"Time's up, Cas," Dean announced as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his voice sharp and commanding. "I need to know how to end this, and you're gonna tell me. Now."
Cas winced as he pushed himself up on one hand, looking up to meet Dean's eyes. He seemed unconcerned with Dean's question, his eyes drifting downward and then widening in alarm when they fell on Dean's hands. Dean glanced down, his mouth dry when he realized that they were still covered in blood. The little girl's fearful eyes flashed into his mind… the way her hand had trembled, and then finally gone still in his; guilt washed over Dean with the memory.
If you'd been willing before now to push a little harder… to go a little farther… she'd still be alive… she's dead because you wouldn't…
"Dean, what happened?" Cas's voice was soft and urgent, filled with concern that was strangely jarring in the wake of Dean's brutal self-recriminations. "Are you hurt?"
"What?" Dean blinked, startled. "No, it's – it's not mine. That's not the point, Cas…"
Cas frowned, looking away, visibly troubled. "I – I should have been able to tell that. Should have sensed it – why didn't I know?"
Dean stifled his rising frustration as he stalked toward the kneeling angel, wiping his hands self-consciously down the legs of his jeans, though the blood was too dry at this point for the gesture to have much effect. "No angel powers right now, Cas," Dean snapped. "When are you going to get that through your head? That means no flying away, no smiting, and apparently no… freaky mental ESP crap, either."
Dean felt a fresh wave of frustration and anger wash over him with the realization that Cas actually looked relieved that Dean wasn't hurt – if still vaguely bothered by the idea of his lost abilities. Certainly he didn't seem troubled in the slightest by the blood that still coated Dean's hands. As long as it wasn't Dean's blood – as long as Dean was unhurt, then apparently the brutal murder of a single human child was meaningless…
He didn't know he was going to do it until it was done; in an instant, Dean closed the rest of the distance between them, drawing back one hand into a tight fist and bringing it down across Cas's face in a brutal backhand blow.
Cas toppled over sideways, unable to catch himself with his wrists chained, and he let out a short, startled cry as the wound in his chest was pulled by the motion. Dean reached down, not giving him a moment to recover, and seized a fistful of Cas's hair, yanking him back up onto his knees. He felt a sense of intense satisfaction and strangely, relief when finally, finally he saw something akin to fear in the angel's wary eyes.
Dean smiled, though it felt wrong on his lips, hard and tight and miserable. "And it also means," he continued, his voice low and menacing. "That when I do that… it hurts."
Cas held his gaze, his breathing slowly evening out again as the momentary shock faded from his eyes, and he swallowed hard. "Dean…" he began at last, breathless but carefully calm. "I don't know what else I can say…"
"You can tell me how to end this," Dean ordered, shaking Cas slightly. Guilt and satisfaction coiled together in his chest when Cas winced slightly with pain, biting his lip and closing his eyes.
Cas looked up at him again after a moment, shaking his head helplessly. "There's nothing to end…"
The eyes of the little girl, slowly fading to dull, blank darkness, once again filled Dean's mind, and he let go of Cas with a shove that sent him sprawling to the floor, following it up with a sharp kick to Cas's side that left him choking, gasping for breath, his fists clenched and uselessly straining against the chains that held them down.
"The hell there isn't!" Dean snarled. "People are dying out there, Cas, and that might not matter to you…"
"It does matter!" Cas looked up at him, his expression bewildered, shaking his head. His voice was choked and rasping with pain. "But…"
"But not enough for you to deviate from this stupid fucking plan of yours, huh?" Dean sneered. "Not enough for you to stop it!"
"I'm not doing it!" Cas yelled back – but the effect was rather undone by the ragged cough that followed the words. Cas struggled for breath for a moment before repeating, his voice quieter, weaker, "Dean… whatever is happening out there… I'm not doing it…"
"What is happening…" Dean's words were clipped, slow, his fists clenched at his sides as he tried to maintain control. "… is exactly what the angels – and the demons – told us was going to happen, Cas. The walls are coming down between all the worlds. Angels are here that aren't supposed to be, and monsters that have been locked up in Purgatory for the last few centuries, and who knows how many demons are topside now, and it's all falling apart, Cas. The entire world. Because of this fucking stupid plan of yours to bring down the walls."
Cas blinked up at Dean before his mouth twitched slightly in something that on anyone else wouldn't have been an actual expression at all. For Cas, though, it was as close as he ever got to a sarcastic smirk – and it made Dean's hands twitch, white hot rage bubbling up in his chest. It made him want to wipe that look from Cas's face using the most violent means possible.
"You're right, Dean," Cas said, his tone sharp with annoyance, eyes blazing and defiant. "That would be a… fucking stupid plan. Why would I ever want to do something like that? Have you even considered the question of what my motivation would be to do such a thing?"
"Yeah." Dean smiled coldly down at the angel, taking a couple of steps closer to him. "We have. You're trying to clean up your last mess… but all you're doing is swallowing it up in a bigger one. Convenient, though, isn't it?" Dean sneered, bitter and sarcastic. "Clears you of responsibility for all the angels – all the people that are dead because of you – if you just fling open all the doors to all the possibilities and let whatever happens, happen, right? Hey, if you're lucky when the dust clears… there won't be anybody left who even remembers all the stupid shit you pulled before."
Cas flinched, looking up at Dean with wounded eyes. "Dean…" He shook his head, his voice breathless but heavy with sorrow. "I – I wouldn't… I'm not trying to…"
"No, Cas, you never fucking are, are you?" Dean snapped, his voice rising in fury as he went on. "You always think you're doing the right thing, but then everybody but you ends up screwed in the deal. You'd think sooner or later you'd stop trying and just focus on not destroying every single fucking thing you touch!"
Cas flinched, eyes suddenly averted to the floor, a painful swallow visible in his throat, and despite his fury, despite his desperation, Dean felt a pang of sympathy for the damaged angel at his feet. In the stillness that followed his shouted words, his rage momentarily depleted, Dean just felt tired and empty… and overwhelmingly sad.
It was true, he realized – everything he'd just said. Cas did keep trying and trying to do the right thing, to help, to fix what he'd broken.
And somehow, every time, things just ended up more thoroughly shattered than they'd been before.
"Cas…"
Dean's voice was softer, as he slowly knelt on the floor facing his friend. Cas looked up at him warily, his posture tense, his bound hands clenched into useless fists. Dean ignored his vain attempt to retreat, reaching out a hand to rest firmly at the back of Cas's neck and using his other hand to pull Cas up by his arm until they were face to face. Cas met his eyes, uncertainty in his own as he waited for Dean to go on.
"It doesn't have to be this way, all right?" Dean pointed out, and there was a note of pleading, a tremor in his voice that he hadn't meant to be there. "You can end it. Right now. You can tell me what to do to – to save everybody, and we'll fix it. Together… you, me, and Sam. All right? You tell me how to end the spell, right now – and nobody needs to get hurt anymore."
Cas looked away, lips parted in what Dean already knew was going to be another protest, and Dean shook him slightly to silence him, pulling him in closer, lowering his head until his and Cas's brows were almost touching. Dean closed his eyes, swallowing hard, struggling to maintain control.
"Think about what I'm saying here, Cas, okay?" Dean raised his voice, a desperate tremor threading through his words. "Because… we're running out of time, and – if you give me the wrong answer now – I'm not gonna give you another chance to just decide to give me the right one. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
Cas's voice was soft, pained, as he replied, "Dean…"
"Do you understand?" Dean pressed, shaking Cas again and wincing at the choked little whimper of pain that escaped the angel's lips at the motion. "Cas, if you don't tell me on your own – right now – then – things are about to go in a direction that I don't want them to. And you don't want them to. But – but I don't have a choice anymore. I – I have to stop this before… before anyone else dies…"
"I – I'm so sorry, Dean." Cas's voice was quiet and achingly sad.
Dean looked up at him without backing down at all, his face inches from Cas's – and his heart sank when he saw the sympathetic, compassionate look in Cas's eyes and realized that he wasn't leading up to a confession. Dean felt the heat of frustrated desperation building in his chest, resentment and rage for what Cas was about to force him to do.
"I'm so sorry," Cas continued softly, sounding for all the world as if he was actually sincere. "I'm sorry I've so thoroughly broken your trust in me with my past failures that… that you're incapable now of even considering… that I might be telling the truth." He paused, hesitant as he continued, "I – understand why you can't. I – can never undo the damage I did before, although – I'd give anything if I thought I could, but…"
"Yeah, well, it doesn't work that way, Cas," Dean cut him off coldly. "All those people you killed – no matter what you do, their blood is still on your hands. This blood…" Dean gathered the collar of Cas's open white shirt in one red-stained fist, close enough to Cas's face that he had to see it, his other hand still at the back of Cas's neck, now clenched tight and preventing any attempt at retreat. "The blood of a fuckin' child who had her throat ripped out by Purgatory vamps – that's on you, Cas. That is on you."
Cas's eyes locked onto Dean's hand, and the way his face fell – the intensity of sorrow in his eyes as he heard Dean's explanation for where the blood had come from – it was simply infuriating.
No, Dean thought, bitter resentment seething in his stomach. He does not get to do that – start this whole fucking thing and then act like he's sorry, like he actually cares about one little human girl who got caught in the crossfire…
"That's on you," Dean repeated, his voice low and cold, as he brought his other hand around, clenched into a tight fist in front of him. "And clearly… you've made your choice."
Dean simultaneously drove his fist forward into Cas's wound, and let go of his collar so that he fell backward. Cas collapsed to the floor on his side, his fingers shaking, curling uselessly upward in a vain, instinctive attempt to touch the source of his agony. His face was contorted with pain, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
"Dean," he choked out, struggling to pull himself up again, eyes wide and wary and rolling toward Dean as Dean approached him again. "If I knew… how to stop it… I would, but… but I didn't…" He flinched as Dean reached toward him again, gasping out an instinctive, unintentional, "Please…"
And there it was.
Something clenched tight in Dean's stomach – at the same exact moment as a delicious heat began to build in his chest, a sense of satisfaction and success. He remembered relishing that moment, over and over again, in Hell. Sometimes it took a long time to get there; sometimes it was there from the moment the hapless soul was strapped down, panicked and screaming for mercy before he'd ever touched them.
But eventually, they always got there.
And now, it was a sign of more than simply Dean's skills of persuasion. It meant that Dean had found a weak spot, that he was actually getting somewhere, that Cas was just that barest fraction closer to giving in and telling Dean what he needed to know. It meant that Dean could still save the world.
It meant… that he couldn't stop now.
Dean grabbed Cas by the hair at the back of his head, yanking him up as far as the chains would allow. A cold smile found Dean's lips, unbidden, his own heart racing with anticipation at the sound of Cas's breath quickening, the way his hands yanked helplessly against the chains as Dean shifted in close, his free hand hovering over the now blood-stained bandage on Cas's chest.
"Tell me… the truth," Dean ordered, his voice quiet and commanding.
"I am," Cas replied desperately, his voice shaking, his eyes wide and locked onto Dean's. "Dean… don't…"
Dean's hand rested for a moment over the bandage, and he felt Cas's heart under his hand – rapid and frantic like a tiny bird struggling to escape – and he felt the rush of power flow over him, that old familiar satisfaction that had always come with being the one in control, the one, for once, doing the hurting instead of being hurt. He tore away the bandage and tossed it aside, watching Cas's face closely – and there it was.
Cas flinched, just slightly, almost imperceptible – his jaw tightening, a convulsive swallow in his throat as his eyes darted downward for just an instant before meeting Dean's eyes again. Dean held his gaze, his fingers brushing lightly over the crude stitching that had been the best they could manage after removing the tablet. Blood was already seeping from the wound again, from the rough treatment Dean had already doled out.
Cas's breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes for a moment, visibly struggling to maintain control of his reactions. And when he opened his eyes again, the bewildered expression there told Dean that Cas was more surprised by that than Dean was. Dean remembered what Sam had told him, about Jacob's Call – how Cas's restrained grace also meant that his reactions would be more human. Not only could he feel things like pain and fear more intensely than he ever had as an angel – but he had no means left with which to conceal his reactions to those things.
The calculating, efficient technician that Alastair had trained Dean to be took note of this, filing it away for future use. It was an unexpected side effect of restraining Cas's grace, but one that would definitely work in Dean's favor.
"Tell me," Dean repeated, his voice low and chilling. "Or I promise you, Cas… it's going to get so, so much worse…"
"Dean…" There was open fear on Cas's face now, and he looked up at Dean with pleading eyes. "You have to believe me… please…"
Dean didn't hesitate – strong fingers digging into the wound on Cas's chest until blood flowed, warm and sticky, over Dean's hand. Cas let out a strangled, agonized cry, blue eyes staring up at Dean in such anguish and betrayal – and suddenly, memory flashed through Dean's mind… those same eyes, looking up at him with trust and reverence, looking to him for guidance… looking at him with love rather than the hurt and terror that filled them now…
Abruptly Dean let go, taking a step back. Cas collapsed to the floor again, shaking and gasping, and Dean felt a cold, creeping horror slipping in alongside the calculated determination that had filled him.
No… no, what are you doing? You can't, this is… this is Cas, damn it!
Dean was vaguely aware of the sound of hurried, purposeful footsteps overhead, and he knew that Sam was responding to the unsettling sounds he'd heard from upstairs. The mental image of Sam's face if he actually made it down the basement stairs – the horror of Sam seeing this long-buried side of his big brother that Dean had hoped he'd never see – suddenly, Dean found himself hurrying for the stairs, knowing only that he couldn't let Sam get down here – couldn't let him see what Dean had done...
Sam was finding it difficult to focus on his laptop, his mind caught up in worry over all the things that Dean could be saying – or doing – to Cas. But he hadn't heard any screams or anything too disconcerting, so he tried to do as Dean had requested and keep trying to find an alternate solution. He had given up trying to find a truth spell, and instead focused his efforts on some means of restoring the walls, without Cas's cooperation – but that was proving to be rather discouraging, too.
His attention had just been distracted from his efforts by yet another horrific story of death and destruction – this one of a massive fire that had taken out an entire apartment complex. Some witnesses claimed that they'd seen some residents actually preventing others from escaping the flames, rather than trying to help them. Others said they'd seen some of their neighbors carrying in cans of gasoline minutes before the fire had started.
"I just don't understand," one young woman wept on the screen as she told her story. "I've known Julia since kindergarten. She would never – I – I don't know what could have possessed her to… to do something like that…"
Yeah… 'possessed' is definitely the key word here… Sam watched in grim silence for another few moments before trying to focus his attention back on his work… and that's when he heard it.
Sam's stomach lurched at the sound of the anguished cry from the basement, and he automatically rose to his feet, crossing the floor toward the basement. He hesitated at the door, however, abruptly torn. The idea of what Dean was possibly doing down there, to their friend, made him feel sick. Everything in him wanted to stop it… but… he glanced back toward his laptop, and thought of the children that had died so horribly when angels had attempted to possess them… and of the families that had perished in the apartment fire… of the earthquakes and tornadoes and other natural disasters claiming new lives with every passing minute…
The basement door opened, and Dean came out, closing it hard behind him. His eyes were wild and shell-shocked, and he was shaking. He raked one trembling hand, caked with dried blood, through his hair, and abruptly put the other hand behind him. The guilty swallow in his throat as he met Sam's eyes for just a moment and then looked away broke Sam's heart.
"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to touch Dean's shoulder. "Dean… hey, look at me…"
Dean shook his head, staring down at the floor, his expression anguished. "Sammy, I – what I just did to him…"
Dean was quiet for a long moment, before bringing his hand out from behind his back, holding it up in front of him and staring at it through dull, resigned eyes. Sam looked at it too, his stomach roiling at the sight of the fresh blood – dark, slick red overlaying the previous stains on Dean's hand – and the realization that it was Cas's blood – Cas, who had died for them more than once. But then, Sam thought of the blood on Dean's hands when he'd walked in – the blood of a child, he'd said – and he realized with a sinking heart that one was no better than the other.
There's gonna be blood on our hands either way, Sam thought, reaching out to pull his brother closer, against Dean's resistance. It's not like Dean's going to kill Cas… and… if it's the only way to keep more children from dying…
"Dean… hey." Sam raised one hand to rest firmly at the back of Dean's neck, ducking his head to try to catch Dean's gaze. "Dean."
Dean looked up at him, his wide green gaze searching… for forgiveness, or condemnation, or maybe just direction. Sam knew that last was true, when Dean finally spoke, his voice low and wavering dangerously.
"Sam, I – I don't know what to do," he confessed.
Sam's heart ached with the choice they had to make, but he knew that he couldn't leave it to Dean. This was killing him as it was, and if Sam could maybe bear just a little of the responsibility, make the call for him if he could do nothing else…
"Where's the angel blade?" Sam asked suddenly.
Dean frowned, glancing toward the door. "O-on the table, downstairs…"
"Go get it."
"Sam…" Dean hesitated.
"Just do it, okay?" Sam instructed firmly. "Go get it, and come back up here."
Dean was back in moments, his pace hurried, his breath shuddering, and he handed over the blade to Sam, his eyes worried and questioning. "Now what?"
Sam tucked the blade away into his own jacket, before resting one hand on Dean's shoulder, and the other at the base of his neck, gentle and reassuring.
"Now," Sam said softly, "you do whatever you have to do."
Dean's eyes widened with understanding, as he glanced toward where Sam had put the only weapon that could permanently kill Cas, for safekeeping. He nodded slowly, then closed anguished eyes, lowering his head and shaking it.
"Sam… I don't know if I… it's Cas, and I…"
"I can do it," Sam offered quietly, his heart lurching with panic even as he spoke. "This isn't all on you, Dean…"
"No." Dean's voice was firm, and Sam realized immediately that the offer had been a mistake when Dean looked up at him, mask solidly in place again, though his eyes still shone suspiciously. "No, Sam. I – I'm the one – equipped to do this. You're – you're research guy. Okay?" Dean's smile was forced and shaky. "You – keep researching."
Sam frowned. "Dean…"
"I'll let you know if it gets to be too much. Okay?" Dean held Sam's gaze, and Sam knew even as he spoke that it was a promise Dean had no intention of keeping. "Just – stay up here, all right? Don't come down there – no matter what you hear. Okay?"
Sam was feeling worse about this with every word that left Dean's lips. "Dean, I don't know…"
"Sam." Dean's voice was heavy and trembling, and it silenced Sam instantly. Dean was staring down again, unable to meet Sam's gaze. "I – I don't want – the things I might have to do, I don't want you to – you can't see me like…" He closed his eyes for a moment before meeting Sam's gaze again. "Please. Just – stay up here. Please."
"Okay." The word left Sam's lips in a whisper, before he even knew he was going to agree. There were secrets Dean still kept from everyone – things he'd seen and experienced that Sam just had to accept that he could never understand – and Sam was beginning to realize just how much this task was going to cost his brother.
He just wished he had a better alternative to offer.
Dean turned his gaze toward the closed basement door, and Sam saw that his lips were trembling, his eyes filled with dread. Dean swallowed slowly before looking back at Sam, his mouth set in a firm line for a moment before he spoke.
"I need to… to get a few things. From the car," he said quietly.
He started to move away, toward the cabin's front door, but Sam stopped him, his hand on Dean's shoulder tightening and stilling his retreat.
"Dean," Sam said softly, his hand sliding around to the back of Dean's neck and drawing him in close. "It's the entire world at stake. I know that. This isn't something you – want to do, and – you have no choice. I understand."
Dean's smile was brittle, his gaze averted, and Sam knew that somehow, he'd said the wrong thing again – but Dean offered no explanation for how. He just reached up and gently, almost apologetically pulled Sam's hand away, squeezing it for a moment before letting it drop and taking a backward step toward the door.
"I'll be right back," Dean said, his voice low and hoarse.
"Dean…" When Dean stopped, reluctantly, though well out of Sam's reach, Sam found himself momentarily lost for words, helpless to think of anything that might help. "I – if I can do… anything…"
Dean looked up at Sam finally, such utter defeat in his eyes that it drove the rest of the words from Sam's lips. When he spoke, his voice was quietly pleading, but there was no hope there.
"Find me another way."
And then Dean was gone, out the front door and to the Impala, where he stayed for several minutes, rummaging through the trunk. Sam paced restlessly back and forth between the laptop and the cabin's front window the whole time, feeling anxious and sick, as he waited for his brother to return.
When Dean came back inside, his face was cold and controlled, his eyes dead and expressionless. The handle of his small duffel bag was clenched in his white-knuckled fist, and Sam shuddered inwardly to imagine just exactly what was inside. Dean's tone was as hard and flat as his eyes, as he finally spoke, his words sending a shiver down Sam's spine.
"I'm ready."