I
The worst, or at least the most annoying and humiliating thing about the situation is that Enigma is playing. It just adds insult to injury. And it's probably supposed to. With the duduks and all (if it's duduks, he can't really guess, not that it even matters), he's getting close to actually having flashbacks of every single nineties' erotic movie he's ever seen and jacked off to in his youth and that would be a relieving distraction from his current position, but he really doubts he's going to get that granted.
"That's a shakuhachi flute, Dean," Lucifer says politely, leaning in to whisper into his ear and give him a peck on the cheek like it's nothing out of ordinary. Lucifer takes Dean's blindfold off. Dean lifts his gaze to the giant mirror in front of them and of course sees the devil, wearing Cas like his best Sunday dress, staring at him patiently from behind. He smiles, all gums and teeth, seeing Dean finally look up to the mirror. "There we go," he coos, sounding proud. "I want you to focus," but Dean drops his gaze again and lets it linger on the sheets. Lucifer won't have that. Softly, he raises Dean's chin, forcing him to look up into the mirror and meet the two-backed monster that they make. "What's the matter? Don't like what you see?" he asks innocently. "Or would you like it more if I was wearing your brother instead? Isn't this your dream come true?" he says and makes another move inside of him, making Dean upheave and his insides churn.
It's definitely not, but telling Satan to go fuck himself was compelling only the first seven times and now it would seem just pathetic. So he says nothing. He just wants to wait till it's over. It will be, eventually. Yeah, so far, Lucifer just bottoms out only to get the show back on the road. Pats him on the flank like you pat a horse and continues to fuck him in earnest, making all those goddamn ugly sounds with Cas's voice and let it be known that neither of them Dean ever wanted to hear in this context. His bound limbs ache and he has no idea how long he's spent on all fours, but it feels like way too long, eternity.
It's bearable, though. Most of it. What Lucifer probably doesn't know is that in hell he's been through so much worse. Been raped with and by so many things this hardly should count.
"And yet it does," Satan hums and fuck the mind reading thing. "Can't," he says, burying himself deeper. "Busy fucking other things right now," he explains, raises the tempo and okay, this is gonna leave some pain in his bones. He breathes through his mouth to take the tempest and not fall apart into burned down pieces. The ruthless pace has his insides scorching. Dean hisses. "That's it, baby," Lucifer encourages, kissing the nape of his neck, the space between his shoulder blades, his arm, where the handprint once lied. Forces his head up again. Dean tries to close his eyes, but finds that he simply can't. "Come on, Dean. Isn't that your mirror of erised?" he asks. "Isn't that what you've always wanted – a little bit of rough love from good old Cas?" except that it obviously isn't the same, Dean thinks. "Yeah, well," Lucifer stops tenderizing him for a second to shrug casually. "You know what they say, Dean. Be careful what you wish for cause you just might get it." And he goes on with his ministrations, those being pounding into him mercilessly.
"Don't you fucking go quoting the pussycat dolls to me, of all things," Dean seethes through gritted teeth. He can see that the thing wearing Cas is getting closer to the edge, but it causes turmoil in his stomach instead of relief. It's disgusting to even consider it and he has to fucking watch. Stare at his own body, vulnerable like that. He's never felt this naked in his entire life.
At least in the dreams that included the leviathans doing the exact same thing to him he didn't see himself. Only Cas's face, cold, wild eyes, black tendrils and ooze. Fucking him. Eating him. Piece by piece, agonizingly slowly. Worship your God, give all your love – they'd always chant, long teeth tainted with his blood.
Somehow that was nicer than this. Good times.
"But this is still nicer than that one… fuckload of times when the hellhounds fucked you, isn't it?" Satan prods, curious.
That's a good question. He considers it regardless of his will. More or less the same, he supposes.
"In this case we gotta make this a better experience, don't we?" Lucifer hums. "Let's find out what our audience thinks!"
Dean thinks what kind of fucking audience and in the mirror he sees Lucifer's expression soften then crumple. He'd recognize that face everywhere. God, no. Not that.
"Dean," Castiel says, begging clear in his voice. "I'm so sorry". Suddenly, starts to thrust into him again, his face showing the perfect picture of terror. "Dean, it's not me. I can't control it. Lucifer, he –"
"I know," Dean swallows hard. He may or may not be crying at this point. He is. "It's okay," he reassures Castiel while the devil still uses Cas to fuck into him. Cas keeps saying he's sorry, he's so, so sorry and it hurts Dean to listen to it. He looks down from the mirror not to see the guilt painted on his face. It's enough of a nightmare as it is.
"Just shut up, Cas!" he begs and tries not to vomit.
"Hmm… you're right, too much of a chatty kathy that one," Lucifer hums, his atrocious self back quick and easy like a flip of a coin. Dean really hopes telling Cas to shut up wasn't the last thing he ever said to him, but he can't know for sure. He thinks about it all the time it takes Satan to spend himself inside of him with a hiss and then fall heavy on Dean's back. The devil cackles so hard it makes Dean vibrate with the sound and the ugly note of exuberance. Satan sighs, content and it sounds hideous.
Dean wakes up. The thing where you forget what you dreamed of after you woke up chooses not to work this time. Dean remembers everything in immense detail and it all gets more clear instead of less with each passing second, which is very unhelpful to say the very least. Still on the bed, he throws up. Doesn't really matter where. In the foul aftertaste of his own puke, he still feels the fetid kiss lain on his lips. Dean wipes his mouth, tries to shrug that off. He's had worse dreams in his lifetime. Dozens of those. But the worst ones aren't those dreams where shit happens to him, no. It's those where he dreams of him and Cas having a life together. Something he can't and won't have, number of reasons why breaching two million. Yeah, those fucking hurt. No picket fence for them, no ever after.
Still, he needs to save Cas. Even if no future even awaits them. That's what friends do. Cause friends is what they are and what they will be. The status quo is untouchable. It's a knife buried to the hilt in his throat and it rots and he's the one who stabbed himself with it. He's unable to say the words he should let out long ago. It blooms with gangrene and poisons him, but it's still safer like this. Was. Because now Dean knows Lucifer knows Cas is vulnerability and he will use it against them as he pleases. Dean has proof. So much proof he wants to throw up again (prophylactically).
He tried to pull the knife out. What dripped out of him didn't work. Didn't work three hundred and one time. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Cas wasn't in love with him at all, or at least not anymore. Maybe he's been a fool to think he was loved so greatly he almost felt like he meant something. He wants to punch the wall with his face.
Instead, he calls Crowley but the bastard doesn't pick up, which isn't all that surprising, considering the situation.
Feeling defeated, he prays to Amara.
II
The reaction is immediate. Before Dean can even begin to wonder what the fuck is going on here, she zaps them to a playground somewhere. He's sitting on a bench, watching children play. Warmth of the sun falls softly onto his back. He doesn't want to look at her. He's ashamed of reaching out to her at all. It's like he's peeling layers of his defenses off and revealing all of his weaknesses. He has two. He says anything – she'll see them. Slowly, it dawns on him he might not have a choice, anyway. He wonders why she picked this place of all the possible locations. There's too much people here and he's worried for them. What if she goes nuclear? Shit, it was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.
She's patient. While he panics, she waits for him to form words and end this silence. Even though it's hard to admit, it's the companionable sort of quietness. Easy. Unlike the silences he shared with Cas, it's free of any tension. Lacks the undercurrent of craving. Of pining. This is different, at least to his heart. Because the rest? The rest of him wants something else. More. He feels obliterating warmth as he sits next to her and something tugs his body closer, but he stays put where he is. He can't give into it. He knows it's fake and wrong. His body aches nonetheless. It wants the peace of nothingness. A part of him wants it too. But not like this, not from her. This urge is not a choice. And it's the ability to choose that matters, in the end. Free will and shit.
"Is there a reason why you called me, Dean?" she eventually attempts to inquire softly, caution clear in her voice. Like he's brittle and breakable.
Dean's not that sure anymore. There isn't a smart pound of brain in his skull right now. He's got no idea what was he thinking, praying to her. That's idiotic. But when he started, the pull towards Amara grew too strong and he couldn't stop. Shit happened. He only knows that he's afraid of his own helplessness against her. He doesn't want to look at her, but his eyes act before he can think. He takes her in, trying not to focus on her mouth and breasts. Surely, she seems different than the last time they met. Amara looks dinged up, her dress is tarnished and frayed, dark circles are painted under her curious eyes. Something must have fucked with her real bad. Dean wonders what.
"You don't look too good," he deflects her question eventually. It's been a while since she asked.
"Neither do you," she answers calmly. "Is something troubling you, Dean?" she tries, her tone implying: should I take care of it?
"Had a shit dream," he offers, cringing. "You?"
"Castiel," she says astounded, sounding like she's tasting the name as it leaves her mouth and yeah, Dean knows the feeling. "I've given him the message and somehow touching him must have weakened me. It's amazing," Amara adds, fascinated. "Maybe I've misjudged him." She stares at Dean and knits her eyebrows. Frowns. "Still, there are reasons why he doesn't have my sympathy. I don't know what you see in him. You have a horrible taste in men."
I see everything, Dean wants to say, but doesn't. Not revealing weakness and all. He shrugs.
"Is jealousy something you learned or is it a part of you?" Dean prompts. "Doesn't look good on you, darling." It looks creepy, he thinks. On both of them. It's terrifying when they go Gengis Khan on him like that. On Cas's part it was a turn on until he ascended and became God. That was one pretty uncool jealousy to deal with. It evokes bad memories. So yeah, best not think about it. But he does and it clashes with the thoughts of his god slash leviathan themed dreams. Which of course brings back last night's experience. Dean winces.
"We're both birds of prey, me and him," she says, bringing him back to the present. "Neither of us is going to give up on you that easy."
"Really," he says dryly. So he's prey. What else is new.
"Except that I'm already two steps ahead. I was inside of you. I kissed you. You held me dearly and protected me for so long. You were kinder to me than to him," she enumerates, voice shaking, filled with some kind of unholy purpose. It hurts to listen to it. Like crawling through broken bottles. That's what's new. Also, she's fucking right, that bitch.
"You were a mark. It doesn't count. You were poison. You ruined me," he accuses.
"You fed me. Gave me all I needed to thrive. You beat him into pulp and felt nothing except of satisfaction," she smiles slyly. "I won."
"I got rid of you so I guess that you didn't," he says acidically.
She hums. "Want it or not, you also got rid of him," she points out. "I'm here. He isn't. It's destiny, Dean. And we're still playing."
"I hate destiny."
"You'll learn to love it. Love me. If you just let your body speak, it—"
"It's not my body speaking, it's your mojo or something. Your poison. I'm still saying no."
"You'll say yes here on this bench. And we'll climb our way from there, rest assured," she smiles. "Now, what brings us here today?" Right. Business.
"Can you defeat Lucifer? Can you give Cas back his body?"
She's still smiling. "But not for free. You know what I want from you. You."
Dean considers this. He doesn't have a choice. Doesn't have the time to think this through. Cas doesn't deserve this. He's gonna save him, whatever it takes. And if Cas doesn't like it? Well, fuck it, too bad. We don't always get what we want, do we. He's gonna do this. That is his choice. He promised this, after all. It's his turn to be useful once. Time to show that he really cares. That he loves him.
"Can you really beat him?" it's the only thing he needs to know.
Amara nods, eyes sharp as a hawk's. She beams.
"Then yes," he says through gritted teeth, the image of Lucifer in Cas's skin not leaving his eyes.
III
As Dean makes his way down the stairs leading to hell again, he can see Lucifer, Casful as always, apparently waiting for him at the bottom. This can't be a good sign, but to be honest, this kind of bull with a side of shit is exactly what he expected to meet him there.
Lucifer grins, all stars and joy and Cas's stolen face.
"You remind me of that scene in Titanic," he says in lieu of greeting. "Where Rose goes down the stairs and Jack waits for her, speechless. You look stunning, buddy," He sniffs. "Is that eau de fear-fume I can smell on you, doll? Don't tell me it's not one of your favorite places. You were something here, after all."
"Any particular need to rub that in?" Dean asks tiredly.
"Just admiring your work, is all," Lucifer shrugs.
"You want me to use my best moves on you?"
"Speaking of moves on you, did you like the blockbuster hit I sent you?"
"Very nineties," Dean says coolly, even though he wants to vomit real bad, remembering that.
"We can change the music next time," the devil smiles playfully. "When we'll be making our own videotape, I'll let you pick, my sweet Kardashian." Dean shudders involuntarily. Lucifer didn't fail to notice. "So it did get to you, after all," he says with irritating excitement.
"Not that much."
Some kind of understanding seems to down on Satan because his expression suddenly shifts. "I see. You've had worse. Let me guess – was it the leviathans?" he asks. "I'm so sorry, Dean," he says with Cas's voice. Hurt flashes through Dean's eyes. Lucifer laughs cruelly. "Just kidding, that's me," he cackles on. "You were hoping for Kai, Gerda? Too bad, cause I stole him for good. Guess that makes me the Snow Queen, but whatever."
"It makes you a sorry ass dick, you sick son of a bitch," Dean seethes.
"I feel perfectly healthy, thanks," he smiles again. "I can guess what brings you here," he says, tone all down to business, "but what I admit escapes my understanding is how the hell are you going to make me give him back to you."
"That would be where I come in," Amara says, walking down the stairs. She stands next to Dean and grips his hand possessively. He tries to free it, but the hold is far too strong. Damn it.
"Oh, look what the cat brought in! Dean, you naughty little kitty. Bringing trash to my home?" he tuts with disappointment. "I'll punish you for that and I promise you'll meow this time."
"I don't think so," Amara huffs coldly. "He's mine."
Satan sighs. Like he's dealing with stupid six year olds.
"I won't let that happen, don't worry, Dean."
"Why?" Dean chips in.
"You wanna know what motivates me in general, Dean?"
"No."
"Spite," he grits out and Dean guesses that perfectly proves his point. "Your brother, I always respected him. But you – I can't stand, Dean. You and your little love. I had Sam in my grasp and you ruined it for me. So I'm gonna take you and your little love and bend it until you can't recognize it anymore. And this," he gestures vaguely at his body, that being Cas's, really, "is the perfect way to achieve that."
Well, Dean thinks, he's not wrong.
Amara laughs. "That's pathetic. Like all of you lot."
"Tell that to Cas. He thinks it's pretty damn terrifying."
She knits her brows and seems to stare right through Lucifer.
"Dean," she says urgently. "Castiel is not here."
"What?!" he finally frees his hand, apparently anger gives him strength.
"There is only Lucifer in this body," she explains.
"What did you do to him?!" Dean lashes out, not even knowing how he got that close, he holds Lucifer by the lapels of his suit. Lucifer leans in, only breath away from Dean's mouth.
"I kicked him out. You know the feel of that, don't you Dean?"
"So this whole time—"
"That was me," Lucifer beams. "Having a great time pushing all your buttons."
"He didn't hear it when I said it…" Dean starts.
"No, but that's good for you, isn't it? Doesn't matter what happens to good old Cas as long as you get to be the straight guy, now am I right, or am I right, ladies?"
"Where is he?"
"Why? So you can say it again? Buddy, it really didn't work three hundred times."
"Where. Is. He," Dean snarls.
"In the cage. Where else could he be, idiot," Lucifer sighs with exasperation. "You know what? I'll bring you to him," with this, he snaps his fingers. "Have fun."
He can still hear Amara shout "No!" and "You'll pay for this!"
Too late. Whatever happens next, Dean doesn't see it.
IV
Literally doesn't. He covers his eyes, but that doesn't stop the pain from flooding over him. He feels himself slip away, go under. But under what? He doesn't know. It must be the pain fucking with every single one of all seventy five of his senses. Yeah, he should have five, but the burning takes over too much. It overwhelms. And just like that – it's gone.
"Dean" – he hears. "Dean" – more urgent this time. Slowly, his vision comes into focus. And just like that, he crawls away from what he sees. "Dean?" – confused.
Yeah, no, he's not playing this game again.
"Fuck you," he sputters. "Get the hell away from, me. You've done enough. Fuck you and your Enigma!" Dean snarls, still backing away, jumping to his feet.
"Dean, don't be afraid. It's me", and, yeah, he's heard that the first time around and then ended up vis a vis that mirror, no thanks very much. "Dean, look at me".
Exasperated, Dean does. It clicks. Now that he's paying attention, Cas is wearing the same thing Dean last saw him in and he looks so, so old. Lucifer wears him in a way that certainly makes him appear younger, more vigorous. And Cas? Cas is slouched and tired, everything about him looking worn these days. At least this is how Dean remembers him.
"Cas," he tries the word in his mouth, unsure and fearful. "Am I dead?"
"You're unconscious," Cas explains, looking very stern and worried. Dean considers his most recent memory.
"Am I blind?"
There's a moment of pause. "Yes," and then, "I'm sorry". That's just peachy. "I managed to put you out before my true form burned your eyes out but I couldn't stop the damage that's already been done," he says mournfully.
"That's ok," Dean says. It is, really. Soon he's going to be puppy chow for Amara, so why even bother caring.
"What are you doing here?" Cas asks, not beating around the bush, apparently.
"I should be asking you the same question", Dean says, scornful. "What the fuck were you thinking about, man?"
"You," Cas smiles wistfully. "I made a choice. I thought it was for your good."
Dean shakes his head. "Trust me, it wasn't," he sighs. "You wanna know what's good for me? You. By my side. We could have figured this out together, Cas."
"No, we couldn't, Dean," Castiel informs, resigned.
"That's bullshit," Dean spits, incredulity filling him to the brim. "And you know it. You ran away from me. Again," he finds himself accusing, Purgatory wound opening all over again. "For my own good, as always. Tell me, when did it end up right, huh, Cas?"
"But Amara—"
"Amara isn't worth losing you, damn it!" Dean shouts. "When will you fucking get it?" Cas stares at him with wide eyes. But Dean spills on, can't control himself. "I know that we missed our shot, okay? But that doesn't mean you're nothing to me. Doesn't mean you're furniture. You're not expendable! If you want to do something for my sake, stop throwing yourself into the line of fire!"
"What do you want us to do, then?"
Us, has a nice ring to it, Dean thinks. Also, he might have an idea.
"We get outta here. You need a vessel, right?" Castiel nods. "Fine. You can have me."
"Dean— " Cas starts, but Dean easily cuts him off.
"Come on, I'm pretty much to no use without my eyes. You will navigate us better. Besides, it's not like we have fucking options."
Castiel seems to consider this.
"Is there a next part to that plan?"
We, uh, kill the batman, Dean thinks, but doesn't make the comment, since it obviously ain't the time for it.
"You help me kill Amara," he says, remembering her words. "I can't do it on my own, she's got this fucking hold on me, man. It has to be you. You've got power over her."
"What power?" Cas raises an eyebrow, disbelieving.
"When she touched you," Dean rushes to explain. "It messed her up, weakened her a lot. I figured if you tried to smite her, we might actually get a chance."
Castiel's expression hardens.
"Okay," he says.
"Okay," Dean echoes. "Get in."
And Castiel does.
V
When Amara rushes in to open the Cage's door, Castiel is already well settled in within Dean's synapses. She notices the change immediately. "Dean, no," she murmurs brokenly. What Castiel doesn't tell Dean is that she as a whole looks broken. She's wounded and her dress is even more tarnished – Lucifer and she must have been fighting, he figures that much. Lucifer follows suit, he doesn't look all that fine either. But there's something else Castiel needs to tell Dean about.
"Dean," he tries with Dean's voice, pressing his hand to Amara's chest with force and conviction. "I want you to know that if I won't make my way out of this-"
What the fuck do you mean – Dean wants to cut in, furious, but he's limited to his thoughts only. Cas?!
"I'll love you even when I'm gone," he says softly. "Goodbye, Dean."
Cas, don't! Cas, Jesus, please! Cas! Cas?!
Dean tries to scream as he slowly feels a) Cas's grace draining, burning away and b) the tug that his body has towards Amara weaken. He can hear her screech. It doesn't take long before Dean feels completely Casless and void of Amara's influence. He can hear her body fall to the floor even if he doesn't see it. He too falls to his knees. Tries to cry, but whatever is left of his eyes won't let him. There's a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry, buddy," comes Cas's voice, but it's not him. "I'll love you when he's gone."
"What now," he says, mouth dry as a dessert. He doesn't even care about the answer, not anymore.
"I win," Lucifer chirps, "so I win." He grips Dean's shoulder tighter. "And you're my prize, baby doll. Come," he forces Dean to get up, "we've got dreams to fulfill."