Chapter Text
Dean Winchester and Castiel.
Castiel and Dean Winchester.
Their relationship had only been official for one month, but it felt like they’d been together for years. More or less, without the labels or the words to say it, they had always been a “thing”.
Castiel had this thing about him. Soft spoken one moment and demanding respect in the next. His tan, signature trenchcoat was in desperate need of a wash.
And his eyes. His gorgeous, intense, stormy blue eyes could see straight through Dean on an intimate level.
Dean didn’t care if it made him sound like a girl; he was in love, damnit. Masculinity be damned.
He used the spatula to flip over perfectly golden pancakes, adding more batter in the empty spaces. He hummed a rhythmless tune under his breath, puttering around the kitchen like it was his job.
He could get used to mornings like this. No worries, no fear, no upcoming apocalypse; just him and Castiel in this dingy little apartment in small-town Kansas. Castiel was still asleep down the hall, probably all bundled up and burning the daylight as he snored like a freight train.
Breakfast was almost ready now that Dean plopped sizzling bacon onto the griddle, but Dean could wait. Waking up the angel before he was good and ready was a mistake, no matter how cute Castiel looked when he was grumpy.
That was a thought Dean would take to the grave.
If you told Dean a few years ago, let alone a few months ago, that this would be his life, he probably would’ve laughed in your face. Probably would’ve punched it too.
But it was true, Dean and Castiel were in love, and perhaps that’s all they needed to be.
Both he and Sam had long since moved out of the bunker, retiring to their “apple pie lives”, as they called it. With their surrogate son, Jack, becoming the new god (Jack claims using a capital “G” is too imposing), monster hunting quickly became a thing of the past.
Instead, Jack pried Castiel straight from the Empty and plopped him right into Dean’s arms. Not that he was complaining or anything.
The return of Castiel had been a shock to everyone, especially due to his new “qualities”.
Part of Jack’s “hands off” god policy was removing all angelic and demonic intervention from the Earth. This way, humanity would remain free to practice their own free will while the angels and demons stuck to their own domains. So, in order to obey his own rules, Jack had essentially turned Castiel human.
Like everyone else, Castiel would age, have needs and wants, and learn how to act among the rest of his new kind.
It was an adjustment at first. Not only at having Castiel back, but at having him learn for the second time what it truly meant to be a full-fledged human.
According to the ex-angel, food was a plus.
Urinating was not.
It took a while after Castiel’s return, but when Dean finally found his words, the two of them talked. Dean remembered every word of Castiel’s speech before the Empty tore him away, repeating it internally like a mantra until it was ingrained into every crevice of his mind. But now, with Castiel back in front of him, the words festered into something ugly.
Every time he repeated the mantra, he could only be reminded by the fact that he never said it back.
Castiel, the miracle man he was, never held it against him, because although Dean didn’t say it back, Castiel had known— even before Dean himself. Lucky bastard.
A week later, Dean knocked on Castiel’s bedroom door in the bunker, wielding a jar of honey and his relatively clean flannel (Castiel insisted flowers were for pollination, not romantic gestures, and Dean didn’t know what the fuck else to get him) and took Castiel on their first date.
All that felt so far away now. Maybe that was a good thing.
After that, Sam made quick work of proposing to Eileen and moved a few blocks away from Dean and Castiel. Dean often found himself missing living in the close quarters with his kid brother, but the soon-to-be newlyweds were never bothered when Dean dropped by for easy conversation or a couple of beers. Family was still family, after all. Even if they weren’t living right next door.
Dean served up two plates, begrudgingly accepting the knowledge that he would either have to wake Castiel up or let their breakfast get cold. He chose the latter, figuring his gullet could wait. He started a pot of coffee for the two of them, hoping the smell would urge the angel out of bed.
Dean smiled as he heard the sound of fluttering wings behind him, waiting for Castiel to drape his chest across his back and kiss his neck as he did every morning.
“Never thought I’d see the day someone domesticated the Michael sword. And certainly not a weak link like Castiel.”
Dean froze where he stood, realization dawning on him hard and fast. Castiel was human now. He didn’t have wings.
And Dean knew that voice. A voice he thought was long gone.
He spun around, facing none other than Zachariah, wearing a freshly ironed suit like it was commonplace first thing in the morning. There was not one scratch on him. Zachariah smirked. “Hiya, Dean.”
“We killed you, twice,” Dean stated dumbly, as if that little tidbit of information would help his case against an angel who could easily kill Dean with a snap of his fingers.
“You think good ol’ Cassie is the only angel Jack pulled from the Empty? News flash, kiddo. Heaven needs the power.”
“But you?” Dean said, unable to keep the disgust out of his voice. If Zachariah was planning on smiting Dean, he’d just do it. So if Dean wanted to use his signature snark, he was going to use his signature snark.
Dean tightened his stance, trying to seem as unpoleaxed as he could.
“Shocked me too. But apparently, our new god is nothing if not fair. Personal opinion held no weight with me.”
“Then why aren’t you in Heaven with the others?”
Zachariah huffed, amused. “I didn’t ask to be brought back, Dean. In fact, I quite liked the Empty. Peaceful. Still. Quiet. But I should have known you and your little caravan would come and ruin it eventually,” Zachariah’s face darkened, “Therefore, I have the power to do whatever I see fit.”
Dean couldn’t stop the bitter laugh bubbling up his throat. “Believe me, I had no part in your return.”
The coffee machine dinged, signaling its completion. Zachariah moved around slowly, taking his sweet time now that he had made it clear he had the upper hand. His eyes darted to a picture frame on the countertop— the one where Castiel had just bought a new phone and wanted to test out the camera, so Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel's neck and smiled while Castiel lived out his photographer dreams.
Zachariah knew now.
This time, if something went awry, Dean had something to lose.
Zachariah moved away from the photo without sparing more than a glance, thankfully, and grabbed a piece of bacon from their breakfast plates. He snapped off a piece of the crispy meat and crumbled it in his hand. He didn’t bother eating it, just letting the bacon bits fall to the floor.
After a few more moments of contemplation, Zachariah spoke again. “Did you really think you could just have this, Dean?” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the entire room but clearly implying more. “Did you think you deserved it? The love, the comfort, the stability? I think the time has come for you to learn another lesson.”
“Excuse me?”
“Good luck, Dean. You’ll need it.”
Zachariah snapped his fingers, and the world around Dean tilted.
Colorful lights strobed, people shrieked and laughed, and music blared through muffled speakers as Dean’s mind cleared. He rubbed at his eyes, wobbling to his feet and bracing himself against the nearest wall as the sudden urge to vomit hit him with a strong tenacity.
“Cas?” Dean called out, his speech more of a mumble than he’d like it to be. He pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back the consuming panic in order to focus on his current predicament.
Bodies were packed into every inch of the room, filling the air with the stench of sweat and dollar store deodorant. The strobe lights were unrelenting, fogged only by thick plumes of marijuana smoke. If one thing was clear, Dean wasn’t in their apartment anymore.
His blood curdled at the thought of Castiel alone, sleeping, while Zachariah ran amuck with their lives. Castiel could take care of himself, he knew as much, but the fear ate at him anyway. After all, Dean was the one Zachariah had the problem with, but by association, Castiel would get caught in the crossfire.
Focusing on his own problem, he spun around, trying to figure out where the fuck Zachariah dropped him off.
A hand fell onto his shoulder, gripping him tight and spinning him around. Despite the dim light in the room, broken only by the strobes, seeing the perpetrator clearly would be impossible, but Dean would recognize him anywhere.
Castiel stood there, once again the miracle man, staring Dean in the eye with the same intensity they always carried. Dean could cry.
“Dean.”
“Cas!” Dean’s face broke out into a smile, and he lunged forward to wrap his arms around the other man’s neck. “Thank holy fuck you’re okay. Look, Jack brought Zachariah back, and he’s kinda got a vendetta for me since, you know, I killed him, but we gotta—”
Castiel pulled Dean off of him, keeping his hands on Dean’s arms and shaking just enough to jar him. “I look away for five fucking seconds, and you got high?”
“What? Cas, no!”
“This is the last time we go to one of your hooligan friends' parties.” Castiel rolled his eyes. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
Keeping his iron-like grip on Dean’s arm, Castiel pushed through the sea of people and led him straight through the door. The outside air was more than welcoming, filling Dean’s lungs with clarity over the marijuana haze.
“What did they give you?” Castiel asked, not once slowing his pace as they traipsed over the freshly-manicured lawn. Once again, Dean resumed wondering about where the fuck Zachariah dropped him off, and now, why he brought Castiel along for the ride. “You don’t typically act this erratically from reefer.”
“I’m not high, Cas. I’m serious.” Dean pulled his arm out of Castiel’s grip, forcing them to stop and take a second. People mulled around all around them, not giving a damn about who saw them giving each other sloppy handjobs or languid makeout sessions. Dean would have grimaced at the sight if he weren’t preoccupied. “Zachariah is back, and he’s fucking with both of us.”
“The same Zachariah who’s dating your ex? Dean, I thought we were done with Lisa. She wasn’t good for you. Hell, she’s the one that got you into this drug crap.”
“What?”
“I don’t care what you think, Dean. I will not let you waste your life away on drugs, alcohol, and intercourse.” Castiel moved to drag Dean along by the collar of his jacket, but Dean bat his hand away.
“Cas, Babe, slow down, what are—”
Castiel raised a brow. “Babe?”
“Uh, yeah?”
Castiel shook his head, a mix between a bitter and rueful laugh barely escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you took, but it was some strong shit.” He opened the passenger side car door to the Impala, gesturing for Dean to get inside. Now it was Dean’s turn to raise his brow. “Dean, you are not driving under the influence. Give me your keys.”
Dean looked down at his expectant hand, and for the first time, he really looked at him.
His dark hair was shorter, the corners of his eyes had the stark lack of crows' feet, and, instead of donning his signature tan trenchcoat, he wore a simple sweatshirt, printed with the insignia of some nowhere community college.
All said and done, this was not his Castiel.
“Dean?” Castiel prompted.
“Uh—”
Castiel rolled his eyes, digging into the pocket of Dean’s jacket (Letterman?) to pull the keys out himself. Castiel gestured at the car again, more demanding. “In.”
Castiel was shockingly a decent driver, and Baby had no issues as they pulled out onto the main road. Castiel was like stone, the only proof he was even showing emotion being the rapid tightening and loosening of his grip on the steering wheel. Dean was about to open his mouth to speak and tell him to stop mistreating his Baby like that, Castiel beat him to it.
“You worked so hard in rehab, Dean. So fucking hard. And to throw that all away for what?” Castiel spared him a wayward glance but mainly focused on the road before them. “If anyone finds out, your probation officer won’t be that nice this time around.”
Dean stared at him with his mouth gaping— no doubt attracting some flies. “Are you screwing with me? Now is not the fucking time. Not with the angels—”
“What angels, Dean? You’re an atheist.”
Mulling over the upmost sincerity in Castiel’s voice, Dean decided not to push the subject further, instead mumbling out a short, “Forget it, Cas.”
While Castiel drove, Dean slowly started to process the hellhole he landed in.
This wasn’t a where or when.
In fact, Dean didn’t know what to call it.
But as more and more time went on, and the brief silence turned into long and uncomfortable tension, a heavy weight seemed to unload on Dean’s shoulders.
This wasn’t Dean’s Castiel, and this wasn’t Dean’s life.
This wasn’t even Dean’s reality.
Having enough of the discomfort, Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, where are you taking me?”
Castiel answered without taking his eyes off the road. Dean wished with all his might that he would. “My place.”
“Your place?”
Castiel scoffed. “If you want to go back to your father high as a kite that’s fine by me. It’s your funeral.”
“My father… John?”
“Yes, Dean.” Castiel pursed his lips, breathing in a deep inhale. “Your father John.”
“Who’s… alive—”
Castiel pulled the car to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. He faced Dean, and now that he had what he wished for, Dean found himself wishing for Castiel to look away.
“Okay, so, let me get this straight. You’re not high or drunk, but you call me babe, suddenly believe in angels, have some fucking macho-man bullshit against Zachariah, and don’t know your father’s alive? What the fuck has gotten into your head?” Castiel’s eyes grow with concern. “Shit, did you hit it on something? Concussion, maybe? I knew I should have checked you over when you started babbling.”
Figuring this was a better outcome than drugged, Dean played along, his fake smile looking more and more like a grimace. Castiel pulled Dean’s head forward, moving his hands and fingers all around Dean’s skull before he settled back in his seat. Castiel let out a weary sigh, and Dean began to wonder how he managed to inconvenience Castiel over the span on universes.
Without another word, Castiel put the car back into drive and took them in the opposite direction.
“I’m taking you home. Your father will know what to do.”