Small doses of destiel

Just an idea, inspired by the "Six Degrees of Separation": if any human is on average connected to any other random human through six or fewer connections, there must be a similar rule for word associations -- any word should also be able to be connected to the ultimate word "destiel" within six associations or fewer.

So here I am, trying to do this experiment, and see how far I can go. Here is my experiment plan: Every day, I'll use a randomizer to pick a random word from my dictionary, and I'll use my free imagination to create word association, connecting the word to "destiel".

And then I thought, Hell, why not make it a vocabulary-learning practice, too? English isn't my native language; I could use some free association to help memorize new words just like that. And the other trick I used to use back in school to memorize vocabulary is to imagine a scenario, a short conversation, something I can visualize or hear, to help strengthen the impression of the word.

So here's the modified experiment plan: On top of the word association, I'll also try to create some short snippets centering the word and destiel.

(I have absolutely no idea what they would end up turning out to look like. Just that it might be some doodling, short writings that could fulfill my daily writing goal I set for myself as well. Will they be cute? Will they be happy? Will they be heartbroken? A paragraph case fic? Normal life? All of the above? None of the above? I don't know, maybe. Just, please don't yell at me if they are bad.)

Maybe it can be called some kind of prompt writing challenge, too, like those monthly challenges? Except I don't have a "30-day" or certain length in mind. We'll just see.

I'm so excited.

- JuneSirius

Dean isn't much of a hiking person. For his defense, he got his fair share of hiking from hunting, thank you very much, so he's not particularly interested in the kind of hiking that doesn't require looking behind his back for wendigos or werewolves.

Which totally explains his grunting and grumbling on his way up the trails.

"Are you having trouble climbing this hill?" Cas looks back at him from about five steps ahead. But those five steps are already enough to put him behind a curve of the trail and half hidden by an overgrown bush.

Dean takes large steps clambering over some slightly steep boulders, making sure he's still in sight. "What? No!" He's slightly offended for some reason. "Don't you dare say it's last night's burger's fault or something."

Cas rolls his eyes. "I wasn't going to. But is it?"

"Absolutely not!" Dean glares at him. "My burger didn't do anything wrong." But then he has to pause to catch his breath before stepping up the next steep step. He hates to admit it, but he thinks his knees just crackled. Is it really the retirement age for him now, he wonders. "Whatever, just not my type of thing, I guess."

"I can carry you if you need," Cas offers, genuinely kindly.

Dean's heart flutters slightly, imagining himself on Cas's shoulder, and Cas can just move up the mountain like he's no weight, not breaking a sweat. He tries not to be too obvious, but his eyes are definitely checking out those muscles on Cas's arms and shoulders. Yeah, definitely strong enough to carry him, with or without his grace.

"I'm not a baby or a princess," Dean protests. And his brain very unhelpfully lets him know that's not exactly a no. He swallows.

"You don't need to be a female royalty or a child to be carried," Cas states simply.

Dean stifles a laugh but makes the pretense of rolling his eyes just for the sake of it, "Can we just go? I don't want to be in this wild nowhere when it's getting dark. You never know what's in those woods."

"This is a very safe area, Dean. I have checked beforehand. Many hikers have been here every day," Cas reassures him, but he does turn back around and starts moving up the hill again. They can see the trail sign not far ahead.

"There might be snakes, or spiders," Dean grumbles, keeping up the pace so Cas is only two steps ahead of him. The thought that if he falls, he bets Cas can be fast enough to reach back and keep a hold of him comforts him greatly, like what every action-rom-com movie must have, with the hero holding out a hand over the edge of a cliff to save the love of his life or some shit. It's oddly romantic and thrilling in his imagination. Not that he'd ever admit it aloud -- neither the imagination nor the fact that he even watched that shit.

"Do you know they're more scared of humans than the other way around?" Cas glances behind him, reaching out a hand to help him move up a particularly tall boulder, and Dean takes it. Cas doesn't take his hand back after that, so Dean doesn't let go either.

"Sure," Dean answers half-heartedly, too busy making sure he doesn't step on anything slippery.

"I didn't know that you are afraid of snakes or spiders," Cas says next.

"I wouldn't call it 'afraid'," Dean protests, "they just give me creeps, you know? The way they look, I don't like things that don't have legs or things that have too many of them. Just two -- or four -- are good enough."

"Oh." Cas blinks, falling quiet.

Dean frowns, glancing at his face. He kicks himself in his mind. "Wait, no, I didn't mean..." he swallows, "how many do you have? I mean, in your true form?"

Cas's eyebrows knit together slightly. "There is no good way to map the physicality of celestial wavelength to creatural biology, but I don't have any legs in common sense, only six wings. So that is... six limbs."

"Wings are fine." Dean grins at him. "Wings are cool. And... and whatever you look like, I like it. A lot. Because... that's you. You know that, right?" His smile turns a little bashful. He still can't quite get used to saying saps like that, but he knows how bright Cas would turn into when he does, so he can't really resist.

Unsurprisingly, Cas's eyes brighten up, with almost real light glinting in them. "Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, one hundred percent goddamn sure." Dean smiles wider, reassuring him. "Whatever you look, it'd be beautiful, and perfect. 'Cause, you know, you are." He uses his available hand -- the one that Cas isn't currently holding -- to rub his cheek. It's hot there -- must be sunburn, instead of, you know.

"Even if I look like a snake or a spider?" Cas raises his eyebrows.

The muscle on Dean's face twitches. That bastard. How can he find a loophole so quickly? He closes his eyes, lets out an amused huff, then opens them again, looking into Cas's eyes. "Yes, Cas, even if you look like a snake or a spider. I'd highly prefer not, but if you are, then yes, I'll still like it, no question asked, 'cause it's you."

The tips of Cas's lips curl up. "Thank you," he says simply, as if Dean just did him some favor of some sort. He holds his hand tighter.

Dean beams at himself, pleased. He wonders about Cas's true form without legs and with six wings, what he really looks like, the rest of their way up to the mountaintop.

The view is astonishing from the top. The small towns and cities are scattered around at the foot of the mountain. Human civilization just looks so insignificant and distant from here. Dean takes a deep breath, feeling the fresh -- though a little thin -- mountain air filling his lungs. He feels close to the sky.

"We should do something you enjoy next time," Cas comments. Dean opens his eyes -- not realizing when he closed them when he immerses himself in nature -- finding Cas observing him closely.

"I am," Dean tells him.

"You were complaining all the way up here." Cas points out the obvious fact. "You don't like hiking. You only come because I wanted to, and you are indulging me, for which I am very grateful."

Dean edges closer to him, standing in his personal space. His hands move up from Cas's hand to his arms, reaching his shoulders, then cradling his cheeks. "And what's wrong with me enjoying every moment of spending time with my boyfriend-husband-wife-bestfriend?" They never really talked about it, just that they moved in together however long ago; they've been living together ever since; Dean cooks breakfast for both of them everyday, and Cas would brew the coffee and make sure it's served just the way Dean likes; and Cas would take out the trash and wash the dishes if Dean cooked the dinner; they watch movie on the same couch, sometimes with fingers braided, other times wrestling for the popcorns from the same bowl; and they lie down on the same bed, saying goodnight in each other's hold. Dean figures they don't really need a name or definition for whatever this is between them, but that's not to say he's not pondering or ruminating on the ideas of how to title Cas, and somehow, this is the moment those ideas and thoughts slip out.

"Shit," he murmurs when he catches what he just said, looking intensely at Cas's face, waiting for... something, anything -- whatever that is -- to happen, to change.

There is a faint bloom of blusher-pink creeping its way over Cas's cheeks. He blinks a few times, before answering bluntly, "May I kiss you?"

Dean chuckles, all worries thrown into the wind. He doesn't bother to answer that, just leaning in to press his lips onto his boyfriend-husband-wife-bestfriend's.

"And, we are going to the beach next time," Dean whispers by Cas's ear in between the busy business his lips got themselves into.

"Fucking sparrows."

They wake him up at 5 in the summer. They barely had maybe two hours of sleep.

"It's a wren." Cas corrects him.

"What?" Dean mumbles.

"Northern House Wren, actually. And there's a finch too, but no sparrow."

"How -- freaking of course, you speak bird," Dean groans, turning to sleep on his back, his legs entangled with the cover but he's too sleepy to get them unentangled -- mostly because they are wrestling with something else too that he doesn't want them to move away.

"They're talking about mating and breeding, and very enthusiastic about it," Cas informs him, moving closer and resting his chin next to his shoulder.

"That I can relate," Dean says, still not willing to open his eyes.

"You're like a bear," Cas whispers near his ear, moving his position again, his hair ruffling next to his cheek, soft and itchy.

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are, when you're woken early."

Dean snuggles closer. "You're complaining?"

He can feel Cas's smile against his skin. "No, I like it."

"It?" Dean has half an eye open, still barely half awake.

"You." Cas looks at him, fingers stroking his hair. "I like you, whatever you're like."

"Except when I'm sleepy and grumpy," Dean mumbles, closing his eyes with an arm wrapped around Cas's waist.

"Not except -- especially," Cas rests his arm around Dean's other shoulder. "I like bears, too."

Dean hums, already half falling back asleep. The bed is soft and comfortable, and Cas's body is warm next to him.

"Tell the sparrows to shut for a few more hours, will ya?"

"Wrens don't listen very well, but I'll try," Cas speaks into his hair. Dean isn't sure if he pressed a kiss there too, but if he didn't, he can always ask for a proper one when they both wake up properly.

He doesn't hear any birds in his dream in the hours followed.

Dean has always thought, secretly, that part of -- or most of -- the reasons why they end up finding (and eventually getting) a house in California, is because of the variety of birds here, just because how much Cas loves these little winged creatures. Though Cas always says it's because of how close it is to the shores and therefore beaches, which is Dean's favorite.

"The perfect amount of green and blue," Sam has commented with a grin, when they give him a tour. Which, of course, means the color of woods and sea, Dean has thought.

And that has been a long time ago. Ten years, to be precise.

Dean has get used to waking up to the sound of waves and birds' chirping outside their window; he has get used to the warmth of the body that belongs to his husband when he turns in the bed, semi-consciously and half-awake, and wraps his arms around his waist and shoulder, and he knows soft kisses would land on his forehead and hair soon enough, just after a beat or two.

Birds are chirping especially loudly today, though.

He senses the rustling hand between his hair pauses in the middle of the move.

Dean opens his lazy eyes, seeing Cas distracted, tilting his head slightly toward the window's direction.

"What's wrong, Cas?" Dean shakes his head, trying to get rid of the early morning sleepiness, cupping a hand on Cas's cheek.

Cas frowns a little, focusing on the source of the sound. "It doesn't sound right," he answers, shifting in a way that looks as if he tries to pull away but restrains himself from pulling away at the same time.

"The bird?"

"The bird." Cas nods. His hair brushes Dean's nose. "It's a terrified baby. Listen."

Dean listens. Indeed, now that he pays attention, there's a small cooing sound that's different from the usual birds' chirping. And if he gives it more imagination, he'd agree that it's a "terrified" sound.

Cas already starts getting off the bed as he listens. "He must somehow get lost," he says, looking thoughtful.

Or abandoned. Dean thinks, but he chooses not to say it. It's never a happy topic to wind up to.

"Come on, we need to help him." Cas wraps an oversized shirt around himself -- which, of course, is one that he's stolen from Dean's closet.

Dean follows him to the yard.

It's chilly outside.

The baby seagull is struggling between the strawberry vines and roses that Cas planted just several months ago, cooing helplessly. Its eyes barely open. It's all round and fluffy with grey fur, no bigger than a fist's size.

"It's a fledgling." Dean looks at the tiny little thing.

"Hatchling, actually." Cas corrects him, reaching out his hands to pick up the miserable little thing, covering it with his fingers. "I don't think he's more than three days old, not even a nestling yet. A fledgling would be about two weeks old."

"Nerd," Dean chuckles lightly, following Cas back inside. "What do we do now?"

Cas heads straight to the kitchen. "Feed him. He's starving already, and I don't see his parent anywhere. I'm afraid we'll have to be his foster mom for a little while until he can feed himself."

The little thing opens its beak so wide right then and pecks Cas's fingers.

"Yep, definitely hungry now." Dean opens the cupboard, searching. "What does it -- he -- eat? Not popcorn, I assume?"

"Regurgitated food, ideally. Berries, worms, shrimps, most ideally," Cas answers quickly.

"I'm not gonna mouth-feed the baby!" Dean protests, staring at him.

Cas chuckles. "That's a joke. Anything soft and small should do; they're usually not picky. Common cat food or dog food, as I understand, should also work."

Dean grabs the bag of dog food sitting in the corner of the cabinet. "Don't let Miracle know," he says, pouring a small portion into a bowl.

"I'm sure Miracle would be willing to share," Cas answers, instructing him to soak the dry dog food with water and starting to hand-feed the baby bird.

The hatchling swallows the food so quickly that Dean even starts to worry if it -- he -- might get choked. But he trusts Cas must know those little creatures well enough -- in fact, now that he shifts his attention from the baby bird to his angel husband, he starts noticing how attentive Cas is, and the gentleness in his eyes that is usually reserved for Dean.

Dean laughs at himself for getting jealous of a baby bird.

The view is actually surprisingly comforting just to see Cas pick up a tiny piece of wet food to the bird's mouth and the bird would just swallow it altogether and coo for the next bite. It's almost like a ritual. There must be something biologically impacting in babies that makes any other species feel uncontrollably maternal and nurturing. Dean doesn't realize he's staring and can't stop his mind wandering afar.

"It reminds me so much of taking care of fledglings back then," Cas starts suddenly, without looking up, his tone nostalgic.

Dean gets confused for a moment. "You've taken care of other birds before?" he asks.

"Not birds, angels." Cas glances up, giving him a short but warm smile. "You might say angels are incredibly similar to birds, in a way, especially when they're young."

Dean blinks. He's not expecting that, not really. Of course he knows about wings and all, but fledglings, really? His brain starts supplying imaginations of fluffy little furry balls that are like humans with tiny little wings, crowded in a nest, waiting to be fed. Which is just a little too surreal to think about. Dean shakes his head briefly. "You gotta elaborate."

"Some of the angels are fully grown the moment they're created -- Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel, which makes them incredibly strong and complete," Cas starts slowly, pausing on the feeding task now. The little thing looks more round than a moment ago, its neck hidden by the pluffed crop plumage. "Others are born, instead of being directly created; therefore, they'll have to be taken care of, nurtured, fed, and brought up, until they're grown."

"And... you?" Dean can't help but ask.

"Gabriel is the one who brought me up," Cas answers, looking down at the floor, still holding the hatchling between his hands, but his thoughts are obviously flowing away from the current time. "And I personally have brought up quite a few, Sammandriel is one of them, Balthazar too." His voice lowers quickly as the names come out, and dies down in a dry sound.

Dean finds it suddenly too much information to even reply.

"And I killed both of them, and so many others." Cas struggles to finish, but he pushes those horrible words out. His fingers stroke the little bird's back absent-mindedly. The hatchling starts cooing again.

Dean rushes to hold his shoulders, stroking the back of his neck reflexively to comfort. "It's not your fault, Cas. It's all past now."

Cas looks up at him with a pale smile. "I know."

The bird starts pecking his fingers again, pulling his attention back. Cas goes back to the second round of the feeding. With more attentiveness, with even gentler touch. For a while, Dean thinks he might be imagining that this is exactly something happened that millions of years ago and the baby bird is another angel. He wonders how many other stories he doesn't know about angels, and more specifically, about Cas before they know each other. It seems even after ten years of story-sharing, he's still able to find out new things -- and still big things -- about his fascinating partner.

Cas pauses the feeding again when the bird seems to be full, and resumes the move after about another twenty minutes.

Dean clears his throat, pulling his attention back. He offers a shift after the next round of feeding. Cas carefully hands the bird into his palm, and instructs him on what to do.

The little thing pecks his finger impatiently when he offers the food too slowly.

"How frequent are we supposed to feed?" Dean can't help asking, feeling his arms start to get sore just after about three feeds.

"Twenty minutes, give or take, from sunrise to sunset. We can change to about an hour when he turns into a fledgling." Cas glances at their kitchen clock. They've been here about all morning now.

Dean lets out a quiet groan, feeling the muscle on his back start protesting for staying in the same posture for too long -- he's not young anymore, after all. "Jeez, it's like breastfeeding," he moans.

Cas chuckles gently, taking over the bird again and ordering him to have some stretch, which Dean totally needs. "I'm sure breastfeeding a human baby would be a lot more exhausting."

Dean hums noncommittally, stretching his arms and pacing slowly in the kitchen. "But then, the way I heard it, and I'm sure that's what Sam would say if he's here, 'They'll go to college before you know it'. Babies tend to grow fast, you know."

Which turns out to be the exact truth, especially in the case of a baby bird.

After exactly six weeks, the fledgling -- now that his little fluffy grey plumage has already turned into white real feathers -- flaps his wings and lifts himself off the ground. And on the first day of the eighth week, he flies higher than the edge of their yard and shoots toward the sea's direction in a cheerful yell.

Dean stands at the edge of the yard, watching it turn into a little white dot against the blue sky, turning unusually quiet.

Cas stands next to him, just as quiet, watching in the same direction. He reaches to hold Dean's hand, and gets grasped immediately.

"They grow so fast," Dean hears himself sighing. "Now I get why it's called Empty Nest Syndrome."

Cas tilts his head and watches his side profile for a long minute, thoughtful.

Dean turns and meets his eyes. "What?"

"I've been thinking," Cas starts slowly, "would you be interested in raising a real human baby? Adopted, of course. I know you'd be a really good father, Dean -- not just for fledglings."

Dean is choked for words for many seconds. When he can speak again, his words stutter, "Us? Raising a kid together?"

Cas merely nods.

Dean swallows, wetting his dry lips with his tongue, holding Cas's hands tighter unconsciously. "Let me think about that, alright? It's kinda big."

The bunker's light flickers once.

Dean pops his head up from his laptop, staring at the lamp over their heads. "You saw that?"

Sam looks up from his book too. "Yeah."

"Okay good, thought it was my eyes or something." Dean stares at the light for a bit longer. But it doesn't happen again.

"Just one flicker, it can be nothing, right?" Sam says hopefully, going back to his book.

Dean hums, turning his attention back to his laptop too.

And the light flickers again.

"Okay, definitely something now." Dean closes the laptop, taking out his EMF.

"You think it's ghosts haunting the bunker?" Sam narrows his eyes.

Dean shrugs slightly. "Famous for affecting electricity, might as well start from there. And don't tell me the bunker is the safest place and can't be haunted or anything. Remember when Kevin was around and tried to talk through a freaking coffee machine?"

Sam murmurs, "I remember."

But the EMF gives nothing. Which is good. Scratch the ghost.

"Any chance it's just some random electricity surge, making it unstable?" Dean tucks the EMF back into his pocket, squinting at the light. "You know, these lamps are old, and we never figure out how the bunker gets all the electricity and water. Maybe just due for a half-century-overdue maintenance or something?"

"You really believe that? With our luck?" Sam raises his eyebrows.

Dean sighs. "Yeah, no, I got it. What about I go grab Cas? See what he can find out? Talking about electricity influencers -- the angels, dudes, don't let me start."

Sam chuckles. "And honestly, I don't really want to know why some days I get up and find out some bulbs blow up. Don't tell me."

Dean wiggles his eyebrows deliberately, suddenly in a really good mood. "As you wish."

The light flickers again as he walks out of the library. Dean picks up his pace, heading to his room.

Cas yawns as he comes to the library. His hairs are completely ruffled, and he's in Dean's nightgown -- which is to say, it's a dead guy's robe that Dean commandeered, and now clearly changes the owner again.

They start turning on all the lights around the area. And notices it doesn't only happen to the library. The hallway and storage rooms too.

"Okay, I'm starting to get real freaking worried. Is the bunker in danger or anything?" Dean raises his voice, reaching for his hidden pistol under the table, just in case.

There is just no pattern in the flickering, as Sam initially suspected, which means it totally wouldn't -- and shouldn't -- be an encoded message of some hidden spirit.

"I can't sense anything supernatural." Cas wanders along the hallway, examining the lights. His palms hover over the light, doing his angel things, while Dean just follows him around, watches him with open amusement and hope in his eyes, which is practically saying without him actually saying the words, "I don't know what you're doing but I think you're doing something that looks pretty freaking cool."

"You sure about that?" Dean asks half-heartedly, watching as Cas finishes examining the last room.

Cas rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm an angel, I'm sure there is nothing supernatural about those unstable lights or electricity. Perhaps we should consider the 'natural' causes." He does the air quotes around "natural."

Dean curves one side of his lips. "I said the exact same thing! But Sammy didn't believe we'd have this kind of luck. When was the last time we had something weird happening to us and turned out to be 'natural' cause? Never."

"Maybe with Chuck gone, our luck would have changed?" Cas answers solemnly.

Dean gives Sam a look, tilting his head toward Cas. "What he said."

"So what? Call an electrician to take a look at the bunker's power grid? I don't know if we trust anyone enough to invite them over, I mean, anyone who's not in this side of the world, civilians." Sam shifts uneasily.

"Good point," Dean bites his lower lip, thinking. "How long do you think it would take for us to be electricians ourselves? I mean, I worked on cars' cables and all that, how different would the houses be, right?"

"You'd think," Sam wrinkles his nose, opening his laptop and pulling out enough electrician tutorial videos for all of them to kill the rest of the day and the day after.

It's not that they become professionals after two days. It's that they lose patience with watching anymore.

"Basically like follow the lines and figure out which is which and what to do with them." Dean summarizes. "And we'll probably end up digging through walls and floors and ceilings, hopefully not tearing the whole place down."

"And there are like a million different diagrams and configurations you can run into." Sam's eyes are still on the screen.

"Right," Dean says carelessly, waving Cas over. "I think I got it. Cas, give me a hand?"

Cas walks to him, sticking out his hands to Dean. "Here are my hands. What do you need?"

Dean chuckles, pointing at the control table in the corner of the war room. "Why don't we start here? Think you can tear it apart but not break the lines?"

"That will be a very delicate job, but yes," Cas crawls under the table to study its structure and gets to work. Dean bends over him, glancing behind him.

The lines and knobs connected to the control table don't seem to have any issue, so they simply dig them out, follow the lines, digging up more bricks, following them line by line, all the way to a hidden power supply room at the lowest level of the bunker that they never found, even lower than the dungeon.

The room would totally give anyone claustrophobia, with all the lines and cables crawling and stretching in all directions. It's like the biggest freaking spider's nest, the kind that's even worse than Shelob.

"Sometimes I'd forget the bunker was built by men before the fifties." Dean glances at all the electrical lines around them. "And apparently it's not generated by magic."

They can hear a vague sound of water dripping in the room, making a quiet wet sound. There's a leak in the power supply room -- probably the worst nightmare for most (if not all) of the electricians in the world, supernatural or not.

"For some reason, I always thought all those protection sigils out there should also protect these kinds of things." Sam comments, following them into the room.

"There is no such spell, as far as I know," Cas answers seriously.

They find out the leaking spot on the ceiling, and find out the damage too.

"Dammit, look at that," Dean points at the tangled wires that are soaked in the water. They have no idea how long this has been happening, but judging by the growing rust, it doesn't look good. Actually, it looks really really bad.

"These lines are corroded," Cas lowers his body to take a closer look. "The rust has been accumulating, perhaps for five years, I think. And I believe this is the exact reason why this room is kept sealed and secret, to isolate from outside intrusion, especially from water and oxygen to protect the metals. There must be severe changes in the building structure that loosened the wall and ceiling structure, causing the water pipe and the seals to break."

"Building structure -- huh," Sam huffs thoughtfully.

"Son of a bitch, don't tell me it's..." Dean starts at the same time.

"Must be when you used that grenade to blow a hole in the wall, you think?" Sam says.

"When was that? I didn't know." Cas frowns.

Dean lets out a short breath, a little harsh. "Three, four years ago? Freaking Brits wanted to bury us alive in our own bunker, oxygen running out quick, thought we'd die back then, until we used that baby to blow a hole to get out."

Cas's frown deepens. "I'm sorry I never knew. Where was I at that time? Why didn't you pray to me?"

Dean shifts uneasily. "You, uh, were running off with your son -- our son -- before he was almost born. We weren't really on good terms back then, remember? The whole big debate about what to do with him, we didn't know he'd be dorky little Jack and all that, and uh, with everything happened after that, we never got a chance to talk about that, so we sorta just forgot."

He swallows, casting a pained look at Cas, forcing a breath out and a twitch on the lip. He aims for a lighter tone but misses by a thousand miles. "But everything gets figured out in the end, doesn't it?"

"I'm so sorry," Cas says in a low voice, eyes boring right back into Dean's.

"Not your fault," Dean answers quickly, can't move his gaze away.

Sam clears his throat. "Ugh, how are we gonna fix this corrosion? These must be the lines for the lights. We gotta switch the wires or what?"

Dean has to shift his attention back. "Cas? Any idea?"

"I can miracle them away." Cas hovers his palm over the rusted electrical lines. A light golden light pours out from his palm, covering the eroded area. And when he moves his palm away, sure enough, the wires and lines all look as good as new.

"Wow, I didn't know it was possible," Sam exclaims.

"Yet someone said they're not an electrician," Dean beams.

"It's not too different from healing. Both are a type of fixing," Cas explains easily. "Healing a human body is like removing the rusty cells from a body, so healing these wires is curing them of the oxygenized elements -- a disease for metal, you may say -- and so I just reverted them back to their healthy original states."

"You can just say you magicked them perfect and working again," Dean smiles at him. "That's awesome."

Cas smiles back. And he "heals" the leaking ceiling as well, just as they get out of the room.

(Warning: including John Winchester's A+ parenting)

The small town in Wisconsin is witnessing a concerningly increasing amount of missing people reports, most of them deer hunters, during the deer hunting season.

Garth is the one who called them. "I sniffed something weird. Our kind of weird," he says over the phone.

"'Sniffed'?" Dean raises his eyebrows, even though Garth can't see. "Like using your super wolf power? Is that a werewolf case?"

"Yes and no," Garth says, his voice muffled and distracted. "I think it's some kind of creature, but I don't think it's werewolves. Can you help check it out? I would have if I didn't need to babysit two new pups."

And Dean has to say yes.

Dean and Cas scout the woods where the last missing person was witnessed. Sam and Eileen go to the police station to hopefully gather some more information.

They run into a deer.

The creature doesn't run away, but just stills, turning to look in their direction, black eyes staring at them.

Dean thinks their eyes meet. His heart leaps in that moment. The eyes are powerful, alive, and very, very expressive. He feels as if he's forced into a conversation on the soul level with the creature, and he can't breathe. And for some reason, this feels too familiar.

He reaches a hand to stop Cas from moving.

And he can't help holding his breath, his fingers tightening around the gun in his hand.

The deer chews the high grass around it peacefully, and strolls away at a slow pace after a short while.

"Huh," Dean says quietly, looking in the direction the deer moved away. "Does that look weird to you? Deer in a hunting season, but not afraid of hunters at all?"

Cas glances at him briefly. "He might not realize we carry a gun. In fact, he might not notice us at all."

Dean hums, lost in thought a little. "Do you know Bambi there was the first creature Dad asked me to kill?" he blunts out suddenly, lips twitching into a failed attempt of a bitter smile.

Cas turns to him fully, eyes concerning. "What happened?"

Dean avoids his eyes, just staring at the spot in the short distance where that deer was. "He was teaching us shooting, and we needed moving targets. He told us those deer were infected," he lets out a humorless huff then, "with werewolf virus, which effectively makes them… were-deer? I guess. So we should shoot them."

"I do not think that is how werewolf infection works, or this new monster-creature existed," Cas narrows his eyes.

Dean chuckles humorlessly. "They don't, but we didn't know back then. Dad just wanted us to pull the trigger on something. Because I couldn't do it back then, not yet." He shakes his head slightly.

"How old were you?"

"Eight, I think."

"Dean," Cas sighs, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing slightly.

Dean shakes his head again, trying to let out a breath that's held inside the tight chest.

"What happened?" Cas asks quietly.

"We ran into a deer, just like the Bambi here. And when I aimed the creature in my crosshair, I saw its eyes. Those big black eyes, looked right at me, through me, like they saw me, they knew I was there, and I was about to kill them. And I… I've never killed anything before that; I just couldn't do it. It's taking a life, Cas…" Dean's voice starts breaking.

Cas doesn't answer. He can't. He can already guess the rest of the story. How many times has he heard someone calling Dean a killer? How many lives and monsters has he seen Dean kill? But no one is born with a kill count. They always start somewhere.

Cas wraps his arm around Dean's shoulder, giving him half a hug. Dean leans in, resting some of his weight against Cas's shoulder. His breath evens a little.

Cas doesn't ask what happened next, but Dean continues anyway. "I can still hear what Dad said that day, as clear as yesterday." His voice is even lower than usual. "He said, 'I didn't raise you to be a namby-pamby. Now, get rid of this wishy-washy sentimental nonsense and pull the bloody trigger. You're a killer, Dean, you kill monsters, and right now, this is what I'm telling you to kill. So do it.'"

His shoulders sag, his fingers only hold loosely around the gun, which suddenly seems too heavy.

"You're not, Dean," Cas says firmly. "You hear me? Refusing to kill and having feelings for lives doesn't make you weak. And you're not what your father said you were. You're not a killer."

Dean huffs bitterly. "Yeah, right, tell that deer that day, killed by a bloody eight-year-old. And everyone died because of me."

"That's not your fault. None of that is. You have to see that, Dean." Cas holds him in a proper embrace now. Dean allows himself to be held for longer than he would usually do.

"Well, it doesn't matter now. What's done is done." Dean pulls away eventually, wiping the corners of his eyes carelessly.

"With your permission, I would very much like to kill your father again," Cas grits his teeth.

Dean chuckles quietly, this time genuinely. "Come on, we should go. If were-deer didn't do that, then we still have a deer-hunter-killer out here. We'll have to catch it before it takes out more people." He pats Cas on the back once, then resumes to investigate and move into the deeper part of the woods.

It took them a whole night to drive from Dick Roman's place to Cas's hospital. Dean pushed Baby to her limit, but still there was a limit, and the road was long. Meg called them almost immediately when they crushed open the tablet, but it took about seventeen calls to wake Dean up from the mysterious tablet coma they got.

They started driving north immediately. And that was eight last night.

Dean walks into the hospital corridor, rubbing his fingers anxiously. The sun is up already. Sunshine casts into the stiff white space, adding a tad little color to the cold, ominous space. But it isn't the hospital's fault for looking like a hospital.

He's scared to shit, not knowing what he'll see, what he'll say. Meg kept it so vague that all they really got from her was, "Cas is awake," but nothing more. The questions haunted Dean all the way when he was driving. Sometimes he was so distracted that Sam had to shout out to drag his attention back to the road. And he would still see Cas's terrified face when he first got the devil insanity transferred into his head.

Cas's room is empty.

Dean checks twice, but the room is still empty. Cas's suit and shirt lie on the top level of the open cabinet at the feet of the bed; the sheet on the bed is rumpled, clearly slept in. All the light bulbs are broken. Neither Cas nor Meg is in the room.

"No," Dean breathes out a single syllable, feeling his chest too tight to breathe through.

It can't be. It can't be. It can't be.

He murmurs, dashing out of the ward, leaving Sam in the room.

Empty hospital room means... means...

He can't think about that, he can't. Cas can't be... that, right? They just got him back, he just remembered himself, he just woke up last night, he couldn't possibly...

Dean's fingers clench into a fist, pressing on his chest hard. He should have stayed here with Cas, his next thought says. He should never leave and only ask a demon to look after Cas. And now... too late, it's all too late. He starts running. He has to get out of here. This whole place reminds him too much of the hospital he lay in after that car crash some long years ago, the hospital where he lost his father.

He runs into someone in a nurse's gown, almost knocking them over.

"Geez, so eager to see me?" An oversweet voice says.

Dean takes a step back.

It's Meg.

"Where's Cas?" Dean says, breathless.

"Outside, in the garden," Meg points a lazy finger toward the end of the corridor. "Don't startle him, by the way. He's... different."

Dean doesn't wait to hear the rest of her sentence before he starts darting toward the door.

The garden is vast and pretty, he has to admit. It must be a regular place for the hospitalized patients to take a brief walk when they can. The flowers he doesn't know the names of are blossoming brightly, with cheerful colors and elegant shapes, stretching onwards and upwards toward the sun. Insects fly among them, bees and something, buzzing and hovering.

The sun starts to warm up.

Dean scans around.

There's only one figure in the garden, kneeling next to a bright purple flower, the petals stretching out like a butterfly ready to set off. His figure is so thin and small when he's just kneeling there, most of his body covered by the loose trench coat. The skirt of the coat drags on the ground.

Dean wants to run toward him, but on second thought, he remembers Meg's reminder. Don't startle him.

Dean walks slowly toward him instead. Feeling his heart beat so fast inside his chest that he's probably going to explode.

"Cas?" He calls carefully.

There's still about ten steps between them.

Cas puts a finger to his lips, still staring at the flower, fully concentrated. "Shhh, don't frighten the bee," he says.

Dean is practically tiptoeing now, moving slowly toward the angel, kneeling down beside him as quietly as he can. He turns his head, and Cas is right here, next to him. Dean studies his side profile. He looks different. Just like Meg said, something is different in him. Cas looks... so calm and peaceful, in a way he never was before. The constant furrow between his eyebrows is gone. His eyes are bright and curious, full of joy, like a kid seeing a new creature for the first time, or just seeing anything new and beautiful, in general.

He looks like a kid now. Dean thinks. And an angel. Like the kind of halo and harp angel the children's book would tell about.

He's still wearing the hospital's white gown underneath his trench coat, Dean notices. And a pair of thin paper slippers, without socks. All just adding more resemblance to a young, innocent child, that's nothing like a million-year-old angel.

"Cas?" Dean lets his voice out as quietly as possible, barely whispering.

"Look," Cas answers, pointing a finger at the flower before him, with wide eyes shining with excitement. There's a bee in between the petals, covered by the big banner petal on top, so Dean doesn't see it at first.

But he still doesn't know what he is supposed to be looking at. He drove a whole night rushing here, to see the angel that hadn't been conscious for days and weeks, and now Cas is just excited to stare at some bees and wild flowers? Something is definitely off.

"What am I looking at?" Dean asks hoarsely.

"Papilionaceae," Cas answers smoothly, "a subfamily of the Fabaceae, or you might know it as Leguminosae. Or some people just simply call it..."

"Cas," Dean has to reach out a hand to stop him. His palm hovers just above Cas's arm, not sure if he's allowed to touch or not. Cas finally turns to look at him. A little confused, a little remnant of the joy and curiosity he saw earlier.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asks him.

Cas tilts his head slightly toward the flower. "Watching the flower," he considers his own answer, then adds. "And the bee. The bee is very important. It has already collected three different flowers this morning while I'm watching. Did I tell you it's called Papilionaceae because its flower looks like a butterfly? You see, papilion means butterfly in Latin. Isn't it miraculously beautiful?"

He turns back to regard the flower fondly, only to find the bee has left when he wasn't watching.

"Where did it go?" Cas pouts, standing up, a little upset now that he lost track of his bee.

Dean can't say a word, just quietly falling apart inside. Something is definitely different and perhaps broken there with his angel, but he doesn't know where to start fixing, or if he wants to. It's almost like running into Emmanuel again, before Cas remembered who he is. And now, a kid inside the angel's body, with probably all of his knowledge. But he looks almost happy, relieved, and easy.

Dean knows he would trade anything to not have to live with all the burdens on his shoulders, to just be simple and happy. And now, it looks like Cas just gets exactly that; how can he break the bubble again and remind him of all the pain? Can't he let Cas be happy and simple just for a little longer, talking about his flowers, watching his bees?

So Dean doesn't say anything. Doesn't mention the Leviathans, the tablet, the broken arm of a girl named Charlie, or that Dick is probably right on their tail, and the world is probably going to turn into trash, and every human becomes the Leviathans' food probably very soon.

The natural history museum has a lost fossil case. It's all over the newspaper.

"Call the police, then, or detectives, or real FBI, anything. How come it's our kind of thing?" Dean steps out of the car, smoothening his tie, glancing back at Cas and Sam.

"The fossil is a phragmacone of an ammonite, believed to have some connection with the newly released movie, Ammonite," Sam reads from his phone.

"What's that phrag-something, and ammo-something word? I feel like a five-year-old learning English right now. Do they really have to make words that only like ten people in the world know and five actually use them?" Dean bitches.

"Terminologies are necessary to be accurate." Cas chimes in before Sam can open a new browser on his phone to find the answers. "They're a very specific and delicate structure of an extinct species, a thin chambered portion divided by septa into camerae."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Not helping, Cas. Now I've just become like a three-year-old."

Sam sighs. "Sort of a shell of a dead squid from dinosaur time."

"Finally someone speaks English," Dean gives him an approving nod. "But still not seeing how it's our kind of case. Call the biologist, or geologist, or I don't know, some sort of scientist."

They almost reach the door of the museum now. Dean pauses just out of the yellow line that says "line start here", turning around to face his brother and the angel.

"Someone believed it's not stolen, but escaped." Sam tries very hard not to laugh, but his lips twitch at the words.

"Escaped." Dean stares at him like his brother suddenly grows a second head. "Like the rock suddenly grew some legs and the squid just ran away at night? Wait, does squid even have legs?" He turns to Cas with questioning eyebrows.

"No -- yes -- depends on how you define the legs." Cas starts, but Sam reaches out a hand to stop his palaeobiological lecture right there.

"It's not an illusion, I checked the camera footage, the fossil indeed appeared to be moving on its own. People are scared it might be possessed and demonic, and eventually, ominous and murderous." Sam turns his phone around to show them the footage.

Dean watches it with open amusement. "Alright," he says slowly. "What are we thinking? Haunted? Cursed? Don't tell me it's like a ghost squid having unfinished business from -- how many years ago is the dinosaur time? Are they even that intelligent to have a soul or something?"

"Two hundred million years, give or take." Cas answers, completely not aware if those are questions that really need answering. "And yes, they're very intelligent. I was there, I know."

Dean gives him a proper stare. "Are you just saying that to show how old you are?"

Cas stares back. "You've always known I'm extremely old."

"Yeah, but not like, you're the same age as dinosaurs or something."

"Actually, I'm way older than dinosaurs."

"Stop, you two." Sam has to stand between the two of them, pulling them apart. "What's the matter, Dean? Can't handle the age difference or what? It's not like Cas lied about his age before you guys started dating."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I don't even know where to start. How can you possibly use one sentence to offend both of us? I'm not like a teenage girl dating some super duper weird old guy."

Cas blinks. "Some people did consider me a 'super duper weird old guy'." He air-quotes.

Dean rolls his eyes harder. "You know what I mean. And no, I don't have a problem dating one. Are we all good? Can we focus back on the case now?"

"Oh, I thought you'd never say that," Sam tries hard enough to hide his laugh, making a gesture to let Dean lead the way toward the museum gate.

As it turns out, the several eons of knowledge that Cas possesses, which happens to cover the entire history of every fossil and the lost phragmacone in question in the museum, does come out quite handy to help with the case, especially when communicating with the nerdy museum guides. Dean mentally makes a note that there are indeed more than ten people in the world who would be using those other terminologies that he doesn't even know exist or would have a word for.

Except the case itself ends up pointing to have a lead, not connected to the shell or squid or any extinct species, but like Sam noticed very early on, to the newly aired movie Ammonite, that just so happened to be very cinematically homosexual.

Dean shifts a lot in his seat when they go through the movie to check what could possibly be the cause that is seemingly resurrecting the fossils. And he glances at Cas a lot, during and after the movie.

"That's a beautiful movie," he sighs as it starts rolling credit. "Is it just me, or those girls in the movie are just so Cas?"

"They are very knowledgeable of their individual fields; if that's what you mean, then I guess, yes." Cas considers.

"I think he means they're very hot and desperately in love, just like the two of you," Sam blunts out, pointedly looking at Dean when he answers. "That's exactly what you want to hear, aren't you?"

Dean blushes but smiles goofily, patting his brother's shoulder. "Finally for once I can see why they say you're smart."

"And I can see why they say you're... forget about it," Sam drops the sentence after he gives the other two a quick glance. "I'm back to work, you two, I don't know, do whatever you do when I'm here. Hang the socks on the door if you want to... do the not-fossil-related things like the ladies in the film."

Dean gives him another goofy smile as a reply.

The case with the fossil, at the end of the day, turns out to be the exact piece that becomes evidence and a showcase of the deep love between the British paleontologist and the geologist, just like the film shows, so deep that there must be a piece of soul from both of them attached to it, giving it a resemblance to life.

The museum strongly protests the salt-and-burn solution, so Cas has to make a trip to the Upstairs, actually seeking out the two protagonists and asking their souls to take back those remnant pieces of themselves.

"They are happy up there," Cas comes back reporting, holding out the fossil that's undamaged and unhaunted now.

"Guess the movie misses that last bit of the happy ending," Dean comments.

"I don't think everything needs to have a happy ending," Sam answers.

"Cas, come on, let's go inside." Dean puts an arm over Cas's shoulder, trying to steer him away from the dreadful scene. But Cas doesn't move, his eyes on the field, utterly upset.

The field that should have been their first harvest after they retire from hunting and turn to farming. The field that the two of them have worked on for the whole year, bearing their sweat day and night, that should have been full of wheat, barley, and rape. The field that is now, full of flying insects.

"This can't be happening," Cas murmurs, watching the swarm of creatures crushing down on the field like black clouds. Wherever they pass through, none of the crops survive.

Dean's eyes shift away from the pests, watching the angel with concerned looks. "I know. It's awful," he agrees quietly. "But it's not the end of the world."

"No, you don't get it," Cas turns to him, meeting his eyes. "I mean, it can't happen."

Dean frowns. "What do you mean can't? They're right here already."

Cas sighs, taking a breath. "It's no ordinary locust. They shouldn't even exist here. They're migratory locusts, very destructive, very… Old World." He slows down at the last few words.

Dean narrows his eyes. "Old World. You mean…?" He's starting to catch up.

"Like Egypt. Like when one of the old plagues and punishments."

"Like those Biblical disasters." Dean closes his eyes for a long second, and then opens them. He lets out a long breath. "Please tell me this isn't one of the Biblical plagues again. I don't want the first case after we retire being something so big and biblical and possibly world-destructive again."

Cas lowers his eyes. "I don't know."

But fortunately, bless his brother's soul, Sam carries good news.

It took the three of them a good chunk of a week to finally locate the very first origin of this locust plague.

It's a good thing that they got limitless samples to capture from their own field, according to Sam. Dean and Cas don't really find comfort in that.

The origin is traced back to Easter, Pennsylvania. From ten years ago. This specific species seems to be genetically particularly similar to the old Egyptian species from four thousand years ago, which should have been extinct or mutated all those centuries ago.

"I think we have a very different definition of 'good news'," Dean rubs the pinch of his nose. "All I'm hearing is, something something Egypt, something something biblical, something big and bad."

"Do you really not remember what happened there? Ten years ago?" Sam arches his eyebrows, swiping his look between his brother and the angel.

Dean returns him a blank look.

Cas exhales quietly. "Oh."

Dean glances at him. "Care to give some tips to the clueless here?"

"Balthazar," Cas lets out a single name. That's all the tip Dean needs.

"That case with the staff of Moses." He too remembers now. "That's there? Pennsylvania? I don't even remember."

"Yep, that same small town." Sam nods at his laptop screen. "Must be those same locust crawling out of that cop's brain and start flying around."

"Jesus," Dean sighs deeply. "We solved that case back then. Who'd know we'll have to fix those locusts too?"

"I should have," Cas shifts uncomfortably.

"You didn't even know about the case." Dean moves closer to him, catching his hands. "We didn't call you until we found those links, remember?"

"It was my fault Balthazar found it necessary to steal the staff. If I hadn't started the civil war in Heaven, none of that would ever happen; those migratory locusts would never exist in this land." Cas lowers his head, staring at the floor. He tries to take back his hands, but Dean doesn't let him.

"It's not your fault," Dean tells him firmly, squeezing his hands. "We can fix this."

"I doubt it," Cas says in a low voice. "Once there's a single locust in the new continent, there is nothing stopping them from breeding and growing. Let alone it's been ten years. They must have been everywhere already. I don't know why we never realized this problem until now."

"The farmers must have suffered for the past ten years," Sam murmurs quietly. "We just, never looked closely enough. Thought it was just natural disasters or something. I mean, who'd thought a locust outburst could be our sort of case, too? It's like the butterfly effect."

"Not helping, Sammy," Dean gives his brother a displeased look, tilting his head at the angel, using his eyes to express, "Why do you have to make him feel more shitty than he already is? Shut up or say something nice!"

"We can, uh, always regrow the crops, hoping they're fine next year," Sam waves helplessly at the window and their field.

Dean gives him another look, rolling his eyes. Sam shuts his mouth obediently.

"We can always call Jack to help fix this, right?" Dean turns to Cas, suggesting hopefully.

"He said he'd not intervene in anything anymore," Cas answers gloomily.

"Not even something biblical? This feels like his department in the first place, you know." Dean pats the angel's hands. "We'll just invite him over to dinner, serving him a dish with fried locust or something. He's gotta ask, 'What's that?' Then we'd just say, 'Oh, we wanted to serve you some home-grown wheat for bread, but locusts ate them all, so now all we have is fried locusts.' He'd ask, 'How does that happen?' I'll just tell him the story we just found out, surely he'll just snap a finger to fix this, right?"

Cas still doesn't think it's a fair reason to call Jack for the use of his power for the next two days. But Dean manages to invite Jack over for the Sunday family dinner anyway.

Dean doesn't usually go to a church, especially now, unless he definitely has to.

And unfortunately for him, he has to now.

A reverend is reported to be dead unnaturally, and the congregation reported they had witnessed a man in a trench coat claiming to be God and killing him.

Sam and Bobby told him not to go there. Castiel has made it clear that he has changed; if he's clever, he should try to avoid him, instead of chasing his trail.

But Dean can't help it.

How can he?

Watching his best friend turn into something he can't recognize, not knowing what's happening? Watching him destroy his brother, leaving them behind coldly?

It's Cas they're talking about.

Even if he really turned bad for some reason, there must be a way to save him. To get him back. There must be.

Dean just has to believe it.

He sits in the last row of the pew, keeping his head low.

A priest stands behind the lectern, talking in a quiet voice. Probably something to mourn about the dead reverend. Dean isn't paying enough attention to hear his words. He's staring at the figure on the colored window. The figure of a man in a trench coat, with disheveled black hair.

Dean just stares at it, feeling his eyes dry and pained.

A young mother with a teenage boy comes in, taking the seat beside him.

Dean doesn't notice them until the boy's voice becomes too loud and clear for him. He glances at them.

The mother has her head bowed low, palms pressed before her chest in a devout position. The boy is scanning through the church with a contemptuous look in his eyes.

"This is so stupid," he sneers, careless, not even bothering to lower his voice. "It's all just stupid stories. How can anyone really believe this is real? I mean, God? Come on."

His mother opens her eyes, shushes him frantically. "Don't say that, Ted! He might hear you!" she looks properly scared, glancing around them.

"Where is he then? If he's really real and can get mad at me for just saying that? Let him show up, then I'll believe," the kid scoffs, fearless.

"I wouldn't do that," Dean says quietly beside him, heart starting to beat fast. Will Cas really show up? He doesn't know if he's more worried he'd really hear Cas's voice so soon again, with him carrying God's wrath, or not hearing from him ever again.

"I hear despise from a non-believer," the voice comes, the figure standing in the corridor between the pews. Castiel looks straight at the boy, holding up a hand. "The scorner shall bear the punishment."

"Cas, Cas! Stop!" Dean reacts almost purely from his instinct, dragging the kid behind him, throwing himself between the boy and Castiel. "For fuck's sake, he's just a kid!"

The mother lets out a cry of fear, rushing to the boy, holding him between her arms. Dean can feel the movement behind his back; he doesn't turn to check them.

He takes a step closer to his best friend that he no longer recognizes.

"Cas, come on! Please!" he begs, tears threatening to come down, but he's forcing them back. "This is madness. You do not kill kids! If you have to punish him, kill me first."

Dean meets his eyes, too pained to blink. He stares and searches, hoping desperately to find the slightest shiver of light to show him the Cas he knew is still in there, somewhere, can still hear him. Cas, please. He thinks desperately. Please, I don't want to lose you.

Castiel takes a steady step toward him, his eyes still icy and distant. Murderous.

Dean closes his eyes. If Cas is going to kill him now, so be it.

"I am not going to kill you, Dean Winchester," Castiel's voice rumbles low and close.

Dean opens his eyes, swallowing. Castiel's face is barely inches away from his, staring him down. He can see dark colors shifting inside his blue eyes.

"You're giving yourself up to protect someone you never knew, someone who is sinned in God's eyes," Castiel announces solemnly. "That self-sacrifice belongs to God's realm. So I will forgive you, and pardon the scorner. You see, I am not unreasonable."

He turns, not waiting for Dean's answer, moving away swiftly toward the exit.

Dean's shoulders slump. The miserable bitterness in his heart seeps deeper. He feels his limbs cold with desperation.

Please.

The sharp pain in his back starts turning dull, then gets numbed, then nothing.

Dean Winchester leaves his body.

"It is my honor to see you one last time," Death greets him like an old friend, leading the way.

"What's gonna happen next?" Dean asks.

"You will have to find out yourself," the old Death answers kindly. "I can only escort you to the door. You will be greeted and led by the host of Heaven from there."

"Angels?" Dean jerks his head up sharply. "Who?!" The angel? The only angel he really desperately wants -- needs -- to see again?

Death just gestures skyward vaguely. "No spoilers. You will find out soon enough."

The door Death leads him to is a door covered by beaded curtains. Thin fragrance and some music that sounds like Asian temple music seeps out through the door.

Dean's heart beats fast as he walks closer to the door. It looks too close to that one time Zachariah sent him five years ahead of time that he hasn't really been thinking about for about a decade now. But the door, the hut, the smell and music, they all look too close.

He opens the bead curtain slowly, edging inside hesitantly.

Cas from his memory of that time sits on a futon on the floor, alone. A delicate censer sits before him, letting out thin white smoke. Dean assumes the fragrance comes from that. He can't take his eyes off the sitting man. He can't blink, he can't speak, let alone walk. Dean freezes by the door.

The Cas from his memory -- this Cas that sits on a futon with folded legs -- is just too different from the Cas he's familiar with. His eyes are closed, his hands rest on his knees. He still looks vaguely like that master love guru Dean called him back then, but quieter, cleaner, and more whole. Dean doesn't know why his mind supplies him with that word, but "whole" is the word that pops into his head.

But he still knows well enough that he's not the Cas he knows. Not the one he lost.

Dean's breath hitches at the thought. Pain crawls back into his heart, threatening to tear him apart.

"You need to come here and sit down," Cas opens his eyes, turning to him, gesturing to the futon that appears before him, opposite side to the censer.

"Cas?" Dean whispers, his lips trembling, moving into the room slowly. His steps too heavy.

The room is warm and comforting.

Cas smiles at him faintly. "Yes, in a way," he answers. "I'm a Heaven's host that manifested from your memory, preparing you for Heaven before actually leading you there. I don't choose the form I'm taking, you are -- your subconsciousness, I mean." He hastily adds the last part of the sentence when Dean opens his mouth, just about to say he didn't choose this -- him, his form from that time. His heart aches, just looking at Cas like this. The most human time he's ever seen Cas, even worse than that time Cas was actually human and working in a gas station shop.

Dean swallows difficultly. "How?" he asks quietly. Too many questions congest his thoughts. Why are you here? How did my mind choose this version of you? You're just a manifest, then where is the real Cas? How can I get him back?

"This will be your katharsis," Cas speaks softly, reaching out his hands to gesture the futon again. Dean sits down obediently, folding his legs just like Cas does -- it's not a very comfortable posture, but he does it anyway. He still barely blinks, staring at Cas too hard.

The manifestation is real enough that he can see Cas's eyelashes flapping when he blinks, he can see Cas's lips chapped and dry like they always are, his shirt -- Cas is wearing a comfortable, home shirt, loosely hanging over his thin shoulders. His hair is not as rumpled and messy as he remembers for his best friend, but exactly like the one he remembers from back then in the Croatoan world -- the world he didn't save, the world where that future version of him and Cas and so many others he didn't save, like so many other worlds that he messed up.

He never gets it right. Dean realizes. He messes up practically every single version of Cas in all the worlds, and eventually, he lost his real, best friend that he doesn't know all those feelings he has about him for one last time. His minds drift so far away that he almost misses what the Cas before him is telling him.

"You have too many thoughts and feelings and emotions, Dean," Cas moves the censer closer to him, catching his attention. The white smoke melts into the air. The burning smell brings quiet sooth, slowing down Dean's frantically beating heartbeat a little, his focus back to the present. "I think the reason why you're seeing me now, is I'm one of your many guilt -- but I'm probably not even the biggest of them all."

Dean swallows hard again, can't breathe. Cas is right. Cas is always right about him, whichever version of him, whichever world he's in; it's like Cas can always see through him. Cas always knows him better than himself. Even at the very last -- especially at the very last. You're the most loving man I will ever know. Then you have to know I love you just as much as you love me. You have to, do you? Dean thinks bitterly, too painful to bear the thoughts. He thought about every single day after Cas is gone, he doesn't realize he'd think about that every single day again when he reaches the end of his mortal life, when he's in Heaven. Is this gonna be how he spends eternity up here? Painful and agonizing about all the past and experiencing all those memories forever?

"You will not," Cas answers him, hearing his thoughts. Dean is too tired to ask why or how he can do that -- it doesn't surprise him anymore what Cas (or anything remotely like Cas) can do. "What we will do here," he nods at the room in general, "during this process, we will go through your emotions and feelings. The katharsis will purge your anger, your guilt, your fear, or even your grief. At the end of it, you will be calm and peaceful, only then you're ready to move on to the real Heaven, your final home."

Dean stands up so quickly that the motion makes his head dizzy. "No!" he yells at Cas -- the manifestation of Cas that Heaven sent him, the wrong one, the fake one, he reminds himself, This is not Cas. His Cas is somewhere else. "No!" Dean yells again, so loud that his voice echoes in the small space. He takes a step back, away from this Cas. "You can shove the calm and peace up your lily white ass! I'll keep my anger, my guilt, even my grief! Especially my grief! I'm not gonna just give up my feelings and everything just to lie back down in Heaven when I know Cas is not there! Even if it means I'm gonna suffer for eternity, 'cause he's in the Empty, alone, dark, and suffering! That's not gonna happen! You hear me? Never!" Rage burns through his mind and runs through his veins. He's outrageous.

The Cas manifested by Heaven sighs heavily, standing up slowly from the futon, stretching his arms in a way that looks far too soft and real, as if he's really from that alternate timeline back then, still vaguely stoned but clear enough to know what he's doing. "I should know," he says easily, not bothered by Dean's sudden temper. "Dean Winchester. Of course you will never give me up. What do you want me to do, then?"

"What?" Rage is still burning his vision red. Dean blinks, staring at the Cas before him, can't help noticing the change in his demeanor. He looks far too real to be a manifestation; he should have noticed it since the beginning.

"Where do you think a human --" Cas points at himself, "-- would go, after he died in a world that technically doesn't exist, but still is adjacent enough to your own world to share the same Heaven?" He gives Dean a wink.

Dean gasps.

For the record, Dean wants to note, for anyone who's willing to listen -- this is all Cas's fault.

Cas just had to insist on doing everything the human way, when he could just flip a finger and get it done in the blink of an eye. Then none of the other things would ever happen.

"But I want to do it slowly, like you do." Cas insisted, looking at him so innocently with his blue, blue eyes.

Dean had to agree.

So there they are, building their house together, plank by plank, nail by nail.

It's not that Dean didn't enjoy. He's thrilled, actually, more than happy to spend all the time in the world with Cas, building their own place together. They can't always live in the bunker after all. Sam is more than happy to move out with Eileen, too.

And it's getting closer to Christmas. Dean really wants the place done before the first snow hits, so he can invite his brother and sister-in-law to come over. He's imagining a little Christmas tree and a classic old movie night together with his whole family. So maybe -- maybe he's getting a little impatient. But this is definitely not his fault.

"That roof is definitely not flat," Dean yells from the root of the ladder, looking up. His neck is getting sore from crooking up for the whole afternoon. His back starts aching, too. He hates how sometimes his body just wants to remind him he's not on the right side of the twenties anymore.

"It is parallel to the sea surface," Cas insists, nailing the plank into the position, providing one more slice of shade.

This is the last piece of the puzzle. The garage. No way Dean is gonna make it a sloppy job for Baby's room.

"We're miles from the sea! How could anyone possibly know it's like sea level flat?!" Dean raises his voice, his temper bubbling. "It has an angle to the ground! Everyone would just assume it's the roof done wrong and laugh at us!"

"But you said you want the roof 'horizontal'! Well, that's the horizontal!" Cas lets go of his hands on the side of the ladder, waving back at Dean to give him the air quote, annoyed. "I can't make it slopingly but say it's flat! It's just factually incorrect! You didn't say it needs to be 'parallel to the ground'!"

"How am I supposed to know the ground isn't 'parallel to the sea'?" Dean glares back at him, removing his hands from holding the ladder, mocking Cas in a similar air quote. "I'm just a human! I can't freaking see what the sea level looks like. I'm not like you!"

"Oh, so it's my fault being an angel now?" Cas snaps, squinting his eyes. "Is that what you're saying?"

"I didn't say that!" Dean wipes a hand over his face, frustrated. "For Christ's sake, why is this so freaking difficult?"

He checks his watch, then. "You know what, I need to go get a drink. Don't wait for me for dinner."

Dean slips out in the Impala without waiting for an answer. He feels like shit.

The bar doesn't provide any comfort. And beer isn't strong enough to wipe his mind.

He switches to something stronger after the first few glasses.

Dean can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, right against his thigh. But he decidedly doesn't check it.

He doesn't leave until the bar is about to close.

He almost crushes the car into the new fence around the garden that they spent two full days getting done. Cas would kill him if he rolled over his vegetable and knocked down that bee-shaped pot -- Dean picked it for him at some random store, and that became Cas's favorite thing of everything.

Dean's face softens. He parks the car in the new garage. The ladder has been put back into the corner. The rest of the planks are finished. But Dean's foggy, swimming mind can't tell if the roof is flat or not.

He staggers into the bedroom.

The room is empty.

He blinks a few times, the drunkenness leaving him fast as his blood starts getting cold. He turns on the light. The bed is really empty.

Cas isn't in the living room, either. Or kitchen. Or any room.

Dean turns on all the lights in the house, standing in the middle of the suddenly too vast, too empty living room. Lost.

"Cas?" he tries, his voice coming out broken.

No one answers.

He blinks again, feeling his eyes sting.

The room echoes his voice faintly.

No.

Dean's breath shatters.

The night is too deep, too quiet. As if there is no second person existing in the world.

Like that day in his worst nightmare.

Dean leans against a wall, slumping down slowly. He buries his face in his palms.

What had he just done?

His phone rings in his pocket, startling Dean out of his personal Hell.

His fingers fumble frantically on the screen when he sees Cas's name on it.

"Which bar are you in?" Cas's voice comes through, worried. "You shouldn't be driving. Sorry, I was too pissed, I forgot. I'm picking you up."

"Cas," Dean's voice shakes.

"Are you okay, Dean?" Cas rushes eagerly. "Where are you?"

"Home," he chokes the words out through his tightened throat. "I'm home."

"I'll be there immediately."

The sound of wings fluttering is on the phone as well as right before him. Cas is still holding the phone to his ear when he appears before Dean.

Dean wipes his face hard, looking up. "I'm sorry," he blurts out rapidly. "I'm so sorry, Cas. Forget about that stupid roof, you can do whatever you like." As long as you are still here.

"Hey, hey," Cas kneels down before him, shaking his shoulders slightly, dragging him into a hug. Dean clings to his back like he's drowning.

"Don't worry about the roof," Cas's cheek rubs against Dean's. He tells him gently. "I got it fixed. The way you like it. The sloping-flat way. I was just out looking for you." Don't worry. I will not leave you.

Dean rests his chin on Cas's shoulder, his breath easing down.

"Slat," he says, out of nowhere.

"What?" Cas pulls back slightly, checking him up.

Dean lets out a teary chuckle. "Sloping-flat, that makes it slat. Or do you like floping better?"

It's Jack's turn to pick the movie to watch for the movie night today.

And Jack says, "I would like to watch Tombstone."

Sam lets out a loud, deliberate groaning sound. "We already watched it two times in a row! Cas picked it last week, and that's only because Dean picked it the week before that. Do you really want to watch it again, or do you just... not know there are other movies to choose from? We have like --" he waves his arm vaguely at the pile of cheap DVDs in the cabinet under the TV stand. "-- a million other movies to watch."

Jack tells him brightly. "I really like it! I'd like to watch it again, and I think Dean and Cas love it too --" He turns to look at his two dads for support, meeting Dean's approving smile and Cas's quiet nod, so he turns back to Sam with more confidence. "But if you'd like to watch something else, I'm okay with it, too."

"Hey, hey," Dean takes a step forward, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder, standing behind him, facing his brother, pretending a temper. "This is your week, kid, you get the pick. If Sam wants to watch other stuff, he needs to wait till next week, or, he can always watch by himself, in his room." He chuckles slightly, lowering his voice like it's a secret. "You don't want to know what you'll find in his browser history."

"What's in his browser history?" Cas chimes in, curious.

Sam throws up two arms, surrendering. "You're such a jerk. All of you! You can't always do three-to-one; it's not fair. I need to grab Eileen and Charlie to back me up next time."

Dean shrugs. "Go ahead. If you don't mind it becomes five-to-one."

Sam grabs the closest pillow from the sofa and throws it at him. Which almost hits Jack, but gets intercepted by Cas.

Sam regrets throwing it moments later, because Dean's side of the sofa has way too many pillows, while he doesn't have any.

"I didn't understand this part last time," Jack points at the screen. A popcorn between his fingers. The screen shows the tavern scene where the cowboys are gambling. "What's that game they're playing? What's the rule? I want to learn how to play." He turns to look at the other three one at a time, enthusiastically. "I want to play with all of you!"

"Hmm," Sam hums. "Honestly, I don't really know. Dean?"

Dean pauses the movie, scrutinizing the screen. "Funny how I never thought about that. Must be some old games, like, two hundred years old. If I have to guess, I'd bet on all fours."

"You mean like, all four of us?" Jack is confused.

"No, I mean like a card game. 'All fours', it's a name, some high and low and complicated rules, some old guys taught me one time, heard it was popular back then. But I'm not sure."

"Which year is that?" Cas asks.

"Eighteen something," Dean answers.

"Give me a second." Cas disappears with a fluttering sound of wings, leaving the seat next to Dean an empty space. Dean almost loses balance and has to readjust his sitting posture.

"Wait, what? Where did he go?" Sam starts standing up, alarmed.

Dean stares at the space and the pillows that were on them now falling to the floor. "Really, Cas? It's cheating!"

"It's not if I can come back with the correct answer." Cas reappears, sitting back into the seat, picking up the pillows, trying to make them form the same comfortable soft castles as before.

"You flew back in time just to check what card game they're playing?" Sam rubs his temple.

Dean chuckles. "Trust me, it's not the first time he's done something like that. I asked what that ancient Egyptian food actually tastes like one time, and he went back to grab a piece for me."

Sam sighs loudly. "Why am I not surprised?"

Cas looks at him blankly. "Is there a problem?"

"No, not at all," Dean answers before Sam can, dragging the angel closer so he can lean against his shoulder comfortably again.

"So what's that card game?" Jack asks, persistent.

"Did I guess right?" Dean looks at Cas, eyes expectant and excited.

"Please say no even if he's right," Sam chimes in.

Cas considers for a brief second. "You will be right if it's in England. All fours is indeed very popular at that time."

"Dammit!" Dean fakes an annoyance, patting his leg once. "So what's the right answer?"

"In the Wild West, it's faro," Cas announces. Then, "The gentlemen in the pub that I visited kindly taught me the rules as well. So you want to learn now, we can."

"Yes, I would like that!" Jack is more than eager to start, almost sitting only on the very edge of the sofa.

"Look who's the new expert now," Dean jokes, moving the little coffee table closer to their seat. He goes to grab a pack of cards.

"What about the rest of the movie?" Sam gestures at the TV.

Dean grins at him, too widely. "Guess we'll have to watch it at next week's movie night."

"Dear Mr. and Mr. Winchester, it is with great pleasure that we invite you to join us for an evening of joy and dancing at Longbourn House next Thursday night at eight o'clock. Your attendance will be of great honor -- bla, bla," Dean reads the parchment letter that the mail boy just put in his hand, eyebrows raised high in amusement.

"Holy shit, Cas," he turns to the angel, still holding the paper, still too amused to keep the tips of his lips down. "How did you even do that? We're here for like ten minutes, and you already got us the big ball invitation?"

"Technically, we are already here for two days," Cas corrects him. "And I merely chatted with the lovely lady in the market, who happened to be the youngest daughter of the Bennet family."

"And you told her where we live and our real names."

"I..." Cas licks his lips. A motion he just picked recently. "I don't believe it would do any harm," he mumbles quietly, shifting a little.

"Did you tell her we're married and it's your idea to come here for a honeymoon?" Dean chuckles slightly at his little move, reaching out a hand to stop the angel's fingers from fidgeting, squeezing gently.

Cas hesitates, glancing at Dean's look, "Do you wish I did?"

Dean shrugs. "I don't really mind either way. Technically, we aren't married until two hundred years later -- time travel, always makes things complicated."

Cas agrees, then shifting his attention back to the invitation. "The dancing. You coming?"

"You kidding me? Can't let my husband get all the dances with others and not be there with him, can I?" Dean laughs.

"I thought you would say you don't know how to dance." Cas relaxes.

"I don't, but I'm sure we can figure that out. But before that, shouldn't we figure out something to wear? This," he gestures at his shirt and jacket, "can't possibly work. I look like an alien, honestly."

They go into the town for the tailor's.

Dean bites his tongue to stifle the chuckle when the lady in the shop takes his measure. But he raises his eyebrows when she does the same for Cas. The measure includes, well, all the sizes in all the places on their body -- just to make sure the cloth will fit the most perfectly, of course. Watching those nimble hands and fingers stroking through the angel's body, Dean doesn't know if he's feeling jealous or just feeling like jumping on him right now and taking apart those existing clothes on him. Maybe both.

Cas warns him with a look and a glance around the shop. Not now. His eyes are saying. Dean sighs quietly. Of course Cas knows what filthy thing he's thinking; they didn't date for fifteen years for nothing.

"They will be finished and delivered to your address by next week," the lady tells them as she finishes.

The clothes are astounding. Even more so when they are on them. But God, they're complicated.

"Now I know why those princesses in the history dramas need like a dozen servants to put those dresses on. You do need like twenty hands to figure this thing out -- God, how does it even work?" Dean grumbles, trying to push his arm over something that resembles a sleeve.

Cas picks the piece up and turns it around, settling it around his neck quietly, smoothening it below the dress shirt's collar. "Here," he says gently, pressing it flat.

"Or they can have one angel that knows everything to make it work." Dean leans in, giving the angel a brief kiss on the lip as appreciation. "Thanks."

All the complications in the dressing and preparation, as it turns out, work out amazingly.

The one for Cas tightens around his waist, extending long behind the tail, like a beautiful, elegant bird's tail. The white shirt underneath has layers and layers of white collars that look like a flower bouquet before his chest. Dean can't really get used to the similar look on his own, claiming it just looks too weird and unlike him, but Cas insists he looks absolutely beautiful and glamorous. Which turns into a snuggly session before the mirror that makes them almost late for the ball. (But no one needs to know. They fixed the broken collars before they actually head out, anyway.)

The manor is vast. Dean glances at the chandeliers and decorations, and can't say he isn't impressed.

"Man, rich people," he whispers to Cas under his breath, walking into the ballroom together.

They're drowned by a sea of -- no, a whole freaking ocean of -- beauties. The cute, young ladies in fancy, floral dresses; gentlemen in dresses Dean doesn't really know the names for, but man, every single person in the room looks unbelievably amazing.

"This is just way too Pride and Prejudice," Dean tilts his head, leaning slightly to talk to Cas.

"I didn't realize you read the book," Cas replies, then quickly adds, "I didn't mean it like, you don't read, just --"

"I didn't." Dean chuckles. "But I watched like three or four adaptations. They do know how to find the most gorgeous man to play Mr. Darcy, you know?"

Cas hums noncommittally.

A man walks slowly in their direction when the music starts.

Dean's eyes land on his curly black hair and sharp features. He nudges the angel, whispering, "I can't believe it, he's just like Colin Firth!"

The man stops before them before Cas can answer.

"Greetings, gentlemen," he speaks in a pure, elegant English accent. "Your sartorial splendor is truly marvelous, as is your glamor."

He turns to Cas completely then, making a small bow with his upper body. "May I have the honor of the next dance?" He reaches out a hand.

Dean swallows.

Cas answers easily, "I'm afraid you'll have to ask for my partner's permission first." He breaks the look with the man, turning to Dean with a small smile.

The man is surprised, but only for a brief second. "My apologies." his eyes are brown, genuine and kind, turning to Dean. "You're a lucky, as well as astonishing, man yourself."

"I know," Dean blurts out with a grin he can't hold back.

"May I?" the man makes a polite gesture at Cas again, smiling humbly, showing a small dimple on his cheek.

Dean pretends to hesitate. "Alright. As long as he's mine for the rest of the night."

They are busy getting the change ready. Dean stands before the window, using its reflection as his mirror to examine his look, smoothening the collar of his suit, straightening his tie. Cas lets out a frustrated grumble from the bathroom.

Dean pokes his head inside. "Need a hand?"

The tie dangles on Cas's neck. "I'm afraid so," the tips of his lips drop in an unhappy degree. "How can humans figure out such a complicated riddle every day?" He gestures to the tie, waving at it angrily. "It's more complicated than space science! I shouldn't have undone it, and now I can't put it back."

Dean lets out a loud laugh. "Come over here," he says, and actually already walks toward Cas before the angel starts moving.

His fingers fly around the tie that obviously personally offended both of them, and turn it into a beautiful, tidy knot around the angel's neck.

Dean loosens it a small degree after tightening it all the way up, gives it a small pat, then takes a step back to regard his work.

"How's that?" he smiles at the angel.

Cas turns back toward the mirror, examining the work, loosening the knot another degree, but his hand gets patted away by Dean, and the tie is reversed to its old look.

Cas turns to him, frowning slightly. "I still don't understand why we have to dress up so formally. Do all insurance companies have the same dress codes? Shouldn't they have a uniform with their company names or something like the Biggersons?"

Dean scratches the back of his neck. "I don't know. People seem to buy it. We aren't really selling insurance, remember? We're just pretending to be one. Just need some information. And the suit works."

"What if they start asking about insurance questions? The real, professional ones? What do you do then?" Cas continues.

"Never happened before," Dean answers easily, smiling at the angel with confidence. "Shouldn't be a problem. Now, let's go."

They knock on the house door -- the person living here is more of a lead that they're hoping to gather some information than a victim or anyone who is actually directly related to the case.

Dean puts out his best smile when the door opens. "We're from your insurance company," he says cheerfully. "Here to ask some questions."

The man scrutinizes both of them and lets them in.

"So, Mr. Chandler, I wonder what you can tell us about this property --" Dean starts.

The man cuts him off right there. "I thought you were here to settle the claim case I raised two months ago? Do you have any idea how many phone calls I had to make to get them to call me back? Ten times! Ten freaking times!"

Dean blinks, but reacts quickly. "Yes, Sir, of course, we understand. But you see, those are handled by a different department; we're just the investigators, trying to evaluate the situation --"

"What business line are you working on?" the man cuts him off again.

Dean is taken aback slightly. He darts a quick glance at Cas, then turns back to the man. "Ah, business line. We cover everything, all the products, hmm..." His words and lies start crumbling.

The man straightens his back, narrowing his eyes. "What kind of insurance workers don't know what they are selling or working on? Who are you, really?"

Dean wets his lips. "See, here's the thing --"

Cas puts a gentle hand on the side of his arm, stopping him. "Apologies, Sir, my colleague and I are new in this position. We only had our orientation yesterday; it must have slipped his mind." Dean turns to Cas with raised eyebrows, and the angel just keeps on. "Our company is most well-known for auto and residence business lines, but if you're interested to learn more, we also have other personal and commercial business lines. The claim is indeed covered by a different internal customer service group, like my partner mentioned, but we're happy to convey your concerns. Now, may we proceed with the purpose of our visit?"

The man seems to be convinced by that, not questioning their identities again.

The rest of the investigation gets finished smoothly.

Dean sits back in the car, undoing his ties. "What was that?" he asks curiously.

Cas tilts his head. "What do you mean?"

"'My colleague and I had orientation yesterday, our company offers this and that product.'" Dean mimics the angel's tone with a small chuckle. "How did you even know what those words mean? You look more like an insurance guy than any insurance guy."

Cas thinks about it for a bit. "I just do," he hesitates, vaguely gesturing at his head. "All the necessary knowledge from different professions, it's all there. The insurance industry is hardly the one that you may call with the most abstruse terminologies; you should see economics and those in technologies."

Dean rubs his temple. "Yeah, I'd never pretend I'm a businessman or anything."

"Or you can just ask me to be there?" Cas offers tentatively.

Dean chuckles louder. "Yeah, I'd have you there. Not just for that, of course. You're going wherever I go."

Dean wakes up in the middle of the night.

Something doesn't feel right, but he refuses to open his eyes just yet. But his subconscious brain is already working. Something doesn't feel right.

He stretches his arms and legs to the other side of the bed. "Cas?" he mumbles.

The other side is empty.

His hand grips a handful of empty covers and blankets. Without body warmth. Without the body that is supposed to be lying inside, snoring adorably, nuzzling him back.

Dean snaps his eyes open, turning on the bedside lamp.

The other side of the bed is truly, completely, absolutely missing a huge, big person.

"Cas?" Dean raises his voice, not realizing his voice is trembling.

He doesn't hear the familiar voice of his husband answering him, but there is some quiet rustling sound outside the bedroom, like a rat chewing something. Or could be a raccoon. Or a thief.

Dean stops his brain from thinking about what could get worse after that.

His hand fumbles underneath his pillow on reflex, but not finding the familiar metal. Then he remembers he moved the pistol to the bedside drawer three months ago, when Cas said he should at least try to get used to not having to startle awake and get ready for fighting. He had to spend the first two months holding Cas's hand to stop his own hand from fumbling under his pillow.

Dean slips off the bed with the pistol, ignoring the fact that he's only wearing shorts. The carpet covers any sound his bare feet might have made, for which Dean appreciates.

The slight crackling sound comes from the kitchen, and no light is on.

Dean holds his breath and approaches gingerly. The moonlight outside the shade-covered window leaves thin strips of light on the floor, but not enough for illumination.

Dean hides at the turn of the kitchen counter, counting to three in his heart, then at once, uses an elbow to snap open the light while his hands click off the safety bolt. "Hands up! Who are you?!" he demands.

A clear, crispy sound of something drops to the floor.

Dean finds his gun pointing right at his missing husband, with a crack with dipped cheese spread stuffed in his mouth like a hamster.

The other victim cracker that must be once in Cas's hand is now crashed on the floor, shattered.

Cas has his hands raised up as demanded, blinking at him guiltily.

Dean bursts out in a huge laugh, putting the safety bolt back on the gun, leaving it on the counter. "Dammit!" he says, rubbing his nose, still haven't stopped laughing.

"What are you doing in the middle of the night? Not on the bed." Dean pouts slightly, stepping into the kitchen, kneeling down to pick up the cracker.

Cas puts down his hands slowly, chewing the one in his mouth. The spread leaves a tiny yellow dip on the corner of his mouth without him realizing.

"I felt hungry," Cas answers sheepishly. "I didn't think you'd wake up and find out."

Dean cleans up the bits and crumbs, rinses his hands, then turns to him, raising his eyebrows with amusement. "Why do I get the feeling this isn't the first time?"

Cas ducks his head, grinning slightly. "It's not. Remember when we were still living in the bunker and Jack was living with us?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever wonder why the breakfast cereal always runs out so fast?" Cas glances at Dean.

Dean widens his eyes. "Holy, Sammy always blames me for that. So it's you two taking a midnight snack!"

Cas nods with a small grin. Then, "Mostly Jack, but sometimes I do, too. Just to have something to do at night."

"That delicious?"

"I wouldn't know. But definitely not as good as these." Cas points at the snacks on the counter.

Dean leans in to kiss the remnant of the cheese spread off Cas's lips. A small sweet peck. Cas hums happily and kisses back.

Dean licks his lips after pulling back, satisfied. "I'd say it's pretty good." He chuckles. "That explains it. But I still need to decide if I can forgive someone for waking me up and making me think I'm abandoned by my husband in the middle of the night." He pretends to pout, glancing at Cas with a small grin.

Cas frowns slightly, holding out to wrap his arms around Dean's waist. "Sorry," he murmurs quietly. "Didn't mean to make you worry." He pulls Dean closer to him, feeling his heartbeat calming down against his chest. He kisses the side of Dean's cheek.

"Bed?"

Cas squints at the screen, studying it like it's the most difficult case.

Dean glances at him in the middle of a slow scene, holding out the popcorn bowl in front of him.

Cas picks one mindlessly, but isn't eager to eat it. His eyes are still fixated on the screen.

"Let me know if you need some explanation or something," Dean offers, watching the characters start walking around the castle on the screen again. He isn't actually sure if he gets all the story there, but it's always fun to watch Cas watch something and ask all kinds of questions. But perhaps Game of Thrones is still too difficult an option for now.

"This is very complicated," Cas murmurs, staring as if he can see through those people's heads and understand their thoughts just like that.

"Which part?" Dean debates whether he should pause it, but he ends up still leaving that episode on.

Cas makes a vague gesture that's practically saying "everything".

But he says, "Let me try to understand it by myself first. After all, I want to be able to understand humans."

So Dean lets him.

They take a short break after the episode, and Dean takes a quick bathroom run.

Cas is scrolling through his smartphone with an even deeper frown.

Dean deliberately sits right next to him, squeezing their legs together, and wiping his still-damp hand on Cas's pants, who completely doesn't notice.

"What are you reading?" Dean extends his neck to read.

Cas turns the screen to him. The phone browser has a page open: "One article to explain the Greens and the Blacks."

"Ah, did it talk about all the politics?" Dean sinks back into the couch, holding the popcorn bowl back into his cuddle, folding his legs onto the seat comfortably.

"Yes," Cas puts down his phone with a sigh. "But it seems it's complicating things even more. It starts talking about different types of political attitude, something about hawkish and dovish. I don't understand what hawks and doves have to do with everything. I can only see dragons, wolves, and some other creatures on the flags."

Dean chuckles quietly, holding out to share his popcorn again, just to let Cas's fingers reach in and brush his hand unconsciously. Cas takes a second one, playing with it between his fingers, then puts it carefully between his teeth, as if he's analyzing it as well during his contemplation.

"I'm no expert in that, too." Dean shrugs easily. "If it makes you feel better, half the time, I can't get what those tricky mind games those people are playing." He hints at the TV screen with his chin, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth. "All I know is this: when I think about dovish, I think about something peaceful, anti-war, very diplomatic; and hawkish is just the opposite. But yeah, you'll have to ask Sammy to get all the fancy terms and a real walk-through on the episodes. Be careful, though, he might hate you if you spoil the ending of this season to him," Dean chuckles again. "I know he didn't have time to catch up yet."

Cas nods thoughtfully.

Dean nudges him playfully. "You're still frowning."

"Does that mean I'm hawkish, too? Just like Michael, Lucifer, and Raphael?" Cas says slowly. "It seems only Gabriel can be called dovish."

Dean unfolds his legs, sitting straight slowly. He puts the popcorn down, landing a hand on Cas's shoulder. "Hey, you alright? What's that about? You're nothing like those archangel assholes."

Cas turns to him, eyes sad. "The angel civil war," he answers glumly. "I was just as aggressive, bloodthirsty, and belligerent as all of them. When I was bad. I was even worse. And there was no denial or argument you can say it's not. Because I know exactly what I was doing and I did them." He bites his lips, looking down. Pained.

"Hey, hey," Dean pulls him into a hug, pressing his palms on the angel's back, shushing him quietly. It's not the first time Cas got dragged back into the old events, but every time, it still pains. It still pains both of them. The past still haunts them. Dean didn't know what to do the first time around, and honestly, he still doesn't quite know what's the best thing to do, but at least he learns how to make Cas feel just a little better and get over the episode.

"You're forgiven," Dean whispers into his ear, pressing their cheeks together. He can feel Cas breathe heavily, leaning his chin on Dean's shoulder. Dean holds him tighter.

"It's okay now," Dean tells him quietly.

"It's okay now."

"Everything is okay now."

He tells the angel again and again.