A Subtle Touch of Grace

[darth_firefly]

Title: A Subtle Touch of Grace
Rating: R
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/OFC
Warnings: See Master Post for full list of warnings.
Word Count:8,854
Summary:There are many sayings for the wants of man: you can't always get what you want, you don't know what you want until it's gone, and most importantly, you don't know what you want until you have it. After averting the Apocalypse, a miracle in the form of an Angel-Human Hybrid and the reorganization of Heaven brings Dean and Castiel both closer together and farther apart than ever before. Dean lives with a broken heart and finds Faith in unexpected places, Sam finds the normal life he's always wanted while on a hunt of all places, and Castiel discovers that God was closer than everyone thought.



Shortly after New Year', Dean returned from Florida exactly six hours before the first major storm of that winter. When he looked back on the storm, he'd remember it as the worst one he ever lived through. He'd had the foresight to stock up on groceries before his journey to Key West, thus all he had to pick up on his way back to the house was a gallon of milk and a container of eggs. After hauling a good chunk of the woodpile indoors, Dean figured he was as prepared as he could be for the approaching storm. Like all hunters, he knew to keep a good supply of batteries in the house, which were almost as important as extra rounds of rock-salt. Despite the imminent storm and the extra work, Dean was relieved to be home. He'd left Sioux Falls two days before Christmas and spent the holiday with the well meaning and rapidly moving to the top of his favorite people list, Aunt Jet and Uncle Harry. It'd been explained to him by his cousin Colleen that two of them had never been able to have kids of their own, so Jet (Dean still couldn't believe that was her real first name) took it upon herself to dote upon her older brother's children and grandchildren. Somehow the couple had taken it into their mind that Dean needed a lot more attention than any of the others at the moment. The crazy thing was, none of his cousins seemed to mind. Even Jennifer, who'd come back from Pittsburgh with her family for the holidays didn't even mind, and she'd not been back to Kansas in almost three years. Dean had very vague memories of the cousin who was the closest in age to him, mainly about the pair of them making mud pies.

The house was almost exactly as he had left it, save for a few more dust bunnies and some snow on the ground. Once he had a fire started and gotten a few things unpacked, the house lost its unoccupied air and started to feel normal again. Dean was also starting to feel like himself again. Tomorrow, Castiel and Liam were supposed to arrive for a two week visit. The snow put a bit of a damper on things, but perhaps the weather wouldn't prove to be too horrible. There'd been something in Cas' voice the last time the two of them talked. Something that was clearly bothering Cas, and the angel didn't feel like sharing. Last time they had visited, Castiel had spoken of not knowing when he would be able to see them again. Perhaps it was related to that. Much as Dean hated not being able to see Cas more than once a year in the flesh, they still had dreams in which to converse. If they were going to have to move to only speaking in dreams, well, Dean could learn to live with that. He'd dealt with changes in his life before, and this was merely another one.

*

Castiel could see the vast changes in the house the moment he and Liam arrived. It wasn't just the fact that it was clean and organized; it'd been that way the last time they were here. It had a new air about it as he settled Liam into one of the bedrooms upstairs. Dean had been anticipating their arrival and had left extra blankets on the beds in the room. But it wasn't that and it wasn't the snow and freezing rain lashing against the side of the house. As he came down the stairs to where he could hear the television droning, almost covering Dean's light snores, Castiel could tell what it was. Somehow, Dean was doing what he'd always done when things had changed for him; he'd adapted. The mantel over the fireplace alone told the story. It used to be devoid of objects, save for an old picture of the Winchester brothers and their father, taken when Dean was around eight and Sam was four. Now there were more frames, people Castiel didn't know until he was able to scan them. The Winchesters had found their way back to the family that their father had walked away from to live a life of hunting. Family had always, always been what made Dean thrive. This would make things easier for him, having family to be around.

He shifted onto the couch, setting Dean's head in his lap, his thumb brushing his temple. The need for sleep had completely abandoned him several days ago, a definite sign how rapidly things were changing. Liam still clung to sleep, but where he once slept for hours on end, now he barely slept for any longer than a handful of hours at a time.

“Cas?” Dean murmured sleepily. “Cas, is that you?”

“Yes, Dean.” He stilled his hand against the man's head. “You go ahead and sleep.”

“But...”

“Ssh.” Castiel smiled, feeling Dean relax under his palm. “I will still be here when you wake.”

“Liam upstairs?” Dean did his best to repress a yawn and pulled the blanket a little closer around his shoulders.

“Yes.” Castiel closed his eyes contentedly as he felt Dean's hand slide out and rest against his knee. “Comfortable?”

“Very.” Dean smiled. “You?”

“Yes.” He leaned against his free hand, staring at the television. “What on earth are you watching?”

“Not really watching, just sort of needed some background noise. 'Sides, I think the local weathermen are a lot more accurate about what's going on outside than those overpaid guys on the Weather Channel.” Dean chuckled. “They're the nuts who weren't sure if Blue Springs was a suburb of Kansas City or not.” He yawned. “If you want to move, I won't object.”

Castiel shook his head. “Not yet, I just want to sit like this for a little while longer.”

Dean glanced up at him before snuggling a little closer to him. “No objections here.”

The angel felt the man still and his breath slowly even out. For someone who had trouble sleeping, Dean could always fall asleep with alarming swiftness. Dean's need to sleep used to frustrate him. Not until he'd required rest as well had Castiel finally understood. Right now, however, he was glad that he no longer was held captive by that need. He needed to create as many memories as he could in the next two weeks - for this and the other memories of their time together would have to last him for decades.

*

Dean woke up in a mass of warmth. He didn't remember what time it was when he and Cas left the couch and had gone to bed, but it'd been sometime after midnight. He was so warm, so snug, he couldn't think of ever moving from this spot again. Castiel was curled up behind him, one arm draped over his side, holding their bodies flush against each other. He had a vague memory of the two of them coming into the bedroom and undressing one another and things had rapidly escalated from there. The blankets were tucked all the way up to his chin and everything seemed absolutely perfect in that moment. He didn't have to look to know that Cas was awake. He merely turned over in the angel's embrace and set his head against his lover's chest. “Morning.”

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel set his head against Dean's, enjoying the moment. He knew that Liam was already up and downstairs, looking through a stack of photograph albums that hadn't been in the house the last time they visited. The young fledgling had even replenished the fire in the hearth and was drinking a mug of hot chocolate. Now that he was older, Liam could partake of more foods than he could six months ago. Now at least he could have tree fruits and nuts - but those that grew on vines were still forbidden. They'd be forbidden until he'd passed angelic puberty. Castiel wasn't sure of the schematics of it, but it had to do with some kind of impurity in the fruits. Or it was something gleaned upon by the Greek pagans, who'd discovered that eating fruit of the vine binds a person to the location where they ate it.

“What time is it?” Right now, all Dean wanted to do was keep burrowing under the covers.

“A little after eight.” He embraced the hunter tighter, kissing the top of his head. “Rest well?”

“Always do, when you're around.” He let out another yawn and stretched. “Guess we should get up.”

“Not just yet - ” Castiel maneuvered them so Dean was on his back and he was leaning over him. “I just - ”

“Just what, Cas?” There was something off about the angel's tone. Dean thought he had been imagining it last night, but now there was no mistaking it. It sounded the same as it did right before everything had gone straight to hell almost two years ago. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Castiel sounded despondent. “What is it?” Concern started rapidly taking the place of the warm feeling he'd had a moment ago. “Cas, what's wrong?”

“I - ” He brushed his fingers against Dean's forehead. “I was not entirely truthful when I told you I could not visit you again.”

Dean bit his bottom lip, cursing inwardly at the action. He'd always done that when something was wrong, that involuntary tic he'd managed to conquer when on a case, but now, lying as he and Castiel were, he couldn't hide the movement. “What's going on, Cas?”

“I will not be able to see you again, Dean.”

“You already told me this. I know that you have a job to do, but we can still - ”

“No, Dean. We won't be able to see each other in the dream world either.”

Dean sat up, the cool air of the room negligible against the feeling creeping into his heart. “Not - not at all?”

“No.” Castiel set his hand against Dean's cheek. “I wish it was not so, but considering some of things that could have been done to punish me, it is a light sentence.”

“Light?” Dean couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. “What the, I mean, I know why they're going to punish you, but that? What's the purpose of keeping us from one another in dreams? It doesn't harm anyone!”

“It could have been worse, Dean. It could have been much, much worse. They could have taken Liam from me. I am fortunate that he was not taken when he was born.” His hand fell and so did his head. “I am sorry that is has come to this, Dean. It is not meant to punish you or Liam. The punishment is mine alone to bear. While you are inadvertently being punished in being separated from me for the remainder of your life, for that is what I was told, my superiors would argue that suffering is the lot of humans on Earth.”

“That's a load of shit, Cas.” Dean couldn't believe this. “Wait... are they taking Liam from you when you get back to Heaven?”

“Liam will be sent into full-time training. He is already older than I was when I started. He knew the day would be coming when he and I would no longer live together. As for his connection to you...”

“What?” Dean's voice turned icy. “What haven't you told me, Cas?”

“I do not know if Liam will remember us or not. It happens when they grow up.”

“He's half human, there's no guarantee, Cas.”

The angel raised his head and then lifted his hand back to Dean's face, utterly relieved when the man did not pull away. “If he only remembers one of us, it is better that he remembers you. Do not worry for him or me, Dean. I told you this before, we will be fine.”

“It's in my nature to be concerned, Cas. You know that as well as anyone.” Dean's eyes were wet with unshed tears. “And don't go saying Liam's going to forget either of us, nature or not. Maybe other angels forget, but not him. Our son's not going to be forgetting anyone, I may not have much faith in God, but I've got faith in the both of you.”

Castiel leaned over and kissed the man's forehead. “Bless you for saying that Dean.” He pressed his forehead against Dean's, one hand on his shoulder the other around the back of his neck. “I just ask that you never lose that.”

Dean returned the embrace. “I'll try, Cas. Castiel. I'll do the best I can.”

The angel smiled and drew him closer, his face pressed into the man's hair. It registered in his mind that Dean had used his full name - something he rarely did. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I'm the one who should be thanking you.” Dean's voice was muffled against the angel's neck. “All you've done...”

“I already know, Dean.” He let the embrace grow tighter and finally did something he'd been longing to do for almost as long as he'd known Dean. He hunched his shoulders ever so slightly and then relaxed them, letting his wings unfurl from hiding and to wrap them around his love, surrounding him in warmth, comfort and a touch of grace. He could feel when Dean relaxed, the tension in his body slowly released and he melted into the embrace. “I've always known, because no matter how you tried to hide it underneath arrogance and irreverence, I've always been able to see it.” He lowered Dean onto his back and kissed his neck. “And I'm never, never going to forget that.”

*

Dean tried not to think about the fact that the last time he'd seen Liam, he'd looked seven, and now he looked nine. He didn't know how much Castiel had told their son about what was going on, but it was pretty clear to Dean that Liam was a little more affected than he let on. He sat down on the couch, holding his mug of coffee while the boy slowly turned the page of a fat album. “You want to talk?”

“No,” Liam replied in a very Sam-like tone. “I don't want to talk.”

“Okay then.” Dean stood up and was about to head back to the kitchen when Liam spoke again.

“That's not true.” The boy set the album down on the table in front of him. “I just...” He looked up at Dean. “Dad... why can't I stay here with you?”

Dean sighed and sat back down. “It's safer for you in Heaven than it is down here, Liam.”

“How? Sure, it'd be kind of funny that I don't age at the same rate as the other kids and I was smarter than all of 'em in school but...”

“It's more than just that, Liam. I wish I could keep you here, but the truth of the matter is, you wouldn't like it down here all the time.” Dean stared into his coffee mug. “I won't tell you about how what you don't have always looks better than what you do have, but it is true. You can't just look at one thing and want to change it. You change one thing, everything changes.”

“I still don't know why I can't come down here and visit you, I mean, after papa - ” Liam bit at his lip. “It's not fair.”

“I know it's not fair. Unfair sucks, no question. But if things were fair, then there'd not be much to do in life except sit around and stare at one another.” Dean shook his head. “And I just quoted Pastor Jim and I swore I'd never do that.”

“I've met Pastor Murphy, he's nice.” Liam picked up his own mug and stared into it. “I still wish I could come visit.”

“Wish you could too, kiddo. But again, as Pastor Murphy once told me, you cannot teach a fisherman to plow as well as a farmer.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Liam gave his dad a confused look, tilting his head to the side. “Of course you can teach a fisherman to plow as well as a farmer, it will just take a matter of time.”

Dean took a sip of coffee before answering. “Well, then can you teach a whale to graze on grassland?”

“I...” Liam suddenly seemed to understand what his dad was telling him. “Everything has a purpose, so don't go trying to be something you're not. Is that it?”

“Well, I know I could train to run a marathon and I could finish with a decent time, but I know better than to try and swim the English Channel.” He frowned. “Heck, I don't even think I'd go over to Chamberlain and swim across the Missouri River.”

“I bet that'd be fun.” Liam smiled faintly. “We went up there last summer. There was that lady, remember?” His eyes sparked at the memory. “The one with the hat that had all the flowers on it.”

Dean paused, thinking. “Yeah, they were all different sizes and it was lopsided. I think she called it a divine mess, or something.”

“She said her grandkids had made her the hat, so she loved it all the more for that, even though it was kind of gaudy. She was really, really proud of it.” Liam's shoulders slumped again. “Still don't like that I can't come back here.”

“No one said you had to, Liam.” Dean gave him a one armed hug. “Unfortunately, that's growing up. Having to put up with a lot of crap you don't like to do, but you have to do anyway.”

Liam took a drink from his mug, frowning at the taste. “This doesn't taste very good cold.”

Dean almost laughed. “No, it doesn't.” He set his own mug down and took the boy's. “I'll go reheat this for you.”

The boy smiled sheepishly. “Thanks, dad.”

“Not a problem.” He went into the kitchen. “You want some more as well?”

Liam leaned on the arm of the couch, thinking. “Uh, sure. I mean, yes, please.”

“Marshmallows too?” Dean called. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy come into the kitchen, looking confused.

“Marsh what?”

“Marshmallows. I know I've got some around here somewhere. Ever since I figured out how to make Rice Krispie Treats, I always have a bag or two around.” Dean glanced out the window and groaned. “This is the worst snow so far of this winter.”

“Papa?” Liam looked up at Castiel, who had joined him in the doorway.. “What are marshmallows?”

Castiel frowned in response, trying to think of the best way to explain the substance to the boy. “They are sweets.” He titled his head, smiling faintly. “I believe you would like them.”

“Cas, you want anything?” Dean said, looking up from the stove, where he was reheating the pot of hot chocolate.

“I believe I will have some hot chocolate as well, thank you.” The angel smiled. “You should have some too, Dean.”

The man frowned and looked into the pan, judging how much there was. “If that's the case, going to have to make more... there's just about two mugs worth in here.”

Liam went over to the fridge and got out the jug of milk and set it on the counter. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Dean replied and caught Castiel's eyes over the boy's head. It was one of those moments to take and put away for days that seemed so dark, so long. It was a happy memory, and that more or less was what this trip really was about. Not so much a good-bye, but once last chance to build memories for a family that would soon be torn apart, maybe not for eternity, but there'd never be another chance to do this. “Don't suppose you know what you want for breakfast, do you?”

“Can we have waffles? Please?” Liam asked, sitting down at the kitchen table, and folding his hands on top of it. “With syrup?”

“I don't see why not.” Dean got out the package of hot chocolate mix and added it to the pot. “You going to join us this time Cas, or are you just going to watch?”

In the reflection in the window, Dean could see the very disgruntled look the angel gave his back for a moment before he saw a smile slowly creep onto his face. “I think I will have one or two.” Cas went over to the pantry to retrieve the mix from where he knew it was kept. “Liam, why don't you get out the butter and eggs from the fridge?”

Liam smiled at his dad and hopped down from his chair.

“Sure!”

Papa had said this would be their last trip and as much as it bugged him that he couldn't come back here alone and see dad, it had to be a hundred times worse for dad, because he'd lose both of them for a long time. Liam was pretty sure he'd see his papa in passing over the next couple of decades. After setting the eggs and butter on the counter, he shut the fridge and turned towards his parents and he promptly looked away again. They were kissing. He might be getting older, but he still wasn't old enough to watch grown-ups kissing and not feel a little weirded out. He wondered if other fledglings felt that way, or if it was just his human side showing itself again.

*

Liam frowned at the mass of puzzle pieces laying the shoe-box. “So what, exactly is this supposed to be?”

“I'm not entirely sure.” Dean said, taking out a handful of the pieces. “I don't even know if this is one puzzle or a couple of them. I haven't seen these things since I was a little older than you.” He chuckled. “Doing puzzles was more of Sam's thing when we were kids than mine.” He shrugged. “I guess if we find all the edges and get those put together we'll have an idea of what we're working with.”

“Why is it that there's never mild weather when Papa and I come to see you, Dad? Last time it was insanely hot and there was a tornado. Now there's a blizzard.” Liam took out a handful of pieces and started to sort them.

“That's just how weather is, Liam. June and January simply happen to be extremes.” Dean sighed as Castiel came into the dining room. “You okay?”

“I am fine, Dean.” He sat down in one of the empty chairs. “The storm seems to be losing strength. I would estimate that there's three feet of snow on the ground.”

“Damn,” Dean muttered under his breath. “If there's one thing I'm thankful for in winter, it's that people who live in Sioux Falls know how to deal with this sort of weather. I was in Atlanta one time when it snowed. You'd have thought everyone lost their minds, the way they were driving.”

“How much snow was it?” Liam was sorting a pile of edges onto the lid of the shoe-box.

“It was a dusting, just enough to give the grass a touch of white.” Dean snorted. “And they called it extreme weather.”

Castiel took out a handful of pieces and started to sort them. “It was not always the case in the area where Atlanta is located. Like much of North America, it was covered by a glacier.”

“Was that before or after the dinosaurs?” Dean paused.

“After.” Castiel took another handful of pieces. “There are two puzzles in here.”

“How many pieces are there, Papa?” Liam had sorted a good sized pile of edges.

“There is one that is one thousand pieces and the other is seven hundred and fifty.” He smiled absently.

“The smaller of the two is Mount Hood, the larger is Notre Dame Cathedral.”

“Where's Mount Hood?” Liam rubbed his nose as he kept sorting.

“It's in Oregon,” Dean supplied before Cas could. “Table going to be big enough for both puzzles, Cas?”

“More than enough room,” the angel replied and the family went back to work.

*

Dean leaned against the threshold of the spare room that Liam always used, his heart clenching. Just like in the past, Liam and Castiel had left while he was sleeping. It was a hollow, empty feeling - waking up in this house, alone, knowing he'd never see the two of them here again. For some crazy reason, Liam had actually made his bed, the way he had for the past two weeks, leaving his room neat and orderly either out of habit or just because. Dean went into the room and sat down on the bed, staring at his hands. Enduring this separation had seemed so much easier before it actually started. Last night, he'd tucked his boy into bed and, when asked, told him the story of how he got Sam back into hunting. Dean had to wonder how long after he'd fallen asleep did the two of them wait to leave.

He rubbed the back of his neck, vaguely aware of the freezing rain pattering against the windows. It was a miserable day outside, and it matched the atmosphere inside. There was nothing to be done, nothing that could be done. He sniffled and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, just wishing he could wake up and find that he was currently dreaming, and that when he woke up, he'd be back at the start of the last two weeks. Or even better, find out that the two weeks were lengthened to two years or two decades. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes. He figured he was allowed to have bad days. He stood up and slowly walked out of the room.

Cas had told him time and time again not worry about him or Liam. Apparently the angel forgot that getting him not to worry was next to impossible. It was practically in his DNA to worry. The angel had been very vague about how long it would be, but something told Dean it would be at least ten years, probably closer to twenty. He took a deep breath and went downstairs to make himself some coffee. For now, he just had to get through today. Tomorrow, he'd get up and repeat the process. A day ago the lack of monsters had seemed like a good thing. Today, Dean really wished he had something evil to go hunt.

**

Liam didn't think he'd end up in Gabriel's Legion, but since he knew there was no way he'd end up in Raphael's, he'd had a fifty-fifty shot of placement. There were two tunic shirts in his wardrobe, one with long sleeves (the one he was wearing now) and one with no sleeves, used mainly for physical training. Both of the new tunics were too big for him. He knew the purpose of that was so that he could grow into it, but it was still uncomfortable, the sleeves came halfway down his hands, making movement a little more difficult. He felt awkward no matter what he did these days. His wings were molting and that was rather painful. His white feathers were giving way to ones that were a pale yellow in color at the moment, with dark edges. One of his superiors had told him that the yellow would eventually darken into a golden color and his wings would be most similar to that of a golden eagle. Now that he'd been sorted into a legion, his training would become more focused. All of the other fledglings in his garrison were older than he was, but age was immaterial at times. He ran a finger under his collar and shifted in his seat. The entire legion had been summoned to the Garden and it gave Liam the opportunity to finally see who all was in the same group as him. He remembered the other gathering he'd been to in the Garden, of course, but it had been hard to tell who was who back then.

“Here, let me help you.” A voice next to him cut into Liam's thoughts.

“Huh?” He turned towards the elder angel sitting next to him.

“Let me help you,” the angel plucked at the back of Liam's tunic, allowing his wing to move a little more freely.

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” The angel folded his hands and turned back towards the center of the room.

“You're...Anthony, right?” He could name most of the angels in his garrison, but others he was still learning.

“Yes, I am, ” the angel replied. “Liam, isn't it?”

“Uh huh.” He smoothed down his hair out of habit. “You don't know what's going on, do you?”

“I was told by Stephen that Gabriel's successor has been chosen. We are to learn who our new commander is.” The angel looked solemn. “Everyone says it will be Jeremiah. He took over after Gabriel left.”

“I, uh...” Liam looked down at his hands. “I was told no one really noticed Gabriel was gone. I mean when he first left, all those years ago. Is that true?”

Anthony sighed. “There weren't gatherings back then like there are now. It's mostly true. No one knew Gabriel was gone until around the time of the Columbus Expedition in fourteen ninety-two. A search for him was not initiated at that time, we assumed Gabriel's disappearance was part of the plan. ”

Liam bit back a remark of thinking that it was pretty rotten no one went looking for Gabriel, even without being given an order. It made him think of the story about the shepherd looking for his lost sheep, but that must have been for humans, not angels. Still, you'd think someone would have wanted to bring the archangel home.

The conversations in the Garden slowly stilled as Jeremiah, who had been Gabriel's lieutenant and commander of this legion for centuries (although it was only made official recently), came into the garden, a soft smile on his face. When he got close to the front ranks, two rows ahead of where Liam stood, he paused, looking over the vast gathering. Exactly two million angels, almost the entire legion, rustled uncomfortably as their provisional commander smiled at them all. He then turned the direction he came from, coming to rest with his hands clasped behind his back, his wings partially outstretched. Liam thought he made a rather impressive sight, like those pictures he'd seen of paintings of the Sistine Chapel.

Liam stretched to stand on his toes to see two more figures coming towards them and then he noticed that the rustling increased the closer the newcomers came. One of the figures coming towards him he recognized - the other, he did not. Then something seemed to sweep the Garden, a gentle warm breeze that made Liam think of summer in South Dakota and the heady scent of lilies and gardenias seemed to flood his senses as well. The breeze was the Grace of the angel with Father, seeking out each and every angel in the legion, making contact, feeling, learning, taking names it did not know and greeting those it did. Liam heard Anthony next to him draw in a sharp breath of disbelief. From far behind Liam, he heard a shout that echoed across the Garden.

“Gabriel!”

Liam turned from the voice back to the sight in front of him. The archangel was looking over them all as if he couldn't believe the sight. Father said something to him, gave them all a smile and then vanished. Silence suddenly descended upon the ranks again as Gabriel's honey colored eyes swept them all. The archangel caught Liam's eyes for a moment, before Liam looked down, purely out of instinct. Next to him, he heard Anthony shift uncomfortably.

“Well, Jeremiah...” Gabriel came over and grabbed the angel in a hug. “If you missed me even half as much as I missed you all, then it's no wonder you've got them all in a state of shock.”

Jeremiah returned the hug. “I still have not mastered humor, Gabriel. So I was unable to teach it to the others.”

Gabriel ended the embrace, but kept his arm around Jeremiah's shoulders and turned him around to look at the legion. “Well, then - I guess there's just one thing you're going to have to do to make up for it.”

“Is he trying to be facetious?” Liam whispered to Anthony.

“Ssh.” The older angel poked him. “Pay attention.”

Liam rubbed his arm and turned back to the front.

“What is that, Gabriel?” There was definite tone of penitence in Jeremiah's voice.

“I need you to properly introduce me to everyone who wasn't here the last time I was.” Gabriel's smile turned into a grin. “And for goodness sake - ” He gave Jeremiah a slight playful shove. “Relax. You're not in trouble.”

A soft round of giggles came from the ranks, Liam's among them.

Jeremiah seemed to recover slightly and straightened his tunic. “Do you wish to start with the youngest or the eldest, Gabriel?”

“From front to back will work.”

Gabriel turned his gaze back to the ranks and his eyes paused on a small fledgling a few rows back. Gabriel wasn't surprised when the boy looked away, a slight flush to his cheeks. He'd talk to the child some other time, when there were not so many others watching. Given who the boy's parents were, he knew full well how much the child would hate to be the center of attention.

**

Castiel had never known the corridors of Heaven to be so long or so vast. He passed door upon door set into light brown stone. He did not lift his head to see the lights above him or lower his eyes to see the stone mosaics laid into the floor under his feet. He did not want to think about how long it would be before he came out of one of these rooms and returned to the greater part of Heaven. He tried very hard not think about what Liam was doing at this very moment, of what Dean was doing - of what anyone else was doing. This was his punishment and it was, upon reflection, a very mild one at that. He could have been sentenced to this for centuries. Instead, he was to be here until Dean died. That could be as few as sixteen years or as many as fifty-nine. He could endure this. He knew he could. After what seemed like hours, Castiel finally caught sight of another angel standing next to an open door.

“Castiel.” The angel gave him a slight nod.

“Rachel.” He replied, feeling his throat go dry. Rachel was a member of his garrison who had never sided with Uriel, no doubt she had been on the late angel's hit-list for refusing to follow him.

“In here.” She stepped back to let him pass into the room.

Castiel paused to look at the ornate work on the door. Like all the others, it was made of wood, but this one had carnations carved in an odd pattern around its edges and a tree he recognized as a maple made of stones inlaid in the center. The interior of the room was vast, even by his standards. Heaven had ways of expanding to fit what it needed to, and this room was definitely one of the largest rooms he had ever seen in his life. If he were to describe it to a human, he'd say it was as if every floor of the Willis Tower in Chicago had been placed upon the ground instead of on top of each other. A human soul could stand in this doorway and would be unable to see any of the other walls. It was only due to his angelic nature that he could do so. The walls of the room were covered in shelves and row upon row of shelves filled most of the empty space between them. The shelves were tightly packed with folios, many of them hastily bound and others neatly stacked. It was so chaotic and roughly stacked that it would have made the mess that Bobby Singer's house used to be look spotless. At the center, Castiel could make out several long tables, one groaning under the weight of ledgers and the other two were empty, save for an ink bottle and quill. He stepped inside and peered over the door, looking for the identifying tag that all prayer rooms held. When he caught sight of it, he knew he shouldn't have been amazed by the room's size. American Civil War 1861-1865. That explained the contents of the room. Every prayer uttered by every soldier, parent, or child, every prayer connected to that event in history was in this room. It was his duty to turn this mess of folios into those neat little ledgers, so they could be taken away and sorted into one of Heaven's libraries.

“Someone will come and check on you every five years.” Rachel shifted slightly, looking embarrassed. “Or in case you get finished and they want to move you somewhere else.”

“Thank you, Rachel.”

“I'm sorry about this, Castiel.” She set a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

“It is my own fault I am here.” Castiel was still taking in the vastness of the room. “But your condolences are appreciated.”

Rachel pulled out a small timer from a pocket and spun the dial five times around and then set the timer on the table with the ledgers. “Anything else I can do for you, Castiel?”

The angel turned slowly and shook his head. The sooner he started this mess, the better. “No, thank you.”

She other nodded and went to the door. “I will see you in five years.”

Castiel watched as Rachel closed the door and heard the click of the lock sliding into place. He slowly walked to the tables and sat down on the stool behind them. He had been alone in this room for exactly one minute, and it felt like an hour. He sat there for one more minute before rising and going to the nearest shelf, and collecting a stack of messy folios and bringing them back to the tables. He'd make these neat first. That would help. Upon his return, he caught sight of a disc player, sitting under the table containing the ledgers, along with a cardboard box.

Crouching down and placing the items on the stool, he saw that the box was full of discs in neatly labeled cases. He frowned, pulling one out to read the label. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy. “Odd...” He flipped through the rest of the cases, and found that they were all recordings of books. A note stuck in the bottom read: Collection will be replenished once all books have been listened to. “Perhaps this will help.” Although he had a feeling that this first set of books had a message someone wanted him to learn. He pulled out a blue case and set the disc into the player before he turned his attention to his stack of messy folios. A moment later, a girl's voice Castiel identified as that of Heather O'Rourke began to speak.

“Tuck Everlasting, by Natalie Babbitt. Prologue. The first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only climb from a balmy spring...” The words became a dull background noise as Castiel set to work, knowing that the true punishment here wasn't this insane sorting and filing, it was the losing the of perception of time that way all angels possessed. Humans would think nothing of it, for it was all they knew until they died. But for an angel, slowing down time to the pace of a human was akin to a cheetah being forced to become a sloth.

Five years from now, Castiel would listen to a story called Another Faust in which a girl who, ignored by her sister and her peers, was granted the opportunity to manipulate her perception of time in such a manner that she was able to learn every language ever spoken in order to find the first language, the true language of men and angels. For some reason, the girl in the book would make him think of that film Dean loved so much called Groundhog Day. Ten years from now, shortly after finally completing the year 1863, he would listen to a book entitled Three Weeks With My Brother by Nicholas Sparks and he would wonder if Dean conquered his fear of flying.

But all that is a long time off, so for now, Castiel unbound the first folio and calmly started to organize the papers within.

**

Dean hummed along with the radio as he drove from the salvage yard into Sioux Falls proper, heading for Holy Spirit Catholic Church. The pastor had called, saying that their church van had broken down and he was in need of a tow. After a few questions, however, Dean was able to determine the problem with said van (actually a Chevy Suburban) and told the man he'd be out with the replacement part to fix the car shortly. March was unseasonably warm this year, instead of its typical brutal behavior of dumping the worst elements of winter on South Dakota one last time before the arrival of April. He wasn't going to deny that the last two months had been hard. He knew they were going to be hard, but he'd steeled himself up for the long haul, knowing what was in store. It didn't mean he didn't worry for Liam or Castiel, but he knew, just as Cas did, that this was something they all had to get through. Although Dean figured that of the three of them, he'd actually gotten off the lightest. He sighed and turned into the parking lot where the pastor, a man close to Dean's age, was standing next to a blue van; the hood was thrown up, waiting. Dean parked the tow truck and got out.
“Pastor Barrie?”

“Yes.” The man came over and shook Dean's offered hand. “Thank you for coming.”

“Not a problem.” Dean took his toolbox and the part he'd picked up and they walked over to the car. “How long ago did you turn the engine off?”

“It sort of went off on its own right before I called.” The man looked into the mass of wires and cables. “You said it was relatively minor over the phone.”

Dean frowned down at the engine. “It is, it's just a matter of getting the broken fan-belt out and the new one put in.” He set his toolbox down and opened it. “This is a pretty old model.”

“Yes, I know. I think it's the same one from when I went to school here, only with a new coat of paint.”

Dean snorted. “I don't think it's that old, but its at least got ten years under it's tires and maybe twelve under this engine.”

“I do know the tires aren't that old,” the man said, watching Dean work. “The tires were purchased last year.”

He gave the man an incredulous look. “Please don't tell me you believed they were new when you bought them.”

Pastor Barrie frowned. “What do you mean? I was told they were new.”

Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and shook his head. “The tires on this car aren't a year old, unless you've been off-roading in this vehicle. I know our winters are bad but they're not that bad.” He went back to work.

“They sold us used tires?” The man looked stunned. “Why would someone charge new tire price for old tires?”

Dean changed wrenches and looked up at the man from where he was working. “I hate to break it to you, Padre, but the world is full of assholes. They really don't care who they hurt or who they cheat.” He frowned. “Who'd you buy the tires from anyway? Mitchel down at Firestone?”

“No, Warfield Motors, the place next to the Lowe's on Market.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I know Warfield. The man's a creep. Odds are, the tires you were supposed to get are on one of his buddy's cars. I don't even let that man on my property, for all the times he's scavenged a part and passed it off as something brand new.”

“How very - unchristian of him.” The pastor shook his head. “I do appreciate you coming out here personally to fix the van. Our choir leaves for Pierre tomorrow.”

He set what was left of the fan-belt on the ground and pulled the new one out of its box. “I'd say it's more illegal than unchristian.” Dean grunted as he moved and adjusted the new part. “That's pretty awesome about the choir. I think I remember seeing something on the news about that. Some kind of competition, or something?”

“Yes, our choir won the county contest and will be heading to the capital to compete with the other winners there.” The pastor smiled. “It was one of our choir members who suggested I call you.”

Dean nodded and finished replacing the part. “Well, I'm just glad it was something simple and easy to fix.”

“That makes two of us.” The pastor gave him a genuine smile.

*

Dean probably would never have gone back to Holy Spirit Church at all if the illustrious Minister Ignatius (real name Paul Henshaw) of the New Evangelical Church and star of the Evangelical Hour hadn't gotten arrested for fraud and had his show canceled. Dean had only kept watching the show for two reasons: the music and to talk back to the good preacher when he said the most asinine things. But he'd woken up the Sunday after the arrest and found himself missing the music. After a quick check of Holy Spirit's website, Dean found himself standing in the back of the church, arms folded and eyes closed, listening to the choir in the loft belt out some song about Jerusalem. Going to a church of his own free will when it wasn't related to a case? Sam, if he ever found out, would never let him live down. Then again, Pastor Jim kept trying to get the Winchester Brothers to believe that miracles happen every day, and Dean Winchester voluntarily walking into a church definitely counted as a miracle. He just wasn't about to share it with anyone. After services, however, Dean found himself waylaid in the vestibule by the entire choir who all seemed to have the urge to personally thank him for fixing the church van. You'd think he'd overhauled the engine, not replaced a fan-belt.

“It was really wonderful, you coming on such short notice.” A middle aged woman shook Dean's hand. “We were worried it was going to be something major.”

“It was nothing, really.” This was rapidly becoming Dean's response to that statement.

“Oh, aren't you a modest one?” She smiled brightly. “Not many young men like you anymore.”

“Yeah...” Dean had been cornered by this lady, whose name he still hadn't gotten, but it was pretty obvious that the rest of the choir had gone to see their families. “I'm sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Betty.” She didn't look upset at his forgetfulness. “Betty Shaara. Pastor Barrie didn't tell us you were a member of our congregation.”

“I'm not, actually.” Dean nodded at the pastor who waved at him in acknowledgement. “I just came to listen to the music.”

“Really?” The woman blinked at him in surprise.

“I figure that music is the only thing that almost every single denomination has right. Some might have views that are completely wacko... but a lot of them do have pretty music. As my brother always puts it, the Mormons might have some weird ideas, but they do have one amazing choir.”

The woman let out a bit of a laugh. “They do at that. Have you ever heard them live?” She put her hand against her collarbone. “It's amazing.”

“I'm not one for big concerts like that.” Dean felt embarrassed. He'd made up a half-truth - the only reason he'd ever listened to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir was that Liam had heard one song sung by them and then asked if he could hear more. It was his own opinion that Mormons were crazy. But, again, as Pastor Jim often said, it's good just to have faith.

“No.” Betty looked Dean over, appraising him. “I guess you wouldn't be. Not that they ever come to Sioux Falls anyway. I went all the way to Rapid City for that concert.”
“Must have been nice.” He coughed. “Would you excuse me, please?”

“Certainly. And thank you, again,” she replied as Dean stepped away.

“You're welcome.” Dean nodded and headed outside into early spring air.

*

The phone rang three times before it was answered. “Hello?”

Dean repressed the urge to chuckle at the worn-sounding voice. “Hey, Chuck, I didn't wake you up, did I?”

“N...no.” There was a rustle and then a soft curse. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He sat down on the couch, holding onto his phone. “Now, do you know why I called or you want to play twenty questions?”

“Castiel.” Chuck let out a deep sigh. “I didn't see all that much, Dean.”

“Sort of figured you didn't, just wondering if you saw anything.” Dean just wanted a snippet of information, anything more than what Cas told him.

“Uh...there was this group of angels, twelve or thirteen of them, it was hard to tell. Haven't made out a lot of the details quite yet, but I know he and Raphael were both among them.”

“Raphael?” Dean blinked in surprise. “These angels... they all in trouble?”

“Something like that, I think. I think they were all punished, somehow.”

“Punished, like - Heaven's idea of torture punishment or what?” Dean was starting to grow concerned.

“No, nothing like that, I think.” There was a rustling noise that might have been Chuck standing up. “I think it was more isolation than anything.”

“Isolation.” Dean rolled the word around in his mind. That made sense. If there was one thing all angels hated, it was being alone. “Shit.”

Chuck cleared his throat. “Yeah...”

“Dude, you okay?” Dean frowned.

“Yeah, why?” Chuck coughed again.

“You sound sick.”

“Allergies,” Chuck supplied. “I really wish I could help out more than what I told you Dean, but the rest of the angels... they aren't saying much.”

“Well, thanks anyways - ” Dean sighed. “You'll call me if you know anything more?”

“I'll try, Dean. Can't make any promises.” Chuck coughed.

“Sure. Take care of yourself.” Dean disconnected before giving the man a chance to say goodbye. “This sucks.” He tossed his cell onto the coffee table and sank back into the couch, his hand over his eyes.

Chapter Six