Chapter Eight "Choosing Sides"

The trouble is—if the trouble could be just one thing—that Dean falls asleep. He's too exhausted to stop himself when it comes. He never sleeps long, but long enough to dream just as he has been for the last few months. Like he had been before Cas came running into his room the other night, and Dean realized that he'd been calling his brother's name out loud.

They never cease. He sees Sam, beaten and bloody and laughing. It's not Sam. It's not even the way Dean remembers him. It like a demonic remnant, a bit of revenge from the monsters down below. But Dean knows it's got nothing to do with actual demons. It's all in his own head. It's his guilt, his fear, his desire to give in.

Nightmare Sam tells him the things Dean has always feared Sam was really thinking. That he's better off without his older brother, that he never wanted to stick around, that it was pity that made him stay so long. In the dream, in that subconscious moment, Dean knows that his brother doesn't love him, that death was a relief because it got him away from Dean's "protection."

It's only a moment. Dean wakes up, and he screams, "Sam!" And then he remembers that the dream isn't his brother, that Sam wasn't like that. It doesn't make it any easier to breathe in the emptiness that keeps closing in around him like a black hole.

Times like this, Dean needs to be alone. He needs space to gulp in the air that isn't there. That was why he hadn't let Cas in on what was going through his mind the last time. But he doesn't get that option now.

There are three angels standing around him. The one in front looks like a businessman and reminds Dean strangely of Dick Roman. He shouldn't really be surprised. Then there's a bigger guy who looks like he'd enjoy throwing a few punches. And finally, standing further back against the opposite wall is a deceptively normal looking guy who seems, if anything, bored with the whole thing.

It's the business guy who speaks first. "Do you know who I am?" he asks in an even voice.

"Not a clue," Dean replies as irritably as he can manage because he does not like to be interrupted when he's waking from a horrific dream. He's always preferred to live out his mental trauma in peace.

The man smiles slightly, but it's stiff and unconvincing. "My name is Bartholomew. I'm looking for someone, and I think you may know where he is."

"Go to Hell," Dean mutters.

"Can't. Your brother locked the gates."

Dean wants to stab the guy in the throat. He imagines himself doing it, and it gives him a certain thrill.

"Want me to convince him?" the big guy asks.

Bartholomew puts up his hand. "Let's give him a chance." He turns back to Dean. "I know you've had a rough time lately, so I'll be brief. We need Castiel. Tell us where he is, and you go home."

Dean glares at the guy he's already calling Bart in his head. "I don't know," he says, stalling.

"Then call him."

Call him? They don't know. They haven't figured out Cas is human and can't hear Dean's prayers anymore. Dean's not going to be the one to tell them either. That could be the angle he needs to get them out of this alive.

"Not on your life," he says.

"You're willing to sacrifice yourself for a traitor?" Bart looks amused. Big guy looks impatient. Normal guy looks stoic.

"He didn't betray you. Metatron betrayed him. He was kicked out just like everybody else." Dean is sure this information is safe because it says nothing about Cas' lack of grace.

"You think that's all we care about." Bart paces back and forth in front of Dean. "There are so many other things. Has he not told you of the devastation in Heaven? Of his complete rejection of all of us?"

"No offense, but I kinda get where he's coming from."

The flash of blinding pain comes as a shock to Dean, mainly because nobody moves to cause it. When he can finally see straight again, Bart is looking much grumpier than before.

"I'll leave you with my colleagues," he says. "Perhaps you will change your mind."

Stupid as some angels can be, Bart should know better. Dean's been through far worse than these amateurs could ever inflict on him. Not that it will be pleasant, but it's not gonna come close to making him turn on Cas. Nothing could ever do that.

The big guy advances, pulling out a knife as he comes. "Finally something interesting happens around here," he says.

As he begins cutting, Dean sets his jaw and focuses on the blank face of the other angel and wonders how much worse it will be when he decides to step in.

~oOo~

"I don't think Dean will appreciate this," Castiel says as classical music blasts through the speakers of the Impala.

In the driver's seat, Crowley almost laughs. "Dean's not here," he replies.

"A fact of which I am well aware."

"What? You think he's better company than me?"

"Eminently. But that's not the point."

"When he gets himself captured, he must resign himself to the occasional commandeering of certain things."

"Even his radio station?"

"You actually like that noise?"

"It's catchy."

"It's barbaric."

"Better than this."

"You're joking! This is Mozart. Have you no taste? Of course you don't. You're like a child when it comes to humanity."

Castiel crosses his arms and stares through the windshield. He shouldn't let things like this bother him, but anything Crowley says seems to bother him. "You're driving too slow," he says.

Crowley spares a brief glance at Castiel. He doesn't say anything, but the vehicle accelerates. It's a small victory, and the only one Castiel is likely to achieve.

It doesn't take long for them to arrive at the abandoned housing development, and Crowley parks far enough away that the angels won't notice them too soon. As best they could determine, Dean is being kept in a house near the center of the area, which is probably the only good thing about Crowley's plan. Castiel has doubts about the rest.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks as they retrieve several pitchers of holy oil from the trunk of the Impala.

"More so than the first seventeen times you asked," Crowley replies tersely. He's beginning to let his facade drop, and it surprises Castiel.

"I suppose it's worth the risk," Castiel says. "And if it doesn't work—"

"It. Will. Work." Crowley insists.

"Will you let me finish?"

Crowley makes a show of turning his full attention toward Castiel which achieves the desired effect of being incredibly unnerving.

"I was going to say," Castiel continues, "that if it doesn't work, I don't blame you. If I have to, I'll die in there, just as long as you get Dean out."

Crowley doesn't reply for a moment and maintains a mask of impassivity. Then he tilts his head and forces a smirk. "You know Dean would never forgive me if I let that happen." He shakes his head. "Nobody's dying today."

There is no response appropriate to such a statement, so Castiel simply nods and walks off to complete his part of the plan. They are going to surround the entire neighborhood with holy oil in order to force the angels to turn Dean over to them. Failing that, Crowley will offer to trade Castiel. The backup plan is a little too close to the truth of what they'd be willing to do if there were no other choice. But Crowley's promise sticks in Castiel's mind. Could he possibly know what seems to be keeping Dean alive?

I'm not gonna bail on you, Cas.

The words have echoed in his mind ever since Dean spoke them. Does that mean that Dean would give up on life if Castiel no longer existed? And how does Crowley know that when Castiel isn't sure of it himself?

It takes a long time to finish sealing off the subdivision with holy oil, and the whole time, Castiel is sure they will be spotted, but finally they meet up on the other side, and close the circle. Crowley almost looks giddy as he lights a match and tosses it to the ground.

"You made sure to keep the line unbroken?" he says with only the slightest hint of anxiety in his usually carefree tone.

"Yes," Castiel replies. "I've been doing this much longer than you have."

"Ever on such a scale though?" Crowley actually sounds proud of his idea.

"No," Castiel admits. "The principle still applies. How long do you think—"

Before Castiel can finish his thought a rather angry looking group of angels appear on the other side of the flames.

"You were saying?" Crowley says, looking smug and amused.

"What is the meaning of this?" says the foremost angel.

"I should think that would be clear," Castiel replies. "You took our friend." He forces himself to say our even though grouping himself with Crowley in anything is nauseating.

"This is foolish, even for you, Castiel," the angel says. "It will not take us long to douse these flames. Then what?"

"Actually, it was my idea," Crowley speaks up. "A rather brilliant one, in fact. You see, I never meant to leave here with him." Crowley jerks his head toward Castiel who tries his best to appear surprised. "This was just to get your attention. To make sure you understand that I won't accept less than a one hundred percent whole Dean Winchester. So, do we have a deal?"

The angel sneers at Crowley. "Why would I ever deal with the likes of you? The last of the demons."

"Actually, not. Human. Completely. Rather a bore, but it's better than the alternative."

"Locked in Hell for eternity would be too good for you."

"Really? You're moralizing at me? See, this is why I hate angels. So tedious. My terms are simple. You give me Dean, I give you Castiel. That's what you want isn't it?"

"Why should we trust you?"

"You shouldn't. But you have to know this bastard is in such a hurry to die for his only friend. Why do you think he hasn't run?"

The truth of it hits Castiel hard. Maybe Crowley was lying the whole time. Maybe he's just trying to save Dean at all costs and doesn't care what happens to Castiel either way. It doesn't matter, and that thought actually makes Castiel want to laugh. He never thought he'd come out of this alive. Why should Crowley believe any different?

The head angel seems to be considering Crowley's offer, though it's difficult to tell through the haze of the flames. Finally he nods.

"We will accept your terms. Put out the flames and come with me."

Castiel finds a nearby scrap of plywood large enough to walk over. He lays it over a section of fire, smothering it. The rest will go out on it's own. Then the two of them step across and begin what will certainly be a death march. Castiel isn't sure if the angels will let Dean and Crowley go. But he has to try. If they all die, at least none of them will have to live with it.

Except Kevin, Castiel thinks with a twinge of guilt.


Words cannot express how frustrated I am with Sam right now. Gah! But Kevin! I was so glad to see a resolution to the question of his mother. In other news, I'm still working on chapter eleven. I don't do the whole after action hospital scenes very well. They always seem to last too long and get way too emotional. :P