A/N #1: Yes, I took down "Reason." I may repost it again. However, no one was reading it. This is why it's easier to do one-shots. Even reposting multichapters takes time. But, if you want to read it, I need to know.
However, thank you so much for all your awesome reviews about "Abyss." I so appreciate all of them!
A/N #2: I should say right off the bat that I'm not exactly an advocate for this theory, so, please no slams. No calling me names. This is just my mind on overdrive. I got this idea from a sarcastic post (that I did) on a site I belong to. But then I found very serious theories mirroring my sarcastic post on other forums (my sarcastic theory and these serious theories are independent of each other.) Definitely, definitely AU, because I don't think Kripke's going this way. But, if he does, I won't go running, screaming from it.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Will never be mine. And, I will definitely say this is AU. Also, as always, remember the MST3K motto.
Long Road Out of Eden
Dean didn't want to sleep. He knew the nightmare he was going to have. It was the same one he had for six months. The flashes and memories about Hell. Although the pain of those memories were a little more bearable since his confession to Sam, the memories still threatened to tear him up.
Ten years as a torturer. If he could have just held on for a little while longer, kept telling Alistair to shove the offer where the sun don't shine, these memories would be as horrible.
He broke down way too easily.
Lightning flashed against the wall, and the sound of driving rain was pelting the motel. Sam rolled over in his sleep, and Dean sat up, trying to keep his mind active.
He didn't want to give in to the nightmare. To the pain.
The lightning kept flashing hypnotically against the wall. Although Dean tried to look away, knowing that these flashes were going to lull him to sleep, he could look somewhere else. He couldn't turn on the TV because he would wake Sam.
He finally gave in to the darkness and the flashing lightning.
Screams made him open his eyes, finding himself in a disturbingly familiar spot. Like all his other dreams recently. Dean removed the bloody knife away from his latest soul and stepped away, waiting for Alistair to come and ask them the inevitable question.
Alistair started Dean on murderers, rapists, pedophiles. People that probably needed to be tortured and punished for their acts. Dean couldn't reconcile himself to that fact. He kept seeing them as people, souled humans who made mistakes. Well, OK, pedophiles were a little easier to see as more deserving of the torture, but that didn't make it right what he was inflecting on them either.
Although he didn't want to get back on the rack either. He had spent 30 years on the rack, being cut up into little pieces every day, and every day put back together.
Every day.
And, lately, it's been every day of new torture. Only, this time, he was the torturer. Apparently, he was good at the torture. He never had a repeat soul.
Dean stared up into the eyes of the soul he had finished torturing. They were big and blue. They looked on him with kindness, patience, and forgiveness through the pain.
He swallowed hard and backed away some more, wondering where Alistair was, wishing that he would hurry up. Because Dean knew that he didn't deserve for this soul to look down on him like that.
Screams continued around Dean, except they weren't from the tortured souls. They were from demons—he couldn't remember hearing the demons scream.
"This is new," he whispered, turning back to the soul on the rack. The eyes still shone kindness and forgiveness at him, which made Dean angry. "Stop looking at me like that!"
The soul didn't change his expression or the look of kindness.
"I know you," Dean whispered, feeling tears pop in his eyes. He closed them, trying to gain his composure.
A bright light stood in front of him that he could see with his eyes closed, and he felt a searing pain on his left shoulder. "Dean Michael Winchester, my name is Castiel. I am a brother in arms. And I am here to take you out from Perdition. Your mission to protect is not yet completed."
Michael. He hadn't heard his middle name since he was four years old. Mom used to use his full name all the time. Dean Michael Winchester, get out of the cookies! Dean Michael Winchester, stop jumping from the swings! Dean Michael Winchester, get down from that tree. You'll hurt yourself! He hadn't heard his middle name in so long, he actually forgot it.
He was flying. He hated to fly. There was something unnatural about flying. Even though he was speeding through clouds, feeling their cool, damp vapor on his face.
The only time he had flown was when he and Sam were exorcising the demon from the plane. And even then, he didn't do much. Because he was terrified.
Flying was just wrong on so many levels. Safest way to travel, my ass.
Even though he was terrified, it felt right.
It only feels right in dreams.
He heard light flapping of wings as he tried to get out of the clouds so he could see. He looked around, but he was alone.
He rose up through the clouds again, closing his eyes and letting the cool vapor splash against his face.
Dean opened his eyes again to find himself in a cozy living room. He was lying on the floor, with crayons and paper around him, staring up at a Christmas tree. Perched on top of the tree was an angel. He looked down at the papers. He had been drawing the angel.
He realized right then that he never had a chance to become an artist. Because he sucked at it.
"Dean, honey, come here," he looked up to see his mother come into the living room. "I need to talk to you."
Mom? There's so much I want to tell you! Instead, he looked back at his drawing and mumbled, "I know. Kevin and I chased ol' lady Pet'son's cat up a twee this morning. But she sta'ed it! And you won't let me climb twees to get it. And I said no, though Kevin da'ed me too." Dean laid his head down on the drawing, wondering how old he was when he started pronouncing his "r's" correctly. He couldn't consciously remember talking like that.
Mom frowned. "So, help me, I never knew a three-year-old boy would be so much work," she muttered, then looked back at Dean. "OK. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. But, after we're finished, we're going next door and you are going to apologize to Mrs. Peterson. She's old. And I don't want you playing at Kevin's house anymore. I think he's the one who puts these ideas in your head. But, come here. I have something I want to tell you."
He stood up and walked over to the couch. Mom lifted him up so he could sit on the couch beside her.
"Dean, what I'm going to tell you, the only other person who knows this is your Daddy. Do you understand?" At his nod, she continued, "You're going to be a big brother soon! You're going to have a little brother or a little sister!"
He grinned. "Fo' Ch'istmas?"
"Well, not for Christmas. Not for another 4 or 5 months. But, your little brother or sister is growing in my tummy, and getting bigger every day. But, I'm going to need your help getting ready. And you are going to have to help me with the baby. Protect him. Watch out for him. OK?"
He nodded, "OK! I want a bwothah."
Mom laughed. "I'll do my best to give you one. C'mon, angel. Let's go over to Mrs. Peterson's and get this apology over with. First, pick up your stuff."
Dean wiggled off the couch and grabbed his crayons and paper. He awkwardly walked up the stairs with them and into his bedroom. As he stuffed the paper into the corner, he eyed a football, setting on the desk. He picked it up and started tossing it up in the air.
"Dean? What are you still doing up? It's past your bedtime."
Dean caught the football and looked up at Mom, confused. When did it get so dark? He asked himself.
"Do you want to say good night to Sammy?" Mom continued.
Dean nodded, and Mom gently took the football away from him and put it back on the desk. She came back to the bed and picked him up.
She carried him down the hall to Sammy's nursery. "Come on, let's say good night to your brother."
She set Dean on the ground, and he ran up to Sammy's crib and climbed on it, feeling dread, although he was pretty sure he didn't have that feeling when it really happened when he was four. He kissed Sammy's forehead. "Good night, Sam," he heard himself say.
He felt Mom over him as she bent down to kiss Sam. "Good night, love."
Mom, whatever you hear tonight, promise me you won't get out of bed. Please? I didn't protect you then. Please let me be able to protect you now.
"Hey, Dean," he heard Dad say behind him.
Dad, I understand now. I know why you kept driving me. It's my fault! I was sent to protect everyone. That was my mission. I failed it. I'm being given a second chance at success, and even if I succeed in protecting everyone else, I still failed the people I love the most! Sammy, Mommy, you.
"Daddy!" Dean heard himself gleefully scream out as he ran across the room and jumped into Dad's arms.
"Hey, buddy. What do you think? You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?"
Please listen to me! Don't let Mom go into Sam's room tonight! Dean heard himself scream in his mind as he shook his head and said, "No, Daddy!"
"No?" Dad's eyes smiled at him. One of the last times he would see that look of love in Dad's eyes.
Because I failed everyone. I failed my mission.
"You got him?" Mom asked softly as she passed.
"I got him," Dad answered as she walked out of the room. "Sweet dreams, Sam." With that, he turned off the light.
Dean tried to get out of Dad's arms. He wanted to scream what was going on, but he was trapped in his four-year-old self. He knew that he didn't know what was going on when he was four years old.
Dad carried him into his bedroom, where Mom was folding down his sheets. "Dean's extra-squirmy tonight," Dad said as he gently put him down in his bed.
Mary smiled down at Dean as she pulled the blanket up around him. "Yeah, he's been on overdrive all day. But, go to sleep, baby. We'll see you in the morning. Remember, angels are watching over you."
Like Hell they are! I failed them all! Dean shouted in his head as his four-year-old self said, "I know, Mommy."
With that, Mom turned out the light, leaving Dean staring up at the darkness, counting the terrifying minutes until everything changed.
Counting the minutes until he failed.
He didn't hear anything else until he heard Mom scream, and he felt his innocence and his grace leave him. He felt the angels around him leave him. He felt all trust that anyone had in him leave him.
Because he had failed.
"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now Dean, go!"
Dean grabbed Sammy and ran outside as the smell of smoke filled his nose and lungs.
He had new marching orders now. Protect Sam at all costs.
And he even failed that. And he forgot everything that happened before his absolute failure. I won't fail again.
Darkness fell again.
He blinked back tears and gazed at Sam's dead body. No, no, no! He screamed to himself. He failed his mission for a second time, the one that kept him going all these years. Even though Sam had left him, Dean always knew that he was safe and out of harm's way. He just had to drag his little brother back into the thick of everything, didn't he?
It was no wonder that everyone left him. Everyone needed to leave him. He couldn't protect anyone.
"I always tried to protect you," He said haltingly to Sam's body. "Keep you safe. Dad didn't even need to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know? It's like I had one job. I had one job. And I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that, I'm sorry. I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love. I let Dad down. And now I guess I'm just supposed to let you down, too. How can I? How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do? Sammy?" He felt himself pleading with his original Father, "God, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?!"
He deserved Hell. It was his punishment for his failures.
"Dean," he heard someone say his name, and he woke with a start. Lightning flashed against the motel room wall, and Sam rolled over in his sleep.
Lightning flashes illuminated Castiel, standing against the wall. "Do you remember now, Dean?"
"I think so," he said softly. "Am I fallen?"
"No. You never lost your grace, although you ignored and denied it since you were four years old. And you don't have a vessel. You're in human form. You've been tested by fire and have come out stronger. We hope."
Another flash of lightning made Dean's shadow dance on the wall. Shadowy, outstretched wings rose behind his shadow, disappearing as quickly as they appeared.
"What's going on?" Dean whispered, not taking his eyes away from the unlit shadow against the wall.
"Do you understand why we have been told to test you and to abide by your orders?"
"No."
"You are tested to make sure you can still be a general, a leader, a prince of angels, after 70 years away. 30 as human, which you'll remain, and 40 in Hell."
"I'm not a leader, Castiel! I'm not an angel. I'm certainly not a prince!"
"You're one of the few angels who have looked at the face of God. Which is why I was surprised you couldn't hear or understand me after I pulled you out of Hell. I guess 30 years in human form, it is overwhelming. Plus, your mind and your soul were, and are, still fighting back from your sojourn in Hell. Your mission isn't over. You still have to protect. And this time, you have a bigger charge than just the Winchesters.
Dean looked over at Sam's sleeping form. "So, I'm not human? Sam's not my brother? John and Mary Winchester aren't my parents?"
Castiel frowned. "No. You're human, and you're a Winchester. Sam is your brother. You're just… an archangel in human form. In spite of what Uriel says. He's a little angry you were given the mission to become human. It was a promotion."
Lightning flashed again, and Castiel was gone.
"Dean?" Sam's voice came through the haze in his mind, accompanied by gentle shakes to his body.
Dean slowly opened his eyes to see Sam stand up from his bed.
"How are you feeling?" Sam asked as he backed away as Dean sat up in bed. "It's great that you're finally being able to sleep without resorting to booze to do it. I guess sharing what happened to you in… well, you know… helped. But, we need to go."
As Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, Sam looked out of the window. "Looks like we had quite a storm last night."
"Yeah." Dean frowned, trying to piece together the blurry images that were playing in his mind. He couldn't. "I had some weird dreams last night."
Sam turned back to him. Dean could practically see concern radiating off of Sam. "About… you know?"
"Hell? I shouldn't have told you anything. If you can't say the word anymore, how do you expect to help me through this?" Dean frowned again. "No. Well, at least the usual stuff at first. But I also dreamt that I was flying. Through clouds. I hate that. Flying? It's still for the birds. If I was meant to fly, I would have been given wings. It does beat images of Hell, though."
Sam grinned. "Maybe you're getting past this, y'know? Maybe memories of… you know… won't be all-consuming. Maybe they'll get… bearable."
Dean looked up at Sam. "Yeah. Maybe."
End
A/N: "Long Road Out of Eden" is the name of the Eagles newest CD. Awesome CD. Awesome band. I saw them in concert earlier this month.
As I said, a sarcastic post of mine, combined with a couple of serious theories got me thinking about this idea. I'm not exactly an advocate for this idea, but, on the other hand, it hasn't been "Two ordinary guys in a cool car shooting monsters in the face with rock salt" since season 1, has it? So, if Sam's supposed to be a demon king, why can't Dean be an angel prince? Michael. (By the way, the Wikipedia page of Michael is fascinating!)
Finally, I've determined that we look for a lot more clues than probably Kripke even wanted us too. Supernatural is not exactly subtle. I'm sure he's laughing his butt off over so many "Why did he do that? What does this mean?" posts on forums over things that were probably the director's choice or actors' choices. Like why Dean removed his amulet before he had sex with Anna in H&H. I'm very sure there's an ordinary, technical reason behind it, and nothing to do with wild speculations. Like this story is.