It was a relief to get the show on the road. Sure, Dean probably wasn't going to kill anything since these were humans they were dealing with (sucky, kidnapping humans, but still humans.) And sure, this prison (with no scantily clad women, no baked goods, and no excuse for an awesome costume) didn't crack this top ten favorite hunt locations list.
The prison was an old fortress built into a cliff above a churning, gray ocean and below an angry, gray sky. The chill and the damp seeped into his clothes, weighing him down, even though they never came anywhere close to the water. Sam and Dean snuck their way in through an abandoned sewer, which wasn't as bad as some of the more recently used, monster infested sewers Dean had been in, but was still a sewer and therefore not great. Even once they made it out of the sewers, the tunnels crawling deeper and deeper into the cliff threatened to collapse at any moment, and their flashlights left too many shadows for his imagination.
But at least he was moving. Adrenaline kicked in, shoving to the back of his brain all the bullshit his life threw at him. While hunting, he could prioritize the things he knew how to deal with, things that had solutions, physical things like that Sam wasn't bleeding and was still next to him. It was easier than fighting back his growing suspicion of Bobby's freaking eerie attitude adjustments. Easier than obsessing over angel secrets, and how Cas had come to him for help and then apparently changed his mind and never mentioned it. Easier than sitting still long enough that his guilt leaked out of wherever he'd stuffed it. And way easier than worrying about Sam's emotional, mental, and fucking spiritual wounds.
While hunting, Sam did the same prioritization dance, pushing back the hurt and the confusion and the guilt, making it like his issues didn't exist.
Dean approved of these issues not existing. Denial rocked. The only way to live. And he liked having his favorite coping strategy validated, even if Sam didn't know he was doing it, and even if it only lasted a few hours.
He grinned as they left the last dark tunnel and fell out into a lit passage. Apparently Team Dickweed used these tunnels enough to install temporary lighting, meaning secrecy was about to go out the window. But at the same time, they wouldn't have to run around in the dark anymore, and Dean was more than ready to punch someone. They made it to the main ward without raising the alarm, knocking out two guys on the way like stealthy ninjas. Not quite as great as a full on fist fight, but. Well. Stealthy ninjas.
They found the main ward taking up a whole wall of a large room—a kind of finished cave that acted like a hub for a half dozen tunnels. Maybe at one time, the room was impressive, like at one time the sigil was framed like an altar. It also had two guards, who were eating take out on a card table, and looked beyond boggled at their arrival.
Best guards ever.
Sam shot one with a tranquilizer dart that Sunshine had pulled from somewhere when Sam had bitched about shooting people. She'd stolen it from a zoo or raided a weapon's locker, or maybe she'd transformed a stick and a handful of caterpillars or just magically pulled it out of her ass. Who knew? The goon didn't go down immediately, and Sam had to tackle him before he pulled his gun, punching him once in the face as they both fell over a flimsy folding chair
Goon Two pulled out a walkie-talkie, and got out the beginnings of an alarm, before he had to drop it to defend himself against Dean. They punched and dodged, a gun knocked away here, then a knife knocked away there. All adrenaline. Pure rush.
Sam chanted the spell over the ward, a four line poem in the bastard love child language of Enochian, Arabic, and Welsh. It sounded like an angry, rolling grumble, that every now and then jerked to a hiccuping pause. Cas had said Sam's "th"s needed work, but Dean was a little too busy to notice if he got them right this go around. He hoped so. He took one in the face and then tripped the goon, coming down heavy with his elbow in the dude's back. The guy grunted, and flipped them, going for Dean's kidneys.
Sam rushed the end of his spell, throwing the hex bag against the ward in a burst of purple and black powder. The air changed—a burst of wind like a shock wave as Sam brought down the first level of warding. And then the dude was yanked off of him, and Sam was breathing heavily, looking down at the unconscious man at his feet. He jerked his head towards the ward, and it looked suspiciously like he was flipping his hair out of his face. "More'll be here soon."
Dean grabbed the duffel bag he'd dropped in the scuffle, digging through it as he crossed to the ward. The sigil was all rough and worn edges, six feet tall and carved deep into the stone. The lines were thicker than Dean had expected and he had a moment of doubt that Bobby's hand-held dremel would be able to make a dent in any reasonable amount of time. Only one way to find out.
He shoved on the safety glasses that Cas had held out back in Bobby's garage, breaking up Dean's excitement over the existence of a rotary bit that would saw through stone (a bit made of diamonds!) and the excitement (not giddiness, shut up) that Bobby was gonna let him use it.
"You should use protective eyewear."
Dean had squinted at him without taking the glasses. "Do I have to explain the irony of you showing concern for eye safety?"
"I always show concern for eye safety," Cas said. "People should listen when I tell them to be careful."
Dean blinked at him.
Cas extended the glasses further into his personal space and repeated, "You should wear protective eyewear."
And that's how Dean ended up wearing dorky looking glasses. Well, he probably would have anyway, because he wasn't a complete idiot, but now he had someone to blame it on, and that worked for him. Plus, Cas sucked. A lot.
All he had to do to disrupt the ward was carve a line through one side of the big circle in the sigil. Or that was the plan. Now he was wondering if the cut had to be as thick or deep as the ones carving the sigil, because if so, this was going to take forever.
They should have brought dynamite.
They should just ignore the sigils and try this rescue mission without angelic help.
He revved up the dremel and—wow—that was loud. If these fools didn't know they were here already, they would now. The drill wailed against the stone as he started to etch it away. He set his teeth against the buzz. He shot a look over his shoulder at Sam, who picked up the fallen weapons and set his shoulders.
He'd carved a line about four inches long when they started to hear a noise over the drone. Running footsteps. The sound grew, building louder and louder, each beat echoing and disrupting the rhythm of all the beats that came after it, until the air filled with a riot of sound. Dean couldn't have said from which tunnel the goons would come or how far away they were, but Sam had faced one entrance, ready to fight. Ready to go. Ready to fly.
Shouting joined the footsteps.
Dean's scored line had crossed the circle by a spread hand's breadth on each side. No angels appeared. The line looked so small and thin, nearly invisible against the brutal, fat lines of the sigil. Okay, so it had to be thicker. Or deeper. Or both. The footsteps jogged along with the pounding of his heart as he reset for a second pass to make the line twice as thick.
Three goons burst into the room, hit immediately by Sam with tranquilizer darts. One guy stumbled, firing his gun accidentally in Dean's direction. He just barely ducked, raising his elbow like a shield, the dremel twisting in his hand and protesting the new angle with a screech. Sam threw a punch, sending one guy back, kicked another, then wrestled one guy for his gun, both of them snarling and shoving.
"Sam?!"
"Just." A grunt. "Keep going." Another punch, an elbow to the stomach of the guy behind him.
Dean straightened the dremel and kept carving, giving it only part of his attention now as he watched Sam over his shoulder. He leaned into the drill, trying to make it go faster. The goons stumbled, dizzy, and bumbling as the drugs took affect, but they still hadn't gone down. Dean checked his progress, then back to the fight.
Sam had one guy down, but another got him in the stomach, and the third headed towards Dean until Sam broke loose and tackled him just as three more dudes spilled out of a tunnel. Three armed, burly dudes, without the benefit of tranquilizers in their systems. Fuck it. Dean switched to a one handed hold on the dremel, drawing his gun from the back of his pants and shooting. He clipped one guy, then sent another ducking enough for Sam to get him, but they'd figured out that their real target should be the ward.
Dean dropped the dremel with a clatter, firing again, and throwing a punch at the fuck that had gotten close enough. A punch, a dodge, uppercut, left. The guy stumbled back enough to aim his gun again, and Dean grabbed his arm and spun, pulling the guy in front of him to block a shot from one of the other goons. The guy in his arms slumped with a gurgle, and Dean dropped to grab the dremel, which was screaming against the stone floor. He checked the second line, not as long as the first, but still long enough.
Still no angels.
Sam shouted, "Drill faster!"
And he snapped back, "Punch harder!" setting himself for yet another pass with the drill, this time going deeper.
"Jerk!"
"Bitch!" Aiming one handed and twisting sideways, half his focus on the drill, he couldn't get a good shot at the last standing goon, locked with Sam as running footsteps and shouts and scuffling fight noises rolled over them from every direction.
Five goons appeared this time, and—yep, this plan officially sucked. Sam crumpled and two guys charged straight for Dean, avoiding one crap shot after another. One was an arm's length away and grabbing for his shoulders as Dean leaned into the drill for all he was worth.
Fingers brushed Dean's jacket, and the guy dropped at Cas' feet.
The angel spared him one angry look before he threw out a hand and, with a wave of power, slammed most of the remaining horde against a wall. Sunshine stood over Sam, righteous fury on her face as she pressed her fingers to a guy's forehead.
Dean cut off the dremel, and Sam pulled himself to his feet, breathing heavily and favoring his left side.
"This was a stupid plan," Dean said, probably too loudly since he could still hear the phantom roar of the drill.
"I agree," Cas said.
He didn't want Cas' agreement.
Sunshine sighed. "Then I appreciate your assistance all the more." She sounded so honest and tired and anxious that some of Dean's anger drained. "The main compound is exposed, but you need to break the ward on their cells." She pointed down a tunnel. "That way."
"There are more humans," Cas said. "We'll take care of as many as we can."
The angels vanished one after the other, and almost immediately they heard shouts from one of the tunnels.
They grabbed their stuff and jogged, winding deeper and deeper into the cliff. Startled shouts and the bruising sounds of fighting popped around them. Ahead of them. Behind them. They stumbled over the slumped forms of people the angels had put to sleep, clearing the way. And here and there Sunshine popped up, running next to them for a stretch to guide them onward or correct a missed turn, and Cas would appear next to them to check they were still alive before teleporting off to drop the guys in the next tunnel.
How many of these goons did Raphael have?
They rounded a corner into a widened cavern to find Cas and Sunshine standing shoulder to shoulder, their backs facing Sam and Dean, planted like an immovable wall to protect them. Across the cavern stood two men, their pressed, black suits and the glint of angel blades giving away their identity.
The angels sneered. "Castiel."
But Cas and Sunshine moved before the speech could even start. They flew. A flash of silver as blades spun and blocked and slashed. They dodged, twisting, snagging the angels in one hold after another, caught and then broken, caught and then broken. They twisted and ducked and teleported, popping around their foes as their foes popped around them, the battle flickering in and out of existence. Sunshine's blue raincoat flared behind her as she threw herself like a falling star—blurred energy that exploded as it crashed—then bounced back to fly again. Cas tossed one angel over his shoulder, and the man vanished in midair, reappearing with a slash of his blade only to find Cas ready for him with a block.
Sunshine got enough space between her and her opponent to throw out a hand at the other battle at the exact same moment that Cas vanished. His foe stumbled and then Cas was on top of him, blade buried in his chest. Light blazed out of the wound, then out of the angel's eyes, out of his mouth as he screamed, and Dean threw his arms over his face as the room exploded with light.
When he turned blinking back to the battle, the angel lay sprawled on the floor, wings burned into the ground at an awkward angle, and Cas and Sunshine had teamed up against the last angel. The man held his own for a full two seconds. And then he was down, sinking to his knees with Sunshine's blade under his ribs, light flaring from his eyes.
Cas' sword had already disappeared back into the sleeve of his coat, as both angels stood over the slain, their faces carefully blank.
"They know we're here," Sunshine said. "We have to hurry. More will be here soon."
Sam was already moving across the room, and Dean followed, setting his shoulders and tightening his grip on the strap of his duffel bag and trying not to step on wings made of ash. Sunshine blinked away and Cas lead them down the next tunnel. He had a slash in his sleeve that he hadn't bothered to fix, his tie even more askew than usual.
Not that Dean cared, he reminded himself. Fancy Warrior of God shit didn't make up for being weird in Bobby's kitchen. As soon as they'd rescued these kids and were back at Bobby's, he was going to shout at Cas until he went hoarse and felt better. Or until Cas sighed and left without a word. Whichever came first.
Three tunnels later, Cas slid to a stop, grabbing Dean's arm to hold him back. "I can't go any further until the next ward is down."
He gave a curt nod. "See ya in a bit."
Cas didn't let go of his arm. "If the ward is in place, Raphael's angels can't follow you, but the humans working for him can. We've thinned their numbers, but I can't tell how many are hidden by the ward."
"Got it."
Cas glared at him. "Don't die."
"Dude." Dean rolled his eyes. First of all, who says shit like that? And secondly, he didn't want Cas' concern.
From further down the hallway, Sam assured, "We'll be careful."
Alright. So. Moment over.
Instead, Dean and Cas continued to frown at each other.
Finally, against his better judgment, he asked, "What?"
The uncomfortable look on Cas' face was never, ever a good sign. "Things are about to get...strange."
"Well, no offense," Sam said, "but things haven't exactly been normal so far."
Dean nodded. "No kidding. Look, I'm wearing safety goggles."
Cas pressed his lips together, his eyes darting to Sam and back. "I've warned you."
"Well, thanks for that. As always, that's real helpful."
Cas looked like he was about to say something more, but then his head snapped around. The hand on Dean's arm tightened painfully, before he was shoved down the hallway, managing to keep his feet only by stumbling into Sam. Sam's jaw tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow, and Dean straightened, turning to see the angel that had appeared back down the hallway.
Cas stood between them again, sword in hand, half blocking the guy's view as he glared over Cas' shoulder at Sam and Dean. Ten dollars said they were inside the ward.
Cas didn't look over his shoulder for a pointed stare reassuring that he'd be fine, or ordering them to be safe. But Dean could imagine it.
He grabbed Sam's sleeve and dragged him forward. "Come on." They couldn't help. The sooner they got the next ward down, the sooner they could get out of here. All they could do if they stayed would be to cheer-lead or send good vibes. Even if it didn't feel right, they had to leave Cas to it. He could take care of himself. And anyway, Dean was mad at him and his cryptic, ominous pronouncements.
It wasn't far to the second ward. Only two squirrely guys guarded it, fidgeting, probably knowing what was happening in the other parts of the prison but held back as a last resort, waiting and anxious for the fight to come to them. They went down easy. One even looked like he might surrender before Dean grabbed the front of his shirt, punched him in the face, and let him fall to the floor, unconscious or playing possum.
This ward was smaller, protecting a branch of tunnels that held actual cells. Apparently there were more like this one, guarding other areas of the prison, but no one cared about those. The sigil was carved into a metal grate, all rusting bars and planes of iron, so Dean had to switch bits on the dremel, changing from the now dusty diamond bit to a metal cutter. The gate was falling apart with age, and with the smaller sigil and the shallower depth of the carved lines, it didn't take that long to bring it down. The dremel just buzzed at a higher, more squeally pitch that overwhelmed everything else.
He dragged the rotary blade along, keeping the line neat despite the uneven surface that snagged and fought back. An inch. Another. One more. The wail in his ears hurt all the way to the back of his eyes. His fingers cramped. He looked over his shoulder to check on Sam.
And there was a guy there.
Well, three guys.
But only the one had Dean staring down the barrel of the gun.
He hadn't even heard them.
He heard the shot though. A boom so deep it rolled under the drill's screaming. It reverberated through the floor, through his bones. He jerked backwards, flinching.
And when he opened his eyes, all he saw was tan. Cas' back as he stood like an angelic shield, but only for a heartbeat before he had the gunman pinned to the floor.
When Cas turned, he had a bloodless bullet hole in his shirt. His hair stuck straight up on one side, a splatter of blood speckled his coat, and his lip was split. Sunshine didn't look much better as she pulled back from the last goon and marched to the gate. Her hair was in frizzing disarray, falling out of the clip thing she used. A slash across her side consisted of a spill of blood and fraying rips through layers of her clothes, with no sign that the wound was still there. Her eyes burned, knowing her humans were within reach and nothing on earth or in heaven could keep her from them.
She slammed the butt of her hand against the grate, and it exploded inwards with a screaming clang. And like her own building explosion of determination and rage, she marched forward, shifting quickly into a sprint as she passed cell door after rusting cell door, each with a sigil scrawled onto it.
Someone shouted from up ahead, close enough now that Dean could almost make out words.
And Sam slammed to a stop.
Dean skidded a few steps past him before spinning, expecting to see his brother frozen in place by invisible angel hands, choked by a force grip, or thrown against a wall. Instead, Sam just looked startled, his mouth open, his eyes wide.
"Sammy?"
Sunshine ran half way down the hall before skidding to a stop in front of a door and slapping her hand to the sigil. It lit up under her palm. Cas dashed another ten feet and did the same. Both their eyebrows crinkled in concentration. The lights under their hands spun, clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise, like some kind of angelic combination lock.
Under it all, Sam's "Dean?" came out weak. And with that Dean knew—deep in his gut—that only something horrible could come out of those cells.
Someone shouted, "Cas!" and Dean froze, hearing the same thing Sam had picked up on a moment earlier.
It was Dean's voice.
And it wasn't coming from Dean's throat.
Sunshine's jaw clenched, her nose scrunching up as the last few turns of the lock sapped at her strength. Then the whole thing clunked and the light flashed and vanished, and she slammed the door open for someone to come tumbling out.
For Dean to come tumbling out.
He had blood, both dried and fresh, covering half his face and running down his neck into his collar, over his shoulder. He had slashes through his shirt and jeans, more blood and bruises and the general filth he'd come to expect after a few days of torture.
"Goddamnit, Cas, what took you so long?"
Sunshine glared, getting up in his face despite their height difference and accusing, "You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
She snarled at the blatant lie, prodded two fingers against his forehead to clear the blood, then grabbed him by the back of the neck and, with a growl, yanked him into a fierce kiss, that was possessive and practiced and instantly returned.
From down the hallway, Sam and Dean stared, eyebrows spiked, their shoulders rolling back in surprise. Sam blinked way too many times in a row, as if he could rub the image off his eyeballs. Dean just managed to point at them and take a preparatory breath for some sort of comment, but nothing ever came out.
They'd both completely forgotten that they were kind of in the middle of something and it was sort of urgent, until Sunshine jerked back from Dean's face sucking twin, and Face Sucking Twin yelled, "Sam?" Because, of course, Face Sucking Twin had priorities.
"He's here." Cas's face was still crunched up as he spun through the last cycles of the lock. The light vanished with a clunk and Cas stepped back to let Sam's twin, with identical stupid sideburns and too long limbs, leave his cell. The blood on his clothes triggered something queasy and confusing in Dean's chest. Sam's doppelganger eyed Cas warily until Sunshine charged forward to inspect his injuries and glare at what was probably a broken rib. She pressed her fingers to his forehead more gently than she'd done with Fake Dean, like it wasn't Fake Sam's fault he'd gotten tortured by angel goons, but it was definitely Fake Dean's fault. That ass.
Fake Dean barked at Cas, "Who the hell are you?" but there was more exhaustion than menace in his voice.
Cas tilted his head and stared for a moment, before nodding in Sam and Dean's direction. Fake Dean spun.
Took them in.
Then relaxed. "Right. So I guess you went through with that plan."
...
What?
"Huh?" Sam said.
Fake Dean had already turned back to Cas, giving him a much more thorough once over than he had given Real Dean. Cas had already looked away to a spot on the wall as if disinterested or uncomfortable or something. Not "queasy" and "reeling" like the normal people in the hallway.
Fake Dean announced, "Well, this is weird."
Cas agreed with a hum that cut off as he and Sunshine snapped around to face a point down the hall. "We need to go," Cas said.
"Split up and lose them." Sunshine grabbed Fake Sam and Fake Dean and vanished, and Cas was suddenly in front of them, taking them both by the shoulder and yanking them into the ether. They flashed through sceneries, one, another, another. Flashes of changing light, of cold and smells and noises hitting one after the next. A forest, a mountain top, an office building, the Taj Mahal. They jumped so fast Dean only realized where they'd been after they'd moved to the next place. He could almost feel the flight, the woosh of wings and the change of air pressure. He could feel someone following, some malevolent presence on their heels.
A beach, a corn field, a crowded square. Dean couldn't breathe. They moved too fast to catch a breath. A ship yard, a hotel lobby, somewhere dark. The angel chasing them fell behind. Dean wasn't sure his feet touched the ground. A playground, a butcher's shop, a rave, a desert. Heat beat against him and vanished, a siren burst in his ears then rang in silence. Dean squeezed his eyes closed. He couldn't feel the angel on their heels.
A museum, a subway station, and back to Bobby's front porch. The sudden halt sent him staggering, his head reeling as the dozen places he'd visited caught up with him, along with the general What The Fuck of this whole damned mess.
"Sonuvabitch." He pressed his palm against the side of the house and caught his breath. "Sonuvabitch." He shook his head. "We're in an alternate universe, aren't we?"
Cas let his eyes slide away in that shifty way of his. "Castiel thought telling you might distract from the rescue."
"Casti—Oh, you've got to be kidding me."
"Wait," Sam said, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
Cas nodded, almost to himself. "I believe our realities diverged when she and I chose different vessels."
Dean groaned. Alternate freaking realities. Fan-fucking-tastic.