RATING: R gen, pre-slash Dean/Castiel
SPOILERS: For the Season 4 finale, and not beyond
CHARACTERS: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Zacharia
SUMMARY:Post 4.22. What might have happened after the "to be continued" whiteout. With extra helpings of h/c.
Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by it's creator Kripke and the CW network, and I am in no way affiliated with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is complete, and will be posted one chapter a day. Muchas gracias to Starrylizard for betaing the whole thing!
And so the world ends, Dean thought, not with a whimper, but with a flash bang.
Lucifer ground frigging zero and his brain had frozen on a stupid, mangled quote. The hero has failed, ladies and gentlemen, totally and utterly, and all he has left is being quippy, if only in his own head. He gripped Sam's shirt a little tighter, and raised his free arm to shield his eyes. The heat, the intensity of the light, the noise, it was all growing, and he had little hope of passing through with his eyeballs and eardrums intact, if experience had taught him anything about angels in their true forms. Or whatever the hell was about to come through. Odds said it was not going to care if it made a pair of puny human heads explode on its grand entrance. Probably count it as a plus, in fact. Like firecrackers or something.
And then, amidst all the confusion, he distinctly felt a hand pushing him from behind, making him stumble forward a step, Sam doing the same right beside him. And just like that, it was all gone.
He risked taking a peek, and saw a wide open space stretching out in front of him, cold dawn light bathing a familiar expanse of nature in pinks and pale yellows. Sam was still beside him. This wasn't Hell, that much he knew. In fact...
"Is this... it's the field to the east of Bobby's property," Sam said, voice high and breathless.
"We're just outside the boundaries of your friend's wards. Hope you don't mind the walk. I hear they're beneficial."
They whirled around as one. A familiar, albeit much more disheveled than usual, figure was standing just behind them, grinning jovially.
"Zachariah…" Dean acknowledged warily, "Where the hell's Cas?"
"First you banish me, now you don't even thank me for saving both your asses… Dean, Dean, Dean, you'll end up hurting my feelings, you know?"
"Like you'd have any. What have you done to Castiel?"
"Oh, nothing that little traitorous snake didn't deserve, I assure you. Don't worry about him now, I'd say you have more pressing matters to consider, mmh?" The angel looked pointedly at Sam, who paled under the scrutiny.
"Leave him out of this," Dean growled, raising a protective arm by instinct.
"Leave him out?? After doing all that hard work of freeing Lucifer? I think not, Dean; I'd say your little brother here has more than earned his fifteen minutes of fame," Zachariah drawled, expression growing calculating. The air around them rippled with the sound of wing beats, and two more angels appeared behind them, a woman in a creased business suit and a tall, young guy. They were surrounded.
"You can't- I was just trying to help," Sam spoke up, voice suspiciously nasal.
"Indeed you did," Zachariah beamed. "Don't worry Sammy my boy, we understand just a little more than you give us credit for. We know it was a sacrifice on your part. Not entirely selfless, but still! Very much in keeping with the family tradition; best intentions, disastrous consequences, all that-"
"You son of a bitch! Don't listen to him, Sam; these assholes are pleased you- you did what you did. They've wanted Lucifer free all along! They've been itching to take it out and compare lengths since the last big showdown, I bet." Dean knew his words wouldn't bother Zachariah at all, but he hoped to get a reaction out of the other angels, whom he guessed to be of a lower hierarchy. Instead they both just stood there, impassive as statutes and, he suspected, not even listening to a word the humans were saying.
Meanwhile Zach, though still thoroughly pleased with himself, acquired an expression that could very well have been bitter. "Don't tax my patience, Dean. You've already maxed out with your little stunt, and I'm the last one you want to alienate right now, considering we're all that stands between Lucifer and the rest of humanity. But perhaps we should just play this closer to home, and simply say that I'm the one who decides Sam's fate now. And I think you should hear my offer out before you start flinging about you ingratitude."
"Fuck you," Dean said at half volume, already imagining what the 'offer' entailed, but it was covered by Sam stammering: "what offer?"
"Congratulations kiddo, you've won a free trip to Heaven on the express angel airline, no stops or layovers! Complete with the package comes a thorough soul-cleansing that will leave you so spotless you'll be the envy of any housewife!"
Dean started shaking with rage, too horrified to even spit out an expletive, but Sam was only half grasping the implications of it all.
"What, you'd- you mean I'm forgiven? Just like that?? No more 'dark destiny' crap, now you absolve me and I can go to heaven?"
Zachariah raised a finger. "Ah, not quite. See, what you did, Sammy, is really very bad, not just for the world at large, but for yourself. Dean's habit of gobbling down cholesterol laced with fat and sugar has nothing on what demon blood can do to a human body. And boy have you gone the whole nine yards! You broke it, Sam. You're not even all that human anymore. But I can cleanse you; I can burn the demon out of you and leave only the original, untainted parts. And those we can accept into Heaven. Only chance you'll get of being with your brother forever after he's fulfilled his destiny and his oaths. Naturally, your place would be much lower than a Champion of the Host –you did follow a demon over our own explicit advice and, let me just state that again, freed Lucifer- but even the cheapest ticket to Heaven, the lowered visibility zones if you will, are much better than the highest place of honor in Hell, which is about all that you can expect from the other side. So what do you say?"
Sam was silent, looking at the angel with increasing determination and no little amount of dread but, and Dean was scared to realize, there was resignation there as well.
"So your offer is to kill him now and stick whatever's left of his soul after you're done with it in your Stepford paradise? Well, screw that!"
"Tsk, tsk, Dean, you really should be more forgiving towards your brother. Do you want him to go to Hell? Because without my help that's precisely where he's headed. You of all people should appreciate how anything is preferable to that, and recognize that mine is a very generous offer. Or perhaps you'd prefer to do the 'deed' yourself? I understand sometimes humans like to keep these things in the family. It's an honor thing."
"Oh, like you'd know the first thing about honor-"
"Dean," Sam turned to him, stricken and working himself up to brave martyr mode, which was not going to happen. "Maybe it's best this way. I should have died a long time ago anyway and… and… I'd rather you don't- I don't want you to-"
"Oh, for god's sake, nobody's killing anybody today, ok? No one's dying and- and that's that."
"Don't worry, Sammy," Zachariah piped up, "my offer will stand as long as your brother behaves. Of course, I'm not always going to be available to deliver! In fact I'm going to be very busy starting now, but I'll keep an ear out for your call. I don't imagine you'll want to go through the withdrawal again, after all!"
"Just get me a weapon and put me in front of Lucifer already, instead of playing all these mind games! He's out and you want him dead: fine. You don't need to wait anymore now! I'll do it, just…"
Zach beamed again. "Nope. Now doesn't suit me."
Dean lost possession of all his common sense and swung out. Obviously, he missed. The angel vanished from in front of him and re-appeared, chuckling darkly, right behind him.
"You're lucky I've decided to go for a positive reinforcement approach with you, rather than- well, other methods. Keep your head down until we call you and try and not to get killed. And don't interfere: the tactics involved here are very complex and delicate, and I wouldn't appreciate you jeopardizing them by running around half-cocked and making yourself a target."
"And what about Castiel?"
"That's another matter where you'll do best by not interfering. But see, since I'm so generous today, I'll add him to the pile of your rewards. You do seem attached to that wretch, hmm? I suppose even you have some gratitude lurking under that surly demeanor. Maybe there's hope you'll understand just how much I've done for you one day, after all!"
Abruptly, the wind whipped around them like a twister and in the wake of it the angels where gone, leaving Sam and Dean alone for the first time in days.
They looked at each other for a moment, and then Dean walked right up to Sam and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. "I don't care what his highness the Supreme Dick says, they manipulated you six ways to Sunday and now they're not just sweeping you under the rug. We'll find a way to save you!"
"From demons? Or angels? Or myself? Or… or you?"
"Everything!" Dean whispered, the fight draining out of him. He knelt down on the dusty ground, dragging Sam down with him. "I'm not giving up on you, Sam. We're brothers and- we've gone through this shit already more times than any family has any right to. We'll do it again."
Sam looked at him levelly, weary and numb. In a carefully controlled voice, he asked: "So you've changed your mind? About what you said?"
"What, the don't- the dad thing? Yeah. Bobby said… you know, I'm not half the man dad was, but in some ways, I guess I don't want to be." He started chuckling, exhaustion and adrenaline in free-fall making him giddy. "I meant it when I said I owed you a serious beat down, but- I meant everything else too. I want to do this thing with you. I want my brother, and I want to be your brother, and- and- that's it. I don't care about the rest. And the demons and angels can go fuck each other in outer space for all it matters."
Sam was looking at him with a strange expression. "When- when did you say that, Dean?"
"Oh, while the angels had me hostage. I tried to send you a message, but I guess it didn't get through. Basically what I just said. Uh, you know, and that- jesus, I'm sorry about the 'don't come back' thing, ok? I didn't mean it."
"Dean, as that angel was so fond of reminding us, I freed Lucifer."
"Yeah, but I started it."
"More like Yellow Eyes did. Seriously, Dean: you're not- you're not mad?"
"Oh, I'm plenty mad. But it doesn't change anything. I guess there really is nothing you can do that would change it, so… You really didn't get my message? 'Cause I'd rather not have to repeat all that girly sharing and caring for a third time in twenty-four hours."
Sam smiled, and gave a sort of humorless snort. "No, I guess I really didn't get your message before, but- I do now. I won't make you repeat it. Me too, you know. Or, whatever."
"Oh, thank god," Dean exhaled, picking himself up and offering a hand to haul his brother to his feet. "Come on, let's reach Bobby. He's gotta be freaking out with the way I vanished yesterday. Or was it two day ago? I lost time in that freaking angel nightmare suite…"
"What are you talking about? What happened to you, and how did you find me?"
Dean looked at the horizon, where the sun had climbed and the day had started, and shook his head, heaving a sigh. "It's a long story. I'll tell you as we go."
ooooo
They reached Bobby's house in silence, having talked themselves out about what they'd been up to since they'd separated. Not that they'd actually provided many details, either of them, but they did manage to sketch a pretty thorough map of the situation they were in.
"Basically they've been screwing with us from the beginning, and now we're screwed, and they plan on screwing us further any chance they'll get," Dean told Bobby on his front porch, hands up and facing the double barrels of a shot-gun.
"Winchesters," Bobby sighed like a cuss word, "Can't you ever get into an easy mess? Why does it always have to sound so damn hopeless?" He raised the shotgun and gestured them to follow him into the house.
"I've been running around like a chicken with its head cut off ever since you vanished. Hunters everywhere keep calling, no one knows what is happening except that something big went down and it looks like every single demon and hell spawn around has gone to ground; hunts everywhere simply gone, just like that." He sat two shot glasses filled with holy water right in front of them.
Sam stared at his with the sort of emo look that threatened to spill into tears any moment, so Dean picked up his and spilled it on his brother's hand, rolling his eyes and ready with a good sarcastic comment when Sam yelped like he'd been scalded and jumped back, holding his hand in front of him. It wasn't smoking, but his reaction had been enough.
Bobby raised his shotgun right back up, Latin already rushing from his lips before he'd even cocked it and Dean had to jump between the two of them before the situation could get even worse. "He's NOT possessed, I swear! The angels got us back here, they sure as hell wouldn't have taken a demon without knowing! Look-" he took the remaining holy water and splashed it right in his own face, "I'm not possessed either! It's just the demon blood, it's- it's more than before and it's reacting or something, but he's still Sam! He's not a demon, Bobby, I swear!"
Sam scrambled right out of the house and out of sight. For the second time in almost as many minutes, Bobby Singer heaved a long-suffering sigh and lowered his weapon. "Hell, boys. Just…" he shook his head. "I'm taking out the Scotch now. I think we all need it," and with that he turned and left Dean alone.
Immediately he went to look for his brother, and found him sitting in the dirt about two feet from the porch steps. One of Bobby's dogs, an old half-blind biddy with a scar on her muzzle, had come to snuggle up to him, and Sam was absently petting her with long, heavy strokes. Only when Dean came to sit next to him did he see the big, fat tears running down his face.
"That angel was right," he finally said, starting with the loud sobs in earnest, "and it's only going to get worse. I'll go into withdrawal and if that doesn't kill me… what am I going to do, Dean? I can't even handle holy water! I'm not stepping into that house again, what if I react to a devil's trap too? Oh, god-" he stopped petting the dog and covered his face with both hands, making the animal whine at the loss of contact.
Dean punched him in the shoulder, so hard he almost knocked him down. "Shut up. This is only temporary. We'll find a way; besides, you can't trust a single thing that comes out of that dick Zachariah's mouth. We'll- we'll go find Cas, is what we'll do. I owe him that much and- and I bet he can help you. And anyway I don't like the idea of those bastards holding him up like some kind of prize for wagging my tail on command. And fercrisstsake, Sam! Pet that dog, can't you hear how pitiful it sounds?"
Sam actually started laughing through his tears at that, and bodily hauled the big whining beast into his lap, hugging it like a stuffed animal. "At least Abby's not afraid of me," he sniffed.
"'Course not. You're still Sammy. No reason to be afraid of you," Dean said decisively.
Bobby came out of his front door a moment later, carrying a bottle and three glasses. He sat on the dirt without saying anything, right next to Sam, and poured.
ooooo
They loaded the Impala with enough books to keep Sam occupied for a month and settled in a motel room as close to Bobby's as they could find. By a stubborn bout of masochism, Sam refused to research anything that could help himself, leaving that to the other two, and concentrated instead on researching what little angel lore they had: how to track them, how to hide from them, and how to kill them. None of them was having much luck with either task.
"Summoning," Dean insisted after the third fruitless day, "it worked the other time."
"Somehow I doubt the other angels are going to let it be so easy," Sam countered.
"They either have him prisoner or they beat him up and left him somewhere. At least we might get a clue," Bobby pronounced. "I'll get the supplies together. Find a secluded place, meet you there in three hours.
At sunset they congregated in an empty storehouse and Bobby did the spell. They ate a dinner of burgers and shakes, and spent most of the time flipping pages on a couple of books and generally chasing their tails. Around midnight they gave up.
"So either he can't or he won't come," Sam reflected in the car, afterwards. "Maybe we should try communicating instead of tracking. It should be easier."
Dean nodded absently, finger drumming on the steering wheel. He didn't want to say what he was really afraid of, namely that Cas had gotten hauled back to bible camp for a second time, and that not only were they left without any kind of ally, but that they might find themselves actually having to fight the poor brainwashed bastard once he showed up again.
"Damn, I wish Pamela was still around. She could have probably found him," Sam continued, oblivious to Dean's brooding.
"She probably would have chased us off with a shotgun if we asked her to do that," Dean replied, his brain segueing neatly on to Sam's usual source of information: Ruby. He flinched, hiding the motion by taking a turn a little more sharply than necessary. Sam hadn't mentioned her once since his confession, out in the fields, and Dean was perfectly happy never to hear her godforsaken name ever again.
But Sam didn't reminisce, at least not out loud. He snorted with affection at Pam's memory, and said: "finding another psychic willing to help us is going to be tough."
"If we had something of his we could try the African dream root… provided angels dream," he added.
"We should try a scrying ourselves. Not like we're swimming in better options anyway," Dean finally said. Sam agreed. They decided to try it the next day.
ooooo
This time they were so sure they were not going to get anywhere with it that they set up shop directly in the motel room. Bobby had scrounged up some stuff, including the original table cloth Pam had used that first time, which she had apparently 'given' to him. He didn't elaborate.
They lighted candles and burnt herbs and sat in a circle and held hands. Dean, being the one with the mark on his shoulder, was given the official role of chanting, which he did without complaint, despite feeling like an idiot.
This time, however, something did work.
The lights started flickering and a low breeze swept through the closed room. Dean grew quiet, eyes tightly shut, hands going slack in their grip. Sam opened his eyes and squeezed his fingers, encouraging him to continue, but he found himself facing the horror-stricken expression of his brother, and he felt a cold dread filling him up at the sight.
"Dean! What-?"
"What have you done?" Dean whispered in a low voice, looking between Sam and Bobby.
"What? Dean?" Sam repeated.
"You shouldn't have done this. LEAVE IMMEDIATELY!" Dean's shout ended in a strangled gasp. The television in the corner imploded, and Dean slumped back in his chair, before slowly tilting to the side and towards the floor. Bobby, who was nearer, barely managed to control his fall. Sam leaped out of his chair and went to kneel next to his brother.
Dean's eyes were open, glassy and unfocused. He was twitching, taking tiny gasping breaths, and at first he didn't seem aware of his surroundings; Bobby grabbed his jaw and dug his fingers in, eliciting a long, drawn out groan. Sam grabbed a half empty water bottle and upended it directly on Dean's face, which set him blinking, and finally he looked at them with a measure of lucidity.
"Hey," Sam called with relief, "Dean. How you feeling?"
Dean frowned, then grimaced. "What happened?" He asked, voice weak and whining. He was still twitching, his breath hitching each time, and he flopped his arms around, trying to curl up on his side. He seemed drugged, not completely awake, like he'd just come out of major anesthesia.
"Take it easy, boy," Bobby shushed him, holding him down on his back.
Dean grimaced again, trying to shrug off the hands holding him; he raised his hand and grabbed his left shoulder with a whimper, like it was paining him. Sam checked the pulse on his neck, finding it rabbit fast and the temperature elevated. He trailed his fingers up his brother's face, wiping droplets of water along the way, and smoothing back the short hair from his forehead.
"Let's get him on the bed," Bobby encouraged Sam, who nodded and positioned himself behind Dean's head to slip his arms under the shoulders. Dean groaned when the left one was jostled, trying again to curl up into it. "Sto-op…" he whined, "lemme lie here a bi-"
"You can lie on the bed, it'll feel better," Sam told him, angling for a better grip.
"Nnngh," Dean protested, clamping his eyes and his jaw shut. Sam and Bobby nodded at each other and hauled him up. Dean immediately jackknifed, twisting desperately to the side, and threw up on the foot of the bed.
They let him lie a bit longer on the floor.
ooooo
A/n: Chapter two will be up tomorrow