Amor Ordinem Nescit
Author: enigmaticblue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters, Kripke & Co. do. Too bad, so sad.
Characters: Sam, Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: Castiel is missing and presumed dead. Sam attempts to get Dean to open up again. A sequel to my fic In Vino Veritas, although it probably stands on its own.
A/N: Written in response to a challenge by thomasina75, beta and hand-holder extraordinaire. The title means “Love does not know order.”

Dean’s anguished shout had Sam scrambling to his feet, rushing to his brother’s side. Sam grabbed Dean, preventing him from rushing to Castiel’s aid as two angels held Castiel by the arms.

Castiel had shown up to help them deal with a cadre of demons, and this time, the angels had found him before he could disappear again.

“Cas!”

“No, Dean!” Sam had to wrestle his brother backwards and hope that the angels wanted Castiel a hell of a lot more than they wanted him and Dean.

Castiel appeared resigned, and Sam met the angel’s eyes, seeing the unspoken apology there.

The other two angels disappeared with Castiel a moment later, and Dean slumped in Sam’s arms. Sam kept a tight grip on Dean, holding him up. “Come on, Dean. We have to get out of here.”

He avoided looking at the bodies of the people the demons had been riding, those he and Dean had killed, and those Castiel had exorcised, their bodies too used up to sustain their souls.

“We can’t—” Dean stopped. “Yeah. Yeah, we have to go.”

Sam left his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Why don’t I drive?”

Dean shook his head, but he handed Sam the keys to the Impala anyway. “Yeah.”

Sam didn’t bother asking where they were headed to next; they didn’t have another job lined up, and he knew that Dean would need time, whether he admitted it or not.

The drive was silent. Dean stared out the window, drumming his fingers on the passenger door. Sam plugged in Dean’s favorite mix tape; the one Dean always chose when he was upset. In response, Dean just leaned his head against the glass.

“Dean, it wasn’t your fault.”

“He was there because of me.”

Dean’s voice grew tight, a sure sign that the conversation was over. Dean never had liked accepting comfort, and he wasn’t going to talk about what had just happened. Still, Sam wanted to try.

“He might be okay. We don’t know what—”

“Remember the first time Cas got disappeared?” Dean asked bitterly. “You know as well as I do that they want him dead.”

“We don’t know that.”

“I do. Cas told me what would happen if he helped me, if he went against orders. He said we’d be hunted.” Dean rubbed his eyes. “If he’s not dead yet, he will be.”

“Dean—”

“Forget it, Sam. I’m going to get some sleep.”

And that was that. It was like Sam hadn’t spent the last three weeks listening to Dean’s very vocal response to his dreams. It was like Sam didn’t know Dean, how Dean felt about Castiel, how much he cared.

There was nothing he could say, though—not when Dean had closed his eyes and slumped against the passenger door, his head against the glass. Sam focused on the road, tapping his fingers in time to the beat of “Stairway to Heaven.”

His fingers stilled when Dean leaned forward and shut the music off with a sharp movement at odds with the care he normally showed the car.

Sam said nothing, but his hands tightened on the wheel as he suppressed a sigh.

It was going to be a long drive to Bobby’s.

~~~~~

Bobby took a long swig of his beer, watching Dean as he stuck his head back under the hood of the Impala. “What’s wrong with Dean?”

Sam sighed audibly. “I could tell you I didn’t know, but I’d be lying.”

“So?”

“It’s Castiel.”

“Yeah, you said he got captured.” Bobby understood that Dean often felt responsible for those around him. He figured it was part of Dean’s charm—and a big problem.

Sam angled his body toward Bobby. “No, Bobby. It’s Castiel.”

Bobby blinked; Sam’s tone was laden with meaning , but he couldn’t interpret it. “What?”

“It’s Cas. Dean and him—they have a connection.”

“What kind of connection?” Bobby snapped.

“I don’t know. A connection.”

Bobby had known Sam Winchester long enough to know when the boy wasn’t telling him everything, and when he didn’t want more details. “Uh huh.”

“He’s freaked out, Bobby. He just won’t admit it.”

“Understandable. If I had a connection with an angel of the friggin’ Lord, I’d be freaked out too.” Bobby snorted. “Seems I remember he was pretty upset when the angel first showed up.”

“Yeah, but it’s different now.” Sam picked up another beer and headed towards the car. Bobby took another swig and watched as Sam approached the Impala. Dean kept his head under the hood, even when Sam proffered the beer, and when Sam laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, Dean brushed it aside.

Dean slammed the hood and stalked off across the salvage yard, leaving Sam in his wake, holding two bottles of beer.

Bobby shook his head. “Idjits,” he muttered.

He was going to have to stock up on the whiskey, preferably in the panic room, just in case he needed to get away from the tension.

~~~~~

If Sam asked him if he was okay one more time, Dean didn’t think he could be held responsible for his actions.

Wiping his hand on the rag hanging through his belt loop, Dean grabbed a socket wrench and looked over his handiwork. The Impala was running better than she had been, but he didn’t know when he’d have time to really pamper her again. Supposedly, Bobby had a line on a hunt, but nothing solid so far.

Dean drank deeply from his bottle of water and then closed the hood. Nothing more he could do today, not without a couple of replacement parts—but it was nothing pressing. He’d have Bobby keep an eye out for cars that might be cannibalized.

“Dean!”

He turned to see Sam walking towards him. “What?”

“We have a job.”

“’Bout damn time,” Dean muttered. “Where?”

“Two counties over. Bobby thinks it’s a vengeful spirit, but he doesn’t know for sure.”

Dean nodded. “I’ll grab my gear.” He was grateful to finally have a distraction, to have something to do other than sit around and tell everyone that he was fine.

They were both in the car and on the road within fifteen minutes. “Fill me in, Sam.”

“Friends of friends of Bobby’s,” Sam explained. “They have a fifteen year old son who’s been experiencing strange things. He claims that items in his room have been moving on their own, he’s hearing voices, that sort of thing.”

Dean frowned. “This sounds pretty minor, Sam. What was the hurry?”

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful for the chance to go on a hunt, but Dean didn’t want Sam or Bobby’s pity, and he didn’t want make-work.

“The family dog was found dead in the garage, nailed to the wall.”

“The kid?”

“With his parents, while they were all out to eat. Unless he has special abilities, he’s not responsible for what’s going on.”

“Did you check into the history of the house? Were there any deaths?”

“Bobby couldn’t find any, but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t.” Dean could hear Sam pull in a deep breath. “Dean, about what happened to Castiel—”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“We need to talk about it. Without him—”

“We’ll do what we always do,” Dean snapped. “We’ve gotten along without him before; we don’t need him now.”

Sam fell silent, but Dean knew that kind of quiet; Sam was going to keep pushing.

“I know you two were close.”

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’m not talking about this,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “Let’s focus on the job.”

“It’s a spirit, Dean. We’ve dealt with them before.”

“Doesn’t mean we can get sloppy now.” That’s right, Dean told himself. It was about the job now; it was about that poor family and their dead dog. Even a simple salt and burn could turn deadly.

And after this hunt, there would be another, and another, and an apocalypse to stop. With any luck, they’d be too busy for him to think about Cas.

“But—”

“What part of I’m not talking about this don’t you understand?” he hissed. Dean felt the hot rage bubbling inside of him, and only his tight grip on the wheel kept him from striking out. It wasn’t Sam’s fault, but Dean didn’t know how much longer he could control his anger if Sam kept pushing at him.

“Okay.” This time, there was the sound of defeat in Sam’s voice, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. “Bobby said that they were expecting us to come by. His friend is going to meet us there and make the introductions.”

Dean nodded, his tension easing as Sam finally backed off.

~~~~~

The Millers seemed like a nice, normal family, the kind of people that made saving the world worth it. They were bewildered, but willingly agreed to stay at a hotel for a few days until he and Dean took care of the poltergeist.

Sam settled down with his laptop and the Millers’ wireless network to look for more information while Dean put down salt lines and loaded the weapons with rounds.

“Dean—” he began.

“If you mention Castiel one more time, Sam, so help me I will shoot you.”

Sam winced. “I wasn’t going to talk about Castiel.”

“Good. Now, what is it?”

“I think I found something.”

“I’m listening.”

“I found an obituary for someone who lived at this address.”

“Progress,” Dean commented. “Who was it?”

“A thirteen year old boy committed suicide.”

Dean considered it. “That would do it. Poor kid.”

“Yeah. Let me see what I can find on him.” Sam typed in the name—feeling a chill as he did so.

“You okay?”

“His name was Sam—Samuel Abrams.”

“It’s a common name.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Sam kept digging, and he found an article on the boy’s suicide. It was a small one, but it hinted at abuse at home. “Social services was called at least twice.”

“Well, that would explain why he’s haunting this house.” Dean leaned back in his chair. “Did the Miller kid say anything about when it started?”

Sam frowned. “Yeah, it was after Kyle was grounded. He was pissed off and punched a hole in the wall.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Well, let’s see this hole.”

They both headed upstairs, and Sam could immediately tell where the plaster had been repaired in what was obviously Kyle’s bedroom.

Sam watched as Dean ran his fingers over the defect in the wall, his eyes very far away. “You okay?”

Dean glanced up. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Good or not, Dean was thrown across the room a moment later. “Dean!”

“Watch out, Sammy!”

Sam whirled to face the ghost of a young boy with a rope burn across his neck. “Shit!”

The spirit threw him across the room, too, and Sam heard the report of the shotgun a moment later. The rock salt peppered the wall, chipping off paint.

“Sam! Move!”

Sam dove across the threshold of the bedroom, and Dean followed, laying a line of salt behind them.

Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam. “Find the grave, salt and burn the body. I’ll keep the ghost at bay.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine.”

Sam didn’t know that he would be, but he wasn’t sure they had another option either. “Okay, Dean. I’ll take care of it. Be careful.”

Dean smirked. “Always.”

Sam wished he could believe his brother, but right now, he didn’t have a choice.

~~~~~

Bobby slid into the chair next to Dean at the kitchen table. “I heard the Millers wanted to pay you.”

Dean shrugged. “They were grateful we took care of the problem. No big deal, right?”

“Sure.” Bobby watched him thoughtfully, sipping his coffee. “Figured you’d still be asleep. It’s early, and Sam said you got knocked around some.”

Dean touched the gash over his left eye reflectively. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’ve had worse.”

“I know you have.”

Bobby let the silence hang between them until Dean started to squirm a little bit. “Spit it out, Bobby.”

“I’ve been studying the demon activity for patterns.” Bobby reached across the table for the heavy book. “I was hoping to find a way to anticipate Lucifer’s next move.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It might not be, but sitting around twiddling my thumbs seemed pointless.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dean’s mouth quirked. “This is about the time when Cas would show up out of the blue and direct us to the next hot spot.”

“You lost an asset.” Bobby deliberately kept his tone flat.

Something flashed through Dean’s eyes. “Yeah, something like that.” He rose from the table abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over, and righting it with a violent motion. “I’m going to check out that car you mentioned.”

“Take the parts you need!” Bobby called out after him.

He heard Sam’s sleepy voice as the younger Winchester ran into Dean in the hall. Whatever Sam said had Dean swearing at him and slamming out of the house.

“What the hell was that?” Sam asked, lumbering into the kitchen and over to the coffee pot.

Bobby shrugged. “The usual.”

Sam sighed. “I wish he’d just admit that he’s upset Cas is gone.”

“And pigs will fly,” Bobby muttered from behind his mug.

Sam snorted. “Yeah.” There was a moment of quiet, and Sam added, “He’s been having nightmares.”

“I got that. He was screaming loud enough to wake the neighbors—if I had neighbors.” Bobby studied Sam. “You know you boys are welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

“Thanks, Bobby.”

“That said, you got a game plan for how to clean this mess up?”

Sam shook his head. “I think we were both hoping that Cas would be able to help—or maybe that we’d find a weapon to kill Lucifer. We have to find him first, though. He’s not exactly leaving a trail.”

“You found Lilith,” Bobby pointed out.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sam responded darkly. “I’m going outside.”

Bobby shook his head; he already knew how this was going to turn out—badly. Dean was torn up, and Sam was going to push Dean to talk about it in an attempt to fix his brother.

Too bad Sam hadn’t yet learned that there were some things that just couldn’t be fixed. Could be that Dean was one of those things; Bobby was beginning to suspect that the same could be said for the apocalypse.

~~~~~

Sam wished there was a better way to get through to Dean than letting his brother know that he knew about the dreams. After listening to Dean moan Castiel’s name before the angel had disappeared, and now after listening to him shouting “Cas!” at the top of his lungs during a nightmare, Sam was tired of Dean’s denial.

“Dean.”

“Hand me that wrench.”

Sam did as he was told, handing Dean the tool he motioned towards. He sipped his coffee, watching as his brother worked to remove the salvageable parts from a junker someone had sold Bobby. “Look, Dean, I know.”

“Know what?”

Anyone else would have stopped there, Sam knew. Dean’s tone made it clear that he didn’t want to discuss any of this, but enough was enough.

“I know you’re upset about Cas.” When Dean remained silent, he continued. “You were talking in your sleep a lot before he disappeared.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

Sam took a deep breath, forging ahead. “It’s okay if you care about him.”

“I said, shut up.”

“You were freaking moaning his name every night before he got grabbed, Dean!”

“I said, shut the fuck up!”

Sam frowned. “We share a fucking motel room! It’s not like I wasn’t going to hear you, and now with the nightmares—”

In hindsight, Sam probably should have expected the punch, but it felt like it came out of nowhere. One minute Sam was staring at Dean’s back as he bent over the engine, and the next he was laid out on the ground.

Sam blinked as Dean slammed the hood closed and stomped off, every line of his back screaming tension. He glanced over to see the shards of his mug, coffee muddying up the dirt.

“Shit,” Sam muttered, sitting up slowly. “That always works so well.”

Looked like he was done pushing for a while. Sam could already feel the bruise forming on his jaw.

He really should know better by now.

~~~~~

Dean hated apologizing; he really hated it—especially when he’d warned Sam half a dozen times not to push him.

Still, he’d been an ass, and it wasn’t Sam’s fault. Dean figured that if he’d paid more attention, or found the right words to say in time, they wouldn’t be in this mess. If he hadn’t told Sam not to come back if he walked out the door, maybe Sam wouldn’t have killed Lilith.

Bobby hadn’t anything when Dean came back to the house, sunburned and tired. He’d just poured Dean a stiff drink and observed that Sam was out back, then he’d gone back to his books.

Dean shook his head and sighed, slipping out the back door.

He spotted Sam immediately, a dark shape silhouetted against the stars, seated on the hood of an ancient car of indeterminate origin. Moving as casually as he could, Dean walked towards his brother, and when Sam said nothing, Dean sat beside him.

The silence stretched out between them as Dean swallowed the whiskey in his glass. When he’d finished his drink, he laid back over the hood, staring up at the stars.

“I’m sorry.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “It’s okay.”

Another long silence followed, and Dean felt the alcohol coursing through his system, easing his mood. He wished he didn’t have to go to sleep that night, knowing that when he did Castiel wouldn’t be there, and the nightmares would be.

Dean hated that he missed the angel, that Castiel’s absence left a hole in him.

“You were right.”

“I know.”

Dean smiled at that. “He was my friend, Sam, and I’m responsible for him being dead. It’s as simple as that.”

He sensed that Sam wanted to argue and didn’t—probably a vestige of the self-preservation instinct that he’d forgotten earlier in the day.

“I know, Dean. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. We’re all sorry, Sammy,” Dean said on a sigh. “We’re all so fucking sorry.”

~~~~~

Sam couldn’t get those words out of his head, even after Dean had gone inside Bobby’s house. He couldn’t forget Dean’s weariness, the utter hopelessness in his voice.

And there was only one thing Sam could think of that might help—even if it was a long shot.

“God?” Sam kept his voice down, not wanting to be overheard. Even if God could hear his thoughts, Sam felt better talking out loud, as if maybe God wouldn’t be able to ignore him quite so easily.

If God was even around these days, which Sam was beginning to doubt, given everything that had happened.

“Look, God, I know you probably don’t care about me, and maybe you can’t even hear me, but I’m not asking for anything for myself, it’s for my brother.”

Sam began to warm to his topic. He had prayed every night before he realized that it was probably pointless, that God wouldn’t want to hear from a boy with demon blood running through his veins. He’d prayed for his family, for himself, for his friends—but mostly Sam had prayed for Dean.

Praying for Dean now felt familiar in a way that nothing else did at the moment.

“It’s just, he cares about Castiel, and Cas was only trying to help. He wanted to help Dean save me, and there’s nothing wrong with that.” If Sam had felt a little more certain that God would even listen that was about the point where he’d have started yelling.

He wanted to say that it wasn’t fair, that Dean and Castiel shouldn’t be punished for doing the right thing, that surely the apocalypse wasn’t exactly God’s will.

“I think Dean needs Castiel,” Sam finally said. “He’s supposed to kill Lucifer, and I can do my best, but I—I think we need Cas for this. I think Dean loves him.”

There was no response, not that Sam had expected one. There was nothing, and Sam stared up at the night sky with its twinkling stars and wondered how everything could look so fucking normal when the whole world was going to hell—literally.

He finally stood up, freezing in surprise when he saw a familiar figure in a trench coat standing about ten feet away from the car, watching him. “Castiel?”

“Sam.”

The voice was the same, and so was the posture. Any worry that this might be Jimmy Novak and not the angel was dispersed immediately. “Cas? What happened?”

Castiel took a step toward him. “You prayed.”

The angel sounded befuddled, and Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah. Dean was worried about you,” he said awkwardly. “Where did you come from?”

“The archangel sent me.” Castiel frowned, tilting his head. “You prayed.”

Sam swallowed. Apparently him praying was a big deal, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe God hadn’t wanted to be bothered by the likes of him. “Yeah. Was that a bad thing?”

“All the angels in heaven rejoice when one of God’s lost children is found,” Castiel replied cryptically.

Sam frowned, then understanding dawned. “You mean—me?”

“You, Sam.” Castiel suddenly smiled, and his face was transformed. Sam thought he caught a glimpse of the angel’s glory. “Thank you for your intercession.”

Castiel turned to walk toward the house, probably making a beeline for Dean, but Sam called him back. “Cas!”

He turned slightly. “Yes?”

“In case Dean doesn’t say it, he really missed you.”

Sam got the distinct impression that his meddling amused Castiel, but he said nothing else before continuing on his way back to Bobby’s.

He went back to his stargazing, thinking about what Castiel had intimated, feeling a weight lifted that had been there for years.

Sam stretched his arms across the hood of the old vehicle and laughed.

~~~~~

Dean pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it in the corner, then did the same with his jeans. Tomorrow was definitely going to be laundry day before he completely ran out of clothing.

“Hello, Dean.”

He let out a yelp that he hoped didn’t sound as girly as he suspected it did. Whirling, his eyes widened when he saw Castiel standing in the guest bedroom he was currently using. “Great, now I’m hallucinating.”

“I am not a hallucination.” Castiel took two steps towards him, looking just the same as he had a month before. When his hands gripped Dean’s bare shoulders, Dean swallowed. “And, no, I’m not a ghost. Angels do not remain as spirits after being killed.”

Dean tried to pull his thoughts together. “How did you escape?”

“I didn’t. I was released. Your brother prayed for this, for me.”

Dean blinked. “Huh?”

Castiel sighed, as though he thought Dean was being particularly dense. “Sam prayed; my Father heard him.” He suddenly smiled. “I’ve seen my Father’s face.”

“And, uh, how was that?”

“He was pleased with me.”

“Oh.” Anything else Dean might have said was swallowed in Castiel’s kiss. The angel’s hands were strong and warm on his bare flesh. “You have too many clothes,” he finally managed, pushing Castiel’s trench coat off his shoulders.

Dean still wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t a dream, but it was a hell of a lot better than the nightmares he’d been having over the last few weeks—watching Castiel get torn to pieces over and over again.

They were skin to skin in no time, and Dean was beginning to figure out that this was real. Other than that first kiss, everything they’d done had been in dreams.

“Wait, wait,” Dean panted, pushing Castiel back. “Aren’t you going to be missed? What if they find you here? Cas, I can’t—”

Castiel silenced him with a finger on his lips. “I told you, Dean. I’ve seen my Father’s face; there’s no reason to worry.”

Dean snorted. As far as he knew, they were still in the middle of an apocalypse, so there was plenty of reason to worry. “So, everything is forgiven, just like that?”

“It is more complicated than that,” Castiel admitted reluctantly. “But for now, I have new orders.”

“What orders?”

“To keep you safe. There is still a prophecy to be fulfilled.”

Dean smirked. “And this is keeping me safe?” He gestured between them, trying not to think too hard about the fact that they were both nearly naked, that Castiel wasn’t dead, and that apparently Castiel wasn’t running from the angels anymore.

Castiel didn’t respond to that question with words, however. Instead, he leaned in, and this kiss was softer, sweeter, filled with regret and longing. “We are still in a war,” Castiel said quietly when he’d pulled back to meet Dean’s eyes. “We take what moments we can.”

“Do you know how we’re going to end this?” Dean felt a desperate hope well up, thinking that if Castiel knew, if God had told him how they were supposed to stop Lucifer, he might manage to do fulfill the damn prophecy after all.

A shake of Castiel’s head dashed Dean’s hope. “No, but I believe you will do this, Dean.”

Dean wished he had Cas’ faith, but maybe Cas and Sam had enough for him.

It was later—much later—that Dean spoke into the darkness, grateful that he didn’t have to look at Castiel. “I missed you.”

There was an answering chuckle. “So your brother said.”

And Dean slipped down into sleep, thankful for once for his little brother’s meddling ways.