Author's Note: This fic owes its existence to a single line in the fic "Building Rome" by M14Mouse: "Right now, he was thanking God that Cas didn't show up at the convention." SAM SPOKE TOO SOON. And this was born. Dedicated to Katie who is awesome and kept my ass on track. COMPLETELY IGNORES ALL OF SEASON SIX yay.

When Castiel descended from the chaos of heaven, he was met with the chaos of humanity. They washed around him, chattering, their voices discordant and grating. He caught sight of a familiar leather jacket and walked with purposeful stride toward it. "Dean," he said, and the jacket turned.

It wasn't Dean. It looked like someone…trying to be Dean. Castiel blinked.

Not-Dean clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "Hey! 'Castiel!'"

"I do not understand," he said blandly.

"Looking good man, nice trenchcoat-"

"Cas? What the fuck?" Ah, there he was. Castiel turned with a sigh of relief and blinked at the pair – the pair! – of Winchesters looking at him. "Samuel?" he said, and watched Sam Winchester's eyebrows twitch in what he recognized as anxiety.

Not-Dean stepped up and looked from real Dean to Sam to Castiel. "Are you a party? Nice cos-"

"Shut up," said real Dean. "Cas. Really?"

"I think perhaps we should not talk here," Castiel said uncomfortably, both because he could sense that Dean was going to want to shout and because – well – Sam.

And he had just glimpsed someone wearing his trenchcoat and…small plastic wings?

He reached out with two fingers but Sam flinched back and Dean grabbed his wrist. "Sure, Cas, how about we – um, walk to another room?"

Castiel blinked, once. Then realized that Not-Dean was staring at them and remember how it would look if they all disappeared in front of a roomful of people. They probably would not like it. He sighed, exasperated. "Very well. Dean-"

"Man," said not-Dean loudly. His voice was even more grating than Sam's. "You're really into this shit, aren't you?"

Sam, Dean, and Castiel just looked at him. "Dude," said Dean, finally. "Shut up."

~.~

"There are people who appear to be attempting to resemble me. And yourself. And Sam."

"Yeah. We noticed." Dean appeared to be angry. Sam was hovering by the door looking uncomfortable. Castiel kept one eye on him, faintly worriedly. "Cas, do you know where Chuck is? Can you – we told him not to keep doing this shit!"

Castiel cleared his throat. "I do not think you fully appreciate the strangeness of this situation. Why are there people attempting to resemble me?"

"No," Dean growled. "I'm pretty sure I fucking understand the – uh – 'strangeness of the situation.' Ever heard of roleplaying? Yeah, neither had-"

"Dean. Breathe." Sam rubbed his face. His voice was quieter than Castiel remembered, and he let his frown deepen. "It's a…convention. Thing. For Chuck's books."

Castiel blinked in faint incomprehension. "The gospels?"

Sam looked pained. "Yeah. …sort of."

"So these are your followers," Castiel said, in sudden comprehension.

"Y- no." Sam looked appalled. Dean looked disgusted. "No. These people? Are nutcases."

Castiel watched Sam's shoulders twitch in what appeared to be discomfort. "And that makes them different from us…how?" He murmured. Dean glared. Castiel's frown deepened and he smoothed the wrinkles in his adopted trenchcoat.

"I want to walk in this place."

They both stared at him blankly, and he wondered if they knew how alike they were with that particular vacant expression. "What?"

"I thought you were here with some…angelic mission," added Dean. Castiel tilted his head quizzically.

"And yet you welcomed me?"

Dean shrugged. "I'd just tell you to piss off anyway. Figured you knew that. So you're…not?"

"No. I am on…" The angel coughed, delicately. "Vacation." That was not entirely honest. He wasn't on a mission and he was on leave, but mostly because he had bullied Raphael into temporarily taking his place. He had missed the Winchesters. Rather more than the other angels could understand.

"And you're spending your vacation here?" Dean sounded incredulous. Castiel briefly wondered where Dean would spend his, if he had a vacation, and decided it was probably better not to know.

"Visiting you," he said stiffly. And was…faintly gratified by the silence that followed. "So," he continued. "I would like to walk among your followers. It would be interesting to me."

"Interesting," said Dean, sourly. "Yeah. Definitely." Sam just hunched his shoulders.

~.~

"Would you like a Winchester Cookie? Free sample!" The young lady smiled cheerily up at him, and Castiel took one delicately off the plate she was holding up to his face, blinking a little.

"Thank you. I appreciate your generosity," he said, and her smile faded slightly. Hastily, he looked back over his words, but it still sounded like the right thing to say.

"…you're welcome, sir," she said, finally, her smile repasted onto her face. "Enjoy the convention!"

It was, as Sam and Dean had both vehemently reminded him several times, very strange. Speaking of the brothers…Castiel glanced around, and found Dean standing next to him, and Sam a few feet away with his shoulders hunched, staring into the distance.

"Your brother seems to be a bit…out of sorts," Castiel remarked.

Dean snorted, and glanced over at his brother. "Yeah, ya think?"

"Do you know why?" Castiel asked, curiously, his brow furrowing. Dean glanced at him, expression turning sour.

"Yeah. We, uh…caught the tail end of a panel thing. Sam Winchester and the Nature of Evil. People weren't exactly very …you know. Nice." He grimaced. "I thought we were done with this-"

"Castiel? Is that Castiel?"

"Shit."

Castiel turned and found himself abruptly hugged by a blonde girl, arms constricted to his sides. He blinked over her head at Dean. "I do not believe I have met you," he said, finally.

She giggled. "Ooooh! You sound just like you do in the books. Lower, though," she added, frowning. "I would have expected less – you know. Gravel."

"Gravel?" Castiel said, feeling a little bit offended, and then added, "If you would not mind letting go of me…"

"This is Becky," Dean said, and he sounded even more sour than before. "Hi, Becky. Leave the angel alone. He's here on important business."

"No, I am not," Castiel said, and realized too late as Becky squealed that Dean had been deliberately lying so that he would not be bothered.

"Oh, great! I can totally show you around," and she had her arms wrapped around her sleeve as he attempted to protest, too late, that he was indeed here on official business. "Come on, where's Sam? There's an awesome panel-"

"Been there, done that," said Dean, roughly. "No panels. Okay? None."

Castiel extricated himself with difficulty. "So you are Becky, and you are one of the Winchesters' followers?"

She looked confused for a moment, and then beamed. "Oh, yeah. I'm a fan. Probably their biggest fan and-" She leaned forward, and bewildered, Castiel leaned down. She whispered loudly. "I'm the only one who knows you guys are real."

Castiel frowned, faintly puzzled. "Do you mean that these people do not believe that the Winchester Gospels are…real? That they are false prophecy?" He thought he saw Sam wince.

"More like fiction, Cas. That's what they're…you know. Published as."

Castiel opened his mouth, frowning more deeply, but was interrupted by a cry of "Sam!" as Becky detached from his arm and flung herself at the younger Winchester. "Oh my god, I am so sorry," she gushed. "I cried, reading the last one, I really did. It was all so sad! And the way you-"

"Okay," said Dean, rather harshly, probably because even Castiel could see the unhappy discomfort on Samuel's face. "That's enough, Becky. We're here looking for Chuck. Have you seen him?"

She blinked. "What, you haven't heard? He, like, vanished. It was really mysterious and everything, I thought you guys might know…" She looked between them eagerly, and Castiel cleared his throat.

"It is…possible that with his prophetic duties finished, he was transported to heaven. The same was done with Elijah."

Becky giggled. Again. "Oh, I love it when you say stuff like that! It's so – cool." Castiel stared at her, but she seemed completely unaffected, still clutching Sam's arm. Dean looked mutinous.

"You mean he's not here? We owe him a serious beatdown-"

"You could not attack a prophet of the Lord," Castiel reminded him, and Dean just glared. Becky seemed delighted.

"Never mind, he's not here, anyway. And I know exactly what you guys should do. Wouldn't it be hilarious if you entered the costume contest?"

"No," said Sam.

"No," said Dean.

"Costume contest?" said Castiel.

~.~

He lost.

Watching the winner strut back and forth onstage, playing with his wings that were, according to Dean, "animatronic", Castiel tried not to rediscover the human emotion known as resentment. "I do not walk like that," he said, not quite sourly. Quickly, he added, "And I do not understand how someone else can be 'better' at being me than I am."

(If there was a bright side to this, Castiel thought as he heard Dean trying to muffle another suspicious sounding cough, Sam almost seemed to have lightened up.)

"It's not like that," the younger Winchester said. "It's more that he's…flashier. At being you."

Castiel blinked, but he supposed that human beings had always liked flashiness. What were most of the miracles, if they weren't flashiness? Other than the important ones. "This is not at all what I expected," he settled on. Becky giggled. It was a sound he found exasperating.

"What did you expect?" She sounded as though she were …something. Coy, perhaps? It was not one he was particularly familiar with.

"The Hallelujah Chorus," said Dean, dryly, and Castiel glanced at him. And looked at Becky. And settled on Sam, who shrugged.

Becky seemed to tire of the silence quickly, and grabbed his arm. "Come on," she …squealed, Castiel believed was the correct term. "You have to see the merch tables!"

"What are the 'merch tables?'" Castiel asked Dean, who had his belligerent face on, but the older Winchester had no answer.

It turned out that 'merch', apparently, was things with approximations of his face on them. Or Dean's face, or Sam's face. And sometimes things they had said – Castiel stared in horror at the shorts with 'assbutt' written across the – well, assbutt, and with even more alarm at the mugs and the bags and the model cars –

Dean picked one of those up. "Hey," he said, sounding intrigued. "That's actually pretty nice." Castiel frowned.

"This is very nearly idolatry," he said, solemnly. The seller looked up at him and beamed, and he found himself staring into eyes that were black from lid to lid. Demon, he thought, and moved.

Then Dean caught his arm. "Jesus-" he said, and Castiel blinked.

"Do not take the Lord's name in vain," he said, and then realized that the woman's face was clear and human, with no sign of a demon's visage. Her eyes were still black, though. He glanced at Dean.

"Yeah," said the eldest Winchester, still looking nervous. "It's a costume."

"Course it is!" The black eyed girl giggled. "Yours is awesome, by the way. The best 'Castiel' I've seen all day. Well, other than the guy who won the costume contest, but he's a little too – you know. Show-offy."

Castiel frowned. "I am not wearing a costume."

More giggling. He did not remember Jo giggling this much. Or even Claire Novak, and she was young. "Oh, right, you're one of those. Way to be in character with the voice, too."

"This is my voice," he said, tersely, still feeling a little exasperated by the costume contest, though of course that was foolish. "Why would you pretend to be a demon?" He was still not sure that he understood this pretending in general, but this was stranger than seeing himself.

More giggling. It was even more grating than Sam's voice. "I'm not just any demon," she said, and flipped her hair. "I'm Ruby."

Castiel watched Sam's head whip around from where he seemed to be looking at shirts that read 'saving people, hunting things' and frowned. "Ah."

The girl seemed briefly taken aback. "Oh. So, um…what are you looking for?"

He looked back at the table. "I do not have any money. I am only here for a short time." Dean snorted.

"If you want something to – you know, take back, I'll lend you some money."

"Awww," said the girl, quite inexplicably. Castiel stared at her. She waved her hands at him and Dean. "Well, you know. You guys. It's cute!"

"What's cute," growled Dean. Castiel recognized that voice to mean that whoever was the recipient should stop talking. Apparently the woman did not.

"That you're, like – together. And going as Castiel and Dean and everything – I have a friend who's a shipper and she'd just freak."

"Together?" Castiel said blankly, looking at Dean for interpretation. Dean's face looked like he was trying not to explode.

"We're not," he said, and stopped. "He's," he said, and stopped. "Shipper?"

"I think we should probably go," said Sam, mildly, nudging subtly between Dean and the table of 'merch.' "There's a – uh, thing." He seemed to be trying very hard not to look at the girl pretending to be Ruby.

"Oh, hey! 'Sam!'" said the girl delightedly, and Castiel could see Sam wince. "If you're gonna be in character you could at least-"

"Shut the fuck up," snarled Becky, to Castiel's surprise, grabbed Sam and Castiel's arms, and dragged them both down the walkway between tables and through several costumed followers. Castiel craned his neck to make sure Dean was following. He was, and Castiel thought he saw 'Ruby' blowing a kiss after them.

The young lady released them only once they were around three corners.

"Jesus," said Dean, and Castiel didn't bother to correct him this time. Sam rubbed his arm, and simply noted, "Ouch."

"That skank!" Becky seethed. "I ought to revoke her sales permit!"

Castiel looked back, but the girl dressed as Ruby was out of sight. "If these are your followers," he said, slowly, "I do not understand why they would choose to costume themselves as your enemies.

Dean grimaced. "They're not our followers, Cas. I told you, they're insane." Castiel nearly glanced at Becky to see what she thought of that, but she seemed to assume that Dean meant everyone else. A lot of humans seemed to assume that in similar cases, Castiel had observed.

"I still cannot understand why-"

"Just let it go," said Dean, with a sigh that Castiel recognized as resigned. "Happy with your wandering among the masses yet?"

"I think she must be somehow troubled," Castiel said worriedly, "Perhaps she needs help. Or does not understand that," but Dean had already moved on, somehow managing to plant himself between Becky and his younger brother.

"Okay, that's enough – we were only here for Chuck anyway. Maybe we could go get some ice cream or something." Dean's mouth twitched dangerously. "Or a hooker, right, Cas?"

Castiel pressed his lips together and was quite relieved that he wasn't blushing. "I wasn't done exploring," he said, and it came out sounding rather more petulant than he would have liked.

"There's not that much more to see," Sam said, rather too hastily, seeming to be attempting to keep Dean between him and Becky.

"What are you talking about?" Becky piped up indignantly. "There's the Apocalypse at seven!"

Castiel looked at Dean, who rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Clarence," he said dryly, "The pretend Apocalypse. Obviously. And we are not-"

Castiel resisted the urge to ask who Clarence was, and planted his feet. "I want to see it," he said, "And this is my vacation, does that not mean I get to pick where to go. If you would like to leave then I am sure Becky would be a fine teammate."

Dean's expression went sour. Sam's was just resigned. "This had better not turn out like last time," the younger Winchester mumbled. Becky clutched at Castiel's arm, and he attempted to ignore it.

"What happened last time?" He asked instead.

"There was a real ghost on the ghost hunt," said Dean, blandly. Castiel blinked.

"Then I also hope this does not turn out like the last time," he said, after a moment, and didn't quite understand why Sam pressed his face briefly into his hands.

~.~

It turned out to not really be like the Apocalypse at all. (Which was good, if a little dull, Castiel thought privately, though he wasn't sure what exactly he had expected. Perhaps a drama? He had liked the last play he'd seen. Aristophanes had talent and innovation in spades.)

Their team won anyway, by finding all of the hidden 'rings' of the Four Horsemen – which was really rather easy for Castiel – and then correctly solving the anagram that 'opened the Cage.'

Sam had spent most of the second half of the whole thing wincing until Castiel asked him if he was suffering from cramps.

For some reason Dean found this inexplicably funny.

With the Apocalypse averted, they were presented with their certificate of victory, which Becky snatched, and a trophy, which Dean claimed, despite his loud and frequent protests during the game that this was all stupid and misguided and pointless.

And then Castiel realized the time and sighed. There would be – to use a Dean-ism – "Hell to pay" if he was not back very soon. He waited until the crowd dispersed slightly and Becky had gone 'to get some celebratory drinks' to reach out and transport himself and both Winchesters safely upstairs.

"Jesus, Cas, how many times-"

"I did not want to be interrupted in saying farewell," Castiel said, to cut off the predictable Dean tirade. "And I thought it would be less conspicuous if I vanished from here."

Sam's brows furrowed. "You're leaving already? That's not much of a vacation-"

"There is much that needs to be done," Castiel said, and then frowned and added, "And Raphael will kill me if I leave him to deal with the chaos for any longer."

"Raphael, the dick?" Dean said, and Castiel tried not to cough a laugh.

"…yes. The same. He seems to be…less inclined to do violence now that I am equal in status to him." Castiel paused, cleared his throat and looked from one Winchester to the other.

Dean shuffled, a bit. "Hey, Cas – before you go back. Take this with you." He pulled out one of the models of the Impala from the 'merch' table earlier and held it out. "Just to – you know. Remind you that we're down here."

Castiel looked solemnly at both of them. Sam actually looked back, this time. "I could not forget," he said, solemnly, and then frowned at the car. "Did you pay for this?"

"Nope," Dean said, cheerfully. "It was a ripoff anyway. And she was. You know. 'Ruby.'"

Castiel considered that, and decided on the moral scale of things, it was probably unimportant. He looked at the model for a moment longer, and pocketed it. "Thank you, Dean."

Dean shuffled a little more. "Come and visit more often," he said, gruffly. Castiel smiled.

"I will." He stepped forward, after a moment, and awkwardly patted Dean on the shoulder.

"Awwwww," said Sam.

He distinctly heard the thwap of an open handed strike as to an arm as he dematerialized.