[SPN] the god of loneliness (2/2)

[tasogareika]

part one here

Dean mutters a few choice words under his breath as he checks his gun for bullets, trying to determine if he’s going to be reckless or plain suicidal later when the rugaru catches up with him. Not for the first time in the last hour Dean realizes that perhaps following Sam’s suggestion to bring in a few more people is possibly the better option-but damnit, this is just a normal hunt; there’s no need to bring out the friggin’ cavalry just for one of these suckers. Just because he’s the boss of this stupid organization that the government’s forced on him doesn’t mean that he needs freaking guards twenty-four-seven. Not for the first time in the last eight years or so Dean wonders to himself once more just what the fuck he had been thinking to go ahead and appear before the government of this country and let himself be dragged into their goddamned world of politics. This is really more of Sam’s thing.

Still, because of this now hunting’s officially recognized as a legitimate line of duty and now there was no longer a need for the credit card frauds and the requirement to lie and lie all the time. They were small victories overall, but they are still victories nevertheless. At least now Bobby could retire in proper peace and get a pension plan while at it. Not that he ever stopped being a hunter, of course-nobody could ever really stop being a hunter once you’re into it.

A burst of static comes through from the headset tucked around his ear, and Dean momentarily winces at the sound before Sam’s voice comes through the speaker, replacing the static. “Dean, you copy?”

“Yeah, Sammy,” he replies, looking at his gun once again as he uses his free hand to rummage around his pockets for bullets to reload his firearm. “I copy. What’s up?”

“Raymond told me that the rugaru ran off in your direction earlier,” Sam returns, and despite the professionalism in his voice Dean can all too easily hear the concern and terseness that his brother tries and fails to hide-Sam is concerned, and it shows. “I’ve gotten both him and Royston to go after it. They should be nearing your way soon.”

Dean grunts out an affirmation, taking two bullets in between in fingers as he gets them out from his pocket and starts to set them in the magazine of his gun. “Got it.”

“Contact me if there’s anything you need.”

“Go check on the vamp hideout in Ohio if you’ve got nothing better to do.”

He doesn’t even need any video to be certain about the exasperated eye roll that Sam’s doing right about now. “On it already, Dean.”

“Go keep yourself busy,” the older Winchester returns with an eye roll of his own, although the humour in his voice soon dissipates as soon as he hears a familiar growl in the distance. “Time to go, Sammy. We’ll catch up later.”

There’s a small sound of acknowledgement from his brother. “Alright. Over and out.” Another small burst of static buzzes through after those words, a signal to him that Sam has indeed turned off communications. Dean tugs the headset away from his ear and swiftly pockets it as the growl sounds out again, readying the gun around his hands before he starts to move, darting around the trees expertly while he keeps his ears out for the approaching rugaru.

He doesn’t have to wait long; just a few minutes after Dean starts running the rugaru is well and hot on his trail. It’s easy enough to hear its harsh breathing, the sound of its feet thudding heavily against the forest floor. The one thing Dean is thankful for about rugarus is that they’re not werewolves, and their humanlike bodies still put a bit of a limit to what a rugaru is capable of accomplishing. It’s not the most appealing thought, Dean knows, but it’s something that he can be content with in his life.

Dean uses the sounds to judge where the rugaru is behind him as he continues to run, using the familiarity of the terrain to his advantage as he tries to lead the beast around towards where the fire pit trap is waiting for it. He glances around, trying to spot the markers that would point him in the right direction-it’s something that he always makes a point to stress to everybody, because like hell memory’s going to be any use to you during the heat of the moment. That’s the theory Dean had both tried and failed to prove one too many times during his time still on the road.

The sounds of the rugaru echo much more closer to his ears now at the next turn, and Dean hisses out a curse under his breath as he darts his eyes around once more, attempting to notice the marker that should be here. Where the fuck could Jonathan have put it?

Too caught up in his search, Dean fails to notice the tree root sticking out in front of him and finds himself caught in surprise when his boot catches around it and the man trips. A grunt forces itself out from Dean’s lungs as he lands on his chest, palms slapping roughly against the ground as he reaches out due to instinctive reflex. The sudden momentum of the fall prevents him from being able to properly secure his landing, but fortunately the passing shower earlier in the day had made the ground muddy and wet, so Dean finds his landing somewhat cushioned. Still, that doesn’t exactly manage to stop the throb of pain that runs up and around his jaw due to the impact of his fall.

Dean manages to recover himself quickly enough, untangling his boot out from the tree root as he regains usage of his foot, scowling as he rubs at his jaw with one hand and quickly pushes himself back onto his feet. “Friggin’ tree roots,” he manages to swear out, right before the rugaru’s growls ring out and they sound far too close for comfort.

No point running now, the former hunter thinks grimly to himself right before ducking when a dark figure leaps right towards him from the shadows of the trees. Dean throws himself forward to avoid the rugaru’s attack, using the momentum to push himself right back to his feet as he readies his gun, index finger curling around the trigger. He keeps his eyes peeled on the rugaru as the beast recovers from the failed attack, black eyes flashing as it glares back at Dean with nothing less than undisguised hatred in its too-dark eyes because there’s no way that the rugaru won’t recognize him unless it’s been living under a rock.

Dean the Hunter. That’s what the monsters (and even some humans, though they don’t do it quite as openly) call him these days, and Dean would be lying if he said that the name isn’t fitting. Ever since the formation of the Winchester Organization supernatural activity has been an all time low, and anything that so much even moves a hair wrongly would be instantly dealt with. Instantly not being an expression at all. After all, there is-

The rugaru launches itself at him once more and Dean quickly ducks to avoid the attack, twisting around expertly as he does so and fires his gun. The sound of the gunshot echoes far too loudly in the forest, and there’s no doubt that the other hunters would have already heard it. The beast stills itself after the sound of the gunshot, staying tense and alert as it regards him cautiously, and Dean himself stays still as well even though he never relaxes the hold on his gun. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he states as calmly he can in-between breaths, keeping his gaze locked on the rugaru’s. “Stay quietly and we’ll make this quick; struggle and you’ll regret it.”

All that the rugaru does in return is to snarl stubbornly before springing forward in another bid to attack Dean, and the man curses as he fires his gun in a futile effort to make the beast stop. The rugaru takes the bullets without even so much as flinching, a roar tearing from its throat as it jumps, jaws wide enough to snap Dean’s head into two.

Dean is wholly prepared to throw the gun at the rugaru (even though Sam is most likely going to bitch at him about that later) and jump away while he has the chance, but before he can do any of that another figure suddenly appears before him without even so much as a sound. Before Dean can even react to the figure’s sudden appearance it moves, darting forward in a speed no human would ever be able to manage as a hand snaps out and grabs the rugaru by its skull. There’s a loud, sickening crunch of a skull getting cracked as the rugaru is slammed violently back down to the ground, and the beast barely manages out a sound before a sharp flare of light envelopes its entire body, so sudden and bright that Dean has to screw his eyes shut before his eyes get hurt (and they have been before-Dean knows this better than anyone).

The smell of charred flesh hits him first before Dean can open his eyes back, and the man has to blink for a few times in order to get the afterimages out from his vision. He doesn’t need to look to know that the rugaru is dead, and isn’t surprised at all when Sam’s voice crackles through from the headset in his pocket, the forest silent enough that he can hear his brother. “Dean?”

A couple of moments pass as Dean fishes the headset out of his pocket and fumbles with putting back on, but Sam is patient enough and doesn’t seem to sound that all annoyed when he prompts again, this time in Dean’s ear. “Dean? Things okay there?”

“Just peachy,” the older Winchester replies as he turns his gaze towards the figure now standing before the charred remains of the rugaru, the light just enough for Dean to make out the basic features of the newcomer-although really, Dean could still know who it is even without the light. “Get the guys to retreat; the rugaru’s dead. I’ll meet them all back at headquarters for the debriefing.”

Sam lets out a sigh, and the sound comes out as nothing more than another rush of static on Dean’s end. “Alright. Don’t stay out too long.” It’s easy enough to hear the underlying words under that voice.

Dean, however, pointedly chooses to ignore it. “Will do, Sammy. Later.” He quickly pulls out the earpiece as soon as he’s done, keeping it in his pocket again before he steps forward. It’s only then does the figure actually more, turning around to regard Dean with bright blue eyes that stand out far too much against the shadows of the forest.

Taking another few steps closer, Dean keeps his gun back in its holster as he gives the figure another glance before finally grunting out. “Shouldn’t you be in Nevada?”

The figure scoffs lightly. “The situation isn’t as bad as what the reports say. I’ve already dealt with it.” A pause. “Perhaps a bit too quickly, but I sensed that you were in danger.”

Dean lets out a snort in return, rolling his eyes. “It’s just a rugaru, Cas. Nothing that I can’t handle.”

“It could have still snapped your neck into two,” Castiel replies rather matter-of-factly, sending another glance back at the burnt corpse behind them. The former angel tucks his hands into the pockets of his pants as he adds on placidly. “My main duty is to ensure your survival, above everything else.”

Even though Cas says that, it doesn’t take Dean much to hear the almost robot-like way in how Cas just says that, almost as if he’s reciting that off a book rather than something that the other actually commits himself to. The whole spiel about protecting him is, of course, Sam’s work, done when he strengthened the seals holding Cas’s powers in place. Ever since the initial bonding Sam has put himself into improving the binds and making sure to cover every loophole so that Cas wouldn’t have a chance to break the seal and would never be able to turn against either of them. The part about ensuring Dean’s survival is also part of the seal, a forced instinct that’s seared into Cas so that even in the worst of situations, Dean would always have Cas protecting him even if it would cost the former angel his life. Although to be honest, Dean isn’t sure if there’s actually anything that can kill Cas. Seal or no seal, the Godhood had never really left Cas at all; it’s simply forced into servitude.

Dean doesn’t like it one bit, but there’s nothing he can do. It’s this or letting Cas rampage around the world once again, and now that the world is aware about the existence of the supernatural, it’s pretty clear how well that will go through.

The human stops himself before his train of thought can go any further, shaking his head to get rid of said thoughts before he glances back at Cas again. The former angel has his gaze cast back at the rugaru once again, the expression on his face almost thoughtful while he looks at the burnt remains of the creature. “It has been a while since a rugaru has appeared,” he remarks idly. “I think they’re getting sparse now after the pack I wiped out back in Utah.”

Utah. That’s one mission Dean knows he’ll never forget. It had been one of the rare times when Dean had let go a little of the leash that held Cas’s powers in check-the situation had been desperate, and most of the guys already dead-and what follows from that is something that scared even Dean. Cas had easily went through the entire place in a matter of minutes, tearing apart every non-human with little regard for anything else. What had been a week-long fight had been settled in nearly a heartbeat, and Dean hadn’t blamed the remaining survivors for turning in their badges and collecting whatever pensions that were granted to them. What Castiel did at the end couldn’t even be called a fight; it had been an outright massacre.

Its times like then when Dean has to wonder just what the hell he’s doing, having somebody (something) like Cas bound to him. More than the organization, more than being a leader, it’s simply this that terrifies Dean more than anything else. He’s the one human in the world who holds the leash to the most dangerous being ever known, and there’s no telling where or when Cas might just break the seal and turn against him. It’s a thought that he really doesn’t want to think about.

Dean clears his head-again-and focuses back on Cas, giving himself three seconds and then speaks up. “You informed the Nevada guys that you’re here?”

Castiel pauses for a moment. “I suspect Sam already has after contacting you,” he eventually replies, sounding as if he hadn’t just randomly popped like halfway across the friggin’ country in order to save Dean’s ass. It’s one of the things that the other guys in the organization have never been able to get used to, and Dean can’t really blame them. Even until now he still thinks it’s pretty disturbing, especially since Godhood seems to have taken out Cas’s wings-he hasn’t heard them in years. Dean does wonder what happened to Cas’s wings ever since his ascension into godhood, but he’s never found the courage to ask the other directly.

Damnit, there he’s already starting to think too much again. Dean stops himself for the third time, blinking as Cas regards him with a quizzical head tilt that looks both too familiar and too foreign at the same time. The former angel blinks back at Dean for a moment before talking. “Are we returning to headquarters now?”

“We probably should,” Dean returns with a small sigh as he rubs the back of his neck, quickly turning his gaze away from Castiel. “Sam’ll bitch if I don’t return soon.”

“Of course,” Cas replies in that bland, too neutral voice of his as he steps closer, just around the perimeter of Dean’s bubble of personal space and reaches out for the human, zapping them back to South Dakota without another word.



They call him the Hunting Dog.

Castiel would be lying if he says that he doesn’t see the irony of that name.

It’s not a compliment or a title to be proud of, and Castiel knows that-it’s an insult, a disgrace; he’s a God who’s been bound and chained to humans against his will, forced to do their work for them even without so much as his consent. To them he’s nothing more than a tool at their disposal, a weapon that’s treated with the utmost care because they do not want their dog to bite the hand that feeds it.

He can easily see and taste and smell the fear that rolls off the waves of the humans before him as Dean introduces him to them and briefs about the training exercise that’s about to be conducted. Castiel is the target, and the humans are supposed to surround and capture him with minimal casualties. Of course, had this been real, capturing him would be next to impossible; he’s still God, after all, despite everything. This is just a simulation, however, and these humans were fresh from their basic hunter’s training regime with this exercise being the test to determine the trainee’s worth. It’s something that’s been in place ever since the organization’s creation, something that Castiel has gone through millions of times at Dean’s request.

In a way, Castiel does like the challenge-there will always be some similarities at how the recruits move, but there are times when they do something that does catch him off guard. Having to hold himself back against them is also something that he likes at times, although most of the time he thinks that Dean is still far too soft on the trainees. Out there there is no second chance, no continues or retries; the moment when you’re taken down it’s over for you. Many of the trainees die in their first or second missions, and only a handful from each batch ever manage to come out as true hunters.

Still, he supposes that it’s not really his place to say anything. He is but a mere hunting dog-even if he is the best-and nobody has ever treated him as a proper human being aside from Dean. Even Sam tends to forget at times now, so taken he is with keeping the organization in check and maintaining relations with the human government. Whatever camaraderie he used to have with the younger Winchester had already been thin from the moment he broke the wall in Sam’s head, and the following years have all but snapped it altogether.

Only Dean ever talks to him nowadays, but even then their conversations no longer have the easy air that they once used to have. It hasn’t been there ever since the binding, and while there are times there are still snatches of it here and there, most of the time now there’s nothing but a quiet professionalism between them. They are not friends, nor are they comrades anymore than they are soldiers. Dean is the Hunter and he is the Hunting Dog, and that’s how things are supposed to be between them. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less as well.

Castiel does his best not to think about it, but sometimes in the middle of the night when he remembers Dean’s easy smiles and touches into Dean’s simple, idyllic dreams he stares at the seals at the back of his hand and wonders where it had all gone wrong, and why Dean had never managed to understand him.



It’s only a matter of time before this issue rears its ugly head, but Dean always hopes that it would be later rather than sooner. After all, with Cas around being the impenetrable, immovable mountain that the former angel is it’s not like he’s going to be in danger of dying anytime soon. There’s no point in dragging a kid to this world so quickly when he’s still a while ahead of him.

Sam, of course, disagrees, and as much as Dean tries to protest otherwise his brother constantly brings up one very strong and quite irrefutable point: even with Castiel around there’s no way the former angel can go against Death, and now that he’s nearing fifty years of age it’s pretty clear that Dean’s no longer the spry man he used to be. Even with all the energy and passion he still has there is no way that the Righteous Man can beat the natural pains of aging, and after one harrowing incident that had resulted in Dean fracturing his ankle pretty badly it’s pretty obvious that he can’t ignore this issue any longer.

“Anything can happen, Dean,” Sam stresses to him for what seems to be the millionth time in this conversation, hands gesturing wildly as he states his point.

Dean, of course, only grunts and attempts to avoid eye contact with his brother. “It still doesn’t mean that I’m just going to drag a kid into this, Sammy, blood or no blood. It isn’t right.”

The younger Winchester lets out a sigh at that, moving a hand to push away the bangs that cover his eyes. Even from a glance Dean can see the wrinkles that line around Sam’s eyes and the streaks of white that his brother doesn’t bother to cover up anymore. He knows very well that the two of them are getting old, and it’s only natural that the organization is going to need an heir in the near future-but still, to put that kind of responsibility to a kid? Dean sure as hell doesn’t want that to happen to any kid.

“Look, Dean,” Sam starts again, already starting to pull out the puppy dog eyes; how he still manages to do that in his forties, Dean has no idea of knowing. “We both know that it’s not about the organization here. We can let the government handle that. What’s more important is Castiel.”

Castiel. Of course. Dean bites down on his tongue before he can answer with a smart ass remark, although he still does scowl quite visibly. “What about Cas?” he eventually asks, attempting to keep his voice neutral. It’s harder to do that, these days.

Sam instantly puts on the old bitchface. “You know what I mean, Dean. Stop playing dumb.”

“Can’t we just let him go?” the older Winchester returns, his voice half-questioning. Cas has been bound and enslaved to them for nearly two decades already; surely there’s no more need to keep him like this. Cas deserves his life again, no matter what it may be. If there’s anything that Dean’s at least certain about, it’s that Cas isn’t their dog. He’s never been anything like that-to think of him as such isn’t just fair to him.

His brother, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to see that. “And let him loose on the world?” Sam quickly retorts, the corners of his lips already curling in displeasure at the mere thought of letting Cas go. “Dean, you know we can’t.”

The anger lashes out from Dean before he can stop it. “Can’t or won’t?” he shoots back, facing his brother properly as his scowl deepens. “We weren’t supposed to be keeping Cas like this, Sam.”

“He’s too dangerous,” Sam replies, his voice terse. “You know better than anyone else just how powerful he is, Dean. We can’t risk letting something like that loose on the world.”

“Stop talking like he’s a threat!” Dean snaps out now, irritation flaring through him. “He’s our friend, Sam. Do you even remember that? He isn’t just a weapon for us to use.” When had that line even appeared? Cas was-is-still supposed to be their friend. When had that connection disappeared?

Since you bound him, the traitorous voice whispers back in his mind in an answer he knows but chooses to not acknowledge, and Dean continues to ignore it in favour of listening to his brother’s response. “Everybody knows that he’s not human, Dean,” Sam explains, attempting to be logical and calm about it even though that’s the last thing his voice seems to be. “He hasn’t even aged at all ever since the organization started, and it’s not a secret to anyone how powerful he is. Even now people aren’t certain about Castiel at all. If we let him run around the world free, nobody’s going to be able to sleep peacefully at night.”

Logically, Dean knows that Sam has put out nothing but reasonably valid points, but he just can’t help but think how entirely unfair all of this is to Cas. Nothing has been fair to Cas right from day one now that he thinks about it-and fuck, Dean can’t believe it’s already been that long. How the hell has Cas made himself go through all these years while being treated like this?

Sam gently breaks through his brother’s thoughts then, glancing at him with an understanding look on his face as the younger Winchester slowly speaks up. “I know how you feel, Dean, but we can’t risk it. It’s not just about us anymore, not like it used to be.”

Knowing that there’s nothing he can say to that, Dean can only close his eyes and let out a hiss of breath in-between gritted teeth. “I know, Sammy,” he says in a near mutter. “I know.”

Sometimes Dean wishes that he wouldn’t know too well.



Castiel has known about the child since the moment of his creation. Even when the child is nothing but a growing cluster of cells in his mother’s womb, Castiel can already feel the bond forming between him and the child. This child has been conceived with the knowledge of what will be thrust upon this boy’s shoulders, and he will be brought up for the day where he takes over Dean’s position as the head of the Winchester organization, and as Castiel’s new master.

Certainly, Castiel knows that there are others who could have taken Dean’s place easily-there is Benjamin Braden, for one, but that child is now an impossibility, his right of blood taken away the moment Dean had asked him to remove all traces of Dean Winchester from both the boy and his mother. Any child of Sam Winchester’s would have had the right as well, but Castiel knows that the bond will not be as strong then, nor would it be as suitable. It has to be a child born of Dean’s blood for the seal to hold and remain in place.

The link slowly forms itself during the nine months when the child is still within his mother’s womb. Castiel does not tell Dean this, but he senses the child’s every emotion, every action and feeling and sensation. It is a strange thing to be going through, to be feeling what an unborn child does and experiencing the world through his eyes. In another time, Castiel knows that this would have made him sympathetic, would have made much more receptive to the child in time to come.

But what Castiel feels when the child is born is not sympathy, and neither is it understanding. He recognizes it as loathing, plain and simple, and the painful realization that no matter how he wishes for it this child (Jacob, he hears the name being whispered and he knows that will be the boy’s name) will never be Dean. Jacob will never see him in the way Dean does, and Jacob will never understand what it is that Dean feels no matter how often his father attempts to explain to him. Jacob will feel no empathy for the supernatural, and he will not understand what is truly like to have a God that is bound to only to obey you and nobody else.

He watches Jacob grow up in the days and months and years that pass, seeing him turn from a toddler to a child and then a teenager and finally an adult. The bond grows and solidifies with the passing time, finalizing on Jacob’s twenty-first birthday when he finally takes over the organization and Dean can finally retire from his line of duty. Castiel continues to perform his duty without fail, still bound to the blood that enslaved him, forced to serve the son of the man who he can never disobey.

Castiel knows that this bond he has with Jacob will never fade; it will always be there, just as it has always been there with Dean from the moment the man bound him-and even earlier before then, when Castiel had dived into Hell and raised the hunter from perdition. Through the bond and in watching the boy grow up he knows Jacob perhaps even better than he will ever understand Dean, but all the same Castiel can only feel nothing but hate and disgust as he dwells in the knowledge that Jacob can never be, and will never be Dean Winchester.



For all the things that he’s been through, the last thing Dean expects is to witness hunting changing the way it had-and even less so for the fact that he’s the main instigator of this entire change. Tales and stories about the supernatural is no longer just a story told to kids and over campfires deep in the night-the whole world knows of its existence now, and with specialized branches being set up across the world now Dean can feel more assured than ever that people will be able to sleep safely in their beds at night. Jacob’s excellent direction contributes to the feeling as well; knowing that his son (Jesus, his son) is proving himself to be the leader he deserves to be can let Dean at least feel proud of the fact that he’s raised his kid well.

Years ago Dean wouldn’t have thought that he would ever be in a situation like this; but time is a strange thing, and now Dean more or less finds himself comfortable enough with the idea and his position. Of course, half the time he still has no idea at all what he’s doing-but somehow things have managed to run smoothly enough through all these years, and that’s more than what Dean can bring himself to ask for.

Ever since his official retirement and with Jacob taking over the helm, he hasn’t been able to talk to Cas as much as he used to. Of course, Dean knows that this is to be expected since Cas still works for the organization, serving Jacob as required of him in the seals that hold the former angel in place. In the years that’s passed Cas still looks exactly the same as Dean remembers him to be, right from that moment on a certain September night when an angel walked through a shower of sparks and took bullets, rounds of rock salt and a demon-killing knife to the heart. Dean knows that Cas’ unchanging nature has most of the organization shunning him, but somehow Dean can’t imagine Cas ever changing from who he is now. There’s no way he can ever change, not while the former angel is still bound under his blood.

The thought of that fills Dean with guilt. Even after all these years Cas still isn’t given his freedom and denied of his rights, things that Dean would have given in a heartbeat had he been able to. But duty and responsibility prevents him from doing so-and maybe even fear, because for all that he is now Castiel is still a God in his own right. Dean doesn’t know what has happened to the other angels or Heaven or Hell, but he supposes that’s something he will know once his time finally comes.

Dean starts ticking off the days in his head on the day when he turns seventy-after having died countless times already and knowing more or less what’s waiting for him, the thought of his death doesn’t terrify him at all. It’s either Heaven or Hell for him and Dean knows what both of them offer, so he feels no need to worry or concern. Wherever he ends up in that’s where he’ll be, and Dean will accept his fate regardless of his destination.

To his credit, he manages to last until he’s nearly ninety despite his long-standing alcohol habit. It doesn’t surprise him that it’s his liver that fails him first, and Dean sees himself spending his last days in bed. John-Jacob’s son, named after Dean’s father-visits him daily and begs for him not to leave, but Dean won’t do the little kid any favours. As much as he loves his grandson, he knows that it’s no longer up to him to fight against fate and destiny. He’s already done it once and the world had nearly suffered in the consequences of that action, and Dean’s certainly not dumb enough to go against Death this time round. It’s his time, and Dean knows it.

He feels his strength leaving him with each passing day. Sam tries to be at his side but he doesn’t fair much better, old age taking its toll on him as well as his brother struggles to stay strong for both of them. Dean knows the truth though-they’ve been through everything together both thick and thin, and death will be no exception. Either they are going to pass on together or minutes from each other. The organization is going on strong, and Dean can trust in Jacob to set a fine example for everybody else. He can rest easy in that fact.

His only regret will ever be the fact that even with his death Cas will never be free, and he’s not that much of an optimist to think that it will ever change.



The years pass by in the blink of an eye, and as time rolls on Castiel feels the very world shifting around him even as he remains immovable, unchanging for he is a God and Gods have never needed a reason to change. He remains the same as he has always been-the obedient hunting dog that everybody makes him out to be, the Winchester Organization’s most powerful weapon.

Jacob is not Dean but Castiel tolerates him for Dean, because Jacob Winchester is Dean’s flesh and blood and he has been taught by Dean well. Castiel can see it in his words, his manners, in the way he directs the organization-they all remind him of Dean, and in that manner Castiel tries not to think of how he’ll never truly see it from Dean again once his time comes. He can sense it from the energy that drains off the man’s body, in the way at how Dean can no longer bring out the effort and stamina to accomplish even the simplest of human tasks. He’s been bedridden for the last week now, and Castiel knows that the time has finally come.

The time and date pops into his mind naturally when he brings himself to the corner of Dean’s room. It’s January 27th of the year 2067, a mere three days after Dean’s eighty-eighth birthday. At 3:02 in the morning the sun has not risen yet, and would not be for a few hours yet. From the moment he appears in the room Castiel knows that Dean has registered his presence, his senses clear for the first time in months. Castiel also knows that this is the first time in years when Dean is awake at this hour, and that the both of them can sense the reaper who is waiting patiently from one of the other corners of the room.

It does not surprise Castiel that Dean is the one who eventually breaks the silence between them. He sees the human turning his head towards him, a corner of his lips curling into a small smile as he greets him. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel steps forward, moonlight highlighting his features as he walks into the light that streams through the open windows. He continues to remain silent as he looks at Dean, watching those green eyes light up in recognition as the smile on his face widens in mirth.

“Still haven’t changed your attire, huh?” the human asks, and Castiel only nods his head in response, unable to say anything else.

3:04.

“You are dying,” he states plainly, because there is no other way to put it. Castiel lets himself take one step closer to the bed, eyes unblinking as he looks over at Dean. “Sam is still sleeping, but he will pass on a few hours after you.” He pauses and tilts his head, regarding the human much more closely. “The organization will fully pass to Jacob once the both of you move on.”

Dean only lets out a snort and closes his eyes. “You really haven’t changed at all,” he states, and Castiel doesn’t respond. There’s nothing in that statement to respond to. Hadn’t Dean said something to that extent before, some time ago? Something about never changing, and that’s what he has simply done. He has never changed, even until now.

Without anything else to say, Castiel only continues to state the facts that lie in his head, voicing them out because he wants Dean to hear them for some unknown reason Castiel cannot comprehend in his mind. “There is not much to do for me these days. Most of our targets have gone into hiding, and unless they strike then there will be no action against them. That is the policy you have put in place.” He finds himself pausing again. “Jacob will continue to uphold that policy, even after your passing.”

“Damn straight he’d better,” Dean returns with a fondness that Castiel knows well enough-it is the fondness from father to son, something that Castiel himself can never truly understand. “If he doesn’t I’m going to get myself right back here and kick his ass one way or another.”

3:07.

The answer comes out from Castiel before he can recognize it. “That would not be a good choice of action. Jacob would shoot you with the rock salt first.”

A grin is what Castiel sees from Dean in response. “If he doesn’t shoot me that’s when I’ll really get mad,” he replies with too much ease in his tone.

“Your body will be cremated,” Castiel states once more, wondering how the answers come out from him so easily when he hasn’t so much as talked to anybody before the line of work in years. “Putting your spirit back to rest will be hard if it happens.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” the human answers easily, waving it off with a bony, wrinkled hand. At one glance Castiel can already see the calluses and scars already long gone and faded from the combination of both age and time, replacing the marks with nothing but wrinkles that tell him of Dean’s old age, and of the minutes that now tick down to Dean’s last moments.

Castiel brings his gaze away from Dean’s hand to look at Dean again and reply. “It is not beyond me.”

The human snorts yet again. “I didn’t think that it would.” He attempts to shift in his bed then, but to no avail as his limbs fail to respond to his waning strength. Castiel makes no notion to move and help, but he takes another step closer, his eyes still unblinking as he looks at the spluttering flames which had once been Dean’s soul. In a matter of minutes, the soul would dissipate, and the spirit will move on with the reaper that still waits at the corner.

Dean looks back up to him once he realizes his failed attempt to move, a mirthless smile on his face as the human stares back at him. “You really need to stop doing the staring thing, man. People are never going to feel comfortable with that.”

“But you are,” Castiel returns without thinking, his gaze never leaving Dean. The moonlight doesn’t fully hit him but Castiel can see Dean well enough-darkness has never been an issue to him. He sees the grey hairs where they had once been dark, the wrinkles and lines that shape around Dean’s face and the bags that hang down from the human’s eyes. But the eyes themselves have never changed even once, and now it is the only thing about Dean that Castiel recognizes wholly as he looks at them and he sees Dean looking back at him, and for a moment the world seems to stand still around him.

3:11.

Dean blinks once and Castiel unconsciously does so, and when he opens them again he finds himself standing next to Dean’s bed and looking right down at the human who’s about to pass away. For a moment the eyes seems to glaze over, but Dean blinks again and they’re clear once more, bright and brilliant and it’s everything that Castiel remembers about those eyes.

He watches as those green eyes stare up at him, strong and fierce and passionate even until now, and through their now-fading bond Castiel hears the words in his head even before the human says them.

“I love you.”

Once upon a time, that had been the only thing in the world that Castiel wants to hear. Dean had been his reason for rebelling, for fighting, for continuing to fight, for living on. But Dean had bound him and he had enslaved him and then had treated as somebody much more than that. He is just a weapon to the world, nothing more than the organization’s top hunting dog, but Dean has never stopped treating him as a friend, as a companion, as a comrade. Once Dean passes on it will just be Castiel, and for all that Dean has tried to teach his son, Jacob will never look at him the same way that Dean does to him.

He will remain in this world, bound and held to the orders of the Winchester bloodline. Jacob will be the first, and he will treat him fairly in his father’s memory. But Castiel is no fool-the sentimentality will only last for so long, and as the memory of Dean fades to nothing more than a story so will any compassion for him, and from there it is but a matter of time before he will be treated as nothing more than a mere weapon for their use. And finally, when there is no longer anything of the supernatural to kill, he will be thrown off and shunned, put away out of fear and uncertainty over the power he wields. It might take years or decades or centuries, but eventually Castiel knows that this will be his fate. He will never be free from the Winchesters now, and it is Dean who has placed this fate on him.

But even then, Castiel cannot hate him, for it is because of Dean he is like this, and it will be for Dean that he will continue to be like this. There is no other way to live his life, and Castiel knows that better than anybody else. Castiel loves Dean Winchester too much to hate him, but at the same time it is because of this love that he is placed in this life now, and he hates Dean Winchester for making him live through all of this.

So all Castiel can do is stare back down at Dean and put a thin smile on his face, replying to the words that he’s always wanted to hear, be it as Castiel the angel or as Castiel the new God.

“I don’t.”

Dean only smiles back in response, his expression both wry and understanding at the same time as he slowly closes his eyes and answers in a near silent whisper that echoes far too loudly in Castiel’s ears.

“I know.”

Dean Winchester passes away on a Thursday at 3:12am, January 27th 2067.

At that same moment, the angel once known as Castiel dies along with him and the being that remains is the enslaved god that the Winchesters bound to their will.