Archive of Our Own

Castiel never made it back to Heaven - he barely made it out of the Impala. Instead, he woke up back in Stull Cemetery just outside of Lawrence, Kansas on the morning after the almost-Apocalypse. The sun was shining, the birds were singing and Castiel had no powers.

He couldn’t return to Heaven, couldn’t hear the angels, let alone the voice of God, and couldn’t even clean and starch his coat. There was also a strange emptiness in his chest he had never felt before.

Apparently abandoned by God, Castiel had no mission for the first time in his life. He wasn’t sure he liked how it felt to be free – he was unmoored, directionless – but he had learned that it was something not to be taken for granted. Castiel dusted himself off as best he could, left the cemetery and, for the first time, chose his own destination.

***

Sam’s favourite days were the days Dean decided to mow the lawn. They happened more frequently than one might expect; Dean really seemed to like mowing the lawn. It had been exactly two weeks since he had jumped into the cage, Sam was pretty sure, and Dean had already mown the lawn four times. At first he apparently hadn’t known what he was doing; he’d zigzagged across the lawn at random and he’d forgotten to pick up the rocks first so they’d jammed the blades and flown back into his face. But now he’d gotten the hang of it, and the lawn was patterned with neat parallel lines.

The house across from Lisa’s was for sale and usually empty, so Sam could watch Dean without much risk of being seen. It was a nice house, though it smelled like fresh paint and all the walls were the same shade of beige. There was a time when Sam had dreamed of a house like this, one with a huge yard in back complete with a porch for family barbeques and a treehouse for the kids. Now, as Sam sat at an empty kitchen table staring at a bowl of wax fruit, that dream felt like a fairy tale, like an old story from childhood he’d put away long ago.

But Dean still had a chance. Sam could see him mowing the lawn right now, could see Lisa lean out the front door and hand Dean a glass, probably full of homemade lemonade. Sam watched Dean drink it in one long gulp, then return to methodically mowing the lawn, though it was already short enough and he must not have been clipping much. He wore sunglasses and stopped periodically to remove them and wipe sweat from his eyes.

Sam liked it when Dean decided to mow the lawn because it was easy to watch, sitting at the kitchen table of an empty house. He tried to memorize every detail – the sweat off Dean’s brow, the untied laces of his boots, the curve of his knuckles around the push-handle of the lawnmower. It was these details that kept Sam holding on and coming back, though he could feel Hell’s tug - a longing in his chest – calling him home.

***

Travel as a human was much slower than travel as an angel. Castiel had never given it much thought, even in his work with the Winchesters. Dean and Sam seemed to get around with little difficulty, and Castiel had expected it to be the same for all humans. Castiel, however, had no vehicle and no funds and found it took him weeks to get from Lawrence, Kansas to Cicero, Indiana. He and Sam had passed through Cicero when Dean had run away to say yes to Michael; Cicero Indiana was where Lisa Braeden lived.

Of course Castiel hadn’t actually seen Lisa or her home, and so he had no idea where in the small town to find her. The place seemed small and close-knit and Castiel knew that if he asked someone would probably tell him, but he suddenly felt self-conscious. The townspeople seemed to be avoiding eye contact, and they gave him a wide berth when they passed him on the sidewalk.

He was probably a strange sight. In his rush to get to Dean, he hadn’t bothered to stop and get any new clothes, though his shirt was missing two buttons and his trench was torn and stained. Sometimes people winced as they passed him, as if he had a foul odour, though Castiel couldn’t smell anything wrong himself.

The first few days Castiel had just kept going, without even considering stopping to rest. Then he’d started to stumble and his body hurt and his eyelids kept drifting shut, so Castiel had slept for at least a few hours per day after that. On park benches, on buses, in passenger seats of the cars that picked him up on the road when he stuck his thumb in the air like Sam had taught him. Once, Castiel had stayed at a motel, though he’d felt badly about skipping out on the bill the next morning. The things the Winchesters had taught him were useful, he appreciated, but they weren’t always right. But Castiel was beginning to see that choosing to do the right thing was much more difficult when he was human than when he had been an angel.

Castiel had taken a shower at the motel, though the tiny soaps and bottles provided didn’t do nearly enough to remove the dirt from his skin, and Castiel wasn’t entirely sure which shiny liquids were supposed to go on which body parts. He wasn’t sure how often he was supposed to bathe, either. The Winchesters had done it nearly every night he’d been with them, but they had usually been rinsing off blood so he reasoned that they probably cleaned themselves more often than the average person.

Whether it was his clothes or his smell, the citizens of Cicero didn’t volunteer their assistance to Castiel, and he was grateful. Castiel didn’t know how to converse with humans other than the Winchesters - they’d told him as much when he’d tried to help them with cases. The one time he had been left alone with a human she had been a prostitute, and that hadn’t gone well at all. It wasn’t that Castiel disliked humans or thought he was above them – he wasn’t, anymore, after all – but he just didn’t understand them. Apparently human wasn’t something you were, but something you learned. Castiel didn’t have a copy of the guidebook and he’d pretty much given up on the Bible as any help.

Castiel checked the tattered yellow book inside the box with the telephone, but Lisa’s address wasn’t listed. So he walked the streets of the town systematically, even as the sun slipped below the horizon. They were laid out in a neat grid of streets and avenues lined with equally neat white houses and perfect green lawns. Every so often Castiel passed a church, but they no longer spoke to him. Instead Castiel watched for the distinctive black car he knew he would find parked in one of the driveways. That, he knew, would call him home.

***

The nights were harder on Sam. He couldn’t see Dean mowing the lawn or taking in the newspaper from the front step. He couldn’t see Dean through Lisa’s windows eating dinner with her and Ben, or sitting on the couch with a beer watching hockey on Lisa’s flatscreen TV. At night Dean slept in the guestroom on the second floor, and Sam wouldn’t be able to watch him unless he actually scaled the outer wall of the house. When the pain was worst Sam considered it, but most of the time he could make do with the Impala.

Sam liked to sit on the hood best because it felt as if he was closer to Dean that way, separated only by the walls of Lisa’s house and not by the car’s body as well. But he was terrified that somehow someone might see him – one of teenagers skateboarding in the middle of the night, maybe – and so he mostly sat in the car instead, always in the passenger seat. He didn’t have the keys and Dean kept it locked, but that wasn’t a problem for Sam these days.

When Sam was near the Impala he felt grounded, and could even ignore, for a few brief moments, the insistent tugging in his chest. Sam spent his days feeling like he was adrift on the ocean, fighting against a current threatening to pull him under. Sometimes he could make the Impala his anchor and let it hold him in place, so he didn’t need to fight as hard. No matter how many hunts it took them to and from, and even though it had played a starring role in more than one car chase, it still represented peace for Sam. The Impala had always been a constant in Sam’s life, his calm in the storm, and now it gave him the only restful moments he had left. Sometimes he even leaned back and closed his eyes, as if, somehow, he might be able to sleep.

***

It was well into the night by the time Castiel saw it. He was on the point of giving up, about to find a bridge to try to sleep under until morning when daylight would help him search. The population of Cicero was under five thousand, the brochure from the tourist information centre told Castiel, but it felt like he had passed twice as many houses, on foot, looking for one car. And then suddenly he saw it, glistening under the moonlight.

It was parked on the concrete drive, tucked up as close to the house as it could be. The house itself was large and blue with white trimming, nearly identical to the countless other houses Castiel had passed today but in a different color. Its shutters were also white, and there were potted flowers on the front porch. There was a basket attached to a metal pole off to the side of the drive, and an orange ball sat next to it. This was the kind of house where your neighbours wouldn’t steal your things if you left them out at night, Castiel supposed, though Dean had once told him the people you thought you could trust were the ones most likely to lie to you.

But perhaps he had made assumptions about the quality of the neighbourhood too soon, because Castiel could see a dark figure inside the Impala as he drew closer. Though he had no weapons, Castiel steeled himself for a fight as he approached the passenger side door. After all Dean had lost, the least Castiel could do was protect his vehicle from being stolen. The thief appeared to be resting, leaning back in the seat, and Castiel was grateful he would have the advantage of surprise.

As he drew level with the car, Castiel suddenly recognized the shape of the passenger, knees pulled into his chest because he was slightly too tall for the car. The familiarity of the sight against the alien small-town backdrop made Castiel feel off balance, like when he had forgotten to eat those first few days after he had become human.

“Sam,” he said aloud before he even realized he was speaking, “Sam Winchester.”

The face that turned towards him was definitely Sam’s, though he was pale in the moonlight and his eyes were wide with shock. Then there was a flickering, like the static on the poor quality televisions they had in cheap motels, and Sam was gone. The car was unoccupied, the night still and empty.

Castiel tested the door to the Impala. It was locked. He rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps he had imagined seeing Sam? His human body was inconstant that way; especially when it was tired or hungry. Castiel was learning he couldn’t always trust its senses.

He took one last look at the house before turning away. He would find that bridge to sleep under now. Waking the entire family in the middle of the night wouldn’t make a very good first impression. More importantly, Castiel had no idea what to say to Dean, though he had been considering the options ever since leaving Lawrence. He’d hitchhiked, walked, even crawled probably thousands of miles to get to Dean Winchester, but now that he was so close – especially after what he’d just seen – Castiel felt woefully underprepared. Lacking any ancient texts to guide him, Castiel decided to sleep on it. That seemed the human thing to do.

***

The next day, Sam watched Cas watch Dean through Lisa’s window, crouching behind a bush. Sam wondered if Cas thought he was being sneaky or something. Because honestly? He was kind of pathetic. His tan-coloured – well, actually it was more brownish at this point – coat didn’t camouflage with either the lawn or the bush, and he kept changing position every ten seconds. If Dean hadn’t been absorbed in the paper as he ate breakfast – either the sports section or the comics, Sam knew, or maybe the classifieds if he was looking for a job – he would’ve been out here in ten seconds flat.

Sam didn’t know what in the hell Cas was doing here, spying incompetently on Dean, but he didn’t much like having his cover blown. He waited until Dean went upstairs, then crossed the lawn and stood behind Cas. Sam’s feet didn’t disturb a single blade of grass.

“So you still doing the guardian angel thing as a hobby or something?”

Cas jumped about four feet in the air. He tripped rushing to back away from Sam, and ended up sprawled in a pile on the grass. His coat was going to have some killer grass stains. “You’re dead,” he finally sputtered.

“Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Sam responded, but Cas’ face was blank and humourless. “It appears that I’m not entirely, one hundred percent dead.” He shrugged. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here,” Cas countered, “what are you doing here? You’re dead!”

“And you’re an angel with grass stains on his trench coat, so I think you could stand to lose that judgemental tone.” Sam suddenly squeezed his eyes shut, wincing in pain. He clutched at his chest. “Oh fuck,” he said resignedly, and flickered out again.

***

Castiel spent the morning wandering the town ignoring dirty looks from strangers. He found a dollar and fifty cents change on the ground and used it to buy a hot dog. He drank rubbery water from the public fountain in the park. He sat on a bench and tried to think of what to say to Dean. He was so distracted by his hunger, his exhaustion, the people staring and the dog who tried to urinate on his leg that he made no progress at all.

When the morning turned to afternoon and then dusk started its inevitable approach, Castiel made his way back toward Lisa’s home, deliberately taking the longest way possible – the scenic route, as Dean would say. It was supposed to give him time to think, but instead just gave him more time to trip on the uneven, pavement, fall and scrape his knees.

Human pain was different than the pain he’d felt as an angel. Sharper, more real. Pain as an angel had been a distant feeling, more emotional than physical, a sort of disappointment in oneself for the failure of being injured in battle. Pain as a human was immediate and invasive; it made itself a part of him suddenly and without his permission. It reminded him that he could not control this body, that being human meant being confined to one body but never entirely in control of it. Human pain made Castiel feel helpless and small and alone, which Castiel supposed he was. And so he knew it was stupid and that Dean would laugh to see him, but his scraped knees made Castiel’s throat burn and his eyes sting and he suddenly, desperately, wished he didn’t have to sleep under a bridge again tonight.

But it wasn’t enough to make him knock on that door, Castiel found, even as he stood on Lisa’s front step. Dean wouldn’t want to see him; he would just be a reminder of all that Dean had lost, and besides, Castiel had left without saying goodbye and he knew how much Dean hated that. It had been rash and unkind of Castiel to leave Dean so quickly, to abandon him to his grief, and Dean probably resented him for it.

So Castiel turned and walked down the front drive, passing the Impala. This time he wasn’t surprised when Sam appeared next to him. He thought maybe he was too tired to feel surprise anymore.

“Cas. I know a place you can stay.” Sam led him across the street, to a house with darkened windows and a “For Sale” sign out front. Castiel knew staying here was probably wrong – or against the law at least – but he didn’t much care. He wondered if there might still be a bed in there, or even running water.

“I’m not an angel anymore, Sam.” It was the first time Castiel had said those words out loud, and he felt like he was confessing it to himself as much as to Sam. He stumbled trying to get up the front step, misjudging the distance between stairs in his exhaustion and the darkness. Sam reached out instinctively to catch his arm. Sam’s arm passed through Castiel’s as if it were made of air.

Sam glanced at Castiel guiltily. “It’s funny how things work, Cas. Now you’re human and I’m not.”

***

“Have you eaten, Cas?” The former-angel had slept fourteen hours straight before descending the stairs to the kitchen, where Sam was watching Dean prune the bushes through the front window.

“Pardon?” Cas asked. He was watching Dean too, a mixture of rapt fascination and anxiety in his eyes. “Oh, yes. I had a hot dog.”

“When?” Sam passed his hand experimentally through the wax apple on the table in front of him. He could swear the air felt a little denser when he passed through the object, thick, like the difference between walking on land and walking in the water, only not as pronounced.

“Yesterday morning.” Cas eyed the wax apple and licked his lips.

“You should go get some food,” Sam said quickly, before something really gross happened.

“I can’t. I don’t have any money.”

“Oh. No problem.” Sam smiled. Finally something he could do. “Grab a screwdriver from the garage.”

Two hours later, Cas managed to remove one of the Impala’s hubcaps, while Sam stood watch by the windows and made sure Dean was safely upstairs. Sam could feel the pulling, tugging on his heart and he fought it as hard as he could. He had a job to do; he couldn’t go back just now.

Cas wasn’t good at mechanical things, Sam was unsurprised to learn, so it took him twice as long to put the hub cap back on as it had to remove it, and every moment was agony for Sam. When Cas finally closed the door of the empty house safely behind him, Sam let go and felt himself pulled away from the white house and the sunlight, towards darkness flickering with the smallest glimmers of red and orange.

***

Underneath the Impala’s hubcap Castiel had found a stack of several crisp bills, neatly wrapped in cellophane. They were mostly hundreds, but there were a few smaller bills as well. Sam seemed to have disappeared again, so Castiel couldn’t properly thank him. Instead, he set out in search of the nearest restaurant. He hoped it would be a White Castle.

He returned to the house-which-wasn’t-his in late afternoon. He made sure to check that Dean, Lisa or the boy weren’t in sight before he darted across the lawn and into the house, greasy paper bag in hand. Once inside, he sat down and the table and ate six miniature hamburgers in six bites.

Sam appeared by the window halfway through the Castiel’s second carton of french fries. Castiel was getting accustomed to his sudden appearances, and barely looked up from his food.

“Hi Cas,” Sam said, turning from the window with a wistful expression.

“Hi Sam,” Castiel echoed through a mouthful of food.

“Do you feel better now?” Sam asked, his words just a little bit too formal.

“Infinitely,” Castiel answered. It was amazing how much difference a meal made to the human body. He took a long sip from the extra large Coca-Cola he’d purchased, stopping only when an ice cube blocked the straw. He gasped for breath. “Why do you keep disappearing? What are you?”

Sam looked thoughtful. “When I disappear,” he said slowly, as if the words were getting stuck in his throat, “I go back to Hell. Or, the cage at least.”

Castiel stopped eating and looked directly at Sam. His expression was slightly pained, as if he had a stomach ache. “You go back to the cage that contains Lucifer?”

“And Michael. And Adam, I guess.” Sam amended. He continued quickly, as if he wasn’t sure how much time he had to speak. “It’s like, my body is always there but sometimes, if I do things right, the rest of me comes here.”

“So you’re a ghost.”

“Sort of, I guess. But I’m not dead, am I, so I can’t be, right? I don’t know. This isn’t following any of the rules. And ghosts – most of them anyway – have no real control over themselves, they just are what they are.” Sam frowned. “I wish I could call Bobby and ask if he knows of anything like this.”

“Why don’t you?”

Sam reached for Castiel’s french fries. Castiel felt a leaping in his stomach, an animal instinct to defend his territory, but it proved unnecessary. Sam’s hand passed right through the cardboard container. “It’s kind of hard for me to pick up the phone, Cas.”

“I could call for you,” Castiel volunteered, picking up his french fries in what he hoped was a casual and completely non-possessive way. He regretted the offer almost instantly. Bobby was probably in touch with Dean and would tell him that Castiel had called and asked strange questions.

Sam winced. “No, Cas. I...I don’t want anyone to know what’s going on until I figure it out myself.” Castiel could tell by the way Sam said ‘anyone’ in a voice that was both soft and fierce that he really just meant ‘Dean.’

“Okay Sam, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks Cas.” Suddenly Sam doubled over, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh fuck. I’ve gotta go. Listen, Cas, meet me at the Impala late tonight. It’s easier for me there.”

“Yes,” Castiel answered, but by the time he finished the word Sam was already gone.

***

Sam arrived at the Impala that night followed by the usual flood of relief. No matter how many times he returned from Hell, he was always nervous that this would be the time he wouldn’t make it, when his lucky streak would end. It was just as unbelievable now as it had been the first time he had unexpectedly left the blistering heat of Hell - the tearing, ripping, shredding of Michael and Lucifer destroying one another over and over again for all eternity – and appeared in the cool night air, beside Dean’s car. Coming here was like having the worst sunburn of your life and jumping into a swimming pool filled with ice.

Sam never knew how much time he had, never knew how long he would be able to hold on before he was tugged back to his Hell, before he rejoined Lucifer in his body. Normally he savoured the moments of peace and did whatever he could to hang on, losing himself in his thoughts. Tonight was different though, because now Cas was here. Now Sam wasn’t alone.

Cas was leaning against the door of the Impala, eyes fixed intently on Lisa’s house. He looked different, and for a moment Sam couldn’t put his finger on why. Then he realized Cas was wearing new clothes. He had also tried to shave, judging by the little bits of toilet paper dotting his face and neck.

“Hey,” Sam said softly, being careful not to startle him.

“Hello, Sam.” Cas sounded tired, and Sam wondered if it was the effort of shopping and shaving that had worn him out or if it was something more than that. He had been staring at Lisa’s house like it contained all the secrets of the universe when Sam arrived. Seeing Cas exhausted wasn’t exactly new – the members of Team Free Will had quite literally been willing to work themselves to death – but back then he had worn his exhaustion like he wore his trench coat, comfortably, as if it was the only thing he knew. Probably Cas had always worked hard; Sam didn’t get the impression angels had a lot of hobbies. This was a different kind of exhaustion though, and it didn’t fit Cas as naturally.

“You bought some clothes.” Cas was wearing a pair of dark jeans and a blue button-down that was slightly too big for him in the shoulders over a grey t-shirt. “You’re dressed like Dean,” he blurted out, without stopping to think about whether Cas would consider that a compliment or an insult.

Cas looked down at himself, scuffing his feet – in new steel-toed boots – experimentally. “Am I?” He shrugged. “I went to a place called Wal-Mart because the sign said it would have everything I needed, at low prices. There was a lot of clothing there. I don’t really know...” Cas trailed off, but he regained his voice quickly enough. “Clothing has never really mattered to me before so I wasn’t sure what exactly I would need. I just picked things I liked.”

Sam nodded, and then, because it felt like the right thing to do, said “You look good, Cas.” It sounded even weirder out loud than it had in his head, so Sam coughed.

“Thank you.” Apparently Cas hadn’t noticed any weirdness. He inclined his head towards a plastic grocery bag resting on the hood of the car. “I also purchased some personal hygiene products.”

Sam tried to open the bag to look inside, but his hands passed right through the plastic with a slight tickling sensation. Cas noticed, and pulled open the bag so Sam could peer inside.

The bag contained two chocolate bars, a two liter bottle of generic cola, a plastic comb, a bar of pink soap and a familiar green shampoo bottle. The sight of it startled Sam, made his chest ache in a way completely unrelated to Hell’s constant tug. Cas had bought Dean’s brand of shampoo. Sam was perfectly content to use whatever little bottles of shampoo the night’s motel provided for them, but Dean insisted on carrying a bottle of this particular shampoo in his duffle bag wherever they went. He said it was important to have a few consistencies even in their nomadic lives, he’d said they made a motel feel like home.

Which gave Sam an idea. He moved closer to Cas, as if he was leaning on the car too. Cas started saying something about magazines - he was holding a stack of them in his hands - but Sam didn’t absorb the words. He channelled his focus away from his ears and towards his nose.

Cas definitely smelled like Dean’s shampoo. The scent was painfully familiar, but it was a good pain, one that made Sam feel solid and present and real. Sam had been glad to see Cas but he’d figured that was mostly because he had been lonely. Now Sam thought maybe Cas might be able to help him.

***

Sam was standing very close to Castiel, and it was confusing to him. The cover of one of the magazines Castiel had purchased promised to teach him all about men’s body language, but he hadn’t had a chance to read that particular article yet. He was still on the health and beauty section. Castiel thought that a joke might break the awkward silence between them – it was how Dean dealt with tense situations, but Castiel didn’t know any jokes.

Instead he said, “I have only been to Hell once. It was not a pleasant experience.”

Sam laughed even though Castiel was quite certain he hadn’t actually made a joke. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. I’ve been back and forth nearly a hundred times now, but I keep hoping I’ll be able to stick around one of these times. I’m getting better at hanging on for longer.”

“How?” Castiel asked, and this time he was genuinely curious, not just making small talk. “No one’s ever been able to escape Hell before. Without assistance, I mean.” Assisting Dean to leave had not been easy.

“I haven’t really escaped though, have I? My body’s still underground even if the rest of me isn’t.”

“Like you’re a ghost.” Castiel thought this was a fairly reasonable comparison to Sam’s situation.

“I’m not a ghost,” Sam insisted. “My body’s in Hell, but it’s alive. The rest of me can stay here longer if I stay near Dean or the Impala. It’s like my memories are anchoring me here.”

“So you’re a ghost and you’re haunting Dean.” Castiel tried to fully understand the situation. The Winchesters knew a lot about ghosts and maybe some of that information would be applicable to Sam.

“I am not a fucking ghost, Cas!” Sam snapped; he was very irritated now. Castiel could tell by the twist to his lip and the furrow in his brow, even without the body language article. “I’m not dead. I’m not holding on to avoid walking into the light. I’m holding on to avoid walking into Hellfire. There’s a pretty big difference.”

“Yes, I see that now,” Castiel answered. He noticed Sam flickering slightly, and blurring around the edges. Making him annoyed had probably distracted him from whatever he was doing to hold onto Earth. He vowed not to upset Sam again, even if he was making a perfectly valid and harmless comparison.

“Anyway,” Sam snapped, letting is palm hover an inch above the Impala’s hood, “it’s not like you’re not doing some small-scale haunting yourself.”

Castiel frowned. “What do you mean?” The book on communication he had purchased had recommended being direct and not being afraid to ask questions.

“You’ve been hanging around for two days now, squatting in an empty house. I haven’t contacted Dean yet because I’m...whatever I am, and because I literally can’t knock on the door, but what’s your excuse?”

Castiel didn’t understand Sam’s reasoning. If being close to Dean helped Sam stay out of Hell, why wouldn’t he try to contact Dean? Castiel could see and hear him, so Dean would probably be able to as well. And surely Dean came outside occasionally, so knocking on the door shouldn’t have been strictly necessary. As for why Castiel didn’t want to see Dean yet, that was perfectly reasonable.

“I want to learn to be human first.”

“What?” Sam asked. “You are human, Cas. Unless you’ve still got some of your angel mojo or something.” He looked at Castiel hopefully.

“No, sorry.” He replied, and he did feel guilty. He hated not having his powers and not being able to help his friends. This was like when Bobby hadn’t been able to walk, only worse. “And I know I’m biologically human, but I have no human knowledge, experience or skills. It took me much longer than it should have to get here, Sam, and I didn’t know how to do even the simplest things. I thought millennia spent watching humans would mean I would know how to live like one, but I wasn’t paying attention to the small things and it appears that they are what matters.”

“So I’m sure Dean can help you.”

“I don’t want Dean to help me, Sam. I don’t want to be a burden to him. He’s been through enough.” Castiel hoped Sam would accept this explanation. He didn’t relish explaining how embarrassed he was remembering the way Dean had had to explain things to him like he was a child. At the time, when he was powerful and full of ancient knowledge, he hadn’t minded; he had simply recognized that he was above trivial human concerns like which direction to hold a badge or how to leave a voice message on a telephone. Now, the memory of such incidents left him deeply ashamed. When he met Dean again he would like for them to be equals.

Sam shrugged. “For the record, I don’t think Dean ever thought of you as a burden.”

Castiel hadn’t learned to tell when humans were lying yet, though he had a magazine that promised to teach him. Even he could tell that Sam was lying this time, though. As an angel he could be of assistance to Dean, but the weaker he became the less useful he was. Dean was a pragmatic man, accustomed to life on the road with a mission. He didn’t need dead weight. “Okay Sam,” Castiel answered, because this didn’t seem worth arguing about.

There was a moment of silence before Sam said, “I will let him see me eventually.”

“You should see him now. He will want to see you now.” Castiel yawned despite himself.

“You should go to sleep.”

***

On Saturday nights the man always picked Lisa up for a fancy dinner date. The first time he had seen it happen, Sam had been shocked. A big green pickup truck had pulled into the driveway and Sam had assumed it was carpet-layers or someone doing a repair on the fridge. Instead, a good-looking guy with slicked back hair wearing a blazer and carrying flowers had gotten out of the vehicle. He’d looked surprised and maybe a little shaken by the Impala, to Sam’s amusement.

Sam had been less amused when the man and Lisa had left. Lisa’s hair had been done in one of those fancy, complicated up-dos and she’d been wearing a floral dress. Sam didn’t know why he’d expected Lisa to be single. She was kind and beautiful and a yoga instructor and Sam knew women like that didn’t stay on the market long. There was no logical reason for Lisa to wait around for Dean, but Sam had been so certain that she would. He had pinned all his hopes for Dean onto Lisa and Ben, without realizing they might’ve pinned their hopes on someone else.

Tonight Lisa’s dress was yellow with white polka dots. She was also wearing bright red lipstick, so she was probably trying to look retro or something. Sam stuck his tongue out at her, though she’d never be able to see him at the window of the dark, empty house across the street. He knew it was immature, but Sam still resented her for not dropping everything else in her life for Dean.

Cas must’ve heard the truck door slam behind Lisa, because he looked up from his magazine. “Who’s that?”

“Lisa’s boyfriend, I guess.” Sam tried not to sound bitter. When he thought about something that annoyed him it had a tendency to make the pain in his chest worse. Instead, he focused on picturing Dean. What was he doing in Lisa’s house right now? Watching a game on TV? Thinking about Dean made the pain go away.

“Lisa and Dean are not together?” It had taken Cas so long to respond that Sam assumed he had gone back to his reading. All Cas seemed to do was eat, sleep and read magazines. Sam considered reminding him to take a shower occasionally.

“No,” Sam answered. He poked absent-mindedly at the wax apple on the table in front of him. Had he imagined it, or did it feel a little thicker as his finger passed through it, as if there was more resistance than usual? “She was probably already dating this guy before Dean got here, and Dean’s not an asshole.”

Sam looked away from the apple temporarily and saw that Cas was doing that head-tilt thing. He waited. “Or maybe they are just better off as friends.” He pointed at the garish cover of one of the magazines stacked neatly on the table. “Sometimes people who care about each other just aren’t meant to be.”

He thought about himself and Jess then. They had loved each other certainly, but sometimes Sam wondered what would’ve happened if she hadn’t been murdered, if Sam had been able to prevent it. He used to think they could’ve had a white picket fence happily ever after. Now, he wasn’t so sure that would ever have happened. It had been hard enough to fit in as an average college student. Sam doubted he could’ve kept the charade going much longer.

Oh, fuck. The pulling at Sam’s chest had intensified and he could feel his stomach sinking. His blood felt several degrees warmer than it had a moment ago. He had been thinking of himself and Jess too much; he hadn’t been thinking about Dean. He tried to throw his mind into Lisa’s house, to imagine himself sitting next to Dean watching the game too, but it was too late. The pain coursing through his body was too intense, too distracting. He could hear dogs barking in the distance. Were they Hell hounds? That was new.

Sam wanted tried to ask Cas if he heard the barking too. He opened and closed his mouth, but his throat was on fire and he couldn’t make words. Cas, lost in his magazine and busily sipping an extra-large soda, didn’t even notice as he struggled.

Making one last desperate effort to hold on, Sam grabbed frantically at the table. His hands passed straight through it like it was made of air. He felt no resistance at all. Sam felt one flash of heat, and let go.

***

Castiel was getting used to Sam’s sudden disappearances. In fact, he was adjusting quite well to life as a human in general. Humans liked routine, or at least Castiel did. So every day he ate breakfast at McDonald’s (before 10am), lunch at the deli on Central Ave. and supper was pizza. Sam looked disapproving of these choices and the magazines indicated they weren’t very wise either, but Castiel had seen Dean eat all these foods on a regular basis and he was fine. Besides, the appliances in the kitchen were just for show and Castiel didn’t want to waste Sam’s money on expensive food.

Castiel spent his days doing research. He had read a few books, but he found magazines were faster and more direct. He was on a deadline; the sooner he felt confident in his ability to be properly human the sooner he could show himself to Dean.

Castiel also spent a lot of time speaking to Sam. Sometimes they sat in the kitchen of the house, especially when Dean was outside mowing the lawn or taking out the garbage. Otherwise it was difficult for Sam to stay in the house for long. His appearances were often very brief. Sometimes he would appear for only moments at a time. Most nights they met at the Impala, which was easier for Sam. He said it made him feel closer to Dean.

Castiel wouldn’t have told this to Sam, but the Impala made Castiel feel closer to Dean too. Sam didn’t usually arrive until three or four in the morning, but Castiel crossed the street almost as soon as Lisa’s house went dark. He knew he was taking a risk; Dean could be watching his car out the window, but he went anyway. He sat on the hood and read his magazines, or mentally rehearsed the speech he was going to make to Dean when he finally saw him.

Monday night Castiel left the house on the stroke of midnight. The upper-floor windows of the house had gone dark only moments before. He was anxious to get out to the Impala. It had been a long, lonely day. Sam hadn’t been around – not even for a few moments – and Castiel had been surprised to find himself watching for Sam’s arrival. As an angel he had spent centuries in complete solitude when the mission required it. Now a single day of it caused him pain.

As he reached the Impala, Castiel noticed a slight flickering in his peripheral vision, a shifting of the air he had come to associate with Sam’s imminent arrival. He waited, but Sam did not materialize. He must have been having trouble getting out of Hell today, then. Sam had told him it was a difficult process requiring a great deal of concentration. He settled onto the hood of the car, looking up at Dean’s darkened window. There was no face looking down at him.

“Hello dearie, what brings you out so late at night?”

Castiel dropped into a crouch on instinct. He looked up towards the voice and saw an elderly woman holding a leash. The white poodle at the end of the leash looked at Castiel with what he imagined was suspicion.

“My shoelace has come untied,” Castiel replied quickly, tearing his gaze away from the poodle’s beady, quizzical eyes. He glanced down at his boots. They were perfectly and evenly tied because Castiel had just read a children’s magazine which had instructed him how to do so. Perhaps the old woman’s vision was bad?

“I was out for a walk,” he added, because he realized the state of his shoelaces didn’t answer the woman’s question. “Because I have restless leg syndrome.” Castiel had read about that this afternoon and it sounded terrible.

“I see, I see,” the woman answered in a kindly voice, “My late Albert had that too. I’m Mrs. Perkins, by the way, from Cherry Lane.”

“I’m...Luke,” Castiel offered in return. “I’m visiting my cousin. He lives...” Castiel gestured vaguely to his left. “Somewhere over there, I can’t remember.” Castiel was suddenly, painfully aware that all he knew about this town was the location of its fast food restaurants.

“Are you visiting long?” Mrs. Perkins asked. There were strange plastic devices in her hair. Castiel wondered what they were for.

“I’m not certain yet.” He answered. “It will depend how long my cousin wants me to stay.”

Mrs. Perkins smiled. Her dog growled. “Oh, I’d better be going. Kiki wants to relieve herself. Goodnight, Luke.”

“Goodnight.” Castiel watched her retreat with relief, collapsing against the car. He hoped his explanations had been plausible, he hoped he was learning something about how to be human.

Castiel explained the interaction to Sam when he materialized half an hour later, hoping for some reassurance or advice for next time he was forced to speak to a human. Instead, Sam took the opportunity to tease him.

“Are you afraid of little old ladies, Cas?” he asked mockingly, “Afraid they’re going to pinch your cheeks off?”

“I am not afraid of them,” Castiel snapped back. He struggled for some way to retaliate. “Have some trouble getting here today?”

Sam frowned. “Yeah, rough day, so what?”

“I noticed your failure earlier. How hard can it be to climb out of Hell?” Castiel knew the answer was actually ‘so difficult only a Winchester or a demon can do it’ but he didn’t have much to work with in terms of criticism.

“What failure?” Sam asked, feigning surprise and innocence. “This is the first time I’ve gotten anywhere close to above ground tonight.”

“Oh, sure,” Castiel said, practising his sarcasm. “And I’m not afraid of little old ladies.”

Sam smiled at him like he was a particularly odd child, or maybe an institutionalized old person. Castiel hated to be reminded of his strangeness. He picked up a magazine and held it much too close to his face in order to avoid looking at Sam. Sam chuckled and sighed in something like contentment, leaning against the car and gazing up at Dean’s window.

***

Sam was extremely aware of how weird this situation with him and Cas was. They each spent all their waking hours either watching Dean or working on their ridiculous little projects. Cas’ project was apparently to read every magazine sold in Cicero’s bookstore, including back issues. Sam’s project was to pick up a wax apple.

It wasn’t nearly as easy as it seemed. He was learning to get out of Hell faster and stay on Earth longer by thinking about Dean – about hunting with Dean, about arguing with Dean, about growing up with Dean. This was obviously really, really creepy, but it worked and Sam would rather be a little obsessed with his brother than burning in Hell. He was experimenting with using the same strategy to touch objects, and actually getting results.

He had been able to touch the Impala almost immediately, with only a little bit of focus. This was probably because it was so closely associated with Dean. He’d gotten so good at it now that he couldn’t even slip inside anymore – when he tried he bumped into the door. And while that sucked because it meant he couldn’t sit inside, it also meant there was a way to get his body back, at least temporarily.

Sam could make it so that the apple felt squishy-spongy as his hand passed through it. It wasn’t quite firm enough for him to hold, yet, but he was getting there.

“Once you pick up that apple, are you going to tell Dean?” Cas asked absent-mindedly from the kitchen between bites of the same ham sandwich he always ordered.

“Once you finish that magazine are you going to tell Dean?” Sam countered.

Castiel fell silent and turned a page, apparently letting the subject drop. Sam watched him eat. He ate like Dean, like a dog afraid someone was going to take a bone away from him. He chose the same terrible foods Dean always did. He dressed like Dean, flannel shirts over cotton t-shirts, and hiking boots. And of course, he used Dean’s shampoo.

It was creepy, but it was actually a little bit helpful. Sometimes, when he’d just arrived or was concentrating really hard on something else – usually Dean’s window or the wax apple – he caught sight of Cas in the corner of his eye and could convince himself, just for a moment, that it was Dean eating a sandwich.

“Menstruation is supposed to be punishment for Eve’s sin, but it seems quite excessive.” Of course, the effect was ruined whenever Cas spoke.

“What?” Sam was more than a little afraid to ask.

“Menstruation is supposed to be a reminder to all of womankind not to repeat Eve’s sins,” Castiel answered, as if this was an ordinary subject of conversation. “But it seems to make women miserable and actually alter their personalities. Over the top, if you ask me.”

“Cas,” Sam said slowly, “as you are not a woman, I think you can probably afford to skip those kinds of articles.”

“You’re probably right,” Cas conceded, “I just like to be thorough.”

Or you’re stalling because you’re just as scared to see Dean as I am, Sam thought. He turned back to his apple with renewed determination.

***

Twelve days after Castiel arrived in Cicero, its pets started disappearing. Castiel knew because it made the front page of the daily town newsletter three straight days.

“Should we be worried about this?” He asked Sam one lunch hour, gesturing towards the article.

“Probably,” Sam answered, “Dean obviously is.”

They were watching Dean from the house across the street. Dean so rarely spent time outside that it was a treat for them. Sam’s posture was more relaxed, and he seemed to be making progress with his apple.

Dean and Ben were drawing on the driveway with brightly coloured chalk. Castiel had thought it was odd to see Dean on his hands and knees on the ground. He looked shockingly vulnerable this way, head down over his artwork, not watching for possible threats. For a moment Dean had been almost unrecognizable. That was, until Castiel had noticed that what Dean was drawing so carefully was a pentagram. It could almost be mistaken for a random geometric shape, hidden among Ben’s scrawling, but Castiel knew Dean didn’t draw devil’s traps by accident.

“Animals can sense demonic activity,” Castiel said. “If something’s here they may be fleeing.”

“I know,” Sam said. He paused. “You don’t think it’s me they’re running from, do you?”

“You’re not a demon,” Castiel said. It wasn’t a lie, he was sure of this much. But he still thought Sam should probably avoid stepping into that devil’s trap next time they met at the Impala.

“Sometimes the streetlights go out or explode. I see them.” Sam was speaking more to himself than to Castiel. “Not always, but sometimes. A few houses down usually. Once it was the one right in front of the house, right above my head.”

“You’re not a demon,” Castiel repeated. “I’m a fallen angel. Maybe it’s me making these things happen.”

The comment had its intended effect, because Sam cracked a small smile. “Cas, you have about as much darkness in you as a kitten.”

“A very evil kitten perhaps,” said Castiel, and Sam laughed in earnest.

Making people laugh was a very human thing to do. He had not been good at making or understanding jokes before - Dean had pointed that out. Castiel was pleased that he was learning. He had even made that joke up himself. Sometimes he read jokes out of Reader’s Digest to Sam, but Sam said those weren’t really funny and that he should learn to improvise.

Castiel returned to watching Dean. There were several devil’s traps on the driveway now – at least three near the Impala – and also one on the front step. His work done, Dean rested, leaning on his elbows in the grass while Ben continued to draw.

There was sunshine in his hair and sweat on his neck. The green of the grass made Dean’s eyes stand out, even from all the way across the street. Castiel thought maybe Dean would look beautiful if his eyes weren’t quite so sad.

***

“What are you going to do after you’re human enough for Dean?” Sam asked. It was a sore subject for him and Cas. Each thought the other was a coward for not marching up to Lisa’s front door.

Cas didn’t even bother looking at Sam. He kept his gaze fixed on Dean’s darkened window. Sam often wondered if Dean could feel them both watching him, if they raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

“I am going to go say hello.”

“And then?”

Cas fell silent. Most of the time silence between the two of them was comfortable, a recognition that there just wasn’t much to say when your lives consisted or magazines and wax apples, respectively. This was not one of those silences. This silence was loaded.

“I don’t know,” Cas answered. “It will depend upon how Dean reacts.”

Sam could read the anxiety on Cas’ face, and he could tell that Cas wasn’t looking at him not only because he was watching Dean’s window. “Are you okay?” he asked. What was Cas so afraid of? Dean might punch him when he found out he’d been stalking him for weeks, but the bruise would fade.

“Did you know angels don’t dream?” Cas said, which wasn’t an answer to Sam’s question. “I have a nightmare now, almost every night. In it I knock on the door and Dean answers. He is pleased to see me. He invites me in. We drink a beer each.”

“Are you absolutely clear on the definition of the word nightmare?” Sam interrupted, but Cas carried on.

“We speak for a few moments. I don’t have much to say and neither does he. Then he stands up, and so I do too. He pats me on the back and says ‘See you around sometime, buddy’ and holds open the door for me. I always wake up the moment he closes the door behind me.”

Sam did not respond. He didn’t know what to say, truthfully. The connection between he and Dean was so solid that Sam had never even considered living alone.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do after I say hello to Dean,” Cas continued. “I can’t even imagine the options.”

Sam imagined what he would do if he was a newly fallen angel. He’d travel the world, visiting all the tourist attractions and eating amazing food. He’d read great works of literature. He’d also watch shameful amounts of television. Including lots of porn. He’d fuck his brains out, or at least jerk off twice a day. But Cas had been spending his days reading magazines while he ate ham sandwiches and meat lover’s pizza and his nights staring at Dean’s window and hanging out by the car with Sam.

“Cas,” he asked, before he changed his mind, ‘are you in love with my brother?”

Cas kept his gaze locked on the window. The question didn’t seem to upset him. It fact, it didn’t solicit much reaction at all. Finally, Cas broke the silence. “Can you explain what love feels like, please, Sam?”

Sam tried to work out an appropriate answer, but all his brain came up with were clichés. He was about to do something ridiculous like try to explain what the expression ‘butterflies in your stomach’ meant when Cas suddenly spoke.

“Sam,” he asked, startled. “Can you pass gas?”

“No!” he replied, indignant. “What?”

“Then I smell sulfur.”

***

Castiel bolted across the lawn, deaf to Sam’s response. He crouched behind the rosebushes at the front of Lisa’s house, trying to peer into the dark kitchen beyond. He couldn’t make anything out. Should he ring the doorbell, or would breaking down the door be faster?

He rang the doorbell because the door looked fairly solid. Then he tried the doorknob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. Had the demon already gotten inside? How had he and Sam missed it?

Castiel opened the door and entered the dark and silent house. He was about to call Dean’s name when a dark shape hurtled into him, propelling him out the door again. The impact left Castiel out of breath and reeling. He lost his balance and tipped backwards, his attacker still on top of him. Castiel felt his skull crack against the cement on the front step.

Though his vision was strangely blurred, Castiel saw a pair of very green eyes illuminated by the moonlight.

“Cas?” Dean asked, eyes wide with shock. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Castiel tried to make words and to ask Dean to please remove his knee from a very sensitive part of Castiel’s new anatomy. He was distracted, however, when Ben emerged from the doorway – roaring – and poured an entire box of table salt onto Castiel’s face.

Castiel found speaking with a mouth full of salt extremely difficult, so he waited for Ben to run out of salt before coughing it all up. There was a fair amount of it in his eyes as well.

“Dean,” Castiel said, squinting and resisting the urge to spit on the ground. “I’m not a demon.”

“I know,” Dean answered.

“Good,” Castiel said. “I am also no longer an angel. So could you please stop crushing my testicles?”

Castiel didn’t think he’d ever seen Dean move faster. In moments Dean had stood and was pulling Castiel with him. Castiel found that his legs and his mind were having trouble communicating. He leaned heavily on Dean’s shoulder.

“Let’s get inside. You’re not a demon, but there’s definitely one out here,” Dean was saying, though Castiel had trouble hearing him over Ben’s screaming.

“What is it? What is it Dean?” Ben shrieked. He was inside the house now, and holding another box of salt, waiting for Dean’s orders. Lisa stood behind him, clutching one of his arms. In her other hand she held an iron frying pan menacingly.

“He’s my friend,” Dean answered, “My friend Cas.” Castiel felt warmed by Dean’s words, though that could also have been because the entire world was spinning.

“Dean,’ he said urgently, though his tongue felt like it was made of salty wool, “I think I hit my head.”

Then everything went black.

***

Sam watched Dean carry Cas inside. He wanted more than anything to search the yard and patrol the house, but he knew Dean would be up and alert for hours now. If he didn’t hide Dean would definitely see him. He would have to be much more careful now that Dean was on alert.

Sam retreated to the house across the street. Fear had changed now that he didn’t really have a body. He knew he was terrified now, but he couldn’t really feel it. There was no cold sweat, no pounding heartbeat and no trembling, but Sam still knew that he was scared.

Something was after his brother, and there was nothing Sam could do about it. He was forced to hide inside. He couldn’t hunt down the demon because the pain in his chest got unbearable when he moved too far from the house, from Dean. In his first few days he’d tried to push his limits, to see how far he could go, and every time he’d ended up back in the Pit. He also couldn’t even look for clues in the yard for fear of being seen, and even if he found anything he wouldn’t be able to pick it up.

All Sam could do was sit and watch. He hoped the terror would subside soon, though he knew it probably wouldn’t. To distract himself, Sam reached for the wax apple.

He picked it up with ease.

***

When Castiel woke up there was a sunbeam on his face. He blinked into the sun and discovered that his eyes were strangely grainy. He licked his lips and tasted salt. The taste was bracing and roused him more fully, which is when the pain hit him like a semi-truck.

Castiel groaned.

Dean was there in an instant, leaning over Castiel with concern in his eyes. They were particularly shiny in the sunlight. “Hey Cas, how you feeling?”

“Like I was attacked by a dragon.”

Dean laughed and held a glass of water to Castiel’s lips. “Do those really exist?”

Castiel tried to drink without dribbling all over himself. The water tasted like the sweetest ambrosia to his salt-puckered mouth. “They used to,” he answered. “There aren’t any left.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Dean’s eyes twinkled in that way that let Castiel know he was teasing.

“Not really,” Castiel answered dryly, “They were mean bastards.”

Dean chuckled, and Castiel felt himself smiling back. “I think you got a concussion when I tackled you,” Dean explained. “Sorry.”

“You justifiably thought I was a demon. You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks Cas.” Dean fell silent and looked at Castiel expectantly.

“What?”

“What are you doing here, Cas?” Dean raised one eyebrow. It was a skill Castiel had unsuccessfully tried to cultivate.

“Oh,” he answered. His thoughts felt slower than usual, as if the combination of the concussion, the bright sun and Dean’s presence was too much for his brain. “I’m not an angel anymore. I woke up powerless in Stull’s Cemetery. So I thought I’d come say hello.”

“Hello Cas,” Dean said softly.

“Hello Dean,” Castiel replied.

“Drink the rest of that water,” Dean ordered. When Castiel obeyed slightly too enthusiastically he added, “Slowly. And I’ll make you some food. Grilled cheese okay?”

“Yes.” That sounded delicious actually. Castiel was a little bit sick of ham.

Castiel sat in silence, taking small, slow sips of his water as he listened to the sound of Dean in the kitchen. There was the rattle of pans, followed by a sizzling, popping sound. Several minutes later Dean emerged from the kitchen with a plate in each hand, and a glass bottle and small cardboard box tucked under one arm.

He unloaded the food onto the coffee table, then helped Castiel sit up on the couch. Dean’s hands felt cool against Castiel’s skin and they made him shiver. He realized that this was the first time he’d been touched since he’d been human.

Dean put one plate on Castiel’s lap and kept the other on his own. He handed Castiel the small cardboard box. “Beer for me, apple juice for you,’ he said. When Castiel looked at the box in confusion, Dean showed him how to remove the attached straw from its wrapper and stab it through the top.

Castiel sipped happily from his delicious box of juice. It was nice to sit next to a person, to feel their movement and their body heat. Sam had tried his best, but he really was more like a ghost than a person these days.

For several moments there was only the sound of chewing and the gulping noise of Dean swallowing his beer. It took Castiel longer than it should have to realize the silence was odd. “Where are Lisa and Ben?” he asked.

Dean fiddled with the crusts of his sandwich as he spoke. “They went to their cottage for a few days. With Mark. They’ll be safe there.”

“Oh,” Castiel answered. He assumed Mark was Lisa’s lover. He knew he should be sorry Dean’s friends were gone, but he wasn’t.

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “It’ll just be me and you for awhile.”

“I can stay with you?” Castiel asked.

“Don’t you want to?” Castiel studied Dean’s face and saw anxiety, sadness, loneliness. Dean wanted him to stay. Dean needed him to stay.

“Of course,” he answered. “Does Lisa have any magazines I might borrow?”

***

Sam sat in the kitchen and worried. He may also have pouted. He hadn’t seen Cas in two days. The remnants of a ham sandwich he had left on the table were starting to grow a whitish-green fuzz. It was really gross and Sam couldn’t do anything about it. He was getting pretty good at picking up the apple, but he didn’t think he could manage several pieces of sandwich and the lid to the garbage can.

The grass was getting long. Sam kept expecting to see Dean come out and mow it; he looked up at every small sound from outside. But it had never been Dean, or Cas. The mailman had come and gone, teenagers skateboarded by and an old lady with a poodle passed the house twice, but there was no sign of Dean or Cas.

Sam picked up the apple again. Whenever Cas bothered to show his face again, Sam planned to throw it at him.

***

Castiel watched Dean mow the lawn. He was supposed to be reading a magazine, actually, but he kept getting distracted by Dean mowing the lawn. He sat in the shade on the front porch while Dean worked, magazine on his lap but largely abandoned. Watching Dean now was strange after spending weeks watching from across the street; it was the same but also completely different. Sometimes Castiel thought he saw a flicker of motion from the neighbour’s front window out of the corner of his eye. He knew Sam would probably be watching them both; Sam liked it when Dean was outside.

Dean was wearing a white t-shirt. He’d peeled off his usual button-up, complaining of the heat, and it sat by Castiel’s feet. Dean’s skin was slightly lighter above the wrists than below, and lighter still at the small strip near his shoulder where the sleeve of his t-shirt ended. Castiel knew it probably wasn’t normal to spend so much time considering Dean’s skin tone.

Dean stopped the mower and rolled it towards the garage when the lawn was only half complete. Then he sat on the step next to Castiel. “They’ve got some stupid electric lawn mower. Good for the environment, but you have to stop and plug it in every ten minutes.”

Castiel nodded to indicate he had heard, but he hadn’t really absorbed whatever Dean had just said. He was fascinated, instead, by how green Dean’s eyes were when he took off his sunglasses.

“So what are you reading?” Dean asked, breaking a stare Castiel hadn’t even noticed he’d been giving. That happened a lot with Dean.

“Uh...a quiche recipe,” Castiel stammered. This wasn’t strictly true – he had no idea what he was supposed to be reading. The longer he spent as a human, though, the easier it got to lie.

Castiel knew the lie had been worth it as he watched a slow smile creep across Dean’s face. “A quiche recipe? Cas, when in the hell are you going to need to make quiche?”

“You never know,” Castiel tried to keep his voice light, “I could host a dinner party for twelve this coming Saturday.”

“Oh yeah,” Dean countered, “who are you going to invite?”

“Well you, if you promise to behave. And Lisa and Ben. And this woman named Mrs. Perkins and her dog, and seven of their closest friends.” He mentally included Sam on his list.

“And you’ll make quiche.” Dean’s voice was disbelieving, as if he was so unused to the idea of Castiel making a joke that he didn’t know whether to take this hypothetical dinner party seriously or not.

“And a spinach and goat cheese salad. Fresh bread. Mixed berry tarts with lemon whipped cream for dessert.”

“Sounds delicious, Cas.” Dean groaned as he got back to his feet. When stretched, Castiel could see a strip of hard flat stomach where his t-shirt rode up. Something flipped disconcertingly in his stomach. “Well let’s see if that mower’s ready to go yet.”

“Good luck,” Castiel said, and went back to not reading his magazine.

***

Sam watched Dean mow the lawn. Cas watched him too, but this time he was a public audience while Sam was forced to stay hidden. There was something different about the way Dean was mowing the lawn today. He was doing it in shorter shifts, for one thing, and taking longer breaks to sit with Cas in between. He was also standing up straighter – Sam hadn’t even noticed he’d been slumped over the mower before, but he seemed several inches taller today.

Sam realized, as he watched Dean smile at something Cas was saying, that Dean seemed different today because he was happy. Sam had thought Dean had enjoyed mowing the lawn because he’d done it so often before, but he had done it methodically and slouched, and he had never stopped to talk to anyone while the mower charged. He’d never had anyone to talk to. It occurred to Sam that maybe Dean had mown the lawn so often because it gave him something to do with his hands and a reason to stay out of the house and out of Lisa’s way.

Now his work was much less precise. There were definitely spots Dean had missed, and the perfect green grid Dean usually left was slanted and warped today. He wasn’t focused on the lawn – he was focused on Cas, and Cas was making his happy. Sam wondered if it was just having company, or if there was something special about Cas. Sam tried not to feel jealous and failed.

He plucked a few wax grapes from the bunch and tried to toss them into the garbage bin across the room. They bounced against the far wall. Sam’s aim was way off.

***

“What are you reading?” Dean asked, sinking down onto the couch.

Castiel slammed his magazine shut and shoved it into the space between the couch cushions. He gave himself several paper cuts in the process. “Nuts!” He exclaimed.

“Nuts?” Dean asked. “Man, we need to teach you some real curse words. Repeat after me: Shit. Damn. Fuck.”

Castiel remained silent.

“Bitch. Pussy. Cock.”

Castiel did not repeat Dean’s string of dirty words. He really wanted to finish reading his article.

Dean sighed. “Fine, you prude. Just so you know, we’re pretty sure God’s not gonna smite you for using dirty words.” He rose from the couch. “I’ll let you get back to your secret reading.”

Castiel was sorry to see Dean go. He hadn’t minded Dean cursing one bit. In fact, he’d found it oddly compelling. But the article he was reading was the most important he’d read yet.

“I hope it’s porn,” Dean called as he left the room.

Castiel opened the magazine, sucking on his finger where one of his paper cuts had started to bleed. It tasted like iron and he made a face.

5 Ways to Know If You’re in Love, he read.

1. You can’t stop staring at his eyes, lips and cute little butt

2. Everything reminds you of him.

3. You care about his happiness more than your own

4. You get tongue-tied when you try to talk to him.

5. You actually feel like you’d die for him.

Castiel was aware that item number five was probably supposed to be an exaggeration. He was also aware that he had already died for Dean Winchester twice.

So he was in love with Dean. It made a surprising amount of sense, actually. For the first time, Castiel felt like the pieces of his human self fit together. Of course, if this article was accurate Castiel had probably been in love with Dean well before he was human, though angels weren’t supposed to be able to fall in love.

Castiel closed the magazine. He sighed heavily. This meant he was going to have to prepare an entirely new speech.

***

When Cas walked through the front door at 3am, Sam threw the apple at him as hard as he could. It hit him square in the chest with a satisfying thwack!.

“Ow,” said Cas. “Congratulations on your success with the apple.”

“Thanks, jackass,” Sam replied, torn between being happy to see Cas and pissed at him for taking so long to show up. He picked the apple up off the ground. It was severely dented now. “Where the fuck have you been?”

Cas didn’t even bother to look guilty. “I’ve been figuring some things out,” he explained.

“Like why God cursed women with menstruation?” Sam said sarcastically.

“No,” Cas answered. He cleared his throat. “Like that I am in love with your brother.”

Sam didn’t really need to breathe anymore, but he coughed anyway. He also dropped his apple. “What? Seriously?”

“I have never been more serious about anything in my extremely long life.” Cas busied himself with cleaning up his abandoned, moulding sandwich bits.

Sam knew he needed to be sensitive about this. Cas had probably never had so much as a crush before and now he was openly declaring his love for Dean of all people. “So, uh, what are you going to do about it?” he said.

“I do not know,” Cas answered, closely examining a piece of green bread. “I know he probably wouldn’t react well if I told him. But now that I know I love him, I feel like my chest is going to explode if I don’t. And not to tell him seems deceitful.”

“Well he’d be surprised, that’s for sure.” Sam suspected he wasn’t being particularly helpful, but this wasn’t a conversation he’d ever imagined having.

“If I were a woman I imagine he’d be flattered,” Cas said thoughtfully. “I should have taken a female vessel instead of Jimmy.”

Sam took a deep breath, then blurted out the one secret he’d never told anyone in his life. “I saw Dean making out with a guy once!” The sentence came out much louder than he expected. It was probably not something he should have screamed, but he had been holding it in for years.

Cas blinked at him, so Sam continued. “It was a long time ago, in high school. Dean said he would meet me at the bleachers so we could walk home together, but he wasn’t there so I went looking for him. I walked around to the back of the school and I saw him. Making out.” For clarity’s sake Sam added “With a guy.”

“And?” Cas asked, head tilted, “What did he say when you asked him about it?”

“I didn’t!” Sam didn’t know why his voice was so loud. He very deliberately lowered his volume. “It’s not the kind of thing you talk about when you’re guys and you grow up with our dad. Anyway, I never saw it happen again and Dean always seemed pretty into girls so I just assumed it had been a stage or something.”

Cas frowned. “You probably should have said something supportive and non-judgmental and assured him you would love him no matter what.” Sam wondered which parenting magazine Cas was quoting. “But it was good of you to keep his secret.”

“Thanks Cas. For the record, I do.”

“You do what?”

“I do love him no matter what.” Sam ducked his head. “And you Cas. I am completely supportive and nonjudgmental.”

“I appreciate that very much Sam.” Cas hesitated. “Does this mean you will help me figure out how to confess my undying devotion?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

“Cas, promise me you won’t tell Dean about me? I want to tell him myself.”

“Okay,” Castiel answered. “But you seem to be doing pretty well with that apple. If you don’t tell him soon, I will.”

***

When he returned to Lisa’s house, Dean was not asleep on the couch as he had been when Castiel left. His heart started to race immediately. Castiel dashed upstairs, but Dean wasn’t in the guest room, or either of the washrooms. He ran outside to fetch Sam for help, but stopped when he heard cursing.

Castiel found Dean in Lisa’s backyard, wrestling with a large white cylinder.

“What the fuck are you doing out here, Dean?” he snapped.

“Nice swearing Cas,” Dean said, throwing the cylinder to the ground in apparent frustration. “I could ask you the same question.”

Castiel unclenched his fists and waited for his heart to stop racing. “I went for a walk. I have restless leg syndrome. What are you doing?”

“The fucking barbeque is broken!” Dean exclaimed.

“Excuse me?” Castiel asked.

“The propane tank is empty. And when I checked to make sure, I broke the little connecting thing off the top of the tank.” He gestured at a bit of red plastic lying on the grass. “I was going to make us hamburgers.”

“At three o’clock in the morning?”

Dean sat abruptly on the ground, as if his legs had given out beneath him. “It’s something Sam would’ve wanted me to do.” He said Sam’s name like angels said prayers. ‘He wanted me to have this normal, apple pie life and I’ve completely fucked it up. I barely leave the house, there’s no way I can get a job, Lisa’s barely tolerating me, and now I’ve attracted the demons to her.”

Castiel crouched in front of Dean in the grass. “I think,” he said slowly, “that what Sam probably meant was that he just wanted you to be happy. The hamburgers are probably optional.”

Castiel had seen Dean cry before. They had always been silent tears, and he had wiped them away quickly. It was important to Dean to look strong and composed. But now Dean was sobbing openly, his voice cracking as he spoke. “Well I’m a big failure on that one too! Ironic isn’t it, that I miss him so much I can’t carry out his last wish?”

Dean’s face was twisted with so much pain and self-loathing that it caused Castiel physical pain. To make it stop, he took Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him. Dean went perfectly still at his touch. He choked back a sob. He didn’t return the kiss – Castiel hadn’t expected him to – but he didn’t push him away either.

Castiel pulled away. He looked directly into Dean’s eyes, still sparkling with tears. “I was going to make a proper speech, but I didn’t have time to prepare,” he began. “You should know that I’m in love with you, that I have been for a long time. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I only recently realized it myself. I think you’re beautiful and brave and funny. I’m proud that you call me your friend. And I know Sam is proud that you’re his brother, just the way you are. You don’t need to live in this house or fit into this town or make hamburgers at three in the morning for Sam to love you, Dean. He already does.”

Castiel waited. He wondered if he should try to hug Dean, or if that would be too intimate considering his confession. He wished he had a tissue to offer.

“I need some time to think,” Dean said. He was no longer crying.

“Okay, but come inside where the demons can’t get you.”

***

Sam heard dogs howling, though all the town’s pets were supposed to be missing.

Assuming they must be Hell hounds calling him home, he tried to conjure up a picture of Dean to anchor himself firmly to Earth.

The image he came up with was of Dean and Cas kissing.

“Ugh,” he said, and popped back to Hell.

***

Castiel took the guest room since it looked like Dean wasn’t using it. He changed into the sweatpants Dean had loaned to him and climbed under the covers. It was a comfortable bed in a comfortable room, but Castiel knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. Instead, his mind seemed determined to replay what had just happened in the back yard a hundred times, analyzing the millions of ways it had gone completely wrong.

Pale sunlight was already starting to creep in through the window when Dean knocked gently on the door, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether he wanted Castiel to answer or not. It struck Castiel as funny that Dean should be nervous about knocking on his door after Castiel had spent weeks preparing to knock on Dean’s.

“Come in,” he said.

Dean closed the door behind him, though no one else was in the house. Castiel loved the sound of his bare feet padding across the carpet as he moved towards the bed. He wasn’t sure if that was a ridiculous thing to love.

“Cas,” Dean said, sitting so close to the edge of the bed Castiel was worried he might fall off, “It’s not a good idea to love me.”

“I don’t expect you to love me in return,” Castiel explained so that Dean would stop looking so guilty. “I just thought you deserved to know.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Dean said quickly. “It’s just that everyone who loves me dies. Everyone I love dies.”

The room fell perfectly silent, except for the distant barking of a dog. The sun rose a few more inches, creeping its way across the room. Dean and Castiel stared at each other.

Finally, Castiel broke the silence. “I’ve already died twice,” he said, “It doesn’t scare me anymore.”

The change in Dean’s face was immediate. The tension around his eyes and mouth and the wrinkles in his forehead disappeared. Castiel could swear his eyes actually turned a lighter shade of green.

“I think you’re probably the weirdest person I’ve ever known, Cas,” Dean said. Then he kissed Castiel firmly on the mouth.

Dean tasted like peppermint toothpaste and relief, or maybe the relief was Castiel’s. He was losing track of where he started and Dean began. He also felt dizzy, but it was a good kind of dizzy not a concussion kind of dizzy. Dean had one hand on Castiel’s jaw and the other on his shoulder and the heat from the places he touched seemed to radiate through his entire body. He slid over on the bed to make room for Dean to lie next to him, and to Castiel’s immense gratitude and joy, Dean did.

Dean’s face was rough with stubble and still slightly damp, though his tears must’ve been wiped away hours ago. When the stubble rubbed against Castiel’s face and neck it tingled. Castiel had never been so strangely aware of his skin before.

Castiel kissed Dean for so long his jaw got sore. He mentally cursed the poor stamina of the fragile human body and kept kissing. Sunshine crept over the entire room, bathing them in light. Cas had to close his eyes because it was so bright they hurt, but he kissed Dean anyway, using his sense of touch instead of sight.

Eventually Dean’s kisses turned into yawns and he moved his face away from Castiel’s. Castiel was not particularly proud of the whimpering noise he made in response, but at least it made Dean smile.

“We need to sleep,” he said.

“No we don’t.”

“Yes, we do. We’re both human, remember?” Dean’s teasing was fond.

“It’s the daytime. We’re humans, not bats.”

Dean chuckled. “Well then, you shouldn’t keep me up all night or I might turn into a bat, like a vampire.”

“Vampires can’t turn into bats,” Castiel corrected.

“I know that, Cas.”

“Oh. Right. You would.”

Dean laughed again, softly, and curled his body around Castiel’s. “Sleep, Cas. That’s an order.”

***

Sam felt intensely jealous as he watched Cas leave Lisa’s house the next afternoon, closing the door carefully behind him. He’d been jealous often – mostly of other people’s normal, boring lives – but he thought probably he’d never felt it this strongly. The emotion made him feel solid, though, and tied him even more firmly to the Impala.

Cas opened the driver’s side door and sat awkwardly behind the wheel. He looked unsure about where to put his hands, then settled on folding them in his lap. He stared straight ahead with wide eyes, and cleared his throat. Sam had learned how to smell fear at a young age, but even to an untrained nose Cas would have reeked of it.

“Cas?” Sam asked, “Are you okay?” Sam hoped Cas had just discovered his very human spider phobia or something, because if something was wrong with Dean he would...well, he couldn’t exactly do anything, could he?

“Yes,” Cas replied, in a tone that completely contradicted the word. “Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. I am in control of my destiny.” His eyes looked a little glazed and his words had a chant-like rhythm. Sam suspected one of the magazines he’d been reading had instructed him to use this technique in times of crisis.

“Dude,” Sam insisted, “is everything okay with Dean?”

“What?” Cas asked, breaking his trance. “Oh yes, everything is wonderful with Dean. I love Dean, and Dean cares about me and we would be very happy if only he didn’t think you were dead.”

Sam decided to let that little dig go. “So why do you look like you just saw a ghost?” Sam realized a moment too late that the expression might not have been appropriate for their context, but Cas let it pass.

“Dean and I are...together and we like each other very much, and when human beings like each other they express their affections physically...”

Alarm bells erupted loudly in Sam’s head. “Whoa whoa whoa Cas! Stop right there! I do not need to hear about this.” He resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hands and scream ‘La la la la la.’

“But I need to talk about it, and you’re the only person I know. I have questions.”

Sirens joined the alarm bells in Sam’s head. “Listen Cas, I’m not really a gay sex expert.” In fact, Sam’s total gay-sex knowledge consisted of information gleaned from jokes on various junior high playgrounds, clicking the wrong buttons when trawling for porn, Brokeback Mountain and traumatic stories on the Internet based on Chuck’s books.

“No, but you’ve had sex. Sex is a very human thing and it’s completely new to me.”

“It’s not entirely human,” Sam responded. “Demons do it too.” Sex with demons was not generally a comfortable subject for Sam, but he’d rather discuss his own spotty sexual history than Cas and his brother’s burgeoning one.

“Oh, right.” Cas’ glance radiated disapproval. “Well demons tend to pick up human habits when it suits them. But I am not a demon.”

“No, you’re human now.” Sam was struck by a brilliant idea. “Hey! Haven’t you seen porn?” Sam was pretty sure that if he’d fallen from Heaven, suddenly in touch with his human body for the first time, the absolute first thing he’d do was look for porn. Cas looked at him like he was an insect, a skill which apparently hadn’t just been an angel thing. “No, Sam. I’ve been very busy traveling for weeks to get here, and consoling your grieving brother about your death.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll let Dean see me soon enough, though maybe I should give you two a few days in privacy first.” Sam was gratified and just a little guilty when Cas’ face switched from stern lecture mode to blind panic again.

“Okay well maybe I can explain the...mechanics of it to you, as far as I understand them.” Sam regretted the words even as he said them, but he had been in the business of helping people for most of his life and he didn’t want Cas to be completely taken by surprise.

“I know how sodomy works, Sam. It was frequently discussed in Heaven. Apparently there was some question as to whether or not it was actually forbidden by our Father.”

“Well good!” The panicked noise in Sam’s head calmed slightly. “What do you need me for, then?”

Cas bit his lip. Sam didn’t think he’d even seen him do that before, so Cas must’ve been picking up Dean’s habits. “I know technically how the human anatomy works. But there are other things too, aren’t there? Skills and talents and tricks that I don’t know.” Cas looked about fourteen years old in that moment, which was probably because he was going through the kind of crisis most guys did at puberty. Sam remembered how he’d felt when Jenny Archer, his first serious junior high crush, had asked him to meet her behind the bleachers during the school football game. He understood the mixture of excitement and anxiety Cas must’ve been feeling, though the mental comparison of Dean and his first schoolboy crush was more than a little disconcerting.

“Okay listen up,” Sam said, with false confidence. “He likes you and you like him, right?” Cas nodded. “So then you kids will figure it out. It’s not a big deal and everybody does it; no need to be embarrassed. Just listen to your body and do what feels right.” The words coming from his mouth weren’t his own, he knew. They were Dean’s, because Sam would certainly never have turned to his father for this kind of advice. There was something deeply weird about the fact that ten years later Sam was regurgitating Dean’s pep talk to his newly-human lover, even when compared to the high baseline of weird in Sam’s life.

Cas seemed comforted, though. He took a deep breath and unfolded his hands, reaching for the car door. “Thank you, Sam.”

“No problem, Cas.” Sam was usually sad to see Cas leave because it meant he would be alone again, but this time he was actually kind of relieved. “And Cas?”

“Yes?”

“You could probably talk to Dean. About how you’re feeling, I mean. He talks big, but he’s not actually an asshole.”

Cas nodded and smiled slightly. “I know. That is a good suggestion.”

It was only as Cas closed the door to Lisa’s behind him again that Sam realized he’d forgotten to say anything about condoms. He was definitely the worst sex coach ever.

***

Castiel made sure he was already in his sleep clothes and tucked under the covers by the time Dean finished showering. He also held a magazine in front of his face, though he wasn’t reading it. Every time he tried the words started swimming before his eyes.

Instead, he watched a drop of water make its way from Dean’s shoulder to the middle of his back until he couldn’t see it over the top of the magazine anymore. Then Dean pulled a grey t-shirt over his head and Castiel felt simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

“Do you want to finish your article or...?” Dean stood next to the door, hand hovering over the light switch. His hair was getting a bit long, and it was tousled from the shower, still dripping the odd bead of water.

Dean cleared his throat and Castiel remembered he had asked a question. “Oh, no, go ahead.” Castiel shoved the magazine away without even bothering to mark his place. Before the light disappeared Castiel caught one more glimpse of Dean, and there was a blush on his cheeks that hadn’t there a moment before, so couldn’t have been caused by the heat of the shower.

The moon was nearly full and the curtains were open, so even with the light switched off it was bright in the room, though everything was washed in shades of blue and grey. The springs of the bed creaked faintly as Dean climbed into the bed, sliding under the covers. Though they weren’t touching, Castiel could feel the heat of Dean’s body spreading out toward him.

Castiel focused his gaze on the ceiling and tried not to play with the bedsheets. One of the confusing things about being human was always feeling like he had to do something with his hands. When he’d been an angel his body hadn’t really been his, had been a convenient container for his essence, a tool and a weapon. He’d not felt it was an extension of himself, or that he was really responsible for it or its movements. Now he was hyper-aware of every sensation, knew that every movement he made suddenly meant something, and he didn’t know where to put his hands.

The room was very silent except for the pounding of Castiel’s own blood in his ears. He couldn’t even hear Dean’s breathing. He couldn’t hear his own breathing either, though judging by the aching in his lungs that might have been because he was holding his breath.

The bed creaked again as Dean rolled to face Castiel. Reluctantly, Castiel tore his gaze from the ceiling. He was afraid to look at Dean, to see boredom or frustration or regret or laughter. Thankfully, by the time he rolled onto his side as well, Dean’s face was so close to his that he couldn’t see Dean’s expression. Instead, he felt Dean’s lips against his, heard his own impossibly quick heartbeat, smelled Dean’s shampoo and tasted toothpaste. Castiel was suddenly grateful that humans had all five senses. He closed his eyes; he was afraid to look at Dean, but he could feel him, smell, hear and taste him and that was more than enough. That was very, very good.

Dean deepened the kiss and suddenly they were in new territory. They’d kissed before, but something had shifted now and there was a buzzing in the air and in Castiel’s head that told him this was important. Castiel opened his mouth under Dean’s, trying in vain to mirror whatever it was Dean was doing with his tongue. He wasn’t good at this, of course, but maybe he wasn’t terrible either. Certainly if it was bad Dean would stop, wouldn’t he?

And Dean wasn’t stopping. He shifted closer on the bed, resting one hand against Castiel’s cheek and placing the other on his waist. At the places where his fingertips touched it, Castiel’s skin felt like it was on fire. Dean’s lips left his. Instead, Dean’s mouth kissed Castiel’s neck as his hands caressed the skin underneath Castiel’s t-shirt.

Castiel felt he should probably try to do something with his hands too, so he tried to reach for Dean. Somehow, he got his arm caught with Dean’s and the kisses stopped momentarily while they untangled themselves. Castiel apologized and Dean answered, too quickly, “It’s okay,” his voice even lower than it usually was. Castiel kept his eyes squeezed shut, certain that if he opened them he would see annoyance on Dean’s face. He could feel his entire body burning with embarrassment, and he desperately hoped Dean couldn’t feel it too.

Now his skin was tingling not because of pleasure, but out of anxiety. Castiel felt he’d somehow fallen a step behind; whenever Dean moved his hand or his tongue Castiel was surprised. He felt lost and bewildered, desperately trying to catch up in a race he was sure to lose. Then Dean reached one hand inside the waistband of Castiel’s boxer shorts and wrapped it firmly around Castiel’s erection.

Castiel’s eyes snapped open. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said, words coming out with a gasp because he had been holding his breath. “And I don’t know where to put my hands.”

“Oh thank god,” Dean said, just a little too loud. Castiel turned to him in surprise, and saw that Dean’s eyes were wide in the moonlight, his brow furrowed. “I don’t know what I’m doing either.” He bit his lip, looking torn between laughing and crying.

“What?” It came out a bit more accusatory than Castiel had intended. “You’re supposed to be the one who knows.” He paused, and Dean didn’t rush to fill the silence. “It’s because I’m a man.”

Dean’s voice was still lower than usual. “Well, yeah, I guess, though it doesn’t seem all that complicated and I could probably figure it out. It’s more...” He hesitated, and Castiel was glad he had opened his eyes because Dean was beautiful when he was vulnerable, all his usual hardness gone blurred and soft. “Don’t think I’m a dick, but I’m not used to really giving a shit. This is a lot of pressure for a guy used to making do with one night stands in cheap motel rooms or the back of his car.”

Castiel smiled and reached out to stroke Dean’s hair, still damp from his shower. “I don’t think you’re a dick,” he assured him. “I think you’re beautiful.” He was careful to make eye contact as he said it, because the magazines had told him this was how people knew he was being sincere, and also because he just liked to look at Dean.

Dean went pink again. “Stop that,” he snapped, “I’m not a girl!”

“Okay, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Thank you.” Castiel paused, remembering Sam’s advice. “Perhaps we should just do what feels right?”

Castiel thought he saw Dean frown momentarily, but it was gone so quickly he might have been imagining it. “Sure, Cas,” he answered, “that’s really good advice.” He reached out, and this time Castiel kept his eyes wide open.

***

Sam whistled as he juggled wax fruit. The orange and the apple were pretty simple, but the banana was a little more complicated and the grapes were so small they were sometimes hard to catch. He probably didn’t have a shot at a career with the circus, but that was alright because he didn’t want to deal with clowns.

The fruit dropped straight through Sam’s hands. Crap. It was really hard to focus on Dean without focusing on what Dean and Cas were probably doing right now.

Sam sighed. He wasn’t going to be able to hang on anyway, might as well give in and save himself the pain. Sam disappeared.

***

Castiel’s hands wrapped around one of the curlicues of the wrought iron headboard, where Dean had told him he should put them. He squeezed so hard he would probably have been cutting off circulation if there had been any blood in his arms anyway. It might’ve been painful actually, but Castiel’s human nervous system could only manage so much sensation at one time, and it was focused exclusively on what Dean was doing with his mouth.

Castiel was also revising his previous opinion on vision. Yes, being able to see meant occasionally seeing something you didn’t want to, but it also meant seeing Dean’s mouth around his cock, and Castiel wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world. Not that the other senses weren’t valuable in this situation as well – touch in particular.

More than anything Castiel could feel the hot wet pressure of Dean’s mouth on his cock, the air shockingly cold in comparison when Dean pulled away occasionally to exhale because, as he’d warned Castiel when they started, he wasn’t very good at breathing out through his nose. But he could also feel Dean’s fingers trembling where he was bracing himself against Castiel’s bare thigh. Castiel took a risk and released the headboard with one hand, reaching down to run his fingers through Dean’s hair in a way he hoped was encouraging.

The touch startled Dean, and his teeth scraped Castiel in a way that was more surprising than painful, though he hissed anyway. “Sorry,” Dean said with a smile, the next time he pulled away to breath, “still getting the hang of this.”

It was the smile that did it. Moments later Castiel felt something in his body change, as if he’d unexpectedly reached the summit of a mountain he’d been climbing and he was standing at the edge of a cliff. He tugged at Dean’s hair, pulling him away just as his body jumped from the cliff. He lost touch of all five senses. For a moment he was completely unconcerned with external perception, completely wrapped in something internal, one moment of complete unity between himself and this body – his body. If there had been any doubt that he was fallen it was gone now. He had never felt so human. He had also never felt so amazing.

When Castiel regained contact with the outside world, Dean was wiping his face with Castiel’s discarded t-shirt. He was also saying something, though it was muffled by the fabric. “Not cool, Cas, you need to warn me next time, yeah?” His voice was irritated and Castiel was momentarily worried, but when he threw the shirt back on the ground Dean’s expression was the one he wore after a particularly satisfying hunt.

“I will,” he promised, “next time.”

“Good.” Dean’s voice was firm, but his eyes were laughing. He sat up to kiss Castiel and his mouth tasted different. It tasted like him, Castiel realized, thrill running down his spine. He kissed Dean harder, leaning forward and tangling both his hands in Dean’s hair. They overbalanced, and Castiel fell forward on top of Dean.

“Ooof,” Dean said from underneath him, head at the foot of the bed. He shifted so that their bodies aligned more neatly. He tilted his head to the side, mimicking the head tilt the Winchesters had joked was Castiel’s signature. “So, what do you feel like doing?”

Castiel let his hands decide for themselves.

***

Michael and Lucifer were having a particularly brutal fight down under, so Sam decided to take sanctuary above ground for just a little bit, even if that meant unpleasant Dean and Cas sexy-time images. It was a good thing he did.

Every streetlight on the Lisa’s cul de sac went out that night. Sam watched from the hood of the Impala as the twinkling lights disappeared. At some point it started to rain. It was only a light drizzle, but even that seemed ominous to Sam, especially as he watched the raindrops wash Ben and Dean’s brightly colored chalk designs down the driveway in streaks. Dean’s devil’s traps would be useless now.

Sam stood guard outside the house; he could smell sulfur in the air. He considered knocking on Lisa’s door, now that he could. But he wasn’t ready to face Dean.

***

Castiel knew that the morning after a sexual encounter was supposed to be awkward. The hundreds of awkward sex stories and embarrassing moments he had read over the past several weeks had taught him to expect the worst. So he was surprised when he woke up and found himself perfectly happy. He had been expecting dread, maybe, or at least awkwardness or shame. Instead, he watched the slow rise and fall of Dean’s chest with an internal calm reminiscent of the pre-Winchester era, when his faith had been unquestioned and unblemished. On instinct, he leaned over and kissed Dean’s forehead.

“Morning,” Dean mumbled. He opened his eyes a little too quickly and Castiel wondered if he had even really been sleeping. He reached up to cup Castiel’s face and pull him down for a kiss – this time on the mouth. Dean’s mouth no longer tasted like peppermint, but Castiel found he didn’t mind.

“We have to talk,” Dean said, his voice suddenly serious. Castiel’s heart sank as he recognized the familiar turn towards tragic morning-after tales. “Lisa and Ben are coming home today.”

“And they won’t expect me to still be here. It’s fine. I don’t have anything to pack so I can leave momentarily.” Castiel’s face felt hot and he found his words were coming out way too fast. “Don’t worry.” He tried to sit up in the bed, but found himself entangled in the sheets, and then Dean’s arms.

“Hey, hold your horses, Cas.” Dean pulled Castiel forcibly back into the bed. “She won’t expect me to be here for much longer either. I’ve sort of worn out my welcome, I think.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, though he wasn’t.

“Don’t be.” Dean’s voice was strangely soft. He pulled Castiel closer, buried his face in the back of his neck. “The only bad thing about it is that I promised Sam I would be here. And you’re right; it’s because he wanted me to be happy so if I’m not I should go, but...” Dean was curled so closely against Castiel that he could feel the vibrations of Dean’s words against his skin, “but there’s this part of me that thought that if he ever got out of there, he would know where to find me.”

Swallowing the words ‘He did find you!’ felt like the hardest thing Castiel had ever done in his extremely long life.

“But I’m better off on the road. I’m thinking about hunting again,” Dean continued.

“It is what you are best at. You help people.” Castiel knew this was the moment he had dreaded – the moment Dean moved on and he was truly alone in the world for the first time. “And it might be good for you to have some purpose.”

“The thing is,” Dean said, “I’ve always hunted with a partner.” He hesitated. “And no one will ever replace Sam, but I thought maybe you could come with me.”

This was not how these conversations tended to go in the magazines, so Castiel was caught off guard.

“Or not,” Dean added after a beat, “Whatever you want.”

Castiel rolled to face Dean. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It was just not what I expected you to say.”

“What did you think I would say?” Dean asked, biting his lip distractingly.

“Oh, ‘I’ll give you a call sometime’ or something,” Castiel answered, “something casual and non-committal.”

“Oh,” Dean said with a smile, “Well I think you and I should pack our shit into my car and go find a nest of vampires or a shape-shifter to kill together. That committed enough for you Cas?”

“For now,” Castiel answered, as gave Dean a proper good morning kiss.

***

Sam didn’t need to sleep anymore, but he felt exhausted as he watched the sun rise. He didn’t hear a single bird chirping.

***

Castiel startled at the sound of a minivan door closing, of Ben’s excited chattering. “I can’t wait to show Dean!” he said.

“Fuck,” Dean muttered, pulling himself out of bed. Castiel followed extremely reluctantly. He frowned as Dean pulled on a pair of jeans that had been lying on the floor. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure if they were actually Dean’s or his own, but he disliked them. He disliked that Dean was required to wear clothes at all, actually.

By the time he put on his own clothes and made it downstairs, Dean was already helping to unload the van. He carried an enormous cooler dripping water as Ben hopped excitedly around him, babbling something about a bug collection and aliens. Lisa pulled a pink suitcase o wheels, and stopped when she saw Castiel in the driveway, then smiled hesitantly at him. Castiel noticed her sidelong glance at Dean. Lisa was too polite to say anything now, but she was wondering what the stranger was still doing in her house.

“I can explain.” Castiel heard Dean murmur as he passed her with the cooler, though he probably thought Castiel couldn’t hear. Explaining their relationship to Lisa wasn’t something that would be easy for Dean. He had read in one of his magazines that confessing one has feelings for people of the same sex was difficult for most humans, and Dean was particularly uncomfortable discussing his emotions. “Yeah, well, I guess some grasshoppers could have alien DNA,” he said in a much louder voice, in Ben’s general direction. Castiel held the door for him as he brought the cooler inside.

Then they heard the barking. It was much closer now, and much more distinct. It sent a chill of recognition down Castiel’s spine, and judging by the hardened, mask-like expression on Dean’s face, it was even more familiar to him.

Hell hounds.

***

From behind the shrubbery, Sam watched Ben and Lisa’s return. He knew this was a terrible hiding spot – that if Dean hadn’t been so nervous about explaining stuff to Lisa he would definitely have spotted Sam so poorly disguised as a bush. But Sam’s curiosity had gotten the best of him. He had to know how this would go, what Dean and Cas had decided, and he needed some clue of where they would go and whether or not he would be able to follow them. He didn’t really believe what Cas had said about giving him away – that would hurt Dean, and Cas wouldn’t want to do that – but Sam was still anxious. If they travelled a lot it would be harder for Sam to stay attached to them, take longer for him to find them and make it more difficult to stay. The familiarity of this house, this street, this town made it easier for Sam to hold on.

Sam was so wrapped up in his own musings that he didn’t even hear the barking. He noticed the stricken look on Dean’s face, though, and the crash of the cooler as Dean dropped it onto the front porch. It was as if he’d seen a ghost, and for a moment Sam panicked, sure that Dean had spotted him. Then he followed Dean’s eyeline.

The little old lady –Cas had said her name was Mrs. Perkins – was standing at the bottom of the drive. She had curlers in her hair and was wearing a pale pink cardigan, but her expression was anything but innocent. She was smirking and her eyes were ice-cold, filled with cruel mischief. They were pure black. She held her arms out straight, fanned out slightly from her body, and the knuckles of her fists were white with strain.

Her laughter was high-pitched and vicious. “Hiya Dean-o,” she trilled, “Long time no see.”

Dean’s response was low and measured, and Sam noticed him step slightly in front of Ben and Lisa as he spoke. “Hi Meg.”

***

Castiel didn’t recognized Meg until after Dean had said her name. He had recognized that the old woman wasn’t Mrs. Perkins, of course - had been mentally preparing himself for battle when Dean had identified her - and Castiel was struck by the fact that he hadn’t done so himself. He didn’t have angel sight anymore and he was reminded that this would be his first fight as a human, vulnerable and powerless.

Dean’s stance was apparently casual, though Castiel could see the tension in his back, the slight bend in his knees that meant he was ready for a fight. The other humans, though, were less calm.

Ben suddenly scrambled for the door, slipping on the spilt water all over the porch that was leaking out of the cracked cooler. Meg turned to look at him, gaze excited, as if she had been hoping someone would try something so she had a reason to strike. Castiel clutched the boy to his chest on instinct, covering his mouth with one hand.

Meg turned to Castiel. “Even fallen angels protect children.” She laughed, “It’s good to see you again too, Castiel. Or are you going by Luke now? Remember the last time we met out of disguise, when you pushed me into holy fire? Good times.”

Castiel didn’t respond, and Meg seemed irritated by his silence. “But things are a little different now, aren’t they? You’re powerless and weak. I most definitely have the upper hand.”

“You had the upper hand last time, didn’t you?” Dean’s voice oozed confidence, but Castiel could hear about four layers of false bravado. “You had him trapped in a ring of fire and he still managed to kick your ass.”

Castiel was momentarily touched by the compliment. Then he noticed the venom in Meg’s stare – now fixed on Dean – and realized he had said it to distract Meg, to bring her attention back to himself and away from Castiel and Ben.

“Yes, well I’ll be sure to make up for past wrongs today. I’m very glad our dear Castiel is human now. Humans feel so much more intensely than angels; he’ll be so much more fun to torture. And there’s something else now too, isn’t there? You love him. Maybe I’ll make you watch.”

Dean’s faced stayed blank. “How did you find me?” His tone was casual, but the abrupt change of subject betrayed something of his anxiety, and the victorious turn of Meg’s mouth meant she’d noticed.

“Oh, you thought those runes on your ribs and a few hex bags would stop me? I had some help from a friend of yours.”

Dean inhaled sharply. “Bobby,” he said quickly, the name slipping out before he had time to force the calm into his voice.

“Guess again, big brother,” said a low male voice from Castiel’s right, and he didn’t bother to turn and look. Something that had been hovering in the back of his mind snapped suddenly into place, and he hated himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Adam?” Dean asked, bewildered, all pretence of being in control utterly destroyed.

***

Sam saw Adam before Dean did, saw him flicker into view to Cas’ right, his face flooded with a relief Sam was all too familiar with himself. He heard Adam call Dean “big brother” and he knew what that would do to Dean. He saw Dean’s face break, saw the hunter’s calm fall away. He knew Dean’s weakness for blood, for family, for younger brothers. They were his Achilles heel, and Sam knew this could be the end.

“Weren’t expecting to see me again, were you Dean?” Meg’s voice had been cold and sadistic, but Adam’s was not. His tone was barely contained rage, a deep human bitterness of a man wronged. Meg’s was the voice of a demon doing what she does best, Adam’s was all human. “Bet you thought you’d gotten rid of me for good.”

“Adam, I...what are you talking about?” Dean still sounded like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “I never wanted this to happen to you.”

Adam’s laugh almost sounded like a sob. “Of course you did, Dean. You’re the reason this happened to me, you and Sam. You threw me down that pit and into hell, Dean, then abandoned me there.”

“I didn’t abandon you, Adam. If I had known there was a way to get you out...I thought you were dead...” Dean trailed off, but Sam knew the rest. I thought you were both dead. Dean’s guilt-wracked expression wasn’t just for Adam, Sam knew.

“See that’s the thing about Hell, Dean. You can’t die down there. That would be too easy, wouldn’t it? So my body’s alive down there, burning itself out or being shredded to bits while Michael and Lucifer fight it out, only to be restored so I can die again and again for all eternity. Time works differently in Hell, Dean, but then you know that already.”

Dean winced at Adam’s words and Sam thought maybe he could even see tears welling in Dean’s eyes. Fuck. Dean needed to focus now, needed to fight. This isn’t the time for grief, for imagining Sam burning.

Sam saw Adam’s mouth twist in pure hatred as he nodded to Meg before he disappeared. She grinned like small child who had just been handed a shiny red balloon and actually bounced up and down with glee, an eerier sight because she was wearing a sweet little old lady. “Dean’s very familiar with Hell. In fact, he’s been missed down there. I’ve brought some old friends to take him home.”

She smiled wickedly as she opened her fisted hands, letting them fall to her sides. “Sick ‘em, boys.” The air filled with ear-splitting barking, and Sam moved.

***

Castiel pushed Ben towards the doorway and barely saw his mother grab his hand before he turned back to Dean. “Salt all the doors,” Dean was screaming over the barking, “Call Bobby.” Lisa didn’t respond and Castiel could only hope she had heard him over the chaos, that the hounds would be too busy with him and Dean to attack them too.

It was difficult to brace himself for an invisible attacker, for a blow that could come from any direction. Castiel could hear the dogs, yes, but the sound seemed to be coming from everywhere. Castiel felt like he was drowning in any ocean of growls and hot breath already.

He felt a warm hand in his and looked up into Dean’s face. Dean gave him a weak smile and squeezed. “I’m glad we figured it out, Cas.” He was speaking normally, but somehow Castiel found he could hear him easily over the sound of the hounds.

Castiel smiled back, faintly. He realized that Dean hadn’t told him to go inside with Lisa and Ben, that Dean hadn’t tried to save him, had known that Castiel wouldn’t leave him. He smiled more brightly. He had something that no one else had, that not even Sam had. He was the person Dean Winchester was willing to die with, not only for.

They stood, hands linked, pathetically human and completely unarmed as the Hell hounds bared down on them.

A loud whistle sounded suddenly from Castiel’s left. The barking stopped and the hound’s breath turned away from Dean and Castiel. Sam stood to their right, body tense and eyes determined. “Oh wow, I seem to have gotten lost on my way back to Hell,” he exclaimed in mock surprise, winking at Castiel. “Here doggy doggy doggy. Nice puppies,” he cooed.

The barking started again like lightning, the calm in the storm over without warning. Castiel felt a wind against his face as the hounds rushed by him towards Sam, their original mission abandoned in favour of juicier meat. Sam took off at breakneck speed, tearing down the sleepy small-town cul de sac with the invisible pack presumably close at his heels.

***

Sam ran like he had never run before. He was actually a little out of shape he knew; he could’ve done better if he hadn’t spent weeks sitting around watching Dean, lecturing Cas and juggling wax fruit. In any case, he was still ahead of the dogs, mostly because he’d had a bit of a head start. They would be nearly impossible to lose, of course, but that wasn’t the plan.

All he needed to do was get them far enough from Dean that they’d lose the scent. Hell hounds were easily distracted; that’s why they needed to be led around on leashes by demons. Get them far enough from their prey and they would forget all about it, and wander around sniffing fire hydrants until some demon came and collected them, or something. Sam just needed to get a few miles between himself and Dean.

But that, of course, was the problem. There was a reason Sam normally stuck to Lisa’s and the house across the street. He was attached to Dean; Dean was what held him to the earth against the tug of Hell. And when Dean wasn’t around, the Impala would do. Sam hadn’t been this far from Dean since he’d escaped from Hell.

Already he could feel a strong pull in his chest, a burning sensation in his heart. Hell was a magnet and Sam’s heart was an iron nail, tugged ceaselessly downwards. As if that wasn’t hard enough to resist, there was also Dean pulling him backwards. He and Cas may have joked about Sam haunting Dean, but there was something to it. Dean was his anchor to the real world, and running away from him felt like absolutely the wrong thing to do.

Sam turned off Lisa’s cul de sac and onto a main avenue. He didn’t know exactly where he should run; he wasn’t familiar with the town apart from Lisa’s and the empty house across the street, hadn’t even had the option of exploring. But Sam figured all he had to do was keep running in a relatively straight line to get away from Dean. He passed a group of teenagers playing ball hockey on the street, and they looked at him like he was insane. And they were probably right to stare – only Sam could hear the hounds barking, to everyone else he looked like he was sprinting with all his might, in intense pain, for no reason whatsoever.

People always say there’s a difference between pressure and pain, but Sam had reached the point where the two converged. Every step he took was torture and led to a fresh explosion of pain radiating from his heart through his entire torso and shooting down his limbs. Sam felt like his entire body had pins and needles, like his arms, legs, neck, fingers, toes, lips had all been numb and were – excruciatingly – waking up all at once. His gasped desperately for air but it felt like his lungs had shrunk or there wasn’t enough oxygen for him to take a real breath. For the first time Sam wondered what this might do to him, if running from both Dean and Hell could have consequences beyond the pain. What if he couldn’t survive at a distance from them? What if he disappeared, flickered out, this time for good? It was almost enough to make him slow his steps; Sam wasn’t ready to leave yet.

Dean, Sam remembered, Dean and Cas. It felt like a lifetime ago that Sam had jumped into that cage, though it had been less than two months. Sam had been scared then too, but he had jumped. He knew Dean thought he’d been motivated by guilt, by a responsibility to fix what he’d messed up, but that wasn’t why. Nor had he jumped because he was a hero, because he’d wanted to save the world. The real reason Sam had jumped was Dean. Sam had given his life so Dean could have a shot at living one. And if he’d done it once before, Sam couldn’t wimp out now.

Dean had a real shot at life now, a much better chance even than he’d had the first time now that he had Cas. Sam had seen the light slowly coming back into Dean’s eyes, he’d seen him smile and even laugh. Dean liked to be working at something, liked to be fighting for something. Whether it was the pretty girl they were saving, Sam, or the entire human race, Dean had always needed something to fight for. Cas would be Dean’s project now. Sam saw in the way Dean looked at Cas that Dean wouldn’t give up on whatever they were. And Sam figured that actually having a long-term relationship might have been the biggest challenge Dean had ever come up against, Apocalypse included.

So Sam gritted his teeth and ran for Dean and Cas, though he was pretty sure it would literally tear him apart at the seams.

***

The moment Sam disappeared around the curve in the street, Castiel sprang into action because he knew Dean wouldn’t be able to. He dropped Dean’s limp hand and sprinted across the lawn, towards a still-startled Meg. She blinked out of her surprise when he was two steps in front of her – raised her hand to repel him, to smash him into the concrete – but she was too late. Castiel slammed into her body hard, and they fell down together into the grass. Meg clawed at his face, aiming for his eyes, the moment they landed and Castiel’s human body was still winded from impact.

Castiel knew he had to stay on top of Meg, had to keep the demon pinned. It was the only upper hand he had; he was completely unarmed and the elderly vessel was deceptively powerful. Meg was stronger than he was, and in all likelihood a more experienced fighter. She struggled underneath him and Castiel tried to lean in the opposite direction of her momentum, to ride out her fury. Her fingernails bit into his flesh; Castiel could feel warm sticky trails of blood running down his arms, staining Mrs. Perkins’ pink cardigan where it dripped onto Meg’s body beneath him.

Meg hissed, spat and cursed in languages even Castiel had never heard before, but Castiel ignored her. He was listening for something else. Castiel’s heart leapt when he finally heard the rhythmic slap of running feet against concrete, the reluctant creak of a car trunk opening.

Castiel’s relief made him relax involuntarily, and Meg seized the moment to thrust her knee upwards into Castiel’s groin. As he gasped in pain she rolled so that suddenly Castiel’s back was pressed into the cool grass, Meg straddling him, vicious grin triumphant. She wrapped the old woman’s hands around Castiel’s throat and began to squeeze with superhuman strength. Castiel tried to tug her hands away with his own, but she was stronger than him and now that she was on top she had all the leverage, too. Castiel managed one last gasping breath before she tightened her grip and everything started to go blurry around the edges.

The last thing Castiel saw before everything went black was Dean, over Meg’s shoulder, shiny silver knife raised.

***

Sam was running through quicksand, or at least sidewalk that acted exactly like quicksand. When he glanced down between steps he could actually see his feet disappearing beneath the concrete, about a quarter inch deeper per step. What little mass he’d managed to give his body within the past few weeks was disintegrating as he increased his distance from Dean. Sam wondered if any of the townspeople he passed could see him sinking into the concrete too, or if this was a special hallucination Hell had cooked up just for him. He wondered if any of the townspeople could see him at all, or if whatever was left of him on earth was fading away completely.

The Hell hounds could definitely still see him, and they weren’t losing interest yet. Sam’s head start had slipped away, and now he led by mere inches. Sam imagined he could feel the vibrations of their jaws snapping closed a hair’s length away from his thighs. They would be biting at his ankles, of course, except that Sam was calf-depth in the ground by now. The deeper he sank the harder it was to run, like trying to walk in deepening water. Sam wondered what he looked like from underneath, if Lucifer and Michael could see his feet dangling overhead.

The dogs were still chasing him and Sam didn’t know how much longer he could keep moving like this. He tried to think about Dean, to give himself a little extra boost. He remembered, suddenly, that Christmas they’d tried to have before Dean was dragged to Hell. It had been terrible, of course, but it had also made him feel warm and safe and loved, and Sam was pretty sure it had been more than the really strong egg nog. He remembered how Dean had wrapped Sam’s gas station gift in the comics section of the newspaper because it was “more festive” and couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out more like a wheeze.

Sam’s legs felt lighter, as if he had regained some of his footing. The pressure in his chest eased slightly. Sam threw his mind back again, remembered the time he and Dean had to pretend to be teddy bear doctors in that wishing well cases, how much Dean had dreaded needing to off a plush toy. He remembered playing hundreds of games of pool – just for fun – and seeing the look of satisfaction in Dean’s eyes when he lost because it meant that Sam was getting better.

He remembered one fourth of July when he was a kid. Dad had been out of town for a few days and had missed the school picnic, and Sam had spent the evening pouting in his room. Past midnight Dean had burst into the room, carrying an armful of fireworks they couldn’t afford. They’d spent hours setting them off one by one in a field just outside the city, and the big one they’d saved for last had set the long grass alight in flames that were even more spectacular than the sparklers.

Then Sam felt a new sensation. Something bounced against his chest, a small object striking him repeatedly with a gentle tap. Sam reached up to touch it, and found himself holding metal, slightly warm to the touch. It was a charm strung on a leather cord, worn smooth with years of wear. Dean’s amulet, the one he’d dropped in a motel trash bin months ago. He’d thought it was gone forever.

Sam wrapped his hand around the charm and held it to his chest. He lurched forward suddenly as something pulled him sharply upwards like a puppet, yanking his lower legs out from the ground. Sam stumbled but managed not to fall, though he did feel at least one of the dogs brush against him. He quickened his steps and found it was easy, that his lungs were clear, that his legs felt strong and solid. For the first time in weeks Sam could really feel his muscles work, feel the vibrations of his steps reverberating through his whole body. He reached for a nearby streetlight with the hand not clutching the amulet, and his palm slapped painfully against it. It hurt like a bitch, actually, and Sam thought maybe he’d broken a finger or something.

Sam grinned, loving the feeling of the wind against his face. The Hell hounds brayed and Sam kept running. Just let them try to catch him now.

***

“Cas. Cas!” The voice sounded distant and Castiel wanted it to stop so he could go to sleep – sleep was very important for human beings – but it kept calling his name. “C’mon Cas, please.”

Finally Castiel opened his eyes, irritated. “What?” he snapped.

Dean’s eyes were very wide and very green. They were also full of tears. “Oh thank god,” he said, “I thought you were dead.”

“There is no god, Dean.” Castiel corrected. Then he added, “Are you crying?”

Dean looked startled. “Shut up. This has been a very emotional ten minutes for me.” He scrubbed furiously at his eyes, wiping away the evidence.

Castiel sat up, then struggled to stand, leaning heavily on Dean. He realized he was covered in blood.

“It’s not yours,” Dean said quickly, “It’s Meg’s.” Tossed carelessly to the side a few feet away lay Mrs. Perkin’s body, demon blade still protruding from her back.

Castiel staggered a few steps towards her, and bent down, wincing, to retrieve the knife. He wiped it on his t-shirt, which was ruined anyway. Then he handed the knife back to Dean. “You should take better care of this,” he reminded, “it would be hard to replace if we lost it.”

“I’m sorry, I was pretty distracted.” He tucked the knife into his belt, then wound an arm around Castiel’s waist again. He bit the fingernails of his other hand, which was a little bit disgusting because it was covered in demon blood. Dean realized his mistake soon enough, spitting on the ground in horror.

Castel chuckled and found that it hurt his ribs quite a lot. He settled into silence, trusting Dean to support his weight as they hobbled towards the house. When they reached the front step, Dean lowered him into a sitting position. “We should take off your bloody clothes before we take you inside. Don’t want to fuck up Lisa’s house.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. He looked at the driveway, where a miniature river of blood was making its way resolutely across the cement. “We should also bury that body.” The Neighbourhood Watch would be less than impressed with an old lady’s corpse cluttering up the neighbourhood.

“Yeah.” Dean looked distracted. He drew spirals in the salt spilled across the step as a result of the unnecessarily thick line either Lisa or Ben had poured. The salt turned a disarmingly lovely pink colour where his still-bloody hands touched it. “Cas?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, “Did you see –”

“Sam?” Castiel answered before Dean could even finish the question. It was heartbreaking how hesitant Dean looked now, as if he was even afraid to let himself hope that what he’d seen had been real. “Yes, I saw him too. You’re not crazy.”

He’d expected Dean to be happy, but of course Dean had grown to expect the worst when it came to his brother. His face looked pained for one brief moment, then turned cold and determined. “Oh. I guess that means I need to find him. There are no bones to burn, but I could lead him over hallowed ground or something.”

“You’re so certain you have to destroy him.” Castiel didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so much like a question. “Dean, you don’t even know why he’s here.”

Dean’s voice was hard. “I know why Adam was here, don’t I? They’re probably vengeful spirits.” Dean must’ve known that theory didn’t exactly hold water, because he paused briefly and resumed his salt drawings. “But whatever they are, I know it’s not good. Meg brought Adam here to hurt me. The least I can do is make sure some demon doesn’t make whatever little bit of Sam’s left into its bitch.”’

Castiel opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He’d promised Sam he would let him tell Dean himself, but these were exceptional circumstances. Certainly Sam would want Castiel to stop Dean before he started to hunt Sam?

“Dean, he began, “there’s something you should know - ”

“Yeah, he should know that I’m nobody’s bitch.” Adam had appeared next to Mrs. Perkin’s body. He kicked it experimentally. His foot made contact with flesh and cardigan with a soft thwump noise that sent shivers down Castiel’s spine. So Adam had learned to touch objects too. If he could kick Mrs. Perkins he could definitely kick Dean. “I brought Meg here, not the other way around. I don’t know how you got past her hounds, but I’m betting you’ll find me a little more challenging. What do you say, big brother, you wanna try and kill me too?”

Castiel hadn’t seen Sam do more than open the Impala door or juggle wax fruit, but he was fairly certain Adam would be able to do some damage. After all, if it was Dean pulling Adam from Hell, as with Sam, Adam would have no problem touching him. Hadn’t Sam said being close to Dean made him feel real and strong? Adam’s face was twisted with rage, his eyes blazing with what Castiel imagined might be the fires of Hell itself. There was a darkness around Adam at the edges, like negative space or an aura gone horribly wrong. He had never noticed anything like that surrounding Sam; if anything he had seen the opposite. Though Sam was sad he was still always warm; just looking at Adam made Castiel feel cold, and Adam’s stare wasn’t even focused on him. Adam only had eyes for Dean.

Castiel moved to stand in front of Dean, a gesture that was completely pointless because Dean was already striding across Lisa’s lawn, pulling the demon blade out of his belt. He stomped on a lawn gnome on the way, and Castiel winced at the crunching noise of collapsing plastic, though of course he should have been more worried about the crunching of Dean’s bones.

“You gonna kill me Dean? You’ve already killed the rest of your family – some of them more than once.” Adam’s voice was so cold it would’ve frozen anyone but Dean in their tracks. But Dean was red hot with anger and mentioning his family would only make him hotter.

Dean’s passion was one of the many things Castiel loved about Dean, perhaps even the one thing he loved most. Dean had been willing to give his life for humanity, to risk everything for a species he’d never really fit into. He’d convinced Castiel – and Gabriel even – that they were worth saving by the force of his passion alone. When he had been an angel Castiel had assumed that all humans were so emotional, so fierce and overwhelming in their emotions. Now that he was human Castiel realized that this was just Dean. When Famine had told Dean he was empty inside Castiel had wanted to laugh, he might’ve if his mouth hadn’t been full of ground beef. Dean wasn’t empty inside – he was the fullest being Castiel had ever known. He was so full of life, passion, love that he had pulled Sam back from Hell like a planet with his own personal gravity. But Sam wasn’t the only one pulled out of Hell and into Dean’s orbit.

Suddenly, Castiel knew what he had to do.

***

Sam whistled as he walked back to Lisa’s, swinging the amulet around one finger. He smiled at every little old lady and dog-walking housewife he saw, and waved joyfully to people mowing their lawns. He trailed is fingers along fences as he walked, savouring the feeling of the rough wood against his skin and the rhythmic thwap thwap thwap sound it made. He actually hoped he’d get a sliver.

The trip back to Lisa’s seemed much shorter than his original sprint has been, though he was moving at less than half the speed. Maybe it was because going in this direction he wasn’t in excruciating pain and didn’t have vicious dogs on his heels. He’d lost them somewhere near the edge of town. Or maybe it was because in this direction he had something to look forward to. He was nervous about seeing Dean, but somehow he felt like everything was going to work out. He had his body – and somehow the amulet – back, and together they could conquer anything, even a Dean-sized temper tantrum.

Sam was practically skipping by the time he turned onto Lisa’s cul de sac. It felt good not to have to sneak around and hide himself. When he was within view of the house, though, he stopped dead, then broke into a run. There was someone else there, someone so intensely familiar that Sam knew it couldn’t be good news. Apart from Bobby and Cas, everyone Sam and Dean Winchester had ever gotten to know was either evil or dead or both. Once he was close enough to recognize Adam he knew the answer was ‘yes’ to the former and ‘it’s complicated’ to the latter.

Adam was standing near the end of Lisa’s driveway, next to a crumpled heap Sam assumed was the poor woman Meg had been wearing. Midway across the yard stood Dean, knife in hand, while Cas was closer to the house, moving slowly in Dean’s direction. He was saying something in that low, firm angel-voice of his and Sam couldn’t quite make out the words. Neither Dean nor Adam seemed to be listening to him, or at least they were too busy staring each other down to face him. Sam tried to approach the scene slowly – maybe they could use the element of surprise against Adam.

He raised one hand to signal to Cas that he was ready if they needed him. To Sam’s surprise, when Cas looked over at him his expression was panicked, not relieved. It was as if he was scared of Sam, as if his presence would hurt instead of help them. Had Cas assumed that Sam would turn into Adam, that Hell had ruined him too? Cas gestured for Sam to stop and, bewildered and maybe just a little hurt, Sam did so, crouching behind the neighbour’s hedge. If there was anything the past couple of weeks had taught him, it was that he could trust Cas – even if Cas couldn’t trust him.

If Sam strained his ears, he could hear what Cas was saying.

“Dean isn’t the one you want, Adam. Dean is the last person who’s responsible for what happened to you.”

Adam sneered, took a step towards Dean. The air around his seemed to shimmer as he yelled. “It should’ve been him! It should be him burning for all eternity!”

“Adam, I wish - ” Dean started to speak, but Cas gave him a look reminiscent of the good old days when he had been a real angel and a real dick. Dean was so busy watching Adam he missed the glance, but Cas interrupted anyway.

“He wishes you’d never called him – or whatever it was that looked like you. You’ve been so much more hassle than you’re worth. You aren’t really his brother anyway. Dean’s a hunter, and all the hunting blood is on his mother’s side.”

Sam watched Dean’s face as Cas spoke. Cas knew Dean pretty well – better than anyone in the world other than Sam, and Sam was pretty sure Cas now knew a few things about Dean a brother should never know. Which is why it was surprising that Cas had this whole thing incredibly wrong. Sam had been there when they met who they thought was Adam and he knew how much he meant to Dean, instantly and unconditionally. To Dean family was family, and Dean had loved that kid. He had been horrified when they angels had set their sights on him.

Now Dean watched Cas in disbelief, mouth slightly open, as if he was waiting for a chance to interrupt. But Cas just kept talking, words pouring out of him. “There are only two Winchester brothers. Even if they’d met you alive, you’d never have been anything but a third wheel.”

Adam, however, wasn’t afraid to interrupt. “You don’t think I know that?” he shrieked. “He’s always hated me – hated that my existence ruined his perfect image of his daddy. That’s why he let the angels take me – why he never really tried to save me – he wanted me dead.”

“Adam I - ” Dean tried to cut in, to deny Adam’s accusations, but Cas was too quick for him again.

“I’m afraid you misunderstand me, Adam.” Cas kept his voice low and firm. He made no move toward Dean or Adam. He stood as if his feet were rooted to the ground. “I didn’t say Dean hated you, I merely said he didn’t love you or consider you family. He didn’t waste his time imagining your death, in fact, I’d wager he barely thought of you at all. He didn’t want the angels to take you, but he didn’t much care after they did. He had his real brother to worry about.”

For all that Cas has most of the situation entirely wrong, there’s a grain of truth to this. Dean had been upset and guilty about Adam, but mostly he had wanted to move on, to make a plan to beat Lucifer. And after that, then he’d wanted to save Sam, to pull him out of the pit if necessary. And Cas had told him – and hell Sam could see it in the way Dean mowed the lawn, even – that he wasn’t over Sam now, never would be. Adam was a loss Dean could grieve and recover from, just another tragic causality of war. Dean hadn’t, and if Cas was right, never would, let go of Sam. And that passion, that eternal connection had been enough to link earth and Hell, to form a bridge between them for Sam to walk.

Problem was, Dean was apparently Adam’s bridge too. The force of his rage and hatred had been enough – Adam was so fucking mad at Dean that he had dragged himself out of Hell to take his revenge. And though Sam liked to think love was stronger than hate, Adam was obviously just as, if not more, secure here than Sam had been before the amulet had appeared.

“No,” said Adam, but he wasn’t yelling anymore. “No. They had it out for me.” When Sam squinted he thought he could see Adam flicker. He definitely saw him wince and clutch his chest. Sam winced in sympathy, not that Adam deserved any. Adam was being pulled back towards Hell; Sam knew the feeling.

“No one had it out for you, Adam. The angels thought you would be useful, that’s all. It wasn’t personal, and it certainly wasn’t Dean’s fault. He’d forgotten all about you by then.” Dean bit his lip and inhaled sharply at this, and if Sam could hear it then Cas certainly could, but he just kept talking. Sam was pretty sure this was the most he’d ever heard Cas talk at one time, actually. “You were hurt, of course. But you can’t blame Dean for that. Blame Zachariah and the rest of the angels. Blame Michael. Blame Lucifer. Blame John Winchester for not preparing you like he prepared his other sons. Blame Sam Winchester for saying yes.”

Something was happening to Adam. The angry glare was fading from his eyes, replaced by uncertainty and finally pain. He clutched at his stomach, and struggled to take a step toward Dean, falling to his knees in the process. They sank a good six inches into the ground. His image flickered rapidly, like an old TV losing reception.

“The thing is,” Castiel continued, raising his voice so it could be heard over Adam’s whimpers of pain and gasping breathes. “None of them are here, are they? There’s nothing keeping you here, Adam. Chase the angels all the way to Heaven if you must have your revenge, or find Michael, Lucifer and Sam in Hell.”

Adam’s gaze was fixed on Cas as he severed Adam’s last connection to Earth, but Sam was watching Dean. He saw realization dawn on his brother’s face as he figured out what Cas was up to. It was an intensely familiar expression; he’d seen Dean work out how to gank a monster a thousand times before.

“Dean,” Adam whimpered, reaching one arm out towards Dean’s boot. Half his torso had sunk through the ground now, and he was transparent. Sam could see Mrs. Perkin’s body through him. There were tears in his eyes and Sam wondered if it was just Hell’s pull he was crying about. “Dean, we’re family. Help me.”

Dean shrugged. “Kid, I barely know you. I can’t save everyone.” He turned his back on the boy, taking a few steps back toward Cas.

It was kind of anticlimactic, actually, the way Adam silently flickered out of existence. There wasn’t even a dent in the grass where most of his body had pulled through to Hell. As far as entrances and exits went, Hell opted for efficiency over dramatics this time.

Dean didn’t even seem to notice Adam that was gone. He walked the rest of the way across the lawn towards Cas and held his hand. Sam watched his chest rise and fall as he took one deep breath. He said it quietly, but the silence of Adam’s departure seemed to amplify his voice. “Sammy?”

***

For one horrible moment Castiel was certain Sam wasn’t going to answer Dean’s call. He thought he’d seen Sam in the neighbour’s yard, but maybe he’d hallucinated it. Hell hounds didn’t give up easily, and Sam couldn’t get very far from Dean anyway. Either way Castiel knew it was possible Sam would be back in Hell, and maybe the demons would be beefing up security after Adam. He squeezed Dean’s hand in what he hoped was a comforting way.

Then Sam popped out of a nearby hedge. There were leaves in his too-long hair. “Hey guys,” he said casually, “what’s up?”

Dean was across the lawn before Castiel even realized he had dropped his hand. As he approached, Sam winced, closed his eyes and braced himself. Dean stopped inches from his brother. “What the fuck are you making that face for?” he demanded.

“Aren’t you going to punch me?” Sam asked, opening one eye cautiously.

Dean laughed – a laugh so real and genuine Castiel thought he could almost see the air around Dean lighten. He was feeling a great deal lighter himself. “No I’m not going to hit you.” He pulled Sam into a hug and Castiel gasped because it looked so solid. “I never thought I’d be so happy to see your stupid face.”

“How?” Castiel muttered. Dean’s arms should’ve passed right through Sam.

Sam grinned at him and made a lewd hand gesture over Dean’s shoulder. “I told you I’m not a fucking ghost.”

Dean pulled away from Sam. His smile was as wide as Sam’s. Often Castiel thought there wasn’t much family resemblance between them, but those smiles were identical. “Of course you’re not a ghost, Sammy. I have no idea what you are, but you’re not a ghost. Ghosts are losers – wait, what?” He turned to face Castiel. “You knew about this, Cas?”

Castiel looked at the ground. Really, the way ants organized their little civilizations was fascinating. Watching them reminded him of when he’d been an angel watching the humans.

“Cas?” Dean interrupted Castiel’s anthropological study of ant, and his tone indicated he meant business.

“Maybe. I mean, yes. We spoke. I called him a ghost.” Castiel chanced a quick glance at Dean’s face and he definitely looked...pissed. “Sam made me promise not to tell you!”

Dean whirled to glare at Sam now. “Okay well maybe I am gonna have to punch someone,” he threatened.

“Uh, guys?” Lisa stuck her head out of the kitchen window. “Sorry to interrupt, but are we all going to die or not?”

Dean grinned at her. “Nope. No one’s dying today!” he exclaimed. He glanced briefly at Mrs. Perkins’ body, “Well, no one else.”

“Oh good. Then you might want to consider getting the dead lady off my driveway.”

“No problem. Right away. I’ve got a shovel in my car. Wanna help me hide a body, Sam?” He asked the question like he was offering Sam a special treat.

“Damn right I do.” Sam slapped Dean on the shoulder as they walked toward the Impala. It made a loud smacking noise.

“Ow!” Dean whined.

“Sorry,” Sam looked contrite. “I just like that I can do that now.”

From inside the house a child’s voice begged, “Can I help hide the body? Huh? Can I? Can I?”

“No,” answered Lisa, Dean and Castiel simultaneously.

***

Epilogue

Bobby pulled into Lisa’s driveway – now one hundred percent corpse free – exactly twelve hours after Dean had phoned him. He’d practically bolted out of the truck to hug Sam. The hug had lasted over two minutes, so Dean had won the bet he and Sammy had made. Sam had to do next week’s laundry. Sam had insisted it hadn’t lasted quite that long, but Dean had given Cas his watch to do the timing, and Cas wasn’t a cheater so he doubted Sam was going to be able to weasel out of the deal.

They were leaving Bobby to watch over Ben and Lisa. She wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but she wasn’t thrilled about being murdered in her sleep or taken as hostage or bait, either. And Dean had given her a choice – she could have Bobby, or she could have himself, Sam and Cas. Lisa had probably made a wise choice.

Dean felt really bad about Lisa and Ben. He hadn’t wanted to drag them into this mess. It was apparent now that the demons weren’t just gonna let Dean walk away. Meg had probably told a few friends about where Dean was staying, and that meant this would be the first stop on any Winchester-hunting trip. But Dean had a plan to fix things, and in the meantime Bobby was pretty confident he could hold off any attacks on Cicero until they got back.

It only took fifteen minutes to load up the car. It was only slightly more full than usual because Cas only had one duffel bag full of stuff. There were also about six boxes of table salt in the trunk, courtesy of a very concerned Ben.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Dean said when Lisa came out of the house to say goodbye. “I owe you a really, really big favour sometime.”

“You do,” Lisa said, and poked him in the chest. “An enormous favour. A world-changing, back from the dead type favour.”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean answered. They hugged and it was much less awkward than he expected. “You’ll be okay with Bobby.”

“I know I will. And you’ll be okay with Castiel.” The old-fashioned name sounded odd from her mouth, like she couldn’t quite wrap her tongue around it. She winked at Dean when she said it, and Dean felt himself blush. He was about to stammer out some kind of explanation, or at least make a dirty joke to deflect attention when the front door opened again and Cas walked outside, squinting in the bright sunlight.

He carried a plastic bag in each arm, a sways slightly, as if they bags were so heavy they shifted his centre of gravity. Behind him, Ben carried another bag, though his is practically dragged on the ground.

“What’s all this?” Dean asked, already moving to take Ben’s bag before it ripped, and probably one of Cas’ too.

“My magazines,” Cas answered, as if there’s nothing weird about bringing three huge bags full of magazines on a hunting trip.

Dean paused. A million jokes and rude comments fluttered through his mind temptingly, but Cas was his boyfriend now so Dean figured that probably meant he should be nice. “Cas, that’s a shitload of magazines,” he said. Okay, so he was still working on the being nice thing.

“They’re very important,” Cas replied matter-of-factly, “so that I can learn how to fit in as a human.”

Dean couldn’t help by smile. He reached up to touch Cas’ hair, ignoring Ben’s face of disgust at such public display of affection. “You know what, baby? Fitting in is overrated. And I can teach you everything you really need to know about being human.”

Cas considered this for a moment, tilting his head. “Okay,” he finally answered. “Why did you just call me ‘baby’?”

“Never mind, I was just trying it out,” Dean answered as he piled the magazines at the corner of the drive for the recycling truck. “Where’s my little brother? We’re losing daylight.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Sam ruffled Ben’s hair as he passed him on his way in, which seemed to annoy the kid. “Let’s get moving.”

“Shotgun.” Cas blurted out.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Shotgun.” Cas repeated, “That means I get to sit in the front, right?” He looked to Dean for confirmation.

“Yeah it does. Nice one, Cas.” Dean chuckled.

“What the fuck? No way!” Sam protested. “I always sit in the front. And I’m his fucking brother!”

“Yes, but I’m the one he’s fucking,” Cas answered.

It took a good fifteen minutes for Dean to stop laughing. By that time, Cas was in the passenger’s seat and Sam was installed in the back of the car, determinedly kneeing the back of Cas’ seat. Cas didn’t seem to notice.

“So what’s the plan?” Cas asked, once Dean’s laugher wound down.

“We’re going to find God!” Sam declared gleefully. “And ask him to protect Ben and Lisa.”

“What?” Cas asked. He looked frantically at Dean. “God is dead! There is no God!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Sam said, fiddling with the amulet he wore around his neck at all times. Dean loved being able to see him in the rear-view mirror. “He kind of gave me a sign.”

“We have no idea why the amulet appeared! You have no proof it had anything to do with God.”

“Come on Cas.” Dean could practically hear Sam roll his eyes. “The god-finding amulet reappears and gives me my body back. Seems like a sign to me.”

Cas huffed in frustration and took an enormous bite of the ham sandwich Lisa had given him.

“Have a little faith,” Dean said with a smile.

He turned onto the highway and accelerated to just above the speed limit. Then he put one hand on Cas’ knee, keeping the other on the steering wheel. He glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw that Sam was already on his laptop, probably doing research. Dean wasn’t sure they’d actually be able to find God, but if they did he would have to be sure to say thanks. Dean had his car, his stupid little brother, a pretty kickass new boyfriend and miles of open road ahead of him. Life was pretty sweet.