Chapter Text
They sit in Castiel’s car half a football field away from Maizie's house, tucked under the shade of some trees. The Robins house sits silently and has remained lifeless for the last two hours.
Castiel’s muscles are starting to lock up. He wants to get out of the car and stretch his legs, but he settles for rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck side to side. Dean has also grown increasingly restless, more noticeably so.
“We should’ve grabbed snacks,” Dean grumbles. The man has readjusted in his seat at least five times in as many minutes, pulling his legs up under him and then laying them across the dashboard, slouching down in his seat, then sitting sideways so that his legs spilled over the center console into Castiel’s bubble, movements that shouldn’t seem possible in the cramped space; Castiel is a little impressed.
“I should’ve left you at the motel,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t mean it. He hopes Dean understands he’s joking.
Dean snorts and Castiel almost smiles in relief.
“Are you always this grumpy or do I just bring out the best in you?” Dean asks.
“I’m not grumpy,” Castiel says. Though he is a little, maybe just because of the circumstances and his need to stretch his arms above his head, or maybe just because his stomach does feel a little empty and Dean’s desire for snacks does sound like a nice idea. But it’s not the man beside him.
He actually finds himself welcoming Dean’s company; he’s grateful he’s not sitting here alone. The silence isn’t awkward, but neither are his attempts to fill the silence. Dean kept him chatting, about little things; stories about the town, pranks he’d pulled in high school, his job at the mechanic shop. It’s… nice.
“Yeah because you’re known for your disarming smile.”
Castiel sends him an unamused sidelong glance, even if the corners of his mouth twitch a little.
Dean meets his gaze with a mischievous grin. “Seriously, though. You don’t seem like a guy who has hobbies.”
“I’m not.”
“And you’re real good at conversation, too.” The observation might make him flinch if it came from anybody else, but from Dean, the words hold no bite. They almost sound fond.
Castiel shakes his head, looking away again. “I’ve never been very good at that.”
“Why not?”
Castiel looks at him. The words come before he can vet them. “I always say the wrong thing. It’s just better to not speak often, I’ve found.” He looks back at the house to not catch Dean’s reaction.
When he’s met with silence, he can’t help but glance over and catch the observing gaze Dean is sending his way. Their eyes meet and Castiel tries not to wilt under the weight of it.
“What do you do for fun,” Dean asks after holding his gaze for a beat longer.
Castiel thinks for a moment, grateful for the diversion. He hasn’t indulged in a hobby in a long time. He fixes his eyes on the house, watching for movement, but his mind is elsewhere.
His mind goes to Emily and the acceptance letter on her desk. His mother and her unimpressed expression. Laura’s surprised eyes as she takes the first bite of the dinner he’d prepared.
‘Maybe you should be the stay at home wife,’ and a laugh.
“I used to like cooking,” he says, quietly.
“Cooking, huh,” Dean says with a smile. Castiel braces himself, expecting a quip, something along the lines of words he’d heard in the past: ‘What are you, a fag?’
Instead Dean says, “I can’t cook worth shit. Sammy gets spaghetti or ramen most nights. You’ll have to make me something sometime. I’ll bet you’re great at it.”
Castiel pulls his eyes away from the house and stares at him. Dean isn’t joking, but under Castiel’s look, his smile becomes almost imperceptibly nervous.
“Okay,” Castiel says.
Dean’s smile brightens brilliantly.
The car is silent for a moment, it’s a comfortable silence. But it seems like Dean doesn’t like to leave silence sitting for too long. Castiel can’t say he minds. With him, at least.
“You said you were military?”
“I didn’t, actually.” Castiel gives him another side eye, knowingly.
Dean smiles sheepishly. “I found some medals in your bag. Sorry.”
Castiel shrugs. He releases a huff that could pass for a laugh. Dean is probably the pushiest person he’s ever met, but Castiel finds he doesn’t mind that either, actually.
“What was that like?” Dean asks when Castiel doesn’t reprimand him.
“...I liked the structure.”
“Did you always want to be military?” Dean watches him and not the house, seeming genuinely interested in whatever Castiel answers.
Castiel comes up short. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly. He hadn’t thought about it. It just seemed like the logical thing he had to do. Like getting married. It’s what his father and his grandfather before him had done, afterall. “I… don’t know.”
“Well, when you were little, what did you dream about?”
Castiel looks at Dean’s earnest face and in an instant, flashes of the other boys on the playground play through his mind. Blending seasoning across sizzling pans. Things his mother found too feminine.
“Hell, mostly,” he says with a bitter smile. “What did you dream about?”
Dean creases his eyebrows in confusion at Castiel’s answer, but he plays along. He struggles to find an answer as well. After a while, he just shrugs and gives a faux careless smile. “Just whatever would make me the most money, I guess.”
“For Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“And what about when Sam grows up? What then?” He’s watching Dean know when he should be watching the house, but Dean’s expression is interesting. Under the bravado, there’s something naive, earnest. Castiel is used to lies and masks and trying to find real meaning behind false words and maybe Dean is playing the same game. Maybe he’s putting on a face for the world, but nothing he’d witnessed in the cracks made Castiel want to turn away.
Dean is at a loss. “I guess I just never thought- …I just can’t picture myself old, you know?”
“Do you imagine yourself dying young?” Castiel’s eyebrows crease. The thought is distressing. Dean’s brightness, the sun-sized space he took up in any room, being snuffed out….
“Well- yeah.” Dean says, earnestly, with a huff of a laugh. “Don’t most people?”
Sure, Castiel thought of it with existential anxiety, mostly late at night as a child when thoughts of ‘Too late, too late, repent now’ pounded in his mind. Even occasionally now as an adult, on nights he wondered if his mother had been right the whole time, but never in the casual way Dean speaks now of his own death, as if he couldn’t care less.
“Doesn’t that scare you?” Castiel asks, genuinely perplexed.
Dean shrugs. He’s earnest, smile easy. “Not really. I think an eternity long nap after all this bullshit would be nice.”
Castiel is silent for a while, mulling over the words and a response. “It terrifies me,” he says, eventually. “I hate not knowing.”
“But you don’t believe in God, right?”
He shakes his head, a heavy breath of air coming out of his nose that might’ve been a laugh. “I’m not- no. Believe it or not, an afterlife scares me more.”
“Paradise scares you?” Dean asks, amused. He’s smiling, that fond expression on his face again and Castiel feels he should look away. He doesn’t.
“Forever. That’s what scares me.” Then notes off-handedly, “Actually, the idea of nothing brings me more peace. It’s just… not knowing…”
Dean searches his face for a moment, smile turning mischievous. “What- singing ‘Amazing Grace’ on a loop for 10,000 years doesn’t do it for you?”
Castiel rolls his eyes. He likes this- whatever this is; him acting annoyed and Dean egging him on as if they both aren’t aware of the joke. “No.”
Dean grins. “You don’t wanna oil up the abs of our lord and savior so he can pose for us all?”
Castiel’s lips twitch. “No.”
Dean is leaning forward, excitement making his eyes shine. “Come on, man, I’m sure you’d love to hear how much you owe our ever so generous Lord and savior a million more times.”
A small smile breaks out across Castiel’s face.
Dean looks delighted.
“You do have a nice smile,” he says. “I knew it.”
Their eyes meet. Dean is close enough that Castiel could count his freckles.
Castiel’s mind blanks, except for one thing.
‘Kiss him.’
He thinks of his wife’s lips. The sickly sweet taste of them. Her protruding tongue. He shoos the thought away. He wonders if Dean would taste the same. He doesn’t think so. The thought thrills him.
Dean’s eyes flick to his lips and Castiel leans in. Dean’s breath ghosts across his face.
A honk makes them jump.
Castiel whips around, eyes finding the nice house that he could draw from memory at his point, and he finds one thing amiss. There sits a tan car outside of Maizie’s house. Castiel, in squinting and leaning forward, can make out that the driver is male, but little else. There’s someone else sitting in the backseat, barely decipherable in the shade of the car.
Dean is sat forward as well, suddenly alert, their moment and his restlessness entirely forgotten.
The door of the house flies open- the first movement in hours- and then Maizie is running down the steps to meet the car, backpack flying behind her, dress twisting at her ankles. She wastes no time sliding into the passenger seat.
She and the inhabitants of the car speak for a moment and it’s far enough away that Castiel can’t even distinguish their car idling over the wind through the trees. He can make out her gesturing in the cab, hands flying about wildly with some kind of excitement. Then the car pulls away from the curb.
Cas turns his keys in the ignition without another word and they wait for the car to pull far enough away before he begins to follow her at a distance.
Castiel can see Dean glancing at him from the corner of his eye. He shoves the moment aside for now.
As they pass the Robins house, something catches Castiel’s attention from the corner of his eye. He hits the brake suddenly and whips his head around.
Behind the Robins house- sits the blue Toyota Corolla that Maizie wasn’t driving. Red and orange leaves coat the front and rear window.
“Cas, what is it? You’re gonna lose her.”
Castiel shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s- sorry.”
They follow the car all the way to a park, silent in anticipation the whole way. A hiking trail leads further into the woods and a big clearing stretches before them with a metal playground that looks like it would be unpleasant regardless of the weather. It’s empty, regardless.
Castiel lets his rental idle under the coverage of some trees a ways away. Maizie and her friends park their own car close to the dirt path. The car shuts off. Castiel waits for them to get out of the car. They don’t.
They sit, watching out the windows with intense expressions. They’re waiting for someone. Castiel puts the car in park.
Dean eyes him. Castiel pretends not to notice. He almost hopes Dean will ignore it and they can continue on with a tense air until it inevitably fades.
“You were gonna kiss me back there, right?” He asks anyway.
Shit.
Castiel almost laughs. Of course Dean wouldn’t drop it. He knows he should feel shame and maybe some part of him does, but it’s suppressed under another feeling, something impulsive and in need. The word passes his lips easily despite this. “Yes.”
He expects Dean to sneer in disgust. For shame to flood over Castiel and to realize he misread the signs. Regret and maybe a fist to the face.
“Cool,” Dean says.
Castiel looks at him. Dean has turned his attention back to the park, expression smug. “Cool?”
“I mean, I was gonna, if you didn’t grow the balls to do it.” Dean grins at him cheekily.
Castiel blinks. A small, incredulous smile plays on his own lips. He opens his mouth to speak, but Dean leans forward in his seat. His expression is severe suddenly, eyes fixed on something through the window.
“Diana Marshall,” Dean says.
Castiel looks. The girl- Diana- has appeared from the tree line. She’s young, likely Maizie’s age. She’s walking down the trail, unhurried and bundled already in winter clothing, her dog on a leash- straight towards the car Maizie is in. But she doesn’t seem to take any special interest in its inhabitants. It seems like she doesn’t even notice them.
“Who is that?” Castiel asks.
“She’s a grade below Maizie. I don’t know her super well, but she’s a nice girl. Maizie’s never mentioned her,” Dean says in a low voice, as though the other car could hear them.
They’re too far away for Castiel to be able to make out the exact expression on Maizie’s face, but she’s clearly seen Diana as well. They all lean forward in their seats, eyes fixed to the girl.
“Do you think they’re waiting for her?” Dean asks.
“Yeah,” Castiel says. He moves the gear shift into drive.
Castiel’s phone rings. He spares a quick glance to the caller ID; it’s unknown, but for some reason he flips open the clamshell and holds it to his ear. He keeps his eyes on the tan car. He half expects a telemarketer, but his gut is tight.
“Hello?”
“Agent Novak? Is my brother there?” Sam’s voice startles him enough that he almost lets his foot off the break.
“Sam? What’s wrong?” Sam sounds… off. There’s something in his voice. He sounds excited. Excited in the way it was quiet before a storm.
Dean’s head whips to him, eyes wide. “Gimme the phone,” he says.
Castiel tries to ignore him. Strains to listen. He’s trying to keep his focus on the tan car, but his attention is divided, something instinctual telling him to pay attention to the small voice in his ear.
“I just wanted to tell him that I’m gonna fix everything. He’ll be real mad at first, but-”
Dean rips the phone from Castiel’s hand.
“Sammy? What’s going on?”
Dean listens for a moment, his eyes getting progressively wider, face paling.
Dean’s voice when he speaks is frantic, cracking in urgency. “Sammy, don’t! There’s some fucked shit going on, this ain’t your fault, but you gotta stop! You have to fight it!”
Dean freezes. He pulls the phone away from his face and stares at it in horror. It takes him a second to find his voice. “Cas, we have to-”
There’s a shout.
Castiel’s head whips back to the tan car. He curses himself for having lost focus.
Regret settles over him as he realizes Maizie and two young adult men have exited the car. They’re shouting things at Diana, things Castiel can’t make out and advancing toward her at a rapid speed. Castiel thinks he could recognize the boys if he had a moment to think.
But it all happens in seconds.
It takes her a moment to react. Her dog is barking, the small thing straining against its leash. She stares at them in disbelief as they charge her, like a deer facing the headlights of an oncoming semi. Then she screams as they lunge and that Castiel can make out, clear as day, the piercing sound cutting through him alongside cold horror.
She throws her hands up to deflect their arms, dropping the leash- but she goes down easily. She hits the ground hard and after the initial disorientation, pounds her fist against their arms, chests, wherever she can reach. She kicks violently from the ground, hitting one of the men in the crotch. He crumples to the ground.
Diana’s dog bites violently at the leg of the other man and he kicks. With a yelp, the dog goes flying while the other man recuperates, hands cupped around his groin. Diana drags herself to her knees and tries to get away. That’s when Maizie descends on her.
Castiel hits the gas. The car surges forward, skidding on rocks and dirt. Dean falls back against his seat with an ‘oof’.
He nearly takes out the bumper of the tan car, missing it by inches. Castiel slams the brakes mere feet away from the fighting young adults. The men flinch, throwing up their arms to cover their faces. Mazie seems as if she hasn’t even noticed almost being run over. She scratches and hits her fists against Diana like a rapid animal.
“Call for backup.” Castiel says and jumps out of the car before Dean can confirm he’s heard.
He bolts to the chaos.
Maizie is dragging Diana by the hair, ripping out fistfuls of dark locks. The girl scratches Maizie’s hand, trying to peel it away, desperately kicking and dragging her feet in the dirt.
The dog comes back with a vengeance, attacking one man’s calf. He screams and falls to his knees, shouting out the other man’s name, “Chris!”
Chris shouts and kicks at the dog that whimpers under its attack until it goes limp. The injured man moans and holds his leg, blood coating his fingers.
Before Castiel can reach Maizie and Diana, Chris intervenes and charges Castiel, tackling him to the ground. Castiel hits the ground hard and all the air rushes from his lungs with a grunt.
But the pressure lifts soon after and then Castiel registers the man being pulled off.
Dean stands over him with his arm clenched around Chris' neck, throwing them both back with the entirety of his body weight.
A sharp crack makes them all freeze, except for Castiel. He flinches, hard, and wants to flatten himself against the ground, but instead he turns his head and sees Maizie standing over Diana, her hair in disarray. In her hand, a semi-automatic.
Castiel follows the line of where she points the gun and his eyes land on Diana, face caved in at the nose, eyes still open, bleeding into the dirt. God, there’s so much blood.
Time seems frozen. He looks up and Maizie has turned the gun on him.
“Let him go, Dean,” she says. Her voice shakes, but not with fear. She wears a manic smile. It quivers at the edges.
Castiel doesn’t turn his head, but he can see from his peripheral as Dean loosens his grip. The man downed by the dog, stands and limps to Maizie. He holds out his hand as if to take the gun from her. Her eyes turn to him for a brief moment.
Castiel lunges.
He tackles Maizie around the middle. She falls and slams the back of her head against the ground with a cut-off cry. She doesn’t get back up.
The man reacts quickly, reaching his arms around Castiel to pull him off, but Castiel already has the gun in his hand. He whirls and pistol whips the man across the face with a sharp ‘crack’. He goes down hard.
Castiel turns and sees Dean has wrestled Chris to the ground and swings wildly with both arms. He punches him in the face again and again.
Chris’ hands fall away from their defensive positions, limply into the grass. Castiel loses track of the number of punches thrown, but Dean hasn’t lost steam. He breathes hard, as Chris’ face grows bloodier and bloodier with ‘thump’ after ‘thump’. He’s down. He’s already down.
“Dean!” Castiel shouts.
Dean freezes and looks up at him. His eyes are wild, glazed over, lips pulled back to bare his teeth.
He blinks. He looks down at Chris- at the blood that covers his hands.
Dean falls back in the grass. His eyes go to Diana, dead, and then Chris, incapacitated. He looks horrified.
The teen that was hit by the butt of the gun lies moaning in the grass, clutching his head.
“Why, man, why,” he keeps saying.
The noise begins gradually, so gradually that Castiel thinks he may be imagining it. But then Dean looks past him with wide eyes and Castiel knows it’s real. The sound approaches rapidly and Castiel realizes their time’s almost up.
Dean looks disoriented, his attention focused on Diana and the blood on his hands. But the phone call comes to the forefront of Castiel’s mind. Something had been wrong with Sam.
The police are coming.
Something in his voice had told Castiel something was very, very wrong.
The police are coming.
He’s tunnel-visioned, he can’t think properly, but he knows that Dean needs to go before the sirens reach them.
“Dean, you need to go. You need to get to Sam.” It's fruitless, Castiel distantly knows, even as his hand reaches into his pocket for his car keys. Dean doesn’t seem able to hear him, sluggish in his response time.
Castiel goes to him and shakes him by the shoulders. Dean looks up at Castiel in confusion as Castiel pulls him by the chin to look at him. But Castiel knows he’s in shock.
The sirens seem to be coming from all directions. He can see the police cars now- every exit out of the park is blocked.
Castiel pulls away and stands back.
It’s too late.
Dean stares at him with wide eyes.
Castiel raises the gun.
“Get down on the ground!” A cacophony of voices shout. Dean starts to get to his feet, realization and panic finally flooding his face. He’s going to bolt, Castiel realizes.
Castiel’s voice joins the chorus. “Get down, Dean!”
Dean’s eyes connect with his and for a moment, the green of his irises is all Castiel can see.
Slowly, Dean folds to his knees. His hands come up to rest interlocked behind his head. He never breaks Castiel’s gaze.
Hester is suddenly there, gun raised to Dean’s head. He pushes him to his stomach and climbs over his back to handcuff him. Dean hasn’t looked away from Castiel. He looks so disoriented.
It’s as Hester is pulling him to his feet that he seems to come back to himself.
As Dean is shoved into the car, he finds his voice. He shouts, “Stop Sammy! You have to stop him!”
Castiel can only nod before the car door is shut on Dean’s face.
The others are handcuffed, unconscious or not, and Castiel can see the lights of EMS.
Someone radios in a casualty.
“What the hell happened here, Novak?” Hester asks as he walks back over to Castiel, surveying the scene with barely disguised horror.
“I can explain later. We need to get to the Winchester house.”
“What? Wh-,” but Castiel is already gone.
Castiel wastes no further time getting into his car and hitting the gas as he reverses from the scene.
Time seems to stretch on his way to the house. He’s going well above the speed limit and yet he feels like the seconds inch away into hours. Panic almost consumes him in the car, with time to think, police lights in his rearview. His hands shake on the steering wheel.
It threatens to overwhelm him. He counts his breaths. Tries not to think- tries not-
But he’s freed from the burden of thought as he slams to a stop in front of the trailer and he can let instinct take over.
He runs up the steps, nearly tripping over the uneven planks in the early autumn setting sun and pounds his fist on the door. It creaks under the weight of him, his shadow cast across the threshold. He knows it’s cold- can feel the goosebumps rising on his uncovered skin, but he can’t feel the chill.
He can’t hear anything from inside. It takes him only a moment before he makes the decision, and then he slams his shoulder against the door once- twice- barely feeling the sharp twinge in his shoulder. Then he sends the heel of his foot through the wood just beside the handle. It splinters and flies open with a crash, sending wood flying in all directions.
The house is dark when he enters. Silent.
He draws the gun and tries to quell the shaking in his hands. Cold dread creeps up his throat and threatens to drown him. His breathing is ragged.
He checks Sam’s room first. Empty.
He heads to the other end of the trailer where he presumes John Winchester’s room is. As he approaches, he realizes the trailer isn’t silent, he just couldn’t hear over the blood rushing in his ears.
His brain can’t process what it is at first.
It’s foreign and he struggles to place it in a fraction of a section that feels like minutes of inaction.
It’s barely audible through the bedroom door, but as he approaches he can register the slick squelch. His hands shake so violently and he wants to stop, he wants to turn around and not see this.
He has to tell himself to move.
He steels himself with a breath and kicks the door- it slams against the perpendicular wall and sticks like the handle had gone straight through the thin plaster.
He takes in the sight before him with a muted kind of shock and incomprehension, gun frozen and useless in his hand.
At first all he can see is red and his mind can’t process that either- how much, how bright.
Then movement, the shapes lit only by faint light cast through the covered windows as Sam stabs the knife down into his father’s stomach in a wet puncture. Castiel’s sudden appearance hasn’t slowed him. The boy doesn’t even seem to realize Castiel is there.
Castiel is the one with the gun in his hand. He should point and give a command or shoot if Sam is uncompliant.
For the second his brain takes to process the scene before him, he’s frozen, voice trapped in his throat. Instinct should take over. He should shoot. They run- you shoot. But Sam isn’t running and his hands are so small around the handle of the knife. Yet Castiel feels feverish, too hot in his cammies, sweat beads against his brow and he feels the breath of his commanding officer at his neck and his voice is lost, but one thought pervades-
Shoot.
Shoot.
Shoot.
Instead, Castiel rips himself from the memory and rushes forward, grabbing Sam’s wrists and throwing them both back with the weight of his body. Sam fights against him with a wordless shout. It sounds animal.
He’s strangely strong- the kind of strength that comes from adrenaline, but Castiel at least has the advantage in all other things. He twists at the boy’s hands until the knife falls from his grasp. He bodily forces Sam to the ground and holds him there between his thighs as the boy thrashes and he cranes his neck back to try to get a look at John.
John is laying in bed, stomach a mess of stab wounds under a blood soaked blanket. He had been asleep. Or drunk, if the empty bottles by his bed are recent.
He’s eerily still.
Castiel swallows and shakily reaches forward to chest his pulse. Sam scratches bloody lines into his arm with his free hand.
The pulse is faint, but there.
Sam claws at him and Castiel struggles to get control back over him. He can feel the scrape and sting of his nails, the tearing of teeth over skin, but only distantly.
Hands take over for him at some point- and for a moment he panics, thinking John has raised from the dead to exact his revenge on his son.
But then Hester’s face swims into view. Castiel hadn’t even heard him come in. He can’t process the words the man is saying to him. Castiel falls away, landing hard on something that digs into his rear. It’s an empty vodka bottle, he realizes as he stands.
He pulls out his cell and dials emergency services, but by then they’re already there, pushing past him. He nearly trips on another bottle in his haste to get out of the way of EMS.
Sam is shouting, none of the words Castiel can make out, but he can’t tell if that’s just because of the rushing of blood in his ears.
Hester is yelling into his radio, Castiel can’t make out the meaning of those words either and then he figures it’s just something wrong with him.
He can’t understand the things being asked of him, but he can process one thing.
Sam is laughing.
High unsettling peals that set Castiel’s teeth on edge.
When Castiel is past worming bodies, dazedly standing in the living room, he stares down at the blood coating his arms and shirt. A woman- another paramedic- comes up and says something to him. She picks up his arms and examines them closely, then says something else that sounds reassuring and leads him away.
He finds himself in the small kitchen. Flies buzz around the garbage- long past needing to be taken out. From here, he can see into Sam’s room. He can see the small desk covered with homework and the Star Wars poster tacked to the wall just above it.
She tries to get him to sit on the floor. She keeps gesturing to the pack at her side and nodding her head encouragingly.
Castiel vomits into the sink.