Title: Renegade Atlas
Rating: M
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Spoilers: through seasons 4 and 5, tiny tiny parts of 6; it's mostly canon
Warnings: insane!Dean, violence, gore, language, torture, thoughts of self-harm/suicide, angst like whoa, and probably a giant bastardization of angel lore
AN: Ugh sorry it's kind of shorter, but I don't think I could make it longer without compromising the integrity of the chapter. Sucks. Also, I'm trying super hard to stick to my posting schedule, but I've got lots of stuff going on right now, so it's harder to make it work. I will try my best to get chapter 8 up next Friday as usual, though. :D

And of course, sweetest thanks to MusicDefinesUsAll. I love that girl.


Dean doesn't know what to do, so he calls Bobby. Bobby can help; he can fix this because he's Bobby and he fixes things. He stops Dean from fucking things up and teaches him to throw a baseball and shows him how to cook in case Dean ever needs to take care of Sam like that. He taught Dean how to ride a bike when he was eight years old because John never bothered, and if there's one person in the world Dean trusts to know how to fix Sam, it's Bobby.

He refuses to think about Castiel.

"It's the middle of the night, Dean," Bobby says instead of hello. "What the hell's so important?"

"It's Sam, Bobby," Dean says, voice cracking. "Sam's back on the demon blood again, I saw him, Bobby. I don't—I don't know what to do, he's—"

"How'd you find that out?" Bobby asks, cutting Dean off before he can embarrass himself.

"There was a fight. Bunch of demons attacked, and me 'n Sam were fighting, and he cut a demon open with that knife, and I just watched him drink her blood right there in the middle of everything," Dean says, and somehow saying it out loud makes it more real. "Dammit, Bobby, I don't know what to do," he says, rubbing a hand up over his face. "He's...he's not Sam anymore, not like that. Stupid son of a bitch."

"Are you okay, boy?" Bobby says gruffly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be fine, it's Sam, Sam's the one—"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time, idjit," Bobby snaps. "You're allowed to take care of yourself before you start worrying about the rest of the world, you know."

"Sam," Dean whispers. "It's Sam, Bobby, how can you—"

"You think it don't break my heart just as much? How the hell'd he get back into that crap, anyway?"

"I don't know," Dean admits, and it's like tearing a whole other hole inside his soul. "I don't know, but it's bad this time."

"I've got a plan," Bobby says after a bit of silence. "Can you hang in there for a few more hours?"

"Yeah, Bobby," Dean says. He can already feel his mind calming and his eyes drying up as someone else takes charge, handing him orders and making plans. Dean isn't strong enough to do that, and it's good that he knows someone who is.

"You boys hit the road, and I'll call in a little while when you can head over. The room will be ready when you get here," Bobby says. Dean's heart slides down to his stomach when he realizes what Bobby means.

"Room, meaning—" he says, because he's a masochist who has to check.

"Yup."

Oh god.

Bobby graciously doesn't comment on the strangled sob that crawls out of Dean's throat.

"I'll see you in a few hours," Bobby says gently, and he hangs up so Dean can break down in peace.

Right now, Dean is supposed to be checking the building for any demons that might be hiding, but instead he's cowering on the roof and crying because his little brother drinks demon blood as a dietary supplement. There is nothing Dean can do to help him but lock him away in a cage designed for demons, and isn't that just the icing on the cake, that Dean gets pulled out of Hell and is thrown back to a monster he doesn't even know how to trust anymore?

How long has this been going on? How long has Sam been lying to him? Hell, maybe Sam's always been lying to him about stopping. Dean wants to jump straight to 'no' and put his faith back in his baby brother, his Sammy, but there is no such person anymore. Sam is a monster that Dean's never even met inside himself.

The scariest part isn't the demon blood. The absolute most terrifying part is the fact that it's blood period, that Sam is somehow turning into the creature Dean was in Hell. Dean knows that road. He knows what happens to people who drink blood because he's been there, felt the power inside of him as it grew. People turn into things when they go down that path, and if Sam thinks he can control it, he is wrong. He is so dead wrong and so fucking deluded.

Seeing Sam back there, it reminded Dean of two things. Himself, for one, this one time Alastair took him into a room where the walls were mirrors and guided Dean's hands while he sliced this man open. Alastair whispered the filthiest things into Dean's ear that day, calling him baby and daddy's good boy while he explained to Dean all the things they could do in this room and Dean could just watch all of it from any angle he wanted. And Dean had wanted, even as Alastair grabbed Dean by the side of his face and made him look at the two of them in the mirror.

There had been blood smeared on Alastair's hands, and it had gotten all over Dean's face, almost exactly like it had been on Sam's.

Fast forward to the last day in Hell, Sam on the rack and Dean's hands on his face, smearing blood around his mouth like he was the new Picasso. A broken Sam isn't much better than a power-hungry Sam.

God, Sam.

Dean manages to drag himself back into the building after he gets his breathing under control. He feels so fucking weak like this, knowing there is nothing he can do but wait for Sam to get better. There is no one to kill and no one he can blame this on—it's Sam's fault entirely for lying and sneaking around, and Dean can't fix that.

And right now, he has to be strong. Dean's always the one who has to be strong.


Dean hits a point where he just can't be in the house with Bobby anymore. He's just researching and reading and completely ignoring Sam screaming bloody murder in the basement, and Dean's mind is splitting itself in half. This is the worst job he's ever done to take care of Sam—always, always fucking take care of Sammy, Dean—and there isn't a damn thing he can do about it. He hurts Sam either way here, and damn Bobby for suggesting they let Sam destroy himself to save the rest of the world. Damn him.

He heads outside with half a notion of doing some shooting practice, and he grabs a gun out of the back of the Impala on autopilot.

Dean means to set up some cans, he does, but he's walking out there and an old transmission is sitting on the front of some busted up beater, and he just takes a shot at it. Then another one because the first isn't satisfying enough, and again, and again until he isn't shooting at the transmission anymore but the whole damned car.

When he runs out of bullets, he stuffs the gun in the back of his jeans and hefts a rusty old crowbar out of the dirt. It's not pretty, but it gets the job done.

It feels good, it feels so good, to have power over something like this, to destroy. Dean's crying and laughing all at once, but it's cathartic. Because he can't save Sam and he couldn't save Cas, and now his little brother is going through withdrawal and the damn angel is fucked beyond all reason.

Dean hasn't thought about Cas since he put him out of his mind ages ago, and now that Castiel is on his mind, he can't stop.

Cas had wanted to say something, Dean is sure of it. But Heaven put a whole new load of shit in his head; probably only God knows what's up there now, and he isn't speaking to Dean. He's too busy running around again as Heaven's little bitch boy again, Dean knows, because he walked away. He saw Sam suck blood out of a demon and he just walked away like it didn't mean a damn to him that some broken human just lost his little brother to the darkness.

"Cas, you son of a bitch," he says, arms falling lax at his sides. "You—you asshole, you complete fucking asshole," he shouts, and he swings the crowbar into the car again.

At least it's not the Impala this time, he thinks distractedly as he shatters the back window, screaming for Castiel to just turn up and explain himself. Dean's not even really sure who he's mad at, if it's Cas or Heaven or Sam or himself, because he carries a lot of hatred around in his heart and leaves it piled under denial most days.

He shouts until shouting isn't enough, and then he fumes silently on the hood of the car he just destroyed, praying every dickish plead for help he can imagine in his head.

Oh, Castiel, Castiel, where the fuck are you, Castiel? Get your asshole self down here now or I'll beat the shit out of you.

It doesn't work. None of his prayers do, and Dean's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to care. He's all worn out from screaming and destroying the car, and there's nothing more for him to do but wander around the salvage yard and send prayers in his head.

The afternoon fades into evening and bleeds into night, and Dean does his best not to cry.


Castiel received orders when he flew back to Heaven, and now he waits to carry them out. The objectives are simple.

Obtain the Righteous Man's service.

Release Sam Winchester.

Capture Anna.

Castiel waits until he is released from Heaven to do his duties. He can hear Dean praying the whole time, his words starting at blasphemous and obnoxious before they fade into pleading and heartfelt. When Dean cries softly, Please, Cas, don't leave me, something stirs in the deepest pits of his grace and he slams it back into place. He doesn't have time for that anymore.

Dean is typically human when Castiel flies down to him, ungrateful and obstinate. Castiel considers hitting him and putting some fear into his eyes, but that might be counterproductive to getting Dean to swear fealty.

It's surprisingly easy to complete his task. Castiel supposes Dean thinks of him somewhat as a friend, and humans are far too trustworthy with those they consider to be their friends. All it takes is saying the correct words in the correct order and hinting at Sam Winchester's damnation, and Dean may as well roll onto his back and present his throat to Castiel for all he's trying to obstruct the Apocalypse now.

That's what happens when you accidentally break a human's mind, he supposes.

Castiel waits again. He is to release Sam Winchester when he is ordered, and not a moment before. Castiel feels sorrow that his superiors have to clarify because of his previous actions, but he understands. They are so close to stopping Lucifer now; nothing can happen to disrupt the plan.

And when they arrive, he carries them out. Sam Winchester is freed so he may do what he can for the service of the Lord until such a time when the Righteous Man must step in.

Anna is easy to find. She turns up as soon as the news spreads about Sam Winchester, determined to make him question Heaven and repent his actions in the name of the Lord. She is dispatched of quickly. Castiel feels sadness that she has fallen so far.

Castiel, Zachariah calls.

Castiel stands at attention immediately, his wings poised for flight. Brother.

It is almost time. Retrieve the Righteous Man.

Yes, brother.

It's strange to see Dean. He has never noticed it before, but Dean's soul is brighter than he remembers, now that he truly looks at it. Castiel can see how it shines and radiates protection around the scars carved in it. Those are the scars he could not mend because they went too deep. He suspects that even now there are wounds beneath them where no creature can see, making up the parts of Dean where his mind is broken. Castiel never noticed that before, but he has been confused as of late. Heaven set him straight.

Dean doesn't notice him when he appears. His back is to Castiel and Bobby, shoulders hunched and jaw clenched, but his soul sparks in greeting. Dean is warm when Castiel enfolds his wings around him to take them to the Green Room, and a lightning strike of doubt slams into Castiel at the feel of Dean's soul welcoming its savior. This feeling has been stamped out of him, but Castiel is certain that Dean's soul has always been this welcoming and earnest.

But that is doubt, and Castiel does not doubt any longer. If this feels like he is betraying Dean, Heaven is only testing him.


Zachariah has always been overly fond of being more powerful than the humans. He likes to taunt and tease them, and even when it is just him and Castiel waiting outside the room, he gloats at how well they are doing. Heaven will be proud, according to him, maybe even proud enough to give them promotions, hasn't Castiel thought about that?

What Castiel's thought about is that Zachariah is possibly the most self-serving angel in existence, but he doesn't say that aloud.

Dean asks for him—Dean is always asking for him, if Castiel is honest, in the way his soul reaches out to touch Castiel's grace—and Zachariah gives his blessing. Heaven must trust him now, Castiel thinks, and bitterness seeps into his head when he has to deny Dean his brother. He thinks of Balthazar, how there isn't a force in the universe Castiel wouldn't battle through to reach him.

But rationally, he knows Balthazar is gone. There is nothing to fight for, just feathers and a dull halo stomped into the ground in the deepest pits of Hell.

If he could, though. If only he could.

That's when Dean starts breaking the wall. Zachariah sighs, mutters something about insolence, and flies away to deal with him. Castiel pays half a mind to their conversation, straightening a kink out of his wing absently. There isn't much to do but listen and think. Heaven is on the path to stopping Lilith, and all they need is to wait for the sound of the war drums telling them the battle has been won.

What Castiel hears instead is that Heaven wants the Apocalypse to happen.

The chains in his mind are torn out by a bullet, the careful training and reconditioning ripped away in the space it takes for fury to explode through Castiel's grace. The torrent of emotion takes him off guard; it feels like a punch to the stomach, like the first painful breath of air after a deep swim up to the sky. He feels alive and electric like the stars, anger and sorrow—true sorrow now, not watered down red paint anymore—painting the world with color beyond his imagination. Everything is bright and vivid and wholly, incomprehensibly human again, the colors splashed back into the world with a crazed fervor that strikes Castiel like a shove to his grace so strong he feels it physically.

The question is no longer whoa, Cas, where you aimin'? The answer is the memories swirling back into their rightful places.

Metatron and Rahab don't matter. Castiel will take a thousand years of their torture if he can just see Dean's soul shining after the fact. Everything about Dean is green, from the glow of his soul to the love in his eyes, and Castiel could drown in the color because he loves that human more than the brothers who would destroy their Father's work. Dean's soul is worth rebellion in all of its stubborn, asinine, coltish, infuriating glory, and Castiel will die for Dean. He probably will die for Dean, if he doesn't stamp out the emotions now.

But the thing his mind keeps coming back to is this—the most beautiful thing in all of creation, and Castiel is going to have a helping hand in its destruction.

There are other things to worry about, more sins to atone for, because he betrayed Anna in the worst sense; she'll get it worse than he did in Heaven—and he's let Sam free.

But there isn't time for that, not now with Lucifer so close to rising and Dean trapped by Zachariah. Dean really is the only one who can stop this. He is the only one in the entire universe who can keep Sam from doing this, prevent Lucifer's rising, and Castiel's faith slams back into him.

Dean can do this. He just needs to get out of that room.

Castiel still has a part to play. Zachariah is watching and very much on alert with Castiel, but he needs to see Dean, needs to see if he can somehow pass along the message that all is not lost. Because it really isn't. Castiel hates to believe he's special, but if anyone can stop this, it's the Righteous Man and the angel who raised him from Hell. There is no one else.

Zachariah, of course, puts his guard back up the moment Castiel mentions wanting to see Dean.

Why do you want to do that, little Castiel? Anything you're not telling me?

And Castiel thinks to himself that this is only a game of pool with a fat businessman who has nothing to lose. He knows how to play this game.

I believe it would help end his disobedience to hear an apology from the angel he still considers a friend, Castiel answers steadily. His wings are almost vibrating under the strain it takes to display no emotion now that he has it. Zachariah studies him as he blanks out everything. That's all angels are, Castiel knows now, just brank templates occasionally tinged with the barest hints of sadness or happiness. Some of them have evolved in their years, but they are all essentially the same, empty and barren compared to what Castiel is now.

Can't hurt to try, Zachariah answers after his scrutiny of Castiel is done.

Passing along the message, at any rate, is hopeless, because Dean is a little too hurt and he's lashing out distrustfully. It isn't Castiel's best performance either—he puts too much inflection in some of his words and tries far too hard to get Dean to understand. There's desperation in him, because everything Dean says is true and he knows it, but it still makes him cold to think that he will die for this. Dean doesn't understand because he has consigned himself to death before, but Castiel has never even considered the possibility until now. There are some feelings even humans cannot grasp, and he nearly says that before Dean tells him, "We're done."

It must flash so obviously through him, the feeling that screams no, we're not.

Zachariah only sees results, though, and Dean settles down. Result? Positive.

He thinks he can stop this, Zachariah gloats, but Lilith's death is the final seal. Castiel suspects he isn't supposed to know that, but the angels' dulled version of excitement thrums through Zachariah. In a few hours, Sam Winchester will have freed Lucifer and it will be all over. There is nothing anyone can do.

He thinks Heaven has triumphed. But even with everything to lose, Dean is fire and spirit to his very core. Zachariah knows nothing.

Zachariah's attention wanes quickly, but there isn't enough time to get Dean out if Zachariah is still paying half a mind.

Castiel despises waiting. It's a surprisingly human emotion that makes him feel just a little warmer.

It isn't long before Zachariah fades into the conversation of brothers in his head, his vessel's eyes glazing over as he removes all of his attention from Earth. Castiel sends a brief prayer of thanks to his Father, because even after his Hell in Heaven, Castiel still believes He's helping him. He has to be.

There is just enough time for Castiel to fly to Dean and save him from Heaven. For a moment, just the barest instant, Castiel's grace is pressed against Dean's very soul with nothing but a wall to support them, and it feels like Castiel has just been gifted the whole world as Dean submits to him.

Castiel can't believe he forgot how alive Dean makes him feel. The first time, it was slow, gradual, like being slowly submerged into the ocean. This time, however, it is all at once, a snap change from endless blue sky and sea to diving into the coral reefs, and Castiel feels reckless in his impurity. The trust in Dean's eyes and the full welcome of his soul make Castiel remember why this is worth it.

Whoa, Cas, where you aimin'? indeed.

His plan is half-formed and shoddy, and even an animal could see the holes in it. It's the only thing he has, though.

Castiel knows full well he's walking straight to his death—the archangels will be watching the prophet and Zachariah has already told Heaven of Castiel's betrayal. His brothers cry out in anger in his head, and Castiel blocks it all out and washes his mind green.

There is no time for apologies or goodbyes. He says, "I'll hold him off. I'll hold them all off," and he fucking means it. When he touches Dean's forehead, Castiel does the last thing he can do for him—he lets Dean feel kindness the way Castiel showed him charity in hopes that Dean will understand everything Castiel doesn't have time to say. Their scars are so similar in the part of them no human can see, and he thinks maybe it means that Dean will understand what Castiel is trying to say.

He will not survive this, but Dean will, and humanity will continue with him.


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