Part 5.B. No really!

[commodoresexual]

5. Where Good and Evil meet Reality and Porn

Castiel stared up at his hair, and let out a soft sigh of annoyance as he reached for a napkin. “You spit in my hair.”

Ruby's response was a little less coherant to the situation. She kept staring at him, and the words she could get out were short and fragmented. “You. Dean. I don't. Understand.”

“I am in love with him.” Castiel said slowly, so perhaps this time she would grasp on the concept. “And you spit in my hair.”

“But. But. But.” She continued to stare at him, her jaw working and her dark eyes frozen with confusion.

“You have accused me of sleeping with him, of being obsessed with him, of following him around in desperation and lust.” He grabbed a napkin off the table, and pulled it through his hair. John-the-vessel and he completely agreed on this - the vessel should be kept clean and non-sticky. He continued speaking calmly.“Yet you seem baffled by the concept of my actually caring for him. Truly, you are a creature of damnation.” He eyed the dark spikes. “And spit. Demon spit. In my hair.”

Ruby leaned across the table and pointed a finger into his face, her features contorted into lovely rage. “That's impossible! You shut your lying, angelic face!”

He felt his eyes narrow again, and that sharp, pin-prick holy rage flow through him. “Get your finger out of my face, demon.”

“Take back what you said, angel.” Ruby hissed softly, Hell's flickering flames of anger riding through her eyes. “Take back your damned lies.”

He could feel the pressure rising in him - the soldier's need to destroy an enemy - and he fought it. Fought it because there were too many innocent lives at stake. He fought it because he could hear Dean's voice, proclaiming that saving a small town was worth a Seal. He could hear himself agreeing. Still, he would not be made to lie, especially by one such as Ruby. “I will not, for I am not lying, unclean one.”

Ruby looked, well, she looked murderous and he swallowed enough anger himself to wonder why. However, he had no chance to see what she would have done next, or for him to question her actions, because that was the point that the waitress abruptly reappeared. He made himself relax back against the booth, thanking Heaven for what must have been divine intervention, and look at the woman, who was smacking her gum as she asked, “All right - you ready to order?”

He blinked for a moment, before he canted his head. Recalling the taste of Dean's mouth, his words, and he suddenly asked. “Do you have pie?”

“Sure. Cherry, or apple?” The waitress asked, smacking her gum, pencil poised.

He pursued his lips thoughtfully as he thought of Dean, and automatically said. “Apple.” Temptation and knowledge of something better, all in one. Sudden insight made him add. “A whole one, please.”

He tried his smile, and the waitress looked over at him, and finally smiled herself. “You hungry there, blue eyes?”

“I am sharing, with a friend. He likes pie a great deal, and he will be here soon. I wish to surprise him.” He offered in response, and whatever the look was in his eyes made her chuckle knowingly in response.

“He must be a very special friend.” She grinned, before nodding down at their drinks. “I'll warm you up and top you both off, all right?”

He kept smiling until she left, wondering if his joy was imprinted on his face, before he turned his gaze back to Ruby, wary now. But the demon had retreated to her side of the table, folding her arms over her chest, and she looked at him accusingly. “Angels can't love. Angels can't feel.”

“If angels could not love, then we would feel nothing for Our Father.” He answered simply. “I love. I love on a different scope -” Larger in scope, more intense, except nothing burned hotter, it seemed, than Dean's love in turn. “ - but I love.”

She closed her eyes tightly, her fists clenching into fists, her jaw tense and tight as she whispered at him harshly. “It's not possible. You can't feel. I can't feel. Angels and demons aren't built for it. Not like this. Never like this.”

“Angels never lie.” He repeated, tilting his head, confused. He did not understand her anger - her confusion - her utter disbelief that angels could love, before John-the-vessel silently tapped inside, and he reviewed the words out of Ruby's mouth. Angels … and demons. Demons, in love. He sat up a little, feeling the shock ripple through him. Suddenly it did make sense - it all made sense. The demon was in love with the half-demon boy, and she could not stand it. Love brought her as much pain as it brought him joy. This was - it was glorious, truly glorious and yet so very dangerous. He breathed out softly, putting the words out into the universe, so that his brothers might understand its import. “You are in love with Sam.”

Her head snapped up as if he slapped him, and the murderous gleam was back in her eyes, gleaming hard and black, as she snarled. “You shut the Hell up.”

He gave her a silent, considering look, as he spoke. “I shall do no such thing. You love him - and you fear it. You fear it more than you fear Hell. That is why you are pushing so hard to turn him, because you think that will make the feelings stop. You think you can change Sam, but you cannot.” Oh, if he could but laugh at the irony of it all. “Instead, Sam has ended up changing you.”

She looked at him then, lost, utterly lost, and he had a flicker of sympathy for this poor, damned soul. Demon for eons before this, only to find out, now, how truly gone she was. Love was an alien concept, one to be rejected and repressed, to her. Love could not be repressed, though. It was indomitable. The demon just hadn't accepted it yet.

Castiel had. Opened his arms to the flood, so to speak, and now found himself floating along, buoyed by Dean, surrounded and immersed fully in him. He could drown, at any moment, a heartbeat away from Falling, from failing, but he wouldn't believe that. He believed in Dean instead, in Dean's good heart and his bright and shining soul and the ocean that was Dean's love. He believed in God, distant, far-reaching Father.

Ruby had none of these things. For that, he felt sympathy, but nothing more. Nothing for the creature that would try to destroy Sam before she would allow herself to admit she loved him. He would do all that he promised to do to her, and more, before he would let her harm a hair on Sam's head. He could not even contemplate what he would do to her if something happened to Dean, only that it would be terrible. Terrible and final.

The demon looked at him, something still and small in her face. As if she knew every single thought that had just gone through his mind. She looked near tears, but he would not be moved by the flesh she borrowed. In all matters Dean, he would not budge.

“Y'know, I heard a joke about this once? Angel and a demon, sitting in a diner. Except it was a lot funnier than what this situation looks like.” Dean's dry voice cut through the tension, snapping Castiel's gaze away from Ruby, and to the hunter.

Both Winchesters are standing there, questions imprinted on their faces, but Castiel put his attention on his charge, breathing out a quiet, “Dean.”

Dean looked at him, and Castiel feels his borrowed throat tighten in response, and heat pool below his belly, making things … well. Hot and tight and slightly uncomfortable in an entirely pleasant way. The hunter's lips flickered up at the corner, as he drawled out, warm and familiar. “Divine One.”

Across from him, Ruby made a choked noise before there was the sound of clattering. Castiel tore himself from Dean to see her bolt from the booth and towards the door. He glared as he followed her path. He heard, rather than saw, Sam confusion, his tone uncertain as he called out, “Ruby? Ruby, what the hell - I'm gonna -”

“Yeah, yeah. Go. I'll start the interrogation on this end.” Castiel finally looked up to see Dean waving his younger brother off. Sam gave Cas a brief, strained smile before he followed after the demon, and Castiel watched him long enough for Dean to take Ruby's former seat, taking up all of the angel's attention again. He didn't know why, but he felt uncomfortable again and not in a pleasant way. John supplied the phrase, 'squirming like a guilty schoolboy', and he could not deny its appropriateness. Dean's lips pressed together, and he spoke shortly, “Okay - what the hell was that?”

“That? That was a conversation.” Castiel said simply, as he pulled his coffee back towards him.

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Sure wasn't friendly. I mean, I can't believe I am saying this - but she looked like she was about to bawl.” He eyed Castiel, pointing a finger at him, “The angel almost made the demon cry.”

“If you are going to accuse me for bullying her, then I shall remain unrepentant.” Castiel shrugged his trench-coat covered shoulders. “There are worse things in fate for her, if she crosses me.”

Dean's eyebrows rose, and he tilted his head, thoughtful. “Starting to sound a little personal there, Cas. What the hell did she ever do to you?”

Castiel did not point out that existing was usually enough for most demons, but the man had a point. So he breathed out, looking towards the windows. “Sam is her priority, not you. And as much as we dislike her influence over Sam, what we - I - distrust even more is her future motives towards you.” He looked back at Dean, his voice quieting. “She was informed, in no uncertain terms, what would be the consequences of any unwise actions, on her part.” He looked towards the front doors again, surprise schooling his features briefly. Amazingly fast, his brothers. He dragged his attention back to Dean. “However … that is not what troubles her mind.”

Dean nodded his head slowly, before he sighed, tired and heavy. “She's in love with Sam.”

Castiel felt his own eyebrows lifting. “You knew?”

“I guessed.” The hunter shrugged. “It helps the situation, no fucking lie. As long as she's besotted with my brother, I don't have worry about whether or not she's going to cack him in his sleep. But I'm guessing Heaven doesn't see it that way - and by your expression I'm guessing you don't either.”

“Demons falling in love, real love, is almost unprecedented.” Castiel said quietly. “It … changes things.” He glanced towards the outside again, and frowned. “I am not entirely sure how.” He met Dean's gaze again. “My concern is what she will do in regards of that love. It may be safe for Sam, although I have my doubts. I know it will not be safe for you.”

“I can handle Ruby.” Dean lifted up his chin, and his smile became crooked. “And if I can't, I'm sure you will, ya big, scary, angel bully.”

Castiel felt his lips quirk, amusement fluttering through him. “I would prefer it, Dean, if we kept you out of harm's way completely, where Ruby is concerned.”

Dean looked at him hard, reading his face, before he huffed out a soft laugh. He leaned forward, and Castiel felt his knee bumped by the hunter's under the table. Dean leaned as far over the table, the low octave drop in his voice making Castiel's skin feel too hot and too tight. “Sounds like you're taking my safety awfully personally, Divine One. Better watch it, or I'm going to think Ruby's not the only one soft in the head for a Winchester.”

He felt pleased, ridiculously so, by the way Dean looked at him, by the warmth that now flooded his face. He looked down at his cup, trying not to be overwhelmed - too much and not nearly enough - as his voice softened. “Dean...”

“You are so slipping, Divine One. Soldier of God equals one squishy marshmellow of IwantDeanWinchesterness.” Dean's tone made Castiel look up at him, and the arch of Dean's eyebrows was both a challenge and an invitation as he teased.

Castiel smiled - that brief twist of lips - before he spoke with mock gravity. “As if you would have me any other way.”

Dean laughed then, all human warmth and bright eyes that look at Castiel like - like - like he is the most amazing thing Dean has ever seen, and all of a sudden Castiel wanted nothing more on this Earth than to lean over this table and kiss that laughing mouth, swallow down Dean's warm feelings into him, like drinking coffee, hot and milky sweet.

Dean was looking at him, lips parted into a knowing smile, and Castiel wondered how nakedly he must wear his love for this man, when a voice makes itself known. The waitress, and Castiel is ashamed to realize he never bothered learning her name. “Here's your pie - I brought plates and forks - and here are your refills - oh, did she leave?”

“Yes, quite suddenly. Do not be concerned. I will take care of her bill.” Castiel answered, as he peered at the woman's name-tag. “Thank you, Joy.” What an utterly perfect name. He smiled at her again, and she gave him a knowing wink and a hand gesture he had seen Dean give once and awhile, as she glanced at Dean and then back to her other tables. It meant something about being … very good.

Dean stared at the pie for a long moment, surprise evident on his face. Castiel tilted his head, frowning a little. “Do you not like it?”

The hunter blinked up at him, “You got me an … entire pie, and you didn't even know I was here?”

Castiel shrugged once more. “I knew you would be here. eventually. I knew you would want pie. If not, I would have brought the pie to you.”

Dean was quiet for a long moment, looking down at the pie, before he smiled and went to grab a fork. “When we get out of here, I am going to be properly grateful in all kinds of nice ways. But for now?” Green eyes seared him, lifted him up gloriously, “Thanks, Cas.”

The angel nodded his head, basking, even though he know he had to say the words. “It is a gift - to remember me by. It will be many days until I see you again.”

Dean's fork paused towards his mouth, and Castiel's heart twisted over the flicker of emotions moving over the other man's face. “More battles?”

Castiel shook his head, glad that this time the answer is, “No.” He felt himself relax, feeling the pulse of the people around him, as he whispered, “I am here to bring you glad tidings, for Christ, your Savior...”

“Was born on this day.” Dean finished for him, and Castiel watched the hunter shake his head, sounding rueful. “Christ-Mas. Right. You guys are probably having the bash to end all bashes.”

“This year, we will fill the skies with the glory of Our Father, yes.” Castiel said quietly. “To show the world that He, the Son, and Holy Spirit walk amongst them. They have nothing to fear.”

“Bolstering the world, for the days to come. I can appreciate that.” Dean took another bite of pie, chewed, and swallowed. The expression on his face is half bliss, half sadness. “I don't know. I guess. I was hoping you'd be around to celebrate with us. 'Cuz we're taking Christmas off, too.” He lifted one shoulder, “No big deal, I guess.'

Castiel watched him silently, before asking softly, “What are you doing, on New Years Eve?”

Dean lifted his gaze, before a small smile quirked on his lips. He drawled slowly, “Hopefully a holy tax accountant?” Castiel felt the rush of warmth again, and Dean's smile widened. “You and me? New Years Eve?”

“And Day, if you like.” Castiel said, his voice firm, even though he felt his cheeks burn. “Lillith will not pull herself out of the hole she has hidden herself in, not while the world celebrates the birth of the Son, and the coming of a bright, new year.” He liked to think the very air would burn her, but that is not possible.

“I would like.” Dean's smile was lopsided, but utterly open. He dug his fork into the pie, and offered it to him. “Taste this. Absolutely heaven. Well, you might not think so...”

Castiel tilted his head at the forkful of pie, before he curved his mouth around the pastry covering, the apples and the cinnamon. He closed his eyes, lost in pure physical bliss, chewed, than swallowed. He opened his eyes to find Dean watching him, eyes gone a little dark. He kept looking at the hunter, and licked his lips, amused to find the color in Dean's ears going to a bright, burning red. He leaned back against his side of the booth, glad for the table, the distraction of what was going on outside, even as he said with quiet gravity. “Apparently I am not the only one who is … soft.”

Dean just smiled, before glancing at the door. “Sam's been gone awhile.”

“He will be gone a bit longer.” Castiel answered, and off Dean's questioning look, he smiled. “I have also arranged a gift, for him. You may see it, when you are done.”

“Wow. I mean, you got me my favorite pie.” Dean shook his head. “Can't wait until I see what you cooked up for Sam as the perfect present.”

In answer, all Castiel could do was smile, and sip his coffee.

6. Where Sam Gets His Wish, And More Than He Bargained For

“Ruby! Ruby!” Sam rushed outside, but the demon was already on the run, nearly knocking down a tall man in a stylishly long dark coat, who was looking up at the sky. The man spared her a glance as Sam ran past him, shooting a sincere and slightly cringing, “Sorry, she's just, sorry! Merry Christmas!”

He followed her a half a block, just in time to see her slam into her car and drive off in a fury of snow, leaving him calling after her car, standing in an empty Subway parking lot. He sighed, putting his hands into his hair, looking up to the sky, tasting snowflakes as they drifted down against his skin and into his mouth. He closed his eyes, not even understanding why he felt like he had to go after Ruby. What the hell was he going to say? Sorry the angel scared you shitless, but maybe if you weren't kind of evil you wouldn't have this problem? By the by, want to just be good and save us both a lot of …grief? Heartache? He didn't even know.

He put gloved hands on top of his head, staring upwards as he asked himself quietly, “What the hell are you doing?”

“That, Sam Winchester, would be my question.” Uriel's voice cut through the cold winter night. Sam's head jerked down, and there was the angel, dressed immaculately as always in his black suit. The streetlights gleamed off his black head, making him look like his head was on fire.

Hah, Sam only wished. He felt his jaw tighten and his body shift defensively as he said shortly. “That's none of your damned business. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Guarding.” Uriel answered shortly. The angel shifted his gaze down the road, where Ruby had disappeared a moment before. “You know, I am loathe to say this, but your brother at least has the sense to know exactly what he is getting into, and he is willing to pay the piper. What of you? Do you even understand the consequences of your actions?”

“I understand them a lot better than you understand me.” Sam answered shortly, although he had just been questioning himself not thirty seconds ago. He wouldn't be admitting that to Uriel, however. He started to walk past the angel, towards the diner again, turning enough so he could shoot over his shoulder. “So why don't you go back to standing over Castiel's shoulder? Guarding him from us dangerous 'mud monkeys'?”

“What a ghastly moniker.” A drawling, British voice said, almost directly in front of Sam, and he jumped back and reached for the knife in the same motion, hunter-instincts preparing him to fight … the tall man in the very nice overcoat. Who smiled at Sam, dark hair speckled with snowflakes. “Only Uriel could come up with it - but he knows better to say such things in my presence.” One dark eyebrow lifted in Uriel's direction, “One would hope.”

Sam stared at the man - no - by the way Uriel was nodding his head respectfully - angel. Definitely an angel. He slowly tucked the knife back into his coat, taking in the vessel in front of him. Tall, as tall as Sam himself, dressed in a low key black suit, with dark purple shirt. A narrow face framed by the dark hair, and aquiline nose. Pale green eyes observed him impassively, and a generous mouth was smiling - no, smirking at him. Sam canted his head, “So, ah. Hi. Are you - are you guarding Cas from me too?”

The angel snorted as he folded his hands behind his back, giving Sam a sardonic look. “Please. First of all - 'Cas' is more than capable of handling himself, otherwise we wouldn't have chosen him to handle this part of the Great Plan. He went to Hell and back, with nary a scratch on his wings. He can certainly handle you, Slick.” He raised one finger, and pointed it towards Uriel. “And point of fact - Uriel is not here to guard Castiel, he is here to guard me.”

Uriel himself, Sam noticed was scanning the area. “I am not comfortable with all this open space,” the angel said, looking over to his compatriot, glaring, but that glare was half-hearted at best, “You should not have put yourself at risk, like this.”

“Lillith and Alastair would not be foolish enough to challenge me here. They're evil, Uriel, not stupid.” The other nameless angel waved his hand, almost … airly, before he gestured to Sam. “Walk with me. Sam Winchester.”

Sam took a cautious step forward, before he stopped and eyed the dark-haired angel. “Is this going to be another threatening - 'and we'll take care of you' mafia-style talks? Because if so, I'm not interested.”

The angel arched an eyebrow - okay, all these human-like gestures were really starting to wig Sam the hell out - before glancing over at Uriel. “Mouthy little bastard, isn't he? Of course, probably shouldn't have expected anything less from the brother of Dean.” He put his hand to his chest, “I swear, my Word to God, that no harm shall come to you.”

Sam glanced over at Uriel, then back at the other angel. “You're going to have to forgive me - but with the way things have been lately with you guys, how you keep threatening to throw my brother back to the Pit - I'm not sure if that's good enough.”

Uriel growled, stepping closer to Sam, “You will show respect, By God, you -”

The other angel lifted up a hand, as impassive and imperious as Castiel had ever been, “Enough, Uriel. It is these sort of attitudes that have fractured the boy's faith to begin with.”

Uriel glared, sighed, and dipped his head slightly as he said in such a respectful tone that it made Sam smirk, “My apologies, Metatron.”

The smirk swept away from Sam's face in one blink of an eye, as he stared from Uriel, to the other angel - The Metatron - back, and then forth again. The blood drained from his face. “You're the. You're the. The. The.”

“The Voice of God? Enoch? Chasdiel? Yahoel? Alan Rickman?” The Metatron's face softened. “Yes, that is I. Come, walk with me, boy with the demon's blood. We do not have a lot of time, and I have something very important to say to you.”

Sam swallowed, but there was no spit in his throat to do so. He walked numbly forward, and fell in step with the Metatron, feeling a rush of feelings - horror, awe, shock, and after that followed the hundreds upon hundreds of questions. The first one though, was the most obvious and the one just dying to be answered. “You don't … act like the other angels. I mean, obviously not, but you seem -”

“More comfortable on the mortal coil? That is because unlike my brothers,” The Metatron turned to nod his head fondly back at Uriel, “I have not spent two thousand years away from humanity. The last time I was here was … hm. Late seventies, early eighties. I had a message to pass along through one of your musical artists.”

Sam's eyes widened. “Ah - seriously? Who?”

“John Lennon.” The Metatron sighed, and looked incredibly saddened. “That man truly had a voice of an angel. Too quickly taken from you. My vessel's countryman, you know. Anyways … I am more comfortable with you and your brethren by simple exposure.” He sighed again, but this time it was a little more amused. “Although some of things you do continue to be a mystery, even to me. American Idol, for example. Totally baffling the appeal that show apparently has.” He was silent, and as if he plucked the question right from Sam's mind, and Sam wouldn't have been surprised if he had, the Metatron spoke softly. “You want to know if you continued to use your powers, as Ruby said, if we would end you. The answer to your question, Sam, is yes.”

Sam felt his chest tighten, and he stared straight ahead. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with emotion. “I thought I was doing the right thing - saving people's lives instead of destroying their bodies along with the demons..”

“You are not the judge of who lives and dies, Sam Winchester.” The Metatron's voice snapped, hard in the cold night air. “That is Our Father's purview. Did you even stop and consider what sort of existence you might have been sending those people back to? Lives torn asunder by what the demons did while they were riding rampant around in the flesh? You know better than that - how many nightmares do you have of when a demon rode through your own skin? Perhaps a life cut short is a cruel thing, but in the end it is kinder that their souls are embraced by Heaven, where they can find a measure of peace.”

Sam ducked his head, anger warring with shame, his fists clenching as he muttered. “So what's the point? Why am I even here, if I'm not meant to change things? I mean, I'm sorry, I need to know that I've got a place in God's plan, too. Believe me, I don't mind playing backseat support for Dean, but I just. I want.” He sighed, looking over at the Metatron. “... do I even belong here, anymore?”

“Ah, one of the hard ones.” The Metatron sighed - they were a mere hundred feet away from the diner's door when Sam felt the angel close his fingers around his shoulder, and turn him to look at him. The Metatron's eyes were hard, yes, but they weren't cruel. And they were tired, tired and old beyond Sam's imaginings. “I knew a boy once - very much like you. Well, many boys, but this one wanted to change the whole world, in one foul swoop. In the end it cost him more than he could possibly have guessed. If I could have told him what I am telling you now … well, water long sent under the bridge. But Listen, Sam Winchester. Listen well. Your heart - it is a good heart. It is a strong one. Beyond the taint, beyond the dark things you have done, you still have a chance at real redemption. To fulfill your purpose, and yes you do have a purpose, as one of humanity's greatest defenders. But you must do two things first.”

Sam looked at the ancient angel, and whispered softly, wanting to clutch the Metatron and shake the answers out of him, or fall down and weep and beg for it. Instead he just asked, soft as the snowflakes, “How? Please, please tell me.”

The Metatron smiled, cupping Sam's face, as if peering to his very soul. “First, be patient. Wait, and all the answers will come to you, and you will see God's Plan for you. Follow your brother, love him - because God knows he needs it. Hunt, fight, live - just be. Do not push for answers that you're not ready for yet. Patience, Sam.”

Sam nodded his head, before asking hesitantly. “And the other?”

In response, the Metatron leaned forward, and pressed cold lips to Sam's forehead. Sam felt filled with a hundred different whispers of gentle love and compassion, beating along the inside of his brain. He gasped softly as the Metatron whispered against his skin. “Have Faith.”

Sam was lost in the swirl of whispers flowing through him, but that was abruptly changed when Dean's voice cut through the darkness. “Okay, seriously, if you just mother fucking mind-whammyed my brother with some sort of brain-kiss, I swear to your fucking God, I am going to kick some major angel ass.”

“Dean!” Castiel's voice cut through the night, and Sam blinked, starting to come out of his trance enough to hear the angel - no, their angel's anger and faint distress.

But all the Metatron did was snort out a laugh, and as Sam focused in again, he watched as the Voice of God stood in front of Dean, arms folded over his expensive coat. “I take it back - you're the mouthy bastard of the two. Your brother is fine, Dean Winchester. I merely … fulfilled a request, for my own brother. And yes, Castiel, I am satisfied. You've done well.”

Sam blinked, watching as his brother's fist started to curl. The horrifying realization struck him that Dean would at any moment do what Dean did, and punch the Voice of God in the mouth, irony of ironies. He croaked out, “Dean, I'm good. No hitting divinities.”

Dean relaxed, but he continued to glare from the Metatron, then to Uriel, who just rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. Castiel gently rested his hand on Dean's arm, and it was a measure of how close they were getting that Dean didn't shake it off. Castiel nodded towards the Metatron. “Thank you, for coming.”

The Metatron bowed, a bit dramatically, before nodding towards Uriel. “Come on, we've got two pit stops to make, before we return. Brother, we'll see you shortly?” At Castiel's nod, he smiled easily, “Well then, we'll be off. Sam,” And Sam straightened a little, as the Metatron's eyes bore into his. “Remember what I said. Dean,” The Metatron met Dean's defiant gaze, and smiled. “...You are everything Castiel said of you, and much more. You have no idea how much that pleases me, and scares the feathers right off my wings, boyo.”

With that, the Metatron and Uriel were gone. Sam exhaled slowly, finding Dean's eyes on him, questioning. He smiled, and nodded. He was fine. Really fine. A lot wiser than he had been, and a lot more torn up, but maybe that was necessary. The road back up was always harder than the one back down. Dean huffed out a breath, turning to look at Castiel, “Can I ask now what the fuck that was all about, please?”

Castiel looked at Sam, scanning him as Dean did, and Sam found himself smiling as he responded in Castiel's place. “He asked the leader of the angels to give me a second chance, instead of destroying me outright.”

“Oh. So that was the - and I almost - Oooooooh.” Dean blinked, looked at Sam for a long moment, his voice lifting with hope, “And?”

Sam shrugged, and sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted beyond reason. But it was a good exhaustion. “Patience, and Faith. I guess … I guess we'll see what happens.”

He found Castiel's eyes on him, soft and gentle. He didn't say anything, but he mouthed a silent 'Thank you'. The angel, in turn, dipped his head down low in response, before he looked to the sky. Sam saw the flicker of disappointment come over Dean's face, and felt it in his own words, “So I guess … you can't stay.”

Castiel looked at him, blue eyes filled with a silent regret, then at Dean. “I cannot. Already, my brothers have left their vessels with their families. I am ...” and here his lips curved up at the corners sadly, “I am dawdling. But know, that I will be with you in spirit, if not in flesh.”

Sam came forward without a thought, and before the angel could protest, crushed the angel a hug, trying to put all his gratitude and, well, brotherly-like-love into it. He whispered another quiet, “Thank you,” before leaning away far enough to say firmly. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Castiel stared at him, before nodding his head deeply, squeezing one of Sam's hands in both of his. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”

And, okay, Sam would have liked to say he was respectful in this moment - that he turned away so Dean and Castiel could have their private goodbye - but what the hell? He was the younger brother. He was allowed to be an obnoxious peeker. So, he half-turned, and yes, snuck a glance over his shoulder to watch Dean drag the angel over to him by the lapels of that ridiculous trenchcoat, kissing him as if he had to make it last centuries.

He didn't miss the fact that the angel was kissing back, just as tightly. Sam had to strain to hear, but he still did make out the quiet, “New Years Eve?” “I shall be here.”

Sam stepped up to his brother's side, as Castiel stepped back away from them both. The angel smiled at both of them, before he instructed them firmly. “Close your eyes - and then - look up. I have another surprise for you.”

Sam looked at Dean, and Dean looked back at him and shrugged, before both of them closed their eyes tightly. There was a flash of light that seared his eyelids, and he was suddenly reminded of Anna's grace. He counted off to ten, before he looked upwards.

A bright light streaked skyward, and Sam whispered, not surprised to find his brother whispering in unison with him, a softly awed, “Wow.”

Sam smiled, and bumped his brother lightly, as he stuffed his hands back into his coat pockets. Dean answered with a bump of his own, and a matching smile, as they watched Castiel fly home across a starry night, towards Heaven itself. Sam knew it was cold, and getting colder, but he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.

So of course, that was when he heard the groan, five feet directly below, at his and Dean's feet.

Epilogue - You, Me, and Baby Makes Three

Dean glanced over to Sam, who blinked back at him, and they both looked down to the snow covered ground to see Castiel lying there, prone, body laid out flat on the ground. Dean swallowed a curse, going to kneel next to his angel and fighting off his panic. What happened? Are you Fallen? Is there a demon? Are you okay? But he stopped in abrupt surprise, when Castiel opened his eyes and stared up at him.

His eyes were brown. Castiel's eyes were brown. Which .. .was either a really bad sign or it meant - it meant - oh HELL no. Dean finished kneeling, asking with some trepidation. “... John? John Adams?”

Cas - The Ves - John - and wow, was Dean not going to think about his dad right now, slowly fluttered his very brown eyes and said, “Ow.” After a moment, he repeated the 'Ow', and said, almost conversationally, in a voice nearly two octaves higher than the angel's. “You know, that hurt a lot more than he said it would. I mean, he said, 'John, when I leave your form you may feel a little weak and disorientated.' Don't kid yourselves - angels don't lie but they sure as heck downplay.”

Behind him, Sam let out a surprised laugh, and Dean felt a little smile twisting over his own lips, as he offered the prone man his hand. “You all right there, John?”

“Nugh. Johnny. The only person who called me John was my mother. Well, and Castiel, but he's an angel of the lord. Like I'm going to contradict him?” The ve - John, no, Johnny wrapped his hand around Dean's and let himself be pulled to his feet. He almost immediately went headfirst into the ground again, until Sam and Dean reached out to steady him. He gave them both a broad smile, “Thanks. I guess I don't have my equilibrium back yet - and … and ...” He frowned for a moment, staring hard at Sam, and then at Dean. Suddenly his face brightened with wonder. “You're them. You're the Winchesters.”

Sam and Dean shared another look, baffled, before they nodded their heads as one. Johnny smile widened, a bright shaft of joy. “I have heard - well - had thoughts shared with sort of heard - so much about you two. Aaaah, let me guess.” Dean could only watch in bemusement as the man snapped his fingers quickly, before pointing at Sam. “Tall, kind of sensitive looking, and you like … Blue Oyster Cult. Sam, right?”

Sam nodded his head, a little more slowly than before, answering uncertainly. “Yes, that would be … ah, me.”

Johnny's smile was a little infectious, as Dean found himself smiling at the man as he looked over at Dean, a smile that faded away as Johnny's gaze softened before him. There were too many differences to ever mistake this guy for Dean's Cas, but it was like looking at a very close cousin. The similarities were jarring.

Johnny, for his part, took Dean's hand and squeezed it tightly. “I have heard - er seen - you know what I'm saying? so much about, of you, Dean Winchester. I have to say, it's a real honor to meet you, in person. Castiel just … well.” He laughed a little, which made Dean want to smile again. Johnny waved his hand, “I'm sorry, but he sings your praises. As only an angel can.”

“Well, okay. Good. Thanks. I'm glad to hear it?” Dean peered closely at Johnny - the man's eyes were a little too bright and his skin a little too pale. “I, ah, well I can't imagine what it's like to go from zero to angel-less in thirty seconds, but are you sure that you're okay? You seem - ah - slaphappy.”

“Phhht. I'm fine. I could keep going for hours. I don't know what Castiel was talking about, making sure I rested. It's not like -” Johnny suddenly paused in his chattering, blinked once, and then murmured a soft, “Oh, that's what he …”

And that was when the man tumbled bonelessly into Dean and Sam's combined grip. Sam stared down at the man, before looking at Dean, completely confused, “What … what the hell is all this?”

“Well, either Castiel decided to go two for one deals on our Christmas presents - Cas-lite for me, your own personal vessel-angel for you - orrrrr...” Dean thought about it - and it made sense. Johnny had lost his lover already, and Castiel had said that Johnny had given up everything to help out with the war. Maybe that had been what was left of his family, too.

Dean looked down at Johnny, at the man's limp dark hair and sleeping, strangely familiar face, and his voice went soft. “Maybe, just maybe, Cas wanted to make sure his vessel wasn't alone on Christmas. Maybe he didn't want us to be alone, either. Maybe he wanted to make sure we all had a little bit of something of Castiel, since he can't be here.”

“Wow.” Sam's voice went gentle, as he too, looked down at Johnny. “That's one hellva gift.”

Dean snorted weakly, “Yeah, well, remind me to ask him for a six-pack of beer, next year.”

Still, he squeezed Johnny a little. Just to let him know that he wasn't alone. It took a moment, and it was really damned weak, but Johnny's fingers, just over Castiel's handprint, squeezed in turn.

Dean sighed, as he and Sam levered Johnny back towards the warm diner. “Angels, man. Fucking angels.”

Sam grinned back at him, with that smile that meant he understood what Dean was trying to get across without words. “Ye-eah. Fucking angels.”

After that, there really wasn't anything left to say.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Notes: And thus finishes Conversations with Angels. Look forward to our first installment in the Conversations universe with How Dean, Sam and Johnny spent their Christmas Vacation! No, seriously, that's the title. I've been waiting to use something like this for AGES. Bwahah.