Fic: The wonderful wizard of Oz, part 11/? in Oz
The wonderful wizard of Oz
3,000 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to zelda_zee, who does what she can with the nonsense I write.
This is a continuation of Welcome to Oz. Fic master post here.
Dean wakes up feeling refreshed, relaxed, and every other re-word that comes from
The wonderful wizard of Oz
Day 3
Dean wakes up feeling refreshed, relaxed, and every other re-word that comes from a wonderful night’s sleep. He’s not getting his hopes up on the odds of the Mayor granting him freedom (life’s never just been that easy for Dean Winchester and company) but in case he does, Dean takes an extra ten minutes to soak in the comfort and smell of clean cotton one last time.
Dean eventually propels himself out of bed, and heads into the massive bathroom. He takes a shower in the awesome glass and steel cube (which is still so cool he can hardly get over it) and puts on the clothes he dug out of a box yesterday night. They’re a little snug (especially the jeans) but he figures they can always drop by downtown later and buy clothes that fit better.
Dean goes downstairs, half expecting to find Castiel asleep again. This time, however, Castiel is awake, sitting stiffly upright on the couch.
“You look like shit,” Dean says as soon as he gets a closer look at Castiel, who has dark bags under his eyes with an expression pinched tightly in what can’t be anything but pain. “Have you been up all night?”
“I did not sleep,” Castiel says and there’s a whisper of pride mixed into the exhaustion of his voice.
“No shit,” Dean replies as he gives Castiel a once over. “You okay?”
Castiel presses a palm to his forehead. “I am fine.”
“Fuck, another headache?” Dean grabs the Ibuprofen from the bathroom and shakes a couple pills onto his palm. He’s about to return the bottle to the cabinet when he thinks better of it and pockets it, filling a glass of water and walking back to the living room. He hands the glass and the pills to Castiel. “You should have just taken the painkillers, man. Killing pain’s what they’re there for.”
“I-” Castiel takes the pills and water reluctantly. “I did not know where they were.”
“Bullshit,” Dean says, and Castiel averts his eyes.
“I assumed the pain would be temporary.” Castiel winces as though the pain is growing. “I did not anticipate this persistence.”
Dean tosses the bottle of Ibuprofen to Castiel, who fumbles the catch. “Now you have the bottle, so feel free to medicate at will. You should probably take those with food, though. Come on, there’s cereal in the kitchen.”
Castiel follows Dean into the kitchen and Dean pulls out the box of O’s of Good Cheer. “I have no need of food.”
“Those fries you slaughtered last night and I both know that’s a steaming pile of crap,” Dean says as he pours out two bowls and fills them with milk. “Eat the damn cereal, okay? You already look like you’re going to fall over.”
Castiel eventually complies and they eat in silence. Though Castiel seems to draw no cheer of any kind from the food, some color has returned to his face by the time he’s done.
As Dean’s putting his bowl in the sink, the phone in the foyer rings. He glances at Castiel, who just sits at the table and stares at him blankly, before going to pick it up. It’s Alana on the line, informing him a chirpy voice that the Mayor would like to see him and could he please come by the office as soon as possible? After Dean hangs up, he turns back to where Castiel is standing, bloodshot eyes curious but mostly tired.
“City Hall’s calling my name,” Dean says. “I guess the Mayor doesn’t know how to work a telephone.” Castiel nods and wordlessly walks out to the car.
The drive over is quiet, with Castiel slumped against the window of the car, clearly not under the sway of the painkillers yet.
When they arrive, Alana smiles and greets them both. Then, “Dean, the Mayor will see you now,” and as they start towards the office, she adds, “alone.”
Dean starts to protest but Castiel cuts him off with a weary wave. “It’s fine. I will wait here.” Castiel collapses into one of the uncomfortable green chairs by Alana’s desk and Dean thinks he seems almost relieved.
“So what’s the word?” Dean asks as he strolls into the office, trying to suppress any sign that he gives a shit. “Am I sprung or what?”
The Mayor looks up from his computer and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.”
“I’m guessing no victory dances are in order?” Dean drops into a chair and studies Mayor Chin’s face, which is solemn. “You’re not cutting me loose, are you?”
“Permission for your removal was not granted. I’m sorry, Dean,” the Mayor says.
Dean’s not shocked, not really. He thought he’d been prepared, but it still feels like a kick to a kidney, and he thinks of Sam. “Yeah, I’ll bet you’re real sorry.”
The Mayor continues on as if Dean hadn’t spoken, “I’ve prepared an assignment for you in the town as the manager of our general store. The assignment had been given to a prospective resident scheduled to arrive today, but circumstances on the ground have… changed,” the Mayor pauses, “you will, of course, be given your own house, vehicle, and-”
“Back that truck up,” Dean interrupts. “You tell me I’m a prisoner in this shithole and then just expect me to turn around and whistle while I work? Forget it, buddy. You can take that assignment and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”
“You are not a prisoner,” the Mayor replies coolly. “It was determined that you posed too high of a security risk to be allowed to leave. But you are not being held for any sort of crime.”
“Sounds like prison to me,” Dean retorts. “Your higher ups think I’m some kind of spy or something? I’m gonna rat out my country and buddy up with the terrorists?”
“No one’s accusing you of anything.” The Mayor steeples his fingers on the desk. “No one’s saying you would give over information voluntarily. But terrorists have ways and means of getting information whether you want to give it or not.”
“I’m not that easy to break,” Dean says defiantly, even though deep down he knows that’s a lie.
“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” the Mayor says, face impassive, “but everyone breaks eventually, and that’s a fact. It’s not just you the terrorists will go after, it’s everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you’ve ever met for five minutes on the subway.”
“And what am I going to tell them, exactly?” Dean asks. “How beautiful the mountains are in summer? How the hills are alive with the sound of music? I don’t know jack squat about this place, and all the torture in the world isn’t going to change that.”
“It’s not just this location we’re worried about,” the Mayor says, “You’ve been exposed to some highly classified information, information that could put in jeopardy the entirety of the Garden of Eden project.”
“You mean the file you gave me?” Dean sputters, mind whirling. “You-you set me up. You knew as soon as you handed me that damn file I’d be stuck spinning my wheels here for good. And then you went through all the bullshit motions, knowing all the while exactly what would happen, you two-faced son of a bitch.”
If the Mayor is the least bit perturbed by Dean’s tirade, he doesn’t show it. “If I hadn’t given you that file, my superiors may have granted you permission to leave Mountaindale. But do you really think they would have let you walk back to your normal life, knowing everything you do?” He leans forward, elbows on his desk. “I know what happens to the people they clear for expulsion from the Garden of Eden-they get boxed. You’d spend the rest of this war-or your life, whichever ends quicker-staring at the inside of a ten-by-ten cell courtesy of the US government.”
“So you were really doing me a favor?” Dean snorts derisively. “That’s rich. Thanks for nothing, you useless bureaucrat.”
“I did what I thought was best,” the Mayor says, still emotionless. “I thought living in a town, having some measure of freedom, would be preferable for you.”
“Oh golly gee, thanks, Mr. Mayor. It’s sure swell of you to take all the decision-making out of my hands. Obviously, I can’t be trusted to live my own damn life!”
“You can have a life here. Like I said, you’ll be given a house and a car and the money you need to get your business off the ground.”
“You think I want your fucking house?” Dean snarls, jumping to his feet. “You think I want your goddamn money?”
Dean’s halfway to the door when the mayor speaks again, voice still quiet and infuriatingly calm, “I was going to run for governor before I moved here.”
Dean wants to keep storming out, but for some reason he pauses. “Like I give a shit about your hopes and dreams.”
“I had the party’s nomination, popular support throughout the state, and the previous governor’s official blessing. I was a shoe-in,” the Mayor continues as if Dean had expressed actual interest in hearing his life story. “Now I’m the mayor of some tiny suburb on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. Everything I’ve worked for in my political career has vanished in a puff of smoke. I’m not going anywhere, and I probably won't ever get to leave this place.”
Dean starts walking again. “Boo fucking hoo.”
“Don’t you want to know why? Why I would give it all up?”
Dean’s fingers itch on the doorknob, wanting to end it, but also wanting to hear how this ends. “You couldn’t keep your dick in your pants and the press got wind of it.”
“Close.” The Mayor chuckles a little. “I watched my wife give birth to my daughter nine months ago. I held my little girl in my arms and I knew I would do anything-anything-in the world to protect her. I realized I couldn’t do that best as the governor of a populous northeastern state, as a political target. So I pulled every damn string I had made in my fifteen years of politics to get onto the Garden of Eden fast track, and packed up my things the same day I got that phone call from government. I haven’t looked back since.”
Dean’s jaw clenches. “You expect me to feel sorry for you? Forgive you? Say, oh, well, since you got a kid the fact that you’re holding me against my will is all water under the bridge?”
“You don’t have children, do you?” the Mayor doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Every night before I go to bed, I look into her eyes and ask myself whether I did everything humanly possible to keep her safe--to keep the next day, the next year, the next hundred years of her life safe. Whether I filled out all the paperwork, whether I watched all the security tapes, whether I made all the right calls. I look at her and think about what would happen if one of these enclaves is infiltrated, found out, destroyed. I wonder if the sacrifice and the heartache are worth the tiniest possibility of a safer world for her.” The mayor pauses. “The answer’s always yes.”
“Why’re you telling me this?” Dean growls with every bit of contempt and disdain he can muster. He wants to insult the Mayor, throw his bullshit rationale back in his face but he can’t. He thinks of Sam, and wonders whether he wouldn’t do the same for him, whether he’d trade some poor innocent stranger’s life for his. “Clearing your dirty conscience?”
“No,” the Mayor says, voice firm. “I’ve made my choice and I intend to live with the consequences. I’m not telling you because I want absolution. I’m telling you because you’re the type of man that won’t give up-you’re going to try and figure a way out of here with or without my help, and I respect that. But I want you to understand something about me in return: there is nothing I would not do to protect my family.” The Mayor never raises his voice, but it’s the steely undercurrent of resolve that makes Dean believe he's not fucking around on this. “You are free to roam Mountaindale, live your life as best you can, but I will do everything I must. Even if that means I have to build a jail cell from the ground up and lock you in myself.”
Dean feels a chill go down his spine but forces on the best bravado he can. “If you think this little conversation changes anything, it doesn’t.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to. And for what it’s worth, which is admittedly not much, I am sorry that you must suffer for this. But I’ll never be sorry for doing what I have to do.”
Dean walks back into the lobby, heart heavy in his chest. He stares at the empty chair Castiel had previously been sitting in, and wonders whether he re-sprouted his wings and took off. At this point, Dean wouldn’t be surprised. It would be just his luck.
“James went outside,” Alana says, “a few minutes ago.”
Dean thanks her distractedly and walks outside around the side of the building to the lake. The grass is vividly green and a little overgrown, coming up past his ankles.
Castiel is standing at the very edge of the lake, gazing out into the distance. Before Dean can get his attention, Castiel wades into the water-shoes, pants, and all-and doesn’t stop until he’s in waist deep.
“Cas!” Dean calls out as he picks up the pace a little. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies, half turning his head so the sun illuminates his profile. “You will be staying?”
“Surprise, surprise, the mayor is a selfish prick.” Dean's shoes squish in the mud as he gets closer. “How’d you know?”
“He wished to see you alone,” Castiel says, hands skimming the surface of the water. “I did not think it would be to share good news.”
“It’s a setback, but I’ve been in worst spots before." Dean's trying to stay optimistic. Trying, but it’s difficult with Castiel's glum mood not helping. “What are you doing out here anyway? You going for a leisurely swim?”
“I am breathing,” Castiel says, seemingly ignoring Dean’s question.
“Uh.” Dean's not quite sure what to say to that. “So am I. Gold stars for everyone in the class.”
“In the past, I breathed as the vessel’s habit. My heart beat because it comforted my vessel to have it do so.” Castiel tips his head back up at the sky, warm yellow light beaming down on him. “Now, my heart pumps blood because it must. My lungs fill and empty because I would collapse if they did not.”
“Cas-” Dean starts and stops. Of course he knew what was happening, suspected, what with the eating and the sleeping and the freaky striptease in the kitchen. But it’s something else entirely to see Castiel now, grappling with the truth of it, fighting against the meaning of it.
“If I put my head beneath the surface for too long, my lungs would fill with water,” Castiel says as he begins walking further into the lake, deep enough for the water to hit him at his shoulders. “My heart would stop its necessary beat.” Then, without warning, Castiel plunges into the water, head and shoulders and body disappearing completely.
“Cas!” Dean shouts. He runs into the water, toes off his shoes, and starts swimming where the water’s deep enough, diving quickly down to where Castiel is just floating in the water, unmoving. Dean snakes an arm around his chest, pulling him up to the surface of the water where they both gasp for breath. Without stopping to talk, Dean paddles them both to the edge of the water and crawls out onto land, dragging Castiel with him.
“What the fuck?” Dean yells as soon as both their bodies are fully on dry land. He shoves Castiel against the ground, hard, and twists away onto his back, feeling goosebumps rising up on his skin. “What the fuck were you doing?”
Castiel stares at Dean, dazed, and coughs weakly. Despite being soaking wet and covered in mud, he doesn’t seem that much worse than when he started, which is a sad commentary on how shitty he looked to begin with. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“Fuck you, Cas,” Dean hisses, as he gets up and nearly slips back down in the mud. He staggers to his feet and stalks over to his abandoned shoes. “Fuck you. You know. You know.”
“I didn’t know until now,” Castiel says, and then leans back to rest his head on the grass. “I didn’t know.”
“You motherfucker,” Dean’s shaking from the adrenaline and fear and rage, hands balling into fists even as he attempts to wring the water out of his shirt. “You stupid, selfish motherfucking-are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that what this is about now? The going gets tough so you punk out?”
Castiel turns to Dean, eyes burning with defiant intensity. “I was in no real danger.”
“Says the former angel,” Dean says. “But humans don’t fucking work like that. When our lungs fill up and our hearts stop, we die. Game over. No reset and load from an earlier save.”
Castiel levers himself up onto one elbow and then pushes himself up, water running down his body in steady rivulets. “I didn’t want to die. I just wanted-I just wanted to see what would happen.”
“Fuck you.” Dean says, brushing at the errant wet grass falling from his hair into his face. “Fuck all of this. This fucking place, the fucking mayor, and you.”
“I wanted to see if it was true,” Castiel says, and there's something like pleading in his voice. “Now I know.”
Dean starts walking, water squelching uncomfortably in his shoes. “I don’t care. Go jump in the lake again. You wanna know whatever so bad, go ahead and try to find out. I’m not saving your dumb ass again.”
“It won’t happen again,” Castiel says as he takes a step towards Dean.
“Like I give a shit if it does,” Dean mutters as he stalks back to the car, not bothering to see if Castiel is following.
Onto the next chapter: A heart is not judged
3,000 words, SPN Dean/Castiel slash. Spoilers for all of season 4.
Many thanks to zelda_zee, who does what she can with the nonsense I write.
This is a continuation of Welcome to Oz. Fic master post here.
Dean wakes up feeling refreshed, relaxed, and every other re-word that comes from
The wonderful wizard of Oz
Day 3
Dean wakes up feeling refreshed, relaxed, and every other re-word that comes from a wonderful night’s sleep. He’s not getting his hopes up on the odds of the Mayor granting him freedom (life’s never just been that easy for Dean Winchester and company) but in case he does, Dean takes an extra ten minutes to soak in the comfort and smell of clean cotton one last time.
Dean eventually propels himself out of bed, and heads into the massive bathroom. He takes a shower in the awesome glass and steel cube (which is still so cool he can hardly get over it) and puts on the clothes he dug out of a box yesterday night. They’re a little snug (especially the jeans) but he figures they can always drop by downtown later and buy clothes that fit better.
Dean goes downstairs, half expecting to find Castiel asleep again. This time, however, Castiel is awake, sitting stiffly upright on the couch.
“You look like shit,” Dean says as soon as he gets a closer look at Castiel, who has dark bags under his eyes with an expression pinched tightly in what can’t be anything but pain. “Have you been up all night?”
“I did not sleep,” Castiel says and there’s a whisper of pride mixed into the exhaustion of his voice.
“No shit,” Dean replies as he gives Castiel a once over. “You okay?”
Castiel presses a palm to his forehead. “I am fine.”
“Fuck, another headache?” Dean grabs the Ibuprofen from the bathroom and shakes a couple pills onto his palm. He’s about to return the bottle to the cabinet when he thinks better of it and pockets it, filling a glass of water and walking back to the living room. He hands the glass and the pills to Castiel. “You should have just taken the painkillers, man. Killing pain’s what they’re there for.”
“I-” Castiel takes the pills and water reluctantly. “I did not know where they were.”
“Bullshit,” Dean says, and Castiel averts his eyes.
“I assumed the pain would be temporary.” Castiel winces as though the pain is growing. “I did not anticipate this persistence.”
Dean tosses the bottle of Ibuprofen to Castiel, who fumbles the catch. “Now you have the bottle, so feel free to medicate at will. You should probably take those with food, though. Come on, there’s cereal in the kitchen.”
Castiel follows Dean into the kitchen and Dean pulls out the box of O’s of Good Cheer. “I have no need of food.”
“Those fries you slaughtered last night and I both know that’s a steaming pile of crap,” Dean says as he pours out two bowls and fills them with milk. “Eat the damn cereal, okay? You already look like you’re going to fall over.”
Castiel eventually complies and they eat in silence. Though Castiel seems to draw no cheer of any kind from the food, some color has returned to his face by the time he’s done.
As Dean’s putting his bowl in the sink, the phone in the foyer rings. He glances at Castiel, who just sits at the table and stares at him blankly, before going to pick it up. It’s Alana on the line, informing him a chirpy voice that the Mayor would like to see him and could he please come by the office as soon as possible? After Dean hangs up, he turns back to where Castiel is standing, bloodshot eyes curious but mostly tired.
“City Hall’s calling my name,” Dean says. “I guess the Mayor doesn’t know how to work a telephone.” Castiel nods and wordlessly walks out to the car.
The drive over is quiet, with Castiel slumped against the window of the car, clearly not under the sway of the painkillers yet.
When they arrive, Alana smiles and greets them both. Then, “Dean, the Mayor will see you now,” and as they start towards the office, she adds, “alone.”
Dean starts to protest but Castiel cuts him off with a weary wave. “It’s fine. I will wait here.” Castiel collapses into one of the uncomfortable green chairs by Alana’s desk and Dean thinks he seems almost relieved.
“So what’s the word?” Dean asks as he strolls into the office, trying to suppress any sign that he gives a shit. “Am I sprung or what?”
The Mayor looks up from his computer and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.”
“I’m guessing no victory dances are in order?” Dean drops into a chair and studies Mayor Chin’s face, which is solemn. “You’re not cutting me loose, are you?”
“Permission for your removal was not granted. I’m sorry, Dean,” the Mayor says.
Dean’s not shocked, not really. He thought he’d been prepared, but it still feels like a kick to a kidney, and he thinks of Sam. “Yeah, I’ll bet you’re real sorry.”
The Mayor continues on as if Dean hadn’t spoken, “I’ve prepared an assignment for you in the town as the manager of our general store. The assignment had been given to a prospective resident scheduled to arrive today, but circumstances on the ground have… changed,” the Mayor pauses, “you will, of course, be given your own house, vehicle, and-”
“Back that truck up,” Dean interrupts. “You tell me I’m a prisoner in this shithole and then just expect me to turn around and whistle while I work? Forget it, buddy. You can take that assignment and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”
“You are not a prisoner,” the Mayor replies coolly. “It was determined that you posed too high of a security risk to be allowed to leave. But you are not being held for any sort of crime.”
“Sounds like prison to me,” Dean retorts. “Your higher ups think I’m some kind of spy or something? I’m gonna rat out my country and buddy up with the terrorists?”
“No one’s accusing you of anything.” The Mayor steeples his fingers on the desk. “No one’s saying you would give over information voluntarily. But terrorists have ways and means of getting information whether you want to give it or not.”
“I’m not that easy to break,” Dean says defiantly, even though deep down he knows that’s a lie.
“Maybe you are, maybe you aren’t,” the Mayor says, face impassive, “but everyone breaks eventually, and that’s a fact. It’s not just you the terrorists will go after, it’s everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you’ve ever met for five minutes on the subway.”
“And what am I going to tell them, exactly?” Dean asks. “How beautiful the mountains are in summer? How the hills are alive with the sound of music? I don’t know jack squat about this place, and all the torture in the world isn’t going to change that.”
“It’s not just this location we’re worried about,” the Mayor says, “You’ve been exposed to some highly classified information, information that could put in jeopardy the entirety of the Garden of Eden project.”
“You mean the file you gave me?” Dean sputters, mind whirling. “You-you set me up. You knew as soon as you handed me that damn file I’d be stuck spinning my wheels here for good. And then you went through all the bullshit motions, knowing all the while exactly what would happen, you two-faced son of a bitch.”
If the Mayor is the least bit perturbed by Dean’s tirade, he doesn’t show it. “If I hadn’t given you that file, my superiors may have granted you permission to leave Mountaindale. But do you really think they would have let you walk back to your normal life, knowing everything you do?” He leans forward, elbows on his desk. “I know what happens to the people they clear for expulsion from the Garden of Eden-they get boxed. You’d spend the rest of this war-or your life, whichever ends quicker-staring at the inside of a ten-by-ten cell courtesy of the US government.”
“So you were really doing me a favor?” Dean snorts derisively. “That’s rich. Thanks for nothing, you useless bureaucrat.”
“I did what I thought was best,” the Mayor says, still emotionless. “I thought living in a town, having some measure of freedom, would be preferable for you.”
“Oh golly gee, thanks, Mr. Mayor. It’s sure swell of you to take all the decision-making out of my hands. Obviously, I can’t be trusted to live my own damn life!”
“You can have a life here. Like I said, you’ll be given a house and a car and the money you need to get your business off the ground.”
“You think I want your fucking house?” Dean snarls, jumping to his feet. “You think I want your goddamn money?”
Dean’s halfway to the door when the mayor speaks again, voice still quiet and infuriatingly calm, “I was going to run for governor before I moved here.”
Dean wants to keep storming out, but for some reason he pauses. “Like I give a shit about your hopes and dreams.”
“I had the party’s nomination, popular support throughout the state, and the previous governor’s official blessing. I was a shoe-in,” the Mayor continues as if Dean had expressed actual interest in hearing his life story. “Now I’m the mayor of some tiny suburb on the top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere. Everything I’ve worked for in my political career has vanished in a puff of smoke. I’m not going anywhere, and I probably won't ever get to leave this place.”
Dean starts walking again. “Boo fucking hoo.”
“Don’t you want to know why? Why I would give it all up?”
Dean’s fingers itch on the doorknob, wanting to end it, but also wanting to hear how this ends. “You couldn’t keep your dick in your pants and the press got wind of it.”
“Close.” The Mayor chuckles a little. “I watched my wife give birth to my daughter nine months ago. I held my little girl in my arms and I knew I would do anything-anything-in the world to protect her. I realized I couldn’t do that best as the governor of a populous northeastern state, as a political target. So I pulled every damn string I had made in my fifteen years of politics to get onto the Garden of Eden fast track, and packed up my things the same day I got that phone call from government. I haven’t looked back since.”
Dean’s jaw clenches. “You expect me to feel sorry for you? Forgive you? Say, oh, well, since you got a kid the fact that you’re holding me against my will is all water under the bridge?”
“You don’t have children, do you?” the Mayor doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Every night before I go to bed, I look into her eyes and ask myself whether I did everything humanly possible to keep her safe--to keep the next day, the next year, the next hundred years of her life safe. Whether I filled out all the paperwork, whether I watched all the security tapes, whether I made all the right calls. I look at her and think about what would happen if one of these enclaves is infiltrated, found out, destroyed. I wonder if the sacrifice and the heartache are worth the tiniest possibility of a safer world for her.” The mayor pauses. “The answer’s always yes.”
“Why’re you telling me this?” Dean growls with every bit of contempt and disdain he can muster. He wants to insult the Mayor, throw his bullshit rationale back in his face but he can’t. He thinks of Sam, and wonders whether he wouldn’t do the same for him, whether he’d trade some poor innocent stranger’s life for his. “Clearing your dirty conscience?”
“No,” the Mayor says, voice firm. “I’ve made my choice and I intend to live with the consequences. I’m not telling you because I want absolution. I’m telling you because you’re the type of man that won’t give up-you’re going to try and figure a way out of here with or without my help, and I respect that. But I want you to understand something about me in return: there is nothing I would not do to protect my family.” The Mayor never raises his voice, but it’s the steely undercurrent of resolve that makes Dean believe he's not fucking around on this. “You are free to roam Mountaindale, live your life as best you can, but I will do everything I must. Even if that means I have to build a jail cell from the ground up and lock you in myself.”
Dean feels a chill go down his spine but forces on the best bravado he can. “If you think this little conversation changes anything, it doesn’t.”
“I wouldn’t expect it to. And for what it’s worth, which is admittedly not much, I am sorry that you must suffer for this. But I’ll never be sorry for doing what I have to do.”
Dean walks back into the lobby, heart heavy in his chest. He stares at the empty chair Castiel had previously been sitting in, and wonders whether he re-sprouted his wings and took off. At this point, Dean wouldn’t be surprised. It would be just his luck.
“James went outside,” Alana says, “a few minutes ago.”
Dean thanks her distractedly and walks outside around the side of the building to the lake. The grass is vividly green and a little overgrown, coming up past his ankles.
Castiel is standing at the very edge of the lake, gazing out into the distance. Before Dean can get his attention, Castiel wades into the water-shoes, pants, and all-and doesn’t stop until he’s in waist deep.
“Cas!” Dean calls out as he picks up the pace a little. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies, half turning his head so the sun illuminates his profile. “You will be staying?”
“Surprise, surprise, the mayor is a selfish prick.” Dean's shoes squish in the mud as he gets closer. “How’d you know?”
“He wished to see you alone,” Castiel says, hands skimming the surface of the water. “I did not think it would be to share good news.”
“It’s a setback, but I’ve been in worst spots before." Dean's trying to stay optimistic. Trying, but it’s difficult with Castiel's glum mood not helping. “What are you doing out here anyway? You going for a leisurely swim?”
“I am breathing,” Castiel says, seemingly ignoring Dean’s question.
“Uh.” Dean's not quite sure what to say to that. “So am I. Gold stars for everyone in the class.”
“In the past, I breathed as the vessel’s habit. My heart beat because it comforted my vessel to have it do so.” Castiel tips his head back up at the sky, warm yellow light beaming down on him. “Now, my heart pumps blood because it must. My lungs fill and empty because I would collapse if they did not.”
“Cas-” Dean starts and stops. Of course he knew what was happening, suspected, what with the eating and the sleeping and the freaky striptease in the kitchen. But it’s something else entirely to see Castiel now, grappling with the truth of it, fighting against the meaning of it.
“If I put my head beneath the surface for too long, my lungs would fill with water,” Castiel says as he begins walking further into the lake, deep enough for the water to hit him at his shoulders. “My heart would stop its necessary beat.” Then, without warning, Castiel plunges into the water, head and shoulders and body disappearing completely.
“Cas!” Dean shouts. He runs into the water, toes off his shoes, and starts swimming where the water’s deep enough, diving quickly down to where Castiel is just floating in the water, unmoving. Dean snakes an arm around his chest, pulling him up to the surface of the water where they both gasp for breath. Without stopping to talk, Dean paddles them both to the edge of the water and crawls out onto land, dragging Castiel with him.
“What the fuck?” Dean yells as soon as both their bodies are fully on dry land. He shoves Castiel against the ground, hard, and twists away onto his back, feeling goosebumps rising up on his skin. “What the fuck were you doing?”
Castiel stares at Dean, dazed, and coughs weakly. Despite being soaking wet and covered in mud, he doesn’t seem that much worse than when he started, which is a sad commentary on how shitty he looked to begin with. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
“Fuck you, Cas,” Dean hisses, as he gets up and nearly slips back down in the mud. He staggers to his feet and stalks over to his abandoned shoes. “Fuck you. You know. You know.”
“I didn’t know until now,” Castiel says, and then leans back to rest his head on the grass. “I didn’t know.”
“You motherfucker,” Dean’s shaking from the adrenaline and fear and rage, hands balling into fists even as he attempts to wring the water out of his shirt. “You stupid, selfish motherfucking-are you trying to get yourself killed? Is that what this is about now? The going gets tough so you punk out?”
Castiel turns to Dean, eyes burning with defiant intensity. “I was in no real danger.”
“Says the former angel,” Dean says. “But humans don’t fucking work like that. When our lungs fill up and our hearts stop, we die. Game over. No reset and load from an earlier save.”
Castiel levers himself up onto one elbow and then pushes himself up, water running down his body in steady rivulets. “I didn’t want to die. I just wanted-I just wanted to see what would happen.”
“Fuck you.” Dean says, brushing at the errant wet grass falling from his hair into his face. “Fuck all of this. This fucking place, the fucking mayor, and you.”
“I wanted to see if it was true,” Castiel says, and there's something like pleading in his voice. “Now I know.”
Dean starts walking, water squelching uncomfortably in his shoes. “I don’t care. Go jump in the lake again. You wanna know whatever so bad, go ahead and try to find out. I’m not saving your dumb ass again.”
“It won’t happen again,” Castiel says as he takes a step towards Dean.
“Like I give a shit if it does,” Dean mutters as he stalks back to the car, not bothering to see if Castiel is following.
Onto the next chapter: A heart is not judged