There had been a time when Dean hadn’t appreciated having someone watch him sleep.  Or at least, there’d been a time when Dean had said he didn’t appreciate having someone watch him sleep.  Castiel supposed he shouldn’t accept such assertions as unassailable truth, given how many times he had told his superiors he didn’t enjoy being the watcher.

It was just another task, one more mission in an unending string that gave his existence meaning.

Just the beginning of an association that would change everything he knew.

Just the most worthy soul it had ever been his privilege to observe.

“You watching me sleep again?” Dean asked.  He didn’t lift his head from the pillow.  His eyes didn’t even open, but there was something about the precise way Michael’s wings covered his back that made Castiel think they didn’t have to.  Dean’s voice was perfectly clear.

“No,” Castiel said.  “As you are not sleeping.”

Dean’s eyes blinked open, apparently untroubled by the light of morning.  They were bright blue, and Castiel was careful not to sigh.  Sometimes Dean remembered.  Sometimes he didn’t.  As Michael got more comfortable with him, it became more and more difficult to know who he was talking to.

“Neither are you,” Dean said.  His gaze was unfathomable, and what would be suggestive coming from Dean was nothing but a statement of fact from Michael.

“Do you know who I am?” Castiel asked bluntly.  Better to offer an insult than to play this game every day.

Dean rolled over, resettling his head on the pillow while he studied Castiel.  “Malakh,” he said.  “First class.  Currently standing in as an archangel in charge of the garrison Zachariah used to run.”

“Your lover,” Castiel said.  “The father of your child.”

“Huh,” Dean said.  He didn’t look away.  “Does sound kind of familiar.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes.  Part of the problem was that Dean when he was joking bore a striking resemblance to Michael when he wasn’t joking.  It was both confusing and exasperating.

The knock on their door made Dean grimace, and that made Castiel think that perhaps he had been joking after all.  “Yeah,” Dean said, fumbling for the t-shirt sticking out from under his pillow.  He yanked it on over his head and called, “Come in.”

Maribel pushed the door open, her gaze going straight to Castiel.  He nodded once: if Dean was human enough to be self-conscious about his lack of dress, he probably wasn’t angelic enough to question the nephilim’s existence.  It was a wary line they walked, but so far, even Michael at his oldest hadn’t raised a hand against the children.

“Claire needs you,” Maribel told him.  “I told her she could just come up, but she said it wasn’t polite.”  The vague air of impatience around her childlike face was tempered by curiosity.  “She’s waiting downstairs.”

Castiel frowned.  It was a Monday, and Sam would be by to pick Maribel up for kindergarten any minute.  Claire Novak should already be in school.

She was standing at the kitchen island instead, watching Jesse and Wildfire argue over who got the plastic racecar that had come in the cereal box.  It was a conversation that made no logical sense, so Castiel ignored it.  They rarely required an external arbiter.

“Claire,” he said.  Then, remembering the children’s lessons, he added, “Good morning.”

“Hi Castiel.”  Claire looked past him, and he didn’t need the sound of wings to know that Dean had followed him downstairs.  “I’m sorry to bother you.  It’s not even important, really...”

She had shown such reticence before, but only when speaking to him in the company of others.  “I will do anything in my power to assist you,” Castiel told her.  But he remembered the last time she had come to see him during school hours and he had to ask, “Does Amelia know where you are?”

“I told her,” Claire said.  “I told her I was going to ask you – it’s Cheerio, I’m sorry, she’s gone missing again and I looked everywhere, I really did but I just can’t –”  She stopped, clearly attempting to hide her distress.  “I just don’t know where she is,” she murmured.

Castiel looked.  It took two and a half seconds to find the dog, but only because he hadn’t started at Claire’s house and worked outward.  It was an insignificant effort to simply search the entire town.  “She’s in a structure three houses north of yours,” he said.  “On Bridge Street.  The owner has already left for work and wouldn’t have heard you calling.”

“She’s inside?” Claire repeated.  Her expression wavered, and Castiel wasn’t sure what this one meant.  “Is she okay?”

“I believe so.”  The sound of the doorbell made Dean step around him, and he continued, “She may have been accidentally shut in when the garage door closed.  I will retrieve her for you.”

“No, that’s...” Claire began.  Then she seemed to reconsider.  “Don’t let anyone see you?”

It was Sam at the door, and he pushed his way in as soon as Dean opened it.  “Dude,” he said, shoving the door shut behind him with unusual force.  “We have a serious problem.”

Dean was staring at the closed door with a frown.  Castiel paused, watching Michael’s grace surge and wishing desperately that his “garden” wasn’t so unpredictable.  He would wish it didn’t exist, except that when Dean was himself he seemed absurdly taken with the project.  He’d made Castiel promise to give it a chance.

“Sam Winchester,” Michael said.  As though he’d just noticed Sam was there.

“Michael,” Sam retorted.  He didn’t seem at all surprised.  “You need to do something about your brother.”

Michael’s expression looked faintly puzzled.  “I let you in.”

“Not me,” Sam said.  “Lucifer.  He’s taken a new vessel.”

Castiel froze.  Surely he would have noticed Lucifer’s grace in Sam’s body.  Surely this couldn’t be their first warning of something so disastrous.  It was implausible to think that the devil could have simply walked into the house without anyone noticing.

“So?” Michael said.  “He’s using vessels he wasn’t meant for; he can’t keep them alive forever.”

“Sam,” Castiel said.  Of course it wasn’t Sam.  Lucifer knew that was the one thing Michael wouldn’t tolerate.  He had to know that.  “Who is his vessel?”

“Rebecca Milliman,” Sam said.  He sounded very displeased.  “The kindergarten teacher.”

Castiel considered this.  It was perhaps inconvenient, but hardly a cause for alarm.

“Did you just say that Miss Milliman is Lucifer’s new vessel?”  Maribel was coming down the stairs one at a time, small and careful in her colorful coat and slightly dented backpack.  She called it practicing.  “Who’s going to teach us now?”

Castiel looked at Michael, who also didn’t seem horrified, and then at Claire, who was by now verging on tears.  The dog seemed to be the priority in this situation.  He retrieved it from the garage where it had been trapped and offered it awkwardly to Claire, noting that Michael hadn’t moved in his absence but Sam appeared to be significantly farther along in his explanation.

What more explanation was required, Castiel didn’t know.  Lucifer was an archangel; there was only one bloodline in the world that could hold him indefinitely.  Nick had always been a poor substitute for Sam.  Castiel was surprised to see Sam so upset: having released the vessel before it was damaged beyond repair meant that Nick could live, and shouldn’t that please him?

“Thank you,” Claire was saying.  Gratitude and happy pet babble blurred together as she reclaimed her dog, and Castiel smiled at her obvious relief.  “Thank you so much, Castiel; I’ll keep a closer eye on her, I promise.  Thank you!”

He would always protect her family.  He had told them so; she couldn’t not know.  So all he said was, “Do you need a ride home?”

“No, thanks,” she said quickly.  “I can manage.  Thanks, Castiel.”

She didn’t have wings anymore, so he brushed a hand against her shoulder.  The power boost would ensure that she got back safely.  Not all vessels continued to channel heaven in the absence of their angels to the degree that she did, and the thought that it might run out when she least expected it troubled him.

“It’s not okay!” Sam was saying.  “Even aside from the fact that she was charmed into ruining her life – and I’m not ignoring that – do you know how impossible this makes things for the kids?  They can’t get dropped off at school by their missing kindergarten teacher!”

“Maybe you’re having an affair,” Dean suggested.

Given Sam’s current situation and his principles, Castiel thought this was unlikely.  Instead of protesting, though, Sam gave Dean an odd look.  “Have you been talking to Gabriel?”

“No.”  Dean frowned back at him.  “Should I be?”

“No,” Sam echoed quickly.  Sometimes Castiel wondered if he really understood what it meant that Dean’s family was bigger now.  “She’s just... weirdly territorial lately.  Never mind.  The point is, Lucifer can’t walk around wearing Rebecca.”

“Sounds like he already is,” Dean said with a shrug.  “What am I supposed to do about it?”

Sam stared at him.  “You’re fine with this?  Just like that?  Lucifer can have whatever vessel he wants, whenever he wants, because who’s gonna stop him?”

“She said yes, Sam.”  Dean was only reminding Sam of what he already knew, so Castiel looked around for Maribel.  She would still have to go to school, of course.  He understood that there were provisions made for teachers who didn’t come to work as expected.

“Yes means nothing,” Sam said, and by now his fury was unmistakable.  “Yes means an angel did what he had to do to get whatever he wanted; you know that as well as I do.  No way did that woman have any say in this.  No way did she choose it.  No way does she deserve it!”

Castiel paused, one hand on Maribel’s shoulder, and reconsidered.  Sam’s anger could be a result of his fear that a similar fate awaited him – but he must know Michael would never allow it.  Lucifer’s forgiveness was contingent on Sam’s freedom, and all of heaven knew it.  Was he really so passionate on a stranger’s behalf?

“Sam.”  Dean sounded more tired than impatient.  “What do you want me to do.”

“What does he need a human vessel for in the first place?” Sam demanded.  “Anna doesn’t have one.  Gabe doesn’t have one.”  His gaze cut to Castiel for the first time and he added, “You wouldn’t let Cas take another vessel, would you?”

“Why doesn’t yes matter?” Maribel asked into the sudden silence.  “I thought consent was everything.”

Wildfire had drifted around the island, Jesse following, and Castiel felt helpless in the face of Sam’s wrath.  It did matter, consent was everything, but Sam was right.  Too many angels had made consent a game: a token of a vow that had once bound divinity.  Dean would never let them instruct the children to do only as they said, not as they did.

“We can’t just make vessels,” Dean said.  “Anna grew hers.  Cas here is a freakin’ gift from God.  You’d know more about Gabriel’s body than I would; where’d it come from?”

“She designed it,” Sam said.  “That’s all she says.  Why can’t Lucifer design a body?”

“I don’t know,” Dean snapped.  “He’s the devil, okay, maybe he thinks it’s more fun to torture humans.”

“And you’re not gonna stop him?” Sam demanded.

“We’re on neutral ground, Sammy!”  Dean sounded angry too, but it was an anger born of frustration rather than righteous indignation.  “I keep heaven off his back and he keeps hell off ours; that’s the deal!  What do you think we’re doing here?”  

When Sam just glared at him, Dean added, “He gave me Ruby, okay?  If he gets Rebecca in trade, then that’s a price I can live with!”

Castiel understood this reasoning, and that was the part that scared him the most.  Sam’s gaze was cold as he stared back at Dean.  “What have you done with my brother,” he said flatly.

“Father?”  Maribel pushed her shoulder against his hand, and he expected her to ask why Sam was so upset.  Instead she said, “Has Michael hurt Dean?”

He didn’t know how to answer that, but it made Dean’s eyes track toward his.  No less blue than they’d been all morning.  The look on his face was anguished.  His lips moved, and Castiel could read the question as clearly as if he’d thought it aloud.  What do I do?

“I don’t know,” Castiel murmured.  Even he didn’t know which of them he was answering.

Lucifer didn’t knock.  She did walk in through the front door, which was certainly more human than she had to be, but it didn’t seem to appease Sam.  He glared at the new vessel as though it personally offended him.

“Wow,” Dean said, giving it an entirely inappropriate once-over.  “Who knew kindergarten teachers were so hot.”

The sentiment was very familiar, coming from Dean, and Castiel thought he should feel reassured.  He didn’t.

He felt Maribel’s hand slip into his.  When he looked down, she was staring at Dean.  “I don’t think you’re supposed to say things like that,” Maribel announced.  “Not in front of Father.”

“Oh, Cas doesn’t mind,” Dean assured her, glancing over at them.  Castiel didn’t know what it was that gave him pause, but suddenly Dean was adding, “I mean, obviously, hot for a human.  Woman.  In a sort of cute, juvenile, kind of...”  He trailed off, then shook his head.  “You know, come to think of it?  Totally wrong.  She’s not hot at all.”

“She’s presentable,” Lucifer said.  “Less worn than Nick.”

“What did you do with him?” Sam snapped.  “You just dump him on the side of the road somewhere?”

“I sent him home,” Lucifer said calmly.  “Where he’ll learn that his family’s killer met an... unhappy end.  The justice I promised was delivered.  Not that he’ll remember it.”

“What did you do to his family,” Sam said, jaw clenched.  It didn’t sound like a question.

Lucifer caught and held his gaze.  “A human killed his family, Sam.  I had nothing to do with it.”

“You said he won’t remember,” Dean interrupted.  “How much?”

“Everything,” Lucifer said.  “From the first night I came to him onward.  I’m not without mercy.”

“Wait, the first night?” Sam said.  “You said he was suicidal when you came to him!  You just threw him back to that?”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow.  “He has free will.  The natural order of things will take its course.”

“Screw the natural order!” Sam exclaimed.  “You’re possessing a kindergarten teacher so you can wander around the world pretending you don’t care about the apocalypse!  Excuse me if ‘free will’ rings a little hollow!”

“I,” Lucifer said coolly, “am employing the consenting services of a human with the appropriate appearance and temperament to be seen interacting with young children.  As you have repeatedly insisted we do.  My choice of vessels is extremely limited, Sam.”

“Well, you can’t be seen at the school,” Sam snapped.  “Stay here.  Watch him,” he added, gaze flicking from Lucifer to Dean and back again.  “Did you leave Adamel in the car?  Maribel?  How about you, kiddo; you ready to go?”

“I’m ready,” Maribel said.  “But we won’t have a teacher.”

“Yes, you will,” Sam said, throwing another glare at Lucifer as Maribel’s hand slid out of Castiel’s.  “Just not the one you’re used to.  You’ll probably learn some new stuff.  Have some variety.  That kind of thing.”

“Huh,” Dean said.

“Huh, what,” Sam said, gently steering Maribel in the direction of the door.

“Sounded a little like Dad there for a minute,” Dean replied.  “That’s all.”

Sam came to an abrupt halt.  It was a moment where Castiel would have appreciated the ability to read Sam’s mind, because whatever was coming probably wouldn’t be good.  “Dean,” Sam said.  His tone was strange.  “Do you think Dad would have put up with this?  From Lucifer, I mean?”

Castiel didn’t know what he meant at all.  He couldn’t tell who Sam thought he was talking to, which father he was talking about, or what he hoped to accomplish with the question.  They needed Lucifer.  Threatening their tenuous alliance over something so trivial was counterproductive at best.

“Dad expected us to make our own calls,” Dean said.  “I’m making this one.  Let it go, Sam.”

Sam shook his head, his contempt clear as his gaze slid toward Castiel.  “Let me know when he’s Dean again,” he said.  Hand still on Maribel’s shoulder, he added, “Let’s go, kiddo.”

Maribel looked up at him, then back at Dean.  Without another word, she let Sam lead her outside.

“Okay,” Dean said, when the door closed behind them.  “That kid can do the cold shoulder like nobody’s business.  Must’ve learned it from you,” he added, throwing a look at Castiel.

Castiel went out on the porch to wave them off.  He watched Maribel climb into the back with Adamel, pushing her backpack into the middle between them.  He watched Sam get behind the wheel of the car Gabriel had given him, the passenger seat empty for once.  Castiel lifted a hand when the children did, just before they drove away, and thought wistfully of cupcakes.

He could still hear Dean inside, saying, “Definitely got it from him.”

“Of course,” he heard Lucifer reply.  “I’m sure Castiel didn’t learn to be passive-aggressive from anyone around him.  It’s not like he has any human role models.  It probably just came naturally.”

“I’m an awesome role model,” Dean snapped.

“Oh, Michael,” Lucifer said, and for the first time Castiel felt a twinge of Sam’s fear.  Because human or not, Lucifer’s words did sound different coming from a female vessel.  “Even you don’t believe that.”

“That’s enough,” Castiel said, between the two of them in an instant.  “You will be silent.”

Lucifer didn’t take her eyes off of Michael.  “He certainly didn’t learn to stand up to archangels on his own.”

“I said,” Castiel growled, “be silent.”

He flung out a hand and Lucifer reeled backwards.  Messy mottled wings rolled like smoke as her fragile human form staggered into the door.  The fear was a cold fist through his grace: he shouldn’t be able to do that.  And Lucifer would crush him like the child he was.

Grace poured through him.  He felt Michael’s wings at his back even as Lucifer rose, power crackling around her when she lifted a hand to bat away something insignificant.  She wouldn’t even notice she’d done it.

“Touch him,” Dean’s voice said, “and one of us dies.”

This gave Lucifer pause.  “Earth will burn,” she said.  “Without you.  Without me.”

“Don’t,” Dean said coldly.  “Touch.  My husband.”

She stayed her hand.

Castiel didn’t move.  “Your what?”

“Consort,” Dean said.  “Whatever.  No smiting each other.  The world is hard enough to hold together as it is; we don’t need to start taking potshots at each other here.

“Besides,” he added.  “It sets a bad example for the kids.”

Jesse and Wildfire stood close together, cereal forgotten on the island behind them.  Wildfire had one hand on Jesse’s arm.  If she was holding him back, he looked just as ready to pull her into him and disappear.  They weren’t afraid, Castiel thought.  But they were very ready to run.

The plastic racecar was clutched in Wildfire’s free hand.

“Sam won’t accept this vessel,” Lucifer said.

“Yeah, he will,” Dean said with a sigh.  Castiel felt a hand brush against his back and he wished it had been his wing, but Dean was already turning away.  “Probably,” he said over his shoulder.  “I don’t know.  You could have picked someone he didn’t know.”

“My choices are finite,” Lucifer said sharply.  “I exert constant control just to keep this one from burning up, and she was the best of a very limited selection.”

“Yeah.”  Dean’s back was still to them.  There was a long moment, and then he muttered, “Thanks for staying away from Sam.”

Lucifer didn’t answer.

“You don’t stay away from Sam,” Jesse said.

Castiel’s gaze went to him, and he felt Dean and Lucifer turn at the same time.  Wildfire straightened in front of him, her hand falling from his arm.  Jesse caught it in his and they stood there, hand in hand.  Watching.

“Sam’s my brother,” Dean said roughly.  “He’s Lucifer’s best vessel.”

“Whom I have not claimed,” Lucifer reminded them.  “Sam remains free.  I would prefer him to appreciate that, rather than condemning my methods of keeping him that way.”

“Look,” Dean said.  “Talk to Gabriel.  I’ll find Nick, see if we can... do something.  For him.  Make sure he knows about his family’s killer, or something.  In the meantime, try to screw with Rebecca’s life as little as possible.”

“Gabriel and I aren’t allies,” Lucifer said.  “Not when it comes to Sam.”

“Well, you want Sam to like you,” Dean said bluntly.  “Gabriel can make it happen.  Congratulations; now you’re allies.  Time to bury the hatchet.”

“She won’t help me,” Lucifer said.

“She doesn’t want you to take Sam any more than I do,” Dean said.  “I think you’ll find she’s pretty practical about it.”

Lucifer’s gaze flicked to him, and Castiel tried not to stiffen.  “You should marry him,” she said.  “He won’t put up with your bullshit forever.”

Dean made a sound of derision.  “Oh, and you would know.”

She smiled.  Castiel didn’t mean to notice, but he knew Dean would so he’d begun to look for it: she was very pretty.  “He’s not me,” Lucifer said simply.

Then she was gone, the lash of wings sharp in the quiet kitchen.

“Sam told you to keep an eye on her,” Castiel said.

“This is me,” Dean said with a shrug.  “Keeping an eye on her.  I’m just enlisting some help, that’s all.”

“Gabriel won’t help her,” Castiel said.

“Well, she’s not going to Gabriel,” Dean said, “so it doesn’t really matter.  You want breakfast?

“What about you guys?” he added, clapping his hands as he turned toward the kids.  “You want breakfast?  We can probably rustle up something better than cereal.”

“We’re supposed to see Anna,” Jesse said.  He hadn’t let go of Wildfire’s hand.

“I can’t miss my check-in,” Wildfire said.  “My mom worries a lot.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “Right.  Moms do that.”

They didn’t put the cereal away before they left.  Castiel wouldn’t have noticed if Jesse wasn’t usually so conscientious about it.  He’d been teaching the kids to do things the human way, and that included returning leftover food to the location from which it had been obtained.

He felt Dean’s stare before he met it.  He almost didn’t meet it.  He didn’t have time for this; he’d been overdue in heaven since before Dean had woken up.  Before Michael had opened his eyes and mocked him and driven Sam away.  Before he’d let Lucifer get away with murder.

“You gonna leave too?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel closed his eyes.  “Of course not,” he said.  Because all it would take was Dean asking, and he would do whatever it took to keep from losing this.  “What do you need.”

“You,” Dean said without raising his voice.  “Just you, Cas.”

He didn’t open his eyes.  “You’ll always have me.”

“Okay,” Dean said.  “Then not just you.”

Castiel opened his eyes, staring back at him.

“You being happy,” Dean muttered, like he was uncomfortable with the whole concept.  “Fine, you’re with me.  I’m with you.  We’re together.”  He shifted awkwardly.  “I get that, right?  Even if I’m a jerk about it sometimes.”

“Dean,” Castiel said softly.  He was more sure of it than he’d been before.

“But you know what I’d like?” Dean continued.  “You know what would make me happy?  I’d be happy if us being together didn’t make you miserable.”

“Dean,” he repeated.  Because of course Dean thought this was his fault.

“All the freakin’ time, Cas!  I can’t even remember the last time I saw you smile.  How sad is that?  That’s sad, man.  And that’s on me.  So please... please.  Tell me how to make this better.  Tell me how to make it work.”

“Just be here.”  The words tumbled out, the easiest thing he had ever said.  “Just be you.”

“I am!” Dean exclaimed.  “I’m me!  I can’t be any more me!  I’m rude and insensitive and crap at expressing myself, okay?  That’s just who I am!”

“Sometimes it isn’t,” he said.  Because this was what Dean thought he needed to say.  “Sometimes it’s not you at all.  Sometimes it’s Michael.”

“News flash,” Dean said.  “Michael is rude and insensitive and crap at expressing himself!  I’m not easy to be with, Cas.  You knew that going in.  Don’t give up on me now.”

“I’m not,” Castiel began, startled.

“You totally are,” Dean interrupted.  “You used to call me on my bullshit.  What happened to that, huh?  What happened to you complaining when I act like an asshole?  What happened to you thinking you’re worth more than that?  That you deserve better?”

He tried again.  “I just want –”

“You’ve got me,” Dean said.  “It’s not much, but I’m yours.  And I don’t say that to just anyone, okay?  You better be taking notes or something.”

Castiel felt his lips twitch.  “I’ll... write it down.”

“And?” Dean prompted.

“And then you’ll be Michael again,” he said, as gently as he could.  “And you’ll look at me like the insignificant soldier I am.”

“Cas,” Dean said.  “I’m Michael now.  You gotta cut me some slack on this amnesia thing; it doesn’t change how I feel.  It just makes me fucking stupid about how I deal with it.

“Like that’s new, right?” he added with a half-hearted grin.  “And hey, I’ll admit: on a list of things I never thought I’d say, ‘the archangel Michael wants to have your angel babies’ has to be pretty high up there.  But it’s true.”

Castiel wanted to say something, but “no he doesn’t” seemed inappropriate.  Given their family.

“Cas,” Dean repeated.  “You gotta treat Michael the same way you treat me.  Even when I forget.  You’re what I remember, and I’ll remember a lot faster if you act the way I expect you to.”

There was really only one thing he could say to that, and he was sure Dean knew it.  “I’ll try.”

“Okay,” Dean said.  Maybe it hadn’t been the only thing, because Dean seemed disappointed, and Castiel knew suddenly that the answer he’d been hoping for was I will.  “You were supposed to be in heaven a while ago, right?”

The truth was yes, and Dean knew it perfectly well.

Castiel didn’t point this out.  “I haven’t had breakfast yet,” he said instead.  After a moment’s consideration, he added hopefully, “I believe someone told me it was the most important meal of the day.”

“You got it,” Dean said, almost before he’d finished speaking.  “Anything you want.”

“Pancakes,” Castiel said.  Dean had good memories of pancakes.

“Pancakes it is,” Dean agreed, the pleased smile half-hidden as his gaze skittered back and away again.  Like he couldn’t look too closely or it would all disappear.  Castiel knew this expression very well.

He knew, too, that nothing he could say would alleviate it.  He’d tried.  The only thing that seemed to help was hovering close enough to hinder, obstruct... distract.  Right now he didn’t feel strong enough to incur Dean’s annoyance simply to make him stop questioning his good fortune.  Dean would just have to be happy for a while.

***

Heaven felt much the same as it had the day before, which was only one of many reasons that Castiel didn’t feel a timely check-in was his highest priority.  Rachel was waiting for him anyway.  She joined him as soon as he began to travel the garrison perimeter, and she didn’t bother with human distractions like greetings or pointless inquiries.

“They’re starting to call you eloh,” Rachel said.  “It’s spreading fast.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Castiel asked.  Michael had just identified him otherwise, so clearly it wasn’t everyone.  Since there was also a relatively large number who wanted him dead, it seemed prudent to know which was which.

“Best guess is it started with the cherubs,” Rachel said.  “Most of the ishim.  Some of Raphael’s malakhim.”

“Why?”  This seemed an unlikely time for such a revolution. 

“You got between Michael and Lucifer,” she said.  “Or that’s what they say.”

“I’m hardly the first,” Castiel said, frowning.

“You’d be the first to do it and live,” Rachel said.  He ignored her caution when it came to assuming the stories were true: he wasn’t sure he would tell her if asked, so those questions had little point.  “And there’s the nephilim.”

If he were ever to be ascribed power beyond his station, he’d thought it would be because of the children.  They were indeed children of creation, but to his knowledge there were only three angels in all of heaven who knew that.  Most believed them to be true hybrids like the last: an abomination, according to the old word.

“I’m an angel of the lord,” Castiel said.  “My classification is malakh, first class.  No one in this garrison will refer to me as anything else.”

“Are we to correct others?” Rachel asked.

“Their affairs are not ours,” Castiel said.  “Treat the information as you would any other: as fact.  It should be presented on request, not forced on those for whom it is irrelevant.”

“One could argue that knowledge of the elohim is relevant to everyone,” Rachel said.

“One could,” Castiel agreed.  “As we have no knowledge of the elohim, however, I fail to see how this is compelling.”

It seemed to be enough.  He had promoted her on the strength of her curiosity, and responding to it wasn’t a burden.  The challenge he faced was answering her questions in a way that forestalled arguments without discouraging her from asking anything else.

He didn’t have a chance to discuss godliness with Dean until it was too late.

In retrospect, he was fortunate that Dean didn’t choose to broadcast his new greeting to the whole of the choir.  As it was, Dean’s cheerful, Hey, God! was enough to make him pause in his conference with Simea.  She gave him a worried look that might or might not be premature.

I see no call for that form of address, Castiel said stiffly.

I do, Dean said.  I see lots of call.  So much call it’s backing up traffic.  You wanna know how much call I see?

He had no doubt that Dean would tell him whether he willed it or not: an argument like this would not be brief.  So he made his excuses to Simea and turned away, staring out over the water.  He told himself it was so that he could better concentrate on how to sway Dean.  Keeping a saint from overhearing this blasphemy was a secondary concern.

I see “now I lay me down to sleep and pray Castiel my soul to keep,” Dean was saying.  I see “are you there, Castiel?  It’s me, Sam Winchester.”  I see great things, and I think we should have a t-shirt for every single one of ’em.

Give us this day our daily Castiel, Dean added, before he could answer.  That’s my favorite.

I do not find this amusing, Castiel told him.

No?  As usual, Dean was unperturbed.  I find it awesome.  Do you know they’re calling me your consort now?  Don’t expect me to make dinner.

You made breakfast, Castiel reminded him.  Then he blinked.  How did Dean draw him into these things?

Damn it, Dean was saying.  You’re right.  Don’t tell Sam.

This doesn’t bother you? Castiel demanded.  To raise another deity in place of our father is blasphemous and... wrong.  I can’t be party to it.

Cas.  Dean didn’t sound any less amused.  You’re not our father.  Everyone knows that.  They’re just looking for something to believe in.  If it makes everyone talk about God again, how’s that a bad thing?

Castiel frowned.  It sounds so simple when you say it like that.

It’s not simple, Dean told him.  It’s just a question of priorities.  Right now I think it helps them more than it bugs you.  If I’m wrong, say so.  We can make ’em stop.

Can we? Castiel wondered.

Dean didn’t reply immediately.  Well, yeah, he said at last.  “At what cost” was the question that went unasked.  They’re still angels, Cas.  They’ll do what they’re told.

They shouldn’t have to, Castiel said.

Giving someone a choice doesn’t mean taking everything else away, Dean told him.  Let them have the life they’re used to until they know enough to choose something else.

Castiel tried breathing, more as a centering activity than anything else, and that was when he noticed Pamela standing on the bridge beside him.  What if they never know enough? he asked.

Then God screwed up, Dean said bluntly.  You can’t force someone to be something they’re not, Cas.  Look at you.

Look at you, Castiel repeated, mostly to himself.  But he was talking about Dean.  Wasn’t that their hope?  That angels could learn to make decisions, to weigh and to judge and to accept responsibility for their actions?

Weren’t the rebel garrisons proof that it was possible?

You need help up there? Dean asked.

I’m all right, Castiel said with a sigh.  It was a little comforting.  Your psychic friend has come to see me.

Who, Pamela?  Dean got it before he’d finished asking the question.  Tell her to stop sending Tessa after me.  She’s psychic; she can haunt me as well as the next person.

You’ve seen Tessa recently?  Castiel would have preferred to know that earlier.  I wish you would tell me when you see reapers.

Yeah, well.  I wish you’d tell me when you’re pissed about something, Dean said.  You wanna trade?

“I’m not gonna go away just ’cause you’re ignoring me,” Pamela said.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Castiel said absently.  What are we trading?

I’ll tell you when I see Tessa, Dean said.  You tell me when something pisses you off.

Any reaper, Castiel said.  I want to know when you see any reaper.

Okay, Dean agreed.  You got it.

“I hear you’re stationed here now,” Pamela said.

“Why do you linger at the gate?” Castiel wanted to know.  “Is there nothing else for you in heaven?”

“You’re the one staring over the side of a bridge like you’re thinking about jumping,” Pamela said.

“I was preoccupied,” Castiel said.  “Don’t you like it here?”

“Do you?” Pamela asked bluntly.

“Heaven is my home,” Castiel said.  “I’m relieved to be back.”

“Doesn’t exactly answer the question,” Pamela said.

“Nor did you,” Castiel observed.

“Castiel,” Simea said.  When he glanced past her, he could see another saint at the near end of the bridge, talking with a small child.  Castiel looked away.  Dean would mourn the child’s presence, no matter how happy a homecoming it should be.

“I need orders,” Simea said.  “I know you’re loath to give them, but with you commanding a garrison the balance of power has shifted.  You can’t ignore that.”

“I told you,” Castiel said, staring down at the water.  “Michael opened the gates.  His orders stand.”

“His orders didn’t hold the archangels in his absence,” Simea said.  “They tried to take the gates, and if the garrisons of earth hadn’t helped us, they would have succeeded.”

“His orders hold me.”  Castiel didn’t move.  “My garrison is sufficient to counter Raphael’s should the need arise.”

The gates of heaven had never been defended by soldiers before.  Dean had moved Castiel’s garrison to the far end of the bridge – so he could come and go quickly, Dean said.  Because Castiel wasn’t really an archangel, and he needed easy access to earth.  Besides, Dean claimed, Castiel liked the park, and preferential location was a perk of being a garrison leader.

Castiel suspected it was a perk of being Michael’s consort, but he didn’t protest.  It was lost on no one that the garrison leader most loyal to Michael had been stationed directly behind heaven’s main gate.  The bridge remained free of soldiers, but their absence was a technicality.  Swords could flood the gate faster than a saint could yell.

“Michael fell,” Simea said.  “You fell.  We’re defended by fallen angels, Castiel.  Don’t you understand what that means?”

“It means forgiveness isn’t just for the devout,” Castiel said.  “It means an unchallenged faith is no faith at all.  It means that we must stand together, Simea, if we are to have any hope of going on.”

“It means that Lucifer can tell her what to do,” Pamela said.  “That’s what she’s too scared to say.”

Castiel frowned, turning his gaze to Pamela first and then to Simea.  “Lucifer’s word holds no sway here.”

“Is that an order?” Simea asked.  She looked relieved, and he concluded that Pamela was correct.  The saints were apparently concerned that Lucifer’s orders might countermand Michael’s.

“Lucifer is unranked,” Castiel said slowly.  “His word has no power in heaven.”

“I guess if you’re an angel, you know that,” Pamela said.  “The rest of us aren’t exactly in the loop, babe.”

“Babe?” Castiel repeated.

“What, Dean doesn’t use pet names?”  She shook her head in a gesture that he interpreted as disappointment.  “I gotta admit, I’m surprised.”

“Is Lucifer’s word the only one we’re to ignore?” Simea wanted to know.

Castiel frowned.  “Where do your day-to-day instructions come from?” he asked.  He was in charge of the garrison, not the gatekeepers.

“Chamuel,” Simea replied.  “The ophan.  She says it’s the malakhim’s job to deal with Lucifer.”

Michael, Castiel said, not bothering to keep his thoughts private.  Did you tell the ophanim to abstain from matters relating to Lucifer?

No, Dean replied.  Why?  What’s going on?

Only then did Castiel realize how audacious his question had been.  Not only had he called out the entire order of justice, but he had invited heaven’s highest authority to overrule them on his behalf.  Simply because he didn’t like the way a conversation was going.

I was only curious, he thought, chastened by his own realization.  It’s unimportant.

Don’t make me come up there, Dean said.  I’m in the middle of a crisis ward; I think disappearing on these people is a bad idea.

Despite his words, there was no sense of urgency from Dean except as it applied to Castiel.  So he said, The saints have no orders when it comes to obeying Lucifer or not.  They know only that they’re to let him pass.

Lucifer rules in hell, Dean replied.  Not heaven.

But the other angels, Castiel said.  They’re to be obeyed?

According to their rank, yeah.  Dean paused for a long moment.  Cas, you know this.  Just tell them.  You don’t have to check with me.

Breathing felt less voluntary all of a sudden, and he wondered if this was why Dean refused to dismantle the structure of heaven simply to encourage free will.  He knew this feeling: it was fear.  It isn’t my place, he said.

Now it is, Dean told him.  Me and the ophanim, we’ll have a chat.  In the meantime, someone’s gotta do their job.  The saints aren’t angels, Cas.  Don’t make them be.  Assign someone from your garrison to help them if you have to.

That was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

“Yes,” he said aloud.  “Lucifer’s word is the only one without power here.  The other angels are to be obeyed according to their rank.”  All Michael’s instructions.  “If an ophan defers you to the malakhim again, please report it to my garrison.”

Simea nodded once.  “Of course.  Thank you, Castiel.”

Pamela eyed him more skeptically.  “That what revelation looks like?”

Was it?  Castiel considered that.  “I wouldn’t know,” he said at last.

He decided to visit the other gates before circling back to his garrison, because if the structure of heaven was breaking down – and it clearly was – then it was possible that Simea wasn’t the only one left without appropriate knowledge of the situation.

The saints seemed pleased to see him.  They didn’t seem desperate, or even unusually relieved.  He supposed Simea had kept the cracks in the hierarchy from reaching them.

Raphael requested his presence just as he completed his circuit.  It was a strange feeling, to be requested by an archangel rather than summoned.  He didn’t have to wait, either.  The moment he appeared outside Raphael’s garrison, he was welcomed in.

“Brother,” Raphael greeted him.

He glanced around, making no secret of his wariness.  “Raphael.”

“I understand Michael has a journal,” Raphael said.  “Perhaps you’ve seen it.”

Castiel frowned.  He didn’t want pleasantries from Raphael, but if the archangel expected favors he must be deluded.  “I have,” he agreed.

“I see.”  Raphael seemed sharper, suddenly, and Castiel was very sure the choir couldn’t hear this conversation.  “Does it reveal anything of the path we’re on?”

Raphael is making me angry, Castiel remarked, nominally directing the very public thought at Michael.  You said you wanted to know.

Raphael withdrew, grace recoiling in shock as Castiel just stood there and stared at him.

What are you doing talking to Raphael? Dean wanted to know.  Dude’s not busy enough running his own garrison?

Raphael, Dean added.  Quit bothering Cas.

Castiel smiled.  It was a small, petty thing, and it served no useful purpose.  In the grand scheme of things, inviting Dean to fight his battles for him was probably a mistake.  He found he couldn’t justify it, even now.

But he could still enjoy it.

I’ve left, he told Dean.  He was done in heaven anyway.  The tree-lined roads of middle Michigan were warm and gentle in the late summer breeze, and suddenly they were talking through time.  I’ve gone to see you in Michigan, the summer you got stuck at the fair.

Raphael had taken Dean from him.  Not once, but twice.  Castiel liked to remind himself that it hadn’t worked – that it could never work – and Dean didn’t like to be alone.

You could just come see me, you know.  Dean sounded more amused than anything, and Castiel knew he remembered.

You’re busy.  Castiel located him in the crowd, ten years younger, still reeling from the loss of Sam and angry at everything in the world.  Besides, I have a question.

Yeah.  Even Dean’s thoughts were fond.  I know.

“Hey, beautiful.”  Young Dean gave him a second look as Castiel leaned into his space, appearing easily as a young blonde in a blue sundress.  “How you doing?”

“That’s a pet name,” Castiel said, studying him.  Dean looked younger, yes, but also less relaxed.  Less comfortable in his own body.

“What?”  Dean frowned back before he seemed to understand.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“Why did you use it?” Castiel wanted to know.

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirked, but he didn’t pull away.  “Well, I dunno how you do it around here,” he said, “but in most towns, a guy calls a girl ‘beautiful’ because she is.”

“Other pet names, then.”  The beauty of the girl Dean saw was irrelevant, but Castiel couldn’t stop staring at him.  “Babe, baby, sweetheart.  What’s the point?”

“I dunno,” Dean said with a shrug.  “To make someone feel protected?  Like someone likes them, is looking out for ’em?”

“Do you use pet names with your family?” Castiel countered.

Dean snorted.  “I gotta tell you, I don’t like my family much right now.  What’s with the random questions, anyway?”

“I’m curious,” Castiel said.  “And in need of company.”

“Well, hey.”  Dean smiled again, more widely this time.  “I’m free.  We better trade off on the questions, though.  Mine are less socially loaded, and this might not be the right audience for yours.”

Castiel thought it probably was.  He’d visited Dean many times, in many guises, and Dean had never turned away genuine curiosity.  Even when Castiel realized later that the question had been too simple, something no one would ever believe a human didn’t know – Dean had answered them all.  With varying degrees of relevance, of course, but Dean wanted to talk.  Dean was lonely.  And if Castiel could make a little of that go away, even for a few minutes, then he would always try.

Dean’s questions were usually about him.  Or her.  And Castiel always told him the truth, but different parts of it, so that Dean didn’t get suspicious.  Funny that his strangers always shared a similar background.

By the time he went back, he’d learned that Dean used pet names when he didn’t know someone’s real name, when he did know someone’s real name but didn’t want them to know, and sarcastically, when he didn’t like someone enough to bother with their real name.  He’d also learned that Dean liked fair rides even though he pretended he didn’t, that Dean’s tendency to stuff his face was less pronounced around women, and that Dean would cheat to help kids win.

It wasn’t that Castiel didn’t know these things about Dean Winchester: he knew everything, and if he didn’t he could find out faster than asking.  But he didn’t know which parts of it mattered, how they fit together to form a life that made Michael more than what his father had created.  He didn’t know why.

“You didn’t kiss me that time,” his own Dean greeted him when he got back.  Michael’s grace had united all those glimpses of Castiel in Dean’s mind, and Dean now had angelic recall.

“We were in public,” Castiel reminded him.  “I did hold your hand.”

Sam slammed his fist down on the table.  “Do you guys have to have this conversation here?”  They were in the part of Sam’s base that Dean called the war room: a pile of phones, two webcams, several computers – all Sam’s – and enough rare herbs and spell components to defend a human garrison against attack.

Or to launch one of their own.

“Oh, are you talking to me now?” Dean asked.  “I wasn’t sure.”

“No,” Castiel said.  “We don’t have to have this conversation here.  Where’s Gabriel?”

“I don’t know,” Sam grumbled.  “At a lamaze class, for all I care.”

Dean paused.  “Really?”

“All I know is, I get to run the garrison by myself when she goes off on these epic sulks, and the only warning I get is when angels start asking for their assignments at five-thirty in the morning.”  Sam looked about as happy as he sounded, which wasn’t very.  “I need a less capricious partner, Dean.”

Dean was pretending not to listen.  “Smaller words, Sammy.”

“Get me someone to help out when Gabriel’s being a pain in the ass,” Sam told him.

“You’ve got a garrison full of angels,” Dean said.  “Pick one of them.”

“They’re all sworn to Gabriel,” Sam complained.  “They can’t do anything without asking her first.”

“What, you want someone you don’t know?”  Dean gave up on feigning indifference to stare at him.  “Since when?”

“I don’t want someone I don’t know,” Sam said.  “I want someone Gabriel can’t intimidate.”

Castiel shook his head when Dean glanced his way.  “There’s no one like that.”

“Yeah, there is,” Dean said, leaning back in his chair.  “You’re it,” he added, and the look he gave Sam wasn’t entirely unsympathetic.  “Sucks to be the sane one, but hey.  You have practice, right?  You grew up with me and Dad.”

“I’m not babysitting an archangel!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “You are.  They’re your garrison, Sam.  All of them.  Even her.”

Sam didn’t look any less irritated.  “She’s a pain in the ass,” he repeated.

Dean snorted.  “Won’t get any argument from me.”

“I can make the other angels help when Gabriel’s not around.”  It didn’t sound like a question, but the look Sam gave Dean made it clear that he wanted confirmation.

“That’s what they’re here for,” Dean said.  “Well, that and guarding the dimensions of earth.  They can multitask.”

“Okay,” Sam said.  “Fine.  She’s not fired.”

“Sorry, Sammy,” Dean said.  “She doesn’t get to fire you, you don’t get to fire her.”

“What about carpooling?” Sam asked.  “Can I get some help with that?  I can’t switch off with Lucifer anymore, and that’s gonna get old really fast.”

“Huh,” Dean said.

“One of them’s your kid,” Sam reminded him.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “I just had an idea.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.  “And?”

“And Nick’s gonna need something to do,” Dean said.  “What do you say we introduce him to the kids?  Everyone at school knows him, kind of, and he might like them.”

“You want to make Lucifer’s insane former vessel the kids’ chauffeur,” Sam said flatly.

“Part time,” Dean said.

“Dean,” Sam said.  “That’s a terrible idea.  Why do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Use what you’ve got,” Dean said.  “You don’t want another angel driving them around, do you?”  His eyes flicked to Castiel and he added, “No offense.”

“I was hoping you’d drive them sometimes!” Sam exclaimed.  

“Isn’t there some form of public transportation for schoolchildren?” Castiel wanted to know.  “How did you and Sam get to school?”

“They’re not riding the bus,” Sam said.

“Why not?”  Dean seemed satisfied with the idea, which Castiel had learned didn’t necessarily bode well for its practicality.  “An extra hour of socialization every day.  Sounds like a good plan to me.”

“They’re around humans all the time,” Sam said.  “They don’t need more socialization.  And they definitely don’t need more unsupervised time in a potentially hazardous situation.”

“Hazardous?” Dean repeated.  “There’s a kindergarten bus.  They’re not gonna get bullied by the first graders.”

“Yeah, let’s think about that,” Sam snapped.  “What if they do, Dean?  You want them to keep going to school?  They’re gonna be around older kids; they’re gonna get bullied and have bad teachers and get stuck with disgusting school lunches.  You think they’re gonna put up with that?”

“They’re angels,” Dean said.  “I think they can turn the other cheek.”

“They’re angels,” Sam agreed.  “They’re justice and wrath in little kid form!  Forget them; what are they gonna do if someone pushes one of their friends around?  Are you telling me Maribel would just let some kid push Layla into the wall and keep walking?”

“They’re blending in just fine,” Dean said irritably.  “Don’t go looking for trouble we haven’t got yet.”

“Yet,” Sam repeated.  “We can’t put those kids on a bus, Dean.  What if it crashes?”

“Wait, are we still on this?”  Dean glared at him.  “What does bullying and justice have to do with the damn kindergarten bus?”

“What if it crashes,” Sam said again.  “What if a truck rearends the bus, smashes it up, sets it on fire?  What then?”

Castiel shifted, uncomfortable with the thought, and he felt Dean’s awareness skitter over his.  Confused and angry and seeking reassurance.  “What the fuck, Sam.”

“What do you think they’ll do?” Sam demanded.

“They’ll get off the bus!” Dean exclaimed.  “Geez, Sam, what do you think!”

“I think they’ll put out the fire,” Sam said.  “I think they’ll get everyone else off the bus, and then I think they’ll go check on the driver of the truck.  I think they’ll heal anyone who’s hurt.  I think anyone in an accident with them is gonna know really fast that they’re not human!”

Dean stared at him for a long moment before looking away.  “Okay, fine,” he muttered.  “I’ll pick ’em up.  Get ’em at lunch, bring ’em home.  Okay?”

Sam didn’t answer right away.  Castiel looked from one of them to the other.  He felt compelled to point out, “They’re not in danger from humans.”

“Yeah, we know.”  Dean’s reply was short and to the point, but his tone seemed to indicate the opposite of his words.

“Are you sure?” Sam asked.  “They have friends, Cas.  What if their friends stopped liking them?  Wouldn’t that hurt them?”

Castiel frowned.  “Why would their friends do that?”

He saw Sam look at Dean, who pushed away from the table and shook his head.  “Uh-uh,” Dean said.  “No way.  You went there, you get to do the honors.”

“Humans are scared of what they don’t understand,” Sam said.  “If their friends find out they’re different, they might... treat them differently.”

“Angels aren’t hard to understand,” Castiel said.

Dean snorted.  “Says the guy who never banged one,” he muttered.

Castiel frowned at him.  “Humans are hard to understand,” he said.  “Angels are straightforward.”

“Look,” Sam said.  “All I meant was, there’s other ways to get in trouble without getting, you know.  Physically hurt.  We should keep an eye on them as much as we can.”

“I said I’d drive them,” Dean said.  “Okay?  What else?”

“Great,” Sam said.  “That’s it.  Oh – except for Charlie.  She called Emily yesterday and asked if she could come back.”

“Charlie,” Dean said.  “Our Charlie?”

“The only girl Charlie we know,” Sam said.

“Oh, trust me,” Dean said with a smirk.  “I know more than one.”

Castiel was aware of Sam glancing at him, but he ignored it until Dean followed suit.  “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Dean said.  He looked uncomfortable, but he frowned at Sam instead of Castiel so there didn’t seem to be any point in pressing for more information.  “Right.  So, Charlie wants to come back.  Here?”

“As far as I can tell,” Sam said.  “Gabriel doesn’t care, and Emily actually seems happy about it, so I figured, why not?  It’s not like she can’t handle it.”

“Isn’t she supposed to be... doing something else?”  Dean didn’t seem very sure of this.  “Working, or going to school, or getting married or something?”

Sam shrugged.  “She’s on her own, Dean.  Pretty sure that means she gets to decide.”

“Whatever,” Dean said.  “We’re not running a home for wayward kids.”

“We kind of are,” Sam said.  “Look, she’s willing to work.  We could use another normal person around: to help cover, if nothing else.  It’s basically me and Emily right now, and we can’t do everything.”

“What about Chuck?” Dean asked, then paused like the question that had come out of his mouth surprised him.  “Right, never mind.  If you guys put her up, that’s your business.  Don’t blame me if all your manliness leaches away.  I think there’s a pill for that now.”

“You’re gay married to an angel,” Sam told him.  “Whatever manliness you were supposed to have, I obviously got it.”

“We’re not married,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, Sam.”  Dean glared at him.  “We’re not married.  You know what that means?”  He pointed at Sam before he could answer.  “It means shut up, bitch.”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “I think it means propose, jerk.”

Castiel felt Dean giving him that look again, the one like he was checking to see if Castiel understood something.  All he said was, “Can’t.  Cas doesn’t have anyone to give him away.”

“I’ll give you away,” Sam said.

Castiel thought that was unlikely, but he understood the implication.  “I would be happy to watch you walk down the aisle, Dean.”

Sam laughed, which hadn’t been his intent, and Dean glared at him.  “Are you joking?” he demanded.

Castiel frowned.  “Why would you think I’m joking?”

“Yeah, Dean,” Sam said with a grin.  “Why would you think your boyfriend is joking about wanting to marry you?”

“Okay, you know what?”  Dean spread his glare around, and Castiel noted that Sam didn’t seem any more convinced by it than usual.  “This conversation is over.  Cas, your turn, what do you need.  Go.”

“Why is it over?” Castiel wanted to know.  “Can we talk about getting married?”

Dean’s expression was completely unfathomable.  “Why would you want to get married?”

“It’s a ritual that evokes trust and commitment in perpetuity,” Castiel said.  “Are you not interested?”

“I didn’t say that.”  Dean looked at Sam, who was entering something into his phone with a small smile on his face.

Sam looked up when no one said anything for several seconds.  “What?” he said.  “I can pretend not to be here, but I’m not leaving.  You can’t sexile me from my own garrison.”

“Can we talk about it later,” Dean said quietly.  He was staring at the table now, but Castiel heard him add, Please, in the privacy of his own mind.  When we’re alone.

“Of course,” Castiel said.  “My garrison has no additional needs at this time.”

Dean didn’t answer right away.  Sometimes his human side seemed to unduly influence his angelic response.  “Except the ophanim,” he said at last.  “And the thing with the saints.  Who do I need to talk to about that?”

“Chamuel gives Simea her orders,” Castiel said.  “Apparently she refused to pass on or request orders regarding Lucifer, suggesting instead that Simea get them from one of the malakhim.”

“Wait, what?”  Sam had lowered his phone.  “What’s going on with Lucifer?”

“Oh, hey, we gotta find Nick a place to stay,” Dean said, as though Sam had just reminded him.  Oddly, he seemed to be talking to Castiel.  “It doesn’t have to be with us, but he should probably be around people who know what’s going on.  For a while, at least.  He’s pretty unstable.”

“I have little experience in the rehabilitation of archangelic vessels,” Castiel said.  “I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

“I can’t believe you kidnapped him,” Sam muttered, frowning at his phone again.

“They took his house,” Dean said.  “Where’s he supposed to go?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be possessed by Lucifer in the first place,” Sam snapped.

“Well, shit happens,” Dean retorted.  “Can we focus on trying to fix it instead of whining about how unfair it is?”

“Maybe we could try to stop it from happening again,” Sam said.  “Oh, right.  It already has.”

Dean glared at him.  “What do you want?  You want to kick every angel with a vessel off earth?  Some of them want to be vessels.  Some of them would hate us for even suggesting it.”

“Some of them wouldn’t,” Sam shot back.  “I want what they want to matter!”

“It does,” Dean argued.  “They have to say yes.”

“Rebecca didn’t,” Sam said.

“Yes she did,” Dean told him.  “She said yes, and she meant it.”

“Because she had to,” Sam finished.  “Because it was freakin’ Lucifer, and he’s gonna get what he wants one way or the other!”

“I thought you and Lucifer were buddies now,” Dean said.  “What’s with the sudden death wish?  Did you and Rebecca have a thing, or what?”

“We didn’t have a ‘thing’!” Sam exclaimed.  “She’s human, she doesn’t deserve this, end of story!”

“Nick was wearing out,” Castiel said.  Maybe none of them understood Lucifer’s motives, but he did seem to like Sam.  It seemed unlikely that he would deliberately provoke Sam unless the gain was worth the alienation.

Or the alternative would invoke a deeper wrath.

“What does that mean?” Sam wanted to know.

“Most vessels can’t hold an archangel forever,” Dean said.  “Nick would’ve burned out.”

“Lucifer knew you wouldn’t like that,” Castiel said, trying the idea out.  He wasn’t sure it was true.  Or rather, he was sure it was true, but he wasn’t sure how important Sam’s opinion was.  “Perhaps that’s why he left Nick.”

“Burned out?” Sam repeated.  He didn’t look pleased.

“Burned up,” Dean said.  “Brain dead.  It’s a lot of power to live with.”

“So now that’s gonna happen to Rebecca?” Sam demanded.

“It will take some time,” Castiel said.

“Not right away,” Dean said quickly.  “He had Nick for months.  She’ll be all right.”

“Unless he doesn’t let her go,” Sam said.  “And what’s he doing with her in the meantime?  No one wants to see hell, Dean.”

“You did,” Dean retorted.  “Besides, he’ll erase her memory.”

Castiel thought Dean was making some largely unfounded assumptions, but it wasn’t as though he could offer anything better.

“That’s a terrible excuse,” Sam said.  “You don’t get to do whatever you want just because no one will remember it later.”

“Excuse me.”  Adamel was standing in the doorway, and Castiel thought Sam was surprised to see him.  “I’m supposed to ask my parents if I can go to Jared’s birthday party after school tomorrow.  Lucifer said you would know.”

“I’m invited too,” Maribel said, suddenly behind him.  “I thought we should wait until after your meeting to ask.”

Sam looked skeptical.  “How come no one said anything about this in the car?”

“Lucifer says I should ask her about things humans tell me to do,” Adamel said.  “She said this one was okay if you agree.”

Maribel offered a very human shrug when Dean looked at her.  “Sam’s not my parent,” she said.  “You were busy.”

“Adamel,” Castiel said slowly.  “Why did you disobey Maribel when she said you should wait until after our meeting?”

He felt Dean’s sharp glance, but it seemed a worthwhile question.

Moreso when Maribel and Adamel exchanged glances, and he thought he felt something flicker between them.  Something he couldn’t make out.  Had they learned the meaning of privacy so quickly?

“She didn’t tell me to wait,” Adamel said at last.

“I just said I thought it would be polite,” Maribel agreed.

A united front, Castiel thought.  Where had they learned that?

“Who’s Jared?” Dean wanted to know.

“He’s a boy in our kindergarten class,” Maribel said.  “His last name is Harrison.  He lives with his aunt and uncle, Jean and Mitchi Forester, and his birthday is tomorrow.  Everyone in class is invited to go roller-skating and eat cake.  We’re not supposed to bring presents.”

“He’s having a birthday party tomorrow and you just got invited today?”  Dean seemed to find this suspicious.  “Did he give you a card with more information on it or anything?”

Adamel and Maribel looked at each other again.  “I don’t have mine,” Adamel said.

“I do.”  Maribel produced a paper card with brightly colored scribbles decorating the front.  “Jared made them himself.”

“He did, huh?”  Dean reached out and took the card, turning it over studying the back for a long moment.  Then he handed it to Sam.  “You want to go?”

“Yes,” Maribel said.

Castiel watched her with no small amount of wonder.  What do you want was a question he still struggled with, yet she could answer without hesitation.  How did she know?

“What about you?” Dean asked Adamel.

Adamel looked at Sam, but he was already copying something from the card into his phone.  “Jared says they have good cake,” he said at last.

“We can get you cake,” Dean said.  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“I... want to,” Adamel said carefully.

“Hi,” Sam said.  His phone was held up to his ear.  “This is Sam Winchester; I’m Adamel’s dad?”

There was a pause, and then he smiled.  “Yeah, hi.  Nice to meet you.  Kind of.

“Right?” he added after a moment.  “It’s a little weird.”

Castiel looked at Dean in time to see him roll his eyes.  Sam turned sideways in his chair so he couldn’t see his brother.  “Definitely,” he agreed.  “And hey, we hear Jared’s having a birthday party tomorrow.”

There was a longer pause this time, interspersed with brief noises of agreement from Sam.  In the relative quiet, Maribel asked Dean, “Should we have birthday parties too?”

“Maybe,” Dean said, and he gave Castiel that look again.  The one that said, do you get this?

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Castiel asked.

Dean looked genuinely confused.  “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure out whether I know what’s happening or not.  Is there some human significance to the situation that we’re missing?”

Dean held up a hand, clearly trying to shush him, and tipped his head at Sam.

“Right,” Sam was saying.  “No, I totally understand.  It sounds like a great idea.”

“Why is he talking to Jared’s uncle?” Maribel asked, though she kept her voice quieter this time.

“It’s a parent thing,” Dean muttered.  “I’ll tell you in a minute.”

So they waited for Sam to finish talking, telling the phone, “Yeah, my brother’s gonna be picking them up tomorrow, so he’s the one you’ll see.

“Dean,” he added.  “Dean Winchester.  He’ll be driving my car.”

“I will?” Dean said.

Sam ignored him.  “Oh, okay.  Great.  Yeah, no problem.”

There was another pause, and then, “You too.  Bye now.”

Sam pushed something on his phone as he lowered it, giving Dean a look.  “Yeah,” he said.  “You will.  Seatbelts.  Airbags.  We have this conversation every time.”

“Whatever,” Dean said.  “Are they cool?”

“Did Jared’s uncle confess over the phone that he’s actually a demon bent on baby-eating?” Sam countered.  “No, surprisingly, that didn’t come up.”

“Was that a possibility?” Maribel asked.

“Knowing our luck?” Dean said.  “Probably.”

He relented when Sam gave him a look.  “It’s just a thing adults do when their kids ask to go somewhere with someone else.  The adults talk to each other, you know, make sure there’s no shady business going on.”

“You can tell that over the phone?” Adamel asked.

“Sure,” Dean said.

At the same time, Sam said, “No, of course not.  That’s just what you do.”

Dean snorted.  “I could tell.”

“Did your father do this for you?” Castiel asked, looking from one of them to the other.

Some of Dean’s relaxation went away.  “Nah,” he said.  “We could take care of ourselves.”

“So can we,” Maribel said, frowning.

“Yeah,” Sam said quickly.  “You can.  What Dean means is, our dad was away a lot, so other people did it for us.  Bobby, sometimes.  Or – Dean would call for me, when he was older.

“It’s not really about whether you can take care of yourself or not,” Sam added.  “It’s more about whether someone cares enough about you to keep track of where you are.”

“You do it so the other parents will believe you are responsible,” Castiel said.  “A human measure of competence.”

“Yeah,” Sam said.  “Sort of.”

“I understand,” Castiel said.  He understood that Dean didn’t want to talk about their father and how much he cared, or how he might or might not have showed it.  “The answer, then, is yes.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “Sam?”

“Sure,” Sam agreed.  “Fine with me.”

“That means it’s all right for us to go,” Adamel guessed.

“Yup,” Dean said.  “Have fun.”

“Thank you,” Maribel said politely.  She disappeared from the room without another word.

Adamel didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t fly.  He walked out.  Castiel wondered if they were very different from human children.  Would they seem unnatural to Jared’s family?

“Okay, weren’t they supposed to be with Katahdiel this afternoon?” Dean asked.

“How come I get no say in this stuff?” Sam demanded.  “Lucifer says Adamel can’t ask me, so he doesn’t?”

Castiel just waited while they looked at each other.

“No,” Sam said after a moment.  “Gabriel sent Katahdiel on some ridiculous mission or something before she disappeared.  I haven’t heard from either of them since.”

“When was that?” Dean wanted to know.

“A couple hours ago, maybe.”

“Huh,” Dean said.

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes.  “You want to say something less cryptic?”

“They have a substitute today?” Dean asked.

Sam paused.  “Yeah,” he said.  “Obviously.”

“I sent Lucifer to talk to Gabriel this morning,” Dean said.  “She didn’t.”

“You said she wouldn’t,” Castiel remarked.

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly.  “But where is she?”

“Which one?” Sam asked.

“Any of them,” Dean said.  “Gabriel and Lucifer, mostly.  I thought they should talk.  I’m not really comfortable with the idea of both of them just disappearing.”

“You can’t find them?” Sam said.  “With your angel mojo?”

“Not Lucifer,” Dean said.  “Gabriel feels off.  I’ll track her down when we’re done here.”

“Are we done?” Castiel asked.  “Is there anything you need, Dean?”  They were trying to accustom him to this ritual sharing.  It was foreign to angels, given their ability to exchange necessities instantaneously, but Sam insisted it was necessary among humans and Dean seemed to feel it could help the fractured host.

Not that he’d said it aloud.  Dean’s opinions on reuniting heaven were more secret than Castiel thought was strictly appropriate.  There were larger battles, though, and he found he had more personal concerns.

He didn’t know when he’d become so selfish.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “That party invitation.  I’m gonna need the address.”

Sam handed it back, and Dean stared down at it for a long moment.  “You think we should be... I dunno.”  He trailed off and didn’t start again, though Sam and Castiel both waited.

Finally Sam said, “What?”

Dean flipped the card around and showed the scribbles to Sam again.  “They don’t do this,” he said.  “They don’t... draw, or anything.”

Sam stared at him.  “They’re not five, Dean.”

“Yeah, but...”  Dean shook his head.  “They don’t really... play.  Right?  I mean –”

He stopped again.  “They don’t even sleep,” he said.  “They train and stuff, and God knows Jo and Sach tell ’em enough stories to fill a book.  But do they ever really get a break?”

“Angels don’t –”  Castiel corrected himself before he could say it.  “Need to sleep.”

“But they do,” Dean said.  “You do.  You can, if you want to.

“It’s not the sleeping,” he added, when Sam looked like he was about to say something.  “It’s just – whenever we take a break, we send ’em off with someone else.  To learn something, or see something, or whatever.  How are they gonna know how to relax if we never teach them?”

“Dean,” Sam said.  “You’ve seen what they do with toys.  You really want Maribel to invent cold fusion before she hits six months?”

“I’d like her to go to kindergarten and have fun, not treat it like a tactical exercise.”  Without waiting for an answer, Dean waved the card in Sam’s direction.  “You want this?”

“No,” Sam said after a moment.  “It’s yours.”  He sounded quieter than usual, like he was being considerate somehow, and Castiel just felt more frustrated.  

He must have given some sign, because Dean looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah?”

“Dean would insist they play,” Castiel said, not giving enough thought to how it would sound.  “Michael would insist they not.  I don’t know which one of you to argue with.”

Dean just sat there for a moment.  Castiel knew what he was thinking and it didn’t help.  Who was he really, was he remembering everything he needed to, and how would he feel about it later if something came back that he hadn’t realized he’d forgotten.

“He’s right,” Sam said, still quiet.  “You’d want them to do stupid things.”

“Pointless things,” Castiel corrected.  “Not stupid.”

“Trust me, Dean would want them to do stupid things too,” Sam said, but his grin invited Castiel to share the joke.  “The question is, how do we teach angels to play?”

“Same way we taught Cas,” Dean muttered.  He still seemed distracted, but maybe he had reason to be.

“No offense,” Sam said, “but I don’t think dragging them to bars and stuffing them in closets is going to work here.”

“Are human children allowed in bars?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Sam said.  “Well, not usually.  I was joking.”

“By example,” Dean said.  “We should take them to do stuff.  Human stuff.  They’re too worried about fitting in at school; maybe that was a bad idea.”

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Sam told him.  “We can show them stuff, but we’re not exactly shining examples of native human behavior.  They get that at school.”

Sam had never approved of them going to school.  Castiel was suddenly afraid to look at Dean, worried that Sam was taking Dean’s side because it was Michael sitting across from them now.  It would pass.  It always did, and Dean still made fun of him for being afraid of Michael.  Gently, because Castiel’s fear was real and even Dean understood how serious it was.

Not gently enough, though.  Or he wouldn’t do it at all.

“Hey,” Dean said.  Castiel felt something nudge his foot, but it was the slide of grace along his wing that made him look up.  “Still with us?”

“Are you?” Castiel asked bluntly.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “You okay with mandatory playtime?”

Castiel came up with what he thought was an acceptably human response.  “Is this an excuse for you to act more childish?”

Dean grinned at him, so he must have gotten it right.  “You know it,” he said.

“Hey, everyone else is teaching them what they know,” Sam said.  “We should do our part, right?”

“I’m in,” Dean said.

“Me too.”  Sam looked at Castiel expectantly, and he felt Dean’s foot push his again.  His wing had slid away, but his eyes were bright and mischievous and very human.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed.

***

He was standing on the overlook at the edge of the bay, staring toward light like a fallen star.  Michael’s dome blazed even in his absence, now, a reminder to them all that the eldest was watching.  Castiel didn’t know how to feel about it: he believed in Dean as much as he had ever believed in his brothers and sisters, but the divinity of it was telling.

God still hadn’t returned.  Was it because they were slowly pulling themselves together without him?  Or was the worst yet to come?

“Hey.”  Dean’s voice was quiet and unexpected behind him.  “Play time.”

Castiel turned his head a little, and he felt Dean step up beside him.  “Was it necessary to pass that message in person?” he inquired.  They had all agreed to provide the children with a “crash course” in roller skating after dinner.  He could only assume dinner was now over.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “First time I’ve had alone with you all day.”

“We were alone this morning,” Castiel said.  “When Claire came by.”

“Yeah, I woke up just in time for us not to be alone anymore,” Dean agreed.  “I’ve gotta rethink this sleeping thing.”

“I like it,” Castiel said.

“You like watching me do it,” Dean said.  “Why is that, anyway?  What’s so great about watching someone else sleep?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said.

“Guess,” Dean said.

Castiel considered the question more carefully.  “When you sleep,” he said at last, “it’s as though time stops and your soul is free of expectation.  Your mind does what it will.  It’s a moment of pure potential, when you are... everything.  Everything you could ever be.”

“So I’m at my most impressive when I’m doing nothing,” Dean said.  “Thanks, Cas.  That’s really reassuring.”

Castiel just smiled.  “You’re welcome,” he told the dome across the water.  Still Dean, even in the midst of it all.  Still the hope he turned to when he didn’t know what else there was.

Hey.  Dean’s subtle nudge was mostly wordless, but it drew his attention to the garrison drifting up behind them.

Castiel’s garrison.  Castiel’s soldiers, drawn by the spill of Michael’s grace.

Yours, Dean murmured.  They want you, Cas.

No.  He was free.

It was a conditioned rejection, and he tried to suppress it.  He wasn’t a fugitive from heaven’s wrath.  Not anymore.  He felt Dean’s comfort, warm reassurance bolstering him in the face of this new demand.

Communion.  Of course they would be looking for it, a garrison without an archangel since Zachariah was demoted.  He didn’t now how he had avoided it so long.

He felt Dean’s hand brush against his, fingers squeezing hard when Castiel clasped them in return.  Rachel had ghosted up on his other side, not asking.  Just waiting.  He could feel the press of soldiers behind them.

He couldn’t.

Dean offered, silently, and Castiel closed his eyes and let him do it.

For one brief sliver of time, it was just Dean – Michael – overwhelming his grace and burying everything he cared about in pleasure and joy and forgiveness.  He was flying, he was falling, he was standing beside a stone with a tree towering overhead and a playground that the breeze had somehow set in motion.  He reached out to touch the leaves – 

And then the stars were spinning around him, and they were angels, and the garden was gone again.  Communion had always been unlimited, yet now there was a part of it that was missing.  But Dean was there, and Rachel, and Jeremiel and Muriel and everyone who had pledged their swords to him now offered their grace as well.  He was buoyed by the vastness of their love.

Even as their memories of family and light swirled through him, though, he could feel his own seeping into them.  He could feel cement sidewalks under his feet and the heavy weight of earth pulling him down, the sky so, so far overhead.  Wings that stretched, invisible, through walls and blind eyes and language so strange that he felt like he couldn’t understand anything anymore.

Candy bars, Dean said.

And there was bread, then, chocolate and watermelon and cold beer in a glass that was slippery with condensation.  He felt Umabel’s quiet understanding of fruit trees, and the scent of orchards during a harvest, golden sun split into rays and splotches where shade cooled the grass and dew lingered on leaves from the night before.  Jeremiel watching wistfully as the moon splashed in waves along a city roof, laughter echoing up the fire escape, colors never seen in nature and rhythms no other animal could duplicate.

Cairns piled for the rest to follow.  Bottles bobbing on the ocean.  Music broadcast into space.

Here we are, the message cried.  Who’s with us?

Not where but who you’re with that really matters, someone whispered, and the sentiment blazed through their garrison.  The strength of angels woven with the thread of human thought.  Duality.

Acceptance.

He wasn’t sure why the communion abated, or when, but he knew he had no physical form in heaven and there were still tears on his face.  Dean’s hand still gripped his, and Rachel lingered in the shadow of his wings.  Jeremiel stood close as well, but the energy welling up in him poured through all of them, proximate or not.

They stood there, unmoving, for a long time.

Dean didn’t complain about bending time for them when they left.  They would have missed the children’s “play,” otherwise, and Castiel had no desire to trade one family for another.  He had forgotten – or he had made himself forget – how close a garrison truly was.

“Nice bonding activity,” Dean murmured, while they stood outside their house in the twilight of several hours before.  “You gonna cry every time?”

“I have traumatic disorder,” Castiel muttered.  “Sam says you should be nice to me.”

“Post traumatic stress,” Dean said.  “Either I make fun of you or I cry too, and no one wants that.”

“I do,” Castiel told him.

Dean’s laugh was a quiet huff of air as he reached out and slid a hand up Castiel’s arm.  Castiel put the arm around behind his back and stepped into him, burying his face in Dean’s shoulder for a long moment.  Dean held him without hesitation, hugging hard and whispering “Okay” in his ear.

They were still there when Wildfire’s voice murmured, Will you come skate with us?

“You okay?” Dean whispered.

Yes.  Castiel’s reply was meant for both of them.

The lights on the first floor of their house were on, but Castiel understood there wasn’t actually anyone there.  They went in through the front door anyway.  Music made Dean shake his head.

“Asia,” he said.  “Gabriel’s either being obnoxious or trying to apologize.  Why’s it always so hard to tell with her?”

“Because she is unfathomable,” Castiel said.

It made Dean grin.  “That’s one word for it,” he agreed.

There was a new door at the back of the house, and its ordinary appearance must be intended to deceive non-existent guests.  Dean looked a little wary as he pushed it open.  The volume of the music increased.  Brightly colored lights swung over them and moved on and Dean flinched.

It was loud and garish but it didn’t seem particularly threatening.  Castiel watched Dean carefully as he stepped onto the thin carpet, patterned with starburst designs and covered with knee-high padded circles that might be intended to seat people.  A half-wall with a wide break in it separated the carpet from the rink beyond – the source of the music and lights and the current center of activity.

“I’m good,” Dean muttered, just audible over the sound of the music but clearly reacting to his unspoken concern.  “Just can’t get over the feeling that Gabriel’s going to kill me in these funhouses of hers.”

“You’re joking,” Castiel said with a frown.  He couldn’t see how, but the statement was illogical otherwise.

“No,” Dean said, surprising him.  “It’s a thing.  We have a thing – it doesn’t matter.  Might have been a small joke.”

But his reaction had been real.  “Should we go?” Castiel asked uncertainly.

“No,” Dean repeated.  “No, really, it’s cool.  If it doesn’t bother Sam, it doesn’t bother me.”

Castiel looked around, sorting through four children, five angels, three humans and an archangel in an instant.  “It appears to bother Sam,” he observed, watching Sam argue vehemently with Gabriel just inside the break in the wall.  “Something about the song?”

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “Sam doesn’t like this song.  Gabriel’s being a jerk, then; what else is new.”

“Hi Daddy,” Maribel said, rolling up to them on the carpet.  She’d come sliding off the hard floor of the rink through the break in the wall, and Castiel was interested to see that the change in substrate didn’t significantly slow her momentum.  “Hello, Father.  Do you know how to roller skate?”

“No,” Castiel said.

“Want to learn?” Dean asked, frowning over at Sam and Gabriel.

Roller skating knowledge seemed unlikely to serve any practical purpose in his existence.  Dean was distracted, and there were surely more important concerns.  On the other hand, they were here.  They were supposed to be teaching the children by example.  And Castiel wanted to be able to answer the question with as much certainty as Maribel would.

“Yes,” he said.

Just like that, Dean’s attention was on him again.  “Yeah?” he said, and his frown was gone.  “Cool.”

Looking down at Maribel, Dean added, “Think we can teach him, kiddo?”

A pet name, he realized, watching Maribel nod.  Ten years ago Dean had said, I don’t like my family very much right now.  Today he used pet names for... children?  Were children the only change since that day a decade ago?

You want a pet name? Dean asked, very privately.  I’m not calling you honey.

Sam complained that using “angel radio” around him was elitist and insulting.  Dean called him a baby but mostly listened.  Or at least tried to relay relevant exchanges aloud so Sam could hear.  Castiel was sure that between Dean and Gabriel, Gabriel was the worse offender.

He was still uncertain when it came to answering, and only partly because he didn’t know what to say.

“He’ll need skates,” Maribel was saying.  “You both will.  At a human rink you’d rent them, but here you don’t have to.”

“True,” Dean said.  He was holding two pairs of skates in his hands.  “But figuring out how to put them on is part of the experience.  Come on over here.”

Castiel took note of the situation, mostly as an example of one more time he didn’t mind Dean kneeling before him.  He tried to pay attention to the rest of the environment as well – it shouldn’t be that hard – but Michael’s grace was blinding and Dean’s attention was overwhelming.  He had never cared more about how a shoelace was threaded.

He had never cared at all about how a shoelace was threaded, if it came to that, but Dean was so careful with them.  So intent.  Warm where his hands brushed Castiel’s ankles, firm as he adjusted the “fit.”  It was, Castiel was convinced, one of the most uselessly romantic things Dean had ever voluntarily done for him.

“The sad part is,” Dean said without looking up, “you’re right.”

Castiel frowned.

Dean waved a hand at his head, like he could sense Castiel’s confusion and the gesture was some kind of explanation.  “Uselessly romantic,” Dean said, tugging the laces of the second skate tighter before he tied them up.  “I used to be kind of good at that.  With you I just...”

It was an explanation, Castiel realized.  Dean knew what he was thinking, and he was not only responding, he was responding out loud.  He supposed this was one of those moments when Dean would involuntarily think about sex.  Not clinically, but graphically, with wing-pulling and frantic thrusts and a location that probably wasn’t a bed.

Dean swatted his knee, and Castiel couldn’t help smiling a little.

“Cut it out,” Dean said.  “You think you’re funny, but I was trying to be all emotional with you there.  For a second.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, because he knew it made Dean soften.

“Yeah, you’re not.”  Dean patted his skate and looked up at him, secret grin suddenly shared.  “Setting a bad example there, thinking about sex with kids around.  That’s a big no.”

“You do it all the time,” Castiel pointed out.

“I’m a bad role model,” Dean said.  “I’m always thinking about sex.”

“Daddy,” Maribel said, coasting up beside him again with an easy roll of her skates.  “You said we weren’t supposed to talk about sex.”

Dean sighed, giving Castiel a look that said very clearly, This is so your fault.

“With other people,” Dean said, sounding much more patient than he looked.  “You can talk to us about sex if you need to.  Just – don’t do it where people outside the family can overhear, okay?”

Maribel considered this, then nodded.  “Okay,” she agreed.  “Are you ready to go skating yet?”

“Almost,” Dean said.  “I’m just gonna put my skates on.  You want to go around the rink again, show Cas how it’s done?”

Maribel gave him a flat look.  “You could just say that you want to talk to him alone.”

Dean hesitated, and Castiel thought he could at least do his part.

“Dean’s father often made Dean feel like he was the least important thing in his father’s life,” Castiel told her.  “He doesn’t want you to feel that way, so he sometimes lies about his reasons for doing things.  To make it seem as though you’re more important than you are.”

Dean closed his eyes, and all Castiel could hear was him counting.  Silently, to himself.

“Oh,” Maribel said.  “That makes sense.  Tell me when you don’t want to be alone anymore, and I’ll help you learn to skate.  I’m very good at it.”

“Indeed,” Castiel said, watching her twirl in place the same way one of her human friends did while wearing ballet slippers.  “That surprises me.”

“That’s what Jo said too,” Maribel agreed.  “Well, she didn’t say it, exactly.  But that’s what she meant.  Gabriel wasn’t surprised at all.”

Castiel thought Gabriel should pay more attention to making Sam feel important, and less to whether Maribel was good at human sports.  Maribel smiled at him, a funny non-angelic smile, and he thought she understood.  He also thought he understood, in a way he hadn’t before, what made Dean want to raise her expectations of the people around her.

“I’ll be watching you,” Castiel said impulsively.  “So as to have what Dean would consider a good role model.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Maribel assured him.  “I know how important I am to you.”  She put both hands on his knee and leaned up to kiss his chin.  “Enjoy your talk with Daddy.”

She pushed away from his leg and skated off like she was using her wings to walk.  Dean put his head down on Castiel’s other knee, just for a second, but Castiel heard him mutter, “What the hell, God, seriously.  Your kids are so weird.”

Castiel frowned at him when Dean lifted his head.  “If you’re going to choose a pet name for me, I would prefer something other than ‘god.’”

It made Dean laugh, unexpectedly, and Castiel relaxed before he even realized he needed to.

“Okay,” Dean agreed, bracing a hand on the seat beside him and swinging himself onto it with a graceless human ease that Castiel would never be able to duplicate.  “I’ll keep that in mind, Cassanova.”

“Also,” Castiel told him, “it should be a reference I understand.”

“Right,” Dean said after a moment.  “Believe it or not, that was an accident.”

“I don’t believe it,” Castiel said.

“Okay,” Dean said.  “That’s kind of what I was talking about, I guess.  With the romantic gestures?  It’s hard, around you, because everything I thought I knew about being smooth is... it’s like it doesn’t apply.”

“I don’t know how to behave romantically toward anyone,” Castiel said.  “I’m unlikely to notice the lack.”

“Yeah, you think that,” Dean said.  “But you do.  You have some kind of... sensor, or something.  You liked me putting your skates on for you,” he explained, when Castiel just stared at him.

“Oh.”  He wanted to say that he still hadn’t noticed the lack, just the presence of the gesture, but of course that wasn’t true.  He had noticed it because it was so rare.

“Yeah, oh,” Dean said.  “Tell me what you want me to do, Cas.  Or just treat me the way you want to be treated.  I’ll get it eventually.”

“You have not seemed,” Castiel began before he could think.  He was left with no choice but to finish, especially given Maribel’s reminder that the truth was preferable to manipulation.  “Particularly open to romantic gestures in the past.”

“You’re gonna embarrass the shit out of me,” Dean translated.  He shrugged anyway, close enough that his shoulder brushed Castiel’s.  His skates lay on the floor beside him, ignored and apparently unimportant.  “I’m a big boy, Cas.  I can take it.”

“But why would you?” Castiel wanted to know.  “If it’s unpleasant for you, surely some kind of compromise can be reached.”

“Yeah, that hasn’t worked out so well for us so far.”  Dean was looking at him, holding his gaze, and that right there felt like enough.  That Dean didn’t feel the need to hide his face when they were talking.  “You being miserable isn’t worth me not being embarrassed, okay?

“Don’t tell me you’re not miserable,” Dean added, before he could protest.  “I know wallowing when I see it.  I’m the king of wallowing.  And no one who has to ask the guy they wake up with if he knows who they are is not miserable.”

“I like it when you look at me,” Castiel blurted out.

Dean stared at him.  “What?”

“When we’re talking,” Castiel said.  “You don’t always look at me.”

“Cas, I stare at you like it’s my job.”  Dean didn’t sound annoyed, nor did he sound obviously embarrassed.  Despite his words, he sounded almost... curious.

Castiel didn’t know what else to say.  “I wish you’d do it more,” he said simply.

“Okay,” Dean said, like that was all there was to it.  “Remind me, okay?  What else?”

Castiel blinked.  “What else what?”

“What else can I do,” Dean said, with no trace of exasperation.  “You don’t seem like a flowers and candy kind of guy.  Angel.  Whatever.  The most romantic thing I ever did for a woman was tell her about myself, and there’s really nothing you don’t know.  So I’m a little lost here.”

“Explain your human references,” Castiel said.  He’d wanted that since the first time he spoke to Dean, but it had never seemed significant enough to request.  It was something easy to offer now, since Dean seemed so determined.

“Remind me,” Dean repeated.  “I’m crap at this, Cas.  Women think if you really care, you’ll remember, but I’m hoping you think that’s bullshit ’cause I do.  I’ll forget.  Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I will,” Castiel said.  “There is... one other thing.”

“Yeah?”

Dean was very attentive, he thought absently.  As though he recognized this as something larger.  Did he?  Was it?  It had been hard to know what Dean valued as a human, and it was harder now that his priorities had been selectively scrambled by the reintroduction of grace.

“You asked me not to speak of it until we’re alone,” Castiel said at last.

Dean let out his breath in a huff of understanding.  “Right,” he said.  “Okay, well.  It’s been that kind of day.  Maybe this is as close as we’re gonna get.”

“I hope not,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean’s arm was warm where it pressed against his.  “You want to go?”

Yes.  Yes, he wanted to go: he missed the garden, he missed Dean in the garden, and swings and trees and light that came from everywhere.  But he missed Maribel too, missed the way she didn’t come to heaven yet and none of the other children visited him there.  He missed this bizarrely human experience, loud and bright and artificial all around him.

“It seems irresponsible,” he said at last.

“I’m gonna teach you how to play hooky,” Dean said.  He reached down to the floor, adding, “Right after Maribel teaches you to skate.  Because, let’s face it, I can stand up in these things but I’m definitely not the guy you want showing you what to do.”

“I disagree,” Castiel said.

“That’s ’cause you’re a soft touch,” Dean retorted, kicking his boots off to one side and pulling a skate on over his sock.  His seemed to require much less care than Castiel’s had.

“What’s a soft touch?” Castiel wanted to know.  He wanted to know, so he asked.  He’d found that simply seeking out the literal definitions of phrases Dean used was unhelpful, and Dean had agreed to explain.

“Someone who’s really, uh, accepting,” Dean said after a moment.  “You don’t have to try very hard to get them to take your word for it.”

“Someone who is easily conned,” Castiel said.

“Well.”  Dean yanked his laces tighter.  “Kind of, I guess.  But that’s not how I meant it.”

“How did you mean it?” Castiel asked.

“I meant you’re a nice guy,” Dean said.  His fingers kept working while he looked up, trying a smile.  “It’s – I wouldn’t use it on someone you don’t know real well, unless you’re trying to piss ’em off.  It’s kind of – I meant it in a nice way.  Most people wouldn’t.”

“The way you call Sam a bitch,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “Yeah, like that.”

“I understand,” Castiel said.  “I think you’re a soft touch too.”

Dean’s smile was real, suddenly, and Castiel was pleased that he could tell.  “Right,” he said, reaching for his other skate.  “I guess I deserved that.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, watching him.  “You do deserve it, Dean.”

Dean paused, and that was just enough time for Jo to roll up and drop onto one of the circular seats across from them.  “Hey,” she said.  “Sam says you guys are gonna get married.  Who do I have to bribe to be there?”

“Your mom,” Dean said without looking up.  “God.  Probably Sam.  All of the above.”

“We haven’t talked about it yet,” Castiel offered, when Jo looked from Dean to him with raised eyebrows.

“About who’s in charge of the planning?” Jo said.  “Where are you having it?”

“About getting married,” Dean said.  “Jo, seriously, you know any successful marriages?  ’Cause I don’t.”

Jo opened her mouth, and Dean let go of his laces long enough to hold up a hand.  “Widows don’t count,” he said.

Jo closed her mouth again, frowning.

“Yeah,” Dean said a moment later, setting his foot flat on the floor.  “That’s what I thought.”

“Why don’t widows count?” Jo wanted to know.  “Or widowers?  My mom and dad were cool.”

“You think,” Dean countered.  “If only one of ’em’s still alive, they’re not a good example.”

“I don’t think we should emulate partners who are no longer together,” Castiel said.  “For whatever reason.”

“Oh, like death would be such a thing for you,” Jo said, rolling her eyes.  “Even your parents?  You won’t even count them?”

“No,” Dean said.  He sounded short.  “My parents count less than yours.”

“Bobby was married,” Jo said.

“Yeah, so was Tamara,” Dean retorted.  “And Andrea and Jenny and hey, Cassie’s mom.  Worked out real well, all of ’em.”

“Wow,” Jo said, frowning a little.  The hesitation was longer than he’d come to expect from her.  “That’s... kind of weird, now that I think about it.”

“Creepy,” Dean corrected.  “Bad pie is weird.  Dead spouses are disturbing.  What if the next apocalypse is all about zombies?  What happens then?  We’re screwed, that’s what.”

“I can’t be turned into a zombie,” Castiel offered.  “Neither can you.”

“Yeah, you think,” Dean repeated.  “Has anyone ever tried?  Come on.  Who zombifies an angel?”

“I don’t think that’s a real word,” Castiel told him.

“Wait,” Jo said.  “You don’t want to get married because you think Cas might turn into a zombie?”

“I didn’t say that,” Dean snapped.

“Who’s turning into a zombie?” Gabriel asked.

“Your love life,” Dean said.  “Stop pissing Sam off.”

“Oh, please,” Gabriel scoffed.  “Like it’s such a challenge.  You know what’s hard, is not pissing him off.  ‘Volatile’ is really too tame a word.”

Castiel frowned, surprised to see Dean trying not to smile.  Like he agreed but didn’t want to, because it was Gabriel.  And Sam.  “I have found Sam to be very tolerant,” Castiel said carefully.

“He’s a goody-two-shoes,” Dean said.  “That doesn’t mean you get to mess with him.”

“Hello, trickster!” Gabriel exclaimed.  “What do you think I do!  I thought love was about accepting people for who they are!”

“And compromise,” Jo said.  “If it hurts him more than it helps you, that’s not love.”

“Oh, what do you know,” Gabriel said crossly.  “Dean’s the one he’s really mad at.  I didn’t even do anything.”

“What did I do?” Dean wanted to know.

“Uh, have you seen Lucifer recently?”  Gabriel glared at him.  “Because last I heard, Sam was all ready to say yes just to spare a long string of pathetic human vessels the psychological torment of getting what they asked for!”

The horror Castiel felt at this news was barely mitigated by Dean’s casual disregard.  “Sam won’t do that,” Dean said.  With a sideways glance at him, Dean added, “Stop frightening Cas.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes.  It was clear that he’d missed something, but he didn’t dare ask for clarification.  Not if Dean was really Michael and this was all some kind of ploy.  He should find Sam.

“Jo,” Dean said.  “Could you do me a favor and get Sam to come over here?”

“Do I look like your messenger?” Jo retorted.

Dean didn’t smile.  “Please?”

“Okay, fine,” she said, glancing around at all of them.  “But I’m warning him what he’s walking into.”

Dean waited until she’d skated back toward the rink to stand up, steady on wheels as his wings crackled behind him.  “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed at Gabriel.  “Sam isn’t a game, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not the only one who cares.”

“You’re a spoiled brat who thinks he can get whatever he wants by growling and flashing his wings,” Gabriel shot back.  “Your stupid humans aren’t any better than the rest of us, Michael.”

“Daddy?”  Maribel was just there, and Castiel could feel Wildfire pressed up against his wings.  Adamel was on the other side of Dean.  “Do you need help?”

“No,” Dean said.  Castiel could see him forcing his anger down, the tips of his wings grounding against the floor.  “Thanks, kiddo, but we’re good here.  Gabriel was just promising to be nicer to Sam.”

“That’s good,” Maribel said.  “Lucifer wouldn’t like it if anything happened to Sam.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gabriel demanded.  “A baby angel is threatening me with hell if I don’t treat her uncle like a doll.  That’s great.  That’s just, what is that.  Oh, yeah.  The stupidest thing that’s happened to me all day!”

“Back off!” Dean snapped.  “We’ve got enough problems without you having a temper tantrum every five minutes!”

“Oh, right.”  Gabriel rolled her eyes.  “Like you should talk, Mr. I Can’t Even Marry My Husband!”

“Uh, hey.”  Sam’s voice was quiet in Castiel’s ear, and he turned enough that Wildfire scooted back.  Just a little, so that Sam could lean without being in her face.  “The hell’s going on?”

“Dean and Gabriel are fighting,” Castiel said.

“My mom says the only time I’m supposed to be on Gabriel’s side is when he’s fighting Lucifer,” Wildfire said softly.  “But I’m not sure that’s right, because Lucifer is Adamel’s dad.”

“Great,” Dean said.  “Now we’re teaching them to take sides.”

Emily had followed Jo and Sam out onto the carpeted area, and it was very clear that the angels were aware of what was going on.  Sachiel lingered at the break in the rink wall, watching.  Aramel and Isithiel were feigning human conversation, and he had no idea why, because everyone else had stopped pretending they hadn’t noticed what was happening.

“Kind of their birthright,” Gabriel muttered.  “Considering who their parents are.”

“Okay, look,” Dean said.  “We’re not splitting over this, this is just – geez, I can’t divorce my family.  Stop looking so worried.”

“Gabriel said that Sam might become Lucifer’s vessel,” Castiel said quietly.  In case Dean had forgotten.

“Gabriel said that to piss me off,” Dean told him.  “She’s my sister, she knows what buttons to push.”

“Wait, I’m doing what?” Sam interrupted.  “Since when?”

“Since Gabriel decided to be an asshole,” Dean said.

Sam didn’t seem alarmed.  “Oh, since forever,” he muttered.  He glared at Gabriel, who actually looked uncomfortable.  “You could’ve just said.”

“We’re arguing,” Dean said, clearly addressing the rest of them now.  “It happens.  It’s a thing that happens when people get to make their own choices, okay?  They argue over which one is right.  That doesn’t mean it’s gonna come to blows.”

“It could,” Gabriel said.

“Shut up,” Dean told her.

“That didn’t work last time you tried it,” Gabriel pointed out.  “What makes you think it’s gonna go better for you this time?”

“Because you hate fighting,” Dean said.  “You hate people yelling at each other; you hate it when we’re stupid and bitchy and mean.  So what the hell are you doing?”

Gabriel stared at him for a long moment, and Castiel didn’t even understand what they were arguing about anymore.  He didn’t know if anyone did.  But Wildfire was a warm, reassuring presence at his back, and he thought Sam was holding his breath.

He still didn’t know why.

“You hate it when we leave,” Gabriel said, very quietly.  Coldly, Castiel realized with a shock.  Unkindly.  “What the hell are you doing.”

No one said anything.  The music continued to blare in the background, colored lights flashing over everything, and it wasn’t even an annoyance.  It didn’t matter.

It was everything Dean ignored because he didn’t think it was for him.

“Making a mistake,” Dean said at last.  “I’m trying to fix it now.”

Castiel felt Sam nudge him.  “Trying to fix what?” Sam muttered.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said.  “Everything, probably.”

Sam’s huff of laughter was very familiar, and he thought he saw Gabriel’s expression lighten a little.  Dean glanced at him.  “God complex?” he asked.

Castiel considered this in light of Dean’s recent teasing.  “Me, or you?”

It made Dean smile.  “Maybe it’s contagious,” he said.

“I think you’re all stupid,” Gabriel grumbled.  “But I’m not going to kill anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Permanently,” Sam said.

Gabriel flashed a grin at him, and Castiel thought it wasn’t entirely honest.  “Nah, Sammy, I’m over killing in all forms.  The thrill was gone the second Cas started bringing ’em back.”

Sam rolled his eyes.  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You shot me,” Dean reminded her.

“Like you didn’t deserve it,” Gabriel said.

“If Gabriel’s not going to kill anyone,” Maribel said, “can we go back to skating?”

“Wait, he doesn’t have to do anything?” Gabriel demanded.  “I promise not to kill anyone, and Michael gets to keep being an asshole?  How does that work?”

“I promise not to kill anyone either,” Dean said.  “I’ll stop being an asshole when you do.”

“The difference is, you’re lying,” Gabriel said flatly.

“I promise not to kill you,” Dean said.

Gabriel just glared at her.

“Fine,” Dean said.  “What do you want me to say?  I won’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it?”

“You’re the first archangel of heaven,” Castiel murmured.  “You can’t make that promise.”

He felt Maribel’s gaze turn to him before he anticipated her question.  “What about me?” she asked.  “Will I have to kill people?”

“At some point in your existence,” Castiel said.  “It’s very likely.”

He wondered, suddenly, what kind of sword training Aramel had been giving them.  Defense?  Disarmament?  Surely she hadn’t taught them this long without introducing some kind of offensive skills.

“Okay,” Sam said.  “Dean’s gonna try to be less of an asshole, and the rest of us are gonna practice roller skating.  Let’s save the war stories for some other time.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Castiel said, surprising himself.  And Dean, if the way he closed his mouth was any indication.  “Maribel, I believe you were going to provide me with instruction.”

“And Daddy,” she said immediately.  “Even though Sam says he isn’t any good.”

“Hey,” Dean objected.

“You’re not,” Sam told him.

“Better than you,” Dean said.

“Father,” Wildfire said softly.  “Is my mom right?”

Castiel didn’t move, even as Sam stood up and pointed at Gabriel.  “You,” he said.  “Come here.”

“What am I, a pet?” Gabriel demanded.

“Jophiel has her reasons for the things she tells you,” Castiel said, lowering his voice to match Wildfire’s.  “She has been through much, both with me and on her own.  You would be wise to listen and try to understand.”

“You’re trouble,” Sam said.  “I’m trying to contain you.”

Gabriel brightened at this.  “Why, Sam, I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all day.”

“Is she right?” Wildfire whispered.

“No one rule applies to every situation,” Castiel said softly.  “That is why you were given judgment.”

Wildfire didn’t hesitate.  “Is Maribel’s judgment better than mine?”

“Judgment improves with practice,” Castiel murmured.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Wildfire informed him.

Castiel understood her frustration, having experienced it many times himself.  “Perhaps there is no answer,” he said.  “Perhaps all we can do is our best, and trust that our best was made to be good enough.”

Sam had managed to lure Gabriel away, but Jo lingered with Dean and he could see Sachiel still watching from the edge of the rink.  “Was it?” Wildfire asked.

“Yes,” Castiel told her.

“All right,” she said.  Sliding over to the edge of the circle, she added politely, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel replied.

Wildfire put her skates down on the floor and slithered away, sure and steady like she was running without wheels.  Only faster.  She spun around Sachiel and caught her hand, coming to an abrupt stop without the slightest change in balance.  She looked up, and Castiel could see what she asked without needing to hear it: Coming?

Sachiel glanced back toward Castiel with a smile as Wildfire pulled her away.  Thank you, she mouthed.  Forming the word without sound, not bothering to send it mentally to him.  The way a human would.

Castiel just nodded in return.

“You can’t avoid this forever,” Dean’s voice said.  He sounded fond, not chastising, and Castiel held out his hands as he’d seen Sam and Dean do for each other.

“I wouldn’t wish to,” he said.  Dean took one hand and Maribel, without prompting, took the other.  They steadied him when he stood – Dean more than Maribel, since for all her strength, she didn’t seem well-acquainted with the concept of balance – and Dean tugged him closer.

“Good excuse to hang on each other,” Dean muttered.

Castiel would take it.  He couldn’t tell if Dean was actually as unaccustomed to the activity as he seemed, but Maribel seemed more amused with them than impatient, so he supposed it didn’t matter.  The point was for her to be comfortable.  He himself spent more time “hanging on Dean” than falling down, so he counted that as good enough.

If Dean and Gabriel avoided each other for the rest of the evening, well.  It gave him and Maribel more time with Dean.

***

He didn’t actually begrudge Anael assistance when it came to garrison warding.  Hers was clearly the weakest of the earth garrisons, and it could use as many reinforcements as they could spare.  He even understood, intellectually, why Michael was the one to answer when she called.

That didn’t mean he liked spending the night alone.

Castiel considered going back to heaven, since it wasn’t as though things there were stable.  Whether his presence would help or hurt the situation, he didn’t know, but he was willing to find out.  What he wasn’t willing to do was ignore the chance that Dean would return and fall into bed while he was gone without so much as an “I’m back.”

So he went downstairs, looking for some sort of moderately productive diversion.  He found Adamel instead.  The boy was watching television – something about skin ink on humans – and Castiel was not uninterested.

They sat in silence for half an hour before Nick stumbled down the stairs behind them.  He stared at them for several seconds.  Adamel turned back to the TV when Nick failed to speak, but Castiel continued to watch him.  He was aware that Dean took responsibility for Nick’s successful recovery, if only because Sam cared, and as such Castiel’s involvement was obligatory.

“What are you watching?” Nick croaked.  His voice sounded worse than sleep alone should make it, Castiel thought, but then, he didn’t have extensive experience with recently awakened humans.

“Television,” Castiel replied.  “You’re welcome to join us.”

Nick cleared his throat.  “It’s, uh... Castiel, right?”

“I am Castiel,” he agreed.  “This is Adamel.”

“Adamel,” Nick repeated.  “Is he –”  Adamel lifted a hand without turning, possibly in greeting, and Nick started again.  “Are you an...”

He didn’t get much further the second time.  Adamel turned around, though, studying Nick curiously over the back off the couch.  “Are you addressing me?”

Nick took a step back, and Castiel frowned.  “You’re not in danger here,” he said, hoping he’d read the human body language correctly.  Nick’s thoughts were too jumbled to comprehend: possibly a result of long association with Lucifer, lingering protection or just an inability to process linearly.

It would explain his difficulty speaking, Castiel supposed.  It didn’t bode well for his ability to reintegrate into human society, however.  He wondered if Lucifer was aware of the effect, and if there was any way he could mitigate it in his current vessel.

“You’re both angels,” Nick blurted out, and Castiel got a single coherent thought from him: Nightmare.

“Yes,” Castiel said carefully.  “We pose no threat to you.”

“Are you –”  Nick continued to stumble over the words.  “You look human.”

“We’re not as Lucifer was when he took you,” Castiel said carefully.  “These forms belong to us, though I wear mine in deference to a recent vessel.  This human body was given to me by my father.”

“Mine too,” Adamel said.  He didn’t mention that his father was Castiel, and Castiel thought that was probably for the best.  Nick seemed uncomfortable enough already.

“A vessel,” Nick repeated.  “That’s what I am.”

“Yes,” Castiel said.  “It is a great honor, to be able to perceive the glory of the host without harm.”  Or so he had once believed.  He wasn’t so certain anymore.  About many things.

“You guys sound less crazy at night,” Nick muttered.

Castiel didn’t know what to say to that.

Adamel turned around to watch the television again when it became clear that Nick didn’t intend to carry on a conversation.  He did eventually sit down – out of weariness, Castiel thought – and he stared blankly at in the direction of the screen as though revelation might come if he waited long enough.

Castiel understood the intent.

Nick fell asleep almost immediately, and Castiel would have considered it a mercy if he couldn’t see the man’s dreams.  His family was fresh in his mind despite the time that had passed, and their deaths had been gruesome, even by angelic standards.  Castiel rose, dispelling the nightmares with a touch.

It was the least they could do for him.  It was, perhaps, not enough.  Castiel wasn’t sure what purpose Dean had in bringing Nick here, other than his claim that the man had nowhere else to go.  He hoped there was something more for him than simply surviving his only child.

They were on their third episode of L.A. Ink when the presence of an archangel on the porch was suddenly unmistakable.  A powerful archangel.  One untempered by human concerns.

Michael.

Adamel glanced at Castiel, but it was clear that he wasn’t looking for guidance.  He was leaving.

“Take Nick,” Castiel said.  “Asleep, if you can.”

Adamel vanished, flickered into existence beside Nick, and then they were both gone.

Michael didn’t follow them.  He also didn’t come into the house.  So, after steeling himself as best he could, Castiel went out to meet him.

Michael was brilliant and barely contained by the human form that still wore Dean’s clothes.  Castiel had the strangest urge to tear Dean’s jacket away from him, but he knew he shouldn’t risk Michael’s wrath.  He knew Dean wouldn’t let him, would have made him promise if he’d admitted this was a possibility.

“Why am I here?” Michael demanded.  His voice made the windows rattle.

Treat me the same, Dean had said.

“Because this is your home.”  Castiel kept his own voice as even as he could, low and human and maybe soothing, if Michael cared for such things.  Which he didn’t.

“This is earth,” Michael said.  But he didn’t sneer, and he was staring at Castiel like there was something there he needed to know.  Or something he recognized.  “I wanted to come here.”

“You were supposed to be here earlier,” Castiel said.  “Anael required your assistance.”

Michael tilted his head.  “How do you know that?”

“You told me,” Castiel said quietly.

“You’re useful,” Michael said.  “We’ve worked together before, haven’t we.”

He wanted to say “no.”  He wanted to say “I don’t know you.”  He wanted to say “Give Dean back or I’ll kill you,” but Dean had told him.  Dean had said, It doesn’t change how I feel.  It just makes me stupid about how I deal with it.

“Yes,” Castiel said, trying to swallow a feeling he recognized as rage.  Futility.  Neither was helpful right now.  “We’ve done much more than work together.”

This made Michael frown.  “Why do you look like that?” he wanted to know.

“You gave over Zachariah’s garrison to my care,” Castiel said.

“No,” Michael said.  “You’re brighter than an archangel.  You’re brighter than I am.  Why?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said honestly.  He tried to be grateful that they were having this conversation on a physical plane, at least partially removed from the curiosity of the host.  He was having a hard time feeling grateful for anything right now.

“Why am I here?” Michael repeated.  He was closer than he had been a moment before, the look on his face – on Dean’s face – no less intent.  “Why do I want to be here?”

Castiel looked away, but Dean’s hand caught his chin and turned it back toward him.  “Why do I want?” Michael asked.  More gently than he had a right to.

“Because you fell,” Castiel snapped, too angry not to fight anymore.  “Because you became someone I love, and now you’re taking him away again.”

“I fell,” Michael repeated.

Then, unexpectedly, he added, “That sounds right.”

Castiel stared at him, still caught in his grip and overwhelmed by emotion he didn’t want.

“Keep going,” Michael said.  “I was human, right?  For a little while?  That’s why I keep coming back to this house.”

Gabriel had asked if they communed, if he saw the garden when Dean was more Michael than not.  It couldn’t be worse than words, and it had to be less dangerous than shoving Michael away.  Castiel couldn’t break his promise to Dean by deliberately endangering his life.  Not over simple frustration.

Communion with Michael didn’t come easily.  Every instinct Castiel had fought to crush was stuttering now, fighting to open up, struggling to run away.  It wasn’t safe, Michael would hurt him, the other angels would know.  They would find him.  They would tear away his grace.

“Hey,” Michael said, and his very human voice sounded quiet under the rush of fear.  “I don’t bite.”

The sky opened up underneath him and Castiel pulled frantically, trying to get away, but Michael followed and he could see everything they could be and they were standing on solid ground.  The branches of the trees rustled overhead.  There was a glint of water beyond the playground.  He could no longer see all the way to the stones on the far side.

The garden was much bigger than it had been the day before.

“Oh,” Dean’s voice said.  “Fuck.”

Castiel reached out even as the hand on his face fell away.  Dean’s arm fumbled against his and Castiel stepped into him, but Dean didn’t fall.  “Wow,” he said.  “I really...”

Almost know you, he finished, staring at Castiel with strange eyes and cold hands.

“Dean,” Castiel said.  “You asked me to treat you the way I always do, no matter what you remember.  I find I can’t do that.”

Why are we alone? Michael asked.

Castiel closed his eyes.

“Cas,” Michael said aloud.  Dean.  Michael.  He couldn’t even tell anymore.

“Cas,” the voice repeated.  “It’s okay.  This is amazing.  You’re doing this?”

He shook his head.  Michael was doing it.  Michael’s grace and everything it entailed.

“I’m not,” Michael said quietly.  “Cas, look at me.”

He looked – reluctantly – and for the first time, he didn’t believe the color he saw.

“You’re not even human,” Castiel told him.  “You have no physical form here.  You can make your eyes green or blue or red, it doesn’t matter.”

“You like them green,” Michael said.  He sounded almost... hurt.

“I like it when you’re Dean Winchester,” Castiel snapped.  “I don’t like it when you pretend.”

Michael’s wings lifted, resettled, a human taking a breath.  “I tried,” he said, a careful look as he watched Castiel.  “I didn’t just fall.  You got me my grace back and I tried to bury it.  I tried to cut it out.  Because of this, Cas.  Because it upsets you.”

The words were harsh and unforgiving despite his easy tone.

“You wouldn’t let me,” Michael reminded him.  “You said you needed... this.  Me.  You needed Michael, too.  So don’t tell me I’m not what you want.”

Castiel turned away, eyes focusing on the slide.  He thought the playground looked different, sometimes.  The way the trees did.  The way there was water here now when there hadn’t been before, except that the playground didn’t always grow: it just changed.

“You want me to look like something else?” Michael asked.  He sounded, in that moment, very much like Dean.  It struck Castiel that perhaps he had sounded like Dean for some time now, and the flush of grace through every cell had simply distracted him.

He gave Michael a sideways look.  He held himself as Dean always did, relaxed and confident with wings in an absent sort of disarray.  Nothing Castiel had been able to do to them would make those wings lay smooth or flat.

“Why is there a lake?” Castiel found himself saying instead.

The angel who looked like Dean shrugged.  “You like lakes?” he asked.  “Beats me.”

“I’m not doing this,” Castiel insisted.  Except that he was.  Obviously he was.  “I’m not... trying to do it.  There’s no plan.”

Dean smiled.  “Are you sure?”

It was a very angelic expression, full of knowing and for the space of a heartbeat, Castiel wanted to leave.  To go anywhere but here.  But Dean wasn’t anywhere but here, and he still didn’t know how to get back.  “I can’t leave on my own,” he said aloud.

Dean’s smile fell away.  “I’ll take you,” he said.  “You don’t have to ask, Cas.  Just say you want to go home.”

What he couldn’t say was that there had been a fleeing moment when he’d thought this was home.

“Can I show you something first?” Dean said, very quietly.

Castiel just nodded.

They were at the lake, standing back among the trees.  And down there, by the shore, was a dock.  It held a single chair, which didn’t make any sense, and a tackle box: closed.  With a pole beside it.

“Do you even like to fish,” Castiel murmured.

“I think the important question,” Dean said, his voice just as soft, “is whether or not you think I like to fish.”

“Tell me who I am,” Castiel said, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see Dean frown.

“My lover,” Dean said.  “The father of my child.”

“You’re quoting,” Castiel said.

“The guy Sam thinks I’m gonna marry,” Dean said.  “The guy who always asks me who he is when I get weird, not who I am.  Why is that?”

“I know who you are,” Castiel said, not opening his eyes.

“You sure?” Dean asked again.  “What do you know about Michael, Cas?  You think I don’t want to be human?  You think it was a phase, I’m over it, now back to commanding the armies of heaven?”

“No,” Castiel said.  “I saw your journal.”

There was a pause.  “Okay,” Dean said.  “You’re the third person to mention my journal today.  What the hell did I write, anyway?”

Castiel tipped his head back, staring through closed eyes at a sky filled with diffuse light.  “Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, actually.”  Dean still sounded puzzled.  “I remember all of it, and seriously, it wasn’t that interesting.”

“You wanted to be human,” Castiel said, “so you could meet me.”

“So?”  Dean clearly wasn’t impressed.  “You’re awesome.”

“You’re an archangel,” Castiel said, opening his eyes to the “sky.”  “You didn’t have to fall to earth to meet me.”

“Obviously,” Dean said.  “I had to fall to hell.  What, you think I’m not gonna try to save my brother?  I’m sorry you got caught up in it, but only ’cause I know it sucked.  It was hard, it messed you up, and I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for all of this.”

“Except meeting me,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “And getting my brother out.  And getting the fallen angels back.  And stopping the apocalypse.  Actually, the only part I’m really sorry about is that you had to go through so much shit just ’cause I didn’t know what I was doing.”

He felt the corner of his mouth twitch.  Or something like it, given that he wasn’t even sure there was air here and he was still bothering to breathe.  There must be air, though, right?  The trees weren’t growing out of nothing.

“Why me?” Castiel asked the odd, day-like light.

“I mentioned the part about you being awesome, right?”

He didn’t answer.

“I like you?” Dean tried again.

Castiel lowered his gaze, staring at Dean, who sighed.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted.  “It was just something I had to do.  Maybe I’ve forgotten.”

“Can you tell?” Castiel asked in spite of himself.  “When you’ve forgotten things?”

“Sometimes,” Dean said.

“When?” Castiel insisted.

“Mostly when there’s something I want,” Dean said, looking back at him without blinking.  “And I can’t figure out how I even know to miss it.”

It was how he’d felt the first time he met Dean.

Dean smiled as though he’d heard.  Castiel had to wonder if the thought hadn’t been all his own.

And Dean’s smile lost something, again, which was only further proof that he wasn’t thinking solely to himself.  “Still don’t trust me,” Dean said.  Not like it was a question.

“I trust you,” Castiel said.

Dean didn’t miss the subtle emphasis on the last word.  “Okay,” he said.  “Well, thanks for that.”

“And Michael,” Castiel heard himself say.  “When he – when you remember.”

Dean considered that for a long moment, eyes flicking away and then back just as quickly.  “Yeah,” he said at last.  “I get that.  I guess I wouldn’t trust my fifteen-year-old self to do right by... well.  A lot of the friendlies we’ve met, recently.”

“I would,” Castiel said impulsively.  “But then, it’s been said I’m a soft touch.”

Dean’s smile returned, a little crooked, a lot sincere.  His answer passed for normal.  “Terrible skater, too.”

“I had a terrible teacher,” Castiel replied.

“I’m gonna tell Maribel you said that,” Dean told him.

“I didn’t mean her,” Castiel said.

This time, Dean grinned.  “Yeah, Cas.  I know you didn’t.”

They stood there, looking at each other, for longer than he bothered to be aware of.  It was not unfamiliar.  The light never changed, of course, but for the first time there was a second sound.  Over the rustling of the trees, he could hear the infrequent lap of water.  Just a ripple, now and then, breaking against the edge of the dock or even the shore itself.

The dock doesn’t make noise, Dean thought.

Nor the swings, Castiel agreed.  I don’t know why.

Their words didn’t interrupt the quiet.

How come there are plants, Dean added after a moment, but no animals?

Maybe there are, Castiel said.  Maybe we just can’t see them.

It was a whimsical answer, and Dean seemed appropriately amused.  I think maybe you like plants better than you like us, he said.  I think when you picture a new world, you picture a whole lot of peace.  No angels fighting.  No annoying humans yelling in your ear.

I don’t believe the creative process is peaceful, Castiel said.

Well, Dean said, when he didn’t continue.  You would know.

Would he?  Castiel considered the struggle with Dean, with Michael, and wondered suddenly if it wasn’t meant to be a price at all.  Not a sacrifice, but a gift.  One that Dean gave freely.  It was only Castiel who objected.

Only Castiel who was afraid.

You should be, Dean told him.  You’ve got the future of this world in your hands.  You’d be crazy not to be scared.  But you can’t let it run you off.  I’m with you, okay?  You can do this.

He didn’t even know what they were doing.

Neither did I, Dean reminded him.  I get that my stuff isn’t a shining example, but we got through it, you know?

“Together,” Castiel said aloud.

“All of us,” Dean agreed, his voice the same.  “You’re not alone, Cas.”

“Then why,” he said, staring past Dean at the dock, “is there only one chair?”

It didn’t give Dean pause at all.  “Because you stood,” he said.  “You always stood.  And stared.  Especially while I was sleeping, I gotta tell you.”

“You were prone to yelling at me while you were awake,” Castiel said.

Dean lifted one shoulder in a shrug.  “Okay,” he said.  “That’s at least a little bit true.”

“I want a chair,” Castiel told him.

“It’s your paradise,” Dean said with a smile.  He pushed his hands into his pockets like he was relaxing, and his wings mirrored the movement of his arms.

“It’s not,” Castiel said automatically.  This was where the children had come from.  “It’s theirs.”

“News flash,” Dean said.  The way he always had, but softer.  Kinder.  “There is no ‘they,’ Cas.”

He considered that.  “That’s either profound,” Castiel said at last, “or meaningless.  Which did you intend?”

“If you have to ask,” Dean said, “I guess I did it right.”

Castiel stared at him for a long moment.  “Are you attempting to be inscrutable?”

“I’m attempting to be less of a jerk,” Dean said.  “Is it working?”

“I suppose,” Castiel said slowly, “that depends on your definition.”

“Pretty much depends on yours,” Dean said.  “Actually.”

“Yes,” Castiel said.  He tried, for once, not to think about it too much.  He tried to just trust.  “Can we go home now?”

Faith had once come more easily than breathing, an intrinsic part of who he was.  He had lost it quickly, brutally, and largely of his own will.  Trying to rebuild such a thing was... frightening.  On many levels.

“Anytime,” Dean said.

Just like that, they were in the world he knew again, standing on their own porch with the light darkening Dean’s hair.  The stars were hidden by clouds he hadn’t seen roll in, and the air was heavy with almost-rain.  Simple meteorological phenomena that made Dean smile.

“Springtime,” he said, drawing in a deep breath.  “We sure earned it this year.”

Castiel frowned.  He didn’t ask, how does one earn a season?  He didn’t point out that it had been spring for some time, according to Dean’s own calendar.  But he did wonder if the vague sense he got from Dean’s unspoken thoughts meant that no further explanation would be forthcoming.

“It’s a good thing,” Dean said without being prompted.  “Sometimes when you go through a lot of bad stuff, you have to treat the good stuff like a reward, you know?  To remind you to appreciate it.  Otherwise you spend all your time waiting for the bad to come back.”

It wasn’t that he couldn’t appreciate this.  It wasn’t even the strangeness of this advice coming from Dean.  It was the fact that he had, for several seconds, failed to question Dean’s choice of this location as “home.”

“What?” Dean asked, catching the thought immediately.  “You got someplace else in mind?”

He didn’t think Dean would necessarily appreciate the gesture.  But he had been given leave, so he cupped his hand behind Dean’s neck and stepped into him.  Instead of kissing, he buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, free arm winding around his waist.

“Sap,” Dean whispered, his breath stirring Castiel’s hair.  But warm wings closed around him even as Dean’s arms held him tight, and it was everything he could have asked.  “Love you.”

“I love you,” Castiel murmured back.  It was strange to say it as a human would, instead of simply knowing, but the words served their purpose.  He could feel Dean smile without seeing it.

The knowledge that Adamel and Nick were at Rebecca’s house glowed in the back of his mind, and he tried not to notice.  As soon as he focused on it, Dean would too, and then he would have to ask.  Instead, Castiel thought of Maribel, with Wildfire in Gabriel’s barn.  He thought idly of Jesse, but no location for him was forthcoming.  Not with an angel, then.

“So,” Dean said softly.  “This marriage thing.”

Castiel didn’t move.  “Yes,” he said.

“I’m willing to give it a try if you are.”  Dean’s voice was rough, and the words sounded forced, but Castiel could hear the fear behind them.  It wasn’t reluctance.  It was an irrational worry that admitting he wanted it would make it unattainable.

“I am,” Castiel said simply.  The words were perhaps slightly muffled by Dean’s shirt, but he thought yes as strongly as he could and he knew Dean understood.

“It’s a human thing, Cas.”  Dean sounded less worried now.  “Lots of silly rituals that no one really understands.  You sure you want to go there?”

What was silly was that Dean was asking the question.  “I like rituals,” Castiel mumbled.

“Right,” Dean agreed.  “Well.”

That was it for a long moment, and Castiel thought they could easily stand there the rest of the night.  Heaven wasn’t calling – for once – and hell was at least relatively quiet.  There was little on earth that could trouble them if they didn’t want it to.

“Guess I’m gonna have to get you a ring,” Dean murmured at last.  “Are you a diamond kind of girl?”

He was clearly going to have to research western marriage traditions.

“They say diamonds are forever,” Dean said without being prompted.  “When a guy asks someone to marry him, he gives her a ring.  The diamond is how long they think they’ll be together.”

Castiel lifted his head, drawing back far enough to catch Dean’s eye.  Dean’s gaze was oddly blue in the dim light, and he tried to ignore it.  “That seems an irregular association.”

“It’s a symbol, Cas.”  Dean didn’t agree, which Castiel had half-expected him to.  It was difficult to guess which human customs Dean would insist had meaning and which he would dismiss without argument.  “You promise to marry me, I’m giving you a ring.”

Castiel considered the explanation.  “Even if I’m not a woman?” he asked.

This made Dean smile unexpectedly.  “Yeah,” he said.  “My bad.  You get an engagement ring whether we’re gay or not.”

Castiel was oddly aware of his left hand.  He pulled it free and rested it on Dean’s shoulder, staring at it in his memory.  Or not his, exactly.  Someone else’s memory, that he had once been privy to.

Dean lifted his shoulder and tipped his head to one side, brushing a kiss against Castiel’s hand.

“Jimmy wears a ring,” Castiel said.  His fingers were unadorned, but a hand that looked just like this had worn a metal band both before and after Castiel borrowed it.

“Yeah,” Dean said quietly.  He was careful about the Novaks.  “Wedding ring.  Most people wear them after they’re married.”

“The engagement ring is worn before?” Castiel asked.  That didn’t seem quite right.

“You get it before,” Dean said.  “You can wear it forever, if you want.”

Castiel frowned at the obvious flaw in this plan.  “Diamonds don’t actually last forever, Dean.”

And Dean laughed, hands tightening briefly against his hips.  “This is only a problem with angels,” he said.  He sounded fond, pleased even, instead of exasperated.  “I’ll get you something cooler than a diamond, how’s that.  But you gotta pick where we have the wedding.”

“I have no idea what the criteria are for choosing a location,” Castiel protested.

“I have to choose where we get engaged,” Dean said.  “You get to choose where we get married.”

Castiel frowned at him this time.  “That isn’t helpful.”

Dean’s grin softened.  “I’ll help,” he promised.  “Hell, if you tell anyone what you’re doing, they’ll probably help too.  Just don’t... you know.  Don’t listen to them too much.”

“If I’m seeking their help,” Castiel said, “why wouldn’t I listen to what they tell me?”

“Everyone always has advice about weddings, Cas.  You can listen if you like it.  But if you don’t, tell ’em to have their own wedding.  Okay?”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said slowly.  He was trying to, but he thought what Dean was saying didn’t make sense.  It was possible this was Michael, who didn’t really know either and was operating off of some half-remembered thought from Dean, but he preferred to think it was just Dean being his cryptic human self.

“You’ll see,” Dean told him.  “Just be careful how many people you ask, because you can’t do what everyone says.  The fewer people you get involved, the fewer people will be mad at us later.”

“This doesn’t sound like an entirely positive experience,” Castiel said, eyeing him.

“It’s pretty awful,” Dean agreed.  “Except for the part where, at the end of it, we’re married.”

“Isn’t there a way to skip to that part?” Castiel wanted to know.

“Trust me,” Dean said.  “They’ll only hate us more.”

“They?” Castiel repeated.

“Everyone we know,” Dean said.  “Let me propose first, okay?  We’ll make it official before everyone starts adding their two cents.”

“Haven’t you already?” Castiel asked.  Maybe it was Michael.  Maybe it was more than just not knowing, maybe he didn’t even remember.  He had no idea who he was talking to anymore.

“Me,” Dean said softly.  “Just me.”

Castiel closed his eyes.

“We talked about it,” Dean said.  “That’s different from proposing.  I’ll give you a ring when I propose, and then we’re officially engaged.  That’s when everyone starts to think it’s their god-given right to get involved.”

“By everyone,” Castiel said, without opening his eyes, “you mean your family.”

“And yours,” Dean said.  “If you think no one in heaven cares if angels get human married, get ready to be surprised.”

It was an odd combination of Dean and Michael: oddly natural, and he was staring at Dean again before he realized he’d opened his eyes.  Dean’s were glinting, a funny reflection that made it impossible to judge their color.  “You’re Michael,” he said.  In retrospect, somewhat stupidly.

Dean, for once, let him figure out what he was trying to say before he went and messed it up.

“I mean,” Castiel said, quickly, though not without stumbling, “Michael can... can’t you do whatever you want?”

They were very close, still wrapped up in each other.  He could feel Dean’s arm sliding out from under his before a hand came to rest on his face, thumb stroking his skin.  “Free will is a human prerogative,” Dean murmured.

Michael.  Michael said it, because he was sure this was Michael talking to him now.

“I don’t make the rules,” Michael said quietly.  “I just make sure everyone else follows them.”

Castiel swallowed.  “Is this against the rules?” he whispered.  If Michael decided he was better off dead, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Dean’s hand tightened at his side, and the fingers on his face cupped his jaw.  “Not by my hand,” he said.  “And not by any other as long as I exist.  I swear to you.”

His life.  Michael wasn’t answering the question.  He was promising him his life.

“I sometimes wish you were only Dean,” Castiel whispered, closing his eyes.

“I know,” Michael murmured.  “I’ve never held that against you.”

“Sometimes,” Castiel continued, ignoring him, “I’m glad you’re not.”  And that felt more like a betrayal than anything else he had done.  Hearing the words aloud was crushing in a way the unspoken possibility hadn’t been.

Michael was happy.  There was, perhaps, nothing Castiel could have said that would mean more to him.  But he tamped down that feeling firmly, trying to hide it or ignore it or put it aside, to get rid of it however he could so Castiel wouldn’t have to deal with it.

“That doesn’t make you a traitor, Cas,” he said softly.

“It’s hard not to see myself as such,” Castiel whispered.  “I gave up heaven for Dean.  To think that now I might, in any way, be disloyal to him...”

“Cas.”  It was Dean’s voice, harsh in his ears, Dean’s hands that gripped his shoulders tight.  “You’ve never been anything but awesome to me.  You’re not betraying me.  You can’t; it’s not possible.  If anything, I screwed us up by not telling you who I really am.”

“You didn’t know,” Castiel said.

“Look at me,” Dean demanded.

Castiel opened his eyes.  Dean stood there, the way he always had, righteous love and determination coiled around him like power.  “You didn’t know either,” Dean said.  “I fell for you anyway.  Pretty sure you did the same for me.  We’re here; we know what we know.  We’ll figure the rest out as we go along.”

“Is it against the rules?” Castiel asked.  Because he had to.

“Does it matter?” Dean replied.

“Yes,” Castiel said slowly.  It wouldn’t stop him, and it certainly wouldn’t stop Dean.  But it seemed important that he know.  “I think it does.”

“There’s no rule that says angels can’t get married,” Dean said.  “Is that good enough?”

Dean didn’t want to tell him.  Castiel thought that probably meant yes, there was a rule.  There was something, somewhere, that applied to them.  Or to what they were doing.  And they were tearing it right down the middle.  Dean wouldn’t be so evasive if they were just hovering around the edges of what was allowed.

“Why don’t you want to tell me?” Castiel asked.  “Can’t I find out?  There must be someone other than you who knows.  Gabriel would know.”

“Don’t ask Gabriel,” Dean said quickly.

Then, with a sigh, he added, “The nephilim war.  This is how it started, Cas.  With angels promising themselves to humans forever.”

“You’re –”  Castiel stopped.  To admit that Dean wasn’t human was to accept everything he’d helped set in motion.  He’d thought he could do that; he’d thought he had done that.  To have free will was to be responsible for one’s choices.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dean said.  “We have a kid, Cas.  She’s not exactly flying under the radar.  Getting married is just gonna stir it up even higher.”

They’re gonna notice, Dean was thinking.  No one’s gonna miss this.

“I didn’t plan this well,” Castiel said quietly.  “I didn’t – I couldn’t see all the consequences.”

“No one could have,” Dean said.  “No one can see all the way to the endgame.  Hell, I’m lucky if I can get as far as tomorrow.  That doesn’t mean we don’t try.  It doesn’t mean we don’t do the best we can.”

“The best I can do has trapped us in an impossible situation,” Castiel muttered.

“What’s impossible?” Dean countered.  “Remember last year, how the world didn’t end?  Remember Gabriel, and Anna, and Sam and Lucifer?  Me and you?  Maribel?  Seems like your best has gotten us out of a lot more impossible stuff than it’s gotten us into.

“Hey,” he added, tipping his head closer when Castiel didn’t answer.  “Maybe your best was meant to be good enough, huh?  You ever think of that?”

Castiel, Rachel’s voice said.  We need you.

Castiel kissed him anyway, even when he felt Dean smile against his mouth, even when Michael’s voice whispered in his mind, Can’t leave them alone for a second.

His eyes flew open as Michael’s grace surged hot against his own.  He knew with sudden certainty that the garden had just taken everything of Dean but what he held in his arms.  He knew, too, that Michael wouldn’t follow if he pulled back now.

I’ll remember, Michael promised, letting him yank himself away without thought or protest.  I’ll always want you, Cas.

He’d always been able to see Michael in Dean.  Whether he admitted it to himself or not.  Recently he’d started to see Dean in Michael as well.  For the first time, he let himself believe that Dean might not be disappointed if he wasn’t the only one Castiel looked for.

“I believe you,” he whispered as his wings carried him away.

***

Maribel was in the kitchen with Dean the next morning, and the triviality of it was a relief.  Dean was sitting on the floor while Maribel twirled around in what appeared to be a happy and pointless chase of another cereal box toy.  Another plastic racecar, if Castiel wasn’t mistaken, possibly identical to Wildfire’s except for the color.

Neither of them were touching the car as it dodged and weaved, but then, it was supposed to be self-propelling.

“Hi Father,” Maribel said, disappearing from one side of the island and landing on the other with a flutter of wings.  The car immediately reversed direction, glowing faintly as she looked up to smile at Castiel.  “How are you?”

Dean snapped his fingers.  The glow vanished, the car vanished, and Maribel swung around to frown at him.  Castiel heard a clicking noise from behind him.  He watched, bemused, as the little toy rolled between his feet and continued merrily across the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said, when Dean raised his eyebrows at him.  Obediently, he tried to remember the correct response.  “Are you ready for school?”

Dean glanced at Maribel, so he assumed that was right.

“Yes,” Maribel said.  With a snap of her own, she manifested a little metal tank directly in the car’s path.  “Sam’s coming to pick us up in a few minutes.  He’s bringing Nick with him.”

Castiel looked at Dean, who shrugged.

It occurred to Castiel suddenly that Dean hadn’t said a word since he arrived, and he frowned.  “Dean.  Are you well?”

The plastic car stopped zipping and trailed to a halt in a series of clicks.  The tank abandoned its chase to turn aside, and Castiel found himself on the receiving end of two very intent angelic stares.  “Yeah,” Michael said.  “Kind of.  Don’t freak out, okay?”

Castiel’s eyes widened.  He had thought, if Maribel was here...

His half-human daughter had been alone in a house with the first archangel of heaven.  Michael was playing cat and mouse with oldest nephilim still on earth, and the fact that they were using toys as proxies didn’t reassure Castiel in the slightest.

“Hey,” Michael said, holding up his hands in a very human gesture.  “Look, Dad.  No sword.  Calm down.”

“Maribel,” Castiel began.  He felt a pang of sympathy for Jophiel and her desire to keep Wildfire’s name a secret.  Just saying Maribel’s in Michael’s presence felt alarming.  “Perhaps you should meet Sam at his house.”

“No,” Michael said quickly.  “Wait.  Cas, have you seen the garden lately?”

“Last night,” Castiel said.  His wings were stiff at his back and he tried to ignore it, he tried not to look like he wanted to snatch Maribel away.  She was clearly fine here.  For now.

“More recently than that,” Michael said.  “I can’t remember past four, okay?  But I know what’s going on.  I know what I’m doing.”

“Four,” Castiel repeated.  Maribel was looking from one of them to the other, maybe confused by conflicting orders, maybe just curious.  “Four what?”

“Four years old,” Michael said.  “The fire when I was four.  I got nothing after that, except what Maribel tells me and what the rest of the host knows.  It’s enough, okay?  I’m not gonna do anything stupid.”

He couldn’t keep doing this.  He had to.  Even if Dean would allow it, he had no idea how to stop the garden, no idea if destroying it would harm the children, no idea how to keep going if he didn’t have an outlet like creation.  Something had happened to him when he retrieved Michael’s grace, and he was as out of balance as Dean.

“You sound human,” Castiel said helplessly.  He didn’t know whether Michael would hear it as an insult or the compliment it should be.  He didn’t know how he meant it in the first place.

“Well, I would, right?”  Michael’s hands were dropping slowly, not coming to rest anywhere in particular and still obviously open.  “That was my choice.”

“Michael says Gabriel’s wrong,” Maribel said.  The metal tank was crawling toward her, backwards, like maybe they wouldn’t notice her grabbing it before one or both of them made her leave.  “He says I’m not an abomination at all.”

Castiel stared at Michael, who only shrugged again.

“I’m not,” Maribel added.  “And I don’t think Adamel is, either.”

“Look at ’em,” Michael said.  “Little bits of fluff with wings.  Like you,” he added, with something that looked suspiciously like a smirk, “only smaller.”

“You tolerate them because they’re like me?” Castiel blurted out.

Michael’s expression sobered, intensified, and Castiel could feel his grace much closer than before.  Not taking the words, just... knowing them.  Somehow.  “I love them,” Michael said quietly.  “Because, like everyone else I know, they’re lovable.”

“You didn’t love Ruby,” Castiel said, before he remembered that Dean had known Ruby.  Not Michael.

“Lucifer loved Ruby,” Michael said.  “But until Sam loved her, she didn’t believe it.”

“You don’t love yourself,” Castiel said.

Michael didn’t look away.  “You do,” he said.  “That was enough to save me.”

“I love you,” Maribel added.  “Especially because you don’t think I’m an abomination.”

He should have sensed Sam’s approach, but the knock at the front door caught him by surprise.  Sam came in without waiting, of course, and he seemed equally surprised to see them.  “Hey,” he said.  “Am I interrupting?”

“Dean’s not here,” Castiel said.  Maybe more harshly than he needed to.  Sam had only come for Maribel, after all.

“Okay,” Sam said, glancing at Michael.  He lifted his chin in greeting anyway.  “Hey.”

Michael lifted an open hand and gave him a half-wave.  Just as Dean might have done.

“You okay?” Sam added, looking back at Castiel.

“I thought you were angry with him,” Castiel blurted out.  “For what Lucifer has done.”  He could feel Michael glaring, knew he was thinking thanks for bringing that up again even if he didn’t necessarily mean for Castiel to hear.

Sam just gave an undignified snort and rolled his eyes in Michael’s direction.  “He’s my brother, Cas.  If I wasn’t pissed at him half the time we wouldn’t know how to talk to each other.”

Castiel frowned.  “Michael is not your brother.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.  “Uh... I’m pretty sure he is.”

He looked back at Michael, who had the racecar in his hand.  He threw it at Sam.  The car halted before it even reached him.  When Sam held out his hand, the toy fell into it as though released from the air.

“Dean is your brother,” Castiel insisted, trying to ignore the casual display of power.  Gabriel thought it was harmless.  Dean thought Gabriel wasn’t stupid enough to misjudge something like that, and so went along with it.  Castiel couldn’t stop seeing the shadow of demonic intent.

Sam tossed the car, underhanded, in Maribel’s direction.  “Michael is Dean,” he said.  “They’re the same person; you said so yourself.”

Maribel held up her hand and stopped the car before it could reach her.  It hovered for a brief second before continuing toward her hand like a magnet, and she plucked it out of the air.  “Was that right?” she asked Sam.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a grin.  “That was great.”

She frowned.  “You let it fall,” she said.  “I forgot that part.”

“Yours looked cooler,” Sam assured her.

“Dude,” Michael complained.  In Dean’s voice.  He assumed it was still Michael, even if he’d never expected to hear Michael say “dude.”  “Stop teaching her to pass as a demon.”

“Says the archangel,” Sam retorted.  “Telekinesis isn’t just for demons, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Michael shot back.  Then he glanced at Maribel, who rolled her eyes.

“I know,” she said, with a very human-sounding sigh.  “Don’t imitate this.  You told me before.”

“Hey,” Sam said quietly, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder.  “I don’t know what you see, man, but I see the same guy who made me spaghetti-os when I was sick and bought you beer when you fell.  So now we can see his wings.  Not like they weren’t there before, right?”

“You’re giving me attitude,” Michael was telling Maribel.  “Teachers don’t like attitude.”

“Human teachers are boring,” Maribel said.  “They tell us the same thing every day.  I’m quite sure I can pass as a human child by now.  Without swearing, even.”

“That’s good,” Michael said.  But he was looking at Sam now, and Castiel got the feeling that this was significant.  “So you’ve got being a five-year-old down.  What about six or seven?”

“I don’t look six or seven,” Maribel said.

Sam coughed.  “You don’t really look five,” he said, when they both turned to him.  “Can you, uh – can she change that?” he asked Castiel.

“Not now,” Michael said.  Castiel saw Maribel’s considering look, and he wondered when exactly he had lost control of the situation.  He wondered if he’d ever had it.

“We’ll talk about it after school,” Michael said.  “You’re gonna be late.”

“We have a party after school,” Maribel informed him.

“If you want to go to the party,” Sam said, “I’d suggest not radically changing your appearance between now and then.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Maribel said, frowning.  “This is the appearance I was given.”

“Okay then,” Sam said.  “Good.  Ready to go?”

“Of course.”  Maribel stretched her wings briefly before settling them against her back and tugging her backpack up over her shoulder.

“Coat,” Michael said.

Maribel sighed again – definitely not an angelic response – and snapped her fingers.  She was suddenly in a coat, one almost identical to the one she’d worn yesterday, and she readjusted her backpack over top of it.  “Okay,” she said.

“That’s not the same coat you had yesterday,” Castiel said.

“The appearance you were given,” Sam repeated.  “Did I really just fall for that?”

“No one will know the difference,” Maribel told him.

“Arrogance is a sin,” Castiel replied.

“No it’s not,” Maribel said.

“It should be,” Michael put in.  “Change your coat, kiddo, or don’t go to school today.  It’s your choice.”

Castiel stared at him.  He’d said something about choice before, too.  “Dean?”

Michael and Maribel were having a who-blinks-first contest, but it was definitely him Michael was responding to when he said, “What?”

“Cas,” Sam said.  “You don’t stop being who you are just because you forget something.”

“It’s the same,” Maribel said.  “Can I go now?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Michael told her.  “Don’t come back a teenager.”

“Bye Daddy,” Maribel said.  She rolled her eyes as she turned away.

“I saw that,” Michael called.

“Bye Father,” Maribel added, her wing brushing his as she made her way to the door.

“You sure you’re okay?” Sam asked, his voice lowered.  “Nick can drive them if you want me to stay.  Okay,” he said, frowning, “maybe not Nick.  Gabriel, though.  I’m pretty sure I could make Gabriel do it.”

Castiel refrained from pointing out, for the fifth or sixth or twenty-seventh time, that they could both fly.  Maribel and Adamel didn’t need to be driven to school everyday.  Surely this one exception –

“I’ll wait in the car,” Maribel said.  “We’re just going to have another substitute today anyway.”

No exceptions.  Of course.  The children received enough conflicting information as it was.  Castiel watched the door close behind Maribel, wondering if she still had the toy car.  She’d left her tank on the kitchen floor.

“Wow,” Sam said.  “Five going on thirteen.  Maybe I should make Gabriel do it for me instead of you.”

“Is Gabriel’s kid gonna be like this?” Michael wanted to know.  “Might want to save your favors.”

“Good point,” Sam said.  “I’m gonna go.  You guys... you’re okay?”

“You want to order the flowers for our wedding, or what?” Michael demanded.

“Bye,” Sam said hastily.  “Pick ’em up at twelve-thirty!” he called as he ducked out the door.

“I’m not gonna forget my own kid!” Michael shouted back.

The door slammed, and the sound of Sam thumping across the porch was followed by the sound of the car.  It was almost a minute before the quiet became awkward again.  Castiel glanced at Michael, who offered wryly, “Morning.”

Castiel remembered to breathe, and it was oddly calming.  “Hello, Dean,” he said quietly.

Dean smiled back at him, and some of the strangeness melted away.

After a moment, Castiel lowered himself to the floor in front of the refrigerator.  Echoing Dean’s height.  As he’d seen Dean do with the children.  “Sam has forgiven you,” he said carefully.

Dean snorted.  “Sam probably got laid last night,” he said.  “Always puts him in a forgiving mood.”

Castiel considered that, leaning back against the refrigerator door.  “That seems unlikely,” he said at last.  “At least insofar as you claim any uncertainty on the subject.”

It was Dean’s turn to stare at him.  “You think I’d know?” he demanded.  “What, ’cause we live in each other’s pockets?”

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel said.

“Joined at the hip,” Dean said without missing a beat.  “So close neither of us can turn around without making the other get out of the way first.”

“Figuratively speaking,” Castiel said.

“Yeah.”  Dean quirked a smile at him from across the kitchen floor.  “Figuratively speaking.”

“No,” Castiel said.  “Not because of that.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, but his smile remained.  “Okay,” he said.  “So how would I know?  Is this one of those things I’m going to regret asking?”

Castiel had no idea whether he would regret it or not.  “Depending on the identity of Sam’s partner,” he said, “Gabriel will be either unbearably smug or wrathful.  Given that she’s still God’s messenger, I don’t see how the host could avoid knowing.  At least indirectly.”

“Huh,” Dean said.  “Sam’s gonna love that.”

“The evidence suggests otherwise,” Castiel said.

Dean’s smiled widened.  “What about you?” he asked.  “You got somewhere to be?  We could disappear.”

He hadn’t had more than a few minutes alone with Dean for what seemed a vast amount of time.  Still, there was a reason for that, and losing contact with the host now seemed irresponsible.  “What do you remember?” he asked Dean.

Dean shrugged.  “I hate to tell you, Cas, but it comes and it goes.  I don’t think you even notice, sometimes.”

“What do you remember?” he insisted.  He wanted to say he noticed – of course he noticed – but he’d greeted Michael this morning without the slightest hesitation.  “Tell me.”

“Meeting you,” Dean said.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, waiting for the rest.

“Twenty-nine,” Dean added.  “Two years ago, right?  Nothing since then.”

That couldn’t be right.  Surely Dean couldn’t feign knowing him this well.

“You remember,” Dean said.  Roughly, like it was something he didn’t know how to confess.  “You know what I’m supposed to be like, Cas.  It’s easy to be around you.”

Castiel was horrified by the implication.  “Do you even know why you forgot?”

“Yeah, the garden.”  Dean frowned at him.  “It’s messing you up too, so don’t give me that.  You just don’t have any humanity to get in the way.”

“It’s not doing anything to me,” Castiel said.  “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” Dean said.  “What’s your garrison doing right now?”

Castiel drew back, startled, stung.  Afraid.  “What are you doing?”

“Making a point,” Dean said, suddenly gentle.  “Just tell me, Cas.  Tell me what Rachel’s doing right now.”

“She’s –”

Dean was sitting forward, and Castiel swallowed.  Michael’s wings were very bright.

“I don’t know,” Castiel said softly.

“Is anyone in the garden?” Dean asked.

“No,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“Rachel is with Muriel,” Castiel said suddenly.  “They’re training.  It’s Rachel’s third rotation, and she shouldn’t be pushing herself so hard.  There are other things that require her attention.”

“See,” Dean said.  “It comes back.  It’s just not right there when you reach for it, sometimes.”

“I’m not an archangel,” Castiel said, uncomfortable with the obvious failing.  To imply that it might be due to external influences was unfair.  “Garrison leadership does not come naturally to me.”

“Bull,” Dean said.  “You’re distracted, that’s all.  Same as me.”

Castiel frowned.  He seemed very sure.  “You haven’t been to the garden since the last time we went,” he said.  “How do you know it’s different?”

Dean tipped his head, throwing the challenge back.  “How do you?”

“You said it was,” Castiel told him.

“Am I right?” Dean asked.  “Come on, tell me you don’t know more about the garden than you do about your own garrison.  Tell me I’m crazy, I’ve got multiple personalities, I’m imagining the whole thing.  Tell me I’m alone in this.”

“Of course you’re not alone,” Castiel said.  “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Let’s go,” Dean said, sliding across the floor toward him.  “We’ve gotta be able to stabilize this, right?  There must be something we’re missing.”

“Where?”  Castiel watched him move, not bothering to meet him halfway when he could have flown.  His wings would span the entire room.

“Wherever we end up,” Dean said.  He leaned in, mouth close enough to kiss, and let his forehead rest against Castiel’s.  “You coming?”

Breath whispered across his skin, and Castiel could feel communion swirling all around him.  Outside of him.  Respecting his human perception, even his angelic senses, waiting just beyond everything he was.  Waiting for him to fall in.

“Yes,” he murmured.

And he knew Michael, he knew the Michael that Dean had always been, and he didn’t feel like a traitor.  He didn’t feel like a separate being.  He just was, he just knew, and somehow, he was home again.  Surrounded by a chorus that flickered out, a million roaring fires silenced in a second.

Except for Dean.  Except for the glow of a song that had only just begun, that had no words but wove their lives together nonetheless.  Except for the space that stretched out, deeper than the boundary he could still sense but no longer touch.

Except for the sudden, unmistakable feeling of company.

“Holy shit,” Dean whispered.

Stunned, Castiel could only stare.  Fireflies glinted in the sudden dimness, lazy pulse of light and afterimage.  The sky had changed, the color darker, and the air stirred against his skin... cooler.  There was a shimmer in the trees.  Long curls of tail or feather, skittering shadows and half-formed movement.

The first evening the garden had ever seen.

“No wonder I can’t remember a damn thing,” Dean said.

Castiel had no idea why he was talking.  He took hold of Dean’s hand and pulled, drawing him between the trees  to the clearing where the playground stood.  It wasn’t as dark here, but it was farther away than it had been before.  Farther from them, farther from the dock.  He couldn’t even hear the lake.

“The dock,” Dean said.  It was his turn to pull, but Castiel didn’t move.

“Why is there a playground,” he whispered.  “It was the first thing.  Why is it here?”

“The first thing was stone,” Dean said.

“I’ve never been on a playground,” Castiel said.  “I’ve never even seen one, except from afar.”

“With me,” Dean offered.  “You saw one with me, after Samhain.”

Like the dock.  He’d seen it with Dean, and now it was here.

“No, that doesn’t make any sense.”  He couldn’t tell if Dean was responding to his thoughts or if he’d just been following the same track.  “We’ve seen a lot of stuff; why this in particular?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, but he did.  He knew with a sudden and terrifying certainty that made Dean turn and look at him.  Because of course Dean knew what he’d just realized.

“This is where you started to fall,” Dean said.

“This is where I started to love you,” Castiel said, staring at the swings.  He didn’t have to turn to know that there was a bench behind him now.

Two benches.  A space between them big enough for a person to walk.  And on those benches, the ghost of an angel... and the human who had made him laugh.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered.

“Is the continued swearing absolutely necessary?” Castiel inquired.  The implied rejection needled him enough to protest.  He didn’t need to hear Dean’s guilt, or discomfort, or indeed Michael’s disapproval.  He tried to pull his hand out of Dean’s.

“Just figured out the dock,” Dean said, by way of explanation.  Instead of sliding free, his hand tightened on Castiel’s and he tugged again.  “You ever question that I’d come after you?”

“When?” Castiel asked, following without conscious consent.

“Well, ever,” Dean said.  “That night at the lake, especially.  You appear in a dream I’ve never had, all crazy and suspicious, and you just stand there.  Did they find you because of that, the waiting?  You should’ve given me the address and gotten out.”

“You liked the dream,” Castiel said helplessly.  It had already been too late, although he hadn’t known it then.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “And you know what I realized that night?  I might have liked the dream, but I liked you in it more.”

That was all it took for him to understand.  “It’s us,” Castiel said.  “We’re recreating the places that are most important to us.”

“Kinda looks that way,” Dean agreed.  “When did time kick in?”

“When you asked for animals,” Castiel said.  Not because they were related, but because there was no other answer.

“Okay,” Dean said, then stopped.  They were on a path.  An actual path down to the lake, and Castiel still couldn’t see the water.  “Wait, that doesn’t make sense.  Plants need day and night too.”

Castiel couldn’t help but smile.  It was a very human way of expressing a fundamental concept.  “All of life needs duration,” he said.

“They’re not actually alive,” Dean said with a sigh.  “Right.”

“They exist,” Castiel pointed out, moved by his sudden disappointment.  “They’re manifestations of grace.  As we are.  What life would you have for them here, in this place of constant flux?”

“No, it’s fine.”  Dean turned away, and Castiel knew that it wasn’t.

“Dean,” he said quietly.

Dean hadn’t let go of his hand, and the thought flickered in his mind that they’d never been linked so for so long.  Dean had little inclination to hold hands.  Castiel hadn’t seen the need until he did it without thinking, and now he wondered if perhaps it was a benefit of being human that he’d overlooked.

He felt Dean smile.  “I’m gonna make a list,” Dean muttered.  “Things Cas thinks are romantic.  Shoelace-tying.  Hand-holding.  I should have guessed from the hugging.  You’d rather hug than kiss, wouldn’t you.”

There was no judgment there, as Castiel didn’t think it was really the surprise Dean pretended.  “I like to touch you,” he said at last, in lieu of you started it, which he understood was childish and uninformative.

Dean heard it anyway.  “Oh, you started it,” he countered.  “You and your wings.  If that’s not hugging, I don’t know what is.”

“Do you not like it?” Castiel asked, curving a wing around his shoulder.  Pressing gently, grace to grace, and some of the tension melted out of Dean.  The look he got for it was fond and precious.

“Don’t be like me, Cas.”  Dean stepped into him, free hand lifting to his shoulder.  Michael’s wings slid under his, strong and kind and easy in a way it had only become with practice.  “I’m a jerk.  I don’t mean half of what I say.”

“I know.”  Castiel settled his hand on Dean’s hip, wrapping his other wing over Michael’s and reveling in the hum of connection.  Making them manifest in any kind of physical sense was awkward and human.  Castiel liked it more than an angel should.

Dean leaned in, resting his forehead against Castiel’s, and he smiled.  “I like kissing too,” Castiel offered.

“Like you more,” Dean mumbled.  The hand on his shoulder slid around behind his back, and Castiel let his body be pressed up against Dean’s.  It was warm and solid and it grounded him in the middle of creation he couldn’t control.

We’ll figure it out, Dean said silently.

Do you remember? Castiel asked.  When you’re here?

Dean pulled him in without a word: his mind was open, spread out into the garden, recognizing the pieces of their life like the house.  Like the way he didn’t hang his coat up, and he left his keys on the counter.  Like his wallet by the couch, after he’d yanked it out of his pocket when he lay down, or the guns in the bedroom because Dean wouldn’t sleep without them and it had never occurred to Castiel to ask him to.

It’s a little weird, Dean said, obviously getting Castiel’s surprise.  Sam says.  Apparently civilians don’t keep guns under the bed.

They’d be harder to get to in the closet, Castiel said.

He felt Dean laugh, murmuring “thank you” in his ear.  That’s what I told him.

“Pieces of you are here,” Castiel said softly.

“They come back,” Dean whispered, sobering.  “It’s not getting worse, Cas.  If anything, it’s getting better.”

“Because you know whose mind to read now,” Castiel said.  “When you don’t know, you just do whatever I expect you to do.”

“You wish,” Dean muttered.  “Look, it’s weird, I’m not saying it isn’t.  But I recognize you now, even when I forget everything else.  I recognize Maribel, and Sam.  I come back to the house.  That’s better, Cas.”

It seemed very far away in moments like this.  When Dean was literally tangled up with him.  When it felt like Castiel could hold on to grace and soul alike just through the power of his will.

“I’m not gonna leave you,” Dean whispered.

It was an absurd thing to promise, and yet.  “I accept,” Castiel murmured.

He felt Dean’s breath huff against his ear.  “Brat,” Dean said.

There was nothing mean-spirited about it, and Castiel found himself smiling.  “That seems uncalled for.”

“You’re supposed to say, ‘I won’t leave you either,’” Dean informed him.

“Ah.”  He appreciated the direct instruction.  “Well, I’m new to your human ways.”

“You’re teasing me,” Dean said.  “I’m a terrible influence on you.”

“On the contrary.”  He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Dean’s jaw, breathing in grace and the strange scent of a created night.  Nothing here was self-sustaining.

Not yet.

“You’re gonna do it,” Dean whispered.  “That’s the first time I’ve heard you think maybe this could be something.”

“You’re not a bad influence,” Castiel said quietly.  If Dean was getting better as the garden got larger, perhaps they were moving in the right direction after all.  “You’re not a bad role model.  Father, brother, mentor, friend: these are things you do very well.”

“Partner,” Dean said.  “You left out ‘lover.’”

Castiel could hear the quotes around a word Dean never used, except in imitation of him.  “Consort” and “husband” both seemed to come out of his mouth at unpredictable intervals, but “partner” was as close as he’d ever come to acknowledging the ephemeral nature of their relationship.

“It’s not,” Dean said.  “It’s not temporary to me, Cas.”

Even when Dean wasn’t sure, he’d said forever.  He’d just adjusted “forever” to be a variable length of time.

“You are strange and inexplicable,” Castiel told him, fingers still tangled together even with Dean’s arm around him and his wings around Dean in return.  “And I believe the correct term is ‘fiancé.’”

He could feel Dean sigh.  “We’d better get married quick,” Dean muttered.  “I dunno if I’m gonna be able to say that with a straight face.”

“Perhaps you should practice,” Castiel said.

There was a noticeable pause.  “You want me to?” Dean asked.

Yes or no.  It should have been an easy question about a trivial matter: which do you want?  But Dean had already indicated a preference, and what if his was stronger?  What if there was some reason not to use the word, some human justification with which he was unfamiliar?

How could he be expected to exercise free will without full knowledge of its ramifications?

“Cas,” Dean said.  He sounded vaguely amused.  “It’s just a question.  You’re not creating the universe, here.”

Castiel frowned, but Dean corrected himself before he could say anything.

“Okay,” Dean allowed.  “Whatever, you’re creating a universe.  God,” he grumbled, “angels, man; what the hell.  No one knows, okay?  That’s the point.”

It was a string of words that Castiel could make very little sense of.  “I don’t understand,” he said.

“No one knows what’s going to happen,” Dean said.  “Free will doesn’t mean anticipating every single outcome.  It just means taking responsibility for what you do.”

“The more you do,” Castiel said, “the more responsibility you have.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

Castiel’s hand tightened on his.  “I’m creating a universe, Dean.”

“You and me both,” Dean said quietly.

“We’re responsible for it,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Dean repeated.

“God created our world,” Castiel said slowly.  “Isn’t he responsible for us?”

Michael’s wings slid reassuringly against his, and Dean let his head rest against Castiel’s.  “He gave us free will, Cas.  The power of creation.  We’re all grown up now: time to make our own decisions.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dean added.  “I’d like to blame him for some of the stuff that goes down.  But at the end of the day, the fact that I can choose whether or not to follow orders means that even when I do what I’m told, it’s my responsibility.  Not someone else’s.”

Dean had taught him this.  It was still strange to hear it coming from Michael, even if he knew Dean hadn’t been so different with his own father.  “Is that why you want them to be alive?” he asked abruptly.

Dean didn’t move, but Castiel could feel him breathing.  “Answer my question,” Dean said at last.  “That’ll give me time to figure it out.”

Castiel still didn’t know what it meant, but he had a preference, and that seemed to be all Dean was after.  “Yes,” he said softly.  “I would like to be your fiancé.”

“Damn,” Dean said.  “That didn’t give me as much time as I thought.”

Castiel smiled, adjusting his hand carefully in Dean’s.

“I guess,” Dean said at last.  “Maybe I don’t like the idea of that much responsibility either.”

“Giving them life relieves us of responsibility?” Castiel asked.

“No,” Dean said.  “I don’t know.  No.  But at least it’s something, you know?  It’s something they’d have, for themselves, something that was more than just us.”

“Something they could choose,” Castiel said quietly.

“Maybe,” Dean said.  “Yeah.”

“What about the children?” Castiel asked after a moment.  “I still feel responsible for them.”

“That’s ’cause they don’t know how to make their own choices yet,” Dean said.  “They’re just kids.”

He frowned.  “I don’t believe that’s true.”

Dean let out a sigh that Castiel couldn’t interpret, but he didn’t pull away.  They stood there for some time, and he listened to Dean think.  Arguing, silently, with himself.  Castiel watched the tiny glow of grace crawl through the grass behind Dean’s feet.  It should have been overwhelmed by the curve and rush and brilliant spill of his wings, but somehow it shone through anyway.

“Maybe you’re right,” Dean said at last.  “Maybe it’s not ’cause they’re kids.”

“It’s because they’re family,” Castiel said quietly.

This time Dean drew in a deliberate breath, and Castiel could feel him nod.  I think yeah.

It wasn’t articulate, but it was clear and Castiel understood.  “So,” he murmured, “according to Dean Winchester logic, we’re responsible for them because we’re responsible for them?”

He felt Dean’s huff of amusement, felt him squeeze tighter.  “Brat,” Dean whispered.  Again.

“If that is your latest attempt at an endearment,” Castiel told him, “I would prefer something else.”

This was met with startled silence, and then Dean actually laughed.  A laugh Castiel could hear, not just feel.  “You really want a pet name,” Dean said.  “How come?  Sammy hates it when I get cute with him.”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, wondering if he should feel embarrassed.  “Must I have a reason?”

“Nope.”  Dean sounded positively cheerful.  “I’ll think of something.”

“Good.”  Castiel nodded once, chin pressing into Dean’s shoulder.  “I’ll approve it.”

“Oh you will, will you?” Dean said.  “How do you know?  You haven’t liked any of ’em so far.”

“I will pass judgment on it,” Castiel amended.  “If it’s good, I will approve it.”

“Right,” Dean agreed, clearly still amused.  “Seems fair.”

It was, so Castiel didn’t bother to reply.

“Let’s go see the dock,” Dean said, some indeterminate amount of time later.  The sky hadn’t changed perceptibly, but things were still moving, so time must be passing.  Castiel wondered what time it was at the house.  “We can see if there’s another chair.”

“Dean,” Castiel said.  “How much time has elapsed on earth?”

“As much time as we want,” Dean said.  He didn’t hesitate, and Castiel wondered what that meant.

“Time here isn’t time there,” Dean added, when he didn’t say anything.  “It’s not like heaven – you really can’t tell?  How come I can take us back and you can’t?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said.

“Try,” Dean said.

“There’s nothing to try.”  Castiel shifted against him, restless for the first time since he’d stepped into Dean’s embrace.  “I can’t sense anything beyond the boundaries of the garden.  As far as I can tell, there’s nowhere else to go.”

“That’s creepy,” Dean said.  “What about people?  You can sense other angels, right?”

“No,” Castiel said.  “Not unless they’re here.”

This probably should have alarmed Dean more than it did, but all he said was, “Guess that explains why it’s interfering with your garrison link.”

“I don’t think it explains anything,” Castiel said.  “But I agree that the two may be related.”

The hold Dean had on him loosened, fingers squeezing his even as his arm slid away.  “Maybe we should try making stuff on purpose,” Dean suggested.  “If we can make things happen here, maybe we can keep stuff from happening out there.”

It was a simplistic strategy, but not without potential.  Castiel let his wings shift, warmth sparking through them as they moved over Dean’s.  He thought the sound Dean made was pleased.

“Or,” Dean said, “we could just stay here and make out.  For the record, I’d be fine with that option too.”

“You wanted to go to the dock,” Castiel reminded him.

“We can make out on the dock,” Dean said.

Castiel didn’t think this would advance their objectives in any measurable way, but in fairness, he couldn’t really think of anything that would.  He definitely couldn’t think of a more pleasant alternative.  “You have to take the children to their birthday party,” he said.

It was the only thing that came to mind immediately that wasn’t yes please.

“You should get Rachel back on track,” Dean said.  “And learn to drive.”

Castiel considered these suggestions briefly before arriving at the conclusion Dean had no doubt anticipated.

“Later,” he said.

The garden’s most recent expansion deserved some celebration, after all.

***

“It’s a bad idea.”

Gabriel had been admitted as soon as she requested entrance to Castiel’s garrison, but it was still strange to think of her requesting anything.  Second only to Michael, Gabriel could rule in heaven if she chose, yet she waited on Castiel’s convenience.  The idea was foreign to him.

“Hey,” Gabriel said, waving a hand in Castiel’s face.  She kept her human form even here, and maybe it had always been obvious that Gabriel preferred earth.  “Michael doesn’t know what he’s doing.  Talk him out of it.”

Castiel just looked at her.  “Out of what?”

“You know what,” Gabriel said, rolling her eyes.  “We’re not discussing it in front of your whole stupid garrison.  Toodles, kids.  Let’s go.”

The brush of Gabriel’s grace was uninvited but efficient.  Castiel found himself in the middle of the bridge while Gabriel dismissed Simea: “Your gate’s closed, get a coffee or something.”  And everything went quiet.

Not silent.  Not the way it was in the garden.  The choir was still there, but it was muted, and Castiel wondered if this was what Dean felt when Castiel blocked his awareness of the other angels.  

He wondered what Gabriel could possibly have to say to him that required this kind of privacy.

“You can’t marry him,” Gabriel said.  “I’m sure it sounds very romantic, but it’s the kind of idiocy only a human could come up with.  Angels don’t marry.”

“Why not?” Castiel asked, too surprised to tell her that it hadn’t been Dean’s idea.

“Because,” Gabriel said.  “We’re angels.  Hello, the heavenly host?  You’ve heard of it?  How much more of a bond do you want?”

Castiel frowned.  “It seems to mean very little to you.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Gabriel snapped.  “Here’s a suggestion out of the goodness of my heart: if you don’t want your children of the damned to die, make him reconsider.”

“It wasn’t his idea,” Castiel said stiffly.  “And I will tolerate no threat to the children.”

Gabriel snorted.  “Consider them good and threatened, bro.”

Michael, Castiel thought.

Tried to think.  Gabriel’s awareness slammed into his, blinding and frigid enough to burn: the power of an archangel overwhelming everything he knew.  Don’t, Gabriel told him, only it wasn’t a word.  It was just negation.  Simple and irrefutable.

DEAN.

He heard it, he knew it was him, he didn’t know how loud it was.  He didn’t know it tore out of him, searing through the host, the wall around the bridge intact with his words on the other side.  His not-words.  His identifier: a silent scream for something that would not be denied –

Dean was there.  Impossibly, unmistakably.  Dean had heard him through an archangel’s effort to suffocate his cry.  And it wasn’t because of Dean.

Castiel knew with terrifying certainty that he just broken something he shouldn’t be able to crack.

“Cas,” Dean was saying.  “Cas, what.  Talk to me.  Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he managed, because Michael would probably smite something if he didn’t.  “Gabriel...”

“She’s messed up,” Dean said immediately.  “She doesn’t know what she’s doing; she won’t hurt you.”

“She said the same thing about you.”  Castiel tried to ground himself, to find some kind of balance apart from a host full of shock and two archangels who looked like they might fall at any moment.  If they hadn’t already.

“What?”  Dean sounded more patient than he felt.

“Okay, how did you do that?” Gabriel demanded, apparently finding her voice again.  Or just being let in by Dean.  It was hard to tell the difference in heaven.

“Unless I’m totally wrong about what just happened,” Dean said, “shut up.”

“He just blew through a block I put up like it wasn’t there,” Gabriel said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.  “That’s pretty much what I figured.”

It didn’t stop Gabriel for long.  If at all.  “So this garden thing,” she said.  “That doesn’t really come and go anymore, huh?”

“Yeah, it does,” Dean said.  “Sometimes he’s as powerful as an archangel, and sometimes he’s a lot more.”

“Gabriel says the children will die if I marry you,” Castiel blurted out.  It seemed more important than anything else they were discussing.

“Gabriel’s a whiny bitch who should mind her own business,” Dean replied.

“You’re an egomaniac if you think your word is going to keep heaven from raining fire on a world it still wants to cleanse!” Gabriel exclaimed.  “You’re handing them a biblical excuse on a silver platter!  Why don’t you just tell someone to build an ark while you’re at it!”

“Like heaven needs an excuse!”  Dean’s anger burst out of him and Castiel only had a moment to be relieved it wasn’t directed at him.  A moment, because surely relief wasn’t the appropriate response.  Surely an argument between archangels was the last thing any of them needed.

“They’re going to hunt these kids no matter what I do!”  Dean shoved a finger in Gabriel’s direction, dangerous and so painfully human that Castiel suddenly wanted to protect him.  “I might as well let them know whose side I’m on before the shit hits the fan!  There won’t be any fucking ‘neutral’ in this war!”

“There’s a difference between picking a side and painting a giant target on your idiotic wings!”  Gabriel had never been intimidated by Michael, Castiel thought.  Not before and certainly not now.  “You want to draw attention to yourself, go right ahead, but don’t think you’re doing them any favors!”

“I’m sorry if it’s hard to take that seriously coming from someone with a baby bump!” Dean snapped.

“Like your consort asked before he knocked me up!” Gabriel retorted.  “I didn’t get a choice and I’m doing everything I can to hide it from the host!  Meanwhile you go around flaunting your little next gen baby booties and the fucking ring you want to put on his left hand!”

Castiel couldn’t let it go any longer.  “I asked for this,” he said.  The words were awkward and far less forceful than anything they had said, but it wasn’t Dean’s fault.  “He didn’t want to... marry me.”

“This was your idea?” Gabriel demanded.  She threw up her hands.  “Of course it was, how foolish of me to think you learned anything from thousands of years of being an angel.  Michael,” she added, glaring at him, “it kills me to say this, but you fucking deserve each other.”

“Shut up!” Dean exploded.  “Both of you, cut it out!  Cas, of course I want to marry you.  Gabriel, since when do you care about a damned ring!”

“That ring is going to lose us Raphael and you know it!” Gabriel shouted.

“Raphael can blow it out his ass!” Dean yelled back.

“If you want a celestial civil war there are faster ways to do it!”  Gabriel’s wings were smooth and sleek and powerful next to Michael’s ruffled feathers.  “Let Lucifer in, screw justice, have some kind of hybrid child... oh wait.  You’ve been busy, Michael!  You’ve been really fucking busy!”

“Why are you yelling,” Castiel said, as evenly as he could.

“Because nothing else gets through his big dumb skull!” Gabriel exclaimed.

Dean drew in a sharp breath that didn’t leave as a shout.  “Gabriel,” he said.  His voice sounded stiff and controlled.  “Hiding isn’t going to change anything.”

“Oh, because you know so much about it after three decades,” Gabriel snapped.  “It kept me alive for thousands of years!”

“You put a hole in the host,” Michael said coldly.  “We still haven’t recovered.”

“Well, you know what’ll help a lot,” Gabriel retorted.  “You relaunching the goddamned nephilim war!”

Michael’s wings crackled with light so bright it made the shadows look grey.  It was an eerie imitation of Lucifer, and Castiel didn’t think he even knew he was doing it.  “Doing what we’ve always done,” Michael said, slowly and deliberately, “isn’t going to fix anything.”

Gabriel opened her mouth, and Michael held up a hand.  “We are going,” he said, “to reunite the host.  We are not going to do it by forcing everyone back into the same chain of command that brought on the apocalypse.”

“Well, you won’t have to,” Gabriel snapped.  “We won’t need to fight hell if you split heaven down the middle!”

“What do you think heaven is now!” Michael shouted.  “There are more garrisons on earth than there are up here!  You and me and Anael are the only protection those angels have!  That’s what hiding gets you, Gabriel: it gets you isolation and fear!”

“Something other than death!” Gabriel exclaimed.  “Before us they were hunted!  Now they’re all gathered neatly in one place, and all you have to do is invoke the wrath of heaven!  One holy purge and they’re toast!”

“Heaven isn’t in the purging business,” Michael said.

“Now!” Gabriel shot back.  “Zach’s not gone just because you don’t talk to him anymore!  And maybe you haven’t noticed, but Raphael’s not as blinded by your halo as he used to be!”

It was a harsh revelation but not a baseless one.  Raphael was certainly curious about Michael’s purpose – if not to his face, then at least around anyone who might know.  To question an archangel was one of the highest forms of blasphemy.

“If we have to fight,” Michael said quietly, “then we’ll fight.”

“No,” Gabriel said, wings abruptly withdrawn.

“Not getting married isn’t going to stop this, Gabriel.  Destroying the garden, hiding the children, dissolving the garrisons of earth... none of that will change what’s happening.  Those are just symptoms.”

Symptoms of the fall, Castiel thought.

“Growing pains,” Dean countered, and when Castiel looked at him he saw Dean’s green eyes staring back.  “It’s not about disobedience, Cas.  It’s about growing up.”

“How nice for you,” Gabriel sneered.  “Sounds like a horror show.  Count me out.”

“We’re not hiding for you,” Dean told her.

“Well, I’m not fighting for you,” Gabriel snapped.  “Enjoy your war.”

She was gone.

Castiel stared at the space where she had been: useless, maybe, but he could still hear her in the choir through the fading wall she’d abandoned on the bridge.  “Sam will be displeased,” he said, before he could think.

Dean didn’t answer, and Castiel closed his eyes.  That had been a poor summation of events.

Then he heard Dean’s huff of amusement.  “Yeah,” Dean said, his voice rough with shock.  “I’d say that’s a given.”

“We shouldn’t do this,” Castiel blurted out.  “It’s too much.  Too fast.  Gabriel’s right; the host will fracture.”

“The host is broken,” Dean said.  “We can’t hold the pieces together.  Not anymore.”

“It’s not our place to set them against each other,” Castiel said quietly.

“I threw Lucifer out,” Dean said.  “I broke us, Cas.  I can’t go back and do it over.  All I can do is keep myself from doing it again.”

“You invited him back,” Castiel said.

“I can’t change what I did,” Dean repeated.  “But I’ll be damned if I throw anyone else to the wolves for my mistakes.”

Castiel was quiet for a long moment.  He could feel Simea’s hesitant presence at the far end of the bridge, sent her wordless permission without waiting for Michael to intervene.  He felt the last of Gabriel’s wall dissolve into nothing.  The choir was soothing and stricken at the same time.

There was no disguising it this time: everyone knew that Michael and Gabriel had argued.

“I don’t know what that means,” Castiel said at last.

“It means that you and I are getting married,” Dean said firmly.  “And if heaven has a problem with it, at least they’ll be after us instead of the kids.

“What about you?” he added a moment later.  “You willing to fight for it?”

Castiel couldn’t smile.  The reality of swinging his sword against another angelic blade held no appeal and never would.  But he was a soldier who had fought his way into hell, and they were none of them strangers to the front lines.  “I’ve been fighting for this since before I met you,” he said.

“Okay,” Dean said.  “Then I hate to say it, Cas...  but it’s you, me, and Lucifer.”

To hold the gates when fighting broke out.  Of course.

“I understand,” Castiel said quietly.

“Do you?”  Dean was watching him carefully.  “Gabriel’s not with us.  Samael never was, and Anna’s a wild card.  That means earth is mine.  You’ll be on your own up here.”

Castiel stared back at him.  “Surely you don’t doubt my ability to counter Raphael.”  Never mind that he doubted it.  Raphael was an archangel.  There was no logical reason that Castiel should be able to stand against him – but he would.  He could, even.

Dean had said it himself: sometimes he was as strong as an archangel.

“It’s not just Raphael,” Dean said.  “I’m pretty sure Samael won’t storm heaven, and if Gabriel says she’s out, then she’s out.  But if Anna changes her mind...”

Castiel’s inexperienced leadership could find itself tested by not one but two garrisons.  One perfectly obedient, the other rebellious to the point of falling.  Both led by archangels who had done battle longer than he’d been alive.

“If I get in trouble,” Dean added, “you’ll be stuck.  The only thing keeping heaven open.”

He wouldn’t be able to go to Dean.

“I reject that,” he said flatly.  “If it’s a choice between you and heaven, you know which I’ll choose.  You can’t ask me to change that.”

“I’m not,” Dean said.  “But you gotta know what you’re choosing.”

“I choose you,” Castiel said.

“Yeah, well,” Dean muttered.  He didn’t look away.  “Likewise.  Don’t get in trouble.”

“This is a bad idea,” Castiel said softly.  Gabriel was right.

Dean shrugged, but Castiel knew he was affected.  “The alternative is worse,” he said.  “Sometimes that’s the only thing we base our decision on.  Welcome to free will,” he added.

“I don’t like it,” Castiel said.

“No one likes it,” Dean said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.  “The alternative is still worse.”

“She wanted me to talk you out of it,” Castiel said.

“Tried that, didn’t work,” Dean said.  “Let’s go home.  I think you owe me dinner.”

Castiel frowned.  “I don’t think that’s true.”

Dean shrugged again, and this time he was definitely smiling.  “It was worth a shot,” he said.

“I will get you dinner,” Castiel offered.  “If you’d like.”

“You got more to do here?” Dean asked.  “I can wait.”

“I can’t,” Castiel said.  “They’ll be fine.”

“Attaboy,” Dean said with a grin.  “Let’s go.”

Which might have worked out just fine, except that when they arrived at their front door, Sam’s car was parked in the driveway.  Castiel got every part of his reaction in the way Dean muttered, “Oh, that’s not a good sign.”  What happened and why didn’t someone fly him and he was supposed to be off tonight.

“Sammy!”  Dean was already yelling for him as he shoved the door open.  “Sam, where are you!”

“Inside,” Sam’s voice called back.  “Where do you think?”

Castiel could already see that Sam was in the living room.  All three of the children were with him, which didn’t seem right, and Jesse was doing something to the entertainment center.  The... suddenly much larger entertainment center.  He frowned.  He was sure the children had rules about angelic adjustments to their living space.  Was it possible that Jesse had been accidentally excluded?

“We have a problem,” Sam was saying.

Dean had clearly reached the same conclusion, and for little more than Sam’s unexpected presence.  Nonetheless, he paused long enough to complain, “Nothing good ever follows that.”

“No, because if something good was coming I’d say, ‘I have good news,’” Sam told him.  “But I don’t.  Gabriel’s gone.  She took Jo and Katahdiel with her.  Which means the kids have no one to report to until ten when Aramel’s taking them, and I had to leave Sach in charge while we came over here because you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Wait,” Dean said.  Castiel could feel him in the choir, aware of and deliberately irritated at their sister.  “What do you mean, Gabriel’s gone?”

“I mean this is what she does, Dean.”  Sam’s voice sounded as annoyed as Dean’s thoughts.  “She has a temper tantrum and she disappears.  I didn’t ask for help because I can’t do my job; I asked because I can’t trust Gabriel to do hers!”

“She’s done this before,” Dean said slowly.  “Exactly this?”

Sam frowned.  “Usually she leaves an obnoxious note in a language I can’t read, but yeah.  She disappears all the time.”

“She didn’t leave a note?” Dean asked.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Sam demanded.  “Do you know where she went or not, because you’re acting really weird, Dean.”

Castiel felt Dean looking at him, and he knew Sam hated it, but he had to look back.  I can still find her, he offered.

He got silent agreement even as Dean said aloud, “We argued about the kids.”

Sam looked from one of them to the other, clearly expecting more.  It occurred to Castiel to glance at the children, who were all exactly where they’d been when he and Dean arrived.  Except now they were listening.  And watching.

Their physical forms were motionless, which he supposed would look odd to a human.

“And?” Sam said at last.

“It wasn’t just the children,” Castiel felt compelled to say.  “Gabriel is angry that Dean and I plan to marry.”

He didn’t have to look to see Dean roll his eyes.  He was more interested in the way Sam’s expression seemed to clear.  Suddenly understanding?

“Oh,” Sam said.  His tone did sound less impatient.  “Oh, so.  She’s gone for a while, then.”

“What, that makes it fine?” Dean demanded.  “Since when?”

“No,” Sam said.  “But – look.”  He looked at the children too, then gave them a second look.  Their stares were, perhaps, disconcerting when taken as a whole.

“It’s not like the whole marriage thing worked out well for her,” Sam said, frowning.  It was difficult to tell whether he was more uneasy with the audience, or the conversation itself.  “I guess I can kind of – Michael goes and says, ‘hey, just kidding, humans are okay after all,’ obviously she’s gonna be upset.”

“She blames heaven for the war,” Castiel said quietly.  He didn’t think that was entirely unfair.

“Well, yeah,” Sam said.  “And for... you know.”

He didn’t, but Sam was apparently reluctant to say more in front of the children.

Dean also looked uncomfortable, and Castiel reminded himself that they had always been able to understand each other.  They weren’t deliberately keeping anything from him.  And it would be... rude, to ask Dean for silent clarification when Sam was there.

“Why can’t we read your mind?” Maribel asked.  The question seemed to be directed at Sam.  He supposed the children were no less frustrated by the half-conversation than he was.

“Why are you trying to read my mind?” Sam countered.

“Because what you’re saying isn’t very informative,” Maribel said.

“Maybe it’s not supposed to be,” Sam told her.  “Humans don’t just... we don’t know everything, okay?  We have to choose what information to share.  If I was sure you guys should know this?  I’d tell you.”

“Why would there be something we shouldn’t know?”  Maribel had turned this question back to Dean, Castiel noted.  He was curious himself, but he wasn’t sure Dean was the one to answer.

“Sometimes knowing stuff changes things,” Dean said.  “I couldn’t have been a human if I’d known I was an angel, right?  So I chose not to know.  I forgot.  It was the only way to learn what being human really is.”

Castiel stared at him in surprise.  That was... a surprisingly clear example.

Dean quirked a smile in his direction, but he didn’t say anything.

Maribel was frowning.  “What are we learning?” she wanted to know.

“How to be a family,” Jesse said.

“Right?” he added, looking at Sam as though there was an actual answer.  “Gabriel doesn’t want to talk about it, right?  And she doesn’t want to hear us thinking about it.  But it’s okay if you know, because she can’t hear you thinking.  So you’re protecting her.”

“I’m... trying,” Sam said after a pause.  “I guess.  Yeah.”

“Oh,” Maribel said.  “I thought it was because you didn’t want us to think we’re in danger.  Which we are.”

You had to make them smart.  Dean’s voice was, in that moment, only for him.

Given their human parents, Castiel replied, I could hardly avoid it.

“Look,” Sam said.  “Jesse’s right.  Family’s about looking out for each other.  You guys aren’t in any more danger than the rest of us, and I trust you to watch my back.  I hope you trust me to watch yours.”

“Of course,” Maribel said.  As though it wasn’t even a question.  “You’re Adamel’s dad.  We have faith in your decisions.”

She spoke for all of them, Castiel knew.  And Sam still seemed surprised.  

“Okay,” he said, glancing at Dean.  “So.  I gotta get back to the garrison.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “Go.  We got this.”

Sam had left, taking his car despite Dean’s offer to fly him back, before Dean looked around and asked, “Where’s Nick?”

Castiel extended his awareness through the house though he knew perfectly well Dean could do the same.

“Upstairs,” they said at the same time.

“Okay,” Dean added.  “That’s good.  You guys vote on what we’re gonna do; I’ll see if he’s sober.”

Nick didn’t indulge in alcohol, but Castiel thought Dean must know that.  “Vote?” he repeated, since that seemed more important.

“You know,” Dean said, waving his hand at them.  “Pick a movie, get ice cream, whatever.  Ask Jesse.”

Dean was already heading for the stairs, so Castiel turned toward Jesse.  So did the rest of the children.  “Why are we voting?” Castiel asked him.

“So that everyone gets a say in what we do,” Jesse said.  As though it was obvious.  “If you guys are baby-sitting us –”  His tone seemed to indicate that he didn’t like this idea.  “You should find out what we want to do.”

“I see,” Castiel said slowly.  “What do you... want to do?”

“My mom was going to teach us how to use a sword in flight,” Wildfire said.

“No!” Dean yelled from upstairs.  Clearly still listening.  “No war games tonight!”

Castiel tried not to smile.  “I thought you wanted us to vote,” he said, raising his voice so Dean could hear more easily.

“I have veto power,” Dean called back.

“You should tell us more about your wedding,” Adamel said.  “When is it?”

“Sam says we might be in it,” Maribel added.  “Is that wise?”

Castiel looked at her in surprise.  “Are you questioning Sam, or me?”

“I’m questioning whether or not it’s wise,” she said, frowning a little.  “Sam isn’t here, so I’m asking you.”

“She’s not questioning whether we should do it or not,” Adamel said, too quickly.  “We understand there’s a reason, whether we’re there or not.”

Castiel looked at him, because he had only been curious but Adamel sounded as though he expected something else.  Something he needed to defend against.  “Adamel,” he said carefully.  “Does Lucifer require your blind obedience?”

Adamel looked at Maribel, and this time there was no mistaking it.  Something passed between them.

When the silence broke it was Maribel who said, “You let us ask questions, Father.  Some of the angels don’t think we should be able to.”

“I see,” Castiel said.  Because yes, he was very aware of that.  “Adamel,” he repeated.  “Does Lucifer require your blind obedience?”

This time, Jesse took a step forward, but Adamel looked only at him.  “Yes,” he said.  “When we’re in hell, I’m to do exactly as he says, when he says it, without question or comment.”

“To keep us safe,” Jesse said, apparently unwilling to refrain.  “Lucifer keeps us safe in hell.  He’s not as demanding on earth.”

Castiel glanced at him, then looked back at Adamel.  “Does he punish you if you disobey, Adamel?”

Adamel hesitated.  “I don’t disobey,” he said at last.

“And you, Jesse?” Castiel asked.

Jesse scowled at him.  “You’re not my father.”

“Neither is Lucifer.”  Castiel studied him.  Dean would say there was no love lost between him and Jesse, but Castiel did appreciate the antichrist’s willingness to defend his children.  If Jesse needed something that was within his power to provide, he would consider returning the favor.  “You are not without recourse among angels, Jesse.”

“That’s funny,” Jesse said, folding his arms.  “I’m usually too busy looking for knives to think of asking them for help.”

“The offer stands,” Castiel told him.

“Hey,” Dean called from the stairs.  “Nick wants to know if there’s gonna be food involved.”

Castiel considered that.  “We haven’t voted against food,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean was saying, quieter, and Castiel understood that this was not directed at them.  “There’s food, and you look like you need it.  If we’re freaking you out, we’ll go.  But believe me, man... I know what it’s like to do this alone.  It sucks.”

“Why don’t you like Father?” Wildfire was asking Jesse.

“Why would we freak Nick out?” Adamel wanted to know.

“You still haven’t told me if it’s wise for us to be in the wedding,” Maribel reminded him.

“I don’t know,” Castiel told her.  “I don’t know what the wedding will involve; we’ll have to ask Dean.  Humans are sometimes alarmed by the presence of angels,” he added, glancing at Adamel.  “Nick in particular has suffered at the hands of angels; he is understandably reluctant.”

“But he doesn’t remember,” Adamel said.

Adamel seemed both cautious and puzzled, and Castiel knew they were all listening to Jesse tell Wildfire, “He tried to kill me.”

“Dean told him what happened,” Castiel said.

“Well,” Wildfire said, “you are the antichrist.”  She sounded so matter-of-fact that if she were human Castiel might have expected her to add these things happen afterward.

“No one’s killing anyone tonight,” Dean said.  He was coming down the stairs with Nick behind him.  Castiel wasn’t surprised; he knew all too well how persuasive Dean Winchester could be.  “We’re going to get something to eat.  Then we’re going to entertain ourselves non-violently until ten o’clock, at which point at least three of you will turn into pumpkins.  Got it?

“Good,” he added, not waiting for an answer.  “Let’s go.  Jackets, everyone.  Cas, you mind going on ahead, tell Ellen that we’re coming?”

Castiel watched him pick up his own jacket and keys.  The children had their jackets on instantly, with the exception of Jesse, who still seemed sullen.  “I was unaware that we had voted to go to Ellen’s,” Castiel remarked.

“I voted,” Dean told him.  “You were taking too long; people could starve in the amount of time it takes you guys to make a decision.”

“Are we going in the car?” Maribel asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said.  “Kids in the backseat, Nick up front.  Cas, make sure Ellen has a friendly crowd.  We can go up the street if she’s drawing the drunks and the bar bums tonight.”

Castiel decided not to comment on Dean’s appraisal of these possibilities.  “I will expect you shortly,” he said instead.

The children were already filing toward the door, though he didn’t think Jesse had made up his mind to go with them yet.  Nick was watching them all with obvious skepticism.  Dean just tugged at Castiel’s shirt, muttering, “You should bring a coat too,” before he pulled him in for a kiss.

He waited until Dean had urged Nick out the door, demanding of Jesse, “You coming?”  The creaking of the Impala doors could be heard from outside as the children climbed in.  When Jesse followed them, Castiel could only credit Dean, and he had to smile a little.  He had been right: Dean did make a good father.

When Castiel landed in the shadows outside the Roadhouse, he made sure he too was wearing a jacket.

***

Ellen seemed pleased to see him.  At least, as pleased as Ellen ever seemed, which Castiel understood was never as pleased as Sam.  Or Dean, lately, but surely he couldn’t hold the rest of the world to the standard of his lover.

He did, of course, but intellectually he knew it was unfair.

Dean must have driven in something less than a straight line, because his car pulled up outside the Roadhouse minutes later.  The Impala had wings, Castiel thought whimsically.  The children were excited and happy and well-behaved – at least by his standards; Dean seemed less convinced – and Nick didn’t raise any eyebrows.

He shouldn’t, but Castiel knew that humans were more sensitive to physical form than angels.  Whenever he remembered, he also had to remember that few of Dean’s friends had ever met Lucifer in Nick’s body.  Ellen accepted that he was an angelic vessel for whom Dean was doing a favor, and that was all they had to say.

She seemed more interested in the fact that he and Dean were to be married.  It clearly exasperated Dean, and Castiel noted that the “let me propose first, damn it!” argument didn’t seem to work on... anyone, actually.  No matter Dean’s conviction, the fact that they couldn’t deny it seemed to be all the permission other people needed to offer their opinions.

“We’re taking our dessert with us,” Dean informed Ellen at the end of the meal.  “I don’t need to hear anything else about music and flowers.”

She scoffed.  “Please.  Either of you boys get married, you’re gonna need exorcisms and weapons.  Hiding ’em in the soundtrack and the decorations is the challenge of the day.  Might as well get started early.”

“Daddy,” Maribel said.  Politely, Castiel thought.  “Will I be able to take pie with me?”

“We have swords,” Adamel said.  “Hiding them from humans isn’t hard.”

“The other guests,” Ellen told him.  “It’s the humans who are gonna be in trouble.  And sweetie, you can take whatever you want.  Just tell your dad to bring my dishes back, you hear?”

“Daddy,” Maribel said.  “Ellen would like you to return her dishes.”

“Father,” Wildfire said.  “Why will humans be in danger at your wedding?”

“I believe Ellen is concerned that they will get caught in the crossfire,” Castiel said.  “Angels may try to stop us, but Dean and his brother have also made many enemies in hell.  This would be an excellent opportunity for either side to send a message, and hunters are ill-equipped to deal with that kind of scale.”

“Well, don’t sugarcoat it,” Dean said.

“Hey,” Ellen said.  “Do I need to remind you that we handled the apocalypse from this diner?  I think we can manage one little wedding.”

Castiel frowned, glancing at Dean.  “I was supposed to choose the location of the wedding.”

“You said you didn’t want to,” Dean pointed out.

“You got someplace in mind?” Ellen asked.  “I’m sure you can have it anywhere you want, so.  Just let us know how to get there.”

“Why are you choosing the location?” Jesse wanted to know.  “Shouldn’t you cooperate on things like that?”

“Neither of us wanted to do it,” Dean said with a sigh.  “If I have to propose, I told him he had to pick where we have the wedding.”

“That doesn’t sound very nice,” Jesse said.

“That sounds like about what I’d expect,” Ellen drawled.  “You want to pick the place, hon?”

Since she was looking at him, Castiel tilted his head.  “May I pick the Roadhouse?” he asked, glancing from her to Dean.

Dean made an expansive gesture which Castiel interpreted to mean “yes,” and Ellen just smiled at him.  “You got a date in mind?”

“I haven’t even proposed yet,” Dean objected.

“Better hurry up,” Ellen said.  “It’s traditional to propose before the wedding, you know.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Dean said, making a face at her.  “Thanks for the tip.”

She just rolled her eyes.  “You want dessert or not?”

They ate dessert at their table after all.  Nick ordered something, which was the most he’d said since Ellen had stopped by, and Castiel watched carefully when Wildfire asked him if she could try it.  But Nick just pushed his plate toward her, and Wildfire knelt on her chair to lean closer.  The closest thing to a smile Castiel had seen flickered on Nick’s face when she broke off a piece with her fork, and it became more recognizable when she bit into it and wrinkled her nose.

“That’s not my favorite,” Wildfire announced, after she’d swallowed and sat back in her seat.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Nick said quietly.  He didn’t seem upset.

“What does that mean?” Wildfire wanted to know.

“Means a lot of people don’t like it at first,” Dean put in.  “Sometimes you like it better the next time you have it.”

“It was my wife’s favorite,” Nick said.  His voice was more difficult to discern than before, but the mumbled words made Dean give the kids a warning look.

“Good taste, man,” Dean said gruffly.

Nick just nodded.

It was the first time Castiel had heard him mention his family aloud.

“May I try it?” Maribel asked suddenly.

“Me too,” Adamel said, after only a brief hesitation.

Nick pushed his plate into the middle of the table.  He still hadn’t taken a bite of it himself, and Castiel caught Dean’s eye.  Dean’s eyebrow twitched in something reminiscent of a shrug, and Castiel took that to mean they weren’t doing anything wrong.  He decided to help himself to some of Dean’s pie instead.

“Pie thief,” Dean muttered.

Castiel scooped a spoonful of ice cream out of his bowl and dropped it on top of Dean’s pie.  Dean grinned at him, and he didn’t miss Wildfire watching them.  Without a word, she took some of her own ice cream and put it on Nick’s plate.  Maribel broke off a piece of her cookie and did the same.  Adamel put a forkful of pie on his plate, and Jesse contributed a piece of his brownie despite the fact that he hadn’t even tried Nick’s dessert.

Dean cleared his throat.  “Uh, guys?  I’m sure Nick appreciates the thought – that was really nice – but usually people who aren’t... related, don’t share –”

“It’s fine,” Nick interrupted.  “Thanks.”

“We should know what not to do,” Maribel insisted.

“No, it’s cool,” Dean said quickly.  “Just, as a general rule, if you’re gonna give someone something to eat, use clean silverware to do it, okay?”

“Do angel kids even have germs?” Nick murmured, eyeing his plate.

“No,” Castiel said.

“I didn’t lick my fingers,” Jesse said.  He sounded affronted that anyone would consider him unclean.

“Neither did I,” Maribel said, looking from him to Dean.  “Does that make a difference?”

“Uh, yeah.”  Dean looked like he was trying not to smile, so Castiel assumed they hadn’t done something totally inhuman.  “Spit’s kind of... germy, so.  That’s why you don’t – if you’ve already eaten off your fork, or whatever, you should get a clean one before you stick it in someone else’s food.”

“Father didn’t,” Adamel pointed out.

“They’re going to get married,” Jesse said.  “That’s different.”

“None of you look sick,” Nick said, reaching for the cookie piece Maribel had given him.  He put it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed with all of the children watching him curiously.  “Thanks,” he added, giving Dean a sideways glance.  “S’good.”

“Why does it matter if we look sick?” Maribel asked, turning back to Dean.

“Because you have more germs,” Jesse said.  “You can make someone else sick if you give your germs to them.”

“Don’t they make you wash your hands in kindergarten?” Dean asked.  “To keep you from spreading germs?”

“Oh,” Adamel said.  “I wondered about that.”

“I don’t go to kindergarten anymore,” Wildfire told Nick.  “I don’t want to make you sick.”

“Well,” he said, glancing at Castiel uncertainly.  “Your, uh, father?  Says you won’t, so.  I think it’s okay.  How come you don’t go to school anymore?”

“My mom doesn’t want me to,” Wildfire said.

Dean gave her a sharp look but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah?” Nick said.  “Well.  Moms are pretty smart.  That ice cream is good,” he added, nodding at her bowl.

“Would you like some more?” she asked politely.

“No, thanks,” Nick replied in kind.  Castiel wondered at how easily the mannerisms seemed to come to them.  To both of them.  “Gotta save room for the rest of my dessert.”

“Yes,” Wildfire agreed.  “Me too.”

Nick almost looked like he was smiling again.

“Hey,” Dean said after a moment.  “Good thing about having the wedding at Ellen’s: we can get her to do the catering.  Feed everyone,” he added, when Castiel gave him an odd look.

“Do people usually eat at weddings?” Maribel wanted to know.

“There’s cake,” Nick offered, eyes still on his plate.

“Yeah, that’s the best part,” Dean said.  “At the reception, right?  Don’t we have to have some kind of meal, too?”

Nick looked up when no one answered.  Dean was looking at him, so Castiel assumed that was where the question had been directed.  It wasn’t as though any of the rest of them had firsthand knowledge of weddings.

“Uh, there’s usually food at the reception,” Nick said.  “Yeah.”

“A lot?” Dean wanted to know.  “Like a buffet?  That would be awesome.  I think we should have a wedding buffet.”

“It’s your wedding,” Nick said.  “I think you can have as much food as you want.”

“Can we have a wedding buffet?” Dean asked.  This time he was looking at Castiel.  “It could be half regular food and half dessert.  And we can make everyone line up according to how much we like them.  Jo has to go at the end.”

Castiel considered this.  “My Jo?” he said at last.  “Or your Jo?”

“Mine,” Dean said.  “Why, you want your Jo to go last?  ’Cause we can do that.”

“I don’t want her to go last,” Castiel said, frowning.  “Assuming that the people we like most go first, putting her at the end of the line would indicate that I don’t like her.”

“Yeah, exactly.”  Dean grinned.  “Maybe we should make Sam go last.”

Castiel eyed him.  “You’re making it backwards on purpose.”

“The kids should go first,” Dean replied.  “No one can argue with that, right?”

Confused, Castiel looked at Nick, who had stopped eating and was watching them.  “Sometimes,” he offered, “I think kids get their own food?”

“Doesn’t everyone get their own food?” Maribel wanted to know.

Jesse let out a long-suffering sigh.  “Kids don’t go to weddings,” he said.  “My parents say they’re too boring.”

“I mean, different food,” Nick said.  “The adults might eat adult food, and the kids get their own kid food.  Because... some kids don’t like adult food.”

“Never been to a wedding?” Dean was asking Jesse.  “Hey, that makes two of us.”

“I always had a babysitter,” Jesse said.  “When I was little.”

“Have you ever been to a wedding?” Wildfire asked Nick.

Castiel saw Dean wince, but all Nick said was, “Yeah, a few.”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Dean told him.  “We don’t know what we’re doing; not your problem.”

“I think you can do whatever you want,” Nick said.  “There aren’t any rules.”

“Deans says there are rituals associated with the marriage ceremony,” Castiel said.

“Yeah,” Nick said slowly, glancing at Dean.  “Sure.  You mean, like...”

“Get your family together,” Dean said.  “Swap rings, say sappy stuff, kiss.  In front of everyone.”

“Eat cake,” Castiel added, and it was worth it when Dean grinned at him.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed.  “Eat cake.”

Nick was looking at him now, so Castiel added, “I also understood that someone would walk down an aisle.”

Nick raised an eyebrow.  Dean lifted his hands in a “I had nothing to do with it” kind of way, but Jesse looked curious too.  “Doesn’t the woman do that?” he asked.  “Neither of you is a woman.”

“Thank you,” Dean said.  He didn’t sound sarcastic.  “Nice of you to notice.  Maybe you could tell Sam next time you see him.”

“Is that only when there is a woman involved?” Castiel asked Nick.

“Uh...”  Nick imitated Dean’s gesture with his hands.  “It’s your wedding,” he repeated.  “You can do whatever you want.”

“I’m not walking down the aisle,” Dean told him.

Castiel considered it for a long moment.  “I appreciate the symbolic gesture of our journey,” he said at last.  “Perhaps we could walk down an aisle together.”

“The aisle,” Dean said with a sigh.  “We could walk down the aisle together.”

“Is that a yes?” Castiel asked.

“I’m not going to tell my future husband I refuse to walk down the aisle with him at our own wedding,” Dean said.  “So yeah.  That’s a yes.

“But,” he added.  “I’m not having a maid of honor.”

“No,” Castiel agreed.  “I think Sam would object to that title.”

Dean brightened at that.  “Wait, I’ve changed my mind,” he said.  “I definitely want a maid of honor.”

Castiel frowned at him.  “Jophiel will be my maid of honor,” he said.  “Sam can be your best man.”

“Are we in the wedding?” Maribel wanted to know.  “Castiel said we had to ask you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Dean said, and the pout he was trying to send Castiel’s way was suddenly aborted.  “I mean – do you want to be in the wedding?”

“Yes, please,” Maribel said, smiling.  “Adamel and Wildfire too.  Jesse, what about you?  Do you want to be in the wedding?  Maybe it wouldn’t be as boring as your parents said if you’re in it.”

The images in Dean’s mind were pretty and enlightening: there were lots of dresses and flowers and sometimes they were outside and sometimes they weren’t.  He didn’t balk when Maribel mentioned Jesse.  

“I think you have to be a friend of the family for that,” Jesse said.

“You are,” Dean said gruffly.  “You’re all in the wedding.  But me and Cas get to pick the cake.”

Nick cleared his throat.  “Are you going to... do the legal part, too?”

“Hmm?”  Dean had pie in his mouth, but when he swallowed he shook his head.  “Can we?” he asked, frowning at Castiel.  “You’re – you have an ID.”

Gabriel had cleared the Winchester name, and Dean had given Castiel a human identity good enough to pass town and school background checks.  Which wasn’t saying much, but considering his former line of work...  Castiel thought it would stand up to federal scrutiny.

“Not here,” Nick said.  “You could – you could go to Iowa.”

Dean snorted.  “Oh, right,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “The gay thing.  Like that’s really our biggest problem.  Screw it; we don’t need the state’s fucking seal of approval.  Am I right?” he added.  As though it was Castiel who would decide.

“I’m interested in the custom,” Castiel offered carefully.  “Not the law.”

“You sure?”  Dean had paused, obviously making an effort to sound less irritated.  “’Cause he’s right.  We can go somewhere where they can sign the paper or whatever.”

Castiel looked from one of them to the other.  It was one of those things that Dean rarely wanted to discuss, and he saw no reason to bring it into this conversation.  “Only if it’s part of the ritual.”

Dean sighed, sliding his fork through the sugar crumbs left on his plate.  “It’s part of the ritual,” he grumbled at last.  “We should go.”

“If you don’t want to,” Castiel began.

“I want to,” Dean interrupted.  “It’ll take five minutes; we’ll go, come back, and have our party here.  Okay?”

Castiel hesitated, but if Dean said he wanted to, then he wanted to.  “Okay,” he agreed.

“What’s the legal part of a wedding?” Wildfire asked him, very quietly.

They all heard her.  Castiel looked, somewhat apologetically, at Dean.  He knew Dean didn’t want to talk about it, but he was sure he would only miss the point if he tried.

“For humans,” Dean said, “part of getting married is...”  He paused, but he didn’t sigh.  Dean was often very careful in answering the children’s questions.  “Getting it... recognized by the government.  Because it – it’s like adoption, kind of.”

Dean looked at him when he added, “It makes you a family.  Legally.  And there’s laws about, you know.  What other people can and can’t do for you.  Family members can... do more.”

“Like the way our teacher asks you things about us at school,” Maribel said.  “You can give me permission to do things, but Sam has to give Adamel permission.”

“Well, that’s – yeah,” Dean said.  “A little like that.  Sam’s still your family, but I’m your guardian.  The permission thing is because humans don’t think you’re an adult, so you have to have someone to speak for you.  This is like –”

Dean was eyeing his ice cream.  Castiel pushed it toward him without thinking, and a smile quirked at the corners of Dean’s mouth. 

“Sam’s not your guardian, but he’s still your family ’cause he’s my brother,” Dean said.  “He could visit me in the hospital if I got sick.  He could inherit my stuff if I died.  He could take care of you guys if something happened to me – someone who wasn’t family wouldn’t be able to do all that.”

“Any of father’s brothers or sisters could,” Maribel pointed out.

“Well, yeah,” Dean agreed.  “Some of them.  But humans wouldn’t think so.  They might not get it if the law didn’t... show the connection.”

“And if you get married, Father will be able to do all those things,” Adamel said.  “According to human law.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, glancing at him again.

“I mean,” Dean added quickly, “not the kid thing.  Exactly.  Just Maribel, because he’s her legal guardian.  And he can do that anyway.  The rest of you – it’s complicated, but.  He’d make it work.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, Dean,” Castiel said.

“No,” Dean agreed.  “Right.  Obviously.  It’s just... the legal part’s important too.  To humans, I mean.”

“Then we’ll do it,” Castiel said.  “After you propose.”

“Geez, okay,” Dean complained, but Castiel could feel him relax a little.  “I’ll propose already!  Give me more than a day, come on.”

“Keep on him,” Ellen advised, appearing over Castiel’s shoulder and deftly stacking the bowl on Dean’s plate.  “Dean, did you steal this boy’s ice cream?  Shame on you.”

“He gave me some of his pie,” Castiel told her.

“Did he now,” Ellen said, smiling.  “Well, I guess it’s true love, then.”

Dean gave her an obviously fake smile in return.  “Can we get a check, please?”

“On the house,” Ellen told him, putting Wildfire’s dish on top of Nick’s.  Adamel took Maribel’s plate, and Jesse’s, set them on top of his own and pushed them toward Ellen.  “Why, thank you,” she told him.

“Ellen,” Dean began.

“Don’t even start,” she said.  “You did enough for this place while you were here.  And look, your fans are still filling up the seats, so don’t ‘Ellen’ me.  I’m not taking your money.”

“Thank you,” Maribel said.

“Thanks,” Adamel added, and Wildfire echoed them.

“The food was very good,” Jesse said, possibly prompted by the other children.

“Yes,” Castiel said, because they knew more about human customs than he did.  And Dean was somewhat unreliable when it came to modeling appropriate interaction.  “Thank you, Ellen.”

“You’re all very welcome,” she told them.  “Come back soon, you hear?”

“We will,” Dean said.

Ellen just smacked his shoulder.  “Bring your brother next time!” she called, already on her way back to the kitchen.

“Yes ma’am!” Dean replied.  Maybe loudly enough for her to catch.

“What are we going to do now?” Adamel wanted to know.

“Something that doesn’t involve weapons,” Dean said.  Then he glanced around, lowering his voice even if he didn’t seem to be talking entirely to them anymore.  “Okay, so I’m not used to being out in public with kids, go me.  We’re gonna do something that doesn’t involve pretend weapons.”

“Real weapons?” Wildfire asked, looking interested.

“No,” Dean said.  “What are the three things we don’t discuss around humans?”

Even Castiel could see the problem with that question, but Wildfire promptly replied, “Weapons, smiting, and sex.”

“Wow,” Dean muttered.  “I set myself up for that one, didn’t I.  Okay, we’re leaving.  Before Ellen kicks us out.  Everyone have everything they came with?  Jackets, toys, pretend swords?”

“I didn’t bring a pretend – oh,” Maribel said suddenly.  “Yes.  I have mine.”

“Me too,” Wildfire agreed.

“I have my pretend hellhound,” Jesse offered.

“I have my jacket,” Adamel said.

“Extra ice cream for everyone,” Dean said.  “Let’s go.”

 They went, and if they passed two people wearing a familiar-looking overcoat on their way out, Castiel didn’t find it particularly odd.  Jimmy had had one, after all.  It stood to reason that others would as well.

“Head for the car,” Dean called, when Castiel stepped out into the night and looked back at him.  Dean was holding the door for the kids, and he jerked his head at Nick to gesture him through as well.  “It’s like the TARDIS in there; it’s all good.”

TARDIS, Castiel thought.

One of his sisters answered, Spaceship disguised as a phone booth.

The information was, as usual, utterly unhelpful in deciphering what Dean meant.

Castiel had turned back by the time Dean let the door swing shut behind him and Nick, and he would never know whether it was his curiosity or his complacent trust in Dean and Ellen that dulled his suspicion.  He was on the verge of asking, How is your car like a phone booth? when the ring of Maribel’s sword made him go for his own.

The last thing he heard was Gabriel’s voice saying, “Rather you didn’t,” before the ground fell out from underneath him.

The world was silent and heavy and painful as it crashed into his knees.  A dull agony like nothing he’d ever felt crawled through his bones – his bones.  His body.  His human form was clumsy and shattered, pressed up against unyielding solidity.  Some kind of prison.

Gabriel had betrayed them.

“Father,” he heard Maribel say.  It wasn’t her voice, but he recognized it immediately.  The heat on his skin had to be her hand.  He couldn’t see, could barely hear, wanted to wrap his wings around her and protect her but his wings – 

His wings were gone.

The host was silent, and there was only one possible conclusion.

He had fallen.  Completely, irrevocably.  He had always wanted to know what it was to be human and now he did.  Now he would know nothing else.

It was terrible.

“Are you all right?” he heard Maribel whisper.  “What about Wildfire?”

“I’m okay,” another little voice said.

Then a third: Adamel.  “Me too.”

All their voices were tiny and frail without the power of heaven behind them.  Without any grace at all.

His children were as lost as he was.

“Jesse?”  Nick’s voice, this time, louder than it should be.  As loud as it always was without the ring of Lucifer.  “What about you?”

“I’m okay.  Except I can’t do anything.”  Jesse sounded puzzled but not upset.

Jesse rarely sounded upset, and Castiel took a breath.  He found that he could breathe.  He found that he could – if he tried very hard – move.  A little bit.  He could lift his head, and he could blink his eyes, and he was pressed up against the floor and the side of a chair.  Assuming his identification skills hadn’t abandoned him with the rest of his awareness.

“Father,” Adamel said, obviously noticing.  “Where are we?”

“Did Gabriel send us here?” Maribel asked.  “What was the symbol in the air?”

“Why can’t we hear anyone?” Wildfire wanted to know.

“Guys,” Nick said.  “Hey.  I don’t know how it works with angels, but that is not the look of someone firing on all cylinders.  Give him a second, okay?”

Castiel was relatively sure he had no cylinders to fire, but with the way he felt, he couldn’t be completely certain of anything.  He did manage to get his hands underneath him – where his wings should have been – and push himself upward, so he was more or less propped against the chair.  Or the... whatever.  It still seemed more chair-like than anything else.

The children were sprawled across the floor, crawling towards and around each other like grace in heaven.  Except entirely not.  More like small human children, reaching for each other and touching constantly because they had no other way to prove they were there.  He couldn’t feel them at all.

As though she’d heard, Maribel reached out and touched his ankle again.  Then Adamel crawled, hand over hand, along his leg to wrap clumsy arms around Castiel.  Wildfire touched his knee, leaning against Adamel, and Maribel scooted closer to hug him from the other side.

“Sam says hugging helps,” Maribel whispered in his ear, and Castiel almost smiled.

“Sam is very wise,” he murmured.  Or he tried to.  His voice didn’t sound at all the way it should.

“That’s true,” Adamel agreed.  “Do you suppose he’ll find us before Dean does?”

“Something bad must have happened to Dean,” Wildfire said, before Castiel could answer.  “Like it did to Father.  Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

“Where’s here?” Jesse wanted to know.  “I can’t tell.  It’s like I don’t even have powers.”

“We can’t tell either,” Maribel said.  “We can’t do anything, and we can’t hear anyone.  Not even each other.”

“Hear?” Nick repeated.  “Oh.  You mean, like... angel hearing?”

“Daddy says humans call it telepathy,” Maribel offered.  “I can’t talk to any other angels right now without using my voice.  At least, I don’t think I can,” she added.  “Maybe I can and I just can’t hear them talking back.”

“I can’t hear you,” Wildfire said.

“I hear nothing,” Castiel muttered.  “I fear Gabriel has taken our grace from us.  She would consider it a fitting punishment.”

“Can she do that?” Adamel asked.  “Wouldn’t it hurt?”

This didn’t hurt?  Castiel stared at him, but the complaints of his human body were... necessarily limited.  He supposed the wounds of battle to which he was accustomed were worse, in their way.

But they were familiar.  He knew what it was to be slowed or hobbled as a soldier of grace.  He was less accustomed to the drag of gravity and the relentless press of BREATHE, MOVE, EAT, REST.  He needed things.  His existence was tenuous at best and he couldn’t dismiss the fear that he would expire due to some forgotten chore.

“She could do it to us,” Maribel said.  “She couldn’t do it to Father.”

“Are you sure?” Jesse asked.

Maribel exchanged glances with Adamel.  “Yes,” she said.  “Something else happened.  We’re cut off from heaven.”

“Shouldn’t you still have your grace?” Jesse insisted.  “Even without heaven?”

“Yes,” Maribel said again.  “We don’t.  But Gabriel didn’t take it.”

“You lost it?”  Jesse sounded skeptical.

“I don’t know,” Maribel said.  “We should find out where we are.”

“Before we try to leave, or after?” Adamel asked.  “Is Gabriel the enemy?”

“Yes,” Maribel said.  “We shouldn’t stay anywhere she put us.  Father?  Can you move?”

“Wait.”  She was too much like Dean, Castiel thought distantly.  “You said there was a symbol.”

“A sigil,” Maribel said.  “Floating in the air behind you in the parking lot at the diner.  It appeared when you turned around to ask Dean about the TARDIS.  Then Gabriel arrived, and you disappeared, and then we were here.”

“I saw you and Adamel disappear,” Wildfire said.  “Gabriel pushed Father toward the sigil, but it looked like you were drawn toward it.  That’s what it felt like for me, too.”

“I tried to leave,” Jesse said.  “I couldn’t.  Gabriel shouldn’t be able to stop me by herself.”

“Sorry I grabbed you,” Nick muttered.  “I forgot you can... you know.”

“That’s okay,” Jesse said.  “You were trying to keep me from being pulled into the sigil.”

Castiel sat up, feeling too much of himself shift as he leaned away from the chair.  “Someone needs to draw this sigil for me,” he said.  Dean.  What would the garden do to Dean in his absence?

“Uh, is that smart?”  Nick didn’t look thrilled by the idea.

“Since I’m blind to what the children are visualizing,” Castiel said irritably, “it would seem to be our only option.”  Had Lucifer really needed to remove all of Nick’s memories?  Some knowledge of angels would have been helpful.

“Right,” Nick said.  “I just mean, if we don’t know what it does –”

“We know what it does,” Castiel interrupted.  “It brought us here.  Perhaps it will also send us back.”

Maribel looked surprised.  “I don’t have my sword.”

Her intent crashed home, obscuring the details, and Castiel caught hold of her shoulder.  “Do not hurt yourself,” he growled.  “The human body requires a tremendous amount of time to heal without grace.  That goes for all of you,” he said, frowning at Adamel and Wildfire as well.

“Here,” Jesse said, crouching down beside them with a pen and paper that had numbers on it.  “It was like a circle, right?  With an arrow shape in it?”

Maribel traced a circle on the paper with her finger, then took the pen and went over it impatiently.  She drew something else, invisibly, outlining the shape with her finger before committing it to ink.  Castiel understood her annoyance.  Writing implements were clumsy and unreliable.

“Like that,” she said after a moment.

Castiel frowned at the sigil.  “How much like that?” he asked.

“Exactly,” she said.  “Except that it was glowing red, a little bit see-through, and hanging in mid-air above my head.”

“That’s a trans-dimensional mark.”  Castiel rapidly reconsidered his understanding of Gabriel’s motives.  “I believe Gabriel is attempting to enforce her will by hiding us without our consent.”

“Hiding us?” Nick repeated.

“We’re in a different dimension?” Jesse said.  “That’s pretty cool.”

“What kind of dimension?” Wildfire wanted to know.

Castiel stared around them, trying to place the objects he saw.  Like a motel room, but smaller.  Narrower.  The pieces of furniture – and particularly the accessories – were of higher quality.  “Gabriel believes heaven will fall into civil war if the presence of nephilim among us is not resolved,” he said.  “She would like us to disappear to stave off that eventuality.

“I don’t know,” he added, glancing at Wildfire.  “Likely one similar to ours in some respects, given the existence of our surroundings.  Dramatically different in others, if the absence of grace is any indication.”

“Neph-what?” Nick said.

“There’s no grace here?”  For the first time, Adamel looked worried.  “At all?”

“If grace exists here, it’s inaccessible to me,” Castiel said.

“Wait, what are we hiding from?” Nick asked.  “Is this good or bad?”

“The first nephilim were children with both human and angelic ancestry,” Castiel said, trying to contain his impatience.  As Dean would if one of the children were asking.  “The combination of grace and free will brought our world to chaos.  God intervened.  Gabriel announced the war that raged until the last of the hybrids were gone, and heaven and earth were separate once again.”

“Uh... when?”  Nick eyed them all warily.  “Aren’t you –?”

“Long ago, by your accounting,” Castiel said.  “Maribel, Adamel, and Wildfire represent a new generation of humanity and grace.  I believe they’re the future.  Gabriel believes history will repeat itself.  It seems plausible that she’s sent us here in an effort to prevent the war she sees on the horizon.”

“How do we get back?” Maribel asked.  “We don’t want to hide.”

Castiel hesitated, nonplussed by the certainty in her statement.  “Dean and I... feel you shouldn’t have to,” he said at last.  “However.  Your wishes should also be taken into account.  If you choose –”

He didn’t know how to finish, and she couldn’t possibly have recognized his intent.  Somehow she anticipated the words anyway.

“We’re not hiding,” Maribel repeated.  “Gabriel may be unreliable, but her child is my responsibility.  I have to get back.”

Castiel blinked at her.  It wasn’t precisely the argument he’d expected her to make, but perhaps it should have been.  “And you?” he asked, looking from Adamel to Wildfire.  “You may speak for yourselves.”

“Even if we were going to hide,” Adamel said, “I don’t want a place someone else chose for me.”

“I want to go home,” Wildfire said.  Her tone was matter-of-fact, like all the rest.  Children who could want for themselves, for others, who could question and disobey and make decisions.  No, heaven wouldn’t like them at all.

“Very well,” Castiel said.  “We will find a way back.”

“Just like that,” Nick said.

“No,” Castiel said.  “I imagine it will require some time and effort.  First we should investigate this space and attempt to determine our geographic location.  Then we will find a phone and determine whether or not any of our contacts are accessible here.”

“I have a –”  Nick stopped midsentence.  Pulling something out of his pocket, he said, “This isn’t my phone.”

Castiel had only a passing familiarity with cell phone technology, but even he could see that the device Nick held was considerably more complicated than the one Dean had given him.  He checked the pocket of his coat and found the same thing: an unfamiliar piece of technology with far fewer buttons than he was used to.

“Oh,” Adamel said, leaning against his shoulder.  “It’s like Sam’s.”

Castiel turned the device over to him when he reached for it, and Maribel was already on her feet.  “There’s a computer,” she said.  “If it’s connected, it can tell us where we are.”

“Keys,” Nick added, pointing toward the door.  “Car might have a GPS.”

“Father?” Wildfire said.  She was standing by the window.  “There’s someone coming.”

“It says you call Twitter,” Adamel told him.  “A lot.”

“Uh, we’re in a trailer,” Nick said.  He’d joined Wildfire by the window, standing back enough that he might not be immediately visible from the outside.  “And there’s a lot of –”

Something rattled the side of the trailer, and then there was a loud knock.  “Hey, Misha!” a familiar voice called.  “Pizza at Jared’s; you in?”

Castiel’s balance was unpredictable and irrelevant.  He lurched to his feet and caught himself against the wall before shoving past Nick, who said, “Whoa, wait –”

Castiel threw the door open.

Dean stood there, warm grin of welcome on his face.  He had his hands in the pockets of his coat, standing half-on, half-off the step outside the door.  “Hungry?” he asked.

***

“Dean,” Castiel said.  “How did you get here?”

Dean laughed, glancing down at himself and winging the corners of his coat out to the sides.  “Night shoot; we only have an hour.  Wasn’t worth it to change.”

“British Columbia,” Maribel said from behind him.  “It’s a Canadian province.  Hi Daddy,” she added, poking her head around the doorway.

“Oh,” Dean said, putting his other foot down on the pavement.  “Hey, you have company.  Didn’t mean to bust in.

“Hi,” Dean added, smiling at Maribel like he’d never seen her before.  “How’s it going.”

“Not so well,” she said.  “Gabriel sent us here, and we couldn’t figure out where we were or why.  I thought she must have done something to you so I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Uh,” Dean said, glancing at Castiel.  “Right.  So, you watch the show?”

Maribel gave him a curious look.  “What show?”

“Castiel,” Nick said.  “Uh... Misha?”

Castiel turned his head to indicate he was listening, but he couldn’t look away from Dean.  He looked – strange, without his grace.  More human.  Less... powerful.

Of course, that stood to reason, Castiel told himself.  He was less powerful.

“This is – I was just looking at your script,” Nick said.  Which made no sense, but that wasn’t unusual.  He was crowding into the doorway behind Castiel and Maribel, apparently trying to pass Castiel some papers.  Castiel spared them a passing glance, but he couldn’t make any sense of them.

“Hey, Mark,” Dean said, giving him a puzzled smile.  “Didn’t even know you were here.  We gonna get a surprise visit from old Lucifer?”

“His name is Nick,” Castiel said.

“All right, hand ’em over,” Dean said, putting a foot back on the step and grabbing the script from Nick.  “You got new pages?  ’Cause if we’re gonna start bringing vessels back, I want Jimmy.  You’re hilarious with the hamburgers.”

“Right,” Nick said.  “Could you excuse us for a minute?”

Castiel felt a hand on the back of his collar and he was caught by surprise when the tug actually swayed him backwards.  “You too,” Nick was telling Maribel, even as Castiel took a step back to regain his balance.  “Everyone inside.”

The door swung shut on a confused-looking Dean, and Castiel went to open it again.

“Wait,” Nick said, very quietly.  “Castiel, wait.  That’s not Dean.  At least, I don’t think it’s Dean.  Can you tell?  I mean, if he was Dean, wouldn’t he know what happened to us?  Wouldn’t he be asking you if you’re all right?”

Castiel paused, because there was a certain logic to that.  A logic he didn’t want to acknowledge.  He wanted to open the door and see Dean standing there.

He closed his eyes.  Heaven had played such a trick on him before.  “Who is it, then,” he whispered.  “What’s happening?”

“This is gonna sound crazy,” Nick muttered.  “But that was a script that was sitting on the table.”

The knocking on the door largely drowned out Castiel’s question, “A script of what?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said.  “But it was a story about characters called Dean and Castiel.  What if we’re in some sort of crazy dimension where... you’re not real?  You’re not an angel, Dean’s not – Michael, or whatever.  You’re just guys who... play your roles on TV.  Or something.”

“That’s absurd,” Castiel said flatly.

Nick actually laughed.  It wasn’t a joyful sound.  “Everything that’s happened to me is full on crazy, all right?  I’m not convinced I’m not still back in the psych ward, being evaluated for medical intervention every time I meet one of your messed-up friends.”

“Father’s friends aren’t messed up,” Adamel said.

“Look,” Nick said, and his voice wasn’t quiet anymore.  “I’m not saying it makes sense.  Of course it doesn’t make sense.  Nothing here makes any sense, and when I say ‘here’ I don’t mean this trailer.  But so far I don’t hear anyone giving me a more rational explanation!”

“Everything okay in there?” Dean’s voice called through the door.

Castiel reached out and opened it again.  “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

“Uh...”  Dean looked from him to Nick.  Maribel, mercifully, had vanished back inside the trailer.  “God?”

Castiel stared at him until he remembered how Dean had teased him.  The guy who asks me who he is when he wants to know who I am...  “Who are you?” he asked abruptly.

Dean rolled his eyes.  “I’m the hungry guy whose face time starts in less than an hour,” he said, the first hint of exasperation creeping into his tone.  “So, God or not, I want my pizza.  Mark, you should come too.”

“I just ate,” Nick said.  “But, uh.  Thanks.”

“Come anyway,” Dean insisted.  “Bring your... young friend.  It’s family friendly, I promise.  Oh – she’s not scared of dogs, is she?”

“Dean,” Castiel said sharply.

“Jensen,” Dean retorted.  He glanced at his watch pointedly.  “I’m Jensen for the next 52 minutes, and it’s been a long day.  I’m going to Jared’s.  If you’re not hungry, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No,” Castiel said.  “Don’t –”

“Okay,” Nick said.  “Yeah, that sounds good.  Sorry, we’ll, uh... catch up with you later.”

“We won’t,” Castiel said.  Stepping away from the door, he said, “Come inside.”

He knew Nick wasn’t impressed, but it was Dean – or Jensen – who sighed.  “Can I at least call Jared and make him bring my pizza over here?” he asked plaintively.

Jensen was coming through the door anyway, but it was his tone that convinced Castiel.  Dean grumbled, and complained, and generally pitched fits about stupid things he shouldn’t even care about, but he rarely whined.  And he wouldn’t have asked if he could call someone.  He would have done it already.

“When will you be Dean again?” Castiel demanded.

“He’s an actor,” Nick muttered.  “It doesn’t work that way.”

Jensen had closed the door behind him, but he was giving them both a weird look.  “Okay, what are you guys doing?  And –”  The look didn’t last past his incredulity at the other occupants of the trailer.  “Who are all your friends?

“Oh,” he added.  “Hey, Gattlin.”

“I’m Maribel,” Maribel offered.  “Why aren’t you Dean?”

Adamel and Wildfire didn’t offer their names, apparently waiting for Jensen’s answer, but Jesse was eyeing him speculatively.  “I’m Jesse,” he said.  “Do you really play Dean on TV?”

“Is this a joke?” Jensen asked, looking back at Castiel.  “Can I help?”

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“Probably not,” Nick muttered.

Jensen looked offended.  “Why not?  Come on, I’m awesome.  Tell me what we’re doing and I’ll help.”

“We’re stranded here because an archangel from our dimension threw us into yours with no warning or way to get home,” Castiel said.  “I don’t know who you are, I don’t know who you think I am, and I’m worried that the children have no way to defend themselves here.”

“Uh, okay,” Jensen said, looking around at all of them.  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“That’s what I said,” Nick agreed.

Jensen focused on him.  “You need a better story.  Are you really here for an episode, or is it totally a prank thing?  ’Cause Richard’s in with Jared, and you know he’d help.”

“We’re not here for an episode,” Castiel said.

“It’s not a prank,” Nick said with a sigh.  “But it’s gonna sound like one.”

“Not much we haven’t heard around here,” Jensen said, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smile.

“You’re an actor, right?”  Nick barely waited for Jensen to nod, his smile fading.  “He’s not.  He’s an angel from another dimension, and these are his kids.”

“I’m not,” Jesse said.

“Except for Jesse,” Nick said.

Jensen raised an eyebrow at Castiel.  “Okay,” he said.  “Do something angelic.”

“I can’t,” Castiel said impatiently.  “My grace is... missing.”

“Missing,” Jensen repeated.  “I don’t get it.”

“I have no grace here,” Castiel said.  “I don’t know why.  None of the children do either.”

“Misha,” Jensen said.  “You’re really weird.  So what do you want from me?”

“I am not Misha,” Castiel snapped.  “I’m sorry I look like someone you know, but you look very much like someone I’m going to marry, so I would appreciate it if you would try to restrain your disbelief.”

“Marry?”  Jensen looked startled but not shocked.  “Hang on; what did you say the kids’ names are?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, but Nick replied for him.  “Maribel, Adamel, and Wildfire.”

“And Jesse,” Jesse said with a sigh.  “I can wait outside if this is a family thing.”

“Wildfire’s not her real name,” Jensen said.  He was still staring at Castiel.  “Who’ve you been talking to, anyway?  I thought they ditched the kid storyline when S&P wouldn’t let them... uh.  Fight.”

“It’s not a story,” Nick said.  “Not to them.  Us.  It’s – Gabriel sent us here.  We don’t know where your friends are; we just got here.  Right before you knocked.”

“Okay,” Jensen said.  “See, the problem with this is, you’re not Lucifer anymore.  So good try, but you should definitely get that girl, what’s her name –”

“Rebecca?” Nick said.

Jensen blinked.  “Okay, good job,” he said slowly.  “Here’s one for you: is Gabriel a guy?”

It was Nick’s turn to look surprised.  “Uh, you mean the archangel?  Does she have a... a male vessel?  No.”

“She used to,” Castiel said with a sigh.  “Sam didn’t like it.”

Nick gave him an odd look.  “Really?”

He nodded.

“Huh,” Jensen said.  “Yeah, Sera wouldn’t let us do that either.  The Sam!curse, you know.  So far Richard’s the only one who’s immune.  They don’t want to risk losing him.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Castiel told him.  

Jensen opened his mouth, then frowned.  “The sad part is,” he said, “I’m starting to believe you.  Is there a camera in here?  Are you recording this for later?”

“What does it matter?” Castiel asked.  “I shouldn’t have interfered.  There’s clearly nothing you can do.  You should go eat your pizza and... do whatever it is you do.”

“Hey,” Jensen said, lifting his hands.  “No need to be rude.”

“Please leave,” Castiel said.

“Wait,” Nick said quickly.  “You said you’re shooting tonight.  What about?”

“Some fight scene,” Jensen said.  “With Richard.  Why?”

“Who’s Richard?” Nick asked.  “Wait, is Richard Gabriel?  Why are you fighting with him?”

“Because he –”  Jensen broke off, staring at them.  Then he frowned again.  “Did Jared put you up to this?”

“Why are you fighting him,” Nick repeated.  “It’s important, Jensen.”

“It’s in the script,” Jensen said.

“We haven’t read the script,” Castiel snapped.  “What does it matter why they’re fighting?  We need to contact Dean, and Jensen clearly can’t do it.”

Nick didn’t look intimidated.  “You’re more irritable without your powers,” he observed.  Holding out his hand, he added, “Jensen, may I have the script back, please?”

Jensen passed it to him without a word, but he was looking at Castiel.  “We’re fighting because Gabriel kidnapped Cas,” he said carefully.  “He sent him to some weird TV dimension.  Like he does.”

“Really,” Nick said, turning the pages of the script.  “I guess changing vessels doesn’t make them any nicer.”

“What’s her real name?” Jensen asked, tipping his head toward the children.  “If you’re really Castiel, you should know.”

“She goes by Wildfire for a reason,” Castiel told him.  “I won’t violate her mother’s trust just to convince you that what I say is true.”

“Jonnel,” Wildfire said.  “My name is Jonnel.”

Everyone turned to look at her, and she lifted both shoulders in a childish shrug.  “If the host can’t hear us here, no one else will find out,” she said.  “And all of you already knew, except for Nick.  His mind is hard to read anyway.”

“Misha didn’t know that,” Jensen said slowly.  “Some of us... made up names one night, when it looked like it might happen.  Misha wasn’t here.”

“That’s weird,” Nick said.  When Jensen looked at him, he said, “Well, if Castiel’s the one who named them...”

“Misha’s not Cas,” Jensen said.  He sounded very certain of this, like it not only hadn’t crossed his mind but couldn’t, in any reality, even come close to crossing his mind.  “I’m definitely not Dean.  Don’t remind me how crazy this is or I go back to looking for the camera.”

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked Nick.

He was still flipping pages.  “Looking for Dean’s fight with Gabriel.  Might tell us what he’s doing right now.”

“Trying to rescue you, probably,” Jensen said.  “So you can’t – no, never mind.  Why am I even asking.”

“How can that possibly...”  Castiel frowned.

“What happens at the end?” Jensen wanted to know.  “I mean, they must get Cas back.”

“Is this the whole thing?”  Nick was turning the last page.  “I’m not even in it.”

Castiel stared at Jensen.  “You haven’t read it?  A transcript of the future, and you don’t know what it says?”

“Hey, it’s not my future,” Jensen said.  He shifted uncomfortably under Castiel’s gaze.  “I read most of it.  The fight scenes take a lot of time.  I have to...”  He trailed off, then muttered.  “You know.  Practice.”

“You win,” Nick said.  “If you’re curious.”

“That’s good, right?”  Jesse was trying to look over his arm.  “When do we go back?”

“We’re not in it,” Nick said.  He eyed Jesse, but Jesse didn’t so much as reach for the script.  He just looked up at Nick, eyes wide open and curious, and Nick pushed the pages into his hand.

A trustworthy face, Castiel thought.

“Castiel gets pulled back when Misha interrupts the fight by calling Dean,” Nick said.

“Really?”  Jensen looked as surprised as anyone.  “I thought Cas called me.  Dean,” he added quickly, glancing at Castiel.  “I thought Cas was the one who called Dean.”

“I don’t have my phone,” Castiel said.

Adamel was still poking at the one he’d pulled out of his pocket, and without looking up he said, “This must be Misha’s.”

“You have –”  Jensen took a step forward.  “Is that Misha’s phone?  What are you doing to it?  Dude, he’s attached to that thing.  You don’t want to mess it up.”

Castiel frowned at him.  “I’m disturbed that the most concern you’ve shown since our arrival is for your friend’s phone.”

“Why isn’t the fight over yet?” Wildfire asked.  “Shouldn’t time be the same in both dimensions?”

“No,” Castiel said.  “Gabriel manipulates time to suit her own purpose.”

“Plus, Dean still has to catch him.  Her,” Jensen corrected.  “Him.  Whatever.”

“Dean was there when we were shifted,” Castiel said.  “As was Gabriel.”

“Did he have holy oil on him?” Jensen asked.  “The guy’s good, but I don’t think he’s ready to take on an archangel on short notice.”

Nick looked at him.  Jesse stopped reading and lifted his head.  None of the children moved.

“Another archangel,” Castiel said.  “You don’t think he’s ready to take another archangel on short notice.”

“Well, yeah.”  Jensen glanced around at all of them, wincing at the children’s utter stillness.  “Wow, they’re really... wow.  Angel kids, huh?”  He gave them a weak smile.

None of them responded.

“He is,” Castiel said.  “Michael is the strongest archangel in heaven.”

“You actually call him Michael?”  Jensen smiled a little at that.  “Well, yeah.  I guess you would.  Never mind.”

“Why would Michael need to regroup before taking on Gabriel,” Castiel said.  He didn’t ask.  He was afraid he already knew, but he had to hear it.  If they were going to leave here, he had to know exactly what “here” was.

“Uh...”  Jensen looked from him to Nick.  “When you say ‘Michael’...  You mean, hypothetically?  I don’t know, I – guess he wouldn’t?  Usually?”

“Dean and Michael are the same person where we come from,” Nick said.  “That’s not true here?”

“The same person?” Jensen repeated.  “You mean, the way Dean’s pretending to be Michael?”

“He’s not pretending,” Castiel said.  “He is Michael.”

“Uh, okay.”  Jensen looked like he didn’t know how to react to that, leaving Castiel with the uncomfortable feeling that if he could just... do something, be something else, he could make this man behave the way he expected him to.

The way he expected Dean to.

“That’s different,” Jensen added awkwardly.

“Those pages aren’t the answer,” Castiel told Nick.  “Whatever they say, it’s clearly not the whole truth.”

“Right,” Nick agreed.  “That’s coming through loud and clear.”

“Your Dean is actually the archangel Michael,” Jensen said.  “Are we talking vessel, here, or... the whole tore out his grace, fell to earth, reborn as a human thing?”

“Michael fell and was born Dean Winchester,” Castiel said.  “His grace has since been restored.  This is not – without controversy, among the host.”

Jensen snorted.  “I bet.  He had to demote Zachariah; guy wouldn’t shut up.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, frowning a little.  “He did.”

Jensen gave him a considering look.  “You running Zach’s garrison?”

“Yes,” Castiel repeated.

“Well, hey,” Jensen said.  “Congratulations.  Must be nice to go home.”

“It will be,” Castiel said.  “When I get back to Dean.”

Jensen cleared his throat.  “Uh, yeah.  About that, you, uh – you want a more recent copy of the script?”  He didn’t look like he was really asking, like that hadn’t been what he was planning to say.  “That one’s... I think that one’s an old draft.  I could get you mine.  If you want.”

“Yes,” Castiel said.  “That would be helpful.  And I would like to see your fight with... Richard.”

“It’s not gonna tell you anything that’s not in the script,” Jensen said quickly.  “You’re not – Misha’s not even in it ’til the end.  We’re not scheduled to do that part tonight.”

“Nonetheless,” Castiel said.

“Right,” Jensen said.  “Uh.  I’ll see what I can do.  Shit, you’re gonna – can you not wander around?  At least right away?  Let me talk to some of the guys, get you some cover.”

“Sure,” Nick said.  “Thanks.”

“Why?” Castiel demanded.  “We don’t need cover.”

“Maybe you don’t, but Misha does,” Jensen snapped back.  “You walk out that door and everyone’s gonna think you’re him.  He’s weird, okay?  But it’s possible he’s not – well.  That weird.

“Maybe,” Jensen added, looking dubious.  “It might be fine.  But look, don’t tell anyone they’re your kids.  I’ll tell ’em you’re doing a – you and Mark are doing a charity thing.  The kids won a tour of the set or something.  Everyone will think you’re just being Castiel for them.”

“What about me?” Jesse wanted to know.

“You too,” Jensen said.  “It was all your idea.  Misha and Mark just helped get the word out, how’s that?”

Jesse nodded.  “That sounds good to me,” he said.

“Okay,” Jensen said, looking from one of them to the next.  “I’m gonna go... talk to Jared.  Or someone.  Or – you know what, maybe you should come with me.”

“I thought you didn’t want us to –” Nick began.

“I know,” Jensen interrupted.  “I know, it’s probably a bad idea.  But I don’t... I don’t really think you should stay here, either.”

“You want someone to watch us,” Jesse said.

Jensen hesitated.  “Yeah,” he said at last.  “I kind of do.  And hey, if this is all a prank, at least you can get me in front of Jared and Richard, right?”

Castiel glared at him.  “It’s not a prank.”

“I know,” Jensen said, throwing up his hands.  “I know!  So maybe Jared can – think of something I didn’t.  And there’s pizza.  You’re really not hungry?”

“Do we know Jared?” Maribel wanted to know.

“He plays Sam,” Jensen told her.

Her suspicious expression cleared immediately.  “Oh,” she said, looking at Castiel.  “We should definitely go see him, then.”

He had to agree.  No matter how frustrating the situation was, someone who knew something about Sam was more likely to be helpful in the short term than someone who knew something about Dean.  Dean was the one who made sure things got done.  Sam was the one who figured out what the thing was.

And he’d be lying if he said that being around someone who looked exactly like Dean wasn’t wearing on him.  Without his grace, he couldn’t see the shape of his soul, and it was disconcerting to rely on human senses.  They were obviously prone to error.

Jared didn’t cause the same difficulty.  He and Richard were in another trailer, along with two large dogs who gave Nick and Jesse an enthusiastic welcome.  Wildfire seemed disappointed that the creatures avoided angels with care and what looked like suspicion – but Jared seemed completely convinced by it.

“Wow,” he said.  “They love Misha.  Seriously, they climb him like a tree.”

“A short tree,” Richard called from the couch.  He claimed the whole story was hilarious and he would do whatever they wanted after he finished his beer.

“Like you should talk,” Jared said.  “Hey, so, the kids too?  I’ve never seen a kid Sadie doesn’t like.  Well, I mean, I’m sure she likes you, she’s just – she’s usually really welcoming.  To everyone.”

“Like owner, like dog,” Richard remarked.

“The kids too,” Jensen said, like Richard hadn’t even spoken.  “They’re Castiel’s.”

“Seriously?”  Jared’s eyes were wide, but he nodded.  “Wow, congratulations, man.  They’re not –”

“Yeah,” Jensen interrupted.  “They are.”

They looked at each other so quickly that Castiel might have missed it, if he wasn’t so used to it from Dean and Sam.  They weren’t just finishing each other’s sentences.  They were doing it silently, without bothering to confirm that they’d gotten it right.

“Wow,” Jared repeated.  “Okay.  That’s cool.  And weird.  But mostly cool.”

Castiel sat down on the couch.  Richard glanced at him but didn’t otherwise acknowledge the company, and he wondered why everyone seemed so familiar.  Everyone except Jensen.  He wondered if Dean had any idea where they were.  And he wondered, most of all, if the world would fall apart if he ignored it for a few minutes.

“You’ll need ID,” Jared was saying.  “And stage passes, and probably a better story.  The charity angle is awesome, but if it’s a competition that’s even better.  Nobody questions contest winners.”

Castiel could hear Adamel and Wildfire whispering, which was disturbing because he couldn’t make out what they were saying.  Why couldn’t he hear?  He had to open his eyes when a hand on his knee and the dip of a couch cushion warned him that someone else was sitting there: it was Wildfire, climbing up next to him, and he hadn’t been able to tell without looking.

“I don’t like being human,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

“It’s strange,” Wildfire agreed, her little voice soft next to his ear.  “But Dean would say it’s a good experience.”

“And more pizza.”  Jared’s voice was eager and friendly and not at all like someone whose whole life had been tugged from one supernatural extreme to the other.  “We’ll definitely need more pizza.”

Maybe Jensen wasn’t the only stranger here, Castiel thought.  Richard was offering Wildfire dog treats so she could try to win over Sadie.  He was a little worried that if he opened his eyes again he would see the man ruffling her hair.

Would it be so bad, he wondered?  If Dean and Sam were friends, and they had overly joyful dogs, and they ordered pizza with their coworkers at the end of the day.  If the children were small and impressionable and protected by doting relatives who taught them important things like how to befriend other people’s pets.  If he could put his head down on someone else’s couch and not worry that all of heaven would collapse while he wasn’t paying attention.

There were moments like this when it didn’t seem so very much to ask.

Jared’s couch was very comfortable.

***

It took him some time to notice that things were quieter than they’d been.  He could still feel Wildfire pressed up against his side, though, and if she was there then no major calamity could be occurring.  Maribel would have left her with instructions to –

He opened his eyes abruptly.  Had Maribel left?

Wildfire mumbled something that didn’t make any sense, and he heard a shuffling sound from somewhere nearby.  It was mostly dark.  It was much too quiet.  “Maribel,” he said aloud.  “Where are you?”

“At the fight,” Wildfire murmured, resettling her head against his arm.  “Jesse and Adamel are with her.  And Nick.”

“Hey,” a familiar voice said.  “They’re okay.  You need anything?”

He tensed, even though the annoyingly foggy human memory of “Richard” was right there.  “Why am I still here?”

“I dunno, gravity?”  Richard didn’t sound like he was smiling.  “You mean in a metaphysical sense, or a practical one?  You fell asleep on the couch; Jared and Jensen didn’t want to wake you up.  I don’t think they’re used to seeing you so quiet.  Kind of a novel experience for them.”

“Should I get up?” Wildfire asked quietly.

“You guys can stay,” Richard told them.  “Jared says you can crash here as long as you want.  He’s got an air mattress I can pump up for you if you want to be more comfortable.  The guys’ll be back... by midnight, maybe?  They’re supposed to wrap by eleven, but everyone’ll probably fawn over the kids for a while afterward.”

“They shouldn’t be alone,” Castiel muttered.  He knew it, and yet – it was hard to move.  Perhaps Richard was right about gravity: it felt higher than it should, somehow anchoring him to this spot in the cushions.  Even Wildfire felt heavy against his side.

“Believe me,” and now Richard did sound amused, “they’re not alone.  Jared’ll make sure they stick together.  He’s not on tonight, so he’s got nothing better to do than herd them around like the adorable charity cases they are.”

Castiel wasn’t sure what that meant, but Jared had seemed relatively safe.  And it really was a tremendous amount of trouble to move.  He didn’t want to disturb Wildfire.

“I don’t think I like you,” he mumbled.

He thought he heard Richard laugh, but it was close and quiet and it didn’t seem to matter very much.

His next moment of awareness was much less comfortable.  The trailer was filled with dismal grey shadows and quiet creaks that couldn’t drown out the yelling and machinery noise outside.  It was a one-dimensional prickle of sensation with no purpose behind it: annoying and senseless when he had no concept of where he was or what it all meant.

“Hi,” Wildfire said happily.  She was sitting on the floor next to him, with Maribel and Adamel and Jesse all gathered around boxes of cereal and a non-uniform array of plates and bowls.  “Did we wake you up?  We’re having breakfast.”

“Good morning, Father,” Maribel added.  “Nick’s here too; he’s sleeping on the air mattress.  Jared took his dogs over to Jensen’s trailer, and they both stayed there overnight.  He said they have an early make-up call this morning, but I think they just didn’t want to leave us alone.”

“They brought us cereal,” Jesse added.  “They said we can get breakfast on the set when we’re ready, but Maribel didn’t think we should split up.”

“Also, if the script is right,” Adamel said, “Death found the garden.”

Castiel froze.  He hurt all over, he was hungry, and he was pretty sure he needed to use the bathroom.  Adamel couldn’t possibly mean what he thought he’d heard – because if he did, then there was nothing left.  No reason to go back.  No reason to be human, no reason to be anything.  Not now.

“Not in a bad way,” Maribel said, her eyes wide.  “No one died.  He hasn’t even been there.”

“The garden’s okay,” Adamel agreed.  He looked suddenly terrified, but it disappeared quickly under a look of urgent certainty.  Neither expression belonged on the face of a human child.

Wildfire leaned over, bumping Adamel’s shoulder with her own and running her fingers over his arm in a way that looked –

Their wings, Castiel realized.  They were imitating their absent wings.  It made the loss ache all the more, and he pressed his back into the couch without thinking.

“Would you like something to eat?” Wildfire asked.  “Jesse says it makes you feel better.”

“Yes,” he said, because he’d heard Dean make the same claim over and over.  His voice came out strange and rough and he put a hand to his throat.  “Where’s Richard?”

“He left when we came back last night,” Maribel said.  “He said he was going home.”

Castiel took a long breath, and it wasn’t as relaxing as he thought it should be.  Knowing he needed it must dull the effects.  “What,” he said carefully, “does it mean.  That death has found the garden.”

Maribel and Adamel looked at each other, but Wildfire scrambled to her knees and retrieved something from the table.  “Here,” she said, handing the papers to him.  The script.  “It’s right there: he talks to Dean.  About you.  And us.”

Castiel stared at the page without seeing, because the reapers.  The fucking reapers; why hadn’t he hunted them down and demanded an explanation.  Why hadn’t he forced Dean to share their conversations?  Had they been reporting back to their master this entire time?

Of course they had.  What a ridiculous question.

“He’s fine,” Maribel said, watching him worriedly.  Did he look that incapable of reading what was in front of him?  Because he apparently was, and he had no idea how she could tell.  The silence of the host didn’t seem to be hurting the children any.

“According to the script,” Adamel said.  “Death wants someone to –”

He hesitated just long enough for Jesse to say, “The bathroom’s that way.”

“Counter you?” Adamel finished.  “I don’t know what that means.  But the script keeps calling you God, and no one calls Dean Michael when there aren’t angels around.”

“It’s very confusing,” Maribel agreed.  “Would you like some water?”

Castiel shook his head, pushing himself to his feet on the basis that Jesse had the most experience being human.  He did feel better after he’d visited the bathroom, although he couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t just movement.  Any movement seemed to loosen his body in a way that made it twinge instead of ache.  At least it was an improvement.

Nick was sitting up when he returned, squinting and disheveled and looking about as confused as Castiel felt, which he thought was unfair.  At least Nick knew how to be human.  He’d moved closer to them by taking a position at the very edge of the air mattress, which meant he was sitting almost on the floor himself with the mattress angled oddly behind him.

He lifted his chin in Castiel’s direction, which Castiel assumed was a greeting.  He nodded back.

“Cereal?” Jesse asked.  He looked from one of them to the other.

“Sure,” Nick said, running a hand over his eyes.  “What do we have?”

“Turboz or Honey Bunches of Oats,” Jesse said.  “With almonds.”

“Turboz,” Nick said.  “Is there milk?”

Jesse pointed wordlessly to what Castiel could only guess was a refrigeration unit.

“Thanks,” Nick said, running his hands through his hair and pushing himself awkwardly to his feet.  “Be right back.”

“I should read this,” Castiel murmured, staring down at the script.

“Probably,” Maribel agreed.  She and Jesse had both gotten up: they seemed to be searching for more dishes.  Or rather, Jesse was searching while Maribel, who was too short to reach, watched with interest.  “What kind of cereal do you want, Father?”

“I have no preference,” he said, sitting down on the couch again.  “I don’t understand how to interpret this document.”

“I can help you,” Wildfire offered immediately.

“Skip to the middle,” Jesse suggested, passing a large glass to Maribel.  “Everything in the beginning’s already happened.”

“Except it says Gabriel sent you here to hide your god-like powers,” Adamel said.  “Not your children.”

“Well,” Maribel said.  “We are a manifestation of his god-like powers.  So that makes sense.”  She fussed with one of the cereal boxes before carefully pouring some of it into the glass.  “May I have the Turboz, please?”

Jesse had already filled his glass with cereal, and he handed over the box without complaint.

“Thank you,” Maribel said.

“You’re welcome.”  Jesse was taking milk out of the refrigerator, and Castiel was paying far too little attention to Wildfire’s steady presence at his side.

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly.  “Perhaps you could tell me why our names are repeated so often.”

Wildfire had turned several of the pages for him, and now she leaned over his arm again to point to the names in the left-most column.  “This means who’s talking,” she said.  “This is what they’re saying, and this part in parentheses is how they’re saying it.”

“There’s a lot of talking,” Castiel said.

“Yes,” Wildfire agreed.  “I thought that too.  But that’s how humans explain things to each other, right?”

He turned to look at her, distracted for a long moment.  “Did you truly wish to stop going to kindergarten?”

“Yes,” she repeated.  “It made my mom unhappy.”

He would speak with Jophiel about that.  Of course Wildfire wouldn’t be comfortable doing something she didn’t like.  He didn’t know if he had done the right thing by giving them to others: Adamel had been frightened of him this morning, and if that wasn’t because of something Lucifer had done than Castiel had to wonder what about him would terrify his own child.

“I don’t mind, though,” Wildfire added.  “I didn’t like going either.”

The problem was that he wasn’t any better equipped than they were to make decisions for partially unformed beings.

“You didn’t?” he repeated.  “Why not?”

“I didn’t know anyone there,” she said.  “And they weren’t very interesting.”

Castiel blinked.  Would Dean understand that?  Angels knew each other without having to meet, but he was very familiar with the kind of loneliness that came from being alone in a sea of humanity.  And he had frequently heard Dean complain of boredom in certain company.

“Here you go,” Maribel said, offering him a wide-mouthed glass and a spoon.  It had cereal and milk in it.  “We ran out of bowls,” she explained.

It turned out to be more efficient to eat cereal out of a glass.  He didn’t know why they didn’t always do it that way.  It was easier to hold onto, and much less likely to spill when he lifted it out of the way of the pages.

Wildfire tried to explain what they thought the script meant, but he couldn’t get as much out of the words as she did.  Much of the intent – the nuance, Sam would say – was lost in black and white.  It was like reading Chuck’s work instead of living it.

The words did, however, tell him what he dreaded: that Death was talking to Dean.

“Jensen was right,” Wildfire offered.  “He didn’t fight with Gabriel right away.  Because Death finds him, and says he can sense your absence, which means when you come back something has to stop you.  The garden can’t be alive until the things in it can die.”

“They’re not alive,” Castiel said.

“We are,” Wildfire replied.

“You will not die,” he told her fiercely.

She frowned a little, still staring down at the script.  “I think that’s part of the problem, actually.  That might be why he’s going to give Dean his ring.”

He couldn’t accept that any possibility existed that could turn Dean against the children.

There was a knock from the front of the trailer: much more diffident than the ones Jensen and Jared and Richard seemed likely to use.  It wasn’t accompanied by yelling, so Castiel was at a loss.  He couldn’t exactly fly out to see who it was.

Jesse was looking at him.  “Should we get that?” he asked.

Fortunately, that was when Nick emerged from the bathroom.  “What, do we not answer the door now?” he asked, making his way over to it.  “I think they know we’re here.”

Nick was right.  Someone had arrived to assist them: apparently Jared had decreed that they were all to have showers, hot food, and new clothes before they officially toured the set.  It was unnecessary and inconvenient, as far as Castiel was concerned, but Nick assured him that they both looked like they had slept in their clothes and it wasn’t the right look for people escorting children anywhere.

The children themselves seemed to be held to a lower standard.  They were intrigued by the prospect anyway.

Castiel was not.  He didn’t like having to shower instead of choosing to.  He didn’t like being hungry.  And he certainly didn’t enjoy the tedious process of trying on clothes.  The longer they were herded around by people he didn’t know, in a place he cared very little about, the more he thought that being human was possibly one of the worst things in the world.

His impression of their circumstances did not improve once they reached “the set.”  It was actually just a motley assortment of half-finished rooms that looked vaguely reminiscent of places he had been.  It was also full of noise and lights and people constantly trying to get his attention.

People who did not include Jensen.  He wasn’t sure whether this should be a relief or an annoyance.  Jared did speak with them, multiple times, often trying to get the kids to “ham it up” for a camera, but Jensen seemed to be fully engaged with Richard.  When they weren’t swinging obviously fake swords at each other – far slower than even a human would fight, let alone an angel – they were talking or chuckling over something Castiel wasn’t privy to.

His alarm at seeing the swords was muted by his sense of discomfort that they were laughing with each other.  Surely the situation deserved more concern than this.  Even if these weren’t their lives, they were someone’s lives, and that seemed worth some amount of respect.

“Would it help if I said he’s not your Dean?” Nick asked, standing very close.  He kept his voice quiet, but it was strange to see Maribel turn in an effort to hear.  The children were much more adaptable to their circumstances than he was.

“No,” Castiel said.  He didn’t bother to lower his voice, and Richard glanced over at them.  He waved his sword in their direction: highly inappropriate, and ridiculous-looking besides.

“How’d you meet him, anyway?”  Nick seemed intent on conversing no matter Castiel’s opinion on the subject.

“He visited the trailer we were in last night,” Castiel said.  “You were there.”

Maribel was selecting candy from a passing tray.  Jesse and Wildfire were playing with, of all things, a cereal box car like the one that had preceded Maribel’s introduction to the world of mini-vehicles.  Adamel was entering something into his phone.  Misha’s phone.  Or he was playing games on it; it was hard to say.

“No,” Nick said.  “I meant your Dean.  People say he used to be human, so.  How’d you meet him?”

“I raised him from perdition,” Castiel said, frowning.  “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because you look like you’re about to rediscover your ability to smite,” Nick said, “and I don’t think anyone here can handle it.  I’m trying to distract you.”

“Samlicker81 thinks Death’s ring is the key to re-starting the apocalypse,” Adamel remarked.

Castiel tried to focus and found everything in his brain getting in his way.  He understood with sudden and distracting certainty why humans constantly asked other people to repeat themselves.  “Please say that again,” he said.

Adamel looked up.  “Samlicker81 thinks Death’s ring is the key to re-starting the apocalypse,” he repeated obediently.

It was the first time he’d acknowledged how compromised his memory was without grace, because it took him several long seconds to place the name.  “Becky Rosen,” he said.  “How are you communicating with Becky Rosen?”

Adamel tilted his head.  “Why do you think I am?” he asked.

“Because,” Castiel said impatiently.  “Becky Rosen goes by ‘Samlicker81’ when she is discussing prophecy via the internet.  It seems unlikely that two people would have independently generated the same obscure moniker.”

“Unless it’s been on the show,” Nick said.  “In which case, there’s probably dozens of ‘Samlicker’s out there.”

For once, Jared was nowhere to be seen, and Castiel had no tolerance for the other people swirling around them.  “Jensen,” he said.  Loudly.  Loudly enough that Jensen jerked toward him, clearly startled, and took a step in his direction before checking his forward motion.

“How are you in contact with this person,” Castiel said, not taking his eyes off of Jensen.

“I asked Twitter why Death gave Dean his ring,” Adamel said.  “Samlicker81 replied.”

He knew Adamel was holding up the phone he’d had all day, but he was still watching Jensen.  Richard had given him a shove, which made Jensen glare at him, but at least he was moving again.  Castiel considered calling his name a second time, to increase his speed, but he knew that if the man had anything in common with Dean at all, it would only slow him down.

“Does she think Death is trying to re-start the apocalypse by giving his ring to Dean?” Maribel asked, wandering back with a small yellow packet of candy.  “Or is he trying to keep it from re-starting?”

“Was Samlicker... whatever, the only one who replied?” Nick asked.

“Actually,” Adamel said, “she thinks if Death gives his ring away it’ll break Lucifer’s hold on him.

“No,” he added, presumably in response to Nick.  “A lot of people replied.  Most of them weren’t very helpful.”

“Hey,” Jensen said.  He didn’t look like he expected a long conversation.  “What’s up?”

“Has the name ‘Samlicker81’ been used on your television show?” Castiel asked.

Jensen looked surprised.  “Uh... maybe?  There was a... Emily.  Emily played a fan, this woman who really liked Sam?  She had a creepy screen name; it could have been – what you said.”

“Becky Rosen,” Castiel said.

“Becky, yeah,” Jensen said.  “She’s the fan.”

“Was ‘mnsdouchery’ on your show?” Castiel asked.

Jensen stared at him.  “What?”

He thought Nick was forcing a cough, but he didn’t know why.  “On your show,” Castiel said, slowly and clearly.  “Did anyone ever mention the name ‘mnsdouchery.’”  Surely it couldn’t be that difficult a question.

“You mean...”  Jensen glanced at Nick.  “Like, as a screen name?  MNS Douchery?”

“Whatever you call it,” Castiel said.  “Have you heard of it or not?”

“No,” Jensen said.  “But, look, I don’t watch every episode.  It could have been in a scene I wasn’t in.”

“Doubtful,” Castiel said.  “If you knew Samlicker81, you would know this.”

“There’s an mnsdouchery on Twitter,” Adamel offered.  “They replied to my question too, but it doesn’t make any sense.”

It wasn’t impossible.  Castiel didn’t even see anything particularly improbable about it.  Not when they were watching their own lives acted out in a world without grace.  “What does it say?” he asked.

Adamel shrugged.  “It just says, ‘Pass the phone to your left.’”

Castiel was standing directly to Adamel’s left.  He held out his hand.

“Jensen!” someone shouted.  “Let’s go!”

“What are you doing?” Jensen asked, watching Adamel turn over the phone without protest.  “Do you even know how to work that thing?”

There was a new tweet from mnsdouchery at the top of the screen.  yeah, it’s me, it said.  hey.  i think you can call us.  do you have dean’s number?

Castiel studied the phone for a minute, then handed it back to Adamel.  “Change it so I can make a call,” he said.

“Jensen!”  The voice came again, sharper this time.  “Come on!  Pages are getting dusty!”

“Use the numbers,” Adamel said, giving the phone to him again.

The only thing on the screen was numbers.  Castiel could have entered the correct sequence without looking on his own phone.  Of course, on his own phone he wouldn’t have to.  It stood to reason that Misha wouldn’t keep a fictional character’s phone number on his contact list.

He managed to identify the “call” function himself and lifted the phone to his ear to wait.  It could be this simple.  It could be, because he was calling the person who had taught him that.  Decide what you want and go get it, Dean had said.  What the hell else are you gonna do?

“Yeah,” Dean’s voice said in his ear.  Curt and unwelcoming, it was easily the best thing Castiel had heard all day.

“Dean,” he said gratefully.  Everyone around him was staring.

“Cas!”  Dean sounded suddenly much closer, like he could climb into his own phone and come out where Castiel was.  “Are you okay?  Where are you?  What about the kids?  Do I kill Gabriel or just throw her in hell for a million years; it’s your call.”

“We’re fine,” Castiel told him.  “We’re human, which is a serious disadvantage.  Other than that we’re fine.  We don’t know how to get home.”

“Can you get back to wherever you appeared?” Dean wanted to know.  “You know, the beam-down location or whatever?  I’m pretty sure I can bring you back from there.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, ignoring what he suspected was a Star Trek reference.  “We can all do that.”

“Great,” Dean’s voice said.  “When?”

Since the answer wasn’t we’re already there, Castiel looked at Jensen.  “How long will it take us to travel back to the trailer?”

The man who put a hand on Jensen’s shoulder was one the children had been introduced to, but Castiel hadn’t been paying attention and it was disconcerting to realize that now he couldn’t remember the man’s name.  “Excuse me,” he said, giving the children a smile and everyone else a glare.  “I don’t know if you noticed, but we’re trying to do a show here.  So anytime you feel like showing up, well.  That would be just great, Jensen.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and Jensen – to his utter surprise – grinned at him.  “You can’t actually smite anyone, you know.”

“Perhaps not here,” Castiel muttered.

“I’m coming,” Jensen told the man beside him.  “Keyll!” he added, raising his voice.  “Hey, you got a second?  You mind walking back to Misha’s trailer with these guys?”

Already moving away, he turned back enough to give them a thumbs-up.  “Good luck,” he said.  “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Maribel replied, echoed by Jesse.  They all waved.

Jensen waved back, and Nick gave him a nod.  Castiel just watched as Dean’s voice demanded, “Is that me?  Did you meet the guy who plays me?”  There was a pause, and then, “He’s tall, right?”

“Not as tall as Jared,” Castiel said.

“Hi,” a young woman said.  “Hi, everyone, I’m Keyll.  Have you been enjoying your tour?”

“Who’s Jared?” Dean wanted to know.  “Damn it.  He plays Sam, doesn’t he.”  He muttered something that didn’t make any sense about Sam the Teenage Beanstalk.

“Yes,” Nick was saying, even as the children mostly agreed that the tour had been nice.  “It’s been great; thanks.”  He gave Castiel a look that was no doubt intended to convey something.  Keyll also seemed to be waiting expectantly.

“No,” Castiel said.  “Everything is very empty here and I’m cut off from creation.  I don’t know how you stand it.”

“Oh, Misha,” Keyll said with a laugh.  “You’re so funny.  Isn’t he the best?”  She smiled at the children and then, without waiting for an answer, said, “Well, we’d better get going.  Did you get all the autographs you were looking for?”

Castiel didn’t know what that meant, but Adamel said, “Yes, thank you,” and it seemed to be the right thing to say.

“Great!” Keyll exclaimed.  “Right this way, then.  We’ll head around the outside of everything here.”

She did navigate them out of the building with relative ease.  It was a skill Castiel grudgingly admired in the people of this world: how did they move around so confidently without any larger awareness of their surroundings?  He had never truly appreciated how handicapped humans were.

They found themselves in front of a trailer that bore the name “Misha Collins” shortly thereafter.  Keyll left them with a cheery wave and no questions asked.  Castiel opened the door with his free hand, the other still holding the phone to his ear as he told Dean they’d arrived.

“Okay,” Dean said.  “I’m not really sure how this is going to work, because Gabriel says the original sigil wasn’t meant for all of you.  It took you anyway, so I’m guessing it’ll take you back.  If it doesn’t, though...”  There was a pause from the other end.

Finally, Dean said, “You might want to put the phone down.”

“No,” Castiel said.  Reflexively.

“Yeah, I know.”  Dean didn’t sound happy about it either.  “But on the scale of Things That Could Go Wrong, I think being stuck there is a lot more likely than getting stuck along the way.  I don’t think the phone will switch dimensions with you anyway.”

“First tell me what we’re waiting for,” Castiel said.

“A big glowy sigil,” Dean’s voice replied.  “Hanging in the air in front of you.  Or behind you.  Nearby, anyway.  Give it at least ten minutes after you hang up; I don’t know what the time difference is.”

“Ten minutes,” Castiel repeated.  His fingers tightened on the phone.  He was in no danger of crushing it, which was aggravating, but he was also doing the opposite of what was necessary.  “Then I will call you again.”

“Hope you won’t have to,” Dean said.  “Cas – we’re getting you back.”

Castiel frowned, even if he knew perfectly well Dean couldn’t see it, even if it wouldn’t have made a difference if he could.  “See that you do,” he said.  He lowered the phone, staring at the display for a long moment before he understood how to turn it off.  Before he could make himself hang up.

“Ten minutes until what?” Nick asked.

“That?” Jesse said.  “I mean, if I had to guess.”

He hadn’t seen it the first time, and he didn’t see it the second time.  The trailer was just gone, along with the persistent ache of humanity and the drag of blood and bone.  Day turned into night, the returning light so bright he barely noticed.  The choir rolled over him in a rush of welcome and family but it wasn’t until familiar wings swept around him that he felt home.

“Thank God,” he heard Dean whisper in his ear.

Then Castiel felt himself pushed away, rough and disappointing even as Dean went to each of the children and crushed them against him hard.  He didn’t hesitate when faced with Jesse, though he didn’t hug him or ruffle his hair as he’d been wont to do in the past.  Dean just clapped him on the shoulder, nodded to Nick, and asked, “Everyone okay?  Didn’t leave anything on the other side?”

Castiel saw Adamel reach out a hand in the darkness.  It landed on Maribel’s arm, and Wildfire moved in to brush her wing against his.  Castiel closed his eyes as the warmth of their communion – spontaneous and self-contained – changed everything he knew about heaven.

He felt Dean’s shock.  He felt Gabriel’s fear.  He felt both of them rushing to block the children from the eyes of the host.  It was futile.  Unnecessary.  Castiel had already hidden them: he wouldn’t see the wrath of heaven tear out three angels just because they were capable of standing alone.

Dean wheeled toward him.  “Did you do that?” he demanded.

To understand him, to know what he meant, just to sense Dean again was a gift beyond measure.  “Yes,” he said.  “The host will not know.”  That his children were grace apart – that their communion could, apparently, exclude that of every other angel in heaven.

Adamel’s voice was quiet when he asked, “Did I do something wrong?”  Maribel and Wildfire had moved closer to him.  Jesse was watching all of them with wide eyes that hid everything he thought, and Castiel knew his children were safer than even he could make them when this boy was around.

“No,” Castiel said.  “You did something different.”

“Angels can’t selectively commune, kiddo.”  Gabriel must have thought she was safe because Castiel was, but the sound of her voice filled him with a rage he didn’t bother to suppress.

He threw her up against the Roadhouse with a glance.  Snapping was overused and overrated.  He did think that duct taping her mouth was fair, though.  As a matter of reciprocity.

“You will not speak,” Castiel told her.  “Not until we have reason to listen.”

Dean strode up to the doors of the Roadhouse, ignoring Gabriel as he leaned inside.  Lifting a hand from the doorframe, he waved.  “Sorry,” he called.  “Just us.  Be out of your hair in a few minutes.”

A voice just out of human hearing shouted something back, and Castiel identified the words as Ellen’s.  “You break the wards you fix ’em!”

Dean made a gesture Castiel couldn’t see – presumably of agreement – before stepping back and letting the doors swing shut behind him.  “Stop whining,” he told Gabriel.  “You did it to him.  And it’s a hell of a lot more restrained than what I was planning.”

Gabriel glared at him, but if she complained, it stayed between her and Michael.

“Father,” Maribel said softly.  “Is that good for the baby?”

His eyes widened as understanding crashed home: he knew what he wasn’t detecting in Gabriel.  What had failed to draw his attention until now, because she hadn’t been lying about concealing it from the host.  The garden could tell – but Castiel hadn’t been paying attention to the garden.

“Where,” he said, wings unfurling.  “Is.”  Electricity crackled and he saw Dean straighten.  “The child.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sam’s voice demanded.  Out of nowhere.  “Dean!”

“What!” Dean snapped.  “I said I wouldn’t kill her; she’s fine!”

Castiel shouldn’t be able to hold an archangel.  He didn’t dare look away, but he was very aware of the tiny bundle of grace Sam had clutched to his chest.  And the black stallion that stood at Sam’s shoulder, shadowy and undefined in the dimness.

Sam had just appeared in the middle of the Roadhouse parking lot.  Teleporting was not a demon power.

“Cas,” Dean added.  “The kid’s okay.  Gabriel hid her too.”

“With Sam?”  Castiel didn’t move.  The child didn’t seem very hidden to him, but he would be no better than Gabriel if he tore her away from Sam now.

“Yeah,” Sam said.  “Let Gabriel go and we can talk about it.”

“Why do you have a horse?” Castiel asked, not taking his eyes off of Gabriel.

“Because Dean inherited the crazy gene,” Sam said.  “You have one too.”

“I think I would know if I had a horse, Sam.”

“Yeah,” Sam echoed with a sigh.  “You think that now.  Give it a few years.”

He narrowed his eyes, because that was a question he should have asked much sooner.  “How long were we gone?”

“It was a week here,” Dean offered.  “Should have been less than a day there.”

“I meant, a few more years of knowing Dean,” Sam clarified.  “He can be walking down the street and the crazy just gets all over him.

“Let Gabriel go,” Sam added.  “She’s a jerk, but she didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

The implication that Sam knew Dean better than he did didn’t make Castiel any more likely to do what he asked.  Nor did his ongoing partnership with Gabriel, which Castiel supported in principle but found highly aggravating in almost every other way.  Not least of which was the fact that, by virtue of Dean’s bond with Sam, every stupid thing Gabriel did had become his immediate problem.

“I might,” Castiel said, glaring at her.  “It’s entirely possible that I mean to hurt someone.  And I didn’t make any promises about the outcome.”

“Then we all go down together,” Dean said.  He held up his right hand, palm facing himself, like he was showing off...

A ring.  There was a second ring on Dean’s right hand.  On his middle finger, next to the silver one that had still been there when he was resurrected.  Castiel didn’t even have to look away from Gabriel to know: he could feel his own hand tingle, and Sam was right.

Dean had a horse too.

Gabriel’s ring was on her third finger, shining gold and bright.  Her horse, Castiel assumed, was red.

He let her go.

She caught herself against the wall when she stumbled.  No one asked her if she was okay, and for once, Gabriel had nothing to say.  She had stopped glaring.  Castiel had no idea why she wasn’t looking at him, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Cas,” Dean said.  “You’re glowing.”

Castiel glanced down at his hand.  The ring he and Dean had retrieved while Gabriel and Sam hunted Famine had inexplicably moved from his pocket to his finger.  The green stone glinted up at him, gleaming with a sickly perversion of spirit.  He could feel its power tugging at his grace.

“No,” he whispered.  “No.  This can’t –”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted.  “First off, I’m sorry.”

Nothing that started with Dean apologizing ever ended well.

“I wish I could have asked you,” he was saying.  “I asked these clowns ’cause they were here and the offer was a one-shot deal.  I didn’t get time to think it over.”

“When have you ever,” Castiel muttered, and even he wasn’t sure if he meant to finish or not.

“It means Lucifer’s control over the horsemen is gone,” Dean insisted.  “That’s the important thing.”

“It means that we are the harbingers of the world’s destruction,” Castiel told him.  “I believe that’s the important thing.  You’ve condemned this planet to the end times for as long as we ride.”

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Gabriel complained.  Apparently unable to hold her tongue any longer, which was something Castiel would be glad to help her with.  “He got you a ring; what else do you want?  A pony?

“Oh, right,” she added, giving Sam’s horse a pointed look.  “Got it!  Stop being such a drama queen and look on the bright side: we just won the apocalypse.”

“We are the apocalypse,” Castiel ground out.  “We are set against heaven itself for the fate of earth.”

“Well, like that’s new,” Dean muttered.

“Dean,” Sam said.

Dean glared at him.  “What are you, our dad now?”

“I’m the only person not using force to make his point!” Sam exclaimed.  “You gotta see the irony here, Dean!”

“You are the weakest of us,” Castiel said.

Dean gave him a disgusted look, and Castiel frowned.  “I’m not impugning Sam’s abilities,” he said.  “He has proven himself capable of defeating every one of us, taken individually.  I’m only pointing out that the situation does not fall under the modern definition of irony.”

“Can we go?” Gabriel demanded.  “I don’t know if anyone’s noticed, but we have four children of the new world order all gathered in one place.”

“With a god and an antichrist,” Dean said.  “I think we’ll be okay.”

“Plus two archangels and the four horsemen of the apocalypse.”  Sam didn’t look particularly worried either.  “Not to mention the kids themselves.”

“There’s a lot of overlap there,” Gabriel snapped.  “You don’t have to make it sound like an army.”

“I don’t think Maia really counts as part of our defense at this point,” Dean added.

Sam gave him a look that Castiel could only interpret as whose side are you on?

Dean shrugged.  “Just saying.”

“Who’s Maia?”  Nick dropped the question into the pause, and Castiel supposed he’d noticed when they removed themselves from all human perception except his.  And Sam – if Sam counted as human, which Castiel doubted at this point.  Nick still eyed anyone who came too close, but unlike Dean, he didn’t demonstrate any tendency to wave his hand in front of their faces for what he called “the fun of it.”

“This is Maia,” Sam said, hefting the bundle in his arms.  It appeared to consist largely of a patterned blanket, but Nick accepted the less than informative answer.

“Right,” Nick said.  “So we don’t expect Maia to be in the trenches shooting; that seems fair.  What about the rest of us?  What are we looking out for?”

“A safer place than this,” Gabriel said.  “Sam.”

“Forget it,” Sam said.  “It’s all or nothing, Gabriel.”

They stared at each other for a long moment.  Castiel felt Maribel touch his hand, and he glanced down in time to catch her questioning look.  I don’t know, he told her.  Very quietly.  I can only guess Gabriel wants to leave and Sam won’t go without us.

Shouldn’t we all go? Maribel asked.  Gabriel’s right; there’s a lot of power here and not much in the way of protection.

“Fine,” Gabriel snapped.  “They can come too.”  She glared at Maribel.  “Little tip for you, kid.  You don’t get points for being reasonable around here.”

Maribel tilted her head.  “It worked on you,” she said.

Sam let out a huff of laughter.  “Hey, Cas,” he said.  “That meet your modern definition of irony?”

Castiel considered this, watching Gabriel move closer to Sam.  “Only if one assumes that Gabriel is inherently unreasonable.”

“So, yes,” Sam said, looking down at Gabriel as she peered over his arm.  “What, you think Dean can’t teach someone to hold a baby?”

“What the hell does Dean know about babies?” Gabriel retorted.  “It doesn’t matter; she’s not human.”

With an unannounced snap, they were all suddenly indoors.

***

The room was lit, the air was cool, and Castiel had never been here before.  He couldn’t even immediately tell where “here” was.  Sam’s steed was gone, which was perhaps good for the building’s structural integrity – though he’d seen no indication the horse was corporeal, if it served to transport Sam, it must now be unnecessary.

Which meant that this was where Sam lived.  Or at least, spent the nights he wasn’t at the garrison.  Or Dean’s house.  Being mostly human, he couldn’t have that much time left over, but it was clear he knew the place.  Sam sat without looking in a chair in the corner, adjusting the blanket in his arms and stretching his legs out into a space that had obviously been left for them.

“I’m not thrilled about bringing one of Lucifer’s vessels into the house,” Gabriel said, staring at Nick.  “Just to be clear.”

“What she means is, make yourself at home,” Sam said.  “We should be safe here.  Gabriel can get you something to drink, or eat if you’re hungry.”

“I can,” Gabriel agreed, scowling at him.  “I don’t see why I should.”

“Because I’m tired,” Sam shot back.  “And I’m the one holding the baby.  Those are the rules.”

Gabriel folded her arms.  “Maybe I don’t like your rules,” she said.

“I don’t like you bitching about Lucifer’s vessels,” Sam retorted.  “Doesn’t seem to stop you.”

“Hey,” Dean said, bumping Castiel’ shoulder to indicate the question was for him.  “Want anything?  They could do this all day, so.  Nick?”

Castiel didn’t like the flare of jealousy when he realized Dean had free reign in this house.  “I’m fine,” he said.

“Kind of thirsty, actually,” Nick said.  “Could I get some water?”

Dean nodded.  “Yeah, sure thing.  Kids?”

“Gabriel,” Sam said.

“What, your brother’s on it,” Gabriel snapped.  “I’m sure he makes an excellent waiter.”

In lieu of staring at Dean, which was admittedly what he would prefer to be doing, Castiel was staring at Sam’s arms.  The child, though clearly a distinct separation of grace, was barely even child-like.  “Baby” was not, perhaps, the most unlikely analogy they could have come up with.

“How long have you had Maia,” Castiel said.  He wasn’t sure anyone was listening.

“A week,” Sam said, and everyone paused.  The silence just happened, and Sam looked awkward as he offered, “She – just before you guys were – just before you left.”

“They didn’t leave,” Gabriel said.  “I abducted them.”

Sam gave her a terrible look.  “It’s called tact, Gabriel.”

“Oh, I’m surprised you’d know,” Gabriel retorted.

“Abducting is when you take someone against their will,” Jesse said.  “You sent us away against our will.  So technically, you banished us.”

“You just got in the way,” Gabriel said irritably.  “I was trying to get rid of the –”  She waved at the rest of the children.  “Short ones.  If you didn’t hold her hand all the time, you would have been fine.”

“You know,” Nick said.  Castiel was surprised to hear him speak again, and more surprised at the annoyance in his tone.  “The guy who plays you on TV is a lot nicer.”

This actually made Gabriel stop, and there was a moment of stunned silence before Sam laughed.  “Hard not to be,” he said with a grin.  “So you were seriously in a TV show?  Gabriel said it wasn’t real.”

“We weren’t,” Nick said, glancing at Castiel when no one else answered.  “Cas – Castiel was.  They didn’t recognize the... uh, the kids.”

“You were,” Castiel said.  “They called you ‘Mark.’”

“Me too,” Jesse said.  “I was ‘Gattlin.’  Everyone was really nice to me.”

“Jensen recognized you,” Maribel murmured to Wildfire.

Castiel felt a flare of – something.

Panic, he realized, when Dean’s hand on his shoulder made him take a breath.  Instead of relaxing him, it reminded him of how it felt when breathing was necessary, how heavy the world was and how helpless he had been.  The inevitable crash that should have come with the fall.

Warm fingers slid higher, cupping his neck.  “You need to go?” Dean’s voice whispered.

He hadn’t even recognized the compulsion to flee, to fly, until Dean pointed it out.  “I’m not leaving you,” Castiel said quietly.  “Are you all right?  I worried that the garden...”

He trailed off, but he felt Dean’s fingers squeeze gently.  It made him tip his head, and a thumb stroked the skin under his collar.  He drew another breath, and this time it it didn’t feel entirely hopeless.  Perhaps if he kept trying.

“It got a little weird without you,” Dean admitted.  His voice was closer to normal now, and Castiel understood that everyone was listening.  “And, uh – it looks a little different now.  Sorry about that.”

Dean had apologized more in the last hour than he usually did in a year, and Castiel couldn’t be immune to it.  Worried, but touched, even though he tried not to be.  “When did Death come to you?”

“Yesterday,” Dean said.

“Okay, wait,” Sam interrupted.  “I want to hear this story too, but I’d like to get it in order and I definitely need food.  Gabriel, seriously.  Get me something to eat or take the baby, I don’t care which.”

Gabriel looked at him for longer than the decision probably required.  “What do you want?” she asked at last.

“Grilled chicken,” Sam said.  “Salad, fries.  Milkshake.”

Gabriel frowned at him.  “You eat like you’re still on the road,” she informed him.  “Hello!  Restaurant of me!  I can do a lot better than diner food.  You shouldn’t set such a bad example for the baby.”

She snapped her fingers without waiting for an answer, and a plate of food appeared next to Sam.  Castiel wasn’t an expert at human food, but he thought the chicken was accompanied by vegetables one did not typically encounter in a diner.  Along with, he noticed, a separate dish of french fries and what was probably a milkshake.

“Anyone else?” Gabriel was asking.  “Nick?”

The water Nick had requested appeared in his hand, and he looked alarmed.  “No,” he said, when she looked at him expectantly.  “This is – this is fine.  Thanks.”

“We just ate,” Adamel said.  “Twice, actually.  Before we came back.”

“Yeah?” Dean said.  “Anything good?”

“Orange juice,” Adamel said.

“Waffles,” Maribel added.

“I liked the bacon,” Wildfire said.

“Bacon,” Dean and Gabriel said at the same time.

They stopped and looked at each other.  Sam looked amused, but all Gabriel said was, “Girl after my own heart.”

Castiel frowned in surprise, but Dean was already continuing.  “Chairs,” he was saying.  “Or whatever.  Everyone sit down already.  Nick, you okay?  It’s been a week; you got anyone you need to call?”

The room suddenly had a lot more furniture in it, and Nick was shaking his head as Dean scooped Maribel up and deposited her on a couch.  “What about you?” Dean asked her.  “You miss any playdates?”

Castiel thought he was teasing, and indeed, Maribel smiled up at him.  “No,” she said.  “I hope you explained to the teacher why I wasn’t in school.”

Dean grinned back at her.  “That’s not a typical human excuse,” he said.  “‘My kid’s stuck in another dimension’ probably wouldn’t buy me any sympathy.  I told ’em you were sick.”

“From germs,” Maribel said.  “Yes.  Nick told us more about that.”

“Did he?”  Dean glanced over at Nick while Adamel and Wildfire clambered up on the couch with Maribel.  Nick lifted his drink in a mock-toast that made Dean’s smile return.  “Well, good,” he said.  He hitched one hip on the arm of the couch and leaned back, turning to survey the rest of the room.

Jesse had taken the chair next to Sam and was quietly eating his french fries.  Gabriel was was still standing, hands on her hips with her wings cascading over her shoulders.  It finally occurred to Castiel that her wings were very smooth for someone who reacted as badly as she did to so many of her brothers and sisters.

“Hey,” Nick said.  “You, uh – you want to sit here?”

There was a chair directly behind him, Castiel realized.  “No,” he said.  Perhaps Nick wanted to sit there.  “You may have it.”

“Cas,” Dean said, waving him across the room.  “You know what your father isn’t going to ask you right now?” he added, looking down at Maribel.

She shook her head, and Dean said, “He isn’t going to ask if he can sit with you guys.  But I think he should.  What do you say?”

“Does he want to sit with us?” Maribel asked.  She looked over at him, and Castiel marveled at her instinct to question.  Dean’s suggestion had been relatively direct, yet she didn’t recognize it as an order.

“Yes,” he said aloud.  “I would very much like to sit with you.”

“Okay.”  All three of them began to move down, proving that they weren’t actually immune to Dean’s intent: he meant for Castiel to sit next to him as much as with them.  Castiel smiled, and Dean winked at him.

“Can I see the baby?” Jesse was asking Sam.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said.  “I don’t know.  That’s a good question.  Gabe?”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, catching Dean’s eye as he sat carefully between Maribel on one side and the arm of the couch on the other.  Dean’s expression was unusually charming when Castiel mouthed, Gabe?

Dean’s mouth formed the words, I know.  His smile widened, and his hand fell to Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing gently as he looked over at Sam again.  Sam seemed to sense it, shooting him a brief glare before looking back at Gabriel.

Who looked completely careless.  “Sure,” Gabriel said.  “If you want to burn your eyes out, go right ahead.  I’m not stopping you.”

Sam sighed.  “She’s not... she doesn’t look human,” he told Jesse.  “She’s just – grace.  Right now.”

Castiel frowned.

Without turning, Gabriel leveled a finger at him.  “Don’t say it was too early,” she said.  “Half the host is after me.  Cutting her loose was the best way to protect her.”

She would develop much more slowly without an archangel to feed her.  On the other hand, given Gabriel’s recklessness, she might in fact be safer with Sam.  The question was – if Gabriel thought it might have been too early – whether she was even strong enough to exist on her own yet.

“Yes,” Gabriel said.  Still not looking at him.  “She is.  Do you think I’m stupid?”

Sam looked from Gabriel to him and back again, frowning.  “Cut it out,” he said.  “If anyone thinks you’re stupid, it’s me.  And that’s mostly because I can’t hear you.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Gabriel muttered.  “I can hear him thinking it.”

Whipped, Dean whispered in Castiel’s mind.  Not as privately as he could have, if the way Gabriel stiffened was any indication.

“Now Dean’s doing it,” she complained.  “Why do I have to behave when they’re being obnoxious?”

“Because I like you,” Sam told her.  “And if you don’t want Dean to do something terrible to you for what you did to Cas, you’ll probably have to put up with him being a jerk for a few days.  That’s just the way it goes.  Believe me,” he added, shuffling the bundle in his lap a little higher.  “I know.”

“Why are you holding her if you can’t look at her?” Jesse asked.

“Uh.”  Sam looked at Gabriel again.  “I can, actually.”

“Yeah, why is that, Sammy,” Dean said.  “Why don’t you share with the class.”

Castiel looked up at him.  It was hard to remember that Dean wasn’t at eye level – or maybe it was just hard to remember that it mattered – until he glanced sideways and saw Dean’s lap.  Whenever he lifted his gaze, Dean smirked.  This time it didn’t change his expression any: apparently he found Sam’s ability to see the ‘baby’ amusing.

Sam sighed.  “Because Gabriel gave me some of her grace,” he said, as though he was reciting an explanation he’d given many times before.  “It comes in handy when you’re taking care of a baby that could blind you accidentally.”

Castiel considered that.  It sounded odd to him, but maybe that was just the flippant way Sam delivered the story.  Bestowing grace upon a human was not a casual process.  It would have changed Sam’s soul to be so gifted, and it wasn’t that Castiel couldn’t tell now that Sam had pointed it out... it was just that he couldn’t tell the difference.

“Right,” Dean was saying.  “Always a good idea to wear grace glasses when you’re looking at a tiny star.”

“Wait,” Nick said.  “Grace blinds people?”

“Not you,” Dean told him.  “You’re an angel vessel; you’d be all right.”

Nick glanced at Sam.  “I thought Sam was a vessel too.”

Dean opened his mouth, then turned to stare at Sam.  He didn’t say anything, but Castiel thought he was genuinely surprised.  Dean wouldn’t have asked for that explanation – he knew perfectly well that most vessels could see angels, and Sam had certainly demonstrated his ability to see their wings.  Yet it was clear that, for whatever reason, Dean had accepted the story Sam told.

“Didn’t want to take the chance,” Gabriel said.  “He’s never seen one of us without a vessel; maybe he’s one of the ones who doesn’t take to it right away.  Dean.”

“What, it’s not contagious,” Dean protested.

“Denial?” Gabriel replied.  “I’ve heard it both ways.”

“Sam,” Castiel said slowly.  “When did Gabriel give you grace?”

That did it.  Sam and Gabriel looked at each other, and he felt Dean’s hand tighten on his shoulder.  Dean saw it too, then.  The explanation was too practiced, so well-rehearsed that no one had realized it was unnecessary.  But it was true: Sam did carry a glint of grace about him.

Why?

“Could we not talk about this right now?” Sam asked.

Dean unknowingly echoed him.  “Why?” he demanded.  The teasing tone was gone from his voice, and in it’s place, the suspicion was unmistakable.

“Because we have company,” Sam snapped.  “Okay?  Because we don’t have every conversation in the front seat of the Impala anymore, and every once in a while we hang around people who don’t actually need to know every sordid detail of my life!”

“Oh,” Dean said.  For a brief moment he sounded chastened, but then he added, “Well, if it’s sordid.  You could’ve just said.”

Sam reached for a french fry, brandishing it in Dean’s direction.  “I would throw this at you,” he said.  “But it’s not very aerodynamic, and you’re too far away.  Probably wouldn’t make it.”

“Want a rock?” Gabriel offered.

It made Sam smile, but he must have understood that Gabriel was at least a little bit serious.  “No,” he said.  “I don’t want a rock.  Dean, tell us what the hell happened with Death.”

Castiel frowned at that.  “You don’t know?” he said.

“We got the short version,” Sam told him.  “You know how it goes: ‘Hey, I’m Dean.  Someone incredibly powerful just asked me to do something really stupid and I thought it sounded like a great idea.  By the way, I volunteered you too.  Have a beer.’”

Dean scoffed.  “Oh, come on,” he said.  “That’s a total lie; it’s not always beer.  Sometimes it’s pie.”

“Yeah,” Sam said dryly.  “You really know how to keep us guessing.”

Castiel looked at Dean’s lap again before catching himself and lifting his gaze to Dean’s face.  “So when you said you asked them,” he began.

“I totally asked them,” Dean insisted.

“You asked us if we still had the rings,” Sam said.

“And then I asked if you wanted to be horsemen!” Dean exclaimed.

“Yeah, you know what he said?” Sam asked Castiel.  “It was just like that.  ‘Hey, you wanna be horsemen?’  Bang.  We’re the horsemen of the apocalypse.”

“I’m really more of a horsewoman,” Gabriel said.  “Which only sounds weird until you realize how stupid the word ‘horseman’ is in the first place.  Guy has a dog, doesn’t make him a dogman.”

“I think the point is that we ride the horses,” Sam said.

“Fine, we’re the riders of the apocalypse,” Gabriel said, rolling her eyes.  “We’re not half-horse.  There’s a word for that; it’s centaur.  Not horseman.”

Jesse had consumed a significant portion of Sam’s fries by now, but it was Gabriel he was watching while he ate them.  “I actually think she sounds just like Richard,” Jesse remarked.

It was clear that to Sam and Dean, this made very little sense.  But Nick replied, “You don’t think Richard was nicer?  Maybe it’s because he was drinking the whole time.”

Dean deciphered the “nicer” comment in a matter of seconds.  “Wait,” he said.  “Is Gabriel played by a man on the TV show?”

Castiel nodded once, but Nick said, “Yeah.  Apparently all of Sam’s girlfriends die, so they made Gabriel stay a guy so he’d...”  he trailed off.

“Wow,” Nick said after a moment.  “That was a really terrible thing to say.  I’m so sorry.”

“Seriously?” Gabriel asked.  “Why are all of Lucifer’s vessels dangerously reasonable and empathetic?  Does she have a type, or what?  ’Cause I’m telling you, it looks to me like if you want to keep Lucifer away from you, all you have to do is mean up.  Be unrepentant every once in a while.”

“Yeah, we’ve got you for that,” Sam told her.  “Nick, don’t worry about it.  Since Gabriel’s not my girlfriend, she’s probably safe.”

“Hey!”  Gabriel objected to this before Nick could question it, which Castiel thought he was about to.  Dean probably wouldn’t.  “We live together; what does that make us?”

“I’m pretty sure it makes us roommates,” Sam said.  “Or maybe housemates.”

“We have a baby!” Gabriel exclaimed.

“Brought by the stork,” Sam said.  “What do you care?  Since when do you even want to be my girlfriend?”

“Wow, okay,” Dean said loudly.  “I so do not need to hear this conversation.  Remember the sordid details talk?  This is like, the sordid of the sordid.  Or whatever.  I have no interest in this at all.”

“Well, fortunately for the rest of the world,” Gabriel said, “it doesn’t revolve around you.  What do you call Cas, anyway?”

“Oh, you did not just compare you and me to the epic gay love story of Dean and Cas,” Sam said.  “That’s uncalled for on so many different levels.”

“I call him ‘Cas,’” Dean said.  “Because that’s his name.”

“That’s actually not his name,” Sam said.

“I’ve been trying to get Dean to give me a pet name,” Castiel offered.  It seemed both topical and light-hearted, as per the conversation.  “But so far –”

He felt the hand on his shoulder tighten and that was the only warning he had before another hand settled over his mouth, muffling his words so completely that he stopped talking.  “Sordid details, Cas,” Dean said.  “Sam says we don’t have to share them with the group.”

Castiel frowned.  I fail to see by what definition your efforts at a pet name could be considered “sordid.”

“Okay, embarrassing,” Dean said aloud.  “They’re embarrassing details.  I’m sure we’ve talked about that.”

“Yes,” Castiel said, and this time the sound made Dean remove his hand.  “Yes,” he repeated, more clearly.  “We did, and I believe you said you could handle it.”

It made Dean groan, but Sam laughed and Gabriel smirked at him, so he thought he couldn’t have missed by much.

“Fine,” Dean said.  “Pet names are a go, but only after we get through discussing the rings and the TV show, and by that time I’m hoping you’ll have forgotten.”

“I don’t forget, Dean,” Castiel reminded him.

“No,” Dean agreed.  “But Sam can ask questions from now until judgment day, so.  Which might not mean as much as it used to, come to think of it.”

“Wait, you think I’m going to help you get out of an embarrassing story?”  Sam looked amused.

“I think there are some stories even you don’t want to know,” Dean countered.  “What Cas wants me to call him has gotta be on that list somewhere.”

“Does he like ‘buttercup’?” Sam asked.  His expression was suddenly very earnest, but Dean just sighed.

“Cas?” Sam prompted.  “Sweetie pie?  Dumpling?  What do you think?”

“’Course I could be wrong,” Dean muttered.

“I don’t think those are appropriate pet names,” Castiel said, after a brief consideration.  “They sound facetious.”

“He calls his car ‘baby,’” Sam said.  “I wouldn’t put ‘angel’ past him.”

“Too literal,” Gabriel put in.  “Dean’s a classic kind of guy.  I bet he goes with ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart.’”

“Why are we talking about this?” Dean wanted know.  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as happy not to talk about Death, but TV land?  Come on.  That’s both creepy and hilarious.”

“Oh, now it’s hilarious,” Gabriel said.  “Thank you!  I’ve been trying to explain this for a week, and now all of a sudden it’s funny.”

“You know what’s not funny?” Dean told her.  “You throwing people into another dimension without asking!”

“Really?” Gabriel retorted.  “Because I thought it was turning someone into an apocalyptic herald when no one listened to her last messenger gig!  Maybe it’s just me, but that struck me as the opposite of funny!”

Sam caught Castiel’s eye and shook his head.  “Worse,” he said, as though Castiel had asked a question out loud.  “They were much worse while you were gone.  Believe it or not, this is a huge improvement over the rest of the week.”

“Yeah, because Cas isn’t stuck in crazy land!” Dean snapped.

“And Sam isn’t dead from horse possession!” Gabriel exclaimed.  “You managed not to kill us with your stupid plan; congratulations!  That makes me very slightly less likely to stab you with a sword!”

“So, she can’t hear, right?”  Sam still seemed to be talking to him, so Castiel followed his gaze to the blanket in his arms.  The ‘baby’ seemed distressed.

“She is aware of the grace around her,” he said.  “The way it’s interacting might be comparable to... the way a human child hears voices.”

“You’re kidding.”  Sam looked disproportionately hopeful.  “So I can actually yell at them not to wake the baby?”

“Yes,” Castiel said slowly.  “Although if your own soul is troubled, it’s possible that Maia may detect that as well.”

“I could help,” Maribel murmured.  She slid off of the couch without waiting for a response.  Adamel and Wildfire seemed to melt into her place, and Castiel thought he probably wasn’t going anywhere until both Dean and the children allowed him to.

Sam made some effort to move over, but Maribel ended up mostly sitting on his lap.  It did seem to reassure Maia, even if Dean and Gabriel continued to snipe at each other like... well.  Like brothers.

He wondered what it meant that he hadn’t been able to identify Michael even once since he’d come back.

He decided that right now, with Dean’s hand on his shoulder and a thumb absently rubbing his neck, it meant that Michael’s grace had found a way to coexist with the garden.  It meant that the children were safe.  Adamel was pressed up against his side and the girls were no less present in a room full of angels and humans and... other.

Castiel let his head rest against the back of the couch and contemplated requesting a garrison status report.  He knew what they were doing.  All of them, locked in the same precarious dance they’d been in when he was last aware of the host.  Rachel no weaker for his absence.  Raphael no stronger.

Things were better here, so he closed his eyes and ignored everything else just a little longer.  The conversation in the room went on without his focused attention, and that was enough.  It was no longer about sharing information.  It was, and perhaps always had been, an affirmation that they were together.  That they were all right, that they were with each other, and that they weren’t going anywhere.

Not now.  Maybe not ever.  Heaven had come for them before, after all.  Hell had tried its hardest.  The entire world sometimes seemed to be against them, but they would cling to each other hard enough to reach out, and then they would pull another one from the maelstrom.  So their little group kept expanding.

So their family kept growing.  Dean had never put it quite that way, but Castiel hoped... he knew.  He had heard Dean tell Maribel that Sam was her family, which necessitated that Maribel was Dean’s.  Dean had said that marriage was like adoption – and he was going to marry Castiel.  He and his children were Dean’s family, just as much as Sam was – they had to be.  They needed to be.

He needed them to be.

When Dean finally declared that he was going to bed – and that the rest of them should think about it too, unless they wanted to be “jet lagged all to hell” – Castiel had decided that the best choice was to do nothing.  He was safe here, they were all safe here.  He could just stay on the couch and be looked after and want for nothing.

“Huh,” Dean’s voice said, closer and fonder than it had been moments before.  To the point where Castiel opened eyes he hadn’t thought were closed to regard him curiously.  “You look like you’re falling asleep,” Dean said.

“No,” Castiel said.  He didn’t move.  “I have simply decided to stay here for the foreseeable future.  It’s very comfortable.”

“Wow.”  Dean looked amused.  “Gabe’s couch versus a bed with me in it.  And the couch wins?  I guess I know where I stand.”

“The couch also has you,” Castiel muttered, letting his eyes close again.  He could still feel Dean beside him, leaning over to touch Adamel and Wildfire and nudge them up.  They didn’t need to sleep, of course – he wondered if they were imitating him, or just trying to get out of whatever lesson they were supposed to be learning tonight.

Did they have lessons tonight, he wondered?  They’d been gone for days; their schedule might not have been updated.  Perhaps they should sleep as well.

“Come on, sunshine,” Dean was saying.  “Up and at ’em.”

Castiel smiled to himself as he felt Dean take his hand.  He let Dean pull him to his feet before turning back to check the children’s progress.  They were a united front of nap-desiring human angels, and he had few qualms about allowing his fiancé to gather them up and send them winging home.

“Yes,” Castiel said, just loudly enough for Dean to notice.  “I approve.”