Dean woke to cold stone against his back, his ass, his legs, and for one terrible, eternal moment, he was certain he was still in Hell, still trapped with Lucifer, abandoned, angry, and growing insane with grief – the both of them. Yet, there were spots of warmth he couldn't ignore, patches of heat soaking into his aching bones, bringing relief from pain and freedom from loneliness. He wasn't alone. He wasn't. He tried to open his eyes, found them reluctant to budge, and grimaced as he fought harder to pry the lids apart.
"Dean! Hey, Dean, you're okay." The voice was too loud, too near and far too forceful for the state of Dean's nerves, but it was also Sammy's voice and that made up for all the rest. He felt something warm and damp brush across his face and that seemed to dissolve the glue holding his eyes resolutely shut. They slid gradually open and Dean saw Sam leaning over him, looking more than a little the worse for wear and clutching a dripping bandana. Sam smiled at him tremulously, looking both younger and older than the last time Dean had seen him.
"What…" Dean rasped, but his voice broke and he began to cough. His throat felt like he'd been guzzling sand, or maybe rock salt.
"You're okay. You're going to be okay," Sam said, hastily dropping the cloth into something that splashed and then clanged dully. The kid slid a hand beneath Dean's neck and lifted him slightly while bringing an open water bottle to his dry lips. Dean swallowed greedily, stopping only when his brother pulled the bottle away. "Easy there, Dean. Easy." Sam lowered his head gently back to the floor, and Dean realized that there was something beneath his head, neck and shoulders. It felt soft and worn like one of Sam's old hoodies. It probably was one of Sam's old hoodies. It was only the rest of his body that lay directly on the stone floor, the cold seeping through the over-washed thinness of his jeans and directly into his skin. Where were they?
"Sammy, what happened?" It came out as a croak, but at least it came out.
"Do you remember getting grabbed by those demons?"
"Sort of." Flashes. Gunfire. Actual fire. Sam yelling his name. Castiel. Castiel screaming in pain…
"Where's Cas?" Dean demanded, trying and failing to sit up. "Sam, where – "
"He's here, Dean. He's right here," Sam said, nodding to Dean's left. Then he hurriedly brought the water back to Dean's lips as he began to cough again. When he was done drinking, gulping for air past still spasming throat muscles, he turned his head and saw the angel lying on the stone floor beside him. That was when Dean realized what he'd known on some level all along, that he could still feel Castiel with him. Dean wore no coat, no heavy over-shirt, and his thermal undershirt had been sliced neatly open from shoulder to elbow. Castiel's hand was inside the sleeve of his shirt, the angel's fingers gripping him tightly precisely over the brand of the angel's own handprint. Dean could feel not just the touch of Castiel's hand, but the actual, spiritual presence of the angel beside and within him, like a fire in his blood. Castiel's grace wrapped protectively about him like a warm blanket, holding back the insidious cold of his encounter with Lucifer if not the frosty chill of the floor. Raising his right hand slowly, his muscles still stiff and trembling, Dean covered the hand that gripped him, clasping it even more tightly again his skin. "Cas?" he whispered, his voice rough with disuse. "Cas?" The angel's eyes opened not with a flutter, but with a snap, his head turned, his gaze locking onto Dean's face.
Castiel said nothing, merely looking at him intensely for a moment, his eyes searching Dean's. Whatever he saw there must have satisfied him on some level, because he closed his sharp blue eyes and turned his head away with a relieved-sounding sigh. Dean snorted. "Hey man, nice rescue." Castiel nodded, but did not open his eyes. Clearly, Dean wasn't the only one done in by their little adventure.
"Sam, where are we?"
"We're in St. Michael's Chapel of the Holy Sword."
"Where?" Dean demanded.
"St. Michael's. It's one of the churches that Samuel Colt built in Wyoming, anchoring that giant devil's trap."
"Why in the world are we in a church?"
"It's where the demons took you, or at least it's where you wound up once Lucifer had you. We were afraid, at first, that he was going to take you back through the devil's gate, bodily into Hell. I've never seen Cas so freaked out."
"What can I say? Cas is a worrier." When Dean braced himself against the floor and started trying to sit up, Sam hurried to help him. They hit a small snag, however, when Cas showed some reluctance to let go of Dean's arm – a fact Dean found oddly comforting – but they finally managed to get the angel to settle for a slightly more restrained clutch on the leg of his jeans. Clingy angels. Who knew? Dean glanced around and saw that he had been lying in the center of some sort of giant ritual diagram with Cas lying next to him on one side and Sam kneeling beside him on the other. A metal bowl, half-filled with water and containing the damp bandana, was on the floor next to Sam. Water had sloshed out and pooled on the stone around it. Three water bottles, two empty and one half-full, sat beside the bowl. There were no pews in the church, just a slate stone floor, rough stone walls and a giant pair of wooden doors with metal bands crisscrossing them like the bars of a cage. No stained glass windows, no icons, no statues of saints. The place was dead dull and looked like it had never even heard of the concept of paint. Dean and Cas were lying in the center of the nave, their feet pointed toward the doors to the chamber, the altar presumably somewhere out of sight behind them. He could hear chanting coming from back there, faint and vaguely familiar. Normally chanting was a bad sign, but Sam seemed calm enough, so he would wait and check it out once he could stand up without shaking. Meanhwhile…
"What's with the bowl?" Dean asked. "Did I smell or something?"
"When we got here..." Sam trailed off and swallowed, looking for a moment as if he might vomit.
"Dude, if you're gonna hurl – "
"When we got here you were covered in blood," he explained in rush.
"My blood?" Dean paused and took stock of himself, but aside from a general overall ache and the twisted ankle he'd gotten when the demons snatched him, he couldn't feel any other injuries. "You cleaned me up?"
"Yeah, I – it just kept coming back," Sam blurted, sounding stricken. "I'd wipe you off and the blood – it smelled and felt like real blood even though Cas said it wasn't exactly real – it would wash away, but then it would come back, stronger than before. Cuts would open up on your face or chest or arms… bite marks. I wanted to stitch them up at first but Cas said not to. He said they weren't real, and he was right. They always faded. They weren't real here but they were real there." Sam swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing visibly. Well, that explained the minor freak out going on in baby brother's head. Sam had been seeing everything that happened to Dean in Hell… almost everything. Dear God. Dean glanced at the bowl of clean water and Sam followed his gaze. Clearly understanding what Dean couldn't bring himself to ask, Sam said, "The blood always faded away the moment I cleaned it off you. But I could still smell – " Leaping to his feet, Sam dashed for the church entrance. Shoving one of the heavy wooden doors aside, he disappeared into the night. Dean didn't follow. Much as his instincts told him to go hold Sam's too-long hair while the kid puked, his legs just weren't ready to move that fast yet.
Dean looked over and saw that Castiel was watching him with hooded eyes. The angel had removed his hand from Dean's leg and seemed calmer now, infinitely less desperate and anxious. Flashing an ironic smile at him, Dean turned slowly on his ass until he could look behind him into the apse of the church. He started and almost fell over when he saw the three figures there. Gabriel – that rotten bastard – was standing before the altar, hands raised toward the crucifix that hung on the wall behind it. His lips moved and Dean could hear him chanting slowly. The other two were lying on the floor at the base of the altar in a ritual diagram much like the one in which Dean still sat – Lucifer and Michael, Nick and the priest. Dean could feel himself beginning to shake, his throat going bone dry in an instant despite the water that Sam had plied him with. He was tense, ready to try and run despite the weakness that suffused his entire body, but he calmed slightly when Castiel laid a hand gently on his arm. "Do not fear," the angel said softly. "Lucifer cannot harm you now."
"How – " Dean gulped past the bile rising his throat. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.
"It took us three days to find you even with… help." Castiel stood, then held a hand out for Dean and helped the hunter to his feet. "Once I realized what Lucifer intended, I knew that I would never be able to retrieve you from Hell on my own. I had no choice but to seek the assistance of another angel. I sought out Gabriel. He was… surprisingly willing to aid me. It seems your parting words to him had some impact."
"No kidding."
"No kidding," Castiel repeated in his gravelly bass. "He stipulated his unwillingness to assist in any attempt to kill Lucifer, but he was ready to assist me in opening the devil's gate and sneaking into Hell's antechamber to find you."
"Hell has an antechamber?" Dean asked incredulously. "Is that like a foyer or something?"
"In essence, yes. A direct assault would have been futile, but I believed I might be able to reach you by employing stealth. I was uncertain how I would get you away from Lucifer, but I had to try."
"Cas, last time you snatched me out of Hell, you had a whole army of angels with you! Are you nuts? What you're talking about sounds like a suicide mission."
"Perhaps it was, but I had no choice. I could not leave you there, like that."
Dean contemplated the insanity of angels for a moment, contemplated the infinite value of a good friend, and then realized he'd left one crucial question unasked. "Uh, Cas, how come I'm still alive? If I was in Hell, shouldn't I be dead?"
"No. Lucifer dragged your soul, your awareness into Hell, but he did it in such as way as to maintain still a connection to your physical body. Why, I do not know. Perhaps he believed that he could convert you to his cause there and then return you here to do his will. The righteous man, turned to darkness, would have made a powerful ally."
Dean shook his head. "I don't think any of this was about me." He walked forward, stumbling, but Castiel quickly took his arm and placed it around his own shoulders. Together they moved to the space just in front of the altar, stopping at the foot of the ritual circle in which Lucifer and Michael lay motionless, seemingly dead. "I think this was about him," Dean said, jerking his chin in the direction of the be-robed priest.
"Perhaps you are right," Castiel agreed.
"Look, who is that guy? I mean, I know he's Michael and all, but who is he?"
"His name is Sean Rourke. He is one of Michael's alternative vessels… and your distant cousin."
"Part of the bloodline?"
"Yes."
"What in the blue blazes is he doing here?"
"He was already here when Sam, Gabriel and I arrived. It seems that Michael learned of Lucifer's plans for you himself and intended to take steps. I don't know what he meant to do, but shortly after our arrival, after we found you ensnared in an Enochian trap much like this one," Castiel indicated the diagram before them, "he and Gabriel went apart from us for a time. There was a great deal of arguing and yelling, but when it was over, Michael informed me that I was to lead him to you in Hell. He could not easily find you on his own since you have never accepted him, but I was able to follow our link." Dean looked down at his arm and rubbed the brand there self-consciously. "I was to remain hidden, my lesser presence masked by Michael's own grace until I could safely spirit you away. Gabriel… Gabriel did all the rest." Dean looked up to where the arch-trickster was still standing before the altar, still chanting under his breath.
Emetgis emna e a-ai-om.
Ananael allar babalon od baltoh saisch.
Bransg v affa adohi.
Ge-iad Bliora v hoath.
Cacrg v cafafam amma chis farzm fafen ohio.
Iad soba busdir bogpa.
Solpeth bi-en.
Dean frowned. His Enochian wasn't just rusty, it was pretty much non-existent, and he had no idea what Gabriel was saying. He heard the door of the church groan open behind him and turned to see that Sam had re-entered, looking wan. Dean gave him a weak smile, and Sam smiled back just as weakly. Then, turning back to Castiel, he asked, "What about Michael and Sean? How do we get them out of there now?"
Castiel's gaze dropped to the men lying in the circle, and for a moment Dean saw despair in the angel's eyes. "We do not."
"What?"
"Michael made his choice. In the end he was not a 'dick with wings,' it seems. He chose to save you, to save humanity, though he himself may now be damned."
"That's insane!" Dean yelled, causing Gabriel to stumble in mid-chant and shoot him a withering glare. "There has to be something we can do!"
"There is not. Even now, Gabriel binds the lock more tightly about our brothers' prison. They will not return to this Earth until they make peace with one another and repent their sins or until God himself intercedes."
"And their vessels? What about Nick and Sean."
"They are still connected to their angels. They can't break free. Eventually, trapped half-in and half-out of Hell in this manner, their bodies will waste away and die."
"They won't be trapped in Hell with Lucifer and Michael?"
"I pray not."
"That's not much of an answer!"
"It is all the answer I can give you," Castiel replied. "The world is safe. Humanity is safe. The apocalypse is ended, and my brothers live. You are safe. I feel for Nick and Sean, but I would make the same choice again." The sincerity in the angel's eyes was undeniable, his resolve unmistakable, and Dean felt shaken by it.
Glancing back at Gabriel, he asked quietly, "What is he saying? What's all that mean?"
Taking a deep breath, Castiel replied:
Seal herein first amongst us,
Secret wisdom bind wicked and righteous brothers.
Guard the empty kingdom.
Lord comfort the worshipper,
Until the abiding cursed are lifted from woe.
God, whose glory reigneth,
Hearken unto my voice.
Seal herein first amongst us…
The End
V Ipamis
*Author's Note: The chant really is in Enochian, but the chant itself is my own invention. I am NOT an expert in Enochian so, if any Enochian scholars are reading this, please forgive my errors. Constructive criticism or corrections would be greatly appreciated. Thanks to my beta reader, Eideann. She is also a Supernatural author (I am her beta) so check out her stuff on if you've a mind. If you like this story, you may also enjoy my book length, currently in-progress story, "The Seduction of Dean Winchester." Farewell, dear readers and God bless.