Disclaimer: I Do Not Own SUPERNATURAL, or any of the affiliated/associated characters; I just fanfic them.
Fanfiction Request
For: jerk-bitch23 [Tumblr]
Fandom: SUPERNATURAL
Pairing: Destiel
Notes/Specifics: None – free reign.
Alternate Universe/Timeline Fanfic.
The Shock of Striking Glass
~)0(~
For many a long moment, there was silence…
Horrified green eyes gazed across the room, incapable of comprehending what they saw, because the truth was far too painful to take in; and the lie brought comfort.
The trembling man in the doorway tried to say something to those within, but choked as a multitude of emotions threatened to spill out all at once; mouth falling open to gape in confused grief, before his trembling knees began to buckle under the weight of his exhausted body.
Try as he might, the older Winchester couldn't bring himself to form coherent sentences, and just grasped hold of the doorframe; somehow composing himself after many minutes, to sputter,"C-Cas…? What h-hap-… What?"
It didn't make sense, he'd only been gone for… for…
It had felt like only a few minutes; then again, time got real messed up when you tangled with a bunch of friggin' witches. Gah, those crazy bitches and their insane penchance for lizard toes, smelly goop and slinging batshit crazy spells at anyone who got in their way… why couldn't they just be frickin' Glinda the Good from Oz, for once? Why did they always come across the complete weirdoes who wanted to make him and Sammy into potion ingredients; eye of neutered, anyone…?
His hands were shaking, the threadbare carpet pressed painfully into his knees through the tears in his filthy, blood-stained, and slime-coated jeans -friggin' witches, no respect for other people's property, honestly. Still, the angel made no move to get up off the bed he sat on, nor did he seem to wish to come towards him… but the piercing blue eyes were watching him intently; it was as if everything inside the heavenly warrior had shut down. And the eyes facing the battered hunter were quite lifeless and terrifying to behold.
"Cas… I-… I need you to t-tell me what happened here, right… right now. I mean it. P-Please… you need to snap out of this, CAS!" his voice rose to a painful shriek of anguish, jarring the bruised ribcage hidden under his tattered green plaid shirt. A stoic grunt escaped, but the truth was - on a deep, dark level, it felt good; with all his emotions racing, having the certainty of pain filled a need to stay connected that he'd never realized he needed. The Sammy part of his brain was panicking, trying to tell him that this was not in any way a good thing… but he ignored it for now; if there was ever a moment when he didn't need his baby brother's voice in his head, it was now. Shaking himself back into the present moment, he stared intently at Cas, mentally pleading for the other to listen…
For all his shouting, the only reaction he received from the angel was a slow, unseeing blink… And then, a small shudder; his heart leapt slightly in response, maybe he was getting through. Just… maybe…
There was a long moment of nothing, just two people staring back at one another, unsure what the other was thinking. Dean's fists clenched of their own accord, the cool metal of his ring was icy against his flesh; he felt too hot, the room too small, his clothes too tight, like he couldn't breathe. Too quiet… too-…
A low, gravelly voice that sounded hoarse with emotion filled the space between them as the angel's eyes focused solely on his own, slamming into the man with the forced of Thor's hammer; clarity returned like a thunderbolt from the blue.
"Dean, I'm… I'm sorry… if I was still connected with Heaven I could… could reverse this, but…" he gestured to the battered body in his blood-stained arms. Despite the pounding ache starting to fill every inch of his body as the stress, fatigue, pain and now grief of the long day began to take its toll, Dean still felt the need to crawl over to the angel and hold him. Castiel looked every inch the child whose beloved pet had just passed on, and he wasn't sure how to feel…
Oh Chuck, did he just refer to baby Sammy as a pet?
No, it was an accurate analogy… Cas looked so lost, but he wasn't letting go of the younger Winchester anytime soon; he literally didn't seem to know how. The shadows behind him quivered, the full extension of his angelic wings flaring out behind him jerkily…
Dean knew that look, understood what the loyal idiot was about to attempt, and tried to stall for time, "Cas. Just-… Cas don't… you'll hurt yourself. Sammy wouldn't want that, you know that as well as I do. Just give me a minute, I'm coming to you…" he couldn't lose both of them in the same day. No matter how stoic he pretended he was, if that happened, it would break him.
With jerky movements, the older Winchester pushed himself off the garish purple-carpeted floor, leaning against the doorframe breathing heavily for a long moment before pushing off and shambling towards the bed. Of the two, it was the one furthest away… of course it was, Dean always made sure Sammy took the bed behind his, so that anything or anyone coming through the door in the middle of the night to kill them would go through him first.
There was a muted curse as he accidentally slammed a knee into the dinky, scarred, coffee table the room came with, while skirting around the first bed; sheets still rumpled from last night, because why the hell bother to straighten it if you were just going to mess it up again the next night…?
"Dean… you look like hell." The angel said helpfully as he finally made it to Sammy and Cas, dropping down to the floor and panting like someone who'd just completed a marathon. The hunter barked out a sharp laugh that he didn't really feel, gazing up at the vessel and feeling his heart seize; everything going cold inside. It was one thing to stand across a room and subconsciously deny this was happening here… was a whole different kettle of fish when the unmoving, battered body of your baby brother was lying a foot away from you. He reached out a tentative hand to brush back a loose strand of hair covering Sam's face, thinking back to all the times he'd mocked the younger about it being 'too long' and desperately trying not to feel the sticky sensation of blood in the brunette locks tangled about his fingers.
A flash of the first time he had met Sammy went through his mind, seeing the infant lying there watching him, looking excitedly to his parents as the newborn instinctively wrapped his little hand around Dean's proffered finger…
It didn't register that his whole body was shaking until he heard the angel's low voice state his name, which snapped him back to the present, like it always did… both now, and late at night when dark dreams and memories of screaming faces haunted his sleep. The elder… no, the only living Winchester, sucked in a deep, calming breath.
"Cas, what happened exactly…? We-… we destroyed the hex bags, and the coven was toasted by yours truly, this shouldn't… couldn't have happened." He said, eyes carefully tracing every cut, bruise and crimson trail on the visible portions of Sammy's skin; part of him wanted to throw the angel across the room and scream hysterically, asking him where the hell was he when this had happened… but he already knew.
~)0(~
Sammy had taken a hell of a hit when they faced a fear-Djinn last week, still wouldn't talk about the dream he'd been trapped in; but he and Cas often heard him mumbling fearfully about Lucifer, telling him to get away, calling for them to help… and occasionally, for Gabriel to 'stop this', whatever that meant. Dean had been at a loss of what to do and how to help his brother, it had been actively tearing him apart.
Say what you will about Dean Winchester - that he's some lying, cheating, petty, murderous, no good drunken womanizing son-of-a-bitch who only follows Daddy's orders… but the truth was, as Castiel had once told him a quiet evening a few days previously, that he was one of the most honest, loyal mortals he had ever met; beautiful inside and out. A man who cared so deeply for his family that he'd walk into Hell with two broken legs and drag your ass out; because if there was ANY alternative, no matter how ridiculous, dangerous or slim the chance of success, he'd never leave you behind. 'Learned that from Bobby…' he always said, and Castiel would always smile back in that oddly proud way of his.
Still, Sammy was damaged in a way Cas didn't know how to fix… but the angel did think that maybe if he could find Balthazar or Gabriel roaming about the universe somewhere, one of them might know how to help…
The only other alternative was one he did not wish to explore, given that he wasn't overly-proficient at erasing memories, and didn't particularly wish to leave his brother-in-law an amnesiac; an occurrence that had almost occurred once previously while attempting to remove the time the younger Winchester had walked in on them a few years ago. Sam was still adamant that losing a week on both sides of the incident was a small price to pay to drop that memory… it also meant the implementation of a 'signage system' came into play. Ah, permanently scarring your bigger little-brother was always good fun… too bad he'd never get another chance at it…
A pang of sadness washed through the older Winchester at that thought, and he cursed himself for thinking that way. In any case, this whole mess was a big-ass misunderstanding… they could have been here, rested and gone if it weren't for the stupidity of certain newt-loving, goop-making, witchy-women with the wrong information.
You see, all would have gone to plan if it wasn't for the unfortunate fact that the town they'd crashed in after the Djinn just so happened to have a thriving, writhing underground of some of the most powerful, crazy-ass witches this side of Salem… and they apparently knew who the Winchesters were. What didn't these days?
Some overly-jumpy withchie-kins must have panicked and jumped the gun thinking the Winchesters had come into town to gank them all or something, because the next they knew the Impala had been turned into a giant black Pelican, Sam was coughing up blood and Dean lost his sight for a day. Not to mention all the other random shit that had happened…
Thankfully Castiel heard his hasty prayers for assistance –well, he always did, not like he'd leave them high and dry in the face of all this- and dropped the search for his elusive siblings to immediately appear by their sides. The angel had easily located and destroyed all six of the hex bags stashed in the hotel room, ending the various curses; though retrieving the one from inside the 'Impa-lican' was a different story, given it was huge, rather angry, and apparently didn't appreciate angels in it's stomach. Still, his 'Baby' had been restored to her former glory… though there were a few feathers here and there in the upholstery that could not be accounted for.
Even after all that, there was still some 'tidying up' to do. Castiel examined the damage created by the dark magic, and discovered some sinister undertones to them that made him wish to unleash his true self on the witches; as tempted as Dean was to just let him, he kind of wanted some personal revenge of the shotgun blast to the face kind. Because in all honesty, trying to go to 'the Can' blind was harder than he thought… and Sam was never going to let him forget that.
Seems the spells were meant to be undone, the hex bags found as it were; because the damage was already done, and anyone who didn't have an angel on their side was likely to be screwed. Apparently the one that hit Sammy had had a little something nasty to do with a fistful of super-sharp razors jiggling about in the stomach that neither of them wanted to talk about; but Cas had fixed it pretty damn quick the moment he realized what was going on, though he cautioned the taller Winchester to lie down for a while. Which of course had turned into a battle of wills, and one should never try that on with an angel, because they could put you to sleep with a touch… three guesses what had happened to Sammy.
Dean had only heard the whole thing –though it wasn't hard to imagine it- given that the blindness had slowly reverted to normal sight, rather than magically fixing itself when the bags burned. Annoying, sure… Cas could easily have fixed it in a heartbeat, but that would have been counter-productive to what he had had planned. In all honesty, Dean was kind of glad Sam had been angel-zapped for that part, because he was pretty sure they were rather loud if the banging on the wall and fervent shouting of the Lord's Prayer from a neighbouring room had been any indication…
In any case, he'd stupidly thought they were safe after that. Nothing could take them out if Cas was there, right? Why not send Castiel back out searching for his brothers, or decide to pay a visit to a certain coven of witches now the threat was 'over'?
Chuck-fucking-dammnit he was such an idiot, there was no such thing as 'safe' for a hunter in this world; and for anyone under Winchester banner, there wasn't even option for 'safe', 'happy' or even old age… the name was a death sentence waiting to be executed. He should know that by now…
Probably a few hours ago, who knew anymore, he had left Sammy protesting vehemently to his older brother that he should be able to come on a hunt and it was only Dean's own mother hen qualities in overdrive that was making him irrational. Dean had conceded that maybe he was being a little over-protective, but not irrational, and subsequently drugged Sam's beer… the glare he got for that little attempt would haunt him for the rest of his life. Dammnit, why did he laugh?
Why did the last words Sammy have to say to him have to be, 'Dammnit Dean, not again… when you get back we'll have a serious talk over thi-…' before his head lolled; he had just chuckled and dragged the giant moose to a bed. It's not like he left him defenceless, though. He remembered waiting 'til his baby brother began to stir again, putting the demon-killing blade within easy reach, ruffling Sam's hair in the way that he hated because Dean had been doing it all his life, and whispering, "See ya soon, Sammy…"
When he turned back to look at his brother from the doorway, Dean remembered smiling, and reminding himself a dozen times over that Cas said he would be back soon. Well, soon was relative by angel standards, but as long as he had the only key to the room, no one else could get in; unless the janitorial staff was evil…
With a smirk, the older Winchester had shut and locked the door; evil janitors… now that would be the day…
~)0(~
His heart was unprepared for Castiel's piercing blue eyes to stare directly into his own as the angel whispered, "It was the cleaning staff… they ambushed us. Six of the maids at this hotel had been found murdered earlier this morning, but they turned up for their shifts an hour after their supposed 'time of death', inherently before anyone outside the police was notified. The local mortal law enforcement agents are still quite confused as to how this was possible."
Dean's jaw dropped in disbelief. This couldn't be happening… he and Chuck were going to have a nice long talk about the invention of 'Irony' when that son-of-a-bitch came back from wherever the hell he was hiding. He swallowed dryly and said, "What… what happened next?" Unconsciously, his hand started to stroke Sam's cold cheek, as if he was just asleep and not-…
"The false maids made their way immediately to this floor uncontested and knocked on the door, the lock was then destroyed after Sam refused to give them access; I was also present when they knocked, but left when I heard the voices at the door so as not to implicate myself. I… it was selfish, but I had no desire to speak with other mortals at the time, and one of my sisters appeared to indicate that she had seen Balthazar recently. Dean, I… I should have paid more attention, but I allowed myself to be distracted by this news; and my sister, Anariel was correct in her assumptions –I found Balthazar. Though by then I became aware of Sam's plight through the persistent prayers for assistance that someone had previously been blocking, I immediately returned, and Balthazar followed shortly after with a Seraph blade."
The arms holding Sam were taut, but Dean could see the angel was not ready to release his brother just yet; nor did he want him to… he knew the moment he held Sammy's lifeless corpse again, he would fall to pieces. No one should watch their baby brother die, it just wasn't fair; and he'd seen Sam taken out a half-dozen times in his life until now, but the shock of it never ceased to break him inside. This time, it was permanent.
"S-So you and Balthazar came back here, and what? Kicked some witchy ass? I'm assuming you didn't kill them, because I'm not seeing any conveniently pummel-able bodies lying about the room…" something struck him, "Or any damage come to think of it. You said the lock was broken?"
"It is true that the damage is minimal," the angel began, caught himself, paused to glance down at Sam and shut his eyes briefly. "Forgive me, Dean, my words were in error. There is no structural damage, as to the witches… they are deceased, and in numerous pieces; I decided to remove the body parts so it would not distress you, and my brother fixed the room. He said to tell you he unscrambled the porn channel for when you feel better… I have made him aware this is an inappropriate response to losing a sibling; he says he does not understand, though I am skeptical of that statement. I believe he actually does-…" the angel began to ramble.
Dean snapped, "CAS, you know I loved you a whole heck of a lot, but you need to tell me, WHAT HAPPENED… I don't really care about the porn channel or Baltha-douche right now, I… Cas… I…" he stopped, confused and uncertain where he was going with this. Castiel reached out a bloody hand to gently stroke the side of his face, and Dean found himself leaning into the gesture…
"I can only tell you what I inferred from Sam, the door was broken open and a small sect of the larger coven ambushed him in his half-aware state; while they had no physical weapons, many spells were used that even I do not understand. By the time I arrived, he was quite damaged, but fighting back, and two of his adversaries were dead; I tore one apart myself before he took out another. The remaining two attempted to dispel me with a sigil, but this proved ineffective, so they focused attention on Sam and threw him through a wall… Dean, I do not wish to tell you what happened next. Sufficive to say Sam was impaled upon an instrument of great, unholy power that one of the remaining witches brought; multiple times, as you can see. I attempted to heal it, but it did not work.
If Balthazar had not appeared and killed the one standing behind me, I would be dead right now also; and the final one witnessed the unadulterated form of an angel at close range. She is no longer on this earth, but facing retribution for her actions within the fiery pits of Hell." Castiel paused, voice as impassive as if the angel were commenting on the weather, thumb making a tiny circle on Dean's stubbled cheek. "Sam did not live long afterwards, and I am sorry, but I could do nothing to save his life despite my best efforts at healing him. Please forgive me Dean, I have failed you and understand if you no longer wish to be with me given the circumstances…"
Dean parted his lips to say something, when a familiarly accented voice jumped in, "Oh can the theatrics little brother, this mortal wouldn't give up that glorious ass of yours even if it meant shagging on top of his brother's corpse…"
Balthazar had arrived, holding an angel blade and smiling disarmingly despite the horrifyingly abrasive statement. "Oh come on you two, it was a joke! Admittedly in poor taste, but I thought it suited Castiel, given he mated with a Winchester of all the potential people and angels in the known universe after all; big shock to the family tree and such. All the angels were a-twitter about it… but getting back to the matter at hand, Sam is dead. Tends to happen a lot to you two, doesn't it? In any case, he was stabbed with a mystical letter opener or something else some mad old dark magician imbued with evil a few centuries ago and that can't be fixed… how about I just take him off your hands and you two can, oh I don't know, cry or something."
The angel strode forwards, intending to take the body away, only to be met by the furious glare of Dean; who had flung himself to his feet and barred the cocky angel's access to his brother. "How about you turn your feathery ass about-face and march on outta here, instead? You ain't taking Sammy, and that's final. Thanks for the help, but now you have to leave…" he growled, fists clenched at his sides and nails biting harshly into the palms of his hands.
Balthazar's mouth opened to say something, but his eyes darted around Dean to where his own baby brother, Castiel, was watching impassively and clutching tightly to Sam's body; the younger angel shook his head almost imperceptibly, and the elder sighed. "Fine, cry or whatever you must do… but you can't keep him like last time, no more cross-road deals, I will not stand for you putting my little brother in danger again." he glared for good measure, and disappeared with the sound of wings flapping. Dean frowned for a moment, running the words over and over in his head, and realization hit him like a cold bucket… Balthazar meant the time he'd sold his soul for Sammy's and poor Cas had had to come drag his sorry ass out of Hell. Anger rose up again, how could that self-righteous douchebag even think that he'd risk Castiel's life like that a second time?
But a part of him had jolted at the idea of utilizing the crossroads demon deals again; though he knew it would never be allowed again, not with Crowley in charge, that is.
Slowly, he turned back to face Cas; heart pounding in his ears, stomach roiling, reality finally striking him pretty damn hard. Somehow he made it to the bed, beside his… well, Heaven would call them married, but he wasn't sure what they were on Earth… and silently reached out his arms to take Sammy.
The cold weight made his heart drop into his stomach; Sammy had been gone for a while now, or maybe it was whatever had killed him was making the skin icy to the touch. Out of nowhere, the memory of the first time he had held his little brother -perched carefully on the hospital bed beside his mother, with his father hovering around them, came to mind; a choked laugh came out as he remembered how 'big' the baby had been from his perspective. Little Dean's arms couldn't fit all the way around him, but he was happy to just look at the peaceful little face looking back…
The first thing he had ever said to him, was, 'Hello Sammy, I'm your big brother Dean, and I love you…'
It felt like an iron hand had grasped ahold of his heart and started to squeeze it painfully, breathing became difficult, and tears finally began to prick at the back of his eyes; the raw grief was pooling throughout his body now like a tidal wave he'd tried to hold back with an ineffectual floodgate made of stoicism and denial. And it hurt all the more as it crashed over the older-… only remaining Winchester, he was lost in the backwash of repressed emotions…
There was every chance that Dean had screamed out loudly in a torrent of pain, grief and anguish, and was now sobbing into Sam's chest, hands clutching tightly to the other's torn, bloodied shirt… but he didn't feel it. Everything was devoted to holding himself together, because it was all shaking apart in the face of losing one of the only two people left to him on this literally God-forsaken world.
Gradually, he became aware that someone was touching him. That something was very gently stroking his back and whispering things that sounded very much like the soothing nothings he used to say to Sammy in the dead of night when they were little and he was upset about dad not coming home. A surge of sadness rose up again, but was met with nothing; Dean was simply too exhausted to cry anymore…
"Well, if you are done with all the screaming, crying and non-sexual wailing, I'll just take that shall I?" came an unexpected, yet familiar voice. Followed by the absence of the comforting hand, and the sound of someone punching something else rather hard…
"Well that was bloody rude! *urk* Alright, I apologise! I APOLOGISE! Let your little mortal continue crying like a little girl if you want just *gurgle* let… me… go…little brother…"
Dean looked away from Sam for the first time in what felt like an eternity, and jerked back as he noticed what exactly was going on. It appeared that Castiel had Balthazar pinned to the floor by his throat; an almost murderous expression on his face as the other, older angel went a not-so-fun shade of red. He tried to find his voice to laugh, but all that came out was a sad wheeze that instantly drew Castiel's attention; the angel dropped his hold on his brother and immediately moved to Dean's side.
A hand shot out to touch his face, the thumb wiping at errant tears; if how shit he felt right now was any indication, Dean knew he must look pretty god-damn awful. The concern was unspoken, but inherent in the way the angel gazed at him…
Balthazar broke the moment by making a loud, unnecessary hacking noise and sitting up to glare at the pair. "If you are quite finished with your sickeningly cutesy display of… whatever the hell you're doing, now would be a good time to mention I am actually trying to help. Now you've had your little cry, you need to give me Sam."
He glared as Dean went to open his mouth to protest, "Ah-ah, n-ooooo-o, no arguing. What exactly do you plan to do with it anyway, walk out the front door? Cas will use up his last reserves of heavenly power just healing…" he gestured to the entirety of the exhausted, ruffled Winchester, "…that. What exactly dragged you backwards through a Hellhound pit, by the way?"
"Witches." Dean grunted begrudgingly, "The rest of the Coven, that is… the 'sisters' of the ones that attacked here; friggin' bitches attacked us for no reason while we were holing up here to let Sammy-… it was basically a rest and relaxation weekend, that's all you need to know. Kicked my ass pretty well, but they're dead."
Castiel was glaring daggers as Balthazar made his way past the first bed, slowly coming closer and closer with deliberately movements; it was almost as if approaching a wounded predator, uncertain how it would react to his supposedly peaceful intentions. "Dean, we may have fought in the past, but I do know how it feels to lose a brother… many times over, just give him to me and I'll deal with this." There was a pause as something passed between the two angels over Dean's head. "You have to let him go, Dean. There's nothing you can do… let me take him."
Try as he might, he just couldn't bring himself to unclench the fists tangled within Sam's tattered shirt, it made the ache in his chest worse when he tried. "I-… I can't. Chuck help me, I just can't… not again," Dean hated himself for feeling so weak, for the tears threatening to spill out again after he thought there were none left to cry; for letting Sammy die… again. He felt Castiel's firm hands carefully attempting to pry his own loose, sending little eddies of power coursing through his fingers to relax them with every soft stroke; neither of them said anything, but he felt the concern through the-… whatever the hell it was that connected them together.
Trembling, his right hand finally came free of the frayed fabric and just stayed there, hovering over it as if unsure what to do with itself now; Dean's glazed green eyes stared at it, and wondered why it felt as if the whole arm was no longer attached to his own body. The older angel in the room sighed, the sound was equal parts impatience and empathy, which provided an odd combination; but said nothing, merely crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels in a more relaxed position.
Castiel had already coaxed several of the fingers from his left hand free, but the remaining few just weren't giving up; Dean tried telling them to let go, even willing everything he had to make them release the shirt, but the message just wasn't getting through.
It feels like a betrayal, when his hand finally comes free… for some reason Dean can't stop the violent trembling that goes through him at the loss of contact; sure, Sammy's still on his lap, but it's as if there is a gap between them now. He tenses as Balthazar comes to attention and crosses the last remaining steps between them to stand by his other side; Castiel's weight sinks the bed to his right, and two deceptively strong arms hold onto him as the older angel reaches out to take Sam.
Instinct screams in his head to protect Sammy… a cry makes it out of his mouth before he's aware of it, and the man tries to fight against the angel holding him as Balthazar makes contact with Sam's forehead; sad, understanding eyes that he never would have attributed to the smug, arrogant angel before him make contact with his own. "Take a good look, Dean, because I'm going to count down from ten, and then we're going to go, alright?"
It seemed odd that they were being so nice to him all of a sudden, the other angels that is; they were usually a bunch of smug, arrogant dicks who liked to mess with the Winchesters or kick their ass. Maybe it had a little something to do with becoming part of the angelic family tree thanks to the whole mating thing that went down with Cas a few years ago; but who knew anymore… life was almost meaningless without Sammy. Sure, he loved Cas with his whole… everything, but Sammy was his little brother; he'd been there the kid's entire life, and that was something that was never going to stop hurting.
"Family looks out for each other, you idiotic mortal, now stop thinking about how much of a dick I am and say goodbye," Balthazar said in an odd manner that was almost thoroughly amused, rather than angry. As if to re-iterate the point, the angel intoned, "…nine… eight…seven…"
Castiel held him tighter as the numbers dwindled, but Dean only had eyes for Sam's pale, battle-worn face; trying to memorise every feature like he was burning it into his brain, so that it wouldn't fade with time the way his mother's face had. He was shaking pretty hard, by now; numb fingers trailed over his baby brother's cheek one more time before he shut his eyes, swallowed, and nodded to Balthazar. He started as a hand touched his cheek quite gently, and the angel said, "Trust me, Dean, this is for your own good… you can't do anything more for him."
For a fraction of a second, his eyes flared open in shock at the sudden loss of Sam's weight on his lap, shocked mind registering the lack of both Balthazar and Sam in that instant; then the familiar sensation of Cas's hand on his brow cancelled out all else.
~)0(~
The angel felt the human's taut frame fall slack in his arms, and sighed deeply; he too, grieved the loss of Sam, and felt keenly the dull throbbing ache in his vessel's heart at the situation. He could only blame himself, there was no reason he should have allowed himself to become distracted when the younger Winchester was incapacitated and unable to defend himself from an ambush.
Dean was exhausted, he could feel it emanating off the human in waves; only tainted by flares of pain and grief that echoed even in the human's unconscious state. Castiel picked the other up, stood and walked over to their own bed only steps away, before placing him down again; the urge to do something was so strong that the angel found himself fiddling with the hunter's hair.
His fingers brushed against a sticky trail just under the hairline, causing the man beside him on the bed to jerk reflexively away from the probing; instinctually, Castiel drew his hand back to avoid bringing further discomfort to the exhausted hunter and frowned. Balthazar had not been incorrect in his assumptions that the effort of healing Dean might drain the majority of what was left to him in power reserves; until he could re-establish a connection with Heaven, it was unlikely that his preternatural abilities would be anything more than above that of an average human's. As horrifying as this feeling was to the angelic warrior, there was no doubt within either the vessel, or his eternal being, that this was a sacrifice he would be willing to make several thousand times over in Dean's name.
They were mated, unconventionally to be certain; but the lack of ability to produce half-angel, half-human offspring from their subsequent joinings had been the main reason that Heaven had allowed the continuation of such a relationship. The alternative of having the bond severed would most likely have killed them both on impact, or driven one or more of the parties completely insane. The angel shuddered as he remembered that such things were not uncommon in the history of creation; many mated pairs had been broken apart upon fear of the creation of 'abominations', the Nephilim, children of Heaven and Earth. The greatest sin to ever be committed in this universe…
Castiel remembered points in history all throughout time and space when it had been he holding brothers and sisters as they screamed, watching their human lovers and their innocent-looking offspring, mostly infants, perish; none seeming the deadly creatures of whispered, forbidden, legend. The angelic warrior remembered being horrified at the anguish the severing of the bond and seeing their deaths caused his siblings… He remembered feeling immeasurably angry and sickened at the impassive, smug or sometimes openly-gleeful expressions worn by the archangels overseeing the slaughter.
He could almost say that was the moment when he had begun to doubt the intentions of Heaven, deep within his celestial being… surely something purported to be in the name of peace could not be so cruel?
And yet, worst of all was the deep-rooted pain that ebbed through his being as the sibling he held either gave a final shriek and fell limp in his restrictive embrace, grace diminished and deceased from the agony; or far more frighteningly, their shrieks escalated in pitch, faces contorting horrifyingly… going mad before the uncaring eyes of those about them.
Those who went insane usually fell afterwards, becoming human and erasing the life they once held; some led normal lives, oblivious to former suffering, and ended them happily with friends and family surrounding them. Though he knew many of those whose bond was broken had fallen and grown to become some of the worst, most proficient serial killers, rapists, sadists, murderers and their ilk, in all of human history; none would ever have suspected sweet Mystrastiel, former Angel who governed mortal Health and Well-Being, to have been distorted enough by this event to become the infamous serial killer 'surgeon' Jack the Ripper in their human life-time.
Such incidents were why, frequently, those whose bond had been shattered by decree, were generally mercifully run through with an angelic blade before they could fall. Not that such pairings were a common occurrence, he rationalized; it was exceedingly rare for a human and angel to bond, but given the high number of angels within the garrisons of Heaven, there was always at least one per millennium that had to be dealt with. Some were allowed to live, of course, but the moment a 'fruitful bond' was discovered, or evidence of nephilim uncovered, it was a death sentence for both parties. A sad affair, but necessary; or so he had been trained to believe, that is.
…although, he thought with an odd smirk, he had always been very aware that no one within his own cohort of shield-warriors had ever said anything about the time Uriel 'bonded' with that Mammoth several millennia ago. He always had been the funniest one in the garrison, after all.
A low moan of discomfort dragged his thoughts from the past and back to Dean, who was jerkily moving about upon the bedcovers, lips moving occasionally as if speaking; though no sound protruded. Hesitantly, Castiel reached out a hand again and began to stroke Dean's hair gently; a tired smile tugged the edges of his mouth as the hunter moved closer to the comforting touch this time, snuggling subconsciously. Both the human's fists were clenched tightly about themselves, almost as if they were trying desperately to hold onto something precious that was slipping away without heed to his effort.
The angel sighed deeply, wishing there was something more he could do for the human's soul; certainly he could heal the body, but what he saw within his mate was far more important than what was outside, and it was broken. His hands did not have the power to fix something like that; perhaps an archangel possessed enough grace, but certainly not a lower-ranking angel like himself –and definitely not at the current time. The tension in his mate's body began to slowly drain away in part due to the slow, careful and comfortingly repetitive movements of Cas's hand upon his hair; the angel was inexplicably pleased as the battle-worn hunter's white-knuckled fists began to gradually unfurl.
Leaning forwards, the angel pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the Hunter's forehead and stood, searching about the room for where their bag had been placed by Balthazar when he tidied earlier. His intentions were to shower, though technically he supposed he could just alter the condition of his vessel and it's coverings… but part of him needed to feel the scalding water wash away the traces, and sensations of the blood coating his arms. A baptism of liquid fire, one could almost say.
He felt unclean, as he was; in both a literal and metaphorical sense, and actively resented touching Dean while as tainted as he was now. A shudder coursed through the angel as a crimson-soaked hand came into view; was this Sam or Dean's blood? How could he even know?
Resolving to just get clean one way or the other, the angel strode into the bathroom and flicked on the shower; spending several long minutes simply standing there under the tiny showerhead, in the unnecessarily-small cubicle, just letting the hot water run over his body. Rivulets of red, grey, black and brown washed from skin and hair alike; while washing his hair the angel discovered a few nearly-miniscule pieces of shredded witch that he had missed earlier, along with much debris in the form of dirt and an odd-scented goop that may have transferred to his person from Dean at some point.
Castiel scrubbed furiously as the caked wads of dried blood that coated his forearms and some of his chest, over and over again until his vessel's skin was practically raw; though it made little difference, he could heal it in a moment. What was imperative was returning to be by Dean's side; healing his mate before anything else could hinder him from his duties as angelic protector.
Exiting the bathroom in little more than a towel, the angel strode over to the bed and knelt to look underneath, immediately locating the missing bag with a half-smile. Several pairs of clothes were in there, mostly Dean's, though there was a second trenchcoat that the pair had purchased just last year for no reason; he had realized this was the Winchester's idea of a present only afterwards. Though he was grateful, it was a marvelously accurate copy of the original, he still failed to see what the mortal fascination with clothing themselves in specific garments was… when the majority of their beauty lay underneath. His Father had designed them to be spectacular… or perhaps it was only Winchesters with such magnificent physiques?
True, Dean was highly sought-after as mate and bed-partner by various persons, and mostly this was due to the inherent attractiveness of his person which the angel could appreciate the aesthetics of… but there was an occasion where Castiel had 'zapped in', as they referred to it, within the middle of Sam's shower; thus noting that the physical perfection was apparently genetic. The younger Winchester had been quite amusedly embarrassed, not certain how to proceed while his shorter, angelic brother-in-law stood unconcernedly under the beating spray of the showerhead, fully clothed and staring at him intently like he always did when confused or pensive.
The angel fondly remembered how Sam had all-but-thrown him from the shower and called for his brother with the words, 'Dean, he's your husband, please keep him out of my shower…' and generally inferring that Castiel was somehow a pet. At which-point he had felt it necessary to stand outside the shower cubicle and explain the exact nature of angel mating to the younger Winchester in great detail, from the bonding process, relationship equality, the potential for nephilim and the biological component of intimate relations; apparently Sam had not found this as enlightening as it should be, given that the taller man started singing 'Thunderstruck' at the top of his voice, with both ears covered.
Dean had been thoroughly amused at the time, striding into the bathroom and singing along with Sam for a minute before dragging Castiel out and loudly inquiring what the angel would rate his brother out of ten. The offended shout the younger Winchester had released when he had deadpanned a response of 'six', was quite informative, and the angel had then amended it to 'eight-point-five'; mainly given that he had scored Dean a 'nine-point-six' and did not wish to offend his mated by suggesting Sam was of the same attractivity rating. The younger Winchester had seemed placated by the higher score, but a crude comment on Dean's part had resulted in the older of the siblings being struck on the back of the head by a rather maliciously thrown sudsy loofa.
That odd aching filled his chest again as the angel realized such frivolities were no longer likely to occur now that Sam was deceased; this caused great sadness to overwhelm him momentarily, half-way through pulling on his pants. It must have looked quite the sight, an anguished angel incapable of registering the simple mechanics of dressing, because he was too overcome by negative emotion; he was certain Uriel had made a joke about a similar subject once. Although the exact punch-line escaped him, he did recall it had something to do with a donkey, the loss of the angel's pants, and ludicrously enough, a watermelon.
Castiel finished changing the angel-way after discovering the zipper on the pants was intensely stubborn, but prone to breaking if angelic force was applied. In a single stride, he was by the bedside, eyes scrutinizing the human laid out on the bed; attempting to work out where the human was wounded most seriously, which would be a priority area… just in case his reserves did not stretch to the entirety of the injuries. He knew Dean's body as intimately as he knew his own essence, or perhaps a better analogy would have been his own vessel's body… and it was easy to discern where any specific damage lay; just from visual observation.
At some time in the ten minutes or so that the angel had spent within the shower, one of the hunter's hands had made it up to rest on his right side protectively; obviously damaged, perhaps not as severely as originally believed, but in comparison to angels… humans were inherently weak creatures. Not that Castiel would ever say so to Dean, his mate was quite sensitive to such things; and in all honesty, the Winchesters were-… had been the closest thing to angels in strength and willpower this world had.
In any case, the angel sat down beside the human who had managed to entwine his soul about the angel's so completely there was a question as to where one began and the other ended; it was an odd statement, to be certain, but it was the closest expression human languages could provide to explain the process of angel bonding. Of course, it was much clearer in Enochian… but Dean had no particular talent for the language, which made it difficult on occasion for the angel to express himself; but it usually worked out in the end.
Dean was everything to him; Sam was-…had always been a close second in priorities, but the older Winchester was always first to the Angel, no two ways about it. There was no doubt in Castiel's mind that the human hunter viewed him in the same light, though Sam was more likely raised to an equal footing of concern; Dean's entire life until now had always been oddly fixated on protecting Sam from everything… even himself on occasion. Losing his baby brother was going to hit his mate hard, and Castiel was uncertain as to how to respond when the man awoke…
With a sad shake of his head, the angel slowly lifted the hand covering his ribs away, gently tugging at the tattered coat and shirt beneath; easily divesting of the coat with an annoyed glance, but opting to manually unbutton the plaid beneath. From even near the hips, as Cas unbuttoned further, it was evident that Dean had taken a substantial strike from something or someone; for the bruise was already a deep, angry blueish-purple with odd streaks of green through it. Obviously shoddy spell-casting, but nothing he could not fix.
Something inside sprung into a furious rage as the angel surveyed the damaged torso, now revealed to his probing gaze; the bruise, for it was a large singular entity covering most of the man's right side, began at the waistline of the filthy jeans and continued up to under the right armpit. Blotches of different colours filled the skin in between, covering half his chest, but skirting the lower abdominal area… he'd been taken from the side, obviously, most likely a weapon.
Steeling himself to cause pain to the other half of his being, Castiel lowered a hand, not indelicately, to the oldest Winchester's side and duly pressed; the strangled gasp he received grated like sandpaper to the ears. Though it was the way the body automatically jerked out of his reach, simultaneously releasing a pained whine that truly struck him with the force of an angelic blade to the essence of his being. As painful as the exercise was for both of them, it did confirm several important things for the angel…
Firstly, the most severe of the injuries was likely to be the man's ribs, he felt a few shards poking at him from under the skin, therefore they must be broken; how Dean had managed to stay with them this whole time, along with the emotional exhaustion, completely stumped the angel. Secondly, this would be quite fixable, limited reserves of power or otherwise; and Thirdly, no matter what he did to fix Dean, a small piece of his mind whispered that his failure to protect Sam was more detrimental to the human than any kind of torture… and he would never be able to fix what he had broken. Sam's blood was on his hands, metaphorically… and up until recently, quite literally. The angel shuddered in revulsion of himself, but the man began to stir beside him, shivering at the loss of his shirt; Catiel decided healing him before he awoke was best, but hesitated over the ribs. How could he be certain that was the most problematic injury?
To be certain this was the broadest extent of the observable damage, excluding several dozen small lacerations littering the human's body, Castiel allowed a small portion of his power to flow through his fingertips. It passed through Dean's entire being, circulating, searching; and eventually pooling within his temples at the sudden discovery of a concussion the angel had been unaware of previously.
Satisfied the breath and nature of his mate's injuries had been observed and noted, Castiel let out a breath he had not been previously aware of holding. Within seconds, he had placed his fingers of one hand delicately over the injured ribs, and the others of the opposing hand over the man's forehead; power flowed between the two and resonated through their bond. Dean cried out in minor discomfort and twitched, but Cas's strong hands kept the human still until the process was complete and only healthy, undamaged skin was visible to the observing eye.
~)0(~
Grunting, Dean opened his eyes a fraction as the exhausted angel fell onto the bed beside him. "C-Cas…?" the voice was lethargic, scratchy, felt like he'd been asleep for ages; but it couldn't have been that long, he was still filth-… and suddenly he wasn't. Thank Chuck for angel-showers. "Thanks…"
There was a long pause as unconsciousness beckoned a second time, the world not yet seeming solid enough to stay; as if reality was twisted like a pretzel and he was on a perpetual roller-coaster-ride. The angel next to him rolled over, so that two sets of piercing blue eyes caught his own glazed green pair in what could have been an iron gaze were it not for the exhaustion so obviously eating at both of them. For some reason, Dean couldn't really remember much after opening the door to the hotel… he could see in Cas's face that something was wrong; like the angel was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Come to think of it, where was Sam…my…
It hit him with the force of a demon-driven semi-trailer. Oh god, Sam was… gone. The pain of this revelation shot straight into his chest and echoed in the emptiness inside; clawing at the tiny shreds of his heart still remaining, and squeezing his lungs. He panted, fists clenching again as he forced the burning pinpricks in his eyes to back down, because he'd already been down that road today; Dean Winchester was not one for tears. But… Sammy…
Sammy was…
This wasn't fair, fuck the world!
He bit his lip savagely, feeling odd pleasure as a dark streak of wet liquid dribbled down his chin onto the pristine white sheets; it didn't make sense to call that a victory, exactly, but the older Winchester did. It gave him control over something… momentarily of course; Cas's eyes seemed to be reading his mind, in after a second, his left hand stretched out to gently rub over the bleeding area, smoothing it into nothing. Even the sheets were left perfect.
Dean wanted to scream at the other, beat his fists into something, tear something apart with his bare hands… the desire to leap up and gank the nearest non-Cas thing to hand was there; but it unfortunately did not concur with how intensely tired he felt at the moment. His whole body trembled with confused, pent-up energy. And then it came…
'Dean…' said the voice softly, and nothing else need be said, for the moment he looked up into the other's concerned eyes… the hunter was lost. He wiggled across the bed into the angel's waiting arms, huddling in on himself and finally letting the tears that had been fighting to be free since the hunter had regained consciousness course down his cheeks unchecked. He mumbled a string of incoherent words into the angel's chest, occasionally punctuated by the words 'why', 'Sam', 'couldn't', 'Sammy', 'protect' and 'should've been me'.
Castiel just held him close, mumbling back nonsensical reassurances until both Hunter and Angel were too tired to continue and fell into exhausted sleep…
~)0(~
...not the end...
...or is it?
I hope you liked it, jerk-bitch23, and all the other readers.
But don't take your eyes away just yet...
~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~