A/N: This story is dedicated to Miyth, who wanted to see a h/c bunker!fic with Cas's stolen grace going haywire. Hope it lives up to your expectations! Thanks to 29-pieces-of-me for beta reading. ^_^
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. Also, several lines will be lifted from various episodes throughout the season(s); don't own them either.
Chapter 1: Back to Normal…Or Not
Dean pulled the Impala into the bunker's garage and killed the engine. He and Sam had just finished three days straight of nothin' but R&R on a lakeside beach, knocking back cold ones, watching people on jet skis, and just overall pretending there was no such thing as monsters, demons, angels…or the Mark of Cain. It'd been good. It'd been relaxing. It'd been…boring as hell.
Dean got out of the car and went around to the trunk to retrieve their bags. Sam followed silently, and Dean was doing his best to ignore the look of concern his little brother kept piercing him with. If he didn't acknowledge it, maybe Sam would let it go.
"How you doing?"
Or not.
"Golden, man." Dean slung his rucksack over one shoulder.
"Come on." Sam angled that annoying puppy dog mien at him.
"Seriously, I'm good. I am." Dean hefted Sam's bag out of the trunk and then slammed it shut. "Taking some 'we time,'…best decision we ever made." And it had been good. Not that they had spent their vacation recreating a Dr. Phil show and talking about their feelings and how they'd really screwed up lately. They'd just made a silent pact to put all that crap behind them and go back to being brothers. Getting away from the bunker for a bit had also been a good idea; a lot of bad memories there were still too fresh. Like, 'oh, that's where Kevin died,' and 'that's where Dean tried to kill Sam with a hammer.' Yeah, wasn't it great to be home?
Sam reached to take his own luggage, but Dean pivoted away.
"Dude," Sam protested. "My elbow's fine now."
"I thought it was 'more than a sprain,'" Dean parroted from one of their conversations on the beach.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but giving it proper rest helped a lot." He lifted his arm and rotated it as evidence.
Dean started carrying both bags toward the inner door. "I got 'em anyway."
He and Sam entered onto the balcony level of the bunker and shuffled down the stairs to the war room, past the Commodore 64, and into the library. Both of them stopped short on the threshold, brows lifting with incredulity. It looked like librarians on parade had decided to re-catalog everything by first taking half the books off the shelves. Two of the four study tables were stacked with old, hardbound volumes, while a third had an array of tomes laid open with tabs and sticky notes inserted between various pages. The fourth table had a large piece of butcher paper rolled across the top, each corner held down with some random object: a mug, a pen holder, an onyx sphere that was either an actual paperweight or a crystal ball, and a book on fairies. Haphazardly sketched notes and thought bubbles were scrawled across the paper, linked by arrows, things that were crossed off, and lots of question marks.
Dean shook his head. "Okay, this is the last time we leave Cas alone with a bunch of books. He's worse than you."
Sam ignored the jibe. "Cas?" he called.
"Sam?"
The brothers turned as Cas emerged from the rear hallway, three more books stacked in his arms. These looked ancient, bound with animal hide and hemp stitching. The angel walked in and set them on one of the tables, having to scoot one of the piles over a little to make room. Dean watched a tower of tomes on the opposite end come precariously close to the edge.
"I didn't hear you return," Cas said. "Did you have a good time?"
"Fantastic," Dean replied absently, stepping closer to the paper to scan its contents. "Uh, what have you been up to?"
"Researching the Mark."
Oh, right.
"Find anything?" Sam asked.
Cas let out a frustrated sigh. "Not yet. The Mark is just so old, it predates the lore. But I haven't given up," he added quickly. "There's still a lot to go through."
Sam arched a brow at the numerous stacks. "Have you been at this nonstop since we left?"
"The sooner we find a cure for the Mark, the better for everyone," Cas replied. "I told Hannah I couldn't help with any more rogue angels until this was resolved."
"Bet she loved that," Dean muttered. He wouldn't forget how the bitch-angel wanted to stick his head on a pike out of 'principle.' At least Cas had told her no.
Sam shot him a slightly peeved look, even if he did feel the same about that particular angel. "Uh, would she be able to find any answers in Heaven?"
Castiel's eyes darkened for a second, and then he shook his head. "I already asked, and no."
Dean frowned, suspecting there was something Cas wasn't saying. But he didn't want to call the angel on it right then. He was taking his time, getting back to normal, being zen. Okay, not really the last one, but he'd fake it till he made it if he had to.
"You shoulda said you'd be sticking around this long," Dean said. "We would've set you up with a room."
"I don't require sleep at the moment."
At the moment? What happened to angels don't need sleep at all?
"That because you're all juiced up on coffee?" Dean picked up an empty mug that had several brown rings staining the inside at different levels, suggesting multiple refills.
Cas shrugged. "I've come to appreciate the taste."
"Great, we're gonna have the Energizer bunny with wings running around."
Cas canted his head with an almost flippant, yet tense air. "I don't have wings anymore, remember?"
Dean waved a dismissive hand. "You know what I mean."
Castiel gave a small head shake. "Yes, well then, I believe I should get back to it."
"Let me unpack and then I'll come help," Sam said, eagerly taking his bag from Dean. Sam strode down the hall toward the bedrooms while Cas slid into a chair at one of the study tables, leaving Dean standing in the doorway. Maybe he should join them in the research. After all, the Mark was on his arm. But he was trying to 'take it easy,' and dammit, he didn't want to dive back into this crap just yet. He wasn't a demon anymore, wasn't feeling the bloodlust like he had been. He was fine.
Turning away from the stacks of books, Dean headed for his own room where he put on some headphones and tried to drown out the world and all his problems in a cacophony of drums and jamming guitars.
Dean could say everything was okay, put on an air of casualness, pop open a bottle of beer, and kick back as though he had not a care in the world. But come night, dreams tore down those flimsy facades and left Dean exposed and bombarded to the truth and all its horror. In sleep, the Mark stirred, painting his dreams with images of blood and carnage. First with monsters and demons, those that deserved it. Abbadon. Metatron. But then the scenes shifted, and Dean was no longer the dark knight, but the very creature he feared—black eyes and blood stained lips. Bodies ripped to pieces sprawled around him, and Sam's terrified face staring up, pleading, as Dean lifted the First Blade and prepared to…
He bolted upright in bed, a cold sweat making his shirt stick to his damp skin. Chest heaving, Dean whipped his gaze around the small living quarters, the guns decorating one wall, his mom's picture on the writing desk. He was home in the bunker. He was fine. Everything was fine.
And yet, Dean couldn't shake the tremors that ran through his muscles, or swallow the hard lump in his throat. He scrambled off the bed and for the door, wrenching it open and charging down the hall to Sam's room. Pausing to steel his nerves, Dean grabbed the knob and slowly turned it. The door clicked quietly, and he eased it open a few inches to peek inside. An abnormally long lump was settled on the bed, one leg nearly dangling off the side. Dean held his breath until he heard Sam let out a soft snore, and only then did he allow himself to breathe. Sam was okay. Dean hadn't done the unthinkable, the one thing he could never fix.
He stayed a few seconds longer, watching his brother's seemingly peaceful sleep. At least one of them could do that. Dean closed the door without a sound and then slumped against the wall, running both hands down his face. He wouldn't be going back to bed. Returning to his room, he checked his phone for the time. 4:30am. He considered going out to the kitchen and putting on a cup of much-needed coffee, but he didn't want to face an interrogation from Cas on 'how he was doing.' So he grabbed a change of clothes and a towel, and headed for the communal bathroom.
He stayed in the shower until the hot water ran out. Sam would probably be pissed later, but Dean almost hoped for that, for the normalcy of brotherly bitching, rather than the surreptitious glances and well-meaning but irritating questions. He stood in front of the mirror now, staring at his reflection and finding his own expression as questioning as those of Sam and Cas, as though the man gazing back at him was someone else, someone who could give him answers on how to fix the shit-hole he'd dug himself into. One Dean stared in silent desperation, the other in stoic defeat.
His eyes dropped to his forearm where half of the reddened, puckered scar peeked out from his sleeve and stood out starkly against pale flesh. Dean may not be a heartless demon anymore, but the Mark was still working its sinister influence on his soul. He could feel it, in every breath he took, like a dormant, torpid pulse waiting for its moment to break out again.
Dean tore himself away from the mirror. Taking it easy wasn't helping as much as he'd hoped. No, he needed to get back to normal, back to hunting. All Dean had to do was convince Sam that he was ready.
He reached for the switch to flick the lights off when the halogen bulbs started flickering with a low buzz. For a moment, Dean froze. No matter how many times he'd seen this phenomena, he was still floored. This wasn't supposed to happen in the bunker; it was warded! And it couldn't be Kevin this time, because the kid's spirit had gone with his mom, attached to his father's ring. So there was no way a ghost could be in the bunker again.
Dean stepped out into the hall and inched warily toward his room. The lightbulbs in the corridor hummed, followed by the high-pitched echo of Dean's stereo in his room going on the fritz. Adrenaline shot through him like an injection of liquid fire.
"Sam!"
The door at the end of the corridor swung open and Sam barreled out in flannel pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He frantically swiped unkempt hair from his face as he whipped his gaze around. The lights continued to drone out a disturbance. "What the hell…?"
"Bunker's haunted again," Dean muttered, even as he felt a secret thrill of excitement. This was what he needed. Well, not some unknown monster invading their sanctuary, but hunting something? Oh yeah. He started heading for the weapons room.
Sam scrabbled to keep up with him. "No, that's impossible. I mean, it can't have been an old Men of Letters, or they would have reappeared before now. And it can't be…"
"Yeah, not Kevin," Dean agreed, pushing open the door into the armory. The Men of Letters had lots of interesting weapons: blades, maces, samurai swords. Dean snatched up an iron-plated axe.
"Dean, just slow down. Did you talk to Cas?"
"Why would I?" Speaking of which, why hadn't said angel warned them of a ghost lurking about? Dean turned toward his brother. "You think something happened while we were gone? Man, if Cas brought someone here and they died, I'm gonna kick his ass."
Sam threw his hands up in front of Dean. "That's not what I meant, and I don't think Cas would do that. He knows how secret this place is."
"Okay, then we're back to unknown ghost." Dean grabbed a shotgun loaded with rock salt and shoved it into Sam's arms.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Or maybe Cas found a spell or something to help with the Mark and is experimenting."
"If that's the case, then I still oughta kick his ass for waking you up." Dean hefted the axe and pivoted to head back down the passage toward the front of the bunker.
"You woke me up."
"Yeah, because there's a ghost."
Sam's mouth moved in a silent sputter as he hustled to keep up, and Dean felt a smidgen of smug satisfaction at making him speechless. The lights had stopped flickering, but that didn't mean the intruder had left. Ghosts could linger in the Veil without always manipulating physical surroundings.
Sam finally shook his head with a sigh, shifting the shotgun into a ready position. "You feel any cold spots?"
Dean shrugged, eyes peeled for a wisp of specter or scintillating air. "No. You?"
"No. Let's just find Cas and see what he says."
What else could it be besides a ghost? Still, they'd have to search the library at some point; why not first? No other electrical equipment started going haywire, and Dean began to wonder if maybe he'd just imagined it, or perhaps this old bunker had what Charlie called 'techno gremlins.' Too bad she was in Oz and not able to come help them out with it…
They reached the library, all of its light fixtures in standard working condition. Cas was sitting at the same table he'd been at last night, as though he hadn't moved at all. His head was currently in his hands, and it was difficult to tell if he was reading the tome in front of him or resting. Dean once again had the fleeting stray thought about angels not needing sleep, but he was more focused on the potential ghost.
"Cas," he called, a little surprised the angel hadn't heard them enter.
Castiel looked up, blinking as though he had in fact been caught dozing. His brows rose at the weapons they carried. "What's going on?"
"There's a ghost flitting around the bunker."
Sam let out an exasperated noise. "I don't think it's a ghost."
Cas frowned, and quickly stood up as his narrowed gaze swept around the room. "I thought this place was warded against anything supernatural getting in."
"It is," Dean said. "So did you invite a friend here for a sleepover and forget to tell us?"
Cas's mouth thinned. "No. And I haven't left here since before you two did. Could you have brought something back with you?"
"Not me." Dean angled a pointedly questioning look at Sam, who merely glowered at him and turned back to the angel.
"I thought maybe you were experimenting with a spell or something for the Mark."
"No, I haven't found anything like that." Cas paused, tilting his head in that considering mien of his. "I don't sense anything either."
"Well, let's take angel radar here and do a sweep of the place," Dean said, gesturing with his axe for them to chop-chop. Man, he hadn't felt this excited since…well, his time as a demon didn't count. No, he was the good guy again, hunting down the things that lurked in the closet or under the bed.
Sam looked like he wanted to argue, but even he couldn't just ignore that something was screwy here. Cas, on the other hand, appeared more ready to jump to their aid, and he strode purposefully around the table toward the main room. As he brushed past one of the support columns, however, the bulb in the wall sconce suddenly exploded, spraying fiber glass back at Dean and Sam.
Dean jerked to the side to shield his face, and then swung the axe up, ready to take a swing at the briefest wobble of air. Sam also had the shotgun up and braced against his shoulder, eyes wide and searching. Nothing moved. Nothing flickered like an old VHS tape. The temperature didn't plummet. There was nothing.
Sam blinked first. "Uh, Cas? Was that you?"
Castiel stood rigidly next to the pillar, eyes boring a hole into the shattered light fixture.
"Aw, hell," Dean said, lowering his weapon. "It was you the whole time?" Dammit, he'd really been hoping for a case.
Cas canted his head at Dean, then back at the glass bits sprinkling the floor. "I…suppose so. Sorry."
Dean scowled. "No more caffeine for you. We don't need a wired angel wreaking havoc with these old systems."
Cas's mouth tightened into a thin line, and he ducked his gaze.
Sam's brow furrowed with concern. "Cas, are you okay?"
"Fine." He rolled his shoulder in discomfort. "Perhaps I should take a walk, get some fresh air." Turning with a swish of his trench coat, Cas headed out of the library and toward the stairs.
Dean let his axe-head clunk on the floor with a sigh. "So the bunker isn't haunted." He probably should have tried harder not to sound so disappointed.
Sam's eyebrows scrunched in distaste. "Dude, that's a good thing. You seriously wanted some crazed ghost running around?"
"I wanted a case." Dean shook his head morosely and started to leave, calling over his shoulder, "You know, normal!"
Except, 'normal' for the Winchesters usually involved some major crisis that threatened all of humanity, so maybe he really should have been more careful about what he wished for…