tracy_loo_who | Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (9/18)

SO GUESS WHAT'S HAPPENING TOMORROW, GUYS? OH GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S ALMOST HERE. \O/ \O/ \O/

I'd originally hoped to finish this fic before the season started, actually, but that's obviously not gonna happen. I just hope it doesn't get Kripke'd too badly to the point where I hate writing it. -.- Thanks to everyone who's been following along so far, you guys are the best and your support/encouragement means the world to me. ♥

Title: And I Will Walk On Water (9/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam, Bobby, Zachariah
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~9,300
Notes:

ibroketuesday is the best damn beta in the entire world, I promise. (But you can't have her.) Also, there's a little scene in here that was shamelessly plagiarized from this thread (link goes to a post containing spoilery episode stills, but the scene in the fic isn't spoilery). XD
Summary: In which Dean tries to deal with things, and nothing goes as expected until the very end.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

It was tricky, trying to avoid Castiel while being as near to him as possible, but Dean found a not-quite-happy medium between his conflicting interests by watching him through the window. There wasn't much to see, in truth, since Castiel had turned his back toward the house, but Dean feasted on the sight anyway and soaked it in, kind of very pathetically. Castiel was sitting on top of Dean's car, as always, with his head tilted back slightly and his face turned toward the early morning sun. Dean could see it perfectly in his mind: the light falling onto his skin like the sun had risen for the sole purpose of highlighting and complementing Castiel's features, the sky trying to match Castiel's eyes in its blueness, the air stirring gently around Castiel's invisible feathers.

In other words, Dean was screwed.

Possibly even more screwed than he'd been last night, because even though it was a long shot, Dean could perhaps have pawned his inappropriate urges off on the fact that Castiel had rescued his ass again, or that he'd obviously been tense and in need of some kind of reassurance. But after a long, restless night of alternating between confusion and denial, it was morning now and Castiel didn't look tense or in need of comfort anymore (or at least, his shoulders didn't, since Dean couldn't see his face). And Dean still wanted to kiss him.

On the bright side, if there was such a thing as a bright side to this mess, which Dean doubted, at least he could let go of his confusion and denial now. He wasn't confused anymore, watching Castiel like this, because he realized his attraction wasn't to Castiel's man-shaped body but to Castiel, the angel, his friend, and it didn't matter whether Castiel's vessel was man-shaped or woman-shaped or blob-shaped. Well, admittedly, if Castiel had possessed a busty Asian beauty, Dean would probably have started wanting him a long time ago, but he could see now that even the physical attraction wouldn't have been able to cover his desire to simply be close to Castiel for too long, because if he thought about it (which he was doing, a lot), Dean didn't want to kiss and touch him for the sake of sex and pleasure. He wanted to kiss and touch Castiel for the sake of Castiel's pleasure, and for the intimacy. If Dean could ever have that, what did it matter if he had to accustom himself to dealing with differently shaped and designed parts in the process? They were just parts, after all, and suddenly so inconsequential. That particular revelation came as something of a relief, but mostly just to Dean's masculinity.

As for the denial, well, never let it be said that Dean Winchester couldn't realize a futile endeavor when one bit him on the nose. He wanted Castiel -- had wanted him for some time now, which was probably why he found it so surprisingly easy to accept -- and even though it still dismayed him, Dean knew that it wasn't just going to go away if he pretended it wasn't there.

Wanting and having had always been firmly separated in Dean's mind, though. He wanted Castiel like he wanted his parents back, like he wanted Sam to be just Sammy again, like he wanted the four of them (or perhaps it was five, now, or even six if he included Bobby) to be together as a family, like he wanted a family to call his own someday. Dean wanted Castiel uselessly, and hopelessly. It was never going to happen for so many reasons Dean didn't even bother trying to contemplate them, much less how to work around them all, so he merely accepted it with the same aching weariness that he accepted the fact that he was never going to have any of those other things, either, because he was a Winchester and those just weren't the types of things Winchesters could have. Dean had spent his life perfecting the art of ignoring his wants, and he was good at it, so he didn't see why this had to be any different. It was just one more item to add to the list.

Sam's half amused, half concerned voice interrupted his thoughts. "What's with all the mooning over Cas this morning?"

"I am not mooning over Cas," Dean said, feeling irritable because he had, in fact, been mooning over Cas. He pointedly stopped doing so and turned to look at his brother.

"Whatever you say, dude," Sam smirked. "I just came to tell you we might have to postpone hitting the road for another day because Bobby just dug up some more lore on Michael and I wanna read it before we go. Sorry, but we'll be out of here tomorrow, I promise."

Michael-- Goddamn, Dean had been so caught up in his friggin' mooning over Cas that he'd completely forgotten to tell Sam and Bobby about Michael. "He was here yesterday," he said now.

"Who?"

"Michael."

Sam raised his eyebrows skeptically. "Are we talking about the same Michael here? Big damn archangel, defeated Lucifer? That Michael?"

"Yes," Dean replied impatiently. "That Michael. He showed up to ask Cas something, I think."

"And you didn't think it was worth mentioning to us?" came Bobby's voice from the doorway. Dean looked up to see him leaning against it with an exasperated expression and felt appropriately chastised.

"What did he want to know?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced around and tried to affect innocence as he replied, "I dunno, he didn't stay long enough after I got there to really say much."

Sam pursed his lips. "What did you do, Dean?"

Dean scowled at him and mumbled, "I might have stabbed him."

"Let me get this straight, boy," Bobby said, annoyance in every syllable, "The archangel capable of defeating Lucifer and saving the world showed up on my front lawn and instead of talking to him, you went and stabbed him."

"Twice," Dean supplied helpfully. Sam groaned, and he had to add defensively, "Look, he was one of the bastards who nearly killed Cas, okay? What was I supposed to do?" Just thinking about it stirred the vestiges of Dean's anger again, and he didn't regret having stabbed the son of a bitch. In fact, if Michael showed up right now, Dean would be sorely tempted to do it again, because he deserved nothing less for what he'd done to Castiel. Well, it wasn't so much what he'd done himself as it was what he'd allowed to happen to Castiel afterward, but Dean wasn't about to be bothered by semantics.

"You were supposed to talk to him, you idjit!" Bobby told him, sounding supremely exasperated. "If nothing else, it would've saved us a hell of a lot of reading." Dean had half a mind to point out that Bobby loved reading, but he kept quiet under the old man's disapproving glare in an uncharacteristic display of wisdom.

Sam, his beloved little brother, came to his rescue. "Look, maybe it's not too late. Have you tried asking Cas about it?" Dean was suddenly less grateful because Sam's suggestion involved actually talking to Castiel, which he'd been avoiding all morning, but he couldn't see a way out of it. And they had a good point, he had to admit, because even if he did resent Michael, he couldn't deny that any help from the archangel would be extremely, well, helpful. Sam must have sensed his hesitation, though, because after a beat he asked, "What's going on between you two?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped, a little too quickly, and tried to ignore the way Sam's eyebrows shot up. Then, to prove his point, he added, "I'll go ask him right now." He supposed he couldn't avoid Castiel forever, anyway, so he might as well buck up now and just go out there.

With that thought in mind, Dean bucked up and went out there resolutely, only to come to a stop behind Castiel and hesitate in irrational nervousness.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said without turning around or even moving at all. His voice was completely normal and unsuspecting, which made Dean feel suddenly foolish. He was being ridiculous, really, because even if he did want to kiss him and do other things he wouldn't think about right now to Castiel, he was still just Cas, and things between them didn't have to change.

Dean relaxed and said, "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Castiel finally turned his head to look over his shoulder at Dean, and the sunlight outlined his profile in a way that made Dean's fingers itch to touch him. He shook the thought from his head when Castiel got off the car to stand before him and tilt his head. "Of course."

"What did Michael want yesterday? Before I, uh, you know. Scared him off," Dean finished with a vague, sheepish gesture when Castiel's gaze turned stern.

Apparently Castiel decided lecturing Dean on respect would have been wasted breath. "He asked me if I still believed in God," he said instead.

Dean turned this over in his thoughts for a few moments, but still couldn't fathom what Michael had been getting at. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. A thought that didn't make him entirely happy crossed his mind. "If you'd said yes, would they have taken you back or something?" Dean knew the idea should have pleased him on Castiel's behalf, because it was in Castiel's best interests, but then again, was it? Would Castiel really be better off if he could return to an existence that consisted of blindly following orders and not much else, even if it meant he could be among his own kind again? Dean wasn't sure, because it didn't sound too great, but then again, it wasn't like Dean could offer him much either. All he was sure about was the fact that he suddenly didn't want to lose Castiel, with a selfish vehemence that made him despair slightly.

"I don't know," Castiel said, and he seemed too lost himself to notice that Dean was having an internal debate. Then he pursed his lips and pointed out, "He didn't get a chance to say anything else."

All the slack Dean had been getting over this was beginning to make him testy, and he said, "Don't look at me like that, Cas, if you hadn't been a hair away from shitting your pants I probably wouldn't have stabbed him to begin with. Well," he amended after a moment, "not the first time, anyway."

Castiel looked down at the ground and closed his mouth without replying.

Dean sighed, because he could see now that Castiel was still tense and uncomfortable, and instead of helping, Dean had probably only made it worse by shoving him away as he had. He wanted to apologize for that, but didn't know how to explain without opening up the can of worms labeled Talking About Feelings, and, well, he wasn't going to touch that one with a forty foot pole, especially considering what his feelings were. So instead he settled on, "You never answered my question last night, Cas, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Castiel replied, a little sharply, though the way he glared at the ground told Dean otherwise.

Perhaps it was just Dean reading too much into nothing like a friggin' schoolgirl with a crush, but something about the tone made him feel like Castiel was pushing him away, which was such an unpleasant contrast to the way he'd leaned back into Dean the night before that Dean felt a brief pang. He bit his lip and changed tactics. "Is Jimmy alright, then?"

Castiel finally looked up at him, head tilted, and admitted after a moment, "Jimmy is... unsettled.' Then he added with a small frown, "He was aware when Michael and Gabriel came down."

Poor guy, Dean would be nervous about coming face to face with someone who'd once ripped him to shreds, too. But what could he do? Castiel seemed to respond to physical comfort, but Dean had already botched that avenue up and anyway he had no idea how kosher with it Jimmy really was. The knowledge that the guy was in there made Dean feel even more uncomfortable about the things he wanted to do to Castiel, and besides, he really shouldn't be touching them at all, now that he knew that it would only make him want impossibly more.

They were silent for awhile, but then he had an idea, and gave Castiel a lopsided smile. "Meet me in the back," he said, and didn't wait for a reply before he turned and headed back into the house.

***

"Bobby, where's your grill?" he asked.

"What do you need a grill for?" Bobby looked up from his books to ask gruffly.

Dean rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, "I wanna sit on it to keep my ass nice and toasty. Come on, Bobby, what do you think, I'm grillin' burgers."

Sam snorted. "You? Grilling things?"

"Hey, now," Dean said with mock defensiveness, "I'll have you know I can grill a mean burger. It's practically a Winchester family tradition."

"No, it's not."

Dean huffed. "Well, it can be starting now."

"You've never grilled a burger in your life, Dean," Sam pointed out.

"I have too," Dean retorted. "Dad used to let me help him." He didn't add that it had been before their mom had died, because he didn't need to. Sam glanced away, looking a little wistful, and Dean clapped him on the shoulder and said lightly, "C'mon, Sammy, it'll be fun."

Sam gave him a wry look. "Did you even ask Cas about Michael or did you get too distracted by your mooning and wooing?"

"I was not mooning," Dean said, exasperated, even though he could feel the tips of his ears warm at the way Bobby eyed them curiously. "And I am not wooing." That much was true, at least. Before Sam could tease him further, he added quickly, "Of course I asked him about Michael. Apparently he wanted to know if Cas still believes in God, but that was all he said and Cas doesn't know what he meant either."

Both Sam and Bobby both fell into a contemplative silence, and Dean reminded them impatiently because Castiel was probably waiting, "So, about that grill?"

Bobby rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Oh, very well. Come with me."

***

Castiel stood off to one side while Dean grilled burgers like a man, Sam harassed him like an annoying little brother, and Bobby rolled his eyes at both of them like a grumpy parent. All in all, though, Dean considered it a success, and when the burgers were done, he put them on paper plates and handed one each to Bobby and Sam (who admitted reluctantly that Dean wasn't a complete failure at grilling), along with beers from the cooler. Then he grabbed two more plates and beers and went over to Castiel, resolutely ignoring the way it made Sam snicker.

"We should be concentrating on the war," Castiel said seriously when Dean tried to hand him a plate.

Dean rolled his eyes and said, "Just shut up and eat it, it's for Jimmy. You should see how much the guy loves a good burger, and this, Cas, is a damned good burger."

Castiel regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, but then he acquiesced and picked up the burger, though he left Dean holding onto the plate. Dean shrugged mentally and stacked it under his own, and then opened a beer, which Castiel accepted without fuss.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, or at least, Castiel ate and Dean occasionally took a bite of his own burger in between trying to stare surreptitiously at Castiel eating.

The surreptitious thing obviously wasn't working out too well, Dean discovered when Castiel asked eventually, "Is there something you want?"

There were a lot of things he wanted, and Dean almost snorted, but thankfully managed to stop himself. "So, do you still believe in God?" he asked, because he did want to know and this was a safe question.

"Of course," Castiel replied softly. Dean should have known.

He hesitated before asking his next question, and tried to keep any hints of bitterness out of his voice. "So if they want you back, you'll go?"

Castiel hesitated too, before asking, "Should I?"

"Uh," Dean replied uncomfortably. "It's your call, dude. Do you want to?"

The question seemed to confuse Castiel, but Dean waited patiently for him to figure it out and he eventually said slowly, "No."

Dean was more than a little gratified. "Really?"

After a brief glance up at the sky, Castiel confessed, "I don't know that what they're doing is God's will anymore." He added after a long moment, "And I miss my brothers and sisters, but I would rather be here." He didn't say with you, but it hung in the space between them and warmed Dean all the same. It made him want to move closer and show Castiel just how much Dean enjoyed being with him, too, and he had to fight to suppress the urge. Then he had to suppress the urge to back away, because that wasn't cool either. Dean looked away and took a long swig of beer.

When Castiel finished his burger, he said quietly, "Jimmy wishes to thank you."

Dean quirked his lips. "So he's talking to you again, eh? Does this mean he's no longer pissed?"

For a moment Castiel looked uncertain and distracted, but then his eyes focused on Dean again and he gave him the tiniest of smiles, which Dean considered an accomplishment. "I think so," he replied.

"Good." Dean nodded, satisfied, and finished off his own burger. "Let's keep it that way."

***

Dean spent the rest of that day applying new wards to the Impala that they'd come across in their research, making new hex bags, and cleaning his weapons, Sam joined him once he'd finished reading everything he'd wanted to read, and Castiel got sent off by Bobby to go investigate some local skirmish he'd heard about. (Dean was only a tiny bit resentful that it cut down on his gratuitous staring time, but on second thought that was probably a good thing.)

The next day, they got out of Bobby's hair and finally hit the road again. Dean reluctantly allowed Sam to drive that day, but then immediately regretted it when his brother began playing the most atrocious noise he'd ever had the misfortune of being subjected to. Dean ached quietly for his poor car's sound system and the indignity she suffered, and then he ached loudly, until Sam began swatting at him with his freakishly long arms every time he complained. All in all, it was a pretty miserable drive, made even more miserable by the torturous length of it, because Castiel had insisted they put as much distance as possible between themselves and the demons still lurking around Bobby's town.

Every time they made a pit stop, though, Castiel would join them briefly, and those were the highlights of Dean's day. Something about laying eyes on that stupid angel just automatically brightened his mood, and even though he was sure this was a bad sign, it didn't stop him from smiling at Castiel's usual humorless expression whenever Sam wasn't looking.

After that day, Dean never let Sam drive again and hoarded his keys jealously.

It felt damned good when they finally started hunting again, even though they were still just frying small fish, for the most part, and Sam kept worrying about why Lucifer couldn't seem to be bothered to actually destroy the world properly. For his part, Dean was grateful for it, though he was similarly confused and unsettled. Castiel had no comment on the issue, but he fit in well with them, Dean thought, and the three of them made a swashbuckling supernatural-thing-killing team. Except for the part where Sam was always fretting like only Sam could fret and Castiel was always solemn as only he could be, but Dean took it in stride.

What was less easy to take in stride was sharing so much time and such close quarters with Castiel. If Dean had thought he was good at ignoring his wants before, well, he was beginning to realize that it had only been because none of the things he'd wanted had ever seemed so deceptively within his reach before. They'd never brushed against his skin, all warmth and immediacy, they'd never stolen fries from his plate one moment and then fought by his side the next, and they'd never let Dean have his foul moments without getting angry at him. Castiel did all of these things and more, and he was almost always there, close enough for Dean to reach out and touch, and reassuring enough for Dean to occasionally catch himself thinking that this was an angel who might grant him anything he asked for.

It was getting harder and harder for Dean to remember why he couldn't have this, and harder and harder for him to keep his hands to himself. He had to keep reminding himself that Castiel wouldn't want it, that it would ruin everything they'd built together so painstakingly, and in those moments when Castiel looked like he could actually want it, Dean resorted to reminding himself that the closer he got to anyone, the more they inevitably got fucked over. In fact, Castiel already had gotten fucked over on Dean's account, and the last thing Dean wanted was to see him get hurt again. Though it always left Dean feeling guilty and bitter, it did the trick.

Still, he found himself resorting to touching women more often. Not only did they give him an excuse to spend less time with Castiel, they provided some measure of relief from his pent up sexual frustration. What they didn't do was distract him from wishing he could have Castiel, though, because every time Castiel glanced between Dean and his hot chick of the day and retreated to give them time alone, Dean wished he would stay and the chick would leave instead. And every time Dean made her moan, he wished he could hear Castiel make that sound and know that he had caused it.

Dean was slowly going mad, and the worst of it wasn't even that Sam noticed and his easy jibes began taking on more concerned tones. The worst of it was that Castiel noticed and sometimes couldn't tiny hide flashes of hurt before Dean saw them and realized that they were because of him; because Castiel thought Dean didn't want him around. But Dean didn't know how to tell him it wasn't true, so he didn't. All he could do was try to be more careful about the signals he sent when Castiel came back, and that usually worked for awhile, until he slipped up and the whole cycle began all over again.

He didn't know how long he could keep doing this for, and it had only been a few weeks.

***

Mostly, Dean tried to content himself with innocent little touches; things he knew he could get away with when he was too tired of holding back. Like now, when he and Sam were both dressed impeccably in their FBI suits and Castiel still looked as rumpled as ever.

As soon as Sam left to wait out in the car, Dean dragged Castiel to the bathroom, saying, "Cas, man, you can't go like this. You need to look more official."

Instead of replying, Castiel merely watched Dean in bemusement and let him tighten up his tie and straighten his suit for him. Dean took his time, and when Castiel seemed to get the idea and brought his hands up to fumble with the buttons, Dean actually swatted them away so he could do it instead. This seemed to bemuse Castiel even further, so he let his hands fall back to his sides and simply returned to passively letting Dean have his way.

After Dean had buttoned up his suit, he turned his attention to Castiel's trench coat, straightening the lapels as he explained, "They'll never buy that you're an FBI agent if your lapels aren't straight." It was a weak excuse, and Dean knew it, and maybe Castiel suspected it too, if the way he was frowning faintly down at his now perfectly symmetrical lapels was any indication. Dean realized he was still straightening them and quickly moved on before he could comment. He did up the collar next, trying not to linger too long near the warmth of Castiel's neck, and smoothed his hands over the wrinkles in the coat's shoulders.

When he couldn't think of anything else to do and knew Sam must be getting impatient, he finally stepped back reluctantly and tried not to blush at the way Castiel said uncertainly, "Thanks."

"Come on," Dean replied gruffly. "Let's go."

When they got there, the problem wasn't that no one believed Castiel was an FBI agent, because thanks to Dean he looked every inch like one. The problem wasn't even that people in the town were unwilling to spill details of how they'd been attacked at night by a nameless monster they couldn't see, because they were quite liberal with the information, and all the people they interviewed had similar stories to tell.

The problem was that every one of those survivors told Dean, Sam, and Castiel that they'd only survived because they'd heard from family or friends that if they prayed to the devil for help, they'd be saved, and it had worked. They seemed convinced he was some kind of savior, and didn't shy away from extolling his coming. In fact, it seemed the whole town was caught up in this, and Dean had to wonder how many demons were preaching devil worship to people around the world while their buddies enforced it through terror.

Castiel seemed troubled, Sam found excuses to accidentally splash holy water on as many people as possible (but to no effect), and Dean mostly just thought uneasily back to what Lucifer had said about leading people against God. He hadn't believed a word of it at the time, but it seemed they had finally stumbled onto a clue about what the devil was doing instead of destroying the world.

When they caught up to the nameless monster, they found that it was indeed just an ordinary demon, but one that hadn't possessed anybody. It lurked as a cloud of black smoke and attacked at night when people couldn't see it, flinging knives and furniture at its victims until they either died or prayed to Lucifer. This was how Castiel led Dean and Sam to a single mother, cowering behind her couch and trying to protect her two small children from the kitchen knives that hurled toward them. She prayed, but before the demon decided she'd had enough, Castiel caught it in his bare hands and burned it out of existence.

Dean had to admit, it was one of their more anticlimactic hunts, but the woman gave a grateful sob and thanked Lucifer. Dean and Sam stood there awkwardly, and it was Castiel who said sternly, "Lucifer is not your savior."

She looked up at him with confusion and said, "But I prayed, and you came."

"We are messengers of God," Castiel replied, and Dean snorted and had to bite his tongue to keep from telling Castiel to speak for himself. Castiel seemed to sense the sentiment, though, and shot him a briefly hesitant look.

"God?" the woman repeated, not understanding.

"You should be praying to God," Castiel told her. "He is your creator and salvation, not Lucifer."

When she didn't respond, he sighed and said to Dean, quietly enough that she couldn't hear, "Bless her in the name of the Lord, Dean."

Dean arched his eyebrows and replied, "Dude, you're the angel here, you do it."

But Castiel shook his head and said, "I am no longer..." Then he trailed off and frowned for a moment before insisting, "It will be best for you to do it, Dean. You are the one God chose."

Dean rolled his eyes and was about to object again, tell him that he still didn't even believe in God, so how could he make her believe? But the damned angel watched him so imploringly that he found he couldn't disappoint him. "Fine," he hissed, wondering self-deprecatingly when he'd stopped being able to say no to Castiel, "but I don't know how your weird God shit goes, you have to tell me what to do."

Castiel nodded once and even ignored Dean's use of the phrase 'weird God shit'. "Kiss her once on the forehead and then on each eyelid and say: Dominus custodit te ab omni malo custodiat animam tuam Dominus. Deus benedicat te."

With another roll of his eyes and a sigh of resignation, Dean went over to stand in front of the woman, who was still kneeling on the floor in front of her children with an uncertain frown. He felt utterly ridiculous as he bent to kiss her forehead and eyelids, but he repeated Castiel's blessing all the same. When he was done, he ignored the way she stared up at him with wide eyes and looked self-consciously back over his shoulder at Castiel, who seemed pleased and satisfied. Sam also looked pleased, but his expression was much more amused than Castiel's, and Dean scowled at him.

He just hoped Castiel wouldn't ask him to do it again.

***

Later, when they were back at the motel and Sam was in the shower, Castiel looked up at Dean and said without preamble, "I think Lucifer wants to take over Heaven."

The thought had occurred to Dean, too, but now he sighed and turned off the TV so he could focus on Castiel, who was sitting on the couch beside him. The truth of it was, Dean wasn't too concerned about Heaven and was just glad Lucifer seemed to have his sights set on something other than Earth and humanity, but of course this would bother Castiel a lot more. Dean waited silently for him to continue.

"I should warn them," Castiel said, though it sounded more like a suggestion he wanted Dean's opinion on rather than an actual statement. Either way, Dean was pretty sure he wasn't going to like the sound of this.

"Send them a carrier pigeon," he suggested lightly, but then fell silent again under Castiel's unamused look.

"Maybe if I call Zachariah--"

"No," Dean said immediately.

Castiel sighed, as if he'd been fully expecting the resistance. Then he asked, "Don't you think I should warn them?"

"Sure, but find some way to do it that doesn't involve the fucker who'd sooner make a down pillow out of you than listen to anything you have to say."

"But Zachariah is the only one who has the power to--"

"Cas," Dean cut in impatiently. "No. You can't, okay?"

Castiel frowned and pointed out, "You agreed that I should."

Dean gave him a helpless look, and he just wanted to reach out and grab Castiel and shake the martyrish tendencies right out of him and make him stay here, with Dean, where it was safe.

Something of this must have shown on his face, because Castiel reassured him, "I won't let him harm me, Dean. If you agree, I can arrange the meeting to be inside your dream tonight."

Dean breathed a little easier as he thought about this. Not even Lucifer had been able to hurt Castiel when they'd been inside his head, so he thought this would probably be okay too and slowly relaxed. "Alright. Of course you can use my head," he said, ignoring how weird that sounded. "Just as long as you're sure he can't do anything to you there."

Castiel nodded gratefully and replied, "I'm sure."

***

He chose something similar to the dock by the lake for Dean's dream, and they stared at each other for a moment before Castiel turned his face toward the sky and called Zachariah's name.

It took a few minutes of tense waiting before Zachariah finally showed up, and he was back to his old, smarmy self again. "Did you really miss me that much?" he smirked.

Dean's automatic reaction was to grind his teeth and stab the bastard, but Castiel, perhaps on purpose, hadn't allowed him the knife in this dream. He kept quiet and waited for Castiel to say what he had to say so they could get this over with.

"Zachariah," Castiel acknowledged him peaceably, and Dean took a moment to marvel at his restraint. "I fear Lucifer has been amassing followers and intends to wage a war on Heaven."

Instead of looking the least bit concerned, Zachariah exuded amusement as he replied, "You fear that, do you, Castiel? And here I thought you didn't care about us anymore."

Castiel frowned and said only, "I care."

"Maybe you do, maybe you don't," the other angel shrugged. And then his voice hardened as he continued, "But I think it's more likely you got tired of following this ungrateful, smelly wretch around like a homeless puppy and just want back in. Well, sorry to say, kiddo, but cheap tricks just aren't gonna cut it."

"It's not a trick, you stupid son of a bitch," Dean snapped, far more annoyed on Castiel's behalf than on his own.

Zachariah ignored him completely and finished, "You could at least have come up with a semi-believable one, really, I'm disappointed."

Castiel pursed his lips. "I am not lying to you. Listen to them, Zachariah, there are people praying to him even now. I'm telling you this out of concern for my brothers and sisters, not out of a desire to rejoin Heaven."

"Good," Zachariah replied, in a tone that clearly indicated he didn't believe a word of what Castiel had said, "because Heaven doesn't want you back either." Castiel frowned again, and he smiled a sharp, cruel smile. "Come now, Castiel, surely you can't be surprised? Even if you hadn't disobeyed a direct order, no real angel would let a demon use him the way you let three demons use you. You're even worse than they are; at least they don't pretend to be better."

Castiel lowered his gaze uncomfortably and didn't reply, and Dean wished they were back in that warehouse, with this fucker helpless and whimpering at their feet, because the things he wanted to do to him... Dean couldn't do any of those things, though, could only growl, "Shut the fuck up, you ungrateful, spineless mother of all assholes. You're the one who let that happen, and to one of your own, too."

Zachariah wasn't finished, though. In fact, his spirits seemed bolstered by Castiel's silence and Dean's mounting anger, like he'd decided that if he couldn't use his powers against them, he'd use words instead. "That's where you're wrong, Dean," he said quite cheerfully. "Haven't you been paying attention? He couldn't possibly be one of mine. None of my angels would give themselves over to be owned by any demon as a fucktoy. And none of my angels would beg to be allowed to suck cock instead of having their palms skinned off. Right, Castiel?" He winked.

Castiel flinched visibly and Dean felt sick, both at the image and at the fact that Zachariah had seen that and done nothing, but Zachariah only chuckled and continued, "Really, Castiel, you belong to Lucifer, if anyone. Trust me when I say you'd be laughed right back out before you got anywhere close to Heaven, if my Father doesn't simply have you removed from existence just for trying. It's bound to happen sooner or later, in any case; you're a stain on the canvas, and we're going to purify it. Your precious Dean here is going to purify it, actually, just as soon as he gets tired of pretending to be a homeless puppy shelter and realizes he has more important things to do than take in dirty, rabid strays. He thinks he cares about you, but you don't have delude yourself too, Castiel. He'll be just fine after you're gone, like he was just fine when you went missing before."

He turned to Dean, who was shaking with fury by now. "Speaking of getting rid of him, Dean, you really should step up to the plate soon. Castiel isn't the only one who needs you, you know. You could be taking care of the whole world, wouldn't that be more satisfying than dragging this disgusting, pathetic thing around on a leash trying to give him charity he'll never deserve? Sorry to burst your bubble, but he's well past even your ability to help, and he'll fail you sooner or later, just like he's failed me and everyone else. He's even failed his own vessel, just look at what he let poor Jimmy suffer." Zachariah paused here to smirk. "You should be more careful, Dean, before you let him taint you too. Come to us, you're one of ours; chosen by God Himself, and you know He can't be denied forever, so why keep resisting? Haven't you had enough of your game of pretend yet? The apocalypse is happening, after all."

Castiel made a small sound of distress next to him, or maybe it was shame or something else, and he might even have been shaking, but in his rage, Dean could only focus on striding over to Zachariah and wrapping his fingers around that fat fucker's neck. He didn't care that it was impossible, he was going to kill him with his bare hands if only to make him shut up--

Zachariah was gone, suddenly, and when Dean whirled around, he saw that Castiel was, too. The lake melted around him, and Dean slipped into a natural dream.

***

He still remembered the encounter when he woke up the next morning, and the first thing Dean did was look around the motel room for Castiel. Castiel wasn't there, which didn't surprise Dean but did disappoint him. He'd wanted to make sure Castiel was alright, but he was probably off doing whatever it was that he usually did when Dean and Sam slept, so it would have to wait. Besides, he probably wanted some time alone, after all that. Zachariah may not have been able to do anything to him physically, but Castiel had to be at least a little bit bothered by all the shit he'd said, even if none of it was true. Hell, Dean was bothered by it, and he felt some residual anger, but it was muffled by the hours of sleep and he could push it down for now if he concentrated on listening to the storm outside.

Water pelted relentlessly against the motel window, and he got out of bed to pad over to it and pull the curtain back. It was dark outside and Dean could barely even see his car in the parking lot through the thick sheet of rain. He just hoped they had food in the room, because this was one storm he really didn't fancy venturing out into, not even for pie.

They did have everything they needed, as it turned out, and once Dean had finished rummaging through the refrigerator and had nothing else to distract himself with, his thoughts returned to Castiel. He wondered what Castiel actually did when he wasn't around, and thought briefly about calling him back, but what would he do other than check that Castiel was okay and then spend the rest of the day trying not to touch him?

Sam woke up while he poured himself a bowl of cereal and commented, "Good thing we closed the case yesterday, huh."

Dean was inclined to agree. "As long as you don't fill this place up like a gas chamber and the electricity doesn't blow out, I think we're all set for the day. We've got enough food to last us and a couple of beers in the fridge." He went and sunk into the couch in front of the TV and turned it on, more out of wanting something to do than out of any real desire to watch it. It would keep him from thinking about Castiel, in any case.

Of course, Sam had to bring him up. "I bet Cas would bring you food and beer even if we were out," he smirked. When Dean rolled his eyes and didn't reply, he asked, "Where is he, anyway?"

Dean shrugged and sighed, suppressing another flicker of concern at the reminder because he felt it was probably silly, and it wasn't like there was anything he could do about it anyway. "I'm not his keeper, dude. He's probably off doing something productive, unlike us."

"Speak for yourself," Sam snorted as he pulled his laptop toward him and opened it. "I intend to be very productive."

"So that's what they call it these days, huh," Dean quipped halfheartedly, and didn't see the pillow coming until it had hit the back of his head.

By mid afternoon, the storm was still not showing any signs of letting up. Dean had watched everything that had looked even remotely interesting, cleaned all of his guns, replenished their flasks of holy water, and was now bored out of his mind and trying to steal Sam's laptop.

"Dude, piss off," Sam said, swatting his hands away. "I'm reading up on our next case."

Dean gave up with a dramatic sigh and flopped onto his back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling. He wished Castiel was here. It wasn't unusual for Castiel to leave them to their own devices when they were just hanging about, but they hadn't seen a scrap of tan trench coat all day and Dean could really have used the company. And he still wanted to know for sure that Castiel was okay. Then again, perhaps it was a mercy that Castiel wasn't waltzing around the room all unsuspectingly, just asking to be pressed up against a wall and kissed. Dean closed his eyes and cringed at himself.

"If you're really so bored, I'll let you borrow the computer," Sam said after a few minutes, and Dean looked up hopefully, "but you have to get Bobby's books from the trunk for me."

"You go get them."

"You're the one who's bored," Sam pointed out smugly. "I don't mind sitting here the rest of the day."

Dean scowled darkly at him, but his insolent little brother only smirked, so he got up with a huff and put his jacket on.

"Take the umbrella," Sam said, "Bobby would kill me if I let his books get wet."

"Take the umbrella," Dean repeated in a mocking falsetto, but he grabbed the umbrella on his way out anyway and a flash of lightning greeted him just as he stepped outside. He snorted, opened the umbrella, and hurried toward the car.

When he got there, though, and went around to the trunk, something caught his eye--

"Cas," he hissed, just as thunder rumbled around them, because there Castiel was, huddled on the pavement with his legs drawn up to his body and leaning against the back tire. His forehead was resting against his knees, and Dean couldn't see his face, but he was soaked through and through. Dean stared in numb shock for a moment before dropping to his knees beside Castiel, umbrella forgotten as he used both hands to try to push Castiel's shoulders back just far enough so that he could work a hand under his chin and lift it.

Castiel's skin was freezing -- barely warmer than the rain drenching them both now -- and Dean realized he must have been out here for a long time. Possibly all goddamned day, and Dean hadn't even known because Castiel was sitting against the side of the car facing away from the motel. "Shit, Cas," he muttered when he tilted Castiel's face up so that he could see him and another flash of lightning cast strange shadows across his features. Castiel's eyes were closed, but then he opened them to stare dully at Dean, who put a palm against his cheek and cupped it. He asked urgently, "Are you hurt?"

Castiel shook his head, which was an immense relief, but then he only continued to stare and didn't even seem to notice the pouring rain around them. Dean swore under his breath and stood to open the back door of the car. Somehow, he managed to haul Castiel's unresisting but heavy body into the backseat and out of the wind and rain, and then he got in after him and closed the door. Dean quickly checked for injuries anyway, out of habit, but saw none. "Cas," he said, "what happened?"

But Castiel only shook his head again and didn't respond except to shiver faintly, and Dean ached because he looked half drowned and unnaturally pale. He pushed Castiel's dripping trench coat from his shoulders, and then unbuttoned his suit, which was still done up exactly as Dean had left it the day before. Both of them were pulled off of him in short order and his tie loosened, but Dean didn't dare try to remove his white dress shirt, soaked as it was, because he could see right through it and knew that Castiel had nothing on underneath. If he'd been injured, it would have been a different story, but he seemed fine, physically, except for the part where he was clearly freezing.

Dean doubted Castiel could actual feel cold, but still, there was a thin blanket in the backseat with them, so Dean wrapped it around his shoulders and then couldn't bring himself to let go. Castiel's gaze seemed to sharpen a little then, though it was still distant, and Dean tried again, "Talk to me, Cas, what's going on?" Again, Castiel said nothing, so Dean asked, "Is Jimmy alright?"

It had done the trick last time, and it worked now, too. Castiel nodded and said softly, "Jimmy is asleep."

Dean was so relieved he was talking again that he could have hugged him, but he only kept his hold on Castiel's shoulders and asked, "What happened to you, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head and fell silent for so long Dean thought he wasn't going to answer, but then he said, "Nothing."

"Nothing?" he echoed. "You don't end up sitting out in the rain all day because of nothing, Cas."

"Nothing," Castiel repeated, and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Dean was bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

Castiel didn't open his eyes as he replied, "He was right. You shouldn't be here, Dean. It's raining," he added, as if he needed the reminder and thus thought Dean did as well. "You weren't supposed to come out here."

Dean ignored the comment about the rain, because-- "Zachariah?" He frowned, remembering his words from the dream and wondering if they could actually have triggered whatever this meltdown was that Castiel was in the middle of having. "Is this about what he said?"

He didn't get a response, so Dean took that as a yes. "Fuck, Cas," he said softly, because Castiel had been so sure Zachariah couldn't hurt him and he'd turned out to be so, so wrong. Dean hated himself for having just assumed that Castiel was alright. He should have been looking for him. He should have made sure. "I'm so sorry."

Castiel shook his head and opened his eyes again, frowning. "No. I'm just... weak. I'm sorry, Dean," he said again.

It broke Dean's heart, just a little bit. He'd thought Castiel had mostly gotten over this, and it hurt now to see him so broken again. "You're not weak, Cas," he said gently. "It's normal to have relapses and bad days after what happened to you, alright? It's alright."

"You suffered a thousand times worse and this doesn't happen to you," Castiel pointed out darkly.

"That's thanks to you, Cas," Dean sighed. "I know you muffled my memories of Hell when you brought me back, I can feel it. I'd be a wreck if it weren't for you." It had to be true, because even though Dean could remember most of the details, the memories felt removed, like they were someone else's. He was sure Castiel had done that on purpose.

Castiel neither confirmed nor denied it. He said instead, with a small, bitter sneer, "Two months. I broke after two months. It took you thirty years."

Dean frowned at the comparison and tried to reason with him. "Your case was different, Cas. No one asked you to pick up a scalpel. If it had been just me on the line, I'd have given up in no time at all." Then he paused uncomfortably and asked, "Cas, why is this about me?"

"Because he was right, Dean. You are God's chosen one, and I am--" He paused and shook his head miserably. "I can only help so much. I don't know how to help you fulfill your destiny." He shrunk away from Dean, a little, and used his hands to pull the blanket tighter around himself, maybe for protection.

Dean didn't let go, but it was enough to make him grit his teeth. "That's not what I want you around for, Cas, we've already been over this. I don't care what that fucker said, he's wrong. You're my friend, and I'm not letting you go," he said firmly.

"You have to," Castiel pleaded, though Dean didn't know if he was pleading to be let go or kept, "because I won't. I can't. Even if I wanted to, I'd be too weak to do it."

"That's fine, Cas. I want you to stay." Castiel had no idea just how much Dean wanted him to stay.

Castiel looked away from Dean and said in a small voice, "But I'm so disgusting."

"Cas, you are not disgusting," Dean sighed, wondering just how many different issues Castiel was juggling here. They almost overwhelmed Dean, and he was only the listener, so it was little wonder Zachariah's words had broken the dam. Dean couldn't believe he hadn't seen this coming.

"I am. They tainted me, not just this vessel. I let them defile Jimmy's body, but I also let them defile me," he said with a helpless shake of the head. "I can feel it, it's wrong and disgusting and it's part of me. I'm not even an angel anymore, I took the Grace God gave me and turned it into an abomination He hates. I don't know what I am."

"You couldn't have helped it, Cas," Dean insisted. "There was nothing you could have done."

"I could have fought, like you did," Castiel said, his voice cracking a little. He closed his eyes again and shuddered. "I could have had faith."

Dean didn't know what more he could say, didn't know how to fix this, so he pulled the blanket tighter around Castiel, a little desperately. Some water dripped out of Castiel's hair to fall onto his cheek, and it trailed down his face like a teardrop. Dean knew he wasn't crying, obviously, but just this image had him shrugging off his own jacket so he could get to his still mostly dry shirt underneath. It was lucky he was wearing two, and he took off the outer shirt and used it to dry Castiel's hair.

"You shouldn't touch me," Castiel mumbled as he opened his eyes again, even though Dean already had been before now, and he paused, uncertain. But Castiel hadn't told him not to, only that he shouldn't, so after a moment he resumed drying off his hair. Despite his words, Castiel leaned into the touch, so Dean tossed aside the shirt and pulled him closer, ignoring the wetness and even all the warnings inside his head that told him this wasn't a good idea. He didn't care, because if this was what Castiel needed, then Dean would give it to him. It was a little awkward, sitting here beside each other in the cramped backseat of the car, and Dean could only really get one arm around Castiel's shoulders. Castiel rested his forehead against Dean's cheek, and Dean brought his free hand up to stroke his damp hair.

"Cas, listen to me," he tried anew. "Everything Zachariah said was complete bullshit, okay? You can't believe any of it."

"But it's true," Castiel whispered against his neck. "He's one of the four who've seen the face of God, Dean. He knows--" He stopped, and Dean could hear him swallow before he finished softly, "He only pointed out what I've known all along."

"It's not true, Cas," Dean insisted, filing away this bit of information for later. He'd had no idea Zachariah was actually so high up in the angelic hierarchy, but that didn't matter now. "I don't care if Zachariah's seen the face of God; he's an evil, lying, vindictive asshole, and he's just good at pushing your buttons, that's all." When Castiel didn't reply, Dean sighed and pulled back so that he could see him properly. "Look, Cas, you believe in me, right? That God chose me, all that good stuff?"

"Of course."

"Then trust me when I say you're not disgusting, or weak, or any of those things. You're just fine, Cas, and I'm not letting you go anywhere." Castiel looked like he wanted desperately to believe Dean, but he just needed that last tiny push, so on impulse Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Castiel's forehead. Then he kissed each of Castiel's eyelids, gently and lingeringly, and whispered the blessing Castiel had taught him. "Dominus custodit te ab omni malo custodiat animam tuam Dominus. Deus benedicat te."

It worked, and Castiel pressed his face closer with a small, needy noise that could have been Dean's name, eyes closed and blindly seeking more, and Dean couldn't help it anymore. He didn't want to help it anymore, because he'd wanted this so much and for so long, and now Castiel finally wanted it too, and he'd said earlier that Jimmy was asleep-- Dean would probably never get another chance if he hesitated too long now and let this one slip away, so he didn't stop to remember all the reasons why he wasn't supposed to do this or think about the consequences. He did what felt right.

Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's and kissed him.

Castiel went rigid against him for one terrible, sinking moment, and then he shoved Dean away roughly enough to send him crashing into the far door. His expression was one of wide-eyed shock, and he looked so young and vulnerable in a way that he hadn't even looked a few minutes ago, curled in on himself in the rain and utterly defeated. Dean's mouth opened as he tried to say something, anything, to take it all back before it was too late, but it was already too late. The shock and vulnerability in Castiel's eyes turned into a cold, hard look of betrayal that withered something inside of Dean, and a second later he was simply gone, leaving only the damp blanket on the seat in his place.

Dean stared at it for a long while, and then he let his head fall slowly back to lean against the window. He'd been right after all, he thought with a numb sort of despair, about fucking over everyone he got close to. Dean was the one who'd fucked Castiel over to begin with, and now he had no doubt at all that he'd just gone and done it again, in Castiel's lowest moment. He'd ruined everything, just as he'd expected to.

Part 10