[FIC] A Dream is a Dream is a Dream (PG-13) for Starry_Ice
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: A Dream Is A Dream Is A Dream
Recipient: starry_ice
Author: hells_hikari
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Violence
Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam, Zachariah
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Cas!Whump, Friendship/Pre-Slash
Spoilers: mostly 5.04 and 5.08
Summary: Castiel's dreams seem harmless at first. Then he wakes up injured...
Author notes: I didn't plan on writing anything 5.04 related, but then it seemed to fit quite well... I hope that this is okay for you! Have a nice holiday! :)
The wind blows strongly enough to make his trench coat flap with sound. He catches one of the leaves that crack almost inaudibly when they hit his body and examines it carefully before letting it disappear with the wind again. His gaze lingers on the bleak trees surrounding the small garden as he slides his hand over a greyish pillar, covered in ranks of ivy.
The faint smell of death lingers in the air; he can feel that the last reaper hasn’t left this place too long ago.
He follows the meek path towards the huge building nearby and in his thoughts, he enters it with the next step, but the prone figure lying on the ground stops him from leaving the place.
His eyes widen, and within a beat, he kneels besides Dean's body, the empty shell of his friend’s soul.
It is not the Dean he knows, he recognizes it immediately, no matter how little he has changed, but it is still him, and the sight of his corpse frightens Castiel far more than it should.
He sighs quietly and tells himself that this place is not real. As if to confirm his thoughts, Dean opens his eyes and merely stares at him, but Castiel looks away.
“Cas...”
“Cas!”
Castiel wakes, doesn’t even blink once before his gaze focuses. Dean glances quickly at Sam, waiting for him to say something helpful, but he merely shrugs and nods into Castiel’s direction. And Castiel is still looking at them, slightly confusedly.
“Dude, you fell asleep during AC/DC,” Dean says, mocking a complaint to interrupt the awkward silence and starts the motor again.
“I don't sleep,” Castiel answers automatically, but then looks down, tongue flicking over his lips. Although still worried, Dean almost smiles at this reaction that is far too human, and he decides not to tell Castiel that he slept for almost three hours straight. He seems stressed out enough, he doesn't need another thing to worry about.
“We should get something to eat,” he suggests lightly and pulls back on the road, turning on the music just a little bit louder than before.
“And some coffee,” Sam says and sits back properly, with a last worried look at Castiel.
They find a nice diner only two miles later. It’s clean, it’s small, good music is playing and the smell of pie lingers in the air, just the way Dean likes it. Sam doesn't make a face like earlier when Dean orders a bacon cheeseburger and fries, and something about it feels like a punch in his guts. He tries to ignore it.
By the time Dean finishes, Castiel still hasn't said a word; and even though Dean knows that Castiel isn't the most talkative person he knows, it strikes him as odd. Also, he hasn’t taken a sip of his coffee, his hands are still folded his his lap, like twenty minutes ago when they sat down.
“Are you okay, Cas?” he asks cautiously. Castiel quickly takes a sip of his coffee, not letting go of the cup when he places it on the table. “I'm fine. I just...” He trails off, raising the cup to his lips again, and Dean snorts at the lame attempt at distraction. “I think it has something to do with the angel I had to fight last week. He managed to come too close. I had to recover for days.”
Dean bites on his lower lip and nods.
The buildings surrounding Castiel are all coloured in a dirty grey and the silence is grave. The city looks faintly familiar, but then again, to him, almost every place does, as he has watched every single one steadily rise and steadily fall.
From the distance, he can hear footsteps, a larger group of people, he assumes, walking hastily without any order or system. Only seconds later he can hear the sound of machine guns and music. The noise lasts for some minutes, then it fades away, and the roar of jeeps and tanks echos through the streets.
The next step brings Castiel directly to the place where the shooting happened. The street is plastered with dead bodies, and he recognizes them immediately as formerly infected with Croatoan.
Quietly he turns around and walks away, away from the dead and the still present sound of vehicles.
He stops at a small diner at the corner. The windows are broken, smashed or shot in, he can’t really tell. On some of the tables, cups and plates stand, only a few of them still intact.
Maybe, he thinks, Sam and Dean were sitting there once, drinking coffee and eating pie. And maybe, he was there with them.
Castiel quickly strides off.
Soon, he reaches the barbwire fence that is built around the whole city, the “Croatoan Zone”, as the sign outside indicates. A few feet away, he spots some abandoned jeeps. As he steps closer curiously, he hears the sound of a gun being released.
He turns around, and sees himself. A bit older. Different, but definitely him. His gaze seems unfocused, the pistol in his hand trembles slightly. Castiel stares into his eyes. His own eyes.
He sees emotions he has hardly felt, sadness and hopelessness and resignation.
The shot hits his shoulder.
Dean almost jumps back when Castiel's eyes shoot open, wide in confusion and something that reminds Dean of fear, but he doesn’t want to name it.
“Man, Cas, I wish I could sleep like that too, leaning against my baby in the cold.” He lets go of Castiel's arm and leans against the car beside him.
“But seriously,” he then says after some seconds of silence, his smile fading, “Are you alright?” Castiel nods. “I am convinced that it is nothing serious” he says, sounding not too sure.
“Yeah, right,” Dean says and pats him on the shoulder. Castiel shudders. In an instant, he’s gone and Dean's hand drops against the frame of his car.
“Where did he go?” Sam asks, the last word drowned out by a loud yawn, and shivers when the cold enters the car through the window he’s just opened.
“I have no idea,” Dean mutters frustrated.
- - -
It is way past midnight when Castiel calls to ask which motel they stay in. Dean tells him the address and room number while hastily turning off the television. As he appears in the room,
Dean greets Castiel with a nod and a question, “Where have you been?”.
“I needed some time for myself.”
Dean can't help being worried, even though this seems understandable enough. “Don't disappear on me like that again, okay?”
Castiel presses his lips together and sits down beside Dean on the double bed. “I am sorry.”
Dean shrugs and pulls the blanket over his body.
“Why did you freak out like that?” He asks as Castiel takes off his trench coat, the suit jacket and the tie and lies down beside him. “Is sleeping such a bad sign?”
“I don't... I don't know,” he confesses. “I suppose it has something to do with my being cut off from heaven. Recovering isn't as easy as it was before.”
Dean tries to ignore the hint of sadness in his voice. “That's a good explanation, I guess. But...”
A pillow hits his face. “Dude, what the hell?” he yells, throwing it back to Sam who lies on the bed some feet away and mumbles something that sounds like “sleep” and “jerk”.
Dean rolls his eyes. “We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, Cas.”
Castiel finds himself in the middle of an abandoned camp. The ground is soft, almost as if it has recently rained; fresh footsteps and tracks of tires are still visible.
He walks towards the cabins, finding various name signs, “Chuck”, “Risa”, “Cas”, and finally “Dean”. He opens the door, but the room is empty, except for a bed without a mattress and a closet with no clothes in it.
Chuck’s room is almost as empty, except for some sheets of paper on the floor with footsteps on them. Carefully, Castiel picks one up and reads the words of the prophet, trying to memorize each word by habit. The page he holds in his hands is about him and Dean drinking something after destroying a coven of vampires. “Dean eyes Castiel with suspicion, as he empties the shots like there is no tomorrow. Castiel hardly blinks, but Dean says ‘it’s enough’, with determination and...” The lasts words are crossed out. The next page has a coffee stain on it, and some of the notes that were scribbled with a pen are hardly legible.
Under the next page, he finds a photo of them, of Chuck, Dean and himself. Chuck smiles, a bottle of whiskey in his hands. Dean’s eyes have already hardened a little, but he still smiles cheerfully for the camera, one arm on Chuck’s shoulder, another arm around Castiel’s waist. He isn’t wearing the trench coat any longer, nor the suit jacket nor the shirt, but instead a t-shirt and a jacket that is slightly too big for him. And he’s smiling, too. On the back, he reads “24/01/2011, let’s hope it’s not the last one” in Bobby’s neat handwriting.
“It wasn’t his last one,” a voice behind him mentions casually. Castiel’s hands instinctively get to the place where he keeps the sword.
“Zachariah.” He turns around, freezing in motion when he sees the weapon in his former superior’s hands.
“You did this to me.”
Zachariah approaches him, wood creaking beneath his shoes. “I had to talk to you.” Castiel takes one step back.
“About what?”
A dark chuckle escapes his lips. “The future. This.”
Castiel shakes his head. “I am not falling for your mind tricks. I know that this is only one of many possible outcomes.”
“Maybe,” Zachariah admits. “Or maybe, it’s the one destination to which every road you and those two chuckleheads take leads. Sam will say yes to Lucifer, and you will become that hapless junkie that tried to shoot you, and Dean will die.”
“This will never happen.” Castiel spots a shard of glass on the floor. “You showed Dean the same kind of future. But things have already changed.”
He steps back once again.
“Those were small details. This here... is still going to happen.”
He lifts the shard up with his powers. “What do you want me to do? Tell you were Dean is?”
“Exactly.”
Castiel does not flinch when the glass cuts through his skin. “I will never do this.”
It takes his one split-second to get close enough to Zachariah to punch him with enough force to throw him through the walls. Hastily, he proceeds to draw the sigil on the wall. “I dare you, Castiel!” Zachariah yells and clutches the sword tightly. “Finish it and I...”
The moment he presses his hand to the middle of the sign, he feels a sharp pain in his lower back.
With a gasp Castiel wakes up, eyes blown wide and hands trembling.
“Dude, you okay?” Dean asks, his voice rough from sleep, and, knocking something over, turns on the lamp.
“I think so...” Castiel replies quietly, but Dean has already pushed his blanket away. “What the hell, Cas?”
“What’s the matter, Dean?” Sam asks sleepily, propped up on his elbows.
“Get the first aid kit,” is everything Dean says while dragging Castiel to the bathroom.
Carefully, he takes off Castiel’s shirt and throws it to the side, giving Sam a short nod as he arrives with the kit. “Do you need help?”
Dean examines Castiel’s wounds, the already healing one on his shoulder, the cut on his arm and the most serious looking one, the wound on his back. “No, I’ve got it. A bottle of whiskey would be nice, though.”
Although Sam’s facial expression is slightly disapproving, he leaves without any words of opposition.
“So what, Cas?” he asks, while cleaning his wounds. “Are you having secret nocturnal adventures or something? Are you Batman?” Castiel seems to contemplate this for a second, but then he shakes his head. “I am dreaming.”
“Yeah, I always wake up friggin’ bleeding too.” He pauses. “Did you drink some African Dream Root? Maybe there’s some guy who likes to play god in dream land.”
“No, the angels did it.” Dean smirks. “Y’know, next time Sam finds some Nair in his shampoo I’ll just say...”
“I am serious, Dean.” The smirk leaves his face.
“They showed me... the future.”
“The “everything is alright, Lucifer is dead and we live happily ever after”-future?” Dean asks hopefully, but Castiel doesn’t even need to say no.
“The one he showed you too, Dean. With the... Zombie Apocalypse.”
“Oh, that one, of course... don’t move!” He carefully begins to stitch Castiel’s arm up. “So, did you learn your lesson?”
Castiel holds still. “This is not the way it has to happen, Dean. They just... they just want me to tell them where you are.”
“You didn’t, right?”
For a moment, Castiel looks hurt. “Of course not.”
Dean tries to concentrate harder on what he is doing and examines the wound on Castiel’s lower back. “What did he stab you with, a burning knife?”
“No, the-“ Castiel sits up so quickly that he almost meets the needle Dean holds. “The sword. It should be inside my coat!”
Sam seems to have listened, because only a few seconds later, he yells, “it’s still here!”
“Do you have any idea why this happens? You’ve never slept before, right?”
“I don’t know. But I think that it might be a spell. I should go and get some books, maybe in-”
“Don’t even think about leaving now and running around in the past or wherever you keep those books. You can do that when I’m finished here.”
He gets some bandage and places a hand on Castiel’s unhurt shoulder to keep him in place, just in case.
“I saw a photo of us,” Castiel tells him. “In Chuck’s cabin. We looked like we were having a good time. It was your birthday.”
“Oh, really? Must have been pretty desperate, if we we’re celebrating.” He tries to remember when “celebrating his birthday” didn’t consist in an extra slice of pie. “Did you see... me?” he asks hesitantly.
“The first time I dreamed about this. But you were dead.” The last words are barely a whisper.
“Oh. Well, that’s better. He... I... whatever, he was scary. I’m quite sure that seeing you would have freaked him out. In the ‘he’s gonna shoot you dead’ kinda way.”
Castiel shudders for the first time since Dean has started to patch him up, something he finds almost scary, considering how often he had to take care of Sam, his father or himself, and he could always feel slight trembling and tensing of muscles. Castiel doesn’t seem to notice what he is doing there.
“I think we’re finished here,” he finally says with a smile and watches in awe how the bloodstained shirt gets clean the moment Castiel puts it on.
“I think I should go and look for a way to break the spell...” he says as he rises.
“Have some breakfast with us first, okay? Don’t want you to fall asleep when you’re in Jerusalem 1800 B.C.”
- - -
Castiel calls them three days later. Dean drops the phone when Castiel enters the room, coat torn and dark circles under his eyes. “What happened, Cas?”
Before answering, Castiel shrugs off his coat, not bothering to pick it up when it slides down from the chair and lies down. “I had to find out how to break the spell first. Then I had to gather the ingredients for the potion. But... there were other angels waiting for me.” He notices Dean’s anxious stare. “You don’t need to worry. They could not hurt me this time.”
Dean gulps. “So, how does it work?”
“I brought special herbs,” Castiel says and hands him a small bag that hung on his belt. “We have to mix them with the oil, and with salt. One hour later, I need to apply it to my forehead. Then it should be over.”
“This sounds easy enough. There’s only one problem.”
“What problem?” Dean is quite sure he has never heard Castiel sound so annoyed and afraid at the same time.
“We used the last oil for the Trickst- Gabriel. Do you think you could get us some more?”
With an utterly unangelic groan, Castiel disappears. Seconds later he arrives again, grabs his coat not saying a single word and leaves again. Dean binds the small bag around his belt and
sighs.
- - -
Only some hours later, Castiel arrives with an urn. He almost drops it as he passes it on to Sam and lies down immediately.
“Cas, what’s the matter?” Dean takes the cup they prepared after Castiel had left and hands it to Sam, the other hand already fumbling with the small bag.
“I am tired,” he whispers, sounding scared
“Did the angels attack you?” Sam asks concerned while he begins to mix the herbs with the oils.
“You have to stir all the time,” Castiel warns, finally taking off the coat with a little help of Dean. Sam frowns. “They didn’t attack me,” he adds quickly.
Dean’s gaze shifts between Castiel and Sam. “I think you shouldn’t lie down,” he muses. “You must not fall asleep. Sam, could you get us some coffee, I can stir that stuff too.”
Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean takes the spoon and the cup with one swift movement and continues to stir, checking the clock. “Only 58 minutes, Cas.” He watches him sit up and lean against the bed frame, movements slow and almost clumsy. Sam shuts the door with a bang, and Dean isn’t too happy about it, but the thought of driving around now drives him insane. “It’s gonna be over, soon,” Dean promises. “One hour ain’t so bad, right? Imagine if we had to stir the stuff for days.”
Castiel doesn’t smile. “I don’t think that I can stay awake, Dean.”
“I’ll keep you awake.” Dean waggles his eyebrows suggestively, earning smile at last.
“How is dreaming for you?” he then asks a bit more seriously.
Castiel thinks about it for some seconds. “Weird.” Dean chuckles lightly. “It’s different from being in another person’s dreams. I wasn’t aware that I was dreaming. And I wasn’t aware that I wasn’t... aware.” He closes his eyes and exhales.
“Dude, don’t fall asleep.” Dean sits down beside him. “Wanna watch TV?”
Shrugging, Castiel agrees.
Sam walks down a road, crowded with demons and infected humans. When looking closer, Castiel notices that they are not looking as pleased as Sam does. In fact, they look scared. Respectful and scared, as if they were back in hell.
Castiel remembers hell too well. While he was saving Dean, he passed demons that were torturing. Demons that were being tortured. And souls that had not become demons yet. The moment they realised who he was they began to scream and beg him to take them away. But he had a mission, “save Dean”, and he did not stop even once for someone else.
Now they are here, gathering to witness Lucifer’s triumph.
“Sam would never say yes,” he whispers when he hears the flutter of wings behind him, and turns around.
“You sound very sure, Castiel.”
The sound of a match being lit seems, for this moment, louder than the first demons cry.
“SAM!” Dean hands him the cup immediately after Sam puts down the coffee. “He fell asleep. Just like that, we we’re talking about a commercial, and he just-“
“Calm down, Dean,” Sam says and sits down, stirring without stopping for a second. “How much time is left?”
“32 minutes,” Dean mumbles without looking at the clock. “I tried to wake him up; I almost kicked him out of the bed. Guy sleeps like a rock.”
Sam watches Dean stroke some hair away from Castiel’s forehead. “32 Minutes. Wherever he is, he’ll make it,” Sam tries to convince him.
“How often have we learnt that one moment can change everything?”
”It doesn’t matter how often you try, Zachariah,” Castiel sighs, looking suspiciously at the flames around him. “I will not tell you where Dean is.”
Quickly, he glances over his shoulder. Lucifer kills the demons as he passes them. The remaining scream and try to run. But there is no escape from an angel. Not for low demons like them.
“Do you see what will happen when you keep disobeying? This is where fate is headed. This is the way it will end.”
“But not necessarily.”
“True. But... I’ve been doing some thinking, Castiel.” Walking around the circle, Zachariah casually plays with the sword.
“When Sam and Dean were apart. Did you hunt with Dean?”
Frowning, Castiel nods.
“And when - or let’s say if, as you might prefer - if Sam says yes to Lucifer. Will you stay with Dean?”
“This is completely out of question.”
Zachariah stops. “But you saw how things will turn out, if you do this.
“I can change it.”
A bitter laugh escapes Zachariah’s lips. “Dean also thought, probably still thinks, that he can change it. But he’s wrong about it, Castiel. And so are you.”
“I am an angel, Zachariah,” Castiel retorts. “I have the powers to change-“
“For how long will you have those powers, Castiel? You are already weak. You can’t heal in an instant. A spell like this affects you.”
Castiel’s eyes narrow, but then a smug smile creeps on his face. “You still have to use a spell to find me. To lure me into a world where you can overpower me.”
Suddenly, Zachariah’s expression turns serious. “But I’ve got you now, right? And I am asking you for the last time...”
“Sam, his arm!” Dean’s eyes widen in horror when the skin on Castiel’s lower arm turns red and blisters. Terrified, Sam looks at the watch. “Eleven minutes left. I am sure that he’s gonna make it.”
Faint droplets of sweat appear on his forehead. His expression, until now calm in sleep, tenses.
”Do you really want to die for nothing?!” Zachariah yells, clutching the sword tightly enough to make his knuckles appear white.
“This is not... nothing,” Castiel pants, the pain in his arm almost unbearable. “I will not let Michael have Dean. I’d rather die.”
“Actually,” Zachariah begins with a light shrug. “This was plan B.”
The holy fire disappears right after Zachariah makes a step towards Castiel, with his sword raised, his eyes furious with bloodlust that makes him look like one of the wicked demons in hell. Before he can lower his sword, Castiel catches his arm and slams them down to the floor. “You cannot kill me,” he breathes. “Not here... not-“
Zachariah shifts them around and presses Castiel down harshly. The blade dangles only mere inches away from his face. “Aren’t you overestimating yourself? I am still stronger than you.”
The point of the sword trembles against his cheek. “Killing me won’t make Dean say yes to Michael.” Castiel moves his head in time, but the blade still grazes his cheek. His eyes grow wide.
“We’ll see about that,” Zachariah says and pulls the blade that was buried in the ground to the hilt up again.
Castiel tries to kick him in the crotch, but the blade is already lowering again.
Horrified, Sam drops the cup as he hears Castiel scream.
- - -
“Did you really have to break the TV?” Dean snorts while he puts a small band-aid over the cut on Castiel’s cheek. “As soon as we’re finished here, we’re leaving. Don’t need to teach the clerk about the true sound of angelic voices.”
Almost apologetically, Castiel looks at the television. Sam pats him on the back and smiles, before he begins to pack the few things they’ve unpacked.
“Is it over now?” Dean asks in a more serious voice, when Sam leaves the room. “Or will you turn into Sleeping Beauty again anytime soon?”
“It’s over,” Castiel assures. “But Zachariah will still try to find us. To kill me.”
Dean smiles wearily. “Welcome to the club. At least... promise me that you’ll be more careful when you fight with other angels, okay? I don’t know what I’ll do...” he takes a deep breath, “when you’re gone.”
Castiel wants to answer that he doesn’t know either, and he is afraid that Zachariah could be right, but instead, he places his hand gently over Dean’s.
“I promise.”
Title: A Dream Is A Dream Is A Dream
Recipient: starry_ice
Author: hells_hikari
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Violence
Characters: Dean, Castiel, Sam, Zachariah
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Cas!Whump, Friendship/Pre-Slash
Spoilers: mostly 5.04 and 5.08
Summary: Castiel's dreams seem harmless at first. Then he wakes up injured...
Author notes: I didn't plan on writing anything 5.04 related, but then it seemed to fit quite well... I hope that this is okay for you! Have a nice holiday! :)
The wind blows strongly enough to make his trench coat flap with sound. He catches one of the leaves that crack almost inaudibly when they hit his body and examines it carefully before letting it disappear with the wind again. His gaze lingers on the bleak trees surrounding the small garden as he slides his hand over a greyish pillar, covered in ranks of ivy.
The faint smell of death lingers in the air; he can feel that the last reaper hasn’t left this place too long ago.
He follows the meek path towards the huge building nearby and in his thoughts, he enters it with the next step, but the prone figure lying on the ground stops him from leaving the place.
His eyes widen, and within a beat, he kneels besides Dean's body, the empty shell of his friend’s soul.
It is not the Dean he knows, he recognizes it immediately, no matter how little he has changed, but it is still him, and the sight of his corpse frightens Castiel far more than it should.
He sighs quietly and tells himself that this place is not real. As if to confirm his thoughts, Dean opens his eyes and merely stares at him, but Castiel looks away.
“Cas...”
“Cas!”
Castiel wakes, doesn’t even blink once before his gaze focuses. Dean glances quickly at Sam, waiting for him to say something helpful, but he merely shrugs and nods into Castiel’s direction. And Castiel is still looking at them, slightly confusedly.
“Dude, you fell asleep during AC/DC,” Dean says, mocking a complaint to interrupt the awkward silence and starts the motor again.
“I don't sleep,” Castiel answers automatically, but then looks down, tongue flicking over his lips. Although still worried, Dean almost smiles at this reaction that is far too human, and he decides not to tell Castiel that he slept for almost three hours straight. He seems stressed out enough, he doesn't need another thing to worry about.
“We should get something to eat,” he suggests lightly and pulls back on the road, turning on the music just a little bit louder than before.
“And some coffee,” Sam says and sits back properly, with a last worried look at Castiel.
They find a nice diner only two miles later. It’s clean, it’s small, good music is playing and the smell of pie lingers in the air, just the way Dean likes it. Sam doesn't make a face like earlier when Dean orders a bacon cheeseburger and fries, and something about it feels like a punch in his guts. He tries to ignore it.
By the time Dean finishes, Castiel still hasn't said a word; and even though Dean knows that Castiel isn't the most talkative person he knows, it strikes him as odd. Also, he hasn’t taken a sip of his coffee, his hands are still folded his his lap, like twenty minutes ago when they sat down.
“Are you okay, Cas?” he asks cautiously. Castiel quickly takes a sip of his coffee, not letting go of the cup when he places it on the table. “I'm fine. I just...” He trails off, raising the cup to his lips again, and Dean snorts at the lame attempt at distraction. “I think it has something to do with the angel I had to fight last week. He managed to come too close. I had to recover for days.”
Dean bites on his lower lip and nods.
The buildings surrounding Castiel are all coloured in a dirty grey and the silence is grave. The city looks faintly familiar, but then again, to him, almost every place does, as he has watched every single one steadily rise and steadily fall.
From the distance, he can hear footsteps, a larger group of people, he assumes, walking hastily without any order or system. Only seconds later he can hear the sound of machine guns and music. The noise lasts for some minutes, then it fades away, and the roar of jeeps and tanks echos through the streets.
The next step brings Castiel directly to the place where the shooting happened. The street is plastered with dead bodies, and he recognizes them immediately as formerly infected with Croatoan.
Quietly he turns around and walks away, away from the dead and the still present sound of vehicles.
He stops at a small diner at the corner. The windows are broken, smashed or shot in, he can’t really tell. On some of the tables, cups and plates stand, only a few of them still intact.
Maybe, he thinks, Sam and Dean were sitting there once, drinking coffee and eating pie. And maybe, he was there with them.
Castiel quickly strides off.
Soon, he reaches the barbwire fence that is built around the whole city, the “Croatoan Zone”, as the sign outside indicates. A few feet away, he spots some abandoned jeeps. As he steps closer curiously, he hears the sound of a gun being released.
He turns around, and sees himself. A bit older. Different, but definitely him. His gaze seems unfocused, the pistol in his hand trembles slightly. Castiel stares into his eyes. His own eyes.
He sees emotions he has hardly felt, sadness and hopelessness and resignation.
The shot hits his shoulder.
Dean almost jumps back when Castiel's eyes shoot open, wide in confusion and something that reminds Dean of fear, but he doesn’t want to name it.
“Man, Cas, I wish I could sleep like that too, leaning against my baby in the cold.” He lets go of Castiel's arm and leans against the car beside him.
“But seriously,” he then says after some seconds of silence, his smile fading, “Are you alright?” Castiel nods. “I am convinced that it is nothing serious” he says, sounding not too sure.
“Yeah, right,” Dean says and pats him on the shoulder. Castiel shudders. In an instant, he’s gone and Dean's hand drops against the frame of his car.
“Where did he go?” Sam asks, the last word drowned out by a loud yawn, and shivers when the cold enters the car through the window he’s just opened.
“I have no idea,” Dean mutters frustrated.
- - -
It is way past midnight when Castiel calls to ask which motel they stay in. Dean tells him the address and room number while hastily turning off the television. As he appears in the room,
Dean greets Castiel with a nod and a question, “Where have you been?”.
“I needed some time for myself.”
Dean can't help being worried, even though this seems understandable enough. “Don't disappear on me like that again, okay?”
Castiel presses his lips together and sits down beside Dean on the double bed. “I am sorry.”
Dean shrugs and pulls the blanket over his body.
“Why did you freak out like that?” He asks as Castiel takes off his trench coat, the suit jacket and the tie and lies down beside him. “Is sleeping such a bad sign?”
“I don't... I don't know,” he confesses. “I suppose it has something to do with my being cut off from heaven. Recovering isn't as easy as it was before.”
Dean tries to ignore the hint of sadness in his voice. “That's a good explanation, I guess. But...”
A pillow hits his face. “Dude, what the hell?” he yells, throwing it back to Sam who lies on the bed some feet away and mumbles something that sounds like “sleep” and “jerk”.
Dean rolls his eyes. “We'll talk tomorrow. Good night, Cas.”
Castiel finds himself in the middle of an abandoned camp. The ground is soft, almost as if it has recently rained; fresh footsteps and tracks of tires are still visible.
He walks towards the cabins, finding various name signs, “Chuck”, “Risa”, “Cas”, and finally “Dean”. He opens the door, but the room is empty, except for a bed without a mattress and a closet with no clothes in it.
Chuck’s room is almost as empty, except for some sheets of paper on the floor with footsteps on them. Carefully, Castiel picks one up and reads the words of the prophet, trying to memorize each word by habit. The page he holds in his hands is about him and Dean drinking something after destroying a coven of vampires. “Dean eyes Castiel with suspicion, as he empties the shots like there is no tomorrow. Castiel hardly blinks, but Dean says ‘it’s enough’, with determination and...” The lasts words are crossed out. The next page has a coffee stain on it, and some of the notes that were scribbled with a pen are hardly legible.
Under the next page, he finds a photo of them, of Chuck, Dean and himself. Chuck smiles, a bottle of whiskey in his hands. Dean’s eyes have already hardened a little, but he still smiles cheerfully for the camera, one arm on Chuck’s shoulder, another arm around Castiel’s waist. He isn’t wearing the trench coat any longer, nor the suit jacket nor the shirt, but instead a t-shirt and a jacket that is slightly too big for him. And he’s smiling, too. On the back, he reads “24/01/2011, let’s hope it’s not the last one” in Bobby’s neat handwriting.
“It wasn’t his last one,” a voice behind him mentions casually. Castiel’s hands instinctively get to the place where he keeps the sword.
“Zachariah.” He turns around, freezing in motion when he sees the weapon in his former superior’s hands.
“You did this to me.”
Zachariah approaches him, wood creaking beneath his shoes. “I had to talk to you.” Castiel takes one step back.
“About what?”
A dark chuckle escapes his lips. “The future. This.”
Castiel shakes his head. “I am not falling for your mind tricks. I know that this is only one of many possible outcomes.”
“Maybe,” Zachariah admits. “Or maybe, it’s the one destination to which every road you and those two chuckleheads take leads. Sam will say yes to Lucifer, and you will become that hapless junkie that tried to shoot you, and Dean will die.”
“This will never happen.” Castiel spots a shard of glass on the floor. “You showed Dean the same kind of future. But things have already changed.”
He steps back once again.
“Those were small details. This here... is still going to happen.”
He lifts the shard up with his powers. “What do you want me to do? Tell you were Dean is?”
“Exactly.”
Castiel does not flinch when the glass cuts through his skin. “I will never do this.”
It takes his one split-second to get close enough to Zachariah to punch him with enough force to throw him through the walls. Hastily, he proceeds to draw the sigil on the wall. “I dare you, Castiel!” Zachariah yells and clutches the sword tightly. “Finish it and I...”
The moment he presses his hand to the middle of the sign, he feels a sharp pain in his lower back.
With a gasp Castiel wakes up, eyes blown wide and hands trembling.
“Dude, you okay?” Dean asks, his voice rough from sleep, and, knocking something over, turns on the lamp.
“I think so...” Castiel replies quietly, but Dean has already pushed his blanket away. “What the hell, Cas?”
“What’s the matter, Dean?” Sam asks sleepily, propped up on his elbows.
“Get the first aid kit,” is everything Dean says while dragging Castiel to the bathroom.
Carefully, he takes off Castiel’s shirt and throws it to the side, giving Sam a short nod as he arrives with the kit. “Do you need help?”
Dean examines Castiel’s wounds, the already healing one on his shoulder, the cut on his arm and the most serious looking one, the wound on his back. “No, I’ve got it. A bottle of whiskey would be nice, though.”
Although Sam’s facial expression is slightly disapproving, he leaves without any words of opposition.
“So what, Cas?” he asks, while cleaning his wounds. “Are you having secret nocturnal adventures or something? Are you Batman?” Castiel seems to contemplate this for a second, but then he shakes his head. “I am dreaming.”
“Yeah, I always wake up friggin’ bleeding too.” He pauses. “Did you drink some African Dream Root? Maybe there’s some guy who likes to play god in dream land.”
“No, the angels did it.” Dean smirks. “Y’know, next time Sam finds some Nair in his shampoo I’ll just say...”
“I am serious, Dean.” The smirk leaves his face.
“They showed me... the future.”
“The “everything is alright, Lucifer is dead and we live happily ever after”-future?” Dean asks hopefully, but Castiel doesn’t even need to say no.
“The one he showed you too, Dean. With the... Zombie Apocalypse.”
“Oh, that one, of course... don’t move!” He carefully begins to stitch Castiel’s arm up. “So, did you learn your lesson?”
Castiel holds still. “This is not the way it has to happen, Dean. They just... they just want me to tell them where you are.”
“You didn’t, right?”
For a moment, Castiel looks hurt. “Of course not.”
Dean tries to concentrate harder on what he is doing and examines the wound on Castiel’s lower back. “What did he stab you with, a burning knife?”
“No, the-“ Castiel sits up so quickly that he almost meets the needle Dean holds. “The sword. It should be inside my coat!”
Sam seems to have listened, because only a few seconds later, he yells, “it’s still here!”
“Do you have any idea why this happens? You’ve never slept before, right?”
“I don’t know. But I think that it might be a spell. I should go and get some books, maybe in-”
“Don’t even think about leaving now and running around in the past or wherever you keep those books. You can do that when I’m finished here.”
He gets some bandage and places a hand on Castiel’s unhurt shoulder to keep him in place, just in case.
“I saw a photo of us,” Castiel tells him. “In Chuck’s cabin. We looked like we were having a good time. It was your birthday.”
“Oh, really? Must have been pretty desperate, if we we’re celebrating.” He tries to remember when “celebrating his birthday” didn’t consist in an extra slice of pie. “Did you see... me?” he asks hesitantly.
“The first time I dreamed about this. But you were dead.” The last words are barely a whisper.
“Oh. Well, that’s better. He... I... whatever, he was scary. I’m quite sure that seeing you would have freaked him out. In the ‘he’s gonna shoot you dead’ kinda way.”
Castiel shudders for the first time since Dean has started to patch him up, something he finds almost scary, considering how often he had to take care of Sam, his father or himself, and he could always feel slight trembling and tensing of muscles. Castiel doesn’t seem to notice what he is doing there.
“I think we’re finished here,” he finally says with a smile and watches in awe how the bloodstained shirt gets clean the moment Castiel puts it on.
“I think I should go and look for a way to break the spell...” he says as he rises.
“Have some breakfast with us first, okay? Don’t want you to fall asleep when you’re in Jerusalem 1800 B.C.”
- - -
Castiel calls them three days later. Dean drops the phone when Castiel enters the room, coat torn and dark circles under his eyes. “What happened, Cas?”
Before answering, Castiel shrugs off his coat, not bothering to pick it up when it slides down from the chair and lies down. “I had to find out how to break the spell first. Then I had to gather the ingredients for the potion. But... there were other angels waiting for me.” He notices Dean’s anxious stare. “You don’t need to worry. They could not hurt me this time.”
Dean gulps. “So, how does it work?”
“I brought special herbs,” Castiel says and hands him a small bag that hung on his belt. “We have to mix them with the oil, and with salt. One hour later, I need to apply it to my forehead. Then it should be over.”
“This sounds easy enough. There’s only one problem.”
“What problem?” Dean is quite sure he has never heard Castiel sound so annoyed and afraid at the same time.
“We used the last oil for the Trickst- Gabriel. Do you think you could get us some more?”
With an utterly unangelic groan, Castiel disappears. Seconds later he arrives again, grabs his coat not saying a single word and leaves again. Dean binds the small bag around his belt and
sighs.
- - -
Only some hours later, Castiel arrives with an urn. He almost drops it as he passes it on to Sam and lies down immediately.
“Cas, what’s the matter?” Dean takes the cup they prepared after Castiel had left and hands it to Sam, the other hand already fumbling with the small bag.
“I am tired,” he whispers, sounding scared
“Did the angels attack you?” Sam asks concerned while he begins to mix the herbs with the oils.
“You have to stir all the time,” Castiel warns, finally taking off the coat with a little help of Dean. Sam frowns. “They didn’t attack me,” he adds quickly.
Dean’s gaze shifts between Castiel and Sam. “I think you shouldn’t lie down,” he muses. “You must not fall asleep. Sam, could you get us some coffee, I can stir that stuff too.”
Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean takes the spoon and the cup with one swift movement and continues to stir, checking the clock. “Only 58 minutes, Cas.” He watches him sit up and lean against the bed frame, movements slow and almost clumsy. Sam shuts the door with a bang, and Dean isn’t too happy about it, but the thought of driving around now drives him insane. “It’s gonna be over, soon,” Dean promises. “One hour ain’t so bad, right? Imagine if we had to stir the stuff for days.”
Castiel doesn’t smile. “I don’t think that I can stay awake, Dean.”
“I’ll keep you awake.” Dean waggles his eyebrows suggestively, earning smile at last.
“How is dreaming for you?” he then asks a bit more seriously.
Castiel thinks about it for some seconds. “Weird.” Dean chuckles lightly. “It’s different from being in another person’s dreams. I wasn’t aware that I was dreaming. And I wasn’t aware that I wasn’t... aware.” He closes his eyes and exhales.
“Dude, don’t fall asleep.” Dean sits down beside him. “Wanna watch TV?”
Shrugging, Castiel agrees.
Sam walks down a road, crowded with demons and infected humans. When looking closer, Castiel notices that they are not looking as pleased as Sam does. In fact, they look scared. Respectful and scared, as if they were back in hell.
Castiel remembers hell too well. While he was saving Dean, he passed demons that were torturing. Demons that were being tortured. And souls that had not become demons yet. The moment they realised who he was they began to scream and beg him to take them away. But he had a mission, “save Dean”, and he did not stop even once for someone else.
Now they are here, gathering to witness Lucifer’s triumph.
“Sam would never say yes,” he whispers when he hears the flutter of wings behind him, and turns around.
“You sound very sure, Castiel.”
The sound of a match being lit seems, for this moment, louder than the first demons cry.
“SAM!” Dean hands him the cup immediately after Sam puts down the coffee. “He fell asleep. Just like that, we we’re talking about a commercial, and he just-“
“Calm down, Dean,” Sam says and sits down, stirring without stopping for a second. “How much time is left?”
“32 minutes,” Dean mumbles without looking at the clock. “I tried to wake him up; I almost kicked him out of the bed. Guy sleeps like a rock.”
Sam watches Dean stroke some hair away from Castiel’s forehead. “32 Minutes. Wherever he is, he’ll make it,” Sam tries to convince him.
“How often have we learnt that one moment can change everything?”
”It doesn’t matter how often you try, Zachariah,” Castiel sighs, looking suspiciously at the flames around him. “I will not tell you where Dean is.”
Quickly, he glances over his shoulder. Lucifer kills the demons as he passes them. The remaining scream and try to run. But there is no escape from an angel. Not for low demons like them.
“Do you see what will happen when you keep disobeying? This is where fate is headed. This is the way it will end.”
“But not necessarily.”
“True. But... I’ve been doing some thinking, Castiel.” Walking around the circle, Zachariah casually plays with the sword.
“When Sam and Dean were apart. Did you hunt with Dean?”
Frowning, Castiel nods.
“And when - or let’s say if, as you might prefer - if Sam says yes to Lucifer. Will you stay with Dean?”
“This is completely out of question.”
Zachariah stops. “But you saw how things will turn out, if you do this.
“I can change it.”
A bitter laugh escapes Zachariah’s lips. “Dean also thought, probably still thinks, that he can change it. But he’s wrong about it, Castiel. And so are you.”
“I am an angel, Zachariah,” Castiel retorts. “I have the powers to change-“
“For how long will you have those powers, Castiel? You are already weak. You can’t heal in an instant. A spell like this affects you.”
Castiel’s eyes narrow, but then a smug smile creeps on his face. “You still have to use a spell to find me. To lure me into a world where you can overpower me.”
Suddenly, Zachariah’s expression turns serious. “But I’ve got you now, right? And I am asking you for the last time...”
“Sam, his arm!” Dean’s eyes widen in horror when the skin on Castiel’s lower arm turns red and blisters. Terrified, Sam looks at the watch. “Eleven minutes left. I am sure that he’s gonna make it.”
Faint droplets of sweat appear on his forehead. His expression, until now calm in sleep, tenses.
”Do you really want to die for nothing?!” Zachariah yells, clutching the sword tightly enough to make his knuckles appear white.
“This is not... nothing,” Castiel pants, the pain in his arm almost unbearable. “I will not let Michael have Dean. I’d rather die.”
“Actually,” Zachariah begins with a light shrug. “This was plan B.”
The holy fire disappears right after Zachariah makes a step towards Castiel, with his sword raised, his eyes furious with bloodlust that makes him look like one of the wicked demons in hell. Before he can lower his sword, Castiel catches his arm and slams them down to the floor. “You cannot kill me,” he breathes. “Not here... not-“
Zachariah shifts them around and presses Castiel down harshly. The blade dangles only mere inches away from his face. “Aren’t you overestimating yourself? I am still stronger than you.”
The point of the sword trembles against his cheek. “Killing me won’t make Dean say yes to Michael.” Castiel moves his head in time, but the blade still grazes his cheek. His eyes grow wide.
“We’ll see about that,” Zachariah says and pulls the blade that was buried in the ground to the hilt up again.
Castiel tries to kick him in the crotch, but the blade is already lowering again.
Horrified, Sam drops the cup as he hears Castiel scream.
- - -
“Did you really have to break the TV?” Dean snorts while he puts a small band-aid over the cut on Castiel’s cheek. “As soon as we’re finished here, we’re leaving. Don’t need to teach the clerk about the true sound of angelic voices.”
Almost apologetically, Castiel looks at the television. Sam pats him on the back and smiles, before he begins to pack the few things they’ve unpacked.
“Is it over now?” Dean asks in a more serious voice, when Sam leaves the room. “Or will you turn into Sleeping Beauty again anytime soon?”
“It’s over,” Castiel assures. “But Zachariah will still try to find us. To kill me.”
Dean smiles wearily. “Welcome to the club. At least... promise me that you’ll be more careful when you fight with other angels, okay? I don’t know what I’ll do...” he takes a deep breath, “when you’re gone.”
Castiel wants to answer that he doesn’t know either, and he is afraid that Zachariah could be right, but instead, he places his hand gently over Dean’s.
“I promise.”