"I'm begging you,
Stop praying for me."
-Alkaline Trio, "Prevent this Tragedy"
Chapter 6
"You aren't serious."
Dean lets out a small, unamused huff, "As a heart attack."
"I have heard some stupid ideas come out've your mouth before but this is somethin' else entirely."
"Bobby, something's wrong. I know it. I need to get Sam outta there and if this is the only way, then it's the only way."
"Of course something's wrong, your brother is locked in the deepest part of hell with two archangels."
Dean flinches, "Not like that. The last few times I've dream walked…" Dean pauses at Bobby's disapproving glare, "Sam hasn't been there. I know he won't always be but it felt empty, or just…I don't know. Something's wrong."
Bobby stares for a moment and then sighs, "Dean, maybe…maybe it's just time to let this go." Let Sam go is what he really means and they both know it.
Dean would if he could, but he can't. It'd be different if Sam died on a hunt or if he was in heaven. If he knew Sam was at peace then maybe Dean would be able to hold out long enough to find his own peace. But they aren't that lucky. Sam sacrificed himself, saving Dean and the rest of the world, and he's paying for it in ways that no one can imagine. Sam doesn't deserve eternal torment like that and Dean'll be damned if he just leaves him there without trying.
"No, Bobby. It's Sam," Dean simply says as if it explains everything. In a lot of ways, it does.
"I get that, son. I do. I miss the kid too. But this is insane and you know it. And no offense, but you're still not steady on your feet. You sure you're even up for this?"
Dean feels the remaining throb in the back of his head and winces. Three weeks ago Bobby drove his sorry, sick ass to the salvage yard where he spent some of the most miserable nine days of his life, and that's coming from a lifetime of miserable days. It was a week before the excruciating headaches went away and he could eat again, and he's still having the occasional dream that may or not may be a dream. Dean's not really sure any more.
But none of that is going to stop him, not until he's exhausted every last resource to get his little brother out of hell. Sam would do it for him; that's enough for Dean.
"I'm fine. I'm doing it."
Bobby sighs and sits down behind his desk, readjusting his trucker cap, "What about Cas? I thought you said he wasn't answering?"
Dean smirks, "He's not gonna have an option this time."
Bobby deadpans, "You're going to summon him. You really think that's a good way to get him to go along with this?"
"What else am I supposed to do, Bobby? The son of a bitch isn't answering and I can't do this without him."
"Can this even be done? This is a new brand of crazy, Dean. Even for us."
Dean shrugs, "I don't know, m'gonna try anyways."
"Die trying is more like it."
"Maybe," Dean says with unabashed determination and acceptance on his face. Much like when he went out to meet Lucifer at Stull, he's ready to die trying to reach his brother. "So are you gonna help me or not?"
Bobby glares, "What do you think?"
It's still early; the earth's just now starting to turn a pale blue as the sun erases the darkness. Dean's drinking whiskey anyways. He thinks he deserves it, all things considering, and it's five o'clock somewhere. The dew from the night is soaking into his jeans as he sits on the hood of the Impala but he doesn't even notice. Dean has more important things on his mind right now.
He sighs, takes another sip from his glass, and then bows his head.
"Dear Castiel, I'm about to embark on a suicide mission to hell and could really use your help. If you're not too busy playing harps and shining halos, I'd really appreciate a moment. Please."
Dean looks up and glances around, looking for Castiel's familiar silhouette. All he sees are burnt out cars and the rising sun. Irritation flares in Dean's chest at the silence.
"Ok, how about come down here before I summon your ass and introduce your wings to some holy oil, you elusive sonuva…"
"Hello, Dean."
Dean jumps as Castiel's deep voice sounds from behind him. The whiskey in his glass sloshes dangerously and Dean fights to steady it.
"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters as he slides off the Impala, keeping a firm hold on the liquor glass.
Castiel frowns as he sweeps his gaze over the hunter, "You look terrible."
Castiel looks the same as he did five months ago: tan trench coat, badly knotted tie, wearing an expression on his face that is both puzzled and concerned. Despite Dean's annoyance at being ignored by the celestial being since Sam stopped the apocalypse, he can't deny that he's happy to see the wayward angel.
"Yeah, thanks. Guess you haven't improved your social skills while upstairs, huh?" Dean smirks as he takes another swig of Jack, "Where've you been, Cas?"
The puzzled look on Castiel's face deepens, "I thought you just established that I've been in heaven."
Dean rolls his eyes, "I mean, why haven't you answered? Sam jumped into the pit three months ago and you've been AWOL. What, you don't get cell reception up there?"
Castiel sighs as understanding settles in, "Things have been…chaotic since Sam off-set the balance and stopped Lucifer. Heaven is in shambles. As soon as I returned Raphael made his plans to take over. I can't allow it to happen, it would undo everything we stopped."
"You mean he'd try to kick start the apocalypse again." Dean's gaze is hard, filled with fury at the idea of another archangel trying to burn earth to the ground, and rendering Sam's sacrifice useless.
"Yes," Castiel replies.
"Son of a bitch," Dean's hand goes over his mouth as he tries to process the information, "So it's a civil war up there."
"Essentially."
"Wow…that," Dean takes another drink of whiskey, "That's just great. I know I've told you before but Cas, your frat bros are serious dicks."
Castiel doesn't respond but his silence is enough of an answer.
"You said you needed help with…a suicide mission."
"Uh, yeah," Dean says as he rubs the back of his neck, "I need you to help me get Sam outta the cage."
"Dean, you know that it can't be done. You knew it when Sam jumped. I do not have the power and anyone short of God will not either."
"Do you want to hear the plan or not?"
Castiel stares and Dean takes that as approval to continue, "I'm gonna open the door to the Devil's Gate. I'm gonna go in after him myself. I need you to repair the train tracks so that anything that crawls out will get trapped. We don't need another demon war on our hands."
In any other situation, the expression on Castiel's face would be hysterical: something between horror, shock, and anger.
Dean snorts, "Hey, I gave you fair warning."
"It's impossible. Dean, it took an entire team of angels to raise you from hell. You'd be killed before you even got halfway."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas."
Castiel shakes his head, a hint of desperation creeping into his eyes, "Dean, please. Sam would not want you to do this."
"Sam saved us and everyone else in this crap world, and we owe him big time. He's being ripped to shreds by your big brothers so don't try and tell me what Sam would and would not want. I'm getting him out. With or without your help, but I'm getting him out."
Castiel has seen this look on Dean's face before. It's the expression that was on his face when Dean pleaded with the angel to help him stop Zachariah's plan, and bring Sam home. It's the same expression He saw just months ago when the world was about to be lost to Lucifer, but Dean wasn't ready to give up. It's the look that Castiel's come to recognize as Dean's last stand look, one that's always reserved for saving Sam or die trying. It's a look that Castiel hates.
"Even if by some miracle you got to the cage, you'd have to get in and steal Sam right out from Michael and Lucifer's nose, and you'd have to get back out. You'd have to…"
Castiel trails off as his gaze shifts in thought.
"What? What is it?" Hope flutters in Dean's chest at the thoughtful expression on Castiel's face. If there's even a hint that Castiel thinks this could work, then Dean's running with it and not letting go.
"You'd have to be as powerful as an angel," Castiel finishes.
"Oh, yeah that's great, Cas. I'd go strap on my angel wings but I'm having them detailed."
"Your sarcasm is not going to help."
"Well, Jesus, Cas don't you think this is something I already know?"
Castiel sighs. "Since the civil war broke out in heaven certain things have been made…more available. The weapons of heaven are more or less at my disposal."
"Ok, well what does that mean?"
"It means I could give you Michael's sword, the real Michael's sword. With it you would be able to kill anything in your path."
Dean's jaw drops, "Michael's sword? Isn't that gonna piss him off?"
"You're walking into hell and you're worried about Michael being angry over you wielding his sword?"
"Are you kiddin' me? He's gonna take one look at it and smite my ass!"
"Not if you use it as leverage," Castiel says with a nearly undetectable smirk.
Dean blinks, quickly piecing together Castiel's implication, "You mean use it as a bargaining chip. The sword for Sam. Wouldn't he be able to fight his way out of the cage if he had it?"
Castiel slowly shakes his head, "He'd have complete control over Lucifer but the cage was made to hold archangels; one can't get out unless the cage is opened from the outside."
"Well that's all great but how am I supposed to get outta hell without my all-killing sword?"
"I don't know."
Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face, desperately trying to think of how he and Sam would get out of hell – alive – after leaving the cage. He could go in with their usual arsenal but they'd more than likely run out of ammo way before they got back to the Devil's Gate, leaving them defenseless. To make matters worse, they'd be fighting to get out at the same time all the demons would be trying to get out, which Dean imagines is going to be like a fight to the death in the ultimate championships. The odds aren't good but, Dean thinks with a smirk, when are they ever?
"We'll figure it out. When can we make this happen?" Dean asks, feeling renewed determination bubbling under the small bolt of fear in his gut.
Castiel looks away as if thinking, or maybe mentally reprimanding Dean for jumping head first into this crazy plan, "Tomorrow."
Dean nods, feeling steadier now that he has a game plan. He's always felt more at ease when he had something to concentrate on.
"I'll be ready," he says, "Hey, Cas? I couldn't do this without you, so you know…thanks."
Castiel's lips are pressed in a firm line of frustration but he nods once before disappearing with the barely audible swish of large wings