassuringly. "We know where you are now. This timeline should be safe."

Dean kind of shrunk back into his chair, his mind trying to catch up with the events that unfolded in front of him.

What was to stop them from having this life back there, too?

Except... Cas was right. They had mountains of enemies back home. This place was their only clean slate.

"Ok... let's talk about this later," Dean decided, standing up slowly and downing the rest of his hot chocolate in one mouthful. "Are you ok sleeping on the couch, kiddo?"

"Of course, Dean."

Dean placed his mug into the sink and gave it a quick rinse before giving his son another hug. He pulled away a little too quickly and said goodnight as he climbed the stairs.

"We have a room for you, Jack, however, it remains unfinished," Castiel said with a nervous tone. He wanted to stay and talk to his son for the rest of the night, but knowing that he dropped a bombshell onto his hunter, he also wanted to comfort Dean, and perhaps discuss their future plans in the sanctity of their bedroom.

"I will be ok," Jack said with an easy smile. "Go with Dean. He needs you more tonight. I will be here in the morning, and I will stay for a few days as you both think things through."

Castiel nodded slowly, pulling Jack into a long hug, relishing in the contact. The Nephilim squeezed him back just as tight, before letting go. He gestured upstairs, and Castiel turned to follow Dean.

Dean sat perched on the edge of his mattress, having already changed into a warmer set of pyjamas. Castiel snapped his fingers, and most of the heavier blankets that his human mate had dragged downstairs appeared on their bed. Dean looked up at the Angel with a faint smile, appreciating the gesture, his fingers splaying out across the warm wool.

"So..." The hunter began, looking unsure. "You wanna stay here."

"I do," Castiel replied softly, sitting down on the mattress. Dean leaned back and pushed his legs under the blankets, lifting a corner for Castiel to crawl underneath. The Angel obliged, removing his overcoat and laying his head on Dean's shoulder, his legs entwining with his hunter's. "But we can leave in the morning if you want."

"Let me think about it, ok? I'm not gonna decide without you," Dean whispered, raising a hand to card through Castiel's dark hair. "You made a good point before. But I can't just abandon Sam, my Sam, not that kid we saw earlier."

The two were quiet for a moment, enjoying the warmth the other exuded, only the sound of their breathing filling the air.

"Jack will stay with us for a few days," Castiel whispered, running his hand over Dean's chest. "At least we have time to think about this."

"I want to sit down with you tomorrow afternoon, and write out all the pros and cons of staying and going," Dean stated, pulling away to make direct eye contact with his Angel. "We ain't gonna do anything that only one of us is happy with. All or nothing, got it, I'm not gonna drag you back to our time if you're not 100% on board."

"And I would never keep you from Sam..."

"I know, Sunshine."

The two were silent as their thoughts whirled around them, Dean suddenly sat up with a grin, looking down at the confused Cas.

"So, Jack is gonna be staying with us for a few days, right?"

"Yes, that is correct,” Castiel replied, squinting up at the now giddy hunter in his arms.

"Gonna be a busy day tomorrow, then."

"How so, Dean?"

"It's time to let the kiddo decorate his bedroom. He can't spend the rest of the week on the couch."

~

"Should I buy you a round bed?" Dean inquired with a grin as he looked over the rows and rows of premade beds in the display.

The large blue building was practically a labyrinth, with thousands of boxes sitting on towering shelves and winding aisles of ready-made furniture that looked kind of eerie to the Angel.

Jack had wandered off nearly an hour previous, leaving Dean and Castiel to wander the aisles alone, and the Seraph was starting to feel a little anxious. He had spent such little time with his son, baring the few hours that the two had to privately chat in the early morning, so to have his child suddenly disappear was unnerving. He turned his attention back to Dean.

Currently, Dean was standing in front of a large circular bed, gesturing to it quickly to catch Castiel's attention. It looked reminiscent of what Castiel would find in a more promiscuous setting, such as a lover's hotel or perhaps one of Dean's pornagraphic magazines. The only thing it was missing was a leopard print cover or something covered in velvet.

"What for?" He retorted in a confused tone. Surely, a bed like that would be harder for the human to manage. Changing the sheets alone would be a nightmare.

"If I pile up the pillows, ya know, like a big wall, I could build you the perfect nest."

"A what? Dean, I don't need a - ahh, never mind," Castiel said with a sigh and a shake of his head. He realised now, as Dean's lips twitched in an attempt to not show his amusement, that the hunter was joking.

"You're sure?" Dean's voice was almost sing-song in his teasing, and Castiel rolled his eyes and walked away, intent on finding his son somewhere in this massive warehouse of furniture. "Hey, where are you going? This is a partnership decision, Cas."

"I'm going to find Jack."

"He'll be fine, man. Leave the kid," Dean said with a smirk, walking up beside Castiel and tugging on his arm in an attempt to pull the Angel back over the king-size beds' section. "Kids' God now. It's not like he's gonna get lost in an IKEA. "

"This store is particularly large, Dean."

With a roll of his eyes, Castiel found himself being half-heartedly dragged through aisle upon aisle of bed frames before the two eventually found themselves sitting on a plain wooden and metal-framed bed. Dean flopped down beside him, curling his arms behind his head as he relaxed into the memory foam mattress. Any stress from the previous day seeped out of his body like air, leaving a balloon.

"I found a bed that I like," said Jack, appearing suddenly and standing directly beside the bed his parents were resting upon. Dean jumped slightly at the sudden tone of his son, more irritated to notice that Jack didn't always fly in with the sound of flapping wings. It was as if the earth moved around him instead.

"So did we."

"Which one did you pick?" Castiel inquired, looking up at Jack. The Nephil reached down and tapped at their knees, teleporting the two to the kids' section.

There, the three found themselves in front of what looked like a kids' boat bed, complete with a little sail and an underneath bookshelf, painted all white and navy.

"It's... cute," Castiel decided, looking down at it thoughtfully.

"Isn't it a little small?" Dean asked. To be truthful, it looked about right for a five-year-old, which technically, Jack nearly was. Dean was not going to argue with the boy if Jack wanted it, as long as it would be comfortable for the Nephil to sleep on.

"Nope. It's perfect," smiled Jack with his usual slightly awkward grin.

"Well. I'll go pay for them," stated Dean, patting Castiel on the shoulder in mock sympathy. He turned to leave, intent on finding a store clerk. "But your dad here is gonna be the one to build that thing."

Chapter Text

December 2005

Castiel sat on Jack's bedroom floor, surrounded by various painted wooden planks and screws. It had taken the Seraph nearly all morning just to finish building the under-bed bookshelf, and as he sat back and glared at the pieces strewn about the room, he felt a sense that this project would take him many hours more.

He sighed in irritation before he got up to look for the instructions, rereading them for what felt like the hundredth time.

Dean had wandered off about half an hour earlier with Jack following closely at his heels. Castiel had watched the two have a fairly simple breakfast of eggs on toast, before heading in the direction of Castiel's makeshift forest, in search of a quiet place to talk. The Seraph did not want to intrude on their time, content to let the pair converse for as long as they wanted. He knew that their conversation would be pivotal for his future's outcome.

Dean seemed to feel a deep sense of guilt at the thought of leaving Sam and Eileen behind but he conceded that Castiel made a fairly good point. He too, had been enjoying the simplicity of their lifestyle.

It gave Castiel a sense of hope. Maybe they might be able to continue as they had, settle down here, and live peacefully.

~

Dean walked slowly through Castiel's forest, feeling the cold tingle of grace in the air as he followed the dirt trail through the underbrush. The jungle stood out against the snowy winter environment that surrounded their property. It was still so very full of life, with towering trees and colourful blooming flowers.

Over the past month, the Angel had carved into the landscape, placing more cohesive garden beds amongst the foliage, filling them with the plants that Cas had brought with his pocket money.

Jack walked beside Dean, with his hands in his white jacket pockets and a gentle smile on his face as he looked about the garden. The boy God would occasionally trail his fingers along the leaves and flowers, and oddly enough, the plants seemed to reach back, their leaves and petals swaying ever closer in the breeze.

The two had been mostly quiet for their walk, only sharing a few sentences between them, happy to enjoy each other's company for the first time in months.

Dean really had missed Jack. They had grown closer during the last year and the boy had played a big part in Dean's treatment for his depression. He and Sam even sat with Dean during some of his more intensive therapy sessions, providing much-needed support. Not only for Dean but for Sam and the Nephil too.

As the two men passed the tree line, just outside of the view of the house, Dean felt something in him shift. A tugging in his chest. His shoulders felt heavier as if there was weight pulling them down, and he visibly slumped in response.

"Do you..." he started to ask, feeling unsure as his mind stumbled over what words he should use. "Do you really think that me and Cas could have this? Have a peaceful life?"

"Is that what you want?"

"Of course it is," Dean said, exasperation filling his tone.

"Then is there anything in this world that could possibly stop you?" Jack questioned with his little close-lipped grin.

"Yeah... maybe demons, Lucifer, literally everyone we have ever faced before?" Dean scoffed.

"The yellow-eyed demon and Lilith should be the only players currently on the board. Lucifer will remain locked in the cage for now, I have already promised that," Jack clarified. "This time's version of Michael may be an issue, but it's up to you to make the choices, there won't be anyone writing in the background. I won't be a driving force like Chuck."

"And if... if I stay here... is it possible for you to get a message to Sam? Just to let 'em know that I'm gonna be ok?"

"Of course, Dean," Jack assured, reaching up to pat Dean's shoulder.

The hunter responded by pulling his son into a tight hug that Jack enthusiastically returned.

"Thanks, kid," Dean said, letting go of Jack's thin frame. "What about you then? Are you gonna stay or head back?"

"I am still needed in the other world, I have plenty of plans that I want to work on before I settle down. But when I'm done, I will come home."

"I'm gonna hold you to that promise, kid."

~

Castiel walked through the plants, following the leather scent of the hunter and the enormous spiritual energy that exuded from his son.

He held the tool in his hand, cringing down at it slightly, watching as a burned part crumbled beneath his fingers and fell to the ground. He hadn't meant to get that angry... but the frustration built inside of him until it peaked, and now the power tool that Dean lent him was a smoking ruin.

Dean and Jack were sitting on a log by the lake, a small pile of flat stones at their sides that they would occasionally skip across the water with. Castiel approached them quietly, unsure if now was a good time to interrupt the two.

His son turned around to face him with a wide grin on his features as if Dean had told him something particularly humorous.

Dean, however, looked to be in a state of shock, frozen in place as he stared out over the water.

"Hello, Castiel," Jack greeted, standing up and brushing a hand along his pants as if to remove any invisible dirt.

"Hello, Jack," Castiel replied, gazing at his unmoving hunter. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine," the Nephil stated quickly as if he was in a hurry. "I'm going to fly back to the house, I wanna make some more of that minty hot chocolate."

He was gone in a slight flutter of wings.

Castiel slowly walked behind his hunter and took Jack's spot beside Dean. He wordlessly held out the broken electric screwdriver, placing it on Dean's lap with an apologetic expression.

Dean turned to look at it, confusion breaking through the shock on his face and he broke down in laughter.

"Dude... did you smite that?" The hunter asked between chuckles. He lifted a corner roughly and watched the green plastic break into pieces.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"It's ah... it's fine, Cas," Dean replied, reaching across to wrap a hand around Castiel's waist in a bid to comfort his distraught Seraph.

"Jack's bed is still disassembled."

"I'll help you put it together, don't worry about it," Dean stated, placing his head on Castiel's shoulder as the events of today caught up with him.

"What was all that? Before I arrived, with Jack?" Castiel inquired, reaching up to card a hand through Dean's short hair.

"Told Jack we were a couple now. Had a full speech and everything planned out."

"How did it go?"

"Kid laughed at me. Said Sam told 'em that you and I were practically married, when he was a few months old," Dean said with a small sigh, relaxing against the Seraph's warm body. "Apparently, he thought we were actually married. Thought that for years."

~

Dean walked through the darkened hallway quietly, having finished cleaning up the dishes and the last few chores on his list for the day.

Today had been long, and the hunter felt the exhaustion fill his body. He wanted nothing more than to collapse in his new bed and maybe cuddle his Angel.

But he had grown curious and wanted to check on Jack. When Dean had agreed to purchase his son's little boat bed, he struggled to picture Jack's large frame trying to curl up on it.

Perhaps, Jack's legs would hang over the edge, unable to find comfort in his now smaller sleeping arrangements. Maybe, he would use his powers to upsize it to fit his needs, elongating it until it was the length of a single bed.

Dean turned the doorknob quietly, taking a peak at the boy asleep in the bed. What he saw instead was something completely different to what he had pictured. Jack didn't grow the bed. He had shrunk himself down to fit it.

Dean took in the view of the small puff of blond curls that poked out from under the blanket covers, and then he slowly closed the door.

That was... new.

Chapter Text

December 2005

"This is weird... This is weird, right?" Dean asked Castiel, who merely shrugged his shoulders in response. The Angel had flown them to a deserted snow-covered park for the morning, and the hunter now found himself pushing his currently pint-sized child on the swing.

Jack didn't seem to have changed mentally. He still answered in full sentences with all the intelligence of an infinite and Godlike being mixed in with a little too much naivety.

So… typical Jack.

He wore a miniature version of his usual outfit, complete with his white button-down shirt and blue jeans. When paired with the Nephil's soft blond curls and chubby cold-reddened cheeks, Jack looked... well adorable, if Dean had to be honest. He finally looked his age. Like every other normal four, nearly five-year-old. Although the hunter was still thoroughly confused by the whole situation and treated it with caution.

Castiel provided no real response, keeping his expression neutral as their morning progressed. It was as if Jack did not change at all in his eyes, and Dean wondered if this was how Castiel had always viewed Jack. At his real age, instead of what he physically displayed to the world.

"Higher please," Jack asked politely, in his now squeaky voice. Dean pushed harder, and Jack flew forward on the swing, a grin now forming on his little cherubic face. "This is fun. I've never done this before."

"Glad you're enjoying yourself, kid," Dean half-heartedly replied as he quickly shot a pointed glance at his Angel.

"Perhaps he wanted to try experiencing the same domesticity that we currently live in," Castiel finally replied, moving to lean against the playground equipment as he watched his little family. "It's not difficult for a Celestial to change their physical form. In fact, it is considered common for Angels to age up their vessels into adulthood. After all, in times of war, being the size of a child was a disadvantage."

"Does he look any different to you?" Dean inquired, stretching his arms out to brace against Jack's back and push again, watching the boy kick his legs in excitement. "Like, on the inside?"

"Inside his body?" Castiel squinted, confusion colouring his tone. "His organs have shrunk to fit his current form if that's what you are referring to."

"No, dumbass. I meant like spiritually, his wings, halo an' shit."

"Jack looks the same as usual," the Angel stated while giving Dean a questioning stare.

"I'm okay, Dean," Jack said with a faint smile, turning his head to look over his shoulder as he swung ever higher. Seeing such a small boy nearly at the top of the swingset gave Dean a deep sense of fear as if he was just a normal boy, who could get hurt, and not the universe's current All-Mighty.

"So you chose to do this?" Dean inquired, stepping to the side to allow Castiel a turn at pushing their child on the swing. The Angel moved more gently than Dean had, practically cradling Jack's back in his palms when the boy swung backwards.

"Of course."

"Why?" Dean asked, his tone sounding mildly frustrated as he gestured for their elaboration. He wasn't mad about the current change of events. In fact, he was enjoying their family time just as much as Cas was, but he couldn't help the anxiety that came with the new situation.

"Dunno," Jack replied, jumping off the swing quickly, giving a slight pause as he struggled to think of an answer. "I just felt like it."

"He just felt like it..." Dean muttered under his breath, gesturing to the toddler in disbelief, who had left their side and was now braving a set of slides twice as tall as Dean. The Seraph merely shrugged at Dean again with his gentle smile, seemingly content to watch Jack run amok.

The hunter shivered as a particularly chilly breeze blew through the park, and he moved to stand by Cas, effectively using the ancient Seraph as a wind-break. He wrapped his arms around the Angel's waist, curling into him in search of his warmth. Castiel pulled away quickly, leaving Dean cold once more with a childish pout on his lips, until the Seraph shrugged out of his trench coat and placed it upon Dean's shoulders.

The retired hunter sighed at the sudden heat that encompassed him, his fingers tugging at the tan material whilst allowing himself to be pulled into the circle of Castiel's arms once again. The sky had darkened above them, moving from a soft and fluffy white to a deep grey, signalling an oncoming snowstorm.

The hunter glanced upwards, his mind caught up in a whirl. If he asked, Jack or Castiel would dissipate the storm, likely with a wave of their hand or a snap of their fingers, and the little family would be able to play for longer. But he didn't. After all, it was nearly lunchtime and he was planning on taking them out to the diner.

"Dean, come over here!" Jack yelled from atop the largest slide, metal and conjoined to its twin. "Race me!"

The Nephil patted the spare slide next to him, a big grin on his face, and Dean once again sighed, placing a soft kiss on Castiel's cheek as he begrudgingly left the Angel's side, still wrapped in the too-big trench coat.

He climbed up the old-style ladder, feeling the rickety metal creak under his palms, flakes of red rust breaking off into his hands where his skin touched it. Dean cringed down at it, mouth twisting into a grimace. The things you do for your family...

~

The water that Castiel ran his fingers through was a perfect 38°Celsius, just slightly higher than a human's body temperature. Soothing and relaxing without being too hot. He sat back on his hunches, listening to the water pour out from the silver tap and into the chipped porcelain bathtub below. It mixed with the liquid soap that Dean had purchased that evening, creating a large amount of foam. Every pop of the bubbles released the scent of lavender into the air, reminding the Angel of a flower field. He hoped Jack would like it.

They did not have any bath toys available. It was an oversight that Castiel had made when he agreed to set this up for his son, and he quickly flew off to a store in search of a colourful plastic floating toy.

By the time he had returned, the bubble bath was ready, and he turned off the taps. He placed the rubber duck onto the side of the bath and stood back. There, now it was perfect.

Jack was waiting patiently in his room, laying on his tummy in his bed, and kicking his little legs into the air whilst reading a small book.

He closed it quickly, eyes brightening when he saw Castiel enter the room, and the boy scooted forward on the bed.

"Your bath is ready," the Seraph remarked with a small smile.

"Thanks, Cas," Jack grinned, jumping up enthusiastically. He, like Dean and Castiel, had only ever used the bunker's locker-room style showers, and the idea of being able to relax in a bath was enticing to the young boy.

"Will you need any assistance?" The Angel questioned, feeling unsure of what to do with himself now that his task was over.

"No, thank you."

He watched as the child closed the door behind himself, and the Angel left the hallway in search of Dean, following the spiced scent of cooking meat down the staircase.

His hunter was standing in front of the stove, with a few burger patty's frying in a pan of bacon grease, and a small amount of salad was waiting in slices on a cutting board. The Angel took his place beside Dean, buttering the burger buns in preparation for Dean to grill them.

The two stood in a comfortable silence, both still reeling from the events of the day.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Dean asked with a crooked grin as he took in the Angel's wet coat sleeves. He placed the burgers onto a plate and cracked two eggs into the scorching hot pan. They spat oil at him, and the hunter glared down at them in response.

"I think I want more days like today," Castiel replied, turning around to lean against the dinner table now that the bread buns were ready. He looked through the window and out over their backyard, the sky had turned dark, but the Angel could still see the faint white flurry of falling snow in the distance. "It was pleasant today. Peaceful."

"I know," Dean agreed in a more sombre tone.

Jack would be leaving soon. The Nephil had already shared his plans for his departure in a few days. Soon, the house would be quiet again, with only Castiel and Dean as its occupants. The Angel felt a sense of mourning. They would miss Jack terribly, even if Jack had stated his intention to return in one month's time.

Only one month to make a choice.

He knew which timeline he preferred, but he still felt at a loss on Dean's own thoughts. His human mate had always been secretive, but Castiel would not push his hunter into a conversation he was not ready for.

"Is the kid in the bath?" Dean questioned, getting ready to assemble the burgers, but pausing as he realised that Jack would be occupied for the next twenty minutes minimum. The hunter would rather wait until Jack was done. After all, it was rare for Dean to be able to share a meal with family these days. Castiel, as usual, was unable to eat with him.

"Yes, he is."

Dean nodded to himself and focused his attention on setting the table as Castiel watched on. The hunter approached the fridge, pulling out three beers before stopping and looking pensively back at Castiel.

"Can Jack have a-"

"No."

"But he was allowed beers when he was-"

"No."

"I can put it in a sippy cup-"

"Dean... No."

Chapter Text

December 2005

The ticket line wasn't all that long, but Dean still felt as though he had been waiting in it for years. He sighed as his mind wandered in boredom, now understanding just why Crowley decided to implement a never-ending line as the main form of torture in hell.

The cinema was typically packed with people right after Christmas, and Dean felt like he should have known it would be so busy. Now really wasn't the best time to take his little family on an outing, but Jack was leaving tomorrow morning, and Castiel had made it very clear that he wanted to enjoy the time they had left.

The small groups of young teenagers in front of him shuffled slowly, their heads bowed together as they quietly debated on how to sneak into a maturely rated film. Dean rolled his eyes at their lacklustre conversations, turning his attention back to Castiel and Jack, who had finally made it to the front of their line.

Jack was practically vibrating in his excitement, jumping up and down in the perfect image of the toddler he was pretending to be. He pointed to the colourful boxes of pre packaged popcorn with enthusiasm. Castiel seemed to placate their son with a weary smile and a calming pat on the shoulder, still unsure of how to proceed. After all, Jack wasn't the only one who hadn't been to a cinema before. The Angel had never had the opportunity either and his nervousness showed.

"Excuse me, sir?" The ticket clerk asked Dean in a bored and tired tone, once the group of preteens in front of him had been denied entry. "What can I get for you?"

"Ahh, three tickets, please. Two adults and one child... for-ah the Narnia movie?" Dean stuttered as he tried to read the screen displaying movie times. They were set back to back, with fifteen minutes between each show.

"That will be $18."

Dean paid the clerk in cash, grabbed his tickets and attempted to dodge the people standing in the crowded lines. Castiel was approaching him now, two popcorn boxes and drinks in hand with Jack trailing behind, the boy holding a chocolate-covered ice cream.

"What's next?" Jack inquired in his sweet little tone, watching as Dean scrambled to put his wallet into his back pocket.

"You need to give the tickets to that guy over there. He'll tear them in half, and then we go find our seats," Dean explained, handing the tickets to Jack, who looked pleasantly surprised at being asked to participate and walked off happily, tickets in hand.

Soon Dean was climbing the staircase excitedly, taking two steps at a time with Jack close at his heel. Luckily, they had made it in time to get the seats right at the back of the cinema. The hunter turned to look back down at his Angel, who was still standing at the foot of the staircase, glancing around the large dark room.

"Hurry up, Cas!" Dean said, gesturing quickly for Castiel to follow. Cas glanced up at him in the dark, his head tilting to the side and his signature confused squint settling on his face.

The Angel was far more poised than Dean had been, his steps measured and his back straight as he climbed the staircase, taking the seat beside his hunter, and handing him the popcorn and coke he carried. The scent of buttered popcorn filled the air as more people began to spill into the theatre.

"What is the purpose of the large curtains?" Cas inquired, eyes trained on the red velvet drapes that hung from the ceiling to the floor.

"I dunno man, maybe soundproofing or something?" Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

He reached into his pockets as the large screen flickered to life. He looked down to Jack, whose blue eyes glittered, reflecting the bright opening playing before them. The hunter pulled out a bag of lollies and a few chocolate bars, wincing at the loud crinkling noise that sounded. He passed a chocolate bar to the Nephil and turned back to the screen, before being momentarily caught by Jack's incredulous stare.

"What's wrong?"

"The sign at the entrance said you are not allowed to bring in food and drink from outside of the cinema," Jack responded in a whispered tone, looking wearily down at the nougat bar he now held in his small palms.

"It's fine, dude, you're God now. I'm pretty sure you can eat anywhere. Just... don't make a mess."

Dean smirked down at him and nudged Jack's tiny shoulder with his elbow as Jack smiled brightly in return. The boy God took a bite of the candy bar turning his attention back to the movie.

Castiel reached across the space between them, pulling the hunter's hand into his own and resting them both on his knee. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Dean's hand, tracing circles into his skin, while Dean gazed back at him fondly.

They didn't speak again during the film, save for answering the occasional question from Jack, content to enjoy the shared experience. When the movie ended, Castiel released Dean's hand and turned to their son, who was smiling back at them brightly, having noticed Dean and Castiel's newfound closeness.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Jack said with a gentle smile that settled easily on his babyish features. "I like spending time with you two, and getting to do all the family things we missed out on before."

"Don't sweat it, kid. We'll have plenty of time to catch up on anything else you wanna do when you get back," Dean said with an easy grin, taking a moment to ruffle his child's hair. "Now, I think it's time for dinner. Your pick."

~

The pink backpack in Castiel's hands was filled to the brim with letters for their family, a few pieces of fresh fruit from Castiel's garden, and the multitude of rocks that Jack had found on their morning walk around the lake. It looked as if it was bursting at its seams. The Seraph lifted the hefty thing onto Jack's thin shoulders, smiling with a gentle upturn of his lips, but his blue eyes showed Dean his true emotion. The Angel was devastated.

Jack had spent the last few days in his toddler-sized form, content to enjoy the more relaxing aspects of childhood that he had been denied during his upbringing. But now, as he prepared to leave the timeline, he chose to appear at his original size, not wanting to freak out the likely already worried Sam on the other side.

Dean stood with his arms folded across his chest, leaning against the doorframe. He, like Cas, wished they had more time with Jack before the kid had to go, but they couldn't delay the Nephil's departure any longer.

"I'll be back soon," Jack said with his usual close-lipped smile. He reached for Cas, pulling his Angelic father into a gentle embrace as Castiel raised a hand and patting him softly on his head.

The two said their goodbyes quietly before Dean pushed away from the wall and pulled the Nephil into a tight hug that would have bruised a human.

"You stay safe, kid."

"Will do," Jack said, straightening up the backpack that had started to droop down his shoulders from Dean's sudden squeeze. He lifted his hand, giving his awkward half-wave before disappearing.

Castiel let out a sigh, shoulders slumping forward and Dean couldn't resist pulling his Angel into the circle of his arms. The Seraph rested his forehead against Dean's throat, intent on enjoying the comfort his hunter offered.

Jack would be fine. They both knew it. But still... It kinda hurt anyway.

"So... what's the plan now?" Dean inquired, breaking the silence that had overcome the two and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his Angel's head. "Are you still up for celebrating New Year's with me?"

They had made plans at the start of December, two weeks before Jack had arrived, and Dean was still hoping that they would go. Whether or not Castiel was up for that remained undetermined, but he would not push the matter if the Seraph preferred to spend the night at home.

Dean waited patiently as Castiel considered his question, letting out a gentle sigh, and leaned further against him, nuzzling the side of his head. The warmth and solid weight in his arms felt comforting.

After several moments, the Angel replied.

"Yes, of course," he said softly, turning his head to look up at his hunter. He reached up, placing a gentle kiss against Dean's plush lips, his fingers curling into the fabric of Dean's shirt.

~

The city was dark by the time they arrived, but the streets were far from quiet. People milled about, revelling in the night's festivities. A few of them turned to look curiously at the strangers in their midst, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

The coffee shop that Castiel pulled Dean into still had strung-up Christmas lights, bringing an inviting and festive glow into the room. The scent of hot chocolate mingled pleasantly with the coffee beans and wafted through the air, making Dean's stomach growl loudly and uncomfortably.

He hadn't had time for a big dinner, hence the quick stop before the fireworks started.

"You want anything, Sunshine?" Dean asked, looking back at his Angel as he pulled his wallet from his pocket. "Water? Coffee?"

If there was one thing Dean loved about this year, it was the low cost of everything. A coffee would only set him back a few dollars at most and the milk choices were surprisingly simple.

"No, thank you," Castiel replied, looking about the Cafe. It was fairly bare now, as most of the customers had already left for the river, intent on getting the best view of the fireworks show. Dean shrugged in response, ordering a drink and a premade steak sandwich from the barista. The large black coffee was prepared quickly, and soon they left the warmth of the Cafe.

Dean took a deep breath and watched as the white vapour puffed from his mouth. Fuck, it was cold... perhaps he should have brought that extra jacket Castiel had insisted he put on. Oh well, he would steal Castiel's trench coat if it got any colder.

They walked along in silence as Dean munched on his meagre meal.

Castiel spent some time staring straight up at the towering buildings that seemed to loom over them, the various lights glittering and reflecting on the structures of glass.

It suddenly occurred to Dean, just how strange it must be for the Angel to see the world from this angle. Did Castiel feel small and insignificant like Dean did, whenever he looked up at the skyscrapers? Or did it make the Angel realise just how tiny Dean was in comparison to Cas's true form when he knew that he was larger than any of the towers that surrounded them?

Dean glanced down at his worn black wristwatch. Not long now, perhaps another ten minutes before the countdown would begin. He quickly wiped his mouth with the supplied napkin and tugged at Castiel's sleeve, intent on dragging the Angel to get a better view.

"Come on. We gotta hurry or we'll miss it," He said with a faint grin.

"We won't, Dean," Cas said with a gentle smile, allowing himself to be dragged along the sidewalk by the hand. He peered down at their entwined fingers and felt his heart flutter slightly. "We have time."

~

The river's edge was densely populated, with people standing side by side like sardines packed in a can. Dean felt the oncoming cringe grow across his face as he was jostled around by random people, and he pressed his back tight against Castiel's chest in a bid to avoid them.

"What's wrong?" The Angel inquired, sensing Dean's discomfort and raised a hand to place protectively on the hunter's shoulder, eyes searching the crowds for whatever danger Dean was weary of.

"There's just... so many damn people here," Dean muttered under his breath, knowing the Seraph would hear him regardless of how quietly he spoke.

Thousands of people began cheering even louder as the announcer started to speak. Whistles and drunken shrieks of elation filled the air.

"Would you like to move to another place?" Castiel asked. "Perhaps, somewhere with fewer people?"

"No, it's ok, Buddy. If we leave now, we won't be able to see the fireworks."

The two stood in silence as the crowd began to shriek in their excitement. One minute to go. Dean grimaced, ready to place his hands over his ears.

"I have an idea," Castiel stated, reaching down to entangle his fingers with Dean's, and the hunter glanced back at him in confusion.

"59!... 58!... 57!..."

The hunter barely had any time to prepare before Castiel cloaked them in invisibility and flew, straight up, dragging his human mate with him and landing on the roof of the tallest skyscraper that overlooked the river.

Dean gasped at the sudden vertigo, feeling his stomach practically hit his throat, and for once it wasn't just caused by the horrific feeling of Angelic flight.

"Holy crap, dude!" Dean yelled as the wind whipped around his head. He wrapped his arms tightly around Castiel's waist in his panic as he desperately tried to cling to the Angel. "Oh God! Oh shit! Cas, what the fuck!"

"40!... 39!... 38!..." Yelled the crowd in the distance.

"What's wrong?"

"Put me back down!"

"Dean, look at me," Castiel stated, his voice carrying easily to Dean's ears despite the wind. He placed a hand on Dean's jaw, gently lifting it until he made eye contact with the terrified and reluctant hunter. He couldn't help the squint and frown that grew on his face as he looked down at Dean. "It's ok. You'll be alright. Trust me."

"Cas, I'm gonna be sick. I'm gonna pass out," Dean muttered, clutching the Angel tightly. He shuddered in quick convulsions, feeling vomit rise in his throat after he glanced down at the sidewalk below, the people now looking like ants.

"27!... 26!... 25!.."

"I've got you. I won't let you fall."

Dean looked at Castiel, who very carefully sat down, pulling the hunter with him and maneuvering the human into his lap. He wrapped his arm around the hunter's waist, holding him there with gentle pressure until he showed signs of calming down.

"You okay?"

"Mmhm," Dean grumbled weakly, still not quite believing this was happening. It was too surreal. He could feel the Angel's warm breath fanning against the back of his neck, stark in contrast to the bitterly cold air that whipped around him. "You know, I really hate heights. Like, really really fucking hate heights,"

"11!... 10!... 9!... 8!..."

"I know," the Angel said softly. He squeezed Dean's hip lightly in an attempt to comfort his hunter and rested his chin atop Dean's shoulder, staring down at the river below.

"4!.. 3!... 2!... 1!... HAPPY NEW YEAR!" The announcer shouted in a booming voice from below, echoing through the crowds. There were screeching cheers and rounds of applause, as the countdown finished and the fireworks shot into the sky.

"Happy New Year," Castiel muttered, tightening his grip on Dean and pressing a soft kiss to the back of Dean's neck. Dean shivered involuntarily at the contact, and leaned back, tilting his head in an attempt to press his lips against the Angel's.

Hundreds of fireworks started erupting in the distance, creating colourful explosions and shooting streaks of light across the night sky. For a while, nothing else existed except for them.

"Happy New Year," Dean whispered back, breaking the kiss.

Chapter Text

March 2006

The demon was wearing the guise of an old man.

Not the spindly and creepy kind, with a gaunt figure and hunched back. But the apple-cheeked and friendly type, with a soft belly and a pile of thin white curls on his head. The creature even wore a sweet, hand-knitted cardigan that was now stained with his victims' blood. It made the man so much more menacing in Sam's eyes, when he grabbed the younger Winchester by the scruff of his neck and threw him through the drywall.

Sam tried to cough, feeling a wheeze shake deep within his chest, his body instinctively curling up to brace against the demon's onslaught. One of his ribs was broken. He knew that much. If he wasn't careful, he could easily end up dying from a punctured lung. Not that the Demon wouldn't kill him first.

The Demon's hands grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh underneath like hooks, slamming Sam onto his back and climbing on top of him.

Hit after hit. The bones of his jaw crunched under his skin.

"Aww. What's wrong, Sammy? Did Daddy leave you behind?" It cooed, fingers now digging into his shirt collar as Sam was pulled up to face the creature. "You know he doesn't love you, right? I've seen inside his mind. Ain't no place in his heart for a disappointment like you."

Sam squinted at him, face drawn into a grimace as blood dripped down from his temple and into his mouth. He tried desperately to resist the urge to spit in its face. After all, that would only serve to get him killed quicker, and Sam knew he needed to save time until his father arrived.

Because... John was coming.

He was.

He just had to be.

That was the only reason why Sam had agreed to be the bait in his father's stupid plan.

His heart thudded hard when he saw the demon's eyes flick black, its smile twisting further than humanly possible.

"Don't worry, kiddo. I can't hurt ya, not really," it whispered, leaning closer down to him, its icy cold and sulphur-reeking breath hitting Sam in the face. "Boss's orders. But we can certainly have a little fun together."

"Who's your boss? Yellow eyes?" Sam asked with a growl. The torn skin near his right eye was growing tight as the socket started to swell.

The demon merely laughed, and just as it raised its fist once more, Sam saw movement over its shoulder.

There, peaking around the hallway with the colt in hand... Dad.

Sam's head exploded into fireworks as the demon's fist hit him again. A blinding white light consumed his mind, and everything went black.

~

His vision was hazy when he woke up, limbs feeling heavy and unmovable. It took a moment for his head to clear, and a rusty scent filled his nose.

Trembling hands reached up, feeling where the blood had dried tacky on his face. He peered up, heart thundering hard within his chest when he saw John dangling limply, his back pressed against the wall.

His father's eyes were closed, blood dripping down his jacket from some unseen wound.

The demon stood between the father/son duo, its hand outreached, using its Demonic powers to hold the eldest Winchester high above the ground.

Sam caught sight of the shining metal glint of the Colt. Far closer to John than himself, but near enough that Sam could reach it if he were quick enough.

The youngest hunter pulled himself to his knees, moving as quietly as he could, before throwing his abused and bleeding body forward, arms outreached, and fingers spread wide in one final act of desperation.

But...

His ribs ached, his chest hurt, and that all-encompassing migraine was starting to throb behind his eyes. His legs buckled under him at the first chance they could, and Sam realised that he had no chance of reaching the Colt before the demon reacted.

It whirled around on the spot, seeing Sam reaching for the gun, and it threw itself at him with a fury that the demon hadn't displayed earlier, likely now aware of the kind of weapon that John had been toting around.

Sam tried to shield his body from the onslaught, lifting his palm in an attempt to block the oncoming blows. He distantly heard the sound of John falling to the ground, and just when he thought the creature would pounce, it stopped.

Miraculously... it stopped.

It looked as though it were pinned in place, mere centimetres from Sam's hand, bearing a terrifying snarl. Sam's outreached palm trembled, and a sharp burst of pain exploded from inside his head, whiting out his vision momentarily.

No...

Was he doing that?

But… that didn't make any sense... he didn't have that kind of power. Nothing did. This was a Demon for fuck's sake, one of the strongest motherfuckers out there...

Still, this thing was immovable, completely paralysed.

The pain in Sam's mind seemed to spread like hot, burning liquid, spilling down his neck and into his shoulders before coming to a rest in the tips of his fingers and his toes. It filled him like the magma that churned under the earth's crust, like it had always been there, buried under the surface.

Sam felt... powerful.

Strong.

He used his mind to push back, watching as the thing slid backward on the spot, its muscles seized in place. A look of panic filled its face as its black eyes stared into Sam's, who stared back in return.

The loud ringing of a gunshot sounded through the air, and the demon's forehead exploded outward, coating Sam with its blood and bone.

John had shot the creature through the back of its skull. Ending it quickly and efficiently.

A fire seemed to burn within the Demon from the inside out, as a bright red light flickered beneath its skin. It toppled to the ground in a heap, the borrowed face going slack as the wound on its forehead smoked ominously.

The gun had worked.

Finally, they could avenge their family and kill that Yellow-eyed bastard. Sam felt a small smile grow on his face at the thought, relief pouring into him despite the pain that radiated within his broken body.

John stalked forward, crossing the room in mere seconds, reaching out to grab Sam by the collar of his shirt. He lifted his son firmly off the ground, slamming him back against the wall.

Sam winced at the unexpected movement, looking up at John's rage-filled eyes in confusion.

"What the fuck was that!" John shouted in a fearful tone, spittle hitting Sam across his face as the younger Winchester cringed in pain. "What the fuck did you do!"

"I-I... I don't know! I don't know what happened."

"You lying piece of shit!" John growled, his features twisted like some sort of madman. He slammed his forearm against Sam's chest harshly, and his son felt the air rush out of his bruised lungs.

"I didn't do anything! I swear!"

"Don't fucking lie to me, Boy! You stopped that thing with your goddamn mind!" John snarled, noticing his son's distracted and pained grimace. He felt the hot wave of anger flood him like a tidal wave, all thoughts of reason leaving the man in seconds. "How long have you been able to do this? Huh? Tell me!"

Tears were prickling in Sam's eyes now, as agony spread throughout his exhausted body. His head was burning from that massive release of energy within his skull, and his stomach churned with a lingering nausea.

John was looking at him like... like he was some sort of monster. Like Sam was something to be hunted, and that realisation sent a cold shiver down his spine.

Was his dad gonna kill him? A gunshot to the head, the same as the Demon lying dead on the floor?

Oh God, he was gonna throw up... Sam choked it back with a sob.

Suddenly, John's hand shot out and punched Sam's cheek so hard that the younger Winchester's head whipped sideways. The pain brought an involuntary gasp of shock out of him, and the younger Winchester's vision began to swim, tears now streaming down his face in twin trails.

"Tell me the truth!" John yelled, the sound reverberating in Sam's ears, making them ring.

"I didn't..."

The older man raised his fist once more.

Sam tried to pull himself out of John's hold but couldn't muster the strength. Only managing to close his eyes and tense his body in an attempt to shield himself from the brutal blow that would never come.

"They were right. You are cursed," John muttered, releasing Sam and watching apathetically as his son fell to the floor in a weeping heap. "You've been cursed since you were an infant. Ever since Yellow eyes... Ever since that bastard..."

Sam trembled, harsh shudders wracking his body as he pulled himself up onto his knees. He wiped the blood that was still seeping from his lip with the back of his hands, watching the red spread across his skin mixing with the salted tears that dripped down his cheeks.

Yellow eyes. His father was stuck on the thought of that damnable Demon. Was that creature the one responsible for this? For these budding abilities? Was Sam really cursed like his father was saying?

How long did John know?

A lot of things about his childhood were starting to make sense...

John's face had lost all colour, becoming impossibly pale. His blue eyes were wide with fear and they bore through Sam as if he were seeing parts of Sam that the young hunter would rather hide. The older man took a step back before his legs gave out from under him, collapsing onto the wooden floor. He sat there opposite his son, his shoulders slumping forward, looking as nauseous as Sam felt, although likely for other reasons.

"Tell me the truth. How long have you been able to do this?" He asked in an impossibly tired voice.

"The thing with the demon? Just today, I guess..." Sam's voice was raspy and hoarse, and every word felt like a knife tearing at his throat.

"But that's not all... is it?"

"N-no. The dreams... I've been having dreams that come true," Sam whispered, taking shuddering breaths as he tried to talk around his small gasps of pain. "T-They're l-like visions or something, I don't know."

"Dreams, huh?" John said quietly, his mouth trembling and his voice breaking slightly. "You mean those fucking nightmares you've been screaming about? You've been having fucking psychic visions for months now and you never thought to mention it to me?"

Sam nodded silently, finally managing to calm the sobs that wracked his fatigued shoulders.

The two were quiet for a while before John moved, half-heartedly patting at his wound that sat under his jacket. He winced at the pain, and took a deep breath, standing up straight as he slipped into his old military training, desperate to calm his racing mind. He looked around the destroyed room, taking a mental stock of any other dangers that he was too distracted previously to notice.

"Alright, get up, we'll talk about this later. Right now we're burning daylight," Sam's father said calmly but not kindly, glancing at his son with a disdain-charged look. He turned around without another word, disappearing through the front door and leaving Sam kneeling in a small puddle of his own blood.

Sam stared after the older hunter and slowly got up, wincing. The pain in his torso radiated outward and he rubbed at his ribs gently, feeling the broken bone shift. He stumbled over to the door where John had vanished, using his hands to brace against the walls whenever his steps became unsteady.

The Impala was waiting in the parking lot, still freshly cleaned from their last hunt. Somewhere inside it was an open duffel bag, filled with the medical supplies that Sam would need to patch himself up. Sam walked towards the backseat door of the car, opening it and getting inside as slowly as he could, careful not to jostle the wounds. The Impala started with a low rumble, the engine sputtering as they made their way past to the edge of town.

His father was silent again, Sam reflected, trying hard not to look at the bloody mess on the seat. The older hunter seemed lost in thought, staring blankly ahead until the sharp trill of John's phone cut through the heavy atmosphere, startling them both.

John reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the sleek black device, and flipped the phone open.

"Hello?" he said, voice tense. "Katie? What is it? What's wrong?"

He listened quietly, frowning deeply with every passing minute. When he spoke again his voice was softer than Sam had ever heard it before, "Yeah. Yeah... Don't worry, I'll be there soon."

He hung up the phone with finality, and turned around to face Sam. His expression was unreadable, still holding that previous fear, but also something that looked like nervousness.

"Who was that?" Sam asked cautiously. A fresh wave of guilt washed over John's face, and he opened his mouth to answer, but closed it quickly. The man seemed unable to decide what to say or do as he stared out the windshield. Eventually, his features softened, and he finally spoke.

"A friend," John answered curtly, and continued driving. "I'm gonna need to take a detour. Do you want me to drop you off at a hospital or Bobby's?"

"Why can't I come with you?" Sam asked, looking at the older man in confusion.

John frowned at the question, brows furrowed slightly.

"It's complicated."

Chapter Text

January 2021

The house was messy, cluttered with books and other items of personal value. Messy, but never dirty. Never dirty. Kate had prided herself on that fact, even if she didn't get as much time to devote to the daily cleaning as she would have liked. Her home always looked lived-in and well-loved.

Thankfully, Kate had awoken early this particular morning and she had enough time to make pancakes. It was a nice treat, one that the single mother didn't always have time to afford.

Her son walked down the stairs, each fatigued step heavy against the wooden staircase.

He sat at the table bleary-eyed and took stock of his mother's frantic movements.

Kate turned around quickly, placing the stack of pancakes in front of the boy with a grin, and soon a similar one grew on the teenager's face.

This was the last happy memory that Adam had before he died.

Michael sat on the kitchen bench, watching the familiar interaction of the small family as the two joked about. He was perched, cross-legged, with his chin in his palms and a look of contemplation on his features.

Adam was currently stuffing his face with pancakes, syrup dripping down his chin. His mother reached over with a napkin to wipe it, but he shooed her away, pretending to smudge the goopy mixture onto her nurses' scrubs. She dodged his hand quickly and grabbed her keys, placing a kiss on her teenager's forehead.

"You know, if you talk to him, he would talk back," stated Gabriel, who flew into the room with a flutter of golden feathers, his hands pulling various lollies in his pockets.

"I know... " Michael responded, gazing at the two saying goodbye to each other as Adam's mother left in a hurry. "But speaking would break the illusion."

Michael knew this house like the back of his hand. After all, he had reconstructed it perfectly in the cage, a mental scene derived from Adam's memory. It had been a safe haven for the two, someplace they could hide away within their mind, far away from the scenes of Lucifer and his horrific torture of Sam Winchester.

It was different here though. Adam's heaven wasn't a reconstruction that the Archangel could control, merely a mirror of what Adam had already experienced.

He could not interact with the human in his affection now. Would Heaven still remain Heaven, once that fragile illusion was broken? If Adam knew he was stuck here for eternity, would he slowly go insane?

Michael didn't know. After all, they had spent a thousand years in the cage, trapped with only each other for company. Adam's changing mental state had been unknowable, even to the Archangel and he would rather not risk the fallout that could follow should he disrupt the delicate balance.

"So you're just gonna sit on their kitchen table, like a creep, for the rest of eternity?" Gabriel's usually perky voice sounded off, and Michael pulled his eyes away from his vessel's messy cheeks to finally look at his sibling.

The other Archangel's lips were parted in disbelief, his features were scrunched oddly and Michael inwardly scoffed with a roll of his eyes. For all that Gabriel preached of free will and loving humanity, it seemed he could not understand Michael's focused attention.

It was an odd thought to realise that the rebellious Castiel could relate better to Michael now than even the Archangels' own brother. Or, more likely, it was Michael who could no longer relate to The Host. He felt as though he could not return to his previous duties, not when he now knew what he had previously been ignorant of.

"Perhaps," Michael responded, glancing down at his hands. These were Adam's hands. The Archangel had long since memorised them, right down to the slight bend in his vessel's thumb and the freckle on the right side palm.

He had been out of the Earthly sphere for weeks now, he didn't need to share Adam's likeness.

Finally, after over a millennia, he could return to his true form and stretch his limbs wide.

But it felt wrong to do so.

"Dude, you're pining harder than Cassie did for Dean. At least that little idiot spoke to his crush. You're just being a weirdo," Gabriel cringed as he spoke. He had been in love before, sure, lust definitely, with Kali and many others over the years, but never like this. This all-encompassing obsession that was brought on by Adam's death at the hands of their father.

"What else am I to do?"

Gabriel was silent for a while and watched the boy in Michael's focus slowly wash the rest of the dishes in the sink.

The two were quiet as the scene changed again. This time, it showed Adam's messy bedroom. A dreamed-up version of Michael was sitting on the bed, with Adam's head in his lap, talking quietly to the boy about centuries past and the histories subsequently lost. Invisible wings were placed around the human, blanketing him.

"When was this?" Gabriel inquired with a tilt of his head, watching how the two interacted, closely entwined. "Wait... was this?"

"From inside the cage? Correct," Michael stated, viewing the scene apathetically. He sat down in the corner of the room, seeming content to watch the scene play out once more. "How strange is it? That a memory reflecting the most horrendous time in our existence, of being imprisoned, had simultaneously made Adam so happy and content, that it became a fixed part of his Heaven?"

Gabriel swallowed his words, unsure of how to proceed and felt at a loss.

Raphael had been here only a day earlier, attempting to lull Michael back into his original position as Heaven's Commander, but even they had proved unsuccessful at even grasping Michael's attention. At least the Eldest Archangel was talking to Gabriel in full sentences, something that Raphie hadn't been able to achieve...

But... Gabriel needed the help. He couldn't complete all of Jack's plans alone. Raphael was correct, Michael was transfixed.

"Our nephew is back," Gabriel stated quietly, choosing to bring up the other topic first. He watched as heaven's scene changed once more, now displaying a 10-year-old Adam running up the staircase carrying a half-unwrapped present in his arms. A grey video game console, second-hand and worn. Out of its original packaging.

"Oh," the eldest Archangel muttered disinterestedly, reaching out to grab a random book from the pile on the floor. It was a school book, science if Michael had to guess. He opened it to a random page, but the textbook remained blank. Heaven could not translate these little details. Yet another flaw in the system.

"Apparently, he found those two knuckleheads in some alternate timeline," Gabriel stated with a weary grin, plopping down onto the floor beside Michael. He unwrapped a red lollipop with a slight sigh. If he had to be here for a while, he would at least get comfortable. "Before that first apocalypse."

"The first apocalypse?" Michael inquired, taking an interest in Gabriel's words for the first time since his youngest brother arrived. "You mean that they are living in a time before Lucifer had risen?"

"Yup. Like 2005 - 2006? I dunno," Gabriel muttered, hands reaching into his pockets for yet another overly sugary treat. He placed it into his lap happily before reaching for another until he had a small pile.

That was... intriguing, Michael had to admit. Somewhere out there was a timeline where Adam was still alive. Where the human hadn't sacrificed his life to Michael yet...

"Are they planning on returning?" He inquired, looking over at Adam as the scene changed once more, now displaying a bright beach. The boy was only two years of age in this memory, dressed in little blue trunks and yellow arm floaties. His mother trailed behind him as he waddled into the gentle waves for the first time.

"How should I know?" Gabriel asked with a shrug, his lips pulling into a pout as the stash of lollies he had held in his lap slipped into the warm sand beneath them. "They seemed happy. Jack said that he was gonna try and preserve that timeline for them if they wanted it. Like some sort of retirement plan."

The other Archangel nodded, his mind wandering as he thought about Gabriel's words.
If there was one thing that Michael regretted, it was the fact he could never give Adam what he had promised him all those years ago. He could not resurrect the boy, nor return his mother to him. Jack had forbidden it.

Not that Michael couldn't manage it himself, he did not need the Godling's powers nor his permissions.

But he had spoken a truth to Michael. The people in Adam's life had spent 10 years without him, and the boy would never be able to return to what he had lost.

Michael bit his lip, his thoughts whirling to places he knew they shouldn't.

He had given everything he had in service to his cruel father and now the Archangel wanted to be selfish for once. If Castiel could find a lick of peace for Dean, then why could Michael not provide the same for the human in his charge?

Travel through different dimensions was tough, but not impossible, Lucifer had proven that. Michael only required his grace. Travelling through time, however, was infinitely easier, nearly any Angel could manage it.

Regardless of Castiel's bond with Dean, that human was still Michael's true vessel and their bond was just as strong. The Archangel could find them easily, now that he knew where to look.

"You need to come back," Gabriel stated quietly, as if he already knew Michael's answer, and was bracing himself for the inevitable rejection. "Raphael needs your help. I need your help."

"What could you possibly need me for?"

"We are gonna tear down the walls, open everything up," Gabriel said, spreading his arms wide as he gestured to the ever-changing landscape. He knelt close to Michael, his voice was soft and pleading as he beseeched his eldest brother. "Come on bro, we can fix the mess that Dad left us. Not only for the other humans but for your vessel too. Give them the heaven that they've all been dreaming of."

Michael scoffed once more. Even if they did so, Adam would never experience life again. Not the way he wanted. The boy would never go to college, get his little job or travel the world like Michael had planned.

Did they all really think that a perfect existence in heaven was a good band aid for the problem?

Was it some sort of consolation prize?

Gabriel edged closer, squinting his eyes as he recognised the intrigued look on Michael's face. What the older Archangel was thinking was unknowable, and it filled Gabriel with concern.

"Leave me," Michael growled, pushing his brother away when he got too close for comfort. The other Archangel flew away with a pout on his lips, leaving behind a mess of candy wrappers that swiftly disappeared as the scene changed once more.

What Michael was considering was big, and it would require time and careful planning. If Adam agreed, he would ferry them across time, and burn through as much grace as needed, until he could place Adam's soul within his living body. Into a living body that still had his mother. That still had friends and a life...

He needed time to think.

He needed to speak to Adam.

~

February 2006

What Michael had done to his younger self was regrettable. He felt a sliver of remorse at the situation, but he didn't know if he had any other option other than outright killing him.

Harmonising with the other Archangel had been excruciating for them both, but Michael had known in advance that combining their two highly intricate frequencies into one singular entity wouldn't be an easy task.

Thankfully, the other Angel had not put up a fight. He had bitterly assumed that his future self had failed in his fight with Lucifer.

This younger version of Michael had expected to retain himself and gain memories of the subsequent happenings. Instead, he had been overcome. Consumed and devoured until nothing of him remained.

Cannibalised.

Michael stared down at the shining ball of white light he held in his palms, his fingers caressing the soul gently with his grace. It seemed to calm the anxiety that Adam exuded, and Michael smiled lovingly down at it in response.

He spread his wings, ready to fly back down to earth and rebel against heaven for the first time in his life.

Whatever would happen, it was worth it.

Chapter Text

January 2021

Sam moved swiftly through the library, dodging the various Hunters, Angels and the few supernatural creatures, who had all congregated for the latest meeting. It was late at night now, and the schedule had long gone array. Some people arrived late, one person arrived injured for some reason, and now, as everyone else was ready and prepared, Sam found himself being the only delay.

His phone was squished between his ear and his shoulder, and he shouted the last of the commands through its microphone to the duo on the other side.

He winced at the returning sound of breaking glass, closely followed by Claire's angered yell.

Silence.

"Is ah - Is everything alright?" He inquired, sticking one finger in his other ear in an attempt to block out the loud chattering around him. Logically, he knew his room was a far quieter place to have this conversation, but he needed all of the resources in the library, should things turn pear-shaped for the girls on the other line. "Is it dead?"

"Um... yeah I think so," Kaia responded quietly, her voice almost a whisper as it came through the speaker. "It's definitely not moving anymore."

"Why in the world were you two hunting a Chupacabra for anyway?" Sam inquired, pinching his brow between his fingers, suddenly feeling the stress of the past few years as it crept up on him. These kids would be the death of him, he just knew it. Still as reckless as ever, throwing themselves into dangerous situations at a moment's notice.

"It ahh... I dunno, it just kinda came outta nowhere. Literally," Kaia replied with a nervous laugh. "I mean... we weren't exactly looking for a hunt on today of all days, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed as he collapsed into the leather armchair.

"Right... well. What are your plans then? Are you still coming back to the bunker for that restock?"

"Yeah, we'll be there," Kaia said.

"If we pull an all-nighter, we can be back in Kansas by tomorrow morning," Sam heard Claire pipe up from the background, her voice muffled by distance.

"Not a chance, Claire. Book a room, don't drive tired," Sam stated. Kaia's last message, sent the day previous, had placed their location outside Los Angeles. Today, they were near New Mexico.

They had both sounded so exhausted when they called. There was no chance in hell he was gonna let these kids drive back to Kansas in that state. It was one thing for a hunter to die bloody on a job, another to die in an entirely preventable accident, just because they were careless behind the wheel.

"Hey, Winchester," came the gruff but gentle voice of one of the older hunters in the room. Sam had recognised the man as one of Bobby's old contacts back in the day, although Sam had scarcely met him before he and his wife joined the American Hunters Association. "When exactly is this little shin-dig gonna start? We all gotta hit the road soon."

Sam covered the speaker on the phone with the palm of his hand before responding, a little shake in his head. He knew it had gotten late, and he could see that everyone was itching to leave, including the three Angels who were hanging around by the foot of the staircase. Sam side-eyed them cautiously, not wanting to hold the inevitable 'Where's God?' conversation that the three were quite obviously aiming for. They regarded him with an overly curious look but managed enough patience not to interrupt just yet.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a second, sorry. Just um... I dunno, tell everyone to take a seat at the map table please," Sam replied, watching as the other hunter walked away with a hobble in his step. "Look Kaia, I gotta go. Call me if either of you need anything. And I swear to Jack, if Claire's here tomorrow morning, I'm taking her car keys."

"Yeah, no problem, Sam," Kaia responded, her voice perking up at the idea of rest. "See you later."

"That wouldn't stop me!" Shouted Claire in the distance.

"Get some sleep you two. Bye."

Sam hung up the phone and stood, stretching his arms over his head. Onto the last meeting for the day.

~

Sam was bleary-eyed the next morning as he passed the last Angel loitering in the hallway, stumbling into the kitchen and fumbling with the thankfully still-full coffee pot.

Someone had made breakfast earlier, leaving the now cold bacon and eggs wrapped in foil, in a stack resting on the counter. It was overly greasy, not remotely healthy in any way, nor was it tasty like Dean's cholesterol and sugar rich cooking, but the younger Winchester wouldn't complain.

It wasn't like he had eaten dinner the night before, and any food he did not have to cook himself would always be a godsend. Pun fully intended.

He loaded up his plate and grabbed the old mug, taking a seat at the table. It was surprisingly quiet today, he noticed with a faint smile. The only noise that broke the near-silent air was the vibration of his phone against the counter, signalling the incoming text.

Sam reached for it, seeing Eileen's name lighting up the screen.

Her text was sweet and simple, short and detailed. She was only an hour away and would see him soon. Flower emoji... Smiley face...

The hunter grinned gently down at the screen, replying with a series of hearts.

"I'm back!" Shouted an overly happy Jack, who had suddenly flown directly in front of the half-asleep hunter, who promptly dropped his phone in response.

"Shit!" Sam yelled in return, standing up in a panic as coffee spilled down his shirt. "Jack, you can't just fly in like that, man! You scared the crap outta me."

He patted at the damp fabric with a sigh, feeling his thundering heart slowing in his chest. The hunter rolled his eyes up to the boy, finally taking notice of the large grin that had graced his youthful features.

"Where did you go anyway? Your 'host' has been on my ass all week looking for you."

"I found them!" Jack shouted in excitement, skipping over Sam's questions with his typical overly happy energy. "I found Dean and Castiel!"

Sam's eyebrows shot upward.

"You found them? How? Where are they?" Sam asked, all in one breath, his eyes frantically searching the room. Only the two of them stood in the kitchen, no one else, much to Sam's immediate disappointment.

"They are safe... happy, actually. They were in another timeline, just like Aunty theorised."

"Why aren't they with you?"

"Here. Dean wrote you a letter. I think he would better explain what's going through his mind than I ever could," Jack muttered with a shy little laugh, shrugging the pink bag off his shoulder. "Even I find their thoughts unfathomable... and um- mildly uncomfortable."

The backpack landed on the table with a surprisingly loud clunk, causing Sam to raise his eyebrow at the young man. Jack simply grinned sheepishly in response, unzipping it and tipping it over, allowing its contents to spill over the table. Letters... fruits... vegetables... rocks?

"Um yeah. So letters. Here you go," Jack stated, riffling around until he pulled the right ones out of the pile. "These are for you."

Two letters. One from Dean, the other from Cas. Jack shuffled through the pile, pulling a few more out, and Sam could spy from over Jack's shoulder the names written on the envelopes in either Dean's or Castiel's handwriting. Jodie. Charlie. Claire. Donna. Eileen. Bobby.

So, it seemed Sam wasn't the only one Dean wrote to. Looking down at the sealed letters filled him with a sense of dread. It was almost as if he had just been handed his elder brother's last will and testament.

"Father?" came a sharp voice from the door. The Angel, who decided that now would be the best time to grace them with his presence, walked into the room with an overly dramatic flare as he looked toward Jack in awe. "You have returned to us, my Lord."

"I didn't go far, Cheriel."

"The Archangel Gabriel has requested your immediate presence - not that we would ever make any demands of you, My lord."

"Um... Right," Jack said with an air of disappointment. He turned to look at Sam with an apologetic look, to which Sam responded with a nod of his head. He pulled his adopted nephew into his arms for a quick hug before letting go.

"You go. It's ok, I'll be busy here," the hunter stated, gesturing to the letter with a tilt of his head.

The two Celestials were gone in moments, leaving behind the bag, and the various fruits for some reason... The copious amounts of grey rocks that had slid across the hardwood table earlier also disappeared with the sound of flapping wings.

Sam abandoned his food at the kitchen table, choosing instead to head back to his room. He didn't want anyone to approach him should the contents of these letters be emotional. Carefully, he sat on the edge of the bed and opened Dean's letter. There were four full pages of Dean's familiar chicken scratch handwriting.

He read the first few lines.

And then he stopped and reread them again.

A loud giggle broke its way out of his lips, and he descended into full-on laughter. He wasn't sure when exactly he ended up on the floor, but as he wiped the tears from his eyes, he only had one thought.

Finally... after 13 freaking years...

~

Eileen entered the bunker just over an hour after her initial text, in a whirlwind of energy. She bore a bruise on her jaw and a split through her lip, but her dark eyes were bright when they took in Sam's overly happy appearance at the bottom of the staircase.

She shifted slightly, trying to conceal the bouquet of hastily picked cosmos behind her back as the Winchester practically ran up the creaking stairs, coming to a stop at her side.

Sam's grinning face dropped into shocked concern as he took in her wounds.

"I'm ok," She said with a grin, unable to sign with her hands preoccupied behind her back.

She rolled back on the balls of her feet when Sam reached for her face, pulling her closer to get a better look at the dried blood.

"Why didn't you text me?" He asked, hands signing along, concern bleeding into his firm expression. "I could have helped you."

"It was just a ghost, Sam," Eileen said with a roll of her eyes. "Anyway. Here, these are for you."

She held out the flowers, pushing them into Sam's chest with a self-satisfied smirk. Sam was flustered momentarily, hands wrapping around the colourful bouquet in confusion.

"Um... are these for a spell?" He inquired, lifting the flowers to get a better look at the stems.

"No stupid. They are a gift for you. I dunno... they reminded me of you, and I thought they looked nice."

"Oh- Um... thank you," Sam said, a flush of red staining his cheeks as he held the bouquet. "They're pretty."

"What were you so happy about before?" Eileen inquired, her hands signing along with her words as Sam tracked them with his eyes. "When you were running up here?"

"Jack found Dean and Cas! You're never gonna guess what those two have been up to."

"Ok, but I'm kinda tired. Why don't we make some cocktails and you tell me all about it."

Chapter Text

January 2006

Potting mix.

It was fucking potting mix.

And it was all through Dean's bed as he looked over at the filthy Angel in exasperation. His damn trenchcoat was covered in dirt and was that... flour? Egg yolk? Just what the hell had Cas been up to whilst Dean was asleep?

"Hello Dean."

"Mornin' Cas..." Dean said in a tired tone, sitting up and taking stock of the mess that surrounded him currently.

He sighed and placed his hands in his lap, rolling his eyes back to the Angel.

"You look like you've had an eventful morning," Dean stated sarcastically, wincing at the gritty feeling of dirt on the sheets. Sure, Cas could magic it away easily enough if Dean asked him to right then and there. The Angel had done so many times in the past whenever he did weird shit like this, but it was the principle of the matter.

At least Castiel had remembered to take off his shoes before climbing under the sheets, even if the dirt he brought with him negated that point.

"Yes. I spent considerable time in the garden last night," Castiel stated, his face mostly serene. The hunter winced as the Seraph placed his head on Dean's shoulder, snuggling his face into Dean's neck, giving the hunter the perfect view of the top of Castiel's head. He rolled his eyes once again.

Cas had sand in his hair.

Today was going to be a long day, Dean could feel it in his bones.

"What's with the egg?" He inquired, turning his gaze onto the old yellow spot on the once beige coat.

"Egg?" Castiel repeated, looking up at Dean with confused blue eyes.

"There," Dean stated, pointing at the mess on Castiel's shoulder. The Angel turned to look at it, showing no reaction or disgust with his apparent dishevelled state. "Did you try making omelettes or something?"

"I created, kneaded and then proofed bread dough throughout the night. Intermittently, when I wasn't in the kitchen, I was outside, repotting the plants in the greenhouse."
"God, I hope you washed your hands."

"Of course, Dean."

The hunter sighed and placed a gentle kiss on the Angel's brow. He was still getting used to Castiel's strangeness, especially now that the two lived together full-time. He was face to face with all of the inhuman behaviours and instincts that Cas had never truly presented. Sure, Dean had gotten a look behind the Angel's human facade before, but never like this...

Castiel sighed, leaning up to return the kiss, their lips softly massaging each other's in a delicate dance.

Early morning kisses... They had become a rather familiar gesture for the pair in recent months, one that Dean was more than happy to engage Castiel with. There was a stillness in the air, a warmth in the sunlight when it was just the two curled around each other in the morning. It was so domestic, and Dean lamented the fact he didn't have this closeness with Cas earlier.

He could breathe in the Angel's clean scent of fresh rain and ozone. It washed over him, leaving his head feeling dizzy as he deepened the kiss. He licked at the seam of the Angel's lips, feeling a stirring in his belly at Castiel's loud and sudden gasp. Perhaps, Dean could spare a few extra minutes before they needed to get out of bed...

Castiel pulled back completely, a look of horror on his face, the source of his previous noise and Dean gazed back in confusion.

Slowly, the scent of something burning filled the room.

"Uh-oh," Castiel whispered, suddenly disappearing from Dean's lap in a flurry of beating wings, and the human sighed at the loud thudding under the flooring, hearing the Seraph rush around the kitchen.

Great, now he was annoyed and horny...

His alarm clock sounded throughout the room, pulling the retired hunter from his stupor. He collapsed back into bed with a flop, pressing the palm of his hands into his eyes and groaning loudly. Time for work.

Dean pulled himself from his bed, silenced the alarm clock with a thud of his hand, and quickly got dressed. He didn't have time to make anything for breakfast today, but if he left now, he could visit the Cafe across from the auto shop and maybe grab a bite to eat there.

He thudded down the staircase with heavy steps before coming to stand under the doorframe, in shock of the 'predicament' before him.

He hadn't even had his coffee yet and it was far too early for this shit.

"Could you stop trying to burn my kitchen down?" He inquired sarcastically, as he shrugged his uniform jacket on, car keys dangling in hand. "Or, you know... Actually watch what you put into the oven? Instead of just forgetting about it the second you don't see it anymore?"

Castiel was standing still in the kitchen, squinting down at the blackened loaf in the perfect picture of a kicked puppy. The retired hunter winced at the mess that crisscrossed the floor and bit the side of his cheek in annoyance. He could see, in perfect detail, exactly where Castiel had been walking through their home during the night. It was like seeing a goat trail carved into a mountain...

His OCD leveled tendencies to clean prickled in his mind and he allowed the grimace he was holding back to seep into his expression. He didn't have time for this. Castiel would have to handle the clean-up on his own.

The Angel held a butter knife aloft, carefully trying to separate the overbaked edges from the metal tray, with little success. Eventually, he sighed, placing the knife down and waving his hand over the burned lump. A flash of bright light and the would-be baked treat was gone. Smote from the world, leaving only a faintly steaming, now shining, metal tray.

"Even babies have object permanence, dude," Dean continued.

"I rebuilt you from the sinew up, I should be able to bake a loaf of bread," The Seraph said with a sigh, leaning against the kitchen bench and placing his chin into the palm of his hands.

"Should be able to - that's the take away from that conversation," Dean stated with a roll of his eyes, toeing his work boots onto his feet and bending down to tie the laces.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," Castiel confessed as if he were admitting to some great fault. "Cooking is difficult, of course. It requires knowledge to change seasoning with a moment's notice and the tastebuds to accompany that. But baking? Baking is science. It follows set instructions."

"When have you ever been able to follow instructions?"

Castiel glared up at the hunter with a look of defiance, and Dean raised an eyebrow in response.

"I've been following instructions for millennia."

"Yeah- Badly."

"Aren't you supposed to be leaving?" Castiel asked loudly, a slight bite to his tone of voice.

"Yeah- But now I'm worried I'm gonna come home to a smouldering wreck if I go."

Castiel approached Dean swiftly, placing one hand on his chest and pushing until Dean stumbled back, out through the door.

The Angel raised his hand to grasp Dean's collar and yanked him down for a harsh kiss, before letting go just as quickly.

"I love you, but you're annoying me. Have fun at work."

The front door slammed in Dean's face, and the hunter found himself standing alone on the porch.

"Don't forget to clean up that mess!" Dean shouted, turning and heading down the small set of stairs, knowing the Angel would hear him regardless of whether he yelled or whispered. "And for fuck sake! Go buy some proper clothes today. I'm sick of you climbing into bed in that damn suit!"

~

The first task of the day greeted Dean as he entered the workshop, coffee and egg roll in hand. There was an old vintage Mustang with faded dark blue paint in the driveway, worn and weathered, with an owner to match. The grizzled old man's manner of speech reminded Dean so much of Bobby, that it made his heart ache.

He wondered if he would ever see his pseudo father again...he hoped so.

Once the customer handed off the car keys and left, Dean sat down at the reception desk and looked over his job cards for the day.

Thankfully, his boss had only booked three jobs, barring any emergencies that may or may not come.

The Mustang needed an exhaust replacement. That one was easy enough, as his boss had already ordered the part weeks in advance the last time the old man was here. The car's owner wasn't able to pick it up until an hour before closing, so he had plenty of time to work on that one.

His second task was a Toyota. That one was more of a time crunch. It was newly purchased and needed a full four-tire set change before a lunchtime pick up.

And lastly, a Ford that was brought in yesterday evening. That one was apparently making a high-pitched squeal whenever the owner drove it past a certain speed.

Dean sighed, hoping to Jack that he had a serpentine belt in the back that would suit the Ford. He once again wished he lived in an era with a stable internet connection, one where he could order parts and have them delivered with same-day shipping.

Maybe he should invest in Amazon this time around.

~

It was past 1 pm when Castiel walked through the isles of the local department store, trailing his fingers over the various garments' woven fibres and pushing the cart in front of him, much to its squeaky protests.

Whilst he could understand the appeal of this designated 'bedwear' Dean asked him to buy, he felt unsure if such a purchase was truly necessary.

After all, he no longer needed any spare changes of clothing. He was a fully powered Seraphim once more, his suit would forever be pristine and clean with only a wave of his hand and a minute expenditure of grace.

If Dean was so disgruntled about him wearing his typical outfit, Castiel could always remove it completely. That would shut the hunter up for a moment or two.

Perhaps he could wear his charge's clothing to bed instead. Dean's body and Castiel's vessel were of similar stature and size. Surely, the hunter wouldn't mind if one or two of his T-shirts disappeared?

But, then again... he paused, running his hand down a particularly soft sweater, his mind lost in old memories.

There was once a time when he was in dire need of such objects.

When Castiel was graceless, he wasn't given the luxury of choosing the clothing he wore. He had only been given old, already worn, and incredibly thin pieces.

All those freezing nights spent as a human without a home had left a permanent mark on the Angel's psyche. There wasn't anything the Seraph wouldn't have given in that time to be wearing something comfortable.

Something warm...

He found himself drifting to the overstuffed down coats, fluffy socks and soft long-sleeve shirts. He grabbed the largest padded coat without much thought and dumped it into the cart. It would be a completely unnecessary and expensive purchase, but he felt happy knowing he too owned something that could hold in heat.

It felt... cathartic.

Therapeutic.

The Seraph pulled a light blue sweater off the rack and buried his face into the soft material, feeling the fuzzy fibres against his skin. It didn't smell like much of anything, thankfully. It didn't carry the underlining scent of plastic that clothing in later years would come to bear. He tossed it into the cart and reached for another, this time in a green colour and a different texture. This one reminded Castiel more of what Dean would wear under one of his plaid jackets, and he added it to the cart.

The next few shirts were thrown in without much thought. He did not care much for the colours, as the stereotypical male clothing of the era was kind of bland to his eyes. Almost all of the T-shirts were in the same shades of blue, red, or black, with some band's singer and album he did not recognize printed on the front.

His fingers slid over a deep ocean-blue woollen scarf and beanie set. The display in front of him held many matching sets, complete with mini copies for children of all ages. It was a little feminine for Castiel's tastes, but he had a feeling that Jack would like it regardless.

He added that to the ever-growing pile. A matching set for himself and his son. After a moment's thought, he went back and grabbed a third in Dean's size.

Chapter Text

January 2006

Streaks of golden light attempted to shine over the horizon, bright and unrelenting in their rays, as the sun finally broke dawn. They tried in vain to stain the sky apricot pink, but the colour was quickly swallowed by the ever-growing grey cloud that sat heavily in the distance. It was particularly thunderous even though it was many miles from their homestead.

The clouds brewed like churning waves, rolling into themselves as they crept along the sky, showing all the makings of an epic storm.

Castiel stood still on the porch, feeling the wind ruffle through his already messy hair. He glared up at the forming blanket of water vapour, swallowing down the strong sense of irritation with only a slight downturn of his lip.

If he had known that it would be raining today, he would have done something about it.

Maybe redirect the wind currents or change the atmospheric pressure slightly. But it was too late now.

Hunters would register it as a paranormal omen if a storm of this magnitude were to suddenly appear, only to vanish into thin air, not an hour later.

The last thing Castiel wanted was to point the spotlight onto their small town.

The Seraph closed his eyes and calmed his mind, content on listening to the very first droplets of rain as they hit the porch roof. Once they grew heavier, the water pooled into the cracks, dripping down the eaves and into the garden bed below.

Castiel opened his eyes as the unexpected vibration of water on wood behind him caught his attention, and he turned his head in search of the sound. A small droplet followed the old stains in the weathered paint near the front door.

The roof was leaking... again. Yet another thing that he would need to fix. Perhaps he should get Dean to handle it. The human was always more confident with the larger patch jobs.

Regardless, he had plans today, plans that this rainfall was interfering with.

If they left soon and flew through the storm instead of attempting to drive through it, they would beat the rain. They could purchase the produce from the farmers market within half an hour and be home before the inevitable downpour.

But that also meant waking Dean, and that was a task Castiel didn't feel entirely up to at the moment.

Not that the human was particularly hard to rouse. He could be so... grumpy sometimes, when he was awoken earlier than expected.

Castiel hadn't lied to Jack when he had described Dean as an angry sleeper all those years ago. It was simply a fact about the human that the Angel learned during the first year of their companionship.

Once, the Seraph had approached Dean on Zechariah's orders, only to accidentally startle him. Castiel ended up with a chest full of lead as a result and has tried to show caution in waking Dean ever since.

Not that he thought Dean would ever willingly shoot him, regardless of how ineffective that method of disposal was against the Angel.

It was like the decades' worth of insomnia had finally caught up with the Dean, and he was determined to get the full 8-hours minimum every night.

Castiel would never complain out loud, though, content to watch the circles under the hunter's eyes fade with each morning that passed.

It was starting to rain heavier now. The slight divots that surrounded the plants in the flower beds were now flooded with water, and Castiel turned to walk back into the house.

Dean was where Castiel had left him, curled up under a soft blue comforter with his legs entwined in the blankets tightly. A small line of drool pooled from his plush lips onto the pillow below.

He looked... softer almost, when he slept. His body relaxed in a way he didn't typically display to the world, accentuating his already currently youthful features.

Castiel paused his movements a few feet from the edge of the bed, content to watch his charge sleep for another moment.

The Seraph felt his lips curve into a faint smile, taking a deep breath. He allowed the familiar scent of leather, coffee, and the wonderfully spiced scent of cinnamon to seep into his vessel's lungs until all that remained was the comforting smell of his newfound home. Of Dean.

There were many things about the human that had changed since they found themselves thrust through time. Dean's diet, his sleep schedule, and even his temperament were all reflectant of the retired hunter's new lifestyle.

But the change in Dean's scent had been the most prominent. He no longer carried the mixed scent of blood and whiskey, nor gunpowder or bleach. It was a welcome change for the Angel's highly sensitive nose.

He snapped his fingers, changing his vessel's clothing into something more 'appropriate' for bedtime snuggles. It was simple, just a pair of Dean's long sleeping pants and the blue sweater he had chosen a week previous.

He had gotten quite the lecture from his human mate concerning his behaviour in their restful spaces. Their bedroom had been deemed a 'dirt-free zone, damn it!'

Castiel pulled the covers back, carefully slipped underneath the cover, and laid his head on Dean's chest. His fingers drifted up Dean's body, trailing lightly across the smooth skin and resting on the soft stubble of the hunter's jaw. He pulled back and wrapped both his arms around his charge's broad shoulders tightly, snuggling his face into Dean's neck.

"Cas, were you staring at me again?" Came Dean's tired and slurring voice.

"No, Dean."

"You sure about that?" Dean questioned sarcastically, winding his arms around Castiel's shoulders and pulling him just that little bit closer. "I heard that door open ages before you climbed into bed, you liar."

Castiel chose not to dignify that with a response, preferring to press his vessel fully against the hunter.

"Holy fuck! Your feet are freezing!" Dean squealed loudly and abruptly, trying to pull himself out of the Angel's tight grip. "What the hell did you do? Walk through the snow barefoot or something?"

Castiel smirked, his lips pressed against Dean's skin in a mock kiss, enjoying the closeness.

"Or something."

The rain continued to pour outside, hitting the windows in soft patters. The hunter in Castiel's arms strained to sit up with the heavy weight of the Angel on his body. He huffed once or twice in annoyance but resigned himself to his newfound existence as a pillow.

"What time is it?" Dean asked as he looked around the room. It was still dark outside, and he didn't know if that was because the sun wasn't up yet or if the clouds were covering the sky.

"It is 7:15 in the morning," Castiel replied easily. "We need to leave now if we still want to visit the farmers market."

"Ah, crap. I forgot you wanted to go there today," the hunter stated, pinching his face into his hand as he groaned, exhaustion painting his features. "Alright, let me up."

"Could we fly?" Castiel inquired, sitting up in bed, watching Dean remove his clothing. The Angel watched with a near-clinical eye as he took in the human's form, his mind categorising each strain of muscle under the soft, freckled skin as they moved.

"Sure, why not?" Dean said with a small grin as he noticed Castiel's attention.

Once Dean was completely dressed, Castiel snapped his fingers, changing his 'sleeping' pants into yet another pair of Dean's.

This time, Castiel chose to steal a pair of dark jeans, pairing them with the blue sweater he was already wearing and a simple pair of sneakers. He must have looked good to Dean's eye, as the retired hunter chose not to complain.

Dean pulled Castiel off the bed easily, a dazed expression appearing on his face as he looked past Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel clicked on a moment later that Dean was watching the faint outline of his wings.

He arched them backwards further, allowing them to tower over the two in a display of strength and prowess.

He felt a deep sense of pride whenever his chosen mate showed awe of his wings. It pulled at some deeply buried instincts within the Angel that he never knew he had.

There were so very few moments when the human could perceive them after all, only when the light hit just right, and Castiel liked to make the most of it.

"You're such a peacock," Dean laughed softly, reaching out a hand to trail in the faint distorted crystalline glimmer behind Cas. "I used to only see shadows before. Why can I see them so much clearer now?"

"I imagine that you are much more in tune with my frequency ever since you saw my true form," Castiel replied, spreading his wings now with purpose as he prepared to fly.

"Do you think one day I will see their real colours?" Dean inquired, the grin on his face still present as he turned back to Castiel's face. "I mean, this is pretty cool, but your real wings were gorgeous -"

Castiel flew the two through the spheres, watching as the world warped around them. Dean ended up on the ground as they landed, holding his stomach in a bid to calm its nausea.

"Dude! I was talking!" Dean growled, looking back up to the Angel. "You couldn't have waited a second? I had my mouth open and everything."

~

Dean walked beside his Angel, stuffing his face with freshly baked apple fritters. Cas carried a bag with three dozen eggs and the few vegetables that he had picked up.

There were various tables displaying produce, many old and rusted second-hand items being sold out of the boots of people's cars, and lastly, for some reason, a small herd of sheep wandering the 'aisles.' A black and white dog chased after them, stopping them whenever they got too close to eat the fresh fruit, and Dean felt the growing urge to pat it.

"So - whots next?" Dean slurred, his lips bulging with the fried treats.

This farmer's market sold everything, from fresh doughnuts to cherry pie. If this was what it was like, he would join Cas's shopping trip every month.

"Honey."

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"No, I meant actual honey," Castiel said with a smirk, gesturing with his free hand to a stall on the left.

Dean turned his head to where his Angel was pointing, feeling slightly flustered at his previous words.

Cas was gesturing to a now familiar simple fold-up table with a light pink tablecloth and various sized jars of honey. A few handmade beeswax candles were placed around them, as well as a small stack of sealed containers with fresh honeycomb. The woman behind the table was somewhere in her late twenties - early thirties - and about halfway through her pregnancy now.

Dean shoved another fritter into his mouth as Castiel began to greet her.

"Hello, Castiel," the woman said with a grin. "Hello, Dean. I haven't seen you in a while."

"Hello, Annie."

"Are you here for your typical order?" She questioned with a smile as she looked over the two. "Or maybe you like to try something different this time? We have a new lavender blend this week."

"No, thank you. Just the typical, please," Castiel replied.

"Ok, 500 gms of wildflower honey, coming right up," She said with a grin, standing up to package the product in a little plastic bag. The bulge of her belly seemingly caught Castiel's eye, and he smiled softly at her, almost tenderly.

Dean watched the interaction quietly and curiously as he pulled out his wallet, and handed Annie a single $10 note.

"Your baby is growing well," the Angel said, reaching a hand out to take the bag when she offered it.

"Yup. A few more months, and I'll be as big as a whale," Annie laughed as she patted the top of her belly gently.

Castiel squinted at the statement and opened his mouth as if to question her choice of words.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" Dean inquired, cutting off whatever question his Angel prepared to ask.

"We don't know yet," she admitted. "We haven't saved up enough money for the scan."

"It's a girl. And she prefers the second name that you chose, not the first," Castiel stated in a matter-of-fact tone with a tilt of his head. "She really hates that original name."

Dean snorted, rolling his eyes with fond exasperation as he got a flashback of a brothel, a post office and his Angel's monotone explanations. He looked toward Annie, who was regarding Castiel with a confused expression, bemused at his statement.

"Although, she is still fond of your husband's suggestion," Castiel continued with a slight tilt of his head, as if he was listening to something Dean and Annie could not.

"Um, ok. I'll keep that in mind," Annie laughed as she blinked, pulling herself out of her stupor and turning to look up at the darkening clouds. A crack of thunder sounded over their head, almost as if it was on cue. "Looks like you two are my last customers for the day."

"Yes, you are probably correct. It will start to rain heavily within the next 10 minutes," Castiel stated, also looking upwards.

"Is your husband around here somewhere, Annie?" Dean inquired, looking over the large array of jars Annie started to box up.

"Not today," she sighed with a weary shrug of her shoulders. "Unfortunately."

"Hey Cas," Dean said with a smile, patting Castiel's shoulder. "I'm gonna help Annie get these boxes to her car. Do you wanna keep shopping?"

"I could also help, Dean," Cas replied. "It would be quicker."

"Look, everyone's starting to pack up shop. You're gonna run outta time, Cas," Dean said, gesturing to the masses who were also starting to pack up their produce. "Do you want those apples or not?"

"Alright, Dean. If you're sure."

Dean didn't bother giving a verbal response, only picking up the heavy boxes of jars in one hand and waving the Seraph off with the other.

"Are you really ok with carrying these?" Annie questioned, looking up from the heavy looking box she was currently packing. "I can take them to the car myself if you want to keep shopping too."

"It's really not a problem," Dean said distractedly, watching his Angel walk away.

Once Castiel was no longer in sight, Dean turned to Annie and asked the question that had been on his mind for the past few weeks.

"Hey... do you sell your bees, too?"

"Bees?"

"Um, yeah," Dean said, carrying the heavy boxes in his arms as he followed Annie to her car. "I was thinking about getting a hive for Cas."

"He does seem very enthusiastic about the little critters," Annie laughed, unlocking the car door and stepping out of the way so Dean could place the boxes onto the back seat.

"That's an understatement," Dean grinned in fond exasperation.

"I could part with a queen and some bees for a price if that's what you're asking. But I can't really part with a hive. My husband has made them all by hand, and I couldn't sell them."

"Oh."

"If you build a hive box, I can sell you a queen," Annie negotiated with an easy smile.

"How do I do that?"

"The library has some good books about beekeeping. I think about three of them have proper instructions on hive making," Annie replied, walking back to the table and folding it into a more compact shape. Dean lifted it wordlessly as Annie then folded her tablecloth, and the two carried them back to her car. "Thank you so much for your help."

"Not a problem."

"It looks like Castiel has some projects of his own," Annie laughed, gesturing to the Angel approaching them, who was easily holding three large boxes of apples in his arms. "He's one strong guy, isn't he?"

"Yup."

That was all Dean could offer in response. What happened to keeping it under the radar?

He shook his head at the sight of the Angel.

"I'm done," Castiel said with a smile, shrugging his shoulders mechanically in a fake attempt at soreness.

"So am I," Annie said with a smile, turning to head back to her car. "See you boys in a few weeks."

"Goodbye, Annie," Castiel replied gently, letting Dean take one of the boxes of apples off the pile in his hands. Once the girl had driven away, Castiel led Dean out of the sight of the rest of the vendors, flying them back home at a moment's notice.

"Do you just like talking to her?" Dean asked curiously. "I mean, we hardly even use all the honey you've been buying."

"I'd like to think of it as supporting a local business and helping a growing family," Castiel replied easily, moving about the kitchen and placing all the fruits and vegetables away. "But you're right, I do enjoy Annie's company. She just reminds me so very much of Kelly. They have the same optimistic outlook and passion for life."

"And here I thought you were suffering from baby fever," Dean stated sarcastically before a flush crossed his cheeks, and he started to backtrack. "Not that, um, that would be a bad thing..."

"What is baby fever?"

"Never mind," Dean replied, reaching down to fiddle with an apple. He threw it up and caught it easily. "Hey, if you don't have any other plans for today, could you fly me to the library and then over to the hardware store."

"Of course, Dean," Castiel stated with a gentle smile. "Are you planning on buying the things to fix the leak in the porch roof?"

"There's a leak in the what?"

Chapter Text

January 2006

The morning came all too soon for Dean as he opened his eyes to the rays of sunshine that peaked through the crack in the curtains. He lay on his back, fully relaxed into the mattress, enjoying the gentle weight of his Angel against him.

Lately, it was as if Castiel was taking every opportunity he could to press kisses onto Dean's skin. Soft lips trailed up and down the long expanse of the hunter's neck, sucking red marks before Cas stopped to nuzzle at the hunter's collarbone.

Dean sighed contently, closed his eyes, and relaxed fully into Castiel's grip.

There were many times throughout the day, like now, for instance, when Dean caught himself thinking.

The Angel's words the previous week had confirmed his previous suspicions. Viewing Cas's true form had irrevocably altered his ability to perceive the Angel, and given Dean insight into all Castiel's previously invisible quirks.

A switch had been flipped inside Dean's head. Whatever changes, be it mentally or physically, allowed him to see shifting light on feathers behind Castiel, or the near ominous glow of a halo when the Angel stood too close to a light bulb.

Or, like now, granting him the ability to hear that beautiful voice.

The hum of grace was low, like background static. It sounded in the air whenever the Seraph used his power. The noise was familiar since that was what Dean had grown used to over the years.

Grace pressed into Dean's body slowly, cold and refreshing as Castiel nosed at Dean's throat. The energy eased Dean's aches, soothed any bruises, and arced back through Deans skin where it met Castiel's own.

But then, the quiet and sweet-sounding chime of a thousand bells started to resonate from deep within the Angel, all in competition for the lead in this orchestra.

The near whisper-like chiming sounded through the air, as Castiel lay on his chest. The Seraph's lips still wordlessly pressed against Dean's throat, calming the deepest parts of the hunter, and if he were to guess, his soul. It nearly lulled him back to sleep, familiar and comforting.

Did Cas know that Dean could hear his strange whispers nowadays? Or did he think, like the many years passed, that Dean was unable to?

Perhaps one day, when his growing perception of the Angel had increased to the threshold, Dean might be able to understand what Castiel was saying to him in his real voice.

Dean wondered if they would be words of love and admiration, whispered during moments of quiet shared connection.

Or maybe something sarcastic and bitchy growled under Cas's proverbial ringing breath that he didn't know Dean could hear?

Another kiss, this time placed on the pulse point of Dean's throat, just under his ear. He swallowed harshly at the graze of teeth on skin and he resisted the urge to shiver.

He turned to face the Angel, placing a hand on his jaw and tilting Castiel's face close to kiss properly.

Lips pressed against lips, softly massaging one another. A hand trailed through Dean's hair and he sighed into Cas's opened mouth.

The Angel had stayed with him last night. He didn't leave to grow plants in the garden, he wasn't smiting power tools at some ungodly hour, nor was he deep within the forest doing... whatever the hell he does out there.

Cas stayed with him during the night, curled around him, and it was the best damn sleep Dean's had all week.

The trilling of Dean's clock sounded through the room, causing the hunter to sigh for an entirely new reason. He reluctantly pulled back, feeling Castiel move with him in an attempt to follow the kiss. He stopped his movements, allowing the Angel to kiss him once more.

"I love you,” Dean mumbled, as the tips of their noses brushed together.

"I love you too, Dean... Happy birthday."

"Aww... and here I thought you'd forgotten," Dean said with an uncertain smirk, his mind frantically scanning the days in his mental calendar. Shit, Cas was right, it was today. How old was he supposed to be again?

Physically, he was once again twenty-seven. Was he supposed to count mental age? If so, then he was well over eighty...

"I know you requested that I stay by your side last night, but I did step out for a few minutes," the Seraph stated, pulling Dean out of bed using his superior strength, practically dragging the still half-asleep human down the hallway to the kitchen. There, placed on the table, as Dean rubbed his eyes, was a large array of breakfast foods. Piles of pancakes, trays of bacon and eggs, and many decadent pastries that the retired hunter didn't know the name of.

"Dude, where did you go?"

"Um, everywhere," Castiel stated, wringing his hands together nervously. "I have seen you enjoy many foodstuffs from the diners we have visited, but I still felt unsure of what you would prefer for such a special day. So... I brought a little of everything."

"I can see that," Dean stated, sitting down at the table and glancing over the spread before him. This was... a lot. More than Deans ever received. He usually just ignored today, maybe getting a set of shaving cream or a chocolate bar from Sam. "Thanks, Sunshine."

~

Castiel stared down at the unrecognisable lump of pastry in the pie tin. It had taken him many hours of practice, spanning a week, just to get the apple sauce right.

But he still couldn't manage the crust. It was always either too burnt and crumbled when touched, or it was wet... somehow.

The Angel wasn't sure how he was managing to defy physics, but if he ever figured it out, he was sure to write a dissertation.

This morning had been perfect. Every little detail had gone according to plan. Dean had woken up to many kisses, restful and happy. He then enjoyed part of his bountiful breakfast before leaving for another day at work.

The only thing left to do was to bake Dean the perfect pie...

The bright red apples that he bought previously, had dwindled in number with each passing attempt. The Angel felt a temptation to quit creeping over him.

Perhaps it would be best to take Dean out for a nice romantic dinner on the town, instead of subjecting the retired hunter to whatever burnt and/or soggy mess Castiel was sure to produce...

He bit his lip, waving a hand over the pie tin and watched the scraps disappear, atomised at their smallest base molecule to become one with the air around him. The ticking of the clock in the loungeroom caught his attention, but the Seraph did not need to check its face, as he already knew the time down to the microsecond. Dean would be home in under two hours.

He was running out of time to get this right.

Castiel reread the fine lines of print from the recipe book and poured the correct amount of flour into the bowl. Butter was next, the colder, the better.

The Angel lifted the stick of butter into his hand and focused on harnessing the cold chill of grace that thrummed through his body. He closed his eyes to concentrate. When he opened them, he was greeted by a near-frozen block of butter.

The Seraph smiled triumphantly.

Flour fell out of the glass bowl as the Angel mixed the two ingredients, and quick deft fingers scooped up the fallen dregs, returning them to the bowl.

He drizzled in ice water next, feeling caution as the dough began to form. If he uses too much of his strength, he will overwork the dough and then the pie crust will become tough, and brick-like.

That was the source of one of his most recent failures.

But this time... This time he would get it right.

~

Dean slouched as he limped up the porch steps to the house. Today had been long, but thankfully not overly tiresome. He stretched his sore arm out, hearing the satisfying crack in his shoulder, and feeling the pressure release.

He didn't know being a mechanic would involve so many deadlifts.

He was about to ask his Angel for a top-up of healing grace when it hit him. That near-overwhelming scent of cinnamon.

The hunter paused, calming his exasperated thoughts and took a deep breath. Whatever happened whilst he was at work, he would greet with a smile.

He steadied himself before he opened the door and walked inside, ready to face whatever 'thing' Cas created this time.

He entered the kitchen slowly, only to see that there was no mess on the floor, nor burnt and blackened loaves cooling on the racks. The Angel stood clean and calm at the kitchen sink, washing the bowls he had used with a sponge full of bubbles.

The room looked oddly near immaculate, and he had to wonder whether or not Cas used his angelic powers to tidy up.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted, turning around to face the hunter with a somewhat proud expression.

"Hey, Cas," Dean responded easily, looking around the room in suspicion. "Whatcha been up to?"

"I've been baking," the Angel said triumphantly.

"I can tell..." Dean leant against the counter and crossed his arms, looking toward Castiel with a now fondly amused expression. "And what did you make today?"

"Close your eyes," Castiel asked, turning to grab something hidden under a tea towel.

"Is this like an Angel thing? You're not gonna blind me, are ya, Sweetheart?" The hunter asked as he closed his eyes.

"No, of course not," Castiel replied, his voice sounding more exasperated than before. "Here, hold out your hand."

Something porcelain and warm was pressed onto Dean's palms, and he opened his eyes to look down at a beautiful apple pie. It was decorated with apple rosettes and a vine lattice, complete with little pastry leaves.

One white singular candle was placed in the middle, the light flickering as Dean maneuvered the porcelain pie pan.

"Holy crap! Did you make this?" Dean questioned, turning his hands left and then right to get a better look at the apple pie.

"Somehow... yes."

"This is awesome," Dean whispered with a gentle smile. He slowly blew out the candle on top, watching as the little flame was extinguished. "Thank you... thank you so much, Cas."

"There are beers in the fridge too. Oh, and I've hired those VHS tapes you were looking at last week if you wanna have a movie night tonight," Castiel remarked, moving around the kitchen to grab a serving bowl. He put a few scoops of ice cream inside before passing it to Dean. He looked like he was about to say more when once again, the two were interrupted by a gentle yet familiar knocking pattern.

"Is that-?"

"I'll get it," Castiel grinned, rushing off to open the front door. Dean quickly placed the pie onto the counter before chasing after the Angel, who he could see embracing Jack in a hug.

"Hey, Kiddo," Dean said with a smile, pulling the Nephil into his arms once Castiel had released him. "You've got perfect timing, as usual."

"Hello, Dean," Jack smiled, squeezing Dean's shoulders briefly. "Happy birthday."

"Cas and I were about to put on a movie. Do you wanna pick?"

"No. I'm really sorry, but I can't stay for long," he held out a stack of letters in his hand, gesturing for Dean to take them. "I'm really just here to get an answer to my question."

"Can it wait?" Dean grinned, leafing through the stack until he found Sam's letter. He wandered back into the kitchen, ripping open the envelope and glancing at the handwritten note before looking back at the two Celestials, who were still standing by the front door. "Dude, you gotta see this pie Cas made, it's awesome."

"I'm kind of in the middle of something in heaven. I gotta get back. So- um," Jack stated, following after his human father dutifully. He glanced down at the decadent pie still on the counter and the currently melting bowl of ice cream. "Huh, that does look good. Are you sure Castiel made that? He could burn water..."

"I know right-"

"Dean!" Castiel reprimanded, in a firm tone. He turned to look at their son with a look of resignation as if he knew why the Nephil was here. "What do you need to say, Jack?"

"Well-um... I just wanted to know if you guys were gonna come back home with me today?"

Did the Earth stop turning? Or was it just Deans? The retired hunter paused his movements, hands stuck in place holding Sam's letter. So, this was what Jack came back for. It made sense, after all. Jack was bound to come back soon looking for their permanent answer, Dean just hadn't put as much thought into it as he should have.

Sam's letter felt like lead in his hands, and Dean's eyes traced the first few lines. He mutely turned to look at Castiel, who was currently staring at the floor, expressionless.

"I'm sorry, I didn't really..." Dean whispered, feeling a rush of anxiety settle in his belly. He wasn't prepared for this conversation, and apparently, neither was Cas. "What... what do you wanna do, Sunshine?"

Wouldn't it have been nice? If he could have just come home to Cas? Enjoy a slice of pie after a long day at work, maybe cuddle up with his favourite Angel and watch a movie? With none of these life-altering decisions?

"I want to stay here," the Seraph stated, folding his arms over his chest uncomfortably as if he were trying to remove himself from the conversation. "But you already knew that."

"I know... but-"

"But-" Castiel interrupted with a sigh. "If you want to go back to our original timeline, be with our Sam again, I will go with you."

"Would you?" Dean asked, walking closer to better read Castiel's face. The Angel might be able to hide behind his micro-expressions, pretend he was emotionless to everyone else, but Dean could still read him like an open book. "Could you give up everything you've built here?"

"I'd follow you anywhere," the Angel answered quietly, looking as uncomfortable with this conversation as Dean was.

The retired hunter looked down at the letter again, rereading those lines over and over.

Hey Dean, how are you?

I'm doing great!

Things are progressing with the Hunter's Association. There's so many things I wanna tell you-

Sam was... Sam was gonna be ok.

Sam would be alright, even without Dean there.

The lump in Dean's throat started to dissipate. He turned his now firm gaze back to Castiel, who still looked resigned, and then back around the home that he and the Angel had built together. The walls of the kitchen were covered with bees and painted a pretty shade of yellow.

Could he really have this? Permit himself to be happy and fully retire with Cas? Someplace where nobody knew his name, someplace safe?

"I think... I think Cas and I are gonna stay," Dean said, feeling the weight on his shoulders lifting.

"Really?" Castiel whispered, his eyes shooting up from the floor to meet Dean's.

"Yeah... I mean, with Jack here, we could just keep sending letters back and forth," Dean said, wrapping his arms around Castiel's shoulder and squeezing the Angel comfortingly. "Maybe even visit Sam again one day."

"Alright. Well, since you're staying in this timeline, I'd better give you your birthday present now," Jack said with a knowing grin.

"You got me a present, too?" The now confused hunter questioned with a smile.

"Hold out your hands, and close your eyes."

"I'm getting a little Deja Vu," Dean replied, cooperating with his son's instructions.

Something warm was placed in his palms. Something fluffy. Something... wiggling?

Dean opened his eyes wide in shock, looking down at the curled white mass of fur and puppy smiles. The hunter felt a sting in his eyes and slowly a grin began to form on his face.

"M-Miracle?" Dean whispered, his voice shaking.

"Who is this?" Castiel inquired, bending down to look at the animal in Dean's arms who was intent on giving Dean a thousand enthusiastic doggy kisses.

"This is Miracle," Dean exclaimed with a tearful grin. "He's my dog."

"Happy birthday, Dean," Jack smiled.

Chapter Text

February 2006

Raphael flew through the multiple spheres of heaven, waves of desperation echoing from within their massive form. It terrified the smaller Angels under their command as they barrelled through the various dimensions, feathers flying in disarray.

If Raphael had known Michael was serious about stopping Lucifer's rise from the pit, the younger Archangel would have listened to Michaels mutterings earnestly, somberly...

But now Michael is gone. Just like Lucifer. Just like Gabriel...

Just like Father...

Even as surrounded by Angels as they were, Raphael felt truly alone.

They let out a deafening wail.

~

The mug Castiel was holding fell to the ground, shattering on impact. He would have cared more for his clumsy mistake if he wasn't in agony.

The incoming transmission thundered through the Seraph's skull, and he tried to brace it with his hands. It did little to calm the shrieking ringing of thousands of Angel's voices.

Distantly, he heard Dean approaching, followed by the soft sounds of the dogs' paw pads on hardwood flooring.

"Don't let Miracle come over here, there's- there's shards on the floor."

"What is it? What's happening?" Dean questioned, moving quickly to steady the Seraph.

"Angel Radio. It's so loud, there's so many voices..."

"What are they saying?"

"Michael," Castiel responded, rubbing his hands on his head as he tried to soothe the migraine. "It seems as though he has taken leave to earth."

"Michael Michael?" Dean inquired, curling a hand behind Castiel's back. "The Archangel?"

"Yes..."

"Ah, crap," Dean muttered with a groan. "How strong were those wards again?"

"The wards are plenty strong."

"What's he on earth for?" Dean wondered out loud. "And why are all the Angels freaking out?"

"I don't know why," Castiel snapped, feeling a sense of irritation flood his vessel as his head pulsed. "No one knows why!"

"Don't growl at me, Jesus..." Dean said, folding his arms over his chest. He was quiet for a moment more before he continued to talk. "Do you think they've finally realised they lost their Michael sword?"

"Perhaps. But it's unlikely he is on earth just to search for you personally. He would have had Zachariah do it."

"Fair point... What should we do?"

"I still have contacts in heaven, I could-"

"No. Not a chance."

"Dean-"

"No, you're not going back there. It's not happening."

"So what should we do? Just wait around to see if the wrath of Heaven falls upon us?"

"We don't even know why he's here," Dean said with a sigh. He raised his hands onto Castiel's shoulders and tried to look into his eyes. "Just... cool your jets. You're not going back to Heaven."

Castiel didn't meet his eye, choosing instead to look down at the floorboards.

"Please, Cas. Promise me you won't go back there."

The Seraph was silent for a while before he relented and looked back to Dean.

"Very well. I promise."

~

"When you said that I would be alive again, I didn't know you meant it like this," Adam stated in an exasperated tone. He traced his baby-faced jawline absent-mindedly as he locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror.

The hallucination of the Archangel stood behind him closely, an exact copy in every way, right down to the immature pyjama set Adam was currently wearing. Michael did not feel as concerned as Adam was about their current shared state.

He stared at Adam's reflection with a slight squint and a furrowed brow.

"I fail to understand your grievances."

"Dude! I'm like 14!"

"You are physically fifteen years, four months, and one day old."

"What?"

"I said -"

"No, don't repeat it, I heard you the first time," Adam sighed, sitting on the bed and looking around his teenage self's room. It was both comforting and haunting in its own right, to be back here, even for Michael.

The same blue bed sheets, the same posters, and the same overfull bookshelf.

The same bedroom. The same cage.

Adam's breath started to come faster, and cortisol flooded his system. This, too, was familiar to the Archangel.

Michael decided to take a peek into Adam's thoughts. After all, if he knew what exactly was upsetting his human, he could try to rectify it.

Adam was currently feeling pressure from all sides, an intensive crushing against his psyche, as if the very walls were closing in.

As if he was back in the cage, hidden away in the mental constructs of their mind.

The Archangel moved without a sound, sitting beside Adam on the bed. He wrapped his arms around the human's middle and squeezed, trying to remind Adam of his presence. Once Michael held Adam's attention, the hallucination slowed his metaphorical breathing to a pace the human could easily match.

They were both used to the pattern now, always going through the same comforting motions whenever one of them showed a break in their mental state.

The Archangel could never perfectly understand his human charge. But he had picked up a few tricks on how to calm Adam's panic attacks over the hundreds of years they spent together.

"I just. I wasn't expecting all... this." Adam admitted with a wave of his hand, gesturing to the room around them and leaning against his only close companion. "It's not bad. it's just... change."

"I see. Should I have further warned you before we left heaven?"

Adam shook his head and leaned further against Michael. The Angel understood that the human wasn't being dismissive, just overwhelmed.

"I can hear your mother waking up," the Archangel stated, tuning into the swirling energy of Kate Milligan, as her consciousness pushed against his extended grace. "Would you like to greet her?"

"S-shes here?" Adam stammered, now frantically sitting up and pulling out of Michael's grasp. He began pacing the room, his arms wrapping tightly across his chest. The action gave the unchanging Archangel whiplash, as he experienced the speed Adam's body filled their shared system with hormones and emotions.

"She's here," Michael stated quietly, trying his best to calm the overactive brain waves of his vessel. It wasn't in his nature to be soothing, but he would always try for Adam.

"I kind of thought she was on night shift..."

"Do you not wish to see her?" He queried. Another flood of emotion ran through Adam, this time anxiety. The Archangel's true form inside his vessel shifted uncomfortably.

"No! I do. Just... don't do anything, or say anything, ok?" Adam requested, splaying his hands out wide to get the hallucination to stay seated, even though it was a moot point. "I...I haven't seen her in a really long time."

Adam tensed at the sound of an opening door and heard the hardwood floors creak under his mother's tired footsteps. She was going to the kitchen, likely to produce breakfast before she left for work.

Michael watched with a bemused expression as his human charge took off running out of their room and down the hall. With a close of his eyes, he dissipated the hallucination. He was content to watch the world through Adam's eyes for now.

Currently, his human was wrapped up in a tight hug, eyes wet with tears and a sob on his lips.

Kate Milligan was everything Michael had pictured and more, warm and motherly. She held the two of them tightly, both Angel and Vessel in one, with a confused and worried expression.

~

Realistically, Adam knew he needed more time before he could face high school again, but when his mother sent him off with a kiss on the cheek, he did little to complain.

He had Michael, after all.

He walked up the steps of the towering building, seeing the once-familiar halls and familiar faces. He hadn't seen these people in over a millennia, and his memories of them had blended together into a mental slop.

Luckily, he still had his old (or in this case, relatively new,) timetable, complete with room numbers. He couldn't remember the layout, but he could fake it.

He could do this.

~

He could not do this.

"The answer for question four, is 2,056," the Archangel stated, leaning over Adam to glance at the sheet of paper his teacher had placed in front of him. "The answer for question five is-"

'Michael, enough.'

"I don't understand."

'Stop telling me the answers! I can do this myself.'

"Your memories tell me that you have already done this," Michael said with a confused tone. Adam refused to look up from his test to see the face he already knew the Celestial was making. "Why can I not tell you what you already know? It will save time."

'Because I need the practice. I haven't done calculus in like... a thousand years.'

The Archangel was surprisingly quiet.

But it didn't last long.

"Your teacher is having an affair with the woman down the hallway."

'Dude...'

"The guilt coming off him is exponential," Michael stated absent-mindedly as if he were talking about the weather. He flicked his hand out as if to wipe invisible dirt. "It's annoying."

'Michael, please...I'm trying to focus.'

"Fine."

Adam watched the Angel move around the room in his peripheral.

The ancient Celestial paced invisibly for a few minutes, taking peeks at the other children's pages. He seemed to be intrigued by the very process of testing.

Long fingers reached out to trace papers that hung on the wall, and Adam turned back to look down at his paper.

The clock ticked loudly in the room.

Someone behind him ruffled their paper as they turned their page.

The hallucination of Michael disappeared from sight.

Adam felt the moving shift of the gigantic energy inside his body, as the Archangel resettled into a more relaxed and non intrusive state. It gave the human the mental image of a cat circling its bed before laying down to sleep.

He mentally prodded at his Angel, who poked back calmly and affectionately.

The human sighed and slouched back in his seat. Finally, he could focus on his test.

...

...

...

Um.

X = y... Something something 33... What symbol was that again?

What the fuck was he looking at?

Chapter Text

February 2006

"So are you... um, confident? With woodworking tools?"

"Not really," Dean replied slowly as he glanced over the display Beehive that lay in pieces at his feet.

He had thought it would be a simple build, maybe an hour of work maximum, like a plain wooden box with some holes in it. But now that he has seen the inner workings of the Hive that he was meant to replicate... Well, let's just say his confidence in this latest project was plummeting by the second.

Fuuuckkk, what if he builds it wrong? What if he thinks it's all nailed in place, and then when it comes time to give it to Cas, the whole thing just falls apart, squishing the little critters right in front of the Angel? Cas would never forgive him. Cas would be traumatised.

"Don't stress, man. I mean, if you want, I'm happy to help," said Annie's husband with an awkward and unsure kind of grin. "Maybe we can make a deal... if you're interested?"

"I'm not really in the habit of making deals anymore," Dean replied wearily, glancing down at the lanky, somewhat geeky man in front of him.

Jonathan didn't look the type to do any sort of manual labour, or any type of labour for that matter. It seemed unthinkable that this tiny person could manage and run a farm. His arms reminded Dean of limp noodles, thin and bowy, but the retired hunter had learned in the past that appearances could be deceiving.

"I can help you build the hive, and you can even use my workshop. Most of the old hive plans are still pinned to the corkboard."

"What do you want in return?"

"Well, as you can see, this place is kinda more like a hobby farm than a real working one," Jonathan replied nervously, waving a hand out in a gesture to the fields of pasture that surrounded them. "And that means Annie and I aren't rolling in money, especially with the baby coming."

"Get to the point."

"I need Annie's car serviced. Wheel alignment, oil changes, filters and spark plugs. The works."

"That's it?" Dean asked, confusion breaking through the weariness on his features. "That's all?"

"Well, yeah, you're a mechanic. I mean, if I can get a free service for the car in exchange for an hour of work, I'll take it," Jonathan replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Times are tough, man."

Huh.

Dean held out his hand in an attempt to shake Jonathan's own, his grip far tighter than the others.

"Alright, Deal, but I ain't got a lot of time, so we're doing this today."

"Um... deal."

Dean sighed and looked back down at the mess of boxes Annie had displayed on the grass before she had headed back inside the house. "Alright, I think I understand what all this crap is supposed to be, but can you run it by me again?"

"Ok, so, this part is the brood box," said Jonathan, squatting down and gesturing his hand to the lowermost section of the disassembled wooden tower. It looked... nearly exactly the same as the rest. "This is where the Queen lives, and lays her eggs. Below that is the hive stand and bottom board."

"Right."

"The next few boxes above hold the honey frames and are called Supers, or honey chambers. And of course, the outer and inner covers for the roof."

"Ah-huh."

"These Supers have anywhere between eight and eleven frames per box. The worker bees grow the honeycomb on the frames and you extract the honey from the honeycomb," Jonathan explained, this time speaking a little slower than before, no longer in a rush with his words. "In between the brood box and the honey chambers, is a flat mesh segregater called the queen excluder."

"What does that do again?"

"It- um, it excludes the Queen. So she can't wander the hive. She's, um, bigger than the other bees. She can't fit through the little holes."

"Right."

OK, so maybe Dean was so in over his head.

Maybe Castiel would prefer flowers for Valentine's Day instead? Flowers were an easy gift... Maybe a cute little teddy bear, or some random mug with hearts on it?

Fuck.

"Do you... do you want me to start again?"

"No, I think I got it," Dean muttered under his breath. "Bottom box = Queen. Top boxes = honey."

"Yeah, sure," Jonathan said with a sigh. He turned to look at the Mechanic, his gaze looking a little more concerned, although not for Dean, but for the innocent bees his wife had sold the retired hunter. "Look, man, I'm happy to help, don't get me wrong, but are you sure you wanna do this? Beekeeping isn't a hobby that you can just set and forget, it has a lot of steps..."

"I'm not building the hive for me, it's a gift for Cas," Dean replied, running a hand through his hair nervously. "He's the one with the bee obsession."

"Who?"

"He's about yay big, always with me?" he paused his words and lifted a hand to the average height of the Angel. "He's got dark hair and blue eyes."

"You mean the creepy trenchcoat guy who doesn't blink?"

"Excuse me?" Dean growled, his voice far harsher than before. His brow furled and his mouth scowled as he glared at the man. It must have been an intimidating sight because Annie's husband took two steps back immediately.

"Sorry... That was rude," Jonathan stated, raising his hands meekly. "Sometimes my brain doesn't always filter when I talk."

He awkwardly laughed.

Dean did not.

The now frosty silence was ended by the slam of a back door as Annie re-emerged.

"Would you boys like some lemonade?" questioned Annie, interrupting the tense atmosphere between the two men as she walked down the porch steps. She had an unusually happy bounce to her step as she moved, balancing a tray of drinks and biscuits in her hands.

"I think I'm gonna need something a little stronger than that love," Jonathan replied with an uneasy grin. He turned to look at Dean with an enquiring gaze. "Um, whaddaya say? Want a beer?"

"No," Dean replied, taking a glass of the surprisingly golden drink Annie offered instead. "I'm trying to get sober."

"Oh, that's- um... good for you, man," Jonathan stated, patting Dean awkwardly on the shoulder. "Alright, well, when you're ready, we can head over to the workshop and get this hive built."

-

A series of loud metallic thumps from the kitchen below sounded through Dean's bedroom. They jerked the retired hunter awake with such a startle, that he unceremoniously ended up in a heap next to his bed.

Dean winced at the ache in his side and groaned, feeling both sore and irritated.

Sunlight streamed through the window and he raised his arm to cover his eyes, in a pathetic attempt to block it.

The noise simply continued, reverberating up through the floorboards, as more pots and pans fell from the counter, despite Castiel's clumsy 'attempts' to catch them.

Was he not allowed to sleep in anymore? Was this some attempt Castiel was making at being passive-aggressive? He wouldn't put it past the Seraph, but as far as Dean was aware, he hadn't done anything wrong.

He moved in a huff, reaching up to the bedside table to grab his phone, despite the copious amount of blankets still tangled around his legs.

6:30 am...

'Cas, Sunshine... what the fuck are you doing?'

The prayer was short, but effective, as the pervading clanging ceased. He hoped to God that his prayer contained every ounce of exhaustion and exasperation he was currently feeling.

A flutter of static feathers in the air and Dean found himself once again with a lap full of Angel. The warm body of the Seraph pressed against Dean, a strong contrast to the freezing hardwood floors Dean's bareback was being subjected to.

Castiel wiggled a little to get comfortable, his thighs squeezing Dean's hips on either side, filling Dean's mind with memories of the last night's activities.

Dean swallowed harshly when he took in the leering look on the Angel's face.

Cas was smirking.

"Hello, Dean."

Long, slender fingers tangled in Dean’s hair, pulling the retired hunter close until their lips met. The kiss lasted several seconds, long enough to send a familiar rush of warmth through Dean's spine but short and sweet enough for Dean to be able to breathe normally when the Angel pulled away.

Cas's eyes were unusually bright as he looked down at Dean, excitable. So... he wasn't mad.

"Happy Valentine's Day."

"Happy Valentine's Day," Dean replied. And wow, did his voice sound rough this morning. Heavily groggy with jumbled-up words. It was a miracle itself that the Angel could even understand him.

"I have prepared plans for today."

"Oh really?" Dean quipped back sarcastically, raising his hands to rest on the Seraph's jutting hips, fingers wrapping tight on the Angels' bare skin under his partially lifted shirt. "Did it involve you trying to cook again?"

"Correct."

"What's the plan?"

"I am currently preparing a breakfast-styled picnic for you to enjoy. We will be leaving for the Grand Canyon once you are more awake and dressed," The Angel seemed proud of his idea, his shoulders tilted back with a look of self-satisfaction on his features. “I am aware that despite your travels, you have yet to visit there.”

Dean blinked, his sleep-filled eyes still trying to focus on Castiel's smiling lips. An idea formed in his mind quickly, and he matched the grin on his Angel's face.

"I wanna have breakfast in the garden."

Castiel slumped. Confusion and dismay coloured his face as he looked down at the human who lay under him. His eyes flickered over Dean's, and eventually, his expression settled into his stereotypical squint.

"I thought you would appreciate a change in scenery. Maybe visit somewhere more romantic, as today's date name suggests."

"Come on, Cas," Dean said with his more flirty grin, trying to switch up the energy of the room. He rolled his hips up, grinding into the Seraph's own. "I'm sure we can have fun at home..."

Cas was visibly disappointed, and Dean kinda felt bad about that, but the Angel deserved to get his present first.

"Ok, think of it this way. I won't be doing much exploring with a stomach full of food. So let's eat, and then afterwards, we can fly off to wherever you wanna go," Dean said in a hopefully compelling tone.

The Angel nodded reluctantly, and Dean bit his lip when he saw the dissatisfaction colouring Castiel's expression. Eventually, his resolve broke and he told the Seraphim his true reasoning behind the change of plans.

"I have a gift for you too, ya know?" he whispered, reaching up a hand to cradle Castiel's cheek.

"A gift?" Castiel questioned, squinting down at Dean again. "For me?"

"Yup."

"In the garden?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Cas sounded confused and pleasantly surprised. Was he truly not expecting to get anything in return?

The mood was somewhat ruined by the loud grumbling of Dean's stomach, causing the Seraphim's gaze to fall upon him in minor alarm. A resolute expression filtered over Castiel's face, and he began to plan their day out loud again.

"Very well. You will have the picnic in our garden, where you will give me the present you have prepared. And then, once you are settled and ready, we can leave to explore the Grand Canyon and its surroundings."

"Alright, deal," Dean easily replied, smiling up at Castiel's seriousness.

"Although, I do have a question for you, Dean."

"What is it?"

"Why were you laying on the floor?"

--

Dean walked hand in hand with his Angel as they strolled through Castiel's Forest, his other hand holding the antique woven basket in an attempt to be as romantic as possible.

It had dawned on him earlier, as he watched an excitable Castiel pack the old basket full of food, that today was the Angel's first-ever experience with Valentine's Day.

Well, apart from that one time with the cupid and the horseman.

The human was unsure if Castiel had any expectations, and if he did, whether or not Dean could fulfil them. It wasn't like Dean had loads of experience to fall back on, as most of his Valentine's days in the past were spent flirting with hot, single, or scorned chicks in skeevy bars.

The Angel couldn't partake in fine dining like the typical romantic conquest Dean had his eye on, and giving the man-shaped creature a box of chocolates would only repay Dean with a squint and a small lecture about molecules.

Flowers were appreciated, to a certain degree, but only colourful potted plants, and not the 'poor decapitated things,' as Castiel had said when they passed the bouquet section of the local store

Dean knew that today would be a memorable experience. He only hoped it would be a pleasant one for the Seraph instead of the alternative.

The Angel in question kept glancing around in confusion, looking up, more towards the trees than at what Dean could have possibly hidden behind them.

"What's wrong?" Dean questioned after he watched Castiel stop in place and glare in frustration at one particular fern. It seemed to wiggle at them, and Dean knew for a fact that it was reacting to the Angel in its presence rather than any strong wind.

"My plants are excited about something," Cas stated when he turned back to Dean, before looking disgruntled. "And they are refusing to tell me why."

"The what?" Dean questioned, looking as confused as the Angel now. "I'm sorry, the trees are talking to you?"

"They are being unreasonable," Castiel growled.

"Welp, I'm going to file that way in the 'Let's talk about it later' section of my head," Dean replied with a raise of his eyebrow and a shake of his head.

He was getting excited at this point, pulling Castiel by the hand, as he led the Seraph through the grace-enhanced forest, to the small meadow that lay just beyond its borders.

"Why the meadow?" Castiel inquired as Dean unpacked the blanket from the basket and laid it on the ground. He placed the basket on top of the plaid design, freeing up both his hands to take Castiels once more. He led him away from the picnic rug to the area where Annie and Jonathan had pre established the new hive.

"Why not set up the picnic where the flowers are blooming?" Castiel asked again when Dean failed to respond to his first question. "Surely, it would be considered more 'Romantic' to enjoy the better view?"

"Ok, you shush now. I want you to close your eyes," Dean stated, a grin forming on his face.

"How many?"

"How many what?"

"How many eyes, Dean?"

"Um... all of them."

"That seems impractical, though," Castiel remarked, as he stared back at Dean.

Why did Cas have to be so difficult? Dean sighed, feeling the exasperation sink into his shoulders.

"Just shut up and do it, man. I'm trying to surprise you here."

"Oh, ok."

With the Celestial sufficiently blinded, Dean guided him in front of the hive. The sound of buzzing slowly filled the air, and Castiel cocked his head to the side at the sound.

"Is that-?"

"Yup!"

Castiel opened his eyes and stiffened in shock.

The hive was nestled under a tree, hidden away from aggressive exposure, giving plenty of room for the little insects and the Angel who now owned them. It was small, standing only two boxes high, but it had the opportunity for expansion if Castiel chose to do so.

Dean had painted its exterior with bright colours, using whatever leftover paint he could find, including the purple from the bathroom, the green from the lounge room, and the yellow from the kitchen. Smaller details of navy, red, pink, and teal made an appearance too.

The Seraph stared down at it, frozen in place with his hands covering his mouth which had fallen agape.

"You built me a hive?" His voice was quiet, usually so. He raised his hand, and two of the smaller insects flew into his palm, almost as if on command.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Babe."

Dean found himself lying on the ground with a lap full of Angel for the second time today, as plush lips pressed against his own in a flurry of sugar-sweet movements.

-

The night was almost over, when Castiel left his slumbering Winchester's side. The sun was going to rise within the next three hours, and he was going to run out of time to head the call.

It was a horrifically stupid idea, in all honesty. One that Castiel was sure Dean would berate him for the very second the Angel flew home.

If he managed to fly back home, that is. It wouldn't take more than a flick of the other Celestial's wrist, to ground Castiel indefinitely. But he had questions that the other may hold answers to, and he refused to leave empty handed.

The warehouse was both damp and musty-scented. Some chains swung overhead, rattling in the chilled breeze, and the Seraph felt a sense of unease when he glanced up at them.

This place was reminiscent of their last meeting, although with significantly less holy fire than before.

Castiel highly doubted the other knew about that though. After all, the two had never met at this time, even during their shared time in heaven.

Michael, the latest renegade Angel, who had requested a meeting with him through prayer, now stood before him. Once again wearing the guise of Adam Milligan, although considerably more baby-faced than Castiel had ever remembered him to be.

The Seraph felt a pang of regret, knowing that his removal of Dean from Chuck's old storyline, had caused the Archangel to seek out the alternative vessel.

Adam, who was still a child, was now likely thrust into war.

Castiel could only hope Michael left as little damage as possible when he inevitably chose to go back to heaven.

The eldest Angel slouched as he circled Castiel, prowling as if he were a big cat on the hunt and confident in his movements. His hands were hidden in his jacket pockets, and he wore a relaxed expression on his face.

Whilst it was considered uncommon for an Angel to disappear over the years, it wasn't exactly a rare enough occurrence to warrant such behaviour. Like Anna, who tore out her grace, or Akobel, who left heaven when he chose to protect Lily Sunder. And even Ishim, for the short period of time that he was also at Lily's side.

Although his Garrison had tried to search for him, Castiel knew they had given up within a month of his disappearance. He had heard them doing so over the Angel Radio, or the Hive Mind, as Dean had most recently put it.

So why now, after so many months, was Michael himself seeking an audience with him?

"Why have you called me here?" Castiel inquired when his curiosity got the better of him. It would be seen as incredibly rude, perhaps suicidal, to question an Archangel to their face. But Castiel would not stand down here, especially now that he was no longer under Michael's command.

He made firm eye contact with the Archangel, unyielding and unsubmissive. He refused to cower, even in the face of what could be his imminent death.

"I wanted to speak with you about your... future endeavours," Michael responded, his voice calmer than Castiel had expected.

"In regards to?"

"Your current life with one Dean Winchester, obviously," Michael remarked, with a roll of his eyes skyward. He paced slowly around Castiel, watching with a smirk as the younger Seraph extended his blade.

So heaven really did notice Dean's disappearance. That... exposed a whole new list of problems.

"You're not taking him," Castiel growled, flashing the gleaming silver in his hand and taking on a more appropriate fighting stance. "I won't let you."

"You misunderstand me, Seraph," Michael replied coldly. "I don't need him. Not anymore."

"Not even for your war?"

"There won't be one. Lucifer won't rise," the Archangel stated, pausing his current pacing of the room to face the other angel head-on. "At least, not in this timeline. Not with my interference."

That... caught Castiel's attention.

"Now, come with me, we have something to discuss."

Chapter Text

February 2006

'The average adult human body requires between seven and eight hours of sleep. The typical adolescent human, such as yourself, requires approximately nine and one-quarter hours of sleep-'

"Michael, as fascinating as this is, do you think we could chat about it later?" Adam inquired in a tired but authentic tone. He had been, for all intents and purposes, enwrapped by the Archangel's words for the better half of half an hour. Michael could tell that his partner wanted to continue the conversation, but apparently, Adam needed to study for his history exam.

The Archangel frowned.

'The main point that I have been making, is that you have been willingly putting our body under stress.' Michael retorted, angered by Adam's lack of self-care whenever he was in the driving seat.

Adam had wanted his humanity. That had been one of his more intensive demands regarding their shared vessel, spoken when the two had sat down to discuss their future plans.

Adam wanted sleep.

He wanted to eat and taste what he devoured. He wanted to wash the salted sweat from their body, and do the thousands of things that he had been deprived of within the cage.

So Michael had pulled back his veins of grace, limiting his innate healing abilities, removing the angelic 'superpowers' that came along with having an Archangel 'riding shotgun.'

Unless Michael was needed, Adam was fundamentally human. But it seemed as though he did not put any thought into actually doing the human tasks that he begged for.

'If you do not rest, I will flare grace through my overlay network, and heal the damage you are causing.'

"No, come on, man..." Adam groaned, leaning backwards on his swivelling chair and rolled his head to look back at the hallucination of the Archangel.

The threat was real, one flush of archangel grace and Adam wouldn't taste a thing for a week. Michael folded his arms over his chest, having learned that was the appropriate bodily expression to show his annoyance.

"I'm fine. I promise. It's not like I've never pulled an all-nighter before..."

Emotions moved through their shared system, created by the unsettled Archangel. He shifted, like light over water in Adam's mind, visibly stretching out his silver-blue wings, flicking them at the upset feelings that grew within him.

'I am feeling angry with you.' Michael admitted in a quiet tone, as if he was speaking some great fault. As if he, who was supposed to be the pinnacle of perfection, was defective.

"No, Gorgeous, that emotion is called frustration," Adam responded with a sigh, twirling the pen over his fingers. "You're feeling frustrated."

'Rightfully so.'

It was helpful, when Adam gave descriptive language to what Michael felt. He had, for the majority of his eternal life, only known love, hatred and sadness. Now, he had learned the subcategories of emotions had subcategories.

Michael shifted uncomfortably, his inner rings not so much as spinning, but oscillating up and down, restless. Adam remained unresponsive to the Archangel's plight, trying to focus on the large book in front of him and not the fidgeting Archangel who was simultaneously inside and outside of him.

The clock continued to tick loudly and the inhuman frustration continued to build within Michael.

Not just because of Adam's lack of attention regarding his personal safety, but of Adam's lack of response to how Michael felt about the situation. Michael was a ruler, he was unused to his option not being headed as law, and whilst he would never think to order Adam, he still wanted his point to be taken seriously.

Adam had not slept in over 26 hours.

Adam had barely eaten his dinner and was in dire need of a bath.

Adam was...

A curl of something else, something different gave way, flooding them like an intensive tidal wave. If Adam had been standing, it could have knocked him to the floor.

Never... Never had Adam felt that emotion from the Angel. It had been incredibly intense.

Even Michael was quiet as the electric pulses of firing synapses settled once more.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Michael," Adam whispered.

'Explain?'

Adam tried to dissect the multitude of emotions the Archangel felt in order to explain them in a way that the Celestial creature might understand.

"Worry, that sad and anxious feeling you felt is called worry," Adam stated. "You are worried about me."

'I don't think I've ever felt worried before...' Michael admitted, his mind looking back through his endless and perfect memory, for any instances of this emotion.

But he came up empty.

Not once had he ever felt this overwhelming sensation. It made sense, to worry was to doubt, and Michael always held blind faith in his father's plans. He never needed to feel this way before.

It... didn't feel good.

Michael did not like this emotion.

"Feel that other one? The new one? In our stomach? Yeah, that's me, feeling guilty," Adam sighed, and Michael's feathers fluffed automatically at the sound. He stood up and closed the book with a loud thump. "Fine, I'll put down the book and go to sleep. It's only..."

Adam paused to check the clock hidden under the copious amount of books on his nightstand.

"-5:20 am. Fuck!"

-

Michael walked down the stairs slowly, feeling glad to be finally leaving that boring place Adam called 'High School.'

Adam had, at some point during his morning lesson, dozed off into a particularly deep sleep. Not that Michael could blame him, after all, the human had stayed up to a near ridiculous time last night, or, technically, early this morning.

He hadn't wanted to wake his little companion, whose soul was exuding so much exhaustion and bone-weary fatigue, that it ruffled Michael's feathers to be close to. So instead, he chose to write out the very test that Adam had been struggling to complete.

Michael wondered if Adam counted himself lucky to have such an impressive support system. So many mortals prayed for the gentle guiding hand of the Eldest Archangel, and Adam received his heavenly assistance without an afterthought.

He was suddenly made aware of an uncomfortable tingling sensation, and he paused his steps, fingers gripping the straps of his backpack tightly. It prickled at the back of his head, reminding the Archangel of a time when countless eyes belonging to millions of Angels stared at him from below his throne.

Michael was being watched.

He turned his gaze upward sharply, feeling the shifting energy coming from the second-story building. His eyes met with one of Adam's teachers, who was staring down with an unknowable expression on his human face.

It wouldn't have taken much probing from Michael's grace to read the humans' mind, to find out what his problem with them was. But Adam had made him promise 'not to do that to people' anymore.

He turned his head and walked away instead, content to ignore whatever issues the man was having. There was very little a human could do to an Archangel, and Michael felt little danger wafting off the teacher's soul. Whatever he was feeling, it had come from a place of concern rather than anger.

Once Michael was out of human sight, he spread his invisible silver-blue wings and flew back to his new home.

-

The bell had rung, signalling the end of the day for the weary youth and their exhausted teachers.

Teenagers stalked the hallways, chattering in earnest. They had been far too wrapped up in their individual conversations to notice Adam Milligan's unusually quiet demeanour.

But Mr Smith, the sixty-five-year-old, balding history teacher, with a forty-year tenure, noticed.

He had, after all, been watching the boy like a hawk for over a week. He kept a detailed list of all the changes Adam displayed, just in case something came up.

And something had indeed come up.

Adam had been one of his top students before all of this nonsense. His papers and reports were often displayed with pride whenever he represented their school.

But now?

Adam seemed to be disassociated, like his mind had wandered off and very rarely returned to the teenager. His eyes were often staring off into space, face blank and relaxed or with a gentle smile.

He had withdrawn from his small group of friends. He had stopped visiting the library after school and was even seen... talking to himself, on more than one occasion.

The work he handed in was either the work of a genius, an A+ paper that he would expect from a college-level exam. Or downright incorrect, fraught with half-truths and ridiculous tales.

And today, Adam had, much to Mr Smith's horror, submitted a rather gruesome report during his latest exam.

It detailed some religiously biblical nightmare, of sin and lust, and monstrosities beyond Mr Smith's wildest dreams. It was something out of a Lovecraftian horror, eldritch monsters included.

Adam had dubbed the gruesome work of non-fiction 'The real reason why Pompeii had to be destroyed, With brimstone and hellfire.'

It was absolute madness...

And now, with great heartache and much regret, that Mr Gregory Smith, lifted the phone to call the teenager's mother.

"Hello, Miss Milligan? Yes... I'm sorry to have bothered you at work... Yes. I wanted to have a little chat with you, if you have a moment. We have reason to believe Adam's been taking drugs."

Chapter Text

February 2021

Kaia panted as she ran through the forest, narrowly avoiding the slippery ice-covered rocks in a vain attempt to outrun her pursuer.

Frigid air bit at her lungs and stung at her lips and eyes. It made trekking through the snow unbearable, and Kaia kinda regretted making the trip out here.

She could see Claire now, all wild blond curls and layered jackets. She was beautiful, colourful against the backdrop of snowfall, with reddened cheeks and fury in her blue eyes.

Claire lifted her weapon and aimed it at her.

For a moment, Kaia's heart stopped.

But Claire wasn't looking at her. No... She was staring at the twisted grey corpse-looking creature that was sprinting behind her.

The wind whipped against them both, flinging Kaia's hair into her face, obscuring her vision.

In one final act of desperation, Kaia jumped to the right, managing to dodge the outstretched and rotting hand that had tried to grasp her jacket. She landed roughly, her jeans tearing in places where she hit the rocks, causing her now bleeding skin to press into ice and dirty snow.

Hot flames spilled out of the flame thrower's mouth, heating the air around them.

The wendigo was caught in the burning inferno.

The monster writhed in agony, screaming with its inhuman voice. Its skin bubbled and burst like overcooked fat sizzling on a grill, charring the ground black where it fell in a heap.

"Are you okay?" Claire's voice wavered slightly, laced with adrenaline and panic. She lowered her makeshift weapon and breathed heavily, her shoulders trembling with the exertion of carrying such a heavy thing for so long.

"Yeah," Kaia replied shakily, wiping her forehead.

"What the fuck was that?" Claire questioned, anger now colouring her tone. "I told you to wait at the cabin, why the fuck did you come out here?"

"I thought you could use some help," Kaia whispered, trying to calm her heart. It was beating so incredibly fast within her chest, that Kaia was growing genuinely concerned.

Claire sighed, dropping the gun completely and reaching her hand out for Kaia to grasp. She pulled her girlfriend up, and into a tight hug.

"Just... send a text in advance, if you're gonna do something stupid... Please."

"I did," Kaia said with a defeated smile, holding up her phone as proof. "No signal."

-

The drive back to Jodie's was uneventful, maybe even a little boring. Kaia had fiddled with her phone sheepishly before Claire pulled into an ice cream parlour, determined to let her girlfriend know she forgave the stupidity of joining a hunt unannounced.

Without using actual words of course....

They were now alone for the night, a thankful surprise after the long day of trekking through the forest. Alex was with her new man, and Jodie and Donna were out on some girl's night, likely consuming enough alcohol to make even Dean cringe.

Kaia's head was resting on Claire's chest. Silent, as the glow of the movie lit up the dark room. The two girls were stretched out on the couch, legs entwined closely, just enjoying the comfort of each other's company.

Claire pressed a kiss into Kaia's wild curls, feeling her girlfriend sigh into the skin of her chest. Kaia was fast falling asleep, her squeaky and adorable yawns had already passed her lips about five minutes previous. Whilst it wasn't the most comfortable place to fall asleep, Claire knew she wouldn't move for the remainder of the night.

Kaia was comfortable now, safe... That was all that mattered.

But the silent and content atmosphere was quickly disturbed by the sound of a rusted engine that spluttered down their driveway. The annoying grinding sound made Claire cringe and her teeth itch.

She didn't know how Alex could ride in that shitbox...

Claire groaned, pressing her face into the soft curls on Kaia's head as the front door slammed open. The sound of obnoxious and kinda tipsy giggling filled the room.

"Hi, Claire. Hi Kaia! You're home early!" Yelled Alex in greeting, as she sped off down the hallway to her bedroom, sparing less than a glance at her adopted sister, apparently far more preoccupied with retrieving whatever object she had accidentally left behind.

"Hello, Claire-Bear! Ohhh- is Kai asleep?"

"Hello, Thomas..." Claire replied unenthusiastically.

Alex's newest boyfriend was admittedly better than her last serious partner. But not by much.

The man seemed to be just as much a bloodsucker as Henry... Although luckily in Tom's case, it was more figuratively than literally.

Claire had hated him the moment she met him. And now, as he swaggered into the loungeroom, Claire found herself tightening her grip on Kaia.

There was just something about Thomas that triggered Claire's hunting instinct, and she refused to let her guard down around him. Perhaps it was the uncomfortable way his eyes would linger on Kaia and herself... maybe it was the way he smiled just a little too widely at Alex whenever she did something naive...

"Where did you two go?" He questioned, creeping closer to sit next to the two girls, before realising there was little space on the couch for an extra person.

"Out."

It was a simple reply, but it contained all the disdain Claire embodied. Kaia grumbled under her breath, fussing slightly at the sound of speaking voices.

"Well, we just got back from a party. A few friends of mine are gonna meet up for a bonfire and have some drinks. You girls wanna come?"

"No."

"Oh, come on, live a little Claire-Bear."

Thomas slouched in disappointment, but he side-eyed something in the kitchen Claire couldn't see with a smirk.

"So, what are your plans then? Just gonna stay home for the rest of the night?"

"Yup."

"God. You're so boring," Thomas grumbled, as he stood up and wandered out of the room with a surprisingly gentle and pleased smile on his face.

Claire sighed, her body relaxing back onto the couch. She wrapped her arms around Kaia's shoulders tightly, squeezing. She smiled faintly, enjoying the fresh apple and peach scent of her girlfriend's shampoo.

The serenity of the situation previously made the current moment so much more jarring when she had to practically throw Kaia off her chest in her rush to sit up.

It had been faint, but she had heard the jingle of metal on metal, coming from the kitchen. It was a sound she had memorised over the years, one she could now scarcely forget.

She raced to the kitchen, her socks sliding on the tile as she took the corner a little too fast. Kaia took her time, still stumbling in her half-asleep state behind her now wildly acting girlfriend.

"Put it back!" Claire yelled.

Thomas jumped, obviously in shock at seeing Claire appear so quickly. He raised his palms non threateningly, to show he didn't have anything in his hands.

"I said put it back, you rat bastard!" Claire persisted.

"Give what back? I didn't take nothing!" Thomas yelled, pressing his back against the wall as Claire advanced.

His true panic only broke to the surface when Claire's silver-edged dagger was pressed against his throat. He swallowed nervously, throat bobbing against the blade.

"I swear I didn't take anything!"

"Claire? What's going on?" Kaia's voice was tiny, unsure, and perhaps a little shaken by the scene in front of her.

Claire merely responded by guesting to the empty hook screwed onto the wall, her expression growing darker at the idiot cowering before her. Did he think she wouldn't notice?

"Give me back my fucking car keys."

"Oh come on! It's just for tonight," Thomas whined, his eyes flickering frantically between the knife's blade and the hallway that Alex had disappeared into. "My cars gone to shit, and I'm taking Alex out for an epic night out. All of her friends are gonna be there, do you really want her to get embarrassed?"

"I don't give a fuck where you're going, give me back my fucking car keys."

Thomas slipped his hand into his pocket and threw Claire's car keys onto the tile below.

They landed with a loud thunk.

"It's just a car! You should be locked up, you crazy fucking bitch!" Thomas spat, as Claire lowered her knife. "You and your mental patient girlfriend!"

"Get the fuck out of my house!" Claire growled, pulling her fist back and punching the bastard sharply in his jaw.

The crack that sounded in the room was satisfying, not only to Claire but to the now protective Kaia, who quickly moved to stand in front of her girlfriend, ready to block any incoming attack.

"Fine. Have it your way... fucking lunatics," he stormed out the door, muttering his curses under his breath.

"Shit..." Kaia whispered, running a hand through her hair in disbelief, "Did that really just happen?"

Alex ran into the room, her hair hanging limply around her face from where it had fallen from her braid. She scanned the room, seemingly taking a head count of the room's occupants before her eyes zeroed in on the knife in Claire's hand. Claire tightened her grip in defence, biting her tongue to keep from speaking the insults that nearly pushed past her lips.

"What happened? Why was everyone yelling?" Alex questioned, still staring blankly at the blade in Claire's hand. "Where's Tom?"

"Outside, somewhere... I think," Claire stated harshly, anger still colouring her tone. Kaia's hand tightened around her forearm as Claire gestured to the front door with the point of the blade. "He tried to-"

"Did you threaten my boyfriend with a knife?" Alex interrupted, concern and devastation dancing across her face. "Look, I know you've had a rough year, but that doesn't give you the right to just pull out your knife whenever you get mad-"

"He started it! He was acting like a jerk!"

"So your default response was to try and stab him?"

"Oh, you can fuck off!"

"Just calm down, both of you, please..." Kaia stated firmly. "Alex... Claire's telling the truth-"

"Why the fuck do you keep ruining everything?" Alex's voice was a whisper, her eyes locked on Claire's. She turned quickly, running out of the front door, in an attempt to catch up with her partner.

Claire turned her head and stalked out the back door, Kaia following closely behind. Whatever her girlfriend was saying to calm her, Claire wasn't listening.

Hot tears blurred the blonds vision, as she opened the garage door, and was greeted by the shining black vintage car.

Her car.

Her baby.

It wasn't long before she found herself curled up in the backseat, trying to stop the angered tears that dripped down her cheeks.

"She doesn't know what happened," Kaia whispered, her tone warm and soothing in the dark. "She doesn't understand what he tried to do."

"I don't care if it's five minutes or five days, no one's taking her... No one can take Baby," Claire muttered, trying to unclench her fists.

"I know..."

"Not even Alex... Not- Not Jodie or Donna or anyone..."

"It's ok, Claire, I won't let anyone take her away..."

"She's... She's all I have left of them..."

"It's ok, Babe."

It was quiet for a moment, as Claire breathed in the air of the car.

She had lost... everything from her childhood.

Her loving family, her childhood friends, her whole life...

Growing up in foster care had left her with a void, a pit in her stomach that nothing could fill. Not even with the placations of a home and a wonderful adopted family.

Jodie's home belonged to them all, but Baby was the only thing that could truly belong to Claire. To just Claire.

Dean had said so, in his letter that was still sitting in the glove compartment.

Baby going to be hers, forever.

She didn't know how long they sat in silence for, as Kaia gently rubbed slow circles soothingly onto her spine. A small rap of knuckles on glass caught her attention, and she looked up to see Alex open the door a fraction and peek inside, eyes straining in the darkness.

"Is there room for one more?" She asked softly, somberly.

"Why? So you can yell at me some more?" Claire questioned bitterly, shoulders curling as she wrapped her arms around her middle.

"No- I..." Alex took a deep breath and sighed, before climbing into the backseat. Claire and Kaia made room where they could and thankfully it wasn't a tight fit. "I came to apologise."

"For what?" Claire questioned, pulling on the sleeve of her jacket cautiously. "You were right. I shouldn't have pulled a knife on him. I shouldn't have gotten so pissed."
"From what I've gathered, you were probably in the right."

"Did Thomas actually fess up?" Kaia asked, intrigued. Claire also felt a wave of curiosity about the situation. It seemed out of character for Thomas to admit to lying.

"Nope," Alex sighed, leaning her back into the Impala's leather seat and crossing her hands in her lap. "He said you let him borrow it. Then went crazy and tried to stab him afterwards."

"And you didn't believe him?" Kaia questioned.

"Are you kidding me?" Alex snorted, rolling her eyes skyward before making contact with Kaia's own. "Claire wouldn't even let me take the Impala to the gas station to buy chips last week. There's no chance she'd let some random guy borrow this car."

"Hey, that was for a good reason," Claire interrupted with a smirk and relaxed into the Impala's seats now that she knew Alex wasn't mad at her anymore. "You were gonna buy the wrong type of gas."

"No, I wasn't-"

"Yes, you were!"

"Guys! Enough!" Kaia sighed exasperatedly, shaking her head at the two others.
The three girls were quiet for a moment more before Alex started talking again.

"I broke up with him."

"You didn't have to do that..."

"Eh... A boyfriend is replaceable. You're my sister, I'm kinda stuck with you," Alex moved closer, wrapping her arms around the blond's shoulders.

Kaia reached for Claire from the other side, squeezing the blond until a puff of air escaped her chest.

Claire closed her eyes and rested her head on Kaia's shoulder. She opened them once again, this time far brighter than before.

"I have an Idea."

She sat up and turned around, kneeling on the seat to look at the two carvings that sat at the back of the car, directly under the window.

D.W

S.W

They looked a little lonely to Claire's eyes, and she reached for her blade.

"What are you doing?" Alex inquired, glancing over to look at what Claire had seen. Her brow furrowed when she saw the engravings, seemingly seeing them for the first time.

"This Impala is mine... Ours." Claire stated, making the first slice into the board below. "She should reflect us now, too..."

The first two inscriptions were an addition to Dean's family line, just beside his own.

C.W

For Castiel Winchester. Because Claire could still remember the night when a drunken Dean broke down, sobbing onto the wooden table, about how much he wished he had given Cas that name.

J.K

For Jack Kline, Castiel, and Dean's child. Claire's naive little brother with whom she shared a newly forged bond. One that had been created in the absence of their adopted father.

And then she reached across to the other side of the car practically leaning over Kaia as she began to carve her own namesake.

Her own family line and the story it contained.

C.N

For Claire Novak. For her future, and what she could create out of it.

J.M

For Jodie Mills. Her adopted mother, who cared so much, and demanded so little in return.

A.J

For Alex Jones, her sister in all but blood. Whose personal goal was to annoy the crap out of her at every chance she could get.

And K.N

For Kaia Nieves, the love of Claire's life.

Her soul mate.

Chapter Text

March 2006

The sunlight filtered across Castiel's sleeping face, casting shadows from his long eyelashes over his cheeks.

Cas was beautiful. Angelic, almost, if Dean was feeling particularly poetic.

He hummed contently, moving closer to pull the Seraph into his arms. Castiel didn't stir, nor stretch. The Angel remained as he was, fast asleep, pliant, his body soft, and relaxed. It was a rare sight for Dean since Cas didn't sleep often, and on the odd occasion that he did, he was usually the one to wake up first.

Dean didn't try and suppress the urge to kiss him, not anymore at least. He figured that out of all the ways he could wake Castiel up, this would be Cas's preference.

It always felt like the earth stood still around them when he kissed Castiel, that first press of soft lips against Dean's. They felt like pillows under his own, warm and surprisingly soft, despite their outwardly chapped texture.

The Angel moved upwards, chasing the kiss, and reaching a hand to card through Dean's short hair, his eyes still closed and his expression loose and drowsy.

He must have been in a fairly deep sleep before Dean roused him...

Dean reached a hand up, and brushed a stray curl from Castiel's forehead, replacing it with a gentle kiss. It was only then, that Castiel opened his eyes. He smiled up at the retired hunter.

"Hello, Dean."

"Good mornin' Sunshine."

With another press of lips, loving, not lustful, their day officially began.

-

"So, have you made any plans that you were hoping to spring on me at the last minute?" Dean joked. He folded his arms as he stood, content to enjoy the view of the half-dressed Celestial who was fumbling through the kitchen in an attempt to make a fresh pot of coffee.

Castiel's gaze flicked up to Dean's own, irritation blatant in the depths of those cornflower blue eyes.

"No. In fact, I was curious to see if you had planned anything for today," Castiel snarked back, rolling his eyes at Dean's smile.

"Haha, nope."

"Well then, I suspect we will be having one of your so-called 'lazy days'."

Dean chuckled faintly at the sight in front of him, at the Angels rolled up sleeves, messily buttoned shirt and the damn air quotes.

Why did Castiel have to be so damn adorable? Wasn't he like a bazillion-years-old?

"Just... leave the coffee for now," Dean said, reaching a hand out to place on the Seraph's arm, pausing his movements. "How about I take you out to a cafe? Buy us some real coffee."

Cas looked down at the coffee beans he had been attempting to put in the grinder, his expression turning to one of absolute befuddlement. His fingers crushed the small beans into a fine dust, and then lifted it close to his nose to determine its true nature.

"Dean, if this is not real coffee, then what is it?"

"Honey... That's not what I meant."

-

The Lavender Bistro overlooked a small park, was locally owned by one of Dean's elderly clients, and allowed dogs, much to Miracle's apparent excitement.

It was decorated the way it was named, complete with lace tablecloths, an abundance of lavender-scented items, and an inappropriate amount of the colour purple.

Castiel had never been here before, and he took mental stock of the Cafe with trepidation. It was scented so strongly of florals and oils, that it made the Angel dizzy.

He side-eyed Dean, who was walking away from him, heading to the outdoor seating on the patio, content to watch Miracle play on the open field of grass. Thankfully, Castiel had memorised Dean's coffee order long in advance and didn't need his assistance anymore.

"Um... can I have a large black coffee?" He questioned, looking up at the boards' chalk menu. "And also one large latte with a shot of extra espresso?"

"Sugar?"

"Just one, for the Latte."

"Would you like any... extra cream?"

Castiel pulled out his wallet, ignoring the woman's strange tone of voice.

"No, thank you. How much is the price?"

"Oh- Um, that will be $12.15," she said with a smile, leaning over the counter to glance at Dean and Miracle. "Hey, um. Is that your dog over there? She's kinda cute..."

"Miracle is a male dog, and prefers to be referred to as such."

She leaned further over the counter, bracing her arms under her chest and twirled a strand of hair in between her fingers, instead of taking the cash Castiel offered, and he squinted at her in confusion.

"So um- what's your name? You know, for the order."

"My name is Castiel."

"Oh wow, that's like, unique."

"I suppose," the Angel sighed, once again trying to hand the cashier the money she requested. She took it this time and turned away, beginning to ring up the till.

"I'm Monica, by the way. I haven't seen you around before."

"We haven't visited before," Castiel stated with a roll of his eyes, unseen, as her back was still turned.

Monica hastily wrote something down on Castiel's receipt before handing it to him, a flush of red quickly gathering in her cheeks.

"I'll bring out your order in a few minutes."

"Right."

Humans were odd, and the emotions coming off this stranger were almost as uncomfortably dizzying as the lavender.

He approached Dean solemnly, eyeing the arrangement of numbers Monica had written on the receipt. Dean had been watching him carefully as he placed the order, and he smiled at Castiel when the Angel approached.

"Whatcha got there?" Dean questioned with a knowing grin as if he was privy to something Castiel did not know. His tone irritated the Seraph, who squinted back at him in annoyance.

He showed Dean the numbers and glared at his human mate when Dean's smile turned into a large grin.

"Oh, you old dog, flirting behind my back," He teased lightly.

"I was not flirting..." Castiel stated dryly, pulling out the chair next to Dean and sitting down. "And that woman seems to be mentally ill or incompetent at her job. She has requested an obscenely large tip."

"No, buddy," Dean chuckled, pointing to the digits. "She gave you her phone number."

"Why would she do that?" Castiel questioned, feeling concerned and dumbfounded. "Isn't it obvious that I already have a mate?"

The Seraph cautiously turned his head, taking in the gentle scent that was still lingering at his throat's pulse point. He still smelt like Dean, like coffee and spiced cinnamon, so why would the barista seek relations with him?

To any other Angel and supernatural being, the relationship between the two would be obvious. Perhaps he had overestimated the woman's senses...

"You have a what?" Dean asked, before shaking his head to rid that train of thought. He was slowly getting used to Castiel using odd terminology. "Look, it's 2006. Two guys having coffee together isn't seen as a romantic thing yet. Most people ain't gonna assume anything, not unless you're holding my hand in public or some shit."

"Should I?" Castiel questioned slowly, feeling the growing rise of panic in his chest. "Should I be displaying more public affection towards you?"

How many of the locals, how many of the friends that they had made, still believed Dean or himself to be unpaired?

Had he given the humans the wrong impression with his typical stoic nature? But that train of thought also brought with it other questions.

Were there more human courtship rituals he wasn't aware of?

And had he been inadvertently disregarding his and Dean's relationship all this time?

Castiel felt slightly nauseous...

"No, it's ok. I'm not really one for PDA," Dean said with another grin, reaching a hand across to hold Castiel's own. "But if you want it, I wouldn't be adverse."

Castiel tightened his grip on Dean's hand and leaned back into his seat. He bit the inside of his cheek, before turning to catch Dean's warm green gaze.

"I was not flirting with her, nor did I intend to."

"I know."

"Are you upset with me?" He questioned.

Dean smiled gently, fondly back at him.

"No. If anything, it was kinda funny to watch," Dean laughed, looking back at the woman who was still working inside the building. "She was trying so hard, and you just looked so annoyed."

"I'm glad you were entertained," Castiel sighed, watching as Miracle darted out from under some ferns, and ran across the grass.

A few children approached cautiously from the playground, followed by a parent. The adult gestured to Miracle and Dean gave a thumbs up in return, allowing the children to play with the fluffy white animal.

Miracle seemed to adore the extra company and was running around tiny squealing children in no time. Seeing the children reminded Castiel of Jack and Claire, and he felt a sense of forlornness. Perhaps, he should pray to his son soon, and request a visit when the boy had some free time to spare.

"One large black coffee and one large latte with an extra shot of espresso," said Monica, as she carefully walked along the deck, carrying the two hot drinks.

She turned to speak to Castiel again, opening plush and newly repainted lips before looking down at Dean and Castiel's entwined fingers in confusion.

Castiel took the moment of silence to clarify any misunderstandings the woman might have had, pulling Dean closer until his breath brushed his human mate's cheek.

He pressed a gentle kiss onto Dean's cheek, weary of overstepping any boundaries Dean may have had on the so-called 'PDA.'

"Oh! Um-" Monica seemed to stumble over her words, becoming increasingly redder in the face. "I'm sorry for interrupting..."

"It's no problem," Dean replied with an easy smile, eyes still on Castiel only.

"Is there- um, anything else I can get for you?" She asked quietly, folding her hands over her apron in a more professional stance.

"Yes," Castiel replied, turning to look back at their server with a squint. "Do you sell pie?"

-

Castiel lay curled up on Dean's chest, his fingers wrapped tight in the hunter's shirt, just listening to the strong beating heart of his lover under his ear. Dean's gentle snores had filled the room, and Cas dozed in the serene environment. Not quite asleep, not quite awake.

The rush of a direct prayer was uncomfortable, it was a burden that every Angel shared and detested.

The prayer rolled Castiel's eyes back into his head as an uncontrolled transmission slammed into his skull and Castiel's whole body tensed in response.

Dean stirred under him, wrapping his arms tightly around the shaking Angel's waist.

"W-woss goin' on?" Dean muttered, still half asleep. He raised his hands to card through the Angel's dark hair comfortingly as Castiel started to relax. "You 'k honey?"

"I'm ok," Castiel whispered, curling his face into Dean's neck and placing a soft kiss into the crook where his shoulder met his neck.

"Wot happen'd," Dean yawned.

"I got a prayer."

"From who?"

"Sam," Castiel smiled, his fingers tracing Dean's jawline softly in an attempt to lull the human back to sleep.

"Sammy's ‘K?" Dean asked, his voice sounding drowsier with each question, not fully comprehending what Castiel was stating.

"Sam is alright, Dean. Sleep, my love. We can talk in the morning.”

Dean, of course, refused to do so, insisting on waking up to hear about the prayer that had practically sent Castiel into a seizure.

The two sat at the dining room table, each nursing yet another cup of coffee, although the act was more ritualistic for the Seraph.

Dean seemed to blink one eye at a time, as he squinted at the Angel next to him.

"So, he's read my note," a look of sombre realisation fell over Dean's face. "He's finally got Baby."

"That is correct," Castiel replied with a gentle smile, happy to have heard Sam's voice for the first time in the better half of a year. The last time he had heard from his brother-in-arms, was before the Empty devoured him. He couldn't help but feel reminiscent of the sound, feeling a deep sense of regret for choosing to stay here instead of going back to their original timeline.

The retired hunter seemed unusually withdrawn, mind likely wandering to all the thousands of horrible scenarios he could come up with.

"He may have come into possession of Baby through peaceful means," Castiel offered.

"When have we ever accomplished anything through peaceful means?" Dean questioned with a roll of his eyes.

Castiel sighed and straightened his back.

"Sam may be in California, or he may be in Sioux Falls," Castiel began, reaching a hand out to grasp Dean's. "I could fly and search for him if you would like?"

"You're gonna search the country for one guy?" Dean questioned in a sarcastic tone of voice, but his eyes betrayed his true emotion, lighting up at the prospect of finding out more information on his brother.

"Of course, Dean."

Chapter Text

March 2006

It was late at night when the Seraph flew into the kitchen of the familiar old house.

Bobby's home hadn't changed much from his memory, complete with weathered red wallpaper and books piled up nearly to the rafters. It was a little more messy than usual, perhaps, with papers and books covering tables, dust-covered and dark in the night.

In all honesty, it had only taken a few seconds for Castiel to find Sam.

He hadn't needed to spend hours flying around the country or spy on all of Sam's usual college hangouts, like Dean had imagined.

The youngest hunter, in this timeline, had never heard of real Angels and, as such, was not warded against them. His ribs were bare and unmarked.

Castiel frowned as he approached Sam, who was asleep sprawled out on the couch, his long legs dangling uncomfortably over the edge.

Sam looked... exhausted. His skin had greyed considerably since Christmas, his eyes were sunken in and framed with dried blood from an open wound.

It also didn't escape Castiel's notice that Jessica, the lovely blond who sat under Sam's arm the last he saw of them, was not present.

Sam no longer carried her scent of lilac, so she must have been away from him for well over a month now. A deep sense of guilt and panic surged within the Seraph.

Something bad must have happened for the two to have parted. He just didn't know if it was willingly or unwillingly...

Castiel reached a hand out hesitantly, gathering grace in his fingertips. He couldn't heal the broken cuts along Sam's gaunt cheekbones, only the aches, the bruises, and the muscle tension deep within.

After all, Sam would have noticed the miracle if his surface-level injuries had disappeared during the night.

Blue grace swirled the second he placed his fingers on Sam's forehead, and he watched the light reform the broken tissue within the organic body asleep before him.

His grace reacted positively to Sam's soul, comfortable in its familiarity, but the soul reared back at the strange energy, pulling away in confusion when liquid grace brushed against it.

The demon blood within Sam writhed under Castiel's holy light, reminding the Seraph to remain cautious as the youngest hunter stirred from his rest.

Carefully, Castiel placed Sam into an even deeper sleep than before, content in his health now. Sam would feel better in the morning.

The boy seemed... hopeful, for some reason. His soul shined with it, a deep amber glow from within, that seeped through the dark and roughened edges.

With a sigh, Castiel pulled away and looked over the piles of papers and books that littered the coffee table.

Hundreds of reports, patient queries from hospitals, maps bearing red crosses of searched locations, and lists of phone numbers crossed out.

Bobby and Sam had been searching for them, that much was obvious.

They even had a blurry photo of Castiel, seated in the Impala beside Dean...

Castiel sighed, feeling the waves of emotion fall over him. Logically, he knew that they didn’t need to hide anymore.

Chuck was likely powerless, if even still alive. Dean and Castiel did not need to hide away from the plot, from the story, from Dean's family anymore.

But Castiel found himself bereft.

If this version of Sam, this young childish boy, appeared at their door and asked Dean to leave with him, would Dean go?

Castiel bit at the flesh of his lip.

Yes... Dean would.

Because the retired hunter would do anything to protect his family. It was like a law that was woven into the fabric of the universe. Dean loved, and Dean protected.

If Sam was searching for him and if he had already gained Castiel's image, then it wouldn't be long until they were found.

If he wanted to, he could wake Sam up right now, explain himself, and fly the younger Winchester to their homestead, fly him to Dean...

But.

Castiel wanted to go home alone.

Crawl back into bed with his lover and wake up to a hundred kisses. Talk to his bees about scheduling pollenation tomorrow and maybe bake a pie for Dean. Something with cherries...

Not... step back into a life he didn't want anymore.

Sluggish steps made their way down the staircase as Bobby entered the room. Castiel stilled where he stood, despite knowing the old hunter couldn't possibly sense him.

Bobby poured himself a glass of water from the sink, and Castiel spread his wings, flying home with only a rustle of papers on the desk. Leaving Sam behind.

-

Dean had fallen back to sleep when Castiel flew in, much to the Seraph's surprise. Cas had assumed that Dean would strive to stay awake until he had news of his brother.

He must have been so tired, not used to waking up at a moment's notice anymore.

The retired hunter's arms folded comfortably under his head and rested against the dining table. A small line of drool fell from his lip onto his hand, and Castiel was tempted to wipe it away with his thumb.

The Angel settled for wrapping his coat around Dean's shoulders and lifting his human mate into his arms. He used a swirl of grace to keep Dean asleep as he slowly ascended the staircase.

He placed Dean onto the bed and pulled the blankets up to cover the retired hunter's shoulders. Dean shifted lightly, snuggling into the blankets to find a more comfortable position.

Slowly, Castiel toed out of his shoes and climbed into the bed beside him.

The Seraph was hesitant. Not only to wake Dean, but to explain his findings. To explain Sam's exhausted expression, his thin body, and his strangely hopeful soul.

And the younger hunters desperate search for Dean.

Perhaps Castiel would even have to explain Dean's other younger brother's situation, too.

When Dean woke up, everything would change.

...

...

...

Or perhaps... it didn't have to, not just yet.

...

Soon.

Soon. He would tell Dean soon, but not now.

Maybe in a week. Just one more week of normality, of hugs and sweet kisses. Of hearing Dean hum songs under his breath and playful interactions...

Just one more week.

Chapter Text

March 2006

Once a month, spanning the past five years, for nearly three hours at a time, Kate Milligan and a few of her friends would go out for dinner.

It was usually held at a local restaurant, with red wine and candlelight included. An excuse for the group of women to gossip, take a break, and just enjoy their time together.

Today was one such day.

Katie adjusted her sparkling earring and grabbed her satin clutch. She turned to look back at her son, who was still seated at the dining room table.

Adam had shoved his fork halfway into his mouth when he noticed his mother's expression. She seemed to be staring at him, her lips tilted downwards in a slight frown, unusual in the fact that when they were together, she was always chipper.

"What's up?" He asked, straightening his back. His mum had been giving him that look more often, and the worry she felt was starting to weigh on his conscience.

She didn't say a word, only approaching him slowly, as if he would run at a moment's notice, and pulled him into a tight embrace. He dropped his fork back onto his plate, spatting spaghetti onto the table in surprise. He was careful to avoid getting the red sauce on her expensive dress, cautiously returning her hug. His hesitation must have shown because she pulled him in tighter.

"You would tell me if something was going on, right?" Her voice wavered as she spoke.

"Yeah," Adam replied hesitantly. He snuggled into her shoulder, feeling guilt bloom at the situation.

"I'm just... getting concerned about you," Kate whispered, pulling away to pat Adam's head comfortingly. "You've been acting so strangely lately."

"Oh."

It was true. It wasn't like he or Michael were subtle in their personality switches. Even as busy as his mother was, she was bound to have noticed something.

"I'm sorry," Adam's voice was a whisper.

"Is there anything you wanna tell me?" She tried again, her passive hazel eyes catching Adam's own. "You know I would never judge you."

Words danced on the tip of Adam's tongue, and he opened his mouth to speak. Just as the explanation came to mind, he felt Michael shift inside him, and he closed his mouth.

"No."

His voice was a whisper, a forced lie, and his mother knew it. She looked tired all of a sudden, sad.

"Whatever is going on, whatever you don't want to tell me," she began, taking a moment to blink and school her expression. "Are you at least being safe?"

"I am."

That was true. He was the safest person in the universe now. He had his own personal Archangel following his every step. Nothing, no Demons, Angels, or ghouls could hurt him now, Michael would burn them into ash for even looking at him wrong.

It was perfect timing when the sound of knocking at the door rang through the house.

Kate sighed, still unsure. She let go hesitantly and placed her keys into her satin clutch.

"Are you still ok for tonight?" She questioned cautiously. "I can still cancel and stay home if you'd prefer. We can watch a movie instead?"

"No, it's ok," he said with a grin. "You have fun."

Once a month, spanning the past five years, for nearly three hours at a time, Kate Milligan and a few of her friends would go out for dinner. And Adam would babysit little Teddy.

Kate Milligan's best friend, a woman by the name of Maria, had given birth to her little boy nearly three years ago, putting a damper on the monthly get-togethers.

That was until Adam spoke up about needing some extra cash.

The kid wasn't hard to look after, to be honest.

He was always content to watch whatever cartoon Adam played on the TV, whilst the teenager studied close beside him. It was easy money for the then fourteen-year-old.

Adam stood up quickly, running through the motions he could scarcely remember.

Open the door, greet Maria, and take Teddy. Say goodbye to Mum.

It was gonna be ok. He had done this plenty of times before.

-

'Why does it look like that?'

"Like what?" Adam questioned apathetically, looking up from his textbook to see the hallucination of his Angel squatting down beside the child.

'It's just so... squishy.'

"Theodore is a toddler, Michael," Adam replied, licking his fingers to grip the page he was about to turn. "They all look like that."

Today, he was studying art, a subject neither he nor Michael knew a thing about. It wasn't for any big test, so there was no frantic need for understanding pushing the limits of Adam's mind. It was casual, somewhat light reading, on the different composition of paints and the portraits created with them.

Michael seemed unsure of the child, who was sitting content, watching an episode of a brightly coloured show.

"What's wrong?" Adam asked in a playful voice as he glanced up at Michael's expression. "Never seen a kid before?"

He only meant to tease Michael a little bit, but Adam frowned when he saw the Archangel's expression fall.

'Not up close like this...' Michael admitted quietly. 'The only children I've met personally were already able to speak.'

Adam was quiet for a moment, content to let the conversation end there and focus on his book when Michael spoke again.

'Cain, Able and Seth. The first three children.'

"Wow, that was... a long time ago."

'They had been forced to leave Eden well before they were born, and as such, were no longer under my guidance.' Michael continued, reaching out an invisible hand to touch the pile of brown curls on Teddy's little head. 'Perhaps that is why Lucifer was so capable of tempting Able into hell.'

Adam remembered these stories, having spent millennia listening to Michael's edition of the Earth's history, the biblical version included. He knew all about Eve, who birthed monsters, and Lilith, who became the first Demon. And he even knew about his namesake, the original Adam, the first man, who was lost to the ages with his Angelic wife Seraphina by his side.

Adam knew all about Lucifer's temptation of Able and the resulting transference of the Mark of Cain. He knew about the Mark's significance and the history between Michael's father and his Aunt.

He still joked about having permanent hearing damage, a result of how loudly Michael had shrieked and panicked from within the cage at Amara's release.

"How much of that whole saga followed God's script?"

Michael frowned and glanced back up at Adam's calm expression.

'Unknowable.'

-

"I order you to cease this insolent behaviour," Michael stated, his voice becoming strained from the continuous nagging. "...Please."

Theodore giggled, slamming his hands into the bath water and splashing the ancient Celestial. Bubbles dripped down Michael's cheek, and he reached up to feel its strange and alien texture.

The tiny bubbles shone iridescent in the overhead lights and popped when he provided light pressure to their surface.

He wanted to ask Adam what the strange things were but was suddenly distracted by the child once again slapping the water. Teddy nearly drenched the Archangel, who jerked backwards to avoid the oncoming wave.

Adam watched from the sidelines with a smile, leaning against the vanity in a hallucination form. He laughed alongside Teddy, despite the glare Michael returned to him at the sound.

'Grab that towel,' He stated, pointing to the fluffy blue material. 'And cover your chest and stomach with it. It will keep you dry.'

Michael complied, feeling irritated. The small boy refused to listen, refused to talk, and seemed all-around difficult. Were all children like this? Or did Adam just have bad luck in this babywatching venture?

'Do you want me to take over?' Adam questioned.

"I am the viceroy of Heaven. I can bathe a child."

If the question was 'How hard can it be?' The answer would be 'very.'

The screaming fit that Theodore had once removed from said bath was enough to send Michael into a frozen panic, forcing Adam to take over before the toddler could slip and fall on the wet tile.

Adam dressed the boy in pyjamas and carried him to the kitchen to prepare a bottle of milk.

Teddy had already eaten before he arrived, thankfully, so Adam didn't need to prepare any extra dinner. And once the ounces of milk had been administered, Michael took over once again.

Theodore was tired now, and the Archangel held the boy carefully to his chest, feeling the resurgence of his protective nature building within his angelic body.

The child's brown curls had dried, curling around small rosey cheeks and button angelic features. Michael stared down at the boy, transfixed. It was like seeing Lucifer for the first time. Like seeing Gabriel and Raphael being born... Like seeing humanity for the first time.

It had been thousands of years since he had felt this protective towards humanity. But, he could still remember those first few years, being so incredibly protective and careful of his father's newest creations.

Michael frowned, feeling a rise of the emotion guilt.

Perhaps, he should have done more to protect them. Adam, Eve, and those small, little children... Not watch from afar, but actually be the leader that he should have been.

So many dark things in this world could have been avoided.

-

Kate waved to Maria from her doorstep, watching her friend carry the sleeping child back to her car.

Her evening had been pleasant enough, she supposed. She had tried to enjoy herself. But somewhere, in the back of her mind, worry had taken root.

She didn't believe Adam would have taken anything like his teacher had suggested. He was a smart boy and knew all the horrors drugs and alcohol could do to the human body. She made sure of that.

Besides, Kate was a nurse, she knew the signs of being drugged, better than anyone. She could order the tests from the hospital at the drop of a hat, if she felt he truly was on something.

No, this was something different. Something different...

She folded the money Maria handed to her in half, and walked back inside the house, preparing to give it to her son. Adam deserved to get himself something nice this weekend.

Maybe a new book or some new clothing.

Adam wasn't sitting in the loungeroom anymore.

She could hear him talking to himself again, from upstairs this time, in his room. She sighed to herself and wandered up the stairs, money held tight in her grip.

His door was left open, cracked ajar slightly, and through it, she saw... something.

Something big.

A shadow behind Adam. Arching like stretched wings. They moved and disappeared as the wooden step under her foot creaked. Adam glanced up, face blank before his eyes flashed a bright blue and he smiled at her warmly. Like the flip of a coin.

She wearily smiled back and walked into his room.

"Here, this is from Maria," she whispered, trying to school her expression. She winced when her voice shook and her hand trembled as she held out the cash for him to take. "For watching Teddy tonight."

Adam frowned at her and squinted, ever so clever, ever so insightful.

"What's wrong, mum?" He asked her, moving to stand as he pocketed the money. He always could read her best.

"Nothing... It's just been a long day at work. I'm just tired."

She tried to smile and pulled her son into a hug, avoiding seeing his face right now.

"If you're sure," Adam whispered back, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

She pulled back, whispered good night, and made a beeline out the door. Down the staircase and into her car, where she sat unmoved for a few minutes, just looking up at her son's bedroom window.

It had gone dark in there, all lights off. Another new thing she had noticed about her little boy. He had, since childhood, been terrified of the dark. Even into his teenage years, Adam still slept with a lamp on. But not anymore.

The strangeness of his personality changes could be explained. Puberty, hormones, even pills... but not... that. Whatever that shadow was.

Cautiously, she reached for her phone, dialling the number she hadn't called in months.

John Winchester was not only Adam's father, but the only person she knew she could turn to, in regards to what could be deemed 'supernatural.'

Usually, she disregarded his drunken ramblings on monsters and his loud rage fits about something with yellow eyes. But Adam's shining eyes had scared her. And that shadow seemed... eldritch in nature. Goosebumps erupted on her arms just remembering it.

The ringing sounded in the car before John picked up the phone. His voice sounded tired and stressed when he greeted her. A strong parallel to her whispered panicked words.

"Hello?"

"John? Something- something is wrong... Something is wrong with Adam."

"Katie? What is it? What's wrong?"

"I-I don't know... Adam's eyes, they changed colour, just for a second... and, and he's been acting so different... I just... I don't know what to do anymore, please, I need help."

John tried to soothe her, his voice calm and warm when he spoke. Soft.

"Yeah. Yeah... Don't worry, I'll be there soon.”

Chapter Text

March 2006

The Impala was waiting in the parking lot, still freshly cleaned from their last hunt.

Somewhere inside it was an open duffel bag, filled with the medical supplies that Sam needed to patch himself up. He walked towards the backseat door of the car, opening it and getting inside as slowly as he could, being careful not to jostle his wounds. The Impala started with a low rumble, the engine sputtering as they made their way past the edge of town.

John was silent again, Sam reflected, trying hard not to look at the bloody mess on the seat. The older hunter seemed lost in thought, staring blankly ahead until the sharp trill of John's phone cut through the heavy atmosphere, startling them both.

John reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the sleek black device, and flipped the phone open.

"Hello?" John said, voice tense. "Katie? What is it? What's wrong?"

He listened quietly, frowning deeply with every passing minute. When he spoke again his voice was softer than Sam had ever heard it before, "Yeah. Yeah... Don't worry, I'll be there soon."

He hung up the phone with finality and turned around to face Sam. His expression was unreadable, still holding that previous fear, but also something that looked like nervousness.

"Who was that?" Sam asked cautiously. A fresh wave of guilt washed over John's face, and he opened his mouth to answer but closed it quickly. The man seemed unable to decide what to say or do as he stared out the windshield. Eventually, his features softened, and he finally spoke.

"A friend," John answered curtly and continued driving. "I'm gonna need to take a detour. Do you want me to drop you off at a hospital or Bobby's?"

"Why can't I come with you?" Sam asked, looking at the older man in confusion.

John frowned at the question, brows furrowed slightly.

"It's complicated."

Sam sighed and leaned back into the Impala's leather seat, one arm wrapped around his chest to brace the crack in his ribs, and the other raising to grasp his forehead, in an attempt to fight off his migraine.

"Hospital then... I guess."

-

The chilled breeze ruffled through Sam's hair, brushing the long brown strands across his face, and he reached a hand up to tuck his fringe back behind his ear. He held his duffle bag in his other hand limply, just staring at the red glow of the Impala's tail lights as his dad drove away.

It was quiet, under the dim lights of the hospital's sign, with only the faint noise of traffic in the distance and the annoying buzz of insects filling Sam's ears. He waited there, alone, until he couldn't see the Impala anymore.

His ribs fucking ached, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and he wrapped a cautious arm around his chest to brace himself.

Sam was half tempted to walk through those doors and request treatment, call Bobby for a ride, and slink off somewhere safe to recover.

But then he wouldn't get the answers he so desperately chased.

His mind was still reeling from his last conversation with John, about his powers and dreams... about the things John had said back in return.

It wasn't like he didn't know something was wrong with him, Sam had known that fact for a long time now. But to learn that John knew too...

Knew and didn't tell him. Knew and never warned him...

It made Sam question a lot. Including if his father knew more about Dean's situation than he was leading on. It made sense too, John had pretty much given up on searching for his eldest, a strong contrast to the broken man who was so set on finding Dean. The man who had walked through Sam's hospital doors right after the fire that claimed Jessica.

That was a John who cared, at least a little.

Not this... stranger who shared his face.

Sam glanced back hesitantly at the hospital doors, its icy white light shone in the dark, and turned his head, wandering into the parking lot instead.

He braced his chest when he smashed the window of a grey luxury car, opened the lock, and climbed inside.

Stealing a car was never ideal, especially under camera surveillance, but he felt he had little choice at this point.

He knew that if he waited, even for just a few minutes, even if only to get a bandage on his chest, he wouldn't be able to track his father.

-

The Impala was parked outside a diner, when Sam drove by, parked next to a small faded white Toyota Corolla.

Sam must have driven past the building at least four times before he built up enough courage to stop the car. He pulled into the parking lot, next to his Dad's car and climbed out.

The waitress was seated behind the counter, leaning over an old-fashioned fashion magazine flippantly. She didn't even look up when Sam walked through the door, thankfully content to mind her own business regardless of the amount of rust-red blood staining his clothing.

It was a typical style diner, one that Sam had seen thousands of times, complete with an all-day breakfast menu plastered right behind the counter. Sam turned his head slowly, eyeing the empty booth seats.

He saw the woman before he saw his father.

Soft blond hair was done up in curls and she wore an expensive blue dress. So very overdressed for dinner at a restaurant like this one.

Her hands covered her face as she trembled, tears spilling down her cheeks silently. And John Winchester, certified asshole extraordinaire, was holding her in his arms comfortingly.

It was a side of his father that Sam hadn't seen in literal years, not since he was a small child, and the very sight shocked Sam still.

John looked up, making direct eye contact with Sam before a grave and fierce, yet guilt-ridden expression fell over his face.

He gestured coldly for Sam to leave, hands flickering back out to the door but Sam only took a deep breath to steel himself and continued forward.

He slunk into the booth seat across the path from the two, one hand resting on his jeans, the other still bracing his chest and he gave his father a rather defiant look. He knew he was still covered in blood, still wearing torn clothing, and sporting the black eye John had given him earlier.

The pretty woman in fancy clothing looked across at him in confusion, before a worried look overcame her features at the sight of his wounds.

"Oh my God..." She whispered, pulling out of John's arms to stand up and sit next to him. "Are you alright?"

She reached a hand out to get a better look at the sores still oozing blood.

"I'm fine," Sam said with a wince as she prodded a particularly painful spot.

"What happened? Did you get mugged?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply but then stopped. Some of his wounds he got from his dad, how could he explain that to her?

Especially sitting across from the man...

It didn't matter apparently, as she didn't wait for an answer, instead running over to the waitress and loudly requesting the use of the establishment's likely meagre first aid kit.

"What are you doing here?" John whispered angrily. His face was starting to turn slightly red, as he glared across the table, much to Sam's sneering amusement. The younger hunter smiled back wickedly, defiantly, an open grin as he sunk back into the booth seat.

"So, who's she?" Sam questioned with a pointed look, still tasting blood on his lip.

"None of your business!" John hisses quietly, seemingly unwilling the woman to hear him. "Now leave!"

The eldest hunter quietened down pretty quickly when the blond returned, white first aid kit in hand, much to Sam's intrigue.

"Can you lift your shirt?" She questioned, pulling saline water and steri-strips out of the bag. Sam tried to pull away as she sprayed the water down a cut on his face before she pulled him closer with a dark, yet concerned look. She held a damp cloth to his eye and started to place steri-strips on the particularly deep cuts that still bled.

"Ah, I'm fine," Sam started, feeling mildly uncomfortable with the woman's seemingly overbearing mother-hen nature. "Seriously, you can stop."

This was not how he expected this confrontation to go. Perhaps some yelling on John's part, but Sam's father had been mostly silent from the moment he walked through the doors. He sat there now, across from Sam and the blond, staring down at his hands. Looking anywhere but at Sam.

"I'm an ER nurse, this is literally my job," she snipped back, now taking notice of the larger wound on his stomach. "Now, can you remove your shirt?"

"No, not right now... I think I broke a rib..."

She reached across, palpating the area with gentle but firm hands. Sam winced as she moved over the break, and she eyed his expression with a frown.

"Well, it's definitely fractured, but thankfully the bones are still in alignment," She said with a sigh. She turned to look back at John, concern winning over whatever depressing emotion she was feeling previous to Sam's entry. "We need to get this boy to a hospital."

"I tried," John snarked quietly, almost as if he was hoping she wouldn't hear him.

"You what?" She questioned, looking confused now.

"I left him at a hospital," John stated, crossing his arms. His voice was wrought with hidden anger, unnoticeable by the blond but fully perceivable by Sam, who had grown up hearing that horrible undertone. "He followed me here."

"You know this boy?" The blond questioned, looking fiercer by the second.

"He's no one important-"

"I'm his son," Sam interrupted firmly, watching the two stiffen in place. One in shock and the other with guilt.

"You never mentioned another son..." came her whisper, directed to John. The blond edged closer, now seeing something in his features that she hadn't seen previously. She looked teary-eyed, and unsure. "You know, now that you mention it... maybe it's your eyes but... you kinda look like..."

Whoever he was supposed to resemble died on her lips when she sighed.

"Another son? You mean Dean right?" Sam questioned, feeling a flicker of elation. Perhaps he had been wrong. Perhaps John was still searching for his oldest son after all.

"Dean?" The blond questioned, looking more confused. "No, I mean Adam... our son's name is Adam..."

-

A brother...

A little brother...

Sam had a little brother.

The thought sent him into a state of shock, and he sat in the leather booth seat limply, his head pounding with the knowledge.

How long was his dad keeping this secret?

And... Did Dean know?

Was Dean aware that they had another sibling? Someone else who needed their protection?

Because the fifteen-year-old definitely needed protecting.

That's why Kate, the blond who was apparently Adam's mother, had called John in the first place.

It was a cruel sort of humour, for Sam to find out that he had a little sibling, and then to learn that he may have already lost him, before he even had a chance to know him.

"So, you definitely saw a shadow?" John queried Kate, who was still staring at Sam in a similar state of shock.

"Oh, um, yes," she replied nervously, turning to meet John's gaze. "It was behind him. And his eyes changed colour for a split second."

"And the personality changes?"

"Yes. Like the flip of a coin. It was... eerie."

"Sounds demonic," John sighed, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. "Alright, here's the plan. You and I-" He gestured between Sam and himself quickly. "Are gonna confront this thing and exercise it. Kate, you stay here."

"Wait, hold on, he can't go. He's hurt!" Kate exclaimed, reaching a hand out in front of Sam protectively. "He needs to go to the hospital."

"He needs to grow up," snarked John, with a roll of his eyes.

"He's just a kid!" Kate sneered back angrily, as if she couldn't believe the words coming out of John's mouth. "He looks barely 20!"

"I'm not-" Sam sighed as they continued to talk over him. He didn't have the mental strength to speak anymore, the ache in his ribs and the migraine in his head was becoming crippling.

Maybe it was the blood loss.

Maybe it was the anxiety, and the confusion this day had left him with. But he just didn't have it in him to argue anymore.

If his father demanded his presence, then he would go, regardless of the pain he was in.

Sam had only followed because he wanted answers, and now he was only left with more questions he hadn't even thought to ask.

-

The house looked... quaint. It was a small double-story, painted a soft blue and surrounded by an easy-to-care-for garden.

Sam stared up at it, mutely.

His little brother was in there.

A little brother. His very own little brother.

He swallowed nervously, feeling another rush of anxiety.

Kate stood beside him with her hand resting gently on his back, seemingly ready to brace him should his pain get the better of him. She stood in the dark, looking equally as nervous, in her sparkling dress and heels.

Sam had to hand it to her, she was courageous for a civilian. She had been defiant and strong-willed, refusing to wait in the car or back at the diner. She walked with firm steps and a tremble in her arms.

John walked in front of the two, iron dagger in hand, just in case the thing that Kate had seen was something that could be cut.

The lights were all on, a stark difference from what Kate had described when she left.

The door opened before John even had a chance to unlock it, and the grown hunter took a few steps back in preparation to fight whatever came out.

Standing there, dressed in a pair of his fluffy Spiderman pyjamas, stood his new little brother.

Adam watched them blankly, blue eyes scanning over John and Kate in an uninterested manner, before faintly settling on Sam.

Sam straightened his back and opened his mouth to speak.

Adam's voice rang through the night air, so much deeper than Sam would have ever expected from a fifteen-year-old. But it was his words that sent a stab of fear through Sam's body.

"Hello, Sam... it's good to see you again."

Chapter Text

March 2006

Silence filled the night air once more, as Sam stared up at the boy, who stood unmoving beside the front door. The teenager seemed to survey them, keeping his expression blank and schooled.

"Adam?" John questioned as he warily ascended the staircase, his hand reaching into his back pocket to grasp the handle of his blade. "That you boy?"

"No." It said as it tilted its head, not unlike how an animal would move. Slow and with precision. It spoke with the same matter-of-fact tone that its body language conveyed. "But you already knew that. That's why you are here."

John attacked quickly once his brain had registered the confirmation from the creature, growling out a harsh "Christo," splashing the teenager with holy water, and beginning the exorcism.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus," John's voice sounded in the quiet night air.

The demon did not flinch much to Sam's confusion, only raising a hand to lightly wipe the water that dripped down its face and onto its fluffy red shirt.

"-Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii-"

"How many times must I be doused with water today?" The creature mumbled under its breath, quickly dodging the iron blade that John slashed towards it deftly. Its voice was so quiet that Sam barely caught the tail end of his sentence over his father's practised words.

"-Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica."

The creature piloting Adam's body kept clear of the knife, watching John's advances with bored apathy.

"Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te... "

Iron finally sliced through flesh, and Adam's blue eyes squinted down at the blade, now embedded deeply in his arm.

No smoke rose from the wound, nor even a hiss of pain from its mouth. Just a blank expression followed by a sigh as the creature shoved John away, and carefully pulled the knife out, tossing it to the ground by its boot with a thud.

A small flash of blue light lit up the porch and the gorey cut was gone.

John hesitated to engage again, now aware his weapon was both useless and currently unobtainable, taking a step back protectively in front of Sam and Kate.

The exorcism had done... nothing.

Not a sign of black smoke. No flash of inhuman eyes. No words of infernal stain...

The monster stood quiet. Just watching them.

To say Sam's heart was beating a mile a minute would be an understatement.

He slowly reached an arm around Kate, to pull her behind him. His body still ached uncomfortably, his muscles were fatigued over his bruised bones. Regardless of his painful situation, he would try his best to protect Adam's mother.

Whatever was possessing Adam... it wasn't a demon. Sam's mind began to filter through every creature that could possibly take the likeness of a human.

A ghoul? Maybe a ghost's possession? Shapeshifter or Witch...

But then again, it didn't react to iron at all.

And that blue light as it healed itself...

That shadow Kate had seen...

Sam's mind was coming up empty, and apparently, so was John's. But they were running out of time to fight back, and unsure of how it would retaliate to John's attack.

He should have grabbed a silver dagger...

"Are you done?" Asked the creature, interrupting his train of thought. "I had expected better of you both, John and Sam Winchester."

"H-how do you know my name?" Sam's voice stuttered as he spoke, limping up the porch steps to stand close behind his father, attempting to show a united front.

John seemed to be dealing well with his shock, his fighting stance turning more defensive than offensive. Fists were held aloft as if he could deal damage to the creature when the blade did little.

Kate huddled close behind them, watching the boy with fresh tears in her eyes.

"There's not a lot that I don't know," said the creature piloting the teenager's body. It lightly rolled Adam's eyes at the scene before it, turning and walking back inside the house, leaving the door open as a blatant invitation for the hunters to enter.

The cool night breeze blew through the cul-de-sac, ruffling Sam's hair just as he ran a hand through it nervously.

Do they... Are they supposed to follow it?

Eventually, John entered the house, caution cloaking his steps.

He, like Sam, had been expecting more resistance. Not... whatever this was.

The knife lay forgotten on the floor as Sam walked past it, following his father over the threshold and into Kate's home.

The loungeroom he entered was an open plan, with a combined dining room and a small kitchen. It had a warm feeling, with navy blues and dark wood furniture.

This was the home his little brother grew up in...

The monster was standing in the middle of the room, bent at the waist and was picking up a teddy bear from the floor nonchalantly. It carefully placed it, along with a small ball, into a wicker basket under the coffee table.

The creature moved around the room with practised ease, going through the motions of tidying up after a long day.

It did not spare the three another glance, as it went about its business, apparently not even bothered by the fight they shared on its doorstep.

"What are you?" John demanded once again. He edged closer to the creature, who only side-eyed him with minor irritation as it straightened out the blanket that lay across the couch.

"So where's your older brother, Sam? I don't believe I've ever seen you two apart willingly," the monster remarked, pointedly ignoring John Winchester in favour of speaking to Sam, who froze at the mention of his name.

It had, in not so many words, confirmed its long-running attention on his family. It knew who he was... and it knew Dean.

"I don't know... I haven't seen him in a while," Sam admitted, feeling the influx of anxiety that rushed through his body at John's quick angered glance in his direction.

The creature possessing Adam Milligan hummed, turning his attention to a toddler's milk bottle, picking it up, and adding it to a pile of dishes near the sink.

"He's probably with Castiel right now then..." Adam's voice muttered quietly, so low Sam could barely hear it. It continued to whisper under its breath, more to itself than to anyone in the room. It felt like hearing the tail end of a conversation to Sam, something private he was intruding upon.

It said something about retirement, oddly enough.

Sam opened his mouth, ready to inquire what the creature meant, his brow furled in confusion. But he caught himself at the last second, his mind finally connecting the dots.

Cassiel?

No, it said Castiel.

...

...

That name felt incredibly familiar.

Wasn't the Angel of Thursday named Castiel?

The Seraphim Dean had referred to in his hidden note? In that protective prayer Bobby had decoded?

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, desperate for more answers. But before even one could find its way past his lips, John was attempting to interrogate the creature yet again.

"Quit ignoring me! Tell me, who are you?" John growled. "What are you?"

"My name is Michael. That's all you need to know right now," the creature responded easily, turning to look at the group properly now that its impromptu cleaning session had ended.

It seemed distracted for a moment, taken aback, as its eyes focused on the tears that silently slid down Kate's cheek. It tilted its head in confusion.

For a split second, it looked horrified. Like the true face of the boy buried within was peering out at them. And then, with a flash of blue light, the mask of indifference fell into place.

Sam watched with trepidation as John reached into his back pocket, upholstering his ultimate weapon and drawing the gun to his eye height.

The creature's eyes remained on Kate, still watching her more intently than it did the other hunter's, and as such, it didn't show any reaction to the dark-coloured pistol John aimed at its head.

"Are you working for the Yellow-eyed Demon?"

Blue eyes rolled to meet John's apathetically. Bored. It looked the gun up and down with the same disregard it held for Sam's father.

"And which Prince of Hell are you referring to?" Michael questioned sarcastically. "There are quite a few."

"Don't lie to me-!"

"I'm not," the creature piloting Adam's body stated, stepping closer to John without an ounce of fear in his blue eyes.

It moved like water, precise and accurate, every step calculated, in some sort of threatening dance.

"Azazel and Ramiel wander the earth. Whilst Asmodeus and Dagon reside in the bowels of hell, close to their master. So... which 'Yellow-eyed Demon' are you referring to?"

"Azazel," John gritted out harshly, unwillingly.

"So you do know the demon's name. Interesting," the being called Michael stated, now eyeing the Colt. "Then, why haven't you summoned it and used that gun yet?"

"You know what this is?" John queried as he gestured with the gun, answering the creature's question with another question as he puffed out his chest in an attempt to loom over the monster. "You know what it can do to you?"

Michael snorted quietly.

"60 seconds," John said firmly. "You have 60 seconds to get out of my boy's body before I put a bullet in your head."

"W-what are you gonna do with that gun, John?" Kate questioned shakily. She shivered at the sight of the weapon that was trained on her only son.

With slow movements, she stepped in front of Sam, shrugging off his grip on her arm.

"This is the Colt," John replied. "A gun capable of killing anything. Demon, Vampire, Djinn, doesn't matter."

"Almost anything," the creature retorted.

"But, what about Adam?" Kate demanded. "You're not gonna hurt our boy? Are you, John?"

The last sentence she spoke was a soft whisper, a sharp comparison to the commanding tone she had used earlier. She, like Sam, was struggling to come to terms with the situation.

Sam's heart began to ache for the terrified mother, breaking when the realisation settled across her face, at just how much danger Adam was in.

"Nothing bad is going to happen," said the creature to Kate placatingly, raising his hands in a calming motion as if to reassure the woman. It took a step toward her slowly, looking strangely meeker than before. "I won't let anything happen to Adam, or to you, you have my word."

Blue eyes flickered back to John's own, as the monster continued.

"And I don't believe this man is heartless enough to kill his own child."

"You don't know a thing about me!" Sam's father growled, spittle flying from his mouth as he grimaced. Despite his apparent rage, the gun began to shake in his hands.

"You would do so?" The being demanded unkindly.

It seemed to stare into John's very soul, blue eyes taking an inhuman shine. A faint flicker of a shadow peaked over its shoulder, causing the hairs on Sam's arms to rise in fear.

"You could... You would slaughter your own blood. In fact, you've already thought about killing your son. Extensively, even," it tilted its head, stepping closer, blue eyes glancing Sam's way. "But... it wasn't Adam you had thought of, was it?"

Sam knew about psychic attacks.

He had seen many over the years, from witches, demons and other monsters. He had even manifested one himself earlier today, in that last fight against that demon who wore the skin of an old man.

The sudden way John raised his hand to his forehead, trying to brace against the wave of pain, clued Sam in on the monster's only offensive attack. John winced further, closing his eyes in agony as the creature tore into his mind effortlessly.

So...

Definitely not a shifter then.

"You stay outta my head, you fucker-!" John yelled.

"You have lost your eldest to your mistakes, and now you've lost your youngest. The only child who still remains by your side is the one you had thoughts of murdering," stated the creature piloting Adam's body. It seemed to regard them both blankly as if merely stating a fact that had little emotional drive.

Sweat trickled down Sam's back as he watched in horror. His father started to tremble in place, full body shivers, the Colt rattling loudly in his hands.

What did... What did it mean by that?

"Were you ever gonna tell him?" It inquired, staring at Sam pointedly whilst still speaking to John. "About those growing powers of his? Where did they come from? Or were you just gonna put a bullet in his head?"

"Shut up!"

The gun was waved dangerously close to Adam's youthful face, startling Sam into action. Regardless of what the monster had meant, the youngest hunter didn't want anything to happen to the boy. To his little brother.

"Dad, please, put the gun down," Sam interrupted quietly, reaching up to place a calming hand on his father's shoulder. "You don't have to do this..."

"Oh, I think I do," John replied angrily, cocking the gun loudly.

"John, please," Kate exclaimed with a broken expression. She approached her ex-lover tearfully, placing her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to make him lower the gun.

John ignored her, wrenching his arm out of her grasp, and realigning the barrel of the gun with Adam's head.

"Times up."

The sound of the gun made Sam jump in place, shock filling his system.

Blood oozed out of his little brother's head. Out of the body that had collapsed on the floor.

A headshot. Executioner style.

Exactly how John had killed the other demon earlier in the day. Exactly how Sam had imagined John dispatching him as his powers manifested.

Kate Milligan shrieked.

-

-

-

Adam's head hurt.

That fact was not unusual for the teenager nowadays, to be honest. What he wasn't prepared for was the queasy feeling of Michael pinging around inside of him like a pinball from an old arcade game.

He had to admit it, whatever his father had shot them with had some oomph behind it.

Not only was it a feat to rattle an Archangel, but for it to be caused by a man-made weapon?

He felt Michael's wings tremble in reaction to the dissonance they had felt, feathers fluffing up uncomfortably in a display of anger.

Whatever musings he had were quickly overshadowed by the sight of his mother, hunched over him, sobbing loudly. Adam blinked up at her, taking in the way her blond hair had fallen from its intricate design, and at how the pretty make-up she had painstakingly applied earlier in the night was now in streaks down her cheeks.

She hadn't noticed that he was awake, too unfocused as she cried into his hair. He could hear arguing faintly, the sound of Sam's fraught voice as he yelled at their shared sperm donor.

"How could you do it!" Sam cried out, unseen tears choking at his throat. "He was your son! My brother!"

"It... it was a monster, Sam."

Why did John sound regretful?

"We kill monsters. That's our Job. That's what I raised you to do."

"He was just a kid!"

Adam silently raised his hand and brushed his mother's hair off his forehead. She stiffened where she sat, pulling back to look intently down at the teenager she held in her grasp. He tried to smile reassuringly at her, but it came out more of a grimace, as he felt the blood dry tacky on his forehead.

She mirrored his expression, although with an infinite amount of relief and joy at the sight of her son alive.

She patted his hair like she used to do when he was small, taking in wracking breaths in her attempt to calm herself.

Finally, he could feel Michael settle within him, his rings harmonising in a brilliant display as the Archangel began to take control once more.

Adam tried to comfort his mother before he took a back seat to his possession, placing his hand on her still tear-stained cheek.

The blue light from his eyes reflected in her own hazel set as Michael took over. The Archangel took the opportunity to press grace into her head, drawing her into a deep sleep.

She didn't need to see what would happen next.

It was always an interesting experience to find yourself unable to move your limbs, but the action of Michael's possession had become almost second nature to Adam over the years.

The cold/hot flush of energy filled their grace veins, imbuing his body with supernatural strength and impeccable healing.

Kate slumped forward limply, and Adam watched Michael catch his mother in one arm. He gently laid her down on the carpet before standing up to face the two Winchesters, who had been staring at his movements in silent horror.

"You said the Colt could kill anything..." Sam whispered, his face still red and tearful from his earlier distress. Adam caught the look of relief moving across his older brother's expression, and it warmed a deep part inside of him to know that Sam was happy he survived.

He couldn't lie, seeing Sam so bloody and bruised brought up thousands of memories of the cage, some more horrific than others.

He whispered a small prayer to his Angel. A simple request, to heal the young man before the Archangel acted on the anger that was swirling inside them.

"It can..." John replied.

Michael nodded his head mutely, listening to Adam's words thoughtfully, whilst simultaneously plotting a little something of his own.

The Archangel was pissed.

Royally- no, Righteously pissed.

A memory that Adam had never seen before filtered through their shared mind. A world of endless black tar, and the suffocating feeling of drowning in it. Of feeling that sticky black coating his lungs and trying to scream around it, but failing.

Michael had made a choice.

He knew what he wanted to do to John.

"It was supposed to kill everything..." John continued.

Regrets. Isolation. The fear of being entirely alone. Michael had decided on a suitable punishment.

John Winchester had reminded the Archangel of God. Reminded him of the betrayal from his own father, and the pain that had followed.

The vision of John seemed to overlap with Chuck's at that moment, and Michael's feathers bristled.

Adam almost felt bad for his father.

Almost.

Perhaps he would have sincerely, if he didn't still have a bullet lodged within his brain.

Michael sent out a tendril of grace, only visible to Adam and the Archangel. It pinned the two men in place, startling Sam when he felt it creep across his skin.

"Dad?" Sam called out, his body suddenly jerking unsteadily. "I can't move..."

"Let me go," growled John.

Michael approached Sam first, on Adam's request, and placed the tips of his fingers on Sam's forehead.

Healing such minor damage was incredibly easy for the Angel.

Sam gasped as he tried to pull away, before glancing down at his body, shock colouring his features.

"W-why did you..."

His broken rib had been healed, the yellowing bruises had disappeared from his skin and his clothing had been scrubbed clean of blood.

"Adam doesn't like to see you hurt," Michael replied, before turning his cold blue eyes to stare into John's. "You, on the other hand... "

John struggled as Michael approached slowly, like how a lion would stalk an injured gazelle.

Carefully, the Archangel pushed inside John's mind, plucking out the memories and emotions that had been buried deep. He condensed them all, reaching further and further despite John's agonising screams.

"W-what are you doing to him?" Sam shouted, struggling hard against the paralysis Michael had placed over them.

"Nothing he doesn't deserve," the Archangel retorted cryptically.

'My father had decided that, for all eternity, Angels and Demons must relive their most horrific memories within the empty.' Michael explained within their shared mind when Adam expressed his confusion. 'I can see now why he chose that punishment.'

The Archangel condensed everything he had found, before unleashing it upon the unsuspecting man.

Every regret, every drunken rage, every painful decision he had ever made, every life lost because he just wasn't quick enough...

A lifetime of regret. And John was experiencing it all at once.

Adam's father dropped like a puppet with his strings cut, falling to the floor in a heap. It was only then that Michael stopped the pressure on Sam, and allowed the youngest hunter to move.

Sam fell forward, reaching for John, fingers placed on the pulse point of his throat.

"He'll be fine," Michael stated blankly, still looking over the two. "He is asleep."

"What are you gonna do to us?" Sam asked nervously.

"If you leave now, nothing else."

Sam seemed to struggle with that, still hunched over John's limp form, and side-eyeing Kate who lay asleep on the rug.

Michael sighed.

"Nothing will happen to her. Or to Adam. Just go."

"I can't guarantee that... I don't even know what you are."

"I want to make you a deal, Sam Winchester," Michael hummed, scanning through Sam's memories effortlessly. He dropped down to kneel beside Sam, to look the young hunter in the eye. "I will give you information on how to find your older brother, and you will promise to never darken my door again."

"You know where Dean is?"

"Correct."

Sam seemed to be stuck in thought. His worry for Dean starting to overshadow his fear.

"Ok... deal."

Chapter Text

March 2006

Tonight saw Dean curled up in their room alone, leaning with his back against the bed frame, just listening to the sounds of the oncoming storm and the obnoxious ticking of the clock from the hallway.

Right now, Cas was... somewhere in the house, still busy tidying up after his latest culinary experiment. The Angel had created something caught between a chocolate mousse and an apple pie. Whatever it was, Cas had absolutely covered the thing in whipped cream before he served it to Dean. A sugary monstrosity.

The Angel had been unusually quiet this evening, elbow to elbow with Dean as they cooked together.

He lingered closer than usual, yet was nearly completely silent when Dean prompted a response. It was as if he wanted special comfort for an issue he refused to talk about.

But then again, the Seraph had been acting strange all week. He had been both frustratingly elusive and exceedingly clingy.

Stuck in a behaviour pattern that Dean had seldom seen in the Seraph.

The only thing Dean didn't fail to recognise was Cas's flighty tendencies. The way he watched the door like he was expecting someone to come through it. He was tense and on edge, flinching at the small sounds that echoed through the old building, even the ones far too faint for Dean to hear.

Castiel had been like this ever since he came back from Bobby's.

Ever since he saw Sam.

Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew something was up, and he tried not to react with suspicion. He knew that Cas wasn't telling him the full story, only that Sam had retrieved the car and driven back to California.

But, there wasn't much he could divine from Castiel's elusive nature. He could only hope that the Angel decided to tell him what was on his mind in his own time.

So, Dean waited.

-

The coffee that Castiel still held in his hands had gone cold nearly an hour ago. He had been out here, breathing in the midnight air, long after Dean had fallen asleep.

It was raining in the distance, somewhere over the forest. The scent of water carried on the breeze, mixing with dust and sodden soil, filling Castiel's head with the oncoming lightning and thunder. Energy was approaching in waves, static and charged, as the storm rolled in.

He truly enjoyed being here, in this place, in this home that he had built with Dean.

So many things had changed about it since they had first purchased it. The homestead no longer looked broken and abandoned but structurally sound.

Lived in and cared for.

He had repaired its walls with his own two hands, assisted Dean in replacing its broken beams, and had, at one point, wove grace into the very foundations. Spells and wards of protection, comfort, and safety.

Castiel could honestly say that he loved this place. It was his first true home since the bunker.

His first real act of creation and restoration.

And now, as he sat on the freshly painted porch, under its amber light, he contemplated leaving it.

-

"Why did you fly through the rain?" Castiel inquired as he finally took a sip of his cold beverage. It was bitter on his tongue. "You could have just teleported."

"Adam prefers to feel the wind in our feathers as we fly," Michael replied, standing in front of the Seraph with a blank expression, as if that explained his current situation.

The Archangel was drenched, head to toe, in water. It matted his hair to his forehead and dripped onto the porch below them, soaking into the wood grain.

That preference made sense to Castiel, and he nodded his head in agreement.

He, too, enjoyed the act of real flight, and he could understand seeking that sensory input after being deprived of it for so long.

He took another sip of his coffee.

"Why are you here?"

"Adam has requested that I give you a warning," Michael responded calmly, looking out into the distance where lightning lit up the sky.

The Elder was dressed in fluffy pyjamas, much to Castiel's amusement. It seemed like Dean wasn't the only human to force their Angel into more comforting sleepwear.

"We had visitors tonight. Visitors who are likely on their way here as we speak."

"Who should we be expecting?" Castiel inquired quietly, his voice growing tense as he leaned back against the soft floral pillow of his chair. He tried to keep any emotion from his voice as he mentally checked the wards he had scattered throughout the property.

There were many who could have sought out Michael in search of Dean and himself.

Chuck, for instance, was Castiel's main concern.

The old God might still exist in this timeline, but Castiel hadn't had the courage to check just yet. The idea that his father was still out there somewhere was a frightening one.

His next concern was Raphael, who was likely looking for Michael or Dean, closely followed by Lilith and Azazel, who had worked with the Archangels to bring about the Apocalypse before.

He turned his gaze to meet Michael's, finding those blue eyes, so similar to his own, boring back.

"John Winchester, and his other child, the Lucifer vessel, Sam Winchester."

Ahh.

That also made sense.

It had been two weeks since he had last seen Sam, the broken and troubled boy.

Two weeks since he had decided to keep Sam's search of Dean a secret.

So... Sam was on his way here now.

Another bout of anxiety filled his stomach, teasing his fight or flight response, which had been on edge the past few weeks. The urge to run away again was getting stronger and stronger each day. To bundle Dean up, and all their meagre possessions into their truck and just drive.

Surely they could start again somewhere else? Stay retired like Dean had wanted and avoid being dragged back into whatever storm approached them.

"Thank you for the warning."

"We are only able to remain in this timeline because Jack allows it," Michael stated, as he surveyed the little home his younger brother chose to settle down in. "We will continue to have a peaceful existence, as long as you and Dean have a peace- Dude, are you drinking coffee?"

It was almost comical how quickly Adam took control of their shared vessel from the Archangel, who was suddenly pushed into the back of their mind by the curious teen.

The Seraph smiled wearily at the soaked boy on his porch steps.

Should he refer to Adam as a boy? Castiel knew that visually he was a teenager, but the human was at least a thousand years older than most on this planet... He was far older than Dean, whose face did not match his years either.

"Yes, I am."

"Michael never drinks coffee," Adam said in confused amazement. He picked at the wet cloth that clung to his chest absentmindedly, pulling away the damp fluff. "Or eats... well anything. I'm kinda surprised you do."

"I've picked up many habits since coming to Earth."

"One could say you have gone native, Castiel."

A flash of grace blue eyes was an indication that he was no longer talking to Adam.

"I could say the same about you," Castiel replied, gesturing to Michael, who seemed to be taking the act of pretending to be a teenager very seriously.

But he looked too still, too statuesque. It was as if he were carved from stone instead of being a living, breathing human. He lacked many simple human gestures, like fidgeting, leaning, or certain facial expressions.

"Although, your human act is not as convincing as you think it is," he continued.

"Perhaps there is more for me to learn," Michael replied.

Castiel smiled at his older brother's statement, feeling a sense of camaraderie. He, too, remembered how strange the human world was during his first few years here. How he had struggled to blend in with the populace, and how genuinely intimidating life could be when removed from The Host, with only one, singular human to guide him.

"Perhaps I could teach you."

-

Morning came all too soon, and with it, a confession.

"So you lied to me?" Dean questioned as he angrily paced around the kitchen, his teeth practically grinding together in his frustration. "You lied when you said that Sam was ok. And you lied to me when you said that he went back to California safely."

It was hard to look at Cas, who was sitting in front of him, perched on the edge of his seat with his hands held in his lap.

The Angel looked nervous, distressed in a way that Dean hadn't seen in a long time. He was almost tempted to reach across the space between them and comfort the Seraph.

"I did not lie... I simply omitted the whole truth."

Dean paused his steps and ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm his wild thoughts.

Castiel had finally admitted to him what he had been hiding the past few weeks.

Sam had been in a terrible state when the Angel flew to him. The younger man had been covered in bruises and passed out on Bobby's couch.

Sam was hurt. Sam was looking for him, even as the two argued. Sam was on his way, because apparently Michael, the Archangel of all people, had told him where and how to find them. The Archangel from their timeline, who was now living with Adam and Kate Milligan. Yet another fact Castiel only now decided to mention.

"Were you ever gonna tell me?"

"Yes, I was," Castiel declared pointedly. "It's just that... I wasn't ready for everything to change."

"Nothing has to change, Cas!"

Castiel stood up suddenly, stalking towards Dean with fierce steps. He stopped mere inches away from Dean, staring into his eyes with the same intensity as when they first met all those years ago.

"Look me in the eye, and tell me that when your family arrives, you won't leave with them."

Castiel looked heartbroken as he spoke.

"I can't do this right now..."

"That's what I thought," Castiel whispered under his breath as Dean turned away.

Dean bit his lip hard, tasting iron where his teeth grazed the skin.

The things he wanted to say to the Angel would be deeply regretted later, and thankfully, he still had enough sense to try and cut this particular conversation short. Before it devolved any further.

He paused, looking back at the completely still Seraph, who stood unmoving, with his shoulders hunched over. Cas looked as though he wasn't even breathing, and the sight reminded Dean of other times in their past when such secrets and fights drove them apart.

The sight reminded Dean of all the times he acted out in anger, and found that Castiel had left before he even had a chance to apologise.

His anger at Cas was palpable, hot, and coursing, but the cold fear that the Angel would leave the second he turned his back was more intensive, almost crippling.

He crossed the distance between them with quick steps, making direct eye contact with the avoidant Celestial. Cas glanced back at him, looking ever like a kicked dog.

"I'm going to walk out that door," Dean whispered, watching as Castiel flinched at his unfortunate choice of words. "And then, when I've calmed down, you and I are going to talk about this."

Castiel didn't respond, only glared back, swallowing the words he wanted to say.

"But I need to know that you're still gonna be here when I come back," Dean added, his voice low and quiet.

"What makes you think I'll be gone?" Castiel replied in a raw tone, as he glared at his human charge in a challenge.

"Because you fly away every time we have an argument!"

"You had never asked me to stay," Castiel responded as he crossed his arms. He didn't look stern to Dean, nor fierce. If anything, he looked like he was curling in on himself. Aware now, that he could not run nor hide from this fight. "Why can you go, but I can't?"

"Because I'm not leaving for months on end, I'm just going outside to blow off some steam," Dean stated, resting his hands on Castiel's shoulders, feeling the Seraph tense beneath his hands. "I'm serious, no running away. Promise me."

Castiel's gaze faltered, looking downwards at the hardwood floor. He looked to be debating with himself, torn between his typical flighty response to Dean's anger and his diligence in upholding his human mate's request.

Cas sighed under Dean's hand, shoulders relaxing into a slump and he leaned against him.

"I'll stay."

With that singular promise, Dean's erratic heart began to slow down. His anger, whilst still needing an outlet, was momentarily sated.

He had time now, time to think, not only about their future plans but how he was going to respond to Castiel's worry.

The Angel had raised a decent point. What would Dean do, if this timelines version of John and Sam really needed him?

"I'll be back soon. I just...need a few minutes to think about all this."

"Is that another one of your therapy things?" Castiel inquired as he leaned forward, placing his forehead against Dean's clavicle.

"Sort of," Dean replied, hugging Cas tight before pulling away. He turned and took a few steps away from Cas, heading out the back door before the Angel spoke up again, his voice a whisper.

"Dean, you shouldn't worry about me leaving you. If I were ever going to go, I would take you with me."

-

Night had fallen by the time Dean had finally wandered back inside the house, looking a little more worse for wear. His face had become a drawn expression of acceptance, his shoulders slumped, and his body weary.

Castiel was seated where Dean had left him, still waiting in the kitchen, hands clasped together apathetically.

There was no doubt in Dean's mind that Cas hadn't heard his rage outside, heard the anger in his voice as he let loose his frustration on the old, rotted and broken pieces of wood that had been piled up for disposal.

Dean glanced down at him before pulling out the chair and sitting next to the Angel.

"I don't like that you kept this a secret," he began, flicking his hands outward to express his frustration. "I hate how easily you can keep things from me. I hate that this Sam was hurting, and you never told me."

Cas didn't respond, only wringing his hands together with nervousness.

"I don't do this to you, I don't keep things like this a secret," he continued.

"I know..."

"Please, Cas... If you wanna continue this relationship with me... This? keeping secrets? Hiding things? It has to stop," he pleaded.

It was an ultimatum. It's unhealthy in its own right, sure.

But it was a firm boundary that Dean wanted set in place.

So many of their issues in the past had stemmed from Cas thinking he could handle something that he very clearly could not. Not that Dean had been any better, but he had, at least, since they began this relationship, made every effort not to hide anything from the Angel.

He tried to be as transparent as possible, his faults and trust issues aside. Tried his best to speak up when he, in the past, would have just pushed the problem aside. Walked away. Not spoken of it.

Clear communication... That was what he offered, and that was all he asked for in return.

"I promise..." The Seraph whispered in a tone so quiet that Dean had to strain his ears to hear.

They sat in the stillness for a while, with Dean breathing slowly and Castiel barely breathing at all. It was an unbearable silence, so very different from the years of comforting quiet the two typically shared.

Dean cleared his throat before he spoke again.

"You said... You said that you didn't tell me about Sam, because you didn't want anything to change," he stated, not elaborating further as he waited for the Angel's response.

"That's correct," Castiel replied, finally looking up to meet Dean's eyes. "You had promised me that we were retired now. That we wouldn't have to think about fighting or hunting again."

"So, what do you want to do?" Dean inquired, reaching a hand across the space between the two to grasp Castiel's own. The Seraph's hands were cold, frigid like he had kept them in snow for an hour.

Dean wondered if the Angel had breathed at all since he had left, and in turn, kept his heart from beating.

That was a habit that Castiel had formed over the years, to simply stop the erratic organ whenever the Angel became too stressed to focus. Dean could always tell, because the palm that Cas would place on his shoulder, would be colder than the grave.

Cas turned his hand over in Dean's, before he edged closer on his seat, also seemingly unhappy with the current distance between them.

"What do you mean?"

"If what Michael said is true, then my dad's coming here," Dean explained. "If we leave this place, maybe fly to the other side of the world, then he won't be able to find us."

"And our home?" Castiel inquired.

"It will be here when we want to come back."

"But what about Sam?" Castiel's blue eyes bored into his green pair, intensive and searching.

That was understandable also, Dean rarely put anyone above Sam.

But, this wasn't his Sam.

He had thought extensively about this fact, as he paced outside for hours on end.

His Sam was still living in the bunker, managing a whole network of hunters across the world.

His Sam was going to be proposing to Eileen soon, keeping an eye on Jodie and Donna, Garth, and Bobby... and taking care of Claire for him.

His Sam was safe in 2021.

"You're my priority now, Sunshine, and that won't change."

It was quiet for a few moments more, before Castiel spoke again, this time changing the subject to another confession.

"I don't know why Sam isn't with Jessica, and I don't know how long Sam has been looking for us," Castiel admitted, pressing his hand to his face, feeling the anxiety in his body. "I don't know how bad the storm that's coming will be."

"We have dealt with worse," Dean said with a shrug. "And it doesn't matter. If you wanna leave, run away from everything, I'll follow you."

"Worse than John Winchester?" Castiel questioned sarcastically with a small smile that gave way to a more thoughtful one. "I suppose you are right."

"About what?"

"Dealing with worse," the Angel whispered with a more curious gaze. "I suppose we have Jack on our side, if anything bad happens."

Dean hummed his agreement.

"Alright," Castiel said with a gentle smile. "Let's stay."

Chapter Text

March 2021

"This is... amazing," Kelly whispered, staring out at the impossible ocean that glimmered below the cliff. There were tones of emerald green and vivid purple that swirled through the navy, curling into white foam.

"And you made all of this?"

Her little boy sat beside her, no longer in the shape of a teenager, but a child, reflecting his true age. His little legs dangled over the cliff edge in a way that would have given her a heart attack had she still been alive.

"Yup."

Jack smiled up at her, sunlight reflecting golden on his soft hair. He looked like she did as a child, like all those pictures that hung on her parents home.

It pleased Kelly immensely to note that she didn't see any of Jeff in her son's features. Not that she didn't love the man at the time of Jack's conception. It was just that he reminded her so much of Lucifer now and all the trauma her pregnancy brought her.

She sighed, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair, turning her attention back over the beautifully coloured waters that lapped at the rocks far below them.

Heaven was different now, with Jack in charge.

It was no longer reruns of old memories, stuck forever in a daze.

He had, thankfully, taken many of the human populous's wants to mind, recreating the homes and the lives that they had led.

He gave them choices, where before they had none. A world of normality, if they wanted it. Where they could work their dream jobs, do the things that they held a passion for, or travel to places they had never seen.

But for little kids like Jack and mothers like Kelly, there were special places hidden away.

Places like this one, which were created straight out of a fairy tale novel. From overgrown forests, covered with red toadstools, to mermaid grottos with turquoise waters. And caves made up entirely of amethyst crystals.

It was everything a four-year-old could imagine. A paradise.

And as she stared out over the water, Kelly couldn't help but feel so incredibly proud of her little boy.

"Mum?" Came the sweet little voice of the four-year-old deity. "Here."

He had materialised a perfectly swirled green ice cream and carefully held it to her. It was pistachio, her favourite, which she happily took.

"Thank you, Honey," she replied with a gentle smile, watching as Jack snapped his fingers to materialise his own sweet treat.

Jack made himself some sort of concoction on a cone, built with rich chocolate ice cream, pieces of nougat, and what looked like miniature chocolate chip cookies.

Just looking at it made Kelly's teeth itch uncomfortably. But the time they shared was special, and she chose not to argue the moot point.

Her little boy was God now. Jack was in charge of... well, everything. And not just this dimension, but the thousands of replicas that Chuck (Because apparently God's had been named Chuck of all things) had created.

Jack had been so busy over the last few months, recreating the destroyed worlds and enhancing the afterlife for the souls now placed in his care, yet he never failed to visit her.

He made time for her in his schedule and she used it to make up for all the memories that they missed during his childhood.

His childhood...

The scene before her changed, shifting as she stood up. Jack glanced up at her in confusion, but he didn’t seem to mind when the cliff edge became a bubbling stream in a forest.

There was a small natural pool with a rocky outcrop. Normal in every sense of the word, having been built from Kelly's memory. Straight from her own childhood, complete with mud and algae.

"What are you doing?" Jack questioned, finishing off the last of his sugared monstrosity. Chocolate ice cream dripped down his shirt, making Kelly smile with fond affection.

"Today," Kelly said with a grin. "I'm gonna teach you how to swim."

-

Jack knew everything that Kelly knew.

It had been that way since before he was born. He had, after all, shared a direct line with her. An unbreakable umbilical cord, tethering them together. It was how he understood his mother's language from inside the womb. He hadn't lied to Sam when he said that, at one point, he believed that he was her.
Besides, ever since he became God, Jack had gained a new understanding of the world.

From the way fake water molecules in the heavenly pool interacted together, to the way real water on earth contained memory and transmitted information through their structure.

Jack knew more than most now.

Jack already knew how to swim.

He could even walk on the water, should he so wish to.

"Alright, try and kick your legs," Kelly said with a soft smile, holding her palms under his currently small back in an attempt to help the boy float.

He sank slightly under the cool waves, looking up at his mother's excited face. What he lacked in natural buoyancy, Kelly made up with her gentle guiding hands.

He did as she requested, kicking slowly as she floated him along the water. It was... soothing.

"My dad used to fish here when I was a kid," Kelly stated, seemingly distracted with her memories as her son paddled and froggy kicked next to her. "It was also where he taught me how to swim for the first time."

This little rock pool, with its waist-deep water and its rushing river nearby, was special to his mother. It was a place that she chose to share with him, and Jack felt his heart swell at the thought.

"Do you like to fish, too?" Jack questioned, waving a hand unseen under the waves. Fish appeared from the nothingness, unnoticed by his mother. They were small and silver in colour, blending into the dark waters perfectly.

If Kelly wanted to go fishing with him, then he would grow them to suit.

"No way!" She exclaimed with a laugh. "I hated fishing. Those poor little guys... I couldn't stand to see them getting hurt."

Oh... ok.

That was fine, too.

A small wave brushed against Jack's chest, and he looked back up at Kelly.

"Dean took me fishing... once," he said with a smile. "We didn't catch anything, but it was still fun."

Kelly grinned down at him, always happy to hear the little stories of her son's life on earth.

-

"And then, we went out for burgers, and Dean taught me how to drive!"

That was... kind of comical coming out of her four-year-old's mouth, and Kelly couldn't help the giggle that spilled out of her own.

"I'm so glad you have some happy memories," she said with a smile, as she turned Jack onto his belly, helping him doggy paddle to the side of the river bank. "I had been so worried that you didn't get that."

Jack hummed as his little arms reached through the water, one after another, paddling until he found a good rhythm.

He was quiet for a while, frowning. Kelly got the feeling that the little boy didn't want to tell her the stories of his more darker memories. Her heart began to ache a little in her chest.

Jack had died. He was in heaven with her before... She hadn't forgotten that horrific fact.

"I didn't get to do everything I wanted to," Jack finally admitted quietly.

"And now?" She questioned, lifting her child into the air, letting him safely feel the rush of falling before she caught him mid-air.

She had wanted so badly for him to laugh, to pull his attention away from whatever traumatic memory was in his mind. So she made a silly face, as she threw him into the air.

It worked.

Jack started to giggle.

"What do you want to do now?" She questioned, pressing the point. "Do you want to go back to earth when you're done working with Gabriel and Raphael?"

"I kinda thought that I could stay with you," Jack replied with a little grin. He didn't notice that Kelly stopped lifting him. Her arms that cradled her son slowly fell until the two rested back in the water. "I mean... I still wanna visit Sam and also Dean and Castiel, but I wanna stay with you and get to do all this fun stuff."

"Oh, baby..." Kelly cooed sadly, pulling Jack into a hug. "I don't want you to stay in heaven... not when you're so young, you haven't experienced... well, anything."

"You... don't you want me to stay with you?"

Kelly's heart broke at the question.

"Jack, I'm dead," she whispered, leaning down to press her lips into her son's wet curls. "And you're not. I want you to live. I want you to go to school and make some friends, find something that you love."

"But I love you..."

"And I love you too. I always will," Kelly said as she pulled back, looking down at her son. Her little boy. "I will be here when you want to talk to me. But I want you to make some kinder memories before you choose to stay here for good."

"Ok, Mum."

Chapter Text

April 2006

"So get this," Sam began, reading aloud the property's bill of sale that he had procured online. "On the 15th of November, 2005, a six-acre property was sold to a Castiel Winchester and a Dean Singer."

His eyes scanned the formal document, taking in the exact price the two had allegedly paid for the homestead, the realtor's name and other formalities that Sam, even with his knowledge of law, struggled to understand.

It hadn't been difficult to track down the person named Castiel. The creature had, after all, not used an entirely fake name on his fake IDs or his credit cards.

It had been a minor shock, however, to see Dean's name accompanying Castiel's on the bill of sale, sans his last name, of course.

Sam swallowed the words on his tongue, feeling uneasy at the revelation.

Dean Winchester had renamed himself to Dean Singer, taking Bobby's last name and abandoning his own.

It wasn't unusual for Dean to have a fake ID. In fact, Sam's older brother seemed to thrive best when he knew his troubles couldn't be traced back to his real family. His real life.

But Dean always used rock aliases. Or dorky movie references. That's what Sam had been looking for over the last few months, not... this.

And the other man? This Castiel? He was apparently a Winchester now.

The whole situation left a bad taste in Sam's mouth. He hated not knowing what was going on, despite how thankful he was for finally having a lead to chase.

'Follow the name Castiel.'

"If you find him, you will find your older brother," the creature named Michael had stated apathetically the night before, as Sam dragged his practically catatonic father down the porch steps to the Impala. "Those two are rarely seen apart..."

Sam turned his gaze away from the bright glare of his laptop screen, looking over at his dad, who was still slumped against the motel's bed frame.

The eldest hunter looked small against the brown blankets, hunched over, with his hands laying limply at his side.

The man's face was red and blotchy, eyes red-rimmed and unfocused. Watery... tearful... John Winchester had been like that ever since he woke up from his near-unconscious state.

"Do you think you can pack up your things?" Sam questioned, turning his eyes back to the computer and writing down the address listed on the document.

The property was quite literally in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by national parkland and forests. Sam hummed under his breath in annoyance. It would be at least a six-hour drive to get there.

John Winchester didn't respond to Sam's question.

He didn't react when his son began to pack up their possessions, just staring blankly at the grease that stained the motel's wall. It was, Sam had to admit, an unhealthy shade of yellow.

"If we leave now, we can see Dean tonight," Sam insisted, trying to break through his father's silence, as he shoved his dirty clothes into his duffle bag with a little more force than necessary.

They finally had a lead on Dean, and Sam would be damned if he sat on his ass waiting around for his dad. He understood that whatever the creature piloting Adam's body had done to the man had hurt him, but they didn't have time to deal with another mental breakdown.

Dean was out there... Dean was waiting.

"I've already lost Dean..." John whispered, his voice harsh and choked, as if he had been screaming himself hoarse for hours on end.

Sam bit his lip.

What Michael had described to Sam...

That mental attack the creature did to his father...

It left a mark. A deep burn that seemed to devour John from the inside out. The darkness from within John's mind, that Michael had unleashed, hollowed John out.

Tears began to well in John's eyes, as Sam sat next to him on the motel's comforter.

"I fucked up, Sammy..." His father whispered, eyes becoming unfocused once more as years of regret crept along his shoulders. Decades of depression and pain. "I put too much pressure on you boys."

"Dad, please... We have to go," Sam insisted, reaching his hand out to grasp his father's shoulder firmly. If he could get through to him, pull his dad out of this slump, maybe make him see their current priority...

John leaned forward suddenly, moving quicker than Sam had expected. He grabbed Sam's arms harshly as he made eye contact with his son.

"I failed you... I failed everyone," John's voice trembled. "I'm so sorry, Sammy."

His fingers dug into Sam's arms like claws. His rough, dirt stained nails tore into Sam's skin with the same weight as that confession.

Sam let his father cry, not saying a word of comfort. He could only stare at John blankly, watching as the man slowly sank onto the bed, succumbing to his grief.

-

The drive had been silent.

Sam was behind the Impala's wheel, hand on the gearstick as he drove the nearly six-hour stretch of road that led him to Dean.

One hour left, one hour until he arrived at the address listed on the property sale report. One hour until he saw Dean again.

He left one brother behind in search of the other, much to his guilty conscience

Tears welled in his eyes, hot and stinging. They matched his unstable father, who was seated quietly in a dissociated state beside him.

"So... Why didn't you tell me about Adam?" He questioned, trying to distract his tired mind.

Every tree in the forest that bordered the road was starting to look the same, all blurring together in a mess of greenery, cold and uninviting. Sam squinted at the dark foliage as it passed, it wouldn't surprise him if there were a wendigo or two hidden in these mountains.

It was a few minutes of silence before his dad replied, and during that time, Sam was almost tempted to ask again, wondering if his dad was too far gone mentally to have heard him.

"I thought I could keep him outta this life," came John's tired voice.

"Out of hunting?" Sam inquired, chasing the elaboration.

"Yeah... Didn't work," he whispered, more to himself than to Sam. "Got pulled in any way."

"Maybe all the Winchesters are cursed," Sam muttered sarcastically.

It was another five minutes before Sam attempted to start the conversation again.

"Did Dean know about Adam?"

John always told Dean everything. Dean was his favourite after all, but the idea that Dean also knew they had another brother was far-fetched in Sam's eyes. There was no way in hell that the eldest Winchester son would leave a teenager defenceless.

"No... I don't think so."

John's voice trailed off, as he lost his mind in painful memories.

Sam side-eyed the now slumping man, turning his attention back to the road.

'Soon,' Sam thought to himself. 'Soon I will be able to ask him myself.'

Chapter Text

April 2006

Breakfast was... awkward, to say the least.

Adam's mother seemed to have a permanent tremble in her arms. It was as if she were still running on the pure adrenaline she received the night previous.

She shakily placed the last pancake onto the stack and delicately poured the perfect amount of syrup onto the pile. Just how he liked it.

She turned on the spot, placing the plate in front of her son, who had been standing by the table.

Adam tried to smile in a way he hoped was reassuring, but he knew from the way his face contorted, he was most likely wincing. He didn't have the heart to tell her he wouldn't be able to taste her cooking.

He wouldn't be able to taste anything for the next month with the amount of grace Michael flooded their grace veins with.

He tried to meet her eyes, but she nervously looked away, her face unnaturally pale against her blond hair.

"So... um," she began, her voice shaking and stuttering. She seemed at a loss for words, which was, frankly, understandable.

Adam was also at a loss for words.

How could he even explain his situation?

Slowly and carefully?

Should he ease her into the idea that her son wasn't the naive and innocent little boy she had raised?

Or just come out with it? Blurt out the truth. Rip the bandaid off in one go?

It didn't matter what he pondered. Michael, within the few seconds Adam had thought about the situation, chose for him.

"I'm currently possessed," the Archangel bluntly stated, words pushed out from Adam's unwilling lips.

'Dude! What the fuck was that?' Adam questioned, feeling a mixture of emotions he couldn't even put into words.

The only response he received was the mental image of a half-hearted shrug of shared confusion.

"B-by what?" Kate whispered, her tearful eyes finding Adam's own.

"A-angel," Michael replied, only managing to get out one shuttering word before Adam pushed the Archangel back into the recess of their shared mind.

"An Archangel," Adam clarified, watching his mother's heart break with pity.

"Honey, if this thing is in your head, whispering to you, telling you that it's an Angel, it's probably..." Kate paused, taking a deep, steadying breath. "...not... that."

"He is an Angel," Adam replied more firmly.

"Adam..."

"He is, Mum. If Michael wasn't an Angel, then the gun Dad shot me with would have killed me."

Kate flinched harshly at the reminder of Adam's near death at John's hands, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

Her shoulders shook harder as she finally broke down, the stress of last night hitting her like a truck. Her body hunched over, and her eyes became unfocused.

Adam tried to reach for her, to pull her into a soothing hug, but she recoiled from his touch.

She eyed him with an intense suspicion, the expression looking unnatural on her typically cheerful and happy features.

It... broke his heart to see her look at him like that.

Like he was infected with something.

Like he could hurt her.

Adam bit the inside of his cheek, feeling like absolute shit. He mentally recoiled at the thought of making his mother cry.

Of causing her pain and stress.

It hadn't been Michael, or his Dad or his brother.

Him. He did that.

He should have told her earlier.

"Mum, I'm gonna be ok," he whispered. "We are gonna be ok."

"You don't know that, Adam."

"I do-"

"No, you don't," she whispered, calming her sobs. She straightened her back before she faced him, tears streaking down her tired face in twin rows. "You don't know... because you're just a child."

Adam nearly outwardly scoffed at that statement, which Michael thankfully suppressed. He hadn't been a kid in a millennia, the idea that he couldn't weigh into the conversation because of his physical age was ridiculous.

'How is she to know better?' Michael inquired, genuinely curious on Adam's thought process.

Perhaps he should tell her now, clear out all of his dirty laundry.

Tell her about his years trapped with the devil himself, tell her of the freedom and pain he experienced. The love he gained.

"I'm not a child-" He began.

"How long?" Kate interrupted quietly.

"What?" The short query derailed his train of thought.

"How long have you been possessed?" She continued to whisper.

In this timeline, months. In truth, over a thousand years. Which statement was more accurate in this situation?

"Um," the answer took some thought, but Michael happily provided easily digestible information in the background of their mind. "Since... early February?"

"Feb- February?" Kate questioned, disbelief colouring her tone.

She pulled at her soft blond hair, the sound of the thin hairs snapping at their roots hitting Adam's ears.

He tried not to wince, thoroughly hating Michael's angelic hearing, that he was currently forced to endure.

She paused, taking another set of slow breaths and thankfully let go of her hair, her hands falling limp at her side.

Adam recognised the breathing pattern she used, as the one used by the hospital staff to calm patients who were hyperventilating. It was slow and measured in pace.

He didn't dare to speak, and thankfully, Michael didn't either.

The Angel inside of him watched silently, almost enrapt by the display of emotion from the women. He couldn't recall seeing someone who wasn't Adam so expressive.

"Ok. Ok," another deep breath. "It's been months, and this thing, it hasn't hurt you, has it?"

"No."

"Do you think it's gonna hurt you?"

"He won't."

"Ok... ok, I'm going to go to work. And you are going to go to school," Kate's voice was barely audible as she carefully packed her things into her handbag. "And we are going to talk about this when I get home, do you understand?"

Adam mutely nodded his response, already formulating a way to get out of his part of her request.

He was shot in the head last night, for fuck sake. And then he and Michael flew through a damn storm to speak to Castiel.

There wasn't a chance in hell he was just gonna go to school and do calculus with a bunch of teenagers who didn't even know how to shower properly.

Kate approached him on shaky legs, looking ever more like a fawn advancing towards a mountain lion. She reached a trembling hand out, placing her warm palm on his shoulder in a way she decided would be comforting.

"Everything will be ok," she whispered, mainly to herself as she stared intently into her son's unchanging blue eyes. It was almost as if she expected to see something else staring back at her. Some sort of monster. Her shoulders slumped in relief when she realised it was just Adam.

Kind of.

She turned, and slowly walked out the door, leaving her son standing 'almost' alone.

Adam sighed, all but collapsing onto the dining room chair. The stack of now-cold pancakes seemed to loom over him menacingly, and he reluctantly picked up his knife and fork. His mother's worry would increase if she came home and saw that he hadn't eaten his breakfast.

The first taste of molecules hit his tongue like an igniting firecracker, sparks of moving atoms bouncing off one another in an almost painful way.

'How can you enjoy this?' Michael questioned quietly as if he was unsure he should even speak after the confrontation he had just caused.

"I'm not," Adam replied, after swallowing another bite. A shudder ran through his body, starting at the top of his head, and moving down to his forearms, goosebumps rising at the sensation.

The two were quiet for a little while, both thinking over their current situation. Wondering about all of the ways to proceed with their life now that Kate knew about Michael.

'Should I remove her memory?' Michael inquired.

"What?"

'Your mother's memory. I could remove the last few days, if you would prefer to continue as we have.'

Adam hummed, considering his Angel's words carefully. Kate was very clearly traumatised from what she had witnessed.

It was in how she hunched over when she walked, the careful way she held herself, and the shell-shocked expression that crossed her features every time her current expression slipped.

"No. I don't want to," Adam admitted, standing up and scooping the leftover pancakes into the bin.

He knew he could keep Michael a secret if he chose to, but it felt like blasphemy to get to keep the Viceroy of Heaven all to himself, and not even tell his mother about the Angel they lived with.

"I don't wanna hide you anymore."

'Are you planning to go to school now?' Michael questioned, watching as Adam walked up the stairs and entered their room.

"Nope," Adam replied with an easy grin, looking up at the hallucination of the Archangel who stood next to him. "There's not a chance in hell..."

Adam opened his school bag, which he had left balancing precariously on the edge of his computer desk. He pulled out the Atlas, which, under normal circumstances, would have been incredibly heavy.

"Pick a page, Michael."

He pulled the Archangel to the forefront of their mind, allowing the Celestial to take control. He obliged with his human charges request and opened the book at random.

A map of Spain covered the page, listing various places of interest. Adam lifted their hand and pointed at one spot that had caught his fancy.

"Can you fly me there?"

Chapter Text

April 2021

Crowley yawned, his body aching with the pain of the Empty's hold on his soul. He felt as though, if he were to close his eyes, he would drift back off into eternal slumber right here, right now.

He shifted uncomfortably against his old throne, watching in bored apathy as his mother flitted around the throne room. She was distracted, completely invested in her current project, although she would pause occasionally to take little glances at her son.

It was as if she was expecting to look up and find him missing.

As if she was expecting him to still be in the Empty.

This was a fair assumption, considering he had spent multiple years, or mentally, eons in his case, in the everlasting sleep of the void.

He turned his gaze away from her own, choosing instead to look at the stylised choices Rowena had made.

His throne room had completely changed since his mother took control of hell. It was cave-like now, with arching structures, no longer the dank and musty basement he used to occupy.

The guardsmen had changed too, no longer just random demon numbers 3 and 72 standing at the door, but a highly trained team of witches, all working in the pursuit of redemption.

Most of the surfaces in the room were covered in countless dusty books and old parchments that didn't hold his attention. They detailed plans, not just of the new Gods' all-dimensional, all-universal revamp, but of the momentous task of breaking into the empty.

Which, apparently, Squirrel and Moose accomplished a few months before Crowley woke up.

Right now, Hell was... surprisingly empty.

Many of its human occupants had been given one more chance at redemption and started their new lives on Earth.

A reincarnation.

A fresh start.

Crowley almost wished he had taken up Jack's offer for his own rebirth.

But one look at his mother's depressive yet accepting face had paused that thought. He could go back to Earth when she was ready to go too. Which was, apparently, quite a while away.

He had learned from Sam over the past week, just how sad and desperate Rowena had been over his death. It was almost... sickeningly touching, to be held in such high regard by her, especially after the negligence he grew up with under her hand.

Crowley yawned again, and picked up a singular page from the pile beside his throne, skim reading over the information it held.

He snorted at its contents.

The cure for Demon's had always been simple. He had practically gone through it himself at the hands of the youngest denim-clad nightmare.

But, his mother had managed to streamline the experience, making it incredibly easy for all those who chose that path.

Choosing a cleansing before rebirth would greatly increase their chances of being sent to heaven after their next life was over, and wasn't that what every poor tortured soul craved?

"Something on your mind, Fergus?"

"Nothing, Mother...it's just," he gave a halfhearted grin as he placed the paperwork back onto the pile. Whilst he had always loved being meticulous about his crossroads contracts, he hated the paperwork that came with actually running hell. "It's so very... Winchester... to try and redeem hell. It feels all too, friendship is magic for my tastes."

"Aye, they miss you too dearie," Rowena said with a grin, her Scottish accent heavily coating her words. She organised the books on the largest desk in the room, trying to make space for the apparent upcoming meeting with the new God.

Who was... Lucifer's bastard Nephilim.

Who everyone had grown fond of in his absence.

He closed his eyes, stretching his arms back behind his head, feeling the weight of their movements. Heavy and lethargic.

Surely his mother wouldn't mind if he took a nap?

-

A strange small blond man and the familiar Godling teenager were talking quite loudly with Rowena when Crowley woke up. They were hunched over a table, discussing the series of plans and physics maps in front of them.

The only sign that Crowley had, that time had passed, was the fact his mother was wearing a new dress, this one dark blue in comparison to the ruby red she wore when he fell asleep.

He stood up slowly and approached the small group.

"With Michael gone, Heaven will only be running on two Archangels," Jack stated, looking vaguely concerned.

"Heaven's been running on two Archangels for millennia," the short man said with a grin, rolling his eyes as he unwrapped a lollipop and placed the sweet treat into his mouth. "That's not exactly an unusual circumstance."

The older blond, likely an Angel, turned and gave Rowena a smirk around the red sucker, manifesting a small and delicate dark chocolate in his hand. She plucked it from his palm and gave him an appreciative look.

"It's not optimal," Jack remarked, ignoring the gross flirtatious exchange, too busy looking frustrated over the paperwork. They held cosmic equations that didn't make a lick of sense to Crowley, who peeked over Rowena's shoulder.

"Ooh, lookie, Sleeping Beauty is awake," grinned the short blond, turning his attention to Crowley. "How are you doing, sport?"

"Um... fine," Crowley stated, feeling confused by the Angel. He didn't act like most of those feathery bastards. "And who are you, exactly?"

"I know you said making Angel's didn't work out, Sweetie, but have you put any more thought into that idea again?" Rowena questioned, ignoring her son and looking down at God. "If you made another set, better this time, they could greatly assist this balance you are so keen to create."

God's face turned a bright rosy red, shame creeping across his features.

"Oooh, no, that's not happening," the older Angel retorted, looking serious for the first time since Crowley woke up. "Not again, the ones we still have are a bloody mess."

"You can make Angels?" Crowley questioned, turning his attention to the not-toddler.

"He managed to supercharge a bunch of human souls," Blondie stated, ruffling Jack's hair. "It didn't work out."

"Why?" Crowley yawned, feeling the sinking exhaustion seeping into his bones again. "What happened?"

"An angel can syphon power from a human soul, enough to fully recharge their grace, providing they have physical contact," Blondie said, walking around the table as he explained. "An angel in a vessel is still kept separate from the soul, protected by a barrier, like a thin membrane. However, these humans had no barriers, and the grace practically turned them into nuclear reactors."

"And it worked," Jack said with an uneasy smile. "For a few months. It kept the lights on until we had the spell to enter the Empty created."

"What happened to the souls?" Rowena inquired, her curiosity peeking at the thought of tapping into the unlimited power a soul contained.

"You ever seen what happens to your wired earbuds when they've been in your pocket all day?" Jack admitted, looking ashamed of his creations. "The human-born angels are... entangled."

"Less entangled, more melted together into Angel soup," Blondie laughed. "Don't worry though, we keep the little monsters in the basement."

Crowley shuttered at the mental image.

Gross.

"They aren't monsters. They're people, Uncle Gabe."

-

God finally left after the plans were made to filter contracted souls through Anubis for a proper soul weighing. All contracts, much to Crowley's immense disappointment, were now null and voided, and currently, there were no crossroads demons available to even make new deals. Apart from Crowley himself.

But, under the new regime, he didn't believe he would be able to step one foot out of line. This new God was too watchful, too innocent and full of happy thoughts of world peace.

Whatever, he would see where this goes. It wouldn't be the first time he was forced to go along with a, in his eyes, stupid idea.

"So, Fergus, have you put any thought into my request?" Rowena questioned, affectionately patting Crowley's shoulder.

Ah yes, Mother's next great project.

Crowning him Crowley, king of the redemption arcs.

"No, thank you, Mother," Crowley said, standing up from his seat and dusting off the invisible lint from his Armani suit. "I'd much prefer it if you stayed in charge of this... venture."

To be honest, he didn't know where he would even start if he were in charge of redeeming countless human souls. It really wasn't his forte.

Maybe Moose would be better suited for this role. He understood the darkness in people's hearts better than most, a real Boy King of hell.

He turned his attention to the two remaining occupants of the room, who had been... looking at each other in a way that made Crowley... uncomfortable.

"Welp, exit stage Crowley," he muttered, turning to head out through the large doors. His mother's conquests held little of his interest. "I'll see you around, Mother."

"Wait, you can't go now!"

A small hand circled his wrists, pulling him down into his mother's embrace for the first time in what felt like centuries. Rowena's eyes were closed tight, as she hugged him.

"Sorry," she whispered, her accent thicker with the roughness of her voice. "You've only been back a few days, and I've missed you."

For a moment, for one singular moment, he allowed himself to relax into her hold.

"I'll stay, but only to see how this works out," Crowley admitted, turning to look down at his now clingy mother. "I want that God-child to give me a whole list of perks and bonuses in my next life."

"Aye, you will. And I vow to be a better parent, the next time ‘round," Rowena promised, pulling away slightly, her hands still holding his forearms tightly. "You will get the mother you deserve."

"And if I get with your mum, you can get the Daddy you deserve, too!" Chimed in the blond Angel, who threw his arms around both Rowena and Crowley.

The Angel used his strength, nearly crushing the Demon tight in his grasp, giggling as Crowley let out a wheeze in response.

It was soul-crushing... Nauseating.

He was wrong... This really was still Hell.

Neither Angel nor Witch could stop the laugh pulled from their throats at the sight of smoke. Quick as anything, Crowley drew himself from his vessel, red smoke and vapour pouring from his mouth in his attempt to escape.

He tunnelled through the air, sliding into the drainage system. Not his most elegant exit, but it was practical.

Chapter Text

April 2006

Mavis grumbled loudly, as she hobbled along the overgrown hiking trail, feeling all 78 of her years catch up to her at once.

She had hiked this particular trail every morning for nearly 60 years. But now, as she wobbled on uneasy steps, she couldn't help but feel like this time... This time would be the last time she traversed this path.

She sighed, as she took in the view around her. Soon, its trees and hillside would be unfamiliar to her aging mind, a regrettable fact.

Mavis grimaced at the pain in her hip, feeling a deep sense of trepidation at how her mobility had failed her. She had barely walked for ten minutes, and now, she would need to turn back.

Lauren, Mavis's granddaughter, reached her arm out to steady the older woman, who looked to be dangerously close to falling over.

"Are you alright?" The nearly twenty-seven-year-old inquired, as she wrapped her arm around her grandmother's slim and rickety shoulders. She had, like Mavis, grown weary of these walks, although for entirely different reasons.

Lauren hated doing a 40-minute hike every morning, it was annoying, tedious, and quite frankly a waste of precious time.

But still, her dad paid her $35 a week to accompany his mother, to keep Mavis safe and make sure she didn't suffer any falls, and well, Lauren liked the easy money.

"I'm alright, Laurie. I just think I need to go home a little earlier today."

Lauren nodded, gently guiding Mavis to turn around, supporting the older woman as the rocks below her cane tried to give way.

"We can take a break whenever you need to," Lauren said, her voice more cheerful now that she knew she would be back home soon.

A flash of red caught Mavis's attention, somewhere deep within the forest to her left. It seemed to weave amongst the trees, moving at a speed Mavis had seldom seen before.

She turned her head, her eyes finding Lauren's with a word of warning on her lips.

A rush of motion slammed into the pair, knocking Mavis to the ground. The force caused a collision of her head against the rocks that had threatened to fall her earlier.

She didn't see the creature clamp its jaws around Lauren's neck. She didn't see it drag the now shrieking young woman into the woods. Mavis didn't see anything ever again.

The pooling blood that quickly left the fracture in her skull saw to that.

-

Castiel watched Dean with rapt attention as the retired hunter moved around the kitchen with practised ease. He knew exactly where everything he needed could be found, and exactly when to use it.

The morning sunlight filtered through the white curtains, casting rays onto the tips of Dean's hair, causing them to shine a deep browny gold. It was a few inches longer than Castiel had ever seen, and he loved how soft it felt as he slid his fingers through the tresses each morning.

Castiel hummed, placing his chin into the palm of his hand, content to just watch Dean.

The man was stunning.

"Can I make you a coffee, at least?" The retired hunter inquired, still watching the eggs sizzling in the pan. He turned off the gas to the stove and dumped them onto his now-heaped plate.

The plate held an array of colours, red from the cooked tomatoes, pink from the bacon, white and yellow from the egg, and brown from the toast. Dean even placed a handful of green spinach on his breakfast at Castiel's earlier insistence.

"No thank you," Castiel replied, still watching his human mate with a smile. On any other day, the Seraph may partake in the morning ritual, but today he had plans.

The leylines were in a favourable position today and the idea of spreading out across the water again played in his mind.

Removing himself from his vessel always gave him a sense of peace. There was something special about being untethered that made pondering his thoughts so much easier. It was as if his earthly bindings did not bother him when he was in one of his real forms.

Not that that fact made his feelings for Dean lesser. If anything, they felt stronger each time the Seraph reconnected with his grace on a deeper level.

It would be best if he didn't consume anything this morning, he wouldn't want it to rot inside of his vessel whilst he was preoccupied.

Dean sat down across from him, a grin on his face as he began to eat his breakfast. The mechanic was already late to work, having slept through his alarm, but he didn't seem to be in a rush to drive into town.

After fifteen minutes, something prodded against Castiel's psyche, pulling his attention away from Dean for a moment.

It moved like the tender flickering of a fly, caught on a web.

Castiel felt his vessel's facial muscles relax into a blank and unfocused state, the mind of the Seraph drifting as he focused on the wards surrounding their home.

"What's wrong?"

"Something has triggered the warding," Castiel responded, his eyes flicking to Dean's who met his own curiously.

"Is it-"

"No, it's not them, this is... this is something else, something supernatural," he interrupted, his eyes closed as he sent out a small burst of grace like a sonar ping. It hit something moving quickly around the boundary of the forest, quite a few miles away from their property line.

"Are you gonna check it out?" Dean inquired as he swallowed the last of his coffee, watching as the Angel stood up from his seat.

"I am."

"Do you think you can handle it by yourself?"

"I'm at full power, Dean. What could harm me here?"

Castiel was a Seraph, just one rank down from the Archangels. Logically speaking, not many creatures could even touch him.

"Fair point," Dean retorted, also standing and quickly rinsing his dirty dishes in the sink.

The retired hunter pulled his jacket over his shoulders and tied the laces on his work boots. Afterwards, he reached for Castiel, pulling him into his arms and hugging the Seraph tight. Castiel couldn't help but momentarily sink into the warm embrace.

"I gotta go," the retired hunter whispered into Castiel's hair.

"I know," he responded, reaching a hand up to pull Dean's lips to meet his own. "Have a good day at work."

"Stay safe out there, Sunshine."

-

Dean unlocked the door to his workplace's reception and flipped on the lights, still loudly humming the song from the truck's radio.

The building was always empty, and quiet first thing in the morning.

Just how he liked it.

He turned on the computer, sinking into the chair as it slowly booted up. It was technically one of the newer models, but holy fuck, was it slow. Dean almost wished he hadn't pestered his boss to buy the damn thing. But, he had to admit, it did make the scheduling easier.

Eventually, the screen lit up, and Dean was able to read his schedule. Annnd- nothing set.

Unless someone had an emergency, Dean would be having a cleaning day.

He slunk off the chair, and into the warehouse, content to tidy up the mess of car parts.

-

Castiel cautiously walked along the tracks the creature had made, noting the blood speckles along the forest floor. The footprints were humanoid, although deeper than normal, which showed the greater force the creature used as it ran.

A breeze ruffled through his hair, as trickles of rain began to drop from the clouds above. The Seraph moved quicker, rushing his steps.

He had to hurry, it wouldn't be long until the scent was lost.

-

The ringing bell at the front desk pulled Dean's attention away from the large array of nuts, bolts and washers he had been sorting. He stood up to meet the customer waiting in the reception.

It was a teenager, a young boy who looked barely old enough to have a license.

"What can I do for you?" Dean asked, wiping grease off his hands and onto an old ripped rag.

"Um- I think somethings wrong with my tyres?" The boy stuttered, wiping the sweat that beaded at his brow. He looked around the room nervously, his energy setting Dean on edge. "I drove over something sharp, and um, it's... it's been making a weird noise."

"Ah, sure," Dean shrugged. "Is your car parked out the front?"

"Yes," the teen nodded and shifted his weight, unsure if he should follow Dean as the mechanic walked outside. Ultimately, he decided to follow.

Dean whistled low at the sight.

"Dude, how did you even manage to drive this thing here?" He questioned, squatting down to look at the tyre. It was incredibly torn, and he could see what remained of a metal spike still stuck in the rubber. "You could have fucked up the rims. Why didn't you just replace the tyre, or call a tow company?"

"Do you see that spike? Yeah, I drove over a whole row of them, just outside of town," the nervous teen exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear. "I wasn't gonna get outta my car. I don't know how you would react in that situation, but I choose life."

He shuttered, goosebumps rising over his arms, and he rubbed them mindlessly.

"I know what people are saying, that it was just wild animals that got Mavis and Laurie, but there ain't a chance in hell I'm gonna take that risk," the teenager continued in a much quieter tone.

That caught Dean's attention.

"Who?" He questioned, opening the car's front door and lifting the break.

He stepped out quickly and began to roll the car into his workshop on the side. It was easy to change a punctured tyre, but harder to fix the axle. Driving on such torn-up wheels might have done actual damage to the car.

"Old lady Mavis?" The teenager prompted, as if the moniker to the name would help Dean remember this random woman, that he had never met. He seemed to realise that Dean had no idea who he was talking about, as he followed Dean into the garage. He chose to elaborate. "She used to be a teacher down at the high school. Well, before she retired anyway. Laurie worked in the grocery store."

"What about them?" Dean inquired, his mind flicking back to what Castiel said this morning. Worry filled him.

It was one thing to have a brush with the supernatural, another entirely to know something came into town on a murder spree.

From what Dean remembered, most supernatural beings kept quiet in 2006...

So this was unusual.

"Her son found her collapsed on the hiking trail this morning, his daughter too, in the bushes near the creek. Both dead," the teenager shook his head, as if in disbelief that anything violent could happen in his small town. "The police officer says wild animals, but then I drove over all those spikes..."

The boy paused for dramatic effect.

"I think... It was an axe murderer!"

Right...

Dean sighed, and wrote down the tyre's dimensions, happily knowing he had quite a few in stock that he could replace it with.

"Ok, look, the rubber is all kinds of fucked up, but the rest of the wheel is in decent shape. I can get this fixed in about 20 minutes," Dean remarked, trying to be professional. "We have a landline in the office if you wanna call your parents to pick you up. Or you could just wait in the reception until I'm done."

The boy turned red and looked behind him anxiously.

"Could, um, I just stay here with you?" He questioned.

"In the garage?"

"Um, yes... please."

"Ah, sure kid."

Well, it wasn't like Dean could say no to a scared kid.

-

Flaring out one's grace was the easiest way to find something.

The energy could spread out thin, over the landmasses and in the streams, and ping back to Castiel when he chose to recall it, informing him of where the creature he was looking for was located.

It had been, in the past, his main searching method. But now, as he touched one of the wards he had carved into a tree, he knew that he would have to make this search on foot.

He couldn't risk using a lot of his grace off their property. He couldn't risk lighting up on heaven's radar.

Prayer, thankfully, required no Grace expenditure. Dean's voice echoed through his skull, uncomfortable and in Castiel's eyes, a tad bit unnecessary.

'Hey, Cas? I found out something interesting you might wanna hear,' the hunter prayed, shivers raking down Castiel's body as a result. 'I'm locking up the garage early, can you fly over?'

Dean could have just texted that.

The Seraph grumbled to himself, and spread his obsidian wings, taking flight.

The hunter was where he had stated, keys in hand with his back turned, facing the door he was currently locking. He turned and gave a sad smile back at Castiel once the sound of fluttering wings filled his ears.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Babe."

"What did you learn?"

"Apparently two people were killed out there this morning. Some old lady and her grandkid," Dean elaborated, pointing to the set of hills that overlooked the town.

"What should we do?" Castiel questioned, looking over the greenery Dean had pointed to. He, too, was troubled by his thoughts. "We live here, we can't just start flashing everyone fake FBI badges and interview them."

Dean sighed, feeling conflicted. They could technically just wait it out. Whatever it was, it was likely nomadical. A traveller who would be gone in a few days.

They could just ignore it.

But, on the other hand, if this creature felt like the people of this town were easy pickings, it might linger.

"Are you up for one last hunt?" Dean inquired, catching Castiel's serious blue eyes.

The angel sighed, mostly to himself but he nodded his head regardless.

"One last hunt…" he whispered in agreement.

-

This town's morgue was identical to every damn morgue that Dean had ever seen.

The bodies however were new to him.

Not to Castiel though, unfortunately.

The Angel looked saddened by the loss, his hand reaching across to prod gently at the wound on Mavis's forehead.

"Did you know her?" Dean questioned, covering his hands in latex gloves. He turned his attention to the younger woman, about his physical age, and touched the oozing bite mark on her neck.

The teeth markings were familiar and rough, and he turned back to Mavis to see if she had a matching set.

"Mavis used to sell her handmade quilts at the farmers market," Castiel stated, pulling away after he uncovered a similar bite to her neck.

This one was significantly less bloody, in comparison to Lauren's set. Whatever killed them didn't need to fight so hard to drain Mavis, she must have been unconscious when it attacked her.

"She was planning on teaching me how to crochet when the weather warmed up."

"I'm sorry, Cas."

"It's fine."

-

Castiel followed Dean through the underbrush, weary of the silver glinting machete Dean carried.

It had been well over a year since the retired hunter picked up a weapon, and regardless of the bravado Dean portrayed, the Angel was still worried about the future outcome.

He could heal whatever damage Dean received, but still... he hated the thought of Dean getting hurt.

The corpse-like scent of Vampire began to fill Castiel's nose, solidifying Dean's theory.

"It's here," he whispered, crouching low and gesturing for Dean to follow suit. "You were right, it is a Vampire."

"I'm kinda surprised there's a vamp all the way out here," Dean admitted, peeking over Castiel's shoulder to look at what could only be described as a homeless man's campout. "Out of all the forest creeping fuckers I expected to be in these woods, Vampire wasn't even on the list."

The Vampire was a mid-40s man, decked out in red high-visibility hiking gear. He was crouched next to a small fire, covered in speckles of blood, and ripping apart a kids' pink butterfly backpack.

The sight opened a pit in Castiel's stomach.

Had they been too late? Had this Vampire killed another? A child this time?

Dean stood up quickly, readying his machete, and this time, Castiel didn't raise a hand to stop him.

The hunt ended relatively quickly after that.

-

John sat on the leather bench seat next to Sam, covered in a thin layer of sweat, trembling. He hadn't said a word to his son all morning, his eyes too unfocused, staring off into the distance to hold any semblance of a conversation.

Sam side-eyed him with caution.

His father's breakdown last night had hit harder than the last four, starting with the man violently throwing up on the side of the road, and ending with Sam reluctantly hiring a motel room for the night.

The town they stopped in had been small and quaint. Beautiful oak trees lined the roads, their new growth creating a dark green canopy over the town, shielding it from the still-cool sun overhead.

It was the kinda small town that Sam had always dreamed of settling down in. Of living the American dream, in a small house with a white picket fence, sharing his life with a beautiful wife and two kids.

Not that... that was in the cards for him anymore...

Sam hummed under his breath, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

He'd been searching tirelessly for the last five months. He'd had no lead to follow, no contacts with useful information. Nothing but dead ends.

But he was so close now, barely a few minutes away from the address he had been following.

So close to finding Dean.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel, pulling it to the right as he drove off the road and onto a long winding dirt track.

He paused for a moment, just looking up the driveway to the two-story farmstead that sat in a circle of trees.

This was it. This was the place.

Chapter Text

April 2006

Sam ducked under the window sill and cautiously peeked into the country-styled kitchen.

It looked like a scene taken right out of a magazine, all white painted wood and delicate buttery yellow. Bees decorated the walls, some metal, some wooden, and some painted onto the very framework.

But it was empty, just like all the other lower-level rooms that Sam had peeked into.

The place was practically abandoned. He sighed and turned, signalling to his father, using the hand signs that the man had taught him as a child.

Only... John wasn't watching.

The older hunter hung back by the side of the building, distracted as he stared blankly into the wooden knots in the floorboards. His hands held his gun limply, fingers loose around the stock.

"Dad?" Sam questioned in a whisper, turning on the spot to sneak back along the decking that surrounded the little farmhouse. He reached his hand out and placed it carefully on his father's shoulder.

He didn't want to startle the dazed man, after all, he had no chance of surviving a sawed-off shotgun's blast to the chest.

"Dad?"

A little shake this time, just to get his attention.

"I'm here," the eldest Winchester muttered as his mind came back to him, the words coming out like thin vapour, almost non-existent. "I'm here."

"I'm going to go upstairs, and see if I can find anything," Sam said, trying to take control of the situation. He was loathe to leave his father alone in this condition, but Sam needed him out of the way. "You should go to the Impala, and wait for me there."

That earned him a glare, but any emotion over this melancholy depression was better than the alternative.

"Not happening," John growled out, straightening his back and stalking away. He walked towards a rusted shed, one that seemed to have been turned into a semi-rickety garage.

It held no car though, a detail that Sam had noted when he drove down the driveway, which meant that whoever lived here, might not even be home at all.

Sam shook his head at his father's stubborn words and opened the front door.

Unlocked...

Not an odd fact for someone living so rural, it could very well be a sign of complacency and a happy country life. Or, it could be a sign that whatever creature or person placed its roots here, wasn't threatened by the idea of a home invasion.

The living room inside was green and white, sparsely decorated bearing the large, framed, and signed Led Zeppelin poster that hung above the couch. A set of stairs welcomed him next, leading into the upstairs landing.

He followed them, wincing at every creak the floorboards underfoot produced.

There were three bedrooms on the landing and one bathroom. All the doors were open, and Sam could easily see inside each.

The first room was obviously the house's main bedroom, with a large bed and a black metal frame. Plants grew in pots in various places, on the windowsills and shelves.

Sam slowly walked into the room, feeling a sense of unease, like he was entering a sacred place. A church or a lovers' nest, although he had no idea which.

He opened the first bedside table and was greeted with a drawer full of random seeds, crystals, and small nick-nacks. A Bible caught his attention, and he reached for it blindly.

A demon wouldn't own a Bible, such holy items burned them with their mere presence.

He opened the worn book, only to be confronted with scrawling writing, written in a blue pen, containing revisions and angered statements about human translations.

Rantings about the gospel and whole lines of text scribbled out.

It was... nonsensical. Meaningless. Insanity at best.

Sam winced and placed it back into the drawer, continuing to the other side.

This bedside table contained more... normal, everyday items. From cough drops to tweezers, to random receipts. Nothing truly noteworthy caught his attention as he rummaged through the drawer.

He pulled the drawer out further, only to feel the flush of his face burn red.

A pair of green satin panties were shoved in the back, half hidden by a few energy bars.

He quickly closed that drawer, and turned, walking out of the room, knowing he wouldn't find anything further if he kept searching.

The next bedroom was sparse, undecorated, and unfurnished as if it sat waiting for an owner. It overlooked a large part of the forest, the mountain in the background was almost framed by the window like a painting in an art gallery.

Sam turned his head and wandered into the last room.

This room looked like it belonged to a small child, a little boy by the name of Jack, whose name was painted on the walls mural. The room was pristinely kept, with toys carefully placed on the dresser, alongside little woollen mitts.

The bed looked like a little boat and had the corners of the sheets fitted tight, military style, just like John had taught Sam and his brother.

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, reaching out to touch the brown teddy bear that sat idly on the desk by his side.

Oh God... was there a kid here?

A slight creaking behind him set him on edge, and he whipped around quickly to see his father entering the room, hands raised passively.

"Woah, easy," John placated, eyes also flickering around the room. He seemed to straighten up, lips tightening into a thin line as he came to the same realisation Sam had, that somehow, a child was involved in this mess. "There's something you gotta see."

He led Sam down the stairs and out through the back door, and that's when Sam saw it.

A tropical forest, fertile and fruit-bearing. It stood jarring amongst the still unfurling leaves of the typical early April forest.

"Have you ever seen anything like that?" Sam questioned in awe, turning his attention back to John.

"Never," his father replied, staring into the literal jungle of flowers and vines in front of them.

"Do you... Do you think we are dealing with some sort of pagan God?" Sam inquired, following after his father as the Elder hunter began walking towards the treeline. "Like, a really obscure one? Or maybe some sort of Fey?"

"If it's a Fey, iron will hurt it," John stated, checking his gun as he prepared to enter the forest. "If it's an old God, then... we're extremely unprepared."

"Why? The Colt should work."

"We can only use the Colt if we were in a life or death scenario, Sam," John said, walking into the forest. Sam took a moment to gaze up at the towering foliage before he quickly followed his father. "We only have one bullet left, and if this thing is impervious to it like the thing that's in Adam..."

"Then it might not even work," Sam reluctantly whispered, catching onto John's train of thought easily.

"Exactly."

Sam was silent for a moment, trying to rack his brain for any scrap of information that would be useful in this situation.

The air was unnaturally still and froze his lungs when he breathed it in, setting off an odd feeling as if he had just inhaled lightning. Or... lemonade.

It was eerie here. There seemed to be movement in the plants, leaves swaying towards the two hunters as they walked beside them.

Sam side-eyed them, hating the fact that they were likely watching him like he was watching them. He shivered.

"What could kill a pagan God?" He questioned, trying to keep his attention focused.

"Most pagan creatures require specific weapons, a bronze sword coated in lamb blood, a silver dagger dipped in birch tree sap. It depends on what the damn thing is, you get the idea," John retorted.

Sam hummed his reply, trying not to step on the branches and fallen leaf litter, weary of making too much sound.

For a moment, he was tempted to call Bobby, to request his knowledge of the supernatural.

He knew Bobby would drop everything at a moment's notice to help them, especially if it served a purpose in finding Dean.

John let out a low whistle from beside him, seemingly impressed by whatever he saw, despite the danger the sound produced. Sam turned his head to glimpse a greenhouse, old fashioned yet magnificent against the greenery. It didn't look like it was made from plain glass, but rather some sort of expensive crystal.

"I'm not doing that."

The voice was rough, like gargled stones and the sound instantly raised goosebumps on Sam's arms. Both he and his father squatted down, hiding amongst the trees.

A man walked out of the greenhouse, wearing a green sweater, a pair of black slacks and a beige trench coat. He was filthy, absolutely covered in dirt. He held the door open with one hand, and carried a newly potted plant in the other. A small white dog darted through the gap in the door, carrying a little red ball in its mouth.

It was the man from the photo. The one that Bobby's neighbour took, the last person to see Dean alive.

"Because I said so," the stranger continued, talking to thin air. It glanced around the small clearing in apparent boredom. "I'm sorry, but I don't 'play.' I believe that I have made that perfectly clear already."

The dog dropped the ball at his feet, sulking and whining.

The strange man frowned and squinted down at the mutt.

"If you want to play with the ball, play by yourself. Or, wait for your master to come home."

Was he... talking to the dog?

Sam took a deep breath, and readied his blade, seeing his father aim the shotgun at the man's torso. They had wanted to wait, to interrogate this creature on Dean's whereabouts, but the threat of danger this thing exuded set Sam's teeth on edge.

It... didn't even look like it was breathing, its chest stood still and unmoving.

Its steps, when it walked, were also too precise and carefully measured to be human.

A twig snapped under Sam's foot as he cautiously took a step back, and the heads of the two creatures in front of him swivelled in his direction.

The creature, likely named Castiel, met Sam's eyes with a blank expression, irises so incredibly blue, that they almost looked like they were glowing.

And then it mouthed his name silently, and all Sam felt was fear.

It, like the thing inside Adam... it knew him.

A gunshot rang through the air, sending the dog into a barking frenzy. Blood splattered from the front of the man's sweater, as the multiple lacerations started to bleed.

It reached a hand down and caught the angered dog by the collar.

"Miracle, go!" It growled to the yapping animal. "Now!"

The dog ran into the underbrush, frightened by its owner's harsh tone of voice, yet unable to truly leave the monster's side, barking and growling at a safer distance.

"Sam," the creature, this... Castiel whispered. It raised its hands non-threateningly, as it tried to approach him. "It's ok, put the knife down."

"Fuck you!" Sam growled back, rushing at the monster and slashing at its vital points. Metal met flesh, yet it still did not flinch. "What are you? How do you know my name? And where's Dean?!"

"I am not your enemy, Sam," it spoke so gently, almost pleadingly. It placed its hand on his wrist, the very wrist that held the knife that was currently stabbing into its chest. "Please, just listen to me, I would never hurt you."

A gunshot sounded through the air, this time, John aimed at the small animal still trying to hide behind the monster.

The little white dog gave a terrified yelp as the stray shotgun pellet tore into its side, easily knocking it backwards into the green foliage.

"Miracle?" Castiel turned with a horrified gasp, now focusing all its attention on the dog, as it failed to limp its escape.

The creature rushed for it, desperate, completely ignoring their previous fight in favour of cradling the bleeding animal to his chest.

Sam winced at the sight. He understood why his father shot it, it could be a skinwalker, or even a witch's familiar. Castiel had been speaking to it as if they could understand each other.

But still, he hated seeing animals in pain.

Just as John raised the gun, ready to take the killing shot, the two creatures disappeared with the sound of fluttering wings.

-

Bobby had been in the middle of making a particularly delicious grilled cheese sandwich when he got the call. He turned and glared at the multitude of landline phones he had screwed to the wall. The one that rang, didn't have an FBI, or parks and services tag under it.

Personal, then.

"Bobby?" Sam's voice came out of the old and yellowed device. "You there?"

"I'm here," the older man muttered, turning the fire off on his stovetop so he could focus on Sam's words. "What do you need, kid?"

"We've got a lead on Dean, but... there's something here, a monster, and I don't know what it is that we're up against," Sam admitted, his voice quiet as if he was still hiding from something. "Dad doesn't know what it is either."

"Right," Bobby sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in his distress. Of course. Of course, those two morons would run head-first into danger. Why did he expect anything different?

"Are you somewhere safe right now?" He questioned, pacing around the small space the corded phone would allow.

"Um, yeah, I think so," Sam replied, his voice still quiet. The tone set Bobby's nerves aflame with worry. "It's been a few hours since it disappeared..."

"What did it look like?" He questioned, turning his attention to the mountain of books piled on the coffee table.

"It's the guy from the photo."

Bobby paused, his breath caught in his throat.

"You saw it?"

"Yup, shot it and stabbed it too. Nothing worked," Sam sighed on the other end of the line, sounding just as bone tired as Bobby felt.

"Ok... ok, is there anything you noticed that we didn't see before? Did it have any strange smells or eye colour?" He prompted.

"Well... it looked just like a normal guy... But, its eyes were weirdly blue, kinda glowy, and this jungle. Bobby... you should see this place," Sam stated, almost in awe of whatever he was seeing. "It's like a literal enchanted forest."

"A forest?" Bobby inquired, his mind frantically searching through his mental map of all the books he had read, and their current placement. He grabbed the book he was looking for, an old European text. "Was this creature green by any chance?"

Sam paused.

"I mean, it wore a green sweater, does that count?"

"Maybe... did it have a wolf or a bear accompanying it?"

"A dog, it had a dog."

"Well, it's a stretch, but I think I may have found your mystery monster," Bobby stated, his finger tracing the page's inked depiction.

"What is it?"

"The Leshy, or Lesovik," Bobby said. "A woodland spirit, capable of holding a normal human form, but with glowing eyes. Typically forms a close relationship with grey wolves... Usually found in the Western countries of Europe-"

"How do we kill it?" Sam questioned, speaking bluntly and to the point. It was almost an interruption, slamming the breaks on Bobby's train of thought, and he paused a moment to consider Sam's question.

"It's like a Fey. Iron should work."

"It didn't."

Sam sounded angered, perhaps disappointed.

Bobby couldn't fault him, he felt the same.

"You know..." The boy whispered. "When I learned this thing's name, I prayed to it. I called for it and tried to invoke it..."

"It's ok, Sam. You didn't know."

"A pagan spirit with the name of an Angel, how ridiculous is that..." He swallowed harshly, loud enough for even Bobby to hear.

"Are you sure that Dean is dead?" Bobby questioned after a moment, eyes scanning the pages of the book. "Because, apparently, these things aren't extremely violent. There are even stories of them befriending humans. They're usually protectors of forests and animals, not..."

"I don't know..." Sam admitted, his voice becoming muffled on the line. "What about the forest, what can you tell me about it?"

"Lesovik are extremely territorial and will fight others of their own kind for rights to their forest. They will protect their territory with their life."

It was quiet on the other end, as Sam processed his words.

"And if I destroyed its forest?" The boy whispered. "Would that weaken it?"

-

John knew he should follow Sam, and help his currently only safe child stay that way, but he can't escape the allure in front of him. Like an anglerfish dangling a light in the dark, a ghost in the midday sun.

Mary wandered through the forest, just out of reach, looking perfect in her white nightgown, with her golden blond hair cascading down her back.

She flickers in time with his migraine, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He could hear her crying again.

She stopped at the foot of an oak tree, shrivelled by winter, but starting to bud green at the first touches of spring.

"Mary," he whispered, unable to keep his tears from spilling. They dripped down his face, hot against the chilly breeze.

God... it has been so long since he saw her.

Her face had been fading on the photographs he had carried, slowly losing their detail over the last twenty years. But here she stood, perfect, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching a hand out to touch her.

She was crying, her face torn in despair. She stared at him like he is the enemy. Like he is the cause of all her pain and agony.

"Why did you do it?" She questioned, and for a moment John shuddered at the sound of her voice. "How could you hurt my little boys?"

"I-I didn't," he stuttered, trying desperately to ease his own conscience of the pain he caused. If he can rationalise it, if he can utter the words aloud, maybe he can make them true. "I raised them to be good people, Mary. Strong."

"They never needed to be strong," She stared at him, unblinking despite her broken expression. "They just were children, our children."

"I wasn't always gonna be around to protect them," John whispered, shaking his head in denial. His head hurt, so goddamn much, and for once, he felt an ounce of sympathy for Sam's persistent migraines. "They needed to be able to protect themselves. It was just tough love."

"And all those drunken nights? When our little boy, our little Dean, took care of you? The adult?" She growled, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. She was hard to look at, and the guilt ate John alive from the inside out. "Cared for you, gave you pain pills, cleaned up your vomit?"

"I..."

"That wasn't tough love. Tough love is firm, but it's still gentle, that's what still makes it love," she scoffed. "What you did was abuse and you know it."

John trembled, his mind awash with memories and emotions. He had never recalled his actions being so harsh, but now, as he looked back, and remembered the little details on Dean's face.

His pain, his sadness...

God, Dean had only been about 6 years old when John handed the boy his first gun.

He reached out for Mary, because what else could he do? He craved her comfort, her warmth, her love.

"I fucked up Mary..." He whispered, stepping closer every time she stepped back. "How do I fix it?"

"I don't know if you can," she whispered back.

They are both crying now, and John knows this is all a hallucination, a daydream brought to life by his own broken psyche, but by God does he want it to be real. He could live with her disappointment, her anger, and her hatred, if he could only hold her one more time.

Mary straightened her back and glared down at him. It was familiar and painful, cold and unfeeling. Its like she's just buried her emotions and all that was left was her frigid disgust.

She used to stare at him like that every time she threatened him with divorce.

"Were my children ever happy?" She questioned, and John knew she wouldn't like his answer.

He couldn't stop the sob that left his throat.

"I don't think so."

The sound of snapping branches caught his attention, and he turned to see Sam, stalking through the forest carrying two canisters of gasoline.

When he turned back to look at Mary, she was gone.

-

The smoke billowing from above the trees was Dean's first indication that something had gone wrong. It was white, cloudy, and circling into the sky at a slow, yet all-encompassing rate.

He stared at it as he drove, feeling the now familiar anxiety sinking in his belly.

Had... had Cas finally done it?

Put something on the stove, and just... walked away? Like Dean had warned him a thousand times not to do?

Dean sighed, pressing the brakes and allowing his rusted pick-up to roll to a stop at the start of their driveway. He placed his forehead on the steering wheel and closed his eyes, taking a moment to breathe, just like his therapist taught him to, when his anxiety began to peak.

After a few minutes, he changed gears, and slowly began to drive down their driveway, weary of any animals that may run across the path, in their pursuit of escape.

The sheer amount of smoke blowing across the road had Dean's heart palpitating, and he was loathe to walk into whatever chaos Castiel had conjured this time.

Soon, though, the smoke parted, and he was finally able to view their home, which was thankfully still in one piece, unburned. It stood pristine against the backdrop of flames.

And Castiel, his loving Angelic partner, was just sitting on its roof, staring out at the wall of fire.

Any relief he felt at seeing his Seraph was short-lived when he saw that black car parked next to his porch, and the young man rifling around in its trunk.

He drove slowly, seeing the exact second that Sam noticed the light from Dean's headlights cast his shadow onto the inside of the Impala's trunk.

Sam turned, confused, and dropped the canisters he was holding to the ground when he saw just who had parked behind him.

For a second, they both stilled, unable to fully process each other's presence, until Dean opened his car door and climbed out.

"Dean..."

Holy fuck...

Sam looked like a little kid.

He had childish features and eyes that looked almost too big and wide for his face.

Thankfully, though, Sam lacked all the bruises that Castiel had described seeing on their last meeting. Although he still looked far too skinny for his height. Almost gaunt.

Dean found himself staring, blankly, like an idiot.

Even Jack looked older than Sam does now...

Shit.

Did he really break into this kid's college dorm, all those years ago, and drag this child hunting?

How the hell did anyone take them seriously back in his timeline?

"Yeah, it's me," he whispered after his brain finally caught up with him.

His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears, but then again, so did Sam's. At least Sam had the excuse of breathing in all that smoke.

Dean's was just from his choked-up emotions.

He winced as he looked past Sam, to the tall forest fire that was starting to settle down as it ran out of accelerant.

"What did you do, Sammy?" He questioned quietly, feeling a deep sense of despair at the sight. All that hard work Cas had put in, all of it, was gone, within a matter of minutes.

It's no wonder the Seraph looked so despondent from his perch above.

His eyes flicked up, to the Angel, still sitting partially unseen above them. Castiel had turned to look down at them, cuddling something white, that he held to his chest tightly.

Cas looked expressionless at first, almost a perfect picture of that vacant expression he used to wear when they first met, but that soon melted into concern as he gestured his hands quickly.

Dean jumped backwards, just in time to dodge Sam's blade.

"Wait- wait, Sam! Fuck!"

He raised his palms in the universal 'calm down' motion, trying to soothe his baby brother who was apparently intent on rampaging.

"How dare you try and look like him!" Sam growled, slashing wildly in his desperation.

Tears were beginning to drip from Sam's eyes, a contrast to his grimacing face, teeth bared in a snarl.

Another swing. This time, Dean fought back, catching Sam by the shoulder, and flinging his little brother to the ground. The blade fell uselessly, landing in the dirt with a dull thud.

He pinned his little brother's arms behind his back, where he had pressed his knee firmly in an attempt to restrain the angry giant.

It wasn't hard for Dean to hold Sam down, after all, he had decades more experience than the younger man, who likely hadn't hunted much in the past few years.

"It's me, you idiot!" Dean practically hissed in Sam's ear, quickly and deftly pulling the gun from the holster at Sam's waist and throwing it to the side. "Stop fucking squirming."

That thankfully gave Sam pause, and after a few seconds of Sam's stillness, when Dean determined it was safe enough, Dean let go, staggering to his feet and taking a few steps back.

The two eyed each other, one brother standing, the other still in a compromised position on the dirt.

"You're outta practice, Sammy," Dean said, grinning awkwardly in an attempt to try and defuse the situation.

He bent down slowly, cautiously, and picked up Sam's familiar iron knife, easily dragging the sharpened metal edge over his forearm. He winced as blood seeped from the wound, curling down his arm and dripping to the ground.

He could almost feel the glare, like a sniper's red dot, pressing onto the top of his head from the Angel above them. He sent up a quick prayer, thanking Cas for not interrupting his and his brother's little spat, regardless of how ruffled the Seraph's feathers were getting.

Castiel always hated seeing him bleed.

It was almost comical how this version of Sam was acting the exact same way his Sam acted, on their first reunion after Castiel resurrected him from hell, back in 2008.

"That doesn't prove anything," the younger hunter whispered, glaring up at him, although his expression had changed to a more curious one than before. "That monster was resistant to iron too."

"Monster?" Dean scoffed, feeling confused. "What are you talking about?"

"That... Castiel, the Lesovik."

"Leso-" Dean's tongue twisted uncomfortably in his mouth, unable to pronounce whatever the fuck Sam just said. "Dude, Cas isn't a Lessa-Vicks or whatever."

He stepped closer, moving into Sam's space and held his hand out for his little brother to take. It was a risk, a dangerous one, one that he hoped would pay off.

"Cas is my Angel," he said, trying to smile reassuringly at Sam again and hoping not to come across as nervous or unsure.

The last time that this version of Sam had seen him, Dean had been an overly cocky little asshole. All toxic masculinity and overconfident headstrong mentality.

Dean hoped he wouldn't have to maintain that image anymore. He was too damn tired to pretend to be who he used to be.

Sam slowly reached up, grabbing Dean's hand and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He eyed Dean's still bleeding wound with suspicion, and reached into his pocket, pulling out the silver coin he used to test civilians.

He held it out wordlessly, just staring as Dean plucked it from his hand.

No reaction. No smoke, nor blistering or pain.

After one whispered Christo, Dean found himself with an armful of the Goliath, squeezing his chest far too tightly to be considered comfortable.

He pulled back after a moment, looking Dean over almost frantically.

"I can't lie and say that I wasn't expecting you to show up, but I was hoping for something a little less... violent and explosive," Dean muttered, turning his eyes to the glow of the fire, trying to contain the harsh grimace that threatened to appear on his face. "I mean... what did my garden ever do to you, Sammy?"

"W-we had to burn it," Sam stuttered, turning kinda red as he spoke. "We had to weaken that thing."

"Do you know how much time and money I spent on that?" Dean questioned, feeling insulted on Castiel's behalf.

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.

It was a fair question, to be honest. He had given Cas nearly half his weekly paycheck, for the Angel to use however he pleased. That arrangement spanned back months and not even Dean knew just how much Cas had actually spent.

And if it wasn't plants Cas brought home, it was random bee crap.

"No, don't answer that... How did you find us?" He continued, trying to focus on the more serious matter. "And why are you here?"

"Some... thing, some creature, it knew where you were," Sam replied. "I made a deal with it, that me and Dad would leave it alone, and in return, we would get your location."

"What type of creature?"

At this Sam paused, like he wanted to admit some harsh fact of life, but didn't have the strength in him to do it just yet.

Dean almost groaned aloud. If he hadn't known for a fact that the warding placed around the forest hid him from Demons, he would be chewing his little brother out by now.

Deals were dangerous, Sam knew that. Every hunter did.

"Look, it doesn't matter. We gotta go before that thing comes back," Sam stated, trying to change the subject and grabbing Dean by the shoulders, intent on directing him to the Impala.

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean stated, pulling out of Sam's grasp and stepping back a safer distance. "This is my home."

"Leshy's are tricksters, Dean. This thing's got you under some kinda spell."

"How many times do I have to tell you, Cas isn't a Lee-ashy," Dean said. "And besides, I'm out. I'm done with hunting. I'm done with... all of this. I'm officially retired."

He paused for a second, watching as Sam processed his words, before continuing.

"You should go, Sam."

"I can't just leave you behind, I've been looking for you, we all have, for months now," Sam stated, looking more upset than before.

"I disappeared because I didn't wanna be found, Sammy," Dean said, as delicately as he could. "Not even by you."

"No. No, that's impossible, my brother wouldn't say that. Not to me," Sam growled out, looking far more impatient now. He eyed Dean's chest and neck, scanning for something, and Dean winced when he realised what Sam was searching for. He had stopped wearing that amulet the day he was sent to this timeline, not wanting to have a direct line to Chuck. "We need to go, we can come back and deal with the Lesovik later."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Get in the fucking car, Dean.”

Chapter Text

April 2006

Orange flames danced, twisting like tounges lapping at the surrounding trees. Smoke filled the air, pungent and acrid, and underneath it all, John caught the scent of cooking meat.

The older hunter choked on it, gasping as he fell to his knees, stricken still at the sight.

Her flesh split, bubbling and sizzling, churning John's stomach and causing the man to throw up violently into the grass.

Mary danced with delicate steps as the fire singed her white nightdress black. She didn't scream as she burned alive, but then again, she didn't scream the first time she died either.

-

Black feathers pressed against trembling white fur, offering reassurance although unseen, even by the recipient.

Castiel turned his gaze from the wall of flames that had once been his garden, down to Dean's dog, who lay in his lap, nose hidden in the folds of his coat. The Angel didn't need to use his innate empathetic powers to know Miracle was frightened, it was plain to see.

The Seraph had healed the physical wounds. Rid Miracle's fur of spilt blood, and sown the skin closed with weaves of grace. That had been easy, a mere flick of his wrist with the level of power he currently had. But to heal mental trauma?

That was something he knew nothing of. Hell, he hadn't dealt with his own mental issues, he had no knowledge on the subject, apart from Dean's recent therapy teachings, and even that was second-hand information. He didn't know how to comfort most people, let alone an animal who had been shot so viciously.

The only thing Castiel could offer Miracle was closeness and soft words. To wrap his invisible wings around the dog, and soothe the scared soul inside with angelic hums and vibrations that a human couldn't hear, but thankfully, certain small animals could.

Typically, Castiel preferred to respect the fluffy animal's personal space. Keep a respectful distance. He was not Miracle's master, nor had he obtained the official mantle of 'friend' from the dog yet.

That wasn't to say they didn't like each other. They did. The two, over the past few months, had grown a deep appreciation for each other.

Castiel liked how Miracle could soothe Dean's anxieties, and Miracle enjoyed being able to communicate with the Angel. However, the two had always treated each other with a sense of weariness.

Miracles came from instinct, from foreknowledge. His nose informed him that the creature he lived with was paranormal, yet this Celestial was his master's mate and was to be respected.

Castiel's weariness came from the fact that he regarded Miracle as a person. A sentient creature, like all of God's creations, whose opinions needed to be heard. A stranger who now lived with him and Dean, who Cas hadn't been expecting.

He was thankful now, that Miracle felt comfortable enough to stay close to him. Cas had half expected the dog to try and run the second he heard Dean's truck roaring down their driveway like he usually would.

Perhaps Miracle would have, if Castiel hadn't been perched on the roof, with the dog in his arms, and a box of angry bees balanced precariously on the ledge.

The dog's ears perked up at the sound of Dean and Sam's arguing, although his snout remained hidden under Cas's arm. A growl rumbled in Miracle's chest, low and snarling.

"Shhh, everything's alright," Castiel whispered under his breath, his fingers threading through long fur until the dog stopped sounding his displeasure. "Dean will be ok."

"Get in the fucking car, Dean," Sam stated coldly.

"I said no, Sam," Dean said, his voice soft yet unyieldingly firm as it reached Castiel's ears.

The Angel turned to look back towards the fire, his mind wandering away from the sibling's fight below.

He had been watching the strange reactions of John Winchester before Dean arrived and pulled his attention. But now, he found it diverted back to the oldest hunter.

Dean could handle himself, was handling himself, if the sound of Sam's poor attempts to drag Dean to the Impala were to speak.

But John Winchester?

No, he was an active risk.

Although, maybe not to Dean and himself, or even Sam.

John seemed to be a risk to himself, hovering far too close to the flames, his skin red and irritated by the heat. His eyes were seemingly glazed over, unseeing, muttering Mary's name. The human's soul sent off waves of longing and desperation, rebounding and recoiling. If the Angel hadn't known any better, he would say that John showed all the stereotypical signs of ghost possession.

But mental trauma was on Castiel's mind, and that seemed to be the most logical source of John's recent... unhingement.

Maybe the man always had difficulty with fire.

That would make sense, given his circumstances...

As the sounds of fighting reached its peak below them, Castiel couldn't help the smirk that quickly filtered across his face at the pronounced yelp Sam made, as he was unceremoniously knocked unconscious at the hands of his older brother.

A sliver of sadistic delight settled in his stomach before he quickly squashed it.

As much as he hated the thought of Sam actually getting injured, and was cautious about John being hurt (purely on the grounds of being Dean's father) a very small part of him relished in the thud Sam made when he hit the ground.

He would not seek revenge on Sam for his garden, nor on John for what happened to Miracle.

How could he? After all, if he thought someone had hurt Dean, he too would have tried to kill the person responsible.

But still, that noise had been satisfying...

-

Dean walked up the stairs slowly, until he reached their bedroom. The door was opened, not an unusual fact, but he could see their draws had been ruffled through, a fact that made him cringe at the blatant breach of privacy.

He opened the window and began to climb onto the dark tile roof.

The last time he crawled out this window, he had been carrying a ton of blankets. Cas had been close behind him, a bottle of whisky in hand, as well as two tumblers.

It had been their first clear night after the last snowfall, and Cas had been determined to point out every star in the galaxy that he, personally, had a hand in creating.

Dean hadn't been able to see them as clearly as the Angel could, but after a lifetime of stargazing with Sammy, he was content just to learn the real names of their old favourites.

The Angel sat in the very same spot, dog in hand and the bee hive Dean made next to him.

There was a wall of fire in the distance, as the garden burned to ash.

"This is a lot less romantic, this time around..." Dean couldn't help but utter, as he knelt behind the Angel. He wrapped his arms loosely around Cas's shoulders and placed his forehead on the nape of Castiel's neck.

The Seraph didn't respond, so Dean absentmindedly lowered one of his arms to pat Miracle, who was half curled in the trench coat Cas wore.

The silence almost hurt, and Dean was itching with curiosity to ask what went down whilst he was working. But he couldn't bring himself to speak. Not yet, not until Cas had made it clear that he was alright to. And Dean knew better than to rush him.

When the fire finally started to die down, having burned through most of the accelerant, the rough voice of the Angel broke the silence.

"I'm not angry."

Dean seriously doubted that.

He didn't say it though, not out loud.

"I know they were just acting on instinct. They're hunters. It's what they do," the Angel continued, leaning back against Dean openly. "I'm just... frustrated... I think."

Dean curled his chin onto Castiel's shoulder, looking out at the smoke. He wrapped both of his arms around Cas's waist and gently pulled the Seraph onto his lap. Cas moved willingly, and Dean was once again struck by the fact this otherworldly, heavenly creature allowed itself to be manoeuvred with the slightest touch.

"You're allowed to feel mad, Cas," Dean finally replied, choosing his words carefully.

Castiel was silent, processing Dean's words with a bite of his lip.

"I'm honestly surprised you didn't smite one of them," Dean tried to joke, playfully pinching at the skin of Cas's waist under his sweater.

To this, Castiel scoffed.

"Oh, believe me, I came close," the Angel's tone was dark, biting out like a venomous snake, and Dean's mind scrambled to remember the very few times when Cas ever spoke around him like that.

The Seraph must have noticed his sudden tension, because he turned to look back at Dean, with a strange panicked look on his face. The retired hunter quickly schooled his expression into a more neutral one, not wanting to guilt the Angel, when Cas was finally feeling content enough to speak up.

"Not for the garden," Cas clarified quickly. "I wouldn't smite anyone for burning plants- although, that's also actually a biblical event- I meant that I was very mad at your father for a bit. But I didn't kill him."

"Um..." Dean blinked, turning his gaze from Castiel's blue eyes and casting them out over the low fire. "What... What did he do to piss you off so badly? If it's not the whole 'burning everything down' thing."

Castiel's mouth twitched downward, considering.

"I will tell you once he's out of shooting range."

Ah.

That didn't bode well.

"And where, ah- where is my old man?"

Cas raised his hand almost nonchalantly, gesturing vaguely into the distance, before quickly returning patting to Miracle's fur.

Dean squinted as he caught sight of the lump, clothed in a leather jacket, so similar to Dean's own.

John Winchester sat hunched at the foot of a tree with his head in his arms, a little too close to the dying fire for comfort. He seemed to be rocking in place, red-faced and fearful.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean questioned.

He had been expecting John to be all hands on deck, pouring gasoline, hacking whatever he could find.

Not doing... whatever that was.

"He seems to be having some sort of breakdown," Castiel supplied, his hands tightening his hold on Miracle, drawing the dog closer. "Or a panic attack. He keeps talking to the trees."

The Angel tilted his head to the side, exactly how he always did when he was vaguely confused by human behaviour. Dean felt like doing the same.

Although his curiosity was for a different reason.

"Why didn't you stop them?"

He couldn't help that question from slipping out. It was a valid one, Cas could have easily knocked them out. Stopped the fire before it even started, and just waited for Dean to come home and deal with the situation. The fact that Castiel didn't, confused Dean immensely.

"Tell me, Dean," Castiel whispered in return, turning to look back to his charge. "If I had fought back, and defended myself and our home, do you think they would have ever believed you, when you said you wanted to stay with me? Or would they forever think you coerced?"

Dean swallowed hard.

Without another word, Castiel raised his hand, and the silver clouds darkened. Droplets of rain began to fall, slowly at first, but then quickly as the powerful Seraph manipulated them into being. The forest fire began to die in earnest.

The rain fell heavy as Castiel stood up, pulling Dean with him and teleporting them, dog and hive included, back into their bedroom.

"So what now?" Dean questioned, almost aimlessly after the Seraph had been silent for a few minutes.

By all accounts, they could still leave if Cas wanted to.

Whatever hope Dean held of having a calm first meeting with everyone, was thrown out the window the minute they burned Castiel's forest and did... whatever it was that pissed off the endlessly patient Angel.

"Well, it will be raining for a while... Sam will be waking up soon," Castiel stated, brushing his hand through Dean's wet hair to dry the strands. He pinched the ends, pulling the hair up into Dean's spikey old signature hairstyle of the era, before fluffing it out with the palm of his hand. "And your father is obviously distressed. I think it's best we bring them inside."

-

Sam groaned as he came into consciousness, unable to stop the sound from slipping out of his lips, despite the danger he was still in.

His clothing was soaked. It was as if he had been dropped into a monsoon for the last hour, which was strange since there hadn't been many clouds in the sky before, and now it was pouring.

He could hear Dean speaking in the distance. Approaching, and quickly. His older brother's words and footsteps were echoed by the sound of something heavy being dragged through wet mud.

"Did ya really have to hit him that hard?" Dean questioned as he walked into Sam's squinted peripheral.

"You should be pleased that I didn't do worse to your father," the gravelled voice of the creature continued, unperturbed by Dean's worried words. "Especially given the circumstances."

"His nose looks kinda bent, Cas..."

"He'll live."

The creature, Castiel, held John by one of his ankles and was dragging the unconscious man behind him like a child would their broken doll.

Dean wandered behind him, walking hinged at the waist as he tried to inspect their father despite the faster pace the monster set. To an outsider, the sight would have been comical, but to Sam, it just sent another surge of panic through his body.

The two walked together, speaking as if they were close companions...

"Where are you gonna put him anyway?" Dean questioned.

The creature paused and looked back to Sam's older brother. The two were closer now, within reach should his next plan fail.

Slowly, without making a noise, Sam reached for his gun, which was luckily still in its holster at his hip.

"Jack's bed is too small..." Dean continued, in a much quieter tone. "And we never got around to setting up the spare bedroom."

"Can't he sleep on the couch?" Castiel inquired. "I've watched you sleep on them hundreds of times before."

"First of all, I don't like thinking about that fact. Do you understand just how terrifying it used to be? To wake up to you standing over me like something out of a horror movie?" Dean remarked with a colourful array of tones, his hands moving extravagantly. "And secondly, what about Sammy? He's got, like, Gigantor legs, he needs to take the couch."

The creature squinted at Dean and then turned his gaze to Sam, who was cautiously watching the two through his lashes, feigning unconsciousness.

"Then Sam can sleep on the couch, and John can sleep on the floor."

"Dude..."

"The old kennel in the shed is also an option," Castiel stated coldly.

Dean groaned aloud, pinching his brow as Sam lifted the safety mechanism on the gun.

"Am I even allowed to give my dad a blanket tonight? Or are you gonna smite it from existence the minute I leave the room?"

"You may give him whatever you wish," the monster stated in a completely neutral tone of voice, not bothering to respond to the second half of the question.

"You know what? It's fine, whatever," Dean muttered under his breath. "I'll bring Sammy inside, and then I'm making myself dinner, and then I'll go to bed. Try not to kill anyone tonight."

Sam raised the small pistol, aiming it at the monster's head.

"I make no promises," Castiel replied, before resuming dragging his haul back into the house for God knows what. "And Dean? Don't put your back out trying to lift Sam, he can walk by himself. He is awake."

A cold sweat dripped down Sam's back.

Fuck.

-

"Whaddya say, Sammy? Do you want a real burger? Or do you still only eat that salad crap." Dean asked cautiously.

He stood close to the stove and sliced a tomato, pointedly not looking at his brother, who was seated at the dining table, nor the Angel, who was hovering close to the fridge.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" Sam hissed out, still struggling with the ropes that Castiel tied him with to the chair.

"Don't be rude," Dean chastised, already starting to prepare the go-to garden salad Sam used to make himself nearly every lunchtime they spent researching in the bunker. "A simple 'no' would suffice..."

"Perhaps you should have one too, Dean," Castiel stated, walking closer to crowd Dean. He's doing that thing again, like he's trying to stare into Dean's soul, which Dean knows for a fact is freaking Sam out from how loudly he shuffles his chair. "You do need a little more fibre in your diet."

"Burgers have lettuce," Dean supplies as he fixes Cas with a smirk and a flick of his knife.

"Dean, please, let me go. We can still get out of here," Sam pleaded in the background, desperation in his eyes. "This thing is dangerous..."

"Lettuce has the nutritional value of water, Dean," Castiel replied, still not breaking eye contact.

"No offence Cas, but you thought ketchup was a type of vegetable a few years ago."

"What the fuck is happening right now?" Sam whispered under his breath.

Chapter Text

April 2006

The sun rose over the horizon, peering through the window and bathing their bedroom in soft golden light.

Dean was fast asleep, sprawled out amongst copious amounts of blankets, his bowed legs kicked out wildly, half-twisted in their forest green sheets. His mouth was slightly parted, allowing a tiny drop of drool to leak out, dampening the cotton pillowcase his face was smushed against.

Castiel stared at him, his blue unblinking eyes tracking the faint patterns of sunlight that danced across Dean's face, striking the highs of his cheekbones and casting shadows into the dips of his features, accentuating every freckle that Castiel had come to love over the years.

The human, so deep in his sleep, was thankfully free of the tension he usually carried. The furrow between Dean's brow was gone, and his body, which was reclined in Castiel's grasp, felt relaxed and pliant.

Inwardly, Castiel wondered if this change was the result of having Sam so close after so long, triggering one of Dean's more deeply buried instincts.

The Angel hummed low in his throat at the thought, curling closer into Dean’s side, mindful of jostling his human mate. One of his wings, vast and unseen, shifted instinctively, draping over the bed’s occupants like yet another blanket in the pile. The black feathered edge of his greater coverts brushed against a tuft of white fur on Dean’s opposite side, earning a startled flinch from the smaller creature nestled there.

Miracle’s dark eyes met the Seraph’s and his ears flattened as a low whine sounded from his chest. The anxiety that radiated off the now awake dog was loud, like a physical static, weary and sullen, affecting the vibrational energy around them and ruffling Castiel's feathers.

Last night, Miracle, once in his master's proximity again, had refused to leave Dean's side. No amount of coaxing from the human, nor command from the Angel, could move the stubborn animal.

When Castiel had looked into Miracle’s obstinate eyes, glaring back in a way so similar to Dean's firm fire, the Angel deflated. He conceded, allowing the dog to sleep in their bed for the first time, much to Deans growing glee.

Miracle’s eyes held none of his determination now, though.

The Seraph reached a hand over Dean’s chest, his movement deliberate and slow in an attempt to soothe the scared animal. His fingers found the dog’s muzzle, and he patted it softly in a bid to offer reassurance.

Currently, the dog’s ears were twitching, listening, like Castiel was, to the harsher breathing of the two violent hunters slumbering in the lounge room below.

After another wary, soul-searching stare at the Angel, the white dog lowered his head back onto the blankets, exhaling a deep breath as though settling into reluctant acceptance.

Castiel sighed aloud also, although a needless breath in comparison, and inched closer to Dean, wrapping his arm around the hunter in a tighter embrace. His grace buzzed faintly under his vessel’s skin at the contact, content and quiet.

Distantly, he knew this peace wouldn’t last.

Dean would likely wake up within the hour, grumble about the sunlight in his eyes, about the obscenely loud noise of the hive of bees in the room's corner, about Castiel watching him sleep again like some kind of Celestial creep.

And then they would have to face the other Winchesters.

But for now, this was enough.

...

Until a loose floorboard creaked in the living room below.

Castiel’s attention snapped to it, and he stiffened, invisible grace flaring out defensively. A curl of soul energy pinged back to him, one he could scarcely recognise.

Without thinking, he tightened his hold around Dean’s waist, tugging him just that little bit closer. The movement was instinctive, stirring Dean, pulling the unwilling hunter back into the land of waking.

"W'ots wrong?" Dean whispered in a quiet tone, his voice thick with sleep, offsetting his slightly incoherent words.

The only response Castiel could offer was a slow, tired groan that slipped out of him, which was effectively muffled against Dean’s shirt.

Below them, another sound, a slight crashing this time, reached their ears, as a grown man stumbled into the kitchen.

"Was that..." Dean muttered, sitting upright.

"Yes," Castiel replied.

John Winchester was awake.

"I'm staying in bed."

-

The Colt was gone.

And so was John's silver dagger.

He cautiously wandered into the kitchen, and pulled a blunt kitchen knife from the knife block, carefully cutting the rope that bound his wrists. The knot was glaringly familiar, looping in the militant style he had taught all of his boys.

He bit his lip at the implication, unease filling him as his fractured mind tried to take stock of the situation.

"What are you going to do now?" Mary questioned from behind him, standing in the alcove that separated the living room and the kitchen.

John could see Sam behind her, passed out, asleep in the room John woke up in, stretched across a white leather couch.

"No all-powerful weapon... No big plan..." She continued, slowly stepping into the room, her blackened nightgown trailing behind her in torn shreds. John watched as she stopped a few feet away from where he stood, quickly averting his gaze as a roll of nausea serged in his stomach from the sight of her.

She looked like what he had buried at her funeral, charred and shrivelled, corpse-like. Her pale blue eyes seemed to pierce through him, a testament of judgment to all of his regrets.

"Sam," he called softly, wanting every opportunity to walk back into the living room and wake the still-bound boy, but feeling dread at the idea of getting closer to the imaginary ghoul standing between them.

Mary sighed, and crossed the distance between them.

"Don't ignore me."

Her voice was quiet, lacking the fire and self righteous anger she used to bear like a blade.

John glanced up at her words, tears filling his eyes, and he swallowed roughly.

"You're not... You're not really here Mary," he whispered, voice shaking. "I can't... I can't do this right now, Sweetheart. I gotta... I gotta get Sam outta here."

She frowned at him, the burnt tendons in her face contracting as the open muscle moved, creating a ghastly sight.

A shuffle sounded from above him, and a shadow was cast down the staircase, pulling his attention to its source.

He heard the familiar voice before he saw him.

"Dad?"

A second ghost stood on the landing, far more haunting than the last, staring down at him with a look of trepidation mixed with an unhealthy dose of reverence and fear.

John turned away quickly, feeling the blood draw from his face at the sight of his eldest son.

At least this hallucination didn't look mutilated.

"No..." He whispered brokenly under his breath, turning away to grab the knife once more. Sam was still bound, wrists wrapped in rope. He needed to free his son before the creature came back. "You're not... It can't be."

"Dad?" Dean called again, slowly walking down the stairs with his hand resting on the wooden handrail.

The ghost stopped at the foot of the staircase, standing so close to Mary, so close to John.

The hunter felt as though he could touch him if he only reached his arm out, could grab the boy by his shoulders, and pull him into a hug. But the memory of reaching for Mary, of phasing through her completely, haunted his mind.

He didn't know what he would do, how badly he would break, if his suspicion was confirmed.

"Just leave me alone," John replied, harsher than the first, glaring up at his eldest.

Dean looked well, dressed in comfortable clothing, and not at all like the corpse John had expected to find. A part of him was surprised his subconscious wasn't trying to screw him over, wasn't hallucinating the worst of what he had imagined all these months.

"Both of you," he continued.

"Both?" Dean questioned, looking around quickly before glancing back up the staircase.

The corpse of Mary wandered closer, until she was crowding John, far too close for comfort. An atrophied piece of her leg sloughed away from blackened bone, landing on the hardwood floor.

John flinched at the sound it produced, and took another step back.

"Dad, it's just me here," Dean insisted, looking troubled and concerned.

"No. No, I'm not playing these games. My son is dead," John said hoarsely, his voice catching on the last word. The kitchen knife trembled in his hand, held aloft in a slack grip. "You gotta be some sorta hallucination, or… or maybe some.. some thing that's wearing his face, tryin' to mess with me."

The experienced hunter turned his head, aware that he was pointedly trying to ignore the two ghostly presences.

"Sam!" he called out, louder now, his voice tinged with desperation. "Wake up, damn it!"

Sam didn't stir from his spot, still spread out on the couch, and his chest, if he was breathing at all, looked still.

"You should have checked on Sammy first," Mary whispered in his ear, sounding every bit as disappointed as the night of their last big fight, the night she died. "What if he's hurt?"

Her breath was heated, rotting, as it brushed past his face. A roll of nausea churned his stomach.

Dean took a deep breath, loudly drawing John's attention. The boy seemed to steel himself, straightening his posture as he tried to speak again.

"Dad-"

"Stop calling me that!" John snapped, trying to avoid looking at the hallucination. "Just stop, please, I know you're not really him..."

"- I'm not dead," Dean insisted, stepping ever closer, his voice taking a desperate yet passively persuasive tone. "I'm real and I'm here. I know how this must look. I know what you're probably thinking, about me, about Cas, but you’re wrong, dad, and if you'll just listen-"

“The way I see it, there’s only three options here,” John interrupted, his voice low and rough. “One... you’re dead.

His eyes stung, as he admitted an uncomfortable truth.

"I failed you as your father, and you died out here - alone, nearly a year ago. And now I'm just hallucinating you like I am Mary."

His heart began to beat painfully and a cold sweat beaded at his temples. He opened his mouth, but couldn't speak.

This was the first time he’d spoken this particular fear aloud - the fear that had gnawed at him in the quiet hours. The fear he could never shake when he looked at his eldest son - the boy who always drew lingering glances, even back when he was just a young teenager.

“Two…” John swallowed hard. “You’re alive. But you've been captured, brainwashed, forced to... into... And you’ve been trapped here, alone, under that thing’s control this whole damn time. And if that’s the case, then I... when I gave up looking for you…”

His voice cracked.

Bile rose hot in his throat. The thought of what Dean might’ve endured for months at the hands of that creature, clawed at his insides, and he clenched his fist around the knife to keep from trembling.

Dean stood quietly, watching him. His face was worn, pale from either stress or exhaustion - but his eyes were clear. Green. Sharp. Human.

That fact was the only thing John could cling to at this moment.

Dean's eyes weren’t clouded.

“Or three…” John's voice faltered, barely more than a whisper now. He reached his hand out, hesitantly, like Dean might vanish if he moved too fast.

His fingers brushed against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean was... Dean was warm.

Solid...

Real...

He drew his hand back as if burned, breath catching in his throat.

“You chose this.”

The words hung between them like a blade, heavy and final.

The disbelief caught in his throat, matted like hair.

For a moment, his eldest son didn’t speak either, didn’t deny the accusation.

Dean's mouth stayed shut, jaw clenched tight. But his eyes...

His eyes looked guilty. The kind of guilt John hadn’t seen since Dean was fifteen and got caught sneaking out of the motel with a bottle of stolen whiskey.

“You actually… You actually chose to abandon me.... Chose to abandon Sammy.”

Chapter Text

April 2006

Whatever horrors Sam had been imagining waking up to this morning were nowhere near the reality of what he was now facing. Which was a confusing fact for the young hunter.

Sleep hadn’t exactly been a priority last night. Escape had been. But then the creature, this... Castiel... had pressed two fingers to his forehead, and Sam had dropped like a lead balloon.

He squinted up at the monster who was now pacing aimlessly around the room and tried to ignore the low hum of machinery in the other room.

"What are you doing?" Sam demanded, rising from his reclined position on the couch.

"Oh, I'm dusting," Castiel replied, looking more stressed out and anxious than when Sam had shot at it. "My apologies if I woke you."

"That's a window."

The monster paused, feather duster frozen midair, and turned to look down at Sam with a strange expression. Its voice was quiet, almost a whisper when it spoke again.

"Am I not supposed to dust the windows?"

"No..."

"Oh."

At Sam's silence, the monster lifted the duster once again, this time wiping invisible specs from the wall adjacent to the couch.

"What the hell are you?" Sam questioned, slowly moving to a defensive stand. "I know you're not a Demon... But I don't think you're a Fae, either..."

Castiel turned, glancing back at Sam almost apologetically.

"Dean says we're not supposed to talk about that yet."

Sam raised his eyebrow, and the sound of the vacuum cut off in the other room.

"Your brother is stress cleaning again," Castiel continued, his inhuman blue eyes wide and strangely naive. "In times such as these, it is best to grab a duster and pretend you know what you're doing or hide."

"He's... what?"

-

"Stress cleaning," Castiel reiterated as he followed Sam into the kitchen. "It's a form of self-regulation, a coping mechanism that he uses instead of alcohol when he gets stressed or angered."

Honestly, Sam thought he might have preferred Dean drunk. At least that was familiar, unlike the now strange silence that permitted the air.

He swallowed the build-up of saliva in his mouth and stepped into the room, cautious of the creature who had, up until that point, been only a few steps behind him.

Dean stood by the kitchen sink, roughly washing a mug before dumping it onto the drying rack with a little more force than necessary.

Sam felt Castiel flinch behind him before the monster turned and made his escape into the other room.

It, too, was apparently cowed by Dean's strange behaviour.

"If you're looking for Dad... he's outside," came Dean's tired voice. It seemed harsher then earlier, more choked up, like Dean was holding back tears. "Somewhere... I think..."

"Are you... ok?" Sam questioned hesitantly, taking a quick glance over his shoulder before walking cautious steps closer to his obviously mentally compromised brother.

Dean didn’t look at him.

Just kept staring at the faucet.

"Yeah, I am. It's just... you know how dad can be, man," Dean sighed after a few moments of silence. He turned around, and pinched his brow with a slightly soap-suddy hand. "You, ah, you've probably got some questions for me..."

Sam didn't respond immediately, eyes set on the tense tremble in Dean's shoulders.

His brother looked older than Sam remembered, more worn and world weary despite his young age, and his eyes, which had been so warm during Sam's teenage years, now looked closed off and cautious. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again.

“Yeah,” the younger hunter swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. "Just... Please, tell me... What the hell is going on, Dean? I mean, you disappeared... for months. No word, no explanation..."

"Wow, you really don't beat around the bush, do you?" Dean muttered. He took a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself before he responded.

"I was done, Sam."

"Done..."

"Yeah. Done. I just... didn’t want to do it anymore, ya know? The life, hunting... that damn story-" Dean exhaled sharply, like the words alone exhausted him. "I wanted out."

"And you didn't think that Dad wouldn't come looking for you... that I wouldn’t- " Sam stammered, feeling the flashing hot rush of indignation run down his neck and shoulders. Surely Dean knew that he could still count on him, regardless of how explosive their last interaction had been, all those years ago.

"Honestly, I'd figured that you would just forget about me."

Sam gasped quietly, his chest tightening as the weight of Dean’s words sank in, anger flaring hot and red.

"Dean, how the hell could I-"

Dean let out a short, self deprecating laugh, interrupting Sam's words at the source.

"Come on, Sammy, let's be real. For the first time in your life, you'd finally gotten what you always wanted. A normal life... with your school, and your friends, and your girlfriend, and all those big plans... but that picture perfect, apple pie life? It didn't have a place for me in it."

The house felt still, way too still as Sam struggled to make eye contact with his brother. Words of denial sat on his tongue, yet were unable to move past it.

Dean turned away also, but his expression remained tight, eyes clouded with a soul weary fatigue.

"You made that abundantly clear the night you left," Dean continued, his voice an exasperated whisper, stained and heartbroken. "I mean, I tried, man... for months to contact you, but you never picked up the damn phone."

"That's not..." Sam began, his voice caught in his throat. Excuses piled up in his mind, reminding him of all those late nights he spent studying, ignoring the blinking lights on his phone, of listening to half drunken rambles in his voicemail the next morning. Of never finding the time to call back. "I didn't..."

"And then, after you ran off, Dad started drifting away, too," Dean whispered, turning to look back at him fully, eyes sharp but tired.

So damn tired.

Sam’s stomach twisted unpleasantly.

Dean’s voice had dropped to something quieter, almost hesitant, like he was peeling the scab off an old wound he hadn’t meant to show.

"At first, it was only for a few hunts, you know, like when we were growing up. He'd disappear for a few weeks, but he'd always come back," Dean said, his tone bitter, resigned. He glanced away again, as if even looking at Sam made it harder to actually say the words he needed to out loud. "But then he stopped returning my calls. Stopped trying to meet up between hunts..."

Dean let out a breath, slow and measured, paced like he was trying to control his breathing, but Sam could see it, the weight pressing down on his older brother. His shoulders slumped forward slightly as the mask slipped from his face, showing a side of Dean that Sam had never seen before.

"...Did you know, Sammy, the last time he called me, it was to give me an order?"

"No... I didn't."

Dean breathed out a short, humourless laugh.

"Everyone I have ever known, has left me behind at some point. So why were you both so shocked when I did the same damn thing?"

"I didn't... I never abandoned you, Dean. I just-."

"Yes, you did... but I don't blame you, Sammy. At least, not anymore," Dean insisted, dragging a hand down his face. The lines on his forehead deepened as his palm scraped over his stubbled jaw. He suddenly looked aged, like an innumerable amount of years had caught up to him all at once.

“Look, Kid, I'm sorry. I didn’t run away to hurt you. I left because... for the first time in my life... I wanted to choose something for myself."

"And you chose... this?" Sam questioned, feeling a deep sense of confusion as he gestured to the country decorated kitchen. To the yellow walls and bee memorabilia. To the plants and the burnt remains of baked goods, their tins still soaking on the counter.

To the life handbuilt by his brother and that... thing.

Dean smiled, the first, true smile Sam had seen in years.

"I chose peace."

-

John was sitting on the porch steps when Sam escaped through the front door, hunched over, with his head in his hand.

"So, you'd talked to Dean too?" Sam questioned, walking slowly behind his father before taking a seat in the empty space beside him.

"Yup..."

"And you somehow managed to convince him to forget all about this and come back with us?" He muttered in a sarcastic tone of voice.

"Nope."

Silence built between them, before Sam spoke again, his voice a whisper and his tone reluctant.

"He seems..."

"Clear-headed," John sighed, as they both gazed out at the sprawling land, surrounded by a dense forest.

"Yeah but... I still don't trust that creature," Sam admitted, trying to find the words to describe what he had witnessed both this morning and the night before. Describe how close they stood, the intensity of their eye contact. "It must have... done something to Dean. Messed with his head... changed him somehow, I dunno."

John snorted.

"Yeah, sure." He muttered sarcastically. "Or, Dean actually just enjoys its company."

John was quiet for a moment, his eyes unseeing, before he muttered out what was on his mind.

"It has Dean's loyalty... his trust... The question we should be asking is how it managed to gain them."

"So what do we do?" Sam questioned quietly, feeling as lost as he had when they first started this journey. "I mean... I know we probably gotta kill it... but-"

John turned to look at him for the first time that day, eyes haunted and bloodshot.

"I don't know if you realised this, Sam, but that weapon we had, the only fucking gun that even had a chance to kill that thing, is fucking gone..." He scoffed harshly. "And besides that fact, we still don't even have a fucking clue what the damn thing is. Iron doesn't work, salt don't work, silver don't work. That fire didn't do shit to it either."

"It's... it's gotta be the same kinda thing as what's possessing Adam, right? I mean they knew about each other."

John turned pale at the mention of his youngest son, looking sickly and green-gilled.

"So, it's gotta be possessing someone too, right?" Sam stated, his mind whirling with information on all the creatures that had that ability. "That means it's- it's probably some kinda spirit... Maybe it's some kinda ghost, o-or a Demon, or-"

John's voice turned quieter, as if he was afraid it could hear him from inside the house.

"Sam, I have hunted for over twenty years... and I have never seen something as inhuman as... that thing."

Sam stared at his father in disbelief.

"Most things were human at one point, right? Apart from Gods and Fey?" John asked rhetorically. "Werewolves are mostly created, same thing with vampires. Ghosts used to be people too, at one point. Shit! Even wendigo's were people before the cold set in, and they started eatin' their kin."

He sighed.

"But whatever is inside that house... ain't anything human. I don't even know if it's possible to kill it."

"What do you mean?"

"Sam, it don't even bother breathing when Dean ain't looking at it."

-

Dean sighed, and leaned against the counter, watching wearily as Castiel entered the room. His shoulders ached with the weight of exhaustion, the kind that settled deep in his bones. It hunched him over, pulling him inward.

The Angel moved close, pulling the retired hunter into the circle of his arms, and resting the point of his chin against the curl of Dean's shoulder. His grip was firm, like he was trying to hold Dean together by Angelic strength alone.

"What are they doing?" Dean questioned as he closed his eyes, relishing in the sting of stubble that brushed against his own.

"They are brainstorming ways to kill me," Castiel replied easily. "Their current theory is that I am some kind of spectral high class Demon."

Dean's hands slid down to the Celestial's hips, dragging him closer until they were flush from shoulder to knee. The movement was slow and deliberate, pulling a quiet hum of appreciation from the Seraph.

"Just ignore them, Sweetheart."

"I don't mind, Dean. They seemed reluctant to use the Colt, and I doubt they have an Angel blade stashed away in the trunk of their car."

Dean hummed and didn't bother with a response, simply enjoying the closeness of his Angel.

The strong scent of cleaning chemicals mixed with lemon wafted through the air, curling Castiel's nose, and causing the Angel to bury his face in Dean's neck in an attempt to escape it. He let out a low whine of distress that Dean couldn't help but chuckle at.

"How are you, Dean?" Castiel questioned softly, when Dean's chuckles slowed to a stop, his words almost vibrating the sensitive skin of Dean's throat. "You've had a very long morning."

"I don't even know why I got so upset," Dean admitted with a sigh. "They're not even my real Sam, or my real dad... My Sam is still back home, with Jack, Claire, and Eileen... These two, they're supposed to be... like that alternate Sam and Dean to me, you remember right? From that other world?"

"I recall."

"It's just that... I can still remember it, so clearly... being alone for the first time in my life."

Dean felt a warm tingle in his eyes, burning them as he admitted what was on his mind. The memories lingered, familiar and painful, as his voice wavered, far quieter than before.

"No one prepares you for that feeling... I mean, I'd raised Sam, since I was 4 years old. Every meal I'd had, Sam was with me. Every sleepless night, every damn time I went to the bathroom... And then, to go from always having someone there to just... nothing... it was crippling. Shit, that first night... a week after Sam left... when Dad first skipped town?"

Fuck...

Castiel tightened his hold, fingers tightening in the fabric of Dean’s dark blue flannel. He didn’t say anything, but that silence, the steady weight of him, felt like an anchor keeping Dean from drifting too far into memories that hurt.

"It’s stupid," Dean muttered under his breath, as he turned his head slightly and pressed his nose against Castiel’s temple.

"It’s not," Castiel’s voice was firm, low and gravely. "You were a child, Dean."

"Never felt like it..."

'I know," Castiel stated, pulling back just enough to look at him, blue eyes searching. "And I also know that this pain doesn’t just disappear."

Dean sighed, feeling the brush of the Angels hand in his hair, gently pulling at the longer then usual strands.

"Did you know, I wasn't always a Garrison Captain?" Cas whispered into his hair. "There were times, of course, when the tides of battle had changed, and I had to step up into the role. But, most of the time, I was just a soldier."

"That's, um, interesting Cas, but-"

"My point is, I wasn't always a Captain... Because I never truly belonged to a specific garrison to rise rank in..." Castiel interrupted softly. "Every few decades, I would be shuffled around. That's why I served under both Isham and Anna during the last century."

"What do you mean?" Dean questioned, pulling back slightly to look into the Angels eyes.

"I watched... for millennia... my siblings forming lifelong bonds," the Seraph replied calmly. "I saw garrisons created from these friendships, I bore witness to their bonds being forged in the heat of battle, but no matter how I tried to connect..."

The Angel sighed before he continued.

"They could tell, you know, that there was something wrong with me. I didn't quite fit their mould of what an Angel should be. I rebelled too many times, was reset too many times, and eventually... I just stopped trying."

Dean swallowed hard, his grip tightening as he pulled Castiel just a little closer. In response, Castiel’s arms wrapped around the broad of his shoulders. Then, without hesitation despite who could be observing them, Cas pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s cheek- light, fleeting, and grounding.

"I understand loneliness, Dean. It can break even the strongest. So please, don't ever feel shame for feeling this way. Just know that I will try my hardest to make sure you don't ever feel lonely again."

Chapter Text

April 2006

Dean leant against the wall beside the front door and sighed, feeling all of his many years creeping up on him at once.

He could hear them talking outside in hushed yet harsh tones, their voices laced with anger. They each spat out baseless ideas, half-sketched plans, nothing solid or in any way correct, before being quickly contradicted by the other. Even he didn't need Castiel's supernatural hearing to hear what they were saying.

For a moment Dean stood lost, unable to think past the hum of his oncoming migraine. The pain in his head throbbed in time with the dull ache that had returned to his chest, reminding him of all the years he had spent as the family's unofficial mediator.

He shifted at the sound of Sam's particularly frustrated remark about ghost possession and carefully rearranged the three plates he balanced in his hands, opening the door.

John stiffened at the sight of him, whilst Sam was outwardly startled. Their faces twisted into a strange assortment of expressions that Dean couldn't quite place.

Perhaps it was confusion.

Perhaps it was unease.

"Hungry?" Dean questioned, his voice rough but even, as he extended a well-made sandwich toward his brother first. It was vegetarian, of course, just like how Sam liked it, even if Dean was missing all the strange fixings his little brother used to use, like Kale, sprouts and beets.

Sam stared at it blankly, and seconds ticked by.

Dean shuffled the plates again, switching tactics. He tucked Sam’s sandwich back against his arm and handed John his.

His father’s sandwich was more his speed. Packed with cheese, bacon and grease, the kind of heart-clogging monstrosity Dean would’ve inhaled a few years ago without a second thought.

John saw the offering for what it was and took the plate.

Dean sat down behind them, on the porch itself, not the steps the two occupied. He took a bite of his sandwich, a nice medium between the two types, full both of salad and bacon, thanks to Castiel’s constant bitching about fibre intake.

"So... come to a conclusion, fellas?" Dean prompted, trying to keep his tone light.

Sam turned to side eye John, looking for all the world for some sign that they should just knock Dean out right here and make a break for it with his unconscious body.

Dean inwardly scoffed at the thought, his mind wondering if Cas would just wordlessly stall the Impala with a flick of his wrist if the two tried it.

"Not yet," John replied causally, taking a bite of his sandwich much to Sam's obvious chargin. "Still can't get a read on that thing... Tell me, Dean, is it the same type of monster that's crawled inside your brother?"

Dean choked, spluttering lettuce with a wide eyed gaze at Johns cooled expression, his mind whirling with thoughts of both Lucifer and Gadreel.

"What?"

"Adam... Your brother Adam, who apparently you've met, or at least, know of."

John stared at him, gageing his reaction with a hunters trained eye.

"I forgot about Adam..." Dean groaned aloud, burying his head in his hands.

"So you have met Adam, then?" John pressed.

"I haven't seen him in a while," Dean admitted, which was technically true. The last time he had seen Adam, he and Michael had opened a door to Purgatory. That had been before Chuck wiped the planet. Before the last time he lost Cas.

The only other tie he had besides Cas, to their old world.

Perhaps he should have made more of an effort to see the man...

"That thing that's possessing him-" Sam began.

"-Michael," Dean supplied, his tone flat.

"Yeah... Michael. That is the same type of creature that's possessing the guy in your house, isn't it?" Sam clarified slowly, as if he was waiting for Dean to interrupt with more vital information.

"Yeah... I mean, kinda," Dean admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "But you're wrong about the last thing. Cas isn't possessing anyone. Not anymore."

"But that body... it isn't his, right?"

"That vessel’s empty," he insisted, feeling defensive as he looked down at his plate. "Been that way for a long time. It's just Cas in there now."

"How exactly do you know that, Dean?" Sam interrogated harshly.

"Because Cas told me so. Because I trust him, with my life, and with yours too-"

"Seriously? You're still doing the whole blind faith thing? After everything thats happened?" Sam spat. "News flash, Dean, it’s been lying to you! I don’t know how, but it's got you wrapped around its finger, and when I figure out what this damn thing is..."

"You’re gonna what? Kill him?" Dean scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, good fucking luck with that."

The old Sam, the Sammy Dean left behind, could definitely kill an Angel. Had done so, on multiple occasions. But this? This college kid? Who hadn't even faced a Demon yet?

Not a chance.

"Cas is a little higher up on the food chain than anything you've ever hunted," Dean continued in a muttered whisper, feeling a sense of instant regret as he said it. The energy seemed to shift, as John turned to look at him pointedly.

"Higher then Yellow-eyes?" John questioned incredulously.

The retired hunter shrugged helplessly at that.

Truthfully, he didn't know.

Castiel had previously fought three of the four Princes and had been quickly outmatched. But that was after his wings had been clipped, after he had fallen.

But right now?

As a fully powered Seraph? Cas was basically unbeatable.

John wiped his mouth with his thumb and watched Dean with calculating eyes.

"Can it kill a demon?"

"What?"

"Can it kill a demon?"

Dean looked away reluctant to speak further, but the word seemed to flow from his mouth before he could stop it.

"Yes."

John nodded once, thoughtful, as if Dean hadn't dropped the word like a bomb.

"Does it listen to you?"

Dean hesitated.

"...Most of the time."

His father leaned back, chewing over that answer whilst Dean wrang his hands nervously.

Minutes ticked by, and the three sat in silence. Eventually, John spoke again, his voice taking on a strange tone, and his eyes, and even stranger gleam.

"Higher than Yellow-Eyes," the eldest hunter repeated to himself, more a statement than a question now. "And you're telling me... it takes orders from you."

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He knew exactly what his father was hinting at.

He looked down at his sandwich, appetite gone.

Sam opened his mouth, perhaps to question him further, but before he could speak, the front door creaked open, silencing the Winchesters.

"Dean," Castiel’s voice was gentle, softer in his attempt to be unobtrusive. "I believe that I am in need of assistance."

Dean turned, relief flickering in his chest at the sight of the Angel.

Cas stood on the threshold, his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, wearing a streak of flour across his cheek like war paint.

He didn’t spare a glance for John or Sam. His gaze was fixed solely on Dean, calm and steady, unblinking.

"What's wrong?"

"The oven has died..."

Dean rose slowly, brushing crumbs from his jeans.

"Guess that’s my cue," he muttered, not really expecting a response.

"Dean, where are you-" Sam started.

"Kitchen emergency. You can handle yourselves for five minutes, right?" Dean glanced over his shoulder, offering a tired but pointed look.

He stepped past Cas, closing the door behind them with a soft click. Letting the muffled quiet of the house replace the noise from outside.

"Were you alright?" Castiel asked, voice low now, taking on a more serious tone. "You were beginning to sound upset before I interrupted."

"Just peachy," Dean said with a lopsided grin before sighing, exhaustion creeping up his spine. "It's only been... What? About ten minutes?"

"Getting them to trust you will be tedious..." Castiel agreed solemnly.

"So much for a calm Winchester family reunion," Dean muttered aloud, walking into the kitchen to see what mayham the Seraph created.

A fine layer of flour dust had settled over every surface within a meter radius of the mixing bowl.

A few eggshells littered the bench in small fragments, coupled beside now browning apple peels. The sink, which Dean distinctly remembered being clean after he had finished making sandwiches, was now overflowing with dishes.

And the oven, which was the source of the Seraph’s current distress, had been dragged halfway out from the wall, unplugged and tilted at an impossible angle like it had tried to escape its impending doom.

"I was... baking an apple cake."

Dean ran a hand over his face, trying not to smile.

"Yeah, that tracks," he muttered. "Just tell me you didn't 'accidentally on purpose' smite it when you heard what Dad was saying."

"I will not be a weapon again," Castiel stated quietly. "Not for my father, and certainly not for yours."

The Seraph seemed to fold in on himself, a picture of vulnerability. Instinctively, Dean stepped forward, drawing Cas into the safety of his arms.

Whatever words that danced on his tounge fell silent. He could only hope that in this new world, so far removed from their old one, that Cas would finally be free.

Eventually, as the minutes ticked away, and the mess of the room overwhelmed him, Dean let go, and crouched beside the oven. He ran a hand over the back of his neck at the sight, and started to mentally track the torn wires and the ourtight cost of just buying a new one.

"Welp," he muttered, inspecting the half-disassembled mess. "She’s offically dead..."

Castiel stared down at it like it had betrayed him.

"No cake, then," the Angel stated quietly.

"Not unless you want to use your grace," Dean replied, dragging the oven back into place with a grunt. It scraped the tile loudly, as if it was singing its own death rattle.

Castiel stepped back to make space and picked up the cake tin full of batter. A flash of light and a shuffle of shadowed wings later, and he held a perfectly golden cake.

Outside, the porch was silent. Too silent.

Dean grabbed a dishcloth and wiped absently at the counter, his movements automatic as he swept away bits of batter and scraps of apple peel.

"They’re not gonna stop," he muttered after a beat. "They're just gonna keep pushing and pushing, until..."

Castiel was quiet for a moment, his gaze lingering on the ruined oven, before he opened his mouth to speak again.

"Until we earn their trust... Until you leave with them, or.... Until we are forced to run away again."