trinityofone

He stepped outside the motel, closed the door softly behind him. He carried nothing of his own with him, just the one thing he needed. He did not look back.

“Brother,” Castiel said—softly, as if to himself. “I'm ready.”

The place was no place. Through his dim human eyes, Castiel saw it as little more than a large, dark space, vaguely ring-shaped, an altar at its center. Gabriel stood beside him, safe only in his familiarity. Other figures drifted in the dark, most remaining blurry and indistinct, sparking outlines of power, not fully comprehensible to mortal eyes. They were gods, and he was just a mortal, just a man. But not for long.

Gabriel touched his shoulder, whispered in his ear. “Suit up, brother. Show them that you mean it.”

Castiel didn't nod. He looked straight ahead. He took the weight of Megingjord, like a band around his waist. He opened the leather bag Gabriel had presented to him and slid his hands into the pair of iron gauntlets. His clenched fists felt cold.

Gabriel's smile flashed white in the dark. He stepped forward; he looked small, standing there, addressing this shadowy amphitheater of gods. But the voice that poured out of him was rich, so unlike the vessel-tempered whine that Castiel had almost grown used to. The language in which he spoke sent shivers through Castiel's body.

Gabriel asked the gods for their acceptance. He had told Castiel that he had every reason to expect that Castiel would receive it. Castiel knew that nothing was so certain, and that if he was denied, he would most definitely die.

A human life, cut short. It would be nothing to them.

What was it to Castiel—forty more years, thirty; a week, a day, or a minute? It would have been an eyeblink, a wingbeat to him once. Now there was so little time. It was not death that frightened him, but the thought of a life lived to no purpose. Could he really wake up every day—wake, after wasting so much time on sleep—not knowing what he ought to work to accomplish by day's end? Was that what it was, to live for himself? Could he really be that selfish?

Castiel had tried. He had pretended. He had taught himself to want until the skill mastered him. The secret, though, the secret that none of them told you—all those natural-born humans, brimming with free will—was that getting what you wanted was worse twice over than being denied. A desire fulfilled brought with it nothing but fear. What one had could all-too-easily be lost. Could be taken away. Could ebb and disintegrate and fade, just as he had been, these past few months, until there was almost nothing left of him. The face in the mirror was not him and he would never see himself again. What remained was less even than a shadow of himself. A shell. When it came to such things, even Dean Winchester could only fool himself for so long.

Castiel was through pretending. He could not surrender to fate, but he could give himself to this, lay down his life before a roomful of capricious gods.

They did not strike him down.

He stood taller. He breathed. “Go get 'em, tiger,” Gabriel whispered. And, “I'm proud of you.” Castiel walked past him without a word. It was time, and he was ready. At last he would be done with doubt.

“Stop.”

The voice rang out, clear and crisp. “I do not believe all of us have been given our say in this matter,” the woman—goddess; don't be fooled, don't be foolish—said.

“Kali.” Gabriel smiled tightly, his face a mask. “You know of course I do nothing without your blessing.”

“Except sneak around behind my back, plotting the apotheosis of your former brothers,” she said dryly. “One might think I hadn't expressed an interest in these matters.”

Castiel knew what Dean and Sam had told him about Gabriel's history with Kali; he expected the situation to soon become volatile. What he hadn't expected was for Kali to calmly step forward, revealing the pair of figures behind her.

“I brought some additional interested parties.”

Castiel had to look away. He was, at the moment, still only human; he couldn't bear the betrayal he knew he would see in Dean's eyes.

“Oh joy, it's lame and lamer,” he heard Gabriel grouse. “Kali, don't you know better than to invite band geeks to the cool parties?”

“I pay my debts,” Kali said coolly.

Gabriel let out an expansive, melodramatic sigh. “All right, let's just get this part over with.” Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel saw Gabriel shift to address the assembled—and no doubt unwise to make impatient—deities. “Sorry folks. You may remember the Winchesters—they almost destroyed the world. Now they're here to inject a little mangst into the proceedings.”

Try as he might to maintain control, Castiel couldn't just let, let blasphemy like that slide. “Gabriel,” he warned, turning to face his brother. His gaze stumbled and caught where it least wanted to go.

Looking Dean in the face almost undid him. Even after Castiel glanced down, away, Dean's voice was more than enough. “I thought you said that you weren't a hammer, Cas.” The tremble was so slight—he'd been hurt like this before; he had practice. “Isn't that what you told me?”

Castiel took a deep breath and forced himself to look up again. Of all the creatures in the room, the Winchesters were the only ones that looked truly solid. They were so familiar to him now, these brothers he'd been traveling with, this man he'd pulled out of Hell, never knowing— God, if he'd known. If he'd known.

Castiel wouldn't do anything differently. But just the same, there was only one thing for him to do now.

“I've given this matter much thought,” Castiel said carefully. “This is the best path open to me. I need—”

“Power?” demanded Sam, incredulous. Castiel was surprised to see that he looked almost as hurt as Dean did. “Strength? Cas, man, I've been there: you know what I've done to help myself stop feeling so helpless and weak. But power like that ends up controlling you. It isn't worth it, Cas; you've got to know it isn't worth it.”

Castiel waited patiently for Sam to finish. Then, “Purpose, I was going to say.” He uttered the words with not wholly manufactured disdain. “There is a role that needs to be filled, and I am able and willing to fill it. This will be a good thing. For all of us. You'll see.”

“Well put,” Gabriel said, clapping Castiel roughly on the back. “See?” he said, his attention focused particularly on Kali. “This is a well thought out decision. Cas here isn't getting drunk and having Deano's name tattooed on his ass; he's prudently donning a mantel I think we can all agree was tailor-made for him. The Angel of Thursday—I could not make this stuff up. It's positively poetic.”

“Yes, tell us what you know of poetry, Gabriel,” Kali said. She moved through the inky blackness in such a way that even it seemed to shy away from her. “Remind me again of the words of devotion you spoke at my feet when I put your body back together from a bit of blood, and kissed bloody life back into that liar's mouth.”

“Wait, that was you?” Sam asked Kali, brazen in his surprise.

Castiel was too busy casting his eye on Gabriel anew. His brother shifted, hands raised and expression placating, as if the opinions of Sam and Dean—and perhaps Castiel himself—actually mattered to him. Strange.

“Now, now,” Gabriel said. “It was only a small piece of misdirection. It doesn't make much difference in the end, does it?”

“What about Anna?” Sam demanded.

“Heh. Okay. That was a slightly bigger piece of misdirection.” Gabriel shrugged. “But you gotta admit, it's much less suspicious if Daddy resurrects all the angels that have been helpful to you. And I always liked fiery little Anael's style...”

“Does she know?” Castiel asked, voice low. He thought of her as he'd seen her last: happy and oblivious, her continued existence in the capricious hands of the goddess of destruction.

“Well, she doesn't know anything anymore, does she?” Gabriel snapped. Once again, the depth of his emotion—his bitterness—surprised Castiel. “But we're off-topic,” he said, drawing himself up with a sudden seriousness that didn't suit him. “Castiel, you were going to get your well-deserved upgrade and finally say goodbye to all this whiny emo human crap. Let's move it along, chop chop, smash smash.”

Castiel hesitated. He had not changed his mind: he still knew that this was something he had to do. But he had not wanted it to be this way. He had wanted to return to Dean and Sam with it already finished, “a done deal.” They would have seen, then–understood. Dean would not be looking at him this way.

But he was, and Castiel simply couldn't turn away from him, end things as they were without a word of explanation. So, “Dean,” he said. “I wish— I want you to understand. It will be better this way. I will be of much greater use to you, not beholden—”

“Shut up.” Dean's chest heaved, his teeth ground so tight he was virtually spitting his words. “I don't want to hear another word of these bullshit excuses. Because it is bullshit, Cas, and you know it. This isn't about being useful or beholden or worrying about what color your fucking parachute is. This is about being afraid. It's about regular-old, head under the covers, piss yourself human fear, and I get that Cas, I really do. But I never thought you of all people would pussy-out this badly. You think you're too good to stay down here with us in the muck? You think you can put yourself above all our daily human worries? Well, go ahead and climb back up on your pedestal, then. But don't think I'll keep waiting for you all the way down here.”

Castiel felt his chest pull tight around his heart; he felt lightheaded. “Dean,” he said—begged, he realized. “I don't want to leave you. I'm doing this because I don't ever want to leave you...”

“You will, though.” Meeting Kali's gaze was like staring into the depths of space, like reliving the moment in which he'd learned that his father had abandoned them, truly. “You think you can wear that belt and those gloves, that you can wield that weapon, and not be changed by it? You think that you can be a god, little angel, and still look upon humans in the same way?” She shook her head, walked unchallenged between Sam and Dean, pausing to stroke a smooth, long finger down a quaking Dean's cheek. “This one...he will mean nothing to you. Your life will be among the clouds.”

She stepped toward him, pulling the darkness with her. “Have you already forgotten?”

Castiel would never forget. He'd been made to be an angel; he would never be anything else so easily, or so well. Whether he recreated himself now as a human or a pagan god, it would always be a life lived in translation, his natural instincts filtered through a new set of expectations. He could try to retain what he could—or he could assimilate entirely, as Anna had. But the past would always be with him, a spirit so persistent it could survive an ocean of salt and the hottest of flames.

“This will be different,” he said, which was undeniably true. “I know what I want, now.” He glanced briefly at Dean, before he could stop himself.

“Yes,” Kali said. “You know what you want, now. You are a human, and you desire your human lover and protection from human woes. You will find these are not the concerns of the gods.”

“You're saying that gods do not know lust and anger and desire and fear?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow. He had to stop himself from tacking on a Dean-like, Please.

“Of course not.” Kali's mouth formed a smile; it was terrifying. “We count Loki among our number, after all.”

“Hey,” interjected Gabriel. “I resemble that remark.”

Castiel ignored him. “Then your objection is to me, personally,” he challenged her.

“I object to anyone joining our ranks out of fear or uncertainty or loneliness,” she said, and to his surprise, she slipped as he had, eyes flicking past him, briefly, to Gabriel. “I do not desire an eternity beside someone who is filled with shame at what he's become, who can barely conceal his self-loathing and regret.”

“Hey,” Gabriel said again, his tone completely different now.

Kali whirled on him, sudden and sharp. “Silence,” she commanded.

Castiel could hear the sound his jaw made when it clicked shut.

When she returned her attention to Castiel, it was to lean close, her body pressed cool against him, her blood-red lips mere centimeters from his ear. Even if he had not been trying to keep himself above such thoughts, Castiel would have been too terrified to have any sort of reaction.

“You have been tricked,” she whispered, “manipulated by your so-called brother. Though it is possible that he is tricking himself, too—it wouldn't be the first time. He is miserable and alone, you see, and so he has arranged for you to join him, so that you both can be miserable together.”

“He is yours,” Castiel said, stepping back. “Bought with blood. Perhaps you are the source of his misery, cousin.”

“Well,” she said, lifting her dark head. “At least I have more than absolved myself of yours.”

She retreated to the edge of the circle. “Carry on, then,” she told the room—told Gabriel, with a sweep of her arm that was clearly sarcastic in its deference.

Gabriel tisked, wearily. “You just can't keep anything on schedule, these days. All right, Castiel,” he added, rubbing his hands together before gesturing toward the altar. “Take two.”

Castiel took a step forward.

“Cas, wait,” Sam said. Dean said nothing. “Cas!”

He could feel Dean watching him, though. Dean wasn't going to be kind to them both. He was going to watch Cas do it.

Two feet from the altar, Castiel stopped.

The universe began to shake.

It felt like that, anyway: the whole of creation, this place that was no place, pulling loose, falling apart at the seams. “What's going on?” he heard Sam ask. Gabriel said, “Oh, crap.”

Kali did not need to pitch her voice any higher to be heard over the sudden din. “There are those among us who object to the proceedings here for reasons grander than mine.”

Sam could barely stay on his feet, but still he questioned. “What reasons?”

“They are purists. They believe a god should die with his or her original avatar. To them what is being attempted here is anathema.” Kali delivered this information calmly, as flames raced up her sides. “They will attempt to destroy us now.” She grinned a little. “It's not the first time.”

“Kali, get them out of here!” Gabriel gestured angrily at Sam and Dean, both of whom had fallen to their knees due to the onslaught. Castiel himself was only upright at all because he had the altar to hold on to.

“I promised them a chance to speak their piece, not round-trip air fare. My debts are paid.” She was a speaking column of flame. “I have things to kill.”

“Dammit.” Gabriel snapped his fingers, but nothing appeared to happen. “They've blocked the exits!”

Kali laughed. “Run and hide, then, Loki. It's what you're good at.”

Castiel's ears were beginning to bleed, his eyes starting to lose focus from the unnatural contrast of light and dark. But he could still see the slightly apologetic shrug Gabriel threw him as he mouthed, Join us or die, bro. He cast one last sorry look toward the Winchesters, then was gone.

Castiel was watching the brothers, too—gripping the altar as he stared, barely holding on. They had crawled to each other, were attempting to confer, but Castiel knew that for the most part they were just huddled together, giving each other what little protection they could. If Castiel managed to crawl back to them, they would welcome him, he knew. And then they could all die together.

Despite the shaking, Castiel felt suddenly still. “Dean!” he shouted, and in the din his voice was lost even to himself. “Dean!”

For whatever reason, Dean looked up. Their eyes met across the dark space that was no space, and there was nothing like permission in Dean's gaze. Still, Castiel smiled.

He picked up the hammer.

It tore through him like thunder. It blasted through him like lightning. His body crackled and reshaped, his soul reformed. The power curled electric through his blood, and when he stood again, he was truly unafraid. He held Mjöllnir, and no one could stand against him.

The shapes of his brothers and sisters around him were much clearer now. Kali's limbs danced in a graceful, deadly whirl as she grappled with Amaterasu. Quetzalcoatl held Horus back with the divine wind. Zeus was lightning and he himself was thunder as they forced a defiant Mars to his knees.

It was easy to lose himself in the battle. The fight was glorious. His hammer flew true to its targets (that's no bust, he thought, without having any recollection what such a thing could mean) then returned with a satisfying thwap to his hand. He was a god, and gods cowered before him. The part of their vast battlefield that he had decided should remain safe and untouched remained safe and untouched. The ground shook where he stepped.

It came to a draw, as most such battles did. But for them it was a victory, too: their attackers forced to retreat, to attempt to annihilate them another day. They had failed to prevent what they could not condone. Thor walked the earth once more.

He paused now, a clean godly sweat slicking his brow. Zeus gave his back a crackling lightning-slap before departing. Kali stared at him with jet-black eyes. “Brother,” was all she said.

“See, I told you that would be a good look on you,” Loki said, slinking back from wherever he'd crept off to. “You never really seemed at home in that scrawny little...”

A look made him stop. He sank back, revealing the figures on the floor behind him. The two humans weren't huddled so much as tucked into an—admittedly useless—fighting crouch. He tilted his head, stared at them. They looked so small.

The one on the left was staring at him, open-mouthed, but the other one dropped his gaze, disinterested. “Get us out of here, Gabriel,” he said. “You got what you wanted. We're done.”

The words moved through him, a rumbling reverb. “Wait,” he said.

He did not recognize his own voice.

He took a deep breath, stood tall, mightier than a mountain.

The hammer slipped in his hand. He let it drop, let it fall. It did not return to him.

“I abdicate,” Castiel said.

“What?” Gabriel was incredulous. “You can't do that! Can he do that?”

“He's a god,” Kali said, coolly. “He can do whatever he wants.”

Castiel breathed again, true breaths, that filled his lungs with air. “I am not a god. I'm just a man. I want to go home.”

He looked at Dean as he spoke. Dean gazed back at him, and there was forgiveness there, acceptance. Castiel nearly wept.

“Castiel,” Gabriel said. One step away from pleading. “I thought—”

“Think on yourself, brother,” Castiel said, not unkindly. “You can reshape the world with a click of your fingers. But perhaps you should start looking for change closer to home.”

He stepped away from the center of the circle, closer to the Winchesters. They were on their feet now, shaky; they made space for him. Sam clapped him on the back where Zeus' electric fingers had rested mere moments before.

Gabriel didn't move. Kali stepped up to them in his place. Dean watched her with suspicion. “I thought you said no round-trip tickets.”

She smiled. “I can change my mind. The destruction of old ideas is one of my specialties.”

She looked at them one last time, and then they were gone.

They opened their eyes again, breathless, in the parking lot of the motel in Berkeley. Castiel blinked at the sudden blast of sunlight. It looked like it was late morning—he suspected on the same day. So much had happened and hardly any time had passed at all.

Wasn't that the way of things, when you were human?

For a few long moments, none of them spoke. Castiel knew that the burden rested on him. “Dean,” he started—but there was too much, far too much. “Sam,” he tried again. “I'm so sorry—”

Sam was shaking his head. “Forget it, man. You screwed up. We all do it.” His brow crinkled. “Hopefully we're trying to do it less.” His sudden smile was not entirely reassuring. “I'm just glad it wasn't me this time.”

He wasn't looking fully at Castiel, but glancing between him and Dean, an odd expression on his face. All at once he yawned—a melodramatic flourish that Gabriel would have appreciated. “I've got my own room. I'm gonna go lie down.”

When he left, Castiel and Dean were alone.

Dean looked at him. “Not in the parking lot,” was all he said.

Castiel followed him obediently back to their room. The sight of the bed, the mussed sheets that Castiel had so callously freed himself of, made him feel sick with guilt. They had to stop abandoning their beds like this: Castiel wanted to be able to look at the places they had lain together and not feel ashamed.

He might never get that chance, now. He turned to Dean: it was all on him, what he wanted, what he would allow. Castiel had brought him around somehow, before, and then he had squandered it. If he'd lost him forever, Castiel would never forgive himself. But he would accept it.

As he had before the circle of gods, Castiel offered himself and waited to discover whether he would live or die.

“You look ridiculous,” Dean said.

Castiel's eyes widened. Dean reached out, his mouth set, and lifted one of Castiel's iron-gloved hands. “What, are you off to go fight crime with the Avengers?” He slipped the gauntlet off, weighed it in his hand. “You look like you could go around demanding satisfaction with these.”

Castiel swallowed. “Do you desire it?” he asked. “Satisfaction?” He would give it in a heartbeat: he would let Dean pummel him if it earned him his forgiveness. He himself had done as much—or worse.

Dean drummed the iron gauntlet against his open palm for a moment, considering. “I don't think so, Cas,” he said finally. “There's another kind of satisfaction I want.”

Castiel stumbled and flushed when Dean sank to his knees. His back hit the door and Dean gripped his hips, steadying him. Dean's hot fingers wormed underneath the constricting band of his heavy metal belt. “This glam look is just not you, Cas,” Dean told him.

“I know, I know.” He sighed in relief as Megingjord tumbled to the floor.

Dean stared up at him. “I'm going to make you promise me something, Cas.” Slowly he popped the top button of Castiel's jeans. “And we're going to seal that promise. Make it all official-like.”

Castiel could only nod.

“I'm giving myself to you.” For Dean's sake, it was easy enough for Castiel to pretend that Dean's hands weren't shaking when he jerked down Castiel's zipper, freed his aching cock. “I want your promise,” he said, and Castiel shuddered when Dean's hand closed around him, as he started to stroke. “Promise me that you'll never leave me like that again.”

“I promise,” Castiel stuttered. “Dean, I swear...”

“Never,” Dean demanded. He licked his lips.

“Never ever.” He reached out with his still-gloved hand and caressed Dean's cheek. “I'm yours.”

Not entirely to Castiel's surprise, Dean shied into the cold metal and not away. “That's all I wanted to hear,” he said. His thumb gave the crown of Castiel's cock an experimental little sweep.

Castiel gasped. “Seal it with a kiss?” he asked, coaxing Dean's head forward.

“Mmph,” Dean said, and fed himself Castiel's dick.

Castiel struggled to keep his hips from bucking. His head thumped back against the door. Dean hadn't swallowed him down very far, but the suction of his mouth was amazing, hot and tight. Castiel held the back of Dean's head, tried to simply cradle it. He stared down at himself, at the place where he disappeared into Dean, and his whole body shook. He slid one metal thumb down Dean's hollowed cheek and touched the corner of his shiny, stretched lips. “Dean,” he pledged, promised. “Dean—”

They were sloppy about it, inexperienced. Castiel tried to pull back, but didn't quite manage: he came partially on his own hand and partially all over Dean's neck and chin. Castiel was still reeling, frozen in shock, but Dean just laughed. He tugged Castiel down onto the floor with him, where Castiel's knees were more than willing to let him go. “Take this off,” Dean said, tugging at the soiled glove. It skittered and bounced across the floor. “Clean me up.”

Castiel eagerly attended to the task of kissing the come off Dean's lips, of licking clean the rough skin of his chin and the smooth hollows of his throat. Dean let Castiel bear him back, kiss down over his collarbone and nip along his shoulder, the raised flesh of his scar. Dean bucked and shuddered and Castiel couldn't wait to take him in his mouth, to taste him. But he took his time. He licked and sucked and explored. He kissed the head of his dick, dropped his head and nosed his balls, inhaling. “You smell delicious,” he whispered.

“You're so weird,” Dean said, affectionately. “Suck my dick already.”

But Castiel had another destination. He forced Dean's thighs wider. Flattened his tongue, swept it along Dean's perineum, circled his shy little hole. Dean made a startled sound and spasmed beneath Castiel's touch. Castiel took his steadying hand off Dean's hip and curled it around the sweet arch of his cock. He wanted to feel Dean tremble like that again. He wanted to break Dean apart and put him together again, perfectly this time. So there weren't any cracks.

Except this one. Castiel liked this one. He was looking forward to exploring it in detail. But now, after only a few licks, a couple forceful probes of his tongue, Dean was shuddering and coming undone. Castiel felt Dean's cock jerk in his hand, heard him keen, so he gave the inside of Dean's thigh one last kiss before worming up to lay beside him, to hold him if Dean would let him.

Dean did: curling toward Castiel's embrace, groaning. “We just had sex on the floor,” he said, sounding half triumphant, half admonishing. “I'm too old to have sex on the floor.”

“I liked it,” Castiel said. He had. Very much.

“Yeah, well, our backs won't like us later.”

Castiel rubbed at Dean's, kneading the muscles, gentle but greedy. “I'll look after yours if you look after mine.”

Dean met his gaze. Castiel knew he was many times wounded, had plenty of reasons to shy away. But he was still here, and even if Castiel didn't get to keep him forever, he knew he'd hang on as long as he could, and do his best to make every moment count.

“That's a promise,” he said seriously.

Dean didn't nod or smile, but neither did he look away.

Dean tossed the last of the bags into the trunk and slammed it shut. Castiel was watching him from the passenger side, waiting for Sam to get back from the soda machine so they could do rock-paper-scissors. Dean pulled his keys out of his pocket, tossed them in the air, caught them. He gave Castiel a considering look.

Then he said, “Catch.”

Castiel figured it would be really bad if he dropped the keys at this particular moment. So he did not drop them.

Instead he shook them out on his palm, stared at them, then up at Dean in wonder. “Are you sure?”

“Fuck no,” said Dean. “Even if you don't crash her, I'm probably going to vomit all over from nerves and ruin her upholstery.” He opened the passenger-side door and let himself in.

Castiel felt like he was walking on air as he went around to the other side and settled into the driver's seat.

In the rearview mirror (which Dean reminded him to adjust), Castiel could see Sam crossing the parking lot, talking on his cell phone and crunching his coke can a little too tight. He was still talking as he slid into the back. “All right, I understand that you think I could do better but it's not really any of your—” He cut himself off with a sigh, then thrust the phone at Dean. “Becky wants to talk to you, Cas.”

Dean turned around and looked at him. “Hi, you might remember me: I'm your brother, Dean.” Sam nearly dropped the phone. “Try the other side.”

Somehow Sam got the phone into Castiel's hands. “Did Hell just freeze over?”

Dean laughed, then abruptly grew serious. “No driving and talking!”

“We're still in park,” Castiel pointed out. He lifted the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

The high-pitched shriek nearly deafened him. “Omigodddd, I love you! I just wanted to tell you, you guys are the best! Supernatural is totally the best fandom ever! Slash is canon! EAT IT, STARGATE.”

Castiel held the phone away from his ear, wincing. Emotions, the needs of a human body, physical desire: Castiel had not been created equipped to deal with any of these things, but he thought that he was adjusting to them rather well. This, on the other hand: this he had absolutely no conception of how to deal with.

“Okay, I know I got the pairing wrong but whatever I don't even care,” Becky was babbling. “I'm so happy. Omigod, I'm so happy for you! Even for Dean! You guys are totally a cute couple, I can't even lie.”

“...Thank you?” Castiel tried.

“I'm going to start a comm for you two! And maybe host a ficathon! I need a name, though; what do you think, any suggestions?”

“Um. I'll leave that to you,” he said, squirming a little. He glanced at Sam and Dean, neither of whom looked sympathetic, but like they were having rather a bit too much fun at his expense.

“'Clutched by an Angel'?” Becky posited. “No, that's not quite right...”

“I have to go now,” Castiel said decisively. He clicked the phone shut before he heard anything else that might cast an unfortunate shadow over his brief, precious human life.

Almost as soon as he handed the phone back to Sam, it rang again. Sam glanced at the display, then shoved it guiltily back in his pocket. “Becky again?” Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. He was blushing. “No,” he admitted. “Lauren.”

Dean and Castiel craned their necks, staring at him for several long moments. Then Dean started cracking up.

“Oh-ho-ho! Sammy broke himself off a piece of crunchy granola.”

Castiel had no idea what this was supposed to mean, but it amused him to see Sam sputter and blush.

“It just happened, all right? You and Cas had left, Anna and Dev were off having we-sort-of-almost-died sex, and Lauren...needed consoling.” The look he gave them was beseeching. “She's really got a lot of great qualities... She knows a lot about plants. She's got a lovely singing voice—” He broke off with a hopeless shrug. “Her nickname was Stretch for a reason, okay?”

Castiel released the lip he was biting. “'Better you than me, dude,'” he said. Dean roared with laughter.

“Thanks, guys. Really. Thanks for the support.” Sam looked extremely...Castiel believed the word was “pissy.”

There were tears in Dean's eyes, he was laughing so hard. “If you want support, Sam, we're happy to give it. Anything you want to talk about—and we have to talk about these things, you know—” Dean broke off with a gasp, clutching at his knees. “I'm glad you're gonna be driving, Cas, 'cause I don't think I could.”

Sam pouted. “I hate you both.”

Castiel grinned at him in the rearview mirror, then carefully started the car, released the parking brake, swung them out of the lot. Occupied with thinking of ways to make fun of Sam forever, Dean only seemed to remember that Castiel was driving once they were out on the highway.

“Not so fast!” he said.

“I'm going fifty-five,” Castiel told him calmly. He wanted to “crank it,” but he also didn't want to give Dean a heart attack. He reached over to put a reassuring hand on Dean's thigh.

“OH MY GOD BOTH HANDS ON THE WHEEL!”

Castiel shrank back. That decibel level would have made Becky proud.

In the backseat, Sam let out a sigh. “You know,” he said, “maybe I'm going to want to get my own car.”

Dean snorted. “And what masterpiece of engineering would you pick, huh? A Ford Probe?” He chuckled at the word probe.

“Perhaps,” Castiel said, joining in with a grin, “you would choose an Edsel.”

Glancing to the side, he saw Dean raise an eyebrow at him. “Wow, Cas—you're kickin' it old school. Where'd you hear about that?”

“I've told you,” Castiel said. “Wikipedia.”

Sam laughed. “God help us if you discover the edit function, Cas.”

Castiel perked up. “There's an edit function?”

“Nice going,” Dean told Sam. “Cas, let me save you some trouble: you can't edit the ancient history pages and then cite 'personal observation' as your source.”

“But those pages are so often wrong,” Castiel groused. He sped up a little as the highway dipped, the landscape broadening into a wide vista as they glided down the hill. “I do not like to think of so many people being misinformed.”

Sam shook his head. “Saving people, editing Wikipedia...this is really not how I would have imagined our lives would go.”

Castiel caught Dean's gaze and he held it. “No,” Dean said. “But it's not half-bad, though.

“Eyes on the road, Cas,” Dean added a moment later.

Castiel smiled, kept his hands on the wheel, and drove.

Episode 6x05 / Masterpost / Notes & Acknowledgments