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The Night Was Also Moist

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The night was dark and stormy, rain pounding against the window like wet, dead fingers begging to be let inside, the blackness around him only disturbed by a flash of lightning. He buried his head in his hands, shivering and flinching when the thunder rolled.

“What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done?”

 

Chuck leaned back in his seat and ran a hand over his face. He stared at the blinking cursor on the screen, mocking him. This was going nowhere fast. As usual.  And he was running out of ideas on how to throw Dean and Cas together. It was so frustrating too. Their souls yearned for each other – he'd never seen two more compatible souls in his entire existence! Angels weren't even supposed to have souls, but Castiel had always been a little different from his brethren - but both of them were too stubborn to do anything about it. He'd long ago decided he needed to step in and give them every chance they could possibly get.

 But every single time. Writers Block. He heard the creak of the door on the other side of the room as it swung open and his scribe appeared in the entranceway, hesitating to cross the threshold and disturb him.

"Oh good, Metatron, you're here." The relief in Chuck's voice was readily apparent, and Metatron stepped inside the little writers' haven God had tucked into a little disturbed nook of Heaven. The floor was literally a sea of crumpled papers.  He looked around warily before settling his gaze back on his father.

"What's all this?"

"Look, I've hit a bit of a snag, and I need some advice."

"Well, I'll say. Just look at this mess." Metatron leaned down and snagged the closest ball of wrinkled paper and carefully smoothed it out. His eyes raised in surprise. "Whoa, I didn't peg you for a Destiel shipper. So…I guess that means this is officially uh, what do the kids call it…canon?"

"Oh yeah. They're destined to be together. I just can't…seem to manage it." Chuck ran a hand through his curls in frustration. "Every time I try, something goes wrong. Nothing feels right."

"Huh, so you called me to help? Good choice. We always did work well together. It's been way too long." Metatron looked off into the distance fondly, and then turned his attention back to all the paper hiding the floor. Every square inch was covered. Even the bookshelves and tables had managed to get covered. "How many times have you tried this?"

"I lost count." God shrugged, looking absolutely dejected.

"Well, let me take a look, maybe I can get an idea where you're going wrong." He waded through the papers littered ankle high throughout the room, snatching up random ones here and there before stopping at the desk and taking a seat opposite his father. He smoothed out each paper as best as he could without the use of his long gone angelic powers before shuffling them into a pile and reading them one by one while Chuck watched nervously.

"What was wrong with this one?"

"Which one?"

"This one where Castiel whisks Dean away from Zachariah after the douche sent him to the future? I mean, it's got all the earmarks. They're gazing at each other adoringly; Dean is having so many feels…They should have just kissed then. I mean, Castiel already rebelled from Heaven just for Dean by that point."

"Yeah, have you seen those two? Adoringly? They were so OOC it wasn't funny! Castiel is a warrior, a soldier and Dean –" Metatron scoffed, interrupting Chucks rant before it could get started.

"Dean? Please, that gruff, hunter exterior is just a façade to hide his soft, chewy center. Guy's a total pushover." He picked out another paper and skimmed over it. "Well, okay, if that one didn't work for you, what about when he returned from Purgatory and got all cleaned up? There was definitely something happening there. Hmm?" Metatron waggled his eyebrows suggestively with a leer hovering over his lips.

"Uh, no. Sam was there."

"You have got to be joking! So?"

"So? So, Dean's emotionally repressed, you don't think he'd finally admit his feelings with an audience?"

"Then why didn’t you just write Sam out of the scene?"

"Because I couldn't think of anything believable!" Metatron rolled his eyes in exasperation. God, his dad was such a perfectionist.

"I heard that!" Chuck grumped, annoyed.

"Oh give me a break! Stop looking into my mind."

"I didn't have to, you were broadcasting it loud and clear."

"Fine!" he turned to another page. "Oh, come on!"  He held out the abused paper and slapped his hand against it. "What was wrong with this?"

Chuck leaned over to take a quick look and sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I panicked."

"Panicked? Panicked?! Why? The set up here was perfect! Dean breaks Castiel's brainwashing with pure love! It's completely obvious! Instead, you have Dean chicken out and Castiel scampering off to parts unknown!"

"Crowley was after the Angel tablet and he was way too close. There was no time for them. It was the wrong moment."

"Wrong! It was the right moment! And now that moment has passed." Metatron continued to search through everything, making commentary every so often. "So many lost opportunities! Are you sure you even want this to happen? I think you're being too picky. You need to stop second guessing yourself. Like, at least 75% of these were all workable ideas."

Chuck groaned and dropped his head to the desk, smacking the keys on his keyboard. Metatron glowered at him, and though Chuck wasn't currently looking, he could sure as hell feel his sons' disapproval and frustration.

"Hey, why don't you do that a few more times? You might actually get something." He snarked as he dropped the last paper to the floor to join the other rejected notions.

"Are you going to help or not?" Chuck raised his head up slightly to look at the angel hopefully. Said angel rolled his eyes again and sighed.

"Fine. I assume you've started something new?" At Chucks nod, Metatron stood up. "Well then, push west and let me see what you've got so far." The chairs legs screeched as Chuck pushed it across the floor to make room for the scribe to haul his own chair over and sit in front of the old fashioned computer God had been working with. Though Metatron knew that it was anything but old fashioned, Chuck just liked anachronisms.

 

The night was dark and stormy, rain pounding against the window like wet, dead fingers begging to be let inside, the blackness around him only disturbed by a flash of lightning. He buried his head in his hands, shivering and flinching when the thunder rolled.

“What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done?”

 

Metatron looked up in disbelief. "Seriously? This is so damn cliché! You literally started with "It was a dark and stormy night!""

"Yeah, but, see, things are clichés because they're true! It works!" Chuck attempted to defend himself but Metatron cut him off.

"There's barely even anything here! What's the setup? I need at least a little more to work with before I can give you any advice." Chuck groaned again and covered his face. "And who's speaking? Is it Dean? Is it Castiel?"

"It's Sam."

"Sam? I thought you didn't want Sam in this story?"

"No, its nothing like that. Sam's just as integral to uh, Team Free Will, as Dean and Cas are." Gods tongue nearly stumbled over the name the three had called themselves. It always amused him, but he hadn't meant to say it, he didn't think Metatron would get the reference.

"Okay, so what is happening here?"

"Well, I thought maybe I could use Sam as an outside agent to get those two idiots to realize their feelings for each other. And when I mean realize their feelings, I mean realize that the other one cares just as much for them as they do."

"Try that again in English."

"Dean knows he loves Cas, he doesn't believe Cas feels the same. And vice versa."

"That sounds about right. Neither of them have enough self-esteem to believe the other would love them back. So what exactly were you planning on having Sam do?"

"So," God leaned forward and started moving his arms around as he attempted to illustrate the scene he'd yet to write out. "Sam isn't sure they've even admitted to themselves that they love the other, so he sets Castiel up on a date to try and make Dean jealous."

"And?" Metatron prompted when Chuck stopped speaking.

"And it doesn't go well. There may be an incident with a local farmer and his bees. It devastates Cas."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad. Dean could comfort him? That could lead to something."

"No, because Dean storms off in the Impala and attempts to drown his jealousy in beer and women. He has no idea Cas is even upset."

"Then you just need to get Sam to call Dean and tell him."

"Uh, well, see…there is an accident because of the rain and Dean's in the hospital now. He can't go after Cas."

"Then get Castiel to go after him!" Metatron threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I swear to, to, to YOU, it's like you're making this overly complicated on purpose!" Chuck looked up indignantly.

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you are." He nodded at his father knowingly. "Now, has any of this actually happened yet?" Chuck shook his head. "Okay, good. That's good, we might be able to salvage this then. But I do have a question for you. If this part here happens after everything else…why is it the only part that was written?"

"Well, it seemed like a good attention grabber, y'know? And then I'd have Sam reminisce about the past couple of days and we'd get the background on what happened."

"But no one else is actually going to read this, so you don't need an attention grabber. Just write them getting together, finally, and put us all out of our misery. Especially Sam." Metatron jabbed a finger toward the monitor. "I just, I can't believe this! You're older than creation. You're older than anything out there, even your angels, can comprehend. You'd think after all this time, you'd have gained some skill at writing!"

"Don't judge me." Chuck said flatly. "Anyway, even with your feedback so far, I'm still stuck. This part here is going to happen, because I wrote it, but if we just scrapped the lead up, what am I going to replace it with?"

"Dear YOU – anything but what you just told me, for the love of, of Chuck!" Chuck sighed again and nodded. He snapped and a couple of beers appeared before them. Metatron moved out of the way and Chuck took his place back in front of the computer again, flexing his fingers and cracking his knuckles as he prepared to buckle down.

Every few hundred words, he'd show his scribe what he'd written. Metatron would either shake his head and God would delete everything he had before it could set, or he'd give pointers and a thumbs up over a particular line of thinking. After hours of this back and forth, Chuck leaned back, huffing out a long breath.

"That's it, I think I'm done." He looked over at his son and smiled, the smile getting wider and wider as he spoke. "I think I'm done – I think it's done! It's finally going to happen!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get ahead of yourself. Let's reserve judgment on that for now until I get to see the final product." His father nodded and tapped the mouse a few times, the printer springing to life beside him. Metatrons' eyebrows rose in surprise,  his eyes widening. On screen was one thing, things would still happen but there was a certain flexibility to it. But printing it, printing it meant committing to it, setting it in stone. Metatron tried not to let his stomach sink and hoped this one wouldn't turn into a flop as the others had.

Finally, the pages stopped printing. God reached over and grabbed them, shuffled them into neatness and banged them on the table. It was short, Metatron thought with some relief. He'd kept it simple like he should have, it appeared. That meant there was promise to this. When he himself had tried his hand at writing, he'd noted a tendency to make things over complicated as well. But it was all too true that often, simpler was just better.

The night was dark and stormy, rain pounding against the window like wet, dead fingers begging to be let inside, the blackness around him only disturbed by a flash of lightning. He buried his head in his hands, shivering and flinching when the thunder rolled.

“What have I done?” he murmured to himself, over and over again. “What the hell have I done?”

A noise made him look back up and look out the shattered passenger side window. The hulking shadow of the moose that had stepped out on the road before him was simply standing there, briefly illuminated by the lightning, the imprint of its body crushing that side of the Impala. Sam had been lucky to see him in these conditions as he jerked the wheel around as hard as he could to keep from having a head on collision with the beast.

It made a mournful noise and Sam jumped as he heard an answering one from just in front of him. He turned his aching head to the spider webbed windshield, where rain pattered and slid down, finding the cracks and seeping through, slowly soaking the dashboard. There was another of the huge antlered animals in front of him. This one wasn't quite as large.  A juvenile, Sam guessed, and yet much larger than he'd have expected.

He looked around at the interior of his brothers' car and had the sinking feeling she wasn't going to start, but he tried anyway. The noise startled the animals and they started moving aggressively toward the car as it wheezed and groaned but failed to start.

Fumbling for the handle of the car, Sam pushed it open with difficulty. Somehow, the frame had gotten bent all the way over here as well, but eventually he pushed it open and he quickly dragged himself away from the car and to the side of the road, away from the animals.

Sam's stomach twisted as he stared at the wreck before him, the ice cold rain soaking through his Fed threads. He might not fawn over the Impala like his brother did, but for most of his life, she had been the only home he knew.

His stomach was a sick ball of knots as he continued to stare numbly at the car. Never mind that it had been completely unavoidable, or that he had somehow managed to escape such a horrific accident with only minor scrapes and bruises. It was a miracle really.

Sam watched through the pouring rain as the overgrown moose finally lumbered its way away from the pile of twisted metal and down the backwoods New Hampshire road, totally unconcerned with what it had caused and without a single scratch in its hide.  The smaller one followed close behind.

Fuck, how was he going to tell his brother about this?

He pulled out the cell phone he'd had in his pocket and pushed his long wet hair back out of his eyes with his thick fingers, turning on the screen. No reception. Of course.

Shit, how was he getting back to the motel?

Guess he'd better start walking. This was likely to take a while. He heaved himself back up to his feet, muscles already sore. He couldn't properly take stock of his cuts in the rain but at least nothing seemed broken. This would be a very unpleasant walk, but at least he'd be able to manage it.

"Where the hell is Sam?"

"Dean, I'm sure he's fine." Castiel felt guilty that he couldn't simply check in on the younger Winchester for him as he would have been able to do in the past. But this was the consequence when you choose – even with god's blessing – to be fully human.

"Cas, it shouldn't have taken him that long to get back from the witnesses house. And it's pouring out there. Cats and dogs, Cas, cats and dogs." The ex-angel tilted his head as he tried to make sense of the colloquialism. "Anything could have happened."

"Just give him a little more time, then if he still not here, I'll, uh, help you steal a car so we can go looking for him."

Castiel watched Dean stare out the motel window, his eyes worried. His brother meant a lot to Dean, more actually, Castiel has always been certain, than he meant to Dean.

"Fine, fine." Dean ran a hand through his short, spiky hair. The dirty blonde color he'd had back near when Castiel had first met him had darkened over the years, but was no less aesthetically pleasing for all that.

He shook himself. No, get a grip on yourself. Even if he did feel that way, now was not the time. Of course, it was never the time, a voice in his head supplied. He'd gotten so close more than once, convinced at some points that Dean might actually reciprocate, might be okay if Castiel made a move, but something always seemed to stop them. And eventually, he'd given up hoping. No, this wasn't helping. He needed to not think about this.

"Dean, your brother is a fully competent hunter. How many times have you counted him out and he surprised you?" He put a hand on the hunters shoulder, trying to turn him away from the window. He didn't put all that much pressure there, but Dean turned willingly.

"Yeah, I know, I know man, but…I just can't help but worry about him. Y'know? I mean, that’s, it's always been my purpose in life." Dean swallowed.

"Remember when you thought Sam was dead because of the werewolves –" Castiel started.

"Dude, no. That's not helping.  I do not need to walk down Sam's greatest hits of dying or almost dying. Just…distract me."

Castiel nodded but instead of speaking he just stared at Dean, trying to gauge his mood, trying to figure out what to say next. How could he distract him? He found himself being the one distracted - by the freckles on his face, the green of his eyes, the curve of his -

"Cas, what is it?" Dean's voice startled him and he blinked as the hunter stared back, concerned.

"Um, nothing." His face flushed some as he looked away nervously. "I'm just not sure how to distract you. I was…thinking."

"Okay, well…" Dean paused. "How about, man, we never talked about you becoming full on human. How are you adjusting to that?"

"I'm adjusting fine, I have been human before, remember? And with a lot less support." Dean swallowed and looked away, and Castiel suddenly felt guilty for reminding Dean of that time. He already knew he'd had his reasons but regretted it mightily. The hunter cleared his throat and looked back at the ex-angel.

"Yeah, but, I mean, why did you choose to remain human? It's just not the same. Chuck said he could restore you to full power man, why would you give that up?" Dean watched as Cas paled some and for once refused to look him in the eyes. It made him incredibly nervous. "Cas? Man, talk to me? Tell me this wasn't some stupid shit about punishing yourself, about atoning, that this isn't about guilt for all the shit that's gone downin the past."

"I…um…it…it wasn't out of guilt."

"Then why?" Dean stepped closer and saw the blue eyed man gulp.

"I had my reasons Dean." His voice came out a little gruffer than usual.

"Tell me." Dean tried to hold his eyes but Castiel still avoided them. His stomach twisted and his head whirled. Was Cas implying that…

"I can't, Dean." Cas whispered, finally lifting his eyes back up to Deans face, the usually glorious, shining blue subsumed by sadness meeting hopeful, brilliant green ones.

"Cas, please, you look miserable. I can't…I need you to be happy, man. You and Sam both, and if you aren't happy…" he trailed off and the ex-angel's mouth moved, his voice nearly strangled as he struggled to get the words to be more than a mere whisper.

"Telling you won't make a difference, Dean. It might even make it worse. There's nothing that can be done about it. I'm, I'm just being stupid." He pulled in a shaky breath, then blue eyes widened as he realized how close they were standing. "I'm, I'm sorry, Dean.  I'm in your personal space." He went to take a step back but Dean's hand shot out to grab his arm.

"Screw personal space." The hunter muttered and before the ex-angel knew it, warm lips were touching chapped ones. He stiffened in shock, but as the warmth of Dean's body seeped into his own, he found himself melting and returning the kiss tentatively. Long moments passed before they finally pulled apart and their foreheads rested on each other. Dean reached a hand up, tracing his thumb over Cas's bottom lip. He felt dizzy, light-headed, as he watched the eyes open and the blue eyes stared up into his own with such warmth, love and hope.

"Was that okay Cas?" his voice came out soft, a mere breath, almost drowned out by the rain still coming down in sheets on the other side of the glass they stood in front of.  He watched the dark haired man swallow and nod.

"Of course," was the equally soft answer before he reached forward with his own hands to wrap behind Dean and bring their lips together once more.

Sam slogged through the parking lot. He was cold, exhausted and sore. His suit and shoes were definitely ruined and he didn't even bother avoiding the puddles any longer. His phone had died over an hour back and he was starving. He pulled his key out and quickly opened the door, wanting to get out of the rain. He was soaked through and he thought it might take him a week to get dry.

He started to step inside, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, and the sound of the rain was lessened slightly on his way into the room, he quickly came to the realization that he didn't actually want to be in the room at that exact moment. With wide eyes, he whirled and launched himself back out into the rain, nearly slamming the door behind him.

Breathing hard, he leaned on the door. Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit! Okay, so, he was glad, super glad those two idiots finally got their acts together, but did it have to be now? Did he have to see it? He was scarred for life.

Sam suddenly didn't feel as guilty for trashing the Impala.

Metatron put the pages down with a grin. "Well, that progressed quickly."

"We've all been waiting long enough. Over seven years!  Their lives aren't getting any longer you know." Metatron simply shrugged when this was pointed out.

"Nice touch with Sam walking in on them. But I thought we were putting him out of his misery? He can't unsee that…You've…" Metatron looked back at the pages and repeated Sam's words. "Scarred him for life."

"Oh, he's just being melodramatic. He'll get over it. He's secretly very happy for them."

"Right, but in the meantime, he's about to catch cold.  Now that you have Dean settled, don't you think Sam deserves some happiness as a reward for all his sacrifices?"

"Trust me, already on it. I just had to get Dean and Cas squared away first."

"Why?" Metatron picked up his beer and sadly remembered he had already drunk it and he placed it back down. Chuck snapped and a new, cold beer was placed next to the older bottle.

"Because Dean needed to be distracted before I could properly take care of Sam. He tends to hold grudges and he will not like who Sam's supposed to be with in any way."

"Ooooh…now this sounds interesting. You have to tell me -" before he could finish the sentence, the door slammed open and a short, blonde angel with mischievous, golden eyes leaped through, spreading his arms wide in a tada motion. The scribe was surprised Gabriel didn't actually say tada. He was also grateful that he didn't.

"Is it finally my turn?"

Metatron groaned and cast his eyes up to the ceiling. "Oh Chuck, not you."

"It's me baby!" Gabriel sauntered over and grabbed the beer that had just appeared. Metatron looked at it mournfully. He hadn't even been able to take a single sip.

"What'd I do to deserve this?" Rolling his eyes, he turned to glare at his father. Chuck raised an eyebrow, but otherwise remained pretty expressionless.

"Do you really want me to answer that one?"

"Never mind." Metatron moaned. Chuck clapped his hands together as Gabriel pulled a chair out of thin air and lounged in it.

"Great! Now let's get to work." God grinned. Gabriel grinned. Metatron groaned.