[Fic] On the Shores of the Great Lake (NC-17) 1/2 for here4castiel
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: On the Shores of the Great Lake (1 of 2)
Recipient: here4castiel
Author: elizah_jane
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult content
Spoilers: Vague S5 spoilers
Summary: The problem with the war between Heaven and Hell is that it’s never actually over. The problem with being one of God’s chosen warriors is that you can always get called back into the fray.
Author notes: Thank you so much to my fantastic and very patient betas.
***
The relationship between the hunting community and the Church is complicated at best. Hunters are seen as something tainted but necessary. They are the ones risking their lives and souls to keep the demons at bay the best they can so that the rest of the population might keep their pious hands clean.
Castiel has long preferred the company of the hunters over the faithful. This has very little or everything to do with Dean Winchester, depending on the century.
It's been a thousand years and Castiel has seen humanity fall into a sort of dark ages in the wake of Detroit, swept up in fear and religious fervor, the development of technology grinding to a halt in favor of ritual and superstition and still they are helpless to be anything but casualties in the unending skirmishes between Heaven and Hell.
Lucifer has tried to rise three separate times, but no vessel has been strong enough to contain him and the End of Times battle that should have been decided long ago never comes.
***
David Joseph broke with the church when he was five years old. Other hunters laugh when he tells them that because it's a point of pride in their community- whey they called bullshit-and nobody quite believes him when he claims to have known at that young an age.
But DJ remembers it clearly.
He was in Sunday school, excited because they were learning about the Winchester Gospels. His momma had told him about them, of course. The Winchester Gospels revealed how the demons were released into the world, how God's angels fought and tried to bring Paradise to humanity and how humanity turned their backs on God instead.
All of which was beside the point, in DJ's mind. It was his favorite Bible story because it had a lot of action and monsters and cool battles. He'd been waiting for them to talk about it in Sunday school forever and the day had finally come.
Caleb was in his lap, giggling and happy as DJ absently tickled his tummy. Even though at six months Caleb was too young to understand the story, his momma handed him over when she dropped DJ off, saying that it was never too early to learn about God. But DJ knew that it was just because Caleb didn't cry with him like he did when he had to go to the regular service with their parents.
Miss Daniels was talking about Sam and Dean and how they refused the angels. How they let the demons take over by choosing their mortal family over God.
"What should Dean have done, class?" she asked and half a dozen hands shot up.
Rebecca Thompson got to answer. She folded her hands primly and said, "Dean should have agreed to become a holy vessel and stopped his brother and Lucifer's evil from taking over the world."
"How would he do that?" DJ asked without raising his hand.
"By killing him, stupid." Rebecca turns to give him a dirty look.
"Rebecca! David!" Miss Daniels said.
"The angels wanted him to kill his brother?" DJ asked, frowning.
Miss Daniels shook her head. "They wanted him to fulfill his destiny by giving himself over to Michael, the archangel, and allowing him to banish Lucifer from our world forever."
"By killing Sam," DJ insisted.
"I think you're missing the point, David," Miss Daniels said gently. "It was the destiny they were born into. They were meant to bring Paradise to all of mankind. Sam by walking the path of darkness, Dean walking the path of light."
DJ nodded at this, knew better than to argue, but all he could think was, But he was his brother. He looked down at Caleb, who promptly grabbed onto DJ's finger and waved it triumphantly around in his fat little fist.
There was no way, DJ thought. No way he would ever hurt Caleb, not for the world. God himself could come down and beg and DJ would still cradle Caleb away from anyone or anything that would try and hurt his brother.
He froze, waiting for something to happen. For God and his angels to come down and smite him for such a blasphemous thought. But nothing did. Miss Daniels kept talking and Caleb kept smiling and the world kept on turning just as before.
It was the exact moment DJ knew the whole God thing was crap. That the stories the church told were just there to make people feel better, to make them believe the angels would eventually come to banish the demons from their world once and for all. Because no righteous angel would ask someone to kill his brother like that.
"Miss Daniels?" DJ raised his hand this time, cautious and wary. Afraid she might see through him to the rebellious thoughts rolling around in his head.
"Yes, David?"
"What happened to the angel?"
She shook her head in confusion. "Which one?"
"The one who helped them? Sam and Dean."
"Oh." She waved her hand dismissively. "He was banished from heaven for his sins."
***
Castiel hadn't so much been banished from Heaven as stationed on earth indefinitely, stuck by the Host in a celestial time-out.
What they wanted to do was destroy him, of course. But they'd already tried that. It didn't stick and nobody knew why. Family gatherings had been awkward for awhile, but for all of their dismissive bravado that God was dead or otherwise missing, Castiel's brothers didn't want to risk His wrath on the off chance they were wrong.
"So, are you a hunter or something?" the boy-they all seem like children anymore-asks as he pulls on his pants.
"Or something," Castiel says, amused. "Why do you ask?"
The boy tugs his shirt over his head then does that one-shouldered shrug that caught Castiel's eye in the first place. "In my experience, hunters are the best lays. They're the only ones who don't fuck like God's watchin' over their shoulder, judging their performance."
Castiel laughs and pulls the boy back onto the bed. "Of all the things I can tell you with absolute certainty, believe me when I say, if there is a God, he doesn't care about any of this." He punctuates the statement by undoing the button of the kid's pants.
"I just got dressed." It's a weak, token protest.
"Hmm," Castiel says as he pushes his shirt up. "I imagined that was simply so I'd have the pleasure of undressing you again."
To say he's gone native over the past thousand years is something of an understatement.
***
DJ was sixteen when he first read the Edlund Prophecies. He still didn't hold too much stock in ancient stories, but something about them stuck with him, these books that the Church didn't officially recognize, despite them being the supposed source material for the Winchester Gospels.
He'd been a hunter for two years by that point and knew all about the hypocrisy of the Church.
The Edlund Prophecies were a revelation to DJ. They took two characters from a vague biblical story and filled in all of the details of their lives. What they looked like, how they fought and loved, the things that made them laugh or hurt. Complex and imperfect, sympathetic and interesting and DJ felt it in a way that he couldn't quite explain. When he read about them, he felt like he knew what they went through, like he understood them.
Where the Winchester Gospels showed Sam and Dean choosing each other over God and how wrong they had been in that, the Prophecies told the story of brothers, of family and what that meant. It was a story about love, steadfast, true and unbreakable and that was where the Winchester Gospels always failed to make sense. DJ could not understand a God that would condemn that sort of devotion.
Maybe it was blasphemous, but DJ got it because there's not anything he wouldn't do for Caleb and he knows that Caleb feels the same. He is the only one DJ's ever trusted to have his back on a hunt. Which is why he believes in Sam and Dean more than he ever did in God.
They are, at least, something he can begin to understand.
***
Hunter bars are all the same the world over in every way that matters. They all have an unseen foundation of salt and iron, wooden ceilings and floors with Devil's Traps carved into them and a freezer stocked with ice made from holy water. Hunters tend to err on the side of caution in all matters these days, but especially with regard to those spaces they see as havens.
A few have sigils to keep angels out as well in preparation for the next time Lucifer finds a suitable host, but most forgo that. They figure if Lucifer's out again, they have bigger problems and the sigils mean you run the risk of offending the good guys. If you believe they actually exist. The jury is still out on that one as far as most hunters are concerned.
This place could be one of a thousand bars built in the past nine hundred years- foundations, wards and a wary clientele. The difference is that it sits on the shores of the Great Lake, which encompasses what was once the state of Michigan as well as parts of Ontario, Wisconsin and Ohio.
Perversely, Castiel likes it. There is an air of expectancy that wasn't here two hundred and fifty-three years ago, which was the last time he could bear to visit the area. He can't quite account for the feeling, but that's more often the case than not these days, so it doesn't really bother him. Maybe it's just been long enough.
The past is something that sits heavy on Castiel's mind. There are times when he can go years without thinking about it directly; there are times when he can't even go hours.
He doesn't have the hubris to believe that he alone derailed the Apocalypse, but he can't deny the hand he had in it. Whether or not he chose correctly, the decisions were never his to make. Despite, or perhaps because of that, the days where he regrets his actions are surprisingly few. Even now, in his very real isolation, his consolation is the same as it has always been.
Dean Winchester would never have said yes.
Which doesn't make Castiel's disobedience any less significant. Today, in this place, he feels acutely the weight of his decisions as he slides up to the bar and orders a whiskey. The bartender places it in front of him with a wink and a flirty smile before she moves off to take the next customer's order. He half-listens to their banter; the customer hitting on her without any real intent, her shooting him down with a laugh as she walks away, the dance obviously familiar to both of them.
Castiel considers his drink for a moment, bows his head and says with both sincerity and no small amount of irony, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
The guy next to him snorts and says, "Yeah, who hasn't?"
Castiel turns to raise his glass in a toast to that, but the cheers dies on his lips when he gets a proper look at the man. "Dean?" he asks instead.
He's younger, physically, than he was when Castiel knew him, similar enough features that he is obviously his own descendant. But it's not the green eyes, the smattering of freckles, or the more-than-passing resemblance genetics can't quite account for that has Castiel frozen.
It's Dean standing in front of him, of that he has no doubt. Dean, whose soul Castiel would recognize among all the souls that have ever walked the earth. Here, incongruous with the world as Castiel now knows it.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Dean says. His smile is still in place, but his eyes have narrowed slightly, sharp and wary.
"I overheard the bartender address you," Castiel says, hoping that this actually happened at some point. "I am Castiel." He doesn't even consider giving an alias.
Dean quirks his eyebrow. "Why not?" He looks Castiel over and smirks. "You have the right look, anyway. You a believer, then?"
"Some days more than others," Castiel says distractedly. Dean is here and Dean does not know him. This raises more questions than Castiel can even start to answer right now. Why is he back? Is Sam back as well? Was this the doing of his brothers, or do they even know? "You're not a believer?" he asks when realizes Dean looks like he's about to turn away. "In the Edlund Prophecies?"
"They're good stories," Dean says. He looks Castiel over again, this time with intent. "Not many people around here would go by Castiel."
"Nor would they go by Dean," Castiel counters, realizing that this must not be his actual name.
"What can I say? I'm not like all the other boys." His smile is intimate, startling and familiar. It is one that has never actually been directed at Castiel.
It makes Castiel's skin prickle with awareness, not entirely foreign but completely disorienting in this context. "Neither am I," he finally says.
The bartender walks by then, setting a tab down on the bar. Dean folds some bills around it and slides it back to her with a wink.
"You in town for a few days?" Dean asks, turning back to Castiel. "I've got an appointment tonight, but I wouldn't mind continuing our theological discussion at a later date."
Panic swells in Castiel's chest at the thought of Dean walking out of here, but he clamps down on it. He expands his awareness, realizes he can find Dean now that he knows, and smiles with relief. "I'll be here tomorrow."
"Good." Dean nods. "Until then." He waves at the bartender, then turns and leaves.
Castiel watches him, stares at the space he occupied for long after he's gone.
"He has that effect," the bartender says, setting a drink down behind him.
"Yes," Castiel says as he turns, focusing his attention on her. "I would imagine so." He stares stupidly at the drink, unable to remember ordering another one.
"From Romeo," the bartender supplies. "His formal statement of intent. Cocky bastard."
It is entirely possible, Castiel thinks, that what he is feeling right now is hope, which is foolish. Reckless at best, because Dean's presence back in the world can be nothing but ominous: a do-over has been called and the chess board reset.
A millennium later and they're right back where they started, with Castiel still in the dark about Heaven's plans and Dean with no knowledge of whom or what he truly is.
***
The girl hasn't even left the room yet and DJ's already forgotten her name. Normally he would feel bad about it, but tonight he's too distracted. His mind keeps wandering back to the stranger at the bar with the bright blue eyes who named himself after an angel that ranks in popularity only slightly above Lucifer.
It's not really a surprise that the guy gave a fake name. They're pretty standard in the community and DJ has been going by "Dean" since he was sixteen. Caleb is the only one left who knows his real name. He wonders, though, why the man chose Castiel. Did it end with the physical resemblance, or was there something more to it? Did he, like DJ, feel that the Bible had gotten the whole story wrong?
"I had a good time," the girl says, distracting DJ from his thoughts. "I'll see you around?"
"Sure thing, sugar." DJ smiles and doesn't bother getting up from where he's sprawled on the bed when she leaves. He has a few hours before Caleb is supposed to be back and while he should use that time to do something productive, like check their ammo supply, clean the guns, or shower, he decides to take a nap instead.
His dreams are weird, muddled and indistinct, but threaded with a sense of urgency that DJ can't quite parse. He wakes up at the sound of the door opening and the dreams fade quickly until the only thing he remembers is the sound of someone saying his name, overlaid with the look the guy from the bar gave him. Like DJ was the Second Coming.
"Hey," Caleb says, shutting the door behind him and then giving a cursory glance to make sure all the wards are intact.
They've had this place for a few years. It's a home base of sorts, a room with two beds, a bathroom, a kitchenette and a storage closet. Not much by the standards of civilized folk, but it's the next best thing to paradise as far as he and Caleb are concerned. It's theirs and it's as safe as a place can be, second floor of a Hunter's Building that they were lucky to get in on. Rent is paid in jobs and Caleb and DJ have a reputation for being really fucking good at what they do.
"Have fun?" DJ asks, sitting up and stretching. He grabs his boxers from their place on the floor and slides them on under the covers, more because of the cold than any pretense of modesty.
"Yeah." Caleb has that stupid, silly grin on his face that he gets whenever they're here and he has a chance to see Abigail.
Relationships aren't really doable in their line of work, something DJ pointed out up front when Caleb insisted on joining him. It's not fair to anyone, which doesn't mean it doesn't happen and DJ can't really begrudge Caleb his moments of romance.
Abby is a smart girl, a good person and she knows how this works. She doesn't hold any expectations or demands over Caleb. She seems happy enough being his connection to the outside world, being the thing for him that is not hunting or demons or family.
DJ can't begrudge him that, either.
"So, I stopped at the diner for breakfast," Caleb says. "Heard some rumblings about omens down in Missouri if you want to head out today?"
Normally, DJ would be all over it, but he keeps thinking of the guy. He scratches the back of his neck as he slides out of bed and picks up his pants. It's not quite winter yet, but it's chilly enough for him to hunt down some socks, too. "Maybe we could wait a couple days?"
Caleb gives him a look. "Oh yeah?"
"Got a date with an angel," DJ says. He tells him about the guy, without getting into the intensity of his gaze or the way he'd said his name. Pretty much he keeps it at, "Hot guy with blue eyes who calls himself Castiel."
"Okay, then," Caleb says in his, Whatever, you can get laid anywhere tone of voice, but since they are here, he's not going to argue. "In that case."
"Back to see Abby?" DJ asks and Caleb just smiles. "Be back about this time tomorrow," DJ says as Caleb tosses him a wave over his shoulder.
He's hungry and in need of a shower, debating on which to do first when someone knocks at the door. "Forget something?"
But when he opens it, it's not Caleb. It's some guy DJ's never seen and he's smiling in a way that immediately knots DJ's stomach.
"Dean," the man says, stepping into the room. He can't be a demon, wouldn't have gotten in the building if he was, and the fact that he's just passed through all of the wards rules out a whole lot of other things but the guy is bad news. DJ can feel it.
"Can I help you?" DJ crosses his arms over his bare chest and tries not to come off as uncomfortable as he feels. The hairs on his arms stand up when the guy looks directly at him.
"I certainly hope so." His smile is really fucking creepy. "I'm really hoping that you'll be more helpful than last time."
"Not sure I know what you're talking about."
The man regards him for a moment and tilts his head. "You really don't, do you? You have absolutely no idea." He seems to consider this while DJ feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin from the tension. "I'll help you out with that, then."
Before he do anything to stop it, the man reaches out and presses two fingers between DJ's eyes and there's a moment of nothing, a pause where the man says, "We'll talk later."
Then it hits, information, a lifetime of memories crammed into his mind in a single moment. He feels like he's been split in two and then fitted back together in a space that's too small, too tight. It's overwhelming, everything he's ever known of the world juxtaposed with everything he thought was a lie, a story. A horrible fairytale that was, in truth, his life.
His nose is bleeding. It's a vague, bleary realization, the last conscious thought Dean has before he passes out.
***
Castiel spends the day in something amusingly close to a frenzy. Dean's presence makes everything click and Castiel realizes that he has been getting steadily stronger, more powerful in a way that only happens with the return of the Host. This is the strongest he's been since Detroit and he was stupid not to realize. Careless.
He flits around the world, trying to find information, any signs of a prophet, without alerting his brothers to his actions. The truth his, he has no idea whether or not they know that Dean is back, if they are drawn back to the battleground more on instinct than knowledge.
It would be a stretch to say that Castiel's faith in God has been fully restored, but he does not believe that finding Dean now, like this, is any sort of accident.
In Jerusalem, he runs into Gabriel.
"Aloha." Gabriel studies Castiel for a moment and then says, "Well, well, well. Aren't we in quite the tizzy?"
There are times when Castiel thinks that he and Gabriel should be closer, circumstances being what they are. Both of them disconnected from Heaven in a way that was never entirely by choice, but too deliberate to be anything else. Now, however, is not one of those times.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Castiel tries to think of a way to extract himself from the situation quickly. He is distracted enough to make dealing with Gabriel dangerous. Gabriel sees everything.
"You haven't noticed?" Gabriel quirks his brow. "Surely you have, feeling all peppy with angel juice. Something big is in the works." He narrows his eyes. "You know something."
"I know a lot of things." Castiel winces at the obviousness of his evasion. "Who knows what they are planning now?"
"Come now, brother." Gabriel slings an arm around Castiel's shoulder in false camaraderie. "I know you too well. You're not usually this excitable. Tell Uncle Gabe what's going on."
"What concern is it of yours?" Castiel shakes him off and glares. "You made a point long ago of removing yourself from it all. What is it you want now?"
For a moment Gabriel looks tired. "I want what I have always wanted, for this to be over. My question is, how can you not want the same?"
The simple answer is, of course Castiel wants the same. He is an angel like any other in that respect. Despite his years among them and the wonder of creation that they represent, Castiel does not think that the cost of so many human lives is too high as to outweigh the promise of Paradise. The problem is that human lives are not the asking price to peace.
Castiel cannot answer Gabriel's question, because it would mean admitting that he'd rather spend thousands of years wandering aimlessly than pay what Heaven is asking. Dean Winchester is the only thing in creation that Castiel cannot knowingly sacrifice.
It is wrong, he knows. This is what comes back to him time and again in his struggling faith. How could he be created so flawed as this by his infallible Father? What possible good could come of Castiel's willingness to prolong the suffering of humanity to spare one man?
At the same time, it is something he thinks they should all understand. Even Michael, when Lucifer was cast out of Heaven, could only bring himself to cage him rather than kill him. Why anyone would ask this of Dean is beyond Castiel's comprehension.
Even the weariness in Gabriel's eyes speaks to this, the pain of watching their family torn asunder and all Castiel can think is, who is this God who would end family strife with more of the same? Why would their Father demand this from any of them?
He's been silent too long and Gabriel's expression suddenly turns angry.
"It's like that, then? Still?" He takes a step closer. "At least I had the decency to remove myself from the game. What is it you hope to accomplish here, Castiel?"
"I do not know," Castiel says honestly.
"Well, then." Gabriel nods. His mouth goes flat in disapproval. "Until next time."
Castiel is left standing alone in an alley in Jerusalem, trying desperately to figure out if there is hope left in the world for anyone.
***
Waking up feels something like wading through layers of quicksand. Every time he makes an inch of progress, something else comes to suck him back down. Mom's death, Dad and the demons, Sam dying. His deal and Hell. So many years in Hell. Angels and the Apocalypse, Sam and Detroit, betrayal and death.
It is fully dark outside by the time Dean can open his eyes. He's on the floor, a puddle of blood, tacky and cold underneath his cheek. His head is throbbing and every other part of him aches as well. When he finally manages to stand, his stomach decides to revolt and he barely makes it to the bathroom, which doesn't end up mattering.
There's nothing in him, so he sits there dry heaving as he tries to block out the memories of the last few moments of his life. The realization that Sam had lied to him again, lied to them all, that he was about to say yes to Lucifer, the flash of the archangels' arrival and then nothing.
Dean tries to get up again when he's finally able to think of it without gagging, that his death was the result of a betrayal by the one person he had spent his life trying to protect. Then he remembers Castiel at the bar. Castiel, then Caleb and it brings him to his knees again. He must be on the same path with the same ugly end awaiting him, the brother he's trusted all his life simply waiting for the right time to plant the blade in his back.
No matter how hard he tries, he can't come up with another explanation for any of this. This is his second chance, his opportunity to get things right. Except that the thought of saying yes to Michael, if that was even still an option, makes his heart ache. The possibility of him hurting Caleb in any capacity is unthinkable, too painful to even try and examine directly.
He thinks of Castiel again. Castiel, his mind insists and Dean finally realizes that he is supposed to meet him tonight. It is entirely possible that Castiel is at the bar right now waiting for Dean and that's what finally propels him to his feet and into the shower.
His actions are quick and perfunctory, shower, dry off, dress. All he can think of is getting to Castiel, he has no plan beyond that. Castiel will make sense of everything. It is the all Dean has to cling to, the only thing he can focus on without feeling like he's drowning.
Sure enough, Castiel is there, sitting in the corner at the bar, absently sipping his drink. He focuses on Dean as soon as Dean spots him. His expression is completely unreadable and Dean is suddenly mad, so fucking angry that he's shaking with it. Castiel is here and he knew, he recognized Dean and he didn't do or say a damn thing about it.
Something of his anger must be apparent, because Castiel stands as Dean approaches him. "What the fuck-"
It's as far as he gets before Castiel has him pinned against the wall, one hand at his hip, one hand on his neck, his thumb at the hollow of Dean's throat with enough pressure to make breathing a little bit of a struggle.
"It seems you've got your memories back," Castiel says, his voice low and even, his lips brushing against Dean's ear. "I realize this must be disconcerting, but I assume that you remember enough of this life to know that causing a scene here would be ill-advised. Nod if you understand."
Dean scans the bar and realizes that right now, the way Castiel is holding him, this looks like the beginnings of a tryst. Nobody can see him testing the steel of Castiel's grip and he stops trying when he realizes Castiel is right. Dean Winchester may be less reviled among hunters than civilians, but he is nobody's hero. He nods with what little movement Castiel allows him and the pressure on his throat eases.
"Do you have some place where we may speak freely?" Castiel steps back far enough that Dean is looking him in the eye. They are roughly the same height which, for whatever reason, takes the fight out of Dean completely.
"Yeah." His voice comes out rough and he clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, I have a place a few blocks down."
Castiel steps back completely then, pulls some money out of his pocket and throws it on the bar without looking. Dean moves away from the wall, manages not to jump when Castiel's hand falls to rest on his lower back. It stays there until they're out of the bar, so Dean guesses it was just for show.
"This way." Dean nods his head and they start off towards his building in silence that quickly becomes unbearable. "So, uh. What have you been up to over the past..." He trails off with the realization of how long it's actually been.
Beside him Castiel shrugs easily. "I finally tried sex."
"Kudos on that," Dean says automatically. Another memory surfaces, Castiel in the brothel and Dean actually chuckles. "How long did that take you?" He sees Castiel's lips twitch into a smile out of the corner of his eyes.
"About a hundred years. After." Castiel's smile is gone and silence falls between them again.
It strikes Dean as funny as he lets them into the building that he'd intended to end the night here under entirely different circumstances. Yesterday seems a million miles away.
The world is completely different now from both the lives Dean has led and he is surprised to realize that the only thing grounding him is the alien presence of the man beside him.
Next Part
Title: On the Shores of the Great Lake (1 of 2)
Recipient: here4castiel
Author: elizah_jane
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult content
Spoilers: Vague S5 spoilers
Summary: The problem with the war between Heaven and Hell is that it’s never actually over. The problem with being one of God’s chosen warriors is that you can always get called back into the fray.
Author notes: Thank you so much to my fantastic and very patient betas.
***
The relationship between the hunting community and the Church is complicated at best. Hunters are seen as something tainted but necessary. They are the ones risking their lives and souls to keep the demons at bay the best they can so that the rest of the population might keep their pious hands clean.
Castiel has long preferred the company of the hunters over the faithful. This has very little or everything to do with Dean Winchester, depending on the century.
It's been a thousand years and Castiel has seen humanity fall into a sort of dark ages in the wake of Detroit, swept up in fear and religious fervor, the development of technology grinding to a halt in favor of ritual and superstition and still they are helpless to be anything but casualties in the unending skirmishes between Heaven and Hell.
Lucifer has tried to rise three separate times, but no vessel has been strong enough to contain him and the End of Times battle that should have been decided long ago never comes.
***
David Joseph broke with the church when he was five years old. Other hunters laugh when he tells them that because it's a point of pride in their community- whey they called bullshit-and nobody quite believes him when he claims to have known at that young an age.
But DJ remembers it clearly.
He was in Sunday school, excited because they were learning about the Winchester Gospels. His momma had told him about them, of course. The Winchester Gospels revealed how the demons were released into the world, how God's angels fought and tried to bring Paradise to humanity and how humanity turned their backs on God instead.
All of which was beside the point, in DJ's mind. It was his favorite Bible story because it had a lot of action and monsters and cool battles. He'd been waiting for them to talk about it in Sunday school forever and the day had finally come.
Caleb was in his lap, giggling and happy as DJ absently tickled his tummy. Even though at six months Caleb was too young to understand the story, his momma handed him over when she dropped DJ off, saying that it was never too early to learn about God. But DJ knew that it was just because Caleb didn't cry with him like he did when he had to go to the regular service with their parents.
Miss Daniels was talking about Sam and Dean and how they refused the angels. How they let the demons take over by choosing their mortal family over God.
"What should Dean have done, class?" she asked and half a dozen hands shot up.
Rebecca Thompson got to answer. She folded her hands primly and said, "Dean should have agreed to become a holy vessel and stopped his brother and Lucifer's evil from taking over the world."
"How would he do that?" DJ asked without raising his hand.
"By killing him, stupid." Rebecca turns to give him a dirty look.
"Rebecca! David!" Miss Daniels said.
"The angels wanted him to kill his brother?" DJ asked, frowning.
Miss Daniels shook her head. "They wanted him to fulfill his destiny by giving himself over to Michael, the archangel, and allowing him to banish Lucifer from our world forever."
"By killing Sam," DJ insisted.
"I think you're missing the point, David," Miss Daniels said gently. "It was the destiny they were born into. They were meant to bring Paradise to all of mankind. Sam by walking the path of darkness, Dean walking the path of light."
DJ nodded at this, knew better than to argue, but all he could think was, But he was his brother. He looked down at Caleb, who promptly grabbed onto DJ's finger and waved it triumphantly around in his fat little fist.
There was no way, DJ thought. No way he would ever hurt Caleb, not for the world. God himself could come down and beg and DJ would still cradle Caleb away from anyone or anything that would try and hurt his brother.
He froze, waiting for something to happen. For God and his angels to come down and smite him for such a blasphemous thought. But nothing did. Miss Daniels kept talking and Caleb kept smiling and the world kept on turning just as before.
It was the exact moment DJ knew the whole God thing was crap. That the stories the church told were just there to make people feel better, to make them believe the angels would eventually come to banish the demons from their world once and for all. Because no righteous angel would ask someone to kill his brother like that.
"Miss Daniels?" DJ raised his hand this time, cautious and wary. Afraid she might see through him to the rebellious thoughts rolling around in his head.
"Yes, David?"
"What happened to the angel?"
She shook her head in confusion. "Which one?"
"The one who helped them? Sam and Dean."
"Oh." She waved her hand dismissively. "He was banished from heaven for his sins."
***
Castiel hadn't so much been banished from Heaven as stationed on earth indefinitely, stuck by the Host in a celestial time-out.
What they wanted to do was destroy him, of course. But they'd already tried that. It didn't stick and nobody knew why. Family gatherings had been awkward for awhile, but for all of their dismissive bravado that God was dead or otherwise missing, Castiel's brothers didn't want to risk His wrath on the off chance they were wrong.
"So, are you a hunter or something?" the boy-they all seem like children anymore-asks as he pulls on his pants.
"Or something," Castiel says, amused. "Why do you ask?"
The boy tugs his shirt over his head then does that one-shouldered shrug that caught Castiel's eye in the first place. "In my experience, hunters are the best lays. They're the only ones who don't fuck like God's watchin' over their shoulder, judging their performance."
Castiel laughs and pulls the boy back onto the bed. "Of all the things I can tell you with absolute certainty, believe me when I say, if there is a God, he doesn't care about any of this." He punctuates the statement by undoing the button of the kid's pants.
"I just got dressed." It's a weak, token protest.
"Hmm," Castiel says as he pushes his shirt up. "I imagined that was simply so I'd have the pleasure of undressing you again."
To say he's gone native over the past thousand years is something of an understatement.
***
DJ was sixteen when he first read the Edlund Prophecies. He still didn't hold too much stock in ancient stories, but something about them stuck with him, these books that the Church didn't officially recognize, despite them being the supposed source material for the Winchester Gospels.
He'd been a hunter for two years by that point and knew all about the hypocrisy of the Church.
The Edlund Prophecies were a revelation to DJ. They took two characters from a vague biblical story and filled in all of the details of their lives. What they looked like, how they fought and loved, the things that made them laugh or hurt. Complex and imperfect, sympathetic and interesting and DJ felt it in a way that he couldn't quite explain. When he read about them, he felt like he knew what they went through, like he understood them.
Where the Winchester Gospels showed Sam and Dean choosing each other over God and how wrong they had been in that, the Prophecies told the story of brothers, of family and what that meant. It was a story about love, steadfast, true and unbreakable and that was where the Winchester Gospels always failed to make sense. DJ could not understand a God that would condemn that sort of devotion.
Maybe it was blasphemous, but DJ got it because there's not anything he wouldn't do for Caleb and he knows that Caleb feels the same. He is the only one DJ's ever trusted to have his back on a hunt. Which is why he believes in Sam and Dean more than he ever did in God.
They are, at least, something he can begin to understand.
***
Hunter bars are all the same the world over in every way that matters. They all have an unseen foundation of salt and iron, wooden ceilings and floors with Devil's Traps carved into them and a freezer stocked with ice made from holy water. Hunters tend to err on the side of caution in all matters these days, but especially with regard to those spaces they see as havens.
A few have sigils to keep angels out as well in preparation for the next time Lucifer finds a suitable host, but most forgo that. They figure if Lucifer's out again, they have bigger problems and the sigils mean you run the risk of offending the good guys. If you believe they actually exist. The jury is still out on that one as far as most hunters are concerned.
This place could be one of a thousand bars built in the past nine hundred years- foundations, wards and a wary clientele. The difference is that it sits on the shores of the Great Lake, which encompasses what was once the state of Michigan as well as parts of Ontario, Wisconsin and Ohio.
Perversely, Castiel likes it. There is an air of expectancy that wasn't here two hundred and fifty-three years ago, which was the last time he could bear to visit the area. He can't quite account for the feeling, but that's more often the case than not these days, so it doesn't really bother him. Maybe it's just been long enough.
The past is something that sits heavy on Castiel's mind. There are times when he can go years without thinking about it directly; there are times when he can't even go hours.
He doesn't have the hubris to believe that he alone derailed the Apocalypse, but he can't deny the hand he had in it. Whether or not he chose correctly, the decisions were never his to make. Despite, or perhaps because of that, the days where he regrets his actions are surprisingly few. Even now, in his very real isolation, his consolation is the same as it has always been.
Dean Winchester would never have said yes.
Which doesn't make Castiel's disobedience any less significant. Today, in this place, he feels acutely the weight of his decisions as he slides up to the bar and orders a whiskey. The bartender places it in front of him with a wink and a flirty smile before she moves off to take the next customer's order. He half-listens to their banter; the customer hitting on her without any real intent, her shooting him down with a laugh as she walks away, the dance obviously familiar to both of them.
Castiel considers his drink for a moment, bows his head and says with both sincerity and no small amount of irony, "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
The guy next to him snorts and says, "Yeah, who hasn't?"
Castiel turns to raise his glass in a toast to that, but the cheers dies on his lips when he gets a proper look at the man. "Dean?" he asks instead.
He's younger, physically, than he was when Castiel knew him, similar enough features that he is obviously his own descendant. But it's not the green eyes, the smattering of freckles, or the more-than-passing resemblance genetics can't quite account for that has Castiel frozen.
It's Dean standing in front of him, of that he has no doubt. Dean, whose soul Castiel would recognize among all the souls that have ever walked the earth. Here, incongruous with the world as Castiel now knows it.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Dean says. His smile is still in place, but his eyes have narrowed slightly, sharp and wary.
"I overheard the bartender address you," Castiel says, hoping that this actually happened at some point. "I am Castiel." He doesn't even consider giving an alias.
Dean quirks his eyebrow. "Why not?" He looks Castiel over and smirks. "You have the right look, anyway. You a believer, then?"
"Some days more than others," Castiel says distractedly. Dean is here and Dean does not know him. This raises more questions than Castiel can even start to answer right now. Why is he back? Is Sam back as well? Was this the doing of his brothers, or do they even know? "You're not a believer?" he asks when realizes Dean looks like he's about to turn away. "In the Edlund Prophecies?"
"They're good stories," Dean says. He looks Castiel over again, this time with intent. "Not many people around here would go by Castiel."
"Nor would they go by Dean," Castiel counters, realizing that this must not be his actual name.
"What can I say? I'm not like all the other boys." His smile is intimate, startling and familiar. It is one that has never actually been directed at Castiel.
It makes Castiel's skin prickle with awareness, not entirely foreign but completely disorienting in this context. "Neither am I," he finally says.
The bartender walks by then, setting a tab down on the bar. Dean folds some bills around it and slides it back to her with a wink.
"You in town for a few days?" Dean asks, turning back to Castiel. "I've got an appointment tonight, but I wouldn't mind continuing our theological discussion at a later date."
Panic swells in Castiel's chest at the thought of Dean walking out of here, but he clamps down on it. He expands his awareness, realizes he can find Dean now that he knows, and smiles with relief. "I'll be here tomorrow."
"Good." Dean nods. "Until then." He waves at the bartender, then turns and leaves.
Castiel watches him, stares at the space he occupied for long after he's gone.
"He has that effect," the bartender says, setting a drink down behind him.
"Yes," Castiel says as he turns, focusing his attention on her. "I would imagine so." He stares stupidly at the drink, unable to remember ordering another one.
"From Romeo," the bartender supplies. "His formal statement of intent. Cocky bastard."
It is entirely possible, Castiel thinks, that what he is feeling right now is hope, which is foolish. Reckless at best, because Dean's presence back in the world can be nothing but ominous: a do-over has been called and the chess board reset.
A millennium later and they're right back where they started, with Castiel still in the dark about Heaven's plans and Dean with no knowledge of whom or what he truly is.
***
The girl hasn't even left the room yet and DJ's already forgotten her name. Normally he would feel bad about it, but tonight he's too distracted. His mind keeps wandering back to the stranger at the bar with the bright blue eyes who named himself after an angel that ranks in popularity only slightly above Lucifer.
It's not really a surprise that the guy gave a fake name. They're pretty standard in the community and DJ has been going by "Dean" since he was sixteen. Caleb is the only one left who knows his real name. He wonders, though, why the man chose Castiel. Did it end with the physical resemblance, or was there something more to it? Did he, like DJ, feel that the Bible had gotten the whole story wrong?
"I had a good time," the girl says, distracting DJ from his thoughts. "I'll see you around?"
"Sure thing, sugar." DJ smiles and doesn't bother getting up from where he's sprawled on the bed when she leaves. He has a few hours before Caleb is supposed to be back and while he should use that time to do something productive, like check their ammo supply, clean the guns, or shower, he decides to take a nap instead.
His dreams are weird, muddled and indistinct, but threaded with a sense of urgency that DJ can't quite parse. He wakes up at the sound of the door opening and the dreams fade quickly until the only thing he remembers is the sound of someone saying his name, overlaid with the look the guy from the bar gave him. Like DJ was the Second Coming.
"Hey," Caleb says, shutting the door behind him and then giving a cursory glance to make sure all the wards are intact.
They've had this place for a few years. It's a home base of sorts, a room with two beds, a bathroom, a kitchenette and a storage closet. Not much by the standards of civilized folk, but it's the next best thing to paradise as far as he and Caleb are concerned. It's theirs and it's as safe as a place can be, second floor of a Hunter's Building that they were lucky to get in on. Rent is paid in jobs and Caleb and DJ have a reputation for being really fucking good at what they do.
"Have fun?" DJ asks, sitting up and stretching. He grabs his boxers from their place on the floor and slides them on under the covers, more because of the cold than any pretense of modesty.
"Yeah." Caleb has that stupid, silly grin on his face that he gets whenever they're here and he has a chance to see Abigail.
Relationships aren't really doable in their line of work, something DJ pointed out up front when Caleb insisted on joining him. It's not fair to anyone, which doesn't mean it doesn't happen and DJ can't really begrudge Caleb his moments of romance.
Abby is a smart girl, a good person and she knows how this works. She doesn't hold any expectations or demands over Caleb. She seems happy enough being his connection to the outside world, being the thing for him that is not hunting or demons or family.
DJ can't begrudge him that, either.
"So, I stopped at the diner for breakfast," Caleb says. "Heard some rumblings about omens down in Missouri if you want to head out today?"
Normally, DJ would be all over it, but he keeps thinking of the guy. He scratches the back of his neck as he slides out of bed and picks up his pants. It's not quite winter yet, but it's chilly enough for him to hunt down some socks, too. "Maybe we could wait a couple days?"
Caleb gives him a look. "Oh yeah?"
"Got a date with an angel," DJ says. He tells him about the guy, without getting into the intensity of his gaze or the way he'd said his name. Pretty much he keeps it at, "Hot guy with blue eyes who calls himself Castiel."
"Okay, then," Caleb says in his, Whatever, you can get laid anywhere tone of voice, but since they are here, he's not going to argue. "In that case."
"Back to see Abby?" DJ asks and Caleb just smiles. "Be back about this time tomorrow," DJ says as Caleb tosses him a wave over his shoulder.
He's hungry and in need of a shower, debating on which to do first when someone knocks at the door. "Forget something?"
But when he opens it, it's not Caleb. It's some guy DJ's never seen and he's smiling in a way that immediately knots DJ's stomach.
"Dean," the man says, stepping into the room. He can't be a demon, wouldn't have gotten in the building if he was, and the fact that he's just passed through all of the wards rules out a whole lot of other things but the guy is bad news. DJ can feel it.
"Can I help you?" DJ crosses his arms over his bare chest and tries not to come off as uncomfortable as he feels. The hairs on his arms stand up when the guy looks directly at him.
"I certainly hope so." His smile is really fucking creepy. "I'm really hoping that you'll be more helpful than last time."
"Not sure I know what you're talking about."
The man regards him for a moment and tilts his head. "You really don't, do you? You have absolutely no idea." He seems to consider this while DJ feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin from the tension. "I'll help you out with that, then."
Before he do anything to stop it, the man reaches out and presses two fingers between DJ's eyes and there's a moment of nothing, a pause where the man says, "We'll talk later."
Then it hits, information, a lifetime of memories crammed into his mind in a single moment. He feels like he's been split in two and then fitted back together in a space that's too small, too tight. It's overwhelming, everything he's ever known of the world juxtaposed with everything he thought was a lie, a story. A horrible fairytale that was, in truth, his life.
His nose is bleeding. It's a vague, bleary realization, the last conscious thought Dean has before he passes out.
***
Castiel spends the day in something amusingly close to a frenzy. Dean's presence makes everything click and Castiel realizes that he has been getting steadily stronger, more powerful in a way that only happens with the return of the Host. This is the strongest he's been since Detroit and he was stupid not to realize. Careless.
He flits around the world, trying to find information, any signs of a prophet, without alerting his brothers to his actions. The truth his, he has no idea whether or not they know that Dean is back, if they are drawn back to the battleground more on instinct than knowledge.
It would be a stretch to say that Castiel's faith in God has been fully restored, but he does not believe that finding Dean now, like this, is any sort of accident.
In Jerusalem, he runs into Gabriel.
"Aloha." Gabriel studies Castiel for a moment and then says, "Well, well, well. Aren't we in quite the tizzy?"
There are times when Castiel thinks that he and Gabriel should be closer, circumstances being what they are. Both of them disconnected from Heaven in a way that was never entirely by choice, but too deliberate to be anything else. Now, however, is not one of those times.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Castiel tries to think of a way to extract himself from the situation quickly. He is distracted enough to make dealing with Gabriel dangerous. Gabriel sees everything.
"You haven't noticed?" Gabriel quirks his brow. "Surely you have, feeling all peppy with angel juice. Something big is in the works." He narrows his eyes. "You know something."
"I know a lot of things." Castiel winces at the obviousness of his evasion. "Who knows what they are planning now?"
"Come now, brother." Gabriel slings an arm around Castiel's shoulder in false camaraderie. "I know you too well. You're not usually this excitable. Tell Uncle Gabe what's going on."
"What concern is it of yours?" Castiel shakes him off and glares. "You made a point long ago of removing yourself from it all. What is it you want now?"
For a moment Gabriel looks tired. "I want what I have always wanted, for this to be over. My question is, how can you not want the same?"
The simple answer is, of course Castiel wants the same. He is an angel like any other in that respect. Despite his years among them and the wonder of creation that they represent, Castiel does not think that the cost of so many human lives is too high as to outweigh the promise of Paradise. The problem is that human lives are not the asking price to peace.
Castiel cannot answer Gabriel's question, because it would mean admitting that he'd rather spend thousands of years wandering aimlessly than pay what Heaven is asking. Dean Winchester is the only thing in creation that Castiel cannot knowingly sacrifice.
It is wrong, he knows. This is what comes back to him time and again in his struggling faith. How could he be created so flawed as this by his infallible Father? What possible good could come of Castiel's willingness to prolong the suffering of humanity to spare one man?
At the same time, it is something he thinks they should all understand. Even Michael, when Lucifer was cast out of Heaven, could only bring himself to cage him rather than kill him. Why anyone would ask this of Dean is beyond Castiel's comprehension.
Even the weariness in Gabriel's eyes speaks to this, the pain of watching their family torn asunder and all Castiel can think is, who is this God who would end family strife with more of the same? Why would their Father demand this from any of them?
He's been silent too long and Gabriel's expression suddenly turns angry.
"It's like that, then? Still?" He takes a step closer. "At least I had the decency to remove myself from the game. What is it you hope to accomplish here, Castiel?"
"I do not know," Castiel says honestly.
"Well, then." Gabriel nods. His mouth goes flat in disapproval. "Until next time."
Castiel is left standing alone in an alley in Jerusalem, trying desperately to figure out if there is hope left in the world for anyone.
***
Waking up feels something like wading through layers of quicksand. Every time he makes an inch of progress, something else comes to suck him back down. Mom's death, Dad and the demons, Sam dying. His deal and Hell. So many years in Hell. Angels and the Apocalypse, Sam and Detroit, betrayal and death.
It is fully dark outside by the time Dean can open his eyes. He's on the floor, a puddle of blood, tacky and cold underneath his cheek. His head is throbbing and every other part of him aches as well. When he finally manages to stand, his stomach decides to revolt and he barely makes it to the bathroom, which doesn't end up mattering.
There's nothing in him, so he sits there dry heaving as he tries to block out the memories of the last few moments of his life. The realization that Sam had lied to him again, lied to them all, that he was about to say yes to Lucifer, the flash of the archangels' arrival and then nothing.
Dean tries to get up again when he's finally able to think of it without gagging, that his death was the result of a betrayal by the one person he had spent his life trying to protect. Then he remembers Castiel at the bar. Castiel, then Caleb and it brings him to his knees again. He must be on the same path with the same ugly end awaiting him, the brother he's trusted all his life simply waiting for the right time to plant the blade in his back.
No matter how hard he tries, he can't come up with another explanation for any of this. This is his second chance, his opportunity to get things right. Except that the thought of saying yes to Michael, if that was even still an option, makes his heart ache. The possibility of him hurting Caleb in any capacity is unthinkable, too painful to even try and examine directly.
He thinks of Castiel again. Castiel, his mind insists and Dean finally realizes that he is supposed to meet him tonight. It is entirely possible that Castiel is at the bar right now waiting for Dean and that's what finally propels him to his feet and into the shower.
His actions are quick and perfunctory, shower, dry off, dress. All he can think of is getting to Castiel, he has no plan beyond that. Castiel will make sense of everything. It is the all Dean has to cling to, the only thing he can focus on without feeling like he's drowning.
Sure enough, Castiel is there, sitting in the corner at the bar, absently sipping his drink. He focuses on Dean as soon as Dean spots him. His expression is completely unreadable and Dean is suddenly mad, so fucking angry that he's shaking with it. Castiel is here and he knew, he recognized Dean and he didn't do or say a damn thing about it.
Something of his anger must be apparent, because Castiel stands as Dean approaches him. "What the fuck-"
It's as far as he gets before Castiel has him pinned against the wall, one hand at his hip, one hand on his neck, his thumb at the hollow of Dean's throat with enough pressure to make breathing a little bit of a struggle.
"It seems you've got your memories back," Castiel says, his voice low and even, his lips brushing against Dean's ear. "I realize this must be disconcerting, but I assume that you remember enough of this life to know that causing a scene here would be ill-advised. Nod if you understand."
Dean scans the bar and realizes that right now, the way Castiel is holding him, this looks like the beginnings of a tryst. Nobody can see him testing the steel of Castiel's grip and he stops trying when he realizes Castiel is right. Dean Winchester may be less reviled among hunters than civilians, but he is nobody's hero. He nods with what little movement Castiel allows him and the pressure on his throat eases.
"Do you have some place where we may speak freely?" Castiel steps back far enough that Dean is looking him in the eye. They are roughly the same height which, for whatever reason, takes the fight out of Dean completely.
"Yeah." His voice comes out rough and he clears his throat and tries again. "Yeah, I have a place a few blocks down."
Castiel steps back completely then, pulls some money out of his pocket and throws it on the bar without looking. Dean moves away from the wall, manages not to jump when Castiel's hand falls to rest on his lower back. It stays there until they're out of the bar, so Dean guesses it was just for show.
"This way." Dean nods his head and they start off towards his building in silence that quickly becomes unbearable. "So, uh. What have you been up to over the past..." He trails off with the realization of how long it's actually been.
Beside him Castiel shrugs easily. "I finally tried sex."
"Kudos on that," Dean says automatically. Another memory surfaces, Castiel in the brothel and Dean actually chuckles. "How long did that take you?" He sees Castiel's lips twitch into a smile out of the corner of his eyes.
"About a hundred years. After." Castiel's smile is gone and silence falls between them again.
It strikes Dean as funny as he lets them into the building that he'd intended to end the night here under entirely different circumstances. Yesterday seems a million miles away.
The world is completely different now from both the lives Dean has led and he is surprised to realize that the only thing grounding him is the alien presence of the man beside him.
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