Part five of The Hand of Sorrow Verse. It's officially taken over my life. Song at the beginning and end of each chapter is Deify by Disturbed and it inspired the end of this fic, which has lurked for months on my hard drive waiting for a fic to fit it.
I've also decided to dedicate this monster to everyone in the Roadhouse. They know who they are.
Disclaimer: I own neither song nor show, I'm getting my feet dirty in the sand box and shall return everything only mildly damaged when I'm done.
Deify.
All my devotion betrayed
I am no longer afraid
I was too blinded to see
How much you've stolen from me
"Castiel."
At the sound of the harsh voice, Dean is certain that this is not a good thing. He can hear the power there, even though his companion's name is said softly, the voice vibrates with it, leaving something on the edge of his hearing, in the same way that Castiel's did before this whole torture thing started and it is just another indication of how bad things are for his angel. His suspicions that the owner of the voice is another angel are confirmed by the way that Castiel's shoulders stiffen underneath his hand, the desperation, fear, in the blue eyes that are turned upon him confirm it and, internally, Dean curses, because if this angel is here to take Castiel back, to torture him or to kill him, there is little that he can do to stop it.
The thing of it is, he has no weapons, the sword that Seraphiel gave him is in the house with Sam, who cannot touch it because of something to do with his demon blood and Dean feels strange each time he picks it up, was too distracted the first time he used it to notice. Castiel knows that Dean cannot defend him, cannot really help him, because he bows his head and closes his eyes and Dean can feel his despair, because it is mirrored in his own soul. Still, he may not have a weapon, but he does have his free will, has his defiance and he silently promises that he will fight them in every way that he can, starting with not staying on his knees in the dirt while waiting for the new arrival to start waxing poetic about taking Castiel back upstairs.
"Who the hell are you?" He demands, hears a muffled noise from Castiel as he turns to look at the new comer. This one seems different from the others. The vessel is still young, certainly younger than Dean, with a mop of unruly blonde hair and brown, flat, soulless eyes. He wears jeans, though, and a white t-shirt with a dark green jacket.. Somehow, Dean likes him less for all of that, for looking so young and normal. Something flickers across his face, though, at Dean's question, something that looks suspiciously like nostalgia, even though angels, as a group, do not experience such things.
"I am Sandalphon," he responds and Dean snorts as Castiel shifts, still kneeling, and that sits badly with him, Cas should be standing, not in the dirt before this creature, this soulless shell who would stand by and watch as his kind torture one of their own for daring to think and act for himself.
As if sensing Dean's thoughts, Castiel gets to his feet, still standing warily behind the hunter as the new angel, this Sandalphon, watches him a little too closely for Dean's tastes. So he steps to the side, blocking Castiel from view a little more and placing himself firmly between the two celestial beings, for all the good it will do if Sandalphon decides that he wants to take Cas, but it is a gesture, the defiance, and that seems to matter, because the angel nods, just once.
"Whatever it is you want," Dean snarls, "I don't wanna hear it. I'm through with you and your kind."
"I am not here for you, Dean," the angel sounds smug, and Dean knows that is just about normal for them, to sound like they think they are better than the mud-monkeys they were supposed to be saving.
"You're not taking him," and even as he says them, Dean knows the words are futile, is not sure if they refer to Sam or Cas or both of them, does not really care because he will protect them both anyway.
"What makes you think you could stop me?" Just like that Dean wishes for a knife or a gun, even a crowbar, more than he wants to live, just so that he could have something more substantial to strike with than his fists.
"If you must take me," Castiel speaks then, sounding calmer than he has for days, almost resigned, "then at least show me the mercy of killing me." There is so much that Dean wants to say here, so many objections, so many angry words about the request, threats and rage, everything bubbling just below the surface and he takes his eyes off Sandalphon for long enough to look at Castiel and he can see the fear is still there, even if the angel looks otherwise too calm for one expecting to die.
"Heaven is not merciful, Castiel," Sandalphon responds before Dean can get a word in and Castiel slumps, a broken sigh escaping his lips, "and I am not here to take you back. You cannot continue to hide here. Zachariah is coming with a cohort to take you both into custody. If you are to save mankind, you must leave."
As quickly as he arrived, the newcomer is gone with a heavy flap of unseen wings and the rush of cold night air. No words are needed, even if Zachariah were not on his way, that this one angel has found them is enough. Clearly this place is not safe anymore, if one has found them, it is only a matter of time before the rest do.
Castiel is shaken, though, that much is clear as Dean tells his brother that it is time for them to go, time to leave and get back on the road and Dean has to wonder at the motivation of this angel, telling them that Zachariah is coming. Wonders who he, it, really was to have Castiel this off kilter, knows that he needs answers but that this is not the time for it, not when they have to run for it and determines that after the evening's events he is not going to let that sword out of his sight, no matter how strange it makes him feel.
He is surprised when Castiel picks the blade up, the first time that he has looked at it willingly, let alone touched it, since Dean pulled him out of the warehouse. Irrationally the sight of it in his hand is somehow completely unnatural and it upsets Dean to see it there. It is at odds with the Castiel that he knows, makes Dean angry, makes him want to snatch the blade from his hands, partly because Dean has begun to think of it as his, but mostly because he knows that if it comes down to the possibility that Castiel will be captured, the angel will turn the blade on himself and Dean knows this, because it is what he would do in Cas's place. It is something that he will never admit to Sam, knows his little brother will not understand, might pretend to, but really incapable of it, and he will not discuss his fears for Castiel with him either, just resolves to watch the angel a little more closely.
They are packed quickly, they had known that this day would come after all even if they had all been hoping that it would not come quite so soon, but everything was ready, everything kept mostly packed and it is with a sense of relief that Dean throws the bags in the trunk of the Impala, driving away far sooner than Dean thought they would.
They drive, hex bags hidden throughout the Impala, only a preventative measure, it will not last long, but they are there, in their pockets, heavy with the reminder of what they are running from, of how much trouble they are in and the danger that lurks at every stop. Still they drive, leaving town, city and country in the rearview mirror, careful where they stop, where they stay or squat but they all know that this cannot go on. It is wearing them down, dangerously so, and the longer they run the more time Lucifer has to hide, the more damage he can do.
They need a plan. Need a plan to find him, need one to stop him, need to get the angels off their backs. The running is getting to Dean, he needs to do more than drive and hustle and keep Castiel under wraps. He needs a hunt, even if it is just a simple salt and burn, he just needs something, as does Sam, just something to take their minds off things, to ease the tension, to show Castiel that there is more in this world than fear and anger and pain.
Still, there is nothing more to do than run.
You want to know why I feel so horrified?
I've let my innocence die
You want to know why I can't be pacified?
You made me bury something
I won't be sleeping tonight
Reviews are little Castiels that fly above our heads and mini Deans under the bed. A small Sam in hand and a tiny John by the chair, a review that can show how much you care.
Artemis