Fic: Beautiful Things Seen by the Astronauts (Part II)
Title: Beautiful Things Seen by the Astronauts
Author: elfladyarwen
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Joshua, Balthazar, Rachel, OC
Spoilers: Season 6
Word Count: ~7,200
Warnings: temporary character death (don't worry nothing permanent), canon divergence/possible unseen backstory
Rating: PG-13 (for some descriptions of violence and war)
back to Part I
On the edge of nothingness. Where the light went cold and too much space spun the senses into vertigo and unbalance. This was where Dean was trapped, somewhere in this solitary void.
With wide eyed trepidation and defenses on high alert, Castiel landed in the location Joshua had provided, expecting many things but unprepared for what he found.
Nothing.
Beneath his feet was an illusion of sparse field grass, the remnants of whatever soul’s heaven lingered nearest. And even that was a span of miles and ages. No being or spirit of Heaven had resided in this place for a very long time.
And yet the awareness of a nearby power laid heavy on his mind. It started as a tingle along the ridge of his wings, the most vulnerable part of his grace picking up on it almost immediately upon touch down. It was the prickling paranoia of being watched by something unseen. It made his skin crawl, wings rustling with the need to shuck the feeling from his body. And with every cautious step deeper into the field, it grew. Till it was cloying, matting his feathers like a syrup and his lungs felt saturated with an energy that dragged at him, reeling him ever closer.
He lost track of the distance, figuring out it was faster to give into the invisible pull, letting it draw him across the tall grasses that seemed to expand forever in every direction without struggle. The sensation of being watched multiplied and as he ventured further into nothingness it increased still.
Eventually the vacuum of space overtook sound and he could no longer hear the distant white noise of Heaven. But in it’s place, a new buzz began from the shadows. From the very back of his mind, like the slow roll of distant tide moving toward shore it came. Castiel shook his head, wondering if the abyss had somehow driven him to madness and it was all in his imagination.
But the noise remained. A noise of many levels, whispers mingling and overlapping into an echoing,resonating static. Not unlike the way an angel would try to speak to a chosen human without the use of a vessel, it was a communication intended to be inviting. Nonthreatening.
“Who are you?” Castiel murmured. “Show yourself.”
Castiel.
It came from somewhere inside his own consciousness, words he felt rather than heard. Castiel spun with a gasp, resisting the need to have his palm filled with the weight of his blade. But there was no one.
“Who are you?” he repeated more forcefully, curling his wings up and forward in the traditional stance of friendly greeting. If he was facing what he feared he faced, it was best to establish himself as friend before it was clear what he had come to take back.
In answer, there was a tickle inside the recesses of his mind, which after a moment he understood to be a giggle. The whispers were communicating through his head, his grace translating each brush against his consciousness and each buzz into a language not of words, but of feelings. It was rudimentary and over simplified, similar in structure to Enochian but watered down and lacking the poetry and flow. It made his grace throb with the effort, but he understood.
Cas-tee-yel. Cas. Castiel.
“I am Castiel,” he spoke to the darkness. “How do you know me?”
A pause. He knows.
The angel tensed, eyes darting rapidly in search for his quarry. “Where are you?” he whispered to Dean.
But it was not Dean who replied. Here. Here we are.
Like the ending of an eclipse, the world shifted, a single silver light emerging on his eye level. It trembled in place, hovering, then suddenly exploded. It touched on a hundred other points of light who appeared, exploded and spread. A blindingly bright chain reaction, it overtook the curtain of never-ending black, rushing outwards in a thousand, a million dots all at once. Castiel, who had looked upon the overwhelming brightness of archangels’ grace, had to shield his eyes.
Then all was silent and still again. Trying to slow his panting, Castiel dared to peek over his forearm. “Oh,” he breathed in awe, and no more, for words escaped him.
Stretched now across the black were stars; constellation upon constellation of stars, each as brilliant as Michael the Firstborn and criss-crossing to every corner of space. And though a shimmering membrane, now visible to Castiel, separated them from the boundaries of Heaven, they gleamed and floated as if only feet beyond his reach. They moved like living things of the sea, weightless and glittery, but never close enough to touch.
And there. There, in the center of the veil, right where grass ended and starlight began was Dean. Tilting and listing like a ghost, he stared unseeing, face aged and weary. Every inch of him sparkled with silvery-blue light, as if his body had been turned inside out and his soul was now skin.
“Dean!” Castiel called, panic spiking at seeing him teeter so close to the edge of the universe. He lunged forward, closing the distance between as quickly as possible, trying to catch the hunter’s eye. “Dean, it’s me. Come to me, get away from there. Hurry!”
Dean turned slowly. And Castiel gasped when he saw his eyes.
Dean’s eyes were cold and listless. In fact, all of him was cold and listless. Souls and grace were meant to be warm; the fire of God’s light burned gold and hot. But Dean’s soul was lit with ice and pain and it was wrong. The brightness was there, but the color, the warmth was not Dean as he should have been. It was as if he’d been drained of everything except misery and defeat.
“What have they done to you?” he said, aghast. Dean looked past him, making no indication he could see or hear Castiel.
Pretty, mused the stars, running streams of light like petting fingers across Dean’s skin.
Patience be damned. Castiel watched the light caress Dean so intimiately and a boil of rage rose up from his core. “Release him,” he demanded.
The stars buzzed, a tint of question in their hum. Ours, they said simply.
“No. He is not yours,” bit Castiel, eyes flashing with an angry flare of grace. “This is the Righteous Man. He is an important servant of Heaven.”
Important, purred the stars in agreement. The lights around Dean shimmered, as if hugging him tight. He did not react.
“Let him go. I am here to take him home.”
The starlight blinked in and out as it shifted to the right in a shrug. There are other righteous. Other men. He is home now.
Castiel wings bristled. “You are destroying him. The souls you have stolen end up as nothing more than shadows, echoes of what they were meant to be. He has a destiny! You cannot keep him from it.”
The starlight receded from Dean for a moment, as if leaning back to inspect him for brands and labels of destiny. But he is a shadow now. He is an echo now. So much pain. So much loneliness. Angels are selfish to demand so much of him. We demand nothing. He belongs with us. He is meant to be one of us. It surrounded Dean again, cuddling him close and he slipped a few inches closer towards the black.
“No!” bellowed Castiel, surging forward to grasp for Dean’s arm. The second his arm touched the glimmering veil, it went numb, as if all nerves had simultaneously been killed by the cold. With a grunt, he threw his weight backwards, trying to pull Dean from the light’s hold. But he wouldn’t budge, a frozen statue between worlds.
Let go, the stars urged gently, taking no offense at Castiel attempting to rip their prize from them. He is safe here. He will know no pain. He will be forever loved.
“He is already loved,” spat Castiel as he wrapped both arms and wings around Dean in defiance, trying to smother the blue light with his own gold.
No one will love him as we do.
Castiel laughed mirthlessly, hysteria bubbling up within him as Dean slid another inch towards the edge despite his vice-like grip. “How dare you try to stake a claim on what has belonged to me since I claimed his damned soul in the fires of Hell,” he growled, possessive tendrils of grace snaking out to cocoon Dean’s precious soul. Cold and brainwashed as it was, the soul recognized it’s once-savior and clung to him tightly, much to Castiel’s relief and elation.
“I am an Angel of the Lord,” he rumbled, grabbing Dean by the back of the neck and bringing their faces close, “and even you do not take what belongs to me.”
In a last desperate act, Castiel drew Dean up and kissed him. He covered Dean’s frozen lips with his own and through the contact he pushed his grace through the hunter’s soul. It blasted from him like a bomb, the force of it momentarily obliterating the light from the stars themselves. He let his grace expand, claiming what it longed for, melting in and around and through Dean. Like a gilded gold cage had sprung from his wings, it settled around them, blocking out the stars hold.
Dean jolted, seizing beneath Castiel’s power as the angel’s grace restarted his heart, reaching out to set the rhythm to a deep thrum of mine. Mine, Castiel pulsed into him, sending memories through their connection; of lifting a sobbing and broken man from perdition, of lovingly piecing his atoms together one by one; of watching over him while he slept to ensure the nightmares stayed away. Faith. Frustration. Sorrow. Hope. Love. Mine. Mine. Mine. He poured them all into Dean, waiting for the stars to obliterate him for his love of this man.
Instead, the stars recoiled in confusion. Unable to comprehend this definition of love, where sacrifice was given willingly and pain could not be separated from the joy, they withdrew into themselves with a whimper. From where Castiel’s lips still pressed against his, Dean’s skin heated to a dull gold. From there it spread to his nose, to the corner of his eyes, past his jaw and down his chest. Till at least, the stars submitted to Castiel’s claim and took back the starlight from Dean’s skin all together, and he was once again warm and right.
Castiel moaned, the feel of Dean’s warmth against him like electricity and he clasped the hunter tighter against him as they stumbled free of the veil. He kept propelling them backwards, until the stars faded back into the black with a woeful wail, lost again to their isolation in the lonely black of space.
Only when nothing remained but empty field and the white noise of Heaven reached his ears did Castiel break the kiss, pulling back to watch Dean with anxious eyes. And when Dean’s eyelids fluttered and opened, the angel expelled a mighty breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Cas?” Dean whispered, starlight residue scattering from his eyelashes as he blinked, awakening.
Apprehensive, Castiel could only give a small nod. His hands tightened at Dean’s waist though, afraid the man might slip through the cracks in his fingers at any moment and be lost again.
Dean didn’t seem to notice. He swayed, tipping forward further into Castiel’s steadying hold. “You...you came for me?” he croaked, looking at the angel with something between disbelief and awe.
Castiel nodded again.
Dean exhaled sharply, a slow grin cracking his confusion. Equally slow, enough so that Castiel didn’t register it had happened, his hand crept around to cup the back of the angel’s head. And with a tug, their lips collided again.
“Took your sweet ass time,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s mouth.
Castiel leaned into him hungrily, overcome with the whiplash of so many emotions in such a short amount of time. Dean didn’t let him think of anything but the tongue probing at his mouth, demanding access. He allowed Dean in, eagerly trying to replicate the motions of the hunter’s mouth, teeth clashing against teeth as both of them tried to devour the other. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, nor was it sexual, too desperate and full of things they couldn’t say outloud, but it was so long overdue, it was nothing but right. Kissing Dean- stubborn, golden-warm, reckless Dean- was right.
With a final bite at Castiel’s lower lip, Dean come up for air. His hands stayed where they were however, one possessively on the angel’s hip, and the other still threaded through the hair at his nape.
“I take it I’m back on Cloud 9?” Dean said eventually.
“Yes.”
“Looks different.”
“These are the outskirts, there are no souls residing here. It’s very far from your and Sam’s Heaven. But what you remember of that will have changed too. This is a Heaven ravaged by war and chaos. It will never look the same,” Castiel said quietly.
“Dammit, Cas,” whispered Dean. He leaned forward to press his forehead against Castiel’s with a sad sigh. “I wish you would let me help you. Especially while I’m up here.”
“No,” Castiel growled vehemently, tightening his grip on Dean’s waist hard enough to make the man suck in a breath through his teeth. “You can’t, Dean,” he said, softening his tone. He reached up to mold a palm around Dean’s jaw, still amazed at being granted such a touch. “I must return you to your body immediately. The longer you stay here, the greater the risk of you being captured and used against me if they find out I’ve defected in the middle of the battle for you.”
“You left in the middle of an angel fight to drag me from some star glue? You left them in the trenches while you run a personal errand? Jesus, Cas. I’m not worth that!”
“Dean, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. No matter where I am. In Hell, Heaven or on Earth. Always,” Castiel informed him in the most rational tone he could muster. Like Dean was a small child unable to grasp the obvious.
Dean huffed, trapping his face between his hands and kissed him again, harder this time, punishing. For what, Castiel was not sure - for abandoning his brothers in a time of war, for believing Dean something worthy of such an betrayal, for making those kind of weighted promises. Maybe all.
“How much time do we have?” Dean asked gruffly when they pulled back from one another.
“None. We can’t-” Castiel’s voice broke. He paused long enough to close his eyes, close off Dean’s hopeful green staring back at him, waiting for an answer Castiel couldn’t possibly give. “There is no time for us,” he stated at last.
Dean nodded in understanding, dropping his lashes quickly in attempt to hide the flash of naked hurt behind them. It vanished, as soon as it had appeared, and when Dean next looked up, the casual mask of indifference was back.
“I’m at least gonna remember this, right?”
Castiel hesitated. “I don’t know,” he lied.
He must not have been terribly convincing because before he could avert his gaze to cover his guilt, Dean had a hand on his chin, forcing him to resume eye contact. “Hey! Don’t do that, don’t just say you don’t know and zap me anyway,” Dean ordered. He tapped his thumb gently against Castiel’s bottom lip, grazing the chapped skin and staring at it, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every variation of pink in the crevices. Over and over, he traced the swell of light and the crescent of shadow there, till Castiel’s lip was tingling and too warm.
“It’s important,” he said softly.
“Dean,” the angel whispered, overwhelmed.
“It’s important, Cas. Don’t let me forget this.”
Castiel lifted a hand to put tender fingers along the scruff of Dean’s cheek. Though his eyes widened warily, Dean leaned into the touch, trusting Castiel to honor his request.
Which made the guilt he felt over what he did next all the more potent. “Sleep, Dean.”
The hunter went limp in his arms. And though Castiel knew better, he stood a long time looking down at Dean before he carried his soul back to his body and the motel room he and his brother shared. A long, long time.
*****
Balthazar had not needed to tell Castiel the battle had been lost. Castiel had known, the moment he’d first sensed Dean’s death. And though he did not regret his actions, walking the bloody war zone and reeling from the aftermath, Castiel had needed to check in on Dean once he awoke on Earth a few hours later. He told himself it was his responsibility as Dean’s guardian. But in his heart, he had needed reassurance that one hunter was worth the hundred comrades he’d buried on the field.
He stood for a moment inside the motel room door before making himself seen, simply watching Dean go through the motions of a normal morning. It was a small comfort, knowing the hunter would not remember the ordeal he’d been through. Yet, Castiel heart was sodden and heavy, and he mourned. For what Dean’s life had cost. For what losing this war would mean. For what was and what could never be.
“Hello, Dean,” he said, at last materializing into sight.
Dean looked up from where he sat with one foot propped up on the end of the motel bed. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked gruffly, returning to tying his bootlaces. “We could have used some help with that ghoul nest yesterday. Half of ‘em got away.”
“None of them are alive,” Castiel said sharply. He had gone back and annihilated the creatures who had taken Dean Winchester’s life. The entire nest, plus all other ghouls within a 65 mile radius. The hunters would not be encountering any member of the species anytime soon.
Dean, oblivious to this fact, just gave the angel a look that suggested he was ignorant as a bag of bricks and moved on to his other shoe. “Course they’re not, Captain Obvious. They’re the walking undead.”
Castiel ignored him and stepped forward to give Dean a thorough once over, looking for signs of lingering effects of having previously been a victim of the stars handling. Finding nothing upon first glance, he asked “Are you alright?” in a way he hoped wasn’t too suspicious.
Dean blinked at him curiously. “Apart from Sammy whining half the night like a little girl because of local allergy issues, I ain’t too shabby.”
He narrowed his eyes though as the angel leaned in to examine his face more closely. “Dude. Are you alright? Why are you looking at me like I’m a particularly juicy burger you’d like to pounce on? I thought we’d been making headway with toning down the creeper stare lately.”
Satisfied at the characteristic sarcasm, Castiel leaned back into a distance Dean seemed comfortable with. “Apologies. I must be more tired then I realized.”
Dean stood up, tucking his pistol into the back of his jeans and a spare switchblade into some hidden crevice inside his jacket. “Yeah? You guys busy trying to thwart Darth Raphael’s evil scheme to rebuild Heaven’s deathstar or something?”
Castiel just looked at him, failing once again to understand the weird way of human communication. “Or something.”
Dean grinned, apparently happy with this answer. “You rebel scum,” he said with approval.
Castiel gave his head a shake, accepting the fact that there would be countless facets he would never understand about Dean Winchester. “You need to be careful,” he said flatly.
“You know me, Cas. Caution is my middle name,” snorted Dean.
Castiel frowned, unamused. “I mean it, Dean. I won’t be able to be around much. My attention is needed in Heaven and if something happens, I don’t know how quickly I would be able to come to your aid.”
Dean gave him a puzzled look, one that clearly suggested he had no idea where this line of conversation had come from. “Okay,” he said slowly, fixing his gaze intently on Castiel’s own. “But you first. You got, what, a thousand revenge-hungry angels gunning for you at the moment?”
“No. More.”
“Then you watch your back too. I don’t really have a lot of spare time to venture up to Heaven to save your feathery ass.”
Castiel gave him a soft look, one that suggested Dean was beloved for suggesting such a thing, but also quite stupid. “I’ll...do my best.”
“Okay then. We both agree that dying sucks and should be avoided. Glad we had this talk.” Dean slapped his hands on his thighs to signal the end of the conversation and turned to shove the rest of his belongings into his satchel. “Sammy and me are gonna head up north to Illinois, try to flush out what we think is a vamp nest up there. Just so you know.”
“Thank you for telling me. I will be in Heaven, trying to find a way to defeat Raphael’s forces. Just so you know,” Castiel offered, thinking it only fair to share the same information.
Dean straightened, giving him a grin. “You better be careful. You’re dangerously close to sarcasm there, buddy.” Or that’s what he would have said. Instead, he ended up staring at Castiel’s mouth, the grin sliding off his face. His brow furrowed and he swallowed hard like he was trying hard to remember something.
“What’s wrong, Dean?”
Dean’s brow furrowed farther, as if the question troubled him because he didn’t have an exact answer. His tongue darted out to touch along his bottom lip, right in the place where his own thumb had lingered on Castiel’s during their time in Heaven. He wet his top lip too, then repeated the motion again on his bottom, trying to taste the ghost of something he couldn’t remember. His gaze never left Castiel’s mouth.
“Nothing,” he muttered at last, tongue and the troubled look of a man caught between dream and reality disappearing. “It’s...not important.”
Castiel exhaled, something inside him wilting. He watched Dean pack the rest of his things and then threw himself into flight without a goodbye. He did not like to say goodbye to Dean, because somehow it implied they would not meet again. And while the chances of that were astronomically high, Castiel preferred to ignore them. Dean had told him time and again not to put too much energy into worrying about things that didn’t matter.
What mattered was Dean Winchester was alive. For now, at least. And Castiel told himself that was important - that was enough.
Author: elfladyarwen
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Joshua, Balthazar, Rachel, OC
Spoilers: Season 6
Word Count: ~7,200
Warnings: temporary character death (don't worry nothing permanent), canon divergence/possible unseen backstory
Rating: PG-13 (for some descriptions of violence and war)
back to Part I
On the edge of nothingness. Where the light went cold and too much space spun the senses into vertigo and unbalance. This was where Dean was trapped, somewhere in this solitary void.
With wide eyed trepidation and defenses on high alert, Castiel landed in the location Joshua had provided, expecting many things but unprepared for what he found.
Nothing.
Beneath his feet was an illusion of sparse field grass, the remnants of whatever soul’s heaven lingered nearest. And even that was a span of miles and ages. No being or spirit of Heaven had resided in this place for a very long time.
And yet the awareness of a nearby power laid heavy on his mind. It started as a tingle along the ridge of his wings, the most vulnerable part of his grace picking up on it almost immediately upon touch down. It was the prickling paranoia of being watched by something unseen. It made his skin crawl, wings rustling with the need to shuck the feeling from his body. And with every cautious step deeper into the field, it grew. Till it was cloying, matting his feathers like a syrup and his lungs felt saturated with an energy that dragged at him, reeling him ever closer.
He lost track of the distance, figuring out it was faster to give into the invisible pull, letting it draw him across the tall grasses that seemed to expand forever in every direction without struggle. The sensation of being watched multiplied and as he ventured further into nothingness it increased still.
Eventually the vacuum of space overtook sound and he could no longer hear the distant white noise of Heaven. But in it’s place, a new buzz began from the shadows. From the very back of his mind, like the slow roll of distant tide moving toward shore it came. Castiel shook his head, wondering if the abyss had somehow driven him to madness and it was all in his imagination.
But the noise remained. A noise of many levels, whispers mingling and overlapping into an echoing,resonating static. Not unlike the way an angel would try to speak to a chosen human without the use of a vessel, it was a communication intended to be inviting. Nonthreatening.
“Who are you?” Castiel murmured. “Show yourself.”
Castiel.
It came from somewhere inside his own consciousness, words he felt rather than heard. Castiel spun with a gasp, resisting the need to have his palm filled with the weight of his blade. But there was no one.
“Who are you?” he repeated more forcefully, curling his wings up and forward in the traditional stance of friendly greeting. If he was facing what he feared he faced, it was best to establish himself as friend before it was clear what he had come to take back.
In answer, there was a tickle inside the recesses of his mind, which after a moment he understood to be a giggle. The whispers were communicating through his head, his grace translating each brush against his consciousness and each buzz into a language not of words, but of feelings. It was rudimentary and over simplified, similar in structure to Enochian but watered down and lacking the poetry and flow. It made his grace throb with the effort, but he understood.
Cas-tee-yel. Cas. Castiel.
“I am Castiel,” he spoke to the darkness. “How do you know me?”
A pause. He knows.
The angel tensed, eyes darting rapidly in search for his quarry. “Where are you?” he whispered to Dean.
But it was not Dean who replied. Here. Here we are.
Like the ending of an eclipse, the world shifted, a single silver light emerging on his eye level. It trembled in place, hovering, then suddenly exploded. It touched on a hundred other points of light who appeared, exploded and spread. A blindingly bright chain reaction, it overtook the curtain of never-ending black, rushing outwards in a thousand, a million dots all at once. Castiel, who had looked upon the overwhelming brightness of archangels’ grace, had to shield his eyes.
Then all was silent and still again. Trying to slow his panting, Castiel dared to peek over his forearm. “Oh,” he breathed in awe, and no more, for words escaped him.
Stretched now across the black were stars; constellation upon constellation of stars, each as brilliant as Michael the Firstborn and criss-crossing to every corner of space. And though a shimmering membrane, now visible to Castiel, separated them from the boundaries of Heaven, they gleamed and floated as if only feet beyond his reach. They moved like living things of the sea, weightless and glittery, but never close enough to touch.
And there. There, in the center of the veil, right where grass ended and starlight began was Dean. Tilting and listing like a ghost, he stared unseeing, face aged and weary. Every inch of him sparkled with silvery-blue light, as if his body had been turned inside out and his soul was now skin.
“Dean!” Castiel called, panic spiking at seeing him teeter so close to the edge of the universe. He lunged forward, closing the distance between as quickly as possible, trying to catch the hunter’s eye. “Dean, it’s me. Come to me, get away from there. Hurry!”
Dean turned slowly. And Castiel gasped when he saw his eyes.
Dean’s eyes were cold and listless. In fact, all of him was cold and listless. Souls and grace were meant to be warm; the fire of God’s light burned gold and hot. But Dean’s soul was lit with ice and pain and it was wrong. The brightness was there, but the color, the warmth was not Dean as he should have been. It was as if he’d been drained of everything except misery and defeat.
“What have they done to you?” he said, aghast. Dean looked past him, making no indication he could see or hear Castiel.
Pretty, mused the stars, running streams of light like petting fingers across Dean’s skin.
Patience be damned. Castiel watched the light caress Dean so intimiately and a boil of rage rose up from his core. “Release him,” he demanded.
The stars buzzed, a tint of question in their hum. Ours, they said simply.
“No. He is not yours,” bit Castiel, eyes flashing with an angry flare of grace. “This is the Righteous Man. He is an important servant of Heaven.”
Important, purred the stars in agreement. The lights around Dean shimmered, as if hugging him tight. He did not react.
“Let him go. I am here to take him home.”
The starlight blinked in and out as it shifted to the right in a shrug. There are other righteous. Other men. He is home now.
Castiel wings bristled. “You are destroying him. The souls you have stolen end up as nothing more than shadows, echoes of what they were meant to be. He has a destiny! You cannot keep him from it.”
The starlight receded from Dean for a moment, as if leaning back to inspect him for brands and labels of destiny. But he is a shadow now. He is an echo now. So much pain. So much loneliness. Angels are selfish to demand so much of him. We demand nothing. He belongs with us. He is meant to be one of us. It surrounded Dean again, cuddling him close and he slipped a few inches closer towards the black.
“No!” bellowed Castiel, surging forward to grasp for Dean’s arm. The second his arm touched the glimmering veil, it went numb, as if all nerves had simultaneously been killed by the cold. With a grunt, he threw his weight backwards, trying to pull Dean from the light’s hold. But he wouldn’t budge, a frozen statue between worlds.
Let go, the stars urged gently, taking no offense at Castiel attempting to rip their prize from them. He is safe here. He will know no pain. He will be forever loved.
“He is already loved,” spat Castiel as he wrapped both arms and wings around Dean in defiance, trying to smother the blue light with his own gold.
No one will love him as we do.
Castiel laughed mirthlessly, hysteria bubbling up within him as Dean slid another inch towards the edge despite his vice-like grip. “How dare you try to stake a claim on what has belonged to me since I claimed his damned soul in the fires of Hell,” he growled, possessive tendrils of grace snaking out to cocoon Dean’s precious soul. Cold and brainwashed as it was, the soul recognized it’s once-savior and clung to him tightly, much to Castiel’s relief and elation.
“I am an Angel of the Lord,” he rumbled, grabbing Dean by the back of the neck and bringing their faces close, “and even you do not take what belongs to me.”
In a last desperate act, Castiel drew Dean up and kissed him. He covered Dean’s frozen lips with his own and through the contact he pushed his grace through the hunter’s soul. It blasted from him like a bomb, the force of it momentarily obliterating the light from the stars themselves. He let his grace expand, claiming what it longed for, melting in and around and through Dean. Like a gilded gold cage had sprung from his wings, it settled around them, blocking out the stars hold.
Dean jolted, seizing beneath Castiel’s power as the angel’s grace restarted his heart, reaching out to set the rhythm to a deep thrum of mine. Mine, Castiel pulsed into him, sending memories through their connection; of lifting a sobbing and broken man from perdition, of lovingly piecing his atoms together one by one; of watching over him while he slept to ensure the nightmares stayed away. Faith. Frustration. Sorrow. Hope. Love. Mine. Mine. Mine. He poured them all into Dean, waiting for the stars to obliterate him for his love of this man.
Instead, the stars recoiled in confusion. Unable to comprehend this definition of love, where sacrifice was given willingly and pain could not be separated from the joy, they withdrew into themselves with a whimper. From where Castiel’s lips still pressed against his, Dean’s skin heated to a dull gold. From there it spread to his nose, to the corner of his eyes, past his jaw and down his chest. Till at least, the stars submitted to Castiel’s claim and took back the starlight from Dean’s skin all together, and he was once again warm and right.
Castiel moaned, the feel of Dean’s warmth against him like electricity and he clasped the hunter tighter against him as they stumbled free of the veil. He kept propelling them backwards, until the stars faded back into the black with a woeful wail, lost again to their isolation in the lonely black of space.
Only when nothing remained but empty field and the white noise of Heaven reached his ears did Castiel break the kiss, pulling back to watch Dean with anxious eyes. And when Dean’s eyelids fluttered and opened, the angel expelled a mighty breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“Cas?” Dean whispered, starlight residue scattering from his eyelashes as he blinked, awakening.
Apprehensive, Castiel could only give a small nod. His hands tightened at Dean’s waist though, afraid the man might slip through the cracks in his fingers at any moment and be lost again.
Dean didn’t seem to notice. He swayed, tipping forward further into Castiel’s steadying hold. “You...you came for me?” he croaked, looking at the angel with something between disbelief and awe.
Castiel nodded again.
Dean exhaled sharply, a slow grin cracking his confusion. Equally slow, enough so that Castiel didn’t register it had happened, his hand crept around to cup the back of the angel’s head. And with a tug, their lips collided again.
“Took your sweet ass time,” Dean murmured against Castiel’s mouth.
Castiel leaned into him hungrily, overcome with the whiplash of so many emotions in such a short amount of time. Dean didn’t let him think of anything but the tongue probing at his mouth, demanding access. He allowed Dean in, eagerly trying to replicate the motions of the hunter’s mouth, teeth clashing against teeth as both of them tried to devour the other. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, nor was it sexual, too desperate and full of things they couldn’t say outloud, but it was so long overdue, it was nothing but right. Kissing Dean- stubborn, golden-warm, reckless Dean- was right.
With a final bite at Castiel’s lower lip, Dean come up for air. His hands stayed where they were however, one possessively on the angel’s hip, and the other still threaded through the hair at his nape.
“I take it I’m back on Cloud 9?” Dean said eventually.
“Yes.”
“Looks different.”
“These are the outskirts, there are no souls residing here. It’s very far from your and Sam’s Heaven. But what you remember of that will have changed too. This is a Heaven ravaged by war and chaos. It will never look the same,” Castiel said quietly.
“Dammit, Cas,” whispered Dean. He leaned forward to press his forehead against Castiel’s with a sad sigh. “I wish you would let me help you. Especially while I’m up here.”
“No,” Castiel growled vehemently, tightening his grip on Dean’s waist hard enough to make the man suck in a breath through his teeth. “You can’t, Dean,” he said, softening his tone. He reached up to mold a palm around Dean’s jaw, still amazed at being granted such a touch. “I must return you to your body immediately. The longer you stay here, the greater the risk of you being captured and used against me if they find out I’ve defected in the middle of the battle for you.”
“You left in the middle of an angel fight to drag me from some star glue? You left them in the trenches while you run a personal errand? Jesus, Cas. I’m not worth that!”
“Dean, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. No matter where I am. In Hell, Heaven or on Earth. Always,” Castiel informed him in the most rational tone he could muster. Like Dean was a small child unable to grasp the obvious.
Dean huffed, trapping his face between his hands and kissed him again, harder this time, punishing. For what, Castiel was not sure - for abandoning his brothers in a time of war, for believing Dean something worthy of such an betrayal, for making those kind of weighted promises. Maybe all.
“How much time do we have?” Dean asked gruffly when they pulled back from one another.
“None. We can’t-” Castiel’s voice broke. He paused long enough to close his eyes, close off Dean’s hopeful green staring back at him, waiting for an answer Castiel couldn’t possibly give. “There is no time for us,” he stated at last.
Dean nodded in understanding, dropping his lashes quickly in attempt to hide the flash of naked hurt behind them. It vanished, as soon as it had appeared, and when Dean next looked up, the casual mask of indifference was back.
“I’m at least gonna remember this, right?”
Castiel hesitated. “I don’t know,” he lied.
He must not have been terribly convincing because before he could avert his gaze to cover his guilt, Dean had a hand on his chin, forcing him to resume eye contact. “Hey! Don’t do that, don’t just say you don’t know and zap me anyway,” Dean ordered. He tapped his thumb gently against Castiel’s bottom lip, grazing the chapped skin and staring at it, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every variation of pink in the crevices. Over and over, he traced the swell of light and the crescent of shadow there, till Castiel’s lip was tingling and too warm.
“It’s important,” he said softly.
“Dean,” the angel whispered, overwhelmed.
“It’s important, Cas. Don’t let me forget this.”
Castiel lifted a hand to put tender fingers along the scruff of Dean’s cheek. Though his eyes widened warily, Dean leaned into the touch, trusting Castiel to honor his request.
Which made the guilt he felt over what he did next all the more potent. “Sleep, Dean.”
The hunter went limp in his arms. And though Castiel knew better, he stood a long time looking down at Dean before he carried his soul back to his body and the motel room he and his brother shared. A long, long time.
*****
Balthazar had not needed to tell Castiel the battle had been lost. Castiel had known, the moment he’d first sensed Dean’s death. And though he did not regret his actions, walking the bloody war zone and reeling from the aftermath, Castiel had needed to check in on Dean once he awoke on Earth a few hours later. He told himself it was his responsibility as Dean’s guardian. But in his heart, he had needed reassurance that one hunter was worth the hundred comrades he’d buried on the field.
He stood for a moment inside the motel room door before making himself seen, simply watching Dean go through the motions of a normal morning. It was a small comfort, knowing the hunter would not remember the ordeal he’d been through. Yet, Castiel heart was sodden and heavy, and he mourned. For what Dean’s life had cost. For what losing this war would mean. For what was and what could never be.
“Hello, Dean,” he said, at last materializing into sight.
Dean looked up from where he sat with one foot propped up on the end of the motel bed. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked gruffly, returning to tying his bootlaces. “We could have used some help with that ghoul nest yesterday. Half of ‘em got away.”
“None of them are alive,” Castiel said sharply. He had gone back and annihilated the creatures who had taken Dean Winchester’s life. The entire nest, plus all other ghouls within a 65 mile radius. The hunters would not be encountering any member of the species anytime soon.
Dean, oblivious to this fact, just gave the angel a look that suggested he was ignorant as a bag of bricks and moved on to his other shoe. “Course they’re not, Captain Obvious. They’re the walking undead.”
Castiel ignored him and stepped forward to give Dean a thorough once over, looking for signs of lingering effects of having previously been a victim of the stars handling. Finding nothing upon first glance, he asked “Are you alright?” in a way he hoped wasn’t too suspicious.
Dean blinked at him curiously. “Apart from Sammy whining half the night like a little girl because of local allergy issues, I ain’t too shabby.”
He narrowed his eyes though as the angel leaned in to examine his face more closely. “Dude. Are you alright? Why are you looking at me like I’m a particularly juicy burger you’d like to pounce on? I thought we’d been making headway with toning down the creeper stare lately.”
Satisfied at the characteristic sarcasm, Castiel leaned back into a distance Dean seemed comfortable with. “Apologies. I must be more tired then I realized.”
Dean stood up, tucking his pistol into the back of his jeans and a spare switchblade into some hidden crevice inside his jacket. “Yeah? You guys busy trying to thwart Darth Raphael’s evil scheme to rebuild Heaven’s deathstar or something?”
Castiel just looked at him, failing once again to understand the weird way of human communication. “Or something.”
Dean grinned, apparently happy with this answer. “You rebel scum,” he said with approval.
Castiel gave his head a shake, accepting the fact that there would be countless facets he would never understand about Dean Winchester. “You need to be careful,” he said flatly.
“You know me, Cas. Caution is my middle name,” snorted Dean.
Castiel frowned, unamused. “I mean it, Dean. I won’t be able to be around much. My attention is needed in Heaven and if something happens, I don’t know how quickly I would be able to come to your aid.”
Dean gave him a puzzled look, one that clearly suggested he had no idea where this line of conversation had come from. “Okay,” he said slowly, fixing his gaze intently on Castiel’s own. “But you first. You got, what, a thousand revenge-hungry angels gunning for you at the moment?”
“No. More.”
“Then you watch your back too. I don’t really have a lot of spare time to venture up to Heaven to save your feathery ass.”
Castiel gave him a soft look, one that suggested Dean was beloved for suggesting such a thing, but also quite stupid. “I’ll...do my best.”
“Okay then. We both agree that dying sucks and should be avoided. Glad we had this talk.” Dean slapped his hands on his thighs to signal the end of the conversation and turned to shove the rest of his belongings into his satchel. “Sammy and me are gonna head up north to Illinois, try to flush out what we think is a vamp nest up there. Just so you know.”
“Thank you for telling me. I will be in Heaven, trying to find a way to defeat Raphael’s forces. Just so you know,” Castiel offered, thinking it only fair to share the same information.
Dean straightened, giving him a grin. “You better be careful. You’re dangerously close to sarcasm there, buddy.” Or that’s what he would have said. Instead, he ended up staring at Castiel’s mouth, the grin sliding off his face. His brow furrowed and he swallowed hard like he was trying hard to remember something.
“What’s wrong, Dean?”
Dean’s brow furrowed farther, as if the question troubled him because he didn’t have an exact answer. His tongue darted out to touch along his bottom lip, right in the place where his own thumb had lingered on Castiel’s during their time in Heaven. He wet his top lip too, then repeated the motion again on his bottom, trying to taste the ghost of something he couldn’t remember. His gaze never left Castiel’s mouth.
“Nothing,” he muttered at last, tongue and the troubled look of a man caught between dream and reality disappearing. “It’s...not important.”
Castiel exhaled, something inside him wilting. He watched Dean pack the rest of his things and then threw himself into flight without a goodbye. He did not like to say goodbye to Dean, because somehow it implied they would not meet again. And while the chances of that were astronomically high, Castiel preferred to ignore them. Dean had told him time and again not to put too much energy into worrying about things that didn’t matter.
What mattered was Dean Winchester was alive. For now, at least. And Castiel told himself that was important - that was enough.