Black Cat Magics 2/2

[pandionpandeus]

It’s remarkably easy, adjusting his routine to accommodate Sam’s presence. After a couple of days of carefully supervising both Gabriel and his brother, Dean finally feels comfortable enough to go out and make the rounds of his traps. He spends hours out in the woods the next days, alternately tossing old, unusable carcasses and carefully extricating the newer ones that have good pelts and meat. It’s rather tedious and once he’s done, he’s glad to turn back towards home.

The rest of the day is spent skinning the animals and getting the furs scraped, the meat carved off the bones and stored in the icehouse. He tends to the animals and washes off the blood and bits of viscera before heading back to the cabin.

Sam’s spent all day here, with Gabriel. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together for so long and Dean’s admittedly a bit worried about what he’ll find. But when he glances around, he finds both Gabriel and Sam alive and apparently unharmed.

Gabriel’s still sprawled out next to the fire and Sam is at the table, sheets of parchment spread across the surface and a stick of charcoal in his hand. It could be work that he brought with him or something of a similar nature, but somehow Dean doubts that. He peers over Sam’s shoulder, makes out a few words and grins.

“Writing a journal about the kitty?”

“Dean!” Sam nearly shouts, nearly falling out of his chair. Dean laughs, stumbles over to the other chair and drops into it, grinning wide enough that his cheeks hurt. “It’s not funny!”

“Oh, but it is!” Dean gasps out. Gabriel looks at them, then huffs and lies back down and somehow, that’s even funnier and it sets Dean off again, holding onto the table for support as he laughs.

Sam scowls at him, arms crossed, but it takes Dean a good while to calm down enough that looking at the parchment doesn’t set him off again.

“Gods, I needed that,” Dean sighs, wiping at his watering eyes. “Seriously, though. You’re writing about being in the same room as a witch?”

Blushing, Sam fiddles with his charcoal stick. “Well, there’s not really any factual information about witches,” he says. “So I figured that since I have this opportunity, I could rectify that.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re related to me,” he says. Ignoring Sam’s muttered, “Same here,” he continues, “So, I bet you haven’t eaten very much today. Stew or sandwich for dinner?”

Gabriel perks up at the mention of food and Dean waves a hand at him. “I’m talking human food,” he clarified. “You’re getting cold cuts.”



Fifteen minutes later, though, Gabriel stops in the middle of tearing at a slice of meat, lifts his head and swivels his ears towards the door. Dean swallows a spoonful of stew and frowns at him. “What’s up?”

The cat doesn’t answer, just keeps staring at the door like he’s expecting something to come through it.

“Maybe it’s something outside?” Sam suggests, blowing at his bowl of stew. Gabriel turns his head to look at Sam, then goes back to staring at the door.

“Yeah, maybe. I’ll check it out.” Pushing his bowl back, Dean heads for the door, grabbing his knife just in case. Outside, the sun’s mostly set and it’s mostly dark under the trees. For a moment, he doesn’t see anything.

Then his eyes adjust and part of a tree’s shadow separates into the shape of a giant cat sitting on its haunches, pale eyes staring back at Dean. Carefully, Dean walks towards it. He stops a few feet from the cat and crosses his arms, mindful of the knife he’s still holding. The cat stares back, its blue eyes a stark contrast against to the ink black fur.

"I don't suppose you happen to be just passing through?" Dean asks. The witch doesn't even blink, just sits there like a living statue. "Here for business, then?" Dean continues. No reaction. "Hey, fuzzbutt, I'm talking to you."

The cat's ears go back at that, lip curling up to reveal a long fang. Dean raises an eyebrow. "Ah, so kitty does understand." The cat shifts and a stern-looking young man is standing in its place, blue eyes still locked on Dean's and apparently completely unconcerned with the fact that he’s stark naked.

"My name is not 'fuzzbutt' or 'kitty,'" he says in a surprisingly deep, gravel-rough voice.

Dean grins at him. "It speaks! So, you here to do your boss' dirty work or you going to play nice?"

The witch is silent for a long moment. "Gabriel has been expecting me. I will, as you say, 'play nice,'" he rumbles, sweeping past Dean and heading for the cabin. Dean rolls his eyes, but follows, wondering how Sam will react to a witch capable of talking back to him.



He reacts like a kid faced with too many sweets to choose from, apparently.

Sam has always been bookish, preferring to stay inside and learn to read and figure things out and just hungry for knowledge in general. It’s part of what makes him good at his job, managing so many different items and accounts and dealing with people from out of the area as much as he does. But witches and magick are things that he can’t find out from the human traders and Gabriel can’t talk to him to answer the questions Sam’s had burning on the tip of his tongue for the past few days.

Dean enters the cabin to find the naked witch staring down Sam from a distance of about a foot. Considering Gabriel’s usual space bubble in the dreamscape is pretty much negligible, Dean has a feeling that the whole no-personal-space deal is either a species thing or a cultural thing and he’s not touching the naked thing. In the dreamscape, any attempt to put some distance between himself and Gabriel usually only gives him about a minute of breathing space before Gabriel is draping himself over Dean’s lap again.

Sam, however, just looks like he’s found the answer to life.

They stand there for a long moment, just staring at each other, before Dean coughs into his hand. “So,” he says when they both look at him. “I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam and you apparently already know Gabriel. And you are…?”

The witch blinks at him. “I am called Castiel,” he says, then turns back to Sam. “I was not aware that humans came in such large sizes.”

And Sam, being Sam, doesn’t even bother to take offense at being called big. His eyes just go wide in excitement and he steers Castiel over to the table, asking, “Really? So, how much do you know about humans? Do they teach you things or do you learn on your own or what?”

Castiel’s answer is a low rumble, but Dean’s already tuned out the actual words. He steps over to the fireplace, tugs on a corner of one of Gabriel’s blankets and sits down next to the feline witch, who has been watching Sam and Castiel’s interaction with interest. “Well, things are definitely getting interesting,” he observes. Gabriel huffs and butts his head against Dean’s thigh. Smiling, Dean obeys the silent order and scratches at the back of the cat’s head and down under his jaw. Almost immediately, Gabriel goes boneless and starts purring up a storm.

“Well, at least some things never change,” Dean says.



Castiel is a bit more like what Dean would have thought a witch would be like. Brusque and blunt, he has a tendency to stare a little too hard for Dean’s comfort and a sense of not-quite-human that makes Dean do double-takes every time he notices it.

“I am not particularly proficient at healing,” he says. Behind Dean, Gabriel snorts and Castiel narrows his eyes at the cat before looking back at Dean and Sam. “But I will do what I can to speed Gabriel’s recovery.”

“So, you’re not on Zachariah’s side, I take it?”

Castiel glares at him. “No, I am not. Zachariah has some sway over many of my brethren, but my loyalty has always been to the Arches alone and it always will be.”

“Well, good,” Dean says, nodding. Sam leans forward.

“So, how does the witch hierarchy work?”

Dean stops listening at that point.



Four people is rather crowded for Dean’s cabin; he’d built it for one, two at the most and he just doesn’t have the floor space to accommodate both his giant of a brother and two witches.

The first night, Castiel sleeps curled in his cat form at Gabriel’s back and Sam continues to sleep on a pile of straw and blankets he put together the first night he came to the cabin which, judging by the way he’s sprawled out every morning when Dean gets up to care for the animals, is more comfortable than it looks. Dean just rolls his eyes and steps over his brother’s limbs on his way to the door.

Then Sam wakes up with the brilliant idea that, to save on floor space and body heat, Gabriel should sleep with Dean in the bed and Castiel can share Sam’s straw bed near the fireplace. Dean’s not so sure of the good-idea-ness of that, but Castiel nods and Gabriel grins at him, all sharp teeth and curled tongue, and Dean apparently doesn’t get a say.

Which is how he finds himself helping Sam lift Gabriel onto the bed that evening and then sliding into said bed after. Gabriel scoots closer as best he can without aggravating his still-healing wounds and Dean silently admits that the long line of warmth along his back is rather nice. He spares a thought of sympathy for Castiel, who will have to deal with Sam’s snuggling tendencies, before dropping off into sleep.

His dreamscape is very similar to how reality looked moments ago, except that instead of a cat pressed against his back, he’s got a short, mouthy, human-shaped witch that Dean’s become annoyingly fond of. “Can’t I just get one night of not listening to you blabber on about whatever?” Dean grumbles, stubbornly keeping his eyes tightly shut. Much as he likes Gabriel, several weeks of this starts to wear thin. At least, Dean’s pretty sure it should. The fact that it hasn’t is a tad bit worrying.

Gabriel laughs, his breath warm against the back of Dean’s neck and wow, that’s an odd sensation. Dean’s spine tingles from the base of his head down to the small of his back and he feels the hairs on his arms stand on end. “Where’s the fun in that, Dean-o?” Gabriel says, voice oddly low and rough.

Then he licks Dean.

And Dean’s whole body goes tingly. Surprised and not a little confused, Dean scrambles away, twisting to look back at Gabriel. “Dude! What the hell?” he bites out.

Gabriel just smirks up at him, stretched out against the rough blanket like he’s lounging on silk. “What? Afraid of my witch cooties, Dean?”

“No!” Dean says automatically, scowling.

“Then what’s wrong?” Gabriel asks, sitting up and leaning in close so that his face is inches away from Dean’s. “What’s got your trousers in a twist?”

“Nothing,” Dean mutters, looking away. The dream forms of his brother and Castiel are on the floor and he knows they’re only there because he expects them to be, that they’re not really there, but it still sparks a fear that one of them will wake up and somehow discover that Gabriel just licked him.

Which sort of makes the whole thing sound ridiculous. He looks back at Gabriel and frowns. “Why’d you lick me, anyway? Been a cat too long?”

Gabriel snorts. “Hardly,” he says, laying back down and closing his eyes. “I once spent a whole year as a cat for no reason except that I wanted to watch the seasons change like that. This is nothing.”

“Then why?” Dean presses, unsure why the answer is suddenly so important. One of Gabriel’s eyes opens, just enough for a glimpse of bright gold to peek through.

“It’s one of the ways we show affection,” Gabriel says softly. “Now, lie back down. You aren’t going to get any rest unless you’re actually lying down.”

Mind focused on Gabriel’s answer, Dean obeys, not even protesting when Gabriel drapes himself half over Dean’s chest and then goes boneless with a low hum of contentment.

“You like me?” Dean asks, voice oddly small. He’s a bit unsure as to why that is so important.

The puff of air against his sternum is warm, as is Gabriel’s tongue when he swipes it across the skin there in a brief swipe. “Duh. Now get some sleep.”



For a while, things stay about the same. Sam helps out with the animals and chores around the farm, Castiel trailing after him like a shadow. Gabriel lounges in Dean’s bed, sleeps most of the day and spends the night hours being sarcastic and witty in Dean’s dreamscape. The licking thing becomes something of a game, with Gabriel attacking Dean with his tongue at random moments and Dean warding him off with varying levels of effectiveness, but otherwise it’s the same old stuff. Dean occasionally catches Gabriel looking at him oddly, but he does his best not to think about that too much. In the evenings, Castiel spends time with Gabriel, doing what he can to speed Gabriel’s recovery.

A week later, though, Dean slips from his dreamscape into the waking world, only to think he hasn’t left. Gabriel, in his human form, is sprawled on the bed next to him, eyes shut and snoring lightly. Dean stares at him for a long moment, then tentatively reaches out to shake the witch’s shoulder, mindful of the still healing wounds down Gabriel’s side.

“Gabriel?”

“Mmmf-whaa?” Gabriel says, blinking blearily up at Dean.

“I’m not still sleeping, am I?” Dean asks.

Gabriel blinks at him for a moment longer, then pushes himself onto his back and starts to stretch out, like Dean’s seen him do countless times. In his dreams.

This time, Gabriel gets his arms about head-level and winces. “Oww, okay.” Carefully, he curls back up and rolls his head towards Dean. “Not a dream. Dreams don’t hurt like that,” he says. Then he seems to realize that Dean’s staring at him. “What, you just realize there’s a cat in your bed?”

Dean’s eyebrows go up. “No, I’m pretty sure I realized that about a week ago. I’m a bit more surprised by the fact that you’re human and I’m not dreaming.”

Gabriel scowls at him. “I’m not human, you idiot. And I certainly don’t look like one at the mo…ment…” He trails off, eyes going wide. “You understood me.”

“What tipped you off?” Dean retorts, sitting up far enough to cross his arms without losing his balance. “You mean you did this by accident?”

“If you’re asking if I planned to shift forms in my sleep, I can assure you the answer is no,” Gabriel says dryly. He tilts his head far enough to look down at himself. “Well, I think I was pretty much done with the bandages, anyway.”

“Pretty much,” Dean agrees. “You’re going to need clothes, though.”

Gabriel makes a face. “Clothes are so restrictive,” he complains.

“Yeah, well, you’re living with humans, so you’re going to have to make some sacrifices.”

“Dean?” Movement from Dean’s peripherals catches his attention and he turns to look at Sam, propped up on his elbows with Castiel draped over his legs and hips, still asleep. Looks like Sam’s not the only one with nighttime snuggling tendencies. Dean wonders for a second if Castiel is sharing dreams with Sam and then decides that he doesn’t want to know. “Who are you talking to?”

“Gabriel,” Dean says. “He accidentally shifted in his sleep.”

“He’s human, now?” Sam asks, visibly perking up.

“I’m not human,” Gabriel states, pulling himself across Dean’s lap to look at Sam directly. “What is it with you guys and assuming that if it looks like a human and walks like a human, it’s human? I’m a witch, get it right.”

“Oh, uh, right. Of course,” Sam stammers, clearly flummoxed by Gabriel finally being able to talk back. Dean grins; he knows the feeling. “I, uh, just meant that you are-“

“I know what you meant, gigantor,” Gabriel says, waving a hand at Sam. “Now, wake up my little brother, would you? I want a second opinion on some stuff.”

Sam’s halfway through shaking Castiel’s shoulder before Dean realizes what Gabriel said.

“Castiel’s your little brother?” he asks. Gabriel shrugs.

“Sort of. He’s not related to me by blood, but because of various things that would take a long time to explain to you, he’s considered part of my family. Though, I’ve got a good hundred brothers and sisters according to those various things, so it’s not like it’s a terribly great honor or anything.”

“Oh,” Dean says.

In his lap, Gabriel twists to smirk up at him. “You didn’t understand a thing I said, did you?”

Dean flushes and looks away to where Castiel is slowly waking up. “Er, not really.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re so pretty, then.”



Once Castiel pronounces Gabriel no worse than he was the day before, Gabriel sets about testing the boundaries of his human form. Dean suffers a barrage of touches and verbal instructions before he makes his escape to the table, oddly flushed and pointedly not looking back at the bed.

Unfortunately, in this new form, once Gabriel gets upright-and Castiel apparently sees no problem with helping his brother get upright, though he cautions against any lifting or sudden bending--he’s able to walk perfectly fine. So, mere minutes after Dean sat down in the chair, Gabriel once again makes himself at home in Dean’s lap, one arm wrapped around Dean’s shoulders and completely naked.

“Okay. Rule number one about being human in this cabin,” Dean says, gesturing frantically at Sam. “You wear at least a pair of pants.” He’s pretty sure he just said this, too, but apparently witches are dense about acting human.

Gabriel makes a face. “But they’re so constricting,” he complains again. “I need wide open spaces!”

“Yeah, well, you can borrow a pair of Sam’s pants. Those’ll be plenty wide on you,” Dean points out. Gabriel pouts, but takes the pair of pants Sam offers and carefully stands.

He looks down at his feet, at the still red wounds across his torso and sighs. “Cas, a little help, please?”

Dean looks away as Castiel helps Gabriel step into the too-big pants. When he looks back, he finds Sam’s pants barely hanging onto Gabriel’s slim hips, but at least the witch is covered enough for human interaction.

“Good. Now, don’t even think about-Gabriel.”

Once again perched on Dean’s lap, Gabriel grins at him. “What?”

Rubbing at his temple, Dean sighs. “Never mind.” He ignores Sam’s muffled laughter and Castiel’s soft question about what’s so funny.



“Well, it was easier to find you than I thought it might be,” a man says the next night and Dean jolts upright to stare at the man standing in the middle of the cabin. “Gabriel didn’t bother hiding the excess magick when he finally shifted, though at least he retained enough sense to guard his dreams. As I cannot access him directly, I suppose you will have to do.”

“Who are you?” he says, automatically checking that Sam’s dream form is still asleep. Then he realizes that Gabriel hasn’t moved and he glances behind him.

Gabriel’s dream form looks like Sam’s and Castiel’s do, a slightly faded version of his real life self. It’s not the vibrantly alive version that Dean’s come to expect in his dreamscape and he frowns when he looks back at the man. He’s balding, a bit pudgy and really, Dean would prefer to not know that the disdain for clothes is not limited to just Gabriel and Castiel. He’s also got flat eyes that give Dean the shivers.

The guy’s obviously a witch, if he’s walking in Dean’s dreams, but… “Who are you?” he repeats, even though he’s suddenly certain he already knows the answer.

The man raises his eyebrows and smiles. “Who I am doesn’t matter. Not for the purpose of this little visit.”

“Which is what exactly?” Dean asks. He doesn’t push for the man’s name, figures it doesn’t matter, since this guy has to be Zachariah.

“To show you what will happen if you continue to aid Gabriel,” Zachariah says. “Think of it as a little glimpse into the future.”

The room starts to spin and the quickly moving colors make Dean nauseous. Closing his eyes, he concentrates on the fact that he doesn’t feel like he’s moving until the nausea goes away. When he opens his eyes, he’s somewhere else.

“What the hell?” he asks, glancing around.

He’s still in his cabin, though it’s hardly recognizable as such anymore. The structure is collapsed, the wood planks charred and broken. The barn, when Dean turns to look, is in a similar state. Around him, he can pick out the posts of his bed, his table and chairs, broken but recognizable. Zachariah is talking again before Dean can understand.

“This is the result of you aiding that traitor,” Zachariah says, one hand sweeping out to indicate the scene. “This, I believe, is your cabin and -“

“Wait,” Dean interrupts. “What do you mean by traitor?” Gabriel certainly hadn’t mentioned that.

Zachariah smirks again. “Of course, why else would he be hunted down? He probably fed you some story about being betrayed, didn’t he? Of course. He’s well known for being a liar and trickster. It’s not your fault,” he says, voice saccharine and just patronizing enough to set Dean’s teeth on edge. “He’s smart, Gabriel is. And he’s an Arch, so he gets away with a lot, by virtue of being one of those hallowed four. But,” Zachariah crosses his arms, “this time he has gone too far and I have been sent to bring him back or take what measures are needed to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“So how does that translate into this?” Dean asks, changing the subject. He’d accepted Gabriel’s story because he hadn’t had reason to believe otherwise, but this is a very different version of events and he’s not sure what to think. Having Zachariah staring at him, though, isn’t helping.

“This is where he is staying, correct?” Zachariah asks. “I am not all that far away and chances are very good that this is where I will catch up to him. Even an Arch cannot heal from the wounds he suffered soon enough to avoid me. And if he is here and he chooses to fight…Well.”

Dean looks around at the destruction again, something dense and cold settling in his stomach. Zachariah just smiles.

“Shall I count on your cooperation when the time comes, then?”



Dean wakes up with a start, limbs flailing and barely missing hitting Gabriel as he fights his way free of the suddenly suffocating blanket. Gabriel hisses, the sound odd coming from his human vocal cords, but Dean ignores him, focused on getting his breathing under control. Once he’s not gasping every other breath, he shifts so he’s seated on the edge of the bed, hunched over with his elbows braced on his knees.

“Dean?” Gabriel asks softly, hand brushing lightly across Dean’s shoulders. “You okay?”

His burned cabin still fresh in his mind, Dean twists away, out of Gabriel’s reach. Gabriel stares at him, eyes wide. Breathing for a moment longer, Dean manages a humorless bark of laughter. “Zachariah is a bag of dicks,” he says, voice rough. Gabriel goes still.

“Zachariah?”

“Hijacked my dreams,” Dean explains, staring down at the rough wood of the floor. He’s not sure he can stand to look at Gabriel for very long, right now. “Said he’d tracked the bleed from your shift into human form. Couldn’t get into your head and figured mine would work just as well.”

Gabriel growls and Dean’s suddenly grateful that the witch isn’t capable of shifting again right now; an angry witch is one thing, but an angry witch with claws and fangs isn’t something Dean wants to see. Especially now. “I am going to kill him slowly,” Gabriel vows and his voice sends shivers down Dean’s spine that have nothing and everything to do with the horror Zachariah had shown him.

“Gabriel…”

The witch huffs. “Oh, relax; I’m not going to bite you.” Dean winces before he can stop himself and Gabriel’s eyes narrow. “What, exactly, did that bastard tell you?”

Sighing, Dean shifts on the bed, staring at the rough-hewn ceiling. Burned timbers, black char and singed wood. “I don’t want to talk about it. Can I just sleep?” And not think about how you’re wanted by your own kind and you’ve been sleeping in my bed, your brother next to mine, he doesn’t add.

For a moment, he’s not sure Gabriel will go with it, but then he can feel the tension bleeding away and Gabriel doesn’t move in as close as he usually does, but he does reach over and lay his fingers against Dean’s arm. “In the morning. You will tell us in the morning,” he says firmly.

Dean nods. “Yeah, okay.”

There’s a moment of silence, then Dean feels warm air against his cheek. “I’m sorry,” Gabriel murmurs. “This is my fault.” His fingers tighten on Dean’s arm, just a bit and it feels, if not quite comforting, then at least not frightening. “I will guard your dreams. Sleep.”

He doesn’t reply to Gabriel’s words, just closes his eyes and hopes that things will be better in the morning.



The next time Dean wakes up, it’s to the sounds of Sam clattering around the cabin and the low rumble of Castiel’s voice. Cracking his eyes open just enough to see, Dean rolls his head in the direction of the sounds, finding his brother and the witch over by the fire, presumably doing something breakfast-related. Dean lets his eyes fall shut again and pushes into the warmth at his back, content to stay here for a while longer.

Gabriel hums and Dean feels the brief swipe of the witch’s tongue across the nape of his neck. He gets that tingling sensation again, almost familiar now, and he smiles. Things are good, right now. Sam’s here and Dean’s got a warm bed and a warmer bedmate and the only thing preventing this from being just about perfect is the specter of Zachariah hanging over them.

Dean sits up abruptly, ignoring Gabriel’s muffled sound of protest. “That bag of dicks,” Dean growls at nothing.

Sam looks at him. “What?”

“Zachariah,” Dean explains, reaching for a clean shirt and a pair of mostly clean pants. “He’s a big bag of dicks. Hijacked my dreams last night.”

“How did he manage to find you?” Castiel asks, frowning. “He shouldn’t even be aware of your existence.”

Dean shrugs and lays back down to pull the pants on under the covers. “He said something about bleed from Gabriel’s shift.” Sitting up again, he swings out of bed and stumbles to the water bucket, drinking straight from the ladle.

“Ah,” Castiel says. “Yes, that would be possible if he knew what he was looking for.”

“What happened?” Sam asks.

“Good question, Sambo,” Gabriel says from the bed. “Time for that explanation, Dean.”

Dean takes a deep breath and sits down at the table. It doesn’t take long to tell about what Zachariah had showed him and when he’s done, he goes quiet, staring at the table’s surface.

“Is it true?” Sam asks, after a moment. Dean glances up, prepared to defend himself, only to find Sam looking at Gabriel. “Is what Zachariah told Dean true?”

Gabriel’s leaning against the wall, blankets draped across his legs. “It’s possible that if he confronts me here that there will be collateral damage. I would not do so intentionally, but magick is not always precise and either of us could burn this cabin down easily during a fight.”

“And what about the traitor thing?” Sam presses.

Dean looks away, can’t watch Gabriel answer. He glances at Castiel, wonders if maybe the other witch knows the truth. But Castiel’s expression is closed off, giving Dean no clues.

“There were…circumstances,” Gabriel says slowly, staring down at his hands.

“Circumstances?”

“I’ve got a bit of a reputation for flaunting the rules,” Gabriel says, shrugging lightly. “And there’s a faction of traditionalists that would love to see me punished for my transgressions. Guess who their leader is?”

“Zachariah?” Sam supplies and Gabriel jabs a finger at him.

“Bingo. So, Zach’s gunning for me to be punished, preferably by being demoted from Arch. I figure he’s not really a threat, so I keep doing what I do. Until…”

“Until?” Sam prompts.

“Until he broke the first law and went to a human town,” Castiel interjects. “Not even an Arch is above punishment for such disregard for the laws that have kept us safe for millennia.”

Gabriel shrugs. “So I get sent into the deep forest to think about my actions, Zachariah follows me with his wolves, and here I am.”



Sam starts asking about technicalities, so Dean quietly slips out of the cabin to tend to the animals. They don’t really need anything right now, but it’s easier to go through the motions of checking feed and water levels than it is to think about what Gabriel’s told them.

He’s adding a bit more hay to the trough when Castiel steps into the barn, minimally dressed in a pair of pants. It had taken a fair bit of arguing to get the witches to agree to wear at least that when they walk around and although Gabriel takes every opportunity to “forget” it, Castiel’s been good about it. Dean appreciates it; it’s bad enough that Gabriel sleeps nude, he doesn’t need more nudity out of bed.

“You are distraught,” Castiel says, grabbing the second pitchfork and helping Dean toss the hay.

Dean snorts. “What tipped you off?”

“Do you not believe Gabriel is telling the truth?”

Dean pauses, stares down at his hands on the pitchfork’s handle for a long moment. “I’d like to believe it,” he says, stabbing at the hay.

Castiel nods. “But Zachariah was convincing in his argument otherwise,” he says. “Would it help to see another point of view?”

Dean looks at him sharply. “You can do that? Get in my head?”

“Only if you allow it,” Castiel assures him. “I do not have the ease with dreamwalking that Gabriel has, but if you relax enough to let me in, I can…get in your head, yes.”

A few minutes pass in silence as they start forking in new hay to cover the stall floors. “Okay,” Dean says finally. “Tonight.”

“Very well,” Castiel says.



That night, he shows Dean where the witches live, or at least the main establishment; Castiel explains that the witches are much like humans in that sense and live in various villages all over the country. It’s rather different than what Dean had imagined. For one, all the houses and buildings are actually either up in the trees or underground in an extensive warren of caves and tunnels. All of it is integrated with the trees and the earth around it and Dean wonders if he would be able to see the structures if he didn’t know what he’s looking at. He looks, but doesn’t see a single other witch.

“This is my dreamscape,” Castiel says, startling Dean. He almost forgot the witch was there. “We are the only ones here.”

Castiel takes him on a brief tour, points out the living houses in the trees, which one is his, the main structure that the Arches hold court in, which turns out to be underground, along with storerooms and meetings halls, all connected by twisting tunnels lit by glowing balls that Castiel calls witchlights. Dean listens to Castiel name things and talk about their uses and doesn’t try to remember or really understand.

Eventually, they come back to the main hall, where four thrones are set up against one end and columns of stone hold up the ceiling. “That is Gabriel’s throne,” Castiel says, pointing at the one on the far right. It’s dark wood, smooth and bright where the witchlights reflect, a cushion on the seat, and Dean can picture Gabriel lounging in it easily, smirking with his legs over one armrest. “Next to him is Lucifer, then Michael and Raphael.” They’re all made of the same dark wood, but Michael and Lucifer’s have a single large white stone set into the backs of their thrones, smaller curved stones set around them. Dean stares at them for a moment before realizing that they represent the phases of the moon.

“This is where the other Arches passed punishment on Gabriel,” Castiel continues. “Would you like to see what happened? I was there.”

“You can do that?” Dean asks.

“This is my dreamscape,” Castiel reminds him. “I can make it what I wish, even a memory.”

“Then yeah, show me.”

The room blurred for a moment, but it didn’t spin or make Dean nauseous like it had with Zachariah. When it came back into focus, Dean was standing closer to the thrones, off to one side, and the hall was full of silent witches, all facing the three occupied thrones and the man kneeling before them. The lack of clothes thing is definitely a witch thing in general, but Dean forgets about that when he recognizes Gabriel, on his knees and head bent before the thrones.

“Gabriel…”

“This is a memory, Dean,” Castiel says. “You are not really here and can do nothing to change it. Be still and watch.”

“You admit to entering a human habitation, Gabriel?” Michael asks just then, voice loud enough to echo back at him. He’s got dark hair and eyes and reminds Dean just a bit of his father in the way that he’s sitting perfectly straight and in the way that he’s looking at Gabriel, all cool distance and superiority. “Interacted with the humans?”

“They’re not so bad when they don’t have pitchforks and torches,” Gabriel says with a grin. The assembled witches murmur, a wordless hum like a hive of wasps.

“He admits it!” a witch calls out, stepping forward. Dean recognizes Zachariah and scowls. “He associated with the filthy humans and risked the safety of all of us! He broke the law and not even an Arch can evade the consequences for that!”

“Be silent, Zachariah,” Lucifer says, absently picking at his nails. “Your voice is grating.”

“He is right, Lucifer,” Michael says. “Gabriel willfully endangered our existence and even if it turned out well enough this time, if it happens again, we may not be so fortunate. Very well.” He stands and steps forward. “Gabriel, you are hereby cast out from our company for a year. During that time, you are also forbidden to venture near the human lands. At the end of the year, you may return and if it is determined that you have followed my instruction, you will be allowed to resume your title and responsibilities. If you fail at this, you will be stripped of your power and cast from your brethren for the remainder of your life. Do you understand?”

Gabriel is quiet for a moment, then tilts his head back to look up at Michael. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Then go. And I will pray to the gods that you return to us.”

The room blurs again and when it comes back into focus, Dean is back in his cabin. Castiel stands beside him.

“Will that help, Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, looking at the sleeping dreamform of Gabriel, looking oddly small in Dean’s bed. “Yeah, I think it will.”

“I am glad I was able to assist,” Castiel says, then the cabin fades and Dean’s waking up, Gabriel a long line of warmth against his side.

“Stood me up,” Gabriel mutters, yawning as he shifts closer, feet knocking against Dean’s.

“Castiel was showing me something,” Dean says. “You got a problem with that?”

“Hmph,” is all Gabriel says in response, but he drapes one arm over Dean’s waist and presses his face against Dean’s shoulder. His breathing evens out again and Dean doesn’t bother trying to push him away, just lays there for a moment, enjoying the warmth.

Zachariah is intimidating, sure, but Dean doesn’t like him, doesn’t like the way the witch seems like he’s got a fine layer of oil over him. Dean’s also pretty sure that Zachariah doesn’t really care about what happens when he catches up to Gabriel, to the cabin or to Dean. At least Gabriel cares about that and cares about Dean. Plus, he’d explained himself, complete with someone to back up his story.

It’s really not a hard decision.



“He’ll want to finish the job,” Gabriel says, pushing at Dean’s side until he lifts an arm to settle it across Gabriel’s shoulders, something that Gabriel’s taken to doing, now that he’s able to get out of the bed. Dean’s still not sure how he feels about it, but it makes Gabriel happy and it’s not like it’s a terrible hardship. Just a little odd. “He knows I’m alive, he knows I’m recovering. His only hope of besting me is to catch me before I fully regain my powers.”

“And when will that happen?” Sam asks, pausing the whittling he’d picked up.

“By the next full moon, at the latest,” Castiel says before Gabriel can answer. “Which will happen within a fortnight.”

“So, sometime in the next two weeks.” Sam taps his knife against the edge of the table. “That doesn’t leave us a lot of time to prepare and plan.”

Gabriel grins at him. “No, but we don’t need that much time. I’ve already got an idea on how to deal with him and with Cas’ help, we should be fine.”

“What about us?” Dean asks. “We’re not useless.”

“No, but our plan includes a fair bit of magick and four-legged things. Can you do either?” Gabriel smiles at him to lessen the sting of his words. “You can come along for moral support, but we don’t have time to get you ready for anything more.”

Dean’s not happy about it, but he sees the wisdom in Gabriel’s words. As much as Dean would like to be in on kicking Zachariah’s ass, he can’t do even half of what Gabriel and Castiel are capable of. From the frustration Dean can see in his brother’s eyes, Sam’s come to the same conclusion.

“Hey,” Gabriel says, one hand gently patting at Dean’s cheek. “Don’t go getting all maudlin on me, okay? You’re coming with. You’ll be there, okay?”

“Not quite the same as actually punching the dick,” Dean grumbles, making Gabriel laugh.

“Yeah, well, if things go right, I won’t be punching him, either.”

Dean frowns. “What? But how will you-oh, right. Magick.”

“And they said humans could never learn.” Gabriel smirks, pats Dean once more, then turns to look at Castiel. “We better get at least the basics of a plan laid out, Cas.”

“We should,” Castiel agrees. He looks at Sam and Dean. “Perhaps the animals need tending?”

Dean snorts. “Right. It’s the middle of the day. Which of the four animals on this farm were you thinking need tending?”

Gabriel stares at him. “Dean. Tend. The. Animals.”

Crossing his arms, Dean sits down in one of the chairs. “No.”

“You,” Gabriel says, jabbing a finger at Dean, “are infuriating. Sam, talk some sense into your brother. Neither of you will be participating, so neither of you need to be here.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and leaned against the wall. “Why?”

“There is no need-“ Castiel cut off abruptly when Sam scowled at him.

“Why can’t we be here? Just because we won’t be involved doesn’t mean we can’t know what’s going on,” Sam says. Castiel looks to Gabriel.

Gabriel groans. “Gods save me from well-meaning idiots,” he mutters. He throws his hands in the air and turns away with a huff. “Fine. Fine, okay. If you want to stick around and fail to comprehend things beyond your understanding, then fine. Do that. No skin off my tail.”

Sam shoots a look at Dean. “Dean, maybe we should…”

“No. I want to know what’s happening.”

His brother sighs, but doesn’t object, just makes himself comfortable where he is.

Castiel looks at them before turning to Gabriel. “What did you have in mind?”



“I don’t like this,” Dean growls later, when they’ve all gone to bed and Gabriel is dreamwalking through his head again. Gabriel sighs.

“You think I want to kill one of my brethren? This isn’t just a walk through the meadow for me, either, you know.” He hauls himself up to look Dean in the eye. “I’m doing this because I have to, because Zachariah won’t stop coming after me if I don’t, but this isn’t your fight, Dean. You and Sam aren’t a part of this.”

“Bullshit,” Dean says, scowling. “I became a part of this the moment you decided to collapse on my land, furball. I’m involved, like it or not, and Sam, too. It’s too late to try and keep us out.”

“I don’t want you out,” Gabriel starts and Dean huffs.

“That’s what it’s looking like from here,” he interrupts. “I want to help, Gabriel.”

“And I want you as far away from this as I can get you,” Gabriel replies, voice hard. “This is my fight and if you got hurt because you were trying to help me…” He goes quiet, but the words are out and Dean stares at him.

“You…”

“Oh, shut up,” Gabriel mutters, rolling onto his back.

Dean rolls with him, stops propped up on one elbow to look at Gabriel. “You care,” he says, a grin spreading on his face. “I know you like me-it’s hard not to-but you actually care.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very smart,” Gabriel says, rolling his eyes. “I care about you. I care about you more than I should, all things considered. So, forgive me if I’d rather not see you get hurt.”

“I don’t want you hurt, either,” Dean tells him quietly. Slowly, he brings his free hand up, hesitates, then brushes a few wayward strands of hair off of Gabriel’s face.

“Dean…”

“Don’t get hurt, okay?” Dean tells him. “You have to do this, I know, but just…try not to get hurt.”

Gabriel’s eyes go soft and he smiles. “I’ll do my best,” he promises. His hand comes up to cover Dean’s and Dean’s head tilts closer.

“Gabriel, I think…”

“Don’t think,” Gabriel admonishes. “I don’t want you hurt, remember?”

Dean scowls. “You’re not funny.” Gabriel smirks at him.

“I like to think I am.”

“No, you’re not, shut up.”

“Make me.”

And Gabriel’s grinning at him and there’s nobody but them and really, that’s practically a dare.

Gabriel tastes like sweets, with a hint of spice.



It’s a day before the full moon when Gabriel stops in the middle of talking to Castiel, looks at them and says, “He’s close.”



There’s time to prepare, to meet Zachariah somewhere else, where the damage can be limited.

Packing what they need is quick and after dinner, Sam and Castiel leave the cabin to “double-check the horses,” according to Sam. For the first time since Sam had come back with Dean, he and Gabriel are alone.

For a moment, Dean stares at the pack in his hands. Food, water, spare trousers for the witches. Not exactly what Dean would have imagined taking to face a witch. “I don’t like this,” he says.

Gabriel looks up from where he’d been poking at the coals in the fireplace. “I don’t really like it, either,” he sighs. Setting the stick he’s holding down, he pads over the Dean, takes the pack from his hands. He drops it to the floor and reaches out to tug at Dean, pulling them flush. “Hey.”

Dean smiles. “Hey.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Gabriel says. He tilts up, presses his lips to Dean’s. “I promise.”

Dean leans back in for a deeper kiss. “You better,” he says.



Dean wakes up to an empty bed. When he rolls over, he finds Sam alone on the floor, as well.

“Son of a bitch.”

He wakes Sam and they get dressed in a hurry. The horses, when they get to the barn, are still there, but there’s no sign of Gabriel or Castiel. Dean grabs his saddle and bridle and heads for Imp.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam asks.

“I’m going after them,” he says, tossing the saddle over Imp’s back and reaching for the girth strap.

“What? No, Dean, they’re witches. Going to fight another witch. What the hell can we do to help them?”

“I don’t know,” Dean tells him over Imp’s back. “But I’m not letting Gabriel do this alone.”

“He’s got Castiel.”

“You know what I mean, Sam!” Dean shouts. Imp tosses her head and shies away at the loud noise and he sighs, reaching out to calm her. “Sorry. I just…I need to go, okay?”

Sam’s silent for a moment, then, “Okay. Let me get Ala tacked up. I’ll come with you.”

It’s long moments before Sam’s got Ala saddled, though, and Dean’s riding Imp in circles by the time Sam rides out of the barn. “Come on,” Dean growls. “There are tracks over here, let’s go.”

The tracks are clear, leading from the cabin to the forest, and it’s easy for Dean to find their trail. It disappears a short ways into the forest, the distinct foot and paw prints fading into the fallen needles and loam, but he keeps riding in the initial direction. If he’s right, they’ll find the witches easily enough. If he’s not, then at least he tried. That decided, he urges Imp faster, as fast as he can go without endangering the mare. Behind him, he can hear Ala’s hoof beats speeding up as Sam follows suit.

It’s only five minutes of riding before he hears what sounds like an explosion and Imp dances under him. He rubs at her neck and brings her to a stop, Sam riding up beside him. “You hear that?”

“Yeah. Come on, we’ll leave the horses here. They don’t need to go any further.”

They dismount and tie Imp and Ala to a small tree before they start walking in the direction of the blast. Dean’s not sure what he expects, but a small meadow with three giant, black cats snarling at each other isn’t it.

“Gabriel!” The closest cat turns to look at him and the eyes are grey, not gold. “Oh, shit.”

One of the other cats-Dean can’t tell from this distance-yowls and leaps towards Zachariah, but Zachariah screams right back and the cat is knocked off-course by something invisible. Magick Dean thinks.

Zachariah shifts into his human form, the one Dean recognizes from the dreamwalking, and walks towards Dean and Sam, ignoring the snarls and yowls behind him. “Ah, the humans. So glad you could join us. Aren’t you glad, Gabriel?” he adds, turning to look at the cat that had leaped at him. “After all, I’m sure you will appreciate an audience for your demise.”

Gabriel screams at him and starts running, covering the ground between them in bounds. Zachariah tuts. “Oh, dear, that’s not a smart move.”

Dean understands a split second before Zachariah’s hand moves towards them and he grabs Sam, throws them both to the ground. Overhead, the air sizzles, leaving a strong scent of ozone and the trees that were behind Dean crack and snap. Dean twists to look and winces at the charred wood. Not good.

“So, maybe we should have just stayed home?” Sam gasps under him. Dean scowls at him, but doesn’t answer. Think, he needs to think. Rolling off of his brother, he looks around for something to use as a weapon. They’d left so fast, he hadn’t thought to grab his knife.

There’s a rock the size of his fist near his head and he grabs that, hefts it as he carefully gets to his feet. Zachariah is a cat again and facing Gabriel and Castiel, his back to Dean. Dean eyes the distance, then hauls back and throws the rock as hard as he can.

He almost expects it to bounce off of some magick shield or miss entirely, but it hits Zachariah’s shoulder pretty solidly and the witch stumbles forward. Dean hopes either Gabriel or Castiel can take advantage of the distraction because he’s diving out of the way of another magick blast, the sizzling sounding like it passes right over his head.

This time when he looks up, there are only two cats standing in the meadow and the third is sprawled on the ground. The placement tells Dean that unless the witches moved more than he thinks they did, the far one is still Castiel. But the two closest to Dean, right about where Zachariah was…

Cautiously, Dean approaches the cat still standing at a wide angle, unable to tell from where he is if it’s Gabriel or Zachariah. He’s not going to make the same mistake twice. Then the witch turns and it’s gold eyes blinking up at him and he sighs in relief. “Knew you could take him,” he says. Then he looks at Zachariah, now sprawled out on the forest floor, eyes already filming over in death.

Dean prods at the lifeless form. “There’s less blood than I thought there would be,” he observes. Gabriel licks at a paw daintily and just flicks an ear in Dean’s direction. It’s Castiel who answers.

“Magickal killings rarely follow the rules of a physical altercation,” he explains. Dean turns and blinks at him.

“And what the hell does that mean?” he asks.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It means there’s no physical wounds involved in most spells, Dean.”

“Then why didn’t he say so? And what about those things Zachariah was throwing at us? Those seemed pretty physical to me.”

Gabriel shifts abruptly, stretching his arms above his head and apparently unconcerned with being butt naked in the forest with a body on the ground and three others around. Dean tries to keep his focus on Gabriel’s face. “Because that’s the way Castiel speaks and he said most, not all,” he says, padding over to nudge Dean’s arm. “Lift up, bucko.”

Wrapping his arm around Gabriel’s shoulders, Dean sighs. “Well, whatever. It’s still anticlimactic.”

“Not arguing with that,” Sam snorts. “I was sort of expecting at least a little flashiness, all things considered.”

Castiel gives Sam a scathing look. “Why would we waste energy and focus on pointless flair?”

Sam huffs. “It’s the principle of the thing, Cas.”

“Let’s just go home,” Dean suggests. “We can discuss the merits of being flashy over dinner.”

“Ooh, dinner,” Gabriel says. “I like the way you think, Dean-o.” He smirks and things start spinning.

When the cabin appears in front of them, Dean has a moment of panic thinking that the horses had been left behind, still tied to that tree. When Gabriel rolls his eyes and points at the field, where Imp and Ala are standing, looking surprised but unharmed, Dean just grunts and heads for the cabin.



“What are you going to do now?” Dean asks that night in his dreamscape. “How much of your year is left?”

Gabriel glances at him. “Castiel told you about that, huh?” Dean nods and the witch sighs. “I’ve still got most of the time left; Zachariah apparently couldn’t wait more than two months before coming after me the first time, so I’ve got about…eight months left, now.”

Dean nods. “You won’t be able to return, will you? Not after all this.”

“No,” Gabriel sighs. “I can’t return and they won’t take the risk of just letting me go after this year, either.”

Sitting up, Dean frowns at Gabriel. “Will they hunt you down, too?”

Gabriel snorts. “No. Well, sort of. They’ll hunt me down to strip me of my magick, make me essentially human, but they won’t kill me.”

“That’s good,” Dean says. Gabriel nods.

“I was thinking I’d give my magick to Castiel, actually,” Gabriel says after a moment.

Dean’s eyebrows go up. “You can do that?” Before Gabriel can reply, he says, “Of course you can. You’re a witch.”

“Exactly,” Gabriel says, grinning. “It’s not easy, but it’s doable. And Castiel deserves it and he probably won’t misuse it. And with my power added to his own, he’ll definitely be a candidate to take my place as an Arch. Actually, he might be the only one capable, which just means he’ll definitely take my place as Arch.” Gabriel shrugs. “Either way, he gets the job and I get to do what I want.”

“And what’s that?” Dean asks, even though he’s pretty sure of the answer.

Gabriel grins. “You,” he says and then he’s rolling on top of Dean and kissing him.

Dean kisses back, arms coming up to hold Gabriel close. He doesn’t bother answering, not with words. He’s pretty sure Gabriel understands him anyway.



Fin

<-- Part 1 | Masterpost | Thanks and Acknowledgements -->