Named {PART THREE, b}

[mclachland]

With a smile, the Metatron disappears in a shock of lightning, leaving the three of them standing around like dumbasses.

Gabriel makes a face. "Well, it's officially Whackadoodle-Gooferific-Apocalypalooza! I feel like I should be in a chipmunk outfit right now being chased by a penguin."

Castiel turns and stares at Gabriel. "I don't… Is that a human reference?"

"No," Dean says, shaking off the creepy feeling that's still lingering in the wake of the Metatron's parting words. Sketchy. "He's just being a douche. And I've gotta say, Cas, your family holds the worst funerals ever."

"I'm sorry," Castiel says. "I didn't think it would degenerate from a Mourning into a declaration of war. Word about the mass execution of the demons has certainly reached Hell by now."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, well, good news really travels fast." He looks at Gabriel. "So, what've you got planned for your informant, general?"

Gabriel sighs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, an entirely too-human gesture. "Honestly? I got nothing. But I had a feeling you'd throw the tantrum to end them all if someone took your Cas away, so I acted fast. You have no idea how much you owe me right now, junior."

"If you do not have any immediate instructions for me," Castiel interrupts, before Dean can re-break his hand, "then perhaps we should go."

Dean's had silent conversations with Sam. On hunts, they do it all the time, letting their bodies speak for them. The twitch of an eyebrow instead of "the ghost is twenty feet to your left". A bare nod instead of "I'm going in first and you need to back me up in three minutes." The jerk of an index finger instead of "the werewolf went due North and banked left, and you need to head it off at the pass." Silent conversations are nothing new, not for a hunter.

But what Gabriel and Castiel are doing isn't like anything he's ever seen or done. Gabriel isn't talking and at any other time, Dean would get down on his knees and proclaim it a miracle, but it still feels like Gabriel's running his mouth. A whole different kind of conversation, the kind without words or body language, just the connection of blood, or grace, or whatever it is the angels have. It's deeper than what he and Sam have, than what any human has with anyone else, more complex and intricate than the whole of the human body and can't be contained by flesh.

Dean looks away, because he's not supposed to know. No human is. So he stands invisible on a beach where Jesus Christ was mourned and where war was just declared. When he gets to Bobby's, he's either going to sleep for seven days until the world's ready to implode or he's going to curl up in the shower, start screaming, and never stop.

Just when he'd thought it couldn't get any bigger, just when he thought he had a handle on things, something comes along and fucks it up.

Murphy's Law, thy new name is Winchester.

Finally, a large grin breaks over Gabriel's weasely face. "You know, it's a shame this is our first time meeting, bro. You're just a bundle of laughs, aren't you?"

Castiel blinks.

Gabriel turns and fixes Dean with a smirk, familiar older brother protectiveness radiating from every tooth bared. "I'm coming to visit in a couple of days; places to go, people to see, bloody battles to plan. Try not to die before then, princess. I'd hate to see my baby brother lose his favorite toy."

Dean should get a medal for not spitting in his face. "Gosh golly gee, Mr. Gabriel, sir," he says flatly, "I'll try to do my very best! Scout's honor!"

Gabriel sneers. "Cute. See you soon, kiddies!"

He stares at the space Gabriel had occupied, at the rippling of displaced air that takes a minute to settle. It's too anti-climatic an exit for someone as loud as Gabriel and it leaves him… tense. He turns to tell Castiel that his family -- no offense -- sucks, but Castiel isn't looking at him, too enraptured by the pull of the bay.

"Cas," he mutters, reaching out to lay a gentle hand on the swell of Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel looks away from the water, away from Jesus's favorite place on Earth, and regards Dean with his sad, too-blue eyes. They look tired, the skin underneath them bruised, but somehow they crinkle at the edges, just for Dean.

"Are you ready?" Castiel lifts two fingers, but Dean saves him the trouble of reaching out by stepping right into them, holding Castiel's gaze when they brush against his forehead.

"Hit me."



Sam and Bobby are waiting for them on the front porch of Singer Salvage, anxious, as if they're about to make a money drop in exchange for Dean. And once the nausea passes from their trip, Dean lifts a hand in greeting and ambles toward them. He glances over his shoulder, but Castiel gone. He doesn't take it personally; he'd have bolted in a second after all the shit from today, too.

"So?" Sam asks, thrumming with excitement, and Dean remembers the text he'd sent this morning. "How was it?"

Dean glances at Bobby, then at Sam. "Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that Canada's actually not bad this time of year. The bad news is that Lucifer did get out, killed Jesus, and Heaven's declared war. And the Trickster turned out to be an archangel."

There's a pause, one he can almost feel, before Sam explodes with, "How is that -- War was -- You went to a funeral!"

"Apparently we were burying sanity," he mutters. "The Metatron -- yes, Bobby, you heard me -- thought the best course of action was revenge. And maybe if I were BFFL with Jesus, I'd do something stupid, too, but we have seven days before the shit hits the fan and all of Heaven's armies come steaming through."

Bobby scratches at his beard, eyes absently focused on the ground by Dean's feet. "Well, this is a goddamn mess. Heaven's going to war with Hell -- which means we're going to get caught in the crossfire. Wonderful."

"Maybe it won't be that bad. Maybe they'll bypass us completely," Sam suggests brightly, but the optimism sounds false, the words ringing hollow.

"Or maybe they'll set the whole fucking planet on fire," Dean snaps, and Sam makes a face. He knows that face. It's Sam's 'on behalf of starving children and homeless puppies everywhere, we will keep fighting the good fight!' face.

"So, what, we sit around and wait for the end to come? Dean, that isn't how we do things. We can't just twiddle our thumbs while the world falls into chaos!"

They've been given no other option. The Metatron had been creepily absolute in his half-assed plan for retribution, and if what happened to the demons on the beach is any indication, the Metatron couldn't give a shit about what happens to Humankind.

"You wanna take it up with the angels? Be my guest." Dean runs a hand over his face, sweat and oil coming off onto his fingers, grit and sand chafing against his skin, too tired for Sam's earnestness. It's only the early afternoon, but he's running on empty after a sleepless night and one of the most exhausting and fucking ridiculous mornings he can remember having in a while. He needs to crash, if only for a couple of hours.

"Dean," Sam says quietly, urgently, reaching out and laying one of his fucking grizzly bear paws on Dean's shoulder. "You're not the kind of guy to let shit like this go. We aren't the kind of guys to let shit like this go. There has to be a way."

Sam's hand feels so much heavier than it should. "Dude, you weren't there this morning. There's no way these guys are gonna back down now. We have a week. Cas gets to stay with us until the fighting starts, and then we're on our own." He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know how to handle this, the not knowing, the waiting. It all comes back to the waiting. "I don't know what to do, Sam. I don't have any plans, except to take a fucking nap."

"Boy," Bobby says gently, jerking a thumb toward the house. "Get some rest. You look like shit."

"Your mom wasn't too proud when you came out, either, Bobby." He rubs at his eyes. "Give me, like, two hours. Then we'll talk."

He pushes past them without waiting for an answer, without so much as a by-your-leave, and makes his way inside. When he gets there, he stands in the front hall and stares into the kitchen like a fucking brain-dead serial killer, at the desk on the left and the stove littered with books and empties on the right. This is home, as close as he ever got to having one. This is it. He can't imagine it burned to the ground, or crumbling under the weight of angelic/demonic warfare, or anything that would make it something it's not.

Jesus. He rubs his eyes again and makes for the stairs and the spare room he'd claimed as his own at the age of seven when Dad'd brought them here for the first time. The bed's still unmade from when he left it this morning, and the room is still fucking tiny. Even more so with its other occupant.

"Yeah, that's not creepy at all."

Castiel is at the window, his back to Dean. "Hello, Dean."

"I hate to tell you, Cas, but I'm fucking beat. Whatever it is, it's gonna have to wait --"

"We need to find him."

Dean kicks off one boot, then uses his toes to push the other one off, nudging them against the wall so he won't trip on them when he wakes up. "'Him' who?"

Castiel turns around, backlit, his entire face cast into shadow while the rest of him lights up like the whole of Heaven is behind him. Now that Cas is back in with the fam, it probably is. "Lucifer."

He snorts, and throws himself onto the bed, lying on his stomach and shoving his face into the old pillow. He's totally going to pull a Rip Van Winkle. "Oh yeah? Because that worked so well the last time."

"Dean."

God, Castiel isn't going to be a good boy and wait two hours like Bobby and Sam. He's going to keep Dean awake for the rest of eternity. "Cas, do you really think Heaven's gonna stop? I know he's the man with the golden pipes, but your boy, Metatron doesn't seem like the type to back off once he's decided on something."

The bed dips, and Dean looks up. Castiel stares down at him, the shadows on his face highlighting his obvious exhaustion, his frustration with the angels and everything else.

He'd been dying for Castiel to start feeling like humans do, to understand just how shitty reality really is, for weeks. Looks like it's finally happened. Dean doesn't feel any sort of victory.

"The seven days of respite is a mere formality," Castiel says quietly, as if he's afraid that Dean's already dropped off into sleep and might wake if he speaks too loudly. "Both Heaven and Hell will use it to gather their forces. In seven days, the true End will be upon us. Unless we find him before the morning of battle."

He rolls onto his back and stares at Castiel, right into that freaky gaze that he's come to view as familiar. Normal. Comforting.

"If nothing can be done to end the war, then I want to bring about another end." Castiel's lips thin and he places a hand right over his mark on Dean's arm. "I want to find Lucifer and rip him apart."

Whoa. Whoa, whoa, that is some serious talk. He didn't know Cas had it in him. "Why? What the hell difference would it make?"

Castiel's fingers press into the scar and heat flares in Dean's gut, followed by an ice age that stops everything inside of him. "If someone came into this house, into your home, and murdered Sam, or Robert, what would you do? If they took from you the only family you had, what would you do? I am asking you, Dean."

"You already know the answer."

"Then you know my reasons," Castiel murmurs, releasing his arm. "I want to find Lucifer and make him face justice for what he's taken from me. From us. From all. And I am asking you for help."

Dean swallows hard, and his Adam's apple feels like it's the size of a fucking grapefruit, but he gets the gravity of the request. He knows what it means to ask him for help. Castiel pulls Dean out of Hell, Dean pays him back by being Heaven's ass-monkey for a while. Dean reminds Castiel that Heaven's being run by some idiots, and Castiel gets him to Sam in order to stop the Apocalypse. Dean fucks that up and lets Lucifer free to kill Jesus Christ, and Castiel asks Dean to right the wrong.

Quid pro quo, Clarice.

God, but he's tired of the back and forth.

Reaching up, he yanks on one of the lapels of Castiel's coat and pulls him down until he's lying next to Dean.

"Dude," Dean says through a yawn. "I'm bushed. We're gonna take a nap, because you look like you're ready to pass out and I'm about ten steps ahead of you, and when we wake up? We're gonna sit down and start figuring out a way to find this son of a bitch before day seven."

Castiel, on his side and too close for Dean to be comfortable, or uncomfortable, gazes at Dean with wide eyes. "Then --"

"Yeah, Cas," he murmurs, eyes sliding shut, sinking into his pillow. "Yeah. But first? We sleep."

Next

Comments

[sycophantastic.livejournal.com]

Oh lord, when Dean yanked Cas down, I thought he was gonna lay one on him right then and there, and I was thinking "too soon, too soon!" but then he didn't. They're just sleeping together, really sleeping. Awwwwwww.

And by the way, they're gonna kill Lucifer? Whoa, dream big! Good luck, boys!

[laura-trekkie.livejournal.com]

So, is that what Gabriel and Cas were discussing in their silent conversation? Can Team Free Will find Lucifer in time and would it be enough to stop all out war?

I'm glad they're getting a bit of sleep first. As soon as Cas sat on the bed I was waiting for Dean to pull him down \o/. Will they snuggle in their sleep? ;)

Laura.

[cotymundi.livejournal.com]

Seven days seems like a tall order to me; is today day 1, or is that tomorrow? It is really quite terrible, if you follow the circle of blame for JC and it ends up at Dean & Sam's door; oops! I like your Cas; he's still himself, but he's approachable and more importantly, touchable; it bugs me when he does a disappearing act every time Dean gets to close for comfort, which is silly when you think he has no sense of ps himself. Gabriel is turning out to be so likeable, I'm sure he wasn't like this before, he's like the cool uncle with a sports car who doesn't tell your folks you smoke.

[myriadborealis.livejournal.com]

I've been slowly reading this in increments and this far, this has been my favourite. In part because the ending was so sweet exactly because it didn't stray out of each of their characters, but because of the way that you write the way they each relate to one another. My favourite part in any slash story is the lead-up, and you also have another important part that goes with that; a plot. A dastardly plot with a somewhat tragic (for them) deadline, but a delicious plot nonetheless.

Haha, aw, Sam. I've never been a big fan of Sam, but i'm a fan of how you keep him in character so well.

Also, I'm a big fan of Gabriel, but I especially like the particular bite you give him here :)

[quenderra.livejournal.com]

Aw! I do like how you're portraying everyone in this tale - the more I read, the more I like it. Kudos.

[mabbly.livejournal.com]

I have to say, this chapter didn't have me bursting into giggles as often as the others. But that last scene in Dean's room made me smile so wide my cheeks are hitting the walls- they're def BFFLs.

Here's hoping Castiel gets to rip Lucifer a new one >.<

...without staining the trench coat of course. It's been through a lot.

[destielfan06.livejournal.com]

This chapter So beautiful The Funeral was Just Beautiful.
Cass's Plan is Something to behold really.
I actually like Gabriel in this.