(Author's Note: I've gotta get these guys better in time for Mummymollyweasley's next installment to the Before the Fall 'Verse. You do not want to miss her Christmas story, Snow Angel, coming as soon as we wrap Thunderstruck. Gotta go help the damsel Dean again – you know how he's gonna feel about needing his brother to rescue him in Some Sin for Nothing, and now here in Thunderstruck. Plus there was so much more that I finally decided to just move into the next chapter. And, oh No! Mummy has infected me because I want to give an evil laugh. Muahhaha…cough, cough. Need practice. Thanks for sticking with me/us!)

Chapter 7 –

The road is long with many a winding turn

That lead us to who knows where,

who knows where

But I'm strong,

strong enough to carry him

He ain't heavy, he's my brother.

So on we go…

"He Ain't Heavy, He's my Brother" by The Hollies

. . .

You dragged him out of Hell, why are you putting him through this now? Look at what your goddamned addictions have done to him. Castiel feels each syllable of Sam's accusation as though it is branding itself onto his heart, and he does what Sam has asked of him, he looks at what Dean is going through because of him, because of Dean's concern for Castiel. With a pained gasp, Cas gathers Dean closer, tries to shelter him in his arms.

Sam stands there torn. He means every word he said to the fallen angel, but he knows it isn't really fair to blame Cas for Dean's choices. Dean, his older brother…How can one guy be so awesome and such a pain in the ass all at one time? Sam keeps standing where he is, watching the tableau before him, indecision plain as he runs his hand over the back of his neck, over the stubble on his jaw. "Is this an overdose, Cas? Do we need to get him to a hospital?"

Castiel shakes his head no, and lifts his head only slightly to address his next words towards Sam, not looking him in the eye. "It is a terrible experience with peyote. If we can keep Dean from harming himself anymore, he will be fine physically. It's just, I did not stop him at first, and … it could be hours still."

"Peyote, Cas? Peyote? Since when does Dean try hallucinogens? He never even finishes his prescriptions for pain. Strong drugs and Dean just don't do well together." Sam is huffing, letting his anger build again. Lashing out at Castiel. But unlike when he chews out his brother, Sam can see each of his words stick to the broken angel. Castiel is holding Dean, but completely still otherwise. Head bowed and accepting of any punishment Sam heaps on him. Refusing to make excuses for his failures.

"Look at me, Cas," Sam starts, dad had always started lectures that way, and Sam uses those words without thinking. "Tell me what you meant by 'harming himself any more.'" But the fallen angel has obeyed and is looking up at Sam, like a puppy dog that has been kicked and is waiting for the next blow.

All the pumped up aggression drains, as Sam stoops next to him, "Hey? Cas … man." Sam notices two things: the sleeves of Dean's shirt are spotted with blood and that Castiel is silently crying, tears pouring from devastated blue eyes onto Dean's hair like an open faucet. Sam sits behind him, pulling the broken angel who is holding the whimpering body of his brother, into his arms. Sam kicks himself (metaphorically); his storming around, stomping and yelling, is only making things worse.

Castiel is amazed at Sam's compassion. The Winchesters continue to astound him and make him appreciate his Father's highest achievement, messy emotions and all. While he knows what Sam is offering, he's not ready to be forgiven or forgive himself. It should not be so easy to be absolved of the consequences of his stupid actions. Actions that have left Dean in this state.

There have been very few occasions Sam can remember where someone talked his brother out of doing something he set his mind on, talked with their fists mostly. This angel is one of the few who has managed it. Sam knows that Castiel has no way of stopping Dean from doing something he has decided to do. He and Castiel both begged Dean not to become the Michael sword for the Apocalypse. Cas finally beat it into him, literally, that Dean could not fall in with the angels' plans. In the long run, whether Cas and Sam considered that a victory, he knows Dean considers it his failure – the failure of an older brother to protect a younger one. Dean's failure to protect Adam.

It is heart-breakingly sad to see Dean's angel learning these aspects of living with a hero. Living with someone who throws himself in front of a train time and again in an effort to stop that train from hurting the people he loves. Never considering what that does to them. And as much as Sam wants to be the one holding Dean right now, because Dean would do it for him, and as much as he knows he will never actually balance the scales of who has done the most for the other, Sam knows that he is doing the right things by offering his strength to the man who holds his brother's heart – even if Dean is too stubborn to ever admit it.

"It's okay, Cas. We'll get him back down - then I'll kick both your asses." Sam murmurs.

. . .

The concept of a supreme being, a female supreme being who created the universe and all of its laws, is 25,000 years old, at least. In this little church in Albuquerque, it is the Earth Mother who is worshipped, and her priestess, Sandra Billy, is praying to the being who occasionally speaks through her. She has failed in a simple task; she wanted to bring one of the Mother's special children in balance with his spiritual nature. Bring him closer to the mother. Instead, she watched him go from relaxed and accepting, to shattered, far too quickly. She has never seen such a quick and violent reaction to her peyote tea before.

Sandra hears what sounds like a storm of anger washing through the quiet building, and she stands, ready as she will ever be to confront this. These Winchesters seem to know very little about walking in peace or beauty. She gathers together the soft scarves and blanket that she has collected. First thing's first, and that is to make sure no more harm comes to Dean.

When she enters into the room with the three men, she is astonished to see how big the third man is, who – according to what Bernadette has told her – must be Dean's younger brother. He is tall and broad, but lean, and so young with eyes far too old, like his brother's. She knows the Earth Mother will want to meet this one as well.

"I have scarves. We can use them to bind his arms and legs so he doesn't hurt himself or any of us. Then we'll roll him into this soft blanket." She is handing the items to the brother (Sam, she thinks), as she speaks. Reaches over him to use one of the scarfs to wipe both Castiel's and Dean's faces. "Once we have him safe we can talk."

Sam follows this woman's directions and with Castiel's help, they have Dean rolled up like a burrito. Sam knows doing this makes sense because Dean thrashed and kicked while they got him safely swaddled, but he also knows how much his brother would hate this. Sam picks him up and lays him gently on one of the couches, glad that Dean seems exhausted now, maybe he will fall asleep.

Cas sits at Dean's head, wiping away sweat from the bundled man, but he looks up at Sam, seated at Dean's feet. "What do you need to know, Sam?"

Sandra brings them both a glass of water, in her culture considered a gift as water is a scarce resource in the desert, and she tries not to be insulted when Sam asks if it's safe to drink.

"You are Sam, yes? Hello, I am Sandra Billy, and I want you to know it was never my intent to hurt your brother. He and Castiel came to me for help. I want to help, and the Mother wants me to." Sandra crosses toward them; she wants to check Dean, but the men are sitting like protective bookends. "Can I check him, please? Castiel, he is calmer now, we could still do what you two came here for. If through him we can reach your spirit we can help it rebalance."

Narrowing his eyes, Sam shoots a glare at Cas. "This was to help you?" Then, as though he has remembered his manners suddenly, Sam shifts toward Sandra. "God, I'm sorry. I've been behaving like a jerk." He stands up and extends his hand, looking over at the motherly figure. "Yes, I am Sam Winchester, Dean's brother. I'm sorry, I'm just worried. Please, can you tell me what is going on? What went wrong?"

Castiel looks at her sadly, though, and says no. "I cannot risk him being any more troubled on my behalf." Sandra looks at him sadly; the two berdache had seemed so relaxed earlier. Castiel clears his throat. "We were not aware that we would be drinking peyote tea. Dean succumbs easily to medication."

"Please sit again, Sam. It is giving me a headache to look up so far at you," Sandra requests. Then looking carefully at Castiel, she asks permission to place her hand on Sam's forehead. Cas warns Sam that she "reads" people that way.

Sam hesitates at first, but he's curious. "Go ahead, I guess. Did you read Dean and Castiel earlier?

Sandra says she did, but that it was hard to read Castiel. "His aura colors are angry and as though he finds forgiveness difficult. Unlike your brother's. He has a unique prism, mostly deep blue with flashes of gold and lavender. He appears to be very special."

Sam gives her a shy smile. "And my aura?"

"You are guarding it too closely, Sam. There's a murky gray around it." She explains that if she puts her hand on his forehead she may learn more. "Besides reading people, I try to help people reconnect with the mother – to balance aspects of their lives that cause them pain. Your brother was quite pleased, and no harm came to him from it."

When Sandra places her palm on his head, Sam does not feel more connected to Mary Winchester. Instead, he sees images of his brother caring for him, teaching him to walk, reading to him; Dean feeding him, helping him learn to read and write, to shoot and fight. Thousands of images flitting through his mind, thousands of ways his strong, tough, brother has nurtured and cared for him. And the times Dean has thrown himself into harm's way and into the pits of Hell. When she removes her hand from his head it is to take his hand in hers as they both cry.

"You really never knew your mother, Sam? Never had a mother-figure except your brother. It seems to help you - or Castiel - find your balance, we will need to work through Dean. He is your link to the spirits"

. . .

Several hours later, after Sam knows all anyone can tell him about what has happened to Dean, puzzling with Cas over muttered reference to Zachariah and 2014, and after sharing a meal with Sandra and Bernie, the guys return to find a trussed up Dean wriggling around the floor trying to unravel himself. He's awake, mostly coherent, and pissed off. "What the frikkin' hell, Sam? When did you get here - and why am I tied up like a pig 'n a poke?" Sam would have found it funny if his brother's voice wasn't so ragged from screaming earlier. "Cas, man, I am not into bondage, you freak. Help a brother out here."

Sam, finally, is the one who unrolls, unties, and gets his brother back on his feet. Once Dean gets a chance to wash up, piss, and get a drink of water, Sam stops him from sitting again as he peels off the over shirt to check the scratches which run all over his arms, neck, sides and shoulders. But they're not deep. Nothing soap, a hot shower, and time will not heal.

"How are you Dean, and I swear I don't know what will happen if you say 'fine'"

Dean opens his mouth, closes it again. Then he clears his throat gingerly. "Sammy, a bunch of the crazy got out. Hell . . . Hell got out." He shudders. "But I think I've got it all crammed back into the box again." He gives a half-shrug, like he wonders if Sam will accept this answer, but doesn't know what else to say. "Right now, I'm okay. I just feel kinda open, like my nerves are exposed?"

Sam's eyebrows meet as he furrows them, trying to figure out what his brother means, but he gives a small shrug, satisfied that his brother is okay, and at least not lying to him. Then Sam punches him - carefully. He avoids body shots because he knows Dean's still recuperating from the beating that hospitalized him, avoids anything that will open the fresh stitches in his head, but he hits hard and to his brother's jaw without warning. Dean has no chance to brace for the blow and flies back a few steps before landing ungracefully on his ass.

From the floor, Dean's green eyes glare up confusedly at his brother. "What the fuck, Sam?"

Sam clenches his jaw and glares right back. "Drugs, Dean? Drugs? What the hell were you thinking? When I was 15 you kicked my ass for doing drugs." He reaches down and clasps his brother's arm to help him back up. Dean eyes him warily, and Sam sees he is abashed to have forgotten. "C'mon, Dean, off the floor. I'm finished – for now. If you want to take this further, let's wait until you're better." He hauls his brother to his feet, and gives him a gentle push onto the couch where Castiel looks like a cartoon fish gasping for air.

"Sam...Do you think we can put the Jerry Springer moments away for now?" Dean croaks out, rubbing his jaw and giving his own version of puppy-dog eyes. "There's some other stuff I was gonna ask these nice people about. I've been thinking about our conversation in the Impala with Bernie – I think she, umm, well, remember I said she didn't feel right? I think she knows a whole enchilada of a lot more about Thunderbirds then she's letting on."

Sam looks like he wants to punch his brother again, but just can't figure out where to land another one without reinjuring him. "So you thought it would be a good idea to go with her somewhere to get stoned? Maybe you better explain that one to me again because that sounds like the stupidest plan you could have come up with."

That's when Sam realizes that Bernie and two other women are now standing inside the room.

. . .

The three women stand behind the priestess and then drop gracefully to the floor, hands clasped together at arm's length over their heads. Then it's as if they are stretching and sprouting feathers, slowly moving up to standing again. Each now a huge bird woman with dark feathers and white ruffs around their necks and with talons at the end of arms that hang at their sides while wings are half-spread out, overlapping and ruffling gently before closing on their backs.

Sandra stands between the men and the creatures with her hands up. "We need to talk," she begs, "beginning with the legend of when Mother Earth pushed away from Sky Father and came to the Turtle planet. And the Mother wishes to greet you." Sandra slips behind a soft shining radiance. "Be at peace and listen."

They hear how from the union of Sky Father and Mother Earth, all beings on the planet formed. They made the angels of the heavens, the Thunderbirds, Monster Slayer, and all manner of man. But Sky Father was always stirring up trouble, she says, causing her children to fight, and punishing them too harshly. This is a melding of religious pantheons, smoothly fitting together two belief systems in a way that Dean and Sam haven't seen since the Elysium Fields Inn brought together the deities of pagan religions, only to have Lucifer cut them down.

Castiel is watching the priestess with open distrust in his red-rimmed blue eyes, stiff and unresponsive. He knows this supposed "Mother" figure no more than he knows his own Father: he has only the word of his elder brothers, the archangels, to give him any perspective on the pagans - and they have never spoken of this. Even were it true, even were there a Goddess to God, his Father, these Thunderbirds and this "Mother" are no family of his.

He decimated his family. Set it on the path to its own destruction, and now the only family that matters is this small, broken unit that has accepted him: Dean and Sam and Bobby.

(He can't think of the rest, or he will drown himself in his guilt).

"You broke up the family because you couldn't agree how to raise the kids?" Dean asks, blunt and to the point, and since his throat is so broken still, he doesn't sound at all flippant. Sandra's shining image approaches him. She gives Dean a tiny kiss on his forehead.

"That makes it sound so trivial, my child, but all of you have always mattered to me. And you, you bear some of the Divine in you; you are of my lost son, Monster Slayer's line. You have lived as whole – take my blessing."

Next she approaches Sam, telling him how sorry she is that the scheming of her older children deprived him of any mother "I have no frame of reference with you, my son, I am sorry. Be at peace."

Then she sits next to Castiel and takes his reluctant hand. "How beautiful my husband's angels are when they obey. How terrible they become in rebellion or when they lose their way. Castiel, you are not a true rebel. Accept this kiss from me, your mother. I am so sorry you have been alone so long. Forgiveness must come first from you."

"You are not my Mother." Even to Castiel, he sounds like a petulant child (baby in a trenchcoat, the words still stab at him years later), but she only smiles sadly in response, her lips brushing his forehead.

Shining Sandra stands and paces back to the waiting Thunderbirds. Reaching them, she turns back toward the waiting men. "My Thunderbirds are my messengers and guardians of my first people. I made only one hundred of them, most still remain after 28,000 years because - unlike your Father - I would rather heal them than smite them."

I am your Father now. Be obedient, children. Or this will be your fate.

Castiel can feel the weight of Sandra's regard, and he ducks his head again, staring at his open palms.

Sandra waves her hand at the creatures behind her, and the moment goes unnoticed. "They are not monsters, unless they lose their purpose and begin to think humankind is nothing but food."

"I have two requests. One is that you capture my Thunderbird and allow her sisters to take her away for healing. The second is that I want you to call down here, whoever it is in charge of the Heavenly Host. Michael and Rafael have remained angry with me, and I could not reason with them. Whoever is currently in charge – whoever this is has me blocked from any communication."

. . .

"This is unwise." Castiel's voice is low and somber, but he still assists Sam and Dean in gathering the belongings they need for an angel summoning, and quietly palms the stub of chalk he will need to draw the ancient sigils. "My orders were very clear."

"We kinda suck at following Heavenly orders, Cas. I mean, our track record . . ."

Castiel shrugs off Dean's words, but Sandra turns her gaze back to their conversation as Castiel begins the Enochian recitation for the summoning.

"I will not let harm come to you in this."

"Just like that?" Sam scoffs.

"My Sam, you have allowed the imbalance inside you to affect your understanding. I did not leave in fear of the Sky Father, but in fear of what I might do to him if I had to watch what was being done to my children. Think, Sam, and you will know a protective mother is the most fearsome being."

As the final ingredients hit the bowl at the center of the sigils, it erupts with a gout of white flame: Sam and Dean avert their gazes from the flash, but Castiel raises his eyes from his work and meets his brother's stare as he appears directly before him.

"You know, bro, we gotta work on this whole concept of 'Don't' Call Me.' I mean, I thought I was pretty clear." Gabriel taps the side of his head indicatively with the hilt of his blade, and pops the lollypop in his other hand back between his lips, speaking around it. "What with you eavesdropping and everything. Which by the way, dumb idea. I really should just off you, put you out of my misery."

"Hello, Gabriel." Castiel greets his brother in the bare span of break in his words, as Dean and Sam fall in around the archangel, who appears supremely unconcerned. Unconcerned, until a single word.

"Coyote?"