Strength

by Littlefish

One Shot-Dean struggles to deal with the aftermath of his run-in with Alastair.

DISCLAIMER: Don't own them, just enjoy them.

ONE-SHOT-Set after Season 4 episode "On The Head Of A Pin"

Dean struggles to deal with the aftermath of his run-in with Alastair.

The hotel wasn't the worst they had ever stayed in. There were stains in the threadbare carpet, the paint was pealing in rough patches near the ceiling, and the one big window overlooking the parking lot was smudged and grimy. The tap in the bathroom had a continual drip and the whole place smelled faintly of old, stale cigarette smoke. Still, the sheets on the bed where clean and crisp, the tv came with a full array of channels, and a small fridge hummed quietly on the dresser in the corner. All in all, it wasn't half bad, and ten times better than the small hospital room that had been Dean's last place of residence only a few short days prior.

Eyeing the prescription pain-killer bottle on the nightstand, Dean opted instead for the Ibuprofen bottle buried in the first aid kit next to the fridge. Popping open the lid he spilled three pills into his palm before heading into the bathroom to fill his glass with water from the tap. Downing the pills in one swallow he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, grimacing at the purple and yellow bruises marring his features. No wonder Sam winced every time he looked at him, his face was a mess. Dull green eyes stared back at him, and Dean found himself frowning at his reflection. His eyes looked empty. Empty of emotion, of hope and strength…empty of life.

Grimacing, he flipped off the bathroom light, hiding the troubling image. Walking to the nearest bed, he sank down on the side, rolling his shoulders in an effort to ease the constant ache that had settled between his shoulder blades. He glanced toward the remote on the nightstand. Daytime television sucked, but if it helped to numb his mind…helped even a few moments to pass without having to think…it would be worth it.

It had been three weeks since his run-in with Alastair. Three weeks since the demon had left him broken and bleeding on the basement floor. Much of the first week was lost to Dean as he had drifted in and out of consciousness at St. Mary's Hospital, the painkillers and other drugs pumping into him through his IV keeping him blissfully unaware of his surroundings. But as his body began to heal, and as the doctors began slowly weaning him from the drugs, it had become harder and harder to hide from the memories. Alastair's words played through his head over and over, like tiny knives slashing and tearing, relentless and unavoidable, leaving Dean wondering who had really tortured who in that cold basement room. His nightmares of hell, which had never fully left him before, returned full force, turning his nights into restless tossing as he desperately sought escape.

But there was no escape. Never any escape. Not from the nightmares, not from the never-ending echo of Alastairs words, not from the pain and guilt…not from the truth.

Dean dug his palms into his eyes, rubbing roughly in an attempt to drive all thought from his mind. He was glad Sam was gone, glad his brother was out grabbing some much needed supplies and wouldn't be back for at least an hour. The solitude allowed him to drop the façade he fought so gallantly to keep in place whenever his brother was present. Sam had been especially vigilant lately, his eyes following Dean's every move, his forehead creased with doubt every time Dean answered "I'm fine" to his brother's question of how he was doing. He knew Sam wasn't fooled by the front he put up, but he couldn't help but try anyway. It was painful to realize that Sam no longer saw him as the strong and fearless hunter he had once been. Ever since Dean had revealed what had happened to him in the pit, the dynamics of their relationship had begun to shift. More and more often Sam was stepping into the position of protector while Dean merely tried to hold it together. The whole situation was so incredibly wrong, so contrary to everything Dean was and ever had been, and he hated the change. He hated the fact that his weakness was on full display for his brother, but he felt utterly helpless to do anything about it.

With a heavy sigh Dean fell backward on the bed, allowing his thoughts to linger for a moment on his brother. Sam had changed drastically since Dean's trip down under, and he couldn't help but blame himself for that as well. He knew how hard things had been for Sam with his absence, how the loneliness and grief must have torn at his brother. He couldn't really blame Sam for taking the actions he had. Still, Dean found himself missing the old Sam, the kind and gentle natured hunter who would go out of his way to comfort a grieving stranger. The new Sam was intense. There was really no other way to describe it. Cold, hard, and intense…driven by an unyielding determination that reminded Dean of the way his father had been during his hunt for the yellow eyed demon. Dean wasn't sure he liked the changes he saw in his brother, and yet at the same time he couldn't help but be grateful that his brother seemed to have a newfound strength. There was no doubt that Sam would need it in the days to come if he were to survive what was coming.

Dean shook his head, knowing where his current line of thought would leave him. He raised one arm to rub at the sudden knot forming in his chest, right above his heart. The knot only tightened, forcing bile into the back of his throat. He tried to swallow away the sudden sour taste that was only too familiar to him. It was the taste of his shame and guilt, of his failure, and he knew he would never be rid of it.

With a small snarl Dean sat up and reached for the remote, ignoring the sharp complaints from his battered body, intent on drowning himself in mindless t.v. Shifting on the bed to face the set, he let out a startled curse and dropped the remote to the carpeted floor. Closing his eyes and clenching his jaw, he ground out, "I wish you would stop doing that!"

Standing at the foot of the bed, looking for all the world as though he had been there for hours instead of mere seconds, stood Castiel. The angel cocked his head slightly to one side, his intense brown eyes focused on Dean's face. He had a way of staring at Dean that made the hunter extremely uncomfortable, as if Castiel could read his every thought and emotion.

"We need to talk," Castiel said simply.

Dean grimaced and reached up a hand to rub at his jaw. This was the last thing he needed right now and he couldn't help the spike of annoyance that shot through him. "I thought we already said everything that needed to be said." he growled, "Unless, of course, you have another job for me? Captured yourself another demon you would like me to interrogate?" The words came out sounding hard and bitter, but Dean couldn't bring himself to care. He was tired, so very tired, and he wished the angels would just leave him the hell alone.

Castiel's expression never changed, but his eyes dropped for just a moment, a shadow a regret flashing briefly in his eyes. "I never should have made you do that, Dean," he said simply, his gaze returning to Dean. "I was wrong, and for that I am sorry."

"Sorry?" Dean let out a harsh laugh and turned his back on the angel, his fists clenched at his sides. "Sorry doesn't even begin to cut it, Cas."

"I know," was the only response.

Dean clenched his jaw and rolled his shoulders, fighting down his anger and annoyance. Normally, he wouldn't have hesitated to pick a fight with the angle, but he just didn't have the energy to extend the effort. Silence dragged on for several long seconds before Dean finally turned back to Cas with a small sigh. "You said you wanted to talk," he prompted wearily. "I'm listening."

Cas motioned toward the hotel room door. "There's a park a few blocks down the street, perhaps we could take a walk?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and reached for his jacket slung out across the opposite bed. He wasn't particularly keen on taking a walk…his bruised and battered face caused all sorts of stares…but some fresh air did sound nice, and he knew better than to hope that Cas would just give up and go away. Swinging his arms into his jacket and ignoring the slight twinge from his bruised ribs, he motioned Cas to lead the way.

Taking a deep breath as they stepped from the hotel room, Dean noticed the smell of moisture heavy in the air. To the West, the afternoon sun was already partially hidden by growing storm clouds, and a crisp breeze carried with it the promise of coming rain. Flipping the collar up on his jacket and shrugging deeper into its warmth, Dean began walking briskly toward the park. Cas walked beside him, saying nothing and seeming completely oblivious to the chill in the air. Dean wondered idly if Cas would react at all if his trench coat were on fire. They walked on in silence, Cas not talking and Dean not pushing him. He wasn't exactly eager to hear what the angel had to say. It wasn't hard to guess what the topic of conversation was likely to be.

It took them less than ten minutes to get to the park, and though Dean would have died before admitting it, the walk left him feeling weary and slightly out of breath, a sure sign that his body was nowhere near being back to normal. Bruised and cracked ribs took a while to heal. Even though he said nothing about his discomfort, Castiel steered them to a wooden bench overlooking a small playground. The impending rain had driven most of the children indoors, but a few die-hard kids continued to play, casting surly glares at the building storm clouds.

Dean sank gratefully down on the hard bench, his right arm coming up to cradle his aching ribs without him consciously realizing it. He caught Cas watching him from out of the corner of his eye and quickly dropped his arm into his lap. "I'm fine." he growled, the response almost automatic after days of Sam's hovering attention.

Cas returned his gaze to the playground, not immediately responding, but after a few seconds of silence he murmured. "I don't think so."

"What exactly is that supposed to mean," Dean shot back, feeling his anger beginning to rise to the surface once again.

Cas's gaze snapped back to his, an intensity in his eyes that took Dean completely off guard. "Your body may be healing," Cas said simply, "your physical form well on its way to a full recovery, but to say you are fine…" He hesitated briefly before finishing softly, "that's a stretch, even for you."

Not quite sure how to respond, Dean wrenched his eyes away from Cas and watched a small boy attempt to swing across the monkey bars. He felt extremely uncomfortable under the angel's scrutiny, bare and revealed in ways that made him want to run and hide. "What does it matter to you, anyway?" he growled, clenching and unclenching his fists in his lap, needing some way to release the pent up energy that seemed to be growing by the second inside of him.

"It does matter to me," Cas replied simply. "Dean, I know how you must be feeling…"

Dean cut the angel off with a sharp slash to the air, turning on the bench to face Cas once more, his features hard. "Do you!?" he demanded harshly. "Do you really, Cas?"

"I know what Alastair told you," Castiel spoke softly, apparently unconcerned by Dean's growing anger. "And I know what it must be doing to you. The anger, despair and guilt that is eating away at you…"

Dean stood abruptly, cutting the angel off once more. He turned back toward the hotel, every intention to leave Cas where he sat and return to the room. He SO did not need to deal with this crap!

"He deceived you Dean." The softly spoken words froze Dean in his tracks.

Dean turned to face the angel, every muscle tense, wanting nothing more than to hit Cas in his super calm face. "No," he ground out. "No, he didn't. What he told me about my father, about being the first seal…that wasn't a lie. You told me so yourself!"

"It wasn't a lie," Castiel confirmed, also rising to face Dean head on. "It just wasn't the whole truth."

Dean closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "What are you talking about?" he growled. "What more truth is there to know? They broke me…broke the seal. I started the apocalypse. Can't see how there is much more to know about that!"

Cas shook his head slowly, his eyes shining with a deep sadness. "You blame yourself" he said softly, "you think you were weak…."

"I don't think, I know I was weak." Dean bit out, his body beginning to tremble with the force of the emotions flowing through him. "Alastair told me my father lasted a hundred years in hell without breaking. One hundred years, Cas, and I barely lasted thirty..." He broke off, suddenly unable to continue past the emotion building in his throat. The image of his father suddenly rose in his mind's eye, John's face twisted in a grimace of disappointment and disgust, his father's shaggy head shaking back and forth with shame at the weakness of his oldest son. Legs suddenly weak, Dean sank back to the bench, his head in his hands, trying desperately to reign in the emotions that threatened to break from him like water from a dam. He felt Cas' presence as the angel sat back down beside him, but Dean refused to look at him, frustrated that once again his weakness was on display for all to see.

"Dean, what I came to tell you is not easy to explain, but it is very important that you understand." Cas spoke quietly, a gentle urgency in his tone that was impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, Dean lifted weary eyes to meet the angel's gaze, signaling without words that he was listening.

"What Alastair told you about your father was true," Cas stated simply. "He did last 100 years in hell. But what you need to know is that the hell that your father experienced was very different than the hell that you experienced."

Dean shook his head. "Make some sense, Cas," he whispered. "Are you seriously trying to tell me that there is more than one hell?"

"Only one hell," Cas replied, "merely different experiences within that hell."

"Different experiences?" Dean repeated tiredly, not sure he understood where Cas was going with this. "What are you talking about? Why does this even matter?

"It matters." Cas replied firmly. "Hell is a place of fear and pain, isolation and loneliness, darkness and despair. Those souls trapped there begin to loose all sense of self. The longer they are there, the more they take on the dark taint of what surrounds them. It changes them, pollutes them." Cas paused, his eyes locked on Dean with the same intensity as before. "This change is not quick, Dean. The exact time frame is different for each soul, but the basic process is the same, and it takes place over hundreds of years."

Dean growled something low in his throat, his hands rising to rub at his temples, a headache slowly growing behind his eyes. "Thanks for the Hell 101 lesson, Cas, but in case you forgot, I was there. I am well aware of the workings of that dark pit."

Cas shook his head. "That's my point," he stated firmly. "You are not well aware of the typical workings of hell, because what you experienced in hell was anything but typical."

Dean dropped his hands to stare at Castiel, one eyebrow quirked up in question. "What the hell are you talking about, Castiel?" He asked softly. "What exactly is that suppose to mean…?"

Cas leaned forward, his blue eyes locked with Dean's, his hands clasped tightly between his legs. "What you went through down there," he stated, the intensity in his voice matching that in his eyes, "the non-stop torture every second of every day…the personal attention of hell's chief tormentor…the mental and emotional manipulation-none of that was typical, even for hell! It was unique to you, Dean. You could say you were given hell's VIP treatment!"

Dean rocked back on the bench, Cas' words hitting him almost like a physical blow. He slowly shook his head, his mind refusing to fully comprehend the enormity of what he was hearing. For several long moments he could only stare at Cas, trying to process all that he had heard. A part of him wondered if the angel was lying, if Cas wasn't just the next in a long precession of those trying to manipulate him. And yet somehow, he didn't think so. There had always been something different about Cas, an honesty and openness that set him apart from all the other angels Dean had met. In the few instances when Cas had been trying to keep something from him, Dean had always been able to tell. There would be something in Castiel's face, or in the way he would refuse to meet Dean's eyes. Yet Dean sensed none of that now. Cas' words had been sincere and passionate, and Dean was suddenly filled with the certain conviction that the angel was telling the truth. And yet what was he supposed to do with this new knowledge? What exactly did it mean? "Why?" It was all he was able to choke out past the overwhelming emotion building deep in his chest.

"You know why," Cas responded simply. "You were the first seal. Alastair knew he needed to break you, and he wasn't willing to wait hundreds of years for it to happen."

Dean continued to slowly shake his head, still not sure he was fully ready to accept all that he had heard.

"That still doesn't explain why me, Cas? Why me? Why was I chosen as the first seal?"

For the first time, Castiel's gaze wavered as he dropped his eyes to the hands clasped in his lap. "I don't know," he said softly, shaking his head. "I wish I had an answer for you Dean, but I honestly do not know. I only know that it is you, and that it always had to be. I know you do not believe in fate, in destiny, but…" Cas trailed off, lifting his hands, palms up, in a slight shrug.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Dean asked, his voice coming out deep and rough with emotion.

Cas glanced his direction, a sad smile playing at the corners of his lips. "When we were at the hospital, you told me you were not strong enough, that we would need to find someone else." Cas shook his head. "There is no one else, Dean, and certainly no one who is as strong as you. You just don't realize it."

Dean looked away, unable to keep the sudden moisture from filling his eyes and not wanting the angel to see it. "I still broke, Cas," he whispered, fighting to sort through the mixed up feelings assaulting his brain. "I still got down off that rack, still tortured other souls, still broke the first seal…" Dean had to stop, swallowing hard to clear his throat of the raw emotion that always threatened to overwhelm him when he allowed his mind to dwell too long on what he had done.

Cas let out a soft laugh, his eyes cast down toward his lap. "When my brothers and I entered hell to rescue you, when we heard what was happening to you, what Alastair was doing…we knew you would break. It wasn't a matter of if, only of when." Castiel paused, his head slowly rising to meet Dean's gaze once more. "Most of us believed it would be only a matter of a few years, certainly less then ten, for you to give in to Alastair. None of us…none…expected you to last for thirty years." He slowly shook his head, his features transforming into something close to awe as he intently studied Dean's face. "You more than doubled any of our greatest expectations, and none of us understood how exactly you were able to do that!"

Dean found himself unable to reply, his gaze locked to that of the angel's, unaware that he was holding his breath.

Cas continued on. "Just look at your life, Dean, look at what you have experienced. All the struggles, the loss, the pain…and I'm not even counting what happened to you in hell. Most people who experience the trials you have end up lost in the bottom of a bottle, or else end their pain with a gun to the head. And yet, not you. You just keep going, keep fighting, despite everything. Do you have any idea what kind of strength that shows?"

Dean shook his head, ready to tell Cas that he was wrong. It wasn't strength that kept him going, it was desperation. Desperation to protect his brother, to live up to his father's expectations, to find some way to atone for what he had done. The words stuck in his throat, though, and he couldn't bring himself to speak. His mind was too full of what Castiel had told him. Part of him was desperate to believe what Cas was saying, that somehow the angel was right, that despite everything he felt, he really was strong.

"Alastair told me he tortured my father same as me…that he offered him the same deal…?"

"He lied." Cas stated simply. "He is not hell's master tormentor for no reason. He knew exactly what he needed to say to you to wound you the most. He knew how you feel about your father, how much you admire him and how much you desire to live up to his name. Alastair was playing with your emotions, trying to make you feel weak and worthless."

Dean nodded his head, accepting the truth of that statement as though he had always known it.

They're scared of you, you know?" Cas continued, his eyes focused on the growing storm clouds that were slowly swallowing the late afternoon light, casting everything into a deep gloom. Out on the playground, the last kids had finally given up and were beginning to trudge toward home. Dean cast a questioning look toward the angel, but Cas' gaze never left the clouds as he continued. "The demons are afraid of you, afraid of what you might be capable of if you ever realized your true strength. That is why they fight so hard to find you, to destroy you. And if they can't destroy you, they will seek to weaken you through despair."

Dean let out a small sigh and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "If that's true, why did you wait until now to tell me?"

The angel pulled his gaze from the clouds to glance quickly in Dean's direction. "I did not tell you this before because I was forbidden to," he stated simply.

"Forbidden?" Dean arched an eyebrow. "Why on earth would the angels want to keep this from me?"

Cas let out a mirthless laugh. "They are not too keen on you realizing your full strength either. They seem to think it will make you more…difficult.

Dean let out a soft snort "Difficult? Difficult to manipulate, is that what you mean? They didn't want me feeling strong because it would make me harder to manipulate, isn't that it?"

Cas merely looked at him, neither confirming or denying his statement.

"So what made them change their mind?" Dean asked casually.

Cas winced, as though Dean's question had touched on a raw nerve. He looked away, one hand idly playing with a button on his coat. After a few moments of silence he finally answered, "they didn't."

Dean frowned in confusion, then his eyes widened with sudden understanding. "They don't know you are here." It was not a question but a statement, and the look on Cas' face only confirmed Dean's statement.

"So why?" Dean asked, arching one eyebrow. "Why break the rules to tell me all this?"

Cas shrugged, his frown suddenly turning into a small smile. "Because I know you," he stated wryly. "you're going to be difficult one way or the other."

Dean couldn't stop a small smile at the mixture of exasperation and admiration in the angel's tone. He merely lifted one shoulder in a small shrug.

Cas grew serious once more. "Your facing the fight of your life, Dean. You and your brother. Things are just getting started. I don't know what the future holds, I don't know what is going to come of all this, but I do know one thing." He paused, his gaze locking on Dean, his body shifting forward slightly. "I know that you are a fighter…a warrior. I know you are strong! You may deny it now, but I believe you will find your strength again. You will not give up. You will continue to fight, because that is who you are."

Dean frowned, slowly shaking his head, the motion not a denial of the angel's words, but a sign that he was still trying to process all he had been told. He looked away from Cas, his gaze scanning the abandoned play ground, his thumbs absently tapping out a slow rhythm against the tops of his thighs. He knew there was truth to what Cas had told him. Despite everything that had happened, despite the pain and despair that had threatened to swallow him, he had never really considered the possibility of giving up. Dean had always known that he would continue to fight, continue to hunt. Whether his actions were driven by desperation or strength, the end result would be the same. He would go down fighting. There was no other option, never had been.

"Remember your strength, Dean." Castiel said softly. "It is your greatest and most formidable weapon." He waited until Dean met his gaze before giving a small nod and rising from the bench. "I need to go before they miss me," he said simply, and with that, he was gone.

Dean blinked his eyes several times before shaking his head and turning back to stare at the silent playground. His mind was full of what Cas had told him, his brain replaying the conversation over and over again. He was just now starting to comprehend the enormity of it all. He knew the information didn't really change anything. It didn't undo what he had done in hell, didn't change what was coming, the danger that he and his brother were now facing. It shouldn't really matter.

And yet it did. It mattered in ways that even Dean couldn't fully comprehend. For the longest time he had felt like a cracked vase, the pieces of his tattered soul only a strong breeze away from being shattered and scattered to the wind. What Cas had told him felt something like glue. He knew he would never be fully whole again, never completely fixed, but for the first time in a long time he felt like he could hold it together. It seemed that he was able to breath a little easier, the heavy weight on his shoulders, while not gone, at least a little lighter.

Remember your strength, Dean. The angels words seemed to hang in the air as the first stinging rain drops from the storm finally arrived on a chill gust of wind. Rising slowly from the bench, Dean tilted his chin up, lifting his face into the wet caress of the storm. He stood like that for several long moments before finally whispering, "Thanks Cas."

Then, with small smile he turned and began the walk back toward the hotel.