The Year of Redemption

Chapter 3: Battleships

Castiel stood up as Dean stumbled into the kitchen. It was just before noon. He made his way to the refrigerator, tripping and almost falling on the way. Cas caught him by the shoulders and steadied him on his feet again. Dean shrugged Cas's hands off, and the angel obliged, stepping away and averting his eyes from Dean's glare.

Dean made it to the refrigerator, retrieved a bottle of orange juice, and leaned heavily on the fridge door as he drank almost half the carton. He brought the orange juice to the table, where he sat down, folded his arms, and rested his forehead heavily on top of his hands.

"How do you feel?" Cas asked.

"Mmmph," was the only response Dean gave.

"How's the suicide case going?"

Dean grunted, clearly not in the mood for conversation.

"Dean, we need to talk."

Dean tilted his head to the side, still resting it on his hands, and glared at Cas.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "I'm serious," he said in a no-nonsense tone.

Dean raised his head, but closed his sagging eyelids. "All ears," he mumbled, then grabbed the orange juice carton and took another swig.

"Dean, something's going to happen, probably soon." Cas said in a somber tone. "Something you're probably never going to forgive yourself for."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You're a real charmer, you know that, Cas?"

"I'm serious," Cas repeated and stared directly at Dean. "Dean, you're going to have to forgive yourself when the time comes. You have to know that it was destined to happen, one way or another."

Dean simply nodded and reached for the orange juice again. "Like I've never done anything I regretted before," he mumbled.

Castiel sighed, but let it go for the moment. "There have also been whisperings of a god-like being in the area. The apocalypse released so much supernatural energy that many of the beings worshipped as deities by ancient races of humans have awakened and are roaming the Earth once again. You need to be careful, Dean."

The hunter washed down another swig of OJ and grunted in acknowledgement. "Got any good news?" he asked.

"You look horrible." Cas replied.

"Well gee," Dean said, taken aback by the angel's response, "Thanks."

"And that was an understatement."

"I'd hate to hear an exaggeration."

"I'm not sure there are any words in your language that would classify under such a category for the way you look right now," Cas said in complete seriousness.

Dean stood up. "Are you leaving yet?" He asked, quickly becoming irritated with Cas's brash comments. "Because I held on to that angel knife, and I'm dying to see if it still works."

Castiel suspected that Dean was halfway serious about that threat, so he got up too. "Let me know if you need anything."

"I'll be sure to ring my dumb-waiting angel bell," Dean replied sarcastically. He was in no mood for company. In fact, he had a strong urge to punch something right now. Cas threw him an unamused frown, then vanished.

Dean went outside and wandered around the back of the cabin. There was an old axe leaning against the side of the house. Dean weighed it in his hands and grunted in approval. He walked over to a pile of rounds that had been left over from trees that were cleared away from the house years ago.