cass did, reluctantly, allow pictures of himself to be taken right after he left that night. they’re in a folder in an envelope at the bottom of his duffel and he hates having to carry them around

he really hopes to someday trust balthazar again enough to ask him to hold onto them without ever looking at them, but then he beats himself up about whether or not that’s fair( part 2 )

okay but cass saying “no”

cass learning to say “no”

without having to equivocate, or bargain, or give his life story to explain why

without flinching, or having to look down, or make himself small

cass gaining confidence and admitting it feels good to say “no,” then blushing like, “i don’t mean i’m doing it intentionally”

but balthazar just laughs and like

gets him a tshirt

cass’ like, “what am i supposed to do with this?”

but every so often balthazar wanders back into the bedroom in the morning, to see cass, all bundled up in blankets, wearing the NO shirt, looking a little meh for wear

and balthazar’s like, “ah, i see. the day has been surrendered to netflix and digging potato chip crumbs out of every crevice. very well, i accept” and he dives right in

Cass arrives for dinner in the same oversized-hoodie-and-jeans combo he’d been wearing for coffee, and seems embarrassed for it when Balthazar answers the door in a crisp button-up (not all the way up).

“Oops,” he murmurs, very deliberately, rallying himself at least enough to joke.

“Wrong address?” Balthazar teases, ushering Cass inside.

Castiel enters slowly, craning his neck to look all around with the minimum of steps taken, as though he might reconsider staying at all.

“Sorry I’m underdressed,” he mumbles distractedly, peering into the living room.

“Now, now,” Balthazar coos. “Given I’m the one who can run and change, why don’t we agree I’m overdressed?”

Cass glances back over his shoulder, uncertain, then gives in to a soft laugh. “Sure.”

Encouraged, Balthazar offers him a slight bow. “May I take your coat, my dear?”

A slier glance, and Cass hums lowly, as though deep in thought.

“Hmm, you know, I’m not even sure I can afford to eat in a place like this,” he sighs, feigning bashfulness as he stares at his hands.

“Oh, not to worry, darling. It’s on the house,” Balthazar assures him. “The chef is quite taken with you. He send his compliments,” he adds, with an airy wave of his hand.

“His compliments on…?”

Balthazar offers only a sweetly suggestive smirk. “His compliments.”

A real smile spreads slowly over Cass’ face, until he looks away again, as though too embarrassed to laugh in front of Balthazar.

“What?” Balthazar calls, chuckling. “Have I changed too much?”

Cass scoffs, then does laugh.

“Or not at all, perhaps?”

Castiel turns and fixes Balthazar with a truly fond smile. “It’s not changed, so much as…” He thumbs his lower lip thoughtfully. “You’re just…more.”

“More…?” Balthazar raises an eyebrow expectantly, but Castiel gives only a very familiar, cheeky smirk.

“More,” he repeats softly.

“Oh, my.”

---

i’m really happy with this part in theory

i just don’t know if i’m getting the tone across right? it’s so cute but i’m a movie maker at heart, so i can see & hear it but i’m always too verbose when it comes to putting words to paper.

“Or maybe Cas just removed his Grace from the middle of his chest instead of his neck.“

It never leaves his side. He wouldn’t dream of putting it away, even if, sometimes, its weight seems unbearable.

When things are toughest, he sits with it, holding it in his hands.

Please… he wants to ask. I need your help.

But, surely, he can’t possibly still have that right.

So he doesn’t dare ask, not for help, nor advice, even though he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Balthazar would give it.

Heaven stabilizes eventually. It’s the former Intelligence division that finally pulls it off; their officers rotate leadership positions - and Naomi’s office - in an effort to offset the old totalitarianism.

The prison is demolished, executions abolished; they’ve lost far, far too many already. Angels who fall out of line now are invited to partake in an artificial sleep, to rest deeply for the duration of their sentence, their Grace loosely connected to their siblings, allowing their subconscious to partake in the uplifting restoration process nonetheless.

Castiel is invited to rest, after all he’s done. He dodges it for a time, hiding out on Earth for several decades. Then, abruptly, he reappears, warmly acquiescent.

Centuries pass before Heaven faces anything like the Apocalyptic crises of ages past. When the angels, even as a united front, are finally at a loss, they plead with the current Leader to wake their elders.

“They remember Armageddon!” they cry. “They remember the Archangels!”

Facing ruin, the order is given. Of all those at rest, only Castiel is woken, and asked if he will serve another mission for Heaven.

He smiles. “Of course I want to help.”

“What do you need?” they ask him, but Castiel doesn’t answer at first. He flies. He takes in every corner of Heaven, new and old. He discovers the Phantom Engine.

It’s powerful magic, he’s told. Even a sliver of Grace can produce a vision of a departed sibling; an echo. Vivid, but temporary.

Castiel visits Earth. Not to hide, but as the first step in his mission. He searches far and wide for places forever burned into his mind, but nearly lost to time. A former parking lot. A roadside. A desolate spot in the woods where a cabin once stood. Several warehouses, one still standing.

When he returns to Heaven, he sets a list on the Leader’s desk. “There’s only one thing I need to complete this mission,” he says.

“My old garrison.”