Summary: Sam knew he had crossed some kind of line. He knew it but given the choice again, he would do the same damn thing. For Dean, he'd do it a hundred times over.
This is my version of what drove Sam to take that very first drink of demon blood. Set mid-season 4 so forget the past 7 years of canon and take your mind back to the weeks after Dean was pulled from Hell. Back when he was struggling to cope and when Sam was heading down a dark path driven by a thirst for revenge against Lillith, practicing demon-pulling with Ruby and keeping secrets from his brother. Plenty of hurt!Dean and Angsty!Sam.
Author's Note / Set-up: This is canon-based (set between 'Criss Angel is a Douche Bag' and 'After-School Special') and is a sequel to my first story 'Stones Unturned' but you can probably get by without reading that one if you really wanted to skip it because Sam and Dean and their situation is all canon (of course it would be better to read the other one first as a couple of OC's are introduced in that one, Josh and Alex, but any relevant parts about their backstory will be explained here as needed). This story has OC's but is still mostly about Sam and Dean. It also has Bobby, Cas, Ruby, and Pamela. Hope you enjoy!
CHAPTER 1 - Prologue
63 BC, Mesopotamia
Lucan stood on the crest of the hill looking down on the encampment, watching his soldiers scurrying around, tearing down tents and packing wagons. He found it amusing how they managed to break camp considerably faster when the orders were to return to Rome with no expectations of battle in their path.
This war with Parthia had taken a heavy toll on the army, on Lucan's legion in particular. Renowned for their gruesome battle charge, they were often placed in the front wave. There were eighteen wagons alone to carry out the wounded, many of whom were not expected to survive the long trip home.
Home! Lucan smiled at the thought of his humble quarters in the depths of his beloved city of Rome. Of his cheery wife, her hearty stew, and her warm bed. Home would be a welcome change from the tired army rations and cold nights he had been living with for almost two years.
He turned to head back down towards camp. He had no doubts the legion commander would be looking for him by now, his patience at Lucan's frequent wanderings having grown somewhat thin these past few months. He stopped short when he noticed a strange man in his path, standing still and staring at him with a rather blank expression.
Upon closer inspection, Lucan realized the man was actually not much more than a boy and he was not wearing a soldier's tunic or armour. It must be a lad from one of the local villages... though the young man's soft and almost feminine features did not support that assumption.
"Who are you?" he demanded with the tone of authority he usually reserved for his men.
"I am Castiel," the young man said. His voice was rich and smooth and he spoke fluently in Lucan's own tongue with no hint of intimidation or fear. "I am an Angel of the Lord."
Lucan's eyes grew wide and he took a step back before catching himself. Silently cursing his startled reaction, he narrowed his eyes at the stranger. "What village are you from, boy?" he demanded, deciding he was simply being disrespected by a local farmer. Because why would an Angel of God be talking to him?
"I am indeed who I say I am, Lucan. I assure you, you need not be afraid."
He couldn't be certain, but Lucan thought he saw a hint of shadow behind the boy, forming briefly the silhouette of giant feathered wings. He found himself believing the mysterious stranger's claim. Somehow he simply knew it to be the truth.
"Am I dead then?" he asked meekly. He was a very devout man and did not fear death but had rather hoped to see his wife once more before leaving this world.
"No. I was sent here to bestow a great responsibility upon you."
"Sent? By…." Lucan left the sentence hanging.
"By God. I have an important task for you. The Parthian forces are in possession of a medallion," Castiel began with no further preamble. "This medallion must not reach the hands of Tigranes, their King, as he will undoubtedly pass it on to enemies of The Lord, those who serve Lucifer." The angel spoke evenly and without emotion, as if he was simply recounting the legion's daily inventory log to a subordinate. "If they gain possession of the medallion, much pain and suffering could be unleashed on all of mankind."
Lucan tried to absorb the monumental information and keep breathing at the same time, a task that was surprisingly difficult. After a moment, he managed to get a grip on his composure. "What would you have me do, My Lord?" he asked, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.
Castiel looked pleased, his mouth turning up slightly at the corners in the barest hint of a smile on his young face. "Two of Tigranes' most loyal servants are traveling not far from here, taking the Medallion of Eridu to their leader."
Lucan's eyes lit up. "My Lord! There is no need to worry! We have won the battle in this land and peace is afoot. Tigranes' soldiers have all been ordered to disarm. Surely they will be captured by the Roman army and the medallion retrieved."
"I am not entrusting the retrieval of the medallion to the Roman army, Lucan. I am entrusting it to you. Who you serve here on Earth's plane does not concern me. I chose you because you serve the Lord first." Castiel was still staring at the soldier, rarely blinking. "Besides, these men will not be dressed as soldiers and will be crossing the Diyala River by nightfall so you must make haste."
"You want me to intercept them and retrieve the medallion?" Lucan spoke hesitantly.
Castiel didn't seem to notice and continued unfazed. "Yes. But Lucan, tread carefully. They are not servants of Tigranes but are loyal only to Lucifer himself, who would have all of mankind, Romans and Parthians alike, suffer endlessly should we allow it."
"Surely no man would betray his own kind and bring such suffering to his people?"
"They are not men. They are demons, released from the bowels of Hell with no other purpose or desire than to complete this task. You will have to use particular methods and types of weapons to defeat them."
Demons? Lucan swallowed, feeling a hint of panic rising within him.
"Should you not be carrying out this task then?" he asked. "Surely My Lord doesn't think I am worthy of such an endeavor!"
Castiel sighed. "Alas, as a Soldier of Heaven, I am unable to complete this undertaking. We too have our limitations. And if I did not believe you worthy, Lucan, I would not be standing here now."
Honour. He should be feeling honour. And pride. Not fear.
Lucan straightened his back, his hand grasping tightly around the hilt of his sword. "I'll do my best, My Lord Castiel. I shall bring this medallion to you or die trying."
The angel gazed at him thoughtfully, a vaguely sad expression on his young face. "I'm afraid the burden is much heavier than that," he said after a pause. "I must entrust its safekeeping to you and to your sons and daughters after you. It must never be known who has this powerful token and it must never, ever be found by those who serve Lucifer." His voice grew sterner for the next statement. "This duty I am bestowing upon you must take precedence over anything else you will ever know, feel, or do. Am I making myself clear?"
Lucan nodded slowly in understanding. More important than his life, his family, and his beloved Rome.
"I am sorry," Castiel apologized suddenly, looking away for a brief second with what appeared to be guilt, "to ask this sacrifice of you and all those who follow you, but we have been given no choice."
"Very well, My Lord. Tell me where I find these demons and what I need do."
SPN-SPN-SPN
January 17, 2009…
Dean's eyes were closed and his head was resting against the passenger side window as he waited in the Impala for Sam to pay for the gas and stock up on travel munchies from the fill-up station's convenience store. As usual, he was trying his hardest to rest and replenish his drained energy without actually succumbing to sleep. The job they were heading towards in Alabama was weak and most likely the work of pranksters, but it was all he had been able to find on short notice. He just wanted to keep moving, keep on the go.
Down time was not his friend these days. Not only did it give him too much time to dwell on his guilt and fear and relive the memories of his time in Hell, but it also gave Sam time to ponder the issue and build up the courage to try and talk to his older brother about it. Dean didn't want to talk about it.
At first, he had felt relief upon finally confiding in Sam about the horrific things he had done for Alistair. Some of the weight had been lifted from his tired shoulders. He had done it on a whim, encouraged by Anna's words of temporary comfort about having people he could open up to. It seemed saying the words out loud had allowed Sam to somehow lighten Dean's overwhelming burden of guilt over the countless souls he had tortured. But his brother's behavior afterwards had made Dean regret his selfish moment of sharing. The burden hadn't been lessened; part of it had just shifted from Dean's shoulders to Sam's.
Dean noticed things. At least things concerning Sam. He had spent that kid's whole life watching him, noticing him, even when he was pretending not to. The younger Winchester's face was pretty much an open book as far as Dean was concerned. After his admission, Sam's face began to show new lines of worry. His little brother had enough shit on his plate with the 'having-demon-blood-in-his-system' thing; Dean knew he shouldn't have added another generous helping of guilt. He was constantly feeling Sam's eyes on him when he wasn't looking, checking on him, worrying about him. That was his job, damnit - he was the big brother.
Or at least, he used to be.
It had been almost two months since Dean's first roadside confession. Two months of trying to keep on a hunt to avoid non-job related conversations. Then suddenly Dean had found himself in the midst of another impromptu 'share and care' moment and had admitted that not only had he tortured souls in Hell, but that he had liked it. Sam's reaction to this revelation was a little harder to read, but Dean couldn't help but think it was anger. Not directed at Dean but rather at Lillith. A renewed lust for vengeance gleamed in the younger hunter's hazel eyes. God, sometimes Sammy was so much like Dad. So Dean was trying to return to his old ways of masking his inner hurt but didn't hold any delusions that he had his brother fooled.
Dean's train of thought was interrupted by a sound from the driver's seat. Thinking Sam had returned, he squinted one eye open and turned his head slightly to get a glimpse of the shaggy-haired giant he called his brother. Only it wasn't Sam he saw sitting quietly in the seat next to him. It was Castiel.
Dean's eyes shot open and his fists instinctively clenched in his lap. He hadn't seen Castiel since the incident with Anna and had been convinced he had pissed the Big Guy off and been permanently removed from the official employee list.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, sitting up.
"Hello, Dean," said Castiel in his usual deep, unanimated voice. The greeting seemed friendly enough and Dean thought he saw a hint of a smile on the angel's face.
"Huh," he said gruffly, shaking the last of the sleepiness away. He looked warily at Castiel, who was sitting twisted in the seat to face him, his left hand resting on the steering wheel.
"Don't even think about driving this thing, Cas," he warned in an only half-teasing tone. "Winchesters only."
"I'm not interested in driving your car, Dean." Yes, this time it was definitely a smile. Well, half a smile, but that was the most he ever got from the angel anyway.
"What are you doing here then?" Dean asked for the second time.
"I have an important task for you."
Dean raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really?" he said skeptically. "'Cause I thought after the whole Anna thing, you and your kind were no longer in the Winchester fan club."
Castiel pursed his lips and gave a small sigh before continuing calmly. "You did what you thought was right. It is our hope, my hope, that you will learn to trust us."
"Start showing a little compassion and I might," Dean snapped. Getting no reaction from Cas but a slow blink, he continued. "So what happened to Anna anyway? She get away?"
"The matter is out of my hands," Castiel replied evenly.
"What does that mean?"
"Exactly what I said. It is not for me to decide. I don't know what will happen to her."
"Will happen?" Dean picked up. "So that means she's good for now?"
Another sigh. Done calmly, like impatience without the impatience. "I have work for you, Dean," he continued without answering the hunter's question. "Important work. A peace offering of sorts. It took some convincing on my part to persuade others that you were worthy of this task." The angel looked Dean in the eyes with a steady, unblinking gaze. "So tell me Dean, can I trust you?"
The question struck a chord within Dean. For reasons he couldn't quite define, he felt like he needed Castiel's approval. He had serious doubts that all angels were on the right side, or at least on the side of 'right'. He knew for a fact that Uriel wasn't anything like an angel was supposed to be. But Cas was different. Oh, he was still a dick with wings, but Dean had actually missed him popping up from time to time over the past two months.
Castiel was Dean's greatest evidence that his soul was not beyond redemption. For reasons unknown, Cas had believed the doomed hunter could help mankind and had saved him from Hell. Now, searching for the answer to the question the angel had just asked him, Dean realized that he badly wanted to prove himself worthy of that rescue. After all, if anyone was able to justify forgiveness of his sins - and there were now so very many to forgive - an Angel of the Lord would be the one to do it.
"Yes," he replied seriously, surprising himself a bit.
Castiel looked pleased. "Very well. I need you to go to Arkansas."
"Yeah? What's in Arkansas?"
"I need you to retrieve an artifact from the son of a priest."
"Artifact? Alright, I'll bite. What is this artifact and what's its importance to, uh, you know, your boss?" He pointed upwards.
"It's a medallion. And it is of almost unparalleled importance." Cas gave Dean a hard stare to get his point across.
"Unparalleled, huh?" Dean tried to curb his sarcasm. "And I'm supposed to believe you're trusting us with this after all that happened a couple of months ago?" he asked, unable to hide his suspicions.
"Your disobedience only seems to be a factor when you perceive a different view on what is the right thing to do. I do not believe this will be an issue for this task."
"Why's that?"
"The medallion must be kept safe from the hands of the enemy so it can't be used to open another seal on Lucifer's prison. We may disagree on some things, Dean, but we all agree that Lucifer must never walk free."
Dean nodded in understanding. "Okay, Cas. I'm in. Who's this priest?"
"Father Felix Smit passed away yesterday. His family has been entrusted with the safekeeping of the medallion for many generations. Unfortunately, he leaves behind only one son. This son is not worthy of this task, especially in these perilous times."
Dean did not miss the implication of Castiel's words. That he, Dean Winchester, was worthy. "Does he know the real value of the medallion?" he asked.
Cas shrugged. "We assume his father told him. He was, after all, in line to take over its safekeeping. But the faith of the young these days isn't what it should be and he is likely more concerned with its monetary value."
"You telling me this guy will sell it?" Dean arched an eyebrow.
Castiel didn't answer. Dean wondered briefly if the angel chose to just ignore some questions or mistook them for the rhetorical variety. Either way, it was damn annoying.
"OKay, so where in Arkansas are we going?" he asked.
"Loela. The medallion is gold with a green stone in its center. And Dean, I suggest you keep this between you and your brother."
With that, the angel and his 'vessel' vanished. His view unblocked, Dean's eyes flickered to the convenience store door where Sam was emerging carrying two plastic bags. He'd better not have forgotten my pie, he thought hungrily, scooting himself over into the driver's seat.
SPN-SPN-SPN