Chapter 25 - Creatures of Fine Sensations
So, this is it.
Sam had rehearsed a speech in his head the entire way to Lawrence, revised it, even muttered it under his breath a few times for good measure.
Yet now, faced with the reality of Dean's new species, his throat closed up.
Dean blinked as he made for Sam, footsteps careless and calm. His eyes returned to normal.
"I– I came to take you home," Sam blurted out rather unspectacularly.
Dean stopped four feet from him. He smirked, lips curving in amusement. "That so?"
Gritting his teeth and steeling himself, Sam nodded. "We can't get rid of the Mark, and we can't make you human again. At least, not right now... but that doesn't matter."
Dean crossed his arms. "Me being evil incarnate doesn't matter." He snorted. "Yeah, okay."
"Cain fought the Mark for centuries," Sam reminded him, taking a step towards his brother. "If he can do it, I know you can. You're the strongest person I know."
Dean was perfectly still for a moment.
Then, he laughed. Hard.
"Thanks for the flattery. What, are you supposed to be the Colette to my Cain, or something? Sorry dude, my door doesn't swing that way." Dean chuckled deeply. "You're overlooking one very important detail..."
Dean encroached on Sam, inserting himself into his personal space. He reeked of sulfur, and it took all of Sam's willpower not to back away.
"What if I don't want to fight it?" he hissed out. "What if I like being damned?" Dean smiled maliciously, twisting his face in all the wrong ways. A chill crawled up Sam's spine.
"You're telling me you want to stay like this?"
"What can I say? I dig the new me. No pain, no day drinking and self-hatred..." Dean spread out his arms, grinning broadly. "Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last!"
"Free of what? Humanity?" Sam demanded, suddenly very aware of Ruby's knife sheathed at his side.
"Humanity, all the friggin' guilt, the never-ending shitty responsibility of playing the 'hero'... and last but not least..." Dean leaned forward, eyes unfamiliar, cold and cruel. "I'm free of you. No more chasing around my punkass little brother. No more 'save Sam' bullshit." He smirked again and repeated, "I'm free."
"This isn't you, Dean. This is your worst nightmare."
Dean just shook his head, laughing to himself as he turned away. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sammy."
"I'm not leaving here without you," Sam called after him, voice ringing in the empty expanse of the church's sanctuary.
Dean halted, inhumanly still. "You're saying you're gonna try and make me?" Dean asked lowly, his back to Sam.
Sam straightened his shoulders, nostrils flaring as he braced himself for what was to come. He came in knowing full-well that he was going to have to fight Dean, but still, there had been a naive part of him that had hoped that maybe, Dean could be swayed with words alone.
But Dean, whether you human or demon, was infinitely stubborn.
"I'll do whatever it takes," Sam answered quietly.
Dean turned slowly, very slowly. He raised his right hand.
"Game on, little brother."
He snapped his fingers.
All of the church's numerous stained glass windows exploded simultaneously, raining fragments down on the two of them. Sam ducked, throwing his arms up to protect his face–
A hand grabbed the back of his hair. Dean. A moment later, he smashed Sam's head twice into the nearest pew, dazing him and sending lightning bolts of agony through his skull. Dean allowed him to slide to the floor.
"You're gonna have to do a lot better than that," Dean admonished, cracking his neck as Sam scrambled back up to his feet.
"Cheap shot," Sam defended. He drew Ruby's knife. It glinted menacingly in the early morning light now pouring through the empty window frames.
Dean seemed amused. "We both know that ain't gonna work on me."
"It may not kill you..." Sam flipped the blade around in his hand, then lunged at his brother. "But it'll still hurt!"
"Ambriel, please."
"Absolutely not."
"This is of utmost importance!"
The female angel crossed her arms, completely unimpressed by his pleas. "What kind of idiot would I have to be to give Metatron's second-in-command the keys to his jail cell?"
"Former second-in-command," he reminded her. "I have made my loyalty to Castiel very clear."
"You were loyal to Metatron, too, until it stopped being convenient for you," she retorted, venom in her words.
Gadreel forced himself to remain patient. It was difficult not to allow his temper to get the best of him. Most of the Heavenly Host, whether on Asmodel's side or Castiel's, did not even remotely trust him. With his track record, he could hardly blame them.
"I have no intentions of freeing Metatron," he assured her. "I would sooner die."
"Yeah, and we saw how permanent your death was last time," she sighed irritably. "I don't have time for this." She swiveled on her stool, returning her attention to the angel radio. "Hannah?" Ambriel called. "We have a problem, and it's above my pay grade."
Gadreel relaxed slightly. He had managed to gain Hannah's trust (at least to some degree) since his resurrection. He might be able to convince her to help him.
A few seconds later, Hannah appeared behind what was once Metatron's desk. "What is it, Ambriel–" Hannah broke off abruptly when she saw him. "Gadreel," she greeted politely. "I had hoped we would hear from you soon." Her cool, professional expression seemed to falter somewhat when she asked, "How is he?"
He wished he had a different answer for her, but he gave her the truth: "Not well."
Hannah pursed her lips. "Is that why you're here?"
"Yes. I need you to allow me inside Metatron's cell."
Hannah was understandably taken aback by his statement. "Why would you need to do that?"
"I need to speak to him."
"Then do it from the other side of the bars!"
"It's not that simple."
Hannah shook her head. "I can't run the risk of him escaping. He already destroyed Heaven once. I can't allow him to do it again."
Gadreel's jaw tightened, and he looked away from the other angel, searching for the proper words to convince her. After some consideration, his eyes met hers once more.
"This could decide whether Castiel lives or dies," Gadreel told her, lowering his voice. "Sister, please. I need you to trust me, just as Castiel has."
Something in his Hannah's eyes broke, and he knew that he had won.
"I don't like this."
"Nor do I, but it must be done. There is no alternative, at least not one that I can see."
Hannah nodded. She went to Metatron's desk, sliding open the top drawer. After some searching, she pulled out a large key ring.
"If you're doing this," Hannah said, leveling a serious look at him, "I'm coming with you."
"So be it."
The two of them made for the elevator.
There was a human saying, one he'd heard through Sam Winchester's ears: bad things come in threes.
It was his third time returning to Heaven's prison since the Fall.
He could only hope it would be his last.
"Guess killing Crowley gave you a big head, huh?" Dean taunted him. Sam managed, just barely, to land a glancing strike on Dean's cheek with Ruby's knife. Sam had his brother pinned down, but he knew that wouldn't last for long–
Dean flipped them over. He grabbed Sam's wrists, pinning them over his head. "Thing is, Crowley? He's nothing compared to me. Little bastard's been running screaming from what he is, ever since you shot him up with your blood. Me?" Dean grinned. "I'm diving straight into that Hellfire, baby."
Dean released his hands, only so he was free to bash his fist into Sam's nose. Blood poured down Sam's face, soaking his mouth and chin. He coughed, the taste of iron stinging his tongue and coating his lips.
"Come on, Sammy, fight back!" Dean urged, punching him in the face again. "You know, all those hunters I ripped apart in Illinois, they fought. Oh, did they fight. Didn't stop me from tearing 'em limb from limb, but it made for a fun ride."
With an incoherent shout of rage, Sam shoved Dean off of him. For the brief second that Dean was on the ground and vulnerable, Sam lashed out with Ruby's knife. It sank into Dean's thigh muscle. Orange light glowed from the wound. Dean inhaled sharply, wincing in pain.
Sam twisted. There was a war inside of him. Half of him hated himself for hurting Dean, his brother, his family– hell, his entire world. But the other half, the rational half, knew that he was facing an entirely different Dean, now. He was facing a Knight of Hell.
He ripped out Ruby's knife, only to immediately bury it in Dean's knee. That time, his brother let out a short, strangled scream.
Then he started... laughing.
"Now that's more like it!"
With a flick of Dean's wrist, Sam was sent flying.
He didn't know how he knew it, but something deep inside of Castiel was absolutely sure he was entering the last hour of his life.
The hallucinations were getting worse. Or rather, the hallucination, singular, was getting much more vivid... and vocal.
"I guess I should be flattered," said the illusion of Dean Winchester leaning against his bedroom wall. "Somewhere in that rat maze of a brain of yours, you want me to be the last thing that you see."
Cas wanted to respond, but he was otherwise occupied vomiting copious amounts of blood into the bucket by his bedside.
"Did you ever think you would go out like this?" Dean wondered. "Dying slow and painful, bedridden? I mean, it just doesn't seem fitting, does it? You're an angel of the friggin' Lord! If anyone deserves the whole blaze of glory deal, it's you."
"I brought this on myself," Castiel coughed out in reply, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He sat down the bucket, then collapsed backwards. He curled into the fetal position, wrapping his arms around his stomach.
The pain was indescribable.
"You don't deserve this, man," Dean argued, crossing his arms. "Taking Theo's Grace, okay, maybe it wasn't the best move, strictly speaking. But everyone makes mistakes. You shouldn't have to lose everything because of it. That ain't fair."
"Life is rarely fair," Cas whispered, closing his eyes. "Perhaps this is my punishment."
"Punishment for what?"
A tremor ripped through him. "For failing you."
A few seconds of silence passed. Then, he felt the bed dip. Or rather, he imagined feeling his bed dip.
"How do you figure that one?" Dean asked quietly.
"After Gadreel... I went with Sam. I should've stayed with you."
"Nah. Sam, he needed you."
"You needed me more," Cas insisted. "I could've... Crowley never would have..." His sentence disintegrated. Even the effort of speaking was becoming too much for him to handle.
"I made my own decisions, Cas. Crowley didn't force me into anything."
"You didn't know... it would turn you..." he wheezed.
"I knew there were risks," Dean said.
"I should've protected you. It was my purpose for... so long, and I forgot..." You draped yourself in the flag of Heaven, but ultimately, it was all about saving one human.
"Blaming yourself won't make me human again."
"There's nothing left for me to do..." Cas coughed with aching force. "How can I save you, when I can't even save myself?"
Cas nearly jumped when he felt a warm, steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Cas... I need you to do something for me."
Even dying, his immediate thought was, anything.
"I need you to hold on."
Tears built in his eyes, because he couldn't. He had no strength left to fight with. No amount of digging in his heels could save him from the fate he'd sealed for himself.
"Dean... I– I can't..."
"You can, Cas. I know you can." He heard Dean's voice in his ear. "Just a little while longer. For me."
It was all about saving one human...
"What do you mean, play along?"
"It means that..." Gadreel struggled to find a way to properly explain the human concept to Hannah. "If I say something that is outwardly false, pretend as if you believe what I say to be true."
"Why?"
"Just... believe me. It is very efficacious. I learned this strategy from the Winchesters."
The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the dull, gray expanse of Heaven's prison. Gadreel's entire vessel tensed at the sight. His blunt fingernails dug into the meat of his palms. Once again, he found himself back in the ironic kind of Hell that had been his home for untold centuries. Nightmares haunted each corner, wrapped around his ankles and threatened to drag him back into the black memories that rapidly surfaced in his mind.
He took a deep breath. You are free. You will never be captive here again.
He flexed his hands.
"Follow my lead," he instructed Hannah.
Hannah looked dubious, but she didn't argue with him. Once again, Gadreel trekked the path to the last cell on the left.
"The prodigal son returneth." Gadreel turned to face the Scribe, who looked just the same as when he'd visited Heaven's prison the day before. "Shock and disbelief! Let me guess: you've rethought my ever-so-generous offer?"
Gadreel inclined his head. "I have."
"I'm on the edge of my seat."
"Tell me the location of Castiel's Grace, and I will release you," Gadreel said.
Metatron, unsurprisingly, laughed. Gadreel knew that the Scribe wouldn't accept his terms, of course, but that was all part of his plan. "Try again, Sadreel. You want the goods? You cut me loose first. Last, final, and only deal."
Gadreel glanced at Hannah, attempting to send a message. Now is the time to play along. He shifted his eyes back to Metatron. "Fine. But only because I have no other choice." He removed the key ring from his pocket. Metatron smiled triumphantly.
"I knew you'd come around. Now, let's get to the good part of Silence of the Lambs, shall we? Hopefully I won't have to rip your face off."
Gadreel didn't have the faintest idea what Metatron was talking about, but that wasn't anything new. He inserted the key into the lock and turned. The prison door swung open with a raspy creak.
"Gadreel..." Hannah said, apprehension in her tone.
"It is the only way to save him, Hannah," Gadreel told her.
"Yeah, Hannah, it's the only way to save your precious Commander. By the way, if you're thinking of jumping on that trench coat, you'll have to get in line behind both of the Winchesters."
"Silence," Gadreel said, rounding Metatron so he was behind him. He began to undo the other angel's straight jacket. "The only thing I want to hear from you is the location of Castiel's Grace."
"We'll talk about that when I'm free and clear, big boy," Metatron snapped as his arms were freed. He stretched languidly. "God, that feels fantastic."
Gadreel looked over his shoulder at Hannah and mouthed 'door'. Thankfully, she seemed to understand what he wanted her to do. She promptly slammed the cell door shut. In one swift movement, Gadreel tossed her the key ring through the bars of the cell. She deftly caught them.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Metatron exclaimed, enraged.
"You said Castiel's Grace is very close. You shouldn't have given that away, Metatron. I think the human saying is, it's what's on the inside that counts." Without hesitation, Gadreel jammed his hand into Metatron's chest, through bone, sinew, and muscle. The Scribe gasped in pain. "And I believe I know exactly what is inside of you."
Blood poured down Metatron's chin as Gadreel searched with senses and fingers alike for what he needed to find.
"You're insane!" Metatron gagged.
Found it. Gadreel ripped his hand back out. Metatron dropped to his knees, struggling for breath.
In Gadreel's hand was a blood-stained vial of Grace.
"You know what this reminds me of, Sam?" Slam. "All those punches I took for you when we were kids... when Dad had had one too many shots of Jack, and got blackout drunk?" Crack. All Sam could taste was blood. "I do. You ever wonder why he never touched you? It's 'cause I wouldn't let him."
"D–Dean–" Sam stammered out.
His brother's fist collided so hard with his jaw that it knocked him straight down on his ass. His head throbbed mercilessly. Black and pink spots spread across his vision, dancing.
"Ah, ah, didn't Dad teach you anything? You gotta be a good little soldier. I don't remember giving you permission to speak freely." Dean forcibly hauled him back to his feet, then slammed him against the wall, dazing him. "Gotta watch out for Sammy, gotta protect him, gotta keep him safe." Dean put his hand around Sam's throat and squeezed, his grip vice-like. "I wish the old man could see us now, don't you?"
Dean's eyes flashed black, in stark contrast with the jagged white of his smile. "You know," Dean continued, "I've never felt this good before. Ever," he said, and that sickening grin was the only thing that Sam could truly see as his vision faded in and out. Sharp... white... not his Dean. In the blurry fog of his mind (Did he have a concussion? Probably.) he only knew that he wanted his Dean back so badly.
Sam closed his eyes. He closed his eyes because a part of him, the part of him that was still a small boy who would cling to his big brother for protection from all of the monsters of the world, both real and imagined, hoped that maybe if he could pull himself out of the moment, out of reality, he would go back to a time when things were right, when things were how they were supposed to be. He and Dean against the world: brothers.
"Oh, no. You don't get to look away. I want you to look at me. I want you to see what I am."
And then there was harder pressure against his trachea, tight enough that it was a struggle to breathe, but not tight enough that he couldn't breathe at all. Dean wanted to draw their fight out. He felt his brother's too-hot breath ghost across his cheek, heard the scrape of Dean's gravel-deep voice in his ear, just like he remembered, but still off by a fraction.
"Look at me, Sam, or I'll cut out your eyes."
He knew that Dean wasn't joking. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and the hazy image of his brother swam into focus. Dean's eyes were back to green, now, but even when they were their original color, they weren't the way they used to be. Nothing about Dean was the same. Dean pushed him up the wall until his feet were dangling a few inches above the ground, holding him up with one hand.
With his other hand, Dean drew the First Blade out of his jacket. "Ain't it funny how the tables have turned?" he asked, lips twitching, a subtle kind of madness in his gaze. "You were always the bad one. The one I had to keep dragging out of the dark, over and over again. The boy king, right? Satan's little meat puppet... and yet, here we are." He lifted the Blade, trailing it along Sam's collar bone.
Sam shuddered when the Blade touched him. It radiated malicious intent and raw, ancient power. It was cold, ice cold, not like Dean's Hellfire stained skin. It reminded Sam so much of Lucifer's presence that he could have sworn that the archangel was laughing from the deep recesses of his mind. He'd felt it when he'd held the Blade before, but now it seemed even more pervasive... the Blade held the devil's power, there was no questioning that. He could recognize Lucifer's influence anywhere.
After all... no one knew Lucifer better than he did.
"I'm a regular old Knight of Hell," Dean continued, "Which, now that I think about it... now that Crowley's dead, that makes me the strongest demon in the world, doesn't it?" Dean laughed under his breath. "So much for being the Righteous Man. Honestly, I think this suits me a hell of a lot better."
"Dean, please," Sam pleaded, voice wrecked. "I know you're still in there somewhere. You have to fight. The Blade, the Mark... you're better than this. This isn't you."
Green turned to black once more. "Sorry, little brother, but this is me. I'm more me than I've ever been, thanks to the Blade." Dean pressed the Blade hard into the bottom of Sam's throat. Sam groaned in pain as the teeth of the donkey jawbone bit into his skin. Dean watched the blood drip down Sam's neck with an almost profane interest. "I actually found out an interesting tidbit about the Blade... turns out, it can get charged up."
Sam was half-sure his blood actually froze in his veins.
"I mean, yeah, it was kind of a given that the thing gets stronger the more you kill, right? But apparently, there's a way to pump up the Blade even more."
He knows. He knows, and now he's going to kill you.
"Fratricide. Gotta do it just like Cain and Abel." He ran the Blade along Sam's throat. Dean finally released Sam's neck, and his feet hit the ground again. His legs threatened to collapse out from underneath him, but Dean's rough hand planted on his chest held him painfully in place. Dean pressed the Blade to Sam's jugular. The ancient weapon radiated an aura of unquenchable blood lust.
"Dean, don't," Seam said harshly, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. "Look at me. Look at me!" he screamed, and Dean did, but not the way he wanted him to. It was like he wasn't even really seeing him. "You can't do this. Not after everything we've been through together." There had to be something he could say, something he could do– Dean had always been able to reach him, no matter how far he fell, but the right words refused to come to him.
Sam didn't know how to stop him.
"We're family," Sam whispered brokenly.
In response, Dean let out a bark of a laugh. "That never meant anything to you before. Why start now?" Dean pulled the Blade away from him, tightening his grip on the hilt. "Later Sammy. It's been fun."
Dean swung the Blade.
Sam didn't close his eyes.
A tear slid down his cheek.
But–
–the Blade never came.
Sam was not in good shape. Gadreel didn't know whether he had the right to intervene between the two brothers, but he knew that if he didn't interfere, Dean would surely kill Sam. So, just as the Blade was about to meet Sam's neck, Gadreel swept in and transported the younger Winchester back to the bunker.
The moment Sam's feet touched the solid ground of the foyer, he collapsed forward. Gadreel was barely able to catch him before his face collided with the floor. He hauled Sam over to the table, seating him with care. Sam's head lolled, his forehead meeting Argentina on the world map. He was struggling for breath and bleeding profusely from various wounds.
Gadreel gingerly placed his hand on the back of Sam's head. With a push of his Grace, the hunter was fully healed. Sam breathed a deep sigh of relief. Slowly, he sat up. He wiped a sleeve across his face, mopping up some of the blood that was caked there.
"Gadreel?"
"Yes?"
"I think you just saved my life."
Gadreel bowed his head. "It... did appear that Dean intended to–"
"Kill me. Yeah." Sam pushed himself out of his chair, something dark and inscrutable in his gray-green eyes. "But that wasn't Dean."
Gadreel remained silent. He wasn't sure what to say.
"That... was the Blade. The Mark. It's completely taken him over."
"Did you expect a different outcome?" Gadreel questioned.
"I hoped it would be different." A muscle in Sam's jaw twitched as he braced himself on the back of his chair. "Now all I can do is hope that somewhere in there, Dean is still alive. Even if it's just some microscopic piece of him... it's enough."
"Will you chase after your brother again?"
Sam swallowed with visible effort. "I'll never stop chasing after him. But for now..." His grip on the chair turned white-knuckled. "I have to focus on what I'm able to change. On what I'm able to help. Finding the rings, stopping the next civil war in Heaven..." He sighed deeply. "Saving Cas, most importantly."
Unable to help himself, Gadreel smiled.
"About that..." Gadreel reached into his pocket. He pulled out the bloodstained vial of Grace.
Sam stared at it in unabashed shock. "Is that–"
"It is."
"How did you–"
"May I explain after we return this Grace to its rightful owner?"
"Yeah, yeah!" Sam was already rushing for Cas's room. "Come on!"
"Dean... I..."
"Just a little longer, Cas. Please."
"...can't."
Castiel had never experienced a slow death before. He was used to booms, to pops, to being destroyed from the inside out in a matter of seconds. Slow and agonizingly wasting away, feeling the life slip from him, draining second by second like sand in an hourglass...
Yes, he was sure he liked the explosions better.
Why was it so dark?
"Cas!" He felt hands on the side of his face, Dean's hands, and it reminded him of the time that he'd died as a human, when April stabbed him through the heart with his own angel blade.
Dean was the last thing he felt that time, too. Truthfully, he wouldn't want to have it any other way.
Dean's hand patted his cheek. "How do we do this?" he asked, and Cas didn't know what he meant... and was his voice changing, or was it just his imagination...?
"Open his mouth," another not-Dean voice said. He realized that the hands cupping his face were far too large to be Dean's. One hand went to his forehead, and the other went to his jaw. His mouth was forcibly opened.
"Do it!" Sam. Yes. That was the owner of the voice. What was he doing?
...where's Dean...
Suddenly, he felt something pouring into his mouth, something pure and sweet and so, so familiar. It swept down his throat, then swiftly moved through his veins. He let out a loud gasp, eyes snapping open as pure, blissful life flowed back into him.
My Grace–!
The electrifying energy washed over him like a wave, kissing each nerve, each muscle and bone, healing, nourishing, restoring. It was the greatest relief he'd ever felt in the entirety of his long existence.
He bolted up in his blood and sweat-soaked sickbed, his eyes glowing a brilliant white-blue, illuminating the entire room. His wings were renewed, feather by feather. He was a true angel again. His wings unfurled on either side of him, mere shadows to Sam, but to those with eyes that could see, they were enormous and midnight blue, radiating with Grace.
Can it really be?
He was whole again.
The light faded. Castiel blinked out of existence, reappearing behind Sam and Gadreel. He stared down at his hands, briefly marveling in awe before looking up at his friends, a grin working its way onto his features.
"I'm alive," he breathed out, amazed.
Sam stepped forward, pulling Cas into a tight hug. "You're gonna be okay, Cas."
Cas hugged him back just as tightly. "How did you–"
"Not me." He pulled back slightly, turning his eyes to the side. "It was Gadreel."
Gadreel shuffled, almost seeming uncomfortable. "I found where Metatron hid the Grace he stole from you," he explained.
"Thank you," Cas said, seeming genuinely touched. "Thank you so much." Cas pulled one arm away from Sam. "Bring it in."
Gadreel's brow furrowed. "Bring what in?"
"Group hug, Gadreel," Sam elaborated. "It's a human thing." He held out his other arm, and hesitantly, the angel made his way over to them. As one, Sam and Cas pulled Gadreel in.
Carefully, Gadreel put one arm around Cas's back, and one arm around Sam's.
"I am... very glad you're alive, Castiel."
"I'm very glad to be alive, brother."