Chapter 3
Unchain My Heart

It was mid-morning when Castiel and Henry arrived in Lisa's back yard, and as he had hoped, Lisa spotted them first and alerted Sam and Dean before Henry could knock on the back door. What he did not expect was for the three of them to come outside.

"We've been thinkin', Cas," Dean began. "Since we've got no way of knowing what the link-breaking ritual's gonna do to Sam, we should probably go to Bobby's and do this in the panic room."

Castiel blinked and frowned. "Dean, I can't go into the panic room anymore. I warded it against angels."

"Is that ritual something an angel has to do?"

"No, but—"

"All right, so Henry can do it, and me and Bobby can hold Sam steady or something."

"Besides," Sam added, "if angels can't get into the panic room, either, then we won't have to worry about being interrupted before we can break the link and do the anti-possession ritual."

Henry nodded. "That's a fair point. But speaking of the anti-possession ritual, Dean, what about your son?"

Dean blinked. "Uh, Ben's—"

"On his way home," Lisa interrupted, putting a hand on Dean's arm. "He should be here by the time you guys are finished in Sioux Falls; you can ward him then. Besides, even if Raphael does free Michael by then, Michael won't be willing to possess an eleven-year-old boy, will he?"

Castiel tilted his head, considering the question. "He and Zachariah did not attempt to use Ben to convince Dean to say yes. But that was when Adam was still an option. Still, as Lisa says, Ben is only eleven."

"How old was Claire?" Dean asked.

"Dean..."

"Guys," Sam broke in. "The main thing is to get us three adults locked down first. Unless Raphael's already managed to steal the Horsemen's rings, odds are he's not going to find another way into the Cage between now and the time Ben gets home. And if he has, he's probably not going after Ben while Dean and I are still viable targets."

Lisa nodded. "Bobby knows you're coming. I need to wait here for Ben, but I'll see you when you get back."

Dean kissed her goodbye, and Castiel flew the men to Bobby's basement, where Bobby was indeed waiting for them. "Boys," he said with a nod, then looked at Henry. "You must be John's dad."

Henry nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Bobby Singer. Good to know you."

As they shook hands, Dean explained, "Bobby's an old friend of the family—kind of an adopted uncle, if you will, though since Dad died, he's..."

"The next best thing," Sam supplied with a small smile.

"Not that you idjits mind me any better'n you did him," Bobby jibed, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his true feelings, and the brothers understood and laughed. "You're lookin' good, Sam," he added more seriously.

Sam huffed, and his smile turned wry. "Thanks. Guess we'll see how long that lasts."

"You listen here, boy. You can stay as long as you need. You know that. We'll tend to you, won't we, Cas?"

"We will," Castiel agreed with a smile even as he marveled at just how much more like home this house had come to feel in the last year than Heaven had.

Sam's smile became warm again. "I know. Thanks." Then he took a deep breath, blew it out again, and looked over at the panic room. "Okay. Let's do this."

"This room's built with salt-coated iron," Bobby explained to Henry as the men filed into it. "Got a devil's trap on the floor and one in the ceiling vent. And now that Cas has angel-proofed it, it's about the safest place in the world to do this."

Henry nodded. "So I see." Then he stopped short, seeing that Sam was offering Dean his left wrist to put in the restraints while settling himself on the cot. "Is that really necessary?"

"Better safe than sorry," Sam replied.

"We're talkin' Lucifer here," Dean added. "Not much telling what'll happen."

Henry sighed sadly. "All right. But take your shirt off first, Sam. I'll need to paint a sigil on your chest."

"Boots, too," Bobby recommended.

Sam nodded and quickly stripped off his shirt, boots, and socks before lying down again and letting Bobby and Dean fasten on the restraints while Henry set his burdens on the desk. Castiel closed the door but left the window open so that he could see what was happening. Then Sam called Henry over to him, and Henry sat down on the edge of the cot.

"Look," Sam said, "just so you know, things could get pretty crazy, even by our standards. But no matter what happens, no matter what I say, no matter how I scream, do. Not. Stop."

Henry's face was a picture of misery. "Sam, I don't want to hurt you."

"I know. But we need to do this, not just for me, but to stop Raphael. So I just... wanted to tell you while my mind's clear. Finish it. Whatever happens, happens."

"Even if it kills you?"

"Cas can bring me back. And if he can't... it's been nice knowing you."

"Don't you talk like that," Bobby growled. "You'll live through this."

"Damn straight, and that's an order," Dean agreed in that voice that Castiel always assumed was an echo of his father's.

Sam chuckled. "I just... yeah. Anyway."

Henry heaved a heavy sigh. "All right. I'll try to forget you're my grandson for a while."

"If that'll help, yeah, do that. And Henry? Thank you."

Henry smiled tightly, patted Sam's shoulder, blew out a breath, and stood. "All right. Here goes."

While Henry mixed the necessary ingredients in Bobby's silver bowl and murmured the incantation over them, Bobby moved to sit on Sam's legs, and Dean gently but firmly pinned Sam's arms to the mattress. Then Henry brought the bowl back to the cot and paused briefly to take in the scars and anti-possession tattoo that marked Sam's chest.

"Do it," Dean prompted quietly.

With another sigh, Henry knelt beside the cot and recited the next part of the incantation as he used the paste of ingredients to paint the required sigil on Sam's chest. Sam closed his eyes and swallowed hard several times, but there was no other visible reaction until the sigil was complete and Henry moved on to the third part of the incantation, which he had to read from the book. Then the sigil began to sizzle as it glowed with power, and Sam began breathing harder and making pained noises. Dean tightened his grip slightly, giving Sam silent comfort; though Castiel was trapped outside, he sent Sam such strength as he was able to share from a distance. And Henry kept going just as promised, until Sam's back was arching as he screamed. Then Henry faltered to a stop, but Sam's screams didn't quiet.

"FINISH IT!" Dean cried.

Anguished, Henry drew a deep breath and picked up the Latin again. The screams and the tension in the air built until at last Henry read the last word, at which point Sam's hips crashed back down on the cot as his head was rocked forward by a terrible coughing fit.

"Sit 'im up!" Bobby ordered even as Dean and Henry both lunged for the wrist restraints.

"What can I do?" Castiel asked.

Bobby looked out at him. "There's a box of Kleenex on my desk."

Castiel nodded, flew up to get it, and flew back down just as Bobby reached the door. Another deep, hard cough jerked Sam upright to a sitting position, and Dean sat down behind him to brace his back while Henry rubbed his shoulder. Frowning in concern, Castiel opened the panic room door.

Bobby nodded his thanks as he accepted the Kleenex. "Maybe get us a wet rag, too, so we can wash his chest."

"All right. Bathroom or kitchen?"

"Don't matter."

"Kitchen," Castiel decided and flew back upstairs, soaked a rag in cool water from the tap, wrung it out carefully so that it wouldn't drip, and returned to hand the rag to Bobby.

In just that short time, Sam's coughs had begun producing blood. Dean was cursing quietly under his breath and handing Sam fresh tissues as each became saturated. But before Bobby could cross the short space back to the cot, Sam's cough changed slightly. He closed his mouth and held a tissue over it, then coughed again... and something came loose that he caught in his mouth. Cautiously, he lowered his hand and the tissue and opened his mouth to slide out his tongue, on which rested a small glowing ball of energy.

"Henry, bottle that, quickly," Castiel ordered urgently.

Henry jumped up to grab an empty vial from the desk. "What is it?"

"A piece of Lucifer's grace."

Dean swore. "Can you destroy it?" he asked as Henry carefully scooped the grace into the vial.

Castiel shook his head. "No, but we must guard it carefully. Grace isn't sentient or capable of acting on its own, but I have no idea what Raphael might be able to use it for."

Bobby tossed Dean the damp rag and came out to lead Castiel to another part of the basement. "I got a curse box should hold it just fine, if you'll angel-proof it for me."

"Gladly."

Once Bobby selected a small box with the proper dimensions, Castiel quickly warded it. They returned just as Henry was hesitating at the door of the panic room, unsure whether to bring the grace out to them.

"We'd best keep that in there," Bobby told him. "I reckon those wards will help keep it inert, maybe even keep Raphael from knowin' we have it."

Henry nodded. "That's a good idea."

Bobby stepped through the door and held the open box out to Henry, who placed the vial in it. Sure enough, the tainted grace's glow dimmed slightly even before Bobby closed the lid. Then Bobby set the box on the desk and turned back to the cot, where Sam was slumped back against Dean, who was gently washing the sigil off his chest. Sam looked sweaty, pale, and drawn, with dark circles under his half-open, glassy eyes, and his hands were shaking—about like he'd looked in February, in fact, when the demon blood withdrawal had finally run its course after that horrendous run-in with Famine. The pallor of the rest of his skin made the pinkness of the skin under the sigil stand out more than it would have otherwise, but Castiel could tell that it wasn't a serious burn and would heal readily enough even without his aid.

"How are you, Sam?" Henry asked.

Sam smiled weakly. "I've been worse."

"Told you you'd make it," Dean stated.

"Didn't tell me I would. You ordered me to."

"Ah, same difference."

Sam huffed, amused.

But Henry sighed. "I'm sorry. I had no idea it would take such a toll on you."

"Toll? Hell, this was mild," Sam replied.

Dean nodded. "Seriously. We're lucky he's just strung out, 'cause the detox ain't pretty."

Henry blinked several times. "Detox? D-detox from what?"

"You probably don't want to know," Bobby said. "Main thing is, it won't happen again."

"Ever," Dean added.

"Never ever ever ever," Sam agreed, sounding a bit... loopy, Castiel thought was the adjective Dean used. "Dude, stop, that tickles."

Dean folded the rag over, draped it over his open palm, and mashed the clean side down on Sam's face. Sam's yelp of protest was muffled, and he pawed ineffectually at Dean's arm as Dean swished the rag around to wash the sweat away—but they were both fighting laughter the whole time.

Bobby snorted. "Idjits," he said fondly.

Henry, though, could manage only a small smile at the brothers' antics. "Maybe you're right, Bobby. If what I just saw was mild, I probably don't want to know what 'not pretty' looks like."

Dean stopped washing Sam's face and hung the rag over the head rail of the cot. "Yeah, well, guess we'd better make triple-sure you don't have to find out."

"Castiel will have to help us there, I'm afraid."

"Okay. You ready for the next part, Sammy?"

"Do I have a choice?" Sam groaned.

"'Fraid not. C'mon, Sasquatch." Dean looped Sam's arm across his shoulders and helped him to his feet, then supported him as they came out of the panic room.

This time, however, Castiel knew what to do for Sam. Once the brothers were out of the panic room, Castiel touched Sam's forehead, healing the residual withdrawal symptoms as well as the burn on his chest.

Sam took a deep breath and straightened as his color returned, taking his weight back from Dean but not moving his arm. Then he smiled. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel smiled back. "You're welcome."

"We'll need cups," Henry said, bringing out the book and satchel. "There's a potion we have to drink, and then there's a sigil Castiel has to place—not unlike the tattoo Sam has, but I think it has to go under the skin."

"What size cups?" Bobby asked. "Shot glass be enough?"

"A single larger cup might work better," Castiel replied. "That way I won't have to mix the potion three separate times."

"How big?"

"A... a mug might work."

"Need any special properties?"

"Not to my knowledge. The material is immaterial." Not until Sam snorted did Castiel realize what he'd just said. "I mean—"

Bobby chuckled. "I read you, Feathers. Be right back." He jogged up the stairs and came back with a mug that had a caricature of a grizzled old cowboy on each side and "The Hurrier I Go, The Behinder I Get" in the center.

"Hey, I remember that mug," said Dean.

"Y'ought to," Bobby replied as he handed it to Castiel. "Brought it to me all the way from Sonora, Texas."

Sam shook his head, smiling, and finally dropped his arm. "Sonora. Man, that was ages ago. Seemed like everyplace we went smelled like goat."

Dean looked at him oddly. "Dude, you were four. How do you even remember?"

"Because it was right after Baby Jessica and you kept trying to talk Dad into letting me come to school with you so I wouldn't wander off and fall in a well, and I kept saying..."

"All I really need is a Lassie, Dad," Dean chorused with him, shaking his head with an amused smile.

"Still don't know why you didn't trust our babysitter."

"I trusted the sitter. I didn't trust you, Houdini. Remember that time you busted out of the motel room and got, like, five blocks away before Dad finally caught you? I think you were three. You said you were gonna go back to the diner where we'd had lunch 'cause you wanted more cake."

Sam laughed. "Seriously? No, I don't remember that. Did I have any money?"

"Just a fistful of Monopoly money, and I don't even know where you got that. Not like we had board games even when we were both old enough."

Henry looked horrified, but a warning glance from Castiel kept him from commenting where the brothers could hear. Rather, he held his peace as he followed Castiel to Bobby's workbench, but when he handed Castiel the satchel, he glanced back briefly at Sam, who was still laughing, and whispered, "They don't even know, do they?"

"They have more than their share of bad memories," Castiel replied. "Let them keep what happiness they can salvage from those days."

"This was never supposed to happen, Castiel."

"You could not have prevented it, no matter what you did. Too much depended on John and his sons being cut off even from most other hunters. The angels who had been my superiors would not have allowed you to counteract the manipulation, if you had stayed or if you went back now. And even if you lived... Lucifer, if not Michael, would have found some way to use you against your grandsons."

Henry paled. "What do you mean?"

"You're not the eldest son." Castiel was aware that Sam and Dean had stopped bantering and were listening, but there was no reason for them not to hear this part of the conversation.

Henry shook his head. "No. But Eddie never made it back from the war."

"Still, as you are the second son of Michael's vessel, Lucifer could have taken you temporarily. As it was, he had to choose the only surviving son of a line that split from yours even before your ancestors came to this country. But it was hard enough for Sam to resist when Lucifer appeared as a complete stranger. How would he have reacted had Lucifer come in the guise of his own grandfather?"

As Henry ran a shaking hand over his mouth, Sam and Dean walked over to them. "Wait a minute," said Dean. "Cas, you're sayin' Lucifer could still take Henry if Raphael busts Lucifer out?"

"It's possible," Castiel admitted. "The Campbell lineage makes you and Sam the perfect vessels, but as Michael told you, any member of the Winchester bloodline can serve. And Lucifer would not hesitate to coerce Henry's consent if necessary."

Sam swore.

"Okay, we're doin' this now," Dean insisted. "And you're startin' with him."

Castiel nearly snapped that he was not at fault for the delay, but he knew that arguing would only make the delay longer. Instead, with a huff of irritation, he turned back to the workbench, opened the book, and began to mix the potion, keeping back enough of each ingredient to be able to repeat the ritual for Ben later. Dean noticed but didn't say anything.

Starting with Henry made sense, however, and not only because of Dean's protectiveness. Henry had read the ritual over Castiel's shoulder back at the library and so knew how much to drink and at what point in the Enochian incantation to drink it. Then he handed the mug to Sam and held still while Castiel placed the sigils to seal heart and mind—in other words, one etched into the heart muscle, one into the skull. Henry hissed slightly at each touch of power but didn't otherwise react.

No sooner had Castiel finished the incantation, however, than he began hearing increased chatter among the angels.

"We must hurry," he said, turning to Sam. "Did you—"

"I got it," Sam interrupted with a nod. "Go."

Castiel repeated the ritual for each brother as quickly as he dared, and neither missed a beat in drinking the potion nor reacted to the sigil placement with more than a wince. He sighed in relief when he had finished with Dean. "There. That's—"

"Castiel!" Raphael thundered, appearing at the foot of the stairs with several of his supporters ranged behind him. "What have you done?!"

"You're too late, Raphael," Castiel replied. "These men can't be taken as vessels any longer."

"You lie! Your choir was never taught the means to seal a vessel!"

"No. But the Men of Letters were."

That brought Raphael up short. "What are you talking about?"

"You know." Castiel picked up the book and held it open so that all could see the title page: De Sanationis, Ad Dionysium Ab Angelu Raphael. "You yourself dictated this treatise on healing to the man who wrote as Dionysius the Areopagite."

Raphael looked shaken. "No... that book was destroyed..."

"Not every copy. The Men of Letters preserved this one. Little could they have guessed how vital it would be to the Winchester line, which they were sworn in part to protect."

"I was in error then. Humans were never meant to have such knowledge."

Castiel closed the book and advanced toward Raphael. "No, you are in error now. When you spoke with Dionysius, you still remembered that Father wants us to serve and protect humans. Or did you only think that with most of the choirs forbidden from taking vessels, it would be impossible for anyone to make use of the most arcane rituals?"

Raphael was torn between shock and rage and paused for a bare moment before turning to his followers. "Seize him and destroy the book!"

But Castiel had held the other angels' attention long enough for Sam and Dean to cover for Henry edging back into the panic room. Raphael's supporters hesitated briefly over the revelation of his past views, and before they could attack, Castiel flew to the panic room door and handed the book through to Henry, then slammed the door shut. Meanwhile, Sam, Dean, and Bobby closed ranks in front of Castiel, shielding him—and giving Castiel cover to leave for a few microseconds to retrieve the angel swords that Dean had kept in the Impala's arsenal.

"It's over, Raphael," Sam snarled.

"And there's not a damn thing you can do about it," Dean added, bringing his hand forward just enough to reveal the sword Castiel had just pressed into it.

"I can smite you where you stand," Raphael growled.

"Yeah, yeah, you can kill us, bring us back with all new bodies, whatever the hell you want. But we are never saying yes again."

"And good luck getting the Cage open," Sam continued, revealing his sword, "or finding someone else to do it for you. Death's just as happy to let Lucifer rot."

"And no one else has the mojo to try, except God, and last I heard, you weren't even sure he was still alive."

The other angels' shock was palpable, but Raphael was too furious to care. "You witless worm!" He manifested his own sword... and then suddenly realized that he was alone.

Castiel decided it was time to try diplomacy while Raphael was still off balance. He stepped past Bobby, handing off his sword as he did so, and held out both empty hands in a placating gesture. "Raphael, please. You know this isn't Father's will, only your own. And if you push for open war against those of us who dissent, it won't be only Earth that suffers. The devastation in Heaven will be unspeakable."

Raphael frowned in genuine confusion. "What are you—how do you know?"

"I have seen it."

"And this was our doing, yours and mine?"

"Not ours alone, I believe. There is much I didn't see... but part of the blame lay with Metatron."

Raphael's eyes widened. "Metatron lives?"

"And wishes to usurp Father's throne and cast down all the rest of us."

"Where is he?"

Castiel shook his head. "I'm sorry, brother. I truly don't know. I would tell you if I did."

Raphael nodded slowly. "I... I must think on this." And he left.

"Thought the play was going to be Tinker to Evers to Chance," Henry said as Sam let him out of the panic room.

Castiel frowned, puzzled. "What?"

"Wasn't time," Bobby stated instead of explaining. "'Sides, angels don't play baseball."

Dean snorted.

"So is that it?" Sam asked, coming out of the panic room with his boots and shirt in his left hand. "Are we done?"

Castiel shook his head and went back to the workbench to collect the satchel. "I don't know. He'll have to figure out what to do about Metatron, and he may have lost too much support by now to do anything at all. But he may decide that's of secondary importance to securing a new vessel for Michael. We need to seal Ben right away."

Bobby handed the sword back to Castiel as he came back to the others. "You need that book?"

"No, it should stay here for safekeeping until we can return it to the Men of Letters' library. Do you have a way to make a copy of it while it's in the panic room?"

"I'll figure somethin' out. Probably oughta make backup copies of that whole library when this thing blows over."

Henry nodded. "Yes, I think that's wise. And since I seem to be the only Man of Letters still active, I have no objection to Bobby keeping at least one backup copy for himself."

Bobby smiled. "And me an' you need to have us a long talk."

Henry responded favorably, but Castiel didn't hear what was said because Dean grabbed his elbow and whispered in his ear, "Seriously, Cas—"

"Ben is your son," Castiel whispered back. "Lisa didn't want you to feel obligated to stay."

Dean ran a hand over his mouth and nodded. "Thanks."

Castiel returned the nod just as Bobby said, "You idjits stay out of trouble, y'hear? That means you, too, Cas."

"Oh, now you tell us," Dean teased.

Bobby laughed, and Castiel flew the Winchesters back to Cicero.