Use Your Illusions, Chapter Four

[wanderamaranth]

Title: Use Your Illusions
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Warning(s): blasphemy, violence, language
Spoilers: Up to and including the promos for 6x19, "Mommy Dearest"
Pairing(s):  Dean/Cas, past Dean/Lisa
Authors: wanderamaranth  and quantum_witch

Summary: In trying to defeat Raphael’s armies, Castiel has employed a desperate and dangerous gambit which backfired in the worst way, and now must turn to the Winchesters for help. Meanwhile, Dean slowly comes to understand he doesn’t have all the time in the world to accept his 'stupid girly feelings'. And Sam finds himself, quite literally. Every possible wall comes tumbling down, for everyone.


Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. No profit is being made from the creation, promotion, or publication of this work of fiction. We're not taking ourselves too seriously, and don't expect you to, either.

<<Chapter Three

*~*~*~*~*

Cars are nice, Dean thought. Dependable.

That wasn't strictly true. Cars had a tendency to break down or refuse to start at inconvenient times, like when one is being chased by a vampire and needs to make a get-away to regroup. But the car couldn't help that; those things happened due to Dean's own neglect, not through any fault of the car itself. If he took care of her, she took care of him. It was a simple relationship.

And at least the Impala never betrayed anyone, Dean thought a little muzzily, huddled into the driver's seat. The only time she'd ever let him down was because she'd run out of fuel or gotten a flat tire, things she couldn't control. Like the time she got smashed nearly to hell by a demon-driven semi-truck. Even after that, after being all but destroyed, he'd been able to rebuild her. So many parts replaced through the years, she was lucky to have even one or two that were straight from the original form, but she was… still herself. Always just herself. And she'd never change. Dean couldn't say the same about anything else in his life. Anyone else. No one else would do that for him, not change, just because he asked them to.

And he'd asked. God knows he'd asked.

Dean was one step from drunk already. He'd wasted no time in starting. Before his feet hit the dirt outside Bobby's door he'd reached into his jacket for a flask. Drained that as he strode across the track toward his car. Inside the trunk were several "emergency" bottles, and he was damned near through a fifth of Jack. He'd only been outside for fifteen minutes, best guess. The liquor was burning away his insides, but he didn't figure that mattered. There was already a huge hole in his chest from where his heart had been ripped out. If more organs got burned away? Just left plenty of room for more whiskey.

He gulped another mouthful, held it until his tongue nearly went numb, then swallowed slowly, letting it sizzle down his entire throat. In another hour, his voice would be shot from the strain, would be growly and raw and deep like –

God damn it.

Dean very nearly threw the bottle against his baby's dashboard. But she hadn't done anything wrong, so he just held it, shaking. He tilted forward until his forehead rested against the steering wheel and gave a bone-deep sigh.

Dean Winchester always coped, always bounced back from betrayal and loss. He was trained to squash it down and force it to heal over so he could move forward. But right now… he didn't want to. He was so tired of it. Each betrayal was like a lump of scar tissue inside, and every new gash across that surface just made it harder and uglier. One day he might not be able to heal it at all.

It was pretty damned close to that one day.

What the fuck now? Where did it go so unbelievably fucking wrong?

How cool would it be to erase everything that had happened tonight. To just go back and figure out where it had gotten so fucked, and fix it.

Wrecking the natural order is not so much fun when you're the one that has to mop up the mess, is it?

"Fuck you," Dean said to the memory of Death's mocking words. His hands twitched around the bottle, but there was no more comfort (or oblivion—Dean wasn't certain which he had actually sought) to be found there.

Castiel had lied to him. Had been lying to him, for a long time. Dean stewed over that thought, prodded at it, but it still didn't feel real. The realization that he'd come to rely on Cas to always tell him the truth, no matter how unpalatable, threatened to overwhelm him now that he knew that trust was misplaced. The entire situation had taken on an air of unreality to Dean. He rolled the words around on his tongue: "Cas is a liar". They didn't feel more factual for having spoken them aloud.

There had been many hints, but the first, the one that should have been most obvious to Dean, was the way that Castiel had been unable to meet his eyes for weeks now. In retrospect, it was perfectly clear: the way he'd tilt his head to the side, the way his lips would compress and he'd pull in upon himself when speaking to Dean. The hunter, when he had thought about it, dismissed Castiel's actions as ones born of fatigue.

"Death could have told me straight out what was going on," Dean snarled. It was misplaced anger, Dean was self-aware enough to know. He may have been cursing out Death, but it was himself that he was most angry with.

You'll understand when you need to.

Yeah, well, Death had been wrong about that, hadn't he? He'd needed to know what the hell was happening long before now. While he'd been playing house with Lisa and Ben, Castiel had been-

A knock on the window jerked him to attention. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, hard, to prevent threatening tears from escaping. Dean scooted upward and swiped the condensation that'd formed on the glass to see Bobby frowning at him.

"Open the door, Dean." The words sounded like they were coming from a long way off; Dean wondered if it was due to the glass that separated them, or if he was experiencing a mild form of shock. It was this thought that pushed him into action. Dean Winchester did not emote like a teenage girl.

Mustering a put-upon sigh, Dean fished for the door handle. He must have either drunk more than he'd thought (unlikely, being that he still held the bottle, and that was pretty clear proof on just how much he'd imbibed) or he was exhausted, because he missed it, twice. Apparently impatient with his fumbling, Bobby jerked the door open himself.

"I can't believe these words are coming out of my mouth," Bobby said, "but do you want to talk about it?"

Dean snorted. "Do I look like I want to talk about it, Bobby?"

When the older man just continued to stand there and stare at him, as if to say, Why, yes, you do, Dean reluctantly held out a hand.

"Help me up?"

"What, you break your legs stumbling out here?" Bobby snarked, but he still grasped Dean's hand and pulled him to his feet. Jerking his trucker-hat clad head towards the main garage, Bobby said, "C'mon. I have beer in the mini-fridge."

They tromped over to the open-air garage. Dean threw himself into a nearby lawn chair and waited for Bobby to get him a beer. Obligingly, the other man did, which Dean thought was good. More alcohol would help. But then Bobby pulled up a chair right beside his and stared at him expectantly, which was bad.

They sat quietly, sipping their beers and not talking.

It went on for a long time-long enough that Dean began to hope that further conversation might be avoided after all, but then Bobby had to screw that by breaking the silence.

"So are you gonna start, boy? Or are we just gonna sit here staring at each other 'til we're bored out of our trees?"

Dean wiped a sweaty palm off on his jeans. "What do you want me to say, Bobby?"

"You think I know the first thing about this feelings crap? Balls!" Clearly agitated, Bobby wiped the back of his hand under his nose and sniffed, "Just...what has you twisted up about this? I know I'm pissed as hell, but you're acting like...I don't know. That's why I'm askin'."

Night was falling. The crickets had begun their evening chorus; the temperature finally dropped from unbearably hot and a light breeze blew. All things that should have been enjoyable sensations, and Dean found he wasn't enjoying them. Not at all. He tilted his bottle and drained it. Another pulse of time, and then he started speaking.

"Cas isn't supposed to be this way, Bobby. He's not supposed go around makin' deals with demons and lying and... changing."

"So you're angry... because you got what you asked for?"

Dean set the beer he'd been nursing on the nearby table carefully, but it still tipped over, falling to its side. It was empty, so it didn't matter. He stared at Bobby, incredulity splashed across his face.

"Dean, I'm going to just lay this out there," Bobby shifted in the plastic lawn chair. "I don't agree with what Cas has been doing. Far from it. But you've been bitching at him for months, tellin' him he's gotta man up. And now you're complaining because he's doing it?"

"I never meant for him to do anything like this!"

"So it's okay for someone to change, just so long as you get to approve of how?" Bobby shook his head. "Things don't work like that, son."

Anger flooded Dean's veins. "Why are you defending him?"

"I'm not!" Bobby shot back. "Already said that I didn't agree with what the damn fool is tryin' to do! If you were really listenin' to me you'd know that." He leaned forward, eyes narrowed a bit as he asked, "What about this really has you so twisted up, kid? If it was just that Cas was making bad decisions you'd be dealing better than you are now. You didn't even run immediately to the bottle when we locked Sam in the panic room."

"What are you saying, Bobby?" A rolling in Dean's guts told him he already knew exactly what Bobby was alluding to.

The older man looked at the bottle in his hands as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd seen in a long time. Just when Dean was ready to repeat himself, Bobby said, "I'm not going to pretend it makes a lick of sense to me, Dean, but I think you consider Cas your family in a way that Sam and I don't."

"You don't consider Cas family?" Dean asked, surprised.

Bobby looked right in his eyes. "That's not what I said."

"Bobby-"

"I'm not sayin' it's wrong, Dean. God knows I have no business advocating to anyone on the morality of their feelings."

"Bobby, I don't..." He couldn't bring himself to say the words. It was such an incredulous idea, and yet... And yet.

If there hadn't been so much alcohol in his system, Dean's sure he would have been able to mount a defense against such a ridiculous suggestion. Bobby's lips quirked like he knew what Dean was thinking. It pissed Dean off.

"What are you suggesting Bobby? What should I do about my feelings? Should we all just sing and hold hands and get all our kumbayayas out and then everything will magically be better? Cas betrayed us, Bobby," he snarled. "He's a fucking liar. He's been lying to me for months—months! And I'm just supposed to forgive that? Fuck. That."

The force of his vehemence set Bobby aback for all of about one second, and then he was slamming his bottle onto the table between them, leaning forward even further until their faces were inches apart. "Dean, you are-"

Dean stood. None of this was anything he had to listen to; Bobby was trying to defuse his anger when all Dean wanted to do was clutch it tight. He turned to walk away. "Screw this noise," he slurred.

Bobby was up, out of his chair and in his face before Dean had taken two steps. "I've got one thing to say to you, boy. No!" he demanded, when Dean turned from him again, intent on going the opposite direction. "You listen to me, goddamnit!" A hand on his shoulder jerked him around to face the other hunter.

"You were the one that was preachin' about clean slates and forgiveness at Rufus' funeral. About how none of the past or what's coming on down the road really mattered. Do not be a hypocrite now." He released Dean's shoulder with a shove. "Don't you dare. You need to move on and forgive that sonovabitch so we can get with savin' the world again already."

With those last shaky words, Bobby whirled away and stomped back towards the house. Righteous fury rolled off the man in waves, feeling like a sobering slap across the face.

*~*~*~*~*

"There are some things I don't know," Sam said, leading Cas towards the sofa in Bobby's den.

Castiel sat, roughly, feeling wrung out and exhausted in a way that he never had from a physical confrontation. The only other time that came close was when he'd woken up in the hospital.

"Between the times I... came here, and now, I suppose." Castiel's face was blank of comprehension, so Sam fidgeted and said "In Heaven, I mean. I know basically what's going on, I can guess at a lot from my memories of the way everyone is and everything, but... it's been a long time."

It shouldn't have been a comfort, to have Sam babbling at him the way he always had whenever he was uncertain, as if a deluge of the facts he did have would compensate for those he didn't, but it was. It was just so quintessentially Sam that Castiel couldn't help but feel himself relax. He didn't know what he'd expected with the fall of Sam's wall, but it certainly wasn't this. The young man (archangel? He wasn't, but yet-well, that was something that could be thought upon later) still waggled his fingers in the same nervous gesture, still had his expressive mouth tug down at the corners just the slightest bit when he was thinking deeply.

"I'm sorry that I underestimated you," Castiel said, and when Sam blinked at him in confusion, the angel realized that the statement must have seemed apropos of nothing. "You know that I actively discouraged Dean from placing your soul back in your body," he explained. "I...suspected what—who-you really were, and...I was frightened for you. Such an epiphany, I thought, couldn't be anything but traumatic, and coupled with your soul's experiences in Lucifer's cage..."

"That does piss me off," Sam said, frankly. At Castiel's wince, he added, "I kinda get it, but I think you need to be more honest with yourself about some of these things, Cas. It wasn't really me that you were all that worried about. It was yourself. And Dean."

They sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, and then Sam tentatively said, "The cage...it...it wasn't Lucifer who...Lucifer didn't mistreat me. While I was there with them."

Cas looked at him sharply, but said nothing. Sam took a deep breath and said, "He recognized who I was. Knew who I was, before anything. I'm not sure how he knew I was going to Fall, but he did. He had Azazel seek me out, told me that the reason I was his perfect vessel stemmed from more than just the traces of Nephilim left in my human bloodline. He seemed...well, he was angry to be in the cage, yeah. But it was almost as if he was happy to at least have someone there with him. It was Michael who tormented me."

A hand reached out towards Sam, but then withdrew. Part of Sam felt guilty for that. His brother didn't know how to express human emotions, didn't know what to do with his urge to comfort someone, and that was partially his and Dean's fault. He remembered rebuffing Cas's hug when his human soul had first been reunited with his body and fought a wince. Reaching out to Castiel now though wouldn't fix that, and Sam really didn't want any sort of comforting gesture.

"I am sorry you had to experience brother Michael's wrath, Sam."

Sam laughed, albeit a bit brokenly. "Once my human soul separated from me Michael stopped. I think he was shocked to see me again." A wry twist of his lips, and Sam said, "And once my body was pulled back to earth, Lucifer...he shielded my human soul from the brunt of Michael's rage. I think...in his own way, I think Lucifer loved me. Or maybe it was a sense of possessiveness? Either way, I just know that my soul was just about completely shredded from separating from my body, and Lucifer held it until Death came to retrieve it."

"I can't imagine Lucifer was willing to give up something he saw as his," Cas said, carefully.

Snorting, Sam said, "He wasn't. But he no longer held Death's leash. It wasn't like he had much choice in the matter." Shaking his head, he said, "This really isn't what I want to talk to you about. Eventually Dean is going to crawl back into the house, and I don't want to be talking to you about some of this stuff when he does."

Castiel nodded. "I don't want to be talking about this if I see Dean again, either." The word if tasted like tinfoil on the back of his tongue.

Sam gave him a sharp look. If Castiel had to interpret it, he'd read it as one of disbelief. Ignoring it, Castiel said, "What did you wish to speak of me with, if not about your soul?" Castiel felt—inexplicably, wretchedly—a wave of jealousy pass through him at the words. His brother, Samael, had a soul. One of his very own, one that allowed him to experience a full range of emotions and connected him to their Father and-

"Raphael," Sam said. "Why are you his public enemy number one? What has he been doing?"

"The answer to those questions," Castiel said slowly, "are intertwined."

*~*~*~*~*

It is cold, so cold it almost burns. And wet, sinking the cold straight into the bone. It's the sort of cold that takes a body hours to recover from, even in front of a roaring fire. The sort of cold that you never forget.

And it's something Castiel has never experienced until now. Why he's feeling it, he's not sure, because it's also the sort of cold that numbs the brain as well as body. Something is very badly wrong.

Struggling to remain awake, he opens his eyes and sees only white at first. When his vision clears, he sees that he is in a mostly submersed cage of icy water. He shudders in horror, tries to force his limbs to work, knows he must try to escape quickly. His vessel is in danger and he knows if he remains in this place he might not be able to heal it.

He reaches for the bars of the cage and they instantly bond to the metal. With a cry of pain, he pulls back. He feels the frozen skin tear, sees blood solidify as it drips into the icy water.

The agony increases as a biting wind blows through the cage, whipping into him like a hundred stinging lashes and stealing his breath. The wind drags upward, pulling crystals of ice into the air, swirling as they reach the clouds above. From this comes bright blue sparks and growling thunder, and a sharp blast of lightning that cracks open the ground beside the cage.

The lightning sizzles in the air for a moment, dancing and sparking, then coalesces into the form of Raphael's earthly vessel. Suddenly Castiel knows he is not in his own vessel, that this is an illusion; perfect in its ability to make him feel everything a human would. He is in very deep trouble.

"Castiel," comes Raphael's deep, impassive voice, "do you know why you are here?"

Shuddering painfully, Castiel shakes his head.

"I have been informed by Zachariah that you have willfully disobeyed," Raphael says, his voice blank with disapproval. "You've grown too fond of a human. You've let him sway you from your path, listened to him instead of Heaven's order."

"But he's my charge, I must help him… however it's possible to help…"

"No, Castiel, you must do what we tell you to do. You are not there to help the human."

"But that makes no sense," Castiel begins, and instantly regrets it as another crack of lightning burns across his skin.

"We did not tell you to think about it, or rationalize it. We told you to follow orders. Nothing more or less. Do you understand?"

Castiel nods weakly, whispers, "Yes, yes…"

"Good. Then you know what I'm doing is for the best. You must be purified, healed of these growing emotions. Things angels do not feel. Being in a vessel does not make you human. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Castiel rasps, closing his eyes. "Yes, I understand."

"A cure is not always pleasant. Medicine does not always taste good. But it is the only way. Before your ill-advised sojourn to earth, you were a disciplined soldier. You will be again. Let me show you the reasons we would never wish to be human." Raphael waves his non-existent hand.

The pain should bury Castiel in unconsciousness. But he isn't allowed that mercy. For days, it seems, he lays across the edge of agony bright and sharp as an angel blade. He feels the false vessel break and burn and scream until it bleeds from the inside out.

"Castiel," comes Raphael's chastising voice when the pain suddenly recedes. "You claimed you understood me. You called out for our Father, but he will not answer you because He knows you must learn this lesson. And even among those prayers, I see a sliver of thought for your human. I see concern."

Castiel wheezes, weeps. Thinking of Dean is unavoidable. Dean is his mistake.

"Yes, that's more like it," Raphael rumbles with a more satisfied tone. "Now we shall see whether you understand what you really are, Castiel. You are not part of your vessel. Pain as you have just experienced is not part of who you are, nor shall it ever be. However… your true self can also be made to feel pain, should you disobey again. Let's demonstrate that, so you do not forget."

The illusion of Jimmy's body evaporates, as does the visual of a cage. Yet he is still trapped, Enochian sigils carved into the fabric of space surrounding his form. He trembles as Raphael's form, half again larger than himself, streaked with blue-white snakes of power playing within the cloud of grace, wings of lightning big as galaxies, bursts into being. A semblance of a hand reaches out to stroke Castiel along the face which resembles a lamb in human terms, the one that follows the flock obediently. Raphael's countless supernova eyes blaze at him. "You will remember yourself, Castiel. You cannot forget yourself again."

And Castiel heard Dean's voice in his head, thinking loudly enough to reach him.

Cas wouldn't flake out like this, something's wrong.

Damn it, Cas, what's happened to you?

C'mon, Cas, we could really use you down here.

Every time Dean thinks Castiel's name, Castiel burns. While he writhes, every moment he ever stood face-to-face with Dean plays in his head.

He stalled Heaven's plans to raze a small town to destroy a witch, because Dean declared to Uriel that he would find the witch first, and he felt a miniscule spark of admiration while doing so. Even though their orders were to follow Dean's orders, he sensed Heaven was counting on failure. And he was pleased when Dean succeeded, shared that pleasure with Dean. Even though Castiel didn't tell Uriel, the other angel suspected Castiel's wavering loyalty.

Dean causes him to feel emotions, so Dean is to blame for his pain.

He hesitated many times when forced to confront Dean over Anna. He stood by as Uriel beat Ruby and attacked Dean, and didn't harm Sam. Uriel then confronted Dean in turn, declaring Castiel had begun to like Dean as though it was the greatest sin possible.

Perhaps it was. Anna accused him of not knowing how to feel, but it was no longer true. Then the biggest shock – he was unable to exorcise Alastair. And Dean saved him. A human had to save him. He had lost his power because he was being punished for his growing feelings.

Dean causes his pain. Dean.

He told Dean he was different. He'd almost said "special". He had nearly shown personal preference.

Dean is swaying his thoughts. Dean is hurting him.

He was demoted because his superiors were concerned about his motives. He regretfully asked Dean to torture Alastair, knowing it was wrong, that it was hurting the human in ways that could be permanent. Still he pushed, and his own heart ached-something he was not supposed to feel. When he went to aid Dean he was nearly expelled from his vessel by Alastair.

His doubts led him to face Uriel's murderous betrayal, and he would have surely died again if not for Anna. He was so weakened he could not heal Dean.

He is weakened and brutalized because of Dean.

He answered Dean's prayer for help and subverted orders, giving Dean all the clues he needed to save Sam from Lilith. They called down Raphael himself to drive her away. He'd interceded, gone against orders – again – because of Dean.

He knew that his superiors were planning something enormously big, something that felt very wrong. He decided to disobey entirely, to warn Dean. But they had found him, fought him, ripped him from his vessel.

And now he is here. All because of Dean.

It is always Dean that leads him to pain, the Dean that he's served over heaven's will. He sees that now. Dean is nothing but pain and death to him, and the human is nothing more to Heaven than a tool. Castiel's job is to make Dean see that and obey.

He suffers because of Dean. He will not make that mistake again.

And suddenly he is released from his prison. He is falling toward earth, hears the cries of his vessel. Jimmy is dying and his family in mortal danger. Castiel breaks another rule – one that he knows Heaven will forgive, this time only – and takes the body of the girl Claire. Awakens her and defeats the demons, then takes Jimmy's body again to save him and his daughter.

And when Dean asks where he had been, what he'd been trying to tell them… he is cold and purely angelic, telling the human he serves heaven, not man. And that he certainly doesn't serve Dean.

*~*~*~*~*

Sam felt himself blanch. "Forceful revelation? He really-"

"Yes," Castiel broke in, almost impatiently. A beat of time pulsed between them, and then Castiel took a deep breath. "I apologize," he said. "It is... not a pleasant memory for me. I do not like to think of my time in his merciful care." The word merciful was spat out mockingly, and Sam wondered when Cas had developed sarcasm. He'd always been so earnest, and Sam disliked seeing the lack of it now. Raphael had more to answer for than his vainglorious attempt to take over Heaven, Sam thought darkly.

"Why did you rebel?" Castiel frowned, and Sam fidgeted as he clarified, "It wasn't very long after the whole Jimmy thing that you full-on rebelled. You knew the potential consequences, and you did it anyways. Why?"

The answer, when given, was said very simply, quietly. "Because I love Dean."

Standing, Castiel moved back to the kitchen. Sam watched with mouth-opened amazement for a moment as the angel refilled his water glass. Then he couldn't suppress a smile at the confession. Yes, it was obvious. Balthazar hadn't exaggerated there. And, he strongly suspected, Dean was not unaware nor unaffected himself.

Castiel returned with his drink. He knew Cas didn't need the water, but apparently he found the action of sipping it soothing.

"There are several things you need to know." Castiel finally said. "The situation with Raphael has evolved into more than just a philosophical disagreement between he and I. There was a reason I ordered the Mother's release."

Sam nodded encouragingly.

"Do you recall investigating suicides in Calmut City, Illinois?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, that was where we ganked Veritas. Why?"

Castiel said, "One lead that Dean thought viable was that the victims had all purchased reeds from the same music supply store. He prayed to me because he believed Gabriel's Horn of Truth may have been the cause of the deaths." Another sip of water, and he admitted, "I offered to investigate. I told Dean that Gabriel's Horn was not in the town, and that was the truth."

"I sense a 'but' here," Sam said.

Lips quirking, Castiel agreed. "Indeed. What I didn't tell him was that Veritas was searching that town for a different Horn on my orders. She...became greedy, and began seeking tribute." He hastened to say, "That wasn't part of our agreement."

"No, no. I get it," Sam assured him, and he did. Heaven had a whole roster of former gods and goddesses who, after the decline of their religions, had sought a new purpose to their existence and began working for angels. "So if it wasn't Gabriel's Horn she was there looking for, which one was it?"

Instead of answering him straight out, Castiel said, "Have you never wondered how, precisely, Raphael plans to begin Armageddon anew? He does not possess the Horsemen rings, and the Lilith necessary to open the final seal has already passed through this existence and onto the next."

Sitting upright, Sam cursed softly under his breath as the pieces fell into place. "The Horn of Judgment."

"Yes." That Horn, Sam recalled, was Raphael's own. It was the horn that was to be blown at the end of times, and one of the few ways the door to Lucifer's cage could be opened.

"She found it. It is now in my possession," Castiel said.

Brows tilting in confusion, Sam said, "But isn't that a good thing? Without that Horn, Raphael can't kickstart Armageddon, even if he really wants to."

"Unfortunately," Cas sighed, "he's aware that I have it, and is determined to get it back. In his anger, he released him."

"Who?"

"Sam..." Castiel tiredly said, "Please. I wouldn't release the Leviathan simply for the power of the souls in Purgatory." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and said, "He released Behemoth and set him upon my troops."

Sam felt like he'd been punched in the gut. There were few beings in Creation that had the power to destroy angels with sheer force, but Behemoth was one of them. He was the Earth personified; he could reach inside an angel, twist their grace, pull them onto a physical plane, and then destroy them. The last time he'd walked the earth, many of the Host lost their lives gruesomely, their wings grasped and pulled until their bodies split in half and thrown on pyres, a mocking parody of a burnt offering.

Lily's (Lilith, or better yet, Eve, Sam reminded himself firmly) reaction when he'd attacked Samael had been cataclysmic.

"You do realize the last time those two rumbled the earth flooded for 40 days and 40 nights, right? And that because of it God asked me to..." Sam looked away from Castiel's suddenly sympathetic eyes.

"God asked you to choose, and you locked her away. Yes, I'm aware. You also know she is the only being in all Creation who has the power to challenge him, besides God." Unsaid was the reason why they couldn't rely on Him; Sam already knew, and it was exhausting for Castiel to even think about.

"The main body of my troops has been able to evade Behemoth thus far, but I have to move them constantly. I will not be able to hide them from him indefinitely, even with the power from my cache of souls. He will discover us, and when he does he will take the Horn and Armageddon will begin anew."

The front door clicked open, interrupting their intense conversation. Bobby stepped into the house. He paused upon seeing Castiel and Sam sitting on the sofa but quickly gathered himself.

"You're still here," he said gruffly. "Thought you'd have shagged it back to Heaven by now."

"I didn't think—"

"Yeah, well that much is obvious," Bobby groused, eyes flinty. "If you're sticking around hoping to talk to Dean, don't bother. He doesn't want anything to do with you right now."

Castiel flinched, the skin around his eyes tightening infinitesimally in pain, and Sam felt the protectiveness usually focused on Dean swell upwards. "Bobby," he said warningly, "don't."

"I'm only speaking the truth. He's not in any shape to talk to anyone right now. Maybe if you'd gone out to check on your brother instead of staying in to play footsie with angel-boy here, you'd know that."

Castiel stood abruptly. "You are not going to attempt to stop me?"

"I'd love to," Bobby said. "But realistically? I don't have anything that'll hold you, long term, and you know it."

The angel nodded. "I shall take my leave then."

"Cas, no." Sam stood up as well. "We still have a lot to talk about. Plans to make."

"Focus your prayers on me, and I will hear them," Castiel said. He caught Sam's eye, and Sam jerked as Castiel very clearly thought at him, You remember how to focus upon one sibling? So you can speak to just me, brother?

It was Castiel's first direct acknowledgment of their newly-rediscovered familial bond, and a part of Sam (the girly part, he could almost hear Dean say) reveled in it. Yes, he thought happily. How he could be happy under the force of all that Castiel had told him, Sam wasn't sure, but he still was. He wondered if he should be concerned about that. Yes, I do.

"Will you come, though?" Bobby scoffed, unable to hear the silent conversation occurring right under his nose. "Or will you be too busy making more insane plans with demons?"

"I will come if I am able, when called. That has not changed, Bobby Singer."

The use of the man's full name seemed to drain him of some of his bluster. He visibly deflated, suddenly looking each one of his years. "That's something, I suppose."

I'm going to check on Dean, Sam said to Castiel. I'll let you know how he's doing when we speak later. Give me a few hours?

Yes, Castiel agreed, relief flowing through his response. He was quiet, staring at Sam for the span of several moments, before saying, Thank you.

And then he was gone.

"You mind telling me what the hell that was all about?"

Sam turned to Bobby. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm talking about you staying in here with that angel while your brother tries to give himself alcohol poisoning in my yard, that's what I'm talking about!"

Shrugging, Sam said, "There were things we needed to discuss."

"No, kid. You and your brother are gonna be the death of me, I swear." Bobby stepped forward into Sam's personal space. He fought the urge to take a step back. He may be a former archangel bound to human flesh, but Bobby Singer still intimidated the hell out of him. A blunt finger jabbed Sam's chest. "You don't get to be all mysterious, not now. You're going to tell me exactly what you and Cas had to talk about that was so damn important you let your brother crawl off with a bottle of Jack."

The old hunter knew him too well, Sam thought with a grimace. He knew that, given what Castiel had revealed, Sam's attention would normally be on Dean, and sensed something major had to have prevented Sam from going after him. There would be no side-stepping this, even if Sam wanted to.

"What I'm going to tell you," he began, "you can't tell Dean. Not yet."

Bobby froze. "Is this something I should be sitting down for?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he sighed. "That's probably a good idea."

*~*~*~*~*

"Cuz I'm a travelin' man my friend...I've got to travel across this land..."

Dean lay on his back on in the one sparse patch of grass Bobby had, staring up at the stars and singing softly to himself. One hand rested gently on his chest, the fingers lightly tracing absent circles. This far away from the house and the junkyard's floodlights, he could see them clearly, winking. He was still drunk enough that he allowed himself to think, idly, that they looked like they were mocking him with such cheeky behavior.

Thinking about stars was easier than thinking about the conversation he'd had with Bobby an hour ago. What he'd thought was going to be a sympathetic conversation over beers turned into something else entirely. Dean hesitated to call it a bitching out, but the tone was similar enough.

"Dean?"

Great, more familial guilt, this time in the form of Sammy. Just what he needed. "Go 'way."

Of course, the Sasquatch didn't listen. "Dean, what are you doing out here?"

"Contemplating the mysteries of the cosmos. What's it look like?"

The grass rustled around Sammy's knees as he drew closer. "Offhand? I'd say it looks like you're throwing yourself a pity-party."

Stuff that didn't even make sense came out of Dean's mouth, like word vomit. "You'd know, wouldn't you? Samantha, the big old girl with… big hair and big… hell, everything. You jealous I'm edging into your territory here? Gonna take over your spot as pity queen?" He tilted his head the slightest bit upward and saw Sam looming over him, woobie expression firmly in place.

Ignoring the sloppy tirade, Sam said, "I talked to Cas a little bit-"

"Well, nice to know that he's talking to someone." Dean paused and added, "You give him a polygraph? Make sure the fucker wasn't lying?" Bitter didn't begin to describe how he felt on hearing that Cas was speaking to Sam, trying to explain himself to Sam, probably asking Sam to forgive him, and he'd just let Dean go outside and-

"Would you shut up and listen to me?"

Sam hardly ever raised his voice to Dean. It made him pause, and he wondered how much of what he'd been thinking had been said out loud. Then, softly, Dean said, "Sorry, Sammy."

Flopping down onto the ground next to him, Sam leaned back on his elbows and sighed. "Look, Dean...I know it hurts. It was a hell of a shock to find out what Cas' been doing. And I know it's hard for you, always has been, to forgive and forget. God knows it took you ages to get over everything I've done. Sometimes I'm not entirely you have. You hold things to your heart forever, it seems…"

"Damn it, Sam, I'm not some chick in a Harlequin romance novel," Dean grunted. At Sam's suspiciously raised eyebrow, Dean coughed, "Lisa always had them around the house, and...just, don't ask. Although some of them-"

"Shut up, Dean, I'm not through." Sam kicked his brother's leg. "Anyway, you're a stubborn ass but not a totally stupid one. What Cas has done is… well, pretty bad by any standards. But it's no worse than what we've done ourselves. Don't deny it," he interjected when Dean started to speak. "There've been enough lies tonight. So he screwed up. He's regretting the hell out of it. I promise you, what we talked about – we're gonna fix all this, Dean. We'll all be working together, with no more Crowley or Meg or… any other demons." Sam hesitated to mention the Mother or angels, because he didn't want to be lying himself. "You had to have known we'd get this settled, didn't you? Even while you were blowing up in there?"

Dean was silent for a minute, biting the inside of his lip. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "I don't wanna cut him out, you know. He's been part of my – our lives for years now, and I… I don't wanna lose him. From our lives…" God he was pathetic. Just find his damn pistol and stick it in his mouth, right now.

He must have said that out loud, too, because right afterwards Sam took a turn being silent. "Say, Dean, ah… what's really happening? You know, with you two? Just be straight with me." Dean heard the tiniest repressed giggle.

"What's funny?" He could use some humor; if there was anything funny about this situation, Dean wanted to hear it.

"Nothing, man. Just... can you answer me? What's going on with you and Cas?"

"A whole shitload of nothing, apparently," Dean replied, looking back up at the stars. Orion was bright tonight; Dean found his belt and followed it upward, along the shoulder, to the upright arm...

Sam's smirk was almost audible. "So that's the problem, is it?"

Dean froze. The air in his lungs felt like it'd been made static. Sam's huffing laughter suddenly made sense.

"Are you fucking kidding me? First Bobby, now you?"

Dean turned to the side and buried his face in the dried grass, groaning as his brother chuckled. What the hell. Everyone on earth was turning into a cheap advice columnist and trying to help out "Suddenly Conflicted Sexually in South Dakota". Fuck his life and the Impala it drove in on.

"Look, don't freak out. All I'm saying is that maybe you should explore how he makes you feel."

Dean rolled over and just stared at his brother. Sam shifted, uncomfortable under the force of Dean's disbelief. "What?" he asked, slightly defensive.

"Explore, Sam? Really?"

"Yes?" Sam said, unable to keep the questioning tone from creeping into his voice. When Dean's eyes just got wider, something very close to hysteria swimming in them, Sam added, "You know, um...think about the time you've spent together and the way he-"

"I don't need advice from you on how to explore, Sammy!" Dean yelped, and the tenor of Dean's panic clued Sam in on what exactly Dean thought he'd been suggesting.

Sam couldn't help himself; he started to laugh. "That's not," he gasped out, "what I was saying. Although if you think it would help-"

"Do not finish that sentence, Sam," Dean whimpered. "Don't even suggest it."

"You're the one that brought it up, man," Sam pointed out gleefully.

"Drop it, Sammy. I mean it." Huge green eyes moved from Sam back up towards the sky as his brother said, in a voice that was nearly a whisper, "Please."

Standing back up and brushing the grass from his pants, he said, "Okay, well I'm just gonna..." He jerked his thumb back towards the house.

"Yeah, you do that," Dean said. The grass swished as Sam walked back though it, and then Dean was alone once more, but this time, with even more to think about.

Not that he was even entertaining the idea of taking Sam's suggestion.

Nope. Not one bit.

Although if he were, it would only be because it was better than allowing himself to think about the way Castiel had fallen to his knees earlier and begged Dean for his understanding, the utterly devastated look in Cas' eyes when he'd walked away. Better, because Dean Winchester didn't dwell on things like that.

Dean Winchester did think about things like sex. It was a testament to how screwed everything in his life was when thoughts of what Cas' mouth on his would feel like were the safe ones. When it was easier to imagine getting further into his personal space rather than pushing the angel out of it, when the idea of loosening that ever-present tie and feeling warm skin through that equally ubiquitous white dress shirt was a better alternative to recalling Cas' tortured confessions, when-

Dean came back to himself to realize that his fingers had resumed their light tracing of patterns on his chest. Despite the chill of the night, his body felt flushed, his skin too tight, his clothes too small.

"Fuck," he said, with feeling.

Chapter Five>>

*~*~*~*~*

Author's Notes: The song Dean is singing in this chapter is "Travelin' Man" by .38 Special. 

Raphael and his Horn of Judgement are based on a subset of Islamic text (Hadith) that state Raphael shall be the archangel who blows a horn at the end times, one to signal its beginning, and once more to signal its ending.

The Behemoth and the Leviathan are both mentioned in the Bible, in the Book of Job, Ch. 40. They are described as fierce beasts of land (Behemoth) and water (Leviathan) that were tamed by God, his pets. Ziz is mentioned in the Jewish Book of Enoch as a primordial beast of the air. In this text it also says that the Leviathan and Behemoth are rivals. Below is an illustration of Behemoth, the Leviathan, and Ziz, circa 1238.