Out of Hell

Castiel concentrates on the place he remembers it being, and in an instant, there he is, standing in front of the bunker. It looks very similar to how he had left it—of course, there were minute differences, but that is the way with Earth—the grass is still tall, the Impala still parked in front of the door. He goes to enter, but though the door opens at his touch, he finds he can't step over the threshold. The sigils don't recognize him. They don't remember that he's been invited, and he is what they would think of as a threat.

He frowns, and looks around.

Very well then. He will just have to wait.

He wonders how long it has been, on Earth. He wonders if Sam is all right.

It's a nice day.

Castiel stands still and silent, watching.

He stands for the rest of the day, and the night, and the beginning of a new day before the door opens. Dean stumbles out, stopping with one hand on the railing at the top of the steps, staring like Castiel is a ghost. Or as if he isn't there at all.

"Cas?" the word is surprised, and yet, in some way, not surprised at all.

"Hello, Dean."

His face betrays more than his words do. Dean's face is stunned, lost, happy and sad and disbelieving. How many times, how many times has this happened? He can remember every one.

"I told you I would come back."

Dean laughs, but he seems still in shock, he moves forwards, grabs him by the arm, looking into his eyes. They are so close Cas can feel Dean's breath, though Dean won't be able to feel his. He is not breathing.

Dean loosens his hold, steps back, gives Cas the once over. Speaks. "What happened to the coat?"

"I don't know," Castiel admits. "It just changed color, and I can't get it to change back."

"It suits you," Dean says.

There is an awkward pause. Something isn't right, and Castiel can feel it. Something is missing. "Where is Sam?"

He waits for Dean to say, in the Batcave, reading, researching, playing ping-pong…

He never did learn what ping-pong was.

Dean swallows. "Gone." His voice is casual, he tries to appear nonchalant as he goes over to the Impala, opens the driver's side door. He gets in, turns the engine. Castiel appears next to him, looks at him quizzically. "Gone?"

Dean starts to drive. "When we were closing the gates it sort of, I don't know, trapped Sam inside. As we did the ritual. What happened to you?" he changes the subject quickly. Castiel doesn't miss the catch in his voice when he mentions Sam's name.

Castiel hums thoughtfully, goes with the conversation. "Much the same, I believe. Metatron and I were trying to close the gates of Heaven and I was trapped behind them. But, Dean, I don't think Sam is in Hell."

"What?" Dean looks over him, eyes guarded.

"Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that both rituals happened at the same time, but when I turned around, I found that I was not in Heaven, but Hell. I would assume, then, that Sam ended up in Heaven." He doesn't add that he would know, if he had heard Sam's soul scream. There would have been a familiarity to it that he does not remember.

Dean slams on the brakes so fast that Castiel would have been in danger of pitching through the window, if he had been so inclined.

"You were in Hell?"

"Yes." Dean is looking at him, and Castiel meets his eyes. "This troubles you."

"What—? Of course this fucking troubles me, Cas! You were in Hell!" and then he goes still. "How long?"

"I don't—"

"How long."

"I don't know," Cas admits. "It was hard to tell at first."

"You don't know?" Dean is speechless. "How deep were you?"

Castiel looks down. "I could feel the pit, in the beginning. Like a humming, in the back of your head."

Dean has never been down that far. Not on the rack, and certainly not after. No one goes down there if they can help it. "Are you ok?" he asks. He doesn't know what else to say.

Castiel looks at him patronizingly. "Of course I am."

"Right."

He starts the car up again. He wants to turn up the music, but isn't sure if Cas is done talking yet. Not sure if he's done talking yet.

"It's been three years," he says eventually. "Since you—left."

Castiel thinks that's a very short time, but looking at Dean, he is struck by the thought that to Dean, three years must have been an eternity.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." They don't talk about the argument they had, before. Everything had been forgiven when they went off to, most likely, die.

Again.

It's been a long time since then.

.

.

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[this is a bit of an experiment - I don't really have a plot or anything, but I wanted to keep writing. So... I might get stuck and never finish it.]