Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The house on the lake was rustic, a two-story wooden structure built in 1947. It was set near the shoreline where the soil was slowly crumbling into the water day after day. Castiel estimated they’d have approximately 180 years until the erosion started to become a danger to the house itself. It was very probable none of them would be living here by then and it was an adequate home to raise a child, turned beautiful by the way Kelly’s eyes had lit up when she first saw it. 

“It reminds me of my parents’ cabin on Lake Superior,” she’d said when they’d first arrived, eyeing the cabin from the truck. “We went there every summer growing up.” 

Kelly had told him a little about her parents and her childhood over the weeks they’d been on the run together--nights holed up in motel rooms that looked far too similar to the run-down places Castiel had visited previously; days driving along the highways that lined this country or stopped dead still in city traffic. It had helped the time pass and it had brought Kelly comfort, at least until she reached the end of her story and realized all over again the now incredibly finite span of her life. Everytime, Castiel had longed to comfort her and everytime he hadn’t known the words. He wasn’t good with using words to communicate with humans; his meaning always seemed to get lost somewhere between the words passing his lips and reaching their ears, even after all these years. He wasn’t very good at body language either; spending so much time with the Winchesters meant he knew the value of a crushing hug when one returned from the dead, or the grip of hands on flesh when one was dying, but he was flailing in the dark without a guide outside of those situations. 

So in those moments when Kelly leaned towards despair, Castiel offered her what he always wanted when he felt lost or afraid or uncertain and simply laid his hand, palm up, on the seat between them. Kelly took it every time.  

It would be a comfort to Kelly, he knew, to envision her child growing here in a place so similar to one she’d loved when she was a child herself. That made the decision to stay simple. 

They didn’t have much to bring in from the truck only the small amount of clothes and supplies Kelly had accumulated in her last months on the run. All of Castiel’s belongings—his truck keys, his cell phone (long turned off and SIM card removed and destroyed, just as Dean had taught him after one too many Jason Bourne movies), Jimmy’s stolen and dog-eared wallet with a picture of Claire and Amelia tucked in the insert—fit securely in his pockets. The mixtape stayed in the truck’s tape deck, safe. 

“Where did you find this place?” Kelly wondered, following Castiel up the stairs to the bedroom on the right. He put her bag at the bottom of the bed before taking her elbow to help her sit on the mattress. 

“A friend showed it to me, a long time ago,” he said, remembering the days he’d been bored at the hospital, liable to fly off at any moment. Meg had usually tried to nudge him in some direction, presumably so she could track him more easily or be sure he’d come back. She’d shown him this place, a safehouse that only she knew of, put away some thirty years back when the old man who’d owned it had died. 

“No one else seemed to want it,” she’d said, shrugging her shoulders. “One possessed lawyer later and here we are. Home sweet home.” 

His memories from that time were hazy; his true form had been scattered from the Leviathan, from assuming Sam’s burdens, shot off in so many incomprehensible directions he couldn’t find a way or the will to bring them back. The part of his mind that occupied his vessel seemed to shift day to day, resulting in a muzzy recollection at the best of times and outright gaps at the worst. He remembered Meg’s face in the sunshine, her true face twisting underneath in a way that had come to be oddly comforting rather than sickening. Other than that, the only thing that really stuck was the location of the house and that it seemed nice, although he suspected that assumption may simply have come from the company and the bees that milled around the wildflowers nearby. 

Kelly looked at him sympathetically, rubbing her hand on her belly. She must think he meant the Winchesters, he realized. Or maybe she recognized the muted grief in his face, worn over so many years but still present, just like the shoreline outside. In any case, she didn’t ask; instead, she patted the bed beside her in a gesture he’d learned years ago meant a bid for him to sit. He did so and she took his hand. 

“I was thinking the room down the hall would make a good nursery,” she said. 

_

They spent the days up to the child’s birth making the house the home Kelly wanted. Castiel shepherded her to and from the store in the nearby town, picking up all manner of items - furniture, groceries, decorations, infant essentials. Human children needed many things, he’d learned over the past weeks, poring over parenting books while Kelly was sleeping. He wasn’t sure how much that knowledge would apply to a nephilim, especially one of this child’s power. The only nephilim he’d ever really interacted with was the one he’d killed for Metatron’s spell but that was the child of a seraph, not an archangel. There was really no telling if the child would need any of the things they were accumulating. 

But this process wasn’t just for the child, Castiel had come to understand. It was for Kelly as well. She knew, just as well as he did, that as the birth of her child approached, so did the time of her death. She would never meet her child, never hold him, or teach him right from wrong. All of that would be left to Castiel. 

This house, the life Kelly was trying to ensure for her child within it, it was her gift to him. Castiel would not take that away from her, not even by voicing the simplest of questions. 

And so, he unloaded the truck after each trip, helped Kelly select paints for the mural she had planned for the nursery, and stepped outside when she requested solitude, a laptop clutched in her hands. It was the least he could do. 

He had left Kelly upstairs, paint brush in hand and a smile on her face, and stepped out into the sunshine he always found so rare in this region. That wasn’t always the case anymore, especially during summer time when the sun beat down and the wildfires raged across the continent. He could still remember hundreds of years before, when the forests were still untouched by industry, and humans had not yet begun poisoning the planet on which they lived. So much could change in such a short amount of time, he marvelled, closing his eyes against the sun on his face. He himself was a sign of that.

He felt something creep into his awareness, a twist in the stitching of the universe that he’d never felt before, like a seam coming undone. He opened his eyes and frowned at the twisting streak of light before him. 

It was like a pillar of pure energy. No, he corrected himself as he approached it, it was a rip, as if someone had pushed their hands through the fabric of space and time, got a good grip, and pulled. 

He circled the tear carefully. He’d never seen anything like it, not in all the long years of his existence. But something about it still felt familiar, almost soothing. 

It was creation, he realized, pure and true as it had been many millions of years ago when the universe was still new. Divinity and opportunity and grace. It felt exactly the same as the energy that he could feel pouring off of Kelly, ever since they clasped hands at Heaven’s gate. 

It could only be a sign of the child’s impending birth. He’d known a nephilim’s birth brought omens—swarms of insects, unnatural weather patterns, possibly even natural disasters. He’d been expecting this child’s birth to bring something along those lines, but several magnitudes more powerful. This was beyond anything he could have imagined. 

There would be no hiding now, he thought blankly, not with something like this. Any supernatural being would be able to feel something of this magnitude. Even a hedge witch probably could, although they might not understand what it was. But any demon, any angel, would know that something powerful was coming into being. And any who desired to possess such power would come running. 

They would not be able to stay here, he and the child. Kelly’s preparations had been for nothing. 

Then he heard the rush of wings behind him, felt the bloom of festering divinity, and all thought disappeared under the sharp burst of panic. 

His brother, as always, was unmistakable. A pillar of exquisite divinity, beyond magnitude, seething and compressed to ride beneath human skin. And a creeping foulness, accompanied by a chill that stretched over planes of existence. Castiel would have known that presence anywhere, even before he shared a vessel with him. 

“Cas,” Lucifer said, fixing him with a smirk. His voice curled around Castiel’s name, turning it into something hateful. “Why am I not surprised to find you here?” 

Before Castiel could speak, the door to the cabin banged open; Kelly appeared in the doorway, streaks of paint across her cheeks and dotting her hands. She froze when she spotted them, worry twisting to fear. 

“And Kelly. The woman of the hour,” Lucifer said, his smirk curling wider. Castiel hurriedly moved between him and the door where Kelly still stood frozen. 

Lucifer’s smirk hardened. “You really think this is wise, Cas? Why don’t you run off back to the Winchesters, leave Kelly with me. They must really miss you; my people tell me they’ve been looking for you all over but you aren’t returning their calls.”

The hit landed, as much as Castiel hated to admit it. He had disabled his phone before either Dean or Sam had had a chance to contact him, but he knew a roadblock like that wouldn’t stop them from searching. Angels and demons weren’t the only beings who could track omens like the one by the water. But he couldn’t afford to think about that, not now with Lucifer staring him down. 

“You won’t touch her,” Castiel growled, firmly placing himself between the two. He could hear Kelly breathing behind him, each one coming in hard on the inhale, trembling on the exhale. 

Lucifer adopted a look of faux innocence. “Now, Castiel, be reasonable. She has something of mine; I just want it back.” 

“You won’t touch her,” Castiel repeated, and let his blade drop into his palm. 

Lucifer’s eyes tracked the movement, the smirk slowly fading from his face until all that remained was cruelty. “Have it your way. But there’s no room in my son’s life for anyone else.”

Lucifer charged in a blur of speed, so swift Castiel could barely track it; he managed to block the blow, dodging the follow-up. Lucifer kept coming, formidable, inevitable. The chances of Castiel winning an all-out fight with any archangel, let alone Lucifer, were infinitesimally low. Even when he was whole, fully winged and powerful, he’d only been able to defeat Raphael through desperate measures. And Lucifer was far more powerful than Raphael, in every way. 

But that didn’t matter, Castiel knew, as he spun away from another strike. All that mattered was Kelly and her child; Castiel had to hold the line, no matter what it took. 

Lucifer caught him with a blow across the face, hard enough he was knocked off his feet. He rolled to dodge a thrust of Lucifer’s blade, lunging out swiftly to catch Lucifer in the leg. It wasn’t mortal in any way, but it was enough to make Lucifer cry out and stagger away, buying Castiel enough time to regain his feet. 

“Castiel!” Kelly called behind him. He glanced over his shoulder; Kelly had left the cabin, running across the sand toward him. Castiel offered her his hand, an automatic reaction to the distress in her face. 

Kelly grabbed it, clutching it tightly. And he understood that it wasn’t just Kelly reaching for him.

The child gripped him tight, worry and determination and love, so much love, pouring through Castiel and Kelly’s linked hands. Castiel felt the child’s power too, flowing into him as from a pitcher to an empty cup. It was heady, beyond anything he’d ever felt before; not even the souls from Purgatory had come close to this. Castiel had to wonder whether his vessel could actually hold this much power. 

It was so much, so overwhelming, that Castiel barely felt it when Lucifer’s blade slammed through his chest. 

He panicked for a split instant—it couldn’t end like this, Castiel dying staring at Lucifer’s triumphant grin, Kelly taken and the child polluted by his father. But nothing happened; no pain, no grace flare of death. Lucifer’s confused stare dropped to the blade and Castiel understood. Of course it wouldn’t end like that. 

The child wouldn’t allow it. 

Swifter than an eye blink, Lucifer withdrew the blade and slammed it back into Castiel’s chest. Again, nothing happened. 

“Oh, c’mon,” was all Lucifer managed to say before Castiel seized his wrist and twisted sharply, breaking it in one motion. Lucifer staggered, crying out. Castiel twisted harder, wrenching Lucifer around and forcing him to his knees. He couldn’t let go of Kelly’s hand, lest he risk losing his connection with the child and his advantage along with it, which made the movement awkward. But Kelly didn’t seem to mind; she leapt forward and seized Lucifer’s shoulder in her free hand and, together, they forced him to the sand. 

Castiel pinned him, pressing a hand hard on the back of his head. Lucifer cried out again, the sound muffled as Castiel ground his face into the sand. 

Lucifer’s blade was still embedded in his chest. Castiel met Kelly’s eyes and nodded to it; she swallowed and pulled it gently out of his body. Again, he felt nothing, just the flesh of his vessel quickly closing the wound. 

Lucifer was writhing underneath them, struggling with all his might to get free. Somehow, Castiel and Kelly held him down regardless. 

“You can’t do this, you’re nothing! A snivelling human and a broken angel. You’re nothing!” Lucifer spat. Castiel shoved his face harder into the dirt. He met Kelly’s eyes again; she was still clutching the blade. He nodded and watched her eyes harden with resolve. 

“Shut up, you son of a bitch,” Kelly spat and slammed the blade between Lucifer’s shoulders. 

Lucifer screamed, his true voice boiling out in an ear splitting screech. Castiel squinted against the burst of grace, pulling Kelly close to shield her eyes against his shoulder. 

This is for Sam Winchester , he thought, who you’ve tortured and abused and haunted for far too long. This is for Kelly Kline, who you’ve used for your own gain, whose death you’ve caused just as surely as if you’d dealt the blow with your blade. This is for your son, so he’ll never have to endure your toxic influence.  

As Lucifer’s light faded, as that presence disappeared from the world and from his mind for the final time, something small and injured inside Castiel, the part that he so often ignored, relaxed. Maybe, in some way, this had been for himself too. 

The thought felt selfish, as if his experiences with Lucifer were at all comparable to anything he’d put anyone else through. As if Castiel didn’t deserve whatever suffering was visited on him, for all the suffering he’d visited on the world and his own kind. Castiel turned his mind away from the thought. He had more important things to think about than self-pity. 

“Kelly,” he said, “are you okay?” 

The question was unnecessary; he could still feel her through the link the child had forged through them all. But humans, he had learned, liked to be asked unnecessary questions. They thought it showed care. 

Kelly said nothing for a long moment, keeping her face tucked against his shoulder. Then her shoulders shifted sharply once and she looked up at Castiel. Her eyes were red but she was grinning. 

“I’m wonderful,” she said. 

They left Lucifer in the sand where he died and headed back into the cabin to await the child’s birth. 

_

When the child finally came into the world, Kelly seized Castiel’s hand again, one last time. 

“Tell him I love him,” she gasped out, “make sure he knows how loved he is.” 

“I will,” Castiel said, holding her hand just as tightly. Part of him quavered; he couldn’t be trusted with this responsibility, he’d told Kelly as much weeks ago. He was broken, defective; he ruined everything he touched and every decision he made. He was poison and Kelly’s faith in him was misplaced. 

Your lack of faith doesn’t cancel what I believe. That’s not how it works , a woman had told him once in a church at the lowest point in his long, long existence. 

You will , Kelly had told him, much more recently, her eyes meeting his in the rearview mirror of the Impala, full of determination and hope. 

That same determination and hope was shining in her face now. And Castiel would not allow himself to fail her. 

“I will,” he said again. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her sweaty forehead. He could feel her smile. 

_

When it was over and Kelly’s soul had departed to Heaven, the child laid peacefully in Castiel’s arms. 

He’d cleaned the child and wrapped him in a warm blanket. A swaddling cloth, he thought and couldn’t help but smile. The child looked up at him with squinted eyes and Castiel placed his finger in the child’s tiny hand. The child closed those tiny fingers around his own and Castiel realized anew the immediacy of love. 

“Hello, Jack,” he said. 

_

Even as Castiel prepared Kelly’s funeral pyre, he knew that they could not stay for long. Lucifer’s death alone was an event on a cosmic scale. Castiel expected there would be unnatural storms for the next few days in the area as Lucifer’s grace dissipated into the universe; already, he could see the beginning of wildflower blooms sprouting from the ground where Lucifer’s vessel still lay. And that was to say nothing of the beacon Jack’s birth had caused, calling all manner of demons and angels to them like moths to a flame. 

Jack could not be kept hidden, kept safe, here. Not anymore. 

But Kelly deserved some kind of rite before they left. Castiel didn’t think he’d be able to look Jack in the eye, knowing that he’d done otherwise. It would cost them precious time, but it was time he would need to make. 

The sun was beginning to crawl toward the horizon by the time the pyre and Kelly’s body were prepared. Castiel let himself pause after laying her shrouded body atop the pyre wood, resting a palm on her chest. There was no soul within her body anymore; the reaper had long come to claim her and Castiel knew she would be in Heaven now, reliving the best moments of her life on an endless loop. Chances were, he would never see her again. 

He let his hand drift, down to where he could feel hers, limp through the curtains he’d used as her burial shroud. 

“I’ll protect him,” he said, softly, “he’ll know you loved him.” 

The wood went up easily and Castiel waited while it burned his friend to ash.

Eventually, the fire burned lower, Kelly’s body consumed. Castiel could feel night approaching and knew it was time to move. He reached out a hand to douse the flames, leaving nothing but ash behind, easily turned over into the sand until there was nothing left. Then he went back to Jack. 

Jack was resting, peaceful in the crib Kelly had selected and assembled. He was soft and sweet and Castiel could feel the power crackling off him with every quiet breath he took. 

The boy mumbled quietly when Castiel reached into the crib. He was careful to place his hands in the exact correct position to give Jack’s little body the support it needed, tucking him into his elbow, supporting his head. Jack seemed to appreciate it, judging by the satisfied burble he made. He made a similar sound as Castiel tucked him carefully into the car seat before settling immediately back into sleep. 

“Birth is difficult work, isn’t it,” Castiel murmured. He hesitated, then reached out, brushing his finger over the downy hair that sprouted haphazardly on Jack’s head. Jack sighed at the touch, sagging further into sleep. 

Castiel picked up the car seat and carried it steadily down the stairs. He’d packed the rest of things Jack would need—diapers, formula, clothes—into a bag, already stowed in the truck. The USB Kelly had pressed onto him was tucked safely away in Castiel’s pockets. 

Castiel closed the door of the cabin for the final time with a sense of regret. Kelly had loved this house; she had spent so long painting that nursery, wanting it to be just right for her son. It was a monument of her love, dedicated to the son she would never meet. It felt wrong to leave it behind. 

He glanced down at Jack, curled up asleep in the car seat Castiel had bundled him into. He was the important thing here. They would come back here, he decided, the two of them together, when Jack was older and wanted to know more about his mother. They’d come back here, look at the mural, walk the shoreline, and make a marker for Kelly’s grave. Maybe Jack could help the flowers grow around it. 

He strapped Jack’s car seat into the truck, cursing his lack of foresight to find a vehicle with a backseat. For all the power Castiel knew Jack held, he seemed so fragile, vulnerable. He was such a little thing and he’d already lost so much; Castiel couldn’t bear to have anything else happen to him. 

Jack stirred when Castiel folded the collar of his tiny onesie to the side. “This will only take a moment,” Castiel murmured, brushing his fingertips over Jack’s downy hair. Jack stared at him in silence and didn’t move at all while Castiel gently drew anti-tracking sigils in Sharpie on his chest. It was a non-permanent solution to the problem, but at least it was something. Anything else more permanent would cause pain, pain Castiel could not bring himself to inflict, no matter how necessary. 

Castiel capped the pen and straightened Jack’s clothes. Jack continued to stare up at him, his eyes shining in the sunlight and Castiel found himself again overwhelmed. This little boy, who held all the power of an archangel and more, was at this moment, entirely dependent on him. It was both unnerving and awe-inspiring. 

“I won’t fail you,” Castiel said softly, brushing his fingers over Jack’s soft cheek. Jack blinked at him serenely before shutting his eyes with a sleepy sigh. Castiel lingered for a long moment, gently stroking Jack’s face as the boy drifted back to sleep. 

The house was fairly remote, far from any large cities; the nearest town was about a forty-five minute drive, and their nearest neighbours half that. Castiel assumed Meg had chosen it for that reason. He started the truck down the dirt track that led to the cabin, planning the route in his mind. They would head south, he thought, then east, making some good distance on the highway before he’d detour onto some smaller, less travelled roads. He wanted to cross at least two state lines before he even thought about stopping. Maybe it would even be a good idea to cross the border north into Canada; it certainly wouldn’t stop anyone from tracking him, but it might be an unexpected move that would temporarily puzzle any pursuers. At this point, any effort was worthwhile, as long as it got them a little distance. 

But Castiel’s plans were dashed before he’d even reached the main road. He came around a corner, view impeded by the thick trees pressing close on either side, and had to brake abruptly to avoid the car blocking the road.

For a split second, he thought it might be some kind of accident. But one look at the three people surrounding the car, and the glinting blades in their hands, put paid to that idea. 

Castiel stared at them, hands tightening involuntarily on the wheel. The angels didn’t move, staring back silently. 

Castiel hesitated, then reached over to brush his fingers over Jack’s forehead. “I’ll be right back,” he said, trying to smile reassuringly. Jack gurgled quietly and curled up tighter in his carseat.  

Castiel exited the truck, closing the door firmly behind him. 

“Let us pass,” he said. 

The lead angel, someone he didn’t recognize, snorted. “No,” she said. 

Castiel shifted, letting his blade slip into his palm. “I wasn’t asking.” 

The angels said nothing but slowly started to fan out and approach the truck. They had him at a disadvantage and they knew it—he was just one angel, flightless, no longer able to be in two places at once. And he was on the wrong side of the truck to get between Jack and the angels, one of whom was approaching the passenger side door. 

Castiel considered, then flipped his blade around in his hand. It would put him at a further disadvantage, yes, but he’d succeeded before under worse odds. 

Lightning quick, Castiel drew back his arm and threw his blade with unerring accuracy. It buried itself in the chest of the angel approaching the truck, who screamed and died in a burst of grace. 

The next second, the angels’ leader was upon him. He dodged her blow, grabbing the striking arm and hitting the elbow. If this was a human attacker, that would have been enough to make them drop their blade and possibly immobilize that arm entirely. The angel only snarled and tried to twist out of Castiel’s grip. 

Now the other remaining angel was next to them, stabbing forward while Castiel still struggled with the leader, clearly hoping to catch him off-guard. At the last second, Castiel pivoted, using all his strength to pull the leader around with him. The striking blade hit her with a glancing blow and that, finally, was enough to make her drop her own blade with a cry. 

Castiel caught the blade as it fell to the ground, reversed his grip, and struck back up, all in one movement. But the leader was too quick; she was already jerking backward and out of range, and the other angel closed in again. 

They traded blows, blades meeting with harsh clangs. Castiel knew the angel attacking him was trying to keep him busy long enough for the leader to reach the truck and take Jack. It forced Castiel on the offensive more than he would have liked, striking quick and hard to break past the angel’s defenses and harry the leader. It was a reckless strategy, and one that was difficult to keep up. 

In the end, Castiel wasn’t too surprised when the angel managed to catch him in the shoulder. The blade dug deep into his grace, agony spiralling through him. Castiel retreated with a snarl and missed the leader closing back in. She seized him, hurling him through the air. 

Castiel was thrown back toward the truck, slamming into the windshield with a harsh crack. He could feel the glass shattering behind him, could hear Jack start to wail. Urgency sparked inside him. It was time for a better plan. 

Castiel let himself slump to the ground, curling around his front as if more injured than he really was. Out of sight, he dug his fingers into his wound, stifling the grunt of pain that wanted to escape. 

“Give up now, Castiel,” the leader was saying. “There’s no need for you to die unless you get in our way.” She stopped beside him, using her foot to push him over on the ground. Castiel relished how her eyes widened as she saw the banishing sigil, drawn in his own blood. 

“Bite me,” he said and activated the sigil. 

The angels disappeared shrieking in a blast of light. Any triumph Castiel felt immediately disappeared as he heard Jack scream inside the truck. He stumbled to his feet, ripping open the door just in time to see veins of gold fade away under Jack’s skin. 

Castiel cursed himself for all kinds of a fool. There had been so few nephilim over the years it was difficult to know how they would be affected by Enochian magic. Castiel had known the sigil wouldn’t banish the boy, had been counting on it, but he hadn’t anticipated it would hurt him either. 

Jack continued to wail, his hands curled in tiny fists and his face red with crying. Guilt and shame bit at Castiel and he quickly extricated Jack from the car seat. He slumped to the ground next to the truck, tucking Jack close, ignoring the way his wound throbbed with his every move. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jack,” he whispered breathlessly, over and over. Jack continued to cry; Castiel reached out with his grace, but couldn’t find any lingering damage to heal. Jack was simply frightened, as any child would be in his situation. 

Shame welled up again and he held Jack closer. His eyes drifted, coming to the body of the angel he had killed, his blade still protruding from their vessel’s chest. How many of his brethren had he killed now? The thought pierced him, as it always did, and he gave into the urge to hide his face against Jack’s hair. 

These were the bloody hands Kelly had entrusted her child to. This slaughterer of legions. 

Minutes passed as he sat there on the ground, comforting Jack with his killer’s hands and trembling under the weight of his guilt. Eventually, Jack calmed, his cries tapering off into shaky breaths. 

Castiel raised his head to look into Jack’s eyes, still teary but clearing. He wiped the tears off Jack’s face, using the sleeve of his coat to blot them gently away.  

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said again and heaved himself off the ground. The movement put too much pressure on his wounded shoulder, sending a fresh wave of pain through him. Castiel winced through it as he buckled Jack back in his car seat. 

When Jack was secure, Castiel limped back to the driver’s side, gingerly heaving himself into the seat. His fingers fumbled reaching for the keys and he had to pause to take a breath before finally managing to turn the ignition. 

Nothing happened. Castiel sighed and tried again. Again, nothing. He exited the truck, opening the hood with a pained grunt. It was a thoroughly human habit he was indulging; he knew nothing about engines, what they looked like when they were in good repair or how to fix them. It felt similar to how he felt when he was human in the flesh, staring at a cooler full of ready made food at the Gas-N-Sip, driven by the consuming need to eat but apathetic toward the choices before him. 

He indulged himself by staring at the truck’s engine for a long moment before shutting the hood with a bang. He could just barely see Jack through the shattered windshield, watching him closely. 

They needed to leave, as soon as possible. They could not remain here, to be found by other angels, or demons, or even humans, who would take one look at this scene and come to some very damning conclusions. 

It only took a few minutes to check the other car that the angels had arrived in. Of course, the keys were missing. A quick pat down of the dead angels’ pockets revealed nothing. 

Castiel allowed himself to indulge in defeat for just one moment. There was something about the intentions of a celestial being, a warrior of the Lord who had been making war for millenia, being frustrated by a lack of car keys that some would find very funny. He was sure Dean at least would have been able to see the humour in the situation. 

Of course, if Dean was here, he could probably fix whatever was wrong with Castiel’s truck. Or hotwire the other car. All while ribbing Castiel for not bothering to learn how to do it himself. Or maybe he’d insist on showing Castiel how, walking him through the steps with that endearingly fond expression he always got when he showed Castiel something new and human. 

For a moment, the tempting thought to wait grew within Castiel. The Winchesters were skilled hunters; there was simply no way they hadn’t picked up on the omens surrounding Jack’s birth. It was only a matter of time until they showed up. Castiel would need to evade any angels and demons in the meantime, but it would be possible. And then they could go home, he and Jack. 

But as soon as the thought bloomed, it died. Castiel had left them at Heaven’s gate, betrayed them, again. He could not expect he’d be welcomed back with open arms. He could not expect the bunker would be open to him at all, not after another transgression in a long line of transgressions. 

And even if he was welcome, Jack would not be, not as he was. They wouldn’t want to hurt the boy, Castiel knew that. None of the Winchesters had the kind of malice in them to wish harm upon a child. But they wouldn’t understand Jack, wouldn’t understand that he had to remain as he was, with all his powers intact. They would want to extract his grace and they would think they were doing him a favour. 

Theoretically, the process would leave Jack simply human, free to grow and live his life as such. But there were so few nephilim; Castiel couldn’t say what the process would truly do to Jack, how his body and his soul would react to the loss of his grace. Maybe his grace would simply replenish itself but the loss might also do catastrophic damage to the boy. 

The part of Castiel that still flinched away from the mention of Metatron’s name, that remembered viscerally the helplessness and violation he’d felt when Metatron had cut out his grace, rebelled at just the thought of Jack losing his own. The Winchesters would be kind, he protested to himself. The extraction would not be violent, as it had been for him. But it would be a violation all the same. And if that was the price for him to return to the bunker, it was too high, no matter how much he wanted it. 

Castiel sighed, and pulled his blade from his brother’s chest, tucking it away. Then he heaved himself back to his feet and limped back to the truck. 

Jack was lying quietly in his car seat, his eyes still a little teary. Castiel crouched next to the truck, gently thumbing away the tears that had spilled. Jack sighed softly and leaned into the touch. The gesture made Castiel’s heart twist. 

“It’ll be alright, Jack,” he said. “I’ll find you somewhere safe.” 

They would need to walk out of here. And the sooner they set out, the better. 

_

Castiel pulled the dead angel into the abandoned car, pushing both car and truck off into the foliage on the side of the road. No reason to advertise their presence.

The car seat came out of the truck easily enough, Jack cradled safely inside. Castiel slung the little baby bag over his shoulder, wincing as the weight pulled on his injury. He could feel his torn grace knitting together slowly but it was a deep wound. It would take a while to fully heal at which point he'd finally be able to heal his vessel. Until then, he would just have to ignore the disconcerting feeling of blood running slowly down his arm. Knowing he wouldn't just drain away and die from injuries like this had been harder to understand since his time as a human. 

With a last glance at the tree obscured vehicles, Castiel set off into the forest. 

It was quiet in the woods, but not unnaturally so. Castiel’s feet cracked quietly over the twigs littering the forest floor and he could hear the soft sounds of night fall around them. As they passed an owl hooting, Jack tried to imitate the noise as best he could.  

“That was lovely,” Castiel said and Jack giggled. Castiel glanced down at him; his eyes were flitting around constantly, jumping from one thing to the next. He looked fascinated and Castiel turned his gaze to study what he saw: the trees, the leaves on the ground, the flashes of night sky through the foliage. It was dark now, dark enough a human would have trouble seeing without the light of a flashlight or the moon, but that didn’t pose a problem for angels. Or nephilim, it seemed. 

“It really is something to behold, isn’t it?” Castiel mused. Jack gurgled in agreement. 

Walking through the night would get them a little distance from the lake house, enough that any pursuers wouldn't immediately be able to locate them. It wasn't enough for a long term strategy—he'd need to find another vehicle as soon as he could. The closest town, Dexter by the Sea, was quite small; a stolen car would be noticed quickly. The next nearest, Tokeland, wasn't much better. He’d have to make it all the way to Raymond before he had a hope of finding a vehicle and even then, it would be a risk in a town so small. But if he could head north to Olympia or south to Portland from there, he'd have a chance to exchange vehicles. If he was very lucky, the theft would go unnoticed, just another statistic lost among the shuffle. Then they could get some real distance and disappear. 

Castiel was so lost in thoughts, in the regular movements of his body, that it took a moment for Jack’s increased noises to register. The boy was whining quietly to himself in the car seat. He glanced down at him; Jack was glancing around still but his expression looked more fearful now, less interested. 

Castiel glanced warily around them, on guard in case Jack had sensed something he had not. But there didn’t appear to be anything there that shouldn’t be; no demons, no angels, no other supernatural creatures. Just the usual life of a forest at night—animals hunting for food, insects chirping. Nothing unexpected but brand new to Jack all the same. Castiel remembered that humans often had a natural fear of the dark; he wondered if Jack had inherited it. 

"It's alright, Jack," Castiel said, "I know it's your first night in this world, but I promise it won't last forever."

Jack didn't seem very reassured, his fearful sounds continuing. But he reacted to Castiel's voice, his eyes flicking up to him before looking around at the forest again. It was enough to prompt Castiel to continue. 

"I remember the first time I'd ever seen a forest like this," Castiel said. As he’d hoped, Jack looked directly at him, suddenly focused. 

"It was a long time ago,” Castiel continued, “before homo sapiens had become the predominant human species. Your ancestors were walking the earth, but they looked very different from you." 

The longer Castiel talked, the more the fear receded from Jack's eyes. So he continued, talking about the insects and beasts he'd watched in those ancient forests. He talked about the forests he'd visited in Siberia, the Amazon, and the bamboo shoots in China. He talked and talked and Jack calmed at the sound of his voice. It was humbling, to have something so small bring so much comfort. 

"But I think the most beautiful forest I've ever seen was in the heaven of a little girl who died of polio in 1924. The trees had looked so large in her memory, they seemed like massive pillars reaching for the sky and holding it up like the roof of a coliseum." 

Castiel had spent much time in that heaven, wandering that forest. The only other time he’d felt that kind of awe had been in purgatory, wandering alone through the woods, dodging Leviathan when he could. He’d wanted to hide there, so completely he’d never be found again. He’d stop every now and then, just to lay down on the ground, out of some hope that if he stayed still long enough the discarded leaves would cover him and he would become one with the landscape. Just another piece of detritus, unimportant, forgotten, and rotting away. 

But, of course, angels did not rot. And the Leviathan were always tracking him, drawn by his divinity, which remained incorrupt no matter how tainted he felt. Constant movement had been necessary, if only to stay one step ahead of Dean, his desperate prayers dogging Castiel’s footsteps no matter how far he fled. 

As if conjured by the thought, Castiel’s mind started to buzz with prayer. Desperation poured in like a tide, longing a subtle but powerful undertow. Please, Cas , Dean said into his mind, please be there . 

The prayer ended just as swiftly as it had begun; Dean might not have even realized he had been praying. The trees filtered back in before Castiel’s eyes and if Jack hadn’t been making quiet noises in his car seat, he wasn’t certain he would have remembered where or when he was in that moment. 

The Winchesters were on their way, then. They must have noticed the omens caused by Jack’s birth or Lucifer’s death and narrowed it down to a specific area. It was only a matter of time before they located the abandoned vehicles, the cabin, the remains of Kelly’s funeral pyre. Lucifer. Castiel and Jack needed to be gone by then.

But Castiel hesitated, wrestling with himself again. Lucifer was dead, the threat he posed gone from the world forever. Would it be such a terrible thing, to go back to the cabin and wait there for the rumble of the Impala coming down the road? 

The thought of the incident on the road, the mess he’d left behind him, was enough to stop that thought. Jack was hunted now, and would be for all his life. Angels, demons, witches, any entity that wanted to use Jack’s power for themselves, they would never stop searching for him. Beyond looking to Jack’s own safety, Cas had no right to bring that danger to the Winchesters’ door. Better they went their separate ways, no matter how much it hurt. They would all be safer, then. 

Jack was making inquiring noises in the car seat, his fear dissipated. 

“Time to go,” Castiel said, and continued walking, trying to shake off the lingering sense of Dean’s desperation. 

It wasn’t the first time he’d received a prayer from Dean since leaving the Winchesters at Heaven’s gate. Most of them couldn’t even be classified as prayers, not even in the lackadaisical way Dean always prayed. Some didn’t even have words, more a sense of swirling emotions—fear, anger, hopelessness. But they came, nonetheless, flaring in Castiel’s mind one moment and gone the next. 

The longest prayer had come just after Castiel and Kelly had run, presumably when Dean and Sam had awoken from their forced slumber. Castiel had had to pull over and let Kelly drive as Dean alternated between raging and pleading. Since then, the prayers had shortened, changed in tone, and come at different times of day. The only thing Castiel could predict about them was that they would come. 

“Y’know, in these circumstances, I'd usually go to them,” Castiel told Jack, wryly, “I’ve done it before.” Like after losing the angel tablet or becoming human after Metatron stole his grace. Even after swallowing those souls and playing his version of god. Always coming to the Winchesters soaked in blood and guilt after making another in a long line of mistakes. Like a wounded animal that should have been put out of its misery a long time ago. 

“But not this time,” he said, smiling down at Jack in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “It’s just us now.” And if the words were meant to comfort Jack, they did not comfort Castiel. 

They walked silently for a time. Jack returned to looking around them curiously, newly enthralled by the sights and sounds around them. The trees opened up before them, the light of the moon shining down on a small clearing. Castiel saw deer on the far side, grazing contentedly, so far undisturbed by their arrival. Slowly, he put down the car seat and unbuckled Jack, lifting him in his arms. Jack seemed confused, although content enough to be held. 

Castiel shuffled him slightly, turning and pointing. “Look, Jack.” 

Jack followed his pointing finger with curious eyes. He was too young for his expression to reveal much but Castiel could feel his surprised pleasure at seeing the deer, his wonder at their graceful necks, their strong legs, their dark eyes. 

They stood and watched the deer until the deer moved on into the night. They didn’t truly have the time to pause like this, Castiel knew. They should be pressing on. But feeling Jack’s warm weight in his arms, feeling his peaceful contentment, it was difficult to remember the urgency of their situation. 

They could make up the time later, he justified it to himself. For now, let Jack enjoy himself. 

-

They walked a few more hours before Jack started making distressed noises. Castiel placed the car seat gently on the ground, touching Jack’s forehead. Jack pushed his feelings toward him through the touch—a rumbling in his belly, discomfort, weariness, a touch of irritability. Castiel remembered the feeling well from his brief time as a human: the boy was hungry. 

Castiel unslung the bag from his shoulder, wincing as he did so. The wound to his grace was healing, but slowly. It would be days before he felt truly healed, a process that would be dragged out by having to constantly be on the move. 

All the same, it didn’t take long to prepare the bottle of formula, heating it to the perfect temperature with a small burst of his grace. Then he gathered Jack in his arms and set about feeding him. 

It wasn’t as complex a procedure as Castiel had feared, bent over his laptop at night while Kelly slept, endlessly scrolling through new parent blogs and Youtube videos. Jack was biddable, willing to go along with it as Castiel carefully arranged him in a semi-upright position, making sure to support his head. Jack took to the bottle instantly, his emotions shifting from anticipation to a sated pleasure. Castiel eyed the volume of the bottle and gently disengaged Jack from it every 2 to 3 ounces consumed to gently burp Jack against his shoulder. Jack obediently spit up on the towel Castiel had conveniently placed on his shoulder for just that purpose. 

“You did well,” Castiel said when Jack was finished, putting away the bottle and the newly cleaned towel. Jack cooed softly from where he still laid against Castiel’s shoulder; he was struggling not to fall asleep but his full belly was pushing him ever closer despite himself. It was incredibly endearing. 

Castiel considered their supplies. He had enough formula and water to last a few more days, based on how much human newborns usually consumed. But Jack had other needs—a safe place to sleep, a clean place to change and bathe him. They couldn’t stay out here for much longer. 

“Time to walk some more,” he said to Jack. Jack’s brow crinkled and he made a displeased sound. 

“I know,” Castiel sympathized, “walking truly is interminable. I’m not sure how humanity does it all the time.” 

Jack made another disgruntled noise, his entire being exuding sleepy displeasure. Castiel hesitated, then carefully shifted Jack in his arms, folding his arms around him to bring him closer. Immediately, he felt Jack’s displeasure melt away, replaced by a feeling of comfort and relief. 

He’d read, of course, that babies needed to be held. It helped them to connect emotionally and physically with their parents and form important social bonds. But it was one thing to read it and another to feel a living being take comfort at his touch. It was an intoxicating feeling, one that came from doing an uncomplicated good.

He had so rarely used his borrowed hands for tenderness. He remembered moments of frozen helplessness, watching his siblings suffer in battle, watching Dean suffer from nightmares of Hell, unable to understand the feeling welling up inside of him. But he understood now. He had daydreamed about it sometimes, being tender. Putting a hand on Claire’s shoulder while she laughingly explained what the image she was showing him on Twitter meant. Patting Sam on the back after a few long hours of research together, using the gesture to heal the crick in his neck that always seemed to pain Sam these days. 

Mostly though, he dreamed of Dean. Taking Dean’s hand when he was driving, or coming up behind him while he was cooking in the kitchen and putting his arms around Dean’s waist, like he’d seen on TV. They were useless thoughts, only petty daydreams that he would let his mind mull over on long drives. They were certainly nothing that would ever happen in reality, nothing based in hope. But they were comforting to Castiel all the same, and he couldn't ever quite leave them behind. 

Now, in his arms, Jack was starting to drift to sleep. Castiel let himself hold the boy for another indulgent moment before he leaned down to put him back in the car seat. As soon as Castiel moved to place him inside, Jack stirred awake with a whine. Castiel brought him close to his chest again and Jack immediately calmed, a simple joy pouring off him. It humbled Castiel, feeling that joy. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said, “but I can’t carry both you and the car seat, not safely. I can hold you later.” He cuddled Jack a bit closer, stroking his fingers over his head before placing one in Jack’s tiny palm. Jack grasped his finger, looking up at him narrowly. Castiel squinted back at him, trying to understand the feelings he could sense from Jack—some swirling mix of consideration, happiness, and something he hesitated to attempt to label. Before he could fully grasp them, the emotions were subsumed by a flare of grace. 

It had the same burning power he’d felt when Jack had flooded into him at Heaven’s gate, the grace that had burned Dagon alive with barely an effort. It was a tidal wave and Castiel drowned in it, the power sweeping through him unrelentingly. 

The torrent faded as quickly as it had come on, leaving Castiel gasping on the forest floor, Jack tightly clutched in his arms. He looked down at Jack, suddenly afraid he’d hurt the boy, holding him too close in that massive surge of grace. Jack blinked back at him peacefully, a golden glow fading from his eyes. 

Relieved, Castiel started to stand and stopped. Something was different. The wound aching through his shoulder and down into his grace had been healed, that was immediately apparent, but...this was something else. 

He hesitated, straightened, and spread his wings. They unfurled around him, stretching across the dimensions. 

Castiel could do nothing but stare; they were fully formed again, not the scarred scraps left behind by Metatron’s spell. As beautiful as they had been before he went to Hell to retrieve Dean. 

Castiel stood there for a long time, adjusting to the feel of them. Eventually, Jack made a small, inquiring noise. Castiel glanced down at him again, his gaze blurring slightly from the tears lining his eyes. 

Jack looked back at him, clearly satisfied. “You’re right,” Castiel said roughly around the lump in his throat. “I can hold you now.” 

And he spread his wings and flew for the first time in years, leaving the car seat behind in the forest. 

_

With his wings, the options to evade pursuit were near limitless. He could fly anywhere in the world, no longer constrained to the United States by such human things as borders and passports. He now had easier access to things Jack needed; an empty hotel room in Mexico City provided a safe place for Jack to bathe and sleep, miles away from where pursuers would expect him to be. 

It made the game of evasion much simpler, giving them an opportunity to settle somewhere they wouldn’t be found. It also gave him access to tactics he wouldn’t have been able to use before. So, after Jack awoke, he set about laying an intricate trail for their pursuers. 

First, he flew to the soaring sequoia trees of the Sierra Nevada. Then to Yunnan province in China, where he spent some time walking through the bamboo shoots. Next, he travelled to the Amazon, settling next to the massive river and watching the leaves sway in the wind, the birds and insects flying by. 

Jack was enthralled by every new sight, alternately staring, giggling, or making little shrieks of delight. Castiel kept a tight hold on him every time he spread his wings. 

“I told you they were magnificent,” he said as they lingered beneath the larch boughs of the Siberia taiga. Jack exclaimed in agreement. 

Of course, they couldn’t go to only remote places; the whole point of laying a false trail was to be noticed. Castiel flew them to Paris and spent an afternoon walking along the Seine. He flew to Bangkok to wander the grounds of the Grand Palace. He lingered by the reclining Buddha at Wat Pho holding Jack up so he could admire the shiny stones laid into the soles of the Buddha’s feet. He flew to the Grand Canyon, standing with the other tourists at Mather Point. 

“My sister made this, a very long time ago,” he said to Jack, quietly enough to not be overheard from the tourists around them. “Hael.” The name hurt to say, as all the names of his deceased siblings did, a pain that could never be alleviated because it would mean forgetting the damage he’d wrought. 

Jack stirred in his arms, something disturbing him. Castiel shifted to hold him more securely but Jack was still restless, twisting in his arms and starting to whine.  

“Shhh,” Castiel whispered, bringing him up to his shoulder. Jack relaxed against him, tucking his face into Castiel’s neck. The sense of urgency that had been building in Jack dissipated, replaced by a slow moving contentment. Maybe Jack had simply wanted to be held closer, overwhelmed by the majesty of the canyon; the theory didn’t quite make sense, but Castiel wasn’t going to question it now Jack seemed to be feeling better. 

“It’s alright,” Castiel whispered. Jack sighed softly. 

_

Dean’s prayer came shortly after Castiel landed in Reykjavik. 

He was sitting on a bench on the Sculpture and Shore Walk, overlooking the Sun Voyager and watching the other pedestrians go by. He’d just paid a visit to a baby supply store in Moscow, popping in and grabbing a baby carrier before popping back out. He’d then flown into a one-stall washroom in a gas station somewhere in southern Texas to put it on. 

“This will make things much easier,” Castiel had said to Jack as he adjusted the straps on his shoulders. He could tell Jack wasn’t quite pleased with the arrangement; he seemed to prefer being completely ensconced in Castiel’s arms at all times. He appeared to be under the impression that holding him was the only reason Castiel had arms in the first place. 

“Sometimes, I need to have my hands free,” Castiel explained, settling Jack in the sling. “To protect you. But with this, you’re still close to me.” He bounced a little on the balls of his feet, prompting high-pitched giggles. “See?” 

The shoreline was lovely here; the walkway looked out over the water and the air was a bit chilly even in the Icelandic summer sunshine. Jack was avidly watching a bird picking at the grass nearby, entirely fascinated. It was peaceful. 

Dean blared to life in his mind without warning. 

Cas, I don’t know if you can hear me. We’re at the cabin in Washington. We found Kelly and Lucifer — I can’t believe you managed to ice the bastard. But the kid’s not here. And you’re not here. Obviously. 

Dean sighed deeply, and Castiel could feel the longing building, stretching between them like a taut line. 

Just tell me where you are, man. Send me a text, find a payphone, something. I just gotta know you’re okay. Wherever you are, we’ll come and get you, it doesn’t matter where. 

There was silence for a long moment but the connection remained. Castiel wondered if Dean was waiting, waiting with bated breath, for Castiel to place the call as he had asked. Castiel remembered that hope; he’d stared at his phone so often when they’d lost Dean to the demonic influence of the Mark, willing it to ring with all he had. He’d never truly expected Dean to reach out, but it had been crushing nonetheless each day he hadn’t. 

Castiel wondered if it was as crushing for Dean now, every second that passed with his phone silent. He hoped not. 

Finally, Dean continued, his voice harder, almost angry. I know you’re with the kid. Gone on the run with him or something. But, Cas, you-you gotta know. You gotta know he’s controlling you. You gotta break out of it. Just break out of it and we’ll deal with it. Please. 

The prayer ended, the hum in Castiel’s mind fading away. Jack was making curious noises against his chest, as if he’d sensed the prayer, as impossible as that was. 

“Yes, that was Dean,” Castiel said. He stroked his hand over the warm hat he’d placed on Jack’s head. “That was Dean.” 

They lingered on that bench for a while, until Castiel could gather himself together enough to take wing. Dean didn’t pray again. 

_

They were left in relative peace for the next several destinations; Jack managed to sleep in a few more empty hotel rooms and once an empty apartment in Egypt. It wasn’t until Kiev that they ran into trouble. 

Castiel spotted the demons not long after he landed, their true faces hideous behind their innocuous human vessels. Castiel pretended not to notice them, continuing blithely down the street and turning into an alleyway seemingly without a care in the world. The demons took the bait, following him to a dead end. 

It was child’s play to disappear, flying quicker than an eyeblink to appear behind them. The demons startled, tried to fight, but they were no match for his speed. 

All the same, it was upsetting for Jack. Castiel fled as soon as he finished with the demons, tucking his bloodied blade away before Jack had to see it. Too much of this boy’s incredibly short life had been marred by violence; Castiel would shield him from it, if he could. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Jack when they landed in the cornfields near the Parana River in Argentina. “I’ll find you somewhere safe.” 

_

Two stops later, they ran into another pair of demons. Again, Castiel killed them with ease and was left standing over two dead bodies in a remote corner of Manila, confused and angry. He knew Crowley had been desperate to stop Lucifer, to find Jack before he was born. But he must have known by now that Lucifer was dead; even lower demons would have felt that and Crowley was never one to allow important events pass beneath his notice. This intensity to the hunt didn’t make sense. 

It was a hurdle in the path before him but not an insurmountable one. He would just have to keep running. 

Castiel was walking down a busy street in downtown Kyoto when a presence suddenly materialized beside him. Without thought, he seized him, tugging them through the dimensions and slamming him against the wall of the alley they materialized in, his blade at Crowley’s throat. 

“Whoa, whoa, angel, there’s no need for this!” Crowley protested loudly, his hands up in surrender. 

Castiel shook him, hard. The wall cracked behind Crowley’s back. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you.” 

“Relax, Cas,” Crowley said, lowering his hands a little. “I’m not here to hurt the tyke. I just wanted to see it for myself.” 

Castiel hesitated, then backed up a step, lowering his blade from Crowley’s neck to hover warily in front of him. Crowley made a show of straightening his coat, dramatically dusting off his shoulders. Finally, his gaze settled on Jack, currently sleeping in the sling. 

“So,” he said, looking Jack over consideringly. Jack, for his part, slept on. Castiel had been worried about the unrelenting pace at first, concerned Jack would find it too tiring and they would need to take the risk of stopping more often. But Jack slept easily enough when he was tired, napping in the sling without concern. Castiel was beginning to think he found the sensation of flying soothing. 

“That’s Lucifer’s son,” Crowley said. There was an undercurrent of wonder in his voice. 

“Yes.” There was no point in lying. Crowley had always had a knack for seeing through Castiel’s lies anyway. 

“Doesn’t seem like much,” Crowley said, watching Jack with an appraising eye. Castiel tucked an arm around Jack, twisting his body so Crowley couldn’t see him head on and bringing his blade to bear. Crowley didn’t even bother to pretend to feel frightened, rolling his eyes with a loud sigh. 

“Honestly, I'm not threatening the lad,” he said, “he’s just not what comes to mind when one thinks of Lucifer Junior.”

Castiel had indulged Crowley long enough. They didn’t have time for this. “How did you find me?” 

“Good luck,” Crowley said, tucking his hands casually in his coat pockets. “I happened to have a spy nearby who let me know when they spotted a trench coat wearing a baby bjorn. We’ve all been on high alert, trying to find you.” He smiled. “Courtesy of the Winchesters.”

“They’re still looking,” Castiel said, tonelessly. It had been days since Dean’s last prayer, longer since they had found the cabin. Castiel knew they hadn’t given up searching for him; neither Sam nor Dean were known for their lack of persistence. And Dean’s prayers hadn’t changed. They came at the oddest moments, unpredictably. Sometimes they were just a few words long, sometimes just some curses strung together with desperation. Sometimes they went on for minutes at a time, quiet words interspersed with long silences. When those prayers came, Castiel always had to find someplace quiet to stand, closing his eyes to listen and resisting every part of him demanding he fly to Dean that instant. 

The last prayer he’d received had been short. 

Cas. I don’t know if you can hear me. I hope you can, though. I hope you can. 

“Oh yes,” Crowley said, his face twisting into that familiar smug look, as if he perpetually knew something you didn’t. It was one of his more annoying expressions. “And quite desperately too. You should have heard the things poor Squirrel was saying.”

Castiel didn’t know if Crowley’s words were meant to wound, but they did. He could well imagine the types of things Dean was saying. Something angry, no doubt, lashing out at Castiel in his absence, lashing out at Crowley when he saw him. Demands for Crowley’s assistance, maybe even a vow to track Castiel down himself if Crowley played recalcitrant. 

But Dean was softer in his prayers, as he so often was. Castiel knew Dean felt very deeply, often so deeply he had problems processing his own emotions. Back when his grace had been pure, free of the scars he’d accrued through the last years, he’d been able to see those emotions surge in Dean’s mind, see the way his thoughts would circle obsessively around the core pillars of his being. A need to protect not only Sam, but the rest of his family as well, and humanity as a whole. A deep-seated understanding of his lack of worth, twinned by a pounding love that only ever pointed outward. 

It had staggered Castiel—who had barely known what emotion was—that one person could feel so deeply and so much, all at once. 

But prayer seemed a place that Dean allowed those parts of himself that he so often buried to show. The soft parts, the vulnerable core of him. Dean had said things to him in prayers that he never would have been able to say to Castiel’s face. 

It was what he remembered the most from Purgatory, those prayers. They had followed him, no matter how far from Dean he had fled, alternately cajoling, threatening, and pleading. Each one had only made Castiel want to return to Dean more and each one had ensured he would not, because how could he atone if he was at Dean’s side, forgiven? How could he justify doing something so selfish when it would put Dean in so much danger? 

It hadn’t been fair to Dean, Castiel knew that. It had hurt Dean, when he discovered Castiel had stayed away from him on purpose, a hurt Castiel had watched him swallow and bury that day at the river. Castiel wondered if he would be able to bury the hurt in the same way now or if the Mark had stolen his ability to do that, even years gone.

He wasn’t unaware of the similarities between his actions now and in Purgatory. This wasn’t the first time he had run from Dean, nor the second. Sometimes, it felt he was always running from Dean, pulled away by his obligations, his fear, his guilt, his shame. And it always seemed to turn out to be a mistake, like everything else Castiel did. 

Was he making another mistake again, running now? He looked at Jack; he’d woken up a bit during Castiel’s conversation with Crowley and was now looking sleepily up at him. There was no trace of distrust or misgiving in the boy, only a boundless faith. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that, not even the Winchesters.  

No, he had to keep going, laying low until he could find somewhere safe for him and Jack to land. No one could be allowed to take Jack and the Winchesters could not be allowed to remove his grace. They would only all be safe if Castiel stayed away. 

The Winchesters would be fine. They had never truly needed Castiel, not in the same way that they needed each other, or needed Mary, or Jody, or Bobby; their real family. Castiel could be useful, he knew that. But there were no more crises on the horizon now, the domino effect of their actions and mistakes in the last few years terminated by Lucifer’s death. 

No one needed Castiel now, except for Jack. 

Castiel had always been more trouble than he was worth, he knew that. He’d failed too many times for it to be otherwise. But maybe he could do right by this boy. Caring for Jack would never be a mistake, no matter how much Dean and Sam might resent him for it. 

“Will you tell them you saw me?” Castiel asked. 

Crowley looked at him silently for a long moment; Castiel was reminded uncomfortably that this demon had saved his life not that long ago. 

“No,” Crowley finally said. 

Castiel watched him warily. “Really?” 

“Tell me one thing, Cas,” Crowley said, taking a step toward him. “How much do you want this tiny tot involved in Hell’s affairs?”

“Not at all,” Castiel said. It wasn’t a lie—the future Jack had shown him may have included reference to permanent closure of Hell, but that didn’t mean that Castiel actually wanted the boy anywhere near a demon, no matter the destiny he’d chosen for himself. 

Crowley smiled. “That’s what I thought.” He stepped away from the wall of the alley, theatrically rubbing his hands together. “Then, I wash my hands of this whole ridiculous thing.”

“So you’ll stop sending your demons after us?” Castiel asked. “I don’t appreciate being hunted.” 

Crowley’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “So you noticed them, then? I’ll have to give them a talking-to about the meaning of the words ‘stay hidden’.” 

Castiel frowned, confused. “What are you talking about?” 

Crowley’s expression soured into a matching frown. “What are you talking about?” 

Castiel rolled his eyes, immediately frustrated in that way that only Crowley seemed to bring out in him. “I’m talking about the demons who’ve attacked us in Kiev and Manila. I’m not sure what you thought you told them, but they certainly weren’t staying hidden when they were trying to kill me.” 

Crowley’s expression didn’t change, his frown unmoving. 

“You didn’t know,” Castiel said, suddenly sure. He tucked his blade away. 

“No,” Crowley said. 

Those demons, as weak as they had been, had been well prepared. They’d had angel blades, they’d known how to fight. If Castiel had not been restored to his full power, they might have posed a real danger to him. If Crowley hadn’t sent them—

 “I think you have a challenger for your throne,” Castiel said, slowly. 

“Shit,” Crowley muttered. Then his frown disappeared, folding into his familiar smirk, a bit more pained than usual. “Well, I had best go then. People to kill, you know how it is.” 

“Crowley,” Castiel said. Crowley paused, looking at him with an expectant expression. Castiel looked away and forced himself to continue. “Thank you.” 

“Please, don’t,” Crowley said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll embarrass both of us.” His eyes lingered on Jack for a moment. “I hope you enjoy fatherhood. I hear it’s rewarding.” 

Castiel stared at him before his gaze fell to Jack. He had never thought about applying that label to himself. Being a father always seemed like something purely human, something that would never apply to him. He’d had no role in Jack’s creation, not like a father would. But genetics wasn’t the be all and end all of family or of fatherhood. Fathers were meant to care for their children, to love them, want what was best for them and give them what they needed to achieve it. Wasn’t that what Castiel wanted to be for Jack? What was a father if not for that? 

“Nauseating,” he vaguely heard Crowley grumble. When he looked back up, Crowley had disappeared.

Castiel wrapped his arms around Jack, sleeping soundly again in the sling. They remained in that alley for a long time. 

_

As harmless as Crowley had turned out to be, he’d found them far too easily for Castiel’s tastes. That meant more flights, more destinations to get lost among the teeming crowd of humanity. Sometimes, Castiel allowed them to stay for a bit in a location, going through the motions of feeding Jack and burping him on his shoulder before moving on or flying into an empty home while a family was away to give Jack a bath in their kitchen sink. Sometimes, they would stay only long enough for their presence to register for anyone tracking them before moving on again. Others, they would linger beyond the necessities and take in whatever sites there were to see—a garden, tall buildings, a shoreline. 

It was a routine of sorts, but it wasn’t stable. It wasn’t a home, wasn’t a secure place for Jack to come into his powers, where Jack could grow and feel safe. A life of constant insecurity, deprived of community and safety. Castiel knew what a life like that could do to human children; he’d seen it in the Winchesters. He’d seen how Dean’s soul had settled when they’d moved into the bunker and how Sam’s had eventually started to do the same. He wanted that same feeling for Jack. 

Crowley was true to his word; the demonic presence at their destinations seemed to disappear entirely. But Castiel could feel their foulness out there in the world, the demonic omens forming and the sulphur in the breeze. He didn’t need to check the news to confirm, although a quick glance at the headlines of the Thanh Nien when pausing in Ho Chi Minh City confirmed the spike in unexplained disappearances, inexplicably failing crops, and dead livestock. There was unrest in Hell, spilling over onto Earth; Crowley was on the move. 

And he’d been to see the Winchesters. 

It had only been a few days since he’d met Crowley that the next prayer from Dean came, boiling angrily into his mind. 

Cas, you better have your damn ears on. I know Crowley saw you. He’s not saying anything, but I know he did. The hell are you doing, man? You’ll talk to Crowley but not to us? I know he’s changed, but he’s still a demon, man. You trust a demon over us?  

The word again went unspoken but not unheard. 

The words hurt, as Dean’s words always hurt when he was angry, but it wasn’t anything Castiel hadn’t expected to hear. He hadn’t earned the benefit of the doubt, especially not from Dean, who always seemed to be the one to bear the brunt of Castiel’s failures. 

Just — dammit, just call me. The prayer finished, Dean’s desperation seeming to linger on the air. 

Castiel had told Dean once, many years ago when he still believed there was a plan for the world, that all their fates laid with Dean. He hadn’t been wrong; the world and all its foibles only continued to exist due to the Winchesters. But what Castiel had forgotten, in the years since that moment, was that their fates, his fate, would not always lay with Dean. There was no great plan that had brought him into alignment with the Winchesters; he had chosen them, chosen Dean, over and over. Because he thought it was right, yes, but also simply because he wanted it. And now, he was making a different choice, one that necessarily took him away from Dean. 

They would both have to live with it. 

_

A few days later, Castiel landed on a beach in Northern California and knew he’d found Jack’s home. 

It was low tide and the wet sand stretched out from the tideline. There were people walking across the uncovered ocean floor—someone throwing sticks for their dog, a couple holding the hands of a toddler walking slowly toward the surf in the distance. He looked out over the water and remembered the peace that had descended in Kelly’s mind back at the cabin when she’d first looked out into the sound. He could feel that same peace in Jack now. 

“Would you like to live here?” Castiel asked. Jack, watching the gulls circling above and calling to each other, burbled with interest and waved his arms. And so it was settled. 

Eureka, California. It seemed apt. 

With a destination decided, Castiel’s mind turned to logistics. Humans these days prized money above all else, a lesson he’d learned well during his own time as a human. And money was something of which he had none, save the few coins of change Dean had absently dropped in his pockets over the years. His only option was the old credit card Sam had set up for him a few years back. Castiel had used it only occasionally but as far as he knew it still worked. 

It would also bring the Winchesters down on him as soon as he used it; it would be foolish to assume they weren’t watching it. 

Many humans earned money by working, but he’d also learned how difficult employment was to secure when one had no experience and no one to vouch for you. Castiel supposed he technically had some of that all-important experience now, but he doubted Nora would give him a “good reference”, not after he’d left for a family emergency and never returned over four years before. And even if he could secure employment, that left the problem of Jack. The boy was too young to care for himself and it was too dangerous to leave him in the care of others who would be frightened by his powers and unable to defend him if pursuers came. 

So employment would not be an option. Luckily, Castiel had options at his disposal now that he had not had when he was human. 

It was simple to fly to an ATM in New York City and use his grace to short circuit it. The money began to dispense itself in an orderly fashion and Castiel got to work shoving it into his bag. 

“Jack,” Castiel said, “this is an important lesson. Money is something that humans value very much. They work to earn it, use it to buy what they want and need. Money is needed for almost everything in this world.” He gently placed one of the hundred dollar bills into Jack’s little hand. Jack’s fingers curled around it curiously, cooing softly at the new texture. His brow crinkled in confusion. 

“I know,” Castiel said, “It seems odd to value a piece of paper so highly. At least when most humans used a bartering economy, the things they were trading for goods had actual inherent value, not just whatever was assigned to it.” 

Jack still seemed confused. “Don’t worry,” Castiel said, confidingly, taking the bill and tucking it away with the others. “I don’t understand it either.” 

Castiel had hidden from angels before, albeit not entirely successfully. The tattoo he’d acquired for himself after losing his grace had long ago healed, the flood of the grace he’d stolen from Theo washing all marks on his vessel clean. It was a difficult thing to remain hidden from angels while being yourself an angel. His species longed for connection to each other, had been designed with that connection in mind. To be separated from the host was to be an angel no longer. 

But Castiel would need to hide now, completely. He found an empty room in a condo in Vancouver and used his grace to carve the same markings into his ribs that he’d given to Sam and Dean. It was a curious sensation at first, being within himself and forced to turn away from himself, the ward making his grace want to overlook his own being. He allowed himself to lay down on the bed with Jack cooing on his chest in an effort to recover, his mind spinning. He left when a key began to scrape in the lock, disappearing with a contraction of his wings. 

Jack, at this point, would still have to make do with charms, temporary tattoos, and hex bags. It didn’t feel right putting a permanent mark on the boy without the boy being old enough to understand it or why he was doing it. Maybe when Jack was grown enough to understand the necessity, Castiel could put the same marks on his ribs to keep him protected. For now, the hex bag he tucked into Jack’s sling would do. 

Castiel flew from Vancouver to Thunder Bay to Edinburgh to New Delhi in quick succession. He waited there awhile, letting Jack sleep, until he was sure that anyone still attempting to locate them would have been confused and caught up in the flight. Then, he flew to New Orleans. 

Maybe it was overly cautious to not fly directly to Eureka. But Castiel was unwilling to be anything but cautious, not when Jack’s safety was in question. So he would avoid leaving any trace of his flight approaching the town and drive there instead. 

He settled on a silver Toyota hatchback, one of five similar cars he’d seen lining the street. It was forgettable in every way, one of those cars that Dean would have derided as belonging to a suburban mom or a weed-smoking hippy. It would be missed, Castiel knew, by whoever owned the vehicle, but it would be buried in the police reports of a city like this. No one else would ascribe any meaning to its theft, even if someone had managed to track him this far. 

It was simple to obtain a new car seat and place it in the back. He strapped Jack in, satisfied to have him safe and happy in the rear of the car. 

It was around a thirty-seven hour drive; it would take several days, anticipating having to stop to feed Jack. But Jack certainly didn’t seem to mind, settling down immediately into sleep as soon as Castiel started the car. Maybe he found driving just as soothing as flight; Castiel had read that many infants did. 

Castiel drove in silence until Jack stirred a few hours later, just as they were passing through Alexandria. He stopped to feed Jack, the routine of preparing the formula and adjusting Jack to feed and burp having become soothing over time. They were back on the road soon enough, Jack drowsing in the back, eyes on the window. Castiel merged carefully back onto the highway and after a few minutes, dug into his coat pocket. 

The mixtape was safe inside, retrieved from the truck’s tape deck before they abandoned it. He hesitated for a moment then popped it in. 

He thought maybe the music would be too loud for Jack, but he’d paused the tape just before Thank You opened. The sound of strumming guitar filled the car. Castiel could sense Jack’s interest flare, curiosity shining bright. 

“Dean gave this to me,” Castiel explained, “we’d been fighting; he’d done something stupid and he was upset with how I chose to fix it. But we’d reconciled and he wanted to apologize. I’d been about to leave, to search for you and your mother. Dean stopped me and gave me the tape.” 

Castiel had been confused at first, both by the gift itself and by Dean’s flustered expression. Dean had been odd since his return from the government prison. He had been at turns dismissive and angry and other times seemingly longing for Castiel’s company, hanging in the doorway of the library just out of the corner of Castiel’s eye, unspeaking until Castiel acknowledged him. 

“What is it?” Castiel had asked him, carefully removing the sparkly bow fastened to the top of the tape. Dean had shuffled his feet, his eyes flicking from the hallway walls to the interior of the guest room he’d shown Cas to. 

“Well, I know you don’t know a lot of music, so I, uh—” Dean had cleared his throat. “I just wanted to give you something to listen to. Y’know, when you’re driving.” 

Castiel had studied the tape; the scrawled label still made him smile. “That’s very thoughtful, Dean. Thank you.” 

Dean had shrugged, still not looking at Castiel. Something about the exchange had made him uncomfortable, although Castiel had never been able to determine what. But he remembered the traces of a blush he’d seen crawling across Dean’s cheeks, his shoulders high, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“It’s nothing,” Dean had mumbled. “Just thought you should have it. And I-I wanted to apologize, again. For being so crazy the last few weeks.” 

Castiel hadn’t been able to resist a smile, tucking the tape into his coat pocket and putting his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “It’s alright, Dean. I know you were just worried.” 

Dean had shrugged again and Castiel had drawn his hand back. “Still.” 

“Well, your apology is accepted,” Castiel had said. He patted his coat pocket. “And I look forward to listening to this.” 

Dean had mumbled something under this breath, ducking his head. Castiel had had just a second to see the blush had fully darkened his cheeks before he turned away and walked down the hall. 

Castiel had heard all the songs before of course, even before Dean had given him the mixtape. He figured he’d probably heard every song Led Zeppelin had ever written by this point, sitting in the backseat of the Impala over so many miles. But this particular arrangement had been new and Castiel had found he enjoyed it. 

Jack seemed to be enjoying it as well, judging by his happy burbles as Plant sang out why don't you show up and make it alright . 

“I like it too,” Castiel said, and hummed along with the rest of the song. 

_

Castiel stopped the next morning at an overlook somewhere in New Mexico; Jack had been restless in the last hour of so, whining more and flailing his hands and feet. He could use the break and, judging by the growing irritability, a meal. 

“You’ve been very patient,” he told Jack, patting his back gently to burp him. “When I first started driving, I found it just as tedious as walking. But you’re doing very well, Jack.” 

“Family roadtrip?” a voice asked. Castiel turned to see a woman standing a few yards away. She had a picnic basket in her arms, clearly extracted from the back of the minivan behind her. A group of children, presumably hers, were seated at another picnic table, laughing and pushing each other. 

“Yes,” Castiel said, “we’re travelling to—Nevada. To meet up with—my wife.” Technically, not true; Castiel’s wife still lived in Colorado, as far as he knew. Although he had to wonder how valid any marriage could be when one spouse was an amnesiac found naked in a reservoir by the other spouse. 

He hoped Daphne was still alright; she had been much kinder to him than he had deserved.  

“Me too,” the woman said, “except we’re going in the other direction. She had a conference for work, but we figured the kids would like to join her for the weekend.” 

“My wife thought similarly,” Castiel said. 

“It must be hard for her to be away from him so soon,” the woman continued, hitching the picnic basket up on her hip. Jack burped and then promptly yawned. The woman sighed, her expression going a little soppy. “Oh, they’re so cute at this age.” 

“Yes,” Castiel said, resting his palm on Jack’s back. “I'm very proud of him.” 

The children at the table started to yell excitedly, obviously the beginning of some well-worn argument. The woman rolled her eyes, glancing at them. “Enjoy him when he’s this old. At least he hasn’t learned how to talk back yet.” 

Castiel was suddenly hit by the realization that Jack would grow. He’d known, logically, that Jack would grow as all humans did. That one day he’d be a toddler, then a little boy, and many years from now, a young man, with his own wills and desires. It was staggering to think about, this little warm bundle in his arms, growing beyond Castiel until one day, he didn’t need Castiel at all. 

“I will,” he said and helped Jack wave goodbye as the woman left to rejoin her family. Castiel waited until Jack started to drift off to sleep before heading back to the car. 

_

They arrived in Eureka early in the morning, having driven through the night and only stopped for gas and to feed and change Jack. Castiel was mastering the technique of changing a diaper quickly and effectively, if he said so himself. He felt his millennia as a strategist in Heaven had helped with that particular skill. 

Jack stirred awake as Castiel pulled to a stop by the curb. Castiel sighed, leaning forward on his elbows on the steering wheel. The street they were on was overshadowed by the water tower in the distance, proudly proclaiming the name of the town. It looked nice, the type of peaceful, idyllic neighborhood that he had seen portrayed on TV a dozen times. 

Castiel turned in his seat, looking back at Jack. The boy was blinking sleepily, his little hands balled into fists and his feet kicking in the air. He was probably due for a change and another meal. 

The task before him—finding Jack a home—suddenly seemed insurmountable. He’d secured money, yes, and he could do the same thing every month to afford the rent. It wasn’t honest, but Castiel was desperate and getting a job and leaving Jack defenseless wasn’t an option. He glanced around at the homes lining the street they were on. Each of them seemed just as lovely as the next, small homes set in modest yards. Some had flower boxes lining their windows, many had driveways with cars parked in them. 

Castiel could picture Jack in any of these houses. Jack was a child; he didn’t have any desires for a house, other than it be stable and warm. Castiel had never had a home, not in a way a human would identify it. Heaven had been a place he existed, not a home. When Castiel longed for Heaven, he didn’t long for a place, or even his family, not really. He longed for a return to simplicity, an abdication of the struggle that came hand in hand with free will. He longed for the Heaven he’d known before he first doubted, before he’d uncovered the rot beneath the ivory coating. He knew too much now, had experienced too much, to ever go back to that. Besides, it wasn’t where he truly wanted to be. 

Jack started to fuss in the car seat, his face screwing up in a pout. Castiel could feel his hunger start to build.  

“Breakfast?” he asked. Jack squealed an exuberant agreement. 

Castiel considered. He could feed Jack here, of course, but maybe it would be nice to interact with the people of this town. He’d learned over the years that humans found nothing more suspicious than someone who did not interact with anyone. Of course, they also found people who interacted with others in a manner deemed socially unacceptable to be equally as suspicious, a tendency Castiel had run afoul of many times. 

But surely they could handle going to a restaurant and eating some breakfast. It would be a good way to establish themselves in the community, unlikely to garner any undue attention.

Castiel pulled into the parking lot of a diner that seemed promising; a run down building with red leather seats that the stuffing was bursting out of at the seams. He believed it could be called ‘retro’. It was about half full, with some families and a few individuals bent over newspapers and coffees. The kind of place Castiel and Jack would blend in, just another couple of humans getting something to eat. 

A woman in a checkered dress greeted them as soon as they walked in. “Hi, welcome to Gary’s. Grab a seat wherever.” 

Castiel glanced around at the positioning of other diners before claiming a booth near the back; from there, Castiel had a good view out the window as well as toward the main door. Jack, still secured in his car seat, went next to him. 

“Here’s your menu,” the waitress said. 

“Thank you,” he squinted at her name tag, “Tabitha.” 

She smiled at him. “For sure. Anything you want to start?” 

“Coffee, please.” It would give him something to go with his hands at least. And humans didn’t like it if you tried to sit in a restaurant without ordering something. It was a theme he’d noticed across many of the establishments he’d visited when he was human. It had been a uniquely frustrating experience, being turned away for not buying anything but having no money to do so. 

“Milk and sugar?” 

“No, thank you.”

Tabitha left, returning shortly with a mug and a coffee carafe. Castiel smiled in thanks then turned back to Jack, lifting him from the car seat. He’d gotten Jack’s feedings down to a smooth routine—Jack tucked into his elbow, a cloth draped over his shoulder. He could sense the instant Jack needed to burp and transfer him expertly to his shoulder, gently patting his back until he was ready to feed again. 

With Jack fed, he went sleepily back into his car seat. Tabitha reappeared shortly after with that uncanny ability to sense when a customer was in need that so many servers seemed to have. 

“Anything to eat for yourself?” she asked, looking at Jack with a smile.

“I’ll have the special,” Castiel said. One thing he’d learned after all these years was that every diner like this had a breakfast special. 

“Coming right up.” 

Castiel turned to his phone while he waited, poking listlessly at the screen. He remembered learning how to use this device over the years, from the flip phone that Dean had passed him back during the first apocalypse with his and Sam’s numbers already programmed in, as if Castiel was incapable of memorizing a couple ten digit numbers. He’d since been gifted with a newer ‘smartphone’ which Sam had been kind enough to show him how to use. He had only two apps that hadn’t come with it. The Gas-N-Sip rewards app came in very handy as two different vehicles constantly driving cross country tended to spend a lot on fuel. Sometimes, he almost regretted telling Dean how to use it; he had a terrible tendency to redeem Cas’ hard earned points so he could buy himself snacks. 

The only other app he had was Instagram, downloaded solely so he could follow Claire. She only posted once every few months, usually a picture of a natural landscape, though sometimes shots of Alex and Jody snuck in. Castiel never dared to comment, but he liked every single one. 

There had been a time that even doing something as simple as that would have been beyond him. But he’d learned over the years, not just how to do it, but why it mattered. How something as simple as clicking that heart would demonstrate the connection he felt to Claire. 

But there were still so many things about being human that he’d never learned, even when he’d been human himself and driven by the simple needs of his body. He’d learned to feed himself, but he’d never learned to prepare anything more complex than a sandwich. He’d learned the need for shelter, the fact that he was a side sleeper, how his hip would hurt in the morning after hours pressed to the hard floor and the stretches that eased the pain the best. He’d even learned how to rent a motel room, the few times he’d had the money and the thought of sleeping on the floor again made heat prick at his eyes. 

Everything he knew, he’d learned through desperation or through example watching the Winchesters. Neither of those had ever included how to find a home. 

His musings were interrupted by the arrival of his plate of food. He thanked Tabitha and gingerly cut into the eggs on his plate. It would be suspicious to leave it all untouched. Better to eat half and leave the rest behind. The taste was awful, as all food was now with his grace. So many molecules. 

Between bites, he continued to poke around on his phone, throwing glances at Jack. Jack was deeply asleep, his head tipped to the side and his lips slack, a pool of drool gathering on his lips on the verge of sliding down his chin. Castiel folded his napkin and carefully wiped the drool away before it could. 

His desultory clicking on his phone had brought him back to Instagram. To his surprise, a new photo had been posted since he’d last checked the app: a picture of a small wooden bridge, old and worn, crossing a wooded stream. It was picturesque, calming. Claire had captioned it with a tree and wave emoji. 

Another thing he’d learned from humanity, this time explicitly from Claire. She’d claimed after a dinner at Jody’s that she was tired of his ‘weird-ass’ texts and that she was going to show him how to text properly. They’d ended up spending an hour reviewing emojis, what they were, and under what circumstances to use them. 

“Never, under any circumstances, use the eggplant emoji,” she had told him, huddled on Jody’s couch beside him. His phone was in her hands; she’d just sent a text to Dean of a smiling cowboy and a puke face. Dean had texted back ?? . 

“Never?” Castiel had asked. It seemed arbitrary. 

“Well,” Claire had said, still smiling mischievously at Castiel’s phone. Her thumbs were moving quickly to pluck out another string of emojis. “If you really like someone, then you can send one. But you gotta time it right, make sure they’re into it. No one wants an unsolicited eggplant emoji.” She seemed to be trying desperately not to laugh. 

Castiel’s phone had dinged. In response to Claire’s new string of emojis - a string of wink emojis and kissy lips - Dean had texted back WTF . 

“How do I know when it’s appropriate?” 

Claire had smiled at him. It had made her look her age for once. “You’ll know.” 

Later, Castiel had looked it up and agreed with Claire’s assessment. At the time, he’d reclaimed his phone and sent Dean an apology text: Claire had my phone :(  

that explains it, Dean had replied.

she was teaching me how to use emoticons :D  

theres rules to that?  

Yes. She also said I shouldn’t use proper punctuation.

guess ur ignoring that one

I haven’t decided yet. 

She said I shouldn’t use the eggplant emoji XD  

Castiel had watched the three dots that indicated Dean was typing a message appear and disappear five times before they disappeared for good. Dean, ultimately, left Castiel ‘on read’. 

He looked at the photo a moment longer. Claire was a good photographer—he could almost feel the peace the photo invoked through his phone. He’d told her that once; she’d seemed embarrassed to have her skill recognized, scuffing the ground with her shoe and muttering under her breath that it was stupid while her face slowly went red. It was a reaction that he recognized from seeing Dean’s own reaction any time Castiel had paid him a compliment. As with Dean, he hoped Claire would one day believe him and be able to accept the compliment without fuss. He hoped, with every like, she would get a little bit closer. He carefully clicked the heart. 

Jack murmured and shifted in his chair, his little hands curling in fists briefly before relaxing again. It would be nice to introduce Jack and Claire. To see her hold him, see the fondness in her face when she rolled her eyes at Jack’s baby noises. She pretended to be tough but he had a feeling that Jack would break right through her defenses. 

Maybe, someday, they could have that. 

But for now, they needed a place to live. And maybe, he considered slowly, Claire could help with that. 

Claire, he knew, had little more experience renting a home than he did, considering the questionable stability of her life between Amy’s departure and Claire’s arrival at Jody’s. But she was human and had been all her life. She had a cultural awareness that Castiel lacked, gleaning what he could from half watched TV shows and the Winchesters, who were not exactly experts on normal human behaviour. If there was anyone in his very short list of allies who might be able to help with this, Claire was it. 

It would be foolish to call her. After all, Claire was just as familiar with the Winchesters as with him, and the Winchesters hadn’t been the one who tore her family apart and got her father killed. She was likely to tell the Winchesters she’d spoken to him, at the very least. She was even more likely to tell Jody, who would then probably tell the Winchesters. 

But he missed her and he wanted to hear her voice. Castiel placed the call before he could think better of it. 

Surprisingly, Claire picked up. Castiel had expected to have to leave a message and wait for her to call him back; after all, she had been the one to tell him that ‘only old people actually answer their phone when it rings.’ 

“Hey, Cas,” she said. She sounded tired, her voice rough and drawing out the syllables a little longer than usual. 

“Hello, Claire,” Castiel said. He forced himself to sound normal rather than concerned. It was always hard to tell whether Claire would appreciate his worry or not. “How are you?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, clearly in the middle of a yawn. “Just finished up with a ghoul near Milwaukee. Gonna head back home soon.” 

Castiel frowned. That was quite a drive and if Claire was finishing the hunt now, she’d probably been up all night. No wonder she sounded tired. “Maybe you should head back tomorrow, get some sleep first.”  

He could practically hear Claire rolling her eyes down the phone. “Jeez, Cas, you’re such a nag,” she said, sounding that combination of off-put and fond that she and Dean seemed to be such masters of. “I’m fine. I’ve pulled all-nighters before.” 

“That’s not a healthy practice.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” He could hear the faint sound of rustling on her end, what sounded like the crinkling of a bag. She continued with her mouth full, chewing loudly in his ear. She was probably eating potato chips for breakfast again, a habit Castiel despaired of. “So, why’d you call? Not to talk about my hunt.” 

Castiel frowned to himself. He didn’t just get in touch when he needed something from Claire, did he? No, he texted her all the time just to check in, even sent her photos of things he saw that he thought she might appreciate. She’d been upset when he’d ‘ghosted’ her when he was possessed by Lucifer and he’d made an effort since then to keep in touch with her on a regular basis. It had led to some interesting internet rabbit holes—he'd once spent an entire night researching the sexual orientation of a creature called the Babadook due to one of her texts. 

“I do contact you outside of hunting,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound defensive or hurt and abjectly certain he’d failed at both. 

“I know that, I’m not—” she cut herself off with a sigh. “Cas, what is it? Not that it’s not nice to hear from you but I want to get on the road.”

Castiel sighed. Claire could be prickly and sometimes wasn’t in the mood to talk. Of course, sometimes she was in the mood to talk and wanted Castiel to break through her defenses and keep engaging her, all while she pretended she didn’t want him to. The behaviour reminded him a lot of Dean, which Castiel assumed he would find unflattering considering Claire’s age and gender, as if that made some kind of difference. They were truly exhausting sometimes. 

Castiel sighed himself, glancing at Jack. He was still sleeping, drool starting to gather on his lower lip again. Best to be direct, then. He could text Claire later when she wasn’t so tired. “I need your help finding a house.” 

Claire snorted over the sound of more rustling. “What, Sam and Dean kick you out?” 

“Not,” Castiel stuttered, taken off guard by the response, “Not exactly.” 

“So, then what?” Claire asked, words warped again around the presumably-potato chips. 

Castiel wondered how best to explain; a lot had happened in the last few weeks, none of which Claire was probably aware of. He’d gotten the sense over the last weeks that Claire had no idea he’d left the Winchesters’ side. She had certainly never asked about it, seemingly content sending emojis in reply to whatever photo he texted her. For once, Castiel was grateful for the Winchesters' inability to share with their family. 

“Hang on,” he said, lowering the phone from his ear. He took a quick picture of Jack; Jack stirred at the sound of the shutter, his eyes blinking sleepily open and shut again. Castiel absently wiped the drool from his mouth with his sleeve, sending the photo with his other hand. “There, I’ve sent you a picture.”

There was a short silence as Claire checked her phone, followed by a loud and strangled noise. 

“Claire? Are you alright?” Castiel asked. Sudden images of the ghoul returning, not quite dead, to attack Claire danced through his mind. 

Claire was suddenly back on the line, her voice loud. “Where the fuck did you get a kid?” 

Castiel frowned. “That’s hardly appropriate language for someone your age.” 

“Okay, you’re literally older than dirt, so I don’t think your opinion counts,” Claire scoffed. “And that is so beyond the point and you know it. Who’s kid is that?” 

Mine , said everything in Castiel’s being. But that would only confuse Claire more. 

“He’s—Lucifer’s child,” he said, reluctantly, “technically.”  

“What? He had a kid,” Claire said, more statement than question. Then, horrified, “Oh my god, while he was possessing you? 

“What—no. He wasn’t possessing me when Jack was conceived.” Castiel glanced around warily, but thankfully no one was close enough to overhear their conversation. He’d learned through hard experience that humans, even those in the hunting world, had a habit of reacting strongly to conversations like this. 

Claire sighed, sounding relieved. “That’s something. But why do you have Lucifer's kid? Isn’t he going to...want him back?” 

“Lucifer is dead.”

“Devil’s dead, that’s cool,” Claire said, with that blase tone she always had when confronted with something that would make most humans at least pause. That tone always made Castiel smile. “And what, you just adopted his kid?”

“In a sense, yes,” Castiel said, the words edging closer to that part of him that felt so possessive of Jack, so protective of him, the part of him that was still echoing with the word fatherhood , even all these weeks after Crowley had said it. “His mother asked me too.”

“And where’s she?” 

“Also dead,” Castiel admitted with a pang, quietly, as if Jack would wake up and hear him.  

Claire was silent for a long moment. “Okay, let me see if I've got this straight. Lucifer had a kid, then died. Baby mama somehow found you, decided you were dad material, and also died. And now you have a baby. Who is also the literal spawn of Satan.” 

Castiel sighed deeply, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. “You’ve made it sound ridiculous. But that is essentially correct.” 

Claire burst into laughter, loud and long. Castiel bore it patiently, a smile tugging at his lips at the sound. 

“God, your life is so weird,” she finally said, laughter running through her words. “Shit like this doesn’t just happen to people, what the hell.” Castiel wasn’t sure if he was meant to respond to that so he decided to stay quiet instead, waiting on the line while Claire gathered herself.

She finally finished laughing with a long sigh. “You know your life is a cosmic joke, right?” she asked, wryly. 

Castiel snorted. “The thought has occurred to me before.” 

“So, wait, where are Sam and Dean in all this?” Claire asked. “And why do you need a house?” 

Castiel hesitated. Maybe it had been a mistake going to Claire for help. He knew she would be curious but the more he explained, the more it felt he was stepping over some invisible line, dragging her into something he had no business dragging her into. Hadn’t he inflicted enough damage on Claire’s life? 

He’d hesitated too long. “Cas?” she asked. She paused before continuing, something small in her voice, “you still there?” 

It spoke to her forgiving nature, as much as she would balk to be labelled as such, that she would show concern for him. It also spoke to the abandonment she’d experienced over her life, that she would feel so vulnerable expressing it, even in this mild way. 

Maybe it was foolish to call Claire. But he loved her and it had been too long since he’d heard her voice. He forged ahead. 

“Jack is a nephilim, Lucifer’s nephilim. He’s very powerful,” Castiel said. 

“Doesn’t seem that powerful,” Claire interrupted. She already sounded much more secure. “He’s cute, though. Bit drooly.” 

“Claire,” Castiel sighed. 

“Hey, you’re the one not explaining.” 

“I’m trying to, if you would stop interrupting me.” 

Claire snorted. “Yeah, whatever.” 

Castiel sighed again, making sure it was loud enough for Claire to hear clearly. He could just catch her laughter on the other end. “As I was saying, he’s a very powerful child.” He paused, again. “The Winchesters want to remove his grace.” 

“And you don’t want that,” Claire guessed.  

Castiel looked at Jack; he was starting to wake up now, blinking sleepily up at him. Castiel brushed his hand over Jack’s tuft of hair and felt the flare of his happiness. 

“His grace is a part of him, just as mine is part of me. It belongs with him.” 

Claire paused for a long moment, the line silent. 

“You sure that’s a good decision?” She finally asked, sounding uncertain. “I just—I know Sam and Dean can be stupid sometimes, but I figure they wouldn’t wanna do it if they didn’t have a good reason.” 

Castiel wondered briefly where this sudden faith in the Winchesters was coming from; from what he remembered of their relationship, Claire had not been especially fond of either of them. She’d even been afraid of Dean at one point, after that incident with the loan shark and her friend. But of course, that had been some years ago and things changed quickly for humans. 

And things had, inevitably, changed after the recent encounter with the werewolf. He’d gone to see Claire shortly after that, concerned by what the Winchesters had told him. Although she’d shrugged off his concern, he could see the experience had deeply frightened her. Of course she would feel kinder toward the Winchesters now, after they’d helped her through that. 

And the truth of the matter was, Castiel had no reason to expect the benefit of the doubt from her. Not from Claire, not after the way he had imploded her entire life. It made more sense for her to trust the Winchesters over him. 

“There may come a time when Jack decides to give up his grace,” Castiel tried to explain.
“That’s his right. But that decision can’t be made for him, especially not when he’s an infant. He’s only a child, Claire. He needs to be protected, not—stolen from.” 

Not like Castiel had stolen from Claire. Taken her father from her then got him killed in the name of a mission that he had never explained to her. Taken Claire’s own body when she was just a child, put her and her mother through a traumatic experience; taken Claire’s mother through his negligence then failed to return her. He had thoroughly and systematically destroyed her family, as only an angel could. And here he was, asking her to show kindness toward him and a child he’d claimed that she’d never received from him. 

It all seemed so unforgivable. 

Claire was silent over the phone. He never should have called her, not for this. Asking her for help to care for another child after so magnificently ruining her own childhood must seem like salt in the wound. 

“What do you need?” Claire finally asked. Her voice was flat and hollow.

Castiel closed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to be cruel to her. “I’m sorry.” 

“I know you are,” she said, voice still dead. “What do you need?” 

Castiel sighed. She reminded him so much of Dean sometimes. 

“I’m...trying to find a house. Somewhere for us to live,” he said, reluctantly. 

Claire snorted. It was derisive, but at least it was an emotion. “What do I know about buying a house?” 

“Not buying, renting is fine. And you’re much more savvy in human life than I could ever hope to be,” Castiel said, letting the last sentence come out wry, inviting Claire in on the joke. 

“Not like it’s hard,” she said, but he could hear in her voice that she was warming again. He could never quite believe it, how simple it was for her to move forward. 

“I don’t know where to find a house, Cas. Maybe try Craigslist?” she said. 

Castiel took a risk. “Who is Craig and where do I find his list?” 

The question was a gamble but Castiel had learned long ago the benefits of playing stupid. He heard Claire huff over the phone and knew she was rolling her eyes, that crooked smile playing over her face. He decided to chalk it up as a win. 

“It’s a website, dummy,” she said. “People post ads for things they want to sell. Or rent, in this case.” 

Claire was kind enough to talk him through locating the website, which he pulled up on his phone. It was simple from there to find the appropriate section for house rentals. 

Castiel brought the phone back to his ear. “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you, Claire.” 

“You’re gonna need money, too,” she said.

“I have that covered.” He paused. “I really do mean it, Claire. Thank you.” 

She scoffed but it sounded sweet. “Whatever. Just—find someplace nice for that kid, okay? I figure he’s gonna have it hard enough.”

“I will.” He paused again, rubbing his fingers over Jack’s head. Jack cooed and leaned into the touch, his little hand flapping up to grab at Castiel’s fingers. “I know he would like to meet you. Maybe you could visit sometime?” 

“Maybe.” But Claire sounded pleased; he could hear the smile in her voice. He’d done something right. 

He smiled. “I’ll speak to you soon.” 

They said their goodbyes and Castiel realized, hanging up, that he hadn’t explicitly asked Claire not to contact the Winchesters. He supposed it was for the best. Maybe she would tell them she’d heard from him, maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe she would eventually come to visit, with the Winchesters in tow, and all this running would have been for nothing.  

Whatever happened, it was worth it for the opportunity to speak to her. To think about her smile, hear her laugh. To know that despite the trespasses he’d committed against her, he hadn’t destroyed her spirit. 

“That was Claire,” he said to Jack, “you’ll like her.” 

_

After Castiel had unlocked the secrets of Craigslist, finding an appropriate house didn’t take long. He settled on a one bedroom home on K Street, a residential street overlooked by the water tower and within walking distance of the zoo. It was a squat, little house, set back far enough from the road to have a small front yard. The green of the grass first drew Castiel’s eye, but his decision to pick it was made when he saw the stained glass window in the photo included of the kitchen. It caught the light, refracting it across the wood floor in warm tones. Castiel looked at the picture and imagined placing the kitchen table below that window, how it would catch the light in the morning. Jack would be lit by that light as Castiel fed him breakfast, while he did his homework after school.  

He imagined sitting beside Jack in that kitchen, watching him do his science homework and telling him about blackholes, offering to show him one in person, and felt good. Most importantly, he thought, thumbing through the photos again, he thought Kelly would like it. 

He held the phone out to Jack, who was just starting to wake up in the car seat. “What do you think of this one?” he asked. Jack squinted his eyes open and blinked in bleary agreement.

Castiel texted the landlord and secured a viewing for that afternoon. They spent the time in between sitting in the car by the pier, Jack napping in the car seat and Castiel studying the incoming tide. 

A prayer from Dean came while he was waiting, the first since he’d decided to settle in Eureka. 

Cas, look, I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t—I was angry. I’m...I’m worried, man. We all are. We haven’t had any luck tracking you, everything keeps going cold. Dean paused for a long moment and Castiel could feel his borrowed heart pounding in his chest. But I’m not giving up, okay? We’re gonna find you. Somehow. 

Castiel swallowed heavily and looked down at his hands, folded in his lap, until it was time to go. 

The viewing went well. The landlord, Julio, was punctual and friendly, and Castiel used the opportunity presented by the handshake to discreetly search through his mind. He had a family at home, a husband and two children. The house he was hoping to rent had been owned by his mother until her death two years ago. Thankfully, she had not died inside the house; Castiel would be glad to not have to disperse a ghost in their prospective home. The property itself had so much sentimental value that Julio could not bear to part with it by selling and had decided to rent instead, even though his family could have used the money from the sale. He had been hoping to rent to a family, and the sight of Jack, sleepy in his sling, had charmed him immediately. 

The viewing hadn’t taken very long. Julio had shown him around the property, pointing out the stairs that led up to the small loft space, advising on the space in the living room, how the bedroom would be more than enough to fit a bed and a crib. How the loft could be used as a bedroom for Jack, once he was old enough. He was speaking from experience, Castiel realized. Julio had shared the loft space with his brother growing up but had found it stifling as he went into his teenage years. 

“He’ll want his own space when he’s old enough. My girls shared until they were nine but after that, we just had to move. Needed the extra bedroom,” Julio said fondly. 

“I’m sure Jack will love it,” Castiel said, carefully not mentioning the fact that the loft would almost certainly go unused as Castiel lacked a need for sleep. In any case, the words seemed to be the correct combination, as Julio smiled and moved on to the kitchen. 

The stained glass window was even more beautiful in person. Jack cooed at the sight, and Castiel could feel his fascination with it, smiling as he waved his hands as if trying to chase the multi coloured lights. 

“My father had that put in. He’d always been a very devout Catholic; I think he wanted to have a bit of the church at home with him,” Julio said. 

“It’s lovely,” Castiel said. “It’s what initially drew me to this place over the others I saw.” Jack whined, as if not wanting to be left out. “And Jack as well, of course.” 

Julio briefly showed them the backyard before leading them back toward the front of the house. Castiel realized suddenly that he had no idea how to proceed from here. Was he meant to act coy, pretend as if he didn’t want the house to start a haggling session? Or was he meant to profess his desire for the property immediately, so as to secure it right away and ensure no other potential renters came sniffing around? 

“I would like to rent this home,” he finally settled on. He knew many times he was too blunt, but he figured straight-forward was better. At least it was less confusing although it also had a habit of putting people off. 

And Julio did, in fact, look a little put-off, Castiel noted with resignation. 

“That’s great,” Julio said, in a tone that indicated his statement was a slight exaggeration. “I can get you an application and after I check your references, I’ll be in touch.” 

No, that wouldn’t do at all. Castiel didn’t know what this application would entail, but he was almost certain that it would require documents he had no access to. He had no official ID, only the fake FBI badges that the Winchesters had taught him how to make and Jimmy Novak’s old driver’s license. Neither, he was sure, would suffice. And he had no references to give, no one to vouch for him, other than possibly Claire. But he had already asked her for more than enough. More than she should have had to give. 

None of his experience in human life had ever prepared him for this. He dug through everything that the Winchesters had ever told him, through all the human writings Metatron had forced into his mind, and came up with nothing. Nothing except Dean’s voice, from long ago: When we want something, really, really badly, we lie. 

“Thank you,” Castiel said, and held out his hand for Julio to shake. Julio grabbed it automatically, compelled by human custom. Castiel took the opportunity and impressed on Julio’s mind the knowledge that he’d received the completed application and checked with Castiel’s references and received only stellar remarks. He was comfortable renting this house to Castiel, knowing that it would be in good hands. 

The coercion didn’t make Castiel proud, but needs must. That, at least, he had learned from the Winchesters. 

A few minutes later, Castiel was standing alone in front of the house that now belonged to him, holding the keys in one hand. It was a strange feeling, having a home. He sighed, resting his palm on the top of Jack’s head. 

“Are you ready to go inside?” he asked. Jack burbled in agreement and Castiel turned to enter their new home. 

_

All that remained then, was the question of what to do about the Winchesters. 

Jack’s pursuers would never stop hunting him, Castiel knew that. But he could protect this property with sigils in the foundations, hidden on the walls, hex bags stuffed into corners. And he could protect Jack himself with similar methods until Jack was old enough to protect himself. 

The probability of the Winchesters ever finding them seemed low with the precautions he’d taken. But that hadn’t stopped them searching; Dean’s prayers seemed to come more frequently now. They weren’t always anything coherent, sometimes just ramblings of a drunk man or stray thoughts and emotions. Castiel didn’t even know if Dean knew he was doing it half the time. 

But the clear fact remained that he lingered on Dean’s mind, in a way he only ever seemed to do when he was absent. And he knew he would continue to linger, a constant hope that dragged Dean ever onward, never letting him rest as he deserved. 

It was cruel to continue to allow that. And Castiel had never wanted to be cruel to Dean. Yet, he still hesitated.

A week and a half into their life in Eureka, Dean prayed while Castiel was feeding Jack at the little table he’d found discarded in an alley behind someone’s house. Dean was clearly distraught, his voice thick and rough. 

Please, Cas. Please. Just give me some kind of sign, okay? Anything, I’ll take anything. It’s been weeks since Crowley saw you. Are you even still out there? I don’t even know if you can hear me. Just—please. Please. If you can hear me, gimme something. 

Castiel had promised himself, after the crypt, that he would never put Dean in a position to beg him for anything. Not again. He always seemed to hurt Dean, no matter how much he tried not to, no matter how much he never wanted to in the first place. He would hurt Dean, and Dean would be angry and they would fight and then let it go. And then the cycle would continue anew, stretching on and on, without end. 

Castiel looked at Jack, nestled comfortably in his arms. As predicted, the light shone through the stained glass window, creeping into the corners of the room and touching Jack’s face with color. He whined a little as Castiel watched him, settling only when Castiel drew a soothing thumb across his cheek. 

It was time to finally break the cycle. 

_

It had been a long time since Castiel had dream-walked. He made a few false starts before he got it right. 

Even when he’d had his wings before, dream walking had never been a habit of his. For most of his existence, there had been no need for it; it had come in useful on a handful of occasions but it had been far from a necessity. It seemed, in the years since he’d done it last, he’d lost some of the knack for it. Muscle memory, as a human would understand it. 

Jack would have to come with him; Castiel couldn’t leave him in the house alone. Time moved differently in dreams than in the waking world, but even leaving Jack alone for a few minutes seemed too long. Judging by the misgiving that leaked off Jack when he caught the thought from Castiel’s mind, he agreed. 

“I’ll hide you, in the dream,” Castiel said. 

The first time he flew, he overshot and ended up in the dream of an Amazon delivery worker in Massachusetts. It was pleasant enough, just a small dream of spending time with family back home in New York. Castiel course corrected and missed again, settling in the dream of a young boy in Lebanon, dreaming peacefully of a space ship piloted by a dilophosaurus. Jack, made invisible by Castiel, squealed with delight. Castiel indulged him and they stayed until the space shuttle landed on Jupiter. 

Castiel again took flight and realized he’d landed correctly immediately. He didn’t have to look further than the distinctive black car, parked innocently in front of the bar he stood before. 

After a momentary pause, Castiel entered the building. It looked vaguely familiar, some parts of the decor resonating while others were more faded and worn, as if the dream was thinner there. It was an amalgamation, Castiel realized, some facsimile of a bar created in Dean’s mind from all the bars he’d been to over his lifetime. 

Castiel looked out over the patrons; there were only a few, gathered together in small clumps at tables and booths. His eyes swept over the bar itself and there they stopped. 

Dean was leaning forward on his arms, folded on top of the bar. He was facing away from the entrance, away from Castiel, so all he could see was the broad expanse of Dean’s back and the short spikes of his hair. He didn’t notice the foreign intrusion into his dream, totally absorbed in the person next to him. 

It was a bizarre sensation, staring at a person who had the same face as you, while that face did not actually belong to you. Jimmy Novak had spent more time wearing that face, even though his soul had never touched the body Castiel currently inhabited. To the people who loved Jimmy, this would always be his face first and Castiel’s second. And yet, Castiel must have started to identify his appearance, such as it was, with this body, for it to be so affecting.

The other Castiel, the one from Dean’s dream, was also leaning forward on his folded arms, mirroring Dean’s posture. He seemed just as intent on their conversation, deaf and blind to all else around him. 

Castiel hesitated then wandered closer. As he did so, the bar fell into better detail, the fuzzy corners becoming a little clearer with each step he took toward Dean, his specific dreamer’s vision bringing it all into focus. Soon, Castiel was close enough to hear their voices, Dean and the dream. 

“I have to go,” the dream said. 

All at once, the scene fell into place. Castiel remembered this conversation. It was the bar he’d gone to with Dean, where he broke the news that he would be returning to Heaven on the completion of the trials. Their last conversation before it had all fallen apart so spectacularly, another of Castiel’s failures. 

He remembered how he’d felt then—the desperation to fix his mistakes, no matter what happened to him, the cloying guilt drowning him at every turn. The fear that had been driving him since he’d understood exactly what Naomi was doing to him. And the longing he was only truly beginning to comprehend that treasured every glance and touch, that ached to stay at Dean’s side anyway, even though closing the gates of Heaven would ensure Dean the peace he so desperately deserved. 

He’d thought, in that moment, that he was ensuring Dean could have it all, peace and freedom. He should have known, then; nothing like that ever came without a steep price. 

Jack squirmed in his arms, hidden away in the sling on his chest. Castiel put his hand on him, holding him close. 

A part of him wondered if he was simply being naive again, putting this much faith in Jack. He was just a boy; maybe having such lofty expectations for him was too much. But at his core, he knew it was different this time. Jack was a child, innocent and good, where Metatron had been a power-grubbing sycophantic narcissist. They couldn’t be more different. And regardless of whatever faith Castiel had in Jack, he deserved to live, happy and free of concern. And Jack believed in Castiel. He’d chosen him. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time someone had chosen him, simply for him. 

In front of him, Dean and the dream were continuing, unaware of Castiel’s presence. Castiel’s memory was good—he didn’t need to watch to remember every word of this conversation, the expressions on Dean’s face. The way he’d stared at Castiel for a long moment, something Castiel still couldn’t define in his eyes, before he blinked and looked away and it disappeared, lost behind a sip of Dean’s drink and a pop culture reference Castiel had had no hope of understanding then. 

The dream version of Castiel went to stand, pushing himself away from the bar. And then, the dream suddenly diverged from memory, when Dean’s arm reached out and grabbed Castiel’s. 

“Wait,” he said. Castiel could see the white knuckled grip he had on the dream’s arm. “Cas, wait.” 

“I have to go, Dean,” the dream said, sadly. 

“No, you don’t,” Dean insisted, standing up. “You—these trials, it's not what you think, man. Metatron, he’s tricking you.” 

Castiel wondered at this interaction. Dean seemed to both be remembering this moment and the moments that followed after. It seemed so pointless, but it was Dean’s mind, after all, which loved to torture him with thoughts of things out of his control that he could never change. 

The dream wasn’t listening, acting out his role in whatever this was. “I have to do this, Dean.” 

“No,” Dean said again. He tugged on the dream’s arm hard, dragging him closer. “You don't gotta do jack shit, Cas. You don't have to leave—” Dean stumbled to a stop, the fire of his anger abating. “I just got you back, man. Please.” 

Abruptly, Castiel couldn’t bear it. Whatever the dream was going to say next would be terrible, no matter what it was. If he decided to go after this, Castiel would hate him for it. And if he decided to stay, that would be worse. 

Gently, Castiel exerted his influence over the dreamscape. The bar faded away, the patrons disappearing along with their drinks. Trees sprouted up to replace them, the floor became a shimmering lake and Castiel turned again to find Dean now sitting on a chair at the end of a dock, a fishing rod held loosely in his hand. It was the only place Cas had ever seen Dean at peace in his dreams. 

Castiel hesitantly approached him, the dock creaking under his feet. Dean didn’t seem to notice him at first, absorbed by the water in front of him. It let Castiel linger in silence for a long moment, studying that face in profile. This face, this body and the soul it housed, it had all become more dear to him than he ever could have imagined, diving into Hell all those years ago. He was glad to see Dean again, even if only one last time. 

Dean shifted in his chair, blinking out at the sunlight bouncing off the water as he leaned back. It must have been far enough for him to register the presence of another, because he looked straight at Castiel suddenly. There was no shock on his face, no surprise. He was looking up at Castiel with an easy expression, the beginning of a smile hidden in the corners of his mouth. 

“Hey, Cas,” he said. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, softly. The hidden smile burst out into a lovely grin that crinkled Dean’s eyes. Castiel found himself unable to resist smiling back, the part of him that always turned to Dean like a flower to sunlight basking in its glow. 

“What are you doing here, man? I thought you were gonna be at work until six,” Dean said. He placed his fishing rod to the side, wedging it into the tackle box so the line stayed steady. 

Castiel wondered what exactly Dean was dreaming. He knew that Dean had had this dream many times before; it had a well-worn feel, like the t-shirts the Winchesters slept in, gone threadbare over the years. Whenever Castiel had soothed Dean’s dreams of Hell—always a clandestine act, hidden from both his superiors and Dean himself—this dock had usually been the place he found Dean’s mind turning to. 

But Castiel had only been within this dream once, on the run and desperate to keep ahead of his brethren. And now, Dean had made him part of the narrative. He wondered what his role was, what job Dean’s subconscious had thought him appropriate for. He put the thought from his mind. 

It wouldn’t be right to play into this fantasy; he shouldn’t drag this out longer than he had to.  

“You asked for a sign,” he said, then spread his arms a little to his sides, as if saying, here I am . 

Dean looked at him in confusion, his smile fading and his brow crinkling. As with all things, except for those deliberately blotted out by others, Castiel knew the memory of that smile would live safely in his mind. 

Realization bloomed slowly on Dean’s face. “I’m dreaming,” he said. 

“Yes.”

Dean stood, eyes fixed on Cas. His gaze was clearer now, direct. All traces of the contentment that had been lining his face was  gone completely, replaced by doubt and suspicion. “But...are you actually here?” 

“I am,” Castiel said, “I’m...sorry to have not come sooner.” He dropped his gaze to the dock. “I know you’ve been looking for me.” 

“Yeah, no shit, Cas,” Dean said, harshly. His doubt had burned up, consumed by anger. “Me and Sam have been searching all over for you, tearing the freakin’ country apart. Where the hell have you been?” 

“I’ve been...around,” Castiel said. He still couldn’t make himself look at Dean. 

Dean snorted, his eyebrows raising disbelievingly. “Around? That’s all you got?” 

Castiel sighed. “It’s safer if I don’t tell you, Dean. I haven’t been on the move for no reason.”

Castiel could feel Dean’s eyes, sharp and hot on him. He made himself look back up, met that keen gaze. “There something after you?” Dean asked. 

Castiel nodded. “Many somethings.” 

“Wait, is this because of Rosemary's baby?” Dean asked with a frown, “Damien Junior?” 

“I thought Damien was the child.”

Dean rolled his eyes, expansively. “Semantics, Cas, it’s still the devil’s hopped up kid. Where is it?”

Castiel swore his expression didn’t change, his limbs didn’t move to enclose Jack more securely, hidden from Dean’s sight against his chest. “Safe. He’s safe.” 

And somehow, Dean knew anyway. “It’s with you?” 

A sharp rush of anger washed through Castiel. “Yes, he is. He’s an infant of unimaginable power. Anything that wants to grow their powerbase wants him now. I couldn’t leave him alone.” 

Dean stared at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “What’s your plan here, Cas? You and the kid gonna go all Fugitive forever?”

“If need be.”

Dean threw his hands in the air. “C’mon, Cas, he’s controlling you! You said it yourself, he has unimaginable power. You telling me a little mind control is outside his wheel-house?” 

Castiel resisted his own desire to gesture in frustration, limiting himself looking away and gritting his teeth. Jack was starting to get restless in the sling, his feet kicking at the fabric, distressed whines low in his throat. 

Castiel faced Dean again, trying to remain calm. “He is very powerful. I’m sure the things he’ll one day be capable of will be astonishing. But he’s still a child, Dean. He’s not controlling me or making me act against my own will.” 

“How can you even know? It wouldn’t be the first time someone managed to get in your head,” Dean said. 

Naomi. Rowena. Even the souls from Purgatory, the Leviathans. Dean was right; Castiel had been used as a weapon too many times to trust blindly. And he hadn’t trusted Jack at first, had thought him just as corrupt as his progenitor, even in the womb. But that belief had been shaken, standing in that basement with Kelly. It had been shaken even more, feeling Jack’s tiny feet kicking in that hotel room. And it had disappeared entirely at Heaven’s gate, washed away in the flood of Jack’s grace and belief. 

Jack had believed in him first, chosen him first. Castiel had been helpless to do anything but choose him in return. 

“I’ve learned from my mistakes, Dean,” he said. 

Dean heaved a long sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, Cas, I get it, you feel responsible for the thing. You think because you said yes to Lucifer, taking care of it is your job.” Dean fixed him with a look, heavy with understanding. “But it’s not. You’re not this thing’s father.” 

And he was right. Castiel wasn’t Jack's father, not by blood or grace or any other measure. Other than the desire Jack had for him, the longing Castiel sensed when Jack opened his eyes and didn’t see him right away, the peace he felt held in Castiel’s arms. He wasn’t Jack’s father, but he was, in all the ways that mattered. 

Dean’s hands came up, grabbing him by each arm. His face was painted in lines of desperation. “You gotta come home, Cas. Throw off his control, tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.” 

And Castiel wanted nothing more, in that moment, than to soothe him. If that meant going back to the bunker, then that’s what he would do. But Jack wriggled again, one of his hands brushing against Castiel’s coat and brought him back to reality. 

Castiel sighed. “Dean. I didn’t come here to argue with you.” 

Dean’s brow crinkled in confusion. His hands tightened on Castiel’s arms. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ve heard your prayers,” Castiel said and watched a vulnerable comprehension race across Dean’s face, “And I’m sorry I’ve worried you. I didn’t mean to distress you.” 

Comprehension faded behind a cold mask, Dean’s eyes going dead, his jaw tightening. He let go of Castiel. He failed to not mourn the loss. 

“But?” Dean asked, tonelessly. 

“But I can't come back, Dean. This child, he needs me. And it’s safer, for all of you, if I stay gone.” Castiel hesitated, then put his own hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Dean. But our paths are diverging.” 

Dean said nothing, continuing to stare at Castiel with a blank hopelessness in his eyes. Castiel looked back at him and wondered what Dean’s future would hold for him now in a world that no longer needed him to save it, where he could finally be at peace. He could grow old now, comfortably and slowly, full of the usual human complaints about sore backs and knees but without the anxiety of his aging body failing him on a hunt. The crow’s feet beginning to line his eyes would deepen over time, as would the lines in his forehead. His skin would begin to sag and his stomach might even fill out into a comfortable paunch over the years, the jealousy of humans in ages past. Maybe—hopefully, Castiel told himself sternly, hopefully—Dean would find someone to share those years with. Another human to grow old beside. He might even have a child of his own one day. 

Castiel would see none of it but that was the price he’d agreed to pay by making this separation. Dean had so many years ahead of him, now, free of worry and bloodshed. Free of the burdens Castiel had so often brought to his door. That Castiel wouldn’t be there to see it was a cheap price to pay. 

“You will always be my family, all of you,” he said. “Please never think otherwise.” 

“Just tell me where you are, man,” Dean whispered. His eyes dropped from Castiel’s. “Please, just...” 

Castiel squeezed Dean’s shoulders. “Tell Sam and Mary I wish them well.” 

Dean said nothing, staring mutely at the dock. Castiel hesitated but he couldn’t leave Dean like this. Slowly, he lifted one hand to Dean’s cheek, lightly brushing his thumb and fingertips against his skin. The touch startled Dean, enough that he looked back up and met Castiel’s gaze.  

Castiel made himself smile. “Goodbye, Dean.” 

Dean didn’t say anything, staring at Castiel with a forlorn expression. He didn’t protest when Castiel lifted his hand to touch Dean’s forehead and he went peacefully into another dream. Castiel shrouded himself and exited before he could see what it was. 

Back in their little house, Castiel settled into the rocking chair he’d placed beside Jack’s crib. It was a wrenching pain, leaving Dean behind. It felt like a chapter of his life, his long, endless life, had come to a close. He wouldn’t be who he was, wouldn’t be anyone, without Dean’s influence. There had been points he’d believed he’d never have a life beyond Dean. Equally, there had been points when he’d believed he could not possibly continue being a part of Dean’s life, that they’d trespassed against each other too many times to continue. Never had he believed he’d be the one to make the severing cut, that he would find a blade sharp enough to make it. Never had he believed that he would survive it. 

Jack wriggled again, that same flavor of discontentment Castiel had first sensed all those weeks ago at the Grand Canyon pouring off him in waves. It had been growing over the course of their dream walking, intensifying the longer Castiel had lingered until Jack was practically vibrating with it. Castiel gathered him close and bent and kissed his forehead, just like he’d seen parents do with their children on TV. Jack sighed, his discontentment fading, and Castiel finally allowed himself to understand. 

“You love me,” Castiel whispered shakily into Jack’s skin. It sounded like a question. Nevertheless, he could feel Jack’s reply. 

He closed his eyes and pressed another kiss to Jack’s head. “I love you, too.” 

_ 

Dean stopped praying after that.