Chapter 7: Hell's Bells
"Holy shit," Sam whispered.
Dean looked up from the (giant) old book he'd been poring over during Team Free Will's current research binge. Judging from the tremor Sam's voice, he hadn't just find a way for them to follow through on their "the best defense is a good offense" strategy. He took a swig of his beer. "What?"
"I think I just figured out why Raphael's not too upset that the Elhiym Yad is a pretty ineffective weapon without the right ammo," the planet's most floppy-haired hunter said. "It's not actually designed to be a weapon."
Cas walked in from the kitchen, where he had been splitting time between watching Bobby man the phones (that zombie thing sounded like it was getting serious) and helping the Winchesters research.
"What did you find, Sam?" the angel asked.
Sam pointed to the passage he'd just read (on a scroll for Christ's sake). "This is a bit of a sketchy source, the author must've been on some serious hallucinogenics when he wrote it, but the information fits. The device isn't actually a weapon, it's a key to someplace. Apparently it uses the power that it absorbs from souls to open the door between Earth and some other place."
Cas moved to read over Sam's shoulder. "'And lo, the gate was opened into a dark place, filled with blood and bone.'" The angel straightened up, eyebrows pinched and lips tight. "This writing describes Purgatory."
"Purgatory?" Dean got up from the couch where he'd set up his research space, papers and books scattered around him. "Like, decaf Hell?"
Cas shook his head. "Human religions have never understood Purgatory, because human souls do not belong there. It is the afterlife for creatures, a place of eternal night to house the bodies and souls of unnatural predators."
"So, why would Raphael want to get into the monster afterlife?" Sam asked.
"Mutilated as they are, they are still souls," Cas reasoned. "They still hold power." The angel's eyes widened as he realized something: "Purgatory is filled with souls no one is using in the fight in Heaven, or in Hell."
Well, that explained why Cas looked worried. Dean just hoped this wasn't as bad as it sounded. "So, if Raphael pulls this off, uses my soul to somehow get into Purgatory and nab a butt-load of monster souls, how powerful would that make him?"
Cas gazed into the middle distance for a moment, looking for all the world like he was doing mental math. The angel looked back over at Dean, and it was pretty clear that yes, it was as bad as it sounded. "If Raphael succeeds in this, not even Michael would be able to challenge him. He would control Heaven, Hell, and every realm in between."
"Shit." Dean and Sam cursed.
"I'm about to make your day even worse," Bobby announced, walking into the study.
"Fantastic," Dean snarked. He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. "Let's hear it."
"I just got off the phone with half a dozen hunters from the Kansas City area. They've been working on a zombie thing, and it sounds pretty serious."
"You think it's related to the infestations in Dubuque and Des Moines you wiped out?" Sam asked.
"I'm pretty sure it's the same damn thing," Bobby said. "I just don't know exactly what it is."
"Why do you think they're connected?" Dean asked. He needed to distract himself from thinking about the situation with Raphael. Wasting some zombies was a good way to do that.
"Because I'm smart," Bobby retorted, "and because three sets of zombies like I ain't never heard of before poppin' up within 100 miles of each other just can't be a coincidence. We ain't ever been that lucky."
"So what makes these zombies different?" Sam asked.
Bobby opened a beer gave them the run-down. Unlike revenants or the undead who were raised through spell work, these zombies seemed to be pretty lucid. They didn't (or couldn't) talk, but they reacted and moved like normal humans, just dead. They had all their wounds, too. Heck, some of them still had their stitches from autopsy. They didn't seem out for blood either, unlike Croatoan zombies, only becoming violent when threatened. The weirdest thing was that none of them - or the people they used to be, anyway - were connected, yet they all worked together as a unit when attacked.
"From the latest reports I got, the one in charge looks like a young woman," Bobby finished. "Died from a seizure as Shawna Williams, age 21. She was a social sciences major at Drake, in Des Moines. Her obituary was in the paper and everything before she rose, right out of the morgue, from witness accounts."
"Huh." Dean was pretty stumped on the how and the why, but at least he knew what to do about it. "So, how do we un-rise these Romero-rejects?"
Bobby shook his head. "Nothing's worked so far except blowin' 'em to bits. Tamara's one of the group that went in, and she said to stock up on hand grenades."
Dean whistled. "That sounds like fun."
"Right," Sam interjected, "but don't we have bigger problems, Dean?"
"Raphael's attempts to gain access to Purgatory is the more pressing threat," Cas agreed.
As much as Dean would rather go out and blow up zombies, he had to admit they were right. He sighed. "Sorry Bobby, but we gotta sit this one out. Raphael's planning something pretty apocalyptic."
The older hunter nodded. "Yeah, I know. End-of-the-world shit usually falls on you boys' plates. I'll muddle through somehow." He said it as a joke, but Dean knew that Bobby would rather have their help, even if he understood why they had to focus on Raphael. "You boys better pack up the books you'll need and hit the road. I ain't leaving your beer-stealing asses alone in my house again."
Despite not being officially on the case, the Winchester's didn't want to be too far away from the Midwest's growing zombie problem, so while Bobby organized a group of hunters out of his "home office," they headed south and set up shop in a tiny motel with decor from the 60s just outside Kansas City.
The motel room was silent except for the click-clack of Sam's fingers on his laptop. Dean was passed out in his bed by the door, and Cas was out patrolling the town to make sure they hadn't picked up a tail from Raphael when they left Bobby's. Sam paused his research and looked at the clock. 3:30 a.m. He really wanted to go to bed, but he wanted to find out more about what he did while he was soulless more.
Sam felt guilty using valuable research hours digging into his own past instead of looking for ways to stop Raphael from opening Purgatory, but not guilty enough to stop. He barely even noticed as the words on the screen started to blur together. He'd just rest his eyes for a minute. Only a minute...
Screaming. Thunder. Pain. Sam shrinks into himself as Lucifer throws his might around the cage. He feels like he's trapped in a box with a tornado full of chain saws. He can't defend himself. I can't fight this. I can't. Help! I can't!
Then Michael is there, a wall between Lucifer and Sam. The pain fades away. Wearing Adam's face, Michael turns to Sam, and says I won't let my brother hurt you.
Sam dares to hope.
Claws dig into his hip and shoulder. He's being pressed against something. Crushed.
No, brother. Don't do this! Michael yells. You'll destroy us both!
Sam feels like he's being ripped in half by the force pushing at him. He screams.
"He forced your body out of the cage, Sam." It was Michael's voice, but it sounded different. More familiar. "If you say 'yes,' he'll possess you again. He will escape the cage by jumping straight into his true vessel. If you don't say 'yes,' he will drive you mad."
Sam twisted his body so he could look at the archangel speaking to him. Michael stood just out of Sam's line of sight, his shape hazy. The edges of him Sam's eyes caught were familiar, though.
"Sam, we don't have much time to talk. Focus on me. This is important."
Suddenly, Sam was laying on the ground, and he wasn't in the cage anymore. He wasn't anywhere. He was surrounded by an unsettling amount of nothing.
"Lucifer will find a way to escape, Sam. He'll use you to get out, and I won't be able to stop him. Not from in here."
Sam looked around. He couldn't see Michael anymore, but he recognized the voice, now. "Dean?"
"No. Your brother is sleeping nearby, Sam. He is my true vessel. I can use my connection to him as a conduit to reach your mind, when you are close. He consented enough for that, at least, and you are soul mates, after all."
Yeah, Sam remembered their shared Heaven and Ash's revelation. He didn't think soul mates was the right word, but his brother would always be the most important person in his life. "What did you do to Dean?"
"I did nothing. He is a point of contact for me to reach you, Sam." Michael's voice turned hard as stone. "You must not allow my brother to possess you again. Earth and every creature on it, every human, will be defenseless whilst I am trapped here."
Sam didn't know how long it would take the devil to drive him insane enough to say "yes," but he knew he couldn't last forever. "What if you got out, too?"
"Then I could lock him away forever. But the only way for me to escape is by entering my true vessel, just as Lucifer seeks to do."
Dean. It always came back to Dean, for Sam. The thought of losing his brother terrified him, but Lucifer walking the Earth again? Sam didn't know if he could live with that. Most likely he wouldn't have to. Raphael would be running the show before Lucifer could get out of the cage, anyway. "Raphael will stop Lucifer," Sam said, trying to talk himself out of considering something stupid. "He'll be strong enough after he takes all the souls from Purgatory."
"Raphael is going to open the gate to Purgatory?" Michael's voice was suddenly lower and more intense than Sam had ever heard from Dean's throat. He was reminded to be afraid of the archangel. "Sam, you must not let that happen! Raphael does not know what he is doing!"
Wait. The Michael from Sam's flashbacks to the cage couldn't react to hearing about Raphael's plans. He'd never known about them. Sam spun in a circle to look at the nothing around him. Was this real, somehow? Or was he still dreaming?
"You're dreaming, Sam. But yes, this is real," Michael said, with more patience than usually came from Dean's voice.
"You're dreaming, Sammy! It isn't real!" Now that sounded like Dean.
"Wake up, Sammy!"
Sam gasped as his eyes flew open. Dean hovered over him, hands on his shoulders. He'd been shaking Sam, apparently.
"I'm okay, Dean, go back to sleep. It was just a nightmare."
Dean didn't look reassured. "Dude, it's morning. You apparently decided to sleep in the most uncomfortable chair ever, and then you started twitching and I couldn't wake you up." He stepped back and stared Sam down. "You wanna tell me what the hell that was?"
Not really. "Yeah. Later." Dean opened his mouth to tell Sam where to shove it, so Sam started damage control. "It's the cage again, Dean, and it's pretty freaking intense. Just let me process for a bit before spilling my guts, okay?"
For once, Dean proved that he did, in fact, have some level of emotional intelligence and let it go, telling Sam if he wanted to eat at the diner before they started serving lunch he better get ready fast. Sam told his brother and Cas to go ahead. The diner was only a few blocks away, so he'd meet them there.
As he watched the pair leave the motel room, Sam hoped the time alone would help him separate Dean's voice in his head from Michael's.
Mo's Diner was only four blocks from their motel, but Dean took the Impala anyway. Cas recharged his battery again yesterday, so Sam had driven them down from Bobby's after Dean slipped into his unwilling, extended nap. Always fun. So, he and Cas took the Impala, because Dean needed to remind her that she was still his baby.
The diner was relatively clean, and the smells coming from the kitchen made Dean's mouth water, though most of the tables were empty. He and Cas slid into a booth near the back and Dean ordered two coffees and worried about Sam.
"Sam did not appear to be in any pain when we left," Cas said after the waitress plunked their coffee in front of them. "It may have been just a nightmare."
"Yeah, because we're always that lucky." Dean sighed and pulled his chipped mug closer.
"He'll be alright, Dean," Cas insisted. "He has you."
Dean shook his head and looked away. His mouth twisted into something kind of like a smile, but definitely not happy. "Cas, you don't get it, man. The people around me, every single one of them, they get hurt. They end up leaving, one way or another. Dead or just gone."
He turned back to his angel, who looked confused. "I'm not good for people, Cas. I'm just not." Dean didn't know how to be more clear about this. He sipped at his steaming caffeine. When Cas still didn't say anything, Dean fessed up to something he'd known for a while, but never wanted to admit to himself. "Sam would be better off without me around, but I'm not strong enough to let him go."
The waitress reappeared and Dean ordered a short stack of pancakes for himself, with a side of sausage and eggs, and oatmeal for Cas (not like he was gonna eat it, but it'd look weird not to order). The waitress left and Cas frowned, then leaned in and glared at Dean. "You are important to the people who surround you, Dean, even if you refuse to see it. Your presence helps Sam stay sane, and helps me keep faith. You are good."
Cas's expression was so goddamn earnest Dean couldn't take it. "I let people down, Cas. My dad, Sam, you. Everyone."
"You never let down Lisa Braeden and her child."
Dean started at that. "Why'd you bring them up?"
Cas tilted his head and looked at Dean as though the answer was obvious. "You wrap your identity up so much in hunting, I thought it best to remind you that when you stepped outside of that world, you were more than good enough for those around you."
Dean remembered leaving Lisa's like it was last week, instead of nearly a year ago.
"I have to do this, Lisa," Dean said. "Sam needs me. He can't hunt alone right now."
Lisa nodded, and Dean hoped that meant she understood. "I get it. I do," she said. "But, Dean, this back-and-forth thing? It's not good for Ben."
"Yeah, I get that, but -"
She cut him off. "No, you obviously don't." Her brown eyes looked away, and Dean could practically feel her steeling herself. "Look, Dean. If you're going to be here, be here. And if you're going to leave, don't come back. I'm not trying to give you an ultimatum, but this has to be a clean break. For Ben's sake."
She paused, breathed, and Dean knew when she looked back at him that he would be the one leaving something broken behind, this time, but he let her finish. "Ben's strong. He can take it if you leave, and he'd love it if you'd stay. But not knowing? That's going to mess him up."
It's funny, Dean remembered thinking as he drove away. It hurts just as much doing the leaving as is does being the one who got left.
"Dean?" Cas snapped him out of his little walk down memory lane.
"Good for Lisa and Ben?" Dean took a gulp of scalding coffee and relished the burn in his throat. "Yeah, not so much."
Cas opened his mouth to respond, but the ring of the door opening interrupted him. Sam stepped into the diner. Dean waved him over and thanked his lucky stars the feelings discussion was over. His and Cas's food arrived just as Sam sat down. He ordered a coffee and veggie omelet before the waitress could even pull her notepad out. Promising the food would be "up in a jiffy" she headed back toward the kitchen, flat shoes slapping on the tiled floor.
"Thanks for waiting, guys," Sam said sarcastically.
"No problem," Dean replied around a mouthful of delicious, fluffy pancakes.
"Hello Sam," Cas intoned. "Are you feeling well?"
Dean glanced up from his food in time to see Sam's shifty eyes. Yeah, he's not feeling "well" at all.
"Fine, Cas," ginormo lied. "First things first, where are we with the Raphael situation. Did either of you come across anything this morning while I was out that we can use?"
Dean and Cas shook their heads. Unfortunately, they'd hit a wall on the research front. If there's a way they can somehow deactivate the Hand of God or permanently lock up Purgatory, it's really, really obscure.
"Bupkis," Dean swallowed another mouthful of coffee as the waitress set Sam's breakfast in front of him. When she left, Dean caught his brother's eye. "Sammy, I know something happened, and we don't have anything else going on right this second, so take ten minutes to talk to me about it. Please."
Sam actually cracked a smile at that. "You realize you just asked me to talk about my feelings with you, right?"
Dean shoveled in another mouthful of syrup-sogged pancakes. "Shut up and spill."
Sam looked over at Cas for a second, then sighed. "Neither one of you is going to like this very much, but... I think I had a conversation with Michael and he kind of made sense..."
Dean slammed the door of their motel room and threw his jacket on the desk hard enough to make the thing wobble. Granted, it wasn't the most well-made piece of furniture in the world, but Dean had a lot of pent-up aggression after Sam's little confession in the diner. At least his little big brother took a hint and went to "do some research" at the library. Although the geek probably would do actual research.
"Cas, you with me on this? We can't actually take this seriously, right?" Dean looked over at his friend.
Cas hesitated, then said slowly, "I'm not certain we can dismiss it, Dean."
"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Dean exploded. "Last year you beat the hell out of me for wanting to say 'yes' to that dick, and now you're all for it?"
"That is not what I said Dean," Cas reached out and forcibly stopped him from turning and walking to the other side of the room. "I think that what Sam experienced was real, not that we should trust Michael or believe all that he said."
Dean really didn't want to believe that. "It's memories of the Pit, Cas. Hell's pretty chaotic. Maybe Sam's got something he made up mixed up in there with real memories. That might throw off your radar."
Cas locked eyes with Dean. "You told Sam once that you remember everything that happened to you in Hell, in detail. Your nightmares are certainly vivid."
Dean eyed him, not sure where this was going. "Yeah... but I don't remember everything. Some stuff's missing."
"You do not remember me there, do you." It wasn't really a question.
Dean looked down at his hands. "Yeah, well, I would be the guy who manages to forget the one good thing that happened to him in the Pit."
Cas tilted his head to the side, his "does not compute" expression on. "You didn't forget, Dean."
And for one, heart-stopping fraction of a second, Dean thought Cas was about to finish with "It never happened. You're still in Hell," and morph into Alastair standing over him on the rack...
"The memory was taken from you."
Dean let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Then he realized Cas's explanation was still pretty damn ominous. "Okay... taken by who?"
"Whom."
"Cas."
"By me."
"What? Why?"
"It was necessary."
"How come?"
"Because your soul needed time to heal from the trauma, just as Sam's does now." Cas held up a hand to stop Dean's retort. Dean decided to give Cas a chance to explain and bit his tongue. Cas nodded his thanks and continued. "I did something similar to what Death did with the wall in Sam's mind, though on a much smaller scale. It's why your memories of Hell came back to you in pieces over several week, rather than all at once." He frowned and studied the carpet. "I am ashamed to admit it now, but I thought it would be a kindness to completely take your recollection of the journey back to this plane. Most souls find the transition traumatic."
Dean backed off. Took a breath. "Okay, so... Tell me what happened down there."
"I cannot." Before Dean could whip out the "Why the hell not?" he had ready, Cas stepped back into his personal space and growled at him. "You said it yourself once, Dean. 'There aren't words.' Human speech can be exquisite, artful... but it is inexact even at its best, and attempting to use it to describe a metaphysical state of being like Hell is beyond frustrating."
Dean glared at Cas. "Well give it your best shot anyway. I don't like knowing my head's been messed with, so make it right." Just in case Cas still didn't get it, Dean added, "This right here? This is one of those 'regaining my trust' moments we talked about."
Cas broke eye contact and turned away from Dean, pacing a few steps toward the bed. Dean clenched his jaw because of course Cas would hold out on him. People always did. Daddy's blunt little instrument was never on the needs-to-know list. Bobby had even kept Sam being back from him. Sam couldn't really be blamed for that; the guy hadn't had his soul. Bobby didn't have that excuse. Dean had just hoped that maybe Cas, of all people, wouldn't try to make his decisions for him all the damn time.
"I cannot tell you, Dean, but there may be a way I can show you, if you truly wish to know."
Dean looked up. Cas turned to face him again, standing at the foot of the bed. Dean lifted his eyebrows and waited for Cas to elaborate.
Nothing. Just a big ol' dramatic pause. Such a drama queen.
"What're you waiting for, the soap to cut to a commercial? Show me how?"
"I believe I can take you into my memory of that time. I've never attempted anything like it before, but the principle is sound."
"So basically you want to use my brain as a guinea pig."
Cas's brow creased. Dean could practically hear him try to figure out how a guinea pig could possibly be involved in this situation. "No," Cas explained, as though Dean had completely missed the point the first time. "I want to use the connection between my grace and your soul to touch your mind to mine. Your physical brain will hardly be involved."
"Oh well that's comforting," Dean snarked. Cas nodded, taking Dean's sarcasm at face value. Dean rolled his eyes and walked over to the bed. "So, what exactly's involved with this experiment, huh? You knock me out with the two finger ninja move and I take a tour of your memories?"
"Something like that. I will pull your soul close to my grace and then guide your mind through my recollection of raising you. I shall..." Cas searched for the right word, "... filter events so that you can comprehend them. It will feel similar to a dream, to you."
Great, more Hell dreams. Well, Dean had plenty of experience with those, so what's one more? He shrugged. "Ok. Why not?" He flopped down onto the mattress, rolled onto his back, and crossed his ankles. "Let's do this."
Cas sat down near Dean's hip and extended his hand, but not to Dean's forehead. Instead, Cas began pulling Dean's left arm out of his sleeve.
"Um... Cas? What're you doing?" Dean didn't resist, though.
"Accessing my mark on your shoulder. Touching it will make gripping your soul easier."
Huh. Okay. But... "Cas, man, that healed along with everything else when you zapped me back at Stull." And Dean yanked his brain away from those memories like fingers from a hot stove.
"Yes, the physical mark is gone," Cas agreed as he eased Dean's arm free and lifted the sleeve of Dean's black t-shirt, "but the spiritual mark is indelible."
Cas fit his hand onto Dean's shoulder, and Dean was pretty sure he laid it over exactly where the scar used to be. There was an awkward moment where Dean just watched Cas's face – he'd closed his eyes in concentration and a small tuft of hair curled over his forehead – and tried not to think about how weird they probably looked.
Then Cas exhaled loudly, Dean felt something deep inside him shift toward Cas, and suddenly his whole world was awesome. Dean felt the simple joy of ice cream on a hot day, driving the Impala down an open highway with all her windows rolled down, the afterglow of the best sex he'd ever had, and Sam smiling and laughing with him, all rolled into one emotion and dialed up to 11.
Dean heard himself giggle like a 12-year-old chick but he couldn't hold it in. He grinned up at his angel, any lingering self-consciousness obliterated by the sheer delight rushing unchecked through him.
Cas returned the smile – an actual, full smile that for some reason made Dean all out guffaw – then gently pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead. Dean felt a brief sensation of falling, then lights out.
Dean opened his eyes to Hell. Fear, panic and that familiar, terrifying sense of belonging shot through Dean as he tried to talk himself out of it. Just a dream, Dean. Just a dream just a dream. As usual, the mantra didn't help.
"Hell cannot touch you now, Dean. I am here." Cas's voice reverberated from everywhere and brought with it echoes of the strange happiness from earlier. Talk about emotional whiplash. Wait. The hotel. Cas.
"I'm not really here." Dean was in the middle of a nightmare about fucking Hell, so he gave himself a break for the Captain Obvious commentary.
"This is simply a sensory rendering of how I perceived the wavelengths of existence during this experience," Cas's voice came again. "You are safe, Dean." Okay. Safe. Safe is good.
Now that he wasn't having a panic attack, Dean looked around enough to recognize some of the scenery. He was intimately familiar with this corner of the Pit. This was home. Dean shuddered at the thought.
Even though the angel was invisible during this holodeck exercise, Cas touched Dean in a way that he somehow knew was meant to reassure. "Dean, you lived in this place for longer than anywhere else during your entire existence. It is only natural that it feels familiar to you. It does not mean that you belong here."
Dean sighed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas, but there's enough blood on my hands that I'm pretty sure this is where I'm headed when all's said and done."
The hellscape streaming by below them flickered for a moment, and Dean interpreted that as Cas's frustration. Dean was distracted from that weirdness by a light flaring nearby. What the hell?
Then Dean recognized where they were, exactly. He'd known they were in the right area, but now they hovered practically on top of the rack where Alistair stationed Dean during his apprenticeship. The whole place reeked of despair. Dark shapes of reds, blacks, and yellows twisted and curved around an undulating, fractured white light in the center of the space. Dean thought the scene was kind of beautiful, and his stomach roiled at his reaction.
"It was the first time I ever felt angry with my Father," Cas narrated, though Dean still couldn't see him. "I couldn't understand why something so beautiful and bright must be exposed to such ugliness and darkness."
Belatedly, Dean realized the whirling shapes below them were souls being tortured. Then Cas's words sunk in. That white glowy thing was him. Dean was watching himself rip apart other souls.
"Cas, I know I asked for full disclosure and everything," Dean gasped, "but if you don't want me to puke all over your mind-meld, you gotta skip ahead through this part because I can't watch this."
The angel didn't respond in words, but the scenery below them blurred for a moment, then refocused. Now it was lit from above. A brilliant blue-white light burned down, and the demons and tortured souls alike writhed away from it.
"Cas, is that you?" Dean breathed.
"Yes."
"Wow. You're such a badass."
Dean felt his angel's amusement, even as he watched in consternation as the firefly version of himself dodged away from the angel's brilliance. Cas's incorporeal self followed, and Dean's soul slunk among the cowering demons, like a child covering his eyes so the monster wouldn't see him. Seeing it from the angel's perspective, Dean was frankly embarrassed for his past self.
"Guess I made the whole 'escape from Hell' thing harder for you, huh?"
"You held a deep conviction that you belonged here," Cas replied. He didn't mention that their conversation two minutes ago proved that Dean still held that conviction.
"Sorry."
"Don't be. I pulled you out anyway."
Dean smirked a little at that. "I guess I can see why sometimes you don't think I'm very good at making decisions for myself."
Cas's gratitude leaked through to Dean, even though he felt the angel trying to hide it.
Below them, memory Cas had gotten a vice grip on soulified Dean and dragged him away from the demons clawing at them both. Once free of the inky shapes twisting around them, past-Cas rocketed upward, airlifting Dean's ungrateful, unwilling ass out of the Pit.
Dean felt like he was along for the ride for a second before he gasped awake in the motel bed. "Holy shit."
