He's still sitting on the bench when Dean comes to him.

He's holding the blanket, bunched up in such a way that Cas wonders if there's a surprise kitten or baby or something hidden in there. But Dean just sits down next to him, tosses the blanket around both their shoulders. Hides them in wings.

"Hey," he says.

Cas nods. "Hey."

"Your mom is nice," Dean says. "Considering."

"Considering?" He thinks for a moment that Dean is referring to her mental problems, but that doesn't make sense.

"We're complete strangers that showed up last night. And I think she blames me for your breakdown— Jesus, Cas. You could have— you could— I sat with you for a bit last night and you were—"

"Sorry." He tries to be more apologetic, but he's sinking, collapsing in on himself. Leans into Dean, just a little bit. Trying to ignore the harsh sunlight, the world that's still spinning. "I— didn't take the news about Victor well."

"No kidding." But Dean leans back. Propped up against each other, they stare down reality.

They're so small, compared to the world.

"Go to that school in Kansas," Dean says. "Or Illinois. You gotta get out of here. You gotta—"

"I yelled at Naomi, ran out of my meeting with the guidance counselor, then beat the shit out of Raphael." Cas closes his eyes. "How lame is that? Getting kicked out of school April of my senior year." But maybe that's just how he rolls.

"They expel you? That official?"

"Dunno. But, probly. My dad said— that the school called, just a bit before I did. Said that they were going to do a more 'thorough investigation.' I—" he feels around for Dean's hand, and then holds it, because it might be pathetic but he's afraid Dean is going to leave with the next sentence. "I had to tell him. About you and Ralston. He says that knowing that he thinks Ralston's threats to press charges are just threats, and he thinks I was more than justified, but unfortunately you don't really challenge people to duels anymore, so justification doesn't really matter, and I'm so sorry, Dean, I'm—"

"Hey." Dean hesitates a second, and then squeezes the hand back. It's under the blanket, it's not like anyone can see. "It's— it's okay. I can— if it'll get you off the hook, I can go to the police or—"

"No. I'm not putting you through that. I'm— anyway, it doesn't excuse what I did to Raphael. That wasn't— validated, in any way."

"Your dad, your parents, are they—"

"I told him most of it, just now. I said that the fire and stuff just started from the soldering iron, that the deaths were at the pissing contest after, but I think he suspects— he—"

Dean's hand tightens around his. "Is he angry?"

"They both are. But they— they— I don't know. He writes novels about demon hunters, you know? I think he's—" it takes a moment, to try and find the words. "He's angry, and he's upset, and my mom's really scared now, they're already talking about moving, which might not be a bad idea, but I think he's also sort of— proud? Like I'm some righteous hero or something." Chuck had never been the most mature of parents. He probably imagines Cas and Dean in some sort of West Side Story or Outsiders world. "Next thing you know, there'll be an angel in his books with a small silver sword."

A laugh— Cas can feel it on Dean's skin. "What'd you do with that? You still have it?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna toss it, though. Was planning to get on a ferry, throw it overboard. People don't scuba dive that deep in Puget Sound, right?"

"Hell if I know."

They're quiet for a second.

"I'll go with you, though," Dean says. "Drive you down. I have— a car now, apparently. Did you know about the car?"

Cas did not know about the car, but it takes a moment to place the growing horror as Dean describes it. Because it was nice of Charlie, but that means— and then he realizes. "You're leaving." Is this a goodbye, did they come to say goodbye?

Dean shrugs. "Everyone's going," he says. "Benny said that he's taking off. Bobby's gonna hang around with Rufus for a bit, but he's thinking about going back to South Dakota, and I found Ellen last night. She was mad as hell about everything, but she said she's moving them to Nebraska as soon as they can find a place to stay. Don't think Jo told her the full story, but she's still grounded until she's thirty. Guess Ellen wasn't so much with the righteous."

And if Dean's leaving, he should tell him. He's coming clean today, right? He's— "I'm not righteous," he says, as quietly as he can while still being heard. Because maybe the trees are listening, maybe the wind will carry his voice. "Dean, I— the stuff I've—"

Another fragment of a laugh. "Look who you're talking to."

"No. I'm—" one breath, and then. "Dean, the reason I was in the office with Crowley that day— I was— it was right after and I had just discovered about Ralston and I— I didn't have anything, and I really needed— and he—" God, why can't he say it? Why can't he say it? "I sort of. Sucked him off."

Dean tenses, but he doesn't let go. When he speaks, his voice is level. "Your idea or his?"

"His."

Another pause.

"Is it bad that I want to kill him for that more than I want to kill him for giving me up?"

Well. That's not as bad as Cas was expecting. "Are you angry?"

"Yeah." Dean swallows. "Not— I don't have any right to be, though. I'll get over it." Pause. "I don't know, I might have to leave a few hickeys in very visible places. You know. To make up for it. Or I could make you scream, just to be extra sure your attentions aren't straying."

Cas snorts. "I don't scream. And we both have the endurance of teenagers."

"Is that a challenge?" Pause. "I could get a dildo, tie you down, and then fuck you with it but avoid your prostate until you're—"

He's too comfortable to shove Dean off the bench, so he settles for sort of shouldering him. You can't do that if you're leaving. But maybe Dean senses that, maybe Dean's thinking the same thing, because he pulls the blanket tighter around them both. "You need to get out too, Cas. Get the college to accept you anyway, or get a GED, or—"

"You don't think it'd have died down by then? I wouldn't be going for four months."

Chuck is watching them through the window, but he looks away when Cas notices. Cas wonders if he looks as miserable as he feels, because Jo is gone and his blood brothers are gone and Benny and Dean are leaving, and…

"I'll go with you?"

"I can't ask that, Cas."

"You don't have to." But just because Dean promised dildos and a ride to the ferry, that doesn't mean— "Unless— you don't want—"

"What? No— that's not what I— of course I want you, I need you, I just— I don't even know where we're going, and you might be safe here a while longer. They don't know where you live, who you are…"

But Crowley knows, and he doesn't want to give Crowley that type of power over him. Even if he has, even if he has for months. Even though if Crowley has any sense he should be hiding his ass.

"I gave everything," Castiel says, and it's not a pity party, it's a fact. "I don't have anything left here, Dean. I'll call Bradley, see if they'll let me in anyway, with the circumstances, and if not we can— I can get a GED, or something, we could go to Nebraska and visit Jo, we could go look for your dad, if you want—"

"—Crappy motels, crappy food, maybe being followed."

"You're Dean Smith now, right? Charlie get you that ID? We can just get her to age me up a couple years, and we have the money she gave you," stole, whatever, it's like they just mugged Roman and took his wallet, "we can—"

"You think we could really find my dad?"

Cas shrugs. But he's already going through lists, options in his head. Newspaper reports, missing persons, most likely areas. "We could try."

Another moment of silence. They're half in shade now. Cas wonders if time will ever exist for him again. Through the other window, Amelia and Sam are visible in the kitchen, and it's towards them that Dean is looking when he says, "your parents would never let you go."

"They wouldn't have much of a choice, would they?" They're angry at him, sure, maybe even furious, but they don't want him dead. "Anyway, I'm eighteen."

"So, seven more years on their health insurance."

"Shut up."

Sam seems to be charming Amelia's socks off, judging by her smile and the number of peanut butter sandwiches.

Cas will email Balthazar. Make new email accounts. Just to say he's okay. And he can't explain, but he can— he can try. He can say goodbye. "Do we leave today?"

"No reason not to. I gotta— I can't risk Sammy."

He has fallen. His life future has gone from planned to empty, a winding road of long nights, fast food, fighting over music, sneaking out to the Impala to be alone with Dean. Of trying to get Sam in school, of fighting over something and a tense silence covering the Impala for days. Of getting into bars with fake IDs, learning how to hustle. Of checking papers for John Does and John Winchesters, of looking for salvation in nooks and crannies. Of odd jobs and crappy apartments and trying to go to school. Trying to be something, even though he doesn't even remember what he had once planned to major in. Of moments of crushing loneliness and small towns and day tripper friends. Of the open road, as a freedom and a terror, of Lebanon as a prison and a sanctuary.

For one moment, he sees the future. And then he blinks, and it fades. Because the future has to be lived.

He kisses Dean, because he can, because hell to his parents if they're watching. Sucks on his lip for a moment before pulling away. Stands.

"Well, come on," he says. Dean looks up at him. His face is still in the sunlight, and it glows. Castiel smiles. "We have work to do."

Welp. Here we go.

I hope you had as much fun reading as I did writing. (I'm not going to whine at you to review, but it'd be awesome if you reviewed.) Here's to an awesome season nine.