Archive of Our Own

(25) I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins.

(Isaiah 43:25)

***

“I heard your prayer.”

Cas stands rigid, staring at Chuck. They’re alone in an alleyway; after Jack escaped the ma’lak box, Cas went his separate way from Sam and Dean, needing time alone to think and figure out what to do next. Part of him still wants to believe that this is some kind of nightmare, a cosmic joke. How could Sam and Dean, the two people he trusts most in the world, possibly think locking Jack away in a metal coffin for the rest of time was a good idea? He knows they’re angry about Mary—Dean especially—but to jump to punish Jack so severely… Cas doesn’t know how to feel about it, other than sick. 

And now God is here, on top of it all. 

“You’re concerned about Jack,” Chuck continues. “So am I.”

“So…” Cas blinks, not quite sure where Chuck is going with this. “You’ll bring back his soul? You’ll help us?” 

“Oh, no. Of course not,” Chuck says, as though it should be obvious. Cas’s heart falls. “I’m having way too much fun watching this all unfold to mess it up now.”

“Fun?” Everything flashes red for a second, and Cas swears he can feel his blood growing hotter. “You call this fun?” 

“Well, yeah. Lots of drama, lots of conflict. Super entertaining. But Jack’s getting just a tad out of control, and I want to nip that in the bud while we still can, y’know?” 

There’s a roaring in Cas’s ears, loud and brash. “Do you even care? Is this—what, just some game to you? All these years, all these millennia, and for what? Your pleasure?”

Chuck shrugs. “I mean, basically. This is by far my favorite universe though. Believe it or not, I genuinely like you guys. There’s just a… a special flavor to your Sam and Dean, the ways they execute my writing so deliciously.”

“Leave them alone,” Cas growls. “Haven’t you put them through enough already?” 

“I’ll admit, Sam and Dean haven’t had it easy. But that’s what makes them so good. There’s so much there to dig through, so much material and character and trauma to use. The layers to each of those boys…” Chuck exhales and smirks. “Impressive, if I do say so myself. And believe me, I could’ve made it a lot worse for them.” His expression darkens. “I can still make it worse for them, should you fail to watch your mouth.”

“No, don’t, I’ll—” Cas bites his tongue, afraid of saying the wrong thing. “I’ll do whatever you want, if you leave the rest of them alone. Let Sam and Dean and Jack live their lives freely and in peace. I’ll do anything, I’ll follow your story, I—”

“Don’t you get it? There’s no satisfaction with you—Sam and Dean play their roles perfectly, to a T, and it’s a marvel to behold. But you—” Chuck makes a little huffing noise of disapproval, nose crinkled in disdain. “No, you never do what you’re scripted to. Not once. And while there’s nothing wrong with a little improv—I do enjoy it in the right setting—it just doesn’t fit with my vision. Sorry, kiddo, but I’m simply not interested in you.”

Cas stands quietly, letting it all sink in. What else can he possibly do, then? How does one capture the interest of God?

“Besides,” Chuck continues, “even if you are compelling on occasion, and fairly complex, and, well, kind of a freak of a character if I’m being honest, your story is too damn tragic. I mean, twelve years—multiple apocalypses, multiple deaths, Falling from grace, a constant stream of unimaginable horrors—you put up with all that for some guy who calls you his brother? You lost everything and you haven’t even gotten past the point of pining like some lovesick teenager. It’s depressing, frankly.” 

“What would you have me do?” Cas asks, more exhausted than bitter. He thought it’d hurt more, hearing those words from his own Father, but somehow it doesn’t feel any different than the typical monster monologue. It’s all the same, over and over, and he’s so tired of this game, the tightrope act he’s been walking for years and years. Sick of it. 

“I mean, honestly? Most of the time it’s just sad, but when you and Dean really hash it out—” Chuck grins. “Man, those are some of the juiciest moments right there. Like when you worked with Crowley, the whole Purgatory thing and they trapped you in that ring of holy fire and Dean was so devastated—now that was a performance. Damn. The angst, the tension, the longing, the intricate rituals. That one moment there where Dean turned and looked back, with all the glory of Lot’s wife—and you, that ruined city of Sodom, a picture of nostalgia and temptation and something broken beyond repair. Truly a tragedy of Biblical proportions. Give me something like that again, and maybe we’ll talk.”

Cas’s mind is racing. Chuck wants something emotional, unexpected, high stakes. He wants someone to get stabbed in the back; now, the only question is whether Cas can do that and somehow keep Dean from bleeding out.

But, then again—Dean wants Jack dead. Dean considers Cas dead to him. Maybe Dean deserves to bleed a little. Maybe Dean deserves a taste of his own medicine. 

That thought makes Cas feel nauseous—he doesn’t want to hurt Dean, he doesn’t —but he can’t get rid of it, and a seedling of an idea is beginning to grow, fast and violent like a weed. What if, what if, what if. What if there’s a way to keep Jack safe and administer justice and not have to face any of the negative consequences of it? What if, against the odds, there’s a way to make them all a happy family again, like nothing bad ever even happened? Cas is putting all the puzzle pieces together, and the picture is horrific and flawless, wrong, so wrong he can feel his intestines twisting around in his stomach in disgust, and yet—it’s perfect. Devastatingly perfect. 

A tragedy of Biblical proportions, indeed. Cas lifts his head, looking Chuck straight in the eye, and he knows what to do. 

“You want drama? You want a story? I won’t give you Isaac and Abraham. You can’t have Cain and Abel. But—” Cas’s voice drops. “I can do betrayal. I can be Delilah.”

Chuck blinks, then cocks his brow. “Oh?” He smiles cruelly, spreading his arms out in mock-grandeur. “And where is your Samson, Cas? How will you cut his hair?” 

Cas swallows. He knows, he knows this is wrong, but it’s the only way. Yes, it’s a betrayal—a violation of the worst kind, unforgivable, even, and yet—still necessary. Still the only course of action to ensure both Jack’s safety and the Winchesters’ happiness. 

We were a family, and I didn’t want to lose that, so I thought I could fix it on my own.

This is Cas’s chance to finally fix it, for good this time.

“It’s a repeat. You’ve seen it once before,” he says quietly. “Years ago, with Lisa and Ben.” 

A pause, then Chuck’s eyes flash, terrible and bright. “Oh, Castiel,” he murmurs, something like awe, like wonder lining the words, “surely you don’t mean—?”

“I do.”

Chuck whistles. “I didn’t think you had it in you. But hey, maybe you’re more like your siblings than any of us thought—I know the things Gabriel and Zachariah did, the lies they fabricated. The way they loved to play house with the Winchesters. You’re really not so different, are you?”

“I—” Cas stops, because he isn’t so different, no matter how much he’d like to think himself better than his brothers. He’s just as bad as every other angel that manipulated the Winchesters for the sake of Fate, for their Apocalyptic pipe dreams—in fact, Cas might even be worse, because this isn’t for the sake of Heaven or the world. No, this is for the sake of his world. It’s personal and selfish and Cas realizes there’s nothing he can say to defend himself. “I guess not.” 

“Well, I must admit you’ve got me intrigued. I had been planning on just taking Jack off the board—that boy is just a little too powerful for his own good, bless his heart—but this…” Chuck taps his chin, eyes glinting in the sunlight, shining unnaturally. “This is infinitely more entertaining. I wanna see how this plays out.”

Cas’s heart seizes in terror at the thought of Chuck killing Jack—would he smite him to nothing? Would there even be a body?—and that’s how he knows that this is what he has to do. Anything to keep Chuck distracted. 

“If—when I do this,” Cas says slowly, drawing a deep breath. “When I betray the trust of the people I love most, will you restore Jack’s soul in return?”

Chuck laughs. “Now, now, Castiel, you’re really not in any kind of position to be bargaining. If you end up boring me, I can just wipe your universe from existence. No skin off my back.” 

“But—” Cas trips on his tongue, grasping at straws. This is a Hail Mary and he knows it, but he’s got no other options. “But you see how dangerous Jack is without it, right? You said it yourself—he’s too powerful for his own good, and without a soul, he has nothing holding him back. Give Jack back his soul, and he’ll never pose a threat to you again. I swear it.”

“Huh.” The air buzzes as Chuck bites his lip, looking at Cas thoughtfully. “Okay, I see your point. Actually—” He hums. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I mean, the angst alone will be so much better. Giving his soul back is a good idea—spice things up a little bit, all that guilt, y’know?”

Oh. Cas hadn’t even thought about that—does Jack even want his soul back? Is that actually the best thing for him? It must be, right? Anything has to be better than what he’s doing now, running around without a hold on his power. 

“I’ll restore Jack’s soul on two conditions,” Chuck continues, interrupting Cas’s train of thought. “First, you wipe the boys before anything else happens. I want to make sure you go through with it. Second—you gotta commit to the bit. No tearful confessions, no coming clean. If Sam and Dean remember, you erase it all over again. You’re never going to get to move past this.” 

It hurts, seeing it all spelled out in front of him, the unspeakable made plain as day, but Cas has no other choice. “Deal,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Alright!” Chuck claps his hands, face gleeful. “This is one hell of a plot twist. I better bust out the popcorn soon.”

“I’m glad you find this amusing.” Cas tries not to sound too bitter but the sarcasm bleeds through anyway, harsh and miserable. 

“Hey, at least one of us should be having fun, right?” Loose gravel crunches underneath Chuck’s feet as he steps closer, almost chest-to-chest with Cas. He lifts his hand and pats Cas’s cheek with something almost like affection. “Anyways. Guess I’ll leave you to it then, huh?”

Cas looks away, unable to spend another second looking into Chuck’s eyes. Chuck just laughs and pats his cheek one more time before backing away.

“Oh, just so you know, Jack is at his grandparents’ house—his other grandparents, I mean. Obviously,” Chuck adds, smirking. “Not to impose or overstep, I swear you have full creative reins here, but it’s probably best that you go talk to the kid and keep him away from Sam and Dean until you’ve—” He waves his hand casually. “Well, you know. The whole memory thing.”

The whole memory thing. Cas closes his eyes and counts to five, taking the time to make sure he doesn’t start dry heaving on the spot. 

“Of course,” Cas says quietly. “Is that all?” 

“Yup. Go get him, Judas,” Chuck says with a wink. “Hey, maybe you’ll even have the chance to kiss Dean. If you’re wiping his brain after anyways, might as well. Keep up those Biblical parallels, too.” 

Shame bubbles in Cas’s stomach—little does Chuck know, this is far from the first time Cas has thought about doing that. 

“Don’t let me down!” And with that, Chuck disappears, leaving Cas alone in the alleyway again.

***

It takes a few hours for Cas to reach Jack. 

He’d texted him right after Chuck left, asking for his address. Cas was actually a little afraid Jack wouldn’t respond—and he wouldn’t have blamed him, honestly—but a few minutes later he got a response, complete with the details of the location. 

Cas spends the entire ride there trying to justify his decisions to himself. There is some logic in it, right? Yes, it’s dangerously close to playing God himself, wielding that kind of power over the Winchesters, but Cas has good reasons. And it’s for their own good. 

Even though what he’s about to do is unforgivable, Cas thinks that maybe it is the best thing for Sam and Dean. Beyond his own selfish reasons and his desire to keep Jack safe, Cas knows wiping their memories will alleviate so much of the pain the Winchesters have found themselves in the past couple of years. They should be grateful in the end, that Cas is willing to do this for them. 

After all—isn’t this a kindness, really? Isn’t this the greatest gift Cas could possibly give them? The most tender of mercies: the image of their mother, untouched and unruined on her pedestal. They’ll never be burdened with the knowledge of Mary as a real person, the personality and flaws beyond her perfect martyrdom. 

Cas has almost convinced himself that memory alteration isn’t all that immoral by the time he gets to Jack. He spots him on the sidewalk, sitting down on the edge of the curb. Cas parks his car on the opposite side of the street and gets out, heart beating irrationally fast for a supposed celestial being. 

“Jack.” He doesn’t know how to greet him, not after what happened earlier. 

“Hi, Cas,” Jack says, no emotion in his voice. He looks at Cas with big blue eyes, and it makes something in Cas’s stomach twist.

“Sorry, the drive took a while. Thank you for waiting for me.”

Jack just shrugs. Cas tries again. “I—you have every right to be angry with me. I shouldn’t have left you alone with Sam and Dean. It’s okay if you’re upset, and I’m just—I’m so sorry. I’m sorry—”

“Cas, it’s okay.” Jack looks at Cas with a look of utter calm on his face. Completely unaffected. “They’re right—I am a monster. You should put me down.”

“No, Jack—”

“Everything I try to do to help goes wrong. I’m bad and I need to be stopped.” He says it robotically, like truth wired into his programming. “All I ever wanted was to be good. But now I’m just empty. Even this—I know you’re here because you love me, and I want to love you back. It’s just I can’t.”

“Jack,” Cas says softly, trying not to sound as though his heart is breaking. He doesn’t think he’s doing a very good job. “You are good, Jack. Listen to me. I absolve you. Mary’s death was not your fault, and even if it was—I don’t care. I don’t care what Sam and Dean think, you are innocent. It was an accident and you did nothing wrong.” 

“See? I know that should make me feel better, but I just feel—” Jack stops and shrugs again. “Nothing. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Cas swallows hard. “It’s okay. You’re still you, even without your soul, and either way it doesn’t matter. I found a way to get your soul back. Chuck’s going to restore it for you.”

“Really?” Jack asks. His tone is more curious than hopeful. 

“Yes. I—” It’s hard to say out loud. Cas knows what he has to do, but it’s different, hearing it in his own words, speaking it for someone else to witness. “I talked to Chuck, and he’ll do it with a few conditions. I’m erasing the memory of Mary’s return from Sam and Dean’s minds. It solves all of our problems—no more grief, no more anger, no more hurt. It’ll be like she never came back.”

“Huh. Okay. So we’ll just have to lie to them all the time?” 

Cas flinches. The question was perfectly earnest, but Cas still hears a pointed finger somewhere in there, condemnation hidden in his words. “Yes,” he says quietly, “technically we’re deceiving them. But it’s for their own good. We’ll all be happier this way.” 

“Alright,” Jack says. “When do I get my soul back?”

“After.” Cas looks into his lap. “After I wipe their memories. I came here first to tell you, and so you know to stay put until I say it’s okay to come back to the bunker.” 

“Sounds good.” Jack smiles. “I can wait until then. Good luck with Sam and Dean.”

Cas doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He just nods shakily and says, “I’ll be back soon.” 

“Okay. Bye, Cas” Jack says, still smiling. Cas wants to smile back but can’t, so he stands up and walks back to his car. He makes it almost three whole miles on the road before he starts to cry. 

***

Sam is the only one in the bunker when Cas gets back. He’s sitting in the library, palms pressed to the sides of his face as he stares at a computer screen. It takes him a minute to even notice Cas’s presence. 

“Oh, hey,” Sam says, blinking in surprise. He stares at Cas like he’s staring at a ghost, wary and a little hesitant. “Where have you been? Did you find Jack?” 

“No,” Cas lies. It rolls off his tongue so easily. “I just needed some air.” He pauses, then asks, “Where’s Dean?” 

“Out.” Sam’s face hardens just a little bit, then softens again. “Said he was going for a drive, needed to clear his mind.” 

Ah. Yes, that tracks, Cas thinks. He nods at Sam, then takes a glance at the computer screen. It just looks like news articles, with flashing ads in the margins and a handful of other tabs open up top. 

“Just checking to see if there’s any local cases,” Sam explains. He frowns and looks away. “Thought it might be a good idea to have something else to do if we can’t find Jack. Stay busy.”

“It’s okay to take time to grieve,” Cas says softly. He tries to ignore the guilt and shame building up inside his ribcage. “You’re allowed to mourn your mother.”

“I know.” Sam sighs, then bites his lip. The skin is raw, like he’s already repeated the motion many times. “It just—grieving makes it feel real, y’know? I’m not ready for that. And Dean needs to cool down before anything else.”

“I know he’s very upset.” Cas speaks quietly, afraid of the emotion that might pour out should he talk any louder. “Especially with me and Jack.”

“Hey.” Sam reaches out, putting a firm hand on Cas’s shoulder. He looks battle-worn, tired and sad but not angry. “Listen. I don’t blame you, Cas. This isn’t on you. And I know Dean’s being a little hot-headed right now, but he’ll come around.” 

For a second, Cas desperately wishes he didn’t have to do this to Sam. Then he remembers Sam’s culpability in the attempt to lock Jack away, the way he must’ve just allowed Dean to act even if he thought it was wrong, and the guilt over what he’s about to do fades almost immediately. 

“Thank you, Sam.” He means it, too. Words clog up in his throat, then he says, quietly, “For the record, I’m sorry it has to be this way.”

Sam’s brows meet in the middle, his face taking on that pinched, confused expression. “What do you mean?” He watches Cas’s fingers moving towards his forehead, and his eyes widen with some kind of recognition, just a fraction of a second too late. 

“Ca—” Sam doesn’t get the full name out before the Grace hits his brain, knocking him out and sending him to the floor. Cas bends down and picks him up, gangly and loose-limbed, carrying him to his bedroom. He’ll sleep uninterrupted through the night, and he won’t remember any of this in the morning. He’ll wake up having never known what his mother looks like in person, or the patterns of her speech, or the sound of her laughter, or that she couldn’t cook to save her life, or what it feels like to be hugged by her. He’ll wake up with a profound sense of loss, but no idea what it is he’s missing.

Cas makes sure of it. 

*** 

There’s a bit of time before Cas has to confront Dean. 

He’d put Sam to bed at about nine at night, which is pretty early, but he didn’t want to chance having to deal with both brothers at once. That would be too much, even for Cas. 

Most of the time when Dean goes out, he returns to the bunker a few minutes before midnight. He’s a man of routine, whether he’ll admit it or not, so Cas sits at the kitchen table quietly and waits for Dean to come home. He watches the clock, listening to the little hand tick-tick-tick its way from the four to the five to the six. 

It’s 11:33 by the time Dean stumbles in through the door. 

Surprisingly, he’s not drunk—the unsteadiness comes more from the weight of grief, Cas can tell in the way he moves. He knows Dean so well, and yet—after what happened with Jack and the ma’lak box, he wonders how much he really knows Dean at all. 

It’s quiet when Dean walks through the kitchen, barely sparing Cas a glance. He leans his back against the counter and crosses his arms against his chest.

“What are you doing here?” It sounds more like a warning than a question. Dean still won’t look at him. 

Cas hums. “Do you want me to go?” 

A beat. “I don’t care. You do what you want.” Then, “Did you find Jack?”

Irritation buzzes in Cas’s throat, on his tongue. How dare Dean ask about Jack, as though he wasn’t trying to lock him away just earlier that day. 

“No, but even if I did, I wouldn’t bring him here.”

That finally gets Dean to meet his eyes. “He killed my mom, Cas.”

“And you tried killing my son,” Cas snaps. “So I guess we’re even.” 

“Even, huh?” Dean snorts, but it’s clear he’s still more hurt than bitter. “Alright. That’s how it’s going to be.”

“Stop speaking as though I’m the one to blame here,” Cas says, low and rough. “You think I want this? You think I wanted all this to happen? Your mom was my friend too, Dean.” He sees Dean flinch at that, but he keeps going. “Her death is a terrible loss, and I’m sorry, I really am. She didn’t deserve that, and neither do you or Sam. But what you did to Jack is inexcusable.”

Dean’s bottom lip trembles, though Cas can tell he’s trying to hide it. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, and Cas watches as all the stoic rage completely drains away, leaving behind something made entirely of fear and pain and despair. The clock keeps tick-tick-ticking while Dean flounders and Cas patiently waits. 

“Cas, I’m—God, I’m so fucking tired. I’m sick of it, man.” Dean uncrosses his arms and lowers his face into his hands, palms pressed up against his eyelids. “I know, I know it was wrong. Everything feels wrong, and I—I don’t want to be angry anymore, but I can’t help it. I can’t fucking help it.”

Even though there’s still some anger lingering in Cas’s blood, the sight of Dean so utterly shattered eases away most of the red-hot emotion, leaving something too big to name in its wake. He stands up from the table and walks over to Dean, aching with the desire to wrap Dean in his arms, stop the shaking of his shoulders. Dean’s hands are warm as Cas takes them in his own, tugging them away from Dean’s face. He’s half-expecting Dean to shove him away, recoil from his touch, but no—Dean’s breath hitches, and he freezes in place, eyes closed. 

“Look at me,” Cas says quietly. He pulls Dean’s hands closer, holding them against his chest. He wonders if Dean can feel his heartbeat, how it’s a little faster than usual. 

“I—” Dean shakes his head, eyes still shut. “I can’t. I’m—I hate this. I hate feeling like this. I feel like any second I’m gonna fall apart.” He exhales and shudders. His head tips forward, just far enough that his forehead brushes against Cas’s shoulder. “How do you do it? Aren’t you—why aren’t you angry?” 

“Oh, I was angry. I still am, I think, just a little bit.” Cas pauses. The moment feels right, and he has nothing to lose, especially if he’s erasing Dean’s memory right after, so he says, “I love you far too much to stay angry for long.” 

Dean’s head jerks up, his eyes wide open. He stares at Cas, apparently searching for any sign of a lie. Cas just stares back. 

“No,” Dean says. “Don’t say that. You—Cas, you can’t. You can’t love me—” 

“But I do,” Cas interrupts. He lets go of Dean’s hands, running his own hands up Dean’s arms until they’re at his neck. “Very much.”

The world seems to tip a little as he takes Dean’s face in his hands and leans forward to kiss him. Cas isn’t expecting Dean to reciprocate, of course, but this is his one chance to know what it feels like to kiss Dean Winchester and not have to face any consequences, so he takes it. 

He kisses Dean, and it’s gentle, just like Judas, as gentle as Cas can make it, and he’s about to start backing away when Dean starts kissing back. 

Dean kisses back, and it’s rough, demanding, even. He kisses like a man taking what’s rightfully his, hands coming up to curl around the back of Cas’s neck, and Cas finds himself powerless to do anything but surrender to it. 

It catches Cas completely off guard. He’d prepared for a number of scenarios, most just involving him wiping Dean immediately after, but he’d braced himself for the pain of being told ew, what the hell are you doing, I’m not like that, what’s wrong with you— not once had Cas envisioned Dean liking it. He knew the sting of being rejected would hurt, but this, this—

This is unbearable. Hunger is pain, but hunger reciprocated is ecstasy. It will be Cas’s downfall if he doesn’t rush to put a stop to it now. 

So he pulls away, breaking off the kiss and breaking his own heart again in the process. “Dean,” he says quietly, still a little breathless. Dean’s eyes haven’t strayed from his bottom lip, and they’re wide and eager with want. 

“Yeah?” 

“I—” Cas stops. “I love you,” he says, a little helplessly, because, well. What else is there to say?

Dean makes a sound in the back of his throat, something between a groan and a whine, and moves forward to kiss Cas again. It’s physically painful but Cas forces himself to lean back, putting himself just out of reach. He feels like he can’t breathe, like something is wrapping itself around his lungs and squeezing. 

“If you ever do end up remembering this,” Cas murmurs, “I need you to know that above all else, I love you. And I’m doing this because I love you. Okay?”

Dean makes a little grunting noise, and it’s obvious he hasn’t been paying attention to a single word Cas has been saying other than I love you. “Man, you’re not makin’ any sense.”

“This is important. You must understand that I love you, and I’d do anything for you, and that’s—” Cas cuts himself off. “I just need you to know. Promise me you’ll remember that, before anything else.” 

“Sheesh,” Dean says, blushing all over, “okay, okay. You love me. Got it.” 

“I do. Now kiss me,” Cas whispers. Dean surges forward, all too happy to obey.

Grace washes over Dean the second his lips touch Cas. This is for him, Cas thinks as he catches Dean on his way to the floor. This is for his own good. I’m doing this for him. He tries not to feel too guilty about the way he savors the sensation of Dean in his arms, head resting in the crook of Cas’s neck. 

The walk to Dean’s room feels a little unreal, like Cas is navigating in a dream. Hazy, numb. He just wiped the memory of the man he’s in love with. He just committed the most unforgivable kind of violation, an insane abuse of trust—

No, Cas thinks. He forcibly puts a stop to that train of thought. He’ll be so much happier this way. You’re making the right choice. This is the best thing you can do for Dean right now.

Cas finally reaches Dean’s room, nudging the door open with his toe. He shifts Dean in his arms and pulls back the covers on his bed before gently setting him down on the mattress. Cas lifts the blankets back up and tucks Dean in, just because he can. Because he wants to, and he’s never going to be allowed to treat Dean this tenderly again.

There’s a part of Cas that wants to jump in bed too, position himself until the entirety of his body is laid flat against Dean’s, basking in the warmth of his skin. But he’s indulged himself so much already, so he resists, instead letting himself brush a hand against Dean’s forehead, smoothing his hair back. Dean looks so peaceful when he sleeps. Cas aches at the sight and stands there watching the smooth rise and fall of Dean’s chest for far longer than he should. 

Eventually, Cas figures it’s probably time to bring Jack back to the bunker, so he shuffles out of Dean’s room. He spares one last glance at Dean’s sleeping form before he goes.

This is for him, he thinks again. I love him enough to erase his own transgressions and save him from memories that keep him miserable. I love him, and forgive him, and I’m saving him. 

This is me saving him. 

***

Cas calls Jack and tells him he’s good to come back. A few seconds later, he pops into the kitchen, a little windswept but otherwise looking exactly the same as when Cas left. 

"Hi, Cas." Jack squints, looking around the kitchen. "Where are Sam and Dean?" 

"Asleep." Cas jerks his head up, motioning towards the clock on the wall. "It's the middle of the night." 

"Oh. Right," Jack says. He looks at Cas and blinks. "So… everything went okay? With the memories?" 

This time, Cas doesn't flinch at Jack's question. He exhales, slow, and repeats out loud what he's been telling himself all night. 

"Yes. They have no memory of Mary's return at all. They'll still remember the events of the past few years, of course, but it will be like Mary never came back. So her death—specifically, you killing her—is completely forgotten. As far as they know, you ran away because having no soul has been upsetting for you and you were feeling overwhelmed. They have no idea about the—the ma’lak box, or their anger and grief.” Cas smiles at Jack. “You’re safe, and they’re free of their pain. This is a good thing.”

Jack nods solemnly. “I understand.” He takes a seat at the table, next to Cas. “And my soul?” 

It’s funny—Cas was just thinking about that too. Now that he’s wiped both Sam and Dean, he’s waiting for Chuck to make good on his promise. “I don’t know,” he admits. “Soon. Chuck said he’d do it after I took the brothers’ memories, but he didn’t specify any exact timing. I don’t know how he’ll be doing it either, but…” Cas trails off, then clears his throat. “We have a deal. He has to keep up his end.” 

“Alright,” Jack says. He looks at his hands, laying still in his lap. “So are we just going to wait for Sam and Dean to wake up?”

“Yes. We’ll let them sleep until morning. They both need the rest.” Cas pauses. “You could go to sleep if you want, too. You don’t have to stay up with me.”

“Oh, no, I’m not tired,” Jack says. He sounds genuine but Cas is a little skeptical. “I was just curious. I might go back to my room though, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Cas says immediately. Jack smiles and stands up.

“Alright, thanks, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Jack.” Cas watches his son walk away, disappearing into the bunker’s hallways. He doesn’t move from his spot at the table, and he’s still there nine hours later when Dean shuffles into the kitchen. Patience has always been a virtue of his.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says, voice still a little slurred with sleep. He moves through the kitchen clumsily, reaching for the coffee pot. “What are you doin’ out here all alone? Wait, when did you even get back? I don’t remember seeing you after you left yesterday.” 

“Oh, I just got back late last night,” Cas lies smoothly. The thump-thump-thump of his heart beats irregularly, jumpy with nerves. “You and Sam were already asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. I did manage to find Jack, though. I brought him back, he’s in his room right now.” 

Dean’s eyes widen, and he looks truly awake for the first time that morning. “Wait, you found him? How? Is he okay? What happened?”

“I—” It’s hard, determining what he should and shouldn’t say. “I prayed, actually, and Chuck answered. He told me where Jack was and said he’d restore Jack’s soul so long as we kept him under control.”

“Seriously?” Dean’s nose crinkles in confusion. “Why would he just—just do that? When has Chuck ever made anything easy for us?”

Cas shrugs, a carefully nonchalant imitation of ignorance. “Jack without a soul posed a threat to Chuck. He wants him back to normal just as much as we do, although his reasons are more selfish.”

“Huh.” Dean rubs his chin, frowning. “Okay. Almost seems too good to be true to me, but hey—I ain’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Agreed.” Cas lets out the tiniest exhale of relief, too small for Dean to notice. Every muscle in his body feels sore with tension, the weight of living a lie. He supposes he’ll just have to get used to it.

“So, uh—” Dean clears his throat. “Can I go see him? Jack?” 

“Oh.” Cas blinks. “Yes, of course. He should be in his room.”

“I’m gonna go wake up Sam.” The smile on Dean’s face is tired but happy, genuinely happy. “Man, we’ve both been worried sick about Jack. It’s good to know he’s back home safe.”

In that moment, Cas swears his heart is about to burst with fondness. He tries not to let it show too much, and simply says, “I feel the same.”

As he watches Dean leave, Cas wonders if he should be feeling guiltier about all of this. He and Jack will always have a kind of upper hand over Sam and Dean, putting the brothers at a disadvantage they don’t even know is there.

Cas knows it’s dangerous, playing God like this, but he can’t help but think he does a better job than Chuck. After all, how good is God, really, if His creations aren’t even happy? Cas is giving Sam and Dean happiness. Not just happiness, either—absolution. If he were vengeful, a vindictive God, he would’ve smited the both of them where they stood after Jack escaped the ma’lak box. 

But then again—Cas loves them, and he wants them to be happy. It’s as much forgiveness as he can possibly offer, and they don’t even know.

Such is the thankless nature of Godhood. Such is the nature of Cas’s cross.

Cas sits alone at the kitchen table, and he waits for the rest of his family to come back in. No one’s angry at each other, no one feels stung by betrayal—they have a real chance at happiness right now, and Cas is eager to see it unfold. 

***

When they finally get Jack’s soul back a week or so later, he locks himself in his room for a day. 

They don’t know how Chuck did it, just that Jack woke up that morning, ran to the bathroom, threw up in the toilet, and went back to his own room and cried for hours. He’s still crying, from what they can hear. 

Cas frets about it. Sam and Dean tell him not to worry, that he’s overreacting, but they don’t know what Cas knows. They don’t know just how burdened Jack is now, with the weight of their secret compounded by the weight of a soul. 

Hours later, Cas knocks on Jack’s door, hesitant but hopeful. “Jack?” he asks timidly. “Can I come in?” 

“Go away.” Jack’s voice is hoarse, nothing more than a low raspy moan. He sounds miserable. Cas’s breath hitches. 

“Please, Jack, can—” 

“No,” Jack growls, louder this time. He still hasn’t opened the door, but Cas isn’t going to force it. He’s done enough disregarding people’s boundaries already. “No, I don’t want to see you, Cas. Leave me alone.”

“Alright,” Cas whispers. He turns and walks back down the hallway, slumping down at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. A few minutes pass, then he feels the weight of a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey.” Dean says it softly, softer than he usually speaks to Cas. “You okay?” 

“No.” 

“The kid’s still shutting you out, huh?” 

Cas nods silently. He feels Dean’s hand begin to rub gentle circles across the top of his back, between and above his shoulder blades. His fingers brush the curls on the back of Cas’s neck, and Cas has to fight a shiver. 

“He’ll come around,” Dean says. “Just give him time. I’m sure he’s going through hell right now.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Cas mumbles. “I just—I want to be there for him, but he won’t let me. I don’t know how to help.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean gives him one last pat on his shoulder then moves his hand, taking the warmth with him. He walks towards the stove, throwing a glance back at Cas. “You know I’m no good with the emotional crap and whatever, but hey—food makes everyone feel better, and I can make a damn good meal. Let’s see if Jack opens up any for dinner.” 

It’s moments like these where Cas is nearly overwhelmed by how much he loves Dean. It drowns him, leaves him close to breathless. The man he loves is standing at the counter cooking dinner for their son and it’s almost enough to make him cry. 

This is why, Cas reminds himself. This is what makes it all worth it. 

The smell of tomato soup begins to float through the kitchen, and Cas can’t help feeling grateful—for the domesticity, the ease, the sense of home. In a different world, Dean would be trying to kill Jack right now. But here he is instead, making him comfort food, because he cares about him and wants him to feel better. They’ve been given a second chance, and this time they’re getting it right. 

That’s why Cas had to wipe the brothers. And they’re a family now, a real one, a happy one, so he knows it must’ve been the right thing to do. It has to be. How could something that makes everything so perfect possibly be wrong? It can’t be, he tells himself. It can’t be wrong. 

Twenty minutes come and go, and pretty soon Dean’s got a bowl full of soup and grilled cheese served up on a plate ready for Jack. He puts them both on a tray, then looks to Cas.

“I’m gonna go take this to him. You coming?” 

Cas nods. “I’ll probably just wait outside the door,” he says quietly, getting up from the table. He doesn’t think Jack wants to see him yet. Not with what he’s done, not with what he’s still doing. 

“Alright.” Together, Dean and Cas walk down to Jack’s room, food in hand. Dean reaches out and knocks on Jack’s door in a silly pattern, then says, “Hi, kiddo. Open up, I have dinner.”

“Not hungry.”

Dean sighs exaggeratedly. “Okay, fine. Guess I’ll just have to throw away the soup and sandwich I spent an hour making, specifically for you, all for nothin’—”

The door swings wide open. Must be courtesy of Jack’s telekinesis, because he’s still huddled on the bed under a lump of blankets, completely burrowed away. Cas stands right outside the doorway, watching in agony. 

“Sorry, I, uh, don’t know what your favorite dinner foods are, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong with the classics. Grilled cheese and tomato rice soup, the perfect pick-me-ups.”

Jack finally peeks his head out from underneath the blanket pile, eyes red, nose runny. He squints at Dean, then nods ever so slightly. Dean smiles and walks closer, sitting down on an empty section of mattress and setting the tray of food down on the desk right next to Jack’s pillow. 

“Y’know, this is what my mom would make for me when I was sick as a kid. She’d take my temperature and bring me crackers and soup, and I swear it healed me up like nothing else in the world. Still dunno if I ever got the recipe right—I’ve spent years trying to copy it from memory, figure it out by taste and whatever.” He chuckles. “Either way, I think my version of tomato rice soup is pretty goddamn good. Even if it’s never had quite the same kick as my mom’s.” 

Dean exhales, a little wistful, a little nostalgic. 

Jack bursts into tears.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Dean looks bewildered, hands raised like someone trying to calm a feral animal. “Jack, talk to me. What happened?”

Cas freezes. Oh no.

“I–I–” Jack hiccups, and Cas can hear the strain in his voice, the weight of the grief. The guilt, like acid. He must want to tell Dean so badly. Cas closes his eyes and prepares for the inevitable reveal—

“It just m-makes me miss my mom.” 

Oh.

“You know I love Cas, and Sam and y-you, but when you talk about Mary it makes me think of my mom, and how much I love her, and wish she were here too. And—” His voice drops to a whisper, a paper-thin warble. “And how sorry I am. I-I killed her, and I didn’t even mean to, and she’ll n-never know I’m sorry and I love her and—” 

“Aw, Jack.” Dean sounds hoarse too, scratchy with his own emotion. “It’s okay, kid. C’mere.” 

Cas watches as Jack sniffles and huddles closer to Dean, letting him wrap an arm around his shoulder.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Dean says, quiet but firm. “Kelly knows it, and she loves you too, okay? She’s your mom. Of course she knows you love her.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Jack whispers. He still sounds all broken up inside, and Cas knows why. 

I killed her, and I didn’t even mean to, and she’ll never know I’m sorry and I love her and—

They both know he wasn’t just talking about Kelly there. 

Dean doesn’t know, of course, but—well. That’s the point, isn’t it? 

Slowly, Cas shuffles past the door frame, edging closer to the bed. Jack’s face is hidden in Dean’s shoulder but Dean watches Cas approach, giving him a knowing kind of get over here look, and nodding when Cas finally sits on the edge of the mattress.

“Jack, what can we do to help?” Cas asks quietly. Jack startles, like he didn’t realize Cas was even there, then lifts his head. His eyes meet Cas’s and it breaks Cas’s heart. 

“Nothing,” Jack whispers. “You can’t fix anything.” 

“Hey, that ain’t true. I’m pretty handy in a garage,” Dean says jokingly, obviously trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work. Cas glares at him. 

“Actually—” Jack’s breath hitches, and he looks down into his lap. “Can I talk to you alone, Cas?” 

Both Cas and Dean are a little surprised, but Cas nods and says, “Of course, Jack.” Dean doesn’t argue with them and swiftly gets up from the bed, although he pauses before the door. “Hey, kid, don’t forget to eat, okay?” 

“Thanks, Dean. I won’t.” 

Dean nods then walks out, shutting the door behind him. Without him, there’s a weird tension in the air, like something stretched too wide. Jack scoots a little closer to Cas and looks up at him, eyes wet and pleading. 

“You have to wipe me too,” he whispers. “I can’t do it. I can’t just keep lying.” 

Cas stops breathing for a second. “Are you sure?”

Tears fall as Jack nods his head rapidly. “Please,” he says quietly. “It feels so wrong. I hate it. I don’t want to lie anymore, I don’t wanna feel bad anymore, I—I—” 

“It’s okay.” It’s not okay, not really, but Cas can’t deny his son. Not on this. Not when he’s so clearly miserable, and it’s almost entirely the consequence of Cas’s actions. “I’ll do it to you too if that’s what you want. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack mumbles. He sounds so heartbroken, like he really is sorry that he’s not as bad of a person as Cas is, and it just breaks Cas’s heart into even more itty bitty little pieces. 

“No, don’t apologize,” Cas says quietly. He pulls Jack into a hug, and Jack buries his face in Cas’s chest, shoulders shaking beneath Cas’s hands. I did this, Cas thinks. I did this. 

“But now you have to keep it a secret all alone,” Jack sniffles. “I don’t want you to be all by yourself.” 

“Oh, Jack.” Cas exhales and pulls him tighter, and Jack leans into it fully. “It’s okay, honey. That’s not your responsibility. I’ll be okay, I promise.” 

“Still. I—”

“Shh,” Cas hushes. “Stop apologizing. This is my fault, my cross to bear. Do not feel guilty over doing the right thing.”

Jack doesn’t say anything this time, just nodding into the now damp fabric of Cas’s dress shirt. He swallows, then asks, “Does it hurt?” 

“No. No, not at all.” Cas runs a hand through Jack’s hair slowly. It’s soft, getting longer, almost to the point where it flops in Jack’s eyes. “It’ll be just like going to sleep. You’ll wake up and you won’t remember anything about Mary, or her death, or the lies. Clean slate.” 

“Okay.” The mattress creaks as Jack shifts a little bit away from Cas, until he’s facing him, eyes closed. “I’m ready.” 

Cas clenches his jaw, forces himself to reach out and lay his hand back on Jack’s head. He doesn’t know why he’s so relieved when Jack doesn’t flinch but he is, and he tries to hold onto the feeling for as long as he can.

“Love you,” Jack says quietly, eyes still shut tight. Cas blinks, swallows, and does his best to make his hand stop trembling.

“I love you too.” He can barely choke the words out, not wanting Jack to hear just how devastated he is. Cas takes one more deep breath and channels his Grace until it’s running through Jack head-to-toe, warm like a blanket. The kid’s eyelids flutter, then he starts to slump forward. Cas catches him and lays him back down on the bed, rearranging the covers and tucking him in. A pang of guilt hits him as he notices Dean’s food still on the bedside table, completely untouched. 

Dean is waiting at the kitchen table when Cas slips out of Jack’s bedroom. 

“How’s the kid? Everything okay?”

“Yes,” Cas says. “He just wanted me to put him to sleep. Exhausted from the crying and whatnot.” He gives Dean a sincerely apologetic look. “Sorry, he never did get the chance to eat your food. I’m sure he appreciated the thought though.”

“Eh.” Dean waves Cas off flippantly. “It’s no biggie, just a quick easy meal. I’m glad he has the chance to rest now. God knows he needs it.”

Cas hums in agreement. Jack will rest and when he wakes up, he won’t remember a thing about Mary or killing her or Dean putting him in a box. He’ll wake up pure, and Cas will be the only one left who knows the truth. 

He is the last of his kind in so many ways. 

But the loneliness is bearable, because Cas has a family now, and they’re all going to be happy, and that’s all he cares about. 

Cas looks at Dean and says, “Thank you. For helping Jack. You’re very important to him, you know.”

“Aw, well, I’m just doing what I can.” Dean’s face glows pink a little bit, and he tilts his head down. “He’s, uh. Y’know. He’s important to me too.”

Cas smiles. Warmth spreads in his chest, filling him up from his ribcage to his fingertips, and he knows right then and there that everything’s gonna be okay.

***

Everything does not, in fact, stay okay. 

In retrospect, he should’ve seen it coming. He should’ve known better than to assume it’d all last forever.

Things have been good, really good. Cas has been coaching Jack in some of his angelic powers, teaching him the finer points of exercising divinity. The brothers still take hunts every now and then, but for the most part they’ve begun to slow down. Sam sees Rowena pretty often; he’s started learning simple magic, some basic spells and rituals. Everyone suspects there might be something else there too, but neither Sam nor Rowena have admitted to anything quite yet. Dean has been teaching Jack to drive, and all four of them have movie nights pretty frequently. Again, things are good. It’s everything Cas has ever wanted for his family. 

It comes crashing down one night just a few weeks later. Just Dean, thankfully—Cas doesn’t think he would’ve been able to handle being confronted by both brothers—while everyone else is asleep in bed. It’s not that late, just past midnight, so Cas isn’t too surprised when he hears someone’s footsteps echoing through the bunker halls. 

What does surprise him is how Dean looks when he wanders into the library, where Cas is curled up on one of the big chairs reading a book. It’s an expression Cas hasn’t seen in a while—unnaturally blank, masking either blinding rage or crushing despair or maybe a bit of both. He looks at Dean in concern, bookmarking his page and setting the book down on the side table. 

“Dean? Are you alright?” 

“I—” Dean won’t look him in the eyes. He stares just a little to the left of Cas’s ear, eyes glossy. “What did you do?” 

Cas tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

Finally, Dean looks directly at him. It’s like being pinned to a corkboard, stuck in place. “Cas,” he growls. “What the fuck did you do, you goddamn—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But Cas’s pulse is beginning to race, because he might not know yet but he thinks he can probably guess what it is Dean’s referring to. 

“Don’t fucking lie to me. I remember. I remember everything.”

He steps forward and shoves his phone in Cas’s face. A second, then Cas’s heart plummets.

On the screen is a picture of Mary, very clearly sitting in their kitchen, sandwiched by Sam and Jack. All three of them are laughing at something, close enough to brush shoulders, comfortable in each other’s space. It’s familial and sweet, a moment frozen in time by Dean’s camera. 

“I—I was just lookin’ for something, and I see that, and—” Dean’s breathing quickens, and he closes his eyes shakily. “It all came back. Mom, Jack, everything. You spineless, selfish son of a bitch—”

“Dean—”

“Don’t Dean me, you asshole. What the fuck is wrong with you?” There are tears gathering against Dean’s bottom lashes now, building and building and close to spilling over. 

“If you remember—” Cas swallows. He pushes off the chair, onto his feet. “Do you remember what I told you then, before I made you forget?” 

“Of course I do,” Dean hisses. “You lied to me—”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas says quietly. “Don’t you understand? I love you, I would never lie about that. I did all this because I love you.”

“That’s not—this isn’t love,” Dean sputters. “This is not what love looks like, Cas, and you know it.”

“It is. You couldn’t forgive Jack for what happened, and it was tearing you apart. So much pain, and I—I took it away. That’s love, Dean. I saw you hurting and did whatever I had to do to stop it.”

“You had no right.” Dean’s entire body is shaking. “You had no fucking right to do that.”

“You were going to hurt my son,” Cas whispers. “You wanted to kill Jack, and I couldn’t let you do that.” He stares at Dean, silently begging him to see things the way Cas does. “I had to protect him, and—and this was the most painless way possible. This is a blessing, Dean.”  

“Blessing? Blessing, my ass, ” Dean snarls. “You made me forget my own mom—”

“And you were happier for it,” Cas points out. “Her memory was a burden you shouldn’t have had to bear.”

“I don’t care! It was—it’s still my mom,” Dean says desperately. “How—how could you take that from me?”

“All her return did was bring you pain.” Cas smiles just a little bit, a soft sad thing. “I miss Mary, too, and I’m glad for any time she was able to spend on Earth, but ultimately it all ended in tragedy. You learned your mother wasn’t the woman you always thought she was, and then she left you, again. It was better for you to just know her as you had before her resurrection.”

“That’s not true.” Tension hangs in the air as Dean rubs his eyes angrily, then glares at Cas again. “It’s not up to you to decide what’s best for me.”

“You were blind with grief,” Cas says, nearly pleading at this point. “You were miserable, so miserable, but now—everything is good, Dean. Everyone is safe, everyone is happy. We have a good life.”

“It’s not real, Cas! None of this is real!” Dean wipes his face and sniffles. It breaks Cas’s heart. 

“It’s as real as you want it to be,” Cas says softly. “It’s real to me. We are a family, Dean. I don’t want to lose that, and I fixed it, for all of us. You, Sam, Jack—why can’t you see that we’re all so much happier this way?”

“This isn’t happiness. You can’t—” Dean stops, breath hitching. “Us being a family, you loving me, it all means fucking nothing if this is what you had to do to get it. I hate you, Cas.” His eyes shine, like light on broken glass, and Cas knows he has to end this soon. “I hate you, I hate you—”

“That’s okay,” Cas says quietly, cutting him off. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. “You don’t have to love me, but I do love you. So much. And—” He breathes in, breathes out. “I will do what I must to keep our family safe and happy.”

Cas moves fast, stepping close to Dean’s chest before he can react. Gently, he holds Dean still with his Grace, keeping his mouth shut and his hands at his sides. Dean looks at Cas with tear-filled eyes, going from hateful to desperate and terrified in a second. The only part of his body that moves is his head, shaking back and forth, saying no no no.  

Cas pays him no mind and grabs Dean’s face with both of his hands. He wipes away one of the falling tears, running down Dean’s cheek like rain on a car window. His hands are tender—he’s always held Dean with care, like something precious and delicate. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispers, before leaning up and forward to kiss Dean softly on the forehead. Grace streams from his lips into Dean’s body, flowing through his skin, into the blood. It runs like a river, flooding his neural network and wiping out any trace of Mary’s return again. He pulls away and lightly brushes his thumb over where his mouth had just been, reveling in the holy site. A second more, and Cas steps back further, waiting for Dean to snap out of it. 

Dean blinks slowly, dazed. “Cas?” he mumbles sleepily, squinting as he tries to see in the low bunker lighting.

“Yes?”

“What—what am I doing awake?” 

Cas smiles, small but genuinely fond. It’s bittersweet. “Oh, nothing. You just wanted some water but you were going right back to sleep.” 

“Hmmph.” Dean frowns, then nods, like he’s agreeing. “Okay. G’night then.” 

“Good night,” Cas echoes softly. “Sleep well.”

The only response he gets is a tired grunt, and Cas watches as Dean shuffles away and goes back to his room.

The bunker goes quiet again, silent besides the low hum of Sam and Dean’s occasional snores. Cas can feel their presence—Jack’s too, in his room, asleep and alive and safe. They’re a family—they’re his family, and he’s never going to lose that, not ever again.

Dean goes to bed, and Cas stays in the kitchen, and everything is perfect.