A/N: I'd be lying if I said the Supernatural finale didn't mess me up. I've been struggling to write this in the wake of the show's end for so many reasons but I am committed to continuing. This chapter is not the longest and not the best, but I'm doing what I can.
Thank you to everyone who continues to be invested and enjoys reading this story...it means so much, even more now that the show is over.
NOTICE: please see endnotes for a brief update on some upcoming projects.
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Castiel sat at the kitchen table still mulling things over. The brothers had presented him with the idea that perhaps Michael's ruin wasn't presenting in physical manifestations. Perhaps Dean's condition was not caused by Michael's grace directly, but rather a human side effect of his mere presence. The question on the angel's mind-on Sam's mind-on Dean's mind-was the same; If Michael's grace wasn't causing Dean's disabilities, what was it doing?
Verbalizing, Cas spoke to both Winchesters and shared his initial thoughts on the matter.
"Dean…if this is true, then it means that your body-not Michael-is causing your problems."
"Exactly. Which means there's something we can do about it. Maybe I have to stop acting like my problems are my problems. Maybe they're the solution. What if I stop taking my meds? Stop trying to get better? Just let my body do whatever it's gotta do to get Michael out."
Dean was borderline ecstatic, Sam held onto hesitancy, and Cas was burdened by fear.
"Or…" Cas began, "It means that Michael's grace is the only thing keeping you alive."
Cas' visage fell in sympathy and he waited for them to process his words.
"What-What does that mean?" Sam asked.
"I fear that Michael made your very existence a Catch 22. His last punishment. You can never truly heal with his fragment of grace left behind, and yet without him, you succumb to his damages permanently."
The looks on the boys' faces could have moved any angel into falling for them; Cas desperately attempted to remind them of his unsuredness.
"Dean, the truth is I have no idea what's going on. Your guess is as good as mine. It could just as well be that the opposite is true-that in time, your body will force Michael's grace out."
Dean shook his head and stood from the table, seemingly unable to look at either his brother, or his friend. Unspeaking, Dean limped out of the kitchen and down the hall to his room. He heard the distant mumblings of Sam's attempts to convince Cas not to follow, and was relieved that no footsteps trailed him.
How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let himself have the very hope he swore he wouldn't fall victim to? Pathetic. He was pathetic, and idiotic, and weak. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. A fucking imbecile. So desperate to believe that there was a light at the end of this tunnel, he'd convinced himself that if he only endured a little longer, then maybe he'd have earned a break. If he suffered badly enough, maybe he'd be pardoned.
But it couldn't work like that.
Why would it?
When does anything go right for a Winchester?
Truthfully, Dean didn't have the energy for violence. Much as he wanted to smash his mirror and break down his door, he couldn't bring himself to expend the energy necessary for such destruction. Besides, it wouldn't help. It wouldn't make his leg stop aching. It wouldn't heal his inoperative arm. It wouldn't stop his seizures or make him feel any more like the man he had been. He couldn't bring himself to anything other than just exist, so he sat silently and unmoving, focusing on breathing in and out.
( ) ( ) ( )
Hours passed with Dean still locked away in his room. Cas refused to leave the bunker until he'd had a chance to make things right… to convince Dean that he was far from prophetic. His theories were as baseless as anything else, and he needed to assure them that his earlier commentary was not intended to sound as hopelessly finite as he feared he had. Sam was surprisingly well-adjusted; he immediately launched himself into another round of research. Despite appearances, Cas knew that it was merely a facade; a coping mechanism that only appeared healthy.
"Sam," Cas began, "I don't know. I really, truly don't. It's just as likely that something positive could come of this."
"Yeah. Because we have such a great track record of things going our way."
"I didn't mean to cause alarm. I thought-I thought you were pressing me for all possibilities."
"We were. It's not your fault." Sam's body folded in the chair as he spoke.
"Fault seems to be a very popular word around here these days." Cas confessed.
Sam nodded borderline shamefully which only added to the irony of the situation. Recognizing that, Sam released a held breath and stood. As he moved, he deliberately spoke to Cas.
"I'm going to get Dean."
The angel was quick to interject.
"Sam, you said it was best to give him space."
"It probably is. But I'm not doing this anymore. I'm not gonna sit here and feel sorry. I'm gonna drag my brother's ass out of his room, and the three of us are gonna make a plan. I don't care if we decide to do nothing, or we start making cosmic phone calls. Either way we're not just gonna stop."
Speech completed, Cas waited nervously for the return of one (or both) the brothers. As it turns out, he wouldn't have to wait very long for an indication of how things were going. First, he heard a slamming of a door. Followed by rather demanding knocking, curt tones, and eventually, full-fledged shouting. Despite being a hallway and many rooms away, Cas still made out the most heated part of their argument.
"I DIDN'T ASK FOR YOUR HELP" Dean retorted to a previously unheard statement.
"NO. YOU DIDN'T. BECAUSE I MAKE SURE YOU NEVER HAVE TO." Sam yelled back.
"WELL IT LOOKS LIKE I'M GONNA DIE ANYWAY, SO CONSIDER YOUR BURDEN LIFTED."
Dean's final remark left the bunker ringing in silence and Cas couldn't help but cringe at the harshness of the words exchanged. Part of him wondered how they'd managed to get to that point-how much hurt must have occurred in the former part of the conversation. Then again, answers wouldn't help the situation. Interrupting the silence was Dean's pained tone, slightly quieter than before.
"Just go, Sam"
Cas awaited the approach of Sam's footsteps, but they never came. Rather, Sam's firm tone refused his brother's request.
"No. I'm not leaving until you get over this."
"THERE'S NOTHING TO GET OVER! This is ME, Sam. And it's gonna be me forever. Case closed. Game over. Me. Like this. Until I die." Dean's voice cracked but Sam didn't let up.
"WHAT'S SO WRONG WITH THAT?" Despite how absurd the question sounded, Sam was getting at a larger point. "You're suffering, Dean. I'm not ignoring that. You're in hell. You think I don't know? But that's not the problem. The problem is that you hate yourself."
"I don't think that, Sam! I don't."
"Then you're scared. You're scared you won't be able to find a rhythm again. But you will. We will. You killed the Adlet, you got back your voice. You're stronger and healthier and-"
"Do you know how long it's been since I've looked in the mirror and seen myself?"
Sam remained quiet.
"Do you know that it was only a few days ago that I stopped being disgusted at the sound of my own voice?" Dean's voice hiccuped. "Do you know that it's been months since I had a dream without Michael? How long it's been since I've had a drink? How long it's been since I've had the courage to even think about sex? For how long I've felt like the biggest burden you could possibly have?"
Cas knew that it was wrong of him to be listening, but he cared for them too much to walk away. He longed to intervene-to attempt and assuage their sadness. But he knew it would be in vain.
Still, it didn't make it hurt any less.
The angel couldn't quite make out Sam's response, though he was sure he heard the younger man's voice. Perhaps this was a necessary hurdle...a conversation which appeared harmful, but in truth was something productive. Cas ceased hearing voices- their tones dropping. While he still heard noise, he was now unable to distinguish clear sounds. Remaining where he was, Cas nervously awaited a future he had no hope of predicting.
Answering his silent ponderings, Sam and Dean appeared in the doorway.
"Sorry I stormed off like that. Not your fault, Cas." Dean took a hesitant step and sat across from the angel.
"No need for apologies. And as I said-"
"You're just guessing. We know. It's okay." Sam interrupted and he soon took a seat himself. "If this were a case-a hunt-we'd see it through. All the way. No rock unturned, no loose end untied. If we're gonna beat this then we're gonna need a gameplan. And I don't care what that plan looks like, I honestly don't. But we need something because-"
Sam was interrupted by his brother's low voice.
"Because this is like Purgatory."
Sam and Cas alike were thrown by Dean's interjection. Without prompting, Dean continued to elaborate.
"Not being able to think ahead. We're living minute by minute...hour by hour...day by day...that's how we've been dealing with me-with this thing..." Dean corrected himself mid-sentence. He attempted to remind himself that he was not the problem.
"We've been going in circles trying to get ahead and instead we just keep replaying the same old moves. And it's worked for us this far, it has. And I'm-I can't-" Dean struggled to keep up with his own feelings. "I don't want to be stuck like this. Feeling like I'm so close and never quite there."
Sam's brow raised slightly.
"So you want… …?" Sam struggled to speak.
"I don't want to leave it alone anymore. I wanna kick it in the ass." Dean smiled an indignant, dedicated smile and Sam's face shadowed his brothers.
"Where do we start?" Cas posed.
The angel asked his question with great hope and honesty. And so the three men began plotting a strategy. A strategy-of which there were sure to be many-to get Dean better. And in truth, it didn't matter what 'better' looked like, so long as they felt it.
( ) ( ) ( )
The three men had settled on multiple plans; each had varying degrees of foreseeable risk and reward. Dean had final say. Always. He was the one to decide that he wanted to be proactive-he wanted to start taking control, taking risks, and hopefully gaining back some autonomy. Anything that could make him feel like he had power over his own body, his own mind, his own fate. Dean was lying when he said he wasn't scared. Of course he was scared. Anything different than the routines they'd been following might lead to a worser of two evils. As Dean saw it though, things were already collapsing. The Adlet hunt had proven to him (and to Sam) that Dean's condition followed no rules. There was no predicting what might come next, what might fail, or what might succeed. All Dean knew was that he wanted to start doing things he wanted, rather than avoiding them because of what if...
"What if" prevented him from driving.
"What if" prevented him from drinking.
"What if" prevented him from sex.
"What if" prevented him from hunting.
All in all, "what if" prevented him from living.
If I drive, maybe I'll crash.
If I drink, maybe it'll mix badly with the drugs
If I have sex, maybe I'll embarrass myself.
If I hunt, maybe I'll die.
These questions and answers plagued the Winchesters daily; Dean, quite frankly, was sick of the silent dialogue. On the up-side, Dean had only recently been toying with these problems because he now had the mental and physical energy to do so. Months ago he didn't have the ability to lament about sex or hunting becuase he was too focused on tasks like breathing and sitting. So in a way, Dean and Sam both recognized that the restless desperation they felt for improvement was, in fact, a result of the tremendous progress they'd already achieved.
Today, at Dean's request, Cas was going to look inside his head. Dean hoped that once the angel had been able to properly situate himself in the hunter's mind, they could work on finding each other's blind spots. What could Dean feel that Cas didn't? What could Cas see that Dean wasn't aware of? Team Free Will hoped that after some taxing mental work, they'd be able to all get on the same page. So Dean sat at the library table, Cas standing above him, and Sam sat at his side. The picture was reminiscent of a similar event from a year earlier; when Cas brought forward Dean's memories of Michael-the angel's hand touching the spear's scar. So much had happened since that moment; a lifetime's worth of change. And yet, the three of them looked exactly the same as they had. Even Dean. So when the short-haired hunter gave the go-ahead, Castiel placed his hands on Dean's head and Dean gave a small shrug under his hands.
"Are you alright?" The angel asked.
"So far…" Dean replied.
The hunter squirmed a little, but Cas was too busy wading through the many layers of his mind to worry about it. If something was truly wrong, then Dean or Sam would intervene.
Cas poured over every corner and crack, every turn and bend, every summit and peak. He wasn't sure what he was searching for, but he hoped that if he found something useful, he would know. Echoing quietly in his ears was the sound of Sam checking on Dean again, but the angel was too focused on his task to pay their brief conversation much attention. Cas passed through Dean's subconscious and was able to avoid invading his privacy too much; the angel could judge whether a memory was useful to his mission with relative ease. Finally, he came upon a sphere of thought in the hunter's mind that seemed (for lack of a better word), tempting. Proceeding with caution, Cas prodded. With one step, with one touch, the fragile walls holding together this part of Dean's mind came tumbling down.
Michael's grace-archangel grace-flooded past Cas and into every recess of Dean. Memories accosted the angel and hunter in the same moment; Michael drowning Dean, Micahel banging incessantly, monsters, possession, destruction, pain, pain, pain….it was immensely overwhelming. Attempting to compartmentalize the memories and energy he'd just released, Castiel attempted to use his own grace to patch the wall in Dean's mind; the wall that he'd unintentionally brought down. During his attempt, however, he was met with resistance. Suddenly, he was rendered unable to move or speak, to heal or injure...Cas was completely helpless. In the distance, he heard Sam's worried pleas. The youngest Winchester begging the angel to get out of his brother's head. Dean. Something must have been happening-something the angel was unaware of in his petrified, peralyzed state. Cas focused all of his energy to returning to the present moment-to leaving Dean's consciousness. Eventually, the angel felt himself pull away from the hunter's mind and soon found himself back in his vessel, in the library, watching as Sam eased Dean out of the chair he'd been sitting in.
"What happened?" Cas questioned, kneeling and trying to help.
"You tell me. Dean just...I don't know. Went into shock? What did you see? What did you do? Is-is it Michael?" Sam was frantic in demanding answers from the angel, but he was also occupied by Dean's semi-conscious state.
"I found a wall." Cas explained.
"Like my wall? To forget hell?" Sam's comment was devoid of personal stake-he was too distracted at the moment to fully reflect on his own traumas.
"Not exactly the same. It was more like compartmentalization. Dean knew the memories and the grace was there, he just didn't know where to look for it."
"G-grace? Michael's grace? It- is that what did this to him?" Sam looked on at Dean's trembling form as he asked.
"I don't think so." Cas was sure in his tone. "I think Dean was right. I don't think the archangel grace is doing this. I tried to heal the wall with my own grace and I couldn't. Dean's body… it stopped me. I think that in trying to protect itself from the memory of Michael-from that last remaining grace-his body is trying to force it out. That's what's causing this."
"All we said...what we worried about. About how Michael might be the only thing holding him together…?"
"Might very well still be true. But Dean was right too. If his body is the problem then maybe there's a way we can condition it."
Suddenly, Dean let out a lucid sound-something trying to get Sam's attention.
"We're right here, Dean."
Face contorted in pain and still trembling, Dean was far from looking healthy. Still, he was proud and indigent as ever.
"W'z 'aiightt." I was right
Cas wanted to smile at the thought of Dean being stubborn even in this moment, but he controlled the urge.
"Yeah. You were right, Dean. As usual." Sam assured his brother and the three of them waited on the floor, processing the information.
Michael's grace wasn't actively causing Dean harm. The harm came from his own body's immune system. The grace, however harmful his body perceived it, might be the very thing holding him together.
Where was there to go from there? What did this confirmation do for them exactly? Sam supposed it was exactly what Dean said: it meant they weren't victims anymore. They were taking control, taking action. Sam hoped it would be worth it.
( ) ( ) ( )
Dean wound up sleeping for most of the day and Sam followed suit. Cas lingered around the bunker for a while, keeping tabs on them both. Eventually, Sam woke up and began pulling research materials from the library. Cas joined him in reading about possessions and vessels...any and everything they had, even if they'd already poured over it. As Dean's body seemed to work relatively normally, Sam and Cas also read medical journals and case studies, therapies and drugs. Hours into their study session, Cas had finally gone back to Heaven and Dean emerged from his room. Despite a very worried brother, Dean insisted he was okay. Just a bitch of a headache. Sam offered aspirin but Dean declined. Sam didn't think much of it until another hour passed and Dean hadn't taken anything. No aspirin, no diazepam, no dilantin, no depakote, nothing.
"Dean?" Sam questioned, looking up from his book. "Do you wanna take something before it gets too late?"
Dean looked up from his own volume of text and gave a pursed little frown.
"I'm not gonna take anything, Sam."
"You're not...taking anything?" Sam began to sweat.
"No. Unless you're not okay with it."
Sam's head gave a little tilt and confusion touched his expression.
"Okay with it?" He repeated.
"If this whole thing isn't...M-Michael. If it's just me...then I want to try and stop curbing it. The drugs are just a way of stopping the instincts my body has. I wanna see if they're better left untouched. But I know...I know what that means." Dean's tone grew in gravity. "I know things'll get really bad, really fast. And I'm okay with that, I am. But that's a lot on you, I won't pretend it's not. So if you're not up to it...then we won't. Not yet."
Sam's heart fell at the same time it grew. Dean was taking control of his life. He wasn't making any apologies. Who was Sam to tell him no?
"I'm with you. All the way."
"Okay."
So they sat in the library, waiting for the moment when things would begin to fall apart.
A/N: UPDATES: I'll be posting some fix-it fics/re-imaginings for the finale so if you're interested, be on the lookout for those in the coming weeks. I will most likely begin with some standalone tags/rewrites and then be undertaking a larger, more complete fix-it story. Additionally, in the coming days I will be posting some random, assorted oneshots (one of them is teenchester/weechester themed if that appeals to you.) FINALLY, I will most certainly be continuing this story though I've been having just a ~tad of writer's block. Dean will be talking more to Nikki some point soon, and another hunt will pop up. That being said, if you have any ideas you wanna throw my way I'm happy to be inspired by you all!
In short, thank you so much for feedback, kudos, and readership. Hopefully I will be posting some other fics in the coming weeks but if they turn out to not be your speed, this story remains! It will not be ~left behind.
That's all for now, folks. THANK YOU SO MUCH!