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It was supposed to be a good thing. John Winchester back, raised from the dead. The how and the why behind this miracle were certainly questions that would lead them to complicated answers. Fortune never followed the Winchesters far and it always brought misery along for the ride.
For now, he was here. Their motel room reunion was rough around the edges. Once it had been established that John was in fact John, he had briefly hugged each of his sons. The gruff affection seemed insufficient to Castiel, but the brothers weren’t particularly keen on demonstrating their feelings, something they had undoubtedly learned from John. Castiel couldn’t judge, he knew little of intimacy between family, his was certainly no example to go by.
The only reason Castiel had been present for their rendezvous was because they were suspicious of the phone call they had gotten from John to arrange the meeting. Uncertain what to expect, the three of them had gathered together, waiting for John to arrive, prepared for the worst.
Castiel was contemplating leaving, to give the men time alone, when he heard Sam introducing him.
“Dad, this is our friend Cas.”
Castiel had been observing Dean who was still staring at his father warily in disbelief. He turned his attention to John who was giving him a sharp, appraising look.
“What the hell kind of name is Cas?”
“It’s a shortened version of Castiel,” the angel replied, glad the man didn’t extend his hand in greeting. Dean and Sam would have considered his refusal to shake it as disrespectful, and they would have been correct.
“Is that supposed to be any better?”
“Dad. Cas is an angel,” Dean interrupted, moving closer and standing to the side of both of them.
John looked between the two of them.
“Is that right?” He asked slowly, keeping his gaze on Castiel.
“There’s a lot we have to catch you up on,” Sam offered.
“I guess so, if sons of mine are keeping company with some supernatural monster,” John said. “Why don’t you give us some privacy, angel? Like my boy said, we need to talk.”
Castiel bristled at the attempted dismissal, as if John were in charge of him or either of his adult sons. Turning to Dean, Castiel was dismayed to see that instead of appearing defiant he was looking uncomfortably at the floor, one glance at Sam revealed a similar uneasiness, though he didn’t look away.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, uh, dad’s right,” Dean began and Castiel realized that Dean’s loyalty to his family was going to keep him at a distance.
“Just, well, it’s been a while, and we should talk. Family stuff,” Dean said with a quickly aborted smile. He laid a hand on Castiel’s shoulder and took him a few steps away. Lowering his voice, he continued.
“You remember how suspicious Bobby and I were when we first met you?”
“I do recall you stabbing me.”
“Right, well, Dad is just as cautious around, uh, in situations he’s never encountered. So we’ll clue him in, vouch for you, and then hook up with you later.”
“And you’re comfortable with him if I leave?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely dad. We’ll be fine,” Dean assured him, completely misunderstanding Castiel’s concern.
Perhaps Dean had forgiven his father for the alcohol fueled abuse. It was a likely conclusion; all was forgiven in death. Castiel had never heard Dean speak ill of his father, not really.
John had always had a stern hand, one that Dean had been certain to keep trained on himself instead of Sam. Dean had never confessed to his brother or Cas that his father’s drinking and behavior had gotten even worse once Sam had left for Stanford.
Ranting verbal abuse morphed into angry outbursts that ended in blows. It didn’t take long for the sporadic beatings to become institutionalized violence, with Dean assuming the blame and the position as John laid into him with his belt. And Dean just took it, making excuses for his father and thinking he deserved what he got. Dean had always been what his father demanded of him, following orders without question and accepting punishment for the slightest infraction.
Dean didn’t seem to realize that Castiel knew, that he had painstakingly restored him and cradled his soul through the bowels of hell, that he was intimately acquainted with every aspect of Dean’s psyche. It had never been pertinent to reveal this knowledge to Dean previously. When Castiel had pulled him from Hell, John was already dead and they had the pressing issue of the impending Apocalypse to deal with.
Dean was looking over his shoulder at Sam and his father talking together, and Castiel thought it might be somewhat insensitive of him to dredge up past unpleasantness and spoil their reunion.
“Don’t hesitate to contact me. For anything, Dean,” Castiel stressed.
“Yeah, thanks, man,” Dean said distractedly and Castiel left.
The angel kept careful watch over the Winchesters. They immediately fell into their previously established hierarchy with John on top. Hunting resumed and the experienced trio had no need for angelic assistance. John was calling the shots and even driving the Impala. Castiel didn’t see the Winchesters for several days, but he kept watch over them. Though the boys were hidden from him, there was nothing to prevent him from tracking John.
It wasn’t until Sam stormed out of their current motel room, that Castiel appeared to him, worried that something was wrong.
“Oh, hey, Cas. How’ve you been?”
“Well, Sam. Are you all right?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Sam said, before, “Were you worried?”
Castiel hesitated. “I thought something might have gone wrong with your father.”
Sam waved his hand dismissively.
“Nah, just the usual crap. I could never quite swallow dad’s bullshit the way Dean does. Just wanted to clear my head,” Sam said, leaning against the trunk of the Impala.
“How is Dean?”
“Fine, I guess. He was always gung-ho about keeping the family together, so he finally got what he wanted. The three of us hunting again, like old times.”
“And things aren’t strained between Dean and John?”
Sam shrugged.
“No more than usual I suppose. Dad can be a difficult guy, but it’s good to have him back.”
Castiel had been considering presenting his concerns to Sam, but the fond expression on Sam’s face stopped him. Perhaps John had changed. If Dean was welcoming him and glad to have his father back, then Castiel shouldn’t interfere and speak ill of him to Sam. Dean had probably forgiven his father, hoping that things would return to how they had been before Sam left for Stanford.
Sam interrupted his thoughts.
“You know, you don’t have to keep tabs on us, Cas. Between the three of us we can handle trouble. Dean or I will call if we run into anything bad.”
Though Sam had a point, if it was all the same to him, Cas thought he’d keep a look out anyway.
A couple of days later, Dean contacted Castiel hoping he might be able to provide some insight when the research trail on a case they were working ran cold. The motel room seemed a little tense, the men frustrated. Castiel was reading through the police reports and considering the information Sam had relayed to him before he left to pick up dinner.
Everything they had learned so far seemed inconclusive. Without clear answers about what they were up against, they might have to wait for another death to try and work out the connection. No one wanted that.
John was drinking and critiquing Dean’s process as he field-stripped several of their guns. It was strange to Castiel that Dean didn’t defend himself. Dean always took proper care of his weapons and was likely executing the long practiced moves the same way John had taught him to so many years ago. The clipped ‘yes, sir’ responses didn’t sit well with Castiel.
“So is this what you do now? Call in the feathered reinforcements as soon as you can’t handle a situation?” John asked, standing to block Dean when he had stood from the bed to cross the room.
Dean glanced at Castiel, seated at the table.
“No. Well, sometimes. Cas is an asset; he knows a lot. It’d be a mistake to not run it by him, same way we do with Bobby,” Dean said.
John shook his head.
“You’re slipping, Dean. You need to handle these cases on your own. You can’t rely on others to save your ass. Like last week, that was fucking sloppy work with that spirit. You’re gonna have to do better if you want to keep your brother alive and help people. Hunting leaves no room for mistakes. You fuck up and people die,” John said, jabbing a finger in Dean’s chest.
“Shit, you think I don’t know that?” Dean answered angrily. “This isn’t my first fucking rodeo, okay, asshole?”
“You better watch yourself, Dean. Or I’ll teach you some damn respect,” John threatened, voice low and dangerous as he laid a hand over his belt buckle. Dean’s eyes darted to it and he took a step back.
“Y-yes, sir.”
“No,” Castiel said, suddenly at Dean’s side and stepping into the space between the two of them, crowding John.
“You will not hurt, Dean. You will not intimidate him with poorly veiled threats of violence. If you ever raise so much as a hand against him, I will personally destroy you. I will utterly eradicate you from this very plane of existence atom by atom until you are less than nothing.”
In the silence, Castiel continued to glare at John as the older hunter evaluated him. Sam opened the door, halting at the threshold with bags of food in his hands.
“Uh, guys…?”
“So I’m being threatened by an angel?” John confirmed without turning back to look at Sam.
“Yes. Though it would be more accurate to call it an absolute truth. And it applies to Sam too. I will not hesitate to crush you just as thoroughly for harming him,” Castiel vowed, never looking away from John.
“Cas, that’s enough,” Dean said, briefly touching his shoulder and finally getting the angel to break eye contact.
Taking a few steps into the room, Sam looked between the men. Everyone was on edge.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Dean brought a hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I gotta take a drive,” Dean said, plucking the keys from Sam’s hand and brushing past his brother.
“Dean, wait…” Sam dumped the bags on the table as the door slammed shut.
“Let him go, Sam. He just needs to cool off,” John said, as he sat down on the bed and picked up his drink again.
Sam waited, but John didn’t elaborate. Shaking his head and cursing silently at the ceiling, Sam rounded on Cas for answers. He looked purposefully between the angel and then the door, inclining his head towards it for emphasis. Castiel followed him out.
“Care to explain what the hell that was?” Sam demanded, waving a hand back towards the door. “Were you really just threatening my dad?”
“Yes, but—“
“Cas, that’s way out of line, man. You can’t just—“
“Sam, I had to,” Castiel interrupted, stepping closer to the youngest hunter and fixing him with a penetrative stare. “Your father and brother don’t have a healthy relationship.”
“Well, we’re not exactly the Brady Bunch here, Cas, but it’s definitely not what you seem to think,” Sam defended, running a hand through his hair.
“No. You listen to me, Sam. Your father abused Dean. He used to hurt him. I won’t allow him to do it again.”
“Dad’s no saint, believe me, I know, but he would never hurt Dean or me.”
Frowning at Sam’s denial, Castiel fought his frustration and aimed to keep his voice level, measuring each word when he replied.
“You’re not listening to me, Sam. I’m not mistaken. You weren’t there. It was just the two of them and it happened. John would physically harm Dean. Your brother accepted the beatings as punishment. He never told you, but it’s true.”
For a long couple of moments neither of the men spoke, staring at each other. Eventually, Sam dropped his defensive posture and hesitantly replied.
“You’re serious? Are you sure, Cas?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I’m certain,” Castiel said, casting his eyes to the ground.
“Fucking bastard,” Sam spat as he stalked away and pulled out his phone. Castiel waited as Sam paced through the parking lot, leaving Dean a voicemail asking him to come back.
After telling Cas to hang around—which was unnecessary since Castiel had no intention of leaving at the moment—Sam went to the front office. Returning with a key a few minutes later, Sam stormed back into their motel room. Castiel hovered just outside the door in case there was reason for him to interfere, but Sam wasn’t in there long. Shortly after a terse exchange with his father, Sam reemerged with duffle bags slung over his shoulders. Castiel followed him to a room several doors away.
They sat quietly together, waiting for Dean to return. Sam picked over a salad, disinterestedly stabbing forkfuls as he repeatedly checked his phone, texting his brother occasionally.
Some time later, while watching Sam nod off in his chair, Castiel heard the Impala’s engine.
Relocating to the parking lot, Castiel stood next to the car as Dean clambered out.
“I wish you wouldn’t drive while inebriated. I would have come to get you,” Castiel offered softly.
Dean rolled his eyes as he shut the door. “I know. I didn’t have that many.”
“Sam changed rooms.”
“Yeah, he uh, he texted me.”
Leaning back against the side of the car, Dean sighed and studied his shoes. The silence rippled between them, spreading further and further as the minutes ticked by. Dean cleared his throat.
“Cas. What you said before, uh… You know about my dad? You know what happened?”
“Yes, Dean. I know.”
Pressing his lips together, Dean nodded with his eyes shut before continuing hesitantly.
“And now, Sam knows too, huh…”
“I’m sorry for divulging your past, but Sam didn’t understand and he needed to. You deserve better, Dean. I meant what I said to your father. I won’t allow him to hurt you.”
“S’okay, Cas. I get it, you were sticking up for me. My dad just,” Dean bit at his bottom lip, shaking his head lightly. “Nothing I ever do is good enough for him, you know? I do every fucking thing he tells me to and it’s not enough, I mess it up.” Dean abruptly smothered a hand over his mouth when his voice broke slightly. “No matter how hard I try, I fuck things up, Cas. It’s no good, I’m no good. I’m not—“
“Dean.”
Stepping forward, Castiel raised his hand to touch Dean’s shoulder, but at the contact Dean moved even closer. He pressed himself towards the angel, clinging to Castiel’s coat as he hid his face against his neck.
Recognizing a need for comfort, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, holding his friend close and hoping he was getting it right. Castiel didn’t always grasp the full extent of human gestures, but he was determined to not let go of Dean until the hunter wanted him to. Nothing could make him release his grip on the man in his arms. Dean never allowed himself to be vulnerable, never took what he needed, but Castiel would happily give him everything.
When Dean pushed Castiel away a minute later, while smearing a hand down his face, he mumbled ‘sorry’ and kept his eyes on the ground.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Dean.”
“Well, then, thanks,” Dean said, looking uncomfortable. “Thanks, for earlier, for having my back.”
“Always.”
In the end, the three Winchesters talked, though Sam had the most to say in defense of his older brother. They tentatively decided to continue hunting together, but that only lasted a handful of days before John left.
Castiel joined the brothers, clapping a hand on Dean’s shoulder as he claimed the barstool on Dean’s other side.
“We’re better off without him, Dean. I don’t trust dad like I trust you. It doesn’t mean we can’t ever see him, just that hunting with him wouldn’t work,” Sam reasoned as Dean hung his head.
“He didn’t even try.”
“Yeah, well, his loss then,” Sam grumbled. “I don’t need him. We don’t. You and I, it’s worked for years, just the two of us.”
“I guess,” Dean said, taking a swig of beer and looking at his brother and friend on either side of him. “And we got Cas, Sammy. Can’t forget our angel,” Dean amended, with a grin and a wink at Castiel.
On his left, Sam laughed. “Oh right, cause we’re a threesome.”
Ignoring his brother, Dean nodded at the bartender for another.
“Let’s get you a drink so we can toast our trio proper.”
Once the bottle was in front of Castiel, Dean clinked his against Sam’s and then Castiel’s.
“Cheers to you two, my family that matters.”