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valleydean · 2 years

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Chapter Eighteen: All I’ve Ever Learned from Love [read here]

FIC SUMMARY: Dean Winchester is dead. For decades, he, along with Castiel and Sam, has led a peaceful afterlife in heaven. He has everything he’s ever wanted: a home, his family and friends surrounding him, and a relationship with Cas—and he’s bored as hell. Until, one day, Chuck escapes heaven’s lock up and begins capturing souls to regain power. To stop him, Jack sends Dean, Cas, and Sam back to Earth. After so long away from hunting, will they be able to once again find their place in the family business?

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Dean and Castiel come to a compromise regarding Death’s ring; Sam and Eileen ask the Banes Twins for help.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

When Castiel walked into the kitchen that morning, Dean and Jack were already inside, standing on opposite sides of the chrome island counter. Dean was spooning scrambled eggs from a skillet into Jack’s plate, and both the sight and smell of it caused Castiel’s stomach to roil. He was suddenly lightheaded, but that was nothing compared to the tearing, twisting pain in his chest that had woken him up that morning and made him rush from bed to spit iron-tasting blood into the sink.

Castiel had stared down at the bright red rolling down the white porcelain and became suddenly all-too aware of his own fragile mortality. He’d forced himself to run the water to clean the basin, letting all such ponderings follow the blood and water down the drain.

He’d just been fortunate Dean had already been awake and out of the room by then.

“Good morning,” he said when Dean and Jack looked up at him, Dean with a shuttered expression and Jack with big, sad eyes that could only mean he was told what was going on. Castiel tried to ignore both of their eyes and moved to the table. He focused instead on the fact that Dean and Jack seemed to be in a better place than they had been recently. Maybe they’d spoken, and any animosity was in the past. Castiel was glad.

He lowered himself onto a stool carefully, not wanting to upset any of the writhing inside of him, but also trying not to move in a way that suggested he was in pain. It was a delicate balancing act.

“Hungry?” Dean asked him in a way that somehow sounded threatening.

“No,” Castiel said, hoping it wouldn’t raise suspicion. He heard Dean bang around a few pots and pans on the stove, and was all very loud and annoying. Castiel could feel a headache blooming behind his eyes.

Jack wandered toward the table and set his plate down opposite Castiel, but he didn’t sit. Castiel didn’t pause to wonder why Jack was looming. He was trying too hard to not focus on the putrid wafting scent of the eggs, or the way they were congealing. Instead, he looked up at Jack and attempted a gentle smile. He was glad to see him whole and safe, but before he could say as much, Dean began speaking again.

“Talked to Claire this morning. She told me about the hunt you went on.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped toward him, and his stomach clenched again, but he was certain that it was psychosomatic this time. He tried not to get ahead of himself. It’s possible Claire hadn’t mentioned her concerns to Dean.

Dean rested on the far side of the counter, gripping the edges. His eyes were dulled and jaw rigid as he inspected Castiel. “And she told me she almost had to take you to the ER. Said the only reason she came here was ‘cause she didn’t trust you to drive yourself.”

Castiel sighed and dropped his eyes downward. He was certain Dean was embellishing what Claire had said, even though she had been rather adamant about driving back to the bunker with him. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Dean shot back cuttingly. “And you wanna go try that again? On Chuck?”

Castiel gritted his teeth, his temper flaring at once. He already felt ill; he didn’t need Dean’s judgment on top of it. “Yes.” Maybe Dean wouldn’t understand, but Castiel knew Jack would. Nothing was more important than stopping Chuck.

He cast his gaze upward to Jack and assured, “I can do this. There’s nothing to worry about. I feel fine.” There was a pressure in his throat that felt like bile trying to eject itself from his body. He held steady.

Jack pressed his lips together, expression fraught. He looked over his shoulder, back at Dean, and Castiel saw Dean give him a firm nod. Before Castiel could process what that could have meant, Jack held up his hand and said, “I’m sorry.” He tapped his fingers to Castiel’s forehead, and Castiel felt a jolt of power go through him.

A grunt punched out of him. He could taste metal again. His bones felt like glass, too delicate to hold him up. Something like fire licked at his gut. Jack lowered his hand, and the pain ebbed back into something more tolerable.

Castiel heard his breaths coming out haggard. There was sweat prickling on his hairline.

“Anything?” Dean asked, his voice sounding as if it were echoing up from the bottom of a well.

Jack looked around at him again, and Castiel briefly rescinded his previous gladness at Dean and Jack’s mended relationship.

“Yes,” Jack told him, a fissure of fear running through his tone. “His insides. They feel like… a scraped knee. All over.”

Dean’s brow’s shot up, his lips parting.

“I feel fine,” Castiel lied again.

“Doesn’t matter!” Dean yelled at once. “You put on that ring again, it’ll make it worse!”

“Dean—”

“Cas, Dean’s right,” Jack told him, attracting Castiel’s eyes. “This is dangerous.”

Castiel scoffed, because everything was dangerous. They could afford safety right now, and even if they could, there was none to be found anymore. “Chuck is my responsibility.”

“No!” Jack argued, eyes darkening. “He’s mine!”

“And my responsibility is to protect you,” Castiel told him, trying and failing to not sound irritable. “I won’t let you get killed, Jack. I won’t let any of you get killed.” He pointedly swung his eyes back to Dean to punctuate that sentence.

Dean stared back, gaze razor-sharp. “Oh, come on, Cas! So, you’re the only one who’s gotta die?”

“Yes!” Castiel tried to catch his breath. “No,” he amended, gaining control of his anger. He breathed in and out deeply. “I don’t want to die, but I have to do this. Jack, I won’t let you fight Chuck alone. So, I’m going to find another soul to reap and I’m going to get stronger.”

“And what if you don’t?” Dean cut in.

“I will,” Castiel told him firmly. He looked between Dean and Jack, and he was resolved to prove it to them. “Come with me. Both of you.” He ignored the way Dean was shaking his head down at the counter and powered through, “I’ll show you that I can do this. And… if something goes wrong, Jack will be there to help me.”

He kept his eyes fixed on Dean, waiting for his answer. Dean’s shoulders tensed and he lifted his head again to glare. But he said, “Fine.”

Castiel hadn’t expected him to agree so readily.

“But I see anything—and I mean anything—I don’t like,” Dean said, pointing toward Jack, “he takes the wheel. No arguing! Got it?”

Dean had learned to trust Jack. That was good. Castiel wouldn’t dare say a word against that, but he was determined to keep Jack from aiding him today. He couldn’t fail. He couldn’t falter, no matter what. He had to show Dean he could do this, even if killed him. So long as Chuck was dead and both his family and the universe were safe, nothing else mattered.

“Yeah,” Castiel told him.

Dean was still carrying himself with hostility. He shot Castiel one more scowl before bringing the skillet toward the sink. Over his shoulder, he said, “Jack, get dressed.”

Jack nodded, his eyes still imploring and worried as he regarded Castiel. Castiel tried to give him a smile of encouragement, but it was a weak thing. Jack collected his breakfast from the table and left the kitchen.

Castiel let out a heavy breath, suddenly weary. He watched the way Dean scrubbed the skillet like he was trying to erode it into nothing, then made up his mind and joined Dean at the sink.

“You don’t have to worry,” Castiel told him, knowing it was futile.

Dean swung his head toward Castiel and shot him a dull glower. “Really, Cas? ‘Cause your bright ideas usually end up with you dead.”

Castiel didn’t tell him the end result could very well be the same this time, especially since Dean was already well aware. “Well,” he said instead, “I will… try not to end up dead.”

Dean put the skillet on the drying rack and turned off the water with more force than necessary. He clutched the sides of the sink and stared down at the suds. “Why do you have to do this? Why can’t it be anyone else?”

He already knew why. Castiel wouldn’t sacrifice anyone.

“You’re not a weapon, Cas.”

A long time ago, Castiel had told Dean that. He said he wasn’t a hammer. But it wasn’t true; he just wanted it to be.

“Yes, I am,” Castiel told him, causing Dean’s gaze to jerk up to meet his again. “I’m an angel. It’s the reason I was made.”

“Yeah, by Chuck,” Dean argued. “And you broke outta that!”

Maybe he was right, but it was of little consequence. “I’m not fighting for Chuck. I’m fighting for our family. For Jack and Sam and Eileen and everything. Everyone we love—in heaven, on Earth.” And, most importantly of all: “I’m fighting for you, Dean.”

“Don’t,” Dean said sharply. “This doesn’t all fall on you.”

“Maybe. But I have to try. You know you’d do the same in my place.”

Dean pursed his lips, because he knew Castiel was right. But his argument wasn’t born of logic. After a long pause, he asked, “How many times do I have to lose you?”

Castiel couldn’t answer. He felt sick again. He looked away, unable to keep his resolve and to love Dean at the same time.

//////

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