Take Me Home -Part 26
Title: Take Me Home
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 2,818 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 25
An extra-long chapter this time. This is where Gabriel decided to take up residence in my brain and not go away until I let him talk for a while. Don't ask me why, I have no idea. The worst part? I kind of like him now, after spending four and a half perfectly lovely years disliking him intensely in all his guises. *sigh*
*****
Castiel is no stranger to doubt. He remembers his first experience with this all-too-human emotion the way most humans remember their first kiss: a tentative, longing exploration, chaste at first, and then hungry, grasping, greedy. He's almost used to it by now, but there are days when he feels as though he might be crushed under its weight, and today is one of those days. It's ironic, because it's the first day of the New Year, and isn't that when life is supposed to be filled with the promise of a new start? It's on days like this that he wishes he'd never heard of irony. It's such a human thing to experience -yet another reminder of all his failings. He's beginning to understand how Dean feels a lot of the time, although Dean takes on many things that don't belong on his shoulders to begin with.
The veterinarian has been and gone, and the grim set of her mouth spoke more eloquently than all of her cautious statements about fluids and rest. Castiel is well-versed in seeing how humans lie to each other and to themselves to see that she thinks that there isn't any hope to be had, and that it would be more merciful to euthanize this poor dog -put it out of its misery. She doesn't say anything like that to Dean, who hasn't so much as moved an inch away from Sam's side since they first brought him in. It's obvious that, whatever she has to say, he doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't know the dog is Sam, of course, and that there can be no entertaining of such thoughts, not for any of them. All she sees is an animal that is suffering beyond what animals are usually required to endure for the sake of their owners, and she very clearly thinks they are being selfish for prolonging his suffering. There is no doubt in her mind that Sam is going to die. She leaves without a backward glance, the snow churning beneath the tires of her slush-streaked truck.
By the time the evening rolls around Dean is exhausted -Castiel can see it in the lines of pain that etch themselves around his eyes and mouth- starts running another low-grade fever, and so Castiel doesn't hesitate to put him to sleep with a gentle touch. He's unashamed now to “cheat” in whatever way he can to make sure Dean doesn't make himself so ill again that he puts himself at risk. It's something he learned from observing Sam, before he was a dog: Sam doesn't have the same tools and tricks as an angel (even one with diminished powers) but he cheerfully admitted once to Castiel that he would cheat in whatever way was necessary to keep Dean as healthy and as sane as he could be under the circumstances. In Sam's case, that usually means resorting to blackmail or bribery or else to some subtle form of emotional manipulation which Castiel has yet to master: he suspects that twenty-six years of being Dean's brother has a lot to do with it.
Sam the dog is lying on the carpet next to Bobby's fireplace, half-covered in a woolen blanket, and Castiel lowers himself to the floor, cross-legged, to keep vigil. Dean is dead to the world thanks to him, and he feels dimly as though he owes it to his charge to watch over Sam, at least for a little while, just in case. Sam sighs, and Castiel finds that his disconcerting hazel eyes are fixed on him with the same intent look that he had for Dean earlier, a look filled, he's surprised to see, with love. The dog inches forward, painfully, and rests its muzzle on his knee, and he lets one hand drop to caress its head. Sam's fur is soft, and he runs his fingers through it, marvelling at the differences in texture he can feel there, at the infinite variety that can be found even in such a small thing as this. There is trust in this creature that puts him to shame, and he feels an odd constricting sensation in his chest -something else to bring him a little closer to humanity, to an emotion he doesn't really understand. He thinks it may be guilt.
“I am sorry, Samuel,” he says softly. “I think I may have failed you from the beginning. I will try to make this right. Stay here with Dean, and I will try to find my brother.”
Finding Gabriel is almost as difficult as finding God. He suspects that, like God, Gabriel will only be found if he wants it, but luckily for Castiel the archangel-in-hiding is not as adamant about staying missing. He finds him sitting on a huge boulder overlooking a lake. He thinks this may be Canada, that the rock may be a part of the Canadian Shield. It doesn't mean much to Castiel -the earth is the earth, and human demarcations are incidental and fleeting- but he remembers Samuel talking to Dean about it at some point before Dean made a great show of dying of boredom, and somehow the small bits of trivia just stayed in his mind. Gabriel is wearing a green shirt that reminds Castiel a bit of the colour of Dean's eyes. In fact, his chosen style of dress today is considerably less flashy than that to which Castiel has become accustomed.
“Hello, little brother,” Gabriel doesn't turn around. “I see you found me.”
“You wanted to be found,” Castiel points out, not that it's necessary.
“Guilty.” The word seems overly charged, even for the situation at hand. Suddenly there's a beer in Gabriel's hand, a case at his feet. “Want a drink?”
“I don't feel the effects of alcohol,” he says, and feels another strange clenching sensation in his chest, thinking about the night he spent with Ellen discovering just that.
“Don't be obtuse, little brother. For one, it tastes good. For another thing, you can feel whatever you allow yourself to feel. And for a third, humour me, and have one.”
He shrugs, takes a beer, feels the bottle sweating against the palm of his hand, and climbs up to sit next to Gabriel on the boulder. He pulls the cap off, raises it the way Sam and Dean do, and to his surprise Gabriel clinks the neck of his bottle against it. “To your health,” Castiel says, and surprises himself by meaning it. Gabriel laughs.
“Slainte mhath, little brother,” he agrees, and tilts the contents into his mouth. “I suppose you're here to ask me to reverse my little trick with Sam Winchester.”
“Yes.”
“Took you long enough. I was beginning to think you had all decided to keep him that way. Or maybe you're just more stubborn than I thought.”
The beer is slightly bitter, fizzes on his tongue. It's different than the alcohol Ellen gave him, which made his tongue curl in his mouth and his throat burn, and doesn't taste quite the same as the beer Dean gave him at Christmas. “We didn't know where he was, after Lucifer nearly killed Dean. I thought my energies would be better spent searching for him than for you. If he was dead, there would be little point to your changing him back.”
He senses that he's surprised the archangel. Gabriel turns to look at him. “What?”
“You weren't aware.” It's not a question. “Sam and Dean have not been together since October, when Lucifer laid a trap for them. Dean has been incapacitated up until recently, is still recovering. And Sam... went missing. In his current form, he could not ask for assistance, could not stay with his brother as he might have otherwise.”
“Huh. Now that's a twist I wasn't expecting.”
Castiel is learning a lot about human emotion these days, but anger is a new one for him. He stays very still -wrath is still one of the deadly sins, and Gabriel can swat him like a fly if he so chooses. There is every reason to hold onto his temper, now. “I believe you may not have thought through all of the repercussions of your actions,” he says, keeping his tone mild.
To his surprise, Gabriel breaks into a laugh. “Now there's an understatement. I can see why Dean keeps you around, why Lucifer is so keen on getting you to switch sides.” He looks over, tilts his head, and for a moment Castiel feels as though he's looking into a mirror, sees an odd expression on Gabriel's face -as though Castiel is some vastly unknowable enigma that he's trying to understand. “Castiel, you're a true believer, aren't you? Do you know, I think you're the only angel out there still looking for our Father.”
He doesn't answer the implied question, poses one of his own. “How is it that you, who have seen the face of God, have no faith?”
He gets a derisive snort in response. “David asked me that once.”
“Who?”
“My vessel. Don't you ever kick back and have a chat with Jimmy Novak? That's his name, isn't it? The guy with the cheap suit and the poorly-fitting trench coat?”
“My vessel is dead. He sacrificed himself for his family. So, no.”
Gabriel winces, and Castiel senses genuine sympathy when he says, “I'm sorry.”
“So am I.”
“David's a good guy. He was a janitor, and I kept up with his job for a while at his request, until they found someone to replace him. He takes his responsibilities seriously.”
“He is unlike you, then.”
“Touché. Let me tell you, Cas -can I call you that? Being a vessel sucks. I've heard it from the horse's mouth. Being a vessel to an archangel sucks even more. If your Jimmy hadn't died, you would be able to leave his body and let him go back to his life. But David, well... you've seen what happened to Raphael's vessel, right? We ride humans harder than the demons do. I like David. Most angels never bother to ask their vessels their opinion about what they do with their bodies after they say the big 'yes,' you know. We purposefully leave out the fine print at the bottom of the contract, that says we can do whatever we damned well please once we're behind the wheel.”
Castiel doesn't say anything, because it's true.
“I like to think that I'm not as big of an asshole as the rest of our brethren. Or, at least, not a hypocrite. Yeah, sure, I've decided to become Switzerland in this really shitty world war thing we're doing, but I decided to ask David a long time ago if he was on board with not being involved anymore. He's a devout man, you know. Jewish, as it happens, but it's not like there aren't lots of midrashim about angels, so he didn't have too much difficulty wrapping his mind around the notion of an archangel. Once I told him the way things really were, though, he went along easily enough with the new plan, so long as I took care of his dog for him.”
Castiel finishes off his beer, Jimmy Novak's words echoing in his mind. You promised to take care of them. You promised, Cas! It never occurred to him to ask Jimmy how he felt about any of it, and it's too late now. Another failure at his doorstep. He wonders if Uriel and Zachariah’s vessels feel betrayed. There's no way of telling. “I have never heard of an angel communicating with their vessel once the possession had taken place.”
“I'm not one for following tradition.”
“So I've seen.”
“I expected you to be a lot more self-righteous about this,” Gabriel pulls two more beers from the pack, hands one over, and Castiel doesn't refuse. Time is running out, but it doesn't seem prudent to point this out. Not now.
“Righteousness is overrated.”
“Don't you want to point out all the ways in which I'm wrong about this, and have been playing with the Winchesters like a cruel and capricious god?”
“I believe that you may already know that you are wrong.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You let yourself be found. I believe you may already be reconsidering your actions.”
“They never bother trying to learn the lessons I'm teaching them. If they listened, they might be further ahead now.” Gabriel dodges the issue, again.
“Arrogance is overrated, too,” Castiel says evenly, trying not to show just how afraid he is that his candour is going to get him smote but good, as Dean would say. He's already been on the receiving end of one archangel, and isn't keen on repeating the experience. “Has it not occurred to you that you are trying to teach them the wrong lesson?”
“I'm not wrong about this.”
“I wish I had your certainty.” He deliberately injects irony into his voice. Something else he has learned from Dean.
Gabriel takes another pull of his beer, attempts to deflect the conversation. “You never said how you found Sam.”
“We didn't. He made his way back to us.”
“You're kidding. Alone?” There's genuine surprise in the tone. “How far?”
“He went missing in Michigan, and appears to have walked to Sioux Falls. Approximately eight hundred miles.”
Gabriel whistles. “Cue Roddy McDowall.” Castiel believes himself safe in assuming that this is a cultural reference that he doesn't understand, and lets it slide. “In that case, I should probably leave him a dog a bit longer. They haven't had time to digest my metaphor about the perils of keeping your brother on a short leash.”
“Is that what you believe happened with Lucifer?”
Gabriel gives him a sidelong look. “Everyone underestimates you, don't they?”
“It does happen. You haven't answered my question.”
“Michael tried to reign him in when God asked us to worship humanity,” is the quiet response. “Lucifer didn't take it well.” There's no need to elaborate further on the topic: Castiel knows as much about Lucifer's fall as he ever wants to.
“And so you believe that Dean's actions will precipitate a poor decision on Sam's part?”
“You know as well as I do that that boy can't see straight where his brother is concerned.”
“Which one are you talking about?”
He gets a bark of laughter as a response. “Good point.”
“Sam is ill.”
“I thought that was Dean?” But Castiel isn't fooled by the flippancy of the question.
“If he stays as he is, he is going to die. I -we cannot help him. We need you to undo what you've done. Please.”
“You're using the magic word. Must be serious.”
Castiel shakes his head. “I know you don't care-”
“Not true.”
“Then what will it take for you to change him back? I have nothing to offer you that you would want. I cannot force the Winchesters to say yes, and I have nothing of my own to give,” he adds brokenly. He's never felt so useless in his entire existence. Gabriel chucks him on the shoulder.
“Don't take it so hard, Cas. I don't want anything from you anyway.” He sighs. “I don't know if I should be impressed or depressed that they're not learning anything.”
“They are learning, just not what you think they should learn.”
“And what's that?”
“I'm not sure it's for me to say. I can't presume to teach you, I barely know anything myself. But perhaps you should think about what happened here. Even with his identity reduced to the barest sense of self, Samuel Winchester crossed over eight hundred miles of ground and water to get to his brother -even if it meant dying in the process. That should tell you something.”
“It tells me they don't learn.”
Castiel gets to his feet, brushes off his trench coat. “I am sorry to have wasted your time,” he manages. He's never felt despair before, and he's not certain that that's what is coiling in his stomach, weighing him down like lead. “I will return to my work.”
Gabriel snorts. “Go home, little brother. There isn't enough room here for you, me, and your faith.”
And without so much as a snap of his fingers, he disappears, leaving Castiel alone, faced with his own reflection on the rippling surface of the lake.
*****
Part 27
Summary: The Trickster decides to have some fun with Sam. Wackiness ensues, with a healthy helping of whump, because it's me and I can't leave the boys intact.
Spoilers: All aired episodes up to 5.10
Word Count: 2,818 for this chapter
Disclaimer: Luckily for them, I own nothing. Otherwise they'd be in for a world of hurt.
Warning: Utter crack. Language that is definitely not workplace-appropriate.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer: No beta, written in such a hurry I'm amazed my fingers managed to connect with the keyboard.
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #2:I take NO responsibility for this, because it's cracktastic and weird and I can't believe it came out of of my brain. If you are scarred for life after reading it, it's NOT my fault!
Neurotic Authorial Disclaimer #3: It's basically "Lassie Come-Home," Winchester-style. I dunno. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT!
Master Post
Part 25
An extra-long chapter this time. This is where Gabriel decided to take up residence in my brain and not go away until I let him talk for a while. Don't ask me why, I have no idea. The worst part? I kind of like him now, after spending four and a half perfectly lovely years disliking him intensely in all his guises. *sigh*
*****
Castiel is no stranger to doubt. He remembers his first experience with this all-too-human emotion the way most humans remember their first kiss: a tentative, longing exploration, chaste at first, and then hungry, grasping, greedy. He's almost used to it by now, but there are days when he feels as though he might be crushed under its weight, and today is one of those days. It's ironic, because it's the first day of the New Year, and isn't that when life is supposed to be filled with the promise of a new start? It's on days like this that he wishes he'd never heard of irony. It's such a human thing to experience -yet another reminder of all his failings. He's beginning to understand how Dean feels a lot of the time, although Dean takes on many things that don't belong on his shoulders to begin with.
The veterinarian has been and gone, and the grim set of her mouth spoke more eloquently than all of her cautious statements about fluids and rest. Castiel is well-versed in seeing how humans lie to each other and to themselves to see that she thinks that there isn't any hope to be had, and that it would be more merciful to euthanize this poor dog -put it out of its misery. She doesn't say anything like that to Dean, who hasn't so much as moved an inch away from Sam's side since they first brought him in. It's obvious that, whatever she has to say, he doesn't want to hear it. She doesn't know the dog is Sam, of course, and that there can be no entertaining of such thoughts, not for any of them. All she sees is an animal that is suffering beyond what animals are usually required to endure for the sake of their owners, and she very clearly thinks they are being selfish for prolonging his suffering. There is no doubt in her mind that Sam is going to die. She leaves without a backward glance, the snow churning beneath the tires of her slush-streaked truck.
By the time the evening rolls around Dean is exhausted -Castiel can see it in the lines of pain that etch themselves around his eyes and mouth- starts running another low-grade fever, and so Castiel doesn't hesitate to put him to sleep with a gentle touch. He's unashamed now to “cheat” in whatever way he can to make sure Dean doesn't make himself so ill again that he puts himself at risk. It's something he learned from observing Sam, before he was a dog: Sam doesn't have the same tools and tricks as an angel (even one with diminished powers) but he cheerfully admitted once to Castiel that he would cheat in whatever way was necessary to keep Dean as healthy and as sane as he could be under the circumstances. In Sam's case, that usually means resorting to blackmail or bribery or else to some subtle form of emotional manipulation which Castiel has yet to master: he suspects that twenty-six years of being Dean's brother has a lot to do with it.
Sam the dog is lying on the carpet next to Bobby's fireplace, half-covered in a woolen blanket, and Castiel lowers himself to the floor, cross-legged, to keep vigil. Dean is dead to the world thanks to him, and he feels dimly as though he owes it to his charge to watch over Sam, at least for a little while, just in case. Sam sighs, and Castiel finds that his disconcerting hazel eyes are fixed on him with the same intent look that he had for Dean earlier, a look filled, he's surprised to see, with love. The dog inches forward, painfully, and rests its muzzle on his knee, and he lets one hand drop to caress its head. Sam's fur is soft, and he runs his fingers through it, marvelling at the differences in texture he can feel there, at the infinite variety that can be found even in such a small thing as this. There is trust in this creature that puts him to shame, and he feels an odd constricting sensation in his chest -something else to bring him a little closer to humanity, to an emotion he doesn't really understand. He thinks it may be guilt.
“I am sorry, Samuel,” he says softly. “I think I may have failed you from the beginning. I will try to make this right. Stay here with Dean, and I will try to find my brother.”
Finding Gabriel is almost as difficult as finding God. He suspects that, like God, Gabriel will only be found if he wants it, but luckily for Castiel the archangel-in-hiding is not as adamant about staying missing. He finds him sitting on a huge boulder overlooking a lake. He thinks this may be Canada, that the rock may be a part of the Canadian Shield. It doesn't mean much to Castiel -the earth is the earth, and human demarcations are incidental and fleeting- but he remembers Samuel talking to Dean about it at some point before Dean made a great show of dying of boredom, and somehow the small bits of trivia just stayed in his mind. Gabriel is wearing a green shirt that reminds Castiel a bit of the colour of Dean's eyes. In fact, his chosen style of dress today is considerably less flashy than that to which Castiel has become accustomed.
“Hello, little brother,” Gabriel doesn't turn around. “I see you found me.”
“You wanted to be found,” Castiel points out, not that it's necessary.
“Guilty.” The word seems overly charged, even for the situation at hand. Suddenly there's a beer in Gabriel's hand, a case at his feet. “Want a drink?”
“I don't feel the effects of alcohol,” he says, and feels another strange clenching sensation in his chest, thinking about the night he spent with Ellen discovering just that.
“Don't be obtuse, little brother. For one, it tastes good. For another thing, you can feel whatever you allow yourself to feel. And for a third, humour me, and have one.”
He shrugs, takes a beer, feels the bottle sweating against the palm of his hand, and climbs up to sit next to Gabriel on the boulder. He pulls the cap off, raises it the way Sam and Dean do, and to his surprise Gabriel clinks the neck of his bottle against it. “To your health,” Castiel says, and surprises himself by meaning it. Gabriel laughs.
“Slainte mhath, little brother,” he agrees, and tilts the contents into his mouth. “I suppose you're here to ask me to reverse my little trick with Sam Winchester.”
“Yes.”
“Took you long enough. I was beginning to think you had all decided to keep him that way. Or maybe you're just more stubborn than I thought.”
The beer is slightly bitter, fizzes on his tongue. It's different than the alcohol Ellen gave him, which made his tongue curl in his mouth and his throat burn, and doesn't taste quite the same as the beer Dean gave him at Christmas. “We didn't know where he was, after Lucifer nearly killed Dean. I thought my energies would be better spent searching for him than for you. If he was dead, there would be little point to your changing him back.”
He senses that he's surprised the archangel. Gabriel turns to look at him. “What?”
“You weren't aware.” It's not a question. “Sam and Dean have not been together since October, when Lucifer laid a trap for them. Dean has been incapacitated up until recently, is still recovering. And Sam... went missing. In his current form, he could not ask for assistance, could not stay with his brother as he might have otherwise.”
“Huh. Now that's a twist I wasn't expecting.”
Castiel is learning a lot about human emotion these days, but anger is a new one for him. He stays very still -wrath is still one of the deadly sins, and Gabriel can swat him like a fly if he so chooses. There is every reason to hold onto his temper, now. “I believe you may not have thought through all of the repercussions of your actions,” he says, keeping his tone mild.
To his surprise, Gabriel breaks into a laugh. “Now there's an understatement. I can see why Dean keeps you around, why Lucifer is so keen on getting you to switch sides.” He looks over, tilts his head, and for a moment Castiel feels as though he's looking into a mirror, sees an odd expression on Gabriel's face -as though Castiel is some vastly unknowable enigma that he's trying to understand. “Castiel, you're a true believer, aren't you? Do you know, I think you're the only angel out there still looking for our Father.”
He doesn't answer the implied question, poses one of his own. “How is it that you, who have seen the face of God, have no faith?”
He gets a derisive snort in response. “David asked me that once.”
“Who?”
“My vessel. Don't you ever kick back and have a chat with Jimmy Novak? That's his name, isn't it? The guy with the cheap suit and the poorly-fitting trench coat?”
“My vessel is dead. He sacrificed himself for his family. So, no.”
Gabriel winces, and Castiel senses genuine sympathy when he says, “I'm sorry.”
“So am I.”
“David's a good guy. He was a janitor, and I kept up with his job for a while at his request, until they found someone to replace him. He takes his responsibilities seriously.”
“He is unlike you, then.”
“Touché. Let me tell you, Cas -can I call you that? Being a vessel sucks. I've heard it from the horse's mouth. Being a vessel to an archangel sucks even more. If your Jimmy hadn't died, you would be able to leave his body and let him go back to his life. But David, well... you've seen what happened to Raphael's vessel, right? We ride humans harder than the demons do. I like David. Most angels never bother to ask their vessels their opinion about what they do with their bodies after they say the big 'yes,' you know. We purposefully leave out the fine print at the bottom of the contract, that says we can do whatever we damned well please once we're behind the wheel.”
Castiel doesn't say anything, because it's true.
“I like to think that I'm not as big of an asshole as the rest of our brethren. Or, at least, not a hypocrite. Yeah, sure, I've decided to become Switzerland in this really shitty world war thing we're doing, but I decided to ask David a long time ago if he was on board with not being involved anymore. He's a devout man, you know. Jewish, as it happens, but it's not like there aren't lots of midrashim about angels, so he didn't have too much difficulty wrapping his mind around the notion of an archangel. Once I told him the way things really were, though, he went along easily enough with the new plan, so long as I took care of his dog for him.”
Castiel finishes off his beer, Jimmy Novak's words echoing in his mind. You promised to take care of them. You promised, Cas! It never occurred to him to ask Jimmy how he felt about any of it, and it's too late now. Another failure at his doorstep. He wonders if Uriel and Zachariah’s vessels feel betrayed. There's no way of telling. “I have never heard of an angel communicating with their vessel once the possession had taken place.”
“I'm not one for following tradition.”
“So I've seen.”
“I expected you to be a lot more self-righteous about this,” Gabriel pulls two more beers from the pack, hands one over, and Castiel doesn't refuse. Time is running out, but it doesn't seem prudent to point this out. Not now.
“Righteousness is overrated.”
“Don't you want to point out all the ways in which I'm wrong about this, and have been playing with the Winchesters like a cruel and capricious god?”
“I believe that you may already know that you are wrong.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You let yourself be found. I believe you may already be reconsidering your actions.”
“They never bother trying to learn the lessons I'm teaching them. If they listened, they might be further ahead now.” Gabriel dodges the issue, again.
“Arrogance is overrated, too,” Castiel says evenly, trying not to show just how afraid he is that his candour is going to get him smote but good, as Dean would say. He's already been on the receiving end of one archangel, and isn't keen on repeating the experience. “Has it not occurred to you that you are trying to teach them the wrong lesson?”
“I'm not wrong about this.”
“I wish I had your certainty.” He deliberately injects irony into his voice. Something else he has learned from Dean.
Gabriel takes another pull of his beer, attempts to deflect the conversation. “You never said how you found Sam.”
“We didn't. He made his way back to us.”
“You're kidding. Alone?” There's genuine surprise in the tone. “How far?”
“He went missing in Michigan, and appears to have walked to Sioux Falls. Approximately eight hundred miles.”
Gabriel whistles. “Cue Roddy McDowall.” Castiel believes himself safe in assuming that this is a cultural reference that he doesn't understand, and lets it slide. “In that case, I should probably leave him a dog a bit longer. They haven't had time to digest my metaphor about the perils of keeping your brother on a short leash.”
“Is that what you believe happened with Lucifer?”
Gabriel gives him a sidelong look. “Everyone underestimates you, don't they?”
“It does happen. You haven't answered my question.”
“Michael tried to reign him in when God asked us to worship humanity,” is the quiet response. “Lucifer didn't take it well.” There's no need to elaborate further on the topic: Castiel knows as much about Lucifer's fall as he ever wants to.
“And so you believe that Dean's actions will precipitate a poor decision on Sam's part?”
“You know as well as I do that that boy can't see straight where his brother is concerned.”
“Which one are you talking about?”
He gets a bark of laughter as a response. “Good point.”
“Sam is ill.”
“I thought that was Dean?” But Castiel isn't fooled by the flippancy of the question.
“If he stays as he is, he is going to die. I -we cannot help him. We need you to undo what you've done. Please.”
“You're using the magic word. Must be serious.”
Castiel shakes his head. “I know you don't care-”
“Not true.”
“Then what will it take for you to change him back? I have nothing to offer you that you would want. I cannot force the Winchesters to say yes, and I have nothing of my own to give,” he adds brokenly. He's never felt so useless in his entire existence. Gabriel chucks him on the shoulder.
“Don't take it so hard, Cas. I don't want anything from you anyway.” He sighs. “I don't know if I should be impressed or depressed that they're not learning anything.”
“They are learning, just not what you think they should learn.”
“And what's that?”
“I'm not sure it's for me to say. I can't presume to teach you, I barely know anything myself. But perhaps you should think about what happened here. Even with his identity reduced to the barest sense of self, Samuel Winchester crossed over eight hundred miles of ground and water to get to his brother -even if it meant dying in the process. That should tell you something.”
“It tells me they don't learn.”
Castiel gets to his feet, brushes off his trench coat. “I am sorry to have wasted your time,” he manages. He's never felt despair before, and he's not certain that that's what is coiling in his stomach, weighing him down like lead. “I will return to my work.”
Gabriel snorts. “Go home, little brother. There isn't enough room here for you, me, and your faith.”
And without so much as a snap of his fingers, he disappears, leaving Castiel alone, faced with his own reflection on the rippling surface of the lake.
*****
Part 27