Technical note: Hover over Latin phrases for an English translation. Translation is also provided at the end of the story.

***

Jo walked in the front door of the Roadhouse with both Sarah and Ruby, neither of whom showed any reaction to the wards.  Not that Sarah would, but Ruby was just pissing him off.  Everyone’s reaction to Ruby was pissing him off.  A demon strolled into an angel stronghold and no one so much as flinched.  It was the last straw.

“Okay, Team Cojones,” Dean said, glaring at them.  “Conference time.  Sam, you too.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he didn’t bother complaining otherwise.  “You want Chuck?” he asked.

“Might as well,” Dean grumbled.  If he was sober.  “Ellen, Tamara, you got a minute?”

He was already moving, Ellen’s impatience making Sam’s look like the junior toy store version, so it took him a few steps to realize Castiel wasn’t following.  “Cas,” he said.  “Come on.”

Castiel gave him an odd look.  “Am I on Team Cojones?”

“You’re on whatever team I’m on,” Dean told him.

“I see.”  It got Cas moving, and Dean had time to warn Tessa not to off anyone--not that reapers cared what he thought, except for how they apparently did, so maybe it would work--and finally everyone else seemed to get that he was serious. 

The only unwelcome guest in the kitchen was Gabriel.

“You’re not invited,” Dean told him.  “This is a cojones party.  Last I heard, you don’t have any.”

“Dean.”  Ellen sounded reproving, and just like that he was twelve years old again.  “He’s in charge of the angels.”

“No,” Dean growled.  “I’m in charge of the angels, and Gabe here was talking to Cas when he got the brilliant idea to sacrifice himself to a reaper.  So I think he should be glad I’m in a forgiving mood and get out.”

“Who died and made him the boss?”  Ruby was nominally talking to Sarah, but it wasn’t subtle.

“God,” Dean said.  “God made me the boss, so shut up.  Gabriel--”

“Dean, if your boyfriend attacked a reaper I’d say he got off pretty lightly,” Ellen interrupted.  “From what I’ve seen of your angel friends, he probably didn’t do it because someone told him to.”

“You said you trusted Gabriel with my life,” Castiel said unexpectedly.  “My actions were not his responsibility.”

Dean glared at him, because he really wished that hadn’t been repeated in front of everyone.  Especially Gabriel.  “Why do you always pick the most inconvenient time to remember things?”

Cas was leaning back against the counter, hands braced behind him with his wings doing a weird fuzzy thing to keep from being crushed.  He tilted his head and stared right back at Dean, not blinking.  “I remember everything.”

“Yeah, well, we’re gonna have to talk about appropriate times to share what you remember,” Dean muttered.  “Gabe can stay if he tells me what kind of demon can cross salt lines.”

“A smart one,” Gabriel said immediately.  “Or a really weak one.  An extra dead one.  One who’s pushed.  One who isn’t.  Should I go on?”

“One who isn’t what?” Sam said.

“A demon,” Gabriel replied.  “Lots of things pretend to be demons.  Some things think they are demons.  Doesn’t mean demon wards work on them.”

The kitchen door burst open and Becky tripped through, pulling Chuck behind her.  “Oh my gosh, are we late?” she gasped, staring around the kitchen.  “Did we  miss the meeting?  Sam said to get Chuck, but Chuck said there was a reaper and we weren’t supposed to know--”

“No one likes a reaper,” Chuck muttered, eyes darting from one of them to the next until they landed on Gabriel.  “See, no, I don’t do the whole archangel thing anymore, so I’m just going to--”

“But that’s what he said about the baby hellhound, too,” Becky was saying, like he hadn’t even opened his mouth.  “And I thought that sounded really cute, except for the part where they killed Dean--”

Dean just stared at them while they both babbled, totally independent of each other, except that Becky had a hand around Chuck’s wrist and what had to be a decent grip because every time he tried to back up she held him right where he was.  Chuck wasn’t strong, but Dean knew what panic did for a guy.  He also knew how freakishly focused Becky was.  He didn’t ever want her hanging on to him like that.

“Okay, stop talking,” Sam said, when neither of them looked like they were going to do it on their own.  “Seriously.”

“I’m just going to leave entirely if that’s okay with everyone,” Chuck mumbled.  He tugged on his arm again, but Becky still wasn’t letting go.

“It’s not,” Dean said, before Becky could start again.  “There’s not gonna be any smiting, so whatever your thing is with archangels, you’re gonna have to get over it.”  When Chuck shook his head again, Dean exchanged glances with Sam.  “Look, just listen, okay?  You said you saw the thing with Michael.  Who knows, maybe some of this will sound familiar.”

“No, it won’t.  I’m not a prophet anymore,” Chuck blurted out.  “Come on, guys, let’s face it.  I’m just an alcoholic with a computer. Whatever I accidentally did before, it ended when you screwed up the plan.”

“We haven’t screwed up the plan,” Castiel said.  “Someone is keeping it on course no matter what we do.”

“No way, the devil?” Becky exclaimed.  She clapped her hand over her mouth, but unfortunately, it didn’t stop her from talking.  “Lucifer is totally messing with you.  We saw this coming, you know.  Well, some of us.  Not everyone thinks he’s behind it.”

“Oh, God,” Chuck muttered, looking anywhere but up.

“Yes,” Castiel said, eying him curiously.  “That is what I believe as well.  Does this trouble you?”

“But don’t you see, it isn’t God!”  Becky seemed as in awe of Castiel as she was of Sam and Dean, which was to say, she was getting over it quickly.  “Why would he have left if he was just going to keep sticking his hand in?  If he was still watching he wouldn’t be able to help it, and what would that teach you?  You’d all be just a bunch of--”

“Becky,” Dean said.

“Overgrown children, basically, who think they can do whatever they want because if they go too far Dad will just step in and fix it for them, and I really think responsibility is the most important part of free will...”

Dean opened his mouth again, but Castiel moved.  Just a little, but when he glanced over at him, Cas had twitched a hand in his direction.  Subtle, low, not that Becky would have noticed him jumping up and down and waving, but it was enough to let Dean know he was listening.  A human gesture, a silent “hold.”

“Because at the end of the day,” Becky was saying, “responsibility is what makes free will worth it, right?  I mean, sure, you can make all the arguments about it being the thing that keeps us from chaos, but really, I think if you don’t take responsibility for your decisions then you don’t have any motivation to make them in the first place.  No blame, no credit, right?”

Dean had no idea what Cas was getting out of this, but since it probably wasn’t “have orgies and go on drunken binges,” he could let it go.  Not that orgies and drunken binges didn’t have their place.  It was just that, if they were going to be happening, then he should probably be involved.  To supervise.

“All this time, angels have only been the consequences of someone else’s decisions, until God realized they have feelings too and then he was like, ‘Oops, I kind of made them into slaves and I should really fix that,’ except that even if he changes them they’re still slaves--”

“Uh, Becky,” Sam said, and he sounded a little nervous.  It made Dean tear his eyes away from Cas’ weird expression to scan the kitchen, because Sam didn’t sound like that for just anything.  What he saw made him reach for his sword.  It was instinctive, unthought, and he didn’t know how it could be since he didn’t carry a sword that often but Gabriel was about to smite her.

“So he really had to let them change for themselves, see--”

“Becky,” Dean snapped.  “Shut up.”

Sam stepped in front of her, physically blocking her from Gabriel’s view.  “Becky reads the gospel,” he said, loud enough to cover the tail end of her sentence and finally, maybe, make her be quiet.  “She has some ideas about it.  Everyone’s entitled to their ideas, Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s only response was to raise an eyebrow.  He hadn’t moved a muscle since Becky appeared in the kitchen, and his expression was perfectly calm.  In fact, he’d been unusually well-behaved all day.  He hadn’t even bothered to mock Dean for telling Cas he trusted him.

As far as Dean was concerned, that was a warning sign right there.

“Oh my gosh, I totally didn’t mean to upset anyone,” Becky said from behind Sam.  “Really, I mean, this kind of thing always--mmph!”

Sam smiled at all of them like he didn’t have an arm wrapped around her shoulders and a hand over her mouth.  Her eyes were wide and she looked ecstatic, and if Dean was Sam he wouldn’t go anywhere alone for a few days.  But it worked.  She finally shut up, and Gabriel pretended like he hadn’t been about to turn her into a toy poodle or something, and eventually Dean remembered to let go of Michael’s sword.

Mostly because everyone was staring at him like he was the one who had done something stupid.

“What?” he demanded.  “I think this should be a smite-free meeting; sue me.”

“You were the one with his hand on a sword,” Gabriel replied.  He still sounded strange: almost serious, but not in a fire and brimstone way.  Dean eyed him suspiciously.

“Let’s talk about Ruby,” Sam said.  “She doesn’t think she’s a demon; she is a demon.  But she’s walking over salt lines.  Why?”

“Oh, her?”  Gabriel barely looked at her, and Dean waited for an eye roll and an inappropriate comment that didn’t come.  “Too weak.  That’s my guess.  She almost slips under the angel radar, except that her face is so... distinctive.”

Right there, Dean thought.  Right there, the trickster they knew would have said something else.

“Your face is so not,” Ruby said, loudly enough that it was obvious they were all supposed to hear it.

“It’s all those binding symbols you’ve got on her,” Gabriel said.  He was looking at Sam, not Ruby.  “You sure you know what they all do?  No, never mind, why am I even asking.  Let me rephrase: you should write them down for me, and I’ll tell you what they do.”

“I know what they do,” Sam said.

Dean glanced at Castiel while they argued.  Cas shrugged minutely, and Dean figured that meant it’s possible.  Gabriel was letting it go, though, giving up the best chance he’d had to mock Sam in at least five minutes.  Like the trickster had ever needed an excuse, but still.  It was creepy.

“So they’re working,” Sarah was saying.  “That’s good, right?”

“For you,” Ruby muttered.

“For me it’s great,” Dean said.  “What’s the story with Lucifer?”

“Oh, that’s me,” Sarah said, half-raising her hand.  She made it look elegant and bizarrely hot, like everything else she did.  “Sam texted me about the welcome party thing.  The Ghost Fair’s on a gate, and every weekend they open it up and slam it shut again for kicks.  Apparently it makes the new ghosts feel more at home.  Safer, somehow.”

Dean gave her his best seriously? look, and a grin blossomed on her face.

“I know, right?” she said.  “It’s a thing.”

“A gate to where?” Sam wanted to know.

Sarah shook her head.  “They don’t distinguish,” she said, a little apologetically.  “I learned to stop asking if I wanted to keep them talking.  But if Lucifer’s calling you out, and he’s doing it at their gate...”

“What kind of ghost lives on top of a gate,” Dean grumbled.  “That’s doesn’t even make sense.”

“At least they know where it is,” Sarah pointed out.  “Better the--well, better the door you know, I guess.”

“Jesse says he’s calling me out because he wants to see Michael,” Sam said.  “Maybe it’s not his own door Lucifer’s knocking on.”

“Lucifer believes Michael to be on earth,” Castiel said.  “He has no reason to expect him to appear through heaven’s gate.”

“Speaking of,” Sam said.  “How come you didn’t leave your body behind this time?”

Dean looked up, and sure enough, Sam was staring at him.  “Huh?”

“The first time, with Gabriel,” Sam said.  “You left your body here when you went to heaven.  Last time you didn’t.”

“This time I wasn’t trying to keep him safe,” Gabriel put in, sounding bored.  “Zachariah and Raphael aren’t as thoughtful as I am.”

That was when Dean realized Gabriel still didn’t know he had a way into heaven.  “Hey,” he said.  “How many angels can I hide?  Realistically,” he added.  “If I’m taking a heavenly field trip, how many of you can I take with me before the rabble on the streets starts to get suspicious?”

“You can’t just waltz into heaven,” Gabriel said irritably.  Still without serious mocking.

“Pretend I can,” Dean said.  “How many can you spare at a time?  Will taking everyone at once get us noticed?”

Gabriel was looking at him like he was stupid, which was a more typical expression for him.  “Taking you got us noticed,” he said.  “Anael was lucky she wasn’t toast.  So, yeah, I think taking an entire rebel garrison might draw some attention.”

“Me and Jophiel didn’t trip any alarms this morning,” Dean said.

“Duh, because you’re not in heaven.”  Gabriel rolled his eyes, missing the hurt look Dean got from Cas.

“You took Jophiel to heaven?” he asked.  His voice was even, face calm, and Dean couldn’t have said how he knew Cas was upset.  But he did.  Which was stupid, because really?

“I tried to find you,” Dean said.  “You were busy.”

The look Cas gave him made it clear that “busy” was not an acceptable reason for missing a good gate-crash.

Note to self, Dean thought, take Cas back to heaven.  Yesterday.

“Okay, are we talking the figurative ‘going to heaven,’ here?” Gabriel demanded.  “In which case, you’re gonna have to sleep your way through a lot of angels to catch me, but I applaud your effort.  Good to see you applying yourself to something worthwhile for a change.”

He was starting to sound more like himself, and Dean saw Ellen give him a weird look.  What, was the guy showing her his responsible side?  Dean hadn’t known he had one, but she did look surprised.  Like she hadn’t expected him to say something so crass.  And on the scale of trickster crassness, that barely even registered, so she must have a really distorted mental image.

“How many?” Dean asked Castiel.

“As first archangel in Lucifer’s absence,” Castiel said, “you are meant to draw attention.  I suspect that if Michael were to tell heaven to open its doors, the doors would open.  There would then be no need to avoid notice.”

“You’re joking.”  Dean stared at him.  “Would that work?”

“No,” Gabriel said.  “Obviously not.  Because, hello, you’re not really Michael.  Look, I like a good con as much as the next person, and that glamour of yours is--okay, admittedly a tiny bit clever.  But you gotta know when you’re pushing the limits of plausibility, Deano.”

Dean frowned at Cas, but before he could say anything, Castiel replied, “I believe so.”

Uh-huh.  He was all for ignoring Gabe, but hello.  “Glamour?” he repeated pointedly.

“If you recall,” Castiel said, “I did tell you that you were glowing.”

“Nice effect,” Gabriel said in a bored tone of voice.  “A little schmaltzy for my tastes, but convincing.  In its way.”

“Uh, glowing?”  Jo’s skepticism pretty much summed it up, as far as Dean was concerned.

“I see no evidence of a glamour,” Castiel said.

“You want me to believe you didn’t do that?” Gabriel retorted.  “Nice try, bro.”

“Angels are weird,” Dean told Jo.  “Let’s leave it at that.”

“Let’s not,” Sam said, squinting at him like he could see it.  “Angels think you glow now?”

“That’s what they tell me,” Dean grumbled.  “Personally, I’m leaning more toward the ‘crazy’ explanation every day.”

“Dean.”  Castiel sounded confused, and of course he’d get the implication without understanding the joke.  “We’re not crazy.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder, because he could totally get away with that and it might take the sting out of the words.  “Couldn’t prove it by me, pal.”

“I’d ask if this is going anywhere,” Ellen said, folding her arms, “but since I don’t have any customers, I guess it doesn’t really matter.  Is it at least safe to let the hunters come through?”

“Why?” Gabriel asked.

Would you look at that, Dean thought, watching his expression lose a little of its disgust in favor of curiosity.  He was behaving on purpose.  That was, bar none, the strangest thing Dean had seen all day.

“Because,” Ellen said, with exaggerated patience, “The Roadhouse doesn’t actually make any money when no one is here.”

“Oh, money.”  Gabriel’s careless shrug made it obvious he’d lost interest.  “I can take care of that.”

“I’m sure,” Ellen said wryly.  “And I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but assuming the world doesn’t end between now and next April, I still have to file taxes.  I can’t have unreasonable sums of money showing up on my bank deposits.”

“So make them reasonable,” Dean said.  “Bill the angels.”

Sam gave him an odd look, but it was Tamara who snickered.  “I like it,” she said.  Jerking her head at Gabriel, she added, “He can pay, right?  Charge him room and board.”

“Charge all of them,” Dean said.  “You’ve got nineteen angels out there.  Aren’t they supposed to tithe or something?”

“Dude,” Sam said under his breath, “I’m pretty sure that’s us.”

“Done,” Gabriel said.  “I guess I’ll have to pay for them too.”  His wave encompassed the entire room, but was probably directed at Sam and Dean and Chuck and Becky.

“Suck it up,” Dean said, because that would actually solve a couple of problems.  “It’s not even real money.”

“You’re welcome,” Gabriel told him.

“What am I going to owe you for this?” Ellen wanted to know.

Because she was the only smart one, Dean thought.

“Nothing,” he said aloud.  “You’re not gonna owe him anything, because he’s paying for services already rendered.  Deal or no deal,” he added, glaring at Gabriel.

“Ironically,” Gabriel said, too pleased with himself to pay much attention, “I’ll say deal.”

His mostly good behavior was still creepy, but Becky’s newfound ability to piss off angels balanced it out.  “Hey,” she was saying to Sam, “do you know how amazing my domain name has turned out to be since Chuck started writing about heaven?  I mean, I know he’s only writing about it because it’s happening, but now people know, right?  MoreThanBrothers.Net is just exploding.”

“Oh,” Sam said, maybe not realizing that everyone was listening.  “That’s... nice, Becky.”

“More than brothers?” Gabriel repeated, and Dean wondered if there was any way to accidentally lose Becky in another country somewhere.  Gabriel would find her and bring her back, but if they got lucky he might smite her along the way.

“I really don’t need to hear this,” Ellen said, unfolding her arms and glancing at Dean.  “We done?”

“I have actual work to do,” Tamara said.  “There’s a reaper, right?  That was the point of this?  Everyone do your best not to die.”

“Her name is Tessa,” Dean told them.  “The angels can see her.  She says she’s here to help us, but who knows what that means when death is involved.  Try to stay out of her way.”

Tamara rolled her eyes at him.  “Thanks for the tip.”

“You can’t avoid a reaper,” Ruby complained, because that was what she did, but Tamara and Ellen paid no attention.  Chuck was half-heartedly trying to drag Becky away too, but it had never worked before and it didn’t look like it was going to start now.  He almost envied Jo, bullying Sarah and Ruby off to conduct more “tests” before the whole thing got messy.

More messy.

“I mean, if anyone ever found it,” Becky was saying happily, “it would just reinforce their cover, which is so perfect!”

Dean caught Sam’s eye before he dared to look at Cas.  “I don’t want to know, do I.”

Sam shook his head.

“Becky has been writing speculative fiction on the nature of my relationship with Michael,” Castiel offered, apparently under the impression that Dean had said what he did to be dramatic.  Not because he really didn’t want to know.

“Dude,” he told Becky.  “You’re sick.  You know that, right?”

“You’re pretending to be your boyfriend’s older brother,” Becky reminded him.

Dean opened his mouth, but after a few seconds there still wasn’t anything he could say to that.  Sam, the bastard, wasn’t even trying to hide his smirk.  Cas didn’t look put off at all, which was the only thing that got Dean through it.

Until Gabriel said, “You know, incest isn’t a divine sin.  That’s a human thing.”

“Yeah, well, we’re human,” Dean snapped.

“You are,” Gabriel agreed.

“The incest taboo likely grew out of a biological drive to strengthen the human gene pool,” Castiel said.  “When closely related people interbreed, the occurrence of similarly weak genes increases.  This is not a concern for angels.”

“You aren’t bred, though,” Sam said.  “Right?  I mean, you don’t even have genes.  How can you be related to each other?”

“We’re children of God,” Gabriel said, radiating innocence and purity and a smirk that looked more like the trickster they knew.  “Dad made us all brothers.”

“Okay,” Sam said.  “But who’s your mom?”

Gabriel blinked.

Castiel tilted his head as though he didn’t understand the question.  “God is our creator,” he said.  “As such, he is both mother and father.”

Dean held up his hands when Sam looked at him, because no way was he getting involved in this.  “Don’t look at me, dude.  I would have stopped at ‘we’re human.’”

“This is so interesting!” Becky exclaimed.  She was thumbing something into a phone that had appeared very suspiciously out of nowhere, and it occurred to Dean, too late, that crazy fans with internet access might not be the people they wanted at their strategy meeting.  Such as it was.

“If you’re tweeting this conversation to your blog or whatever,” Dean said, “I’m grinding that phone to dust.”

“Oh, please,” Becky said.  “Like anyone would believe me.  I’m just posting some general comments on angelic morality to my website.  People want to know these things.  You understand, don’t you, Dean?”

He never wanted to agree with anything Becky said.  Ever.  Which was why he chose not to answer that question.

“Sam,” he said instead.  “Cas and I are gonna go see about propping heaven’s door open.  Don’t know how long it’ll take.  Think you can handle things down here for a while?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said.  “Apocalypse, rebel garrison, messengers from the devil... no problem.”

“Gabriel,” Dean said.  “Help him.  Or I’ll send someone who can.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow.  “You expect me to take you to heaven and not stick around for the show?”

“I don’t expect you to take us anywhere,” Dean told him.  “Stay here and do what Sam tells you.  Cas, you up for this?”

Castiel straightened up, wings resettling as he stepped away from the counter.  “I am.”

“So how are we going to know if you get in trouble?” Sam asked.  “How long do we wait before we mount a rescue mission?”

“Beats me,” Dean said, putting a hand on Cas’ shoulder.  “Guess you could try praying for us.”

He was sorry he didn’t get to see Gabriel’s face when they disappeared from the kitchen.

Seeing Cas’ face when the inside of that creepy dome took its place more than made up for it.  Brilliant blue still shone through the windows, reflecting weirdly in Cas’ eyes, and the light that gathered and curled around his face was prettier than it was disturbing.  But it was the way he looked around that made Dean relax: wide-eyed, awed, surprised in a happy way that Dean never got to see.

Not on earth, anyway.  Funny that there wasn’t more about an apocalypse to make an angel smile.

“This is Michael’s place,” Castiel said.  His voice was quieter than usual, almost reverent.

“Yeah, that’s what they tell me,” Dean agreed.  It was empty and kind of dark, lit only by the perpetual sunlight through the windows, and it felt haunted.  Not worth looking away from Cas just to see all that again.  “Didn’t the tree thing zap you here yesterday?”

“It did,” Castiel said, still staring around the space.  The echoey, boring space that so far hadn’t tried to kill them.  “I had never imagined that I would see it from the inside.”

Dean shrugged.  “Not very exciting, if you ask me.  The guy lived here, right?  He could have at least put up some posters or something.”

Castiel’s gaze came back to him, and the brightness around him should have been enough to chase away every lingering shadow.  It wasn’t, though, and Dean didn’t get it.  So he didn’t really glow on earth.  Wasn’t heaven different?  Wasn’t heaven all about the white light and the sparkly glowing stuff?

“Have you considered turning the lights on?” Castiel asked.

Dean blinked, but Cas just looked curious and interested and kind of eager.  All the ways he never looked on earth... not without that veil between them, a stiffness or a coldness that kept him somehow removed.  Like he was just mimicking the feelings instead of actually experiencing them.

Or maybe his human form couldn’t show the emotions as they really were.  Dean didn’t know.  Like he’d ever been able to figure people out.  Angels weren’t any better.  Sometimes he thought the only ones he really got were demons.

“What?” he said, when it was obvious Cas was waiting for an answer.  “Why?”

“To let heaven know that Michael is here,” Castiel said.

“Dude,” Dean said.  “Michael isn’t here.”

“We appear to be the only ones who believe that,” Castiel said, and was he smiling?  Dean stared at him, oddly fascinated, because Cas smiled.  Sometimes.  More than never, lately.  But it was so strange to see him glowing and happy and... home.

And still talking to Dean.

“Can I kiss you?” Dean blurted out.

The glow around Cas burst outward, wings spread to catch sunlight that didn’t quite reach: swift and proud with their clean lines and new non-scruffiness.  Dean didn’t have time to be impressed--like he would have admitted it even if he had--because Cas was right there.  A few little steps erased by that dramatic gesture of feathers and flight.

“Yes,” he said, blue eyes shining in the shadows.

Dean wasn’t the kind of guy to ignore an answer like that, no matter how weird the question had been.  He also wasn’t the kind of guy to ignore the fact that Cas was... not as substantial looking as usual, so he put a hand on his shoulder before he leaned in.  It was cold for a split-second, even with the soft fabric of that blue shirt wrinkling convincingly under his fingers, but it warmed too fast to be from skin contact alone.  Dean didn’t ask, hand sliding around behind Cas’ neck as he pressed his kiss to a mouth that was just as hot as he remembered.

He felt a rush of wind and he closed his eyes without thinking.  Cas’ wings were wrapped around them both, bright even through his eyelids and weirdly warm against his back.  It was nowhere near as distracting as the sound Cas made, or the way his body melted into Dean’s.  Dean inhaled sharply, Cas’ breath flooding his lungs, everywhere, all around him.  He tried to shift, to ease the intensity a little, pulling back but those wings pushed, trapping him where he was.

“Cas,” he gasped, and his voice wasn’t supposed to sound like that.  Weak.  Lost.  Overwhelmed by the shock of skin on skin, Cas’ hands on his hips, fingers slipping under his shirt.  Like it was an accident, oh god, he’d done this to Cas before and now he couldn’t handle it--

Stop, he thought involuntarily.

Castiel froze.  Everything about him went gentle and soft, pliable, pushable.  He didn’t step back or let go, but he allowed Dean to shove his hands away.  He just stood there and watched, not moving.  Waiting.

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, awkward and uncomfortable.  What was his problem, anyway?  Cas could get handsy; he was totally fine with that.  It was beyond fine.  He liked handsy.  “I just--I’m not used to--”

“You need not apologize,” Castiel said.  He was still hot and close.  His chest brushed against Dean’s, wings ghosting over his back, and the way he was looking at Dean’s mouth made Dean wish he’d ridden it out.  “The transgression is mine.”

“Dude, transgress,” Dean told him.  “Trust me, I am all for transgressing.”  He was more of a show than tell kind of guy, so he tipped his head enough that their mouths lined up again and pulled Cas flush against him.  The heat rocketed through him, weird and wild and apparently angels didn’t believe in taking it slow.

But it was good.  It was awesome; seriously, who knew?  Cas could kiss, and those wings of his were poking at kinks Dean never knew he had.  He was warm and real even in this totally impossible place, in this place Dean wasn’t supposed to be, and they could stand here kissing forever as far as he was concerned.

Until Castiel lifted a hand to his shoulder, thumb whisper-soft over his collarbone as he slid toward Dean’s neck.  It was the first brush of his fingers since Dean had pushed them away, and Dean leaned into it, eager and encouraging.  He liked Cas touching him.  He wanted it.  This wasn’t some freaky homophobic reaction; he was just surprised.

Cas’ hand on the back of his neck made him shiver.  It wasn’t cold, and he wasn’t stupid: Cas had been rebuffed for the hands under his shirt, so he was playing it safe.  Sticking to what Dean had already done.  But it was startling and somehow unexpected and Dean stiffened.  Don’t pull away, he told himself.  Don’t pull away.

He felt Cas all around him like a force of nature, lifting him up and breaking him apart.  It wasn’t kissing anymore.  It was a head rush that tore away the touch and left him gasping for breath.  Exposed, frightened, utterly unable to defend himself.

It hurt more than anything this good had a right to, and he was pushing Cas without realizing it, forcing him back.  Shoving him away.  Those wings broke over his back, falling to the sides to free him, and he sucked in as much fresh air as his lungs could hold before letting it out in a shuddering breath.

“Jesus, Cas,” he blurted out.  “I’m sorry.”

“Have you any idea,” Castiel said, soft and patient and still so responsive under Dean’s hands, “how bright you are right now?”

“No,” Dean grumbled.  He had no idea what that had to do with anything, and he was afraid Cas was going to tell him.  “I’m just a guy, Cas.  A messed up guy who can’t remember how to do it with other guys.”

“That is not true.”  Castiel leaned close enough to press a kiss just below Dean’s ear, and Dean realized, with a sort of distant horror, that it was the exact same move he used on women.  “You feel like heaven,” Cas whispered, and just like that his mind was clear of everything, the horror and the embarrassment both.

If he’d been anyone else, the obvious line would be an obvious line.  With Cas, though, Dean was sure it meant something terrifyingly literal.  “I probably don’t want to know what you mean by that,” he muttered, unable to ignore the lips being pressed against his jaw.

“Your soul is beautiful to me.”  Cas’ voice was muffled but easy enough to make out so close.  “If I can’t touch yours, will you let me show you mine?”

Dean honestly couldn’t tell if this was going somewhere good or really, really bad.  “Yes?” he guessed, but then in the spirit of honesty he felt compelled to add, “Cas, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your soul has been held within a human body ever since I pulled it out of perdition,” Castiel whispered, breathing on his skin.  Actually breathing.  Here, in the one place where he couldn’t possibly need to.

Dean closed his eyes, because when had talking about hell and the simple act of breathing become turn-ons for him?

“You certainly have few good associations with that time,” Castiel continued, mouth gentle against the corner of his own.  “You are now understandably reluctant when faced with a reminder such as mine.  You have no reason to apologize.”

Dean caught his shoulders, but instead of pushing him away he just held on.  “Cas,” he muttered.  “You don’t remind me of hell, okay?  More like the opposite.  Not in a dick way, just.”  He swallowed, and he told himself it was only because he’d felt the unintentional graze of Cas’ tongue.  “The way I would have wanted heaven to be.  You remind me of that.”

“Then perhaps this will mean something to you,” Castiel said softly, drawing one of Dean’s hands away from his shoulder and wrapping it in his own.  He used the other to pull down the collar of his shirt, blue fabric distorting and giving in a way real shirts wouldn’t.  Maybe it tore, Dean couldn’t tell.  He supposed Cas could fix it later.

“This is what it means to touch someone’s soul,” Castiel said, and he brought their clasped hands to his heart.  Dean felt his fingers pressing against the exposed skin of Cas’ chest, and the air around them flooded with thought, music, meaning, light.  The wind made everything spin, and the sky spread out all around him, and he was falling--he was flying.

Just like that, he got it, and he thought he felt Castiel laugh when he swore.

You weren’t feeling me up, Dean thought, still lost in the dizzy rise and fall of Castiel’s constant preternatural awareness.  You were doing a fucking mind meld.

Your body doesn’t exist here, Castiel said.  Whatever you’re seeing is a representation of reality.  Do you interpret efforts to commune with your soul as a tangible physical advance?

Oh, shut up, Dean told him, because he could play innocent all he wanted but Dean could hear him.  He could hear him thinking.  It was weird, and maybe it wasn’t quite right, but it felt awesome.  It felt like every answer he’d ever wanted, there for the asking.  You knew I would.

“I have always been aware,” Castiel murmured into his mouth, “that you like to touch.”

“Oh, I like to--”  Dean’s incredulous echo was interrupted by a kiss that made him wonder what was going on.  Was Cas really kissing him?  Was Cas only opening himself up or was he sneaking into Dean’s mind, into places he’d never pretended not to know?  Was Cas enjoying whatever he was doing enough to make his not human, not vessel... form catch its breath and close its eyes and make quiet sounds of happiness, gratitude... pleasure?

“Yes,” Cas whispered, twisting his head enough that it was Dean with his mouth on Cas’ cheek.  He went with it, because if it felt like kissing and it was with Cas then it was good.  “You’ve taught me to value it as well.”

You’re welcome, Dean thought, because his mouth had more important things to do.

“Dean.”  Cas’ hand was clenched hard over his, holding it to his chest, and his other hand was creeping up, wrapping around Dean’s wrist.  Hot through his sleeve like he couldn’t remember what temperature to be and he didn’t care anymore.  Like holding onto Dean was the only thing he had to do, and the rest of it was boring human trivia.

“Try again,” Dean mumbled, wondering what would happen if he tried some tongue.  They were tugging on each other’s clothes; they had to be way into licking territory by now.  Except he could see Cas’ wings, bright and trembling, the light rippling constantly behind him, and he knew they weren’t in Kansas anymore.  He was gonna have to take his cues from the natives.

If anything convinced him, it was the sound Cas made when Dean spread his fingers, laying his hand flat against Cas’ skin instead of twined tightly in his fingers.  The space around them brightened somehow, the dome turning golden and sweet, and he could see the entire thing at once.  He could see it shining from the outside, a beacon beside the water, glowing from within.  He could hear the song behind the whispers that made him crazy every time he picked up Michael’s sword, the order and the meaning and individual threads of conversation he could follow anywhere.

This was how Cas heard it.  This was how Cas had seen the dome, once upon a time.  These were the ghosts of things that were or could be, and they overlaid everything Cas experienced.  Everything he was aware of filtered through millennia of memories and speculation and dreams.  And when Cas let him, when he pulled Dean close enough to brush against his soul, Dean could see it too.

And Cas hummed.  He vibrated under Dean’s hand.  This wasn’t just a little liplock, this was something that made Cas whimper.

So Dean braced himself when he felt Cas let go of his arm to slide a hand around behind his neck.  Something known, something familiar.  Something that should feel warm and comforting, but instead lit him up like he was rounding second base and heading for third and he felt Castiel gasp.

Baseball.  Sunshine.  Cut grass.  The images stuttered through the fear and he couldn’t control it.  He couldn’t feel his hands.  He tried to clench his fists and he couldn’t, felt something pushing into him and he couldn’t shove back, it was too fast, too hard--but it was Cas, he knew that, and he tried to let himself fall.

He felt like he was drowning when the water closed over his head and his lungs started to burn.  This was exposure, this was panic... this was death.  He was with a freakin’ angel and it was going to kill him after all.

“Dean.”  The voice was quiet, repetitive... distant.  “Dean.  Dean.”

He was alone.  He was breathing.  He probably wasn’t dead.

“Michael,” the voice said, very softly.

He opened his eyes to find Cas staring back at him, too close, always too close.  Not touching.  Wings held rigidly behind him, stiff and still, and his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his... khakis.  The hunch of his shoulders was more obvious without his coat.  His expression was intense and totally unfathomable.

“Dude,” Dean whispered, trying to force his voice louder even if it rasped.  “Do you see Michael anywhere?”

“Dean.”  The unmistakable relief didn’t lighten Cas’ intensity at all.  Like anything ever had.  “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, flexing his fingers to make sure they were still there.  “Me too.”  Taking a deep breath, he tried to come up with any plausible explanation for his freak-outs and found only one.  “I’m kind of a wuss about this, huh?  Don’t tell Sam.  Never hear the end of it.”

“There is no shame in this, Dean.  This is my fault and mine alone.”

“Whoa, there.”  Dean drew in another steadying breath, finding it easier each time.  His body was tingling, faint hint of pins and needles all over--less painful, but way more creepy when he couldn’t think of anything he’d done to cause it.  Other than let an angel touch him.  In heaven, where apparently things worked differently.

“Look, things got a little weird there for a second,” Dean said, shaking his left hand out without thinking.  The not-quite pins and needles sensation exploded into a burning hand cramp that turned his fingers into claws for several long, agonizing seconds.  He bit back the obvious reaction and gritted, “But whatever happened, I definitely remember telling you to do it.  So give me some of that blame or stop talking already.”

Castiel tilted his head to one side, but after a moment all he said was, “As you wish.”

Dean felt the corner of his mouth quirk.  “Hey, did Sam make you watch that movie?”

Castiel frowned.  “What movie?”

Uh-huh.  That was exactly what he would say, Dean decided.  Getting Sam to confess would be funnier anyway, so he let it go.  “Nothing,” he said.  “Want to tell me what that was?”

“The experience you associate with physical gratification?” Castiel asked.

“I associate sex with physical gratification,” Dean told him, because that was the worst combination of confusion and condescension that Cas had ever managed.  “That felt like dying, okay?  That was not cool.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he regretted them.  Unfortunately, the vague sense of “gee, that was a jerk thing to say” wasn’t anywhere near enough next to the expression on Cas’ face.  Or the lack of expression.  His wings shifted slightly, slumping in a way he didn’t even seem to notice, and he stared back at Dean blankly.

Dean closed his eyes.  “Look, Cas, I didn’t mean that,” he muttered.  “Whatever you think you did, can you just hold it up next to my stupid mouth and let them cancel each other out or something?”

“It was communion,” Castiel said.  “The sharing of souls.  This is how angels know each other.”

Dean counted to three, but he was still swearing in his head so it didn’t seem like enough.  He got to twelve before he gave up and opened his eyes.  “That’s your sex,” he said.

Castiel looked wary and aloof and a little angry.  Like he was trying for the most distant expression he could manage and he hadn’t decided which one it was yet.  “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

Dean stared at him, no words in his head no matter how hard he tried to will them there.

“I’m gonna need more practice,” he said at last.

Those bright wings rose again, pretty and surprisingly subtle when he forgot to watch for them.  They resettled themselves like someone remembering how to breathe after a fire.  “That can be arranged,” Castiel said.

Dean felt the corner of his mouth quirk.  “Okay,” he said, glancing around the dome.  He couldn’t look at Cas right now.  He didn’t want to mess this up again so soon.  “Lights, huh?”

“Lights,” Castiel agreed after a moment.  He didn’t sound disappointed.  He didn’t sound relieved, either.  He didn’t really sound anything, and Dean thought that if he touched him he might know why.

He also thought that if he touched Cas right now he’d probably get his butt kicked all the way to hell, so he kept his hands to himself.  “Any idea how we turn them on?” Dean asked, staring up at the ceiling.

It was the tired humor in Cas’ voice that made him realize what he’d said.  “If I knew,” Castiel said, “I assure you, I would have done it already.”

His lips twitched again and the words just tumbled out like he’d been trying to apologize all this time and had finally given up on figuring out how.  “Cas, if the lights work like I do, all you have to do is be here.”

There was a moment of silence.  “Then,” Castiel said, “the problem would seem to occur after that.”

Dean snorted.  “The only problem we seem to have is that you’re more adventurous than I am, and if you tell anyone else I said that I’ll call you a liar to your face.”

He saw Castiel tilt his head out of the corner of his eye.  “You’re very concerned that I will divulge your secrets,” he observed.  “Have I not proven myself capable of hiding what needs to be hidden?”

“Cas,” he said.  “I trust you with our lives.  I trust you with... with everything, okay?  No questions, no take-backs.  So don’t take this the wrong way, but dude, you have no idea what’s appropriate dinnertime conversation.  One of these days you’re going to ask me about pet names or bondage or something in front of Sam, or Jo, or Ellen, and yeah, it’ll be an accident, but I won’t be able to show my face until the next time Sam trips over his shoelaces or something.”

Castiel was frowning.  He just knew it.

“I fail to comprehend why such a thing would cause you to be embarrassed,” Castiel said at last.

“I know,” Dean said.  “I know, I get that.  I get that I say stupid things to your angel friends, and I get that sometimes it would be easier for you if I’d just shut up already.  But I don’t know I’m saying stupid things until afterwards, and you don’t know things are embarrassing until I tell you.  So I’m just telling you in advance, okay?  Before you repeat them.”

Castiel considered that, and Dean wondered which part he’d messed up.  Or if there was any part he hadn’t messed up.

“Sometimes,” Castiel said, “you know you’re saying stupid things.  You will not convince me otherwise.”

Dean let out a laugh, because maybe he hadn’t messed up that badly after all.  “Well, sometimes you know you’re saying embarrassing things,” he said with a grin.  “I know how old you are, Cas.  You’ve been watching humans a lot longer than I’ve been watching angels.”

“How much of that time do you think was spent trying not to embarrass the humans I was watching?” Castiel asked dryly.

“Not a lot,” Dean said.  “At a guess.”

“None of it,” Castiel told him.  “Humans are embarrassed by trivial things.”

“Says the angel who’s never managed to use the word ‘virgin’ in a sentence,” Dean said.

“It’s a human word,” Cas informed him.  “Its meaning is variable and imprecise.”

“‘Virgin’ is not variable,” Dean retorted.  “You, my friend, are a virgin.  End of discussion.”

“You can’t turn on the lights,” Castiel reminded him.

Dean blinked, because he could be changing the subject except that he’d said that with a little too much satisfaction.  “Did you just insult my stud-like body with your stupid light analogy?”

“I merely stated a fact,” Castiel replied.  “And I don’t believe it’s your body that attracts people.”

“Well, it’s not my personality,” Dean said.

“No,” Castiel agreed.

“Hey,” Dean protested, trying not to smile.  “You love me.  You’re supposed to say nice things about me.”

“I died for you,” Castiel said serenely.

Dean gave him a mock-frown.  “You know, there’s only so many times you can use that.”

“I also recruited my brothers to your cause and gave you a garrison,” Castiel pointed out.  Like these were little things he might have forgotten.

Dean sighed because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go without laughing.  “There’s always something else with you, isn’t there.”

“If you need there to be,” Castiel agreed.

It seemed like a strange answer, even for Cas, and Dean wasn’t sure he liked the sound of it.  “Cas,” he said, sobering.  “You don’t have to keep giving me stuff.  You know that, right?”

“We agreed not to owe each other,” Castiel said.  “Anything I give, I give without obligation.”

“Really?” Dean asked, finally turning to face him.  “That easy?”

Cas tilted his head.  “Should it not be?”

“No,” Dean said, frowning.  “Yeah.  I mean.  Good.  It should be.”

“It isn’t so easy for you,” Cas said, studying him.  “You feel you owe everyone.  You have to save everyone.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean muttered.  “I needed that reminder.”

Castiel stared at him for so long that finally Dean gave him a what? look.

“I do not wish to be part of the burden you carry.”  Cas looked like it actually bothered him, the idea that Dean might spend any time worrying about him.  It made Dean smile again.

“Tough,” he said.  “You’re right, we said no owing.  And I lied.  I can’t not owe you, Cas.  But it really doesn’t matter, ’cause at the end of the day, I want you to be okay more than I want to pay you back.

“I owe you,” he added, because Cas looked confused, “but I don’t do this stuff because I think I should.  I do it... I do it for you, I guess.  Or whatever.  I do it because I want to.”

“Your personal desire to make me happy outweighs your social desire to balance obligations,” Castiel said thoughtfully.  “Even though you believe that acting on either desire would have the same outcome.”

Dean snorted, because that was what he did when Cas rephrased his perfectly understandable sentences.  Instead of complaining, though, he asked, “Do I make you happy?”  Somehow it didn’t come out as jokingly as he’d meant it to.

Castiel didn’t hesitate.  “Yes,” he said.

It was weird, but hearing him say it kind of made a difference.

Dean looked away.  There wasn’t much else to look at, though, and he cleared his throat.  “Okay, good,” he muttered.  “Uh, any ideas on the lights?”

He still had a ways to go on the “charming angels” learning curve.

Cas went with him on it.  “How did you hear Michael’s message?” he asked.

Dean shrugged, eyes sliding over to the kiosk where he’d found the sword.  “It came on automatically.”

Cas followed his gaze.  “Have you been any deeper into the dome than this?”

“No,” Dean said.  “They tell me, ‘walk in and Michael will find you,’ and oddly, I don’t feel the need for an extended tour.”

“We’ve been here long enough that anyone who was going to join us would have done so by now,” Castiel said.  “Perhaps if you were to investigate further, you would find the lights too are automatic.”

Dean thought that sounded weird, but hey, it was Cas.  “I thought you’d never been in here before,” he said.  He took a couple of steps forward anyway, because if Cas didn’t think he’d be struck by lightning, then that was probably the best guess  he was gonna get.

“This is only the second time I’ve seen it from the inside,” Castiel said.  “But I speculate that--”

Something chimed on Dean’s next step and he froze.  The moment he stopped moving, Cas stopped talking.

A shadow fell next to his foot.  Another lay next to it, one that hadn’t been there before.  When he looked up, a latticework of light and shadow was sweeping from wall to wall: slow enough to register, fast enough that it covered everything by the time he realized what it was.

The lights were coming on.

He was already turning back to Cas when the shadows vanished, brilliant color erasing every invisible line.  Dean flinched in the sudden flash of rainbow, disturbingly disco-like even as it melded into white.  The light stabilized, bright and almost normal except for the seamless way it hit the windows.  He squinted upward when he realized the sunlight wasn’t cutting in--

And there was nothing there.  Nothing that hadn’t been there before, anyway.  No lights, no magical skylight, no glowing fairies, no nothing.  It was just... light.  Like they were standing outside even when he was staring at the ceiling.

“Cas,” he said, still looking up, still searching for the trick he knew he wouldn’t find.

Castiel sounded mildly curious.  “Yes, Dean?”

“Heaven is weird,” he said.

When he looked down, Cas didn’t look surprised.  The look he was giving Dean bordered on affectionate.  “I assure you,” Castiel said, “heaven feels the same way about you, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he figured Cas saw his smile before he turned away.  He walked out across the floor with more confidence this time, because if stuff was going to happen all by itself there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway.  And so far, messages that told him where to find swords and lights that flashed freaky colors as they came up to speed seemed more bizarre than threatening.

It took longer than it looked to get all the way across the dome.  There were windows, though, giant and scenic and when he looked out he stopped moving.  There were people out there, which he sort of remembered.  What he didn’t remember was the staring.  There were people along the waterfront, drifting in from the streets, below the raised courtyard that must surround the place... staring up the dome.

“Cas,” Dean said, and when he looked over his shoulder Cas was right behind him.  “What’s up with the spectators?”

Castiel regarded the scene with interest.  “Perhaps the exterior lights are somehow connected to the ones you just turned on.  In any case, it would seem that heaven knows you’re here.”

“Great,” he said.  Then he shook his head, because hello.  “I guess that was point, right?”

“Indeed.”

Cas’ reply was kind of comforting.  He didn’t know why, but he’d take it.  “Can they see us?”

“I suppose so,” Castiel said.  “If they look.”

“They’re looking,” Dean said.  “Want to wave?”

There was no reply for a moment, and Dean tried not to smile.  He couldn’t stop smiling around Cas lately.  That was probably a bad sign, but Sam wasn’t here to laugh at him and the angels obviously weren’t the most observant kids in class.  As long as he didn’t start drawing little hearts around their names, he figured they were okay.

“What would be the point of waving?” Castiel asked at last.  “If they’re already looking, why would you need to get their attention?”

“It’s not to get people’s attention,” Dean said.  “It’s to let them know you see them.”

“You have Michael’s sword,” Castiel pointed out.  “The angels know that you’re aware of them.”

“Well, we’re not all angels, are we.”  He hadn’t really planned to do it, but if Cas was gonna throw around his random racial bias, then the least Dean could do was wave at the mostly human crowd outside.  He lifted his hand up so they could see it through the glass.

“Hey,” he said, when they started pointing and a few of them actually waved back.  “How come there aren’t more people in heaven?  I mean, people are always dying.  Why isn’t it really crowded?”

“Heaven is not a physical place, Dean.  It doesn’t fill up.”  Castiel sounded vaguely amused.  Dean wasn’t sure why, since Cas usually just sounded confused when he asked stupid questions, but he didn’t mind hearing the humor.

“Okay, so.  Overpopulation’s not an issue,” Dean said.  “That’s one argument we can shoot down.”

“You believe you will face an argument at heaven’s gate?” Castiel asked.

“Heaven’s gate,” Dean repeated, wondering when his life had turned into the freakin’ Bible.  “That where we go to petition or whatever?”

“Dean.”

He’d started to turn even before he felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder.  He glanced down out of habit, because Cas touching him was still... noticeable.  Something he noticed on purpose, deliberately, he paid attention even when he didn’t care.  Even when he liked it.  Especially when he liked it, lately, because people had been making assumptions and it was too easy to believe them.  It was too easy to act like Cas was his.

“You don’t have to--”  Castiel stopped in the middle of the sentence and tilted his head, considering Dean.  He hadn’t moved his hand.  “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, looking up again.  “You were saying?”

Castiel frowned.

Dean stared right back at him, because no way were they doing this.  He didn’t need a counselor.  “Just because you can read my mind doesn’t mean what I say doesn’t matter,” he said.  “I said it’s nothing, Cas.  Let it go.”

Castiel nodded once, and started over like it was the first time.  “Michael will not need to petition the gatekeeper,” he said.  “The main gate is watched over by an order of saints, all of whom will bow to an archangel.  You have only to tell them who may pass.”

“Really,” Dean said.  “Just like that.”

“Yes,” Castiel said.  “Just like that.”

Dean shrugged.  “I’m game.”

Castiel seemed to think this meant “let’s go,” because the light and the windows and the gathering crowd disappeared and suddenly they were standing on a bridge.  Or the end of a bridge.  A really high suspension bridge, and Dean didn’t appreciate heaven’s fascination with heights.  He also didn’t appreciate finding himself on them without warning, but he’d probably given Cas enough grief today.  He should have a quota or something.

“Really?” he repeated.  “This is the gate?”

It looked like a highway.  There weren’t any cars, but there were a lot of pedestrians.  And... cows.  There was a bunch of cows walking down the road--back the way they’d come, if Dean knew enough to recognize heaven from a distance.  It was a choice between city skyline in one direction and sharp, snowy mountains in the other, so he thought he did.

“This is the main gate,” Castiel said.

He might have said more--or he might not--if he hadn’t been interrupted by a cry of, “You!”

Dean wheeled, and it took his brain several seconds to process what he was seeing.  Two women, two lawn chairs, one of them kicked over as a familiar figure braced her hands on her hips and glared past him at Castiel.  “You,” she repeated, “are a lot more human-looking than you were the last time I saw you, mister.”

“Pamela?”  Dean gaped at her, and she spared him a smile.

“Hi, handsome.  I see you got yourself a boyfriend.”

He rose to the challenge without thinking, because she was easy like that.  “What, you sorry you missed out?”  Dean smirked at her.  “Figured you’d have slept your way through the ranks by now.”

“Oh, you think a lot of me!” she said with a laugh.  “It isn’t every angel that’ll deign to consort with humans, babe.  You hooked a rare one.”

The shock of her presence was starting to settle, and he was very aware of Castiel’s silence at his shoulder.  “Other way around,” Dean said.  “Turns out I’m kind of a sucker for the wings.”

Pamela shook her head, but the gaze that slid back to Cas was a little less confrontational.  “Well, they say it’s always the dangerous ones that like to be dominated.”

Dean bristled, but Castiel replied, “I have never found Dean amenable to domination in any form.”

Pamela’s mouth quirked up at the corner, and the serious way she said, “I wasn’t talking about him, sugar,” made him wonder if psychic skills transferred to heaven.

All Castiel said was, “I’m sorry about your eyes.”

Pamela laughed again, lifting a hand to run it through her hair.  “I’m over it,” she assured him.  “Got ’em back, see?”

“I do,” Castiel agreed.

“Hey,” Dean objected.  “She doesn’t get to hear all about how it’s not her real body?”

“She’s dead, Dean,” Castiel told him.  “Such a reminder would be insensitive.”

“Oh, great,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  “An angel is giving me a lecture on sensitivity.  That’s so appropriate.”

“You guys are hilarious,” Pamela drawled.

“Guess we’re even,” Dean retorted.  “Because you’re dead.”

“I’m in the majority,” she said.  “Which is why I can’t wait to hear what you’re doing here.  Nowhere on earth good enough for your first date?”

Dean leaned toward Cas, just enough to stage-whisper, “Hey, Cas.  Can we date in heaven?”

Cas paused.  “Possibly,” he said.

“Sweet.”  Dean smirked at Pamela’s expression.  “We’re looking for the gatekeeper.”

“Oh, Simea?”  She waved at the woman in the other lawn chair.  “She’s with someone.”

The other woman looked like she was staring out at the mountains while she patted the cat curled up in her lap, but she glanced around at the sound of her name.  Her friendly smile started to look more creepy when she said, “Hi, Michael.”

“Simea,” he repeated warily.  Then, because even he could hear how forced that had been, he tried to smile.  “What, no Peter?”

“Ha ha,” the woman replied, rolling her eyes.  “I swear, Jesus calls you a rock one time, and you’re stuck with a ridiculous nickname forever.”

He stared at her, but okay.  Whatever.  He knew from personal experience that it got a lot weirder than this.

“Michael?” Pamela repeated.

Dean shrugged, careful not to look at Cas.  “It’s a thing.”

“You want to sign in?” Simea asked.  She kept one hand on the cat, holding out a trucker’s log book with the other.  It had a pen jammed into the spiral binding.

“Actually, we were just leaving,” Dean told her.  “Gonna need you to do something for me.”

“Of course,” she said.  “Here, take it anyway.  You can sign out.”

He opened his mouth to refuse again when she added, “It makes people happy to see Michael’s name.”

He couldn’t help looking at Cas then, and he hoped he conveyed your family is really needy without having to say the words.  Judging from Cas’ expression, the message had been received and understood.  Possibly even seconded.

“Sure,” Dean said, taking the log book and pulling the pen free.  “I’ll trade you.  I sign this, and you let the angels in.”

“Which angels?” Simea asked.  She looked about as interested as a person could look when they were patting a cat in a lawn chair on the side of a bridge.

“All of them,” Dean said.  “I’m tired of all this fallen stuff.  Heaven is heaven, it’s for angels, let them in.”

He flipped to the last written-on page, decided there wasn’t enough room, and went to a new one.  He didn’t know what he was going to do with the pen until he actually found himself writing “Michael.”  That seemed creepy, even while he was doing it, so he added “/Dean” afterwards.

“Okay,” Simea said.  “Got it.”

Dean passed the log book and pen off to Castiel, then raised an eyebrow at her.  “Okay?” he repeated.  “So next time Cas comes knocking, you’re gonna let him in?”

“As ordered,” she said, waving her hand like orders were some Biblical notion, and Dean smirked.  Finally.  An angel who did what he told them to.  Or at least a saint.  He wasn’t picky.

“That’s more like it,” he declared.  He added, “Thanks, Simea,” while Castiel did whatever he was doing with the little and somewhat battered log book.  “Cas, you just about done writing your entire family tree there?”

Castiel didn’t answer, except to give Dean an odd look while he handed the book back to Simea.

“Tell Sam I said hi,” Pamela told him.  “And if he’s taking suggestions for his next girlfriend, I vote for the artist.”

Dean snorted, because obviously.  That woman was awesome.  “You and me both.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean pointed at him.

“It’s not cheating if I think it,” he insisted.  “Come on.  You know me.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him.  “I was going to ask if you’re ready to go.”

Sure he was.  “Whatever,” Dean said aloud.  “Yeah, I’m ready.”

The advantage of going with Cas was that they didn’t have to stop over in Lawrence first.  The disadvantage was that they appeared inside the Roadhouse with no warning.  Normally Dean would have found this funny, but today the angels flipped out and the word MICHAEL exploded in his head and Gabriel was right there.

“Whoa,” Dean said, stepping back and bumping into Cas as soon as he moved.  It was really unreasonably loud in his head right now, and Gabriel did not need to be standing that close.

“We need to talk,” Gabriel said, impatient and intolerant and dangerous.  For maybe the first time since Dean had met him, he saw an archangel looking back at him through those eyes.

Then Gabriel snapped his fingers and they were standing in the kitchen.

“Gabriel.”  Sam sounded annoyed, and all Dean could think was, a better dad than Dad ever was.  “I said I’d tell him.”

“And here he is,” Gabriel said.  “All ready to hear me through you.”

“Your kids are gonna be awesome,” Dean blurted out, and he felt Cas’ hand on his back like he wasn’t sure Dean knew how to stand up straight or something.  “That girl loves you, which makes sense, since you and teenage girls share a special bond.  And your boy’s almost normal.”

“Dean,” Sam said.  “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t get dizzy.  Cas could let go any time now.  Just because he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the angels, and he could barely look at anything without seeing that stupid light lingering on it, he was perfectly fine.  And so were the kids Sammy was--

“Oh,” he said, frowning at the cheese grater that had been left beside the sink.  There were five knives spread out next to it, covered in symbols and oil and something really dark-looking, and he was pretty sure they didn’t leave stuff that sharp in easy reach of overeager hands.  “You don’t have any kids.”

“The voice of the host is distracting.”  He heard Cas talk around it, even when they were surrounded by people that Dean actually trusted.  Well, mostly people Dean trusted.  There were some projects thrown in there.

“It’s about to get a lot more distracting, so if he can’t handle it now you’d better take that sword away from him,” Gabriel said.  “You’re playing with the big boys now, and your little human is going to get crushed.”

“What’s the matter, Gabe,” Dean said.  “I’m not funny enough for you anymore?”

“Dean.”  Castiel’s voice was weirdly gentle, and that just pissed him off.  The last thing he needed was Cas telling him he couldn’t do it, that he wasn’t strong enough, and he turned on him just as Cas added, “Do you recognize this?”

Cas was pointing at the counter, where Dean’s name was written in sparkly glowing swirls.  Dean eyed it skeptically.  “You write my name with some special angel mojo?”  ’Cause he sure wasn’t using a pen.

“Is it your name?” Castiel asked.

Dean frowned at him.  “It says ‘Dean,’ so yeah, I think it’s my name.”

He heard Gabriel snort.  “You’ve been coaching him.”

“No,” Castiel said.  “That’s how he signed the log book at the gate on our way out of heaven.”

“I signed it ‘Michael,’” Dean said irritably.  “Because that Peter chick told me to.”

“Would you write it again?” Cas wanted to know.  “Here?”

“With what?” Dean asked.  “Blood?”

“Preferably not,” Castiel said.  He produced a pen and little notebook out of nowhere--maybe literally, Dean didn’t really want to know--and offered them to him.

With a sigh that couldn’t possibly convey all of his feelings about angels and their cryptic demands, Dean wrote “Michael/Dean” in the little notebook and held it up for Cas to see.  “Happy?”

Castiel reached out as if to take the notebook back, but instead tilted his hand carefully away so that Gabriel could see.  “I didn’t teach you that,” he said.

“What?” Dean asked.  “I think I know how to write my name.”

But Sam was squinting at the notebook now too, and he asked, “What is that?  That’s not Enochian.  Is that Angel?”

“It’s one of the angelic scripts, yes,” Castiel said.

“You’ve been coaching him,” Gabriel repeated.  “No one just writes like that without divine intervention.”

“I’m still in the room,” Dean snapped.

MICHAEL.  The voice in his head sounded furious, which wasn’t very angelic if you asked him, but it also sounded like Raphael, and that wasn’t supposed to be possible.  The words rang hard enough against his skull that he thought he could feel the pain of them, and he put his hands over his ears instinctively.

“Dude,” he said out loud, “how did Raphael get on rebel radio?”

If any of them answered, he didn’t hear them.  All he heard was Raphael’s bitter accusation, his sense of betrayal from afar, like he was standing in the room next to Dean and screaming in his ear.  What are you doing?

I’m saving your ass, Dean thought, because no way was he gonna take this.  What do you think I’m doing?

He heard Castiel’s voice, hard and strong and nothing--nothing at all compared to the way Raphael’s words pounded through his brain.  Raphael.  He was listening for Cas and it still sounded faint, like a whisper beside the ocean.  This is none of your concern.

Dean.  Gabriel’s voice, on the other hand, was an intentional roar that he could have done without, and Dean lashed out before he could continue.

Go run the garrison, Gabriel.  Next time you want to talk to me, go through Sam.

It wasn’t just Raphael in his head, it was hundreds of them, thousands, and he didn’t have his hand on the sword so how was he hearing this?  Where had they all come from?  Could he legitimately yell “shut up” and have anyone listen to him in this mess?  Would Cas be enough to block it out if Dean managed to focus on him somehow?

You gave the gatekeepers new orders, Raphael thundered.  You can’t expect us to believe all of the fallen are to be re-admitted to heaven.

I expect you to believe whatever you want, Dean told him.  It was actually easier to focus when he was talking.  If only Raphael would stop yelling.  You always have before.

Castiel must have picked up on his total disorientation--maybe it was on his face, who knew, the kitchen wasn’t much more than a memory by now--because his voice was suddenly louder as it slid into Dean’s head and muted the rush of heaven for a few blissful seconds.  All angels, he said, and his voice might be louder but it didn’t echo.  Dean thought he might be the only one hearing this.  You said all angels, Dean.  Simea must, by your own order, allow even Lucifer entrance.

“You couldn’t have mentioned that before?” Dean asked.  The words pulled him out of the tide for just a second, just long enough to realize he was still in the kitchen, and that was his voice.  That was Cas’ hand on his back, Cas’ shoulder up against his.

“Dean,” and that was Sam, Sammy’s voice, his real brother standing somewhere nearby and speaking urgently like he didn’t know how long he had.  “Lucifer wasn’t supposed to be forgiven in the first age, or the second.  Some people think this is the third.  Maybe he--”

And then Raphael’s voice overwhelmed him again.  This can not be part of our father’s plan, Michael.  God himself cast Lucifer out.

Everyone makes mistakes, Dean retorted.

Raphael sounded angry.  Sincerely angry, even.  Like he’d been converted by a pretender and was only now realizing it.  That’s blasphemy.

Convert or not, hearing Raphael invoke blasphemy was too much.  Dean was tired of this, angry and frustrated and not ready to coddle a bunch of whiny angels who got to live their entire lives without the slightest hint of doubt.  Until one question, one stupid little question, worked its way into their collective consciousness and they all threw up their hands and started started to cry.

God created us in his image, Dean snapped.  You, me, them.  Everyone.  You find me someone who never made a mistake, and I’ll show you a perfect God.  But you won’t.  And I won’t.  Because he doesn’t exist.  That’s why we gotta be able to forgive.

The next voice he heard, at least well enough to make out in the din, wasn’t Raphael’s at all.  It was Anna’s.

I support Michael’s decision, she said simply.

An archangel on his side.  That had to be a good thing.  Even if they needed four to carry the vote--not that heaven seemed big on democracy--having Anna stand with him made him feel a little less clueless.  Because seriously, Lucifer?  Who thought that was a good idea?  But there it was, and he was pretty sure there weren’t any take-backs.

A voice he wasn’t so familiar with repeated, I support Michael’s decision, and wow.  Samael actually sounded as hot as she looked.

That was three.  If they were counting him as an archangel, which apparently everyone was now.

This is not divine will.

Like he needed Zachariah’s voice in his head on top of everything else.  Geez, where were they coming from?  Dean reached out for an anchor, something to tell him where he was while the circus raged around him, and someone’s hand caught his.  Someone’s fingers almost crushed his own.  There was only one person who would shatter him and save him at the same time.

If you had any idea what Dad wants, you wouldn’t be trying to bring him back by destroying his precious earth.  Gabriel sounded annoyed and condescending and really ready for this whole thing to be over, which not long ago had meant Apocalypse Now.  Michael here is the closest thing we’ve got to a plan.  What’s the worst that can happen?

It wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was a lot more than he’d expected to get from Gabriel.

It isn’t earth we have a problem with.  Zachariah sounded as smarmy as Samael sounded sophisticated.  It’s humanity.

Great, Dean thought.  You sound exactly like Lucifer.  Been reading from the same epistle?

He thought he could feel Castiel’s amusement, and it took a second to realize that he’d heard him.  Not quite a laugh, just a little huff of humor, but it brought him back to the kitchen for a second.  Long enough to hear Sam say, “You guys won’t fight Lucifer in hell.  He’s not gonna fight you in heaven.”

“Heaven is still his home,” Castiel said quietly.  Like he was trying not to disturb Dean.  “He has never wanted to see it destroyed.”

“He’d get his ego handed to him on a plate if he tried,” Gabriel said.  “He doesn’t storm heaven for the same reason we stay out of hell: the cost of victory is too high.”

“We stay out of hell because we told him he could have it,” Castiel corrected.

Look, God lets Lucifer stay around, Dean said.  Doesn’t mean he’s doing what he’s supposed to do.  Neither are you.  Maybe God doesn’t smite you for it because he wants you to learn from your mistakes, you ever think of that?

That was when Gabriel said, I’m behind Michael.

Four.

Dean felt his knees buckle and Cas was holding him up, a hand gripping his arm and the shining sound of metal as it slid away.  The sword.  It sounded musical and pretty as it left its sheath, but he heard it clatter to the ground as Castiel grabbed his other arm and kept him from pitching forward.  Gravity was just gone, spinning, tugging in all the wrong directions.

The voices were quieter, suddenly.  He thought they were only blurring together, like his vision, which was giving out at the worst possible moment.  But several seconds passed and no archangels came slamming into his head, and finally he remembered to breathe.  Actually breathe, not just suck air into his lungs through clenched teeth, and wow, his jaw hurt.  Along with the rest of his head.  And possibly his hands, which felt sort of numb but would probably hurt too once he got them untangled from Cas’ wings.

“Dean?”  It was Sam asking, but he didn’t sound horrified, so maybe Dean didn’t look as bad as he felt.

He tried to say something.  He heard it come out as a groan.  He did manage to get his eyes open again--that explained the vision problems--but he was staring at the counter.  He was staring at the knives on the counter.  His hands, next to the knives, on the counter.  He wasn’t holding onto Cas anymore.

“You can still hear the choir,” Castiel said.  “Is it too much?  I can cut it off entirely.”

“S’fine,” Dean gasped, pushing himself upright.

Cas was right behind him.  He could feel it even before he tried to step back.  He almost didn’t move, uncertain as he was about his own balance, but if Cas was there he was pretty sure he wouldn’t go down.  So he let go of the counter, and the room mostly didn’t spin.  Gravity stayed where it was supposed to stay.  And the first thing he saw was the sword on the floor.

“You stealing my stuff?” he croaked, trying a smirk as he looked around for Cas.

He caught Sam’s eye first.  He looked worried without being freaked, and the corner of his mouth quirked when he saw Dean’s expression.  “Dude,” Sam said.  “You faint like a girl.”

“Didn’t faint,” Dean muttered, giving him a half-hearted glare.  “Stupid angels can’t keep their voices down.  Gonna split my head open.”

Gabriel was leaning back against the refrigerator, hugs glowing wings splayed against the silver surface so that hints of metal peeked through, making him look vaguely mechanical.  “Told you so,” he said, and his bored tone made Dean want to wipe that careless expression off his face.

Dean narrowed his eyes, bent his knees, and grabbed the sword off the floor before anyone could say anything else.  The crowd roared in his head, but the voices were paradoxically less distracting when there were more of them.  He couldn’t actually make out individual words, and the archangels of doom had apparently fallen silent.  So aside from the sure knowledge that no one but the angels could hear the noise pounding through his skull, it was kind of like being on a dance floor.  And Dean knew how to dance.

Sliding the sword over his shoulder, he turned his back on Gabriel and gave Cas a onceover.  “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”  Castiel didn’t look surprised by the question, and he didn’t turn it back on Dean even though his gaze flickered up and down like he was looking him over just as thoroughly.  “You convinced the archangels.”

“Yeah, should have expected Zach and Raphael to bitch and moan,” Dean muttered.  “By the way, Lucifer?  We sure giving him a free pass is a good idea?”

A faint smile made Cas’ lips twitch.  “You were very persuasive a moment ago, Dean.”

He snorted.  “When they were in my face about it, yeah.  I fight.  That’s what I do.  Doesn’t mean I think it’s a good idea.”

“Oh, good,” Sam said wryly.  “As long as we know what we’re doing, then.  That’s great.”

“You were the one who said Lucifer was supposed to be forgiven,” Dean reminded him.

“Uh, like I know?” Sam protested.

“And if even the angels think he isn’t gonna tear heaven apart,” Dean said, mostly ignoring him, “seems like one little loophole is a small price to pay for getting our guys up to full strength.”

“Right,” Sam said.  “That doesn’t sound like something that’s gonna come back to bite us where it hurts.”

“About that,” Gabriel put in.  “If I may return you to your previous problem, already in progress.”

“The angels,” Sam said, switching tracks without even looking at him.  “Dean, the rebel angels are reconnecting with the rest of heaven.  I’m guessing that’s why their radio’s so loud?”

His eyes flicked past Dean as he turned, bracing his back against the counter again.  Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Cas incline his head in a way that was probably supposed to be a nod.  “Yes,” Cas added, in case that wasn’t enough.  Dean wanted to lean against him like he couldn’t believe.  Just one step to his left, and kind of a slump, and he could be--

“Gabriel says they’re gonna be looking for direction,” Sam continued.  “Some of them, I mean, some of them are obviously used to earth and probably fell for a reason, but not all of them.  And as far as heaven’s concerned, anyone who isn’t here at the Roadhouse is fair game for new orders.  It’s just a matter of who’s going to be giving them.”

Sam was looking at him in that way that said, well? and Dean shrugged.  “So?  What am I supposed to do about it?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  Give them some orders?” Sam said, rolling his eyes.  “You’re doing it with everyone else.”

“We have plenty of people we’re trying to keep alive already,” Dean told him.  “I’m not adding a hundred more angels we don’t even know to the list.”

He could feel Cas’ eyes on him, and that was all he needed.  “Don’t say it,” Dean said, not looking at him.

“You take responsibility for billions of human souls,” Castiel replied, clearly not listening.

“Yeah, what, you saying that’s not enough?” Dean snapped.  “Since when can angels not take care of themselves?”

Cas was leaning against the counter next to him.  Actually leaning, maybe leaning towards him.  But he wasn’t looking at Dean anymore.  “Can we ask Anna and Samael to resume their former duties?” he asked.  “Surely they are competent to lead the fallen.”

Gabriel, on the other hand, was looking at Dean.  Dean didn’t know whether to find that hilarious or frightening, so he ignored it.  Until Gabriel’s gaze flicked back to Cas and he said, “Ask your husband, there.”

Dean was sure Cas didn’t look at him, but he waved his hand anyway, because “whatever” encompassed everything he wanted to say to Gabriel.  And if Gabriel actually cared what he thought, which was pretty freakin’ unlikely, then he abdicated all responsibility to Cas.  Like Cas couldn’t lead the armies of light a hundred times better than he could.

“He agrees,” Castiel said.  “Dean put you in charge of earth stationing, so you will have to be the one to contact Anna and Samael.  Tell them they are to form an auxiliary garrison, encompassing all of the remaining fallen who choose to stay on earth.  Their activities must be--”

He checked himself there, and Dean glanced sideways at him.

“They must have some kind of support,” Castiel said after a moment.  “We are not accustomed to this since we fell.  But the odds of falling blindly in line with heaven again must decrease if it is available.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, exchanging looks with Sam.  Well, what do you know, he thought.  Angels can learn.

I can hear you, Castiel thought, the words clear even through the melee of angelic voices in his head.

Mind your own business, Dean told him.

Castiel gave him a look that said he was being stupid, and Dean didn’t know why until he said, “They can hear you too.  When you talk to everyone like that.”

“I wasn’t talking to anyone except you,” Dean retorted.  Except that he had been.  He’d forgotten.  Again.  He couldn’t keep the angel radio straight in his head, and it was mostly Cas’ fault: Cas, with his private channel and his direct line to all things Dean.

“Uh, sorry,” Sam said, looking from one of them to the other.  “What?”

“I’ve got angels eavesdropping on everything I think,” Dean told him.  “I can’t decide whether it’s funny or just annoying.”

“Not everything,” Castiel said.

Dean rolled his eyes.  Gee, he thought, directing it at no anyone in particular.  Sure would be nice to get Cas alone in a closet right now.  Better yet, not alone... maybe in front of those big picture windows in Michael’s dome.  He was pretty sure he could talk Cas into a little exhibitionism.  The guy apparently had no shame, which would come in handy--

“Dean,” Castiel said sternly.

Dean raised his eyebrows at him.  “Yeah?  You having trouble understanding me when you’re not reading my mind?”

“That was the most boring shock I’ve ever not gotten,” Gabriel informed him.  “You’re disgustingly vanilla.  You should talk to your brother about spicing up your fantasy life.”

“Yeah, so, everything,” Sam said, exchanging looks with Dean.  “Got it.”

“Sick,” Dean added, glaring at Gabriel.  “Keep your weird brother fetish to yourself.”

“First off,” Gabriel said, “you and Sam would never work; you’re not kinky enough for him.  Second, Michael, the brother speech still isn’t convincing coming from you, so give it up.”

“What about Lucifer?” Sam asked.

Dean was still trying to get over the “not kinky enough” comment, so Sam’s question really didn’t make sense in his mind.

Sam must have seen his expression, because he added, “Can he hear you?  If all the fallen are tuning back in, I mean... I just figured we should consider the possibility.  Unless it’s not a possibility.”

“It isn’t,” Castiel said.   And for him, that was the end of it.

Dean, on the other hand, had a very vivid memory of Lilith’s hell on earth blinking out of existence, to be replaced by another of his most hated places: the passenger compartment of a commercial airline.  He’d seen Cas appear exactly when he was needed after dying, whole and unhurt and with no clue how he’d gotten there.  He’d met everything from horsemen to dragons by now, and it was all just a little too coincidental for him.

Maybe Cas was right.  Maybe someone was keeping it all on course.  But he could tell time as well as anyone, and this wasn’t the turn of the millennium.  This was nine years later--or eight years, if you listened to Sammy, which he pretended not to as a general rule but he couldn’t see that it mattered this time.  The apocalypse was late.

If someone all-powerful wanted it to happen so badly, wouldn’t they have been more punctual about it?

That left someone almost all-powerful as the most likely suspect.  And if Lucifer didn’t know that Dean wasn’t really Michael, then he wasn’t any more omniscient than the other angels.  So how was he figuring the rest of it out?

“Dean?” Sam said.

“You said the angel connection has to be established in person,” Dean said.  “Like, face to face?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.  He was already frowning, and Dean really needed to do something about this mind-reading thing.  It was getting out of hand.

“Yeah, it is,” Gabriel interrupted.  “And it’s probably better if the entire host doesn’t hear what you’re about to say.  Accidentally or otherwise.  Teach him to keep his thoughts to himself or take that sword away from him.”

Dean opened his mouth, but before he could make a sound they were back at Mesa Verde.  Him, Cas, and this time Sam was with them.  Gabriel wasn’t.

“Okay,” Sam said, looking around.  “Where are we, which of you did it, and why?  I’d say those are my top three.”

“Mesa Verde,” Castiel told him.  “Gabriel sent us here, probably to keep Dean from accusing the rest of the host of feeding Lucifer information.”

“Hey,” Dean snapped.  “I think we need to consider every possibility, that’s all.”

“Got it,” Sam said.  He seemed pretty comfortable being whisked around by angel mojo, and Dean narrowed his eyes even as Sam added, “You guys reconnected people one at a time, but each new angel could hear all the others through you, right?  That means it only takes one.”

“The rest of the host would know,” Castiel said.  “The connection works both ways.  If Lucifer could hear us, we would also be able to hear him.”

Dean hadn’t taken his eyes off of Sam.  “You’re fine with all this?”  He’d meant it to be more specific, but everything piled up until he could barely get the words out.  How long had they been gone, anyway?  It was getting dark.  All day?  Just one day, or was it tomorrow already?

“What, angel radio?”  Sam gave him an odd look.  “Or the Lucifer thing?”

“I dunno.”  Dean frowned.  “All of it.  Gabriel.  What’s up with that, anyway?  Remote teleportation?”

Sam’s expression twisted, a familiar combination of irritation and understanding.  “Yeah, he’s been doing that to me all day.  Apparently when you said ‘help him,’ he interpreted it kind of liberally.  On the plus side, he’s been filling in some of the biblical gaps when he isn’t annoying the piss out of me.”

“Great,” Dean said, not sure it was.  “He behaving himself otherwise?”

That made Sam roll his eyes.  “Oh, yeah, other than zapping me to Australia for the sheer joy of it, lecturing me on pronunciation, and pretending to be a freakin’ angel whenever Ellen’s watching, he’s been great.”

“He is an angel,” Castiel pointed out.

“Yeah, what’s his thing with Ellen, anyway?” Dean wanted to know.  “He shuts his trap the second she looks at him sideways; what’s going on there?”

“Perhaps he is trying to show her the respect she is due as owner of the establishment his garrison now occupies,” Castiel said.  When Dean looked at him, he added, “Or he might be trying to annoy you by getting her ‘on his side,’ so to speak.”

“That’s a little childish, don’t you think?”  By the time he realized what he was saying, it was already out.

“For the trickster?” Sam said.  “I think it’s lame, yeah, but not exactly beneath him.”

“Nothing is,” Dean muttered.  “That’s why his sudden good behavior creeps me out.”

“Well, believe me, it’s intermittent,” Sam said.  “He’s as obnoxious as ever when she’s not around.  I don’t know, maybe he likes her or something.”

“Everyone likes Ellen,” Dean said.  “She’s awesome.”

“No, I mean--”  Sam raised his eyebrows pointedly.  “Likes her.”

“What?”  Dean stared at him for a second, then grimaced.  “Dude, no way.  He’s a friggin’ archangel.”

Sam just shrugged.  “Cas likes you,” he pointed out.

Dean glanced at him automatically, because hello, power of suggestion.  Cas was wearing his annoyed face, which made Dean want to grin.  He kept himself from doing it largely because he was pretty sure anything Cas did made him want to grin lately, and it was embarrassing, and also because Cas was going to know he was amused no matter what.  Making the effort not to smirk anyway might get him points.

But he didn’t quite manage to stop himself from saying, “Not right now he doesn’t.”  Making fun of angels was a deeply ingrained habit.

Castiel frowned at him.  “Do you suspect Gabriel of being in league with Lucifer?” he asked.

“What?” Dean repeated.  The guy was dangerous, no question, and he definitely had his own agenda, but he wasn’t actively trying to kill them.  Anymore.  “No.  Wait, what?  Where did that come from?”

“He sent us here so we could discuss your suspicions,” Castiel said.  “We seem to be spending our time discussing him instead.”

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes.  “Oh, gossip with us, Cas.  It’s not the end of the--”  He paused, and he had to shrug.  “Well, it is the end of the world, so.  You might as well.”

“What happened in heaven?” Sam asked, when Cas didn’t answer.  “You got the door open.”

“Yeah, and Peter’s a chick,” Dean said.  “Who hangs out with Pamela.”

“What, like...”  Sam looked from him to Cas and back again.  “Pamela, Pamela?  Our Pamela?”

“That’s the one.  She says you should get it on with Sarah, by the way.”

“Huh,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest.  “I used to think the idea of people watching over us from heaven was comforting, but now it’s just... creepy.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean said.  “We turned on the lights at Michael’s old place, and all these people started gathering outside to stare in the windows at us.  It was weird.”

“His old place?” Sam repeated, which was not at all the strange part of that explanation as far as Dean was concerned.

“His place, whatever,” Dean said, waving it off.  “Seems like some of the stuff there is automatic, so.”

“The lights came on automatically?” Sam said.

“Yeah, when we walked in,” Dean said.

“When you walked in,” Cas corrected.

Sam exchanged glances with Cas.  “Like the message Michael left for you?  It just... responded to your presence?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean said.  “Maybe he wants me to feel at home.”

“Yeah,” Sam said.  “That sounds like an archangel.”

Dean shrugged.  “Hey, until he shows his face, I’m milking this Michael thing for all its worth.  If he wants to make it easy for me, you won’t see me complaining.”

“Why hasn’t he shown up?” Sam asked, point blank.  “I mean, he’s gotta know what you’re doing by now.  Why hasn’t he stopped you?”

“’Cause he’s a wuss,” Dean said.  “If he was gonna fight Lucifer, or whatever, he’d have done it already.  I think he’s sitting this one out.”

“I think he’s already here,” Castiel said quietly.

They both turned to stare at him.

“I think he’s acting through you,” Castiel continued.  “I think he’s using you as a vessel without taking away your awareness or control.  It would explain how you know what you know, how you’re able to stand up to the archangels... why you appear as a conduit for heaven’s energy even to our eyes.”

“How you’re able to use his sword,” Sam added.

Now Dean was staring at him, because when had Sam gotten on board with this?  “You think I’m Michael?”

“Well...”  Sam jerked his chin up, darting another glance in Cas’ direction.  “Partly, maybe?  I mean, he could be helping you, right?  Without you knowing it?”

“I think I’d know if I had an angel whispering in my ear,” Dean said.

“You can’t even tell when you’re talking to angels,” Castiel told him.  “Gabriel was right when he said you should learn to control your thoughts.”

“Hey,” Dean said.  “I tried to practice.  With you.  We got distracted.”

“Lucifer wouldn’t need to practice,” Sam said.  Dean gave him a weird look, but Sam ignored it.  “I’m just saying, yeah, you’d be able to hear him.  If he was talking to you.  What if he’s just listening?”

“Or what if he does the thing you do?”  Dean hadn’t forgotten Cas’ evasion when it came to his private radio signal.  He’d been meaning to ask one of the other angels about it, but he couldn’t decide if there was anyone he trusted enough to do it.  “You said everyone hears everyone else when they talk, but they don’t hear you.  Not if you don’t want them to.  What if he’s doing that?”

Castiel didn’t answer, and only after he’d said it did Dean get that he shouldn’t ask anyone about this.  It wasn’t something angels talked about.  It might not even be something they admitted to under pressure.

“Wait, you can talk to Cas privately?” Sam said.  “Can all the angels do that?”

Cas didn’t look very happy, and that was what Dean found himself responding to.

“What,” he said defensively.  “Is it some big secret or something?”

“Angels don’t have secrets,” Castiel said.  “Therefore we have no need of private communication.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” Dean said.  Obviously.

“It’s what we’re taught,” Castiel said.  “To practice otherwise is... shameful.  Abhorrent.”

“Cas,” Dean said.  “You’re not messed up, okay?  At least not more than the rest of us.  So cut it out with the whole penitence thing.”

“Dean,” Sam said.

“What?”  Dean scowled at him.  “This is stupid; he’s better than any of us and he thinks he sucks.”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, news flash.  He thinks the same thing about you.”

“That’s ’cause he likes me,” Dean snapped.  “He has to think that.”

“That’s kind of my point,” Sam said.  “Him telling you you’re awesome clearly doesn’t help your self-image, so why should you telling him it’s stupid to be embarrassed about something make him less embarrassed?”

Jesus.  Sammy the head shrinker.

He blew out a breath that was mostly a sigh, casting a sideways glance at Cas.  Who actually looked less upset and more curious than he had before.  Because the two of them arguing was a source of endless fascination for everyone.  Apparently.

“Look,” Dean said.  “Cas.”

He’d said they didn’t owe each other--he’d said Cas didn’t owe him, no matter how he felt about Cas.  He couldn’t ask for it because he was owed.  He had to ask because he wanted it.

Which meant that if Cas said no, it wasn’t a matter of debt and repayment.  It was his choice not to give Dean something he was asking for.

Castiel was focused only on him now.  Like that was new.  “It would--it would help me out if you could do something,” Dean said, the words dry in his mouth.  “You know how you asked me--”

Sam was standing right there, and he did think twice.  But if anyone deserved to hear it, it was Sam, right?

“You know,” Dean muttered.  “To stop thinking of myself as a demon.  I don’t know how, okay?  So if you could--uh, set an example.  Or something.  Stop thinking of yourself as fallen, or disgraced, or...  I mean, ’cause you’re not.  You’re awesome.”

He ran out of words, which was okay since he was too embarrassed to continue anyway.  How did women do this stuff?  How did they make it sound clever and devious?  He just felt pathetic.

“Sam is correct,” Castiel said quietly.  When Dean looked at him, he added, “I do feel the same way about you.”

“Great,” Dean said, glancing at Sam.  “Well.  That’s awkwardly sentimental.”

Sam just smiled, like he’d had nothing to do with it.

“I found it pleasing,” Castiel said.

Dean cleared his throat.  “Can we move on now?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, and Dean thought he was taking the question too literally until he added, “It is possible that Lucifer is capable of shielding his presence from the rest of the host, though I don’t know whom he might have aligned with to have access to the choir in the first place.”

“In order to cut you guys off they had to silence everyone,” Sam said.  “Right?  They had to break the radio to throw you out?  Have they ever done that before?”

“No,” Castiel said, surprising them both.  “Our father would not have permitted such a thing.”

Dean and Sam exchanged glances.

“So maybe Lucifer wasn’t ever cut off in the first place?” Sam suggested.

“He must have been.”  Castiel was frowning.  “He was cast out.  His movements were restricted.”

“He was put in Angel Jail,” Dean interrupted.  “Aka ‘hell.’  You guys don’t do things halfway.”

“It doesn’t make any sense that he would still be permitted to join the choir,” Castiel continued.  The art of ignoring Dean was one he’d honed over months of practice, Dean figured.  Sam was just as good.  Sometimes annoying, sometimes fine... it did leave him free to say some outrageous stuff without getting called on it.

“Can’t have it both ways,” Dean said.  “Either God allowed it or he didn’t.  Or he’s a two-faced bastard.  Hey, what do you know.  Maybe you can have it both ways.”

Castiel glared at him.  “The next time you speak that way about my father, I will tell you what I think of yours for leaving you and Sam to fend for yourselves.”

Maybe not that outrageous.  Always good to know where Cas drew the line.  

“Hey,” Dean said, folding his arms.  “I’ll be the first to admit, Dad wasn’t perfect.  But he taught us what we needed to know to survive.  To be the hunters we are today.”

Lifting his chin in Cas’ direction, he added, “Maybe yours did too, you ever think of that?  Maybe you’re exactly what he wanted you to be.  Maybe he taught you to question, to disobey.  To think for yourself.”

“No, he didn’t,” Castiel said absently.  Like he was thinking about it, but didn’t quite know what to say yet.  And he was saying it anyway.  “The other angels did that.”

Dean felt his mouth quirk in spite of himself.  “Well, that’s what older brothers are for.”

He heard Sam scoff, but he was still waiting to see Cas’ eyes flick upward.  Away from the wing he was studying as it curved over his elbow.  When he did, he caught Dean’s eye... and he smiled.

That right there made it worth it, Dean decided.

“Cute,” Sam said.  “So about Lucifer.  He might not even have an angel contact; it might just be some leftover angel power he has?”

“No,” Castiel said.  His smile was gone as suddenly as it had come.  “If he has been able to hear us all this time, then the silence of the choir would have been just as devastating to him as it was to us.  He would have sought to re-establish it.  We have no way of knowing whom he might have approached because no one has said anything.”

“Which means someone is keeping the secret,” Dean finished.  Sam looked surprised, but it seemed like the logical conclusion to him.  “You sure he would have tried to find someone?” he added, just in case.  “Anna said it wasn’t as hard on archangels as it was on you guys.”

“Gabriel sent us here so we could discuss it,” Castiel reminded him.  “If he didn’t believe it to be true, there wouldn’t have been any danger.”

“No danger in throwing Lucifer’s name around?” Sam said skeptically.

At the same time, Dean said, “Tell me we’re not back to the trust-off between Gabriel and Anna.  Gabriel, okay?  I pick Gabe because you pick Gabe.  That doesn’t mean we have to ignore everything Anna says.”

“Anna will have her own garrison by the time we return,” Castiel said, “and we will be free to do exactly that.”

“Whoa, wait,” Sam said.  “Did I miss something?  We hate Anna now?  Why?”

“We don’t hate Anna,” Dean grumbled.  “Cas is mad because I slept with her.”

“I’m not--”  Castiel stopped abruptly, then seemed to change his mind.  “Anna was human.  I have never been so.  I’m concerned that you relate to her in a way you can not with me.”

“Okay, wow,” Sam said.  “I really don’t need to be here for this conversation.  You want me to... go for a walk or something?”

Dean couldn’t quite meet his eye.  He’d been hoping the talking about their feelings part of the conversation was over, but it looked like the entire apocalypse only counted for a temporary diversion.  “Give us five minutes,” he muttered.

“Yeah.”  Sam didn’t sound anywhere near as mocking as he had a right to.  “Sure thing.”

He did, even, which surprised Dean a little.  He was used to his brother pretending to lurk, like he somehow thought he could be inconspicuous when he towered over small buildings.  But no, Sam actually wandered off down the road in the direction of one of the dusty ruins, and Dean hoped he didn’t find the one dangerous, probably supernatural thing that was lurking in the empty landscape.

“Dean,” Castiel began, and he couldn’t take it.

“Look, Cas,” he blurted out.  “So there’s one thing about my life that you don’t get.  You know everything, and I mean everything, from the day I was born ’til the day I died.  And pretty much everything after that, since I don’t think you’ve been averting your eyes while I’m in the bathroom or anything.  I try not to think about it because frankly, that’s kind of creepy.  But you know how much I know about you?”

Cas was tilting his head, giving Dean a curious look that said he had no idea what they were talking about.

“Nothing,” Dean told him.  “Nothing except what matters, which is that you believe in family and you don’t let anyone boss you around and you like me, God knows why.  There’s thousands, millions of things about you that I not only don’t know but have no hope of understanding.

“So I’m sorry that you’re jealous of Anna, because you have zero reason to be and if you want to play twenty questions I swear, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.  But I can’t get all upset that you feel left out of the human loop, like you have no idea what it’s like to be human, because I have no idea what it’s like to be an angel.”

Castiel was quiet for a long moment.  Dean came up with a dozen possible replies in that amount of time, and of course it was the most obvious one that he didn’t think of.  Or maybe he just didn’t expect Cas to actually say it.

“What do you want to know?”

Dean stared at him until his brain kicked into gear, because seriously?  What didn’t he want to know?

“Were you ever a kid?” he asked.

Castiel frowned faintly.  “No.”

Right.  Why would this conversation be any different.

“You just appeared one day?” Dean asked, eyeing him.  “Looking just like you do now?”

“In my true form,” Castiel said.  “Yes.”

Of course he did.

“And you already knew everything?” Dean said.  “Nobody taught you how to walk or talk, or, I don’t know, fly?  You didn’t have to learn anything?”

“I learned how to receive divine will,” Castiel said.  “How to find it, how to hear it, and how to execute it.  All angels must learn these things.”

“But you didn’t get to meet God,” Dean said.

“No,” Castiel agreed.  “A face-to-face meeting was unnecessary.  We all know he is aware of us.”

“All of you,” Dean repeated.  “You’re all taught the same things.”

“Yes.”  Castiel was frowning again.  “Our... schooling, I suppose you would call it, is very similar.  I’m not sure what about it you might find interesting.”

“Why are you different?” Dean wanted to know.

Castiel’s expression didn’t change.  “What do you mean?”

“If everything about you is just like everyone else,” Dean said, “why are you different?  What made you listen to me when none of the other angels would?  What made you help me?”

“I... like you.”  He looked uncertain about this, which Dean figured was fair at this point.  “I wanted to.”

“I thought angels weren’t supposed to like things,” Dean said.  “Or want things.”

Castiel considered this for longer than Dean thought the remark deserved.  “I do,” he said at last.  “I do not believe I am alone in this, even among those who are not fallen.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you are either,” Dean said.  He managed not to roll his eyes, which he counted as a win.  “So you’re not taught that, right?  But some of you do it anyway.  Which means you’re different.  Which means your past isn’t a cardboard cutout; it’s you.  It’s what you thought about things, and I want to know.”

He would have kept going, but he had a lifetime’s worth of experience with Sam’s punctuality so he glanced at his watch instead.  “This is gonna take longer than five minutes, so.  Two minutes for me, two minutes for you.  What do you want to know about Anna?”

Castiel managed to surprise him again.  “Have you ever wanted to be an angel?” he asked.

Dean almost scoffed, but what would that prove?  That he didn’t think Cas reading his mind was enough?

“No,” he said.  “Not unless I could still be me, just with awesome angelic powers.”

“The way you are now,” Castiel observed.

Dean smiled, because to Cas, being able to write in another language probably was an awesome power.  “It’s a little light on the fun stuff,” he said.  “Be nice to be able to fly, smite people, that kind of thing.”

“Smiting is not as fun as you might have been led to believe,” Castiel said.

“Funny.”  Dean studied him for a moment, but he looked serious about it and everything.  “That’s what Michael said, too.  When he told me where the sword was.  He said there was something in the car, too, but I shouldn’t look for it because smiting isn’t as cool as it sounds.”

“Michael told you that he had hidden something in your car?”  Cas looked somewhere between worried and fascinated, which Dean thought made him look a little like a mad scientist.

“Sounded that way,” Dean agreed.  “Which just goes to show he’s delusional.  I know every inch of that car; me and Sammy put her back together ourselves.  There’s nothing in her that we didn’t put there.”

Castiel’s expression said he didn’t believe this at all.  “Nonetheless.  I would like to look at it, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure, knock yourself out.”  Dean frowned as a thought occurred to him.  “Just don’t do anything weird to her.”

“I am aware of the consideration you give to your car, Dean.”  Castiel looked amused now.  “Although I can not define ‘weird’ by your standard, I assure you, I will do nothing that might affect the vehicle’s operation.”

Dean was already looking around for Sam.  He knew he’d gotten out of it too easily, but he couldn’t see his brother anymore and their five minutes had to be up by now, right?  “Where’d Sam disappear to?” he muttered.

“Dean,” Castiel said.  “Why did you sleep with Anna?”

Yeah.  Definitely too easy.

“Because she was like you,” Dean said.  “Because she wasn’t.  I don’t know.  What do you want me to say, Cas?  I was hot for angels?  I was trying to screw you over?  Take your pick, ’cause I have no idea.”

“I just want to know why,” Castiel said.  Like he didn’t understand why Dean was making it difficult.

Dean shrugged, frowning down the dusty trail in the direction Sam had gone.  “Why did I sleep with anyone last year?  To prove I was still me, I guess.”

When he glanced back at Cas, he found blue eyes still fixed on him.  “This may surprise you,” Dean blurted out, “but I don’t always think about what I’m doing.  Sometimes I just do stuff and I can’t explain it later.”

“You did imply that you wouldn’t repeat the experience now that she has her grace back,” Castiel said.

“What?”  Dean frowned at him.  “What are you talking about?”

“The day we were cut out of the choir,” Castiel said.  “You and I spoke in the parking lot outside the motel, and you indicated that you would not attempt to seduce Anael because she could, and I quote, ‘kill you by looking at you sideways.’”

Dean stared at him.  “Wow,” he said after a moment.  “You think about everything I say this much, or just the stuff that has to do with Anna?”

Castiel seemed to consider that, like he wasn’t really sure of the answer until Dean asked.  “Just the things that have to do with me, I think,” he said at last.  There was a hint of humor in his voice, and Dean couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or them or what.

“Okay,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say.  “Well, I didn’t know it had anything to do with you when I said it, so don’t hold that against me.”

“Are you worried that I might hurt you?” Castiel asked.

Dean scoffed.  “No.”

“You’re lying,” Castiel told him, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“It’s a stupid question that you already know the answer to,” he said, “so I figure the only reason to ask is to hear me say something that isn’t true.  So I said it.  And yeah, it’s a lie.  You could tear me apart.  You and Sam are the only people I care about enough that you could destroy me just by telling me I’m not worth it and walking away.  But you won’t.  I gotta believe that, because otherwise what’s the point?”

“I won’t,” Castiel agreed quietly, still watching him.  “You have always been worth it, Dean.”

“Yeah, well.”  Dean stared back at him because he could.  “Likewise.”

Something changed.

Castiel’s gaze slid past him, and Dean was saying it before he realized he knew it.  “Gabriel’s here.”

“With Sam,” Castiel said, catching his eye again.

Dean didn’t bother to look.  He knew they were out of sight, behind some ruin or other--who knew there was anything around here big enough to hide Sam?  And they were about to be right--

“Hey, bro,” Gabriel’s cheerful voice announced.  He and Sam were standing right there.  Bright wings blazed, settling behind Gabriel’s shoulders restlessly.  “Figured out who the spy is yet?”

“Why,” Dean said, “you gonna enlighten us?”

“I can’t do all the work for you,” Gabriel said.  “That would ruin the fun!  The challenge!  The sense of satisfaction you get when you conquer an obstacle that you thought--”

“He doesn’t know,” Sam interrupted.

“You’re a lot more fun when your brother isn’t around,” Gabriel informed him.

Dean frowned.  “Don’t you have a garrison to run?”

Gabriel just smirked at him, finger and thumb poised to snap.  “We won’t wait up.”

There was a click, and he and Sam were gone.

“The snapping thing is really annoying,” Dean muttered.

“I assume he intends for you to practice your covert telepathy,” Castiel said.  Like that was a perfectly normal thing to say.

“I assume he doesn’t think I’m just gonna let him whisk Sam off whenever he wants,” Dean retorted.  “Let’s go.”

“Back to the Roadhouse?” Castiel asked, turning to stand beside him.  Dean could feel his wings burst open before he even answered, and suddenly they were standing in the kitchen.

Where Ellen was.  She glanced around, not surprised, but not helpful either.  “Where’s Sam?”

Dean gave Cas a look that said, see?

“Where’s Gabriel?” he countered.  “He was supposed to have Sam back here already.”

“No, I haven’t seen either of them.”  Ellen glanced at the door.  “Maybe they’re outside?”

“I doubt it,” Dean muttered, but he strode out of the kitchen and stared around.  He could feel an absence that was only confirmed when Cas appeared quietly at his side.

“Gabriel is not here,” Castiel murmured.

Gabriel, Dean thought.  Because who was gonna say no to Michael?  Bring Sam back to the garrison now.

Way more fun without you, Gabriel replied.

But he did it, and right now that was all Dean asked.

Sam appeared next to him at the bar, reaching out like he was going to put a book back.  He looked at the book, then at Dean, and shrugged.  “You get used to it,” he said, setting the book down on the counter instead.  “Hey, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Gabriel sighed loudly.

“Have you spoken with Anna and Samael?” Castiel asked, and Gabriel turned that put-upon look on him.

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes, okay, I can pass on orders without anyone holding my hand.  What, you want to check my work?”

Dean jerked his head toward the stairs, but Sam was already coming around the bar to meet him there.  He heard Castiel explaining as they left that asking for information did not constitute “checking up,” and yeah, Gabe didn’t buy that either.  Dean was more interested in Jo, hair pulled back, paintbrush in hand, sharing the open front door with Sachiel.

“Hey, Jo,” he called as they passed.  “Thanks for giving Cas dating advice.”

Sam pretended he didn’t trip over the leg of a stool as he swung around to stare.  Jo turned, stepping out from under Sachiel’s arm to squint back at him.  “Did I steer him wrong?” she demanded, lifting the back of the hand holding the paintbrush to rub her cheek.  She sounded like she already knew the answer.

“No,” Dean said, slowing.  “But you know what this means.”

She wrinkled her nose.  “Castiel knows more about dating than you do?”

“Funny,” he told her.  “It means I have to ask his friends how to date him, or it’s not reciprocal.  Thanks a lot.”

“Reciprocal?” Jo repeated.  “What, are you reading teen magazines now?”

“I could give you some tips,” Sachiel offered at the same time.  “Cas likes to fly and read.  Let him read to you and that’s half the evening right there.”

“Uh-huh,” Dean said, very aware of angel hearing.  Cas and Gabe were still in the room.  “Reading.  Got it.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Sam muttered.

“Half the evening,” Sachiel emphasized.  “He reads, you sit close to him.  Think back row at the movies.”

“What is this?” Sam demanded.  “‘Everyone Counsel Dean and Castiel’ night?  They’re grown-ups.  Kind of.  I think they can figure out what to do with a night in.”

“You don’t want any advice?” Dean asked innocently.

“I don’t need to hear this,” Sam told him.

Jo snorted.  “The rest of us have to put up with it; why shouldn’t you?”

“I’ve been putting up with it,” Sam said.  “I’ve been on the road with them for months.  They’re unbelievable.”

“All right, all right,” Dean grumbled.  “Let’s get out of here.”

“You’re the one who stopped,” Sam reminded him.

They ended up in their room upstairs, which was probably as private as any place got right now.  It didn’t feel private, not with a whole crowd of angels in the back of his head, but the less he thought about them the quieter they were.  And he wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, especially now, but thinking about Cas did kind of help.  When it got unbearable.

“Okay,” Sam said, closing the door behind them.  “First problem: Becky.”

“Send her home,” Dean said.

“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s not gonna work,” Sam said.  “I went to her website.”

Dean grimaced, sitting down on the edge of his bed and wondering if it was smart to take the sword off entirely.  Just for a few minutes.  “I hope you washed your brain out with soap afterwards.”

“No kidding,” Sam said.  “Michael’s not very popular, you know that?”

“Great,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  “This is my pretending to care face.  Why are we talking about this?”

“Because Chuck stopped publishing after you went to hell,” Sam said.  “But Becky knows about angels.”

“Becky’s a creepy stalker who sleeps with Chuck so she can find out what we had for breakfast,” Dean said.  “She knows everything.  So?”

“So everyone who goes to her website also knows about angels,” Sam told him.  “They’re writing fanfic about it.  And they’re not learning it from her.  She’s actually taking a lot of heat for the Michael/Cas thing.  Apparently most people think Michael’s a bastard who’s destroying your life, Castiel’s life, and possibly even mine, depending on who you ask.”

“Wait,” Dean said.  “How do they know about Michael?  That’s like, two days old.”

“Exactly,” Sam said.  “Turns out Chuck went POD over the summer... print on demand?” he added, in response to Dean’s weird look.  “He’s been blogging about his ‘process’ ever since.  Says it helps him stay more in touch with the fans.”

“His crazy, pathetic fans,” Dean muttered.  “So, let me guess: this blogging includes sneak peeks of upcoming books?”

“Better,” Sam said.  “He narrates his ideas--revelations, he calls them--as they come to him.  So, nice job, making sure you got all the manuscripts from his house, but it’s not doing any us good to have them here if he just posts it all up online anyway.”

“Problem,” Dean said.

“Problem,” Sam agreed.

“He needs to stop.”

“Yeah,” Sam said.  “He’s tried.  Really, he swears he has, and you know how good Chuck is at lying.  He honestly doesn’t know what’s going to be important until after it happens.”

“Who cares?” Dean said.  “Tell him to stop posting anything.  The last thing we need is internet-savvy archangels showing up at our door.”

“That’s the second problem,” Sam said.  “Turns out the audience for a bunch of supernatural mystery books includes people who don’t suck at putting two and two together.  So speaking of showing up at the door...”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean growled.  “What’s wrong with these people?  It’s fiction, okay?  Get a life!”

“It’s not actually fiction,” Sam pointed out, because he was a jerk.  “Though to be fair, I don’t think they realize that yet.  It’s just a couple of them, drifting around town, checking out the area.  They did find the Roadhouse, but Sach told them it was closed for remodeling and sent them up the road.  She’s surprisingly useful for an angel.”

Dean grunted.  So Cas’ friends could pull their weight.  He couldn’t say he was surprised.

“Third problem,” Sam said, and Dean groaned.

“Dude, how long is this list?” he wanted to know.  “I have jet lag and a headache like you wouldn’t believe.  I thought putting you in charge meant I wouldn’t have to worry about this stuff.”

“If you have jet lag, it should be working for you, not against,” Sam told him.  “Your body thinks it’s earlier than it is.  If you have a headache, you should tell Cas, and you didn’t put me in charge.  You made me a lieutenant, remember?”

“Shortsighted of me,” Dean muttered.  “Can I at least lie down while you’re talking?  And close my eyes?”

“Ruby and Chuck,” Sam said.  “They were in the kitchen together this morning, and she’s still alive.”

“What, you think he’s gonna write her out of existence?”  Dean couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about this possibility.  

“Whoever’s guarding him doesn’t think she’s a threat,” Sam said.

“I don’t think she’s a threat,” Dean grumbled, but it was automatic, hassling Sam for the sake of the thing rather than the truth.  Of course he thought she was a threat.  Her stupid story about Lilith and the final seal made him more and more mad, and not because it shifted the responsibility to him.  He would take it and be grateful for it if it meant Sam didn’t have to carry that weight.

No, what he hated about her story was that it sounded so familiar.  Like her making nice with Sam, like her complaints about ghosts, like her french fry craving.  Ruby hadn’t changed a freakin’ bit... except for the ways she had.  Sleeping on her side.  Palling around with Jo and Sarah.  Acting more like a reawakened witch than a demon bound by permanent marker.

“Really,” Sam said, eyeing him.  “Since when do you have halfway tolerant feelings toward Ruby?”

Dean tried to think of something appropriately snarky to say to that, but he couldn’t.  So he just said, “She’s not sleeping in the Roadhouse.  And I don’t want her showing up here without an escort.  You or Jo or whoever.”

“Yeah, I know, we’re on it.”  Sam dismissed this like it was nothing.  “Jophiel wants to talk to you about arming the garrison.  Oh, and the dragon’s starting to attract some attention; we actually had animal control out here this morning.  Gabriel mind-whammied them or something, but we’re gonna need a less conspicuous place for it to hunt.”

Dean just stared at him.  He wanted to say this is why Ellen should let me kill it, but somehow he couldn’t get past the image of Gabriel talking to animal control.  No, Officer, we haven’t seen any lizards of unusual size, why do you ask?

“Dean,” Sam said.  “You okay?”

He wanted to know how Sam was okay after dealing with this stuff all day, but he didn’t ask.  Because this was what they did.  They just didn’t usually do it with so much... structure.

“Couple of aspirin and I will be,” he said with a sigh.  “Who should I start with?”

“Jophiel,” Sam said.  “Gabriel will just rant at you for half an hour.  If you’re lucky.”

Yeah, he was starting to get that Sam was the only one allowed to complain about Gabriel now.  No one else’s exposure could come close.  “If he’s pissing you off,” Dean began.

“He is,” Sam said.  “But not half as much as I’m pissing him off, believe me.  He has to listen to me now.  It’s so worth it.”

Dean shrugged, vaguely relieved that he wouldn’t have to face down Cas on this one.  “Better you than me.”

He did start with Jophiel.  It turned out to be the best advice Sam had given him, because she was organized.  She had a plan and everything, and he didn’t have to do anything except nod his head a few times and agree when she was done.  It was a pretty even split between Becky and Gabriel after that: which of them did he want to talk to least?

Castiel solved the problem by finding him out back--not hiding, thank you very much--watching the dragon incinerate old produce.  “Hello, Dean,” he said.

Castiel, not the dragon.  Dean was feeling a little fuzzy around the edges, and he felt the thought deserved clarification.

“Hi, Cas,” he said, a little impressed that rotten lettuce could burn.  “What’s up?”

There was a momentary pause, as though that wasn’t what Castiel had expected him to say.  He didn’t know why; it sounded normal to him.  Maybe anything would sound normal next to a scaly incinerator with a grudge against vegetables?

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Castiel asked at last.

Dean blinked.  Okay, Cas won, because that had to be a less-expected normal thing.  Possibly also because he couldn’t remember.

“No?” he guessed.

“I should rephrase,” Castiel said, and Dean didn’t think he was imagining the humor in his voice.  “As you haven’t eaten anything since this morning, would you care to have dinner with me?”

He wanted to protest that of course he’d eaten something, and furthermore, morning hadn’t been very long ago considering that they’d spent most of the day in heaven where maybe an hour had passed.  On the outside.  Instead what came out was, “Cas, are you asking me out again?”

“I’m told,” Castiel said, very seriously, “that it’s customary not to put out until the third date.  So yes, I thought we could move toward that goal.”

Dean was startled into laughing.  “Put out?” he repeated.  “Jo tell you that?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.  He studied Dean curiously, but his lips were twitching.  He added, “She has been very helpful.”

“No,” Dean said, reaching out to grab the hem of that blue shirt and pull him closer.  “Helpful would be telling you I’m easy, and you don’t need to follow all those rules.”

“I see,” Castiel murmured.  His gaze dropped to Dean’s mouth, and that would have been invitation enough if Cas hadn’t beaten him to the kiss.  The warm push of his mouth was almost as good as the way his hands fell to Dean’s hips, resting there like it was natural, like he knew exactly how to hold someone he was kissing.

Dean didn’t bother telling him he was good this time.  He came very close to thinking something dirtier at him, though, and he was probably lucky Cas could tell.  Privacy was rarely the first thing on his mind, but when he was tired it fell even further down the priority list.  Which of course Cas knew.

Now is not a good time to practice your so far non-existent ability to keep your thoughts to yourself, Cas told him silently.  I will speak to you, if you wish.  But I would prefer the entire host of heaven not know what’s on your mind right now.

Dean’s lips curved against his and he stretched, breath in, body pressing forward.  Just hearing Cas’ voice, somewhere in between English and Angel, was good enough to keep him from protesting.  Much.  “You saying my thoughts aren’t fit for a heavenly audience?” he whispered, hands sliding over Cas’ arms on his way to--

Your thoughts are rarely fit for any audience, Castiel replied.  I confess I enjoy them more than I ought.

“Yeah?”  Dean enjoyed everything about that idea.  “What do you like?”  He didn’t actually think he’d be able to get Cas to talk dirty to him.  It was that or asking him if he bruised, though, and he already knew the answer to that one.

I like it when you think about licking me, Cas thought.

Wow, Dean thought, breath huffing against Cas’ skin.  Definitely did not see that coming.

But he knew an offer when he heard one, and he nuzzled the corner of that mouth for a second before he flicked his tongue against Cas’ lower lip.  Cas didn’t respond and he didn’t push it, letting his mouth go lower while he licked carefully at the skin over Cas’ jaw.  Nice.  Not enough.  His tongue had been introduced to the skin it yearned for and now he wanted to suck.  Just a little.

Okay, a lot.  He wanted to press his mouth hard against Cas’ jaw, feel it wet and slick under his tongue, maybe brush his teeth against it as he licked his way down that pretty neck.  He wanted to suck until it did bruise, if only for a moment, a fleeting hickey that would never last on an angel’s skin.

Sometimes you think about sucking on my skin, Cas whispered in his head.  Marking me.  I like that.

It sounded hotter when Cas said it.  Dean wasn’t going to let him tease without consequences, because seriously.  Cas knew him.

He kissed his way back along Cas’ jaw, solid heat against his chest as he leaned in and Cas didn’t move.  Not at all, not even shifting his feet, still and hard as a statue except for the way he tilted his head, just slightly.  Letting Dean push into him without a flicker of hesitation, letting his earlobe be drawn into Dean’s mouth and sucked.  Hard.

Cas was breathing.  Dean could feel the gentle pressure of his chest, slow expansion when Dean’s tongue touched his ear, noticeable contraction when Dean let go to whisper, “How ’bout biting?  I figure you either love teeth or you hate ’em.”

I don’t know, Cas thought, and Dean had to choke back a groan because Cas really knew how to play the inexperienced card.  He knew exactly when to whip it out, and Dean was already struggling to keep his hands above the waist.  On Cas’ shoulders, they were safe there, but if Cas was going to say things like, Maybe you should think about it more, and Then I could better assess my reaction, he was totally asking for it.

“I’m thinking about it,” Dean whispered, letting his teeth graze Cas’ ear.  He kissed his way down over the jaw, licking and sucking at the skin of Cas’ neck until he knew his teeth would slide.  Then he dragged them across the skin beneath his ear.

Cas kept breathing, slow and even, but he tipped his head further and arched his neck against Dean’s mouth.

Dean really wished he could put his own words in Cas’ head the way Cas was doing with him.  He got that the physical stuff didn’t turn Cas on.  He was, at this moment, painfully aware of that.  But he wasn’t stupid: he was messing around with someone who wasn’t human, and he didn’t expect it to be easy.  He could be creative.

I want to talk to you, he thought, because screw privacy.  Cas liked hearing him, Cas had told him that, and Cas was going to get what he wanted for once.  The other angels could enjoy the show, for all Dean cared.

He felt Cas’ hands tighten on his hips.  Dean smiled into his skin, lifting his head and laying a hand on Cas’ face to turn it back toward his.  He didn’t lean in to kiss, because hello, angel.  He just tipped his head forward, letting his forehead rest against Cas’.

Our father, Dean thought.  Who art in heaven.

Cas’ wings flared bright and sharp behind him, and the sudden stiffness of his body was better than a gasp.

Hallowed be thy name, Dean thought.  Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Cas made a soft sound, blue eyes sinking closed as he relaxed against Dean.  The coldness just melted out of him, like he finally understood what they were doing, and Dean felt those hands slide around his waist to curl against his back.  Give us this day our daily bread, he thought, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Weirdest seduction ever, he decided.  Up side: Cas got to hear his voice, and the other angels probably wouldn’t suspect him of anything except him being a little too human.  Down side?  He’d probably associate praying with making out for a really long time.

On the other hand, if he thought about it, there wasn’t anything inherently bad about that.

Lead us not into temptation, he continued, and he couldn’t help but smile.  Deliver us from evil, for yours is the power and the awesomeness of the lord, forever and ever amen.

He could never remember that last part exactly.

Cas’ mouth was on his, licking at his bottom lip in an exact copy of the move Dean had tried to make earlier, so he figured it was close enough.  He opened his mouth, trying to catch that tongue, and when it slid inside he sucked gently and tried to ignore the way Cas’ wings were hunched tight over his shoulders.  Like he wanted to sweep them forward.  Like he wanted to engulf Dean.

The door clicked open behind them, and he heard someone take a step through and then stop.  Castiel didn’t so much as flinch.  Dean was really good at going with the flow, and if Cas didn’t know he was supposed to be embarrassed, Dean definitely wasn’t going to tell him.

“Right,” Jo’s voice said.  “So that’s what ‘don’t talk about him that way’ looks like.  Thanks for the demonstration.”

Dean knew from experience that the best way to handle a situation like this was to ignore it until it went away.

“Cas,” he mumbled, quick breath over damp skin.  “You’re allowed to use your wings.”

Jo must have heard him, because she sighed loudly and this time she slammed the door.  The continuing silence meant that she was on the right side of it, though, so Dean didn’t really care.  And when he felt the feather-soft brush of wings against his hair, his shoulder blades, the backs of his legs, he forgot that she’d even been there.

That turned out to be a mistake.

Cas’ shoulders weren’t so safe when his wings were extended, because it was too easy to slide his hands just a little further and tangle them in those glowing feathers.  The leading edge of an impossibly curved wing was narrower than his shoulders but still too wide for Dean’s hands.  He squeezed anyway, pressing against them carefully in case it felt like being pushed away.  He didn’t even notice how warm they were until they trembled under his hands, sending a flicker of cool air washing over him.

That was when the door swung open again, and this time Ellen brooked no argument.  “Dean Winchester,” she declared.  “Stop molesting your angel and come inside for dinner.  Both of you.”

Dean groaned, because why were they still standing here?  Cas could send them anywhere and they were here, being harassed by anyone who wandered by?  He’d finally gotten Cas to respond and now was so not the time to care about eating.

“A few minutes,” he muttered, turning his head enough that she could hear him.  “We’ll be right in.”

Ellen snorted.  “Now, boys.”

I have no idea why Gabriel likes her, Cas said silently.

It made Dean huff a little in agreement, amused and buzzed and so hot he wasn’t sure he’d be presentable when he stepped away from Cas.  He tried anyway, taking a deep breath to disguise his shudder when those wings slid over his shoulders.  Ellen couldn’t see them, which he figured was a good thing, but it wasn’t like she’d have no idea why he was shaking.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, giving her his best little boy grin.

She stepped to one side of the door and pointed inside.  “Dinner,” she said.  “At least one of you needs to eat.  Come on.”

“I was hoping to take Dean out tonight,” Castiel said, unexpectedly brave in the face of her maternal tyranny.  He sounded a lot more composed than Dean felt, and his innocent smile was considerably more convincing.

Not convincing enough, though.  “You can take him out tomorrow,” Ellen told him.  “We’re all having dinner together tonight.  I’m told it’ll be a bonding experience, or something.”

“Or something” was right.  The best part of it was that Bobby had shown up when Dean wasn’t looking--which, in all honesty, had been most of the day--and having him around made the garrison experience less bizarre and more comfortable.  Because seriously, how many times had they hunkered down with Bobby over the years?  So this time they were doing it at Ellen’s place, with a bunch of angels and a messed up demon and a dragon that wouldn’t go away.  It still seemed suddenly familiar.

The worst part of it was that Cas sat right next to him.  All through dinner.  He was catching on to the physical part of seduction fast... or maybe he’d always had the theory, and he was just now calibrating the practice to Dean’s specific quirks.  Like the way he liked to be fed.  He’d never told anyone that, yet here was Cas offering him a forkful of something in the middle of dinner.  Dean could have pushed him back in his chair and filled Cas’ mouth with his tongue, but instead he had to sit there and let Cas drag the tines of the fork over his lip while Sam laughed at him and Jo told him he was the worst friend ever because his gay angel boyfriend set the bar way too high.

He could barely breathe afterwards.  He gave Cas a warning look, which Cas actually seemed to understand, because he set the fork down on Dean’s plate and turned to compliment Ellen on her returning staff.  Angel-friendly, Dean assumed, but he didn’t really want to know the details.  He had people telling him way too much already.

He also had Cas, who had somehow figured out that footsie was the best game ever.  And if there was anyone who could get workboots off without looking or touching, of course it would be Cas.  Someone else’s workboots, no less.  Dean kept his gaze on his plate, hoping his face didn’t show how turned on he was.

It didn’t help that he was trying not to think the whole time.  Dean latched onto every conversation at the table and then, one after another, got distracted before he even knew what they’d been talking about.  He couldn’t look at Cas, not for long and not without giving away exactly what was on his mind.  He also couldn’t look at anyone else in case they noticed how he leaned toward Cas when he forgot, or how often their arms brushed even when he didn’t.  And on top of that, he had Gabriel eavesdropping from the other side of the table and every angel in creation waiting for Michael to grace them with more words of wisdom.

He was gonna go crazy.  He was pretty sure his brand of crazy would involve shoving Cas down on the table and tearing his clothes off, and he was totally sure he wouldn’t care.  The only thing that stopped him was knowing that Cas probably wouldn’t get it.  Not without more explanation than he was currently capable of.

So Dean suffered.  It was pretty sweet torture, truth be told, and if he’d thought Cas had any plan for following through he would have enjoyed it even more.  As it was, he was cataloguing every one of Cas’ reactions for himself, just in case it came in handy later.  When he was definitely planning to explain to Cas just how close to the edge he was.

He didn’t get the chance.  The angel alarm went off just before dessert, which was monumentally unfair on every level.  It turned out that their garrison, which had been self-sufficient for two whole days, was the exception rather than the rule.  And of course it had to be Anna’s that called for help first.

“At least I won’t have to watch you eat pie,” Dean muttered, under cover of everyone standing up and calling instructions to each other.  And, in Dean’s case, stamping his boots back on.  “You’re killing me over here, man.”

“Am I?” Castiel replied, voice just as low.  “I wasn’t sure I was doing it right.”

“Oh, trust me.”  Dean let his eyes slide shut for a second, but all he could see was a happy smile and blue, blue eyes staring back at him.  When he opened his eyes again, that gaze was the same.  “You’re doing it right.”

“Then,” Cas mused, “perhaps we should consider this our second, albeit aborted, date.  So that next time we start at three.”

“We can start at three tonight, if you ask me,” Dean said.  “Let’s close the book on this one and start the next.  It’s more us anyway.  Goodbye, awkward sitting around; hello, fighting for our lives.  Only this time with bonus sex at the end.”

“Dean,” Sam said.  “Are you seriously planning your hookups before we go off to fight angel wars?”

“You got a better time?” Dean countered, grabbing his jacket.  “And you’re not going.  Anna’s guy got in trouble in Santa Fe; I don’t want you anywhere near that place.”

Sam didn’t argue the point, but he wasn’t going to go quietly either.  “At least let me get as far as her base camp.  She’s set up in Montana, right?  I can back you guys up from there.”

“No, you can’t,” Dean told him.  “Someone has to keep an eye on Gabriel.  Sorry, man, but I’m not coming back to a trickster’s idea of cleanse and purge.”

“Purge and cleanse,” Sam corrected automatically, and who cared?

“Cas,” Dean said.  “Jo, Sach, we’re the field team.  Gabe, I hope it doesn’t come to this, but do what you have to do to hold the line: keep Sam away from Lucifer or we’re all screwed.  If he dies, the devil wins.  Got it?”

“Blah, blah, blah,” Gabriel replied, rolling his eyes.  “I think I can handle a holy war or two.”

“Jophiel,” Dean said, eyeing the two “Jo”s he’d acquired.  “Not Joanna.”

“Oh, I’m coming,” Jo told him.

“You’re not coming,” Dean retorted.  “Everyone else, let’s go.”

He felt Cas’ hand against his back, felt the wind whirl under wings that stretched behind him, and when the world steadied it was just the four of them from Ellen’s.  Him and three angels, standing there with Anna’s inner circle.  Because being the leader should have some perks.

It was all downhill from there.  Anna’s guy wasn’t in trouble alone--he’d taken three of his fellow soldiers down with him, and as their commanding officer, Anna was the only archangel who could leave her garrison to go after them.  Of course, she thought she had Michael on her side: two against one.  But the one was Lucifer, and Michael, if he was around, still wasn’t on board with letting Dean smite anyone.

Dean thought they were screwed right up until the moment Zachariah and Raphael showed up in Santa Fe.  He had Cas’ friends at his back while Cas and Anna dove after the captured angels, and suddenly Jophiel and Sachiel were bracketed by Dean’s least favorite archangels.  He had half a second to be relieved, because they needed that backup.

Then Lucifer caught his eye, staring straight into him as shadowed wings unfurled high over his head.  “You’re not Michael,” he said simply.

“Surprise,” Zachariah added from behind him.

Just like that, it was over.  They’d already known: Dean didn’t have to look to know he’d lost heaven’s remaining archangels.  Zachariah and Raphael weren’t here to help, and he could feel the crackle of electricity as Jo and Sach powered up.  They wouldn’t stand a chance against dudes who’d smote Cas without a second thought.

“Don’t,” Dean snapped.  “Jo, Sach--”  He had a heartbeat to give that last order, and as much as he wanted to say protect Cas, he knew the last thing he should do was draw attention to him.  Sending them after Cas without an archangel behind them would just get all three of them killed.  “Help Anna.”

Santa Fe disappeared, taking the nighttime with it.  He was standing in the filtered sunlight of another endless atrium, and he was really starting to hate heaven’s damned lobbies.  There was a creepy, Poe-like pendulum swinging over his head, which was about what he’d come to expect from angels, and people scattered around at tables... praying?

Cas, he thought, trying to keep the desperation out of his head.  Stay away, you hear me?  That wouldn’t be enough, and he knew it.  Maybe nothing would be, but he had to try.  They can’t kill me, not if they ever want to see Michael on earth to fight Lucifer.  They can kill you.  Find Gabriel and stay away.

There was no answer.

Nothing.  He could hear the roar of angels in his head but no voices, nothing distinct enough to follow... nothing familiar.  No sense of Cas anywhere.

“So, Dean,” Zachariah said conversationally.

He straightened, not bothering to turn.  If they wanted to see him, they could quit cowering.  He was right here.

“Impressive trick,” Zachariah continued.  “For a monkey.  How did you do it, anyway?”

He grimaced.  They’d done it to themselves, and eventually they might even realize that.  In the meantime, he was more worried about what Cas was doing.

“You’ve aligned yourself with Lucifer.”  Raphael’s voice was a growl, a low and angry counterpoint to Zach’s obnoxious lilt.  “If the garrisons of earth side with hell, then heaven will fall.”

“Oh,” Zachariah said, “let’s not give them too much credit.  I think calling them ‘garrisons’ is something of an overstatement.”

Dean frowned.  Raphael wasn’t on board.  And if Raphael doubted--

“We haven’t had any contact with Lucifer for months,” he told the atrium in front of him.  “Not until he said he wanted to meet us at Santa Fe.  You saw how well that went.”

He had two advantages here.  He hoped.  One, if they thought he was in league with Lucifer, then they probably didn’t have the inside scoop on the devil’s latest deals.  Two, Raphael wanted to believe in Michael--and Dean had a lot of practice bluffing angels.

“Obviously,” Zachariah said.  “Lucifer isn’t going to bargain with a human.”

Dean actually smiled, because he could wait a lifetime for a setup like that.  Turning, he made sure to hold his hands out to the sides as he drawled, “I’m a lot of things, bub.  Human ain’t one of them.”

Raphael didn’t answer, but Zachariah smiled that smarmy smile right back at him.  “Your eyes are green.”

Dean hooked his thumbs into his pockets.  “I like ’em that way,” he said.

“Show us your wings,” Raphael said suddenly.

Dean rolled his eyes, because what else had he expected?  Of course they did that in heaven.  He supposed size mattered, too, and each new audience got you another notch on your belt.  “My wings are none of your business,” he told them.  “Guess you’ll just have to take it on faith.”

It might have given Raphael pause, but Zachariah wasn’t biting.  “Sorry,” he said, and he was condescension personified.  “I haven’t found faith to be particularly practical.”

There was someone behind him.  Castiel’s voice, rough and welcome even when he was afraid for the guy’s life, made him swallow hard.  “Faith isn’t practical, Zachariel.  Faith is practiced.”

The fake humor was gone from Zachariah’s tone when he demanded, “Haven’t you learned your lesson yet?”

Zachariah made a flicking motion with his hand, and everything happened at once.

Dean’s sword was in his hand, Raphael’s eyes were wide, and even Zachariah looked startled.  Cas’ hand was warm against his back.  “I have faith that you will still be you,” he whispered, even as the room lit up in brilliant shades of blue and blinding white.

His eyes were open.  He could see everything.  The last time Cas had torn away the veil of humanity and exposed his soul to heaven it had felt like a loss, an absence of something as vital as breathing.  This time it felt like waking up underground, like bursting through a too-flimsy barrier between him and the sunlight... like exploding back into his life.

Grace flooded every empty place he had tried to hide.  It burned away the shadows that had curled around him until he shied from the light for fear of losing himself.  Love roared up, not new but so very old it had bled through every effort at containment.  Love for his family, for his brothers, for the road that stretched before them.

He could see all of heaven at once, and it wasn’t enough.  Earth was hidden from here, too beautiful and wild to stand against heaven’s uniformity for long.  It called out for love, appreciation... understanding.

Fides quaerens intellectum.

Wings unfurling behind him, Michael let himself fall.

Earth blurred past.  Like heaven cracked open and growing, shattered pieces shifting into something new: a tangle of life and choices and hope.  He slammed into something he couldn’t see--the edge, the limit, the end--and he was too far out.  Too far gone.  Something was yanking him back, the images starting to flicker in reverse.

He saw Sam’s girl walking at her graduation.  He saw her blowing out the candles on her sixteenth birthday, and he saw her bare feet stretching to reach the pedals in the old pick-up truck they kept for driving the fields.  He saw her holding hands with her little brother on their way to church.  She was pushing the kid on their old tire swing, her scrawny arms and his chubby legs brown with dirt and sun, and then they were just toddlers in the kiddie pool while Sam yelled for them to stop jumping on the plastic ramp.

They were awesome, and he wanted to tell Sam.  He wanted to tell him not to listen to anyone else, that his kids were beautiful and whatever was in their blood was just the weight of family.  They all bore the cross of love.

He blinked first.

The farm was struggling, little shoots of green through ruined soil now the most hopeful thing in the world.  They would grow, they would all grow.  Someone had made a hammock out of baling twine and beads: he only knew one person crazy enough to work away the nights on a project like that and he was in it now, one arm flung over the side as he slept.  Then he was watching himself with the horses, they were venturing out of camp, they were back at the compound where Lucifer had appeared.  Where Lucifer had been left, alone in a trap that was never sprung.

He saw himself talking to Cas and Risa, to himself, and he opened his mouth.  “He loves you,” he said, the words ringing oddly in his ears.  “You stupid son of a bitch.”

He closed stinging eyes and when he looked again he’d gotten farther back than the apocalypse had reached.  Yellow Sandover t-shirt torn up for rags, Sam on the phone with hunters in an apartment without carbs.  He heard himself yelling to Sam from the next room, saw himself giving Sam a key, saw the two of them arguing over Daphne and Velma.  He walked out on Sales and they were both gone in the blink of an eye.

Sam’s powers started to wane.  Jess was back.  Sam was gone.  The necklace glinted in the light of sunset.  The scenery changed around two young faces pressed up to the glass, but the car was always there.  Mary liked it because it went fast and the speakers were loud and if it wasn’t as roomy as she’d wanted, well, the air blew hot and cold and once her first baby was born the radio always seemed to find her favorite songs.

That car would never fail.  It didn’t matter who was driving it or what it hit.  Five years after John bought it, the engine was running better than ever.  Even the passenger side window mysteriously stopped sticking.

Linear time tripped and blurred and burst open in a bloom of pain.  It dug into his soul, an inescapable ache that knew no respite and for the first time--for the last time--he understood what had made them go.  He saw Anael’s wings dragging.  He saw Gabriel’s wings burning.  He felt the tearing pain of a family ripped asunder.  He tried not to remember, tried frantically to keep it from coming back, clinging to shreds of ignorance and humanity.

But his brother was torn away all over again.  He was screaming and it didn’t matter, it didn’t help.  Nothing eased the broken loss of an imperfect whole, seven angels of creation who had started as one only to shatter under the weight of independent action.

Did we go to earth to hide, he wondered, or to seek?

Michael, someone whispered.  Or sang.  Maybe shouted, he didn’t know.  The voice was very quiet.  The lesser angels had always been audacious, closer to human than their elder brethren.  More social, certainly, forming friendships, favoring some over the others.

He ignored it.  Mary was there, a little girl with blonde curls and a shotgun and a look of intense determination on her face.  The field spun, grass and trees bending in the wind, and he watched her playing down by the creek.  She would give him a brother to replace the one he’d lost.  It would be the most peace he’d felt since the disintegration of the archangels taught him despair.  He had to keep her safe.

“Mary,” he said, and she looked back at him from the tree branch where she was hanging upside-down.

“You have wings,” she said.  “Are you an angel?”

“Yes,” he told her.  “Give me your hand.”

She did, because she was a child and she could see him.  He fumbled the silver bracelet out of his pocket the way a human would, fastening it around her wrist with his thumb and fingers.  It would continue to fit as she grew, though one day it wouldn’t look as loose as it did now.

Dean, the voice said sternly.  From somewhere very close by.

He blinked, and the world vanished.  He knew that voice.  He knew the tree he was suddenly standing beside.

Not Mary’s tree, but Sam’s.  

Sam.

“He’s fine,” the voice said.  “He’s with Gabriel on earth.”

He turned around and the light almost blinded him.  This was no lesser angel.  The force of faith alone almost sent him to his knees.  The only thing that stopped him was the hand on his shoulder, an utterly human gesture, and the words, “You will not kneel for me.”

“Castiel,” he whispered.  When did you get so bright?

It was an insolent question, but an answer breathed across his mind anyway.

When I found what I was looking for.

“Dean,” the being before him said.  “You call me Cas.”

“Can I?”  It all came crashing down at once: he’d never been what Castiel thought he was, and now he wondered if being irredeemable was better than being indistinguishably perfect.  Castiel had loved Dean for not knowing him, for being different from the rest of heaven.  “You fell for a human,” he mumbled.  “Not an angel.”

Castiel smiled at him, and it was like staring into the sun.  “I have it on good authority that no one’s perfect.”

That was all the blessing he needed.  “I love you,” he whispered, reaching into the light.

It went very still even as his fingers trailed across that face.  “You’ve never said that before,” Castiel murmured.

“Surprise,” he said softly, letting his forehead rest against its counterpart.  The immediate past was struggling to regain priority in his seriously overwhelmed brain.  “You should let me kneel, Cas.  I’m a freakin’ archangel and you’re brighter than I am.  What did you do?”

“I began to believe,” Castiel told him.  And then, because apparently that was supposed to answer the question, he said, “We must return to heaven.”

Why? he thought.  Because Cas could have his soul now, if he wanted it.  It wouldn’t shrink from revelation this time.  He let it spill through his fingers just enough to brush against the brilliant glare in front of him, adding, I like it here.

“Don’t tempt me,” Castiel said, and was that a sigh?  Was Cas sighing at him?  He felt his lips twitch, but all Castiel said was, “We have work to do.”

There’s always more work, he thought.  There’s not always me, alone with you.

“You’re changing time,” Castiel said, and if he was trying to sound stern again then it wasn’t working.  “Please stop it.”

“I’m an archangel,” he said, testing the identity again.  He gave Cas a smirk as he added, “Of the lord.  I’m not changing time; I’m fixing it.”

“Well, stop fixing it,” Castiel said.  Then, almost as an afterthought, “I’m starting to see why you fell.”

“Starting to?” he repeated, amused.  “I think you should commune with me, Cas.  It’ll be a lot better than last time.”

“I think I was right,” Castiel informed him.  “You’re exactly the same.  And Zachariah and Raphael are waiting for us.”

“Oh, because I ever care what they think,” he said, rolling his eyes.  Maybe the lesser angels weren’t the only ones to have favorites.  At least not anymore.  He probably could have admitted that to himself before.

“Anna’s soldiers are lost to Lucifer,” Castiel continued.  “She and her team were forced to retreat in our absence.”

That wiped the smile off his face.  He sifted through his memories, still trying to pull the last few days to the front.  “Jo?” he said at last, because that sounded right.  “And Sach?”

“Back at the garrison,” Cas told him.  “As we will be, once I explain to the others that Michael is in fact among us.”

He was glad that at least some of them were safe, but it was a mess that could have been avoided if he’d come back to himself a little sooner.  “Are you bossing me around again?” he asked, just because he could.

“Someone has to,” Castiel said.  “Anna’s losses are not your fault, Dean.  You may deal with her at a more opportune moment.  Now it seems prudent to prioritize our efforts.”

He grinned at Cas, because maybe it didn’t matter at all.  Maybe they saw each other through the light, and he wasn’t creation any more than Cas was God.  “I love it when you get all geeky,” he said.  Before there could be any confusion over what he meant or how much he cared, he added, “Come on.”

He reached up and caught Cas’ hand, taking it from his shoulder while his wings spread behind him.  It wasn’t so much a bend in time as it was a tiny wrinkle, and they were standing in the atrium the second they’d left.  Or he’d left.  Cas must have come after him when grace cracked his awareness wide open--Cas had been listening when he mentioned the car, he realized.  Cas had found it and brought it to him... and somewhere in there, the youngest angel had been filled to the brim with divinity.

Castiel filled the Hall of Prayer with light in turn.  He didn’t stop anyone from kneeling--except Michael, who found Cas wouldn’t let go of his hand.  “You do not kneel for me,” Castiel whispered fiercely.

He lifted his gaze, aware this time of every ear on them.  He didn’t have to look to know that heads were bowed respectfully in every direction, but the entire hall could hear Castiel murmur, “It mattered to you before.  It matters to me now.”

It mattered to Dean.  “Let me do something else,” he said aloud.

Castiel tilted his head, and it made him smile.  “What?”

“I want to teach Zachariah a lesson,” he said.  “He doesn’t look very repentant to me.”

“Forgive me,” Zachariah gritted out from his place on the floor.  He sounded as far from penitent as Dean was from sorry.

“Why?” he asked.  He saw Zachariah stiffen, but Castiel didn’t say anything.  “Why you and not Lucifer?”

“Because,” Zachariah hissed.  “He is an abomination.”

He narrowed his eyes.  Zachariah had always been kind of a dick, but there was a line and he’d just crossed it.  “Don’t talk that way about family,” he said.  He threw in a flash of light for good measure.

No one flinched.  Not even Raphael, despite the fact that he was now sitting next to a fluffy white bunny rabbit.  Zachariah’s angelic form was nowhere in its entirety.  It hadn’t been completely suppressed, though: the bunny had a faint suggestion of wings wisping above its back.

Tiny, tiny wings.

Dean grinned.  “I was wrong,” he announced to the hall at large.  “Smiting people is totally fun.”

Castiel’s voice was perfectly serious as he observed, “I’m not sure you’ve achieved a smiting in the traditional sense.”

He turned to stare, because if he was the only one not kneeling, then he was the one who had to do it.  “Dude,” he said.  The word rolled easily off his tongue.  “Are you trying to ruin my fun?”

Castiel’s expression softened, and his smile was tolerant.  “Not on this occasion.”

“Good,” he said.  And then, because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say, “That’s good.”

“We should return to earth,” Castiel said.  “Lucifer can not be allowed to hold angels ransom.”

He frowned, struck by the idea.  “You think he wants something for them?”

“I hope he does,” Castiel said quietly.  “Because the alternative is for us to go into hell and bring them back ourselves.”

“Been there,” he said, though the thought of an angel in hell was suddenly and wildly disconcerting.  Like being trapped under ice and seeing sky reflected back at you.  He tried to push it away.  “Done that.”

“You were only being rescued,” Castiel said.

Dean’s memories of hell were too jagged, too uncontrolled to let that pass.  “Only?” he retorted.  Even as he said it, he felt the sword humming in his hand.  Uncalled.  Unexpected.  He saw Castiel’s gaze flick to it, and he wanted to explain.  He wanted to say, it’s only to keep the demons back, but everything was wrong and Cas had to know that already.

“I assure you,” Castiel said, catching his eye again.  “It’s significantly more difficult to be the one doing the rescuing.”

He couldn’t kneel, but he couldn’t hold that stare either.  “It was my responsibility,” he told the floor.  “My choice.  You shouldn’t have come after me.”

But that was wrong too, and he knew it even before Castiel caught his chin and forced it up.  “Thank you,” he blurted out, before Cas could say anything.  “Thanks, okay?  Just... thanks.”

It gave Cas pause.  “You’ve never said that before,” he said.  Maybe not even noticing that he was repeating himself.

Dean managed a grin.  “Annoyed you all this time, right?”

“Angels do not require gratitude,” Castiel informed him.  “We’re made for... service.”

It was the way he said it that made it sound so dirty, Dean decided.  Still, he had said it, and it kind of sounded like he’d done it on purpose.  “Did you just make a sex joke in the middle of the Hall of Prayer?” he asked, trying not to let his grin widen.  Because he should be sure.

Castiel looked just embarrassed enough to make it true.  “It’s possible,” he said.

“You,” Dean told him, “are awesome.”

“I suppose so,” Castiel said, but he was smiling as he let go.  “I’ll have to go past the gate before I leave.”

Oh, was that why they were still standing here?  “Come with me,” he said, because he didn’t have to go past the gate.  Not that he would have minded making fun of Peter some more.  She always made it so easy.  “Let me give you a ride for once.”

His wings flexed, automatic and anticipatory, while Castiel folded his own and stepped in close.  Closer than he needed to be, maybe, not that Dean had any complaints.  Castiel, angel of the lord, could stay exactly where he was forever for all Dean cared about anyone else’s opinion.

“Raphael,” he said.  “You’ll need to take over Zachariah’s responsibilities or find someone to do it for you.”

Raphael was still kneeling.  His gaze was fixed on the floor.  “Of course,” he said, without lifting his head.

On the first wingbeat they were gone.  The sky opened up in front of them before narrowing to the tiny pinprick of the Roadhouse proper, and he had a moment to regret the end of that flight with Cas.  To wish another pair of wings had stretched wide alongside his.  To wonder how he had gone so many years with a fear of something that had only once been out of his control.

Then the garrison erupted into chaos around them, and all Dean could do was stare.

He had a shotgun in his face.  Cas had two.  He heard weapons cocking, caught the slide of metal, but it was the crack of plastic that made him lift his hands.  One of Tamara’s super soakers.  If she was here, there were salt-washed silver bullets engraved with sigils somewhere in the room, and shooting those things without cause was just a waste.

“Dean?”  Sam was on his feet, safe, almost tripping over angels as he tried to turn and maneuver away from the bar at the same time.  Every angel in the room was down on one knee--

Except for Gabriel, who was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t decipher.  “Michael,” he said flatly.

Something about it must have tipped Sam off.  He’d only just looked up when he froze, staring at them like they’d brought the devil along for the ride.  He wasn’t the only one: every weapon that had wavered when they recognized Dean and Castiel rose again.  Dean had to wonder what they thought bullets were going to do against an archangel.

Memories of being shot presented themselves at the forefront of his mind, and he frowned.  Part of his brain told itself to stop being so annoying while the other part reminded him it was Gabriel he should be glaring at.  “You suck,” he informed the brother formerly known as the trickster.  “You killed me a hundred twenty-six times!”

Gabriel brightened.  “A hundred and twenty-seven,” he said, like he was flattered Michael remembered.

“Not helping your case,” Dean told him.  Because he did remember: it was very clear, suddenly, and Sam looked stricken.

Not because of Gabriel’s stupid stunt, Dean realized two sentences too late.  He wasn’t reassuring Sam at all, because Sam had already known--and he knew Dean didn’t.  Hadn’t.  Which meant that he was officially better at pretending to be Michael than he was at pretending to be Dean.  That was just messed up.

“Sam,” he began.

It was the hardening expression on Sam’s face that stopped him.  “If you’ve taken Dean,” he said, and the words were cold in a way he hadn’t thought Sammy’s voice could be, “I’ll personally ensure that you don’t win this war.”

He was more careful not to move this time.  The last thing Sam needed was to see his body pumped full of whatever they had trained on him.  “Dude, it’s still me,” he said.  He tried a grin.  “Funny story, though.”

“Password,” Sam interrupted.

Dean stared at him.  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Password or the world gets destroyed,” Sam said, like it was an actual ultimatum.  Like he would say yes to Lucifer, demolish the forces of heaven, and probably find a way to murder Michael while he was at it.

It was his calm that was so creepy, Dean decided.  “I hate you,” he said aloud.  “I love demons, okay.  That’s my password, and it’s only my password because you picked it and you suck.”

Sam snorted, but his fingers relaxed and the tense lines of his shoulders started to ease.  “You picked it, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean muttered.  Seriously.  What he put up with around here.

“Michael would know Dean’s password,” Castiel said quietly.

“Everyone knows my password now,” Dean retorted.  Then he realized what that meant.  “Hey, so I have to change it, right?  I want a cooler password this time.  Something with Batman in it.”

“Would he have known it that quickly?”  Sam was clearly talking to Castiel, and Dean frowned at him.

“Give me some credit,” he said.  “I think I could hide something for longer than a second.”

“It was at least ten seconds before you answered,” Sam pointed out.

“He’s still Dean,” Castiel said.  “If you trust my word on anything, trust me on this.”

One of the shotguns was Ellen’s, and she glanced at Sam.  At his reluctant nod, she let it fall and jerked her head at Tamara and Jo to do the same.  Bobby hadn’t actually pulled a weapon on them, and Ruby was still pretending not to have one.  Dean frowned at her, surprised by the faintness of her face until Gabriel stole his attention.

“Did you just lie to them?” he asked bluntly.

Dean saw Sam and Gabriel exchange looks, and it wasn’t the first time.  When they looked away, Sam was waiting for an explanation.  He trusted Cas... but for whatever reason, he wasn’t writing Gabriel’s opinion off.

“No,” Castiel said.

“Sorry, bro,” Gabriel replied, eyeing him.  “He has wings.  That’s not a glamour.”

“Okay, you know how you guys were talking about Michael helping me?” Dean interrupted.  “Turns out you weren’t so far off.”

Sam was staring at him like he could actually see his wings, and it took Dean longer than it should have to remember he could.  Sam could see his wings, because Sam was the devout brother.  “They’re real,” he said quickly.  “They’re mine.  Which is kind of awesome, actually.”

“Michael gave you wings?” Sam said skeptically.  “What, so you can... fly out of danger?”

“No, so I can be your gay fairy godmother,” Dean snapped.  “If you want to make it sound stupid, go all the way.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.  “Okay,” he said.  “Michael’s helping you.  How?”

“He’s not helping,” Gabriel said.  “Hello!  You can’t just give someone angel wings!”

“Shut up,” Dean told him.  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the thing with the duct tape.”  He frowned, the memory coming back instantly.  It was weird how clear everything was after so many years of being human: time did strange stuff to the brain.

“What are you gonna do?” Gabriel taunted.  “Throw me around?  Bloody me up a little?  You want some payback for what I did to your precious Cas, don’t you?  Go ahead, Deanie baby.  Show off your powers.”

Castiel didn’t so much as shift beside him.  Dean elbowed him, hard, mostly to keep himself from throwing something at Gabriel.  “Hey, Cas,” he said.  “Can I turn him into a bunny?  Maybe one of those long-haired ones with the little bows on their head?  It’d be better than the stupid face he’s wearing now.”

“I believe Gabriel is trying to provoke you into revealing the extent of your divinity,” Castiel said.  Which was totally obvious and didn’t answer the question at all.

“Is that a no?” Dean asked.

“Dean,” Sam said.  “Exactly how many of Michael’s powers do you have?”

Finally, he thought.  An easy question.

“All of them,” Dean told him.  “I’ve got all of Michael’s powers.  Including the ability to smite people who piss me off,” he added, glaring at Gabriel.  “Ask Zachariah.  Oh, wait.  You can’t.”

“Well, he could,” Castiel said.  “But it might prove difficult to understand the answer.”

Sam looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or overjoyed.  “Did you... kill Zachariah?”

“No,” Dean said patiently.  “I turned him into a bunny rabbit.  Maybe he’ll get more love now and he won’t act like the neglected younger sibling.  You know how bratty they can be, right, Sam?”

“All right, all right.”  Gabriel was holding his hands out to the sides, which triggered a distant sense of familiarity.  “Good show.  Maybe even convincing, if you like that sort of thing.  What’d you do, absorb the kid whole?”

Just like that, the familiarity wasn’t distant anymore and Dean’s blade came up to block the one that appeared as Gabriel swung.  The clash of metal was jarring.  Cold spread like electricity down his arm, and it was freakin’ uncomfortable.  He glared at Gabriel over his sword.  “Not today, Chuckles.”

Gabriel went to yank his blade back and Dean froze it where it was.  “I’d love to make it a hundred twenty-seven to three,” he said.  “But see, it’s bad form to kill the leader of your garrison in the middle of a war.  So how about you back off and shut your mouth long enough for me to explain.”

“How about you let Dean go before Sam gets himself killed trying to take you out?” Gabriel countered.  His voice was easy, and his arm didn’t shake with the strain of trying to pull free.  He looked like he was playing.

Gabriel always looked like he was playing.

“Love to,” Dean said rolling his eyes.  “Except I’m Dean, so you gotta see the problem with that.”

“Gabriel.”  Cas was frowning, but he didn’t try to get between them.  Dean had a moment to wonder how long his new super-God light would last and why Gabriel, the bastard, didn’t seem to be responding to it.  “Why don’t you believe me when I say this is Dean?”

Gabriel snorted, and Dean almost taped his mouth shut then and there.  But humans were allowed to say what they wanted.  He wasn’t really convinced it should extend to angels, but apparently God was, so Dean decided to leave smiting-by-bunny for a moment when Cas actually looked hurt.

Right now he just looked curious, even when Gabriel snapped, “Because I’m not blind, bro.  I know what you’ll do for him.  And if Michael says, ‘play along or the kid suffers,’ then no offense, but your cooperation isn’t exactly a surprise.”

“Oh, for--”  Dean rolled his eyes.  “Now even the fact that Cas believes I’m me is proof I’m not?  What’s it take?”

Gabriel stopped trying to pull away and stepped into him, pressing right up against his own sword.  He held up his free hand, and Dean narrowed his eyes.  He was going to snap.  It shouldn’t worry him.  But there was something resigned about that smile... something that didn’t even try to look playful.

Even as the click sounded in the suddenly silent room, he felt a shock crackle over his skin and he reached out and yanked Cas into him.  Away from the fire that leapt up, penning them in.  No higher than his knee yet it formed a searing, impenetrable wall and if he could have thrown Gabriel back without killing him he would have done it.

“Why don’t you just step out of the holy fire,” Gabriel taunted him.  “And we’ll call it our mistake.”

“Gabriel,” Sam snapped.  “That wasn’t for Cas.”

“It wasn’t for me, either,” Gabriel said.  They were very close over crossed swords that Dean held immovable with a thought, and Gabriel didn’t look away.  “But you need Dean more than you need Michael.”

“Dean,” Sam said with a sigh.  “Help me get something to put it out.”

Huh, he thought.  Sam was good at this.  Had he really never noticed that before?

“Can’t do that, Sammy,” he said aloud.  “I’ve got awesome angelic powers now.  Traps me just as good as them.”

“It doesn’t trap powers,” Gabriel said, rolling his eyes.  “It traps grace.”

Castiel wasn’t moving, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to unclench his fingers from Cas’ shirt.  Holy fire was a lot freakier from the inside.  “What do you care?” he asked Gabriel.  “I mean, come on, you don’t even like me.”

“Michael isn’t the messiah,” Gabriel said, like it was obvious.  Like it had ever mattered before.  “Dean is.”

Dean eyed him.  Whatever his real reason--and that definitely wasn’t it--he’d trapped himself inside the ring with them.  It was possible that he didn’t believe Michael would kill him.  It was also possible, although Dean wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it, that Gabriel thought keeping Michael out of Sam’s hair was worth his own life.

“You were right,” he muttered to Cas, letting his sword fall.  Gabriel’s vanished as soon as he let go, and he tossed his over the line to Sam.

Who held up his hand and stopped the sword before it reached him.  Without touching it.  The silver blade hung in the air in front of him, turning slightly, and Sam glared at him.  “Right about what?”

“Gabriel wins the trust-off,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Sam.  “You been hitting the demon blood again?”  He could see Sam’s blood, darker than human, but there was zero demon tint on his face.  Telekinesis, maybe; outside influence, no.

It was still reassuring to think he could kill Ruby with his brain.

“Gabriel wins the--”  Sam stopped.  The sword fell out of the air, clattering against the floor, and he took a step toward the circle.  “Dean?”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Yeah, what have I been trying to tell you?”

“Why does the fire hold you?” Sam demanded.  “Is Gabriel right about the grace thing?  What did Michael do?”

“He fell,” Dean said bluntly.  “Thirty years ago.  Think Anna,” he added, but Sam’s eyes were already wide.

“Michael’s MIA because he’s you?” he repeated.  His gaze rose, above Dean’s head and darting to either side, and Dean figured his wings were getting a second look.  He shifted them a little, trying to make it less obvious that the right one was pressed up against Cas’ left, but they were already huddled close in an effort to avoid the flames.  “Dean, that’s insane.”

“Right?”  It wasn’t like he needed to be told.  He hadn’t shared the plan with anyone for a reason.  “Hit a few snags.  On the plus side, Zachariah’s not gonna be causing any more trouble, and I think I know how to get Anna’s angels back.”

Sam frowned.  “How?”

“I’m gonna talk to Lucifer,” Dean said.  “Pretty sure he’ll listen to me now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gabriel interrupted, “you think that’s a good idea?  Did you tear out your brain along with your grace?  Lucifer wants to kill you!”

“So do you,” Dean reminded him.  “You could try harder.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Sam said.  “Ellen, can I use your fire extinguisher?”

“As long as you clean it up afterwards,” she said.  “And someone tells me what’s going on.  Can you get these angels up, while you’re at it?  They’re starting to creep me out.”

Dean leaned toward Cas.  “Who are they kneeling for this time?” he asked under his breath.

Castiel shook his head, left wing resettling as Dean’s pushed between it and his back.  “I really don’t know,” he murmured.

“Try telling them to get up,” Dean suggested.

Castiel frowned at him.  “You try telling them to get up.”

“Do I have to listen to this?” Gabriel sneered.  “Michael, the second son of God, alongside our little Castiel: all grown up and suddenly in love with an archangel.  Doesn’t that make your life better.”

Castiel actually seemed to think about this, and Dean had to bite his tongue to keep from turning Gabriel into a bunny because he could.  Luckily Sam was getting the fire extinguisher, and hearing Ruby ask if he was sure he wanted to do that was almost enough to distract him.  Sam seemed to think she was joking.

“Not so far,” Castiel said at last.

It took him a moment to realize what Cas had said.  “Hey!” he protested.

“The archangel part is problematic,” Castiel said.  “It’s caused you to be reckless and impulsive, and you now have a far greater scope when it comes to endangering yourself and those around you.  Also, I’m concerned that even if Dean’s incest taboo is overcome, you may honor Michael’s reluctance to indulge in relationships with lesser angels.”

Dean stared at him.  “Why do you say things like that in front of the entire world?” he demanded.

Castiel glanced around them, his eye lingering for a moment on Sam.  “This is your garrison, Dean.  It’s hardly representative of the entire world.”

“It’s my garrison,” Dean repeated.  “It’s my entire world, Cas.”

Castiel caught his eye again.  “Do you not wish for them to know you?”

“Okay,” Sam interrupted.  “Close your eyes, or... whatever.  Keep your wings in, I guess.”

It was weird to watch something so dangerous be tamed by chemical foam.  Sam was careful with it, though, keeping it as perpendicular to them as he could, and Dean felt the wall break the moment he interrupted the circle.  Gabriel snapped himself free as soon as it cracked.  Dean’s fingers tightened in Cas’ shirt, but he didn’t move.

“You okay?” Sam asked.  He ignored Gabriel, who was leaning petulantly against the bar with his arms crossed.

“Sure,” Dean said.  “Cas?”

“I’m fine.”  He was staring over at Gabriel, but he didn’t try to pull away from Dean.

“I’m going to need some answers,” Ellen said.  She didn’t wait for anyone else to ask.  “If Dean’s an angel, why’s he keep dying all the time?  Sam, I’m sure I told you not to use your powers in here.  And Ruby, what are you doing with that knife if you’re not going to pull it when we’ve got trouble?”

Dean exchanged glances with Sam, and as one, they decided that whoever got asked last should answer first.

Under the weight of their combined stares, Ruby muttered, “I didn’t... want to look like a threat?”

“You couldn’t threaten a puppy right now,” Ellen told her.  “And if you get captured, we’ll just have to rescue you back.  Believe me, that’s more trouble than disarming you any day.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and Sam cleared his throat.  Possibly suspecting that Dean was about to disclaim all responsibility for her hypothetical rescue, he pointed at the sword on the floor and asked, “This gonna fry me if I pick it up and hand it to you?”

Dean turned his glare on him.  “Not if you will it to me with the power of your mind alone.”

“Dude,” Sam said.  “You threw an angel sword at me.  I’m not sorry I have a self-preservation instinct.”

Castiel was suddenly standing next to Sam and Dean hadn’t even felt his fingers let go.  He stared at his hand, feeling vaguely betrayed, while Cas hefted his sword from the floor and considered it for a moment.  “You shouldn’t be able to throw it away from you,” he remarked.

“Yeah, well, I’m awesome like that,” Dean said.  Then, because he recognized the nearest angel and it seemed like a good distraction, he said, “Sach, what are you all bowing for this time?”

“Castiel bears the mark of God,” she replied.  Easy and direct without looking up.  He had no idea why she and Cas got along, but he liked her.  “We acknowledge that.”

It was as formal as he’d ever heard her sound, and he gave Cas an I told you so look.

“See?” he added for good measure.  “You try telling them to get up.”

“I accept your reverence,” Castiel said, and it took Dean a second to realize he was talking to the angels.  The other angels.  “I hear your supplication.  You may rise.”

Because Castiel knew how to say everything, the entire floor of angels rose as one.

“I’ve gotta learn that,” Dean muttered.

He had no idea why Gabriel hadn’t bent his knee, except that Gabriel didn’t seem to bow for anyone anymore.  The most convincing subservience he’d shown had been when he was faking it to spite the other archangels.  The thought made Dean frown over at him.  Gabriel was glaring back, but he didn’t say anything and Dean wasn’t in the mood to deal with it right now.

He took his sword back instead, made it and the sheath disappear--he’d missed that ability without even knowing it--and tried not to look too smug when Jo and Sam both gave him really weird looks for it.  Tamara and Ellen were giving him weird looks for everything.  He took a stab at explaining, since Ellen had asked so nicely, but he had no patience for it and Castiel eventually sent him off to deal with the dragon instead.

It wasn’t until he was outside that it occurred to him Castiel was still ordering him around.  Was he allowed to do that?  Dean considered it carefully, then decided he’d better not piss off the angel he was trying to get into bed.  He went to herd the dragon away from someone’s farm.

On the wing.  Which was awesome.  He chased it through the air, pulled up a safe distance out and rolled, laughing out loud when his lift gave way and he started to fall.  The only thing better was snapping his wings out and feeling them catch--it was like learning to swim again after years away from the water.  

He climbed high enough that he could glide all the way back to the Roadhouse.  The wind ripped through his hair and clothes, screaming in his ears, filling him with adrenaline and speed and more until he couldn’t even remember what it was like to be afraid.  The night was a burst of cold and stars and the garrison was a beacon, a fixed point in the middle of awe.

Gabriel was still sulking when he dove in.  He drew everyone’s attention with his arrival, though, so it didn’t really matter.  Dean grinned unrepentantly when the door banged and the leftover wind of flight rustled everything that could move.  “Sorry,” he said anyway, halfway to breathless with excitement more than the actual need to breathe.  Flying was the best thing ever.  “Did I miss anything?”

“It actually kind of makes sense that he’s an angel,” Jo remarked, to no one in particular.  “He has the manners of one.”

“Just for that,” Dean told her, “you don’t get to help me storm Santa Fe.”

Like he would have let her come anyway, but hey.  Now he had an excuse.

She just made a face at him, but Bobby demanded, “What are you on about now, boy?”

“We’ve got to get those angels out,” Dean said, sauntering over to Cas.  “I think we should go tonight.”

He knew it wasn’t going to be popular, but he hadn’t expected Gabriel to be the one to complain.  “You’re kidding,” he said.  He must have given up on impressing Ellen, because he had his feet up on the table and he was ignoring everyone else in the room.

“Nope,” Dean said.  Castiel was also focused exclusively on him, and Cas was a lot easier on the eyes.  So Dean smiled at him.  “Grab Anna, have a chat with Lucifer, be back before midnight.  No problem.”

Cas smiled back, but not in a way that made Dean think he’d been listening.  He looked tired.  Dean wondered what they could possibly be asking him that would make him look like that.  What had happened to his peace and glow-y angel faith?

“That’s the worst plan I’ve heard all day,” Gabriel informed the room at large.  “And I’ve been here, so you know that’s saying something.  Even you can’t think going now is a good idea.”

“Now is when they need us,” Dean said, tearing his eyes away from Cas.  It was getting too easy to count casualties in this war; he wasn’t going to start writing off the living, too.  “We’re going.”

“Now,” Gabriel emphasized, with a pointed look at Castiel, “they don’t need you at all.  You won’t get anywhere near them like this.  He’s shining like God’s favorite child, and your head is so messed up you’re lucky you remember Sam.  I wouldn’t follow your battle plan right now if your enemy was chocolate cake, let alone Lucifer.”

He was still shining, Dean thought, studying Castiel again.  It might get some attention.  But that droopy look wasn’t his imagination, and it wasn’t getting any better.  Even his smile was gone again.

“Dean,” Sam said.  “We’re not all mind-readers.”

“Huh?”  Dean glanced over at him.  “What?”

“Your angel thing,” Sam said.  “If you’re talking, we can’t hear you.”

From his private table, Gabriel snorted.  “They’re not talking; they’re just staring at each other.  It’s what they do.”

“I could turn him into a bunny temporarily,” Dean said, giving Cas his best you can trust me look.  “Just for a day or something.  I’m sure we could find someone to take care of him.  If we don’t tell them who he is.”

Gabriel went to snap, and Dean lifted his hand without even looking.  The snap was audible even across the room, but nothing changed.  Dean looked away from Cas long enough to smirk at Gabriel.  “Sucks to be you, don’t it.”

“Michael always thought the lesser angels were too young to understand,” Gabriel told him, and whether it was the meanness of his tone or the way Cas’ wings slumped out of the corner of his eye, Dean got what he was doing.  If Gabriel couldn’t snap him some punishment, then he was going to inflict it with his voice.

“He didn’t talk to them much,” Gabriel continued.  “I mean, come on.  What do you have in common with someone who’s only seen a few millennia when you’ve been around since the beginning of time?”

“I thought they had better things to do than talk to us,” Dean snapped.  “Look at us: like we know what we’re doing.  We’re old and bitter, Gabriel.  Who are we to mess them up?”

“Who are you to make that decision,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean turned back to him, because it had always been about Cas.  Everything, all of it: the last angel created, the first to keep serving after he started to doubt.  Castiel was unique among his brethren and heaven had never really known how to handle him.

This time was no exception.

“What?” Dean said, because no one was going to explain if he didn’t look confused.

“Who are you to decide whether or not we get your input?” Castiel repeated.  “You were the voice of God, all of you--”  His glare encompassed Gabriel this time.  “And you never even spoke to us.  Did you think we didn’t deserve to know anything?  That we were incapable of understanding what you might say?”

“No,” Dean said, almost before he could finish.  “No, Cas, we just--”

“Don’t defend them,” Castiel interrupted.  “Don’t speak for the archangels.  Just speak for yourself.”

For a moment it was clear: exactly what Cas felt.  “Like when I asked you about school,” he said, without even realizing he was starting in the middle of a sentence.  “You said it wasn’t interesting.  What do I care about what you learned if it was just like everyone else?”

“What you learned was not the same as everyone else,” Castiel said, frowning.

“Everyone already knows what we know!” Dean exclaimed.  “You think we’re special, Cas; we’re not!  We’ve been around all this time and what have we done?  We destroyed the world.  Over and over again.  We kill it, it comes back, we kill it again.  It comes back.  No one knows why, but if there’s a lesson we’re supposed to be learning, we obviously haven’t gotten it yet!”

“Tell us what you know,” Castiel said, stepping into his space.  In front of everyone.  “All of heaven can help.”

Dean closed his eyes, unwilling to see disappointment reflected back at him.  “We don’t know anything, okay?  God didn’t tell you to kneel for us because we have the answers, Cas.  We just ask the questions.”

There was a silence he didn’t recognize at first, the physical quiet of the unexpected.  The voices in his head filled the void until he realized what he wasn’t hearing, and he opened his eyes again.  Castiel was staring at him.  It wasn’t disappointed.  It wasn’t expectant, either, like he was waiting for something he hadn’t gotten.  Not angry, not resentful, not even confused.

He looked hopeful.

Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen that expression on Castiel’s face.  He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it.  Something that made Castiel look young and bright and on fire with compassion would have stuck in his mind, right?  He didn’t know how he could have forgotten it.

“And that’s why you shouldn’t try to talk to Lucifer right now,” Gabriel drawled.

The interruption had never been less welcome.  Dean was tempted to just take Cas and go, to scoop him up and hide him somewhere so he could shine like that forever.  So the stupid things they did to the world wouldn’t change him, wouldn’t batter at a hope like that until it was gone.

But he understood now, he got it.  Mary had shown him, John, and finally Sam: he could follow or he could stay behind, but he couldn’t keep anyone where or how they were.  He’d tried to hold the archangels together through sheer force of will, and the tighter his grip, the faster they fell.

Like fireflies in a jar, the captive glow wouldn’t last the night.

So he just stared at Cas, trying to soak it in, refusing to look away as he asked, “You got something to say, Gabriel?”

“Kid, you don’t even know who you are.”  Gabriel sounded somewhere between pitying and inconsequential.  “I can see your head doing its damndest not to explode from all the way over here.  Lucifer’ll eat you alive.”

“My head’s fine,” he said, watching Cas’ head tilt and his gaze sharpen.

“Oh, yeah?” Gabriel said.  “Then who’s your dad?”

He didn’t think about it until he did.  He’d already opened his mouth to give the obvious answer when he realized it wasn’t an obvious question.  He frowned, and he was actually kind of glad when Sam interrupted.

“Uh, that’s not actually going to happen, right?”

“Lucifer eating him?” Gabriel replied.  “Or him pulling off a solo rescue mission?  Probably depends how good Castiel is in the sack.  But assuming he can’t distract your boneheaded brother, I’d say the former’s a lot more likely than the latter.”

“No--”  Sam rolled his eyes, Dean could hear it in his tone.  “His head exploding.  He had an archangel’s worth of knowledge downloaded into a human brain; that can’t be good for anything.”

Dean couldn’t decide whether them talking about him or Cas pissed him off more.  He almost asked, want to get out of here? before he realized how it would sound--and how many angels would come after him if Gabriel told them to, to keep him from taking on Santa Fe alone.  Like he would.  He wasn’t stupid.

Most of the time.

“He’s not using his brain,” Gabriel was saying.  “At least, not the human one, although I personally wouldn’t make any guarantees when it comes to angelic smarts either.

“Classic angel trick,” he added, when Sam waved for him to keep going.  “Think outside the body, channel the output through the meatsuit, and voila.  Humans can hear you talking.  For what good it does.”

“So, no Anna?” Sam asked.  “No... exploding grace, or whatever?”

“Michael’s grace was returned to him in heaven,” Castiel said.  “It integrated with his soul before it came in contact with Dean’s human body.  The transition was far more controlled than Anna’s.”

“So far,” Gabriel muttered.

“Screw this,” Dean said.  “I won’t go looking for Lucifer, okay?  I just need to get out of this building.  Everyone... try to get some sleep or something.”

“Dean,” Sam said.  “Do you want--”

“Including you, Sammy.”  He could feel the exhaustion buried under caffeine and adrenaline, knew Sam was too good at ignoring what he needed to save other people.  And it was weird and creepy: not that he could tell, not that he knew that without having to think about it, but that he hadn’t known before.  That he hadn’t let himself see it.

“Don’t let her sleep here,” he added, jerking his head at Ruby before he turned away.  Demon face or no, he didn’t want her inside these wards while everyone was sleeping.  “Don’t stay up all night guarding her, either.  Ask one of the angels to do it if you have to.”

“Take that sword with you!” Bobby called after him as he headed for the door.

Dean let it appear in his hand and brandished it over his head in acknowledgment.  Then he was outside, and it was cold again, and the stars were too far away.  He heard the door slam.  The sound had barely faded into the night before he felt wings rustle next to his shoulder: not his own.

Castiel.

For a long moment--he wasn’t sure how long, he’d stopped keeping track--they just stood there.  Looking at the stars.  Staring out at the sky over the lights of the town, streets and buildings and all the things that humans had built.  Staring through it.  Like heaven wasn’t even there, like the sky was just a symbol for everything they’d left behind.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t want to talk to you?” he asked at last.

He heard Castiel shift: only his wings, a quiet shrug that would have been invisible to him just a few months ago.  “You left the Roadhouse with implicit instructions for none of us to follow,” he said.  “I’m still not sure you want to talk to me.”

Dean blinked, and maybe Gabriel was right because wrenching his mind away from heaven to the garrison on earth made something in his head twinge.  “What?” he said, trying to make the past half hour clearer than the past ten thousand years.  There was a strange amount of reshuffling involved.

“You came to earth for a reason,” Castiel said quietly.  “You became human.  It wasn’t my place to take that away from you, and I apologize.”

“Wait, what?”  He turned to frown at Cas, because that particular moment was burned into his brain and Cas was not feeling guilty about it.  “Did you just say you’re sorry for saving my life?”

Castiel shifted to face him, but he didn’t sound at all certain when he said, “No.”

“Good,” Dean told him.  “I got myself captured.  That’s on me.  Zachariah and Raphael didn’t know who I was, and you gotta know what they were planning to do.  One way or another, we’re talking the end of the line for human me.”

“We would have gotten to you,” Castiel murmured.

“You wouldn’t have liked what you found,” Dean said bluntly.  “I broke once, Cas.  It would have happened a lot faster the second time.”

“We would have gotten to you,” Castiel insisted, more fiercely this time.  “I acted rashly.  You could have held out, you would have survived until we could--”

“Until what?  Until you mounted up the Rescue Riders?”  He didn’t want Cas to have to realize this, not if he’d actually convinced himself otherwise, but he wasn’t going to watch the guy beat himself up over the right decision.  “It was you, Cas.  It was you or no one.  I don’t care how awesome Gabriel is: he wasn’t going to take on Zachariah and Raphael himself, and none of the other archangels were going to help for a human.”

“The garrison would have come for you,” Castiel informed him.

He really hoped that wasn’t true.  He hoped Gabriel would have stopped them, hoped Anna would have talked some sense into them if he didn’t.  “They would have died, okay?  I don’t know if you noticed this, but Zachariah doesn’t have a lot of respect for lesser angels, and Raphael’s not exactly a model of restraint.  I tried to get you to stay away.”

Castiel looked at him like he didn’t know why Dean had wasted the words.  “You must have known I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah.”  The panic was just an echo now, but he knew all it would take was a little concentration to bring it back.  “You suck at following orders.”

Castiel tilted his head.  “You’re welcome,” he said.

Dean had to smile at that.  “Sure, okay.  You’re the best angel ever.  You want me to give you a gold star, or what?”

Castiel seemed to think about it.  “If you like,” he said at last, and something about it made Dean laugh.

“Thanks,” he said, shaking his wings out behind him.  Because he could.  Because he’d missed them.  Because it made Cas look, and his expression was just this side of awed.  “Thanks for coming after me.”

“I always will,” Castiel said.  It sounded solemn and inevitable under an ever-changing sky.

“Always?” Dean repeated, because part of him thought he knew what that meant.  Part of him said those were just pretty words, something people came up with because it sold Hallmark cards, but part of him thought Cas had just pledged his undying devotion to someone he didn’t even know.

“Yes.”  Castiel stared back at him--not for long enough.  He looked away before Dean could answer.  “For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Huh.”  Dean watched his left wing twitch, and he could tell from the slightly deeper curve that Cas had it wrapped around his arm on the other side.  Young and comforting, it was a gesture he associated with new angels.  But there hadn’t been any new angels in so long... and it was hard to think of Cas as a baby these days.

“That you now find me youthful,” Castiel murmured without looking up, “is somewhat disconcerting.”

Dean let out his breath in a huff.  “Tell me about it,” he said with a grin.  “But look, I always figured I’d die, right?  I mean, sooner rather than later.  In the apocalypse.  Or right after, if we managed to get that far.  So this thing, with you...”

Castiel didn’t move.  He was bracing himself, Dean realized.

“It was forever,” he blurted out, because wow, he definitely hadn’t gotten any better at talking.  “Anything I did with you, it was forever, because there wasn’t going to be time for anything else.  And that was freaky and scary and it kind of still is, to tell you the truth.  Because--”

Dean shook his head, as careful as he could be.  “Well, I haven’t exactly written off the dying thing, but I guess the odds have evened out a little.  And forever’s a lot longer than it used to be, you know?”

Castiel caught his eye again.  “Not for me,” he said simply.

“Hey.”  He didn’t know what he was going to say until he said it, and maybe it was the coward’s way out but he couldn’t deal with this.  It was too much.  It had always been too much.  “You wanna fly?”

Cas tilted his head.  “Where?”

He grinned, because that was so not the point.  “Who cares?”

Castiel smiled, slowly, and it took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t quite the smile he expected.

“What?” Dean asked.  “Too weird?”

He didn’t want it to be weird.  God help him, but he loved this angel like no one else, and if Cas had to have a human then it was a human he’d get.  For the short length of Dean’s life, he could force Michael’s grace down, bury it the way he’d done to Zachariah... deeper, even.  It would hurt--it would hurt like dying, every day--but he’d borne worse for no reward at all.

“No,” Castiel said quietly.  “Do not presume, Dean.”

It already hurt, and he couldn’t keep from believing it.  That Cas might be beyond reach.  That Dean had known something Michael never could.  That he hadn’t appreciated it when it was right there in front of him--and wasn’t that the very definition of being human?

“No,” Castiel repeated.  “No, it’s not... weird.  Not as you think of it.”

He almost laughed.  “How can you have any idea what I’m thinking?”

“You don’t seem to be having trouble putting thoughts in my head.”  Cas’ voice was sharper than it had been, and it took him a moment to recognize the angelic version of a very human saying.  “Earlier you claimed to know the things about me that matter.  I make that same claim now.”

He opened his mouth, but that was probably fair and even if it wasn’t... he was wrong either way.  “Cas,” he said.  “That guy you think I am--the one you thought I was--I always wanted to be him.”

He didn’t know what he expected Cas to say, but it definitely wasn’t what he heard.

“So I have always wanted to be for you,” Castiel replied.

Which made him realize the kind of conversation they were having.  This wasn’t about worthiness, or knowing each other, or anything except how stupidly in love they were.  Had been.  Had almost been; he didn’t even know.

“For crying out loud,” Dean muttered, looking out into the darkness.  Away from Cas, away from the Roadhouse.  Away from everything.  “Why are we even talking about this.  If anyone hears us, we’re a laughingstock for days.  Maybe weeks.  You get that, right?”

“No,” Castiel said again.  “The question is, why have we not talked about this before?”

“Because it’s stupid,” Dean snapped.  “We have work to do.”

“Now you want to do work.”  Castiel’s wings resettled themselves, as close to rolling his eyes as Dean had ever seen him.  “You’re afraid that anything you have will be lost.  You think you can’t love because you don’t deserve it, so if you dare to feel, the object of your affections must necessarily be struck down.”

Dean gaped at him.  “Okay,” he managed, more weakly than he’d meant to.  “That’s a little harsh.”

“Is it true?”  Castiel didn’t look like it was really a question.

“Look,” Dean said, glancing over his shoulder.  “I do love you, or whatever.”  Then he realized how that sounded, and he turned back to catch Castiel’s eye.  “I love you,” he repeated, because he could totally stare.  He had staring down now.  Maybe.

“The problem isn’t you,” he added.  “It’s what I did, okay?  All of it, the falling, the... un-falling...”

“You didn’t do that,” Castiel pointed out, when he couldn’t go any further.  “I was the one who gave you your grace back.  If you’re upset about it, then the problem is me.”

“The problem isn’t you,” Dean repeated, frustrated.  “I fell.”

Castiel looked unsympathetic.  “Join the club,” he said.  It was so blatantly human that it almost gave Dean pause.

“I fell and I forgot,” Dean insisted.  “I fell to get away.  You fell so you could keep fighting.”

“I don’t wish to discuss this,” Castiel said.  Sudden and unexpected, this time the words did make Dean stop.  “You are being unreasonable.  I asked you to stop thinking of yourself as a demon and you can’t, can you?  All you can do is redefine your perceived unworthiness.”

He sighed, because he didn’t want to admit it but there were days when he knew how Raphael felt.  He was tired, and if he let himself think about it, he wouldn’t know how to keep going.  “I’m no prodigal son, Cas.”

“No,” Castiel agreed.  “Because you never left.”

All he could do was stare.

“Humans,” Castiel said.  “They think they were cast out of the garden.  They don’t recognize it all around them, this place of beauty and bounty, this world they’re blessed to share.  And you, Michael--”

He couldn’t help it.  He flinched.

“You think your family has left you,” Castiel said, more gently.  “When they’ve been beside you all along.  When have you ever walked alone?”

“I’ve always been alone,” he whispered.

It didn’t make Castiel angry, even though he sort of thought it should.  It just made him reach out.  One hand on Dean’s face, wings loose in the light of divinity that shone all around him... he looked like an angel humans would paint, back when they did that sort of thing.  Back when they saw that sort of thing.  These days it was all aliens and fairies and sometimes a sea monster or two.

“You have always been one among many,” Castiel said softly.  “You’ve just forgotten how to see us.”

He closed his eyes, but he couldn’t block out a brightness like that.  He couldn’t not see Castiel: not holding on, not trying to pull him back... just following.  Going as far as he was welcome.  Sometimes farther, waiting it out, never losing faith.

“How do you do it?” he asked, still fighting what was by now a disconcerting urge to kneel.  This was Cas, after all, why would he ever... and yet, this was Cas.  Maybe he should have been on his knees all along.  “How do you believe like that?”

“How do you?” Castiel murmured.  “You taught me.”

That made him laugh, opening his eyes and staring straight into a soul that had seen God.  It was written in Cas’ wings.  Sach was right about that; every feather sparked with something that made him want to touch, to bask, to get close to Cas and never move away.

Not that that was much different from how he usually felt around Cas, but whatever.

“I taught you how to question,” he said.  “I taught you doubt, Cas.  Not faith.”

For some reason, that made Castiel smile.  “An unchallenged faith is no faith at all,” he replied.  “If you never ask a question, how can you be sure you know the answer?”

Dean snorted, because here was the angel he knew.  Cute and cryptic and certain in a way he would never explain.  “I’ve got plenty of questions, Cas.  But so far answers have been pretty thin on the ground.”

“Yet you continue to fight,” Castiel said.  “You never give up, even when you say you might as well.”

“Yeah, for all the good it does.”  He couldn’t bring himself to frown, and maybe that was a mistake, because Castiel’s fingers curled against his cheek and he didn’t know what to do with a gesture like that.  “Seriously, Cas.  What are we doing?”

Cas didn’t hesitate.  “We’re doing what we think is right,” he said.  “And we’re not doing it without question.  This is all you ask of anyone, I think.”

He wanted to look away, but if Cas lowered his hand then he really would be alone.  “I don’t ask other people to be what I can’t.”

“Your standards are very high,” Castiel observed.  “Have you noticed what that says about the people around you?”

“That they’re masochistic?”

It was a weak attempt at a joke, but Cas’ eyes softened.  “That expectation has power,” he corrected.  “That you find what you’re looking for.  That God loves his children, not because he is forgiving, but because they are lovable.”

Dean sighed, because he couldn’t believe he was about to say something so sappy.  Lifting his hand to cover the one that still rested on his cheek, he muttered, “Some of them are pretty freakin’ lovable.”

“All of them,” Cas insisted.  He brought his other hand up to cup Dean’s face.  “Accept my blessing as an agent of God, Dean.”  The corner of his mouth quirked, and he added, “I will order you to do it if I have to.”

Dean found himself smiling, his face moving under Cas’ fingers.  “You know,” he said.  “You’re pretty cheeky for the baby of the family.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow at him.  “Are you trying to sound like Gabriel?”

“God, no.”  The words tumbled out and Castiel laughed, he actually laughed, face crinkling in amusement as he lowered his eyes.  Dean fisted his hands in the soft blue shirt Cas had created just for him, and maybe it was too much but it was obviously true and he wasn’t going to miss it just because he didn’t know what came next.  “Can I kiss an agent of God?”

“You may kiss whomever you like,” Castiel said, bright gaze finding Dean’s again.  “I suppose the real question is, will you be kissed in return.”

“Is this one of those questions I have to ask to know the answer?”  He could play Cas’ game now, he realized suddenly.  He wasn’t sure that was a good thing.  “You know what, don’t tell me.”  He stepped into Cas and covered that still-smiling mouth with his own.  Soft and cool and brilliant all at once, kissing him was weirdly like flying into an aurora.

The corners of his mouth curled, and it was the worst kiss ever because they were both grinning helplessly until he pulled away.  He rested his forehead against Cas’ because it was as close as he could be and still see, still laugh when Cas bit his own lip in an effort to look serious.  “Give it up,” he said, and he meant it to be teasing but it came out as a whisper.  “I just had the stupidest thought, and if you manage to get it together, I’m gonna be embarrassed all alone.  That’s not fun for anyone.”

“It’s a little fun,” Castiel murmured, but he looked like maybe he was about to laugh again himself.  Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled this much.  “But I did promise that you would never be alone, Dean.”

“Okay, you need to stop being so romantic,” he said, and he didn’t mean it at all.  “It’s like a disease; I’m starting to think stupid poetic stuff and I’m blaming it on you.  All of it.”

“Tell me,” Castiel said, and that was even worse.  Like he was saying it out loud.

Nice try, he thought.  Like I’m announcing to the whole world that I just compared you to an aurora.

I think you are, Castiel replied, and wow, his head was awesome.  His voice sounded amused and flustered and strangely, shockingly human.  The grace that lit Cas’ thoughts wasn’t at all what he’d expected, now that he had something to compare it to.

Hello, Dean thought.  Archangel here.  Who do you think invented private telepathy?

The stunned silence he got in response was totally worth it.  It also gave him a too-brief moment to wander around in Cas’ mind, enjoying the glow of his thoughts and the confusion that came from having Dean so close.  And hey, that was cool: he’d never known he confused Cas.  Not like this, anyway.  Not so much.

What are you doing?  Castiel turned his head, but he didn’t pull away.  Dean pressed a kiss to his cheek, nose brushing against Cas’ temple, and he wanted to slide his arms around behind Cas’ back.  He could feel how overwhelming it was, how much his presence in Cas’ mind was new and strange and Cas had no idea what to do with it.  He should stop, he should let go, but he was only just keeping himself from pushing for more.

I’m being really rude, he thought, in answer to Cas’ question.  Like that’s a surprise, right?

No, Cas said, then, Yes.

He let go of Cas’ shirt, finally, lifting a hand to his shoulder and rubbing his arm.  He carefully didn’t pull him closer, didn’t loop his arms around Cas’ waist, didn’t reach for his wings.  Mark of God or not, he was pretty sure Cas wasn’t ready to be up close and personal with an archangel.

You underestimate me, Castiel thought.

Dean wanted to say, Not as often as I used to, but he couldn’t form a coherent thought when Cas pressed his own awareness across the space between them, his mind sliding into Dean’s like it was easy and invited and Dean closed his eyes as he realized: it was.  It was easy for Cas, he’d done it a hundred times before, and Dean had never known.  He’d never known it was supposed to feel like this.

You dream stalker, he thought, as clearly as he could.  Which wasn’t very, with Cas sliding through every memory Dean had like he belonged in all of them.  Like he’d been there when all Dean’s conscious defenses were down, like Dean had let him be there, and Cas remembered every second.  Like maybe he’d thought about it when he wasn’t there.  Like he’d been waiting for the chance to do it again.

The familiarity of two minds that knew each other was laced with a hot tingle of warning each time Cas bumped into one of the places that was Michael.  Dean could feel the pieces of his past struggling to integrate--struggling hard, fighting more frantically than he’d realized before Castiel’s intangible presence made it obvious.  The part of his mind that knew Cas was pulling him in, welcoming him, while the other part resisted with heat and friction and sparks like dragging metal over asphalt.

It wasn’t totally... unpleasant.

Maybe that was the way Cas was everywhere, by his side through tow trucks and shop class and diners late at night, making Dean’s memories glow like they were the happiest thing ever.  It was inevitable that he brushed up against the memories he didn’t know every so often.  It kind of... prickled.  Like an itch that wanted to be soothed.  Like those memories wanted to be known.

Like the thing that would fix it was more Cas, not less.

Your head’s different, Castiel thought, and maybe he’d forgotten to breathe because he felt all the air go out of his lungs at that.  Like all the empty places have been filled up.

You did that, he thought.  He wanted Cas to hear it as a good thing.  He hoped Cas knew that he didn’t just mean the memories, the grace, or his awesome timing in the Hall of Prayer.

He hoped Cas knew, because he really didn’t want to spell it out.

Even in your own mind? Castiel thought.  You don’t even want to think it?

It sounded sort of mean and awful when Cas put it like that, and he was only peripherally aware of his own sigh.  I love you, he thought.  I feel empty without you.  I can’t believe you were in my head all those times and I didn’t even notice.

You don’t have to think about it, Castiel told him.  I was only curious.

Dean’s wordless protest was lost when he felt Cas’ awareness drag over the memory of Gabriel falling.  Not Dean’s, except that it was now--and Cas had never seen it.  He hesitated longer than he had been, sparking sweet and rough and it made Dean shiver as he absorbed the edges of the memory.  You knew?

He told me, Dean admitted.  Which was weird, seeing the Gabriel he’d known before superimposed on the trickster he’d tried to kill, now an archangel in his mind once more.  I tried to talk him out of it, but.  Pep talks aren’t really my thing, you know?

No, Castiel agreed.  Then he added, You didn’t tell us.

What did I tell you? Dean countered.  We didn’t know, Cas.  I didn’t know.  I didn’t know how bad it would get, how much we’d need him.  How long he’d stay away.

Michael’s memories were twisting, somehow.  Urging him to pain and loss, while memories of Dean’s life told him that Cas deserved a better explanation.  And all he really wanted to think about was the fact that Cas was coming on to him, trying to seduce him with angel mind tricks, and if this was how Cas flirted then he’d been doing it for a lot longer than Dean realized.

His head ached, and he didn’t know how sharp it was until he felt Castiel pull away.

I’m hurting you.

The words echoed in his mind but he couldn’t tell whose thought it was.

No, he thought anyway.  Wait.  Cas.

Gabriel was right, Castiel thought.  You aren’t together yet.  I shouldn’t--

“Do this,” Cas finished out loud.

Dean could feel his disappointment even after he’d pulled away, could hear the words like they were miles apart even as Cas’ breath ghosted over his ear.  Not close enough.  Not knowing enough.  Gabriel the Future Bunny Rabbit wasn’t going to know what hit him.

“Okay,” Dean murmured, keeping his face pressed up against Cas’ cheek while he tightened his fingers on those arms.  He could at least keep him from getting any farther away.  “What were they telling you in there while I was gone?  That I’m not me?  That I’m gonna change, or you’re gonna mess me up somehow?  What’s going on?”

“They told me to be careful,” Castiel whispered.  “They reminded me that it could be difficult to tell which memories are dominant at any given time.  They said that Michael might not remember me as fondly as Dean.”

They, Dean thought.  Gabriel.

A new voice, one of thousands.  You called?

It hadn’t been private, and he’d meant Gabriel to overhear.  It was something he should have said before, but he’d been too busy pretending not to be afraid to notice what Gabriel was actually doing.  Thanks for looking out for Cas.

Whatever, Gabriel replied.  Like I did it for you.

Yeah, he was pretty clear on that.  It did raise the question of what exactly Gabriel’s motives were, but Dean figured he’d be older than God before he figured out why Gabriel did anything.  He made sure his aside to Cas wasn’t private: I’m thinking angora.  Just so you know.

You’d make a better lop, Gabriel told him, and Dean let him have that one only because Cas was talking.

“Aggravating though he may be,” Castiel said, his human voice too distant even when his mouth was right next to Dean’s face, “he is keeping everyone away from the front door.”

Dean glanced back at the Roadhouse without turning.  Cas was right: no one had come through the door he’d stormed out of a few seconds before Cas joined him.  He could see them all inside--mostly staying, occasionally being diverted toward the back door instead.  “Huh,” he said.  “We could stand here all night.”

“Wouldn’t that be considered rude?”  Castiel’s tone sounded genuinely curious, but Dean got the amusement behind it without even trying.  Especially when he drew back enough to look at Dean, and only the expression humans could see was serious.

“You like your human poker face,” Dean realized.  “You think it’s useful, don’t you.”

“At times like this,” Castiel agreed without hesitation.  “Yes.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, even if he was too close for Cas to see it.  He thought Cas would understand how much he appreciated that explanation anyway.  “Really?  The most important thing you do with it is joke?”

“I see no reason not to make use of something that might otherwise be considered a disadvantage,” Castiel said.  “It is difficult to express myself as a human, therefore it must be difficult for other humans to read me.  I make an effort to be aware.”

He was still embarrassed by his lack of human ease, Dean knew.  He was getting tired of seeing Cas feel inferior.  “Come on,” he said.  “We’re flying now.  Don’t want to be rude, right?”

The glint in Castiel’s eye was one that Dean had gotten very familiar with: Cas was about to say something that threw him for a loop.  He was sort of looking forward to it.  If Cas liked Dean for being different, then Michael had wanted to be Dean for the same reason.  There was a lot to be said for the unexpected.

Which in this case turned out to be a challenge.  “Race you to Jerusalem,” Cas offered, like it was a thing people said.

Dean could only stare.  Behind his unblinking human face, Cas was smirking at him.  “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said.  Seriously, Jerusalem?  What did anyone want there these days?

“Yes,” Castiel said, and some of that smirk was showing through now.  “I’d rather not know what Jerusalem does to your head right now.”

Maybe that was some weird reverse psychology thing he had going there, but Dean wasn’t falling for it.  He was over Jerusalem in a big way.  “I’ve got a better idea,” he said.  “Let’s do Vancouver.”

Castiel’s smile faded a little.  “Vancouver,” he repeated.  Like it was someplace exotic.  “The city your mind represented as heaven?”

“That’s the one,” Dean said.  He couldn’t explain it, but he liked the idea a lot better than Jerusalem.

“Is that... wise?” Castiel asked, frowning.  In the tone of voice that said no, it’s not wise at all.

“I want to see it,” Dean told him.

Castiel stopped protesting.  Which was good, since the best part of the adventure turned out to be watching him fly.  Or maybe the second best part, but either way.  Dean had never known what he was missing when Cas spread those wings of his and vanished.  Just watching him land was everything the destination wasn’t.

Vancouver itself wasn’t particularly exciting.  It was dull compared to heaven’s radiance, the glow of the city dim even in the midst of night.  Cars crawled through the city, thick and indistinguishable, while the bridge where Simea should have stood cast faint and flickering lines of light across the black water below.

“The dome’s dark,” he said, and he hadn’t meant to voice the thought--hadn’t even meant to notice, really, because come on.  It wasn’t like he lived in Science World.

“You’re not there,” Castiel murmured.

He raised an eyebrow.  Just like that, he was.  Castiel appeared beside him a moment later, standing in the now-empty courtyard beneath the windows.  No one walking by on the street paid any attention to them.

“How much trouble do you think I’ll get in if I light it up?” Dean asked.

Castiel considered that.  “I suppose that depends who notices,” he said at last.

Dean didn’t really care.  He’d just wanted to know if Cas was going to talk him out of it, and it looked like the answer was no.  “Hey,” he said.  “Look over there: robo wolves!”

Castiel didn’t look, of course.  He just tilted his head and opened his mouth while Dean pointed up at the dome.  Before Cas could even ask, the courtyard was awash with fluorescent light.  Dean smiled.

“Oops,” he said.  “I wonder how that happened.”

“You did it,” Castiel said.  “Clearly.”

“Oh yeah?”  Dean tried to shrug, but he was more than halfway to grinning.  “Guess I’m awesome, then.”

People on the street were noticing now.  It was eerily reminiscent of heaven, actually, with the way they were gathering and staring and lifting their hands to point.  Why did people point in situations like this, anyway?  They had to know they were all looking at the same thing.

“That’s one explanation,” Castiel said, but he mostly sounded amused.  “You said you’d never been here before.”

Dean heard the question implicit in the remark.  He couldn’t decide if he should give Cas points for subtlety or take them away for being cryptic.  In the end he just said, “I didn’t remember.”

If it was subtlety, Castiel didn’t entertain it for very long.  “Remember what?” he asked.

“We talked,” Dean said.  “Here, before he fell.”

The camera flashes were disconcerting.  People had started to take pictures of the dome, lit up for the first time in months.  He wondered why it had been dark, and somehow he knew: the bulbs were being replaced.  All of them, over the entire dome, and the information was just there when he looked for it.  One of his sisters had known, so he knew.

After a moment, Castiel said, “Gabriel?”

Like he wanted it to be true, but he knew it wasn’t.

“Lucifer,” Dean said.

He had no idea how Cas was going to feel about it.  It was strange to think that he didn’t know Castiel now any better than he had before.  He knew more than he had as just Dean: he knew what kind of training angels received and he knew what kind of assignments Castiel would have had.  He knew what the world looked like to an angel’s eyes.  But he didn’t know what Cas thought about it any more clearly than he had yesterday.

“I see,” Castiel said.

“I didn’t know,” Dean blurted out.  He didn’t know why he was in a hurry to explain, it was over and done with and Cas had always been the forgiving one, anyway.  But he couldn’t have Castiel mad at him.  Not now.  Maybe not ever.

The thought was as horrifying as it was stupid, and it annoyed him that he couldn’t figure out which part was which.  Michael had never needed anyone, and Dean didn’t want anyone’s approval.  Both the same lie, told over and over again for the same reason: he couldn’t stand the lack.  He couldn’t stand the despair at the thought of losing them again.

I didn’t know he’d leave, I didn’t know how angry he was.  I didn’t know it was my last chance.

“Dean.”  Cas’ fingers brushed against his forehead, soothing, and for the space of a heartbeat there was silence.  He could feel it stretching all around him, all around them, thoughts frozen and every memory gone.  It was just this moment, calm and unaffected.

Unimportant.  Insignificant.  Peaceful.

Then he felt a rush of warmth, a rollercoaster of want and comfort as Castiel’s memory of the dome swept over his mind.  Not Science World, here in Vancouver, and not Michael’s base in heaven from ages past.  Just the quiet, golden space they’d shared that morning, when Dean had touched his soul and Castiel’s wings had trembled with desire.

“I know you didn’t feel it,” Cas’ voice whispered in his ear.  “But you needed something good, and that was the first thing I thought of.”

I felt it, Dean thought.  I just didn’t recognize it.

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel said.  He didn’t say you will, or do you recognize it now?  He just said, “I feel it, and I can share it with you.  The way you kiss me.  It wouldn’t mean anything to me if you didn’t like it so much.”

He thought there was something vaguely disturbing about that, but he couldn’t tell anymore if that was the human part or the angel part.  “I’m getting confused,” he muttered, and he didn’t mean to say it out loud.  But once he had, he thought maybe Cas could help, after all.  “Am I supposed to like kissing?”

Grief.  The pain of it stabbed through him, stealing his breath as Cas’ pretty vision fell to pieces.

Castiel touched his forehead again.  The despair was gone as quickly as it had come.  The ache it left behind was real, though, empty and echoing when Cas murmured, “You should like whatever you like.”

Dean shoved him away.  Hard.  Cas almost fell.  “Stop fucking with my head,” he snarled.

Cas stared at him, eyes wide, and he knew distantly that Dean had never been able to push Cas around like that.  Michael could have fried him where he stood.  Messy hair standing straight up, blue eyes electric, little singe marks at his feet...  Just like a cartoon.

Right now he was feeling a lot more like lightning than he was like an ant.

“You have enough to deal with,” Castiel said softly.  “I don’t want to add my pain to your list of burdens.”

He thought he could feel fury making his fingertips crackle.  The light in the courtyard was blazing like the dome had caught fire.  “I want your pain,” he growled.  “Your pain is at the top of my goddamned to-do list.  In red, with fucking stars next to it.”

Castiel stood up straighter, which was the only flicker in his human mask.  His angelic form still shone brighter than the fluorescence, sparking in the midst of a courtyard that was lit like daytime, but his wings were sad and drooping.  A single feather drifted down beside him, casting little shadows as it went.

Dean was going to smite someone.  Like a whole city, or... or Gabriel, or someone.  “I love you, you stupid son of a bitch!  What d’you want me to say?  I’m happy like this?  I like not knowing what you’re thinking?  Gee, thanks for blocking me out of your mind!  Yeah, that makes me feel so much better, wish I’d thought of it myself!”

Castiel actually opened his mouth and didn’t manage to get anything out.  Like he had to.  Like his special mind-reading powers were broken.

Talk to me, Dean demanded.

Castiel’s whisper was perfectly audible in the noisy courtyard.  “I’m afraid of losing you.”

He couldn’t stand it.  “You think I’m not?  You think everything I do I don’t ask myself, ‘What would Cas think of this?’  You think shutting me out helps?”

Castiel met him stare for stare.  “Widening the cracks in your mind doesn’t help either.  You may be the man I knew--”

“I am!” he exclaimed.  “I’m Dean Winchester!  I was born January 24th, 1979, and I lived my whole life thinking I would die Dean Winchester!  I did die Dean Winchester!”

“And then you came back,” Castiel said, and maybe he was trying for calm but it wasn’t working.

“You brought me back!” Dean shouted.  “You dragged me out of hell kicking and screaming, and if there’s anyone you know, it’s me, okay?  I’m me!”

“Your soul,” Castiel ground out, “looks different in the light of grace.  I--”

“And whose fault is that?” Dean snapped.  “I ditched it, and you were the one--”

“Must you argue every word out of my mouth?” Castiel demanded.  “If you really wanted me to explain, you’d--”

Dean pressed angry words directly into his head, which was so much more satisfying than shouting and it wasn’t until after he’d done it that he realized the flimsy barrier Cas had put between them was gone.  If you really wanted to explain, you’d use a real language.

English was always good enough for you before, Castiel shot back, and the shock of his mind was enough to make Dean crowd those words into a little corner like they were the personification of Cas.  Like Cas had finally stepped over the line and Dean had slammed the door shut behind him.  As if he was backing Cas up against the wall of his mind.

You were good enough for me before, Dean said.  Too good.  And I never tried to hold you, Cas.  I’m not gonna try now, not if you don’t want to be here.  I’m not letting you do me any favors, okay?  I’m not interested.

Saving your life isn’t a favor, Dean.  Castiel was bright and glaring in front of him even as his voice came from somewhere inside Dean’s head.  He was too close and too far away, all at the same time.  It’s necessary.  It always has been.

Oh, good, he snapped, chilled by the implication.  I’m glad I’m your job.

Necessary for me, you arrogant dick.  Castiel’s words were sharp and shocking and he felt them burning against his brain.  Like the friction of the cracks.  Like Cas had finally gotten tired of Michael’s mysterious weirdness contaminating their shared space and lumped him into the scolding right alongside Dean.

There were a lot of things he could ask at that moment.  Only one of them seemed particularly important.  Did you just call me a dick?

Are you trying to trap me in your mind? Castiel retorted.  Because I thought you just said you weren’t trying to hold onto me.  Which is really insulting, considering everything I’ve been through trying to hold onto you.  You don’t make it easy.

Cas was yelling at him.  Silently, okay, and he was punctuating it with scowls instead of actual exclamation marks, but there was no mistaking that expression.  Cas was pissed.  And, yeah, it had to be weird that that made Dean happier than he’d been for hours, but dude.  Cas was yelling at him.

“Are you mad at me?” Dean asked aloud.  Just to make sure.

“I could punch you in the face,” Castiel informed him.  “And I might enjoy it.”

Dean couldn’t help it.  He let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding to form something like a laugh.  “I’m a terrible influence on you, man.  Seriously, you should do something about that.  Detox or something.”

“I hate you,” Castiel told him.  Dean bit his lip to keep from smiling when he added, “That’s blatantly untrue, yet it made me feel better to say it.  That doesn’t make sense.”

“Life doesn’t make sense,” Dean replied, watching him tilt his head and narrow his eyes.

“When humans want something really badly,” Castiel said, “they lie.  Do you suppose I’m spending too much time on earth?”

“One,” Dean said, “no.  Two, stop quoting me.  It creeps me out.”

“Guys,” Gabriel said.  “I dunno if you noticed, but you’re kind of making a scene here.”

Dean glanced over at him, lounging against a convenient railing that probably hadn’t been there before he appeared.  The crowd on the street was ridiculous by now, and there were sirens howling in the distance.  Dean knew where they were heading without having to ask.  He looked up at the dome blazing like a cold and fallen star.

“Yeah, that, whatever,” Gabriel said.  “Like we expected you to be subtle.  I’m talking about the lovers’ spat you’re broadcasting to the entire continent.  It’s getting on my nerves.”

Dean didn’t bother looking back at him.  “Rich guys who don’t tip get on your nerves, Gabriel.”

He heard Gabriel snort.  “Oh, and I’m alone in that.”

“Will I hurt him?” Castiel asked.  “If I try to... show him, before his memories settle?”

“I wouldn’t do any showing until he’s decided who he is,” Gabriel drawled.  “He’s not the one who’ll get hurt.”

“Hey,” Dean snapped.  “You didn’t give up your grace, so shut up.  I know who I am and I know who I’m gonna hurt.  Trust me, it’s not gonna be Cas.”

Gabriel shrugged.  “Try to leave some of North America standing when you’re done.”  He sounded nonchalant, lifting his fingers to snap with practiced ease, but Dean didn’t miss the look he gave Castiel before he vanished.

It was a look that said: I’ll be up all night.  Call me.

“What, are we fifteen?” Dean asked the empty space he left behind.  “Are you trying to steal my boyfriend?”

Watch out, Dean-o, Gabriel’s voice replied.  There’s a line for him.

I really hope you’re kidding, Dean told him.

You want no one to want him? Gabriel countered.  I’m a trickster, and even I don’t think that’s very nice.

“Did you call me a dick?” Dean asked Castiel again.  He was pretty sure anything Cas said was more important than what Gabriel thought--even if he was talking about the weather while Gabriel went off on the apocalypse.  Which he wasn’t.

Castiel was watching him like he wanted to know the answer to Gabriel’s question but wasn’t going to ask.  “You’re an angel, aren’t you?”

Dean couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.  “Dude, I never called you a dick.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth quirked.  “No,” he said.  “You called me much worse.”

Dean relaxed, just a little.  “You know,” he said.  “If we were sleeping together, we could have make-up sex now.”

“We’re not sleeping together,” Castiel pointed out.  He avoided the “we slept together last night” joke, though Dean could see it occurring to him in the second before speaking.  He wondered what made Cas go for the obvious instead of the innocent.

“We could be,” Dean said.  Because in his experience, you didn’t get things you didn’t ask for.  Not unless they were bad.

“I’m not sure this location is ideal for such an activity,” Castiel remarked.

Dean must have stared at him a lot longer than he should have, because Castiel started to frown.  It was possible that he looked worried.  “Has our third date not been appropriately concluded?”

“No,” Dean blurted out, which was totally the wrong thing to say but hey, his head was messed up.  The communication police could cut him some slack.  “I mean, yeah.  Or.  Not until I take you home?  Then you can, you know, invite me in.  If you want.”  He felt like he had to add that last part for the sake of politeness.

“I see.”  Castiel looked thoughtful, but the other corner of his mouth had lifted and he was definitely smiling.  “Thank you for counseling me in this matter.  May I safely assume, then, that it’s time for us to leave?”

“Oh yeah.”  He couldn’t work up an appropriate leer with Cas looking so... something, but he thought about it and he figured Cas got the gist.  Watching his wings rise, he remembered just in time: “Sach said you like to fly.”

Castiel paused, considering this.  “Yes?”

“I’d like to see you,” Dean said.  He didn’t bother trying to sound casual: they both knew he wasn’t, and foreplay was in the eye of the beholder anyway.  Or the beheld.  Or whatever.  “Slower, I mean.  Like--the way you’d fly if you didn’t have anywhere to go.”

“I do have somewhere to go,” Castiel said.  “Somewhere I’d very much like to be.”

“So enjoy it,” Dean said.  “Getting there, I mean.  We’ve got the rest of the night, and the weather doesn’t suck.  What’s the rush, right?”

Castiel was looking at him like he’d never seen him before.  “I... didn’t expect you to say that.”

Dean rolled his eyes because it was safer than second-guessing himself.  “Sam been telling you stories?  Man, never listen to jealous little brothers.  They make up all kinds of stuff.”

“I didn’t ask Sam about your sexual tendencies,” Castiel said, which possibly proved that Dean was not angelic enough for this conversation, because that?  That was embarrassing.  “As you pointed out, however... I do know you.”

“Yeah, yeah, watching me my whole life, whatever,” Dean said.  “Which is creepy, by the way.  I’m sure I didn’t order anyone to do that.  Not that I haven’t had my stalker-ish moments from on high, but I didn’t ask anyone to watch out for me.”

“If you had,” Castiel said, and he sound unexpectedly stern, “we might have avoided the confrontation in the Hall of Prayer.”

“Aw, come on,” Dean said.  “You can’t tell me you didn’t like seeing Zachariah get turned into a bunny.”

The sirens were on their street now, the sound bouncing crazily off the water while the lights faded into the fierce glow of  the Science World dome.  Dean figured they’d probably question the two crazy guys shouting at each other in the courtyard first.  And look at him, across the border without a passport.  Bobby would just love that phone call.

“I enjoyed the bunny,” Castiel said.  He wasn’t smiling.  “What I objected to was the... what would you call it--sheer terror that preceded the bunny.”

Dean knew this conversation.  Anyone who stayed more than one night had it eventually.  The ever-popular “your life is too dangerous” speech had several variations, but his least favorite was “your life is too dangerous so you need to change it.”  

Funny, though.  It wasn’t that he’d never imagined having this conversation with Cas.  It was just that he’d kind of expected to be the one complaining.

“Sorry,” Dean said, and then he frowned.  That wasn’t part of the script.  His side of the speech was supposed to go, “job description, blah blah blah.”  And then they’d have drinks and maybe one more night and he’d be on the road in the morning.

“If I’d known,” he was saying, “I would have told you, Cas.  You gotta believe that.”

Castiel was frowning right back at him.  “You did tell me.  If you hadn’t mentioned what Michael said about the car--”

He stopped, and Dean glanced up at the street.  The VPD was out and circulating, which struck him as an overreaction considering that the only weird thing going on was a bunch of mysteriously lit lightbulbs.  Maybe someone inside had flipped a switch by accident.  Who knew?

“Yeah,” he said, because Cas wasn’t talking.  “Worst note to self ever.  If I’d really known me, you’d think I would have said something about pie or porn.  At least then I would have listened.”

“I’ll remember that,” Castiel said.

“You remember everything,” Dean said, his mouth on automatic until his brain caught up.  “Wait, what?”

“If we leave now,” Castiel said, “we will have time to pick up pie on our way back to the Roadhouse.  I--”  He hesitated, just for a moment.  “I assume that’s where we’re going?”

Dean finally looked back at him.  With the light above him and the water at his back, it was impossible not to see Cas the way he’d been at Hallelujah Point.  Staring across the divide for the first time in months.  Ruffled wings and glowing blue eyes and a deep longing Dean couldn’t remember, let alone define.

His voice was rougher than he’d meant it to be when he asked, “You wanna go back to heaven?”

Castiel looked like he’d braced himself for the question, but that didn’t tell Dean anything.  “I want to be where you are.”

“Great.”  It didn’t come out as close to a grumble as he’d hoped, so he added, “Thanks, Romcom of the Year.”  Which just sounded mean, and he wondered if he should stop talking altogether.  If he’d had to guess, he’d have thought thousands of years’ experience with a language would make him better at it.  “The Roadhouse has beds.  Unless you have an awesome argument against it, that’s where we’re going.”

“There are beds in heaven, Dean.”

Dean tried to think of an appropriate joke and found he couldn’t.  Not with the way Cas was practically tripping over his own words to add, “That was an observation.  Not an argument.”

Someone on the street pointed at them.  Took ’em long enough, Dean thought, just this side of relieved.  Back home there’d already be tape up and bullhorns and a lot more cameras.

He reached out without looking, fingers brushing against Cas’ feathers.  “Time to go, flyboy.”

Castiel was in the air without further prompting.  Dean let the dome lights go, the ferocious glare easing as he took off.  They stayed on, but at least they looked more like normal fluorescents now.  He reminded himself to google “mysterious Science World lights” in the morning.  Or to make Sam do it.  That would be more fun.

He caught up with Cas easily, high over the city by now and dawdling like nobody’s business.  Waiting for him.

Dean smiled.  Show me whatcha got, he thought.  He didn’t so much put the words in Cas’ head as he left them lying out in the open spaces of his own.  If Cas wanted to know what he was thinking, he was welcome to it.

It didn’t take him long to realize that he might be able to catch up with Cas, but that didn’t mean he could catch him.  Sach hadn’t been kidding when she said Castiel liked to fly: more than liked it, if Dean was any judge.  Cas looked like he was breathing through his wings.  Like everything vital in the world was channeled through them, direct to his brain and back out into the air.  Like magic.

Some kind of beautiful, awe-inspiring magic.

You just made me like magic, Dean thought.  It might have sounded more accusing if he hadn’t had trouble concentrating enough to form the words.  His focus was wrapped up in following Cas, flying when he could and watching where he couldn’t.  Which was, increasingly, everywhere.

Magic is part of God’s creation, Dean.  Castiel was momentarily too far away for him to hear, even if he yelled, but he could feel those words in his head and he could see that spark of divinity looping against the stars.  When it steadied unexpectedly he didn’t take his eyes off of it in case it disappeared against the sparkling background.  He got that Cas was diving at about the same time great wings obscured the constellations to his right as Cas banked hard and veered off.

The rush of air made Dean scramble, rhythm faltering between one wingbeat and the next.  Because of course angels buzzed each other.  While he steadied, circling more gracefully in the direction of Cas’ new course, the sound of laughter teased his ears.  He pushed harder, faster, trying to follow more closely if it meant he could hear that sound of delight without all the intervening space.

How often did Cas laugh like that, really?

This what you do on Friday nights? he asked, because he didn’t know how to say you’re beautiful without sounding like a creepy old guy lusting after his broth-–

After a cute coed.  Or something.  Too young, too pretty, distant smile and a shiny new Harvard degree.  The one that said “out of your league” in bold, then added underneath, “but I’ll let my friends think I slept with you if you promise to call while I’m not home and tell my parents you’re my boyfriend.”

Mostly I watch you on Friday nights, Castiel replied.  His wings couldn’t be that much shorter than Dean’s, but he turned like a gymnast and his affinity for air currents put Dean’s rusty skills to shame.  You get into a lot of trouble.  Even before the apocalypse.

Gotta keep busy, Dean agreed, because he didn’t want to think about Cas being anyone but Cas.  They weren’t brothers, not really.  And if he was kind of robbing the cradle, well, Cas had been ready to do the same to  him.  Hey, are you this flexible in gravity?

This is gravity.  Castiel rose and spun at the same time, which shouldn’t even be possible.  This is 99.3% of earth normal gravity.

This is freefall, Dean said, and don’t remind me.  

Castiel swooped closer, and this time he lingered.  Bad memories? he asked.

Leave it to him to make the connection instantly.  Dean wondered how many other parts of Michael’s human life would slot into place if he looked.  It seemed like the sort of thing Cas might consider as an academic exercise.  Or Sam.  For just a moment, the fact that he had two people who cared enough about his venture into humanity to analyze it seemed like the strangest thing in the world.

Then Cas was dipping below him and he realized the city was gone.  Bright streaks of moonlight painted Cas’ wings, making them glow against the dark of the land when he tilted his body just right.  It was a funny brilliance, flashing and fading without interfering with his angelic halo at all... and Dean thought with sudden clarity that this was what he had been made to see.

Not anymore, he said.  Sometimes all the mind needed was a stronger association, and he was pretty sure this one would never be overwritten.  Today?  I officially love heights.  And falling from them.  And all the people along the way.

All of them? Castiel repeated.  He sounded more amused than anything.

Some more than others, Dean admitted.

Some a lot more than others, he thought.  And wasn’t favoritism what had gotten them into this mess in the first place?  Hadn’t Dad made a mistake by protecting the youngest at all costs?  Or was it on them that they couldn’t recognize unconditional love when they saw it?

At the end of the day, didn’t their father want all of them to make it?

Dean.

Castiel’s voice almost startled him, and he realized belatedly that it had been on purpose.  Sorry, he thought.  Not paying enough attention to your flashy moves?

I don’t suppose it would do me any good to tell you to focus, Castiel replied.

Dean actually laughed, the wind whipping the sound away as soon as it was out.  Meet me back home, he thought.  He didn’t bother to clarify: they were still in Vancouver, after all.

In a blink, a breath, an eternity, Cas was standing next to him in their room at the Roadhouse.  Okay, his and Sam’s room.  It was the only home he’d known for the last twenty-six years.  Half his adult life.  Half of a heartbeat, in the grand scale of celestial time.

Just long enough to change everything.

He didn’t fold his wings.  He knew what Cas wanted, and he was going to get it.  They should be in heaven right now but Dean couldn’t quite shake the human desire for privacy.  Such as it was.  Hopefully they wouldn’t do any irreparable damage to Ellen’s business.

“Dean.”  Castiel sounded like he always had: like he knew what Dean was thinking, and he disapproved.

It made Dean grin.  “Cas,” he said.  He locked the door, blacked the windows, and burst out of his body all at the same time.  Every light in the room exploded as his wings engulfed Cas.  He pressed grace into him like they didn’t need to breathe, which they really didn’t, and he felt Cas go to pieces.

He flung his head back.  His wings beat themselves free of the hug that smothered him while he stood stiff and shocked by the touch of grace.  It was a heartbreaking reaction that made Dean hate heaven a little.  Maybe more than a little.  His angel had gone without love, without forgiveness, without comfort or connection of any kind, just because someone upstairs had gotten pissy about him trying to stop the apocalypse.  

As quickly as that, it was over.  Wings folded in and Cas folded up and suddenly Dean had an armful of sparkling angel.  The funky God light didn’t feel like anything other than Cas--not that he got to hold Cas all that often, but he was pretty sure faith and devotion tempered by irresistible irreverence felt exactly like this.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go.

Don’t.  Castiel’s thoughts were soft and desperate.  Please don’t let go.

I love you, Dean thought.  I forgive you.  You’re the best of us, Cas.  You’ll always be welcomed home.

If you’re there.  Castiel didn’t sound sorry about it, but he couldn’t stand the thought that Cas’ salvation was dependent on his own.  He pressed his awareness closer, light enveloping Castiel’s the same way his wings did.  Belatedly, it occurred to him to wrap his arms around Cas’ waist, and he felt Cas’ arms shift awkwardly in response.

Always, he insisted.  You don’t need me, Cas.  You were made for heaven.

And heaven was made for you, Castiel replied.  Yet you struck out on your own.

Yeah, why had he done that, anyway?  Had he seriously been without grace for seventy years?  And since when had years mattered?  The time kept shrinking and expanding in his head, like his brain wasn’t sure if it was nothing or way too much, so he tried to ignore it.  I missed you, he said instead.

There was a pause, a heartbeat that he might not have noticed if he wasn’t trying to remember everything at once.  Then Castiel said, The host, you mean.

No matter what language it was, words were totally not working for him here.  He couldn’t dig out a clear memory of communion as Michael, which seemed strange but maybe it was the proximity of Cas’ grace.  The last--the only person Dean had communed with was Cas.  It had been in heaven, where the rules were different, but he couldn’t figure out why he was having so much trouble now.  Cas should be--

Are you blocking me? he demanded suddenly.  He didn’t even wait for an answer, because Cas could keep their souls from merging if he wanted to but he couldn’t stop someone so close from seeing into his mind.  You are!  You’re, like, soulblocking me or something!

Castiel’s soul might be carefully separate within the circle of Dean’s embrace, but his body had melted into it and he couldn’t hide the inquisitive twitch of his head.  Isn’t the role of cockblocker usually filled by a third party?

Dean slid his hands over Cas’ back, soft shirt under his fingers while smooth feathers slid over his arms.  His own wings were holding Cas’ down, pressing them against his back and trapping Dean’s arms in the middle of that warm comfort.  It was fair,  he figured, if he was going to trap Cas between him and his wings... he might as well tangle his own arms up the same way.  And if it was more angelic contact than Cas’ wings had had in--ever, maybe--so much the better.

What do you know? he teased.  You took a male vessel just to stay out of my bed.

Hadn’t he realized words weren’t working?  Why was he still using them?  That was so far from funny that he couldn’t take it back fast enough.  Just say no, he said.  If you don’t want to be that close to me...

I thought you were reckless as a human, Castiel said.  His hands were clenching behind Dean’s back, fingers clutching at his shirt like Dean would seriously go anywhere when Cas was leaning against him like this.  His own wings were largely occupied with wrapping Cas up, but he felt those fingers brush maddeningly against the trailing edge when Cas adjusted his hands.

The separation between their souls was easing.  He wasn’t sure it was on purpose, so he didn’t push.  But he could feel Cas’ memory of Gabriel’s warning, could practically hear Gabriel’s voice again in his mind: I wouldn’t do any showing until he decides who he is.  Gabriel had meant Cas to be careful for himself.  Instead, Cas was worried about Dean.

You think you’re gonna mess me up if you let me see your soul right now? he asked, just to be sure.

I have no idea what will happen.  Castiel sounded upset and confused and nowhere near calm enough for someone being hugged within an inch of his life.  I know that if you try to touch my soul the way you did in heaven, I may reach for yours.  No matter how many times I tell myself not to, no matter how dangerous it is, I want to touch you and I can’t and that’s dangerous.

What’s dangerous?  Dean knew, he didn’t have to ask, and he was just proving Cas right.  Come on, I remember.  I know who I am.  I’m not going to freak just because you turn me on.

You did last time, Castiel said.  There was no accusation in the thought--just responsibility, regret, a reminder to himself.  Cas was carrying too much weight.  He was doing it for all of them.  The effect of a human on heaven is infinitesimal compared to the potential damage that an archangel could inflict on earth.

Cas was stiffer now than he had been when Dean first launched himself at him.  He was tense and afraid and worst of all, it was totally Dean’s fault.  Geez, didn’t he even know how to show someone a good time anymore?

Okay, he thought.  Okay, so.  You’re right.

Instant suspicion.  I am?

No, Dean admitted, but let’s pretend, okay?  Obviously I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want; that shouldn’t even be a question.  So if you don’t want to touch me, you won’t.

For once, words did work.  The weird combination of Angel and English and the freakin’ mental telepathy somehow conveyed the appropriate message to Cas, which wasn’t supposed to be “you’re a sexless freak” but rather “I get what you’re scared of, and I’m gonna keep it from happening.”  Because he could totally do that.

You’ll keep your soul separate, Castiel said.  It was flat, like he couldn’t decide between disbelief and disappointment.

No way, Dean told him.  My soul is just fine, thanks.  I think I can touch yours without giving you archangel cooties.

But--

Dean didn’t want to hear it.  Cooties, Cas.  Keeping them to myself.  Got it?

No, Cas said.  I don’t understand that word, and I suspect you of making it up.  I find you exceptionally frustrating.  My wings itch, you’re not holding me tightly enough, and I don’t know how much longer I can worry about something I want this much.

Dean crushed Cas’ wings against his back, feeling them mold to his arms even as he pulled Cas hard against him.  Do you trust me?  Really trust me, I mean?  To do what you want instead of just what I think will make you happy?

Yes, Castiel said without hesitation.

Which Dean thought was pretty generous of him, all things considered, but he wasn’t gonna question it.  So try to touch me, he told Cas.

Cas actually did it.  Dean could feel his careful control let go all at once, grace flooding up against a barrier that hadn’t been there before: Dean caught it, turning it away, sweeping it back on itself easily.  He was an archangel, and he was holding a soul in his hands.  It might have felt familiar if it wasn’t so important.

Cas whimpered, the sound ruffling his concentration.  Dean couldn’t tell if it was dismay or relief.  He could feel both in his head but he couldn’t spare the effort to pull his feelings apart from Cas’ right now.  Every brush of that soul brought memories of flying or singing or mischief with his crazy angel friends that neither Dean nor Michael were ever supposed to know about: Michael because he would be angry, Dean because he wouldn’t understand.

He wanted those memories.  He wanted them like water, like feeling, like sex.  Everything Cas had ever been was right there and he could have it all.  He kept looking, he kept touching, but he didn’t dare linger.  It was so gentle it had to feel like a tease, even to Cas, but he couldn’t lose himself in it.  He couldn’t let himself go if he meant to keep his promise.

What killed him was that he wasn’t the only one who wanted it: Castiel’s wings were hot under his and every part of him was trembling.  His grace was blinding.  Full communion would make him ecstatic, awesomely beautiful and totally bound up in Dean.  It wasn’t just their memories that would merge, it was everything they knew, shared knowledge and prayers and dreams.

He’d lost all sense of the room they were standing in.  All he knew was Cas, and Cas trusted him.  He couldn’t do more than he was doing right now.

But he could do something else.

Forgive me, he thought, and this time he was careful not to announce it to the world.  Cas’ light burned against the barrier as Dean held him back.  He absolutely was not going to give in.  For I have sinned.

He felt Cas shudder.  Didn’t people ever pray to him?  Did he not know what it was like, or did he just think religion was sexy?

It’s been a lifetime since my last confession, he thought.  He tried not to smile as he realized, Maybe two.

He couldn’t help it when Cas dragged together enough words to ask, And which of the mortal sins have you committed, Dean?

All of them, he said.  Even limiting it to the really bad ones, he didn’t have time to do the entire list.  Including the one where I’m not sorry for my sins.

Not all of them, anyway.

Humans say you can’t be forgiven until you are truly penitent, Castiel said.  He was pushing, but not with his grace.  It took Dean a moment to realize it was his body, held fast in the circle of their shared embrace, that demanded movement.  Backward, apparently.  He was shoving Dean back, stumbling with him as he went, their feet shuffled together and their balance effectively shot.

There were benefits to being an angel, though.  Their wings might be otherwise occupied, but if Cas didn’t want them to fall?  They wouldn’t fall.

Bible says so, Dean remarked.  Holy books get more wrong than they do right; you said it yourself.

He was falling.  For the first time in a long time it didn’t frighten him.  He felt Cas’ arms holding him up, Cas’ body pushing him down, and then the mattress whooshed against his back.  The brush of Cas’ soul told him that he’d imagined this.  Dean wanted to pull his head down, seized by a very human desire to kiss, but his hands were still trapped under those wings.

In the name of our father, Castiel said, I absolve you of your sins.

An echo of something shivered through him.  Something huge and vast and godly that wasn’t actually divinity.  He was close enough to something divine already, he figured he’d recognize it.  Do that again, he demanded.

You are forgiven, Dean Winchester.

His breath was totally gone.  That wasn’t what he’d meant, but coming from Cas, it was maybe the most awesome thing he’d ever heard.  It was also, he realized as Cas’ soul flooded up against his, redundant.  Cas had absolved him long ago.  It had been these same blinding wings that had pulled him out of his personal hell... and Cas had never let go.

I’ll fight for you.  The words rose, unbidden and irrepressible, and they were the truest thing he’d ever said.  He’d told Cas he wouldn’t try to hold him: that was a lie and it always had been.  Ever since Cas had extended his soul through the hell that was Dean’s worst fear--becoming something that didn’t care--he had known what it was to come home.

St. Michael the archangel.  Castiel’s voice echoed in his mind, but not with the force of the celestial host.  The words were only between them.  Defend us in battle, and be our defense against wickedness of body and soul.

He felt something torn from his throat, his body arching under the weight that pinned it to the bed.  That was it.  That was what he’d meant: the power of human prayer.  He would never make fun of Cas for getting off on it again.  It was the strength of every voice that had uttered those words, the belief of every soul that expected them to work.

Like a human version of the angelic choir.

Glória in excélsis Deo, Castiel thought, et in terra pax homínibus bonae voluntátis.

“Laudámus te,” Dean gasped, because his body was shaking, grounding out, tying him to humanity.  And it felt better than anything he’d ever done.  He didn’t know when he’d learned Latin; he didn’t know when he’d forgotten it.  His wings crackled with barely contained energy.  “Benedicimus te.”

Adorámus te. Castiel’s voice was everywhere.  Glorificámus te.

His concentration was in shreds, held together by a promise, and it cost everything he had to keep from taking Castiel with him when the room exploded into light.  His body strained.  His soul cried out.  Cas was right there: he could be swept up like that.  All it would take was letting him in.

Everything good in the world rolled over him, and he writhed under the pressure of keeping it to himself.  Cas held him down even as Dean held him back.  Please, he heard, and he didn’t know which of them thought it.  Let me.

Yes, someone thought, and Dean shoved it back relentlessly.

No.  He braced his hand against Cas’ chest while his body came apart.  It was a desperate physical token of the strength it took to hold the line between them.  His arm shook and his wings burned and it was the best thing ever--except for sharing the best thing with Cas.  But Cas had asked him not to.  And he had promised.

His wings finally loosened, freeing one tingling arm.  It let cool air tease Cas’ back just long enough for him to make a sad, lost sound.  Then Dean shoved again, angelic strength the only thing convincing spent muscles to move, and he rolled onto Cas with a grunt.  That felt good everywhere.

Wide blue eyes stared up at him.  Dean was tired and satisfied and about as comfortable as anyone could be in messed up clothes and ruffled wings with an angel who wanted to be denied communion underneath him.  The clothes he figured he could fix.  The rest of it Cas was gonna have to help him with.

The only challenge when it came to his clothes was keeping them on, since his angel powers were all about thought and right now he was thinking he’d like to be naked.  He stuck to cleaning them up, since he wasn’t about to distract Cas with more humanity than he’d already seen.  He did manage to make the jeans a little softer, though.  A lot softer.

Remember, he thought.  If he couldn’t let Cas into his soul, he could at least hand pieces of it through.  The way the sun comes up over the arc of the earth.  The way everyone sings to the stars, and the seas reflect things we never saw before.  The way the moon is close enough to touch.

“Dean,” Cas murmured, and that was all it took.  He got it.

“Cherry pie,” he whispered.  “Ice cream cakes and coffee with chocolate and whipped cream.  Hard apple cider.  Whiskey.  Drinking around a bonfire.”

“Sex,” Castiel said softly.

Dean smirked at him.  “Anytime.”

Those blue eyes slid shut, and Dean gave him the memory of waking up in a field of trees laid flat: only the cross still standing.  His memory, since Castiel already had one.  Castiel had been there.  Thanks for pulling me out, he thought.  His first drink of water, the first flash of recognition when an angelic voice shattered windows and drove him to his knees.  Still too raw, too necessary--he hadn’t been able to reach out and he could never go back.

He gave Cas the memory of a dream and he felt Cas tug at it like it was familiar.  He had to let go to keep them both from falling in.  He gave Cas their first kiss because it was human, and wing-grooming in heaven because it was angelic.  He remembered waking up under Cas’ wing because he’d liked it, and to his surprise, Cas carefully pressed the rest of that night back to him.

Watching Dean.  Watching over him, watching him sleep.  Seeing him relax and trust and dream about something other than the end.  Dean had assumed at the time that patience was a virtue Cas had to practice to keep his angel merit badge, but Cas had found the night too short.  Dean had woken up sooner than he’d wished.

Not going anywhere, Dean told him.

You have to.  Cas shifted restlessly underneath him.  Lucifer will call you out and you’ll listen.  You won’t let me go.  I’ll have to watch you walk away.

“I’m staying with you,” Dean muttered.  “Don’t give me the last night on earth speech, Cas.  I invented it.”

Commune with me, Cas told him.

Dean felt himself swallow.  Tomorrow.

Now, Cas insisted.  His soul was bright against the barrier, sweet and soft and cajoling: he knew what Dean had braced himself for and he knew what he wouldn’t be able to resist.  You said you were fine, Dean.  I trust you.

You are so on my bad list right now, Dean told him.  Like he didn’t want it; come on.  This was so unfair.  Every memory was fast and fleeting, like feathers tickling his skin when all he wanted was to be touched.

Castiel looked ragged and reckless beneath him, but he managed an actual grin and Dean could have smacked him for it.  Being bad is good, right?

“You and your kinky angel bondage,” Dean said.  He strengthened the barrier and poured himself into it, pressing against Cas’ soul, washing over him without soaking in.  Without a single part of himself crossing over.  Just his thoughts making Cas’ mind spark, trying to hold on, to pull him through, to share the parts of himself Cas had never seen.

It’s because you trust me that I won’t do it, Dean told him.  Cas had had his chance.  He’d said no, and Dean had agreed, and Dean was going to keep his goddamned word if it killed him.

Cas’ wings glittered.  They were spread wide, soul diffusing in every direction as he watched--drawing him along with it.  To hold Cas’ soul he had to keep it, he had to stay in contact, and Cas knew it.  That contact increased with every tiny expansion.  He could feel the veil between them thinning as he melted into Cas, enough that he knew the play of grace tracing every outline of memory and desire.

“I am for you,” Castiel whispered, the benediction rising like heat.  It bridged that minute separation without even acknowledging its existence.  It warmed Dean without force or intrusion.  It caught him up in forgiveness and peace and the unassailable certainty that he wasn’t alone... and for the first time since he’d fallen, he was free.

It was as close to communion as they would get with Dean clinging to the strength that held them apart.

“Qui tollis peccáta mundi,” Castiel breathed, “súscipe deprecatiónem nostram.”

The release of it made him laugh, his body letting go, collapsing on top of his crazy blissed-out angel without finesse or apology.  Cas had given him a lap dance with his soul, and they could be pulling themselves back together for the rest of the night.  “Miserére fucking nobis,” he said, kissing his forehead and licking his temple and pushing his cheek up against Cas’ as he buried his face in the pillow.  “You’re the dirtiest angel I know.”

Castiel had to draw a breath to answer, which was cute and charming and hot all at the same time.  “You’re the most blasphemous angel I ever met,” he said, and he even sounded breathless.  And amused.  Because Cas usually sounded kind of amused when he was talking about Dean.

“You love it,” Dean mumbled into the pillow.  Cas’ shoulder was digging into his throat.  He thought he should probably roll off of him, for comfort or politeness or whatever, but then he’d be lying on a wing and who knew how that would go over.

“I do,” Castiel agreed softly, and Dean turned his head to smile against his neck.

After some undefined period of time, he remembered to ask, “Hey, ’m I crushing you?”

“Yes, Dean.”  Castiel sounded more than amused this time, like he was laughing but couldn’t spare the energy to show it.  “Your fragile human body is in danger of flattening me.  Move or I will be forced to smite you.”

“Kinky,” Dean muttered, taking that as permission to make himself more comfortable.  “Didn’t know you had a thing for bunny rabbits.”

He wasn’t sure how long they drifted like that, but it didn’t seem to matter.  They were the only light of any kind in the room, and he figured as long as the sun hadn’t risen he didn’t have to pretend to be an adult yet.  When he remembered what he’d done to the windows, though, he opened one eye.

Castiel was reading.  Dean huffed out an almost-laugh, because of course.  What else did a bookish angel do between sex and dawn?

“Still before dawn, right?” he mumbled.  He kissed the shoulder under his mouth, just because.

“Mm-hmm.”  Cas’ fingers smoothed his feathers absently, making his right wing twitch.  “May I read your journal?”

Dean lifted his head.  The dark was pretty close to absolute, but when he stopped trying to look through human eyes he found he didn’t have any trouble.  “That what you’ve got there?”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted.  “I didn’t wish to disturb you.”

Dean managed a half-shrug before he lowered his head, pillowing it against his arm this time.  He might have asked about moving, except that Cas was still playing with his feathers and he didn’t want to interrupt.  “Lemme know if it says anything interesting.”

“Mmm,” Castiel said noncommittally.

Dean smiled, stretching his other wing out and closing his eyes again.  Castiel hadn’t stopped breathing.  The steady in and out was more comforting that he’d expected, but then, he didn’t think he had to tell Cas that.  Cas was probably doing it on purpose.

He also didn’t think he slept.  What did he need sleep for, right?  Awesome angelic power number two million: not having to crash every twenty hours.  But if someone was going to lie there in bed with him, patting his wings, breathing just for him... well, he wasn’t about to complain.

Especially not when he felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder, fingers gently tracing the edges of his scar.  “Huh,” he grunted, and his voice was thicker than he’d expected.  “Why’s that sexy, anyway?”

He sounded like he’d been asleep.  He was surprised Cas could even understand him.

Castiel just sounded curious.  “Is it?”

“Yeah,” he muttered.  “Don’t tell anyone.”

He thought he could hear Cas smile in the darkness.  “Understood.”

There was another moment where he could feel Cas breathing, but he didn’t hear any pages turning.  “Time is it?” he mumbled at last, shifting a little.

Castiel hesitated, fingers completing the circuit around his handprint for the second time.  “Dawn,” he said.  He let his hand fall, and it covered the scar entirely.  “I suppose we must, at some point, stir from this place.”

“’S a bad plan,” Dean said.  “Pretty sure these weren’t the only lights we knocked out last night.”

“No,” Castiel agreed.  “That would seem unlikely.”

“Should definitely go out for breakfast,” Dean continued, still mostly talking to his collarbone.  “That place down the street had good food, right?”

Castiel’s free hand moved to his wing, smoothing another feather back into place.  “I was quite fond of it.”

“Right.”  Dean’s fingers twitched, trying to stroke the wing pinned under Cas.  “If I move, are you gonna keep doing that?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah, new plan,” Dean said, pushing himself up on one shoulder.  A shoulder he propped up on Cas’ chest.  “Better make the wings look cool before we go anywhere.”

Which didn’t take anywhere near as long as the time that passed between opening his eyes and actually leaving the room.  But hey, he had things to do.  Changing the windows back, for one.  Fixing the lights, for another.  He preferred to pick his clothes the human way--habit, maybe--but he didn’t object at all when he turned around and found Cas wearing a different shirt.

If it made him go over and run his hands over Cas’ wings one more time, well.  It wasn’t like his hair knew what it meant to lie flat.  Why would his feathers be any different?

There was no one in the hall when they finally emerged.  Dean had suggested flying as a more expedient method of travel--and one a lot more likely to avoid the embarrassment they were going to face downstairs--but Castiel had pointed out that it was his garrison.  He couldn’t hide from them at someone else’s diner forever.

“It’s not hiding,” Dean argued.  “It’s an evasive strategy made better by pie and coffee.  Hopefully together,” he added.  “For breakfast.”

“I’m sure Ellen has pie and coffee,” Castiel said.

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” he countered.  “Not with Gabriel around.  He’s a one-man pie-stealing machine.”

“Gabriel is neither man nor machine,” Castiel pointed out.

“But he is a pie-stealer,” Dean said.  “That’s worse.”

Cas didn’t dignify this with a response, probably because it was so obvious.  Dean felt slightly more cheerful about the whole thing when he realized Becky was nowhere to be found, and if Chuck was up at such a ridiculously early hour as “before noon” he wasn’t in the main room.  That left three angels--and Dean figured they already knew--plus Sam and Gabriel, both of whom would give them hell for anything at all so who cared.  Even the Harvelles were mysteriously absent.

Sam gave him a nod like everything was normal, so Dean put a hand on the bar next to him and his cold coffee.  “Where is everyone?” he wanted to know.

“Assignments,” Gabriel interrupted, reaching across Sam’s book to turn several pages at a time.  “Don’t waste your time; it’s all downhill from here.  Just skip to the end and read the translation.”

“Assignments?” Dean repeated.  “What kind of assignments?”

“The kind you put me in charge of,” Gabriel told him.  “Oh, and FYI?  You’re welcome.  If it wasn’t for me, no one in North America would’ve had power last night.”

“North America,” Dean said, picking up Sam’s coffee and sniffing it because he could.  Definitely cold.  “Just North America?  I must be losing my touch.”

“As one with firsthand experience,” Castiel remarked, “I think I may safely say this is untrue.”

“Okay, seriously.”  Sam slammed his book shut.  “Separate tables, okay?  And Gabriel did a lot of work last night, so I don’t think a thank you is out of line.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, immediately and without sarcasm.

“Sure thing, bro,” Gabriel replied.  He narrowed his eyes at Dean.

“Whatever,” Dean said.  Like Gabriel didn’t owe him fifty times over for one stupid stunt or another.  If he wanted to be irresponsible for one night, he thought Gabriel could stop whining and just cover for him already.  “We’re going out.”

Sam must have been pissed about something, because it wasn’t until they got to the diner that he realized where Chuck and Becky were.  Not in bed after all.  And not alone, either.

“Dean!”  Becky’s shriek had to have alerted everyone in the diner.  “I mean, Michael!  And Castiel!  Oh my gosh, do you guys even have to eat?  What are you doing here?  Come sit with us!”

“This, right here,” Dean told Castiel, making no effort to lower his voice.  “Not one of my better ideas.”

“Becky,” Chuck was saying.  Not that it was helping.  “Becky, I’m sure they have... uh, stuff.  To do.”

“Dean?”  One of the guys sitting at the table with them looked incredulous.  “Like, Dean, Dean?  Dean Winchester?”

Okay, this was not happening.  They were not yelling this entire conversation at each other across the diner, which left them with two choices: Dean and Castiel could leave, without pie or coffee, or they could go over and try to make Becky start talking like a crazy person instead of like a crazy person with no volume control.

“It’s worth it, right?” Dean muttered, as Cas followed him over to their giant table.  “This is worth it?”

“They do appear to have several kinds of pie,” Castiel replied.

“Oh my gosh, you guys, this is so exciting!” Becky gushed.  “Um, so, this is--well, you know him as Dean, but he’s really Michael, wink wink nudge nudge, and that’s Castiel with him--he’s read all the books, and a little bird tells me he knows something about fanfic, too, if you know what I mean.”

Dean had no idea what she meant, but from the wide-eyed way her two friends were staring at Castiel, he probably didn’t want to.  He reached for one of the menus on the unoccupied part of the table.  Why were they taking up the biggest table in the place with their little group of four?  It wasn’t like it was crowded or anything.  Thank God.

“I am familiar with the prophecies,” Castiel was saying.  “As well as some of their interpretations.”

“Right, okay, so Cas?  This is Barnes.”  Becky waved wildly at the man next to her like they couldn’t all see him.  “And his partner, Damien--”  Another giant wave at the man across from him.  “And they are just the biggest fans of Chuck’s books, and your story of course, because it’s being published, like, every day now!”

Dean frowned.  It sat weirdly with him and he couldn’t tell if it was the really the nickname or just... well, Becky.  “Did you call him ‘Cas’?”

He heard Chuck mutter something about how this wasn’t happening, but Becky didn’t seem to notice and Dean got distracted by the waitress.  She’d brought them coffee without even asking, which was good, and she wasn’t trying to kick them out or even looking at them strangely, which was too bad.  He gave her his best smile and asked if they could get pie with breakfast.  The answer was “of course,” like people asked for it all the time.  Sometimes you just had to charm the locals.

Sometimes Becky was there and you had to distract the locals, but these people seemed really good at ignoring the crazy.  He’d have been jumpy about demon possession or something if he couldn’t see their totally human faces.  Maybe they knew Ellen and her crowd better than he thought.

He learned more about Barnes and Damien than he really wanted to know while they were waiting for their food, despite the fact that Becky did most of the talking.  Chuck never managed to get in more than a word or two, and most of that was drowned out by Becky--or Damien, because once he got going he could fill in the pauses while Becky breathed.  Chuck seemed to like it better that way.  He wouldn’t even look at Dean when they first sat down, and Dean got halfway through his first cup of coffee before he realized why.

“Oh, seriously?”  He slammed his coffee cup down on the table, sealing the coffee in as it sloshed without even thinking about it.  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

It was enough to silence Becky for a second--literally, a second--before she was asking him if he was okay, if there was something wrong in heaven, or maybe back at the garrison, and did they need to go back up Sam?  Dean caught Cas’ eye across the table and read the same silent questions there.  Chuck knows, he thought, by way of an answer.

Castiel tipped his head to one side.  Chuck knows a great many things.

About us, Dean said.  That’s why he won’t look me in the eye.

It was enough to make Castiel lean forward and peer in Chuck’s direction, because he had no subtlety at all.  That, of course, Chuck noticed.  “What?” he demanded.  “Don’t look at me, I just write it down!  I can’t help it!  God told me to!”

“You don’t have to post it to the internet,” Dean snapped.

“I didn’t!”  Chuck actually looked offended.  “What do you think I am, a porn writer?  I have a reputation!”

Becky squealed, which Dean totally ignored.  “Dude, I read your books,” he said.  “Trust me: you are.  And no you don’t.  I’m not kidding.”

“Oh my gosh, when!” Becky burst out.  “Chuck!  How could you not have told me!  Everyone will want to know about this!”

“Okay, shut up,” Dean said.  “Do you even have the faintest clue what ‘none of your business’ means?”

“But Michael,” she insisted, “don’t you get it?  Cas is the most human angel in heaven!  He’s like, God’s last gift to his oldest children!  And if you, um, commune with him, you might, like, see more of the plan!  The two of you together could--oh, you could figure it all out!”

Dean couldn’t help it.  He looked at Cas.  The answer was still the same, though, and that was more than a little reassuring.  Like he’d ever had any idea what he was doing.  “I think we’re good,” he said.

“Oh, right, of course!” Becky exclaimed.  “Because you already have!  So, okay, do you--”

“We haven’t,” Dean said, sitting back in his chair as the waitress leaned over the table to set their plates down.  “Thank you,” he said, giving her a smile that he hoped was vaguely normal.  One that didn’t say, This had better be really worthwhile pie or you’re about to have a diner full of little fluffy bunnies.

“You haven’t?” Becky repeated blankly.  “Why not?”

It was the shortest thing she’d said since they’d arrived.  Dean decided to push his luck, waiting until the waitress walked away to leer at her.  She actually stayed quiet long enough for him to say, “Been human a while, sweetheart.  A man has needs.”

Becky just stared at him.  Along with, tragically, everyone else at the table.  “What do you mean?” she asked, like she really had no idea.  Then her eyes widened, and her hand went to her mouth, and she looked way more horrified than anyone should by the words, “Oh my gosh, did you have sex?”

He’d really hoped that would end the conversation.  He should have known better than to think he could embarrass Becky.  “Help,” he begged Cas.

“Yes,” Castiel told her.

“I’m so sorry,” Becky said.  For once, she was almost quiet.  She alternated between giving Castiel sympathetic looks and frowning at Dean like he’d tried to take away Cas’ pie or something.  “I’m sure he’ll come around.  Maybe Sam could talk to him.  Do you want me to call him right now?”

“Wait, what?”  Dean glared at Chuck, who was hiding most of his face with his hand while he stared toward the window like he had no idea how any of them had ended up at his table.  “Why are we suddenly having an intervention?”

“Dean,” Becky hissed.  “Castiel is an angel.  You can’t just sex him up!”

Dean just stared at her, because what?

“An-gel,” Becky repeated, like he was slow.  She was still doing that thing with her voice that she probably thought was like whispering.  In fact, he was pretty sure they could hear her talking outside.  “He needs love and prayer and... and spiritual things!  You can’t just--do stuff, to his vessel, and then act all smug and satisfied afterwards!”

“Do--”  Dean caught himself.  Do stuff? he thought, outraged.  She’s a porn writer, and that’s the best she can do?

Castiel was carefully breaking off a piece of pie with his fork.  She writes erotica, Dean.

“Okay, one,” Dean said aloud, and he heard Chuck groan.  “Cas can do whatever the hell he wants.  Two, I’m an angel, and I think I know what I’m doing!”

“Oh, Dean.”  Becky actually reached across Damien, who shoved his chair back with a terrified mumble of apology, and patted him on the arm.  “Of course you are.  Maybe you should ask Castiel what it’s really like--being an angel, I mean--for a more authentic experience next time?  That’s all I’m saying.”

Dean stared some more, which wasn’t at all satisfying in the face of this cosmic unfairness, and then he turned his wrath on Chuck.  “This?” he demanded.  “This is what you don’t tell her?  Seriously?  What kind of a prophet are you?”

Chuck cleared his throat, now looking down at his plate.  “To be fair,” he said, “I didn’t tell her about the sex, either.”

“This pie had better be awesome,” Dean grumbled, glancing back at Cas.

Who was sucking on his fork.  As he watched, Cas’ eyes flicked up to meet his, and he pulled the fork free with an inquisitive look that had nothing to do with the conversation.  Dean didn’t move.

The corner of Cas’ mouth quirked, and he licked some non-existent filling off his lips.  He dug the fork into a new corner of the pie and wiggled it around more than was strictly necessary, cleaning up the plate as he collected filling and crust.  It was almost falling off the fork by the time he lifted it to his mouth, and watching it disappear made Dean forget a lot of the--well.  A lot of everything.

The pie was definitely good enough to make up for what they’d been talking about.  Whatever it was.

The best part of the morning, after waking up with Cas, was watching him eat pie, and maybe the world was on his side after all because the angel radio didn’t freak out until after he’d finished.  Becky was arguing with Damien over something he didn’t care enough about to pay attention to, Chuck was trying to trick Barnes into admitting he was the normal one, and Cas was adding things to Dean’s coffee for absolutely no reason Dean could figure out.

When the radio went crazy, though, it was like a bell had been rung somewhere right outside.  He actually turned to look before he got it, and by then the tone was rising.  Like the opposite of hitting a bell.  It got louder and clearer instead of fading away, and it was only saying one thing.

Lucifer.

He and Castiel were staring at each other when it occurred to him they were still at the table.  He shoved his chair back, knocking it over by accident, waving his hand to leave money on the table.  “We have to go.”

They were at the gate as quickly as that.  Pamela was nowhere to be seen, but Simea stood at the side of the highway like she was getting ready to hitch.  “No cat,” Dean murmured.

“She was waiting for someone,” Simea told him.  And she was definitely talking to him, despite the fact that he and Cas were on the other side of the gate.  The earth side was empty except for--

“Liaison to the afterlife, huh?”  He should have known.

Tessa looked away from Ruby long enough to catch his eye.  “When I said ‘your’,” she offered, “I meant it in a general sense?”

He rolled his eyes.  “So, what, you ferry demons now?  Too much competition for the human fares?  There’s gotta be more of them every year.”

“Hey,” Ruby snapped.  “I was human once.”

“You turned,” Simea said.  “You became a demon.”

“I can’t turn back?” Ruby wanted to know.  “What about him?”

Dean didn’t have to see her pointing to know she was talking about him.

“I’m not exactly new at this,” Tessa said.  “I think I know which gate I’m leading people to.”

“Reapers don’t approach the gates,” Simea said.  “You part the veil, and we take it from there.”

“This is her second time through,” Tessa replied.  “I didn’t want her to get lost.”

Dean snorted.  He felt Cas shift beside him.  “You telling us she went the wrong way last time?”

“No,” Tessa said.  “I’m saying that this time she’s supposed to go a different way.”

“Reapers don’t make mistakes,” Castiel said.

“Everyone makes mistakes,” Dean countered.

He could feel Castiel looking at him.  “Including those who’ve been to hell?”

“Especially us.”  Dean didn’t turn, because he might have his back to heaven but he couldn’t ignore what was going on inside.  “Lucifer is standing on a bridge behind us because I let him in, Cas.  You want to tell me we should start inviting his army in to back him up?”

“I don’t see an army, Michael.”

He hadn’t figured out what it meant when Cas used his angelic name.  Right now, his best guess was exasperation.

“All I see is one person,” Castiel continued.  “A person who made decisions and paid for them.  She’s continued to make decisions since, as is her birthright.  Isn’t it fair that she face the consequences of all her decisions, rather than just the ones that hurt you?”

He didn’t answer until fnally Simea took a step forward.  Toward Ruby.  “Every demon marker I see on your soul is a memory,” she said.  “If the archangels allow it, you may pass.”

Great.  The reaper, the gatekeeper, the boy who lived and the guy he loved all wanted him to let his brother’s ex-demon girlfriend into heaven.  Too bad this wasn’t a democracy.

“Fine,” he heard himself say.  “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

The way Ruby’s face changed was startling and not all at the same time.  Because, okay, she didn’t look like that, but he’d kind of gotten used to seeing a familiar demon shadow in her eyes.  It wasn’t just gone now.  It was transformed.  Like when the darkness faded, something else had had to rush in to take its place... and light was the closest available replacement.

“Make sure they’re okay,” he muttered, touching Cas’ arm as he turned away.

He owed someone an apology.

Lucifer didn’t move when he stepped up to the railing beside him.  And really, a railing on a highway without cars?  What were they going to do, jump off?  And what would happen if they did?

“I want cars,” Dean said aloud.

“Of course you do,” Lucifer replied.  Dean could have sworn he rolled his eyes.

“No, I mean it,” Dean said.  “Why are there boats but no cars?  I think we should have cars.”

The Impala appeared on the bridge behind him.

“Better,” Dean said, staring down at the water.  “So if we’re meeting here, can we skip the Santa Fe thing?  I dunno about you, but I find that town bizarrely creeptastic this time of year.”

“This time of year being any time this century,” Lucifer said.  “I assume.”

“Nah,” Dean said.  “I think I hated it last century too.”

They stood there in silence for a while, watching the water roll away beneath them.  Dean’s shadow moved.  Minutely, barely enough to register, but it startled him enough that he straightened up.  “It’s getting later,” he said.  The sun didn’t change in heaven, not anymore.  Not in his heaven.

“You should see hell,” Lucifer said.

Dean didn’t find that particularly convincing, but the part of him that understood was growing faster than the light could change, and it would overwhelm his nerves.  His memories.  The fleeting horror of becoming what he fought was starting to settle, to find its place among the other battles... the other doubts he’d hated and burned and somehow, somewhere along the way, learned to live with.

He knew it would, and because he knew he said, “Okay.”

Cas, he thought, because he was still kind of a bastard.  Tell Sam I’m going to hell.  Be right back.

“Show me,” he said aloud.

Just like that, it was night.  The bridge hadn’t changed.  When he looked over his shoulder, though, the Impala was gone and Simea’s post was being guarded by a three-headed hound.  Dean studied it, trying to remember whether he should be surprised that it had blue eyes or not.  They should have more dogs in heaven.

“The night after you left,” Lucifer said.  “Welcome to my hell.”

“You left,” Dean said, still staring at the dog.  “Heaven is the last time we talked.”

“You modernized, at least,” Lucifer observed.  “Keeping pace with the world.  I approve.”

“I can see that,” Dean said dryly.  He clearly wasn’t the only one with an eye to earth.  “You want to stop trying to destroy it?  It’s kind of grown on me.”

“It’s not perfect,” Lucifer said.  “I saw them coming, you know.  The humans who would fall.  They were spreading across the planet while we spoke.  They were about to cross the ocean.

“They did,” he added, like Dean might not have noticed.  “They’ll be moving on to the stars before you know it.  They’re everywhere.  It’s maddening.”

“It’s the way they learn,” Dean said.

“You can’t save them all,” Lucifer told him.

Dean just shrugged.  He’d heard that one before.  “Someone has to try.”

“You can’t save them,” Lucifer repeated.  “The bad ones, the fallen human souls?  They’ll tear your heaven apart.  It’s all fun and games when they’re stuck making a mess of earth, but eventually they have to die.  And not all their souls are ready to move on.”

“They’re ready,” Dean said.  “That’s the definition of dying: moving on.  They have to be ready.”

“They’re not,” Lucifer said.  “Something went wrong.  Forgiveness isn’t enough; it doesn’t get to all of them.  It doesn’t sink in, somehow.  They just keep falling.  I catch them.  I keep them from destroying each other.  I keep them from destroying you while they wait to hit the bottom.”

He frowned out into the endless night.  “You think you’re saving people down here?”

“They’ll save themselves,” Lucifer said.  “Eventually.  I’m just trying to keep them away from you.”

“How noble of you,” Dean muttered.

“One of us has to be practical.  Our father tells us to bow to them, and you’re all ready to do whatever they want.  I had to leave heaven to keep my family safe.”

“By trapping people in hell?” he demanded.

“Hell’s a long game,” Lucifer said.  “Ruby is the first to rise.  But this is the age of forgiveness, is it not?”

“What about earth?” he wanted to know.  “They don’t all need to be scared straight.  No one gets to make their own decisions if everyone’s dead.”

“Demons are allowed on neutral ground, same as angels,” Lucifer pointed out.  “Admittedly, the horsemen may have been a little over the top.  I could recall them.”

“In exchange for?” Dean said.

“Leave the gate open,” Lucifer said.  “Everyone likes to look in on home once in a while.”

“That was an accident,” Dean blurted out.  “Letting all the angels in.  I wasn’t really thinking.”

“I’m not Dad,” Lucifer said with a shrug.  “I don’t judge.  I don’t punish people, and I don’t redeem them.  I just let them do what they do and I make sure they face the the consequences.”

“I’ll need those angels back,” Dean said.  “The ones you kidnapped from Anna.”

Lucifer waved a hand like it was nothing.  “Done.”

Dean blinked, but the lights over the water were coming closer.  “Hey... did I just accidentally avert the apocalypse?”

“Seems appropriate,” Lucifer said.  He sounded funny, too familiar but off somehow, and it took Dean a moment to realize he was hearing the way he sounded when he was talking to Sam.  “You started it by accident.”

He watched the sparkles rise and fall, wondering why hell got all the cool insects.  “They’re gonna kill me.”

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed, leaning on the railing again with a small smile in his voice.  “You were always terrible at leaving messages.”

“Not my fault,” Dean said.  For once.  “My older brother set a terrible example.”

“Take him a firefly,” Lucifer offered.  “Presents say you’re trying.  He won’t be able to smite you if he thinks you’re trying.”

“Like I want dating advice from you,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.  “Your longest relationship is with the family spy.”

“She’s not a spy,” Lucifer said.  “She’s just trying to help.”

Since she fell, Samael had made sure Lucifer wasn’t alone.  Maybe they owed her more than they knew.  “All I’m saying is, Cas is hard.  Pretty sure half the time I only get it right by accident.  It’s what I know, though, right?  So I’m gonna keep doing it.”

“Good luck with that, Godless,” Lucifer told him.

“Back at you, Hellspawn,” Dean retorted.

He thought he saw Lucifer smile.

“Fireflies?” Dean asked at last.  Because who knew they liked the ocean, but the glowing bugs were swarming them up here on the bridge.  “Really?”

“Like little stars,” Lucifer observed, holding his hand up to let one land.  “Don’t you think?”

Dean stared at them until his eyes started to blur.  “Yeah,” he said at last.  “I do.”

*******

Glória in excélsis Deo
et in terra pax homínibus bonae voluntátis.
Laudámus te,
benedicimus te,
adorámus te,
glorificámus te.

Glory to God in the highest
and on earth peace towards men of good will.
We praise you,
we bless you,
we worship you,
we glorify you.

Qui tollis peccáta mundi, miserére nobis,
qui tollis peccáta mundi, súscipe deprecatiónem nostram.

You who take away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us,
you who take away the sins of the world, receive our prayer.