Summary: When Gabriel has to use the reader as an emergency vessel, he inadvertently destroys her mind. Now, Sam and Dean have to fight to rescue Cas, find Gabriel and restore the reader's sanity. And they have to do it while dealing with the increasingly severe psychosis that Gabriel left behind.
Rating: T for now, but definitely headed towards an M.
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Gabriel, Castiel, Reader, Crowley, Charlie.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/Castiel
Trigger Warnings: Angst, Pain, self-harm, violent outbursts, manic/depressive, depression, psychosis, eating disorders, schizophrenia, delusions, hallucinations, hurt/comfort.
A/N – I'm not entirely caught up on SPN yet, I've only just started Season 10, so while this is all supposed to take place within the canon-verse, there is likely to be quite a bit of divergence. Also, I'm kind of ignoring the mark, at this point. It may or may not come into play.
Chapter 1 – Desperate Times
"Look. All I'm saying is that you have zero self-control. You're at it like bunnies." Dean thundered down the steps to the bunker, arms loaded down with duffel bags.
"Dude." Sam was right behind him. He couldn't really come up with a decent argument to counter Dean's statement, so he settled for an epic bitch face.
"I'm sorry ok? Can you just, let it go? You're gonna embarrass her—and I'm the one that's gonna suffer for it."
Dean snorted. "She should be embarrassed. You guys stole my car and left me sitting at a diner in the middle of nowhere for two and a half hours." Dean smirked- it was self-righteous and infuriating. Sam rolled his eyes.
"So… you're saying that you never left me stranded in a motel for two days while you and Castiel disappeared to… "do recon"?" His finger quotes were practically audible. "Or how about the time the two of you trashed a hotel room and lost a hundred-dollar security deposit because you got too enthusiastic with your… "de-briefing"?" Dean had turned to face him and thrown his hands up, opening his mouth to object, but Sam cut him off with, "Or what about the time you almost killed all four of us when you tried to wrap your car around a tree because Cas had his face in your –"
"OK! Ok. Jesus." Dean managed to blush and look murderous at the same time.
You finally appeared at the top of the landing, lugging grocery bags into the bunker. The smile slid off of your face to be replaced with a suspiciously raised eyebrow when you noticed them both looking at you with twin expressions of guilt.
"What?" you asked.
"Nothing."
"Oh yea. Cause when the both of you answer "nothing" at the same exact time, that's not cause for concern." You held their gazes for another minute, but when they didn't give anything away, you slid down the last couple of steps and added your grocery bags to the pile of crap building up on the table.
"Ok gentlemen!" you announced with a grandiose wave of your hand, "As per our arrangement and Dean's glorious defeat, I get the first shower and you get to unload all the crap. Enjoy!" You turned on your heel and marched down the hallway towards the largest bathroom.
"I still can't believe she got that waitress to give up her phone number. I'll give her one thing, she's got game." Dean threw that last over his shoulder as he jogged back up the stairs to the car to get the last of the bags. Sam just rolled his eyes. He knew, for a fact, that Dean was going to continue to make ridiculous wagers with you just to watch you flirt with more hot women. He looked at his brother's retreating back, and then glanced down the hallway towards where you had disappeared. If he moved quick enough, he could be in the shower with you, with the door locked behind him before Dean ever came back in with the rest of the stuff. He took off at a jog.
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Three weeks later, you and Sam were working in the library trying to find a case. It had been an extremely slow news week. No pings on the spooky-stuff radar, no calls for help, no weird deaths, and nothing at all outta heaven or hell. You had all been content to take a breather and relax for the first three days. But now, the nervous tension was inching towards level orange and you were feeling crowded and on edge.
Dean had left earlier in the morning to head into town for a supply run, alleging "If I have to stand here and watch Y/N pace around like a caged animal for another week, I'm gonna crawl outta my skin." It was hard to find fault with his assessment since you were currently pacing the length of the library with your tablet in your hand, scanning the news articles.
Sam was sitting at the table with his head in his hands, hunched over his laptop performing some kind of complicated algorithm search. Every few seconds, you'd glance at him, letting your eyes roam over his broad shoulders or his narrow waist. You'd start to let ideas form in your head, and then you'd abruptly shake them out and return your attention to the tablet. You'd been down this road before. You knew that you could distract yourselves with awesome, frustrated sex, but as soon as it was over, you'd be back to pacing, he'd be back to searching, and you'd still be just as trapped as you had been before the distraction. So, you went back to your reading and tried to focus. For all of five more minutes.
Sam jumped when you tossed your tablet onto the map table with a bang. Then he looked at you with a raised eyebrow, no doubt hoping you were about to announce an impending vampire incursion or werewolf plague somewhere in the pacific northwest.
"I can't do this anymore. I'm going out of my mind. I'm going to go work out."
"Ok. Let me know if you need anything." Sam nodded to you and then lowered his eyes back to his laptop.
You loped off down the hall, stopping at your bedroom to change into a pair of running tights and a sports bra. You swapped your hiking boots for a pair of fluorescent sneakers and pulled your hair up into a tight ponytail atop your head.
The gym had been bare bones when you'd first been offered refuge at the bunker. You were slowly bringing in equipment. Adding things here or there when you didn't think anyone was paying attention. Like the treadmill. Sam preferred running outside, but you refused to get up early for anything other than a good fight or a fuck, so you liked the treadmill. Yes, it was boring as hell. But you could also run at noon without getting a sunburn. You plugged your IPod into the speaker near the door and loaded up the most energizing playlist you had- lots of fast, heavy beat and aggressive lyrics.
You pounded out 3 miles on the treadmill and then stretched extensively. You hit the weights, stretched some more, did squats and push-ups till you lost count and then jumped back on the treadmill. The music thumping out of the speaker was almost enough to cover the sound of the bunker door slamming open, but not quite. You were just able to make-out Dean's joyous shout of- "Pack it up, assholes, we have a case!"
The tension that you had been completely unable to work out of your body by beating it into submission disappeared immediately. Laser focus settled in and you smiled. Just what you all needed. Here's hoping for a fight.
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It served you right.
You'd been hoping for a fight.
You'd been praying for something to let you all blow off a little steam.
You'd been hopelessly unprepared.
You were outnumbered. Outclassed. Out-gunned. And out of time.
The four of you had rolled up in the Impala. Fed-suits on and ready to investigate a large string of disappearances. And you'd spilled out right in the middle of a boiling turf-war between a gang of demons and the biggest nest of vampires you'd ever seen in your life.
To your immense mortification and certain embarrassment, you'd been kidnapped before any of you had time to say "holy water" and the demons had held you hostage in the middle of an abandoned warehouse (of course. It wouldn't make any sense to take a hostage to say, a yacht club or a health retreat) in order to try to draw the Winchester brothers into the melee. Which is how come you were on the other side of the fighting from the boys and had been unable to warn them not to involve Cas.
The demons had an end game. You didn't know the exact particulars, but you knew that it didn't have anything to do with taking an Arizona college town away from some two-bit vampires. The demons needed an angel. And they needed one that heaven wasn't going to knock over any chess pieces to get back. This wasn't about you. It wasn't about Tempe and it wasn't even about the Winchesters. It was about Cas. And loathe though you were to admit it, it wasn't actually a bad plan.
Sam and Dean were relatively predictable when it came to all things damsel. They'd be motivated to get you back unharmed, and they'd call in whatever nuclear capability was necessary to ensure that that happened. Which is why you were not surprised at all surprised to see the three lead singers in Team Free Will's boy band come bursting through the ranks clear across the room from where you were tied and gagged. Furious though you were at having been cast in the roll of damsel-in-distress, you had to admit that looking at the four of you, you definitely gave off the most "wounded antelope" vibe. Even if the demons had had to strip you of more guns, knives and holy water than a Buffy convention.
You tried to make some noise. You tried to pray to Cas, to tell him to watch his back and get himself out of there. You would have tried interpretive dance, but you were bound pretty tightly, wrists and ankles immobilized, so you just had to stand there helplessly, and watch the chaos unfold.
There were about twenty demons standing in between you and the boys. Unfortunately, these weren't your run of the mill lackey demons. These were highly weaponized demons. Foot soldiers with all the training and artillery that went along with that. Standing directly in front of you were two large male soldiers that had guns in their hands and knives long enough to be called swords strapped across their backs.
There was approximately 2.5 seconds of complete silence when your boys first burst into the room. And then there was an absolute explosion of sound. Gun shots, shouting, the sounds of wood splintering and glass breaking. And then screaming. You tried to follow everything that was happening. You couldn't even see Sam anymore, and Dean had given up on the gun and was hacking his way through a crowd of demons with the angel blade. You searched frantically for Castiel, still praying with everything you had to try to get his attention. The door behind you opened, and more demons poured into the room. This was it. This was how you were going to die.
And then, blessed silence. You widened your eyes. You could still see the battle raging all around you, but it was like, someone had suddenly muted the movie. You could hear your breathing- harsh around the gag still in your mouth. And then a bright light touched your face, and you tilted your eyes into the warm, calming brightness.
And then, suddenly, there was a warm, smiling voice in your head.
"Heya, Kiddo. Need to borrow your desktop for a minute to save your boyfriend's sweet ass. What do you say?"
You didn't recognize the voice, but you did recognize the feeling of an angelic presence. You didn't even have to really think about it. The silence was still deafening, so you heard yourself loud and clear when you yelled out, "Yes!"
Sam didn't need an omniscient narrator to tell him that they were in deep shit. They had severely underestimated the number of demons that they were dealing with, but when your informant was a vampire snitch, shit like that happens.
Sam had seen you briefly, tied to a column and gagged when they'd first blown the door off its hinges. But then the chaos had exploded outward. He'd lost sight of Cas, lost sight of Dean, and was currently relying on instinct and adrenalin to keep from being buried by the tide of demons that had thrown themselves forward. But something was wrong.
It didn't take a genius to figure out that ending the Winchesters was not the end game here. Every single demon that he cut down was armed with at least one firearm, and yet, as far as Sam could tell, the only one actually firing a weapon in the warehouse was Dean. Sam dodged a swinging knife and rolled himself forward, coming back up onto his feet and swinging his own blade, backhanded, and planting it hilt-deep into the chest of yet another demon.
But if the demons were being careful, that begged the question, why?
"SAM!" Dean bellowed his name from across the room. Sam dodged another swing and cast his eyes around, trying to locate his brother. He still couldn't see Dean, but his eyes landed on Cas. He had made his way almost all the way across the room, but he was moving slowly now. Something was very wrong.
Sam flung holy water at two more demons and then took advantage of their distraction to make a run for Cas. He hadn't even crossed twenty feet when he watched him get swarmed completely. And then it became clear. It was a trap. They'd known that much. But the trap wasn't for him. And it wasn't for Dean. It was for Cas.
The demons slammed a set of silver manacles down onto Cas' wrists and his knees buckled, and before either of the Winchesters could do anything about it, he was dragged backwards through the door. That was when the gunfire started.
It seemed that there was no longer any reason to be careful.
But then, a high, clear, achingly familiar voice rang out across the room. It echoed from the corners, and bounced off the ceiling.
"Alright boys, CLOSE THOSE EYES!"
Sam and Dean knew better than to question a command like that. They'd worked with Castiel long enough and Pamela's fate was burned into their brains in a permanent kinda way. And they trusted you. They squeezed their eyes shut.
Even with his eyes shut, the blindingly white light seared Sam's retinas right through his eyelids. The ground shook and the thunderous noise rose to a deafening pitch. Sam was tossed off of his feet and he had to work to keep his eyes shut as he hit the ground on all fours.
And then there was nothing. The light faded and once the ringing in his ears went away, he heard it. Y/N's voice.
"Alright, open 'em up kiddos, and hurry up about it. Sam, your doll baby here is not pimped-out to be an archangels ride."
"Gabriel?" Dean recovered first. He was on his feet and crossing the room, clambering over fallen demons before Sam could even get to his feet.
"The one and only, bucko."
"Get out of her!" Sam growled. His voice was low and wrecked. He sounded feral, even to himself. "You're gonna burn her out, get out!"
"Hey, hey!" Gabriel held Y/N's hands up in front of her in a placating gesture. "The damage has been done already, sweetie-pie. She said yes, and let me in. She took the bullet for you. You might as well let me pass along a message before I vacate. Keep your trap shut and let me get this out."
Dean threw his arms around Sam's chest and physically held him back.
"Listen. Clearly, you've noticed that this wasn't ever about you. And it wasn't about Y/N, here."
"They were after Cas." Dean's voice cracked on Cas' name, and Sam suddenly felt horrible for not being able to get to him sooner.
"Right-o. Listen. There's a war on. A war for hell. Your buddy Crowley is one front of a three sided offensive that is raging down in hell to declare top dog and piss on the throne. But the other sides are playing dirty. Intelligence up in Heaven knew they were out for an angel. And nobody knows why, but they need him alive."
Sam shook his head. It was hard to listen to Gabriel talking out of your mouth, using your voice and still puzzle through the implications of what was being said. All he could think about was the burned out shells that he knew got left behind- the drooling, wrecked pieces of humanity like the ones that Raphael had left behind him. Luckily, he and Dean were a team, and Dean was picking up the slack and asking the important questions. He tuned back in just in time to hear Gabriel say-
"Ok. So, I'm afraid there has been quite a bit of damage in here already- not getting the security deposit back, if you know what I mean. Nobody's fault, she wasn't really properly prepared for this. I'm going to do what I can when I leave. But listen- I'm not corporeal yet. I don't have a vessel. I'm working on it, but I'm real weak and slagging your demonic playmates here has really taken the wind outta my sails. It's going to take some time. If you want to see Cas' alive you've got to get him back, on your own and post-haste, like. Yesterday, if you catch my drift. When I do make it back down there, dirt-side, I promise I'll do everything I can to patch-up Sammy's playboy bunny here."
Sam growled and lunged, but Dean slammed his hand down over Sam's eyes and squeezed his own shut. Every remaining lightbulb in the room blew, leaving them in near complete darkness.
When they opened their eyes again, Y/N was lying on the floor, motionless, eyes closed and face still. The only light in the room was trickling in from the dirty windows near the ceiling. But it was enough. Sam watched her chest rise and fall. He was by her side before he even consciously considered moving. Calling her name softly. Shaking a shoulder, patting the side of her face.
"Come on, Y/N, wake up!"
Dean knelt down next to him, and Sam looked up into his eyes. His expression was hard, his mouth pressed into a line. Nothing to relate the look on his face to the tears that were running down his dusty cheeks. Sam wanted to apologize for failing to save Cas. He wanted to say he was sorry. He wanted to tell Dean that it wasn't his fault either, but he couldn't say any of those things.
Because you were right there in front of him. And you might never wake up again.