A/N: So I still don't have internet. The tech never showed up for my appointment and now they can't come until Tuesday. If I miss season 10's premiere I'm going to be very sad. ;( So I'm posting this chapter from Starbucks. Thank you VattaKetto, 29-pieces-of-me, LadyWallace, and Air Guitar Pixie for your Ch. 9 reviews. I'm sorry I couldn't respond to them.
I hope everyone likes this chapter—bring on the H/C! And please leave reviews! I may not be able to respond, but I can still read them on my phone, and with how stressful this move has been, I could sure use some pick-me-ups!
Chapter 10: The Way I See You
Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the blast of light as Moloch exploded. Grainy bits of rock and bone pelted his face, but he couldn't wrench his arms free of the thorny vines in order to shield himself. When the bombardment ceased and he opened his eyes, the demon was gone. And there was Cas, kneeling in the middle of a brittle field with angel blade in hand—and holy shit, huge, breathtaking wings.
When Dean had learned that angel wings were supposed to be white, and Castiel's were a splotchy mix of gray and pitch, he'd been flabbergasted and awed. For one thing, Cas's charcoal feathers with onyx tipped crescents had been pretty freakin' spectacular.
But then at the sight of those pure, prismatic wings, Dean had almost forgotten how to breathe. "White" was a paltry description for them. They were glorious, and the way Cas flew…damn, Dean had always known Cas was one tough son-of-a-bitch, warrior of God, but now…
Dean let out a low whistle. "Holy shit, Cas."
Castiel rose stiffly to his feet, but stumbled in the next step.
"Cas!" Dean shouted, heart stuttering as the angel collapsed.
"Castiel!" Sam called, grunting as he fidgeted under the vines. He threw Dean a panicked look. "What do we do?"
"Hang on." Dean tweaked his torso slightly, wincing as thorns dug through more flesh. At least since this was a dream, he wouldn't end up with a bunch of scars, right? He angled the baku spike in his hand to poke at the branches, inserting the tip through one in an effort to puncture the line and weaken it. He'd been working on that before Cas's wings made an appearance, and then he'd been too captivated by the winged battle.
"Cas, if you can hear me," he prayed, focusing his intent through the handprint scar on his shoulder. A slight tingle ran through it, weirding him out, but giving him confidence that maybe it was working. "Just hang on, buddy."
Dean had been praying to Cas since Sam realized the baku was stealing Castiel's hope. He wouldn't admit to his nerdy brother that he was trying something so ridiculous, as though a stupid scar had some kind of direct line to the angel who'd given it to him. Yet, Cas had snapped out of it and fought back against Moloch. So on that alone, Dean kept talking to his friend through their "bond" or whatever, hoping Castiel could hear him as he worked at the ivy.
"You hold on, Cas. Don't you dare give up on us now."
He finally lodged the pointed end of the quill through a hole in one of the cords, and pushed the rest of the spike through. Its increasing circumference rent through the fibrous root, snapping it with a twang. The rest of the thorns fell away.
Dean jumped out of the tangled pool, swiping his hands down his arms and chest to rid himself of the phantom feel of slithering. He sucked in air through his teeth. With adrenaline fading fast, all the tiny stinging cuts flared with a vengeance.
He hurried to Sam, who was similarly covered in bright red welts. His brother stood absolutely rigid as Dean sawed through a vine. Once again, it only took breaking one to cause the rest to fall dead.
Sam shuddered as he hopped free, but quickly shook it off as he turned toward Cas. Both brothers sprinted to where he lay, coming to an abrupt halt in front of him.
His wings were still out, one looking practically wilted as it lay down his back and covered his legs. The other was slightly spread out to his right, blackened tips blending with the dirt. The reek of charred feathers filled Dean's nose, and he watched in horror as a smoky film slowly seeped down Castiel's wings, snuffing out the multi-colored, opaline rivulets and dulling them to flat silver.
Dean knew Cas's wings had been tarnished when the angel rescued him from Hell. He'd felt damn guilty when he found out, despite Cas's assurances that it wasn't "of import." Except apparently it was. Because Dean had thought "tarnished" meant stained or soiled, maybe just from breathing the toxic air in the pit. But if this entire dream world was constructed from Cas's memories, then tarnished meant burned.
Dean couldn't move, could only stare at his unconscious friend like an idiot.
Sam finally knelt next to Cas's head, hands hovering as though afraid to touch him. His clothes and skin were also tattered from the thorny vines, streaks of crimson painting nearly ever inch of him. "Cas, can you hear me?" He rested a hand on the angel's shoulder. A shudder rippled through Cas, and the extended wing snapped tautly.
Sam jerked his hand back. "Cas, it's Sam…uh, don't hit me."
"Sam?" a muffled rasp responded.
"Yeah, hey." Sam leaned over to try and catch Castiel's eye as the angel turned his head, scraping his cheek through dirt. "Can you move?"
It took a prolonged moment, but Cas managed to pull his arms in and push himself up, grunting from the strain. Sam gripped one elbow to help, and Dean finally spurred into action, kneeling down and grabbing the other. Together, they lifted Castiel into a barely upright position. The angel swayed. His pallor had taken on an ashen hue that worried Dean. Even if he'd had a clue how to tend an angel's wounded wings, Hell didn't exactly keep first-aid kits on hand.
Cas looked over his shoulder and squinted. With a quivering breath, the wings flickered and disappeared. He started to topple forward again.
"Whoa, hey, take it easy." Dean braced one hand on Cas's chest, the other on his shoulder. Frankly, he was a little unnerved about touching the angel's back. There were two slits in the trench coat and clothes underneath that didn't appear to be holding wings, but making sense of the whole invisible/ethereal plane thing made Dean's head hurt.
Castiel's gaze gradually focused on them, and his expression slipped into a frown. "You're injured."
"Yeah, well, it's not real, remember?"
Cas blinked at him dazedly. Dean's jaw tightened; his joke didn't amuse him either. Because all the tiny cuts from the thorns and harpies' beaks sure stung like a bitch. And if he and Sam were feeling it, he could only imagine how Cas was doing with singed wings. They'd never be able to take on the baku in this condition. Yet the longer they waited, the more chance that the dream devourer would sink its teeth into Cas's hopes again. Dean was not going to let that happen.
"Can you walk, man?" he asked. "I know you're probably feeling like crap right now, but we've got to find the baku before it does you in."
"I'll manage," Cas wheezed. "The burns…" He paused, face contorting in pain and consternation. "They're just an echo of a memory. I can get past them."
Sam caught Dean's eye, lifting his brows doubtfully. They had no choice though.
Dean cleared his throat. "So, that battle, with Moloch…that really happened, when you came to rescue me?"
Cas's brow pinched, and he angled his gaze to take in the field of briars. "Yes, though not quite in the same way. There were other angels, many that Moloch killed."
Dean craned his head to glance at the necklace of charred feathers lying on the ground. Son-of-a-bitch.
"But that is how your wings got, you know?"
Castiel tipped his head back to study him, as though sensing there was another question behind the one he'd asked. "It was worth it, Dean. Both times."
A lump settled in his throat. Coughing awkwardly to clear his airway, Dean plastered on a wide smile. "Well, that was some sweet flying there, Cas. I'm gonna start calling you a Blue Angel."
Castiel quirked his classic confused brow at Dean, which made the hunter's chest hurt. He'd come too close to losing his best friend.
"My grace is more akin to white light."
Dean shook his head, feeling a genuine smile tug at his mouth, despite the circumstances.
Sam was grinning too. "I'm glad you snapped out of the baku's pull just in time." Looping an arm under the angel's, he and Dean helped Cas to his feet.
Castiel's brow furrowed in thought. "It was strange, the depths of those…emotions. And then the utter absence of them…" He tilted his head at Dean. "But then I heard your prayer."
Dean blinked. "You did? I mean, I'd hoped you would, but I didn't know for sure." He shrugged uncomfortably. "It was mostly Sam's idea."
Sam shot him a startled look. "What are you talking about?"
Dean rubbed the back of his head. "My scar. I focused on it and prayed as hard as I could."
Sam's lips twitched in a smug expression.
"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "Don't say, 'I told you so.'"
"Wouldn't dream of it."
They both froze for a moment before the two brothers burst into laughter, nearly doubling over. When Cas started to stumble without their support, they quickly righted themselves and grabbed his arms. Unfortunately, their quaking was only serving to jostle the already sensitive angel, who winced under their grips. Dean pressed his free fist to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his hysterics.
"Are you alright?" Cas asked worriedly, flicking his gaze back and forth between them. "Perhaps the baku has started devouring your sanity."
Dean shook his head as his laughter petered out. "We're fine, Cas. But it is time to gank this thing once and for all."
He took quick stock of their supplies: one twenty-inch quill and one three-footer. Cas's angel blade. And a scratched, bleeding, worn trio, two of whom were still sopping wet from their dunk in the Styx. Yeah, this would be a piece of cake.
They trudged off into the underbrush, once more following the baku's blood trail. It wasn't a quarter-mile before they left the thorny brambles behind, which Dean was happy about.
Until they crested a low hill and looked down on a huge, stone colosseum, and Dean stopped cold. He knew this place.
The gray stone was crumbling, whole chunks missing from the walls, yet the place stood intact. Barbed wire covered the arched openings lining three levels, and only one set of large, rusted iron doors hung open at the base. To Dean's horror, he spotted the glint of a metallic spike lying in the threshold. That's where the baku had gone.
Sam uttered a low curse under his breath. "There are probably demons in there, huh?"
Dean was so paralyzed by fear that it took him a moment to realize Cas hadn't answered Sam, but was studying Dean carefully. He swallowed hard, trying to will his pulse to calm down. Pull it together, man. It's not real. You're not really in Hell.
Except, he was, for Dean knew exactly what was through those doors—his worst nightmare.
He ran a hand down his chin. "Listen, why don't you and Cas stay here."
"What?" Sam sputtered. "The baku is down there, and we need to kill it in order to get out of this hellhole."
"So I'll go kill it."
"Dean, the thing is growing. It's nearly the size of a buffalo. You can't take it on alone. Plus the place has gotta be swarming with demons!"
"Yeah, and Cas isn't in any shape to go up against them, and someone's gotta stay with him." Dean hated putting this on the angel, especially after everything Cas had gone through, but he couldn't allow Sam to go down there, at any cost.
Sam shook his head in growing aggravation. "What is your deal? Our best shot at defeating the baku is to work together!"
"You don't need to see what's in there!" Dean took a step back, blanching at how easily he'd lost his temper.
Sam's brow furrowed. "How would you even know what's in there? It's Cas's dream…" His eyes widened and he shot his gaze toward the colosseum again, then at Cas, who had remained silent and was now staring pensively at the ground. "It's you, isn't it?" Sam asked softly. "That's where Cas found you."
Dean looked away. He couldn't take this. He'd lost so much, he couldn't lose the last thing on this damn earth that he had. When he spoke again, his voice came out raw. "Sam, you don't need to see me like that…what I did, what I was becoming. Please, just let me go on alone."
Castiel looked up then, expression sympathetic. "Dean, you do not have to face those memories again. I can go ahead. You and Sam wait here."
"No, man. You're fading fast." Cas was not going to sacrifice himself for Dean again. He'd come to rescue the angel, and dammit, that's what he would do.
Cas's mouth thinned in a tight line. "Still, this is my fight."
"No," Sam interrupted sharply. "It's all our fight. Because we're family, and family watches each other's backs. So we're not splitting up." He jabbed a finger at Dean to stop his protest. "I don't care what's in there. I don't care what you were forced to do in Hell. You already told me what happened, Dean, and I don't hate or blame you for any of it."
"It'll be different if you see it. Sammy, please, I can't…I can't take it if you start looking at me differently." His voice cracked. "Like I'm a monster."
"And I'm telling you that I won't. You're my brother, Dean. And you're not a monster."
Dean shook his head. Sam didn't know; he didn't know what it was like, all the gory details full of blood and entrails and screams. If he did, he'd never be able to scrub those images from his mind, just as Dean couldn't. Sam would have nightmares of Dean torturing souls, and they would escalate until Sam was the one on the rack and his older brother was carving into him like a Christmas ham. And then Sam would never be able to stomach looking at Dean again. Their relationship, which had experienced its bumps in the past, would be irreparably damaged.
Sam started down the hillock toward the colosseum.
"Sammy, don't," Dean pleaded. He wanted to run after his brother, to wrench him away from the godforsaken place, but his legs wouldn't move, paralyzed by the terror that haunted him ever since climbing out of that grave.
"Dean, come on." Sam shot him a sharp look that normally would have elicited a snarky retort.
He wavered though, skin crawling with dread. Then Dean heard a soft sound from Cas, and he looked over to see the angel rubbing his forehead, eyes squeezed shut in pain. Dean's heart dropped into his stomach.
Dammit, he couldn't let his own fears and insecurities get the better of him, not while his best friend was dying. The place was huge anyway; maybe they'd find the baku before ever coming across Dean's worst nightmare.
Taking hold of Castiel's elbow, Dean started leading him down the knoll…into true Hell. Sam waited for them to catch up before he resumed walking. He paused in the doorway to pick up the spike, which was now the size of a baseball bat. Sam hefted it and lifted his brows.
Yeah, not good.
Dean glanced at Cas, who was slagging beside them. The lines around his eyes crinkled with pain, and his breathing came more heavily. It was difficult to tell whether his intense expression also held stubborn resolve, or if he was slowly succumbing to despair again right in front of them. Dammit, where was the baku?
They crept silently down the corridor, oddly devoid of demons. But then, guards weren't needed in this place. Smut and filth smeared the floor and walls in shades of tar, burnt umber, and sewage green. Scuff marks showed where prisoners had futilely fought against being dragged toward the torture chambers.
Sobs echoed from behind closed doors: souls waiting their turn on the rack. Maybe his dream counterpart was locked behind one, taking one of the brief respites Alastair gave his pupils when they performed well. After all, the art of twisting souls into demons was a slow, simmering process.
Sam paused at an intersection ahead. With a silent flick of his eyes, he headed right, heading down the larger passage. The baku was probably getting too large to fit indoors.
Dean was so focused on making sure Cas was keeping up, that he didn't realize Sam's next turn had brought them into the inner ring of the colosseum, the one that hemmed the gladiator pit…and held the torture stalls.
Dean froze, eyes riveted on the sight before him. No.
In one of the open stone pens, standing over a poor soul strapped to a rack, was himself. He was painted in blood—not his own—of various shades and stages of drying. A knife in his hand dripped viscid crimson onto the rust splattered floor. Dead eyes bored into his victim, his expression stony as he carved into the woman's ribs and made her squeal like a gutted pig. Dean felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.
Then, with a jolt of horror, he saw Sam standing a few feet to the side. Before he could lunge to pull his brother away from the grotesque scene, however, a striking glow caught his eye. He snapped his gaze back, transfixed by the anomaly. There was no light in Hell.
Yet, underneath the blood and grime was a luminescent glimmer, shining deep within Dean's chest. Though small, it radiated with resilient strength. Each time he slashed the knife down through flesh, that spark pulsed as though in defiance of being snuffed out.
A hand settled on his shoulder and Dean flinched, whipping his head around to find Cas. The angel was looking at him with gentle sympathy that made his chest constrict.
"These are my memories, Dean. This is the way I see you. The way I've always seen you."
He couldn't form words. His greatest fear was to be exposed for the monster he truly was, deep down. That Sam would see it. But this…he didn't know what to do with the vision before him.
Sam appeared at his other shoulder, and a pained sob lodged in Dean's throat.
"Sam, don't look—"
"Cas is right, Dean." There was no trace of fear or revulsion in Sam's eyes, and god how that hurt. Hurt because the one thing Dean was terrified of losing—his brother—was still standing by him, even as in the background, another version of himself disemboweled some poor soul.
Sam stepped around to Dean's front, blocking out the scene. "Hey, look at me. Hell never broke you. It tried, and maybe it came close, but it didn't."
Sam's eyes pleaded with Dean to believe it as wholeheartedly as he did. "You're good, Dean. Not evil, not a monster." He glanced down with a half-broken snort. "If anyone has a black mark on their soul, it's me."
Dean snapped out of his self-absorbed wallowing. How could Sam look behind him at the torture stall and even think that? Sam was the most decent person Dean knew, way more caring and sensitive than he was. Yeah, his brother had made mistakes, but always out of the best intentions.
"That's not true and you know it," Dean growled.
Sam gave him a sad smile. Dammit, where was this coming from? Had the baku somehow gotten its teeth into him too?
"Sam," Cas spoke up with his commanding, angel-of-the-Lord tone. "I can imagine what the souls in the Styx whispered to you, but I assure you, your soul shines as brightly as Dean's."
Dean stiffened. Souls in the Styx? What the hell had they been telling his little brother? Son-of-a-bitch, was that what he'd been hiding earlier?
"Sam," he pressed. "If demonic bastards have been whispering things in your ear, it's all damn lies."
Sam shook his head, looking unconvinced. "Come on, Dean. I'm Lucifer's vessel." He glanced at Cas ruefully. "An abomination, remember?"
Grief pinched Cas's expression. "By Heaven's standards, perhaps. But one of the things I've learned since rebelling is that Heaven can be wrong. Virtue and worthiness do not always come in pure, untainted vessels. Humans are flawed, and therein lies your beauty, for you try." Castiel looked down. "I no longer believe in the complete righteousness of angels. Some of them have become whitewashed tombs—pristine on the outside, but rotting within."
Dean shifted his weight awkwardly, not sure what to say after that. His brother did try to make up for his mistakes. Dean supposed he was trying to as well. And if he could forgive Sam all his past screw-ups, even the epic ones, and still love him…then maybe what Dean had done in Hell couldn't erase Sam's devotion to him either.
The woman's pleas for his doppelganger to stop reached his ears, and Dean glanced at Sam to see whether a trace of disgust would finally show through. But his brother's gaze was angled down, mouth set in a thoughtful mien.
"You know, Cas," Sam said. "Your wings may not be pristine anymore, but you were never a whitewashed tomb. No matter what demons—or the other angels—may say, the fact that you're falling doesn't change the way Dean and I see you either."
Dean started. Leave it to his brother to cut right to the heart of something—and remind Dean what was truly important. Cas had seen him at his worst, and while Dean didn't remember their true first encounter, when the angel had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, Cas had been loyal from the beginning, even if it'd taken him a little while to act on it.
"Sam's right, Cas. You're so much more than any of your angel brothers will ever be."
Castiel cocked his head, that blessed, confused look on his face. God, he could be thick sometimes, so focused on taking care of them that he neglected to take his own advice. But he was learning. They were family, the three of them. With all their flaws and chinks and baggage. And when it all came down to it, Dean didn't think he'd have it any other way.
He cleared his throat and waved an irritated hand. "Okay, we've all had our nice little chick flick moment; now can we go bag ourselves a baku?"
Sam smirked. "I'm down for that."
"Down where?" Cas asked, and then nearly doubled over with a grunt, clutching his head.
"Cas!" Dean grabbed his elbow to steady him, just as a tremendous boom shook the ground. The torture scene behind them bent and wavered, the apparition of Dean flattening like a cardboard cutout. A forceful slurping sound filled the air, and the entire stall plus its spectral inhabitants were sucked into a vortex.
Dean and Sam seized Cas and started running for the nearest door. They stumbled into open space, the gladiator ring, and froze at the sight of the baku gobbling up an entire row of torture pens. It swung its head, massive tusks smashing through stone walls and crumbling them with the might of a wrecking ball.
Dean's jaw nearly dropped. The baku was now the size of a two-ton super duty truck.