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Lisa sighed, grateful Ben was already asleep. She had sent him to bed, right as Dean said he was going out. Dean certainly didn’t make a habit of it, but Lisa knew by now what to expect when he’d grab his keys after dinner, something dark and harsh brewing between his shoulder blades.
He always came back with the same look on his face; eyes hollow, edges sharp. It was never too late, not like he stayed out until cock crow, but it still didn’t feel good to watch the hours go by, reading alone in bed. Lisa would still greet him when he got back, soft as she could, fix him a plate and tell him about her day. That’s what grieving people needed, right? Somewhere to rest, someone to hold them through nightmares and walk away when some conversations just got too loud. Ben didn’t need to see any of that. Dean was so good the rest of the time, so sweet and fun. That’s all Ben needed from Dean.
Dean was teetering in the kitchen, drinking straight from a bottle in a brown paper bag. He had gotten out of the car with it, top open already. Drinking on the road. The smell of whiskey, motor oil, and sweat permeated the room. Lisa had watched him from their bedroom window, steeling herself to take his hand and guide him upstairs. She padded through the door, walking right up behind him.
“Hey baby—“ Lisa was cut off when Dean spun around to grab her arm. She gasped, her heart stopping in her chest, gut dropping.
Dean’s eyes went from honed to soft in less than a second and his grip on her arm relaxed.
“Hey, Lis,” Dean said. He didn’t slur his words but Lisa could see the liquor in his eyes, all over his face. Glazed and unfocused, a light sheen of sweat on his upper lip and dirt on his neck. “You know, I had a buddy just like you once. Used to joke, I needed to get him a bell.”
Lisa didn’t laugh, just flicked her eyes between Dean’s face and her arm, still held aloft. Dean seemed to notice and used it to pull her towards him into a smothering embrace. Lisa let it happen. She could be strong for him in times like this. To a point.
“Would a bell have brought you home earlier?” Lisa asked.
Dean stiffened around her, but his chuckle came out smooth, “Sure, it would.”
Lisa willed herself to relax under his touch, snaking her arms underneath his jacket. He was thinner than when he first showed up. Over the last few months, she’d watched him curl in on himself. He he talked less, he fucked less. He drank more, drove more.
They stood together in the kitchen, Dean still clutching the bagged bottle behind Lisa’s back. It was quiet. Nice.
“Dean,” Lisa said, voice barely above a whisper, “You wanna talk?”
Dean kissed the top of her head, “‘Bout what, babe?”
“Tell me how your day was,” Lisa said, “The guys at work are good?”
”Yeah, like usual,” Dean said. He didn’t say anymore. Lisa knew he didn’t intend to.
Lisa cleared her throat, “You gonna come to bed with me?”
Dean kissed her lips this time. He’d been smoking, too. “Nah, I got a couple things to take care of in the garage. I’ll see you in the morning.” He brought a hand to her face and rubbed his thumb right under her eye.
Lisa sighed and gave him a crooked smile, “‘It’s a school night, don’t make too much noise.”
“You won’t even know I’m out there.” He smiled back, though it didn’t reach his eyes. When she first met him, his crow’s feet– a feature so strange for someone so young– were one of her favorite things about his face. They looked like cracks now.
“Is this,” Lisa paused, biting her lip. He never wanted to talk about it, but she knew he was holding back, she knew he needed to move on, “Is this about your brother?”
“Don’t,” The smile vanished like it was never there and Lisa knew she took a wrong turn.
“Ok, I won’t” Lisa said and tucked her head under his chin, clinging tightly. She held him there, breathing as slow as she could until she felt the muscles in Dean’s back loosen and his breath evened out to match hers. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Lisa moved back out of his grasp to make her way to their room. Behind her, she heard Dean slam the garage door. Their bed was wide and the pillows were cool to the touch. Lisa curled on her side, one arm reaching out to the empty space beside her.
—
War never changed. It didn’t matter if your opponents were humans, demons, or your brothers and sisters. Each time his blade sank into one of their bodies, their bespoke forms of order and light, Castiel said a prayer. Angel grace did not require a burial, its essence dissolving into the ether, floating away like dust, but it should be remembered, Castiel thought. Regretted.
Beginning first with their name and garrison, winding through his memories of them, to end with the echo of something they had created. Lush forests, sprawling nebulas, planes of existence where angels could unravel to the fullest extent of their truest forms and fly through any dimension they pleased. Though their father created mankind, a peerless marvel, Castiel always thought his siblings’ creations warranted a similar sort of reverence.
Mourning was a new experience. While Castiel was no stranger to disappointment, it was odd to be so close to the prolonged ache of loss. He would hold their empty vessels to his chest after each death and pray. At the end of each day, he prayed for Jimmy Novak, as well. There was no definitive destination for these prayers, no god left for Castiel to look to, to hope for, but he felt they mattered nonetheless. If he could perfect a facsimile of faith— in an absent God, in his wayward siblings— no matter how meaningless, he could set an example for a future order. A kinder order. Castiel wondered, if God were still here, would He be keen to hear an angel’s prayer?
Perhaps meaning would manifest itself through his directionless liturgies and hollow incantations. Through ritual, there could be enlightenment and peace. Perhaps there was a reward waiting for him at the end of this bloody road, all love and warmth.
Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial. Damned is the angel who falters.
There were times Castiel wasn’t fast enough or clever enough. Times when it seemed as though Crowley’s crooked planning would fail and it would all be for naught. When the glare of Heaven’s light became harsh and garrish, Castiel would find respite knowing that humanity would be saved. That his friends would never need to know the true shame of Heaven. That Dean Winchester was living the life he always said he wanted.
Castiel visited the Braeden household when he could. Moments of selfishness he kept secret, watching silently, something in his vessel yawning wider and wider.
Dean and the Braedens ate together, laughed as the sunshine poured in through the windows, Dean sneaking Ben extra sweets. There were cookouts and candlelit dinners, whispered ‘I love you’s, games of catch. There were also arguments and moments of tearful reconciliation. Moments of genuine repentance and the desire to change. Things so foreign to his own kind.
He was wandering the cells of Heaven when it came to him, frail and sincere. Castiel, I was wonderin’ if you had your ears on. A prayer from Dean Winchester.
Castiel flickered to the Braeden’s garage at Dean’s side in an instant.
Dean was sitting in the Impala, slumped down, open drink in between his spread legs. His head lolled back onto the back of the seat bench, spittle shining on his lower lip. His clothes seemed fresh, no dirt under his fingernails. He used to complain after hunts, how filthy he felt, how disgusting. Castiel was glad he seemed clean.
“Cas, I uh–” Dean took a sip of his drink and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He belched before continuing his prayer, “I was wonderin’ if, if, you still remembered us down here. The little people who ain’t got a stake in the big picture no more.” Dean placed a hand over his face and squeezed his temples. His knee bobbed up and down, slow and uncoordinated.
“I coulda sworn I saw you in my head the other night, on that fishin’ dock. It, uh, kinda scared me, like it usually does but, it felt.” He licked his lips and Castiel could only focus on the way the low light refracted off them, “It felt like things were back to normal, like the old days but without the bullshit. Like when you were… around.”
Dean sighed and it felt like the whole world heaved with him. Castiel waited.
“Shit, I don’t even know what I’m fuckin’ doin’,” Dean snorted, “Cas, I’m sorry if you heard any of that.” He straightened his back and his head fell forward.
The radio was on, fuzz and static, but Dean’s lips moved along with song anyway, his eyes fluttering as though caught between waking and sleep. Castiel’s eyes roved up and down his body, all over the car’s interior. It was good to be reminded of why he was fighting. Why Castiel had to stay away.
“It’d be good to see you, man,” Dean whispered.
Castiel made himself visible beside Dean on the bench. Dean flinched, though his reaction was considerably muted from his state of inebriation.
“Oh, shit,” Dean’s eyebrows raised over his liquor-clouded eyes, “Y–you’re– Cas?”
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said.
“Holy shit,” Dean drew out each syllable, “W-What’re you doin’ here?”
“You prayed,” Castiel said, “I am answering your prayers.”
Dean laughed with his whole body, his drink spilling onto the floor, “Oh, shit, shit!”
Castiel waved it away before it could seep into the floor. Dean would have been displeased with a stain. It would be a shame to ruin his joy like that.
Dean glanced back and forth between where the stain would have been and back to Castiel, his eyes wide. “Forgot how handy it was to have to ‘round, man,” Dean smiled again. He huffed out a breathless laugh and shook his head, “Last time I laughed like that… shit, I think…”
“At the brothel,” Castiel finished for him.
Dean smiled even wider, his eyes narrowing with mirth, “Yeah, man. That was a crazy night.”
“I enjoyed it,” Castiel said, truthfully. Though he was not interested in fornicating with that prostitute, he remembered the way Dean slung an arm around his shoulders, that same bright laughter hot in his ear.
“You didn’t even get any,” Dean scoffed, still smiling.
“You got me a drink,” Castiel said, tilting his head.
Dean laughed again, tears forming in his eyes. Castiel smiled at him, his grace warm in his vessel’s chest. Once Dean calmed down he swung his head over to look at Castiel. The laughter brought such brilliant color to his cheeks.
“So, how’s sheriff life?” Dean asked, “I bet you’re good at putting everyone in their place.” He reached over to lightly shove Castiel.
Castiel looked away, “It’s complicated.”
“I know how that goes,” Dean said. They sat in silence and Castiel thought about just how much Dean would understand. Dean spoke again, “Even down here in the ‘burbs things can get complicated.” Dean reached into his jacket to pull out a small flask and take a sip.
“You seem to be doing well,” Castiel said.
Dean’s eyebrows raised, “Glad you think so. Feels like I’m just lazin’ about.”
“For all you’ve done for humanity, you deserve respite.”
“ Respite ,” Dean huffed and rolled his eyes, “I don’t know if that’s what I’d call it.” His knee started to bob up and down again and he turned his head away from Cas.
“Do you feel stressed, Dean?” Castiel asked.
“Nah, it’s like,” Dean adjusted himself in his jeans and widened his legs, “Nobody gets it. Lisa, she’s, she’s fucking awesome, but she doesn’t… know. A-and I can’t tell her, I don’t wanna tell her.”
“Tell her what?” Cas tilted his head.
“‘Bout the fucked up shit we used to do,” Dean shrugged, his words slurring, “I tell her like some stuff. Y’know she’s so good and she wants to know but, she and Ben, they never need to know, they can’t ever know. But…”
Castiel waited patiently.
“It’s easier to talk to someone who–” Dean’s gaze flicked to Castiel’s and back to his flask rapidly, “Someone who knows what you been through.”
“I know what you’ve been through,” Castiel said.
“Yeah,” Dean said, taking a sip, “And you’re still willin’ to talk to me.”
“I enjoy talking with you, Dean,” Castiel said, honestly, “I wish I could talk with you more.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow at Castiel, his jaw flexing, “Funny thing to say for a guy who skipped town once the job was done.”
Castiel felt his stomach turn. Dean was right, but he didn’t know that it was for his own good. “There is much to do in Heaven. I hope when this is all over, we can speak again.”
They listened to the radio. Outside, the crickets chirped. Dean reached into a cooler in the backseat to pull out a new can of beer, his empty flask forgotten on the seat.
“You know, I, uh, I always thought it was all leading up to something,” Dean said, cracking open his beer. He waited until the end of the long hiss before he continued, “Like there’d be somethin’ that would feel. I dunno, done? Complete? I dunno, I sound crazy.”
“You don’t sound crazy, Dean,” Castiel said, “It’s normal to long for a sense of accomplishment after toiling as you have.”
“Accomplishment sounds so douchey man,” Dean chuckled and shook his head, taking another swig, “Nah, I just. I just want to feel like it’s okay that I— That it’s okay that I’m on the bench.”
“Why would you need reassurance on where to sit?” Castiel asked.
Dean laughed again. No one laughed around Castiel in Heaven. No one ever really laughed around Castiel, ever. “Shit, Cas, I keep forgetting I gotta keep the bumpers up when we’re talkin’.”
Castiel didn’t feel the need to respond while Dean laughed. Just listening was enough.
“I just–” Dean started again, “Y’know, I’m here because of Sam? He, uh, wanted me to settle down. With Lisa.”
“And you did,” Castiel said. Castiel wondered if Sam changed his mind. He hadn’t seen Sam visit.
“Yeah,” Dean said, taking a sip with his eyes closed, “And I did.”
“It’s a respectable life,” Castiel said.
Dean huffed into his beer before sipping, “Yeah, that’s what they call me. Respectable .”
“Anyone who really knew you would,” Castiel said.
“‘Think my track record is spottier than you’re givin’ me credit for, buddy,” Dean said, “Couple of girls I could name, would call you crazy.”
“Crazy is the least of what I’ve been called,” Castiel said.
Dean laughed again and the pride that soared in Castiel couldn’t be matched by any victory. Dean leaned in and swung his arm around Castiel’s shoulders and they rocked together with Dean’s laughter. Castiel smiled with him, the feeling of their bodies swaying being the softest touch he’d known since before the Apocalypse. Since Dean touched him last.
“Speakin’ of girls, never managed to figure out your type of girl, Cas.” Dean said, his breath hot on the side of Castiel’s face, “What gets your engine purring?”
“I don’t have an engine, Dean,” Cas said. The hairs on the back on his vessel’s neck all rose at once, as though they wanted to be closer to Dean.
“Yeah, yeah, but somethings gotta get you goin,” Dean said, scooting closer on the bench, knocking his knees with Castiel’s, “I know you’re holdin’ out on me. Wait, wait, no, I can sus it out now.”
Castiel said nothing, his eyes focused on where their knees brushed.
“You like blondes,” Dean said, his mouth curving into a smirk and he pointed at Castiel, using the hand still curved around his beer. He smiled like he just discovered a secret.
Castiel glanced at Dean’s hair and back to his eyes. He swallowed. “I don’t know if I do,” Castiel said, honestly.
“Ok, gimme a hint,” Dean moved his arm back, over the back of the bench behind Castiel, his fingers still trailing over Castiel’s coat. He angled his body to face Castiel, bringing his knee high up on the bench, pressing his shin into Castiel’s thigh. The low garage light glinted in Dean’s eyes.
“Eyes,” Castiel said without thinking, “I like when they have green eyes.”
“Oh, you’re a softie, huh,” Dean raised his eyebrows in a show of mock impression, “Shoulda known, since you’re like a total dork.”
Castiel swallowed again.
“But, ok, I can work with that,” Dean said, taking a swig, “The angel likes his girls with green eyes.” He threw his head back to finish the can and Castiel watched his throat bob and pulse. Castiel’s mouth watered and he remembered the taste of raw meat, the way it felt wet and soft in his mouth.
“Let me get a good look at you,” Dean said. Castiel didn’t have a moment to respond as Dean’s hand gripped his jaw and pulled him closer. Dean was always so physical. His hands were softer than Castiel remembered. Castiel leaned over Dean’s propped leg, his hands gripping the edge of the bench, knuckles whitening. “Yeah, I could work with this. I know some girls down at the bar. They’d like you.”
Castiel’s eyes were wide. It had been a while since Dean had looked at him and knew he was there. Dean’s eyes flicked over his face, lingering on spots that Castiel didn’t understand.
“You got these eyes…” Dean said, as though he were out of breath, “You’re lucky that Jimmy guy was a looker. Girls love blue eyes.”
Castiel would repent later, but in this moment, as Dean’s fingertips trailed further down his neck, he was glad to have taken Jimmy Novak’s body.
Dean’s hand moved further down Castiel’s neck to splay across his clavicle, the many layers of coat and suit shielding Castiel from Dean’s touch. Dean leaned in again, his liquor laden breath ghosting across Castiel’s face.
“I’m sure you look good under this,” Dean said, “Girls love it when wound up guys like you let loose. Ditch the coat, lemme see.”
Dean didn’t move while Castiel shimmied out of the trench coat, his hand heavy on Castiel’s chest. Dean didn’t hide the way his eyes raked over Castiel, mouth slightly parted. Castiel felt too tight under his gaze.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, almost imperceptibly, “Girls like that. Something to unwrap.”
Castiel raised a hand to the button of his suit jacket. Dean’s other hand clasped over his.
“Lisa, s-she’s asleep,” Dean whispered, “She won’t know if you and I run like we used to, just this once.”
Castiel swallowed, “Run, where?”
“Anywhere,” Dean said, his eyes hooded, gaze somewhere below Castiel’s eyes. A flush spread across his nose bridge, across his cheekbones to the tips of his ears. “I could show you the ropes again, find you a girl with green eyes.”
There was nowhere else Castiel could imagine being other than in this car, held by the base of his neck, by this man. Even Heaven’s call wouldn’t be able to find him now.
“Dean,” Castiel said.
“Cas, I–” Dean moved again, the empty can of beer fell to the floor. He snaked his hand around Castiel’s shoulder, pulling him in close. The kind of close they’d only experienced through blood and anger. Dean’s forehead was sweaty against Castiel’s, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“What Dean?” Castiel whispered back. He chose to stop breathing.
“I can’t keep acting like,” Dean said, angling his head, “Like this is what I wanted.”
“What don–” Castiel was cut off by Dean’s lips firm against his and Dean’s hands in his hair and waist.
There were no other points of existence in the universe other than where Dean’s body met Castiel for the duration of their kiss. Dean’s hands gripped Castiel so tightly, his mouth moved so slowly. He only pulled back when Castiel gasped.
“Fuck,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s mouth, “Cas, you can’t dip like that again, I can’t–” He was breathing hard, his voice cracked.
Castiel licked his lips. Dean’s eyes were wide, but his hands were still wound tightly over Castiel’s shoulders.
“Heaven needs me, Dean,” Castiel said. He touched Dean’s arm, lightly. The universe outside the car flickered back into existence. He’d been selfish enough, this evening.
“Fuck, Heaven,” Dean said, looking at Cas through watery eyelashes, “I can’t go back, not after this, I can’t look Lisa in the eye like this.”
Castiel understood. They both couldn’t afford this. “You won’t have to, Dean.”
“D’you mean it?” Dean asked, his perfect mouth parted.
“Yes, Dean,” Castiel raised his hand to Dean’s forehead and Dean fell asleep in an instant, slumped back into the driver door.
An ache, just like familiar mourning, settled at the core of Castiel’s grace. The blinding light of Heaven was a welcome distraction.
________
“Dean! You’ll pick me up from practice today, right?” Ben asked. It was Thursday meaning Mom was working late downtown and Ben really did not want to wait for her at the library.
“Sure, thing, man,” Dean said over his shoulder, bobbing his head along with the radio. He was almost done making Ben’s eggs. Scrambled, but just a little runny. Mom always overcooked them, but Dean was the best egg scrambler. “Your mom said something about some kinda test you got tomorrow? Think you gotta hit the books later.”
Ben screwed up his face, “I think I’m good, I studied a lot yesterday.”
Dean piled Ben’s eggs on toast, white with extra butter. He turned to hand Ben his plate, “I don’t think that’s how it works. But, don’t quote me, I didn’t even finish school.”
“And you’re still fine!” Ben said, “Could we go to the park instead?”
Mom came into the room, putting on an earring as she walked by, “No, you’re studying.”
“Oh, come on!” Ben said, taking a sullen bite of his toast.
“Sorry, champ,” Dean said, “I’m with you on this one, but the boss says otherwise.”
“That’s right,” Mom smiled as Dean hugged her from behind and kissed her cheek. Ben rolled his eyes and focused on his breakfast. “Are we still going to that Italian place later? The one Carol recommended?”
“Of course,” Dean said. Ben didn’t look up. They were probably still kissing.
“Ben, did you hear that?” Mom said, “We’re going out later but we’ll be back by 8. Cassidy will come by to watch you.”
“Can’t I just stay by myself?” Ben asked. Cassidy was weird and smelled like mothballs. “I promise I’ll study.”
“No,” Dean said, his voice deeper than usual. He cleared his throat, “I, mean, uh, your mom already got everything squared away.”
“Dean’s right,” Mom said, “It’s only for a few hours.”
Ben huffed, “Whatever, I’m getting the bus.”
“Goodbye!” Mom said.
“Bye,” Ben replied.
Dean leaned in as he walked by to whisper, “We can throw the pigskin for like an hour before she gets home, but don’t snitch.”
Ben’s eyes widened as Dean turned back to the stove, making moves to clean up. Dean was the best .