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There’s a statue in the center of Lebanon, Kansas. It’s been there as long as anyone could remember; but if you ask the locals, they’ll say it’s been there longer than the town itself. It was an angel. It sat in the center of a park, along cobblestone pathways weaving around it and the other eye-candy.
Beside the statue was a plaque, it told the story of an angel that loved humanity, loved it so much that he fell in love with a righteous man. He would often come down to earth to experience all its wonders, his lover teaching him about mankind. But the man was mortal, and like all mortal things he lived and died. The angel was so distraught that he begged God to save him, to bring him back, but he refused. The angel, stricken with grief, fell. And as he fell, his body turned to stone. with his last dying breath, he called out to the righteous man; reaching towards the heavens so that one day, the man’s soul could lift him back up.
It had become a legend in this town, that one day the righteous man would be reborn, and when he was, he would come to their little corner of the world to wake the fallen angel, becoming immortal himself, so that they may never be torn apart again.
“Hurry up Sammy! I wanna get there before noon,” Dean called to the younger Winchester, urging him to pack his bag faster. There was recently a discovery in Lebanon, Kansas: an old WWII era bunker. Apparently it was connected to a secret society of occultists called the Men of Letters, and their books (the ones that didn’t require climate control) were opened for public viewing. Sam had been interested in the books, and Dean had been interested in the garage full of antique cars. As it was only a three-hour drive, the brothers thought there wouldn’t be any harm in going down for the weekend.
It was about two hours into the drive when Sam started getting tired of re-listening to the same two albums for the third time, that he started looking up some of the local history of the town. “Hey so get this, apparently Lebanon has a local legend,” he took Dean’s lowering of the volume as a sign to continue, “there’s this fallen angel statue in the middle of town, it’s said that he fell in love with a human, and after they died, fell to earth and turned himself into a statue. Supposedly if that person was reborn and touched the statue, he would wake up and grant that person immortality.”
Dean raised his eyebrow, “Well immortality doesn’t sound so bad, we should stop by after the Bunker to grab a photo. Y’know, immortalize the trip.”
“That was probably the worst pun ever,” despite the jest, Dean laughed anyway.
They continued the drive until they pulled into a motel parking lot. Got a room for the night and set down their bags, before continuing the drive to the outskirts of town.
The Bunker itself was awesome. The war room held mannequins displaying a crisis frozen in time. The library, while also cool, was heavily guarded; making sure no one stole anything, dog eared any pages, or tried to touch a book without gloves on. Dean was slightly disappointed at the shooting range but the garage made up for it.
Now, at most museums, the archives are out of bounds; but here? Granted all the shelves were lined in, what was no doubt bulletproof, glass. But otherwise, there was a dungeon! An honest to someone dungeon, with knives and a chair bolted to the floor, there was even a big ass pentacle painted on the ground. That room was definitely not on the website.
The rest of it was fairly tame. An industrial-sized kitchen, a computer/control room, and a few rooms that hadn’t been lived-in in decades. But by the end of it, Sam and Dean had wordlessly agreed that they were tourists’d out for the day.
They found a nice family diner and had a quiet dinner, neither seeing a need to fill the silence. The waitress, seeing the new faces, had asked if they’d touched the angel yet. They hadn’t and she’d been all too happy to explain it’s significance to the town: Christians would stop by on their way to church. People would come to propose. You would touch the angel’s hand for good luck. It was also tradition to have your first kiss by the statue. People said that placing a rose in front of it on your anniversary would ensure another year of romance. The whole town had agreed that the statue, if not real, was at least magic. The boys made another silent agreement to see it first thing tomorrow.
As Dean was falling asleep something in the back of his mind keep bothering him. A faint, yet urgent, instinct. A need to see the statue. He grabbed his phone off the shared bedside table and frantically typed in the name of the town, needing to retype a few times due to the sloppy (and steadily increasing) panic. Eventually, he found a picture. It was stunning, awe-inspiring, lifelike .
The man was seemingly suspended in air. His limbs had gone limp while falling, the imaginary air sweeping them upwards, all but one arm. The angel’s right arm was deliberately reaching up, waiting for something, some one , and everything in Dean was telling him to go catch him. The most striking thing about the statue though? The wings. They were the same dull grey as the rest of it, but Dean somehow knew, he just knew that they were a deep black. He knew what it felt like to run his fingers through the once soft plumage, the knew that in just the right light, the feathers would have a royal blue sheen. The way the photo was angeled you could just barely see the top of his head peeking over the enormous wings.
Even though he hoped seeing the angel would relieve the need building in his chest, it only served to heighten it. What was before a dull ache that could have been mistaken for an intense curiosity, was now a fire in his veins, an Itch that couldn’t be scratched. He had two options: sneak out now to see the damn statue, or take some sleeping pills and wait. His instincts told him to get up and go but he knew if he did Sam would kill him come morning.
Sighing, Dean wrenched the covers off his body and hauled himself over to his duffel bag. He normally only took them after a nightmare: the fire, his mother’s screams, and the smoke clogging his lungs that still haunted him on his bad days. He shook those thoughts from his head as he swallowed a pill dry then padded back to bed. Plugging in his phone, making sure to not look at any more pictures, he let his eyes drift close, letting the soft snores of his brother lull him into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning started slowly. The light filtering in through the threadbare curtains rousing him into consciousness. He was able to open his eyes just in time to see Sam walk in the room holding a paper take-out bag and two cups of coffee. “Welcome to the land of the living,” the taller one said as he placed one cup down on the bedside table.
Dean sat up, blindly reaching over for the coffee and guzzled the slightly more than hot liquid greedily.
“Remember to breathe,” Sam called out, used to his brother’s antics. “Hey, I passed the statue on my way back, there’s this cool platform above it so you can hold its hand,” at the mention of the statue Dean was wide awake. Throwing the blankets off himself to quickly (but not too quickly lest he get a raised eyebrow) start his morning routine.
If Sam was curious about his insistence to see the statue he didn’t mention it. However, it wasn’t only the phantom itch that urged him to move quickly, he didn’t want there to be a crowd of people. He couldn’t imagine himself waiting in line just to take a picture.
The statue was even more glorious in the light of day. The whole thing was in the center of a shallow crater, and the angel was floating a few feet above the ground. Upon closer inspection, there was a clear pedestal that the whole thing was resting on. (although, if you asked Dean, he would say that the box itself looked fake.) to the side of the statue was a mostly clear staircase that lead to a platform. Said platform was about six inches above the outstretched hand.
While Sam went to read the plaque, Dean moved to see the angels face. It was breathtaking. The man’s face, although obviously in deep sorrow, was beautiful. His hair was swooshed upwards, but Dean suspected, even without the wind, it wouldn’t sit neatly on the man’s head. His jaw was strong and skin flawless. However, his eyes were closed, but how Dean longed to see them open. He craved to watch them light up as he learned something new, or squint as he tried to decipher Dean’s slang.
“Hey, why don’t you go grab its hand?” Sam asked, done reading.
Dean didn’t answer, just moved to walk up the stairs. “Wait!” Sam called out, just as he reached the first step, “I wanna record this.” By the time he had his phone out and camera ready Dean was itching to move. A thumbs up from Sam was all it took.
He practically flew up the steps, but once he reached the edge of the platform, he hesitated. He glanced over at Sam, who was smiling behind the camera; then glanced up at the other early-morning parkgoers who had stopped to watch; finally, casting his gaze down to the man below him.
He stalked forwards, crouching down at the edge. He braced one hand on the ground before reaching down. Green eyes locked on grey as flesh met stone.
At that moment the world erupted into chaos. A Fire travelled through his skin as an enormous weight heaved him down, just barely able to hold his ground on the platform. His eyes squeezed shut at both the sudden weight and the pain. Until suddenly, he was in the air. Wrapped in a tight embrace he felt the wind in his hair, he still hadn’t opened his eyes but somehow, he knew he was safe.
“Please open your eyes.” a deep voice said, gravely from centuries of disuse. So slowly, he did, and was greeted with the bluest blue he’d ever seen. Another pain flashed through him. However, this one wasn’t a burning, but a stretching. His head was being filled with years of memories. A life he had once known, a life he had once loved. Flashes of memories ran across his mind’s eye. Encountering a supernatural being and having fear shoot through his bones. Sneaking out of his house late at night. Being caught doing… something. Being burned alive.
He must have passed out because the next thing he knew was waking up to concerned blue eyes, and a constant muttering in a language he didn’t understand. “Cas?” because that was his name, wasn’t it? Castiel. Where was he? Wasn’t he dead? “Why are you crying, love?” he asked reaching up to wipe the stray tear away from those so blue eyes.
Castiel clutched onto his hand, gripping it like it was his only tether to this world. Right now he was confused about a lot of things, but one thing he knew was that Cas needed him. “Hey, love, look at me.” that was redundant, Castiel hadn’t taken his eyes off Dean since he’d opened them. “I’m okay, you’re okay. We’re gonna be okay.” He rested their foreheads together and whispered soft reassurances in the angel’s ear as he cried.
~Sam~
“Hey, why don’t you go grab its hand?” Sam asked, done reading. His brother just moved towards the steps, “Wait!” He called out, fumbling to grab his phone. “I wanna record this.” once he was all set he gave a thumbs up.
As Dean reached the top of the step his whole demeanour changed, he went from frantic to nervous in less time it takes Dean to recognize ‘eye of the tiger’ on the radio. Dean looked at him, then glanced around at the small audience of parkgoers before leaning down and grabbing the statue’s hand.
The next instance, the once stone angel was flesh and grace as he fell, the clear podium below him fading away. He seamed disoriented (and who wouldn’t be after being a statue for a few hundred years.) but as soon as it all happened the man’s eyes snapped up to look at Dean, and then a woosh was heard before they were both gone.
Everyone in the park was silent, no one moved a muscle. Until the reality of the situation hits Sam. “Dean!?” he almost dropped his phone but had enough brainpower to pocket it while frantically searching the sky. Up above the town, a huge black mass could be seen around two bodies. (It would only occur to Sam later that those were wings) but as soon as they flew up they were diving back down. Gliding over to the nearest flat-roofed structure and landing.
Snapping out of his trance he ran into the building- a cafe- “How do I get to the roof?” he asked the nearest employee.
“Sorry sir, but you aren’t allow-”
“My brother’s on the roof, please, I need to know he’s okay!” it was clear the worker drew the wrong conclusion but if it got Sam up there, then he wasn’t going to correct her.
He was lead to a ladder and quickly climbed, popping open a panel in the roof he scanned the area. He immediately noticed the thing that took his brother. He dashed over but stopped halfway there. The scene before him wasn’t violent, but rather… intimate. Dean was clutching the not-statues face as he sat in its lap. The not-statue clutching onto Dean as if he was frightened; and when Sam looked closer there were tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat.
Dean looked up but there was no recognition in his eyes. The not-statue wrapped his wings around Dean, cocooning him away from Sam. “Let go of my brother!” He called out, moving into a defensive stance.
~Dean~
Wait, Brother? The onslaught of new old memories had distracted him from everything else that had just happened. All at once it came rushing back, Sammy!
“Stop!” He called out, managing to get his hand outside of Cas’s wings. Getting the message, Cas freed him of his feathery shield.
Slowly pulling Cas’s forehead to his own, he whispered: “I didn’t know how much I’ve missed you ‘till now love, but I have a new life now. That over there is my little brother Sammy. He’s not here to hurt me, I’m safe.” Feeling Cas relax underneath him has him letting go, turning towards him brother.
“Dean, what the hell?” and Dean laughs, because that about sums it up, doesn’t it?
“Sammy, meet Castiel, angel of the lord, and my lover since 1887.”