Chapter title is from song by Styx.
7
Renegade - Styx
The spell for the First Blade may not have worked on Cain, but it worked just fine on Dean.
It wasn't easy, tracking a moving target. And Dean was moving around. A lot.
Sam waved his hand in front of his face to brush away the smoke, and peered cautiously at the still smoking bit of map left on the table.
"West Virginia."
Cas leaned in, studying what was left of their last gas station purchase. They bought entire stacks of continental US maps whenever they found them, because Dean was zigzagging randomly across the states, no pattern that Sam could make out, except he was covering distances with a speed that was distinctly inhuman.
Teleporting.
Sam shut down his mind, and tried not think about it. His brother, the demon, doing who knew what out in the world.
"Thurmond." Cas reported, his nose an inch away from the charred paper. Cas looked up. "It's not far. We might catch him if we hurry."
Cas was out of the car before he'd even pulled to a stop. Sam scrambled, grabbing his kit out of the back seat of the Dart, banging into the door jamb in his haste.
"Cas, what the hell?" He said in between breathing, catching up to Cas.
A scream cut the air, enraged.
"Wendigo." Cas said shortly.
Sam ran faster.
The stairs of the old coal depot creaked when they climbed them. The creaky staircase wrapped dizzying around the outside of the building, and he felt horribly exposed against the weathered concrete, aware that it was a four story drop to the ground. It was an odd place for a wendigo to be, just here on the outskirts of the mostly abandoned town. From what he remembered of the lore, he thought Wendigos stuck mostly to the woods.
Cas held up a hand for him to stop as he reached the top step. There was a narrow doorway cut into the wall, and Cas edged up to it cautiously.
Before he could say anything, or maybe catch up to Cas so they could make a plan, Cas slipped inside.
Sam swore under his breath and followed.
At first all he could see was shadows. The doorway opened onto a kind of mezzanine level, with wide wood planks for flooring. A short set of stairs led down to a lower third story below them, stripped now of the machinery that was once there, save the heavy rusted chain that dropped down through a hole in the floor to somewhere down below. And caught in that chain, was the piteously shrieking Wendigo, Dean bending over it, one hand effortlessly on its throat. The Wendigo flailed, long arms and legs thrashing madly, but Dean didn't even budge. Dean's hand tightened around the Wendigo's throat as the seven-foot creature tried to claw at Dean's arms.
What the hell was Dean doing? He knew the lore. You couldn't kill a Wendigo by strangulation. The only way to kill a Wendigo was by fire. Strangling it would do nothing.
Sam took one step forward, ignoring Cas' hand of caution on his arm.
Dean looked up.
A flash of green then back to black, and Sam hauled in a breath. Demon. Demon eyes, and the First Blade in his brother's hand, the Mark of Cain glowing red hot beneath his sleeve, and was this what Dean had been doing all this time?
Hunting?
Dean's fingers dug mercilessly into the Wendigo's throat. The Wendigo's eyes bulged out. The expression on Dean's face was cold. His brother watched the Wendigo coolly, waiting, waiting like he'd always done, whenever they had some junior demon tied up in a devil's trap, one slice with Ruby's knife after another, because they needed information. He'd sat back and let Dean handle it, because Dean was good at it. In the back of his mind he'd always chalked it up to Dean's years in Hell, maybe to Alastair's tutelage, but it had never been Dean.
Sam huffed, his breath a puff of mist in the cold air. He took another step, drawing the demon's eye again, one quick glance up at him, at Cas behind him, before the demon raised the First Blade in the air and plunged it deep into the Wendigo's chest.
Fire erupted from the wound, and Sam sucked in another breath. Dean had known. Remembered that fire was the only way to kill a Wendigo—or known that the First Blade would kill anything, and all that, all that toying with the wendigo like a cat with a mouse, all that was just for kicks.
Involuntarily his hand went around to his back for the .38.
The demon spun around, First Blade lowered.
Cas stepped forward. "Stop."
The demon smiled coldly, rotating the First Blade in its hand, focusing in on Cas.
"Dean." He stepped up next to Cas, and held out both of his hands, open and empty. No threat.
The demon glanced at him, eyes black to green and black again, before fixing back on Cas.
Sam took another step, until he was at the edge of the railing.
"Dean." He said again. "Let it go. Let go of the First Blade."
Demon eyes riveted back towards him, and Dean snarled, hand closing tighter on the old jawbone and backing up a step.
"We're not going to hurt you, Dean. But you've got to let go of the First Blade. The Blade and the Mark, that's what's doing this to you."
Liquid blackness looked at him. Searched his face. Searched for the lies beneath his sincerity, and maybe there were some, because Dean backed up further, the point of the First Blade swinging low with intent.
"Dean, please."
His voice tore on the word, because he couldn't deal with what came next. Saving people, hunting things, that echo of Dad's voice in his head, no room for doubt, no room for hesitation. Shoot first, Sammy. Ask questions later. Except this wasn't a thing. This was Dean. Somewhere in there, this had to be still Dean.
Dean's hand quivered, eyes still fixed on his face. A flash of green, black, then green before Dean shuddered, a hard, full-body shudder as Dean closed his eyes and went down to his knees, the First Blade dropping to the floor as Dean gasped, and gasped again, hauling in great big gulps of air like he was starved for it, like he hadn't breathed in weeks.
"Sammy?"
He was running down the short flight of stairs in the next heartbeat, kicking up decades old coal dust in his haste to get an arm under Dean's shoulder, before Dean pitched over completely.
"Hey, hey. Hey. I got you. I got you." The familiar cadence of the words flowed soothingly over them both, knitting a thing which had been broken. "I got you."
"Dean." Cas' gravelly voice echoed in the empty room.
Dean jerked back. Sam almost lost his grip on him. Quick as a flash, he clamped the cuff he had prepared on it. Dean's head whipped around with a growl around at the feel of cold iron on his wrist, the symbols etched onto the handcuff preventing his escape by any supernatural means. He wasn't ready when Dean pulled on his end of the cuff, full on demon strength behind it, and he hissed when the iron slipped from his grip, only managing to slam the cuff closed at the last second. He hissed again, in pain this time, when Dean banged him on the elbow with the solid metal shackle, ducking around him, trying to get behind him, trying to get away… from Cas?
"I'm not going to smite you, Dean." Cas said sadly.
There was a snort behind him. Sam resisted the urge to turn and thump Dean on the head.
"No. You don't look any different to me." Cas replied out of the blue.
Sam half turned around at that and gave Dean the stink-eye he deserved. "Really? This is what you're worried about? How you look?"
Angels and the insane—they saw past the meatsuit a demon wore—and he didn't know if Dean was black smoke or a three-headed monster beneath his skin—but that was the least of their problems.
Dean's hands made a faint, abortive move towards his hair.
"None of us are entirely ourselves these days." Cas said. "Well, except Sam, for once."
Sam winced, because yeah, tact was not something Cas had mastered.
"We're a mess." Dean retorted.
"Speak for yourself." He shot back, then coughed, as smoke from the smouldering wendigo began to fill the room. "C'mon. Let's go home."
Sam came looking for him this time.
Honestly, Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that. The cuff on his wrist hurt when he moved, like a tie to the earth being broken and reformed with every step, pulling off a little bit of skin each time. He grit his back teeth and said nothing, grateful it kept the other thoughts at bay. The thoughts whispered by the teeth of a dead ass, thoughts that saw only darkness wherever he looked.
They had hustled him into a car. Not Cas' pimp-mobile, not Baby. Sam had chosen to bring the blue '72 Dart Demon for reasons unknown, and his legs were cramped. Cas wound himself up into a little ball in the back uncomplainingly for the hours it took them to get back to the bunker.
Now Cas was staring at him again, which wasn't exactly an abnormal pastime for Cas, but he was walking around Dean as he did it, inspecting and cataloging like he could see every drop of blood spilled and the gory details of every kill written on the plaid shirt he was wearing. It made him fidget when he didn't mean to. Had he his choice, he did not want Cas to see him at all, whatever the shape it was he had become to angel eyes.
"Cas!" He barked. "Stop that. You're freaking me out."
Cas made a thoughtful humming noise, reversed the direction he was walking in, and circled him again.
"CAS!" He barked louder this time. Seeing that Cas was not going to stop, Dean broke from where he stood and sat his ass down in one of the library's chairs.
Cas stopped and looked at him, gathering his breath to say something. His look wasn't good. Dean wanted it over with, especially with Sam hovering. "What?!"
Cas pursed his lips in an un-Castiel like gesture. "You're not human."
"Well, no duh, Captain Obvious." Frustrated, he shook the shackle in Castiel's direction, ignoring the little ripple of pain that went with the motion. "You wouldn't need this if I were."
"Dean," Sam started in reprovingly. He was doing that a lot.
Cas ignored both of them and continued, tilting his head to one side as if he could see better sideways. "You're not entirely a demon, either."
"WHAT?!" That came from both he and Sam simultaneously.
Cas looked entirely unmoved by the bombshell he'd just dropped.
Dean inventoried himself. Black eyes? Check. Ability to teleport? Check. Got stuck in a devil's trap? Check. He figured it was unnecessary to test himself with holy water, because, well, he knew what the outcome of that was going to be, so why bother? It's not like Sam had any doubts as to the conclusion of that either. He looked skeptically at Cas. Maybe Cas' angel mojo was slipping.
"Cain." Cas said, looking intent. "What was he doing when you saw him?"
"Keeping bees. Serving tea. Eating corn. Slaughtering a whole mass of demons with this light." Dean recalled. He wasn't sure where Cas was going with this.
"And you told Sam he set down the First Blade for this woman. Colette."
"Yeah. So?" He stared at Cas. "What are you suggesting? That we can fix all this with some True Love's Kiss? That's just a fairy tale."
"Fairies are real." Cas replied absently. "But more importantly, a demon isn't human-doesn't have human feelings. Human needs. Cain was never injected with purified blood. He shouldn't be acting like he is."
"Wait." Sam was leaning forward now, a too-eager-for-good-news expression plastered all over his face. "You think Cain is still partly human?"
Dean snorted. "He's a gazillion years old. How is that human? "
"At least part of his soul is." Cas paused, brows creasing as he tried to work something out. "His exact words, Dean, when he gave you the Mark?"
"The Mark is a great burden. Some may say it comes at a great cost. Yada yada."
"A burden." Cas said. "Yes."
Cas fell silent, staring into space. A couple minutes went by.
"Uh, Cas?" Sam asked tentatively.
Castiel walked around him again, staring hard enough to drill holes through his skull.
"Sacrifice." Cas blurted out the single word and went back to thinking.
"Whole sentences, Cas." Dean prompted.
"When Cain agreed to deal with Lucifer to save Abel's soul, it was an act of sacrifice. For centuries, Lucifer's Mark has weighted him down." Cas held up a hand as both him and Sam started to interrupt. "The more he killed, the stronger the Mark grew, weaving ever more threads of darkness into his soul. But the original sacrifice remained pure. That's how there was enough of his soul left he could make a choice to stop killing."
Sam breathed. "This means you can still fight it."
It was too much like hope. Dean felt it fluttering in his chest with the earnest-we-can-conquer-anything on Sam's face. He stood abruptly.
"Yeah. But I didn't make any sacrifices. I just wanted to off Abaddon." He kept his voice curt to discourage the two of them.
"You choose to bear the burden." Castiel said gravely, undeterred. "I can still see you, Dean."
He blew out a breath at Cas' statement. He didn't want Castiel to "see" him. What he had become.
Sam launched in. "So, how do we get Dean's soul back and get rid of the Mark? I mean, you can bring him back, right, Cas?"
Cas paused, hesitating a moment before wiping the optimism off Sam's face. "I don't know if it can be done, Sam, unless he passes the Mark to someone else."
No. "No way."
"Even then," Cas continued, "I think you'd need to be a full Knight of Hell to do that." Cas frowned. "You said the last time you saw Cain, he was eating corn."
"Yeah. Dude has weird ass timing for it, if you ask me."
"I think he does so because it reminds him of his human past. When was the last time you ate?"
Dean thought about it. And thought about it some more. The thought of food sat sourly in his stomach the more he lingered on it. Shaking himself to be rid of the feeling, he looked at Sam for help with a gesture, "I don't know. Maybe that dinner in Pasco?"
Sam blanched. "Dean, that was three weeks ago!"
"Oh." He shut up. Had it really been three weeks? He tried counting, but the sense of days passing eluded him, never mind weeks.
Sam, however, was just getting started. "How? How are you able to keep going? Have you been sleeping?"
Dean looked upwards and sat back down. Sam could be a while.
"You haven't been hunting the whole time, have you? I've been tracking you, and that doesn't add up. A couple jobs, yeah. But."
"There was some off the books clean-up stuff for Crowley." He said as mildly as he could.
"WHAT?!" Sam's voice hit the ceiling.
He shrugged and waited for Sam to calm down. Eventually.
"Are you going where he tells you to go now?" Sam's voice was still pitched kind of high.
"I kind of, sense." He made a distressingly new-agey gesture. "The bad stuff."
Sam sputtered. Dean hoped he had run out of words, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't last. Cas just looked grim.
"The Mark hasn't completed its hold on you yet, Dean. The less you use the First Blade, the better." Cas said.
He didn't move. It was unfortunate Sam knew him too well, because Sam fixed on him instantly.
"What?"
"Can't."
"Can't not use the First Blade?"
He waited a long time before making the admission. He didn't want to elaborate. Wasn't going to elaborate.
Sam stared at him a long moment before deciding to let it go.
"Fine." Sam said curtly. "So. Let's hunt."