Dean's memory smiled viciously as he brandished a knife, drawing it down the man's stomach carefully watching the red current spill out to the floor in slow designs like a chocolate fountain. He crossed that incision with another, making a "t" across the man's chest. Memory Dean's eyes glossed over as he pulled at the skin, opening him up.
Dean watched in horror, and Cas squeezed his hand in reassurance. "Why do we need to see this?" Dean asked, watching himself start to work on the man's inside, listening to his screams as if they were background music. The firelight played against Dean's form, illuminating the glossy sheen of his hands coated in blood, working meticulously to extract the sickly notes from each cry, like a directing a gruesome orchestra.
Dean closed his eyes tightly against the image. Against the sounds. He wanted more than anything to free himself from having to acknowledge this part of himself. If Cas had felt shame for his small crimes in heaven, how must he view Dean's atrocities? He looked at Cas's calm face with wonder.Cas has already seen this, he marveled. And he is still here.
And Dean didn't know why, but he suddenly felt a strong desire to act on the reason he assumed he was there. It was time for Dean to face himself.
The hunter walked closer, his feet heavy. And, with all the bravery he could muster, he looked himself in the eyes. No moment in hell or on earth felt as long. It was like looking into the eyes of a stranger and someone that knew him better than anyone else at the same time. Knowledge poured from his past soul to himself, the answers coming faster than the questions.
And, the understanding that lay there surprised him. He looked to Cas, and the angel's face said he'd seen it too. Dean's soul was mangled and torn. It had been damaged with thirty years worth of torture. His face was dark with shadows and his mind twisted with pain and darkness. And Dean should have realized, better than anyone, that when you were on the rack, it was more than just physical suffering. And now that Cas's light and grace pumped through him, it was even more apparent. To be a Demon is a sickness, an absence of self. Your soul is your light, Dean thought.And they fractured mine.
"You were a victim," Cas said, looking at Dean without judgment.
And Dean looked at the man's twisted expression on the table, feeling nauseous. "We all were," he said.
Dean kept watching his past self relish in dissecting the other man's soul. "It's not an excuse," the hunter said, feeling the sadness and remorse creeping in.
"No," said Cas's calm voice, "but maybe it's enough to leave this story behind."
Dean exhaled deeply, gritting his jaw. I deserve punishment, he thought. Right? The man screamed again in the background.
Whose forgiveness am I waiting for? he wondered. He looked at the angel. His angel, who viewed him so lovingly. Dean himself had been able to see beyond Cas's sins in heaven. Was that how Cas viewed him now?
Swallowing deeply, Dean said in argument "this is unforgivable," as he gestured toward his grisly work.
And Cas nodded, agreeing. It was unforgivable. "Sometimes we have to face the truth and try anyway," he said. Dean looked at him, questioningly, reading Cas's face. Let me rescue you from yourself, it said.
Dean hesitated. The fire around him burned hot, the memory as real as if it were five minutes ago, not years. Maybe it was time to let go. Maybe it didn't serve anyone to keep part of himself here, he acknowledged.
And, to his surprise, he found himself nodding, squeezing Cas's hand back. He didn't deserve this, or his angel. But today, he thought, maybe I can let myself have it anyway.
In response, the sky ripped open, a bright light crashing through the darkness. The lightening flashed, thunder drowning out the screams for a moment before the outline of angel wings started coming into view. Dean marveled at the sight.
It was time for Cas to save Dean's soul from hell again.
Only this time, Dean thought, I'm not coming back.