Notes: Thanks for the reviews. :) This is now caught up. I'm still working on the story but I have a lot of stories going. I'll be slowly cross-posting more gen stories on here. Thank you for reading!
Part 7 - the lost lamb
It was cold and dark and Castiel found himself shivering. He looked around to see where he was, where Michael could have taken him to when he separated him from the younger Winchester. He was outside somewhere, that much he knew (though still very much in Dean's mind). There were gray clouds and a cold breeze had him tugging at his coat.
He kept walking, not sure where he was going, but he had to find Sam or maybe Dean. He wasn't sure what he would do if he came across his brother. It was obvious that Michael was powerful here, more so than Castiel originally thought he would be. In a straight on fight he was afraid he would lose against the archangel. He continued down the sidewalk, making note of humans walking around him, cars that drove by in a hurry. None of it was real, he had to tell himself, this was one of Dean's memories or perhaps some illusion conjured up by Michael. He wasn't sure.
Until he came across something very familiar.
He spotted two men just outside of a bar. One man had long black hair tied in a ponytail wearing a black suit. But Castiel didn't care about him because the other man was Dean. He was at least a decade younger with less scars but it was definitely him. Castiel remembered this now. How could he not? It had been one of the lowest points of his life, the feeling of devastation and betrayal at the thought that Dean Winchester would give in after all the talk of fighting destiny.
He watched silently as Dean stared at the man who had gotten to his knees and started to pray. He knew where this memory was going to go. The details all too vivid in his head, like he had just lived through it yesterday. He didn't want to watch, didn't want Dean to experience it all over again. Dean looked too fragile, hunched forward, like he was trying to make himself smaller as he waited for the preacher to call the angels. Any second now he would see himself swoop in out of nowhere to put the human to sleep and drag Dean down the alleyway next to the bar to beat the living crap out of him.
He knew he had felt justified in doing so at the time, all he had thought was that he had sacrificed everything for the human, he sacrificed who and what he was because the Winchesters told him that everything he ever believed was wrong, and then in the end, he discovered that they would just roll over and give in to the very thing they had been fighting. It felt like Castiel's very existence had been for nothing and he let all that rage loose as he lashed out against the man he raised from hell, who he put back together molecule by molecule.
Castiel did not want to live through one of his darkest moments. He did not want to see the pure wrath on his face as he pummeled Dean, who he now considered one of his best friends, his brother in arms, his family.
But he couldn't seem to move his legs. He could only stare as the familiar scene unfolded, as his past self suddenly made his entrance as if on cue. Young Castiel was the embodiment of wrath as he stomped over to the two men. He swiftly put two fingers toward the preacher and watched for a moment as he fell to the ground, unconscious. Then he whirled around to face Dean who had staggered back a step, his eyes wide in surprise. "What the hell are you doing, Dean?" he hissed, grabbing Dean by the collar of his shirt.
Castiel flinched at the downright hatred he heard in his voice. He stared after them for a moment as his past self dragged a struggling Dean back into the alleyway. He was torn between following them or staying put. This was either a trap set by Michael or it could possibly be the real Dean reliving this moment in time when he thought Castiel truly hated him.
Before he could decide on what to do, the ground started to shake. Castiel stumbled forward in surprise. This was not how he remembered the memory. As he caught himself, he looked down at the sidewalk and noticed deep cracks starting to form. The lights nearby began to flicker.
He glanced up just in time to see the lightbulb shatter. This is a trap, Castiel thought before the world around him shook and disappeared.
When he blinked, he was standing just at the entrance of the alley. His past-self kicked a doubled-over Dean, seemingly not caring that the human wasn't fighting back or trying to defend himself. Every part of Castiel wanted to go over there and throw the other Castiel off Dean but what good would that do? This was a memory. It already happened.
Any moment the other Castiel would stop and pull Dean up to be at eye level and Dean would say, "Just do it. Finish it." And Castiel would just stare him down and he'd think for a moment, he could. He could just end it all, kill Dean and be done with. But it was just a moment, a fleeting moment. The thought would be gone. The rage would be drained from him. He'd think he should feel triumphant, satisfied, relieved, something, that he was taking something back, that Dean had taken something from him. But he wouldn't feel any of those. He wouldn't feel anything. Just hollow. Worn. All he'd see was the bloody face of a beat up man, who he claimed as a friend, as family.
Other Castiel kicked Dean in the stomach and Dean doubled over with a pained groan. Castiel wasn't sure how much more he could take. It made him cringe inwardly to watch his best friend get hurt over and over, especially by him. But it was going to end eventually, it had to. He remembered stopping and dragging Dean up. He stopped, he stopped himself eventually. But other Castiel continued to kick Dean, once more in the stomach, a couple times in the ribs (he heard the sickening cracks as the ribs broke but that wasn't right, was it? He didn't remember that), a few more times in the knees as Dean tried to bring them up to protect his stomach. Then finally he stopped and squatted down next to Dean.
There was pure hate in Castiel's eyes as he stared down at a beat up Dean. "Just do it," Dean whispered. He was staring back at Castiel but the fire in them was gone. Castiel didn't remember any of this. "You've wanted to do this for a while now. We both know it." No. No, this was wrong. He definitely didn't remember Dean saying that. "C'mon, Castiel, just finish me," Dean said.
Castiel stared at Dean a little longer. This wasn't how it went at all. He had to stop it. "With pleasure," his counterpart whispered finally and he lifted his hand in that familiar way when he was preparing to smite something, usually a demon. Castiel didn't even think as he started to run. He had to save Dean. This was not at all how he remembered any of this going. He didn't care if he was diving headfirst into a trap. If Michael was hiding in the shadows nearby, well, fuck it, if he learned anything from the Winchesters, it was that family came first. It didn't matter if the odds were stacked against you, if you were more likely to die by putting yourself on the firing line, family was everything and the Winchesters were just as much family to Castiel as Castiel was family to them. He owed them his life.
"DEAN!" he shouted as he threw himself at his counterpart.
The world seemed to slow down for Castiel. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, maybe nothing at all, considering it was all supposed to be a memory, something that already happened and he would have no real effect on, but what he got was something more.
The two men looked up as if they could hear him and Castiel had almost no time to even think that something might have been wrong with that. He was just more relieved than anything really when he felt the physical collision against his doppleganger, effectively toppling him over and putting Dean out of harm's way.
His relief however was short lived because not even ten seconds later, he was being thrown off by something invisible and his back hit against the wall. He groaned as pain shot through him. Castiel tried to sit up only to find that he couldn't move.
There was a brief moment of eerie silence before someone started to slowly clap and said, "Well done, Castiel."
Castiel's eyes snapped open at the unexpected but very familiar voice. Dean, still looking beat up, stood in front of him with a smile that was too sharp to be genuine. "Didn't take you as a sentimental fool but bravo. Go you. Got there in the nick of time."
"Michael," Castiel hissed.
Dean looked around.
He was trying to find Sammy and daddy but it was too hard. There were too many people here and none of them looked right. He tried not to panic because that wasn't something daddy would like him to do. He was a big boy and big boys didn't panic. They didn't cry. He had to push through the crowds of people. Maybe they were on the other side. But everyone was so much bigger, so much taller and stronger and every time he tried to move, someone else would be there and he'd have to try and push past them too. And none of them were Sammy. None of them were daddy.
Dean wasn't going to panic. He wasn't. Panicking was for babies and he wasn't a baby. Daddy said he wasn't a baby anymore so he couldn't act like one.
"You gotta protect your baby brother, Dean," daddy said.
But where was Sammy? He had to protect Sammy so where was he?
"Sammy, please, where are you?" He tried to call out but he couldn't hear anything. He couldn't hear Sammy.
"Okay," Dean said. "I'll protect Sammy."
He was older now, maybe twenty-seven, but he couldn't protect Sammy, couldn't save him. He was staring at Sammy's grown up corpse. His brother had been stabbed and he came to him too late and now Sammy was gone and dad was gone. Dad died for nothing. He died protecting the wrong son, the useless son. Dean sat back and stared blankly at his brother's dead body. He was useless, so fucking useless.
He was pathetic. He had one job. Just one. And he screwed it all up and now his brother was dead and his dad was already dead. He was a failure, a screw up, pathetic.
"I'm sorry," he whispered and he couldn't help it, he wasn't the son his dad taught him to be after all.
"Big boys don't cry," daddy said.
"I'm teaching this lesson to you not to be mean, son, but because I love you," dad said as he grabbed Dean's arm and started to drag him to the closet door. It happened so fast that Dean let him be dragged. He didn't understand what his dad meant until he was standing in front of the closet and staring at it.
"Well? Get in, son," dad told him. He opened the closet door and pushed him in.
Dean stared up at him with wide eyes. Fear started to set in as he saw his dad start to close the door. "Wait! Don't, please. I'm scared of the dark, daddy," he said, trying to push open the door at the same time.
Dad paused for a moment. He looked Dean in the eyes and said, "I know, son. That's exactly why we're going to do this. It's for your own good. It's so you can get over your fear and protect Sammy better."
At his brother's name, Dean froze. "Sammy?"
"Yeah, Dean. Don't you want to protect your brother better?" dad asked.
Dean hesitated a moment, then nodded. Of course he did. His dad seemed satisfied with the answer and started to close the door again. Dean glanced around. He was still scared but he had to be brave. If he wanted to protect Sam he had to be brave.
"Don't worry, son," dad told him, with a breath that smelled of whiskey, "Just be strong and brave for your brother. You'll make it out just fine."
"You'll come back?" Dean asked quickly, his heart quickening in his chest. Please come back, please, please don't leave me.
"Yeah, of course, kiddo. I'll see you first thing in the morning," dad said.
