Dean brought steaming plates of cheesy eggs and bacon to the table for Castiel, Kevin, and Crowley. When Dean handed the former angel his plate, their fingers brushed. Electricity jolted through Dean's veins from the light touch. Cas smiled up at him and dug into his breakfast with gusto. Dean was once again taken aback by how beautiful his smile was. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners was adorable. Humanity suited his angel well.
Dean remembered how Cas had looked this morning, sheltered by his body; he had awakened to an arm full of angel and loved every second of it. Castiel had looked so sweet and untroubled in his slumber, Dean couldn't resist pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead before easing himself out of bed. Dean shuffled back to the stove and moved the bacon around in the pan, trying (and failing) not to think about how much he wanted it to happen again. There was a shuffling noise behind him. Sam was making his way into the kitchen.
Sammy didn't look well. He was losing weight rapidly and his skin was pale. Dean resolved to make him eat. He wasn't going to wither away under his watch. Sam's facial expression changed from happy to shocked and confused. He had noticed Crowley, eating his breakfast and drinking tea. Sam stumbled over, grabbed his older brother by the elbow and steered him into the privacy of the hall.
"Dean, why is the King of Hell eating breakfast in our kitchen?"
Dean explained what he had done to Crowley while he had been sleeping. Sam paled even further.
"You didn't fucking think to talk to me first, Dean?"
Dean was surprised by the vehemence in Sam's voice. "No, I didn't, Sam. You were sick. Besides what was I supposed to do? Let the King of Hell go waltzing back into the world?"
"Yes," Sam looked freaked out, and Dean was instantly on alert.
"What's going on, Sammy?" Dean asked authoritatively.
"Abaddon showed up during the last trial. Tried to kill Crowley. She wanted to run Hell."
Awesome. Abaddon: Queen of Hell. That's all they needed. "How'd you get rid of her?"
"I molotoved her with holy fire," Sammy said.
Dean laughed. "Did you call her an ass-butt too?"
"Shut up, Jerk."
"Bitch," The brothers laughed together, but quickly sobered. "So, what's the big deal with Abaddon and Crowley?"
"I swear you're deliberately obtuse sometimes. Abaddon has zero competition now that Crowley is out of the picture. Someone has to run things in the pit. She's going to be Queen of Hell. I was just thinking maybe it would have been better to have the devil we know instead of the devil we don't."
"No," said Dean. Sam looked surprised. "Look, Sam, I don't really understand it, but my gut tells me this was the right thing to do. I just have this feeling like Crowley is going to be important. I don't get it, but I trust it. Not trusting your instincts is what gets you killed."
Sam chewed on his lip for a second, like he was considering his older brother's words. Finally he let out a puff of air that blew his hair out of his eyes and said, "Fine. It's too late now anyway. Just talk to me next time, Dean."
"Sure," said Dean. They went back to the kitchen to eat. Sam just pushed his food around on his plate. Castiel drank cup after cup of coffee, and Kevin kept shooting murderous glares at Crowley. They were going to have to do something about the Kevin-Crowley situation. Dean started clearing plates when he heard a loud, wet cough. He turned and looked at Sam. His palm was red with blood. Sam doubled over and started hacking. He stumbled to the trashcan and made it just in time. His shoulders heaved and he vomited what little he had managed to eat.
"Sammy!" Dean dropped the dish towel he was holding and moved to his little brother. Sam swayed, so Dean held him upright while he dry heaved over and over. When he looked up, he was sweaty and so white he looked transparent. Dean guided him to a chair to sit. When he turned Castiel was standing next to him, holding a glass of water. "Drink, Sam."
Sam drank gratefully, eyes closed, hands trembling. "Thanks, Cas," he whispered.
"It is no trouble, Sam." Castiel looked into Dean's eyes. His hunter seemed afraid. Cas wanted to reach out and brush his fingers over the crease on Dean's forehead. He always got it when he worried about something. But Castiel didn't know how Dean would react.
The best he could do for now was to help Sam. Castiel pulled one of Sam's muscular arms over his shoulder, supporting him. Dean seemed to get the message and did the same on the other side. As a team they guided Sam down the hall to his bed, supporting his weight. By the time they made it the youngest hunter was almost completely unconscious. Dean guided his head to the pillows, and stared at his brother's face.
"Dean," said Cas, "We need to begin research. That is the best way we can help Sam now. "Dean just kept looking at his brother like he was afraid he would never see him again. The fear written on his hunter's face was heart breaking. Cas would do anything for Dean to never look that way again. Castiel reached up and touched the other man's face gently, turning him so he had to look at him. Dean relaxed and leaned his face into Castiel's palm, sighing. His eyes were closed and the crease that Cas hated vanished. He brushed his thumb gently over Dean's cheekbone.
Both men's breathing deepened and sped up. Dean's eyes opened; the sight made Cas' mouth go dry. They were half lidded, dark emerald green ringed with thick lashes. The cinnamon dusting of freckles on his cheekbones stood out in contrast to the lovely blush spreading across his face. Cas took a step closer. He may not know exactly what to do with his desire, but this seemed like a good place to start. He could feel the welcoming body heat radiating off of Dean's body in waves. Dean's pupils were blown wide with lust. Cas leaned in closer to press their lips together; Dean's eyes fluttered shut. Their lips were a hairsbreadth apart when Sam let out a loud snore. They leapt away from each other guiltily, like teenagers caught kissing.
"We should go to the library," blurted Dean, his face aflame. He turned to leave, but not before he saw the disappointment on Castiel's face, or the evidence of the former angel's arousal straining at his jeans. He left the room, his head spinning. It looked like Cas felt the same as Dean; maybe this could work. Dean felt hope flare in his chest. He felt confident enough to make his move. But first they had to fix Sam. Sammy always came first.
Dean banged his head down on the table in the library, groaning loudly. Castiel didn't look up from the Latin scroll he was reading, but he did nudge the hunter with his foot. Dean grumbled, but took his cue and kept digging through his book on Wiccan cleansing rituals. Crowley and Kevin were also reading through dusty tomes. Things were a little easier between the two of them now. Crowley had called Kevin out of his room yesterday. They had sat and talked for about an hour. Dean had no idea what was discussed, but the former demon and the Prophet were on speaking terms and working together now, which was a vast improvement over the glaring and awkwardness.
They had been in the Men of Letters library for three days, and had a big steaming pile of nothing to show for it. Sam was getting worse every day; he couldn't even get out of bed except for a short trip to the bathroom. They had to find something soon, or Sammy wasn't going to make it much longer. The thought made his blood run cold; Dean dove back into his book, redoubling his efforts.
Castiel suddenly sat up straight, his muscles tense, reading with complete concentration. "Cas?" intoned Dean. Crowley and Kevin eagerly looked up from their books.
"I believe I found something, Dean," said Cas excitedly.
There was silence for a few moments; finally Dean couldn't take it anymore. "You want to elaborate, Cas?"
"This is a ritual called the Purificato per manum Dei. It's ancient; It must be performed once daily for seven consecutive days."
"Why seven?" asked Dean.
"Seven is the number of days it took God to form Creation. We have most of the things we need for the ritual. The rest we can find fairly easily. But there is risk. There is a chance Sam won't survive this, Dean."
Dean closed his eyes and thought. Right now there was a one hundred percent chance that Sam was going to die. This would at least give them some hope of him surviving; however, it wasn't his right to make this decision for Sam. He would have to choose, but Dean needed to know everything first. "What's the risk? What could happen that makes this dangerous?"
Castiel furrowed his brow in concentration. "It is rather unclear. From what I can see, it is completely effective if the subject survives. The text says the subject of the ritual will be completely cleansed of any evil, whether it is physical, spiritual, or mental. Those touched by the ritual are touched by the hand of God and purified through suffering. It doesn't specify what kind of suffering, but I gather that the suffering is what had killed subjects in the past. It's vague, but it is the only thing that we have found that is powerful enough to cleanse demon blood from a person's body."
"Good enough for me. I gotta go talk to Sam. See if you can round up the stuff for this, okay?"
Dean walked off to Sam's bedroom and the others scattered around the bunker to round up the needed materials.
Castiel stood up straight, dusting chalk off of his hands and examined his handiwork. A complex symbol was drawn on the ground; a circle with elegant symbols and sigils from the earliest days of Christianity. It was quite beautiful, full of twisting spirals that flowed like waves in an ocean. They surrounded an elaborate crucifix in the center of the array. In front of the elaborate design was a fire-pit that Dean and Crowley had built; the ingredients had to be thrown into an open fire. Sam was carried by Dean into the middle; he was so frail it was scary. Castiel may not pray anymore, but he hoped with all his heart that Sam would make it through.
"Alright, let's get this show on the road," said Dean.
The hunter helped Sam bathe his skin in a mixture of olive oil, sage, and lavender to cleanse him externally.
Dean walked over to the fire pit and filled it with Palo Santo, a holy wood from Peru. At the same time, Castiel walked around the sigil on the floor, spilling a circle of holy oil on the edges. He poured a little of the sacred oil on the branches and Dean lit them with a match. Castiel began to throw ingredients in the holy fire: feather of an angel, holy water from the river Jordan, salt from the Dead Sea, pure iron, and desert sage. When the final ingredient was thrown in, the fire changed from orange flame to pure white. Castiel took his cue and picked up a bundle of braided sage and lavender dipped in the oil of an olive branch, placing one end in the circle of holy oil. The former angel carefully placed the other end of the bundle in the fire pit. The sage instantly caught fire, lighting the circle of holy fire around Sam.
The ring of fire around Sam was beautiful. The light flickered all around him, making him look angelic. Sam gave a little nod and Dean began the invocation.
"Manu Dei omnipotentis solium tuum de cælis, et ad fidelium animae puer attigit. Imple eos puram, suffundens caecae lux." Sam began to sweat; his eyes flickered and rolled into the back of his head.
"Transi ab iis omne immundum, omnis impius influance omnis infectio per mentis et spiritus et sanguis. Expélle eos daemonum suorum." His body bowed and he began to writhe.
"Munda cor eorum ceciderunt et pura et munda sit. Marcus hanc materiam vestris, o Deus, fortis, et auferam de omni angustia. In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti." Sam let out a scream that went on and on. The fire came to life, whipping around his body in a raging inferno that touched him without burning him. Sam's eyes flew open and the holy fire went out in a gust of wind that suddenly swirled around the room. Dean ran for his brother and was stunned by what he saw: Sam was sweating blood.
"Sammy?" Sam let out a moan. Dean reached out to touch his broken little brother. He brushed his hair out of his face. Dean hauled Sam into his arms and took him to the shower. Sam couldn't stand on his own, and Dean bathed him like a child then carried him to bed. When he was asleep and Dean looked down at himself, he was covered in blood. He started to cry, head against the wall. Like a flash, Castiel was there, his guardian angel was still watching over him. Dean just looked into his beautiful blue eyes for a moment before tears once again blurred his vision. The next thing Dean knew, he was in Cas' arms. Dean broke down; he couldn't handle the thought of losing Sam. Cas just held him close, so strong and warm, arms wrapped around his waist. Dean returned Castiel's embrace and Cas held him until his tears dried up. Cas led him to his bed where he collapsed. When his angel turned to leave, Dean grabbed his wrist. "Please, stay."
Cas didn't say anything he just climbed into the bed and held Dean. The hunter's last thought before slipping into a dreamless sleep was that this wasn't even close to over. There were still six more days.
This ritual was worse than Hell for Dean. Every day Sam had to endure a new horror; the next time Dean had spoken the invocation, Sam had been thrown around the circle, beaten by an unseen force. The bruises and broken bones were horrific. On the third day, an array of puncture wounds and gashes appeared on his brother's forehead before he was engulfed in the flames that never burned him. After they cleaned him up, careful of his broken arm, and put him to bed, Castiel pulled the other men into the kitchen. They all poured a tumbler of whiskey and drank deeply, except for Cas. The former angel said, "I know now what is happening to Sam. I believe he is suffering from stigmata."
"Stigmata?" asked Dean. "You mean God wounds, right?"
"Sam is experiencing the suffering of Jesus Christ. Every day he develops a new wound. This is why many of the subjects of the ritual haven't survived; they weren't strong enough."
Dean closed his eyes tightly. "Is he going to make it, Cas?"
Cas was silent for a moment and said, "I honestly don't know, Dean." The room was silent as everyone drank away their fears.
The next day, Sam was whipped by an unseen force. It had gone on for what seemed like an eternity, lash after lash being cut into his back. Sam had screamed and screamed as the flesh was destroyed. By the time it was over, his back looked like raw hamburger. Dean didn't want to continue after that, but Sam refused.
Sam looked at his older brother through blackened eyes and spoke through the agony of his split lip, lying on his stomach because his back was too damaged. "I have to do this, Dean."
Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off. "Dean, all my life I've been impure. Even the angels called me an abomination. I'm a freak, and this is going to make me normal. I can finally be normal, Deano. So please, just let me do this."
Dean was going to argue, but Sam was already asleep. He was forced to accept that this wasn't his decision; it was Sam's.
On the fifth day, as the fire consumed Sam's battered body, nail wounds appeared through each wrist. They were huge and you could see straight through them. Sam was weakening. Dean kept watch over him all night. "Just hold on, Sammy," he whispered.
On the sixth day, the nail wounds appeared through his feet. That night, Sam's breathing was a shallow death rattle. Dean drank his way through a fifth of Maker's Mark and passed out. He had nightmares about Sam dying all night, and Castiel woke him and held his shuddering frame as he cried; tears of his own pooling in his blue eyes.
On the dawn of the seventh day, Sam was barely hanging on. Dean carried him to the array and gently lay him down. As he stood, Sam grabbed the amulet around his neck and pulled him down. "If this doesn't end well Dean-"He was cut off as Dean pulled him into a gentle hug. "I know Sammy," he whispered. The unspoken 'I love you' hung in the air between them. They didn't have to say it, they already knew. Sam's eyes filled with tears and he squeezed him tighter. Dean never wanted to let go, but Sam pushed him feebly to make him stand.
"Do it, Dean." Dean gave his Sammy a final squeeze and began the ritual. Dean was finishing the invocation when the final wound was ripped into his brother's battered flesh; a long jagged puncture wound where the spear pierced the side of Christ, now cut into his Sammy. Blood pooled from Sam's mouth and the light began to leave his eyes.
"No!" screamed Dean. He ran for the circle when the fire began to consume Sam. The light was brighter than it had been any time before. The earth began to quake violently. A low pitched noise filled the room; it was so strong, all the glass in the room shattered. A beam of light landed on Sam and he floated off the ground. The fire swirled around and around, getting smaller and smaller. Dean looked on in amazement; every wound Sam had suffered was being healed, skin and sinew knitting back together as if nothing had happened. The fire concentrated into a pulsing ball of light that halted in front of Sam's chest.
Dean felt a hand close around his. It was Castiel. The former angel's mouth was open in shock and awe, and he was holding Dean's hand in a comforting way. Dean tore his eyes away and looked back to his little brother. The light was hovering closer to his chest. His face was lit up and his hair was blowing in a breeze that blew only for him. The ball pulsed with pure energy as it moved closer to Sam. It pressed to his skin over his heart and began to absorb into Sam's body. Sam screamed. There was a shockwave that blasted from around his little brother like a nuke had gone off. Everyone was knocked flat on their backs from the blast wave.
When they looked up, Sam was floating slowly back to the ground, eyes closed. When his feet touched the floor, he collapsed, but Dean was there to catch him. Dean was always there to catch his Sammy.
"Sam?" whispered Dean. The younger man's eyes fluttered open and Dean gasped in relief. Sam looked well; his hair was clean and shining, his skin flawless. He looked as if he had never lost a pound. He was exactly as he had been before the trials. Sam stood up, Dean helping him to his feet. He stretched experimentally and smiled, a huge, face splitting grin.
"How do you feel, Sam?" asked Castiel.
"Good, really good Cas," replied Sam.
Dean looked at his brother's bare chest and gasped. They all noticed at the same time: Sam had a handprint burned onto his chest, like Dean's but larger and stronger. Castiel approached, eyes wide and awestruck, "This is the hand of God, Sam."
They all looked surprised and pleased, but no one looked as happy as Sam. The boy with the demon blood, the boy who had always felt like a monster, was finally pure.