Unto Others
Summary: That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. Gen.
Spoilers for all of Season Six. Thanks to![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
giandujakiss for beta.
Dean was drinking alone. Castiel observed him for some time before revealing himself.
Sam was with Bobby Singer on a resupply run, and Dean had declined to participate, ostensibly because he wanted to check over the Impala to make sure Castiel had fixed the damage from the demons’ assault properly. The rationalization was flimsy, since Castiel had made no error. Dean deserved the best of what was left for him. And, to be scrupulously honest, Dean would have whined, even with Sam whole and intact beside him, if he’d lost the only physical home he’d had for most of his life.
In any event, the other men had accepted Dean’s excuse, and Dean had indeed spent a few minutes putting his hands on his car, as if he were drawing strength from it. Then, he’d returned to Bobby’s house and sat down on the couch with his bottle.
He came readily to the door when Castiel knocked.
“Oh, hey,” Dean said as soon as he opened the door. His welcoming expression wasn’t worship, but Castiel had made peace with Dean’s stubbornness for the moment; he was willing to wait to see how Dean accepted the new situation.
“Hang on a sec,” Dean ordered, then went to the window and wiped off one of the symbols. (They hadn’t ever gotten them entirely right, but that was no longer important.) Castiel stepped inside and joined Dean in Bobby’s living room. “I guess Bobby’s gonna be on our asses to clean this up now that we don’t need to keep Raphael out.” Instead of taking action to suit his words, Dean sat down and picked up his drink.
Castiel sat next to him. With Dean’s knees splayed out so that he could lean back, their legs were almost touching. Castiel kept his hands clasped in front of him, his elbows braced on his legs, in a pose he’d learned conveyed deep thought among humans.
He hesitated, but the question was an important one. Dean’s opinion mattered to him, even now. “Do you believe we did the right thing, altering Lisa and Ben’s memories?” Castiel said ‘we,’ even though Dean had none of the power, because that decision was a joint one, Dean’s request and Castiel’s acquiescence.
By the expression on his face, Dean would rather have told stories about his time in Hell, but he owed Castiel far more than conversation and he knew it. He took a drink, a deep breath, and then another drink before he managed any words.
“Look, you didn’t just give her back her boyfriend. You gave her back her life. Saying those things in front of Ben, having him see what he saw—having him fire a fucking gun and kill other poor bastards just to watch her bleed out— she loves that kid more than the rest of the world put together. Taking that day away, that was—that kept both of them from changing forever, just because she had the shitty luck of taking pity on me.”
Castiel nodded. Dean had said when he demanded to be removed from the Braedens’ memory that he wanted only mercy for them. Castiel was pleased that experiencing the results hadn’t changed Dean’s mind. Dean wished to carry the burden of knowledge alone, and even if he wasn’t strong enough to do so without pain, the impulse was only one of protection.
With Lisa and Ben Braeden, Castiel had proceeded surgically, ensuring that they retained a memory of a hunter who’d taught them of the virtues of salt and silver, just changing his face and details enough. He was confident that they’d lost nothing whose loss could harm them. It had been a useful lesson: when he’d corrected the hunters’ memories of the past year, he’d hewed to the same principle. He’d rearranged only the minimum, letting their human minds strive for and find consistency on their own. Crowley’s claimed responsibility for Sam’s resurrection stayed, along with Crowley’s quest for Purgatory; his alliance with Raphael had been moved up in time, which had then allowed memory-Castiel to make a more persuasive case that they had to beat Raphael in the race for access to Purgatory’s souls as a matter of defending humanity.
All the basic truths were still there, just as they were with the Braedens. Only what was too much to bear had changed.
For extra security for the Braedens, he’d assign a minor angel to watch over them—not as Sam and Dean had been watched over; he had no future plans for the Braeden line. This would be pure guardianship. If Dean worried, later, Castiel would reveal how he’d stretched out his wing over them, and Dean would be even more grateful.
Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, as if making sure that the topic was closed. Castiel understood why the Braedens would be a sensitive subject. Castiel, after all, had erred as much as any of them, trying to leave Dean alone with his newfound family and only succeeding in postponing the pain of separation. If he’d brought Dean in when Crowley had first approached him, allowed Dean’s protests to be dulled with time and logic, he wouldn’t have needed to intervene so—decisively—after Raphael’s death.
Dean refilled his glass from a bottle whose level was perilously low. When Castiel didn’t take the initiative, Dean raised the tumbler in Castiel’s direction. “So, no apocalypse restart. Team Free Will for the win, eh?”
“Free will, with some changes,” Castiel reminded him. It should have been astonishing how easily and immediately he’d forgotten, entirely of his own volition, but that seemed to be the condition of humanity.
Dean shrugged uneasily. “That was just—fixing what never should’ve been broken in the first place,” he said, and drank again. Castiel refilled his glass with a thought so that he wouldn’t need to get up and start searching for one of the other bottles hidden around the place.
He leaned towards Dean, trying to convey with his material form his sincere attempt to understand. “But can we truly have free will if we must be constrained by the free will of others? Where two wills conflict, can both be free? And aren’t we in any event always created by the actions of others, such that true autonomy is a myth?”
Dean blinked at him and then took a swallow that emptied his glass. “Dude, that was so far over my head it was out past Pluto. All I know is, you do the best you can and you stick with your family.”
Castiel nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.” He considered his next steps. There was much work to be done in Heaven, and then the matter of the empty spaces of Purgatory, along with some unfinished business in Hell. After that, there would likely be things worth setting straight on Earth as well. He would be very busy for a very long time, and he had lost so many allies, and friends, already.
“I have to go,” he said, and Dean tensed beside him, readying himself for Castiel’s usual method of departure. But many things had changed in the past few hours. He wanted Dean’s veneration, not just his trust; still, he knew that Dean would need to be led to that. “I believe,” he said, and waited for Dean’s startled eyes to meet his, “that I would like a hug.”
Dean froze, and Castiel feared for a moment that he would recoil. Refuse again, deny Castiel three times. It would be trivial to—
But Dean smiled, somewhere between awkward and astonished. “I guess if you’re man enough to ask, I’m man enough to do it. Don’t go tellin’ Sam though,” he warned, standing and turning so that Castiel knew to do the same.
He wrapped his arms around Castiel, glass still clutched in one hand. The pressure was pleasant, surrounding Castiel with closeness and warmth and the smell of Dean—whiskey, sweat, cotton and leather. Castiel’s own hands rose almost of their own accord, returning the gesture.
“Thank you,” Dean said into the top of Castiel’s shoulder. “For bringing Sam back, for saving Ben and Lisa, for saving us all.” Castiel could almost feel his bones, pressing hard against Castiel’s form through all the layers of clothing. It was exactly what he’d wanted—what he’d demanded—from Dean, and no less than his due.
He had no idea why he was frowning.
He didn’t want Dean to think that his offering was unappreciated. “You’re welcome,” he said, aware that the sentiment was not adequate.
Castiel left the mortal plane as soon as Dean loosened his grasp.
He would use the time spent away from the Winchesters to determine what had been missing from this last encounter. And what he would require when he returned.
Summary: That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. Gen.
Spoilers for all of Season Six. Thanks to
giandujakiss for beta.Dean was drinking alone. Castiel observed him for some time before revealing himself.
Sam was with Bobby Singer on a resupply run, and Dean had declined to participate, ostensibly because he wanted to check over the Impala to make sure Castiel had fixed the damage from the demons’ assault properly. The rationalization was flimsy, since Castiel had made no error. Dean deserved the best of what was left for him. And, to be scrupulously honest, Dean would have whined, even with Sam whole and intact beside him, if he’d lost the only physical home he’d had for most of his life.
In any event, the other men had accepted Dean’s excuse, and Dean had indeed spent a few minutes putting his hands on his car, as if he were drawing strength from it. Then, he’d returned to Bobby’s house and sat down on the couch with his bottle.
He came readily to the door when Castiel knocked.
“Oh, hey,” Dean said as soon as he opened the door. His welcoming expression wasn’t worship, but Castiel had made peace with Dean’s stubbornness for the moment; he was willing to wait to see how Dean accepted the new situation.
“Hang on a sec,” Dean ordered, then went to the window and wiped off one of the symbols. (They hadn’t ever gotten them entirely right, but that was no longer important.) Castiel stepped inside and joined Dean in Bobby’s living room. “I guess Bobby’s gonna be on our asses to clean this up now that we don’t need to keep Raphael out.” Instead of taking action to suit his words, Dean sat down and picked up his drink.
Castiel sat next to him. With Dean’s knees splayed out so that he could lean back, their legs were almost touching. Castiel kept his hands clasped in front of him, his elbows braced on his legs, in a pose he’d learned conveyed deep thought among humans.
He hesitated, but the question was an important one. Dean’s opinion mattered to him, even now. “Do you believe we did the right thing, altering Lisa and Ben’s memories?” Castiel said ‘we,’ even though Dean had none of the power, because that decision was a joint one, Dean’s request and Castiel’s acquiescence.
By the expression on his face, Dean would rather have told stories about his time in Hell, but he owed Castiel far more than conversation and he knew it. He took a drink, a deep breath, and then another drink before he managed any words.
“Look, you didn’t just give her back her boyfriend. You gave her back her life. Saying those things in front of Ben, having him see what he saw—having him fire a fucking gun and kill other poor bastards just to watch her bleed out— she loves that kid more than the rest of the world put together. Taking that day away, that was—that kept both of them from changing forever, just because she had the shitty luck of taking pity on me.”
Castiel nodded. Dean had said when he demanded to be removed from the Braedens’ memory that he wanted only mercy for them. Castiel was pleased that experiencing the results hadn’t changed Dean’s mind. Dean wished to carry the burden of knowledge alone, and even if he wasn’t strong enough to do so without pain, the impulse was only one of protection.
With Lisa and Ben Braeden, Castiel had proceeded surgically, ensuring that they retained a memory of a hunter who’d taught them of the virtues of salt and silver, just changing his face and details enough. He was confident that they’d lost nothing whose loss could harm them. It had been a useful lesson: when he’d corrected the hunters’ memories of the past year, he’d hewed to the same principle. He’d rearranged only the minimum, letting their human minds strive for and find consistency on their own. Crowley’s claimed responsibility for Sam’s resurrection stayed, along with Crowley’s quest for Purgatory; his alliance with Raphael had been moved up in time, which had then allowed memory-Castiel to make a more persuasive case that they had to beat Raphael in the race for access to Purgatory’s souls as a matter of defending humanity.
All the basic truths were still there, just as they were with the Braedens. Only what was too much to bear had changed.
For extra security for the Braedens, he’d assign a minor angel to watch over them—not as Sam and Dean had been watched over; he had no future plans for the Braeden line. This would be pure guardianship. If Dean worried, later, Castiel would reveal how he’d stretched out his wing over them, and Dean would be even more grateful.
Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, as if making sure that the topic was closed. Castiel understood why the Braedens would be a sensitive subject. Castiel, after all, had erred as much as any of them, trying to leave Dean alone with his newfound family and only succeeding in postponing the pain of separation. If he’d brought Dean in when Crowley had first approached him, allowed Dean’s protests to be dulled with time and logic, he wouldn’t have needed to intervene so—decisively—after Raphael’s death.
Dean refilled his glass from a bottle whose level was perilously low. When Castiel didn’t take the initiative, Dean raised the tumbler in Castiel’s direction. “So, no apocalypse restart. Team Free Will for the win, eh?”
“Free will, with some changes,” Castiel reminded him. It should have been astonishing how easily and immediately he’d forgotten, entirely of his own volition, but that seemed to be the condition of humanity.
Dean shrugged uneasily. “That was just—fixing what never should’ve been broken in the first place,” he said, and drank again. Castiel refilled his glass with a thought so that he wouldn’t need to get up and start searching for one of the other bottles hidden around the place.
He leaned towards Dean, trying to convey with his material form his sincere attempt to understand. “But can we truly have free will if we must be constrained by the free will of others? Where two wills conflict, can both be free? And aren’t we in any event always created by the actions of others, such that true autonomy is a myth?”
Dean blinked at him and then took a swallow that emptied his glass. “Dude, that was so far over my head it was out past Pluto. All I know is, you do the best you can and you stick with your family.”
Castiel nodded. “Perhaps you’re right.” He considered his next steps. There was much work to be done in Heaven, and then the matter of the empty spaces of Purgatory, along with some unfinished business in Hell. After that, there would likely be things worth setting straight on Earth as well. He would be very busy for a very long time, and he had lost so many allies, and friends, already.
“I have to go,” he said, and Dean tensed beside him, readying himself for Castiel’s usual method of departure. But many things had changed in the past few hours. He wanted Dean’s veneration, not just his trust; still, he knew that Dean would need to be led to that. “I believe,” he said, and waited for Dean’s startled eyes to meet his, “that I would like a hug.”
Dean froze, and Castiel feared for a moment that he would recoil. Refuse again, deny Castiel three times. It would be trivial to—
But Dean smiled, somewhere between awkward and astonished. “I guess if you’re man enough to ask, I’m man enough to do it. Don’t go tellin’ Sam though,” he warned, standing and turning so that Castiel knew to do the same.
He wrapped his arms around Castiel, glass still clutched in one hand. The pressure was pleasant, surrounding Castiel with closeness and warmth and the smell of Dean—whiskey, sweat, cotton and leather. Castiel’s own hands rose almost of their own accord, returning the gesture.
“Thank you,” Dean said into the top of Castiel’s shoulder. “For bringing Sam back, for saving Ben and Lisa, for saving us all.” Castiel could almost feel his bones, pressing hard against Castiel’s form through all the layers of clothing. It was exactly what he’d wanted—what he’d demanded—from Dean, and no less than his due.
He had no idea why he was frowning.
He didn’t want Dean to think that his offering was unappreciated. “You’re welcome,” he said, aware that the sentiment was not adequate.
Castiel left the mortal plane as soon as Dean loosened his grasp.
He would use the time spent away from the Winchesters to determine what had been missing from this last encounter. And what he would require when he returned.
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I didn't even know I wanted, maybe needed, this story till I read it. Thank you.
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Thank you for sharing this haunting story.
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I do wonder if Castiel will still want Dean's veneration once he actually gets it.
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So creepy and wrong!
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Also, wow, this really hits home how fucked up what Dean did to Lisa is. :(
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Utterly believable, and perfect execution.
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From: (Anonymous)
Unto others
Loved this, very portentous, ominous, deeply creepy (and, as Dean might say, kind of hits of rapiness to come).
KittyGoslingP(LJ)
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