A/N: Thanks to all the follows, favorites, and reviews! ^_^
Chapter 2: Control Issues
Sam cut through a tomato, squirting juice and seeds over the plate and his fingers. He gave the knife a dirty look. Slices, how hard was it to make neat, clean slices? He wasn't trying to kill the tomato after all. With a heavy sigh, Sam let the kitchen knife clunk on the counter. He kept seeing Dean wielding that battle axe with barely contained excitement. It wasn't anything like the look in his brother's eyes when Dean had been a demon and stalking him through the bunker with a friggin' hammer. But…it stirred up the memories nonetheless. And Sam had to wonder just how strong the Mark's influence still was, even after the sanctified blood had successfully purified Dean.
Sam didn't regret taking a few days off with him, getting out and going somewhere to relax. But it was time to get back to work, specifically back to finding a way to get the Mark off, before Dean started going off the reservation again. Which meant Sam would need some brain food, so he picked up the knife and resumed trying to cut thin, non-slushy slices of tomato for his sandwich. He'd make one for Dean too, even if his brother would pick the tomato off.
Footsteps drew Sam's attention over his shoulder as Cas entered the kitchen. The angel gave him a brief nod while striding to the sink, where he grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the tap. Cas leaned back against the counter, practically gulping the entire cup down. Sam found himself scrutinizing Castiel's appearance. He looked pretty good. Clothes no more rumpled than usual, though it was kinda strange seeing him without the tie. There weren't any dark smudges under his eyes like there had been the last time Sam had seen him, shortly after Dean disappeared. Overall, Cas seemed perfectly fine, so there was nothing for Sam to be concerned about. Except for the weird electromagnetic interference…
"Hey Cas," he said, clearing his throat. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Cas set the nearly empty glass on the counter. "I'm fine, Sam. You don't need to worry about me."
"Well, I do. I appreciate how gung-ho you've been about researching the Mark, but Dean and I are here now to help pick up some of the slack, so maybe you should scale back a bit, take care of yourself."
Cas shook his head. "The Mark isn't like anything we've ever dealt with before. There's no telling how long it will take to find an answer, or where we might have to look. I need to help you both as much as possible while I still can."
Sam frowned. While he still can? "Maybe we should also be searching for a way to deal with your stolen grace," he suggested in a slightly lower voice.
"Dean and the Mark are more important."
Sam pursed his lips, an uncomfortable knot coiling around his gut, because yeah, part of him felt the same. The past few months had been about nothing except finding and saving Dean. But saying it was because Dean was 'more important' than Cas…well, that didn't sit very well with Sam for some reason, and he started to feel guilty for not having tried to help the angel with his problem before. Even now, Cas was putting the Winchesters above himself without question or hesitation. But, Cas was mostly okay. Yeah, a few stray lightbulbs going pop was disconcerting, but nothing monumental. Dean and the Mark was just a more urgent situation at the moment.
Cas refilled the glass with more water, and then started to leave, but Dean entered the kitchen, blocking his exit.
"Hey guys, hope you weren't talking about me," he said blithely, though Sam detected the defensive undertones.
"Actually, we were—"
"Discussing research priorities," Cas interrupted. "There are a variety of approaches we could take—focuses on demonology, Biblical accounts, or curses in general—and we should probably divvy them up."
"Riiight," Dean drawled in response. "Actually, I was thinking Sam and I should get back to hunting."
Sam straightened, the kitchen knife once again clattering uselessly on the counter top. "What? Dean, it's only been a few days."
Dean spread his arms out to the sides as though on display. "A few days of complete relaxation and recuperation, and now I'm good to go."
"You don't need to push yourself, Dean," Cas said.
"I'm not made of glass!" He let out a growl of frustration and began to pace. "Seriously, you two don't need to treat me as though I'm this fragile thing that's gonna break the minute I encounter a monster or pick up a weapon." He shot Sam a pointed look that made the younger Winchester wince. Sam didn't think that. He was just…worried. He hadn't missed those times when Dean's gaze would go slightly distant, and drift down to his arm where the Mark hid just under the long sleeves. Dean wanted to pretend nothing was wrong, but he wasn't fooling anyone, not even himself.
"Is this about the Mark? Is it making you want to go out and kill?"
"No, Sam, jeez!"
Sam crossed his arms. "Well, remember what you said about the Mark needing to be fed? If you're not feeling that now, then why go out and hunt and risk triggering that hunger again? Right, Cas?"
Cas reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Since his stint as a human, he'd picked up a lot more mannerisms, which Sam would have found amusing any other time. Though in this case, Cas actually looked more like he was developing a headache rather than just expressing exasperation. Dean had a knack for eliciting either reaction from people, even angels.
"We could just do something easy," Dean pressed. "Like a run-of-the-mill salt and burn."
"Look," Sam said, desperate to get his brother to see reason. "I just got my arm out of the sling."
"You said it was fine."
He scowled. "It is, but that doesn't mean I should risk a repeat injury so soon." Not that such an excuse had ever stopped him in the past, but this time he'd play that card for as long as he needed if it kept Dean safe at home.
"Fine, I could go by myself. Just a small hunt, somewhere close."
"What about researching a way to get the Mark off you?" Sam was trying very hard not to lose his patience here; didn't Dean see how important this was? Ignoring the Mark's effects had gotten them into a shit-load of trouble already; they weren't going to make the same mistake twice.
"Cas has that covered," Dean replied, gesturing to him. "He doesn't need sleep or rest, so I'm sure he'll find something in no time."
Cas leveled a, 'I'm-an-angel-of-the-Lord-not-your-secretary' look at Dean, which the older Winchester shrugged off.
"Cas is running on borrowed juice," Sam countered, earning a glower from the angel. "We should be helping, considering this is our problem."
"No, it's not 'our' problem, Sam," Dean said caustically. "It's my problem. I'm the one who took on the Mark, damn the consequences; I gotta live with it."
"Or die with it?" Sam snapped back. "Because if anything happens to you and you've still got the Mark, you know what happens!"
"Of course I know!" Dean's face was turning a mottled red, yet beneath all the anger and frustration, there was a glistening desperation in his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice wavered with brokenness. "I am just trying to do the right thing, man, 'cause I'm so sick and tired of doing the wrong one."
Sam bit back his next retort. He understood, he really did. After he'd screwed up with the demon blood and setting Lucifer free, he'd wanted to make it right, wanted to save as many lives as possible to make up for his mistakes. But he also knew that 'trying to do the right thing' while he was still hopped up on demon blood was a slippery slope. It started out with good intentions, but before he knew it, Sam had gone down a road he'd never imagined, or wanted.
"Look, man, I get it," he said sympathetically. "I do. But the Mark…it doesn't distinguish between killing monsters and killing innocents."
"I'll figure out a way to control it," Dean quickly rejoined. "Cain did, right? He lived for centuries without turning into a homicidal maniac."
Sam sighed. "Yeah." It wasn't that he doubted the Mark could be controlled, it was just…Dean wasn't exactly the poster boy for discipline. Though he certainly made up for it in stubbornness.
Cas had been pretty quiet throughout the argument, so Sam turned to ask his opinion, when the microwave four feet away whirred to life. A split second later the door burst off the hinges with a crack and shower of sparks, sending glass and metal shrapnel spiraling through the air. Sam threw his arms up instinctively to shield his face, a few pieces pelting his shoulder and torso, but thankfully not piercing clothes or skin. He lowered his arms cautiously. The microwave spat out a few more electrical splinters before falling silent, leaving a plume of smoke wafting up from the scorched interior.
Sam just stared for a long moment before shooting a startled look at Cas, who had both hands braced on the edge of the kitchen table as he blinked dazedly at the microwave. Speaking of control issues…
Dean's expression was just as slack-jawed, but it quickly morphed into an irate glare directed at the angel. "Dude, what the hell?"
"I'm…sorry." Cas's brow furrowed with such intense chagrin that Sam thought he might pop a blood vessel. Or several.
"What the hell was that?" he sputtered, adrenaline making his face hot and palms sweaty. His gaze quickly swept around the kitchen, ticking off other items that could potentially explode. The toaster and coffeemaker suddenly seemed like grenades ready to blow up in their faces, and Sam inched away from them toward the center of the room.
Cas shook his head as though clearing brain fog. "I don't know. I'll…I'll just go for some fresh air again." He turned to leave, but Dean sidestepped into his personal space, forcing him back.
"No way, you're gonna tell us what's going on. Why is your mojo on the fritz?"
Cas scowled at him. "I don't know."
Sam's heart rate began kicking up again. "If your grace is starting to burn out, then we need to find a way to replenish it, right?" Looked like Cas's situation was now the more urgent one, and Sam was not feeling a twinge of resentment at that. It wasn't like Cas had asked for this to happen. Besides, they really did need his help with the Mark, so if that meant saving his life first, then that's what they needed to do.
"It's not burning out," Castiel said. "When it does, I'll be more lethargic and infirm."
"How do you know that?" Dean asked.
Cas looked away toward the wall as though some fascinating bug was perched there, which set off warning bells in Sam's head.
"Cas?" Dean pressed in a low tone that clearly said, 'don't-give-me-any-bullshit.'
The angel let out an exasperated sigh. "It had already started while you were… 'missing.'"
Sam frowned. He remembered Cas being off his game—that was when Sam's elbow had been injured in the botched attempt to capture a demon for questioning. Sam had kind of blamed Cas for it, even though it hadn't actually been the angel's fault; Sam had just been pissed about losing another lead on his brother. But he'd stopped calling Cas for help after that…except the one other time, when Cas had sounded like he was hacking up a lung and Sam had told him to forget it, that the lead had minor potential. Only, it had actually led to Dean.
"How bad did it get?" Sam asked in a soft voice, afraid of the answer, ashamed that he hadn't asked before.
Cas rolled his shoulder in discomfort. "It doesn't matter."
"'Course it does," Dean retorted. "We need to know what's coming."
A muscle in Castiel's jaw ticked. "I was tired and run down. I couldn't heal myself. Most likely when the time comes again, I'll simply slip into a coma before the grace fizzles out." His lips twitched humorlessly. "A more peaceful death than I've ever had before. Or deserve."
The knots in Sam's stomach were twisting into kinks of their own. 'When the time comes again.' Cas had been dying, like literally approaching death's doorstep, and Sam hadn't noticed. Hadn't bothered to notice, because oh, there had been clues, and he was damn well smart enough to have figured them out. For instance, the fact that Cas knew he wouldn't be able to heal himself meant he'd been injured somehow and his healing powers hadn't worked. And he hadn't called Sam for help. But then, why would he have? Sam had been singularly focused on Dean.
Dean's shoulders were rigid, but he kept his voice level when he spoke. "You started sleeping, didn't you?"
Cas nodded. "Yes. Even when I wasn't trying to. There was an incident while I was driving. But as you can see, I'm fine at the moment."
Dean snorted. "Except for things exploding."
Cas frowned, gaze turning inward for a moment. "Yes. I'll…try to stop doing that."
"Okay, wait," Sam put in, attempting to shake himself from self-flagellation and focus on what he was hearing. "So you'd gotten that bad before, and how'd you fix it? Did you take another angel's grace?"
Cas's eyes darkened, and Sam winced at the simmering disgust he felt wafting from the angel. "I didn't," Cas said stiffly. "Crowley did."
Sam's brows shot up. "Crowley?" After everything that conniving bastard had done, Cas went to him for help?
Well why not, a small voice whispered, you weren't available.
"I didn't ask for or want his help," Cas retorted sharply. "I was on my way here after you'd called to say you found Dean. Hannah was with me, and we were attacked by a rogue angel at a gas station." He looked away. "I wasn't strong enough to fight, and she'd left me for dead, went back to torture Hannah, I think. Crowley showed up and killed her, but not before cutting out her grace, which he then gave to me. I tried to refuse, but like I said, I wasn't in much shape to put up a fight." Cas shrugged. "In the end it was for the best, as I made it here just in time." He didn't elaborate on what he was in time for, but Dean ducked his gaze in shame and Sam swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat.
His mind was reeling as well. Cas had nearly died at some random gas station. He'd been dying for days, weeks, without saying a word, had been hanging by a thread it sounded like, and had still given everything to come to Sam and Dean's aid. And if he hadn't made it, if Crowley hadn't intervened…then Dean probably would have killed Sam. By the greenish tinge to Dean's complexion, the same thoughts were running through his mind.
"Why would Crowley help you like that?" Sam asked hoarsely.
Cas gave him a wry look. "He didn't want Dean staying a demon any more than we did."
Sam couldn't believe he was actually feeling gratitude toward the dickwad. After all, the Mark had been Crowley's fault to begin with.
"But as I said," Cas continued. "My grace isn't currently fading like that, so if you'll excuse me, I should get back to the archives before it does." He swept out of the kitchen, pausing on the steps of the threshold. "Sorry about the microwave," he said over his shoulder, and then disappeared down the corridor.
Dean paced half the length of the table and rapped his knuckles on the wood, a haunted look in his eyes.. "I take it back; I'm not ready for a case."
Sam didn't say anything, but glanced at the charred remains of the microwave, his insides feeling just as singed by guilt and worry. Ignoring a problem had never gotten them anywhere good, and Sam had once again made the same mistake, this time with Cas. And only by the grace of the King of Hell was the angel still with them. For now.
Sam's eyes drifted to his brother's arm and the red, raised indent poking out from under his rolled up sleeve. He was surrounded by impossible problems, forced to prioritize the lives of the two people who meant everything to him. Dean's soul was gradually being corrupted by the Mark, and Cas was slowly dying.
Sam had thought curing Dean from being a demon would give them a measure of control back, a place to regroup and tackle the situation anew. But all that happened was to reset the clock. Control was an illusion.