CHAPTER 3: THE ROAD TO AWE.

Dean stood in the gushing rain, his clothes soaked through and his skin trembling so much it felt like it was moving across his bones. Sporadically the sky was set alight by the forks of lightning that scythed downwards, igniting the granite texture of the clouds that masked the great sky above. The sound was consuming as raindrops fell to the earth, rattling against the scrap metal of the rusted carcasses of the vehicles stacked in Bobby's salvage yard. The earth beneath him had softened to a viscous mud and Dean felt himself sinking further deeper both physically and mentally.

It was like dialling a phone only instead of pressing keys you had to scream, beg, curse and pray. Angels certainly didn't like to make things easy. Dean must have been out here for a good few hours, at least it felt as much. His throat was hoarse, his lungs felt like they had spent a lifetime's worth of air. And still he cried to the black nothing above, shouted to be heard above the growling thunder.

Bobby hadn't come to check on him once even though Dean could still see the tender glow of his kerosene lamp throwing its light against the closed curtains of the window. He must still be researching, Dean convinced himself, and too caught up in his literature to think of what Dean was doing out here all this time.

Alone, out here against the elements, Dean had had plenty of time to think, more time than he was accustomed to. His anger had subsided, extinguished by the heavy downpour as it drowned his trembling form in its cleansing embrace.

He thought of Sammy, his little brother, the kid always afraid of becoming an outsider or worse; a freak. The memories were as real in this moment as when they had occurred and so were the emotions they claimed. The affection, the need to protect his blood had resurfaced and with it came a sobering rush of guilt. Against that his anger stood little chance. All those times Dean had done all in his power to protect Sam and now what; one little disagreement and he was going to flush it all away? What kind of man would that make him?

There is no greater strength than the bond of blood; family was the fabric with which Dean had sewn his life. It was the root through which he grew, found nourishment and hope. In hell it had been Sam's name he had screamed, it had been the precious memories of the Winchester clan that he had clung to. It was Winchester blood that Alastair had spilt time and time again and now it was his time for some payback. Not just for himself but for his family line. It would be for his grandparents, for his mother, for his father and his brother.

He should have done more. Dean laid scorn upon himself. He should have been stronger but he had let Sam get the jump on him. His brother had been more determined, his will had been stronger and after their last confrontation it seemed he was the more powerful hunter. Dean had indeed become weak since his time in hell. He was not the same man anymore. The things he had done to those tormented souls back in the pit. His moral alignment had taken a severe battering and so how could he risk slipping over the edge back here in the real world where he could still make a difference? To go back to the ruthless Dean of before was to tip toe the line between the light and the dark.

He had the capacity to do great good – at least the angels believed as much – and he now knew he had the capacity to do unspeakable evil. In truth he was just as at risk of being consumed by the dark as his brother so what right did he have to judge. At least Sam had an excuse that went beyond mere human weakness.

But Dean was different now, he felt it now. He was ready to stand firm and free from the crippling fear of what might be. And he had Sam to thank for that, for giving him a literal kick up the ass. He would stop his brother from falling into the depths of his own malevolence but he would do it the right way. The knee jerk reaction had passed and now reason had taken hold out here in the cold and wet paradise of clarity.

Now if only he could get hold of some angels and hopefully some direction.

He looked into the sky, tightened his eyes as drops of heavy rain stabbed at his face. It was freezing, the water rushing down his cheeks and into his mouth. Summoning a deep breath he roared to the black above. "Come on you sons of bitches! I know you can hear me. I need your help... please. Castiel, Zachariah, anybody?"

There was no answer. Dean spat rainwater from his mouth and looked to the ground in resignation. What had he expected, a little cooperation or courtesy. Of course not as that was seemingly not the Devine way of doing things.

And then the rain stopped suddenly and all was deathly quite. The thunder ceased and the lightning along with it. Dean spun round, there was nobody there. The air was fresh, purified by the storm, a blank canvass ready to be spoilt once again. He rotated round and around now very aware of a presence. His hand pressed against his jacket and felt the comforting weight of his colt in its shoulder holster.

"Dean, there is no need for alarm. We are here to take your call."

Dean turned to see the smartly dressed figures of both Castiel and Zachariah. They both wore a shirt and tie with crisp black trousers. Castiel was snuggled inside his familiar beige trench coat while Zachariah wore a similar number in black. Identikit angels, Dean smiled. "How is it whenever I see you guys you look like you want to sell me something?" he said with a small chuckle that carried little mirth.

Castiel and Zachariah turned to each other, looked the other from head to toe and then turned their attention back to Dean without any sign of registering his words.

Zachariah took the lead as they came forwards with Castiel fading behind him wearing his typical despondent expression. Zachariah was looking as smug as ever, his over indulged face regarding Dean like a man regards an insect. It was like he had bitten into something sour. It was obvious to Dean that this particular angel regarded humans as nothing more than incompetent employees.

They came up to him; in fact they were a little too close and so Dean side-stepped and looked away. "You gals sure like to keep a guy waiting. What took you so long, I've been freezing my ass off out here... again!" he said, turning back to look at Castiel and then to Zachariah.

Zachariah spoke, a self important grin formed with his words. "There is much to be done Dean; the hour is close at hand. I really hope that one day you will realise that you are not the centre of everything."

Dean snorted, "Right, well maybe I will just as soon as you quit telling me that I am."

Zachariah gave a throaty chuckle. "Amusing Dean, almost really, but I must admit it is good to hear you're beginning to realise you have a role to play, a very important role to say the least."

Dean looked to Castiel who just stared blankly ahead. Something had happened to him, he had changed. There had been a time not long ago that Dean had seen a crack forming in Castiel's icy armour, a crack that had grown to the point that Dean was convinced that he was about to share something important with him. Cass was not like the other angels Dean had encountered. He had on occasion shown brief glimpses of compassion, a relative ability to understand and empathise with the human condition. But they had done something to him, sealed his armour up tight so he was just another self-righteous bag of hot air.

Dean turned back to Zachariah, his pompous face forcing him to tighten his hands into fists. "I swore my obedience. I will do whatever it is that you need me to."

"Very good Dean," Zachariah nodded, "then it is time..."

Dean held up his hands. "But wait just a minute. Before I do anything I need something from you."

A puzzled look befell Zachariah's face, the skin of his forehead falling into folds and his brow reaching down to his eyes. "You need something?" he said with a surprised tone. "We have danced around with you all this time as seal after seal fell and now, at this critical moment, you want to make more demands?"

Dean pushed back the feeling of guilt that nudged at his stomach. It was true they had failed to protect many seals but he knew they had fought their hardest to try and prevent them from falling. But it still stung, failure always did. "Look, I will do whatever is needed but right now I need to see my brother."

Zachariah's face fell further still. "Sam," he said the name in disgust, "why on earth would you want to see him?"

"Because..." Dean bit back the insult that just itched to spring from his mouth, "he's my brother and I need to make sure he's okay."

"I'm sure he's fine Dean. After all he walked tall out of that motel room while you lay flat on your back. I hope you weren't planning the same strategy when it really matters." Zachariah said with an obnoxious wink.

Dean pursed his lips, his eyebrow twitched and his eyes simmered with a phosphorous glaze. It took all his self control from taking a swing at Zachariah right now. Instead he took a step along the proverbial high road. "Please..."

"No Dean," Zachariah said sharply. "Let Sam follow his path, you must take a different direction. There is no more time, there are no more delays. You must begin the trials. The world hangs in the balance and it's up to you to save it."

Castiel stepped forward from Zachariah's shadow. "Dean," he spoke in his usual monotone drawl, thick and gravelled. "Sam has made his choice despite all your protests and now you must do the same. He is stepping up to the fight in his own ill-advised way. Do you really want to follow after him like always or do you want to make a real difference."

"It speaks," Dean laughed shooting Cass a venomous look. He nodded to Zachariah, "Or has he got his arm stuck firmly up your ass?"

Castiel sighed. "Dean, you are one of the most infuriating creatures I have ever met but I know that if you do not do this then the whole world will be laid to ruin. Could you really allow that to happen, could you live with yourself?"

Dean stared at him, stared so hard his eyes began to tear up. He thought of all the people he had saved, of how hard he had fought for complete strangers. And then he thought of those lives in terms of billions. He thought of his own experiences in hell, thought of there being no escape and no hope in sight. No, he would not let the world fall into oblivion, not while there was breath still in his body. Sam would have to wait.

Sighing, Dean turned back to Zachariah. He spoke flatly, "What trials?"

Zachariah smiled coolly. "The trials of redemption Dean, you must prove you are ready for this great undertaking. Castiel will go with you. He will be your guide." Zachariah stepped forward and brought a hand up towards Dean's face. "These trials, they wont be a stroll in the park or a brawl in a motel room. Are you sure you're ready Dean?"

"Just do it you bastard," Dean growled.

Zachariah brought two fingers to Dean's forehead. He touched his skin and the world went white.