Chapter Twenty-six
It happens without warning, without a sign, without any notice whatsoever; they're at the office, for once, with Garth in his office and Charlie in hers and Dean and Castiel playing Tic Tac Toe on a window with a marker as they wait for more intel on their latest lead, a new batch of Grace appearing in Montana. Uriel has been officially declared dead, and Metatron's escaped. He hasn't been at his house in two weeks, which bars out all their effort there, and altogether they've been righteously screwed over. It's a miracle Dick hasn't called them back in, and Castiel waking up each morning thinking, today will be the day. But it hasn't happened yet, and Dean tells him not to worry. Overall, it strangely went better than Castiel expected - even Bobby didn't yell at them, because he was in the hospital when everything was truly chaotic. The thing in Montana seems to be heading their way; two ODs already, but until they get more information, they can't do a thing.
Castiel's winning.
"How is this possible?" Dean demands. "Are you sure you've never played this before?"
"I'm positive, Dean," Castiel says in a patient voice, having said this at least three times prior. Dean always gets this way though when Castiel wins - goes into a bit of sulk and refuses to come out until he's won again. "It's your turn."
"No - you can't be X, I've been X this entire time - I'll get confused," protests Dean, stabbing his marker in the direction of Castiel's innocuous X at the top right corner.
"It's too late, I've already written it."
"Erase it."
Utterly exasperated: "Dean."
Muttering darkly, Dean makes a move - and then Castiel - and then Dean goes again, this time with an X.
"You did that on purpose!" Castiel says. He is playing with a child. With a five-year-old child.
"No, I didn't, I told you I would get confused -"
"I'm going to go make some tea," says Castiel, getting to his feet and meticulously placing his marker on the sill. "Want anything?"
"Yeah, I want to beat your seventeen-year-old ass at fucking Tic Tac Toe."
"I'm eighteen now, Dean. And do you happen to want anything age appropriate?"
"You're - what, when did that happen?" sputters Dean, looking shocked. "We didn't even have a birthday party!"
"I'll take that as a no then," he says, and moves off to the little kitchen kept by their division. It's surprisingly well-stocked and he finds Charlie already in there, sitting on a counter with her legs swinging as she eats Ritz crackers out of the packet and reads a magazine.
"How's Hangman going?" she asks, not looking up from her magazine and stuffing another cracker into her mouth.
"We were forced to quit after one of us used a word in Enochian and the other one threw a fit even though it was never specified in the rules that the words had to be English," says Castiel, moving to one of the cabinets and opening it. He reaches up and picks out a box of Chai tea, moving to get a mug before glancing at Charlie. "How's the research going?"
"Slow," Charlie says around another cracker, still staring at the magazine. "Garth's squealer has the flu and he's been running around trying to find someone else that will give us some information. What was the word, by the way?"
Castiel pauses in filling up his mug with water to give her a crooked little grin. "Pie."
The magazine finally comes down and Charlie stares at him for a moment until she laughs. "And he couldn't guess it? Wow, that is em-bar-rass-ing. Dean Winchester has fallen so far."
"To be fair, I don't think he knows the Enochian symbol for E, which complicates things a bit."
"Mm, a bit," she agrees, kicking her legs out and then banging them into the cabinets below her. "What've you moved on to?"
"Tic Tac Toe."
"And how's that going?"
Castiel glances at her again as he simultaneously puts the mug in the microwave and presses one minute. "Do you see him in here?"
"Sulking?" she asks with a grin and then they hear the sound of something shattering in the other room. Both heads swivel to stare at the door. "What the hell is he doing in there? If he's smashing stuff just because of a damn game of Tic Tac Toe -"
"Want me to go check?" asks Castiel in the sort of voice that suggests this is what he's used to wtih Dean.
Charlie rolls her eyes. "Nah, I'll go check on the big baby. Maybe I'll challenge him to a game and let him win, just to make him feel better." She hops down from the counter just as something else crashes, and she frowns deeply. "What is he doing?" Castiel's eyes follow her as she storms out of the door, letting it swing shut behind her, and then he turns around to watch the microwave finish counting down.
And then someone screams from the other room. Castiel whirls - acting on instinct as he bursts through the door and comes to an immediate halt, unable to process what he's seeing. For a second he thinks it's just another game - just Dean playfully tackling Charlie and Charlie screaming in mirth - and then she screams again, one of real fear, and the scream turns into a grunt of concentration as she tries to get out from underneath him.
"Dean!" shouts Castiel, and from a distance he can see Garth run out of his office. He ignores him - darting forward and gripping the bigger man's shoulder, heaving him back with all his strength and knocking him sideways into a lone desk. "What the hell's wrong with -"
But Dean's not listening to him, no, he's picking himself up off the ground without a single moment's hesitation, a dark growl leaving his lips. And that's when Castiel sees his face - truly sees his face, takes in the faintly glowing blue eyes and blank expression etched there; it is an expression of concentration and expertise and that is it. Closed off. And completely one hundred percent focused on Charlie.
He moves to the left - and Castiel's there, blocking his way - and then to his right, and Castiel follows, hands up in attack position.
"Move out of the way," Dean snarls, and throws a punch.
Castiel dodges it easily, ducking underneath and then throwing his leg out in a sweep - which Dean jumps over. "What do you want with her?"
"Move," Dean says again, and this time he forgoes the punch and backhands Castiel across the face, an unexpected move that sends Castiel crashing back into the wall and leaving Dean's pathway clear for Charlie who is still laying on the floor, holding her ankle.
"No," spits out Castiel, picking himself up and he hurtles forward and slams into Dean like a brick wall, just barely pushing him off-course. It's enough, however, and Dean's attention is on him for a second, and Castiel shouts, "Charlie, move!" as he and Dean exchange lightning quick hits, back and forth, the two of them nearly moving in sync after their long months sparring together.
Castiel sees Charlie struggle to get up from out of the corner of his eye, Garth rushing to help her up, and they both move towards her office - and then Castiel's distracted, backed up against another spare desk and he jumps up on it without thinking, grabbing things from it and hurling them at Dean one after another with unbeatable precision - stapler, roll of tape, paperweight - and it's only after a hole puncher clips Dean in the forehead and he starts gushing blood without even flinching that Castiel recognizes that something is very seriously wrong.
He jumps down from the desk nimbly and Dean growls, shoving it out of the way and stalking towards Castiel with all the predatory grace of a jungle cat.
"Dean," says Castiel in as calm of a voice as he can manage with his heart pounding in his ears. "Dean, it's me. Castiel. You're - you're under some sort of spell or something - Dean, please -" And then Dean swipes out again, too fast, and Castiel lurches back, feet twisting together and giving Dean just the advantage he needs to catch a fistful of Castiel's shirt and haul him forward -
And then there's a frantic pounding on the glass ceiling-to-floor windows of Charlie's office and Dean pauses, turning his head mechanically and staring for a moment with deadened eyes at Charlie and Garth beating on the window.
He drops Castiel to the floor without a second thought, moving with stiff shoulders to the door where he twists the handle and then shakes it with a frustrated growl - and then breaks it right out of the door.
Castiel watches, transfixed in horror, as Dean slowly starts methodically kicking at the door - and it strains underneath him, a long crack running down the middle on the fifth kick.
What is happening? What is he going to do? How is he going to stop this? What is happening? It's like Dean's turned into a robot - and as he watches, Dean gives up on his kicking and moves to grab one of the simple wooden desk chairs, flipping it upside down and hefting it in his hands for a moment before walking back to the door, shifting in place for a second, and then slamming it against the door.
The chair shatters into pieces.
"Hmm," says Dean, and moves to get another.
Castiel finally looks at Charlie and Garth - and then leans forward as he realizes they're shouting at him, trying to get his attention.
"What?" he asks before he remembers Dean and glances up quickly to see if he's back to targeting Castiel - but no, his focus is solely on getting to Charlie and he looks back, squinting. He can't hear their shouts and they're both moving their mouths too much for him to lipread and then - "Grace," he whispers as he finally catches on.
He's an angel.
He's an angel and - what? What can he possibly do it with it? He can - he can heal people? Could he somehow heal this out of Dean or - and then he realizes Charlie's still trying to get his attention and Dean breaks another chair against the door, effectively pushing it in half an inch. She's pointing at her eyes and then at Dean and Castiel shakes his head, not understanding and then -
His eyes go wide.
Dean's eyes. Glowing blue. Like Castiel's hands did when he healed Dean - Dean is being controlled by Grace. Somehow, someway, impossibly. It's the only thing that makes sense - and suddenly Castiel knows what to do. He's up off the ground and bolting out of the room without a second thought, flying as he aims for the stairwell and runs - races down the stairs, down and down and then he's pounding out of the building and breathing heavily as he skids to a stop at the Impala. He tugs at the door - and feels everything within him turn to lead.
It's locked.
But not for long. Cursing vehemently, Castiel slams his palm against the back window, once then twice then a third time in hard fury - and watches in amazement as it cracks outward in long reaching lines. A third hit causes the glass to crumble in. He reaches in and unlocks it, yanking the door open a moment earlier and then dragging his duffel bag towards him. Dean could be breaking open the office door at any moment - or he could have changed targets and be attacking anywhere else in the building and it's all Castiel's fault.
He finally finds what he's looking for and he's turning and running, holding his badge up and streaming past as he runs back up - up six flights of stairs, up and up and up, his calves burning by the time he's reached the top level again. He doesn't have time to catch his breath, however, and he's back in the main room and yes, Dean's made it through and Garth looks unconscious against the far wall and Charlie is held into the air by his hands, slowly strangling to death as her mouth opens uselessly and her hands scramble weakly at his.
"Dean," cries Castiel and doesn't even get a reaction. Charlie's running out of time - Garth might have a concussion - and Castiel can't get the fucking pills open - he finally snaps the lid off, pills flying into the air, and manages to grabs a handful in his sweaty palm. He takes a deep gulp of air and then runs full speed at Dean's back, twisting at the last moment and ramming his shoulder hard enough into Dean's back that he stumbles and lets Charlie slip out of his grasp.
She gasps for air, and Dean turns on Castiel.
"Open wide," snarls Castiel, and slams his hand flat to Dean's mouth just as his foot goes behind Dean's and sweeps forward, sending him to the ground with Castiel following. He sits on his chest, nails digging in as he keeps his mouth over Dean's thrashing head, and is reminded of their fight in this same building so long ago.
And then Dean chokes, lurching up as he swallows all the pills, and falls back, still straining for release.
"Please work," whispers Castiel furiously, leaning over Dean as he keeps his mouth closed so that Dean won't try to vomit them up. "Please work, please work -"
His eyes roll back in his head, his face slowly losing color - and then, gradually, his eyes flutter back down, blue sheen gone, and he goes limp under Castiel, unresisting.
Slowly, Castiel removes his hand.
The only sound in the room is Charlie's ragged breathing and four separate sets of wild heartbeats. Castiel feels like he's about to combust.
"What - was - that," Dean finally manages.
Castiel slumps off him, finally allowing himself to gasp for air, and he finds himself leaning back against Charlie's desk, closing his eyes as he tries to calm down. "Grace spell," he says.
"What's a Grace spell?" Dean asks, and when Castiel opens his eyes, he's looking at him with genuine fear in his green eyes.
"I don't know."
"Someone was controlling me?"
Castiel feels exhaustion creeping into every fiber of his being. "We can assume so, yes."
"But - how?" It's a question that no one here can answer and Dean seems to realize it almost immediately. "How did you know those pills would work on me?"
Brief pause. "I didn't."
They both know what this means - and Castiel watches as Dean glances slightly over at the now-coughing Charlie, tears running silently down her face, and Castiel knows this is just another problem to add to their ever-growing list.
After they've driven both Charlie and Garth to the hospital, Dean silently drives the car to Bobby's house. It takes nearly an hour with traffic and he doesn't say a single word the entire time, not even when Castiel asks him where they're going or what they're doing. Finally, Castiel gives up and the silence between them lays thick and heavy and painful with unsaid words. He realizes where they're going when they enter into the neighborhood, instantly recognizing the houses around them, but doesn't say anything. All he can see is Dean underneath him, eyes flaring that terrible blue. He wishes to never see it again.
"I need the panic room," is the first thing Dean says to Bobby when he lets them in.
"What happened?" asks Bobby gruffly and looks between them. His eyes narrow and he looks back at Dean. "What's happened to you?"
"The panic room," grits out Dean and looks furious. "Bobby – I'll answer it as soon as you take me down there."
Bobby stares at him for another moment and then shakes his head the slightest bit and turns, leading them both downstairs. The basement is dark and dirty and Castiel is entirely confused as to what is happening – and then Bobby cranks open a heavy, metal wheel and pulls open a huge metal door and gestures them inside.
Dean doesn't stop until he's at the far wall and he holds out his arms, legs shoulder-width apart. He looks determined, and Castiel can't understand what he's doing until he realizes there are strong leather straps dangling from the wall.
"Strap me in," he orders Bobby.
But Bobby looks just as fiercely resolute. "First tell me why."
Dean turns to Castiel. "Strap me in."
"Is this about the spell?" he asks in a quiet voice. "Because it's over, Dean. It won't –"
"Goddammit," says Dean and bends down and starts buckling his ankles into the straps.
"Dean," says Bobby sharply and starts to move forward but a warning growl from Dean makes him stop. He manages to get both ankles and one wrist into the buckles before looks back at them with a defiant glare.
"Am I going to have to use my fucking teeth or will one of you help me with this?" he demands. His voice cracks at the end and it is the most pitiful thing Castiel's ever heard in his life.
The three of them just stand there for a moment before Bobby heaves a disgruntled sigh and moves forward, shoulders tense as he buckles the strap around Dean's right arm and then moves back. "There, you stubborn son of a bitch," grunts Bobby. "Are you going to explain what the hell this is all about now?"
Dean's head drops back against the wall and he looks as though a wall has come down in him, like he can relax for the first time in years. "Cas, explain."
"He – it wasn't his fault," begins Castiel, "Some sort of spell activated and – and it was like he zeroed in on the first person he saw, which happened to be Charlie, and he just… he attacked her. I managed to block it though. And Charlie's all right. This is an overreaction," he adds.
"No it's not," says Bobby, surprising them both. Dean instantly looks grateful. "Until we know what caused this, it's only right that you stay in lockdown. Who knows what would have happened if this kid hadn't been a trained fighter and – and how did you block it?"
Castiel feels uncomfortable. "It was a guess. I… I had some pills. In the car."
Thankfully, Bobby leaves it at that. "So – witches, is that what you're thinking?"
"I honestly don't know, Bobby," says Dean, sounding like he could sleep for a thousand years. "I was hoping you and Cas could do some research, maybe, while I sit this one out."
"For how long?" Castiel demands. It's unbelievably frustrating that Dean and Bobby don't seem bothered in the slightest at the idea of leaving Dean like this – locked up in a chilly metal dungeon with no one but his own guilt for company. Castiel cares, though – Castiel knows Dean doesn't deserve this. "How long until you're allowed out again? We have a case, you know. People are relying on us to be out there working – not just sitting around, with our hands tied up."
"You think I want this?" asks Dean, looking annoyed. "I didn't ask for this. I'm doing the right thing here, Cas, which you'd see if you pulled your head out of your ass."
It's the first time Dean's talked to him like that in what feels like months. "How long?" Cas asks again.
"I don't know." It's said tightly.
They both look to Bobby. "Three days," he finally says. "If we don't find out anything in three days – if nothing else happens, we'll just have to assume it was a one time thing."
Dean looks skeptical but Castiel is just happy it's not a full week. With the way Dean looks right now, he'd probably ask for a month if he thought he could get it from either of them. "I'm going to make some tea," he announces, and turns on his heel to leave. He never did get it back in the office and if Dean needs anything, it's a warm drink to remind him that he's not the monster he was previously.
Ten minutes later, he walks back downstairs, hands full of three chipped mugs balancing precariously as he makes it to the heavy metal door. He hesitates for a moment, wondering how he's going to get it open with no free hands, and then pauses when he hears his name. And he knows he shouldn't listen – really knows, it's been drilled inside his head since he was able to talk – but something keeps him where he is.
"- going on?" It's Bobby speaking and he sounds suspicious. "Come on, Dean. You can't lie to me; I practically raised you."
There's a long silence and Castiel's about to give in and open the door when Dean speaks, sounding resigned. "Yes. We are – yes."
Another pause and then, "Fucking hell, Dean. For how long?"
"Since… We discovered the bodies in Michigan."
"For that long? And you didn't think to tell me? Have you told anyone?"
"I – who could I tell, Bobby? Who would possibly react to the news positively?" He sounds beyond irritated but also a little ashamed. Castiel has a good idea of what they're talking about.
"Not even Charlie?"
"No." More hesitation and then, "He's over eighteen now."
"Now." Bobby sounds furious. "But when you started? Dean, you could lose your job. You could go to jail. And if the OBIT finds out –" It sounds like he's pacing. "They'll take him away."
"I know, okay? You don't think I didn't think of all this before it started?"
"It sure fucking sounds like you didn't."
"Well, I did. I thought it all through and – and I still went with it. What does that tell you?"
The pacing stops. Castiel imagines them staring at each other long and hard and then, "Must mean you really think something of him."
Softly, "I love him, Bobby."
"And so what – you and him are just gonna go prancin' off into the sunset when all this through? Fool."
"If you have any actual helpful suggestions, I'd love to hear them." But he sounds resigned, like he expected nothing less. Like he deserves nothing less. Castiel wants to sink into the floor – except. Except Dean said he loved him. He'd said it the one time during the fight scene, when he was dying, but he hadn't said it since and Castiel had long since stopped wondering if it was part of the adrenaline or actually real. Now he knows. Now he knows that Dean meant it. Is willing to go to prison and lose his job for him.
"Are we even going to mention the fact that there's a fourteen year old age difference between you two?"
"I know how it looks. But he's not seventeen, Bobby - he's been through so much, and honestly, he acts like someone just as old as me or even older. If he's allowed to fight and work, why shouldn't he be able to -"
"All right, save it," says Bobby gruffly. "You love him, eh? Well, I guess there's nothing I can do or say about it now that would actually change anything."
Soft pause. "Does that mean you give your blessing?"
"I ain't blessing nothin' about this - but you're like a son to me, Dean, and if anyone deserves happiness after all this… it's you."
"Thanks, Bobby."
It seems like their conversation is done now so Castiel creeps away a bit and then clomps forward, purposely walking loudly towards the door before shifting his load around and pulling open the door. "I hope everyone likes vanilla," he announces to the room. Bobby won't meet his gaze and mutters, "I'm gonna go check this out," before shouldering roughly past him.
Castiel looks at his back before looking to Dean. "What happened?" he asks. He wonders if Dean will lie.
But he doesn't. Doesn't even seem to consider it, merely lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes hooded as he says, "Bobby knows."
"About us?"
"Yeah."
"Hmm," says Castiel, and sets down the three mugs down on a long black seat resting in the middle of the room. "And?"
"And… and that's it. There's nothing else to say about it."
"He doesn't mind?"
"Oh, he minds," says Dean. The muscles along his forearms ripple for a moment as he flexes his hands, apparently testing his bindings, and then he relaxes about it. It's twisted that he would feel more free chained up; how long then has he felt like a danger to others? There is a feeling deep within Castiel that tells him Dean has wanted to be chained up long before now, and not in a sexual way or perverted way - simply because that is who he is. Who he has become - someone who believes he's better off locked away. "But is he going to tell anyone? I don't think so."
Castiel doesn't know what he looks like at this moment but it's enough to make Dean stop his fidgeting and look at him, eyes widening as he takes Cas in.
"Here," says Castiel, to distract him, moving forward and holding the tea up. "Let me take off one of your straps so -"
"No," says Dean immediately, brusquely.
Castiel sighs, dimming a little. "Can I give it to you myself then?"
Grudgingly, "Okay." Then, "But don't tell anyone about this, you little shit."
Pressing his lips together, he carefully holds the mug up to Dean's lips and waits a second before tilting it back and watching Dean's throat work as he swallows it. He brings the cup down and away after letting Dean drink enough, and meets his eyes.
"Does it really matter that much to you?" asks Dean.
"If what?"
"If people know we're together?"
Castiel shrugs, turning to awkwardly examine his mug which is still on the black seat. "I don't know. Makes it feel more real, that's all."
"Cas." Dean waits for Castiel to look back around at him. "I would tell the whole world if I could."
He feels small, just then, with Dean's eyes on him in that way - tracing him longingly, yearningly, as though he really means it. And maybe he wants to mean it. But Castiel can only imagine how much grief that would cause him and he has never felt less worthy of it. "It's my fault."
"What's your fault?"
"This," he says, jerking his head to where Dean is tied up against the wall. "It's my fault that you were affected by it. The Grace. I did it."
"Cas, what the hell are you talking about?"
"The Grace," he insists. "I drugged you with mine and that - that allowed you to be controlled. My fault."
"Cas, no," says Dean, and for a moment it looks as though he's forgotten that he's restrained as he pulls against it and then sags back against the wall, frustrated. "It's not your fault - it's whoever the fuck made the spell. And we're going to stop them before they can do it again. Don't you dare blame yourself."
Castiel just watches him.
Dean says, "Put the cup down," and he does, and Come here," and he does as well, moving forward slowly until there's less than a foot of space between them. "Closer." He moves closer, so that his chest bumps up against Dean's. And then Dean leans forward, straining against the leather straps until his mouth can brush against Castiel's; Castiel opens his lips willingly and Dean delves deeper, somehow managing to dominate the kiss even strapped up.
Castiel whimpers into his mouth and brings his hands up, threading his fingers through Dean's hair as he presses ever closer, inhaling sharply as Dean sucks down on his bottom lip.
"God, you taste so good," whispers Dean into his mouth. It makes Castiel shudder against him and then he rocks his hips into Dean, loving the way Dean's entire body tugs against his restraints as though aching to be closer to him. He kisses harder, deeper, one of his hands moving to rest against Dean's face, tugging him closer.
"Want you," groans Dean. "Fuck."
This is what he wants - not recognition of their relationship but just this right here, Dean strong and needy against him, Dean greedy for more and wanting him out of all the people he could have. He wonders what Dean would do if he got down on his knees, right then, with Dean helpless against it. Imagines Dean's prick hot and thick in his mouth and feels his knees start to weaken.
And then the metal door clangs open loudly behind them and Castiel pulls away, breathing heavily and blushing dark as Bobby stares at the both of them.
"Well, you weren't lyin'," he says after a moment. "If you ever let me catch you two goin' at it again, I'm gonna kick you both of the house and never speak to you again."
Castiel reaches up to wipe his mouth with the back of sleeve (Dean's saliva wet against his lips), feeling mortified beyond belief. A quick peek at Dean, however, reveals him not looking embarrassed in the slightest - in fact, he actually looks rather amused, as though being caught by Bobby was his goal in the first place. Castiel is nonplussed.
"Did you come down here just to yell at us or do you actually have something?" asks Dean, his voice rougher than usual.
"Found out a few things," says Bobby, stepping warily into the room as though Cas and Dean are about to start going at it like rabbits at any second. He walks around the rim of the room and then comes to the black bench in the middle, picking up what is his mug of tea and sniffing at it. "There any alcohol in this?"
"No," says Castiel.
"Disappointing," says Bobby, and pulls a flask out of nowhere, screwing it open and then pouring a generous amount into the hot liquid. He shakes the cup a little and then lifts it to his lips and drinks. "Ah," he says afterward, smacking his lips. "Good stuff. Now -"
"Found a few things?" prompts Dean drily.
"Ah, right," says Bobby, and throws down a packet of paper onto the black bench.
"What's that?" asks Dean.
"Articles. Detailing the outbreak of murders that erupted earlier this morning," says Bobby gruffly. "Approximately… 52 thousand deaths across the United States between eleven AM and twelve PM. It peaks at 11:27. Your friends at the addiction clinic had at least thirty themselves."
"Shit," says Dean. There is no humor in his face now. Castiel feels like he's about to fall through the floor. "So that's it, then. It wasn't just me - it was every fucking person who's ever touched the fucking drug."
"Thirty-two thousand," says Castiel. He's about to throw up. The room is spinning around him and there are now thirty-two thousand people he feels responsible for. He imagines he can feel the Grace running through his veins, as thick as blood, imagines ripping it out of his skin and burning it all up so that it can never hurt another person.
"What the fuck are we going to do, Bobby?" demands Dean. He looks pale and sick, his hands clenching and unclenching repeatedly.
"We're." He stops and reaches up to rub his beard. No wonder he wanted alcohol in his tea. They all need a good drink. "We're going to stop them. As usual."
"Thirty-two thousand, in one hour. And it could happen again at any second. Could happen to me as well, and I can't even imagine what would have happened if Cas hadn't been there to stop me. God dammit." Dean screws up his eyes and hits his head back against the wall.
"Is that one for everyone, you think?" The only way to stop himself from going into a downright panic attack is to enter his strategizing mode, the soldier side of him taking over. "Everyone that's ever imbibed?"
"Doubt it," Bobby says. "Imagine some of them were possibly unconscious, asleep - who knows if it works then - or alone. From what you told me, it sounds as though the victim targets the first person they see and don't relax until that person is dead. Which makes this…" he trails off.
Castiel's the first one to say it. "An army. Someone's been creating an army."
"Shit," says Dean again. "Shit, shit, shit. What the hell are we going to do? There's no way we can distribute enough of Castiel's pills to everyone before they strike again. And you can bet everything you've got that they're still recruiting people out there - probably fucking handing it out for free to little kids on the street by this point."
"What does someone want an army for?" asks Castiel. "Who's behind all this? Who could they possibly want to attack?"
"Our government?" grunts Bobby. "Another country? Some goddamn mystical creature we haven't even discovered yet? Who the hell knows, maybe it's just for entertainment."
"Thirty-two thousand," says Castiel again, because he just can't comprehend that many people dying for absolutely no reason, all at once, helpless to control it. And on the other side of it, thirty-two thousand people waking up from a trance with blood on their hands, horrified and terrified and probably facing years in jail because of it. He pictures the two women they met at the addiction clinic and wonders who they had to murder, simply for the mistakes they'd made in their pasts - mistakes they were trying to recover from.
Bobby leaves to go look up possible resources they could use, and they're alone again - but Castiel's never felt less inclined to deviant behavior. Instead, he sits down on the black bench and tries sipping his tea which has gone miserably cold.
"I would never let you hurt anyone," he tells Dean finally.
Dean just looks at him. "It's too late for that," he says at last, when Castiel has finally decided he's not going to respond. "I have hurt far too many people to count."
It is a long three days. They finally get Dean to consent to being locked up in a different position, and Castiel can't stop himself from kissing the dark red marks on his wrists when he unbuckles them. (He can tell it embarrasses Dean but he can also tell that Dean needs it too, how something ripples through him at the touch of Castiel's lips to the aggravated skin.) It's hard to get Dean to drink and even harder to get him to eat; a small part of Castiel thinks that he's trying to punish himself since no one else will, trying to inflict some weird form of masochism upon himself.
The worst part comes at the end of the third day when Charlie barges in. It's like she has a sixth sense of some sort - like she knows exactly where Dean is and she storms downstairs, ignoring all of Bobby's shouts, and pushes the metal door open, her eyes immediately latching onto where Dean sits, chains on his wrists and ankles.
"What the fuck," she seethes, eyes flashing, a storm, "is he doing chained up down here in a dungeon?"
"Charlie," says Dean, but she won't hear it.
"Get it off him," she rages. "No - I'll do it myself," and it looks like she's really about to rip the chains right off him before Castiel offers up the key. Ridiculously, Dean tries to protest, straining away from her and hugging the lock of the chain to his chest in an effort to keep it from her. It's only when she bites him hard on the wrist and then threatens to sit on him that he relinquishes.
"This is my choice," he tells her once the chains are off his ankles and wrists. "Don't blame them - it was me."
"You're such an arrogant asshole," she says, and shoves him. The way he lets her so easily, falling back against the wall with a resigned expression, makes something sink in Castiel's stomach. The chains may finally be off his physical body but they are still firmly wrapped around his inner being, keeping his guilt tied to him. "You're punishing yourself because of what you did, aren't you?" He doesn't say anything, just looks away, and the heat flares in Charlie's eyes again. She shoves him again, harder. "Look at me! You didn't do anything, Dean Winchester! Some psychopath got hold of you - anyone could see that it wasn't you, and I'm still alive, aren't I?"
"If Cas hadn't been there -"
"I can take care of myself," says Charlie in a hot voice, tossing her hair. There is a stallion in her, there is something fierce and protective and furious that this damage has been done in her absence. Castiel tries vainly to ignore the bruises of Dean's fingers on her pale neck. "You think you can take me? Let's go again. I'll kick your ass to the moon."
"Please stop blaming yourself, Dean," says Castiel in a quiet voice.
"Listen to them," says Bobby from the back of the room where he leans against the wall, hands shoved in his pockets. "It's time you stop this foolish business you're holding."
"It's not foolish," says Dean. There's something about him that looks hunted. "Did you tell Charlie what happened? Does she know?"
"Know what?" asks Charlie.
"That thirty-two thousand people died? That it's going to happen again, that it's part of something -" He freezes, coming up short, and everyone tenses along with him. "That's what Ezekiel meant. When he said that something worse was going on. This is it. They're going to do something even worse than this. Which means it's going to happen again, and I'm going to be affected."
Castiel says, "We don't know that. You're taking my medicine," but it feels like a lost cause. When Dean wants something, he gets it. And right now, he wants to punish himself as much as he possibly can.
"Dean, you're our best fighter. You're the lead on this fucking case. You can't just lock yourself in a dungeon and expect that to be okay," Charlie tells him.
"I'm not leaving this room," says Dean in his no-argument-will-sway-me voice. "I'm not taking any chances."
Desperately, because he can't think of anything else, Castiel says, "What about Sam?" and knows it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
Dean's frozen once more. "What did you say?"
"Sam. Your brother. Maybe -" he fidgets, not sure of how to keep going and then plows on through. "I think you should ask for his advice on this. I know you - talk to him sometimes."
The silence following is the heaviest Castiel's ever heard in his entire life.
"Does he know?" asks Charlie finally in a low voice. "He has to know, right?"
"Know what?" asks Castiel.
"You told him, didn't you?" demands Bobby and when Dean finally shakes his head, both Charlie and Bobby turn away almost in sync. Bobby turns back instantly. "You didn't tell him about your own brother? What kind of relationship are you playing at, boy?"
"I - I was getting around to -"
"What are you talking about?" grits out Castiel, looking wildly around the room as he waits for an answer. He is no longer the timid boy who couldn't even speak without tacking on 'sir' at the end of his sentences, and he's sick of feeling left behind. "What's wrong with the suggestion? I think he'd have a viable opinion on you locking yourself up for days on end -"
"Sam's dead," says Dean.
There's silence.
Dead silence. Sam's dead?
"What?" asks Castiel, and looks from Bobby to Charlie back to Dean but all of them look the exact same: hard and grim and battle-weary. "That can't be true. You - you talk to him. On the phone. I've heard you."
A look of intense pain and - shame. That's what it is. Shame and guilt and embarrassment all wrapped up in Dean Winchester's face like it's found a home there and isn't leaving any time soon. "I -" his voice drops almost to a whisper. "I pay the phone company. To keep his phone up. He died seven years ago, Cas."
"God damn it," growls Bobby. Stalking forward, he grabs hold of Charlie's shoulder and nearly drags her towards the exit.
Castiel can't look away from Dean. "I didn't know."
Gruffly: "Well now you do."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"It never came up."
"Dean."
"I - fuck, Cas, I don't fucking know, okay?" he says. There's a tightness to his gaze, a slope to his shoulders - he is filled with self-hatred and Castiel can't bear to see it a second more.
"He would be ashamed of you right now," says Castiel in a low voice, unable to believe his own daring. He stands stiffly. "If he could see you, he would be ashamed."
"Oh yeah?" comes the immediate challenge, bitingly sharp. "And how the hell would you know? Clearly you know nothing about me or my family."
"What else aren't you telling me?" demands Castiel. Without thinking, he moves closer, crowding up into Dean's space. "Are you ever going to stop hiding and be upfront with me? Don't I deserve that? Haven't I earned that from you yet?"
Dean backs up, up against the wall. "I can't just tell you everything, Cas, I'm not like that -"
"Then hear this," snarls Castiel, and he pushes Dean against the wall, shoving him and feeling a spike of something satisfied when Dean stumbles back. "If you don't start telling me the truth, I'll leave. I'm done. I'm not here to be lied to."
"The truth?" says Dean, looking astonished that Castiel would go this far. "What about when you drugged me? Were you telling the fucking truth to me then?"
"I said I was sorry," says Castiel tightly. "At least I'm not in here sulking about it." Abruptly, all the anger leaves him and he just feels exhausted. "Dean, I'm worried about you, all right? There's only so much you can blame yourself. Yes. I drugged you. It's my fault. Now accept that and… and… Stop this. Please."
Just like that, Dean deflates; the air in the room seems to thaw slightly. "Come here."
Castiel's already close, but he moves closer, looking quietly up into Dean's face as he approaches. He can hear Dean's heart thumping away at too fast of a pace, and for a moment they just look at each other, evaluating each other.
"You know I love you," says Dean.
"I know," he confirms in a low voice.
When they kiss, it's soft and forgiving - but underneath it, too, is the same feeling of unease that Castiel's been carrying around for days now.
"I have things to tell you," says Dean when he pulls away.
"I know," says Cas again.
"You might not like me as much after you hear them."
He wants to say Impossible but he's seen too much and heard too much and - yes, done too much to think that this is a world where love is completely unconditional. "I'm listening."
"No," says Dean, shaking his head. Already his eyes look resigned, expression guarded. "Not here."
"Then where?"
"Come with me."
A/N: Answers are finally coming next chapter!