And Grace Will Lead Me Home: 4/5

[epiphanyx7]

PART FOUR
--


When Sam dies, Dean remembers.

It happens at two-thirty-nine in the afternoon, on a Tuesday. He's working on the car -- an old beat-up thing his mom picked up cheap for his sixteenth birthday, but after some elbow grease and a lot of searching for parts, Dean's sure there isn't an engine in the world that runs as smooth as his baby's.

He's just put the hood down, about to go inside and ask his mom if she wants him to run into town (any excuse to drive his baby is a good one) when suddenly he remembers, and he falls to the ground as if he's been kicked, both knees giving out at once. The force knocks the breath out of him, leaves him gasping, and Dean lies on the cool asphalt trying to suck in a single god damned breath, dizzy with it.

Seventy three years of memories pile onto the ones he's already got.

"Oh fuck," Dean moans, even though his momma raised him to be mindful of when he swore. "Fucking motherfucker, shit, shit, holy mother of--"

"Dean Jacob Michael Milton!" his mother yells from inside the house. "What in God's name is going on out there? You'd better not have dropped that car onto your foot!"

He'd never want to admit it, but Dean presses his face against the ground and cries, hot tears running down his cheeks as he curls into himself, half on his side.

"Dean?"

He wants his mother -- he wants Sam, the brother that Dean didn't even know he had until thirty seconds ago. Sammy -- how could he have forgotten Sammy? He wants to vomit, bile rising in the back of his throat, but then his mother is there, wrapping her arms around him.

Dean turns his face towards her, lets himself disappear for a moment in her familiar, warm embrace. "Momma," he cries, hating himself for sounding like a god damned baby. "Momma, I--"

"It's okay, Deanie-baby," she whispers, petting his hair. "It's okay -- I'm sorry, I thought you'd have more time before this happened. I'm sorry. It's okay, baby, it's going to be okay."

"What happened?" Dean asks, when he's staggered inside, seated at the kitchen table with his mother. "Why did I-- I wasn't supposed to remember, why did I remember?"

Anna wraps her hands around the mug of coffee in front of her. "I'm sorry, Dean," she says again. "Your-- your brother... Sam is dead."

--

Castiel stands up, leaving the flowers on Samuel Winchester's grave.

It's a Hunter's grave, a small unmarked cross; nothing but charred bone beneath the mound of dirt. It is exactly as Sam would have wanted. Castiel stretches, and he feels in him the weight of his existence bear down on his shoulders, millennia without a thought of his own and three years -- three fucking years, he mentally amends, and he destroyed it all. His family and his friendships, and now, he is banished from heaven and despised by hell, welcome only on the Earth he helped to save.

Without a doubt, it was worth it.

Castiel turns from the grave and walks away. Not for the first time, he misses Dean.

Castiel can do many things, but he does not know if he can bear the rest of his existence in solitude.

--

The boy stands near the beaten, hollowed-out wreck of a classic vehicle. He talks on his cell phone, loudly, obnoxiously, as teenagers are wont to do. Castiel does not mean to approach him, but he is lonely and the child is someone to talk to, even for a moment.

But then the boy looks up, green eyes sparkling in wry amusement and something like recognition, and Castiel feels his heart catch in his throat. "Yeah," the teenager says, grinning brightly as he rolls his eyes at the person on the other end of the phone connection. "I got it -- stop it, mom -- mom. I've got it. Don't worry about it. We'll be by for dinner, okay?" and he snaps the phone shut.

"Hello," Castiel says, feeling dumb and awkward once more. He had thought, after thirty years on earth, he had finally learned to act human, but this emotion is a new one for him.

"Hey," Dean says, grinning at him. "Sorry I'm late, Cas. Took me a while to get suited up," and he waves his hands joyfully at his own youthful body. "Come on," He says. "Chicken casserole's cooking; mom ain't gonna wait around for us, you know."

The Impala has seen better days, but the engine starts with a deep rumble that is almost a purr. Castiel settles into the passenger seat, relaxing as he does so. He had not expected to see Dean ever again.

"Come on," Dean says, twisting around to look at Cas for a moment before he puts his eyes back onto the road. "Cas -- you didn't think I was going to just leave you alone, did you?"

Castiel smiles. "To be honest, Dean," he says, "I hadn't really thought about it."

--

Anna is exactly as Castiel remembered her, although her body has aged, matured. There are streaks of grey in her hair and lines beside her eyes, around her mouth. She feeds him meatloaf. Nevertheless, her spirit shines as brightly as it always has.

Dean, this new version of Dean, laughs a lot, something that Castiel is not used to. He remembers Dean, but his laughter had been loud and raucous, the instances in which he laughed had been few and far between. Dean catches him watching, and in between mouthfuls of meatloaf (delicious, Castiel decides. He does not need to eat, but he does because food is delicious, and it is not a sin to enjoy what has been given for him to enjoy) he turns to Castiel and pokes him gently with his fork. The prongs feel sharp against his skin, but they do not hurt him.

"Cas," Dean says, softly. "It's me."

Of course it's Dean, there is no doubt about that. Castiel can see him, inside of this younger, rejuvenated body, he can feel the resonance of his own soul reflected in him. Castiel has held Dean's soul in his hands and shaped his body, he has carried Dean's spirit out of hell, he has carried his memory for decades. Castiel knows that the young man in front of him is Dean Winchester -- Winchester no longer, perhaps, but still Dean.

"I know," Castiel says. This, he knows, is a miracle -- when someone dies, they stay dead. But in this instance, Dean has been returned to him, and Castiel knows that this would not have been the case if it had been up to Heaven. He has never seen Dean like this, worry-free and youthful and filled with laughter and joy, he has only seen the other Dean, the part of him that was weary and angry and scared, and determined -- Dean has always been determined.

Although he wants to, Castiel does not turn to Anna and thank her.

Anael smiles and does not ask for his gratitude.

"The meatloaf is delicious," Castiel says instead, because it is the truth, and because Dean grins when he says it. "It tastes-- heavenly."

Anna smiles. "I see you've finally found your sense of humour."

"Something like that," Castiel replies.


--

In the middle of the night, Castiel has to walk down the hallway from his guest room, pausing in front of Dean's doorway and laying his fingers on the worn wood. He is not allowed to walk into Dean's bedroom -- his years on earth have been helpful in acclimating him to human customs -- but he can stand here, in the dark, and tell himself that he is not alone.

Through some miracle of faith, he is not alone.

Anna's presence is not permanent, he can see that she will return to heaven soon. Her grace is within her, bright and shining, and Dean is --

Dean.

Castiel can feel his heart clench, feel his soul swell with joy and happiness. He finds himself choking back tears, his entire body trembling and weak with relief, with gratitude. Dean.

The door in front of him opens, and Dean -- so much younger than Castiel's mind remembers him, but his soul the same, shining dark and pure -- speaks softly. "Cas?" he says, voice rough. He's rubbing tiredly at his eyes with one hand, but the dim light in the room behind him indicates that he had not been sleeping.

"I'm sorry," Castiel apologises. "I did not mean to disturb you."

Dean shrugs. "I wasn't sleeping, Cas," and there's no way to hide the way Castiel's heart clenches, hard, in his chest when he hears Dean speak his name. No one has ever said his name like that, and Dean is the one who gave him the name. Dean is the one who named him. "Come in," Dean says.

Castiel walks into Dean's room.

"I can't sleep," Dean confesses. "Don't suppose you can do anything about that? I promise not to care if you stand there and watch me, even though that's seriously creepy."

"I will help you," Castiel promises. He puts Dean to sleep with a touch of his fingers, and lifts him gently into his bed. Almost as an afterthought, he covers the young man with a blanket, and then Castiel sits on the edge of the mattress and watches him sleep.

--

Dean is not home when Gabriel shows up with the dog.

Castiel is in the kitchen, drinking coffee with far too much sugar and carefully perusing a stack of national newspapers. It would be easy to call the office and ask them for a job, but he'd rather search through the papers himself for their first job of the season. In the next week, when Dean's college classes end, they can spend the summer in the Impala, hunting things and road tripping. After a quick phone call to Bobby, Castiel has the coming summer officially listed as a work program co-op placement with the FBSI, because he can do things like that.

He looks up from his reading when his angelic sibling appears in the room, holding a squirming bundle of enthusiastic puppy. After a long moment in which he could swear that Gabriel looks almost guilty, Castiel says in a neutral tone, "Is that Sam?" because the puppy's soul shines with a distinctly non-canine glow.

"What?" Gabriel just shrugs it off, grinning from ear to ear like it is the funniest thing he'd ever thought up. "Variety is the spice of life, little brother. It's like I said to the toddler who swallowed the chewing gum: 'this too shall pass'." And with that cryptic and deeply troubling statement, he is gone.

Castiel looks down at the puppy.

The puppy makes a happy, growling bark and bows down, thumping her little tail on the carpet. "Well, I suppose Sammy is an acceptable name for a dog," he says to the dog, pulling a slip collar and leash from one of his pockets, as if this had been something he prepared himself for.

--

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, grinning cheerfully when Castiel picks him up at the airport. "Cute dog. Where'd you get it?"

Castiel shifts, deeply uncomfortable for a long moment. "Dean," He says.

Frowning, Dean looks at Castiel, and then at the dog. "You got a dog, Cas? It's okay to get things without consulting me first, you know. I'm not upset. It's a puppy, not a self-aware android."

Castiel blinks. "I'm not sure I understand that reference," he replies, confused. "Dean, the puppy is your brother. Although, granted, his current form is in no way related to you, and his current form is also female. He is, additionally, no longer housed in a human body," he adds helpfully.

Dean's reaction is somewhat less troubled than Castiel had expected. "You're shitting me, right?" he says, eyebrows scrunched up as if he doesn't understand Castiel's sense of humour.

--

Dean is absolutely livid the first time Sammy chews up the sleeve of his leather jacket. Castiel sagely keeps quiet and doesn't point out that he had asked Dean to put it away on three separate occasions. Sammy hides under the kitchen table and whines pathetically whenever Dean storms by, muttering about obedience lessons and stupid Tricksters and getting a cat.

His ire doesn't last.

By breakfast the next morning, Sammy's resting her head in Dean's lap as Dean slips toast crusts off his plate, smiling fondly at her when he thinks Castiel is looking elsewhere.

--

"You've got to be kidding me, Sammy," Dean grumbles, tossing the tennis ball back and forth between his hands. Sammy's eyes follow the ball, totally hypnotized. "You really just want this ball, don't you? You're addicted to it..." He tosses it up and then catches it. Sammy barks once, and circles around Dean's ankles.

"I've got to do readings for class, Sammy, and we've been out here for like, an hour. One more." Dean says, and then he winds up and throws the ball trying to really make it count. Sammy flies down the length of the yard, clearing the hedge into the neighbour's yard without faltering and is back at Dean's feet before Dean can even shout at her to get out of the other yard.

Dean grumbles again, but good-naturedly, because it's really hard to stay mad at a puppy who's only dream in life is to chase a soggy tennis ball back and forth.

A quick Google search later that night turns up something called flyball. It involves a mechanism that will shoot the tennis ball into the air when the dog jumps on the platform. It becomes a project for Dean and Sammy, to occupy the long afternoons between classes and when Castiel gets home from work for dinner. After three prototypes, the platform working brilliantly and Sammy can chase the ball on her own while Dean sits on the lawn and does homework or leafs through a magazine until she's left a pile of ten balls at his feet and he's got to get up and reload the spring.

Castiel watches from the window, softly smiling. Soon they'll be on the road again, hunting things and helping people, and life will get hectic, noisy and dirty, but these peaceful moments with the three of them together... they were far more than Castiel had ever hoped for before.

--

Dean is pretty sure it’s the coolest thing he’s seen in a long time. Castiel is chanting in Ancient Greek, keeping the creature pinned in the corner, while Dean scans the room trying to find the silver knife that had been knocked out of his hand.

Sammy is growling up a storm, teeth bared and hackles raised, snapping at the thing every time it throws itself against the barrier Cas is holding it behind. She is seriously pissed, because the other creature is dog-shaped, and it hurt her pack and if only there wasn’t the weird crackly, static feeling every time she got too close, she would be tearing the thing’s throat out.

“Sammy, relax,” Dean says, but she doesn’t listen. Then he spots his knife. Unfortunately, there’s no way to get to it without cutting between the monster and Castiel, which will break whatever hold Castiel has on the beast in the corner. But the only other option is to wait here until something sharp and silver magically appears and cuts out the thing’s heart. So Dean goes for the knife

“Okay Cas, brace yourself,” he calls and ducks in front of him to grab the knife. He hears Castiel shout a warning, the ferocious snarl from the monster and the sound of claws on hardwood. Dean snatches up the knife, wheeling around to find the creature in mid-jump, launching itself full speed at Dean’s unprotected back.

And then instead of tearing out his skin the thing is on the floor, yelping loudly with a furiously angry Sammy on top of it. Dean can’t really tell what’s going inside of the angry, yelping, barking blur, but he manages to haul Sammy off the other hound and stab the knife through its chest.

“Sammy, Sammy, calm down. Heel,” he says, rubbing behind her ears with one arm wrapped around her chest. She's still got her eyes trained on the creature's corpse, lips pulled back in a silent snarl, even though her tail starts to wag when Dean starts saying, "Good girl, good girl -- don't worry, you killed it, you did a great job Sammy."

“That was well done,” Castiel informs them, calmly re-holstering his unused gun. “But next time, try not to drop your knife, Dean.”

--

Sammy dies at the age of twelve, which is the average lifespan for her breed. She dies from a pituitary carcinoma, which is also, supposedly, normal.

The first night Dean sleeps alone in his room, it feels anything but normal.

--

Dean is forty-two years old when Sam arrives, a petulant runaway with a backpack that looks almost comically large on him.

"Shut up," Sam says, spying Dean's amused expression. He nods at Cas, heading upstairs as if he knows they've got a bedroom set aside for him.

"Bitch," Dean yells up the stairs.

"Jerk," Sam yells back down.

Castiel stands in the living room and smiles.

--

For the first two weeks, Sam has nightmares every night. He wakes up in the dark screaming, and he won't stop crying even when Dean and Castiel both appear at his bedroom door to comfort him.

After consulting with Gabriel, Castiel builds a pillow fort in the living room. Sam and Dean sit inside of it, watching the first season of Wormhole Extreme on DVD as Castiel carefully makes enough hot chocolate for all of them and fits the requisite number of marshmallows into each mug.

They spend the entire night on the floor in the living room, sprawled over blankets and the ruins of their fort, watching episode after episode until Sam's eyes start to droop and he finally falls asleep, snoring softly with his head pillowed on Dean's shoulder.

Dean wraps his arm around Sam, closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep as well.

Castiel stays awake, quietly changing the DVDs and watching all the episodes he can, guarding Dean and Sam as they slumber.

--

It takes almost a year for Castiel to get custody of Sam, and even then he ends up pulling strings in order to have Sam placed with him. "This is ridiculous," a ten-year-old Sam says, when the papers are finally signed and he is officially Sam Winchester, adopted son of Castiel Winchester.

"Shut up and be thankful," Castiel mumbles. He still owns the same house, lets this younger version of Sam decorate his room any way he wants. Castiel switches over to a desk job at the FBSI, so that he can have steady hours and a stable environment with which to raise Sam.

Sometimes, it's hard to believe that this child is the same Samuel.

Castiel can see that it is, though, he can see Sam's soul shining brightly from this small child, and it kind of hurts when he realizes that in only ten years, Sam has been forged into something altogether new. He isn't a man with broad shoulders and far too much height, he's a child with a soft and sensitive soul who still has nightmares sometimes, a child that needs protection and nourishing and a high-calorie diet.

"Do you want the rocket-ship bedsheets, or the ones with the robots?" Castiel asks.

Sam carefully considers this, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows as he weighs the merits of each. "Rocket-ships," he decides.

Castiel also buys a night light, leaving it in the package for Sam to unpack. Neither he or Dean makes comment when they see it plugged in.

--

At the age of forty-five, Dean is diagnosed with lung cancer.

Because he's a terminal idiot, this doesn't stop him from hunting.

--

Even though he does not speak of it, Castiel is frightened when he realizes that he cannot sense even the slightest hint of Jimmy's presence. His vessel feels empty, hollow, like it never had before. He is alone in the body, all the time, for every waking moment.

Angels do not need to sleep, but Castiel sometimes lays down and closes his eyes. When his eyes are closed, Castiel falls into Jimmy's dreams. They're the only part of Jimmy he has left.

--

Bobby yells at Dean for skipping out on his cancer treatments. "How in the hell do you expect to fight a chupacabra if you keep puking on the monsters instead of shooting them?" Bobby demands, adjusting his hat.

"Bobby," Dean replies, taking a deep breath and trying not to retch. "You are like two thousand years old, I really don't think that you should be hunting either."

"That gods-damned retirement community is boring as hell," Bobby grumbles. "And I'm only a hundred and four, you idjit. You can't even do math, you ought to get your ass back into a hospital bed before you get somebody killed."

Dean starts to cough, but even in the middle of the coughing fit he kills four of the six ghouls; one shot, one kill. Grazes another and gets the last one in the leg before Bobby takes them out.

Bobby glares at him.

Dean glares back.

"Damn fool idjit," Bobby grumbles, prosthetic legs whirring loudly as he stomps heavily around the mausoleum. "Gonna get hisself murdered by a manticore one of these days."

"Could you make any more noise over there, old man?" Dean yells at him.

"SHUT UP AND GET YOUR OXYGEN TANK OUT OF THE CAR," Bobby roars. "And don't you bitch about these heavy, piece of crap circus-legs of mine, either, at least I'm fully mobile. Unlike I could say for some." He pauses, reloads his gun and gives Dean the patented John Winchester Disapproving Father Look. "Does your brother know you've gone out of your damned mind?" he demands. "Running all over the place trying to die faster than cancer can take you?"

"I hate staying in bed all day," Dean retorts. "And I'm in remission again, anyway. I think. Can't remember what my doctor was saying, I kept staring at her chest. Gorgeous woman, legs up to--"

"Shut up and check the wards," Bobby snaps. "And the next time you decide to go off on a hunt without telling anybody, you'd better check yourself out of the hospital proper. I don't want them calling me up at the home and yelling about how my grandson's gone and disappeared, you hear?"

"Yessir," Dean salutes, only half-sarcastically. Trained FBSI agents usually have to attend the seminar on why they shouldn't sass the director and founder, because they are idjits and only idjits wanna piss off Special Agent Bobby Singer, sir. Being sick got him out of the last one, though. "Whatever you say, sir," he adds, this time not sarcastically at all.

Bobby readjusts his hat.

--

"Hey, buddy, how are you doing?" Sam asks, patting Dean's hand reassuringly.

Dean lies in bed and does his best to look feeble. "I'm so weak, Sammy," he says faintly. "They won't bring me any pie."

A single, solitary tear tracks down his face.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam says, squeezing his brother's hand. "Don't you worry, Cas and I will bring you pie-- Cas? Why are you laughing? Bobby? Is there something I don't know?"

When Sam realizes that Dean's joking, he threatens to hit him with a bedpan.

--

Advances in medical technology -- plus, the FBSI's bitchin' health care benefits -- mean that Dean's as healthy as a horse half the time, and puking his guts out the other half of the time. It would be far easier to stay in the hospital, which may in part be the reason that Dean decides to get back on the road.

"Dean," Sam says, seriously. "This is the stupidest idea you have ever had in your entire life. Lives. Whatever."

Dean shrugs. "So, are you coming or not, Sammy?" He asks.

--

Hitting the road after so long doesn't feel like a chore, doesn't feel like a hassle. It feels right, even if they are all crammed in too tightly in the Impala, and Dean always bitches when it's Castiel's turn to drive. They could each drive their own vehicles, but that's not the same at all. It doesn't feel as safe, doesn't feel as much like family.

"Stop whining," Dean yells.

"He's touching me," Castiel says, at the same time Sam shouts, "I am NOT."

"I am going to have to pull this car over and bitch-slap the both of you into next week if you don't freakin' stop it already!" Dean yells, and then he spies the lights in the window. "Shit," he swears, pulling over.

"This is why you should have just sat in the front," Sam hisses in Castiel's ear. "He never speeds when you're in the front!"

"You're not wearing your seat belt," Castiel snaps.

"Hi," Dean says, smiling as he attempts to charm the cop who pulled them over. "Is there a problem, officer?"

She looks at Sam and Cas having a slap-fight in the back seat like children, and then returns her stare to Dean's slightly glazed smile. "Do you have a permit to carry that firearm, sir?" She asks, spying it in his shoulder holster.

"Uh, yes," Dean says. "I do, most definitely have a permit for this one." He smiles awkwardly. "I can show you the permits for every weapon in this vehicle, officer. I keep the permits in the glove compartment."

"License and registration, please," she says, still giving Dean the stink-eye. "And I'll take a look at those permits as well." She grabs all the paperwork and heads back to the squad car, presumably to check everything individually, which means they might be here for a while.

"Dean," Sam whispers from the back seat. "I think she likes you! Go for it!"

Cas elbows him in the side.

"Seriously, the two of you -- I will turn this car around and then kill you with a shovel and bury you at a crossroads if you don't chill the fuck out-- Hello again, Officer," Dean says, still smiling. "Everything in order?"

"Were you aware you were traveling at 90 miles per hour in a 70 zone?" She checks his license again, "Special Agent Milton?"

"I'm very sorry, Officer," Dean says. "We're on official business, I should have put the lights on."

She stares at him, then hands back the ID and nods. "Very well. Watch your speed, Special Agent," she snaps, before heading back to her vehicle.

--

"Happy birthday, Bobby!" Dean yells, hugging the old man as tightly as he can. "You're officially older than dinosaurs!"

"Get inside, y'idjit." Bobby snaps, shoving at Dean. "You better have brought me bourbon like you promised, or I'm gonna have you tossed outside on your ass."

"Aww, Bobby," Dean sighs. "Is that any way to treat a man who just got a clean bill of health?"

"What?" Sam shouts, showing up behind Dean and yelping loudly enough to set off Bobby's hearing aid. "What do you mean?

"I'm in remission, baby!" Dean announces, turning around to hug Sam. "Just got the news yesterday. I'm officially cancer-free!"

--

The party lasts until four in the morning, because Bobby's always celebrated like a maniac.

"A hundred and sixteen years old," Castiel says. "That is quite an accomplishment."

Bobby glares at the angel. "What in the hell are you talking about? You don't compliment someone on their ability to not die, that's just stupid. Now, surviving the apocalypse, regaining the use of my legs, training a bunch of idiot FBSI agents to hunt monsters, those are accomplishments. Don't you lump me in with a bunch of morons who haven't done nothing else in their lives but eat and live off their daddy's money, boy."

Castiel considers this, then nods. "Yes," he agrees. "You have accomplished more in your lifetime than most could accomplish in two," he says. "I commend you on your accomplishments, Robert Singer."

"Thank you," Bobby says, raising his glass in a salute.

"Although you may want to remember that I'm at least six thousand years older than you are," Castiel adds. "So perhaps you shouldn't call me 'boy'."

"Perhaps," Bobby concedes. "But that don't make you any less of an idjit, though."

--

Two weeks after they celebrated his hundred-and-sixteenth birthday, Bobby Singer goes to bed and never wakes up.

--

Amelia dies in her sleep two years later. Castiel knows because he has kept watch over her, the woman Jimmy loves, for the last decades of her life.

He doesn't know what to do, now that his charge to take care of her is gone. He doesn't go to the funeral, although he visits Claire afterward.

"I'm sorry," he says. "If I could have saved her--"

"It's okay, Castiel." Claire says. "Old people die. She was old. It won't be that long until I'm gone, too."

Claire is 86 years old. Castiel has taken care of her for the duration of his entire stay on earth. He does not want her to die.

"How are you?" Claire asks.

Castiel wraps his arms around her, hugs her tightly. She's still strong, still healthy, but there's a certain fragility about her now that she's gotten so much older. In his mind's eye, Claire is still eleven years old, eleven years old and fearless.

"I'm well."

Claire places her hand over his heart, smiling up at him. Her eyes are blue, the same blue as Jimmy's. For a moment, he thinks he can feel Jimmy's presence, but then it's gone and Castiel is alone in his vessel once more.

"How's Dad?" Claire asks, because she asks every time they see each other.

Castiel gives her his usual answer, "Jimmy is with me."

For the first time, he feels like the words are a lie.

--

The doctors tell Dean he has pancreatic cancer.

"This is why I hate hospitals, you know," Dean replies, sighing. "They're always giving me bad news. How bad is it?"

He spends six months in the hospital, bitching to Sam about the food and making a lot of morbid, totally-not-funny jokes. "Come on, lighten up, Sammy," he says, poking Sam's side to get rid of his bitchface. Sam mostly just mopes around the room and gives Dean sad puppy eyes, like it was Dean's idea to get cancer.

"Seriously, stop moping around, you're starting to depress me." Dean sighs. "If fifteen years with cancer can't get me down, how the hell can five minutes with your face?"

Sam's lower lip quavers.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Sammy, I didn't mean--"

"Nah, I'm just messing with you." Sam grins. "Oh, hey, bought you the latest issue of Busty Asians."

"You're still a whiny bitch," Dean says, grabbing the magazine.

Shrugging, Sam waves as he leaves the room. "And you're still a jerk!"

--

The nurses all think Dean is brave and funny and noble, and a bunch of other totally not true things, which is why after five months of hearing all that crap, Sam is morally obliged to start messing with them. Because Dean is an asshole. He tells everyone a different story, starting with a tearful recounting of how Dean had saved him from robbers, and ending with a two-week stretch where he called Dean Daddy and held his hand a lot.

"Oh, he's not really my dad," Sam says to Linda, the night nurse. "I mean, some people like to call him my sugar-Daddy, but we're not biologically related or anything." He smiles brightly.

Technically it's not even a lie.

It does, however, result in the most hilarious of indignant expressions from the nurses at the station, and then Dean starts getting a lot more enemas than might be strictly necessary. He only notices that something is up when the nurses on duty stop flirting with him, even when he flashes his killer grin at them and tells them about the time he and his team at the FBSI saved a bunch of kittens from a manticore.

"This place sucks," Dean says, after six months have gone by and he hasn't gotten any better. He's completely bald from the treatment, and staying inactive for six months has put him in one hell of a bitchy mood. "Let's get out of here."

--

Dean dies at sixty-seven, not from pancreatic cancer (stage two) but because he lost a fight to a werewolf.

"Shit, Sammy," he chokes, lying on the ground. Sam's holding on to him as tightly as he can, trying to stop Dean from trembling. "This... fucking sucks."

"Don't die, Dean. Don't do this to me!" Sam sobs, almost a yell.

"Bastard doctor," Dean mumbles into Sam's side. "Told me I'd die of cancer. He's a fuckin' liar, Sammy, you ought to sue."

"Come on, Dean," Sam sobs. "You're gonna be fine, you're gonna make it. We can stop the bleeding, I know we can..."

Dean shakes violently. "I don't--- Don't wanna die of cancer, Sammy," he says, closing his eyes. "This is better-- it's okay." And then he exhales one last time.

"No," Sam cries. "No, no -- Dean, Dean, come back..."

--

After Dean's funeral, Sam cries for two hours. His shoulders shake with the force of it.

"Patience, Sam," Castiel says, resting a hand on the back of Samuel's neck. "Patience. He won't leave us for very long."

--

A month later, when Sam opens the door, he spies Gabriel, who is sporting a shit-eating grin and hiding both of his hands behind his back.

"Um," Sam says.

"I brought you a present!" Gabriel announces brightly, before enveloping Sam in a tight hug.

Sam doesn't really have a choice, so he lets the Trickster-angel into the house, warily watching as he makes his way into the kitchen. "Um," he says again, and Castiel appears in front of him with a concerned expression.

"Sam, I detected an-- Oh, it's you." Castiel relaxes, waving hello to Gabriel and disappearing again without another word.

This would be an awesome time to remember how to make real sentences, Sam decides. "Gabriel?" he says, hesitantly.

Gabriel wanders out of the kitchen, holding a large glass pitcher in both of his arms. "Don't you want to see him?" he demands.

"Of course I do!" Sam protest, before his mind catches up and he realizes that he has no idea at all what the Trickster-angel is referring to. "Wait, what-- who am I supposed to be seeing?"

He's treated to a very hurt look.

Gabriel's puppy-eyes are almost as heartbreaking as Castiel's. Sam caves immediately. "Of course I'm very excited," Sam tells him, earnestly. "I can't wait."

Mollified for the moment, Gabriel presents Sam with the giant pitcher of water. Sam takes it, hoping that the angel doesn't expect him to drink it, because he's not really all that thirsty.

"I brought you your brother!" Gabriel announces, smiling brightly.

"Gabriel," Sam says, carefully. "This is a goldfish."

"Hey! That goldfish is your brother, you shouldn't talk about him as if he isn't here!"

Sam stares down at the pitcher of water, and the goldfish happily swimming in circles. "Dean?" he says.

The goldfish ignores him.

Yup. Probably Dean.

--

"Dean," Castiel repeats, eyeing the goldfish.

The angel's left eye makes an aborted twitching movement, and his expression is one that Sam can definitely relate to. It's an expression that says I Want Nothing More Than To Shoot My Brother In The Face, or possibly I Cannot Believe I Am Related To That Idiot.

"Yes," Sam buries his head in his arms and wishes that he could take back the words. But the words will not be taken back, no matter how hard he tries, and every time he has to say it he wants to beat his head against a wall.

"I really do not understand why you two are pissed at me," Gabriel says sadly.

--

The Dean-fish lives in a small aquarium. It has colourful pebbles on the bottom, and a little statuette shaped like a topless mermaid with bright orange stars over her nipples. Sam thinks it's the best fit for Dean's surroundings, even though he personally thinks it's tacky.

The aquarium is set up on a sturdy ledge in the living room. There isn't much else that Sam and Castiel can do with Dean -- he's not a brilliant conversationalist, and he's worse than useless on a hunt. So, the fish stays in its aquarium, sitting on its ledge and looking pretty.

Without discussing it, Sam and Cas both visit with the Dean-fish every day and talk to him for a few minutes so he doesn't feel alone. Sometimes the Dean-fish will blow bubbles at Cas, but he mostly swims around ignoring them. Sam secretly gets the feeling that Dean prefers the company of his skanky mermaid statue, anyway.

The second night they have the fish, Sam wakes up around two o'clock in the morning. Something is bothering him. He walks downstairs in his bare feet, flicking on the light in the living room. He stares at the fish for a few moments. The fish stares back.

Sam goes back to bed, but he leaves the light on, just in case the Dean-fish has nightmares.

The next day, he searches through the attic until he finds his old night-light. Then, he plugs it in beside the tank and leaves it there.




illustration by sleepwalker1015

--

Two weeks later, Gabriel contacts Sam by appearing in front of him right when he's stepping out of the shower. Sam yelps, trips over the shower curtain, and almost cracks his head open on the tub when Gabriel catches him.

"You should be more careful," Gabriel says.

Sam closes his eyes and counts to ten. "Gabriel," he says. "Can you please let me go?"

Gabriel thinks about this. "No," he decides. "I like you."

"I'm naked. I'm naked and wet. I'm naked, and I'm wet, and my brother is a fish." Sam feels like his entire life is a game of let's-point-out-the-obvious sometimes.

Gabriel leers at him. "I like you this way."

Shoving an angel is absolutely useless, but Sam's stare has been competing with Castiel's for quite a while, and eventually Gabriel concedes the point and hands Sam a towel. "Did you want to talk about something?" Sam asks, wrapping the towel around his waist and bravely attempting not to cover his nipples with his hands.

"They're very nice nipples," Gabriel offers.

Deep breaths, Sam reminds himself, and then he says in his Calm Voice, "No mind-reading, Gabriel. That's rude."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

Gabriel does not look sorry at all, and instead proceeds do the equivalent of mentally undressing Sam, which is awkward because he's already mostly naked. It has the interesting effect of having Sam feel like Gabriel is mentally cataloguing all the sexual positions he'd like to try and put Sam in, and from the sudden grin on Gabriel's face, that's not too far off the mark. No mind reading! Sam thinks furiously, and Gabriel shrugs.

"Did you want to talk about something?" Sam repeats.

If the expression on Gabriel's face has anything to say about it, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind. "Yes?" he says, clearly lying.

"You..." Sam runs his hands through his wet hair, and then he decides that he can't deal with this while he can still make all three of the ridiculous statements that make up his life. "Come on," he sighs, stepping out of the bathroom and opening his bedroom door. "I'm getting dressed."

Gabriel wanders in after him, looking amused at the posters on the wall and the various things scattered around the room. "What's this?" he asks, poking at Sam's Blackberry. "Does it have an Internet?"

Sam finds clothes and gets dressed as quickly as he can, trying to ignore Gabriel's sad noises and commentary on how attractive he finds Sam's body. "Look, Gabriel -- if you had something important to talk about, you would have gone to Cas, right?"

Puppy-eyes again. Sam feels like the second Dean dies and gets reincarnated as a goldfish, he is surrounded by kicked puppies. Angelic ones.

"I just-- I need to make sure that nobody is going to die," he adds, awkwardly.

"Nobody is going to die."

"So we can go get something to eat, right?"

Gabriel perks up like Sam had just suggested they break out the chocolate body paint. "That's not a bad idea," he says, and then he looks thoughtful. "Where do you buy chocolate-- wait, right, no mind reading. I forgot," he adds.

"There's a diner around the corner, we could--"

"This one?"

The people in the diner are, at the very least, used to Castiel teleporting around like he's Nightcrawler. One look at Sam and people stop being interested in whoever just popped in.

"So," Sam says, awkwardly. "You turned my brother into a fish."

Gabriel sighs. "In my defence, I didn't know that most goldfish only have a lifespan of a few months. If anything, I thought he'd last until it was time to get a new one."

"A new Dean?"

"A new Sam-and-Dean!" Gabriel grins. "Reincarnated as twins, doesn't that sound fun? I even cleared it with the guys upstairs. You won't be separated at all, even get to share a womb! That's got to be exciting."

"I think you might be insane." Sam shouldn't be, but he's kind of impressed.

Gabriel shrugs. "I try. Is the pie here any good?"

--

"You don't need to make up excuses to come and see me, you know," Sam says. "If you ever just want -- some company, or something. It's alright if you're lonely."

Gabriel grins at him. "Really, Sam? You wouldn't mind?"

"Nah, it's cool. I like you."

--

"Huh," Sam says. Gabriel is sleepy and cuddled up to him, clingy and nosing softly at the hollow of Sam's throat. "Hey, Gabriel?"

"Mmm," Gabriel mumbles.

"Just-- I'm not complaining or anything, because that was awesome. But. You know I meant that you should drop by for a beer if you just wanted to hang out. That wasn't an invitation to booty-call me any time you were in the mood."

"Mmm?" Gabriel replies.

"Yeah, okay, fine, maybe it was," Sam grumbles.

--

The Dean-fish lives to be six years old, and when he finally passes on, Sam finds himself unaccountably emotional about it.

"I know he was just a fish," Sam sobs quietly, "but it was like he was my family, you know?"

The barista looks terrified. "Here's your coffee, sir!" she says again, clearly upset.

"Thanks for listening," Sam says, wiping away his tears. "I knew you'd understand."

She gives him an uneasy smile.

--

Castiel walks into the kitchen, sees a half-naked Sam curled around an equally dishevelled Gabriel, both of them lying on top of the remnants of their now-broken table. Peanut butter has spilled out of the jar, onto the floor. He stops in his tracks, blinks, and then winks out of existence before Sam has a chance to explain the situation.

"What were you going to say?" Gabriel muses, yawning. He stretches like a cat, then wraps his leg more securely around Sam's waist and cuddles right back against him. "'Sorry, Cas, I accidentally slipped and landed on Gabriel's cock. Care to join us?' Actually, that's not a bad idea, he might go for that..."

"I think there's probably a more delicate way to phrase it," Sam groans, his head thumping back onto the broken wood of the table. "Seriously, I think this might be almost as embarrassing as the time Dean walked in on me-- well. Anyway. Dean had his camera-phone on him, I didn't stop hearing about it for--"

Castiel reappears in the middle of the kitchen only long enough for both Gabriel and Sam to register the noise of an electronic shutter in a quick burst, and the bright light of the flash blinding him temporarily, before the angel winks out of existence once more.

"I think he's learned a few things," Gabriel murmurs, grudgingly impressed. He swipes idly at a smear of peanut butter on his shoulder and then pops his thumb into his mouth. "Spent too much time with that trouble-making brother of yours, I think."

"Yeah," Sam agrees, blinking spots out of his eyes. He has no idea where an Angel of the Lord might keep his SD card, but it looks like now would be a good time to find out... and erase the evidence before Dean gets back and starts a website. "Did you show him how to put the camera on burst?"

"Yup, sure did."

--

When Sam dies, Castiel spends a year by himself.

Without anyone to bicker with on the road, he loses his taste for the hunt. Killing monsters has no satisfaction, no matter how many lives he saves. He switches to a desk job at the FBSI, and when he finds himself staring at a requisition form for rock salt rounds (now considered standard) he decides that someone else can do it.

He takes a leave of absence.

He travels to Rome, but he's been there before, so he ends up cutting the trip short and visiting Paris. Paris is extremely boring, the French people treat him like a tourist, and the tourists are always asking him for directions.

Castiel visits Madrid, and Egypt, and Milan.

He gets bored and counts the bricks in the Great Wall, but he loses track halfway through and gives up.

A trek through the Amazon isn't nearly as exciting as it sounds.

Neither is exploring Mars.

Jupiter's moons are beautiful, but he finds himself missing Sam and Dean and Earth.

A year after Sam dies, Castiel goes to visit his brother.

--

Gabriel takes one look at him, sighs, and says, "Dammit, Castiel, you've been on earth for how many years, now?"

Castiel shrugs.

"And you still haven't tried recreational drugs, had sex with a woman, ridden on a pony, fought a dragon, had a hovercraft race, battled a velociraptor..." Gabriel groans. "Come on, bro, I'm going to teach you a thing or two about having fun."

--

Castiel and Gabriel spend a couple of years learning how to bicker like brothers. They get to be very, very good at it.

--

Castiel spends a lot of time alone. He amuses himself by leaving obnoxious voicemail messages on Gabriel's phone, but he doesn't try to find his brother. If Gabriel doesn't want to be found, he isn't going to be found. Definitely not by Castiel, no matter how used to each other's company they might have grown accustomed.

Not knowing what else to do, Castiel begins to methodically search the planet for any sign of Sam or Dean's souls.

"Hello, Gabriel, I am calling to leave you a message," he says solemnly into his cell phone. Voicemail again, which means Gabriel is screening his calls and hiding out somewhere. "It's been a long time since I last heard your voice. Here is a thought to ponder: when the Winchesters were alive and still Winchesters, do you think that you would have been able to seduce both brothers into bed at the same time? Just wondering. Call me back."

Gabriel calls back just to yell at him.

--

After spending nine days watching an old TV show on blu-ray, Castiel and Gabriel sit in the little café they’ve picked for breakfast, arguing loudly over which character they thought was the best. Castiel was steadfastly defending Mac, and Gabriel was insisting on Harm. The debate had lasted for eight and a half days, and was still ongoing, as neither side was willing to concede.

For the most part, they're just bickering pleasantly while waiting for their food to settle.

“Hmmm,” Castiel says, setting down his coffee mug. “Hey, what... What was that?” He motions with his head to someone on the street. Gabriel turns in his seat to look.

“That, dear brother, was a goofy-looking ginger kid. What about it?”

Castiel doesn’t comment on Gabriel referring to a little boy as ‘it’. “That is not all,” he murmurs. Tossing a twenty on the table, he stands to leave. Gabriel drains his glass of chocolate milk (with extra chocolate!) and follows, grabbing up the jacket Castiel had forgotten in his rush.

“Hello, pardon the intrusion,” Castiel says to the woman holding the arm of the red-headed boy he’d seen out the window. “But can you tell me how to get to Windmill Creek Road from here?”

Gabriel frowns and hangs back. He isn’t entirely sure what Castiel is doing, considering they’d agreed they weren’t stopping in this town for long. Unless... Gabriel squints the little boy, who notices and sticks his tongue out.

"I'm sorry," the woman explains, smiling apologetically. "I'm afraid I'm new in town, I'm not sure where to find anything myself." She chats with Castiel for a moment, while Gabriel stares at the freckle-faced monster she's holding on to. A minute later, she apologizes for her son’s rude behaviour and they continue walking up the street.

Castiel smiles, waiting for a moment before beginning to walk in the same direction. Jogging to catch up to him, Gabriel is just about to ask what exactly Castiel's so goofy-happy about when he overhears the woman from before admonishing her son.

“Dean, really, we’ve only just moved here and you've already started to make a bad impression. Would it kill you to pretend to be well-behaved, at least until Mommy has some friends? Honestly, you are such a handful.”

Gabriel grins too.

--

Castiel buys a house in town. Gabriel rolls his eyes and refuses call it anything other than 'Castiel's sad pathetic nest of loneliness' although he is apparently all too happy to fill the freezer with various flavours of ice cream and the cupboards with butterscotch pudding.

They don’t see much of little red-headed Dean, because although he and his new mother only live a block away, Castiel doesn't have any excuse to interact with them, so he's reduced to making polite conversation in the grocery store. He's worried that Dean's mother might take his interest in her the wrong way, though, which is why he stops himself from inviting her out to movies or shows that he thinks Dean would enjoy.

Gabriel continues to fill his kitchen cupboards with sweets. One day, Castiel opens the bathroom medicine cabinet and Skittles rain down onto the counter.

"Gabriel," Castiel says, staring at the scattered rainbow-coloured candy. "This needs to stop."

--

Castiel ends his leave of absence from the FBSI, mostly because he likes having a routine. It's easy to fall into the normal parameters of everyday life when he has an office to go to every morning and a crazed sugar-high trickster-archangel of a brother to go home to every evening. It reminds him of the years when he had been raising Samuel, although an adult Gabriel is much more trouble than any human child could ever hope to be.

"You know," Castiel says, eating another pudding cup. "If we were human, this would be a very unhealthy diet."

"Mmm," Gabriel moans, adding sprinkles to his pie.

--

A new family moves in next door to Castiel's house. Castiel meets them as he is returning home from work. As he is about to unlock the front door, a car pulls into the next driveway and the man who gets out pulls a small child from the back seat.

“Sami!” the man calls as the little girl runs right across Castiel’s lawn and plants her brightly coloured rain boots firmly in the flower bed. “Come on back here!”

“My name is Sami, and I’m seven years old, and when I grow up I'm going to be a ballerina-engineer-lawyer-astronaut. That's a lawyer who can build rocket-ships so that I can dance in space,” the child announces, proudly. “I'm also gonna be president. What’s your name?”

“I am Castiel,” says Castiel, holding back a smile. Even in this tiny, rambunctious, female form, Sam’s spirit is easily identifiable. Although, the aspirations to be an engineer are new. The rest of it had all surfaced in one form or another before.

“That’s a good name." Sami says, importantly. "My daddy's name is Qiang but everybody except my mommy calls him Dave. I like your coat. Do you want to play cowboys?”

The man scoops her up, apologizing profusely. "I'm really sorry, sir," he says. "She's very energetic but she's not a bother at all, I promise -- we're really very quiet, it's just that today has been so busy--"

“It’s fine,” Castiel assures him. “Really. It was nice to meet you, Sami. Perhaps we can play cowboys another day,” he tells Sami.

She beams at him.

--

Gabriel looks outside the window, spies Sami playing on the swing set in her back yard, and there is something in him that lights up fully and completely, glorious to Castiel's angelic sight. Gabriel's soul glows, and it is apparent to Castiel that Gabriel recognizes Sam Winchester's soul.

"Whatever it is that you are thinking," Castiel says, scooping butterscotch pudding into his mouth with two fingers and sucking the sticky sweet stuff off. "It is most likely a horrifyingly bad idea."

Gabriel turns to him, eyes alight with gleeful trickster-y anticipation. "But Cas," he says, smiling. "You haven't even heard my plan yet!"

--

It is an awful plan. Castiel listens intently, because Gabriel seems very excited about it, but that is the truth plain and simple.

"Don't you see? This is the best way to keep an eye on Sam and Dean while they’re growing up without seeming like pedophiles! Because let’s be honest, you in that trench coat, hanging around the monkey bars behind the school just seems unwholesome.” Gabriel says earnestly.

"And a six-thousand-year-old archangel pretending to be a school-age child is somehow preferable." Castiel says with a raised eyebrow. "I fail to see the logic in your plan."


"See, if you'd had a normal childhood, you would probably not wear the trench coat all the time," Gabriel adds.

"I will stop wearing the coat if you will forget about this exceedingly awful and despicable plan," is Castiel's counter-offer, which Gabriel carefully considers for a few moments.

"How about," he suggests, slowly. "How about you get to keep an eye on me? You can tell everyone that your ex-wife had custody until now, and that I'm your son."

This plan is less obviously stupid, but Castiel feels that there is a flaw that he's not quite seeing just yet. "I would be responsible for you, in that case," he says, and he can practically see Gabriel deflate.

Against his better judgement, Castiel sighs and then, before he can change his mind, he says, "We're going to have to lay down some ground rules, Gabriel."

Beaming, Gabriel nods enthusiastically, his form shifting and melting until he appears to be a much younger version of himself, golden-haired and almost cherubic in appearance. "Sure thing!" he chirps, childishly high voice filled with joy. "I mean, sure thing, Daddy," and then Castiel feels an overwhelming sense of foreboding.

There is no way that this is going to end well.

--

Castiel finds himself holding Gabriel's hand and walking to the house next door, holding a plate of brownies and wearing an anxious smile in addition to his normal ensemble.

"Hi there, neighbour," Dave says with a smile. It's the same man that had greeted him before, and Castiel feels no small measure of relief, knowing that he has already been properly introduced.

"I hope that you do not mind," Castiel says, holding out the plateful of brownies as he restrains Gabriel with one hand. "But it appears that my son is going to be staying with me for a while, and he wanted to play. With a friend. Preferably one close to his own age," and before Castiel can say any more, he's being ushered into the house by a grateful-looking Dave, who accepts the brownies graciously as the bribe they are intended to be.

"They're exhausting at that age," Dave says, gratefully chewing on a brownie. "I know how you feel, Sami can wear me out and then she's still got ten hours of play left in her. Much better to let them exhaust themselves than try to keep up."

Gabriel and Sami pretend to be cowboys, and then Gabriel shows Sami the magic trick he can do that make Oreos appear in her pockets, and then Gabriel tells Sami that he will visit her when she lives on Jupiter, and then it is time to return home.

Gabriel rests his head on Castiel's shoulder and falls asleep, like a child, tiny and innocent. It is strange to hold him like this, to know that beneath the diminutive human shell there is a powerful archangel, more powerful than Castiel himself. And yet, like this, Gabriel is trusting and vulnerable.

Castiel doesn't wake him. He puts him to bed and draws the covers over him, and wonders how long he will be able to pretend to be a father. He would not want to admit it out loud -- he could not tell Sam, or Dean -- but he enjoyed the conversation with Sami's father, enjoyed talking about raising children. It was the first time that he'd felt as if he really fit in, in a very long time.

--

It's recess time at Grandview Elementary School and the school yard bullies are picking on the new kids. First it was Sami, the new girl in second grade. They make fun of her short hair and her slanted eyes, and the fact that all her clothes are neon colours. She cries, and that's a great response from a seven year old girl, but the bullies wanted something more.

"They're going to beat you up," Sami whispers furiously to her best friend, while still wiping at her runny nose. "Cause they're big stupid-head bullies and you're new at school just like me."

"Just let them try," Gabriel says, exuding far more confidence than a first grader should have. "I'll smite them out of existence." He makes tiny fists out of his hands to show her.

The bullies find him and they make fun of his height -- and lack thereof -- and his sticking-up-all-over hair and the weird way he talks. Gabriel ignores them, instead entertaining Sami by pulling magic Oreos form the space behind her ear. When they haven't managed to get a response from him, they shove him hard, sending him sprawling face-first into the sand box.

Dusting sand off his elbows, and leaving the dirty Oreos where they'd landed, Gabriel stands up very slowly. He turns to the tallest bully. "You really did not want to do that. I'm really sorry about your luck, but you picked the wrong new kid to mess with today." He raises his hand, either to hit someone or something worse, but before he can, a tall shadow falls over the sand box.

"Are you jerks actually picking on first graders?" a voice says, coming from well above any of their heads. "One of them is even a girl. That doesn't seem very nice."

"Run! It's Dean!" hisses one of the bullies. They all flee.

"Those assholes are just dumb," scowls the very tall, very red-headed Dean. Holding out a hand to Sami and another to Gabriel, he doesn't even seem to notice that he used a Bad Word. "It's hard to be the new kid. My advice? Don't use the drinking fountain next to the music room." And with those helpful, albeit random, words of wisdom, Dean is gone again.

"Wow," breathes Sami, turning to Gabriel. "He was so cool!"

"Yeah," Gabriel grumbles. "If you like that kind of thing."

--

Gabriel decides to pitch an epic temper tantrum in the candy aisle of the grocery store, complete with screaming, crying, and holding his breath until he turns blue. This is accompanied with throwing himself to the ground and flailing about, as well as a truly impressive bout of profanity.

Castiel waits it out.

"Are you finished?" he asks.

Gabriel grins and then takes the proffered handkerchief. "I've always wanted to do that," he says. "It's really fun. You should give it a try, Cas!"

"Maybe some other time," Castiel says, which is code for Never In A Million Years.

"Can we buy pudding?" Gabriel asks.

"Yes."

"And chocolate chips?"

"Yes."

"And a pony?"

"We are not getting a pony, Gabriel."

--

Sami sits next to Gabriel in class, and she shares her crayons and her notebooks. Gabriel gives her half of his snack every day, because she is his best friend and because she always smiles when he has more than one package of Oreos in his lunchbox. He gives her the creamy half of the Oreo when he has to chose, because it makes Sami blush and kick her tiny feet bashfully.

"When I grow up," Sami says, starry-eyed as she watches the older boys playing basketball during recess. "I'm gonna marry Dean. And I'm going to wear a pretty white dress and get two puppies and the puppies are going to be named Batman and Superman."

Gabriel gives her the cream half of his Oreo. "Yeah," he says, not looking at Sami. He stares down at his shoes.

"But you can come too, Gabriel." Sami says, putting her hand on top of his. "You're my best friend. I wouldn't go anywhere without you."

Gabriel finishes his cookie, before he looks down at their clasped hands. "Yeah," he agrees, a little more enthusiastically. "You're my best friend, too, Sami."

--

"Gabriel, put that down this instant or you will not like what happens next," Castiel snaps. Gabriel looks appropriately reprimanded and puts the bag of marshmallows back on the shelf. A lady further up the aisle smiles to Cas.

"How old?" she asks, inclining her head.

"Old enough to know better," Castiel replies truthfully.

Gabriel is walking along beside Castiel. When they are grocery shopping, it is his job to hold the list. "What's next?" Castiel asks him.

"Spaghetti sauce," Gabriel grumbles. "I don't know why we can't get marshmallows. Spaghetti is dumb."

Castiel stops pushing the cart again and looks at Gabriel with his Very Serious Face. "Are marshmallows on our list?"

Petulantly staring at the marshmallow display, Gabriel raises one shoulder and drops it, a pointedly angry gesture.

"Gabriel!" he snaps again. "Are marshmallows on the list of groceries we need today?"

"No..." Gabriel mumbles, looking at his feet.

Castiel crouches in front of him and holds Gabriel's chin firmly in his hand. "Am I in charge here or are you?"

"...You," Gabriel says, pulling away and crossing his arms. "But only because I agreed. Doesn't mean you have to treat me like a child, Castiel."

"They're so wilful at that age, aren't they?" the woman remarks.

"You really don't know the half of it," Castiel sighs.

--

Sami's first kiss is at the age of fourteen, with a boy named Joe, who slobbers on her face and is promptly shoved away. "It was absolutely disgusting," she tells Gabriel, who laughs. "It was like, ew, spit everywhere and stuff. He licked my chin. It was gross."

"That's definitely not right," Gabriel agrees.

"I just wish it wasn't so... icky," she confides. "Is kissing always like that, do you think?"

"Um," Gabriel says, eyes wide. "I mean, no? I don't think. I wouldn't know."

"Liar." Sami says, bumping his shoulder. "You've kissed lots of girls, I know. You kissed Sarah Jacobs last year at the Halloween dance, and she told everyone that you were good at it."

That statement makes Gabriel blush. "I wasn't gonna do anything else," he finally says, guiltily, his cheeks still bright pink. "I just wanted her to know that I liked her."

"Kiss me," Sami says.

"What? No."

"Fine," Sami snaps, turning away. "Whatever, you don't have to. Go kiss Sarah Jacobs, since you like her so much--"

"Hey!" Gabriel shouts. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well you like her better than me, right? That's why you kissed her, and you won't kiss me." Sami says, her lower lip wavering. "So maybe she should be your best friend instead of me, because you like her better. And then I won't have anybody to be my friend, and you can go -- drop out of the Mathletes and let me be a loser all by myself--"

"You're not a loser, Sami." Gabriel says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking miserable. "I like you better'n anyone in the whole wide world, you know that. I'm not going anywhere," and he frees one hand to put it on her elbow. "I just-- I don't think -- I shouldn't kiss you, Sami. It's not... you don't like me, not like you like Dean, or like you used to like Joe, right?"

Sami rolls her eyes. "I like you better'n anybody, Gabe. You're my best friend." And because she finally has him where she wants him, she wraps both arms around his neck and stares into his eyes, the same level as hers. "So," Sami says, firmly. "Kiss me, stupid."

--

When Sami remembers, she blushes redder than anything and slaps Gabriel across the shoulder. "I cannot believe you let me go to prom with Dean."

He shrugs and grins, stretching out of his twenty year old body and back into a more familiar form. "You have such a crush on him, though, and you were so excited."

"He's my brother, man, and I was going to... You know..." Sami waggles her eyebrows. "Do stuff."

Gabriel's gasp is absolutely scandalized. "You mean you didn't?"

Sami rolls her eyes. "Well he kind of said no. Even after I took off most of my clothes and straddled him on the bed.

Laughing so hard he can feel tears welling up in his eyes, Gabriel shoves her off her chair. "Slut."

She kicks him in the shin. "Dumbass," she counters, grinning.

--

After Dean and Sami pass away, Castiel and Gabriel head over to Scotland and spend five years pretending to haunt a castle.

"You really like the Winchesters, don't you?" Castiel asks him offhandedly one day.

"They aren't really Winchesters anymore," Gabriel scoffs. "I mean, not really."

"You're avoiding the question!"

"Well, you're asking dumb questions!"

"It's not dumb!" Castiel protests. "You're dumb. And hey, if you at least admit your helpless crush on Sam Winchester, I promise I'll tell you everything he's ever said about you when you weren't there."

Gabriel glares at him for a long moment, and then he puffs away in a flurry of snowflakes.

He appears two minutes later, this time in a burst of glitter and birdsong. "Okay, so maybe I have a-little-bit-of-a-stupid-crush-on-the-stupid-Winchester, so does he like me?"

They stare at each other.

"Wait, what?" Castiel says, confused. "I was just teasing you, Gabriel."

"I knew that!" Gabriel snaps.

Castiel grabs Gabriel by the shoulder before he can fly away. "Gabriel," he says, very seriously. "You are my brother. And I love you. And I want you to be happy."

Gabriel glares at him, half-heartedly. "You don't mind?"

"I said I'd share," Castiel says. "I didn't say I was going to let you keep him. Now, do you want me to tell you everything he's ever said about you, or not?"

"Yeah." Gabriel says, feigning nonchalance.

"Good." Castiel straightens his tie. "Before we begin, we will require refreshments. Beer, I think. And pie. And we should stop in Italy and get some pizza."

--

He finds Sam first. Dean is not very hard to find after that, because he is in the same stroller, but Sam's soul is in the child he sees first, and Castiel stops in his tracks to stare.

"Oh," the woman pushing the pram stops and laughs. "Yes, I know what you're thinking -- but they're not identical. Fraternal twins."

"Ah," Castiel says, staring at the infants. "They're... very healthy looking."

Their mother blinks, and then she laughs again. "I suppose they are, at that. The one in green is Sam, he's youngest by eight and a half minutes. And in the yellow is my darling Dorothy Ann..."

--

Castiel sends Gabriel a text: Found 'em.

He spends nine years waiting for them to develop the capacity for conversation, and then he starts looking for an apartment. He can't find one, so he buys a house instead.

--

When D turns fourteen, things change. She becomes surly, stops trying to protect Sam from mosquitoes and other pests. Because he knows well enough to leave her alone, Castiel stops inviting either of them over. Things, he decides, must be confusing enough for her.

Castiel isn't quite sure what happens to humans when they turn into teenagers, but all the books he's read indicates that their hormones and neuro-chemical levels undergo drastic changes, resulting in a more adult brain and body. From what he's observed, it makes perfectly pleasant children sullen and argumentative, and turns the lot of them into self-conscious bundles of pitifully low self-esteem.

Leaving them alone seems to be a wise choice. Sam, at least, seems almost grateful.

Instead, he begins to visit D's parents, inviting them over for barbecues and potlucks. He tells them to bring their children.

Fifteen years without company is a long time, but Cas buys a house and gets a job and patiently waits for both of them to grow up, to remember him. He is, to all of the other people in the mostly pleasant small city where Dean and Sam's souls have relocated, Mr. Castiel Engel, and he opens a bookstore because he'd read it in a book. It had sounded nice.

He doesn't bond with the books, not the way the fictional angel had, but he does enjoy the stationary life for a bit.

Of course, when D turns fourteen, she starts acting completely contrary to everything Castiel knows about her. She insists that people call her by her full name. 'Dorothy Ann' is too much of a mouthful for Castiel to be comfortable with, but he does his best, even though Samuel insists on the same treatment.

For three years, Dorothy Ann avoids his house, does not attend his barbecues, and stops wearing sneakers. For three years, she wears skirts and high heels and chases boys instead of working on cars.

He does not know this girl-child with her sullen, pouting lips and her deeply mascara'd eyelashes. Nevertheless, Castiel patiently waits for the girl to regain her sanity and to join him once again. Dean has always managed to remember who he is, and he doubts that this particular reincarnation will be any different.

--

When D turns seventeen, she insists on being called D again. Everyone in her family takes this as a sign that she's over her small bout of insanity, and as a gift Castiel gives her an old, beaten-up leather jacket.

It is so worn that the leather is buttery soft in places and cracked in others, old enough that it is probably the most comfortable leather jacket in the world. It looks absolutely terrible, but D wears it every day, the jacket clearly too large on her small frame.

She curls into it when she is sad, and looks fondly at it when she is happy.

He is glad she enjoys it.

Dean had made him promise to give it back to him whenever it would be most appreciated. Castiel can appreciate a job well done, because D is never seen without the jacket. Castiel can catch her watching him, sometimes, out of the corner of his eyes, but when he looks back at her she is looking elsewhere.

(Castiel does not know what this means.)

--

She offers to help out with his gardening, and will stop by the bookstore. Castiel learns to drink tea, because D does not turn down the offer, and he enjoys having company in the afternoon. He learns to bake, because D enjoys cookies, and Castiel enjoys when D is happy.

"So," D asks, leaning against the counter and flipping through a book. She doesn't buy it, and Castiel does not try and sell it to her. (Dean had read it, and had then spent two dreadful, horrifying weeks describing to Castiel and an equally bored Sam just how implausible the idea of vampires romancing high school students was creepy, not romantic. D would enjoy the book, but Castiel does not want to hear her -- or anyone -- talk about it. Ever.)

"Yes?" Castiel responds.

"I was wondering," D says, tilting her head to the side. It is an expression Castiel recognizes as his own, and he wonders just when it was, that D began to emulate him, and not the other way around. Surely he has not been in her life for that long?

"Yes?"

"How old are you?" D asks. "You don't -- I mean, I know you moved here when I was like, nine, but I have no idea how old you are."

"I am much older than you," Castiel says.

"But how much older?"

(Castiel does not know what this means, which is why he does not lie.)

"I am much, much older, D," Castiel says. (He will not call her Dean until she remembers that she is Dean. The soul is the same, though, which is why Castiel will wait for her to remember.)

"You could have been twenty, when you moved here," D suggests. "That would only make you eleven years older than me."

"I was not twenty years old when I moved to this city," Castiel corrects her. He is hesitant to say exactly how old he is, though -- that is a strange question, because this body does not age. He is, of course, ageless -- he has existed longer than the earth, and yet -- Castiel considers his physical age. "You could say that I am eighteen years older than you," he tells D, which is a lie but also not.

D considers this. "That's not too bad," she decides.

(Castiel does not know what this means, either. For an Angel, he is not that smart.)

--

When D tries to seduce Castiel (the first time), she manages to get halfway out of her clothes before Castiel realizes what's happening.

He takes four nanoseconds to process that, and then he has to grab onto her wrists before she can disrobe any further. "No," he says, politely. "Absolutely not. Dorothy Ann, this is not going to happen."

Her lower lip trembles, softly, like she's trying to stop herself from crying. Castiel knows that she is beautiful, with her dark blond hair and the subtle spray of freckles over the bridge of her nose. She looks so much like Dean, like the Dean he knows and remembers, and yet this girl is nothing like Dean Winchester.

"Come on," She says, chin jutting out bravely. "I want to, Cas--"

It's the first time anyone has called him Cas in a very long time.

"I'm very sorry, D," Castiel sighs, holding out her sweater. "This will not happen. You are... You are too young," he explains, because the legal age of consent is eighteen, and D should be aware of the fact. To take advantage of her, regardless of whether she has invited herself into his bedchamber, would be morally wrong.

She does not take this very well. "What the fuck ever," she snaps, gathering her things. "I have no idea why I'd want to lose it to you, anyway."

Castiel tries not to notice the tight, sad expression of her mouth and eyes. Instead, he shows her to the door.

--

The second time D tries to seduce Castiel, he wishes her a very happy birthday, and once more politely declines. He does not give a reason, and D is hurt by his refusal. "I am sorry to have hurt your feelings," is what he says to her instead of explaining and she does not speak to him for almost a month.

--

And then, of course, things go right back to the way they used to be. Sam comes by in the afternoons, hangs out and makes excited hand gestures when he talks about scholarships. Sometimes, Sam will say things like "Stanford is going to be so amazing, the campus is --" and then he stops with a frown on his face.

"Have you been to see the campus?" Castiel asks.

"No," Sam says, uncertainly. "I mean -- I must have looked at pictures, I guess -- I think it's--"

"It is quite a beautiful setting," Castiel agrees, and then he offers to take Sam if his parents are too busy to make the drive.

--

Castiel opens his door in the middle of the night, in his bare feet and wearing his pajama bottoms and a faded t-shirt, and he sees D with her hair loose around her face, a bruise purpling on her temple. He steps aside to let her in, and he can see the very edges of a collar of bruises around her neck. Tracks of tears are still wet on her cheeks, and he can see that her lower lip is trembling with exertion.

"Dorothy Ann," he says, but D does not let him speak. She drops her purse on the ground, pulls the sleeves of her jacket and drops it as well, carelessly onto the floor.

Castiel watches her, even as he ensures that his door is locked and that there is no longer a threat to D's safety.

She pulls her sweater over her head with a barely-muttered curse, a shift in her muscles that betrays the amount of pain she must be in. Underneath her sweater is a thin white tank top, and she removes that as well, and only when she is standing in the middle of his living room in her bra does she turn to look at him.

He does not need angelic sight in order to spy the bruises on her ribs, the blood smeared on her hip. he can see every scratch, every cut, every bruise, every soft abrasion, and he can see the pain in her very soul as she shakes and trembles.

Gathering her up into his arms, Castiel presses his lips to her temple, folding his wings around her as she sobs onto his shoulder. "I'll kill him," he promises, and he means it.

D shakes her head. "He didn't-- he tried to-- but I took care of it, I did, he won't come after me, he won't hurt anybody ever again, Cas. I took care of it," but she is still shaking, still crying. He holds her tightly, wrapping her up in one of his sweaters. "What can I do?" he asks her, gently. "Tell me what I can do, D. Anything," and he means it, as well.

"Just hold me," D whispers, burying her face in the crook of his neck, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Please, Cas-- just hold me."

--

D dates other men, older men, and Castiel is amused by her ability to manipulate people until he remembers that she's Dean, and Dean had always been good at that. D sometimes drops hints, mentioning her latest conquest, and Castiel tries his best not to show even the slightest hint of jealousy.

He's still waiting for Dean.

--

"It's a 1967 Chevy Impala," Castiel says, shifting from foot to foot. "Not with the original engine, of course, that would never pass modern emissions testing, but the framework is perfect. I restored it myself."

"Wow," D says, running a reverent hand over the glossy black hood. She touches the Impala as she would a lover, with gentle patience and a loving caress. "This is-- she's beautiful, Cas," and she says it with a smile on her face, not teasing, but admiring. "You give her a name yet?"

"Yes," Castiel nods, seriously, because naming a vehicle is one of the important things he's learned during his time on earth. It is important to give the car the correct name, to treat the car the way he would treat a loved one. That is the way that Dean had treated his car, and Castiel will do no differently. "Her name is Frances."

D chokes back a cry, and then turns to Castiel with an incredulous expression. "Frances?" She repeats, scorn dripping from her tone. "You named this beautiful machine Frances?"

"Yes," Castiel replies smoothly, his face solemn. "It was appropriate."

"There is absolutely no way that was appropriate," D argues. "Explain, Cas. She's not a Frances."

"She is indeed a Frances," Castiel disagrees patiently. "It is her name. But everyone calls her Baby."

The expression on D's face is comical.

"Because," Castiel intones in his most serious tone, "Nobody puts Baby in the corner."

"You're not funny," D says, but her face is doing this complicated thing where it is attempting to frown in displeasure and break into uncontrollable laughter all at once, and her voice is suspiciously reminiscent of someone attempting to hold back laughter.

"I'm hilarious," Castiel says.

--

D looks at Castiel with confused incomprehension in her eyes, her mouth slightly open as she stares at him. Castiel's eyes stray, once, to her chapped and bitten lips, but he does not give into his urge to give her the cherry chapstick he has in his coat pocket, because D will not use it.

"You're crazy," D says, finally, hands clenching around the steering wheel. "You're fucking crazy, Castiel."

He feels a sudden pang, then, a small stab of hurt that she has not used his nickname. D's hands are squeezing the wheel, and her brow is creased with something like concentration.

"I don't understand," she says, and her voice is suspiciously thick. "Castiel, this is your baby, I don't understand--"

"It's yours," Castiel says. "It was... for you. I thought that you would like it," and she does, he'd made sure of it. This wasn't the original impala, they hadn't managed to save more than a few parts from it, but he'd worked hard to rebuild the car. He'd worked hard to make sure that it was perfect, for her.

"But she's yours," D protests, weakly.

He shakes his head, rests his fingertips on the slight dip of her elbow. "No," he says. "She was always yours." And there's a wealth of emotion in the words, things he cannot say, things he wishes he could. He doesn't know why it has taken so long for her to remember -- whether she ever will, or if this is all he can ever have, with Dean -- the soul he used to know as Dean.

She turns the car off with a flick of her fingers, and then she sits back in the seat, pressing her palm down flat on the dashboard. "I don't understand," D says, again. "You can't just give me a car, Cas."

"But I want to give you a car," Castiel counters easily.

Tilting her head to look at him, D gazes at Castiel, through her eyelashes, cheeks flushed pink. Her tongue slips out, wetting her lips, and then D speaks again. "You can't do this, Cas," she says, hoarsely. "You can't do this to me. I don't understand, I don't get it. If you--" and she stops, embarrassed, but Castiel can still read the lines of her soul.

He reaches for her, grabs her hand and lets her twine their fingers together, squeezing almost too tightly.

"Cas," D says. "You don't have to give me things. I don't know what you want from me, only that you don't want sex, or... I have no idea what it is. Sometimes you act like you're so in love with me that I feel like I'm drowning in it, and then you back away as if it's not me you want." She is staring down at their hands, white-knuckled under the strain of her grip. "Cas, I need to understand."

"I wish I could explain," Castiel says, holding her hand and refusing to let go. "But I do love you, D."

--

The third time, D says "Please," and "Cas," and curls up to him, warm body against his own, sneaking past his defences and laying him open before her. Her face is wet and her eyes are glossy with tears. She is not trying to seduce him, she is crying and Castiel has no choice but to put his arms around her, to draw her close and hold her tight, and when he kisses her it is not because of lust or attraction, but because he needs to kiss away her sadness and pain.

D spends the night in Castiel's arms, and when she strips away her clothing and climbs into his bed in the morning, Castiel cannot find a way to say no.

--

When D remembers, she looks at Castiel with a surprised expression. "Wow," she says, over the breakfast table, in the middle of eating a piece of bacon. "This is kind of awkward." She continues eating her bacon.

Cas looks up from his paper (he enjoys newspapers, and has been known to miracle up editions that are nothing but comics) and smiles. "Dean," he says.

"Yup," Dean says. "This is definitely awkward."

But he leans over the table and kisses Castiel anyway, a bit hesitant but familiar nonetheless, and in the background Castiel can hear Sam groaning.

"You guys are gross," Sam yells.

Dean flips him off, curling a leanly muscled arm around Castiel's neck so that she can pull him close and kiss him again.

--

Next: Part Five