Title: End of Days
Author: RoweenaC
Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Castiel
Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, action
Rating: M
Chapter: 10/?,
Warnings: Spoilers for season 4 (up to 4.21) and accidental spoilers for some concepts used in season 5
Usual disclaimer: Don't own none of the characters or concepts shown on television. Just building and elaborating on Kripke's awesome idea.
Summary:
***Accidental Spoilers for some concepts in Season 5****
Sequel to Links
Dean and Sam have to take on Lucifer, separated and hurt both in their own ways...
"So, you really think you could do it? Kill me? Kill Sammy?"
(follows mostly canon up to 4.21; after that AU)
Hurt!Dean, limp!Sam.
A/N I: Lots of angst and graphic torment (mental and physical), therefore and for some strong swearwords and gory action rated M.
A/N II: Please note, that this story may contain occasionally derogative terms when alluding to God or faith in general. At no time are these remarks meant to offend anyone's personal religious , I ask your apologies if any of the comments seem to be insulting. They were made simply for storytelling reasons.
A/N III: Thanks for the quick and profound beta, graceofgod. Loves ya! You're a gem!
End of Days
by RoweenaC
Chapter 10: Revelations
"... while individually we are linked to one another..."
~ Romans, 12:15 ~
"...the angels showed me, and from them I heard everything, and from them I understood as I saw, but not for this generation, but for a remote one which is for to come..."
~ 1 Enoch, 1:2
The afternoon sun shone directly into his eyes; squinting, he looked around at the angels in the backseat, silent and withdrawn.
Avoiding Castiel's cool, searching stare, Dean observed the female angel next to him. Anna's head rested against the window, eyes closed, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Now and then, a shudder would run through her body, sometimes accompanied by a soft sigh or moan.
His mouth went dry, feeling the familiar trepidation slink into his heart. Sleeping angels were one thing but she didn't look healthy at all. Her skin, usually a rosy complexion, now resembled a sickly gray white. Her full lips, hardly recognizable, tinged blue and cracked like a wadi in dry season, trembled with every breath she took; and a fine sheen of sweat reflected the beams of the slowly setting sun; the light shimmering, refracted into a rainbow colored halo by the tiny, salty prisms on her forehead.
A cold yet scorching fist dug itself into the hunter's insides when guilt attempted to overcome him once more. He made an effort to force it back down and directed his thoughts into another direction.
Dean's treacherous mind tricked him and resorted to the conversation with Sam a few hours ...two hours and forty-three minutes... ago. Weakness and exhaustion apparent in his sibling's tone, shaky hitches quickly veiled with a cough; but Dean had heard them. However, he had refrained from delving deeper into that matter knowing it would only lead to Sam trying to lie to him.
And frankly, he had had his fair share of lying if it came to that boy. And furthermore, there wasn't anything Dean could have done to help Sam anyway.
The need to run, fight, save became increasingly harder to subdue, his legs twitched as if they were itching to run off without him. Yet, he was condemned to wait until they finally reached Buffalo. Feeling panic looming in his stomach, Dean again forced his thoughts to change tracks.
Lucifer was still out there killing hunters and they still didn't have a fighting chance against the Devil.
"Hey, Cas?" surprised at the rasp in his voice, Dean cleared his throat and continued. "Why's it so important we find Michael?"
"He is the only one who can slay the serpent. Lucifer. Michael is the strongest and most feared of all my Father's children."
"Well, yeah. I got that the first time. I mean, why do we need to find him? Why's Sammy Lucifer's meatsuit? Why is this all happening to us? We're just regular hunters, right?" A rustle to his left announced Bobby's heightened interest as the older hunter was now leaning closer, eyes glued to the road, and listening. Dean kept his eyes on the angel, one eyebrow cocked curiously.
"It has been long foretold. At the End of Days..."
"Yeah, yeah, cut the crap get to the important part, dammit. Why us?" The angel shot Dean a slightly offended look before he inclined his head a fraction and began once more.
"Angels need hosts, vessels. You have met mine. Lucifer is an angel, even if a fallen one. We need human bodies to walk among you. Only a few of you who could ever harbor a being such as us."
Dean nodded quickly, trying to usher the angel along.
"At the beginning of time..."
"Cas, don't..." the older Winchester tried to interrupt but the angel ignored the irritated tone and went on regardless.
"When Lucifer fell, a number of angels joined ranks with him in his rebellion. They all were cast down to earth or even chose to come here and live among you as guardians and teachers. They were called Watchers or Grigori. Some of them fell in love with human women."
"Not that jugless then, huh." Dean smirked dryly while Castiel's gaze pierced through him.
"The angels taught men manifold arts and crafts as well as magic. After some time, they fornicated with the daughters of men. Their offspring was regarded as an abomination by some. People and angels alike feared these superhuman creatures, unsure whether they could be trusted and turned to God for help. God took pity on the humans and sent the flood to cleanse the surface of the earth from the unholy spawn. The Nephilim were eradicated and Noah and his sons set out to populate the world again. Or so the humans believed."
"This is all very interesting in a Sunday-school kinda way, Cas, but relevant?" Dean already regretted his inquiry wholeheartedly. The angel sounded like the lamest imitation of a priest he had ever laid eyes on.
"Quit yer yappin', boy! You asked, now listen!" Bobby intervened and Dean fell silent, surprised at the barely contained anger in the older man's voice.
"It is relevant, Dean. Very." His tone persuasive, Castiel reinforced his gaze and saw the immediate effect in his charge's expression. Dean paled visibly and swallowed, his eyes fluttering between the angels and his fellow hunter for a few minutes. The male angel waited until the older Winchester seemed to have regained his self-control and continued, voice devoid of all emotion.
"Some have survived the Great Flood. And it turns out that the Nephilim have mingled with humans over the following centuries, diluting their original powers. However, some of their celestial heritage is still prevalent in our time. It is in their blood. For one, some of them seem to be able to hear or see angels without damage to their physical forms. Others may have what you would call psychic abilities." Castiel paused, watching the impact of his words on the man sitting in the passenger seat.
Dean's mind was reeling with the implications. Psychic. It's in their blood. The older Winchester shivered.
"Some are destined to become hosts for us. And only those who are strongest among the Nephilim can become a host to archangels." the angel finished and held Dean's gaze for a short moment until he turned away and looked out of the side window.
"So,... uh." A cough built up in his throat and Dean surrendered to the itching sensation. "So, that means Sam... we're … no way! That's a pile of heavenly crap. Come on! You've gotta be kiddin' me! I'm not some angel spawn! That's … that's impossible!"
Forcing Castiel's eyes back on him with all his anger, Dean was appalled to see the emotions reflected in the angel's face.
"I am not kidding you, Dean. I have been the most honest I have ever been before with you. You asked me and I answered. I can only relay what I was told. And believe me, there are times I wish it wasn't you or Sam!" The words hissed along Castiel's front teeth, scraping across his lips, cutting through the stale, humid air inside the Chevelle. The younger hunter shrunk back as if slapped across the face, fell silent and turned around contemplating Castiel's revelation.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean saw Bobby knuckling the steering wheel as if he was choking a black snake, the older man's jaws twitched as he processed the angel's words. 'Please, don't ask. Please, Bobby. I don't wanna know any more. Don't.'
***
'Don't.'
'Don't fall asleep. Focus. Only a little longer.'
As the highway blurred and wobbled, tilted to one side, Sam blinked, rolling his shoulders, and wincing when the movement jarred his chest wound. The comfortable numbness was decreasing by the second and stiffness had started creeping into his joints, wrapping around his neck like a cold claw, ready to snap his spine. Desperate to stay awake, Sam bent down to his right, cautiously, so as not to irritate any of his injuries, and dug with one long arm under the passenger side of the bench seat, fishing for his sibling's music collection. Nothing worked better than some Iron Maiden tunes to stay awake. Finally, his fingers closed around the metal box and he pulled it out, a victorious smile tugging at the stitches in his still blissfully numb cheek.
Eyes flickering between the road ahead and his lap, Sam quickly sorted through the worn out tapes. Eventually, he found what he was looking for and slipped the cassette into the radio deck. Bruce Dickinson's voice filled the interior of Impala instantly as Dean had apparently stopped listening in the middle of a song.
Sam massaged his neck with his left hand, digging deep into the stiffening muscles and then buried his fingers in his hair tapping the rhythm into his skull, left elbow resting idly on the window sill. The lyrics hovered on the edge of his awareness, sneaked in and out causing shudders to run through his body long before he picked up on their meaning.
...Then they watch the progress he makes... The Good and the Evil which path will he take… Both of them trying to manipulate... The use of his powers before it's too late...
Chilled to the bone and wide awake, Sam hit the eject button, throat too dry to even swallow.
"Well at least it worked, I'm awake," cringing away from his own cracked, hoarse voice, the hunter fell silent and focused on the highway again, desperately trying to rid his mind of any thought at all. His brain working at full speed however, Sam had to endure his marvelous ability to dwell on other unnerving facts.
'Why didn't Lucifer jump back in when I was out? Pretty easy target.'
Sure, he had been high on demon or devil's blood or whatever at that time. Maybe that had done the trick. Seth's corpse must have seemed a lot more compliant than him. 'And let's not forget the full on Jedi face off with Gabe.' Lucifer had taken a few hits and had been forced to draw on his full power to finally edge the archangel out.
Hazel eyes shifted to the passenger seat again. The sword. What use could the blade be to them? Gathering up discarded, powerful weapons had been so deeply ingrained into his hunter m. o., Sam had hardly realized what he was doing at the time. Blades that could hurt demons or angels could always come in handy, especially with the apocalypse unwrapping itself before their eyes.
Ruby's knife had proved its value many times and damn if he didn't wish he could sink it into her belly now. Pondering her role in the build-up to the showdown with Lilith and her present conspicuous absence, the younger Winchester felt certain she had hoodwinked him into breaking the last seal to free the Devil.
Remorse filled his heart with bitter bile when ghosts of Dean's warnings wafted through his mind. His brother's attempts to cure Sam from his addiction and the female demon's destructive influence had all been in vain. So much that when Dean had finally caught up with his baby bro, supported by an armada of hunters, the deluded younger Winchester still had deemed himself victorious, a hero, standing over Lilith's dead body. Until the cold-blue heat had seeped in. Until a cloud of icy wrath had woven itself around his soul in continuously tightening ribbons. Until Lucifer had thrust Sam into his mental prison.
And stabbed his brother.
The Winchester's insides churned. Apparently, Dean had recovered from the deadly wound even if it eluded Sam how he had pulled that trick. 'Poster boys of the unnatural. All we do is ditch death. Hell yeah.'
Eyelids drooping again, Sam brushed a hand over the healthy half of his face and pinched the bridge of his nose to still a low rumbling headache hammering behind his eyes. A quick glance at his watch and he frowned, knowing he still had forty minutes to cover before he could dare to surrender to exhaustion.
He sighed once more and decided to fast forward to the next song on the tape praying it would be less apocalyptic. Though, with Iron Maiden, you could never be sure.
***
The sun hung just above the highest peaks of the Big Horn mountains, scraping along them on its descent, lengthening the green black shadows of the trees populating their cliffs. Dean clenched and unclenched his fists, barely restraining his nerves. When the mountains had come in sight, a midnight-blue, wavy band on the horizon, a chilling sense of foreboding had wormed its way from his stomach to the base of his skull, scorching a dark hole of worry into his mind. That had been roughly an hour before and now full blown panic was racing up and down his spine. Something was off.
"You quit bouncin' like a jack-in-the-box, boy, or I'm gonna knock you out! We're almost there. He'll be fine." Bobby ground out between clenched jaws.
"What? I'm completely chilled. It's not like we got the freakin' Devil running around or nothin'!"
Dean shot a challenging glance at the driver and wished for the umpteenth time over the last thirty minutes he was behind the wheel himself. Driving always soothed his nerves.
"Cas," the younger hunter twisted around in his seat half way and went on, "Check on Anna?"
"She is fast asleep," Castiel stated, a discomforting note of worry lacing his words before he could control his voice.
"Correct me if I'm wrong but aren't angels supposed to be awake all the time?"
"Yes."
'Damn, getting' intel from angels is slower and harder than wading through a swamp.' "So, why's she been out for the whole trip? Think it's... it's the necklace?"
"It could be."
Dean's jaw dropped at the monosyllabic reply. Stopping short of punching the celestial creature straight into his detached expression, the hunter returned his gaze to the side of the road, willing the exit sign into existence. Sam would be fine. He would be waiting in the motel room, laptop whirring and hair dripping from a long shower. He would be, had to be.
A little vicious voice inside his head cackled at that, the voice that had never ceased to remind him of his stint in hell, of the people he hadn't been able to save in his career as a hunter. The voice that had accused him of being the reason for his dad's untimely death.
Dean resisted the urge to cover his ears against the imagined accuser, cold, sour sweat drenching his back now, but the damage was done.
Another bone-chilling stab of panic lanced through him.
The gasps.
The slur.
No, hell no. Sam wasn't fine. Not even in the same zip code as fine. And they had to hurry the HELL up. He knew it.
Bobby's low growl pulled Dean back to his surroundings, "There, that's the sign. So, first motel into Buffalo?"
Mouth suddenly too dry to swallow, the younger man resorted to a curt nod. "Uh-huh."
Irrational ideas criss-crossed behind Dean's eyes.
-Sam lying dead in the wrecked Impala in the ditch somewhere on I25-
-Lucifer impersonating Sam on the phone, carefully laying a trap to gank them at the motel-
-Sam getting high on demon blood, Ruby a willful donor-
"Snap out of it, son! Hey?" Bobby's fingers dug deep into his forearm, unknowingly re-enacting Castiel's scorching grip on the shoulder. Dean's blemished skin crawled away from the touch, the sensation tugging with a faint itch at the scar tissue as if it remembered the injury.
He gasped, trying to count, his heartbeat slowing down finally. The supernovas now erupting in front of his eyes extinguished the worrisome, mental pictures and Dean welcomed the slight vertigo resulting from his previous hyperventilation.
"Wha...? I'm good! I'm okay." mumbling around the hand covering his face, the younger man forced himself to articulate the words carefully as not to stir Bobby's suspicions any further.
"Yeah, right. Don't pull that crap with me, Dean. You're not fine, you were almost passin' out there."
Swallowing a hotheaded reply, Dean silently looked away from the older hunter and searched the roadside for a motel. 'C'mon. Gotta pull it together. Dammit, where's the friggin' motel?!'
The area they were driving through had an omnipresent out-of-town, industrial touch and Dean wondered if there would be any motels at all. But finally, on the right side of the road, a fairly new, obviously high priced motel came into view. Nearly dismissing it as a possibility when his eyes lit up as his gaze locked on to the black metallic beauty parked outside in the parking lot.
"There!" Pointing with his right index finger, Dean's head swiveled back to look at Bobby and confirm the older man had seen the car, too.
"Yeah, I've seen her. Now, calm down, will ya?"
"Something is wrong." Castiel straightened up in the back seat, gently easing Anna's head to the other side. The female angel sighed shortly, then fell silent again.
"Whaddaya mean something's wrong? How do you...? What's wrong, Cas?"
Shrugging ever so slightly, almost apologetically, the angel continued gazing out the window.
The Chevelle pulled up in the parking space right next to the Impala. Bobby turned the engine off and, as if under a spell, its passengers remained seated for a few seconds.
Dean's eyes caressed the car's shiny exterior, grinning when he found she was intact. Gaze brushing over the side window, the older Winchester felt a lump form in his throat. A mass of unruly, brown hair was plastered against the glass, unmoving. He swallowed, almost gagging, pushed the Chevelle's passenger door open, nearly knocking it into his own baby's side.
"Sam? SAM?" a worried growl escaped his mouth. 'Nonononono. Not now.'
The sound of Bobby getting out of his car, door creaking open in an Impala-worthy metallic scream, was drowned out by the blood pounding in the older Winchester's ears. Dean nearly yanked the Impala's door from it's hinges, fumbled to catch his brother's lifeless form as Sam tumbled limply out, bereft of its support. Dean cradled the younger man in his arms, gently carding strands of sweat-dampened hair out of his brother's face.
The ghost of a much smaller Sam in his own much younger yet equally panicky arms wafted through his limbs, he smelled burned wood and sulfur for a second.
His sibling's head lolled back, and Dean's breath hitched in his chest. A fresh cut, haphazardly patched up, leered back at him from a deathly pale and sweaty face.
Kneeling on the tarmac, the gravelly surface imprinting itself into his joints, the older brother felt as if he was sinking into deep mud. An icy, all-too familiar feeling of menacing loss grabbed him. Left arm slung around Sam's chest, he worked his right hand free and patted his brother's unscathed cheek. Relief spread through him when he was rewarded with a small Sammy-frown and a soft moan.
"Sammy, come on, man. Wake up. 'S all gonna be okay, now. Open your eyes."
His tone soothing as if talking to a toddler, Dean's eyes assessed his sibling's condition. 'Probably just tired. Passed out. I swear, I'll kill that evil fuckin' sonuvabitch for doing this to him.'
"Dean, lemme help ya. We need to get him to a room and see what's up."
If Bobby was in any way as worried as the older Winchester, he sure did his best not to show it in his voice. And Dean was grateful for it.
Looking up, he smirked and nodded his agreement, eyes wide, brimming with fear for Sam.
Bobby bent down and grabbed the unconscious Winchester's long legs and wriggled them out from under the wheel. Huffing audibly, he watched how the older brother readjusted his grip and suddenly froze mid-action. The cold claw that had started squeezing Bobby's heart when he had heard Dean's panicked yell – so alike to the one in Cold Oak – enforced its grasp.
"What the..." Dean looked down at his left hand, smeared with dark, nearly congealed blood. Frantically checking his brother's t-shirt for signs of a wound he pushed the jacket away from the slowly rising chest and blanched when he saw a dark stain. Throwing caution to the wind, he heaved his brother's full weight into his arms, shrugged Bobby's helping hands off and marched towards the entrance of the motel.
"Dean, wait! They're never lettin' you in like that! Lemme get a room first..." the old hunter brushed past Dean with a surprising agility betraying his age and left the worried Winchester standing outside, sweat pouring down his face and back. Yielding to Sam's heavy weight, he sank to his knees again, gently laying his sibling's form on a patch of yellowed grass.
***
Castiel stood by silently, taking in the whirlwind of emotions unfolding around him. Knowing his charge's temper, he had kept his tongue, giving the man time to adjust to the new situation. The angel decided to return to the car and take care of his own kin.
Anna was still sound asleep. Castiel felt a sliver of unease flutter through him and the need to get her out of the backseat and wake her up was almost overwhelming. 'So, that's what worry feels like.' Relishing and regretting the sudden, unexpected emotion at the same time, he climbed into the car again.
"Anna, you have to wake up, now. You can rest again later."
Gentle, soft spoken words pulled the female angel from her dreams. Wearily, she blinked and sighed under the burden of Dean's injury reflecting its effect on her own body.
"How are you?" Castiel's face mirrored the sorrow in his face when he eyed her curiously.
"I'm okay for now." she swallowed a yawn and craned her head to make out their current whereabouts. "Where are we?"
"Buffalo, Wyoming. We found Samuel. He is not well. Dean is taking care of him. I believe we are going to be here for some time. Maybe you should try and lie down in a real bed. You seem to be in pain, Anna. Are you sure you're okay?"
"Stop hovering, Cas. This won't be forever. I'll manage. Help me up and out, please." Anna straightened up and flinched when a wave of nausea accompanied by a breathtaking, piercing stab at her midriff tried to nail her down again.
She gasped and waited until she was sure she would stay conscious, the angel accepted her brother's proffered hand to help her out. Standing outside, knees wobbly, Anna grasped the Chevelle's roof to balance herself.
"I got three rooms. They're 'round the back. Separate entrance, figured that'd be better judgin' by Sam and Anna's conditions. Don't wanna freak out the concierge. You heard me? Concierge! Damn pricey joint."
Bobby gruff voice called Anna back to her surroundings and she turned to face the humans and her celestial brother, just in time to see Dean and the older hunter leveling Sam's dead weight between them. Anna patted her fellow angel on the shoulder and said, "let's go."
Cas held Anna, left arm slung snugly around her waist, trying to ignore her stumbling, weak steps and followed the three hunters leading the way.
Sam's boots scraped along the asphalt, while his arms were wrapped around Bobby and Dean's shoulders, both older men clutching a slack hand, holding on as if their lives depended on it.
***
Finally, arriving at the three adjacent rooms, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily from dragging Sam up the stairs to the third floor, Bobby dug in his back pocket to retrieve the code card to swipe it through the reader. 'Friggin' tech crap. As if that'd make things any easier! Only costs a fortune.'
The red light flickered and vanished, green blinked into life and the old hunter pushed the handle. The door swung soundlessly inward, inviting them into their temporary home.
Bustling past him, Dean had shouldered Sam once again, eager to get him looked at. "I'm gonna get our stuff then..." Sure he wouldn't be graced with an answer, Bobby turned around, sighed, and set out to the stairwell. Again. 'I'm getting' too old for this crap.'
***
Blind to the for once beautifully decorated, large room with en suite bathroom, the older Winchester swung his brother unceremoniously onto the first bed. Sam, still unconscious, moaned again sinking deep into the fluffy cushions. Under different circumstances, Dean would have made a joke about a scene from Nightmare on Elm Street when one of the kids had been sucked into Freddy's realm through their bed.
Now, however, the only things commanding his actions were the nasty cut on his baby bro's face and the huge blood stain on his shirt. His brain reacted to years of practice, his father's orders to take care of Sammy drilled so deeply into his character they had become instinct.
Faintly, while fumbling with Sam's t-shirt, he remembered how he had been holding his brother's seizing body in the panic room. Hazel eyes rolled up in his skull, muscles in his limbs rigid with spasms, veins and sinews bulging under the pressure.
A shudder ran through him and then, forcing the image back under the rippled surface of the black ocean of bitter memories, he finally worked the stubborn piece of jersey over his brother's head.
He gulped. "That bastard's gonna pay." Hissing the words out between clenched jaws, Dean bent down to pick up the bag Bobby had just set down on the floor next to him. Singer sighed, realising the older Winchester was too caught up in worrying over his sibling to react directly to his return, and sat down on one of the ornate armchairs, observing the older brother's administrations.
Cleaning the blood smeared edges around the wound, Dean suddenly understood why both injuries had been stitched up so erratically. Knowing his brother, he had expected the younger man's neat needle work but he had overlooked the fact that Sam had been forced to use his left hand. A compassionate frown flicked across Dean's features when he tried to make up for his sibling's shortcomings.
The edges of both cuts were swollen and shone an angry red but other than that they seemed fine. No fresh blood. Still, his brother's skin was clammy enough to cause another wave of panic. Shock or exhaustion. Either way, Sam had to wake up soon to prevent further decline.
"Here," Bobby held out a wet towel.
"Thanks. He's okay as far as I can tell. Just passed out." Hearing the treacherous lie in his own voice, Dean didn't dare look up into Singer's knowing face.
"Where're Cas and Anna by the way?" trying to change the topic, he kept on dabbing with the towel at his sibling's neck, eyes never leaving Sam's slack, gaunt face. 'Wake up dammit. We... I need you to wake up, now. We gotta hunt the Devil. I'm not letting you miss out on the biggest hunt ever, you hear me, bro? I'm not lettin' you. Please, wake up.'
"Cas took Anna to another room. She looked pale." Bobby decided to play along even though he knew what Dean was doing. Just one look at the older Winchester's taught mouth, the set jaw and the pressed voice had told Singer all the other man had tried to mask.
"Can I be of any help?" Both hunters jerked their heads around in unison at the unexpected question. Castiel stood in the door frame.
"Dude, I'm so gonna buy you one of these cow bells they use in Germany!"
Unperturbed as usual, the angel advanced on the men huddled around Sam's bed. Dean had to do his best to not flinch away watching the swift, almost fluid angelic movements.
Castiel bent over Sam, both hands hovering ten inches above the unconscious man's navel, eyes peering intently into the lifeless face.
"I thought you couldn't do your healing thing anymore," Dean watched as his brother's body trembled slightly.
"Sam's injuries are minor and not of supernatural origin. It will certainly drain my powers a little and it will take longer to restore them now that I am... cut off from heaven. But I can still do my healing thing." Castiel smirked, imitating Dean's voice.
"Hey, extra points for trying to crack a joke, Cas. But could you just try and concentrate on what you're doing?" Dean snapped at the angel, less angry than he sounded. Bewildered by the angel's uncharacteristic use of irony, the older Winchester exchanged a questioning look with Bobby. Singer shrugged and busied himself with clearing away the remainder of Dean's medical attempts.
Under Castiel's heavenly hands, both injuries seemed to wilt and fade away slowly. Shrinking back into the flesh they had so terribly ripped apart, the cuts closed over and the suture threads unwound themselves and crinkled into non-existence. Just when the chest wound resembled a darkened spot, almost like an overgrown freckle, and the cut on the cheek had become a bold but thin gash, the angel's hands shuddered violently.
Pulling them away, Castiel broke the healing connection and rubbed his palms against each other, feeling as if he had sustained an electric shock. Swaying slightly, he backed away from the bed and leaned against the cool wall.
"You okay, Cas?" genuine worry laced Dean's words and the angel answered him gratefully.
"I'll be fine. It just took more energy than I had expected. And there were some remnants of Lucifer's presence in him. Yet, completely unlike in you. I think your brother devoured some of his essence."
A hint of disgust layered with anger pierced through Dean when he understood what Castiel was trying to say. 'So, we're back to drinking blood then, are we?'
The unconscious hunter moved sleepily, rolled over to his right and shoved his arm under his head. Trying to get comfortable on the unusually soft mattress, Sam pulled his legs up and sighed with somnolent relief.
"But he's okay now, right? You healed him?"
"Yes."
"And it's not temporary?"
"No." Castiel walked over to the other bed and sank down on it, exhaustion apparent in his posture. "And I think I might have cured some of his physical dependency, too."
"Good. Um. You wanna lie down or whatever it is you angels do when you're tired?" Dean looked from Sam to Castiel, feeling responsible for the celestial creature's weakness.
"We don't sleep." It was a reflexive answer, born from exertion. And before he could elaborate, Dean had already caught up.
"So, how's Anna?"
"Resting. She wanted to take a shower." Castiel tried to change the topic. There were more pressing matters at hand than Dean torturing himself for Anna's calamity. "In the meantime, we should try to find out where Lucifer is."
The older Winchester accepted the angel's obvious attempt to redirect their conversation and asked, "Yeah, but how? And how're we gonna kill him anyway?"
"Chuck. We need to call him, maybe he has had another vision." Wishing he could for once in his existence sleep, Cas brushed a hand over his face trying to focus. "And we need Michael's assistance to kill Lucifer in the end. Only my brother's sword can kill him."
"Yeah, you said that before. But how's he gonna help us if your ex-bosses don't want you doin' this anyway?"
"He won't have a choice. Not if we are … how would you say it? Playing our cards right." A mysterious grin tugged at Castiel's mouth and he was surprised to find himself gleeful.
"Meaning?" Dean was becoming increasingly exasperated. This new, joking Cas didn't sit well with him. Truth be told, the angel spooked him.
"Meaning we will force him to collaborate by using a Latin prayer called Defende Nos In Proelio. Humans have been praying to him like that for ages, not knowing that those among you that are of celestial ancestry can actually force him to do their bidding. Of course, it comes at a price but still. He has to comply." Castiel was filled with a multitude of emotions. Glee, vindictiveness, remorse and guilt performed a danse macabre in his essence, trampling and stampeding every bit of angelic countenance into the ground.
Dean however found himself reeling with one tiny bit of information. "At a price?"
"Oh," pulled from his unease, Castiel looked up right into Dean's suspicious eyes. "Yes. Michael needs a host of course. How else would he be able to wield his sword? Only an angel can kill another angel."
"A host. Of course. Piece o' cake. How're we gonna find a suitable meatsuit for the friggin' general of the heavenly host?" Trepidation grabbed Dean's heart in a vice-like grip. 'Oh, please, don't say it. Don't.' He closed his eyes waiting for the angel's reply.
"The person who says the prayer will be his vessel." Sam's voice was thick with residual sleepiness. "We need to find one of those guys with angel ancestors, right Cas?" He yawned, oblivious to what he had just pointed out. Obviously, Sam had finally woken up during their conversation at some point, but was still battling the exhausting effects of the last days.
"No. We don't have to find one. We already have one. Or two to be precise." The angel looked at both Winchesters and nodded.
"No, there has to be another way, Cas. I ain't let him use my body. Or Sam's for that matter. We've got to find another way." Imploringly, he stepped closer to the angel, while inwardly terror and disgust were warring for predominance.
Sam gaped at the two elder men, head swiveling between them, cogs whirring and sputtering.
"Wait a minute. Why us?"
~TBC~
End Notes:
Thanks for reading!
Prayer to St Michael:
Sancte Michael Archangel, defende nos in proelio, contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur tuque, Princeps militiae coelestis, Satanam aliosoque malignos, qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo, divina virtute, in infernum detrude. Amen
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray. And do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God thrust into hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world for the ruin of souls. Amen.
Information about the Grigori and Nephilim can be found on wikipedia. Go check it out, it's worth it!
I know I am getting real close to the show with the whole vessel business. But as the story is set after 4.21 everything before that is fair game including The Rapture. In that episode we got introduced to the host/vessel idea as well as to the blood-theme. The idea of the Winchesters being descendants of the fallen angels is my most important topic and hasn't been voiced in the show so far. This idea was conceived long before I started writing this story and I have actually written some entries in my LiveJournal about destiny, blood and fallen angels. And most importantly, the bloodline theme sparked this whole story.
Having said all that, I hope I am allowed to use the vessel/host concept in the story as it is essential to the showdown. Please, feel free to discuss this with me.