A/N: For everyone missing Belial and Gabriel (they have been MIA for a while, haven't they?), don't fret; they're coming back soon! Thank you for the gracious reviews and I hope all of you enjoy this chapter!
Disclaimer: Supernatural and all its affiliates belong to Eric Kripke
The ever-sifting grains of the sands of time encompassed copious amounts of…everything, really. From Eden to the primitive civilizations of the ancient river valleys to the rise and fall of the Roman Empire; from the first spark of fire to the invention of the printing press and the subsequent rise of the Church- throughout the history of the world, the only conclusion to be drawn, the only lesson to be learned was uncomplicated and could be abridged and condensed into one concise claim: Man was a mindless fool, and woman was little better.
There was no legitimate reason why these worthless pieces of filth were God's chosen children, above both angels and demons. Man cheated and lied, stole and blasphemed, murdered and stabbed his brother in the back- but at the end of the day, he always went crawling back to the one who had kicked him out of Paradise in the first place, squalling like a toddler because he feared that his Daddy wouldn't love him anymore. Woman at least had half a brain, being willing to question the endless rules and regulations given- it was just a piece of damn fruit!- and as a result gained the knowledge of good and evil, whereas man would've been content to follow anything the Almighty decreed, blindly, stupidly.
Even after the fall, humans refused to enjoy themselves to their hearts' content here on the earth that was wonderfully abundant in every type of pleasure imaginable. Instead of realizing the potential of having broken free from the chains binding them to their tyrant of a Father, they built up a Church for the sole purpose of imprisoning themselves yet again, the simple-minded weaklings.
And yet if they were really so dense, then why was she sitting here, fuming silently over one such man's shocking actions that had stunned her into speechlessness?
"I said, 'no'. You'd better start running again, Lilith…'cause it's going to be game over soon when I end you."
Her fingers tightened on the stem of the martini glass and she glowered into the darkness at nothing in particular. That arrogant son of a bitch. Lilith had by now replayed the scene in her mind countless times and yet the end result was the same, with the younger Winchester's face lined with anger and hatred to the utmost degree, the fire of fierce determination burning in his eyes as he rejected her generous offer.
And here I thought that nobility in the face of horror was the Winchester way. The demon violently stabbed at the olive in the stirred mixture of gin and vermouth. Oh right, she'd forgotten that the idiots advocated self-sacrifice, as opposed to putting anyone else in harm's way. So he was more concerned about a damn angel than the lives of six billion humans? The demon pulled a face. She so should have brought up that point, just to see how Mr. Righteous Winchester would've responded then.
Definitely idiots. Once again Lilith found herself pleased with the choice she made so long ago, for having put such mediocrity behind her, of having surrendered to the fire and the ruin, to the flames of desire and all the deliciously sinful pleasures the flesh could sustain- the men, the thrill of everlasting festivity, and the baby blood- oh, the blood of newborns was the sweetest nectar imaginable. A slight frown creased her brow though and she brought the olive up to her mouth, well-shaped lips closing around the garnish, scarlet red against dull green. Of course she could've been enjoying a glass right now, still warm and freshly pumped right out of the aorta, but- It was supposed to be the bitch, just her. But no, I turn up and the prick's gutted my nurse too-
Lilith tried, and unsuccessfully at that, to squash down the fear that drew up a heavy coldness in the pit of her stomach and sourness in the back of her throat. Sam Winchester could make all the threats he wanted- she wasn't scared of the overgrown Sasquatch; he wasn't capable of doing shit without his whore, Ruby. No, it wasn't the thought of the young hunter that made her fingernails bite into her palms, but of the deal she'd made, the deal she now had no way of keeping.
"I'll hand deliver your precious angel to you myself."
A shudder passed through her meatsuit, swift and sudden as her thoughts turned to the superior demon, of what he was capable of doing to those who crossed him, who cheated him out of a deal. He of the deceptively pleasant voice that made women melt like chocolate in a warm hand and an accent of lilts and drawls, elongated vowels tumbling out of his mouth like a blessing and a curse; he with the streak of sadistic insanity that reduced even his kin to terrified wisps of smoke and piles of ash, all carefully reined in and disguised behind the charming smile of a suave gentleman
Goddamn you, Lilith thought bitterly, then laughed at the irony of the spiteful notion, the half-empty martini glass tilting in her loose grasp. Pale blue eyes closed and anyone glancing over at that particular instant would have supposed that the comely blonde simply didn't know how to hold her drink, never venturing to guess that she was in fact a demon agonizing over her own very foolish mistake. "Goddamn it all to Hell." A whisper of quiet frustration, controlled desperation.
The clink of glass against glass rang out as something nudged the flute in her hand. "I'll drink to that."
She jerked away so fast, eyes flying wide open, that some of the drink sloshed over the side of the rim, birthing a dark wet patch on the tablecloth and the newcomer arched an eyebrow at the show of clumsiness. "What a greeting."
"Belial." The name was a hiss of discomfort, a glossed over shiver of apprehension, and yet Lilith could not stop from drinking in the sight of her fellow fallen brother, the familiar flames of desire swelling up between her hips, settling low in the pit of her belly. She leaned forward slightly, revealing more flesh than was socially acceptable and letting one foot slide scandalously up the inside of the other's leg. "I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon." Too soon, her mind intoned anxiously.
As usual, he failed to respond to her charms, merely taking a slow, measured sip of whatever dark crimson swirled around in the flute he held, jade green eyes of his new vessel watching her carefully and Lilith's mouth grew dry because hot damn, this meatsuit was something else.
For a moment her mind skipped back to that day eons ago, scrounging around in the dirt as a worthless human being and hating every moment of what seemed to be a prison of an existence when he arrived, more beautiful than anything she'd ever seen- the Light Bearer and the Morning Star, Lucifer himself. The first of the Fallen. It'd been so simple to say yes upon the promise of having her eyes opened, so easy to turn away from the God she never knew, to be taken in by this dazzling creature of glorious light and to be made into what he was-
She was Lucifer's first. It was a honor above all others, giving her status and dominance, authority and everything she could ever want- but upon seeing him, composed of flaming darkness as the roaring inferno grew all the more furious just by his presence- Lilith knew she had to have him.
Hell's second Prince.
Dark as Lucifer was light, nearly as strong and twice as tempting, Belial oozed raw sexuality and power, a combination which made every woman go mad with lust just for a taste of the honeyed words that dripped from his lips. No wonder he specialized in the areas of sexual perversion, fornication, and lust- the demon embodied the transgressions perfectly, a personification of the sins themselves.
"Impressive selection this time around," Lilith purred sensuously, referring to the other's new vessel and trying her best to cover up her uneasiness with a devilish smirk. "Maybe you'd consider giving this one a test drive?"
Belial's eyes were focused on something over her head, immune to the foot that nudged against his thigh. "Down, girl," he drawled out lazily. An iron grip clamped down around her bare ankle, cold fingers curling around her foot and the demon girl hissed sharply. "I doubt you know how to properly navigate your way around a stick."
The pressure was crushing the bones together, grinding the talus against the fibula and Lilith tried pulling back, because she felt it and it was evident in her face. This was Belial's ire and a warning rolled into one, his threat without words. Her superior's eyes met hers then, ivory white and yet so dark and threatening at the same time she couldn't help it- she shivered visibly. "I've only come to collect what's mine."
Of course. She let out a bark of laughter, harsh with pain and shaky with uncertainty. "Oh come on, Belial, cut a girl some slack." It was meant to be wheedling, but came out as a plea. The grip tightened and she winced. Fine, you bastard. "…I don't have him just yet."
"Hm." Belial finally released her and Lilith shrank back in her chair, cursing the fact that she still had to walk out in three-inch heels. "Tell me something my dear," the other said silkily, white stare never drifting away, "what exactly did he use to tempt you?" Nimble fingers strayed towards the cutlery on the table and soon the knife was flipping back and forth across his knuckles, back and forth. "What luscious spoils did the Son of Perdition assure you waited on the other side; what valuable prize was stolen from you that Lucifer swore to repay in abundance?"
A simple question, with a less than simple reason behind it being asked. She wasn't human anymore, but Lilith could feel her meatsuit's skin grow cold, clammy. The smug bastard knew, everyone knew, but he was going to make her say it out loud. "My child."
"Ah, a cherished prize indeed. And now you can have all the infants you desire." The silver of the knife flashed in the candlelight, but was nothing compared to the ice in Belial's hard gaze. "Seems like your deal was seen through to the very end, no?" His eyes narrowed. "Now you've promised to restore to me something that has been taken away, something very precious and yet-" The demon spread his arms wide. "Here you sit, empty-handed." Belial smiled then, a malicious smile full of death. "You weren't lying to me now, were you Lilith?"
Lilith would've found it hilarious if she hadn't been scared shitless. Honestly, out of all the fuck buddies in the world, Belial had to chase after one who had a damn archangel as an overprotective older brother and was assigned to watch over the supposed savior of mankind. Talk about tacky taste. "I said I would get him for you," she said slowly, "and I will. Soon."
"Make 'soon' tomorrow night." The knife's blade tore through the tablecloth and sank four inches into the wood underneath to punctuate the words. "St. Mary's Convent." Belial grinned at the irony of his own demand. "For old time's sake." He stood, straightening his suit, high amused as he watched Lilith doing a marvelous impression of a goldfish. "Don't make me wait, my dear."
Turning smoothly, he sauntered out of the smoky bar, passing through the crowd without brushing against anyone; the demon's steps were quick, almost jaunty, the grin on his face sliding into a smirk. If she thought she could pull one over on him, then surely he would let her think that- right up until the moment I bring Sam Winchester around to finish you off, sister.
If little Lilith wanted to play with fire, then Belial would make sure that he brought the marshmallows to toast as she burned.
The glamorously painted scenes of destruction and the end of days on the wall were creeping him out. Not with the sort of eerie yet stunning presence exuded by the Mona Lisa's ever-following eyes, or the majestic quality of Gustave Dore's illustrations. No, the only vibe Dean was getting from these ghastly images of the impending future that Heaven let happen was that familiar sickly feeling that made his stomach lurch and produced a fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead.
He was also getting slightly past feeling like his entire world had been turned upside down and shaken helter skelter and into what would've been categorized as seething- immeasurably angry, and yet too proud to call out for help or to even admit that he'd been duped by the ones he'd thought were supposed to be the good guys in the fight.
"We weren't lying about your destiny Dean, you're still vital."
The hunter's eyes traveled over the portrait his gaze kept wandering back toward, the triumphant angel ramming some type of spear into the ugly creature it stood above. Yeah? Well you dicks can stuff it and hightail to Hell, all of you, 'cause I'm not gonna be your hammer. Dean's jaw clenched tightly and he turned away, fixing his glare on the treacherous walls that wouldn't give way to the force of his fists or vexation or outright rage, trapping him here like a rat in a maze; a test subject for the angels to prod at and fatten up with burgers and beer until they needed him for their own purposes.
Greenroom, my ass. He glowered at his surroundings. This wasn't some comfy lounge; it was the goddamn Shawshank with a fat prick of an angel who smiled too much to replace Bob Gunton's spectacled villain as the warden. I'm not waiting around to drop the soap or to be turned into Heaven's bitch. Fishing in his pocket he pulled out his cell phone, telling that annoying little voice in the back of his mind that was gleefully exclaiming your one phone call! to shut the hell up, Dean flipped the communication device open and pushed speed dial one.
Sammy the display read and he brought it up to his ear, hoping against all hope that he would hear his brother's voice coming on the other end and somehow, with the combined forces of Winchester blood, sweat, grit and mulish determination that they would get down to the bottom of this mess just like they used to, together. Maybe even getting the other's voicemail would suffice, then he'd be able to leave a message to warn Sam about the angels' own private little atomic bombs-
Nothing but static and white noise answered his earnest efforts and Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, looking down at it in something akin to despair. Oh no, don't you quit on me too you little piece of- A sharp bark of laughter lanced through his chest and tumbled from his lips painfully as the hunter registered the ridiculousness of the entire situation, of him standing there and mentally hurling insults at an inanimate object. Maybe he really had lost it, or was spiraling in some sort of Twilight Zone-esque alternate universe. Wouldn't be the first time.
"You can't reach him, Dean. You're outside of your coverage zone."
Another burst of hilarity swelled up but Dean let it die in the cavern of his chest. Yep, he'd definitely lost it if the angel had just cracked a joke. Castiel, badass hammer of the Lord; Cas who sat on a park bench and let spill the secret of his doubts because he just needed someone to listen indiscriminately; Cas who fought and bled for him; Castiel who had lied to his face; Cas, an absolute freakin' mess of smoking feathers and burnt wings and shame.
The same bubble of mirth had turned into shards of bitterness, of memory, and the elder Winchester swallowed hard, snapping his phone shut. Castiel, the dick who won't let me see Sam. "What're you gonna do to Sam?"
He walked forward, noting how Dean's shoulders were hunched up near his ears, the muscles tight with tension and stiffly rounded like a defensive shield; hard and suspicious and unyielding, screaming out volumes of mistrust without the hunter having to do so much as speak. But the elder Winchester had spoken, and in a voice full of a carefully controlled maelstrom of emotions. "Nothing," Castiel sighed, not in relief or exasperation, but in full knowledge nothing he said would placate Dean now. Instead of placing a comforting hand on the other's back as he had done once before, the angel veered off at an angle, stopping a mere handful of paces away. "He's going to do it to himself."
Dean turned to face him, all skepticism and for a moment, Castiel saw the hurting soul behind the omnipresent exterior, the shield of self-manufactured protection- "What's that supposed to mean?"-and his gaze faltered, falling to the ground.
"Oh right, right." Dean's voice was low and soft with apparent sincerity, the wrinkle forming between his brows betraying his mockery. "Gotta toe the company line." The hunter walked forward slowly, remembering a time when it had been the angel invading his personal space, getting right up close and uttering a threat that had the power to not only silence him, but had made Dean Winchester understand what having the fear of God put into him felt like. Or…fear of an angel. Whatever. Now the tables had been turned and as blue eyes slowly slid upwards to meet his own, Dean wondered vaguely if this was what he'd looked like nearly a year ago, standing in the darkness of Bobby's kitchen- like someone had just turned his puppy into roadkill. "Why're you here, Cas?"
For once, there were no sardonic comments or skyward rolling of the eyes; the hunter's outer defense of jokes and his customary cheapening of all things difficult or painful had been stripped away, leaving only man and angel. Except that didn't even matter anymore either, that they were two different species, that one bore the mark of the other or that the other had existed since the birthing of the cosmos; it was just Dean and Castiel here and now, and the moment was so honest, so open, so real that it was raw.
"We've been through much together, you and I. And I just wanted…" The words came quiet and soft; the angel's tone was contrite, his manner hesitant and unsure. Scared. Frightened of how Dean would or wouldn't react, of desertion, of hate. "…to say I'm sorry it ended like this."
His eyebrows arched on their own accord in grimly cynical humor as he repeated the word aloud. "'Sorry'?" Castiel's head tilted slightly and Dean gave a tiny, disbelieving shake of his head at how friggin ignorant this supposedly powerful and intelligent celestial being was, to believe that this mess could be fixed with a simple word of apology. Well aren't you just a peach? It was nearly comical in a sense, like a child who'd chopped off a hunk of his hair while playing barbershop and was now trying to affix the fallen strands back to his scalp with duct tape, funny in a really sad, pathetic way.
Great. So now this is me saying "it's all good", mudmonkey style. With a scoff of derision, Dean reared back and drove his fist forward with all the strength he could muster, to forcefully knock some sense into that borrowed skull-
THUNK.
He'd obviously seen the fist coming because one, Castiel wasn't really as poor of a fighter as everyone suspected and two, despite Dean's prowess as a very capable hunter, the elder Winchester was still only human. It would have been false to suggest that the angel hadn't been expecting the swing either, but that didn't mean that it hurt any less. When the knuckles made contact with his vessel's cheek with enough force to turn his head to the side, for lack of knowing how to react otherwise Castiel went…blank.
Oh, Jesus CHRIST on a bicycle!! Dean turned around slowly, jaw clenched tight to hold in the yowl of pain threatening to escape his throat as his hand throbbed dully. So apparently trying to bash in an angel's skull wasn't such a good idea, not if one wanted to retain the use of his hand. But how was he supposed to know that it would feel like taking a swing at a freakin' terminator? It's not like 'holy tax accountant' was synonymous with 'Arnold Schwarzenegger'. Ow, ow, ow. Dean allowed himself a rough gasp as he flexed his fingers, trying to rid his knuckles of the feeling of smashing into a marble column. "It's Armageddon, Cas," he spat out, voice breaking slightly on the angel's name, the only one in whom he dared to place his trust, the one who'd played him like a fiddle just like all the others. "You need a bigger word than 'sorry'!"
Here it came, in a wave of tsunami-like proportions, the boiling hot rush of emotions spilling over their thresholds at the hunter's tone, still as strange and foreign as the first time he'd ever felt. Castiel could feel his forehead creasing and his hands rose to motion emphatically. "Try to understand," he beseeched in a voice filled with the frustration he was trying to tamper down- and unsuccessfully at that because no matter what wide store of wisdom the angel bore, one thing he didn't know how to do was how make Dean see that all of this was for his own good. "This is long foretold." This is the will of Heaven, it's an order from above! "This is your-"
"Destiny?" Dean broke in, interrupting the fervent claim. He paused, wordlessly begging the angel to understand, pleading with his eyes, necessarily uncouth because the Castiel he once knew inspired enough faith within him to try. "Destiny, God's plan? It's all a bunch of LIES, you poor stupid son of a bitch!" Despair colored his voice. "It's just a way for your bosses to keep me, and keep you in line!" He jabbed the air fiercely.
But they were both stupid sons of bitches, weren't they and as he pointed first at himself and at the other, he realized that it was true. He, being foolish enough to believe that angels would be any different than any other supernatural creature he'd hunted down and Castiel… Dean felt a faint surge of hope at the expression on the other's face because he could see the angel's blind faith withering; Castiel's jaw was tightening in a strangely humanlike gesture of discomfort. Just listen to me, Cas. Please.
But it was clear that Castiel didn't want to hear this; he didn't want to face what was being thrown in his face again and those impossibly blue orbs that used to be so filled with conviction narrowing, striving to control something within, doing his best to justify anything, everything. Dean swore silently because Castiel recognized the truth, saw it the way the bruised and battered child saw that mommies and daddies were supposed to hug and love, not hit and scream- goddamn it, he knew that the angel knew!
"You know what's real?" God, he hadn't sounded like this since asking Castiel not to make him unleash the monster that lurked within his soul upon Alastair; he was practically begging. "People. Families. That's real." Sam's quirky grin, kicking back in a diner with his brother and a piece of pie, sitting on a park bench and just watching the kids run back and forth without a care in the world, as it should be and seeing an angel smile, bright as the sun itself- Dean's hands curled into shaking fists. "And you're going to watch them all burn?!"
What had happened to the angel who once spoke of his Father's creations as works of art with mingled admiration and wistfulness? But the memory of the stench of burning feathers made his nostrils flare and Dean knew why.
"What is so worth saving?" Castiel's voice was rough, raw with the effort needed continue holding his ground against his charge as he stepped closer because this struggle was pure physics- the angel's once solid and unwavering faith slamming into Dean's relentless uprooting of all that he'd ever known since the dawn of time.
"I see nothing but pain here!" It was so close to a snarl and would've been if not for the undisguised hurt behind the words, the wounded accusation of one who'd felt such pain and had learned it through betrayal, through an unpleasant crash-course. "I see inside you," Castiel whispered, eyes boring into the hazel-green ones of this man who'd with his words and his actions shaken the very foundations of his entire existence. "I see your guilt, your anger; confusion…"
And it tore at him, a soldier of the Lord who used to do naught but fight; seeing the endless pain now tore at him. Castiel's soul ached for the hunter who looked like he had aged ten years in the past one and who now bore the weight of mankind's survival upon his already-slumped shoulders. Listen to me, Dean. You can stop running and you will never have need to fear again. "In paradise, all is forgiven."
"For what it's worth… I would give anything not to have you do this."
Now, he would give anything to have Dean play out his role, to let the Apocalypse come and Lucifer rise. Perhaps it was a selfish wish but Castiel wanted for his charge to find the peace he never had in thirty years on earth and forty in Hell, to be guiltless and be made whole again. It was his reason for all of this, for going through the pain and the humiliation, the agony and the fire- for Dean's sake. "You'll be at peace…" the angel whispered fervently through chapped lips. His fingers curled in toward the palms slightly and his wrists gave a slight twinge, new skin still tender where it was stretched over the wounds there. "Even with Sam."
"Cast thine eyes down upon man again. What dost thou see that is worth saving?" Gabriel's words sounded out in his mind and Castiel dropped his gaze down to the side, staring at the ground. "There was naught but pain. In the halls of our Father, all is forgiven; there wilt be peace for all."
Something failed; falling as swiftly and as tragically brilliant as the death of a star because the angel knew this wasn't what his charge wanted. It would never be what Dean Winchester wanted no matter what reasoning or words of persuasion were offered. Just as, despite his brother's words of wisdom and reassurance, Castiel had never wished for mankind to be destroyed by the Great Flood, still holding onto the belief that such calamity could have been avoided. Still holding onto hope.
Where are you now, brother? Castiel could feel his vessel's pulse jump and quicken at the thought and had he been made in the image of the Almighty, he would've claimed that his heart shuddered in fear for Gabriel, of what had happened to the archangel. A thought struck him then, sudden and poignant- how was it possible for he and his brothers to be reconciled after all that had happened? A great many of the Heavenly host had already fallen in battle and now-
Hazel green eyes moved into his line of sight, interrupting the angel's rather scattered thought process and held his, dragging the gaze upright. "You can take your peace," Dean started, tight-lipped and hard-eyed, "and shove it up your lily white ass."
Castiel's eyes narrowed but not disapproval at the other's profanity or blatant lack of respect, but in confusion. He spoke every language that was, ever had been, and ever would be in existence, and yet the angel stared at his charge in utter confusion, mind repeating one numb word over and over: Why?
"'Cause I'll take the pain, and the guilt." Dean's words were tight with strain and the words came out in a growl reminiscent of a fiercely protective predator marking his territory; his eyes shone with determination and unshed moisture. "I'll even take Sam as is." This was a man forsaking his own wellbeing the six billion others he didn't know and would probably never even meet, this was a Winchester defying the will of the cosmos to do what he knew to be right. This was an older sibling loving his younger brother despite all the odds and crappy circumstances, despite it all and Castiel's expression was a mixture of pain and fear because he knew that Dean would do all he'd just claimed. Looking away from his charge, he opened his mouth-
"It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in Paradise!" The hunter's voice was raised and Castiel could feel the heat of a livid glare burning into the side of his head. "Is that what they did to you up there, demonstrate the meaning of peace?! Must be a hell of a concept to wrap your head around, what with them having to show you thirteen times, huh?" The angel's head snapped back toward Dean, his eyes went wide and his mouth closed; he didn't know what to say because there was nothing to say.
If Dean had been looking for the freshest wound in which to make fresh-squeezed lemonade, he'd found it.
"This is simple, Cas!" He pressed on as the angel turned his back on him. "No more crap about being a good soldier. There's a right and there's a wrong here, and you know it." Dean stared at the unwrinkled beige of the trench coat for a second before his ire flared and he reached out, grabbing Castiel's shoulder, fingers digging deep and hard enough to make an imprint of their own. "Look at me!"
Had someone told Dean Winchester a year ago that he would be for lack of better words manhandling an angel, he would have kindly directed said person to the nearest mental hospital. Or conducted an on the spot exorcism. After all, whose handprint was branded onto whose arm? But here he was, forcefully turning Castiel back around to face him because the angel was about to run away as those dicks with wings so often did, and he wouldn't allow it. "You know it!"
Comfort was foreign to this hardened soldier and displaying kindness or concern for an angel was even weirder. He wasn't raised to be a counselor or psychiatrist and certainly not a damn priest and so Dean knew he was being an ass, but this was the only way. He was pushing and pushing the angel because something in those blue eyes that held his told him there was a chance, that despite all the blood and guts and gore strewn along the beach at Normandy that victory would be on the horizon of the red dawn, that there was still even the smallest flame of hope. They were both victims here but while he was trying to fight, it seemed like Castiel had just given up already, too willing to lie down with the white flag and letting everyone from demons to his bastard superiors walk all over him like a freakin' doormat. C'mon Cas. Don't you make me give up on you too.
"And you were going to help me once, weren't you?" It was a desperate whisper and Castiel's gaze tore away instantly, like a dog's leash being jerked violently to the side but he wasn't denying it. "You were going to warn me about all this before they dragged you back to Bible camp!" He hissed the words like a secret, knowing that the walls here probably had walls or Zachariah was probably playing the part of peeping Tom. "Help me, now. Please!"
Castiel's face was lined with pain, whether physical or mental, Dean didn't know. The angel wouldn't meet his eyes and his voice was tight, question clipped and halting. "What would you have me do?"
"Get me to Sam!" The answer was ready and prepared, shot out like a fully loaded spring. "We can stop this before it's too late!"
But you don't know, Dean, you don't know! There was no breath to draw into his vessel's lungs and Castiel recognized this feeling all too well, that which made his hands shake uncontrollably and sparked phantom twinges and stabbings racing across his back, drawing up the memory of his superior's snide taunt: Or perhaps you would fancy a visit to our mutual fallen friend? "I do that, and we will all be hunted." He was practically vibrating with it because he knew the consequences of disobeying; the memories were far too fresh, the pain far too real- "We'll all be killed."
Fear.
And Dean in all his ignorance of the wrath of Heaven stood proud and tall, forehead creased as he made his last plea, his last entreaty. "If there is anything worth dying for…" The words passed unspoken. People. Freedom. Life. Sam. "…this is it."
Gazing into his charge's hopeful, imploring face the angel wanted to say yes, he wanted to grant the hunter this one request even if he were to suffer for it, he wanted to disobey- but his head shook, slowly and painfully because he couldn't. Castiel's eyes drifted downwards shamefully because he was terrified, because he had not even an ounce of Dean's reckless but admirable courage, because at this moment he hated himself for letting Dean down, but he simply just couldn't.
The fires of the damned could not have burned with fiercer flame than the anger in Dean's voice. "You spineless," came the words, spat out syllable by syllable and dripping with disgust so thick that it was palpable, "soulless son of a bitch." The words tore into him, sharper than any blade and he couldn't bear looking at Dean, fixing his eyes instead on the wall. "What do you care about dying, the Cas I thought I knew is already dead- we're done."
That was it. One sentence, and everything was unraveling, coming apart at the seams and everything he knew was coming undone. "Dean," Castiel whispered softly, pleadingly, filled with all the regret and sorrow in the world as his charge turned his back on him, as the angel felt himself being unmade. Please-
"We're done."
Dean's voice broke on the last word, but it was spoken with a note of such finality that Castiel's throat worked to hold in the rush of overwhelming emotion; his lips twitched and he pressed them tightly together against everything, pulling back all of the hurt and despair to harness it inside, trying to hold still. Standing here felt like a crime though, after the deception and the betrayal and the disappointment of the letdown-
He turned back at the slightest beating of wings, cold front having melted, disappeared as the angel had and Dean's brows pulled toward each other. This heaviness gathering in his chest, this despair, the hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes-
Damn it, Cas.
The screams of the condemned always rang out across the barren wasteland with never a moment's pause or respite, demons cackled merrily as they tormented the naked, torn souls, and onward sang the ghastly symphony of damnation, the powerful heartbeat of the Pit.
And yet there was another sound, louder than all the rest of the noise; large white wings beat furiously against the smoke and the flame, beautiful iridescence against the horrific backdrop of the stuff of nightmares as the angel of the Lord ascended up through the levels of Hell, rising up through the dungeons of depravity and despair faster than mortal eyes could trace. Sapphire blue eyes were trained up toward the heavens although all that met his gaze was a thick haze of black smoke, brilliance of color in a sea of darkness.
The soul in his grasp was limp and heavy, hindering his movements. Fire licked at his form and demons approached; slithering on bellies, crawling on all fours or flying toward him and the angel held out a hand, opening his mouth: "IN NOMINEE DEI PATRIS OMNIPOTENTIS" rolled forth like a clap of thunder and the demons shrieked out in gaggles of their putrid tongues, falling away.
Those that were stronger of their kind came to replace them, for great would be the way an angel was captured and imprisoned in the Pit! They closed in on the lone celestial being, their combined power dimming the angel's glorious light and sapping his strength. His grip began to slip for the weight of the affliction upon the man's soul was too heavy, dragging him downwards into the clutches of the Fallen and there were so many of them, swarming all around and waiting for the best moment to strike, and to take down their prisoners.
Castiel fervently tightened his grasp, wings straining as a plea to the Father issued from his mouth and as if in answer, light poured in from above as the mouth of the Pit opened up, its wall having fallen in the siege. The demons hissed and spat, cowering away from the glory of all the Heavenly host. Eyes trained on his brothers and still bearing the burden of the heavy soul, Castiel soared out of Hell, his faith pulsing in his grace like the purest fire, sanctified flame.
There were voices all around him now, voices murmuring in a tongue he knew, alternating between loud and soft, soothing and adamant. Hands were trying to separate him from his charge but then his surroundings were swirling hellfire and black smoke, shrill screams and so he held fast to the soul that was meant to be the one who would save mankind. God commanded this rescue, and Castiel would perish defending this soul if it was necessary.
"Enough of this foolishness!"Sounded out a voice above all others and then someone was moving closer menacingly, with a dangerous air. "Give him to me."
He would not release Dean Winchester, no matter how the filthy servants of the Pit tried to take him back- Drawing himself up with what strength Hell had not managed to drain from his form Castiel abruptly unfurled his wings to shelter the torn soul, knocking away the approaching form.
"Fool!" Zachariah spat, one hand raised to strike the lesser angel when a voice heralded by a thousand trumpets roared out in unmistakable fury.
"STAY THY HAND!"
All stepped back as the Lord's messenger moved toward their weary and wounded younger brother, he who had been the first to dive heedlessly into the darkest depths of the Pit to find and fight for the soul he now still defended as he stood here amongst his brothers, covered with soot and ash and the remnants of Hell. Gently, Gabriel settled his hands on Castiel's shoulders and although the other flinched upon initial contact, the eyes that were raised were, if only for a moment, clear. "Unburden thyself, my brother. Allow Raphael to cleanse this soul."
Slowly, Castiel unclenched his fingers from around the soul and allowed Dean to be taken away and when he no longer had the strength to stand, his brother caught him and lowered him gently to the ground, one hand already pressing firmly against his chest. "Fear not, Castiel. The siege has ended and thou hast successfully extricated Dean Winchester from the grasp of the Fallen."
The words were ones of comfort and praise, but he shuddered, remembering the wickedness that had been clawing at his soul, threatening to dirty his grace. "His soul was so heavy," Castiel confessed, eyes large and haunted. "My strength was fading; I nearly dropped him back into their clutches-"
"Thou did no such thing," Gabriel said soothingly, passing a hand over his younger brother's singed and tattered wing, evidence of the fires of Hell. "No-"
"But I would have!" Castiel interrupted, sharp and terrified at his own words. "His weight was more than his own transgressions, more than the afflictions of the Pit and the burden was nearly overwhelming." He drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "I knew the orders from the Throne but I felt if I held onto him any longer that I too would fall into eternal destruction and I, now, must burden you with my own injuries- forgive me brother," he gasped, disgusted at himself and desperate. "I was too afraid; I am still too weak-"
The words were cut off as Gabriel wrapped strong arms tightly around the other, the archangel's light surrounding the lesser angel's battered form, healing all wounds and driving away the horrors of the memories of the realm below. An embrace of security, of comfort, a blessing.
"Peace, my brother," the archangel murmured. "Even if that man dragged ye both down into the eternal Lake of Fire, thou would not have released him. The mark of thy hand was upon his soul. That is not weakness, Castiel." Gabriel said firmly, having his brother's eyes meet his own. "Thou lovest even the unclean man's soul with the love of our Father, and that is the greatest strength that could ever reside within thy spirit."
"Zachariah says-" began Castiel, so very much like a child and the other cut him off, gently.
"Zachariah understands not thy purity and it is for such a reason that Dean Winchester is now thy charge."
The lesser angel bowed his head in great reverence and gratitude, but weariness soon overtook him and he heard Gabriel chuckle, a sound like a fine evening shower during the springtime. "Rest now." A palm was laid against his forehead and gone was the pain.
"I almost perished for his soul," Castiel murmured absently, without quite knowing the reason why. Quietly then, so quietly that it was nearly inaudible, came Gabriel's whisper.
"As I would for thine, my brother."
Castiel watched Dean as he strode back and forth, counting the hunter's steps as he had when his charge had first been transported here. Instead of confliction and confusion though, he now felt peace and great resolution.
The angel nodded once, for he understood. And just as his brother cared for him, Castiel would protect and defend Dean Winchester as fervently as he'd done the moments after pulling him out of Hell. Even if it meant enduring the pain and torture, the agony and shame; even if it meant perishing for his soul, Castiel would do so, and gladly- because there were some things- and even more importantly- some people worth dying for.
What the- Dean had no idea what was happening when fingers were digging into his shoulder, grabbing him firmly and slamming his back up against the wall hard, so hard that he saw stars for a second. His mouth opened wider from when it'd already been partially opened to bite down into the burger that was now flung halfway across the room, deconstructed and making an odd smear in the otherwise spotless, type A obsessive orderly room- but then there was a hand pressing against his mouth, cutting off his startled cry and then he was staring into deep blue eyes that were once again piercing with certainty and resolve, strength and wisdom beyond mortal comprehension. These eyes were holding his, burrowing past the hazel green mirrors and never mind the knife in the angel's hand, this was Cas, and he was asking Dean for but one thing…
So the elder Winchester nodded yes, because he understood. I trust you. Castiel nodded back slightly, a near-missed movement of his head and Dean could see the gratitude when the angel released him, allowing him to breathe because damn, did getting slammed into a solid wall by an angel hurt.
He didn't have time to dwell on the aching of his back and shoulders though, because Castiel was- Castiel was cutting himself. And they say the way to go is down the lane, not across the street, emo kid- Brushing away the inappropriate thought as this really wasn't the time or place, Dean stared slack-jawed as Castiel sliced open his forearm and started using his own blood as friggin fingerpaint or something, and the wall as a canvas.
Circle, circle, weird looking upside-down rune- wait. He knew those symbols; he'd seen them before. Anna had used something like this once, to wish Castiel and Uriel back to the cornfield back when they'd come around looking for her and that meant… Holy hell on a popsicle stick; Castiel's banishing-
"Castiel..."
Hunter and angel looked up, one in terrified alarm and the other in more or less speechless shock as Zachariah appeared, smirking. "I'm afraid such behavior is inappropriate in the office," he said smarmily and with that, he held out a hand, sending Dean and Castiel hurtling through the air to different corners of the room.
A/N: Goodness gracious, I am utterly exhausted. I think this is my single longest chapter yet… hope all of you enjoyed this long awaited scene! As a warning in advance, get your tissues ready for the next chapter but until then, please review!