Cas had summoned Dean to the library. It is no surprise for Dean when he arrives that his brother is also there with Jack. Dean takes the seat next to Sam and across from Cas, slouching and crossing his arms lazily over himself.
Cas looks uncomfortable, like the room is too hot and stifling and the chair he sits in is painful. Dean has to remind himself that Cas is an angel who doesn’t feel temperature or comfort in furniture as humans do. He tries not to stare at the way Cas’ deep blue eyes seem to shine when they land on him. He tries to slow his heart and keep his eyes from dipping down to his best friend’s lips, pink and parted.
“I have decided that the time has come to tell you both something,” Cas announces. Dean sits up at the seriousness in Cas’ tone. “Dean isn’t on the brink of death and Jack has his powers back. Things are calm for this very brief period of time and I need to take this opportunity. I made a deal with the Empty.”
No one says a word as Cas takes a deep breath. His eyes plead with Dean, but Dean doesn’t understand what he’s asking for. Forgiveness? Understanding?
“I traded my life for Jack’s.”
The heart that had previously been beating too fast in Dean’s chest suddenly slams to a shuddering halt. The room seems to darken and he’s sure there’s no more air in the bunker or the world.
“It hasn’t taken me yet, but promised to take me back to the Empty once I’m truly happy.” His eyes fall to the table at the same time as Dean’s heart falls to the floor.
Sam is saying something, but Dean can’t hear it. His ears are ringing as he tries to breathe. His jaw clenches so tightly the high pitched noise of too much pressure screams in his skull.
“Dean?” Cas’ voice breaks through, dragging Dean’s eyes up from the table to the apologetic look in his angel’s eyes. Not his angel. He will never be his angel. He will never be his.
Dean shoves himself away from the table and gets up, walking away from the table where his family sits. He stops in the doorway, his hand gripping the frame as he tries to find any string of words that make sense after being told that the man you’re in love with is either doomed to die, or never be happy.
“I’m going for a drive.”
Cas made a deal. Cas made a deal with a being so powerful there’s really no way out. Cas made a deal that ensures he will either never be happy or he’ll die the happiest he’d ever been.
Dean wipes the tears that are streaming down his face with one hand before returning it to the wheel in front of him. His foot is practically on the floor, the pedal pressed all the way down as he speeds through the night. He doesn’t bother watching the needle climb on the speedometer. He doesn’t bother looking at the road signs that are telling him which direction he’s going. He doesn’t care.
“Fuck!” Dean slams the heel of his hand into the steering wheel. Everything hurts. Everything had calmed down. He didn’t have an archangel locked away in his skull and he had decided now was the perfect time to tell Cas about… everything. About falling in love with him and thinking about him all the time. About how every touch was as searing as the handprint from his ascent from Hell. About how his heart launches, leaving his body far behind, every time he hears Cas.
Dean swerves and slams on the break, skidding and steering the car to the side of the empty road. Cas, who always comes when you call or think.
“Why are you here?” Dean asks through a startled and relieved breath. He turns in his seat to face Cas, who is now sitting shotgun and staring straight ahead into the black night.
“You’re upset,” Cas answers, turning his head to face Dean, their eyes locking in the dark. The blue is dimmed by the night, but the shine and intensity is ever present.
“What gave it away?” Dean lets his head fall back in exasperation and maybe a little to hide the tears that threaten to fall still.
He wants to reach out and hold the hand that rests on the bench next to him. He wants to pull him into his arms and breathe him in, cry into his shoulder, kiss his jaw, neck, lips, nose, everywhere and anywhere. He needs him... He wants to tell Cas everything: how he feels and why his confession was hurting him so deeply. I am undeniably, desperately, and completely in love with you.
“I had to make the deal,” Cas says quietly. It’s a knife slicing through the palpable tension. “You told me to do whatever it took to bring Jack back.”
“Hah,” Dean lets out a humorless laugh and runs his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean whatever it took, Cas. I didn’t mean you, Amelia Bedelia.”
“I am nothing like the Eldritch Horror, Dean,” Cas says, squinting and tilting his head in that way that makes Dean’s heart melt and explode at the same time.
“I’m sorry. Rewind. What?”
“The Elder Goddess, Amelia Bedelia.”
“I need some more explanation there, buddy. You can’t just tell me that there happens to be an Eldritch Horror of the same name as the best maid I have ever read about.”
“The stories you grew up reading were about the goddess. She is very powerful and currently bound to the Rogers family that you read about. They trapped her, protecting the rest of humanity from her.”
Amelia Bedelia is a maid in the Rogers household. She is a tall, thin woman with her curled brown hair kept pinned under her maid’s bonnet. She hums as she works, mopping the floor of the kitchen, her rosy cheeks brightening her already sunny face. She wipes her hand on her apron, leaving a red streak on the white fabric.
Amelia sighs, content with her work. She puts her hands on her hips to survey her the shining kitchen. The blood that had splattered the walls and pooled on the tile is completely clean. The kitchen looks as good as new.
Turning around, Amelia Bedelia sees the mangled body of her captor and employer. She grins, taking in the masterpiece that is her expert execution. The cuts are deep and exaggerated. Mr. Rogers’ head is turned 180 degrees. His insides are outside, spilling out onto the blue tarp that he’s been dragged onto. Beside him is his wife. She is tied to her chair, a gag in her mouth as she tries to scream.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Rogers. I can fix this,” Amelia Bedelia promises. She brings a bowl into the room and scoops Mr. Rogers’ organs and entrails into the bowl. “You do love pie, don’t you Mrs. Rogers?”
She is met with muffled cries as she turns on her heel and goes back into the kitchen to make a pie. She pours the meat from her bowl into the pie crust she had prepared earlier. She sets the timer after sliding it into the oven.
“What else did you want me to do? Draw the drapes?” Amelia Bedelia asks as she checks her list. “I’m still not very good at drawing, but you did ask for it.” She takes out her sketch pad and some colored pencils. She sits on the couch near her last living employer and sketches out the drapes.
“Oh no!” Amelia Bedelia exclaims, jumping up and going to the drapes. She runs her fingers over the blood splatter at the bottom of the heavy fabric. “That’s already stained!” She pouts for a moment before returning to her sketch, including the blood stains on her rendition of the drapes.
The timer goes off and Amelia Bedelia gets up, excitedly going to the kitchen to take the pie out of the oven. She smells it, inhaling the scent of baked human. She cuts a slice and sets it on the finest china before bringing it out to Mrs. Rogers. The blood is leaking onto the plate like the inside of a cherry pie might. The crust is perfectly flaky and sugary with it’s lattice top adding appeal to the gruesome slice.
“Now, Mrs. Rogers, I’m going to feed you this pie.” She takes the gag off of Mrs. Rogers and slaps her when she screams. “Hush, now. It’s okay,” she croons, stroking her face gently where she’d just slapped. “You are the one who said he looked good enough to eat. You asked for this. Open wide.”
She forces Mrs. Rogers’ jaw open, her fingers digging into her doughy flesh. She feeds her the husband that she had made the mistake of flirting with. Mrs. Rogers sobs as she swallows each bite, trying to spit it out, but unable to with Amelia Bedelia helpfully making sure it all goes down.
When the pie is done she asks how she liked it, beaming.
“Kill me,” Mrs. Rogers begs.
“As you wish,” Amelia Bedelia grins. “You sure do want strange things, Mrs. Rogers. You are the boss.”
When she’s finished, she lays Mrs. Rogers next to her husband on the tarp. The back of her skull is missing, the soft brain exposed, gray after having lost all of the blood that had once made it pink and juicy. She is also just as sliced up as her husband, the decorative slashes just as expertly made.
“Would you look at that?” Amelia Bedelia beams, lifting her bloody apron off of her and dropping it onto the tarp. “I’m free as a bird, now.”
She steps over the two bodies and gives into a shiver that runs down her spine. Her human form is gone, replaced by a small gray bird.
The bird flies, wings finally spread, mayhem unraveling in the uncaged mind of the Eldritch Horror. It’s only a few hours later that it passes over a shining black Impala. The two inhabitants are quiet as the green-eyed hunter drives, unaware of the bird and the horrors that are about to be unleashed upon his town. Their thick worry has nothing to do with Amelia Bedelia. Not yet. Right now, the three beings, angel, human, and goddess, are too busy with their own thoughts of death, closeted love, and freedom, respectively. No, they will meet soon, but not tonight. Tonight, they fly.