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11 June 2010 @ 12:03 pm
The Baking Angel: Day Five - Cinnamon Rolls  
Title: The Baking Angel (5/7)
Author: tiptoe39 , with art by bumblee
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, some Sam/Gabriel
Rating: PG-13
Warning: No major warnings apply
Word Count: ~ 27,000
Summary: Castiel and Gabriel have been running their bakeshop for thirty years, waiting for the Vessels to show and signal the end of the world. When the waiting ends, the two brother angels find their loyalties -- and their world -- changing. Romance, brotherly love, and a hefty dose of brown sugar.

Day Five: Cinnamon Rolls

The sun was rising when they woke up. The first thing Castiel saw was Dean’s lips, round and full, puffing air in his face. His heart surged, and he felt like crying. There was a chill in the air, and, murmuring in his sleep, Dean pulled him close, his body trembling minutely beneath a sky blue as an icicle.  Castiel smiled, just faintly, and let his eyes drift closed again.

A minute, or maybe an hour later, the chill awoke him and Dean both. They looked at each other, then broke the morning's silence with laughter.
“We really...”

“We did.”

Dean's shoulders were warm, his arms a folding square cage around Castiel's shoulders and back. Castiel leaned into them, let his chin rest on the crest of one bicep. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"Good question." Dean looked up into the sky. Rising slabs of orange-yellow sunlight lay across his face like swaths of paint, bright and uncompromising. "Figure we can stay here a little bit longer before we freeze to death."

Castiel nodded wordlessly. Dean leaned in, then, and kissed him, a long, quiet morning kiss. His lips were crusty with the aftermath of sleep. He felt unbearably human and warm. Castiel thought he might melt, just slink away into the grass and seep into the earth, never to be seen again. He settled his weight onto Dean and trusted him to keep him above ground.

Sam walked into the Baking Angel at six a.m. His cheeks were rosy from exertion, and the tip of his nose was faintly red from the early-morning nip in the air. The shop had just opened.

"He's not here," Gabriel said crossly from behind the counter.

"Which he?" Sam shot back. Gabriel grunted.

"Suppose they're in some sleazy motel room, waking up together with sore hineys," Gabriel tossed out as Sam crossed to the counter.

Sam stopped short and blushed. "It's too early in the morning!" he protested, slapping a hand to his forehead.

"You're right, they're probably doing it again." Gabriel gave a sharp cackle and reached into the display case with a pair of tongs. "How about a cinnamon roll, Sammy-man? Something to get the day started off right."

"We can't stay," Sam said, slamming his hands onto the countertop.

The tongs faltered. "Whoa."

"We can't. There's too much to do. And if we stay here we'll--"

He stopped and looked forlornly at Gabriel. His mouth drooped.

Gabriel relented. "Look," he said, recapturing the sticky bun and shoving it into a bag, "the kids'll be all right, okay? They're young, they're in love, they're disgustingly sweet together. Quite frankly, I wish you two had shown up sooner. He could have used you a few years back, when things were really bad."

Sam didn't have a clue what he was talking about. He just shook his head and took the bag mutely.

"They'll be OK. Now you, Sam. I worry about you."

"Me?" Gentle eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Gabriel just looked at him silently for a long minute. Sam felt like an ant under a microscope. He started squirming in his own collar. "Damn shame," Gabriel said finally. "That it had to be you. You're such a good kid and everything."

"You know, you do a lot of talking to me like I'm some kid," Sam said, straightening up. "We're not so far apart in age, you know."

"Do you?" Gabriel's voice was a sad, quizzical note.

"I really don't get you. You're the moodiest guy I've ever met. One minute you're offering me a cinnamon roll and the next you're looking at me like I'm your worst nightmare. It pisses me off."

"What do you care?" Sam tried to hand over a bill, but Gabriel refused, shaking his head. "You're leaving, anyway."

"I do care." Sam frowned. "I like you, Gabriel. You're a good guy."

"No," Gabriel said darkly. "No, I'm really not."

"So you're leaving today."

"That's the plan." Dean sighed and folded the blanket into the trunk of the car. The road was starting to come alive, the occasional semi or pickup honking a cheerful hello as it barrelled by, compact cars not so friendly, minivans shuttling along too self-absorbed to notice them. Birds were squawking on a power line on the other side of the divider.

The Impala's windshield had fogged over, and Castiel mopped it up with a cloth as Dean repacked the trunk. "Where are you going?"

"On the road. Here and there." He avoided Castiel's gaze. "It's what we do."

Castiel considered challenging him, but stayed silent, mopping the car's brow without a word.

Dean leaned on the open hatch. "I don't want to," he ventured.

"Yes, you do." The words came without a breath, without a thought.

Dean slammed the trunk shut. "Don't say that. How do you know what I want? You don't have a clue what it's like for me. You--"

He stopped. Castiel's face was stricken. "I'm sorry. I just... I'm not who you think I am, OK? I'm not... There's more going on here than you know. Than you can possibly know."

"I could say the same," Castiel said, so quiet he wasn't sure Dean even heard him. He thought he saw Dean's eyebrows rise, but he couldn't be sure. And he didn't want to look any closer. With the sunlight had come the seeds of unease, and the ride home was tenser than it had any right to be.

Still, just before Dean dropped him off, they melted into each other like they might never get the chance again.

Bobby said Sam was out in the yard, and when Dean strode out, he saw the back of Sam's head, an unopened white paper bag, and the hazy light of morning clearing up steadily into clear noontime sun.

Dean picked a long grass from the lawn, folded it over and blew into it. "Could never make that work," he said ruefully, casting a sidelong glance at Sam.

Sam shrugged. "There's a cinnamon roll in the bag," he said. "If you're hungry." His voice was flat.

"What, what's this?" Dean strode across the short stretch of grass to stand beside him. "You're moping."

"I'm not moping."

"You're moping. Why? Because you're jealous? Is that it?"

"Shut up, Dean."

"You should be." Dean grinned and opened the bag, taking a whiff of the roll inside. "You sure you don't want it?"

"Cut it out!" And Sam grabbed the bag back in one flash of a long arm. He held it in a white fist. His eyes were burning with hurt.

"Whoa. Whoa." Dean raised his hands into the air, a gesture that said look, no sudden movements. "What the hell is wrong?"

"You know what's wrong." Sam looked away. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"What are you talking about? We're leaving today. Here I am, ready to go."

"You don't want to."

"All right. All right, so I don't want to." He shook his head. "Can you blame me? Jesus. I'm..." His voice broke. "I'm in love with the guy. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard? I love boobs more than I love life, and I've gone and fallen for a baker who has the same parts as me. A fucking baker!"

"I tried to tell you." The words wanted to be punitive, but they just weren't. Sam could only conjure up a sad sort of smile as he gazed at his brother's profile.

"You did." Dean's look was equally rueful. "I should have known better." He kicked the ground.

"You know the worst part?" Sam said. "I'm actually pretty damn happy for you."

Dean's head tilted. "Huh?"

"I mean, you deserve to be happy. And, you know, there's a reason why people want to fall in love." Sam opened the bag. The smell of cinnamon, rich and nostalgic, filled his lungs when he took in a long breath. "Wish you had gotten to know Jess better, Dean. She made me so, so happy. I want that for you. I do. It's just that you and I... we can never be..."
"Normal." Dean leaned over the bag and smelled.


"So what are you going to do?"

"For one thing," Dean said, reaching inside the bag, "I'm gonna have half a cinnamon roll. Share?"

Sam grinned at him. Carefully, Dean parted the soft tufts of pastry and dropped one half into Sam's hand. They lifted their halves in a faux toast and, in unison, took one sweet, airy bite.

Then the gunshot rang out.

The man in the hallway was holding a smoking bullet in his hand, staring at it with an expression of vague annoyance, as Dean came into the hallway. He'd sent Sam around front to grab a shotgun from the trunk of the car, come up the back steps, and found Bobby and a tall, broad-shouldered black man who apparently had just plucked the bullet from the air.

Bobby's eyes were wild. He was biting his lip and squeezing the trigger of the shotgun repeatedly, but it did nothing but click and grind impotently in his hand. Dean could see every bristle of his beard quivering. It took a lot to get a tough old fart like Bobby perturbed, and Bobby was beyond perturbed at this point. Dean stepped between him and the stranger. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

"Oh, hello, Dean Winchester." The man had a voice like the rumbling of subway cars beneath a city street. The lights vibrated above him and the floor seemed to waver as he spoke. "It's an honor."

"Is it?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Guess that means you'll tell me who you are and why you're here, then."

"With pleasure." Teeth zigzagged into a smile. "My name is Uriel. And I'm here for Sam."

Dean began to shake. Whoever this man was, he knew.

It was a secret Sam didn't know, and even Dean didn't really understand the details of it. But his father had whispered to him a frightening ultimatum in the moments before he'd handed over his life and soul, and ever since then Dean had lived in fear of the day someone would appear and say "I'm here for Sam."

Dean thought for a second about asking this Uriel for details. Just what did he want with Sam? What was the meat behind this mystery that had been hanging over his head since his father's death? But then Sam was there behind Uriel, about to come through the front door with a loaded shotgun, and if there was one thing scarier than Dean knowing he might have to someday take his own brother down, it was Sam himself knowing it.

So he bit down the curiosity and just hollered, "Sam, run!"

"And there he is." Uriel turned slowly, too slowly, and Dean grabbed him by the arm and yanked. Two hundred fifty-odd pounds of man slipped down on top of him, and he howled, but not before locking eyes with his brother. Sam nodded and bolted through the front door. Dean wrapped his arms around Uriel's neck and shouted for Bobby. Outside, the engine of a car roared to life.

Bobby was all gristle and sinew, hardly the strongest guy in town but far from the weakest, and he could take a whole lot of abuse. He went forward toward Uriel like a bowling ball barreling toward a frame of tenpins and knocked him down. Another flash and Bobby was emptying a flask of holy water into his face, but all it did was make Uriel spit and cough. Nothing burned.

Uriel laughed a low, evil laugh. "You think I'm a demon," he said. "That's cute. Really cute." He raised his hand, just the slightest motion, and Dean and Bobby went flying across the room, slamming into the wall like a pair of wrecking balls. Pictures dropped from their nails in the foyer. The stairs rattled.

"Then what in the hell are you?" Dean wheezed the question through what felt like a shattered ribcage.

"You should have asked your new friends that question," said a voice from the front door. Uriel stiffened and turned.

The man who stood there now was portly, with a shock of white hair on either side of his bald crown. When he smiled, it was a big-lipped, closed-mouth smile, and his jowls bounced. "Uriel," he said, nodding at the front door. "You can go after the other. I'll handle things here."

"Thank you, sir," Uriel said with a deference Dean wouldn't have thought he was capable of. And in a flash he was through the door and gone.

"Now, then." The new arrival rubbed his hands together. "I'm betting you have a million questions, Dean Winchester. But let me start by giving us a bit of privacy." He angled the sick smile at Bobby. "Take a nap."

Bobby slumped to the floor, unconscious. Dean shouted, but he still couldn't move a muscle to help him. His shoulders thumped uselessly against the wall.

"Now, then. Where were we? Oh, yes. My name is Zachariah. And I have good news for you, Dean. You've been chosen."

"For what? By who?"

Zachariah approached him. "For a very special destiny. And as for by whom..." His eyes lifted an instant, just long enough to point out his answer.

Dean gave a barking laugh. "By God? You're serious? Oh, that's rich. So what are you, then? Some kind of angel?"

The look he got in response silenced him. His eyes hollowed into big, black pupils with green-gray rims. "You're serious."

"Not only that," Zachariah said, "I'm not the first angel you've met, Dean Winchester. And I certainly won't be the last."

The car flew over the crest of the hill. Sam hunkered down at the wheel as the tires left the pavement and slammed back down an instant later. He didn't know how much time he had, how much time Dean had bought for him. He didn't know what was after him. He only knew that his only hope was to pray that his cell phone rang and it was Dean with some answers before this thing caught up to him.

Prayers that were not answered. The speck of darkness in his rear-view mirror turned quickly to a cloud of fog, and even that was getting bigger and more menacing every second. The fog had a face, and then a hand that reached out, and the car skidded and the tires blew all at once. Sam braced and hit the brakes. He managed to launch himself out the driver-side door just as the car careened off the road and ended up in a ditch, smoking.

Sam took off on foot, then, pounding up the road with dirt-caked boots. The thing was still behind him, and gaining, and there was nothing in this area of town but cornfields and that old barn. He was so far beyond screwed at this point. But fear pulled him along, and he scanned the horizon desperately, looking for shelter or help or something.

And then he heard it. Just down the street, a voice. And he saw a waving hand.

"Over here! Over here, Tin Man!"

Sam's eyes went wide.  He veered off the street and gave a shout. "Gabriel? What are you--"

"No time. Run. Make for the barn. hurry!" Gabriel pushed him along, then ran alongside him. Sam couldn't tell which was more impressive -- that Gabriel was keeping up, with those tiny legs of his, or that their pursuer was still gaining. He sped up as best he could and went flying through the barn's open doors, Gabriel just behind.

"Up. Hide. Go, now!" Gabriel pushed him toward the ladder that led to Sam's loft, the place he'd been when Gabriel had stumbled upon him before. Sam swung himself up into the perch with the ease of a man who'd done it a million times. "No matter what happens," Gabriel said, "keep your head down until I tell you it's all right."

This was insane. What the hell was this little guy, this bakery shop employee, saying? "Gabriel, how did you--"

Gabriel's eyes flashed black fire. "Trust me!" he shouted, and there was nothing to be done, no argument to be made. Sam did as he was told and lay, his ear to the wooden slat, listening carefully and trying not to make any noise.

He heard footsteps, and then an indrawn breath. A low voice said Gabriel's name with a note of surprise.

"Hello, Uriel." Gabriel's voice was its usual sharp self. "Did you think I wouldn't see you slithering around my town like the little snake you are?"

"Your town?" The thing called Uriel laughed. "I seem to recall it wasn't your idea to come here in the first place. I'm here to collect, Gabriel."

"You're here to get your grubby little paws around Sam Winchester's neck, and I'm not going to let it happen."

"Why not? You know what he is, Gabriel. You know what he has to be." A single footstep.

"All I know," Gabriel said with a patience Sam had seldom heard in his voice, "is that I've been waiting for you to take that next step."

A gasp. Gabriel's voice, curling around syllables in no language Sam had ever heard, in a tone too resonant for this earth. Sam sneaked forward to peek from over the edge of the loft.

And then white light streamed everywhere, and Uriel cried out in pain and surprise. The shaft of sheer brightness very nearly tore Sam's eyes right out of their sockets. He flinched, stumbled backward, hands over his eyes, and lay down shuddering as the last of the light died down. It hurt to breathe. His eyes were stinging as though hot pokers had been in them.

"Poor, poor kid," he heard Gabriel say, in a quiet voice not meant for his ears. "You annoy the hell out of me, Sam, but that doesn't mean you deserve this. Really, I'm sorry."
"Like hell you are," growled Sam just before he tackled him.

Gabriel went sprawling to the floor. Sam had launched himself out of the loft, a cannonball of arms and legs and furor, slamming him backward against the packed dirt of the ground and pinning them there. "What in the hell was that? Who are you? What do you know about me?" His jaw was set, his teeth grinding hard enough to start sparks. "Answer me!"

The look he got wasn't frightened, it wasn't challenging, it was just plain sad. Gabriel was looking at him and seeing something that was already lost. It took the fire out of Sam's eyes. "What?" he demanded again, but his voice had half its strength. When he asked again, he was hoarse. "You know, don't you? About me. What is it? What am I?"

"You're someone who doesn't deserve what's coming your way," said Gabriel. Sam let him go, sitting up. Gabriel stayed on the floor, prone, looking up at the high vaulted rafters of the barn.  "I'm sorry, really, I am. But I can't stop it. None of us can."

Sam sat back on his haunches and peered at him. "Who are you? You're not just some baker."

Gabriel laughed. "Now that, my friend, is the understatement of the year."



"Angels want me. To fight. for them."

"You're surprisingly slow on the uptake, Dean. That's what I've been telling you."

The angel called Zachariah seemed to have no end of patience, standing there without so much as tapping his feet on the rug while Dean gaped and boggled and in general acted like a guy who'd just been told he was supposed to be some sort of heavenly warrior. "And you thought," Dean said, "that sending that guy to kill my brother would be a good opening move. You know, sometimes I'm bad at winning friends and influencing people, but that's got to be a new world record."

"It couldn't be helped," Zachariah shrugged. "You see, Sam's got his part to play in this, too, and unfortunately it isn't one you're terribly much going to like. If it makes you feel better, I sincerely doubt Uriel will have any success in killing him. I'm not unaware of who protects this town, and, by extension, you. Or maybe it's the other way around."

"I don't follow."

"Of course you don't. Like I said, surprisingly slow on the uptake." Zachariah stifled a yawn. "You know, when you look at the big picture, the signs are all there. Think about where your mind has been since you arrived in town. You've had a big magnet on your back that's led them right to you. And you right to them, for that matter. Which is more or less just like we planned it. Of course, we didn't quite count on the little--" He cleared his throat -- "tete-a-tete."

"What the hell are you talking about, my tete-a-tete? You mean this has something to do with Cas--"

"He's always been a bit of a child," Zachariah said with a cavalier shrug.  "He sees something he wants, and no force in Heaven can sway him. No different on earth, I see."

Dean's expression darkened. "Are you trying to tell me that Cas is--"

An angel.

Quite literally, a baking angel.

I can fly.

He went pale.

You'd be surprised what I can do.

Zachariah chuckled. "And here I'm sure you thought this was just some sort of adorable romance. Not so, my friend. I hate to tell you this, Dean, but... you've been set up."

"You're lying." Dean's hands clenched into fists, and he struggled against the invisible bonds that held him. "Cas isn't-- I won't believe it."

"Oh, Dean." Zachariah clucked his tongue. "You already do believe it. It's all good, really. It makes getting down to business that much more--"

His jaw swung open like the latch of a door, and golden light poured out. Dean's arms fell free of their bonds, and he threw and arm over his face to keep from being blinded. When he could look again, there was no one and nothing there. Just a singe mark on the carpet and a single white feather fluttering to the floor.

Bobby stirred behind him. Dean helped him up, steadied him as he let out a torrent of curses and complaints before turning his sharp tongue on Dean. "Boy, are you going to tell me what in the hell just happened?"

"I will, Bobby," he said, swinging toward the front door. "Two things to take care of first. I'll be back. I swear."  He pulled out his keys and slid out to the front porch, heading straight for the car. Two things. No. 1: make sure Sam was all right. No. 2: talk to Castiel.

Sam kicked straw into the air and watched it flutter, blond and shaky, to the ground. "The devil? The fucking devil? Is this a joke?"

Gabriel looked up at him. "Life is a joke, Tin Man. always has been. Always will be."

"Shut up." Sam seized him by the collar. "You've got no right to talk. You're one of them. You could have warned me, could have done something, and you didn't."

Gabriel pressed his hands to Sam's chest and pushed, and Sam flew across the length of the barn and slammed into the doors. "Damn right I didn't," he muttered. He stood, arms folded, and watched as Sam stumbled forward, clutching his back, his eyes dark pools of shadow.

He made his way back to Gabriel. "I don't get you," he said. "How could you know, and just let it happen? Want it to happen?"

Gabriel's eyes went dark. "Let's put it this way. When you and your brother fight, do you give each other the silent treatment for a hundred years, or do you have it out with him?" He didn't give Sam time to answer. "You get in a big fight and beat each other to a bloody pulp. Don't you? Because the other way is torture. The waiting, the not talking, that hurts."

His mouth twitched. "That's where I am. That's where I've been. Waiting for these two to have their fight so our family can be whole again."

"But-- but this isn't just some petty fight. Your brothers-- if they fight, millions of people die!"

"Then how much worse do you think it is for me to sit here waiting?" The words were a burst of sound, and Gabriel's hands flew out, shoving Sam roughly. He flew across the length of the barn and slammed into the doors. Gabriel shouted after him. "Don't talk to me about how much I ought to care about you. I don't give a damn about you. It's thanks to my Father you're even on this earth, and what do you people do with your lives, this gift he's given you? You fight, you screw, you hurt each other and you die. So what should I care what happens to you?"

"But you do."

Sam was making his way back to Gabriel. Slowly, and with an arm draped over his chest where Gabriel had pushed him, but he was walking back. His eyes were dark, glinting. Gabriel squinted and shuddered. "What's that about?"

"That guy, Uriel? He wasn't here to kill me. To scare me, maybe, but he wanted this whole vessel thing to happen as much as you say you do. Whatever he was going to do to me, you could have let him. And you sent him away." Gabriel breathed in sharply, his nostrils flaring. Sam ignored the motion. "You could have handed him off to me. But you fought him off. How does that square with you wanting armageddon to come, huh?"

"Shut-- shut up," Gabriel said, flustered. "Uriel annoys me. He always has.'

"So do I." Sam leaned toward him, got right in his face, smirking. "Remember?"

A blaze shot through Gabriel's eyes.

And just like that, he had pressed himself up against Sam and was kissing him hard. Sam took in a shaky breath. His eyes were wide open. Gabriel's hands came up to clamp down on Sam's shoulders.

Then Sam shifted and gathered Gabriel up closer, his eyelids fluttering shut. His hands raked into Gabriel's hair, pulling just hard enough to make Gabriel whimper into the kiss.

"Damn right you do," Gabriel whispered, husky. His eyes, when he opened them, were predatory. He slid a palm beneath the collar of Sam's shirt. "You annoy the hell out of me."

Sam looked down at it, then up into Gabriel's face. "Oh, God." His voice shook.

"God?" Gabriel scoffed. "He's left the building. Now there's just us." His fingers played at the base of Sam's hair.

"Why do you say that?" Soft words from parted lips. Sam felt like he was speaking through water, or gauze, or fog perhaps. Something smoky that obscured his words.

"Because it's true. I can't remember the last time my Father showed up." Gabriel's eyes darkened. He drew back, and his hands dropped, hardening into fists. "It's just us now. And we're tired of waiting. I'm tired of waiting. And watching my brothers fight. And knowing there's no God left to tell us what's right. We might as well just fight it out now. I say, bring it on."

"And destroy humanity in the process."

"So what?"

"So," Sam grabbing one of those fists and straightening it again, then interlacing his fingers with Gabriel's. He pushed weight into every syllable as he spoke. "Just because your father's gone doesn't mean you don't have a responsibility to his legacy. Trust me. I should know."

"I don't need you moralizing to me." Gabriel snatched his hand away and shoved Sam roughly. His eyes lifted briefly. "What am I doing?" he asked the ceiling, or the heavens, before looking at Sam coldly. "It's bad enough that my Father simpered constantly over you humans. Enough. I'm done listening to this bullshit. See ya, Sam." He waved a hand cheerlessly.

Sam scrambled forward. "Gabriel, if you disappear on me I'll--"

It was too late.

Dean sped out to the barn and called Bobby, who came out in the tow truck to retrieve the wrecked car. Then there was a three-man round of twenty questions that seemed to take forever. Even though it was important to get everyone up to speed, Dean's heart wasn't in the chat. He kept looking outside at the waning light and wondering when he'd finally be able to escape.

All told, it was evening by the time Dean got around to the second leg of his to-do list. The bakeshop had closed for the night, but Dean wasn't about to let a little thing like that stop him. He circled round to the back entrance and rapped sharply on the door.

From the window, he could see the stairwell that led up to the brothers' apartment, as well as the back of the kitchen itself. He peered through the glass for a few minutes, then knocked again, this time bellowing Castiel's name with all the force in his stomach.

After a moment, a pale face appeared at the window. Castiel pulled the door open, but Dean stayed outside, leaning heavily on the doorframe and staring at him. "How long were you going to hide it from me, huh?"

In an instant Castiel's face went from pleased to stunned. "What?"

"Was it because I was supposed to leave today? You just thought you'd have your fun and then send me packing, and I'd never find out you were part of it?"

"Dean. I don't know what you're--"

Like hell you don't. When were you going to tell me?"

Castiel laid his hands on Dean's arms. His forehead was pinched together in worry. "Just come inside. I didn't think I was going to see you again."

"Yeah, because you sent your buddies to collect me," Dean said, but he did walk in through the doorway, crossing in front of Castiel without so much as a look or a touch. Only when he was several paces from him did he turn and go on. "That's what they told me. That you set me up. That this whole thing between us was a lie."

Castiel opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stared at Dean, shock in his eyes.

Dean rushed in to fill the gap. "I had a visit from a couple of interesting guys today. One of them tried to kill my brother. And the other one -- think he said his name was Zachariah -- told me a damn interesting story."

Castiel's eyes squeezed shut for a moment of recognition and pain. "Oh, no."

"Yeah, that's right. So how about it, Cas? You going to tell me the truth?"

The world was coming down around his ears. Castiel shook his head. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Tell me the truth!"

"I... I tried to tell you."

"Well, you didn't try hard enough. What about last night, huh? You could have told me then. You could--" And then Dean remembered Castiel trying to tell him something, and Dean like a fool had thought he knew what it was, and... He looked toward him to confirm it, and the pain he saw in Castiel's eyes silenced him completely.

Castiel began to walk toward him. "I wish it wasn't true. I wish I was just like everyone else. Dean, I didn't tell you because I was starting to believe the lie myself. I wanted to believe it."

Dean stood firm. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth is..." And hapless eyes flew to his. "The truth is that I love you."

If Dean had been any less on guard, he might have stumbled backwards. As it was, he felt the balance of the room waver dangerously, and he held out an arm to steady himself.  His hand locked around Castiel's wrist, entirely by accident, but he felt the heat zip up his arm to his shoulder and take hold of his spine. "Cas," he said, a throaty whisper.

Castiel's eyes were adamant. "You have to understand. Nothing else matters to me anymore," he said. "Not what I am, not what they want for you. All I know is that I'm in love with you. I don't even care anymore--" He turned away then, his jaw locking, as though his mind was working through a series of problems and filing them away, one by one. Dean dared not interrupt that process.

Finally he turned back. "I never gave a damn before you," he said. "Not about the end of the world, not about destiny or the human race. I knew this would happen someday, but I never cared. And then I met you, and now I find... I want to have a choice. I want to choose whether I believe in the plan or not. That has never been my choice to make."

He walked to Dean, put both hands on his face, and leaned in. "Do I have to say those words?" he asked. Wide blue eyes searched Dean's. "Because they don't matter anymore. The words that matter, I've already said."
Dean sighed, a great expulsion of breath that crumpled him forward. He took Castiel into his arms. "You stupid, frustrating, idiotic angel."

"There." Castiel smiled against Dean's collar. "You said it for me."

To Day Six...
Laurenjabber_moose on June 12th, 2010 05:31 am (UTC)
God, this chapter should have put me in a hospital..the things it did to my heart.

Cas and Dean melted it.

Then Gabe and Sam clenched it.

Then the showing up of the angels made it race.

Gabriel and Sam's interaction made it melt then clench

The sense of betrayal you got, with the boys realizing their bakerbuddies were a part of the Big Plan hurt it.

Then Cas and Dean melted it all over again.

Bah. Cannot take much moreeee <3
Tiptoe39: dean brokentiptoe39 on June 12th, 2010 12:14 pm (UTC)
Heeeeeee. I <3 you. Your chapter comments are totally making me flail.

Sorry about the heart trouble. I hear there's medication for that... :3
mancrave: Nikemancrave on February 4th, 2012 12:53 am (UTC)
Come on! You're going to give me heart problems. This chapter made me far too tense. First it was heart breaking cause Dean and Cas had to say goodbye and then it was heart breaking cause Dean and Sam had one of their heart to hearts that always, always, get to me. And then it was damn nerve wracking what with Uriel and Zachariah showing up. And then Zachariah had to go a be a massive douche and put bad thoughts into Dean's head about Cas. And then, with Sam and Gabriel and the arguing and the kissing and Dean and Cas with the arguing and the declarations of love. Gah!

Too much, my heart can't take all these feelings.
Tiptoe39tiptoe39 on February 4th, 2012 01:27 am (UTC)
hahah sorry to be a roller coaster!! *smoosh* hang in there!

Also your comment is VERY similar to Lauren's above. I ought to introduce you two. :D

Edited at 2012-02-04 01:28 am (UTC)