Chapter title is from song by Five Finger Death Punch.
73
Wrong Side of Heaven – Five Finger Death Punch
Cas' eyes were white. White and glowing.
Cas was smoke.
White smoke.
He seized Cas by the throat, the First Blade in his hand, blinded by the brilliance that was a full angel's wings, blazing out as smoke and grace.
They were burning.
He was burning.
The flesh on his hands charred, flaking away to ash. Dean gripped on, because he could still see Cas, damned idiotic stubborn Cas, flickering as a thin strand of blue twisting through the plume of white. He held on, despite the searing palm the thing that rode Cas set against his forehead, pouring liquid metal grace down his throat, hollowing out his eyes.
Rage roiled up his arm, lava hot beneath the Mark. Hell, and everything pent up within, surged into the old jawbone in his hand. His vision went, the world slamming to darkness, everything in front of him suddenly crystal clear. He could see it now, there, twisted through feathers and blood and bone, warped by the handprint of Heaven, one of his, with its forked tail and slithering scales, breathing fear and madness into the tortured grace.
Someone was yelling something, a tinny noise in the background, and he shut it out. He had things to do. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed a flicker of silver on his right, a promise, watching over him. He gripped the Blade tighter, and let the Mark flare free.
Let it burn.
The white smoke wrapped hot hands around his head, bright thumbs digging into his eyes, forcing him down to his knees.
With a snarl he reached out, into the scalding smoke as insubstantial as mist. He reached deep into Cas' chest, through skin and flesh and lungs. Grace that was smoke clouded his vision, blinding him with pain and it was hard to see. He dug in, chasing his prey, because it was one of his, and he would make it burn. He caught it by a forked tail and yanked it free, carelessly flinging the remains of angel and meatsuit across the room, not paying any attention to the sickening crunch as it hit the far wall.
Do Your Job.
The smoke twisted fearfully in his hand, writhing to get away. The First Blade burst into flame. He raised the original instrument of death higher.
Do this. For this was what he was meant to do.
He would make it all burn.
STOP HIM! DON'T LET HIM USE THE FIRST BLADE!
Sister. Angel. He couldn't listen to her.
It had to BURN.
A flash of silver slipped by. He spun around, clutching the writhing smoke to him protectively, because it was his, his prey, his kill and something swung at him, an arc of brightness slicing just above his hand, inches short of his chest, cutting through the smoke and releasing a stench of sulfur, lighting the demon in his hand up bright orange before it crumbled to ash.
IT stole his kill.
He snarled and whirled on it, but the blur moved too fast for him to follow. The silver blade flashed again, moving in a pattern, eerily familiar, so familiar, catching at his memory, like something he should know. He gripped the First Blade, clamping down on the impulse to swing, trying to remember. The silver breezed past him, a whiff of cool morning air, and something was important. What was it that was important?
Stay.
He locked his arm into stillness, shaking with the effort of it.
"DEAN!"
An iron hard grip bit into his shoulders, from somewhere behind him. The grip on his shoulders held on stubbornly, foolishly shaking him, and there was no one that foolish but Sam, Sam was shaking him, and he sagged as Sam's arm came around him, turning him, turning him away from one too near miss…
He jerked violently away from Sam's guiding hands and pushed on Sam's shoulder so he could see what Sam was trying to keep him from seeing. So he could see Cas lying on the ground, ghostly pale and way too still, his fault his fault his fault, just in time to see Cas' lips barely forming the word,
"Yes."
Sam grabbed Dean and shielded him, because he could see what was coming. The white glow of grace blowing out from Cas, full on possessed-by-angel, and he was rolling to his feet with his angel blade out even though he had heard Cas say yes with his own ears. Cas' eyes glowed, angel bright.
"Cas?" He asked carefully.
"That's Hannah." Dean snapped from behind him. "I can see you, sister. GET OUT."
Cas, or Hannah—whoever it was, sat up carefully, and brushed the dirt off his knees. Grace bright eyes looked at them.
Dean stepped around him, face grim. The First Blade was in Dean's hand.
Cas-Hannah took one step back. "Dean Winchester. Stop."
"Then. Get. Out. Of. Him."
The light in Castiel's eyes dimmed, and Cas crumpled. The Blade disappeared into thin air as Dean stepped forward, a muscle ticking in Dean's jaw as Dean caught Cas before Cas hit the ground. Sam moved when Dean moved, catching Cas between them and propping Cas up against the wall.
Cas latched onto Dean's forearm weakly.
"Hannah's right, Dean. You've got to stop. The First Blade's a trap."
Even in the dimness of the kiva he could see Dean tense at the mention of the First Blade. Guilt was written all over Dean's face as Dean checked Cas over. Cas pressed a hand cautiously to his own chest, right over the spot where Dean had sunk his hand in and yanked the demon out of Cas—or the white smoke that Castiel had been, and Dean flinched.
"Cas."
"I'm okay, Dean. I'll be fine. Hannah and I are fine. That's not what we have to worry about." Cas shook Dean off. "You must stop using the First Blade. You're giving Ramiel what he wants."
What? Sam looked from Cas to Dean, but Dean frowned, confusion clear on Dean's face.
"Hold up. Didn't you tell me that the more I use the Blade, the stronger that makes the Mark, and the harder I am to kill? Why the hell would Ramiel want to make me harder to kill? He's gotta know I'm coming for him next."
"Ramiel doesn't want you dead, Dean. He wants you to live. Forever."
He hadn't seen Zee come up, but she was there by Dean's other side. She shifted her angel blade, a glint of silver, bright in the gray gloom. There was still ash on her sleeve from where she'd sliced through the demon that'd been in Dean's hand. She stared intently at Cas.
"Why?"
Cas sighed.
"Ramiel wants to be the New Light of Heaven." Cas made a face. "The new God."
Sam snorted. "It's going to be hard to be the New Light of Heaven when you're Fallen."
Dean shot him a look that was a question.
"Ramiel's grace, it's like Arkas', isn't it? Cracked open and tainted when they fell, that first time they bailed on Heaven. They try to hide it, but that means those dark threads are in Ramiel's grace too, aren't they? It's what makes the Fallen gray. So there's no way Ramiel can be the New Light of anything."
Cas nodded. "Ramiel can't change himself, but he's found a 'workaround'. He'll just make everything else dimmer. With the Book powering him, he can rip souls out of Heaven, out of the Veil, anything brighter than him, and make them into zombies. Driven mad, the zombies are forced to eat, and he'll feed them demons and monsters and humans, everything bleeding together until everyone is the same murky shade of gray. The Fallen and any angel willing to join them will partner with demons to possess humans, becoming the white smoke, and that's how they'll stay more powerful than the zombies. Ramiel alone will remain above the fray, and this way, in the end, Ramiel will be the brightest of them all."
Sam sucked in a breath. They'd thought as much, but it was different, hearing it confirmed.
"But that's not enough. It's not enough to be slightly brighter than all other shades of gray. For Ramiel to truly shine, he needs an opposite. A Lucifer to his God. He needs Dean. He needed to make sure Dean would keep using the First Blade." Cas stared at him solemnly. "Do you see, Sam?"
…he was back in that church in Geary, Arkas leaning over to pick up his angel blade with a smile. "You'll see, Sam. You'll see."
"It was a test." Sam whispered.
Dean frowned at him. "What?"
"Back at that church in Geary. Arkas said it was a test." Sam repeated. "He wanted to know who you'd save. Me or Cas. You saved us both." He stopped, because he couldn't breathe. He hadn't realized… " All those things we kept running into—the ghost, the ghouls, the rugaru, the goblin, the shifter, the zombies in St Louis. That wasn't bad luck. Those things were sent. Ramiel wanted to make sure you'd use the First Blade, but none of those things ever went after you."
Dean shrugged, because that would be obviously stupid. And all those monsters that had dogged their steps had never made sense, because nothing sane chased after Dean head on.
"Because if you'd been on your own, Dean, you're stronger than the Mark. You would have stopped killing. You wanted to. Ramiel couldn't have that, so he set a trap. He went after your weaknesses. Us. Toby, Cas.Me. We're the monster magnets." Sam drew a ragged breath. "Because Ramiel knew—he knew threatening us would make using the First Blade a no brainer for you. It was guaranteed to work."
Dean, cutting and cutting, because they needed the information to get the job done. Each cut a blood drop of darkness on his soul, trying to do the right thing.
Darkness and blood, the Mark and the Blade craved it.
I'm poison, Sam.
Dean walking away from Lisa and Ben outside that hospital in Battle Creek.
Dean, letting go, when Dean had never let go before.
"Despair." He whispered. "The opposite of hope is despair."
The hard lines on Dean's face—he didn't know when those had appeared. Looking into his brother's eyes now, the weariness in the green, he wondered how he hadn't seen it before.
He reached out and grabbed Dean's arm. "This isn't you, Dean. You're not a killer."
Dean smiled, humorless, Dean's gaze flicking down to the sore spot beneath his ribs.
"I don't know, Sam. I think St. Louis would disagree with you there."
All of a sudden he'd had enough. He had his hands fisted in the front of Dean's shirt, yanking Dean forward. Red-hot rage swelled up in his chest and made his words vehement and low.
"You're not a killer, Dean. You stopped. You wanted to stop. You would've rather died than let the Mark use you." Sam breathed a hard breath. He'd accused Dean of a lot of things, hit him where it hurt. But this…loyalty and betrayal, Amy and Benny and Kevin, the lengths Dean went to in order to protect him, and the one thing, the one thing, he had never been able to get through Dean's thick skull.
"Sam."
"No." He wasn't having it. "You don't get to play hero anymore, Dean. That's what got us here in the first place. So you're going to put that Blade down, and you're going to stop, and we're going to figure this out. Together." He took a shuddering breath, pinning Dean down with a hard stare, the anger vibrating in him making his mouth pinched and his eyes tight. "Because the opposite of hope is despair, Dean. Eternal despair. And I'll be damned if I'm letting that happen to you."