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Hello, Stranger

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15 EPISODE 18 ‘DESPAIR’ AND SEASON 15 EPISODE 19 ‘INHERIT THE EARTH’

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6,201

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary/Preview

The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

Instead, all he could do was drop his head back into the carpet with gritted teeth. Great. He was Dean Winchester; He had taken on monsters that most believed to be fairy tales, he had taken on Lucifer, he had taken on God. Hell, he had even killed Hitler.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment.

Fan-friggen-tastic.

* * *

A post episode/ post season fix it fic because my heart hurts and I needed some happiness.

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                                                            * * *

Dean Winchester is a homeowner.

Well, he signed a contract that lets him rent a shitty, musty, one-bedroom apartment that has questionable stains on the carpet and the lingering smell of weed soaked into the walls, but it’s his. It’s also situated between a few bars and a pizza place that serves the best damn meat lover’s pizza he’s ever tasted in his life, so y’know. Silver linings.

The off-yellow, fluorescent light of the fridge hums obnoxiously at him, lighting the two last bottles of beer he has sat snugly in the corner. Dean pulls one out, grumbling to himself as he pats at the chipped kitchen counter for the bottle opener. He flips the cap off with a flick he has done many times, chucking the cap somewhere to the side (he swears he’ll throw them away later) and flopping down onto his couch with a groan.

His phone shrills at him from within his jean’s pocket and Dean throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. This was what he signed up for, after all. He just didn’t know how Bobby did it. The whole ‘normal job whilst also acting as an information source for the hunter network’ crap. If it were up to him, he’d just do the ‘hunter network’ stuff. You know, what actually matters. But he’s too old to be living out of motels which were paid for with fake credit cards and cash from hustling, so he has to do it the legal way. That’s not to say the apartment is a huge step up from the usual dumps he and Sammy used to stay in when on the road, but still. It’s his place.

Relief floods through him when he finally yanks the phone out of his pocket and sees Sam’s name plastered across the screen. Looks like he was free from hunter duties for a while yet.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean greets him the second he has the phone to his ear, his smile practically audible through the phone. “Is this an ‘another apocalypse’ phone call or…?”

“No, you jerk,” Sam chuckles down the phone. “It’s a regular phone call. You know, that thing normal people do when they check up on family?”

Dean nearly snorted into his beer. “Yeah, well, we’re far from normal, Sammy.”

“Funnily enough, I’m aware of that. But this is as close to ‘normal’ as we’re going to get. It’s the best we’re going to get.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, swallowing down a mouthful of beer. “Yeah? Tell that to the dumbass newbie at work who decided he didn’t need to put the oil cap back on after changing the oil… oil everywhere Sammy. Everywhere. I can hack off vampire heads all day, but dealing with people? It’s a nightmare, Sam.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sam assured him. “We’ll get used to it. It’s… Dean, you know how nice it is to hear you complain about work? Hearing ‘my co-workers a pain in the ass’ instead of ‘there’s a Were on my tail, bring the silver’ is something I never thought I’d get to experience.”

“Were on my tail? Wow, great pun there Sam…” Dean mumbled into the phone, getting a half-amused half annoyed snort from his brother. “Maybe one day I’ll go full ‘Bobby’. Get a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, open up my own mechanic shop… though, doubt I could go back to the old way of looking up the lore… Hey, they do satellite internet, right?”

Sam had suddenly gone very quiet. Dean raised his eyebrows as he waited for his brother's response, the white-noise from the other end of the line the only reassurance to Dean that the line hadn’t gone dead.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I think that’s something you could get set up.” Sam finally answered. “But… you know you can do all that without the whole ‘hunting network’ thing, right? That is still an option-,”

“I know, Sam,” Dean cut off his little brother abruptly. “I know that’s an option. And maybe one day I’ll realize just how old and broken down I am and accept that. But-,”

“But you won’t,” Sam sighed subtly.

“Maybe one day,” Dean repeated softly. “I just… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to quit cold turkey, Sam. I just… I need to do something.”

“Have you been on any hunts?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders, forgetting that Sam couldn’t see him. “Eh, a few. No solo hunts, before you panic. There was a hunter going through town, uh, Jason White? Hadn’t heard of him before, but-,” Dean huffed quietly in laughter. “-He sure as hell heard of me. Seems the Winchester name still has its rep around the hunter community.”

“I can never tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Dude was giddy to work with me, so I’d say it was a good thing.” Dean took another swig of beer. “And that’s when they don’t even know we kicked God’s ass!”

“Jack kicked God’s ass,” Sam corrected him. “We got our asses kicked by God.”

“Yeah, but… we needed to get Chuck to beat us up for the plan to work, so… I think it’s fair to say we brought down God.”

“Depending on who you tell that to, you might end up being flayed rather than hailed as a hero.”

Dean paused with the bottle of beer to his lips. “Point taken… maybe it would be better to keep it to ourselves.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed with a chuckle.

“How ‘bout you, Sammy? How’s college life treating you? Again?”

“It’s…” Sam was about to do the usual ‘everything’s great’ spiel, but something about Dean’s inquiring tone made him pause. “… it’s more difficult than I’d thought. I don’t know, maybe I should have had some kind of buffering time between, try and adjust a little before going back.”

“I can imagine.”

“Back then, I felt like I belonged in college, you know? I felt… on par with everyone around me, but now? I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Yeah? Well, you are an old man amongst eighteen to twenty-year old’s.”

“Thirty-seven isn’t old, jerk. Plenty of people go back to college when they’re…”

“…older?” Dean finished his sentence with glee.

“Shut up.”

Dean laughed smugly at his brother’s annoyed grumbles, though he quickly pulled himself back together. “Seriously though Sammy, I… I hope you know I’m proud of you for this. I know it’s not exactly what we – what I imagined, but… I’m glad to see you living out the life you set out for yourself. I know I wasn’t supportive of you when you first left for college, and I know it’s gonna be tough for you. But if you can go up against God and win, I’m sure you can pass your bar exam.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam’s voice sounded a little choked. “How are you doing, anyway? I didn’t really ask.”

“Living the dream, Sammy. Living the dream.” Dean answered dryly, staring sombrely at the last dregs of beer in the bottle and wondering whether it’s worth grabbing the last bottle from the fridge. Future Dean will hate him if he does…

“Seriously, Dean.” If Sam’s voice was anything to go by, he had the puppy dog eyes on full effect right now. “How are you? You okay? I know it’s been hard since… since…”

Dean swallowed hard, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head lean back against the couch. “No, Sam. I’m pretty damn far from okay. And I’m not sure if I ever will be, but… I’ll learn to cope.”

“Dean, it’s… don’t be afraid to ask for help with this kind of stuff. I know it’s a bit unconventional when it comes to our lives, but-,”

“A bit unconventional?” Dean spluttered. “Sam, how the hell would I go about explaining any of this to a shrink, huh? ‘Hey, I had the literal Death trying to kill me, and one of the few people I love sacrificed himself to save me by telling me he loves me.’ Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go down a-,”

“What did you just say?” Sam interrupted in a quiet, shocked voice. “Dean, you… did Cas say-,”

“I’m not talking about that, Sammy.” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.

“Cas was my friend too you know, Dean,” Sam argued back, his voice understanding but digging too much for Dean’s liking. “I know you don’t like talking about this, but-,”

“No, Sam. I don’t like talking about it.” Dean snapped curtly.

“But-,”

“Cas was my Eileen, Sam.” Dean could hear Sam’s mouth snap close, the stunned silence on the other end of the phone too loud in Dean’s ear. “And I know you sure as hell don’t like talking about her. I had to… Fuck, do you have any idea, Sam? I never let myself think about it, about what Cas was to me. He could be a stubborn bastard and hard to read at times, and this whole damn time, he loved me and… he never told me. All this time he’d been holding that to himself and he just… I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t say anything. He was just gone, and I…”

“You loved him.”

It wasn’t a question. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at Sam’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. And he never got to know. He never heard me say it.”

Dean ran a tense hand through his hair, pulling at the strands with a pained grimace. “I still see him sometimes, Sammy. I feel like I’m going crazy. I’ll see a flash of him in a crowd, see that stupid tax-accountant get up of his out of the corner of my eye, and… I keep telling myself he’s gone, that I need to move on.”

“You will, Dean. Sometimes, after… after Jess, I’d see her, too. Grief does strange things to the mind.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I can’t help but think about when I lost him in purgatory. When I kept seeing him, back then, and… all that time, he was trying to reach out to me.”

“This isn’t like then, Dean.” Sam’s response was like a punch to the chest. “Cas was in Purgatory. When he was trying to contact you, he was back on Earth, right? Cas is… he’s in the Empty. The only being with enough power to get him out was Jack, but-,”

“But Jack’s not gonna be hands-on,” Dean said miserably.

“Right…” Sam replied with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish it was Cas, you know I do, but… he’s gone.”

“I know. I know that, Sammy. I’m not denying he’s gone, I just… I miss him. Guess I always assumed we’d win this thing together, you know? ‘Paradise on Earth’ and all that.”

“I don’t even know what Cas would have done after all this,” Sam said with a mild tone of amusement. “After meeting Cas, it felt like we had to stop one apocalypse after the other.”

“Poor guy never really got to catch a break,” Dean agreed sadly. “Maybe I could have trained him up to be a proper hunter, just like he wanted. Or… maybe he would have flown home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah, y’know; Heaven. If the other winged dicks let him back in, that is.”

“Dean… I don’t think ‘Heaven’ is Cas’ home. At least, it hasn’t been for a while, anyway. If Cas was still here, well… whatever he decided to do next, I can’t imagine anything that didn’t involve being by your side, Dean.”

 * * *

The later into the night it got, the more tempted Dean was to break out the bottle of whisky he has hidden under his cupboard for ‘emergencies only’.

The only saving grace was that Dean had the day off tomorrow, so it’s not like he had to worry about work. Tonight was just going to be… one of those nights. Getting off the phone with Sammy always left him feeling bittersweet; happy to hear his brother’s voice, but the reminder that he was so far away only worsening the dull ache he felt in his chest that he could only fix by drinking until everything went black and numb.

‘THUMP’

Dean was upright from his bed in seconds, fingers curling around the comforting grip of his pistol under the pillow. The sound hadn’t come from his room, rather somewhere else in the apartment – the living room, perhaps? The kitchen? He slowly peeled off the covers, untangling them from his legs and stepping softly onto the dusty carpet, thankful it would mute his footsteps.

Dean cautiously approached his closed bedroom door, placing his ear up to the door and straining his hearing. Nothing. For a moment, he wondered if he had simply imagined the noise, his emotional and exhausted mind caught between sleep and lucidity, conjuring up a sound to distract him.

Maybe, if Dean were a normal person, he’d have waved it off and headed back to bed. Hunter's instincts are hard to shake off though, and not checking the apartment simply wasn’t an option. Sure, he had thrown up all the usual sigils in the apartment the second he had moved in (and likely ruined any chance of getting his deposit back), but you never know.

Dean clasps his free hand around the rounded doorknob, painstakingly turning it until he hears the ‘click’ of the lock, wincing at how loud the usually quiet sound felt in the silence of the room. Dean swings the door open slowly, peering out of the room and into the pitch-blackness of his apartment. He can barely make out the shadowed outline of his furniture, lit up only by the muted lights of passing traffic peeking in through the partly opened blinds.

Dean takes a single step out into the living room when a hand clasps around his shoulder.

He whirls around in an instant, knocking off the assailant’s arm and lifting his pistol to aim. The gun is wrenched out of his hands in an instant, the unexpectedly strong pull nearly sending him tumbling straight into his attacker. Dean hears his gun clatter to the floor, and he throws a punch out of instinct, feeling his knuckles connect with the strangers’ jaw. There’s a pained grunt from the man, definitely a man by his posture and deep, surprised groan of pain, and Dean jabs out his fist again before the man can counter. His fist lands squarely in the man's gut and Dean knows by the sound the man makes that he had just had the wind knocked out of him.

Dean’s next hit isn’t as successful, the man catching Dean’s fist mid-swing and twisting him away, pushing him forward until his chest hits the wall with a resounding ‘thud’. Dean grimaces at the pressure against his back and arm, kicking out a leg backward and feeling it connect with the guy’s knee. It buckles, the pressure on his back gone and Dean takes the advantage, spinning around and shoving the guy hard. He sees the blurry black figure go sprawling backward, slamming into the wall opposite with another pained grunt. Dean scrambles to the floor in search of his gun, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness of the room. He just about catches a glint of metal, reaching for the gun before it’s gone again, kicked out of sight by his attacker. Dean growls in frustration, jumping to his feet as fast as his body will let him. It seems he isn’t as fast as he once was, the man grabbing him by the arm and slamming him back down to the ground before he can even blink.

His back hits the floor hard, the air leaving his lungs in one giant ‘whoosh’, dust erupting from the unkempt carpet under him. His attacker had clambered over him, the heavy pressure he felt on his wrists surely the man pinning him down, the weight on top of his legs surely that of the stranger. His head was spinning, vision blurry from the dark, and the hit to the back of his head when he landed. The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

Instead, all he could do was drop his head back into the carpet with gritted teeth. Great. He was Dean Winchester; He had taken on monsters that most believed to be fairy tales, he had taken on Lucifer, he had taken on God. Hell, he had even killed Hitler.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment. Fan-friggen-tastic.

“Hello, Dean.”

His heart stops. Pauses, for just a moment. When it kicks back into gear, it's with a hard, resounding thump. The voice was gruff, grated, that of a man who had either smoked ten packs of cigarettes a day or had had his vocal cords shredded apart. It was familiar, like coming home, and he wants to scream to the Universe how fucking cruel it is for him to be losing his mind like this, that it was bad enough to be seeing him, but to be hearing him too?

Unless…

He squirms underneath the man’s grip, his shallow, quick intakes of air a sure sign of an approaching panic attack. To Dean’s surprise, the man's grip slackened, and he let Dean scramble up to his feet. Dean stumbled back into the wall as the man smoothly got to his feet, stood there silently watching Dean panic as he slapped his hand against the wall, searching for the light switch. Dean’s hand passes over the smooth cool plastic of the panel, and he smacks down hard on the switch.

The light bursts to life, bathing the room in that sickening bright white. It’s blinding - as if lightning had struck inside his apartment. Dean still has his hand glued to the light switch; his gaze glued to the stranger stood opposite him.

Except, that was no stranger.

There’s a thin trail of blood slipping down a split lip that’s curved up into a subtle smile, blue eyes glossy with unshed tears that are scanning up and down Dean like he can’t quite believe he’s there. His chest is still heaving with exasperated breaths from their scuffle and he’s holding himself awkwardly, one leg taking more of his weight than the other – likely a result of Dean’s attempt at defending himself.

“Cas? Cas, is this… is that really you?” Dean’s voice is breathy, uncertainty laced in every word.

“I spent the whole drive over here thinking about what to say when I saw you,” Castiel said. “And now all I can think is how I should be scolding you for not checking to see if I’m a shifter or a demon first.”

Dean blinked owlishly at Cas, the shock mixed with the adrenaline sending his brain into overdrive. Cas’s shy smile widened briefly for a moment, barely wincing at the sting of his split lip being pulled.

“Actually, I… I was worried for a moment that I had been told the wrong address and had broken into someone else’s residence. But then you were pulling a gun on me and it seemed a bit too late to ask, so I-,”

Dean rushes forward before Cas can finish his sentence, throwing his arms around Cas’s shoulders and burying his head into his neck. He’s fully aware his hands are shaking, scrunching up the back of Castiel’s trench coat so tightly that he can feel some threads popping loose under his fingers. Castiel’s hands were wrapped around his back in return, squeezing Dean close with all his worth, eyes squeezed shut in content with his head nestled next to Dean’s.

When Dean pulls away, it’s to hold Cas at arm’s length and just… look. Take him all in. To savor the warmth of Cas’s under his hands, to drink in the smile he never thought he’d get to see again. Because there’s a part of him that still doesn’t know if this is real, and he wants to take the time to memorize the feel of Castiel in his arms.

“You, uh…” Dean says somewhat awkwardly. “You need a drink?”

 * * *

Dean’s been staring at Cas for way too long then is socially acceptable now.

He’s perched on what Dean knows from experience is an incredibly uncomfortable bar stool at the end of the kitchen counter, the beer Dean had offered him pressed against his split lip from their, um… reunion. Dean tapped his fingers against the cool glass of whisky he held, watching Cas as his eyes scanned curiously around the apartment, and Dean starts to feel guilty for not keeping on top of the cleaning as much as he should. In his defense, he wasn’t exactly expecting company.

“How… how are you here, Cas?”

“I had to hot-wire a car that had been left parked in a desolate road near a field in Illinois. In my defense, it seemed rather neglected, so I doubt it’ll be missed. It was quite difficult finding you actually, your number no longer worked and I had to visit many, many bars to find some hunters who had some knowledge on your whereabouts-,”

“Cas, that’s… that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean how are you here?”

Castiel pulled the bottle away from his lip, placing it down delicately on the countertop. The signature frown was back on his face, along with the cocked head that Dean found much too endearing. “Dean, have you not noticed?”

Dean followed Castiel’s hands to where he had placed a finger on his split lip, wincing when he pressed down a bit too hard.

“What? That I greeted my best friends return from the dead by giving him a beating? Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

Castiel sighed quietly, and Dean grinned at the exasperation. “Have you not noticed that it hasn't healed?”

Dean frowned at him in confusion. “Oh. Why haven’t you…?”

It finally clicked.

Dean sat up straight as it hit him; looking to the split lip, to the bruise that had already begun forming on the edge of Cas’s jaw, to the way he held out his leg at an odd angle like it was bothering him.

Almost as if…

“You’re human?”

“I believe so, yes. My grace was… warped. It’s been through a lot, through the fall… but… I believe it had been different from the very start. Chuck was right, in a way. I was ‘the angel with a crack in his chassis’. Maybe that’s why I was the only one. Out of all the other me’s that exist… I was the angel that began to feel. The angel to fall in love with the righteous man. Angels aren’t supposed to love, you see. Emotions are seen as distractions. Emotions were thought only possible to humans because of one thing.”

“Souls,” Dean answered for him.

Castiel nodded. “Dean, do you understand what the Empty is? What happens to us? It’s… it seems almost peaceful when you think about it. To spent eternity just… sleeping. But we don’t sleep. We dream. We dream of all that we regret. For most angels and demon’s, they have only one regret; their death. What they did wrong to meet their end, tortured endlessly by that mistake. I didn’t dream of my death though, Dean. My death was no mistake. Instead, I dreamt of you. I dreamt of all the times I let you down, of all the things I should have done or said but never did. Angels aren’t supposed to do that, Dean. Those aren’t the regrets soldiers of God are meant to have.

“The Empty isn’t a complicated being. It’s… it’s nothingness, and it wants to exist as nothingness. Billy made it promises she wouldn’t keep, keeping it awake when all it wanted to do was to return to sleep. So when it had dragged us into that place, when I fell into that sleep… perhaps it assumed it would be able to return to sleep. But my dreams, my regrets… they weren’t of the type that any another being in the Empty had. My grace wasn’t settling, it was… it was like an animal in a cage, it was…”

“It was keeping the Empty awake.”

“The Empty wanted me to suffer. But in doing so, it was suffering itself. It didn’t understand why; I didn’t understand why. Why my grace. What made it different? It wasn’t until I had been spat back out here; when the Empty had figured it out before me that I realized. It wasn’t my grace, Dean. It wasn’t grace at all, not anymore. I’m… I’m still not sure how it happened, whether it had been happening for a while, if it was the reason my grace had been diminishing over the years, or… if maybe Jack had a part to play in it, or… or if it was just myself. If me falling for you, to be the first angel to do that… maybe it’s something that could happen to all angels.”

Dean had never been more confused in his life. “What are you talking about, Cas?”

“My grace was changed, Dean. An angel’s grace, it’s a source of power, a piece of God himself; just like a soul. I’m not just an angel who has lost his grace, Dean. My grace is still here, just changed. Adapted. I’m human in every sense of the word.”

Dean knew what Cas was getting at, but he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “…You have a soul?”

“I have a soul,” Castiel confirmed, giving Dean a watery smile. “Humans were not meant to exist in the Empty. It’s not something the Empty has ever had to deal with - emotions. The Empty is a powerful being. It can tear into your mind, to know all that makes you suffer. But a soul? It doesn’t know how to approach that. It doesn’t know how to make it quiet.”

“So… so what does that mean now for you?”

“It means I’m here,” Castiel answered simply, his wandering gaze returning to their surroundings.

Dean smiled, glancing down to the whisky in his hand to avoid seeing Castiel’s judgment of his shitty apartment. “Yeah? And what do you think of… here?”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully, taking his sweet time to look around the abysmal contents of the room which Dean knows full well only takes about ten seconds to take in.

“It’s rather small,” Castiel finally gives his verdict. Dean ducks his head with embarrassed laughter, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well… a high-school dropout who has barely any prior job experience and next to no references doesn’t exactly get many calls for interviews.”

“I see,” Castiel replied with an understanding yet sad smile. “Why did you and Sam leave the bunker?”

“Well, after Sammy decided he wanted to give college another shot, and after you and Jack, it was… the bunker was too empty. Too quiet. Too many memories, I guess. And it’s not like I was gonna be hunting like I used to without Sammy…”

“You’re not hunting?” Castiel asked, surprise clearly written across his features.

“Sometimes,” Dean replied with a shrug. “It’s… Sammy wanted another shot at the normal life, and after everything… that doesn’t even begin to cover what the kid deserves.”

“And what about you?” Castiel said with a questioning frown. “What about what you deserve?”

Dean laughed one humorless chuckle. “Cas, I always expected to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe with Sammy by my side, maybe not, but-,” Dean paused, turning his eyes down. “I didn’t… I didn’t picture a scenario where I lived and you didn’t. I didn’t know what life was going to be like after that, after you… I didn’t think it was a pain I’d have to live with, you know?”

Cas’s calloused hand rests over Dean’s, thumb gently sweeping over his wrist. There’s a sadness and regret to Cas’s gaze, but a comforting smile curled onto his lips. “When I took that deal… a part of me never expected for it to be claimed. I thought the Empty had made some colossal mistake on its part, because… I couldn’t envision a scenario where I’d be happy. A scenario where we beat God and we made it out alive. But then I wondered… I wondered how much the Empty knew of me. It had tortured me with it once, with what I feared and… of who I loved. And Dean, it was almost funny when I realized, when I assumed the Empty had surely made that mistake. It knew what I wanted most, and yet, it was something I could never have.”

“What you wanted?”

Cas’s smile turned sad. “You, Dean Winchester. I wanted to know the touch of your lips, of the feel of your skin under my hands… I wanted to know what it would be like to wake up next to you, to be something that brought you some sense of happiness… I wanted to know what it was like to be seen as something more than family, a friend, a brother… I wanted what angels aren’t supposed to want. I wanted your love, Dean Winchester.”

“…Cas-”

“But there was a simplicity to it.” Cas continued before Dean could form the words he wanted to say. “I couldn’t get that happiness because… because I wouldn’t let myself feel it. It was easier to just push it down, to pretend as if this hadn’t been something eating at me ever since I had rebelled. And to just… to just say it. In letting myself feel it, in telling you, in telling myself… that was my own form of happiness. It wasn’t in knowing you felt the same way, it wasn’t that I needed you to say it back… I said it because I needed you to know.”

How did Cas do this? Every time he thought he knew what to say, Cas found a way to rip the words right of his mouth. Dean was thrown through a loop again, his brain brought to a standstill. None of it made sense in his mind. The thought that he was Cas’s happiness, that he had somehow made an angel of the lord love, it was just… why him?

“In a way, the Empty lost,” Cas told him. “It wanted me to suffer. It was cruel, yes, but genius on its part, I must admit. To only take me once I had found happiness on Earth, but… I didn’t suffer as it took me, Dean. To die, knowing you were safe? That I had kept you safe? My mission is and always will be to save Dean Winchester. If my ending was the one where you get to live the life you deserve? Then… that was my happiness.”

Dean huffed, staring down at his whisky, absentmindedly spinning the glass across the counter. “You had found your peace. I get that, Cas, I really do,” Dean stopped spinning the glass, eyes flickering up to meet Cas’s. “But if you think the life I deserve is one that didn’t have you in it, then…”

Dean chuckled dryly, taking a small sip of his drink, welcoming the burning sensation that crawled down his throat.

“Dean, don’t think I wouldn’t have wanted… this,” Castiel insisted, brows furrowing. “I would have been content to carry on the way we are. I would of course wanted to stay with you, and Sam, and Jack, just as we were.”

Dean licks his lips nervously, tasting the lingering leftovers of his whisky. “And what if I’m not content with that?”

Cas frowned at him, a brief look of panic flashing across his face. “I don’t get what you mean?”

Dean laughs. He can’t help it. They’re small hushed snorts of laughter, dropping his chin down into his chest and shaking his head, his shoulders shaking with every chuckle. “Oh, Cas… We’re both idiots, aren’t we? Biggest damn idiots there are.”

Castiel was only getting more and more confused.

“Cas, what the hell did you think that mixtape meant?” Dean asked once he lifted his head back up. “What did you think that prayer back in Purgatory meant, huh? Both times? When I prayed to you every damn night in that hellhole?”

“I… I assumed-,”

“Assumed… yeah, we both kept making assumptions about the other, huh? You know I’m not great with words, Cas. I’m… I speak better with my actions, you know? But this… you… I didn’t know how to handle the way I felt for you. Calling you my brother was easy because that was a love I knew how to process. It was easy. You knew I cared for you, and I thought that was enough.”

“It was enough,” Castiel assured him.

“No, it wasn’t, Cas,” Dean insisted. “I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth.”

“Dean, you don’t have to-,”

Dean grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat to shut him up, tugging him forward and damn near dragging him over the counter. Castiel had gone wide-eyed, bracing himself by grabbing onto Dean's arms, keeping him suspended over the counter.

“Listen to me,” Dean stresses the words, keeping his eyes locked with Cas. “You’re not just my best friend. You’re not just my brother. You’re all that and more. You’re not just what I want, you’re all that I need. And I’m telling you this now because I should have told you all those years ago. I should have told you when you told me. I love you, too. You got that? I love you.”

And then Dean kisses the shocked look right off of Cas’s face, just to drive the point home.

It’s far from the best kiss Dean’s ever had. The taste of Castiel’s blood is metallic and tangy under his lips, and he went into the kiss a bit too rushed and hard. There’s definitely a clash of teeth at first, and a kiss was apparently the last thing Cas was expecting as his lips remained frozen in disbelief for some good few seconds. And yet, it was perfect.

Because it was Cas.

It’s not until Dean’s hands frame Cas’s face that he gets a response. His lips move under Dean’s, chapped yet addictingly soft. Dean’s thumb brushes down Cas’s cheek, the burn of stubble against his skin something new, but a reminder that this was Cas. It was Cas’s lips on his. It was Cas’s hands brushing through the short strands of hair at the back of his neck.  It was Cas pressing his body into him, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle that never thought the other piece would fit.

When they break away, it’s with a surprised “Oh,” from Cas that has Dean shaking quietly with repressed laughter, his forehead pressed against Cas with matching smiles on both men's faces.

“Like I said-,” Dean said softly. “-Idiots. Both of us.”

“I prefer the term ‘fools in love’,” Cas said with a grin. “Still idiots, but we have an excuse.”

“Yeah... yeah, I like the sound of that.” Dean agreed, returning Cas's gentle smile. “So, back on Earth, grace gone – or, changed into a soul. What’s the plan now?”

“Just... live life, I suppose. Experience humanity, of all there is to offer. Grow old...”

“Hmmm,’ Dean hummed in content. “Can you perhaps picture a little cozy cabin out in the woods? Maybe a yappy dog that won’t shut up and is constantly shedding all over the damn place, but you love anyway?”

“I think I could get on board with that... so long as there’s a cat running around that’ll provide the dog with some company,” Cas paused, squinting suspiciously at Dean. “Is there already a dog?”

“Apartment has a ‘no pets' rule. Miracle’s shacked up with Sammy for the time being, keeping the kid sane through exams.”

“...Miracle?”

“Yeah. Y'know, coz she was a miracle.” Dean swallowed nervously, struggling to get the next words out. “And... in this vision of the future... maybe you see yourself growing older with a grizzled, greying green-eyed hunter?”

“...Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“If you really have to ask that question, then I’m afraid I’m going to use to demote you back to ‘idiot'.”

“Wow,” Dean blanched. “Having a soul has made you a sassy dick.”

“You say that like you don’t love it.”

“I deal with it, but only because I love you. There’s a difference.”

Dean’s word elicited a beaming smile from Cas, that toothy smile he so rarely sees from Cas that he knows he’s going to be spending the rest of his life trying to see as often as possible. And really, what else can he do but smile back, just two idiots smiling at each other in a cramped, barely lit kitchen?

“I never thought I’d hear you say it…” Castiel admitted quietly.

“Well, be prepared to hear it until you get sick of it, coz I’ve got a lot of times I should have said it to make up for.”

[voidendron]

The Outside: Chapter 64

Series Ask Blog: @asktheoutside

Chapter 64: Coffee Chapter Warnings: Swearing Characters: Chase Brody, Bingiplier, Google Oliver POV: Chase Brody

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

April 30, 2031, 10:03 AM Los Angeles, California

Eyes pinned on the television, Chase thrummed his fingers over his knee. Jim was on. He was talking about the ongoing investigation of the murder of Jay Ross. The Septic had to admit: Jim’s poker face was flawless. Damn. He knew exactly who’d killed the guy and there he was deadpan at the camera, acting oblivious to anything but the information in front of him.

“Today marks one month since the murder. Detective Jesse Clarke has been leading the investigation,” Jim stated into the camera. “He was available today, so we’ll hand the show over to Melissa for an interview.”

The screen cut to an alleyway. There was police tape behind the on-camera pair, but the crime scene looked empty aside from them.

Clarke was a severe-looking man; it didn’t appear that he’d smiled a day in his life. His gray eyes were harsh and tone clipped. Even the interviewer looked fed up with him the longer the questions went on. What he said wasn’t really rude. He kept things to the point but was patient and explained when the need arose. But his tone and expression paired with his words really gave mixed signals. Like he’d trained for interviews and had a surprising level of patience, but would really rather be somewhere else had he the option.

“Happy dude,” Bing snorted.

Chase jolted at the voice. “Jesus, man. When did you wake up?”

“Mm…few minutes ago?” He detached his charger, then folded his arms behind his head. “Anything amazing happen while I charged?” He nudged Chase’s shoulder with his boot.

“You gotta keep your shoes off the couch, man.” A roll of the eyes and he pushed the android’s foot away. “Not really. I don’t get how Jim stays so straight-faced when he talks about the investigation, though. Like, seriously!” He threw his hands up. “The Twins are giggly bitches, and look at him!” He waved at the screen, then blinked.

Bing laughed. “Uh. Hate to break it to ya, but that’s not Jim.” No. That definitely wasn’t. The detective was still being interviewed. “He does look like a giggly bitch though, huh?”

“Oh, shut up.” He shoved Bing’s feet off the couch, then burst out laughing when the android threw his hands out to catch himself.

Chuckling, Bing reached down to adjust how his jeans tucked into his boots. “Hear anything from Ollie yet? I thought you were gonna meet him downtown today.”

“Haven’t gone yet. I actually didn’t think you’d be awake when I did go, so wanna come? Bet he’d be happy to see you!”

Chase couldn’t help but laugh when Bing nudged him with his shoulder. “Duh! Haven’t seen Ollie in fuckin’ forever, man! When you leaving?”

Phone lighting up when he turned it on, Chase shrugged. “Eh. ‘Bout half hour if we wanna take an Uber. Ollie’s walking, so we don’t have to rush.”

A quick text to Anti (who was hopefully still upstairs with Jameson and the kids) to tell him they’d be leaving soon, and Chase reclined back into the soft cushions of the couch. “How you think Ollie’s doing without all the repairs?”

Bing huffed through his nose. “He’s said he’s fine, but I’ll bet it’s drivin’ him crazy. Y’know how awkward it is to move a limb when you can’t fuckin’ feel it? Surprised he hasn’t accidentally crushed something yet.”

“Crush somethin’?” Chase snorted. “It’s his leg.”

“And? Goes to nudge somethin’ out of his way, he could break his foot right through it.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right.” He could…actually rather easily see that happening now that he thought of it.

On glancing back to the television, Jimmy was on (or “Tim” as his name tag said). Was the interview over? Or just on pause or whatever? Regardless, the Iplier had a bright smile on his face as he went over the week’s weather predictions. How did he make something so boring so amusing to watch?

“C’mon.” Chase hopped to his feet after turning the TV off and shoving his phone in his pocket. An Uber would be arriving shortly. Damn were those convenient.

The chains on Bing’s boots clinked as he followed the Septic down the sidewalk to wait for their ride. He’d gotten new shoes recently. Chase still wasn’t quite used to the sound they made. They fit him, though. Bing just seemed like the type of guy to wear boots like that, he thought. Bing had his sunglasses on—the ones Amy had picked up for him months ago—but the case with his glasses from Oliver was sticking out of the pocket of his hoodie.

Despite them, Chase knew the android’s eyes were probably as bright as his smile. Literally.

The drive to the little diner was short. They could have walked, but then they would have been late. Being late would have meant Oliver had to sit and wait for a good long while for them to actually arrive.

As it were, their Uber pulled up on the curb just as Oliver was reaching the corner for the crosswalk. He was hard to miss. While he wasn’t tall by any means, his raven-colored hair faded into an odd straw yellow like a botched dye-job where it fell past his shoulders. It was easy to pick out among the crowd.

He grinned when they met at the entrance.

“How are the kids liking school?” he asked.

“They start next week,” he answered. Well, Kyler and Sophie did. Yan had decided last-minute to remain at home, but would have one of his classes at the school. Chase grabbed the door and attempted to push. All he succeeded in was running into it as both androids tried their best to stifle their snickers while the Septic glared at the “Pull” sign right next to the handle. It seemed like every goddamn business had a different door, he thought with a roll of his eyes as he yanked it open.

“They’re excited, though,” he added as the trio went to find a table. “Hopefully they’ll make some friends.”

They started nudging each other when they reached a booth to fight for getting a seat to themself. Chase ended up victorious and grinned smugly as he sat opposite the androids.

Bing ordered a black coffee. Oliver, a Coke. Chase couldn’t help the little twitch at the corner of his lip when the Google said that to the waitress. A part of him almost wanted to say The Phrase. God. How long had that meme survived among the fans? He cleared his throat when the woman turned to him expectantly. An iced tea sounded good.

Somewhere during the drink orders, Bing had swapped out his sunglasses for the thick-framed spectacles Oliver had given him a while back. Looking at them side-by-side, Chase noticed that it actually made their eyes very similar golden browns when they both had the glasses on. Then again, yellow-orange and dark yellow were pretty similar to begin with. He had to wonder if that meant Red’s eyes would be a darker brown.

“Hey.” Oliver was rolling his eyes when Chase finally snapped to attention. Had he been talking that whole time? “Where’s your hat?”

Patting the top of his head like he’d only just realized it was gone, Chase blinked. Where was… Oh! That’s right. “Sophie stole it. Again,” he laughed. Drinks were brought shortly thereafter. Chase was the only one to give a food order.

“Should get her one,” the Upgrade suggested as the waitress wandered off. He ripped the paper off his straw and stuck it in his drink; his eyes followed it as the carbonation lifted it back up, only for him to shove it back down. It reminded Chase of a little kid playing with their drink, but he cleared his throat to stifle his laugh. Oh, Oliver.

“I’ve thought of it,” he said instead, “just need to find her one that has somethin’ she likes on it.”

Bing leaned back in his seat, coffee pulled close to his chest. “Bet you could find one from one of those medical shows she likes online. She’d love it to bits!”

That was…a good idea, actually. He’d look into it. Maybe for her birthday, he thought.

Chase’s eyes drifted up toward the TV near the cash register. It was one of those boxy old ones that hadn’t gotten the memo that it was outdated as it happily chugged along to show the news in…well, not full color. The screen was grainy and things on it seemed desaturated. It was definitely past its prime, poor thing.

Jim was on again, giving missing persons reports. “You worried?” he asked the Upgrade without looking at him.

A shrug. It was all Oliver offered for a while. Then, quietly, “Not really? I mean, how it anyone going to figure out who did it? No fingerprints, no blood from the suspect. At least, not what they would know is blood.” Oil was what he meant, of course. What human in their right mind would ever think oil could be blood? “They will search for a good long while, and then the case will be filed away as unsolved. Simple as that.”

“Have you seen the dude investigating it?” Bing asked with a shake of the head.

Oliver snorted. “Yeah. Looks like he has a pole wedged up his—” he trailed off to take a long drink from his soda.

Chase couldn’t stifle his laughter that time. “You—you almost swore! Oliver almost swore!”

“C’mon dude, say it!” Bing nudged the other android, but only got a huff in answer. “Come on, man! The worst I’ve ever heard from you is fuckin’…dammit and that ain’t even a curse.”

Oliver made a face, nose scrunched up and all. Then proceeded to ignore the fact he had a straw to drink right from the cup and crunched the ice he got as a result.

A shudder passed down Chase’s spine. “Eugh—no! Don’t do that!”

A smug grin passed over Oliver’s face just then.

Crunch.

“Ollie!”

[closetofanxiety]

Mania Madness: Who’s Here for Enzo

I had gone back and forth on whether to go to WrestleCon. On one hand, there will never be a Wrestlemania closer to where I live, and as a wrestling fan, it feels like I should probably take in at least a sample of the carnival atmosphere. On the other, I didn’t really want to go. I’m never sure what to say at things like this. “Great wrestling you did many years ago, Arn, really superb”? I’m self-conscious at the best of times, and standing in front of, I don’t know, Sgt. Slaughter while he signs a picture is not necessarily the best of times.

Mark finally prevailed on me to go, partly because he said he’d drive to Stamford, where we could take the train into Manhattan. Mark is a good dude. He had a list of people he wanted to meet, and I had a list. We were going to do this. We were going to meet some old wrestlers and spend too much money and probably have to wear multiple wristbands.

We walked from Grand Central up to the Hilton on a beautiful spring day in Manhattan. I recommend this. You feel like you’re part of the great flux of modern humanity, strolling the New York streets, noticing things you’ve seen in movies or prestige television shows, wondering why the cops are blocking off the cross streets with bike racks. Was … was there a wrestling parade?

(No, thank God; a Scottish parade, it would later emerge.)

The Midtown Hilton is probably the nicest hotel WrestleCon will ever be held in. This is not to disparage hotels in New Orleans or Tampa or wherever, it’s just to say there’s a certain standard for Hilton hotels in Midtown Manhattan, and that standard is: high. I’m not sure what the non-wrestling guests thought about the thousands of people in black t-shirts wandering the halls, clutching shopping bags full of boxed action figures. Maybe they didn’t think anything of it; maybe they just assumed it was a New York thing. That’s what we thought when we saw a bunch of guys in kilts at Grand Central Station. Turns out they were in town for a parade.

Our first Wrestling Celebrity sighting of the day: Corey Graves and Renee Young, passing us on the escalator as they left WrestleCon. I wish I had made some kind of quip, or earnestly asked Corey to tell me the Rules of Punk, but I just kind of gawked. Story of my life, really. And now I’ll never know how to be a real punk rocker.

We were too late for Corey and Renee, but just in time for Pancakes & Piledrivers, entry to which came with our $35 tickets. The show was running late, and we both realized we didn’t want to stand around for another tardy indie show, so we saw, over the course of the morning, maybe three minutes of Pancakes and Piledrivers. On the bright side, it was packed. Lots of other people were ready for pancakes and, yes, piledrivers.

If you’ve been to any kind of fan convention, you know what this was like: big rooms (three in total) full of tables set up where you’d approach the celeb (or, you know, “celeb”), fork over some cash, and pose for a photo. There were also some vendor tables, but surprisingly, not too many of those. I was hoping for someone selling vintage memorabilia, but there were only a couple of action figure guys and one table selling inflatable hardcore match weapons (like, inflatable garbage cans and ladders … no, I don’t know, either).

This was a lot of fun, though, because there were so many famous wrestlers and wrestling-adjacent people that it felt like a cough-syrup dream you’d have after falling asleep in the midst of a chronological viewing of every Royal Rumble. Bill Apter! The Rock ‘n’ Roll Express! Sabu! Magnum TA just kind of hanging out! The woman who had the “Face Fuck Me Finn” sign at a Takeover a few years ago, who I would later discover now works as a wrestling manager!

This was not a typical fan convention where you’ll find, like, three or four wrestlers, one of whom is always Tony Atlas (although, to be sure, Tony Atlas was at WrestleCon). This was scores of wrestlers, including some really famous ones, all standing around, waiting to endure a meeting with you, the public.

Mark and I reasoned that we should probably track down the wrestlers who we imagined would have long lines first. This was a reasonable strategy, but as it turned out, none of the people we wanted to see had long lines. In some cases, no lines at all. Masato Tanaka? No line. Atsushi Onita? No line. Gail Kim? No line. Scott Steiner? No line. Arn Goddamn Anderson? NO. LINE.

Now, in some cases our timing was just good, showing up after a line had thinned out. But I was astonished, over the course of the day, at who had long lines and who did not. For the record, the longest lines:

Bret Hart (of course)

Shawn Michaels (sure)

Ric Flair (obviously)

Scott Hall (I guess)

Kevin Nash (fine)

Rob Van Dam (huh, OK)

Christian (eh)

Eva Marie (wait)

Enzo Amore (OH COME ON)

Rob Van Dam’s line never seemed to get shorter. It was insane. We were there for hours, and every time we’d pass the part of the hall where RVD was, there would be a huge line of people snaking around corners. Meanwhile, Sabu, the Sandman, and Francine were all standing around looking at their phones half the time. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like Rob Van Dam. But if you’re going to wait in a long line, are you going to wait for the Whole F’n Show or are you going to wait for Ric Flair, who recently had a brush with death? Or Bret Hart, and you could ask him about his favorite subject, the Montreal Screwjob?

Sgt. Slaughter didn’t have a long line. Ricky Steamboat didn’t have a long line. Road Warrior Animal didn’t have a long line. I’m probably showing my age, but these dudes were big stars to me.

Jesse Ventura had a moderate line. Not as long as Eva Marie, who was right next to him. Mark got his picture with Ventura, and asked a question about “Predator” that delighted the former Minnesota governor, who talked about it so long that his minion taking the money hissed at me to move things along. Buddy: you go right ahead and tell Jesse Ventura to shut up.

That was the most memorable interaction we had over the course of the day. I made Scott Steiner chuckle with a joke about his match with Swoggle, but he could have just been polite. Mark had wanted to solve a Nitro Girl-related mystery (listen, inquiring minds wanted to know), and was able to talk to some of the Nitro Girls to get the straight scoop.

I did like watching the wrestlers interact. Sgt. Slaughter, wandering around because no one was in line for him, pretended to put Steamboat in the Cobra Clutch. “I never could get out of that hold,” Steamboat said. Arn Anderson came over to shoot the breeze with Ventura. Moose, who I don’t even think had a table there, excitedly came over to the Rock ‘n’ Roll Express to get his picture with Morton and Gibson. Mantaur is apparently really good friends with Billy Jack Haynes. The whole thing had the feel at times of a really weird class reunion, and I kind of wished there had been panels or something, where we could hear, say, Ventura and Arn and Ted DiBiase tell old road stories or something.

The crowd was pretty much what you’d expect: wrestling super fans from all over the world. Lots of different accents and languages being spoken. I didn’t really draw any incisive observations about our human family from any of this, other than to note that Vampiro didn’t seem to have a single non-Mexican fan come up to his table, but it was nice to be in a series of big rooms with people whose love of this goofy industry briefly transcended barriers that normally separate us. Also, lots of replica belts. So many replica belts.

In the end, I’m glad I went. I got to meet Gail Kim and Arn Anderson and Ultimo Dragon, among others, and it was a nice day in the big city. I’m also glad that from now on I will feel absolutely no pressure ever to attend another Wrestlemania weekend again.

[chorusfm]

Brand New – Science Fiction

If asked to condense Brand New’s career into one word, that word would be “reactive.” From the title of their second album, Deja Entendu, translating to “already heard” to the abrasive, pedal-infused guitars that dominate their fourth album, Daisy, Brand New have always been a band known to react to critics, fans, and perhaps most importantly, themselves. For many readers of AbsolutePunk.net (R.I.P.) and now this site, August 17th was a day eight years in the making. It started in typical Brand New fashion with fans receiving cryptic packages in the mail, sparking internet confusion and excitement. This time, however, that package contained the band’s fifth (and presumably final) album, Science Fiction – a fitting goodbye to fans who waited just as long for lyric booklets, let alone a new album. After all, frontman Jesse Lacey has been uncommonly direct about the band’s whereabouts this past year, announcing things like, “We’re done,” at shows, selling shirts predicting the band’s end (2000 – 2018) and even ribbing the band’s bad habits on standalone single “I Am a Nightmare” (“I’m not a prophecy come true/I’ve just been goddamn mean to you”). So here we are, less than a week after the band mysteriously announced a new vinyl LP to be shipped in October, and we finally have a new Brand New album. But before we look any further into it, you have to understand that many of us grew up with this band, either during their original eight-year run or waiting another eight for a new album. Brand New introduced me to an entire genre; their songs were among the first I would learn to play and eventually perform at numerous high school talent shows and parties. I made new friends and lost old ones while these songs played in the background; I graduated, got engaged and started a new life with these records in my collection. It’s nearly impossible to detail exactly what Brand New means to the kind of people who frequent this site, but it’s also integral to understanding why Science Fiction feels so vital. For many, it serves as the final piece to a puzzle they’ve been placing for 16 years, a send-off from a band whose music was always there when they needed it. And for Brand New, Science Fiction is a victory lap, an album that finally sheds all expectations in favor of something more mature, more grounded, more real. And it’s better for that. Put simply, Science Fiction is a sigh of relief. Those expecting another complete transformation should know that going in, because on first listen, Science Fiction is surprisingly tame (especially for a band who opened their previous album with “Vices”). The band doesn’t unearth an entirely new genre for themselves, despite strong Americana influences against a fitting dystopian setting. As promised, the songs hearken back to a place Brand New could’ve explored before Daisy, building most from that album’s slower numbers (opener “Lit Me Up” recalls the swirling, The Cure-esque guitars of “You Stole”) and the demos that leaked prior to the band’s third album, The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me. Also worth noting is the album’s cinematic scope, connected by a series of spoken word segments and eerie field recordings. Despite not playing into the fan service that would have been a more extreme change in sound, the album is designed to give fans the most before the band’s departure, running just over an hour despite excluding its pre-release singles. Science Fiction gives us hints of past eras and the artists who influenced those eras; the crunchy power-pop of “Can’t Get It Out” and “No Control” recall the straightforward rock numbers of Deja Entendu, as well as the recent output of close friend Kevin Devine. Career highlight “Could Never Be Heaven” further cashes in on Lacey’s best Morrissey impression, an influence often emulated but only truly realized in the second half of the band’s discography, while “Waste” plays like a sonic cousin to “Brother’s Song” with a shiny, new arena-rock luster. Brand New only truly repeat themselves once here, but when they do, it ends up being a standout moment. “451” is a foot-stomping blues number that recalls Daisy’s sharpened, twangy guitars and Lacey’s fiery vocals. Even if the band doesn’t entirely escape the shadow of previous experiments, they do fully flesh out those experiments here. “In the Water,” makes use of harmonica and banjo, effectively billing itself as Brand New’s first song to lean into country territory since “Good Man.” Lead guitarist Vincent Accardi lets loose sparingly, but when he does, he pushes tracks like “Same Logic/Teeth” and “137” into the stratosphere. The former frankensteins Modest Mouse- like guitars with jagged chorus-lines and a harmony-laden, near-acapella bridge while the latter is an exercise in restraint, slowly building to an explosive, “You Won’t Know”-sized guitar solo. Despite documenting his fatigue, Lacey is at the top of his lyrical game, painting pictures as realistic (“Not just a manic depressive/Toting around my own crown/I’ve got a positive message/Sometimes I can’t get it out”), apocalyptic (“Let’s all go play Nagasaki/We can all get vaporized/Hold my hand, let’s turn to ash/I’ll see you on the other side”) and biblical as ever (“Holding this mic to a pillar of salt/She won’t say anything at all.”) Sprinkled throughout Science Fiction is commentary on the band’s end; Lacey is “strumming with a heavy wrist” on “Can’t Let It Go,” while on the chorus of “Waste,” he sings, “If it’s breaking your heart/If nothing is fun/Don’t lose hope, my son/This is the last one.” There are even references to past songs treated like Easter eggs for longtime fans, whether it’s a line about taking your head apart or “At the bottom of the ocean, fish won’t judge you by your faults,” being sung in Accardi’s signature baritone. You’d be surprised how fast an hour goes by in the shadow of an eight-year wait. In that context, “Batter Up” is an understated career closer, one that acts much more modest about Brand New’s swan song than I do in this album review. Somewhere between “Jesus” and “Soco Amaretto Lime,” the gorgeous arrangement finds Lacey at the end of his rope, simply remarking, “It’s never going to stop/Batter up/Give me your best shot/Batter up.” If it sounds like a bit of a downer, well, it is, and that’s nothing new for Brand New. But there’s a reason I describe Science Fiction as a sigh of relief. Despite their weariness, the band never place the burden on their listener. Regardless of the divisive mystique surrounding them, Brand New have been consistently grateful and in awe of their fanbase, especially recently. When I hear “Batter Up,” I’m reminded of seeing Brand New at Stage AE in Pittsburgh on July 10th, 2014. It was Lacey’s 36th birthday, and as he closed the show with “Soco Amaretto Lime,” he made a heartwrenching change to the song’s refrain: I’m just jealous ’cause you’re young and in love. He didn’t sing it with hostility; he sang it with humility, the same humility that shines in the line, “We all see what once was beautiful turn old and grey.” But Science Fiction is beautiful, for all of the nostalgia it stirs up and all of the memories it has yet to detail. And goddamn, does it feel good to type that. --- Please consider supporting us so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/review/brand-new-science-fiction/